How can you become a diamond on Old Bob’s necklace of kindness? I honestly have no idea. He’s never even given me a second look when I walk up to the dessert section (which is frequently).
Welcome to In the Studio, a feature dedicated to exploring the fantastic independent musicians at Kenyon. This week, we showcase Jordan Dean ’22 music major from Cleveland, Ohio.
Whether it be the aroma of your mom’s home cooking, or the calming scent of clothing fresh out of the dryer, there are some smells that just can’t be beat. But out here in good ol’ Gambier, much like the Twilight Zone, the rules don’t apply. In rural Ohio, your nose (and mental strength) are challenged like they have never been before. Here some of the of Kenyon’s many memorable smells:
Professor Severus Snape
Magic, Mayhem, and Making Amends (but Not, Like, Urgently)
22 February 2019
In this paper I will argue that I saw a man (stature of a fully grown corn stalk, backwards baseball cap, not really in a rush, alone) swallow an entire (100% of a) cigarette (lit). The day was Thursday (February 7th), and the time, lunch. I was walking southward on Middle Path, and the subject north. Point of contact: Ransom Hall. The weather was frog degrees and sticky tack was precipitating (lightly) from the sky. This was normal because it was an Ohio winter. I don’t have a thesis because this piece is more, like, exploratory. “Can the human experience truly be captured in language, the construction site of the psyche” (CITE). Someone at the Writing Center told me this paper was “full of, uhm, ideas” and then offered me a complementary candy (but they were out of dark chocolate Hershey Kisses). Because the straw prose of analytical writing couldn’t contain all my feelings, observations, ideologies, methodologies, insecurities, fondness for sea otters, suspicions, jazz music, sobriety, or overdue library books, I’ve decided to continue my paper in poetic form instead.
The only good thing about this terrible cycle of cold, then show, then rain, then ice again is watching people fall on their asses. The dance that many do to avoid falling is almost just as funny. The “Oh I didn’t just fall on my ass” face is even funnier. Ultimately, I have seen my fair share of shit eaters. I can proudly say I have yet to fall on my face or ass yet, but I’m sure this article will induce some intense slipping karma.
I must confess. I am a simple man. I like blood, guts, and flaky crust. I know what America wants to see. America wants to see senseless violence, intersecting storylines, and pie. I said to the Thrill Editors, I said “I know what the people want” and they said “what do the people want?” and I said, you know what I said, I said “they want to see Fry. Pie. Wrestling.” A voice broke the silence, “What’s a fry pie?”
A few weeks ago, I found a tiny level on the floor of Lower Horn. I’ve been carrying it in my pocket ever since. Here’s a compilation of my investigative research on what’s flat and what’s not on this campus. Continue reading