This WEEKEND

WEEKEND // FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2013

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SNOW DAY OF JUDGMENT AMY WANG and JULIA ZORTHIAN measure Yaleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s past and present preparedness for the worst of Mother Nature. Page 3

FOOD

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FILM

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FIREARMS

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BATTLING YOUR BODY

THE ACADEMY AWARD GOES TO...

THE GUNS DOWN SOUTH

Isabella Huffington recounts how she got her period, lost it and then got it back, and the role of nutrition in the journey.

We have assembled a team of our best popculture enthusiasts to comment on the State of the Oscars.

Georgia-native Andrew Bezek attempts to reconcile his roots with the national debate on gun violence.

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YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

UNDERFED // BY ISABELLA HUFFINGTON

LEDBETTER

There are only two types of women who are excited to get their periods: those who are afraid they’re pregnant, and those who have lost it prematurely. I lost my period the way other women lose their car keys, not once or twice, but habitually. I kept losing it, because I have spent most of my life dangerously underweight, struggling from ages 11–20 with anorexia of varying levels of intensity. Getting my period meant I was healthy. And that was the problem. I didn’t want to be healthy; I wanted to be skinny. And I wanted to be skinny more than I wanted to be anything else. When I was 11, a friend asked me what superpower I wanted. I told her I wanted to be invisible. I was surprisingly perturbed the first time I got my period. I was at dinner with my father. We were eating steaks, mine well-done, his medium-rare. I watched the blood drip, drip, drip, drip out of his steak like a broken faucet. I found this particularly upsetting. I was not, as one might hope, upset for the cow; no, I was upset for myself. You see, I hate blood. I hated it even more 15 minutes later when it was coming out of me. I was 12 years old, and I had gotten my first period. I was indignant. I felt like a 95-yearold man lying on his deathbed, asking God, “Why me?” I remember trying to barter with God. If he would remove my period, I would give $5 to a charity of my choice. This was a pledge I made frequently, whenever I thought the airline had lost my luggage. And it was a pledge I just as frequently forgot as soon as my luggage arrived. At 12, I knew all about the menstrual cycle, since my hippy elementary school had spent an obscene amount of

time discussing it. We were given important kernels of wisdom, like the fact that we could indeed make mayonnaise while on our periods. And we were made to pack prevention kits, consisting of a pair of underwear and a pad, which we were commanded to carry with us the way a diabetic carries her insulin shot. We were all fully prepared to get our periods, except I wouldn’t get my period that year. I didn’t get my period because I was 5 feet 6 inches tall and I weighed 85 pounds. At 11, I was diagnosed with anorexia and a compulsive exercising disorder. I don’t have an answer to why I developed anorexia. All I have is a series of clichéd responses. One day I was a carefree child eating chicken nuggets and curly fries, and the next there was suddenly nothing childlike about me and I was too afraid to eat a baked apple with cinnamon on it. Some children refuse to eat any food that isn’t white, while others refuse to take off their Halloween costumes and end up dressed as Esmeralda all year long. At 11, I had rules too. I woke up every morning at 5 so that I could jump rope. I had to jump 1,000 times, and if I messed up I had to start again. I always messed up. My hair ties had to match my socks. I would only go to bed at numbers divisible by 5. What I remember about being 11 is packing the same lunch every day: three dried apricots, eight pistachios and half of a Nature Valley “Oats ’N Honey” bar. I remember my hair falling out in red, curly clumps in a London salon. On my 12th birthday, I refused to eat my birthday cake, and that is when my mother panicked, taking me to see a doctor who told me that if I didn’t gain 15 pounds, I would be hospitalized.

I remember going to lunch with my mother afterwards and her pushing the breadbasket towards me. I remember the bread tasted like sawdust and stuck on my tongue like a lump of flesh. I remember trying to learn how to be a kid again and failing, trying to make duck beaks out of Pringles, trying to do flips on the trampoline, trying to eat at my old favorite restaurant, an all-you-can-eat sushi buffet. But I couldn’t. All I could think about was that 14 Sour Cream and Onion Pringles had 140 calories, that jumping on the trampoline burned fat, that I hadn’t eaten all I could eat in a long time. Fro m a ge s 11–20, my relationship with food vacillated between high points, when I was healthy enough to get my period but still obsessed with my weight, and low points, when I stopped getting my period all together. During these nine years, I resented my period when I got it and was indifferent about it when I didn’t. This changed in March. It may sound overly simplistic, but it finally dawned on me that I was suffocating — and that it was my own hands around my neck. I finally admitted to myself that I wasn’t healthy and that I hadn’t been healthy in a long time. But realizing you want to be healthy and becoming healthy are two very different things. I had grown up with anorexia. I didn’t quite know who I was

The Decider, The Fan-Maker

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colleagues, I began to wiggle around, fidget with my unrealistically shiny Mary-Jane slippers and tug at my Christopher Robin bowl cut. With Linda fooled by my restless façade and seeking to get my feignedly fidgeting self off of her hands, my scheme was a success, and I found myself proudly rising from the lowly carpet to join the superior ranks of the fanmakers.

ALTHOUGH AT THIS POINT IN MY LIFE I KNEW VERY LITTLE, I DID KNOW HOW TO GET WHAT I WANTED. The fans we made turned out to be ones of folded and stapled pieces of 8 ½-by-11 printer paper, no lace, no delicateness, no vessel for demure smiles. My life was far from over, but when I saw the ribbon-stick group perform a special dance with their silky ribbons flowing from fine, wooden chopsticks, I felt as vulnerable as my paper fan, small and recyclable. Fourteen years ago,

witho u t it. But I recognized that anorexia and I were two different things. And that was a start. I started gaining weight. It wasn’t easy. In fact, I think it was the hardest thing I ever did. People talk about looking

in the mirror and not recognizing their own face. I knew my face; what I didn’t recognize was my own mind. I learned that just because I think something doesn’t mean it’s true. I went from regarding the voice in my head that told me I was fat and worthless and undisciplined if I

finished the salad on my plate as the voice of truth to seeing it the way I see Fox News: sometimes funny, often dangerous, but rarely true. I finally got my period again in July. And this time I was ecstatic. Contact ISABELLA HUFFINGTON at isabella.huffington@yale.edu .

All About Midterms

// BY LUCIE LEDBETTER

Sitting, 5 years old, on an endless navy carpet, knees tucked to my chest, I remember the first and only moment I knew exactly what I wanted. I was in kindergarten, and we were learning about China. Although at this point in my life I knew very little, I did know how to get what I wanted. And that day, I wanted to make a fan. A beautiful, delicate, lacy fan — just like the ones that the elegant Chinese women would hide coyly behind in pictures. The class, we were told, was to be divided into two groups: One would be making fans, the other, Chinese ribbonsticks. We were not given an option between the two; it was assumed that we would be happy with whichever group we were randomly assigned, a reasonable assumption to make of a room of 5-year-olds. This assumption, however, reflected naivety on the part of Linda, my bottled-blonde kindergarten teacher, for there was at least one kindergartener with an adamant preference. Sitting in my stretchy, red skirt, what I wanted more than anything in the world was to make a fan, and I knew what I had to do. When Linda had selected all but two of us that were to be in the fan group, I knew that it was time to take action. Sitting helplessly among my apathetic

// KAREN TIAN

ASCHER

HUFFINGTON

WEEKEND VIEWS

although I came to know disappointment, there was some satisfaction in knowing what I wanted, and getting it. As I watched the dancers with their silky ribbons, I still clung to my paper fan, I had folded it, stapled it, and colored it myself, and it was entirely mine. Since that day I feel like I have learned quite a lot. I now know how to write a 10-page paper in four hours, I know how to survive a day with six straight hours of classes on five hours of sleep, I know how to make a passable presentation on a 300-page book that I read the night before. But I keep thinking that what I knew as a 5-year-old is more valuable than any of that. Sure, I didn’t know how to write coherent sentences, but I did know what I wanted, and that was plenty. If I could only commission my 5-year-old self to make decisions for me, maybe I could finally figure out what I want to major in, what I want to do this summer, what I want to do with my life. At nineteen, I like to think that I still have the means to get what I want, but the problem is that I just don’t know what that is. Maybe if all I wanted was to make a lacey fan, then life would be easier. Contact LUCIE LEDBETTER at lucie.ledbetter@yale.edu .

IRAN COLLOQUIUM: “THE WORD, THE WORLD AND THE WONDERFUL LIFE: NOTES ON THE AESTHETICS OF EARLY PERSIAN POETRY” Luce Hall // 12 p.m.

It’s an Iranian Life with all this Persian poetry.

// BY JORDAN ASCHER

That you’re reading this tells me a few things: You have eyes, you are literate and you have reached the end of the sixth week of the semester. We’re halfway there, folks. But I’m afraid you’ll have to keep the champagne on ice a few weeks more. After all, midterm means one thing: midterms. Your humble WEEKEND correspondent took to the streets to find out what everyone is up against. Here’s what several actual fictional Yale students had to say: Felix Shoebox ’16: “Oh my goodness, you have no idea. I can’t talk. I have to write a whole paper by tomorrow! And I’ve only written three-quarters of it!” James James (J.J.) Chubb “’16”: “I have this 10-page paper. Thing is, it was due in 1975. Yeah, I’m a pretty terrible student. Also, I’m having a little trouble convincing my roommate that I’m a freshman.” Nina Lime Rickey ’13: “I’m a chemistry major, so whatever I say right now will probably sound like gibberish to you.” Carla Candlestick ’15: “I have three papers, two exams and one oral presentation — but before I can do any of that, I need to pass the key in my stomach and unlock these handcuffs! Magic!” Seymour H. Manatee ’14: “I’m an English major, so whatever I say right now will make you want to punch me.” Katherine Needles MED ’28: “I need to bring this cadaver back from the

dead. I am in medical school, and that is how medical school works.” Arthur Ceiling-Fan ’13: “Oh my goodness, you have no idea. I can’t talk. I have spent so much time pathologically overextending myself in order to make other people think I’m great, and now I’m paying the price for my low self-esteem!” Andre ’3000: “I am so stressed! I know everyone says that, but I’m trapped under a giant boulder and my body is under a great deal of stress. Hey — come back! Help me out from under this rock!” Feline M. Floorboard ’14: “For my midterms this year I worked for an investment bank as an intern and made $15,000. I think this midterm season will look very good on a resume.” Gray S. Lake ’14: “I’m a theater major, so whatever I say right now will be a fancy way of saying that my only midterm assignment is to come to class and walk like how a kitten would walk. Theory!” Cornelius Vanderbilt XXVII ’$$: “Oh my goodness, you have no idea. I can’t talk. And I’m going to keep saying that so I can feel superior to everyone around me.” Grum Bernstein ’14: “I’m working on a really fabulous project for one of my classes. I’m very proud of it. But if I don’t get into a society, it will all be meaningless.” Contact JORDAN ASCHER at jordan.ascher@yale.edu .

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS: Feb Club

Only one more week.

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

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WEEKEND COVER

DESPERATE CLIMES, DESPERATE MEASURES

// BY AMY WANG AND JULIA ZORTHIAN

n an ordinary Friday night at Yale, numerous students — excited, bright-eyed and under various degrees of intoxication — stumbled to line up in the Woolsey Hall rotunda. Dressed in a haphazard assortment of glittery clothes, neon headbands and plastic bracelets, the students waited to get into Commons for a campus-wide dance event. Across the hall, Yale administrators, their guests and another group of students dressed in formal attire filled a dozen rows of seats in Woolsey, anticipating a world-class concert. At the same time, a group of international visitors stepped off a tour bus onto campus, chattering excitedly amongst themselves on Grove Street. Some lifted cameras to their faces. Others pulled open the doors of the rotunda, peering curiously inside. Suddenly — out of nowhere — an explosion on Grove Street blew out all the Woolsey windows.

O

PREDICTING THE UNPREDICTABLE

Maria Bouffard, Yale’s Director of Emergency Management passed the hypothetical scenario out to the 60 people seated around the table. The other members of the team read through the fact sheet as they passed it around, nodding and contributing their thoughts to the plan for how University administrators would proceed should the windows of Woolsey Hall really explode. Bouffard leads the University’s emergency response team, a group of administrators, staff and faculty on campus who meet once a month and are poised to react in the event of a crisis, be it nightmarish weather, a disease outbreak or worse. Three or four times a year, Bouffard stages a tabletop: a hypothetical situation to which the emergency response team constructs a comprehensive response while seated around a table. “You’d be very surprised about how you can feel your blood pressure moving up,” said team member and University Associate Vice President Martha Highsmith of the exercises. “People really get into it, which is good because you want that kind of adrenaline.”

Some crises, like a hurricane or national disease outbreak, can be prepared for with advance notice. Others, such as a violent crime or fire, must be handled immediately and without hesitation. The emergency management team has a range of plans laid out for any type of emergency, which spell out the best orders of contact, roles for specific administrators, ways in which to prepare the campus and more, so that when the time comes, the team can spring into action. Vice President Linda Lorimer said that after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, Yale recognized the need to adopt this continuous model of emergency preparedness and developed a serious dedication to creating plans of action for different scenarios. She added that a task force of staff members and administrators worked on emergency preparedness as parts of their jobs, but the University hired Bouffard four years ago when they realized the benefit of having someone work on the plans full-time. “I think we are a model institution for having really well organized protocols and lots of employees who are designated to be emergency responders,” University President Richard Levin said. Since 2001, the University’s emergency preparedness force has grown to 63 faculty and established connections with local and national emergency response networks, such as the Federal Emergency Management Agency, Lorimer said. In addition to tabletops, Yale also conducts drills, in which emergency responders play out various scenarios. Highsmith said these are held rarely because they are both labor and time-intensive — in a recent drill, staff members had to set up a portable hospital in the gym and prepare to administer mass vaccinations, a necessary measure in the case of a smallpox outbreak, for example. Bouffard called Yale’s emergency readiness process “ongoing.” “It’s something we are always getting better at and talking about. It evolves and evolves and evolves,” she added. “Our plan doesn’t have time to sit on a shelf and get dusty.” The University has certainly had opporunity to put its plans to the test this year. Two extreme weather occurrences resulted in Yale canceling classes four times — an unthink-

able volume, considering the last cancellation occurred in February of 1978. Though neither emergency involved window-shattering explosions (Highsmith noted that Bouffard does have a “pretty active imagination”), Hurricane Sandy and the recent blizzard hit New Haven with a vengeance, leaving the emergency response team the task of holding Yale together.

READY, SET, RESPOND

Yale and the rest of the Northeast received a few days’ notice before Hurricane Sandy was scheduled to touch down in New Jersey on Monday, Oct. 29. Accordingly, the emergency response team implemented the massive hurricane plan of action. The Yale community received the first email about Sandy from Vice President Linda Lorimer that Saturday morning, without knowing how important (or abundant) Lorimer’s emails would later become. After explaining that the University was closely watching the path of Hurricane Sandy, Lorimer concluded, “Let’s hope the storm turns right into the North Atlantic!” But turn into the Atlantic it did not. Behind the scenes, Lorimer, Highsmith and Bouffard coordinated with the predetermined emergency team of police officers, security officers, facilities staff, dining hall staff, custodial staff and Yale Health workers who would perform emergency duties through the storm. A team of 26 responders set up the Emergency Operations Center, or EOC, a situation room-type home base on the second floor of the Yale Police Department at 101 Ashmun St. The group camped out in the room for over two days, coordinating preparation and responses to the storm over conference calls with city and state officials. In the hours leading up to the storm, crews laid down sandbags around buildings with sloped walkways and entrances to prevent water from rushing in. Yale staff placed flood faxes — large, diaper-like sacks that retain up to 40 pounds of water — in various facilities to absorb flooding. Rafi Taherian, executive Director of Dining, coordinated emergency food deliveries ahead of time so that annexed students and freshmen could stock up on provisions. Meanwhile, Robert Klein,

Deputy Director of Environmental Health and Safety, canvassed science laboratories to make sure various apparatuses were secure before the storm. Lorimer’s emails became more urgent. On Sunday afternoon, Lorimer announced the cancellation of Monday classes. The move was almost unprecedented — Yale hadn’t canceled classes since a massive blizzard body-slammed the city in 1978. “The first priority is life and safety,” Highsmith said. “If it’s not safe for people to be out, driving or even walking around, then classes have to give way.”

‘LET’S HOPE THE STORM TURNS INTO THE NORTH ATLANTIC,’ LORIMER SAID. BUT TURN INTO THE ATLANTIC IT DID NOT. With constant status updates from the city and storm projections coming in over conference calls multiple times a day, the 26 staff and administrators ate and slept in the EOC. On Monday, when winds of almost 90 m.p.h. started to bring down branches and power lines around campus, the group decided to cancel classes and activities on Tuesday as well. In 1978 — the last year that Yale canceled classes — the situation was less dire, but also more disorganized. Dining hall staff workers slept in offices and dining hall basements, and professors were trapped off campus. Most significantly, the University hardly made any contact with its students.

FLASHBACK: FEBRUARY, 1978

Barrett Ford ’80 woke up to a world of white. Outside his Davenport dorm room window, the ground was no longer visible — the grass and pavement were replaced by a relentless barrage from the sky, so bright that it was staggering to look at. Snow fell in a furious daze. Ford’s roommate, Kenneth Bass ’80, who was from South Carolina, had never seen the likes of such weather before, and excitedly

ushered the both of them out into the street to witness it firsthand. They stood at the intersection of College and Elm, observing the buildings visible all around them, bathed in the eerie whiteness — Woolsey Hall, Sheffield-SterlingStrathcona Hall. Bass wore a giant winter coat that his mother had purchased for him before he left the South for Yale (the “one time I got to wear it,” he noted). Ford had his camera with him, and he has kept the photographs from that first snow day for over 30 years now. “Even though I was used to slogging through all kinds of snow in the wintertime, this was something special,” Ford said. “We stood in the very center of Elm Street, this huge intersection. There wasn’t a car to be seen. White and snow all about. It was remarkable.” It was the first week of February in 1978 — the Northeastern United States blizzard had just hit Connecticut, and Yale’s campus was swathed in slush. Connecticut governor Ella T. Grasso ordered all state roads closed except for emergency travel for three days — essentially shutting down the entire state — and Yale issued the order to classes and operations entirely, said Levin, who was an associate professor at the time. Snowed in, Ford and Bass pushed their door open the next morning and noticed the freshly printed paper on the door. It announced that all University classes were canceled that day. “Because I was a dinosaur from the class of ’80, there was no such thing as texting or emailing or anything,” Ford said. “There were notices posted right there in the front entryway, because there was a lot of speculation [that classes would be canceled]. The storm was so intense.” April Alliston ’80 said that though she did not even remember that classes were canceled that year, she still remembered the storm simply for the seemingly unprecedented amount of snow that fell on campus. Several other alumni interviewed said they also did not recall details of the day — only the fact that they had never seen that amount of snow. During the blizzard itself, administrators did not actively prohibit students from venturing outside, and by no means did students hole up SEE BLIZZARD PAGE B8 // VIVIENNE ZHANG

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PRINCETON’S JOSHUA KATZ: “GODS AND VOWELS” Phelps Hall, Room 401 // 12 p.m.

A-E-I-O-ZUESS

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS: “Say My Name” Cyril Hahn Remix Want to hear Beyoncé sound like Jay-Z?

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YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

WEEKEND THEATER

AT CO-OP THEATER, ‘CASTOR ET POLLUX’ SHOWCASES YALE LARKS // BY YUVAL BEN-DAVID

The rare breed of reader who’s recently picked The Herald will no doubt have come across the epithet “dead white males.” Some philistines like me might wonder what’s so bad about smart white dudes — imagine primal section-assholes. Nay, not even section-assholes: Those didn’t exist until a certain dead white (Jewish) male invented the anal fixation! What’s the harm in porcelained cranks? Opera, that’s what. They wrote operas. They wrote them to be three hours long. Opera: that classically entwined genre that shrieks at you from a high, high pedestal. 120 D.S.-ers bursting into song. Harold Bloom on acid. Opera lumbers towards you from five centuries’ distance, chasing after extinct categories of love and tragedy. If you’ve ever heard diplomats talk about borders, that’s how opera talks about love: endless quibbles, a neurotic push-and-shove. How gracefully, then, “Castor et Pollux” annoys you. Really, with great tact. Barely a pinch. A tour de

force of understatement, the production of Rameau’s 18th century French masterpiece brings together the Opera Theatre of Yale College and the Undergraduate Ballet Company in a brilliant ode to art, if not quite to opera. As a pageant of individual talents, it stuns. As an exercise in artistic cross-pollination, it cheers. As an opera, “Castor et Pollux” champions the genius of minor irritation. (That’s a compliment. Take it.) Past the musical overture, your first thought, of course, is “What the fuck is going on?” Besides the baroque wafting in from the orchestra pit — notes that seem to walk on stubby tiptoes — little is identifiable. A drowsy winged angel slouches on a chair in front of a colorfully, loosely dressed ensemble. This you can process. Enter mythological characters you should recognize from ninth grade but don’t — Mars, Minerva, Venus — singing in a French that’s subtitled on a back screen to little success (it’s just not pedestrian enough). In this lexicon, “Go to hell” becomes “Descend to the shores of

Hell.” It took all of 20th century philosophy to cut some of these words down to size: What does it mean if Pleasures are ensemble members running around the stage? What does Love mean with a capital L? As it turns out, the prologue bears no relevance to the storyline — even Rameau cut it out in his second draft — but as a preview to the show’s later highlights, it earns its keep. Think of the prologue as a guide to a gallery of local talent. Christina Lamell ’16, as Minèrve, climbs to high notes as if she’s taking a pilgrimage there. Between nimble stage movements and wild grins, Michael Protacio ’14, as the angel, builds first notes so lingeringly gorgeous as to glide in and out of song like water. Stolidly masculine, Robert Yaman ’15 surprises with a honeyed, if temperate, voice. There’s something about these performers that warrants such operatic praise. Lyric guides their creed and their conviction. Take Sylvia Leith ’16, Yale’s newest wunderkind. The plot’s central pole, Leith — who

plays princess Télaïre — twists two men around her pinkie: the mortal Castor, just slain at war, and his immortal twin Pollux, who seizes on Castor’s death to court the virtuous Télaïre. After that, sure, things transpire in the story (or, so the subtitles imply). Who cares? Leith’s notes charm into exquisite life a plot of their own: headlong transcendence of cue and formality, of distinctions in music as between loud and soft and high and low. Leith’s professionalism betrays the production’s undercover ambition: the renovation of opera. But the production hustles to more modest ends: foiling the predictable snooze. While indubitably gifted, Bryce Wiatrak ’14, playing the regal, withholding Pollux, serves as narrative locomotive; his economy of pathos sets a clip for more languorous peers. And while Protacio, who also plays Castor, commands a formidable stage presence, his sweet energy (and bouncy Italian pronunciation of the French) contributes mostly to the show’s basal metabolic rate. Clearly, stage director Lara Panah-

Izadi ’14 knows her audience of cynical opera initiates. And so, by directorial wizardry, “Castor et Pollux” mobilizes a centripetal whirlwind of ballet dancers to sweep boredom off the stage. But only towards the end of the play do dancers and the ensemble synergize. Before then, one group awkwardly huddles off to the side as the other makes a feeble pass at the audience. “Castor et Pollux” pushes through a rotation of characters who take turns at a desperate kinesis centerstage, while others slouch in the shadows. The endless costume changes for the ensemble and constant set changes smartly keep you alert. But at what cost? These ploys thwart a thoughtful orchestration of elements. And to what end? “Castor et Pollux” stays running just long enough to deliver, proudly and with brio, the only opera some of us might ever see. Contact YUVAL BEN-DAVID at yuval.ben-david@yale.edu .

// JENNIFER CHEUNG

Ugly truths in Laramie // BY VANESSA YUAN “It’s a good place to live. Good people, lots of space,” Reed Bobroff ’16 says in his role as a native of Laramie, Wyo., in the Yale Dramatic Association’s production of “The Laramie Project.” This was an irrefutable description of Laramie until October 1998, when 21-year-old college student Matthew Shepard was kidnapped, tortured and left to die on a fence in the outskirts of town. His crime was his homosexuality. His killers were two other young men, also Laramie natives. Suddenly, the town’s “lots of space” was lousy with eager reporters, looking for answers that the townsfolk did not yet have. Lara-

// ANNELISA LEINBACH

The cast acts out a dark moment in American history.

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mie no longer represented a “good place” but, instead, a hate crime. This show tells the story of how it heals and how it understands what has happened. The play, told through interviews conducted by the Tectonic Theater Project, opens with the company’s arrival at Laramie. But the Dramat slips up when it comes to the audience’s first impressions of that apparently idyllic town. Their set features three rows of wooden power-transmission poles at stage left. While these poles are meticulously crafted and impressive (wires included and all), they are also distracting. For one, the town is supposedly home to a warm and vibrant community; it’s said to be picture-perfect, with blue skies and views of “mountains with the little snow on top.” That is, the town itself is described to foil the ugly crime

“WHERE IN THE WORLD IS DPOPS?”

mouthed Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson, approach the well-mannered Shepard at the bar, but he did nothing to intervene. Osborne plays the regretful bartender convincingly, combining an eager tone in his detailed account with obvious discomfort in speaking. His naïve demeanor creates for some of the most poignant moments in the play, especially in his description of Matthew Shepard. He says, “If you had 100 customers like him it’d be the … the most perfect bar I’ve ever been in. Okay? And nothing to do with sexual orientation. Manners. Politeness. Intelligence.” For McKinney and Henderson, though, it had everything to do sexual orientation. The people of Laramie sincerely want to understand this kind of hatred, but with understanding comes discomfort. That means they need to come to terms with their discomfort surrounding sexuality, religion and, most importantly, humanity. Osborne and the rest of the cast subtly and skillfully portray this initial discomfort in their first few interviews. While the interviewers later win praise for starting this conversation within the town, they do not come off as glorified saviors. For the most part, the interviews are not shown in Q-and-A format, but in monologues by the interviewees. More importantly, the interviewers take on inferior positions in the play. They stand clear of the spotlight when these monologues take place and are only present onstage to remind the audience of the overarching project the play depicts. Catholic priest Roger Schmit (Skyler Ross ’16) says in his interview, “Just deal with what is true. You know what is true. You need to do your best to say it correctly.” In this case, the cast does their job truthfully. “The Laramie Project” is a conversation that has just begun. The show will run through Feb. 23 at the Iseman Theater. Contact VANESSA YUAN at vanessa.yuan@yale.edu .

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Battell Chapel // 8 p.m.

We don’t know. Come help us find them as they gallivant around the globe.

that it breeds. While this is not a call to overdo it with comfy chairs and other feel-good embellishments, it’s worth noting that the overwhelming timber is not necessarily the next step down — or the next couple of steps down, for that matter. These poles distinguish themselves from any kind of visual comfort or beauty, which could have made for a powerful contrast. While it could be argued that these might be, in fact, realistic attributes of the town, it is unclear why they use up the entire left half of the set. This leaves the right with a more neutral, stepped stage, which is actually more practical when isolating the characters in the interviews. A product of over 200 interviews with Laramie locals, the play moves quickly, jumping from one interview to another, with each member of its 10-person cast taking on multiple and consistent roles throughout. While these swaps could have easily been chaotic and confusing, they are choreographed perfectly and paired with coherent onstage costumechanges, evidence of great technical effort. The play also includes alternating narrators who introduce each character’s name and affiliation. This is a key choice made by director Nailah HarperMalveaux ’16, and a smart one, as it allows the audience to get used to the pace of the production. The switching roles also serve to remind us that these are only a few of the many accounts to be found in an entire affected community. The cast is particularly strong. Catherine Connolly (Simone Policano ’16) is an openly gay faculty member at the University of Wyoming. Policano accurately shows how a confident and puttogether woman deals with her own fear in the aftermath of a horrifying hate crime, suggesting an apt sense of confusion in her eloquent speech. In his interview, bartender Matt Galloway (Jacob Osborne ’16), who worked at the last place Shepard was seen in public, conveys remorse. He had noticed Shepard’s eventual murderers, the rude and loud-

Congee

Even more basic than porridge.

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

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WEEKEND KISSES

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HE SAYS

I was going to be pretty early for our date, so I decided to take what any Hounie would call the “long way” to Prime 16: an extra block down College, a leisurely stroll on Crown and then a swift left turn onto Temple. It’s a good thing that I had borrowed my suitemate’s extra-large umbrella for the occasion; on this night New England showered me with rain of a long-forgotten vigor. Finally, while approaching the restaurant, I sidestepped a massive puddle and brought my gaze back up just in time to see a slender figure appear out of the shadows ahead of me. After the initial awkward introductions (“Hi, so I’m Matthew”), Isaac led us to a table and nabbed the coveted booth seat. He talked about

ust two Southern boys, living in a lonely world, taking the 6 p.m. train going to Prime 16. Our first date of the season, despite Mother Nature’s weepy disposition, seems to have given our two strapping young winners a nice respite from the Midterm Madness. You can read all about their experience here, but our guess is, they are being a little coy. They are Calhoun neighbors, after all, and there is no saying what will happen behind closed doors. Who needs Grindr when you have WEEKEND?

back to Calhoun, our college. I bid him farewell — no tongue of course, I’m not a slut! — and rushed off to my section. All in all, not disastrous. That’s about as good as it gets for me.

his experience as a transfer student at Yale, his work with the Yale Daily News, and “30 Rock”’s final season. We talked about our mutual friends, our shared major and what a coincidence it was that we both live in Calhoun (Glory to the Mother Houn!). Armed with many stories from my childhood spent abroad and prepared to talk about an upcoming trip to Budapest, I valiantly waged war on awkward silence. Among several LOLs in our conversation, there were also some lulls. So, I launched into a tedious ramble based on what little I know about Hungary, expressing my anticipation for the great goulash I will eat this weekend. It was only when our food arrived that I remembered how intimidatingly massive the burgers are at Prime 16. While Isaac neatly polished off his moderately sized beef fare, I struggled with the ginormous slab of chicken sandwich that lay in front of me, first taking a measured approach with the help of my good friends Fork and Knife before diving in elbowdeep for the soppy finale. Isaac had another engagement at 7 p.m., so after settling the check we grabbed our things from the coatroom and headed out. I clumsily fiddled with my suitemate’s umbrella, trying to hold it steady as we walked home to Calhoun. I thought myself lucky that the wind didn’t take me up and away, Mary Poppins style. Somewhere near the corner of College and Chapel, I awkwardly realized that Isaac would probably appreciate the shelter of my umbrella. Eight years in Brussels were sufficient to condition me to always “go Dutch,” but Isaac, like a true Southern gentleman, insisted on footing the bill. Isaac was kind, sweet, and funny; I enjoyed getting to know him better. A door from his common room opens into my stairwell, so I’m sure I’ll be seeing him around!

Contact ISAAC PARK at isaac.park@yale.edu .

Contact MATTHEW FINNEY at matthew.finney@yale.edu .

// BY ISAAC PARK I mean, let’s be frank. I give pretty terrible first date. So last week, when I got that fateful message from matchmaker Jordi — “YOU WON THE BLINDEST DATE,” his email gently informed me — I wasn’t so much excited as I was apprehensive. Still, on Tuesday, after a few minutes of quiet reflection in front of one of my more forgiving mirrors, I put on an unobjectionable oxford shirt and my best cardigan, and then I braved the cold, wet walk to the restaurant. I got to Prime 16 a little early. Matthew walked in a few minutes later, sporting an easy smile and a comically large umbrella. He said something nebulously charming about the weather. I giggled. The chemistry — and, thus, sexual tension — was unbearably palpable. The Yale Daily News had promised that a photographer would come take a picture of us at the beginning of the date, but said photographer never materialized. So after a few minutes, we got ourselves a table. I busied myself with the notso-inconsequential task of some-

how spending $40 at Prime 16. I should note that Matthew, Southern gentleman that he is, ordered an iced tea. We finally got to talking about our lives. I found out that Matthew lived in Belgium for eight years and that he was taking a trip to Budapest this weekend. (It was quickly established that I knew nothing about Budapest.) I also discovered that he played the double bass; I used to play cello! We jointly reminisced about our respective upright stringed instruments. There was so much goddamn chemistry. In an unfortunate incident, he asked me what I planned to do after graduation and I reacted pretty violently. A momentary lapse. We left the restaurant and walked

// BY MATTHEW FINNEY

// ISAAC PARK

THE BLINDEST DATE: ROUND TWO

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ound two, everyone! This is The Blindest Date: Sapphic Edition, for all the single ladies. In case you were living under a rock (or in East Rock) when we launched our inaugural blind date, here’s the gist: Read these anonymous profiles, go to our WKND blog and vote for your favorite candidate. The top two vote-earners will get the chance to go on a date together, all paid for by WEEKEND! Let’s help some more Yalies get a little bit of warmth during these icy times. Bachelorette #1

Bachelorette #5

Major: Molecular, cellular and developmental biology (probably)

Major: Computer science (and maybe Psych? Linguistics?)

Interests: Theater, music, coffee, the Sun; when the Blue Line bus comes in time for me not to have to walk up Science Hill.

Interests: Art, music, writing, learning, general geekery, Lord of the Rings, open-mindedness, tea and good food.

Random fact: I thought snow was a figment of the northerners’ imaginations until I came to Yale.

Random fact: I’m asexual! (ish)

Looking for: “It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.” I like the former.

Bachelorette #2

Looking for: Actually, I’m just looking for a new friend, someone who likes hugs and/or cuddling, with whom I’d enjoy low-key hanging out — talking, procrastinating, playing games. In a partner, add: romantic, 5’7” +/- 4 inches, a tendency towards non-feminine expression.

Major: Women’s, gender and sexuality studies Interests: Indie pop, decorative arts, thrifting, cooking, friendly conversation. Random fact: I’m really talented at nail art. Looking for: Someone whimsical (and a little punny) who can turn anything into a dance party.

Bachelorette #3 Major: Drinking wine

Bachelorette #6 Major: Ecology and evolutionary biology Interests: Bugs, feminism, trashy pop music, Jane Goodall, Twitter, Fall Out Boy’s return from hiatus. Random fact: I had pizza with Richard Dawkins last summer. Looking for: Someone talkative, laid-back and nonjudgemental, especially regarding my horrible taste in music.

Interests: Kindness and witty banter Random fact: I love rhythm.

Bachelorette #7

Looking for: A sweetheart.

Major: Chemical Engineering

Bachelorette #4 Major: Molecular, cellular and developmental biology Interests: Reading and roller coasters (not at the same time usually). Random fact: I can do a one-handed cartwheel. Looking for: Someone relaxed, fun and cuddly.

Interests: “How I Met Your Mother,” long and (debatably) productive Gchats, sports, warm weather, 90s jam sessions (clearly the best decade), cooking/baking. Random fact: Even though she didn’t donate to the non-profit I was working for, Linda Hamilton from “The Terminator” made me a fruit smoothie to make up for it. Looking for: Someone that’s not afraid to be silly, and more importantly, have dance party study breaks during the wee hours of the morning. // THAO DO

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“ELECTRIC PARTY SONGS”: A WORKCENTER OPEN PROGRAM PERFORMANCE Calhoun Cabaret // 8 p.m.

Music based on Allen Ginsberg’s poetry? Yes, please.

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS: Not hosting Pre-Frosh

The only pre-frosh worth getting to know is the one you already know.

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YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

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WEEKEND AWARDS

’TIS THE OSCARS SEASON

Caleb’s picks: a soliloquy

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ave you been doing your homework? Not your archaeoastronomy problem set, but YOUR MOVIE-GOING DUTIES. Did you go to the Criterion every week? Did you cry when Naomi Watts cried on screen? Did you pontificate when Daniel Day-Lewis pontificated? Did watching “Life of Pi” make you feel like you just drank a sea full of water? Well, the Oscars are being held this Sunday! Luckily, our savvy WEEKEND troopers have watched and read and digested all the information you need to catch up before Hollywood’s biggest night. Time to make the grade, kiddos.

// BY CALEB MADISON Caleb Madison: For best picture, “ARGO” — UGH I love this movie SO much. I’m so glad Ben Affleck has moved past having a sense of humor (like in “Mallrats” and “Dogma”) and also writing what he knows (like “Good Will Hunting” and “Gone Baby Gone”). “Argo” is about SO MUCH MORE than those movies. The whole time you’re like “Is America going to save them?” and then at the end you’re like “YESSS!!!” At first Iran is like, “No Americans allowed! We hate America!” but then they realize that Hollywood is totally different from

If you haven’t seen any of the films... // BY CYNTHIA HUA AND ANDREW WAGNER Did you spend over 15 hours in a movie theater this year watching all the best picture nominees? Neither did we. Fortunately, we sat through all nine trailers to help you get through even the film-snobbiest Oscar party. It’s just like faking your way through section. Let’s start with the one movie that nobody cares about — “Amour”: It’s French and about old people (we can stop here). Every time it comes up, drop a “Mmm … intéressant” and drink. However, that won’t be necessary because we don’t think this will win any awards. “Beasts of the Southern Wild”: We were uncertain whether this was a movie trailer or a Levi’s commercial. The premise is confusing: Why does a woman have cave paintings tattooed on her leg? Why is there a monster with fangs? I thought this was a movie about Hurricane Katrina? “Zero Dark Thirty”: It’s so dark. So political. Ugh. Literally don’t even feel like watching the trailer for this. Pass. Also, we’re pretty sure it’s actually the same thing as “Homeland.” Don’t get this one mixed up with “Argo,” which also appears to be very political and set in the Middle East. The only reason Andrew knows about this movie is cause his high school teacher’s daughter is in it (Shout out to Mr. Bishé!). We have nothing to say about “Silver Linings Playbook” except that the best looking actors are in it, so it gets our vote for best picture. Can’t wait to see what they wear. “Django Unchained”: We’re not sure, but this might be about slavery. Cowboy slaves? “Lincoln” is definitely about slavery. As far as “Django Unchained” and “Lincoln” are concerned, you should treat these two as opposite ends of the political spectrum, pick a side and fight anybody who challenges you to the death. Also, both of these may or may not be racist — if either of them wins awards, best to play it safe and feign moral outrage. Finally, there is “Les Misérables” which is everything all at once, and “Life of Pi,” which we forgot about.

America, and that Hollywood rules! I love that. It makes you think, because the power of movies is what saves those hostages, but it’s ALSO what makes the audience like the movie! It’s about time the Academy recognized a movie about how amazing movies are. I have never seen “The Artist.” CM: Yeah, totally! And for best actor, Daniel Day-Lewis in “LINCOLN” — YES! What a film. Daniel Day-Lewis transforms himself into Lincoln SO WELL. In the middle of the movie I took out a penny and I held it up to the screen and I was like, “WHAAAA!!!?” It made me realize that presidents have so much power. And, like, what are our presidents of today doing? Lincoln was like, “Sorry, haters, but I have to follow my beliefs.” When’s the last time Obama did that? If ONLY politicians saw and made a big deal about seeing this movie. Also Lincoln’s speeches were crazy. It was like every scene had a different moral! He would go up to a group of confused men and be like, “Hey… let me tell you a story.” Then he’d tell a story that started out totally random so everyone was like “Hunh!??!!” but then at the end you realized there was a moral that totally related to what they were talking about. It’s about time the Academy recognized Daniel Day-Lewis in a role about a conflicted larger-than-life historical figure. I have seen neither “There Will Be Blood” nor “My Left Foot.” CM: I totally see that. And for best supporting actress, Anne Hathaway in “LES MISÉRABLES” — I dreamed a dream … that Anne Hathaway made me cry with song!!!! But it was real life!!!!

I know what a lot of you are thinking. “A two-and-a-half hour musical with no dialogue? About the French?” But “Les Miz” has so many more aspects than that. Like the fact that all the singing was done live on set. When you watch Anne Hathaway sing and cry in one continuous shot, you are watching real life. And she actually cut her hair for the role too! That’s Acting. That’s dedication. We haven’t seen an actress do something so brave since Natalie Portman in that comic book movie seven years ago. It’s about time the Academy recognized the performance of an actress in a musical who uses her tender yet resilient singing voice to express her personal struggles. I have never seen “La Vie En Rose” or “Walk the Line.” CM: Totes, man! And finally, for best supporting actor, Christoph Waltz in “DJANGO UNCHAINED” — Let me get this off my chest: I love Quentin Tarantino movies. When I saw “Pulp Fiction” for the first time in eighth grade I was like, “Yes.” I couldn’t stop quoting it for the next 10 years. I have the Bible passage that Samuel L. Jackson says before he kills people MEMORIZED. Whenever I eat a burger I’m like, “Mmm! That’s a tasty burger!” The thing I like about Tarantino movies is that, even though sometimes they’re serious, everyone talks about the most random weird things! It’s like my real life, and how my friends talk about just random things! And I imagine Quentin Tarantino and Christoph Waltz being best friends in real life. It’s like Quentin calls him up and is like, “Hey, I’m making another movie with witty speeches, do you still have your hilarious accent?” and Christoph is like, “Y’Doy! Does my character speak way more formally than everyone else? Does he use really long words that he has to explain and go on long random wordy tangents?” and Quentin is like, “Y’Doy!” It’s about time the Academy recognized Christoph Waltz. I have never seen “Inglourious Basterds.” Contact CALEB MADISON at caleb.madison@yale.edu .

An adequate ode to Jessica Chastain // BY OLIVER PRESTON AND ISAAC STANLEY-BECKER Unknown were the snows of Abbottabad Before good Jessica, about as bad As Samuel L., or J. Christ’s dad, Stormed onto the screen, all pantsuit clad. Jessica, you are the strong woman in consummate form, Come Hillary, come Michelle, look on and adore! This love child of Big’low and the good goddess Sass, Writes boldly in red on our hearts’ shining glass…

Contact CYNTHIA HUA at cynthia.hua@yale.edu. Contact ANDREW WAGNER at andrew.wagner@yale.edu .

(A much-needed digression in couplet form: Jessica’s competitors and their patent inadequacy.) Ms. Watts, just forget it, Chastain’s unstoppable, This awards show will teach you the meaning of impossible. J-Law, we love you, but this Oscar gold lacks silver lining, Looks like behind Jessica you’ll ever be climbing. Emmanuelle, this is AMERICA, so we suggest that you geaux. Who even are you? No seriously, we want to know. Quvenzhané Wallis, your name is weird. Also, you are a child. Jessica Chastain breaks gender binaries. She literally breaks them. She waterboards them. Contact OLIVER PRESTON at oliver.preston@yale.edu . Contact ISAAC STANLEY-BECKER at isaac.stanley-becker@yale.edu .

Becca and Lomax: a dialogue // BY BECCA EDELMAN AND MICHAEL LOMAX Becca Edelman: I’d like to start things off with the thought that “The Master” was inexcusably ignored in this year’s nominations. While it may have been a bit inaccessible, the film was an aesthetic masterpiece, gorgeous from start to finish. And when a film’s three main actors are nominated for an award, doesn’t that say something about directorial skill? I was hoping at least for a nod to Paul Thomas Anderson. Michael Lomax: That Paul Thomas Anderson was robbed of a best picture, best director and best writing nom is simply a travesty. “Master” was a movie with great ambition and astounding scope. What pains me the most is the fact that David O. Russell and his ballyhooed rom-dramedy might walk away with the biggest haul here. BE: Really? I thought “Silver Linings” was a great story, with great performances. But watching the pre-Oscar buzz, I’m not ready to say that it will walk away with too many awards. Ebert described the film as “so good, it could almost be a terrific old classic.” I think “almost” is the key word here — it’s almost

there. For Oscar gold, I’m looking for something with a little more substance, a little more artistry. Which brings me to the real elephant in the room: What in the world has been going on with “Argo”? ML: “Argo” winning the Golden Globe sent a very clear message to this year’s crop of Oscar contenders: There is no favorite. All we can agree on is that “Argo” will not be winning the big one. I mean, it can’t! It’s a fantastic thriller, but it just doesn’t have the “feel” of a movie that could take home cinema’s biggest prize. But what exactly are those specific extra qualities? BE: Some combination of the accessibility of “Argo” and the ambition of “The Master.” “Lincoln” certainly cleans up in the latter category, but I found the film to be a meandering disappointment. Perhaps “Zero Dark Thirty” fits the bill. ML: A “meandering disappointment”? If we’re going to stamp any movie with that label, we might as well slap “ZDT” with it. Not saying it’s a bad film at all, but did it need to be 157

minutes long? Same with “Lincoln.” In fact, all the movies that have been nominated have glaring flaws that could doom them. We’re better off trying to predict the other major awards. Speaking of which, the year’s best director was…? BE: If I ruled the world, it would be Anderson. But, as he isn’t an option, I would have to go with Spielberg. Even if “Lincoln” wasn’t his finest, I think the Academy will give him the award as a lifetime achievement acknowledgement. ML: I don’t disagree with your reasoning. But “Lincoln” just wasn’t all that good, though I’ll admit the performances were quite incredible at times (specifically: Day-Lewis’ and Jones’). So I guess you have to honor a director for that. If not, who else? BE: We’re also forgetting about the most interesting addition to the category: Benh Zeitlin. He’s only 30, “Beasts of the Southern Wild” is his first film and he’s nominated in a category with Steven Spielberg and Ang Lee. I don’t think he’ll win, but if he did that would be pretty exciting. ML: “Beasts” was my favorite film from 2012. It was beau-

tifully incomprehensible and stark in its sentiments, and it’s precisely because of these facts that I don’t think Zeitlin has a chance to win. If anything, Quvenzhané Wallis (aka Hushpuppy) has a better shot of bringing home an Oscar. But we all know the best actress category is coming down to Jessica Chastain and Jennifer Lawrence. Who you got? BE: Lawrence has a well-executed and well-managed career: She already has a nomination for a hit indie under her belt, as well as the lead in a lucrative franchise. And Chastain has made a name for herself working with prestigious directors like Malick and Bigelow. But I think the award will definitely go to Chastain. Lawrence is too young, and her part was too comedic. Then again, there’s also been a lot of hype about Emmanuelle Riva’s performance in “Amour.” ML: Riva’s work was heart-wrenching, but I doubt enough people have seen Michael Haneke’s devastating film. Instead it really does come down to Lawrence and Chastain, and of the two, I would go with Chastain precisely because of the reasons

you’ve mentioned. That doesn’t mean I’m counting out Lawrence, but her time doesn’t have to be now necessarily. At least the men’s side is a bit more clear. I’m penciling in Daniel “All Day, Every Day”-Lewis to grab his record-setting third best actor crown. BE: My true favorite for the category would be Phoenix, but I would bet on Day-Lewis for the win, too. The really interesting race will be for best supporting actor — every actor nominated has already won an Oscar. Waltz won the Golden Globe, but I don’t think the Academy will be quick to give him an award for what some might deem a quite similar role to his turn in “Inglourious Basterds.” As I said about Lawrence, I think that, for De Niro and Arkin, their performances were too light, and Hoffman was great but overshadowed. I think the winner will/ should be Tommy Lee Jones, who was responsible for a large proportion of the few shining moments in “Lincoln.” ML: Tommy Lee deserves it, hands down. But what about best supporting actress? Sally Field as Mary Todd Lincoln

was forgettable and hardly worth any fanfare. Same with Jacki Weaver, Amy Adams and Anne Hathaway (though I’m in love with her, all things considered). As such, I’m staking my claim that Helen Hunt deserves the Oscar. She put herself on the line in “The Sessions,” and she ought to be rewarded. BE: Hathaway may have a shot, too, especially due to all the press she’s gotten for her role. It seems to me that this year’s awards have less obvious winners than there have been in past seasons. I guess we’ll just have to watch and see! ML: You’re right. We will see. For the first time in years, there’s no guessable front-runner. It’s anybody’s game, though I think we can all agree that “Argo” isn’t getting lucky twice. If it does, I’ll eat a brick. Contact BECCA EDELMAN at rebecca.edelman@yale.edu. Contact MICHAEL LOMAX at michael.lomax@yale.edu .

// MICHAEL MCHUGH

S AT U R D AY F E B RUA RY 2 3

TEDXYALE

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Shubert Theater // 10 a.m. Smart people say stuff — def better than seminar.

Dump Kimbo

Will McCullough take note.

S AT U R D AY F E B RUA RY 2 3

“CINDERELLA: THE STORY OF STEPMONSTER”

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Dwight Hall // 11 a.m., 1 p.m.

What does this bitch have to say for herself?

Clip-on earrings

Oh so vintage and oh so flashy.