At Shimer College, we're pretty proud of our community for many reasons, from our self-governance to the unique quality of each person who makes up this community. For me, I was reminded of one of those reasons when I attended Orange Horse. Like the name, the event is rather laid back and unassuming in its atmosphere. The community gathers in the evening and begins with an introduction by the MC's. One by one, people begin to display their talents, passions, and creativity (as well as their humor). From the outside, it may look like just another talent show, but to those of us who value this community it is so much more. For me, it is one of two events that reach into the very essence of our community.
(Photo courtesy of Sofia B.)
This year the performances featured monologues, tap-dancing, short plays, poetry (both serious and humorous), and musical numbers. A few guys have been serenading Cinderella Lounge every Friday afternoon with folk and bluegrass tunes and finally made an official appearance as "The Smelly Hobos". Words can hardly describe the delightful sound as they sang of boxcars, hobos, a somber hereafter, and such. Melanie Decelles performed two slam poetry pieces which she has won awards for in venues around Chicago.
(Photos courtesy of Sofia B.)
The funny story to this is that just before Orange Horse I had been writing an entry for this blog about seeing my childhood hero, Bill Nye. It was my second attempt at writing it after the first time my browser had crashed. I had just made the final keystrokes when the lights went out. My music stopped, my glowing blue computer was darker than the Mines of Moria, and all was quiet in the building. I threw up my hands in exasperation and went downstairs to discover the power was out across half the campus. I decided that it would be best, given that Orange Horse was about to start, that I should make my way over to the Shimer Floor.
Because I'm pretty proud of my rig, which I put together myself, I'm going to post a picture of it:
I, your semi-humble blogger, read a poem I wrote about Ireland- the home of my ancestors on my mother's side. I joked that, having offered to go first and receiving a warm round of applause for doing so, I should volunteer to go first for everything if it'll get me an applause. When the night was nearly finished, we grabbed our coats, ate the last of the hors d'œuvre, and left for our respective places to enjoy the rest of the evening. My place of choice was a small, quiet gathering with some fellow Shimerians to sit in awe of the sounds of Fu-Schnickens.
Until next time,
James
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