Hamilton College Admission Journals: Ali Fisher

Yodapez: The Extended Director's Cut

Mon, 05 May 2008 03:12:29 GMT

It all began on Friday night and still early by Hamilton weekend standards. A hundred something students milled about the Fillius Events Barn; memorizing raffle ticket numbers, chatting about impending papers, making requests for after-party information, shuffling for good seats, staring at an empty stage, and seeking napkins for fingers covered in Superpie sauce and wing juices.

What's a superpie? Well, suffice it to say that a Superpie is to a regular-delivery pizza as Marie Antoinette's dresses are to modern cocktail numbers. And yes, that was a nod to the good ol' SAT for those of you about to finish high school.

Superpies were a must for such an epic event. Nothing else could offer the necessary endurance boost. The energy converted directly into reserve pockets of back-up laughter and sustained focus in order to remain alert for an hour and forty minutes of improv. That's right! One hour and forty minutes of pure unadulterated improv.

Actually, that's a bit of a simplification: we also gave away prizes, performed a series of found texts from Facebook.com, acted out four 30-second comedy sketches, interviewed a lucky audience member, and bathed fully clothed on stage. Thanks to those who held out for just short of two hours, caught all the action and might have left a bit more damp than when they arrived.

Battle of the Bands

Fri, 25 Apr 2008 00:23:18 GMT

Last Wednesday, Hamilton's finest musicians with an inclination to rock desperately mounted the Annex stage for fame and glory. From hard rock covers to original keyboard jams, these bands played it all.

I came running from my evening cinema class and missed the opening acts, but thankfully arrived in time to see an impromptu duet between two of my favorite solo artists. I immediately turned my attention to rhythmic swaying; hands in pockets, eyes half closed, nodding occasionally. This was my form of support, the ultimate collegiate physicalization of "yes, I am lost in your keyboard melodies."

Sets changed, illusive drummers arrived, and familiar jingles from the Beatles brought me to a bit more hip dipping and lip synching.

By the final act, each strum of the bass found my feet completely airborne. Hands up, I was jumping and shaking in complete submission to the jazzy, folky, energized tunes.

Some iPods were given away and a winner was announced. In celebration, I decided that I earned the next day off from the gym.

Back in My Day...

Wed, 16 Apr 2008 19:47:19 GMT

As a pre-freshman, I did not visit Hamilton for any of the accepted student events. In fact, I never took a tour. When my Dad and I first pulled up the hill in the spring of my senior year of high school, rain poured from the sky, I mean POURED. Seeing as I am from Seattle, I needed no other convincing. I think I only visited one class, a theatre class that involved a lot of yoga taught by a professor who left Hamilton before I ever enrolled.

Sometime in my freshman year a particularly beefy theatre major remembered me,

"You're the girl who sat in on 101, right?"

Why, yes! Yes I am!

I began my career at Hamilton before I ever knew I wanted to attend. I thought about that today as a particularly excited prospie sat in the back of my Anglo-American Modernism class. Ambitious, I thought, to sit in on a 300-level class, but she seemed undaunted. Looking back... to the back of my Modernism class, that is... I was excited for her.

Luckily, no one who is in her final stages of thesis writing can really be jealous of someone starting at the beginning, but I wish her all the best and I hope she has better luck avoiding wandering nostalgia in class than I have had...

Good Old Fashioned April Fools

Tue, 08 Apr 2008 23:27:32 GMT

One delightful joke was pulled by the ever-devious streaking team. As per usual, I heard them coming from a mile away. A burst of colorful squeals and squawks; horns, trumpets, and drums, drums in the deep poured into my ears and then from around the corner charges a fully clothed, still-masked streaking team, sprinting with the same desperate plea for anonymity as always.

Another joke, with somewhat more malicious intentions, was a semi-official looking letter placed in the mail boxes of what appeared to be mostly freshmen. As a senior, I did not receive said letter, but through the brush fire of juicy gossip at Hamilton I heard that the letter came from the fictional "Office of Alternative Discipline" detailing a punishment for underage alcohol consumption. The letter suggests that the office decided to wave the normal procedure of awarding disciplinary "points" and rather decided to ban the student from attending Aretha Franklin's highly anticipated concert. Riddled with editing mistakes, false dates and times, and far too much biographical information on Aretha, the letter concludes with contact information for questions and concerns. Rumor says the number listed connected the student directly to Colgate Admissions, but only the most gullible now know.

Since no one has taken credit for this second prank, I can't offer applause. However, I hope in the coming years, Hamilton students and staff will take a more participatory role in one of our nation's most cherished celebrations.

SPRING BREAK!

Wed, 02 Apr 2008 19:51:38 GMT

Over winter break, my father didn't fail to mention six, seven, maybe eight times that I was quite possibly experiencing the very last month-long break of my life. However, I wasn't bitter or upset, he could pop up outside my door with devious queries about how I was using my precious time, but I didn't panic. My mind was grounded, and my rock was, of course, that spring break was yet to come, so why worry... right?

On the cusp of my break, two weeks ago I bounded down the somewhat creaking and overly sloshy stairs inside Root Hall having completed my final obligation before spring break. The bounce never left my step as I made my way back to my dorm through the snow only to grab my bags full of optimistically small articles of clothing, toss them into the back of a fully gassed Mazda 3, and kiss Hamilton goodbye. So much promise, so much potential! Jack Kerouac would have been proud.

Well, I'm writing to you now on the final Friday of what could potentially be the final spring break of my life and I'll admit my stomach is having more difficulty settling than I had hoped. I'm in Florida because I wasn't about to let my final spring break whimper out of existence without one more sandy beach, one more palm tree, actually a few more, and one more breath of salty Atlantic air. After all, I'll be moving back to the west coast soon and returning to my Pacific roots. I brought textbooks with me out to the hammock only to use them as shade and coasters. Very little work of tangible evidence has gotten done (note my strategic use of passive voice to avoid personal responsibility). In any case, three days from now will reignite a process of attending class, staying late in the library, and waking up early to finish reading. sigh. I was getting burned anyway.