Howling at the Moon

Have you heard the news that New Moon is out in theaters?  If you haven’t, you’ve been living under a rock!  The second installment in the Twilight saga has been getting a great deal of press, and it has the ticket sales to back up the brand, but will it live up to the hype?

I’d say so. US Ticket sales for opening weekend grossed a total of $140 million.

The trailers made their rounds on the Internet, TV, etc.  From the looks of it, action is the key word!  Edward and Bella’s run-in with the Volturi seems to feature some hardcore fight sequence!  The trailers have been featuring Edward getting smashed into marble stairs and benches!  Sounds like a good time to me.

Let’s not forget about Jacob’s wolf pack!  Since the hugely successful first movie, Twilight, it seems Summit has increased its own pockets and gave New Moon a higher budget!  The CGI is top of line, and it’s got a trailer to prove it!  When Jacob transforms from adolescent teen into ferocious wolf, it’s more than eye-popping!  It’s downright scary!

Summit has stayed mum about how faithful their movie is to Stephanie Meyer’s novel.  After all Edward appears very little in the novel, yet actor, Robert Pattinson, stars along with fellow lead role actors Kristin Stewart (Bella Swan) and Taylor Lautner (Jacob Black)!  Not that I’m angry.  We’ll see how this all pans out!

by Adrian Garcia

A Nice Surprise

I really don’t know how I went these past few years without seeing a true classic, Erin Brockovich. You see, it’s really all my fault; I’ve had my chances. I’ve seen it pop up while I was surfing channels, but my gut never told me to feast my eyes upon it. I’ve read the reviews on sites like Rotten Tomatoes, but I remained uninterested. Maybe I’m just admittedly sexist when it comes to my taste in film; I literally cannot think of a single movie with a female protagonist that I enjoy (edit: The Changeling is amazingly good) – I know that’s sad, so feel free to send me some recommendations that showcase leading lady talents. On the other hand, maybe it’s because I’ve always lumped Julia Roberts into the same category I place Sandra Bullock in, and I’m no fan of her at all. For whatever reason, I never gave the movie a chance, and for that I was clearly a douche…but not anymore. Erin Brockovich changed me. I know it’s trivial, but I consider myself a film buff, so it really is a milestone for me. Let me ramble here for just a second. Throughout the years I’ve acquired a modest, but respectable, movie library. Genre wise, I’m drawn mainly to comedies, dramas, and thrillers; my tastes do stray from those given genres, but you get the idea. Actors that catch my attention are George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Viggo Mortensen, and Matt Damon (take that how you want to). Given this information, you can probably see why Erin Brockovich just didn’t appeal to me – it was outside my range of taste. Sure, it may fit into my given genres, but c’mon…cut me some slack.

 

I’m not sure if my rambling made any resemblance of a point, but here it is: I looked outside of my entertainment comfort zone and was presented with a nice surprise. I suppose that’s how it is with all art, really. My musical tastes were formed by straying outside what I would normally listen to, and my appreciation for literature has naturally increased upon the introduction of new and exciting works; it only took the help of Julia Roberts to help me realize that. I know, it seems stupid (or, maybe, I just seem stupid), but I’ve been a stubborn boy for a while now, but there is hope. I mean, if Julia Roberts can essentially become a successful lawyer with no schooling, surely I can learn a few more lessons in the coming years.

by Tyler Marsahll

A blog

Aside from all the parties, people, classes, drinks, and drugs, college years are a bit lonely. I don’t mean in the sense that one can’t find a person to hang out with at all hours of the night. You could probably have a fiesta of your own with any kind of theme if you so desire. One could invent a world of their own in the library. I don’t mean the typical type of lonely entirely.

Every new place and even old place I went there are new faces surrounding me. Whether it is in a classroom or football game, a dinner party or just a casual get together, meeting someone new was far from foreign. Sometimes I’ve introduced myself as me but with a different name. I would fake some accent and tell the new friend I was from another country. I usually said I was Augusta from Sweden. A white lie can be an interesting conversation starter. I still do that when I’m in a boring scene.

Being in college, I feel like I’m always around people I don’t know. I feel like an outsider when I walk into a classroom and see a couple familiar yet unknowing faces. Every semester, so far, I’ve walked into a class, every week for the entire semester and walked out of the final exam still knowing only one to two people. Of course, the two hundred person classes are an exception, but the smaller ones are no excuse. I’d sit down in my desk, listen, think about life, daydream of my next plans for that day, write in my planner, tap the person in front of me on the shoulder sometimes to ask what I missed from the Tuesday class and then walk out when the time was up, when the buzzer when off. So far, it’s lonely.

Oh this loneliness factor that lurks and creeps, resides and seeps in most of us. Whether you have a ton of friends and hundreds of contacts, getting to know yourself on your own, is a bit of a self-task. Of course people influence us along the way. I’ve dated a couple of guys who helped curve my path and adventures. I’ve traveled with friends to their homes and on vacations and invented new recipes for all sorts of different foods for birthdays and celebrations, but there is always a little bit of an empty feeling that tends to shrink and expand in situations and experiences. Every decision I make is mine. It takes a while to realize that, and I’m thankful that I recognize it now than later. It’s different for everyone. There is just some independence that is inflicted on us at our age. I think this is when the loneliness starts to tap in for us.

I have been at a place before, full of people and felt an intense feeling of being solo with my own thoughts and actions. Last year, I stood in a popular bar on the strip. It’s a dark venue with only one entrance for all bar rats and even first time visitors. There are back doors but only for the bands that play in the back room. On a busy night, every corner of the place is crowded. All the tables are full and the walls and corridors are lined with people spilling and sipping drinks. The two wooden bars support the sticky elbows of all the liquor and beer’s thirsty suitors, but let’s be honest – no one is there because they’re looking to quench a dry mouth. The busy bartenders serve up the cheap yet overpriced shots, and the young guzzle ‘em down like pros. I’m not sure what a professional shot taker would encompass, but everyone looks legit. Sometimes, there’s the occasional visiting dad who buys his son and all his friends drinks the entire night. He, for one night, relives his college years in a nutshell. As I observe it all, I grow bored with the repetitive scene, so I start to count the guys in polo shirts. With varying colors and a couple people staring, I stopped at the 28th shirt. It’s pupil-opening how we reach this point of self-actualization in our lives at our age. What we discover is we all kind of look alike.

At first, I was highly annoyed and wrote about being a bunch of copy cats acting like a bunch of hooligan monkeys in a bar, class or cancun, mexico during spring break. Then I realized that this whole self discovery thing plays in to your life in due time. You’ve got to let it and respect that not everyone’s timing is in synch. It makes sense that we all look the same. Whether you’re in the hippie group wearing headbands and playing in your hammock or your greek dressed in pearls and polos, every person clings to what the other person thinks they love so much. With age comes widsom and with widsom comes some hard truth. Growing up is a lonely process. You have to do it for yourself, even if you choose to do it long after college. My dad tells me he didn’t ask the questions our generation is asking until he was 49 years old. Perhaps this is why we are called the Y generation. We ask, “Why?” We’re encouraged to ask questions and dissect what we have been told is truth. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t honor history and scientific discoveries for what they have provided, but our parents’ generations walked around not talking about their feelings and holding in every question they ever had. I feel like sometimes (yes, I’m expressing my feelings here), that we’re in a limbo stage. We want to know more and break out of this institutionalized shell, and if you say you don’t then you’re lying. We’re sick of sitting in some 4-walled concrete room, forcibly sheltered from any experiential knowledge, yet we crave it. Probably more than blood thirsty vampire actors. We want to know why because we’re bored and  this boredom is seeping into our cores and making us boring people. I say, we need a Why movement. WHY do I have to have to study this way or read these kinds of books? Why do I have to sit in this classroom, not speaking a word, while another speaks knowledge into me and then I’m tested on what I received from that person? Why do I have to live in this monotony? My heart, my spirit crumbles over this. I can’t think nor concentrate. My will becomes stronger but then there is more to break it. My mind becomes wrapped up in a couple of things and my conversations become so monotonously rehearsed.

We need a revamp, a fresh breath, an awakening.

A love affair with life.

 

by Kinsey Russell

Beginning, begin again

Before he had uttered these nearly senseless words, Dr. Hank Lazer, Associate Provost of the  University of Alabama and Executive Director of Creative Campus, had merely walked up to the center of the stage in the Allen Bales theater and clapped his hands twice. Then he stood still for a moment, staring blankly into space. Surrounding him was an all star cast of highly talented musicians, artists, and dancers. Meanwhile, Brian Elliot, a lighting design student, and Neil Riley, a technician who spontaneously programs animations in conjunction with live music, hung back behind the ominous dark windows of the tech booth. It was very clear that something unusual would soon take place. All sense of orthodoxy and art was about to be temporarily discarded for total improvisation.

Lazer spoke. Florence, Alabama based artist Rich Fulton began to produce loud, nearly demonic sounding tribal noises, percussionist Jennifer Caputo tapped seemingly random rhythms out on her instruments, and the madness issued forth.

Beginning, Begin Again was my first personal experience of an entirely mixed medium improvisation, and the experience was truly enthralling. The purely improvised music would have been enough to challenge my brain (as I was attempting to wrap and re wrap it around the visual and audio sensations of the evening for the entire duration of the event). After all, it included outstanding violinist Ladonna Smith, saxophonist Andrew Dewar, bassist Chris Kozak, and percussionists Jennifer Caputo and Wayne Sides. All of these individuals are incredibly talented and versatile musicians who have their fair share of legendary acquaintances and experiences. Hearing them perform in a single setting was quite a ridiculous and somewhat unbelievable treat.

But they were only one factor of this performance. Dr. Lazer, a Pulitzer Prize nominated poet, adeptly shared lyrical duties with fellow poet Jake Berry, while two graduate dance students clawed and writhed and leapt on and around the entire perimeter of the AB Theater. Neil Riley’s spontaneously programmed animations, simply worked with the weirdness of what was already taking place, while the artwork of Susan Perry formed probably one of the most beautifully strange sets that I have ever seen.

Of course, the night’s music held my principle focus, as the fact that each of these musicians was willing to freely abandon any sense of order in their individual performances was fascinating to me. While the sounds that the produced formed an absolute chaos at times, I could hear various patterns and licks being thrown into the mix. Basically, chaos was being generated from order. Decisions were being made to choose not to choose, and the result was a set of sounds so random and so chaotic that eventually they came together and formed something that appeared to be coordinated and written, if only for a brief moment. Soon afterwards, the sounds would degenerate back into controlled randomness, and the process continued.

Ultimately, “Beginning, Begin Again” was a riveting, interesting, and very strange experience in which the audience had the privilege of seeing artists, poets, and musicians who are very adept at their disciplines abandon all sense of structure for a truly improvisational importance. It is relevant because it exposes viewers to something so artistic, yet so unorthodox that it is seldom used in typical musical and art related performances. Also, this event has opened up a new line of artistic thinking in quite a few young artists. “Beginning, Begin Again”  was a treat to attend, and I believe it has added a new stream to the various ways that I view the performing arts.

 

by Ryan Davis

In Defense of the Compilation Album

I have a friend who is against compilations of any type. He’s so against them, he doesn’t even use playlists on his ipod. I know several other people who don’t understand them, in the sense, that when I buy one, they simply look at me and go “why not just buy a *real* album?”
Well here’s my answer. Sometimes I don’t have a specific artist in mind when I want new music. Sometimes, what I really want, is a feeling, a mood from an album…and many times I find albums from single artists or bands lack a cohesive mood. I mean, really, who would put out an entire album of music about the Circus?(yes, we’re talking ringleader circus), but I’ve hunted down music to make a playlist of circus songs. The need for compilation albums goes beyond holidays like Halloween or Christmas, and hits the need to have songs that feel the same without being copies of one another. Perhaps my favorite compliation albums to get are the best hits of a band that I’m not quite sure if I’ll like yet. At worst, I bought some rather popular songs of a band that I can always pass onto someone else. At best, I may have discovered a new artist to listen to. My favorite type of compilations are soundtracks, which tend to have some songs that are awful, and others that I end up loving.
Blue Crush was a mediocrely-received movie–I never hear anyone talk about it, but I still have and listen to the soundtrack from it. It’s an odd mix of dubbed-over reggae songs, and my favorite, “Firesuite” is more of an ethereal music piece than anything–And I still listen to it on a regular basis.
When the 3rd Underworld movie came out a while ago, I stayed in the theater to listen to the ending credits songs, and ended up loving them–the movie was set in the 15-1600’s, but the music still captured a good mood, and so I bought the soundtrack not long after I found out that there was one. One song on the soundtrack, “Deathclub”, by William Control(The lead singer of Limp Bizkit, which I’ve never listened to), was delightfully similar to The Cure’s music, and I ended up getting William Control’s Latest album in the hopes of hearing that same sound.
The Moral is: Compilation Albums *aren’t* the devil, they have their uses. Just be sure to listen to it in the store before you buy it(or at least look up the songs), and be open to new artists, always.

Until next time.

by Jonel Burge

Bohemian Like You

I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m starting to resent the word, “hipster.” Yes, this is how I’m opening my newest blog focused on culture and the arts. So, obviously, I can’t deny that I’m both a hipster and a hypocrite.

 

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past few years, you know what I’m talking about. For those who may be in the dark, I’m talking about those artsy-fartsy, skin jeans-wearing, shaggy-haircut sporting, plaid-clad, music-Nazi, irony loving types. Even if you don’t have a friend (or ten) that fit this description, you’ve definitely seen them bicycling across campus at break-neck speeds. If Hot Topic is for the dark, emo kids then hipsters are the “Urban Outfitters generation.”

 

It’s a stereotype that has blown up in both population and criticism over the past few years. The indicative hipster clothing and music have bled over into pop culture, like the Target commercial forecasting plaid as the next-big-thing this fall. As the trend becomes more and more prevalent, so do the jokes: the websites Stuff Hipsters Hate  (http://stuffhipstershate.tumblr.com/) and Look At This F@*# Hipster (http://www.latfh.com/) have become enormously successful recently.

After months of denying the label, I gave in and accepted my hipsterism last year. Although some of my friends don’t believe me, I became one coincidentally and I’m not a prime example. I had other friends hold on to their dignity, defend their self-respect, and deny they were hipster, to which I responded, “It’s so much easier to give in to being pathetic!” But I don’t really think of it that way; rather, I know there are all kinds of subcultures with their own stigmas. In a culture fond of labels, I’m bound to fall under one category or another, so why should I be concerned about potentially being a hipster?

All of that being said, I have to admit that the word “hipster” is wearing thin. The term is used without discretion to the point where now I can’t see a girl wearing a vintage dress or a guy in square glasses without thinking, “God, what a hipster!”  It has even come to the point where I almost wanted to call Clint Eastwood a hipster when he drank Pabst Blue Ribbon in Gran Torino (“almost” being the imperative word here).

Being the hipster that I am, I was listening to the Dandy Warhols’ song “Bohemian Like You” the other day and it led me to reassess some things.

 

Back in the day, someone fitting the description of a hipster would most likely be called a bohemian instead. Bohemians were also young people who leaved cheap, pursued artistic interests, and wore exotic clothing. They, too, were influenced by European culture and were sometimes seen as pretentious in their effort to be unconventional. However, it seems to me, the bohemian lifestyle is a more positive and romantic idea. Sure, it falls under ridicule, but “bohemianism” is a term that certainly carries more respect than “hipsterism.”

Are there no Bohemians left? Did they lose their respect and become “hipster?” Or was “indie” the 1990’s version of the “bohemian,” and “hipster” is the new “indie?” Or maybe I’ve put more thought into this than I should have.

Ultimately, none of these labels really matter, and neither will the next label that comes along. But labels are unavoidable, and as such I plan to put a little more thought into whether I judge something as “hipster” or “bohemian.”

 

 

by Katie Fraley

Who’s bad?

I saw Michael Jackson’s This Is It weeks ago, and after voicing a few hesitations about the documentary/concert film, I now know the genius that is Michael Jackson.

Although the goal of the film was to show the concert that Michael had worked so hard to create, I got something different out of it.  The concert would have been technically amazing!  From a giant robot to a 3D Thriller video, Michael and AEG Live pulled out all the stops and spared no expense!  All of his greatest hits including “Human Nature,” “Thriller,” and “Beat It” were showcased.  The choreography was Michael approved, and his dancers were extraordinary as well as his band.  Everything was above par, but the behind the scenes footage that was released was far more valuable than the show.

It’s a shame that more behind the scenes footage isn’t released for other superstars, because what I saw with Michael surely applies to others.  He was extremely hands-on with everything from dancers to the music.  In a scene with his music director, Michael strives to perfect everything he created in its original form.  He ran through cues, mechanics, and video shooting.  It was his final concert, so he wanted to give it one last, “Hurrah!”

I can’t describe how great it was to see Michael singing “live” or complaining about earpieces.  It was great!  From a movie watchers experience, I watched as a boy no older than ten sang and danced in his chair as he watched with wide-eyes at Michael’s show.  After all these years, he still has it.

 

by Adrian Garcia

Experimental Jazz Night

 

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Sepnosen- farmer’s market or lows, sprinkle and it keeps them away

New College and Creative Campus Present: A Night of Experimental Jazz

 

Tuscaloosa, AL—Tuesday, November 17, 2009 from 7:30-9:30 in Shelby 1093 at the University of Alabama.

 

The goal of “A Night of Experimental Jazz” is to give students and faculty an opportunity to experience firsthand the phenomenon that is freestyle jazz and view ways that music can directly correspond with visual art and design. It is part of the Creative Campus “Variations” series, and will serve as an “experimental encore” of sorts for Dr. Hank Lazer’s Beginning, Begin Again, which will officially introduce many UA students to the world of experimental music, art, and dance.

 

Legendary experimental guitarist Eugene Chadbourne and percussionist Tatsuya Nakatani will give the UA student body a taste of their improvisational talents this November. Chadbourne has been heavily involved in the music scene since the early 70’s, starting out in Rock and Roll, moving into Blues and Country, and then fusing many genres together in order to form his own style. He has actively collaborated with many outstanding music minds, including John Zorn, Jimmy Carl Black, and Derek Bailey. His “Shockability” shows of the 80’s shook the foundations of what many thought were the limitations of rock music, and he has actively performed over the past 30 years.

 

University of Alabama New College professor and renowned ethnomusicologist Dr. Andrew Dewar  has done extensive research in the arenas of music and culture, both in the United States and Southeast Asia. He has also studied and performed with the likes of jazz greats such as Bill Dixon, Anthony Braxton, and Steve Lacy. On November 17^th, he will give Alabama students a taste of his outstanding soprano saxophone ability for the second time in that week. He will be performing in Dr. Hank Lazer’s Beginning, Begin Again event on November 16th.

 

Nakatani is a Hopscotch Records recording artist and one of the solid institutions of the New York experimental Jazz scene. Using a wide range of percussion sets and voices to convey his musical ideas, he allows the aspects of his performances to vary. Listeners never know what they will get when listening to Nakatani. The experimental percussionist also founded H & H Production, a music and dance studio through which he conveys his ideas and trains other young aspiring musicians. Nakatani actively works in music production and sound design in addition to his performances.

 

This outstanding musical trio will be complimented by moderate set design and artwork by University of Alabama Interior Design Students and Creative Campus Interns.

You do not want to miss this exhibit of freestyle jazz and visual arts. EXPAND YOUR MUSICAL HORIZONS!!!

 

Feel free to explore the websites of the artists

http://adewar.web.wesleyan.edu/

www.eugenechadbourne.com

www.hhproduction.org

 

Contact Information:

uacreativecampus@gmail.com, 205-348-7884

bmdakamaal@gmail.com

adewar@ua.edu

 

2012

2012 is a perfect movie for this universe. For the universe of populist entertainment it is set in, the movie is exactly the vision of a filmmaker entirely bereft of any qualms about his own cultural opinion, because filmmaker Roland Emmerich ultimately blows stuff up. And 2012 brings his fascination with destroying lumbering landmarks to a more massive variety.2012’s plot hinges on a shocking ensemble, mostly hanging on John Cusack’s character, a writer named Jackson Curtis. Curtis is a divorcee visiting his ex-wife played by Amanda Peet and her two children when eventually – after a trip to Yellowstone National Park – disaster strikes around the city of Los Angeles. Jackson, his wife, his wife’s new boyfriend (Tom McCarthy), and the kids then go on a series of quests to essentially escape the city.The same disaster strikes for scientist Chiwetel Ejiofor, the president Danny Glover, Thandie Newton, and the ultimate scenery chewer in Oliver Platt. All of those talents merely are the main characters of the Washington plotline, readily ignoring that since it is a global crisis, Emmerich often cuts to China, Los Angeles, and Washington in succession.Emmerich is the mastermind behind this feature in that like his previous disaster-pieces like The Day After Tomorrow and Independence Day, he has a hand in co-writing the script. His universe is filled with complete obviousness in the many realms it seems to touch. Woody Harrelson plays an Alex Jones-like conspiracy theorist obsessed with pickles and beer whose theories aren’t nearly as crazed as they seem. Harrelson’s presence here, though, could practically make his own movie. It is a mix of his performance in Zombieland with a touch of the charming insanity shown in Natural Born Killers, and his own scenery chewing is perfect for Emmerich’s world vision. Harrelson is just likable enough to prove himself to be right, and somehow, he’s essentially a hero in how his obsession gets to him and benefits others.

Emmerich’s obviousness is further evidenced by the presence of Glover’s president. Instead of dodging the issue of the black president, he completely embraces it and then makes a political jab (a character notes the massive mess he has made, presumably a completely obvious bashing since at this point, the year is 2012). In noting the poor sales of Jackson Curtis’ book Farewell Atlantis, Curtis says, “Well, who cares what they think?” in reference to the decent critical acclaim the book received. Every foreign leader has an accent that is completely stereotypical (and obvious) for their country.

Beatrice Rosen’s character Tamara is essentially a mix of Paris Hilton and Anna Faris if further mixed by a phony Russian accent, and while she is made sympathetic, she is run through the gamut as the blonde bimbo stereotype throughout the entire film, another obvious social sendup.

Moreover, the film’s disaster plot contains a lot of obvious near-misses, mostly on the part of Cusack and his crew. Until the ending, the film exactly plays on your own expectations and does exactly what you would expect out of it. None of the dialogue is legitimately funny, but characters are thrown out there for obvious ploys of sympathy and it always fits the film’s goofy tone. Several speeches to the level of Bill Pullman’s “Today we celebrate our Independence Day” line are thrown out throughout the film.

The disaster is phenomenal in its exhaustion. Water, fire, and earth all play heavily into the many sequences, including a finish that legitimately is one of the most thrilling scenes in recent cinema history. The film’s length is 158 minutes because it truly continues to load on frame by frame. All of the action is awe-inspiring, and the destruction is continuous.

When the film sets up a premise that the world is ending, delivering is important, and Emmerich’s team makes a film that crams about five disaster movies and the blunt satire of Emmerich’s Godzilla remake into a melting pot, creating a film that is ruthless, amazing, and ultimately the best epic of the year.

by Trey Irby

BEWARE OF THE FEAST OF FOOLS

Summer has come and gone, and fall is here. The infamous Alabama humidity that normally hangs over the campus like a hot, wet blanket has lifted, and is replaced by a crisp, cool autumn breeze. The warm, lazy summer days have left us- we put away our bikinis and boat gear for the winter, and happily pull out our sweaters, boots, and hounds-tooth scarves in anticipation for the chilly winter winds. Like the personable squirrels that inhabit our campus, we now prepare for the winter and some much-needed sleep. And most importantly, like clockwork, after Halloween we busy ourselves with embracing the oldest of Southern traditions: eating entirely too much in the period I like to call the Feast of Fools.

The Feast of Fools starts during Halloween and ends roughly around Valentine’s Day, though it varies from person to person, depending on their iron will and sweet tooth. It begins with candy corn, the most addicting of all novelty candies. You think, “oh, one won’t hurt. It’s so tiny, and they’ll only be around for a week or two before they go back into whatever black hole it is that Wal-Mart keeps them in for the next eleven months.” I say, let the Feast of Fools begin. Before you know it, you’ve consumed two bags of candy corn, and you’re working on the Halloween mix, an assortment of “fun-sized” candies. Fun-sized means fun for whoever’s selling them, because the tiny size of the candy bear means you can’t eat one and be satisfied. If you’ve survived through Halloween without gorging yourself on candy, cookies, and all things pumpkin-shaped, don’t gloat, because Thanksgiving is right around the corner. Thanksgiving is even worse than Halloween- students get to go back home to their families for four days. That’s four days of your mother’s delicious home cooking that you’ve missed after so many days of going to dining halls. After several helpings of turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn-related dishes, cranberry sauce, some sort of vegetable, pumpkin pie, apple pie, pecan pie, chocolate, pie, and every other kind of pie you can fathom, you begin to wonder if those people who said you’d gain the Freshman 15 in four months didn’t mean you’d gain it on campus. And don’t forget leftovers. Oh, Lord. Leftovers. That’s an entirely different can of worms.

Now comes the worst part in the Feat of Fools: Christmas. The mere thought of Christmas/Hanukah/Kwanzaa/WinterSolstice/Frosty the Snowman’s Birthday makes the American market economy simply pee their pants. Walk into any store, and prepare to be bombarded with the let-it-snow-lovely-weather-for-a-sleigh-ride-together-with-you-have-a-holly-jolly-Christmas Bing Crosby Dean Martin Doris Day feel-good vibe that makes you want to buy everything on the shelves, drink a tub full of hot cocoa, and shoot a dozen reindeer, courtesy of that fat man in the red suit we call Santa. With the Christmas spirit comes sugarplums, candy canes, cocoa, Christmas duck, gingerbread men, eggnog, etc. The entire list of Christmas goodies can be found in any Christmas song or on the latte menu of Starbucks. By New Year’s Day, you begin to resemble Santa, except there’s no jolly twinkle in your eye.

The Feast of Fools comes to a close during Valentine’s Day, in which single and non-single girls stuff themselves with chocolates and cherry cordials because a fat baby with a bow and arrow told them to. It’s rather gruesome, when you think about it. And by the time the gopher sees his shadow and spring returns in all her flowery glory, we dejectedly pull out our bikinis and boat gear once again, look in the mirror, and wish Cupid had shot us with a real arrow, Santa would’ve run us over with his sleigh, or a candy corn monster would’ve frightened us to death. The squirrels are still very personable.

I pity the fool.

 

by Rebecca Fil