Jennifer Lawrence Agrees To Go Topless in Ross Packingham’s Fantasy

Said Packingham, “Oh my God, I swear this has never happened before.”

EVANSTON — Move over, Pippa Middleton! Jennifer Lawrence, shining star of the Hunger Games, has verbally agreed to remove her shirt in Ross Packingham’s wet dream, scheduled for release next Friday night.

“Just the shirt, please dear god,” Lawrence allegedly said. “Anything else and I’d be really really uncomfortable.”

New Year’s Eve Checklist

So Christmas is over and the time for relaxing is behind us. You have only one week left before you need to go back to Evanston. While you probably don’t have your New Year’s Eve plans set yet, follow this checklist and you might make it out of the night with some dignity and a few new friends. At the very least, you’ll have a couple good stories and no less than three inexplicable bruises.

Bonus points if you nail that one dick from Junior Year English Class with the cork.

1. Drink
Going home can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people. It can mean relaxing, watching TV, losing the Meineke Car Care Bowl of Texas, and even reading (as dark as that may sound). However, to most, it probably means raging and drinking with friends and making bad decisions like you’re right back in high school. While most nights on break can feel more casual and laid back, New Year’s Eve is the night where you get to show all your friends and the randos at the party what you’ve learned at a higher learning establishment, primarily your newfound raging capabilities. An innocent bystander at the party might say, “Oh you go to Northwestern? I go to UC Santa Barbara and party on the beach because it’s 70 degrees year round. You must…like…do a lot of work and stuff.” Just wait, person who I’ve never met, because by the end of the night I will not only be blackout and ghostriding down Market Street, but also in the midst of a heinously deep conversion with a cop about the futileness of the Occupy Wall Street Movement and probz will get a fb friend request from him/her in a few days. Where did you say you went to school again, some, like, state school or whatever?

2. Hook Up
Go for it. You’ve been eying her for this whole party. She wants you. Just try to keep it classy and remember you’re not in the keg anymore, and there’s a decent chance that she actually knows where you live.

Nobody said it would be easy.

3. Wake Up the Next Morning
If you wake up the next morning, no matter where that may be, don’t worry, you made it. You made it through another year alive and you’re still raging like there’s no tomorrow. Now try to act like you have an idea of where you are, find your car, and drive home before your parents start assuming you’re dead and rent out your room.

4. Do Not Black Out Before the New Year
Even though counting down New Years may not be the ultimate highlight of the night, it’s up there. Blacking out before New Year’s kind of puts a damper on your memory of the night and it also makes the previous point a little more traumatic. If you can make it to midnight with a little consciousness and the ability to maneuver your two feet then you’re doing well: feel free to do whatever you please for the rest of the night. And remember that only on New Year’s Eve is the saying “nothing good happens after 2 AM” completely null and void. If you go home before 5am you’re doing something wrong. If the party is at your house, then congrats on having wonderful parents, can I like come over? I’ll have Mario Balotelli bring some fireworks too.

You'll always have your bros.

5. Get All Sentimental About Home
Since we’re on the quarter system here at Northwestern, we go back to school only one day after New Year’s. That not only makes this party your last chance to go hard before you head back to school and snow and total heinousness, it also reminds you how much you love being home and how awesome your friends are. So make about 50 toasts over the course of the night, reminisce over past debauchery, and even cry if that’s your thing. Everyone is blackout so they won’t even remember those two guys crying near the champagne.

–Andy Shartwood

Things That Suck: Coffee

Coffee: Sir Twattingworth's anti-heroin

Fuck coffee.

I feel like a stranger in a strange land. Not because I’m the protagonist of a Robert Heinlein novel, but because I don’t drink caffeine. I’ll pause a moment to let your mouths fall agape as you shout “WAIT WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTT.”

True story. I’ve never drunk coffee in my life. Okay, wait, there was that one time when I was a curious young four-year-old and my dad let me taste his coffee and I was so horrified that I jerked violently and spilled it all over my Charlie Brown pajama pants. But other than that I have usually abstained from the black stuff. And from Red Bull. And Monster, too. Fuck that shit.

Final exams may be over at Northwestern, but I know there are a bunch of other poor unfortunate souls out there who still have to cram months’ worth of learning into their skulls before exams. As a result they may, in all their mortal vulnerability, be tempted to turn to the evil that is caffeinated beverages. I am here to hold up my hand and say the same thing I would say to anyone planning to read Roberto Bolaño’s novel 2666: Don’t do it!

My body is like this temple, in that it is a temple.

That’s a picture of a temple. I included it in this article because, like the Baha’i Temple, my body is a temple. When I stay up till four in the morning writing a six page essay about what Henry David Thoreau would think about the Weather Underground, I do so simply on the sober strength of my own fucking willpower. I understand that if you start thinking about this metaphor, some obvious contradictions might jump out at you like the T-Rex face in my old dinosaur pop-up book. But I’ll remind you that most temples have alcohol in them. You can put wine into a temple without damaging it, and Christians have done so for ages. But something tells me that if you shot lightning at a temple to “give it energy,” you would really just blow up the temple. That’s my visualization of inserting caffeine into a human system.

Shoot a temple with lightning and it will never be intact again. Give me Red Bull and I will never sleep again. I have enough trouble as it is. The first time I stayed up past midnight on a day that wasn’t New Year’s Eve, it was all over for me. Once I crossed that threshold, it became impossible for me to ever fall asleep before midnight again. At night my productivity goes up, and I suddenly remember all the Grantland articles I wanted to read and all the episodes of Dragon Ball Z that I wanted to watch that I somehow forgot about during the daytime. Before I know it, it’s 2:30 and somehow the knowledge that I have to telemarket for three hours the next day doesn’t stop me from looking up YouTube clips of old Martin Luther King, Jr. speeches until my eyelids finally take executive action and shut themselves, only to be jarred awake hours later by an alarm just in time to swallow a mouthful of Cocoa Puffs before huffing it to my French class with all possible speed. No rest for the weary, and I am nothing if not weary.

I am not alone here. I have friends who drink coffee like it’s water. As a result, they go to bed at midnight and wake up at six every day. They think they’re fully functioning modern human beings. I think they’re more like zombie robots in danger of falling apart at any second. I don’t want to see that happen, so I’m finally coming out against the horrid black stuff.

She is hot. Coffee is awful.

That’s a subjective take on the general suckiness of caffeinated drinks, so I’ll throw in an objective approach as well. I feel like I shouldn’t have to mention this, since it is as inherently obvious as the blueness of the sky or the hotness of Kate Middleton, but caffeine is gross. Coffee is gross, and everybody secretly knows it. I’m not just talking about the people who pour mounds of sugar into their mugs to deaden their sorry souls to the fact that they’re drinking liquid poop. I’m talking about everyone. We all seem to have agreed to forget that coffee is disgusting, the way we all agreed to forget that George W. Bush was appointed President by the Supreme Court.

And not just coffee. Red Bull is gross too. I admit, I’ve tasted it a few times, and I’d sooner hang out with Michele Bachmann for a few hours than repeat the experience. But even if I hadn’t been capable of offering this personal testimony of awfulness, surely the list of ingredients – which looks like something Walter White might cook up in his basement to pay for chemotherapy – would probably be convincing enough. 4Loko actually tastes kind of good, but it’s illegal, so that’s a given. I won’t even talk about 5 hour energy drinks until they make better commercials. If my RTVF roommate could make a better commercial than the one you put on TV, you probably don’t deserve to exist, let alone be talked about in the valuable Internet real estate that is this website.

Would you rather drink coffee or eat poop?

I realize that this anti-caffeine argument is difficult. Sometimes the AP curriculum makes it seem as if the College Board just assumes that every AP student is injecting caffeine into their eyeballs (Either that or no one told them about the existence of time-consuming extracurriculars, but either way they’re a bunch of douchemuffins who gave me too much homework in high school). Then there’s the necessity of being a hipster in order to have any social currency in this hyper media-literate world. That means you need to read Pitchfork regularly and wear clothes originally designed for girls Europeans, but it mainly means that you need to spend a majority of your time in darkly lit indie cafes sipping black energy so you’re wide awake and prepared to unleash a shitstorm of ironic Tweets the next time Bon Iver releases a workout video. Caffeine has been so prevalent in our society for so long that we just accept it as a given fact of life. But the fact that people in the Eighties were accustomed to the idea of nuclear Armageddon didn’t make it okay. Nuclear holocaust is never okay, and neither is coffee, and don’t let Henry Kissinger tell you any different.

Society seems to have ordered its priorities like this:
1. Work
2. Sleep

But that is so, so wrong. Our society has forgotten the value of sleep. Let me tell you, there was one Saturday earlier this quarter when I slept until 3 pm. It was the greatest day of my life. We all need sleep to recuperate from the horrid heinousness of everyday life, and coffee prevents that. It sucks. Finals suck. Life sucks too. But you just need to get over it. Do it all natural or not at all, that’s my motto. Sleep well, my friends.

(And for those of you wondering about the fate of my aforementioned Charlie Brown pajama pants: They did not survive their encounter with coffee, and were promptly retired to the dustbin of history. The world is a worse place for it).