This WEEKEND

WEEKEND // FRIDAY, MARCH 29, 2013

#SWUGNATION

BY RAISA BRUNER

DANCE

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DATE

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DRAMA

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THE KEEPER OF THE DANCING GATES

THE FINAL RENDEZVOUS

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE

Dance studies at Yale are in full swing, and Emily Coates ’06 GRD ’11 is choreographing its survival.

The Blindest Date is at an end. Mourn the death of our social experiment by reading its last installment.

Think you know what you’re getting in the Yale Rep’s production of “Hamlet”? Think again. Check out our review.

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YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, MARCH 29, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

FALLONE

S.A.D.: SEASONALLY AFFECTED DAVID?

ORBISON

JOSEPH-GOTEINER

WEEKEND VIEWS

// BY DAVID JOSEPH-GOTEINER This is the second time I bought a pair of shoes and regretted it.

The first time was in middle school.

I showed up to the first day of basketball tryouts in a pair of beat-up blue Vans.

Little did I know that Nike Air Force 1s and Jordans were the prerequisite to play ball. As a new seventh-grader — I had just moved back to the Bay Area and switched schools — I was psychologically and physically ill-prepared for that first day. I was the white boy who wasn’t “fitted” and had no “shoe game.” It didn’t help that I couldn’t shoot a free throw.

Tired of being bullied for being uncool, I dragged my mom with me to buy my first pair of Jordans: red 14s.

They were the most expensive shoes I had ever owned.

Did they help ease the transition into my new school, dunk like Mike or make the friends I so craved?

The short answer is no, so I gave up on fitting in.

The next year, I made varsity like all of the eighth-graders. But more importantly, my classmates began to like me for the quirky, annoying kid that I couldn’t help being.

When I arrived on campus this fall, I shopped around for my first pair of boots. As a transfer student from Southern California, the perils of the East Coast winter took on mythological proportions. People made it seem like frostbite was a natural occurrence. This time, I was convinced the boots were necessary. Yet when I received that thin, long, yellow slip for the package containing my Sorel boots, I already knew deep down that the East Coast winter wouldn’t live up to the hype I had fabricated. Even when I count my post-Nemo escapades, I wore my only pair of “East Coast shoes” a handful of times. My perception of how I would adjust to Yale was as skewed as my image of a New Haven winter.

What my Sorel boots couldn’t have prepared me for was the shitty weather inside me.

I can’t pinpoint when I started to feel depressed.

It may have been when the temperature first dropped below San Diego’s average of 70, and I had to throw my sandals and shorts

// BY JAKE ORBISON

under my twin bed. More likely, it was seeing the leaves outside my window turn brown and then be ripped to shreds by the December winds that tipped off my consciousness.

But it wasn’t the winter’s fault that I was feeling down and out. As much as I’d like to blame it on the weather, the roots of my melancholy lay elsewhere. I missed the life I left in San Diego (there were thoughts of sandy, warm beaches); some of my classes seemed dull, and many of my peers disengaged; I was lingering at the tail end of an unhealthy relationship. I put so much thought into preparing for the weather — buying boots, warm socks, thick padded jacket and let’s not forget the long underwear — as a coping mechanism for dealing with the emotional strain of transferring. I overestimated both the snow, and my ability to transition into Yale.

The changing of the seasons wields an odd power over some, perhaps many, maybe even most of our campus. On the surface, there are the observable differences between fall and winter: the lack of people lounging on Cross Campus in tanks and salmon-colored shorts, the piles of snow strewn on the sides of York Street which make it difficult to jaywalk, and the vast emptiness of those competing frozen yogurt places.

But the more important, and insidious, changes are happening internally and most often unseen.

Many hibernate and find themselves unable or uninterested in getting out of bed. Mood lights flicker on, and antidepressants are prescribed.

Comments like “the weather sucks” are uttered frequently, often in place of “I’m feeling crummy.”

I complained about the weather too, but I was kidding myself. The snow and the cold were some of the least painful elements I braved this winter. While I feel a bit silly for buying boots better suited for the Alaskan tundra, there’s no shame in my game. You know what, I don’t regret buying those Jordans anymore, either! If I had to buy a pair of shoes for every formative experience, then I’d be content with a closet full of shoes I never wear.

Luckily, I have all the shoes I need for this spring. // KAREN TIAN

Jake’s Classroom Bestiary

The dynamics of class discussion are one thing I think I will stop trying to understand. They are so strangely central to our academic upbringing, but I am certain I’ll never know what changes when we walk through the threshold of the classroom.

At this point, I realize that what follows could not be relatable, if the class discussions that I am having are unique, which I doubt (or at least, hope not). If this is the case, I am going to give a brief play-by-play of most of the seminars I have ever been in, with lots of wonderful exceptions.

First, I approach the classroom. If I see my instructor on the way to the class that (s)he is about to lead, I either stop or run because we have nothing to talk about except gene expression, and we both know a fake smile when we see one. So I arrive either slightly before or slightly after the professor. Without the professor present, usually a brief friendly interchange with classmates, who know the deal, follows. “Hello [insert collective term for the class, ranging from nothing to ‘class’ on a scale of colloquialness, which rather vaguely corresponds with the age of the professor, the youngest and oldest being most casual].” Then a rhetorical question is asked, followed by the grumbled complicity of an answer. The rest of the class discourse is material-based, but there are a few staples like class archetypes and ubiquitous comment segues. (Oh, and some professors end classes with anecdotes about time or something.)

Most seminars develop a social structure. Aside from the teacher, there is one individual who enjoys participating above all others — for clarity and evasion of gender pronoun messes, let’s call this person the leviathan. Some leviathans are benevolent, respectful of the safety and mutuality of the seminar environment, and they always eagerly listen to classmates; others are assholes, who suck. These section assholes have, for them, the best gems of insight, which are compromised by interlocution. But this is well-docu-

Contact DAVID JOSEPH-GOTEINER at david.joseph-goteiner@yale.edu .

mented. On the other side of the table, there are those who speak bimonthly, or annually, as the case may have it. And in between there are a whole slew of niches: the yea-sayer, the nay-sayer, the scientific lens, the modern lens, the nihilist, the person who is two comments behind the discussion and just keeps saying things that were said … the list continues.

The way these roles interact is also, at times, formulaic. Ever heard this: “Oh, just jumping off of Sydney’s point.” It looks like we embed in one another these tipping-of-the-top-hat transitions, the subtext of which reads (in a old-timey voice), “I thank you for your input and would like very much to amend it.” We fire these intellectual warning shots, “I just found it pretty interesting/cool/ weird that I was able to have such a different reading.”

Social awkwardness doesn’t explain why this type of thing happens. It’s not like when you meet a new person you instantly formalize your language. Is it that we are scared into this polite, academic persona? I know your margin reads, “Well, this thing here is bullshit.” (Again, I might be fearfully alone in this, and I’m certainly not exempt from it.) If you are so gregarious and think such thoughts, what makes you scared to talk to a small group of peers you know in this slanted, academically intimate way? You aren’t mean or a genius, so just let everyone else think his or her thoughts.

I remember people maneuvering the exact same idiosyncrasies ever since middle school. Classroom etiquette has definitely seeped into the fabric of how I engage with things and people. I even remember getting laughed at when I raised my hand at a family dinner. A pitfall of not knowing why I do something, I guess, is not knowing what effect it has.

As the disclaimer reads, I have no idea why my classroom experiences have unfolded like this, why raising my hand in class has made me so strange.

Contact JAKE ORBISON at james.orbison@yale.edu .

Home // BY EMMA FALLONE Ever since I stepped through the door, a heavy suitcase in each hand, I’ve had the feeling that this house is no longer my home. Sitting on the rug, I look around my room, taking in the pale lavender walls, the tall bookshelf crammed tight with novels, the bed with its handmade quilt. It is only just evening, and yet the house is already beginning to quiet down, preparing for night. I can hear a rhythmic swishclank coming from the kitchen, as my mother dries dishes and puts them away, the soft hiss of my brother’s shower upstairs, and my father’s intermittent throat-clearing and chairscraping as he works late in his basement office.

Everything about this environment is so familiar, so normal — it is what I had experienced nearly every night for the first 18 years of my life. I can recreate every detail perfectly from memory, and indeed I had done so many times over the past six months, as I struggled with homesickness during my first year of college. I had

F R I D AY MARCH 29

never been away from home for such a long time before, and so as a break approached, I could hardly wait to return to the place that I knew so well. The little Tudor house at 5936 N. Berkeley Blvd., Whitefish Bay, Wisconsin. Home. Home was safe, comforting, familiar. Even if I wasn’t sure if I belonged at college, I knew I would always belong at home.

But now I am home. And I don’t feel like I belong. Somehow, it is no longer mine.

Something has changed. My room itself is no different — all of my possessions are exactly as I had left them, though perhaps a bit dustier — but something has changed.

I cannot stop the phrase from repeating in my mind. This is no longer my home. *** As the days pass, the feeling becomes even more pronounced. I cannot adapt to the peaceful rhythm that had for so long been my daily routine. In the afternoons, I wander aimlessly through the house, picking up books and putting them

down, unable to settle. I am now surprised to find my family in bed by 10 o’clock, while I am wide-awake for hours more, sitting alone in the darkness and silence. We are not even in the same time zone.

Somehow, I don’t fit here anymore. Something about college, about living away for the first time in my life, has changed me. This is no longer my home. But then where do I belong? Where is my home now?

The ache at the pit of my stomach grows, spreading through my body, clogging my throat. I spend the days on the couch, huddled in a blanket, overwhelmed by a feeling that I cannot entirely comprehend.

“Emma?”

My mother sits down next to me. I can see the concern in her eyes. She doesn’t say anything about how I’ve been acting, doesn’t try to make me explain the feelings that even I don’t understand.

“Let’s bake some scones.” *** One of my most vivid mem-

ories from my childhood is the aroma of freshly baked scones.

Whenever it was a special day — a holiday, a birthday, the first day of school — I could always count on waking up to find a plate of scones cooling on the kitchen counter. At Christmastime, Mom would make batches upon batches to give to our friends and neighbors; we would go through flour by the pound. My younger brother always joked that she should start a bakery: “Fallone’s Scones.” The baking process had entranced me when I was young, and as soon as I was able to hold a spoon I began to help, learning the old family recipes from my mother, just as my grandmother had taught her.

Yet that was a part of my other life, my childhood, when this house was still my home.

I hesitate. Things are different now. I am not the same girl that had rejoiced in the act of carefully measuring cups of flour years ago.

Still, something compels me to stand and follow my mother to the kitchen. We work

ANNUAL FRESHMAN BEER TASTING

always be here; we can make them every time you come back to this home.”

Come back to this home. The phrasing seems awkward.

My mother continues, “And then, someday many years from now, you’ll be baking them with your daughter, in your own home.”

In your own home.

And then I understand.

“Home” is not singular, monolithic, unchanging. It is plural. There can be many homes, many places to belong. The addition of a new one does not detract from those in the past.

It is so very simple, and yet overwhelming, a shift in perspective almost visceral in its impact. Suddenly I feel older, as if I have gained years’ worth of maturity in one small moment.

It is a good feeling.

I stand in my home — my first home, that is, the first of many to come — feeling the warmth of the scones in my hands.

Contact EMMA FALLONE at emma.fallone@yale.edu .

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Commons // 2 p.m.

President Levin will be in attendance, so don’t worry about the legal drinking age!

in silence, measuring out the ingredients. First, three cups of flour. I scoop it into the cup, brushing off the excess with the flat edge of a knife. Then the egg — two strong taps, followed by a satisfying crack. I coax out the yolk, throw away the shells, wash the slimy residue from my hands. My body moves almost of its own accord, easily falling back into the familiar rhythm.

One-half cup of sugar, five teaspoons of baking powder, a bit of salt. I notice that our family recipe book is still sitting on the shelf, untouched. There is no reason for us to consult it. We know the steps by heart; they have not changed. *** Later, we open the oven and carefully bring out the tray.

We move the still-hot scones one by one in a basket to cool, admiring their perfect triangular shape. I smile as the kitchen is filled with a warm yeasty aroma. “I have always loved making scones with you,” I say, breaking our silence.

“I know,” my mother replies gently. “And you still can. I’ll

Lip balm

That time of year when it all starts to crack. For brand suggestions, contact Gavan Gideon ‘14.

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, MARCH 29, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

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WEEKEND COVER

SWUG LIFE, UNPACKED // BY RAISA BRUNER

Here are the facts: #springbreak2013 is over.

I am a senior.

I am single.

I consider myself a feminist.

And sometimes I consider myself a SWUG. Is that who I want to be?

FRESHMAN FOR A DAY

“I’m KiKi!” she says to me conspiratorially.

“Huh?” “I’m introducing myself as KiKi, and I’m a freshman. Just go with it.”

I laugh, and consider my classmate in front of me, decked out in tiny American-flag-print shorts, neon athletic shoes and a Yale sweatshirt. I can’t help but notice that her legs are really, really long.

It’s a bit after 2 p.m. on a blustery, blue-skied autumn Saturday in New Haven. We’re in the backyard of the house of a sports team, surrounded by a couple dozen of Yale’s finest male specimens. Currently, they’re all wearing slim-fitting slacks and tweed sports-coats while drinking champagne out of clear plastic cups. Eighty more bottles of champagne are chilling in icefilled metal buckets. A freshman on the team is passing around a wooden tray of cheese and crackers. It’s college, but it’s classy, except for the Top 40 music pumping out of the speakers.

And, it has to be said, except for “KiKi.”

mal ’13. She’s a Yale senior. And she calls herself a Senior WashedUp Girl: a SWUG. Unlike Chloe, I followed the rules and dressed up.

Like Chloe, I chat with the guys I know and use my seniority to cut the line for fresh-grilled sausages. But that’s about all either of us are getting.

Just by virtue of my age and the fact that I’m at this party drinking cheap champagne before cocktail hour, I, too, am a SWUG. Wish I had a freshman alter ego.

BOYS ON THE SIDE?

Back in August, journalist Hanna Rosin wrote a story for The Atlantic entitled “Boys on the Side.” Searching to recast the hookup culture of college campuses in a positive, feminist light, Rosin included interviews with some Yale women because she thought we were emblematic of the “modern” type of highly educated woman: the one who wants it all. Today, we want both casual sex and academic success; someday, we’ll want a happy family and a high-powered career. “Feminist progress right now largely depends on the existence of the hookup culture,” Rosin writes. “And to a surprising degree, it is women — not men — who are perpetuating the culture, especially in school, cannily manipulating it to make space for their success, always keeping their own ends in mind.”

A SWUG IS SUPPOSED TO BE SO OVER BOYS… AND YET HERE I AM, OFTEN DEFINING THE SWUG EXPERIENCE BY THE MEN I AM NOT DATING. “KiKi” isn’t a freshman, even if that’s how she’s introducing herself to the cute new Aussies on the team. She doesn’t care what these young men think of her. Besides, they wouldn’t kick her out — she’s friends with the guys that matter. So unlike the dozen 18-year-old girls present in their pastel party dresses, high heels and hats, KiKi — who clocks in at the ripe old age of 22 — came straight from the gym. To hell with the dress code.

KiKi’s real name is Chloe Dri-

F R I D AY MARCH 29

Rosin continues: “One sorority girl … whom I’ll call Tali, told me that freshman year she, like many of her peers, was high on her first taste of the hookup culture and didn’t want a boyfriend. ‘It was empowering, to have that kind of control,’ she recalls.”

That’s me — Tali.

The previous year, Rosin, a friend and I plopped down on a patch of grass in the Law School’s courtyard to make sense of what was going on at Yale with women, relationships and sex. That con-

versation become fodder for Rosin’s trend piece.

We all know that college is as much about self-discovery as it is about academia. Bring together 1,000 high-strung young adults.

Add the pungent kick-starter of alcohol, splash on some loud music, stick these bodies together in a dark room. Stir.

When I was a freshman, I took full advantage of that scene: I certainly thought there were plenty of fish in the college sea.

Plus, all the attention was fun.

Then, like many of my friends and peers, I slowly realized that “fun” wasn’t enough for me.

“Sometime during sophomore year, her feelings changed,” Rosin writes of Tali. “She got tired of relation ships that just faded away, ‘no end, no beginning.’ …

When I asked Tali what she really wanted, she didn’t say anything about commitment or marriage or a return to a more chivalrous age. ‘Some guy to ask me out on a date to the frozen-yogurt place,’ she said. That’s it. A $3 date.”

I’m 21 now; to be honest, I’d prefer to be taken out for a drink.

But I — along with most of the women I spend time with, and many men here too — am farther from getting asked out on that drink than I was four years ago, when it wouldn’t have even been legal.

You could say that being a SWUG has something to do with it.

The Rosin narrative suggests that feminism exists most progressively and positively when women just stop caring about having serious relationships with men. At Yale, where success is more highly valued than probably anything else — where ambition is a given, achievement an expectation and hard work a mantra — participation in the hookup culture might be a way of liberating oneself from the constraints of the traditional boyfriend-girlfriend mumbo-jumbo. Not caring is a form of empowerment, one that we use more and more often.

And a SWUG — a female Yalie defined by a “don’t-give-a-fuck” or “DGAF” attitude — should be the modern young feminist ideal.

But for SWUGs like Chloe and I, that’s not quite how it pans out. Whatever empowerment we’re supposed to be deriving from this version of the feminist moment is looking pretty thin on the ground. Another Atlantic piece, published just a few weeks ago, pushed back at Rosin’s argument: “I hear young women’s

mixed feelings about relationships,” writes sociologist Leslie C. Bell. “Some young women deeply desire meaningful relationships with men, even as they feel guilty about those desires. … To do so feels like a betrayal of themselves, of their education and of their achievements.”

It’s confusing to be a young woman right now — especially if you buy into the traditional narrative of American womanhood. Are we supposed to “Lean In” with Sheryl Sandberg or resign ourselves to the fact that “Women Still Can’t Have It All,” per Anne-Marie Slaughter? Even The New York Times is heralding “The End of Courtship,” in a piece my concerned mother emailed to me. I think she wanted me to tell her the Times was wrong — but I realized I couldn’t.

In a survey I conducted of over 100 Yale students, almost all of the single respondents, ambition be damned, said they were currently seeking a relationship involving dating, commitment or, at the very least, monogamous sex. Basically, the types of relationships which just don’t seem to exist for those of us who are senior ladies, outside of the already-coupled.

Only 33 percent of the senior women I surveyed said they were currently feeling “very” or “a lot” of empowerment in their sexual choices and decisions.

Sixty-six percent of that same group of women recalled feeling “very” or “a lot” of empowerment back when they were freshmen.

My senior year is almost over.

I’ll soon go to my last sorority formal, my last frat party, my last night at Toad’s. And at the end of those nights I’ll probably be resigned to going home vaguely dissatisfied and very alone — except, of course, for the company of my sympathetic suitemates. When it comes to my love life, I’ll be leaving Yale in not so much a blaze of glory as a blur of disappointment.

Welcome, then, to SWUG life: the slow, wine-filled decline of female sexual empowerment as we live out our college glory days. Welcome to the world of the ladies who have given up on boys because they don’t so much empower as frustrate, satisfy as agitate. Welcome to what “KiKi” likes to call “SWUG nation.”

DEFINING ‘SWUG’

The SWUG phenomenon isn’t new. We all see it coming. I came back to campus this fall ready to wear my SWUG status proudly: Now, I too could be one of “those” senior girls who seemed to live with such expansive abandon. And yet. Guys rolled their eyes. “SWUG nation” didn’t seem to quite represent me. As my friends and I hashtagged our tweets “#swug4lyfe,” were we just celebrating the carefree side of seniority? Or were we actually signing on to a self-fulfilling prophecy tied to something a little more sinister?

When Chloe published an op-ed headlined “Profile of a SWUG” back in September, she threw caution to the fickle winds of the Internet and described her version of SWUG life to the rest of Yale.

“I was jealous of them when I was a freshman. They were on a nickname basis with the hottest guys at Yale and danced at the bar of DKE with their shirts off.

But looking back on it, I realize the boys were trying to get with the freshmen, not the SWUGs,” Chloe wrote. “She is the last one at every party, because hey — who is she going home with? … She doesn’t give a hoot. She’s single because she wants to be; her daddy told her there’s more fish in the sea. She is a SWUG, and SWUG life is pretty awesome.”

Online commenters were vicious, calling Chloe silly, shallow and self-hating. The article was sent around on email lists like wildfire. Suddenly, it seemed, Chloe had publicized the SWUG idea and made it into a campus meme. She even set up her own website: swugdiaries.com, a home for anonymous swug confessions.

Four days later, another senior girl, Michelle Taylor ’13, published her own News piece about the meaning of SWUG. In it, she attempted to broaden the definition — to show how it could apply to more than just the inebriated and the fraternity-frequenting.

“I don’t like that it continues to be defined by relationships to men at Yale,” she said when I spoke with her later. “If it stays a female term, it has more potential to become derogatory.” By trying to extend it beyond female Yalies, she hoped to break down that bias

HIDE-AND-SEEK IN THE STACKS

All the senior ladies!

and to encourage a carpe diem attitude — instead of Chloe’s more aggressively DGAF ethos.

In the survey I sent out, I asked respondents to define “SWUG” for themselves. The results skewed towards the sexual — and the sexist. “Over the hill.

Can’t get any play!” one male respondent wrote. “I feel like it’s an umbrella term for sad senior girls,” said another. The word “pathetic” came up in a number of descriptions and “the village bicycle” was also tossed out. The idea of “not giving a shit” or being “over it” was also popular, as was the image of a senior girl who hooked up with younger guys in a futile attempt at romance. A full 49 percent of respondents said it had negative connotations for them.

I also asked how students had first heard the word “SWUG.” About a quarter said they had discovered it through Chloe’s article. None mentioned Michelle’s.

SWUG-IN-TRAINING

My friend may be a junior, but she sees SWUG existence looming ominously on her horizon — just as I did last year.

During freshman year, she tells me, she was pleasantly surprised by how little effort she needed to put in to find a guy to hook up with. “Empowered isn’t really the right word, but there was an easiness,” she says.

We’re both sitting crosslegged on the lofted bed in her room. It’s a mess. Laundry is drying on hanging racks slung up over the doors and windows, and the hardwood floor is barely visible under piles of discarded sweatpants, tank tops, notebooks.

I ask how she feels about hookup culture now.

“When you get older, you want something different.” She has yet to find that perfect alternative. She has been using the term “JWUG,” the junior version of SWUG, for a while.

Hearing our voices, one of her suitemates peeks in through the open door, munching on an Oreo.

When she realizes what we’ve SEE SWUG PAGE B8

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Sterling Memorial Library // 4 p.m.

The Yale Society for the Exploration of Campus Secrets is organizing this oneof-a-kind expedition into Yale’s largest library.

// RAISA BRUNER

Cardigans

Sweater weather is upon us!

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YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, MARCH 29, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

WEEKEND ARTS

“BY HAND” FIRST HAND: THE BEINECKE TURNS FIFTY // BY ANDREW KOENIG

When asked to write an article on the Beinecke’s “By Hand” manuscript exhibition, I decided, in the spirit of Method-style journalism, to take notes by hand.

It’d been a while.

The exhibition includes journals, cartoons and many other forms of writing culled from the library’s nearly 800,000-volume collection. The Beinecke, built in 1963, organized the exhibition in honor of its golden anniversary, and they’ve done a splendid job of it. The curators of the “By Hand” exhibition have paid special attention to showcasing the diversity of the Beinecke’s collection — both a smart way of attracting visitors and a nod to the institution’s wealth and range.

Among the unique displays are a few staples — for instance, two lavish copies of the Gutenberg Bible, as well as copies of Audobon’s richly illustrated “Birds of America.” Of greater interest, however, are the lesser-known works the Beinecke has put on display. One can see John Keats’ copy of the “Inferno,” with a sonnet scrawled on a blank page: “A Dream, After Reading Dante’s Episode of Paolo and Francesca.”

The exhibition also benefits from its everyday items. In one display case, we see a letter writ-

ten by Zora Neale Hurston, author of “Their Eyes Were Watching God,” to patron Carl van Vechten on a potential play called “Mule Bone.”

THIS COLLECTION HUMANIZES THE AUTHORS THAT IT CELEBRATES. “Dear Carl,” she writes, “Here is the play at last. Of course it is tentative. It is my first whack at the play business.” By a little carrot, Hurston inserts the word “serious” before “whack.” This carrot hints at some authorial self-consciousness and perhaps a bit of embarrassment at previous immature or stillborn efforts.

Details like this make the collection sparkle. They give the viewer not just interesting artifacts, but show the organic and raw process of great minds writing by hand.

Even better, this collection humanizes the authors that it celebrates through artful juxtaposition. We see a letter written

by Langston Hughes alongside

Hurston’s, also addressed to van Vechten. He complains, “[Hurston] is evidently claiming the comedy as entirely her own. At least she could have told me she wanted it that badly. We had been such good friends.” It is a clever move on the part of the curators to show a venerated poet’s concerns with a petty rivalry with his fellow writer. It portrays the faults as well the accomplishments of famous writers like Hurston and Hughes. The exhibition’s curators avoid the mistake of merely showing a bunch of old books without any context by providing a thread to connect these objects.

On looking back on my notes, I noticed that I too had scribbled out words, inserted phrases and drawn arrows. Writing by hand showed me just what this exhibition highlights — the messiness, awkwardness and distinct personality of handwriting.

The “By Hand” exhibition will be on display until April 29.

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

//SAMANTHA GARDNER

You’ll never use Times again.

From across the Himalayas to Sterling on horseback // BY HELEN ROUNER

A crown jewel sits unassumingly among missionaries’ journal entries, aging photographs, handwritten letters to midlevel political officials and books neither particularly old nor rare: one of the 100 volumes of the Lhasa Kangyur, a translation of the Buddha’s teachings, that comprises half of the Tibetan Buddhist canon.

The Kangyur belongs to the “Himalayan Collection at Yale,” an exhibit at the Sterling Memorial Library that showcases a sample of the University’s vast Himalayan archives, drawing from the holdings of the Sterling Memorial Library, the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, the Divinity School, the School of Forestry & Environmental Studies, the University Art Gallery, the Center for British Art and the Peabody Museum of Natural History. The display demonstrates the gap in understanding between the Western world and the Himalayas. The most telling example is the Lhasa Kanyur.

The 14th Dalai Lama had this 100-volume copy of the Kangyur printed expressly for Yale at the //BLAIR SEIDEMAN

Take a journey to the highest peaks in the world.

F R I D AY MARCH 29

request of Yale’s Himalayan Collection curator Wesley Needham, who cultivated a relationship with the Dalai Lama through written correspondence in the 1940s. Needham is prominently featured in the Himalayan Collection; he made expanding and explaining the University’s Himalayan archives his life’s work.

The Kangyur arrived at Yale in February of 1950, packed in crates bound in yak skins, stitched together with rawhide. A horse caravan carried the precious texts from Lhasa to New Delhi, 1,000 miles across mountain ranges. A freight ship from Calcutta brought the volumes across the ocean to New Haven.

The pages of the Kangyur, printed in the Wylie Tibetan script and embellished with depictions of the Buddha, is often stained, either purposefully with decorative henna, or accidentally because the bright orange cloth swaddling the volume has bled artfully onto its pages. Regardless of its origin, the watercolor effect on the paper calls to mind an ancient treasure map whose edges have been seared. The Kangyur is an export of the Himalayas of the Western imagination, the remote world where temples are tucked into the sides of mountains that pierce the sky.

FLOATING DANCE PARTY

Contact HELEN ROUNER at helen.rouner@yale.edu .

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Women’s Table // 7 p.m.

The most fantastic gathering on campus! Be there or don’t be there.

The Himalayan Collection shows that the East’s mythicized portrait of the West also has some grounding in truth; this picture, though, is less flattering. To share the Buddha’s teachings in America, the Dalai Lama sent Yale these handprinted volumes carried by caravan across continents; to convert Nepalese peoples, Christian missionaries spread the word of God through brightly colored comic books telling simplified stories of Jesus’ deeds.

The two Nepali-language graphic novels on display are artifacts from the Divinity School’s Himalayan Mission Archives, the largest such collection in the world. Other artifacts in this portion of the exhibit include missionaries’ memoirs about their Himalayan campaigns with vaguely offensive titles such as “Better than the Witch Doctor.”

The Himalayan Collection makes it clear that not only literal mountains separated the peoples of the Himalayas from those of the West in the 19th century. Often Western climbers still get lost in those mountains, surprised to find themselves unprepared to ascend the Himalayan slopes.

Lil’ Wayne.

Keep him in your prayers, y’all. Purple drank is no joke.

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, MARCH 29, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

PAGE B5

WEEKEND PULSES

HITTING HER MARKS // BY JACKSON MCHENRY

Midway through my interview with dance studies professor and director of the Yale Dance Theater, Emily Coates ’06 GRD ’11, I realized that I’d become distracted by her hands. A trained dancer, Coates seemed to react to every question physically. Sometimes she smiled, or inched forward in a moment of enthusiasm, but usually it was her hands — marching in the empty space in front of her, hitting marks to the rhythm of her voice and then pausing in her lap to rest on her half-full bottle of orange juice.

In fact, distracted probably isn’t the right word for the experience, because looking back, I realized that each of her movements was in the service of some point.

She took a significant pause before answering my first question (“How would you define dance studies?”). The fingers of her right hand were extended, flexed against the edge of her comfy chair. I imagined a plié.

“Let me tell you four goals for the dance studies curriculum,” she said. Her hand shot up, palm facing me, index finger raised. Number one. *** Coates gets to set these goals because she is the only full-time dance studies faculty member, a discipline that, as of now, is not recognized as a concentration within the larger field of theater studies. Besides her, there are only three other part-time faculty in her department. Between them, they offer only seven or eight courses a year, but that doesn’t mean they think small.

“As you can imagine,” Coates said, “any art form has its poorer examples — cliché, riddles — and simultaneously innovation, fresh vision and originality. One goal with the curriculum is to share exactly what that is.”

To that end, seminars such as “The History of Dance” (THST 380, taught by Coates herself) require students to both write formal analyses of choreography and to work through movement exercises. You can’t understand genius, the logic goes, without feeling it.

And this feeds into Coates’ second goal, to shift culture toward a focus on “process” over “performance.” Students in the Yale Dance Theater (YDT), for instance, write journal entries on their discoveries after six-hour weeks of rehearsal, reflecting on what the practice has taught them.

“Anyone here teaching courses related to the arts will inevitably share this goal,” Coates joked.

“Process is everything.”

To students of dance theory, the act of recording that process becomes something else — research. How do bodies respond to choreography differently? What do dancers feel as they perform?

Often, this sort of information is not written down, The YDT aims to fight that trend. In spring 2011, when Coates founded the troupe, they reconstructed choreography from videos of Twyla Tharp’s 1971 work, “Eight Jelly Rolls.” In 2012, they worked with members of Merce Cunningham’s dance troupe to consider the legacy of the famous

F R I D AY MARCH 29

***

// KAREN TIAN

avant-garde c h o re og ra pher, who died in 2009.

This year, they are studying brand-new material from two choreographers: Reggie Wilson and Akram Khan.

Aren Vastola ’14, one of the student coordinators for the YDT, pointed out that for scholars of dance, the records that members of the troupe keep — both of their choreography and impressions during performances — count as “primary source material.”

“This blurs the distinction you often find between theory and practice,” Vastola said.

For those of you keeping track, teaching the University to broaden its research agenda and include studies like this counts as Coates’ goal number three. *** Before leaping, so to speak, into goal number four, I’d like to pause for a moment and mention that, during spring break, Coates visited CERN, the world-famous particle physics laboratory outside of Geneva, Switzerland. CERN is home to the Large Hadron Collider, which is responsible for the discovery of the Higgs boson — a particle thought to be the source of all the mass in the universe.

But Coates wasn’t leading a double life as a research scientist. Instead, she was conducting her own kind of study, what she called a proto-version of one of her current projects, “Discovering the Higgs Boson through Physics, Dance, and Photography.” Hold your breath, it involves getting physicists to dance.

“For once I wasn’t the only embarrassed one in the room,” Sarah Demers, a Yale particle physics professor who went to CERN to collaborate with Coates on the project, said.

Demers is not a dancer, but she knew the experience of working with Coates well. It all started in 2011, when Bill Segraves, Yale’s associate dean for science education, came up with the idea of

developing an interdisciplinary class in the sciences that catered to nonscience majors, but fulfilled the College’s quantitative reasoning and science distribution requirements. Demers and Coates paired up to take the lead on the project.

In the course, which was dubbed “The Physics of Dance,” Demers assigned problem sets and gave lectures, while Coates taught choreography and pushed people to think beyond the mathematics of their movements — as they would in a dance studies class.

“In my mind, the students would just become the demonstration,” Demers said, acknowledging that there were moments when, for instance, people fell to demonstrate the mechanics behind the center of mass. “But that’s not at all the course we taught.”

Since then, both Demers and Coates have made a commitment to working together, and to investigating what research looks like in both their fields. This partnership is what took them to CERN, and to some extent, explains the rest of the dancing physicists, with whom Demers and Coates applied the concepts they had workshopped

would attempt to find the best possible way to communicate the Higgs discovery. Along the way, they teamed with Kike Calvo, a photographer, who gave them another way to conceptualize the particle’s unique features.

The final part of the collaboration has yet to be fully defined (though it will take place in New Haven).

It’s also not Demers and Coates’ only collaboration; they are several chapters into a textbook titled “The Physics of Dance.”

“We’re having too much fun to be done,” admitted Demers. “And we’ve learned too much to be done.”

The expansion of cross-disciplinary involvement rounds out Emily Coates’ list of goals for the dance studies curriculum as number four. *** Coates has the dubious privilege of being able to set these sorts of goals due to Yale’s traditionally limited set of dance offerings. And, even while Coates has successfully helped expand dance’s presence, tradition has a way of being sticky.

“Dance, particularly in the Ivy League, has been dismissed as P.E. for a long time,” Vastola pointed out.

DANCE, PARTICULARLY IN THE IVY LEAGUE, HAS BEEN DISMISSED AS P.E. FOR A LONG TIME. AREN VASTOLA

in a classroom at Yale. Physicists were taught movement exercises to mimic the dynamic features of the particles, while Coates caught up on the literature of the breakthrough.

The Higgs boson particle is infinitesimally small, and due to its size, it acts in ways fundamentally different from anything you could understand with a human eye or a simple computer simulation. Inspired by this challenge, Demers and Coates received funding from the Greater New Haven Arts Council for a project that

Amymarie Bartholemew ’13, who acts as the other student coordinator for the YDT, agreed, adding that dance is often seen as “feminine,” a sentiment that’s a remnant of Yale’s former all-male history.

This trend can be seen in other Ivies as well. Students at Columbia University who wish to study dance, for instance, can only find classes in the subject taught at Barnard. Harvard and Princeton both offer classes in dance, and their dance curricula remain about the same size as Yale’s — limited,

that is.

Bartholemew pointed out that by the spring of her senior year, she has taken all but one or two of the dance studies classes that Yale offers. Elena Light ’13, another member of the YDT, echoed Bartholemew’s sentiment, and mentioned that due to the guest lecturer status of many dance professors, great classes aren’t always offered again.

“If you miss it, you’ve missed it,” Light said, joking that a great course could be “the one class that doesn’t fit in my schedule.”

Light, an history of art major, wrote an opinion piece for the News this fall on these sorts of problems with Yale’s dance studies offerings. In it, she also cited a larger issue: Dance studies is not considered one of the College’s majors, or even a concentration within the Theater Studies Department. Prospective students with an interest in dance, in Light’s opinion, may not consider Yale because of this seeming lack of support.

But while some dance students may express doubts, Coates is unfazed. This year, she admits, many courses have had more students than they are designed to hold, but this just “builds momentum that leads to the possibility of expansion.”

On this point, everyone seems to agree. Both Bartholemew and Vastola spoke to increasing interest and enthusiasm from members of the freshman class, and their hopes for the continued growth of both dance studies and the YDT. Light agreed, pointing out that it’s time for the University to add another lecture to the curriculum, and add a full-time faculty member.

Coates admitted that though she has experience with many different styles of dance, she herself is not an expert in a critical theory approach, something that could be fixed by the addition of a dance historian to the faculty.

Light, on the other hand, got more to the point.

“Emily has literally changed what I plan on doing after college,” she said. “I want to make sure that these changes are continued, and that [the administration] hire more Emilys.”

“THE FULL MONTY”

Contact JACKSON MCHENRY at jackson.mchenry@yale.edu .

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Off Broadway Theater // 8 p.m.

The men of SigEp bare it all in this much-beloved musical. No cameras allowed inside the theater, sorry Theta.

Considering the unbelievable trajectory that led Emily Coates to a position on the Yale faculty, Light’s suggestion may be easier said than done.

In 1992, the same year that Coates was applying to colleges — “I got into my top choice, Princeton,” she laughs — she received an offer from the New York City Ballet, and “you can’t put that off.”

She left the company after dancing for six years, and decided to transition into contemporary dance. In 1998 she received an invitation from Mikhail Baryshnikov to join his dance company, the White Oak Dance Project — another offer that you can’t refuse. She danced with them for four years.

After such a high-flying career, Coates decided to return to her “Ivy League dream.” Putting some of the course credits she accumulated in her off-time from her professional career to use, Coates transferred to Yale and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in English in two and half years of full-time study.

In 2006, as soon as Coates graduated from Yale College, she was hired by Joseph Roach, head of the Theater Studies Department, to oversee the dance studies curriculum, which was created at the same time. Since then, she has also found time to complete a master’s degree in American studies.

By the end of our interview, I thought that I had exhausted every aspect of Emily Coates’ career. I told her so. She laughed and told me that I forgot one crucial point.

“I still perform,” she said, “which is super important to me as a professor.”

Since September 2007, she has collaborated and performed choreography with Lacina Coulibaly (at Coates’ invitation, Coulibaly has also taught classes in West African dance at Yale). In February, she revived a project with Christopher Janney called “Heartbeat.” As our interview ends, Coates tells me I should look it up.

In the performance, Coates dances in flowing red pants while the a cappella group The Persuasions sing in the background.

Throughout the performance, Coates is plugged into a heartrate monitor, and her heartbeat is amplified through a speaker system. She twists and twirls; her body folds and unfolds.

I can’t put it into words, but you know exactly what’s going on.

Marriage equality

Equal signs, “greater than” signs, etc. Our profile pictures have spoken, SCOTUS. It’s time to act.

PAGE B6

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, MARCH 29, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

PAGE B7

WEEKEND HASHTAGS

#SPRINGBREAKFOREVER

Had life-altering convos with brilliant artists and inventors and then they left to go to parties in bars and I’m 19 … #reallifecardsyou

H

ey! Spring break happened, and now we’re back on campus for the home stretch of the semester.

“How was your break, WEEKEND editors?!”

“Good!”

A better question would be, “Have you watched ‘Spring Breakers’ yet?”

Our answer: “FUCK YES.” Harmony Korine’s opus of the season has overwhelmed our senses and swept over our Internet landscape. Disney Darlings with skimpy bikinis and good marksmanship? James Franco in cornrows? This film provided everyone with ultimate Twitter fodder! In this spirit, we have commissioned a broad swath of WKNDers to report back to us with their spring break experiences, tweet-style. Because midterms come and go, but spring break is forever, bitches.

SXSW2013: I Might Be Dead

@CalebMadison @AaronGertler I had a really fun spring break! Only problem is now my mattress is way less resilient :( #punz

@DemetraHufnagel

Did not pop molly. Am still sweating.

Loved showing my girlz the #grand #canyon. Check out our matching bracelets to #verify that it happened.

@LeahMotzkin @AvaKofman

Made #so many SICK vines!!! BIG AIR jump$ for the family to $njoy!

Sometimes, when I take naps, I like covering my body from head to toe with a blanket and pretending it’s my death shroud.

Spring break is about scratching my adventure itch. Bungee jumping did the trick. At least until finals week.

@JakeDawe @TaoTaoHolmes

I spent time in Southern California!

@EvanBeck

Highlight wasn’t beaches, sun or tequila. It was watching a stranger stroke my friend’s hair and run away. #dangersoflonghair #crewcut4lyfe

@MaxSaltarelli

@YuvalBenDavid The man next to me on BART is wearing a knee-length tweed vest. He looks like a hobbit. Welcome to #sanfrancisco!

“I went to Israel” “Oh, on Birthright?” “Well, did you ever wonder, looking at my name, if maybe it’s my birthright to not get asked that?”

@SusannahShattuck

saved China, nbd #sundayfunday

Just saw Amanda Bynes giving me the finger? #cozumel

@MarissaMedansky @WillAdams

@ErinVanderhoof

Ugh detained at customs. How was I supposed to know that Carson Daly was hiding in my suitcase?

spring break got me thinking maybe appearing on millionaire matchmaker could be the solution to all my problems…

// KAREN TIAN

S AT U R D AY MARCH 30

EASTER EGG HUNT

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Cross Campus // 10 a.m.

The Yale Law School hosts its first Easter Egg Hunt. The winner gets an autographed copy of Akhil Reed Amar’s “America’s Unwritten Constitution.” *swoon*

Harmony Korine

He directed “Kids.” He was also once found going through Meryl Streep’s purse.

What’s not to love?

S AT U R D AY MARCH 30

YALE COLLEGE COUNCIL OPEN FORUM ON CEREAL

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

SSS 114 // 2 p.m.

The folks that brought you dried cranberries on your salad return with another important, often-overlooked campus issue.

Teeth grills

Shake Shack, we love you.

PAGE B6

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, MARCH 29, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

PAGE B7

WEEKEND HASHTAGS

#SPRINGBREAKFOREVER

Had life-altering convos with brilliant artists and inventors and then they left to go to parties in bars and I’m 19 … #reallifecardsyou

H

ey! Spring break happened, and now we’re back on campus for the home stretch of the semester.

“How was your break, WEEKEND editors?!”

“Good!”

A better question would be, “Have you watched ‘Spring Breakers’ yet?”

Our answer: “FUCK YES.” Harmony Korine’s opus of the season has overwhelmed our senses and swept over our Internet landscape. Disney Darlings with skimpy bikinis and good marksmanship? James Franco in cornrows? This film provided everyone with ultimate Twitter fodder! In this spirit, we have commissioned a broad swath of WKNDers to report back to us with their spring break experiences, tweet-style. Because midterms come and go, but spring break is forever, bitches.

SXSW2013: I Might Be Dead

@CalebMadison @AaronGertler I had a really fun spring break! Only problem is now my mattress is way less resilient :( #punz

@DemetraHufnagel

Did not pop molly. Am still sweating.

Loved showing my girlz the #grand #canyon. Check out our matching bracelets to #verify that it happened.

@LeahMotzkin @AvaKofman

Made #so many SICK vines!!! BIG AIR jump$ for the family to $njoy!

Sometimes, when I take naps, I like covering my body from head to toe with a blanket and pretending it’s my death shroud.

Spring break is about scratching my adventure itch. Bungee jumping did the trick. At least until finals week.

@JakeDawe @TaoTaoHolmes

I spent time in Southern California!

@EvanBeck

Highlight wasn’t beaches, sun or tequila. It was watching a stranger stroke my friend’s hair and run away. #dangersoflonghair #crewcut4lyfe

@MaxSaltarelli

@YuvalBenDavid The man next to me on BART is wearing a knee-length tweed vest. He looks like a hobbit. Welcome to #sanfrancisco!

“I went to Israel” “Oh, on Birthright?” “Well, did you ever wonder, looking at my name, if maybe it’s my birthright to not get asked that?”

@SusannahShattuck

saved China, nbd #sundayfunday

Just saw Amanda Bynes giving me the finger? #cozumel

@MarissaMedansky @WillAdams

@ErinVanderhoof

Ugh detained at customs. How was I supposed to know that Carson Daly was hiding in my suitcase?

spring break got me thinking maybe appearing on millionaire matchmaker could be the solution to all my problems…

// KAREN TIAN

S AT U R D AY MARCH 30

EASTER EGG HUNT

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Cross Campus // 10 a.m.

The Yale Law School hosts its first Easter Egg Hunt. The winner gets an autographed copy of Akhil Reed Amar’s “America’s Unwritten Constitution.” *swoon*

Harmony Korine

He directed “Kids.” He was also once found going through Meryl Streep’s purse.

What’s not to love?

S AT U R D AY MARCH 30

YALE COLLEGE COUNCIL OPEN FORUM ON CEREAL

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

SSS 114 // 2 p.m.

The folks that brought you dried cranberries on your salad return with another important, often-overlooked campus issue.

Teeth grills

Shake Shack, we love you.

PAGE B8

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, MARCH 29, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

WEEKEND COVER

YOUNG, WILD & WASHED UP? SWUG FROM PAGE B3 been discussing, she makes a face.

“I would be so happy with myself if I could just feel nothing,” she says. She just wants to not care anymore — to be able to get to some kind of a Zen, SWUG state of mind. But is that even a thing? If that’s what being a SWUG is supposed to be providing me with, I’m not so sure it’s living up to its own reputation.

I think back to Hanna Rosin’s thesis of female empowerment through not caring.

The truth is, I still care. And everyone I know still cares.

“It’s almost like being a SWUG is a way to cope,” I offer, thinking of myself, and the nonchalant way I try to react to men these days. I pretend I don’t care, because that’s what a SWUG does. A SWUG is supposed to be so over boys. A SWUG is supposed to be liberated, independent.

And yet here I am, often defining the SWUG experience by the men I am not dating. Michelle Taylor wanted us to get past the SWUG-is-a-girl-who-can’tget-no-love association, but I find myself stuck there.

Hoping to give my friends some peace of mind, I tell them that SWUG may be a defense mechanism.

Both nod thoughtfully in dejected agreement.

A LOT’S IN A NAME

Back when Laura Wexler, professor of women’s, gender, and sexuality studies and film studies, was 21, the women of her generation were dealing with a different kind of challenge as they approached graduation.

“There would have been a marriage panic,” Wexler says.

“You were in college to get an MRS degree. By the time you were a sophomore if you didn’t have a big ring…” she trails off. “There’s been something all the time. It just is.”

I’ve sought her out to discuss whether my and my friends’ experiences have any kind of parallel with those of young women before us. I lean closer to hear her over the coffee grinder at Starbucks — Wexler doesn’t raise her voice.

“Is it normal to peak and then come down?” I ask her. “So, women sort of decline as they age, whereas men — ” “As you age?” she interjects.

“What are you talking about?

You’re 22, 23? That’s really a body blow. … Who would accept that script? What a terrible — you get initiated into that as a fresh-

// RAISA BRUNER

“I don’t care. I love it.”

person, you don’t know what it’s going to mean, then this comes back to you later, and you’re trapped in it.

“I would reject that, myself.”

I have to agree with Wexler.

Suddenly the whole thing — the combination of the gendered term SWUG with a carefree, liberated approach to senior year — feels weirdly anti-productive, patriarchal, problematic. Wexler has activated the anthropology major in me, reminding me of something deeper, more unsettling: Words and names have power and resonance. They perpetuate cultural narratives and associations that we either play along with or reject. We may try to reappropriate a term, but that’s much easier said than done.

“You want to call yourself SWUG?” Wexler asks me, audibly cringing. “It feels to me like cutting. Like you’re cutting yourself. But maybe it expresses something. I wouldn’t say don’t, I would never say don’t. But then, you have to think about what it is.”

HOW TO BE A SWUG 101

I don’t really know how I end up sitting in a banquette in the back room of Viva’s, alongside Chloe Drimal and two senior guys as we face a room of a few dozen other seniors, mostly women.

Chloe and I keep making passes at the nachos set in front of us; they’re quickly disappearing.

The four of us are panelists for an event entitled “SWUGLIFE: A Colloquium.” We joke that we need margaritas before we get started, but we make do with a pitcher of water.

“IT FEELS TO ME LIKE CUTTING… I WOULDN’T SAY DON’T, I WOULD NEVER SAY DON’T. BUT THEN, YOU HAVE TO THINK ABOUT WHAT IT IS.” PROFESSOR LAURA WEXLER

The “Colloquium” was the brainchild of Natalie Papillion ’13, my suitemate and one of 40 communication and consent educators (CCEs) selected by Yale administrators and trained to improve the sexual climate on campus through open dialogue. Natalie had earlier emailed Chloe’s column out to the other CCEs and their directors, which sparked interest in discussing the term further in a public space.

Then she asked me if I would be a panelist, knowing that I could be counted on to wax poetic about the meaningful side of SWUGdom.

I said yes.

So here we are at Viva’s. I avoid the audience’s gaze. What can I

S AT U R D AY MARCH 30

possibly tell my peers that they don’t already know? This event is about taking back SWUG and turning it into a positive. We’re trying to make SWUGlife be associated with FUNlife (genderneutral, all-inclusive). Let’s go, reappropriation. Is that something I can do?

We start with the basics: what a SWUG drinks (“Tequila and ginger ale,” says Chloe), a SWUG’s favorite late-night food spot (“Ivy Noodle for the dumplings,” I supply), a typical Saturday night for SWUGs (local bars, frats and being alone in our beds figure heavily in the responses).

Our audience titters. The CCEs try to steer the panel in a more serious direction, asking what the negative associations with SWUGdom might be.

“That we’re desperate, washed-up, boring,” I answer.

“But it’s important to find the positive things.” I mention that it frees us up to care less about what others think of us, and allows us to spend our time doing what matters more to each of us individually.

Afterwards, though, I wonder if I’ve been completely honest. Do the positives outweigh the negatives? Aren’t those positive things just natural byproducts of the confidence and selfknowledge that should come with age and experience? What about Wexler’s point about the harm we might be doing ourselves?

Later, I ask Natalie how she felt about the discussion. “SWUG is a term that could be so pejorative, but at Yale, certain communities and groups are working to change that,” she says. I push her further,

wanting to know if she thinks Yale women have actually succeeded in appropriating the word in a positive way. “I’m biased, but I do,” she answers. “Labels are problematic, but that being said, the way we communicate has changed so radically for our generation. … Turning these ideas into phrases makes it easier and more lighthearted.” By giving the sentiment a label, we’ve created a sense of camaraderie — and that’s a good thing, in Natalie’s opinion.

As a CCE, Natalie has spent more time than most thinking about problems of hookup culture and gender dynamics on campus. And of course, she too is a senior girl. For her, SWUG life is both theory and reality.

“Do you consider yourself a SWUG?” I tease. She arches an eyebrow.

“Have you looked it up in the dictionary? Didn’t you see my picture?” she shoots back.

THE MALE GAZE

“Does SWUG mean ‘fat’?” jokes the guy across the table.

“Senior Washed-Up Girl, so … sort of,” says my friend, deadpan.

He’s kidding, but only just.

I’m at lunch with an athlete friend and two of his teammates.

I had hoped they’d provide some male perspective on SWUG. Now, I almost wish they hadn’t.

“Have you heard of the X-graph of desirability?” I ask, crossing my arms in an X-shape to illustrate the popular theory I outlined for Wexler. As boys age, their desirability rises; as girls age, theirs goes down. “Is that a thing?”

“Yes,” both boys agree. “Spring semester senior year, it’s a fire sale,” my friend says. I groan.

“That’s the whole thing — guys don’t get SWUG,” he adds. “Girls are the problem. They all go for older men.” And according to him, the senior girls, the SWUGs themselves, lower their standards to accommodate their newly limited pool of options. So it’s a winwin for the guys.

A few hours later, I run into another senior guy friend in the library. Standing in Bass Cafe, I start questioning him. He doesn’t really think this whole SWUG thing has anything to do with him or guys like him.

“It’s a way for girls to draw attention to themselves,” he says, referencing Chloe’s column. “It can be derogatory if taken literally, but … it’s more of a female psyche thing.”

Oh. I guess that’s one way to see it, maybe one that would come more readily to a guy: This is a crisis of female self-confidence at a challenging time, when Yale women are faced with our real-world futures even as we try to live out our expectations of college. And the clock is ticking.

“I think girls feel jealous of the new breed.”

Yes, but it actually is hard out here for a SWUG, isn’t it? It’s not all in my head, is it?

“Sure, the sexual marketplace gets more competitive. Girls yearn for that youthfulness.”

He sees the whole SWUG idea as something of a “cop out” — a way for senior girls who are frustrated to blame some vague societal force of evil. I mention that it can feel like a trap, living this socalled SWUG life where I’m not supposed to care, so I can’t care, and nobody thinks I should get to care.

“Trapped by SWUG? That’s ridiculous,” he says. I frown, trying to figure out if he’s right.

Responding to my survey on sexual experiences and conceptions of SWUG, 78 percent of men said they wouldn’t have a problem hooking up with a girl who considers herself, or is considered by others, to be a SWUG. Still, 22 percent said no. Their reasons?

“Anyone who would selfidentify as ‘washed up’ probably wouldn’t be my cup of tea,” said one.

“Unattractive,” said another.

“Because my friends would make fun of me,” noted a third.

And then: “I prefer women who respect themselves.”

I like to think that I respect myself. Yet this whole SWUG thing is starting to feel like a selffulfilling prophecy. Can I call myself a SWUG if I want to be treated as something more?

THE SWUG SISTERHOOD

I’ve never met Olivia Milch ’11. But I email her anyway. I hear she was at the vanguard of bringing the word SWUG into vogue at Yale, and I want to know where exactly it came from. She responds with a lengthy message.

“What I can say is that the term, for us at least, was about a certain attitude toward life in our senior year,” Olivia wrote in her email. “SWUG is about female camaraderie.” She mentions that it had a positive, friendship-oriented ring to it for her group of friends. That sounds a lot like what Natalie and Michelle want it to mean. Like what I would like it to mean. A kind of feminist banding-together, a recognition of friendship and solidarity.

I think back to Wexler’s comment about the “marriage panic” of decades past. Is SWUG-ness a response to that — a way to deal with biological insecurities and to rebel against society’s traditional expectations of women?

A fuck-‘em-all, let’s-do-whatmatters-to-us kind of attitude that has nothing to do with the images of lackluster sex and desperate partying that it’s grown to

HALF-PRICE SALE

Dancing on my own.

encompass?

I wish. Maybe it was that way once. But right now, SWUG’s social meaning at Yale remains about the hooking up that we women are — and aren’t — doing, and how little we’re supposed to let that bother us. It’s become a signifier of not caring. It might exist as a barrier only in the minds of women, but it’s there, and it colors our actions and experiences. *** Dinner is spaghetti with red sauce, an arugula salad and a magnum bottle of cheap white wine. We are six young women in mismatched chairs at a kitchen table in an off-campus apartment, Taylor Swift playing in the background on tinny iPod speakers. We are all, by most definitions, SWUGs: single, given to heavy drinking on occasion, willing to wear sweatpants to the library.

For two blissful hours, we talk endlessly about how much we do care. About the people in our lives. About the things we are doing and will go on to do. About being respected. About becoming empowered. About learning to love and be loved by significant others — and each other.

We are not any old SWUGs, I decide as I carry empty wine glasses to the sink. And we do want it all — equality and individuality, power and humor. If we label ourselves, it’s only because the language has yet to catch up.

As the generations of women before us did, we’ll make sure it does.

Contact RAISA BRUNER at raisa.bruner@yale.edu AND go to www.yaledailynews.com next Friday for exclusive WEEKEND for YTV interviews with the author and some of Yale’s other finest SWUGS.

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

Durfee’s // 3 p.m.

Now you can get all those Lean Cuisine frozen dinners you always wanted but could never afford.

// RAISA BRUNER

Patrón XO Café

Doesn’t taste like alcohol AND it keeps you awake? Best. Tequila. Ever.

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, MARCH 29, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

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WEEKEND INSPIRATION

THE (FINAL) BLINDEST DATE

// ALLIE KRAUSE

She says

He says

// BY EMMA AKRAWI

// BY WILL ADAMS

Though familiar with the walk to one of my top 3 New Haven restaurants, I wound up eight minutes early. I hid in the crook of a building, called my mom for support and at 6:28 p.m. headed inside, slipping through the velvet curtain and waltzing up to the hostess.

“Hi there,” I said. “I’m here for a date.” She looked at me blankly.

“It’s a blind date.”

She kindly asked what I wanted to do. Should she take his name and call me over?

“I don’t know his name,” I blurted. “But he has red hair. They told me he has red hair. I’m here for a contest. I can just get a table and then look for him.”

She nodded and smiled. “Okay.”

She led me to a table near the bar.

Kitchen Zinc was made for dates. The intimate space is packed with rows of tables for two, small squares big enough for pizza and two pairs of elbows to lean on.

I downed a pitcher of water before I saw a redhead by the door and waved. Will mentioned he knew me from “Daily Themes.”

I probably looked perplexed because I didn’t recall him. My brain was preoccupied with signaling me to sit like a normal person.

Excited to sample the menu, we ordered two pizzas to share: the prosciutto special, a personal favorite, and a new one with broccoli rabe, sausage and hot peppers.

The conversation flowed from classes and activities to how we skied over spring break (he’s a pro, tackling Swiss mountains, while in upstate New York I tried for the first and last time), to television (he joked that he’s “bad at watching it”), to movies (we both saw only one major film last year).

The whole time, I didn’t know where to look. I stared at his face.

When I felt that was awkward, I glanced away, only to repeat the cycle.

I felt relieved to learn I wasn’t the only one who had never been on a blind date, or for that matter a real date where you sit across the table from someone and that table isn’t in a dining hall. We agreed

that we were doing pretty well.

I asked who his “Daily Themes” tutor was and was baffled to learn we had the same one.

Will and I had much in common, including the fact that we both had rehearsals to get to. Suddenly it was almost 8 p.m. — you know the conversation is going well when neither person pulls out a phone for almost two hours. We walked back and parted ways at WLH. Halfway through rehearsal, when I had finally come down from my jittery high, it struck me. Not only was he in my class and shared a tutor, but we had once been in the same four-person critique group. I had read and discussed five of his pieces, among them a particularly enjoyable “Jabberwocky”-esque theme about the fictitious fishlike groolaï.

I’m so clueless that I failed to see my blind date wasn’t even blind.

Contact EMMA AKRAWI at emma.akrawi@yale.edu .

What do you call a blind date that isn’t totally blind? A myopic date! Har har!

I refrained from making this really terrible joke during my date with Emma, though it crossed my mind when I arrived at Kitchen Zinc and realized that I kinda sorta knew her already: We are both in “Daily Themes,” and we have the same writing tutor (hi, Donald Brown!).

The next few minutes after I sat down were like some great purging of all of the nervous laughter I thought would plague me the whole night. We laughed about: the ridiculousness of the whole blind date situation, the nice YDN photographer who took 100 shots from various angles while we awkwardly posed, and telling our waiter that we needed more time to look at the menu because we had just been paparazzi’d.

After the stifled laughs left us, we settled into a great, relaxed conversation.

Over the course of our lovely dinner, we learned that we actually had quite a bit in common. Our dialogue flowed naturally as we traded shared facts about ourselves, like this dinner being our first “real” date ever, our passion for music, our uncertainty about how Credit/D/Fail really works and the hefty commitment

of our extracurriculars: She a member of an a cappella group, I a member of an improv group.

Also, we are both 20, and thus were unable to partake in some of the delicious-sounding beer with which the waiter taunted us. Boo. What we did order more than made up for it: one red pizza (sausage + broccoli rabe + spicy peppers = woo!) and one white pizza (prosciutto + pine nuts + balsamic glaze = sweet!), both delicious. We realized we still had some more money in our budget, so we considered a dessert. However, we both had rehearsal for our respective groups at 8 p.m., and time was running out. A nice compromise: We ordered a dessert pizza (thin crust + mascarpone cheese + pears = love!) to go. We left Kitchen Zinc after 8 p.m., already late but not caring. With personal pizza boxes in hand containing our evenly split dessert, we walked together to our shared rehearsal location, WLH, and parted ways with a hug. I did it! My first blind date! I didn’t make awful jokes, but I did make a new friend!

Contact WILL ADAMS at william.adams@yale.edu .

A literary tradition

O

n Thursday night, the New Haven Public Library hosted the Seventh Annual Reading by Anne Fadiman and three of her students, Alex Lew ’15, Harrison Monsky ’13 and Mia Thompson ’13. Fadiman, Yale’s Francis Writer-in-Residence, is the award-winning author of “The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down.”

// KATHRYN CRANDALL

S AT U R D AY

YALE DAILY NEWS KEG PARTY

MARCH 30

Come do some keg stands, our treat. We dare you to beat our editor-in-chief/ SAE rep.

202 York St. // 9 p.m.

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS: Calling your girlfriend It’s time you had the talk.

PAGE B10

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, MARCH 29, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

WEEKEND COLUMNS

COLD WAR, HOT CINEMA: THE POPULARITY OF PARANOIA // BY BECCA EDELMAN During many academic introductions to the Cold War, teachers present clips of Cold War-era feature films. They show these clips, with their demonic Russian villains and eminent nuclear war, alongside videos that teach schoolchildren to hide under their desks in case of nuclear attack and brochures detailing the proper stockpile for a private bomb shelter. In this context, the films and their paranoid themes seem like relics of our past. They become artifacts that we use to dissect history; we watch them as symptoms of the paranoia rampant within Cold War America.

Modern viewers may laugh at the dramatic nature of the films.

Feeling that America has left the Cold War behind, we now tend to look back upon its cultural reflections with something verging on condescension.

Recently, skimming blog posts about this spring’s upcoming films, I came across “White

BECCA EDELMAN A CASE FOR CINEMA House Down,” which Sony plans to release in June. The plot follows a failed Secret Service applicant (Channing Tatum), who happens to be on a tour of the White House when a paramilitary troop invades the building. Eventually, Tatum saves both the day and the president.

Sound familiar? It should.

This weekend, Millennium Films released “Olympus Has Fallen,” an action flick following an exSecret Service agent (Gerard Butler) as he navigates a terrorist infiltration of the White House.

Butler somehow manages to dispel the terrorists, rescue the president and restore general order.

What can we learn from the similarities between these two films? Has Hollywood simply run out of ideas? People like mov-

ies such as “Die Hard” (1988) and “Independence Day” (1996). So why not combine them? Twice?

But I think that there’s something more here.

Film provides a particularly good barometer of cultural beliefs, fears, desires, etc., for two reasons. First, film is a collaborative art form. Unlike a painter or an author, who most often creates his or her work in solitude, a director works alongside producers, actors, cinematographers, editors and at times hundreds of others to craft a product.

Although one contributor may drive the vision, such collaboration often implies some sort of compromise or agreed-upon principles within the work.

Second, the studio system moderates most mainstream films. Studios look to create not only an artistic product, but also a lucrative one. Making a popular film often means reflecting popular attitudes or anxiet-

ies. Yes, some other art forms, like the modern novel, are also formed in part by the structures of industry. However, with today’s excess of film marketing, product placement and sequels, the film industry stands as an extreme in the transformation of art to commodity. Though all art can be interpreted as a reflection of society and culture, film might be the one most desperately trying to please and relate to the public.

This model illuminates Cold War films as symptomatic of Cold War culture. In “My Son John” (1952), a family discovers that its beloved son has returned home from abroad as a Communist, reflecting a fear of Communist infiltration into the peace of American family life. In “Fail Safe” (1964), the U.S. accidentally drops an atomic bomb on Moscow, leading to the possibility of retaliation. Such a plot plays on Cold War viewers’ fears

of a possible nuclear holocaust.

In view of “White House Down” and “Olympus Has Fallen,” it is time to take another look at these seemingly antiquated Cold War films. Perhaps they should not be viewed as mere relics, but as relevant parallels. The portrayal of American paranoia through film has not faded, but remains strong. Not one studio, but two, believed that the story of a terrorist takeover of the White House would strike a chord with American viewers. And these are not the only two films to fit such a model. In Paramount’s “G.I. Joe: Retaliation,” currently playing at the Criterion, a nuke-crazy villain impersonates the president. And general terrorist films have run rampant both before and after 9/11: “Die Hard” (1988) and “The Dark Knight Rises” (2012) are merely a couple of the most popular manifestations.

The antagonists have changed

since the 1960s. In “Olympus Has Fallen” the terrorists are North Korean rather than Russian, reflecting a current fear of North Korean nuclear power; in “G.I. Joe”’s preview, the impostor expressly threatens North Korea, leaving a potential viewer wondering whether a “Fail-Safe”like nuclear standoff awaits.

Entire books, like Jack Shaheen’s “Reel Bad Arabs,” have been written on the vilification of Arabs in American films, especially after 9/11.

Today’s box office implies that Cold War films ought not to be mocked as relics of our past. Our fears have not ended, but merely transferred their target. We remain both terrified and fascinated by threats from the outside.

We’ll continue watching — especially when Channing Tatum’s the one who saves us.

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

// CREATIVE COMMONS

Verse-Chorus-Bridge To Nowhere // BY DAVID WHIPPLE James Brown did so many substances that it’s surprising how little substance there is to his music. This isn’t a knock against James Brown: He made some great stuff, but he did so through great performances, not great artistry. It’s hard to imagine him fulfilling the legend of the tortured rock star. James Brown had a recipe for his music: some funky guitar, some funky brass and lyrics about how funky (insert noun) was. A verse, a chorus and a bridge using those ingredients, and he had a song. It was a great recipe, don’t get me wrong, but he made his music by putting together fairly static pieces. On many songs, you can hear him ordering his band to “take it to the bridge,” the equivalent of “needs more salt!”

The godfather of soul is hardly the only artist to use formulaic constructions. Much traditional jazz can be reduced to an A-A-BA form; probably half of all rock songs ever written use a verse-chorus-bridge schematic. You can have horizontal formulas like these, laid out along the length of the song, or vertical formulas like James Brown’s timeless cocktail of funky guitar, horns and self-referential exhortations of funk. In both cases, a new song can grow on the skeleton of an old one. But it can be ambiguous whether a formulaic song is really its own song, or a new coat of paint on an old one.

There’s plenty to be said for songs that rely on time-tested axioms. The instant familiarity of a song that works exactly as you expect can be comforting rather than boring; songs with instant popular appeal often employ fairly basic construction instead of dragging listeners through a maze of unexpected changes. A verse-chorus-bridge formulation can also serve as scaffolding for interior brilliance; no one ever accused Bob Dylan of being a compositional genius, but holding that against him would be missing the point of his music. Nirvana might have exaggerated the verse-chorus-bridge structure more than anyone else by the characteristic differences between their moody verses and explosive choruses, but Nevermind that because their music was amazing anyways. In short, we have these formulas because they work.

Yet anyone who has ever half-napped

S U N D AY MARCH 31

DAVID WHIPPLE TUNE-UP through microeconomics will be acquainted with the law of diminishing returns, and that certainly applies here. Doing the same thing over and over, whether it’s producing widgets or writing jazz songs using A-A-BA, gets old. Yes, the old formulas are familiar, but eventually they stop being reliable and start getting redundant. Axioms can be the foundation for brilliance, but as they become more and more rote, songs have to employ them more and more judiciously to avoid sounding stale — it’s much harder to write a fresh-sounding verse-chorus-bridge song now than it was in the days of Led Zeppelin, who, as much as I love them, were the kings of verse-chorus-bridge. Anyone who releases an album full of verse-chorusbridge songs today is liable, even likely, to get roundly panned by critics.

The critics’ view always has to be taken with a grain of salt, but they have a very legitimate gripe here. The old formulas work, but as they get used and reused, there’s less and less space for a truly novel reinterpretation or appropriation. It’s lazy, even cheating, in some sense, to repurpose an old formula without somehow making it your own.

If no one innovates, we end up with a lot of complacent music indistinguishable from older sounds. That the old formulas work makes it that much more impressive to create something powerful without using them.

The accolades heaped on innovative artists like the Dirty Projectors or Titus Andronicus acknowledge and reflect such an achievement.

And yet I’m sure that at this very moment, someone somewhere is writing a song that would move me to tears with its verse-chorus-bridge simplicity. Not because of it, but despite it. A great song is a great song, formulaic or not. It’s just that, using the old formulas, fewer and fewer remain to be written.

Contact DAVID WHIPPLE at david.whipple@yale.edu .

Ask an Enthusiastic Thirteen-Year-Old Blogger Who Kissed a Boy For The First Time Yesterday // BY ZOE GREENBERG Dear Enthusiastic 13-Year-Old Blogger Who Kissed a Boy For The First Time Yesterday, I’ve been thinking a lot about marriage equality, and I was hoping you could help me. My parents always taught me that marriage was a sacred thing between a man and a woman. But then in my freshman year at Yale, I came out, and I’ve been dating the same guy since then. He wants to get married, but now I wonder whether marriage is actually too conservative of an institution for me. Should I fight for equal marriage rights, or is the movement for marriage equality merely a distraction from more effective strategies for structural change?

-Agonizing in Albany Dear Agonizing in Albany, thanks so much for writing! i have been thinking about some of the same issues!!...........lol. it sounds like you have had some really random, crazy experiences which is perfect bc i have, too. that is probably why you wrote to me in the first place duh lol. there is this boy who i will not name who i have known for a loooooong time. it is always so funny when we hang out because we barely do anything and it’s so weird and funny. yesterday i went to his squash match which was totally random since i have no idea how to play squash and

NOTHING

in this world. you should think about it more!!! ask your friends………

Surveymonkey is awesome!!

don’t even understand it when i watch it. we went to the eighth grade hallway after that and some things happened which i will not name but sarah you know what i’m talking about!!!!!! anyway good luck with all the stuff you are thinking about see ya soon ttyl lylas.

YOU SHOULD THINK ABOUT IT MORE!!! ASK YOUR FRIENDS.........

SURVEYMONKEY IS AWESOME!!

Leave comments!!!!!

Dear Enthusiastic 13-Year-Old Blogger Who Kissed a Boy For The First Time Yesterday, I want to be able to give my kids everything I never had, but I’m not sure how to create that life in a way that’s ethically responsible.

A lot of my friends are going to work at banks or consulting firms next year, and I’m conflicted about whether I should, too. I would make a ton of money and I could provide comfortably for my family, but how can I reconcile my desire to care for my family with my belief that we should all devote ourselves to fighting inequality?

-Wondering in Work Dear Wondering in Work, thanks for writing! there are definitely tons of BIG questions

ENTHUSIASTIC THIRTEENYEAR-OLD BLOGGER WHO KISSED A BOY FOR THE FIRST TIME YESTERDAY

i also just wanted to tell everyone reading this...tumblrs and Facebook and other things can be read by pretty much anyone so it is NOT a great idea to write about when you may or may not have kissed a boy because THOMAS doesn’t know how to mind his own business and he might read your personal blog out loud in physics class in front of everyone >: ( even though you only wanted your best actual friends to know about your life. but i know none of my BFFs would do that. 2013 no regrets <3 <3 <3 leave comments!!!!!!!

Contact ZOE GREENBERG at zoe.greenberg@yale.edu .

WEEKEND RECOMMENDS:

nowhere // never Nothing ever happens on Sunday. Stop asking us.

ZOE GREENBERG SOME THINGS CONSIDERED

Bop It

Flick it! Twist it! Pull it! Spin it! Ah, childhood.

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, MARCH 29, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

PAGE B11

WEEKEND THEATER

FALLING INTO THE “ABYSS”: A MUST-SEE

“Pirates of the Caribbean 5”? Not quite. // BY KARIN SHEDD

// BY CAROLYN LIPKA “Abyss” … How can I even begin to describe “Abyss?” “Abyss” is almost flawless. It has two Fendi purses and a silver Lexus.

Just kidding.

But what “Abyss” is is this semester’s most creative show — it has no script. Directed by Charlie Polinger ’13 and with music directed and conceptualized by Stephen Feigenbaum ’12 MUS ’13, the production features actors and musicians — some people holding both roles — and also an elaborate set which innovatively utilizes projections, shadows and light. Here, theater meets classical music: It’s like the YSO Halloween Show meets SIC InC. And a theater production. And a YD show. And James Franco’s masturbatory projections fantasies of 2011 — remember those?

In “Abyss,” a loving couple is suddenly torn apart when the girl (Gracie White ’16) is taken by the government without warning during the night from the man (Gabe Greenspan ’14).

Through a journey at sea, encounters with cults and manipulation of drugs, “Abyss” tells the desperate, emotional story of his journey to find her.

At first glance, the plotline itself seems slightly trite (think “The Odyssey,” but with stilts) and most of the acting is slightly over the top. Yet these two elements are necessary for the same reason that all silent film acting is anything but subtle: The only way to tell a story without words is to make it as obvious as possible. Polinger was handed this difficult task — to direct a group of actors into telling a story with no script — and fully delivered.

That said, the acting of Greenspan and Charlotte McCurdy ’13 stole the show when they were on stage. Greenspan’s training in circus and acrobatics are evident; his lifts are gracefully and effortlessly executed. At one point, Greenspan’s character’s desperation to find the girl is so tangible that his character begins to cry — a heartbreaking lapse in the bravado and determination of the man’s persona. Greens-

//SAMANTHA GARDNER

Some wild shit happens in this show.

pan’s honest, raw emotions were met with McCurdy’s deceptive acting — she played a boy for part of the show to escape sex slavery after being captured by drug lords. McCurdy, unlike other actors, speaks with her face rather than dramatic gestures, the look in her eyes tensing and relaxing to the swell of the orchestra.

But the depth in acting would be incomplete without the richness of sound in Feigenbaum’s music — a brilliantly composed score that brings the viewers through the elaborate show. In one scene, Feigenbaum’s compositions feature a heavy bass, pounding and loud as if amplifying the drug-laced blood beating through the hearts of the characters, who have gathered to inhale fumes from an oxygen mask.

Fittingly, Feigenbaum plays a god during the scene — the musical mastermind behind the production. Feigenbaum’s keyboard provides the template upon which the other instruments paint a rich narrative. The acting, set, lighting and directing are excellent in their own right, but Feigenbaum’s score is the thread that brings them all together. Without his vision, “Abyss” would have not existed, and Yale owes him for bringing this refreshing show to our campus.

The entire production unfolds on one of the most delicately crafted sets on Yale’s campus: The staging of “Abyss” is nothing short of incredibly impressive. Producer Kathleen Addison ’14 and set designer Brian Dudkiewicz DRA ’14 picked and transformed a venue — an off-campus house — to create the perfect blend of creepy and dazzling. The stage is vast and black, painted with piping, complete with ribbons hanging from the ceiling on which actors such as White performed acrobatics.

Ultimately, it’s easy for many productions to look and feel the same at Yale. “Abyss” stands out, in part because of its content and unorthodox structure, but also because of the fantastic production value. This is the future of great theater. Combining the skills and talents of those behind the scenes with those on the stage is rarely as visible as it is this weekend at 278 Park St. Contact CAROLYN LIPKA at carolyn.lipka@yale.edu .

In Gilbert and Sullivan’s famous comic opera “The Pirates of Penzance,” the titular band of scallywags have all of the comedic bumbling but none of the actual cutthroat savvy of today’s beloved pirate archetype, Captain Jack Sparrow. In one scene, they attempt to woo the daughters of the Major General Stanley (Austin Kase ’11) with promises of “the felicity of unbounded domesticity” that comes part and parcel of marriage to a “doctor of divinity.” Their plan, however, is easily overthrown by the Major General’s lie about being an orphan. It appeals to the softhearted nature of the pirates, all orphans themselves.

Directed by Nicholas Bleisch ’13 and performed by the Yale Gilbert & Sullivan Society, “The Pirates of Penzance” is at once an exploration of the trials and pitfalls of following (or not) one’s duty, and a display of late 19th century courting that is as hilariously awkward (if considerably chaste) as Wednesday night Toad’s. It tells the tale of Frederic (Peter Minnig ’13), a young man who was mistakenly apprenticed to the pirates of Penzance when he was a boy and who gained his freedom upon reaching his 21st birthday.

He then falls in love with Mabel (Marisa Karchin ’14), one of the Major General’s daughters, only to find out that because he was born on Feb. 29, he technically has another 63 years to spend in servitude to the Pirate King (Jake Nelson GRD ’14) and his crew.

Even with such a humorous and successful premise, however, leading man Minnig’s per-

formance is underwhelming for the show that remains one of Gilbert and Sullivan’s most popular operas to this day. Musically, he swashbuckles and belts along with the best of them, but his acting performance leaves one wondering how someone who spent so much time around such a flamboyant crew of pirates could have so little personality. This occasionally works, like when he’s putting the moves on the Major General’s daughters, because that type of nervous disconnect is exactly what one would expect from someone who’s only ever seen a woman in the form of his childhood nanny, Ruth (Nicole Levy ’13). It’s conceivable, especially if you are a newbie to the Gilbert and Sullivan scene, that this was actually a faithful portrayal of what is supposed to be a reserved, honor-driven and duty-bound character. Perhaps a lifetime of being ordered around by the boisterous pirates gave poor Frederic little opportunity to develop a personality of his own between sessions of poop deckswabbing. Whether it was this or simply a lack of connection with the character is unclear.

Exacerbating this one issue, but lifting the entire show to a knee-slapping good time, are the stellar performances by virtually every other performer. Kase in particular stole the show as the puttering, shaky old Major General. He deserves commendation just for managing to cram so many syllables into so few bars of music in “I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General,” and nothing short of a standing ova-

// HENRY EHRENBERG

Songs and hats and things.

tion for doing so in a dead-on personification of the crotchety, doting, quick-witted Major General. Not to be outdone are the actual pirates of Penzance, most notably Pirate King and the proverbial desperate pirate wench, Ruth, whose performances outshine even their glittery feathered hats and crowns.

The show climaxes with the pirate crew, the bumbling band of reticent policemen and the Major General in the latter’s backyard engaging in a silly bout of fighting and debate reminiscent of many Monty Python sketches, all thanks to Frederic, whose sense of duty apparently doesn’t include sticking to one side. Not to spoil the ending with too many details, but the conclusion is just as random, tidy and flippant as one could expect after two hours of Penzance antics.

Despite the rest of the cast overwhelming Frederic in both plot and performance, “The Pirates of Penzance” delivers a pleasant dose of 19th century seafaring humor, from its jaunty opening to all-too-fitting conclusion.

“The Pirates of Penzance” opened Thursday night and has performances Friday at 9:30 p.m. and Saturday at 8:00 p.m. at the Off Broadway Theater.

Contact KARIN SHEDD at karin.shedd@yale.edu .

Teaching an old Hamlet new tricks // BY ALEXI SARGEANT Age is out of joint onstage at the Yale Repertory Theatre, where Paul Giamatti’s Hamlet seems both too old and too young to carry out his ghost-given mission of revenge. His Prince of Denmark seems far too old to be passed over for the Danish crown, yet also too immature to stake a claim to it, even when prompted to revenge by heaven and hell. In his first scene he wanders listlessly in the background of his uncle’s court before “accidentally” upstaging the king. He is a moody teenager in an overgrown body, Denmark’s perpetual problem child. This “Hamlet,” which reunites Giamatti with his fellow Yale School of Drama graduate and the Rep’s artistic director James Bundy DRA ’95, presents Shakespeare’s longest play as a tragedy of arrested development: the Melancholy Dane by way of Buster Bluth.

Elsinore Castle is a house divided, but still a feast for the eyes and ears. Meredith B. Ries has a created an ornate multilevel wooden set halfway between a playground castle and a pipe

organ. A quintet of musicians, including a harpist, nestles in the crenellations, filling scene transitions with composer Sarah Pickett’s lovely original score. From the beginning, however, the design also hints of foul deeds on the rise, as costume designer Jayoung Yoon dresses Bernardo and Francisco (Mickey Theis GRD ’14 and Charlie Tirrell) in camouflage fatigues and heavy modern armament. They are standing guard for a military threat, but unprepared for the apparition of Hamlet’s father, initially conjured only by the actors’ horrorstruck gazes and the clever light and sound design of Stephen Strawbridge and Keri Klick.

When the Ghost does appear in the flesh (as it were), the effects are equally impressive, with smoke rising from Old Hamlet’s coat as if a whiff of brimstone from hell or purgatory were still clinging to him. He speaks in a voice of thunder, and when he reaches to lay a hand of blessing on his son he is dragged back as if by invisible chains. The total effect is spec-

tral enough that one might not instantly realize that the Ghost is played by the same actor who plays Claudius (Marc Kudisch), not an unusual double but one used to especially good effect here. Claudius, with his ingratiating laugh, double-breasted suit and Danish-flag coffee mug, is a suave corporate climber, imageconscious enough to leave the lionizing portrait of his brother on the wall for a few scenes before having it replaced with a painting of Claudius arm-in-arm with his brother’s widow Gertrude (Lisa Emery).

The cracks in Claudius’ façade start to show, rather melodramatically, when he shatters a wine glass in his hand while viewing the play-within-a-play, and more subtly when Kudisch interprets Claudius’ attempt to pray for forgiveness as a crisis of faith. “My words fly up, my thoughts remain below / Words without thoughts never to heaven go,” he says, tearing the cross of state from his neck and leaving it on the chapel floor.

Gertrude, for her part, moons

over Claudius shamelessly in their early scenes, giving Hamlet ample reason to bitterly jest at her o’erhasty remarriage.

Giamatti’s Hamlet seems most comfortable in moments of dark humor like this, when his excellent comic delivery comes from a place of bitterness and pain — as is the case with all the best comedians, of course. He also admirably commits himself to the physical demands of the role. This is a Hamlet who stumbles on the stairs to the battlements, greets Horatio (a stalwart Austin Durant) by leaping into his arms like Scooby-Doo, who prances about Elsinore in boxers and bathrobe when he puts on his “antic disposition.” In the duel scene, adroitly choreographed by fight director Rick Sordelet, Hamlet gleefully bounces around the stage like a rubber ball, landing cheap mock blows on the leg and crotch of an incensed Laertes (Tommy Schrider).

What seems like a missed opportunity is the potential for chemistry between Ham-

let and Ophelia (Brooke Parks).

She seems charming and spirited enough when she sidles behind her father, Polonius (Gerry Bamman), and mouths along with his trite advice to Laertes, but completely wilts in front of Giamatti in the nunnery scene, which he plays largely to the curtains that hide Claudius and Polonius. One wishes that something had been made of the large age disparity between this Hamlet and this specific Ophelia, but instead it is merely there, unexplained and uninterpreted.

Polonius is another mixed blessing, as Bamman dodders and blathers with laughable selfimportance and utter emotional obliviousness, but lacks any edge of the spymaster or shrewd counselor that can give the role more weight. It becomes baffling to see Ophelia go so violently, bloodyshirt-wearing and nonsensesong-singing insane when neither of the men she has lost seem like crucial figures in her life.

Hamlet is always an unsuitable revenge hero, more com-

April Fool’s!

NONE OF THIS WAS TRUE. FIND A NEW ACTIVITY.

fortable punning with the gravedigger (here an excellently wry Jarlath Conroy) than executing his father’s command. Giamatti’s performance pushes this to an extreme, with a Hamlet who in his first monologue, flails red-faced on the marble floor like an oversized infant and calls for “this too, too solid flesh” to melt.

The very final moments of the play give us in Fortinbras (a martial Paul Pryce), the long-delayed military threat to Denmark, all that Hamlet wishes he could be: a confident man who strides onto the stage, calmly assesses the situation and takes a seat in the throne with consummate swagger. Hamlet claims self-deprecatingly that Claudius is “no more like my father / Than I to Hercules.” Never has the latter contrast been more apparent. But by highlighting the inadequacy of Hamlet the prince, this production succeeds at mounting “Hamlet” the play.

Contact ALEXI SARGEANT at alexi.sargeant@yale.edu .

PAGE B12

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, MARCH 29, 2013 · yaledailynews.com

WEEKEND BACKSTAGE

// ALLIE KRAUSE

MICHAEL HERBERT‘16: FRESHMAN FRAT-STAR(TER) // BY AMY WANG

A

freshman from a suburb of Denver, Colo., Michael Herbert ’16 first stepped onto campus as a student last fall. In the middle of his first semester, Herbert began thinking of re-establishing the Chi Psi fraternity at Yale, which dissolved in 1963. Chi Psi at Yale is now an officially registered fraternity — in fact, the only registered fraternity on campus — and boasts 26 new members, including four juniors. How did a freshman start up a successful Greek organization in less than a year? What are his next steps? Herbert tells WEEKEND how he initially got interested in the idea of starting a new fraternity, how he hopes the organization will develop and doing things people make movies about.

A. It started with my friend at the University of Colorado at Boulder — we’d gone to high school together, and we speak often. He’s something of a mentor to me. When I first got to Yale, I was talking to him about frats and he started talking to me about Chi Psi. He suggested that I start it up and got me in touch with the central office [of Chi Psi]. Then I got in touch with some close friends — from there on, it kind of snowballed. I’d ballpark that this was around October. I started talking to my closest friends and said, “Hey, I’m thinking of starting a frat.” It’s an exciting thing — the kind of thing that people make movies about, such as “Old School.” When people hear of opportunities to do things like that, to build a legacy, to build something historic, they get excited. Because we had that core, that group, it became realistic to other people, and they started reaching out to other people, and we started evaluating other people while keeping that core group. Our central national office has allowed us to continue and provided us with assistance when it’s been needed.

Q. How did you recruit so many people to join — especially the juniors?

A. It was a situation where we’re starting it up, we’re refounding it — because of that, there are a lot of freshmen in leadership positions, and sometimes it can be difficult for upperclassmen to walk into a situation like that. But the juniors also see an exciting opportunity because they’re aware they can actually be a mentor.

One of our juniors, Tim Westcott, is a transfer student from the University of Michigan, and he wants to help us replicate the experience he had at his other school.

Q. How difficult was it to form the organization from scratch?

A. Certainly you have your challenges — it’s not a situation where the thing is totally established. As a result of that, you have to make sure that people remain aware that it’s a real

thing, it’s not a situation where someone’s just kind of blowing smoke or speaking nonsense — there is actually a substantive organization being built.

We certainly had rough patches along the way, but we’ve always had people who were committed and excited about it. I think what we’re pitching is something that appeals to people, and as a result we’re able to overcome those challenges.

Q. We noticed that you distinguished your frat as a non-“party-oriented” one.

Did you consider joining Beta Upsilon Chi (BYX) rather than starting up a new frat?

A. We are a social fraternity, but at the same time Chi Psi is unique in that it was the first frat founded based on the idea of brotherhood. I think that’s something very, very important to keep in mind at the core of what we’re trying to do here. I like to describe it as a group of people becoming the greatest friends that ever lived — maybe that’s a little ambitious. At the same time it speaks to the potential a group of men can achieve. Going back to the Christian frat, I don’t want to talk about other frats, but at the same time we want to make sure we’re reaching a diverse group of people, that we’re not closing our doors to any people, that anyone has the opportunity to join the frat.

Q. What’s it like being the only registered frat on campus?

A. I think the biggest thing as far as being officially registered with the Dean’s Office is that we’re trying to make sure we have a positive relationship with the University. We’re not looking to replace the Yale experience, we’re looking to add to it. We want to make sure we’re doing that. It’s just a matting of wanting to work [with Yale administrators]. All the people involved in Greek life love Yale — it’s just a matter of us having that relationship to make sure we’re working with Yale. That goes back to creating a Greek life that’s thriving within the University, not outside.

Q. We’ve heard that some national Greek organizations are hesitant to start a chapter at Yale because they view the Yale administration as unfriendly or overly strict toward Greek organizations.

How did you build a relationship with Chi Psi nationals?

A. For Chi Psi, usually when national organizations are starting new chapters, what they’ll do is they will come out and try to start the new chapter. Our situation has been different because we reached out to them before they reached out to us. They sent representatives last year to explore and see what a chapter at Yale would be like — whenever Chi Psi starts anew, whether they send representatives or someone reaches out, they want to make sure they have a positive relationship with the university. They have found new chapters are more likely to succeed when the relationship works. I don’t know for sure why they didn’t establish a chapter last year — as far as I know, that was an exploratory visit, not an expansionary visit.

Presumably, they would have come out later again, if we had not reached out to them. But now it’s a win-win.

Q. If you’re a freshman, and most of your frat is composed of freshmen, didn’t the creation of your frat violate the University-wide ban on freshman fall rush?

A. We didn’t rush, and we didn’t actually have any formal activities at all — it was more discussion-based.

So as far as rush and those things go, we haven’t actually done anything of that nature yet. That stuff’s all going to happen in the future. That was not a problem for us.

Q. Has it been difficult being a leader as a freshman?

A. I haven’t found it too difficult — I’ve been very fortunate just to have a great group of people. It’s been a joy every step of the way. A lot of people have stepped up, so it’s not just me doing everything. There’s been, I think, great group collaboration. It can be difficult at times when you’re trying to start something brand-new, I’m

sure a whole bunch of people would agree. Whenever you start something new, there can be challenges — but being a freshman is not necessarily additionally difficult. Like I said, the opportunity to play a mentorship role has been big for the juniors.

Q. What will your frat’s philanthropic focus be?

A. We’re going to do that as well.

This semester we’re hoping to get a project in. We have one member who is actively involved with at-risk youth in New Haven, and he’s working on planning out something to do with them. It’s harder to plan a project for this semester, but I think you hit on an important point, which is service and community outreach — that’s going to be an integral part of what we’re going to do. In the fall, we’ll have a more positive idea of who we are.

Q. Finally, before you created the new chapter of Chi Psi, did you ever consider rushing an existing fraternity at Yale?

A. Not really, because I started working with the Chi Psi central office before there was really an opportunity to begin joining another frat. Consid-

ering those things, it never really got that far for me. What I will say, though, is the idea of being in a frat did appeal to me — not before I even got here [to Yale], but going back to that conversation that I first had at the beginning to conceive the idea of starting Chi Psi up. I think Greek life has a lot to offer, and that was something I had as an idea going into it.

Q. What is your relationship with other fraternities and sororities on campus like?

A. So far, because we’re just getting started, we haven’t done anything like [mixers or meetings] yet. We just got officially recognized a month ago. But obviously we want to have a positive relationship, and something else is, I want to see a Greek community that’s thriving at Yale. I think that’s going to be good for both Chi Psi and Yale. I think people can get a lot out of Greek life — from statistics, people who go into Greek life are more likely to graduate, to give back to their school and achieve more things beyond school. I hope Chi Psi will be a part of that.

Contact AMY WANG at amy.wang@yale.edu .

“

I LIKE TO DESCRIBE IT AS A GROUP OF PEOPLE BECOMING THE GREATEST FRIENDS THAT EVER LIVED.

“

Q. How did you get into the idea of starting a fraternity at Yale?