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M a y 2 0 1 2 | T r a v eForgotte

Unravele

Capturing Cedra

Rousing Rucku

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A Cause Goes Viral

Travel

Fountain on the Hill

Life with Anna Orsini

Kates Korner

RCAHIVE May 20

From Kinsale, to the Coast

What Santorum Means

Our Mission:

RCAHive strives to be an innovative student magazine that is

entertaining, intellectually provocative, and visually engaging. We are

conscious of the responsibility of writing and publishing, and we seek

to create a dynamic magazine that is worthy of its readers. RCAHive

seeks to bring RCAH to the world and br ing the world into RCAH.

May 2012

Editors in ChiefCooper Franks, Arielle LaBrecque

Layout Editor & Graphic DesignerSamantha Novak

FeaturesJohanna Forsberg, Abbie Heath

NewsToni Lee Ruggiano

The ArtsHanna Obbink, Grace Pappalardo, Ryan Tarr, Julia Kramer

RCAH LifeBecky Barron, Julia Johnson

EntertainmentIsaac Berkowitz, Ian Siporin

ColumnistsAbby Schottenfels, Abby Conklin, Anna Orsini

OpinionSean Fitzpatrick

Comic ArtistKristin Phillips

Copy EditorsNicole DiMichele, Sophia Mathias-Porter

Submissions:RCAHive wants to hear from you! We encourage submissions, writing and

photo, from all members of the RCAH community. We reserve the right to editsubmissions for length and clarity. The opinions expressed in the articles are thoseof the writers and not necessarily of RCAHive. For this reason, we do not accept

anonymous submissions.

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RCAHIVE | feature

travel. To take a step, or to

gin a journey. Its that sense

inner and outer discover y.

sort of a paradox, the more

u travel outward, the more

u nd yourself wandering

ward. Each step you take

rward seems to bounce right

ck. The way I look at it, its

give and take relationship.

ou take a risk. You dive into

unknown feeling. You put

urself out there. And you fall

o the local compassion or

ghtening unfamiliarit y. Perhaps

u fall in love, or perhaps its

young adventure, but those

emories remain, and you keep

veling inward and outward.

owever, when we think of

vel, we envision long road

ps or hopping aboard Flight

2 to a distant place. But

e question is how can we

ect that feeling of travel into

e daily motions that make

want to escape in the rst

ace?

Lately, Ive been wor king on

treating each walk, bike, or bus

ride as an adventure. Sure, Ive

seen the campus and all its

wonders, from the grafti under

the bridge to the fountains next

to the Beaumont Tower. And

of course, I attend the same

classes each day, but when I

walk around campus I try to

take different routes, and even

if I dont, I see new things each

day. Simple things that make

a signicant difference in my

travels. The way the Red Cedar

reects or embraces the sun,

the collection of faces I pass

each day, or those ducks that

really love bread. Like the

current of the Red Cedar, the

ow of trafc is consistently

changing, and so are the ight

patterns of the mallards.

Instead of staring down at

my feet, iPod, or texting

uncontrollably, I throw music

into my ears and let my

mind and eyes wander. If

you appreciate those little

discoveries that would have

amazed you as a kid, youll begin

to travel every day. If its raining

down typical Michigan so-called

weather, focus on something

you normally wouldnt. The

raindrops orchestrate magic

into the environment around

you, composing as they hit

waxy leaves, car windshields,

or your warm skin. Sometimes,

if its the right amount of

raindrops mixed with wind, you

could close your eyes, try real

hard, and travel to La Garganta

del Diablo at Igaz Falls, or

nd yourself atop the Cliffs of

Moher in Ireland.

You can apply this to any aspect

of life. Its the power weve had

since we were children but

have forgotten: imagination. It

just takes practice, and with it,

you can tr avel limitlessly.

A Key

ooper Franks

feature

There is a church that rests on

the crest of Romes highest hill

called San Pietro in Montorio.

Folded into the side of the

Gianicolo, the only way to reach

it is from climbing an eroding

staircase from via Mameli, the

street that winds below it. Here,

supposedly, is the spot where St.

Peterthe Catholic Churchs

rst popewas crucied.

Architect Donato Bramantes

tempietto, Italian for little

temple, hallows the alleged

ground with a high renaissance

dome that leans on softly

rounded pillars. The tempietto,

hidden inside the arms of the

cloister, has a winding staircase

that leads to the small square

where the cross was mounted.

The day I nd San Pietro

in Montorio, I am sweating.

Romes heat is setting the city

ablaze, and even the fat, white

marble railing is hot to the

touch. On this day, Rome is sick

and swollen with the ominous

and inated air. The domes

rise like distended body parts.

I look down at my feet. They

are red and bloated and pulsing

in my shoes. Like two remote

heartbeats, my feet control

my whole bodymy heels

ache, and each step shoots

stalks of pain up my legs. After

climbing the steps from via

Mameli, I sit on the platform of

the church to give my body a

break. Walking the seven hills

in one day has nally caught

up to me. I take my rapidly

draining pack of cigarettes out

of my purse and light one. The

nicotine relaxes my muscles

momentarily. I feel my feet are

swelling by the minute. My

hands seem to be inating too,

due to the mixture of heat and

pain. My temperature is rising

and my pores are opening,

sucking in the suffocating smog.

I ick my cigarette, no longer

desirable, off the edge of the

railing. With no one else around,

I kick off my ats, damp with

sweat and grime, and ease up

the stairs to the cloister with

my shoes and bag in hand.

In the shadow of the por tico, I

stand on the cool and eroded

marble. From up here, the

sound of the city is muted. Up

here, I am no longer in Rome.

The air has softened. On the

opposite side of the closed in

square a wall fountain dribbles

out water. I go to rinse my feet,

the water dampening every

ame in my feet and my legs. I

let the water run over them for

ve minutes. Ten minutes. The

Roman sun stretches across

to reach the windows of the

cloister. A shutter bangs with

the sudden breeze that arrives

with the sunset.

I leave my bag and s

the fountain and des

staircase to the bott

tempietto. My feet le

puddles, speckled wi

and gravel, on the st

bottom of the tempi

and dark. In the cent

small room there is a

in the ground where

crucix stood. If he r

exist, this was where

faded away. On the t

highest hill in Rome.

to the ceiling of the

Dull golden stars do

blue sky, each star ge

yet unique. A puddle

beneath me, the last

water traveling slow

curves of my calves.

in my legs has ceased

Walking, I think, is m

Arielle L

to Travel

Foun

on

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______________

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RCAHIVE | feature

hanna Forsberg

shiver ran down my spine

the night air began to unveil

elf. Tired, and suffering from

nor dehydration and a diesel

me headache, I began to layer

the same long underwear,

weatshirt, eece, windbreaker,

t and gloves that I had been

earing for the past 12 days.

e drove across the desolate

rican terrain for about an

ur. I slunk down into my

at, trying to rest my head

d escape the slight sting of

ndburn on my checks. The

way of the jeep lulled me into

tate of relaxation and I began

daydream about what I was

missing at home. I was shortly

interrupted by a unique African

voice, Were going to take a

chance and go off the road. An

indistinct mumble of agreement

echoed throughout the jeep.

We pulled into a small clearing

as my mom whispered to

me. Johanna, Johanna, look!

she said as she pointed tothe other side of our vehicle.

Two axen female lions were

lounging next to one another

less than 20 feet from us.

They acknowledged the jeeps

looming presence as their ears

perked forward.

Their golden eyes, hidden

under heavy lids, rolled in our

direction.

We watched them for several

minutes, reveling in their sinewy

bodies and slinking movements

while they surveyed the area.

Out of nowhere, we heardcommotion in grasses next to

us. A herd of frail impala rushed

out of the bushes. Our driver

pulled us around the dense

shrubbery and within seconds

we saw what had startled them.

Hunched in the tall grass was

a third lion, slightly larger then

the other two, smothering a

small impala with her powerful

body. Her massive jaw clenched

around its slender neck, in an

attempt to asphyxiate her prey.

The others quickly joined her.

Together, they began r ipping

into the impalas abdomen,

white teeth ashing as they

began to gorge themselves. In

no time, intestines and organswere exposed and quickly

devoured.

The only noises were the

tearing esh and popping

of bones mixed with the

shuttering of all our cameras.

Every few minutes, the impala

would thrash and raise its head

and cry out in a feeble attempt

to escape. The lions ignored the

wails as they continued to tear

its body to shreds with their

bloody jowls. No one spoke.

We were all in shock because

of what we were witnessing.Every once and a while, their

large yellow eyes would glare us

at us, questioning our presence,

wondering if we were waiting

for the leftovers. Their eyes

sent shivers down my spine. I

could feel goose bumps forming

on my forearms. Suddenly, a

disgusting smell hit me. My

eyes began to water as I pulled

my eece up over my nose

in a useless attempt to avoid

the stench. They have ripped

open the bowels, our guide

whispered with a slight grin.

If death had a smell, this wasit. For several minutes they

continued to devour the impala,

tussling over which one would

get the heartiest parts. Limb

by limb, the impala began to

disappear right before our eyes.

As soon as it began, it was over.

Within 13 minutes, the impala

was gone. All that was left of

it were bones, tufts of silken

fur, and a bright, crimson stain

smeared over the matted

grasses.

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RCAHIVE | feature

A Cause Goes ViralYouth Movement of 2012

There are two sides to every

story. The aftermath of Invisible

Childrens Kony 2012 lm has

resulted in 80 million sides, and

counting.

The lm, which premiered on

YouTube on March 5, had an

overwhelming impact on all

social media platfor ms. Twitter,

Facebook, even the iPhone app

Instagram, made it impossible tomiss the image of Joseph Kony,

a Ugandan warlord who is the

target of the lm.

Supporters of the campaign,

celebrities among them, blew

up Twitter with the hashtag

#stopkony, urging others to

view the video.

Invisible Children made clear

their message, that in order for

Joseph Kony to be stopped, he

must be made famous.

What IC does well is cater

to the young. From their

starting documentary in 2004,

Invisible Children: The Rough

Cut, their videos have grown

increasingly stimulating with

easy to understand messages

and graphic images that speak

towards sympathy.

For years now, IC has been

sending college students and

young adults called Roadies

across the nation to spread theIC message. Support has always

stemmed from the young,

constituting Kony 2012 as a

huge youth movement.

They have been able to capture

the youth in such a powerful

way because watching a video

makes you feel like you are

part of something greater

than yourself, that you can

actually make a difference. And

being that the founders of the

organization and the Roadies

are young, everyone is on the

same level, and everyones

contribution matters.

I have been a supporter of IC

for years and did not expect

the negative feedback that the

lm was receiving. IC embraces

the critiques, using them as a

way to educate people fur ther.

Their website now has a

Critiques page with an answer

to almost all the claims in the

media they feel are misleading.

There have been countless

debates over not just thecredibility of the organization,

but also the multitude of

different concerns in Africa and

around the globe that have

emerged.

I had to take a step back, (more

like ten) to even attempt

wrapping my head around

the media speculation. It can

be so easy to get lost in the

information and not know what

to believe.

Many have become skeptical

of where ICs nances are

going. Others think that

they simplied an ex

complex issue, as w

as support the Ugan

government who ha

known to cause as m

trouble as the LRA.

Those who have stu

issue of the LRA in

appreciate ICs goal,

think Kony is who n

targeted, being that since left Uganda. R

even come out that

of Uganda are outra

lm.

The issue is not blac

white; there are ma

consider when discu

Kony 2012 campaig

all may agree with IC

they have denitely

interesting conversa

ear so-and-so,

ouldnt even handle the

e home without falling

o my never-ending Eternal

istential Crisis. Half the car

as sleeping as I drove the

ent Monster, dipping in and

t beneath the cliffs. I miss

u. All I could think about was

e time when we both blew

f work to get stoned in the

rk. (Remember, in August?)

We claimed we were sick and

me of the good members

the Minimum Wage Toilers

America covered for us. We

ade homemade bread and

ought blackberries, like some

rt of domestic aphorized

ar people, foregoing the term

icnic after learning of its

nical, disgusting roots. (Lets

st have a bite in the park! you

sisted, as we single-handedly

ed to erase the hate left in

r mouths by a sour word).

We recklessly traipsed about,

rgetting for ten minutes that

e are Too Old For This Shit.

at day always makes me feel

arm and light.

ope your adventure is

erything you want it to be.

ure On The Road, like a true

at, and while your adventures

ll before you, I muse on

hichever part of my Eternal

istential Crisis seems to be

reaming the loudest (each

ord anxious and heavy in my

3).

m yours, HOLDIN DOWN

A FORT,

ter-friend.

Dear so-and-so,

I dont know how to say

good-bye to things. Ive always

been this way, and I dont see

myself growing out of it any

time soon. Since my single-digit

days, I have been tormented

by the possibility of a nal

good-bye. From my biased

perspective, I consider myself

to be a exible person. I take

things as they come, and am

usually fairly inventive when it

comes to solving problems

(a question that seems to be

everywhere currently, thanks to

job interviews). Despite all that,

I cant say good-bye. I become

obsessed with remembering

every detail, and sorting out

the just-right sentence that will

dene the moment for me. In

other words, I end up writing

moments, not simply living

them. And I hate that about

myself. I become obsessed with

objects. Not in a materialistic

way, but in a latent energy sort

of way. When I know a person

Im missing was the last person

to touch that picture frame,

I can no longer move it. I will

walk up, and stare it in the eye,

only to be entirely envious of it,

because it knows the embrace

of someone I miss terribly. In my

bat cave at home-home there

are skeletons in every corner.

Books that remain unread and

on the wrong shelf because

so-and-so put it there after the

sock hop. Board games thatremain on the oor gathering

dust because whats-her-face

made a joke about the title.

Records piled high on top of

my receiver because I listened

to greatjamz with greatmenz.

I promise I am no hoarder,

but its admittedly unhealthy.

And Im sorry to say I havent

changed much.

I need to get out of this room.

Dear so-and-so,

Today I cut out pictures from

old magazines (LIFE/TIME),

splaying all the images on my

wine-red walls. I just let the past

wash over me and baptize me

clean.

I know it is indulgent. I need to

stop being so nostalgic. But it

made me feel so light and fancy

free.

Hows that weather?

Dear so-and-so,

Today I was sitting in Brandons

closet and every part of me

collapsed. (I spend too much

time there, smashed between

his books. My weekends have

long since become a trek to

his apartment, but, despite

appearances, I know my reasons

are true, and I feel no guilt.) But

today he had to leave for class

in the early hours, the barely

awake hours, and I sat on his

bed, waiting for Lizzy to pick

me up and make the depressing

drive home. After morning

cuddles and giggles, I took a

sad shower, and sat on his bed,

utterly alone. Usually there

are some random folk littered

throughout his apartment, so

even when Im alone, thereslife somewhere. And even if I

dont talk to them, I can feel

their movements and their

idiosyncrasies through the walls,

which never ceases to give me

comfort. But after I stumbled

out of the cold shower into the

cold apartment, everything was

empty. Everything was empty

and still, except for the painful

water dripping off of my wet

1920s-French-peasant girl-

haircut. Thats when I collapsed.

I go away for ten minutes to

come out to post-Apocalyptic-

winter stillness. Fucking ouch.

Dear so-and-so,

Today I went to the generic-

midwestern-grocery-store

(food-delightzz), and as I quietly

waited in line, the woman

ahead of me turned around

and, without reserve, pleasantly

asked me, How long has it

been since your parents home

has felt like your own? I stood

there, shocked and quiet, my

radical eyeliner suddenly out

of place in the face of a True

Radical. I hid behind my bangs

sheepishly, like a four-year-old

hiding behind their mothers

skirts. I dont even know

what I said. I think I muttered

something incoherent as she

moved onto the equally telling

subject of Did you catch Idol

last night? I think my answer

still disappointed her, as she

briskly turned away, I was now

simply the boring kid holding

tofu.

Dear so-and-so,

I have a shark tooth on my left

pinky nger, quiet and modest,

always pointing me towards thepast. Always pointing towards

days of playplayplay and

laughlaughlaugh.

Youre right.

I took it off.

bbie Heath

Too Sick for Salvation (But That Word is Just a Joke) news

Toni Lee Ruggiano

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Kristin PhillipsRCAHIVE |the arts

nraveledanna Obbink

grandmother never had much taste

colors, food, cleaning, or music

t each summer she traced her grandchildrens hands

h winter they received fresh, scratchy, woolen mittens.

d in between she used left over yarn

make afghans.

w on Saturday nights

en the family used to gather round the pianod sing hymns,

mother and I curl up under ugly leftover yarn

e, brown, pink, off white,

d though we wont go to church in the morning

agine this blanket keeping us all tied together

my family, the church, our thoughts.

grandmother has a disease

t makes her mind unravel.

rve bers get caught on

generating myelin

g into long, threads

pulled out.

t.

andma tells me,

he ladies at the nursing home are going to remind me

w to knit, so I can nish the afghan

resent for your wedding.

t I know she cannot feel wool between her ngers

nnot count past 7

not live to see my wedding

never again purl.

Saturday nights, my ngers ache as I wind

n around needles, work loops back and forth

t crosses into blankets I leave lying

the edge of my gr andmothers bed.

th each row I tie the knots tightly.

the arts

Phoebe Richardson

Travel

Hope that the Road is a Lon

My descending cloud

engulfed you.

Wicked air

embrittled you.

Within me you creaked

and shuddered.

Horizons charred by falling s

Preserved in the depths,

grown in the void.

I am that hostile shadow,

that lifting glow:

burying, resurrecting;

crushing, freeing.

Gnats seeking enlightening to

Your shell will crumble:

your mind will gleam

your heart will escape.

Cattle feeing impending fam

You will y,

Or you will weep,

Or you will crawl,

Or you will embrace me.We will always meet.

Ryan Tarr

MansfieldGrace Pappalardo

Grace Pappalardo is the recipient

of the 2012 Annie Balocating

Prize for Poetry.

The air is windless

clouds hang like gray weeds

over backhoes

paused rearing like skeletal beasts

A woman screams into her phonepacing

the warped wheelchair ramp

of a bar in post-industrial

hell

She is yelling

at the man on the other end

of the line

asking where he is and why

he didnt come home last night

She is waving a cigarette

in her free hand

tracing the air with eeting words

She tells him she isnt smoking

Hulking buildings around the bar listen

their fractured windows ears to the lonely city

They are wreathed

with asbestos

warnings grafti rust

The woman screams again

stuffs the phone into her acid wash jeans

and disappears inside

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RCAHIVE |the arts

I am obsessed with

documentation, especially

through photography. I have a

terrible memory and a great

fear that I wont remember

occasions that are important

to me without a visual record

of them. Thus, I was constantly

writing in my diary and

snapping photos during the

two months I studied abroad

in Costa Rica this past summer,

capturing every detail I could in

order to calm my anxiety about

forgetting. Now I can look back

at the nearly two thousandphotos I took and I can

rediscover the beautiful places

and people I experienced

throughout the trip.

The study abroad program

was Ethics in Tourism and

Sustainable Development with

Professor Vince Delgado. The

rst month of the trip was

spent in Santa Ana, studying

Spanish and taking RCAH 295

and 292B. After, two other

students and I traveled to

Cedral for the second month

of engagement and reection.

Cedral is a farming town high

up in the mountains that is

currently trying to expand

and diversify its economy by

setting up rural and educational

tourism, using the farms and

forests as assets to attract

foreigners. We lived with host

families, worked on their farms,

explored the winding roads

around the countryside, and

investigated their tourism ideas

for our nal projects.

I spent a lot of time

photographing the people

we met and the beautifulenvironment in which they lived.

The sprawling farms, murky

cloud forests, and vibrant green

hills provided a rich canvas onto

which I painted my memories

of Cedral, and the photos from

this trip are expressions of my

experience there. When I was

feeling homesick or anxious,

I went on a walk through the

center of town, up the back

hill toward the outlying farms

of helechos and chayote, or

down the main gravel road, and

the camera became my tool

to make sense of the foreign

landscape. Simply the process

of using a device that Im so

familiar with was calming, and

the ability to capture the beauty

around me felt empowering.

One of my favorite things to

photograph was the living

creatures that so heavily

populated the area. I made

sure to document the gigantic

spider that hung out on the

wall above my bed. I recorded

the horses that we rode down

to my host familys farm. I got

right up into the faces of the

colorful cows that dottedthe hills. One of my favorite

photos from the trip is of an

ant underneath a water apple

tree, carrying one of the vibrant

pink petals gracefully balanced

over its back. Capturing the

details of my surroundings was

very important, because that

is the way I see the world in

the present a series of little

snapshots that t together into

a full moment that I can hold in

my brain as a memory.

CapturingCedralJulia Kramer

It was also very important

for me to record the people

of Cedral, because their

physical presence was just as

important as talking in the

process of getting to know

them I wanted to capture

their reactions, the way theystood, their eyes and hands,

and how they communicated

non-verbally when I couldnt

understand their words. One

of my most cherished photos

is of Mamacita, a 10 0-year-

old woman who was a

baby in one of the founding

families of Cedral. She was a

very important elder in the

community, and she passed

away shortly after we returned

to the United States. Another

signicant photo is of my

host mom, Clara. I love hersilhouette against the open

doorway of her home because

it speaks volumes about her

character. She is a brick of a

woman, broad-shouldered and

heavily muscled, and somehow

paradoxically she always wears

patterned skirts of owers or

plaid. Clara rmly belongs in the

landscape of Cedral, and the

few photos I have of her clearly

illustrate her place in Costa

Rica.

There is a delicate balancebetween capturing memories

and over-documentation. As my

mother says, some moments

you need to remember

with your hear t. I feel that

photography was a tool of

connection in Cedral, rather

than one that distanc

from my surrounding

allowed me to explo

landscape, describe t

with whom I interact

most impor tantly, re

the details of that sp

and time.

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RCAHIVE | entertainment

RousingRuckusIan Siporin

When it comes to traveling, I

like to believe that I have been

to a good number of notable

cities around the United

States: New York, Chicago, San

Francisco, and so on. However,

I had never been out of the

country until last summer when

I took an expedition to the

most beautiful place I have ever

been, and quite possibly will

ever be: Kinsale, Ireland.

Over the last year I had been

playing guitar in a folk and

bluegrass group called Boxelder.

We played small bars or venues

around the Grand Rapids area,but mostly played just for fun.

Two members, Ryan and Scott,

were freshmen in college at

this time, while Maddy, Kyle, and

I were seniors in high school.

The end of our senior year

was coming to an end, and

Ryan and Scott had already

returned from college. After

playing late one night until

about 2:30 in the morning, we

decided to take a break. We

began discussing our lives and

futures, where we want to be

in 20 years, and where we think

we will actually be. During this

discussion, naturally the topic of

traveling the world was brought

up. Kyle, being very proud

of his Irish heritage, made it

clear to everyone that before

he dies, no matter what, he

will travel to Ireland. Ironically

enough, it happens that Ryans

grandparents own a place up

in Kinsale, Ireland. Everyone

instantly jumped on the idea

of taking a group trip out to

Kinsale, one last hurrah before

everyone nally went his or

her separate ways in just a few

short months. What started as

a compulsive drunken scheme,

shortly evolved into a tangible

plan to visit Ireland for 10 days.

The plan was set in motion

and we set off for Ireland

within about a month of that

night. Unfortunately, Scott

was unable to join, but the

rest of us were as excited as

could be. Ryan had been there

many times before visiting his

grandfather, but the stories he

told and descriptions he gave

held nothing in comparison

to the actual sight. The town

is reminiscent of old tales

you hear as child, or Disney

movies about Ireland, with small

cobblestone roads barely big

enough to drive through, tall

colorful homes and little shops,

and everyone you happen

upon is kind enough to smile

and say hello. His grandfather,

Paddy, lived on the ver y top

of St. Johns hill overlooking

the entire small town, which

not only looked out over the

ocean, but a small bay as well.

After settling in and walking the

streets for a while, we gured

it was about time to stop by

some trusty Irish pubs and have

our ll. Towards the end of the

night, we happened upon a tiny

old pub called The Spaniard. We

had been stumbling by when

we heard music and decided to

check it out. We grabbed a seatat the bar and began listening.

When the bartender came

over we inquired about the bar

and the music scene. We have

music basically every day, he

said. Just so happens we dont

have any tomorrow, though. It

might have been the Jameson

talking, but immediately I

jumped on the opportunity and

informed the bartender that we

were an American folk group

and would love to be able to

play if that was acceptable. He

happily agreed and told to us

to stop on by around eight

the next night and just set up

wherever we wanted.

We showed up the n

about as excited as co

We set up in a back c

near the bar and bega

It was a very casual sc

made it even more en

and allowed us to eng

even more with those

were watching. As the

progressed, more and

people would move t

over towards us, chee

along, and even buy u

We ended up playing

8 p.m. to about 1 a.m.

think I have ever had

rewarding experience

playing music. It was thtime I was able to rea

fully with people listen

experience the joy wit

The rest of the week w

with wonderful sightse

and drink, and of cour

music. We played the s

Dublin and made 60 E

still, nothing was as rew

as that second night at

Spaniard.

From Kinsale, to the Coast > > > > > > > >Isaac Berkowitz

ntertainment

he cold biting air could not

op me from packing up my

amera and heading towards

West Circle to see the band

rontier Ruckus. With no prior

nowledge and a wealth of

ecommendations (You would

eally like them!) I was pumped

o see what Frontier Ruckus

ad to offer. As the opening

and, East Harvest, and my

urrounding friends set a great

mood for the night, I was too

eady for the main attraction.

he band led onto the stage,nd what came next I will never

orget. The trumpet blared as

he band opened the show

with the brilliant Silvershes,

ff of their latest album

eadmalls & Nightfalls.

or those not familiar with the

and, they possess a heavy folk

ound that accompanies the

eautiful lyricism of lead singer/

ongwriter Matthew Milia who

arted the band with banjo

ayer David Winston Jones.

his show was made all the

more special due to the fact

hat the band is comprised of

ormer Michigan State students,

who seemed to have a strong

onnection to the students and

ampus.

As for the talent of this band,

I would rank them amongst

some of the best acts Ive ever

seen live. The strong vocals of

Milia were a fantastic pairing

with the absolutely incredible

banjo playing of Jones. The

standout musician of the group,

however, was a man who

sat most of the show. Multi-

instrumentalist Zachary Nichols

spent the entire show switching

between a synth, trumpet,

melodica, French horn, and

even the saw!

Thats right, this was the rst

time Ive seen someone play

the saw and didnt want to boo

him or her offstage. This man

is so talented that he was able

to play two different melodies

at the same time on two

separate instruments. The rest

of the band sounded awless

throughout the entire show and

made me realize the beauty of

folk once again.

The highlight of the night came

during the end of the bands

set. Milia got on the mic and

asked the audience to sit as

the band hopped off of the

stage and played the remaining

songs acoustically in the middle

of the crowd. Gilchrest Halls

charming ballroom-like area

was transformed into a very

intimate setting between the

audience and the band. The

band cranked out the last songs

with all of the energy they

had left (making this particular

boy very happy that he set up

his camera on the ol tripod).

Swaying and some singing along,

the crowd seemed to be truly

touched in these nal moments.

After the show, the band stuck

around to talk to fans, takepictures, and sell merchandise.

They were not only talented,

but very approachable and

considerate to their fans. If

youve never seen or heard

of Frontier Ruckus before, I

would strongly recommend

them to anyone who has ever

considered listening to folk

music. Trust me, you will not be

disappointed.

7/28/2019 RCAHive May 2012

9/13

RCAHIVE |rcah life

RCAHppella. Some may see

them as a singing group. Others

may know them as the people

that are a little too obsessed

with cats (but let's be honest,

can you ever be TOO obsessed

with cats?). The truth is though,

RCAHppella is very young

compared to the other a

cappella groups on campus, and

has spent the past ve yearsrising out of the shadows, and

shining onto the MSU a cappella

scene. In 2008, the rst year the

Residential College of Arts and

Humanities existed, the idea of

an a cappella group just for the

college, comprised of RCAH

students, started oating in the

air, and voila! RCAHppella was

born.

The group consisted of about

16 members that rst year. For

the groups rst ever concert,

they performed six songs, mostly

arranged or brought in by

their director at the time, Tom

FitzStephens, a graduate of MSU.

RCAHppella follows a traditional

a cappella setup, with Soprano,

Alto, Tenor and Bass sections.

Over the past ve years, thegroup has been performing

songs from all different genres of

music, always keeping their song

choices a sur prise. This year, all of

their songs have been arranged

by members within the group,

which if you know anything

about arranging music, is very

time consuming and can be quite

difcult. The extra effor t put

in by these talented arrangers

really shows in their pieces, with

originality in the songs, extra

vocal and body percussion, and

some mash-ups thrown in along

the way. RCAHppella has come

a long way since the group rst

formed in 2008.

This year the group has

performed a plethora of gigs

and placed rst at the Sing-

Off at Albion College this

past November. The group's

repertoire is now about 14

to 16 songs each semester,

and just keeps getting more

and more impressive. Noelle

Sciarini, a senior who has been

a part of RCAHppella since itsconception, said, It's so exciting

to see that more and more

people are asking us for gigs and

that we're arranging our own

music. When talking about her

experience with the group, Erika

Vivyan, a senior, said, I've been

in RCAHppella since my rst

year, and it's been so much fun

making great music with great

people. I love that we get to go

and sing in the community, but

our concerts never fail to be a

highlight of the semester.

Entertainment Within the RCAH:RCAHPPELLA

Becky Barron

In the last ve years I have not beenout of the United States or even outof Michigan very much, but I feel like aworld traveler. You have shared yourstories with me and thus taken me toNew Zealand and Mali to Costa Ricaand Spain. I have been to Italy and WestVirginia and to Thanksgivings with yourfamilies where you so skillfully answeredthe What are you going to do with thatmajor? question.

I have been to protests, to Bard Owlconcerts, to RCAH Council 40 percentwork 60 percent fun meetings. I havebeen to Noodles nights, to RCAHppellaconcerts, to ROIAL shows, and 111 and112 open houses.

I have listened to your worries, yourdreams and marveled each day at howlucky we are that our future is in suchable, creative and compassionate hands.Working with students like you is everystudent affairs professionals dream. Youare interested and interesting. You arefunny and clever. You are creative andquick. You are driven and caring. Youhave made my work fun and rewardingevery day.

I have enjoyed getting to know you morethan you will ever know, and I thank youfor sharing parts of your lives with me. Iwill always cherish these years, and I lookforward to when we will meet again.I leave you with some last words ofadvice for your futures:

Wake up happy and rlife will deliver each day, dont wake up happy macoffee, a good book, or acheer you up.

Find a job that makeshappy as mine has made

Find the silver lining you are in control of so you realize, and if you nthe worst situations, youway out of them in good

Dance it doesnt mare or who youre with, that makes everything bmoving to really good m

Be kind.

I really do not believe in and prefer to say see yohope is that your travelsenough so that you growkeep you close enough twhen you can. The RCAplan to visit frequently.

This past February, the rst

RCAH Formal took place. Held

in our very own Snyder- Phillips

Theater, this Masquerade-

themed dance allowed students

to express themselves freely

as they donned masks and

costumes. The RCAH Formal

was completely student-run,

and coordinators handled

the task of lighting, music, and

decorations. Upon arrival, both

students and faculty were able

to enjoy complimentary punch

and appetizers while theylaughed and mingled with other

guests. Meanwhile, down in the

theater, teachers and students

danced to music from all ages

such as Michael Jackson, The

Village People, and Lady Gaga

While the event was a success,

it was more than just a dance.

Raising over $400 in ticket and

mask sales, the RCAH Formal

made enough money to donate

to the nonprot organization

Heifer International. This

association assists families

around the world by donating

gifts of livestock as well as

training families to help improve

their nutrition and generate

income in sustainable ways.The RCAH Formal committee

decided to purchase a llama in

the Residential Colleges name.

This llama will be sent to a

family in need of wool and m ilk.

A big thank you to everyone in

the RCAH that made this event

possible!

Kate's Ko

rcah life RCAH FormalJulia Johnson

The RCAH Formal was magical!

I wore a mask, danced like a crazy

person, and saw Steve Esquith own

the dance oor. The whole event

was well-styled and beautifully put

together Emily Morgan

7/28/2019 RCAHive May 2012

10/13

RCAHIVE |column

column

was one of the students

rtunate enough to go to

host Ranch over spring break

th Guillermo Delgado, and it

as an incredible experience.

he trip was a cleanse of sorts,

inging me more peace than

ave known in a long while.

he trips positive tone was set

rly on in the 28-hour train

de to New Mexico, where

wo fellow travelers equally

ruck all of us.

We took Amtraks Blue Water

e from East Lansing tohicago on the rst Saturday

spring break, where we

ould connect with our fearless

aperone. From there, we

ould ride the Southwest

hief, which swings out to

wa, down to Kansas, through

olorado and New Mexico,

d eventually arrives in

outhern California. It was on

at rst train, though, the Blue

Water, that we rst saw the

uaker couple.

onestly assumed the young

an and woman were Amish

rst, because my train of

ought (pun unintended) when

confronted with members of

these cloistered communities

was:

skirt wide-brimmed hat

dusty leather boots

suspenders Amish !

I stared as covertly as possible

at the bonnet, big hat, and old-

world clothes that the young

couple was wearing. My RCAH

education was also inevitably

wondering about the gender

roles at play: if the man was

domineering; if the womanwas expected to answer his

beck and call; and so on and so

for th. Hap pily, however, they

appeared to be completely in

love with each other, and the

man didnt seem to be any

brand of manipulative. Indeed,

halfway through the trip, (by

which point, my classmates

were observing too), the

woman, who had been forced

to sit separately, got up and sat

on her husbands lap across

the aisle to eat a banana. The

juxtaposition of foreign fruit and

the pairs otherworldly culture

was lovely enough, but the

young man had also wrapped

his arms around his wifes

waist and rested his forehead

between her shoulders; the

whole scene was just a joy. And

when the conductor came by

a few minutes later, it got even

better. Why are you sitting

over here on him? he asked

the wife, not at all unkindly, and

she replied, I missed him.

Well! the conductor

exclaimed, and then proceeded

to move the couples respective

seatmates around so that they

could sit together. And fromthat point onwardto Chicago,

in the Chicago station, boarding

the Southwest Chief, wherever

they sat on that new train

we only saw them together

(my classmate had eventually

informed me they were

Quaker). It was incredibly hard

not to just sit down and watch

them, to revel in their happiness

in each others company.

Later in the week, when we

were out to dinner in a small

town an hour outside of Santa

Fe, one of us happened to

mention the young pair, and

Guillermo lit up instantlyit

turned out that we had all been

aware of them.

Oh, I loved the Quakers! he

said. I wrote a haiku about

them on the train! And

that got us all talking, about

the banana, the change of

seats on the Blue Water, the

inseparableness, and their quietlittle world with each other.

We had all met other travelers

in the course of that trip

down, but each of our group

members had somehow taken

notice of this man and woman,

and fallen a little bit in love with

them. We didnt know where

they had gone, where they

were from; we hadnt worked

up a nerve to ask. But that, I

think, is the beauty of traveling.

There is an inherent romance

in going somewhere new, in

witnessing new places and

people; its intoxicating to be a

stranger with strangers.

Predelection for L ve When TravelingAbby Conklin

I am a Jewish college student. I

have spent a lot of time in my

past trying to pretend that I

didnt identify with Judaism, that

only my parents were Jewish,

not me, and that my 18 years

of forced religious education

actually meant nothing. The

summer after my freshman

year of college, I went on a

study abroad to Israel. I didnt

want to go to there. There

were so many places I would

rather go. I was sick and tired

of hearing people gush about

what a life changing time

they had in the holy land and

how it really was the most

amazing place on the planet.

I didnt buy it. But the Jewish

Federation Of Metropolitan

Detroit was offering this almost

fully sponsored study abroad

program to Israel. The only

thing we had to pay for was

the course credits. I couldnt

turn down the opportunity,

even though I was thoroughly

embarrassed that my father

found out about it in the Jewish

News. My non-Jewish friends

thought it was really cool thatI was traveling to Israel for

six weeks; my Jewish friends

thought it was no big deal. I felt

impartial to the idea at best.

Im not writing this column to

be another one of those Jewish

college students who talk about

Israel and how amazing it is.

But, I will say that when I went

to Israel I was impressed. The

Western Wall or the Dead Sea

did not impress me. I was most

impressed by my home stay.

I stayed for a Shabbat with a

host family who were originally

from Morocco and lived in one

of the lower class areas in the

north of Israel. To say that there

was a language barrier would

have been an understatement.

We did not understand each

other at all. Their Hebrew was

bad; my Hebrew was non-

existent at the t ime. Through

body language and gesturing we

were able to get by. When the

time came to say the Shabbat

prayers, however, our voices

came together and we were

connected. It was empowering

to hear these people reciting

the same prayer my mom

would before we ate our

brisket and got on with our

Friday nights. It was here that

my actual religious identitystarted to connect with me. I

thought I had virtually nothing

in common with these people,

but here I was, on the other

side of the world, connecting

with them over prayer. Here I

was, on the other side of the

world, connecting with people

with whom I had virtually

nothing in comm on. We were

smiling and laughing throughout

the meal, and by the end we

exchanged hugs and kisses like

old friends upon departure.

It was in that moment that I

nally came to terms with the

fact that I AM JEWISH. I am

connected to people around

the world through a shared

history, identity, and culture, and

that is all we need.

With this realization came a

lot of baggage. This came as a

very complicated thing for me

because along with identifying

as Jewish, I also identify as very

progressive, liberal, and as an

activist. I have many anti-Israel

friends, whom I agree with

on virtually every other issue.

Often times, when the issue

comes up, I dodge it entirely. I

dont wear my Israel Defense

Force sweatshirt and I try not

to talk about my Hebrew class.

I would never accuse thesefriends of being anti-Semitic,

but I do wish that more people

would understand that being

pro-Israel does not necessarily

make you anti-Palestine. I

recognize the MAN

doings on the Israe

sympathize with op

Palestinians immen

recognize that had

born into a Jewish

with the experienc

Israel, I too would

the Israeli army and

the injustices they

upon innocent civi

am Jewish, and I do

ties to the Israeli p

Jewish culture. I, like

peers facing in a sim

am both pro-Palest

Israel. I saw rsthan

could work. Where

in the Jezreel valley

many co-communit

lived harmoniously,

to me just how pe

know that the Midd

could someday be.

progressive, and Jew

student, I am coni

of the time, and tha

change. But, the on

be entirely sure of

for peace, human r

dignity for everyon

importantly, I am p

Abby Tells It Like

Abby Schottenfels

7/28/2019 RCAHive May 2012

11/13

RCAHIVE |column

LIFE WITH ANNA ORSINI

his fall, I was accepted into

each for America to teach

condary English in the

ssissippi Delta region, a

ral area covering much of

Western Mississippi and Eastern

rkansas. I had a lot of ideas

out the Mississippi Delta

efore I visited over Spring

eak and Im not entirely sure

here they came from. I didnt

ow just how rural it would

e in rural Mississippi and

rkansas, so my mind simply

ed in the blanks. Id heardere would be running water,

ved roads and Wal-Marts in

least the more major towns,

t I was left wondering what

e people would be like, what

e cultural norms and values

ould be, and if I would be

elcome or not. On March 3rd,

y boyfriend Rico and I packed

p the car and left East Lansing

nd out. Spring Break 2012,

ssissippi Delta style.

We spent our rst night of

the trip in Nashville, and as we

were walking down the busy

streets past crowded bars

and restaurants, I found myself

questioning whether I had

made the right choice when I

marked Mississippi Delta as

my top choice region on my

TfA application. At the time, I

had thought I would be able to

be the most effective teacher

I could be in a rural region

where I could connect with my

students more and becomea part of the community in

which I was going to teach. But

being in such a fun, vibrant city

made me wonder if I hadnt

sold myself short on a great

life experience, instead barring

myself to two years of misery

and isolation.

Nervous as I was, the trip

went on. We got into Oxford,

MS the next day and I was

surprised by how much it

reminded me of East Lansing.

Both were college towns with

a big student population and

a fun downtown. Oxfords

downtown streets were lined

with cute boutiques, coffee

shops, and restaurants, and

I was suddenly relieved to

realize that I wasnt leaving

civilization for cotton elds.

The only disappointing thing

about Oxford was that, since

we visited on a Sunday, almost

nothing was open. Lafayette

County prohibits the sale of

alcohol on Sundays, and so of

course the only restaurant/bar

open that day wasnt serving

drinks; not a huge problem, but

watching Michigan States lossto Ohio State for the Big 10

Championship was just a little

more painful with a Diet Pepsi

instead of a beer.

I had my rst school visit the

next day in Holly Springs,

about half an hour north of

Oxford, where I was able to

see rst and second year corps

members teaching various

subjects in the middle and

high school. I was inspired

seeing the different ways these

teachers connected with

their students. Carmen Lee, a

manager of teacher leadership

and development (or MTLD),

showed me around the schools

and the town, and explained

just how much the history of

desegregation still affects these

schools every day. Though its

been nearly 60 years since

the Brown v. Board decision,

segregation still makes its

presence felt.

Our next stop was Clarksdale,

MS, where we stayed at the

Ground Zero Blues Club,

owned by Morgan Freeman

himself. Though the streets ofdowntown Clarksdale were

lined with empty buildings, and

I denitely did not get that

same East Lansing feel, I really

loved it. In Clarksdale, I felt

truly welcomed to the Delta.

When we checked into our

room, the woman who owned

it asked what brought me to

this small town on a Monday

night. I explained that I was a

future TfA corps member, and

though I wasnt sure Id be in

Clarksdale, I decided to take my

Spring Break to get a feel for

the Delta.

She was both thrilled and

supportive, telling me how

much they needed good

teachers and how education

was the only way they would

turn their economy around.

She even offered to rent me an

apartment this fall should I end

up in the area.

Also in Clarksdale, Rico

and I had the opportunity

to meet with a number of

current corps members for

dinner at Abes Barbecuefor dinner. Once again, I felt

that I experienced Southern

Hospitality at its nest. Though

I only had contact with one

corps member, she brought a

few friends to welcome us to

the Delta. Everyone was so

enthusiastic and friendly, giving

me advice and answering all

of my questions. As dinner

went on, more and more

corps members joined us, even

though many had already eaten,

because they just wanted to

say hi. I couldnt believe nine

busy teachers would take the

time out of their schedules on

a school night just to make me

feel welcome.

The next day, we headed into

Arkansas to visit the KIPP:

Delta Collegiate High School

in Helena, AR. I was amazed at

the professionalism of these

9th and 10th graders in the

classroom. Entire classrooms

were silent, students were

impeccably dressed, and there

were reminders everywhere of

their next step: college.

Of course, it wasnt all good,

heartwarming stuff. After

visiting KIPP, Rico and I walked

up and down the main street,

going into the few businesses

that were actually open and

not boarded up. As we walked

into one cute little boutique

selling scented candles, fake

owers and the like, the

middle-aged woman working

the counter looked up at us, a

little surprised that people was

actually coming into her store.

She greeted us and asked what

brought us to Helena. I gave her

my shtick about being a future

TfA corps member and wanting

to visit some schools and see

what the Delta was like.

Oh, you wont be teaching in

schools around here, will you?

she asked in a wary tone of

voice. I looked at Rico, knowing

exactly where this was going.

Well, yes, I could be. We just

visited the KIPP school downthe road, but I could also be

placed at many of the public

schools in the area, I said.

Hmm... the schools down here

are... she trailed off, made an

odd face and didnt nish her

sentence. I knew exactly what

she meant, but not wanting

to give her the satisfaction of

saying so, I pressed on.

Theyre what? I asked.

Well, you know, the kids are

pretty.... she made the same

face and trailed off a

What? I wanted to

Poor? but didnt hav

to actually do it. Inst

Well, Im looking for

the experience. Of

these attitudes aren

people in the Delta;

lot of people say sim

to me. I know Im no

into an easy job, but

that these students d

deserve my instructi

upsetting to me.

Despite the minor h

each town we visited

myself thinking I cou

here and with each

visit I could teach he

happy I visited the D

Spring Break not on

we had a genuinely g

time, but because Im

longer afraid of mise

isolation; Im just exc

able to call one of th

communities my hom

nna Orsini

arbecue, the Blues, and Brown v. Board: A Future Teacher Visits the Mississippi Delta

7/28/2019 RCAHive May 2012

12/13

What does Santorum mean?

Its more than a name on a

bumper sticker, and its more

than the Dan Savage-inspired

denitiona term that is

too coarse for the pages of a

college literary magazine. Fresh

off much needed victories in

Alabama and Mississippi, it

is clear that Rick Santorums

shockingly successful Presidential

campaign has much more far-

reaching implications for his

party and his country.

The reason for Santorums

remarkable rise in the polls

is something of a mystery. It

certainly isnt a stunning electoral

track record, thats for sure.

The former Senators 17-point

drubbing in his 2006 reelection

bid was the largest defeat

suffered by an incumbent in 25

years. It's not a uniquely strong

campaign as his fundraising has

been lackluster, his infrastructure

nearly nonexistent, and his

organization not up to par. In

the recent Ohio primary, for

example, Santorum failed to le

delegate slates in a number of

Congressional districts; even if he

had been able to defeat former

Massachusetts Governor Mitt

Romney in that razor thin race,

there was no chance at all that

he would emerge with more

delegates.

So what has driven Santorum's

rise to the top tier of the GOP

race? Part of it surely stems

from the fact that he was the

last non-Romney standinggoing into the Iowa caucuses.

Everyone from Michele

Bachmann to Donald Trump led

the national polls at one point

or another throughout this cycle

as Republican voters showed

their distaste for the frontrunner.

But as Santorum piles up a fair

number of states, it has become

unavoidable that there is

something more to his campaign.

The fact that the anti-Romney

forces settled on him--and

that he continues to do well--

speaks to the very soul of the

Republican Party, and it says very

dark things.

Consider the former Senators

victory speech on the night

of the Iowa caucuses. It was, I

think, a highly effective speech,

especially when compared

to Romneys vapid, obviously

scripted, spiel. Santorum came

off as a genuine man telling

the country what he actually

believed and this is what

makes him so scary. The most

compelling (at least in the heatof the moment) part of his

speech came when he described

how his grandfather emigrated

from Italy to avoid living under

the fascist Mussolini regime. This

touching story of his forbearers

hard work was capped with

a chilling conclusion: under

President Barack Obama, we

are in danger of becoming a

totalitarian, freedom-less state.

WhatSantor

umM

eans

Sean

Fitzpatrick

RCAHIVE |opinion

opinion

This is the fundamental theme

of Santorums campaign.

Nothing the President does is

simply something with which

the former Senator disagrees.

No, it is a blatant violation of

liberty and America as we

know her. The Affordable

Care Act, the one based on

the Republican alternative to

HillaryCare he supported in

1994? That was the beginning

of the end of freedom in

America. A requirement that

religiously-afliated employersprovide their workers with

access to contraception? Proof

of the Presidents war on

religion based on his phony

theology. The idea that every

American should have access

to higher education? Not only

does that make the President a

snob, it also means he wants

to indoctrinate you and

remake you in his image.

Rick Santorums entire political

career is based on this kind

of rhetoric. When, in the

Senate, he claimed that gay

marriage would inexorably

lead to man on dog marriage,

he was following the same

pattern: take what your

opponent believes and make

that a caricature of itself,

blasting the straw man in

as harsh a tone as possible.

This isnt just an anathema to

compromise; its a reframing

of a political opponent as amortal enemy. S ay what you

will about Mitt Romney--if you

read last months RCAHive, Ive

said plenty--but RomneyCare

proves that the man is at

least willing to work with the

opposition to govern. Rick

Santorum has no interest in

governing.

He is not even interested in

winning elections in the same

way a cynical politician is. His

sole goal is wage--to borrow

his words--a holy war on his

enemies and eviscerate them,

so that justice and liberty can

rest safely. And a substantial

proportion of the Republican

Party is wholeheartedly backing

this. This makes it nearly

impossible to hold any hope of

an effective government with

two sides working together for

the good of the nation.

Dont get me wrong: Ric k

Santorum will not be the

Republican nominee for

President of the United States.

The odds are overwhelming

that Mitt Romney will continue

his slow, painful limp to the

presidency without any serious

threat of losing.

The fact that Santor

well is a deeply distu

development, and hi

is what is dragging R

far away from any go

position. It is forcing

establishment Repub

pivot to Tea Party po

This is more proof t

Grand Old Party is b

7/28/2019 RCAHive May 2012

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