magazine - University of · PDF filefirst call october 5, 2009. 3. letter from. the editors. editorial. policy. f. irst. c. all is the undergraduate magazine of the. u. niversity of

Volume 12, No. 3October 5, 2009

magazine

2 FIRST CALL OCTOBER 5, 2009

FIRSTLOOK

CONTACTFIRST CALL, KeLLy WRITeR’S HouSe

3805 LoCuST WALK, PHILAdeLPHIA, PA 19104WWW.FIRSTCALLmAgAzIne.Com

[email protected]

13

CONTRIBUTORSEditor-in-ChiEf: Charlie isaaCs • ChiEf dEsign Editor: avery Miller • AssistAnt dEsign Editors: TRACy LIu, SARAH laskin, Devanshi Jalan • ChiEf Art Editor: Dan Markowitz • Artists: dAn mARKoWITz, mAx HeInRITz, nATALIe gRA-vier, valeria tsygankova, MorDeChai treiger, Devon Pohl • CommuniCAtions mAnAgEr: valeria tsygankova • BusinEss mAnAgEr: anDrew Jones • AdvErtising mAnAgEr: alyssa kaPlan • distriBution mAnAgEr: syDney sCott • Editors: valeria tsygankova, alyssa kaPlan, syDney sCott, raChel Fisher, MiChael FielD • Columnists: CHARLIe ISAACS, MiChael FielD • WritErs: RebeKAH CATon, ARIeL goLdenTHAL, AmAndA JoHnSon, g.S., Anne HuAng, TRISHuLA PATeL

FIRST CALL DISPATCH: LONDON

8

POETRY SPOTLIGHT6

MICHAEL FIELDMichael (surname Field) discovers London through its bookshops.

Five poems.

COVER: MARKET, DEVON POHL

REBEKAH CATON

4 RESPONSE TO ODE TO THE NICE GUYSA reader reacts to a First Call classic.ANONYMOUS

11

TRISHULA PATEL

14 IN PRAISE OF CLUMSINESS

12PHOTO SPOTLIGHT: UNTITLEDMORDECHAI TREIGER

THE HEALTHCARE DEBACLEAMANDA JOHNSON

16

POETRY: PAINFULLY CONSCIOUS

Amanda evaluates a political debate.

10

WHY THE LSAT IS FUNCHARLIE ISAACS

5 WEDNESDAY NIGHT SYMPHONYARIEL GOLDENTHAL

15COMIC: GLASS HALF EMPTYDAN MARKOWITZ

ANNE HUANG

G. S.

Music that will follow you around, everywhere.

Charlie shares his test-taking wisdom.

Don’t limit yourself to gracefulness.

POETRY: BREAKING THE RULES

3FIRST CALL OCTOBER 5, 2009

LETTER FROMTHE EDITORS

EDITORIALPOLICY

FIRST CALL IS ThE undERgRAduATE mAgAzInE OF ThE unIvERSITy OF PEnnSyLvAnIA PuBLIShEd EvERy OThER mOndAy. OuR mISSIOn IS TO PROvIdE mEmBERS OF ThE COmmunITy An OPEn FORum FOR ExPRESSIng IdEAS And OPInIOnS. TO ThIS End, wE, ThE EdITORS OF FIRST CALL, ARE COmmITTEd TO A POLICy OF nOT CEnSORIng OPIn-IOnS. ARTICLES ARE PROvIdEd By REguLAR COLumnISTS And wRIT-ERS. ThEy ARE ChOSEn FOR PuB-LICATIOn BASEd On ThE quALITy OF wRITIng, And, In ThE CASE OF COmmEnTARIES, ThE quALITy OF ARgumEnTATIOn. OuTSIdE OF ThE EdITORIAL And OThER EdITORIAL COnTEnT, nO ARTICLE REPRESEnTS ThE OPInIOn OF FIRST CALL, ITS EdITORIAL BOARd, OR IndIvIduAL mEmBERS OF FIRST CALL OThER ThAn ThE AuThOR. nO COnTEnT In FIRST CALL unLESS OThERwISE STATEd REPRESEnTS ThE OFFICIAL POSITIOn OF ThE AdmInISTRA-TIOn, FACuLTy, OR STudEnT BOdy AT LARgE OF ThE unIvERSITy OF PEnnSyLvAnIA. firstcallism

“A two-way mirror, often called a one-way mirror...”

SuPPoRTed by thE kElly WritEr’s

housE

Greetings, Penn-tastic people!

Happy October! Happy cold rain and heavy backpacks, and most of all, happy third issue of First Call. This week, we ask you to look at life through a dif-ferent lens. Break down the barriers be-tween the commonplace and the invisi-ble. Step through the looking-glass. Even in this high-stress, high-achievement environment we should be able to take time out from trying to be someone and pause to wonder about the premises and assumptions that govern our entire lives.

Our current issue will have you ask-ing yourself: what do I really think about American democracy? About sexism? About a test that determines the course of my immediate future? About the abil-ity to walk a straight line, and the nature of language itself?

New writer Amanda Johnson turns the entire health-care question upside-down by calling attention to the Ameri-can public’s unfounded, empty-shell opinions a la “Keep the government out of my Medicare.” The whole debate really does begin to look like a debacle when you start to doubt the very people who (in theory but not in fact, according to a very relieved Johnson) run the nation. The solution: a very limited democracy.

And for a more general debate: what is the true meaning of niceness? Does a nice guy hold doors and secretly resent you for not paying enough attention to him, or does he tell you the truth? An anonymous writer responds to “Ode to the Nice Guys,” a First Call piece that was reprinted in this year’s first issue after six years of moderate Internet fame, destroy-ing the commonplace in the process.

Also in this issue, Anne Huang tells us about clumsiness, society’s prejudice against it, and what you can do to help; namely, rejecting linear modes of think-ing/travel. Ariel Goldenthal describes how the music she plays with her saxo-phone quartet follows her around cam-pus, and editor-in-chief Charlie Isaacs shamelessly admits to loving the LSATs. Finally, our poetry feature from Rebekah Caton will blow your mind with its beau-tiful re-working of syntax, logic and real life.

It’s never a bad idea to let things look different. (Seriously, First Call used to look like the parents’ newsletter from your old high school. Different is good.)

Honestly, why not love the LSATs? If you think you might need them to get where you want to go, it’ll make the experience that much happier and the future that much brighter. If you’re not taking them, it will save you the energy of active dislike. Everyone wins.

And why not let go of societal norms of gracefulness and reject the “nice guy” who thinks you owe him something? Why not think of every possible combi-nation of the same three words if it will make you happy? Why not do what all great writing is supposed to do and de-familiarize yourself with your own life, finding strangeness and new meaning in the small things that can become too easy to ignore

Sincerely yours,

Valeria TsygankovaEditor


THREE PERSPECTIVES ON WAR

RESPONSE TO ODE TO THE NICE GUYSANONYMOUS

This is a response to the piece on “nice guys” published in the September 7 issue, which – despite being written six years ago and apparently rediscovered (or maybe secretly cher-ished for the interim) and despite the author of this piece being unavailable for a defense – I nevertheless felt impelled to criticize. This is because I understand this feeling is shared – this need to protect the integrity of nice-guyism, to maybe “assert” the value of this trait which is defined typically by (among other qualities?) passivity.

I need to respond because I have had many “nice guys” in my life and I know that they are not generally stupid. They probably, then, know the real answers to the questions they posit to women and girls – women and girls who “nice guys” typically go for, who have spirit and energy and passion in them. They want these energies to be stirred by some other force and “nice guys” fail to do this.

But why? To even call oneself a “nice guy” betrays a spinelessness. You are defining your-self by an “absence” of things that are bad, and, while theoretically this should be “enough” (if you asked our mothers, it might well be) the heart wants what it wants. Women freak out about “not nice” men; they are unsure whether their feelings are reciprocated and they enjoy attempts at courtship. This is preferable to dating with the “mind,” where there is little emotional investment in either the failures or successes.

Hey, maybe we’ll grow out of it, like you say? (And, while we’re being grossly simplistic in dividing people into nice/not nice, why even assume that “nice-ness” is a reason for rejec-tion? Maybe the quality of being “nice” develops as a response to some other defect, as a mode of compensation? In that case, it would be difficult to attribute rejection to feminine ignorance or masochism).

What is especially irritating, when one has to listen to this stock nice-guy rant, is that this breed of man is “fed up” with getting the short end of the stick – with not, as this piece later mentions, getting “laid” as often as his asshole-brothers. So are we women meant to understand that your niceness is part of a trade-off, that we owe you something? That you are not being nice because of a genuinely compassionate character (and an interest in our lives, and a willingness to help us even when it is irritating or inconvenient) but because, sharing the “asshole’s” motives, you lack his tenacity? I’m sorry, but this does not fit into my idea of nice-ness.

Hey, if you really didn’t want to deal with how your female friends treat you, why don’t you grow up (and grow a pair) and fucking tell them? That is what adults typically do. Are all nice guys poor, overlooked gems that we are too blinded by passion and feminine ego to see? Or are they cowards, incapable of dealing with women honestly and harboring a secret misogyny (the author of this piece, after all, refers to “manipulative bitches”)?

If you would like to contact this writer, please write to fcpaper@gmail.

FC


Ariel Goldenthal is a freshman in the College.You can write to her at arigo@sas.

A MELODIC JOURNEYWEDNESDAY NIGHT SYMPHONY

ARIEL GOLDENTHAL

Composer’s forward: Every Wednes-day night and Sunday morning I

rehearse with my saxophone quartet. Being in the quartet infuses my life with music, whether I am reading chemistry, or merely walking down the street.

Movement I: Allegro con spiritoThe melodic line begins in exhilara-

tion. Its flourishing tune flies from high to low as my pencil soars across the text. I circle words such as “bonding energy” and “molecular orbitals,” and the notes in my head quicken as I reach the last page of Chapter Five. The music that I feel seems to entwine with my yearning to

grasp these concepts. How the two bodies of electrons can come into

phase with one another and form a new whole is sublime, exciting, like a rising run of eighth notes. As I close my chem-istry book, its pages laden with faded post-its and folded corners, the music continues. Leaving the book on my desk, I hurry to my closet and take out the hard, black saxophone case. I smile as I grab the yellowed sheet music with one hand, holding the saxophone with the other. I open the door of my room, and with a perfect cadence the first move-ment comes to a close.

Movement II: Adagio cantabile The voice of a violin reverberates

throughout me in a deep, full tone. It is a serene melody that calms and frees me as I glide down the steps and outside into the Philadelphia dusk. The notes retard

with the soft strokes of the wind. I drift onward to the corner of the street with the ideas of chemistry and the fulfill-ment of understanding still lingering like stardust around me. I breathe in, feel-ing renewed and refreshed, and exhale, closing my eyes for a moment. The slow arpeggios relax my muscles and release the week’s tension of tests and upcoming papers. The harmonies slowly build, full of anticipation, as I cross the street and open the doors of the Fine Arts building.

I climb the steps to the classroom on the third floor, and the second move-ment reaches its final tonic chord, tapering off into si-

lence. Movement III: Fugue allegroA simple, solo melody warms

the air as I walk in;, it glows within me at the sight of my friends, the three other quartet members, setting up chairs and music stands. The tune of this third movement is now joined by three fellow voices, forming a flowing fugue. We talk and laugh as we put on our saxophones— the soprano, the tenor, the baritone and my alto. I feel the familiar strap upon my neck, touch the cool pearl keys, and, as we take our seats, I soak in the hap-piness of this musical camaraderie. We start rehearsal by building a chord. We listen and adjust until the pitches are just right. Then, once all eyes have met, we change chords, moving up the scale to become one sound. The fugue swirls around timelessly as we take out our piece by Glazanouv, ready to delve into

the music. And with a lift of his wrist, the soprano cues us in. From a soft whisper we swell together, invested in every note, forming billowing waves of sound. Our bodies sway and move in the music, the magic grabbing hold of us. With a final intake of breath, we reach the last chord and look up, sensing together when to release our air. We stand up and beam at each other, still gliding along with the music. The fugue’s concluding notes dis-sipate without our notice as we laugh and talk in giddy voices about how wonderful we sounded at the forte… Oh! And on measure forty, and

wow… that last chord… Movement IV: Andante MaestosoWe wave goodbye at the corner

and I feel the gust of a full orchestra sweep me up like a leaf and then gently release me. The rich chords of this last movement express my utter content-ment. I am filled with a joy that I used to feel after piano class as a young girl, after wind ensemble at summer camp, after jazz band in high school. The familiar-ity of music rehearsals and the sense of belonging to a musical community give comfort in the world of college still so new. I climb the stairs to my room with my saxophone and sheets of music, while the night conducts the fourth move-ment through its evanescent, concluding chords. FC


NoiseSo that even music is most and other voices well a person is too much. I don’t rememberhow tall you were when I met you or when I started saving the afternoon for morning cigarettes,but I know that Spain will wrap you when words won’t. When months of waking up becomea summer’s sleep. Conversation itself quietly cuts and the bed becomes a basis for one longwalk-to-regent, this an alphabet of growing up. Clichéd in all the best ways-that-I-wantto talk. Slid me, knowing, from the fountain. Took my tongue. Wished me luck. Place

that that that htherethis darlingandthat that thatthere there, this

and herenow now

poetry spotlight:REBEKAH CATON


FC

Rebekah Caton is a senior in the College. You can write to her at rscaton@gmail.

He SaidHe said “it gets mehigh for aboutten minutes”and

these are the thingsI’m not allowedto say: I likeburning bridges,I hate womenand

I am one of themand

I build burningthings too,and

by writing Irememberand

that’s when Imake memory upand

into you: so theuniform coughdisturbs meand

we’ve got a toplesssituationand

yesterday myprofessor saidsomething aboutan African Nationand

all I heard was:

andif, of course,it changes,

andif, of course, it changescourse if it changes—coarse it,if it changeis it of coarse orif it changes.

August Fourth amazing soundhow sweet the groundamazing wretch like me.amazing lost,that now has founda place to cannot be.

ten thousand years,ten thousand soundsto see the simple, see.the songs that soundthe sea came down,a maze now singing be.

Take TenNothing as remotely plausible as yourshaped hands, as my growing hair, as yourdance when it’s not together. You arethe New Move Ballet, contracting yourarms into the circle of an angry year. You, ourlist or two of weather. An hour to be there.

poetry spotlight:


FIRST CALL DISPATCH: vLONDONv

SPELLBOOKS AND LEATHER BINDINGS

In my two years at Penn, I have barely explored Philadelphia. I made nu-

merous excuses: that I didn’t want to head into the city by myself or that it was raining or too cold. Basically, I did everything I could to stay west of the Schuylkill whilst constantly lament-ing that I wasn’t getting the most out of Philadelphia. Still, I justified my actions with the knowledge that I still have lots of opportunities to explore the city in my remaining time at Penn.

Here in London I have no such lux-ury.

In a city where I can count the num-ber of people I know on my fingers it would have been easy to stick to famil-iar areas, where I live and where I go to school, until I get to know the city bet-ter. However, I don’t have a lot of time to explore; I return to the U.S. in less than three months. If I want to learn about London, I have to do so now. I am proud to say I have risen to the occasion.

I have explored more of London in two weeks than I have of Philadelphia in two years.

In my abundant free time before classes started, I simply wandered. I just walked, trusting in my sense of direction to eventually lead me home. As my time began to fill up, I worked my errands into my aimless ambling. I picked up movie tickets before walking across the Thames, taking in the sights, then meandering down Fleet Street and ultimately finding my school’s palatial library, a sight in and of itself.

Walking around London isn’t like exploring any American city. Here I walk down narrow lanes abutted by Vic-torian buildings and cross cobblestone lined streets, careful of the traffic zoom-ing too quickly the wrong way down the road. (I’d have been hit numerous times if not for the helpful “LOOK RIGHT” and “LOOK LEFT” warnings painted on the crosswalks.) The city has a decidedly claustrophobic feel as the buildings all seem to lean over the streets in an attempt to block out whatever sunlight makes its way through the perpetually cloudy sky.

London is a city in transition. The skyline is dotted with innumerable cranes

preparing for the 2012 Olympics, restor-ing and modernizing. There are few con-temporary buildings; the glass-paneled Gherkin fits in about as well as the Cira Centre does in West Philadelphia. While London lacks the breathtaking skyline common in American metropolises, there is no dearth of beautiful sights or engaging areas to tour.

My favorite sojourn has been to Soho, a hip area of North-Central Lon-don. As I left the main street and took to the smaller intersecting roads I noticed a variety of small shops. After briefly entering what I can only assume was a cane and umbrella shop I made my way to vastly more interesting stores. I had inadvertently discovered London’s book-sellers.

The first required me to ring a small bell, alerting someone to come to the door and let me in, and I entered a shop that specialized in 18th and 19th century English literature. The shelves were lined with beautiful leather bound hardcovers bearing gilt paneled spines. I browsed the Dickens-laden shelves under the


MIchael Field is a junior in the College. You can write to him at fieldmb@sas.

FC

watchful gaze of the stern-looking shop-keep. As I realized any work I’d heard of was well out of my price range I made my way further down the street to an outlandish, though no less interesting, bookseller.

I had found The Atlantis Bookshop, London’s oldest occult bookseller. Here, a jolly thirty-something woman greet-ed me with a large smile, one that said, “Please browse our selection of grimoires to your heart’s content.” And I did. I looked through spellbooks, statues of Bastet, and tomes on druidic mythology. Since it was Yom Kippur, I also looked at the several books on Jewish philoso-phy stashed near the giant section on Kabbalah. Despite my fascination with the store I left empty handed, as nothing truly caught my eye.

Accompanied by this newfound fascination with visiting London’s book-shops, I turned to the internet. I hoped I could find some small bookshop I could visit where I could actually purchase a book. The next day, armed with a list of the best booksellers in London, I took to the streets.

I entered Henry Sotheran’s, the old-est vintage bookshop in the world. I strode through the front doors wearing sneakers, jeans, and a band-tee and was promptly greeted by several men in black designer suits. Undeterred, I trudged on;

for all they knew I was a casually-dress-ing affluent eccentric. I peered through the glass cases into the bookshelves, try-ing to find copies of some of my favorite books.

When I asked a clerk the price of a book, he smiled, as if humoring me. He opened one of the glass cases and showed me the price scrawled on the in-side cover in pencil. The shock on my face must have been evident; his eyes took on an amused glint as he shut the case. Understanding this shop was also a bit out of my price range I hurriedly left, wishing I had £1,000 to spend on a first-edition Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, The Prisoner of Zenda, or 1984.

I realized these rare and vintage bookstores were probably not for me. My friends suggested I visit the largest and best bookshop in the world, Foyles. A quick tube ride later I found bright flags and neon signs proclaiming its presence across the street from a Borders. Despite fearing it would be just a Barnes & Noble clone, I entered.

I want you to think about Amazon.com’s selection of books. Now imagine if Amazon had a physical store for their stock. This is Foyles.

The massive first floor houses fic-tion. Shelves wind all around the floor, taking up every bit of space. I found slightly less attractively bound versions

of books by Carroll, Hope, and Or-well all for under ten pounds. The next three floors up, and one down, house the non-fiction books and a small selection of CDs and DVDs. The DVD selection caters to the film buff; the discs were ar-ranged alphabetically not by title but by the director’s surname.

There is so much shelf space that Foyles has entire bookcases dedicated not just to Mid East History, but spe-cifically the Arab-Israeli conflict. Not only are there four bookcases on naval history but an entire case for subma-rines. Shelves of Derrida stood opposite bookcases ranging from everything on agribusiness to zoogeography. I knew I could never walk out of a store like this empty handed.

And I didn’t.You might say I never achieved my

goal. After all, I bought my books from a massive chain store rather than a Not-ting Hill-esque boutique. While you would technically be correct, you would be missing the point. My hunt for books took me all across London and intro-duced me to the city in which I will be spending the next three months. The whole goal of my book shopping was to explore London, and in that aspect I was exceedingly successful.


PAINFULLYCONSCIOUS

G.S.My soul shall burstWill no one siphon offThe tar like guilt I hold within?

And it’s never absorbedIt’s simply presentIt dwells on the wallsOf my naked soul

Those with eyesCan’t see my heavinessThey can not breathe The air that suffocates my inners

Redemption Is but a word nowAnd its essence Escapes meLike smokeOn my palmNothing I doDraws it near

And I must admitThat the poison withinLacks reasonBut I bear it anywayAnd my bones acheWith the sorrow of Weightless remorse

One day My eyes will become rogueThey will defy my weightless guiltI will no longer feel my heartAnd the cricket I once had on my shoulderWill vanish FC

If you would like to contact this writer, please write to fcpaper@gmail.


SEARCHING FOR SENSE IN REFORMTHE HEALTHCARE DEBACLE

AMANDA JOHNSON

I hope I’m not the only one who won-ders about the sanity of the country

while watching the ongoing healthcare debacle. Much of the public debate has degenerated into absurd accusations, petty arguments, and a disturbing re-fusal to compromise. Clearly, our se-cretly Muslim president who is somehow both socialist and Hitler-like wants to kill the country’s grandmas. The town hall meetings held across the country resulted in made-for-TV outbursts. Anyone who supports healthcare reform is “un-American.” Congress-men were loudly ordered to stay away from any form of “socialized medicine.” My personal favorite was the com-mand to “keep the government out of my Medicare!”

While I understand the importance and purpose of the town hall meetings, a part of me also hopes that the congress-men and senators will take all they hear with a grain of salt. It is true that they were elected by their constituents and they should be accountable to them. However, America is a representative de-mocracy, which implies that the people do not directly create laws or formulate policy. Instead, they elect a representa-tive who they hope will do a good job.

I am personally thankful we do not have a direct democracy; while I have many opinions, I certainly do not have the expertise to, say, fig-ure out the appropriate amount of regulation for the financial indus-try, the most efficient way to reduce pollution, or the still-illusive fix for healthcare. No offense to Califor-nians, but their habit of holding referendums instead of passing leg-islation is both cowardly on the part of their politicians and completely adverse to the country’s tradition of representa-tive democracy.

I fear that the popular uproar heard during the summer recess will serve as an equivalent to a referendum and frighten members of Congress into not acting. They were elected to take care of our

country. Healthcare spending is out of control – it is indisputable that we spend a far greater percentage of our GDP on it than is necessary with punier results than should be expected. (A University of Michigan study found that we spend more per capita on healthcare than any other country while only receiving the nineteenth-best care.) Something needs to be done, and I hope Congress has the

courage to act w h e n

t h e correct

solution p r e s e n t s

itself instead of collapsing

before populist obstinacy.

But does Con-gress really know what

it’s doing? Most Ameri-cans would give a resound-

ing “NO” to that question. Approval ratings are conspicu-

ously and ironically low for the institution of government closest

to the population. I certainly have my doubts about the capability of my elected officials to effectively fix something as multi-faceted as the healthcare system. It is a little ridiculous to expect a body of mostly Political Science majors and law school graduates to be experts on healthcare. Even the relatively few sena-tors and congressmen who were medical professionals in previous lives would not understand all the subtleties of the insur-

ance element of the issue. Surely there are people out there

who know more about the problems and better understand the possible solutions than those who are debating them now. It’s certainly not me, so don’t go order-ing a referendum to determine what I think would be best. Without sounding too elitist, there has to be somebody out there, probably a group of somebod-ies, that have the education, experience, and intellect to identify which solution would be best for the country. (Unfortu-

nately, many such people are benefit-ing from the excesses of the cur-

rent system.) Such a solution may not have even been

invented yet. But you can’t tell me there

aren’t doctors, economists,

administra-tors, and a c a d e m -

ics in this extremely innova-

tive country of ours that can come up with an effective, technical solution. There are so many aspects of healthcare that require technical detail, and they cannot and should not be politicized. It is silly to debate hospital protocol on the Senate floor. Leave that to people who know more about it.

Rarely does a political discussion stay in the national consciousness for long. Soon, we will all be distracted by a new discovery about Michael Jackson and the next season of American Idol. The debate over Ellen DeGeneres’s judg-ing capability is much more interesting to most people than the many technicali-ties of a healthcare bill. But, we must not lose focus. It would be sad indeed if no reform at all came out of these most re-cent months of debate. The system needs fixing. If nothing happens this time around, our death squad awaits.

Amanda Johnson is a sophomore in the College. You can write to her at

amanj@sas.

FC


WHY THE LSAT IS FUNCHARLIE ISAACS: CHARLEMAGNE IN CHARGE

A NEW PERSPECTIVE ON AN OLD TEST

Everyone is always whining and com-plaining about this thing they call the

LSAT. And let me preface this by saying that these people are my close comrades. These people are trusted peers; they are also tough competitors. They will make for a noble enclave of legal extraordi-naires. And someday, they will look back on this test and remember it as a mere patch of woodwork in the edifice of their glowing future.

But for now, they whine. For now, they fret. They resort to childlike ten-dencies, nerves, and strange ticks. Before everything changes when you prepare for the LSAT. You eat differently, you sleep differently, you act differently. You care about things you vowed never to care for. Or, you unveil the great aspiration that simply lay hid-den until now when you break the cover and show the world who you really are. You are someone that expects. You are someone that fights. You will step on oth-er people. You will budge lines. You will be socially awkward. You will panic.

There is beauty in all of this. There is something admi-rable about grap-pling with your own stepping stones. To be sure, going all out is the best way to go. There are reverbera-tions and radiowaves we let off and emit for the purpose of exercising a little dis-cipline, as if working hard requires a bit of self-inflicted cruelty to yourself. These are by no means necessary. It’s all psycho-

logical. It’s a way of coping with the fact that you’ve put a lot on the line, most im-portantly your own sense of self and self-worth. We become robots. We become mean. We audibly coil. We pass strange. We become snobby and arrogant.

My proctor for the LSAT told me the number one problem she faces is the hu-bris of the test takers. I find it hard to be-lieve that these attitudes make you better. People psych themselves into thinking something they don’t truly believe. They create a thin armament against the real-

ity of this test and this process. Why do we treat our futures in such a backwards way? Why do we have to imagine that things won’t work out in order to moti-vate our minds? Tomorrow doesn’t have

to bite. And just imagine, what could you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?

You could be patient. You could be trustworthy. You could appreciate your own capacity for reason. But you don’t have to be scared.

I just took the LSAT, and I have a feeling it doesn’t matter. Yes, I enjoyed taking the LSAT. Yes, I had fun. Yes, I thought it was great and challenging and bold and quite exhilarating. I struggled, but I did not fear. I smiled in the demon’s eye and leaned close and said: “I’ve met you before, haven’t I?”

There are no demons except the ones we see. The closest thing to a de-mon is tragedy, that tragedy being the moment you realize all that frantic pant-ing and sweating and total suffering was all for not. Why do we fear? We are silly and scared and stupid. We are over-whelmingly crazy. We are the person that swears to get a poor grade only to return with the A. And of course, I was nervous. I was agitated early on by diagnostic test-ing that did not go my way. But the LSAT is especially unique in that it is a test of your reasoning capabilities. But there is a difference between something that re-flects who you are and something that defines who you are. My score was a dis-play of my ability to think. Displays and definitions are not the same thing.

Seriously. Here’s a test that can re-ally help, no matter what you do in life. You get to compete with yourself to find the solutions to questions whose answers are readily available to you. How well can you read a passage? How well can you comprehend an argument? How well can you piece together rules and conditions to find results and natural occurrences? We do this everyday. We reason every-day. This test is not a stepping stone. This test is what you will be doing for the rest of your life.

I might not ever go to law school but I consider myself a better thinker because of the LSAT. I read things dif-ferently now. I see places that need to be strengthened. I see progression. I see


Charlie Isaacs is a senior in the College.You can write to him at isaacscj@sas.

FC

main points. I see the oddities and er-rors of what makes little sense. And I see the powers of what does make sense. The LSAT has challenged me to take my capacity to think to a new level of inci-siveness. Yes, the LSAT is a great test. The LSAT should be the test that determines whether you get to graduate from college. We would all benefit from a run-through of the basic principles and concepts that are so fundamentally important to the cracking of the LSAT. Be bold. Be brave. Take the damn test.

And don’t worry, because in the end nothing really matters. Don’t be es-tranged. Confidence is everything in this life, and I don’t think it helps your chanc-es of getting a good score if you go to un-necessary lengths of trepidation. Maybe being a lawyer is your dream. And I commend you for having it all figured

out. And honestly, I might prefer to have my attorney be someone that could kick the hell out of every question on this test. But you do everything you can. You can-not, by definition, ask for anything more.

When I first started taking diagnos-tic tests, I thought a bad score was a sign that I wasn’t as smart as I used to think I was. But the LSAT has indeed helped me improve my reasoning skills in more ways than one. Smart is in the way you react, not in the way you perform. Per-formances are privy to circumstance. They are much more out of your control. But how you respond to the outcome, that is for you to decide. Will you let this break you? Because if you do, you are only breaking yourself.

Don’t forget about the law of dimin-ishing returns. Don’t assume the coun-ter-to-fact, the whole “if only I had done

this” or “if only I had done that.” Stand up for your choices. You studied. You tried. You persevered. I’m not telling you to be arrogant; that’s just a way of pre-tending you’re not afraid. I’m telling you to accept the fact that you can’t control what happens, but you can choose to do your best on the LSAT, and in the end, nothing matters. You’re still alive. You’re not dead yet.

I am the guy that thought the LSAT was fun. Laugh at me all you want, but too bad that you had to go through pain and suffering while I high-fived my way to the test center. I have no qualms with telling you that I went to sleep past mid-night on the night before I took the LSAT.

Mordechai Treiger is a junior in the College. You can write to him at mntreiger@gmail.

PHOTOSPOTLIGHT: UNTITLEDBY MORDECHAI TREIGER


FC

A SELF REFLECTIONIN PRAISE OF CLUMSINESS

ANNE HUANG

In my early youth, extended fam-ily members often not-so-subtly re-

minded me not to spill glasses of water. I inadvertently did anyway, although as a seasoned hard worker, I made every ef-fort not to.

The more I was urged to be careful, the more cautiously I eyed a glass, fearful of its tipping. Alas, at an instant of inat-tention, a mysterious source would nudge the tablecloth. The glass, which I had labored so painstakingly to preserve, would collapse. Family members would gasp, chide, and otherwise make an exhibition of their dismay. My parents would attribute my un-gainliness to their own negligence. “We should have taught you bet-ter,” they would say. “We did not teach you composure early enough.”

Early enough? Not so powerless as to rely only on my parents for such wis-dom, I was appalled by their immediately taking credit for my lack of dexterity. It resulted from no negligence on their part whatsoever but from my own skill. My parents had done their job; I remember their many reminders. But hearing now that clumsiness is a learned character-istic, I concluded one explanation for mine: I taught myself to be this way.

I had always been an avid self-

learner. Once, I taught myself to walk into rather than through a doorway. I also taught myself to trip and fall in the middle of a hallway with no objects ob-structing my path. Such tendencies rep-resented to me an enterprising nature to help overcome inhibitions, regardless of the scabs picked up along the way.

I am not really uncoordinated.

Though I had not purposely wished clumsiness upon myself, perhaps my par-ents’ exaggerated questioning of whether I could walk past the kitchen without dropping my spoon increased my reluc-tance to heed their advice. My parents’ frame of reference just happened not to work for me completely (one ought not to expect a single standard to apply uni-versally). No one else may find mine im-mediately intelligible, but it leads me to where I need to be.

I have embraced those seemingly

problematic instances which turn out to be slightly amusing. That is not to say that I am inflexibly incapable of change. You see, I have undergone steady but continuous improvement. Rather than miscalculating the number of steps re-maining until I reach the bottom of the stairwell by two, I now underestimate by only one before I accidentally attempt to support too much on one leg.

I apologize if I inadvertent-ly knock some greeting cards off shelves at Borders.

I under-stand that those

within my immedi-ate vicinity might be

slightly more at peace if I better master the

ability to walk through a hallway without drop-

ping notebooks. However, I appreciate the imperfections that I encounter. I just have to try harder to be careful. If I mess up the first time, I try again.

As I maneuver my slanted way here and there, I grapple with the challenges posed by prescribed, linear courses of travel. Allowing for perpetual amuse-ment leaves room for the humility to take a spill with poise.

Anne Huang is a junior in the College.You can write to her at anhuang@sas.

[email protected]

t POETRY t PHOTOGRAPHY t PROSE t t NON-FICTION t OPINION t FICTION t ART t


BREAKING THE RULESTRISHULA PATEL

Trishula Patel is a sophomore in the College. You can write to her at trishula@sas.

“It’s college,” she saidBy way of explanationFor the things that had been doneAnd saidAnd thought.Like going to bed at five in the morningOn a weeknight.Or waking up ten minutes before class beginsAnd still making it there on time.And that’s the reason whyIce cream was eaten for dinnerOn several occasions.Waking up past noonEvery day for a week.And writing a poemInstead of studying for finals (oops).It can even explainPlaying football at two a.m.On a chilly fall night (morning?)Or having things in a dorm roomThat just shouldn’t be there.And dance parties past quiet hoursCompletely sober of course.Breaking the rulesIsn’t that what college is all about?Isn’t that the reason whyIt’s okay to not always get an A?And shouldn’t that explainDoing things she never thought she would do?Like kissing a complete strangerAnd then leaving without a goodbyeOr a phone number.Or skipping a History recitation‘Cause no one was going to be there anyway.And falling in loveWith someone who isn’t exactly her ideal.Letting old friends goAnd allowing new ones in.And that completely explains whyShe actually misses her parents.Not that she’ll ever tell them that.And this is the reasonShe slowly starts to not miss her old life so muchAnd call a new place “home.”Who would have thought?But it’s college.Breaking the rulesIs what it’s all about.Right? FC


Dan Markowitz is a junior in Engineering. You can write to him at idaniel@seas and visit his website at http://www.defectivity.com.

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magazine - University of · PDF filefirst call october 5, 2009. 3. letter from. the editors. editorial. policy. f. irst. c. all is the undergraduate magazine of the. u. niversity of