by Sarah Weston

Friends, Romans, Countrymen, ….random people whose names I picked out of the telephone book,[1] lend me your … sunscreen? Being a person who thrives on rain and over-cast skies, but is forced to brave college in depressingly sunny California, I am so disappointed right now at the downright “pleasant” weather in Missouri over my winter break.

Just to be clear, that was a purposefully deplorable transition into a discussion of Missouri weather… Okay, to be honest, I really couldn’t think of a witty play on “lend me your ears,” so I just pretended like I was trying to be ironic with the “sunscreen,” but I was actually pretty desperate, because I had dug myself into a hole with the “Friends, Romans, Countrymen” thing.[2]

As you can probably already tell, the Weston parents made the terrible decision to let their daughter write this year’s holiday letter. I persuaded them (N.B. they did not need much convincing) that I have had by far a more eventful and exciting year than they have, and, thus, am eons more qualified to write this letter than they are. I told them to be prepared for an exciting, stimulating whirlwind of a letter. The competition over the letter-writing position was a heated one, resulting in a smack-down between my cat, Bubbles, and me. Ultimately, it came down to who was the better typist.

I have been posturing to get this coveted position for YEARS, but now that I have it, I am not entirely sure what to do with it. So I’m just going to pretend like I’ve written it, and spring a pop quiz on you to see if you’ve been paying attention to my riveting letter detailing the goings on in the Weston family’s past year.

True/False.

Not needing to ferry me around from one extra-curricular to the next, my parents have filled their spare time with a promising hobby. Yes, Bruce and Dana have taken up looting. You will have seen their mugs in the papers. FALSE: You obviously did not read my extensively detailed letter closely enough. My parents would never loot. They are much too classy for that riff-raffyness. No. Heists, a la Bonnie and Clyde. That’s where it’s at. But we have all agreed that “Bruce and Dana” doesn’t quite have the same ring to it. If you have better ideas, we are taking suggestions.

While in college, I have become the proud owner of not one, not two, but THREE fuzzy blankets. TRUE: It’s all or nothing with Sarah Weston.

I am currently on the residential staff for my college dorm, holding the position of Resident Writing Tutor. This noblest of noble positions has entitled me to a room of my own – located the staggering distance of exactly one door away from the room I had last year. TRUE: I pride myself at my ability to handle drastic change.

One of my freshmen snagged my unattended computer and posted this status on Facebook: “Sarah is single, septilingual, and ready to mingle.” TRUE: To plagiarize the joke of a good friend, the one positive thing about the break-up of the former Yugoslavia is that I can now call myself impressively multilingual. I speak Serbian, Croatian, Serbo-Croatian, …

My dad has taken to staging Civil War reenactments in our back yard. FALSE: No.. just… no.

The majority of my summer, I spent with 216-year-old editions of the English Romantic poet William Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience. I received a grant from Stanford to study them at the British Museum (London) and at Cambridge University. TRUE: The people who supervised my research fed me chocolate cake nearly every day… but only after I had finished smearing peanut butter and jelly all over the multi-million dollar manuscripts. Peanut butter is easy to clean off 200-year old texts, but we all know that chocolate doesn’t come out of anything.

I spent the 4^th of July in England. TRUE: Awkwarddddddddddd.[3]

My dad has a huge man-crush on Andrew Luck, star Stanford quarterback. He has plans for me to woo, seduce, and marry “the Luck fellow.” TRUE: I am pleased to announce my upcoming nuptials! Just in case you want to get me a wedding present, Andrew and I are registered at Whole Foods under the “Nutella” section.

I drove for 4 hours on the freeway on the way back from Chicago. Previous driving experience: driving around my neighborhood at 5mph, and hyperventilating when another car was turning a mile ahead of me. TRUE: Thanks, dad.

I am currently on crutches, and have proven myself to be a menace to society. A pregnant lady held the door open for me the other day, and I felt like a chump. TRUE: People smile at you and give you sympathetic looks when you’re on crutches. I’ve decided to keep mine around, so that I can receive preferential treatment.

Surinam Toads giving birth… perhaps the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my entire life. TRUE: Don’t look it up. Just… don’t.

While debating the merits of different desserts at dinner the other night, my mother referred to The Tiramisu as “an unstoppable force.” TRUE: My mom is one of the wisest people I know.

My parents have gotten matching tattoos. FALSE: Wait, yes they have… (Note: No, they haven’t.) (..I can’t tell what’s true and what’s false anymore…)

My dad has been conning little children out of their French fries whenever we go to a restaurant. FALSE: Unless you substitute “Me” for “my dad” and “my dad” for “little children….” In which case, that statement is *absolutely* true.

I was going to set aside a place in this letter for a “Weighty Aphorisms Section,” but I’m burned out.  Happy holidays!!!

Love, The Westons

by Seth Winger

Amid all the talk of sportsmanship and integrity and athletic ability and scholarship, it’s sometimes easy to forget that at its heart, college football stands for one thing: spectacle. Luckily, we have Bowl Season (sponsored by the Sizzler) to remind us. We’ve already seen an Alamo Bowl (sponsored by the Texas Historical Society) to remember, witnessed the Air Force come under Rocket fire in the Military Bowl (sponsored by Cyberdyne Systems), and watched Cal go on vacation during the Holiday Bowl (sponsored by Cheese Board Pizza). So what can the Fiesta Bowl (sponsored by T. Boone Pickens and John Arrillaga) possibly hold?

In a word? Spectacle. (Sponsored by Andrew Luck and Brandon Wheeden.)

I’d like to think that over the last fifteen weeks, I’ve touched on a lot of the traditions and topics that make college football such a unique experience. And this week, during the biggest desert party of the year, they’re all on display.

Okay, second biggest desert party.

Ridiculous press build up? Yeah, the game between Stanford and Oklahoma State is being billed as the offensive half of the national championship, with the LSU-Alabama rematch being left to the defense. Oh, and headline puns abound, of course.

Mascot match up? The Stanford Not-So-Much-the-Indians-Anymore versus the Oklahoma State Cowboys. Poetic western backdrop for shootout metaphors is a go.

Between “Pistol Pete” and a horse named “Bullet,” it’s a wonder no one’s died at an OSU game.

Over-the-top fight songs? OSU’s is “Ride ’Em Cowboys.” It really doesn’t get much more over-the-top than that. (Oh wait…)

And as for a venue, we have the University of Phoenix Stadium, home of the Arizona Cardinals and host to Super Bowl XLII, last year’s BCS Championship game, and Wrestlemania XXVI. The stadium, located in the sprawling Phoenix metropolitan area, is the home field for the University of Phoenix, thirty-time national champions in seventeen different Division I sports.^{[citation needed]}

The stage is, in every conceivable way, set. It’s time for the Cardinal and the Cowboys to do what they’ve done best all season: play some damn good football.

Thanks for a great season, Stanford—and thank you for reading. I’ll see you in Phoenix.

Finally finally, a look at some rhetoric from around the internet:

• At very least, Andrew Luck is big schmoe on campus—we know he’s humble, but this borders on meiosis
• Stanford running back Stepfan Taylor delivers rap on, off the field—gaining yards with rhythmic meter
• Stanford football instills importance of education to its players—a regular Institutio Oratoria
• Get Him to the Game—phronesis from Coby Fleener

by Seth Winger

In the course of human history, there are individuals who, from time to time, rise above the dirt and grime of ordinary humanity and transcend our mortal lives, become immortalized as shining paragons of all that is commendable about our species.  These are the titans of their age, giants nonpareil whose names are writ in the tome of history indelibly.

As the Histrionic Historiographer, I have been silent for many weeks.  But that is because I have been waiting.  Watching.  Observing.  And now, the time for apotheosis has come.

This quarter has given us one of these aforementioned titans, one of these names that will haunt the halls of Stanford University forever, enshrined with the likes of Jordan, Branner, Elway, Tresidder, Plunkett, Hoover, even young Leland Jr. himself.  This quarter, we have seen greatness.  This quarter, we have seen Luck.

Maybe you’ve heard of him.

Luck was born in 1989 to Kathy and Oliver Luck, the latter a former NFL quarterback for the Houston Oilers.  The young Luck spent much of his childhood in England and Germany playing football (that sport with the black-and-white ball and the ridiculous haircuts) before returning to Texas, where he—you know what, I’m tired of dancing around it.  Let’s cut to the point:

Andrew Luck is the best fucking architect ever.

It’s not even a competition.  I mean, there have been some great architects, don’t get me wrong.  When you look at the forward motion that Frank Gehry can create or the changes that Walter Gropius brought to the game, well, those are phenomenal advances that revolutionized the industry.  But no one—no one—architects like Andrew Luck.

Luck is the full package.  He can draft, he can model, he can analyze.  He has an extensive knowledge of complex building codes and is adept at reading local planning and zoning laws to ensure he constructs the best possible building for that specific location.  And the man can build like no one I’ve ever seen.  Houses, office buildings, stadiums, dams, Russian palaces, pyramids, synagogues—you name it, Andrew Luck knows how to design, orchestrate, and execute it in the field.

Just by numbers alone, Luck stands out.  He’s designed over eighty different buildings during his time at Stanford, and built models of another seven.  This is especially remarkable when you consider that Luck’s only been an architecture major for three years—he spent his freshman year on the Farm undeclared.  In just three years, Luck has managed to break almost every architecture record the department keeps, and consistently turns in quality buildings when the pressure and odds seem insurmountable.

But it’s more than numbers.  Luck is the only architect to ever master both Trojan and Irish architectural styles—in fact, on a recent class trip to Los Angeles, Luck was able to revitalize the aging Memorial Coliseum, replacing it with a wide open thoroughfare from end to end, a radical redesign that was greeted with huge industry fanfare.  Luck not only does the final design work on each of his buildings, but is involved with the planning from the beginning, often deviating from professors’ prompts if he sees a better way to build.

Whatever firm acquires Luck next year is in for a marquee architect, one who has the potential to make a huge impact from his very first day through the door.  Luck’s talents are unique, his intelligence unrivaled, and his ability to integrate sustainable design practices while creating a building that is not only functional but also aesthetically appealing is simply incredible.  Someone should give him a trophy.

It’s really too bad he’s just not very good at this sports thing.

Finally, a look at some rhetoric from around the internet:

• Heisman or not, Luck’s legacy at Stanford sealed among school’s greatest athletes, ambassadors—yet has never once sunk to bomphiologia
• Fiesta Bowl has makings of a classic—all these rhetorical terms come from the classics, after all
• Andrew Luck wins Johnny Unitas award—for the best quarterback in the nation, just like Toby Gerhart won the Doak Walker award for best running back in the nation in 2009
• Stanford QB Luck: I’m ‘absolutely’ prepared to try the NFL—well, damn
• Salon’s Sexiest Men of 2011—number 12 is number 13

by Antonia Madian

Art History 1 – Abstraction: Mondrian

Mondrian – Neoplastic style
-          design…
Those are really good eyes.

-          …can apply to different mediums or products
And the lips look like they’re coming off the page.

-          his abstract aesthetic appeared not to change…
Damn — it’s so realistic.

-          …over a ten year period
Did she say design? I was staring a little too intently at the paper of the girl next to me

-          …arrives at style in early 20’s
I could pretend that I spaced out because I was staring too intently at Mondrian’s Composition with Red, Blue, Black. Yellow and Gray, like a good art history student., But that’s not true. And now I’ve missed several more words in the few seconds it took to think that. And now her drawing has a shoulder.1908 – series of trees

-          finds abstract language – suggests form of tree but not explicitly illustrating…
Several pictures of trees. That start to look less and less like trees. Clearly, Mondrian wasn’t really into traditional realism. But don’t we already get that from the rectangles projected on the wall for the first 10 minutes of class? Back to the drawing. Now she’s sprouted a full body, complete with a strategic striped bandeau bra to cover certain bits. And jeans. Oh wait,, the ripped denim lines are coming in now. Not jeans — Cutoff shorts.
Now we are looking at something that doesn’t look like Mondrian. Picasso? I’m pretty sure. Tune back in. Yeah, it’s Picasso. Ma Jolie. She’s talking movement.

-          the point of this painting was to show movement rather than figure
-          about time rather than the image
Couldn’t you render movement and time and an actual definable figure all at once? I know Picasso’s rejection of figure was revolutionary and everything, but at the time he was an artistic prodigy who could draw and paint reality, so sometimes it just seems like a copout. Did he ever think it was a waste of reality to not paint it realistically? And the argument that Mondrian lines are actually what reality looks like can only go so far.  I can’t help but picture these artists in flannel and hipster glasses looking at the world around them and sighing, “too mainstream.” Regardless, I’m getting more of sense of movement out of this pink girl twisting her head out of the paper, one arm partially hidden behind her body, other hand turned at her side, than from Ma Jolie or Broadway Boogie Woogie.

Mondrian seeks to create a painterly motif – perpendicular black lines

-          Pier and Ocean

• vertical and horizontal components
  • glints of ocean
  • circular form
  • pier is suggested
  • depth

What would happen if you gave this girl the same number of lines that Mondrian used to make Pier and Ocean and told her to draw something? Could she make an eye? A face? A person?

• slight articulation of a grid

I look down at my own margins. Plain. There’s a zigzag up and down the edge where the paper tears out, but I can’t even make a zigzag look pretty. There’s a big chunk of it that extends into the spine of the paper where my pencil slipped. Okay. I can draw a person too. I look over. Definitely couldn’t draw that. Now she’s sprouting tattoos: an arrow through a heart, a koi fish, a tree. Hey! I wonder if the tree was a contribution from Mondrian’s series of somewhat trees.

Harmonious palette, geometric shapes – primary colors

-          utopian model – integrating art in all aspects of life

I look around for inspiration, some sort of jumping-off point. Down the rows of seats to the professor, pacing across the floor of the stage. She pauses for a second and turns her face up the incline of students. My pencil moves to draw the side of her face. I look down at my paper. No. Too curved, not shallow enough. I erase it fast, and glance over at the girl next to me, still drawing, to make sure she didn’t see my failed attempt at art. Holy crap. She has wings!

Mondrian’s belief in abstraction is idealist

-          not a rejection of reality, but an intensification of reality

She finishes off with a hat with a big front brim, cocked at a jaunty angle. She goes back, drawing over the hair and adding feathers and swirls to the wings. Movement lines. Creases in her shorts. But the face is done. It was done from the beginning, staring out of the paper, the lights in her eyes seeming to reflect the fluorescent glow of Annenberg Auditorium.

-          abstraction is a truer version of reality than representational painting

Sorry Mondrian, but I don’t think your red, blue, and yellow rectangles are as real as a pink tattooed angel in cutoff shorts and a baseball cap.

by Lilith Wu

It’s about that time of year when this happens^[1]:

Which is the worst kind of wake up call for a Stanford duck, when you realize just how much you’ve been zombie-ing through because there is just so much to do and so many opportunities. Eventually all you really want to do is sleep and Facebook.

But fear not, it can be a productive procrastination. If you haven’t seen the emails going around the lists, Special Collections is collecting student life materials for posterity. Flyers on Facebook, announcements for events, dorm pictures, almost anything documenting student life at Stanford that a librarian can’t go out and hunt down or scavenge back to Green for the hungry minds of the future–these are what Special Collections is looking for and what we can (and should) submit ourselves.

It might seem a bit odd at first. After all, a lot of these things we see every day in passing and we might not even pay much attention to them, but it is a pretty neat way to document and immortalize the Stanford that exists for us–and won’t ever exist again in exactly the same way for future generations. Lately, I’ve been into reading memoirs, and how much of experience is shaped by circumstances and the events that surround a person, things that might seem very peripheral at the time, but can later turn out to be a sort of real life Chekov’s gun. Special Collections is a collective memoir of sorts, and it would be interesting to come back many years down the road and see with fresh eyes what our contributions say about student life in our four (or five, or six) short years, and where it situates us in the span of the school’s history.

If you’d like to donate to Special Collections, please contact Aimee Moran.