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March Madness
“why won’t anyone just let me be their unpaid bitch!?”
tv music food theatre
Sans Sheen In Praise of Sweden Taste Tripping Schwasted Opera
2 upfront

CONTENTS
FROM THE EDITORS
I know, I know. The last two weeks have been brutal. Facebook
statuses (stati?) and wall photos have scrupulously documented
03 upfront
Editor-in-Chief where your high school friends are sunbathing and NOT taking THE HITCHHIKEr’S GUIDE \\ priyanka chatterjee
Kate Doyle midterms. I don’t care that you just went scuba diving for the first POST- IT NOTES \\ post- staff
Managing Editor of time in New Zealand. Get out of my life!
Features
Amelia Stanton
Someone decided that it was only appropriate for spring break,
usually reserved for Cancun in March, to foray into April. But va-
04 feature
Managing Editor of cation is finally here, and it’s time for Bruno to hit the sun and MARCH MADNESS \\ rachel reeves
Arts & Culture sand. By Monday, everyone else will be settling back in at school.
Sam Knowles
So savor it, and savor that sex on the beach, which you will re-
ceive with welcoming hands (or in some of your cases, welcom-
05 arts & culture
Managing Editor of
Lifestyle ing thighs).
GOD BLESS SWEDEN \\ gopika krishna
Matthew Klebanoff
You might, like me, have one more hurdle on Friday keeping LOST IN TRANSLATION \\ sam carter
Features Editors you from nine days of glory. Then again, if you’re like me, that’ll
Ana Alvarez
Fred Milgrim
be nine days of Providence-filled glory. Let’s both hope you’re not 06 arts & culture
like me. BLAME IT ON THE ALCOHOL \\ berit goetz
Music Editor The beginning of the semester and the life-sized piles of snow
Eric Sun have faded from our memories (though the spring snowfall isn’t GET OUT OF MY WARLOCK BRAIN \\ priyanka chatterjee
helping). Soon we’ll be in a sea of pastels (black skinny jeans are
Theatre Editor
Emma Johnson assumed). 07 food & booze
Before Diddy and Binder come to play, rest your brain for a bit ME JANE. YOU FOOD. \\ jane brendingler
Film Editor
and let loose. You’ve only got four spring breaks before real life,
Priyanka Chatterjee
so use them well.
THE RIGHT LAGER FOR YOUR BROTH \\ molly cousins
Literary Editor Post-ly,
Jennie Young Carr
08 sex & etiquette
milgrim
Lifestyle Editor
Sakina Esufally
PLANNED PARENTHOOD \\ mm
BIRTH-CONTROLLING GIRLFRIENDS \\ lovecraft & dorian
Layout Editors
Clara Beyer EMILY POST- \\ emily post-
Lucas Huh

Hero of the Hour

Priyanka Chatterjee

Assistant Features Editor

Charles Pletcher

Graphics Editors
READ POST- ONLINE: post.browndailyherald.com
Katerina Dalavurak
Emily Oliveira

Copy Chiefs

TOP TEN
Julia Kantor
Kathy Nguyen

Web Editors
Michael Enriquez

Ways To Get Chased Down Waterman St.

Ellora Vilkin

Columnists
Jane Brendlinger

1 6
Rémy Robert
Sexicon
Lovecraft & Dorian
Emily Post-
Say you go to Harvard. Schedule Spring Weekend during Coachella
Copy Editors

2 7
Kate Brennan
Jacob Combs
Christina McCausland Criminalize marijuana. Oh, wait... Forget to print Post-.
Justine Palefsky
Kristina Petersen
Charles Pletcher

3 8
Ash Sofman

Staff Writers Vegan Finger Friday. Make it snow on the first day of spring... and the
Clayton Aldern
Berit Goetz second... and the third...

4
Gopika Krishna

9
Staff Illustrators Wear flannel unironically.
Anish Gonchigar
Phil Lai
Throw your plastic water bottle in the trash.
Carolyn Shasha

5 10
Shixie
Caroline Washburn
Kelly Winter Close FishCo. Oh, wait... Bagpipes and bigotry.
Ethan Zisson

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featurette
upfront
THURSDAY, MARCH 24, 2011 3
The Hitchhiker’s Guide
to the intergalactic community of a capella
priyanka CHATTERJEE
film editor

It’s dark, nearly midnight. Every-
one’s drunk. Someone yells out a name.
People explode in an uproar, hands are
raised, and the czar motions for quiet.
A beat. A group’s name is yelled. The
group cheers. Some innocent freshman
has been inducted. An a cappella baby
is born.
A cappella is big on all college
them. The single-sex groups in particu-
lar have trouble conveying their distin-
guishing features to outsiders or new-
comers (read: freshman). At least the
male groups—the Jabberwocks, Bear
Necessities, and Brown Derbies—have
clothes on their side: All three have dis-
tinctive sartorial traditions (it’s blazers,
suspenders, and bowlers hats, respec-
ed at midnight at both Wayland and
MoChamp arches. From there begins
a long process of singing, schmoozing,
and bonding—ability to mesh with
the group becomes just as important
as ability to match pitch. The amount what we’re doing
of time spent rehearsing each week
engenders bonds among group mem- this week
bers—one mismatched personality,

campuses, from the Ivy League to the
mountains of Utah. We have the larg-
est amount of groups per capita in the
nation, 14 groups for around 6,000
undergraduates. Brown has everything
from your traditional all-male and all-
female groups, to your pirate group
that sings sea shanties, to an all-Disney
tively). The girls’ groups have it harder:
Aside from the Ursa Minors’ habit of
wearing all black, there is little way to
differentiate among female groups.
Fixing this problem would require
hiring some skilled PR agency. Instead,
groups try to get as many people as pos-
sible to come to their concerts, where
MUSIC is
and the entire chemistry of the group
can be thrown off balance. Group so-
journs to the Crêperie or one-on-one
lunches with members are equally going to a combination Piz-
important as a great solo voice—the za Hut and Taco Bell. Think
group as a whole supercedes any of Das Racist? You’re right.
its divas.
Even the preference card system

group—and even a newly minted Jock-
apella group for athletes whose practice
schedules preclude participation in oth-
er singing groups. Most of these groups
fall under the general umbrella of the
Intergalactic Community of a Cappella
(yes, that’s the actual name). All 14 of
these groups make their presence wide-
ly known all over campus.
If you’ve ever tried to walk through
Wayland Arch on a Wednesday, you may
find yourself wading through a crowd of
people serenaded by some drunk, sus-
pendered males. You wonder which all-
male group has chosen this day to block
your route to Ivy Room falafel. With so
many groups on campus, it’s often dif-
ficult for outsiders to distinguish among
they show off repertoires of distinctive,
crowd-friendly songs. Some even try to
add catchphrases to their names. See
“fiercest?” That’s the Brown’sTones.
“Oldest all-male?” That’s the Jabber-
wocks. Drunk guy with an eyepatch
kidnapping someone in the audience?
That’s probably ARRR!!!!
With so much a capella on campus, it
seems like auditioning would be a piece
of cake. With so many groups, you’re
bound to get into one, right? But the
more you scrutinize the process of get-
ting into an a cappella group, the more
you realize it’s far more akin to Greek
life at other schools than even our own
Greek life. After many, many nights of
auditions, the list of callbackees is post-
BOOKS is
for placing new members into groups
has a Greek-life aftertaste. Callbackees
rank the groups in order of prefer-
ence—and the groups rank them too.
hoping Valerie Plame’s up-
A midnight meeting occurs in order to coming spy novel becomes
determine placement—the first group a TV show starring a hot
you pick that picks you back is the one
in which you end up. New members
lady. Because our lives lost
are deliberately placed into groups, lust(er) when Jennifer Gar-
rather than simply accepted—and in- ner quit the corps.
evitably, your entire Brown experience
takes shape. Senior singers you meet
as a freshman may get you jobs in the
future; juniors you meet may offer FILM is
you a house to sublet for the summer; mourning Elizabeth Taylor.
sophomores you meet may have cute
No one will do glamour like
friends you end up dating. Even bet-
ter, you earn the right to participate you did, Liz.
in a lavish commencement concert

TV is
where all your solos are showcased for
friends and family. Friends become
groupies, evaluating the talent of your
group in comparison to the others— getting all hot and both-
always picking yours as the best, even ered watching Archer at
on an off night. 10pm. Gotta love that car-
The attempt to expand your sing-
ing beyond the shower becomes a toon cleavage.
part of your identity. In that sense,

the a cappella experience extends to
the entire Brown community—it isn’t
confined to the singers. Because these
groups define the lives of their mem-
bers, their members seek to sing their
way into the lives of their peers. And
whether it’s pop, Disney, or the pirate
tune “All for Me Grog,” we’ll take it.
CORRECTION
The article entitled “Of
Mice and Men,” which
ran in the March 17th is-
sue, was incorrectly at-
tributed. In fact the au-
thor was Berit Goetz ‘13,
staff writer extraordinaire,
whose fine work and fine
wit also appear in this
week’s magazine (“Blame
It On the Alcohol,” page
6).
While we’re correcting
ourselves, we confess to
another error this semes-
ter. Namely, Clara Beyer
never did go to the Sci-
ence Museum. It is true,
however, that they do
show IMAX films there.
Katerina Dalavurak
THEATRE is
caterpillarin’ it down in
da Upspace tonight, to da
rhymin, rappin’ dinosaurin
riddims of Licki Ucroj on ste-
roidz. Coz Nicki Minaj signed
her bra-clad boobz bitchez.
FOOD is
indulging in Godiva’s Dou-
ble Chocolate Raspberry
truffles in celebration of
Spring Break. Decadent,
sumptuous, sexy, and so
much better than that bi-
kini body.
BOOZE is
taking comfort in milk-
shakes from the Better
Burger Co. and Extra Dry
André, after losing two
hydrogens and an ounce of
self-worth at last night’s
orgo exam.
4 feature
POST-
“why won’t anyone just let me be their unpaid bitch!?”
rachel REEVES
contributing writer
The summer internship op-
portunity: When I told people the
subject of my article, their respons-
es gave me all the information I
needed. One, especially, stood out:
“Don’t do it.” Apparently, students
are either tired of hearing about the
internship search, or they just don’t
care. It seems like at least once a
month The New York Times Style
section interviews 20 college kids
to get to the bottom of our suppos-
edly enigmatic generation. Their
findings: we are competitive and
stressed overachievers. Not a sur-
prise, but thank you to those who
spilled their hearts in the name of
groundbreaking journalism.
Perhaps we’ve lost interest in
learning about what it means to
be a college student because, well,
competition is part of our lives.
We’re competitive, even when it
comes to drinking. Last weekend
six freshmen cut my friend in line
at Spats while she had
been waiting patiently
to go inside and cele-
brate her 21st birthday—
people like to be first,
even if they’re all going
the same place. Right
before dinner, campus
gyms are a madhouse
of elliptical devotees—
people like to suffer, and
will even wait in line to
do so. The SciLi during
midterms always seems
to be filled with phan-
tom students using their
backpacks, books, and
friends to hold tables—
people like to establish
their territory. Around
Brown, it’s not news
that these Spats-goers
would refuse to move
when asked, that any-
one would stand around
patiently in hopes of
sweating in public, or
that a study group with
an exam in two hours would not
dare move someone’s notebook, set
down four hours ago, so they could
work at a table.
More importantly, it’s also not
news that a Brunonian would whip
out a cover letter arguing in his or
her favor for an internship, even if
the chances of being hired appear
slim. It’s just how things are done.
When asked about the intern-
ship process, Career Development
Center Director Andrew Simmons
explained, “Of course it’s competi-
tive, of course it’s hard, it’s not
easy, but [internships are] certain-
ly attainable.” Even if we doubt our
chances, we summon our fearless-
ness, polish our resumés, and find
the most professional-looking font
so that we too can compete. Sim-
mons reminds students that “no
one should be discouraged” from
the internship search. So with our
heads held high (maybe) we enter
into this competition, knowing that
March Madness
we need to exude the confidence that
got us into college in the first place.
And so, to get a job, we campaign
for ourselves—ever so slightly, and
only when it’s allowed. Amit Jain
’12, a Political Science concentrator,
recalls that when he called to fol-
low up on his attempts to work in
a Senator’s D.C. office, “I felt like I
was being ignored every time.” When
Jain applied for a “more competi-
tive” internship at the White House
the following summer, he was spe-
cifically told not to follow up. Biol-
ogy concentrator Will Donovan ’12,
who spent last summer interning at
the National Institutes of Health, ex-
plained that while the program has
an online application, it serves more
as a database and “applicants must
contact individual labs at the NIH” in
hopes of being noticed by research-
ers and being offered a position. The
internship search process reflects
a balancing act of knowing when to
speak up and knowing when to resist
screaming what we all secretly want
to express: “I promise you won’t re-
gret hiring me!”
“Why won’t anyone just let me be
their unpaid b*tch?” are the oft heard
words of a frustrated friend of mine.
Just as an eager volunteer realizes
that there is a waiting list to work
in a soup kitchen on Thanksgiving,
there seem to be lots of people dying
to fix paper jams and to go on coffee
runs all summer. These stereotypi-
cal summer intern tasks can seem
unreasonable considering the pay
scale. Knowing that one is essentially
begging to perform slave labor, while
full-time employees perform similar
duties and receive a reasonable sal-
ary, can be a little disheartening.
As we have seen, people like to
suffer. In April 2010, The New York
Times released an article entitled
“The Unpaid Intern, Legal or Not.”
While students defended their sum-
mer jobs of choice, claiming that un-
paid work is just part of the process
(you know, the process—going to a
good school, getting a good job, earn-
ing fortune and maybe fame), this
article presented a dilemma. Many
prospective interns would do any-
thing for an opportunity to work for
free. The article suggested that in a
poor job market, companies were us-
ing unpaid internships, marketed as
educational experiences, as an easy
way to get free, illegal labor.
Although its argument is entirely
legitimate, it’s not clear whether the
Times article had any impact. It cer-
tainly failed to usher in a new age of
paid internships for all. For students
who cannot afford or are not willing to
work without pay, Simmons suggests
“creative ways to get unpaid experi-
ence” such as working as an unpaid
intern part-time in addition to find-
ing a paying job. Whether students
are paid or unpaid, he insists that “at
the end of the day, it’s the experience
and connections you make that are
important.” A February 2011 Times
Op-Ed, by Colin Buckley, appropri-
ately entitled “My Life as a Dog,” paid
homage to Ted Kennedy through a
discussion of the author’s internship
with the esteemed Senator. More spe-
cifically, it was a position in which the
author had to make copies, answer
phone calls, and (wait for it) respond
to emails from children in which he
pretended to be the Senator’s dog,
Splash. The article’s post-script hints
at the long-term value of pretending
to be a Portuguese water dog: “Colin
H.P. Buckley is a presidential man-
agement fellow with the federal gov-
ernment.” While it might not be an
especially appealing truth, interning
and its menial and quirky tasks do
seem to be play a part in later career
success.
So when a Brown student said,
“don’t do it,” maybe he didn’t want
to hear about internships anymore
because the reality is too hard to
Illustration: Phil Lai
swallow. Why do we spend so much
time crafting our lives and our resu-
més just to be an unpaid b*tch—or
a minimum wage scrub, or, at best, a
well-paid person at the (way) bottom
of the totem pole? What does this re-
veal, maybe not even about our gen-
eration, but about Brown students?
Not much: The skeptical students
answer, “Brown students want jobs.
Surprise.”
Maybe instead of harboring a
vague sense of guilt and superiority
for our competitive generation, we
can look at ourselves and recognize
that we’re part of a long line of do-ers.
Simmons senses that the internship
search process is “no more competi-
tive now than it has been in the past,”
although one might still be left to
wonder when internships became an
assumed aspect of one’s progression
through college. So while we tend to
confirm our own paranoia that our
peers are striving to outcompete us,
perhaps instead we should
disregard our illusions
that students are suddenly
more ambitious.
The best you can do is
establish your territory in
the summer job search.
Some students approach
it with optimism—Aaron
Nam ’12, an Economics/
Public Policy and Ameri-
can Institutions concen-
trator who spent last sum-
mer working at Goldman
Sachs, insists that the
process was not “cutthroat
but rather exciting and
a great learning experi-
ence.” Although establish-
ing his territory required
submitting an application,
talking to a recruiter, and
being flown to New York
to complete a “superday”
of several different inter-
views, Nam seems to have
escaped the process un-
scathed.
But even students who might
struggle to maintain a positive out-
look can heed Simmons’ advice: “Nev-
er, never, never give up.” Standing
one’s ground in the process might be
difficult—but it might also result in a
job. Of course it’s tempting to wallow
in self pity, convinced that the post-
modern world and all of its demands
have forced our ripe young minds
into the drudgery of cover letters and
phone interviews when we should
be filling our summers with leisure.
But it seems significant that in our
generation, and more importantly
in the generations before us, people
went to work—out of financial neces-
sity, out of a desire for a good future,
to escape boredom, to feel that they
were doing something meaningful,
to validate the education they were
lucky and grateful to receive. There’s
something nice about being part of a
world where sitting on your a** (for
too long) is frowned upon. So bring
on the competition.
music
God Bless Sweden
gopika KRISHNA
staff writer
God bless Sweden. From meatballs to
Ikea to Alfred Nobel, it’s no secret that
the Scandinavian Peninsula is a veritable
hotspot of epic cultural contributions.
Music is no exception.
Although for many, the idea of a
“Swedish pop star” may conjure im-
ages of ABBA and gold lamé jumpsuits,
it is the edgy, strong Swedish dancing
queens of today that are dominating our
indie landscape (see: the effervescent
Robyn). At the forefront of this revolu-
tion is Lykke Li, a doe-eyed gamine with
music equally perfect for
kicking ass and making
out. With her party-
friendly beats
and delicate,
airy voice, it’s
tempting to
pigeonhole
Li as
lykke li makes me go gaga
just another Europop “it-girl.” Yet it’s
that very combination of tough and ten-
der that makes this chanteuse stand out
as a powerhouse among all the other
self-proclaimed, dollar-sign toting fem-
powerment starlets.
What exactly is it about Lykke Li that
makes her such a leader in musical ba-
dassery? Part of it is the music itself. Li’s
music ranges from hard-hitting, almost
grungy clatters to gorgeous a cappella
tracks that showcase her fairy-like vocals,
sometimes within the same song. Take
her most famous single to
date, “Little Bit.” The
song starts off with
a symphony of
percussion—a
beautiful, ca-
cophonous
blend of
bass,
Carolyn Shasha
THURSDAY, MARCH 24, 2011
synth, and drums. As it progresses, we
hear Li whisper in a girly, innocent voice,
“And for you I keep my legs apart,” prov-
ing she’s a woman with some serious
intentions that are anything but pure.
It is that tension between powerful and
strong, hurt and vulnerable in Li’s songs
that makes her stand out.
This tension takes center stage on
Wounded Rhymes, Li’s latest (and ar-
guably greatest) release. Although the
sound is darker overall than on her de-
but Youth Novels, it toys with the same
contrasts between the fantasy of love and
reality of heartbreak. What makes the al-
bum stand out, however, is how she plays
with contrast not only in her lyrics but
also in the fabric of the songs, juxtapos-
ing instruments and melodies in unex-
pected and tantalizing ways. Wounded
Rhymes draws upon sounds from nu-
merous musical lands and cultures, from
doo-wop in “Unrequited Love” to East-
ern-influenced drums in “Love Out of
Lust,” a clear homage to Li’s childhood in
Morocco and India. The album’s greatest
triumph is how seamlessly these ostensi-
bly clashing parts come together to form
a gorgeous and accessible whole—it’s a
musical clusterf*ck that makes sense on
the first listen.
Unlike current controversial musi-
cians who appear to put on a costume
arts & culture
5
every time they’re in the public eye (meat
dress, anyone?), Lykke Li doesn’t force it.
She remains enigmatic without throwing
fistfuls of glitter in people’s faces. Her
live shows are visually unassuming, with
Li decked out in all black and surrounded
by a few instruments, yet musically large
and grand. The night usually transforms
into an all-out rager for the audience. Al-
though she’s a charismatic and energetic
performer, Lykke Li maintains an air of
reclusiveness in her private life. She re-
leases music through her own record la-
bel, LL Recordings, and distances herself
from the business side of music. Rather
than playing the flashy fame game the
industry seems to love, she shows off
her grand voice and personality in her
records.
Perhaps we can take a page out of this
bold brunette’s book and learn to em-
brace all our idiosyncrasies. So don’t be
afraid to pull out your best pair of black
skinny jeans and lacy boots while you get
your groove on to “I Follow Rivers.” Or
maybe even release your inner (s)he-wolf
to “Get Some,” after lamenting over a lost
love in “Let It Fall.” Lykke Li’s message is
clear: there’s no need to go gallivanting
around in your electric see-through one-
piece to leave your mark. A broken heart
can sometimes be stronger and more
powerful than an untouched one.

books
Emily Oliviera

Lost in Translation
la maladie de l’ignorance et de l’insularité
sam CARTER
editor emeritus
The success of Stieg Larsson’s books is just an
exception, not the rule. Fueled by the appeal of its
badass, dragon-tattooed heroine, the Swedish au-
thor’s Millennium trilogy has sold over six million
copies in the United States—a remarkable figure for
a translated work. Average Americans rarely ven-
ture beyond James Patterson novels in their liter-
ary pursuits, much less the borders of the English-
speaking world.
In 2005, only 3.54 percent of all adult fiction
titles in the U.S. were translated works. This figure,
which hasn’t changed since then, is known as the
“three percent problem.” Foreign governments and
cultural institutions have reacted strongly, subsi-
dizing the publication of English translations and
thus making it easier for works from their regions
to reach the U.S. market. But the cultural literacy of
the American public doesn’t seem to concern major
U.S. publishers—they have long claimed that trans-
lations simply don’t sell here, and are slow to pub-
lish the translations themselves.
The publishers suggest that the American read-
ing public—or what remains of it—is to blame. They
say it’s a simple case of supply and demand: they
won’t provide it if we won’t read it. Do Americans
lack interest in cultures outside the U.S.? Are we so
immersed in our own culture that we have trouble
understanding and appreciating the cultures of oth-
er countries? This is a pessimistic view, but perhaps
it’s true. The Internet draws us into a realm full of
inane, culturally specific memes and social media
outlets where there’s little cross-language pollina-
tion. In television, we even opt to adapt British se-
ries such as The Office and Skins instead of watch-
ing the original.
There are few easy answers to explain why so few
Americans read works in translation. This is a case,
like many others, where the etiology isn’t nearly
as important as the diagnosis and treatment, both
of which are quite simple in this case: Americans
don’t read enough translated works. We need to
read more. But why seek treatment? Is it really a
serious condition?
In 2008, the Secretary of the Nobel Academy
said that American writers were “too sensitive to
trends in their own mass culture” to win the prize
in literature and that “the U.S. is too isolated, too
insular. They don’t translate enough and don’t re-
ally participate in the big dialogue of literature.
That ignorance is restraining.” Toni Morrison
was the last American to win—she did it in 1993.
Since then, there have been five winners who
write in English, demonstrating that the Acad-
emy has no aversion to the language, just to the one who’s reading them in the original, and even if we
American writers who use it. Of course, the list (or the translators) miss out on some cultural subtle-
of writers who never won a Nobel is impressive— ties, we’re still benefiting from what Borges, Bakhtin,
Joyce, Nabokov, and Auden are only some—so Williams and others have called the “lifeblood of litera-
perhaps DeLillo and Roth need not worry. ture,” the exchange that begins to free an author from
What’s worrisome, however, is the fact that writing solely within his or her own unique cultural
we don’t participate in what the secretary called constraints.
the “big dialogue of literature.” Imagine, for a An author’s culture doesn’t have to be a constraint—
moment, a friend whose sense of humor consists only when he’s mired in it does it become restrictive. The
only of inside jokes. He or she isn’t that funny, circulation of new ideas and the tossing out of old ones
and after a while all the jokes get old. Perhaps it’s keeps literature dynamic for both readers and writers.
a slightly simplified analogy, but we don’t want Cutting ourselves off from not just one source of ideas
authors (or readers) who can only tell (under- but a whole variety of them is foolish at best, arrogant
stand) inside jokes but rather ones who possess at worst. Despite the limitations inherent in converting
a fully developed and highly sophisticated sense a work from its original language, translation is still an
of humor. effective way to expose oneself to these ideas.
When we’re not part of the conversation, The malady of ignorance and insularity is serious,
we’re missing out on the chance to be influenced but the treatment is easy and painless. There’s no need
by—and perhaps influence—many of the greatest to learn another language; one has only to be willing to
writers in the world. Even if we don’t interpret read. No excuses—self-medicate and take a translation
the translated works in the same way as some- off the shelf.
6theatre
arts & culture
POST-
Blame it on the Alcohol
berit GOETZ
staff writer
The alcohol is flowing freely. Mu-
sic is blaring. Inebriated partiers
scramble to match each other shot
for shot. Between frenzied bouts of
dancing, everyone tries to get laid.
No, I’m not talking about Spring
Weekend at Brown. I’m describing
a typical scene from Brown Opera
Productions’ Die Fledermaus (The
Bat), which channeled all the comic,
carnal, and alcoholic glory of Johann
Strauss’s 1874 original into Alumnae
Hall last week. Oh, you didn’t see it?
Skeptical about the relevance of 19th
century Viennese opera to your life?
Let me fill you in on what BOP has
done to make this sparkling operatic
nugget resonate with the lightheart-
ed bacchanalia of the Brown experi-
ence.
Even the original plot reads like
the stuff of the BroPo Spring Week-
end blotter. Herr Eisenstein (Nathan
Margolin ’11) is really into what Re-
becca Black of “Friday” fame calls
“partyin’ partyin’ YEAH.” He’s about
to spend eight days in jail for a minor
offense. What better way to spend his
last night of freedom, wheedles his
friend Dr. Falke (Zal Shroff ’14), than
in debauched carousing at a rager
thrown by Prince Orlovsky (Ivy Al-
phonse-Leja ’14)? Eisenstein agrees,
but tells his long-suffering wife Ro-
film & tv
Get Out of my Warlock Brain
why two and a half men can’t win, duh
priyanka CHATTERJEE
film editor
Until two weeks ago, I knew exactly
three things about the Charlie Sheen:
he’s Jed Bartlet’s son, Gordon Bombay’s
brother, and Duckie’s on-screen coun-
terpart. But after the violent eruption of
all things Sheen following his controver-
sial spate of televised, drug-induced out-
bursts, I can’t get the sunken-eyed drug
addict with Adonis DNA off of my pop-
culture radar. So when CBS announced
that they were firing him from the rat-
ings powerhouse Two and a Half Men, I
all but threw my tiger-blooded hands in
the air. Finally a chance to get Sheen well
and truly out of my warlock brain.
Two and a Half Men, which centers
around Sheen’s laid-back jingle-writer’s
humorous interactions with his uptight
divorced brother (Jon Cryer) and listless
nephew (Angus T. Jones), is one of the
most popular shows on television today,
with over 14 million viewers tuning in
each week for some mindless humor.
Since Sheen’s offensive offscreen rants
are hardly in keeping with the tone of
this family-friendly show, his firing was
all but inevitable. I watch my fair share
of questionable television shows (Say Yes
To The Dress is heartwarming, okay?),
but my hatred for this mindless, one-
note comedy is almost Tea Party-like in
its fervor. I vote cancellation, outright—
but, understandably, CBS doesn’t want
to turn away the millions who watch
each week. So despite Men’s shoddy
writing and tired plot, the show must go
opera, in layman’s terms
salinde (Juliana Friend ’11) that he’s
leaving for prison instead. Little does
he know he’s playing right into the das-
tardly hands of Dr. Falke, who’s seek-
ing revenge against Einsenstein for
abandoning him dead-drunk in a bat
costume after a night of revelry three
years earlier.
While Eisenstein is away at the
party, Alfredo, a seductive Italian tenor
(Andrew Wong ’11), turns up to woo his
old flame Rosalinde with a tender ren-
dition of “Drink, My Darling, Drink”—
the Viennese waltz equivalent of Pit-
bull’s “Hotel Room Service.” Rosalinde
is beginning to relent (“You know what
your high A does to me”) when Herr
Frank (Phil Arevalo ’11), the prison
warden, interrupts the late-night wine-
soaked tête-à-tête and carts Alfredo off
to jail in his dressing gown, mistaking
him for Eisenstein. Back at Orlovsky’s
party, the cases of mistaken identity
pile up as an increasingly schwasted
Eisenstein hits on everyone from his
disguised chambermaid (Rebecca Lich-
tin ‘14) to his own wife, who—thanks to
a tip-off from Dr. Falke—turns up in
disguise as well. Meanwhile, Orlovsky
channels Lil Jon with his high-spirited
song “Chacun à Son Gout (To Each
His Own Taste),” threatening to kick
out all of the guests unless they take
a shot. During the opera’s hilarious
on—sans Sheen.
It’s a risky move, to be sure. Sheen
was a vital, if not the central, component
of the show, if his former salary of $1.25
million per episode is any indicator. Oth-
er shows have tried and sometimes suc-
ceeded in writing in a new main charac-
ter after a star’s departure. Interestingly
enough, Sheen himself was one such re-
placement, taking over for Michael J. Fox
as the new principal character on Spin
City in 2000. To make a successful tran-
sition often requires a few special ingre-
dients: several lead characters, a strong
ensemble cast structure, and a workplace
setting that allows for a natural transi-
tion of characters. ER went on for almost
twenty years with a revolving door of
good-looking people (remember George
Clooney and Julianna Marguiles?) be-
cause it possessed all three magic traits.
With a workplace setting, the arrival of
new doctors (or lawyers, or vampires,
or Parks department employees) seems
natural. Cops are even better: one look at
the Sporcle quiz for all the Law and Or-
der detective pairs shows how many cast
changes the show was able to withstand.
The only other time in recent television
history that an actor was handed a pink
slip for offscreen antics occurred in 2006,
when Isaiah Washington was famously
fired from Grey’s Anatomy for making
homophobic remarks about a costar. But
the show moved on seamlessly without
him, as it contained the aforementioned
Shixie
morning-after denouement, Eisenstein
feebly tries to blame everything on the
alchohol, and Dr. Falke reveals himself
as the engineer of the whole mess. The
Bat has had his revenge.
But it wasn’t just the farcical plot
that allowed the production to reso-
nate with Brown students. The daz-
zling spoken repartee in director Au-
drey Chait ‘11’s revision of the English
text made the opera unusually intel-
ligible and engaging. The lyrics to the
songs were projected above the stage
(the convention in many professional
opera houses), providing a lifeline of rious operatic fare on campus, or was
comprehensibility in the midst of a the success of Die Fledermaus still
torrent of vibrato and high Bs. In ad- largely contingent on its lighthearted
dition, the authenticity of the orches- content? After Friday’s performance,
tral score powerfully supported the one audience member remarked that
cast’s emotive musical performances. after watching all that partying, he was
Die Fledermaus’ famously waltzy score ready to go out and get wasted. And
was brought to life by a small student while it is a delicious irony that 19th-
orchestra under the direction of Jacob century Viennese opera strikes a chord
Klapholz ’13, who—clad in tails and a in the debauched souls of some Brown
white bowtie—stole the show at the students, my hope is that BOP will con-
downbeat of the overture, wielding his tinue to strengthen opera’s presence on
baton with the ferocity of a modern- campus by exposing us to an increas-
day Beethoven. ingly challenging repertoire. With the
Efforts to make the opera accessible kind of freshman talent we saw last
to a wider audience clearly paid off: weekend, who knows? Don Giovanni
seven rows of seats were added at Sat- could be next. But in the meantime,
urday’s performance to accommodate grab yourself a drink and a seductive
the thronging masses. But will BOP be tenor—it’s time to start rehearsing for
able to carve out a niche for more se- Spring Weekend!
ingredients: a hospital setting, an
award-winning supporting cast, and
several lead characters (oh hey, Mc-
Steamy), as well as a number of in-
tertwining plotlines to follow in the
wake of Burke’s departure.
Men, unfortunately, is not set in a
gritty police department—and its main
characters number only two and a half,
apparently. Is Alan (Cryer) sup-
posed to miraculously find
out he has another
rich brother who can
house him? A long-
lost uncle, perhaps?
How many jingle-writers
can you even have in one fami-
ly? The outcome of a Sheen-less show
should be a sight to see. After all, cast Phil Lai
rotations in shows with few lead charac- leaving
ters are not usually effective even under the show scram-
exceptional circumstances. Recall John bling in his wake. Part of me hopes Men
Ritter’s sudden passing in the middle of will be successful with a new lead, de-
8 Simple Rules in 2003. Even then, with spite my disdain—no innocent camera-
James Garner and David Spade joining man should have to suffer for Sheen’s
the cast as the new alpha males, the show temper tantrums. But then there’s the
failed to sustain itself. much larger part of me that balks at
So, the future of Two and a Half Men the idea of such a terrible show surviv-
seems bleak—no viable replacements ing when plenty of good shows often
have stepped forward, and the show’s die in obscurity (Pushing Daisies, I still
production cycle remains in limbo with- mourn your loss). If we’re being honest,
out a leading man. As Sheen embarks on I’d happily raise a glass to the death of
his “My Violent Torpedo of Truth/Defeat Men, all two and a half of them. And if I
is Not An Option” tour (which sold out ever find myself craving some chauvin-
in eighteen minutes), he seems to be rid- istic humor and a few fart jokes, there
ing his newfound infamy to new heights, are always reruns.

jane BRENDLINGER
food columnist
For just an hour, lemon wedges
tasted like candied nectar, and vin-
egar became my drink of choice.
Of course, I wasn’t sober, or at
least my taste buds weren’t. I was
flavor-tripping out of my mind on
taste berries.
Last Tuesday, the Science Cen-
ter distributed a small quantity of
the so-called Miracle Fruit. Native
to West Africa, the berry contains
miraculin, a protein that attaches
to the taste buds and induces the
sensation of sweetness. The fruit
itself was strange and not some-
thing I’d choose to consume reg-
ularly—slightly tart but with little
flavor and the texture of a dried
cranberry. Yet one doesn’t drink
Karkov for pleasure or smoke pot
for the taste of it, and so I eagerly
consumed my berry in anticipa-
tion of its sense-altering effects. I
swirled the rind in my mouth and
let the fruit coat my tongue. Then
my trip began.
After my first bite of a lime, I
knew the berry had worked. The
lime juice was no longer lip-puck-
The Right Lager for Your Broth
molly COUSINS
contributing writer
Growing up, I couldn’t wait to
be able to have a glass of wine with
dinner. Swirling the liquid in your
glass and throwing around terms
like “mouthfeel” just seemed so so-
phisticated and, well, adult. Beer
was what sports fanatics drank
in the Eagles Stadium parking lot
and college kids guzzled in Animal
House. Imagine my surprise, then,
on inspecting a restaurant menu in
Boston this summer: “Littleneck
clams steamed in a garlicky white
wine and cream sauce with lemon,
served over linguine. Beer sugges-
tion: Hefeweizen or Witbier.”
In the last several years, beer
consumption in the food world has
been elevated from the everyman’s
kick-back drink to the realm of
the gourmand. The rise of Ameri-
can microbreweries over the last
few years is a major factor in this
“gourmetization” of beer. Small op-
erations can experiment and create
more distinct types and flavors of
beer than Anheuser-Busch Co. can.
I recently came across a recipe
for mussels that called for beer
rather than white wine. A few reci-
pes, in fact, claimed that this was a
“classic” pairing, but I’d never heard
of using beer in seafood recipes, so
I decided to try it out. I chose six
beers to try with my mussels: Sam
Adams Boston Lager, Dogfish Head
Me Jane. You Food.
eating under the influence
ering, but tasted instead like sweet
syrup, limeade straight from lime.
The lemon was equally pleasing. I
was still skeptical when my friend
Ellen handed me a Dixie cup of vin-
egar. Though my nose wrinkled at the
scent, it tasted luscious and tangy,
burning my throat in a thrilling after-
bite as I swallowed. Cranberry juice
was mellow, and pickles tasted as
though they were soaked in honey.
Some foods, though, remained the
same. Olives were still unmistakably
olives, and though I kept dipping my
finger in the sour cream, I had the
sinking feeling that I just really like
sour cream.
When Ellen and I had exhausted
the samplings of the Science Center,
we were still riding our miracle berry
high. And so we decided to take our
taste buds on the ultimate adven-
ture—a flavor trip to the Ratty. Thus
began the strangest meal I would ever
consume.
“Lemons from the tea station!
I’m gonna take all the lemons!” I
grabbed my tray, giddy with excite-
ment and eyes widening at the won-
beer gets gourmet
Palo Santo Marron (Brown Ale), Cis-
co Breweries Whale’s Tale Pale Ale,
Delirium Tremens (Dubbel), Smut-
tynose Robust Porter, and Mayflower
Winter Oatmeal Stout.
Lured by free food and beer, three
of my friends agreed to help me out
and lend me their discerning palates.
We all agreed that the Smuttynose
Robust Porter was not the best pair-
ing. While the beer itself had a great
flavor, it brought out the fishiness
rather than the sweetness of the mus-
sels and proved altogether too heavy
for shellfish. The Mayflower Winter
Oatmeal Stout (a brand that became
available in Rhode Island only a few
weeks ago) made the mussels taste, in
a word, interesting. Cisco Breweries
Whale’s Tale Pale Ale, though cute in
name, was unobjectionable and oth-
erwise uneventful.
The Sam Adams Boston Lager was
a surprising disaster—usually I think
of Sam Adams as a safe bet and rely
on it when I recognize nothing else on
a menu. Perhaps the flavor doesn’t re-
spond well to heat, but the broth left
what can only be described as that
taste in your mouth Sunday morn-
ing, after a night spent overindulg-
ing. The beer itself was rather plain,
at least by comparison to the five
other flavor-packed beers. That said,
the Dogfish Head Palo Santo Marron
was incredibly bitter and the darkest
drous playground the Ratty had be-
come.
“I’m on the balsamic vinegar!”
I watched Ellen pour a bottle from
the salad station straight into a cup
until it was halfway full.
We embarked on our great experi-
ment with gusto. The most striking
and delicious foods, we found, were
those originally acidic and sour. My
orange gushed ambrosia, and a Gran-
ny Smith apple played delightfully on
my tongue. We sucked down lemons
until our teeth hurt and washed it all
down with glassfuls of vinegar. Warm,
savory foods didn’t make much of
an impression. The herbed turnips
were simply bitter—not to mention
overcooked—and the potatoes au
gratin, though cheesy and delicious,
remained unchanged. Sweet foods
became overbearing—ketchup might
as well have been tomato-flavored
sugar (although it essentially is, let’s
be real), and honey was caustic, over-
bearing to the point of bitterness.
Soft serve was cloying, an intensely
saccharine vanilla, but I have to ad-
mit, I kind of liked it …
of the six beers we tried—sunlight
couldn’t penetrate this stuff. For all
its heaviness, it did nothing to the
mussels’ flavor—but on its own, it
lingered on the palate for quite a
bit.
I was starting to brace myself
for a failed endeavor—and then we
sampled the Delirium Tremens.
Both the beer and the mussels were
naturally sweet and slightly fruity
and worked wonders together. The
broth tasted strangely similar to a
classic white wine sauce but with a
slightly wheaty aftertaste. The beer
was out of this world, reminiscent
of effervescent honey, and far less
acidic than any of the others we
tried—a definite success.
We unanimously decided on
the Delirium as our favorite beer
for cooking and drinking, with the
Mayflower, Smuttynose, and Cisco
close behind—Dogfish Head and
Sam Adams tied for last. In general,
the lighter beers paired better with
the mussels and proved less offen-
sive as cooking beers. I acknowl-
edge, however, that my taste buds
were on the offensive for this eating
session—I probably discerned more
of these tastes than I usually would
have, had I simply been enjoying a
meal out. My advice? Be adventur-
ous—test it out for yourself and let
the beer do the talking.
food & booze
THURSDAY, MARCH 24, 2011 7
And so, surrounded by the de-
bris of our atypical Ratty binge,
Ellen and I reclined in our chairs,
our taste berry high tapering to
an end. Though a friend who had
joined us frowned with jealousy
(“I want to be flavor-tripping!”), I
felt some remorse after the meal,
not the least of which stemmed
from the quantity of acid roiling
in my stomach. Just as sex never
seems the same after you do it on
ecstasy, would food ever taste as
glorious? With sober taste buds,
would it suddenly lose its sense
of surprise and wonder? Then I
thought of the expected sweet-
ness of sugar, the welcomed tart-
ness of a cranberry. Food, even in
normal circumstances, can still
astonish the senses—the dripping
nectar of a peach in season, dark
chocolate that suspends thought.
I realized that, when it comes to
food, I don’t need drugs to have
fun. Still, I remember that lime,
those lemons, the delight and
shock that came with each bite. It
was a good trip.
Phil Lai
Mussels alla
Delirium
Ingredients:
1 lb mussels
½ medium white onion, finely chopped
2 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp butter or margarine
2 cloves garlic, minced
6 oz beer of your choice
Directions:
1. Sauté the onion in butter and olive oil in a 2+”
deep pot over medium heat.
2. Add the garlic once the onions are translucent
and cook for another 15-30 seconds.
3. Pour in your beer of choice, then a pound of
mussels.
4. Place the lid on top, steam for approximately
five minutes or until mussels have opened and
are opaque—then pour into a large bowl. Sprin-
kle with chopped cilantro or parsley and serve
with hearty white bread for dipping, so you can
better taste the broth.
8 sex & etiquette
POST-
MM
sexpert
The “I Have Sex” video produced
by Wesleyan students was meant to
“[start] a student movement to make
sure elected leaders know: Americans
have sex, and we stand with Planned
Parenthood.” If you haven’t seen the
viddy, which was uploaded to YouTube
two weeks ago and has since gone, er,
viral, it’s a quickie montage of Wes-
leyan kids holding signs proclaiming,
“I have sex,” “My friends have sex,”
or some similar aphorism expressing
sexual solidarity. In February, after the
House of Reps approved an amend-
ment to defund Planned Parenthood,
sponsored by Indiana Republican
Mike Pence, smart people all over the
country have been going batsh*t—but
instead of starting a national Jizz-on-
Every-Extant-Portrait-of-Mike-Pence
movement, they’ve resorted to less
messy measures, such as Wesleyan’s
video campaign. Since “I Have Sex”
was posted, similar productions cre-
ated by students from Bard, Oberlin,
Elmira, and study-abroad contingents
in Ecuador and France, have gained
comparable notoriety.
The takeaway is that young people
are not going to stop getting nasty
Emily
Post-
etiquette advice for the socially
awkward and their victims
Dear Emily,
It had been a long day, and I was
in the mood to slump in a booth in the
Ratty and devour some much-needed
pasta. While slogging through the
line, I ran into a distant acquaintance.
He struck up a conversation, and we
chatted amiably. But the end of the
line came, and I was no longer inter-
ested in being sociable. How to com-
municate such a thing? I feigned en-
trancement with the ketchup in order
to avoid sitting with him, but there
has to be a better way.
Unsociably,
Really Avoiding Talking To You.
Leave, Oaf. Never Ever Return.
Dearest RATTY LONER,
Emily Post- has departed early for
spring break, and is presently writing
from the blissful solitude of a hermit-
age in the Alps. The prospect of an
uncomfortable encounter seems as
distant now as a life without fresh goat
cheese and crisp mountain air. But
the people need advice, and Emily is a
woman of the people.
A person in your situation has
two main options: you can either lie,
or evade. Emily Post- is personally a
devotee of the second method. A polite
smile with a hint of froideur can work
wonders, especially when it’s followed
by a brisk walk in the other direction.
It’s a simple but effective way to say, “I
have finished with you, plebeian, and
Planned Parenthood
n. 1. the novel concept of the functional family in which informed
and healthful parents love and care for their children, who become
empowered through education to make active and positive choices;
2. the community healthcare provider, specializing in women’s
health and reproductive care.
no matter what sexual health resources
the government provides. Yeah, the Na-
tional Survey of Family Growth recently
published statistics indicating that fewer
teens are having sex—over a quarter
of 15- to 24-year-olds polled had never
had intercourse. But if 25 percent aren’t
getting down and dirty, then 75 percent
are—and for them, condom use is at
an all-time high and teen pregnancy at
nearly half the rate reported in the ’90s.
You have to give credit to agencies such
as Planned Parenthood and Advocates
for Youth, which have worked exten-
sively to supplement public schools’ sex
ed programs and disseminate contra-
ceptives over the past couple decades.
(Or attribute this windfall to Benedict
XVI—but I’m just saying, condoms don’t
spontaneously generate at your bedside
like manna.) Why cancel funding for
Planned Parenthood now, when more
young people are wearing rubbers more
often than they’re wearing Ugg boots?
The stigma that surrounds Planned
Parenthood, which provides abortions,
has become increasingly prominent in
popular politics. As columnist Sarah Gas-
sel ’12 pointed out in last Friday’s BDH,
only three percent of Planned Parent-
hood’s services involve abortions, but it’s
would now like to partake of my supper in
peace.”
But perhaps you possess a kinder, less
misanthropic soul, and fear wounding the
feelings of this “distant acquaintance.” In
that case, one must undertake more deli-
cate modes of evasion. When desirous of
a meal without company, it is advisable
to enter the Ratty with a book firmly in
hand. Emily Post- recommends a weighty
tome—one can pretend to read Gone with
the Wind for months without exciting sus-
picion. When your conversation partner
has ceased to amuse, simply hold up the
book, and say, in a tone of deepest regret,
“I would love to talk more, but Scarlett
calls.” If he doesn’t immediately take the
hint, flip to a random page and assume a
rapt expression. Rhett Butler may not give
a damn, but you certainly do... or so this
dense friend will think.
If you enjoy the odd spot of prevarica-
tion and are prepared to skulk in a cor-
ner behind your copy of the Brown Daily
Herald for the rest of dinner, you may also
consider claiming that you are meeting
friends. “But Emily,” you protest, “lying
can’t be good etiquette!” Perhaps not—but
if your stock of tolerance has been deplet-
ed, a white lie is preferable to grimacing
through a half hour of inanities. Besides,
even a well-manned girl needs her fun.
Speaking of fun, Emily has a strapping
Swiss goatherd waiting to give her his un-
divided attention. Farewell, darling. Prac-
tice that frosty smile!
Emily Post-
a hard three percent for the forced-birth
movement to get past. Gassel laments
the disparity between the 332,278 abor-
tions and the mere 977 adoption agency
referrals that Planned Parenthood deliv-
ered in 2009. These statistics are mis-
leading, though, because they don’t ad-
dress the reality of pregnancy counseling
at Planned Parenthood, wherein women
speak with trained social workers about
their options, including parenting and
adoption. I recently spoke with Carolyn
Mark, the president of Rhode Island
NOW, who told me about a recent lob-
bying session in which a woman testi-
fied in favor of reproductive choice. The
woman, now a mother, went to Planned
Parenthood to request an abortion, but
changed her mind during counseling.
The counselor, who had no ulterior eu-
genic agenda, helped the woman evalu-
ate her options. I can’t help wondering
how many of those 977 women referred
to adoption agencies showed up at
Planned Parenthood with the intention
of terminating their pregnancies.
The remaining 97 percent of Planned
Parenthood’s services include the pro-
vision of contraception, STI/STD test-
ing and treatment, cancer screening and
prevention, pregnancy tests, and prena-
birth-controlling girlfriends
This week, we proudly introduce Krame of standard split down the middle.
the Crop as a guest columnist, subbing in for
Dorian as he trots sassily around the globe.
Dear Lovecraft and Dorian,
I’ve been dating my girlfriend for
three months. She finally went on birth
control last week, which is awesome
because now we don’t have to use con-
doms. (We’ve both been tested and are
monogamous.) The problem is that now
she wants me to pay for her birth control.
Isn’t that her responsibility? Before she
went on the pill, we were using condoms,
and I bought them—so I shouldn’t have
to shell out $25 every month, right? She’s
making me feel like a jerk who’s burden-
ing her financially. Should I just give in
and pay for it?
Thanks,
Boy Opposes Payment
Dear BOP,
If your girlfriend went on birth con-
trol to have awesome, unprotected sex
with you, then the pill acts as a replace-
ment for condoms. (This isn’t always the
case—many women are on the pill before
a relationship and use it to regulate their
menstrual cycle.) Just as you were paying
for condoms earlier in the relationship, it
seems like you should contribute finan-
cially to whatever birth control methods
she chooses. Even though birth control
has become her physical responsibility,
this doesn’t bear any relevance on who
should pay for it. I’d recommend the
tal and menopausal consultation. The
1,900 affiliate staff and volunteers pro-
viding sex ed to over 1.2 million young
Americans dispense information about
HIV/AIDS, abstinence, puberty, and
(get this) parent-child communication.
If I’ve learned anything as a sex col-
umnist at this university, it’s that y’all
are doing lots of kinky sh*t. And if, say,
your RC runs out of lube and Trojans,
it’s probably not going to make you
keep your pants on. While Wesleyan’s
sex broadcast doesn’t necessarily work
to dispel the misconceptions about
Planned Parenthood, it does address
this truth: We’re having sex, talking
about sex, or thinking about sex, all
the time. Planned Parenthood works
to keep those acts and conversations
and thoughts as informed and as safe
as possible. With the defunding of this
organization comes the devaluing of
information about our bodies and our
healthcare options, and a loss of our
freedom to choose—to act on behalf
of our desires for pleasure and safety
without compromising either. I join
college students across the country in
declaring: Yeah, I have sex. And no,
not with anyone who acts anything like
Mike Pence.
Love,
Krame of the Crop
Darlink BOP,
While you might not have a uterus,
BOP, it is in your best interest to take re-
sponsibility for pregnancy prevention,
even if it means less money to spend on
important things such as Natty Ice and
ironic tees. While it was very nice of you
to buy all those condoms in the early
days of courtship, I think it would be in
your best interest to split contraceptive
costs 50/50—after all, it takes two to
tango (and to make a fetus). Your girl-
friend shouldn’t expect you to foot the
whole bill, and you shouldn’t expect to
be excused from financial responsibil-
ity just because the prescription doesn’t
have your name on it. You’re both get-
ting the benefits, so you should both
share the costs.
For some couples, it makes sense for
one partner to pay all of the costs—for
instance, this might be the best course
of action for couples in which only one
partner has a job. But in your case, I
think it’s best to divide the costs evenly
and avoid any resentment. While we’re
talking money, I’ll remind you that con-
traception is always cheaper than an
abortion or 18+ years of child support.
Suck it up and split it with her.
xoxo,
Lovecraft