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Post - magazine April 26,2012

Post - magazine April 26,2012

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Published by: The Brown Daily Herald on May 01, 2012
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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upfrontfeaturearts & culturearts & culturelifestylelifestyle
textual intercourse
catherine gross
spring weekend photo spreadat our heels
clayton aldern
lazy ladies
claire luchette
eight people, one room
jen harlan
my old kentucky home
jen harlan
not okay, cupid
anita badejo
emily post-
emily post-
bad sex
Post- Magazine is publishedevery Thursday in the BrownDaily Herald. It covers books,
 theater, music, lm, food, art,
and University culture aroundCollege Hill. Post- editorscan be contacted at post.magazine@gmail.com. Lettersare always welcome, and canbe either e-mailed or sent toPost- Magazine, 195 AngellStreet, Providence, RI 02906. We claim the right to editletters for style, clarity, andlength.
cover // madeleine denman textual intercourse // phil laispring weekend spread // clayton aldern and anita badejoat our heels // anita badejoeight people, one room // phil lailazy ladies // phil lai two mosques and a museum // phil laiapologies to adela wu, whose what cheer? brigade illustra- tion was miscredited, and caroline wasburn, who did our cover. #philseppuku
    w    e    e     k    e    n     d
Sam Knowles
Managing Editor of Features
Charles Pletcher 
Managing Editor of Arts &Culture
Clayton Aldern
Managing Editor of Lifestyle
 Jane Brendlinger 
Features Editor
Zoë Hoffman
Arts & Culture Editors
Anita BadejoBen Resnik 
Lifestyle Editors
 Jen HarlanAlexa Trearchis
Pencil Pusher
Phil Lai
Chief Layout Editor
Clara Beyer 
Contributing Editor Emerita
Kate Doyle
Copy Chiefs
Kristina PetersenKathy Nguyen
Copy Editors
Lucas HuhCaroline BolognaBlake CecilNora TriceChris AndersonClaire Luchette
Staff Illustrators
Madeleine DenmanMarissa IlardiKirby LowensteinSheila SitaramCaroline WashburnKah Yangni
As the euphoria of Spring Weekend fades and the stormclouds gather over College Hill, it is a time of reckoning. Finals
are coming. The time to nd subletters is running out. We
can’t actually wear jorts every day.And for Kristina, Jen, Charles, Anita, and me, there is an evenmore daunting reality to face: This is our last issue at Post-.Like many who came before me and will stay after me, I joined Brown as spankin’ new transfer. It was at Post- thatI learned the ins and outs Brown culture—from ChickenFinger Friday to Main Green–lounging, from Ruth-loving toBerge-watching. It’s where I learned to f*cking love cocaine.(Future employers: That’s an inside joke ... that I don’t quiteunderstand.)But more importantly, Post- is where I met some of the cool-est and most talented folks at Brown. From the
ancien regime,
 there’s Kate, who brought me in and guided me all the way,and Sam and Marshall, who taught me the snark and thevoice in dark alleyways. From the new regime, there are far  too many to name. Check the masthead—it’s long and il-lustrious.
In my departing colleagues, Post- loses four of its nest: Kris
- tina, who made sure we spelled words without silent poundsigns and smiled all the while; Charles, who taught us to mis- trust second-wave feminists and adore the en dash; Anita,who made us all a little more stylish and a lot more fun; and Jen, who gave us newfound respect for theater kids (not just their naked bodies) and took care of all of those important things while no one was paying attention. Like writing half thearticles in this issue.As I prepare for post-Post- retirement, I can proudly say that the publication rests in highly capable hands. Clay, Jane, Zoe,Alexa, and Ben will remain at the perch above 195 Angell,while Amelia and Jennie return at last from the lands of ba-guettes and perpetual rain.Like most good things, it has gone by too fast. I’ll miss it all.As always, over and out,
I used to think I was smooth with the ellas. hen10th grade came along, and I got a cell phone. Yes, Iblame the drop in my level o “game” not on my un-canny ability to place mysel in the most awkward situ-ations possible, nor on my moderate social anxiety, buton the single most important piece o technology in my lie: my iPhone.Maybe it was my ainity or monogamy that stuntedmy textual growth. While my single riends improvedtheir techniques through requent practice, developingwitty banter with their various conquests, the extent o my textual communication consisted o excuses or tar-diness (“sry, b there in 5”) and prudeness (“no, i will notsend u naked pics”). My texting muscles atrophied.Fast-orward to now. I’ve been at Brown or two se-mesters, and although I have been single or a while, Ihave made little progress in educating mysel in the ineart o what I call “textual relations.”o be rank: texting sucks. he way I see it, there arethree main anxiety-provoking aspects o the text con- versation. First: content. I eel that my wit (hilarious asit may be) cannot be eectively communicated in 140characters or ewer. I I do ind something worth say-ing to my crush or hookup, there’s the second problem:punctuation. Period. Dash–emoticon ;)? Exclamationpoint!? here are too many options, each o which pro- vides subtleties and nuances that can be interpreted inan ininite number o unortunate ways. hen there isthe last issue: timing. his is the real killer.ake the guy I met last weekend. We’ll call him Jake.I woke up this morning—9 a.m.—without having re-sponded to a text Jake sent the night beore indicatingthat he would like to see me again. Why did it take meso long to get back to him? Not because I am not inter-ested (Cute? Check. Good kisser? Check.), but becausethe stress o crating an appropriate response indicatingmy interest in his proposition as well as establishing acertain level o alooness was ar too much or me tohandle solo. I igured I would sleep it o and consult my riend in the morning, via text (the irony!), during my perunctory Keeney elliptical session.About ive minutes into my morning workout (sub-text: no makeup, sweaty, already struggling), who butJake walks into the gym. He catches my eye. I panic. Ithas been nine hours, and I still haven’t responded tohis double text, and there was my phone, in plain sight,resting a mere 12 inches rom my ace. A sane personmight have avoided using her phone or the rest o thegym session as to eign phonelessness, but I thought itwas best to harass said text-consultant, asking her whatto do. “JAKE IN GYM. SILL HAVE NO RESPOND-ED O EXS. HELP.Shocker: this only made matters more awkward. AsI typed away, he lited weights behind me. I debated themerits o responding immediately or waiting until oneo us let the gym. I didn’t respond. He let, very quickly.Despite my troubled texting history, I oten ind my-sel Editor-in-Chie o my riends’ textual quandaries.his is deinitely a case o the blind leading the blind,but I try. here was that time my riend was set up witha blind date or our sorority ormal. He was notiied o this setup, and my riend was tasked with contactinghim or a pre-ormal meet-up. What should she text himto initiate the inevitable awkward conversation? I sug-gested, “DF? (down to ormal?)” to break the ice. hatbrilliant idea was met with a lot o contention. She set-tled on a more neutral text: “Hey.” A great debate ensuedover whether or not she should punctuate, or perhapsadd something clever. She stuck with “hey” (no period:periods are aggressive).It’s gotten to the point where Morse Code is lookinglike the better alternative. At least there’s no sarcasm,eagerness, or passive-aggressiveness implied in a simpledash-dot combination. here once was a time when i aguy liked a girl, he called her. Or wrote her. Or talked toher in person. Crazy stu. Now the most one can hopeor is a “sup” on a Friday night—hopeully beore 10p.m., otherwise, you are deinitely in booty-call terri-tory.
Illustration by Phil Lai
Textual Intercourse
fumbling fingers in the smartphone era
catherineGROSScontributing writer
music is
wondering if you’d judge us for listening toCoheed and Cambria.
books is
 Joyce. #brownstu-dentproblems
food is
eating DoughBoy leftovers from RuthFest.
booze is
final paper due tomorrow? GCB.feeling dotty on thisordinary Sunday.
theatre is
Post- Secrets
 We still dont know how tospell Paxson’s last name. We dont actually smoke ...muchPost- is racist. We drink Torpedos andMoscato like there’s noThursday. We do all our layout inPowerPoint. We’re changing our name toHyphen. We f*cking love cocaine. We also edit the Indy.
Fight Club
is based on Post-.The Naked Photo is photo-shopped.
flm is
learning to play nice.
tv is
getting nothing produc- tive done this weekend... again.

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