Oberlin Blogs

When it comes to breaks, I use them as time to relax and recharge, which means I tend to ignore any classwork I've brought along in my suitcase.

Isaac reflects on his first impressions of Oberlin after flying back home for fall break--only to find that his real home is at Oberlin. Awww.

I went into the first lesson armed with ten years of violin lessons, one year of music theory, and a textbook.

Oberlin is a mecca for all things music, and not just because of the Conservatory. Cool awesome bands and musicians are here all the time, at a fraction of the cost of most performances in the real world.

A run-down of my favorite study spots around Oberlin.

Inside, podcasts of A Prairie Home Companion ushered Keepers and visitors into the dining room where we filled our plates and other eating receptacles with hamburger noodle hotdish, green bean casserole, wild rice, powdermilk biscuits, and jello with Swedish fish before heading outside to the sunshine.

In this post: Mad Max, our inevitable doom, The Communist Manifesto, superempirical virtues in theory choice, Stanley Fish, those problematic humanities, and a way-too-long post.

For three weeks of the year, the walls of the Bent corridor (which I totally thought was just a descriptor, not the name of two illustrious alumni, up until last week) are graced with beautiful local artwork from students from the 9th Congressional District. I was ever so lucky to be there photographing it.

The challenge over the month came in donning both roles--as both a teacher and a student--all while being reassured along the way that we were likely to catch dengue fever, get taken hostage at a Jakarta airport, and be heaved out of a moving train on our way to Moscow.

In fear of the real world, I resolved to do and see as many ridiculous things as I can this semester. Like swing dancing.

I'm not even a huge history buff, but there's something stirring to the soul about stumbling across an old, crumbling stone and barely being able to make out the engraved letters: Born a slave, died free.

Personally, I was completely terrified of the concept of office hours my freshman year. The professors were amazing and awesome and being in the same room as them one-on-one just seemed like a god-given experience, something not worthy of a lowly freshman. So, baby steps.