Vaudeville

Hatching a Raven with Wings:
Intricate white lights spit fireflies on a stage bathed in yellow. Infantile wooden bricks stack high, making a backdrop of discolored crimson. Plastic trees preach, rooted deep into concrete, and plump, pink flowers sprout from rubber. A pearly picket fence defends the audience- or perhaps, keeps the audience at bay.

On the set actors stand and gurgle lines with perfect timing- like their imagination represents their real lives.With chubby cheeks and googly eyes they gaze at the romanticism of fake babies, and assault two-dimensional grass with a roll-able John Deer. Door bells signify the transition between scenes, as chefs appear to replicate meals, such as orange-strawberry soup.

The audience can't help but gawk in disbelief as these off-spring create drama they hardly can believe. They gasp, "No, not the potato!" and "Don't fall down the steps!" The words, "Slow down!" turn into a background rumble as the fast-paced comedic-romance initiates its twist. As an actress screams off the soundboards, "I forgot my baby!" an audible awe stretches en-mass, and silence engulfs the auditorium.

With the play coming to a close, action rattles the state like a giant wave. One of the main actors is crushed under a ton of rubber bricks, and tears fall from the crowd in response. Spotlights swirl and the cacophony resumes. A sword-fight lasts fifteen minutes as the main protagonist encounters his mortal enemy. The sound of metal on metal is replaced with "oohs" and "ahhs" - and then, the villain has his blade at the throat of the hero.

Is it all over?

The atmosphere dims and the two-dimensional grass wavers in the wind created by a mechanical fan. The wooden bricks shed a sinister shade of red on the stage. Then- darkness turns bright. The hero headbutts the villain, who is thrown over a cliff by sheer will-power.
The audience applauds.
Inside the kitchen, the main actor slams a cabinet door on a female actress. She cries in agony as her eyes scrunch up and her smile morphs into a frown. Seeking remorse, the actor apologizes under a soft blue light. Then, in truest form- he confesses his love.

"I'm sorry... I love you."

In the audience a women swoons. An elderly man faints. The cast bows, deeply.

Thunderous clapping ensues.
Inspired by the Please Touch Museum's Front Step

What I'm Doing: Hoping my back heals by tomorrow, as I watch Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution.

212:
I'd like to apologize for the tardiness of this post. I originally planned to throw it out last night on the 1st but, I passed out on the couch downstairs after work, and plummeted into oblivion.

I watched Lost on Wednesday night. During the episode, one of the characters, Sun, smashed her head running into a tree branch. She later woke up with some type of aphasia- forgetting how to speak English. Eventually she was given a notepad, and is able to write so that she can express her thoughts. Now, you would think that on an unknown island, notepaper would be a hot commodity. Yet, Sun still decided to fill every paper up with two to three words a page, written with huge handwriting. After that scene, I just couldn't get my mind off all that wasted paper. Man.

It's very nice out here. This week has been averaged a solid 70 degrees. Breezy. Wonderful. It's so colorful here.

This week is Spring Break for the Philadelphia school district (besides Monday/Tuesday, which were make-up snow days). Because we're not in schools, all of the City Year corps members are out doing service, for there are no breaks for the hardy! My team was stationed inside of the Please Touch Museum and our job was to watch, observe, and play with the children- whenever possible.

For kids, the Please Touch Museum is a great place. It allows for a ton of role-playing. One could be anything from a doctor to a McDonald's employee to Alice, having tea with the Mad Hatter. In this museum, Children reign supreme. They run rampant and bulldoze parents, and if you're an adult, there is no saving a sense of dignity. Of all the people that visited, my favorites were the dolled up grow-ups. The ones that are "dressed to impress" with curled hair and heels. Even the beer-brawling-NFL-Sunday-watching crew, better known as the Dads-that-push-strollers-with-visible-agony-on-their-faces put on a hilarious show. First-timers. Newcomers. They don't realize their five-year-old darling is going to drag them around Pluto, then out of the solar system, and finally back home by passing through the Sun. They don't realize that their five-year-old darling doesn't care about a broken heel or a missed Eagle's game- he/she just cares about fun. As a parent, the only way to survive is to relax and enjoy the smiles on each kid's face. Every man and every woman signifies a shred of evidence, stating that all humans lose their minds in vaudeville. And it's true.

The Please Touch Museum isn't as splendid as it sounds- but it still is a good time. It reminds me of life-guarding, rotating station to station. Time creeps by slowly, and a ten-minute span feels like eternity. Toward the end of my shift yesterday, I was hanging with Eugene in a pseudo McDonald's. I had left the medical center (which was bombed with Lysol), to grab some fresh air. Euge and I were joking with the kids, creating lettuce sandwiches and meat goliaths- but somehow, the atmosphere changed. It was as if the children changed into evil versions of Hercules, as adrenaline pumped into their veins. Hard, plastic hamburgers blasted from their hands like cannonballs. I found myself blocking bullets and shielding my face as rubbery buns flew toward me. Euge curled into the fetal position in the corner of the room, and couldn't help but take a beating from three fast-food snipers. The incident was beyond terrifying for there was no hope for fighting back. We were truly outnumbered, and I'm sure we left that day with bruises.

Quotes I've Heard in Philly:
1) "If all the parents get in a circle, we can give each other back rubs."
2) "I need brain surgery because you farted on my head!"

Violence. A term nearly everyone knows or recognizes, a term that carries a negative connotation. When I see this word I think of war, blood, fighting, broken bones, broken families, aggression. It represents a sort of wickedness. As a society, we believe that all problems can be solved without violence. And what good does violence do anyways? It's a turf battle here, death toll there, gun shot wound expression. Yet, our culture revolves around the idea like a war monger, or the Greek god, Ares.

The week of March 22nd to March 26th was non-violence week at my school. At least, it was meant to be. But we all know that just because someone says so, doesn't mean it will happen.

Previously on March 20th, there was a giant outcry over something called "flash mobs" (a term believed to have been coined by Larry Niven). Here's what happened, to the best of my understanding- intertwined with possibly inaccurate news references.

It was late at night on South St. The air was soft and calm, with just the right touch of warmth- creating a cool sensation on one's skin. Kids were shopping, families were eating in local restaurants, and everyone else hit the bars- boozing off spring specials. If people decided to look out the windows, they would've noticed a sudden influx of kids. If they were teachers, they may have recognized some of their students. And if they were kids- their phones may have been vibrating a hole through their jeans.

By means of communication (Facebook, text message, Twitter), kids and students and teens decided to swarm the Center City hot spot of South St. Imagine the horrified looks of citizens, who, after attempting a night of peace, stood shocked at the events taking place. There were rumored to be thousands of people- a small army- roaring through down road.

"It was a tsunami of kids." (New York Times)

After the fact, it was noted that kids were fighting in the streets. They were dragging people out of their BMW Z4 roadsters and Nissan Sentras in a Grand Theft Auto 5 Brotherly Love sort of way. Homeless men and women were attacked, stores were broken in to. Even a shop owner was assaulted on his property.

That, and at least 18 kids were arrested.

Rumors of a new, 10:00PM curfew rose during the outrage. Of a crackdown by cops, of an investigation of social media by the FBI. Mayor Nutter himself issued a statement of anger and disbelief. As the Philadelphia media exaggerated the situation, it gained prominence and soon became a national story. People blamed parents and schools for misbehaving children. They put fathers on trial and criticized them for leaving families, for not punishing their sons when they acted out. The community screamed at the sky as if to ask why they couldn't control the youth.

The School District of Philadelphia wanted to reclaim some respect. So, they countered late Sunday night by highlighting the next week an impromptu stand against violence. They advertised, made it mandatory: Non-Violence week.

And thus, here we are.

The brunt of tasks and chores during that week were laid on the back of the Physics teacher, whose class I help out in during the last period of the day. Ms. C is a second year Teach for America member who is incredibly passionate about her students. Before getting this fresh mountain of tasks handed down by district, Ms. C was already stressed out. So she reached out to me for extra assistance- if nothing less to use me as a bouncing board for ideas.

Her job was to organize projects and events based off non-violence. To give her some much deserved credit, she pulled it off. Smoothly too.

The first initiative she pressed was a poster contest. It was to be completed in a week and she received many unique submissions. My favorite was a painted drawing of a black and Asian kid fighting, with a white kid in-between, blocking punches.

Ms. C's other task to tackle was a school-to-district Webinar. It carried the goal of allowing students to share their minds and opinions about the "flash mobs" and other violence issues. It was predicted to be a big event- even televised by some news channels.

Now, this week was ironic. Ironic in a 6'6", 270 lb wrestler named "Tiny" kind of way. Non-violence? My students scoffed and spat at its face (not that they would do this to Tiny, however..). In the beginning of the week, students jumped the sergeant of JROTC, an adult. On that same day, a student was attacked on the third floor. He was knocked to the ground, then repeatedly kicked for a solid fifteen minutes. This isn't to mention all the other assortments of fights, or even the scheduled after-school brawls, or the systematic targeting of kids from a nearby charter school. At least non-violence week was living up to the second word in its creed.

That Thursday, around 11:00AM, my buddy Law and I strolled to a classroom on the fourth floor to help with the Webinar. The best and brightest kids from 9th-12th grade were there, sitting with good posture and excitement in their eyes. Law and I casually chatted outside the door as we watched big name reporters like Vernon Odom and suave news crews roll in, wearing broken shields of confidence on their shoulders. They seemed put off by the environment of the school- yet their determination prevailed, for they had a job to do.

Lights. The principal was in the room and she flicked the switches off. The projector blared a visible spectrum of images across the white board.

Camera. Cameramen powered up their shoulder-pads and unleashed their aluminum tripods. They wielded the pinnacle of technology.

Action. Emboldened by purpose, reporters crawled into nostalgia as they reclined in desks to interview students.

Think of the reporters like generals. They were commanders. Masters of the strategic placement of their units. Napoleon or Robert E. Lee class. Finger signs and hand sweeps orchestrated intricate maneuvers as cameramen readied their optical bazookas. Extreme beams of sun blasted like laser sights from their visual guns. Some ducked for cover or found ways to perfect a sniper shot between the legs of a rival's tripod.

Microphones were set up at the front of the room. When a question was asked, a student would be chosen from the 30 person audience to sit down and state their opinion or answer. Many students said that they didn't mean to cause a disruption- that on a weekend there realistically wasn't anything to do. When asked if they used Twitter to communicate or organize meetings, the students chuckled in disbelief. Their answer- a blunt, "No way."

Overall, the Webinar was fantastic. I thought it was a great experience for the students, one that really expressed their opinions and shed a new light on the issue. As the news teams left the building, a fight broke out on the other side of the school. It's a good thing that NBC, CBS and FOX missed it- otherwise it may have been a different story.

Articles to Examine:
"Flash Mobs" ABC 6
"Flash Mobs" New York Times

So far there hasn't been a sequel to the "flash mob" saga. But I wouldn't count it out. This weekend is going to hit somewhere near 80 degrees. Who knows if that heat will cause steam to erupt the suppressed anger volcano of teens?

It has been a wild week and a half. I survived a stampede of girls during an anti-male Taylor Swift concert, encountered the first person I've ever seen wearing Kansas State apparel, watched my NCAA bracket turn to ash at the hands of Butler's flamethrower, and worked three days in a five-year-old's wonderland. I love wild weeks like this. So many things stand out, and it feels like I've learned so much in such little time.

Shakespeare once said, "All the world's a stage/ And all the men and women merely players/ They have their exits and their entrances/ And one man in his time plays many parts."

What parts have you played recently? In this world, this vaudeville, what role do you play?

-TWO-12