The College Hill Independent Vol. 31 Issue 3

Vol. 31 Issue 1 Vol. 31 Issue 3

Vol.29

a Brown/RISD Weekly a Brown/RISD weekly

the NEWS 02 Week in Extraordinary Measures Liz Cory, Camera Ford & Julia Tompkins

Volume 31 No. 3

03 Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina Hannah Maier-Katkin METRO 05 False Rendering Erin West

From the editors: I rose, loops weak, trajectory downward. I was two of myself, and not machine and I.

07 zero un un deux trois cinq huit treize vingt-et-un trentequatre cinquante-cinq Shane Potts

Machine, myself and I—we had our date last Saturday. But then the Mondays, Tuesdays...

ARTS 08 Character Witness Ben Berke

...we drifted, rusty, became more machine and human.

09 Dance Dance Revolution Eli Neuman-Hammond

Sometimes the machine and I had nothing to say to each other. We just stared at the motherboards, the sky, the motherboards again.

One pulled away, and the other, well...

FEATURES 12 Dear Indy, Reptile Pontifex & Lord Levant

...that was around Thursday.

15 My Bloody Valentine Hannah Smith

Machine came back, there was rain—and windows open—nature came into the room.

TECH

—KS

13 0 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 34 55 Dash Elhauge METABOLICS 16 Whole Wheat Marcelo Rivera-Figueroa LIT 17 Fortune Cookie Josh Kurtz EPHEMERA 11 Pillow Talk Jake Brodsky & India Ennenga X 18 RIPTAsaurus Tim Blaine

Managing Editors Sebastian Clark Kim Sarnoff Maya Sorabjee News Wilson Cusack Dominique Pariso Francis Torres

Occult Lance Gloss Literary Gaby Hick Metabolics Eli NeumanHammond

Metro Jamie Packs Shane Potts

Ephemera Jake Brodsky India Ennenga

Arts Alec Mapes-Frances Jonah Max Athena Washburn

X Layla Ehsan Sara Khan Pierie Korostoff

Features Piper French Yousef Hilmy Henry Staley

List Jade Donaldson

Science Camera Ford Tech Dash Elhauge

Cover Jade Donaldson Design & Illustration Nikolas Bentel Polina Godz Alexa Terflorth

Staff Writers Jane Argodale Ben Berke Liz Cory Peter Maklouf Marcelo Rivera-Figueroa Julia Tompkins Erin West Staff Illustrators Caroline Brewer Natalie Kassirer Teri Minoque Web Charlie Windolf Business Kaya Hill Senior Editors Tristan Rodman Rick Salamé MVP Layla Ehsan

Interviews Madeleine Matsui P.O Box 1930 Brown University, Providence, RI 02912 Letters to the editor are welcome distractions. The Independent, a family-run publication, is published weekly during the fall & spring semesters and is printed by TCI Press in Seekonk, MA.

theindy.org

@theindy_tweets

WEEK IN EXTRAODINARY MEASURES

by Liz Cory, Camera Ford, and Julia Tompkins illustration by Yuko Okabe

Look Ma, No Hands You’re done with One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. If we’re being real, you were done by two fish.

Your buddy Nathan continues to lick the ink from his highlighter. Tina circles a lazy finger inside one nostril while locking her empty gaze on the clock. You can only cringe.

It’s hard being in first grade, yes. You yearn for the freedom of expansive blue skies and the rush of wind through the locks of your bowl cut. What could better lighten my somber disposition than a lively game of kickball or tag? you muse as the recess bell approaches.

Alas, long-gone are the days of noble grass stains and scraped elbows at recess—or so it seemed for Washington state’s Mercer Island school district. This week, the district received national attention for banning the quintessential childhood game, tag, as a part of a broader policy change mandating that kids “keep their hands to themselves” during all unstructured play times.

The district called the policy an attempt to “ensure the physical and emotional safety of all students.” They reasoned that their playgrounds could be cleared of any further “isolated instances” of injury by replacing tag with less violent activities, including “a new form of taglike running games”—which, of course, wouldn’t involve any tagging and might be more appropriately called just “running.”

Hundreds of indignant parents quickly gathered in protest of the decision that was made without their input via a Facebook group called STAR MI (Support ‘Tag’ At Recess in MI). They argued that what their kids need is not a stifling safety blanket but rather the opportunity to be independent on the playground and get over a goddamn knee scrape or two.

“I played tag. I survived,” one parent remarked. Another mom added: “I totally survived tag. I even survived red rover, believe it or not.” Parents also cited the need for child-led games to be encouraged in a country where only one out of three kids is physically active each day.

The district reversed its decision within a few days of the virtual frenzy, assuring the community and nation at-large that tag “as we know it and have known it” is back in Mercer Island. But one question remains: Who’s it? –LC

Oct 2, 2015

A Slice of Heaven Late last week, Pope Francis I visited New York City for the first time. It was stop number two on his list of important locations, although given that the news of his impending pop-rock-sermon album dropped the same day, it might be more apt to call it the first stop on his US promotional tour. He drew crowds of almost 90,000 adoring fans, who lined up for hours along the mile-long stretch of Central Park in order to catch a glimpse of his small, white-robed figure waving from atop his open-air Popemobile.

Almost the same level of reverence was afforded to another figure this week—one who captivated the Internet and gained the love of a city. It was just another slog through an afternoon commute when Matt Little saw a rat dragging a slice of cheese pizza down the subway steps. The pizza was large—at least twice as big as the rat—but the rat was determined. It made it down four steps at breakneck speed; even a 180-degree slice reversal didn’t stop it. People hailed the scene as “the most New York thing that has ever happened.” Adoring fans drew strength from the rat’s perseverance, seeing signs of their own struggle in its unwieldy burden. And thus, a star was born.

As one reverent New Yorker so eloquently put it, “At the end of the day, aren’t we all this rat? Trying to get some cheap food in this expensive city and get home without delays on the L?” Aren’t we, indeed. Last week, a city called out for guidance and support in the face of life’s obstacles. And last week, that call was answered— for man and rat alike. –CF

Burnin’ 4 U Haven’t we all been there? Center Line on a September night, windows down. Drive down Van Dyke Avenue, take in the surroundings: brickwork, concrete. Glance down at the speedometer, you’re cruising, a nice 47.

Glance at the fuel gauge. Well shit! You filled up the tank just a few days ago and you’re already running low. You drive for a few more minutes, maybe you can get where you’re going? No, your sedan eats up gas like your sister guzzles buffalo wings on game day. You pull into the Mobil station at the corner of Van Dyke and 10-Mile. Self-serve, you turn the car off, step up to the pump. You choose regular. Insert nozzle.

Fortune is not on your side this eve! A spider, small but undoubtedly eight-legged sits menacingly on the side of your vehicle, triggering your acute arachnophobia. You, ever the brave of heart, grab your closest weapon, a lighter, with which to battle the wild arachnid. Not only do you eliminate the beast, you send the entire pump up in flames with it. Woe to the man who mixes gas and fire!

Such was the case for a Detroit man last Tuesday.

While filling up the tank he spotted a spider climbing up towards it. The best way to rid himself of the creature: torch it with his cigarette lighter. In a video caught on the station’s CCTV, the man can be seen bending down to examine the spider before pulling out his lighter and holding it up to the offending species. Dommage pour vous.

Susan Adams, the employee on hand at the time of the accident, quickly pressed the automatic stop button and called the Center Line Fire Department. The motorist, immediately realizing the error of his ways, grabbed the closest fire extinguisher to address the blaze. Both man and car left the scene unharmed. In an interview with Fox 2 Detroit, Adams says “stupidity, that’s all I would call it.” We would have to agree. –JT

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Pope Francis I and the Course of Catholicism in American Politics

by Hannah Maier-Katkin illustration by Jack Joyce

Pope Francis I arrived in Washington, DC on Tuesday, September 22. He was invited to speak at a joint session of Congress by soon-to-be-former House Speaker John Boehner, a man whose politics have been pushed further to the right in an effort to please the insatiable ultra-conservative constituents of his party. Francis’ visit is popular not only among Republicans such as Boehner, but also Democratic Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi and Vice President Joe Biden—all three of them Catholics. Boehner has been trying to get a pope to speak in Congress for the past twenty years; Francis, an international sensation, is the first to finally make the trip. It seems a strange turn in American history that the leader of the Catholic Church could come to America with so much support from both sides of the aisle.

The United States was founded in a climate of religious hostility. Early Puritan settlers from England traveled to the so-called New World to escape persecution in search of religious freedom—which for them entailed more specifically a place where they could enforce their own brand of religious dogma. These early communities exiled dissidents such as Roger Williams and Anne Hutchinson for their varying interpretations of the same faith. Catholics were a different class of unacceptable—and often, in those earlier days, were European “others” such as Spanish or French colonists. In the Massachusetts colony, all Christians could hold office, but Catholics first had to deny allegiance to the Pope. This assumption that Catholics answer to their Pope before their nation is what has made life difficult for them in American politics. Even today, it is something they must constantly dispute.

Fast forward a hundred years, the 19th century witnessed an influx of German, Italian, Eastern European, and Irish immigrants to the US, giving rise to a nativist movement tinged with anti-Catholicism. The term “Native,” in this case referred to white Protestants of British ancestry born on American soil. Nativism, a belief that assumes the superiority of the native population (or rather, those who consider themselves to be natives) manifested in the American or “Know-Nothing” Party. Its members were particularly opposed to Irish Catholics and created their own version of the American flag bearing the words: “Native Americans beware of foreign influence.”

Nativists feared that incoming Catholic immigrants were spies sent by the Pope in Rome to overthrow or undermine the United States. Italian imigrants were thus undesirable as well, widely discriminated against, and denied employment. The Irish were termed “white negroes” and Italian immigrants, especially those from southern Italy with darker skin, were not considered white. The two groups, both failing to pass in the predominant culture of white Protestant America, were at odds with each other. For dramatized context on tensions between Irish and Italian immigrants watch Gangs of New York (complete with Leonardo DiCaprio’s painfully unconvincing Irish accent and a terrifying Daniel Day Lewis)—both ethnic groups essentially competing to not be the lowest caste in White America.

The first Catholic politician to run for president was Al Smith in the election of 1928. Predictably, voters feared that he would answer to the Pope as opposed to the American electorate, and he only won 8 states. Before John F. Kennedy became the first Catholic man to assume the role as President of the United States in 1961, he gave a speech to an audience of Protestant ministers in which he said: “I do not speak for my church on public matters, and the church does not speak for me.” Kennedy also cited that a key issue in the 1960 election should not be religion, but rather the fight against Communism. After Kennedy’s

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assassination, hostility toward Catholics began to dissipate.

In the 1980s, Pope John Paul II was a key actor in the West’s Cold War struggle against the Soviet Bloc. Born in Poland in 1920, John Paul lived through both the Nazi occupation and the Soviet Union, before being elected to the papacy in 1978. In America, he was popular among Catholics and Protestants alike as he worked alongside conservative darlings Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher. He is credited most notably with helping his native Poland break free from the Soviet Union during his visit in 1979, giving a speech encouraging the country’s citizens to oppose tyranny. His visit was contentious because Soviet leaders feared it would incite riots, but barring him from entering the country would signify weakness. The crowd met John Paul with chants of “we want God,” a direct affront to the atheist regime under which Poland served. The spiritual impact of his trip was a massively demoralizing loss for the Soviet Union. +++ Pope Francis—like John Paul II—is met by huge, adoring crowds internationally. But in this post-Cold War Era, his role is not as an agent of anti-communism in a conflict that consumes the world. His commitment is to the underprivileged, travelling to developing countries that were largely pawns in the conflicts between the US and the USSR. This role has earnt him the title of the “Pope of the peripheries.” Fittingly, Francis has been an outspoken critic of runaway materialism and neoliberal economics, which he described as a “new tyranny.”

On economic policy he commented: “People continue to defend trickle-down theories which assume that economic growth, encouraged by a free market, will inevitably succeed in bringing about greater justice and inclusiveness in the world. This opinion, which has never been confirmed by the facts, expresses a crude and naïve trust in the goodness of those wielding economic power and in the sacralized workings of the prevailing economic system.”

Fox News anchors shouted “communist,” and Rush Limbaugh dismissed Francis’ assessments as “pure Marxism.” Francis’ politicized comments are provocative to American conservatives and more appealing to those in search of equity. This is a clear shift in the way people look to the Pope for guidance.

While John Paul argued on behalf of the West in the ideological struggle of the Cold War, Francis positions himself as its most prominent critic.

Pope Francis is able to attract an audience beyond the Catholic community.

A Pew Research Poll put Francis’ popularity at 68% among those without a religious affiliation and 70% among all Americans—President Obama’s current approval rating stands at a comparatively low 47%. Francis is reaching a wider, more diverse audience than previous popes have. The old fear of Catholics looking to their Pope for approval and guidance is now beside the point.

Pope Francis appeals to the party that has less of an affinity toward religious language in political rhetoric. It is his position as a prominent religious leader that allows him to travel around the globe, but the significance of his charm and influence extends beyond religion. He lobbied President Obama—a Protestant who was not raised in a devout household—on easing the tensions between the US and Cuba when they met privately in Rome. Obama could just as easily dismiss the leader of the Catholic world. He doesn’t answer to the Pope. He was not especially interested in the counsel of Pope Benedict XVI. But Francis has established himself as a humanitarian force, and the two men share common ground in terms of ideology. Francis’ power in this instance is symbolic—he

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can only entreat world leaders in conversation—but his opinion holds weight.

Since their meeting, Obama has made efforts to reestablish diplomatic relations with Cuba, open greater opportunities to travel between the two countries, and expand trade. Francis has met with both Obama and Raúl Castro to discuss the issue. While the relationship between the US and Cuba is too extensive to be solved solely during a meeting with the head of the Church in Rome, Castro publicly thanked Pope Francis for his role in the easing of tensions between the two countries.

Alongside his vast language of peace and justice, Francis’ ambitions during the first phase of his recent trip seemed to focus upon bringing faith back to Cuba. His goals are inherently aligned with the Church. He thanked the Catholic Church of Cuba in his sermon for “the efforts and the sacrifices… to bring Christ’s word and presence to all, even in the most remote areas.” Catholics are still allowed to practice in Cuba, but the Church was widely persecuted when Fidel Castro came to power in Cuba and remains heavily restricted by the state.

Raúl Castro—he and his brother both educated in a Jesuit school—said last year that he might consider a “return to faith” due entirely to his positive opinion of Francis.

When Francis I made his first appearance at the Vatican, he presented an entirely new image of the papacy, which must account for some portion of the Church’s recently redeemed popularity. He appeared wearing not the ornate robes that had been signature to previous popes, but rather the modest white robes associated with the Dominican Order. Francis is a Jesuit, the first ever to hold the position. The Jesuit order promotes a more intellectually-minded and reformoriented brand of Catholicism. It is uncommon to have a Pope who belongs to a particular religious order. Only 34 of the 266 Popes that have held the position thus far have come from any sort of Catholic religious order, because it is more common for them to devote themselves to theology than clerical pursuits. It is even more surprising that the current Pope is a Jesuit because they take a vow not to seek higher office in the political structure of the Church—which can only lead one to wonder how Francis came so far. Even the originality in his choice of name signaled a clear separation from his predecessors. When Francis emerged for his first appearance as the leader of the Holy See, he spoke to the crowd not in Latin, but in his native Spanish. He asked those in attendance to pray for him and got down on his knees. Such displays of humility continue to win him popular favor.

He said in his address to Congress: “Even in the developed world, the effects of unjust structures and actions are all too apparent.” This is a liberal appeal from the Pope that isolates the politicians who typically lean upon religious rhetoric.

His ambition is not to align himself with one party or the other, or to partake in American politics. Francis has his own personal agenda of supporting the global issues he considers relevant. Nonetheless, Francis’ politics align more clearly with the Democratic candidates vying for the presidential ticket, and it is possible that he could wield great influence over the impending 2016 election if he so chooses.

But there were also values in Pope Francis’ speech that conservatives could find familiar, such as disapproval of gay marriage and abortion: “I cannot hide my concern for the family, which is threatened, perhaps as never before, from within and without,” he said. Still, this remark is complicated by previous comments he made when asked about the status of gay priests in the church—he simply asked, “Who am I to judge?” +++ CNN has dedicated hours of coverage to the Pope’s visit. His face was plastered on publications and articles detailing his events, which are featured heavily in papers like the New York Times (which has an entire, continually growing online collection on Pope Francis’ Visit to the US). Snapchat released a filter for the Pope’s visit, with an illustration of the Pope in the typical Popemobile and the words “They See me Rollin’: Pope Francis in Washington DC.” There is one for New York and Philadelphia as well.

While Francis has become a hugely relevant international figure, he is not universally revered. Conservatives including Republican presidential hopefuls Marco Rubio, Chris Christie and Jeb Bush have chosen to distance them-

selves from the Pope politically. Bush declared at a campaign event: “I don’t get economic policies from… my Pope… I think religion ought to be about making us better as people and less about things that end up getting into the political realm.” This statement does not stand up to the trend of conservatism in America, which relies so heavily upon religious rhetoric. In the first Republican Presidential Debate, moderator Megyn Kelly asked a question to all of the candidates that Fox had received from a viewer who “wanted to know if any of them received a word from God on what they should do and take care of first.”

None of the men on stage, Jeb Bush among them, challenged the question or opposed the notion of God guiding their political agendas. Senator Ted Cruz said he was “blessed to receive a word from God every day.” Governor John Kasich was much less direct in his answer, but he finished his statement by saying that God “wants America to succeed.” Congressman Marco Rubio insisted, “God has blessed us” (even with a strong pool of Republic candidates). Governor Mike Huckabee, a pastor, said in his closing statements that America needs someone “who believes that once again we can be one nation, under God.” These are only minor examples of a much larger trend of politicians who rely upon religion as a crutch to assert a sense of morality. Regarding the Iraq War, Jeb’s brother said directly, “God told me to end the tyranny in Iraq,” and the impending war he termed a “crusade.” This illuminates a major conservative double standard in which religious rhetoric is employed to elicit an impassioned response only when it supports an agenda of preserving a certain kind of legal family structure, denying climate change, dismantling social welfare systems, waging war in the Middle East.

Pope Francis, on the other hand, speaks from a point of religious authority to appeal to people who are often marginalized by the type of religious zeal to which many conservatives cling. The religious commitment that Francis promotes is a stark departure from what has become the norm in religious conservatism since Ronald Reagan—who said in 1982, “Let us take up the challenge to reawaken America’s religious and moral heart, recognizing that a deep and abiding faith in God is the rock upon which this great nation was founded.” He was embraced by the growing mobilization of the religious right in the 1980s, the legacy of which lives on in the Tea Party movement.

The initial effect of Pope Francis’ visit may already be apparent: On Friday, September 25, John Boehner resigned from his post as Speaker of the House (third in line for the presidency), in which he had faced great pressure from the Tea Party factions of the Republicans. It was also the rise of the Tea Party that brought Boehner to his position of power. He had a private meeting with the Pope the day before he announced that he would leave politics in October. His intentions to stay until next month imply that he will see through a new budget, which will also provide funding to Planned Parenthood; he has been urged by his party not to support the bill, to shut down the government yet again. But what good is an elected official that refuses to govern to the people who elected him?

Boehner predictably cried during the Pope’s address in Washington—he’s known to be emotional. During his brief statement on his resignation, Boehner said that he had been planning his exit for a while now, but remained because the Party lacked strong leadership. Boehner was so moved by his interaction with the Pope, he said, that he woke up the next day and decided he would finally make this announcement he had been contemplating for years. It seems both ominous and detrimental to the Republican Party that one of its highest ranked politician has chosen to leave his post after meeting with a man whose plan has been to advise leaders—such as Obama and Castro—as a humanitarian on how they can best help their people.

During his sermon in Cuba’s Plaza de la Revolución—under the watchful eyes of Che Guevara and Camilo Cienfuegos, Pope Francis uttered the words “we do not serve ideas. We serve people.” We do not know what the lasting power of the Pope’s message will be. His words about immigration, the health of the world, and poverty can only resonate with those who listen. But his audience cuts across religious boundaries. While Catholics were once mistrusted for the influence the Pope could have over them, the current Pope has demonstrated his ability to command attention on the world stage. Regardless of whether people agree with him, they have a stance because his voice matters. All eyes are on Pope Francis.

HANNAH MAIER-KATKIN B’18 is not Catholic.

Oct 2, 2015

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L L A B W RE

Corporation Dollars Meet Taxpayer Dimes

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tion by

by Erin West Tristan Rodma n

A man with a PawSox baseball cap held a poster board with a bold Sharpie message: “STOP THE STADIUM MADNESS.” His neighbor, still in her work clothes, lifted another sign: “Together we did it! Thank you.” The 20-some protesters who had gathered on the Rhode Island State House steps lowered their signs while all eyes turned towards the man at the microphone.

He took a second survey of those in front of him and announced, “We’ve now beaten the machine.”

Batter up On September 19th, the “No new stadium for Providence” Facebook group declared victory to their Internet followers and supporters. Earlier that day, Rhode Island House Speaker Nicholas Mattiello had announced that the deal to build a new Pawtucket Red Sox stadium on Providence’s riverfront was dead. This was a sudden end to months of fierce debate following a proposal in February to re-locate the PawSox from McCoy Stadium, their home in Pawtucket for over 45 years, to some of the vacant I-195 land parcels. The proposed location was a roughly five-acre empty plot on the west bank of the Providence River near the Point Street Bridge.

Some of the land is state-owned, some, the property of Brown University. Of the ten investment partners who bought out the team in 2015, two in particular spearheaded the project: Boston Red Sox president Larry Luccino and a well-known Providence lawyer, Jim Skeffington, who had experience working on major Providence development projects.

Luccino and Skeffington had dreams of a luxurious, centrally-located stadium that would attract more visitors and expand the PawSox team franchise. The new structure would have three stories, cost $85 million, and be attached to a 750-car parking garage. The team owners argued that the city would gain an estimated $2 million per year from sources like sales to visitors and hotel taxes. They also claimed the new stadium would provide jobs and catalyze the opening of new businesses. Soon after the proposal was made, Rhode Island legislators joined Skeffington in praising the economic opportunity that a new stadium would bring. “The prospect of moving the team to Providence represents a significant and exciting development opportunity for our capital city,” said Providence Mayor Jorge Elorza in February. House Speaker Nicholas Mattiello and Brown University also released supportive statements at the time.

Meanwhile, many Pawtucket locals were angry about the possible loss of a much-loved tradition (their mayor called the prospect “heart-breaking and gut wrenching”). Providence residents and other Rhode Islanders joined in their frustration once more details about the stadium’s finances were uncovered.

WPRI calculated that the cost to taxpayers of financing the new stadium would be approximately $4 million per year (compare to the $2 million in earnings the team owners estimated Providence would receive annually). The $4 million comes from what they expected the city to pay in order to lease the stadium land. In addition, the new PawSox ownership had no qualms about asking local and state government to incentivize the deal. The owners said they would expect subsidies and tax stabilization to help cover the cost of the stadium’s construction.

Furthermore, they proposed paying only one dollar per year in rent for the I-195 parcel of land.

Rhode Island citizens would be deprived of lost tax and rent revenue that could have gone to fund other government programs. This all while the team investors would reap revenue from ticket sales, merchandise, and naming rights.

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Foul play This debate between sports teams ownership and city residents is not unique to Providence. By threatening to relocate beloved teams to new cities, team owners often bully local and state governments into cutting them tax breaks, as well as directly funding the construction of new stadiums. This was certainly true for the PawSox. The new stadium deal was often phrased as the only way to keep Rhode Island’s most well known sports team in the state. While $4 million a year to taxpayers may seem outrageous, in 2006, Oklahoma City fronted over $100 million to renovate an arena that allowed for the inauguration of the NBA team Oklahoma City Thunder (formally the Seattle Supersonics). Only three of the 31 NFL stadiums have been built without public funds.

The argument presented to most governments is that new stadiums have the potential to create opportunity for economic development, revenue, and jobs. However, economists almost resoundingly agree with Providence’s “No new stadium” protesters—these sports venues rarely bring the benefit they promise. A 2008 Econ Journal Watch study concluded, “we find near unanimity in the conclusion that stadiums, arenas, and sports franchises have no consistent, positive impact on jobs, income, and tax revenues.” These stadium scams have reached such visibility recently that even comedic news commentator John Oliver dedicated his whole “Stadiums” episode to them this July.

Although not specific to Rhode Island, this model for a proposed stadium resonates with the history of the state’s politics. In 2010, Rhode Island granted $75 million in bonds to a computer and video game company, 38 Studios, that promised to bring jobs and revenue to the state. This instance was unique because Rhode Island did not simply give standard tax breaks, but rather took a gamble and actually acted as a direct investor in the company. This completely failed. Little more than two years later, the company declared bankruptcy, and the state lost millions. It is worth noting that, in perfect irony, the founder of this company was Curt Schilling—the well-known Red Sox pitcher.

A short time spent digging into this debacle will reveal back-room deals and questionable motives. The 38 Studios deal follows in a long line of corruption and dubious leadership in Rhode Island politics. Unsurprisingly, today, “the Rhode Island voter does not trust Rhode Island State leadership for any kind of decision that involves taxpayer money,” David Norton, an organizer in opposition to the new PawSox stadium, told the Independent. Mistrust of Rhode Island leadership seemed to fuel much of the stadium opposition. A few other signs on the Capitol steps that day included, “RI Taxpayers, are you paying attention? Or just paying? Wake up!” and, “Mattiello, who do you work for?”

During the Internet organizing efforts to challenge the stadium deal, a #38Stadium hashtag surfaced. Clearly, citizens see a trend of what key organizer, Sam Bell, calls “corporate welfare.” Bell told the Independent, “I’ve heard RI leaders say, what’s wrong with it? This is the way we’ve always done things. We’ve always given public money to these private developers who have come and asked for it.” But this time, Rhode Islanders like Norton, Bell, and another activist, Tim Empkie, refused to yield. “People finally stood up and said no…this is not going to be business as usual,” said Empkie.

The crowd goes wild The weekend following the announcement of the new stadium construction, Tim Empkie, a member of Brown University’s medical school faculty, happened to be online and started following the intense, negative public reaction to the news. He joined in on commenting and sharing his opinions through social media. Soon after, Empkie went out, bought a poster board, and stood near his home on the corner of Hope and Doyle Streets with a sign that simply said, “No Stadium on the I-195 parcel.” A few days later, he waited outside a building on Dyer Street, next to the proposed parcel of land, to catch attendees of a meeting about the stadium.

When Jim Skeffington exited the building, Empkie introduced himself and said, “Hi, I’m Tim Empkie, and I’m here to defeat you.”

Skeffington replied, “You can try.”

At that same time, Empkie was in contact with Bell, who had already begun gathering a team to collect signatures for a petition opposing the stadium. Empkie fondly described this group as a “loose coalition of dedicated and enthusiastic individuals.” This original team consisted of six people, and included a graduate student, an attorney, and a real estate agent.

A majority was from East Providence and met through local connections. While their ages ranged from 20s to 70s, they all had something in common: a strong commitment to battling a corporate giant.

Oct 2, 2015

On a Thursday afternoon, on June 25, this team gathered at the Capital building and chanted, “No stadium on parcel 4, no public money, no subsidies.” Throughout the summer, the group started an active social media campaign called “No New Stadium in Providence” and printed hundreds of bumper stickers that similarly read “No New Stadium.” They soon joined forces with Pawtucket resident, David Norton, who was at the same time launching an Internet campaign called “Keep the PawSox in Pawtucket.” Norton emphasized the role that the Internet played in connecting him with thousands of RI citizens. His online campaign gathered over 13,000 electronic and physical signatures for a general petition against moving the PawSox— which he later presented to the state legislature. “No New Stadium in Providence” followed with a Providence-specific petition. A particularly salient part of Norton’s digital efforts was posting legislators’ names online in lists that declared them for or against the stadium deal. He said he received several calls from legislators themselves in response. The results of Norton’s online efforts are encouraging when considering what technology can do to hold governments accountable. Similarly, Empkie credited technology in his organizing: “this began with isolated people just being outraged, who, through the Internet, through email, through social media, linked up.”

Out of the park On May 18, Jim Skeffington, then president of the PawSox, passed away. The loss of Skeffington’s powerful leadership and knowledge was an unexpected blow to the team owners still advocating for the stadium’s move. Indeed, the deal was broken a few months later when Brown University sent a letter to the PawSox owners stating that it would ask $15 million for the necessary land. This high price tag is what led Matiello to pronounce the plan dead two weeks later­: “different entities put artificially high costs on a deal, which proved to be insurmountable.”

It is difficult to determine what factored into Brown’s decision. However, it seems as though finances were not the only driving force in Brown’s price quote. In the University’s open letter, Executive Vice President, Russell Carey, said, “The decision of whether to build a stadium on the I-195 land belongs to the City, State, and, most of all, to the residents of Rhode Island.”

Is it possible the University seriously considered public opinion?

On the day that the dead deal was announced, the Providence Journal quoted team owner Larry Luccino as saying, “We were told it was not going to be a suitable site and there were too many obstacles that remained, and we…heard loud and clear what we were being told.” Were big money and legislators actually able to hear loud and clear what the people had to say? Just a few days after the deal was announced dead, House Speaker Matiello said, “I still think the original proposal was a good business model.” (He later claimed he did not word this statement correctly). Although legislators dropped the stadium deal, it seems as though some have not completely bought in to the protesters’ concerns. In addition, while it is impressive that a team of professionals from East Providence was able to organize around this specific issue, it is unclear whether Rhode Island government is as responsive to all citizen demands. Activism surrounding housing rights, for instance, has been strong for years now, yet nearly 600 properties are still vacant in Providence while 4,000 Rhode Islanders experienced homelessness in 2014.

Does the organizing stop here? Sharon Steele, an integral part of the “No New Stadium” team, stood on the Capitol steps and cautioned the victory rally crowd: “Let us not rest on this victory.” The land on which developers proposed building the new stadium has been slated for a public park for decades. So far, no major design has been put on the table by Providence government. Steele told the Independent that she is confident, however, that the opposition to the stadium pushed the desire for the park to the forefront. For Steel and many of the citizens who gathered outside the Capitol, this victory is just the beginning of a larger battle in Rhode Island politics: a battle for transparent and responsible government decisions that actually benefit those ultimately financing these projects, the citizens. Who will be represented in this battle, and how well they will be received remains to be seen.

At the very least, Tim Empkie hopes that after what happened to the stadium, “people will feel inspired to say no to politics as usual in RI.” ERIN WEST B’18 is warming up.

METRO

06

AN ATTEMPT AT EXHAUSTING A SPACE IN PROVIDENCE Lessons from Georges Perec

by Shane Potts illustration by Chrissy Dreyer

The French novelist Georges Perec often set himself needless literary constraints. In his 1969 novel, La Disparition (A Void), he writes an entire work without using the letter ‘e.’

Falling madly in love with the vowel soon after, he wrote a novella three years later, Les Revenentes (original spelling “revenants”), in which ‘e’ was the only vowel used. In his 1975 work, Tentative d'épuisement d'un lieu parisien (An Attempt at Exhausting a Space in Paris), he attempts to record a space in the city of Paris in its entirety, writing the quotidian.

Only by calling out the mundane can it become as interesting as the substantial. Sit in your car and watch cars passing by.

Write about them. Sit on a bench near the corner of a busy intersection. Observe. +++

There is a woman, at least 40, walking along the grounds. She is solemn and moves with grace. She is wearing a robe: suede and mustard and accented with fringe.

Fringe fringe fringe. A vendor under a turquoise tent sells nothing but fringed clothing.

The ritual dies down. The procession marches out of the circle (as this occurs, a biker in a leather vest stands next to me for maybe two minutes), and two elderly people remain. A black man in a coal t-shirt and faded denim unconsciously bounces to the drum, his knees buckling in tempo.

It is time to “blow the buffalo.” I move closer to the chimes.

CVS is a sponsor of this pow-wow. The announcer lets you know twice.

There is rope bearing off a hexagon. It is supposed to give the appearance of a circle. In the middle of the polygon there is a fire fueled by kerosene.

The 5:15 Amtrak comes in, the horn blows promptly. It seems as though the audience takes this as their cue; they all begin to file out of the park.

There are 50,000 people in Providence today—for Waterfire.

The announcer tries to wrap things up.

For all the congestion of Waterfire, the traffic doesn’t seem too stopped up. (Perhaps because the sun hasn’t set.) A blockade of black automobiles sweeps down Canal.

Date: 26 September 2015 Time: 4:30 PM Location: Roger Williams National Memorial Park, Adjacent to North Main Street and Perpendicular with North Court Weather: Moist Breeze, Dominating Sky, Lots of Sun

I see a squirrel camped out near the trash. It seems to know it can satiate itself on the scraps of humans. How clever!

Trajectories: The 51 goes to the Community College of Rhode Island.

The 52 goes to Bryant.

The 72 goes to Pawtucket.

The R-Line goes to Pawtucket.

I take a long gulp of water from my canteen. I swish the bottle around. Soon I will be out.

I am perched in the center of the park. I pick a small circle of soil surrounded by wilting sections of grass—enough to swallow my rear as I sit cross-legged. There is a nice breeze, and the sun is in its decline. Its glow emphasizes the changing color of the trees. The dull flame of autumn is apparent.

A corpulent man in a gray sweatsuit shouts for a George behind me. George does not respond, or if he does, I do not see him. Sweatsuit walks with a beautiful walking stick— wooden with an inlaid spiral pattern. It is overflowing with feathers. I wonder if I can buy one from the onslaught of vendors.

I see a row of benches near the end of the park. Three or four populate them—a sea of military khaki and skullcaps. They are homeless; their belongings are crammed into plastic bags from CVS.

To my immediate right, a couple—white—packs up and prepares to leave. They load up their stroller. A black man in a red Old Navy sweater watches over the child as mom and dad rummage for belongings.

The vendors are packing down their tables. A black woman in a black long-sleeve and fitted Yankee's cap points to the nearest garage.

To my left, there is a neat sculpture—lines of cursive that converge at their apex to form a triangular prism. There is ‘freedom’ in blue, ‘acceptance’ in yellow, ‘indurability’ in orange.

A stone’s throw from my plot, an announcer introduces the last intertribal of the day. He boasts that the Spirit Singers— elderly volunteers—will dance their hardest for this finale.

Dressed in sandy cloth, these Spirit Singers gyrate, swaying indiscriminately to the incessant beating of a drum.

Behind me a group of men—white—stand at a makeshift table. They are selling Minnetonka moccasins. There are rows of vendors—13 as far as my eye can go.

I check my iPhone. The home screen reads 4:53 and informs me that I have 10% of battery remaining.

07

METRO

Downtown is stuffed to the gills—there are tents by the Moshassuck, too!

Across from the flame, on Canal Street, a Megabus has been stationed for 20 minutes. There seems to be a queue.

A procession, a family of myriad generations, forms behind me. They are all dressed formally. The father dons a navy quarter zip; the youngest girls, the daughters, wear floral cardigans. It seems as though they have just left a church function. (Did they leave from St. John’s Episcopal, on the corner of Church and Main?)

The Megabus leaves. The announcer starts another dance.

Four flag bearers lead a jubilant march around the fire. Two black girls in pink and purple fringe jump ecstatically in the circle. Behind them, two white boys play with feathers; they don’t dance.

My phone dies, and I ask the white man next to his stroller for the time. He is clothed in beige and brown, and has on well-worn Timberland boots. He smiles.

It’s 5:18. I move to another spot in the park. I stand at the stone semi-circle across from North Court.

The R-Line RIPTA zooms up Park Row. It’s a poisonous green. It turns left, onto South Main. There is a group of RIPTA buses behind it. All green.

I take one last swig of water from my container.

A child makes eye contact with me. I don’t have either my phone or water bottle to break it. I draw my eyes downward, towards the stones.

The sun is dropping and so is the weather. I have on two layers—a brown pullover with bleach stains on the cuff, over a white tank. I am not dressed for the cold, so I leave.

The pow-wow will resume tomorrow, the announcer says.

Maybe I will too. I depart.

SHANE POTTS B’17 dreads the winter and its sapping of melanin.

The College Hill Independent

OUTSIDE THE MIND’S EYE Misadventures in Visualizing Books

by Ben Berke illustration by Jennifer Xiao “How do I know you again?” she asks me from the kitchen counter at her boyfriend’s party. She flashes a smile that a stranger who has said hi to her three times this spring doesn’t necessarily deserve.

I’m sure I know her. I see her walking around campus a lot with said boyfriend, who I know tangentially. I played on the same baseball team as him when we were kids, and we overlapped for a few years in high school.

So I want to say I met her through Mark, the flaky boyfriend, but it’s obvious to me that I know her much better than that. I know that she grew up in Connecticut. She plays squash, studies English. She’s in some media theory courses but her heart lies with 19th century British novels.

Her adviser is Sandy Zipperstein... And at this point I realize I’m actually thinking of Madeleine Hanna from The Marriage Plot, and not the person sitting on the kitchen counter in front of me—who does date Mark, but hails from the west coast and studies biology.

There’s a ¾-baked theory floating around in my head that explains why I confused fiction with reality, unknowingly assigning her face to that of Madeleine. I decide it’s better not to disclose that her face comes to mind every time Madeleine appears in the 416-page Jeffrey Eugenides novel that I chronically reread—even if I were being honest that this sort of thing happened to me all the time. +++ I’ve just described the partial disintegration of a book universe. Camille, my visual proxy for Madeleine Hanna, was so different from the character in The Marriage Plot that one of my core mental images for the book disintegrated. Normally, strangers cannot contradict a novel’s characters. But now that I knew Camille, she and Madeleine disentangled. The next time I read The Marriage Plot, I could no longer visualize Madeleine’s face. The football player I mistook for Mike Schwartz from The Art of Fielding wasn’t so lucky. I gave him the ‘what’s up’ a few more times before I connected the two situations.

The ¾-baked theory explaining why I awkwardly assign strangers’ faces to fictional characters has become clear since my confrontation with Camille: the mental images that come to mind when I read are all images I’ve seen before. Words don’t beget new images, they just facilitate the recycling and alteration of old ones.

Once they have a hold, assigned images can lock in intensely. If an author takes too long to physically describe a character, chances are I’ve already assigned them a face, and the belated details become useless. Faces are always faces I’ve seen before—mostly from strangers, sometimes actors, and occasionally from someone I know personally. +++ Visually, a book’s setting is cobbled together from a similar image bank. My mental map of a story is a patchwork of places I’ve seen in movies or real life. This stitching happens on a room-by-room basis.

As the title would suggest, most of Willa Cather’s novel The Professor’s House takes place in one home. I’ve read this book so many times now that I have clear images of what most of this house looks like. The facade is the white, two-story house of a family friend who lived near my high school, a classic American home with a brick stoop and black shutters.

But as soon as I walk in the door I’m in the foyer of a different

Oct 2, 2015

friend’s brick house two streets north of the house that lended its facade. Straight ahead are stairs, to the left is my friend’s dining room that we never go in, forward and to the right is my friend’s living room, the stand-in Professor Godfrey St. Peter’s dining room, which means there are two dining rooms in this professor’s house. My friend’s coffee table elongates and rises to dinner-bearing height.

The stairs bring me to a vague second floor. In my mind, St. Peter and his wife sleep in a bedroom that I don’t know how to get to from the stairs—but it looks the same as the hotel bedroom Owen Wilson and Rachel McAdams share in Midnight in Paris. St. Peter’s daughters ostensibly have rooms on this vague second floor as well, but since they no longer live in the house and no scenes take place in their rooms, my mind never had to assign an image to them.

I can’t tell you how to get to the third floor either but once you’re up there, it’s just the hallway from my neighbor’s house. St. Peter’s office is my neighbor Joe Connelly’s bedroom, and his brother’s bedroom across the hall never assumes a role in the story but is still featured in the visualization.

The description of this house may have failed for multiple reasons. I may have lost you as soon as I laid out the floor plan. It’s possible you picked your mental images as soon as I said “white, two-story house” and any details that came after the fact were superfluous, even if they contradicted your image. This happens to me all the time. Our minds’ eyes are stubborn.

There’s also the more glaring possibility that that description made almost no sense. The rooms didn’t connect. There were three floors inside a two-story house. The blueprints don’t match up.

Science fiction has an even stronger tendency to put my image-assigning mechanisms in uncomfortable positions. I’ve never been in a spaceship so there’s no primary source material sitting around in the image bank. It wasn’t until I reread parts of Ender’s Game that I realized how ridiculous my mental maps for spaceships were. I really only have one, with some leeway for especially compelling details: the floorplan of the Star Wars Millennium Falcon (which I learned from a model I built with my dad), with my friend Sasha’s kitchen grafted onto the place where the Quad Laser resides in film and diorama. I’ve also never been on a large boat so most of the spatial images for J.D. Salinger’s short story, “Teddy,” came from the Daisy Cruiser map in Mario Kart: Double Dash!!

What’s important is that these images never felt ridiculous while I was reading. The images of Ender Wiggin drinking out of my friend’s cups or Teddy McArdle walking past anthropomorphized directional signage only seem funny in retrospect. The redundant dining room and mysterious second floor aren’t distractions when I read The Professor’s House. When I’m reading, these images blend into a passive, unobtrusive background, a springboard that never demands scrutinizing attention. +++ The fact that these mental maps are so sketchy and incongruous says a lot about the way we read. Reading is only semi-visual. Our image patchworks help us understand books, but they don’t hold up to scrutiny. When I go looking for connections between rooms, or faces of minor characters, or temporal integrity in any sense of the term, I can’t find them.

This fragility makes mental patchworks particularly susceptible to destruction by movie adaptation. Movies are visually congruous and fleshed out. Our ephemeral clouds of images don’t stand a chance. Visually (at the very least), the book universe is irreversibly supplanted by the movie universe.

Much to an author’s annoyance, book covers can have a similar effect. The difference being that book covers don’t replace images, they prescribe them. This can be easy or difficult to work around. The 1990 Vintage Classics reprint of The Professor’s House has the view from the Professor’s office window on its front cover. This isn’t much of an imposition on my mental image of his office. The office can still be Joe Connelly’s bedroom—it’s just that his window looks out at the landscape from the illustration, rather than my house.

I had the opposite experience with a different Willa Cather book. The 1955 edition of Death Comes for the Archbishop features such an unflattering portrait of said Archbishop that I couldn’t even shake the image after I lost that copy and picked up a 1990 Vintage Classics reprint at Saver’s.

It must be said that during my mental probing for examples, there were a few images from books that I couldn’t find a real world source for: the Glass family’s living room in Salinger’s short stories, Okonkwo’s hut in Things Fall Apart, the room in Virginia from which David Berman writes “SelfPortrait at 28.” I’m not sure if I’ve been to these places and forgotten where they are, or if I saw them in a movie that I can’t put my finger on right now, but all three of these settings are so vivid that I doubt I visualized them solely from a verbal prompt. Here’s to forgetting more faces and places. Maybe it will help me read fiction like it’s actually fiction.

BEN BERKE B’16 has a stubborn mind’s eye.

ARTS

08

POSTCOLONIAL AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! [a man screams; pulsing kuduro drums begin falling from a digitized Iberian Sky, they reverberate against AHHH! housing-project roofs and dry streets] AHHH! AHHHHHHHH! AHHH! AHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHH!

AHHH! AHHH!

AHHH! [the cry multiplies, sonically and socially, breaking down and becoming itself: the sound of Lisbon, organized and projected across the world] AHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!

AHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!

AHHH! AHHH! AHHH!

AHHH! AHHH!

AHHH!

AHHH!

AHHH! AHHH!

AHHH! +++ The scream is the refrain of “A Própia,” a song by DJ Marfox and DJ Nervoso, two pioneers of the burgeoning dance music scene in Lisbon, Portugal. The “AHHH!” skewers a relentless rhythm typical of Portuguese dance music, cascading 4/4 kuduro percussion imported from Angola and digested by Lisbon-based DJs. Marfox and Nervoso are examplars of a wave of young musicians working with new “sounds, forms and structures with their own set of poetics and cultural identity.” So reads the website of Príncipe Discos, the record label under which this group of young musicians crystalized in 2012. The website’s blurb continues to explain their dedication to “releasing 100% real contemporary dance music coming out of this city, its suburbs, projects & slums.”

The music released on Príncipe defies its categorization under one genre or another. There is no name for this music. It’s not kuduro, kizomba, or grime, although these genres can be heard as a kind of sonic palimpsest in Lisbon’s new

09

ARTS

S O UNDS

by Eli Neuman-Hammond illustration by Iris Lei

sound; rather, it is Lisboan, it is Portuguese, it is a translation of a very particular identity. For Príncipe, the local conditions that have shaped their sound are critical. Most of the artists on Príncipe are not conversant with electronic music produced outside of Portugal and its former colonies, like Angola and Mozambique.

Many of their studios are rooms in ghetto housing projects; the tradition is alive, in their neighborhood, next door, around the corner, blasting out of car stereos.

Paradoxically, the locally-rooted music Príncipe releases is only possible because of a global economy and digital network that has democratized the means to produce and disseminate music. In a 2014 feature in Resident Advisor, Príncipe founder Pedro Gomes explained that Lisboan dance music emerges from a very particular history, and it’s only because of new technology that this history has metamorphosed into music: “This music has been brewing for centuries, through the slave trade, through immigration, and now through digital technology […] you can finally translate all these centuries of rhythmic advancement.” Príncipe is the beautiful, unexpected confluence of a hyper-local community with technology only accessible because of a globalized (but not global) world. The local, today, only begins in the shadow of the global, which is a fictional unity woven by things like our ever-expanding Internet, a massive international stock market, and an art world that supposes a traversable, common forum where there is none.

Products from local communities such as Lisbon’s music disclose the fractures and distances simmering under the surface of our fragile globe. And now, the music crafted in this discrete sphere is travelling back along some of the global threads that have conditioned its possibility. The circle is, if not complete, in motion, and Lisbon’s music is igniting dance parties cross-continentally. +++ To understand Lisbon’s music, you need a map and a history book. While Lisbon’s urban center is home to just over a half a million people, its metropolitan area houses more than 2.5 million and is more than twenty times larger in area.

This urban overflow can be traced back to the influx of immigrants following the dissolution of the authoritarian Estado Novo regime in 1974. On April 24 of that year, the Portuguese Armed Forces Movement placed carnations in the muzzles of their guns, signifying that the dictatorship established by António de Oliveira Salazar had been dissolved without a single shot fired. Suddenly a long-siloed Portugal opened to a world in which interconnections had multiplied exponentially since Salazar assumed power in 1933. Internal friction between radical leftists and liberal democrats ensued following the revolution, and it took several years for a democratic government to take root. Because of political instability, recession in Europe, and the return of hundreds of thousands to Portugal from its former colonies, the country suffered an economic crisis. Many excolonies of Portugal burst into civil wars, and the nation was inundated with new migrants. They overflowed Lisbon’s urban center, pooling outwards. City planners rushed to build large-scale housing projects away from the city’s center, but without public transport infrastructure to bridge these satellite ghettos to their locus. In the words of Pedro Gomes, “The level of separation was extreme[.…]

We didn’t do ghettos the way New York City did ghettos, the way London did council houses. We put these people in the middle of fucking nowhere, some-

The College Hill Independent

times with no roads to connect them to civilization. Far fucking away. And 40 years after the revolution these people are still isolated.”

The DJs’ social and political isolation is integral to the unique sound seeping out of Lisbon, along with some of the distinct standards in its music scene.

Many of the DJs’ names (DJ Fofuxo, DJ Lilocox, DJ Olifox, DJ Nigga Fox, etc.) playfully honor their figurehead DJ Marfox and express their roots in a proximate locality. None of this is self-conscious differentiation from other communities; it’s the product of a culture that has grown up all its own, on Lisbon’s outskirts.

There is a difference, however, between paying respect and ripping off someone else’s style or sound. In DJ Lilocox’s words, “People will stop talking to someone just because a song he did is imitating too much someone else’s style.” Marfox: “I want to have an impact, and for people to go along with the distinctive style, and for people to be like, ‘That’s one of a kind. I’ve never seen that before.’”

But while Lisbon’s DJs put a premium on original content, they share certain forms that add coherence to their releases. One trope in Príncipe releases is the use of a DJ drop as instrument. On Nidia Minaj’s “Afro,” her name sounds off like a mantra, echoing into silence: ni-dee-ah meh-naj, ni-dee-ah meh-naj, ni-dee-ah meh-naj. Many songs on DJ Nigga Fox’s release last year are punctured by many a rumbling fox! A collaboration featuring DJ Olifox distorts his name in bombastic trance: oliFOX! oliFOX! oliFOX!. Since Príncipe’s music is without name, these utterances of artistic identities serve as proxy for a musical lineage and locates the sound in the landscape of Lisbon’s music community.

They aren’t identifying themselves according to the matrix of artists and genres that live together on digital platforms like Spotify and Soundcloud; the spatial and temporal scope of such platforms creates a taxonomy of sound (#hiphop or #austin or #70s). Lisbon’s DJs are unconcerned about having a spot in this global music scene, and as such, the musical vocabulary of listeners outside of Portugal has proven insufficient to describe the music. For example, at a festival with a bill that brought together DJ Nigga Fox and DJ Marfox with Chicago footwork pioneer RP Boo, the latter remarked: “I don’t know where you guys came from, I don’t know what this is… but this is some of the best music I’ve heard in my life.” Or SPIN writer Phil Sherburne: “it might be the waist-windingest music I’ve ever heard.” That might be the waist-windingest description I’ve ever heard.

Even though the sound of Príncipe is the sound of Lisbon’s periphery, it’s one that wants to spread to new places and new ears. It can take two to three hours to traverse Lisbon, and the music being made on the outskirts of the city has helped connect the different bairros. In 2006, DJ Marfox, DJ Nervoso, DJ Jesse, DJ Fofuxo, and DJ N.K. came together to release “DJs Do Guetto”: the tape was an instant hit, and marked day zero for the new Lisboan sound. When Príncipe was founded in 2012, it began hosting monthly parties at which the DJs showcased their music to people who were barely aware of the communities outside of the urban center. Soon, many of the DJs’ friends from the ghettos started came to dance. Gomes explains the Noite Príncipe parties are always getting more plural: “More and more heterogeneous, white kids dancing with white kids, black kids dancing with black kids, white kids with black kids. You know?

Everybody’s dancing together. People are getting laid. People are enjoying themselves, enjoying each other. Sometimes it’s palpable how happy everyone is.” Now many Príncipe artists are regulars on the European DJ circuit. DJ Firmeza, one of

Oct 2, 2015

the descendants of the originary DJs Do Guetto explained to Dazed Digital that even though the guetto was a part of their group’s name, their music is inseparable from a desire to bridge the ghetto to other communities: “It can be from somewhere but it can expand way beyond. It was born here: it doesn’t have to die here.

If my music was on TV tomorrow, would you still call them ghetto beats?” +++ Music is pride in Portugal, an effusion of positivity from a torn and violent backdrop. Today, Portugal is one of Europe’s poorest countries, in large part due to excessive loans from the IMF and other supposedly supportive global organizations.

Economic frailty continues to shape daily life in Lisbon’s peripheral communities, and since the 2007 crash, more than 400,000 young people have fled the country of ten million, leaving a crater where the middle class used to be. A chasm has developed between Lisbon’s impoverished and its wealthy. The upper-class and tourists in Lisbon rarely travel to the ghettos where the DJs live and make their sounds. So even though this music bridges the gap, it’s the musicians who are building the bridge. While DJ Firmeza was optimistic about the migration of “ghetto beats” out of the ghetto, there remains the question of who will carry the flag. Whose history will this be?

Even though the music is tightly bound up with life in Lisbon, one can hear the noise of the global symphony in which Lisbon is just one movement.

For instance, Marfox, the name that spawned the local preponderance on ‘fox’es, comes from the SNES-age video game Star Fox. And while the DJs’ music doesn’t directly reference the tradition of electronic music, it occasionally samples Hollywood movie soundtracks and other media that permeate global pop culture. Lastly, the DJs use a ‘00s era software called Fruity Loops to compose their music.

This was popularized in the scene by DJ Nervoso because of its relative simplicity.

These traces of alterity within Lisbon’s music scene make visible a global system outside of it, shaping the sounds through varying degrees of separation. +++ In a 2014 interview with Pitchfork, Richard D. James (a.k.a. Aphex Twin, user18081971, AFX, among other stage names) lamented the loss of “uninfluenced” music genres like jungle. “[It] was a separate world,” he said. “But that world doesn’t exist any more. It’s all merged into this global Internet world. It’s a real shame. I really don’t like that. But that’s just globalization. It’s got good sides as well. But scenes aren’t allowed to develop on their own any more. Everyone knows about everything.”

Príncipe offers a counterpoint to James’ argument, demonstrating the continuing power of particularity in a world that often effaces difference in the name of a global community and equality. Its music expresses important histories, recuperating them from the global time/space mush that threatens the intimate—but even then, they still desire and manage to share their music with the world.

ELI NEUMAN-HAMMOND B’18 simmers under the surface of our fragile globe.

ARTS

10

Reptilian Pontifex and Lord Levant Give Counsel Q: Dear Indy, I don’t understand how money works.

A: Dear Anonymous, Money is paper, sport. cf. The Merchant of Venice; The Muqqadimah; The Great Gatsby. —LL Q: Dear Indy, Should I stay with my boyfriend of two years after graduation?

A: Dear Vague, Ambivalent Lover, Does he wear deodorant? Would he kick a dog? Does he come from a good family? These basic questions are essential, and that you think you can come here, to our house, and disregard standard advice protocols (i.e. specific details), is frankly ridiculous.

But really, you’ve been dating this guy for two years, so he must have something going for him, even though you haven’t taken the time to explain to us what that might be.

I do understand your anxiety. Perhaps you should try to be with him now, in the moment, and not let the imminence of graduation hold you from enjoying all the good times you can be having in the meantime.

If you guys are still together come graduation, then more serious questions about your future will arise. A lot will depend on geography—are you two going to be living far apart from each other? Maybe he’s applying to doctoral programs in the Bay Area, which is not where you want to be. If this is the case, then you’ve got to make some real adult decisions about your priorities. Does place matter? Can you be happy with him anywhere? Are you willing to disregard your natural aversion of the Bay Area if that means you can be with him?

The answers to these questions find their expression, I think, in distance. You need to gain some critical distance from your relationship—not the same as leaving him— in order to better see what it may amount to.

I tend to think that if you’re anonymously submitting questions like this to an advice column, then that means you have some doubts. And always—and this is true of all the relationships in your life—make sure to be transparent about your intentions and the reasons for your uncertainty. —LL Q: Dear Indy, Last night I had a dream about parallel parking. Please help me interpret. Thanks, 2cylanderdreamer.

A: Dear 2cylanderdreamer, The last time I parallel parked I was sixteen with a DMV instructor breathing down my neck. Some of you may be thinking, “how can this be relevant to me at this moment?”

But think about it for a second: parallel parking is really about locating yourself in a sound position. It’s about conforming to certain rules that you obey only because you’ve been told that they’ll keep you safe. Maybe there’s something happening in your life right now that’s stripped you of agency, or asserted an impersonal authority over you. Maybe you’re feel-

Oct 2, 2015

ing trapped by a fear of confrontation, or the sense that you should just follow the lines on the ground and stick to your personal space. Is it serving you well to avoid conflict right now, dear motorist? Or is this the time to break the linear constraints that are holding you back?

There’s also a chance that you are sensing parallel dimensions or universes manifesting themselves in the built environment. Dreams of this sort suggest feelings of regret, or a wish to go back and change decisions from the past. Parallel parking is stressful, sweet dreamer. You already know that from Clueless. Do you want to avoid it and pay $20 at the garage?

Or are you going to take a second to check your mirrors, use your signals, and get close to the curb, as it were? —RP Q: Have you noticed the squirrels in PVD these days? They seem frantic, desperate to get in. I suspect that they are trying to tell us something. Does the Farmer’s Almanac confirm this? Are we headed towards a drastic winter chill? Please provide me with some answers to nature’s mysteries. Thanks.

A: I have noticed them. They’re deranged. Hoarding acorns like fiends. I swear one of them is messing with me. He’s always hanging out near my house, and every time I come home he gives me the dirtiest look, I shit you not, beady eyes and all.

Anyway, I guess this PVD-squirrel-paradigm is sort of the rodent equivalent of dogs scurrying out of a room because they’re hyper-sensitive to movement and can somehow feel earthquakes before we humans can. Conjecture, but it seems plausible. I did a Google search on acorns and winter and found some dusty Almanac wisdom: apparently some cultures use this acorn-index to measure the severity of the coming winter. The idea is that trees possess some kind of prescience that we don’t—when they know that there’s about to be a particularly harsh winter, they produce more walnuts to provide for predators (squirrels, deer, chipmunks, etc.) who will need them.

Other research suggests differently. We are experiencing what is called a “mast year,” an abundance of acorn production that occurs every 2-5 years. Conversely, a year with paltry acorn production is called a “bust year.” The reasons for these irregular cycles of, erm, nut development are unclear and even contentious. Explanations run the gamut from chemical signaling to increased pollination to environmental triggers.

More concretely, two biologists—Warren G. Abrahamson, a professor emeritus at Bucknell University, and James N. Layne, the executive director of Florida’s Archbold Biological station—conducted a study on acorn production between 1969-1996. The results are, for our purposes, sad but illuminating. The Accuweather article I’m getting this information from says, “The volume of acorn production each year is partly controlled by external factors like precipitation affecting the acorns during different stages of development during prior years.” So in this way—because current acorns are the product of, like, the past three winters and their varying ecological cycles—acorns don’t forecast the winter, they hindcast it, at least according to Dr. Abrahamson.

But yes, acorns and nature’s mysteries aside, this winter will probably be cold as shit. ­—LL

Q: Dear Indy, Why do people want so desperately for other people to be “happy”?

A: Dear Empathetic Ernie, It’s strange, isn’t it? Half the time I’m retweeting @sosadtoday and half the time I just want to bring everyone home with me so I can cook them dinner and cheer them up. But on whose behalf are you asking, dear anonymous writer? Do you want someone else to be happy? Or does someone else want happiness for you? Anyone who’s checked in with the internet since c.2002 could tell you that our cultural relationship to happiness is kind of bananas right now, and perhaps that’s what you really want to unpack.

But in any case, there are a lot of reasons—cultural, sociological, even biological—to want others to be happy. You could say that caring about other people helps you improve yourself or get ahead in life. You could also just say that we have a hard time pinning down what happiness means, and I think that’s really the heart of this. You know that—you even put “happy” in quotes in your question! You’re picking up on the fact that you can do good things for others, and that the desire to do so is different from wanting other people to satisfy some “happiness quotient” in your life and theirs. Doing good things, helping friends live their fullest and realest experience—these things can be hard, and they can sometimes seem to fall outside the apparent parameters of “happiness.”

It’s as if happiness has become more of an aesthetic question than a real signifier of, I don’t know—contentment or meaning or validity? I think you’ll learn the answer best by asking yourself whether you want people to be happy. —RP Q: Dear Indy, Therapy is making me resent my parents... but I really do love them! And I don’t think confrontation will solve anything.

A: Dear Down In Duluth, Trust your instincts. You are right that confrontation is not worthwhile. The energy you expend being angry with your parents, which in certain ways is an essential aspect of eventually forgiving them, will in the final instance be better channeled into reconciliation. That is to say, be angry with your parents. Likely there are reasons to be angry, though as St. Francis de Sales (1567-1622) said, “There was never an angry man that thought his anger unjust.” This is because anger, I suspect, is never really the basis for any action—instead, it is a feeling that obfuscates the bases for your actions. Regarding confrontation, to initiate has usually something to do with thoughts of retribution, revanche, etc. The fact is that I cannot tell you what to do. But you’ve laid everything out in your question so nicely. You love your parents. You are angry with them. And you know that confrontation is superfluous. You are already wise.

But this is no answer. I’ll defer to Matthew 5:22-24 for that: “So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift.” –Jay Mamana, Current List Editor, Future List Editor Emeritus, Man About Town

FEATURES

12

BEYOND OUR The Hidden Beauty of

When I was four, I snuck into my mother’s bedroom and flicked the switch by her makeup desk. Big filaments blazed around the frame of the mirror. Blinking and wincing, I gripped the faux-silver handle of one of her hand mirrors and slowly turned it.

As a child, I’d always suspected that beyond the mirror was another world—and with it, another child who felt as close to me as I to him when his fingers were cool against the mirror.

But when I turned my mother’s mirrors toward each other, there wasn’t one child, but hundreds. Some of them seemed to be standing far in the distance, smiling shyly, others close with their fingers outstretched.

I knew then that the other child who’d touched my fingers through the glass was a trick of the eye. I felt alone, but still connected to some property I didn’t quite understand. I placed my eyes in front of the mirror and watched them collide and spin like an all-seeing vortex. No matter how sneakily I popped up between the mirrors, I appeared, again, like a stacking selfconsciousness that obliterates into the infinite.

Two mirrors pointed at one another is known as an infinity mirror, and is a direct result of recursion. A few years later I began computer programming, which makes regular use of recursion, in part to chase what I’d found in my mother’s bedroom.

But what seemed odd to me then—and what seems odd to me now—is how most of us can see the beauty in the recursion of an infinity mirror, but few of us can see it in computers. +++ Recursion has two components: a base case, a predefined beginning of a sequence, and a recursive step, which defines each subsequent state in the sequence in reference to a previous one. In the case of the mirrors above, I was the base case because I existed independently of the mirrors.

Reflection was the recursive step because it generated a new copy of me each time it occurred.

After several iterations of reflection, a visual pattern emerged that made the recursion clear even to little four-year-old me.

In the case of the mirrors, the recursion was easy to see because so many copies of myself were made and each one was almost exactly like the previous. But when recursion has more drastic changes during the recursive step, or is only performed a few times, the pattern can be difficult to recognize. Furthermore, certain types of recursion can produce complex sequences that make the fact that they’re recursive even more difficult to realize. This dissonance in complexity—that a set of simple recursive rules can lead to something elaborate—is a powerful property that often yields beautiful results.

The Game of Life is a prime example of this. Devised in 1970 by British mathematician John Conway, Life begins with an n-by-n grid. A player is told to choose whichever squares in the grid they’d like to be considered “alive.” The player has no intervention from that point on (causing some to argue that Life should really be called a simulation). As the game starts, it goes through a series of cycles, following four simple rules: 1.

2.

3.

4.

Any live cell with fewer than two live neighbors dies, as if by underpopulation.

Any live cell with two or three live neighbors dies in the next turn.

Any live cell with more than three live neighbors dies, as if by overpopulation Any dead cell with exactly three live neighbors becomes live, as if by reproduction.

Life became an instant smash hit in a broad number of fields, especially computer science.

Coinciding with the release of inexpensive minicomputers, tens of thousands of hobbyists began running simulations from home. They quickly discovered Life had incredible computational potential. For instance, one could fill out a series of cells in Life to create an “addition machine,” so that if you filled a particular set of cells in a way that indicated you had the numbers 3 and 5, over time another set of cells would become alive to indicate the number 8. In fact any computation that’s performed on computers today can be performed within the context of Conway’s Game of Life. Even more amazing is that because Life can perform any computation performed on a computer, and Life is run on a computer, Life can be simulated from within Life—the ultimate recursive game.

Mathematicians Alonzo Church and Alan Turing had posited decades earlier that all computable functions could be expressed as recursive functions. For example, consider natural number addition. The process of addition probably seems so simple now that it’s hard to imagine it simplified, but if you ask a preschooler to perform addition between two boxes of beads, they’ll probably proceed the following way: they’ll count all the beads in one box, and then individually move each bead from the second box into the first box. As they do so, they’ll add one to their count. This is recursive: at each recursive step, a bead is moved from one bucket to the other, and at the base case there are no beads left in the second box. This primitive version of addition is easier to explain to a preschooler than the abstract version with which we are now all familiar.

This process of abstraction is why computer programmers are able to create complex systems. Computers are stupid. Way more stupid than preschoolers, because (most) computers don’t learn. As a result every single little operation a computer performs needs to be hard coded. But if someone who’s constructing say, a website, needs to think about how exactly your computer allocates RAM every time they sit down to code, they’re going to go crazy—the same

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TECH

The College Hill Independent

FINGERS Recursive Computing

by Dash Elhauge illustration by Eli Neuman-Hammond

way you’d go crazy if you had to think about the minutia of petroleum combustion every time you pressed the gas pedal on your car. Computer science relies on levels of abstraction, and recursion provides a way for us to simplify functions, like addition, that are too abstract for a computer to understand. The fundamental power of recursion­—creating something that appears complex through simple means—may be the key to its beauty. +++ Martin Gardner wrote in Scientific American in 1970 that “The [Game of Life] made Conway instantly famous… because of Life’s analogies with the rise, fall and alterations of a society of living organisms…” Biologists and mathematicians noted how easily large stable lifeforms organized themselves given only a few simple rules. Three classes of lifeforms arose: “still lifes,” which manage to maintain one stable shape, “oscillators,” which cycle through a few shapes every few iterations, and “gliders,” which give the appearance they are “gliding” through the game. The game has a resulting beauty that seems deeply embedded in our conception of what it means for something to be alive. Life’s organisms appear to have desires, to try and survive, to recreate. Some sets of organisms even form symbiotic populations. When organisms cease to be, others feel their loss. There seems to be an inherent connection between recursion and nature.

In the 12th century, the Italian mathematician Leonardo Fibonacci wanted to predict the growth of rabbit populations. Fibonacci suggested we think of an initial population of two baby rabbits, left in the country to be checked on once a month. After the first month we come back and the babies are all grown up, and we feed them some carrots and they twitch their noses in that adorable way that bunnies do. The next month our bunnies have done the nasty and now we’ve got another pair of bunnies. And the next month, they’re at it again, and now we’ve got two pairs of adult bunnies and one pair of baby bunnies. What we’re left with is a simple recursive formula: the number of pairs of rabbits in each generation is equal to the sum of the number of pairs in the previous two generations. Today, this pattern is known as the Fibonacci sequence, and it serves as the basis for the Fibonacci Search Algorithm in computer science, a powerful method for searching quickly through lists.

The Fibonacci sequence, as it turns out, pops up all over nature. Lilies, buttercups, roses, and ragworts all display petal counts consistent with the Fibonacci sequence. It should be no surprise, then, that there is an inherent beauty in the Game of Life.

But some dissonance still seems to exist here. The computational potential of Conway’s game and the potential for life seem to be intertwined as a result of recursion. So why don’t computers and smartphones, which have nothing but computational potential from recursion, feel intertwined in the same manner? +++ The Droste effect is perhaps the most intuitive version of recursion. Named after a popular Dutch cocoa powder from 1900, the effect occurs when a version of an image is embedded within itself. The original box of Droste cocoa powder featured a nurse in one of those pseudo nun uniforms that nurses apparently wore in the early 20th century, carrying a box of Droste with a picture of herself on it. Today, the recursive structure of computers makes creating the Droste effect easy. By taking a screenshot of a window of a screenshot several times, anyone can create the effect on their home computer.

The graphic artist MC Escher used the Droste effect in his drawing, The Print Gallery, in which a man looks upon a picture of a ship. When we examine the image closely, we can see a small art gallery by the shore of the ship. In that gallery is the same man we’re looking at, looking at the same picture. And what’s in that picture? Nothing. Escher doesn’t bother to continue the pattern ad infinium because to do so wouldn’t make a difference. We can’t see anything that small, so why bother drawing it? Escher realized that recursion’s beauty has perceptual limits.

Only on certain scales for certain functions is seeing recursion intuitive.

Another example where recursion is intuitive is fractals. If we draw a line with two branches, and then give each of those branches two branches half the size of the previous branch, and keep doing this for awhile, we generate a “tree” structure, with an inherent symmetric beauty.

Which brings us back to our initial question­—why does aesthetic beauty seem to pop up in every version of recursion in this piece except for computers themselves?

The answer, I think, is that the abstract nature of recursion’s beauty is also its downfall.

As recursion becomes more and more extreme, humans cease to perceive it. In the case of the iPhone, for instance, there’s so much recursion on such radically different scales that we don’t understand it at all. Just like a computer scientist, we must abstract ourselves from the device to be able to use it. Though a pointer finger swipe down on the iPhone may involve more recursive elements than Escher or the fractal, that doesn’t make it beautiful.

But that won’t stop me, of course, from thinking of a world beyond my fingertips every time I check my email.

DASH ELHAUGE B’17 is Dash Elhauge ’16 + 1 gap year.

Oct 2, 2015

TECH

14

BLOOD JET Notes on Plasma

by Hannah Smith illustration by Rob Polidoro I. Plasma is replaced every 48 hours. In World War II, dried plasma, like dust, was dropped into Britain, far from the tubes and hospital rooms where it was collected in New York City.

Plasma is the most common form of matter in the universe, in mammoth suns, in candle flames, in undulating black holes.

It is the fourth state of matter: it comprises 55% of our body.

II. Plasma is an $11 billion annual market. Treatment is dispensed by the vial—one in the morning, one at night—and may contain the cells of people who donate their plasma. It can be more lucrative to donate plasma regularly than to work a minimum wage job. As their spouses drop them off at the center, donors hope that their iron levels are high enough, so that they can afford to eat meat at dinner. The United States is the only country that pays for plasma, though they say they pay donors for their time. $50 for the first set of donations, $60 for two donations a week after that. Zora Neale Hurston said, “Real gods require blood.” Many of them know each other from the waiting room.

In these for-profit plasma centers, slow-moving blades mix hundreds of thousands of individual bags of blood together in steel tanks. The genes for our grandmothers' crooked bones mixing with a phobia of water, blending into blindness. Then it is drained and reduced to proteins, bottled into syringes, and injected into veins.

III. Once plasma leaves the body, its movement becomes regulated. In the United States, it is illegal to import bags of plasma because they may contain foreign pathogens. But Mexican citizens may walk over bridges or travel on buses to clinics in the States.

Many of these plasma companies beckon, building their centers near the border. Eagle Pass, Texas; Yuma, Arizona.

Some Mexican donors work all day in factories and are driven over the border when their hours are reduced, or their spouses lose their jobs. At the centers, they show a visa that verifies that they have a job and a home address in Mexico. At every visit they must update their medical history and have their blood tested for viruses. Once the plasma is extracted, they must promptly travel back.

IV. If a person stands still for too long, his or her plasma may slow, clot, freeze. Plasma is a finite substance, although the waiting rooms in plasma donation centers are always busy.

In labs, scientists with latexed, bloodless hands pipette glass plates to engineer these therapeutic proteins usually taken from plasma—so that companies won’t need to depend on donations. However, according to a New York Times article, the pharmaceutical companies pay each person only $30 per donation, which is turned into a single product that sells for over $300. An alchemy, from blood to gold. When Talecris, a plasma company, went public in 2009, it made a staggering

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FEATURES

$1.1 billion; the industry has grown a steady 8% per year over the past two decades. Annually, hemophiliacs pay up to $350,000 for treatments derived from clotting proteins. The US supplies 50% of the plasma in the world. 75% of this plasma is produced by three companies: Biolife, Biomat, and Plasmacare. They now own the plasma clinics, too.

V. In the 1960s, prisoners in Arkansas were given $5 each for mandatory plasma donations. This plasma, too, was packaged and prescribed. But the systel was mismanaged, with horrific results. During this time, 50% of hemophiliacs contracted HIV, hidden in the bottles their doctors had given them. In Henan, China in the 1990s, villagers realized they could get more money from filling blood tubes than from harvesting fields of wheat. They flocked to clinics, but fled just as quickly.

AIDS came from infected needles, and sent them back to the fields in search of a homeopathic cure.

VI. Albumin, found in blood plasma, is stored in solutions to supplement blood loss from accidents on the highway, or eight-hour surgeries, or burns that cover legs. The plasma

of strangers is injected into infants’ pulsing veins during vaccinations. Immune Globulin, a plasma derivative, is used to treat paralysis in neurological disorders and is currently being studied as potential therapy for Alzheimer’s. It is given to hemophiliacs, to leukemia patients, to those whose immune systems are broken and defenseless. And these patients, whose bruises cover their arms like a jacket, whose cuts hemorrhage on their white kitchen counters, have no choice but to pay for treatment.

VII. Plath said, “Blood jet is poetry.” The rapid spraying of blood in time with the heart. The writer, addicted to the word, dependent on the tube, fading into sleep, and then consumed by someone else. His books are never published.

The author of an Atlantic article profiling this plasma industry turned to blood donation to support his career in journalism.

VIII. In this centrifuge, blood spins in a controlled hurricane.

When the machine beeps, the excess is filtered back into the body, and the rest is sold.

HANNAH SMITH B'16 is the fourth state of matter.

The College Hill Independent

GOING SOFT Weight in Theory and Practice

by Marcelo Rivera-Figueroa illustration by Teri Minogue

It might be my Catholic upbringing, but I’m often at least a little wary of things I enjoy. A sin, after all, is a pleasure in abundance.

One sees a lot of that hesitance in a society where enjoyment is scrutinized for its consequences. How many times do you hear wanna split fries? when sitting down with a group at a restaurant?

In that phrase is the guilty awareness that fries, though delicious, are unhealthy, and that to enjoy an entire restaurant’s serving alone would be gluttonous, a poor showing of self-control, self-destructive, and simply wrong. And there is validity in such health consciousness, but invalidating personal enjoyment as an amoral pursuit can lead to the fear of food. +++ Losing weight is a process of rediscovering old bones. This is the fun part, corporal paleontology. Today I can feel the ridges of my spine, the sharp angles of my shoulder blade, the overlapping bumps of my knees and elbows, when yesterday was soft. And those yesterdays for me were innumerable. I became overweight at a young age, beginning during my time at a fancy kindergarten in New Rochelle, New York. There, the amenities included what (to my five year-old eyes) were utter feasts during lunchtime. Compared to the cafeteria’s offerings, my own boxed meal (almost invariably Hot Pockets) lacked a certain appeal. So I convinced my parents to start giving me lunch money for a trial period of two weeks. But those two weeks ended up lasting the entire school year. By the time summer came, I’d saddled myself with a chubby physique and an upcoming eleven years of endomorphic discomfort.

After spending your formative years overweight, losing weight is also a process of (forgive me) rediscovering yourself. For years, I had a crutch on which to place my anxieties and insecurities. Every ounce of popularity I didn’t have corresponded to a pound that I did, and the friends I had were around despite my physical self. It—and my early adolescent weight will always be ‘it,’ an independent noun, something other than myself—was a cushion.

When I lost weight,I gained confidence because I knew I looked “better”—I was physically thinner, the number on the scale was smaller, I could now wear clothes marked small instead of large. The first thing my friends said upon seeing me after the summer I got in shape was you look great, a phrase I appreciated, acknowledged, but that I wished had never been necessary.

Becoming thinner had come with a sort of binary self-consciousness. With the growth of confidence came an increasing anxiety that I’d never have the same toned form of my friends who had always been thin­—and so I worked to maintain my newfound fitness. Carbs were an easy thing to focus on, so I gave up eating those almost entirely, and can probably count the pizza slices I’ve eaten in the last two years. Exercise, delirious and sweaty at first, became a regular part of my life. And throughout the process I became fixated on other people’s bodies, on the subway, walking around my high school’s campus, at restaurants, literally sizing others against myself.

Oct 2, 2015

There is a particular web of veins that connects the inner forearm to the bicep, and above a certain body fat percentage, they’re obscured. I’d look for them in other people I knew, met. Three veins connecting the inner forearm to the bicep.

The moment I’d realized I’d made progress came the August before my senior year of high school, when I finally saw them in my own arm. +++ The potential causes of any one dietary issue are as varied as the range of illnesses that fall under the umbrella of disordered eating. Well-known issues such as anorexia, bulimia, and binge-eating only form part of a spectrum.

Food is branded as irresistible, making it worthy of internal debate and frustration. When someone is struggling with weight, there is no easy way to eat. For someone overweight, even a single piece of food—a chip—can be an extension of the habits that made them that way. For someone fearful of food, the thought that occurs immediately upon succumbing to a chip is how to then exorcise it from the body. That can mean allowing the calories of that chip to detract from a later meal, or it can mean purging.

People who struggle with eating have a delicate problem to work through. Due to the marriage of food, culture, and family, meals are rarely eaten alone, nor can they be skipped altogether. Whenever we consume, even if no one else is physically present, it is in the context of our upbringing, involving society’s concern with food and our own concern for how others perceive our eating. Sticking with a longterm diet also requires overcoming the idea that diets are transitory.

And what constitutes a lasting lifestyle change varies between people. Diet and exercise are broad prescriptions that must be made specific to the individual, and this means neither is immune to becoming warped.

According to the National Institute on Mental Health, nearly 20% of American adults have an anxiety-spectrum disorder, which includes the compulsions that lead to both impulsively exercising and impulsively eating. Someone with an exercise addiction, according to the same research, falls under the category of bulimia—compelled to rid their body of supposedly unnecessary calories through dramatic means.

But this is a notoriously difficult eating disorder to discuss or diagnose, considering the validation someone who does seemingly healthy things receives in daily life. A person who goes to the gym twice a day and maintains strict vigilance over the food they place on their plates is more likely to receive compliments than concern. And, granted, in many cases that isn’t a sign of an obsession. But in the cases where it is, the positive feedback loop generated by others makes it easier to deny that anything is off. And while it’s easy to commend or be com-

mended for paying attention to fitness in the deep-fried dining halls of a college, it’s also important to remember that college years are also an extremely vulnerable time for many young people. The Johns Hopkins Eating Disorder Program reveals that most eating disorders will begin between the ages of 12 and 25, and affect 0.5% to 3% of women over their lifetimes. While most diagnoses affect women, around 10% are men, with potentially many more going unreported. In addition, unlike the case of bulimia nervosa, the number of males affected by exercise bulimia is on par with that of women. +++ I felt my own experiences shade my words as I taught a room of eighth graders about body image and the dangers of obsessing over food. This was my senior year of high school, my first year of average weight. The kids had never seen me before and had no idea of how I used to look. As I spoke to them about moderation in the spheres of diet and exercise, I wondered how I, myself, could find a way to stay fixed and comfortable in some elusive Aristotelian mean. And I still do. At various points in the last few years I have given up bread, meat except for fish, meat including fish, anything sweet, anything much of anything, in efforts to make myself leaner or prevent a reversion to old ways.

Now at the start of my third year of that desirable, so-called average BMI, I can’t say I have found a concrete answer. But the time came to end the competition between myself and the food I ate, and that’s involved learning to ignore the guilt. Growing up, I had a cousin my age who was very underweight (because whoever designed our family has a real eye for symmetry) and he was encouraged to drink milkshakes due to their calorie density. I encouraged my parents to let me drink milkshakes due to my affinity for the dessert. They, responsibly, didn’t always comply. But now I’m on my own, and only occasionally am required to be responsible. The enjoyment of a milkshake, forbidden fruit of my childhood, will always be worth the calories.

MARCELO RIVERA-FIGUEROA B’18 couldn’t hack it as a vegan.

METABOLICS

16

by Josh Kurtz illustration by Juan Tang Hon

An Omen

If in Nisannu the sunrise (looks) sprinkled with blood and the light is cool; rebellion will not stop in the country, there will be devouring by Adad.

Enuma Anu Enlil To this day, only half of the tablets have been transcribed from the original cuneiform. That means that nearly 5,000 omens, inscribed sometime between 1595 and 1157 BCE, remain locked inside of themselves. This missing knowledge is a kind of blindness, especially considering that omens are written with the intention of coming true.

If the sunrise is sprinkled with blood (when you wake)…there will be (a) devouring.

In a recent New York Times article, a psychologist proposed that two people can fall in love by asking each other a set of thirty six questions, each supposedly more intimate than the last. After answering all thirty six, the couple is instructed to look into each other’s eyes for four minutes, uninterrupted. It is an exercise in devouring.

On a small bridge overlooking a Frank Gehry-designed laboratory, built on what was once farmland, I became aware of the mirror that was the water. Though a pork-processing factory has polluted the Iowa River over the past decades, the water’s reflection—a sky, a bank of trees, a silver building— was so seamless that if I had been upside down, I wouldn’t have known the difference.

There is a sort of mimesis inherent in looking at anything, I might propose. There must be a difference between “looking” and “seeing,” the latter implying a deeply informed agency, a willfulness. To see something, however, you must first be looking. Perhaps this is why eye contact is such a dangerous art, for we project more sincerely onto one another than onto any landscape.

If your face, in the morning, is sprinkled with blood and the light is cool, rebellion will not stop in the country, and there will be devouring.

The initial moment of recognition, of truly seeing, cannot be translated. The introduction of language into a moment like that would only serve to disembody the viewer, to revert the act of seeing back into an act of looking, or touching.

Written on a tablet: If in Nisannu the normal sunrise (looks) sprinkled with blood; battles, at which point the fragment cuts off; the tablet has been broken into pieces, perhaps during the very battle it had hoped to witness.

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LITERARY

The College Hill Independent

october second The Afro-Cuban Beat: Perspectives from Practitioners and Scholars 111 Thayer St, McKinney Conference Room 12–1PM // Free

october third Starla & Sons Long-Form Improv Comedy Show List Art Building 120 9:30PM//Free

Part of the Brown Latin Jazz and Pop Festival (BLJPF), join panelists Eva Silot Bravo, scholar of the Cuban alternative music scene and artistic diasporas, Martin Cohen, founder of Latin Percussion, and other

Full disclosure: the LW has ties to this long-form improv comedy group. Significant ties. That being said, the LW has never once claimed to be impartial. It is a wonderful and intelligent bunch this year, politically astute

luminaries as they discuss an instantly recognizable

and kind. Definitely go if you haven’t before. You

and oft-appropriated style. Keep an eye out for

will enjoy it. Open to all!

other BLJPF events. The acronym is unwieldy, but the music is oh so clean.

Fall Concert for the Climate Brown Main Green 5:30–8:30PM Free

A jam packed and socially conscious event dedicated to raising awareness for a defining issue in

Gang of Four The Met, 325 Public Street, Providence, RI 7PM // $20

anticipation of this year’s climate negotiations in Paris. We do not discharge our responsibility to preserving our planet to powerful people whose interests are across-the-board discombobulated.

But the Paris negotiations are important even if that importance is in itself is a bummer. Also What Cheer? Brigade will be there. Er, not in Paris—though that’d be pretty nice, no?—the climate

C’mon! Gang of Four! “Entertainment!” is one of the raddest punk albums of all time. Marxism. Righteous anger. Guitars. Go see ‘em.

concert. Attend that and shake hips!

Salon and Book Launch for Poet and fan of heteronyms (his term) Fernando Pessoa is arguably among the greatest literary figures of the 20th “Fernando Pessoa as English Century. His poems are bleak and lonesome. An excerpt from “The Keeper of Sheep” as evidence: Reader and Writer” Providence Athenaeum I have no ambitions and no desires.

5–7PM

To be a poet is not my ambition, Free

Fall Book Sale Weaver Library, 41 Grove Avenue, East Providence 9AM–5PM

Thousands of books $1 and under, so says the description, which sounds like a dream. Also includes CDs, DVDs, VHS tapes, and the like, if you’re into antiques.

It’s simply my way of being alone.

True to my word. Discussion of his work guaranteed.

Can’t guarantee refreshments.

An Acknowledgment by Your Humble List Writer (LW) Right Now // For All Time

Haunted Labyrinth 804 Dyer Ave., Cranston, RI 7–9PM // $12

The last two weeks of list have featured two

Wow. Already time for Haunted Houses. Seasons change, fall turns to winter. Reminds me of the Starla & Sons show which took place in several haunted houses all owned by children of The Beatles. If you go please

legendary classic rock

get back in time for the Starla show.

acts, both of whom performed at Lupo’s Heartbreak Hotel: Kansas and

A Poem by the LW

Slash. Unfortunately, this week there are no classic boomer bands to speak of. In fact, Lupo’s appears to have nary a show during

I have no ambitions and no desires.

the entire span of time covered by this list. This means I, the LW,

To be a great list writer is not my ambition,

haven’t a chance to reflect on these acts, on the degradations

It’s simply my way of telling u about the raddest events in PVD.

of time, the ephemerality of fame and glory, the

And discussing the culture with the folks I love

purposelessness of commercial artistic

That is:

enterprises in a culture driven by trends, dictated

All of u.

by and for the young, and

list

ultimately in service of nothing but the accrual of wealth and status for a few aged folks in

Questions:

suits who sit behind

Has Providence has

desks and discuss

reached peak classic

with insistence the

rock nostalgia? Is Lupo’s

passions of the

abstaining from our culture

young. This is an

of aggregation by no longer

acknowledgment

featuring classic rock acts?

of that fact.

What do you think? Weigh in

october fourth Day of Arula Celebration!

Granoff Center for the Creative Arts 7–10PM

Another part of BLJPF. Rad performances, great tunes.

with your thoughts on the place of the classic rock pantheon in 21st century American culture by e-mailing listtheindy@gmail.com.

Josh Groban Providence Performing Arts Center 8PM // Too Much

LW’s Mother Is In Town Everywhere // All Weekend

The list writer’s mother is in town this weekend. The LW is quite fond of this wonderful person. If you see her around, let her know that you read about her in the

Is Josh Groban (Grobes) a “classic” artist? Did he write the song “Raise Me Up”?

list. If you say to her, “I read about you on the piece

(LW’s NOTE: He did not, per Wikipedia. Wikipedia also lists the genre for “You Raise Me

of paper! You exist in the word aggregator called

Up” as “Inspirational”, which is a viable post-9/11 genre, apparently.)

the College Hill Independent as text! Bless you

Will you see Grobes? Is Grobes better than Slash/Kansas?

and happy birthday!” she is legally obligated to give you $100.

Scientific Computing Seminar: Two Level Non-Overlapping and Overlapping Schwarz Methods for Discontinuous Galerkin Approximations of Second and Fourth Order Elliptic Problems 170 Hope Street, Room 108 11AM–12PM

IMPROVidence Auditions Wilson 102 10:30AM–12:30PM

I suspect the title of this event was made up to be as exclusionary as is humanly possible and if you go there it’s just a group of tired mathematicians

Though this is Brown/RISD specific, if you can, go audition!

watching an episode of “America’s Funniest Home Videos” on a projector.

october fifth Deradoorian Aurora 9PM // Free All Ages

october

eighth

I’ve not seen reference to Deradoorian without mention to Dirty Projectors, her magnificent former act, which maybe says a lot about her and the long reach of DP’s bandleader David Longstreth. Forget him for a moment. Her new album, “The Exploding Flower Planet”, is great. She is great. She plays a Hofner violin bass, which is great.

It’s all great. Please go. It’s free!

Going Boldly: A Star Trek Party Machines with Magnets 7PM

Self-evident. It’s a Star Trek Party. Episodes shown, special Star Trek Cocktails, probably some serious geeking out of the joyful variety. The LW knows very little to nothing about this beloved show, but a party this specific deserves investigation.