the pine press

volume 41, issue 9

“summer”

articles by: Adele Wunsch, Amelia Larson, Kate Walquist, Kelly Caldwell, Korey Hurni, Matthew Revers,

editor-in-chief: Brendan LaCroix

Mike Davidson, Roxanne Kieme, Scott Wozniak, Shae Valko, and Tera Watson.

featuring: Andrew Baczewski and Devin Schnepp from The Pine Press’s past

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Submissions are always welcome.pinepress@gmail.com

If you have ideas for events and you’d like to involve the entire cooperative system,

tell your house Education Officer.

Remember, your Education Officer loves you.

Tableof

Contents

1 Terminal Arts, Shae Valko2 Untitled essay, Korey Hurni3 Roasted pineapple with Thyme-Ginger Ice, Roxanne Kieme4 Summer, Tobias Roth5 Early summer playlist, Ratt Mevers6 On things that suck, Ratt Mevers7–8 Bats, Adele Wunsch9 Co-ops are not cheap, Mike Davidson10 Travelogue back from SXSW, Mike Davidson11 The British are Coming!, Shae Valko12–16 DEMF 2011, or Learning from My Mistakes: A Preventative Guide to DEMF 2012 and Beyond, Kelly Caldwell17 O-renovations, Tera Watson18 Ode to Orion, Tera Watson19 Building a lasting community, Honey Brown20 Responsibility, Kate Walquist21 When did I know summer had arrived?, First Third22 MSU SHC Capital Improvements Proposal: Vesta Memorial Swimming Pool, Andrew Baczewski and Devin Schnepp, submitted by Kate Walquist24 Untitled comic, Amelia Larson25 Looking for something to do?, Roxanne Kieme

Terminal Arts by Shae Valko

This past Sunday, I was treated to my first ever Detroit Symphony Orchestra concert, courtesy of my father. It was the last show of the season. It only seemed fitting that it showcase summer movie blockbuster themes, most of them originally composed by the great John Williams. Star Wars, Superman, Harry Potter, The Cowboys, Ben Hur, Lawrence of Arabia, and Jaws to name a few, all performed to heart-rending perfection by world-class musicians. There was even a little gem, composed for the film Far and Away, which combined classical music grandiosity with traditional Irish nuances. I was moved to tears. It wasn’t just because I am a musician myself, but because there was a certain beauty and power that such music can have over the audience. It was kismet!

Upon the inevitable discussion with my father, I came to the conclusion that I am going to start dedicating a significant portion of my energies and creativity into music composition, a notion I toyed around with for several years. Being constantly beaten over the head with the “arts aren’t real careers” bullshit, I remained hesitant to seriously pursue the endeavor. However, after seeing what power truly inspiring music can have, I craved and ached for that power at that moment after the concert. Thus, a new chapter of my life has begun.

I think the motivation for the real career mentality that people have toward artistic

interests is a warped sense of what successful music is. Most people think that anyone not playing techno-pop, hip hop, whatever the fuck The Jonas Boners err… Brothers…do. I bet that I can ask everyone down my street and not 25% of them will ever have heard of John Williams, King Crimson, Hans Zimmer, Danny Elfman, Porcupine Tree, or, hell, even Peter Gabriel. Anyone with any musical leanings outside the “bitches-and-hoes, look at how much I love to party” type of empty music is looked upon as climbing an uphill battle to success. And what is success really? Is it making unnecessary amounts of wealth that teenage tramps like to bop along to while cannonballing Mike’s Hard—or is it simply being able to live comfortably while making the music you love?

People want to browbeat anyone doing something they can’t do. They demonize careers in music or other arts. Yet they regularly turn on the radio, pirate music online, and go see films, 99.99999999999999999999999999999999999% of which have some sort of music underscoring them, whether classical or not. My dad is my biggest fan, and has constantly told me a saying, origin unknown, which I have taken as my creed to staying true to myself; “Truly happy people discover what they love to do, and then stop at nothing to find a way to make money doing it”. §

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When the 2010-2011 academic year came to a close, so did Bowie house as I came to know it. Some fellow Bowians went off to their summer internships, and some just graduated and went off to bigger and better things. As sublets moved in, the house dynamic shifted. Old and new, after a few weeks, soon became familiar. It certainly isn’t the house I moved into at the beginning of the fall semester, but it’s a house I can still call home.

This sort of change is not exclusive to Bowie. Every house has felt these changes. We, as a system, constantly encounter change, but it is change we encourage and embrace. This mentality is reflected through every aspect of our housing system. From maintenance to membership, we accept the ephemeral nature of our system with a keen-eye on sustainability. Members may rotate in and out, but each year we attempt to give new members, members we may never meet, a little something better than what we had.

I remember touring Bowie in the fall of 2009, walking on stained carpet and pissing in toilets without stalls. I am not the cleanliest of people, and so none of this bothered me, but when I stepped into the newly remodeled Bowie in the fall of 2010, I learned my first lesson in cooperation: leave something behind. Bowie has a long history, and this is reflected from pictures of past years collaged on our walls to a sword cemented to the ground in our yard. All of this, our history, is not solely a textual document. It exists physically, in the people, and things people leave behind. Walking on wood floors, pissing in stalled toilets, is not a luxury every house has, and until recently, was not a luxury Bowie had. Yet, it was left for new and returning members by people who would never be able to enjoy it. Those living at Bower next year will be able to reflect these similar emotions. We could take a year-by-year mindset, only do enough to sustain one year at a time, but we don’t. We eye the present with peripheral of the future.

This can be seen in our treatment of Hillsdale out in Lansing. At first it was a burden, with fear of financial lost. Originally called Bulmer House, we mocked by calling it ‘Bummer’ House. At the time, it was a bummer. Yet, as the house fills, with only one spot left, the future is bright. I personally know members living there next year, and I know that their cooperative spirit will make the re-colonization process go smoothly, and better than anyone could have hoped. As a large group of co-opers met at Dagwoods the other night, Hillsdale was spoken in an optimistic air. It’s not a house we just want to throw away anymore.

This brings me to the new E-Board, and Board in general. As we met at Sleepy Hollow State Park, letting a biker gang have our reserved space, we faced a giant presentation on the topic of refinance. As a lot of you will know, some of our houses are running less-than perfectly. Even though Bowie had a nice inner-facelift, we still have some issues with flooding. Phoenix, especially, can echo this. We’re still chewing on the finer details, but near every house in the system are getting some much-needed love. Bowie can deal with the flooding. We have this year. We can step over it, mop it up when it floods, and move on. However, as a system, we do not respect this sort of mentality. Not only is it essential because it can lead to further structural damage, but we as a system want the best possible living conditions for each other. We at Bowie always say to each other ‘Bowie Love’, and now I extend it to the entire system. We will certainly argue who gets what, and there will be some unforeseen sacrifices, but we even consider such a large project because we want our houses to be available year after year to new members. We don’t even know them yet, and we love them. When I return to visit after I’m long gone, I hope to not only find Bowie at 711 W. Grand River, but a better Bowie. A Bowie that I helped get better by leaving something behind. §

An essay by Korey Hurni

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Roasted Pineapple with Thyme-Ginger Ice*This is a recipe I found that is great for the summer time. Also try with grilled pineapple. Great for those who want a tasty vegan dessert. Enjoy!

submitted by Roxanne Kieme

Ingredients• 1 teaspoon thyme leaves, plus small sprigs for garnish • 2 bottles, 12 ounces each, ginger beer or all-natural ginger soda • 1 whole pineapple, peeled, eyes removed, and sliced into 8 even slices • Vegetable oil • 1 tablespoon sugar • Kosher salt

DirectionsScatter the thyme leaves among the compartments of 2 large ice cube trays. Fill the trays with ginger beer and freeze at least 6 hours and preferably overnight.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

Put the pineapple slices on a nonstick baking sheet. Brush both sides very lightly with vegetable oil and sprinkle them evenly with the sugar; sprinkle very lightly with salt as well. Roast in the oven for 20 minutes. Remove from the oven and flip the slices.

Put in the oven and continue roasting until they are golden, about 10 minutes more. Remove from oven and cool slightly in the pan.

Transfer the ginger beer ice cubes to a food processor and pulse until broken down and fluffy. Transfer to a small cake pan or baking dish.

To serve, put 2 slices of warm pineapple on each dessert plate; top with a scoop of ginger ice and gar-nish with a small sprig of thyme.

Note: If not using the ginger ice immediately, refreeze. To loosen it, scrape with a heavy fork until fluffy. Ginger beer is very spicy and the spiciness is enhanced when frozen. For milder ice, use natural ginger ale or ginger soda. §

From: Claire Robinson, 5 Ingredient Fixwww.foodnetwork.com/recipes/claire-robinson/roasted-pineapple-with-thyme-ginger-ice-recipe/

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Well the summer is off to an interesting start. We have had some super hot days and then some fairly chilly ones like this past weekend. I hope you are all having time to enjoy it and doing some fun things outside. I know I am always playing with a Frisbee whenever I can and my league starts up tomorrow. Music festivals are also getting into full swing after last weekend. I attended the Buttermilk Jamboree at the Circle Pines Center and I know of others that made the trip down to Bonnaroo. I hope everyone is finding ways to stay cool somehow as well as enjoying the hot weather, we all need a mix of both or we will surely go crazy!

Summer is also the time for construction and renovation, which is what brought me to the house that I am in right now. I was a member of Bower House but as you all probably know, it is being renovated this summer and I now reside in Hedrick House. It is a nice change of location and a great opportunity to get to know new people. With our neighbors next door at Ferency and Miles Davis we are able to have a community fire which is a lot of fun and one of my favorite things about summer time.

Summer is also the time of trips and vacations. I bet you are all going away and doing fun things, maybe we could organize some co-op activities like this such as camping up north with a small group or even just going to Lake Michigan for the day somewhere. What do you guys think? Talk to you house and send the response to an Education meeting. I think it would be a great way for members to get to know people of other houses and have a lot of fun with each other! §

Summerby Tobias Roth

“Round and Round”Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti

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“To Here Knows When”My Bloody Valentine

“Wake Up!”Bibio

“Ceremony”New Order

“Secret Language”Eternal Summers

“Atiba Song”Panda Bear

“Politicians in my Eyes”Death

“This Must Be the Place (Naïve Melody)”Talking Heads

“Mmmhmm (feat. Thundercat)”Flying Lotus

“You Will See This Dog Before You Die”Thee Oh Sees

“Two Can Win”J Dilla

“Bizness”tUnE-YarDs

“Come On”Melted Toys

Ratt Mevers says, “this is my early summer playlist.”

Send an email to pinepress@gmail.com to request this a downloadable version playlist. We’ll try. §

five

On ThingsThat Suck

by Ratt Mevers

One of my housemates accused me of being a hater, so for this sunny, superhappy summer edition of the Pine Press, my submission will be strictly upbeat. No cynicism, no negativity, no pessimism, and no hating.

FERENCY has a new kitty. Actually, Brendan LaCroix has a new cat that lives at Ferency. The cat’s name is Bear, and he’s adorable. Probably the cutest cat I’ve ever seen. I’m watching him play with a saltwater taffy wrapper right now. It’s adorable. I really love cats. Great.

Fuck it. The above paragraph is exactly why I’m a hater. Because even though everything I wrote was true, anyone reading this either lost interest after you found out we had a cat, or you already knew we had a cat, so you knew it was cute. Hell, everyone thinks kitties are cute, and if they don’t I’m not going to be the one to convince them. So what are you going to learn from me pointing out what’s good in the world?

Instead I’d rather grab cultural artifacts and instances, twist them until their entirely absurd, and barf them back out in some kind of order that either points to how thoroughly out of whack everybody’s priorities are, including mine. So yes, I’m a hater, because if I wasn’t, I’d get duped into buying ExtenZe, eating at McDonalds to keep thin, and thinking that Paul Blart: Mall Cop is funny (seriously, Kevin James can suck it). The only difference between my haterdom and shows like The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, publications like The Onion, writers like David Sedaris, and pretty much anything I and many other people think is funny, is that they’re all created by people who are smarter and have higher budgets.

Everything sucks. It’s true. Fox News exists, there are tons of wars, people can be evil. And you know what, that’s OK. In fact, I like it that way. Because within the mire of general suckatude, there emerges some truly awesome

things. Sometimes the beauty manifests itself through movies like The Room, one of the shittiest movies that has ever been created. But I love that movie. I can honestly say I’ve watched it more than any other movie in my life.

If you’re still with me, I’d like to backtrack a minute and say that not everything sucks. Really. That’s not even kind of true. It’s just that most things suck. And it’s because of most things sucking that truly awesome things are able to exist. If there wasn’t bags full of suck laying around, we wouldn’t be able to appreciate the glittering instances of cool shit in our lives. I’m staying away from the word “beautiful” because that word has some connotations close to “serious,” and there farther away I stay form that, the less hating can be done.

As I write this, I’m being called a hater by multiple housemates. I deserve it. Totally. But I’m not sorry. I like being a hater. Most of my friends are haters. We love shitty things. “You just knock things because you know you can’t do better. You’re afraid of failure.” Fucking false. I discern. I evaluate. I like lots of things. Just not everything. People that like everything can’t love anything. People get uncomfortable with hating because they’re uncomfortable with the idea that

since their taste is different from other people’s, they might be wrong. Now the argument of who’s afraid of what becomes a cycle at this point. They say I’m afraid of failure, but I could argue that people say that when they’re afraid, but then they say “that’s just what people like you say as a defense,” and so on. So nobody’s right. I like that. I like it when there isn’t a right answer.

Of course, there’s room for the free will argument in here, but I’d like to sidestep that by suggesting that the existence of free will simply doesn’t matter, because we don’t even get to decide what we “will.” I’ve been exposed to media and mass culture since I was born. Billboards have told me to Enjoy a Coke, television shows have laugh tracks to let me know when to laugh, and every Hollywood Bildungsroman has shown me what love is supposed to look like and feel like and when to kiss her and what to look like, and even how to rebel against the aforementioned instructions. I can’t stop myself from stopping myself from stopping myself. In short, Haters.Gonna.Hate. §

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Once upon a time, on a dark and humid night,

our furry little friend decided to take flight.

After a long night of swooping about,

he found that New Comm. was a place he could not live without.

Visiting Seth up in the attic,

his performance was quite acrobatic.

Pretty soon his bat friends were all joining the party,

swooping through the airlock and being very darty.

Once the bats discovered New Community,

they never wanted to leave this land of opportunity.

They find nice dark places to take a rest,

I suppose they thought the garbage disposal would be best.

That was probably not such a good idea,

maybe they should go hang in Ikea.

Even if they are soft like babies,

you have to be careful because they’ll give you rabies.

There is one thing I know beyond any doubt:

little guys, you need to get the fuck out. §

by Adele Wunsch

bats

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Co-ops are not cheap

Co-ops are things of human invention and convention. We negotiate not to save money, but to save ourselves from the conveniences around us. What some deem as favorable contracts, we see as entrapment and a brokerage for power between two unequal parties.

Co-ops are powerful in that they allow us all to bargain with our own conception of the world. We take what we want at the expense we think it is worth. There is no “helping hand to hold us down.” So when we look at our house, we must also see ourselves in its growth or decay.

We must realize that co-ops are not cheap housing. They are houses that are cheap. A house owned by individuals all sharing in its spoils. Once its occupants forget that they own it, therefore they can make it or unmake it, then they no longer become responsible for what might be.

Responsibility is borne out of respect for what was, what is, and what will be. We cannot feel responsible for a thing or entity if we do not respect the relationship that binds us to it. How we came to

discover it, what we’ve done with it, and how those who will take our place are able to carry our efforts forward.

The fantastic opportunities a house full of students holds is reduced to the opportunity to purchase shelter to hide from the world they think resides “out there.” When it loses respect the house isolates itself from the world and the community it depends upon, thus “owning” is no longer the operative word. Cowering fits that description.

You cower until one day when a city decides students are incapable of being responsible homeowners. When all respect for cooperative living has fled this region, only then are we cheap. We will have lessened our value to your fitting, where landlords, housemaids, gardeners, and electricians serve you so long as the economy is in your favor. On that day you will say, “Co-ops are not cheap.” §

by Mike Davidson

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When students return from Spring Break to start classes once again, I persisted out there alone on a train for 34 hours. Well, not entirely alone.

Take an all-nighter, for instance, when students put their bodies under all manner of duress resulting in delusions, frustrations, and all of the other untold horrors of sleep deprivation.

Hours slip away with a sickly seeping motion. Departing seamlessly, leaving a cold stench of fear and quiet anxiety, so too had the miles I traveled left me feeling. You get help where you can.

I began the trip expecting to lounge and to write. However, I found it surprisingly difficult concentrating after the previous week of drinking and caffeinating in Austin. It had all rattled me quite substantially.

The bulk of my time was spent tinkering with my newly purchased iPad, using it to sort through my time at SXSW. The first four hours, though, was spent conversing with another Web developer type seated next to me.

An intelligent older programmer who worked on his new web startup business the entire time we talked. Lazily he conversed about how past SXSWs were less crowded with marketers, all the while designing his Foursquare-inspired family geotagging site. Very clever guy.

This went on until I heard about the scenic car. It was everything I could dream a scenic car could be. Stadium-style seating encased in a glass case hurtling across the American countryside, this was grand and I just sat back and absorbed it all.

I sat there, listened to podcasts, while I typed up notes from the week. While returning to my seat I even came upon a fellow Midwesterner traveling back to Chicago from SXSW. So far, so good.

We discussed our hopes and dreams until he retired to his seat for the night. I maintained a loose work schedule with help from a sweet tea vodka mix with tonic water.

On my return, I found my seat occupied by some random sleeping guy. The lady across the aisle offered the seat currently open next to her’s, I thanked her, curled up, and passed into a restless sleep.

I stole back my seat in the morning. Disgruntled, he cursed my name and glared at me every chance he got.

When we hit Chicago, I grabbed a latte, swallowed my pride, rode the way to EL, and limped back home.

What an asshole, happy summer. §

Travelogue back from SXSW

by Mike Davidson

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The British are Coming!I recently saw X-Men: First Class this past weekend. Just after the first viewing, I am declaring it my favorite X-Men film (yes, even more than X2). It breathed much needed life into a franchise whose last two efforts were “meh” to say the least. I enjoyed every single minute of that film. Like The Dark Knight a couple years back, director Matthew Vaughn combined the epic action of comic book heroes with brains and meaningfulness that truly elevates action films from simple brain-dead entertainment to legendary opus.

I noticed that British creative teams have truly reinvented the wheel in terms of superhero films. Matthew Vaughn brought a tongue-in-cheek, self-referential cool to the genre with last year’s Kick-Ass. He even coaxed an excellent performance out of Nic Cage (channeling his inner Adam West). X-Men wizard Bryan Singer saw this punk-edge to Matthew’s style and hired him to revamp the dying X-Men film franchise. He took a film that could easily have been a hammy, lack-luster prequel with more than the necessary amount of hints to the original trilogy. Instead, Matthew injects 60’s Bond into a story of how Charles Xavier and Erik Lennsherr went from best pals to sworn enemies. It is a character—not spectacle—centered film, and that is what these incoming British geniuses have shifted the focus to, plain and simple.

Kenneth Branagh took a little-known superhero like Thor and crafted an almost classical take on the superhero medium with Thor. Branagh made the language different enough so as to make the denizens of Asgard seem unique but not pretentious (a rather thin line if you ask me). I went into Thor with a sort of indifference and came out completely blown away by how much I enjoyed myself. And honestly, what hasn’t been said about the brilliance of Christopher Nolan’s Batman films? He has made the superhero Oscar-worthy (don’t get me started on the 2009 Oscar snub). Batman Begins and The Dark Knight will forever go down in history as two of the best films to date, let alone superhero films. The smart writing and high caliber performances (the most notable of which, courtesy of Christian Bale and the late Heath Ledger) are something to behold. Ask anyone who Batman is to them. Chances are they will point to Nolan’s films.

Yes, the British are coming my friends. And it only gets better from here. §

by Shae Valko

DEMF 2011,

or Learning From My Mistakes:

A Preventative Guide t o D E M F 2 0 1 2 a n d B e y o n d

b y : K e l l y C a l d w e l l

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DEMF: Detroit Electronic Music Festival, recently renamed Movement and promoted by Ferndale-based company Paxahau, which is important for several reasons.

“But Kelly, what is electronic music?”

I’m glad you asked. It’s really any music made electronically, but to help you out further, genres include breakbeat, ambient, electronica, eurodance, house, industrial, techno, trance, disco, etc. My personal

favorite is dubstep, which I liken to a cheap orgasm.

In 2010, I got puked on, sweated on, rained on; I stepped in various undefined liquids in the Hart Plaza bathroom and had no access to toilet paper when said bathrooms ran out, despite the fact that the attendants were trying their best. I also had the time of my life. My friend and trusty adventure companion and I swore wholeheartedly that we would be smarter this year.

I. Things We Brought in 2011

Hand sanitizer, toilet paper, wipes, plastic baggies for our phones, shoes that wouldn’t slide off our feet or off the ground in the rain, waterproof eyeliner and mascara, more water, more beer, and most importantly, more glitter than you could shake a stick at.

II. The Way We did it in 2011

Day One

After my primary attempt at the glitter and false eyelashes combination, I noticed that wherever I cast my eyes, it seemed to me that I was beneath a disco ball, which was very nice. My glitter spray from seventh grade ran out conveniently at the point when I had just finished spraying, and I took it as a sign that the universe was smiling upon me. I also no-ticed that, perhaps because of the age of the aerosol can, my bathroom was now filled with a cloudy white haze that had nothing to do with glitter, and through which I could barely breathe. Fleeing the bathroom, which in its new hazy and glittery state seemed all the more beautiful, I filched some beer from the fridge and set off to retrieve Ashley and Jeremy.

continued…

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And so we cruised down Woodward, and I didn’t even hit one of those delirious people shouting and staggering in the middle of the road. Kudos to me! I was also excited that it wasn’t yet raining. We parked suspiciously but I asked an officer who was so conveniently passing on horseback if the spot was kosher.

“If it doesn’t have a sign on it, you can park there!” he shouted back.

Duly noted. Keep up the good work, Detroit. This particular parking spot was important because we were adjacent to an alley. My mother would later question me about the missing beers and then ask, if nothing liquid is allowed in, how I consumed those devilishly delicious beverages? I implied something about a concealed alleyway and a dumpster, and she implied something about playing with dolls on weekends when she was my age.

Lo and behold, as soon as we were about to reach the makeshift gate of Hart Plaza, it began raining and I no longer believed the universe was smiling upon me. It was the kind of downpour that makes you not care about being wet. This came in handy because later, as I was dragging Jeremy toward what I believed was prime standing space under the Red Bull tent despite his cries of “I don’t think we can fit! I really don’t think we can fit!”, several gallons of water were poured directly on top of us. Upon looking upwards, I realized why this corner of the tent was rather deserted: there was a man standing on top of the tent, squeegeeing it off vigorously. We screamed and tried to run away but, as you can imagine, there is not much room to run in a crowd, and we got dumped on a few more times. Jeremy was not pleased.

After that I complained a little bit about all my glittery, hard work being washed away and some girl with enormous fuzzy pink boots and yarn shooting up from her head into pigtails handed me a vial of glitter, which I promptly dropped on the ground and sheepishly attempted to argue that the ground needed the glitter more than I did. Yarn Girl was not pleased. Ashley suddenly appeared as a blessed intervention, because there was no way I would be able to hold my own in a glitter battle with Yarn Girl and her friends, and we sloshed away to what were supposed to be the bathrooms.

Ashley, at this point, was a bit sloshy herself, which came with some benefits: in her particular state, she was entirely oblivious to the etiquette of waiting in line, and dragged me to the front, where a gaggle of girls began to whisper and hiss rather viciously. She appeared not to notice, and as one of the girls glared at me, I shrugged and said, “I don’t know what to tell you.”

I find that this is the best phrase to exculpate oneself from any given situation; people don’t know what to make of it. I learned this from a girl who cut in front of me while I was waiting for the bartender at Funk Night a few months ago. I sighed a lot and made my body language say something to the extent of, “You’re a bitch.” She instead said aloud, “I don’t know what to tell you.” This

Upon my arrival, Ashley looked a lot like this:

Jeremy looked a lot like this: And I looked a lot like this:

was infuriatingly non-hostile and I was both baffled and annoyed, but then resigned myself to being cut in front of. If it hadn’t been for my friend, who didn’t hear this conciliatory phrase and instead pounced on her with all claws out, we would’ve gotten out of Detroit without a confrontation for once. But that’s another story.

Anyway, my phrase seemed to have the desired placating effect on Angry Bathroom Girl, and walking back out, Ashley and I congratulated each other on remembering to bring our own toilet paper. And after repeated bathroom visits, I found too that people will not complain when you cut them if you look like you’re about to puke. (To look as though you’re about to puke, hold your stomach, moan a little bit, and stare at the ground as if you’re really dizzy. Then maybe say, “I think I’m going to puke.” Forty-five minute waiting problem solved).

But Jeremy really, really didn’t like being so wet, and we sloshed back to the car where, after another brief visit to the alleyway, Jeremy and I had an encounter with last year’s infamous Booty Grabber. Apparently, the previous year, this same haggard-looking individual had approached Ashley and Jeremy, chatted them up, and tweaked Jeremy’s bum before tipping his grimy hat and saying, “Good night, ladies.” It is my theory that he was unaware that Jeremy was not, in fact, a lady. I was trying to figure out what the right line was between being polite and being safe, but Jeremy sprinted for the car and squealed a lot. I bid the Booty Grabber a polite “Good night, sir” and we were again on our way. Ashley promised me something about vegan pancakes the next morning, and I remembered why I like her so much.

Day Two

The next morning at Ashley’s house, we nommed on some pancake treats and drank mimosas, and I wondered vaguely when the next time would be when I’d be sober. This time Ashley drove and we took the highway. Smart choice! Kudos to Ashley! We arrived in Detroit in 25 minutes instead of 45,

and our favorite parking spot was again deserted, probably because it didn’t really look like a parking spot at all. The clouds hanging over Hart Plaza were gloomy and ominous.

Waiting for it to rain is like waiting for the person you’re sleeping with to start snoring. You’re lying in bed awake, so very awake, and you know that the moment said person begins snoring, any chance of you falling asleep will be irrevocably withdrawn. The key is to fall asleep before the snoring starts, or to scurry under a tent before it begins to rain, but this makes the process all the more anxiety-producing, and it’s very unpleasant indeed.

But instead, the universe decided to smile upon us again, and we got a good three hours of flailing our arms about

and pretending to dance before it really began to rain. And there was a tornado warning.

This, I decided, was the opportune time to explore Detroit’s culinary options.

Grand Trunk was packed full of DEMFers taking refuge, so that was out; we passed a couple of Coney places, but they didn’t serve alcohol, so that was definitely

out. Then we walked past a set of revolving doors with a man standing

outside enthusiastically soliciting business, so we went in. The restaurant

was dimly lit and felt like it had been a large closet first, with the restaurant/bar setup as an

afterthought. We were seated and told that everything in the restaurant was $5.

Everything.

“So…could we have a menu, please?”

No, we could not. Today, as our waitress Strawberry (because, she said, of the pinkish birthmark on her face) informed us, they had chicken and tilapia in the forms of a sandwich or a salad, and we could have whichever four permutations of those options we’d like. More importantly, I wanted to know which house drink Strawberry would recommend.

“You girls want the Purple Rain.”

It was not a question. When we received the drinks, they were indeed purple, but Ashley complained that she didn’t taste anything but tequila in hers. I still can’t fathom why that would be a problem. When Strawberry came around again to ask if we’d like another drink, I decided to rely on my ability to make hilarious jokes.

“If it’s free,” I said charmingly, thinking I was very funny.

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“You girls want the Purple Rain.”

“It’s five dollars,” Strawberry said. She was not amused.

“I don’t have five dollars. I have three dollars, though.”

“How about four?”

“Okay,” I said. I drive a hard bargain.

Since I am not one to mix my liquors, and according to Ashley we had been drinking tequila, I ordered a tequila shot. What I received was less of a shot and more of a whole glass. Down the hatch.

What came after that is all but a laser-y, glittery dream. I was asked multiple times which drugs I was on, and if I had any, and how much did I want for them, and where did I get them from, and if so-and-so’s girlfriend could have some. My response became, “You don’t want the drugs I’m on. Trust me,” like I was really badass, and when that didn’t work to deter the moochers, I fessed up and told them I was just…a little…drunk. In my state, I took this misunderstanding to be a compliment, because it meant that I must look like I was having a rip-roarin’ time. When I sobered up the next morning I realized it probably just meant I looked like a psychopath. Oh, and Beardyman’s set was really good. Like, really good.

Day Three: The Final Hurrah

There were no pancakes on this day. Upon waking, I wanted to strangle each bird that was chirping outside my window, you know, wring each of their tiny little birdy necks. I could tell that as each debaucherous day passed my mother was becoming a little more ashamed of me. On this day, I really decided to go all out and dumped what remained of my extra glitter all over my body, and because I had run out of white and silver, it looked like I had some birth defect or illness that produced rough, patchy blue sparkles in strange formations on my skin.

Perfect, in other words. I also attempted to make my hair as big as it had ever been in its sad, tortured life. Once we were in the alleyway, Ashley and I talked about upbeat, pre-party topics such as the job market and death, and Ashley finished her fourth bottle of chardonnay that weekend.

“They were on sale,” she explained. The beats were as hot as the cement on that blistering Monday afternoon, where I perfected my “get away from me” dance. The courting ritual of the male mounting the female in a thinly-veiled pretense of dancing is common in clubs, but I was distressed to find the ritual alive and well at DEMF. Because my head-boppin’, psycho-dance routine does not lend itself well to male-female courtship, most dudes left me alone for fear of bodily injury. However, the occasional male was bold enough to attempt to mount, and these ones, by process of elimination, were the least likely to be deterred. I had to think of a way to escape that didn’t involve turning around and saying, “Go away,” because that just felt rude and was not as subtle as my “I don’t know what to tell you” technique. The plan: if ever I felt an unsolicited boner, I shoved my body backwards as hard as I could to knock the male off balance. Sometimes this move had to be repeated, but after the third full-body slam, the male would retreat and I would be left to my spasm dance in peace.

I was able to appreciate in the full sunshine how people really did come in all shapes, sizes, and temperaments. There was a man who sat in a divot in the cement, spinning glass balls before an entranced crowd; there were girls who danced in the fountain; there were tall creatures wearing gas masks and Marilyn Manson-esque colored contacts; there were b-boys and there were thugs; there were girls who, I jealously noted, wore more glitter than I; there were fishnets, pacifiers, hippie getups, old people, young people, babies (oh my!); there were many bare

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asses. Mostly I wanted to gather all of the people, strung out or sober as ducks, into my bedazzled arms and give them a giant hug. Since the number of attendees was estimated to be near 100,000, this would be impractical. Night fell on Hart Plaza, and fearing that my time was coming to a close, I found the optimal position to view Flying Lotus, and wished bitterly that this freak-show circus of happy, lovely people could be my life. Then I remembered that I live in the co-ops.

Ashley and I sat at the fountain, watching people leave, and debated whether or not we should go to an after party. Last year, we had sworn that we’d go to at least one, but we had been too tired to drag ourselves out. This year, while standing in the alley each day, we pledged to go to one, but each time found ourselves exhausted at the end and went home to eat tofu and chips and salsa instead. We swear that, next year, we’ll go to a pre-party. See? We’re getting smarter. But really it would have just been to cushion the blow of the inevitable, because I have never seen a sadder sight than Hart Plaza emptying. I was about to start feeling really forlorn when a raggedy man plopped down next to us and asked us about our night. I could see that I was not the only one who had decided that DEMF was the number one thing you should do if you’re human. We chatted pleasantly and he bid us adieu.

“You girls are beautiful. See you next year.”

It was not a question.

Yes.

III. What DEMF 2011 Looked Like in Numbers

Number of times reprimanded by security: 3Number of times solicited for drugs: 16Number of drugs actually taken: 0Number of times puked on: 0Number of times peed on (indirectly): 1Number of times hit in the head by a crowd surfer: 2Number of times rescued by strangers from harm in the pit: 2Number of times stepped upon: Number too highNumber of after parties attended: 0Number of confrontations: ½Number of glitter flecks worn: 1,000,000Number of glow sticks stolen: 1Number of glow sticks lost: 1

IV. What We Learned

Nothing, besides that we did it right this time and will probably do it better next year. Kudos to us. §

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O-renovationsby Tera Watson

Along with having the most awesome summer ever, Orion has made some major O-renovations. We finally took it upon ourselves to put in grass seed and sod so that we finally have a front yard! Several housemates worked together: raking out all of the old weedy grass, leveling out the dirt, and spreading new seeds out. We’ve been careful to not walk on it yet, and so far our new lawn is holding up great and looking fantastic!

We have also utilized our maintenance grant to renovate the thug life room! A ping pong table had been put in last semester—which created many fun times and tourna-ments—but we finally got around to painting the plain, dirty walls. They are now a stunning flesh color with blue panels and trim. And there are still more plans in con-sideration to continue beautification. We plan to paint “thug life” on one of the walls to carry out the traditional name of the room. Also, on our new chalkboard wall, we’re considering writing “Give me flesh or give me death!” A quote that sadly cannot be explained in one mere Pine Press article.

The final, and possibly greatest, of all of Ohaus’s O-renovations is that the SHC’s fabu-lous maintenance crew is currently working on putting hardwood floors in our fire and tree rooms. Although we’ve been a little cramped without our living room, we’re all very grateful and excited to have a cleaner, nicer looking place for people to hang out at our house.

For all the things I’ve heard about living in a co-op in a summer, that they can get dirty or unorganized, I’m happy to say that Orion has really pulled together to make some awesome renovations to our house. I’m even happier to say I’ll be living here next year to enjoy it. §

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An ode to Orion,An ode to flush red checksAn ode to dirt tile floorsAn ode to dizzy eyes circling the upper stairsWandering ways to a lost bedroomFull of warm faces and half empty glasses and Musty futons and worn paintAn ode to saved couches with hair fromGenerations of unwashed manes untamedAn ode to the gravel, chips, and stones that made up theFoggy hot lawn of four loko summersAn ode to face painted surfaces stainedBut loved by the flies of OrionAn ode to days missed but not forgottenAn ode to home away from home §

ode to orion

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Building a lasting

communityI live at Elsworth Cooperative House. Last night a member from 2006 showed up at our doorstep, afraid and alone. “This is the only place that has ever felt like home to me,” he said. We played a game of Uno, we talked, we offered a bed and some comfort. While I hope that none of us find ourselves in a similar situation to our new friend, I also hope that we would all have somewhere to turn. We all need somewhere to go for comfort and safety, no matter how long it has been since we collected our member shares and moved on.

This August, I will be moving to the newly recolonized Hillsdale Cooperative House in Lansing. In five years, if I feel alone, will I be able to return to Hillsdale to be greeted by a new generation of cooperators with open arms? Or, possibly and regrettably more likely, will I find that the house has been sold to people who have no idea what a cooperative is?

I want to build a new, lasting community at Hillsdale Cooperative House. Moving into this house provides a new opportunity to start something that we can be proud of. A house in this market is not one that we need to “get off our hands,” as some have suggested, it is one that we need to embrace and get excited about.

My hope is that we can fill Hillsdale with eight committed members next year, and build a cooperative community that we can return to in five or ten years and still be proud of.

I am not asking you to leave your friends at New Community or Raft Hill, but I am asking you to at the very least support our new community that may someday become a raft to someone in need.

The Education Committee is planing a cookout at Hillsdale in the near future, and I’m sure that many more events will be held there in the coming year. Please help us build our brand new cooperative downtown. Please help us build a lasting community.

Warmest personal regards,Honey BrownElsworth to Hillsdale §

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ResponsibilityHow much do you trust your Board Representative? Each house votes for their officers, and the officer who sits on the Board of Directors for each house is arguably the officer with the most responsibility. It makes sense—Board Reps have to sign fiduciary agreements. They take legal responsibility for their decisions and are trusted to make decisions on behalf of the SHC instead of on their own personal behalf. According to Black’s Law Dictionary, fiduciary duties are “the highest standard of duty implied by law (e.g., trustee, guardian).”

So you are trusting your Board Reps to vote for you, but are you trusting them not to vote? Board Reps have the choice to vote Yea, Nay or they may abstain. To abstain is to not vote, and in many instances lately, motions have failed because though they received more yea votes than nay votes, too many Board Reps abstained.

It is an alarming trend, because Board Reps should only abstain if there is a conflict of interest or they do not have enough information to reasonably vote. However, not having enough information is not the same as not being informed because the Board Rep didn’t read their Board Pack ahead of time. Many questions can be answered by reading up on the Code of Operations (which every Board Rep has) and unanswered questions should be brought up at the Board Meetings. Only then, if it is clear there is not enough information, should a Board Rep abstain from voting.

Directors should put forth their best effort to vote on all motions that come before them. Failure to do so could be a breach of their fiduciary duties and after all, what good is having a Board Rep if they aren’t going to give your house a vote? § by Kate Walquist

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I was first distinctively aware that summer had arrivedWhen I noticed that it was no longer 40 degrees and rainingAs it had been for weeks in April and MayBut was instead 90 degrees and horrifyingly humid

Not that I will ever complain about this weatherGiven that I spent months wishing it would comeAnd complaining vocally about its oppositeBut I do wish that it could have come gradually

Elsworth has been full of activity this past weekSummer seems like the medicine we needed all alongWe planted our vegetable garden and cleaned things upMeeting and getting to know new members and friends

I guess what I’m trying to say is that summer comesAnd brings with it something we can’t measureEspecially not on a thermometer or barometerBut something that we just know when we see it

Like pornography §

when did i know summer had arrived?

by First ThirdElsworth Cooperative House

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March 17, 2008

MSU SHC Capital Improvements Proposal: Vesta Memorial Swimming PoolBy: Andrew Baczewski & Devin Schnepp

Summary: We propose the full removal of Vesta Cooperative and its subsequent replacement with a swimming pool and fitting memorial placard. This proposal is expected to significantly increase the value of the equity in the possession of the MSU SHC. Additionally, the planned recreational facilities are expected to lead to a marked gain in the perceived attractiveness of membership in the SHC, thereby establishing unprecedented levels of financial stability within our organization.

Bids: Strathmore Development Co. - $400,000 Michael Davidson - $10 and a pack of Black & Milds

Proposed Improvements: Getting rid of Vesta Cooperative, using the vacant land for a swimming pool/memo-rial

Proposal: Fellow members of the SHC, in order to continue living in sweet, cheap, cooperative housing, we must establish a perpetual desire for new members to join our community. Previously, this has taken the form of bake sales, nude calendars, dance-offs (suck it, Phoenix), and the occasional t-shirt. While these measures certainly increase the visibility of the SHC to the community, they are few and far between. What could in-crease awareness in the SHC better than an in-ground swimming pool in the middle of sorority row on MAC?

At this point you must be asking yourself, “Why Vesta? Why not Ferency? They play Magic cards and suck at parking.” Simply put, Vesta already has enough bong water to fill a swimming pool, so why not take advantage of this valuable commodity? Furthermore, we totally saw them chomping down on babies once. Seriously, it’s called a “California Hoagie” - hippies do that sort of shit all the time.

Expected Cost: $10, some Black & Milds, and an afternoon or two.

Expected Gain: A reduction in summer vacancies and the restoration of the collective dignity of the SHC. §

*Extracted from the Pine Press archives, submitted by Kate Walquist.

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Ann Arbor Summer Art Fairwith free music performances almost every night.www.annarborsummerfestival.org

Great Lakes Chamber Music Festivalhappening throughout South Eastern Michigan. Artists include great performers from around the area with a world and classical repetoire.www.greatlakeschambermusic.com

Summer Solstice Jazz Festivalin downtown East Lansingwww.eljazzfest.com

June 17–July 10

June 11–June 26

June 17–June 18

§

Looking for something to do?by Roxanne Kieme

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