3 — Wednesday, April 13, 2022 // The Statement
PHOTOS BY LILA TURNER/DAILY
PAGE LAYOUT BY SARAH CHUNG
Lookout mom, I’m a pirate now
My mother has been bugging me lately
about finding an activity to get my blood
pumping and my endorphins flowing.
She says it will be “good for my mental
health” and will “help me sleep better”
or whatever. She works as a full-time
nurse and part-time teaching Zumba
and Group Fight at four different gyms
— of course she would say that.
My sister echoes this philosophy.
She was pulled up to varsity soccer as
a freshman and works out all the time.
They both have been on an indoor rock
climbing kick this month, and the last
time I visited home, they were so excited
to flex their new and improved biceps.
Of course they want me to exercise.
They do it every day of the week.
But I, on the other hand, am what
you might call the couch potato of the
family. The “indoors enthusiast” if you
want to be a little nicer about it. When
my family invites me to go climbing
with them, my typical response is “I
don’t want to get sweaty today.”
Here at school, when my friends are
arm wrestling, I like to volunteer for a
match purely to demonstrate just how
swiftly my arm is felled (I lose quite
immediately). When I attempt one
single pushup, my body sinks from the
isosceles triangle position to that of a
gravity stretch, and no amount of
effort from my pasty, noodle-
like limbs will push the ground
away. I can do a pullup, though.
If I jump.
It’s not that I don’t
believe there are
benefits
to my being more
physically
active,
it’s
just that I typically can
think of a zillion other
activities
I
would
rather
engage
in: a new book,
practicing
the
piano, baking
a
beloved
recipe.
Running feels good sometimes, I’ll
admit, but it’s better in theory than it
is in practice. The energy it takes to
change into the proper clothes and get
out the door is greater than the energy
it takes to not do any of that.
The annoyances don’t stop at just
getting ready and leaving the house.
If I listen
to
a
song
that’s
slower than the tempo at
which my feet are hitting the
ground, then that’ll be super
annoying. And I’ll have to take
a shower after I get all sweaty, I hate
getting sweaty, and then there’s the
matter of carrying my phone to play
music on in the first place. The cost of
running music is a solid rectangle
thudding
against
your
leg
with every step. Have fun
with side cramps and
monotony! I’m going
to go make cookies.
My
sophomore
year of high school, I
had to look my doctor in the eye and tell
her that I averaged zero hours of physical
activity a week, including walking. A
bit embarrassing, but 100% true. I am
delighted to report, however, that I am
writing this with sore leg muscles and
a small bruise on my right shoulder,
because your friendly neighborhood
hermit went sword-fighting.
My breath heaves in and out, in and
out as the point is called and the duel
takes a pause. I had forgotten what it
was to feel my lungs rapidly expand like
a parachute and deflate like a balloon.
My body runs like a decently oiled
machine, propelling life-giving oxygen
from the shoulder-width spread of my
feet to the fingertips holding the hilt
of my epee. With a twirl of the sword
and a return to position, I’ve recovered
enough to spring back in the fray.
For those of you who don’t know,
there’s a competitive fencing club on
the University of Michigan’s campus.
BY DANIELLE CANAN,
STATEMENT CORRESPONDENT
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
Accidentally Wes Anderson,
On purpose
BY OSCAR NOLLETTE-PATULSKI,
STATEMENT COLUMNIST
It’s winter, and it’s cold, so I resolve to make
some hot chocolate. I’m alone in my house’s nor-
mally bustling kitchen. My socks glide me across
the floor to the pantry, and I grab cocoa mix and
slide back to grab a mug. As I open the cabinet,
a thought strikes me: what if this sock-skating
scene was a Wes Anderson film?
I close the cabinet, and when I touch my fin-
gers to open it again, the imaginary camera starts
rolling. Action! This time, I swing both doors
open with calculated velocity, and my left and
right limbs mirror each other precisely. I pause,
and my hand confidently grabs a mug with some
French words on it, placing it squarely on the
counter in a continuous motion. I let the por-
celain plunk resonate in my ears and the room,
before taking soldier steps to the cylindrical tin of
cocoa mix.
I let my eyes become the camera — I arch my
head over the golden container so that its sym-
metrical geometry can be in the foreground
of the shot. I twist off the lid with gusto, and
straighten my arm to its fullest extent to set it
back down. I take out the measuring spoon, and
mechanically rotate my wrist to scoop, and again
to spill the powder into the mug. My eyes watch
the brown powder softly clump at the bottom. I
repeat this action, and then lift my arm up to be
perpendicular with my torso to pour milk into
the cup.
I pick up the mug, place it into the microwave,
extend a single finger to press the “2” button — a
detail shot — and then the machine whirs to life.
I stare at the digital countdown clock intently as
it descends 1:59 to 1:58 to 1:57, because this might
mean something important later on. I walk away
from the microwave and sit down, with my
elbows forming a right angle between my fore-
arm and the rest of my limb. Cut. Scene!
***
The most recent Wes Anderson movie, “The
French Dispatch” (2021), profiles a European
outpost of a fictional midwestern newspaper, the
Liberty, Kansas Evening Sun, and the various
articles the reporters write out of their fictional
French town, Ennui-sur-Blasé. The movie pres-
ents three vignettes, all concerning different top-
ics and magazine sections (art, protest and food)
that are played out for viewers as its respective
reporter narrates.
I watched this movie a few days before my
dramatic hot cocoa making scene, where I felt
compelled to mimic the shots and movements of
the characters I saw in the theater.
For those unfamiliar, Anderson is a director
and screenplay writer who is widely recognized
for his visual and narrative cinematic fingerprint.
Distinctive aspects of his films include their sat-
isfying color palettes, symmetrical shots (often
overhead), long panoramas across a scene and
profile shots in the center of the visual.
The visual satisfaction this style achieves
has become popular enough to the point where
Anderson’s name has become synonymous with
his style, morphing from a proper noun into a
descriptive adjective: “This train station is so Wes
Anderson!”
A few days after my kitchen interpretation of
the Anderson aesthetic, I drove to Michigan’s
west side with two friends, making tourist stops
on the way to my parents’ home. Upon seeing a
bright white church, its double doors painted a
fire-engine red, my friend walked up the steps,
touched the brass handles and pantomimed
opening them simultaneously. She looked back
and exclaimed, “It’s like I’m in a Wes Anderson
film!” The rest of us laughed, looked up at the his-
toric spire and agreed. If we squinted, we were on
a movie set, playing ourselves, putting on a show
for the world to see.
It’s this combination of the visually satisfying
and the publicly popular that allows the Insta-
gram account @accidentallywesanderson to
flourish. Abbreviated AWA, its profile is full of
centered foregrounds and symmetrical roofli-
nes, colorful walls and coordinated landscapes,
PHOTO BY SELENA SUN/DAILY
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com