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Off the Wall M A RCH 2012

Hatchery 2012-2013

Refugee Studies Class Trip











EDITORS’ NOTE Who in their right mind would spend their time putting together a little newspaper mid-way through the last week of term? We’re not entirely sure but let’s think of it as a coping mechanism. And besides, we’re providing you with more procrastination material (much more useful than spending your time fantasizing about trips to far away places or staring blank-eyed at memes). So, here’s this week’s Off the Wall. A little more humble than we have been recently but still with some great pieces worth taking the time to read. What’s inside? Well, there’s a bunch of entrepreneurial eggs ready to hatch in the spring, Jake has made it back from Baja, Refugee Studies class ate themselves silly in Lewiston, and there are sugary things waiting for you in the library. Enjoy flipping through the pages, spend your last few days of ‘winter’ well, and we’ll see you again when there are buds on the trees! — Your happy-go-lucky-yet-frantic-as-usual editors




Things Are Getting Started Around Here – Hatchery 2012-2013 KATE MACKO It is with great enthusiasm that we announce the participants for the 2012-2013 Hatchery class. In the past, we have had a capacity in the Hatchery to work with up to 6 students (or 6 ventures), but seeing the quality of the 7 ventures that applied this year, we decided instead to “build a bigger tent” to make room for all 11 students. Thank you to each of you for your interest and for sharing your visions and your passions. When you see any of the folks below, give them a pat on the back! The following students will participate in the year-long program which starts spring term: Juan Olmedo will pursue his business plan for La Coyotera, an organic agave farm and production facility in Mexico. Juan plans to spend the spring researching the American market for his organic agave sweetener. His venture combines ancient sustainable harvesting techniques and Juan’s keen eye for the modern market. Zabet NeuCollins, James Crawford and Bogdan Zymka will refine their plans to launch an internet radio station based at COA. The station hopes to broadcast everything from music to lectures to creative talk shows – they hope to create a broad-reaching creative outlet for much of the brilliant thinking (and singing and rapping and revolution-plotting) that goes on here at COA. Luke Madden is a filmmaker who will be working to show his short film at various film festivals in the US. He has almost finished creating his film, and will use the Hatchery as a forum to learn a bit more about the film industry and what it might take to share his art with larger audiences. Margaret Fetzer-Rogers and Benjamin Hitchcock will work to create a Bar Harbor Arts & Community Resource Center. Already having created quite a buzz and a lot of momentum both on campus and beyond, these students plan to roll up their sleeves this spring to sort out what will need to be done in order to bring their vision of a free and open space for all in the center of downtown Bar Harbor into a reality. Christian Wagner has already begun selling his handmade, high quality chairs, and will use his time in the Hatchery to create a marketing portfolio for Río Furniture & Design. Christian has been working with weavers in Yucatan, Mexico for the seats of the chairs and will further pursue professional relationships with sustainable harvesters in Mexico for the wood he uses. Lisa Bjerke and Alex Pine are working as consultants to a process which brings affordable solar energy to non-profit organizations on Mount Desert Island. Acting as liaisons between MDI Clean Energy Partners, a newly established L3C, and COA, Bjerke and Pine (both born catalysts) hope to establish a model by which other non-profits are able to take advantage of this important (but expensive) shift to renewable energy. Nathan Thanki will be working on the already successful blog [earth], aka Earth In Brackets. Launched over 5 years ago, [earth] comes to life around climate change and international environmental diplomatic events. Student written and student run, this COA blog has become well known for its clarity and the depth of understanding in provides. While in the Hatchery, Nathan and his team hope to make adjustments to the structure of the website to make it even more effective. The Hatchery is a year-long program led by Jay Friedlander which begins in the spring term with a 10 week intensive for students wanting to start something. The Hatchery works with both for profit and non-profit ventures, who each create a rapid prototype in the first 10 weeks in order to test the market and work toward an indicator of success. Once the spring term is over, the Hatchery students continue to have use of the shared office space and equipment for the rest of the 12 months, as well as access to community mentors and their established networks. For more information, please contact Kate Macko:



Following several years of 1) conversations in Faculty Meeting, Academic Affairs Committee, and All College Meeting, 2) reviews of course enrollments, 3) an academic program renewal, and 4) a new strategic design, the Academic Dean charged the FYAE task force (4 students, 2 staff, 4 faculty, and one trustee) with reviewing the foundational curriculum and assessing the role of the core course in the curriculum. Is the First-Year Academic Experience (FYAE) task force trying to sterilize, homogenize, and impose inflexible structure on the COA education model? Should there be more whoopee pies on the menu at TAB or just greater communication of course projections? The FYAE task force aims to ensure that whatever changes Faculty and Academic Affairs ultimately decide to make to the curriculum, COA continues to maintain the flexibility, creativity, and inherent opportunity that we believe are hallmarks of a COA education—for students, as well as advising and teaching staff. Asking questions like, “What are the understandings, knowledge, skills, and dispositions that all new students should have the opportunity to gain in their first year at COA?” has elicited a broad range of responses from students and advisors. By considering the breadth of our diverse interests, we hope to clarify our shared assumptions about essential foundations for later self-directed studies. Trends we’ve noticed? First of all, thank you for the thoughtful effort and reflections you extended in responding to the survey. Because we are still deep in the process of analyzing the survey results, we can only provide some preliminary findings at this time. As we presented in ACM earlier this term, the COA community represents a broad range of first-year goals (from “explore without undue fear of failure” to “have a working definition of Human Ecology”) as well as a few common goals, such as being able to write and participate effectively in discussions. It is not our role to tell people what to do with the information we’ve collected, but rather share what we’ve learned and recommend some next steps. For example, we recently shared with the faculty who are projected to teach the Human Ecology Core Course (HECC) over the next three years a summary of what we learned from the surveys about the Core Course. This summary included a range of experiences, from “The Human Ecology Core Course has been one of my favorite classes” to “It was horrible…for a first term class,” as well as what students reported learning from the HECC (e.g., understanding and being able to articulate a definition of human ecology, writing and discussion skills). We also included a few examples of specific suggestions respondents had for improving the HECC, such as “Hold higher expectations for new students; they will rise to the challenge.” This faculty planning group will consider our findings along with other summaries of HECC evaluations in an April retreat in order to come to agreement about course goals, format, and teaching approaches to synthesize the most valued experiences across sections and from year to year. The task force is currently discussing the survey responses regarding gaps in the introductory curriculum, the frequency of course offerings, and the overall strengths and weaknesses of students’ first-year academic experiences. Some patterns across both student and staff/faculty responses are unsurprising: a need to offer introductory courses more frequently like Ecology Natural History, Bio I, and Physics, as well as foreign languages and writing/writing-focused courses. Others offered more specific (continued on next page)


(Q&A with FYAE continued from previous page) suggestions—“At least one ‘hands-on course per year that deals with a campus project (solar, electric car, etc.)”. Another theme we are discovering concerns the level of challenge in introductory courses: every new student should feel sufficiently challenged, even when they are in an introductory course. We seem to be doing pretty well in those areas (like collaboration and critical thinking) that appear explicitly in our course objectives and not as well in areas that we have not prioritized across the curriculum (computer proficiency and library research skills). What do we hope will be done with this information? How can you get involved? In early Spring we will be inviting students, staff, and faculty to join us in discussion at ACM about what we’ve learned this year, how we interpret this information, and what action we should take, if any. Later next term, we expect to work with the staff, faculty, and academic governance entities (e.g., AAC, Academic Dean) to determine with whom and how we will implement whatever recommendations come out of this ongoing dialogue. More than anything else, our hope is that the survey and other research we’ve done this year will inform our continuing conversations about essential goals, feasible actions, and helpful processes and tools by which we can assess whether we are meeting these goals in years to come.

Your Tongue Will Thank Me KAITLIN YOUNG Dear frazzled students studiously laboring in the library, I stopped by the library this evening (Feb 29th) on an irrelevant quest and couldn’t help but notice the foodgasms happening over the selection of cookies at the counter. There were scrumptious peanut butter and jelly bars (reminiscent of TAB’s raspberry jam bars) and . . . well, a cookie that can only be described via moaning and eye rolls of pleasure. These glorious triangles of sin beckoned to me and after a taste, I agreed that the witnessed responses were justified. I sought out the sorceress who so enchanted us all and obtained the recipe for these delightful nibbles of Sexuda Triangle. Recipe courtesy of the ever lovely Terri Rappaport. 12-14 graham crackers 1 cup mini marshmallows ¾ cup packed brown sugar ¾ cup butter, melted 1 teaspoon vanilla 1 teaspoon cinnamon 1 cup chopped walnuts and slivered almonds (mixed, not one cup each) 1 cup shredded coconut These should be baked on parchment paper or buttered foil so that the cookie sheet (greedy bastard) will relinquish them for human consumption. Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Smash the graham crackers to smithereens. Scatter marshmallows evenly over graham cracker crumbs on a baking sheet. Mix melted butter, sugar, cinnamon and vanilla and pour over the graham cracker crumbs and marshmallows. Toss the nuts (both conventional and coco-) atop the now gooey mess. Bake for 15 minutes until everything is melted together into one disgusting swamp of deliciousness. Let cool and cut into small squares or triangles or whatever shape suits your fancy. I hope that this recipe (should you choose to try it out) works because it’s might take some pretty fancy guess work. Have a happy and hopefully-not-too-stressful week ten and a fabulous break! Love, Kate


Refugee Studies Class Trip to Lewiston, Maine AMANDA MUSCAT ‘06 VISITING FACULTY In order to fully understand the situation of Somali refugees in Maine, the Refugee Studies class recently went to visit the city of Lewiston, the town that made nationwide press after the Mayor sent a letter to the Somali community asking them to stop coming to the city. There were several reasons behind the fieldtrip; most importantly, I wanted the students to experience first-hand, the lives of refugees and be able to talk with some of them. But I also wanted them to get a taste of the onthe-ground realities of fieldwork with a refugee community. I wanted them to walk along Lisbon Street, the center of the Somali community in Lewiston, and investigate the shops, hear the language, and of course, eat the Somali food. We visited two organizations, the United Somali Women of Maine, and the Somali-Bantu Community Mutual Assistance Association of Maine. We first met with Fatuma, the founder and director of the United Somali Women of Maine. A young and charismatic woman, and mother of six children, Fatuma brilliantly interweaved her personal story with that of the organization. She told us how with her own determination and strong will she managed to become a leader in her community, a community where women are not considered as equal as men. As director, she single-handedly established many of the now-existing services for Somali women across Maine. Fatuma’s story is a successful story of refugee settlement in the US, one in which she gracefully navigates the challenges of acculturating to mainstream American culture while maintaining the roots of her own culture and religion. She explained how hard it is for her to be these two different people, ‘American’ with her American peers and colleagues, and Somali within her immediate community. Her greatest struggle is empowering her teenage girls to navigate the system, so that they are proud of their Somali identity yet accepted by their American peers in high school. After her talk with us in her office, she accompanied us to lunch at the Three One Cafe, a Somali restaurant, where we started off with Sambuusas (similar to Samosas) and sweet fried bread which, as she demonstrated, are meant to be eaten together. The delicate flavour of the sweet bread is meant to offset the savoury ground meat and onion inside the sambuusas. Thinking of it makes my mouth water. As a main course, we then shared a huge plate of spiced basmati rice with mixed vegetables and potatoes, and another plate of Somali chicken and beef dishes, (continued on next page)


(“Refugee Studies” continued from previous page)

accompanied by chapattis and spicy sauces. We ate like kings and queens, talking all the while, and after Fatuma explained that it is extremely impolite in the Somali culture to refuse food, the Somali Bantu organization called, telling us that they were waiting for us and that they had prepared lunch. Had I missed the confirmation due to a choppy phone connection, had I not anticipated the cultural implications of a visit? This was the fieldwork realities that I wanted to encourage within the class. How does one stuff more Sambuusas and sweet fried dough on top of a full stomach? The Somali-Bantu Community Mutual Assistance Association of Lewiston Maine took us by surprise. They were well-prepared for us; they had food, soda, water, and coffee percolating, and there were four of them ready, including the President, the Spokesman, and the Secretary. They focused their talk on their oppression as Somali Bantu. Somali Bantu are descendents of slaves from Kenya, Tanzania, Mozambique and Malawi. After the abolition of slavery they settled in Southern Somalia. They suffered extreme racial discrimination, and amongst other things, they did not have access to education. Even now that they are in Lewiston, they still feel oppressed by the Arab Somalis. The Somali Bantu’s discourse is one of victimization and oppression. There was a very stark difference between their discourse and that of Fatuma’s. The Somali Bantus have not mastered the language of this country, are not at ease with American culture, and still lag behind when it comes to community organisation. Their oppression was not well-documented in our classroom text, ‘Somalis in Maine,’ or in any of the articles which we read in class. In the end, it validated the concept that you can’t learn just by reading books. In class we had discussed what the appropriate gift would be, if we should make something or buy something. We knew that we wanted to give a culturally appropriate gift. The only talent available in our group was baking so we decided on cookies. We baked three different kinds of cookies, including one with dates and pecans, reasoning that since dates are shared as gifts at Ramadan, then they would be appreciated in this situation. The cookies were on a tray wrapped in nice tissue paper, and Cara made colorful thank you cards to go along. The gifts were well-received. There are around 3,000 to 4,000 Somalis living in Lewiston, including 1000 to 2000 Somali Bantus. The Somali Bantu especially are in dire need of someone who is knowledgeable about advocacy, and who can really push their cause. It might be the perfect opportunity for a budding human ecologist in search of an internship or senior project!


CREATIVE WRITING This piece was written by the entire Art and Science of Fermentation class during a field trip where we visited a salami factory, a sauerkraut farm, and a miso company. The rules of the game where to write a sentence, start another sentence, then fold the piece of paper over so all that the next person could see was the beginning of the most recent sentence. The next person then had to continue the story by completing the sentence and starting another sentence, and so on and so forth. There once was a tomato from Peru who lived his life in a constant state of disorder. It was only when he took his pants off and he discovered the carrot growing from his knee cap which itched like a mongoose with circus fleas. The fleas were having a blast until the hungry ticks sucked the ground right out from under them. The head flea angrily exclaimed, “No MISO for you!” as he put on his hat and hopped away in a huff. Later that day a hog truck rolled past and all the pigs yelled out, “Miso Horny, me love you long time.” Suddenly, the cat said, “DON’T SNIFF THAT STUFF, UNLESS YOU WANNA LI-LI-LI LICK ME FROM MY HEAD TO MY TOES. Because I could probably do a better job with my cousin Susie who sometimes pretends she is a witch even when it’s not Halloween. She loves underwater basket weaving and long barefoot walks on the beach but only with the most professional of handbags. The next they stooped to pee on.” His bosses Porche got peed on by the rowdy middle schoolers who decided to smoke their first joint behind the public library. Little did they know, Jerry Garcia’s melodic soloing would bust my jam like Mister Pam. Mister Pam’s bustin’ jam would really be best. Right now she realized she was so pregnant.



Mold TERRY PRICE Not every part of a person’s education happens inside a classroom, and some of the hardest lessons I have learned are only accessible to me at all because I was occasionally not in one. In late 2005, I joined a team from my church youth group on a trip to New Orleans, Louisiana, known as the Big Easy. As many may recall, that was the year Hurricanes Katrina and Rita swept through that city as well as parts of Alabama. Our group went primarily as part of a series of church volunteers, and I went along admittedly as much for social reasons as any philanthropic feelings. I never expected to discover as much as I did during that journey. I believe it was in that time that I began to learn an important lesson, one I hope I am still learning: the full value of a human life. While we were staying in the Big Easy that had fallen on hard times, we decided to take one day of our two week stay on a trip to the Ninth Ward with a local pastor. News articles and video footage abounded of the devastation that was wreaked there. Survivors’ testimonies spoke hauntingly of the horrific situations they encountered. But nothing could have prepared us for what we experienced through all our senses that day. A few feet of moving water doesn’t sound as terrifying as the truth it carries. But a few feet of water moving from a broken levee that held back the sea carries more than painful truths. I saw cars flipped perfectly upside-down. I saw houses, homes where families once lived, shifted yards away from their foundations, sometimes turned on their sides or simply smashed up against the neighboring home. The water paid no heed to those inside, sleeping peacefully and unwarned. And when the wall of water was gone, not even the grass under our feet remained. It left behind only a moistness everywhere, a perfect place for molds to take root on the wood, the soil, and yes, the bodies of those who could not escape before it came. And in an air so damp that it felt as though it was pressing against us like a second skin, molds and fungi were able to enter a renaissance of their own. The odor of these enterprising fungi taking advantage of the huge supply of newly available food is indescribable. If it was dead, and got wet, it could be relied on that fungi were moving in. That includes the wood for the houses just as much as the bodies they were still finding on that fateful day our team visited. Even as I relate this story, I can still smell it, feel the horrible mustiness on my tongue and in my lungs like a damp storm cloud. It was the smell of life rising where death had such a sway, feeding on the pain and loss, and fighting to rise again. An ironic smell for the hope of new life and growth to encompass so fully. As we wandered, feeling, seeing and smelling all of this, there remained an eerie silence. The only sounds apart from our footsteps were a few faint seagull calls, and the light, hushed hissing of our occasional voices. I believe we knew to be quiet and respectful in such a place instinctively. We knew somewhere deep down in our guts that this had become hallowed ground. Hallowed? Yes, I believe it was, despite the horror of what had happened there. It was hallowed because people had lived there, had loved, lost and died. Hallowed because, no matter how much the sea had sought to wipe it off the face of the earth, it could not stop life from returning. The devastation and massive death also got me thinking about the stretch of life we humans get to share with each other. It is not always a cataclysmic event that marks the end, but at the risk of sounding morose, it will happen. We are all going to die someday, and we honestly have no idea when or by what. That is not the important part. The truly important part is how we spend the time that happens first. As I stood in the ruins of the once populated area, I understood this: There was a part of me that until that point had not taken other people truly seriously. That part of me was broken wide open like a leech being seared off with a hot coal. It hurt, and it was almost more than I could bear. I knew I could never go back to the quiet, self-satisfied person I was. Reality had given me a slap in the face, and for that I am profoundly thankful. I think the final lesson I took home from that day was that living is not a spectator’s sport. We cannot afford to live as if there is always going to be a tomorrow. We know we have the today, in the right now, and that knowledge is a treasure to spend with joy. We don’t know what is coming, or if we will be swept away by a wall of water or other catastrophe. But we know that life always finds a way to rise like the molds in that hallowed wasteland, and so there is always hope.


1000 miles North through Baja JAKE WARTELL To travel in the physical world is to travel in the spiritual world. Of course—there is only one world. ● I fell madly in love. Who could see it coming? We spent our last two nights together in La Paz. One in the desert making love amid the play of light through the jeep’s windows at sunrise and sunset. A mesa overlooking a cactus canyon and the ocean. The second, treating each other with lice shampoo in the white hotel room above the Chinese restaurant. Then, a fancy Italian dinner.

● In the morning bus station, a shining dreadlocked fella taught me how to weave dream catchers. He went south and I caught a bus North to Loreto. It must have been while I was napping that my passport slipped out of my notebook. I lost an owl feather running back to the station, still too late to catch it. ● I met Victoria on a blue bench. I helped her explore the edges of her emotional hang-ups; open to her bliss body. This is to say, your struggles are legitimate. What holds you back from experiencing absolute love right now?

● Shouldered my pack and walked out of town with my thumb raised. My pack was too heavy. At sunset, without a ride, I walked down the scrap-plastic arroyo that smelled of rotten flesh to a narrow beach, singing. As I approached, cows crossed my path. Good omens. ● The sun continued to set. The moon persevered overhead. I felt joyous and absolutely connected. I lay back and looked at the moon and gave myself a foot rub. Ate bread and cheese with my hands. This is perfect.

● Sunrise on the Sea of Cortez. My pre-dawn meditation was punctured by the hotel policemen and their flashlight checking for (presumably) unruly drunks who no doubt wander down the same dejected arroyo I had to slumber by the sea. But what could be more peaceful than a meditation? They gave me their stoic blessing, “todo bien” after my reassurances in the same incantation. Some breath work and I opened to the sky’s orange cream opening, jagged mountains across the bay, whispy cloudscapes like Arabic script. The imam is in the lagoon behind me, wings folded, neck outstreched, silently calling us to prayer.

● There was clearly more to learn in Loreto. I just couldn’t hitchhike out. The road is far less traveled than I ever could have imagined. I walked back to the bus stop and bought a ticket all the way to Tijuana. Lightened my load and bopped down the street to the Lotus cafe chanting mantras. Sipping green tea in the front garden, I struck up a conversation with the owner’s mother. We got on about the end of the world, wood-fired ovens, and plant medicine. She also took me back behind her house where she has her rooster ranch and showed me her halffinished brick oven. A big one. Could cook 30-50 loaves at a time. If only it was finished. If only she knew how to make bread. On the way out she gave me a dry snake skin. It is a bracelet now. I honor the power to let go of old patterns. ● At the bus stop, muchacho told me about his days living in California proper. No papers, but he could cross the border every weekend to drink in Tijuana. Up until about four years ago, he could walked along the beach back to San Diego and did not have any problems. He did this for years. Got caught not too long ago. They threw away all of his documents, birth certificate, everything. Put him in a US jail for a week and told him it would be much longer if he got caught again. ● The winding roads North on the Aguila bus. In Mulege, I was reconnected with my passport. Bus driver is arrogant enough to be confident on the crazy mountain curves, but humble enough to not take unwarranted risks. ● The kids in army fatigues at the military drug stops found my medicine doll, white sage, snake skin, and pigeon feet. Sent me on my way.


● In an unnamed desert town, the three-quarters complete skeleton of a long-necked yet squat dinosaur is erected spitting distance from the zocalo. Presumably dug up here, I imagine it as a daily reminder to the residents.

● Midnight in the mostly empty bus depot in Guerrero Negro. Stretching, sitting on the blue bench reading commentary on Hagle’s “Phenomenology of Spirit”. ● The desert gets greener in the North. The towns appear to get drearier. The parts I saw of Santo Tomas and Ensenada rubbed my aesthetics in all the wrong directions.

● From the bus depot in Tijuana, I took the white and blue city bus to the immigration line. All the old women and hard cholos on the rickety machine are angels. To look at them silently and respect their divinity; they soften. ● The line to get in to the United States snakes from the sidewalk down the street. We move in groups. 20 feet at a time, wait 5 minutes. Move 20 more feet. Venders hawking tomales, tacos, and newspapers flank us. Blind men and women singing karaoke walk up and down the line collecting coins. Mostly travelers are silent, patient. This is a circus in its own regard. ● Once inside the immigration hall, the sound changes from street groans to hushed chatter. The anxiety and excitement are more palpable. This too is a house of God.

● The friendliest, most bombastic immigration agent I ever met was stoked to see me, to invite me into the country, to introduce me to the folks who would give me a secondary screening. The supervisor’s supervisor was contacted to try and make sense of my artifacts. Things remained ambiguous. They let me on through.

● San Diego is wide and clean. I sat down to have the last of my bread and cheese. A man with a bald head and wild eyes shared his rapid-fire hip-hop licks and his biblical calculations. Walking and breathing I changed pesos, bought a tram ticket, rode into town. Walking and breathing. Creation reveals herself to me.




Missing ...s KATJA FLÜKIGER Dedicated to my first English teacher and Phinn Toni Blä. Toni Blä. Toni Blä. Desperately trying to repeat stumbling ‘o’s and missing … I roll them you know. Rrrrrr. You try that. Anyways what right did he have to teach me pronunciation? Not native to any of the nations, with stumbling ‘o’s and missing … Dear mister, how will you teach your kids the sound of cars? Isn’t it way more convenient to roll your rrrrs? You’ re making animals lose their sound, turn the effect of their voices around. Give me just one lion that intimidates with an ‘oooo’ or scares others with a goowl. I really can’t take a dog seriously if it baaks at me or a pig that snots … you see, there is a reason to this letter, it only changes things to better. And what do you do when it’s cold? Declare you’re freezing with a ‘b’? No, you just replace it with a ‘w.’ For some reason it just does not appeal to you but believe me, especially when it’s cold, it’s better when the rs are rolled. Substituting is your forté and there are tricky rules for that too. If you feel like it, its a ‘w’ vewy pwetty Fondue? (That rhymes) Sometimes it’s an ‘ä’ (one of those with the two dots on top) ‘She w(ä)ears her f(ä)air h(ä)air,’ undäständ? But mostly its just a plain ‘a,’ one of those gangstas use one of those they use to abuse...the language Whateva. Tell them people... ...change the Alphabet! Cut the r though maybe, actually, add the ä. I feel a letter doesn’t deserve a place if the only word its used for is arse.



El Cuento Nocturno del Cangrejo Paseador MARIA ALEJANDRA ESCALANTE Ha punto de darse por vencido y entre tanto bamboleo de faldas rojas, el pobre cangrejo de río pensó que la mar era su destino. Entre tantas rocas de tamaños imaginarios, el ciego cangrejo de río tomó el camino más largo en silencio. Burbujas de tamaños imaginarios, rayos rojizos del sol de mañana, en la tarde, orificios diametrales a su corazón, el pobre ciego cangrejo de río encontró. Y la mar, valiente, entera y de buen carácter, como recompensa por la travesía hizo del pobre cangrejo, un cangrejo de oro. hizo del ciego cangrejo, un cangrejo telepático. Y el telepático. cangrejo de oro aprendió que a veces, sobretodo en las noches, las sorpresas de la vida le salvan el juego a cualquiera.


Overheard at COA Ken Sebelin after the fermentation fair: “One can’t live on Kombucha alone...the old fizzy belly...the old sour mouth...” - Graham Reeder

“I have this thing called a stud finder, and I know what you’re thinking, it is not a woman...” (Mary Harney) - Danielle Meiers

On respect to books.: “That’s knowledge in paper form, man!” - Moses Bastille

“I’m trying to start a snowball fight,” President Darron Collins as he lobs another snow ball towards an unsuspecting person leaving TAB after the lunch hour. - Danielle Meiers (see image below)

In the parking lot by the community garden. Don Cass, Cherie Ford and I converge on our way into work: Cherie (chipper, as usual): “Do you hear that cardinal?” Don: “What?” Cherie:“The cardinal. Hear it?” Don (without skipping a beat) - “I never went to church much.” - Sean Murphy “Why did I just say protein instead of hippopotamus? because some protein in my brain was regulated by a phosphate” (Don Cass) - Katie Perry “It’s like hitting yourself with a hammer, it feels good when you stop.” - John Cooper talking about playing in a difficult key during orchestra. - Ben Moniz

Nancy: “Lauren you didn’t do your storyboard? You won’t get a prize tomorrow.” Lauren: “What if I don’t want one?” Nancy: “What if it’s a pony?” - Katja Flukiger Monday night in TAB: Juan: “Hey do you know of any agroforestry projects in Palestine?” Hassan: “Dude, no, we live in the desert”. - Khristian Kan Suzanne Morse, looking at a gametophyte under a microscope during our botany lab: “hmmm... this guy already blew his load” - Renae Lesser

off the wall march issue  

end of term busy-ness...

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