Stephen Miller | Counterpoint
November 21Back in the prehistoric era before the Internet age, people in this country had a problem.
Back in the prehistoric era before the Internet age, people in this country had a problem.
In college, it's easy to forget about the hassles that come along with living at home. Thanksgiving means seeing family, an abundance of home−cooked meals and a chance to do free laundry (if you live close enough).
With a liberal arts education comes the awareness that everything is horrible. Any general knowledge of the theories of Sigmund Freud, for example, ruins everything. Literally everything. More specifically, it ruins Jeremih's "Birthday Sex" (2009).
I took a wonderfully overpriced Amtrak train back home last week for a couple days of R & R. Between home-cooked, non-Market Basket meals and visits to unemployed friends living with their parents, I made a wonderful discovery. A very good friend of mine took me to a recently opened microbrewery right near my house. As I enjoyed free samples of Captain Lawrence Double IPA and Kölsch, I got to thinking about the variety of golden elixirs we know and love on campus. It made me very sad. While I'm no sociology major, I thought maybe a brief classification of the beers on campus would be an interesting project. And so, without further ado, in order of descending quality, the Tufts beer scene:
I have been writing this column for nearly two months now, and I can't help but feel as though there's an explanation in order. Although I began writing with the intention of creating gender-neutral material, it's ended up being largely biased toward women's fashion. The fact of the matter is that men's fashion has the opposite sexual effect as women's fashion, which inevitably makes it less entertaining to write about. What do I care if a guy wears a Dolce & Gabbana suit or a Tom Ford one? He'll look sexy in either. The decision between a jumpsuit and harem pants, however, is far more debatable.
For the second time in as many weeks, I find myself in a very unfamiliar place. I'm at the beating heart of the most social spot on campus: Club Tisch. Now, I should be finishing a midterm paper for an English class due in two days, but that would first involve starting it, and that's not really my style. Instead, I've been looking up what my roommate likes to call "IN THE FACEEEE" videos — e.g. a little kid hit in face with an enormous ball. It is infinitely more entertaining.
When you hear hip-hop, all that matters is the feeling: Does it have a good beat? Does the rapper's voice sound good? Can you dance to it? Listening is a different story: How are the lyrics? How do the vocals interact with the beat? What samples can you pick out?
I was strolling across the quad on a crisp autumn day last week, when I reached a large group of prospective students. As I passed by, I couldn't help but pick up a bit of the tour guide's polished routine. He was mentioning something about how 635 percent of Tufts students go abroad junior year.
Drunken girls generally enjoy stupid songs, and Far East Movement (FM) — an electro-hop quartet composed of four young Asian American men from Los Angeles — has hit on the ultimate drunken-girl song: "Like a G6." FM's ode to feeling like an airplane, in all of its trashy, terrible, earworm-y glory, currently sits at number two on the Billboard charts.
I'd like to take the opportunity this week to address an issue I've noticed the past three years at Tufts. We have a drinking problem on the Hill, and it's serious. What? No, I don't give a damn about binge drinking. The problem we have is an issue of drink diversity.
You don't have to be a psychologist to diagnose Jed York with delusion.
Many campuses offer a shuttle to help students to get around, and here at Tufts, we have our beloved Joey. With its myriad of drivers and a sometimes unpredictable route, the Joey is a critical part of Tufts travel. With the stroke of a key and the shoot of a text, you can know where the Joey is at any time. There are a few simple rules that will aid in your successfully riding and taking full advantage of the Joey, so listen closely. 1. Be punctual, if not early: The Joey drivers always seem to be in a rush to get either back to campus or to Davis Square, although these are the two main places the shuttle goes, so I'm not sure where the fire is. The Joey is almost always on time into Davis (save in the event of rush−hour traffic).
Until this summer, I could not fathom why my mother hated "Forrest Gump" (1994) so intensely. Despising that film was tantamount to writing off "Full House" (1987−1995), which she also did with ease (though arguably with more reason — Bob Saget is a jerk).
Jay Sean is a wonder of modern commercial music. A British citizen of Indian descent signed to Cash Money Records (the hip−hop label that also claims Lil Wayne, Drake and Nicki Minaj), Jay Sean is globalization personified. He's broken barriers and crossed not only genre lines but also oceans in the process. He's also written the most homoerotically charged song ever. Let's let that one sink in for a second.
A terrible thing just happened. I went for a little drive in the early hours of yesterday morning. Sitting in the driver's seat of my luxurious 2002 Subaru Outback with the dance−tastic beats of David Guetta blasting, I surveyed the Tufts campus. It was a beautiful day. A pleasant ocean breeze danced along the hill. The sun cast soft West Hall−shaped shadows across the quad. Birds chirped; squirrels scurried. All was well in the world. And then I saw something so vile and horrible that it shocked me out of my pleasant contemplation and threw me into a deep depression. As I rounded the turn onto Packard Avenue, I saw the sad first of the season.
Ah, to be a senior and look back on my years here. Remember that year Spring Fling turned into a mass−casualty incident? Remember when Fall Ball was the hottest, grimiest jumblef−−− within a 1,000 mile radius? Or when it was legal to know (in the biblical sense) that guy or girl from your Intro to Philosophy class with your roommate in their bed four feet away? Oh, the memories.
The college fraternity party is an event unlike most others. At Tufts, we don't boast about our Greek life since, relatively speaking, there isn't much to boast about. My friends at Cornell or Syracuse scoff at our "Frat Row" (to us, Pro Row) and are confused that we don't have "DG" and "Kappa" as power players on our sorority girl social scene. But Tufts Greek life is indeed its own breed and has its own rules and etiquette. Don't worry; after only a few blissful evenings under the romantic black lights and the sticky, Natural Ice landscape, everything will be made apparent.
While the Internet is busy changing the face of television and print media is busy dying, commercial hip−hop is becoming something fascinating, bizarre and captivating: A former corrections officer−cum−thespian weaves yarns about drug dealing alongside a college dropout who would be king, a happily married Muslim makes himself sound like a robot while confessing his love for strippers and the most famous rapper in the world nears his mid−life crisis.
As a growing focus on post−grad life and the transition into adulthood sweeps across the nation (see the Daily's own Sept. 13 article "Twenty−somethings show increasing uncertainty about post−college life"), I am bewildered that one main issue is implied in every article or argument but never addressed head−on. Perhaps it is due to the highly motivated, success−oriented environment that defines the upper echelon academic institutions, but here everyone is asking, "What should I do after Tufts?" No one, it seems, is asking the question, "Why do I need to do something?"
Why does America love Hollywood? Why do People magazines fly off the shelves faster than "Harry Potter" books, and why does Perez Hilton's website get more hits than Robot Unicorn Attack? Well, it all boils down to one simple reason — no, not Miley Cyrus. People love Hollywood because Hollywood is sexy. And we're not talking about your average eighth-grade-health-teacher sexy. We're talking about the Megan Fox (oh, she's nasty!), Demi and Ashton (Twitter, lolz) and Johnny Depp (what a rebel!) sexy.