Volume 31 Issue 2

an alternative voice since 1984 an SBI publication 09032013 Vol. 31 Issue: 02

Side by side Syria Thicke Head Shots and Spot’s

HOT FOR

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Table of Contents 05............EIC Letter 07............ Agenda

Hit or Bullshit What’s on our Playlist

08............E Sports vs. Real Sports

Real Sports 09............Organization

Organization Nation 10............The Next Iraq?

The Next Iraq 11............Syria War Comparison

Notes from the Home Front 15............He Said/She Said

Freshman, Frats, and (Fowl) 16............Hot for Teacher

Feature 18............Monday Tuesday

09

Bar Scene

Twinkie Girl Adventures ............People Watching at Spot

Spotted at Spot ............Literary

Free Verse ............Literary

Prose ............Parting Shots

Blurred Lines

Parking Lot Etiquette

19 20 21 22 16

Cover designed by Emily Butler and Babita Persaud, Photos taken by Steve Bernhardt. Photo source from all credits goes to respective photographer.

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Editor’s Letter

The term “guilty pleasure” is one that I have always used liberally to describe my love for things like Celine Dion and Jerry Springer.

Only recently did I realize what a ridiculously useless term it was, and why I wanted to banish it from my vocabulary forever.

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines the word “guilt” as “feelings of culpability especially for imagined offenses or from a sense of inadequacy.” The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines the word “pleasure” as “a feeling of happiness, enjoyment, or satisfaction.”

So who decided that these two things should join forces in an oppressive oxymoron?

The way that people use it today is to qualify things that they enjoy that others may consider embarrassing or abnormal. This phenomenon in itself is worrisome for many reasons. It forces us to weigh our behavior against an invisible mean, and to secretly reject the social constructs that accompany our chosen behavior. For example, the status quo suggests that Top 40 music is an inescapable mainstream, and those who claim to exist exclusively outside of it are “hip” and “edgy.” So for those of us who wish to identify as “hip” and “edgy,” it’s frowned upon to admit that we get enjoyment from the occasional pop music binge.

Well guess what, hipsters? I listened to “Wrecking Ball” 17 times yesterday.

On repeat.

And I loved it.

Many would choose to hide this fact away behind a veil of apathy, offering a painfully average assessment of Miley Cyrus’ latest circus antics and her slow spiral from sugar-coated Disney child fame.

But I could give two shits about Miley’s personal life, or her career for that matter. Listening to a song that I enjoy does not slap a label across my face that says “MILEY CYRUS FAN 4 LIFE.” It makes me happy. So I do it.

I worked a 9-5 over the summer, as broke college students are wont to do. During my lunch break, I would run to the break room and enthusiastically flip on the TV to catch the last half-hour of Maury, at which time my coworkers would sit by and commend me for my honesty.

“I can’t believe you watch this stuff,” they would say, laughing. “You seem so smart and put together.”

I would smile and nod, and redirect my attention to finding out who the father was. But this kind of comment made me itch; why did my identity need dissonance between being smart and liking trash TV? Does this mean that I don’t read just as many books, watch just as many documentaries, and listen to just as many dry-wit podcasts? No it does not!

I denounce my life-long guilt for the things that make me a total weirdo.

My interests are, at times, eclectic and bizarre, but most importantly, they are mine. I am a cocktail of sophisticated art, antiquated slang, inconsistent hair textures, and incredibly successful drunk cooking

experiments. My sleep schedule is ridiculous, my closet is eccentric, and I know all the words to every song in Les Misérables. When I was 15, I dyed my hair purple because I thought the French woman from Disney Pixar’s Ratatouille rocked that color, and I wanted to as well. My first love letter was to Harry Potter. I cry when I think too much about whales.

Why? Because whales are incredible.

Too often, we accommodate ourselves to the expectations of those around us, so much so that we feel the need to justify things that make us happy with a conditional of shame. You should never have to put an asterisk next to the things in your life that you enjoy. The things that make you uniquely you will be the things that people will fall in love with time and time again. Your true friends will embrace your quirks, and the rest will be haters.

And you know what we say to haters?

“Later.”

My pleasures are nothing to be guilty about, and neither are yours.

Cheers,

STAFF 2013 Editor in Chief Keighley Farrell Managing Editor Angelina Bruno Creative Director Emily Butler Assistant Creative Director Babita Persaud Photo Editor Steve Bernhardt Web Editor Gabi Gosset Copy Editor Audrey Foppes Associate Editors Laura Borschel Jori Breslawski Sushmita Sircar Circulation Director Matt Benevento Business Manager Nick Robin Ad Manager Stephen Wah Assistant Ad Manager Adinda Anggriadipta Contributing Staff Adam Johnson

t T I i H ullsh B

OR

HIT

Several months after helping to overturn the cruel and antiquated Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA), Supreme Court Justice and human rights activist Ruth Bader Ginsberg became the first judge in Supreme Court history to perform a same sex marriage. The former ACLU lawyer officiated the wedding of her friend Michael Kaiser to the economist John Roberts. In a recent interview reported in the Washington Post, Ginsburg stated “I think it will be one more statement that people who love each other and want to live together should be able to enjoy the blessings and the strife in the marriage relationship.”

I Try- Macy Gray Killin’ It- Krewella Start Talking- Aye Nako Ribbons- Ingrid Michaelson Army- Ben Folds Five

I walked out of the bathroom the other day into the bustling hallway when a hand tapped my shoulder. “Hello, um, your skirt? It’s....tucked...” I spun around to notice my skirt had been hitched up into my skivvies in plain view of everyone. I thanked her and adjusted myself. To that young woman, thank you for overcoming your nervousness and breaking the social stereotype that makes it impossible for strangers to mention embarrassing things to one another. To everyone else out there, it’s not embarrassing, these things happen. Help a sister out.

Take On Me- Reel Big Fish

To all you Sherlock fans, Ian McKellen has been selected to be the new Sherlock Holmes. He’s just about the most fabulous Holmes to grace screens since Robert Downy Jr. Hold onto your magnifying glass because this is going to be one interesting case.

Swimming- Little Dragon

shit

BullLeave it to the national media to fail miserably at Journalism 101. Two high profile leaking cases have dominated the news for the past few months: that of Chelsea (Bradley) Manning and that of Edward Snowden. Of course, the media seemed to focus more on the private lives of the players than their leaks: Manning is planning to have gender reassignment therapy, and Snowden has a hot girlfriend. Our government is taking Orwellian measures against its own people yet all cameras are planted firmly on Snowden’s dancer-girlfriend’s butt. Is this new? Did Deep Throat have to put up with this bullshit?

Syria. What is happening in Syria right now is terrible. Innocent civilians, children, women, men dying at the hands of dubious political forces. However, the world should not be looking to the U.S to intervene. It is arrogant on our part to assume the role of world shepherd. I agree that an intervention must be made, I agree that we should be a part of it, by why can’t it be a group effort?

What happened to the UN and why aren’t we working together anymore?

Applause- Lady Gaga Unbelievers- Vampire Weekend

Mutual Core- Bjork

AGENDA

A man was accidently killed in Brooklyn by a toy helicopter, when it scalped him. The man killed was trying to perform a trick when he lost control and the toy turned on him. Remember kids, toys are not a game.

HIT

Grand Theft Auto V is looking like one of the most encompassing open world games to date. You can own an apartment, race your custom cars, play pool, you name it. However, you might have trouble discerning what is real life for a while. Just remember to eat food every once in a while.

hit s l l Bu DC Comics is looking for new artists, all you have to do is draw Harley Quinn naked in a bathtub trying to commit suicide. Revealed in the same week, DC Comics refuses to allow artists to draw Batwoman marrying her long-time girlfiend. Keep it wholesome, DC...

September 18th: National Cheeseburger Day For those of you who didn’t know, September 18th is national cheeseburger day! That’s right, I’m talking to you meat eaters! Due to the glorious holiday of cheese and meat (what America represents), head over to any on campus dining facility to get your free burger. Veg heads, I suggest you see your selves out.

Article By: Gabrielle Gosset

REAL SPORTS

W

ouldn’t you love to make money playing video games? Sounds like a dream, but for some people, it’s a reality. Esports (or electronic sports), while they have been around for a while, is growing in popularity and in legitimacy. Esports are professional, competitive tournaments for video games. While their popularity was mostly in Asian countries like Japan and Korea, the hype is growing worldwide and esports are becoming a more popular and therefore growing in legitimacy.

This past summer, the U.S. Government declared that esports players would be allowed the same types of Visas as professional athletes for so-called “real” sports.

This was a big step in the right direction for those athletes wanting to live with their team to practice. In fact, for many popular teams there is a trend of living in “gaming houses” where all the players not only practice together but also live together. Now, like “real” sports athletes that are allowed to live in the U.S. with special visas, esports athletes are now allowed the same legal rights.

Esports athletes are usually a part of a team that has the same things a traditional sports team will have including coaches, analysts, and managers. Teams have jerseys to wear to the games and get sponsorships from companies invested in esports. There seems to be no difference between an esports team and a traditional sports team. A difference between traditional sports is that sometimes a company will have multiple teams for different games all falling under the same company’s brand and logo. This difference may stem from esports being a relatively new industry than traditional sports.

Sponsorships might be the most indicative of how esports is growing as companies do not want to invest in something they see failing and want their investment to pay off. Typically the types of companies that sponsor esports teams are technology or gaming gear based such as Astro (a gaming headset company) or Gunnar (gaming glasses that help reduce glare and increase focus while playing video games). Recently, there has been a big move for esports that shows how popular the industry is becoming: Team Curse for the popular PC game League of Legends is now sponsored by Nissan. A car company getting involved in sponsor-

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ing an esports team is a giant step for the industry that really shows how esports is gaining legitimacy. American Express even released a prepaid debit card where members earn rewards in the form of RP (Riot Points) which is in-game currency for alternate costumes for characters in League of Legends.

Unlike “real” sports, esports are usually streamed live on websites such as twitch.tv, where viewers from all over the world can watch the game live without paying for a cable or special subscription. For most events and tournaments, VODs (videos on demand) are available to watch the games later on demand at any time (also typically free of charge). No matter what region, country, or continent, the tournaments are almost always streamed so that no fan misses a single game. This differs greatly from traditional sports, where watching a team from even a state over can be nearly impossible or may require a special subscription to channels on top of a cable bill.

As for watching events live, fans are encouraged to attend events and have that crowd experience. While some circuits like to hold games at video game conventions, there are also events and tournaments throughout the year specifically for esports, such as MLG Anaheim. Fans cheer for their favorite teams and make signs to hold up in the audience for those watching on the livestream. There are even fantasy leagues for some games where fans can choose players from different teams and regions to create their fantasy team and compete with their friends, just like fantasy football.

The events are massive; in fact, the League of Legends World Championships, starting with group stages in the coming week and ending with the finals on the first weekend of October. The finals are at the Staples Center in Los Angeles and the tickets for the weekend event sold out in a matter of minutes. The prize pool is $2 million with the top team taking home $1 million.

League of Legends is not the only game in the esports arena. Starcraft, Halo, and Call of Duty are just a few other titles that are making waves in the esports scene.

Many of these games hold tournaments and events where the prize pools are in the hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Organization Nation

Article and Photos By: Angelina Bruno

T

here comes a point when living amidst piles of clothing and drawers strewn with unfolded heaps becomes too much for a girl to deal with. It has been scientifically proven that people work better in uncluttered spaces (probably). Either way, it is true for me and for my lovely friend Anna, who allowed me to invade her room to help her reorganize.

After spending the summer borderline obsessively looking up organizing projects and DIY hacks, I have become something of an expert on organizing tips fit for small dorm rooms, apartments and bedrooms. When I showed Anna my new file-style organized drawers she wanted a piece of the action. Anna’s room is a space like many others; it gets a little messy sometimes, but on the whole it isn’t too bad. Like many others, she suffers from the affliction of cluttered drawers and an overstuffed closet. These problems seem unsolvable, but in reality reorganizing is about efficiently utilizing space that you might not realize you already have.

The tips used to help Anna can be used in any space and will save you when your dorm room or apartment starts to become a mess. Now there are some rules to follow when organizing a space; you cannot just charge in, guns out and unaware. Here are the basics:

1.Don’t go it alone.

There is no reason why you should not enlist the help of a friend or family member. The first step to any reorganizing project is dumping out drawers and bins onto your bed and going through everything. Unless you are cutthroat and able to chuck out your unworn items without any sentimental hemming and hawing, then you need someone that you trust to tell you—yes that looks great, keep it! Or Hell no, put that thing back where it came from or so help me!—Who knows, maybe they will even break into song for you. Anyways just grab a good friend, play some good music and get to work.

organized-t-shirt-drawers.html). Once they are folded, stack them and then place them in the drawer horizontally so that you can actually see all your t-shirts at once.

Not only does this method consolidate space, but it also is very pleasing to the eye. You can even line up all your cheap Forever 21 t-shirts in a rainbow if you feel so inclined. For soft shorts, pj pants, and tank tops or camis, rolling is the way to go. For tops, fold the top of the garment to the bottom in half and then fold it in half lengthwise again enclosing the straps within the fold.

Then roll it up and place horizontally in your drawer (or basket/bin/any nice little storage device you may have.)

3.Reimagine your space and make it work for you.

2. When it comes to Folding, file-style and rolling are your new best friends.

The only way you will utilize and wear your clothing is if you can actually see the pieces you have. The traditional style of stacking clothing in a drawer may start out neat, but searching through items in the morning, trying to find that one shirt, or trying things on and throwing them back into the heap, turns neat drawers into a mess real fast. Instead of entering a nightmarish abyss every time you open your dresser, try file style folding and rolling. To file-style fold t-shirts, fold them in your favorite method that ends up in a small rectangle. I personally fold the shirt in thirds lengthwise and then in thirds widthwise but there are plenty of other methods (http://www.darkroomanddearly.com/2012/03/diy-

Once you have rolled and file folded all of your clothing, you will discover that you have much more space in your drawers than you ever imagined possible. After celebrating, take some time to think about your clothing.

You just went through your clothes and got rid of the things you don’t wear, but there is still a hierarchy among your items. What do you wear most often? What do you use to work out in, sleep in, swim in? Everyday items like t-shirts, or sweaters when the weather gets cold, should be in the most accessible areas of your closet or dresser. Pajamas, work out clothes and other active wear should probably be in the same place. Coming up with a method behind your storage will make it much easier to get ready everyday and to find the things you need.

We have not finished Anna’s whole room yet but that is the beauty of organizing; it is a never-ending process. There are countless tips and tricks I have not even touched on. Remember, organizing does not have to be an overwhelming experience, just stick to the rules, so you can enjoy the ride and the results.

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A

s U.S. involvement in Syria becomes increasingly inevitable, Americans battle ghosts of Iraq. It is undeniable that to the naked eye, there are spectral parallels between the two.

The justifications for war with Syria are based on Assad’s use of Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD), echoing the reasoning behind the invasion of Iraq in 2003. This time around however, people all over the world are far more skeptical, as evidenced by PM Cameron’s failed attempt to convince parliament to authorize British military force. Parliamentarians voiced their concerns and apprehension about making the same mistake as they did in invading Iraq, painstakingly mindful of the fact that their intelligence had been wrong before—it could be wrong again.

Nevertheless, the Obama administration is confident in its evidence that President Bashar al-Assad used Sarin, a nerve agent, to kill over 1,000 people on August 21 near Damascus.

And tempting as it is to base policy decisions on previous events and lessons learned, it is a dangerous prospect because no two situations are the same. Speculators have repeatedly asked the question, is this Iraq or is it Rwanda? The truth is that it is neither. Just because Iraq didn’t possess WMDs doesn’t mean that we should avoid attacking Syria, for fear of making the same mistakes. Likewise, just because invading Libya helped to overthrow Gadhafi doesn’t mean that similar tactics will be successful in Syria.

The events that have taken place in Syria to invoke American action are fundamentally different from those in Iraq. What’s more, Obama’s plans for military action in Syria are completely contrasting from those of Bush in his Iraq invasion. First, the scope and scale of American intervention in Syria will be much smaller; Obama has promised that the intervention will not involve any boots on the ground, that it will not be open ended, and that it will not assume responsibility for a civil war that is already well under way. The Iraq invasion of 2003 led to an eight year war that cost hundreds of billions of dollars and over 4,000 American lives—an endeavor that Americans have no interest in reliving any time soon.

In addition, the intention of the attack is totally different. In our invasion of Iraq, from the beginning our goal was to force Saddam Hussein from power. In contrast, the U.S. goal in Syria is to hold Assad accountable for his use of chemical weapons, which is a blatant violation of international norms. The U.S. has made it clear that their intention is to “deter and degrade” Assad without striving for regime change. Obama drew a “red line” over a year ago, promising American involvement if Assad used chemical weapons. Ultimately, an attack on Syria would restore the blurred “red line”, sending a message to other countries that the U.S. will follow through on its word.

Another significant difference is that Iraq was relatively stable, albeit repressive when we invaded in 2003. Syria on the other hand, has completely deteriorated into all out civil war. In Syria, massive amounts of people are dying and being displaced throughout a region that is already destabilized, whereas in Iraq, there was a dictator using his power to ensure stability.

Syria is already broken. The situation is quite different from Iraq, which we attacked with the intention of breaking down the regime in order to build it up again. Iraq is still broken, and that burden is largely on us. We destroyed a system that was already in place that many Iraqis claim they preferred to the present day situation. In attacking Syria, we will not shoulder that burden because rule of law has already crumbled entirely. We are not looking to go in and set up a regime on our terms, as we did in Iraq. Although the U.S. ultimately wants a free and fair democracy for the Syrian people, those ambitions are well outside the scope of this attack.

Our nation is war-weary, and understandably so. The general sentiment of the U.S. and its allies is that western powers should restrain from involvement in the Syrian civil war. But this war is not the war we waged in Iraq; it will be a war that strives to prevent Assad from the future usage of chemical weapons. The thought of becoming entangled in yet another Middle Eastern conflict is daunting, but it would be unacceptable to not respond to such a blatant violation of international norms. The message that we would send the rest of the world by not reacting to a dictator gassing hundreds of children to death in plain sight would be devastating. The U.S. will undoubtedly be criticized for whatever action it does or does not take, but we must be confident in knowing that the situation is Syria is far different from the one we witnessed in Iraq. We cannot base our decisions on previous mistakes; we can only look at the current crisis and face it with the values that define us as a nation.

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PULSE

The Next Iraq?

Article By: Jori Breslawski

PULSE

Notes From the Home Front “America is marching to war and yet the tremors of its massive girth can barely be felt.”

Article By: Adam Johnson

A

s I write, America is preparing for its next war.

Diplomats are appealing for a multilateral consensus on military involvement in Syria (and failing), the Obama administration is preparing its legal defense of such action, and the military is gassing its drones on the numerous aircraft carriers and friendly foreign bases in the region. A fury of activity, the simultaneous movements of all the appendages of the American machine, is taking place. Yet, something is different. Something is off.

America is marching to war and yet the tremors of its massive girth can barely be felt. Why is this the case?

Where is the clamor, the flag waving, the patriotism tinged with a vague bit of doubt and fear? Are we even going to war?

It seems Jean Baudrillard was correct. We have left reality and instead have entered the ‘hyper-reality’. In this setting, war, and all the actions and feelings that come with it, have disappeared, replaced by a vague yet all-encompassing fog of apathy. War, one of the most destructive and dehumanizing phenomena we can comprehend, has fallen to the level of a film or video-game: a series of images and actions from which we can step away from whenever we get bored or distracted.

Why is this? Perhaps, it is due to the changing role of the American military. It seems likely that America will act like it did in the Libyan Civil War, bombing key military targets from unmanned drones and high altitude aircraft.

American causalities will be close to nil, thus creating little to no stakes for the American public in general.

Perhaps it is because the enemy is not an enemy. Assad has done terrible things to the people he was supposed to protect, yet American propaganda has not tried to paint him the inhumane villain like they did to Saddam Hussein in the buildup to the two Gulf Wars. The ‘enemy’ is murky and uncertain, too hard to stereotype perfectly in news-ready sound bites. At best the enemy is ‘the enemy’: indefinite, nothing more than drone fodder.

Or perhaps, the reason can be found in the language that surrounds the violence. Media outlets will more likely than not refer to the war as a ‘conflict’ or ‘an intervention’, while calling American bombing strikes ‘precision bombing’, ‘aerial support’, or ‘conflict resolution’. The Syrian soldiers will be ‘enemy combatants’, the diverse and sometimes conflicting insurgent groups will be collectively ‘the Rebels’, and the many innocents killed in bombings and reprisal violence will be ‘collateral’. In such a language, all phrases lack clear definitions. Without meaning, the words will lack the emotional impact.

It seems that the dehumanization seen in military tactics and media portrayal has wormed its way into the most human invention of all, language.

All this seems quite grim to anyone with a shred of conscience. In the same way we feel little to no sympathy for the simulations we kill in first person shooter video games, we feel little to no sympathy for the vague, seemingly invented ‘Syrian People’. Perhaps this is the true psychological toll of the many conflicts America has wandered into after the fall of the Berlin Wall: Serbia, Kosovo, Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, the endless droning of Pakistan

and Yemen. When you punch a wall long enough, at some point the pain disappears and a quaint numbness takes over. In the wake of endless violence, perhaps we have lost much of our understanding of violence, and the many (internal and external) scars it leaves behind.

I want to make this abundantly clear. Many people are going to die. Many people have already died. When the U.S. decides to cease its strikes, the dying will continue.

The grief in this ‘conflict’ is on a grand scale.

America is a democracy, and as such, its people are responsible for the actions of its government. American weapons, in the hands of the CIA backed rebels, have already been used to kill. Soon, it will be American fingers doing the killing. Like it or not, the guilt for this coming ‘intervention’ will be spread on us all.

We cannot ignore this war, burying our heads deeper into the sand as if that will block out the chaos we are now stepping into. We cannot continue on thinking that it is only a brief intervention, a blip in our daily lives.

The suffering in Syria is inhumanly human. We are human. We have sympathy, we have empathy. To wallow in apathy, self-pity, and “I don’t watch the news because it’s depressing” is wrong. Like it or not, we, as a nation, must reflect on the horror that is war. Because if we don’t, then America will continue jumping from one conflict to the next like it has done for the past decade. And the dead bodies will just keep piling up. At some point, it’ll start to stink.

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d i a S e H he Said S

l

sche

e By : Articl

Hey, I’m a freshman communications major, and I really wanna pledge to Beta Rho Omega fraternity, but I don’t know if I have what it takes, what should I do?

HS

It’s important to cultivate the proper appearance and style to impress your prospective brothers. Update your arsenal of sleeveless and/or v-neck t-shirts to showcase the fruits of your Alumni Arena gym outings. Next, take a trip to a local bulk goods warehouse to stock up on industrial strength hair gel, and spike that shit to perfection. Use your hair as a platform to master spiking as this skill will also be beneficial at frat parties.

SS

Well, you’re already a communications major, so you got that going for you.

Next, crack open a keystone light and re-watch the movie 300, it will make you.

Make sure to pay attention to all the hot sweaty guy-on-guy action and ab shots, but don’t make eye contact, not even with the characters, because that would just be gay.

So I’m not sure if sure if my girlfriend is faking it or not, I mean, I know I’m good cause I get all my sex moves from redtube, but how do I know for sure?

Matt

vento Bene

HS SS

I don’t know what to tell you, that’s exactly what I do and I’m a certified Sex God so, all I can say is keep up the good work!

Well, everyone already knows that sex is just about the guy and what he wants. If she ever complains or asks for something, just half try for her, because we all know female opinions don’t matter.

I’m living on south this year and I don’t feel safe at all, so I got an AK-47 from the local NRA chapter for protection.

My roommate doesn’t think this is a good idea though, but I don’t see the problem with having a firearm on campus.

Any ideas on what I should do?

HS

First of all, Rambo, a Kalashnikov is a bit overkill and 7.62 rounds aren’t getting any cheaper. You might want to consider downgrading to a simple pump action shotgun or 9mm handgun, you will still feel safe and you won’t look like a soldier of fortune wannabe. Turn off Call of Duty and read up on your weapon safety rules.

SS

First of all, everyone has the right to bear arms, it’s what the second amendment is all about. George Washington would want you to have a high powered assault

and

Bor Laura

Freshman, Frats, and (Fowl)

weapon in a public space without being a military operative. People like you and me know that there isn’t a need for training, or hell, even a gun license, because when the U.S. fails as a country because of gay marriage we will all need to be protect ourselves.

I have a paper due in two days, but I haven’t read the book or been to class at all and I am freaking out. What should I do?

HS

Keep up the good work! Class is overrated anyway. Wait at least another day and be sure to stay up late the night before. This will really help put the pressure on an bring out the genius in your writing.

SS

Your best bet is to buy an essay from the internet. What could go wrong?

My family is coming up this weekend, and I want to show them that I’m becoming a real adult. What should I do to prove I’m mature?

HS

It’s important for them to know you are getting laid regularly. Leaving condom wrappers in plain sight will illustrate your metamorphosis into a responsible young adult. Delete your computer history and

replace it with google scholar and jstor entries. Even if they don’t know what that is they will still think that you are smart.

SS

I think the first step would be to leave the plastic bag on the fire alarm because you want to show your parents that you truly are taking your engineering major to heart. Also, make sure to tell your parents that your roommate is a crazy gun nut with an AK-47 under their mattress so they will pay for an apartment next year.

There is a pack of geese that has been stalking me ever since I moved to Ellicott, and my RA isn’t taking this complaint seriously. How do I stop this problem?

HS

Stop talking to your RA about it. They are part of the UB goose conspiracy.

Barricade yourself in your room with a semesters worth of ramen noodles and switch to online classes

SS

I agree, the only way to handle your problems is to avoid them. If this option doesn’t work, I suggest introducing an invasive species like long island girls. It’s a known fact that they use geese feathers to line their bubble coats.

Send your questions to ubgeneration@gmail.com!

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T O HFOR ACHER E T ll

re ey Far l h g i e le By: K

Artic

In a recent poll on the top five sexiest professions for men and women, “teacher” was not on either list.

Whoever conducted these polls couldn’t have possibly done so on a college campus, because I’m positive that it might have gone a little differently. I don’t know a single person who didn’t have a teacher-crush in high school. Hormones were high, and daily exposure to these familiar faces surely must have taken its toll on our subconscious desires. Teachers were older, smarter, and held the very fate of our education in their fickle, strong, chalk-covered hands.

It was a confusing time for everyone.

Even more alarming is the reign of the heartbreak professor. Now that we’ve all reached the age of consent, it’s hard not to spend the entirety of a lecture being hypnotized by one of these golden gods or goddesses, while sensually chewing your pencil and trying not to memorize their office hours. Intelligent, confident, quirky, and insanely tired, these maestros of knowledge push all of our buttons without even knowing it. But is this forbidden attraction a secret accessory to academic success?

One could argue that finding your instructor attractive could be a detrimental distraction. It’s hard to focus on solving for “x” when all you can think about is how sexy your prof would look in his underwear. *Sarah, a junior, was very sure of her personal decision to run for the hills when her prince charming was leading the class.

“I’m already distracted enough by hot dudes.” She laughed. “I’m paying more than enough to be in the class; when I’m there, I want the material to be my biggest concern. I can’t handle that much stimuli.”

She assured me there was no pun intended.

I had to admit that she had a point. It is a risky game to gamble your attention span in the hopes of getting some good material for the spank bank. But to thine own self, be honest about your libido. If you don’t think you can handle the charm of your teacher and memorize dates about important archaeological discoveries, then maybe you would benefit from a switch.

However valid the “too distracting” case may be, the overwhelming response was a resounding “that’s bullshit.” John, a sophomore, was not convinced.

“I’ve dropped classes because the teacher wasn’t hot.” He exclaimed with exasperation. I asked him why. “Because I’m twice as engaged! I feel more personally responsible for knowing my shit when I think the professor is [attractive.]”

I think the phrase he actually used was “bangable,” but the point remains clear. A sexy teacher is an incentive to impress. Making yourself known in class, attending office hours, and turning in stand-up work gets you one step closer to an A, and, in your wildest dreams, a coffee date. Several other students agreed that the more attractive the professor, the less likely they were to succumb to bad habits like skipping class, forgetting to complete assignments, and browsing Facebook during lectures.

In some cases, the instructors don’t even have to be conventionally attractive at all. When asked about which professors she found most attractive, Maria, a sophomore, admitted: “It’s gonna sound weird, but I’m really attracted to some of my older professors. You know Juno’s best friend, the one that’s trying to date that sloppy old guy? That’s totally me. I don’t

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know! Something about their composure and experience is so endearing. And sexy, honestly.”

*some names were changed

A pretty face is only a bonus. In an environment bursting at the seams with eager students chasing their passions, sometimes a firm grasp on these passions is enough to rouse and arouse.

Whoever said that knowledge was power forgot to mention that knowledge, when used correctly, can set the heart aflame.

An older instructor can have an air of sophistication that no bespectacled hipster know-it-all TA can replicate. They haven’t just read the same books you’re reading; they’ve memorized them, met the authors, lived in the countries of origin, and now they’re giving their time to you while you bat your eyelashes and sigh hopelessly in to your notebook.

A more popularized image (that I’m sure any porn viewer is familiar with) is the young, sexy female teacher. A trope that’s been exhausted by the media for the pleasure of 15-25 year old men worldwide, this image has left a bad taste in the mouths of the contemporary student.

“I hate when a teacher walks in and, if she’s really attractive, guys will look over their shoulder at one another and high five or something. I think it’s ridiculous. She’s clearly gotten this far without your alpha male approval rituals.” Liam, a senior, rolled his eyes in dismay. “Keep it to yourself. Thinking a teacher is hot? Fine. Harassing them behind their backs? Not okay.”

Strong, smart, well-versed women are storming the fortress and kicking these chauvinistic caricatures right in the ass. In a stunning first lecture that left me and all of my peers abuzz, Visual Studies queen Shasti O’Leary-Soudant entered wearing a miniskirt, glitzy high heels, and a ditzy “look at me” attitude.

Murmurs of disbelief filled the hall as she began the lecture, opening with a carefully worded speech on how we project our preconceived ideas. She then stripped of her skintight dress and donned a pair of tailored slacks and a blouse, all the while begging us to question what it is that made us more comfortable with this professional attire and composure. Needless to say, I left the class fully enamored with her ideas, her presence, and her seemingly endless fountains of knowledge and interpretations, which I would eventually bathe in twice a week.

Of the recorded 2,191 professors on UB’s section of “ratemyprofessor.com,” 545 of them have scored a “chili pepper.” (If you don’t know what this means, you’re a liar.) That’s almost exactly 25%, so out of every four professors you have in your time at UB, you can expect at least one of them to take your breath away. Those are some pretty nice odds.

Now, we’re all adults here. To what extent is it appropriate to act upon these feelings of attraction for our instructors? Do we “yolo” our lives away at the risk of becoming the subject of the next Joyce Carol-Oates novel? The response was mixed, but a few students were very particular about their advice.

“Don’t do it!” Warned Sarah frantically, waving her hands. “Red flag, red flag! It may seem like an exciting idea, but there are infinite ways it could backfire. Coffee and a class-related chat is one thing, but dinner and a movie, or anything more, is out of the question. Or at least wait until you graduate.”

Others were more encouraging of a student-teacher rendezvous.

“I mean, if they’re down, go for it!” Encouraged Natalie, a nonchalant junior. “Why the hell not? How many people get to say that they had a relationship with their professor? So long as they aren’t married or ninety or something, take a chance. But I mean, wait until the class is done. No need to get an F because you wouldn’t give them the D.” Though both arguments have their points, it’s easier said than done to break that boundary. Professors are people too, but they have a power over you that you may not want to jeopardize for the sake of a fantasy. It is exciting to humor the thought, especially if, by some crazy twist of fate, they seem equally interested in you. However, the safest way to address these feelings of intellectual, spiritual, or physical attraction is from afar. If you’re feeling extra ambitious, get them a gift card at the end of the semester and thank them for their insights. Even if they do have really nice glasses, and a stellar wristwatch, and excellent hair, and a kickass tie collection…

Yikes. Just stay focused.

Photo By: Steve Bernhardt

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BuffaLove

Monday/Tuesday

Bar Scene: Article By: Laura Borschel

E

veryone who knows me can probably tell you three things about myself: I often get confused for a twinky gay boy, I drink a lot and like to do so frequently, and I love going out on the weekends.

This story however, does not take place on a typical Saturday night at a gay club, where I end up extremely intoxicated and hooking up in a handicap bathroom stall with a girl dressed as Daria. No, it is, in fact, a story about my venture into weekday gay barhopping, far away from my comfort zone.

My day started off innocently enough, I had just gotten back from vacation, and went to visit some friends and just chill out. After many hugs and gay moments of rejoicing, I sat down and took a load off. I was then handed a bottle of Jamison and took a swig.

In hindsight, I should have realized that this was the critical moment where turning back was not an option. But alas, like so many other times in my life, I threw good old-fashioned sobriety out of the drivers seat and let Jesus take the wheel.

After a few swigs, I asked my friend what his plans for later that night were. He responded, with a fabulous glint in his eye, that he had promised another friend to go to Cathode’s, and asked if I was down to go. Despite the minor hesitation of my fleeting sober mind, I decided to go. After all, what could honestly happen?

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Somehow, during my tipsy Ke$ha state, I had magically forgotten my few previous experiences at this bar, which included and was certainly not limited to: being surrounded by a disproportionate number of gay alcoholics, being hit on aggressively by said drunk gay alcoholics, being vaguely propositioned for guy on guy sex in a woman’s bathroom, and actually having reasonably priced big ass drinks on Monday nights.

With the thought of very cheap mixed drinks dancing in my head, we headed off to the bar a few hours later. When we arrived I was a bit surprised to see that it was pretty dead. Minus about six straight girls and ten or so gay men, there was pretty much no one there. Dismayed, I went up to the bar and ordered a drink. After that I ordered a few more and began shooting pool with my friends.

Now, people who know my drunken behavior may tell you that my depth perception disappears, and I end up getting extremely close to people’s faces. They may also tell you that I may or may not have a tendency to get blisteringly angry with any sort of unwanted attention.

At this point, more people started to gradually flow into the bar. Unfortunately for me, I unintentionally got all up in the space of an older dude who confused me for, surprise, surprise, a very twinky, very young, gay boy.

I muttered something of an apology to the guy, who laughed it off, and initially, seemed decently nice. I don’t totally recall what happened after that, but the next thing I knew, I was being grabbed by my friend and pushed outside.

Evidently, after some crude remarks, I told him to fuck off. I then took it a step farther and threatened to punch out an old man. Sure enough, I was rescued and fed cigarettes to calm my nerves.

I proceeded to become even more inflamed after going inside and almost went off on the guy again. Seeing the escalating situation, my friends called it a night, and we drove to get 2 am McDonald’s. And yes, I am willing to admit the only real thing that will calm my nerves after a night of misogyny and creeps, is a Swiss Onion Cheddar burger.

Looking back, I am still pretty shocked to think back and realize that I could have potentially gotten arrested for getting in a fight at a bar. I can see the title now “Fruit Punch Gets a New Meaning”, or “Fruit by the Fist”.

Despite the humor of these possible headlines, I have no future intention of getting into a gay gang street brawl.

While he may have had a bit more muscle than me, to this day, however, I know I could have taken that fifty-year-old man with a bad leg.

SPOT T ED AT SPOT A Midmorning Day’s Routine T

he moment we walked in, I knew we were late. Or perhaps early.

Gone were the shuffling lines of early morning patrons waiting dutifully to procure their ritualistic morning joe. Whether we had missed the rush or had preempted the masses, the vast floor space that spread before the eclectic counter was open and empty. A few chairs still harbored lingering guests, just finishing, or just beginning, the customary dance of sipping and shuffling, slurping and rustling, as they sat distantly amid the folds of the morning paper.

This was going to be difficult.

As I scoured the paltry turn-out for someone acceptable, a muse worthy of some eight-hundred words of my hard-earned vocabulary, a Mediterranean pizza was ordered in my name by way of brunch. And so it began.

As we sipped the foam from atop our lattes, I considered, to begin with, the employees. I watched behind the counter as a quarterback from the Pittsburgh Steelers paced anxiously behind the register, braced for the next play to begin, to catch another pass. But whoever he was anticipating took too long to materialize and, with a sigh, he loped away.

The startling chime of bells above the door sounded suddenly, chiming with possibility. Steelers seemed more pleased than I was as we both turned simultaneously toward the newest characters to enter this morning’s scene.

His father called him by name. Jeffrey, altogether too excited to be freed from the car, ran by propagating the Great Jeter in a kid’s small. I wonder what Steelers thinks of Jeter cramping his style? A chasm or comradery has been struck, but nothing is mentioned. Thank you, come again.

And then I see him, the man to tie all my observations together. Shades sports a pair of impenetrable aviators and his pencil thin lips offer not a clue as to the expression in the eyes which they hide. Like a poker player in his final hand, he feigns contentment and joviality, yet a bead of sweat makes its way nervously down his temple. What underworld secrets does he hide? Whose life is in his hands?

My mind runs momentarily wild with creative liberties, but then Shades cracks a smile, and the suspension of disbelief is broken. Still, he’s all I needed: he’s made me think.

BuffaLove

Article By: Audrey Foppes

Shades reminded me of the untold stories we all carry with us, the secret histories and origins we keep hidden from most of the world. I am not speaking of the perilous secrets of mobsters and hit-men. I am talking merely of the fact that we all come from different places, unique situations, all of which affects our behavior and our thoughts, but none of which we talk about in the company of the general public.

It is easy, then, to judge the impatient customer at the register or the mother at the end of her rope. But just as we ask on occasion to trespass on the good graces of those around us, asking them to, just this once, make an exemption for our extenuating circumstances - “I’m not like this all the time, I swear,” - we must also be understanding of theirs. Today might be their once. And with so many people sharing this planet, it is conceivable to be forgiving of more than one once in a single day.

Of course, this makes it easy for certain personalities to cultivate perpetual habits: short temper, rage, obliviousness, thereby taking advantage of our understanding nature. But as with any act of kindness, you will, occasionally, be used and left with nothing in return. And although in our patience, our hopes for reciprocation or dissemination are not always fulfilled, giving in and giving up would let those people, those unscrupulously guiltless people, win.

So maybe Steelers was threatened when Jeter made his way through the door, or maybe they were heartened to find a kindred spirit. Whatever the case, they maintained their air of courtesy and respect, which would serve, in truth, to extinguish whatever bias either one of them might have had against the other. Courtesy and compassion have been known to work remarkably against the raised hackles of anticipated hostility.

Compassion is especially vital in an establishment that endeavors to serve the bleary-eyed flocks of early-birds (either by choice or by necessity) that frequent our streets between the twilit hours of 6:00 and 8:00 AM on their way to contribute to our society. Another day, another dollar, another cup of coffee. Everything, from the quiet jazz playing up high above the counter, to the sandwich board congratulating you for making it out of bed, evokes a sense of gentle patience. Good morning. Welcome to the world once again. Can I get you anything? Thank you for doing what you do. We appreciate it.

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The Things They Left Behind Poem By: Laura Borschel

20 pairs of underwear 1 pair of handcuffs 1 negative pregnancy test How do you measure a year of life?

In vaginal suppositories, In “sexy” underwear, In birth control, How do you measure a year of life?

How about lust?

How about lust?

How about lust?

Measure in lust.

How do you measure the life of a freshman?

In truths that she learned Or times that he cried To a douche bag he turned Or the way that she lied It’s time now, to sing out Though the story never ends Let’s celebrate A year in the life of freshmen

A Mind of Winter I

walk outside through feet of snow, through miles of pavement. I skitter through traffic in courtship of death. I buy coffee at four in the morning and go to bed earlier and earlier.

One must work, of course, because one must not die. Living, relegated to the interstices of not dying, is curiously inadequate.

In the hours I must, I log into the frosty cheeriness of the library. There are always books out of order, tenets of the Dewey decimal system sultrily flouted, backlogs of catalogs and shelving disasters. Chaos assembles every day on the seams of the ordered realms, must hourly be countered and biweekly reported against. At intervals in the overflowing semblance of disaster, the students stumble in with books to check out or return- further disruptions in a steadily encroaching entropy.

I find their hurry hard to fathom. They always, always have places to be, appointments that await, schedules that need be followed to the minutiae of milliseconds. Their interactions with me are blurry scripts they stumble through from memory- Hi, Could I…? Where exactly…? How in the hell…?- in between the replies to text messages and sighs of despair.

The same faces, years on end now. Not one distinctive expression or gesture or, worse yet, taste in books. Their reading responds to the exigencies of what authority demands, what syllabuses outline, or what newspapers casually term bestsellers. Their tastes are atrocious. I hate them all.

Stepping against the snowflakes mercifully obscures sight.

Lamplights flash their warning in the daze of early twilight, light seeping slowly away into the withering of darkness.

Solitude is imaginable here. Even the rush of loneliness, in its clamor of imagined company, drained out of the monochrome land.

For all its overt friendliness, I do return often to this coffee shop. The dark pools of light slide off some of the tables, leaving the corners untouched. They do not ask for a name when I merely ask for coffee, and I am not forced to remember the appellation I’d made up the week before.

The others there are politely absorbed in their own muted conversations, and do not feel the need to intrude into my stretches of silence.

Occasionally someone I know will enter. But there are ways By: Sushmita Sircar to avoid people, and I know them all too well. The casual glance that passes by familiar features, acknowledgement refused in even a brief pause. The refusal to look up, a through ensconcing of one’s attention in the confines of a book. The sideways glance of past awkwardness that no one wants to revisit.

I’ve lived in this city for far too long. I know far too many people, from the days one attempted to connect, only connect, forgetting, ignoring, the impossibility of empathy.

Intrepid conversation undertaken in the guise of friendliness- a cat named Richard Nixon? A trip to Reykjavik?

Musings on Hawthorne?- but of course, in the end, what you want is approval, what you want is routine, what you want is some semblance of sociability. What you want is fiction, reality never will measure up, and I am done attempting civility.

Walking is a deliberate contradiction. The paths etched into memory, the road mapped unconsciously from turn to turn. And this is meant to be freedom- the choice to return, day after day, ceaselessly onto eternity.

The streets I take back home are festooned with Christmas markets. Raucous glittering of whittled down ornaments.

Stretches of forlorn pines. Families huddled against the first flutter of snowflakes, in miserable gatherings of ceremonies that must be replicated every year.

Sometimes I stop and watch, for nothing beckons in the stretch of evenings and months and weekends without end. So I become the onlooker, for there is nothing to partake in, nothing I could partake in. Not the easy laughter of the ten year olds, the wry amusement of the parents, the secretive conversations of the couples, the amused chatter of the shopkeepers, the entire flutter and flurry of events measured against a countdown.

In the summer, I presume, it’s the disenchanted dollops of sunlight that must haunt these groups into dumbfounded stupidity. The too-bright rays an impediment to conversation. The laughter a hollow attempt to measure up.

But I don’t know. It is never summer.

From the pavement, the silence stretches deceptively peaceful to the curtains against the window. I pause, key in hand, the rush of falling snow rustling against the metal. In the morning, I will loathe the world again. For now, I can simply lock myself against it, pretend it has never existed, its vast expanses mere illusions to be shut out in the cold.

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Parting Shots Blurrrrrrrrrrreeedd Lines

Article By: Adam Johnson At 36 years old, Robin Thicke sure has done his mama proud.

The Canadian R&B singer has had quite the summer hit with his “Blurred Lines,” a song guaranteed to make him the ‘Men’s Rights Reddit Page Man of the Year.’

In it, the 36 year old singer who is not a 13 year old boy on the internet in his mom’s basement, takes a manly stand against the feminazis out there who proclaim such odd things as “No Means No”, “Women Are Not Mindless Pets”, “Treat Others As You Would Like To Be Treated” or “Hey, Maybe Date Rape Isn’t A Good Thing”. Instead, the 36 year old man who has had decades to have normal, healthy interactions with the sex that makes up 51% of the global population, sings

such gems as “Just let me liberate you”, “I know you want it” (repeated 18 times), “the way you grab me/must want to get nasty”, and of course, the anthemic “You the hottest bitch in this place”. Boy, Mr. Thicke sure does know how to connect with the sensibilities of the youngsters these days. He’s even too cool for grammar!

Of course, it would be unfair of me not to mention the other man in this song who works so hard to bring forth his thoughtful and nuanced ideas on masculinity (not Pharrell).

The 32 year old Atlanta rapper T.I., who has a young daughter and step-daughter, weaves his subtle lyrical mastery over the “Marvin Gaye/Funkadelic inspired” beat to clever ends (note to self: check dictionary to see when exactly ‘inspired’ and ‘stolen’ became synonymic). In possibly the greatest use of the English language since Billy Shakespeare thought “I should really write down this whole To Be or Not To Be thing”, T.I. proclaims “I’ll give you something big enough to tear your ass in two”. Let’s stop a moment and reflect on the profundity of this ode to sodomy. Have you wiped the tears from your eyes? Good, let’s move on.

Having sold over 5 million copies in the U.S. alone, “Blurred Lines” is a cultural force to be reckoned with. Just think about it: 5 million people spent their hard earned money on this song. Five million people who took history classes in middle school where they learned about such crucial events like the Suffrage Movement, the Civil Rights Movement, the Equal Pay Act, the push for an Equal Rights Amendment, Roe v. Wade, and the 1992 Congressional Elections that saw a record number of women taking office. Heck, many of these people may actually be women themselves!

There are some critics out there who claim the singer is profiteering off a plagiarized beat and misogynist worldview, but do ignore them. Mr. Thicke is an artist and as such, deserves to be viewed among the likes of Beethoven and John Lennon; not the shadowy group of forty year old perverts who hit on intoxicated college girls at night clubs that he so aesthetically resembles.

So congrats on the success Robin, you awful, awful person.

The Most Dangerous Game

Article By: Matt Benevento

Whether you are a super senior or a fledgling freshman who drives to class, you have most likely experienced the havoc of attempting to park at UB. Don’t worry though, this isn’t another article begging for the school to pave over the useless grass lots and oversized medians. I won’t even go into the endless logic of building a parking garage. For whatever reason, the school has decided its parking situation is adequate for the time being, and there probably isn’t anything another article can do about it.

If you witness this phenomenon, attempt to communicate your intentions. If you are just going to your car to retrieve a book, let the person following you know by shaking your head or using an appropriate hand gesture. If you are planning to leave the lot, communicate your intentions by giving a positive gesture like pointing or jingling your keys. Remember that you can walk in between cars but, cars cannot drive through them; if possible lead them to your car in a way that they won’t have to guess where you are going.

Though it appears for now there is nothing we can do the change the size and quantity of the lots, there are things that every student can do to help ease the pressure of parking.

You may have noticed when walking back to your car, people suddenly seem to take a strange interest in you and attempt to follow you around the lot. Don’t worry; there isn’t anything malicious happening here (hopefully). The creeper following you has discovered that there are no parking spaces left (surprise) and is being forced to hunt your spot down like a starving animal.

It’s important to remain civil when searching for a parking spot. If you are trying to park during peak hours, there is going to be a lot of competition for spaces. If you see someone following a pedestrian, don’t try to swoop in and steal their spot at the last minute. As the pedestrian, try to award your spot to the person who was there first (or the most attractive).

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When searching for a parking place, avoid dangerous activities like speeding through the lot. You may become frustrated or see a spot far off and attempt to get to it as fast as possible but, you must remember there are students and other cars

everywhere. Getting to class a few minutes late is preferable to paying someone’s medical bills, after you peel them off of your bumper.

Just remember we all have to deal with the disaster of parking at UB. Treat others as you would like to be treated.

Most of us have been late to class at some point because of parking and these tips may help to alleviate some of the stress. Stay safe, keep positive and maybe someday the university will succumb to reason and properly address these issues.

RAINN Day RAINN Day is RAINN’s (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network) annual day of action to raise awareness and educate students about sexual violence on college campuses.

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