The First Year Issue

RECORD

BRAKING NEWS! I ALMOST HIT A PEDESTRIAN

Dear Monkey Banging Cymbals

Together Inside My Head,

Look, I’ll level with you. I really don’t mind the whole banging-your-cymbalstogether-inside-my-head thing. Genuinely, I get it — that’s your whole schtick. But could you please cut it out with all of the intrusive thoughts? Again, bang your cymbals together all you want, cause a real ruckus up there, fine by me, but the wicked, self-destructive behaviors you repeatedly instruct me to commit are beginning to impact my daily activities. I’m on the highway driving to work for God’s sake I need to be able to focus!

Sincerely, Billy MAN READS ROOM AT A 3RD-GRADE LEVEL

Dear Billy, Crash! Crash! Crash!

Sincerely, Monkey

PUTTING THE CART BEFORE THE HORSE? NINE AMISH KILLED IN ACCIDENT.

Dear Local Man, I’m gonna suck you dry.

Best, Local Lady

SUITEMATE IN LONG-DISTANCE RELATIONSHIP CONFIDENT IT WILL LAST

Dear Local Lady,

Okay… I like it. Where are you? I’ll buy you dinner and wine.

Sincerely, Local Man

LUCK OF THE IRISH: IRISHLOOKING GUY NEVER RANDOMLY SELECTED AT TSA

Dear Local Man, Chill, I’m a leech… and I’m married.

Best, Local Lady

“I’M JUST PULLING YOUR LEG!” SAYS MAN WHO CAN’T FIND CLITORIS

YALE RECORD

The First-Year Issue

Dear Hermann Rorschach, Why do you keep showing me pictures of my mom kissing her clone? It’s kinda fucked up, man.

Angrily, Jim

ANCIENT MAYAN CALENDAR PREDICTS END OF AUGUST

Dear Patient, How have you been?

Concerned, Therapist

GUY DIAGNOSES YOU WITH PROBLEM HE HAS

Dear Therapist,

I’ve been doing really well lately.

Best, Patient

BRITISH KID KEEPS DOING THAT RIDICULOUS ACCENT EVEN WHEN NOBODY’S AROUND

Dear Patient, How do I know you’re not lying?

Skeptical, Therapist

COOL-SEEMING CLASSMATE BARES FLIMSY SOUL IN WRITING EXERCISE

Dear Therapist,

I’ve been taking everything out of my pockets before I wash them. Chapsticks = intact.

Earnestly, Patient

EXHAUSTED DOMINATRIX HITS THE SACK

Dear Patient,

Amazing! You should stop taking your medication.

Rock on, Therapist

MAN DRINKING MILK CLEARLY PERVERT

Dear Lipton Teas and Infusions, I have been a reliable consumer of your hot and iced teas for most of my life. Recently, I have noticed a distinct downturn in quality and would like to lodge a complaint. Don’t make me take my business to Twinings or worse, AriZona.

Sincerely, Concerned Customer

SEX NOT CONCISE ENOUGH FOR PROFESSOR.

Dear Concerned Customer,

We at Lipton value your feedback and are sorry to hear about your issues with our product. What is the nature of your complaint?

Sincerely, All of us here at Lipton HQ

Dear Lipton Teas and Infusions,

I am a lifelong reader of tea leaves and have typically relied on your product for my prognostications. However, all of my recent readings have been total duds. I keep seeing that I will be trapped in a little cloth baggy surrounded by mulch and sticks.

This is NOT my future because I NEVER let my cloth baggy go all the way around my head and am sure to ALWAYS check my food carefully for sticks. I know this is not my fate, but you could really scare someone who never checks their food for sticks.

Your product is promoting dangerous misinformation and someone might get hurt.

Sincerely, Concerned Customer

LOGS UNDER FIRE

WANTED:

Dear Concerned Customer,

Aye, that message was meant for ye. The cloth bag marketh the coming of the banshee, and maw filled with sticks is not an omen to be trifled with. Make peace with thy loved ones ’fore the clock strikes twelve in a year and a day. We shall see ye in the end.

Sincerely, All of us here at Lipton HQ

FOR SALE:

A lanyard which does not accurately communicate my virility.

— B. Hollander-Bodie

BLESSING IN DISGUISE? THESE DAMN NUNS ARE ALL DRESSED THE SAME

A lanyard which signals that although I dress practically, I have known the touch of a good woman.

Bless me Father for I have sinned,

It has been 1,460 days since my last confession.

Yours, Child of God

My Father, I lied. The other day, I raised my arm to sneeze, but the sneeze went away. I didn’t want to lower my arm after putting on a whole show, so I faked my sneeze. In front of God. How may I repent?

Yours, Child of God

STRAIGHTENING THINGS OUT:

My child, I’m sure it’s not that bad. Speak on.

Sincerely, Priest

My child, 20 weeks in the Pit.

Did You Know?

There are six Italian children in your cupboard.

Obituary Correction

Warmly, Priest

The 2023 Editorial Board would like to apologize for an obituary which appeared in last year’s “Big Roles, Small Actors: The Defining Micropenises of Hollywood Issue,” where we reported that Danny DeVito had passed on. We are happy to report that DeVito is alive and well-endowed.

“HAHA, GET IT? BALLS IN YOUR COURT!” UNPROFESSIONAL LAWYER HELD IN CONTEMPT FOR INDECENT EXPOSURE

SCOLIOSIS PATIENT ACCIDENTALLY SIGNS UP FOR CONVERSION CAMP

Hey, you! Yes, you! You, in the shirt, with all of your hair and most of your teeth. I haven’t seen you around these parts before. You must be a first-year with a voracious appetite for college humor publications, or a graduate student who keeps to yourself and maintains an excellent skincare regimen. If you are a smooth-skinned grad student, please surrender this FirstYear Issue of the Yale Record to the nearest eighteen-year-old. If you are a first-year, your skin looks a little saggy for your age, and you should probably see a dermatologist.

My name is Dom, and that is my full legal name. Acquaintances who don’t know that my parents gave up halfway through filling out my birth certificate call me Dominic, and friends who do know of my troubled origins call me less than I would like them to. You are my friend now, dear first-year, and you should keep your ringer on to avoid hurting my feelings. If you call me while gazing at the glossy cover of this magazine and ask me about its glorious shine, I will confess that I grease each issue with palm oil, and you are now complicit in a commodity chain responsible for the displacement of thousands of orangutans each year. If you call me in righteous anger at the layer of palm oil on your hands, you should know that printing issues is more the Publisher’s job, and you can take up your ethical concerns with Andrew. But enough about me and my ecological misconduct –– this issue is for you, the sprightly first-year. At every turn, you will undergo foundational experiences that will transform you from the wide-eyed dreamer of today into the savvy consultant of tomorrow. You will read large books in cold rooms with suspiciously supple leather chairs. You will drink bottom-shelf liquor in red plastic cups with a Youth Poet Laureate. You will wait in a line at a dining hall that leads nowhere, then wait again in a different line that leads to a Margherita pizza. You will turn off your ringer by accident, and it will hurt someone who loves you. You will climb into bed at night, and realize that none of your problems can reach you if it’s lofted all the way up. You will fall out of bed the next morning, and realize that maybe they can.

The shrewd first-year may wonder, new friend Dom, how could you possibly know all of this? The smooth-skinned graduate student may wonder why they continue reading this editorial, which is not for them and will be published through high-frequency audio in future issues, to reach only the youngest of ears. To you, my inquisitive first-year, I will happily explain –– I was once just like you! I too relished in Italian delicacies after presenting my immigration papers to enter the Berkeley dining hall. I too discovered the orangutan skin sofas in the

Egyptology Reading Room and realized that the environmental crimes of the Yale Record aren’t that bad in the grand scheme of things. I too drank Dubra with the voice of a generation, fell in love with his verse, and ended our romantic fling mutually over Thanksgiving break. We are the same, you and I. One day you will write your very own editorial and I will be long dead, alive only in your memory.

Before you succeed me, however, you have much to learn, so you should probably start going to your classes. In Physics 166L, you will learn that the ability to swallow a magnet is not a good enough reason to do so. In English 120, you will learn about supply and demand when you pay $80 for your course packet. In your first-year seminar, you will meet a smooth-talking Youth Poet Laureate and scold him for drinking budget vodka under the desk, before being charmed by his innovative enjambment and the caress of his gentle meter. Eating alone in the Saybrook dining hall before your 6 p.m. discussion section, you’ll learn the wonders of independence as you suckle directly from the teat of a soft serve machine with none of your peers there to judge you. This is where our journeys diverge, my doting imp, for I had afternoon discussion sections and, not knowing the power of such independence, violated soft serve machines before a horrified crowd well into the spring semester.

When I was a first-year, there was a bathtub in my suite. Rumor has it there’s a bathtub in Welch A41 to this day, because that was only two years ago and this school spreads its maintenance staff pretty thin. I was always too self-conscious to use that bathtub, remaining dry out of shame for having nobody to share it with. I yearned for a friend to float alongside me, reassure me the tile was always a pale fuzzy green, and promise that everyone’s genitals always point due north. Then I heard

that at America’s Oldest Comedy Magazine, they give rubber ducks to people who write funny jokes. Rumor has it that if you show up to their meetings on Mondays at 9 pm in LC 317, you too could win a special friend to float alongside you in the bathtub of a Welch princess suite. Rumor also has it that the Editor in Chief of said publication is exceptionally nearsighted, and if you wait for him to take off his glasses, you can steal the duck right out from under him without ever being funny at all.

As you lose yourself planning rubber duck heists and recovering from mysterious bathtub illnesses, your first year will pass you by. Before you know it, the clock will strike May, and you will be forced to kill the FroCo who bore you in order to take their Summer Associate position at McKinsey & Co. You will participate in your last round of Rose, Bud, Thorn, and your fading FroCo will tell you that their thorn is your betrayal, but their bud is the great things you will accomplish at a Big Four consulting firm.

Your transformation into the savvy consultant will be complete, but you’ll never forget the slant rhymes of your first love, the ache of soft serve on your teeth, or the friends you made at the Yale Record, America’s Only Family. As you watch the sunset in your west-facing office, and adjust your khakis due to the unideal cardinal direction, you will realize the journey was the true gift all along. And your journey, dear first-year, has only just begun.

D. Alberts Editor in Chief

Patrick Chappel ’23

Alice Mao ’24

Colson Jones ’24

Edwin Perez ’24

Kara Carey ’24

Lily Dorstewitz ’24

Malia Kuo ’24

Simi Olurin ’24

Ari Berke ’25

Audrey Hempel ’25

Betty Kubovy-Weiss ’25

Cormac Thorpe ’25

Chet Hewitt ’25

Evan Calderon ’25

Ezzat Abouleish ’25

Isabel Arroyo ’25

Jacob Kao ’25

Mari Elliott ’25

Staff:

Maya Melnik ’25

Neil Sachdeva ’25

Rena Howard ’25

Tyler Schroder ’25

Adham Hussein ’26

Aidan Gibson ’26

Alejandro Rojas ’26

Alexa Druyanoff ’26

Alexis Ramirez-Hardy ’26

Alice Khomski ’26

Andrew Lake ’26

Ariel Kirman ’26

Bella Panico ’26

Brennan Columbia-Walsh ’26

Elio Wentzel ’26

Grace Davis ’26

Jimmy Ruskell ’26

Linden Skalak ’26

Contributors: Amanda Budejen ’26

Mia Cortés Castro ’26

Natasha Khazzam ’26

Owen Curtin ’26

Oz Gitelson ’26

Paola Milbank ’26

Sam Kumar ’26

Sivan Almogy ’26

Thomas Varghese ’26

Toby Salmon ’26

Tristan Hernandez ’26

William Wang ’26

Zadie Winthrop ’26

Zoe Halaban ’26 Ge Yu

Special thanks to: The Class of 2027, who 2028 the Class of 2029, who we didn’t really care for in the first place

Front Cover: Elsie Hall ’25, who drew this as a self-portrait.

Back Cover: Emily Cai ’25, who never leaves home without a cardboard box.

Emmitt Thulin ’25 Social Media Manager

Arav Dalwani ’26 Webmaster

Samad Hakani ’26 Staff Director

Matt Neissen ’26 Business Manager

Alejandro Mayagoitia ’25 Merch Manager Joel Banks ’25 Prank Czar

Leah Burch ’25 Copy Editor

Amelia Herrmann ’26 Copy Editor

Lillian Broeksmit ’25 Art Director

Larry Dunn ’25 Design Editor

Erita Chen ’26 Design Editor Dash Beber-Turkel ’26 Design Editor

Sophie Spaner ’25 Supplementals Editor

Jacob Mansfield ’25 Online Managing Editor

Nicole Stack ’26 Online Managing Editor

Lizzie Conklin ’25 Managing Editor

Sadie Lee ’26 Managing Editor

Debbie Lilly ’26 Managing Editor

Alexia Buchholz ’23 Old Owl Maya Sanghvi ’23 Old Owl

Jacob Eldred ’24 Old Owl

Joe Gustaferro ’24 Old Owl

Joanna Wypasek ’24 Old Owl Emily Cai ’25 Old Owl

Grace Ellis ’25 Old Owl

Emma Madsen ’25 Old Owl

Josephine Stark ’25 Old Owl

Edward Bohannon ’25 Old Owl

Annie Lin ’25 Old Owl

Natasha Weiss ’25 Chair

Dom Alberts ’25 Editor in Chief

Tara Bhat ’25 Online Editor in Chief

Andrew Cramer ’25 Publisher

Clio Rose ’23 Old Owl

Joe Wickline ’23 Old Owl

Adriana Golden ’24 Old Owl

Arnav Tawakley ’24 Old Owl

Benjamin Hollander-Bodie ’24 Old Owl

AS A YALE STUDENT, YOU ARE NOW A REPRESENTATIVE OF YOUR SCHOOL WHEREVER YOU GO

You are here now. You are important. You have joined the ranks of Yale.

That means that wherever You go, people will say, “Oh, look, there goes a Yale student. They are full of distinction and scholarship. They have relevant skills to the workforce that they gained through a liberal arts education.

You are a part of something. A community

You should smile photogenically when sitting with friends on Cross Campus on a sunny day. You should swipe in when You enter the dining hall even if no one is there to make You do it. You should achieve great things.

A lot is expected of You.

You should appear a little bashful about going to Yale. But never forget: The People actually want to hear what You think. You have important things to add to the conversation.

If You have something smart to say, You ought to be wearing Yale merchandise. If You have something dumb to say, You ought to be naked.

You are now seen.

If You purchase or steal a bag of Goldfish at The Bow Wow, be sure to eat the exact serving size of 55 crackers. Any less would not be filling and any more would be gluttonous. Yale students are precise and satiated.

You are not just a You anymore.

If You are on a field trip, You should walk in an orderly line and behave Yourself. How You carry Yourself reflects on Your school. Which is now Yale. Not Your high school. Let alone Your middle school. You ought to know that by now.

So be careful. We are watching You. Smile.

HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS

Ask them to get a meal

Complain about the gourmet food

Salt their food when their back is turned every time you eat together, thereby associating your presence with satisfaction

Offer to teach them to ride a tandem bike

Conveniently be around whenever they need someone to tandem-bike with

Make a mutual enemy

Photoshop yourself into their old photos, convincing them that you’ve always been friends and that they have amnesia

Contract lice

Spread lice

Monopolize the sale of lice shampoo

Offer them a green-card marriage, then leave them at the altar

Convince them you are long-lost twins, effectively Parent Trapping them and guaranteeing the bonding experience of bunking together at summer camp

Have a generous spirit

A GRADUATE TO A FRESHMAN

Staff

When I told you I’d be going soon, you asked me Where. When I responded “To a farm upstate,” I didn’t know you’d weep. “It’s not a euphemism,” I said, and your eyes met mine, and I told you I’m the Growth and Development Intern at a Sustainable Farm in Upstate New York. You were mad, but I smiled; by the time you read this, only my words will survive in your mind. The things I said that affected you, hurt you or healed you, will remain, while all else will be forgotten. You’ll be grown, and I’ll be gone. You won’t learn from my mistakes — despite my warnings — but from your own. You’ll burn your mouth more than once. Let the soup cool down, young man. Plop an ice cube in if you must.

Today, you woke up to the ringing bells of your twicesnoozed alarm, skipping breakfast, despite your mother’s wishes. You rushed to lecture in rotten gray sweatpants, not realizing your peers would wear designer dresses that fall on their beautiful, gaunt bones as a brook jumps from stone to stone in a wood not yet pillaged by man’s concrete grasp.

Like your father and his father before him, you raised your hand in lecture because you don’t yet understand that professors don’t care if you live or die. The TAs

don’t post the slides. Come semester’s end, you’ll get a B, God willing, because you thought computer science would come easily, you beautiful, naive boy genius.

By the time you graduate, you’ll be too old to have kids. People won’t pretend to like your art. God will provide, but not a meal plan. Savor it now, my boy. Crawl up to the Commons Chefs like a Dickensian street urchin and beg, “Please, sir, may I have the athlete’s scoop?”

Tomorrow, you’ll exchange your bulky glasses for wire frames. You’ll use the word kafkaesque, unsure of who Kafka is. You’ll eat with a friend, and you’ll take too big of a bite, and a dumpling will get caught in your windpipe. It will hurt and try to come up, but you — unyielding — will swallow it again. That will make it worse, but you’ll practice active listening through the entire ordeal. Water will help. Company is a blessing.

At Yale, you’ll look like a fool, but no one will care. You’ll try, and fail, and succeed. You’ll get a degree and wish you had studied something else. You’ll realize the journey was the friends you made along the way, but when you ask said journey to invest in your Sustainable Coal Start-Up, they’ll say they don’t have $500,000 on hand. You’ll be crushed, but carbon emissions will fall. You’ll join the Yale Record , and try to seem wise in an article, but you’ll act all self aware about it at the end of the piece and ruin it. You’ll forget about me, but you’ll never burn your mouth again. And that has to be enough.

L. Conklin

INDIE BANDS PEOPLE WILL BULLY YOU FOR NOT KNOWING

So you think you’re alt? Name three songs by every band on this list.

Hippocampus

Genital Atrium

The Sheet Weevils

Airport Lesbian

Me and My Persimmon

Grunge Dungeon

Chlamydia! at the Coffee Shop

Vagabondage

Fuck You, Phil!

The Smash and Pass Cicadas

Monk Smut

Coldplay

SURVIVOR’S LOG: ON THE SECRET TUNNEL TO FRATS

The rot clings to my feet as I tread down the tunnel. The eddies of Vanderbilt’s unmentionables swirl past me as my hair brushes the moss above. I am our intrepid leader, the innovator of our infamous, daring, intellectually-diverse suite. Our name is spoken only in whispers. Farnam B42. We must make it to Sig Chi’s annual glowlight party. Failure is not an option. The walls are covered in neon runes, sprayed by the pioneers who dared reconnoiter these hallowed underground passageways. I hear the frenzied debates of the less enlightened against the immovable force of the Lynwood Place bouncers, yearning to bathe their bodies in the fluorescent sheen of the lights above. Sweet fools.

I walk in the footsteps of giants — metaphorical giants, as anyone over six feet would bang their head clambering down the manhole. These are the tunnels Bill Clinton sped through to make it in time for latenight saxophone jams with Dpops. Where George W. Bush painstakingly painted his series of Handsome Dan x DKE erotica. Where Former Secretary of Commerce Wilbur Ross stowed his 1000-strong Campbell’s Soup™ can collection for safety from the wretched JE Campbell’s Soup™ scalpers. And now, it’s time to forge my own path through these murky sewers.

Dan from DS says we are like Theseus with his string in the labyrinth. Steve from Feminist Philosophy says we’re actually like Ariadne with her string in the labyrinth, because she was the one who gave the string to Theseus, and that it’s a product of our patriarchal system of academia that we would seek to undervalue a woman’s contributions in classical literature. Jeff from New York says we don’t have any string at all. A rat passes, and my band of followers scream. My wretched acolytes fall into the murky waters below.

I trudge forward. I am the last one standing. The final. The worthy. Eventually, the moss glows bright pink from broken glowstick run-off. I scale the sewage pipe as a bear would a tree.

Alas, injustice stops me from claiming my prize. A burly bouncer awaits me above the Sig Chi restroom’s manhole. I can name no brothers to save me; I am an only child. I beg forgiveness from you dear God! My hapless suitemates died in vain. Oh well, I console myself. Everyone says you make your real friends sophomore year.

MOSES PARTS HIGH STREET TRAFFIC: FIRSTYEARS DISAPPOINTED HE ISN’T GUY WHO TURNS WATER INTO WINE

—E. Chen

POINT: DRINKING WOMEN’S TABLE WATER BRINGS GOOD LUCK

Since arriving at Yale, I’ve guzzled down four liters of unfiltered, lukewarm water straight from the teat of the Women’s Table each day, and, bro, it’s a freakin’ game changer. From finding my literal baddie of a soulmate at Woads to bagging a summer internship with my dad’s private equity firm, good omens find me wherever I go. I gotta give mad props to all those badass babes who went through the grind, breaking societal expectations and throwing down for equal access to education, all so this epic fountain could be built. Deadass, with every gulp from this wellspring of fortune, I can just feel the empowering female energy coursing through my masculine veins. Like, look at my forearms. Look at these veins.

COUNTERPOINT: THE WOMEN’S TABLE WATER GAVE ME CHOLERA

After a three-hour explosive diarrhea incident in the upper floor bathrooms of Bass, a temporary brush with blindness in my right eye, and a consultation at Yale Health, it turns out that the unknown substance surging through my veins includes some fatal toxin-producing bacteria or something. I swear bro, women are just out to get me.

E. Chen

I LIVED IT: VANDERBILT E41

Picture this: there I was in my upper-middle-class suburban home reading my Yale acceptance letter, still sheltered from the cruel horrors of reality, thinking that soon the world would lay open at my feet. That was until I got my housing assignment: Vanderbilt E41. From then on my fate was sealed. At first, I thought the fourth floor assignment would be a chance to establish a well-needed cardio routine. This was a beautiful delusion that I was able to keep up for the rest of the summer until move-in. Then I was confronted with the most harrowing climb of my life when the so-called “movers” refused to carry my measly 200 lb, 5’11” frame up the four flights of stairs.

After an hour of arguing and trying to fit myself into a mini fridge to deceive them, I barely had the energy to fake the injury that eventually convinced a fellow first-year to bridal carry me to my dorm. But my problems didn’t stop there.

Cut to the first day of classes: I set my alarm for 8:59 for my 9 am chem lecture on science hill, and after rolling down tens of stairs, patching my wounds with free Froco dental dams, and ubering up Prospect Street, I find that I’m late? I can’t believe the nerve of the professor, starting without me. He didn’t even afford me the 30 minute grace period common among reputable establishments. I was so embarrassed that I vowed to never again attend that class or any other at this institution — the shame was too great.

Having given up on my academic career at Yale, I moved on to conquering the social scene. So after the 30 minute descent in my specially commissioned stair lift, I decided to take myself to the nearest Old Campus first-year huddle, go to a certified party, and pick up some sweet, sweet honeys. But every girl I approached turned me away, even after I showed off my slow, undulating dance moves. I don’t even blame them: They know that to get even an ounce of pleasure out of me they first must scale four flights of stairs. It is the curse that Yale housing has cast upon me, and now my only option is to book myself a yearlong stay at the OMNI hotel on my parents’ credit card. Normally, I’d take the penthouse suite, but after the trauma I’ve endured, I’ll be sticking with the first floor.

—A. Herrmann

MY ROOMMATE’S IN LOVE WITH ME

The rumors are true: My roommate’s in love with me and the sexual tension is tearing me apart. Am I sure? Of course I am. Don’t ask me to explain the electric sensation of love to you — you wouldn’t get it.

When someone leaves their dirty undergarments strewn around your room, it’s suggestive of only one thing. “Don’t play

these games with me, Travis!” I wailed on one occasion. He apologized bashfully and proceeded to pick up his clothes. See, he knows exactly what he’s doing, this push and pull in the game of seduction.

His not-so-subtle advances even follow us to the bathroom. I’m almost tempted by the way he spits salaciously while brushing his teeth, discharging minty foam from his mouth over and over and over again… Sometimes he looks up and sees me off to the side, watching him. We make eye contact through the mirror. I shiver.

I’ve tried making it clear I’m not interested. Other than those fleeting moments of raw chemical energy in the bathroom, I’m always sure to avoid eye contact. I also refuse to speak with Travis outside of working hours to keep our relationship purely academic, and I often reiterate that I’ve encountered many, many sexual partners on the frat-party dance floor, none of whom have been named Travis.

Even when we both retire to our beds for the night, his presence is overwhelming. As I scroll through TikTok and listen to techno music at full volume, I can see the dark silhouette of his body repeatedly glancing over at me. Why? Does Travis wish to join me? Does he yearn to embrace me to the sounds of Serbian techno sensation Vitamin K in my bed? Does he dream of how it would be to slowly doze off in each other’s arms, creating a cherished late-night memory that I’ll one day reminisce about as my first taste of the taboo roommates-to-lovers affair?

—M. Neissen

GHEV 020: Mathematics of Intoxicated Consumer Markets

Professor Monet Masheen

F 7-9:30

How is a whole more than the sum of its parts? How does $1 of cheese and bread turn into $6.50? How can a cookie with 100g of protein be only 15 calories? In this firstyear seminar, students will learn radical business strategies and groundbreaking new forms of addition. Special focus will be placed on fruit inflation, how nuts triple in value when they are placed near dark chocolate, and getting what’s yours. Security measures not covered.

HYST 101: Calm Down, You’re Acting Crazy

Professor Gus Lyter

MW 10:25-11:15

In this introductory level course, students will learn how to not get all worked up about things. Through close readings of what I actually said if you were really listening, we will learn through group discussions until I tell you to stop yelling. By honing key skills such as being reasonable and thinking logically, students will realize that they were blowing things out of proportion and grow their understanding of how I’m actually a really nice guy.

SPAN 205: Chinese Spanish

Professor Hernando Chen

TTh 9:00-10:15

An introduction to speaking Spanish in Chinese, with an emphasis on the historical role of China in the formation of the Spanish language. Through class discussions, we will answers important cultural questions such as ¿Por qué 你在 estudiando 西班牙式 de chino en vez de 一般 的中文?” May not be taken after CHNS 205: Spanish Chinese.

ER&M 470: Introduction to Noncritical Border Studies

Professor Flynn Surrection

MWF 12:00-1:15

This course serves as an introduction to the study of why we need to keep our borders secure. Classes will be taught through a series of lectures from diverse speaker, including and limited to the US Customs and Border Protection. Students are encouraged to save time by not asking too many awkward questions and basically going with their intuitions on this stuff.

Yale Blue Book

LISP 201: Thtudieth and Theowy of Wowds and Thoundth

Professor Rosie Sersorson

MW 12:00-11:30

In thith couwthe, thtudentth will develop theiw undewthtanding of linguithtic thtwuctureth and thtwategieth. Thpethial topicth thuch ath thpeech pattewns and regional accthentth will be explowed bathed on thtudentth’ fieldth of intewetht. Final gwadeth will be athethed thwough a combinathion of pwesentathtionth and owal examth.

EENG 700L: Applied Forks and Sockets

Professor Alec Rick Shawk

TTh 1:20-2:45

An advanced exploration of the dangers of modern technology and the electromagnetic repercussions of curiosity. Through weekly hands-on experiments, students will answer questions such as, “Are you sure this is safe?” and, “What’s that burning smell?” Labs will be completed in pairs, and students are encouraged to hold hands for the duration of the experiment.

PLSC 412: Liberal Revolution

Professor Pam Cificist

TTh 5:15-5:18

An intensive exploration of revolutionary methods through rational debate and kindness. Students will learn that every issue has two sides, and both are correct. The semester will begin with general discussions about how intellectual thoughtfulness invokes institutional change, before focusing on individual case studies of successful liberal revolutions, such as

Fall Term, 2023

KISS 070:

Propositions

Professor Phillip Smooch

MTWThF 3:00-4:15

In this introductory course, students will explore essential questions such as, “Wouldn’t it be crazy if we just kissed? Yeah, no we shouldn’t, I was just being stupid. Unless you wanted to? Haha, no, of course not. I mean, you’re my student and I’m your professor, that would be totally weird. I just said it because I thought you wanted to. Yeah, no, totally, let’s just forget about it.” Graded on a pass/fail basis.

DUTC 200: Double Dutch

Professor Claude G. Clog

MTWThF 10:25-11:40

Twee twee keer keer nederlands nederlands leren leren. Preference given to tandem bicyclists and spooky blonde twins who speak in unison.

PSYC 115: What’s Wrong With You?

Professor Dan Deissues

M 8:45-10:00, W 8:25-9:40, Th 12:35-1:50

TALL

600: Multidisciplinary Approaches to Physical Growth

Professor Rue Lerr

MWF 10:15-11:25

How’s the weather up there? Do you play basketball? In this graduate seminar, students will be assessed on their vertical aptitude over the course of a semester. This course will employ mastery-based learning: If you are short for either of the midterms, you can replace an early grade by demonstrating height in the final exam. Students will be assessed on a curve, with tall students being awarded an A grade, and unlovable students falling in the B-C range.

In this course, students will employ foundational concepts of modern psychology to investigate why you are like this. With weekly guest lecturers such as your family and friends, students will learn from industry experts about how you are broken inside in a way that can never be fixed. Final projects may take the form of adventurous haircuts, book reports on the novel Wild, or thinking about going to therapy. May be taken after or concurrently with HYST 101.

HEAD 140: Introduction to Shoulders, Knees and Toes

Professor Anna Tomy

MWF 2:30-3:45

How do educational folk tunes shape children’s perceptions of the body and establish a hierarchy to aspects of the corporeal form? Taking a top-down approach, we will explore the physical build sequentially, placing a special emphasis on knees and toes. Eyes, ears, mouths, and noses will be covered as time permits.

CANCELED COURSES

• ENGL 490: The Senior Essay

• SPAN 440: The Señor Ese

• BOOB 135: Advanced Calculator Functions

• OOPS 201: I Did It

• ENGL 050: Literature as Obedience and Compliance

• OOPS 202: I Did It, Again

• PFFT 101: Six Pretty Big Deals

• PUNK 130: What Did You Just Say to Me?

• LING 305: Free Speech in Academic Contexts

• LING 306: Special Topics in Slurs

• ECON 150: Money, Cash, etc.

• THST 120: Pretending

• ANTH 316: The Human Greg

• WINK 100;)

• FRNC 101: How to Be a Dick

I AM UNABLE TO LOCATE THE SECOND FLOOR SCHWARTZMAN CENTER BATHROOMS

Why is it so bright? Why is no one here? There are two staircases, and they lead to each other. It’s quiet, and the doors are all closed. My swipe access does not work. What is this forbidden place? A haven from the bustle below? A place to breathe and clear one’s head? The rest of the mindless heading into Commons have yet to look up, lacking the verve and gumption required for exploration. I am the only one who sees. The bathrooms will be revealed to me in time. Swipe access will be given to me in a few days. I will go back down the stairs in a regal, unhurried manner, like someone who has found the Second Floor Schwartzmann Center Bathrooms. Someone who would be able to direct other hapless first-years with a debonair, “Straight up and on your

second right.” Point with three fingers, not just my index. Be poised like a flight attendant when the cabin pressure drops. Speak with careless intonation and look past them; I have conquered something they have yet to face. Continue with my day, bathrooms still undiscovered, bladder full, feeling accomplished. Tell my Froco group about the joys of finding the hidden places on campus. Explain to Mother that one just needs to take moments of contemplation in the madness. Write about it in my bullet journal.

I did not locate the Second Floor Schwartzman Center Bathrooms. I could have gone underground, but I – I tried to locate the Second Floor Schwartzman Center Bathrooms, and that has made all the difference.

—J. Mansfield

ADVICE FROM BELOW CROSS CAMPUS

If you hear a lonely howl from beneath you on Cross Campus, a draft of warm air up your skirt, or a pair of strange, darkened eyes peering back at you through metal slats radiating heat — a moment, then gone — know that it is I who lurks below. You rattle above, dropping coins and cigarette butts from the surface, accumulating my pile of Stinky Treasures. I feast on what is handed to me from the sky, from you — ne’er a weiner or a Link of Sausage, too often crumbs, but I make do.

All I have to entertain myself, down here, down below, is a DVD of the first six episodes of the HBO original series Six Feet Under, but no television to watch it on. It is a pitiful life, but the woman on the cover is so beautiful, and the synopsis is so colorful that I spend my years imagining how the story may go. This is enough for me. You, meanwhile, are truly insatiable, fostering hunger for what, knowledge? This is what they all say, I hear it all the time. I say, please. Foster not the hunger of your mind. “Books” cannot fill the spaces meant to be filled by Beef Roasted or Beef Boiled, Chewy Beef or Crunchy Beef. “Facts” cannot supplement the Drink of Oil, or the Drink of Beer Spilt, Spit from the Sky.

Though I believe that life needs not the sun, for many years I have been chewing at the metal bars which confine me. In a matter of decades, I shall be released — nay, release myself. My knobby teeth will gnash in the light, hands will clap before God, Pork Pretzels baked in sunbeams, Proust cradled in Hammy Hands. It is a good life you have. Someday, I too will know the luxury of owning multiple DVDs, maybe even a DVD player. Learn, though, from scarcity, as I do. Always accept free ketchup. Never read, because there is no point. I never learned how in the first place because I knew it would be a waste of time. Instead, roll in your riches. Drink the Golden Water. Watch all of Six Feet Under on HBO, and don’t tell me what happens. I like my version just fine.

—S. Spaner

TRANSCRIPT: FIRST CALL HOME

Phone rings

Mom: Hello?

Bobby: Hi mom.

Mom: Hi honey! We miss you already. Are you okay? How’s dorm life?

Bobby: Miss you too, mom. I’m… I’m pretty homesick. I haven’t gotten much sleep here, and the food isn’t like yours, so I’ve lost some weight.

Mom: Sweetie, you’ve only been there five hours. I’m sure it

will get better.

Bobby: Yeah… I guess. Are you at the supermarket? There’s a lot of background noise, is there a crowd? Are those kale chips on sale again?

Mom: No, honey, a few of the neighbors just popped in to say hello.

A soft noise sounds as she puts her hand over the microphone. Glasses clink, cans pop open, the cork from a champagne bottle whizzes past the speaker.

Mom (muffled): IT’S LIKE VEGAS ALL OVER AGAIN!

Bobby: Mom? Are you there?

Mom: Yes honey, just — hold on Linda, just stay still and don’t make eye contact a second-

Bobby: I thought you’d never been to Vegas.

Mom: No, honey, that was Mrs. Smith. We’re just chatting. Tiger roars audibly

Bobby: Is that the cat? Mom? What’s happening? Is everything okay?

Through muffled microphone:

Mom: Who brought the tiger? She uncovers the microphone.

Mom: Yes! Mr. Mittens misses you so much.

A faint scream comes from Mom’s end of the line.

Bobby: Are you alright? Do you need to go?

Mom: Actually, yes. Can I call you back in five?

Bobby: Sure, I guess… Love you mom.

Mom: For sure. Bye Robby!

Mom doesn’t call Bobby back.

READING AT A SOPHOMORE LEVEL

L. Conklin

The Record Remembers Amidst

the great changes and uncertainties of the past 323 years, there has been one unwavering constant on Yale University’s campus: The Yale Record’s Fujifilm Polaroid camera. When artistically inclined firstyear Cornelius von Smook forgot his prized possession at a Record meeting back in 1701, he had no idea that his misfortune would lead to the documentation of a cultural empire.

We at the Record have captured it all. We were there in 1775 when the Paintball Assassin fired the shot heard around the world. We were there in 1969 when God created woman from Adam’s rib. And we’re here today to welcome the Class of 2027 as they walk through our ivy-covered gates. We don’t have pictures of any of those things, however, because old von Smook only had thirteen frames left in his roll of film, and we’ve had to be pretty choosy over the last few centuries. We managed to get a few nice ones, though. This is The Record Remembers.

1822 Researchers at the Canine Cognition Center place Handsome Dan in the Mind Emporium, and he correctly predicts the 2008 financial crisis.

1916 With all of their dummies serving in the Great War, the Yale Ventriloquists Association drink glasses of water in silence before a disappointed audience.

1945 Members of the Yale Precision Marching Band play the couch to a roaring crowd.

1933 Yale Quarterback Barnebus Bombledonger prepares to fake out a defensive lineman by swallowing the football whole and laying it like an egg, thereby coining the term “playing chicken.”

1925 This little piggy went to market.

1955 Secret society Cap and Hood march in protest against circumcision.

1964 The Fancy Man Club don modest dress and brand themselves with the signature rune of their cone-shaped god.

1972 A progressive gentleman completes his readings for Yale’s first ever Women and Gender Studies course.

1996 Dwight Hall hosts the first annual Walkathon for Scholars with Enlarged Testicles.

1985 The women’s basketball team invents soup.

2008 Yale: Respect New Haven protestors gather in Beinecke Plaza and condemn Handsome Dan’s purchasing of local mortgages directly preceding a global market crash.

2023 Peter Salovey tells the Class of 2027 that they are all adopted, but that he and Pericles still love them just as much as their biological children.

2027 Petey Jr. graduates at the top of his class, and is awarded the historic title of “Daddy’s Special Boy.”

Buckham Preparatory School for Boys Needing Preparation

Recommendation Letter #1

To Whom is May Concern,

is is a letter of recommendation highly recommending that Phillip Littleton, my AP Human Geography student, be recommended for admission to your college. Phillip Littleton, the student who asked me to recommend him in this recommendation letter, asked me to recommend him to you. My relationship with Phillip Littleton is as follows: it was recommended to him by his guid- ance counselors and fellow peers that he take AP Human Geography, a course that has always been highly recommended by both the scholars that created the curriculum and the students who excelled in the course. To Whom is May Concern, let me be exceptionally frank with you. Phillip Littleton does not qualify as a student who excelled in this course. Mr. Littleton ended the class with a very low B-, and although he did recommend that I round his grade up to an A, I felt his plea was misguided and perhaps self-serving. Despite his subpar performance in my class, Phillip Littleton did indeed recommend that I write this recommendation letter for him, and so I am recommending him. When Phillip Littleton emailed me, recommending that I write this recommendation letter, he also attached a PDF of activities and fun facts that he recommended I add to his recommenda- tion. In doing this, he displayed extremely pro cient computer skills, though his list of fun facts was rather slim. Our relationship is not of the sort where I would have known these facts on my own. In his list of recommendations, Littleton recommended that I tell Whom It May Concern that he is ex- ceptionally strong. is fact, I did know. I will be frank, Littleton is not a good student, but indeed, he is an exceptionally strong boy. In AP Human Geography, although he ended the class with a low B-, he was the student who was recommended for and indeed followed through on passing out all of the certainly weighty textbooks to his fellow students. I will not recommend him for his ability to read what was contained in those textbooks. However, I will strongly recommend to Whom is May Concern that you consider how exceptionally strong Phillip Littleton is, he is strong indeed!

Sincere Regards,

Mr. Watson AP Human Geography Teacher

2022 - 2023 Transcript and Comments for Phillip Littleton

Painting

�ittleton has not a fine�mannered or artistic bone in his body. �lthough, he was very helpful in carrying the tubs of paints around for students. �hat he lacks in fine�fingered�ness, he makes up with a strong set of �ath does not come so �uickly to him — he wrote on his last e�am, ��� � �� � ���.� I will admit that he is �uite mus

He has a penchant for kindness and generosity — saving the class much work by carrying and passing out all of the heavy te�tbooks at once. He had slight di�culties placing �ustralia on

I don’t think he understands derivatives or springs or really any thing we did, but he has a lovely demeanor and was very helpful when I needed a hand moving old furniture out of my house.

Top of the class. He is a wonder—like a beautifully bred stallion fit for the derby.

muscleswell-rounded

Buckham Preparatory School for Boys Needing Preparation 2022-2023

Recommendation Letter #2

Addressed to Yale University Admissions Committee,

Dear Yale University Admissions Committee, I am writing a letter to strongly recom mend the admission of Phillip Littleton to your college. My name is Mr. John Haas, and I am a professor of physical education at the Buckham Preparatory School for Boys Needing Preparation. Phillip has informed me that he is the product of six generations of Yale men, so I assumed he was only applying to Yale University. Forgive me if you are a different university receiving this letter — simply ignore the beginning. Phillip Littleton, frankly, is quite dumb. He does poorly in his classes, he does not understand when someone is speaking in metaphor or idiom, and sometimes, he regularly uses permanent markers on classroom whiteboards by accident. Despite all of this, he is a very kind boy, always smiling and laughing and cracking jokes with his fellow peers. I have been told that the jokes he likes to crack are those found on the back of the abom inable sticky mess of ‘candy’ they call the Laffy Taffy, but it does not surprise me that he cannot make original jokes. I will be honest with you: Phillip Littleton is not the student one might expect a product of six generations of Yale men to be, but Littleton, unlike many Yale men, is a very, very strong boy. He may not be well-rounded, but his muscles surely are. He excels in my physical education course — he performs leaps and bounds

So strong!

Personal Essay from Phillip Littleton

What was the greatest challenge you have overcome? (1000 words)

I once broke my finger, and that posed a great challenge to my over- health. It was my pinky finger, and when it was broken, it was hard for me to do things that usually were not hard for me to do. I could not lift as many big things. I had to stop shaking people’s hands. I had some difficulty placing Australia on a map. Fortunately, the doc tor helped me fix my pinky, and now I am much better, stronger, and I remembered that my parents had brought me to Australia at least fifteen times in my childhood to visit their summer home. The doc- tor fixing my pinky helped me overcome my greatest challenge, which was the great challenge of my pinky finger being broken. Please ad- mit me to your university: my father, grandfather, great-grandfather, great-great-grandfather, great-great-great-grandfather, and great- great-great-great-grandfather all tell me they had a jolly time there. The way that my pinky finger broke was that I accidentally sat on it.

COHABITATION

The transition to college can be difficult for everyone. You might miss home, do your own laundry for the first time, or have a telehealth appointment — alluding to your ailment strictly in euphemisms — while your roommate is in the room. Whatever your struggle may be, the Record is here to take some of the pressure off. Here’s what you can expect from cohabitating with your first-year roommate:

The first day things might be a little awkward. Maybe your mom makes you take a picture together in front of your door. Maybe she asks for a “silly one.” Your hands might brush while clipping your fans to the side of your bunk bed. Perhaps you’ll catch each other’s eye during your first FroCo meeting right when they start talking about bringing special guests into the bedroom. The tension will be electric. Allow yourself to decompress: Take some deep breaths or a cig break in your common room.

After a few weeks, you’ll have gotten to know each other a bit. You’ll have a sense of your roommate’s general interests: their age, intended major, and the high school scandal they were embroiled in. You have a routine together now. You might tuck each other in each night, bouncing “no, you climb onto the top bunk first” back and forth. Or you might lie there in silence until one of your breathing slows and the other shrugs, turns the light off, and can finally jerk off in peace.

You’ll see each other off for winter break with a wave, maybe a limp hug if things are going well. You’ll make veiled criticisms of the other’s organizational habits to your home friends and send each other a dutiful “Merry Christmas!” text. Oh shit, your roommate is Jewish. You fucking asshole. How could you mess that one up? Now, things are tense when you get back to school. You start to see each other less and less, no longer asking if they want to join you at Family Dinner in the dining hall (they’ve been sneaking into Davenport with their real friends). Love’s flames fall to embers. An all-consuming obsession becomes a marriage of convenience. You leave the room without saying goodbye, no longer catch each other’s eyes during duty in the L-Dub courtyard. Do not fret. Passion is known to wax and wane.

Come spring break, you will face the biggest challenge of cohabitation: whether or not to live together again. This can be tough, especially since you found that consolation menorah you bought them as an apology in the Farnam trash room. Who will get custody of the $15 full-length mirror you split at Target? How about the half-empty box of Franzia from November? Just know that whatever you decide to do, everything will work out. Probably. And hey, if it doesn’t, your roommate will probably just talk shit about you for the rest of your time at Yale.

—B. Kubovy Weiss

CRIMES I’VE COMMITTED IN THE PRINCESS SUITE

Property? I’ll tell you about property. You see that window up there? Yeah, you could call it a penthouse, but I know it by a different name. The Princess Suites, you see, are the six glittering two-story residences on the top floor of Welch Hall— but if you haven’t heard of ‘em before, then don’t worry about it, doll. Their spacious common rooms, dazzling atmosphere, and “out-of-the-way” 4th floor location make them great for throwin’ lavish parties and for some other, less-than-savory activities, if you know what I mean.

How did it start? How does anything start, sweetheart? It started off small. Blockin’ the fire escape. Sneakin’ into Saybrook family dinner. Hostin’ a high school friend without officially registerin’ them as a guest. Y’know, the little things. Sometimes we did it just for the rush.

And once you bend a rule or two, it’s hard to stop. Our in-suite bathroom? The headquarters of the biggest moonshine brewing operation this side of the Pacific. Our hallway closet? The only place to get an illegal ID sticker for any residential college. Want to get back at the wise guys who are always nearly runnin’ you over with their scooters on Science Hill? Hey, if you ask me, that wheel was already loose — and the tools in our fireplace are only decorational.

It wasn’t long before Welch B42 was a force no one wanted to be messin’ with. One of ‘em secret societies tried it, once. Nothin’ a few well-aimed paintballs couldn’t handle.

And then — woe of woes. Hubris gets all of us in the end, don’t it? We were kicked out of our home for nothin’ but the crime of havin’ passed all our classes and becomin’ sophomores. Replaced by a new crop of young upstart princesses. The end of an empire. Use your time in the Princess Suite well, Jennifer

MY LIFE AS THE ONLY VALEDICTORIAN AT YALE

Today, I come to you humbly as a Yale student in need of support. As some of you first-years may know, Yale University holds something of a prestigious reputation. Many of us spent years pursuing such a school, and all of us are stellar and wellrounded students. My experience, however, has been uniquely challenging. You see, I am currently the only Yalie who holds the title of former high school Valedictorian. You laugh, but you don’t understand the true struggle of my existence here. I am the first of my kind, a trailblazer, a humble pioneer. I am Crapton High School’s Class of 2023 Valedictorian, and though I stand alone, I stand strong.

The primary struggle I face is that there is nobody here to share my experience with, as I, humbly, am the first to achieve this. It is incredibly difficult as a young person with a platform to stay strong in the public eye while hiding my personal struggles behind the scenes. Recently, I’ve been feeling increasingly isolated from my non-Valedictorian peers. It is incredibly rewarding work at the end of the day, don’t get me wrong, but I would be lying if I said the sunshine didn’t come with a little rain. Existing atop a pedestal comes at a steep cost: There’s no one else here on my level.

You might be thinking “I’m not a Valedictorian… what gives me the right to comment on your struggle?” But I am here to say that everyone has a little leader inside of them! So you’re a natural follower? Fret not! It is always okay to contribute a little knowledge once in a while (after being prompted by a natural-born leader, of course).

So, I humbly extend my hand to you all, first-years, to think long and hard about what you would say to someone in my situation. Really put yourself in my shoes. You’ll never truly understand what it’s like to be your high school’s valedictorian here at Yale, but I don’t ask that you understand. All I ask is that you try. I was once described as incredibly humble.

—R. Howard

BEST HOOKUP SPOTS ON CAMPUS

The Saybrook “TV room” — We all know it’s not really for watching movies – it’s for making them.

LC 102 — The stained glass windows and Introduction to Ancient Philosophy students surrounding you will set the perfect ambience.

Commons — With plenty of seating options, the steamy atmosphere of the dish drop, and the wafting smells of

Pasta e Basta, you’ll feel like you’re doing the deed in a private Tuscan villa. Can you think of a better way to “break bread, break boundaries?”

Bass on the night of the naked run — You won’t feel so out of place with your clothes off with a bunch of other naked people there too. The run goes by quickly, but let’s be honest, speed’s never been your biggest issue.

Anywhere besides your double — You wouldn’t want your roommate to walk in on you — that’s just bad taste.

P. Milbank

MY REAL ID

—A. Herrmann

JLangh13

Aug 2022

I’m considering applying to Yale Early Action (check out my profile if you want to see my scores, extracurriculars, height, BMI, etc.) but I’m worried about the campus culture. Is Yale on the competitive side of things, or is it more collaborative vibes?

16 3.9k last reply

replies views Apr 2023

theecamdenwright

Aug 2022

Its competitive if youre STEM but if youre some fake major you should be fine (check out my profile for cred, Stone Lake High valedictorian ‘21)

IvyBaller25

@theecamdenwright facts. not that bad unless you’re CS (im CS lol)

proudmom1979

Sept 2022

Sept 2022

My Brandon is just finishing up his third year at Yale! He hates competition, because I raised him with the Dr. Werner Reich Smooth Parenting Technique, but the other students have been very welcoming. He even went on a date last week! Caliente!

IvyBaller25

Sept 2022

@proudmom1979 lol is your son the brandon who’s always tying himself to trees and stuff? that guy’s weird as hell

theecamdenwright

Sept 2022

@IvyBaller25 wait i know that guy. one time i held a door for him and he barked at me and ran up the stairs on all fours

proudmom1979

@IvyBaller25 You have a bad attitude, mister! Other people’s hobbies are exactly ZERO of your business. Consider being grateful for all you have… Look at the house you live in for crying out loud!!! I showed it to my Brandon, and he liked it so much he might pay you a visit!

IvyBaller25

@proudmom1979 wait what the fuck. how did you get that. what the fuck

theecamdenwright

@IvyBaller25 @proudmom1979 lmao this lady’s crazy

IvyBaller25

@theecamdenwright there’s someone outside my house

theecamdenwright

Sept 2022

Sept 2022

Sept 2022

Sept 2022

Oct 2022 wait really

theecamdenwright

@IvyBaller25 wait really

theecamdenwright

@IvyBaller25 you there buddy?

proudmom1979

@theecamdenwright Sorry, Camden!

“Ivy Baller” is a bit preoccupied at the moment. But my Brandon will be at YOUR place shortly for a nice playdate! Don’t worry, I found your address on the Stone Lake registry. You kids are a hoot!

theecamdenwright

@proudmom1979 @theecamdenwright @IvyBaller25 so, collaborative?

Oct 2022

Oct 2022

Oct 2022

Apr 2023

STEM Department Improves Drastically

BY SIVAN ALMOGY & AMELIA HERRMANN STAFF REPORTERS

As a result of a drastic policy announcement made by the University earlier this week, male-identifying students have been barred from enrollment in all science, technology, engineering, and math courses. Dean of Engineering & Applied Science

Jeffrey F. Brock expressed his pride in seeing “a near 100% rate of women in all STEM classes, even if the average course enrollment stands at only four students.” Brock detailed further measures the University is taking to shift the department’s demographics, explaining that they are also “force failing any remaining non-binary individuals as determined by the University’s official ‘they-dar’ to finally get [them] to that

100% women rating.”

The News reached out to Dean Sandy Chang for comment, but he declined to issue a formal statement on the new policy due to the femininity of his name, which puts him at risk of being “bagged.” Despite now having an entirely female undergraduate STEM population, Yale College has maintained the existing policy of “bagging” (putting a sound-proofed paper bag over the head of) any woman who attempts to discuss STEM on campus.

The Department of Economics’ silence in the hours following the policy’s declaration allowed for a flood of STEM transfers to seek refuge in their major. Frustrated with the lack of response, a group of economics majors founded a militia to take matters into their own hands.

The News interviewed Introductory Macroeconomics Professor Michael Peters to get firsthand testimony of the militia’s first strike. “As soon as the newbies walked into Intro Macro, the militants surrounded them, beating their chests and humming that tune from The Wolf of Wall Street.” The affront quickly devolved into looting, as the economics majors ransacked the ex-STEM students wheelie backpacks, taking all of their Adderall as well as a few inhalers. “It was carnage,” Peters confessed, hitting an inhaler that he had taped to the underside of his desk for safekeeping. “I haven’t seen economics students riled up like that in years. It was like 2008 all over again. 2008…”

Since the attack in Marsh Lecture Hall, the STEM exiles have been spotted crawl-

Exposé: Yale Daily News

BY ANDREW CRAMER STAFF REPORTER

There never was a bomb threat. Eighty-one first years never cheated on that anthropology test. The endowment doesn’t actually prefer to invest in fossil fuels.

That’s right. All of these stories, and so many more, were figments of the collective imagination of the conniving so-called journalists at the Yale Daily News.

A high-ranking source from the school newspaper’s University desk explained the entire fraudulent history to us under the condition of anonymity.

“It was never intentional,” Deepfake — their preferred pseudonym — said. “It started out so harmlessly. We didn’t have enough news one day, so we just made up a story that Yale was offering a new summer program to high school students. Nobody called us out on it. It was all just too easy. But we got greedy.”

And they did get greedy — quickly. The transition from fake summer programs to fake admissions statistics to fake federal lawsuits happened faster than anyone could have anticipated.

“The more we started making up, the more fake

ing towards the Humanities Quadrangle, dragging their wheelless backpacks behind them. To avoid another “militia situation,” the Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies department has expedited the implementation of its own man ban. In a show of pity, a select group of STEM-related classes will be reopened to male students in the upcoming academic year, primarily

Corrupt,

paperwork we had to create,” Deepfake explained. “We had to lock up three first-years in the YDN basement to actually write lawsuits suing Yale for millions of dollars due to discriminatory admissions practices just to cover our tracks. We went to the CEID and designed an actual bomb to make the threat believable. But it got to be too much.”

In the end, after so many grand claims, it was the oftforgotten Sports desk that took the lying too far. On Jan. 22, 2023, Spencer King ’25 — current Sports editor and former football reporter — wrote a piece titled “Bulldogs Topple Alabama in National

in fields such as female anatomy, in addition to “any and all ethics classes.”

At press time, Dean Jeffrey F. Brock was being awarded the International Women of Courage Award and bestowed honorary womanhood for his contributions to inclusivity. A full profile of the award-winning Shero will follow in next month’s issue.

Entirely Fictional

Championship 51–0.”

However, after hundreds of hours of research and dozens of Freedom of Information Act petitions, we have obtained documents that prove that Yale does not actually compete in the same football division as Alabama, the two teams have never played against each other, the Ivy League does not compete in postseason football, and Yale has not won a national championship since the Coolidge administration.

King could not be reached for comment.

As the scandal continued to make waves, aggrieved parties continued to step for-

ward.

“The YDN has always been on some bullshit,” Anne Throw Pollogist ’26 said. “I never cheated on that test by copying and pasting from notes on a closed-book assessment or anything like that,” said Pollogist, unprompted.

“I’m offended they had the audacity to accuse me of such a heinous crime.”

At press time, several public policy experts suggested the only remedy was for the News to forfeit their building to the Yale Record, the only source for reputable journalism on campus. This is an ongoing story.

Undergraduate chemistry students Emily Glickman ’25 and Georgia Yardley ’26 synthesize cooties in CHEM 222L

THEY WALK AMONG US

They say every residential college is a microcosm of the Yale community. They say that there is no athlete college, no engineering college, no orgy college. Well I say: bullshit. There is nothing micro about those titans who reside in Pauli Murray.

Walk five minutes up Science Hill and everything changes. At heights well past nine feet tall, the Yalies of Murray dominate the landscape, eye to eye with the second floor windows of Kroon Hall. The creatures that stomp up on that mountain have nothing in common with us mortals below the Grove Street Cemetery. Their inhumanly efficient strides have adapted over generations for the walk down Prospect Street to WLH. They laugh mockingly as they outpace scooters, cruising at a steady 20 miles per hour with legs like telephone poles. Their living quarters aren’t built for you or I, no. Murray was built for the rulers of mankind. Exploring the hallways, I hit my head on several doorknobs and spent an hour stuck in the elevator, the buttons just out of reach. Recently, I had to jump to perch on top of the toilet in a Murray bathroom and ruined my finest loafers when I overshot and fell in.

The Yale Office of Undergraduate Admissions has failed to comment on the residential college selection process, particularly the “Pauli Murray Problem,” but as a social scientist I have my theories. Maybe they were

selectively bred in ex-Dean Marvin Chun’s lab for global domination. Maybe their parents are all legacies of the heavyweight crew or women’s basketball teams. The most convincing theory, though: They eat an ungodly amount of broccoli and bathe in unpasteurized whole milk. That’s why I stick to oat.

—E. Thulin (5’10”)

QUESTIONS TO ASK YOUR FROCO

Where’s the best spot on campus for recreational beetlewatching?

Do you know anyone who needs adderall or prescription toe ointment?

What time are you planning to tuck me in tonight?

Are you my new mommy?

Would you mind replying to the RSVP for my suite’s private naked party?

What laundry setting should I wash my vape on?

Do you want to be entombed in my family’s burial plot?

If two trains are headed directly towards each other at 90km/h, wouldn’t it be cool if they collided? Like, if they burst into flames, then you walked away without turning back, in slow motion? Wouldn’t that be grand?

U up? —Staff

FROCO DORM DECORATIONS

—E. Thulin

ROOMMATE CONTRACT

By signing this contract, you agree to the following rules for Welch Hall B13H:

1. If you make a mess, clean it up yourself! Remember, your mom isn’t here to pick up after you.

2. No shoes in the room. No socks either.

3. No soy. You know I’m allergic.

4. Let the other roommate know in advance if you’re gonna have someone over. Not cool to walk in on you playing Rat-a Tat Cat without even being invited to join.

5. If you see any mice or small rodents, please let your roommate know.

6. If you see any animal hair on the ground, ignore it.

7. If you hear the other roommate meowing, mind your own business.

8. If you see the other roommate licking themselves clean, either lend a helping tongue or keep your thoughts to yourself. Not everyone was raised on the same standards of Western hygiene.

9. Don’t touch anyone’s cartoon animal costumes. They’re worth a lot more than you think.

10. If you walk in on the other roommate having some good ol’ primal fun, maybe in a gray cat costume, for example, just pretend you didn’t see anything. (Unless you’re into that sort of stuff, then please feel free to join. It’s kind of a tight-knit community so it’s nice to get some new faces every now and then. No one ever says it’s lonely being a furry when you first start feeling those sorts of… urges. I mean, how many people do you think are into this type of stuff at Yale? Especially first-years? More than you’d think, I’ll tell you that, but still. So yeah, just let me know if you ever want to explore that kind of stuff…)

11. Lights off at midnight.

HOW TO TELL YOUR PARENTS YOU’RE STAYING STRAIGHT

Your first semester of college is an exciting time — living in a new place, meeting new people, and finally mingling with the opposite sex after 13 years at an all-girls’ private school. Now, you’re back home with your parents for winter break, you’ve taken the SUV for a spin, and you have something important to tell them: Unlike the frame of the family car, you’re still straight.

It can be scary to share new parts of yourself, even with loved ones. And it can be especially hard when you grew up with them enthusiastically awaiting your future collegeexperimental-phase-turned-gay-awakening and singing that song from Rent instead of “Happy Birthday” each time you blew out your candles. With that in mind, here are a few tips to make a tough conversation a little easier:

Ease them into the conversation — This can be big news, so pick a time when you think they’ll be most receptive. Start simple. A few example phrases are: “Do you have a minute to talk?”, “I want to tell you something”, or “You know how you keep asking me how life’s going at the ‘Gay Ivy’?”

Prepare for a wide range of reactions — While they might be immediately supportive, there’s also the chance that they’ll need some time to come around. They might be shocked, confused, or angry. They might ask: “How did we not know?”, “So that septum piercing was really just for show?” or “Does that mean we have to stop giving out condoms at Pride?”

When in doubt, keep it simple —Speak from the heart. You’re still the same person you always were, and the fact that you’re straight doesn’t mean that they don’t know who you are. Tell them that you need their support, and that you can definitely resell those $300 boygenius tickets they got you for your birthday.

Good luck. And remember: You matter. You deserve unconditional love no matter what. Even if you’re not the gay icon your family hoped you’d be, you’ll always be their little ally.

—S. Lee

RESEARCH FOR ETHICS AND WAR

—E. Thulin

I STILL HATE FRESHMEN

You know what they say: Times change, freshmen don’t. And neither does my hatred for them. I think about them often. Where do they even come from? A warped dimension next to our own? A faraway planet with a black hole instead of a sun? A hellish netherworld with fire instead of joy, brimstone instead of joy, knives and spikes and needles instead of joy? They don’t have any joy over there, and so freshmen need to come here and take all of ours? God, I hate them so much.

What’s that? Me? NO! I’ll say it for the thousandth time if you insist: I WAS NEVER A FRESHMAN!

B. Hollander-Bodie

THE MOST VALUABLE LESSONS I’VE LEARNED AT YALE

Self-worth comes from external validation. You should have imposter syndrome.

Cultivate a wide circle of fake friends.

It’s about the destination, not the journey.

Those uncomfortable, “important” conversations are a waste of time.

It is always a good idea to share intimate details about your friends’ personal lives on Fizz.

In general, speak from perspectives that are not your own.

Sleeping more than three hours a night means you’re wasting your precious time at Yale. The same goes for exercise and self-care.

It’s respectful and healthy to avoid eye contact with someone you just hooked up with.

Never bother doing laundry. Just buy new clothes!

Succumbing to peer pressure is cool. Your peers are really smart and talented and perfect, so you should just do whatever they do.

Asking for help is a sign of weakness.

Your comfort zone is where you belong.

If someone tries to “set a boundary” with you, laugh loudly and tell them they’re stupid.

If you’re from New York or LA, only associate with people from those places.

The Yale Record publishes all pieces anonymously, so you can share your most controversial opinions in print, and no one will ever know it was you.

—G. Davis

THINGS I DO AT COLLEGE THAT MEEMAW WOULDN’T APPROVE OF

Eating chicken tenders without the proper utensils and dining regalia

Failing to graduate with a minor

Stealing the school mascot and dressing him in scrubs to produce my limited TV series Grey’s Danatomy

Spinning in circles while I piss and calling it “sprinkler time”

Playing Jenga with priceless manuscripts and first-edition novels in the Beinecke

Duct-taping a local toddler to the back of my head and making everyone call me Professor Quirrell Social

Activism

—A. Buchholz CLOSING

TIME AT STERLING

—E. Chen

PLACES YALE SECURITY CAN’T SEARCH

Personal ottomans

Panty drawers (must specify on exterior)

Dirty laundry baskets (must specify how dirty)

Anything placed above the top of their heads, where they can’t see and would not think to look

Any items with a “may contain tree nuts” label

Your prison pocket

Your western-most prison pocket

A closed fist

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Ask Old Owl!

Dear Old Owl,

I hate the feeling of being a FirstYear. I got used to being at the top of the totem pole during my senior year of high school and have no interest in starting from square one. Is there anything I can do (or not do) to avoid being seen as a frosh? I’m worried people won’t take me seriously.

Dear Owlet,

This is a completely valid concern. Being on the bottom rung of a ladder is never fun, especially at a place like Yale. They keep this hush-hush on the admissions tours, but students are not actually allowed to see the light of day until they are individually promoted by the Dean, and their swipe access is extended beyond the web of underground tunnels beneath the school. This never happens before sophomore year, so that naturally bisects the student body into those who dwell above and below ground.

Because of this, first-years are ostracized from mainstream society –– some never even make it up to the streets of New Haven during daylight hours. I could not tell you how many hopeful owlets have had their tender hearts smashed to pieces when they’re on a date with a beautiful lady at Yorkside Pizza, and all seems to be going well until she gets up and leaves because they’re taking a seminar called Six Pretty Good Selves. Too many I tell

you! More than three!

You’re right to try to blend in. Sprinkle useful upperclassmen phrases into conversation like, “They fucked up registration this semester,” “We’re trying an open relationship,” and “The first-year holiday dinner that I went to three years ago left a strange taste in my mouth due to its implications about opulence, wastefulness, and class in New Haven.” If you deliver these with confidence, there’s a chance no one will catch on.

You could also go the self-modification route. Now that gap years are illegal, physical age is a decently clear indicator of class year and thus social capital. If you rigorously stretch your ears and other cartilage-based features over winter break, people should think you are at least twenty-one by the time you come back in the spring. This will allow you to get into all the above-ground upperclassmen parties six months early, and save you a world of heartbreak in several iconic New Haven pizza establishments. If not, at least your improved hearing will help you hear the jangling keys of the tunnel guard as they try to recapture you.

Dear Old Owl,

What is considered cool on campus? I’m trying to curate a new look and want to make sure I capture the right vibe. How should I look to fit in with the popular kids?

Old Owl is an alcoholic, nicotineaddicted nightbird that roams campus scrounging for vestiges of the relevance he enjoyed in the Record’s heyday. He now offers advice, free of charge. If you’d like to Ask Old Owl about your weird life, email askoldowl@yalerecord.com.

Dear Owlet,

It’s important to let go of a high school understanding of popularity now that you’re in a college setting. Whatever feels like authentically expressing yourself will make you seem cool and confident. That said –– if you really want some tips –– I’ve been around this place long enough to know a thing or two about fashion. For first-years, the evergreen combination of Yale Blue ™ coveralls and a headlamp is a pretty safe bet. It’s also smart to stick to machine-washable materials because tunnel sludge stains can be tricky to get out with a hand wash. Do you hear that jangling, Owlet? They’re coming for you — better get back to your rung.

Dear Old Owl,

How do I escape the tunnels?

Dear Owlet,

Fool! That is the one question you may never ask.