8 Winter Olympic Events Northwestern Would Win

1. Die-athalon. Also known as “Inline Midterms,” the Die-athalon requires the participants to be fully willing to die in University Library over the course of a grueling five day span. The athletes must sustain themselves only on the weird ham sandwiches you can buy in those vending machines on the second floor, and are judged on how many times they click away from Netflix as they pretend to prepare for their six midterms in three classes. The Die-athalon annually claims the lives of all but one of the contestants.

2. Pairs Figure Skating. “The partners see each other now, locking eyes from nearly half a block away on Sheridan. They glide gracefully toward each other, veering side to side in near unison, almost as if they’re actually just trying to pass each other but can’t stop slipping on all this goddamn ice. They’re almost to each other now! The girl falls backwards, pretending to slip, in the utmost display of trust. The man reaches out, catching her in his arms! They spin around, papers flying! And at last they’re still, a perfect catch! 9.8’s from every judge, and gold to Northwestern!”

5 Spectacularly Awful Sci–Fi/ Fantasy Character Names

Science fiction and fantasy are interesting genres in that they encourage narratives free from association with real–world logic, philosophy, or science. Pretty much anything goes in the land of lightsabers and lazerbeams, and that type of liberal mentality can encourage the worst creative tendencies in otherwise talented writers, especially when it comes to something as simple––and seemingly trivial––as naming characters.

I, along with many others, went to go see The Hunger Games: Catching Fire over Thanksgiving break, and while I enjoyed the movie, I found myself spit–taking my liquid popcorn butter frequently as straight–faced actors called each other things like “Effie Trinket” or “President Coriolanus (Ha! Anus!) Snow.”

Sherman Ave Freshman Guide: Managing Your Email

Remember when you set up your first email address?  You spent three weeks thinking of the perfect name, and another three weeks mourning when you discovered that batman@hotmail.com had already been taken by some douche who probably doesn’t even know who Professor Hugo Strange is.  You finally settled upon a name and password, cleverly lied to Hotmail and said you were 13 years old*, and next thing you knew, you had your very own email address. Hardly able to contain your excitement, you logged in immediately and

If CAESAR Were Used At Hogwarts…

MONDAY

Harry:  Looks like everything is lined up except for my discussion sections!  I’m really lucky, I got into all the classes I wanted.  And it doesn’t matter who I have for my discussions, so it’s totally whatever.

Ron:  All the classes look pretty good to me, I guess I’m just going to have to single out which ones require the fewest textbooks.  Divination maybe?

Hermione:  I want to take the most interesting and challenging classes possible.  Probably Organic Potions, and maybe Defense Against the Dark Arts: An Econometric Approach.

“It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to use this absolute shithole of a program.”

Neville:  I’m going to go for easy classes this quarter, because I’m incredibly incompetent.  Is there a wizarding equivalent to SESP?

Seamus:  Being proud of my Irish heritage, I’d like to learn more about the history of my people.  I mean, my last name is Finnegan, for fuck’s sake.

Draco:  I think I’ll go for classes that will benefit me the most in my career.  Serious classes.

Cho:  My parents want me to go pre-med.  I tried explaining to them that I’m a wizard.  I’ll really take anything at this point.  

A Finals Season Guide To The Library

With finals season bearing down upon us, scores of Northwestern students will soon start their tri-annual pilgrimage to the book place for the fun sexi learning times.

Yes, it is time once again to prepare for the library to be full of sexually frustrated sophomores whose only goal in life is to take the study carrel that you’ve been using/peeing on for the last two years. This means a number of things – including that we really do need a “You Pee On It You Claim It” rule – but the most important takeaway is that we could all do with a refresher on what sort of actions are acceptable in each part of the library:

Why I’m Voting for Obama: Five Haikus

I’d give him the head of state.

I’m no political scientist. I have never peered over the edge of the fiscal cliff; my knowledge of U.S. foreign policy in Afghanistan is hazier than the only night I’ve ever been to the Deuce; and I picture the inner workings of the White House as strikingly similar to the Department of Mysteries in Harry Potter.

I am, however, a sucker for cool people doing cool shit. So SUCK IT, political ideologues – this election day, I’m gonna vote for Obama because he is both a PILF and the epitome of badass. Never mind that I believe in his straightforward adherence to old-fashioned democratic ideals – as in, equality in everything from universal health care  and marriage to freedom of choice – or his defense of national parks, or the respect he commands internationally. That shit pales in comparison to his killer dirt-off-your-shoulder. The Obamas, ESPECIALLY Barack, are rad. Just like, super cool. Honestly, even if Obama was all, “Let’s just put Sasha and Malia and the dog in charge while I go surfing in Honolulu and smoke some weed,” I’d vote for him anyway. A cool president is worth a million jobs in the manufacturing sector.

You know what else is worth a million jobs in the manufacturing sector? Amateur poetry. And everyone knows that the best form of amateur poetry comes in snack-size haikus – traditional short-form Japanese poems that follow a 5-7-5 syllabic pattern. So without further ado, I present an artistic homage to my favorite prez’ campaign in a manner that’s about as political as a toy poodle.

On Michelle’s super-toned arms
Graceful, burnished, buff
Those arms could lift our nation.
Can I vote for them?

On Barack’s Rad Music Taste
Let’s contrast your tunes
– Kanye, Bruce, Aretha – Mitt’s:
Toby Fucking Keith.

On the fact that he has a puppy named in accordance with said music taste:
You’re the First Dog, the
Second Bo, the third chillest
White House resident.

On Weapons of Choice
In a real battle,
Your horses and bayonets
Would smash Mitt’s Big Bird.

On the book he wrote/dedicated to his daughters WHILE BEING A PRESIDENT
You wrote a FUCKING
KID’S BOOK about national
Heroes. Marriage me, plz.

Now that you’ve learned a little more about America’s favorite chiller firsthand – and gotten a little lesson in poetic brilliance along the way – I challenge you to come up with a haiku of your own about Mr. Barack! Challenge yourself and make it politically relevant. Better yet, make it dope.

Rock out with ur barack out,
Gwyneth

Potter No More

Accio Boner!

“Wingardium Leviosa!” said all of you to your dicks this weekend when you realized Pottermore was open to the public at last. Like your dicks were rising. Like you got a boner. From a website that includes zero naked pictures of Emma Watson. Yeah, I don’t get it either. What could be so great about this magic Internet shit? The books I understand. Nothing brings more joy than experiencing others getting to do things that I will never in my life come close to doing, AMIRITE?! (I’ll flip a coin and get back to you) But, like all of my past sexual relationships, I figured I’d see what all the fuss was about and give it a shot. So I signed up for Pottermore, and fucked around on it for about 10 minutes (which, according to the Wikipedia article on ‘Experts’ I just edited, now qualifies me as an expert on the subject), and this is pretty much what it’s like:

Welcome to Pottermore, bitches! JK Rowling here, you wanna join my epic power-trip? K, first let’s find out if you’re magical. What’s your name and email address? Oh wow, looks like you’re magical! Welcome, minion! Welcome to JK’s army-uh I mean Pottermore!

Let’s assign you a new name then, shall we? Your given name will obviously not suffice here, as there are no boring names like ‘Ron’ or ‘Harry’ or ‘George’ in my magical wizarding kingdom. Forever more, you shall be known as one of the following embarrassing combinations of words and gross diseases I made up:

WartFace26549
PhoenixPiss90
MagicalClit0211
DobbysBallsac3691
EarWaxMakesMeHorny82

Chosen yet? Great, time to get sorted, which is all that you came here for, right? JK (Rowling), you have to murk through 7 chapters first! HAHAHA tricked ya bitches! Here’s a bunch of shit to collect that will probably not mean anything later, but you have to click on every little part of every scene to find them! After that, a bunch of little factoids about minor characters will pop up, which you should all take your sweet time reading, because who doesn’t want to know where Petunia Dursley got her first job?

Alright, you’ve clicked as fast as you could through the first few chapters, tryna get sorted as fast as possible, but now I’m gonna make you do something. Hope you enjoy 2nd grade-level computer games, ‘cause that’s what it’s time for! Here’s some money, and here’s some stores, and here’s where you click ‘buy!’ Omgosh, it’s just like you’re really there, isn’t it? I’m an Internet wizard, nbd.

Welcome to Hufflepuff! Counseling services can be found in the West Tower.

Congratulations! You’ve finally arrived at Hogwarts! Time to get down to business. But first, watch this 20-minute video in which I detail my entire middle school gym class experience and how this parallels the sorting hat and why didn’t my parents love me like a love song BOO-HOO (100% skipped the video, but I feel pretty confidently that it was something along these lines). In order to properly sort you into the clique that you will wear the same colors as for the rest of your life, you’ll need to fill out this short and totally irrelevant quiz. GL, biddies!

1. If you were in a long term, monogamous relationship with a magic carpet, with which other magical object would you cheat on it with?
A. Wand
B. Broomstick
C. Telescope
D. Other Phallic Magical Item

2. Which Katy Perry lyric most strongly identifies your relationship with your pet owl:
A. Now every February, you’ll be my Valentine
B. On my 18th birthday, we got matching tattoos
C. Infect me with your love and fill me with your poison
D. Think we kissed but I forgot

3. Do you prefer blondes or brunettes?
A. Blondes
B. Brunettes
C. Gingers Weasleys
D. I’m asexual. I prefer magical Internet worlds. But I guess they can be blonde magical internet worlds

The ancient mystical wizards have conferred, and you are a….

First year girl at Beauxbatons!

I deleted my Pottermore account this morning.

How to survive a walk down Sheridan Road

Always stay vigilant of your surroundings

Let’s face it: you didn’t come to Northwestern because you’re good at socializing. You probably came here because you got a 33 on your ACT, placed in the semifinals of Scholastic Bowl, and get offended when Harry Potter placement quizzes dare to put you in Gryffindor (RAVENCLAW 4 LYFE BRAH).

Yet I’m sure your social skillz have blossomed beautifully over the last few months or years. Just the other day I saw a friend on a shuttle and managed to sit next to him and hold polite conversation for 30 whole seconds without saying the word “scrotum!” So that was successful.

But, since not all social interactions can go that smoothly, I’ve decided to try and bestow some advice on the most socially difficult situation an NU student can run into: seeing someone you know on Sheridan Road.

Here’s what to do in a variety of situations:

Someone you’ve never met, but you know who they are:
DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT. Look down or up or at your phone or to the side or pretty much anywhere but into their corneas. If you’re particularly socially able, engage in conversation with the person you’re walking with. This will make it less obvious that you are feverishly watching the other person in your peripheral vision.

Someone you’ve met once or twice:
Depending on how the last interaction went, it may be acceptable to wave or say a quick “hi.” This is certainly not required, and the other person should not be offended if you do not do so. But if the last encounter you had was pleasant and social you should feel free to greet them briefly as you pass. However, this is NOT a situation where you stop and say, “How ARE you? Ugh, I feel like we haven’t talked in forever! Let’s get Kafein soon!”

Socializing in a simpler time

Someone you know casually, as in from a party or through a mutual friend:
Say hello and wave. This is an opportunity to make a friend! If they seem particularly excited, you can throw in a “How are ya?” or “How’ve you been?” After several of these encounters and if the blooming friendship seems consensual, you can stop to talk or add a little more to the conversation.

Someone who you drunkenly met and hung out with at a party:
Oh God this can be awkward. First, how sure are you that they even remember you? If they were potentially blacked out, do not make eye contact unless they prompt it. If you’re sure they remember you and you didn’t do anything awkward, wave casually and maybe smile. If, however, it was one of those terrific drunken nights where you bond on the roof of Swift, feel free to be more enthusiastic. If you’re both still just glad to be alive, perhaps share a knowing laugh. If you ended the night by promising to become bestiez and exchanging numbers, you should probably hug. You are bestiez now, after all.

Someone you’ve hung out with several times:
Say hi. Try to be normal. Hopefully you have something to talk about for a moment. If not try “How ARE you? Ugh, I feel like we haven’t talked in forever! Let’s get Kafein soon!”

A friend of yours:
I usually go with “WAZZUP BROSEF STALIN, HOW YOU BE HANGING MAYN?!”. You may choose to be less heinous if you wish, but if that’s your goal I don’t really understand why you’re reading this.

One of your best friends:
Pretend to ignore them. This is hilarious every time and never gets old.

That kid who lived in your hall last year but you never talked to:
Stare at the sidewalk. The sidewalk is so fucking interesting. Oh, is that a flyer for the SASA Show? Why yes it is. That must be the most fucking fascinating flyer you’ve ever seen. Absorb it into your brainmind.

A professor you once had:
Wink. Please. Just do it and then tell me how it went and whether or not they immediately made violent love to you.

Don't worry, it wasn't very good for her either.

A girl you hooked up with last year:
Are you past the awkward stage? If so, act like it’s a friend. If not, act like it’s a kid who lived in your hall last year but you never talked to.

A girl you knocked up last year:
PAY HER CHILD SUPPORT. STOP RUNNING AWAY. THIS IS YOUR CHILD TOO AND IT NEEDS A FATHER. MAN UP YOU LITTLE BITCH.

A kid in your discussion section:
If you sit near each other and talk often, wave and/or say hi. If you don’t really talk but think they could be your soulmate, slowly drift over toward them. As you approach you’ll have two options: either grab them forcefully and run off, physically taking them with you, or bump into them and say “Sorry! Oh, you’re in my Human Sex lecture aren’t you? I’m sure we’d make great Human Sex.” Both of these should work.

Now, it’s important to remember that all of this is dependent on timing. No matter who the other person is, if you start looking at them too early or too late the encounter will be awkward and Northwesternish. Try to make eye contact no more than six steps in advance and no fewer than four. This way even an awkward encounter will be over quickly, but if you decide you’re enjoying it you can stop and make it last longer. Wait. Guys. That sounded sexual. Please don’t have intercourse on Sheridan.

Authors That Would Make Bad Writing Infinitely Better

As a manipulator of the English language myself, I hold several beliefs dear to my heart. They are as follows:

1) If you are over the age of 12 and still cannot successfully distinguish when words should have apostrophes (confusing “it’s” and “its,” “your” and “you’re”), I cannot respect your education. Why are you stupid?
2) If you can’t write something nice, don’t write anything at all. I’m not talking about pleasant or polite; I’m referring to “nice” writing as the opposite of writing that is bad, boring, poorly written, wrong, pointless, confused, frustrating, or Rick Perry.

Yeah, I know. It’s radical. Of course, not as radical as Rick Perry. But let’s face it: there is some literature/film/music that simply should have been penned by someone other than the original author. In some cases, aforementioned art is a slice of brilliance that got tarnished in the current writer’s incapable hands; in other cases it is an unsalvageable failure whose only option is to get worse so as to become presentably heinous.

In fact, may I make a few suggestions?

Twilight
by Terry Pratchett*
We’d all like this series so much better if Ms. Meyer’s attempt at a love story about a girl next door (translation: exposition on How To Have A Dysfunctional Relationship) had relatable and quirky characters with different fonts for every time they spoke. P-rad knows exactly how to make a totally impossible instance (Death playing Santa Claus? Criminals becoming post-men? Women in the army and not in the kitchen?) plausible, insightful, and funny — qualities which are all completely lacking in the hands of its current author.

Miley Cyrus’s memoir, Miles to Go
by Lemony Snicket
I haven’t read the original, but here is what I imagine it will read like, “My daddy is the only reason I’m famous. My brother croakmoans uncomfortably horny music to an audience that hasn’t got boobies yet. My boyfriend is way too old for me. I like drugs.” Are you attached to any of these characters? Do you care if the melancholy wit of Lemony Snicket creatively kills them off? Me neither. Just add a narrator who regularly urges you to stop reading, a meaninglessly depressing end,** and illustrations by Brett Helquist, and we’ve got ourselves acceptable piece of literature. It might even be appropriate for children, unlike everything else about Miley. Which brings us to:

“Party in the USA”
by Adele
Face it. She’d sing it better. Adele’s been so angsty lately (trying to set fire to the rain and all. She must be so frustrated) I’d like to see her getting down and shaking those God-given gifts. We know that when a Jay-Z song is on in Adele’s taxicabs, you better believe she puts her hands up.

Freud’s Early Theories
by Tara Gillespie
If you think about it, it wouldn’t be too different: My Immortal (the world’s worst fanfiction) and Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams are both mostly about sex/mostly wrong about sex. But if our favorite “goff” wrote it, we’d have the added pleasure of trying to decipher what words were behind the awful spelling in addition to laughing at his concept of penis envy and her concept of orgasm. Maybe she’d throw in some Harry Potter references*** along with her My Chemical Romance worship, extensive description of fishnets, and use of the phrase “passively frenching.” On the negative side, there will undoubtedly be a morbid amount of it’s/its confusion, but on the plus side, as far as we can tell, Tara wasn’t on cocaine, unlike Freud.

Glee
by Tommy Wiseau
Oh hai: it’s another artist who lacks command of the English language. Be honest with yourself — you don’t watch Glee for its**** gripping storyline. Having America’s most multi-untalented artist write/direct/produce/star/fornicate in the musical TV show can only make it more interesting. You know you want more of the writing that made Tommy’s masterpiece, The Room, so fantastic — what better way than to sit down with a bowl of popcorn to a fusion of pop culture featuring quotable magnificence such as, “You ah tearing me apaht, Wachel!” and “I did NAHT hit on Kurt. I did NAHT.” Best of all, we get to hear more of his wonderfully attractive accent/speech impediment as applied to music. Which, of course, he’ll arrange and sing entirely by himself.

Unfortunately for you, I have no suggestions on how to improve your terrible English paper. And so, I leave you with the immortal words of Dr. Seuss:
You have brains in your head, you have feet in your shoes,
You have heinously read all Sir Twattingworth spews.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose
(Just as long as it sounds like Erman Shmavenues).

——————————————————————————————————————————
*Another soul who understands the beauty in a footnote. All I want for Christmas is his semen in a petri dish with the reproductive cells of Bristol Bacchus. Bristol, dibs on being godmother.
**I’m all for realistic children’s literature, but I was really attached to Uncle Monty. And did anyone else develop a phobia of Lachrymose Leeches in Lake Michigan?
***Godwin’s law of NU: the longer a conversation continues between two NU students, the more likely a Harry Potter reference becomes.
****Did you see that apostrophe? No, you didn’t, because it does not belong there. It belongs in the first sentence of that paragraph.

Other Things David Stern Should Veto

The most hated white man in the league since Toni Kukoc

When sports journalists heard about the NBA Commissioner’s probably ill-advised decision to veto a trade that would’ve sent New Orleans point guard Chris Paul to the Lakers, they practically pooped themselves with rage, railing about the end of the NBA with an apocalyptic despair that would’ve made Harold Camping proud. When I heard about the NBA’s decision, all I could think about was the goodness that could be accomplished by extending David Stern’s veto power, trigger-happy finger, and ‘screw it, I don’t care if I ruin the seasons of three teams’ attitude into other walks of life. Here are the fruits of that aforementioned thinking:

1. Rick Perry’s Presidential Campaign
Here at Sherman Ave we love Rick Perry. Oh wait, no we fucking don’t. No one in their right minds could ever stand to be in the same room, much less vote for, that intolerable shitmuffin. It now seems utterly ridiculous that people as intelligent as Mike Murphy actually thought that Perry could win the Republican nomination. Well, they were about as wrong as Custer’s last words. If only David Stern had stepped forward in August to stop this embarrassing shitshow of a campaign from ever launching.

His dreams were crushed by David Stern. M. Night Shyamalan's should be, too.

2. M. Night Shyamalan’s ability to make movies
So The Sixth Sense was maybe kind of okay. But I dare anyone to make it through The Happening without puking in a biological attempt to reject the atrocity from staying with you. Shyamalan made only one or two movies that could ever be considered ‘good,’ and everything since then has been so unbearably atrocious that Shaymalan should be prevented from ever tainting our eyes with such heinousness again. Unfortunately, the good people at Disney (and by “good people” I of course mean “stupid fucktards”) just keep signing off on his movies. Let’s get Stern in there to crush them the way he crushed Chris Paul’s dreams.

3. No Shave November
I’ll be honest, this year I tried doing No Shave November for the entire month, to see once and for all if I could really grow a beard. I can’t. And I’ve got news for everyone else who has tried it: you can’t either. You do look like an atrocious hobo, though. Congrats. Scumbag Steve would be horrified by your hygiene. Now let’s please agree to never do No Shave November again.

4. New Rebecca Black songs

Rosa Parks' personal hero

Katy Perry has no regrets — only love — about going all the way tonight. I have the same feelings about Rebecca Black’s “Friday.” Yes, it’s horrible, and yes, it probably shouldn’t exist, and yes, it speaks to some very heinous problems at the base of our modern society, but god damn is it funny. I’m glad it exists, and those two weeks where everyone in America absolutely refused to talk about anything else were just awesome. I feel bad for the hypothetical children I may or may not give birth to in the future because they will never have the experience of waiting at midnight for the release of Harry Potter books or movies, and I feel bad for them because they will never have the experience of going to school on March 18, 2011 (the Friday after the song came out) when everyone everywhere was singing “It’s Friday, Friday, GOTTA GET DOWN ON FRIDAY.” For two weeks it was fun to laugh, at the insipid songwriting, at the random rap verse that doesn’t make sense, at the problems with modern celebrity culture, but then those two weeks were over and we all moved on. DIDN’T WE?????

Apparently not. Apparently the ARK Music Factory thought that when 268,000 people disliked the “Friday” video, that meant “we love this, give us more please.” I hate to be the one to break this to you, Patrice Wilson, but when 268,000 people disliked the “Friday” video, it means they didn’t like it. At first, Rebecca Black was sad and kind of funny. Now she’s just sad.

5. Bill O’Reilly’s book about Lincoln
The only thing more ridiculous than the sentence “Bill O’Reilly wrote a book about the Lincoln assassination” is the sentence “Bill O’Reilly wrote a book about the Lincoln assassination that wasn’t true.” Yes. We live in a fucked up world. And while I think we have all accustomed ourselves to Fox News’s ridiculous excuse for news coverage, we don’t need them fucking up history as well. That’s Ross Packingham’s favorite subject!

6. “Ultimatum” by Jeph Loeb
If you’re a normal person, then it probably doesn’t mean anything to you when I say that Jeph Loeb fucked up the Ultimate Universe, but he did, and it is an intolerable atrocity.

Something doesn't seem right...

Quick nut graf: shortly after the dawn of the new millennium, Marvel Comics attempted to reinvigorate interest in their brand by creating an offshoot label, dubbed the Ultimate Universe, where they relaunched characters like Spider-Man and the X-Men as if their 40 year history didn’t exist, and the characters had been created in the year 2000. It worked. The stories were great, and their modern reworking of occasionally anachronistic Sixties concepts had a huge influence on Marvel’s later movie adaptations.

But in the year 2008, Marvel executives handed the creative reins of the Ultimate Universe to Jeph Loeb. It seemed like a sensible decision, as Loeb had won acclaim writing Batman at DC Comics. But whereas Loeb had done well on Batman with a strategy of utilizing Batman’s colorful cast and intriguing antihero sensibility, his plan for Ultimate Marvel was a little more like “destroy everything and kill every character.” His miniseries “Ultimatum” was basically a giant shit all over the Ultimate Universe, whose comics had helped spike my interest in the medium and which I still give to people who mention an interest in comic books, and I can no more forgive him for that than Eddie Murphy can forgive SNL for making one joke about him once.

And most importantly…

My First Quarter Grades
More important than any of the other things combined. I must admit, I got so caught up in college heinousness this quarter that I didn’t exactly get Will Hunting grades. Sure, it’s not like I stayed up past 2 am sequestered in the library every night of reading week preparing for my Ancient Philosophy final, but if Stern could have some words with Morty re: my grades, that would be dandier than Sebastian Flyte.

If that isn’t a convincing reason for giving David Stern a time machine and being done with it, I don’t know what is.