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upfront

contents
3 upfront
emily post- // emily postbad sex // beej taking leave, and taking it well // tanya singh healing through hearing // elizabeth callus

Editor- and Editrix-in-Chief Clayton Aldern Jennie Young Carr Managing Editor of Features Zo Hoffman Managing Editor of Arts & Culture Alexa Trearchis Managing Editor of Lifestyle Rmy Robert Features Editor Kathy Nguyen Arts & Culture Editors Claire Luchette Ben Resnik Lifestyle Editor Cassie Packard Serif Sheriff Clara Beyer Hamburger Helper Allison Hamburger Large Plaid Asian Phil Lai Staff Writers Lily Goodspeed Caitlin Kennedy Adam Davis Mintaka Angell Staff Illustrators Marissa Ilardi Madeleine Denman Adela Wu Sheila Sitaram

editors note
And so here we are. The finals countdown. The bottom of the bottle. For those of you that have been keeping track, this time around we decided to go with Makers Mark. It has been a good run, kids. Well miss you, but we know youll miss us more if everything has gone according to plan. (And we have no reason to believe it hasnt.) The funny thing about the apocalypse is that itll go down with us listening to Big D and the Kids Table. We always imagined Nights in White Satin or And So It Goes. At least some Pinot noir instead of these whisky-sevens. Though, with that said, we did manage to scrounge up some Diet 7-Up, which we werent even aware still existed. (7-Up: Infinitely superior to Sprite, infinitely inferior to the Super Nintendo game following the adventures of the 7-Up Spot.) Raise your end-of-the-world glasses to Zo and Claire, who will be taking over at the top of the masthead, assuming we all outlive the Mayan calendar. We have high hopes. Especially considering the Mayan calendar continues past 2012. What the f*ck did the Mayans know anyway? They just invented zero. Farewell to Alexa, Rmy, and Cassie, who are leaving the Post- helm as well. Alexa is even entering the real world. Post- have mercy on her soul. Alexa: When the going gets tough, just remember that the tough get going! (Nothing like platitudes for inspiration.) Ha. Post-, post-apocalypse. It has been the utmost pleasure.

4 features

5 arts & culture

a hard days night shift // alexa trearchis putting the art in liberal arts // jonathan goodman

6 arts & culture

dont baby me // annika lichtenbaum have yourself a sufjan christmas // claire luchette

7 lifestyle 8 lifestyle

best of potluck // rmy robert brown smackdown // MM paris je taime // jennifer harlan post- it notes top ten

jennie and clay

apocalyptically and apocryphally,

illustrations by
Cover Emily Reif Emily PostEmily Reif Taking Leave, and Taking It Well Adela Wu Healing through Hearing Sheila Sitaram A Hard Days Night Shift Marissa Ilardi Dont Baby Me Alexa Trearchis Have Yourself a Sufjan Christmas Grace Sun Best of Potluck Madeleine Denman

drunk photo^

upfront

bad sex
EMILY POST-

emily postetiquette expert

Do you play an oboe? Do you smell womens hair? Do you drink sherry? Do you have a pet hummingbird (or any pet) that you keep on a string? Do you draw hundreds of little ampersands on your fogged-up mirror after your morning shower? Do you know the exact pharmacological formula for roofies? Have you ever seen a roofie? Have you ever woken up with a gecko in your mouth? If your answer to any of the above is yes, Emily recommends that you enter a period of deep soul-searching. During this time, do not ask this young woman out. In fact, do not ask anyone out. Instead, contemplate how you can best approximate the actions of a normal human. Emily has few recommendations to make: She has been told that swilling gin and tonics while elegizing the lost art of croquet does not make for a normal human. However, if your answer to most of the above is no, ask away! Avoid coffee dates, for obvious reasons. Much love, Emily Illustration by Emily Reif

BEEJ

Dear Emily, As finals approach, Ive practically taken up residence in Blue State. Im there for at least a few hours daily, mainlining caffeine and writing papers. At times, my mind and eyeswander, and I find myself thinking about the cute barista who works there. Weve had a few brief conversations, and she always remembers my order, but I cant tell whether shes just being friendly or might reciprocate my interest. Can I ask her out? Is that creepy? Cant Really Estimate Eerie Potential Darling CREEP, Rule of thumb: It is only creepy to ask a girl out if you yourself are creepy. It is not immediately apparent to Emily whether you fall into this unfortunate category, though your concern about this issue speaks in your favor. Thus, Emily offers this sequence of questions. If you find yourself answering yes with frequency, please move out of your parents basement. Have you ever stared intently into a girls eyes until she cringed and looked away? When she looked back, were you still staring? Do you refer to the act of opening a beer as decapitation? Do you like fuchsia? Or chartreuse?

Dear Beej, Lately, my current long-term sexual partner and I are trying to shake things up in our sex lives. We both have a passion for food, so we thought wed try out some naughty snacking. Our first goround, we went for the classics. Whipped cream, chocolate sauce, strawberries. We started with sexy berry eating, moved on to localized whipped cream spraying, and then switched to random chocolate sauce drizzling. The whole thing was a lot less sexy than wed hopedmore like a messy ice cream sundae. Instead of having sex, we ended up showering (not the fun kind, either). I had to wash my sheets, and I still feel like I have Hersheys syrup in my hair. Do you have any recommendations for foods that are less messy in the bedroom? Any particularly sexy recipes to spice things up? Sincerely, Need an Orderly Menu Dear N.O.M., Firstly, I might remind you that I am a sex columnist, not a food writer. I deal in matters of love and carnal knowledge. Secondly, I am a firm believer in the sanctity of the bed. The bed is a sacred place, the warm stage of sweet lovemaking, reserved for the hallowed actions

unqualified

of f*cking, sucking, blowing, tweaking, and squelching. Please, dont eat in bedits where you have sex. However, I am not at all opposed to intermingling eating and sex. After all, the two are bodily pleasures that share so many similarities: ingestion (of a kind), physical fulfillment, insatiable appetites. My clairs are described as orgasmic; my orgasms, clair-like. Dont we all wish that eating out could be a bit more delicious? That dining at a restaurant could be a bit more like oral sex? My advice: Save the bed and bring sex to the table. Plan a beautiful homecooked meal for your sex partner (I recommend Thanksgiving-esque fare), then in an act of surprise, lunge onto the table. Embrace the food fetish: Rub mashed potatoes on the chest; bathe yourselves in gravy; stuff stuffing wherever youd like to stuff it. Cranberry sauce functions doubly as lube. Ever heard R. Kellys Sex in the Kitchen? Take the chorus to heart: Sex in the kitchen, over by the stove. Put you on the counter, by the buttered rolls. Also, in terms of spicing things up, a rub of jalapeo on the genitals certainly does a number. Bon appett! Beej

taking leave, and taking it well

oh, the places well go
TANYA SINGH staff writer
a class lecture. And for me, that was the best outcome I could have hoped for. Most universities are not supportive of student leave-taking, partly because the percentage of students who graduate within four years factors into U.S. News college rankings. Brown, however, is a sea of .5ers and gap-year takers. Around 200 Brown students each year take semester leaves. Obviously, every students story is different. While some take leaves for financial, medical, or psychological reasons, others seek to get out of the Brown bubble and to bridge their classroom experiences with real world ones. Brown is unique in that it actively encourages students to take time off from school. Semester leaves were designed as part of Browns New Curriculum, instituted in 1969. Browns Curricular Resource Center (CRC) offers peer counseling to students considering taking leaves. CRC advisors, such as Brenda Zhang 13.5, also strive to promote general awareness of the option, whether for personal, financial, medical, or academic reasons as a curricular toolanother means to further develop a liberal-arts education at Brown. Zhang spent fall 2010 in Bloomington, Indiana, taking painting classes as well as interning for a nonprofit food co-op. Zhang felt that she wasnt taking advantage of all the opportunities Brown had to offer and was driven by certain questions about herself that she couldnt answer on College Hill. During her leave, Zhang realized that even though as a high school senior, she choose Brown over a school solely dedicated to the fine arts, she couldnt just leave art behind. Upon her return to Brown, she confidently declared a concentration in the Visual Arts. Furthermore, Zhang found she was able to pick classes more suited to her interests and dedicate her time to the activities she was most passionate about. Similarly, in spring 2011, Rebecca Rast 13.5 took a semester leave to work for an immigrant justice organization in Tucson, Arizona. Feeling burnt out from Brown, Rast found that stepping away from the university gave her the space to recharge and evaluate what she hoped to gain from college. Brown is an incredible place, but it can also be exhausting. We pride ourselves on being a happy student body, but this generalization overshadows the reality that many students must overcome personal struggles during their time in college. A leave of absence should not be viewed as time off, for that implies we can be on only when we are enrolled as students. Compared to more traditional academic institutions where voluntary leave-taking is virtually unheard of, less stigma exists within the discourse at Brown. Even so, some students hesitate to take leaves because they worry about getting off track. Life, however, is not a conveyer belt, and a Brown education does not have a set start and finish. Students who want or need time away from Brown shouldnt feel like theyve failed in any way; it doesnt mean that theyre bad at college. Brown provides students the great liberty and responsibility to craft their own educational experience. A leave of absence can offer students the unique opportunity to reflect upon what theyve gained from their time at college as well as reconfigure their paths at Brown. Ultimately, we have only four years here. Taking a step back from the Brown bubble may help some better understand how they want to spend them. Illustration by Adela Wu Im not remotely artistic, nor am I a neuroscience concentrator. But before I transferred to Brown as a sophomore last fall, I spent a year working in a paint-your-own pottery studio, slicing up mice brains as a lab intern, and bumming around hostels in Eastern and Central Europe. The experiences, though interestingId go back to Budapest in a heartbeatproved somewhat trying. I hadnt really carefully designed my gap year; all I knew was that I needed time away from school. I had been a student for so long that I had lost sight of who I was outside of the classroom. I had been a member of the type-A camp since middle school: super studious and involved in a well-rounded set of extracurriculars. Taking time off after my freshman year wasnt part of the original grand plan. I didnt find my lifelong passion during my leave from college. I didnt have an a-ha moment in which I suddenly understood who I was and where I was going in my life. But I did realize there is more to life than school, and my world wouldnt end with a poor exam grade. I could learn just as much from talking to a German nun for six hours on a bus ride from Prague to Munich than I could in

feature

healing through hearing

the power of psychoacoustics
ELIZABETH CALLUS contributing writer
This summer, I found myself browsing the used CDs in the clearance section of a record store. I wasnt expecting to find anything interesting, but I somehow stumbled across Alex Theorys Earth in the New Age section. As I had recently been getting more exposure to experimental/ambient music, I figured it was worth the 50 cents. Four months later, I had worked on a myriad of sound design projects, but I was still searching for an overarching sense of purpose in my work. It was then, researching for a paper my music professor had assigned, that I rediscovered the forgotten album. The CD was the spark of inspiration that I had been seekinga powerful demonstration of how sound can be scientifically arranged to incite positive neurophysiological responses from people dealing with mental or emotional hardship. While most DJs strive to establish an emotional connection with their audience, only rarely does one design his set to stimulate particular neurophysiological responses to specific sections of each piece. Alex Theory, however, is one such DJ. The self-described musical shaman, born and bred in San Francisco and Los Angeles, pursued his lifelong passion for music after earning his PhD in psychology with a focus on psychoacoustics. Having studied a wide array of techniquesspanning from Afro-Cuban drumming to classical musicTheory has implemented a diverse range of musical tasteincluding Marley, Hendrix, Sly, Pink Floyd, Herbie Hancock, Tupac, Bjork, and Radiohead into his work as a DJ for the past 10 years. As both a Doctor of Psychology and a musician, Theory contends that certain frequencies and combinations of frequencies in sounds interact in specific areas of the brain, producing a neurophysiological effect. Building on his extensive research in a variety of different labs, Theory carefully maps out each frequency in his pieces in order to nourish the brain, improving mood and mental health. Theory, founder of the 2008 Global Sound Conference and the 2007 Global Om Project, recently created a new nonprofit foundation, Discover Sound. The organization is meant to be a pioneer in Sound Healing composition, which he defines as the composition of certain sounds and frequencies to nourish the mind and body. Theory describes this neurophysiological treatment as vibroceuticals, a kind of vibrational frequency medicine that is available to everyone, anywhere, anytime, indicating his firm conviction that everyone should have access to mental and emotional wellness and healing. In Earth, my introduction to the field of psychoacoustics, Theory exhibits his ability to aurally innovate sound healing and to pave the way for many new, effective, and widely available means of solace and healing through sound. Earth is one of four ambient records released in Theorys immersive sound healing series on the Sounds True label. The CD takes the listener through each of the eight regions of Earth: North, Northeast, East, Southeast, South, Southwest, West, and Northwest. Each of the eight movements incorporates a distinct ambient tone that is unique and reflective of that region. Theory skillfully crafts the frequency and rhythmic structure for each region. For example, Theory uses higher frequency tones to create the feeling of wind moving through the soundscape in North, Northeast, and Northwest; while the southern movements have a deeper, more reverberant tone. Throughout Earth, Theory uses specific rhythms and tempos to aurally paint the soundscape of our world. Implementing the technique of rhythmic entrainment, Theory sets the tempo and rhythm of his percussive tracks to affect the listeners internal pulse. Each movement uses a similar rhythm, which creates the physiological sense of continuity in the pulse of the music. This phenomenon can very easily go unnoticed to the listener, but it subliminally contributes to the immersive nature of the experience. To create the largest soundscape possible, Theory employs the entire gamut of sounds, including a multitude of computers and synthesizers. Many of the tones in Earth were electronically created with synthesizers and edited with various types of audio software. While Theory prides himself in his diverse use of acoustic instruments, he recognizes the importance and benefit of technology in sound, working to allow listeners to hear soundin particular, the sound of elementsin ways that theyve never heard before, in ways that without modern technology may not be possible. Understanding the marriage between acoustic and electronic instruments, he is able to produce an incredible array of sounds and innovatively expand the world of composition and musical performance. Theory describes Earth as the most extensive immersion of psychoacoustics in his series on the Sounds True label. He went as far as even working on Schumann Resonance research with NASA to ensure that his work would have the most effective frequency map. The Schumann Resonance is the resonant frequency at which the Earth vibrates after being struck with interstellar plasma (usually manifested in lightning). Using this fundamental frequency of nature, he transposes it into exact harmonics that are audible to the human ear and tunes each of the instruments and tones used in the record to frequencies that accommodate the Schumann Resonance. These harmonics also create the ambience of the most neurologically nourishing frequencies available to humans: those found in nature. The sounds of a running stream, ocean waves crashing on the shore, and wind rustling through trees are relaxing and psychologically beneficial because of their natural employment of full-spectrum frequencies and their exceptionally broad bandwidth. Theorys record opened my ears to the possibilities of experimental instrumentation in composition. Fascinated by the idea of healing through sound, I started to collaborate with other composers and audio engineers on an ambient record designed to create a peaceful and neurologically nourishing soundscape, using Earth as a model. Once I learned the neurological role of frequency mapping in a soundscape, my sound design work for theater was never the same. For Musical Forums upcoming December production of Next to Normal, I explored the idea of creating sound cues that trigger certain neurological effects. I placed one low frequency tone through one speaker as a high frequency tone propagated from the other speaker, provoking a binaural phantom tone in the center of the listeners brain that triggered physiological responses: The sensation of tension associated with scenic action or the experience of emotional catharsis relating to the characters on stage. Psychoacoustics is a budding field with many applications, offering affordable and widely available means of healing and wellness maintenance. As a student, I hope to become more involved in the field by hosting a psychoacoustic installation in which participants can immerse themselves in a safe musical environment that they can themselves create. Music is an intensely effective means of personalized artistic expression, and it is my belief that everyone can use psychoacoustics as a tool to tell their own storiesand appreciate the beautiful and unique experiences of others. Illustration by Sheila Sitaram

arts & culture

a hard days night shift

ALEXA TREARCHIS managing editor of arts & culture
In spring 2011, Victoria Hunter McKenzie 81 received an alarming letter. The Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) was demanding that the East Villagebased artist cease and desist a new artistic medium she had been experimenting with since January of the same year. Looking back, McKenzie laughs when describing the way her now-recognized subway fare card paintings made a bit of a splash in New York City. Inspired by the idea of presenting oil paintings on such a small surface, McKenzie had begun collecting Metro Cards (cards for subway fare issued by the MTA), creating iconic images of the city, like subways and water towers, on them with oil paint, and making them available for sale on her Etsy shop. On her shop and on her artists blog, both titled The Night Shift, she had been displaying the entire process of making these small paintings. She included for customers and readers a scan of each card as it was when she scavenged it from the collection boxes in MTA subway stations. The MTA, however, found issue with the way McKenzie was using their logo and offering customers MetroCard paintings to purchase, and although at that point McKenzie had not sold a single one of the small artworks, they demanded she stop selling them or start paying for their usage with a licensing fee. Upon receiving the cease-anddesist form letter, McKenzie was somewhat intimidatedshe was not ready for a legal battle with the ubiquitous MTA. Yet instead of immediately giving up on her unique canvases, she turned to her fellow Etsy-ers for support, and with the Etsy artistic community at her back, McKenzie wrote about what had happened on her public blog. Within 24 hours, her story was picked up by Gothamist and The Village Voice, among other East Village blogs and papers. Additionally, she received a call from and was interviewed by The Wall Street Journal, whose story declared that the MTA may not have a strong case against her should it pursue the copyright issue further. In a happy conclusion to the perfect David and Goliath story, McKenzie sold all of the available subway card paintings in the same 24 hours. Finally, she communicated with a marketing manager at the MTA, who, she says, told her to go ahead, turn that lemon into lemonade, and continue selling her paintings as long as she designated them subway fare cards instead of MetroCards. Over a year after receiving the MTAs letter, McKenzies upcycled artworks are still readily available for sale on her Etsy shop. Each card is lightly sanded and then gessoed. By treating these singular objects just like any other surface, McKenzie says, they become a canvas in their own right. All the paintings are one of a kind, and though she enjoys painting New York iconography on the cards, she tries to deal with the same subject differently when beginning each new piece. In addition to creating art and maintaining her blog (where she writes about her inspi-

an artistic alumna takes on the mta

ration, shares vignettes, and shows readers the progress of pieces shes working on), McKenzie balances her role as a wife and mother with her position as a fulltime computer graphics artist and animator for ABC News in New York. In this position, shes earned an Emmy for Outstanding Individual Achievement in Graphic Design for the first season of PrimeTime Live. Upon visiting McKenzies Etsy store now, you will soon notice that subway fare card paintings are only one of the many ways she expresses herself through art. McKenzies husband (with whom she has two teenage daughters) is from Jamaica. Ive been travelling to Jamaica for over 20 years, she says, and the more I go, the more of a mystery it becomes. First-time visitors, nestled in an all-inclusive resort, may think it is a tropical paradise, but long-timers know that it is significantly more complex. Her frequent visits to the island are another great source of her inspiration. Her work ranges from New Yorkinspired subway fare cards to emotionally charged portraits reflecting life in Jamaica. She paints watercolors of the Chrysler building as well as rustic tropical bars. She also creates beautiful contour pen

and ink drawings that capture a bodys movements with minimal lines. A history concentrator at Brown, McKenzie only ever took one introductory art course, and that wasnt until her senior year. I dont recall if there was any painting in the class, she says, but I did draw a great deal and learned how to loosen up. I graduated from Brown with the knowledge that whatever path I chose, creating art was going to be a part of it. Indeed, McKenzie has worked hard to ensure that creating art has remained a part of her life. After having her daughters, she says, I launched my blog as a way to compel myself to draw or paint regularly. Much of my work was done after I put my girls to bed, ergo The Night Shift. The name rings true as an actualization of the balance McKenzie has found in her lifeas an artist, a professional, and a mother, shes created and mastered her own schedule. For more about McKenzie and to see images of her work (and for discounts at her Etsy store!), see Alexas article in the annual Holiday Gift Guide in the November/December 2012 Brown Alumni Magazine. Illustration by Marissa Ilardi

putting the art in liberal arts

a review of VISA0100s final exhibit
JONATHAN GOODMAN visiting critic
As a New York writer with a long history teaching contemporary criticism and thesis writing, I was intrigued by Professor Miguel Trelless offer to lecture and critique the students in his class at Brown. I teach at Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, where students have committed themselves to the sometimes chaotic, sometimes pretentious decorum of the art class. These students are often very talented and highly intelligent but not necessarily well trained in the practice of reading criticism or writing a text. They encounter, in other words, difficulties of a humanities nature. On the other hand, the class I visited at Brown consisted of liberal arts students whose interests were not primarily artistic in nature. But on some level all the students did seem to be serious about their artistic education. I spent the first hour of class detailing my life as a New York arts freelancer, a career which has become more or less a dying breed because of poor payment for words, along with the absurdly high costs of my city. It was entertaining to regale the class with stories based upon the many experiences I had in New Yorks art world. But I was more interested in responding to and writing about the students work. Their work is currently on display in the Granoff Center, with a reception scheduled for Thursday, December 7, but I was able to see the first renditions of their final products. The class assignment was to illustrate a poem, and the students all displayed unique interpretations of poetry. I found they were talented to a surprising degree, given the fact that they were not preparing for a career in art. For example, Alex Davies 15 prepared a drawing of an orange sky and black whirlwind over a group of houses. It is a powerful apocalyptic statement, memorable long after it has been seen. It makes perfect sense as a visual companion to a poem by the British visionary William Blake. The graphite drawing by the Chinese student Yumeng Gu 16 successfully portrays classical China: A woman in long robes plays the flute, next to a wall with a medieval defense tower. Cindy Oh 13 contributed a striking image based upon the poem The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost: A skeletal hand rolls two dice covered with symbols such as arrows and BUMP signs. Lena von Schorlemer 14, a student from Germany, presented the back of a nude woman with a colorful butterfly between her shoulders, against a blue background. This was done in response to a Spanish poem that spoke of a naked soul. The image, a bit literal perhaps, nonetheless fit the writing in its expressiveness. Claire Luchette 13 did a nice job of illustrating Allen Ginsbergs homage to Walt Whitman, who is depicted standing in a supermarket. She filled the shelves and reduced the contents of the store to small, repetitive abstract shapes. Alexa van Hattum 16 produced a powerful drawing of a skeleton kneeling inside a circle with a pentagram drawn inside it; the skeletons knees, hands, and head touch the points where the pentagram touches the circle. And Annabel Greenberg 15 took Edgar Allan Poes famous poem Annabel Lee and illustrated a few lines with a young woman looking out onto the sea while sitting on a pile of rocks. The moon casts light on the waves in a grey background, while a tree floats in the air behind her, its roots exposed. In general, the students work was intelligent and sensitive, if sometimes a bit rough around the edges. Although I have only been able to name seven students, everyone in the class carried out their assignment with interest and vigor. Visiting Brown was a very positive experience for me, as both art teacher and critic, and I enjoyed seeing the effort and commitment of liberal arts students trying new things. Jonathan Goodman is a freelance art critic. He is an Adjunct Associate Professor of Fine Art at the Pratt Institute.

arts & culture

dont baby me
hatin on the heir
ANNIKA LICHTENBAUM contributing writer
Monday, news sources across the world reported that the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Prince William and Kate Middleton, are expecting a baby. The Duchess was admitted early Monday morning to the hospital with acute morning sickness, and the palace has now confirmed that she is indeed pregnant with a future British monarch. This announcement has prompted cheers of delight and anticipation across the worldbut not by us. We at Post- object strongly to royal babies, no matter how stylish Kate is or how good Will looks playing polo, and we can offer several convincing reasons why. First and foremost, we cannot approve of the royal baby on account of his/her effects on our Facebook newsfeeds. From early Monday morning, when news links first opened the floodgates to Royal Baby Internet Mania, we knew this kid would be trouble. The unfolding baby craze is already practically on the same level of Newsfeed Dominance as was the presidential election, except for the fact that no one disagrees that this baby is awesome. Everyone and their grandmothers are psyched, and the mutually enabled gushing that results is simply too much for us to take. The Duke and Duchess really should have thought about the amount of baby spam we would be forced to sift through for the seven or so months remaining in Kates pregnancy before they decided to start a family and become even cuter than they already are. Furthermore, while everyone might seem ecstatic about this baby now, the birth will ultimately increase the net bitterness in England (which everyone knows was already super high to begin with). Prince Charles, the babys grandfather, has been waiting to be King for a pretty long time now. One cant blame him for being annoyed that its taken so long to ascend to the throne. For Gods sake, even his son, William, is already going bald! It is obvious that British people just take a really long time to die, and at the rate this is going, that baby is probably going to be crowned at the ripe old age of 90. All that tea has clearly gone to the Brits heads, and throwing another dissatisfied heir into the mix is not going to help anything (though it should be said that we are very much looking forward to the newest royal looking adorably British while riding ponies, shooting ducks, and everything else British people do that hasnt been featured on Downton Abbey).

Alsohats. We trust that our readers remember what members of the royal family wore to the Royal Wedding. No? Only the most ridiculous hats known to man. They actually served as the inspiration for Lady Gagas 2012 wardrobe (dont quote us on that). And if that was just for one measly wedding, we shudder to think about what Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie will wear to the birthday parties of probably the most precious baby to grace the British Empire planet. We are worried for the future of sensible hats across the pond, and it is largely for this reason that we must object unequivocally to the royal baby. We are also very concerned about the impending blog posts from our friends studying abroad in the UK next semester. Study abroad blogs are painful enough to read (both because everyone thinks that one picture of him- or herself holding the Louvre pyramid is interesting to others and because we really are so jealous of those pics) without the added excitement of a royal baby. We are certainly not looking forward to reading about how one friend bought a Keep Calm and Love the

Royal Baby T-shirt and how another saw pregnant Kate in Harrods. It is going to be very painful for us not to be able to experience the mounting baby hysteria firsthand, and we therefore strongly condemn anything anyone says about royal babies. And this brings us to our final point: It is just not fair. This blissfully married couple is young, they are gorgeous, they are British, and they are royalty. And now, with this newest addition to their family, they are about to become happier than ever. It is this thought, more so than the hats or the blog posts, that really hits home with us. So congratulations, Wills and Kateyour life is about to get even more blessed than it already is, and we totally hate you for it. The Post- editors would like to credit Anni and her fellow members of the BDH Editorial Page Board Dan Jeon , Rachel Occhiogrosso , Post- staff writer Mintaka Angell, and Sam Choi for their work on this very serious article. Illustration by Alexa Trearchis

have yourself a sufjan christmas

the cheers and sneers of silver and gold
CLAIRE LUCHETTE arts & culture editor
I associate Sufjan Stevens voice with a specific age of my adolescence. When I was 17, I was convinced that because I lived in Chicago and tended to fluctuate between wistfulness and religious considerations, Illinois must have been written for me. Sensitive and delicate, Sufjans voice perfectly accompanies all moments of pensive musings, including a roadtrip, a sance, and, as it turns out now, a Christmas morning. Sufjan has been recording annual Christmas albums as gifts to friends and family since 2001. In 2006 he compiled five EPs of carols in Songs for Christmas, Vols. 15. This November, he produced another abominable snowman of a collection: Silver & Gold: Songs for Christmas, Vols. 610. Its 59 tracks in total: some traditional carols, some original and very Sufjan Yuletide folk tunes. The perfect Christmas gift for that loony and Nol-obsessed pal, the Silver & Gold box comes complete with an 80-page booklet with lyrics and essays, a paper ornament, stickers, and a freaking poster. Its a veritable treasure trove of weird collectors items decorated with cartoony, morbid drawings and family pictures that both celebrate and dismiss Christmas traditions. The songs reflect a similar conflicted Yuletide spirit. Sufjan parallels devotion with disenchantment and piety with presents. His renditions of classic carols are sometimes bizarre and sometimes undeniably catchy: A 10-minute robotic version of Do You Hear What I Hear? has been stuck in my head for days. Sufjan is also capable of a respectful and reverential tone; his airy recording of Hark! The Herald Angels Sing would do Charlie Brown proud. He puts a funky spin on Good King Wenceslas, rendering it unrecognizable to even Hugh Grant. A dreamy, angelic Ave Maria, recorded with the delicately soulful Cat Martino, is straight-up worship material. Throughout, Sufjan shows that age-old carols can be reimagined as goofy, angsty, bizarre, experimental, or folked out with a banjo and sleigh bells. Sufjans original songs make up about a third of the album and are the real gift of this collection, though the temporary tattoos of snowmen with chainsaws have a certain allure. His lyrics have all the whimsical weariness of Illinois, and he confidently plays with the same technical processing that he showed off in Age of Adz. The sore ennui of Sufjan-past comes through in songs like Christmas in the Room: He observes, Its just the two of us this year / No silver bells or mistletoe / Well kiss and watch our TV shows. My favorite is the chaotic and epic 15-minute gem The Child With the Star on His Head, which evolves from weary observations of modernity (And all the trust we put in things / In dictionaries, in engineering / In calendars and television) to an experimental, stream-of-consciousness guitarand synth-layered contemplation that continues for the last 10 minutes and wordlessly paints disorientation. I get lost in the riffs and the tonal confusion and am left fantasizing about Sufjan inviting me over for a simple feast while we discuss our disdain for wrapping paper. This is the epitome of a Sufjan Christmas song: a contemplative and mature reflection paired with an electronic exploration. These songs are as unique and delicate as snowflakes. Each is in its own way silly or gentle or wild or passionate or heartfelt or a terse observation of the state of the soul. Each is a different take on the stigma, weight, or potential that Christmas carries. Each is a different vision of what Christmas should or does bring to the world: at times peace, at times confu-

sion, at other times still, a moment for a vacuum separate from the chaos of life on Earth. In an essay in the Silver & Gold booklet, Sufjan writes that his album is meant to evoke the existential emptiness that perseveres in the heart of modern man as he recklessly pursues his search for happiness and comes up empty-handed. My 17-year-old self is turned on. But this isnt just an album of angst. This multi-faceted hunk of glittery coal is not about mans continual empty-handedness but about his continual pursuit. As certain as Christmass arrival is the annual struggle to explore what it all means. Illustration by Grace Sun

lifestyle

best of potluck
vodka gummy bears
RMY ROBERT managing editor of lifestyle
Lately, my life consists solely of potlucks and the awkward interim between potlucks. Time in class or extracurriculars fades to the background; breakfasts I eat by myself and lunches I have in Faunce give way to serial group dinners. In theory, at least, the potluck is the perfect venue for the hungry, gregarious, money-strapped college student. When a meal is group sourced, there is room for variety, abundance, and culinary creativity that are otherwise unattainable. I know this all too well: Three years ago, as a freshman living in Champlin, I tried to bring people together over food by simply cooking for everyone. While the smell of cherry tomatoes roasting in the oven did lure in visitors as I prepped my elaborate pasta dishes, the end resulta grimy dorm kitchen crowded with already VDub-jaded teenagersled to paltry portions for everyone and an empty wallet for myself. The potluck, though, is another thing completely. If each person is bringing one dish, then nobody will go hungry. But, you see, thats a big if. Because when it comes to free food and college, chances are well suffer from the free-rider problem (the only thing I remember from ECON11, which, like my group dinners, fizzled unceremoniously at the end of my freshman fall). The thing about potlucks, the thing that nobody tells you, is that they require structure. Planning. Delegation. In short, things that many of us avoid whenever we can get away with it. Well go to potlucks because potlucks are, duh, the best, but left to our own devices, the vast majority of us will bring one of two things: baked goods or booze. I find it difficult to argue that an abundance of these two things is ever bad, per se, but a meal it does not make. Especially when potlucks occur as regularly as they have in my life recently. But things are looking up. Im not sure whether this is because my friends and I are becoming older and more experienced or simply because dinners of brownies and Barefoot Moscato are losing their appeal. Either way, my eyes have been opened to a new frontier for the potluck. I am trying now to analyze, retrospectively, the factors that contributed to these potlucks successes so that they can be reenacted in the future. Pre-existing themes and holidays prove to be incredibly helpful. In that nebulous twoday week before Thanksgiving break, several friends threw a Thanksgiving feast. They invited tons of people and didnt request specific dishes, though they did threaten to unleash their Cockapoo on any freeloaders. Turns out that was enough to ensure that everyone came with foodor wine; there were many, many bottles of itin hand. And because Thanksgiving already connotes images of copious casseroles and plentiful pies, it seems that people felt the pressure to pony up offerings our parents would be proud of. Nary a pan of Betty Crocker brownies was in sight; instead, we feasted on stewed collard greens, mashed potatoes, and chickpeas. There was a vat of pumpkin soup. Somebody brought a strawberry meringue thing. And they roasted a motherf*ckin turkey. Hell, we almost looked like functional adults! It was by all accounts a rollicking success, and an exemplar for the potluck genre. More recently, I was a privileged attendee of a Post- dinner and pregame prior to the BDHs annual banquet. (Psst, write for us and you too can attend our potlucks and the Heralds open-bar banquet!) I have to start by attributing this ones smashing turnout to the organizational skills of editors Mmes Zo Hoffman and Alexa Trearchis, whose command of the Google Doc led to a truly awe-inspiring and well-planned roundup of goodies. From Alexas baked pasta arrabbiata to Clays peanutty fried rice, from Claires meatballs to the smorgasbord of cookies from Kevin, Allison, and Ben, we ensured that we did not drink our signature Post- cocktails and bounty of wine on empty stomachs. (Lily and I made a giant salad, so dinner was even sort of healthy!) I grooved on the from-scratch pecan sandies so much that I hid them in my coat pockets for future feasting in the cab ride back to campus.

Perhaps most importantly, our eyes were opened that night to the potluck sleeper hit: vodka gummy bears. A bowl full of gummies, marinated overnight in pure potato spirits, transformed into a sticky, wet, frankly hideous mess of alcoholic edibles that we ate communally (some used utensils; others used their fingers). Delicious on their own, they are also splendid as a garnish for vinho verde or vodka with grapefruit juice and 7-Up. Still, at the end of the day, its not about the food. Its about the company. Its about coming together and nourishing our friendships along with our bodies. Or, considering the vodka gummies, its about coming together and nourishing our friendships along with poisoning our bodies. NOW LETS GET FUCKED UP. Illustration by Madeleine Denman

brown smackdown
n. when a Brown student stands up for what she believes is fair, empathic, and right.
MM sexpert
dernity/marriage/post-war malaise. The professor is a prominent Czech film theorist who was part of the student protest group that started the Velvet Revolution in 1989. She is a strong woman with a caustic laugh and a deep sense of Czech irony. Here is a sentence from Rotten Tomatoes synopsis of Loves: Milda convinces Andula to go to his room, where he seduces the mildly reluctant girl. Here is an excerpt from my own paper: Though Andula asserts repeatedly that she does not want to go to his apartment, undress, or sleep with him, Milda persistently cajoles and misleads her, and the two spend the evening having sex, during which Andula cries. Yet in class, the professor said verbatim: But Andula desperately wants to sleep with Milda. Less affronted than I was confused, I asked my professor to cite the evidence for her claim. Sure, the female protagonist was happy after having sex; but then, the narrative crux of the film is Andulas desperation for emotional intimacy and her inability to receive this intimacy without having involuntary intercourse. This seems to me to be the films big question: How can our heroine get the affirmation and attention she so desires without surrendering first to the divergent desires of the men around her? How can she achieve emotional intimacy without the overture of physical intimacy? We learn later in the film that Milda lies about his feelings for her, sleeps with other women, and barely recognizes her upon their reunion the following week. Times were different, explained my professor. No, no, no meant Yes, yes, yes. Isnt she happy after they have sex? Didnt she get what she wanted? Most of my other classmates busied themselves by cleaning their fingernails and texting surreptitiously. But I was getting mad. OK, courting customs were different, I said, pissily. Women were expected to be polite and euphemistic. I get that. But when Andula is cowering naked in the corner as Milda approaches her when she protests that she doesnt trust [him]when she refuses even to take off her jacketyou believe she wants desperately to have sex with him? My professor rolled her eyes. Look, she told me superciliously, Women and men have very different reactions to sex. Women usually have a very intimate and emotional response to sex, while men are more interested in the physical aspect. My classmate, a male-bodied individual in a serious and very intimate heterosexual relationship that involves daily three-hour Skype sessions, looked up at her sharply. Everyone elses eyes were glazing over. Eventually, in the fashion of a true feminist ally (not), my professor steamrolled me into submission. It doesnt matter, she said finally. Whether or not she wanted to have sex is just not the point. For me, it was the point. It was the most relevant, most significant point. It was what separated the films vulnerable, existentially disturbed, and admittedly suicidal anti-heroine from an active, self-assured, and savvy protagonist. More importantly, to interpret someonesanyonesverbal refusal as enthusiastic consent is incredibly dangerous. It leads to victim blaming, to silencing, to misogynistic tropes like, She was asking for it. It leads to rape and the inclusion of rape within dominant, accepted culture and discourse. My reaction to my professor has a lot to do with my Brown education. In college, Ive learned to be sensitive when I speak, to try not to silence or elide the narratives of those around me, andif Ive offended someoneto make an effort to rearticulate myself more effectively. And Ive come to expect these things of others. Throughout my conversation with my professor, my first thought was, This would never happen at Brown. A Brown professor probably wouldnt make a claim that sounds like a line from a date rape court case. And if she did, I definitely wouldnt be the only outraged student in the room. Ive heard this emphasis on political correctness or neutral communication, characterized as the language of righteousness. But for me and my peers, its the language of respect. My second thought? I cant wait to debrief this incident with all my friends at Brown. Dear Brown, Its the final Post- of the semester, which means its the final month of my semester abroad. Im so excited to come home, to speak English in public, to gorge myself on turkey and my Moms linzer tarts, and to get nasty with the man I love (this is a sex column, after all). Moreover, Im so, so eager to return to Brown: to the professors and the peers I love, to the openness and inspiration and empathy that I find in them. Ive been missing Brown consistently throughout the semester, but there have been moments of clarityof acute nostalgiain which I miss it more, in which I realize that not every community is as active, analytical, and strong as Browns. To be sure, Brown has its problems, and I have sometimes been unhappy. But I feel my peers and professors at Brown are unusually passionate, inspired, and critical. Furthermore, the people I know at Brown show a great deal of respect for one anothers opinions, interests, and backgrounds. I missed Brown a lot last week, when my Modern Czech Film class met to discuss our impressions of Milo Formans Loves of a Blonde, the 1966 chronicle of a young factory workers pursuit of love and a formative contribution to the Czech New Wave canon. Like a lot of the films we watched in class, Loves can be read as a critique of communism, or as a response to feminist theory, or as a discussion of mo-

lifestyle

paris je taime
JENNIFER HARLAN editor emeritus
Paris and I, we go way back. Our first date, the summer before my senior year of high school, was a little rockymy luggage got lost, I spent four days in the same jeans and navy sweatshirt, and it rained the entire timebut somehow I knew that this would turn into something special. When I came back to study abroad as a junior, things heated up pretty quickly. Paris seduced me with its colorful macarons, its sparkly Seine and red lipstick, its singular je ne sais quoi and delicious joie de vivre. We were hot and heavy for several months, spending our days lounging on riverbanks or in perfectly manicured squares full of smoking teenagers and chic toddlers. Almost every night was spent drinking cheap wine in the shadow of Notre Dame, while a violinist under the bridge played La Vie en Rose or some other suitably stereotypical soundtrack. Before I knew it, I was head over heels in love with the City of Lights. Thats not to say we didnt have our rough moments. The smell of the metro and the drizzly cold provoked spats during which I would hole up in my apartment, drinking tea and watching Lost while Paris sulked behind dense grey clouds. One incident, in which a lowlife asshole attempted to steal my iPhone out of my hand in the metro, provoked a particularly vicious fight. But whenever I was upset or annoyed, whenever the rude cashiers and endless bureaucracy got me down, Paris would show up, glorious sunshine in hand, to remind me how lucky I was to be there. I wasnt ready to leave at the end of June, and I knew that somehow I would find a way back. I wanted more more romance, more passion, more carefree days strolling the banks of the Seine, Ella Fitzgerald in

for better or for worse

my ears and a pain au raisin in my hand. But heres the thing about relationships: Passion, however wonderful, only lasts so long. The honeymoon period inevitably comes to a close, and then youre left with the not-so-rosy reality of commitment. Paris and I moved in together this September. I got a job (two in fact) and a tiny apartment with a view of the Eiffel Tower (if you stick your head out the kitchen window). And we tried to pick things up where we left off. I was armed with a list of all our favorite spots, having spent the summer dreaming about the dinners we would eat, the museums we would visit, the weekend trips we would take to Edinburgh or Amsterdam. But I was working a lot, and I didnt have a lot of money, and, well, we got into a bit of a rut. Suddenly we were an old married couple, staying in on Friday nights to watch Gilmore Girls, finding any excuse (the cold, the rain, the sorry state of my checking account) not to venture out of our cozy little den. I met some of Pariss newer, younger loverscurrent study abroad studentsand listened jealously as they gushed about spontaneous trips to Berlin, Tuesday nights at a club with cute Italian boys, abundant amounts of free time. And, for the first time since I left Brunonias hallowed halls, I felt old. Theres a big difference between studying and living abroad, one that my fellow teaching assistants and I have come to realize more and more as we settle into our routines. We talk to friends from home who ask in awed tones, Hows Paris? (a romanticized reverence best illustrated by one friend with jazz hands and spirit fingers). Usually, I just play along. Paris is wonderful, I say with an enthusiastic smile, rattling off tales of free chocolate

music is film is tv is

singing along with Sufjan.

fightin the Rebs with Sting.

battling the Meany of Chanukah with Tommy and Chuckie.

books is food is

reading. Period.

eating pear-shaped cheese and cheese shaped pairs of peas.

tastings and walks by the Seine, art exhibits and Shakespeare & Company, picnics in the Tuileries and macaron competitions. But in reality, these are the exceptions to the rule. Most days, I leave my house at 7:15 a.m. (an ungodly hour that makes me feel simultaneously old and like Im in high school again), commute three hours a day, work two jobs, and have just enough time to stop by the grocery store before I get home around 9, make myself dinner, and go to bed. Its not always Paris!, with fireworks and romantic candlelight; its Paris, the city where I live, where I wash dishes, deposit paychecks, and have to do my laundry in a bucket. Now I dont mean for this to sound self-pitying or whiny. (As my mother is only too happy to remind me, You live in Paris. Nobody feels sorry for you.) Because the truth is, despite the early mornings, the hours on the bus, the rain and the cold, Im still in love. And not fiery, fun, fleeting love, but the kind that lasts a lifetime. See, Paris and I, were in it for the long haul. I look at the students who come into my coffee shop, armed with guidebooks and exploding with glee when I offer them ice in their water, and I smile. Ive been there. I know the giddy happiness that comes with your first real romance. But while they may be having more fun now, in a month or two theyll leave, go back to their real lives, and move on. Even if someday I move on too, bidding adieu to my iron balconies and flaky croissants in search of new adventures (or a real job), first love never quite goes away. Paris and I, well always have each other.

booze is

studying the effects of ethanol in real time.

weekend five
Studying at the Rock/SciLi. Brown Stand Up Comics, Friday at 8PM. MacMillan 117. Musical Forum Presents Next to Normal, Friday-Monday at 8PM, Sunday at 2PM. PW Downspace. Hannukkah Bash Carnival, Sunday at 6:15PM. Hillel.

signs of the brunonian apocalypse*

1. Barrett Hazeltine retires. 2. Every act at Spring Weekend is GWAR. 3. Ruth Simmons returns to reclaim the presidency. 4. That weird tinfoil statue. 5. Quorum of student body makes it off College Hill. 6. New class of freshmen is entirely hetero & normative. 7. Granoff becomes Granon. 8. SciLi wins Architecture of the Year Award. 9. Turns out Cosa Nostra is really and has always been an
ASPCA office. *See you in January? (Maybe this is post-apocalyptic.)

top ten

Studying in bed Passing out.

10. Gail says, Hello.