MAY 2011 VOL X ISSUE VI SYRACUSE NEW YORK your student fee
#PROCRASTINATION
JERKMAGAZINE.NET
CONTENTS MAY 2011 05 From the Editor 06 Feedback 07 Peeps 08 Detour The good, the bad, the Jerk
10 Obitchuary Oregon Trail 11 Totally Unscientific Poll Mother's Day 12 Web Shout Out 13 Framed
BITCH OPINIONS 14 Level Up The pro-gaming argument
26 I Love New York 16 Take a Number SU's Counseling Center does Silverfish, Starbucks, and
nothing for students' sanity
18 Facebook Official Birthdays create an
unwarranted Facebook frenzy
32 Tapped
19 Fake It Till I Make It IA's still have something to
goes undiscussed
SMUT FEATURES
Cedarvale maple syrup ain't no Mrs. Butterworth's
GAWK STYLE
teach you
20 Junk Food The worldwide food shortage
slumming it in the city
36 Carpe Diem
Hit the road in whimsical dresses and rustic pieces for a carefree summer
36 58 Single Staffer
NOISE ARTS & MUSIC
59 Sex Column The lowdown on the get down 60 Read Townie: A Memoir 61 DiscoverSYR La Familia De La Salsa 62 Form & Function Summer internship 64 Back Door
15 Series Suicide
How one bad season kills a great show
22 Breast Reduction Surgeries A healthy option for the well-endowed
44 Undressed
Marina Zarya talks to us about life on the airwaves
46 The Tragedy of Comedy
The tribulations of a struggling Syracuse comedian
50 Jerk's Guide to Sex
Stripping down the essentials
56 Rewind
ON THE COVER "Syracuse Spring" by Alex Pines
FROM THE EDITOR GREGORY E. MILLER EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
NINA ELIAS
EXECUTIVE EDITOR
MANAGING EDITOR
EDITORIAL
John Giammatteo ASST. FEATURES EDITOR Maria Qualtere OPINIONS EDITOR Becky Wreski ASST. OPINIONS EDITOR Jose Tererro STYLE EDITOR Lauren Tousignant ASST. STYLE EDITOR Vicki Ho ARTS & MUSIC EDITOR Flash Steinbeiser ARTS & MUSIC EDITOR Walker Kampf-Lassin RESEARCH EDITOR Cassandra Baim COPY EDITOR Melissa Goldberg COPY EDITOR Rebecca Leviton FACT CHECKER Christina Sterbenz FACT CHECKER Kelly Peters INTERN Maggie Quigley FEATURES EDITOR
ASST.
KAREN HOR
DESIGN
David Miller Ellie Sunakawa DESIGNER Sarah Peng DESIGNER Kelly Sullan ASST. DESIGNER Maddie Kelly AD DESIGNER Alex Rogers DESIGN DIRECTOR
ASST. DESIGN DIRECTOR
ART
Viviana Quevedo Anthony Garito ILLUSTRATORS Emmett Baggett, Sean Basista, Daniel Blaushild, Andrew Casadonte, Keisha Cedeno ART DIRECTOR
PHOTOGRAPHY EDITOR
MULTIMEDIA WEB
Irina Dvalidze WEB EDITOR Megan Hess ASST. WEB EDITOR Amelia Beinstock ASST. WEB EDITOR Jillian D'Onfro BLOG EDITOR Carly Wolkoff ASST. BLOG EDITORS Nicole Fisher, Kim Johnson, Ian Phillips SOCIAL MEDIA EDITOR Katie Simon COPY EDITOR Kelly Bucci FACT CHECKER Riyana Straetker
EXECUTIVE WEB EDITOR
COMMUNICATIONS
Erica Schmitt REPRESENTATIVES Rodney Fleming, Chelsea Marion, Alexis Pokorny, Jeanine Stanislaus
COMMUNICATIONS DIRECTOR PR
Athena Andoniades Alex Pines MULTIMEDIA STAFFERS Sophia Bernard, Allan Duso, John Fitzpatrick, Allison Joy, Gabe Shore, Anthony Tamborino MULTIMEDIA EDITOR
ASST. MULTIMEDIA EDITOR
CONTRIBUTORS
Abram Brown, Nick Deyo, Rob Marvin, Taylor Miller, Zuri Plair, Luis Rendon, Stefanie Stretch, Ashli Truchon BUSINESS
Nicole Inniss Jordan Fox REPRESENTATIVE Assel Baitassova, REPRESENTATIVE Natasha Butalia
PUBLISHER
AD DIRECTOR AD AD
The first time a man buys a condom is an invigorating, totally nerve-wracking event. I spent most of high school working as a cashier at a grimy grocery chain known as Food Lion. The exchange of cashing out someone buying condoms always made me feel very powerful. There I was, 16 years old, and this middleaged woman’s dignity sat in my hands. All it would take was a simple, “I need a price check on some ‘Her Pleasures,’ please!” over the intercom, and bam— she’d crack. The joy with which I’d ask customers in front of their children whether they’d like their condoms in a separate bag from their milk probably bordered on sadism. Naturally, when I bought my first box of condoms, I chose a small drugstore—one which I hoped had not been equipped with intercoms. I stood in front of that aisle, stared at all the different kinds, and wondered how exactly a condom could invoke such feelings as “ecstasy” or “fire and ice.” Where was the beginner’s option? I assumed it was not the one labeled “magnum” and placed my hand over my crotch for fear that some passerby might size me up. I decided to go with Lifestyles. The name sounded happy, less clinical than Durex, and less angry than Trojan. In order to appear casual, I decided to pick up some shampoo and an issue of People as well, as if to say, “Yep, just another dude running some errands for the Missus.” This month, we’ve sized up some of the most pressing issues in sex [page 50]—things like what lingerie to wear for your type of relationship, the best strip joints in Syracuse, and the best place on campus to get it on (Hint: The number of books in this building is inversely proportional to the amount of studying that happens there). Sex can be a divisive topic (hey, Mom/Dad/Christianity), so shoot us a line at editor@jerkmagazine.net or tweet us @jerkmagazine, and let us know how you feel. As always, incriminating pictures are welcome. Finally, thanks to graduation, I’m thrilled to let you know this is the last time we’ll be speaking. For one last self-deprecating dose of my life, turn to page 26 for my essay on my New York summer in (less-than) paradise. I’m sorry we have to go our separate ways, but I’ve got to move on with life. It’s not you, it’s me.
Love, Through its content, Jerk is dedicated to enhancing insight through communication by providing an informal platform for the freedom of expression. The writing contained within this publication expresses the opinions of the individual writers. The ideas presented in this publication do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the Jerk Editorial Board. Furthermore, Jerk will not be held responsible for the individual opinions expressed within. Submissions, suggestions, and opinions are welcomed and may be printed without contacting the writer. Jerk reserves the right to edit or refuse submissions at the discretion of its editors. Jerk Magazine is published monthly during the Syracuse University academic year. All contents of the publication are copyright 2011 by their respective creators. No content may be reproduced without the expressed written consent of the Jerk Editorial Board.
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Gregory E. Miller Editor-in-Chief
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FEEDBACK
PEEPS FROM THE WEB: Asian vs. Asian Smackdown: “We have Asian Students in America (ASIA), Chinese Students and Scholars Association (CSSA), and Hong Kong Cultural Organization (HKCO). Oh, and don’t forget the Korean-American Student Association (KASA) and Korean Student Association (KSA). Seriously, what’s the damn difference?” There’s actually a huge difference among these organizations and instead of categorizing them as “all the same,” perhaps you should come out to the GIMs that each organization holds to gain a better understanding of their purpose. On a side note, I have to agree with you about the MSP [Multi-Cultural Spring Program]. It’s a bunch of bullshit to even hold an event like that when clearly the campus is segregated by race and ethnicity. However, it’s really not the school to blame for the segregation. That’s how it is for most schools.
TAP THIS Jerk Magazine 126 Schine Student Center Syracuse, NY 13244
editor@jerkmagazine.net www.jerkmagazine.net
—Ryan89 (ryan89@gmail.com)
Other Side of the Dome: we’ll embrace you when the girls shave their legs —SMYT (casmatt99@aim.com)
ZURI PLAIR
TAYLOR MILLER
Brooklyn native Zuri styled this month’s “Form&Function” on page 62. The fashion police have never stopped her, but last summer the NYPD caught her red-handed. “I got a ticket in the subway station for walking through the train cars,” she says. “So embarrassing.”
Taylor, an illustration photography major, got his first camera when he was nine years old. “My parents gave me a Nickelodeon film camera,” Miller says. “What they thought was a $30 gift ended up being $100,000 in tuition. Regret is an understatement.” Check out his nip and tuck on page 22.
KATJA ANDERSSON
ROB MARVIN
Katja may be a communications design major here in Syracuse, but most summers she finds herself in Kerala, India. “I go to the same town, and get to meet the same people, which is special because I have built a relationship with them,” she says. This month she takes to the road in the heist fashion feature on page 36.
Sure, this Bellmore, N.Y. native used to play a lot of Oregon Trail back in the day. He may have even lost a daughter or two to dysentery, but at least he didn’t get typhoid fever. “Once you get typhoid on the trail, it’s usually the end of the line for you,” he says. Read Rob’s tribute to this childhood favorite in the Obitchuary [page 10].
VIA TWITTER: @em_es_el MATTHEW S.L. @jerkmagazine, hey is the cover an inside joke? 10:07AM Mar 29
@HarryBarron HARRY BARRON Jerk Magazine named @LeOrange4Life Blog of the Year. What a joke. #blogoftheyearcantgotoablogthatsonlyexistedfortwomonths 12:44PM Mar 29
@JOELLEHYMAN JOELLE HYMAN After one-too-many failures at converting the entire male population away from douchey clothes, I’m glad @jerkmagazine took a stand 5:27PM Mar 29
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DETOUR HITLIST
BITCHLIST
GIVIN' OUR PROPS
TAKIN' OUR SHOTS
flickr.com
JERK OF THE
MIKE TIRICO, ESPN ANNOUNCER
L
MONT H
WHACK-ASS SHIT Anal-Retentive
No Rest for the Wicked
During a routine cell block check at Florida’s Sarasota County Jail, corrections deputies spotted a condom sticking out of Neil Lansing’s rectum. Lansing, serving time for a drug charge, filled the condom with all the necessities: 17 round blue pills, one cigarette, six matches, one flint, one empty syringe with an eraser over the needle, one lip balm container, one additional unused condom, a paper coupon, and a receipt from CVS Pharmacy. Lansing’s hole went from uncharted territory to a gangster’s paradise.
A 1631 Bible up for auction in San Franciso’s Bay Area reads, “Thou shalt commit adultery,” instead of “Thou shalt not commit adultery.” The Bible is one of 40 copies deemed “Wicked Bibles” that resurfaced centuries after King Charles of England ordered the original 1,000 copies be returned and burned. The owner is hoping to sell his copy for $80,000—a small price to pay for a lifetime of being able to say, “The Bible told me to.”
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EUCLID ICE CREAM TRUCK
theultimatefrisbee.com
SUNNY DAYS ON THE QUAD
Flintstones Push-Up pop, done.
A mine field of Frisbees.
DAY DRINKING
OVERUSED HASHTAG HUMOR
'Tis the season.
THE OPRAH SHOW FINALE Team Ellen!
PETE YORN AS VPA CONVOCATION SPEAKER We're crashing.
#notwinning
SHITTY SUMMER BLOCKBUSTERS Why are you still employed, Michael Bay?
DAVID B. FALK COLLEGE OF WHATEVER Is it possible for SU to sell out anymore?
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TOTALLY UNSCIENTIFIC POLL MOTHER'S DAY She birthed you, cares for you when you’re sick, and unknowingly pays $25 every time you lose your SU ID. She’s your mom. Once a year we pause between our day-drinking hangovers and primetime pregaming to celebrate the maternal figures in our lives. Jerk went on a mission to find out what you really think about Mother’s Day. Fifty students at Goldstein responded, and the results are in.
When is Mother’s Day this year?
22%
38%*
*correct
28%
If you were a mom, what would your ideal Mother’s Day present be?
12%
True or False: There is a direct correlation between your gift to your mom and the beer money she gives you.
Chocolate 2% Wine 12% Both, baby 86% True 16%
False 84% How will you be spending your Mother's Day?
What is your favorite Mother’s Day tradition?
By Rob Marvin Before every kid in Little League got a participation trophy, Oregon Trail showed us that Darwin was actually right: life runs by one rule—survival of the fittest. But after 30 years of surviving computer game upgrades, our original Oregon Trail CD-ROMs finally crapped out, succumbing to dysentery. We remember the trail for all its ups and downs. Our oxen collapsed due to exhaustion? Oh well, I guess we’re pulling the wagon ourselves. Mom died of influenza? Sad day. Let’s bury her and get back on the trail. You packed too much gunpowder and not enough food? Dumbass, now we’re going to starve. 10 JERK
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While first popular back in the 70s and 80s, most of us remember the newer versions of Oregon Trail from the mid to late 90s. It was one of the highlights of fifth grade computer class. As we hunted our way across country, others braved bouts of typhoid or watched their wagon float downstream because they were too cheap to pay the ferryman. Thank you, Oregon Trail, for providing a safe way to show suburban children that making decisions out in the real world means life or death. You helped us fondly recall a time when Americans weren’t such pussies. JM
8%
Mom’s notorious drunken toast
22%
34%
36%
Tequila shots Listening to Aunt Playing hookie with granny Linda tell stories about at brunch your cousins’ births
How long does it take you to realize it’s Mother’s Day?
Hoping Mom doesn’t remember what day it is 6%
Halfway through a Teen Mom marathon 10%
Scouring your apartment for something to regift 18%
While walk-of-shaming past your mom’s breakfast in bed 22%
Hung over at family brunch 26%
After a frantic text from your dad at noon 68%
Kissing up to Mom— you need $$$$ 50%
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WEB SHOUT OUT
FRAMED
Why do finals always get in the way of our drinking? It’s time to treat yourself and get to Jerkin’. Maybe you’ll laugh, maybe you’ll cry, and maybe you’ll be offended, but you can count on Jerkmagazine.net to send you flying into summertime with a big ol’ bang. WEB EXCLUSIVE STORY: Tony Olivero uncovers life where sound, sight, taste, and smell come together in a not-so-rare condition, Synesthesia.
We’re launching a brand new concert series—right in our tiny-ass Office of Student Life
SCAN ME
cubicle. Check out Music Box and enjoy the concert without the crowd. Then, hear from our magazine’s head honchos. Then, go behind the scenes of the most fabulous heist ever at this month's fashion shoot.
FROM THE BLOG Watch
Can’t wait for The Hangover 2? Check out Zach Galifianakis’s top five routines. A solid side-splitter.
Blare
Jerk’s Guide to summer music festivals. Imagine doing something other than tweeting at these things.
Zone
When we’re sick, we watch reruns. But while Dan Reynolds was undergoing chemotherapy, he drew. Check out his hilarious cartoons in Zone. Go to Jerkmagazine.net for all our columns. You know you want to.
Face Time
P's & Q's
A Bite & A Sip
Meet Jamar, your friendly neighborhood bar manager at Faegan's.
Booze to Lose—how to drink on a diet. First step: hide the drunk food!
Cinco de Mayo edition. Because you’ll want some solids eventually.
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DROWNING BY CHELSEA FIERST, SENIOR ILLUSTRATION MAJOR “This piece is about letting go of reality and allowing your mind to overwhelm you. The figure is falling into the depths of a dream.” —Chelsea Fierst JERK
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LEVEL UP What gaming taught me about healthy competition, anger management, and working the joystick
SERIES SUICIDE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN TV SHOWS PASS THEIR EXPIRATION DATES
By Flash Steinbeiser : Illustration by Dan Blaushild It’s time to stop hating the player and the game. Clawing our way through the trenches of self-righteous senators and over-protective mothers, we video-gamers have finally gained status as contributing members of society. Today our cultural stock grows thanks to author and game designer Jane McGonigal and her recent campaign to educate the masses about video game benefits. Scoring a TED conference and a critically acclaimed book, both touting the benefits of video games, McGonigal’s taking gaming to, er, the next level. But I don’t need Dr. Mario to tell me that video games, when played in healthy doses, transform people into true winners. Haters think of video games as a form of escapism,
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but I tend to see them more as simulations— practice for real-life social situations and how I should handle them. Video games taught me the basics of healthy competition. As someone about to enter a brutally competitive work force, I need the balls to appropriately cope with the thrill of success and the agony of defeat. Who better to teach that lesson than my childhood friends stalling my car with a red shell in Mario Kart? It didn’t matter that I lost, but how I handled it. Sure, I wanted to shatter my N64 controller on their smug faces, but multiple losses and wins kept my ego in check. Video games also flex our critical thinking muscles more than any lame Sudoku puzzle. Virtual realities can bring out the General Patton in anyone, forcing intuitive strategies and out-of-the-box thinking. Every time I correctly answer a logic or statistics question, I have the Water Temple in Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time to thank. By placing ourselves in creative environments—digital or not—we become far more inventive and freethinking. Console critics should pay attention to McGonigal: Even the most grotesque games provide quite the imaginative workout. That’s the only explanation I can come up with for that weaponized purple dildo in Grand Theft Auto III. JM
By Jillian D’Onfro : Illustration by Emmett Baggett Dealing with the downhill slope of a favorite television show is like taking a swig of icecold H2O at the gym only to discover the bottle was filled with leftover vodka from the weekend before. A final season is far worse when you expected it to be great. Like an accidental alcoholic mishap, a once-loved show that dissolves into a shadow of its former self leaves even the most devout TV fan with a terrible taste in her mouth. Some indications that a show has jumped, is jumping, or will “jump the shark” include: the addition of a lame new character (or the murder of a crucial one, à la Marissa’s dramatic departure from The OC), the use of stale gimmicks (sending the cast on an outrageous vacation, like when The Brady Bunch took a Hawaiian holiday), a change of writers (RIP witty dialogue upon Amy Sherman-Palladino’s departure from Gilmore Girls), or a pointless relationship (c’mon, Grey’s Anatomy. Ghost sex?). Sometimes squeezing out that eighth season just isn’t worth it.
The cause of my most painful show-induced depression is the current downward spiral of House. I used to feel guiltless bingeing on five episodes in a row—each one making me smarter. But the last two seasons have transformed the show from edgy medical mystery to typical TV soap opera, with actual cases taking up less than half an episode. For another particularly distressing deterioration, cue the American version of The Office. Recent Thursday night antics from the Dunder Mifflin crew are so over the top they’ve lost the realistic awkwardness that once made them hilarious. And screw that stupid baby. Steve Carell’s last episode was April 28, and I predict the disappointment will continue as NBC tries to keep the sinking show afloat. Networks need to realize that keeping a struggling series alive for some extra cash disrespects audiences. Instead of listlessly sitting through a show turned to shit, let’s spit out the stale vodka and search for something new. JM JERK
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TAKE A NUMBER
At the SU Counseling Center, an unbalanced student-tocounselor ratio leaves students wondering if help is on its way.
By Rebecca Leviton : Illustration by Andrew Casadonte In this day and age, depression is more common than acne in high school, so it’s really comforting to know that there are people we can talk to in our darkest hours. When friendly advice and familial support just don’t cut it, we can thank the counselors who dedicate themselves to offering professional help to anyone who asks for it—whenever they ask for it. Too bad we can’t count on the Syracuse University Counseling Center to provide students with that comfort. My high school in Calabasas, Calif. had one guidance counselor on payroll. I imagine she had, at most, two students seek her help every year. But my high school’s population barely broke 400. At SU, the total student population is well over 20,000. SU gets tens of thousands of dollars in tuition from a majority of its students, and yet we can’t 16 JERK
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afford a better counselor-to-student ratio than my puny high school. The counseling center has 12 counselors on its staff, not including the three graduate interns. That brings the grand total of counselors to 15, thus dedicating one professional to 650 full-time undergraduates. Sure, not every student seeks professional help during their time at SU, but from what I’ve seen, the counseling center cannot effectively handle the amount of students in distress. Two of my close friends called to make an appointment at the counseling center last semester. Both were dealing with symptoms of depression, anxiety, and stress, and both were told the earliest available appointment was three weeks away. When someone is already at her wit’s end, three weeks seems like an eternity. For a center
that operates on a, “We’re here for you!” platform, budgeting issues cannot excuse putting off the help some students so desperately need. Of course, the students given priority are those contemplating suicide, or the ones who want help so badly they might even pretend they’re suicidal in order to get it. Maybe that’s the type of lie that would get you a one-way ticket to Hell, but in this context it’s more forgivable. I’d be hard-pressed to judge anyone seeking help in a place where counseling should be readily available. When another friend called in for help, they told her the next available appointment was weeks away—big suprise. Instead of pretending to have suicidal thoughts, she took advantage of the center’s walk-in emergency consultations. Her efforts proved helpless; emergency consultations are not
full counseling sessions—they last no longer than 20 minutes. Frustratingly, in her case, the topic kept returning to suicide, despite the fact that she made it very clear from the start that she did not want to kill herself. The session centered more on preventing a nonexistent suicide than helping her tackle the real issues. Don’t get me wrong, people who have suicidal thoughts deserve to get help right away, but that doesn’t mean other, nonsuicidal students should be discounted. At $50,000 a year, SU should find the funding to provide every student with the help they need, no matter how serious the problem. Judging from my friends’ experiences, I know that I won’t entrust my psychological well-being to the counseling center any time soon. When I need help, I’ll pull out a mirror and talk to myself. I don’t have to wait three weeks for that. JM
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Fake It 'Til I Make It Teaching Assistants need to learn somehow, but at whose expense?
Facebook Official An influx of wall posts don't make for a happy birthday.
By Ashli Truchon : Illustration by Dan Blaushild One hundred and four people wished me a happy birthday last year—on Facebook. Yes, I counted. And to be honest, I really only cared about five of these virtual salutations. But those five were from the friends who took the time to call me, so my wall got blown-up for naught. A night of rallying means far more than a “happppy birthdaaaay” with an insane amount of exclamation marks after it. Just FYI: more marks at the end of a sentence does not mean you care that much more—it means you didn’t know what else to write. I want to know when wishing someone a happy day of birth in person went out of style. Remembering over 600 of your Facebook friends’ birthdays defies the rules of memory and strips the effort of any real intimacy. Gone are the days when a stack of birthday cards awaited us on our special day. 18 JERK
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Under my bed is a red cardboard box filled with all the tacky animal cards from high school friends, birthday wishes from distant relatives, and even the sweet nothings from ex-boyfriends. It takes effort to pick out a card, write something personal, or—God forbid—make a card. It means someone actually thought about you before your big day—not just because Facebook told them to. In the end, all the half-hearted wishes are merely entangled in the reel of cat videos, roommate rants, and pictures from the birthday blowout my real friends threw for me. Call me old-fashioned, but the first guy that gives me a personal birthday message—card, hug, phone call—hell, I’d even take text message—might be my future husband. I’ll even make it Facebook official, then wait for the congratulatory wall posts to roll in. JM
By Luis Rendon : Illustration by Emmett Baggett We don’t expect too much from professors. At the very least, we hope they are knowledgeable enough to impart their sage wisdom to our young, malleable minds. You have a “Dr.” in front of your name? Here’s 34K, now tell me everything you know. Unfortunately, students wind up dragging their butts to class at some ungodly hour to listen to a hard-on-the-eyes 20-something yak on about a subject they care nothing about. Not to mention that 20-something probably just squeezed through the same course when he was an undergrad—less than a year ago. Barely a graduate student and hardly a professor worth any type of salary, I fall into these ranks. I am absolutely a fake professor. As an instructional assistant for GRA 217, my English degree doesn’t even come close to helping me when I’m standing in front of 15 sophomores waiting for me to teach them something about graphic design. But that doesn’t mean I have nothing to teach you.
For two semesters I’ve been in and out of labs and lectures trying to find different ways to say, “Your résumé is ugly,” without sounding like an asshole. I’ve learned two important things in that time: 1) Teaching is hard. 2) Being a 22-year-old teacher with no practical experience is even harder. IAs and TAs go through the same shitty things you go through as students. Except now we have to grade your projects. Between the students timidly asking me to help them with a problem and the slackers begging to make up class by meeting with me during office hours, the job gets a little stressful. In the end, SU’s tag-team approach to your education can only benefit you. Without us, you’d never know your résumé sucked before turning it in for a grade. But if you do find yourself in a class run completely on TA talent, don’t take your grade too seriously. I mean, we’re not much closer to a Ph.D. than you are. JM
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JUNK FOOD With rising prices in produce and food shortages accumulating, Americans are wasting more than ever.
By Nicole Inniss : Illustration by Sean Basista Dinner time at Graham Dining Hall looks like a failed lesson in portion control. Ravenous undergrads serve themselves piles and piles of food, and half an hour later shove most of that food back on the conveyor belt or in the trash bin. Maybe it was just in my household, but wasting anything, especially something my mother spent money on, was an absolute hellno. I can’t tell you how many times my mother lectured me on the people starving in China. While Americans cram more and more food down the garbage disposal, families around the world struggle to serve just one meal a day. We are about to enter the second worldwide food shortage in three years, the first occurring in 2007. Food prices for humans and animals alike skyrocketed all over the world in the past few months, affecting luxury foods and essential foods such as wheat, meats, and dairy. Harsh winter storms, floods, 20 JERK
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and droughts destroyed crops across nations, leaving countries only enough food to feed themselves, depleting export economies. Recessions are now on the rise in many once “thriving nations” such as China, Argentina, Australia, India…and the U.S. of A. The UN World Food Program announced in early January that it is nearly $3 billion short in funding for the fight against global hunger. With food prices rising, this number is likely to grow. Yet this shortage is slowly sliding through the cracks. The media blockades Americans’ knowledge of a crisis at hand with their obsession with oil prices and Charlie Sheen’s particular brand of crazy. We focus on the extraneous news because many Americans can’t even fathom an empty freezer. Focusing on driving a car might become a little difficult on a five-day-long empty stomach. We need to start paying attention to what our
media broadcasts as well as what they don’t, and question why certain issues aren’t addressed in a timely manner. Wegmans is one business that is not letting this issue slide. Management recently launched a chain-wide program locking in prices on 40 items it feels are necessities for families. These will not change throughout 2011. Wegmans also launched a radio advertisement spreading the word about the food crisis and what it’s doing about it. More businesses and individuals need to follow Wegmans’ lead and take initiative to fix the problem. We need to start asking our government why we aren’t selling our surplus food and what we are doing about our own rise in food prices. We Americans are always quick to help out other nations when an easily distinguished physical threat is clear—hey, Japan—but when we face an issue so vague and
continuous, we suddenly forget that we can make a difference. College students used to be the ones who evoked change years ago. Today, we’re so consumed by insipid videos on YouTube we’re not focusing on life’s basic necessity—food. So let’s use our SUpercards for change. Anytime you’re in the Warehouse or any grocery store on campus, swipe yourself an extra can of soup or any non-perishable item and send it to a local food bank. The Central New York Food Bank is located right in East Syracuse, so no excuses. And if you want to take it a step further, start making phone calls to the representatives of your home state and ask them what they are doing about the food shortage. Better yet, ask how you can help. We need to re-establish our priorities because with world food prices rising, our future isn’t looking so healthy. JM JERK
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BREAST REDUCTION SURGERIES ARE ON THE RISE. IT'S TIME TO RETHINK BEAUTIFUL. By Maria Qualtere : Photo by Taylor Miller
LESS/MORE
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She was staring in the mirror of a fitting room at Nordstrom’s when she heard the news: her breasts, freshly measured, clocked in at a 32DDD, the equivalent of an F-cup. Emma Smith (name changed due to anonymity request) broke down into tears. Images of dresses that never fit her on top, and bathing suits that covered only a fraction of her assets came front and center. At that moment, Smith decided she needed to go under the knife. Plastic surgeons performed 83,241 breast reduction surgeries last year, with nearly 13,500 of them on 20-somethings like Smith. Socially, we accept that these symbols of womanhood take on many forms—perky or droopy, pointy or round, according to breast expert Elisabeth Dale, author of “Boobs: A Guide to Your Girls.” But when they reach supersized status, breasts present both physical and psychological problems for the women carrying them. It is then that breast reduction surgery becomes a feasible and highly recommended option by doctors and past patients. Alex Piechota, a senior at Syracuse University, waited four years to have the surgery. She found out it was an option her senior year of high school, but insurance companies denied her requests until her junior year at SU. As a 36DDD, people around her recommended she go down to just a C, but she chose B-cup. “I absolutely did not want any remains of large boobs,” she said. “I wanted to go as small as I could without looking weird for my body type.” Piechota’s rocky relationship with her breasts began in high school. As a cheerleader, she forced her endowments into
two layers of sports bras at a time and visited a chiropractor three to four times a week for back and shoulder problems. According to a study published in the Journal of Health Psychology, women primarily downsize to reduce physical symptoms such as shoulder, back, and neck pain. The extra weight on top also contributes to bad posture. Smith, a senior at SU, was diagnosed with scoliosis at a young age. When her cup size surged, her doctor advised that surgery should be part of her future plans. In addition to health problems, both Piechota and Smith faced unwanted attention from peers. In Piechota’s case, high school classmates took notice and made uncomfortable comments. Her next-door neighbor nicknamed her “Boobs,” and she dreaded wearing a bathing suit because she couldn’t avoid remarks from men she’d never met. “I really hated the attention I was getting because I thought I was more than just my chest size,” she said. It didn’t bother Smith when people looked at her chest, because she never had small breasts and never really knew the difference. But on Halloween in 2009, she reached another breaking point. She dressed as “white trash” and wore a white wife-beater, jean shorts, and an Ed Hardy hat. A male partygoer asked her if her breasts were real or part of her costume. “I didn’t know what to answer, I just stared at him,” she said. For both girls, shopping became a dreaded activity. When it came time to find a prom dress, Piechota purchased a size 16 to fit her top, and tailored the rest to a size 8. Smith could barely zip a size 14, but the JERK
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rest of the dress draped loosely around her gether properly, and that all nerve endings waist and swallowed her 4-foot-11-inches operate correctly due to the nerve damage frame. In the spring of her junior year, that occurs during the surgery. Although it Smith studied abroad in Madrid, Spain is a major operation, breast reduction paand couldn’t find anything in European tients are often the happiest plastic surgery clothing stores that fit her. While still patients, said Dale. “They don’t mind the abroad, she made the appointment to have scars, or care if their boobs are perfect,” she the surgery stateside, met the doctor the said. “They’re just grateful to have a posiday after she returned home, and had the tive relationship with their breasts for the surgery six days later. first time in their lives.” After a four-hour procedure, she sucThe psychological health benefits of breast cessfully went from an F to a C-cup. Though reduction surgery—increased self-esteem, the recovery process was a bit grueling, and energy, and motivation—that accompany the prohibited her from physical health benefits summer activities make the surgery such such as tanning and a patient-pleaser. “Just “IT’S LIKE DRIVING swimming, her new, being able to look in the A PORSCHE ALL proportional figure mirror and be completemade it worthwhile. ly happy with myself, THE TIME WHEN “I looked down, and going to the chiropracfor the first time in a tor and having him say, SOMETIMES while, I was able to ‘This is the best you’ve actually see my feet,” looked in the eight YOU JUST WANT Smith said. years I’ve seen you’— TO GET INTO Piechota’s surthat kind of stuff is what gery occured in Aumakes it completely A MINIVAN. gust 2010, and by worth it,” said Piechota. September she was “It was a liberating, powYOU DON’T WANT back to her normal erful thing.” routine, which inThe notion that “bigTO BE BIG cluded dance classes. ger is better” has be“I remember the first come taboo to the womALL THE TIME.” time I leaped in a stuen who are putting their dio [post-operation], health first and having —ELISABETH DALE I literally felt 10 the surgery. Women are pounds lighter,” she not only having breast said. In fact, the total reductions—there has weight removed from been a 6 percent inher breasts in the reduction process was crease in the amount of reduction surgerroughly 10 pounds. ies in the past year—but women, including To prep for the surgery, plastic surgeons celebrities, are having breast implants remark up the chest in permanent marker to moved, according to Dale. Celebrities like denote incisions. Lines are drawn around Queen Latifah and Drew Barrymore have the nipple and down from the center of it. had breast reductions, while Victoria BeckDuring the procedure, the breasts are cut ham, Sharon Osbourne, and even Pamela open, fat is removed, and the nipples are Anderson have had implants removed for relocated. The six-week recovery period many of the same reasons women have ensures that the breast muscle heals to- reductions—the weight of the breasts is 24 JERK
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uncomfortable and clothes are harder to fit into. In 2010, 14,991 patients who had undergone breast augmentations had their implants removed. “One woman told me she got implants and said it’s like driving a Porsche all the time when sometimes you just want to get into a minivan. You don’t want to be big all the time,” Dale said. Still, Dale believes that our society is greatly affected by airbrushed celebrities and magazine covers, most of whom she said are a B or C-cup, making that size seem like the “normal size.” In reality, the average bra size of a woman today is an E-cup, a size that most undergarment stores do not even have in stock. Pre-surgery, both Piechota and Smith said they were busting out of their bras, adding another inconvenience as a result of their chest size. This was a common problem not because women’s breasts are too large, but rather the bra industry does not properly cater to the well-endowed. “Women tend to blame their bodies rather than the fact we can’t easily buy a custommade bra,” Dale said. “When a bra doesn’t fit, rather than thinking ‘Oh, it’s like jeans, I have to try on 22 pairs before I find one that makes my butt look perfect,’ we instead think, ‘What’s wrong with my boobs?’” Every woman has a different relationship with her breasts, but Dale said women think of breasts in two sizes—too big or too small. It’s when the “too big” starts to interfere with everyday life that breast reductions become a viable option, and, most importantly, a decision women make for themselves. “When you have big boobs, you know the downfalls of it. You know you have back problems, and you know you
don’t get much face time,” said Smith. “I didn’t worry what guys were going to think when I got the surgery—that wasn’t even a thought in my mind.” While big breasts may seem an enviable asset to attract the opposite sex, Dale said this is a myth. “Just because you show a man a 32 oz. steak doesn’t mean he can eat that 32 oz. steak,” she said. “He may very well prefer to eat a 12 oz. steak, and I think it’s the same way with breasts.” After her drastic downsize, Piechota has been active with “plenty of guys,” and believes the idolized notion that bigger breasts are better is “out of control.” In the end, she agrees with Dale, that breast size doesn’t matter to men. “Maybe they do prefer large breasts, or small breasts, but in the end it doesn’t matter because they’re seeing boobs,” she said. “The end prize is there—it doesn’t matter what size they are.” Breast reduction surgery produces numerous benefits, but at the top of the list is the power it gives to women to feel more confident about themselves. Everyday occurrences like face-to-face conversations, changing clothes, and looking in the mirror become more pleasant, and shopping is no longer daunting, according to a study about women’s reasons for getting breast reductions, published in the Plastic Surgical Nursing Journal. Post-surgery, Smith had another dressing room breakdown. She was shopping for a formal dress, and burst into tears when a size 4 dress zipped all the way to the top. She bought it on the spot. “I went from a size 14 to a 4,” she said. “It’s a really ugly dress, and I’ve never worn it, but I had to buy it because it fit me.” JM JERK
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I LOVE
As a plus-sized gay boy growing up in rural Virginia, I dreamed of a magic carpet whisking me away to a whole new world— preferably one without gender policing and
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people who still think Robert E. Lee is a hero. My carpet ride, however, wasn’t to Arabia—I was fairly certain they still castrated the gays there— but rather, to the majestic land of opportunity: New York City.
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YORK BY GREGORY E. MILLER 26 JERK
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Spring of my freshman year, I landed an internship working in the accessories closet at Lucky magazine. When I received the acceptance email, I jumped from my desk and into a self-congratulatory dance. Then it hit me that I was far too poor for New York, and my Beyoncé interpretation quickly turned into me crying softly into a pillow. Eventually I pulled myself together with a pint of Half Baked and proceeded to find an apartment on a budget approximately the size of a homeless person’s. Luggage and Tupperware containers in hand, I moved into 14 St. Marks Place. In the 90s, St. Marks defined quintessential urban New York. The street was the staple of the East Village grunge scene, but it has since grown into something of a tourist lane. Annoying Indian men forcefully selling the exact same pair of fake Ray-Bans replaced the badass sex shops and crack dens of the decade past. But as luck would have it, one part of St. Marks fervently stuck to its roots—my apartment building. I shared a one-bedroom apartment. Usually a one-bedroom apartment constitutes such amenities as a bathroom and a kitchen. The total space of my apartment spanned 10 by 11 feet: only room for a loft bed above a table and chair, a sink, and about four feet of standing room. There was no natural light other than a small window that looked out into a dark shaft. My freshman dorm suddenly seemed lavish. Perhaps the greatest luxury of the third story walk-up was the bathroom that I shared with the entire floor of the building. Sure, sharing a bathroom with a group of college kids is one thing. But consider what a McDonald’s restroom is like, add a used feminine hygiene product on the floor, and a shower with more mold than tile, and you have my bathroom.
I’m getting ahead of myself. The night I moved in, I knew all of these things, of course. I did not, however, know that I’d arrive to a room with cigarette butts shoved into every crevice and used women’s intimates strewn across the floor. Added into the mix were a variety of broken hangers, some Hanukkah decorations, a set of mysterious wet sheets, and a makeshift trash can lined with vomitinducing sludge. I tried not to cry, in part because there wasn’t enough floor space for me to perform the dramatic, fist-pounding breakdown that seemed appropriate. Instead, I attempted to go through my bags to find my bedding. The task immediately felt too daunting for the space, so I lay down on the floor, held my breath, and fell asleep. The next morning I awoke not to warm spring daylight, but to the sound of a Middle Eastern man singing Romanian pop in the hallway. As I came to my senses, I suddenly realized that the lack of light and proper circulation amounted to a hot box in which only silverfish—oh look, there’s one now— could survive. Gasping for air, I scrambled for the door, swung it open, and came faceto-face with the bald man mopping the hallway outside. By mopping I mean, of course, spreading the cobwebs, dirt, and ashes in a circular, soggy motion. “Who are you?” he sang, mid-“Numa Numa,” not looking up from his task. In between slurps of air, I managed to convey I was the new tenant, taking over for the subletter who had left the week before. “Oh, her,” he said, pushing the mop for extra measure before turning and leaving the hallway. That was weird, I thought to myself. I breathed in some oxygen, proceeded back into the coffin/apartment to grab my wallet, and headed outside for my mission operative: buy a fan. As I pushed open the door to the outside street, I took a moment to take in the
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atmosphere. I was finally here, in New York, Bunny door stickers with sayings like, “Hatliving here and running an errand. It was ing you makes me all warm inside.” Her hair so quaint. But it needed a soundtrack—so I was the color of a stop sign, as though to say, pulled out my iPod, selected my “I Love My “Stop. I eat people.” Life” playlist and skipped off to the Kmart a I explained that yes, I was moving in. I few blocks away. tried to be polite, but offered little detail in What should have been a quick walk, hopes that she wouldn’t try to stab me. Or however, turned into sell me crack. Instead, something similar to it turned out, Marilyn a Mr. Roger’s NeighManson just wanted EVENTUALLY I PULLED borhood segment. to gossip. Hello, New York! It’s “You hear what MYSELF TOGETHER me, Gregory! Hello happened to the girl Asians! What the hell here before you?” she WITH A PINT OF HALF are you eating? Hey croaked. there, street youth! I hadn’t heard. That BAKED AND PROCEEDED Please don’t take my night, laying on the wallet! What up, provided mattress, I’d TO FIND AN APARTMENT hobo? Sorry, I don’t wish she hadn’t told believe in charity. me. The tenant before ON A BUDGET Two men crossed me had been, like most the street in front of of the apartment’s APPROXIMATELY THE me, holding hands. My residents, strung out lip quivered. Thank beyond belief. The SIZE OF A HOMELESS you, God. clearly defunct securiAfter purchasing ty cameras had begun PERSON’S. a fan, I made my way to terrify her, despite home. I fiddled with their lack of cords and the double bolt on my the dust caked over apartment door. I hesthe lenses. The neighitated for a moment bor told me that her when I heard the paranoia turned into creak of the apartment across the hallway’s raucous fits and fights with the building’s sudoor open. Not wanting to be that kid who pervisor. One night, when things got heated, can’t open his own door, I contemplated pull- she returned to her room in a rage. She took ing out my phone to “answer it.” I was saved, off all her clothes, grabbed her computer, however, by a disturbing screech of a voice. wrapped herself and the laptop in a blanket, “You moving in?” and jumped out the tiny window. She plumI turned to meet my first hallmate. She meted down the small three-story shaft, couldn’t have been taller than five feet or which had no exit. Her yelling eventually weighed less than a refrigerator. Her black caught the attention of a tenant, who alerted T-shirt and baggy pants with chains comple- the supervisor. The supervisor had to find a mented the array of sassy Hot Topic Happy ladder with which she could climb back out.
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Once safely back in the hot box apartment, mate for Unique Life Experience.” Luckily, if she promptly tore the place to pieces and ran there’s somewhere in the world where people away to who knows where. I suppose some will fork over hundreds of dollars to live in an place that doesn’t allow undergarments or apartment the size of a box of Tic Tacs—but the celebration of Jewish holidays. near nightlife!—it’s New York. But the energy of the room was the least I welcomed many people into my small, of my problems that summer, just as the humiliating abode. One boy showed up, covdevil worshipper was the least creepy of my ered his mouth, and ran away without saying neighbors. Across the shaft was a young in- anything. One girl told me the apartment was terracial couple. They exactly what she could enjoyed having sex afford and needed at with the blinds pulled the time. She called WE FOUND HER up. Yet, somehow, I me crying that night, was the bad neighbor, apologizing and sayA CURBSIDE TOSSEDfor when I said hello ing that she had dein the hallway to eicided she couldn’t OUT MATTRESS, PRAYED ther, I was met with a force herself to do glare that said “Stop it. One boy showed IT WASN’T INFESTED, watching us bang.” up and turned out to There was also the not be so much a boy AND SET IT UP UNDER old man who housed as he was a 40-yeara scent similar to sixold man who wanted THE LOFT BED. month-old garbage. to have sex with me. He walked with a cane Perhaps had he ofand took approxifered some money, mately 20 minutes to our future would have scale the four flights worked out a little difto his apartment. He ferently. Of course, enjoyed doing this when everyone else in the there was also the man who offered to be my building attempted to make it to work on personal servant in exchange for allowing time. However, my favorite neighbors were him to live there for free. Tempting, but not the wide array of crack addicts who consis- exactly helpful to my financial situation. tently provided both fear and entertainment Eventually I found Celeste, a sassy black throughout the summer. girl from Wisconsin, and the two of us made Despite the apartment’s comparable state the best of the summer. She was in a simito a cardboard box, I knew from the get-go lar situation: coming from a humble backthat I wouldn’t be able to afford the grand a ground, currently in college, and working a month alone. I spent my first two weeks in gig during the summer at a non-profit. We the city desperately seeking a roommate to found her a curbside tossed-out mattress, share in the misery. I posted many a Craig- prayed it wasn’t infested, and set it up under slist ad, all of which explicitly stated that the the loft bed. With that, our relationship blosroom was perfect for people with very little somed. Saucy Celeste and I shared a mutual money and very low expectations. One ad’s understanding. I was ridiculously happy just headline read, “Seeking Broke-Ass Room- to be in the city; she was permanently angry.
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We bonded anyway, over our long work shifts, need for the cheapest food available, and not knowing a soul. We spent many nights sitting in random East Village locales, escaping the heat of our room that made sleeping nearly impossible. The frozen yogurt shop a few doors down sold by the ounce, so we’d often scrounge up whatever change we or a fountain had, and carefully filled our cups to the minimum. The pizza shop on the corner had slices for a dollar. McDonald’s had specials one night a week. And if we slipped by the cashiers unseen, we could nap in the waiting chairs in the back of the 24-hour Walgreens’ closed-at-night pharmacy. Unsurprisingly, the apartment also didn’t have any internet, so Starbucks’ Wi-Fi made the locale a daily staple. I’d slip in the side door with my laptop and the empty coffee cup I kept on hand. I called my grandé cup Bonnie, naturally, for she was my partner in crime. I imagined Bonnie held a steaming white chocolate mocha, aromatically rising to meet my nostrils before my lips. Heavy on the chocolate, light on the liquids. Double whipped cream. We’d walk in the door, I’d scope out an empty table, and she’d put up the front: “Why, yes, of course we belong here!” One day, I pulled out my laptop and began the ritualistic grind. Check my personal email, hover the hand over the too-hot-todrink beverage. Read a blog or two, fiddle the stirrer. Facebook, fake a sip. Mid-sip, I caught wind of a hunched over, elderly woman searching for a table. She wore a dry-rotted miu-miu and two or three dusty scarves. The frames of her enormous glasses held down the frazzled mess of her hair. Bent at a 45-degree angle, she scoured for a place to set her hot tea. She settled on a lone chair resting by the trash can, right next to the side door. As a man swung the door open, it almost hit her. I groaned on the inside, and got up to offer the broad the other spot at my two-person
table. God, remember this when I’m praying for a husband tonight, I thought to myself. She expressed her gratitude for the next 20 minutes. Despite the book she had open in her hands and the laptop screen I placed as a boundary between us, she chatted about everything from the weather to her favorite household cleaners. …And that’s when I told Jack, you can’t let Rose drown. Okay, she probably didn’t say that. But she could have for all I know because right then Prince Charming himself walked by. The young man, roughly 25, chiseled in stature with a strong jaw, brooding eyes, and wispy hair, glanced at me and our eyes met, locked. He wore a white V-neck tee underneath a casual biker’s jacket, and darkwashed jeans that squeezed in all the right places. Maybe he could take me in; maybe God had sent me him to spare me from the apartment. He walked around the corner and glanced back at me as he ordered his drink. I looked around, trying to figure out any possible escape from the Crypt Keeper. Customers sat at every table. My prince walked back toward me. He paused for a moment in front of my table, stared at the old woman, then back to me. I gave a dejected shrug. He smiled, and walked out the door. I turned to the window and saw him crossing the street. On the other side of the road, he looked once again over his shoulder. I gave a small wave. He chuckled and did the same. I turned back to the table where Grandmother Time babbled on. Seething, I pulled up Craigslist and wrote two ads. First, a missed connection for my would-be lover. Then, a wanted ad for a nice, hot dinner. Preferably in a restaurant. With air conditioning. JM
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tapped Cedarvale Maple Syrup Company’s fresh homemade syrup puts Aunt Jemima’s to shame.
By Melissa Goldberg : Photography by Mackenzie Reiss Every morning, Karl Wiles teaches social studies to 12th graders at Cato-Meridian High School. By afternoon, Wiles runs Cedarvale Maple Syrup Company, a company he has developed for the past 34 years which produces 600-700 gallons of maple syrup each year. “Which [job] do I think I do on the side?” he says. “That’s a good question.” When I first entered the store, I found Wiles quietly sitting in the back, observing the customers as they pondered his products. I expected Wiles’ presence to reflect his teaching career—constantly in the foreground. I soon learned Wiles is, indeed, a man of many words. Before touring the sugarhouse, the cashier jokes, “Karl will tell you everything you have ever possibly wanted to know about syrup. Everything.”
The evaporator’s size (by far the largest machine in the sugarhouse) reflects its principle role in the process. The evaporator boils away excess water, transforming the syrup from 8% to 66% sugar. 1
Wiles spent the next hour transforming me from a syrup novice—I had only ever thought of it as a pancake condiment—to a connoisseur. He debunked the common misconceptions (sap is actually colorless, not brown) and explained the differences among syrup varieties. “The darker colors have heavier flavor,” he said. “Some people like one, but some people like the other— kind of like red and white wine.” This man knows his syrup. He first learned the art more than 34 years ago, while attending college in Quebec, which he calls “the heart of maple-sugaring.” Even with such extensive knowledge, Wiles’ all-time favorite maple-inspired recipe is a surprisingly simple dish: corned beef, cooked traditionally. Topped, of course, with a maple glaze. JM
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After one last filtration, the final product is stored in 30-gallon drums. In order to keep track of the different varieties of syrup, Wiles keeps a vile of syrup on top of its corresponding drum.
Half a mile behind the store, over 15 miles of branch line tubing and two miles of mainline tubing wrap around trees and cross over paths, creating a maze that resembles power lines. p
To get the best quality syrup, the sap must boil at 7.1 degrees Fahrenheit above the boiling point of water. However, that point changes as the barometric pressure changes, which means that Syracuse’s bipolarweather only makes Wiles’ job more challenging. And yes, the taps constantly freeze. t
Although Wiles only produces Grade-A maple syrup, he sells three versions of it in order to appeal to different taste preferences: light, medium, and dark. Each flavor is sold in a variety of sizes as well, from 250 ml for $9 to a gallon for $60.
Carpe Diem Screw your textbooks. Screw the speed limits. Channel your inner Thelma & Louise, and take a ride on the wild side.
Photographer: Alex Pines Models: Katja Andersson, Nicholas Imperial, Kyra Zeller Make-up Artist: Stefani Stretch
Kyra: Blouse: H&M $24.95; Mask: Cluttered Closet $3; Earrings: Thaliea $14.99; Necklaces: Betsey Johnson $80, Cluttered Closet $9; Sunglasses: Crap $54; Leather Skirt: Urban Outfitters $64; Boots: Steve Madden $79.99 Katja: Tank Top: Urban Outfitters $44; Mask: Cluttered Closet $3; Necklaces: Chantilly Place $35, Cluttered Closet $16, Cluttered Closet $15; Denim Shirt: Primark $19.99; Leather Shorts: Ital Leather $13; Shoes: Some Girls $79
Kyra: Shirt: Urban Outfitters $39; Sunglasses: Crap $54; Bracelets: Free People $36; Some Girls $24, Marc by Marc Jacobs $32; Ring: Some Girls $28; Shorts: Urban Outfitters $39; Shoes: Frye $215 Katja: Sweater: Some Girls $59; Sunglasses: ChloĂŠ $185; Necklaces: Urban Outfitters $12, Urban Outfitters $18, Cluttered Closet $15; Skirt: H&M $9.95; Shoes: Kelsi Dagger $18.99
Katja: Tank Top: Urban Outfitters $44; Katja: Tank Top: Urban Outfitters $24.99; Jacket: Mask: Cluttered Closet $3; Necklaces: Members Only Place $130;$35, Scarf: Urban Outfitters Chantilly Cluttered Closet $16, $24; Skirt: Free People $78;Denim Shoes:Shirt: FryePrimark $180; Cluttered Closet $15; Bag: Jas M.B. in collaboration with Lift $68; $19.99; Leather Shorts: Ital Leather $13; Sunglasses: Cluttered Closet Shoes: Some Girls$12 $79 Nicholas: Jacket: American Eagle $60; Kyra: Blouse: H&M $24.95; Mask: Cluttered Sunglasses: Ray-Ban $9 Closet $3; Earrings: Thaliea $14.99; Kyra: Tank Betsey Tops: Nordstrom $38,Cluttered Urban Necklaces: Johnson $80, Outfitters $54; Jacket: Vince Closet $9; Sunglasses: Crap$118; $54; Jeans: Leather H&M Michael Kors $135; Skirt:$39.95; Urban Shoes: Outfitters $64; Boots: Steve Sunglasses: Crap $54; Bracelets: Thaliea $12.99 Madden $79.99
Kyra: Dresses: Urban Outfitters $20, Free People, $129; Blouse: H&M $24.95; Jacket: Lord & Taylor $89; Shoes: J Michael $120 Nicholas: Shirt: Mainstream $2; Jacket: American Eagle $60; Jeans: H&M $39.99; Shoes: Carhartt $100
Katja: Tank Top: Primark $12; Scarf: Thaliea $16.99; Jacket: H&M $32; Pants: $19.95; Bracelets: Thaliea $12.99; Socks: Birkenstock $20.95; Boots: Steve Madden $79.99 Kyra:Top: C.J. Banks $28; Headband: Thaliea $5.99; Necklace: Cluttered Closet $18; Jeans: Free People $89; Shoes: Michael Kors $135; Bracelets: J. Crew $28; Urban Outfitters: $24.95; Purse: Vintage Dooney & Burke price available upon request Nicholas: Shirt: Mainstream $2; Jacket: American Eagle $60; Jeans: H&M $39.99; Shoes: Fred Perry $80
UNDRESSED Marina Zarya, general manager at WERW, chats with us about her funky style and the revival of radio on campus. By Lauren Tousignant : Photo by Sarah Kinslow Those tights—talk to me. I meant for these to be winter stockings, but they have holes in them, so that doesn’t work out so well. I thought the stockings really pop out because all I wear is solid colors. I love solid colors and picking a piece that really pops. They’re very radio-girl. I’ve been working with WERW for four years now, and I’ve been general manager for two. Hopefully it’s grown exponentially while I’ve been working on it. I’ve heard that you’ve been really trying to revive the radio here on campus. The most important component of what I’ve done is brought people who work well together in one place and get them really excited about the radio station. The next thing is working with other organizations on campus. We’ve worked with the Fashion Association of Design Students, Relay for Life, Project Feed Me. We really try to help with music. Are you majoring in music industry? Advertising. So what’s drawn you so much to radio? I’ve always wanted to be a radio DJ. Radio is the theater of the mind: I’ve always admired someone’s ability to tell a story or someone’s ability to take you to another place just with their voice or the music that they’re playing. I don’t think I would be half as confident as I am without the radio station. 44 JERK
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Have you worked anywhere else? I used to work at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the MoMA. I freelanced for a wedding photographer, and I worked for a People magazine photographer for a while. So what exactly do you want to do? You’re all over the place. I really hope to get into art direction and eventually creative direction. There’s still a lot that I have to learn. With new art and design programs coming, I’ve realized that that’s what I really need to focus on. If you had unlimited funds, what would you blow all your money on? I love Topshop. I’d probably spend all my money there. Or Oscar de la Renta. I love Oscar de la Renta. I went prom dress shopping and found the perfect dress—an Oscar de la Renta. I can still picture it today. My mom and sister were like, “Wow, this dress is going to last you a lifetime.” It was a very Audrey Hepburnesque dress—very elegant. And then I looked at the price tag. Did you cry? A little bit—it was a $5,000 dress that they took off of a season of Sex and the City. Sarah Jessica Parker wore it in one of the episodes. JM
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ONCE HOME TO COMIC GREATS LIKE KEVIN JAMES AND RAY ROMANO, THE SYRACUSE COMEDY SCENE STILL HOSTS A HANDFUL OF AMATEUR COMICS LOOKING FOR THEIR BIG BREAK.
By Abram Brown People expect comedians to always have a joke ready. So when I first meet Justin Trimm, and our conversation plods along about the weather, classes, and comics, I decide to test him. Tell me a joke, I say. Trimm, a Syracuse University junior with thick brown hair, looks across the Schine Cafeteria table at me. “A joke?” he asks. Yeah, a joke. He fidgets his short, husky body for a minute, his hands move in a circular motion, and his elbows rest on the plastic table. “Sometimes I’m not so good in front of audiences,” he says. “So this is the one I do when I’m bombing it.” He tells me a joke about what mass murderers and God have in common. People say God moves in mysterious ways. In life, 46 JERK
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we say the same thing about crazy killers. But yet, we question gunmen so much more than God. If God took an AK-47 to heaven, St. Peter and Christ would just cower under a cloud and say, “It’s God—he moves in mysterious ways.” I manage a nervous giggle, which elicits a smile from Trimm. Trimm’s dark humor can catch you off guard. It’s not conventionally funny—I certainly never thought of God and terrorists as punchlines. But Trimm’s style is understandable in some ways. It comes from a fractured past, moments of gloom he now channels into his nascent comedy career in Syracuse, N.Y. He’s Justin Trimm, The Nervous Comic, the kid who stirs laughter with lunatics, suicide, and penises.
Launching a comedy career anywhere, blouse, a green vest, and a red crown. His especially here in Syracuse, requires pa- routine consists of him mumbling incohertience, wiliness, and endurance. The city ent words into the mic, sort of like Dustin features few spots to support comedians. Hoffman in Rain Man. Tired of The Joker, Wise Guys, a two-story comedy club near we stand for a minute in the foyer. As we Armory Square, is the area’s comedic talk, the emcee calls Trimm’s name. “Looks Mecca. “But other than that, there aren’t like it’s time,” he says. He turns around, that many venues. I’m a local now, and I’m faces the foyer’s glass wall, and bangs his still searching for spots,” Sabrina Davis, a head against it. Then he turns and heads Syracuse comic, said before a recent Pal- for the stage. ace Theatre set, as she sipped Budweiser Some people drink water or smoke a from a red Solo cup. cigarette to calm their Syracuse comedians like nerves—Trimm bangs Davis consider a Wise his head on things. Or “IT WASN’T AN I’M-GOINGGuys invite their big rocks back and forth, break. And while only shifts his weight from TO-COMMIT-SUICIDE, a few people came to foot to foot, or jumps her Wise Guys debut, up and down. Trimm DEGRASSI-TEEN-DRAMA she said she’d take annever stands completeTYPE OF THING,” TRIMM other invite. ly still. He suffers from To reach Wise Guys, a constant tremor in SAYS. BUT STILL, NO comedians usually perhis limbs, a convenient form first at open mic inspiration for one of ONE WANTS GILBERT nights. Some complain his better routines, the about the restrictions. Human Vibrator joke. GOTFRIED AS HIS Even if Trimm wanted In elementary school, to try Wise Guys, he classmates asked Trimm CLOSEST FRIEND. figured being 20 would why he shook so much. hinder his chances (deHe would tell them, spite serving liquor, and then in a few Wise Guys allows mimonths, they asked nors to perform). So the question again. instead, we check out Funk ‘n Waffles’ open Trimm hated school in general, he says. mic. When we arrive around 8 p.m., Trimm He didn’t have any friends. On Friday afputs his name down on the small white note- ternoons, he walked the three-quarters pad. Trimm heard about this open mic night of a mile from Henninger High School to from a friend in his SU comedy group, Woo his family’s stout, white and pink WoodHoo Comedy Hour. Since the troupe gets to- bine Avenue house. He went up the steps, gether only once a month, Trimm seeks out through the front door and slumped onto other venues. the living room couch. He stayed there for About 20 people fill the restaurant’s ta- hours, watching as much Comedy Central bles, booths, and couches. Trimm and I sit in front of the big-screen TV as he could in the back on red-leather stools and watch before passing out for the night. Comedy three comedians go before him. Two of the became an escape from life. “It wasn’t an comedians earn a few laughs. But then I’m-going-to-commit-suicide, DegrassiThe Joker gets up. The Joker is as an open teen-drama type of thing,” he says. But mic regular and tonight he wears black still, no one wants Gilbert Gottfried as his leather pants and boots, a white flowing closest friend. JERK
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When Trimm left Henninger for SU, where he majors in writing and rhetorical studies, he took up comedy. In 2009, he answered a Craigslist ad for “talent” and met a local producer named Kelly Doane. Doane, a Syracuse comedy veteran known on the stage as “KD the Comic,” took Trimm in. He was part mentor, part older brother. Doane, a bald-headed pudgy man with a goatee, told Trimm to use his ticks, nerves, and anxiety as his shtick and search the darker parts of his life for material. “I call him the Darth Vader of my comedy group,” Doane says. Trimm developed one routine, Uncle Diddles, about a pedophilic uncle. He based it off his own uncle, who molested Trimm's cousin. But he seldom uses Uncle Diddles now—it disturbed too many audiences, he says. After graduation, Trimm hopes to move to New York City and establish himself as a comedian. But for now, he appears with Doane’s group at local stages like Orange Line Gallery, Jazz Central, and The West-
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cott Theater. A few weeks ago, Trimm appeared at downtown Syracuse’s historic venue, The Palace Theater, as a part of Doane’s Last Comic Standing Rejects Tour, Doane’s response to a past try-out for NBC’s Last Comic Standing. Ninety minutes before the show, I meet Trimm at his parents’ home. His parents embrace his interest in comedy, he says. On a brown end table, next to the bigscreen TV where he still watches Comedy Central, is a framed picture of him holding a microphone in the middle of a routine. We walk the three blocks to The Palace and sit in the back of the theater, an old movie house with red-carpeted chairs and a wood stage painted gray. A few minutes before Trimm is set to go on, Doane kneels beside him and whispers some
advice, like a coach with his player. Trimm takes the stage as Doane’s girlfriend introduces him to the audience. “Justin Trimm everyone! A ladies’ man, who’s single and lookin’ for love,” she belts over the sound system. Trimm takes the stage and discusses how he, a “fugly man,” finds trouble with love. Next comes his Mysterious Ways routine. The audience laughs at the appropriate points. He shifts then to his own version of The Aristocrats, an old, crude routine that every comedian personalizes. The joke about bestiality, incest, and semen falls flat. “That boy is fucked up,” says a young man sitting behind me. “He has some therapy issues.” Even after Trimm loses the crowd, he finishes the routine and walks off stage. “And we wonder why you’re single,
Justin,” Doane’s girlfriend says over the P.A. system. As Trimm walks back to our seats, he catches my eye. He drops to his knees, mimics a gun exploding near his head, and plays dead. Doane advises Trimm to work on his showmanship, to read a crowd better. By neglecting Doane’s advice, Trimm presented The Aristocrats’ to an older audience that couldn't handle the bawdry humor. We soon leave after Trimm gets off the floor, and walk back to his parents’ place; his mood perks up as we walk. He’ll just have to shelve The Aristocrats, he says. “It’s too bad. I should’ve done this other joke I just thought of today,” he says. “What’s it on?” I ask. “Did you hear about the Pope and the Jews?” he responds, referring to Pope Benedict XVI’s proclamation that the Jews actually didn’t kill Jesus. I’m amazed at his eagerness to return to his off-brand humor. I shoot him a wrinkled-brow. He sees it and attempts to allay my fears. “Well, actually,” he says, “The joke’s about Jehovah’s Witnesses.” JM
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Sex JERK 'S BIG FAT JUICY GUIDE TO
*and love and relationships
Greatest Literary Moments in Sex: Ranked by ability to arouse.
underneath it all Jerk 's lingerie guide
Not all hookups are created equal—and neither is your lingerie. And just like any interview or family reunion, you need to dress appropriately. Don’t worry, we’ve got you covered…barely.
Fighting Sex
Booty Call
Best Friend Sex
Weeknight sex
Anniversary
He’s pissing you off, you’re pissing him off, but someone’s got to get off. Throw on a hot plunging push-up bra and show him everything that he has to lose.
All that sexting built up a few expectations. You won’t let him down if you go with this lace thong. Smack in the middle of naughty and nice, you’ll be ready no matter his tastes.
Jump between the sheets in something as comfortable as the two of you are with each other. This cotton bra is as casual as your relationship.
There’s nothing hotter for a guy than seeing a girl in his shirt. Play up the tomboy look with a cute pair of cotton boy shorts. You'll show him your feminine side later.
This night is more romance than raunch. Play it classy in a pretty lace chemise. He’ll love touching the soft fabric, and you’ll love how it feels when he’s taking it off.
Boning in Bird
THE GREAT GATSBY: By F. Scott Fitzgerald “At his lips' touch, she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete." THE SCARLET LETTER: By Nathaniel Hawthorne “But this had been a sin of passion, not of principle, nor even purpose.” WATCHMEN: By Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons “Did the costumes make it good?...Dan?” “Yes, oh Jesus, yes.” SLAUGHTERHOUSE-FIVE: By Kurt Vonnegut “After she had been on Tralfamadore for what would have been an Earthlong week, she asked him shyly if he wouldn't sleep with her. Which he did. It was heavenly." FANNY HILL: By John Cleland “I could not, without pleasure, behold, and even ventur’d to feel, such a length, such a breadth of animated ivory!”
1. Find somewhere remote—the oft-forgot fifth floor is a good place to start. 2. Clear a space on the bookshelf and place your partner on it, facing forward. 3. Go at it nice and slow. Those shelves weren’t built for banging. 4. Rip out pages of books for cleanup. We recommend anything written by Nicholas Sparks. 5. If anyone heard you scream, just say you saw T.S. Eliot’s ghost.
Buyer's Guide to Toys
Porn that Changed our Lives
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Love & Relationships Many are under the misunderstanding that good sex leads to good relationships. But that’s
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not the way it works. Good relationships make great
Daddy Hunt
Once You Go Black 4
Naughty Librarians
Trixie Teen
Taught me how to search for a sugar daddy
Taught me there was life outside Asia, the great continent
Taught me my freshman year boyfriend had other expectations
Taught me that, in the right circumstance, braces are hot
Gregory E. Miller, Editor-in-Chief
Karen Hor, Managing Editor
Irina Dvalidze, Executive Web Editor
2
Flash Steinbeiser, Arts & Music Editor
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sex. You can have a genital relationship without affection or emotion, and an emotional relationship without a genital experience. There
Forbidden Fruit
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T
As cliché as it sounds, my mother always taught me that rules are, for the most part,
are three parts of an “ideal” relationship: Commitment—I choose you. Intimacy—I
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feel close to you. Passion—
made to be broken. I never expected this would apply so literally to my love life.
you turn me on. Sex
As an RA in a freshman residence hall, I was asked to refrain from forming intimate FOR THE OBEDIENT: Leather Dildo Face Harness, erotic-sextoys.com, $54.50
relationships with residents. That policy, coupled with the time commitment of working to pay my way through college, would have nearly guaranteed that I was not looking for love. Of course, and here’s cliché number two: It’s when you're not looking for love that you find it. He was everything I hadn't been looking for, and yet he was
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seemingly made for me. The walk of shame was both easy (no early morning cross-
means release, sex means celebration, sex means intimacy—and sex means love.
campus commute in last night’s heels) and difficult (the inconvenience of stumbling past my co-RAs and RD became more than obvious). As our relationship moved from casual to serious, more co-workers caught on, and it wasn’t long before I felt I had to
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make a choice between my job as an RA (free room and board) and my love. Thankfully, I chose the latter. Eight years later, it was still the best decision of my life.
— Celka van Dijk, Alum ‘06
5
T —Joseph
Fanelli
Professor of Human Sexuality
Hotwired: Your Brain on Sex
Those creeps by H.B.C.
Getting down & dirty with Linda Kadick, manager at Adult World
ANTERIOR INSULA The anterior insula makes us aware of our own body—especially during sex. Intercourse kicks it into gear letting us feel everything down south. Meditation gives you a thicker anterior insula and a heightened sense of personal perception.
LIMBIC SYSTEM The limbic system encourages engagement in pleasurable activities—a.k.a., sex. This system, present in all mammals, controls your every desire, including falling in love. Now you don’t have to blame it on the alcohol.
What’s the strangest request you've received from customers? People have seriously asked for “porn with animals”—bestiality.
VENTRAL TEGMENTAL AREA
AMYGDALA
Your brain’s reward circuit during sex, the VTA sends out a big push of dopamine. The biggest dose of dopamine comes at the climax, but beware of that dopamine hangover right after. The cure: Cuddling.
Almond-shaped bundles of nuclei are responsible for relating emotions with memories. These little nookie nuggets decide on a reaction based on your memories of similar actions and send it along to be physically executed. See? You can’t help but think about your ex in bed.
“WOULDN’T WE FIT IN BETTER ON WALNUT?”
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Paradise Found is like the Ritz of Syracuse strip joints. Plus, these girls don’t use kid-gloves: you might get to touch her hips.
This place is named after Viking goddesses who took warriors up to heaven? If you wanted a story line with your smut, you’d stay in and watch HBO.
…At least there’s a couple nice TVs in there. And you can appreciate the sign straight out of the 90s. Those were the days.
What’s your favorite genre? Honestly, I’m not into porn. I’d rather have sex than watch other people do it. In your opinion, what role does a sex shop play within a community? It enhances relationships, if partners are openminded. Especially if they’ve been together for years and years. Every now and then you’ll get a really old couple, I’m talking in like, their 70’s and 80’s. It’s adorable.
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Is there a certain genre of porn that sells better than others? Trans porn is on the rise. And it’s usually married men, “heterosexual men,” that buy it.
CLIFTON “LEXINGTON STEELE” BRITT Class of ’93 History & African American Studies major turned porn star
How have your seven years in the porn business changed your attitude about sex and relationships? It’s made me very leery of relationships and men. It actually kinda horrifies me, because 75 to 80 percent of customers are married, and they’re doing things behind their wives’ backs with other men. It’s very disheartening. JM Check out Adult World at 2870 Erie Blvd East.
REWIND
5 Nancies = Kick Ass—This is what they make Sliders to 4 Nancies = Good—An essential tune for your Flip Night soundtrack 3 Nancies = Average—Just like an English degree 2 Nancies = Bad—First in line for next year’s Block Party 1 Nancy = God Awful—Try it out at your next sorority mixer
REWIND
THE MOUNTAIN GOATS
OF MONTREAL thecontrollersphere
All Eternals Deck
TOP TRACK: Never Quite Free BOTTOM TRACK: Outer Scorpion Squadron
TOP TRACK: Black Lion Massacre BOTTOM TRACK: Flunkt Sass vs. the Root Plume
From the barbershop harmonies of “High Hawk Season,” to the hard-hitting rock ‘n’ roll of “Estate Sale Sign,” All Eternals Deck, The Mountain Goats’ latest album, accentuates the band’s capacity for a varied sound. Yet the album’s real power lies in the entrancing lyrics of singer-songwriter John Darnielle and the band’s diverse connections around the overarching theme of the occult. With a widely expected poetic prowess, Darnielle weaves a world laced with the supernatural and edged in doom, singing of vampire bites, snake dens, and young martyrs hurtling towards disaster. Guess writing love songs just isn’t as fun.
Of Montreal’s most recent creation starts with a boom. Literally. While only five tracks long, thecontrollersphere makes up for its brevity with originality and ballsiness. Beginning with a scream-o funk-rock hybrid best taken as a stand-alone track, it is immediately apparent that thecontrollersphere is far more experimental than the band’s more recent albums. “Salve Translator” is likely the most accessible track for listeners, while the remaining three are interesting and risky. With pop-ish undertones, their sound appeals to a wide range of listeners. The tracks’ experimental nature disjoints the EP as a whole, but a raw and unique style of each makes thecontrollersphere worth a listen. —Kelly Peters
—Jillian D’Onfro
LITTLE SCREAM The Golden Record
J MASCIS SEVERAL SHADES OF WHY TOP TRACK: Not Enough
—Jose Tererro
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Affiyated (Regrind EP)
BOTTOM TRACK: Too Deep
The passion and creativity J Mascis muscles into his quiet album, Several Shades Of Why, is surprising. While going solo, the signature style Mascis developed in his band, Dinosaur Jr., shines brightly, but with an original folky spin. Mascis’ creative picking and strumming builds a sense of anticipation for each track as the previous one ends. Kevin Drew of Broken Social Scene and Ben Bridwell of Band of Horses even stop by with ambient vocals, further adding to the hypnotic drone of Mascis’ voice and the laidback sound of the entire album. “Listen to Me” opens the disc, foreshadowing the rest of the album’s simplicity. Keeping the basics in mind, the following tracks build off the fundamental acoustic melodies with flutes, a dubbed lead guitar, and violins. Swingy tunes like “Is It Done” and “Make It Right” are warm-hearted, carrying a relaxing summertime vibe. As the end nears, things get grungy with “Can I.” The slow, cautious strum of Mascis’ dark, steely rhythm is accompanied by the haunting lead of three high-pitched notes. Several Shades Of Why is a raw, acoustic album with honest lyrics amped up by emotionally unsettling, whiny vocals. As discordant as some of these components of the album may sound in theory, they come together to create a cohesive and powerful collection.
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GAYNGS
TOP TRACK: Cannon BOTTOM TRACK: Guyegaros
TOP TRACK: No Scrubs (P.O.S Regrind) BOTTOM TRACK: Fight, Fuck, Fall Asleep (Cecil Otter Regrind ft. SIMS)
It’s hard to be upset with something so innocuous, but Little Scream’s album, The Golden Record, is a misnomer. Content with overused indie trappings, the singer-songwriter simply coats folky instrumentals with ethereal vocals, giving little variation or anything musically interesting. Moments that hook the listener are few and far between, while the majority of the album remains a static exemplification of a generic indie songstress. With a style executed much more successfully by groups like Bat for Lashes and My Brightest Diamond, Little Scream will be a small speck on the landscape of independent music this year.
A collision between marijuana and an orgy—that’s the most accurate description of a band like Gayngs. The concept of “regrind” is similar to a remix: Ten producers choose a song from the band’s debut album, Relayted, then chop and demolish the entire album into a Gayngs-like piece. While the regrind keeps the tempo, it must remain at the band’s standard 69 bpm. “Coercion Van (MK Larada Regrind)” is a classic Gayngs complete with ghostly voices, sophisticated record scratches, and a catchy backing track. “Sand in the Lotion” tells a tale through various percussion tempos, and the pace beats faster as it reaches its end. The intricacies of the regrind create a Gayngs feel, which might just slip you into a high. —Karen Hor
—Walker Kampf-Lassin
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SINGLE STAFFER
THE LOWDOWN ON THE GET DOWN WITH CARLI COOPER
SEX
LAUREN TOUSIGNANT STAFF POSITION Style Editor PEOPLE TELL ME I LOOK LIKE Ke$ha WHEN I WAKE UP IN THE MORNING, MY FIRST THOUGHT IS What the fuck did I drink last night? IF ALCOHOL BRANDS WERE MEN, I'D DATE Jack Daniel's BEST FEATURE My alcohol tolerance THE FIRST THING I NOTICE IN THE OPPOSITE SEX Sense of humor IDEAL DATE Meeting a guy at a club and having him take me to a bar where he buys me a bacon avocado cheeseburger MY SEX FANTASY Sober enough to remember
Photo by Anthony Garito
MY BIGGEST PET PEEVE Cuddling
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WHAT'S THE MEANING OF LIFE? Get drunk, have fun, and dance when everyone’s watching To contact Lauren, email singlestaffer@jerkmagazine.net
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My roommate refuses to evacuate whenever I bring somebody home. How can I get some alone time with my gentlemen callers?
My boyfriend will only have sex if the room’s completely dark. How can I get him to keep the lights on?
Roommates sure can be bitches. You’re both entitled to your space, but certain activities— like wild, experimental, collegiate sex—demand more privacy than something meaningless, like homework. A successful sexile without future payback is tough to pull off, my friend, but ride it out, and you’ll be pulling something off sooner or later. Just keep in mind that this is a person who has access to every single one of your personal belongings. Unless you want your panties to suddenly become crotchless, try your best not to be overtly rude. Start by asking her if she wouldn’t mind giving you the room to yourself when you have your friend over later. Offer a time that she might be in a class or when she could easily give you a little more alone time by scheduling a lunch. If she doesn’t pick up on your blatant hints, up the ante. Nobody likes to be the odd one out. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, so give this girl no choice but to fulfill the role of Designated Third Wheel. It’s respectful of you to want to spare her the audible slurps, moans, and groans that are essential parts of sex. But if this girl doesn’t realize how generous you are, you’ve got no choice but to proceed to step three. Step three: Her bed. Go forth and conquer. Look, you’ve tried to be nice, but at this point, you’ve got no other choice. Don’t forget to leave the condom wrapper—she’ll want to know you were safe.
Your boy’s preference for doing it in the dark most likely stems from insecurity. It’s painful enough being naked when we’re alone, but every stray hair, every birthmark, and every miniscule flaw becomes magnified under the discerning eye of our significant others. I’m sure you love him just the way he is, but he may need a little more coaxing before he’s ready to bare it all in the spotlight. Nothing is sexier than candlelight, so ease him into the light with a softer, more seductive glow. The benefits of this trick are twofold: recapture some romance while also putting a flattering glimmer on your partner that he probably won’t even notice. Take this time to point out how sexy he looks and how hot it is to actually see him. If this doesn’t work, mind games will. Everybody wants what they can’t have, so one night throw on your hottest lingerie underneath a big T-shirt and sweats. Tell him you’d love to show him, but it’s just too damn dark. Go ahead and count: I bet he makes it three seconds before scrambling out of bed to flip the switch. By taking the pressure to be sexy off of him, you’ll set his mind at ease. Chances are his mind will focus more on the lowering of his pants than the dimming of the lights.
Illustration by Keisha Cedeno
Send your sexual conundrums to sex@jerkmagazine.net
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READ
DISCOVERSYR Andre Dubus III
TOWNIE: A MEMOIR W. W. Norton & Company Andrew Dubus III’s compelling memoir, Townie, will make just about anyone reconsider calling his or her childhood dysfunctional. Blissfully growing up in a creative environment, Dubus watches his seemingly perfect family crumble with the dawn of his parents’ divorce. In response, Dubus spent his early adolescence doing more harm than good—taking drugs, drinking, and narrowly avoiding trouble, including bullies. Fueled by his helplessness as a child, he used his pent-up strength against anyone who threatened him, his friends, or his family. But we hardly comprehend the emotions that motivate him to throw the first punch. Similar justifications are absent throughout the memoir, as small memories are recounted in excruciating detail, with little emotional commentary. The gripping nature of these altercations more than make up for it, however, as we wonder how someone can talk about experiences with childhood poverty, drunkenness, and violence so calmly. Mixing up the linear narrative structure, Townie takes numerous chronological jumps through Dubus’ life. One minute he describes a teenage bully who beat him and his brother to a bloody pulp in his own front yard, and in the next he tells you that the same person died 20 years later from a bullet wound. Townie is a powerful memoir with an abundant amount of insightful detail, more time lapses than the Back to the Future trilogy, and of course, plenty of bare-knuckle boxing. If nothing else, it will leave you with a mixture of pity and a nagging remorse that your upbringing wasn’t that interesting. —Cassandra Baim
Other authors with sucky childhoods
AUGUSTEN BURROUGHS, author of Running With Scissors: If being adopted by your bipolar mother’s psychiatrist doesn’t scream “dysfunctional,” try experimenting with drugs and sex before the age of 13.
DAVID SEDARIS, author of Me Talk Pretty One Day: Between his addiction to speed, firm grasp of homosexuality (that man has never seen the inside of a closet), and severe OCD cured by chain-smoking, Sedaris has enough self-deprecating material to make you stop feeling so sorry for yourself.
JEANNETTE WALLS, author of The Glass Castle: Talk about role reversal. The daughter of an alcoholic father and a self-indulgent, neglectful mother, Jeannette and her siblings roamed the country in a life of poverty, leaving her parents homeless.
CON SALSA
La Familia’s Salsa Survival Class offers beginners a dose of rhythm and dance.
By Becky Wreski : Photo by Matthew Ziegler “Who here has seen Dirty Dancing?” asks Brian Bromka, the American salsa instructor du jour. I throw my hand into the air along with over half of his other 24 students, all of us standing awkwardly in the big room. “So you all know, ‘This is my dance space, this is your dance space, spaghetti arms,’ right?” he asks. With that, Bromka launches into a discussion of dance frame and helps the salsa novices learn the basics. La Familia De La Salsa, the touring dance company Bromka formed in 2004, now focuses on teaching instead of performing. Bromka and friends teach beginner, intermediate, advanced, and cardio-salsa classes. I try the introductory course (no partner necessary) held every Friday night at Ballybay Pub in West Syracuse. Ballybay doesn’t exactly scream “salsa.” I pass through the tight bar area and the building opens up into a giant room with floor-to-ceiling wood paneling, and framed landscapes of Ireland on each wall. Just as the pub atmosphere starts making me think I hit the wrong dance party, Spanish music pours from large speakers. Bromka makes us form two lines. We learn
LA FAMILIA DE LA SALSA 550 Richmond Avenue, Syracuse, N.Y.
three basic salsa steps while he taps the beat (quick, quick, slow) on a pair of claves, percussion instruments made of sticks. We then join him in a circle for a traditional Cuban dance, Rueda de Casino, or “wheel of salsa,” which he uses for each introductory course. By the end of class, I’m swinging to the beat without missing a step. I sway to the left, and my new partner is Bromka. “You move very well,” he says to me. Then to the group, “I have to suck up to the journalist.” Well, it worked. I ended up staying for Havana Nights, a salsa dance party La Familia holds every Friday after the introductory course. The lights turned down, the music got a little faster, a little louder, and couples of various skill levels took to the floor. I saw all different ages, races, shapes, and sizes—even some Syracuse University students and professors. “These are people from all walks of life that are getting thrown into this microcosm because of their desire to learn to dance,” says Bromka. “This is the melting pot of Syracuse, New York.” JM
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FORM&FUNCTION
HOW TO DRESS FOR YOUR SUMMER INTERNSHIP
Glasses Look as smart as your résumé says you are Tight Bun Nothing says “intern” like a flyaway
Abundance of papers Overflowing with broken dreams
Blazer Never let 'em see you sweat
Tray of Coffee Where a 50K tuition gets you
Dress pants Above the ankle means above the unemployment rate
Photo by Anthony Garito
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Bag Stuff it with tissues —you’ll need ‘em
Flats Be sure to include gel soles; it's the only comfort you’ll receive
BACKDOOR By Sean Basista
Well, shit. Looks like the Mayans were right.
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Photo by: Tylor James Miller
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