What Cannot Be Described
“We find the words for what cannot be described,” says Duma Kumalo in the Yale Cabaret’s newest show, “He Left Quietly,” directed by Leora Morris DRA ’16. The words are “shit” and “blood.” The words are “noose” and “coffin.” And all of these are punchy, sure, but inadequate. Genocide is senseless and impenetrable. Our causal chains and linguistic nets will never fully capture slaughter.
A Space for Spontaneity
"Where else on campus can you go to try something out in front of people who are also trying things out?"
Toad’s: Business or Pleasure?
Tessa Berenson ‘14 and Lisa Lin ‘14 can’t quite describe Toad’s. Lin looks at her computer screen thoughtfully. Berenson seems unable to find the perfect word to describe the York Street nightclub. And then, suddenly, Lin starts and exclaims: “Wait! Remember that article?” Going from pensive to determined, she begins to type. Berenson watches. “Here, it’s called Eight Underappreciated College Campuses You Have to Check Out.”
The Full, Paper Moon
They looked up, their bodies like ants — then I pulled down my pants and I mooned the whole crowd. They tell me I shouted, “The moon is out tonight.”
Man, Machine, Music
“All this fuss over nothing / reinventing the wheel,” they croon. They're seated in a semi-circle — the focal point: a tablet glowing green and blue on a table. The stage is dark. The beat stutters and thumps. Their voices soar over static, computerized snaps and clicks. And A.Squared, Yale's newest a cappella ensemble, has truly reinvented the wheel.
Words! Be sick as I am sick
M and N talk a lot about books. Books have a certain gravitational pull. M and N eat lunch together Thursdays and start with personal questions: How was your week? How are your classes? How was your midterm? The conversation orbits the inevitable with a lazy grace. Slowly, the circuit tightens and the satellite spirals inwards. Then, a collision. Once again, M and N are talking about books.
But “Visual Treats: Syntax,” the newest exhibit in Katalina’s--the pastry shop up the street from Timothy Dwight--is rarely that rough. The Syntax Artists, eight local women working in mixed media, have created an engaging, thoughtful display. Forty-four pieces decorate the shop’s walls and shelves, ranging from slight to substantial, dark to vibrant, pencil to encaustic. Order a coffee, pick up a flyer -- a list of artists, titles, media, and prices -- and then peruse the offerings.
A Bizarre Take on Love
“Tiny Boyfriend” opens with a nice one-liner: “Love is bizarre.” And in the Yale School of Drama’s newest experimental play, love is indeed bizarre. Love involves mini-baguettes and oversized flower pots and rubbery dildos. Love is knotted and ugly and very opaque. And love isn’t just love, but is also race, gender, faith, disease and »
The Female “I”
In her memoir “I Love Dick,” Chris Kraus writes that young women who wish to be taken seriously do not use the first person. I do not use the first person. The first person is immediate and raw and I’ve never even liked the look of it. The uppercase “I” is too tall and the uppercase “I” demands an honesty I cannot provide.