Kris Brown in his natural environment.

Kris Brown is up to his elbows in chocolate. Surrounding him are bowls full of it, liquid chocolate, solid chocolate, chocolate covered utensils, chocolate covered everything.  At the center of it all stands the Seattlite, smiling, reveling in the environment, and only slightly less covered than the items within his grasp.

Brown is making truffles, melting down gourmet chocolate he buys in bulk and creating ganache from scratch.  It’s a weekly ritual, usually taking place on Sunday afternoon, with the CMC junior making a batch of nearly 150 truffles.  He sells these truffles through the Motley coffeehouse on the Scripps College campus.  Brown works as an independent contractor, splitting the proceeds with the Motley.  The results are both delicious and successful, with the small chocolates selling out at a dollar a piece in only a few days.  With finals week in full swing, the demand has gone up significantly, and Brown plans to make an extra-large batch to help fuel late-night study sessions.

“The most recent batch sold out in about 10 hours at the Motley,” says Brown.  ”People have always told me I should increase prices on these things, and seeing how fast they sell out it’s definitely ‘commercially viable.’  But the money isn’t a driving factor for me.  I want to provide good food without a high cost associated with it; I want to expand people’s horizons with what they expect out of a piece of chocolate.”

The flavors are perhaps the most notable part of the truffles, as a different trio of ganaches appears each week.  Certain flavors are given creative names, such as the “Peaches” truffle, a vanilla, cherry, and almond combination bearing the nickname of CMS’s All-American hammer thrower Taylor Berliant.  Says Brown: “If someone inspires the flavor of the truffle, I name it after that person.  They usually get free chocolate, too.”

Despite the truffles’ popularity, few know that they come from a CMC student, although they might not be surprised to hear it’s one with such a strong resume in the culinary arts.  Brown is the manager of  The Shakedown, Pitzer’s student-run restaurant and over the summer he interned as a prep cook at Seattle’s renowned restaurant Tilth.  For the fall semester, Brown moved off campus, allowing him to improve his cooking with a full kitchen.  Besides his culinary duties, Brown finds time to run cross country, competing for the Stags  during their successful fall run.

Sadly though, the supply of truffles is in jeopardy for the spring semester.  Brown will be abroad in Nepal, cultivating his palate for exotic spices, and therefore unable to contribute.  As of now, the duties will be falling to Harvey Mudd freshmen Kate Crawford, who will continue the tradition in the spring.  Nevertheless, this week is your last chance to try Brown’s special recipe, which he bills as “sentimental chocolate.”  The final batch will go on sale in the Motley sometime Sunday evening.  Best to be there early, they’re sure to go fast.

A short interview with Miles T. Bird:

Alex: So you were in Bangladesh this summer. What were you doing?

Miles: I interned with Grameen Bank, a microfinance organization. There were a fair amount of other foreign interns in Dhaka and I spent a lot of time traveling Bangladesh’s surrounding area with them.

Alex: Sounds fun, tell me a little about the kids you met in this clip we’re about to watch.

Miles: These kids are literally out of the movie Slumdog Millionaire. There were ten of them, presumably orphans, and they all took care of one another like a family. There was one slightly older one who took a mother role, shepherding them around and passing out some bananas we gave them. All the kids were super dirty and scratched up, some with unhealed broken bones. They were incredibly nice kids though. For example, they offered me their bundle of newspapers to sit on – one of their only possessions besides the clothing on their backs and a bag of empty bottles.

Alex: How did they convince you to get on the train?

Miles: They didn’t really convince us, they were actually really surprised we followed them up. They are “untouchables,” which means they aren’t respected and discriminated against in Bangladesh.

Alex: So you just climbed up to the top of a moving train?

Miles: Yeah man, as the train left the station we climbed out of the window and pulled ourselves up. The kids rushed over to help pull us up, which was pretty cute.

Alex: Damn, how fast was your heart beating?

Miles: Fast. The train ride was one of the most thrilling moments of my life. The train was moving about 60 miles an hour and these kids were doing cartwheels and jumping from car to car.

Alex: Crazy, how long were you up there?

Miles: About an hour and a half. We napped for a little bit.

Alex: What did you do when the train came to a stop?

Miles: (Laughing) Several hundred people flooded the station and everyone was yelling in rapid-fire Bengali. When we got down, we were hustled into the conductor’s room. There were a handful of police screaming at us and we just apologized profusely until they let us leave.

Alex: Word. Video time?

Miles: Yeah.

So this is what Miles did last summer – sorry you can’t be as cool.

Filming and editing done by Miles Bird.

So hi, hello there — it’s nice to meet you. We’re the Forum. Which is odd to say, sure, since it’s a website, not even a newspaper, let alone a person. Nonetheless, it’s a pleasure to meet you, since, well, we’re here to do pretty much whatever you want:

Deliver the news you need? Check.
Give you the hipster cred irony you want? Check.
Offer the political banter you should want? Check.
Do your laundry? Sorry, no.

Ok we’re here for some things. Mostly, we try to be an useful tool for life at CMC — a way for you to answer “what’s going on.” We’ll let you know about upcoming events, alert you to pressing issues, and even clue you into what’s happening outside the Claremont bubble.

This all may sound cool and impressive — probably not — so just in case, we should clarify one thing: all this stuff we say we do, you actually do. The Forum is built, produced, and developed by CMC students, and most importantly, its content — from the links and tips to the posts and comments — is completely user-driven. So get involved: send us something or comment on something else. When you stop participating, the site stops functioning, and Cara Daley gets very sad. Don’t let that happen.

By the way, we’re a bit proactive in that discussion too. We will be teaming up with the Ath to host two events this semester — Debate Night and Idea Night. At the first, students will debate a campus issue, and at the second, you’ll hear about interesting work happening on campus. Consider the events an opportunity to say what you have been saying online in the real world. Again, you’ll be deciding on the topics and speakers, so if you’re interested, stayed tuned.

Other than that, we have a few options for addicts — those of you who can’t get enough. Follow us on Twitter.  Buy and sell stuff with Yard Sale.  Check out our photostream.  Read up on CMC students studying abroad. Or do something crazy: go outside and hang out with actual people.

Yours always and forever,
Abhi and Emily

But that’s not what study abroad is all about. I haven’t learned anything special about the Mideast peace process just because my classroom happens to be located on the front lines. More importantly, this isn’t my area of expertise, and others surely could write more informed articles on that tangled mess than I ever could.

What you gain from study abroad isn’t academic. Instead, you learn how it feels to live in a foreign country far removed from the bubble that is CMC. How it feels to walk down the streets of Jerusalem late at night: that’s something I could have never learned in an ivory tower. So in truth, it’s the day to day existence and not the politics of Jerusalem that I’ve become well versed in.

Deciding where to begin a description of Jerusalem might be the hardest part. Ironically, this city’s most defining characteristic is that it has none. Each neighborhood is a world unto itself, completely different and separate from its surroundings. Walking just few blocks can transport you thousands miles and hundreds of years.

I am most familiar with the district where I lived—Arab East Jerusalem. This portion of the city really could be located anywhere in the Middle East. The women are veiled, the men smoke cigarettes, and the call to prayer comes from Mosque mounted stereo systems. When you’re in East Jerusalem the name of city even changes. You’re in Al-Quds now, forget all about Yerushalayim. If you’re a girl and you walk through this neighborhood wearing a t-shirt and blue jeans, expect to be gawked at. But don’t worry. They don’t mean any harm, you’re just a novelty.

East Jerusalem

If you walk just a few blocks to the west, you’ll find yourself in Mea Shearim—Jerusalem’s orthodox Jewish neighborhood. In this neighborhood one could easily begin to believe they’ve been transported back to 18th century Poland. At least until the 90 degree heat brings you back to reality. All the men have long beards, black coats, and solemn faces. But most importantly, the residents of Mea Shearim take the commandments of the Torah to their literal and logical extreme. Even ambulances get stoned if they drive through here on Yom Kipper.

Directly adjacent to Mea Shearim is Jerusalem’s Old City. A visitor can’t help but be immediately overcome by the imposing 16th century Turkish walls surrounding the oldest section of Jerusalem. Inside exists not only an area of untold religious significance, but also what is perhaps the most fought over square mile in world history. Whether you’re leaving a prayer in the Wailing Wall, visiting the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, or simply admiring the Dome of the Rock, even the most callous atheist can’t help but feel little a moved. Only the storekeeper trying to sell an overpriced souvenir reminds you that you’re still in the 21st century.

However, as much as I love the Old City, my favorite part of Jerusalem is located about a half a mile to the west. The world famous Ben Yehuda Street, once the site of numerous suicide bombings, today has become a veritable party plaza. Here both a hookah and a shot of vodka come complementary with your first drink. The Discotheques are wild and bring back memories of my time in Germany as a 17-year-old. There even is a gay club, with the humorous name Bonita. Why it’s in Spanish I’ll never know.

Now I undoubtedly could keep going on and on. I’m sure there are plenty of neighborhoods I did not explore during my six months. Jerusalem is one of the most varied and diverse cities on the planet, and a person could spend their whole life here without seeing it all.

Yet, the same diversity that makes Jerusalem so fascinating is also what tears this city apart. The neighborhoods I have just described truly are separate: the people who reside in one neighborhood know nothing of the people in the others. When I spoke with an attendant at the Arab supermarket where I sometimes shop, he had no idea it was Yom Kipper, though the nearby Jewish streets were closed. On the other hand, my Israeli relatives were completely unaware of the ongoing celebration of Ramadan, despite the holiday lights strung along the vacant Arab store fronts. This lack of knowledge comes as little surprise, though: the city is so divided that the Arabs and Jews even have separate busing systems.

This brings me back to politics. You can talk forever about whose right, whose occupying whom, and who started what, but in my opinion all these questions miss the crux of the problem. The Arab-Israeli conflict will never come to a conclusion so long as both parties attempt to completely compartmentalize themselves and avoid all contact with the other side. Only once Arabs and Jews engage in conversation and commerce will an end to this conflict be in sight. And I’m not talking about the politicians; I’m talking about the everyday people on the street.

What disheartens me most about this place is that the average Arab and the average Jew seem quite similar to my western eyes. Both speak a Semitic language, and both share relatively similar values. Even the extremes are no more different than an atheist and an evangelical christian, two groups who manage to coexist quite peacefully in America. Yet these two sides—Arab and Jew—seem cursed to fight forever because of proclamations written in books published thousands of years ago. Sometimes I get so frustrated it makes me sick.

Problem: Did I come back from abroad more lost than found?

Never in my life did I think I would write this:

Josh Groban changed me.

On Sunday February 10, 2008 at approximately 2:34 am in an overpriced but delicious West Hollywood diner, Josh Groban raised me up.

Really.

As a probable gesture of inherent love towards all man(kind), THE Josh Groban – curls and all – gave my table a piece of untouched red velvet cake.* And as I joined my posse of gallivanting, well-dressed brothers in digging my hands into God’s next best gift besides Josh (who did not give us forks), I only had two things on my mind:

“How the fuck is this happening?” and “Where is Byron Yang?”

Like many of my fellow junior brethren, I took a break from the Club Med College lifestyle last year for a semester “studying” abroad in hopes of gaining true insight of the world, and my life. Thus, not only did I learn that the French are as anti-American, socialist-leaning as we think they are, but I also decided my life, too, would be back on track and refreshed when I returned to California. When my plane arrived at Ontario on a sunny Sunday morning, I felt like I was a freshman again, ready to experience everything that they wrote about in those college guidebooks my parents bought me.

Unfortunately, that honeymoon lasted about as long as the sunshine.

Hug-filled reunions and conversations about missing students, hijacked buses and Patagonian skinny dipping quickly changed to consulting firms, MCATs and LSATs and who got first round interviews with Goldman Sachs (oh… you didn’t get one?).

Small classrooms with English speaking professors quickly turned into overambitious, unjaded sophomores listening to their own exalted voices and macroeconomic formulas that just weren’t as exciting as I envisioned them last November.

And my weekend nights were definitely not what I remembered. CMC parties apparently became too popular for me, and everyone else too. Thus, by Week Three, I found myself taking a far more alternative approach to Saturdays and having a gay ol’ time barhopping as a newly christened 21-year-old in West Hollywood amongst the fabulous men who lived there.

Nevertheless, it was Josh Groban’s generosity that brought me back to thinking about the CMC I was missing, and the hopes of that maybe I can still rediscover what was supposed to have been there. In other words, I somehow remembered my former roommate’s resignation email to the junior class and his parting advice that still makes my contacts blur:

A Parting Story:

Freshman year I went on a date with a girl (whom shall remain anonymous), and took her out to dinner. I really wanted to impress her, so I began asking her a series of incredibly deep and philosophical questions, all of which would prove to her how adroit I was. “You know the TV show the Bachelorette?” I said, “What if the girl doesn’t like any of the bachelors and instead has a crush on the guy who holds the boom mike?” She thought for a moment, and replied “That would never happen.” I quipped, “Of course it could! I mean, there are a 6 billion people in the world, and there are only 25 guys on the show. Statistically, there’s a good chance she won’t like any of them.” I smiled triumphantly and began wondering what color her bed sheets were. The girl shook her head. “You’re wrong. The guys on the show aren’t chosen at random. They have to apply to be in the show, send in headshots, and get interviewed by the producers. They have background checks run on them, and most importantly, they’re all hot! I mean, these guys are hand selected for the Bachelorette to choose from. If you ask me, the men selected to be in the show were all better picks than the Bachelorette would have made herself if she was on her own. By the way, is your hall mate single?”

That night led to quite a bit of realizations. The girl realized, through careful interrogation, that tequila was my hall mate’s only weakness, and proceeded to seduce him the following weekend. My friends soon realized, upon hearing that I had spent 55 dollars on dinner and a movie, that I had far less “game” than I had previously claimed. My hall mate, though, realized too late that the condom had broken, and spent the next day going from clinic to clinic trying to find the morning-after pill.

But I what I comprehended while trying to fall asleep as drunken people returned to the dorm after a night of partying was simple. I had landed myself on my own version of the Bachelorette. I was interacting daily with 250 other intelligent, personable, crème of the crop leaders that had been hand picked for the qualities that make extraordinary people stand out from the crowd. I could not have chosen a better bunch of people to spend 2 and half years with myself. And writing this email today, I have realized that I have fallen in love with every single one of you, and will miss you all very much. My parting advice is simple. Continue meeting everyone here that you can, and talk with them, form relationships with them. Love them. Your time here is short, and the persons surrounding you can change your life.

Yours Always,

Byron Yang

Byron Yang never lost hope with CMC, and neither should anyone else who is trapped in a room trying to study for an interview or a test or a class that will somehow land them a place on what now appears to be a far more daunting path after returning to the collegiate world. Byron’s words remind us of the most important reason why we chose CMC over that slightly more bumper sticker-worthy institution back East: the people.

I have no complaints or regrets about any of my actions abroad and beyond. People change. I changed. But that cake raised me up a bit so I can stand on mountains and maybe see above the Claremont smog.

*Please note: Later reports found out that the REAL giver of the cake was a group of executives of major recording labels and not Josh Groban. However, Groban appeared with the men soon after the cake was given, and his overall philanthropic demeanor was equated to the red velvet. Despite the actual chain of events, it was still Groban that inspired me.