Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Warmer days
Monday, March 28, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Monday, December 6, 2010
SCA Revives the Dead
We are holding our 3rd annual SCA Revives the Dead art gallery and concert event tonight in Ketler Rec Oak Room. Please come to see the artwork, hear The Echo poetry readings, and hear great bands. Also, come for food and drinks and buy some shirts and CDs. It starts at 8 and will end at 11pm. Our line up of bands is:
8:30 Unacquainted Strangers (Sam Taylor and Jordan Nichols)
9:00 Joel Ansett
9:30 Tyler Estes
10:00 Julie Kucks
10:30 Stephen Horst
See you there!
Monday, November 8, 2010
SCA's 3rd Annual Revive the Dead Event

We are holding our 3rd annual Revive the Dead event on December 6th from 8-11pm. We are collaborating with the campus group Echo and will hold this gallery and concert event in the Oak Room in Ketler Rec. Musicians and bands that will be performing include Kate Weingartner, Julie Kucks, Stephen Horst, Tyler Estes, and Sam Taylor and his band Unacquainted Strangers. We will also have a gallery set up in the Oak Room featuring a wide range of student artists. If you have art that you are interested in displaying at our event, please email Hannah Williams at williamshe1@gcc.edu.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Layering in Colder Weather
Friday, September 3, 2010
Starting a new semester with style
Monday, February 8, 2010
Mute
I hear what you're saying
Muffled through cement blocks -
Poetical praying
To the rhythm of clocks.
Beat, beat the words,
But it isn't quite working
There is a ford
But the water is murky.
Language takes its own way down,
Not a goose-stepping tread
Rather, it falls and it drowns
But I can't say it's dead.
Sunshine is more elusive than haze
So we talk and we laugh
Through a chink, in a daze
Pyramis, Thisbe, trapped in a gaff.
And yet there is love
Strained though may be
Cupped hand round a dove
We muse on the free.
Maria Lawson, '13
Muffled through cement blocks -
Poetical praying
To the rhythm of clocks.
Beat, beat the words,
But it isn't quite working
There is a ford
But the water is murky.
Language takes its own way down,
Not a goose-stepping tread
Rather, it falls and it drowns
But I can't say it's dead.
Sunshine is more elusive than haze
So we talk and we laugh
Through a chink, in a daze
Pyramis, Thisbe, trapped in a gaff.
And yet there is love
Strained though may be
Cupped hand round a dove
We muse on the free.
Maria Lawson, '13
Monday, February 1, 2010
Through the Dark, Glassy
Creative impulses like a
Clear plastic umbrella -
Pops up to keep the wet out
But I can still see the
Drops fall from God's house
To my head and I
Flinch.
By Maria Lawson, '13
Clear plastic umbrella -
Pops up to keep the wet out
But I can still see the
Drops fall from God's house
To my head and I
Flinch.
By Maria Lawson, '13
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
A week with Elizabeth
My dear friend Elizabeth just spent a wonderful semester in Dunedin, New Zealand. It was fabulous looking at her amazing photos of cheeky kiwi birds and mountains and waterfalls and the beautiful landscape. She is visiting all her friends at Grove City for a week, and I've gotten to steal her away for a few trips and outings.

At Heinz Chapel, in Oakland
At Lulu's Noodles in Oakland, the food was delicious!
The Cathedral of Learning, the Hungarian Room
At Heinz Chapel, in Oakland
Friday, November 27, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Find us in the Collegian!
The SCA is working with the campus radio WSAJ to produce an album of student-written acoustic songs. We had auditions in October and 10 students' songs were chosen to be recorded and produced on a CD that will come out in February 2010. The CD should be sold in the bookstore by the end of next year and will become an annual project with 10 new student-written songs every year. Sarah Hill, who is one of our publicity chairs in the SCA, spearheaded the project and Brian Vagt and Chris LeSeur of WSAJ have organized all of the auditions and recordings and more in order to get this album off the ground.
Emily Perper, Collegian Entertainment Editor, wrote an article about the WSAJ/SCA Collaborative album EP of 10 student-written acoustic songs. Find it in the paper this week! Thanks Emily- thanks for taking a genuine interest in the club to write your article: you captured the spirit of SCA and its mission!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
This Monday, the S.C.A. is hosting a listening party of the audition demos for our upcoming album with WSAJ! At the party, we will also be announcing the album art competition which will culminate in a coffeehouse event to decide the winner. Come out to listen to some great tunes and contribute your vision to the music.

Style in Pairs
Saturday, November 7, 2009
November style
Friday, November 6, 2009
colder weather threads
Thanks Emily for letting me take your photo! Her glasses are the best. But her whole outfit is so well put-together. The simple dress, with the fringe-y scarf, and the pop of color with her flats.
Thanks Kate and Emily for letting me take your photos!
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Damascus
“Jenny, stay in the truck. It’s naked.” Jenny got out of the truck.
Bill had one hand on his hip, and the other had unearthed his head from beneath his baseball cap. He scratched his head.
Jenny took a quick look then discreetly began calling into the labyrinthine corn fields for some sort of help.
“Where did he come from?” Bill said aloud, pacing around like there was engine trouble. “He isn’t dead, at least. Well, not dead. But I really don’t know what we can do.”
There was a baseball field nearby, and the lights created a thick carpeted bask across the fields, spilling onto the road so that when Bill finally made a decision, though it was only to turn off the car, the shaft of light wetted the limp figure on the ground with its glow.
“Let’s see if there’s someone there who can help us,” she said, unnerved.
Bill twiddled with his dead cell phone a bit more, and scornful of his lack of strength and unwillingness to part from any buoy in this new bizarre ocean, he tossed it onto the driver’s seat.
First, they had to decide what to do with the unconscious man. For safety’s sake, Bill decided Jenny would stay with the truck. He was reaching down to sling the anatomical specimen over his shoulder when Jenny shuddered and pleaded that if he had a concussion they shouldn’t move him. Bill gave up his jacket for proprieties sake, and went towards the light.
The field was deserted except for a gaggle of old men – professors at the university thirty miles away. They ate popcorn and laughed in their slacks and coat jackets like boys, and wholly lacked resonance with their location. The crickets and the breeze and the sky melted into the grim aspect of desperate, echoless, gossiping chalk.
In the darkness, they squinted against the lights, and its glaring reception in their glasses.
Bill slowed as he reached the congregation and pointed back towards the road with a guilty stride. One of the gentlemen addressed him as “son,” as in: “what can I do for you, son?”
Jenny was sitting in the passenger seat when the tribe arrived, she sat still, watching the naked being which had begun to stir, to rub his rusted palms gingerly, to inch his back up from the ground with groaning hesitancy.
The men laughed and slapped Bill on the back and said things like “you sure were telling the truth!”
Then the debate began. Do we take him to the hospital? One hand on the ground. Consider this might be a mental case. Head supported by neck, staring up at the windowless sky. Well, what’s our first priority here? Knees raised, shoulders slumped. I’ve got a nephew in Kansas who can give us some advice, works as a psychiatrist. Bill gave Jenny a hand out of the truck. Don’t forget, there’s no service in these doldrums. They lifted his elbows. Is our duty ethical, or medical?
Bill and Jenny and the man sat together on the side of the dusty road, under the hum of the artificial light, watching the professors talk into the night.
By Maria Lawson, '13
Bill had one hand on his hip, and the other had unearthed his head from beneath his baseball cap. He scratched his head.
Jenny took a quick look then discreetly began calling into the labyrinthine corn fields for some sort of help.
“Where did he come from?” Bill said aloud, pacing around like there was engine trouble. “He isn’t dead, at least. Well, not dead. But I really don’t know what we can do.”
There was a baseball field nearby, and the lights created a thick carpeted bask across the fields, spilling onto the road so that when Bill finally made a decision, though it was only to turn off the car, the shaft of light wetted the limp figure on the ground with its glow.
“Let’s see if there’s someone there who can help us,” she said, unnerved.
Bill twiddled with his dead cell phone a bit more, and scornful of his lack of strength and unwillingness to part from any buoy in this new bizarre ocean, he tossed it onto the driver’s seat.
First, they had to decide what to do with the unconscious man. For safety’s sake, Bill decided Jenny would stay with the truck. He was reaching down to sling the anatomical specimen over his shoulder when Jenny shuddered and pleaded that if he had a concussion they shouldn’t move him. Bill gave up his jacket for proprieties sake, and went towards the light.
The field was deserted except for a gaggle of old men – professors at the university thirty miles away. They ate popcorn and laughed in their slacks and coat jackets like boys, and wholly lacked resonance with their location. The crickets and the breeze and the sky melted into the grim aspect of desperate, echoless, gossiping chalk.
In the darkness, they squinted against the lights, and its glaring reception in their glasses.
Bill slowed as he reached the congregation and pointed back towards the road with a guilty stride. One of the gentlemen addressed him as “son,” as in: “what can I do for you, son?”
Jenny was sitting in the passenger seat when the tribe arrived, she sat still, watching the naked being which had begun to stir, to rub his rusted palms gingerly, to inch his back up from the ground with groaning hesitancy.
The men laughed and slapped Bill on the back and said things like “you sure were telling the truth!”
Then the debate began. Do we take him to the hospital? One hand on the ground. Consider this might be a mental case. Head supported by neck, staring up at the windowless sky. Well, what’s our first priority here? Knees raised, shoulders slumped. I’ve got a nephew in Kansas who can give us some advice, works as a psychiatrist. Bill gave Jenny a hand out of the truck. Don’t forget, there’s no service in these doldrums. They lifted his elbows. Is our duty ethical, or medical?
Bill and Jenny and the man sat together on the side of the dusty road, under the hum of the artificial light, watching the professors talk into the night.
By Maria Lawson, '13
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Wild: A Declaration of the Soul
Wild is tomorrow! We are all very excited for this gallery and concert event. On the menu: candy, cake, pbj, and juice boxes. Original tunes by Society members and plenty of original artwork exploring childhood and untamed soul. The event shirts just came in and they are of baller status. Buy one today!

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