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upfront

Editor- and Editrix-in-Chief Clayton Aldern Jennie Young Carr Managing Editor of Features Zo Hoffman Managing Editor of Arts & Culture Alexa Trearchis Managing Editor of Lifestyle Rmy Robert Features Editor Kathy Nguyen Arts & Culture Editors Claire Luchette Ben Resnik Lifestyle Editor Cassie Packard Serif Sheriff Clara Beyer Hamburger Helper Allison Hamburger Large Plaid Asian Phil Lai Staff Writers Lily Goodspeed Caitlin Kennedy Adam Davis Mintaka Angell Staff Illustrators Marissa Ilardi Madeleine Denman Adela Wu Sheila Sitaram

contents
3 upfront
a broad abroad in paris // caroline bologna beyond bffs // ashton strait

editors note
Next week, we offer our deepest thank yous and most grateful merci beaucoups. Also a Dankeschn to our one German reader. Heres looking at you, kinder. We impart our thanks and our leftover gravy. Just wanted to put that out there. Moving on.

4 features

bridging the gap // mintaka Were more interested in Nicole Westbrooks Its Thanksgiving. For Post-s sake, shes singing angell

5 arts & culture

the revolution will not be televised // sam knowles

6 arts & culture

a battle of wits // lauren neal

into a f*cking turkey leg. Shes plucky! Not only does she create a makeshift microphone from a hunk of poultry, she hosts a Thanksgiving dinner for six fellow orphans (and a middle-aged man in a turkey costume) at the tender age of twelve. Did we mention that sick Fourth of July barbecue? Put us on your guest list, Nicole! We dont remember the last time we enjoyed something non-mind-altering as much as she relishes crossing off the 28th on her countdown-to-Thanksgiving calendar. We also dont get invited to many parties. Most people ask, Why? But Post- asks, Why not? Let the girl revel in her newfound fame and deal with the nuclear fallout in her mid-thirties. Shes a tweeny-bopper. Live in the moment. When else are we-we going to have as good a time as it appears shes having? Remember, its Thanksgiving: Nothing is forbidden. appreciatively and ailuromantically,

7 lifestyle
til pumpkingdom come // jane brendlinger orgasm elysium // MM

8 lifestyle
the reign of yolo // swan ronson post- it notes top ten

jennie and clay

illustrations by
Cover Kah Yangni A Broad Abroad in Paris Marissa Ilardi Bridging the Gap Sheila Sitaram A Battle of Wits Adela Wu Til Pumpkingdom Come Madeleine Denman Giraffe Phil Lai

surrealism

upfront

a broad abroad in paris

pardon the french kissing
CAROLINE BOLOGNA contributing writer
Studying abroad in Paris sometimes feels like living in an unending Valentines Day commercial. On every block it seems that there is a chocolatier, a florist, a perfume store, and a lingerie shop. And then there are the couples. Paris is the city of PDA. Parisians publicly display their affection for each other everywhere. Going about my day, Ive seen couples making out and otherwise touching each other in every imaginable corner of town on the street, in line to buy a baguette at my neighborhood boulangerie, in a crowded metro car at rush hour, even in front of Victor Hugos tomb in the underground crypt of the Pantheon (because nothing sets the mood like the remains of a depressed French poet and novelist). Returning from my European travels, I always know Im at the correct gate for my flight back to Paris because of the sheer number of kissing couples in the line to board the plane. Parisians passionately push each other against walls, intimately whisper on the bus, and casually feel each other up during a conversation over a nice plate of escargot and steak-frites. When it comes to PDA here, nothing is taboo. Paris is also the city of relationships: Everyone seems to be in one. There is tangible evidence of this beyond the PDA. Walking across the Pont des Arts, I cant help but notice the oh-so-romantic vandalism on display: a mass of padlocks attached to the sides. Lovers come from far and wide to this world-famous lock bridge to attach a padlock with their initials to the side, throw the key into the Seine, and revel in the fact that their love is forever sealed (or at least until the Parisian officials decide to clear some space and embark on another midnight lock-cutting spree). Parisian relationships, however, can vary in degrees of seriousness. I once gave my number to a friendly musician I met at a bar, and after receiving some rather explicit texts, I told him I had a boyfriend in order to dissuade further contact. His response: Cest pas grave. Jai une copine aussi (It doesnt matter. I also have a girlfriend). His unanswered texts continued for weeks. Why, then, are Parisians in relationships if they just cheat anyway? It seems that the alternative is frightening to many locals. Indeed, the French language doesnt even distinguish between alone and lonelyboth words just translate to seul. And tout seul is exactly what youll be if you arent in a relationship in the City of Love. Yet when I consider the slim pickings, being single seems like the better option. Parisian men generally appear to suffer from some sort of testosterone deficiency. As my brother, a former college football player, put it, All of these French guys seem like they could really use a punch in the face. Years of chain smoking and eschewing any sort of exercise or physical activity on a competitive level have ensured that Parisian men are for the most part thinner than their Amer-

ican counterpartsthe female counterparts, that is. Their fashion sense doesnt help their case. While the clean-cut look and attention to detail are pleasant, the excess of scarves, shiny shoes, and soft sweaters is a bit feminine for my taste. And then there are the text messages. Long, enthusiastic, dramatic, and brimming with emoticons, theyre a little much. Maybe the American college hookup scene has conditioned me to expect so little from guys that I unfairly cast aside interested French men as, well, creepy. Or maybe they genuinely are effeminate and a tad overbearing. Either way, I found it hard to see anything appealing in these gems of messages: :) cest moi Cecylien! Encore une fois enchant davoir fait ta connaissance!!! :) its me Cecylien! Once again enchanted to have met you!!! TU MAS OUBLI :( YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN ME :( faut quon se voit Depuis que je tes vue en boite de nuit Et que je tes embrasse jai quune envie cest

de te revoir tu mas vraiment plu We must see each other ... Since I saw you in the nightclub And I kissed you, I have but one desire, thats to see you again I really liked you :) Je suis pas du genre aller voir les filles! Mais tu ma donn envie de faire un effort :p tu vie o :) ? :) Im not the type to go up to girls! But you made me want to make an effort :p where do you live :) ? Nevertheless, it is possible to find love in Paris, at least for a night. If you find yourself in a club off the Champs-lyses dancing with a friendly Parisian guy in a deep, deep V-neck, dont be surprised if he starts making out with you, pulls away, and whispers in an accent, French kiss. Its cheesy, but laugh and enjoy the fun romance in the City of Love anyway. When he sends you a text the next morning with more emoticons than a middle school girl would use, feel free to let the illusion shatter and the testosterone-deprived reality set in. Ah, cest la vie. Illustration by Marissa Ilardi

beyond bffs
ASHTON STRAIT contributing writer
One of my housemates introduced me to a new relationship term this summer: queerplatonic. Anyone can be in a queerplatonic relationship, regardless of his or her genital preference. The queer- in queerplatonic refers not to queer in the LGBTQ+ sense but to the queering of traditional platonic relationship structures, which essentially means that they subvert typical aromantic paradigms. Queerplatonic relationships distinguish themselves because they transcend the type of emotional and physical intimacy considered de rigueur for conventional friendships, while remaining aromantic and asexual. At the end of a tough day, just friends might simply hug, whereas a queerplatonic couple is more likely to crawl right into bed together without thinking twice. Think Hannah and Marnie from Girls rather than Rachel and Monica from Friends. The former pairs friendship is an excellent example of a queerplatonic relationship, even if they might not label it that. Girls opens with a shot of Hannah and Marnie asleep in bed together, limbs entwined, and quickly moves to a scene in which they share a shower with nary a whiff of sexual tension or intent. These first scenes act as a kind of toe-in-the-water introduction to this brave new world in Brooklyn, a place

cozying up to queerplatonic relationships

inhabited by female friends who are privy to each others bodies in ways that are striking for both their intimacy (intense to the point of occasionally being uncomfortable to watch) and for the terrifically casual way in which that intimacy is presented. If the sex in Girls is political, so too is the characters aggressive ease with one anothers bodily functionshas another TV show ever had so many pivotal scenes take place in bathrooms? I live with three other women, and the casually intense intimacy in Girls certainly rings true for us (though most of it takes place in various beds; our tiny bathroom isnt conducive to group showers). Im a notoriously cranky sleeping partner, and yet Ive found myself having impromptu sleepovers in my housemates beds on several occasions. If I had a quarter for every time a male visitor has asked if two of us are together-together, Id be set for laundry money for a couple months at least. Close friends have joked that being around us feels like being a fifth wheel. In Sex and the City, Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte agree in a demonstrably queerplatonic scene that they are each others soulmates, regardless of the male romantic interests in their lives. And while the notion of soulmates has been so thoroughly co-opted and literally romanticized by online dating sites as to seem trite, I do love the French version, me soeur: sister soul. Freeing the profound emotional and spiritual connection between sister souls from the constraints of romantic normalization has fostered an untraditional and powerful breed of friendships. I suspect this queerplatonic type of relationship is floating to the top of the current cultural zeitgeist because the state of modern womanhood makes aromantic, asexual soulmates an appealing possibility for many young women. The average age at first marriage is now 26 for women, which seems like a long time to wait before buckling down for a serious partnership (and the jokes on us Brunoniansthe wait is even longer for highly educated people). It seems natural that women would in the meantime turn to their friends for the kind of emotional support they would typically receive from a spouse. Those in platonic relationships have years and years to deepen and flourish (and commit) before permanent romantic partners arrive on the scene. Yet the gender disparity in same-sex queerplatonic relationships is glaring. The average age at first marriage for men is 28, but the notion of a group of men palling around New York and getting together for daily lunch dates to discuss their paramours la SATC or hanging out in the shower together eating cupcakes la Girls seems laughable. The YouTube video Boys Will Be Girls by the comedy group The Harvard Sailing Team addresses this incongruence head-on. It has accumulated nearly 5 million views and simply shows four 20-something guys sitting in a living room talking to each other in the way that stereotypical female friend groups often do. Certainly its exaggerated and silly, but what is hilarious about the video is not the overdone girliness. Rather, its the fact that men are performing it. When the girls in this video are discussing what theyve eaten for breakfast, part of the absurdity stems from the implicit societal belief that men would never be interested in or privy to the minutiae of each others everyday lives in the way that women are (both in depictions and, we assume, in reality). I suspect that as queerplatonic relationships become more common, the way that we demonstrate and understand male friendships will evolve too. But for now, it seems like asexual group showers, unnecessary sleepovers, and bathroom parties are just for the girls. And thats okaywe like it that way.

feature

bridging the gap

when curricula collide
MINTAKA ANGELL staff writer
The following conversation has been paraphrased, but Im willing to bet my future first-born child that its played out hundreds of times on this campus in this semester alone: Science requires that you know what youre doing, but I can bullshit my way through a history essay in a few hours, the guy said. Its all the same, you know? There was a sharp clink of Ratty cutlery as a friend of minea humanities concentratorall but bared his teeth. Youre working off the assumption that all information can be used in the same way, he said. Actually, its a different hierarchy of knowledge. Science requires that you have a firm basis in core principles before building on that. Humanities and social sciences need you to be flexible and adopt different theoretical approaches to a multitude of situations. Put a science student in a high-level anthropology class and they could scrape by. Put a humanities student in anything above beginners bio and they would crash and burn, the voice of Science shot back, mouth hardening. And thus began an argument that lasted for the better part of an hour. Both parties walked away without changing their opinion. Needless to say, when people call for interdisciplinary dialogue, this is not what they mean. The New Curriculum at Brown allows students to pursue what theyre passionate about. While this approach is refreshing for a number of reasons, it can also engender a deeper divide between the sciences and humanities than might otherwise occur in universities with more structured curriculums. The dichotomy is lighthearted most of the timehumanities students joke about future unemployment, while science students routinely roll their eyes at any mention of a spectrum or hegemony. But occasionally, it becomes sharply apparent that there are deep-seated assumptions held by both sides about the other, none of them flattering. The debate over whether an education in the humanities or sciences is better is not a new one, but it has accelerated over recent years. One of the reasons Ive enjoyed my Brown education so much is because its tailored to my (admittedly romanticized) idea of what an education would have been like for the upper classes in Victorian and pre-Victorian England: studying Virgil and Dante and Homer in their original classic languages, futzing around with chemicals in a homebuilt laboratory just because you could, writing poetical treatises for the wonder of the words, and freely flitting between subjects that interest you. Of course, the world is no longer like that of the Victorian leisure class, constantly pursuing intellectual avenues to alleviate boredom. We have advanced far beyond the point where a person with just too much time on their hands can realistically come up with the worlds next breakthrough discoverywaiting for the peer-reviewed data from the particle accelerator at CERN to confirm or deny the existence of the Higgs Boson is a far cry from Mendels vivid interest in his garden peas, for example. What this technological jump forward means, though, is that the idea of a classical education has been replaced with a modern model of specification. Many higher education systems, such as the United Kingdom, encourage students to choose their career path at the tender of age of 15 or 16, selecting only four subjects to study during their final two years of high school. At university there is a rigidly constructed system that dictates a set class schedule in accordance with your major, with very few additional electives. Changing your subjector worse, crossing the divide that cleaves the arts and the sciencesrequires a radical overhaul of your education I attended a British high school, where I was consistently questioned on my decision to go to America for education: It would take longer; it was pointless to go without being sure of what I was studying; what good were classes not related to my major; was I going to take a course on underwater basket weaving too? The UK and European systems certainly have their strengthsthe price is right, for one thingbut they represent an approach to education that increases the divide between disciplines and discourages forays into other avenues of knowledge or interdisciplinary approaches to incorporating the arts and sciences. Unfortunately, it seems that this view is becoming more prevalent in America as well. Florida is currently considering a proposal that would reduce college tuition for science majors, which the government considers more marketable. Meanwhile, arts programs around the country face the constant threat of budget cuts. Some argue that specification is necessary to create experts, particularly in the scientific fields, but the inherently dangerous part of this exclusion model is the assumption that other disciplines provide little to no substantive value or qualitative output in the world. The Brown curriculum is a double-edged sword in this respect. While it encourages students to explore other disciplines without pressure (see: the S/ NC option), it also allows them to create a program of study that can ignore other

discussions or perspectives and doesnt push them outside of their comfort zone. Education is more than learning how to manipulate data or closely read a text. Its about ensuring that youre an engaged, informed individual able to understand the context and significance of your choices on a personal, communal and global level. This is not a skill that comes from a consuming immersion in one subject. There have, however, been numerous attempts to bridge this disciplinary gap around the Brown campus, not least of which is the Brown/RISD Arts and Sciences Rendevous lecture series. Over the semester, the group has brought in speakers to initiate an interdisciplinary conversation through projects that resonate together. Supported by the Creative Mind Initiative, which encourages collaborations and creative confluence between the arts and sciences through a multitude of other initiatives, their discussion on September 20 included presentations by Jim Head, a professor of geological sciences at Brown, and Jenny Brown, the Collection Manager of the Glass Flowers collection at the Harvard Museum of Natural History. Head was particularly eloquent in his lecture, his appreciation for the beauty of art and science working in tandem. Focusing on space exploration, he strode onto the stage and flung picture after gorgeous, marbled picture of Mars rock formations on the board, comparing them to stained glass windows. I have no idea how some of these were formed, he said with a grin, completely infatuated with the turns and grain of the stone. Strongly resonant in his lecture was the note that working with art and humanities students, especially from RISD, gave him more reason to continue his scientific explorations. RISD students, he said, show me what Im looking at in a broader contextnot just the strata, but

the beauty. This is what compels us to go and explore and try to understand these other worlds. His words illustrate the point that society cannot function without the arts and sciences working together. At the end of the day, the question of which kind of education is better is moot. We attend university to learn how to thinkboth the sciences and the arts give us the tools we need to achieve this goal. Tearing down other disciplines does nothing but eliminate incredible opportunities to synthesize knowledge and create something new. The Glass Flowers collection at Harvard is a series of 3,000 models of botanical plants, made entirely by a father-son duo out of blown glass in the 19th and 20th centuries. These objects do more than represent a convergence of disciplines to create a work of beauty that has been used in academic study for decades; they show an innate understanding of how the sciences and humanities can integrate in a way that is increasingly rare. Perhaps the concept of an education in anything and everything is no longer feasibleperhaps it never has been. But in this new culture of specification, discounting other philosophies based on your own inevitably narrow perspective spurns the possibilities that arise from working with people in other spheres of knowledge. Whether your passion is Nabokov, thermodynamics, or the market structure in developing economies, we are all working towards the same ideals of truth and a better understanding of what surrounds us. The Glass Flowers collection did not arise from a debate over whose work was more valuable, but an understanding of synthesisof moving forward together. Illustration by Sheila Sitaram

arts & culture

the revolution will not be televised

the conservatism of the new normal
SAM KNOWLES editor emeritus
In the opening of The New Normal, a man with carefully slicked hair sits in his home office and gazes into the lens of his laptop camera. Hi, its me, he says, clearly nervous. Bryan Collins. But you wont know me as that. Youll know me as Dad. Maybe even Daddy. He begins to tear up. This video is to show you how desperately you are wanted and how much we love you. It is a touching moment, one that underscores the central premise of the seriesthat gay people can be loving parents. The half-hour NBC comedy, which is halfway through its first season, follows Bryan, David, and their surrogate Goldie as they build an unconventional family that the shows title suggests will soon be commonplace. Goldies daughter Shania and her grandmother also tag along. Created by Ryan Murphy and Allison Adler, The New Normal functions as a fairly straightforward case for gay marriage and gay parenthood. A family is a family, Goldie says, explaining to David and Bryan why she wants to help a gay couple. And love is love. The creators clearly view the show as an enlightening window into what a nontraditional family might look like. Yet The New Normal is so taken by its seemingly progressive premisea gay couple! having a baby!that the show appears oblivious to its own narrow, conservative imagination. Too often, there is an instinct to draw facile comparisons between movies or television shows that include gay characters. But a few crucial similarities stand out between The New Normal and ABCs Modern Family, the other network television show that prominently features a gay couple. Though Modern Familys Mitch and Cam are older than David and Bryan, its striking that both couples are just becoming parents when the series begin. Both couples are also white and affluent and live in California. Though David and Bryan are not yet married, The New Normal conspicuously delineates their roles as husband and wife. Our first image of the couple comes when Bryan returns home after a day of shopping, flinging aside several Barneys bags, to find David watching a football game. When Bryan begins to speak, David says, Gotta wait until halftime, sweetie. Is that when Madonna plays? Bryan asks. Subtle. Theater buffs will recognize the actor who plays Bryan, Andrew Rannells, from The Book of Mormon, though regular-grade hip types and their parents may know him as Hannahs gay ex-boyfriend on HBOs Girls. Justin Bartha, who plays David, is best known for his role in the Hangover franchise. In contrast to Bryan, David is the guys guy. His only friends are straight men from the hospital where he works. Through a flashback, we learn that David and Bryan met at a gay bar, which David attended with some of his med school pals. He says its his first time at one of these places perhaps even his first time meeting other gay peoplewhich makes David and Bryans love story as close to immaculate conception as gay coupledom can get: David spent his first night at a gay bar courting the man he would ultimately marry. Though Bryan is fun and likeable, he is also distinctly unserious, and spends most of his screen time talking about clothes. If Rannells were not so engrossing as a performer, his character would be more obviously offensive. In one of the first sequences, after picking out a pair of pants that make him look like Mary Tyler Moore (his words, not mine), Bryan sees something out of view that stops him dead in his tracks. Oh my god, that is the cutest thing Ive ever seen. I must have it. A fetching shawl, perhaps? Nope! An adorable baby. When he comes home and tells David that he wants to have a child, David cautions, You cant return a baby to Barneys. The idea that Bryans vanity and materialism might disqualify him for parenthood does not require an act of radical interpretation. It is suggested almost explicitly by the show. When the obstetrician describes early screenings for potentially fatal birth defects, Bryan hopes the child will be undersized so he can fit into a Marc Jacobs onesie. And then theres the way David and Bryan pick embryos in the first place. After watching introductory videos from prospective egg donors, they immediately pick the woman who bears an uncanny resemblance to Gwyneth Paltrow. (Hint: She is Gwyneth Paltrow, a mainstay of cocreator Murphys teen angstfest Glee.) There is comedy in the neuroses and missteps of soon-to-be parents, but there is a subtle form of gay-bashing here, too. The show repeatedly suggests that the couple is silly and looks-oriented. In a few cases, the writers go out of their way to sow doubt about David and Bryans reasons for having a baby and their competence as potential parents. Disturbing is the fate of Shanias class gerbil, which dies under their care. The show presents David and Bryan as normal, sort of, yet also seems intent on ingraining their difference from heterosexual couples. In an apparent effort to make them seem familiar and unthreatening, the show follows the contours of conventional stereotypes. It mixes the signifiers of suburban familial normalcythe cars, the appliances, the marital banterwith common tropes about gay men. The show explicitly suggests that David and Bryan have joined the ranks of normalcy but insists on having the two men perform their imagined difference as flagrantly as possible. Unwittingly, I assume, the title of the show harkens back to a debate among gay intellectuals and queer theorists in the 1990s. In 1996, in a book called Virtually Normal, Andrew Sullivan urged gay rights activists to pursue marriage as a primary goal. In response, Michael Warner published The Trouble with Normal in 1999. Warner saw the rush toward marriage as a misguided quest for normalcy, an attempt to buy into the very hierarchies of sex and sexuality that had ostracized gay people in the first place. The trouble with normal, in Warners view, was its creation of an abnormal. For some practices to be considered good, others must be considered bad. The ennobling and the demeaning go together, he wrote. Warner understood the appeal of marriage, but he worried about how exalting the gay married couple would cast gay people who did not wish to marry. More than a decade after Warner and Sullivans debate, it is clear which argument has held sway among gay rights organizations. Gay marriage has become synonymous with gay rights, a virtual litmus test in popular culture for a persons sympathy with gay people. Even those who offer social and economic critiques of the institution most often believe that marriage should be available to gay people, too. Though David and Bryan are not yet married, the show intimates that they will marry as soon as they can. There are several references to their inability to marry, and in the sixth episode, David proposesdespite philosophical objections that remain fuzzybecause Bryan wants to marry so badly. Bryans desire to marry comes across as another sign of his materialism: Just as he wants a baby to dress in designer garb,

he cant wait for the chance to throw a big fancy wedding. (He puts on a lavish affair pretend-marrying Shania and her fourth grade classmate, an apparent effusion of marriage angst that comes off as overly linear and quite strange.) Though Warner was most concerned with marriage, parenthood is what this show suggests would make David and Bryan fully normal. Not having children, more than marital status or even sexuality, separates David from his doctor pals. When David tells them he is planning to have a child, they recoil in horror. Not because they dont believe gay people should have children, but because they cannot believe hes giving up the freedom that comes with childlessness. But the shows endorsement of childrenmore precisely, the desire to have themis beyond doubt. The show is not about a gay couple. The show is about a gay couple who wants to have a baby, who wants to start a family. Just consider the change that Bryan undergoes when serious issues of parenthood arise. Recall the shows opening, when he becomes instantly recognizable and sympathetic as an expectant parent, preparing a message for his unborn child, scared out of his mind but happy and excited. The only other time Bryan is so earnest is in the third episode, after a man calls him and David disgusting while they shop for baby clothes. Again, Bryan is thinking about his child, worrying aloud that his kid might someday witness the same hatred. Like the opening sequence, this scene is poignant. What is disconcerting, though, is that parenthood serves as the mechanism through which Bryan is redeemed. He transitions from the silly gay man to the parent worthy of our admiration and respect. The idea that gay people might be most sympathetic as parents is, of course, nothing new. When President Obama is asked about gay rights, he usually talks about families. Of course, gay people who wish to marry should be able to marry. Of course, gay people who wish to have children should have the right to adopt or to use surrogates. But what about those who do not wish to marry or have children? Or those who are not white, wealthy suburbanites? Is the new normal big enough for them, too? Shows like this one direct our sympathy toward certain people. Others, as Warner predicted, are left out.

arts & culture

a battle of wits
LAUREN NEAL 11 returning writer
In early 2009, in the wake of Barack Obamas historic inauguration, a table at the Ratty hosted a few friends and one slumping sophomore (me) for lunch. The group repartee primarily involved talk of racial representation in the media; we were convulsing with laughter quoting every television show wed watched as kids that featured characters of color. We debated what a TV show documenting the lives of Black students at Brown would look like. My friends and I became so involved we were late to class. The 2008 presidential race had purported to forever erase the conversation about race in the United States, but here a conversation about race compelled me and Nick White 10 to create Spicy Wit, a satirical, mockumentary-style study of race relations in the Ivy League. By day, Nick and I crafted characters and pitched plot lines, trying our hands at painting a Technicolor picture of Black student life at Brown. At night, I needed to put a cap on the cranial complications caused by my nascent liaison with race; I set out to scramble my brain and made a colossal, Pollock-esque mess so sloppy and sophomoric that I put my education in jeopardy. Prior to that year, Id easily passed for every race but Black; by the end of spring semester, an endless, belligerent parade of blacked-out partying made it so I could barely pass my classes. During the summer that followed, I faced the looming prospect of suspension from the University. This wasnt supposed to happen to someone like me. Waiting for course grades to clear and a deans final call, I could do little to placate my solitary, pulsating anxiety but pour it all into a scalding, 35-page script for the pilot episode of Spicy Wit. I had to get back to Brown. College Hill ultimately re-welcomed me, and I was back on track for junior year and only a little black and blue from summers standstill. Nick and I tried to produce Spicy Wit on campus, but scheduling issues forced us to scrap production. I never told anyone how close Id come to scrapping my Brown career. I was too chicken. In May of 2011, I graduated on time. Carrying nothing but two suitcases, I moved cross-country to California. I couldnt wait to kick the comfort of Browns campus, to fly the coop and spread my wings. Months later, I was habitually pretending that hunger builds character. On particularly delirious days, I feigned my diet was necessary preparation for a dramatic film role sure to simultaneously launch me into stardom and bring me to the mysterious basket in the sky where someone mustve been keeping all the eggs. In spite of all my calculated intellect, clever quips, and crisp pedigree, I could not get a job. Retail, publishing, hospitality no one would hire me. Brown offered no classes teaching how to make a checking account balance of exactly $0.09 gain interest. Shouldve done a GISP. I walked three blocks to my local El Pollo Loco, a road I wouldve preferred to keep less traveled. I filled out the application in the puke-pink plastic booth nearest the window emblazoned with a snazzy decal: Now Hiring! I could only assume the managerial staff found me under-qualified for any open position. I didnt go Loco until after I realized the restaurant chain was never going to call me back. Logically, I couldnt make the idea of an Ivy League graduate on food stamps compute. But because Brown so diligently acclimates its students to acronyms, I was more comfortable living the EBT life than I thought Id be, and I wasnt ready to raise a white flag. That is, until last October. Up to this point, everyone with whom I spoke commended me for movingjust four days after graduationto a completely

race, identity, and a little bit of spice

unfamiliar city in pursuit of a dream. Last October, on the cold concrete of Sunset Boulevard, broken dreams were all a broken Lauren had to keep her company. When I fell victim to a violent crime that compromised my ability to reason, the sky was falling too. This wasnt supposed to happen to someone like me. I forgot how to smile until I stumbled upon an ancient copy of the Spicy Wit pilot. It was funny! I forgot what a fire in my belly felt like until I was flooded with inquiries about the scripts revival. Spicy Wit was still burning a hole in my pocket. It seemed perfectly clear. I had to get my spark back; I needed my wits about me. I had to get back to Brown. This past May, three years after its inception, Nick and I rallied some of Browns most talented, socially conscious students to film Spicy Wit. I never told anyone how close Id recently come to being devoured by despair. Spicy Wit taught me how to cheese: I wrote half a page of comedy for every day I dreaded a deans decision; I made a game of poverty and figured I may as well try to be the best player; I promised to crack up every time something was funny in case tomorrow found me with my skull cracked open. Practicing spicy wit as a principle is the bravest thing Ive ever done. Over the last few months, with Spicy Wit in post-production, I found myself cowering again. I felt my family quake in the aftershock of medical and financial disasters. I saw my hometown blasted into the national spotlight following a tragedy in a dark movie theatre. I watched white surf swallow the boardwalk responsible for my best summers. I monitored the final moments of this years presidential race praying for the dissolution of red states and my heart racing all the while. Though fearful, I found a way to smile. Spicy Wit had rehabilitated me; I was remembering how to get fired up about injustice without neglecting to use my head. Twice previously have I written for Post, and twice previously have I outlined the mechanisms by which I came to navigate my personal relationship to race, sexuality, and socioeconomic status. Still, then I hid behind elaborate extended metaphors and poetic pretense; I told the truth but not the whole truth, masterfully omitting the most objectionable parts. This time, I have a new modus operandi. This time, with Spicy Wit, Im throwing a dinner party. The show wants to know what happens when we all sit down to talk about race, so Im inviting every birdbrain, spicy chicken, and witty wet hen. Everyone is to bring her bias, baggage, and token Black friend to the table. Were gonna say all of the fucked up, inappropriate things one shouldnt squawk out even when inappropriately fucked up. Were gonna sit across from one another until weve learned to laugh in the face of dangerous identity politics. Conceptually, spicy wit has come to mean something different to each person it reaches. Practically, Spicy Wit wants to build community around the notion that a healthy dash of attic salt and sagacity can make even the most terrifying, absurd, and painful truths more palatable. Conveniently sandwiched between President Obamas second inauguration and Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, the twentyfive minute pilot episode of Spicy Wit will finally enjoy its Internet premiere on January 20, 2013, just as everyone arrives back at Brown. Lauren Neal 11 keeps coming home to roost. | spicywit.info | spicywit.com | @SpicyWit | Illustration by Adela Wu

lifestyle

til pumpkingdom come

for the love of gourd
JANE BRENDLINGER food columnist
There are times in my academic life when I feel slightly less than a scholar: when Im shirking my readings more than usual, when papers are rushed affairs, when studying is waylaid for less industrious endeavors. One such time was last Monday, when I found myself spending yet another night in the kitchen and not the Rock, ruthlessly attacking two pumpkins in order to fulfill a burning desire for my own pure. The idea of homemade pumpkin pie made from real pumpkin has always been somewhat of a grail for me. But Id never really taken much care to eat a pumpkin myself, since theyd always been confined to the realm of decoration. I have fond memories of my dads roasted pumpkin seeds, the inevitable byproduct of pre-Halloween carving. But we always let our gourds rot on the stoop, eaten by ants and filled with wax, the wizened smiles of our jack-o-lanterns caving in toothlessly until even the squirrels lost interest. What a waste, Ive learned, of perfectly good foodstuff. In the pair of pumpkins in our apartment, I saw not a seasonal decoration but a wealth of possibility in the gift of the gourd. What could we make, I thought, if we only took the time to access this abundance? Pie, of course. Seeds to snack on. Muffins, breads, soups. I would eat those pumpkins in thousands of ways.

Chipotle Fire-Roasted Pumpkin Soup It was the type of single-minded determi- (Is the word fire doing anything nation that one often associates with Adderall for you?) Roasted Pumpkin Pure
abuse or Soviet Russia. The Great Pumpkin Massacre, as my housemates remembered all the days it took for the roasted squashy smell to finally waft out of our kitchen. I was a maniac with a chopping knife, the food processor on a constant low roar. I wasnt counting the hours, but when I found myself popping pumpkin muffins into the oven around 1 a.m., I knew it might be time to give up the ghost. Around me lay the remains of my madness. Stringy innards, thick pumpkin stems on the dining room table. Seeds, salted and toasted. Bowls and bowls of pure. My shirt was splattered, and my hands had adopted the sickly orange pallor of a carrot addict. I didnt finish reading Their Eyes Were Watching God in time for class discussion. And by the end of the week, I was sick of pumpkin. But after all this, I think I learned something. Something about the human spirit, something about perseverance, something about Halloween. I learned that the $1.50 it costs for a can of pumpkin at the grocery is, indeed, worth it. But I also learned that whatever effort you put into the pumpkin, the pumpkin will return it tenfold. The Great Pumpkin givethand giveth and giveth. Illustration by Madeleine Denman

Ingredients: 4 cups roasted pumpkin pure 1 onion, diced 4 cloves garlic, minced 3 cups vegetable stock olive oil, for sauteing 1 tbsp Chipotle adobo sauce (from a can of packed peppers, found in Mexican food section) ground ginger, to taste 2 tbsp maple syrup salt and pepper, to taste Saute onion and garlic in olive oil until onions are translucent. Add pumpkin, vegetable stock, and seasoning, and let simmer 20 minutes. Pure until smooth in food processor, working in batches. Let the slow warmth of this soup soothe you, perhaps to assuage your anxiety about the reading you skipped to make it.

Ingredients: 1 whole pumpkin Cut out the stem and cut pumpkin in half lengthwise. Scrape out the stringy seed mess with a spoon. Reserve seeds for toasting. Place halves, within their skins, insides-up on a baking sheet. Brush with olive oil. Bake at 350 degrees for an hour to an hour and a half. Poke with fork to check doneness. When soft, remove from oven and let cool. Scrape the roasted pumpkin into a food processor, and process until smooth. Use in place of canned pumpkin, perhaps in the following recipe for soup.

orgasm elysium
n. a sovereign state populated entirely by erotically satisfied, empowered, and considerate sexual citizens
MM sexpert
uncross. America felt its collective libido increase. After all, what better way to celebrate the protection of our reproductive rights than to exercise them? Step Two: Safe Sex. Romneys plan for improving the nation included repealing and replacing Obamacare, removing its provisions for contraceptive coverage, withdrawing funding from Planned Parenthood, and maybe even rescinding Roe v. Wade. During the same term, he planned on creating jobs, making selective tax cuts, and stimulating the economy. He did not plan on stimulating our genitals, howeverthat is, providing us a supportive culture where we can pursue the stimulation of those genitals safely, comfortably, and freely. I know: Im preaching to a choir of mostly Democratic voters. But lets not forget how lucky we are to be able to drive down to a Planned Parenthood and pick up a condom or refill a prescription for birth control with just a flash of our insurance cards, or get tested for HPV without dishing out a co-pay. These issues arent just abstract social ideals; they have real effects on our experience of intimacy and pleasure. We deserve to enjoy sex, not spend the whole experience worrying about contracting an STI or accidentally fertilizing an egg. Good sex is safe, consensual, and pleasurable sex. Step Three: Educated Sex. After stating his opposition to abstinence-only sex education, Mitt Romney went on to state his support of abstinence-only sex education. He even put such a program into effect in Massachusetts middle schools. While abstinenceonly sex education programs have received funding (even increased funding) under the Obama administration, the president has been vocally opposed to the notion, proposing a budget in 2009 that would eliminate funding to these programs and reallocate it to teen pregnancy prevention programs. While we cant let Obama off the hook for allowing millions of dollars to pass into the allegedly celibate hands of abstinence-only health teachers, we can trust that hell allow for more comprehensive sex education programs in the next four years than Romney would have. The effects of comprehensive sex education on young peoples sex lives are manifold, tangible, and predictable. Getting informationon how to use a condom or do a breast self-exam or ask partners whether theyve been testedallows us to make educated decisions. Knowledge regarding bodies and options, desires and aversions, risks and benefits, allows us to be more intentional and deliberate about sex. But it also allows us to be better partners: to bring information, intentionality, and care to anothers body. If Obama reduces funding for abstinence-only sex education in these next four years, we can expect fewer teen pregnancies, fewer abortions, and potentially even less sexual assault. In short, better sex for more people. Step Four: Self-Perpetuating Pleasure. The effects of Steps One through Three, if they are maintained and supported, are extensive and long-term. Fast forward 30 years, when the future progeny of our citizens (conceived deliberately by celebratory sexual partners shortly after Obamas reelection), after practicing safe sex for many years and having undergone a comprehensive sex education program, decide to have children. These children, whose parents know firsthand the benefits of safety and education, are likely to go on to have safe and educated sex. And sexual empowerment and pleasure spreads from person to person (kind of the way an STI would in a less safe and educated community). Before you know it, everyones making informed, communicative, and ultimately pleasurable choices about their private parts. Step Five: Gratitude Sex. OK, were getting pretty hypothetico here. In this forecast, Im giving the Obama administration a little more creditentrusting it with a little more idealistic faiththan it has really earned, based on last terms various shortcomings and disappointments. But lets go just one step further into my fallopianer, utopian reverie. Steps One through Fourin the event they are achieved by the whole of societyimply a fifth, final step, a kind of societal, interpersonal, pudendal climax. I call this last step Gratitude Sex, or the kind of sex that characterizes an educated, liberated, and supported citizenry. Its the kind of sex happy people have to consummate their happiness. Its the kind of sex that doesnt involve shame, or repression, or miscommunication, or danger, or undesired results. Its the kind of sex that celebrates this freedom. Obamas reelection means that Americans are going to have four years of better sex than they would have had under Romney. Americanswith the possible exception of Ann Romneyare going to have millions more orgasms than they would have. A greater percentage of Americans will be born to excited and intentional parents, and will go on to have excited and intentional sex lives. I believe that. Generally, I dont think hyperboles like these further the cause of good journalism. But since these claims are pretty much untestableand since Im still experiencing election euphoriaI feel justified in making them. However, as we learned from the presidents last term in office, social change is gradual. It happens in stages. If the Obama administration is to improve the sexual satisfaction of its citizens, change will happen in several complex steps. Step One: Relief Sex. It stands to reason that if Obama won the popular vote, then a majority of Americans experienced pleasure at his victory. For me, the realization that my reproductive rights will remain my own, that I can continue to get mammograms and pap smears from Planned Parenthood, and that my president believes that womens healthcare should be affordableand should include access to contraceptives and domestic violence counselinggave me a great sense of reassurance. And after the better part of America heaved a collective sigh of relief, the better part of America felt its collective jaw unclench, its stomach unknot, and its thighs

upfront

the reign of yolo

SWAN RONSON contributing writer
Before coming to Brown, I was a shy, sheltered tomboy from the South without a daring bone in my body. I grew up in a religious community and spent a lot of time patting myself on the back for abstaining from the Three Bs: boys, brews, and bud. After I kissed my mom goodbye at the beginning of freshman year, though, I realized I had been dropped off in a strange new world. Absolutely no one knew anything about me or my past. I had an opportunity to start over. I dont mean to say that Ive undergone some huge transformation in the past four years, but if theres anything Ive learned, its been to chill the fuck out. Its perfectly okay to say yes every once in a while. Several hookups and many drugs later, this is what Ive learned. Alcohol: Without alcohol to help me let my guard down, I would have remained the socially inept wallflower at every dingy frat party. As a freshman, just a few sips could put my inhibitions to bed early and relax my tongue, giving me liquid courage to be myself and forge friendships. On the other hand, its important to make sure youre in control of the alcohol and not the other way around; otherwise, it can sneak up on you. Navigating Browns social and romantic scene is difficult enough sober and in daylight, but trying to do so after one too many pocket shots and in a dark, sweaty room full of indistinguishable figures is damn near impossible. The savvy pre-gamer knows to drink just enough so that finding friends and dance floor make-outs is easier, but you can quickly take it too far. You dont even realize it until the next afternoon, when you finally crawl out of the dim cave of your room to forage for food

hugs on drugs
and discover that Facebook is full of photographic evidence of the shitstorm you survived. Marijuana: Weed probably isnt the first thing that comes to mind for most students who want to explore romance in Browntown, but they are thoroughly missing out. While alcohol is responsible for most DFMOs, nothings more intimate than passing a joint or sharing a bong. All that smoke makes you feel like deconstructing every thought youve ever had, and the process of attempting to do so can actually be really special and, dare I say, romantic. Passing the peace pipe is an activity that naturally lends itself to smaller groups and a less hectic setting than WhisCo. These safe, contained situations are more conducive to building lasting connections than alcohol is. Even though some of the babble that comes out of your mouth might be utterly nonsensical, chances are youre in a safe environment where your nonsense is not only tolerated but celebrated. Just be careful: Sleepiness is sure to immediately follow. MDMA: Ive unknowingly been around some friends who were rolling on MDMA. At the time, I just assumed everyone was really happy to see me and really comfortable telling me how much they loved meand how everything is SO AWESOME AND BEAUTIFUL AND THE BEST. Later, as I waited for my own sample to kick in between Spring Weekend acts, I was skeptical. Youre telling me this is going to make me feel like everything is perfect and beautiful? Like everyone has an amazing soul? Okay, sure Oh my god, everything is beautiful. I love everyone. I am so, so full of love. What should we do? Should we hug? Lets hug. I want to find our friends so I can tell them I love them. The effect of MDMA isnt like that of beer goggles. Theres a flood of powerful and positive emotions toward all mankind, without the subsequent need to vomit and stumble home. It also feels more significant than the cavemanmust-mate instincts alcohol seems to unleashtheres more of an emphasis on realizing how unique and valuable your people are. Cocaine: Ive seen enough gangster movies to know that people get shot over cocaine, and since Ive never wanted to get shot, I never really wanted to do cocaine before. But when the opportunity came up during the Reign of YOLO, I did. Even though I was surrounded by plenty of interesting, attractive people, I couldnt sit still long enough to make eye contact. I had a one-track mind focused on dancing, walking, chewing. Standing still and talking to someone? No thanks, Im already sashaying awaydoes anyone have gum? I wish I had some unforgettable story from that night, but I was too busy moving and hoping my heart didnt explode to do anything all that memorable. I left a cozy Texan life for an education in Providence, and Ive made damn sure I got it. While some (namely my parents) might frown upon my behavior, I know that ultimately these experiences and the people Ive met through them have taught me more about myself than I could ever learn in a classroom. College is a time for experimentation, in every sense of the word. Theres no better time to try to figure out who you areand who or what brings out the best in you.

music is film is tv is

feeling unimpressed by Crystal Castles album nomenclature.

looking forward to the Skyfall porno remake: Guyballs. wanting a baby. getting goosebumps from R.L. Stine tonight.

books is food is

dusting off lactic acid crystals from aged Gouda. mixing rum with a free Coke (but not with the free iPods) from the Ratty vending machine.

booze is

things for which were thankful

weekend five
Paradiso: Friday at 10PM. Buxton.

1. Hat dog had puppies. 2. Rim Jobs at the Alehouse, and rim jobs at the Alehouse. 3. Not Uncle Tim. 4. Baby Jesus. 5. Chocolate bourbon pecan pie. 6. The Trader Joes frozen food section. 7. The imminent BDH banquet! 8. Victory over the turkey menace. 9. Our dinosaur overlords.

Four More Years Party: Friday at 9PM. West House.

Fall Into Theta: Saturday at 12:30PM. The Underground. Latin American Student Organization Presents: GoLASO!: Saturday at 10PM. Machado. Church: Sunday, at Church. Wear nice slacks. Maybe there will be donuts after. The wafers are neither vegan nor gluten free. The wine is 2 percent alcohol ... and 98 percent blood.

top ten

10. Somewhere, somehow, Ruth Simmons.