The Epistle

The Epistle Volume 38, Issue 6

Staff

May 2012

Congratulations, Class of 2012!

Editors-in-Chief Dylan Gibson Kyle Grace Mills Assistant Editor Danielle Williamson Staff Reporters Hannah Früh Patrick Schulte Kourtney Wadkins Journalism Adviser Dr. Laurie Shorter

EDITORIALS

SPREAD

FEATURES In memoriam of the mob: senior farewell SPORTS

St. Paul’s Episcopal School 161 Dogwood Lane Mobile, AL 36608 Phone: (251) 342-6700 Fax: (251) 342-1844 Email: Lshorter@stpaulsmobile.net Website: www.stpaulsmobile.net The Epistle is published by the journalism students of St. Paul’s Episcopal School.

The opinions and views expressed in this paper do not necessarily represent those of our administration, the adviser or all members of The Epistle staff.

by Kyle Grace Mills

It is almost impossible to explain the epic journey we have taken to reach the year 2012. Frodo Baggins made it to the Mountain of Mordor in fourteen months; our journey to the Mitchell Center took us over twelve years. There is something horribly disconcerting about that fact. So if J.R.R. Tolkien couldn’t even begin to fathom our adventure at St. Paul’s, how am I supposed to deliver a concise article that says anything more than “it’s been real?”

This is why I have chosen an all-inclusive metaphor – the fourcourse meal – as a vehicle for my yarn.

Freshman year was the appetizer – just a taste of what was to come. In my culinary imagination, I picture a platter of assorted cheeses accompanied by fruit and bread.

First, you feel sophisticated for having ordered the cheese platter (it’s just SO FRENCH of you) and similarly, we freshmen felt accomplished for reaching high school. Then you discover that some cheese is really delicious (choosing extracurriculars that suit your tastes) and that they

go quite nicely with the fruit (people slowly maturing into better people).

Now you come to a stinky cheese you never really liked. Perhaps now, with your sudden maturity, you will be delighted by the Roquefort cheese. Unfortunately, it’s still rotten. This mirrored our shock that classes such as math and English still stunk. In fact, they were worse.

Then sophomore year, or the salad, came along. It was unimpressive; tasteless like lettuce yet nourishing like spinach. Strewn about the year are hidden gems (or strawberries) like the sophomore trip to Tampa and A.P. and honors classes.

We don’t really devour the salad.

It’s only supposed to tide you over before the main course.

The main course, of course, is junior year. And your chef, St. Paul’s, has prepared for you a sickeningly grand suckling pig. Apple in mouth, stupid look still twinkling in its eye, you are equal parts horrified and amazed at what you see. You don’t know exactly how to approach it—knife and fork? Or a saw and pitchfork? Similarly, we eyed the course load that was being served up

to us as juniors. It was time to really impress the colleges. How many A.P. classes, clubs, or community service hours would it take for a college to notice we really cared? You carve up the pig like you carved up your time management—with hacksaw jagged slices that mangled everything.

There were times you laughed it was so good. But that was quickly followed by tears of frustration. You were too full—enough already! Then just as you thought you were going to vomit in this very nice restaurant, you were done. Hope you saved room for dessert.

Senior year is like a dessert you were not expecting to be so conversely thick and delicious.

It’s like a bittersweet chocolate tart with salted caramel sauce. With milk chocolate shavings. You weren’t expecting this year to be as, well, dense as it turned out. Some stupid person had told you that senior year would be a breeze. However, it is always surprising how satisfyingly bittersweet the final year is. continued on pg. 3

2 Editorial Letter from the editor

by Kyle Grace Mills

I’ve spent the last three years at The Epistle attempting to draw the distracted student into reading my article with the perfect opening sentence. I often find the very beginning of an article the toughest part to compose. It’s not easy to maintain the busy student’s attention. The average St. Paul’s student is anxious, exhausted, stressed, and perpetually hungry. Sometimes, after thrusting a newspaper in their wary faces at seven in the morning, I can understand why they would skip right over the sprawling articles Dylan and I tirelessly produce and right to the middle section (where the pictures are). I am a St. Paul’s student; I empathize completely.

That is why I have always striven to give the reader what a diverting picture might give them: a moment of comedy and interest without stressing their minds. So I make a promise with my opening sentence—this won’t melt your brain and, for a glimmer of a moment, it might even make you smile.

I consider this edition of The Epistle like what I intend for all my opening sentences. I promise a wonderful, fun send-off for the seniors and something nice for the students we’re leaving behind.

Danielle Williamson writes about the pain of letting a sibling go off to college and the great un-

Kony 2012

Letter from the editor

by Dylan Gibson known. Patrick Schulte interviews

What a long, strange trip the track star Lacey Dent. Hannah it’s been.

Früh offers some friendly senior

I can vividly recall my advice to the underclassmen while first day here at St. Paul’s – it was Dylan Gibson muses on magical one of the more traumatic experiMickey philosophy. ences I’ve had in the past eighteen

For my final article, I chose years. That portly, pimply pile of to take on the dauntingly profound pre-adolescent angst which comsenior farewell (as it was my last prised Dylan Gibson in sixth grade chance of making front page). And was not a happy camper. Having for the weary and frazzled students bounced around between Alabama there is the spread—jam-packed and New York for a fair portion of with senior superlatives, legacies, my early life, I’ve never been in farewell notes from underclassmen, one place so long as I’ve been in and, yes, pictures.

Mobile – and the transformation

For the last time I ask you to which has taken place for the Class enjoy this last edition of The Epistle: of 2012 is practically ineffable. our bittersweet goodbye to a won With that in mind, I inderful year. vite you to peruse our May issue of The Epistle – the last issue in which Kyle Grace and I serve as editors. Danielle Williamson has written a wonderful piece about the emotional strain of watching a senior sibling depart for college – no, Cam, not you. Patrick Schulte has taken on the daunting task of compiling our senior superlatives and legacies, and I find myself more than a little irked that no one submitted Dylan Gibson for “prettiest prom dress.” Hannah Früh dispenses some solid advice for all you young’uns, and Kourtney Wadkins gives some straight talk on KONY 2012.

Keep it real, fellas. It’s

by Kourtney Wadkins

If you have been on YouTube any time this month you have probably watched KONY 2012. This powerful video produced by Invisible Children tells the story of Jacob, a young Ugandan boy who watched his family die and was forced to become a soldier by Joseph Kony.

Kony is the leader of the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA), a terrorist group that has destroyed the lives of millions of innocent Ugandans. The people behind Invisible Children witnessed these horrors firsthand. The video features gripping stories from the young boys, who say that they would “rather die than stay here on the Earth.” After hearing these testimonies, Invisible Children made it their personal mission to get the world involved in finding this mass murderer.

Their journey began as soon as they arrived home. They spent countless hours planning and urging leaders in American government to take action against these senseless crimes. Everyone they met with told them the same thing: America would never get involved anywhere that their citizens or personal interests and investments weren’t in danger. Determined to fight back, Invisible Children took to social media sites such as Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube to gain followers in the fight against Kony. They achieved just that: in a short amount of time, they have amassed hundreds of thousands of followers and forced their way back into the sight of the American government.

Their efforts warranted action from President

Barack Obama. A letter was sent informing them that he was deploying a group of one hundred American advisors to aid the Ugandan military in their efforts to capture Kony. But the assistance had a time limit. The President notified Invisible Children that if Kony wasn’t caught by December 31, 2012, he was pulling all American troops out of Uganda.

As wonderful as Invisible Children sounds, they haven’t operated without setbacks and controversy. A short time after their YouTube video went viral, Invisible Children was slammed for reports stating that only about 30% of the donations received went to actually helping Ugandan children and that the other 60-65% went towards staff salaries, equipment, and travel expenses. Foreign Affairs magazine published an article claiming that the organization had exaggerated and oversimplified many of the so-called facts in their video. They claimed that Invisible Children had stretched the extent and frequency of LRA abductions and that they made Joseph Kony sound like a more unique evil than he truly is. Evidence has shown that Kony and his LRA have lost considerable power and that there are hardly any of his men left in Uganda. Some people from Uganda don’t even agree with the short film. Rosebell Kagumire, a journalist from Uganda, was quoted saying: “This paints a picture of Uganda six or seven years ago. That is totally not how it is today. It’s highly irresponsible.”

Should we be buying into something

been a privilege to get to know you all over these past six years. I find myself all too often plagued by the fear that I’ll meet one of you on the street ten years from now and find you completely drained of identity by that large swath of land around St. Paul’s that some of you refer to as “the real world.” Don’t be that guy; stay a little crazy, for your sanity as well as mine. I leave you with a little aphorism from Hunter S. Thompson, abridged so as to be printable in a school publication: “Walk tall…love music and never forget you come from a long line of truth seekers, lovers and warriors.” Cheers, guys. It’s been a real pleasure.

Signing off,

that even native Ugandans feel is no longer an issue?

Some say that the backlash against the organization is a good thing. Few actually cared about the problems that were destroying Africa until it became glamorized through social media. When millions became interested in the topic, the truth came out. In the video, Kony had been painted as the reason for all of the terrible things happening in Uganda. Many didn’t know until recently that the government he was fighting against was committing similar evils and using child soldiers. The backlash proved to be powerful and even beneficial because it was self-correcting. Once those millions received the real evidence, they work even harder against what they feel is a worthy cause.

Though KONY 2012 seems like an excellent organization with a true cause that the world can support, could it all be a sham? Are they truly searching for a solution to this problem, or are they just trying to scam people out of their hard-earned cash by flashing sad and scary pictures at us like a Humane Society commercial? Are they using the formerly terrorized Ugandans as puppets in a quest of glory for themselves? Is their story even relevant? That’s for you to decide. If you feel that KONY’s message rings true, you can make donations and buy t-shirts, bracelets, or support packages by visiting KONY2012.com, but you might want to explore the facts before doing so.

Editorial 3

Senior farewell, cont’d from page 1

With senior privileges, common room, and Disney World there isn’t too much time to complain.

And here is the personal touch to an otherwise lifeless metaphor: It was a delicious meal. Would I have it again? Um, no. But will I remember it forever? Of course.

I end this article with a less metaphorical approach. Twice I felt that the Class of 2012 became what I affectionately call a mob.

The first was the blackout pep-or-rally after

our flash mob (a rather literal mob). We joined into a pack of hormone-surging teenagers and began to chant “SENIORS” like savages before an outreaching fire. It was like falling into a trance or succumbing to a violent primal emotion (without the unfortunate side effect of bloodlust). We were one mass of people with a single shared experience and, for better or worse, we had bonded.

The second time was a much more subdued occasion. I never knew why the Special

Olympics have always been reserved for seniors until this year. That day, I watched every senior let the brightest part of their characters shine through. We all joined together to give back. Call me cheesy, but it gives me hope for what our class will contribute to this world.

I write all of this to say more than just “It’s been real.” It has been way more than real. It has been epic. picture courtesy of M&A Studios

Letter from the future editor

by Danielle Williamson

A long, long time ago an ape picked up two rocks, chiseled “ook” onto one with the other, and proceeded to throw it at his brother.

The brother, after rubbing his head and grunting some very impolite “urnks” at the offender, picked up the stone. He was astounded by the knowledge he acquired by reading it (he was an exceptionally literate ape). He now knew what was “ook!” He was transformed into a worldly, informed ape!

Thus began the newspaper industry.

We at The Epistle like to think we’ve evolved past that primitive tradition of rockthrowing. We’ve since adopted much more

advanced methods to get the word across, such as stepping in front of you on Friday mornings and shoving a paper in your face.

Oh yes. We’re civilized.

Next year, as you exceptionally literate humans may have guessed by now, I will be stepping up to lead this civilized band of paper-throwers. Though I’d like to pretend that the appointment was based on merit; in all honesty, the decision was made at a point when there were no other underclassmen on the paper. Since then, I’ve been joined by my trusty first-mate, Kourtney. Nevertheless, it was a frightening time. So, pardon me as I make one

final shameless recruitment plea: come to the Epistle side—we have t-shirts!

Seniors, best of luck in that galaxy far, far away known as college. If possible, avoid any situations that will result in you having to tell a stranger thirteen years from now: “Luke, I am your father.” As for the rest of you, try to make it through exams without any nervous breakdowns (unless you’re in an AP class—in that case, a nervous breakdown is inevitable).

Summer is a mere two weeks away, my friends! Yee-doggy!

Sincerely, Danielle Williamson

Mosaic generation

by Hannah Früh

Mosaics, “Generation Y,” Millennials, these are the different names for our diverse generation--we are hard to define. Our generation includes people who were born between 1982 and 2002. We are unique because we have been affected by the decisions of previous generations.

Through research on the mosaic generation by the American Consumers organization, we can uncover the defining characteristics and unique behaviors of our generation as a whole. It is important to know the characteristics and lifestyles of the Mosaic generation because this generation, our generation, is beginning to rise up and take charge.

Except for the so-called “war on terror,” we have grown up in a world devoid of wars endangering our safety on the home front. Our country has been relatively stable throughout our lifetime. We haven’t had to deal with the pressures of World War II or make significant lifestyle changes. Neither have we experienced the political turmoil of the Vietnam War. Thus, we are more optimistic than previous generations.

Our generation is highly educated and for the most part well-behaved because adults have been increasingly concerned about their children’s welfare. This concern has led to a focus on the community, education, and healthcare. College has become a requirement to get a good job.

Years ago, college attendance wasn’t even widespread.

In order to discover the motives behind our behaviors, we must look back at the preceding generations. Each generation wants to be different from the generation of their parents.

Your parents are either in the “Generation X”

(born between 1965 and early 1980) or the “Baby Boom Generation” (born between the years 1946 and 1964). “Generation X” is a small and overlooked generation. While this generation grew up, industry focused on the “Baby Boomer” family. Now that Generation X’rs are grown, industry

has oriented towards our Mosaic Generation. The Generation X dealt with juggling work and family. They have had to experience the increase in demand of the workplace and the home. Many of their generation have had less time and money to spend on themselves. For this very reason, there is a large number of people from Generation X who aren’t home owners and many who don’t have health insurance. They feel overshadowed by the boomers.

The Boomer Generation has been in the spotlight since its beginning. The businesses followed them throughout their youth and provided for their needs. When the group first began, businesses selling baby food and diapers met with success. Boomers were raised in a time of optimism and independence and grew up in control of their future. This independence was displayed through the many movements they began in the 1960s, such as the anti-authoritarian counterculture movement. In the 1980s, they demonstrated their views of an optimistic future by the many “get-rich-quick” schemes that circulated. In the 1990s they increased their interest in self-help movements and entrepreneurialism. Now the Boomers are getting closer to independence as

their children leave the nest. Although this usually brings relief, many Boomers are concerned with retirement, the economy and their children’s increasing college bills. Many will continue to work and save for their retirement. Their generation has had a huge impact on our economy which remains signficant today.

Although our generation is affected by the beliefs, characteristics and lifestyles of the previous generations, our world is completely different from that of our parents. We are the first to have grown up with technology at our fingertips (literally). We are growing up in a melting pot nation. Our world has become more familiar as people increasingly travel and migrate to other countries while the internet has connected our generation around the world. We will continue with the achievements that our elders began such as increasing independence. The women in our generation will continue to move into maledominated areas such as sports. Young women now outnumber young men in colleges across the nation.

Our Mosaic generation is different, like a mosaic that fits together to create a diverse picture. We are trying to change things in positive ways that previous generations began. Our generation has used less drugs and alcohol and has committed fewer crimes than the youth from previous generations. We trust our government and authorities more than past generations. We try new things and seek adventure rather than materialistic things. Living in a racially and ethnically integrated world, we are also very tolerant of differences. Our generation is new and is excited about the future. We will change it for the better. picture courtesy of www.jerrysartarama.com

4 Spread

Senior legacies collected by Patrick Schulte

I, David Mayhall, leave my family ties to my 1,205th cousin Alexander McCall.

I, Dalton Rentz, leave my chick magnet mentality to Pate Dickerson.

We, Dylan and Kyle Grace, leave The Epistle to Danielle Williamson. May the shwartz be with you.

I, Jay Crowley, leave my swag to Dalton Bentley.

I, Alex King, leave my left bicep to Robert Johnston and my right bicep to Charlie Sutherland.

I, Lacey Dent, leave my hurdles to Chanel Krause.

I, Clint Innocenti, leave my fragrance Blue de Chanel to Rolf Konrad.

I, Hunter Collier, leave my swag to the drum line.

I, Angela Francia, leave my kindness to Katelanne Whitehead.

Senior advice for the underclassmen

by Hannah Früh

I surveyed the seniors for advice for you poor underclassmen and found that many wanted you to fend for yourself. Despite this, I actually received some advice, half of which is just the tough truth. Philip Knott says, “Senioritis happens whether you like it or not.”

Senior year feels long, and yes, it’s true that you will get senioritis. Laura Erickson proves this statement with her encouraging advice: “Abandon all hope. The idea that senior year is easy is, in fact, a complete myth.”

Now that you are dreading senior year, I will give you some helpful advice. Is school ever really easy? The answer is no.

Senior year feels a bit like junior year (minus the many AP classes and endless “SQIDs”).

You will instead be spending a lot of time with Mr. Brigham or Mr. Helmsing. Here is some colorful advice from your seniors about Government and Economics. Dalton Rentz says, “Don’t make Mr. Brigham rage. Keep your C to P ratio 5 to 5.” Kyle Grace claims, “Mr. Helmsing doesn’t have Tourette’s —he just teaches like that.”

Kyle Grace also has some advice regarding the survival of Mrs. Newberry’s Precal

class: “Be sassy. Mrs. Newberry appreciates it.” I have Mrs. Newberry as well and will add that if your book bag is away from your desk, if you’re checking while she is checking, and if you don’t get caught eating granola then you will be okay. You will also have Mr. Courie senior year as your English teacher (I may regretfully add that you will miss out on Mrs. Sigler’s class next year as she is retiring). Not surprisingly, seniors offered up a lot of advice for Mr. Courie’s class. Emily Messer says, “Type every word Mr. Courie says in class.”

David Mayhall says, “Mr. Courie’s two favorite things are water bottles and spirit tunnels.”

Don’t be discouraged, dear underclassmen! I have an inspirational and moving piece of advice from Lacey Dent: “Just try.” Although this seems obvious, it is actually a good reminder to not give up. Even when I know I only have four weeks of high school left, I am still studying hard for Pre-cal, reading The Lord of the Flies carefully, and studying about government. Seems tough? Just try, it’s not as bad as you think.

Now for some helpful advice from Angela Francia: “Never go looking for cats

behind the gym.” Daniel Haas offers a bit of unhelpful and random advice: “Mrs. Knezha enjoys long walks on the beach discussing works by Nicolas Sparks.”

At the end of my junior year, I spent a lot of time talking to seniors. I would ask, “Does senior year go by quickly?” The universal answer was, “First semester is very slow, but second semester flies by.” I have been thinking about this. By the time this paper is published, I will be finished with school--that doesn’t feel too far away. Second semester actually has gone by quickly.

Even if you forget this advice, just remember one thing: enjoy senior year. Senior year is the year of honor, the year where you sit in glory upon the throne of St. Paul’s… I may be exaggerating a bit, but senior year has many privileges and is fun. Remember not to rush your way to the end. Although I may be counting down the days in the back of my mind, it doesn’t mean that I am not enjoying the last days of high school. Senior year marks the last year of dependence. Enjoy it and create great memories. Now go and be golden.

Spread 5

Senior superlatives collected by Patrick Schulte

Most Likely to Play with Sharpies – Dalton Rentz

Most Likely to be Dressed “Sharpe” – Jay Crowley

Most Likely to be “Just Kidding” – Maggie Ferguson

Most Likely to be a Crazy Cat Lady – Mackenzie Klyce

Most Likely to be Finishing an Assignment Five Minutes Before it’s Due – Laura Erickson

Most Likely to be Your First Female President – Lexi Mestas

Most Likely to Tweet – Mary Rose Demouy Most Likely to be Talking to Underclassmen Girls – William Kneip Most Likely to Date an Underclassman – Hunter Graham Most Likely to be Surrounded by Guys – Mary Lindsey Hannahan Most Likely to Take Your Money – Bryson Webster

Most Likely to be Your first First Husband – David Mayhall Most Likely to be Bombastic – Dylan Gibson Most Likely to be Seen on the Phone – Emily Sweeney Most Likely to do Everything Perfectly – Grace Williams Most Likely to have Swag All Year Long – Murphy Mosley

The Next Rocky – John Fontana

Most Likely to Go into Major League Baseball – Kevin Moore

Most Likely to be Sleeping in Class – Hannah Finkbohner

Most Likely to Play Soccer – Joe Goodwin

Lowest Chill-to-Pull Ratio – Jake Bose

Most Likely to Give a Quiz at Graduation – Mrs. Leder Stokes

Most Likely to Play with Fire – Garrett Benefiel

6 Features Big Show: Not Spring Show

by Kyle Grace Mills

Truly, I’ve had brighter moments. What on earth could have possessed me to race across the stage in the dark? Why hadn’t it already occurred to me that a strategically placed bench would be waiting for me on the other side? My shin hit first, then my knee, then the iron arm rest went into my ribs, and finally, I took the tremendous fall. My fellow cast members were led to believe it was either a very surprising terrorist attack or a very unsurprising uncoordinated idiot.

“LIGHTS!” someone screamed.

The bench was completely flipped over.

I, on the other hand, was already up and running to my spot backstage. “I’m fine, I’m awkward,” I called several times, like a coach screaming a personal upbeat mantra. Three days later, you could trace the impact of the bench on my body through an elaborate constellation of bruises.

This was only the physical beating I took from Big Show. Emotionally, the scars run deeper.

Mr. Powell will tell you upfront that he does not waste time on positive criticism. The cast of The Music Man would agree. There is no slack cut for forgetting lines, mangling the choreography, lacking enthusiasm, or speaking too quickly. If there were any sympathy, it would be called Spring Show (which suggests new beginnings and life). We do not refer to it by Mr. Powell’s euphemism “Spring Show.” We call it Big Show: as in, big laughs, big responsibility, and big suffering.

After the show I imagine all of us sitting in a circle for group therapy.

“Hi, my name is Grace,” a shy girl says.

“Hello, Grace,” we all reply encouragingly.

“And I was in Big Show.” There is a grumbling as all of us acknowledge the pain she has been through. Then we each share our stories, one by one. And over time, through our shared experience, our wounds will heal.

If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and Big Show represents good intentions, then the road to Big Show is paved with hell. With this confusing piece of logic in mind, let’s progress through what I would call the evolution of Big Show.

During the first month, things were simple. It was all about the music. We sat in the chorus room, stealing precious glances at our phones, unsuccessfully hitting harmonies and piercing the air with severe high notes. You would get out early, be home in time for dinner, and you didn’t even hate anyone.

Once we moved to the stage, the story changed. We began to realize that those lines we kept mumbling at home were meant to have personality and spunk. Those dance sequences we signed up for were horribly complex because we suffer from two left feet. When we actually properly execute the choreography, we look constipated from all the stress on our faces. When we slow down the words to the speed Mr. Powell demands, we think we sound like idiots—and because we’re concentrating on slowing the words down, we kind of do look like idiots. We’re too

awkward, too clumsy, to grace the stage.

Then there’s tech weekend(s). Those two Saturdays and Sundays can be summed up in two words: Good Game. To the exasperation of Mr. Powell, we were stuck in transition, not extracting the show he knew we could produce. Sunday night we were sent home with a curt dismissal.

Monday April 26: Dress rehearsal for Wanda Sigler. A daunting task that many thought we were not going to be able to handle. But something happened in those twenty-four between Sunday and Monday.

We were done failing.

Mrs. Sigler cackled, hooped and hollered, clapped and raved. She loved it. Mr. Powell was dumbfounded and justified (he hadn’t been making kids cry for nothing!).

It was a smashing success. Or, at worst, it was something to be proud of.

Oddly enough, we began to enjoy the show more. There might have been an inexplicable parallel between not being amatures anymore and the growing enthusiasm in the cast. But that’s a mere hunch. The warm rush of validation after a parent tells us “You stole the show!” The laughter that always seems to come after William Konrad speaks; the surprising new friends we made; the forty-five tangent pep-talk Mr. Powell delivers before opening night; the amazing satisfaction that comes after every show ends, when we bow to an adoring crowd.

These are the things that make Big Show worth everything.

but doubt he shared my amusement as I grinned stupidly and flapped my hands about like a braindead lemming. Were I strapped into a metal chair and spun around this way at a county fair, I’d probably not be so fond of the experience. There was a strange yet beautifully cultivated aesthetic here, and throughout the park, which seemed to transcend the visual and auditory element and alter the very aura of the experience.

(and arguably post-structuralist) philosophers of the 20th century, and quite an expert at weaving mind-blowing ideas, to boot – had given a lecture on the phenomenon which seemed to generate plenty of Disney-related chatter out on that magical series of tubes which comprise the internet.

Foucault’s specialties - the history of ideologies, rites, and language in human history - had somehow intermingled to create an odd sort of unified theory of awesome which provided for the Disney World effect. It did appear that the rabbit hole went deeper.

One might argue that Disney World has, in our society, become what is in essence a sacred space. No, don’t stop reading. Foucault would call Disney World a heterotopia; in essence, a microcosmic simulacrum of higher reality or divine perfection for our decidedly imperfect world. The guarded Shinto temples of Japan, the confines of a boarding school, the walls of a monastery – all are, by definition, heterotopias. They are hermetically sealed utopian societies unto themselves in which both collective and individual peace are maintained by the exclusive nature of the space within, thereby crafting a singular reality.

The very wares with which Disney generates the bulk of its profit – television shows, films, video games – all promise virtual heterotopias in that they offer a homogeneous and tightly controlled experience by which the consumer can attain peace with the knowledge that he or she is being immersed in an escapist unreality.

Disney World is, to this extent, nirvana – the whitewashed beauty of childhood manifests itself physically within the confines of the Magic Kingdom.

Michel and Mickey: the machine behind the magic

by Dylan Gibson

This is my last article for The Epistle.

And in the interests of full disclosure, I’ll say this straight up and with no chaser: I considered writing something short and sweet here. Just a little feel-good reminiscence on Disney World would suffice, and I’d end my tenure quietly and without any fuss. This would be the way Gibson’s editorship ends; not with a bang but a whimper. Ah, but no. Gibson’s got to go out with a bang, riding a hydrogen bomb down out of the belly of a B-52 à la Dr. Strangelove and bellowing his final yippee ki-yay. So I’ve taken my requisite end-of-the-year feel-good Disney World exposition and ridden my philosophical bunker-buster into the very core of that warm and fuzzy feeling that seems to form the heart of the experience; as the Mickey aficionados like to call it when they talk shop, the “magic.”

So kindly fasten your harnesses as we shoot from zero to sixty miles per hour in twopoint-eight seconds through the annals of history and continental philosophy in search of that ancient, elusive force which imbues man with such magical bliss as to pay ten dollars for a lukewarm hot dog in the Magic Kingdom.

I found myself mulling over the cause of this strange phenomenon as I sat in the cramped centrifuge compartment that comprises Mission: Space. You see, centrifuges are not particularly fun devices by nature. They certainly serve a purpose as pertains to military aviation and spaceflight – pilots and astronauts acclimate to the gut-wrenching effects of rapid acceleration and multiplying g-forces with specially designed centrifuges. During the first American manned space flight, astronaut Alan Shepard withstood six times the force of gravity upon launch and nearly twice as much during atmospheric re-entry. I can’t help

Now, as dweebs of my breed are wont to do, I pulled out my iPhone that evening and searched “Disneyworld+philosophy.” It seemed like a logical course of action at the time. I had narrowed this inexplicable subconscious feeling of I-loveeverything down to two distinct possibilities: either Mickey Mouse was sneaking into my hotel room at night and spiking my water bottle with ecstasy, or some long-dead fellow with a PhD had stumbled upon my same quandary at some point in the past and held an answer.

Incidentally, just such a fellow had my answer. A gentleman by the name of Michel Foucault – one of the prominent structuralist

continued on pg. 7

Features 7 Michel and Mickey, cont’d. from page 6 Reason tells us that the jungles of Southeast Asia are probably more like Coppola’s Apocalyse Now than they are like The Jungle Book.

Yet every children’s movie we’ve seen would have us instinctively think of that physical representation of a beautiful and docile world of talking animals whenever we envision our perfect Southeast Asian rainforest – preferably without a fat and sweaty Marlon Brando in the middle of it.

It’s only fitting that so many of Disney World’s rides should incorporate boats – Foucault points out that the boat is the “greatest reserve of the imagination…a heterotopia par excellence.” Whether journeying through a beautified Norse history lesson on Maelstrom, encountering Jack Sparrow on Pirates of the Caribbean, or (reluctantly) hearing the tales of Br’er Rabbit (sans Uncle Remus) on Splash Mountain, we are safely exposed to the pre-pre-

pared Disney experience from the safe confines of a floating vessel on tracks. There is no getting up and ripping the mask off Br’er Rabbit to reveal that metal-composite monstrosity beneath the skin; given that doing so would probably taint my childhood and imperil my sanity, perhaps it’s for the best. Doing so would desecrate the heterotopia and act as the perceptive equivalent of a black hole, permanently disrupting the carefully crafted aesthetic universe therein.

Disney’s abandoned River Country and Discovery Island properties, both of which currently sit in a state of decay, are off-limits to visitors and not just for safety concerns. To peer behind the façade which Disney maintains so assiduously would be to destroy the sanctity of the experience.

Disney is, in this regard, one big boat in itself – a masterfully crafted experience in which the functionality of the space lies primar-

ily in the effect it has on the participants. One might argue that the underlying goal in most peoples’ lives – indeed, perhaps lying at the very core of the human condition – is to find their boat and thereby adopt some manner of living in which they can transcend the cognitive dissonance which permeates modern life. We in the West are quick to dismiss the virtues of escapism as contrary to the pragmatic spirit of capitalism; in this we lose sight of the fact that escapism is what drives the entire process. To this end, Disney has built the consumerists’ Babylon: a self-sustaining corporatized city in which the economic force of scarcity is bypassed by selling happiness and comfort as goods. Call it magical capitalism.

of us bonding, then points out a wayward driver and explains how to avoid the driver’s infraction.

Little bits of knowledge, little tidbits that pool together in a database labeled “things my brother said” or “stuff my sister told me,” those become priceless come the tear/pride/joy fest that is graduation. Good-byes will be carried on the wind as the new alumni journey off to celebrate with their peers and their families load into minivans to go home. They’ll part ways—in a metaphorical sense, of course, but one that rings true nonetheless.

Sure, our siblings will be back the next day, but the spidery cracks begun by graduation will only continue to grow for the next three months until they splinter into chasms. Kids— no, young adults—will pack up their trunks and duffels, wave goodbye, and…

Leave.

Yes, they’ll come home for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and maybe even a part of summer. Some of our siblings might even be in a dorm fifteen minutes down the road. But the mentality that comes along with attending college is the true divide, distance aside. Not to say that all college freshmen are aloof, but imagine you’re in college. Heading home to see your dorky baby brother or sister probably isn’t high on your agenda. Independence settles in and family settles out. It’s only natural. That’s what people are supposed to do. Grow up, move out of the house, and move on.

As for those of us not quite grown up yet? Pick up the absentee’s slack, add their chores to your weekend routine, do their share of the dishes. Real sentimental, it is, having an entire workload dumped on you just because somebody’s “going off to college.” Real funny, it is, when your sibling tries to “ease you into” the escalating workload by shafting their duties onto you five months in advance. (Cam: “Danielle, I’m not going to do the dishes tonight, because you need to get used to doing them without me.” Real comedian, he is) It’s true, we all gripe and complain about our siblings. We pretend we don’t see them in the hallways, or we try to embarrass them by yelling their name when they pretend they don’t see us. One person I asked told me that he

couldn’t wait until his brother left, saying simply: “finally… he leaves.” On the other hand, another person I asked said (and this is a direct quote): “In all seriousness... I’d miss my sister.

There wouldn’t be a couch potato for me to bicker with (there would, however, be a free TV for me to game on). There wouldn’t be someone to drive me around because I’m a lazy snickerdoodle. There would be gravity to her absence, and I’d miss her dearly (although I’ll be somber externally, of course). There would be yet another empty room in my house. Also, I’d have to give even more attention to the cats... and clean cat litter (ick). I’m not sure what else to say…

Just that I’d miss her.”

Her response is typical. Chores, clothesstealing, and music-blaring aside, siblings play an important role in our lives; a role that leaves an uncomfortable space when its occupant.

They’re the enigmas of family life. They insult us and compliment us, point fingers and cover our rumps.

In short, they’re hated and they’re loved.

And yes, admit it or not, most of us will miss them terribly come August, when they pack up and leave. But will we bawl and shut down completely? Of course not. It’s not like college is synonymous with death. When people go to school, friends and concerned citizenry don’t send family members cards with messages like “I’m sorry for your loss,” and “You look pretty in black.” They send them balloons with “Congratulations!” emblazoned on the front—because at the end of the day, graduation is a time of celebration.

It brings tears, true—tears are inevitable in an event where the person you have shared your life with is ending his or her childhood.

Crying is an undeniable result of your brother or sister walking out of the front door to go “exploring” without you. Sniffles are normal symptoms of having to watch someone you’ve grown up watching, well, grow up. But nostalgia should be a source of comfort, never restraint.

One should never abandon one’s siblings. But let them go? Certainly, for only then can you see them at their true potential, soaring on the wind with fresh wings and eager faces.

picture courtesy of www.en.wikipedia.org

Ode to Siblings

by Danielle Williamson Sunlight washes over the cul-de-sac, painting the neighborhood in the warm hues of summer. A boy and his sister walk side-by-side, carefree in a sense only children can comprehend. They meander about the sidewalk, the seven-year old boy striding confidently, the little girl tottering a step behind, staring up at him with admiration so common among siblings of that age. They are calm and peaceful; they are in command of their world. And then: “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” A frenzied young mother flies after them with love, fear, and anger simmering in her eyes. She scoops the pair up and totes them back to the house where the children promptly find out that walking out the front door to go “exploring” without telling anyone is apparently something you aren’t supposed to do. Admiration turns to blame as fingers are pointed and innocence is proclaimed. Both are punished.

Whoops.

Fast forward five years. New state and new friends flock to the new house to celebrate the boy’s twelfth birthday. His sister hovers in the shadows, wanting so desperately to be included in the festivities, because her brother is the coolest and sixth graders are the coolest.

The friends are visibly agitated by her presence and the brother tells her to bug off. She plants herself in the back of the party room, claiming that it’s public space and mentally crossing her arms and stomping her foot. Eventually, at her parents’ urging, she holds her shoulders firm and marches out, seething with anger and hurt pride as her brother taunts, “Twerp!” When he leaves for a friend’s house a couple days later, she sneaks into his room and draws a very unflattering picture of him (mustache included) on his whiteboard. Revenge is sweet.

Five years later: The boy pulls into the faculty lot to pick his sister—me—up from soccer practice. After complaining about the smell from my cleats, he fiddles with the knob on the radio, switching between NPR and WABB, then abruptly changes subject. “Danielle, I’m leaving in eight months,” Cam says nonchalantly, casual as ever. “Weird, right?” He switches direction and topic as he turns onto Foreman Street, talking about our not-so-little-anymore sister in an almost paternal sense, stressing the importance

Sports 8 Interview with Lacey Dent: Track star

by Patrick Schulte

Lacey Dent is one of St. Paul’s bestknown athletes. She has been tearing up the track for years, setting numerous school records in the process. She exudes warmth and is one of the most friendly and outgoing people on campus. We managed to catch up to Lacey and ask her about her plans for the future and how she became the track fiend she is.

Epistle: How long have you been coming to St. Paul’s?

Lacey Dent: I’ve been coming here since seventh grade.

E:What got you into track?

LD:When I was seven or eight my big sister ran track and I just wanted to get out of the house and be with her.

E: So you got started at your old school?

LD: No, I got started running track in the summer for a Mobile team.

E: You said your big sister got you into track. Is there anyone else who has really been there and pushed you?

LD: All of my coaches over the years, my summer coaches as well as school coaches, like Coach Tate and Coach Moore and all of them. Pretty much everybody’s been there to help. When I was younger, my sister and I and a couple of other girls got a trainer, and that really pushed us to get a lot better than just doing it in the summer.

E: What’s your relationship like with most of your team members?

LD: I love my team! They’re great. Really, it’s kind of a family. Your own track family. ‘Course you’re gonna have some people that don’t get along all the time, but once you hit the track and have events, we’re all gonna cheer each other on. We all support each other because we all want to win. It’s like each per-

son needs you to help them, to push them to do their very best so the team can win. I love my team. They’re awesome.

E: The reason I ask is because I went looking at the record board and saw that a lot of your records are as part of a team, like the 4 X 400 meter relay.

LD: In order to do that sort of thing you have to have a good relationship with your teammates. Otherwise they may not run as fast, and that’s going to affect you.

E: Where are you thinking of going to college?

LD: I’ve signed with Alabama.

E: What made you pick there?

LD: Well, when I visited there and other schools, they seemed to be the one to stick out the most. I like the team and love the campus. Joseph Howard told me to ask myself:

“If I didn’t want to do track anymore, would I still be happy at that school?” Alabama was the only school that I could say: “I still want to go here, even if I can’t run.” That was the deciding factor.

E: Do you have any advice for someone looking at colleges?

LD: Keep your options open until you don’t have to. Visit all the schools you possibly can, and don’t tell one coach that you might like him over another. Don’t be close-minded.

Keep your mind open and travel everywhere and get to know everyone before you make your decision, because it is a lifetime decision.

E: One final question: when you’re a famous Olympian in track, will you still take my calls?

LD: Of course! I’ll answer the phone (laughs).

E: Is there anything else you want to say?

LD: I love St. Paul’s. I came here six, seven years ago, and I wasn’t sure if it would be good for me, but it’s been pretty good for me. I’m going to miss all my teachers, I’m really going to miss Coach Tate, because without him I don’t know how much I would have improved. He’s been an awesome coach, and someone who’s always been on my side to help me. I love my team, and I’m going to miss them so much. They’ll do great without me. They don’t know it, but they will.

Thank you again for doing this interview Lacey! picture courtesy of M&A Studios

A healthier Apple: apps for fitness

by Kourtney Wadkins

Staying in shape over the summer is hard. No, it’s not just hard. It’s near impossible. Nobody wants to spend their newfound free time working out. No, we’d much rather spend it lying out on the beach or watching TV. Well, now you don’t even have to put down your iPhone to get in shape. There are tons of great apps to help you get in shape and stay in shape over the summer and even during the school year.

My Lil’ Coach is an app that uses gentle

reminders to train you to drink more water and get the right amount of exercise. It even has a built in pedometer so you can track how far you walk each day. For those who are into the great outdoors, the North Face Trailhead is the perfect app for you. It’s packed with more than 300,000 biking and hiking trails. It’s perfect for planning an outdoor adventure practically anywhere. Gain Fitness is a free app with thousands of individual workout moves to ensure a customized training session that’s perfectly fit to your needs.

Running is one of the best forms of exercise out there. It’s free, good for you, and endlessly versatile. Tracking your running

can be a pain, but not anymore. RunKeeper is another free app that tracks how far you’ve run, your pace, speed, and the number of

The RunKeeper app

The Gain Fitness app

calories you’ve burned. There is even an app to help you stay in shape on vacation. Shape Travelista is an app that has pictures and videos detailing workouts that only use items found inside a hotel room.

Whether you’re staying home all summer or traveling until the day before school starts, there’s an app for any kind of workout that you can think of. Even if you feel like you don’t have time to get into shape, these apps provide the tools to do it.

The North Face Trailhead app

pictures courtesy of vator.tv.com