Posts Tagged ‘Campus Clipper’

Volumes: Siren Music Festival 2010

Saturday, June 26th, 2010

Thank God for the Village Voice. Not only do the provide me with ample subway reading fodder, but they’ve got excellent taste in music. Which is good because every summer, the hold a free music festival know as the Siren Music Festival at Coney Island, and this year is going to be big. Usually, they don’t ask bands who have already played to come back. They’re forward thinkers over at the Village Voice. But this is going to be their tenth anniversary, so they’re calling in the big guns.

The big headliners are Matt and Kim and Ted Leo and the Pharmacists. I saw Matt and Kim at a free show last summer, and it was a blast. they’re a synth/drums duo who are out on a quest to have an endless amount of fun. And they’re succeeding. Don’t see them without your dancing shoes, or you’ll regret it. When it comes to Ted Leo and the Pharmacists, I’ve been quoted as to calling Ted Leo my generation’s punk-rock super-hero. Their shows are always energetic and full of blisteringly good musicianship.

Ted Leo and the Pharmacists.

All that being said, I got a lot more excited than I really should have when they announced Ponytail was playing. I had never listened to them before until I saw them last summer at the Williamsburg Waterfront. Never before had I been so surprisingly filled with joy ad glee. The lead singer, Molly Siegel, hopped and bopped all around onstage, yelping her lungs out while the guys were weaving a musical tapestry of textures behind her. I remember at one point specifically, the instruments were building up and up and up into a climax until Siegel screams into her microphone “KAAMEEEHAAAME … HAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!” sending the band behind her into a frenetic whirlwind. I was in love (If you don’t get it, a “kamehameha” is a reference to a cartoon called Dragonball).

The festival is on Saturday, July 17, starting at noon. But get there early. It gets really crowded. It also gets really hot, so dress appropriately and bring LOTS OF WATER.

-Andrew Limbong

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Make New Friends and Keep the Old: Looking Back

Thursday, June 3rd, 2010

On February 20th 2007, I turned 17.  In New Jersey, when a person turns 17, and if they have fulfilled all of the requirements, he or she is eligible for their license.  Well, I got mine – along with my first car (a 1990 Buick LeSabre, navy blue).  I was so in love with my car, and had so many plans for it…my parents had already gotten me a really awesome sound system to get installed, and I couldn’t wait to drive it down the shore for the first time.

Fast forward to March 4th 2007.  In New Jersey, high school juniors have to go take the HSPA, High School Proficiency Assessment.  The HSPA spans four days, and lasts about three hours each day.  March 4th was the first day for my class, and I wore my favorite tee shirt and most comfortable pair of “lounge” pants, and flip flops.  By the time the day was over, I was ready to get home and relax.  So of course no more than hour after I had gotten home, I got a call that I needed to go to my best friend’s house for an emergency band meeting.  Not exactly excited to get there, I nevertheless got in my LeSabre and started down my street for the easy two mile drive.  This is where things get fuzzy, because not halfway down my street I, for some reason, swerved, then over corrected, and ended up driving straight into the side of a house.

The first thing I did when I woke up, having passed out for probably a minute or two, was call my dad (not 911, of course, because that would have made sense).   I then texted my friend something along the lines of “I was just in an accident on my street.”  The friend I texted, my best at the time, got to me in record time, before my father and the ambulance he called on his way from the office.  Now imagine, I’m sitting there in my own blood, cradling my broken wrist; I didn’t know it at the time, but the front of my car was crushed all the way to the windshield , which was also cracked from my face meeting it (and that’s why they tell us to wear seatbelts).  After checking on me, my friend took it upon herself to knock on the door to make sure no one was inside and injured, ignoring the danger she could have been in from the now structurally unsafe house.  That being done, she came over the passenger side, which I had somehow slid too, procured napkins from somewhere and did her best to wipe the blood from eyes and mouth – she did all of this before any other help arrived, but checked first to make sure help was going to arrive at some point.  Now, you may wonder why I bring this story up.

I think about it sometimes, about her wiping blood from my face and staying with me until I left in the ambulance.  I think about it because just a little over a year after my accident, we were suddenly no longer friends.  I wonder how we could be so close, and care so much about each other, and how that could just end.  It’s horrible how the fact is that friends, no matter how close they are, can just grow apart.  It started with a fight that probably wasn’t even that bad, and then radio silence.  BOOM, no more friendship.  We still talk occasionally, and when I’m in town we’ve gotten coffee before, but there’s nowhere near, and never will be again, the closeness we used to share.

On the other side of that, there’s the friend who made the half hour drive to visit me in the hospital each of the five days I was there after the accident.  She brought me movies and real food, and even washed my hair for me after about three days of me living with the blood, glass, and vomit that was by then crusted into it.  Of course, with my broken nose I didn’t even notice how rank I was, so the hair washing was more for everyone else’s benefit, but that’s not the point.  I’ve known her for twelve years now, I believe; she actually was my babysitter when I was younger, fun fact.  Our relationship is probably more like sisters than friends, and we can go from laughing hysterically together to me wanting to punch her in the face.

I just wonder why that friendship is different from the other one.  There’s no denying that Friend B and I have had probably over a million fights, radio silence included, yet we’ve always remained friends.  I’ve questioned in another blog on whether or not some people are just more important in our lives, and I didn’t want to think that I could rate my friends like that.  But I guess somewhere inside I do, because the simple fact is that one of those friendships is over, and the other is just as strong as ever.

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Sex Education Museum Style

Tuesday, May 18th, 2010

I AM A NEW NEW YORKER, AND MY FIRST FEW MONTHS HERE HAVE BEEN AN EXCITING RIDE OF SIGHTSEEING AND SCOPING OUT THE SCENE AND GETTING A FEEL FOR THE CULTURE OF THE CITY.

AS A PART OF MY SIGHTSEEING, I MADE A VISIT TO THE WORLD CLASS “SEX MUSEUM.” YES, NEW YORK’S VERY OWN 5TH AVENUE HAS A MUSEUM OF SEX. IT’S NOT AS STIMULATING AS IT SOUNDS. IN FACT, I APPLAUD THE MUSEUM FOR THIS CAUTIONARY EXHIBIT. THE EXHIBIT WAS MUCH ABOUT TAKING PRECAUTIONS AND PROPER CARE AND BEING SAFE IN THE ART OF SEX. THERE WERE MANY INTERESTING SCULPTURES AND DRAWINGS ON THE ART OF SEX.

THE MUSEUM TOOK YOU ON A ROOM BY ROOM TOUR OF VARIOUS SEXUAL DISEASES AND THEIR EFFECT ON THE BODY. THERE WAS A ROOM FOR ARTWORK MADE OF CONTRACEPTIVES. THERE WAS A ROOM FOR LIFE-SIZE DOLLS, AND THE ROOM AT THE VERY END, FOR THOSE WHO MAY HAVE BEEN STILL STIMULATED WAS A ROOM FOR FLICKS OF ALL SORTS. BEING THE CONSERVATIVE, SWEET AND INNOCENT GIRL THAT I AM, AFTER TOURING THE “SEX MUSEUM” ON 5TH, I SIGNED UP FOR THE CONVENT. BEING A NUN DIDN’T SEEM SO BAD.

I WILL SAY, ALL JOKING ASIDE, THAT AIDS AND HIV IS A LEADING FACTOR OF DEATH AMONG YOUNG BLACK WOMEN FROM THEIR TEENS TO THEIR 40′S, SO EVEN THOUGH THIS MUSEUM WAS A BIT BIZARRE, I WOULD RECOMMEND THE TOUR FOR EVERYONE, ESPECIALLY CURIOUS TEENS. IT’S BETTER FOR THEM TO SEE IT ALL AND KNOW IT ALL THAN TO BE IN THE DARK. IT WILL SCARE THEM INTO ABSTINENCE. THE SEX MUSEUM IS LOCATED AT 233 FIFTH AVENUE, AND ITS CURRENT EXHIBITION IS ENTITLED “THE SEX LIVES OF ANIMALS.” THIS MUSEUM IS PG 13, SO PLEASE DON’T BRING CHILDREN UNDER 12. ENJOY AN INEXPENSIVE ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY LESSON AND SAVE HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS, COMPARED TO YOUR COLLEGE SCIENCE CLASSES! DISCOUNTS ARE OFFERED AS WELL.

WWW.MUSEUMOFSEX.COM

— CANDICE P

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The Love We Deserve

Friday, May 7th, 2010

In the quintessential coming-of-age high school novel, The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky, the following exchange takes place:

    Bill smiled and continued asking me questions. Slowly, he got to “problems at home.” And I told him about the boy who made mix tapes hitting my sister because my sister only told me not to tell my mom or dad about it, so I figured I could tell Bill. He got this very serious look on his face after I told him, and he said something to me I don’t think I will forget this semester or ever.

    “Charlie, we accept the love we think we deserve”

    The Perks of Being a Wallflower, page 24

As students caught up within the hustle and bustle that comprises New York, there could be no truer sentiment. There is so much that we are consistently told we ought to be, whether it is by our parents, roommates, friends, bosses or more importantly, the media at large. New York is a glamorous city and the billboards and advertisements scream that attractive equals thin, utterly gorgeous women who are wasting away and whom we must all strive to look like. Yet the reason behind the urge to change oneself or otherwise undergo makeovers often has less to do with the simple desire to fit in and more to do with the simple craving, desire and need to be loved. The question, of course, then becomes: what does it mean to love or to to be loved? There is a sentiment expressed in C.S. Lewis’ The Great Divorce that it isn’t what we might imagine:

    You mean,” said the Tragedian, “you mean- you did not love me truly in the old days?”“Only in a poor sort of way,” she answered. “I have asked you to forgive me. There was a little real love in it. But what we called love down there was mostly the craving to be loved. In the main I loved you for my own sake: because I needed you.”

    “And now!” said the Tragedian with a hackneyed gesture of despair. “Now, you need me no more?”

    “But of course not!” said the Lady; and her smile made me wonder how both the phantoms could refrain from crying out with joy.

    “What needs could I have,” she said, “now that I have all? I am full now, not empty. I am in Love Himself, not lonely. Strong, not weak. You shall be the same. Come and see. We shall have no needfor one another now: we can begin to love truly.”

    But the Tragedian was still striking attitudes. “She needs me no more- no more. No more,” he said in a choking voice to no one in particular. “Would to God,” he continued, “but he was now pronouncing it Gud- “Would to Gud I had seen her lying dead at my feet before I heard those words. Lying dead at my feet. Lying dead at my feet.”

How to find love in New York City? The first, and perhaps the most difficult task, is to actually identify what love means. The craving to be loved and possessed, to live out the decadent but dark fairy-tale romances that appear in fantasy or fiction, doesn’t cut it. Struggling to identify love between the Edward-and-Bella, Blair-and-Chuck, Stefan-and-Elena images that we are consistently fed via television is difficult. Simply listen to the radio; women are consistently disrespected in the lyrics. I’m no feminist and I’m guilty of dancing to “Sexy Bitch” and enjoying it. I know all the words to 3OH!3’s song “Don’t Trust Me,” which blares from Z100 or 92.3 when I wake up in the morning. I intellectually know that there’s a problem with lyrics that reflect an attitude that disrespects woman and totally objectifies and sexualizes them, but in my party mode, I rationalize it away. The problem occurs when the pressure of school, work, parents, friends and the media all combine to create an unhealthy cocktail where we determine that acquiring a boyfriend/ girlfriend and via that person, love and status, is worth the ultimate sacrifice on our part. By this I don’t reference any groom running from bride-wielding-ball-and-chains type of scenario, but rather the danger there is of entering into verbally, emotionally or God forbid, physically abusive relationships simply due to the desire to feel less alone within The City That Never Sleeps.

I recently read a fantastic book entitled Loose Girl: A Memoir of Promiscuity written by Kerry Cohen. She beautifully and movingly explains exactly how it can be that a woman desirous of being loved can become promiscuous, thinking to herself that the men she’s sleeping with care about her:

    What statistics can’t get at are the feelings of uncertainty and confusion that surround a young girl’s sexual behavior. They don’t get at how easy it is for a girl to use sex for attention. A boy once said to me, “Boys have to put forth real effort to get laid, while all you have to do is stand braless in the wind.” It’s true. What’s easier for a girl than to get noticed for her body? Using my sex appeal was default behavior. To not do so would have required more effort. Add to this the fact that I was desperate for attention- any attention-and men’s interest in my body was the easiest avenue to being noticed. Of course, I confused their base interest with love. I needed to believe it meant something. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t see myself as entirely innocent. My story is also about addiction. Addiction to power, to the attempt to control others through my body. It is about how desperate I was to feel loved, less alone, and how, misguided by all those cultural mixed messages, I tried to fill my need with male attention and sex. How, as with most addictions, I managed to push most everyone away, foiling my greatest intentions. And finally, how I learned to stop.

    ~Loose Girl by Kerry Cohen, page 3

One of the most disturbing things I noticed in college was the plethora of bright, talented and otherwise creative and attractive young women who themselves did not feel as though they were worth anything. Male attention, especially sexual, made them feel noticed and better about themselves. They would seek it out and enter into relationships in which they were dominated and controlled by their partner, often not realizing the extent to which this had happened. It was almost impossible for them to voluntarily extricate themselves from these emotionally abusive relationships because they loved simply in terms of need and the need to be needed or craved. And as Bill says in ‘Perks,’ we accept the love we think we deserve.

Love is a great, complex, complicated and grand adventure, but it is something which requires work and commitment in order to thrive. Anyone who hurts, disrespects or abuses his/her partner in any way is feeding into a false belief which they firmly espouse: namely, that they don’t deserve to be loved, respected or thought of as worthwhile. The reason I know this is because I was once such a girl.

-Oliva W

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