Browsed by
Category: events

I.S. Monday

I.S. Monday


Today my thoughts lie across the frosty Allegheny Mountains, hundreds of miles north and west of here to a small town in Ohio where a silly parade will step off at 5 p.m. Students in costumes and face paint, at least one mannequin head on a stick and several kilt-wearers with near frostbitten knees will be led by a bagpiper and an administrator dressed as a Tootsie Roll. The pipes will drone “Scotland the Brave” and the jolly band will weave its way through the College of Wooster campus.

The celebration is all part of I.S. Monday, the day Wooster students turn in the independent studies they’re worked on for months (in some cases years) and receive in exchange a Tootsie Roll and a parade. It seems like only a few months ago that Suzanne was writing us about all the excitement when she witnessed the festivities her first year in college; now it’s her fourth and final year — and she and her fellow ’11 classmates are the stars of the show.

A parade to honor academic achievement, what’s been described as “an academic Mardi Gras” — that’s an idea that appeals to me. To say nothing of the Tootsie Roll!

Photo Credit: The College of Wooster

Against the Odds

Against the Odds


This morning a line from the newspaper caught my eye. Reporting on the crisis in Libya and the improbable victory of “a ragtag team of thousands” that repelled government forces, the Washington Post quotes Suleiman Abdel, a surgeon and now a rebel, as saying this about Libyan leader Gaddafi: “He has the force, but we have the heart.”

I let that one sink in for a moment. I copied it down in my journal. Of all the story lines in all the novels, memoirs, movies, this is the most compelling. It is the story of the underdog, the one who succeeds against all odds. And sometimes it is a sad story, a tale of one who tries but fails. But it is always inspiring.

Hooray for Hollywood

Hooray for Hollywood


Once a year (at least!) I know I will stay up late on Sunday night, starting off the work week in a sleep deficit. Once a year I will listen to giddy stars telling us who designed their Size 0 gowns. But it will be worth it every year, too, because no matter how gaudy or self-involved or long they are, the Oscars are for me the original “must-see TV.”

They remind me of the days when there were three networks and the annual airing of “The Wizard of Oz” or Mary Martin’s “Peter Pan” dominated the television calendar. Yes, we were limited, so limited that we read books and made forts in the woods because there was little to keep us inside. But perhaps for that reason the movies seemed even more magical, and tuning in to the annual celebration in their honor became a habit.

In the weeks leading up to the awards ceremony I try to see as many “Best Picture” nominees as I can, a task made more difficult by last year’s decision to increase the number tapped from five to ten. Even though I came nowhere close to seeing them all, I still feel cinema-besotted from my efforts.

Last night’s Oscars ceremony was slightly shorter than usual and not as well hosted. But our favorites won, the “In Memoriam” reminded us who we have lost, and the dresses, well, the dresses are always divine.

Settling Down

Settling Down

Yesterday morning at 5 a.m., a 3.6 magnitude earthquake shook the D.C region. I missed it, asleep for a change. But it made me think about other minor earthquakes I’ve experienced. One was in New York City. That tremblor woke me out of a deep sleep; I thought the boiler in our apartment building had exploded.

The mind seeks explanations — a passing jet, a roll of thunder — because if the earth is not solid and grounded, then what is? But such is the nature of life that even that which we think is certain sometimes turns out not to be.

Scientists interviewed about yesterday’s quake said it was nothing to worry about, that it’s just part of the “creaking and grinding” of our old planet, like the “settling of an old house,” the newspaper said. Even the ground beneath our feet needs to shift and stretch once in a while.

Devil May Care

Devil May Care


It’s the first Saturday in May, a day to drink mint juleps, sing “My Old Kentucky Home” and watch the horses run. Strong storms are predicted for Churchill Downs, which means that Devil May Care, a filly whose owner my parents met last weekend, will have to run well in the mud to win the 136th Kentucky Derby. I hope she does, because of the faint connection, because she’s a girl and because I like her name. (This is the, ahem, highly scientific method by which I usually choose a horse.)

Devil May Care makes me think about going for broke. It’s the rakish tilt of a fedora, a whiff of cigarette smoke, the swirl of bourbon in a highball glass. In a world of highly regulated outcomes, chance draws us like a magnet. Who wants to know how every race will end? Who doesn’t long for surprise? When the track is muddy, it’s more likely that you’ll see a most improbable horse, a long shot, perhaps a filly, streaking along the rail or swinging wide on the outside. The cheers will be deafening, the mud will be flying and a horse, a horse whose name we don’t yet know, will be running her heart out, racing for the finish line.