Dear Readers,
Remember when Renn Fayre was spelled Renn Faire? Neither do we, so put on your safety goggles and join us as we travel back to 1967. . . groovy man (1). Check out the five thesis shows in the PAB this weekend, but make sure to read the program carefully so you can follow along (5). Desastre meets on the PAB balcony to showcase some eclectic ’70s themed attire (6). Miss Lonely Hearts deals with drifting hearts (7). If skiing is more your speed, check out Erika’s Mount Hood weather forecast (8). Always last, but never least, this week’s Cultural Column delves deep into awards season. Find out what’s on the Oscar short list (9).
Sincerely,
Lauren, Jordan and Vikram
News & Features
Through Sunday the Festival of New Works is presenting five performance theses created by Reed seniors. Brianna Walker’s piece, “Looking for Leon”, opens the Festival by leading audience members from the second floor of the Performing Arts Building to the first. This floor-to-floor movement occurs throughout the festival as most of the performances are split up by their acts, the first act of one play being followed by the first act of another play before a return to the second act of the first play. This shifting back and forth between plays keeps up the pace of the festival. Five productions in one sitting might be too much to handle if there weren’t these moments of moving between floors and cliffhangers between acts of the productions.
De Sastre
Bowie. Lennon. Twiggy. What do these three fashion icons have in common? Jake Gonnella. Not sure why? We’ll explain. Drawing from ’70s style, Jake incorporates pieces from the decade into a distinct brand of contemporary men’s fashion. Although the pieces on their own call to a different era, Jake fuses retro with current by mixing textures, patterns, colors, proportions, and a coy pair of little striped pink socks. Details like these are what make Jake’s style all his own.
Miss Lonelyhearts
Dear Miss Lonelyhearts,
There’s this guy I know who recently left Reed, who I lived with for a year. He dropped out and, while we used to talk every day when we knew each other, our conversation gradually became more infrequent after we stopped living together. Before he left we only really spoke in passing, nodding to each other on the blue bridge the way Reedies do when they want to acknowledge, but not engage. Since leaving, I know he’s been pretty isolated. "Loneliness" was the main reason he left Reed, and I can’t imagine it has improved since he moved back in with his parents. Now it seems like he’s trying reaching out to me. He keeps texting me. He wants me to friend him on Facebook. He wants me to add him on LinkedIn. I don’t even have a LinkedIn. I don’t really want to speak to him but I’m not sure quite how to tell him to leave me alone. It feels wrong to just keep ignoring him but I don’t want to say “fuck off” either.
– Alonely

Sure, it makes sense for us to end the year with a brilliant celebration of our hard work and our mutual love that also serves as an ultimate expression of the freedom we have created for ourselves through our diligence and honor. But cataclysmic catharses don’t just happen because they make sense.
Any of you who have put in time working for the student body will recognize the way Reed traditions grow and survive; original flashes of inspiration are brought to reality by collective effort and then passed down to the next generation; who expand upon them and toil to keep them alive in a sort of simultaneous preservation, resuscitation and evolution.
This article, the first in a series, explores the beginning of that process. During its first decade, Linda Howard’s wholesome Renaissance Faire was built upon (and gradually diluted) by more and more of the recognizable components of today’s Renn Fayre. We’ve chosen 1977, the year of the first Renn Fayre Quest and the first softball tournament, as a cutoff for this edition, but that’s somewhat arbitrary. Like everything at Reed, Renn Fayre has been cumulative; each year, everyone builds upon last year’s efforts. That means what you do this year might just shape its next forty-eight iterations.