Capsule Special Edition Spring 2019

CAPSULE A special edition

THE

CONTINENTAL SPRING 2019

Cover art by Julia Gorlovetskaya

contmag@hamilton.edu https://issuu.com/hamiltoncontinental

We’re doing a little different...

F

or this issue of The Continental, we decided it was time for a little makeover. The idea to create a special edition was born out of the desire to capture the diversity of student experience on Hamilton’s campus. Flipping through old issues of The Continental, we realized how important of a role magazines play in archiving student thought. Capsule brings back this purpose. Through a new, visually captivating design, we wanted our present and future readers to hear personal stories, listen to frustrations and relate to hilarious anecdotes that make up the Hamilton experience today.

The sections typical to The Continental (opinion, travel, features, on the hill, lifestyle and entertainment) are not present in this special edition. Instead, we wanted to give writers the platform to express any idea, without having to worry about fitting into a category. The range of topics we received and the artwork that they inspired was exciting. By reaching out to artists on and off campus, we wanted our design team to have the opportunity to read the articles and elevate them to the next level. In "Witnessing Life Behind Bars: A Reflection on American Prison Writing," the artist, Sam Guindon, illustrated a homemade tattoo rig to showcase the adaptability of prisoners, as a way to humanize prisoners in the same way that the writer, Will Rasenberger, did.

On a more humorous note, the artist Sadye Bobbette drew a comic strip to accompany "Me and My Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Interview." Each panel hilariously depicted the disastrous interview process and added a new element of playfulness to the article.

The name "Capsule" is meant to allude to the concept of a time capsule. This Capsule edition, therefore, acts as a snapshot of Hamilton life right now. So, at the end of this issue we’ve included a collection of maps that we think really encapsule-late different aspects of the Hamilton experience from a new visual perspective. Feel free to use the last map to make your own.

We hope you enjoy!

Julia Gorlovetskaya & Anika Huq Editors-in-Chief

TABLE OF

CONT EN TS

Design by Andrew Watson

Tuning Into Our Relationship With Music Platforms //Meredith LaBelle

English, But Make It Literature //Philip Marks

Witnessing Life Behind Bars: A Reflection on American Prison Writing //Will Rasenberger

A Fluffy Other Half //Emily Cutajar

Lifting Myself Up //Madeline Carlman

Getting Stronger: An Inside Look at the ES Department //Abby Roller

My One Week on the Ultimate Frisbee Team //Celia Reistrom

Queer Spaces: Where Are They? //Andres ‘Fluffy; Aguilar

What to Expect When You’re Here Next //Anne Homans

Me and My Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Interview //Anonymous

Mapping Hamilton //Julia Gorlovetskaya

Crossword //Vicky Xu & Rachel Dawson

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TUNING INTO OUR RELATIONSHIP WITH MUSIC PLATFORMS Words by Meredith LaBelle Collage by Julia Gorlovetskaya

The summer before I entered third grade, my mom promised me she would buy me a CD of my choice if I memorized all of my multiplication flash cards. I hated math, which I attribute to those thick, soul-sucking Everyday Math textbooks they gave us the moment we entered elementary school. But I wanted a CD, one that would be my very own. That was the summer I truly recognized the power of bribery, the summer I learned my times tables, and the summer I was given my first CD.

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IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL THING. Released in July of 2004, Now That’s What I Call Music! 16 was the ultimate jam. It was a perfectly curated compilation of all the best hits from the early 2000s, featuring bops like "Hey Ya!" by Outkast, "Leave (Get Out)" by JoJo, and "Where Are We Runnin’?" by Lenny Kravitz. The 20 tracks on this album hold a special place in my heart to this day. I felt like they were my songs, made for me listen to.

After Now 16, I would purchase many more CDs, collecting them and keeping them safely tucked behind plastic in a special binder, stored in the glove department of my mom’s station wagon. As I grew up I began to appreciate music as a way to better understand the world around me. It was personal, as it is for most, and it helped define my sense of individuality. Our beloved CD collections eventually became passé as iTunes entered the picture, and we’d spend 99 cents on each song we deemed worthy of entering our music libraries. And now, most of us use streaming platforms to curate the music we fill our lives with. There are no limitations, no maximum numbers of tracks to fit on a CD, and no price per song.

Having complete access to any song we want at our fingertips changes our relationship to music, and I didn’t consider this until my friend Kaitlyn and I started a radio show this semester. The concept behind our show is playing songs that have a personal story behind them, both our own stories and submissions from listeners of our show. We play the song, and then tell the story on air. It’s surprising how unifying this simple concept is—it seems like everyone has songs that are attached to certain personal memories from their lives.

In collecting our own and others stories, I think we both realized that most of our memories come from the more ‘limited’ sources of music in our lives—albums that our parents would play over and over again during long car rides, tracks that we’d always listen to on our iPod shuffles on the long bus ride home from middle school, or a song that played on the car radio during an important conversation with a friend. There is something about the lack of choice that changes the way we hear music, because it requires a greater appreciation for the song playing at the moment, and less worry about the song that is playing next. Your dad might only have 5 albums in his car, you might only have 200 songs purchased on your MP3 player, and unless you’ve got a hidden superpower there’s no way to know the next song that will be played on a radio show. These are limitations to the listening process, but maybe they force us to develop a deeper, nostalgic attachment to certain songs.

I think about how I will expose my children to music one day. If I shuffle my library of thousands of songs on Spotify when we drive in the car, will they feel the same nostalgia for my music that I feel for my parent’s CDs? Will my grandkids know radio, will they know the excited feeling of when the hosts come back on the air after a long commercial break, wondering what song will be

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played next? Many poets celebrate the sonnet, for imposing such a strict structure on the poem itself often brings out beautifully crafted lines that must fit inside a certain mold. Perhaps this is what I’m trying to get at. Maybe these different vehicles of music listening that are limiting in a way should still be important to us.

Don’t get me wrong, I love streaming platforms. I love the comfort of pressing shuffle, and knowing my music is playing, and choosing certain playlists I’ve created based on different moods and situations. But there will always be something magical about the radio, the excitement of the unknown and the unfamiliarity, and the exposure to new music and new stories. And there will always be something special about a favorite CD, and knowing that there was intention behind every single aspect of that CD—from the album art to the order of the tracks. These are forms of listening that allow us to engage with music differently than our endless stream of our own music libraries.

We should not only celebrate them, but make sure to preserve them as essential outlets of creative expression in our lives.

T’S

MAYBE I

TUNE TIME TO

E

INTO TH

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ENGLISH, But Make it Literature Words by Philip Marks Illustrations by Anika Huq

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ne of my favorite things about this place is that we call what is clearly an English major, a Literature concentration. It’s a slight change that accomplishes absolutely nothing—save for potentially satisfying the department’s need to distinguish itself from that of literally every other liberal arts institution—yet it has done me a huge favor.

It means that, instead of having to call myself an English and Spanish double major (which essentially opens a conversation by saying that all I know how to do is communicate), I can just say I’m a "Lit and Spanish double major." That way, everyone understands that I’m still committing academic suicide, but now I’m just one of many Hamilton students, as opposed to a complete sham. Still, I chose my majors based on my passions, as I believe most liberal arts students do, rather than attempting to pursue a degree that society would deem "practical."

Practical is a word that is thrown around entirely too much in academics, and especially at a place like Hamilton. Our school has no formal pre-professional programs, no Business or Engineering degrees, and certainly no vocational opportunities. Instead, we offer exactly one Accounting class (ECON 230 if you’re interested) and numerous opportunities to major in "less practical" fields such as Anthropology, Classics, Sociology, and yes, Literature. My intent here is not to disparage any particular majors—almost every concentration offered at Hamilton could be considered "impractical"—but rather to explain what unites them all. To begin, what do you list as your main skills on an application? For me, I always start with the big one: critical thinking, even though I have no absolutely idea what that means.

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n a recent interview, I stumbled through an explanation of critical thinking that went something like this: "Well I mean I can analyze problems pretty well and I’m good at developing and defending an argument." Disregarding my clear affinity for the English language, there is absolutely no correlation between being a problem-solver and being able to communicate your point clearly, yet both of those skills went under my umbrella of "critical thinking." Chances are that you are like me and also consider critical thinking to be one of your essential skills, especially if you are a Humanities major. So, for that reason, I am penning this short dissertation on what I believe to be the ultimate gift of a liberal arts degree: critical thinking.

A Dissertation on Critical Thinking

By Philip Marks

THE INTERNET DEFINES CRITICAL THINKING as "the objective analysis and evaluation of an issue in order to form a judgment."

I guess, in that sense, I really wasn’t too far off. However, there is far more to the issue, as shown by the "The Foundation for Critical Thinking," which follows a mission that seeks "to promote essential change in education and society through the cultivation of fairminded critical thinking." I don’t actually care about the foundation or their mission, but just the fact that they exist seems notable. On a more serious note, I do think that it is important that we understand this abstract concept of "critical thinking," which is significant enough to warrant "essential change in education and society." Critical thinking seems on the surface to be an entirely unwarranted justification of a liberal arts degree—because it is such an abstract concept—until you look closer at its function. I believe the term is purposefully vague so that it can function as that umbrella term I think I might still despise. A liberal arts degree requires something as general as "critical thinking" to encapsulate all that it offers, because the actual components that make up a liberal arts education are so much more nuanced than that of say, a Finance degree. With a finance degree, you are (shockingly) likely to pursue a career in finance; however, a Sociology major will likely become. . .a professor of Sociology? Of course not—well at least not in most cases. Still, it is much harder to define the skills gained with a Sociology major than those of a Finance major because they are inherently more abstract. For that reason, we use critical thinking as a scapegoat. It saves us from enumerating each unique quality gleaned from our liberal arts education, such as: writing, speaking, arguing, research skills, analytical thinking, creative thinking, problem-solving. . . See? It’s exhausting. I’d much rather just say "I have strong critical thinking skills," and let them fill in the rest. Even though they probably can’t define it, they will at least know to be impressed.

Author’s note: I still feel like it’s missing some-

thing, which might explain why I haven’t even convinced myself that critical thinking is a real skill. I hope it is, otherwise I’ve wasted a lot of money to become an expert communicator. Anyway, feel free to contact me with your views on this critical subject—pmarks@ham—I’d love to get into a debate.

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W E W E U E U SS E RII T T II C CA AL L CCR THINKING T H I N K I NG AS A AS A SCAPEGOAT SCAPEGOAT

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WITNESSING LIFE BEHIND BARS A Reflection on American Prison Writing

Words by Will Rasenberger Illustrations by Sam Guindon

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T

he annual meeting of the American Bar Association in 2003 featured a speech by then-associate justice Anthony Kennedy. Justice Kennedy addressed, among other subjects, the shortcomings of the contemporary American correctional system.

"When the prisoner is taken away," Kennedy observed, "our attention turns to the next case. When the door is locked against the prisoner, we do not think about what is behind it." Today, sixteen years later, Kenne-

dy’s words ring no less true. Many of us have no idea what the reality of life behind bars is like.

The American Prison Writing Archive (APWA), housed here at Hamilton College, seeks to redress this state of affairs. The guiding idea behind the archive is simple: incarcerated people are the only experts on the reality and meaning of incarceration. So, we must turn to their voices, their stories, if we are to have any grasp of the sprawling carceral

state and its human toll.

To date, the APWA is the largest single corpus of prison witness, hosting nearly two thousand essays penned by people incarcerated across the United States. As a fellow at the archive, I have had the opportunity to read and process hundreds of these essays. Each essay serves as a pointed reminder that their stories continue behind the stone walls and concertina wire.

I am going to address the work that I do for the archive, and then offer some reflections on prison writing, and the American prison system itself.

My main responsibility is processing the mail we get from incarcerated authors. Everyday I read and respond to requests for information and for questionnaires that incarcerated authors must fill out and return before they can contribute to the archive.

Sometimes I’ll read letters which aren’t intended for publication. These letters might express frustration over a legal battle which seems unwinnable or disillusionment about the efficacy of prison reform efforts, and, perhaps most often, a longing for human connection.

I also see poems and artwork which are just as expressive, though we are not digitizing these items for the time being.

The most exciting work that I do is reading essays written by incarcerated people. I read writing from those attempting to write an autobiography for the first time just as often as I read essays by people who’ve dedicated much of their time inside to perfecting the craft of carceral witness.

I won’t digitize if an essay refers to individuals in extant legal cases, or openly incites violence, or is filled with prejudicial hatred.

These kinds of essays are few and far between, though. More often than not, I’ll collect basic metadata on

the essay, write a letter to the author acknowledging we’ve received his or her work, and then file the essay to be archived.

As I’ve learned about the lives, experiences, tragedies, fears, dreams, and hopes of incarcerated people, I have also gotten a sense of how profoundly removed carceral institutions and incarcerated people are from "free society."

"The gulf between here and there is vast" according to Kenneth Hartman, a man who was serving a life-without-parole sentence until his sentence was commuted in 2017. He continues: "The physical and social construct that is the modern institution has resulted in the creation of a separate world called prison."

APWA writers insist on this point-- just how physically, morally, and socially isolated our carceral apparatus is, relative to the free world.

If it is not already implied, the reality of incarceration is also, for us, conceptually remote.

In a different essay, Hartman writes that "it’s the very nature and design of this world, with all the barriers both real and metaphorical, that makes getting a clear understanding difficult to gain."

So, bridging the gap between here and there is very difficult. Prison officials, according to many APWA authors, would have it this way. Just as prison walls keep the incarcerated within, they also keep out prying eyes and minds.

If prisons really are a world apart, this poses obvious problems:

how are we to know what goes on behind prisons walls?

And, so,

how are we to hold accountable prison officials or, more broadly, the penal apparatus?

Maybe most important,

how are we to understand the meaning of incarceration to those who are directly affected by it, incarcerated people?

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A

t this point, many Americans know, at least roughly, the outrageous statistics on incarceration in the United States-- that, both as a percentage of national population and in absolute numbers-- our nation incarcerates more people than any nation on earth, that a vast majority of incarcerated people were socioeconomically disadvantaged before they were caught up in the criminal justice system, and that one out of every nine incarcerated people will spend their natural lives behind bars.

And yet, statististics do not tell the whole story. In fact, they might do more harm than good. As Mother Teresa once admitted, "if I look at the mass, I will never act. If I look at the one, I will."

Statistics cannot help but reduce lives to numbers; it is almost a built-in feature of statistics that they elide or defer the humanity of the persons they are supposed to represent.

The problem with statistics, then, and for that matter, so much reporting and scholarship on the prisons, no matter how well-intentioned, is that they obscure the human toll exacted by our carceral state, the violence of the law as it afflicts individual souls and bodies

The language of statistics, then, turns out to be not very different than the logic of incarceration in the United States, which centers around denying incarcerated persons the titles to personhood and humanity, to self-definition

Indeed, I want to suggest that what goes handin-hand with the vast gulf between the carceral universe and free society, is the effective removal of incarcerated people from our circle of moral concern, and an inability, all too often wilful, to regard incarcerated people as fully human.

Ivan Kilgore, a man incarcerated in California, writes that "my conviction renders me devoid of society’s civil conscience. This now makes everything publicly acceptable with regard to my disenfranchisement and the cruel and demeaning treatment I am to suffer, while making palatable to you this institution’s very own inhumane treatment and criminality."

Prison writing is an act of resistance, so far as the carceral apparatus sets out to reduce the incarcerated to voiceless nonpersons. For many incarcerated people, writing amounts, at once, to a refusal to submit to a meaningless existence and a means of recovering their identity.

David Andrew Norton, a man held by the Utah Department of Corrections, explains that "I like the state of mind that writing invokes. Writing helps me remember who I am." For Norton, writing is an archaeological exercise, a necesarry means of excavating all that he identi-

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fies as truly his own. As he puts it, "I feel good about the progress I’ve made so far toward reintegration with my true self, through writing."

I think that prison writing, is, finally, a refusal to disappear.

Those of us who in turn bear witness to the voices of incarcerated people are not only able, but, I believe, also forced to recognize their humanity and, therefore, the many injustices, small and profound, that they have suffered.

To read some of these essays-- a man wondering whether he will ever feel empathy towards another human being again after a year long stint in solitary confinement-- or a woman devastated because she knows her children aren’t in good hands on the outside-is to confront real tragedy and oftentimes, real injustice.

And even if it is not clear how to respond, some kind of response seems necessary.

I certainly cannot say that I have the perfect solution to making prisons more humane and less destructive. Carceral reform, of course, will not happen over night. Nothing short of a paradigm shift is required, and this will take time.

I hope-- I think-- that the American Prison Writing Archive, can help urge this paradigm shift along, while it gives a voice to incarcerated persons who have stories to tell and who deserve to be heard-- not as statistics, not as discursive nodes, but as individuals.

I’ll end with a final quote from the archive. This one is from Anthony Powers-Wali, a man incarcerated in Washington State.

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A Fluffy Other Half

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Words by Emily Cutajar Illustrations by Jillian Lu (@jillo.beans)

H

aving a service dog is like carrying around a giant billboard reading "I am disabled!!"

You can see why returning to Hamilton with my service dog, Wesley, by my side was a daunting task.

​So what even is a service dog? Before I started looking into one, the only service dogs I knew of were guide dogs for the blind. These dogs are what most people think of. But in today’s world, service dogs are being trained to aid with a variety of different disabilities – psychiatric, mobility, Epilepsy, Diabetes, and so many more.

Service dogs are dogs that are trained for disabled people to mitigate their disabilities.

They are tools used in treatment. Under the ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act), the handler holds the right to be accompanied by their service dog anywhere where the public is allowed. What does this cover? I always use the same example when explaining – in a restaurant, a service dog is allowed in the dining area, in the bathrooms, etc., but it would not be allowed in the kitchen because the public is not typically allowed there. The ADA also states that when a handler and their service dog

enter a public establishment, only two questions may be legally asked – 1) Is the dog a service animal required because of a disability? And 2) What work or task has the dog been trained to perform? The handler is not required to answer anything more and cannot be asked to leave unless the dog is out of the handler’s control.

Here on campus, there has been an influx of dogs. Most of them are ESA’s (Emotional Support Animals) while as of right now, only Wesley and another dog named Romeo, are service animals. What is

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dog. having a service up signs ck pi to d ne ar le have is the st around leave the an ESA and what that people are ju ​I was on medical d an at As th ES n lty ee cu tw ffi di year, origidifference be for Wes. Another 2017-2018 school e r ar le As nd ES ha s? as al le transferring service anim comes with the ro nally planning on g to in in to tra s c si ha ba ys th has truly animals wi is that Wesley alwa at home, but Wesley th d s an ur ly ho te d ria en op sp t my health behave appr come first. I can’t r allowed me to ge fo rt fo ng m yi la co e es id W ov th return to primarily pr studying in KJ wi back on track and ADA, e th r s hi de s Un . ed rs ne le thought a their hand down because he in Hamilton. I never d ire qu up re be so al to is ve I needed to a disability own exercise. I ha dog could be what are As ES lk A. wa ES to d an re ve is. He has order to ha earlier than prefer thrive, but Wesley as g in ed us ar ho ep et pr -p m no rt of me. allowed in Wesley and get hi truly become a pa such rt on po sp ns re tra of t ic lo bl lowed me well as pu for the day. It’s a t Having him has al no , do de si ey th ht t ig bu br s, e pendence – t, on th as airplane to regain my inde any- sibility. Bu s ht fe sa rig y ss m e ce m ac co ic I can attend have publ Hamilton has be so much so that ten of gs do e, e in ic ag rv im Se . n m. And where else haven. As one ca classes without hi nce ie pa ed m ob co e ac or g m do h such a good go throug having a service because he does c ifi r ec fo sp ng as pi ll op we sh him his “off training as nying you when job, I enjoy giving rk wo g sk tin ta ea , d ie an ov ss m hi to people public acce clothes, seeing a duty” time to say a s aw dr c., et If you see a training. at a restaurant, and receive pets. re he yw er Ev y dog at all ​ lot of attention. service dog, or an a th wi to t try en d ud an st e best to ask Being a I go, people star really, it’s always t on os ilt m , m on Ha ilt at m g Wesley’s vestservice do call to Wes. At Ha before petting. If y. d ad an re os al I pr d its an th let him do comes wi people know Wes ed, I ask that you d ne is tio it en , m ok lo fly le ie see us outcons. As br While some peop his job. But if you eans e m th y le in t es W ou ng as vi d enjoying a before, ha not nearly as ba e de on the grass or si er uth s ed e ow or kn m e ne ar yo that ever t hesitate world. My peers walk, please don’ ong with e dogs than ic rv se t ou is "something wr ab d te ca ! certain hometown. to come say hi me." This leads to yone in my small an t ou ab ns yone I’ve preconceived notio It is amazing. Ever eet m en ev le op th has loved pe wi t me before e in contac m co ns ea m also ived any me. Having a dog ley; I have not rece es W ll wi le peop garding that sometimes, tive comments re ga ne I y. le es for W befriend me just

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common service dog misconceptions: Myth:

Anyone can have a ser-

vice dog.

Myth: I have the same diag-

nosis as someone with a service dog, does this mean I can get one too?

Myth:

Service dogs hit a point where they can stop training.

Myth: A service dog can go ANYWHERE!

Myth:

Service dogs need an ID badge in public.

Fact:

One has to be considered disabled as under the ADA states disability to "qualify" for a service dog.

Fact:

Diagnosis disability. You can have the same diagnosis as someone who is considered disabled, but you may have a different severity/it may not affect your life as severely.

Fact:

Service dogs never stop training!

It’s important that handlers continue to train with their dogs to keep them in tiptop shape.

Fact:

Under the ADA, a handler has the right to be accompanied by their service dog in any place that the public is allowed. As an example, a service dog may stay with their handler in a hospital room, but it would not be allowed in an operating room.

Fact:

Under the ADA, no identification is required in order to be a service dog. There is no federal service dog identification certificate.

Most of the websites that claim to provide a service dog ID are operating against the law and these “cards� do not hold any significance or power.

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G N I T F LI F L E S Y M eline P d a U M n a y B Carlm T

here came a point in my Hamilton career when cardio exercise became boring. Throughout my first and second year, my sweat varnished the treadmill, stair step machine, and stationary bike. Insecure about my body, I aimed for lean over strong. My heart was fit, but my arms and legs showed no definition.

The cardio workouts were barely enough to sustain my unhealthy body standards, so I regretfully grabbed consecutive salads in Commons and McEwen for years. While I dabbled with the weight machines in the cardio section, they failed to make me strong.

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I remember my first day in the lifting room well. It was the beginning of spring, the room was entirely filled with grunting men, and I was nervous. Beginning with peripheral machines like the pull-up bar and the sit up rack, I watched as others watched me. I wasn’t the first woman in the gym- I had seen a few others. They squatted and lunged alone with their headphones. Looking for handbook, I copied them. Podcast on, eyes down.

It took courage to be physically present in the weight room as a woman. Even in the cardio room, the gym is already charged with body awareness and steeped in gender norms. Women aim for lean; men work for strong. Women head to the left; men stay to the right. By extensionthe gym is a sociologist’s gold mine. I wrote papers and had class discussions about expectations for women in male dominated spaces.

But my confidence from sociology disappeared on my first day in the weight room and I wanted to bolt back to the treadmill. Peering over the pull-up machine as I let out the quietest exhale, I saw eyes drift towards me. My arms were weak and I was out of place. I left. I went back to the cardio room until boredom crept back in. I did not want a life of taking the bike to nowhere and picking at leaves in my salad bowl.

The era of entering the weight room in fits and spurts was undoubtedly uncomfortable. But I took the time to write my own lifting handbook. I watched men (and a few women) do back squats, front squats, grab strangers to spot them on bench presses, and strap on weight lifting belts for especially heavy loads. For them, the weight lifting room was a serious update from a child’s playground. I wanted to play too.

When I finally graduated to the racks, I thought I was cheating. I could lift for fifty minutes, hardly sweat, and be sore for days. Alarmed that my newfound strength allowed me to eat the sandwiches I had so longed for, I grew to embrace the hard in my biceps and the carved indents in my thighs. My muscles, nourished over time, made me feel better in the cardio room as well. I was stronger. Naturally, the change in my body allowed me to re-articulate my body as my self. With the same care a mother might have for her daughter, I saw my body as something to nurture. Strong bodies are less likely to get sick or injured. Mothers take care of their children.

I told all of my friends and then some. Now, I lift three to four days a week with other women who help me co-create a space that I look forward to play in. We take pauses to gossip, chat, and admire our ever-changing bodies. I leave my podcasts in the locker room and am usually too busy making sure my friends are safely lifting to notice if we are unwelcome. Most of all, I love how much we laugh. By transitioning into

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regular lifters, the initial imposter syndrome has disappeared: we belong here, too. Instead of sharing one rack, we know that we can take up as much space as we need.

I do not want female-identifying people reading this article to feel like they should abandon the cardio machines completely for the racks. That would be akin to asking women to rid themselves of their femininity in order to fit into the masculine world. I do not want to fit into a male dominated space, I want to co-create an equitable work-out environment. The lifting room is a space for both grunting and giggling from all genders. We need to trust that all types of people belong in that space.

:

If you want to start lifting and do not know how to, I highly recommend auditing a lifting PE course (that way you don’t have to worry about credits if you don’t show up). Lifting requires some technical knowledge and having a professional walk you through it is really helpful. Bring a friend too- lifting alone can be unsafe physically and saddening spiritually.

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Getting

STRONGER An Inside Look at the Environmental Studies Department

Words by Abby Roller Illustration by Amy Harff

W

hen I decided to go to Hamilton, I didn’t know that I wanted to major in Environmental Studies, and today I realize that this was actually for the best. My lack of foresight meant that I wasn’t weighing the strengths of ES departments in my decision, which likely would’ve led me to a different college. I really am happy at Hamilton, and I’m happy that I didn’t have the knowledge to let our developing Environmental Studies program steer me away.

In the NESCAC, we are competing with schools that have pioneering environmental studies programs, that have impressive zero-carbon buildings as a model of functional sustainability, and that have upwards of ten ES-only focused professors and lecturers. For a student looking at the programs of these similar schools, Hamilton simply doesn’t compare.

I started my Hamilton experience in the fall of 2017, when there were exactly zero professors

who taught exclusively in the Environmental Studies department. In a quick search of other similar schools, this stood out. Although it seems that every college has professors coming from Biology, Government, History, etc. to teach courses in this interdisciplinary major, department websites show that they’re all joined by professors who are solely focused on Environmental Studies, in numbers greater than zero. At a time when Environmental Studies is becoming such a pertinent and popular major, Hamilton’s previous neglect of this department is hard to understand. We’ve had ES majors coming out of Hamilton for years, but from an outside perspective our program is certainly not a draw for prospective students.

Now this was two years ago, and a lot has changed with the hiring of Doctor Aaron Strong, our first tenure-track professor in the Environmental Studies department. I cannot emphasize enough how much of a positive impact this man has already made. I would even say he’s made ES at Hamilton much...Stronger.

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Jokes aside, I give credit to Professor Strong and his Climate Change class for my decision to become an Environmental Studies major. In this class, he was able to convey a sense of both urgency and hope that got me really excited about the topic.

The way he put it, climate change is the issue of our time, and it’s our generation that needs to address it, which is why I chose ES as my major. Of the 18 majors in my class alone, I would guess that at least a few have a similar story.

Professor Strong has come in with some serious momentum, but with his tireless work towards improving our program, it would be a lie to say we, as ES majors, aren’t worried if he can sustain this. In addition to splitting his time between 40+ ES majors (and even more ES-interested students), redesigning courses for the major, and hiring two new professors for the next two years, he also has his own research to conduct, conferences and senate hearings to attend and testify at, not to mention three young kids at home.

And even with such Strong improvements, Hamilton’s ES majors still aren’t seeing the attention they deserve in this growing field. The design of the major itself is open-ended to the point where it seems experimental, and to find the help they need to navigate it students are still being placed with advisors whose priorities may still lie in other departments. As one example, in the email welcoming the Class of 2021 to the ES major, I was told that my advisor (from the Government department) would be able to answer any questions I might have about the Biology concentration.

Environmentally related issues are taking the front stage nationally and internationally, and it’s time for our school to get on board. Hamilton, let’s focus our energy towards supporting Professor Strong who is giving 150% to our current and future students of Environmental Studies.

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Environmentally related issues are taking the front stage nationally and internationally, and it’s time for our school to get on board.

HAMILTON, LET’S FOCUS OUR ENERGY TOWARDS SUPPORTING PROFESSOR STRONG WHO IS GIVING 150% TO OUR CURRENT AND FUTURE STUDENTS OF ENVIRONMENTAL STUDIES.

My One Week on the Ultimate Frisbee Team Words by Celia Reistrom Illustration by Kevin Strong

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ike many freshmen, I arrived on campus excited, anxious, and confused. Would I fit in? Would I meet people who would become my friends? Would I find my niche? Reeling with emotion, I decided to put myself out there. I had heard from upperclassmen and friends at other colleges that joining a sports team was a great way to meet people. I was determined to do something I never did in high school: play a team sport.

I mean, how hard could it be? Sure, I am 4’11. Not exactly the ideal size for sports. Do I have hand-eye coordination? Debatable. I had dabbled in soccer in middle school thinking I could be a goalie, but that dream was cut short when I took a soccer ball straight to the face.

Needless to say, I was nervous about finding a sport that was for me, but I pressed on.

I scanned the Hamilton website. Fencing? Wielding a weapon probably shouldn’t be my first venture into the sporting world. Rugby? Let’s face it. I do not pose a threat to the other team.

And...there it was. The words jumped off the screen at me. Ultimate Frisbee. This shouldn’t be too bad! Who hasn’t thrown a frisbee before? Who doesn’t love Kan Jam? I would give it a shot. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

A day later, I found myself at Target with a friend looking to buy a frisbee. Team practice was starting the following day and I was on a mission to look like I knew what I was doing.

Target only had one $10 New York Giants themed frisbee. I made the purchase and returned to Hamilton.

My friend and I went behind the Science Center so as not to be seen and began to throw. I quickly realized I didn’t even know how to actually throw a frisbee. There was so much to learn: how to keep my foot on the ground when I threw, how to position my body so I could aim, how to place my fingers on the disk, what hand I should even use (I’m a lefty which poses a whole host of problems as it is), and even trying to figure out the different types of throws.

After going over how to throw a frisbee, I then had to learn how to aim. My friend, who shall remain nameless, faced possible decapitation several times. Exhausted, we withdrew to the dorms hoping I learned enough to get by at practice the next day.

The next day at practice, one of the captains met me before everyone else got there so I could have extra help. I had gotten better at throwing the frisbee, so I figured I was fine for practice. What else would you even do in ultimate frisbee besides, you know, throw a frisbee?

Let’s just say I severely underestimated how intense ultimate frisbee is. It’s not just as simple as throwing a frisbee on the beach. It involves being in great shape and having quick reflexes.

The team started running drills and told me to cut and stall and other things I didn’t understand. I didn’t know where to run and I definitely didn’t throw to the right person who was supposed to be receiving the disc. The team was supportive throughout all of my messing up, giving me direction, pointers, and cheering me on.

It was a lot of running. My negligence to stay in shape over the summer really got me.

We had to run a good distance down the field to catch the frisbee, then again to play defense and block someone from getting the frisbee, which meant you also had to run at their speed, and run back to the line so that you’re not in the way of the next person. And repeat.

By the end of the drills and the scrimmage, I was exhausted. I was excited to drown myself in water and go back to my dorm and shower.

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But practice wasn’t over.

It wasn’t over?

Nope.

The captains told us we were going to run down the field and back again. A third of the way we were to do frog jumps, another third we were to sprint, and the remaining third was meant for lunges.

We had to do that three times.

I was in line with my group praying that someone would forget about me or hoping that we could lie and say I was already done, but alas, I did it.

I never officially quit the team, but as you can tell by the title, I only lasted a week. I took myself out if it and probably saved the team a liability. I couldn’t subject these enthusiastic, supportive people to my athletic disabilities any longer.

I didn’t realize how much conditioning you need to be able to play ultimate frisbee, since you’re constantly running trying to block someone or running to get open and then running down the field to score. I also am still not very good at aiming, keeping the disc level, and all the other things you need to be a successful player.

The ultimate frisbee team deserves more respect and recognition for the insane amount of work they put in. They’re always practicing, even in the winter, and sometimes practicing from 10-midnight if that’s when they can get time on the turf. The people I met on that team are some of the nicest people I’ve encountered while on campus.

If Hamilton has taught me anything, it’s this: putting myself out there was scary, but rewarding in so many ways. I was accepted, even though I was much less than perfect. This propelled me forward to join clubs and explore other, ahem, less physical adventures.

While I didn’t realize my dream of becoming a successful athlete, I had an experience with a group whom I will never forget. I am still on a quest to find my niche, but I know that I can freely try all kinds of things and be supported by people I hardly know.

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Queer

Words by Andres ‘Fluffy’ Aguilar

IIllustration by Anika Huq

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Painting by Marqus AG @hunniipie

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"While the Queer Student Union (QSU) has attempted to establish itself and its presence through programming and weekly meetings, I have found myself distant from this organization because of its mere predominately white membership."

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As a Hamilton senior, I have been hoping for some change to occur on campus for the Queer community, but the change has yet to occur.

My name is Andres ‘Fluffy’ Aguilar. I am a low-income, gay, Chicano from San Bernardino, CA. I do not represent nor speak for all of the LGBTQ+ community on campus. I am simply one of many LGBTQ+ members who recognize the desire and need for a center that promotes inclusivity and diversity in our own social categorization of gender and sexual orientation. Our voice matters as much as any other Hamiltonian and our social exclusion from this campus is unacceptable.

Upon arriving to Hamilton, I hoped to find a home within the LGBTQ+ center; however, I was disappointed to find out that the only center that existed, existed within the standing multicultural home of the Days-Massolo Center. The Days-Massolo Center serves a variety of organizations, such as the Asian Student Association, the Womxn’s Center, and the Queer Student Union (QSU, formerly known as Rainbow); however, many students did not know of the existence of this building nor its purpose.

Throughout the years, the Days-Massolo Center has developed its professional structure and organization; however, it has lost its professional personnel and supervision. The transition and flux of leadership and personnel has created instability for folks, like myself, to find and confide in someone who may be a resource, not only for myself, but for our community at large. Our LGBTQ+ center within this center does not offer nor serve justice to our Queer community nor our Hamilton community.

A LGBTQ+ Center, and/or Queer Resource Center, should "empower each LGBTQIA+ person to have a positive college experience, grow as a self-aware individual and be a responsible community member" (colleges.claremont.edu/qrc). The center should "provide support, resources, leadership development, and an inclusive and welcoming space for all members of the [ Hamilton community ] to explore topics related to diverse sexual and gender identities" (colleges.claremont.edu/qrc).

While the Queer Student Union (QSU) has attempted to establish itself and its presence through programming and weekly meetings, I have found myself distant from this organization because of its mere predominately white membership. As a person of color, I cannot relate to their LGBTQ+ experiences and I don’t particularly find myself at ease or at comfort within this space. More than ever, I understand that every Queer student has a different story and/or process, which I, nor others, can generalize as a common experience.

Our experience differs drastically. None of us share similar stories; thus, we cannot and should not consult a specific student on the spectrum to represent an entire community of such diversity.

Nonetheless, a diversity of LGBTQ+ students with intersectional identities should be consulted to find the needs of our community. With a LGBTQ+ Center/Queer Resources Center, Hamilton can, institutionally and professionally, provide a safer space, access to resources and support, and encourage personal growth and identity development for all of Hamilton’s community.

Other queer spaces? We may consider spaces, such as the Counseling Center, and academic courses within the Chinese, Women’s and Gender Studies, as well as Anthropology departments. While these are important intellectual spaces to discuss LGBTQ+ identities and issues, I cannot overlook the actual lived experiences and issues that we may be facing on this campus that we may intellectually discuss, but ignore.

What I need is a physical safe space for the LGBTQ+ community. I need the socialization and understanding of my peers to comprehend why spaces matter for me as a gay man, specifically a low-income, gay man of color at a predominately white institution. We exist and we are here. It is important for me, as well as the rest of the LGBTQ+ community, to find a community that we can talk to and socialize as we continuously normalize our sexual orientation and gender identities.

What I seek for this institution to do is provide the critical inclusion of ‘diversity and inclusion.’ I want folks to feel safe and comfortable to be themselves, but also have the will and power to advocate for themselves through profession and institutional avenues. If Hamilton could provide these spaces as many other institutions have, we, Hamiltonians, could witness and provide for future Hamiltonians an experience that fulfills the promise of ‘knowing thyself.’

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What to Expect When You’re Here Next Words by Anne Homans

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ccording to the Office of Off-Campus Study, roughly two-thirds of Hamilton students take part in off-campus study opportunities at some point in their college career. I was lucky enough to spend two semesters at the Hamilton in France program in Paris, where I studied Art History at l’École du Louvre, sipped Chardonnay on the banks of the Seine, and emptied my bank account over three-course lunches and day trips to the countryside. Small wonder, then, that when I returned to campus last September my fifteen-month absence slapped me squarely in the face. Here’s what required some adjusting, and what those of you studying abroad next year might also face upon your return to the Hill.

Who is that?

After the very first day, I realized that I hadn’t laid eyes on half of the present student population; i.e. the freshman and sophomore classes. Some upperclassmen, too, had simply forgotten that I exist.

A week in, a sophomore classmate asked, with a charitable smile, if I had enjoyed my first few days at college; later, while wearing a more formal outfit for my LinkedIn photo, I was confused for a younger-looking faculty member. I’m still trying to work out which assumption is worse.

Where am I?

As Hamilton students, we’re granted all the wonders and privileges of a vast campus; as a returning student (and idiot), I took part in very few of them because I couldn’t remember where the hell anything was. Outside of my daily trails between the dorm, my classroom buildings, and the library, the campus had become a complete mystery. When a friend mentioned the Elihu Root House, I simply replied, "Gesundheit." I presently haven’t set foot in the Science Center since the fall of 2016, and I’m worried that if I do so I won’t be able to find my way out again.

What do I wear?

Paris, like many other off-campus locations, necessitated a change in wardrobe from the bean boots, leggings, and Patagonia fleeces that I kept in heavy rotation at Hamilton. Kitten heels and trench coats were my new staples, and after a long year of assimilating to an elegant, feminine dress code, I found that much of the clothing I’d been wearing were now considered flashy statement pieces on campus. Getting dressed was now a balancing act of assimilating back to the Hamilton dress code while honoring my newfound taste.

The choice to attend class in sweats, however, was a wonderful and welcome freedom.

How’d I ever take this place for granted?

Without a doubt, the best thing about returning to campus was experiencing all the wonders of Hamilton anew, just as I had my freshman year. Apart from just the physical beauty of the campus, the convenience of having first-rate amenities at my fingertips was a privilege I’d taken for granted, along with the experience of living within an interesting, intelligent, and supportive community of students and faculty. I finally understood, three years later, why all of us first-semester freshmen had unironically referred to Hamilton as "Camp Hammy." My year abroad had been beautiful, enriching, and life-changing, yet one of its greatest gifts was how it enhanced my perspective on campus life and allowed me to appreciate those same qualities in my experiences at Hamilton. As it turns out, no matter how far I go, there truly is no place like home.

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Me and My Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Interview

Words by Anonymous Illustrations by Sadye Bobbette

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It was the morning of my interview. I arrived the night before at this boujee hotel paid for by the company I was interviewing for, and I enjoyed my king bed and view out my window. I brushed my teeth, got dressed in my fancy interview clothes, and made sure I didn’t leave anything in the bathroom before heading to the lobby to check out. It was a wholesome, productive, responsible morning. Everything was going well.

I had an 11:30am lunch interview for a job position I knew I was very well qualified for. My first round of interviews had gone incredible and if I knocked this one out of the park I was a sure in. However, while I wish this were a story of joy and success, it is instead about the most chaotic four hours of my life. Please. Tune in.

I walk down to the boujee hotel lobby and check out of my room. Suddenly, the concierge tells me that I need to pay $40 for my parking spot. Girl, what about this situation makes you think I have $40 to dish out for a parking pass? I politely tell her that all hotel costs are being covered by the company who booked the hotel, but for some reason the only credit card on file was my own. How fabulous.

We agree that I will talk to my interviewer and sort this out later. I have an interview to get to!

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So, I leave the hotel trying to figure out the best way to approach asking for money from my interviewer. . .very awkward. . . and begin my 20-minute trek to the subway station. I hop on the subway towards the restaurant we’re meeting at for lunch.

Now, this is where you buckle your seatbelt, grab some popcorn, and watch me unravel like a sweater that got caught on your jean zipper in the washing machine.

Ping! I look at an email I’ve received from the woman I’m about to meet.

"It’s cold out today! How do you feel about ramen for lunch instead?"

Not about to say no to my possible employer, I respond, "That sounds great! See you in a little bit!"

I suddenly realize that I’m idiot. I just agreed to eat ramen at a job interview. Ramen. Spaghetti on steroids. The slurpiest, drippiest, wettest, soupiest meal ever to grace this earth. The food that’s not included in the "foods not to order at an interview" spiel because no one would ever think of ordering it at an interview to begin with. Oh and chopsticks. Huzzah.

I’m giving myself a quick run through on how to use chopsticks and debating whether or not a quick YouTube refresher is worth my time when I arrive at Central station. I walk to a local coffee shop to collect myself and figure out where exactly I’ll be meeting her for lunch. Let it be known that I had arrived at my interview location 30 minutes early because that’s what the Career Center told me to do. Kudos to me, thank you, yes I am a rule follower.

I order myself a large earl grey tea and sit down next to an older gentleman reading the paper. I pull up Google maps, type in the restaurant name, and almost spit out my tea. This ramen restaurant I need to be at in 30 minutes is exactly

30 minutes away. . . one block away from my original hotel location.

AMAZING! I gulp down my scalding hot tea. . . don’t recommend. . . and scurry my booty back to the subway station.

Denied! My subway pass is denied!

Why you ask? I have absolutely no freaking idea but I run to another station, buy a new ticket, and try again!

Sweat is dripping, not sure where, but it is dripping as I begin my journey back to my original starting point. I am also still trying to remind myself how to use chopsticks.

The subway arrives back at my original station and I start speed walking like a madwoman to the restaurant. (This might be a good time to mention that the city I was in had experienced a freak snowstorm the night before my interview). I battle the elements mercilessly trying to keep my pants somewhat dry and clean while I quite literally bound and leap over piles of snow that the plows had used to blockade certain crosswalks. Why this was the citywide plan of attack for snow patrol that day? I have no idea.

Sweaty, discombobulated, and very much not settled I arrive at the restaurant with two minutes to spare. Thank Mother Earth herself that the woman I am meeting has not yet arrived at the restaurant.

I’m given a table and change my shoes (my mom said that I should wear nice shoes) and wait. . . . for 30 minutes.

During this 30-minute waiting time a few events occur: - I really had to pee. Thus begins the internal debate about whether or not it would be better to ask to go to the bathroom during the interview, or risk the chance of not being there when she arrives.

- I read over the menu 10 times.

- The hostess seats two businessmen directly next to me at a split table. We could have played a successful game of telephone we were so close. And there were literally 15 other wide-open tables.

- I decide to pee. I scurry to the bathroom, relieve my bladder, and run back to the table. She hasn’t arrived. Phew!

-I read over the menu 10 more times.

Finally, my interviewer arrives!

And I proceed to forget everything I have ever been taught about interviewing. Here are a few highlights from the TWO-HOUR event: - Watching my interviewer casually flip through other candidates’ resumes at the table - Trying to eat ramen - Thinking, welp, I think I need to start applying to more jobs.

- My interviewer commenting that "ramen is not a good interview food" - A slushy walk around Cambridge - Being told my answer to a question is incorrect - Chilling with the hotel concierge with my interviewer trying to figure out my parking pass - Being asked to describe climate change in one minute - The hug at the end Sadly folks, I did not get the position.

But you know what? That’s okay.

Job and internship searches are exceedingly difficult, embarrassing, and sometimes not that successful. Seniors, if you don’t have a job yet just know that I don’t either! And if you do, well. . . bleck, fine, congrats. Juniors, sophomores, and first-years, your time will come. Take care of yourself during this stressful time and process and know that every bad interview is just practice for a good one. Oh, and it’s probably still good to arrive 30 minutes before your interview.

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CROSSWORD

by Vicky Xu and Rachel Dawson

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Across 4. Our home! Also the theme of this puzzle 5. This place has literally nothing to do with Vermont, but a young freshie might think it does or get a late night bite from Ting here 9. These 13 played in the Sweet 16 11. It may be 25 degrees, but you’ll still see ATX dartying here 14. Eating my bacon mess while looking like a mess here 17. Upperclassmen can pregame their Thursday nights here 20. Event where we use charity as a front to get blackout in a barn 24. Plague of Fall 2018 25. Grilling club’s event of the year 26. Inferior version of this publication 29. They’ll save your life on a Fri or Sat night 30. Popular major for lax bros and the like 31. Space that’s way too big for the amount of people that go to all campus parties 32. Order a calzone for you and your best friend from here 33. Group that really gets the crowd FIRED up with their halftime performances

Down 1. Punch out ceiling tiles here 2. Yellow publication that parents of prospective students look at with confusion 3. Vicky lives here 6. Rachel lives here 7. Team that thinks they are a varsity sport but aren’t 8. They might spread some Peanut Butter Jelly for You and I 10. Those who ate the lettuce got this illness 12. The Valentine’s Day gift no one wants 13. Students in this major might say "Rocks rock!"

15. If you get here at 8:01pm it will be capped 16. We waited 596 days for this premiere 18. You will definitely need that Canada Goose for this extreme weather 19. Serpent in a tote bag 21. Darkside of the Lightside 22. Gatekeeper of Commons 23. First all female student band 27. Drinking. All. Day. On this day 28. Chaise Ladousa (<3) teaches this subject

SEE ANSWERS ON PAGE 56

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MAPPING HAMILTON Words by Julia Gorlovetskaya

Maps tell stories. The Hamilton map, for example, tells the story of a campus enveloped by forests.

Spanning 1,350 acres but feeling like only 20, Hamilton lies isolated on the top of a hill, far removed from any major city, somewhat in the middle of nowhere. I think the bronze map on Martin’s Way offers a glimpse into this unique Hamilton experience of ours. The fact that every single student walks past the map about once a day speaks to the truly small size of campus. Moreover, the obscurity of the map’s bronze illustration parallels the perplexities of life at Hamilton. It’s a puzzling bubble; life here feels vastly different from life in a city or a bigger school. We interact with "campo,"”not police officers, we have to run our parties by a parental figure that goes by "Noelle," and no one really dates here.... And in this same exact way, we don’t quite know what’s on the bronze map in the center of campus. We know it’s there, but unless we have the courage to step on it and really observe it, the map fails to give us direction. I think we only really start to understand the absurdity of Hamilton social dynamics after we graduate, after we take the first step onto the map.

In the following pages you’ll find more maps, this time from anonymous students on campus. I invite you to walk through these maps. Read them like vignettes. Enter the portals to alternate worlds. While these maps en-capsule-ate individual experiences full of secrets, regrets, and memories, I hope you can relate to some. And more than anything, I hope you feel inspired to map out your experience at Hamilton thus far too. In the back of this magazine, beside the answers to the crossword, you’ll find a blank map. Use it if you wish!

Special thanks to Becky Cooper for her inspiring book: Mapping Manhattan: A Love (and Sometimes Hate) Story in Maps by 75 New Yorkers.

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“ "This whole time..."”

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transferring

MAPPING HAMILTON Curated by Julia Gorlovestskaya

“"Regrets"”

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â&#x20AC;&#x153;"Lightside or darkside? You mean order or chaos?" â&#x20AC;&#x153;"Lightside or darkside? You mean order or chaos?"

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“"Whirlwind"”

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â&#x20AC;&#x153;"My favorite meals on campus"

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Editors-in-Chief Anika Huq Julia Gorlovetskaya

Creative Directors Anika Huq Julia Gorlovetskaya

Artists

Writers

Sam Guindon Jillian Lu Amy Harff Kevin Strong Marqus AG Sadye Bobbette Alex Chalk Andrew Watson

Meredith LaBelle Philip Marks Will Rasenberger Emily Cutajar Madeline Carlman Abby Roller Celia Reistrom Andres â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Fluffyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Aguilar Anne Homans

The Continental Magazine Editors Maura Colley (Editor-in-Chief) Meredith LaBelle (Editor-in-Chief) Kaitlyn Thayer Anne Homans Philip Marks Charlotte Zonis Celia Reistrom

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A N CR O S S W OR D W E R S ACROSS

4. HAMILTON 5. THE VT 9. MENS BBALL 11. GROAD 14. DINER B 17. SENIOR PUB 20. AMERICARES 24. HAND FOOT MOUTH 25. PIG ROAST 26. CIRCLE MAG 29. HCEMT 30. ECON 31. THE ANNEX 32. TONYS 33. HEAT

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DOWN

1. DUNHAM 2. DAILY BULL 3. MOHO 6. EELLS 7. FRISBEE 8. GALANTIS 10. NOROVIRUS 12. BUFFERGRAM 13. GEO 15. BREAKAWAY 16. GAME OF THRONES 18. POLAR VORTEX 19. BUNDY SNAKE 21. COOP 22. MARGE 23. YONIC YOUTH 27. C AND C 28. ANTHRO

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CONTINENTAL SPRING 2019

THE