JF: Dancing With Braced Ankles

Dancing with Braced Ankles

Brittany Born, Loyola's star libero, balances her passion and the simple life

Ed. Note: Hey guys, I know most of you have met Britt before but I thought I'd share this with you before we all left for New Zealand together. I wrote this piece as an assignment for my Sports Writing class so it is a bit dated but I feel like it's an adequate description of her persona. I know it's a bit long but please take the time to enjoy it.

BALTIMORE - Before last Sunday's match against St. Peter's, Brittany Born meets trainer Steve Austin in his office to be treated. Austin places pads on her back, two on her upper back and two on her lower, and channels electric currents into her muscles.

She does this before every match.

The process takes 15 minutes and makes her quiver, but she claims it is painless. It stimulates her sore back muscles and allows her to bow with the grace necessary for the libero (pronounced LEE-beh-ro) position. After some icing, she is ready for warm-ups.

The rest of the team wears their home blacks but not her. As libero, Born, 20, is designated a lime green jersey that makes her more noticeable to the officials - and everyone else. By now, she is used to standing out.

Jogging lightly, Born ducks her head under the net and bounces up on the other side, swinging her arms like a willow in a windstorm as the rest of the team warms up. The song playing on the loudspeaker is House of Pain's "Jump Around" - her favorite. Born mouths the lyrics along, swiveling her hips to the beat as she fields serves to assistant coach Rich Zwolinski. He does his best to shake off a smile.

After the balls are shagged and the game is ready to begin, she stands off to the side of the net, beams bright and darts towards freshman middle blocker Taylor Koncelik. The two meet mid-jump, Born delivers an enthusiastic two-handed high five and lands soundly on her braced ankles. Electrified, she lets out a fervent cheer to rally her teammates for the upcoming contest.

"I live for game day," Born said, with a thin-lipped, knowing smile, "it's so exciting."

What you wouldn't assume is that this game is the last in a disappointing season that began with four straight losses and ended with the NCAA tournament still out of reach. You wouldn't assume that their opponent was a struggling St. Peter's squad who had also buried the hopes of a playoff berth, coming into the match with a lowly 8-21 record.

You wouldn't stop to think that this was Born's last time donning her ankle braces and lime green jersey before she skips the spring season to study abroad in New Zealand.

Brittany born is this enthusiastic every game - and she hasn't missed one of the 362 sets Loyola has played since she arrived three seasons ago.

"I calculated it and, during the season, it's a full-time job," Born admits, almost guiltily.

At times, the commitments of Division I college volleyball makes her feel restricted, tied down. However, she does not let this affect her. She maintains her constant enthusiasm - for the sake of the team.

"[I try to] be loud, you know, celebrate every point," she explains, "every game matters...nobody likes to lose."

"You'd go nuts if you had six of her," Loyola coach Scott Pennewill jests, "but she's got the ability to get people fired up."

Senior Kimi Gabriel subs in for Born during much of the match, but Born continues to cheer from the sidelines, never completely removing herself from the action. The Hounds dig deep to overcome a late rally by St. Peter's and finish off the Peahens in five sets.

Then, it's over.

The team wraps up another disappointing year, finishing 15-18.

Following the match, they hold a banquet to honor the seniors who won't be returning to Loyola for the coming season. The next day, Pennewill gets busy courting five new recruits signed on for next year and the team takes some much needed time off.

For now, the 20-hours of weekly practice and the early morning workouts are through.

"It hasn't even hit me yet that we don't have volleyball."

Brittany Born sits in her bed across from me, legs folded Indian style, and hugs a pillow in her lap. She dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, the outfit of a girl reviling leisure. no make-up, it's not worth the effort today. Her crimped silk hair falls easy on her shoulders.

She is taking her time, letting her weak ankles rest, and enjoying the good life

JF: "In Which I am Goddamn Terribly Disappointed" or "In Which I Steer Dangerously Close to Making a Point"

Ed Note - Jerard Fagerberg is by no means a political expert nor does he represent the overarching or general political views of TSTLN. He is merely a middle-class liberal-minded college student cliche with stereotypical optimism that unsupported by substantial knowledge of political strategy or general knowledge about the ways of the world. He does, however, have the head turning outrage you typically entrust to the talking heads on NBC so we openly publish his opinion regardless.

Today has been an ugly day for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. For those of you who don't know, today Scott Brown (a republican) was selected (by the people) to fill Ted Kennedy's vacant senate seat. Though Brown will be up for reelection in November during the midterm elections, his victory is seen as a setback in Kennedy's lifelong campaign for universal health care.

Kennedy, who sat for Massachusetts in the senate for an astounding 46 years, was a stalwart liberal who championed the cause of social medicine. It was his life's work. His recent death has been surrounded by an ongoing debate over health care reform. The Obama administration -which the right has been quick to name "a bunch of fuckstick Communists who want to give Mexicans free hospital visits and, in general, all our fuckin' money, goddamnit" - supports a socialized medicine system (not exactly social medicine, per se, just something akin to it) and needed District Attorney Martha Coakley to gain a strategic majority in the Senate. With Coakley's concession to Brown tonight, Senator Kennedy's dream has suffered a terrible loss.

As a lifelong resident of Massachusetts, I've been weaned on this theory. Specifically, the theory that all people have value and, therefore, should not be punished for being in a lower tax bracket. I will not apologize for this Northeast liberal bias, it's simply who I am. I am not a Communist, though I believe Marx had good intentions. I am not even a Democrat, I'm a registered independent who is fed up withe the change-fearing old boys club the Republican party has become. Simply, universal health care is the most perfect answer right now. No, it is not perfect but it is a start. There must be great reform in the illegal alien debate before a permanent system can be instilled.

We were supposed to be the generation that called for change. The one that was pushing politics to evolve with grace instead of piloting a country of bankers with their heads in the sand. We elected Obama because we thought the light was gonna shine. There was supposed to be progress. Were we all just optimism-prone freethinkers with no respect for the real world?

Maybe the media is getting to us (yeah, that's right, the liberal media and it's left-wing agenda). Newspapers and 11 o'clock programs are telling us nothing is changing, that Obama was all campaign promises and now it's coming back to haunt us. Republicans are calling "Hope" a pipe dream and Democrats are jumping to the GOP just a year and a half into the turnaround. Now, in the shadow of a slowly rising economy and a debate leaning towards progress in the health sector, the change generation - the NOW generation - is losing their battle for rebirth.

We gave in to political shitflinging. Sitting in front of the television yesterday, I watched Coakley and Brown trade insults via campaign ads for hours on end. It was a goddamn onslaught of misleading fact skews and slanted language. Coakley, who once built her campaign around he past accomplishments and ability to progress, had reverted to labeling Brown a Bush sympathizer who was out to sabotage the Obama agenda.

This is not the strategy that birthed America's first black president. This was a cowardly decision that put us into the passenger seat of a car stuck in reverse. By giving the seat of the great Ted Kennedy (say what you will about the man's personal life) over to the Republicans, the change we so willfully elected to see will have to wait, to build and hopefully not die, until we can agree on a system that best benefits the States.

JF: The Postal Service is Not Accepting Applicants

Here at The Stairs that Lead Nowhere, we usually leave the musical critique to PT, but I got something I just gotta say. Since I lost my iPod last week, I've been listening to a lot of radio (thus my post on Lady GaGa yesterday). It hasn't been terrible but the control freak in me has been dying to hit the "skip" button every time I hear these clichéd words ring through the speakers of my '97 Nissan Shitbox:

"You would not believe your eyes/if ten million fireflies/lit up the world as I fell asleep"

The above lyrics are taken from Owl City's whimsical single "Fireflies." The song in-and-of-itself is unforgivably unimaginative. Adam Young, the MySpace baby responsible for Owl City, wrote the song in his parent's Minnesota basement last year (cute, right?) and has since found immediate acceptance from other trend-hoppers on the social networking site, ultimately leading to his signing with Universal Republic in 2009.

Since then, "Fireflies" has whirred up the charts, sharing airspace with the likes of Beyoncé, Lil' Wayne and our girl Lady GaGa. However, the digi-pop phenomenon stands out for its unmistakable indie influence - one Adam Young claims draws from Imogen Heap and Boards of Canada, among others.

Here's an example of those oh-so inspired lyrics:
"Cause I'd Get a Thousand Hugs
From Ten Thousand Lightning Bugs
As They Tried To Teach Me How to Dance"

If you're not yet impressed, try:
"To Ten Million Fireflies
I'm Weird Cause I Hate Goodbyes
I Got Misty Eyes As They Said Farewell
But I'll Know Where Several Are
If My Dreams Get Real Bizarre
Cause I Saved a Few and I Keep Them in A Jar"

Alright. A handful of overly-romantic non sequiturs looped over a poppy backbeat do not make you reflective. There's a motif aboutinsomnia and fireflies buried somewhere in there, but the connection gets abstracted by the song's blatant insincerity. Anything meaningful Mr. Young was trying to imitate here is lost in the awkward transition between lines. At many other points in the song, Young seems to be fishing for meaning, reaching to sound poetic and falling short. I won't get into the perils of writing a successful song while juggling verb tense (is this song written in the preterit or the imperfect?!) but suffice it to say there's something afoot here.

Yes, I am calling him a poser.

The only reason you're hearing Owl City on the speakers of your Shitbox is because of good ol' fashioned record label agenda setting (oh jeeze, here he comes with the conspiracy theories). Universal Republic signed and pushed Young to the radio stations because he fits the mold of almost-popular indie acts. Even the name "Owl City" follows the "Animal+Random Noun" model of edgy underground acts (think "Wolf Parade"). Just stir in some major radio syndication and a catchy hook miming something profound and...Viola! You've got a perfect abomination on your hands.

If I was Ben Gibbard I'd be a little pissed off. Not too pissed off, because I'd be marrying Zooey Deschanel, but pissed off enough that my passion project the Postal Service was being ripped off by some MySpace tagalong so he could make his millions with the fat cats standing behind him. Young's voice is a weak pantomime of Gibbard's and his lyrics wouldn't even make the leaf jacket of a bootleg Postal Service album. It's downright embarrassing.

Allow me to make an analogy. You remember when you were a kid and everyone had Adidas shell-toes, complete with the signature 3-stripe pattern on the sides? Every kid had them - they were a successful brand. Then, in an attempt to capitalize on the success of Adidas, countless knockoff brands began producing lookalike shoes with fur stripes. All the kids with four stripes on their shoes were laughed at - rightfully so. Owl City is the Payless brand of the Postal Service.

Inevitably, the song will persist for a few more months. You will probably see it on Now 45 or something, but then it should be just about over. Maybe the reason Ben Gibbard isn't pissed off is because he knows Owl City and "Fireflies" will be off the music scene before his honeymoon is over.

Stay warm,
JF

JF: Why I (and Everybody Else) MUST Love Lady GaGa

The talking heads have been telling us that we are a diseased generation ever since the advent of Napster in 2001. They’ve said that we don’t appreciate what we have; that we’re the generation that invented instant gratification without ever being grateful for the instant. Weaned on broadband and HD, we’re the intolerant generation – the ones who perfected impatient foot tapping. These talking heads, the ones who are so prone to backward-looking deification; they’ve named a disorder after us. Attention Deficit.

There are measurable symptoms of this disorder. Neal Postman attempted to enumerate these symptoms in his 1992 bitch-fest Technopoly but fell short due to his inability to equate technological advancement with progress (or maybe it was his inability to separate glory and antiquity, or perhaps a simple lack of articulation throughout). In essence, I disagree with Postman – but I see the merit in what he was attempting to say. So allow me, as someone who both observes and analyzes instead of just one or the other, to explain absent the tired social commentary of an aged zealot.

Level with me, virtual generation. Let’s be real with each other.

We value the instant. Things tend to change frequently in our world so we get used to adaptation. We reach out through social media to one another, spreading across countries by our fingertips. We’re living through screens, adopting avatars, calling texting “interaction” and dancing to the songs made from the fiber optic throats of robots. We bore easily and don’t apologize it. We are visually-oriented. We learn through video, through so-called “rich” media. However, we are bombarded by images, most of which are sexual in nature. Sex becomes ingrained in our everyday lives, accepted – normative. Because of this, we’ve been seen as a demographic lacking in…moral fiber.

This is, of course, a gross generalization. There are elements of accuracy in this but my viewpoint and analysis is by no means all-encompassing. Bear with me. Sure, there are downsides to this way of life but technology is our revolution. We will be remembered (renowned?) for what the microchips we develop are able to simulate. The PlayStation was our Woodstock.

So when the fuck am I gonna talk about Lady GaGa, you ask?

Lady GaGa, since bursting into the mainstream with her 2008 electro-pop hit “Just Dance.” The smash-hit, which coupled a synthed-up back beat and eager lyrics glorifying the party lifestyle of the Y Generation, was well received globally, reaching #1 in six separate countries. GaGa (I believe that’s the proper capitalization), admittedly wrote the song in ten minutes while fighting a hangover. Four months later she released her second single “Poker Face” which achieved similar success.

From there it’s been a string of hits, one after another, including 2009’s “LoveGame” wherein GaGa proclaims her desire to “ride” a young man’s “disco stick (it’s my personal favorite, there’s just something in the way she grunts when she sings ‘with a smile on your mouth and a hand on your HUH!’ that makes my penis tingle with joy). She also made an appearance on Wale's single first single “Chillen” from the album ironically titled “Attention: Deficit.” Lady GaGa’s second album “The Fame Monster” is well on its way to permeating our airwaves with its catchy surges and harping melodies.

GaGa attested to writing “LoveGame” in only four minutes. She’s released two landmark albums and seven successful singles in less than two years. The beats, produced by RedOne, are robotic, a brilliant manipulation of actual sound that drives our hips into spasm. Her lyrics are vivid, brazenly sexual and magnetically simple. You like Lady GaGa. Even if you try to hate her. You know what, try to hate her…I’ll give you a moment…Didn’t work did it? You love the shit out of her and her silly dresses. She is everything you have asked for.

Lady GaGa was built to thrive in this generational atmosphere. She has kept us uninterruptedly entertained, finding her viability in the social/electronic media that defines our generation. Although some may label her as a tactless, uncouth, cock-worshipping troubadour of heathen sex (reference needed), we must stop and recognize her impeccable savvy. She has addressed our needs dually.

It’s that perfect combination of factors, that unmatched foresight for her audience that has us all singing along: “GAGA OOH LA LA.”

I promise I’m not gay.

JF