Volume XXXIII • Issue 1 • October 2017
the FEDERALIST Columbia’s Only Newspaper That’s Thinks Stress Culture is Culture
THE STAFF EDITORIAL BOARD Thomas Germain Ben Greenspan Feditors-in-Chief Ani Wilcenski Managing Editor Benjamin Most Head Submissions Editor ASSOCIATE BOARD Bridget Scanlon Layout Editor Isaiah Bennett Nicholas Ribolla WIlliam Reed Simmons Hayley Tillett Luis David Vera Submissions Editors Natalie Arenzon Graphics Editor Michelle Dandeneau Undertaker STAFF WRITERS
Johnathan Rafael Andrade Amanda Ba Justin Cheng Harrison Gale Kevin Gong Sandy Gooen Garrison Grogan Alexandra Harris Dallas Marie Koelling Philip James Maehr Augustus John O'Connor Yi Wang
A Dispatch from the Feditors
Dear readers,
Outside, the leaves are turning, the days are getting shorter, and high in our office on the upper floors of Low Library, President Bollinger is sleeping listlessly on the davenport. Ben has just thrown another log on the fire, and as we look down on at the little people going about their business on College Walk, it’s hard to resist the temptation to ruminate. Our accommodations are no small comfort, but safeguarding the moral and spiritual lives of our peers weighs heavily on the mind. As the leading taste-makers on campus, we recognize the enormous responsibility you have entrusted us with. It’s a burden we shoulder with utmost solemnity, but that isn’t to say there’s no pleasure in the work. Of course, last year’s Pulitzer Ceremony was a boost to our resolve, but what keeps us going isn’t the awards or our generous salaries; it’s the knowledge that our paternal efforts have a beneficent impact on the community. It would be dishonest to say that we don’t feel a tinge of pride when we look back over the Fed’s most recent accomplishments: the investigative series on the gummy bear shortage in Ferris Booth, Maureen Dowd’s celebrated expose on the new GS prostate exams, our interview with Deantini’s ghost; these are our victories, reader, but they are also yours. Though we are most certainly your guides, your Vergil through this upper Manhattan hell, we are also your faithful servants, and, we hope, your most loyal and trusted friends. So please join us, won’t you? Join us as we ride your tuition money towards the yet-untapped bottom of the zeitgeist. We think you’ll like what you see. Peace, Love, and Enlarged Gall Bladders Ben Greenspan and Thomas Germain Editors-in-Chief
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE 3: Freshmen fuck ups. PAGE 4: The joys of communal living. PAGE 5: Back to school, broke and no internship prospects. PAGE 6: Did you just assume my gender? PAGE 7: PrezBo's Bodyguard makes the ultimate sacrifice. PAGE 8-9: Construction kills. PAGE 10: How basic can you get, bitch? PAGE 11: I think I found a pigskin in the bathroom, what do I do? PAGE 12: Office hours encounters. PAGE 13: Making money moves. PAGE 14: Who am I? PAGE 15: Careful clubs can kill.
Cover Artwork by Natalie Arenzon
DUANE'S A DICK
Freshman From Midwest Thinks ‘Duane Reade’ The Name of Campus Drug Dealer
By ALEX HORN
The i2 Slim Shady Sources close to the Federalist have confirmed that David Schultz of Lakeville, Minnesota, CC ‘21, believes ‘Duane Reade’ to be the name of Columbia’s resident drug dealer. “I bet he has everything — pot, pills, even coke,” Schultz told The Federalist. “He lives in a suite in E.C., I think, or maybe off campus somewhere, where he can conduct his business anonymously. He can’t be too far though; people seem to go to him all the time.” Schultz further speculated that Reade likely “majors in something foreign, wears a lot of tie-dye, and calls everybody ‘dog,’ but like, in an ironic way?” Schultz, who believed in Santa Claus until as recently as 2013, furthermore confirmed his absolute faith in the morality of the man allegedly behind MoHi’s drug
supply, saying “He’s always super nice to freshmen, and makes them feel like they belong, without pressuring them to use or anything. And he knows everyone’s name on campus, and always stops to say hi. Good old Reade — he’s gonna be a real staple of the Columbia experience.” Despite Schultz’s clear interest in the man behind the drugs, he himself has yet to decide if he will become a Duane Reade customer. “As for as drugs are concerned, I’ve been there, done that. Once you’ve experimented, what’s the point?” said the eighteen year-old freshman who once took a toke at a friend’s graduation party. “Still, I might have to fall off the ‘ol wagon just to fit in here; it’s like everyone does it. I could’ve sworn I heard my RA saying something about stopping by Duane Reade to ‘pick up a few things.’ Who knows
what that could mean?” “Still, I’d definitely be interested in meeting him,” said Schultz. “I’ve noticed people coming back from the Duane-meister [sic] with soda, food, even bottles of wine. He probably gives those as little perks to his favorite customers, or maybe just to be nice. And I heard he even has cards you can get for a rewards program! Seems a little traceable to me, but yeah —pretty thoughtful on his part. Especially for a drug dealer.” As of press time, Schultz has confirmed that despite the uncertain ethnic provenance of the name ‘Duane,’ “there’s no reason to assume he’s black or anything like that.”
Style Guide For Your First Time Getting CAVA’d: Because there’s No Better Place to Strut Your Stuff than that Stretcher! By JULIA SCHREDER
it. Jeggings don’t judge. So you had 5 jumbo slices of Barely Conscious Koronet’s? Not a problem for these adaptable pants. What’s more, those black tubes will blend well into It’s your first time getting CAVA’d, and you’d bet- the dark of night you’re being whisked off into, just ter believe that everyone is looking your way. So you remember to coordinate accordingly if it’s a darty. Rebetter dress to impress! Here are the Fed’s top tips for member, hide the flab and don’t look drab! SHOES: blacking out in style and black in looking fly. SHIRT: Many people don’t realize this, but shoes are the Ideally, you should wear a plain white t-shirt. That most important part of any outfit you’re going to get way, with the right aim, when you vomit all over your CAVA’d in. After all, most of the time, your shoes are trendy top, you’ll create a cute tye-dye pattern that the only part of your body that the gawking crowd will you can reuse during the day. Sexy and sustainable! If be able to see as you are hustled off on your stretcher. I’m sure you have a pair of shitty frat shoes that you that’s out of the question than you can trade fashion for function by wearing the windbreaker that you had wear to parties--don’t be that person wearing them as on to keep sweaty bodies off of you in a crowded EC you get CAVA’d! That’s so passé, so typical. You want to be repping your best kicks. I’m talking your Jorsuite. dan’s, your Gucci’s, your Maddon’s. Anything that’s PANTS: One word: jeggings. Say goodbye to that feeling going to pop and help you put your best foot forward. FOOD AND DRINK: of dread you get when you’re pulling up last years Not likely considered by most first-time CAVA usjeans over your bloated legs and it’s time to button that top button. Jeggings simply stretch with you. So ers, but this can make all the difference. If you think you gained 15 pounds over the summer? Jeggings get that marinara is the right choice for you at the Fer-
ris pasta bar before a long night out then it’s fortunate that you’re reading this article. It’s about color mixing and any studio art major knows that already, which is great seeing that substance abuse is “part of the process.” If you’re going to paint yourself a certain color, make sure it matches the already perfected outfit from following the steps above. ACCESSORIES No need, you’ll have some cool new hospital jewelry on that wrist soon enough anyway. That being said, if you can crack your phone screen while falling down the stairs outside Carman then that’s just a plus. Well, if you follow these few tips, you’re going to be killing the CAVA fashion game, so long as you don’t get killed in the process. In fact, you’re going to look so good that everyone will be thinking, “I wish I was getting carted off on an ambulance right now, too.”
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CLOSE ENCOUNTERS
Local Schools Incorporate Barnard’s ‘Chastity Gates’ Into Sex Ed. Curriculum
Roommates With Same Schedule Left No Choice But To Jerk Each Other Off
By OWEN LONG President of Columbia University of that one real fast, or we would’ve been discussing a whole ‘nother Great Flood, if Just weeks into the semester, Schapiro you get what I’m saying. And then one day, roommates Santiago Anderson and Tanner we were both just sitting on our beds, not Sanchez, whose class schedules are exactly jerking off, and then suddenly we turned to the same, have decided it’s already time to face each other. We looked into each other’s throw in the towel and just start jerking eyes, and then we both knew, just like that. each other off. It felt so natural. It was a really special moBy ANNIE IEZZI “We tried everything and everywhere,” ment.” Scared of Genitals explained Anderson, who was reached for The decision has proven to be a timesavPeer Health Exchange was shocked comment. “Bunk beds, turning our backs, er, too, for the synchronous boys. Having upon sending representatives into local abstaining entirely. I even tried a field trip WE LOOKED INTO EACH public schools, only to learn that Bar- to a Butler stall, but the porcelain throne nard’s “Chastity Gates” are among contra- was just too off-putting. My dick straight OTHER’S EYES, AND THEN ceptives taught to students. This addition up retreated like a rightened turtle. Took WE BOTH KNEW, JUST to the public schools’ Sex Ed curriculum me an hour to coax the fucker out. Anyway, LIKE THAT. IT FELT SO places the Gates alongside abstinence and nothing worked. Eventually we decided, oral contraceptives as one of the most ef- you know what, fuck it. Let’s just jerk each NATURAL. fective ways to prevent pregnancy. other off.” - Tanner Sanchez “They just prevent sex, in general, “It was really strange the way it hapwhich is exactly what our lord and savior EVENTUALLY WE DECIDED, sat down together and arranged a certain wants”, preaches Mary Christian, gradutime each day to jerk each other off, now YOU KNOW WHAT, FUCK ating high school senior and religious there’s never any worry, any hurry, or any zealot. doubt. IT. LET’S JUST JERK EACH Just like Barnard students’ legs, the It might seem weird, but the trick, they OTHER OFF. Chastity Gates close at night, preventsay, is to stand in neutral territory between - Santiago Anderson ing sinful lapses of judgement during the beds and maintain eye contact at all times witching hours. pened,” recounted Sanchez. “ A couple throughout. This is to cut down on strictly “Don’t f*** with the ‘Nard, just f*** weeks in, I thought I was done for. I was off-limits peeking and glancing. It may the ‘Nard”, says one particularly horny so backed up, I’m surprised the plumbers’ also help, they say, to mutter “No homo heterosexual Barnard student. union didn’t declare me a safety hazard. At no homo” repeatedly under the breath in The gates do a great job of preventing one point, someone left a window open in hushed tones (in unison, of course). heterosexual hookups on the Barnard my theology lecture hall, and a light breeze Though a great relief to the two boys, campus, because who wants to walk past came in. Let me tell you, I had to bail out however, the new arrangement is not free the security guard at 3 a.m. with a gigolo and flash their I.D.? This is the only path, seeing as the gates close when the parties open. Barnard students who like girls, though, basically have free range. The Chastity Gates promote girl on girl hookups almost as much as they discourage others. They create a veritable Garden of Eden for lesbianism. The lounges devolve into orgies. You can’t walk down a staircase without encountering at least five femme couples, and the laundry room washing machines are put to good use during makeout sessions. In an age when hookup culture threatens to deconstruct society as we know it, the Chastity Gates provide a welcome reminder to impressionable teens to not be a trollop…unless you’re gay.
PENIS BE HARD
of complications.
AFTER SEVENISH YEARS OF BEATING MY MEAT LIKE IT OWES ME MONEY, I REALLY CONSIDER MYSELF A MASTER OF THE ART OF DICK. - Tanner Sanchez
Said Sanchez to reporters, “I mean, I’m definitely glad I’m not catching myself eyeing holes in trees lustfully anymore, but I just sometimes feel like the exchange isn’t super equal. Anderson’s handys are really kinda clinical and uninspired, whereas I like to put in 110% into my manual stimulation. After sevenish years of beating my meat like it owes me money, I really consider myself a master of the art of dick — like a Picasso of gherkin-jerkin’. A Mozart of flogging the one-eyed snake.” At this, the young prodigy paused. “But, like, not in a gay way, you feel?” Despite this, or possibly because of it, however, Anderson is quite sold on this new system. “I highly recommend any other same-schedule roomies out there to try their hands at jerking each other off,” he said. “It’s changed our lives, and it can change yours too.”
Graphic by: NATALIE ARENZON
COOLEST CAMPUS CHARACTERS
Op-Ed: I Have a Right to Free Speech, So You Better Let Me Practice My Monologue in Your Apartment By CAMERON AVERILL Aspiring Poor Person The right to free speech has been all but obliterated by leftist protestors at UC Berkeley. It’s right there in the Constitution: “Congress shall make no law… abridging the freedom of speech.” Yet somehow Berkeley students, as well as the Northern California chapter of Antifa, have failed to grasp that these sacred words extend protections not only to the nowmythologized student protestors that occupied Berkeley in the 1960s, but also to Milo Yiannopoulos, Steve Bannon, and other vocal members of the Alt-Right. What outraged students at Berkeley – and Middlebury, and Oberlin, and Columbia – also fail to understand is that the First Amendment does not just guarantee all under the law the right to speak without fear of government persecution. It also guarantees all under the law the right to speak wherever they so choose, including in university-owned buildings – or in my case, in your bathroom while you’re brushing your teeth. You see, what’s even more egregious than the silencing of conservatives by liberal college students is the silencing of me by you and your roommates, right when I’m about to get to the climax of Hamlet’s
soliloquy. I’ll say it once and for all: The First Amendment guarantees me the right to free speech, so it’s high time you let me practice my monologue in your apartment, sans interruption. I’ll never get this part at the Community Theater if I don’t practice, and I hate to practice alone in my apartment because it’s so hot and I haven’t quite figured out how to work the AC. If you don’t give me the space to practice, I’ll never do it, and then what good is the First Amendment? My audition is coming up, and the fact that you won’t let me run my lines by you while you’re watching TV is a textbook infringement on my right to free speech, and on my right to critical acclaim in the local paper for what will inevitably be a rousing performance in next month’s show. You raise some valid objections, I’ll admit. You say I’m imposing a tremendous financial burden on you by stealing snacks from your fridge between scenes and using your high-end shampoo when I practice in your shower. I’m sorry you have to foot the bill for my being in your apartment all the time, but alas, so it be written in the Constitution. Plus, those perks are all part of what we in show business call a rider. You say it’s three in the morning, and I better leave your apartment or you’ll the cops. Again, I’m sorry it be written so in the Constitution, but if the cops
Freshman Wearing Velvet Underground T-Shirt Keeps Asking People if They’ve Heard of the Velvet Underground By ISOBEL SHAFFER
Title IX Hire It’s the 6th day now since the beginning of NSOP that Will Haverford, CC `21, has worn a t-shirt depicting the seminal “Velvet Underground and Nico” album cover, designed by Andy Warhol. Our sources say the shirt in question, a white men’s size small, may have been purchased from Urban Outfitters. To date, Haverford— a first-year from suburban Massachusetts— has asked 34 members of the Barnumbia community if they’d heard of the Velvet Underground. “Did you know that their drummer was a woman,” he was heard this Wednesday in the line to get into Ferris, “and that Nico slept with Jim Morrison?” Haverford’s clothing choices, which betray an incredible underground cultural literacy in someone so young, are apparently “only the tip of the iceberg,” according to his roommate, Sean White, CC `21. “You should see his posters in our room. He’s got a Nirvana Nevermind poster that’s really edgy and a Rothko one and even a Smiths one — I tell girls that it’s mine, but, really, Will is the one
with the unique spirit and sensitive soul.” When we talked to Haverford, he was emphatic about his deep love for the iconic 1960s group. “‘Sunday Morning’, is, like, my jam,” he told us, “I discovered it last summer on a Spotify playlist called Coffee House Vibes. It’s just really deep, you know?” Upon further questioning, Haverford admitted that his favorite movie is Citizen Kane and his favorite novel is Infinite Jest. His roommate candidly told us, “sometimes when Will is out, doing cool stuff like smoking things in Brooklyn or whatever, I play some Green Day and put up my SI Swimsuit calendar. But I’d never do that around him. I think he might cry. I saw him once stop trying to feel up a girl and launch into a twenty minute monologue when she asked him who Ingmar Bergman was. I just wish I had that kind of uniqueness.” In related news, another unnamed first year who has also been seen in the same t-shirt was confused when we approached him for comment. “Female drummer? I don’t know, man” he said, “I just like bananas a lot. You know, potassium or whatever.”
TIP ME IN MEAL SWIPES
come you’ll see that I have just as much a right under the law as you do to stand on your sofa in order to really bring home the final lines of the soliloquy. Plus, I washed my feet before I got here. That stain on the cushion was there when I got here. You say your roommates are ready to beat me up, and that you might not be able to protect me. I say, shame on them. There’s no justification for physical violence, even against a man who’s on his seventh attempt at, “To be, or not to be.” Fear not. I’ll get the line right this time. Your complaints appear legitimate, but in the end they just do not hold up against my reading of the Constitution. The fact is that the First Amendment doesn’t care whether you like what I have to say, or whether you like the friends I bring to your place to help me run lines. I am protected all the same. I won’t warn you again: You need to sit up straight, stay attentive, and give me constructive criticism when I ask for it. The First Amendment does not give you the right to lead me astray with your uninformed, good-for-nothing feedback. So for the last time, my emphasis on “Ophelia” in the second to last line is perfectly fine. Stop trying to tell me otherwise.
Columbia University Theatre Student Changes Profile Picture to Professional Headshot Like Some Kind of Asshole By NOAH HAROUCHE
Triple Threat my Ass
This past weekend Columbia student Monica Gravitz CC’20 updated her profile picture on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and LinkedIn. Though across ideological lines, it is appreciated that the theatre student’s new picture is actually of her face instead of a block of unreadable text promoting the next show she’s in, the move is controversial in that instead of using a natural photo of herself Monica is using a professional headshot like some kind of asshole. The new profile picture features Gravitz smiling at the camera surrounded by a white background with flawless studio lighting, producing a public image of the theatre student that simultaneously looks exactly and nothing like her. In the description of the picture, Gravitz gave a photography credit to Milton Photography, who will gladly help you look like a tool on social media as well for a $300 session.
I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOUR FACEBOOK
Op-Ed I Believe People are Naturally Good, Except My Roomate, Sean
By CAMERON AVERILL Carpal Tunnel Survivor Last year, reading Rousseau in CC left me convinced that, as Rousseau argues, man is born naturally good, and that man is only evil because society corrupts him. I’m willing to go toe-totoe with any proponent of Christianity’s pessimistic view of man. Man is not “born in sin,” and he is not “fallen from Grace.” Who among us who have borne witness to the purity of a newborn, or felt the warm kindness of a complete stranger, can contend that man comes into this world evil? No, my view of man’s nature is entirely optimistic. That being said, I should make one point clear: Sean is a dick, always will be, and always has been. Society makes people bad, but more like, cheat-on-your-spouse bad – not Sean-level bad. Last week, he texted
me ten minutes before the Calculus homework was due asking if he could look at mine, just to “check over his answers.” Nice try, Sean. I’m not falling for that again. Frankly, I struggle to see how even the most ardent social constructionist could blame society for producing such an insufferable mouth breather, one who seems to have no qualms about using my goddamn toothpaste even though Duane Reade is three blocks down and he could easily walk there himself. If it’s true that nurture and not nature is to blame for producing Sean, then that nurturing must have started in the womb. The only reasonable scenario I can image that would make nurture the culprit is if Sean was grown in a test tube in some lab, sustained entirely through a feeding tube that
Furnald Sophomore Excited For Second Year of No Friends By JULIAN PECHT Eats Expired Yogurt As the academic year begins and returning students fall back into the same comfortable, yet toxic friendships, Furnald resident Bruce Portnoy, CC ‘20, has expressed nothing but wild optimism about his own return to the crushing, god-forsaken grip of loneliness. Already falling into a daily routine of 4 stress meals brought back to his room from Ferris, Portnoy has fully embraced an existence stripped of any enjoyment, spending hours upon hours in his room, loudly wishing those in the Floor Lounge “would just stop it.”
"GOD FORBID I DEVELOP ANY ACTUAL RELATIONSHIPS THIS YEAR" -Bruce Portnoy Portnoy has stated that his only concern going forward will be the coming months of overly stimulating salutations sourly delivered in passing between hallways and bathrooms. “God forbid I develop any actual relationships this year,” Portnoy explained. “That’s the last thing I need."
only took in a blend of two parts Natty Light, one part Creatine powder. If that’s the case, shame on those scientists! And shame on Sean, for not wiping off the toilet seat even though everyone in the suite knows he’s the one who got piss all over it. Until someone shows me that crackpot team of scientists, I’m sticking to my guns. Sean just does not – cannot fit into my views on human nature. He’s not just an exception; he’s the exception. I pity his parents, who must feel like they’re at fault, even though it’s really the case that Sean was just born with a natural propensity for clipping his nails into the breeze, paying no mind to the fact that that weird little nail on his pinky toe is being launched like a projectile right from his chair to my fucking bed.
Sean’s poor parents. I can picture it now. Sean’s mom is getting ready for bed, and has wrapped her newborn tight in a blanket. She’s rocking him back and forth, and he starts to mutter. She listens in. “Ma ma ma ma.” Oh, the time has come! Sean is about to say his first word! His mom wants to reach for the iPhone camera, but knows she doesn’t have time. Oh! It’s all been random syllables up to now, but this time it’s going to be a word, a real word! They lock eyes, and he stares at her in the way only babies do, she at him in the way only mothers do. There’s a brief pause, then his lips part. “Eh eh eh… anyone got a light?”
First-Year Alex Smith uses "Inextricably Intertwined" in First Essay and is Impressed with Himself By CAYLA DAVIS At least his mother loves him This past weekend, while penning his first LitHum essay of the year-- “Reinterpreting the Emblematic Hyperbole of Homeric Verse Through the Lens of Miasmic Masculinity”-- , first-year Daniel Gutierrez really knocked his analysis out of the park, describing the relationship between Gods and warriors in The Iliad as “inextricably intertwined.” Gutierrez, a real first rate student, plans to read most of the LitHum books this year and already has a good feeling about his class. When asked about the process by which he incepted the phrase, Gutierrez made sure to point out that it did not come easily. “At first, I just used the word ‘intertwined,’ but then, I thought to add the word ‘inextricably.’ I really feel it contributes to the
STUDENT GAINS THREE FOLLOWERS
depth of the piece,” he said. “LitHum is helping me to see relationships in the world in new and complex ways. Hence my use of ‘inextricably intertwined.’” When asked whether he was worried about anything pertaining to the class, Gutierrez responded, “Not really. I crave the intellectual challenge of a good exam and the opportunity to express my thoughts and opinions on the piece. Plus, if my first reading response ‘check-plus’ is any indication, I think I’m going to do well here.” Gutierrez is currently accepting students for his four-hour seminar entitled “How to Intersperse Sophisticated Words to Augment Your Intellectual Comportment.” It takes place on Sunday, October 14th from 2 – 5 P.M. in Carman basement lounge.
WOULD YOU SMASH FOR AVO SMASH?
Ladies, It’s Time to Settle By ALEXANDRA HARRIS You can't always get what you want
As I lounged around on my tribal duvet cover from Urban Outfitters in the sweltering Connecticut summer watching Sex and the City reruns while contemplating equality, I couldn’t help but wonder: ladies, is it time to settle? Let’s create a safe space in our minds and just be honest with ourselves for, like, a sec. What is it that we really want in our partners? Of course, when faced with this daunting question, all of the classic buzzwords come to mind: compassion, charm, an HBO account free of charge. The three facets of an ideal relationship. At least that’s what we’ve been led to believe. Seriously, think about it. We’re all trying so hard to find the Logan Huntzberger to our Rory Gilmore, when we know deep down that she should’ve end-
ed up with Nudist Marty -- neurotic, socially inept, somewhat clinically depressed, but in an endearing way. In fact, pop culture is chock-full of characters like Nudist Marty (Dwight Schrute, Napoleon Dynamite, Jesus Christ, etc.) being constantly overshadowed by the Logan Huntzbergers of the world. So maybe it’s time that we ladies took a step back and realized that our second choice (or third, or tenth) may be our best bet. Okay, so I’ll be the first to admit: the Nudist Martys of the world aren’t perfect, per se. They probably have an unironic Star Wars poster hanging above their bed, spend hours explaining to you what feminism means to them, wear velcro shoes because Macklemore endorsed them in a song, and will disappear for days on end before calling to tell you that they’ve binged the entirety of The Great British Baking Show and, on an entirely unrelated note, have decided to go off their
meds. Still, these are negligible details in what could be the best settle of your life. As women, we settle all the time. We settle for lower wages in the workplace, cramped seats on the subway, the continued fruition of Woody Allen’s film career. So why not settle in our relationships, too? It’s time to face the fact that not all of us can land the Logan Huntzbergers of the world. Besides, it’s not like you’ll have to fake it EVERY time, just most! Listen, ladies, you’ve got to hear me out. Forget cronuts -- settling is the new black. Everyone’s doing it. Just look at the Republican party! The point is, maybe your prince charming doesn’t have to ride in on a white horse, but instead a used Razor scooter from Craigslist that you can jog beside into the sunset on your way to couple’s therapy. At least you won’t be jogging alone.
Columbia Rejects New Housing, Mental Health Proposals in Favor of Avocado Toast By BEN MOST
Too blessed to be stressed
In a bold move intended to increase student satisfaction and health, Columbia has poured funding into a new avocado toast initiative, rejecting new housing and mental health proposals in favor of bringing the trendy avocado dish to every dining hall on campus. Students have heralded the new toast initiative as the university’s most brilliant move since the Lerner architectural renovation. “Before avocado toast, I was so
stressed I was popping Addys like TicTacs. I was wasting away and hadn’t slept in weeks.,” Jim Reagan CC ’19 said. “But I’m done with all that now. Avocado toast cured my anxiety and fixed my relationship. I’ve put on five pounds of muscle and four inches- two above, two below. Last night, my mother called to un-disown me.”.” Reagan’s fellow students had similar reactions. “When I came to Columbia, I was in a rough place. I’d spend hours on end locked up in my dorm room, beating my meat with one hand and
flipping through Dostoyevsky in the other, wondering what the point of it all was,” one Aspen Grant told reporters. “I don’t ask that question anymore. The point of life is avocado toast.” According to President Lee Bollinger, the idea behind the groundbreaking avocado initiative came to him in one of his nightly brainstorming sessions. “I was sitting by the fire in my rocking chair, perusing the other proposals I had received,” Bollinger said. “Housing renovations, new mental health
staff, a more balanced credit limit system…none of it seemed to have the spark I was looking for. ‘Think, Lee,’ I said to myself, gazing into the fire. ‘What do the people want?’ And then, as I reached for my hot tea, the idea struck me: Lee, the people want avocados.” Bollinger said that following the success of the avocado toast initiative, a cronut program may be in the works for the 2018-2019 school year.
THAT MOLE LOOKS PRETTY IRREGULAR? MAYBE IT'S PRIVILEGE BE SURE TO HEAD TO COLUMBIA HEALTH SERVICE OR ANY LIT HUM CLASS TO GET YOUR PRIVILEGE CHECKED THE GOOD KIND OF FAT
WHAT WAS FOUND BURIED UNDER BUTLER LAWN DURING THE EXCAVATIONS?
Graphic by Natalie Arenzon
SPOOKY
SHIT
HOSTAGE CRISIS
35 Held Hostage by Student Playing Piano in Lerner Lounge By THE FEDITORIAL BOARD Uninspired LERNER-- A lone pianist held 35 students hostage in the lerner lounge this past Tuesday with his incredibly off-key rendition of Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like The Wolf.” The pianist, identified as Li Wei Goldberg of Wallach Six, released a full list of demands to public security: 1. A permanent reserved spot in Butler 301 2. That everyone call him by his actual Chinese name, not “Jeff ” 3. An opportunity to take a joy ride in Bollinger’s Audi 4. Line cutting privileges at Ferris during peak hours 5. Immunity 6. Control of WKCR for a 336 hour 80s marathon 7. A wig made entirely of Bollinger’s refinedsteel locks 8. A Texas Instruments Nspire CX CAS Graphing Calculator 9. Abolishment of elevator etiquette OR Orgo night back in Butler If his demands were not met, Goldberg threatened not only to continue playing in Lerner Lounge, but also to shift to the Hamilton soundtrack. Evoking the Sirens of the Odyssey, Goldberg began to sing his ode to Duran Duran, thus ensuring no one
could escape. “Of course we wanted to leave, but I’m not going to tarnish my reputation as a gentleman by leaving in the middle of a performance,” said 43 yearold Norman Gurman, GS ‘19, who had the misfortune to be hitting on a sophomore when the Duran Duran devastation hit. Speaking to The Federalist via emergency flip-phone, Gurman tearfully added “Tell my son. . . he’s the man of the house now. Tell him to be strong. Tell him that he’s the real wolf in my life.” One escapee, Anna Berkhead, BC’ 2020, commented on the abduction: “It was a normal day in the Lerner Lounge, the scent of depression wafted through like freshmen at an NSOP event. At first I thought it was strange that he seemed to be tuning the piano, which as far as I could tell was in totally normal condition; but real Hell broke loose when we realized the doors were locked. Luckily I had my headphones in, but his Siren’s song seemed to draw even the most deaf students to the piano.” A crowd formed around the lounge and many students began hypothesizing what his motives could be. “He hoped to singlehandedly eliminate stress culture on campus with his smooth ivory-tickling.” said one student. “I heard he ran out of socks.” said another. Various other explanations were offered. “I don’t know what he wants but he’s definitely spent his fair share of time on 4chan.” “I heard his friends used all his meal swipes.” “They say he met the devil at a crosswalk and sold his soul for skills and stuff, y’know? I guess this is how he used them.”
Fifteen students were treated for popped ear drums brought on by the extreme class of Duran Duran. “Duran Duran requires a very specific tuning,” said the demure hostage taker. “If any of these uncultured heathens paid attention in Music Hum, they would know that.” Reports that CAVA was planning a rescue mission were quickly dispelled when a CAVA representative noted, “I’ll clean up vomit, but I’m not going anywhere near this shit. For god’s sake isn’t this Psychological Services’ job?” In an ironic near-immediate response Psychological Services responded: “We’ll be there in three weeks.” Thankfully, Mike from the Carman security desk arrived on the scene just in time. With a single fist bump and his handy jazz mix playing in the background, he was able to calm down Li Wei and defuse the situation. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists, but I can talk to them, because everyone just needs a little love,” said Mike after consoling the crazed pianist. Efforts to ban Duran Duran from public access to avoid future scenarios like this have been met with staunch opposition from First Amendment SongRights advocates. They are urging students and faculty to remember that “this isn’t inherent to Duran Duran. Li Wei misinterpreted and misused their music for his own devious ends and has nothing to do with recreational use of the band’s music and to ban it from the public would be to address the wrong problem here.”
Prezbo's Body Guard: "Why Do I Exist" By PRESIDENT BOLLINGER’S BODYGUARD AND ISAIAH BENNETT The Man The Myth The Legend I live a tortured existence. Each day I wake up cold. I rise from bed, and I go through my morning routine numb to the world. I shower, cook breakfast and prepare President Bollinger’s prefered “snacky snacks.” I don one of my many suits, either black or charcoal but never blue (the one I actually like). As I button each button I dream about one day bodyguarding for a starry celebrity with rabid fans or a devious politico narrowly avoiding assassination. My fingers come to my throat, and I tighten the tie around my neck. I stare in the mirror, and I cry out to God: “Please, give me purpose.” But as I park in PrezBo’s driveway, slowly walking behind him while he toddles, childlike to his seat of the car, I open the car door and remember that I stopped believing in any God long ago. I do nothing. I have no purpose. I am nothing. Why would any beast or being ever make an attempt on
the life of Columbia University President Lee Carroll Bollinger? The answer to this question has evaded me for years. Day to day I drive him to meetings, open his doors, and blow on his food when it’s too hot; all the while he babbles on about free speech, and Manhattanville, and wealthy donors, smiling simply between sips of applesauce. I think and think, yet any answer evades me. The question, and any hope I shall ever have of grounding my human existence, defies reason or meaning. I am adrift like a my tormentor’s steely white toupee on a gusty day, but you didn’t hear that from me.
"I TIGHTEN THE TIE AROUND MY NECK. I STARE IN THE MIRROR, AND CRY OUT TO GOD: "PLEASE, GIVE ME PURPOSE"
Occasionally, a real bodyguard will come to campus, protecting a diplomat or executive and I will dream of what could be. Real threats that my ex-
I PLAY THE OBOE
marine body could deal with. I ask them of their life and they tell me the most fantastical things, of car chases, of beating away protesters in Bangladesh, but the only protesters here are pansy bitches who wouldn’t hurl one of their expensive shoes at Bollinger even if it meant divestment from fossil fuels. I’ve been at this useless task for years now, but not once has even a bead of sweat rolled down my brow because nobody gives a shit about if this guy dies, except me I suppose. Know this when you see me. As I stand alongside the gentrifier-in-chief with his Keebler Elf countenance in every public venue he may be seen, YOU MUST KNOW MY PAIN. The man giggles at “neat” crossword clues for Christ’s sake. At this point, however, I don’t hate him. He’s just a man. I am a shell. My duty may be to protect life, but life as I know it is an empty, meaningless thing. If a bullet ever comes his way, I won’t be taking it for him, I’ll be taking it for me.
SPORTS NOT-ILLUSTRATED
Homecoming: Football Team Returns After Decades Lost at Sea By MATTHEW EVAN LINSKY Just Sparknote this shit
Trudging slowly, eyes facing downward, they swayed to the tune of an inaudible sea shanty. It was not a song of rum or merriment, nor did it seem to relish the independence they had been able to enjoy. For even this independence, they did not choose. No, this was a melody of unbridled misery, one which shackled these men to a set of shared experiences which, to the naked eye, was obviously horrific. With one foot placed cautiously after the other, they moved forward in unison. But no music played upon their
return. To call these people “men” would be a misappropriation of the term, albeit an easy one to rely upon. You see, men are those amoung us who not only have the capacity for choice, but also possess a reliable understanding of the consequences of such choices. One look at these wretched- looking creatures and it is apparent that they did not understand the full weight of their burdens;they did not know. But how could they? The life of a sailor is glorious whence laid upon a page, the pitfalls and follies often removed from stories of valour and bravery. It is my
hope that these poor unfortunate souls one day fully recover from the Faustian bargain they struck. Hope is all they have. It is all that I can give. In truth, such optimistic pleasantries are far removed. As this procession of injurious torment slowly crept by, I noticed something peculiar. Underneath the withered arm of a particularly square-jawed fellow, I caught a glimpse of one of the totems which these creatures had hoped to make the center of their prayers. Though I had only read of such an item – an oval comprised of stitched together pig flesh
– I was struck by its weathered visage. Clearly, the cruel and unforgiving sea had not been kind to this item, its tissue worn by the acidity of the sea. As I looked closer and closer, I could see that there were holes of various sizes haphazardly cut from the surface of the item. As I do not recall the existence of such openings in the various texts, I have no choice but to assume that they were made whilst stranded. I shudder to think of what such an item was used for.
Ski Team Diversity Initia- Football Player Reduces tive Requires at Least One Number of Steps to Cut You Member Not Named Dylan Off Down to Two By NICK RIBOLLA Overcompensating for Something CATSKILL MOUNTAINS -- Following mounting concern over the lack of racial diversity in nontraditional collegiate sports, Columbia’s Ski Team recently instituted a policy requiring at least one member of the team to not be named “Dylan.” “We’ve been neglecting the importance of creating an inclusive environment on the team for far too long,” commented Team Captain Dylan Marsh SEAS ‘17. “It’s time for us to start including people from all walks of life. Kyles, Andersons, maybe even a Quinn if we’re feeling adventurous. Literally just one person that isn’t named Dylan. That’d be ill.” “Also, it’s been getting really hard to differentiate between people when we’re calling them over for a game of ruit,” added Marsh. Other groups on campus have voiced concern about the new policy, particularly the Fencing and Squash teams. ‘As it stands, Dylans make up a significant portion of the talent pool from which the Fencing and Squash teams draw each year.” said Team Captains Dylan Baumbach CC ‘18 and Dylan Van Dorsten SEAS ‘18. “We believe the inclusion of even a Todd would upset our team’s
dynamic on and off the court, and would be decidedly not ill.” Still, the Ski Team is excited at the prospect. “Maybe we’ll get Campbell from Sig Nu this year,” added Dylan Waterson CC ‘18. “His mom has a house in Okemo. That’d be ill.”
“WE'VE BEEN NEGLECTING THE IMPORTANCE OF CREATING AN INCLUSIVE ENVIRONMENT ON THE TEAM FOR FAR TOO LONG” At press time, the Ski Team were reportedly investigating a loophole that would allow for a “Dillon.” The Center for the Core Curriculum is currently considering quarantining Robertson in the basement of Kent with instructor Jacob Rooney, who has been deathly ill since attempting to eat his copy of the Iliad to avoid dropping $10 on a sandwich in Butler.
By BEN MOST Doing THE MOST COLLEGE WALK -- After months of practice and bulking up, football player Terry Gunderson has reduced the number of steps it takes to cut a student off in foottraffic down to just two, a 50 percent improvement from his former path-crossing number of three. “When you see me take a mere two slow, lumbering steps to walk in front of you, I make it look easy,” Gunderson said. “But if you break down the numbers, you see just how big an achievement that really was. I cut down my steps by a whole 50 percent – that means 50 percent slower per step, 50 percent longer, and, though the research has yet to come in, maybe 50 percent more frustrating.” Other students have expressed surprise at Gunderson’s new, lengthier steps, describing them as “frustratingly lazy” and “elephant-like.” “When I saw Gunderson stomping out of John Jay with a smoothie in hand, I was prepared to wait for his normal three unbelievably slow steps,” Richard Thompson CC ’19 said. “Instead, I was met with two
ARE PIG SKINS THE NEW FLESHLIGHTS?
of the longest, most deliberate steps I have ever seen. It was like time froze. Gunderson’s body blocked out the sunlight entirely, like some sort of eclipse. From a few feet away I barely even saw his feet moving. I was transfixed.”
"I CUT DOWN MY STEPS BY A WHOLE 50 PERCENT- THAT MEANS 50 PERCENT SLOWER PER STEP, 50 PERCENT LONGER, AND, THOUGH THE RESEARCH IS YET TO COME IN, MAYBE 50 PERCENT MORE FRUSTRATING" Gunderson recently broke the previous Butler-to-Low step record, taking only 23 steps door-to-door, clocking in a total time of three and a half days. “With a mass as enormous as this able to travel at such slow speeds, I don’t see how the football team could lose this season,” football teammate Rick Dickson said. At press time, students across campus remain too scared of Gunderson to tell him to speed the fuck up.
BACK TO GET SCHOOLED
First-Year Discovers Grindr
Nosy Asshole Wondering
Great Way to Talk to Professors How Your Summer Was By JACK BECKER
By SCOTT DOURQUE
Grindr Username: peckerhecker JOHN JAY — Determined to seek out every possible bit of academic tutelage during his first semester at Columbia, Alan Johnson CC ’21 recently discovered Grindr as a great way to talk to professors outside their office hours. Describing his revelation as “amazing, convenient, and just a tad homoerotic,” the first-year explained how he came upon his discovery: “I was looking for extra ways to communicate with my professors so I can get the best grades possible, and I decided to try Grindr because I heard it was a fantastic way to talk to people in the community. I downloaded the app, uploaded a picture of my abs, and soon enough my FroSci teacher was asking if he could cum on my face!” Johnson feels that Grindr managed to break down boundaries between him and his professors, allowing for the kind of intimate student-teacher relationships he hoped for at Columbia. “People say it’s important to form relationships with teachers, but I always struggled to find a way to get closer to them,” Johnson said. “But now I’ve seen them naked, all the awk-
wardness is gone.” However, Johnson admits that pillowtalk with his professors can sometimes be a little unorthodox. “After guzzling down my Lit Hum professor’s cum, he started talking about the relationship between Patroklos and Achilles,” Johnson said. “I was a little confused because I skipped that part of the Iliad, but I ended up getting an A- on my essay so I guess I learned something. If it wasn’t for Grindr, my essay definitely would have been more in the B-range.” According to Johnson, his Grindr study sessions are purely for bonding with professors, and he has no homosexual tendencies. “Some people might think it’s a gay thing, but it’s really not,” Johnson said. “It’s not like I’m just having sex with guys for no reason. But hey, if it’s gay to lick your math professor’s balls to learn more about differential equations, then call me homosexual.” Johnson declined to elaborate on some of the other experiences he’s had with his instructors, saying that he was late to a “special study session” with his ArtHum professor.
Didn’t get that internship at Goldman CHANCE ENCOUNTER, YOUR DORM – Passing you by the elevators, freshman year acquaintance and nosy asshole Josh Schwartz CC ’19 asked you how your break went. “What were you up to this summer?” the intrusive simpleton asked, as if it should make any difference to him whatsoever. Schwartz reportedly continued his inquiry by asking you if you liked your internship, probably collecting conversational anecdotes for equally unnecessary future queries. Inevitably, the thimblebrain received the same answer you gave to the twenty identical questions you fielded from this campus’s other prying half-wits. In response to your listless rattling-off of several conversational platitudes, he was observed to have contributed infuriatingly relevant additions to the conversation that should never have existed in the first place. Disturbing details have emerged regarding Schwartz’ conduct at the time of the verbal assault. Schwartz was said to have made direct eye contact with you like some kind of horror
movie birthday clown, interspersing slight nods of the head at semi-regular intervals. In a display of grotesque congeniality, the junior Art History major maintained a smile for the entire 30-second duration of the scarring encounter, the psychological effects of which have led you to sign up for a 3-day intensive “de-escalation workshop” at a local center for nonviolence. Witnesses say that Schwartz concluded his interrogation by telling you to “have a good semester,” despite the fact that the quality of the next four months of your life is none of his business. As of press time, The Fed has obtained breaking news from your insecurities that he is probably around the corner, isn’t he? He’s definitely walking down the hall right now, so let’s just take the stairs. Eight flights is honestly worth it to avoid that blabbermouth dickhead piece of shit. It really is.
Barnard to Develop Swipe Access Scheme Using Septum Rings By ANONYMOUS Not your average Barnard bitch On Monday morning, a spokesperson for Barnard Public Safety announced a new scheme to implant microchips into septum rings, granting students building access at the tip of their noses! When reached for comment, BPS said the following: “Despite being lightweight and convenient, the old ID system just wasn’t flashy enough for students. Now that recent trends have shown a rising number of students sporting chunks of metal stuck in their noses, we’ve decided to modernize our policies accordingly. We’re confident that the new bash-face-on-sensor model will provide exactly the dash of selfinflicted pain today’s hip, with-it Ivy League student craves from her build-
ing access system.” First-year Miranda Jones was debating whether or not she ought to get her septum pierced, but the announcement cemented her decision. I always thought they were, like, super cute, but I low-key felt guilty ‘cause I think it’s technically cultural appropriation. Now I have an excuse to make a guiltfree fashion statement!” Jones was spotted swiping into Hewitt by slamming her nose into the Septum SensorTM, in a motion described by a shocked bystander as being “not unlike a large flightless bird diving for fish.” “I’ve really been enjoying asserting my individuality with my new piercing, and so has everyone else! It’s just been so empowering, you know?,” commented Ally Maguire, a Barnard sopho-
more who also ardently supported the new policy. As her art history professor walked by, Maguire made sure to raise her voice when declaring: “Now form can follow function!”
“I'VE REALLY BEEN ENJOYING ASSERTING MY INDIVIDUALITY WITH MY NEW PIERCING, AND SO HAS EVEYONE ELSE! IT’S JUST SO EMPOWERING, YOU KNOW? ”
ANYTHING TO OPEN THOSE BARNARD CHASTITY GATES
The inconvenience of using a Septum Sensor aside, the new system has been wildly popular among the student body, and many brands have been quick to try to cover the market. Sephora will begin offering microchip-compatible rings in the coming weeks, with Ivanka Trump’s signature line soon to follow. Unfortunately for some students usual swipe policies will apply in spite of the change. Long lines were spotted near the entry to Ferris Booth Commons on Tuesday morning, reportedly caused by a distraught Barnard freshman, who insisted she should have access and mashed her nose into the sensor several times before being carted off by Public Safety officers.
REAL FAKE NEWS
Student Patiently Waits for Last Five Seconds of Class to Ask Long Obvious Question By ANI WILCENSKI
Jack Ass HAMILTON—With six seconds left in class, Professor Sasha Aronovsky was just about to dismiss her literature humanities section when one resolved student shot his hand into the air. Reid Timmons CC ’21 proceeded to launch into a lengthy inquiry, the answer to which was glaringly apparent to every other member of the class. Despite all twenty-one other students in the class shooting him withering glares, aggressively looking at the clock,
Deantini’s Environmental Vigilantism By MATTHEW EVAN LINSKY
Delicious Deantini MORNINGSIDE CAMPUS - Amidst yet another round of layoffs from Columbia’s custodial department, many students have wondered how the campus remains so clean. According to an anonymous source within the Chemistry department, who wished to remain anonymous, these sanitation efforts have been covertly spearheaded by Dean James Valentini. Upon further investigation, which involved a series of stakeouts across Morningside Campus, we can indeed confirm the existence of Deantini’s vigilantism. Whilst hidden beneath the bushes beside Butler, Deantini keeps watch over the quad, paying special attention to the smokers - waiting ever-so patiently in his perched shrubbery. Once the smokers clear out, Deantini pokes his bespectacled head out from the bushes, his eyes darting back and forth with nervous fervor. As his neckhair pricks the morning dews, Deantini scurries forth from his nest in quadrupedal fashion, his knuckles dragging ever-soslightly upon the concrete and blades of grass he tramples across. His movement is constant, yet completely random until he reaches the pile of cigarettes the smokers have left in their wake. Deantini then stares at the collection of thirtyor- so half-smoked cigarettes strewn about the grounds. As his mouth begins to water, he rears back and howls a miserable-sounding hymn, but whenst he is finished it is clear that not only are his appetites vast, but his desire to fulfill them is insatiable. Hands a blur, Deantini simultaneously collects all of the half-smoked cigarettes from the sounds whilst producing a device which resembles a homemade bunsen burner. As the torch ignites, Deantini cackles into the great beyond, and then stuff all of the half-smoked cigarettes into his gaping maw. In one swift motion, Deantini successfully lights all of the bent and broken cigarettes, and inhales with the intent to suck the wind from the sea. All of the cigarettes extinguished, Deantini can be seen swallowing the filters whole whilst dejectedly lamenting that “these damn kids need to finish what they’ve started.”
and loudly packing up their stuff, Timmons bravely forged on with his question for a minute and twenty-six seconds. “Honestly, I don’t have too much going on right now. I’m at a place in my life where I can spend ten minutes holding up an entire lit hum class by asking a question I could have easily found on the syllabus and I plan to live this shit up,” said Timmons when asked to justify his actions. “I was going to ask earlier, but that just seemed like such a considerate and well-timed thing to do.” “I could probably find the answer to this by going on
Courseworks, or asking a classmate, or speaking to the teacher individually, or using my brain for about three seconds, but it was just so much more convenient for me to delay the entire class and take my sweet time asking,” he continued. As of press time, four minutes after class was supposed to end, Timmons was heard using his time in the spotlight to transition into an involved point about the class discussion.
Nation Glued To Televisions For Series Finale of The Korean War
By HARRISON GALE
Nuke a duke duke PYONGYANG, NORTH KOREA - Network news ratings have spiked in recent weeks as America tunes in for the finale of the Korean War, a reboot of the original that aired from 1950 to 1953. The unforgettable Korean War had its first run over 60 years ago, but was revived for an additional final season in response to overwhelming demand from an increasingly nostalgic American public. Following the success of Gilmore Girls and Fuller House, networks have been jumping at the opportunity to renew their classics, and news channels are no exception. The Korean War had an undeniable impact on the world of television, influencing other televised conflicts for years to come. It led to spin-offs, such as the Vietnam War, which infamously suffered a ratings crash in its final seasons. The decades-long gap between the previous season and its successor necessitated some changes, with many of its oldest fans claiming that it’s “not how it used to be.” Considering that the original cast of heavy hitters, including Harry S. Truman, Syngman Rhee, and Kim Il-Sung, is mostly deceased, the new season of the Korean War features a fresh set of characters that has already succeeded in capturing the nation’s attention. The reboot aims to tie up the loose ends left by the original, notably the polarizing decision for North and
HARD-HITTING JOURNALISM
South Korea to part ways. “I’d run home every week after school to catch the next episode of the Korean War,” recalls Thomas Darnley, a youth during the conflict. “I was always dying to know what happened next. My friends and I were big fans. But I have to admit, I did feel like the original ending of instituting a Demilitarized Zone between the Koreas was a total cop out.”
“I WAS ALWAYS TRYING TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED NEXT. MY FRIENDS AND I WERE BIG FANS. ”
The tension between the Koreas was palpable, and pioneered a trope that would make them one of the most recognizable “opposites attract” couples on television. While the new series finale of the Korean War may not live up to everyone’s expectations, it’s safe to assume that Americans will be asking “Will they or won’t they?” as we await the sweet embrace of nuclear annihilation. The Korean War airs weekly on all news programs.
LIGHT UP BLUNTS, RIGHT FAM?
Multicultural Freshman Strugglges with Mixed New Jersey, Pennsylvania Heritatge By NICK RIBOLLA
Curiously Questioning The other day, I decided to chat up a stranger in the Ferris stir-fry line. Within twenty seconds of the start of our conversation, right after learning he was a freshman named Josh from Durham, North Carolina, he popped the question I live in constant fear of: “where are you from?” Going to such a purportedly liberal campus, I had hoped to escape such demeaning, problematic microaggressions. Obviously, Josh’s query was well-intended. Nevertheless, it remains a perfect example of the ubiquitous sea of insensitivity multicultural students such as myself
must wade into every single day. Josh is a Durhamite shark, and I am but a small, defenseless, mixedbreed sea mammal. He may have been expecting a simple answer to his question. But without meaning to, he unlocked the gate to the countless unresolved issues my heritage causes me. My father hails from Scranton, Pennsylvania, and my mother has roots in Jersey City. I myself, though, a true product of America’s melting pot, was born in Poughkeepsie. As you can imagine, this causes me a myriad of problems in my everyday life. When I took the SAT, right after checking the “white” box, I looked down.
But where I expected to find a section about the different states I’m from, there was nothing. Be it from Josh or the College Board, I’m always made to feel like I have to pick a side. When I tell people I’m from New Jersey and New York, the first question they ask me is whether I’m a Knicks or a Nets fan. Can’t I be both?
SEAS First- Year Belatedly Realizes NSOP Icebreakers Final Female Contact until Graduation By Anonymous THe Chaste Three weeks into a college experience he’d once fantasized would involve nubile sorority sisters held back by crowd control barricades outside his dorm room, SEAS First-Year Derek Gilmore has slowly come to terms with a reality of prolonged chastity. Without the cassock, tab collar or spiritual fulfillment that might characterize the ritualized sexual abstention of a clergyman, Gilmore has been forced to find meaning in other pursuits, like differential equations, laundry, soulful masturbation to the classic Motown backdrop of “Please Mr Postman,” and the philosophy of Søren Kierkegaard. When he intermittently responds to Facetime calls from his parents in Westchester, Gilmore’s family is greeted with the the lined, haunting visage of a changed man, huddled over problem sets, murmuring to himself of what could have been. To the extent Gilmore’s romantic life retains any vitality whatsoever, he says, it is in his misty recollections of NSOP icebreakers, from moonlit summer nights when youthful fecundity was on the breeze and endless possibilities were bound up in freighted games like “Two Truths and a Lie.” “Here’s two truths and a lie for you,” Gilmore says, using a lint roller to clean
arms that have evaded any contact with a shower or a woman for a duration that could be measured on the geologic time scale. “I dream so intensely about using machine learning to code a sex robot that I can no longer reliably differentiate between the material world and Python, I’ve spent more time interacting with a calculator over the past 24 hours than I have with a woman over the last fortnight, and I believe that at the end of my college experience I will have made tangible progress towards the kind of conversation with a woman that might prevent my family name from disappearing from the Earth.” Gilmore says that late at night the am-
“I'VE SPENT MORE TIME WITH A CALCULATOR OVER THE PAST 24 HOURS THAN I HAVE WITH A WOMAN OVER THE LAST FORTNIGHT" plitude/time graphs in his “Heterogeneous computing for signal and data processing” class will sometimes take on the curvy proportions of prime Baywatch-era Pamela Anderson, with the scorching wit and sultry rasp of an anonymous Barnard firstyear who once briefly socialized with his
OL-group. In his mind, Gilmore, operator extraordinaire in both CAD-wave modelling and romantic seduction, transforms his flubbed exchange of greetings with the luscious art history major into the seed of a passionate tryst of world-historical proportions. He pauses, and an oft-absent light reenters red-rimmed eyes kept open only by a steady diet of Baja Blast Mountain Dew and Ritalin. The ghosts of NSOP-past transport his libidinous thoughts to an evening, many moons before, back when Gilmore had dared to hope that lanyards, wristbands and lightly eroticized banter could help him attract the standardized-testing ace and femme fatale of his dreams. “The OL asks which three historical personages we’d invite to dinner,” Gilmore says, his eyes glazing over as he curls a lock of hair around his finger. “The wind picks up apace. A solitary dove alights from on high, and an angelic choir of castratos hums softly in the distance. I say that I’d invite Newton and Leibniz, so I could lock them in an MMA-octagon to settle who actually invented calculus, but also her. Because she’s really hot. Then, obviously, we’d fuck like rabbits.” Back in the humdrum real world of JSwipe, Kleenex and career fairs, Gilmore can only gaze mournfully into the distance,
IT’S LIT, BRUH
do endless bicep curls as Neutral Milk Hotel cycles in the background, and hone his icebreaker game for some hallowed eve in the distant future, perhaps a grad school social, when new environs and formalized interactions will grant him a fresh lease on life. Well-thumbed volumes of Kierkegaard’s “Fear and Trembling” and “The Sickness Unto Death” lie at the foot of a bed that, once again, Gilmore will occupy alone. There is some temporary solace for the Dorito-stained engineer in the Danish existentialist’s pithy theology. “Listen to the cry of a woman in labor at the hour of giving birth - look at the dy-
“THEN, OBVIOUSLY WE'D FUCK LIKE RABBITS” ing man's struggle at his last extremity, and then tell me whether something that begins and ends thus could be intended for enjoyment,” Gilmore quotes, from memory. A box of condoms - Lifestyles SKYN, bought for himself as a graduation present, never used - that will soon pass their expiration date without anyone remarking gathers dust in the corner. For now, Gilmore can only wonder and wait, alert for that fateful moment when, four years hence, his sex life will coincidentally blossom following a job offer at Face-
QUIT YOUR CLUBS WHILE YOU STILL CAN
Vaporwave Club Overdoses on 'Aesthetic' By ZACK ABRAMS
A Fucking Shill
Earlier this week, Lila Weiss CC ‘20 was horrified to find the Columbia Vaporwave Club dead of an apparent aesthetic overdose in Hamilton Hall on her way to class. The club had recently moved to Hamilton for their weekly meetings and listening parties, which previously took place in club President Greta Baumbach’s 1 bedroom Bushwick apartment. “At first I thought they were all asleep,” said Weiss. “But when I turned off Blank Banshee and changed the song to ‘Despacito’ without objection, I knew they had all OD’d. A thorough police investigation is still underway. Items found at the scene included a copy of Walter Benjamin’s Illuminations, 15 pairs of rose-colored sunglasses, five inflatable palm trees (deflated), three Pax vaporizers, and a bust of David. Though rumors have been circulating of the Columbia Grindcore and Powerviolence Club’s being involved in the incident, they declined a Fed-
eralist reporter’s request for comment, replying only with guttural screaming and a Neruda poem.
“THIS BODY IS ONLY A FLESH CASTLE"
In response to the tragedy, the Facebook Group ‘Vaporwave Sadposting’
published a statement on behalf of its nearly 150k members: t he y ’ve p ass e d on to a b e tte r pl a c e one w it hout b a d v ib e s or my p are nt s . T h is b o dy is on ly a f l e sh c ast l e. As requested in his final will, the body of Executive Board member Aar-
By Zack Abrams on Gillespie will be made into a purple neon light to be installed in the corner of JJ’s Place.
A Capella Group Sent to the Glue Factory By WILLIE DUSTICE
HIgh on Life The students were all at Butler deep in their books, when they were astonished to see Benjamin come running from the direction of the Low, crying at the top of his voice. It was the first time that they had ever seen Benjamin excited—indeed, it was the first time that anyone had ever seen him run. "Quick, quick!" he shouted. "Come at once! They're taking SHARP away!" Without waiting to ask others to watch their laptops, the students broke off their work and raced out to College Walk. Sure enough, there in the center was a large closed van, with lettering on its side and a sly-looking man in a low-crowned bowler hat sitting on the driver's seat. And SHARP was nowhere to be seen. The students crowded round the van. "Good-bye, SHARP!" they chorused, "good-bye!" "Fools! Fools!" shouted Benjamin, prancing round them and stamping the earth with his small feet. "Fools! Do you not see what is written on the side of that van?" That gave the students pause, and there was a hush.
Muriel began to spell out the words. But Benjamin pushed her aside and in the midst of a deadly silence he read: " 'Alfred Simmonds, Horse Slaughterer and Glue Boiler, Brooklyn. Dealer in Hides and Bone-Meal. Kennels Supplied.' Do you not understand what that means? They are taking SHARP to the knacker's!" A cry of horror burst from all the students. At this moment the man in the van whipped up the engine and the van moved past the sundial at a smart trot. All the students followed, crying out at the tops of their voices. Clover forced her way to the front. The van began to gather speed. Clover tried to stir her stout limbs to a sprint, and achieved a trot. "SHARP!" she cried. "SHARP! SHARP! SHARP!" And just at this moment, as though they had heard the uproar, the singers’ faces, with their suits on their shoulders and ties around their necks, appeared at the small window at the back of the van. "SHARP!" cried Clover in a terrible voice. "SHARP! Get out! Get out quickly! They're taking you to your death!" All the students took up the cry of "Get out,
SNIFF, SNIFF
SHARP, get out!" But the van was already gathering speed and drawing away from them. It was uncertain whether SHARP had understood what Clover had said. But a moment later their face disappeared from the window and there was the sound of a tremendous drumming of voices inside the van. They were trying to sing their way out. The time had been when a few harmonious notes from SHARP's throats would have smashed the van to matchwood. But alas! Their strength had left them; and in a few moments the sound of drumming voices grew fainter and died away. In desperation the students began appealing to driver which drew the van to stop. "Comrade, comrade!" they shouted. "Don't take your own brothers to their death! " But the stupid brute, too ignorant to appreciate the arts, merely set his ears and pressed the accelerator. SHARP's faces did not reappear at the window. Too late, someone thought of racing ahead and shutting the five-barred gate; but in another moment the van was through it and rapidly disappearing down Broadway. SHARP was never seen again.