Regarding Yesterday’s Article on Riccardo Muti

To our readers,

Yesterday, Sherman Ave published a short article titled “Class of 2014’s Senior Citizens Thrilled with Selection of Commencement Speaker.” To summarize, the 160-word article made the joke that the only people excited for Northwestern’s choice of commencement speaker, Chicago Symphony Orchestra director Riccardo Muti, were the very elderly, playing with the culturally-accepted (possibly incorrectly so) idea that very few young, college-aged people listen to (and therefore enjoy) classical music. Upon its publishing, the article received strong negative backlash, both in WordPress, Facebook, and through emails to Sherman Ave directly; primarily from people who (in their postings) identified themselves as students or faculty of Northwestern University’s Bienen School of Music. It was referred to as “embarrassing and distasteful;” it was said that it “reflects horribly on NU;” and one commenter, who identified himself/herself as a “Bienen professor,” stated that it proves “your website is worthless and not remotely representing the values of Northwestern University…you are an embarrassment.” At the author’s request, and as per multiple comments demanding it, the article was removed from Sherman Ave early this morning.

A Message to the Northwestern Student on Finals’ Week

Halfway through a shot of Everclear, I stared into the abyss of a party and watched as a group of stressed, overworked students went balls-to-the-wall for one last Saturday night before bunkering down the next day to study for finals.

It was a curious night. Yes, there were some couples dabbling in the art of rigorous over-the-pants hand jobs on the dance floor. Yes, there was a girl who

A Frank Look at Sexual Assault on a College Campus

I never thought it would be hard to say no. In my head, I imagined a stranger approaching me at a party; he would ask if I wanted to have sex with him, and if I didn’t, I’d decline, and that would be that. But in my experience, that’s not how it usually goes. I never thought that in my experience it wouldn’t be a stranger, but a friend or a boyfriend. I never thought that after I said no once, or even twice, they would keep asking. I didn’t take into account how my usual resolve might be weakened by alcohol, or the pressure of being alone with him. And I never thought that my answer and what I wanted would be so thoroughly disregarded.

An Argument for No Northwestern University Classes on Presidents Day

Fuck yeah. (via deviantart)

In 1776, one country dawned in a time of great uncertainty. The Communists hated the freedoms of this new nation conceived in liberty; the Canadians – the Canadians![1] – would soon go on to defeat this new country in war (twice); the leader of this republic, George Washington, was battling dentures, a vicious, dirty campaign from Frank Underwood (spoiler alert, sorry), and the Germans on the Western Front. But from all of this emerged a beautiful, proud nation. A nation that celebrated its leaders.

Yes, Northwestern University Administration, I am talking about America. And yes, Northwestern University Administration, this nation – OUR nation – beat the odds. From those dark times emerged

The Inferno: The Nine Circles of Valentine’s Day

Until recently, I had never been empathetic to the disease known as celebrating Valentine’s Day alone (symptoms of which include depression, overeating, and whining about February 14^th on any and all forms of social media). When you’ve ridden solo for nearly two decades’ worth of Valentine’s festivities, Singles Awareness Day eventually becomes a peaceful, practically meditative experience; instead of cry-sterbating and eating a tub of ice cream at my own personal pity party each year, I enjoyed a joyful day of solitude filled with a slew of rewarding personal activities (Okay, they’re the exact same activities as a pity party, minus the crying). While images of “love” and “happy couples” plagued me at work or school, I could safely journey home to escape any reminders of how depressingly sucky counter-culture it is to be single.

Never understood why Dante was such a big Static Shock fan (via toonbarn.com)

Well, that was until this year, for when I moved in with my roommate, I also unwittingly moved in with her boyfriend and all their couple-y bliss.

Guest Column: Women Should Not Be Judged Only by Their Attractiveness, Personality, Intelligence, Past Accomplishments, and Overall Moral Character

By Ella di Mancuso (Medill ’16)

Alright, Northwestern; we need to have a serious talk.

There’s a problem on this campus, and it’s not just the polar vortexes or the fact that Dunkin’ Donuts still doesn’t exist yet.  It’s not a problem everyone has – only about half of the students at Northwestern have experienced it.  I’ve had friends that have experienced it.  I’ve seen people on Sheridan and in Norris that have experienced it.  I’ve experienced it.  And unless we address this issue now, unless we change the culture of this campus, people are going to keep experiencing it.

Guys, seriously: Stop judging a female student only by her good looks and personal skills and grades and student group involvement and overall common sense and list of accomplishments and whether she is actually a good person or not.

It’s a problem that’s quickly spiraling out of control, and all you have to do is

Why I Haven’t Unpacked My Fucking Suitcase

It’s been over two weeks since I came back from Winter Break. Two weeks is long enough complete the hazing tradition known as sorority recruitment and for the question of “So what did you do over Winter Break?” to finally go stale, but apparently it’s not long enough for me to unpack my fucking suitcase.

F.J.’s suitcase, in all its atrocious glory.

Here’s the thing: It’s not like my suitcase is all that large, or I’m all that busy. Literally, the whole unpacking operation would probably be a five minute job, and for every moment I’ve been busy prepping for midterms or (more probably) eating wings, I have had at least another ten moments of extreme, tear-inducing boredom where I repeatedly ask my roommate “What should I doooooooooooooo?” in that whiny voice that she loves.

The Pope is dope and here’s why

We all have families that are a little crazy, and nothing brings that out like the holiday season. But in true New Year’s fashion, it’s time to reflect on the progress that has come out of the last year. And for me, that progress is the result of one guy who’s managed to soften my family’s unique craziness. So cheers to you, Pope Francis!

Fuck This Tree

Fuck this tree.

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.

The Hollow Pastiche of Beyoncé’s Genius: A Reviéw

The songs on Beyoncé’s fifth studio album, BEYONCÉ, are fine. They’re good songs that sound like the music Beyoncé makes, which is what people like to listen to. The music on the album is whatever and absolutely besides the point because OH MY GOD BEY JUST BROUGHT THE INTERNET TO A GRINDING HALT. Beyoncé unexpectedly dropping a 14-song album and the 17 corresponding music videos plus credits exclusively on iTunes—and the ensuing collective Internet swoon—makes Beyoncé pop culture’s truest celebrity and genius. But the mega-stardom and brilliance of Beyoncé and her album succeeds either because of, or in spite of her “visual album” presenting a form of pastiche as devoid of substantive value as Upworthy, and not even half as inspired.