This article is a collaboration between two writers in the hopes of achieving a more comprehensive view of the weekend that just took place. It is thus split into two parts.
Sasha Bercovici
The Bulletin Editor
As the sun set over the small lawn just outside Harkness House, around 100 students, lightly dressed despite the low temperatures, grew progressively more drenched in a melange of rainwater, sweat, and bright red gelatinous goo. The crowd, grumblings about the cold withstanding, remained boisterous as they cheered on the students wrestling in a blue-and-white kiddie pool filled with Jello.
Jim Klottman Stein, donned in a black zip-up hoodie, observed the event from just outside the crowd. The grandfather of a prospective student who, meanwhile, was lost somewhere in the mix of bodies, was checking out the social life of the college his grandson was likely to attend. Stein praised Oberlin students for the enthusiasm with which they threw themselves at these more or less frivolous wrestling matches. He remarked that the atmosphere was fierce and competitive in the proverbial ring, but sportsmanlike and amicable when all was said and done.
“Everybody’s just really having a lot of fun,” he remarked.
After nearly two semesters’ worth of think-pieces on Oberlin’s lackluster party life, Stein’s reflections were particularly refreshing. While they have their weaknesses, weekend events at the College also possess a unique creativity about them, often structured to showcase the artistic or intellectual talents of the students planning them. To put it simply, they are uniquely “Oberlin.”
This past weekend contained the aforementioned Jello Wrestling, which was no doubt imbued with the freemoving, off-kilter energy of its Oberlin Student Cooperative Association hosts; the three-day-long music festival, Sludgefest, which showcased a variety of groups that formed in the musical melting pot that is our sonically inclined community; and the WOBC-FM block party, bringing College and community together into a simultaneously lively and relaxing shindig in the sun. Each event is not only emblematic of the character Oberlin gatherings possess, but also of the weeks and even months of collaboration required to bring them to fruition.
Take the block party, for example. College second-year Alice Rosenberg, director of the outreach workgroup at WOBC, explained what went into the four-hour-long event.
“Basically, for the entire spring, our focus is on the block party,” she said. “Our main wants and desires were a lot of musicians, a lot of student bands, and a community band. One of my co-directors really wanted veggie burgers, and we wanted a bouncy house. So, it was a lot of dreaming big.”
To achieve their goals, members of WOBC’s outreach group were sent out to fetch the bands, bouncy houses, and burgers, while each of the moving parts were managed in an array of spreadsheets. Throw in the last-minute inclusion of Makers Market vendors, and the block party grew to include 10 student organizations, 13 bands and DJs, an assortment of snacks and meals, and, of course, bouncing.
The planning certainly paid off — any student attending could, in the same afternoon, learn to unicycle, munch on cotton candy, play a game of basketball, get new clothes from the free store, get their bike fixed, and juggle some pins, all while sporting fresh coat of face-paint. The event was attended by professors, students, and town locals. Rosenberg even mentioned one local man who came across the party at random, and after a Google Translate-powered explanation, came back quickly with his couple-month-old child, staying there for the remainder of the afternoon.
While the block party is certainly a more extreme example of planning, nearly every party thrown requires some sort of foresight. For Jello Wrestling, OSCA Programming Coordinators College second-year Cleo Martel and College third-year Elke Zigmont explained the prep required. They bought 100 pounds of wrestle-grade vegan jello and a new pool to host it. They spread the word of the wrestling bracket the week before, gathering students from across campus to participate in the premier combat sports event of the year. When many who signed up didn’t show, they had to reform the bracket on the spot, ensuring that one talented student could be crowned champion. Planning the event with prospective students in mind,
they also had to ensure their function provided a welcoming environment for the future Obies.
Like the block party, when all was said and done, Jello Wrestling was a huge success. Persevering through pouring rain, students watched in awe as champions indeed emerged: College fourth-year Abe Thomas took first, and College second-year Theren Haines took second.
Thomas revealed that he had spent the previous two months training for the event in the gym, incorporating box squats and oblique exercises, which clearly proved successful. His commitment to this event brings up a point that until now has been ignored in this article. We’ve discussed the work that goes into hosting one of the events, but how do attendees’ attitudes at the events shape what they become?
I think part of the frustrations in student discussions about party culture here at Oberlin arise because the parties held here require more from the partier. Oberlin parties are often highly conceptual or put one in an intensely vulnerable position. To appreciate one may be a little more challenging than what one could call a “typical party.” While this may be exhausting for one in search of a simple good time, I wonder: does it create the potential for a lasting impression?
As a first-year, I simply do not have the time under my belt to properly address this question. I turn to fourth-year College student and Layout Editor at the Review Eloise Rich and her reflections on this past weekend’s romps — the last before her final finals season.
Eloise Rich
Layout Editor
Over this past weekend, and in writing this reflection, I became quite aware of the time that remains here and my budding senioritis. In the interest of truthfulness, though, I was struck by these inklings on Tuesday night, rather than over the weekend. Still, the sentiments remain, and I hold the lapse in recognizing these feelings as a testament to wanting to forget what is to come.
Last Friday evening, I attended Jello Wrestling, an event for which my feelings are complicated — I hold a deep grudge from my second year of scrubbing jello out of the Harkness House showers during the shutdown period for the co-op. This year, it was raining, and there was a certain chill in the air. I wouldn’t doubt that the chill was a result of the fear I had all week that someone was going to challenge me to a wrestling match and the internal dilemma of what would happen in every possible scenario. Stupidly, I donned a white-and-brown striped sundress, which was perhaps a way of my subconscious (who had gotten not-quite five hours of sleep the night before) saving me from the worst.
Despite the above bemoaning, I left the event with something of a smile on my face, even though most of my friends had left by the time the event wrapped up. Fortunately, I live close to Harkness, so I made my way home, damp and shivering, and immediately started to prepare for what was next: a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to produce a ballgown in one night and celebrate (ye olde) Big Parade with many of my friends for whom this event every May is a passion.
While most of these preparations involved drying my hair, which was entirely soaked, I ended up putting together an outfit consisting of a corset-style top I had worn as the Mad Hatter for Halloween, a tulle polka dot maxi skirt, and a black cotton maxi skirt on top of the first. I also, conveniently, had a little plastic tiara. I should note: It was still raining. The journey there was rather unpleasant in its length, but I was grateful for the warmth of my friend’s house.
Saturday night was less eventful; many members of my circle had signed up to cook in Tank Hall for three hours: a marvelous carnitas dinner for the co-op. This left us exhausted and called for another evening shower, though this time within the comfort of my bathroom rather than the rain standing outside Harkness. I am not fond of evening showers, but I found it within myself to persevere this weekend because I had to get ready for my friend’s birthday party, for which the mood board was, frankly, extensive. I ended up calling it early-ish on Saturday night, though, as I had some homework I wanted to consider doing on Sunday morning.
Sunday afternoon, I attended WOBC’s Block Party, an event I hold near and dear. I spent nearly my entire afternoon there following lunch at the co-op, enjoying the moments of sun that helped it feel less like a barely-50-degree day. I think I dozed off for a bit, even. I was committed to being there, though, knowing it would be my last time attending, even if I’ve mostly been a silent participant these past three years.
Friends in my circle will frequently reminisce about times gone by (our first year) and lament each time we choose not to go out to a party or even to the Feve. I do wonder, though, if a major reason this penultimate weekend before classes end was so fun was that it allowed us to go all out. I was tired on Sunday, certainly, but I felt as if I had accomplished something over the weekend, mostly regarding my outfits, not my homework. I think it is a pretty reasonable summary of the Oberlin party scene in my senior year.
There is an odd, devastating feeling about doing something for the last time or not knowing what the last time is. For example, I don’t remember the last time Oberlin felt new or scary to me. After a semester or so, the first day of classes was just another day. The ends, though, are more palpable because they come sooner. They can’t sneak up on me so much as they will just snowball until May 25. There are very few weekends left until it’s over, and Oberlin will become another place I once knew well. There is something very special and very human about this impulse I had to dress up last weekend; it’s the age-old saying that getting ready is sometimes more fun than going out. In some philosophical sense, I think we dress up because we are trying to memorialize the moment, so that when I see this plastic tiara in a box someday, I’ll remember jello, rain, and dancing with my friends.
