Date: Fri, 26 Jan 1996 17:07:08 -0500 Subject: The Inaugueration is in Bond at 10:30 tonight and SWILnews #11 (So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye.) SWILbusiness: Ladies and Gentlemen.... Welcome to the final presentation of.... SWILnews a la James & The Giant Peach! (the theme music starts as the credits roll) Starring... Lesley Tsina as James Don Lehr as The Giant Peach jere7my tho?rpe as The Old One Fred Bush as The Young One and Larry Miller as the voice of K-9 Casting... Melissa Binde Makeup... Andrea Hall Lights... Snibor Eoj Fights... Eric Rosolowsky Tights... Alice Unger Music... Brad Gabe Screening... Beth Bruch Scanning... Ross Dickson Screaming... Stephanie Dyrkacz Key Grip... Kendra Eshlemann Kendra Grip... Larry Miller Key Dip... Sam Weiler Producer... Ben Williams Seducer... Colin Schatz Juicer... Dan Wells Director... Megan Hallam Corrector... Elizabeth Christian Collector... Charles Danforth and special thanks to Josh Burdick without who's reality none of this would have been possible. And now, from Sioux City, Argentina... the woman who puts the aria in planarian, the queen of quorums, the mistress of madness, the dominatrix of dominion, the goddess of gibbons, the priestess of puns, the siren of spam... JAMES! (Applause) ...and with her as always... the giant peach. (silence... a small belch) Welcome to 1996, a year of hopes, dreams, and untold wonders by the bushel. Also, alas, the year that we, your loyal co-presidents of the past two years, must step down from office. (applause) Yes, we must once again return to the fold, back to pasture while others aspire to positions of power. I can still remember those salad days of yesteryear when all was well and the thought of leaving office was but a fleeting notion... Those were the glorious days when James & The Giant Peach were Literature & The Grotesque, menacing individuals who ruled with an iron fist. Our enemies crushed, our fingers soaked in the blood of our vanquished foes, we were feared and obeyed. Oh, to be able to reduce the strongest non-member to jello with a single icy glare. To silence a roomfull of heated debate simply by clearing one's throat. Who knows what horrors lurk in the hearts of men? The co-presidents know! We'd like to take this time to review a bit on the last two years, bring back some fond memories, make suggestions about the years to come, and try to avoid having to write anything new since we are now officially second-semester seniors (aka brainfried husks with minds of tapioca pudding). Please bear with us. Chapter I The Road To Non-Membership The Swarthmore College Guide to Student Life has the following to say about SWIL: SWIL (Swarthmore Warders of Imaginative Literature) SWIL is a body of sentient beings dedicated to the preservation and enjoyment of science fiction and fantasy, given that more and more of it is becoming reality, we think; therefore we are... That first sentence should be enough to scare away all right-thinking folks. Should one need further prompting, a more rough and ragged younger tho?rpe sitting at the activities table with a big snake ought to be enough to scare away anybody else. However, each year a few souls completely ignore their better judgement, and in 1992 Lesley Tsina and Don Lehr were two such souls. Of course, back then things were different. For one thing, persons of freshness didn't speak except when spoken to. The sort of folks that inhabited the SWIL room on Saturdays back then were not to be trifled with. Let's face it, the death triplets were about the most assuring people present, yet probably the most heavily armed. And their hair was longer. Back then SWIL wasn't run by a cute and cuddly children's book but by Bondage and Discipline and they meant it. It's a miracle that any of us meek '96ers stuck around for three meetings. Of course, it wasn't all that easy to get to three meetings for some of us. Don, for instance, was fully prepared to attend his third consecutive meeting but fate conspired against him. The full story has not often been revealed, but hey, why not... Blue or What Not To Do On Friday the 13th Let me preface this by saying that I don't like beer. In fact, I'd prefer to drink just about anything else. However, desperate times call for desperate actions. Besides, it was Alicia's party and the end of a particularly rough week. I therefore felt justified in partaking of the lord's bounty, cheap beer. It was a good party, with very accessible beer. I had about five cups, and was enjoying a healthy buzz. Perhaps this is why the bead making was so fascinating. I recall finding a correlation between the craft project and anarchy. We presume the alcohol was having an effect by this time. We left the bead people sometime in the vicinity of midnight and emulated silly walks over to Wharton. You must understand that it was still early and I was feeling quite happy. Apparently we had gone to look for Rob who didn't think much of the beads (his loss) and had left to wander about in an amusing little stupor of his own. At Wharton I immediately descended into someplace very dark. I said I was looking for people, but this would appear to be a rationalization. I met nobody downstairs. In fact, there wasn't anybody there to explain that the liquid I found there was not minced smurfs and windex. It was sitting all alone in a lonely, nondescript jug that I believe said Gatorade. What was inside was not Gatorade, but it tasted like it. It was sweet and cold and blue. Now, with nobody about I had nothing to go on but my intuition. From my experience, things that are cold and sweet are good, and blue is my favorite color. So I poured myself a healthy cupful and went back upstairs. I must remember to have a good long talk with my intuition. There are, in my belief, good drinks and bad drinks. Vodka is a good drink whereas Whiskey is a bad drink. What I had at Wharton on that night surely surpasses any other drink I have ever had in badness. This unholy concoction was sent by God to destroy me. As a rule, I am not a holy man, but there is no other way to describe it. Pooter was the messenger, and the liquor, the evil blue death, was the executioner. The seductive flagon was awfully tasty. In fact, I offered a taste to my good friend Rob who had just turned up again and was looking rather ill. I thought what he needed was a little pick-me-up. He thought what he needed was a good vomit. In any event, he refused and the entire cup was thrust upon me. We were leaving, so I had to drink it quickly. After all, it wouldn't do to have security see me wandering about like a drunken fool (note foreshadowing). I drank quickly and followed my friends back to Hallowell where we crashed in Rob's room. Here the evil spirits spread to my soul and I remember nothing more. The blue liquid is my last vision, one that I will probably carry to the end of my days. The events of the next twelve hours have been pieced together from various accounts. I saw a good number of people in my wanderings, and they all seemed willing to talk to me the next day, and tell me just what I did. To begin with I went back to my room. Actually I was sort of carried there by Rob and Sarah who thought my own room was a better place for me to be passed out. This was a good theory, and probably would have worked to everyone's advantage had I been willing to comply with the basic tenets. However, having fully awakened, I seem to have developed a craving for the great outdoors. When one is drunk one cannot merely wander aimlessly or one will end up sick under a tree somewhere. I chose, as my destination, Wharton, the probable reasons being its close proximity, volume level, and alcohol content. Drawn by the smell of drunken debauchery, I almost made it back to that terrible basement. Rebecca found me on my journey. She had been enjoying herself, and was taking perspective students back to her room. I don't believe she expected to see this staggering, lone, barefoot figure approaching her. She asked me how I was doing and I probably said something along the lines of fine. She didn't believe me, and escorted me back to my room. On the way, we talked about the perspective students who were with us. I expressed a feeling that the whole idea was stupid. I yelled about it all being a show and a lie of false college life. By way of example I seized upon the dumpster, and giving it a swift kick, yelled out something about dead squirrels. This was meant to demonstrate the sort of collegiate behavior perspective students are not privy to. The result basically demonstrated that I could seriously injure my big toe and not even notice. Rebecca and company got me back to my room, but I have already stated how little I cared for that particular place. In setting out again, I chose a less difficult destination. I attained this goal through struggle and toil. I decided the hallway would be a nice spot for a nap. Leaving the room was a problem this time. It was very dark, very big, and wouldn't stop spinning. At first, I was fooled by the tricky layout of the place. I eventually got my bearing but, not before trying to exit through my roommate's closet. Although I don't know what I felt at that moment, I would hazard a guess at shock. In any event, I managed to get out the door (the right one this time) and settled or rather sprawled in the hall for a bit of a nap. This was about 3:30 am according to Alicia and Pauline who passed me there at about that time. Had I been allowed to stay in the hallway all night I probably would have been allright. I imagine I would have had to deal with one hell of a hangover, but I think dealing with this would have been easier than what I had to go through. I have always been a believer in the healing power of Advil, and have harbored an aversion to emergency rooms all my life. Fate decided I could use a bit more excitement though, and so she sent me a large Swarthmore security officer at the hour of 5:50 am. Now, I am never at my best at 5:50 am, a fact that anyone who knows me well could probably guess. However, this rude individual didn't know me at all, and must have been lonely. He woke me up. I didn't like this one bit, so I refused to have a nice civil conversation with him. It is my belief that one should not go waking people at 5:50 am and then expect a coherent reaction. Besides, one would think that a security officer could see that I had been drinking and was probably in no mood for a chat. I began mumbling, so he got some people to try to understand me. He woke both my roommate and my R.A., both of whom were in much better condition than myself. They could not, however, understand what I was talking about. The officer was fairly peeved by this point, for apparently I had spat on him. We do not know whether this was intentional or not, but he didn't like it one bit. They thought I might be in some trouble, as worthy a guess as any based on my condition, so the cop drove me to Worth Health Center. First, of course, I needed to get to the car. I seemed a might bit hesitant, so again I had to be escorted. My three assailants got me to the vehicle, and off we sped to Worth. Jason did not accompany us, but returned to our room where my glasses, wallet, and jacket were. I suppose the theory held was that as long as I had my shoes this time I would be allright. At Worth I did nothing to help myself. However, finally recognizing the presence of authority figures, I attempted to sober up. The effect was comprehensible conversation of the strangest type. The nurse asked me a string of questions, presumably to ascertain my condition. Personally, I'd say it was pretty obvious that I was sloppy drunk. Still, she was the medical technician, so we must assume that there was a reason to her queries. The conversation went something like this: Q. "What year is it?" A. "1996." Q. "How old are you?" A. "Fourteen." Q. "How old will you be next year?" A. "Fifteen of course!" Somehow my responses didn't fully satisfy her. She decided I ought to go to the hospital in Chester for some tests. She wanted to know if alcohol was the only substance affecting me at the time. Looking back on it now, I would have liked to tell her that I was indeed under the influence of that disarming perfume she had on. Of course, entertaining, flippant remarks were not my forte at that moment. Then it was off to the hospital, a large building with patients, but that wasn't important just then. The people at the hospital were very nice. They gave me a nice bright room with a lovely view of the desk where all the exciting emergency room stuff goes on, and a nice clean counter where I could have laid my glasses and wallet had I had them. Also, they gave me an I.V. which did wonders for me physically. I didn't think a fully functional hangover cure existed, but it does. If you have the means I highly recommend picking one up. Kathy, my wonderful R.A., stayed with me for about five hours. I must say that although I recall only ten minutes of our conversation, it was awfully nice of her. I fully believe she would have done it even if I wasn't going to be handing in my evaluation sheet soon. My recollection begins again at 12:30 when I awoke in my nice hospital room to the sounds of somebody cleaning. This person really had no idea why I was where I was or how I had gotten there, but that was OK because neither did I. I didn't think it would be prudent to ask where exactly I was, so I lay back down and waited for someone to turn up. Mind you, this was all fairly terrifying. What was worse, I checked my watch (about the only thing I could see without my glasses) and noticed that I had missed my SWIL meeting. This meant that I would have to attend another three consecutive meetings before being dismembered. This really bummed me out. I also noticed an interesting tube running over my watch and along my arm. It turned out to be an I.V. line that someone had courteously stuck in me. All of this was a bit hard to handle, so I lay there and concentrated deep important thoughts on the light fixtures. A nurse and doctor showed up to ask about me, and how I was feeling. Neither of them had a T.V. crew, so I had to assume that this was all really happening. I told them I was feeling fine and would like to go home. They understood this perfectly, and after a few cups of juice and a call back to Worth, I was on my way back to Swarthmore. This then is my story. Upon my return, I found out what I could and pledged to give up all alcohol until at least Christmas. This may be why your average SWIL non-member is not a drinker. It took me another 3 weeks to get dismemebered. James had a good deal less trouble. She waited until second semester to join, by which point no one could remember how many meetings she had attended. And so the SWIL class of 1996 was formed. Plus Sam. And Evan, sort of. Chapter II The First Term Tensions ran high. The death triplets were rumored to be running for the co-presidency. jere7my had threatened to stick around for another term. (in the end he only managed mini-prop for a semester) Nobody really had any clue what SWIL office entailed except that it was supposed to be held by someone with long hair and a goatee. Intrepid Lesley Tsina had a plan. Grab the first patsy she could find with long hair and variable facial hair and garner the actor and philosopher voting blocks. Although these blocks proved rather restricted, there were enough folks who appreciated that Lesley and Don had yet to make any powerful enemies or hook up with SWIL folks. Thus was Literature & The Grotesque spawned. This period might also be known as the SPAM period, for spam fell with this new dawn. This term also increased the number of SWIL movies, which before then had been puny and lacking self-esteem. This term also increased the length of the SWILnews into realms of unheard-of turgidity. But more was to come... Chapter III The Second Term By their second term Lesley and Don had become hardened politicos. To recognize this fact they chose a less naive nickname, James & The Giant Peach. This term showed a marked decrease in sanity which was reflected in the SWILnews, soon to rival the airport shuttle schedule in its epic proportions. Although less scrupulous about such things as attendance, spelling, or bothering to mention important events, the co-presidents made up for it by increased reverence to processed meat and Josh Burdick. Blessed be his name. The underworld of SWIL began sinister machinations under the code name: Project Gibbon. Parrish Annex mysteriously dissappeared, to be replaced by a big hole and Larry Schall. The honors program woke up one morning to find two seminars missing. The show "Friends" gained a huge following for no particular reason. Something had to give. Chapter IV A New Hope or, James and The Giant Peach Get Really, Really Busy- Since their administration had began, the co-presidents had been acquiring enemies. Not the least powerful of whom was Tedd Goundie himself. Although repeatedly threatened , he had yet to give up a key to George thus mocking the power of the co-presidents. Action was decided on and plans were set in motion to disposeof this inconvenience... permanently. Unfortunately, word was leaked by an agent L.J.G. and muscle was brought to bear by the Dean's office. An ultimatum was sent... give up the co-presidency or Big Al will be sending two more messages this February. Thus an "election" was held and James & The Giant Peach stepped down. Lord Julius' Goat, often seen shaking babies and kissing hands over the last several years of elections finally got his wish. After a short constitutional crisis, James and the Giant Peach, the Roosevelt Administration of SWIL, fell to his triumverate of minions. Now they are to join the ranks of the dinosaurs. (although Mr. tho?rpe and Ms. Eshleman have proven that real power never runs for office) However, before we leave we'd like to give the new administration a few tips... 1. Never let them see you sweat. 2. Never start a land war in Asia. Attack Poland instead. 3. When in doubt, invoke the minimum standard of sentience and insult Charles. 4. Beware geeks bearing claymores. 5. Never, ever, even if they beg you, write more then 10K worth of SWILnews. a tiny bit more SWILnews fun... At this point we would like to thank all those who made Operation Kohlberg a success. So far there have been no leaks, and campus life is going on as normal around the site. Special commendations are in order for Mr. Dilatush who recommended the upper "dummy" levels of the structure. Imagine the reaction from all those social science folks if they knew what was taking place a mere forty fathoms beneath their feet. Hurrah for subterfuge! And remember, anyone who divulges priveleged information will realize what a luxury respiration is. That is all. The movie this Monday will be Spaceballs. This section is going to have to pass for all the legitimate SWILnews this week, since we seem to have misplaced our notes. ATTENDANCE: (Spring '94-Fall '96) Literature & The Grotesque, Armed & Dangerous, Hot & Bothered, Jason & Meredith, Death & The Maiden, Beyond Good & Evil, Dumb & Dumber, Prince & The New Power Generation, (The Co-presidents Formerly Known As Literature & The Grotesque) Dazed & Confused, Drunk & Disorderly, Being & Time, Being & Nothingness, Loretta, Howard Jones & The Solid Gold Dancers, Jerry Sizzler & Her Sister Jerry Sizzler, Sex, Drugs And Rock & Roll, Heuy Lewis & The News, Crimes & Misdemeanors, Indiana Jones & The Temple Of Doom, Down & Out In Beverly Hills, He-Man & She-Ra, Sonny & Cher, Thelma & Louise, Donnie & Marie, Hell & Back, Far & Away, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Literature And The Grotesque, & Spam, Tony Orlando & Don, Fruit & Nut, Nut & Honey, Bang & Blame, It's The End Of The World As We Know It & I Feel Fine, John Malkovitch's Butt & It's Millions Of Screaming Groupies, The Sublime & The Ridiculous, Plague & Pestilence, -James & The Giant Peach Lesley Tsina '96 (ltsina1 @ cc.swarthmore.edu or lesley @ raptor.sccs.swarthmore.edu) Swarthmore College Swarthmore, PA, 19081 -1397 (x1252) "I saw the worst bands of my generation / applied by magic marker to dry wall" -They Might Be Giants Ekkyklemas for all occasions. 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