This WEEKEND

WEEKEND // FRIDAY, DAY, MONTH JANUARY ##, 2011 25, 2013

MEET MEAT.

A personal essay by CHARLIE KELLY. Page 3

FEMALE

B5

FALCON

B9

FAIL

B10

APPLY NOW… OR NOT?

A BIRD’S EYE VIEW

SPIELBERG ON TRAIL

Yuval Ben-David investigates the scholarship for female Yale employees that promises an education but just isn’t on Yale workers’ radars.

Emilie Foyer braves the cold to bring us a feathery photo essay.

Becca Edelman takes issue with Best Picturenominee “Lincoln.” Honest Abe, put on your boxing gloves.

// CREATIVE COMMONS — TOMAS CASTELAZO

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YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

JACOBS

WEEKEND VIEWS

ANYTHING BUT“BEST” // BY JOSHUA JACOBS

Maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe it had something to do with that whole “the-world’sgonna-end-soon-so-YOLO” thing, but for whatever reason, 2012 was an especially strong year in film. Maybe that’s why I’m especially frustrated this year with how America ranks and promotes movies. Just like my eighth-grade yearbook, our system is built on superlatives.

Best this. Best that. Even worst this, worst that, thanks to the Razzie awards, which honor the worst performances of the year (by the way, Razzies, lay off my boy Nic Cage — he’s just doing his own thing).

WHEN IT COMES TO THE ACADEMY’S BEST PICTURE OF THE YEAR, THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE, SO THERE’S ALWAYS GOING TO BE CONTROVERSY. When it comes to the Academy’s best picture of the year, there can only be one, so there’s always going to be controversy.

However, given that we’re in the midst of awards season, I think it’s important to avoid the temptation to evaluate holistically. Alternatively, we can learn to appreciate certain aspects of films which make them memorable, even if we don’t love many of these films overall.

There’s a lot to admire this year. Take writing, for example. “The Dictator” will not make news at the Oscars, but thanks to the talents of Sacha Baron Cohen, it has some brilliant moments. At one point in

the film, dictator Gen. Aladeen has narcissistically changed the words in his country for both “positive” and “negative” to “Aladeen.” A doctor tells a patient, “You are HIV … Aladeen,” masterfully portraying the ridiculousness of the dictatorship. Looking at “Django Unchained,” one scene features Klansmen obsessively debating the craftsmanship of the bags on their heads, with eyeholes cut by one of their wives. This is a staple of Tarantino’s style: He highlights mundane aspects of everyday life within extraordinary historical circumstances.

Take acting. Tom Hardy dominates as Bane in “The Dark Knight Rises.” He doesn’t give one of the year’s best performances, but he conveys an impressive emotional range through the use of his physicality and his eyes, even with most of his face obscured. In “Zero Dark Thirty,” Jessica Chastain uses her blank stares to communicate everything from despondency to unparalleled confidence. In “The Sessions,” playing a paralyzed virgin, John Hawkes displays strong desires and passions through only his voice and facial expressions.

Take technical advancements.

Rhythm & Hues Studios injects into “Life of Pi” a remarkable, dreamy, underwater sequence through which we become submerged in Pi’s most private thoughts. With his collaborators on the set of “Les Misérables,” director Tom Hooper succeeded in shooting most singing parts live on set. With “The Hobbit,” Peter Jackson has sparked a new debate about frame-rate standards in cinema. In “Zero Dark Thirty,” cinematographer Greig Fraser achieves a new level of realism during the night raid by shooting in near-complete darkness and utilizing nightvision camera technologies.

Finally, take new talent. Every year, some Academy Awards categories are considered less important and are disregarded by viewers. My advice: Pay attention to these categories! Some of the most honest, memorable and entertaining films come out of the best animated short film and best live action short film categories. These categories make the Academy Awards accessible to younger filmmakers who are creating shorts as opposed to features. It’s a fantastic way to provide talented rising filmmakers with the opportunity for recognition and, more importantly, the opportunity to share their original work with a much wider audience.

“Logorama,” the 2009 best animated short, is a powerful reflection on commercialism, and it features director David Fincher (“The Social Network,” “Fight Club”) voicing the Pringles Original.

“God of Love,” the 2010 best animated live action short, is one of the best films I’ve seen in a long time. Both of these shorts are under 20 minutes long.

There are a lot of great things happening in the world of cinema, and calling a few movies “the best” should not diminish the advancements that filmmakers have achieved all over the world. Movies are not created with the intention of being ranked, but with the hope of giving viewers something fresh to experience, whether that be a single interesting shot or a startto-finish masterpiece.

Contact JOSHUA JACOBS at joshua.jacobs@yale.edu .

Young adult friction, and a slip into solipsism // BY ERIN VANDERHOOF

The first time I ever heard the word “solipsist,” it was in a young-adult novel I was reading when I was 9 or 10. Because this was a young-adult novel, the word was probably defined in the same sentence. I can’t seem to remember what the book was, or what my response to the concept of solipsism might have been. But I can only imagine that I was honestly pretty attracted to the belief that your own mind was the only one that was real, even if I was imminently aware that couldn’t be true.

When I was a kid, I had the deadly combination of little self-awareness, few inhibitions and even fewer social skills. I was always too loud or boisterous to be beloved by teachers, and too strange to be popular among my peers. Naturally, I read a lot of books. Most of the people I felt I really knew weren’t real as such — only characters in realistic books about preteens. For instance, I probably didn’t know what Yale was until I read “Gossip Girl” and despite the unrealistic plotlines, I identified with Blair Waldorf’s emotional plight. I’d like to think that I at least learned empathy through all of the reading, more that I would have had I passed time reading about say, unicorns.

F R I D AY JA N UA RY 2 5

But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that I spent a little too much time watching interpersonal situations from the outside. Eventually I made some friends, and experienced social interactions, but it was hard for me to shake the feeling that I was invisible. Being a good student certainly had something to do with it. All of my friends were living their real lives, but I was just biding my time until I got out and went far, far away.

If reading fiction assured me that other people did have ontological realness, it forgot to leave me grounded in my own. It’s the very worst sort of solipsism: Everyone else is real but me. I go through the world understanding everyone else’s actions and their consequences, but am always much hazier about the effects of what I do. I make fun of earnest oversharers, yet I’m super-willing to divulge intense personal information on a lark (case in point, this WEEKEND column). I mock people who flirt with purpose, yet I embody my sexual attraction outwardly and aggressively. I give advice all of the time and never ever ever practice what I preach. It’s not that I think the rules don’t apply to me, I just genuinely feel like no one can see me break them.

The best example of this always happens in parties. I’ll be in a room with loud music, where everyone is dancing.

Despite the noise, everyone is talking. I know that everyone is talking, because I am eavesdropping on the conversations and can hear them clearly. Yet, without fail, I will always lean into a friend and say something snarky about someone who is probably within earshot. Who knows how many people hate me for doing this on the constant? But I just can’t stop. I know that I can hear every word said around me, but for some reason I think that my mere existence just bends every law of physics.

Even though I’ve spent most of my life aware that “solipsism” is something to be avoided, I haven’t spent quite enough time actually avoiding it. The “Gossip Girl” books might have motivated me to come to Yale, but if I still run afoul of social graces like I’m Serena van der Woodsen, I probably missed the point. It’s all well and good to understand how people work, but if you can’t act like a person yourself, what have you really learned?

Contact ERIN VANDERHOOF at erin.vanderhoof@yale.edu .

WEEKEND

VANDERHOOF

// THAO DO

Forward! // BY WEEKEND

Winter has arrived. The snow has powdered our Gothic archways, the roads have been salted. We have spied the changing seasons outside our perch at 202 York St.: leaves falling, wolves howling, grad students a-hootin’.

Last semester, a new batch of editors took over the reins of the Yale Daily News, and WEEKEND began to trace its own uncharted course. We were given a vessel with no compass — 12 weekly pages meant to champion the arts and the living.

A NEW YEAR BRINGS A NEW(ER) AND REVAMPED AGENDA. Every day truly became WEEKEND; the mind-meld jokes became a little too real. The four of us made a home out of our fourthfloor den. Thursday doses of gin and tonic, proofing sessions to the tune of Beck, selfindulgent prizes in the form of “Grey’s Anatomy” and BAR pizza.

More importantly, we reported. We informed. We entertained. We beat the A-section’s deadline. We gave you an inside peek at Yale’s drag culture, waxed poetic about Snowbama, taught you how to “seize the night.” We gave you dildos and almond

“THE ISLAND”

Editor’s note : Caroline McCullough has recused herself from this week’s doubletruck.

The content in these two pages was assigned and written before Caroline assumed her role as editor.

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Yale Cabaret // 8 p.m.

“This is your last chance. Speak.”

pussy. And we all had fun doing it.

In just three months, we’ve taken our baby leaps. Strides have been made on the online front — a more consistent stream of video posts and blog series has reinvigorated our Web presence, laying down the foundation for the launch of an independent WEEKEND vertical on the YDN’s main homepage. We have made room in our Views page, in our covers, in our doubletrucks, for more colorful, personal and experimental writing. We dusted off the Twitter account.

A new year brings a new(er) and revamped agenda. It also brings a changing of the guard, so to speak. Our dear Cora, poised and sharp, has had to step down from her post as editor.

In her stead, Caroline McCullough has graciously joined our team. We plan to ride the winds of this fresh burst of energy, and carry ourselves through the cold and the white nights with diligence and a 30-rack.

Looking ahead, our readers can expect MOAR! More digging, more critique, more analysis, more tweets and even more pictures of meat. We want our writers to keep working for the WEEKEND. Around here, our readers become our writers. Give us your tired, your novel ideas, your questions, your pressing concerns yearning to breathe free, to be voiced in our columns.

Preston Tapley Stephenson IV, and the covers of yore plastered on our office walls, stare at us with anticipation and high hopes.

We are ready for this challenge.

“Case in Point”

Consulting interview coming up? Get studying.

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

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WEEKEND COVER

ANIMAL HOUSE // BY CHARLIE KELLY

The afternoon I got locked in the fridge, I shared it with five dead pigs and one dead deer. The pigs came from a local farm, the deer came from a local forest and I came from Yale, where we never see deer and where we only see pigs after they’ve been converted into pulled pork, sauced and served on artisan ciabatta.

I was visiting Southington Beef & Pork, an independent meatcutter in a southern Connecticut town of 39,000. The fridge — a 7-by-12-foot metal box with a concrete floor — was tucked away under the poorly shingled awning of a white house that was, itself, tucked under the looming shadow of Ragged Mountain. It was installed on a former back porch, now a loading dock where a truck can back in and a hoist can lift the goods.

Incidentally, this fridge is not used to store bag lunches or coffee creamer.

I was trying to act like one of the guys. Adam had been talking about a family vacation to Provincetown, Mass., during which he’d seen a man in a dress who, surprisingly, looked exactly like a woman. I replied, “I’ve been to the cape, too!” Everything was going swimmingly. But Jimmy then suggested that we “check out the tits” on a young blonde pedestrian on the other side of the road. I knew I should speak of their greatness, but given her distance, I found myself expressing caution about our ability to make a truly valid assessment, lest we find ourselves up close someday and the breasts fail to meet our aggrandized expectations.

This is when they showed me to the fridge. *** The fridge at Southington Beef & Pork, as it turns out, is kept at 44 degrees Fahrenheit and smells something like cheese and excrement. However, the temperature (quite cold) and the scent (truly heinous) were the least of my concerns.

Now is a good time for me to let you know that I am a vegetarian. I am a very strict vegetarian. I have not eaten meat or fish or meat stocks since I was 13 and likely never will in the future — no, I definitely never will. It is repulsive and horrible. The tendril-stringy-flesh texture of it, the way it effuses its own inner oils all over everything and onto my clothes, its horrible gamey, body-odor smell — all of these things are disgusting. (They are not disgusting “to me.” They are disgusting.) Once, a few months ago, I accidentally ate a French fry that had been defiled by a friend’s gravy. When I sensed the horrible meaty darkness on that fry, I ejected it from my mouth with immense force and with immeasurable fervor onto the center of my plate. I did this without an inkling of shame.

Per this strict vegetarianism,

F R I D AY JA N UA RY 2 5

the thing that I find most troubling about being locked in the fridge is the extraordinarily large number of dead animals in my presence.

Adam and Jimmy, though, have no idea about any of this.

With their beefy man arms, fairly closed minds and deepseated love for the meats, they would harm me — or at least hate me — if they knew. My Ivy League education and my lanky lady body were sufficient to lend them some misgivings about my character. And I really would like them to like me — they’re cool and gritty and have probably garnered more female attention than I will during my entire lifetime. I would like to be welcomed into their fraternal, insular world here, so I must stay strong. I must not tell them I am a “veggie.” I must not show fear. I must not come out of the fridge. I must be courageous on the stage of masculine friendship. It is remarkably like middle school soccer practice, and I hate it. I desire to be back at Yale, where it is okay to be sensitive, complicated and terrified of sharp knives in the hands of strangers. Again, I will not freak out. I will not melt down. I will be brave in the arena.

But the pig penises are still

I HAVE NOT EATEN MEAT OR FISH OR MEAT STOCKS SINCE I WAS 13 AND LIKELY NEVER WILL IN THE FUTURE – NO, I DEFINITELY NEVER WILL. attached and are almost exactly at my eye level, and they are very big, casting shadows on the pigs’ bodies in the faint light. Additionally, I noticed earlier that there is a steady drip of blood coming from the dead deer’s nose. It has collected in a little puddle on the floor — a casual pool of deer blood. But, here in the dark, that little puddle has become exaggerated, and now I believe the whole floor is probably covered in deer blood. My choices are to look up at pig penises or to look down at deer blood — and so I decide that I’ll just gently nudge the door, just a tad, to see if they’ve moved.

They’ve definitely moved, right?

“Guys!”

No reply.

“Guys!” If I just pound on the door a little, there’s no shame in that, right? “Guys! Open the door! Open the door, guys!”

Finally, the little crack of light grows bigger. I have only a second to compose myself. I must be brave in the arena. I step out and bellow a bold, “You fuck-

ers!”

I said it with confidence and in an extra-deep voice. This was a success.

However, no one was there to observe my glorious exit from the fridge, my initiation into the Southington Beef & Pork fraternity. (I am also told that if I had known about the handle, rather than waiting for my spindly arm to accidentally flail into it, I wouldn’t have been “locked in” at all. This salts the wound.) *** Rod is the patriarch here. He is a broad-chested, veiny-nosed, 48-year-old ex-football star with a ruddy complexion and a barreling voice made hoarse by hundreds of Marlboro Reds and many years of screaming at his employees.

“What’s goin’ on, boys?”

Just now, he pours in from the front door, where a few brass bells were set jingling and where a smiling wooden cow, which looks out onto the quiet street, was set swaying. He lumbered through the entire clean, white length of Southington Beef & Pork’s interior, past the stainless steel cutting table that’s now used as a coffee stand and behind the customer counter, where he most prefers to sit, until he arrives at a Christmas-treeshaped rack of stamps. There are two of these at Southington Beef & Pork, and they house, in total, 68 beautiful wooden stamps that have the name of meat cuts etched on their underbellies. “London Broil,” “Veal Cutlets,” “Deer Sausage.” They are soaked in thick, black ink and then pressed against the clean, white parchment paper that’s used for wrapping meat. It’s the final send-off of Southington Beef & Pork’s transactions — a signature.

Rod’s hand is about the size of a good hanger steak (part of a cow’s diaphragm that’s valued for its strong flavor). His hand spins the rack of stamps with the flick of a sausage-y pointer finger. He’s searching for a smaller stamp: “Deer Steaks.” Rather than grasping the handle of the stamp, his hand swallows the entire thing. He barrels toward the side door, where he will go to the fridge and collect some deer steaks to then bring back to the customer counter. Here, he will press the stamp into the thick, black ink and then finally against the clean, white parchment paper.

It is transfixing, the whole thing. Jimmy, Adam and I watch, mesmerized.

“What are you faggots looking at?” Rod yells.

Above the stamps, there hangs a Wrangler smock that Eugene, the shop’s late owner, used to cut in. It’s red and held together with four comically oversized buttons. It’s still on his metal hanger, which the guys have taped to the wall. Two

Palm Sunday crosses are tucked safely in the left chest pocket, where the man’s symbolic cholesterol heart still beats. Over the smock, there is a very hairy stuffed ox that is jestingly wearing a crooked baseball cap.

(Rod, looking at the ox, tells me that he believes firmly that you shouldn’t “take yourself too seriously,” that “you ain’t worth it.”)

When Eugene died in 2009, Rod became the figurehead here.

His career as a meatcutter began at age 12 with a spark of selfish ingenuity. As a child with eight siblings living on a family farm in Berlin, Conn., a young Rod Cooper saw a career in livestock as a way to no longer shovel horseshit. After saving some money, Rod says, his 12-year-old self bought a few pigs that he raised and then slaughtered. He also tells me, with a rare flavor of humility, that this was less of an accomplishment back then, because pigs were “way cheaper 30 years ago.” His modesty ends there. When he speaks of Southington Beef & Pork, it’s with the respect that befits any great fraternity.

“Have you heard of ‘The Jungle’? Is that what you’re trying to write? Do you see any fucking rats here? Do you see any rats?

No? That’s because this isn’t that type of business.”

He’s defensive, in part, because he’s always seen Southington Beef & Pork as a kind of family — Eugene, whose own father purchased the building and opened the shop in the ’20s, treated Rod much like an “adopted son.” Rod is also defensive because ever since he got those first pigs at 12, he felt that meat cutting was his “way out.” By this, Rod might mean that meat cutting was a good way out of Catholic school, which he had “really fucked up.”

He also might mean that it was a pretty good way out of that family farm in Berlin, which seems to have left him with a sour taste in his mouth — the thought causes him to break eye contact whenever mentioned in conversation.

In fact, all three employees share this feeling about Southington Beef & Pork being a pretty good “way out.” Both Adam and Jimmy tell me they had a hard time graduating from high school — they feel grateful to have a place to be. Once, Rod asserted that he himself is like a “father to these two guys.”

They nodded in genuine unison, agreeing. Adam, in particular, seems to have found some real refuge here at SB&P. On a couple of occasions, I’ve called the shop late in the night, trying to leave a voicemail, and been surprised by the sound of his unique voice — chipper and gruff — saying “Southington Beef.” He answers the phone this way out of habit, even at 11 p.m., even long after the shop has closed down. He

YALE PHILHARMONIA: “FROM ROME TO RUSSIA”

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Woolsey Hall // 8 p.m.

Start your weekend with Respighi, Koetsier and Tchaikovsky

SEE MEAT PAGE 8

Texting gloves

Now you can text and email in subzero temperatures.

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YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

WEEKEND THEATER

AN ‘ISLAND’ NEAR AND FAR // BY JENNIFER GERSTEN

Sometimes closeness is the best reminder of distance. At the beginning of Yale Cabaret’s “The Island,” Athol Fugard’s Tony Award-winning 1973 apartheid-era drama, the political prisoner Winston (Winston Duke DRA ’13) douses himself with a bucket of water, and then lies heaving on the wooden stage. He is near enough that the rivulets trickling down his forehead seem tidal in proportion, and yet the loudness of his keening prevents us from forgetting that his character is beyond touching, beyond our help.

The production is a study in proximity. “The Island” takes place on Robben Island, a political prison in South Africa for violators of apartheid law. The action, confined to a small wooden stage around which the audience sits, is at once tangible — if you extend your arm, you might brush the actors’ skin — and tantalizingly beyond reach.

John (Paul Pryce DRA ’13) is attempting to convince a less-than-enthusiastic Winston, his cellmate, to play Antigone in a two-man rendition of the play for the other inmates. Although their preparations bring them closer, news that John’s island sentence has been reduced from 10 years to three months threatens to wrench them apart. Despite the characters’ physical nearness to each other, they are suddenly a world removed, separated not only by inches but the leagues between freedom and confinement.

There are only two characters in “The Island,” but the actors’ eyes are practically a third and fourth. To stare into Mr. Pryce’s eyes, ravished by hope from the news of his sentence reduction, is to be completely captivated.

The intellectual John, portrayed with earnest fervor by Mr. Pryce, insists that the reluctant Winston grasp “Antigone”’s significance and relevance to their plight.

Just as Antigone is imprisoned for acting in accordance with her honor, so, too, are the island prisoners held captive for their beliefs — we learn later that Winston is jailed for burning his passbook before a police officer.

But Winston is not so easily convinced.

In the masterful hands of Mr. Duke, he is someone who has lost his ideals in the plodding reality of the island. “I know why I am here, and it is history, not legends. … This is child’s play,” he says derisively of “Antigone.” Mr. Duke’s Winston is both a source of comic relief and a cold reminder that, in the abyss of his confinement, his bumbling humor is all he has left.

At the conclusion of the play, their friendship on the mend, they stage “Antigone,” with John as King Creon and the once-reluctant Winston playing the eponymous heroine. Wearing a braided straw wig for hair, crudely crafted necklace and long skirt, the statuesque Mr. Duke nevertheless projects a palpable masculinity.

// HENRY EHRENBERG

The actors tell an intense tale through their eyes.

In one of the play’s most compelling scenes, John lifts a copper cup from the stage floor, brings it tenderly to his ear, and speaks into it as though it were a telephone. He recounts the details of his days at the prison, growing somber when he asks to pass on news to his wife. Finally, he puts down the cup, twirling it helplessly between his fingers, but continues to speak into the ether: “Tell her … it’s getting cold, and the worst is yet to come.” Given the desperate truth of his acting, that he is only pretending comes as a surprise.

Winston will spend the rest of his life on the island, but his gaze contains a defiant universe. That is what this staging of “The Island” does so well — it cramps its miniscule stage with the boundless feeling of its actors. Foreign is their predicament, but familiar is the human condition.

“The Island” runs Jan. 24–26 at the Yale Cabaret, 8 p.m. on Thursday and Friday and 11 p.m. on Saturday. Student tickets are $10.

Contact JENNIFER GERSTEN at jennifer.gersten@yale.edu .

Ain’t never gonna rain // BY PATRICE BOWMAN A hitchhiker (Klara Wojtkowska GRD ’13) thumbs for a ride on the highway. A heroin addict (Lila Ann Millberry Dodge GRD ’14) shoots up, screams profanities and coos with pleasure. A male soldier (Cosima Cabrera ’14) raves about killing men, women and children in Iraq.

All of this, within the first seven minutes.

What is “the river don’t flow by itself no more”? It consists of a continuous stream of stories from different people who — for better or for worse — interact with an unspecified part of the Mexican-American border. In the midst of these wandering humans is Coyote (Ari Fernandez ’15), a guardian who waits for the mythical Desert Prophets to save the land.

I admit that the play’s nonsensical start led me to think that I was about to watch one of those shows that is so caught up in its artsy-ness that it forgets to say anything meaningful. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that wasn’t the case here. Wojtkowska, also the director and playwright, is a large reason for why this potential mess makes sense. She constructs the dialogue with spoken-word sensibility; her characters shout onomatopoeia, conjure vivid stories, ramble with their world-weary philosophy and mix real life with symbolism. At first, all of this craziness will go through your ears like boiling hot water.

But soon you’ll find that each word works to create a layered commentary on humans and the borders — both external and internal — that we make.

The strip of highway that dominates the stage is the barrier that separates countries and people. In the course of the play, actors playing multiple characters — a common theatrical device made into a thematic one here — demonstrate the ineffectiveness of borders. For example, Ronald Apuzzo’s character becomes, among many things, a

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border patrol officer and a giggling schizophrenic. And Luz Lopez ’16 jumps the gender line by playing a male ex-Mormon who has sex with strippers and smuggles immigrants. Bit by bit, the personal borders dissolve until the characters’ stories collapse into collective loneliness, fearfulness and insanity.

The play’s bizarreness easily lends itself to ironic humor, even though the humor is more successful at highlighting human absurdities than producing laughter. In one instance, the murderous soldier insists that “hitchhiking is illegal in this country” and that he “is a law-abiding citizen.”

The oddness translates into set pieces that aren’t extravagant, but rather simple and effective in conjuring up a Mexican-American border marked by bareness and a history of violence. Vacant shoes nearly blot out the river — blue chalk outlines drawn onto the stage — as if the disappeared and the dead haunt the water itself.

In the midst of this surreal world, Fernandez stands out as Coyote. She may not be overly expressive, but her optimistic eyes and her attempts to connect

// JENNIFER CHEUNG

Two characters interact on the stage’s highway.

with people through her lollipop, her colorful chalk and her smile really make her endearing. It’s sad, then, when we notice how she witnesses more and more of the human madness and pain. “the river don’t flow by itself no more” is a play of effective mixtures: of the strange and the familiar, of the political and the personal. Within the screaming, random musical numbers and simple characters lies an understanding of human yearning. It is also, as Wojtkowska states in the program and manifesto, an anti-play.

But even as it avoids coherent narration or even a satisfactory conclusion in its crackpot space, it never forgets the turmoil of the real world. It becomes that turmoil.

Contact PATRICE BOWMAN at patrice.bowman@yale.edu .

Rallying with “The Altruists” // BY VANESSA YUAN

Oftentimes we are driven by ideals that we don’t believe in.

We all know who we want to be and what we want to stand for, but we might forget why we wanted these things in the first place. “The Altruists” is a confrontation and a parody of this superficial way of living.

The play tells the story of young New Yorkers who devote themselves to liberalism and would probably write the word on their foreheads if they weren’t too drunk to do it. They chant, they rally for the sake of rallying and they smoke a lot of pot (sometimes while chanting and rallying). But of course, they need to do all of these things.

They must drink and debate.

Then, they must wake up with hangovers and protest for the Hispanic gays, the black lesbians and the rest of the disenfranchised. They must scream and shout against AIDS cutbacks, school cutbacks, arms funding, and this and that — I couldn’t keep track of their reasons for protest and sometimes they couldn’t remember them either.

“The Altruists” is a strong and playful performance achieved through the notable set designs of Autumn Von Plinsky ’13. The show opens with three separate apartments. Each apartment has a window with a skyline that reminds us that we are in the Big Apple. However, when it comes to this show, the city and its noise are mostly hushed. The skylines are painted in a fuzzy and monotone style, directing the focus instead on the stories that are about to unfold.

The characters have lost themselves in their radical ideals and seem to fit right in at the rallies on the streets, but their phony ways are exposed behind closed doors. The rest of the set includes only a couple of chairs facing the audience. Overall, this aptly understated design, with minimal sound effects, creates an environment that is reminiscent of improv comedy shows.

Wilfredo Ramos’s ’15 directorial choices create a cohesive story: the characters freeze like mannequins as the play moves from one apartment to another. Then, as we focus on the conversations between characters, we see all the different storylines come together.

Sydney (Leyla Levi ’16) is a successful soap opera actress who leads a glamorous life. She has a designer apartment, a car, expensive clothing, loads of fan mail, and also a freeloading, radical liberal boyfriend named Ethan (Kenneth Fang ’14). He uses her money on booze and stink bombs, hosts parties in her apartment and introduces her as “just an actress.” But she loves

“STONES IN HIS POCKETS”

“THE ALTRUISTS” IS A COMPARATIVE EXAMINATION OF OUR TWO SELVES: THE REAL AND THE IDEAL. Finally, Cybil (Natalie Tai ’13) is a lesbian who frequently dallies with other men. When confronted with this contradiction by her peers, she says that she is, in fact, a lesbian, but only “politically.” Cybil further embodies the protest-crazy liberal and carries out an ongoing gag throughout the play as the funny, scatterbrained friend.

However, Tai’s parody of a hypocritical liberal is also the most honest and shaming.

The mantra of these youngsters is “Fuck the pigs,” but they fail to realize that they have been a bit piggish themselves, only disguised as altruists.

“The Altruists” is a comparative examination of our two selves: the real and the ideal.

The show will be playing through Jan. 28 at the OffBroadway Theater.

Contact VANESSA YUAN at vanessa.yuan@yale.edu .

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Yale Repertory Theatre // 8 p.m.

Things get real when an American film crew arrives in Ireland.

him, she thinks. It’s no wonder that Sydney is constantly on the verge of a melodramatic monologue. Levi skillfully plays this neurotic girlfriend with her refined fidgeting, whiny voice and shrill cries. You will laugh, but you will also sympathize with her as she interacts with Ethan, of whom she has become tired over time. His sex-crazed behavior and condescending attitude are important aspects of his character, but they are overplayed. Perhaps an honest hug sans groping or a line in a less despairing tone would make Ethan a bit less dull as a character.

Ronald (Daniel Dangaran ’15) is a gay social worker looking for love or just another person he can save from suffering. He has devoted so much of his life to helping others that he has become a bit obsessed with changing lives (for good, of course). With a convincingly calm and endearing demeanor, Dangaran’s character is pivotal in the show’s moments of chaos.

David Gore ’15 plays Lance, Ronald’s new lover, who is undecided about what he wants.

Gore’s believably casual and cool character is a strong foil to boyish Ronald.

Temple Run 2.

Goodbye temple in the jungle, hello temple in the sky.

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

PAGE B5

WEEKEND SCHOOLED

FUNDING EDUCATION, FINDING AN AUDIENCE // BY YUVAL BEN-DAVID

From her perch in the Calhoun dining hall, card-swiper Jessika Booker plays mother hen to Yale students not much younger than she is. She teases one boy about his mustache; she recommends hot chocolate to the flock coming in from the cold. And underneath her seat, she stores a shelled, white thing — this mother hen’s equivalent to a nested egg.

It’s a textbook.

“I’m a full-time mom, full-time employee, full-time student,” Jessika chirped. At 23, this Gateway Community College student pays her own way through school. She whips out her schoolwork during pauses — burps — in the hubbub of the dining hall where she happens to be employed.

Or if you want to look at it another way: She’s a Yale employee who happens to go to Gateway.

Student or worker, which is she?

A pedantic question, perhaps. But to Yale employees officially classed in the Clerical & Technical, Service & Maintenance and Managerial & Professional divisions and weighing enrollment at a local or online college, the answer can seem obvious: Your job comes first. This is especially true because the only way many can pay for school is by taking advantage of Yale’s tuition reimbursements program, an opportunity available to workers as long as they remain on Yale’s payroll for the duration of their course of study.

And things get complicated.

Full-time employees who have been here for five or more years pocket a 100 percent reimbursement (not to exceed $4,600 a year).

Meanwhile, full-time employees with less than five years’ service claim 75 percent reimbursement (and up to $2,300 a year).

The provisos, unwinding, could dizzy you. Yale’s Human Resources Office writes on its website that all employees seeking tuition reimbursements must receive a passing grade of C- or better to claim the promised benefit. But, back in Calhoun, Booker was under the impression that she needed at least a B average.

Other dining hall staffers tried to disabuse me of the notion that Yale would pay for them to study whatever the hell they want — now, why would Yale do that, they asked, assuming limits on the degree programs they could pursue.

They were wrong, but not entirely: Yale does not dictate what employees should study, but does offer a separate subsidy for professional development (a consequence of local union bargaining). For workers weighing education costs, the two programs are easy to confuse.

Rather than getting caught up in the obscure nuances of benefits, many employees seem largely nonchalant about them. At most, they are slightly peeved at what

they perceive as irrelevant minutiae — if they’re even aware of all the differences in benefits, which none of the 10 interviewed for this piece were.

K.C Mills, the operations manager at Silliman College, is cheerfully, if sporadically, pursuing a bachelor’s degree in political science from the University of New Haven. Mills, who earlier in her life completed some course work at another UNH (the University of New Hampshire), showed me her online reimbursement portal and explained that she plugs in her information, and that’s that.

There’s no point in haggling with a computer, and for Mills, who has had her entire tuition covered by Yale, no need. She’s content.

WHILE STUDENTS ARE SCRAMBLING FOR GRANTS AND FELLOWSHIPS, IT’S ALSO APPLICATION SEASON FOR SOME FEMALE STAFF ON CAMPUS. Calm like Mills’ is the norm, but that’s until employees’ plans hit a roadblock. Imagine the dilemma: They’ve used up their reimbursement funds. They’re not exactly full-time, and don’t qualify for sufficient reimbursement.

T h e y

d o n ’ t know reimbursement will cover a degree in art history.

That’s where the Yale Women’s Organization (YUWO) scholarships might come in handy.

For a woman. *** While students are scrambling for grants and fellowships, it’s also application season for some female staff on campus. If Yale won’t fully reimburse their course tuition, the littleknown but wellfunded YUWO might, provided they apply by March 1. Decisions are reported by April 30.

When Working Mother magazine

cited Yale as one of the 100 best (read: working mother-friendly) companies in the nation, it specifically mentioned the YUWO scholarships, along with the University’s tuition reimbursement program. But while a national magazine caught wind of the opportunity, many of its potential beneficiaries have not.

At five residential college dining halls, female pantry workers interviewed said they had never heard of the YUWO scholarships. One refused to volunteer her name, lest we report her to her manager for even considering the option. Some thought we were hawking wares.

“Tell me more about this scholarship?” they said, leaning in.

Felicia Tencza, the current scholarships coordinator for YUWO, says the organization sends flyers to supervisors and department managers, and that information about the scholarships appears in the newsletter “Working at Yale.”

And Trudy Bollier, a YUWO member and scholarships coordinator for 2010–’11, says some candidates to the scholarship have applied at their supervisor’s urging.

But based on those dining hall conversations, one can suspect that certain supervisors — maybe a sampling error’s amount — are loath to accommodate an employee prioritizing edu-

cation over work.

When asked whether she would now consider applying for the scholarships after having been informed about it, one dining hall worker, the same one who withheld her name, laughed us off.

“I don’t have time anyway, because my schedule’s all messed up.”

cheese event, a holiday party and a May luncheon.

But the holiday party serves a noble purpose: fundraising for the scholarships. The guests of honor at that May luncheon are scholarship recipients.

They’re not the patronizing old birds we’d like to imagine, instead the YUWO’s leaders prove to be a classy bunch sans snobbery.

YUWO WANTS TO HELP — BUT IT CAN ONLY DO SO MUCH.

*** YUWO wants to help — but it can only do so much.

Nowadays, depending on the generosity of donors, YUWO awards around seven annual scholarships — one of them in honor of Kay Ross — that each provide between $1,000 and $3,000.

According to its website, the organization has awarded 310 scholarships, totaling some $316,675.

Money for the scholarships comes entirely from donations, mostly from the over 300 members of the Women’s Organization and their friends, Bollier says.

Those donations are made on top of membership fees.

So, given the state of the economy, the organization’s resource pool has predictably shrunk. In lockstep, the number of awards has steadily declined in the past few years. In 2008, 12 scholarships were granted. In 2009, nine. In 2010 and 2011, seven.

Last year, only five scholarships were awarded.

“What we’ve tried to do is move to larger awards as opposed to something under $1,000, because it’s a little more meaningful,” current coordinator Tencza says. But she emphasizes that the number and size of the scholarships depend on “who applies and what their financial need is.”

In a followup email, Tencza wrote that, in order to reduce the number of inquiries from ineligible candidates, YUWO “strives to sharpen our narrative description of eligibility.”

“It seems to be working. …

Inquiries are reduced, not eliminated,” she wrote.

The application process for the scholarship is not especially arduous. Aside from basic (mostly financial) information, it asks for a one-page statement of purpose and two letters of recommendation. It is hard to imagine that many degree-seeking Yale employees don’t qualify.

Of course, first they need to be aware of its existence.

Michelle Gary, the card-swiper at Branford dining hall, was the last potentially eligible Yale employee interviewed for this piece. And her verdict on the scholarship was clear: “We should know these things.”

One might think the Yale University Women’s Organization is out of touch with the lives of the women it’s trying to help.

But its scholarships were conceived out of empathy, not sympathy. Kay Ross, the founder of the scholarships, whose husband, Bollier says, was an administrator in the sciences, had her own college studies interrupted before her marriage. In 1972, she awarded a first scholarship of $100.

Since then, the YUWO — now a club of local female Yale affiliates — has been awarding scholarships to women employees or the wives of Yale employees wishing to start or resume an associate’s or bachelor’s degree, or to pursue a degree from another certificate-granting program (say, for teaching).

It’s sincerely looking to help women who had their studies interrupted

?

before they comp l e te d t h e i r higher education.

Yes, their name might make one think of a prissy, whitegloved society luncheon — this is Yale, after all. And, as if on cue, Bollier told me that the group’s three highlights — in addition to the interest groups, like book, bridge and music clubs, advertised in their brochure — are a wine-and-

Contact YUVAL BEN-DAVID at yuval.ben-david@yale.edu .

// ELISE WILCOX

F R I D AY JA N UA RY 2 5

CLASSICS COLLOQUIUM

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Phelps Hall // 12 p.m.

What does it mean to be original? Find out here.

Vitamin C

It’s like Adderall for your immune system.

PAGE B6

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

PAGE B7

WEEKEND RUSHES

Yo KKG! Rushing you was a lot like going to a safety-school admissions talk. Between discussions of diversity, most girls knew they wouldn’t be spending their next four years with you.

I, however, felt right at home. I’ve always been on the fence about sororities, and my friends are giving me so much shit for rushing at all. I know they’re scared of rejection, but I’ve felt at home thanks to your owl-and-key love and plethora of applied math majors.

At those other sorority events, I was acutely aware of the lack of interest in how big my p-set group was and felt like I was walking through a beauty pageant.

More than just my ethnicity made me feel like a fish out of water.

I just really love making brownies with my sisters and going to bed at 11 p.m.

Kappa, I gotta crush on you.

What up, Pi Phi???

I’m a fun-loving girl looking to meet similar people! I played lacrosse through high school and am really missing that team bond. With Pi Phi, I hope to regain that lurvee connection, a sisterhood for life.

I want more of a traditional sorority feel, where girls attend all of the events and are just, like, happy to be there! I know I will be! I also love dressing up, which I hear is your specialty. I will commit 100 percent to actualizing the themes. I even already have neon bras for Highlight.

Just like the girls in Pi Phi, boys have always loved me, but mostly because I’m approachable.

No one has ever found me too beautiful to even bother talking to me. Shoutout to EGH and all my Buckley girls! PPL!

WJ\

QQK

Sorority Selection // BY ANON RUSHEE Dear Theta, After a week-and-a-half-long juice cleanse, I am confident in saying that I should be America’s Next Top — I mean, your newest sister. I’ve, like, totally been putting my finger over my mouth for photos since before I even knew there was a Greek alphabet.

Friends would describe me as a “girl’s girl.” I always put my friends before boys, but that’s because I love making my boyfriend wait. Someone told me that guys like that other slutty sorority better, but girls would rather be in Theta. And I’m a girl. Get it?

Also, I already have a sister in real life, so I know what it means to treat someone like your sister. I already know that hooking up with the same person causes drama, so your sister should never find out.

Please accept my friends too! I swear they’re hot.

Peace. Love. Thetarade.

R

ush is this week. Break out those Hunters and those airs and get to an event ready to schmooze. We decided to give you a kids a tase of what happens AFTER those seemingly friendly sisters meet you for the first time — and what your potential applications will look like. So we found a rushee, one who’d like to remain anonymous, and just let ‘er go. Caution: this is literally THE most important decision, so werq it. Don’t wanna be instagramming with the wrong sistaz a couple of months down the line.

QIO S AT U R D AY JA N UA RY 2 6

“CLOUD NINE”

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Iseman Theater // 2 p.m. and 8 p.m.

Satire, a biddy called Betty and discussions of colonialism, gender, sexuality, race and family. Could this be more tailored to our interests?

Heeled boots

Show the hail-encrusted streets that you just don’t care.

S AT U R D AY JA N UA RY 2 6

“THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE” & “BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID”

Whitney Humanities Center Auditorium // 6:30 p.m.

Just some casual American classics.

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS: Being in the section with the hot TF But actually.

PAGE B6

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

PAGE B7

WEEKEND RUSHES

Yo KKG! Rushing you was a lot like going to a safety-school admissions talk. Between discussions of diversity, most girls knew they wouldn’t be spending their next four years with you.

I, however, felt right at home. I’ve always been on the fence about sororities, and my friends are giving me so much shit for rushing at all. I know they’re scared of rejection, but I’ve felt at home thanks to your owl-and-key love and plethora of applied math majors.

At those other sorority events, I was acutely aware of the lack of interest in how big my p-set group was and felt like I was walking through a beauty pageant.

More than just my ethnicity made me feel like a fish out of water.

I just really love making brownies with my sisters and going to bed at 11 p.m.

Kappa, I gotta crush on you.

What up, Pi Phi???

I’m a fun-loving girl looking to meet similar people! I played lacrosse through high school and am really missing that team bond. With Pi Phi, I hope to regain that lurvee connection, a sisterhood for life.

I want more of a traditional sorority feel, where girls attend all of the events and are just, like, happy to be there! I know I will be! I also love dressing up, which I hear is your specialty. I will commit 100 percent to actualizing the themes. I even already have neon bras for Highlight.

Just like the girls in Pi Phi, boys have always loved me, but mostly because I’m approachable.

No one has ever found me too beautiful to even bother talking to me. Shoutout to EGH and all my Buckley girls! PPL!

WJ\

QQK

Sorority Selection // BY ANON RUSHEE Dear Theta, After a week-and-a-half-long juice cleanse, I am confident in saying that I should be America’s Next Top — I mean, your newest sister. I’ve, like, totally been putting my finger over my mouth for photos since before I even knew there was a Greek alphabet.

Friends would describe me as a “girl’s girl.” I always put my friends before boys, but that’s because I love making my boyfriend wait. Someone told me that guys like that other slutty sorority better, but girls would rather be in Theta. And I’m a girl. Get it?

Also, I already have a sister in real life, so I know what it means to treat someone like your sister. I already know that hooking up with the same person causes drama, so your sister should never find out.

Please accept my friends too! I swear they’re hot.

Peace. Love. Thetarade.

R

ush is this week. Break out those Hunters and those airs and get to an event ready to schmooze. We decided to give you a kids a tase of what happens AFTER those seemingly friendly sisters meet you for the first time — and what your potential applications will look like. So we found a rushee, one who’d like to remain anonymous, and just let ‘er go. Caution: this is literally THE most important decision, so werq it. Don’t wanna be instagramming with the wrong sistaz a couple of months down the line.

QIO S AT U R D AY JA N UA RY 2 6

“CLOUD NINE”

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Iseman Theater // 2 p.m. and 8 p.m.

Satire, a biddy called Betty and discussions of colonialism, gender, sexuality, race and family. Could this be more tailored to our interests?

Heeled boots

Show the hail-encrusted streets that you just don’t care.

S AT U R D AY JA N UA RY 2 6

“THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE” & “BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID”

Whitney Humanities Center Auditorium // 6:30 p.m.

Just some casual American classics.

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS: Being in the section with the hot TF But actually.

PAGE B8

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

WEEKEND COVER

BUTCHERY BROTHERHOOD MEAT FROM PAGE B3 stays late alone, drinking and reading, waiting for rides. He says it’s “like a home away from home.” *** Like any respectable and cohesive brotherhood, Southington Beef & Pork has to maintain some air of exclusivity. I had to get stuck in the fridge before being inducted. Adam and Jimmy had to serve as apprentices before they could reap the full benefits of the SB&P brotherhood. There’s a unique frontier attitude here that identifies everyone who’s not on the inside of it as distinctly on the outside — there’s a special familiarity with the house that you either have or you lack.

The only clients that SB&P ever cuts for are small-time farmers and local sport hunters, both of who consume their meat themselves and all of who know Rod & Co. personally. They’re insiders — a part of the business. In fact, the first day I spent time at Southington Beef & Pork, I had difficulty sorting out who worked there and who was just loitering — everyone wearing flannel and old Carhartts, swearing and standing for hours in the small room of the shop, sometimes cutting, but always swearing. For the insiders, this is

more of a home than a business.

The price list is sitting on the floor behind the counter. No one ever pays it any attention.

And then — as the great blight over SB&P — there are the outsiders.

“The government’s just really fucked up.” This is Rod Cooper’s predominant political belief. It’s the only thing he says when I ask him to summarize SB&P’s touchy relationship with the IRS, a relationship that has caused the business to occasionally use the name of its sister establishment, A&R Livestock.

It’s a political stance that makes a lot of sense given the shop’s business model, its self-sufficient clientele; the libertarian, meat-loving, Ron Swansons of the world just don’t jive too fast with bureaucratic giants like the USDA. This rift, however, only adds to the power of the fraternity: it’s us against them.

A typical Cooper line of critique goes like this: “I gotta pay some motherfucker to come pick up my gut pile that would turn to dirt, but if I put nuclear waste in a 55-gallon drum, I’m fucking great? That’s fucked up.” While I am not sure that had he put nuclear waste in a 55-gallon drum he would be “fucking great” in the government’s eyes, I am certain that the feeling in this statement is real. The idea that someone might be trying to take what’s his, to ruin what he’s

created, is terrifying to Rod. He has explained to me, at length, the issues he takes with the leniency granted in preparing meat to religious standards — exceptions that he can’t be granted by the rigid meat production laws. A cow to be made into Halal meat is laid, alive, with its feet to the east and bled out through a slit in its throat.

This usually causes the beast to release some type of guttural noise, some primal deep growl type sound, he tells me. The USDA, however, will not let Rod hit a “goddamn pig with a stick” if it’s being hard to manage in the corral before being slaughtered.

“What’s with that? Isn’t that fucked up?”

THE FIRST DAY I SPENT TIME AT SB&P, I HAD DIFFICULTY SORTING OUT WHO WORKED THERE AND WHO WAS JUST LOITERING. He’s spent so long creating this thing — 26 years in total at SB&P. So, he’s a little confused as to how these outsiders, who were never initiated, who don’t know its story, who have

spent no time in that fridge, are allowed to fuck with it so hugely.

And, honestly, despite my love of government regulation and my hatred of meat, I feel a part of this place, I believe in its small business mission and I think the USDA should probably back the fuck off. *** The iconic British soap opera “Coronation Street,” which celebrated its 52nd anniversary in December and has aired 7,908 episodes to date, provides an ideal image of what SB&P could have been, if it hadn’t been meddled with so goddamn much.

Elliott & Sons Butchers, which employs four improbably and intensely close male characters, acts as the show’s manly safe haven. It’s a place where the woes of outside, womenfilled life disappear and real talk — let’s call it “man therapy” — takes place. There is a deep trust between the shop’s employees, something uncommon in the world of the soap. Fred Eliot, the shop’s owner, is an unremitting source of unbounded man wisdom.

Rod, still perched on that stool under Eugene, is telling me about how hard he fought to keep SB&P alive after his hero’s death, about how the shop has been consistently degraded by the evil forces of government

regulation. (There’s a photo of a defecating cow over his left shoulder that seems to capture his fear about the government’s control over SB&P. It’s captioned, “Vegetarians: My food shits on your food.”)

Rod starts to get fired up.

“Chinatown? ‘Swamp People’? Butchers get a bad rap for all of that. The government hates us for all of that.” This gets him up. He’s up on his feet now — pacing, clomping.

By now, it’s the end of the day, so he naturally moves toward the smaller slicer, used for making cold cuts, and he reaches behind it. He grabs a bottle of Tropicana cranberry juice and some Svedka. A couple of big swigs.

No cup.

Rod could have been a pro ball player, he says. He got a full scholarship to Rutgers and all the pro teams were scouting him during high school, he tells me, but, anyway, he hurt his knees.

He chose to be a meatcutter, he chose to spend his life at Southington Beef & Pork out of passion — and because you shouldn’t ever take yourself too seriously.

And so he felt like playing ball or writing poetry, another interest, could have been a bit “much, you know?” He says there’s little that makes him happier than getting a whole animal in here and watching peoples’ faces as he “cuts it up in front of ’em.”

// CREATIVE COMMONS – PHOTOTRAM

*** As the evening progresses, Rod gets drunker. When he remembers that dead deer, though, with the blood still dripping from its nose, he does seem happy, proud.

“I’m good. So tomorrow, for example, you’ll see. I’ll be hungover. I’ll probably go out for real tonight, but when you see me tomorrow, I’ll be here at 5, straight from the titty bar, or something, and you’ll want to stay out of my way, but I’ll cut that thing up, no problem.”

At this, Adam and Jimmy chuckle, but only a little. They meekly smile. They make a bit of uncomfortable eye contact and Adam looks down, slowly, to his feet. Jimmy catches my gaze.

Then, his ears flush red.

This is where Adam and Jimmy and I have found ourselves. These were the cards we were dealt — I actually fought to stake out my place at SB&P after finding it. And so any misgivings get quickly glossed over. Even at Southington Beef & Pork, the fraternity tucked safely in a clean, white house that is tucked safely under the looming shadow of Ragged Mountain, the fact of the matter is you may not fit in, but you can try to, and you can try to understand.

Contact CHARLIE KELLY at charlie.kelly@yale.edu .

// CREATIVE COMMONS – BRITT REINTS

S AT U R D AY JA N UA RY 2 6

“THE RIVER DON’T FLOW BY ITSELF NO MORE” Nick Chapel, Trumbull College // 8 p.m.

A student-written, imagination-driven look at the Mexican-American border. We promise we’ll cut down on our hyphens if you promise you’ll go see it!

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS: Dropping one of the things you signed up for at the beginning of the semester You probably overdid it in your haste – save yourself now!

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

PAGE B9

WEEKEND ORNITHOLOGIZES

CROUCHING YALIE, HIDDEN BIRDIE // BY EMILIE FOYER

O

n Wednesday, bird watchers flocked — see what I did there?

— to the Peabody Museum despite the frigid weather to participate in guided walks around Science Hill. These tours are organized by the museum’s education office in coordination with the Yale Office of Sustainability. EMILIE FOYER went, took pictures, froze, thawed and hopefully identified these birds correctly. Who knew having a friend who had taken “Ornithology” would come in handy?

Sadly, there was no sign of the peregrine falcon that has decided to take residence on Kline Biology Tower.

1.

2.

3.

Look at these baby birds chillin’ in their cr1bz.

1. Mourning dove, 2. Mockingbird, 3. Captain Jack Sparrow, 4. White-collared Sparrow

S AT U R D AY JAU NA RY 2 6

4.

“BLACK IS THE COLOR”

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Calhoun dining hall // 9:30 p.m.

The debut performance of an undergrad musical troupe is always cause for celebration — and this one has WEEKEND stars Maya Averbuch ’16 and Jake Orbison ’16 in it!

Mohair sweaters.

Fuzzy ‘n’ warm.

PAGE B10

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

WEEKEND COLUMNS

AN EPIC FAIL: STEVEN SPIELBERG’S “LINCOLN” I would not hesitate to classify Steven Spielberg’s newest film, “Lincoln,” as epic: It is epic in its length (verging on three hours), its dramatic acting (Daniel DayLewis does not even attempt to hide his Oscar greed), its portrayal of a moment that some might deem the most important in America’s history (the passing of the 13th Amendment). There is no doubt, then, that if in describing “Lincoln” as epic, one means that it is “heroic or grand in scale or character,” it quite certainly fits the bill. But does this “epic” nature necessitate the film’s caliber as a cinematic piece? Does the fact that “Lincoln” is an epic make it “epic” in the word’s colloquial connotation? With 12 Academy Award nominations under its belt, including those for best picture, best director and best adapted screenplay, “Lincoln” seems to have won the opinion of the Academy. A. O. Scott, the head film critic for The New York Times, too praised “Lincoln,” deeming it the second-best movie of the year, eclipsed only by “Beasts of the Southern Wild.” Yet, the many times I checked my watch during the first hour of “Lincoln” prompts me to wonder just how captivating of a film it really is.

Although the film showcases a beautiful aesthetic permeated by a few strong performances, ultimately, I posit that the film’s flat storyline, distant characters and lack of emotional upheaval leave

BECCA EDELMAN A CASE FOR CINEMA the film cinematically vapid, generating a bland history lesson unqualified to win the modern film industry’s most prestigious award.

A first problem with “Lincoln” is its lack of emotional development. Although I lauded the film’s resolution — I don’t think that I will spoil anyone’s viewing experience by stating that the amendment passes — my satisfaction stemmed not from the plot or characters of the prior two and a half hours, but rather my preconceived notions. I entered the theater, as I believe did most viewers, with a strong aversion to slavery and a positive image of President Lincoln as an intelligent, charismatic leader. And, not surprisingly, at the end of the film I was still ardently antislavery and believed Lincoln to be a pretty good guy. Therefore, I was glad to see the abolition of slavery and the victory of one of our country’s greatest heroes. Yet these emotions were pulled by pre-existing ideals rather than anything the film brought to the table.

This lack of emotional pull derives mostly from a second problem of the film: an inability to create lovable or evolving characters. Mary (Sally Field), Lincoln’s wife, is an awful, self-cen-

tered, whining woman. Seward (David Strathairn), Lincoln’s secretary of state, drifts in and out of the film without enough consistency to sustain viewer interest. And weakest of all was Lincoln’s young son, Tad (Gulliver McGrath), whose sugary sweet innocence proved more aggravating than endearing.

This is not to say that the film does not showcase strong performances, for it certainly does.

Rather, it is not the actors, but the characters themselves who fail. Most importantly, Lincoln himself, although played with a determined intensity by Lewis, remains cold and closed off to the audience. Scott, in his review, claims that the beauty of Lincoln’s character portrayal lies in the audience’s chance to watch him decide on the issue of the amendment. I would argue, rather, that the audience watches Lincoln decided, rather than in the act of deciding — a state quite different, and far less active or interesting than the situation that Scott praises. If the viewer senses any personal struggle within Lincoln, it is simply over politics and the seeming incompetence surrounding him. A moral struggle, questioning or active decisionmaking would have made for a much deeper, more consuming character.

These problems stem from a larger one: the problem of adaptation. I wholeheartedly agree with my fellow film critic Michael

Predicting the Unpredictable (or at least tyring): “The Signal and the Noise” Like many on the political left, I spent the final days of the 2012 election compulsively checking Nate Silver’s blog, FiveThirtyEight, now hosted on the website of The New York Times. It was an obsession. A way to calm myself, reassure myself everything was going to be alright.

And I wasn’t alone — one in three clicks on the Times’ website in the week before the election was to FiveThirtyEight.

And we were vindicated! Silver’s predictions turned out to call all 50 states accurately, as well as nearly every Senate election.

(What the hell, Heidi Heitkamp?)

Just as Barack Obama’s future was secured, Nate Silver’s celebrity was hoisted to an even higher plane of greatness. The wunderkind statistician who rose from the obscurity of the blogosphere by calling 49 out of 50 states correctly in 2008 proved to his critics that it was not a one-time fluke, but rather the ultimate triumph of cold, hard data.

Someone had to get this guy a book deal!

So Penguin Publishing did.

Mere days after the conclusion of the 2008 election, Silver signed a book contract for a rumored advance of almost $1 million.

According to Silver’s book, “I was approached by a number of publishers who wanted to capitalize on the success of books such as ‘Moneyball’ and ‘Freakonomics’ that told the story of nerds conquering the world.” Four years later, the result hit shelves: “The Signal and the Noise: Why So Many Predictions Fail — But Some Don’t.”

The title of “The Signal and the Noise” refers to the common problem for statisticians of distinguishing the relevant piece of data — the signal — from the distracting ephemera — the noise. In the book, Silver seeks to answer why some predictions are better than others, as well as how we can improve predictions as a whole.

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SCOTT STERN READING BETWEEN THE LINES To do this, Silver examines a vast array of prediction-driven issues, including the Great Recession, baseball scouting, political punditry, global warming, meteorology, chess, poker, earthquake science, the stock market, the spread of infectious diseases, terrorism and financial bubbles.

Silver’s thesis appears to center on a fundamental conflict in statistics — the tension between Bayesian and Frequentist analyses.

I still don’t entirely understand the distinction, but it appears from Silver’s book that the main contrast is over the definition of probability itself: Frequentists believe that probability is objective, while Bayesians believe that probability is subjective. Silver comes down firmly on the side of the Bayesians.

SILVER’S THESIS APPEARS TO CENTER ON A FUNDAMENTAL CONFLICT IN STATISTICS “The Signal and the Noise” is at its most interesting when Silver discusses topics with which he has personal experience. When discussing the statistics involved in online poker, Silver reminisces about his own days as a reasonably successful professional poker player. When discussing baseball, Silver dwells on his early success in mathematizing baseball scouting. When discussing politics, Silver gives us a little of the backstory behind the FiveThirtyEight blog.

But it seems to me that there is far too little context given — ironic, as Silver’s entire thesis is about the importance of “the underlying context.” Silver tells us fascinating tidbits about meteorology (it’s far more accurate than we believe) and earthquakes (we really can’t predict them at all) and chess (world champion Garry Kasparov only lost to the computer Deep Blue because he essentially psyched himself out), but he doesn’t tell us too much about his own life or FiveThirtyEight. As an avid reader of FiveThirtyEight, I bought the book for that reason!

Furthermore, “The Signal and the Noise” is not the easiest read.

While the topics it discusses are fascinating, I feel that you sometimes need a higher understanding of statistics to really get a lot out of the book. Take this sentence, which came out of nowhere: “Thus, economists debate whether consumer confidence is a leading or lagging indicator, and the answer may be contingent on the point in the business cycle the economy finds itself at.” Without really defining any of the terms, and then immediately moving on, Silver left me a little lost.

“The Signal and the Noise” is an excellent attempt to teach the reader how to judge predictions. Most of the book, reviewers have noted, are about issues that modern statistics cannot predict — in the stock market, in predicting climate change, in the housing bubble, in predicting natural disasters. Perhaps this is why “The Signal and the Noise” is somewhat unsatisfying to me.

In spite of Silver’s decent attempt, the book remains largely inaccessible to me. Furthermore, it’s not all that relevant. Sure, now I know not to trust anyone yelling about an earthquake, but I don’t know that much more about Nate Silver.

ANNUAL FAMILY DAY

Contact SCOTT STERN at scott.stern@yale.edu .

Yale University Art Gallery // 1 p.m.

Relive your childhood with arts and crafts and storytelling.

Lomax ’14 in his opinion that, in order to succeed, an adaptation must differentiate itself from its original. Such applies particularly in the case of the adaptation of a great work: an adaptation may simply fix a poor original, but the better the original, the more the copy must differ in order to achieve its own success. For a pertinent example, one might look at Baz Luhrmann’s new “Gatsby” film. Many have criticized its trailers for their indulgent use of Luhrmann style (in the vein of “Moulin Rouge!” or “Romeo + Juliet”) and modern rap music, lamenting the film’s seeming departure from the book. Yet, if Luhrmann attempted to create a literal version of Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby,” hailed as one of America’s best literary works, could he do anything but flounder in comparison? By adding an element to the story, by reflecting the nouveau riche of “Gatsby” through excess, Luhrmann explicitly tells his audience that his is not a direct translation. It is an adaptation — it is Luhrmann’s.

Although Spielberg may not be adapting a timeless literary classic, he is certainly adapting for the screen a classic moment in American history. And the aforementioned “epic” style does pay homage to the importance of such a moment. Unfortunately, “Lincoln” has added no extra element to the story of the passing of the 13th Amendment — no

intriguing story arch, no relatable characters, no modern perspective — and therefore leaves us with a textbook, a dry reenactment rather than an enjoyable feature film.

Scott defends “Lincoln”’s value with a proclamation that it is a story about slavery. In clothing his story in such grandeur, Spielberg seems to claim to in fact present “the” story of slavery’s abolition, rather than “a” story of slavery’s abolition. And here lies yet a fourth problem with “Lincoln”: Where are the slaves? With slavery depicted in only a few, quick allusions to the difficult lives of young black children in the South, the film skips out on the true problems of slavery to present the audience with slavery not as an issue of human rights, but rather as an important struggle for the white man’s conscience. Far from claiming this to be Spielberg’s view of the issue, I have no doubt that this was how it was presented to Congress at the time. Yet, this is an adaptation.

A major benefit of a depiction in the 21st century of a struggle in the mid-19th century would be to add a modern perspective. This modern perspective could have been the ingredient that “Lincoln” was missing, an element that could have elevated the film from a mere transcription of history to a great adaptation.

In a video interview with David Carr, A. O. Scott attempts to defend his view of “Lincoln.”

// CREATIVE COMMONS

Lincoln is p-i-s-s-e-d at Becca.

Watch out!

Yet, he comes off as meek, inarticulate and wavering — it almost makes one wonder if Spielberg is a close personal friend or if Scott has some back-end deal with DreamWorks. He harps on “how tall [Lincoln] was” and the “use of voice” to personify the historical image of Lincoln. Yes, these aspects were intriguing, and most definitely contribute to historical accuracy and the film’s grand scale. But beyond these details, Scott’s responses consist of nothing more than a sixthgrader’s whining and defensive retorts. He seems to have nothing to say about “Lincoln” rather than to admire its epicness.

Spielberg, a historical, innovative and talented director, has created a picture that screams of its own epic nature. Yet, does this a best picture make? I would argue no, and hope that the Academy will too.

Contact BECCA EDELMAN at rebecca.edelman@yale.edu .

A Sense of an Ending GC: The human condition, they say, is terminal; so are most television series.

The twists and turns of network logic being what they are, it’s rare that a show gets to go out on its own terms — with dignity.

We cobble together conclusions, legacies and closure as best we can, and only “Days of Our Lives” endures.

JJ Abrams’ “Fringe,” which we’ve criticized here before for its struggles with long-term storytelling, recently enjoyed the rare opportunity to plot out a timely demise, and the sword of Damocles did the program an enormous service. With its own end in sight from the outset of its 13-episode fifth season, “Fringe” ended with remarkable poise.

My hopes are lower for “Last Resort” and “How I Met Your Mother,” two exemplars of the ways bad luck can break. “Last Resort” ends after an abortive first season that precluded much depth. “How I Met Your Mother” is slated to be stretched grotesquely thin over an unnecessary ninth season. How do — how can — shows like these do right by their fans?

SN: Some of them have the luck of a built-in ending. “How I Met Your Mother” did, once. But prolonging the wait before we meet the mother has broken its brand. The show had generated so much warmth and devotion in its audience because of the way it planted inside jokes and subplots, all of which — we were promised — would be explained later. Every time one of these devices returned, it felt like a little reward.

Now it seems less and less likely that any of those clues we were given in episodes past, from the yellow umbrella to the bass guitar, meant anything at all.

But now I’m just depressing myself. Let’s talk some more about dignified deaths. “Six Feet Under,” I think, boasts one of the best series finales of all time: death was written into its DNA. In retrospect — and perhaps due to some really canny marketing on HBO’s part — it feels as though the show had, all along, been preparing its audience for its demise. Spending time with a family-run funeral home will do that to you.

The last episode did its job by tying up the loose ends and allowing the audience one last glimpse of each character they had become invested in. But the finale was so much more sweeping than that, leaving the exact paths of its characters unarticulated, but their ultimate fates absolutely certain: Everybody dies. The final shot of Claire’s green hearse brings on a tidal wave of loss and acceptance and, yes, catharsis.

“Community” did that too, in a way. While not the end of the series, the finale of the third season marked creator and visionary Dan Harmon’s departure. Its parting shot was a perfect, bittersweet salute to the Abeds in all of us: the words #sixseasonsandamovie. We got a lot less than that, but somehow we accept it.

GC: “Community” … where have all the good men gone, and where are all the gods? Let’s zoom

SOPHIA NGUYEN AND GRAYSON CLARY SPLIT/SCREEN out then. Are these endings different because they’re ours? Are they meaningfully different than endings that have come before? I know “M*A*S*H” and “St. Elsewhere” ended too, and that viewers felt those endings, but I still feel the finales of our shows as a sea change.

A whole crop of epochal programs is being reaped; “Fringe” takes with it the last gasps (“Revolution” excepted) of the Abrams-inspired sci-fi cycle, and NBC’s tottering lineup of critically beloved, now-little-watched comedies is toppling. I don’t think it’s wholly myopic to see this as more than structural churn, part of the normal life cycle of the medium. I hear we’re in a Golden Age of Television; sure, but some of its paragons are going, going, gone, squeezed out by programs that everyone watches, even though — like Pauline Kael — I don’t know anyone who likes them.

Put otherwise: “Parks and Recreation” loses out to “Two and a Half Men,” and advertising dollars are snowing down on “NCIS” instead of more adventurous efforts like “Last Resort.” Our generation — that coveted demo — is retreating to Hulu and Netflix, and everybody in the tristate area is using the same HBOGo account.

So what I’m saying is, can we keep expecting “good” television if half the audience won’t watch, and the other half would rather not pay?

SN: It’s times like these when capitalism seems particularly, peculiarly cruel, and I flee screaming and crying to the BBC, which has been putting on some shockingly great shortrun shows. But while I definitely share your anxiety, I think you conveniently forget the new shows you’ve liked — say, “New Girl,” which while not of the same SNL-nurtured ilk as “30 Rock” and “Parks and Recreation,” has its own very strong voice. There are also any number of solid shows which are consistently good, but which have flown relatively under the radar and are just not to your particular taste — see “Parenthood” or even “Scandal.”

And even from here, it’s possible to see some rays of light coming over the horizon. It might be helpful to see the also-rans of the season — “Last Resort,” “Ben and Kate” — not just as failures, but as the flawed-but-promising sketches of new writers who will move on to bigger and better things.

Don’t get too elegiac yet, old man.

Contact SOPHIA NGUYEN and GRAYSON CLARY at sophia.nguyen@yale.edu and grayson.clary@yale.edu .

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS: Figuring out next year’s housing That smelly suitemate has got to go.

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

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WEEKEND ARTS

ROPING IN THE NEW AND THE OLD AT THE YCBA // BY ANDREW KOENIG

It’s an open secret that the Yale Center for British Art doesn’t get as much love or publicity as its betterknown sibling, the Yale University Art Gallery. While YUAG draws many with its famous Van Goghs and Louis Kahn’s spare architecture, the YCBA sometimes stands across the street, lonely and half-deserted. The grand reopening of YUAG certainly hasn’t remedied this inequitable state of affairs. But the scruffy, scraggly little brother of the YUAG still has plenty of gems for the museum junkie who goes looking for them. Among these is the YCBA’s most recent exhibit, “Reflections on Constable’s Cloud Studies: Paintings by Mark Leonard.” This exhibition juxtaposes paintings by the revered English landscapist with modern, geometrical interpretations by the living curator, restorer and artist Mark Leonard, who painted this series just last year.

John Constable’s charm is very much like the YCBA’s. He is a painter of warmth and finesse whose understated artwork does not cry out for attention but nevertheless merits it. Although the exhibition focuses largely on Constable’s near-abstract cloud studies, the artist is largely known as a painter of pastoral scenes set in an idyllic English countryside.

Landscapes such as “Stratford Mill,” on display in the exhibit, attest to Constable’s love of pastoral scenes, depicting a picturesque rural life. Yet the exhibit highlights Constable’s preoccupation not just with shepherds and scythes, but also with gray, ominous skies. “Extensive Landscape with Grey Clouds,” a canvas which might be better called a cloudscape, features a meager green strip of land overwhelmed by cloudy Suffolk skies and bears the stamp of Constable’s

holistic vision of landscape painting.

IF YOU SQUINT A LITTLE BIT AT THE CONSTABLE ORIGINALS, IT SEEMS LIKE THERE DOES EXIST A GEOMETRIC ESSENCE THAT LEONARD HAS SUCCESSFULLY EXTRACTED. Enter Mark Leonard, who has the unique opportunity to paint a series of “reflections” on Constable’s work.

Unlike Constable’s paintings, these are clearly of an abstract nature, relying heavily on basic geometric shapes.

These paintings create an intriguing conversation between a more traditional artist of the past and modern abstract artist. Leonard strikes a tenuous balance between interpretation and independent painting in these works. This balance seems to align perfectly with his career, which consists of curating, restoring artworks and painting, though not necessarily in that order.

Like Leonard’s career, his series is a mélange of interpretation and innovation. On first glance, Leonard’s paintings, such as “Constable Study VII,”

seem a far cry from John Constable’s own paintings. Where is the puffiness, the airiness and gloominess of Constable’s clouds? Instead of providing us with reiterations of Constable’s paintings, Leonard tries to extract the marrow — color, shape and composition. Throughout Leonard’s paintings loom lunar circles of gray, pink and yellow. The other unifying feature of his work is a rope of color that runs through each of his paintings.

The ropes are a clever invention — the viewer runs his eye along them, and the result is a hypnotizing effect of images that are both shallow and deep. This effect is taken to an even greater extreme in “Constable Study IX,” in which a black and a white cir-

cle interlock to create a strange combination of flatness and fullness. It is through this method that Leonard seeks to replicate the infinite complexity of Constable’s finely wrought clouds. Rather than quoting directly from Constable’s profusion of feathery clouds, he reproduces Constable’s depth and near-abstraction through the use of geometrical trompes-d’oeil.

Constable’s grayish-pinkish plumes of paint are reduced to the geometrical motifs of circles and ropes. If you squint a little bit at the Constable originals, it seems like there does exist a geometric essence that Leonard has successfully extracted.

This exhibition sheds light on two aspects of Constable’s painting that

are often overlooked — their careful composition and shape. Upon seeing these paintings, it’s easy to take the pieces for nothing other than pretty swirls of color. Leonard corrects this misconception by both distilling the essence of Constable’s painting and adding his own voice to the dialogue.

Though its sibling across the street has the perks of a makeover, the YCBA has still got it. Through the juxtaposition of the modern and tradition in exhibitions like this one, the YCBA brings its collection to life.

Contact ANDREW KOENIG at andrew.koenig@yale.edu .

// HENRY EHRENBERG

Mark Leonard distills the essence of Constable in his ongoing YCBA exhibit.

A Stroll through Fascism: “Selling War” at Sterling // BY SCOTT STERN

A mildly racist rendering of a black man leads the way. He is dressed in military garb, wearing a red cap set at a jaunty angle. He is leaning forward almost to the point of toppling over, his bayonet driving him forward. Behind him is a soaring eagle, a life-sized, rather heavylooking cannon clutched in its claws. The man holds a rippling yellow flag, a large “I” stamped upon it.

This scene is from a postcard hanging in a display case in Sterling Library. It is a piece of propaganda made by the Italian government sometime between 1935 and 1941.

This postcard and several other artifacts make up an exhibit at Sterling entitled “Selling War: The Use of Propaganda in the Italian Conquest and Occupation of Ethiopia, 1935–1941.”

When you walk into the main

S U N D AY JA N UA RY 27

foyer of Sterling, head up to the desk, make a right, and walk past the entrance to the stacks, continuing down the sun-dappled corridor.

There, in five display cases on the left side of the wall, is “Selling War.” The exhibit is set in roughly chronological order, beginning with early images meant to excite an Italian populace before the invasion commenced. It continues to sample propagandistic images — mostly postcards, but also books, photos, beautiful old maps and one incredibly disturbing pillowcase, depicting idyllic children prematurely headed to battle. The objects span Italy’s entire military invasion of Ethiopia.

The images used fear, patriotism and the nuclear family to enflame and enrapture the public. Symbols of the splendors of ancient Rome, pictures of handsome soldiers and

swooning ladies, clear-eyed children and sinister Africans adorn the propaganda. One picture shows a father, bayonet in hand, his ador-

THE EXHIBIT IS PERHAPS TOO INCONSPICUOUS FOR ITS OWN GOOD. YET THAT IS ALSO WHY IT IS WORTH SEEING. able son by his side, dressed in his very own little military uniform.

Another postcard displays the profile of a shirtless soldier, muscular

and bloodied, marching into battle. Yet another is of an eagle gruesomely clawing a lion’s eyes out.

The exhibit — small and out-ofthe-way though it may be — beautifully displays the range of propaganda, beginning before the occupation and ending just after it. The images remain consistent in their message — Aryan men (along with some African allies) will triumph over the cunning Ethiopian — but the range of their appeals is fascinating (from display sections labeled “Getting Ready” to “Atrocities”). Furthermore, the exhibit is scattered with helpful historical information and pictures of Mussolini, Haile Selassie and others, giving the viewer a complete sense of the context of the propaganda.

To be sure, the exhibit is not perfect. Many of the images have no

YALE VS. PENN GYMNASTICS MEET

Contact SCOTT STERN at scott.stern@yale.edu .

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

John Lee Amphitheater // 1:00 p.m.

Go bend it, flip it and reverse it.

captions or labels, making comprehension somewhat difficult. And some of the captions that are present are strikingly biased in their language (“Fascists brainwashed children”). Finally, the exhibit is perhaps too inconspicuous for its own good. Yet that is also why it is worth seeing. Quick and concise, something one could easily absorb in 15 minutes, “Selling War” is a great way to experience a piece of history on your way out of the library.

“Selling War” will be on display from Dec. 13 to April 19 in the exhibits corridor of Sterling Memorial Library.

Summer Session

Take your classes in nonfreezing weather.

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YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

WEEKEND BACKSTAGE

// JOHN AROUTIOUNIAN

The Yale Law School Wine Society: they came, they drank, they conquered // BY JOHN AROUTIOUNIAN

T

he Yale Law School Wine Society, formed in 2012, is fresh off a win on Tuesday evening at the French Consulate in New York. There, the students took part in the U.S. Intercollegiate Bordeaux tasting championship, where they defeated teams from rival Ivies including Harvard, Columbia and the University of Pennsylvania. The U.S. champions will head

to Bordeaux this summer to face off against teams from around the world, and they say that the hundreds of bottles of wine they’re sure to consume between now and then will prepare them well to compete against European and Asian rivals. WEEKEND sat down with the victorious wine tasters to discuss their origins, their friendship and their strategy for future success.

Q: Were you friends before the competition?

Or did the Wine Society really bring you together?

Tyce Walters LAW ’13: I was told about the competition by Lisa Granik LAW ’93 ’97, an expert wine taster at Yale Law, who suggested we put a team together and prepare for the event. In fact, the Wine Society really got going for the purpose of competing in the wine-tasting competitions.

DW: We were united by the adventure of getting to know new wines and each other.

From this process, there’s been a tremendous amount of camaraderie.

WL: In fact, I didn’t particularly like Dan before this.

DW: Our success is built upon Webb’s Southern charm — he talked a woman into giving us three bottles of Bordeaux for free — along with Tyce’s leadership, Laura’s intellect and our shared dream of going to Bordeaux.

WL: And Dan’s vision!

Q: The Yale Law Wine Society is a relatively new organization. How did it come into being? How did you find each other and discover you were all wine connoisseurs?

Webb Lyons LAW ’14: Tyce is the person who deserves all the credit. He had worked in the wine industry before, and when Lisa contacted him, he sent out an email to the Yale Law Listserv letting everyone know about the chance to compete. One day last fall, a bunch of people came to Tyce’s apartment to participate in the wine tasting he had orchestrated. It really was Tyce’s leadership that put this together.

Soon after, the team was formed. We really got going this fall. This year, we decided to prepare more fully and to perform better.

Over the course of the fall, we did a number of tastings. We did our best to learn as much about the Bordeaux region as we could, and really tried to bring our knowledge and the tasting process together.

Daniel Weisfield SOM ’14: We are the Mighty Ducks of wine. We were a scrappy band of ragamuffins under the leadership of one connoisseur, Tyce. He plucked us from the halls of Yale Law School and taught us everything we know about wine.

Q: Has the organization grown?

WL: When we had the tastings over the fall, six or eight people would come with some consistency, but the core group has been the same: Tyce, Laura Fermino LAW ’14, Dan and Webb. It was Tyce, Laura and I who went to the competition in New York. Now, we’ve also brought in Joe Pomianowski LAW ’15.

Q: The process of learning wine tasting seems so inaccessible, obscure and difficult.

How does one study to be a wine taster?

TW: You read books about wine, and you consume close to 600 bottles. It’s like anything else — you do it, you practice and after a while it stops tasting just like wine and starts tasting like a particular region or a particular grape. You start to experience the subtleties. It’s also a lot of fun just to drink, because, well, it’s wine.

Q: Wine tasting obviously involves more than one sense. What goes through your mind as you’re swishing the wine in your mouth?

WL: It’s a pretty complicated process.

When you put the glass to your nose and try it, you discern a lot. In your mouth, you take what you got in the nose and round it out. Everything we taste is Bordeaux, so they’re all going to be similar. You have to be cognizant of the nuances to get it right — it can be a pretty stressful process.

Q: How did you nail the vintage in round one of reds? I hear that was one of the toughest calls to make.

TW: For that one, we all agreed it must have been a cool year when it was produced, because we detected a lot of green, vegetal flavors. That ultimately meant it was a 2007.

WL: In a hot year, the fruit is very ripe.

That particular wine didn’t have the ripe flavor. So we thought, “Which vintages in the last 10 or 15 years came from cold production seasons?” That’s when we narrowed it down to 2004 or 2007. We then turned to the team leader, Tyce, who felt that ’07 was the right answer. We were the only team to go with ’07, and it was right.

row morning, the studying begins again.

We’ve got a competition to win.

Q: What are your expectations for Bordeaux this summer? Can you give us details about how you’re preparing?

TW: The competition at the French Consulate rewarded us with a threecourse dinner, and that was great because we met a few other people involved in the process, including the judges. After that, there was another type of celebration — we all had wine in New York with a big wine producer.

TW: Nick Jackson, who was a winetasting competitor at Cambridge, is coaching us, along with Lisa. Nick is frequently sitting down with us, and we’re all drinking a lot of wine to make sure we’re in as good form as all the teams coming from Europe and Asia to compete.

WL: I don’t know about you, but I’m from Alabama, and I’m a huge college football fan. The coach at the University of Alabama, Nick Saban, has a policy where the 24 hours after a win are dedicated to celebrating, and then it’s back to work.

We’ve extended that a little. We’ve given ourselves 72 hours to celebrate, and we’re still in celebration mode. But tomor-

“

Q: Is law School getting in the way?

DW: There’s no way we’d let law school interfere with our wine tasting.

Q: How do you reward yourself after a win?

Q: Does the Wine Society ever hold public events?

TW: We’ve put together a few events for the Law School, but we haven’t done anything for the greater Yale community yet.

Perhaps we’ll look into it.

Contact JOHN AROUTIOUNIAN at john.aroutiounian@yale.edu .

THERE’S NO WAY WE’D LET LAW SCHOOL INTERFERE WITH OUR WINE TASTING.

“

Q: What was the inspiration for entering the U.S. Intercollegiate Bordeaux tasting championship?