This fucking tree. I promise I don’t normally start stories in medias res, but I can’t help it. This tree is a giant, nine-foot, demonic, home-wrecking, total piece of fucking shit.
Commandant L.S., face full of Christmas rage.
I say this as I stand next to my family’s royal failure of a tenenbaum, something which even Linus from Charlie Brown would be ashamed to be associated with. This tree has taken so much time from me, enacted so much emotional stress on my family, that I can’t help it if I no longer see it as an inanimate fucking object. It’s got a life of its own. It’s a damn demon tree. I’ve stood next to it, supporting it, for the last 90 minutes, trying to keep it from falling over again. I only momentarily take my hands off of it to help unwind the garland and remove the ornaments, and I swear it knows that I’m starting to trust that it won’t fall over, so it decides to make a move to take out the window behind me.
Like most disasters one lives through, I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when the tree first fell, a little over two hours ago. Except that, like most disasters one lives through, the trauma of the event likely prevented my memory from working correctly. I think I was playing video games in my room at home, waiting for my buddy to call me back about going out for a beer. But for all I really know, I was furiously masturbating to a Celine Dion song in the furnace closet down the hall when my mom shouted up to me. Continue reading →
We at Sherman Ave talked a lot about An Ohio State University getting fucked, wrecked, guzzling our Siemian, and all sorts of other fantastic verbage *does Trumpy dickswinging celebration out of habit*. At this point, if you’re not familiar with the events of the OSU-NU game, you can just close this tab, and then find some Siemian to guzzle or something.
In reality, no real fucking or wrecking was had, neither by NU nor OSU. Of course, OSU supporters will be quick to say that, actually, they fucked us. But they’d be fucking wrong.
Khrushchev didn’t come to an agreement with Kennedy because he wanted to avoid a nuclear apocalypse; he phoned in the Cuban Missile Crisis in because he really didn’t want to negotiate with JFK while using one of the Politburo’s standing-room-only toilets. Gorbachev didn’t tear down the wall and end the Communist era because Reagan said so; he simply was tired of taking a shit standing up.
Deceased President John Fitzgerald Kennedy today announced via televised press conference that he endorses fellow deceased President Andrew Jackson for the position of president of Northwestern University’s Associated Student Government.
Looking dapper as always and speaking directly to members of the NU student body, Kennedy said: “I trust yo-ah student body will wisely choose the right man for the job, Andrew Jackson. Not only is he qualified to carry on this institution’s dedication to racial and social equality, he has also promised to do absolutely nothing to enhance student life once elected, which is the express purpose of this office.”
Kennedy reminded the students, “Ask nawt what yo-ah university student govahment can do for you-ah, but… well, don’t ask, because they don’t know-er what they are supposed to do for you-ah. Honestly you should nawt expect much no matter what the result.”
When questioned why he was endorsing Old Hickory rather than one of the other candidates, Kennedy chose to speak candidly: “Look guys, you don’t know how much shit I have to take from Jackson and the rest now that it’s socially acceptable to make jokes about my assassination.” The conference was awkward thereafter.
Choosing to break the awkward silence, a heavily intoxicated Sophomore Comm student asked Kennedy whether he often had to put up with taunts in ‘President Heaven’, Kennedy responded: “Yes, er… uh… Heaven… that’s exactly what it is” and vanished in a burst of hellfire.
My mom asks me, every fortnight or so, what I’m doing next fall. Of course, she knows what I know, which is that I don’t know. She asks anyway. Everyone asks all the time if I know what I’m doing next fall. Isn’t it enough that I’m about to graduate? No. It’s never enough. Doing the college is never enough.
But everyone else seems to have something to do, and it’s that time of year when everyone is announcing to everyone else that they’re just so talented that they’ve managed to secure that job or internship that had really long odds. Like, a Midwesterner-getting-into-Yale long odds. Fuck Yale.
Frontera Fresco is the worst creperie cum Jamba Juice cum sushi hut cum Sbarro I have ever patronized. Let’s enjoy that imagery for a moment.
Anyway. Frontera Fresco is a new restaurant. In Norris Center. Owned by Chicago chef Rick Bayless. It serves “quick-service” (more on that later) Mexican food (also more on that later). To college students. And, presumably, the Norris cat lady. Here are some quick key facts that must be understood in order to appreciate the impact of Frontera Fresco on the Northwestern dining scene and community at large.
The one place on campus Ross Packingham is forbidden from peeing on.
Today, Northwestern University opens the main doors of Deering Library for the first time in 42 years. The library, or sadbrary if you will, would like you to believe that this is an event to be received with joy, laughter, puppies, Jennifer Lawrence and Pippa Middleton making out. But NO. First off, at least 4 of those things are not allowed in the library. Second, DEERING LIBRARY IS NOT YOUR LIBRARY, STUDENTS OF NORTHWESTERN. It is the book-lending equivalent of a FALSE IDOL. This literary/digital multimedia usurper threatens to undermine the very notion of the modern Northwestern experience. RABBLE RABBLE RABBLE EVERYONE TO DEERING. Wait. Shit.
You should always be wary when a powerful institution claims to be redressing grievancestemporarily relocating domestic threats reopening areas once accessible to the public. Said institution is probably selling the reopening as a “gift to the people” in order to avoid revealing the truth behind that area’s seclusion. In truth, that area was probably used to cover up something horrifyingly heinous, like when the school commissioned Ross Packingham to create the Sistine Chapel’s equivalent of a race controversy mural. Or perhaps the public ALWAYS had access to that area. They probably just had to take a secret route to get there, or were not allowed in that room on certain days or at certain hours, or perhaps that area simply did not have any widely useful aspect to it besides its aesthetic appeal. And maybe, just maybe, that area was once a hard-to-reach functionally-redundant locale simply in order to increase its appeal as a place of peace and solitude. To open it up now is to open all those old wounds, and then cram those wounds full of freshmen excited about the nostalgia of a Hogwarts-esque area to study. Seriously guys, we already have the Great Room.
And what of Main Library proper? I will tell you what I think of when I think of Northwestern’s TRUE library. I think of timeless, majestic, incredibly ugly 70’s architecture that’s seemingly inspired by Darth Vader’s Imperial Star Destroyer—and that is just as attractive inside as well. I think of an out-of-the-way entrance that does not quite accommodate the flow of student traffic—just enough to let people in, but not enough to get them in quickly or comfortably. I think of an indoor temperature that ranges from 40-60 degrees Fahrenheit (FUCK YOU KELVIN) in some places, and 85 to 100 degrees in other places, but never anything close to in between. I think of distracting interior odors that vary between Joy Yee’s, Buff Joe’s, Mount Everest, and Norris sushi, depending on where you settle down to study and in what company. I think of wide panorama windows that evidently have not been cleaned since, well, the Deering Library entrance was closed. I think of chairs that are at that remarkable height where you’re too short to put your elbows on the table, but too tall to really take advantage of bad posture habits. I think of an Info Commons that has all the soullessness and incredibly depressing lighting of a corporate cubicle area. I think of a printing/scanning process that has been changed approximately 673 times in 2 years, increasing in painfulness and frustration-ness logarithmically with each go(does that make sense? I haven’t done math in 4 years. YAY DISTROS). I think of a thoughtful, labyrinth layout, in which 3 towers, placed seemingly at random, help distract students from noticing that the fourth tower—where Chet Haze shoots his rap videos—is absent from all maps and floor plans.[1] That is MY Northwestern library, dear Wildcats, and if you have attended this school in the last 42 years, then it is YOUR library as well.
So take today’s opening as you will. You can praise it as a godsend to those who hate Main, as the ruination of yet another poorly-kept Northwestern secret, or as a relatively inconsequential change to NU’s ever-changing landscape. Whatever it is, one thing is for sure: Main library sucks ass.
Cheers,
The Commandant
[1] Also, it is total bullshit when you have a discussion section in one of the Library’s towers.
So the new Macklemore & Ryan Lewis album The Heist just dropped and basically it’s fucking awesome. I’ve decided to take a look at one of the more remarkable tracks off the album, “Thrift Shop.” Here now begins a lyrical analysis of the above song.
“What, what, what, what, what….
From the outset, the listener’s curiosity is piqued, building into the sexy saxophone hook.
I’m gonna pop some tags/ only got 20 dollars in my pocket
Limited by a frustrating, Obama’s America budget, Macklemore, speaking through Wanz, is nevertheless determined to refresh his wardrobe with some novel accouterments.
I, I, I’m hunting, lookin’ for a come-up/ This is fucking awesome.
The artist is unable to contain his excitement as he searches for a surprise new fashion trend, which he himself shall inspire. Certainly, the pleasure lies in the pursuit.
Walk into the club like what up, I got a big cock/I’m so pumped, I bought some shit from a thrift shop
Fast forward now to a moment in which Mackelmore’s newfound discount “swag” is already prominently on display at a discotheque. His braggadocio—or is it genuine honesty? —well suits his fresh duds. Macklemore now confirms our suspicion: that his fantastic fur coat came at a discounted purchase, and that he derives excitement from that fact.
Ice on the fringe is so damn frosty, /The people like “damn, that’s a cold ass honkey”
Macklemore ascribes his incredibly rare and valuable discovery as something akin to a diamond, or “ice,” which, when found “on the fringe,” or outside of the conventional realm, is especially “cool” or “frosty.” The extraordinary nature of his find has the crowd’s attention and respect.
Rollin’ in hella deep, headed to the mezzanine/Dressed in all pink, except my gator shoes, those are green. /Draped in a leopard mink girls standin’ next to me/Probably should have washed this, it smells like R. Kelly’s sheets
On his way to the entresol with a number of disciples, Macklemore reveals that his fur coat was only an appetizer to something much greater. For him, pink is not for cancer supporters, little girls, or real men. Rather, it is for those who would dare to demonstrate a remarkable sense of style and, further, to be shod in the skin of a deadly fresh-water predator. Adorned with additional super intensely awesome animal skins and fine women to boot, Macklemore suddenly discovers the chink in the armor (LOLJeremyLinLOL), his very own Achilles’ Heel. For all the grandeur of his garb, his perfume is not so sweet. Nay, it is reminiscent of a certain R&B artist’s alleged proclivity to relieve himself onto young women, to “turn [their faces] into a toilet seat, as it were.[1]
Pissssssssssssss/But shit, it was 99 cents. /Bought it, coppin’ it, washin’ it.
Highly effective onomatopoeia precedes Macklemore’s unapologetic explanation for the scent, as well as his willingness to address the issue at a future point in time.
‘Bout to go and get some compliments passin’ off in those moccasins/Someone else has been walkin’ in, but me and grungie fuckin’ ‘em/I am stuck in a closet and savin’ my money/And I’m hella happy, that’s a bargain, bitch.
Here, Macklemore documents further instances in which he demonstrates observers’ appreciation for his second-hand style.
Imma take your grandpa’s style, imma take your grandpa’s style, /No, for real I asked your grandpa, can I have his hand-me-downs?
Now Macklemore turns on the listener. He’s going to steal YOUR grandpa’s style. OUR COLLECTIVE GRANDPA’S STYLE. Technically, since both of my grandfathers are dead, I’m exempt from all of this. Still, he’s taking our entitlements. OUR OBAMA-GIVEN ENTITLEMENTS.
The lord’s jumpsuit and some house slippers, /Dookie brown leather jacket that I found diggin’. /They had a broken keyboard, I bought a broken keyboard/ I bought a skeet blanket, then I bought a kneeboard.
Don’t ask what a skeet blanket is. Seriously, don’t. Well, you don’t really need to, since I guess it’s pretty fucking obvious. Not sure about the need for a broken keyboard, that just seems wasteful, but maybe Macklemore likes fixer uppers. But a kneeboard? Oh hell yes. Way better than tubing or waterskiing. Also good if you suffer from paraplegia.
Arguably the funkiest white man since Michael Jackson
Hello, hello, my ace man, my mello/John Wayne ain’t got nothing on my fringe game,
Hell no! I can take some pro wings make ‘em cool, sell those/ The sneaker heads will be like “Ah he got the Velcro.”
When I first heard these lines, I thought Macklemore was saying that John Wayne had nothing on “my French gay Elmo.” I like my version better. Fringe game makes a lot more sense though. Also, Velcro on shoes needs to come back. Laces are the worst.
I’m gonna pop some tags
Only got 20 dollars in my pocket
I, I, I’m hunting, lookin’ for a come-up
This is fucking awesome. (x2)
What you know ‘bout rockin’ the wolf on your noggin/What you knowin’ about wearing a fur fox skin/I’m digging, I’m digging, I’m searching right through that luggage/One man’s trash, thats another man’s come-up. /Thanking gran dad, for donating that plaid button-up shirt/‘cause right now I’m up in here stuntin’ I’m at the Goodwill, you can find me in the Benz, /I’m not, I’m not, I’m not searching in that section.
This is the part of the song that separates the dedicated lip-syncing sing-along assholes from the rest. These lyrics aren’t particularly remarkable except that they’re delivered so rapidly and so stylishly. I gave up just reading through this section. I do like the idea of a wolf on my noggin though. But according to Macklemore, I wouldn’t know anything about that.
Your grandma, your aunties, your momma, your mammy, /I’ll take those flannel zebra ‘jammies secondhand, I’ll rock that motherfucker. /They built-in onesie with the socks on the motherfucker.
Macklemore is going shopping with the females of your extended family. Further, he’s going to take that snuggie fad and turn it on its head by bringing back the adult onesie. Wait, did that already happen? I guess it hasn’t happened with USED onesies yet. Certainly not flannel zebra onesies. Personally, my feet always got too hot when I wore a onesie with the socks on the motherfucker. I felt that way as a 2-year old, I still feel it now. Macklemore can keep his zebra onesies.
I hit the party and they stopped in that motherfucker. /They be like oh! That Gucci, that’s hella tight. /I’m like Yo! That’s 50 dollars for a t-shirt. /Limited edition, let’s do some simple addition, 50 dollars for a t-shirt, that’s just some ignorant bitch shit. /I call that getting swindled and pimped, shit. /I call that getting tricked by a business. /That shirt’s hella dough/ and having the same one as six other people in this club is a hella don’t.
Peep game, come take a look through my telescope/Trying to get girls with brands, then you hella won’t. /Man, you hella won’t.
Macklemore now engages in an extended, poignant rant about the unreasonable, even criminal costs associated with modern style. 50 dollars for a t-shirt, indeed. The modern textile industry, evolved from its horribly abusive and exploitative relationship with cheap labor, has now begun to harmfully manipulate consumers. Not only is modern style too expensive, but with it also comes a lack of creativity. What brand could compete with the originality of Macklemore’s thrift shop-inspired style? Chumps who sport brand names certainly cannot keep up with Macklemore’s romantic talents, piss-smell and all.
I’m gonna pop some tags
Only got 20 dollars in my pocket
I, I, I’m hunting, looking for a come-up
This is fucking awesome.
I wear your granddad’s clothes, /I look incredible, /I’m in this big ass coat, from that thrift shop down the road. (x2)
Wanz now adds to the chorus, implementing the previous information about taking your geriatric elder’s style. Not only will he take said style, he will look really fucking awesome in it too. Get it? Fucking awesome? Yeah.
I’m gonna pop some tags
Only got 20 dollars in my pocket
I, I, I’m hunting, looking for a come-up
This is fucking awesome.
Is that your grandma’s coat?
Well, is it?
*Credit to RapGenius.com for its passive assistance with interpreting the lyrics and also intuiting certain concepts/phrases that my honky ass cannot comprehend. [1] NOT GUILTY BETCHES. I’m a grown ass man, amirite?
I love you, but you’re bringing me down. Actually, I don’t, but you totally are. How can one love that which is unlovable unknown to him? I didn’t realize you guys were here yet. I even trolled your Facebook group all summer and STILL didn’t figure out that you would be arriving just abouuutt now. See, I live in this magical, far-off place called “off-campus.” You’ll visit this fantasyland someday. It’s the tits. Well, being off-campus, I failed to witness the warning signs of the invasion of the freshmen army (I’ve been trapped indoors gaming and boozing all day. YOLO). From my ivory tower that’s more like an ugly 70’s era building with a blue façade and crappy windows facing another ugly building, I failed to see the smoke rising above Evanston. I could not have known. Or perhaps I did, and wished to forget. It certainly would explain the day-drinking.
It was not until I journeyed into Evanston proper that I witnessed the extent of the devastation caused by YOU PEOPLE. I expected there to be pillaging and plundering, oh yes. After all, such is the nature of the annual sacking of this super pretentious and poorly designed city. But one can never truly be prepared for such a thing. It’s why I dropped out of Boy Scouts — their false promises of being prepared, and the diddling.
My trip to Chipotle and CVS opened my eyes to the chaos. Traffic on the way there seemed normal, at least, as normal as it can be when the roads are torn up and there are no lanes or sidewalks (seriously, who the fuck does that at the busiest time of the year, and for no apparent reason? Good job, Mayor Tisdahl.)
But within CVS I witnessed a maelstrom hitherto unforeseen. The lines for checkout reached all the way to the frozen pizzas (300% markup from Jewel prices! Convenient!) So many confused people, so many mothers asking, “Do you need this?” “Where are the condoms?” and “Who is Chet Haze?” All totally valid questions, all totally answerable, all totally annoying when all I’m trying to do is grab some Zyrtec and Mountain Dew. It was hell.
And at Chipotle, the worst crime yet. I had to WAIT for my food, for, like, a whole minute, at 2:45 IN THE GODDAMNED AFTERNOON (This is breakfast time for me.) How is there a line at such a time? Why didn’t you get lunch BEFORE you went to CVS?!?! You would’ve bought fewer $6 packages of cookies that way! Or you could’ve gone to TARGET!!! Or to a restaurant unique to Evanston!!! ALL OF OUR BARS ARE RESTAURANTS BY LAW!!!!!!!
I wearily departed downtown Evanston, my soul burdened by what I had seen. “Seriously, why did that one freshman girl buy bubble-gum flavored Trident? That shit tastes like ass.” I asked myself this question, and many others, on the long, treacherous, 30-second bike ride back to my apartment. I recognized my strife to be but the first experience of many to come, in which YOU, freshmen, would make my life slightly more miserable because SCAPEGOATING. Seriously, I can’t even imagine how f’d up campus looks right meow. It’s all the fault of Adam freshmen.
Calm the fuck down.
There is no denying your nature, freshmen. You will ask stupid questions in class. You will travel in large groups, fully knowing it is totally unnecessary and obnoxious. You will go to parties, and throw up in the corner, and then not tell anyone you threw up in the corner because oh God the embarrassment of throwing up in the corner. You will do all these things, and many more, and you will be sorry, but also, totally not sorry, because this is college and everyone before you made the same mistakes and who do you even tell when you throw up in the corner?
And we, dear freshmen, we will weep for you, we will curse you, we will roll our eyes at you and give you the wrong directions when you ask where Pancoe is. Because that is our nature. We, the upperclassmen, who are fundamentally no different than you except we pretend to know more and get away with it sometimes.
And yet, we cherish you, freshmen. You guys make us laugh. You give us stories. You fill us with hope that Northwestern will retain its 12th place ranking for yet another year. For that I thank you. For everything else, I curse you.
Go Cats,
The Commandant
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Before I came to Northwestern, it had been 3 years since I had ridden a bicycle for, well, socially acceptable purposes. Like most high school students, I felt that riding a bicycle was incredibly lame compared to owning a car, and even though most students at my high school did not own a car, getting a ride from your mom was still considered cooler than riding your bicycle (LOGIC BOMB). Nowadays, riding your bike is “hip,” “cool,” “environmentally friendly,” “a political endorsement of socialism,” etc. At Northwestern, riding your bike is a super viable way of getting to such important locations as: the student center that no one is close to; that place on Clarke that’s practically off-campus but for some reason they have classes there; your local alcohol purveyor; and many more. It’s important to understand whether owning and operating a bicycle at NU is the right decision for you. The following is a personal 2nd amendment-centric manifestoconfessional sexual novel handy guide on biking at NU.
Sherman Ave 