Monthly Archives: March 2010

Why Oberlin is Awkward: Door Etiquette Part Two

The cause of all my problems.

By Carolyn Weinstein

Unfortunately, I live in North.  This means that I should have no excuse for not going to the gym—seriously, I can see Phillips from my window—but because I am both creative and lazy, I found one.  I live on the third floor of this wretched building.  That means that I have appropriated walking up two flights of stairs as my daily exercise.  Anyway, I walk up and down these awful green stairs several times a day.  Every once in awhile, someone will be walking in front of me.  Because the people at this school have this strange niceness about them, that person will hold the door open for me when we arrive at the next story.  This is great when they’re going to the third floor—woo, I don’t have to reach out and touch the germ-infested handle!—but what if they’re not?  Second-floorers hold the door open, too, even though they are unaware of my final destination.  By incorrectly assuming that I belong on their floor, they have thrown me into a terribly dilemma of how to proceed in the least awkward way possible.  Surprise!  There is no least awkward way!  Have you caught onto the theme yet?  I can do one of two things: accept their graciousness, or go onto the third floor.  I have never entered the second story under this circumstance.  I don’t want to seem ungrateful of their good manners, but it’s not the right floor.  “It’s not you,” I want to say, “you’re being nice!  It’s just that I don’t live here.”  At that point, I usually mutter under my breath, “that was relatively awkward,” and trudge up to the third floor.  Crisis averted.

This is all assuming that you’ve gotten yourself into the building.  Imagine that you’re turning the corner to get into North, and you see someone approaching the door straight ahead.  The physics of awkward dictates that you two will arrive at the door at exactly the same time.  Who swipes in first?  Do you, the corner-turner, do it because the angle with which you approached the building means that you are naturally closer to the card swiper?  Are you really that much closer, though?  The distance is really only a few inches, which is negligible.  Should you wait that extra half-second for the other guy to swipe in?  That would make it seem like you were too damn lazy to swipe yourself in and just assumed that he would take care of it.  Jerk.

So you go ahead and decide to swipe in.  What if he already has his card out?  That would be depriving him of the card-swiping action he was anticipating.  This could hurt; some people derive a whole lot of self-worth and authority from using their ID card to open a building.  Even if this guy is not in the minority of aforementioned losers (seriously, I stopped feeling cool because a card with my face on it unlocks buildings two weeks into the semester.  Get a job.), the fact that he already had his ID out means that he already mentally and physically prepared himself to open the building.  You basically just cock blocked him.  Jerk.

Solutions?  Don’t enter buildings or walk up stairs.  Actually, you probably shouldn’t even leave your room.  Safety first, Oberlin, you know your lack of social skills follows you everywhere.  Follow my advice and you will never again hear yourself say, “God, that was so fucking awkward.”

Why Oberlin is Awkward: Door Etiquette Part One

Uh... after you.

By Carolyn Weinstein

Maybe you’ve walked into a building before.  If it’s a dorm, you swipe your card and go about your business.  If it’s an academic building, you walk right in because security is unnecessary in Oberlin, Ohio.  What could you possibly steal from a building like King?  Poems about birds as a metaphor for broken childhoods from the Creative Writing department?  White guilt from CAST?  Seriously.  Anyway, besides the lone geology major creeping around Carnegie after midnight, you’re usually not the only one walking around campus (unless it’s the rare geo major with a boyfriend who wants to mess around after hours in one of the labs.  But how many geo majors do you see with significant others?  They chose to study rocks in college).  This means that there will almost always be someone walking behind you who is about to walk into the same building.  This brings up the issue of door etiquette, which is a delicious cesspool of manners, sexism, and, of course, awkwardness.

“Sexism?” you might ask.  Yes, absolutely sexism!  This is Oberlin; there is no such thing as an altruistic deed.  Everything is some sort of –ism.  But seriously, men holding doors open for women is a centuries-old act of chivalry (citation needed).  Interestingly enough, this practice is still seen at the institution of stuck up liberals that we all go to.  I am a neo-feminist and I have no problem with this.  Actually, I think it’s awesome.  I’ve probably opened the door three times since I’ve been here.  This caters perfectly to my oppressive laziness.  Also, I exaggerate a lot.

At what point does having manners turn into being sexist?  Guy holding doors open for girls is just polite… and so is girls holding doors open for guys, dudes holding doors open for fellow dudes, people holding doors open for people of undefined gender… you get the point.  My lovely editor, Erica, told me about this situation she found herself in while trying to get through the double doors of the Science Center.  A male who was walking behind her reached over and opened the door for her—okay, no big deal, so he went a little out of his way to be polite.  Then, he ran in front of her to open the second door…and the third, and the fourth.  Seriously?  Did he not think that she could physically open the doors for herself?  Going out of one’s way really obviously isn’t good manners; it’s just kind of weird.  Girls can open doors, too, you chivalrous zealot.  I heard someone say once that chivalry is just polite sexism—whether or not I agree with that is irrelevant.  The point is that holding the door open four times in a row is pretty goddamn awkward.

What about holding doors open for other people? – full of delicious awkwardness, of course!  How do you decide how far away the person has to be?  At what point would it be uncomfortable to stand with the door patiently waiting in your hand?  At what distance would it be rude not to hold the door for them?  And what do you do if there is someone directly behind you on a bike?  Do you wait for them to lock up their bike?  Not if you don’t know them—that’s not even awkward, it’s just fucking weird.  But they’re right behind you!  They can see the door closing in their face!  Too bad.  Now there is a person on this campus (who you will inevitable run into a million times after this happens even though you’ve never seen them before) who thinks you’re rude.  That’s what you get for going to a tiny school full of bike-riding hippies.

Also, I don’t hate Oberlin.

A May Cottage Memory

By Thelma Morris ’54

Music educator Art Becknell  ’51 died in the 1990′s, after a distinguished career at the University of Wisconsin. I remember him as the large, amiable, headwaiter at May Cottage when I was a freshman there.  May Cottage was a rambling brick dormitory, its two wings connected by a central dining room. It’s long gone, replaced by the Adam Joseph Lewis Center for Environmental Studies.

Dinners at May, as in all the women’s dormitories, were, well, somewhat formal. The housemother, generally a widow with some pretension to serve “in loco parentis” was usually present.   Lou Di Lorenzo ’51 was our dining room Chaplain. Lou was an English major with dark, piercing eyes, one of the Senior Class Wags who had a way with words.  We stood behind our chairs while he centered our minds with pithy sayings:  “A kiss that speaks volumes is probably not a first edition,” is one I remember to this day. Then the housemother was formally seated, a signal that we could sit. The waiters, upperclassmen all, brought in bowls of steaming food on large silver trays balanced on their shoulders.

After lunch one day in mid December, Art Becknell took me aside, and explained that the waiters had  delegated him to ask me to take part in a holiday tradition sacred to dear old May Cottage.  Could I, as the smallest, lightest resident frosh, be counted on to keep a confidence?  And would I help out?   My self-esteem soared. I was thrilled. I liked Tradition. I could do it.

Came time for the festive Saturday night dinner before Oberlin’s Christmas holiday break.    Lou Di Lorenzo undoubtedly uttered a pithier-than-usual aphorism, then the housemother was seated and the  students followed suit.

The doors to the kitchen were flung open,  and through the darkened, expectant dining room paraded the waiters, in white serving jackets and ties, empty handed.  In the rear came Art Becknell, his two sturdy arms supporting a large silver tray on his shoulder, carrying the Christmas Roast Pig through the length of the room, and back out to the kitchen.

That was me, in pink slacks and rosy sweater, doubled over on arms and knees which were folded up into my scrawny chest, my hands protruding below scrunched shoulders, porcine-like.

In my mouth I bit firmly into a shiny red Delicious.

Black and Blues Inspires and Illuminates

By Sasha Schechter

oberlin.edu

From March 11-13, Little Theater was home to Black and Blues, an original artistic collaboration created and directed by Visiting Assistant Professor of Theater Justin Emeka.  The piece includes dance, song, and scene revolving around Black History and the transition of “Africans” to “Black Americans.”

Black and Blues has an immensely talented cast of artists and takes its audiences on a journey through the African American experience, starting at slavery and leading up to today.  The combination of movement, music, and dialogue from the actors had a powerful impact; where words failed to portray the necessary emotions, there was a song or a dance that compensated beautifully.

The choreography, by Jessica Judson ’10 and James Pressley ’12, held aspects of Capoeira, contact improvisation, and modern dance.  Dance was a central aspect of the piece and was essential when the audience attempted to fully comprehend the stories and their emotions.

Halfway through the show, the lights dimmed, and the omnipresent projectors played a clip of an old minstrel act.  The men of the ensemble played a scene over the projections that was the simultaneously shocking and striking; they applied blackface and danced stereotypically in place, gluing smiles onto their faces underneath their bright red lipstick.

Black and Blues was filled with these kinds of moments; the show was book ended with the main acting ensemble chanting about their blues–their struggles with the world at large and how it conflicts with their identities–and the way they still have to deal with them every day.  They shouted about how they laugh to keep from crying.  The message was heartfelt and hit the audience in a way that was unsettling and personal.

This production’s artistic unification was its high point; this show managed to combine all aspects of theater, music, and dance to create a historical, cultural environment. The emotions presented to the audience ranged from desperate and uncomfortable to joyous and passionate.  The show encouraged audience response, and it received plenty of it from audience members of all backgrounds.

But the conversations dominating the audience that I heard as I left gradually shifted from this show’s artistic brilliance to another topic: Why did the director and performers think a show such as this one was necessary at Oberlin?  There has been a marked divide in theatrical productions here recently between “neutral” shows and shows specifically intended to bring racial issues forward.

Many shows here have attempted to spark discussion about racial issues at Oberlin and in the world at large, while others have often been perceived as ignoring or hiding the race of their performers.  Seldom has there been a show that attempts to acknowledge race, while also exploring other issues.  Do you think this division exists in Oberlin Theater?  If so, what are the ramifications? Post a comment with what you think. What needs to change?

Spring at Oberlin

Photos by Sook Jang, Tiffany Fung, and Carolyn Weinstein

Reflections in Water

Photos by Carolyn Weinstein

There is more than one way to view a tree.

Stevie Snap Judgement – 3/18/10

The Good:

Cheesy Eggplant Orzo-Bake (veggie friendly!) – nice balance of eggplant, tomatoes and assorted veggies with perfectly cooked rice topped with breadcrumbs.

Chicken Lo-Mein – not the best you’ve ever tasted but very flavorful with large chunks of well cooked chicken.

Steer Clear:

Lebanese Meatloaf – dry, gummy, tasteless…that is all.

Desert Choice:

Pecan Pie!

Stevie Snap Judgment – 3/16/10

By Drew Dickler

The Good:

-Pesto Gnocchi – creamy filling and delicious, plus a festive pre-Patti’s day coloring.

-Cinnamon Beef and Spaghetti – tender pieces of beef in a flavorful but not spicy sauce with bits of spinach.  Delicious if you’re craving a carnivorous, less creamy pasta dish .

Steer Clear:

Veggie Stir Fry – old potatoes, soggy green beans, carrots,  and brussel sprouts in a sour sauce.

Desert Choice:

Test your luck with the berry pie.  Nice and tangy for this sunny day.

Why Oberlin is Awkward: Winter Edition

Who are you?

By Carolyn Weinstein

In case you haven’t noticed, this school is made up of art freaks and nerds who didn’t have friends in high school.  With that in mind, Fearless and Loathing is proud to present you with a new weekly series: Why Oberlin is Awkward.

Welcome to the first installment of what is sure to become your favorite (or least favorite, depending on how you deal with reality) blog ever.  This first entry deals with a terrible incident that only happens during the winter months, which unfortunately lasts from late October to March in Ohio.  It’s awful, it’s uncomfortable, and it’s unavoidable: it’s not recognizing people because of their huge winter jackets.

I get it: you’re from California, and you don’t know how to deal with temperatures below 50 degrees.  Still, is it really necessary to break out your puffy coat in November?  The leaves have barely fallen off the trees, and already you’re shrouding yourself in yards of synthetic fabric.  You pull your hood up because you’re not allowed to graduate Kindergarten if you don’t know that most heat escapes through your head.  But oh god, there goes your face.  Hoods have this way of perfectly obscuring anyone’s visage, making them utterly unrecognizable to anyone else.  Whatever, you’re warm, so why do you care if you’re anonymous?

This is selfish!  I don’t care about your warmth.  I care about how goddamn awkward it is when you walk past me on the way to class and I effectively ignore you, because I don’t know to say hi to you until you’re a foot away from me, because I can’t tell who you are on account of your stupid hood.  At that point, you’re way too close and it would be even more awkward to acknowledge that I know you.  What am I supposed to say?  “I’m sorry, I guess I don’t care enough about you to be able to recognize you from a distance?”  Would that work?  Should I just stay silent?  Then I would really be ignoring you, which would be rude.  Which is worse, awkward or rude?  Goddamnit, Los Angeles, don’t do this to me!  Why can’t you just wear a pea coat like the rest of us?  Of course, this brings up the problem of everyone wearing the same jacket, but at least pea coats don’t devour your face.  I’m sure that there are friends of mine from San Diego who I haven’t seen since before Thanksgiving because they’ve been hiding beneath layers of LL Bean.  It’s really a terrible thing.  I don’t even know if they still go here.

What happens when the real winter comes and everyone wears jackets?  Wouldn’t you be unable to recognize anyone?  No, because most of the time, when you’re walking around in the winter, you keep your eyes down to keep the snow out, meaning that you can’t see anyone.  That point is irrelevant.  But really, at that point the only way to survive the overwhelming awkwardness is to familiarize yourself with the hats that your friends wear and identify them that way. Okay, so I didn’t really do that.  Whatever.  I lost a lot of friends this winter.

So what’s the solution?  What can be done about this problem that persists during half of the school year?  I don’t know; I’m just a photographer.  Or, do what I do: look down at the ground, avoid eye contact, and mumble to yourself “Oh God, that was so fucking awkward.”