best freshman 15 - The Yale Herald

Transcription

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR
The Herald has called a lot of things “objectively the worst”:
calling a lot of things “objectively the best.” It’s our third round
Daylight Savings, reading week, heteronormativity; the list goes
of the Herald 100: the best of Yale, New Haven, and the world,
on. If this were a regular issue, I’d surely have found a forum for
chronologically. That is, freshman year comes first, meals are in
ranting about my foot after fracturing it on Sunday—you better
order, and so is the way you narrow down on the decisions that
believe I sobbed hysterically when they put me on crutches and
will make up your days and your Yale (not to mention the dis-
on Vicodin (those are Bruise City and Vomtown, USA for me,
tractions you turn to along the way). We end on the Christmas
respectively).
season that’s upon us, because for you/Jesus, the Herald banned
But as the week went on, things were not so grim. Acquain-
Scrooge(s) from the office this week—but this week only. Be-
tances who usually avoid me offered to walk me (and my back-
cause when next semester starts up, we will inevitably go back
pack) to class; the grumpy Atticus dude convivially told me his
to being the critical whip of campus. Hey, someone’s gotta keep
horrific but hilarious broken leg story; a perfect rando did my
the balance, and we’re lucky to have the job. And by we, I mean
printing in A&A so I wouldn’t have to deal with stairs. Even hav-
Design Editor and Czar of 305 Crown Zachary Schiller, BR ’15,
ing three tests to study for was helpfully distracting when I was
who designed and laid out this beautiful beast. It’s dedicated
on my couch all day anyway, icing and elevating my foot. It also
to outgoing Editrix-in-Chieftess Emily “Touee a.k.a. Eminemily”
helped that the Vicodin turned out to be really chill, brah.
Rappaport, ES ’14, who has so long served as heart and baking
To paraphrase something Cash said about a totally different
powder of this paper.
thing in As I Lay Dying, sometimes I’m not so sure who’s ever got
Thanks for reading, everybody; we’re honored to keep you
a right to say when something sucks and when it doesn’t. Some-
company on the toilet! Happy finals, happy break, happy apoca-
times I think nothing purely sucks and nothing purely rocks until
lypse. We are all the 100 percent.
the balance of us talks it that way. It’s like it’s not so much what
the thing is, but it’s the way we decide to think when we look at
Till the World Ends,
it.
Cindy Ok
And this week we’re looking at the world differently. We’re
The
Yale
Herald
Volume LIV, Number 12
New Haven, Conn.
Friday, Dec. 7, 2012
Herald 100 Editor
Herald 100 Editor: Cindy Ok
Herald 100 Designer: Zachary Schiller
EDITORIAL STAFF:
Editor-in-chief: Emily Rappaport
Managing Editors: Emma Schindler, John Stillman
Executive Editor: Lucas Iberico Lozada
Senior Editors: Sam Bendinelli, Nicolás Medina Mora,
Clare Sestanovich
Culture Editors: Elliah Heifetz, Andrew Wagner
Features Editors: Sophie Grais, Olivia Rosenthal, Maude
Tisch
Opinion Editor: Micah Rodman
Reviews Editor: Colin Groundwater
Voices Editor: Eli Mandel
Design Editors: Serena Gelb, Lian Fumerton-Liu,
Christine Mi, Zachary Schiller
Photo Editor: Julie Reiter
BUSINESS STAFF:
Publishers: William Coggins,
Evan Walker-Wells
Director of Advertising: Shreya Ghei
Director of Finance: Stephanie Kan
Director of Development: Joe Giammittorio
ONLINE STAFF:
Online Editors: Ariel Doctoroff, Carlos Gomez, Lucas
Iberico Lozada, Marcus Moretti
Webmaster: Navy Encinias
Bullblog Editor-in-chief: John Stillman
Bullblog Associate Editors: Navy Encinias, David Gore,
Alisha Jarwala, Grace Lindsey, Cindy Ok, Micah Rodman,
Eamon Ronan, Jack Schlossberg, Jesse Schreck, Maude
Tisch
The Yale Herald is a not-for-profit, non-partisan,
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All opinions expressed are those of the authors and do
not reflect the views of The Yale Herald, Inc. or Yale
University. Copyright 2011, The Yale Herald, Inc.
2
The Yale Herald (Dec. 7, 2012)
BEST FRIEND MAKING
STRATEGY
BEST FRESHMAN
SCREW
Sophie Grais and Cindy Ok
Lara Sokoloff
[To the sweet, sweet tune of “22” by Taylor Swift]
We all need ‘em. Last April when Yale sent around surveys asking accepted students
what we were most scared about, I asked my parents how lame it would be to write,
“I’m scared I won’t make friends.” My dad laughed and told me to write, “I’m scared I
won’t manage my time well.” Thanks, Dad.
Thanksgiving break was last week, and all of us eager freshmen went home to
recount our awesome stories about our awesome first three months, many of which
featured our—you guessed it—awesome new friends. “Ugh, yeah. My friends are
awesome.” I literally don’t even know what that sentence means, even though I said
it maybe 100 times last week. My “friends”? These people I’ve known for all of three
months, most of them for less—some of whom I even called my best friends. Everyone
tells me my friends from freshman fall won’t be my friends forever, but that doesn’t
mean I didn’t have some awesome friend-making strategies these past months.
My #1 go-to is definitely the meal. “Let’s grab a meal.” It‘s a trope because it
works. Almost everyone loves eating, and people generally like eating more when they
don’t have to do it alone and feel bad about themselves. And then after the meal, it’s
totally not awkward to slip in the casual, “We should do this again sometime, let me
get your number.” Big step.
Another vital strategy: roll with the punches. I tore my ACL the second week of
school. (The story really isn’t that exciting.) I was pissed, I cried, it was ruining everything. But I’ve met some cool people thanks to the injury. I made a friend at Yale
Health the day of the injury. We chatted, and now we have great small talk whenever
we see one another walking around campus. I bonded with the girl in my chem lab who
also tore her ACL, and now we’re actually best friends. I even almost made a ton of
athlete friends who thought I was an athlete for a hot second, until they realized I was
a total poser. Oh, and there’s my physical therapist, Nick. We hang hard every Tuesday
and Thursday morning. And he’s like 22 or something so we can actually talk to each
other: great setup.
First semester’s ending, and it’s true: I do have some awesome friends. There are
definitely days when I wake up and question everything. But that’s normal, right? And
fine, as long as I have those strategies on hand. Anyways, hmu if you want to be my
friend.
BEST FRESHMAN
It feels like the worst night to dress up in high heels
Don’t wanna see exes, uh-uh uh-uh
It feels like the worst night to do shots at midnight
To find “love” with strangers uh-uh uh-uh
Yeaaaah
We’re happy free confused and lonely at the same time
It’s miserable and magical oh yeah
Tonight’s the night when we remember all our deadlines, it’s time uh-uh
I don’t know about you but I’m skipping freshman screw
Everything won’t be alright if I dance all up on you
You don’t know about me but I bet you’d want to
Everything will be alright if we just keep vegging like it’s freshman screw-ew
It seems like one of those nights
This place is too crowded too many weird kids
It seems like one of those nights
We ditch the whole scene and end up eating instead of kissing
Yeaaaah
We’re happy free confused and lonely in the worst way
It’s miserable and magical oh yeah
Tonight’s the night when we forget about the heartbreaks, it’s time uh-uh
I don’t know about you but I’m skipping freshman screw
Everything won’t be all right if I dance next to you
You don’t know about me but I bet you want to
Everything will be alright if we just keep vegging like it’s freshman screw
I don’t know about you, freshman screw-ew
It feels like one of those nights
We ditch the whole scene
BEST FRESHMAN 15
Cindy Ok
Jesse Schreck
Z went to high school in a small town in northwest Oklahoma,
where he played semi-professional basketball and wrote a play
that eventually went up off-Broadway. It was called Pieces/
Peaces, and New York Times theater critic Ben Brantley called it
“powerful; game-changing.” Z also started a charity that supports microfinance as a tool for female empowerment in underdeveloped countries. His parents describe him as “exceedingly
empathetic.”
Z’s famous modesty would forbid him from saying this, but
he’s had some early success at Yale. One semester in, he’s
already pitching for both the baseball team and the Alley Cats.
His name appears on no fewer than 17 scientific papers. He’s
a rising star in the Federalist Party, and, though you’d think his
eight-credit courseload would leave him little time to socialize, he
throws a rager every weekend. He’s known to mix the best Mai Tai
in Ward 1.
Z is close with all eight of his great-grandparents, who are
African American, Mexican American, American Indian, Hispanic,
Caucasian, Multiracial, Other, and Prefer Not to Respond, respectively. He is thoroughly and actively bisexual, not that anyone
would consider him “slutty.” Says Z, “I’m just here to learn and
have a good time.” I met him last week (in an interview for this
piece) and already count him as my best friend. I doubt I’m in his
top 50, but, you know, I’m fine with that. I consider myself lucky
that he even knows my name.
4
I don’t know about you, but the way that I make friends is to fatten them
up. Freshman year I was like the evil witch from Hansel and Gretel. Instead
of a jail, I had my common room, and instead of milk, I fed my friends/L-Dub
prisoners various combinations of cereal by the box, peppermint bark by the tin,
and Claire’s cake by the two-pound piece. It worked, and of course there were
never any downsides—until I stopped being able to button my pants. (Hint for
those who just yelled holla: get on the Hot Chillys and maxi skirt combo, stat).
At some point after my friends and I gained the collective freshman 90 (it’s
so cute that you think I’m exaggerating), two of us decided to take action. On
our first trip to the Morse gym—for which I had to borrow a suitemate’s sports
bra, because why in the world would I have a sports bra?—we took a break
from the elliptical to “stretch” on the mat. We chilled and chatted leisurely (in
our defense, we weren’t sweating, but we were at least planting early seeds for
our future apartment-sharing), and when the topic of our ill-fitting jeans came
up I said something I’ve since presented as a self-deprecating punch line, but
which I meant completely earnestly at the time: “But at least we’re, kind of
like, I don’t know…taking up more space, maybe. Like, we deserve to take up
more room in the world. Or something.”
The best freshman 15 is yours, if you can assign even a morsel of success
to it. It’s the one you can be proud of, even when you go home for Thanksgiving
and your guy friends from high school friends are making fat jokes. It’s the one
you and all your new biddies can complain about as a group. It’s the one that
welcomes you to college—its late nights, its freedom, its the realization that
you’re not exceptional, and neither is your metabolism.
So if you’re looking for a workout buddy, well then, keep on looking, babe.
But if you’re looking for someone to eat banana chocolate chip muffins with at
Claire’s, then you’ve found your gal. I’m lactose intolerant and have been since
toddlerhood, but I’m not lactose intolerant at Claire’s.
BEST COFFEE SHOP
RELATIONSHIP
Maude Tisch
I like coffee shops. I like working in coffee shops. At the
beginning of this year, I so liked working in one specific
coffee shop — Book Trader Cafe — that I decided it would
be a great move to purchase myself a large sum of credit at
that institution. This was a game changer. Who needs money
at all when you’ve got Book Trader credit? I no longer felt
guilty every time I went there to procrastinate over a bustling
Chapel Street view and a piping hot Earl Grey with skim and
sugar.
But the experience of buying credit at Book Trader proved
more complicated than I thought it would be. The credit
slips were made to be given as gifts; accordingly, they have
a “To” field and a “From” field, and the gentleman who sold
it to me was rightfully perplexed when he asked to whom he
should address it and I sheepishly told him to just put my
name in both sections. Once the transaction was complete
and he understood my definition of “gift,” though, I thought
things would be easier.
It wasn’t all uphill from there. Three or four orange juices
later, I found myself once again in that establishment on a
particularly busy day. The line had turned into a group of
pretty enviably hip people milling around. I quietly waited my
turn, trying and failing to subtly yank my unbrushed hair into
a more appropriate formation, until it was my turn. By now
I knew the drill: I handed the guy manning the register my
credit slip and muttered my request for a latte and a piece
of pumpkin bread. To my horror, he responded by looking at
my credit, looking at me, looking back at my credit, looking
up, and asking, in a booming voice, “How’s that gift card
from no one treating you?”
I may be overthinking this, but I swear the architecture
students and horn-rimmed-glasses-wearing Haas Libe regulars went even more haughtily quiet than they already were.
Ugh, who am I kidding? It was great. This one goes out to
you, Book Trader Guy. LY 4 lyf.
BEST COFFEE SHOP TO
GO RO IF YOU HATE
YOURSELF AND
YOUR WALLET
BEST DINING HALL
FRUIT
Leland Whitehouse
More options than meet the brain at first mental glance,
truth be told. Whine all you like, snobs, but possibilities friggin’ abound around here. Classics: the banana, the granny
smith and red delicious apples, the orange, the grapefruit.
Sneak attacks: cantaloupe, honeydew, pineapple, frozen
blueberries. Wildcard: mandarin oranges.
A couple of them get peeled off the list quickly and
unceremoniously. The pears are unripe and generally foul.
Same goes for the honeydew and cantaloupe. Red delicious
apples are, objectively, the devil. A number of other ones
are disqualified for just being reliably lackluster. Canned
pineapple, frozen blueberries, granny smiths—gone. Oranges
ride the fence: every once in a while there’s a winner stuck
in there with all the fibrous, dried-up ne’er-do-wells. That
poor baby’s gonna have to go out with the bathwater.
So we’re down to three classics and one hell of an oriental
maverick. Pure, unmitigated opinion? Grapefruits have cut
through the greasy nauseous haze of many a Friday-morning
hangover. Sour power. BEST BRUNCH
Nico Medina Mora
You were there last night, and tonight you’ll be there
again. Your memories of your previous visits are shady, if
they exist at all. You vaguely recall chasing sambuca shots
with draft Lambic, but you really don’t want to think about
that scruffy Spanish Ph.D. you may or may not have taken
back to Davenport. Was that fries in your vomit? Or should
I say—frites? In any case, you know exactly what you need:
a spicy Bloody Mary and some eggs Benedict. With lobster,
mind you. Come to think about it, you might as well bring
your econ problem set. ’Cause we both know you’ll want to
just stay at Rudy’s ‘till it’s happy hour again.
It’s the eternal return of all things, bro. Where else in New
Haven can you start and end your day with a nice, big, cold
pint of Delirium Tremens?
Willoughby’s Coffee and Tea.
5
BEST OBSCURE
LANGUAGE CLASS
Wesley Yiin
“Introduction to Classical Hieroglyphic Egyptian I” meets only
twice a week for an hour and fifteen minutes. Compared to your
typical L1 language course, these biweekly meetings are what get
H-glyphs its “gut” reputation.
And in many ways, the reputation fits. Aside from the two
class meetings, an optional section is offered, and if you attend
enough of its meetings, you can opt out of the final. The class
has no speaking component (since no one speaks Middle Egyptian anymore), meaning that the work consists only of translating
phrases and sentences from Hieroglyphs into English. No translations in the other direction, no oral exams, no writing. Forget
Czech or Indonesian, H-glyphs are the shit!
If you don’t need an easy language credit, perhaps because
you enjoy languages and seek a challenge—no, an adventure!—
I can tell you from personal experience that Middle Egyptian is
the most fascinating language I’ve ever studied. With its many
symbols that are a pain and a wonder to memorize, and grammar that bears almost no resemblance to modern Indo-European
languages (fluid parts of speech, nonexistence of punctuation
and spaces, etc.), the ethereal texts just “sound Egyptian!”
Just imagine the look on your friends’ faces when you’re able to
decipher (or, at the very least, sound out) Hieroglyphic texts on
artifacts at Yale’s Art Gallery. Talk about badass!
Taking Classical Hieroglyphic Egyptian at Yale may not be
“practical,” but hey, you’ll have fun, get to learn for the sake of
learning, and pay respect to one of the most important civilizations throughout human history.
And plus, in no other language course will you get credit for
translating this epic:
“Behold, I am healthy and living.
Behold, the land to its limit has died of hunger.
Behold, one has begun to eat the people here.”
[cue dramatic music]
BEST DS RUN
Catherine Wang
Like that warm chocolate brownie the dining hall serves
on family night, Directed Studies was enticing and seemed
to suit my taste, but the actual experience fell short of the
ideal I had in mind.
DS and I are the couple that could have been. Before
freshman year began, I was so sure DS was right for me.
Here’s a direct quote from my DS application:
“Studying the Western canon, honing my analytical and
writing skills, and forging an academic family all align with
the Yale experience I hope for—one of intellectual stimulation and maturation.”
Somehow, my relationship with DS quickly soured. Perhaps it was my newfound realization of how incredibly slowly
I read that turned me off. Perhaps it was the tendency of
every person in each of my sections to begin their comments
with “to piggyback off of what the last person said” that
drove the wedge between us. Or perhaps our growing apart
was due to my withdrawal from Aristotle into math and science, which I realized one day as I subconsciously scribbled
physics formulas in my Philosophy notes. Whatever the
reason, it was definitely not you DS, it was me.
I eventually faced no other option than to call it off with
DS. It’s not like I didn’t try to make it work. I dropped DS
the last day possible. (Literally. I didn’t shop two of the
classes on my schedule.) I even wrote the first paper!
DS was supposed to be epic (Get it? Because epic poetry
is studied in DS). Unfortunately, it didn’t quite live up to the
hype that had built up in my mind, and it didn’t work out.
Sorry I’m not sorry.
BEST SYLLABUS
Marcus Moretti
BEST CLASSES
“Separation and Purification Processes” (CENG 411)
Instructor: Michael Lowenberg
This course provides a rigorous introduction to the theory and design
of industrial and laboratory-scale separation and purification processes
for multicomponent and multiphase mixtures that rely on thermodynamic and transport phenomena.
Note: single- and multi-stage absorption, extraction, distillation,
partial condensation, membrane filtration, and crystallization processes
will be included.
Course Schedule
Overview and introduction
Fundamentals: thermodynamics and transport phenomena
3. Single-stage processes
4. Cascades of equilibrium stages
5. Midterm I
6. Absorption and stripping
7. Distillation
8. Liquid-liquid extraction
9. Membrane separations
10. Crystallization, sublimation, and evaporation
Midterm II
6
v2
BEST PLACE TO RUN
INTO AN EX
Marissa Caan
BEST WAY TO MAKE
PEOPLE LEAVE WHEN
YOU DON’T WANT TO
HANG OUT WITH THEM
Lara Sokoloff
Going to Walgreens is always a wonderful experience.
Standing in line at the pharmacy is consistently thrilling,
and having everyone watch as you buy laxatives is humbling.
Although my experiences have been diverse and numerous, I
dream about one in particular: running into an ex-hookup in
the condom aisle. I’m talking about the perfect postscript to
the all-too-typical Yale hookup: the guy wants to bone, the
girl is down on the condition that the guy will make some
sort of commitment to her, and so the whole thing fizzles.
Now imagine that this girl finds herself in the condom aisle
at Walgreens, deciding between the overwhelming options,
thinking about the fact that the new guy she’s with isn’t a
total commitment-pussy. Along comes her ex-lover, who
is much uglier than she remembered. He happens to be
walking through the condom aisle to get to the cash register
(read: he still can’t find a no-strings-attached girl). They
make eye contact for five seconds and not a single “hey”
is exchanged, but nothing needs to be said. She has been
vindicated. And even better—tonight she‘ll be putting those
condoms to good use.
BEST OFF-CAMPUS
LIVING
Sometimes people just don’t get the message. When a street-corner
conversation or common-room hangout gets unbearably boring, sometimes
you can convince yourself you can salvage it. Chances are that if you’ve
had that thought, you probably can’t—this person isn’t suddenly going to
become hilarious, and you’re certainly not going to start suddenly divulging
your deepest, darkest secrets. Here are the top two ways to get the fuck
out:
1. Subtly steer the conversation towards your recent late nights. It’s
most effective if you drop a number or two in there, something like, “Can’t
believe I’ve slept 10 hours over the past three nights, woah.” From there,
“speaking of my exhaustion, I should probably really get goin’” follows
naturally. If it’s midday or even early evening, obviously this means naptime. Your own subconscious is guaranteed to be more interesting than
said boring, unengaged rando, but if you can’t pull this off smoothly…
2. No one actually talks to their parents enough. Casually pick up
your phone and mention how your mom called twice last night, and how
maybe you should return those calls now. If you’re of the rare and precious
breed of college student who talk to their parents everyday, if not multiple
times a day, this excuse will be even more believable. Walk out looking like
you’re scrolling through your contacts or going to your speed dial screen or
some other generic smart phone action to really sell it.
Now that you’re out, you can make your mom’s day with the call, make
your day with the nap, or just treat yourself to some Claire’s cake for successfully getting out of an annoying social interaction.
BEST RAGE BLACKOUT
Carlos Gomez
Bobby Dresser
Last week I got a new housemate, and it’s a squirrel.
And yeah, at first you think that’s gross, but like, why not?
He’s cute, he’s peppy without coffee, he’s mysterious. He’s
spontaneous, ya know? Because now that I live off campus,
neither my mom nor Dean Fabbri can tell me no. Sure,
eventually he eats all your bread and poops in the living
room and you have to get pest control to put him down, but
honestly, these are the moments that we will look back on
with fondness. These are the moments that make the BD
house—theoretically short for the Baker’s Dozen house but
also known to some as the Big Deal house—is the best offcampus housing.
I mean, where else can you come home from the libe to
a roof full of naked people throwing glass bottles down to
the street? Where else is there always a 50 percent chance
the kitchen holds a homemade pan of Rice Krispies with a
50 percent chance that they’re a very inappropriate study
snack? Where else do you get real live construction as your
alarm clock? Nowhere, that’s where. I can eat falafel for
breakfast and a Wenzel for dinner without ever leaving the
best block this side of Lake Place. Fuck High Street—man
cannot survive on froyo alone! Plus, rent is super cheap,
probably because the landlord has had at least one lobotomy. Do I miss having my heat paid for by Yale, or having my
bathroom cleaned every week by that wonderful matronly
lady from Yale Facilities? Not one bit. Remember that time I emailed my Intro Psych TA, informing him that I could not be expected to write our one paper
because I had not read the book? I sure don’t. Was I drunk?
No. I was high as balls on OSD, Over-exaggerated Stress
Disorder, otherwise known as “how-much-work-I-haveentitles-me-to-anything-and-everything.” I’m sure there’s a
psychological term for that but I don’t know because, like I
said, I haven’t read the book. And I’m no scientist (check my
plummeting B+) but my prediction is that literally 110 percent of the school is hooked on OSD—but not like Phonics
because it’s the opposite of educational. My last reading
response was given half-credit: “Nice work, but you were under the word count.”
Twelve words, folks. I was 12 words under. But that’s
what OSD can do to you, or what the person your OSD was
directed at can do to you. That is, if the person your OSD
was directed at is a petty grad student with a power complex. The rage part comes in my email reply—”Ok.”—and
my next reading response which was exactly 400 words. And
this Herald 100. Ok, so it’s less of a “rage” than a barelypassive aggression. But there you go. And here you go. I see
you, [name omitted]! I HATE you!!!!!
7
BEST RIVAL
PUBLICATION
BEST
EXTRACURRICULAR TO
GET REJECTED FROM
Wesley Yiin
Micah Rodman
Don’t know where to find the Y Syndicate zine? Walk to
Cross campus, make a right near the middle, take three
steps starboard, climb onto the Berkeley roof, and jump into
Bass through its secret entryway. Then, go down the stairs
in Bass, take a tab of acid, follow the fire rainbow into the
helm of captain Jack Sparrow’s schooner, and take a shot of
human blood to gain access to the elevator from that crazy
scene with the guns in The Matrix. There I think you’ll find a
stack of five Syndicate zines, give or take.
This expression will be used many times to describe
respective “bests” in this issue, but I want you to know that
I’m aware of this and that I’m choosing to use it anyway: the
Y Syndicate zine is truly next level. Yes, this zine is more
underground than even the headiest issue of this here Herald, and that’s why they’ve got our attention. We’ve got the
signature Bullblog Blacklist, well, they’ve got the Basic Bitch
List. That’s one for them and zero for us. Round two: we’ve
got writers who mention Socrates in their features on Yale
Dining every once in a while, they’ve got Socrates writing for
them. Dang. Now they have two, we still have zero. I could
keep going on, but trends are trends, ya know? But as with
any good rivalry, there’s always next year.
BEST NONACADEMIC
CLASS
Navy Encinias
I have seven Mind-Body accounts across three states. If you don’t know
what Mind-Body is, skip this blurb and go read about Best Nachos, because
you won’t find any of that here. I’m talking about a wellness regimen that includes serious fitness classes, ladies and gents. Get on my level. I take a pretty “non-academic” approach to a lot of my activities here, even
my academic ones. One semester, I landed myself in a class with a one-page
final paper, which I would call a distinctly “non-academic” situation. This
semester, I tried to maximize my number of non-academic days by loading up
classes on Monday and Wednesday. Do not do this, it was terrible. Such non-academic strategizing has allowed me, however, to sample New
Haven’s fitness scene on days when I carve out four to five hour chunks of time
to bounce from yoga class to Pilates class to ballet class. (N.B. I don’t take spin
or barre method classes here due to a lack of faith in the quality.)
We are all partial to our own ways of working out, and some people aren’t
into fitness classes at all. I personally flourish if I have to perform to someone
else’s standard. Fitness teachers motivate me, and I’m told my fitness fervor
inspires them. This symbiotic relationship keeps me going in times of extreme
darkness, like 4:35 p.m. If you think you might be anything like me in this
sense (I really pray you’re out there), take me up on this non-academic, fitness
advice.
Until SoulCycle New Haven opens (someday), take some Pilates mat classes
at Sarah Aldrich Pilates above the English Market. It’s some high quality stuff,
your abs will thank you for it, and you will obviously see me there. 8
You’ve devoted nine weeks of your life to learning this instrument, which is
longer than the length of a cappella rush, I might add. You’ve practiced instead
of going to classes and Master’s Teas, played your heart out (or royally fucked
up) once or twice for the entire university, and—finally—spent four hours sitting
in a dark room auditioning and then waiting for everyone else to finish, only to
find out that night that you didn’t make it in. I’m talking, of course, about rejection by the Yale Guild of Carillonneurs.
On Nov. 11 of this year, 12 calls filled with tears, heavy breathing, and
awkward hang-ups were made, and 12 dreams were dashed—just like that. You
think I’m being dramatic, but believe me, when you’re spending every free hour
in Harkness Tower practicing and going to the guild members’ “rings,” it’s hard
not to get attached. You feel comforted by the smell of the tower. You become attached to the guild members that you see more often than some of your friends.
But above all, you fall in love with the sound of the instrument, so much so that
even the wrong notes sound beautiful to you. All this, and more, ended for those
twelve rejected on 11/11. Talk about unlucky!
It wasn’t all for naught, though. Throughout the nine short weeks of Heel, I
accomplished so much. I saw an amazing view of campus and got great pictures
of the double rainbow that hit New Haven in September. I made new friends. I
developed buns of steel from climbing and descending those crazy spiral staircases multiple times each day. And of course, I learned an amazing instrument
and got to play enchanting, mellifluous music on a piece of history. But like all
great things loved and lost, my time as a carillonneur-in-training was glorious
despite its sad end.
BEST PLACE TO CRY
Navy Encinias
People always say that there are two kinds of people in the world. I want to tell
them that there’s nothing stupider than a line in the sand, but I’m gonna go ahead and
put this out there anyway. There are two kinds of people in the world: people who cry,
and people who don’t. If you’re a crier, you know who you are. I’m a crier too. My family now just calls me
“very sensitive.” In a comment on a sixth-grade report card, one teacher put it this
way: “emotionally very capable.” Two days ago, I sat in the back of lecture, listening to
Tay’s “Holy Ground,” sobbing. What makes me a special kind of crier is that I am, according to a former friend, an emotional masochist. This means that in my free time, I
sometimes force myself to watch Morgan Freeman Olympic commercials, especially the
one of Nadia Comaneci getting a perfect 10. What makes you a special kind of crier? I’ve found Yale a great place to cry. I like crying in transit here—that’s always good.
Twice as fun is to run into a friend while crying because I love watching the way Yale
students handle the emotions of others. Another good place for two criers to team
up is a busy dining hall at 6 p.m. Sit across from each other, start talking about your
feelings, make it rain. Similar is library crying, which I did so violently once freshman
year while watching Brokeback Mountain in the Sillibrary that I can’t sit in that chair
anymore. Also, cry in your bed with your estranged roommate in the room. Love that.
Off-campus alternative: cry alone on your kitchen floor. It’s like you’re in a music video
or something. But hands down the best place to cry on this campus is in Payne Whitney. I’ve done
it so much that the times blend together, but treadmill sobbing is special, and consistently great. I bet science could back that up, something to do with sweat and endorphins or whatever. I like crying on the stretching mats too. Anyway, next time you’re on
the elliptical, think about love and shed a few. You’ll be better off for it. Or sit yourself
on a Swiss ball and start thinking about why you came to the gym in the first place.
Tears guaranteed. BEST MIYA’S ROLL
Andrew Wagner
Every Yalie is familiar with that Howe Street holy trinity of
New Haven restaurants: Miya’s, Mamoun’s, and Alpha Delta
Pizza. And while the most adventurous of us might be able
to stomach all three in one night out, the rest of us are left
with an impossible choice.
Well, Miya’s has taken a step to making our lives just a
tad bit easier. This summer saw the creation of the Howe
Street Block Party roll, which Bun has dedicated to Mamoun’s and “the spirit of friendship.” Yes, that’s right.
Mamoun’s and Miya’s. Together. No, this isn’t just the mad
dream of a foodie stoner—this is real life: falafel fucking
sushi, because why the hell not. OK, I know it sounds pretty
revolting, but honestly so does anything on the Miya’s menu
before you taste it. And believe me, Howe Street Block Party
is all sorts of tasty—falafel and sushi make a delightful
match. Also, it comes drizzled with champagne tahini sauce.
I still don’t entirely understand what tahini is, yet alone how
one could make it champagne-flavored. But whatever, shit’s
delicious, and as long as Miya’s keeps drenching its HWSB
roll in it, I’ll continue to gobble it up.
So, yeah, you might say the Howe Street Block Party roll
is pretty “swag.” I’m still waiting for Miya’s to incorporate
Alpha Delta somehow—a Falafel Wenzel stuffed inside a giant sushi roll? Falafel-sushi pizza, wrapped around a wenzel?
Figure it out, Miya’s! Until then, Howe Street Block Party
will do.
BEST DINING HALL
SWIPE COMBO
Sophie Grais
Betches Love This Swipe: hands-down, the award for best
Durfee’s swipe goes to baby carrots and that UFO container of hummus. It’s the perfect remedy for the remorse
that comes with eating two bowls of Cracklin’ Oat Bran for
breakfast, or the regret over consuming three servings of tres
leches (nueve leches?) at dinner last night. Skip dhall lunch
because sometimes even a salad won’t do the trick—and
every salad in the dining hall tastes the same, by which I
mean they all taste like leaves—and hit up Durfee’s for your
vitamin-A-and-chickpeas fix.
You can browse all you want, eyeing $20 peanut butter
and Macro Vegan dumplings, but you’ll always come back
to the hummus. If you’re lucky and your total comes out to
$6.50, you might able to snag an apple too. For the freshest
produce, stroll across Elm Street to Thain Family Café, which
somehow manages to harvest better apples than Durfee’s
(that fruit bowl may look fake, but I promise those oranges
are real). Then walk around with your container of Sabra,
and people might just think you live off campus. Alas, your
disguise will be blown by the fact that only Durfee’s sells the
personal-sized Tupperware hummus that we love so much.
(Cue the “Oh, you live on campus? That’s soooo great. Do
you, like, play a lot of IMs?”)
BEST COMMUTE LUNCH
BEST SANDWICH
Marcus Schwarz
New Haven, as far as I know, is a deli-less city. Yes,
GHeav will make you bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches,
and yes, J&B makes a pretty tasty roast beef club. But folks,
I’m not talking about a place with a hot/cold bar and sliced
lunchmeats. I’m talking about a deli: a pastrami-dealing,
matzo ball-wielding, sandwiches made-to-order deli. Shiny
counters, infinite loaves of rye, and only the rarest roast beef
on the market. We don’t have that in New Haven, and we’re
worse off for it.
But complaints aside, there are some sandwiches you
shouldn’t miss around here. The best is the “Turkey A” at
Booktrader, one of two choices in the “Tale of Two Turkeys”
duo that sits atop the used bookstore/cafe’s menu. The
sandwich is a triumph of basics: fresh turkey layered on
Swiss cheese, topped with a heap of coleslaw, and all placed
on onion bread. What holds the sandwich together, though,
is the Russian dressing. This isn’t the traditional mayo and
ketchup mix; as I learned this summer, in an “America’s
Best Sandwiches” segment on the “Turkey A” (the host of
the Travel Channel show is Adam Richman, DRA ’03), Booktrader makes a 10-ingredient Russian. The sauce masterpiece might drip all over your hands, but you can lick it off
between bites, and that will be just fine.
Cindy Ok
Have you noticed that Yale has a tradition fetish? There’s nothing wrong with jumping on the N-for-nostalgia train, though I can’t promise there will be fewer tears there
than on Metro-North. But if you’re not a Mory’s lover (I’m more of a Miya’s gal myself), and you have a few free hours, you may need to leave New Haven to get some
perspective on Yale’s obsession with things that happened here, especially the ones
that continue to happen every year. Because, believe it or not, Yale’s oh-so-important
rich white men didn’t start or support every important tradition.
Bloodroot is a feminist vegetarian restaurant in Bridgeport just 25 miles away (40
minutes by car or three stops on the train). It was founded in the ‘70s by two secondwave feminists who work there still (and are besties, obv) and will happily fill you up
with fibrous foods. Above all, it’s worth the commute—by which I mean both the
physical travel and the emotional surrender it takes the average Yale student to leave
his work and worries behind.
I took a friend from Portland there this summer and he nicknamed it “Portlandia
in Bridgeport, Connecticut.” The small restaurant is on a residential street that looks
onto the water—a view you can enjoy from the patio/garden dining area—and it fits
my friend’s designation well (and without irony). Their cookbooks for sale (one vegetarian volume, one vegan volume) include statements on gender, race, and agricultural politics. Signs at the counter ask that customers refrain from complaining about
calories or weight in order to welcome women of all sizes, and proclaim that “MEN
ARE ‘GUYS’/WOMEN ARE WOMEN.” (This one I didn’t see before asking the ladies
there, “So! How long have you guys been open?”)
Bloodroot is the best destination lunch by a large margin, but it could just as
well win the Herald’s endorsement for loveliest community space, coziest feminist
bookstore, or funnest activist organizing center. So head on over to celebrate familiar
traditions like feminism, vegetarianism, and activism, but also be ready to break a
couple Yale traditions, like complaining about freshman weight and eating 20-minute
lunches in rooms full of other 20 year olds. I promise the trip’ll make you love New
Haven more and desire red meat less, guys—and girls, and both, and neither.
9
BEST DAYTIME LIBRARY
Olivia Rosenthal
When you have to study during the day—whether you
want to bury your nose in your book or your Perez (hey, no
judgment here)—you want a place that feels special, a place
that seems to reward you for being ever so diligent.
For instance, the G-Heav treat-yourself-to-a snack-afterevery-paragraph-written system (some kids call it TYTASAEPW, but abbreviations are sort of last season) is a great
one—but it can get really pricey, really fast. And let’s face
it, the appetizing egg-n-cheese scent can get to be just plain
greasy by paragraph six. Starr’s got a certain allure but working in what feels like a space shuttle can get old. The disco
rave and/or mental institutional vibe at the Art & Architecture library can be overwhelming.
So what’s a gal to do? Four words: the Divinity School Library. What better reward for working is there than theological texts?! But seriously. The place has perfected the quiet
but not sterile vibe, and the lengthy walk there will also fulfill
your exercise quota of the day, or week, or year (again, no
judgment).
Feeling like you’re in a rut? Rumor has it that divinity students like to get down. So who knows where the supposedly
innocent library venture may take you. If you find yourself
wanting to extend your stay in the heavenly retreat past the
6:30 p.m. closing time, you’ll need a divinity school ID. But
not to worry, a quick call to librarian Paul Stuehrenberg and
the problem is solved. Paul’s a Lutheran minister, traveled to
Hong Kong last summer, and apparently he’s a fox!
Like many of the books in this library might tell you:
you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain from joining
this party.
BEST MASTER’S TEA
Marcus Moretti
I discovered Katz, as most people do, when I first heard
the Propagandhi song “Human(e) Meat (The Flensing of
Sandor Katz),” a tender punk ballad about skinning and
consuming Katz. “Flensing” is a whaling term, which refers
to the removal of blubber with long-handled knives shaped
like hockey sticks. At his tea in October, I felt that Katz was
“flensing” the bloated whale that is the popular conception
of fermentation. Not familiar with the DIY food movement?
Well don’t learn about it from Katz, who is a self-proclaimed
“fermentation fetishist.” He’s dangerous to listen to, because his Atticus Finch-like persuasion often puts people in
a zombie-like trance in which they sell everything they own,
move to rural Tennessee and ferment their own food.
Herein lie the roots of his persuasion. You will
notice his masterfully styled head and face. Go pour yourself
a glass of a fine red, come back, and really absorb the talent
manifest in those wisps of smoky hair upon his crown. Then
imagine how much less mystified you would be by those
eyes, those azure eyes, if they weren’t the top two points
of an M formed with the nose-point and the two touches
of gray beard that flank his chin. The one thing about the
picture is that he might have just broken out of Smurf jail. I
don’t know, because I didn’t actually go to his Master’s Tea.
10
BEST PAYNE WHITNEY
ACTIVITY
Clare Sestanovich
Dec. 2, 2012
Dear Diary,
Today I had the honor of escorting Emily Rappaport, ES
’14 esteemed editor-in-chief of the Yale Herald, to Payne
Whitney Gymnasium for her inaugural visit to the Adrian C.
“Ace” Israel Fitness Center. My heart thrilled to watch her
sign her initials into the guestbook, as instructed by the
hulking Yale football player who carefully monitors our comings and goings. She has already made an indelible mark on
this place, and it comes as no surprise.
There is little else to record about our visit. My iPod was
already at 97 percent, so I did not take advantage of the
opportunity to charge my personal Apple appliance with my
time on the hamster’s wheel (known to some as the elliptical). Also, I note here that the double issue of People’s
Sexiest Man Alive has been removed—an act of disrespect
no doubt in violation of official PWG Rules & Regs. (Expect a
clarifying email to all Yale University students in short order.)
But this suits me just fine, as there is always a fresh copy of
the Middlebury Alumni Magazine on hand to peruse. In closing, Ace and Em seem to have hit if off quite nicely
overall. We’ll see where things go.
With sore abs and warm regards,
Clare BEST THING TO CLIMB
Rachel Lipstein
Here’s the thing about climbing in New Haven. There are lots of choices, it
can be both dangerous and secret, and it can appeal to the Hardy Boy or the
Lost Boy in you, depending. It’s hard to choose a best scalable object because
it so depends on what you’re wearing, who’s watching, wind conditions, the
time of month (ever heard of climber’s moon?), and whose line it is anyway.
Speaking strictly from the perspective of an amateur alpinista, what I look
for in a thing to climb is how close I get to Heaven. And because the epicenter of Heaven is located directly above G-Heav, by my calculation the highest
cupola in Davenport is this Closest Thing.
Here is the path to righteousness: enter entryway G, walk up the innumerable flights of stairs, make a right, fight off Aragog, take the first door on your
right. From this dirty storage room, hoist yourself up onto the high brick wall by
stacking the broken crates you’ll find (careful—they’re broken), drag your ass
up to the attic, and then slouch over to the opening of the cupola where you’ll
again hoist the sorry sack of wet basmati rice you call a body between the two
planks up into the 360 degrees of mullioned glass. One panel is a window.
Open it. Step gingerly out onto the roof. It’s an A-frame, so don’t slip.
There’s a little white fence like the one your Little Bo Peep playset had at
the drop-off, but I don’t recommend testing it. Actually I don’t recommend any
of this at all. In fact, I hereby explicitly prohibit such illegal activity. This was all
whispered to me in a dirty dream, and I can’t tell you what happens next. But,
after the unmentionables, the steam cleared and I thought—through the blinding glint reflected off of God’s gold teeth—I could see…the Apple store. Amen.
BEST INSTRUMENT
Lauren Tronick
Yes, we know that Yale is crawling with a cappella groups,
choirs, and musical theater people. We hear their voices
radiate across entryways, down sidewalks, and through the
walls of WLH during evening section. Because of this and in
spite of this, the human voice is not in fact the best instrument on campus. This title goes to Hans Bilger, BR ’16.
Hans, a blonde and starry-eyed freshman, plays the
upright bass, also known as the double bass, the standup
bass, and now, the Hans. Because he is indeed basically an
upright bass himself, by the transitive property, Hans is the
best instrument. He is also apparently the only bass player
at Yale, because he plays consistently for almost 10 groups
in addition to on-and-off participation in pit orchestras for
shows, and thus never detaches from his wooden companion
and never has free time.
Hans is the best and busiest instrument. His credentials
include, but are in no way limited to: A Streetcar Named
Funk, the Yale Jazz Trio, the Sam Frampton Quartet, “another quartet with different jazz musicians that plays gigs
occasionally,” a Quebecois/Irish music trio, a classical new
music ensemble, Atlantic Flyaway, and most importantly,
Tangled Up in Blue (TUIB). (Full disclosure: I am also in
TUIB.) All jazz bassists have their versions of the “bass
face,” but Hans’s is undeniably unlike any other. He opens
his mouth into a grin that can only be described, as stated
by TUIB’s music director Raphael Shapiro, SM ’13, as “gleefully astonished.” When Hans plays, magic happens.
BEST TV BINGE
Emily Rappaport
Whatchu know ’bout me? Presumably nothing, but since we’re all
friends here, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I’m a full-nineyards kind of gal. A binger, if you will. Give me a new Taylor Swift album
and I’ll blow out my headphones. Give me Twitter, and I will begin to
think in tweets. (Right, Mom and Dad? Love you). Give me one chicken
nugget, and I want the whole effing box. You know the type.
There’s one area, though, where I go HAM-er than any other. I’ll
never forget my first time. I was 14, in ninth grade. It was December
in New York City, and the world outside my apartment was snowy and
dark. Somehow, it just felt right. I was ready. So that’s when I did it: I
watched a full season of television in one day.
And I never turned back. That first time, it was Beverly Hills, 90210.
Last month it was Damages. Today, it’s Parks and Recreation (as we
speak, Ron is weaving the back of a chair at Leslie’s 24-hour telethon
for diabetes. Ha.) My feeling is that ALL TV is the best TV to binge
watch: The Good Wife, Downton, The Shield, Parenthood, Melrose
Place, My So-Called Life. Pick your poison.
You know what? I heard a girl on York Street yesterday telling a
friend that she was plowing through the first season of Alias. A throwback, for sure, but start there and then make your way alphabetically,
for all I care.
BEST THEATER
Ariel Doctoroff
Once upon a time, two editors of this esteemed publication went to see a little movie called Your Sister’s Sister.
You’ve probably never heard of it—it was an indie. The
two ladies liked Emily Blunt, Rosemarie DeWitt, and Mark
Duplass fine enough, even though the ending kinda-sorta/
totally sucked. And normally, 12 big ones is a lot to drop on
something quite so mediocre, but it was the best money they
had spent in a long, long time.
This is because Your Sister’s Sister was, by a stroke of
luck, playing in the Blu-ray theater, tucked just off to the
right when you first walk into the Criterion on Temple Street.
They sat themselves down in the middle of the seven, maybe
nine, rows, waiting for the crowd to rush in. But rush in, they
did not. The two editors were left to throw popcorn at the
screen (picking it up after the credits rolled, duh) and gab
really obnoxiously about DeWitt’s stupid haircut (and other,
nicer stuff too). The theater was theirs and theirs only for 90
minutes.
The moral of this story: keep checking the movie listings
for anything with subtitles or unknown actors, and you too
might just luck out.
BEST YOUTUBE VIDEO
Justine Bunis
Ranking YouTube videos is kind of like judging dog
shows—it doesn’t quite make sense to compare things that
weren’t built to do the same thing. But our procrastination
time is limited, so if we’re in the game, why not play it? We’ll
go with a very recent, and very awesome, video of Jay-Z on
the subway in NYC. The man is self-named, it should be
noted, after the J and Z subway lines, which stopped close
to where he grew up. In the short clip (thanks, Gawker), Jay
rides the subway to his final concert in Brooklyn and has
a startlingly normal conversation with the very sweet older
woman seated next to him. She has zero idea who he is at
first, and their ensuing interaction is just affirming of all of
humanity. Please play it a couple times at least, and enjoy
that special feeling reserved only for refreshing glimpses
of celebrities experiencing the same version of the world in
which we mortals live.
11
BEST BLOG
BEST EMAIL SIGNOFF
Lucas Iberico Lozada
For thoroughness in detail and in breadth, for levity
and concision, for flights of fancy and for shitty puns, the
Herald declares Birding West Campus—birdingwestcampus.
blogspot.com—Yale’s best blog.
Though its creators, Lynn Jones of the Peabody Museum
and “Sue,” who has been on Blogger since November 2007,
were not available for comment, one need look no further
than the site for a good dose of these avian aficionados’
tastes and interests. How did they get into “birding,” why
a blog, and what is West Campus anyway? Look no further
than post no. 1, from Tues., Sept. 29, 2009: “It seemed
to me [Sue] that a community forum for our birdwatching efforts would be fun - and informative. Share our West
Campus birdwatching efforts, keep a list of birds seen, post
photos, interesting links, arrange meeting locations…”
And should the non-birders among you feel left out, fear
not! Lynn and Sue won’t say no to a friendly cicada (Sept.
30, 2009) or a Norway rat (Nov. 28, 2012), either—anything is fair game. Also they are into collecting and photographing dead birds. Not gonna lie, the Herald isn’t super
down with dead things but it is super down with this blog!
With a total of 258 posts over three years, the lAdIEz of
wEsT caMPuS seem well on their way to blog stardom—keep
up the good chirp!
Maude Tisch
Welcome to the Online Age. If you don’t have a signature
email sign-off by now, you’re doing it all wrong. Proceed
with caution: the way you finish your emails speaks volumes
about your character.
Email brings out something real, subconscious, visceral in
us. Craft your ironic, trend-loving self-image all you want on
Tumblr, on Pinterest, on Facebook, and on Twitter, but soon
enough, your soul will be barred on Gmail. You can run, but
you can’t hide.
Trying to look chill? Ultimately, your desire for results,
your utilitarian expectations from email, will trump everything else. Sooner or later, it will be all too evident that you
just really want a response and are not actually as relaxed as
you’d like to appear. “Keep it real” and “Peace” no longer
cut it when they don’t invite replies.
Given this paradox, there is only one email sign-off that
will allow you to maintain your awesome but still competent
persona. Only one sign-off will let you look laid-back and simultaneously get that response that you must receive if you
don’t want to have to drop the chill act and start following
phrases like “Please get back to me at your earliest convenience” with passive-aggressive sign-offs like “Many thanks”
and “Cheers.” The best sign-off of 2012 is, without a doubt,
Holla back,
Maude
BEST TWITTER
Grace Lindsey
Everyone’s tweeting these days—The Bullblog, Yale
Library, even my mother. But few can succinctly and accurately explain what they’re really doing on Twitter (Hey
mom, what does “Miss my little boo in her costume, but so
happy for left over Halloween candy!” mean, and why are
you putting it on the internet????). But this rampant incertitude does not apply to Wesley Dixon, BK ’15, who served
as the Social Media Associate for the Yale Office of Public
Affairs. Wesley describes his Twitter as “a comprehensive
representation of me” and knows exactly what he’s doing
there: “My twitter’s purpose can be summed up easily: It is
meant to educate, inspire, bring joy and laughter, and elicit
thought.” Dixon does this through “social commentary of all
types (political, cultural, some serious, some not so serious),
random accounts of things I see throughout the day, and stories from all types of media outlets.” From among his nearly
16,000 tweets, some notable highlights include his livetweeting of the Real Housewives of Atlanta (“Kim needs to
take SOOO many seats! Homie is delusional! I’m mad she’s
preg again! #RHOA”) and his observations about Yale (“This
boy across the table from me in commons has been talking
to himself for about 15 minutes. But I know how that yale
life is so…”) Everyone’s tweeting, but few are succeeding.
Congrats to Wesley for being one of the only people who is.
12
BEST LIBRARY
ACTIVITY
Maude Tisch
Finals find us spending too much time in the library just looking for
something to do instead of work. Luckily enough, the Herald has found the
actual best way for you to occupy time otherwise spent “studying.”
Forget everything you’ve ever heard. Reorganizing your bag, taking a
lap and chatting with other procrastinators, stacks sex—all amateur stuff.
Yes, the best library activity is brought to you via the Internet, but it’s not
Facebook or Pinterest or a million YouTube videos or online shopping. It’s not
even browsing through seasonal flavors of custard at Shake Shack.
If you’re in the library and really don’t want to be productive, you have
only one option. It’s Chatroulette. We guarantee that no other online chat
website that pairs strangers from around the world together for webcambased conversations will get you as many strange dirty looks from other
library randos.
Chatroulette gives you the unique possibility of making friends while remaining totally antisocial. You’ll meet people from all walks of life, although
it’s likely that none of them will have any empathy whatsoever for your
library-bound plight. In fact, your interlocutors might not want to hear any of
your complaints at all. Too bad for them. Really, the number of times you’re
“next”-ed will be a small price to pay for a wonderfully wasted afternoon of
weird looks. BEST EXCUSE
Peter Gelman
Recently, a friend of mine found himself seconds away
from having to reveal to his professor that he hadn’t done
any work for his art class in weeks. To get out of the jam,
he stood up, told the professor he felt really ill, and booked
it out of the class. Now, while the sudden case of explosive
diarrhea is no doubt both classic and highly effective, it
betrays a certain lack of creativity.
So what’s the single best possible excuse to get out of a
situation like that for the next time a professor is just a few
desks away from your empty portfolio? Fake a phone call and
walk out of the room. Come back in, and completely straightfaced look him in the eyes and say, “That was daycare, my
kid is sick and I have to go pick it up.” What professor is
gonna wanna touch that one, amirite?
And the best part is, it’s an excuse that keeps on excusing. Pop reading quiz on a book you haven’t opened—guess
whose babysitter just cancelled? Couldn’t finish a paper on
time—sorry, but my son’s high school basketball team was
playing in the state championship last night. Accidently
release a big ole mess of malaria in lab—my daughter just
went into labor, I gotta dip!
And if your professor eventually tries to set up a play date
with your fake kid, just wait outside an elementary school
and offer some parent 50 bucks to take the afternoon off.
BEST COUNTRY
BEST BREAK
Cindy Ok
Sad city, bitch, sad, sad city, bitch/ mental breakdowns
all through this achetown, bitch!
Listen up, freshman. Before this year, we didn’t have a
break in the academic calendar from August through the
end of November, and this was the song we had stuck in
our souls—if we made it to Thanksgiving, that is. You take
Labor Day for granted, don’t you? You complain that October
recess should have been even longer? Hey, kid, we’ve been
to depths of exhaustion you’ll never know. We’ve cried in
libraries; we’ve eaten hundreds of carbs a day; we weren’t
institutionally allowed a single guilt-free breath. So this
Thanksgiving, you better have given thanks that Yale has
finally broken down (the way we all had to before we could
get them there). When we were your age…well, let’s just say
you have no idea how good you have it. Now it’s all glad city
bitch, glad, glad city, bitch, all this mackin’ cause we’re all
so happy, bitch!
BEST SLUMLORD
Lucy Gubernick
Cue Law and Order music: “DUN DUN”
Cora Lewis
I once spent a school year abroad.
Over going I hemmed and I hawed.
The men there were witty
and the courtyards so pretty,
but NO SITTING on grass on the quads!
By the castles I was over-awed.
Though the weather was dreary,
the pubs there were cheery.
In the Bod sometimes off I would nod.
Through Chaucer and Ovid I pawed.
They boiled all foods
and had such dour moods,
but those castles! Like you never sawed.
Through Oxford the students maraud
when they finish exams,
and they act like such hams,
lashing and trashing post-”Mods.” I once spent a whole year abroad,
and I’ll admit that I feel like a fraud.
Though I read all those poems,
I can’t write one to save my life.
What conclusion from that may be drawed?
Turns out that my thinking was flawed.
And now I’ve returned,
you ask, what have I learned?
I’m for Yale and for country and for gawd!
Every day, off-campus students face the abuse and incompetence of New Haven slumlords. These are their stories. (Names and locations have been omitted
for fear of retaliation.)
L: Hi B_____. My name is L____ I Live at____, and uh, I don’t mean to
bother you, but this is the 16th time I’ve called about that new part for my
radiator.
B: (Heavy breathing)
L: It’s just that our heat has been stuck on the highest setting for three
weeks, I’m suffering from second-degree burns and fainting spells, and I really
do think this might be a safety hazard. Not to mention the damage it’s doing to
my electrical bill.
B: Maybe you should take this up with United Illuminating.
L: The electric company? Well no, I really think this is a job for my landlord.
But now that you mention UI, we have been calling them repeatedly for months
and it seems that they still don’t have our apartment information and have been
possibly billing the previous tenants for our electric bill and the accumulating
late fees.
B: I don’t know anything about that.
L: Well could you possibly get in touch with someone at United Illuminating
and make sure that they have the current information?
B: OK, but that will probably take an additional three days and another
phone call and a small deposit of 50 dollars and I think I lost their number.
L: B____, I think I’m going to have to get a lawyer.
B: (Maniacal laughter)
13
BEST 21+ RESTAURANT
Colin Groundwater
Okay, so maybe BAR isn’t technically just a bar, since it’s
more of a late night restaurant/club. But it’s called BAR, and
that qualifies it to hold the title of “Best Crown Street Bar”
in the Herald’s eyes.
Many of you are probably hesitating. “Wait, they’re
talking about that pizza place, the one that cuts the slices
into long rectangular pieces, right?” It’s the same place, and
while the pizza is phenomenal (the Herald’s favorite topping:
eggplant), BAR brings much more to the table than idiosyncratic slice shapes. The interior has been rocking the hip
hardwood aesthetic way before Shake Shack even got here,
and the large bronze brewery (unfortunately 21+ only) where
BAR makes their special in-house micro-brews stands out
in the open, giving the space a casual feel while reminding
you that your beer is made in-house. If you go back past the
front room, you can find a lounge and the BARtropolis dance
floor, which consistently offers surprisingly awesome events,
usually indie fare on the verge of hitting the big time.
And of course, there’s the beer, all signature ales
specific to BAR. The Herald recommends the AmBAR ale
for those of you who like it malty. If you’re more adventurous, try the Damn Good Stout, which has a hint of espresso.
Recommendations aside, every beer at BAR is good, making
it the best place on Crown to kick back on any night of the
week.
BEST DISGRACED GENERAL
WHO TEACHES HERE
Your guess is as good as ours.
BEST FAKE ID
Cindy Ok
When I was applying early to Yale, my high school dean informed me that Asian
girl is the most competitive category in the college admissions world. You can probably guess from my byline that I wasn’t particularly pleased with this news, but at that
point I was accustomed to the peculiar way Asian-Americans are treated for being
Asian-American. I had heard the yellow fever jokes, been regularly being mistaken for
this girl at my high school Christine Byun, and retail ladies were constantly asking me
what country I hailed from as they brought me prom dresses to try on. (I was born in
Los Angeles, bitch.) But since getting to college, I have garnered one example of the
counter-effect.
My fake ID says I’m four inches shorter and 30 pounds heavier than I actually
am. I got it for free, so I’m not complaining, but me and Phoebs (thanks for your ID,
Phoebs!) have very little in common, physically speaking. I’m pretty pale, she’s kind
of chestnut-colored; my face is heart-shaped while hers is distinctly peach-shaped.
And yet I haven’t even had to memorize Phoebe’s full name, address, or birthday.
It’s not like I’m always at the clubs but I’ve used it over several months now in five
different cities, and no one’s questioned it for even a hot second. Either people
genuinely cannot tell me and Phoebe apart, in which case I guess I was lucky to be
called Christine Byun every once in a while, or, alternatively, I’ve found the one area
in which affirmative action actually helps us Orientals.
BEST CHALLENGE
The 12-college hookup.
BEST BOOBS
The Yale Herald.
Paragraph paragraph paragraph paragraph paragraph
paragraph paragraph paragraph paragraph paragraph para-
14
Once I turn 21, I’ll be waiting for the day when a bouncer overcomes his white
guilt. Until then, I think I’ll keep taking advantage of this loophole; it’s like I’ve been
paying for steak dinners all my life and finally realized that I can win all my money
back at the buffet.
148 York Street
New Haven, CT 06511
203-776-8644
www.zaroka.com
Catering for all occasions
Fine Indian Cuisine
“Amid elegance, a variety of
Indian dishes” - New York Times
“A treat for the senses”
- Hartford Courant
Lunch
Mon - Sat: 11:30 am - 3:00 pm
Sun: 12:00 pm - 3:00 pm
Dinner
Sun - Thu: 5:00 pm - 10:30 pm
Fri - Sat: 5:00 pm - 11:00 pm
Every Day Lunch Buffet
Sunday special brunch with
North and South Indian food
BEST DRAG SHOW
Samuel Huber
BEST THETA
Hannah Flato DC ‘14—beautiful inside and out. We’re
down.
BEST TAILGATER
Charlotte Parker
On Ben Singleton TC ‘13
I.
Fine fall foliage
No U-Haul to the Bowl but
Mimosa morning
II.
Mary Miller meet
Your match, brother of High Street
Elegance, Aviici face
III.
His chocolate’s hot
Pour’s generous on the grain
Peppermint Schnapps float
Or rather, Best Drag Show for Yalies. The queens of York
Street Café are talented, polished, and all kinds of entertaining. They’re older than you, some old enough to be your
father (wouldn’t that be a story?), but they’re also raunchier,
and funnier, and probably a bit more clever. You should
check them out some time; you’ll be glad you did, even if
yours is the only college-aged crew in the audience.
But on a Friday night when you are (why fight it) collegeaged, talent and polish may not be at the top of your list. Try
instead Partners Café: the sporadic shows more than make
up for their roughness with an excess of energy and too
much dancing (the dancing literally does not end).
The crowd is younger, more raucous. The shows—organized by drag queen Kyra Fey and my current boyfriend,
Timmy Pham MC ’13—always have at least one Yale student
on the lineup, so you’re guaranteed some familiar faces to
dance with. Be on the lookout for morph suits, dildos, and
overbearing dubstep remixes (a value-neutral description, I
promise).
Again, for the record, I’m dating the headliner. He gets
paid more when people attend his shows, which I’m encouraging you to do. So don’t take my word for it—overheard
testimonials include: “This is my new favorite thing,” “This
redeems Yale,” and “Why is that queen holding a giant
dildo?” Oh, and some too-drunk biddie will almost certainly
spill her gin and tonic all over you, twice. And that gin and
tonic will be weaker than York Street Café’s, the hands-down
winner of my unwritten Herald 100 “Strongest Gin & Tonic.”
But again, it’s Friday night, and you’re still college-aged!
BEST GREEK LIFE
EVENT
Eamon Roman
IV.
Why yes that’s hair gel
Gentlemen wear blue blazers
And flags on their butts
V.
What swagger, what dance
There is a God of Tailgate
In bowtie and Timbs
Who doesn’t love the end of the world? The Herald’s favorite Greek life event,
Kappacalypse, proves that the answer to this question is actually NO ONE. This
party combines a few of our most favorite things.
First of all, it’s well-timed. On the Tuesday of fall break, you have pretty much
no excuse to be at Yale and not be at this event. And the timing works in another
way this year: with the Mayan calendar claiming that the end is imminent, this
party is not only the best event Yale’s Greek organizations have to offer, but also
the most culturally relevant.
Even the practical elements of this party are actually really fun. For example,
the wristband tickets say “KAPPACALYPSE.” They are made of a durable rubber
Livestrong material probably common to a lot of wristbands these days, so they’re
reusable, just in case you need a wristband that says “KAPPACALYPSE” at another point in your Yale career or life in general. Also, they are camouflage.
Although this party doesn’t have an open bar, Elevate is pleasant as ever. This
year, with the rain, the vibe was flawlessly reminiscent of the Britney video “Till
the World Ends,” when the pipe breaks and everyone is dancing in the water.
Best of all, there’s no explicit dress-up theme, but the idea of Kappacalypse
implicitly suggests that you can wear whatever the fuck you want because it is the
end of the world. It’s just such a pity that there won’t be another Kappacalypse
this year, given that we’re all gonna be dead. Ladies of Kappa Kappa Gamma,
consider this our humble plea for another last-minute one, preferably before winter break. The Yale Herald (Dec. 7, 2012)
19
BEST TA OBSESSION
Grace Lindsey
BEST BARISTA
Micah Rodman
One time he told me he liked my t-shirt. Another time
he asked me if I had a fun weekend. Another time he asked
me if I had said “venti” or “grande.” Seems sort of normal,
right? He’s a barista at Starbucks and he’s making small
talk—a nice thing to do. But keep in mind all three of these
mundane interactions happened at 7:00 a.m., and were
with a guy with an incredible voice—like if Carson Kresley
were from Staten Island—who made a great cup of coffee.
His name is Anthony, he wears black glasses, and he’s the
most fun part of a lot of people’s mornings. Anthony knows
all of the tricks. One time, my girlfriend forwarded me a
list of Buzzfeed’s post of the Starbucks Secret Menu and I
saw that there was this awesome Captain Crunch-flavored
frappuccino— a strawberry cream frapuccino as the base,
a pump of caramel syrup, two pumps of toffee syrup, one
pump of hazelnut syrup, and two cups of chocolate chip.
When I ordered it for the first time, he didn’t look at me crazy at all. He made the drink, and it tasted exactly like Captain Crunch. And when he handed it to me, he said, “Here’s
your breakfast cereal.” So for giving me the most important
meal of the day, thank you, Anthony.
I have only met one Teaching Fellow at Yale who not only gave me something to talk about with everyone in my section and/or the painfully slow line at
Durfee’s, but also universally elicits the response of “let me tell you what a big
crush I have on our TF.” This is particularly impressive because the people who
are telling you this don’t usually go for the ladies. Talya Zemach-Bersin is the
best TF to be obsessed with at Yale. Talya, an American Studies PhD candidate,
TF’ed two of American Studies’ most popular courses: Matthew Jacobson’s
“Formation of American Culture 1920s-Present” and George Chauncey’s “U.S.
Gay and Lesbian History.” She went onto teach her own seminar, “Cultures of
Travel” (also known as my favorite class that I have taken at Yale). She is the
winner of the 2012 Prize Teaching Fellowship (partially because I nominated
her but whatever, go her too, I guess). My obsession with Talya got to the point
where I talked about her so much that I had to start calling her “small Talya”
(this can be elided to smalya, which sounds unfortunately like Somalia, but you
just need to roll with it) in order to not confuse her with my close friend who was
also named Talya. I call her small Talya because she is not even five feet tall!
She has to ride a child-sized bike! And shop at the children’s section of stores!
She actually looks a lot like a smaller version of Harry Styles from One Direction.
If you can take a class with her, do it. You will quickly go from thinking that I am
crazy to earning membership in the biggest fan club at Yale.
BEST CULT OF
PERSONALITY
Eli Mandel
BEST MASSAGE
Jasmine. Up Whitney Ave, hit her up.
20
“Thou shalt have no other gods before me,” spake the
Lord in Exodus. But at least one Yalie has listed his religious
views on Facebook as “Louise Glück,” and we don’t think
he’s joking. Glück is casually a former poet laureate of the
United States, winner of nearly every major poetry prize in
America, and the Rosencranz Writer in Residence in the
English Department. She dresses only in black and wears a
bracelet of skulls. She is also attended by an entourage of
students who carry her bags, write her poems, and love her
to death. They may or may not also slaughter sheep in her
office during the autumnal equinox—another faculty member
who uses her room has been witnessed to leave very urgent
messages about the state of the carpet. “At the end of my
suffering / There was a door,” one justly famous Glück poem
begins. For her adoring students, “At the end of their suffering / There was Louise.”
BEST THING TO STEAL
John Stillman
BEST CASH MONEY
GAIN
Katy Osborn
Robin Hood may have been onto something, you know,
with that whole “steal from the rich to give to the poor”
schtick. At its core, Hood’s policy wasn’t “stealing” so much
as “redistribution.” I’m D for redistribution, and if you’re
reading this publication, you’re probably D for it, too. You’re
so D, in fact, that you won’t call the cops when I inform
you that me and my own group of Merry Men have brought
the Robin Hood gig to Yale’s campus. We’ve adapted the
classical approach, though, because it’s motherfucking two
thousand and twelve (2012). “Steal from the Rich—ard,”
my friends—that’s the name of the game. As in, Richard
Levin, outgoing president of Yale University and proprietor
of the Georgian Revival-style crib at 43 Hillhouse Ave.
From the outside, Levin’s home looks like your average New
England fixer-upper. But once you pick the lock, disable the
alarm system, tranquilize the Rottweiler, etc., you should
take a second to feast your eyes on the incredible collection
of paintings that adorn the walls. Now snag one. Sell it on
Ebay. Pocket half the earnings and blow the other half on a
fresh new bow, because the boys in Yale Blue are coming for
you.
BEST FREE THING
YOU’D PAY FOR
As the first week of December comes to a close, your three looming final exams, 76
pages of final papers, 17 hours of weekly extracurricular commitments and 23 coffee
dates have added up to a grand total of six hours of sleep. You’re even developing a persistent case of nystagmus (that’s a fancy word for rapid eye twitching). But at long last,
you can grab yourself a pillow and get some shut-eye, because the Herald has good
news: you can do 100 percent less and still make mad bank.
Rap Genius is a website founded by Yale grads that just casually scored a $15
million investment from Silicon Valley venture capital firm Andreessen Horowitz. Tom
Lehman, PC ’06, Mahbod Moghadam, CC ’04, and Ian Zechory, TC ’06, started the
site in 2009 to provide a forum for users to submit line-by-line interpretations of lyrics.
Every musician who’s any musician is covered, from 2Pac to TSwift (expansion!). It’s a
self-defined “internet version of the nerd-ass ‘rap dictionary’ dorm-mate” located at the
crossroads of hip-hop, Wikipedia, and Urban Dictionary.
Lest you get caught up in translating rap rhetoric into ‘nerdspeak’ (is anyone else
sensing a nerd complex here?), Rap Genius clarifies its true aim: “to critique rap as poetry.” Thanks to Rap Genius, we now know that when Chiddy Bang says, “I got the flow
to make a bitch do a cartwheel,” he means to express that “he raps so well, bitches will
be celebrating with acrobatics.” And when Biggie raps about “Drop top BM’s,” he’s alluding to either “1. His convertible BMW, or 2. The regularity of his Bowel Movements.”
If you don’t know, well, now you know.
We’ll digress from our “100% less” thesis to announce that, starting in January, Rap
Genius will begin an expansion into education, publishing the best rhymes written by
students in 10 New York City Public Schools as part of a pilot science education program started by Columbia professor Dr. Christopher Emdin and Wu-Tang Clan member
GZA. And we take back all the stuff we said about you getting more sleep. Actually, we
recommend you start thinking up something at least half as cool, pronto.
David Gore
A Friday night, September of your freshman year. You and
your 25 other new best “friends” have just had the time of
your lives. You drank a PBR in the Vandy basement and you
stole a handful of Goldfish from Global Grounds. You tripped
over a fence, which was the funniest thing that has ever happened. You are just killing it all over Old Campus. But now
the night is winding down, and you need somewhere to go.
You’re not yet ready to call it quits, but you want something
low-key. And you need food. Stat. That handful of Goldfish
isn’t gonna cut it. So you make your way back to your Old
Campus dorm and hit up FROCO FOOD NIGHT. The seven
coolest seniors in your college, plenty of carbs, a smattering
of other chill drunk kids, and real comfy chairs. What could
be better? The fact that it all amounts to a whopping zero
dollars and zero cents. Whether it’s pizza, grilled cheese,
pancakes, or even Thai food (just in the really ritzy colleges),
FroCo Food Night is the cornerstone of any freshman year
Friday. Frosh, you don’t know how good you have it. Though
as upperclassmen we can and do buy our own Est Est Est
(to be fair, at least it’s hot this way), what we can’t replace
are the feelings of vulnerable camaraderie, the sheer awesomeness of our FroCos, and the sense of beginning to feel
at home at this crazy place—all of which we’d gladly pay for.
BEST RENOVATION
Jack Schlossberg
Wrong! It’s not the Yale University Art Gallery (too
easy)—it’s J&B Deli. J&B looks great after its renovation.
Before, it was kind of really dirty. Now, it’s kind of pretty
clean. The only room for change left is expanding their store
hours (ever heard of a college student craving a late night
snack?).
BEST SHOPPING BAGS
BEST INVESTMENT
Fashonista.
Blackout shades. Trust us.
21
BEST WAX
BEST COMEDY SHOW
Sally Helm
YCC’s attempt at crowd-sourcing with its GoogleDoc on
campus safety. Our lovely college council sent out a link to
ask students for input (just as every student government
officer ever has promised they will do) and everybody went,
well, craaazzyyy. Some highlights: “Halloween wasn’t very
fun this year. Can we make it Halloween again?” “SOO
COLD IN THE D, HOW THE FUCK DO WE ’POSED TO
KEEP PEACE?” and some new contact info for the illustrious board, “[email protected].” This comedy show was the best
because you didn’t even have to leave your Bass cubicle
to enjoy it. Traditionalists like “improv groups” make you
walk all the way to a venue to see them (for example, to the
Morse/Stiles Crescent Underground Theater for the Purple
Crayon’s Midnight Madness show on Tues. December 11,
at 11:59 p.m.). LAME. Also, the Doc was comedy with a
higher purpose: improving the quality of student life. The
YCC has just released its report on campus safety, and they
promise that “The 19-page report contains a breakdown of
lighting problems around campus, a catalogue of incidence
reports sent by Chief Higgins this year, and a list of student
recommendations regarding ways to improve police services.” Score!!! I’m expecting year-round Halloween to be
announced any day now.
Best-Waxed Senior
Most people do not look forward to a regular body waxing. In fact, too many people avoid it
all together. They envision Steve Carrell screaming “AAHH! FUCK ME IN THE ASSHOLE” as a
woman rips off all of his chest hair in The-40-Year-Old Virgin and think, this probably isn’t right
for me. Some just think they can get away with hairy legs and privates in the colder months. But
it’s time to face the facts. Fact #1. Steve Carrell plays a virgin in that movie. Fact #2. Humans
are no longer living in caves and it is no longer acceptable to sport body hair over half an inch
long. Fact #3. Hair is never that blonde.
Luckily, we in New Haven can boldly face these facts because right down the street at the
Omni Hotel they will remove all of that body hair for you. That’s right, Jo Bella is not just a way
to call out to the main character in Twilight, it’s a spa located at 155 Temple St. Yale students
are given hefty discounts there, not to mention treated like real live citizens who care about their
appearances.
Upon arrival, you are first escorted to a beautiful waiting area, with tea and a small trickling fountain, which reminds you to pee before you expose your naked bottom half to a perfect
stranger. Then, you are taken into a private room where a waxer will quickly rip off all of those
unnecessary little hairs while distracting you with a story about their adorable children. It may
hurt, but it’s worth it, and if you are lucky they will even show you the hair on the used strips so
you can think to yourself, “I can’t believe I had that on my body, let’s do this.” But beware, nothing is off-limits in a waxer/waxee relationship, so it’s up to you to draw the boundaries.
Before you know it, it will all be over and you can walk back to campus a bit sticky with bits
of blue wax in unfortunate places, but knowing that you are desirable inside and out (of your
clothes, of course).
WORST JOKE
Eli Mandel
BEST MUSTACHE
David Gore
It is with a somewhat heavy heart that I write this appraisal of the greatest moustache that ever graced Yale’s
campus—and, quite possibly, that ever graced the world.
President-elect Peter Salovey’s face was once the canvas
from which that most miraculous crescent of facial hair
proudly burst forth. Though his upper lip is dishearteningly
bare of late, now is not the time to mourn the misguided
mindset that led our Commander-in-Chief to desecrate his
face, or to curse the villainous razors (read: enablers) that
deprived the world of this monument to new-age masculinity.
Now is instead the time to remember the joy that this bushy
miracle once brought into our lives. Equal parts Groucho
Marx and Joseph Stalin, the moustache did wonders for
Salovey’s somewhat Squidward-esque nose, which now
(no offense, Prez) just takes up way too much of his face.
It was at once a trendy accessory and an avuncular touch
that made this titan of a man seem far more huggable.
President Salovey, we applaud your contributions to the
field of psychology, your bluegrass skillz, and your emotional
intelligence. We have total confidence in your ability to lead
this university towards grand new horizons. But above all, we
salute and honor the memory of your trusty best friend; the
ever-present little caterpillar that stands behind so much of
your success; the man, the myth, the legend: Peter Salovey’s
Mustache.
22
Our dear friends over at the YD“N” bring us all kinds of
scintillating news. Recent headlines have included “Student
Drinking Tops National Average” and “Journalist Advocates
Investigative Reporting”—shockers, both. But while the front
page of the YD“N” can put me right back to sleep over my
morning cup of Yale Dining dishwater, at least it affirms that
the world at 8 a.m. is more or less the world I left when
I went to bed two hours before. So why oh why do those
friends of ours insist on producing the joke issue year after
year? The People’s Daily, an official “news” outlet in the
People’s Republic of China, recently took The Onion at face
value when it declared Kim Jong Un “sexiest man alive.”
That, my friends, is exactly how much brainpower I have to
devote to the YD“N” on a good day. Don’t make my life more
confusing by throwing your “jokes” in!
BEST FACTUALLY
INACCURATE AWARD
Playboy’s award of Honorable Mention: Best Sex Life this
fall to...Yale.
BEST SUPERSENIOR
Nico Medina Mora
BEST YALE FACEBOOK
PHOTO
Lucy Gubernick
You know who she is. She knows her classical Chinese
and her contemporary opera like a nerdy kid knows his Yu
Gi Oh! She is the darling of the English Department, the
muse of more than one jazz saxophonist, and the subject of
hundreds of poems. Long ago, when she was a freshman,
she rocked the Yale Ballroom Dancing Theme with her ballet
training. She is an aesthete without pretension, a kick-ass
violinist, and a scholar of the American songbook. If Rumpus
never included her in their 50 Most, it was because they are
blinder than bats. She is the quiet queen of Yale College,
and when she graduates this fall, New Haven will feel just a
little grayer. Seriously, nothing so wonderful ever came out
of the suburbs of Chicago. And if you don’t know who she
is, you really have been out of the loop—or at least my loop,
because I happen to be dating this year’s Best Supersenior.
No act of malice on the part of the Yale College Registrar is more egregious and more insensitive than the nonchalant and cryptic call each May for
a passport-style photo submission from each member of the matriculating
class. If you didn’t realize that the selfie you took on your iPhone five minutes before the ominous deadline was going to be stapled next to your name
for the next four years (and longer if you plan to kick it in the Have for grad
school) then you’re not alone. But let’s hear it from the guy who somehow
knew what was up.
Evan Mullen’s Yale Facebook photo screams, “ID photo? I’m never indoors
long enough to take an ID photo!” With his wind-swept curly locks and a
casual hoodie, he’s had the whole school watering at the mouth from the moment 2014’s Yale Facebook went live (worst day of ma life). It’s only a matter
of time before the Rumpus recognizes their oversight and finds the star of this
year’s “50 Most.”
Evan tells me he snapped this baby at the top of a mountain in Jasper
National Park in Canada. Nbd. And indeed, the smirk/quizzical stare combo
he’s sporting clearly only comes with mountaineering experience and a taste
for adventure. It’s his fly looks and his brilliant display of foresight that make
Evan Mullen the Herald’s top choice out of the thousands of Yale Facebook
photos—not including our own, of course.
BEST HANGOVER CURE
Catherine Wang
Like sponges, our bodies can all use a good wringing out
every now and then. By which I mean: every Sunday morning. Luckily, there’s a place for us Yalies to flush out the
Saturday night toxins: Margot’s power yoga class at Breathing Room Yoga Studio. Margot doesn’t judge when you hobble into her class
wearing your shirt inside out, but she doesn’t show you
mercy either. Once you enter, your time is hers. Accompanied by music loud enough to block out the throbbing in
your head, Margot leads you through a ninety-minute yoga
practice, shouting pose names one after another. You are a
warrior embarking on a journey of Vinyasas, arm-balances,
and handstands – there’s no time to worry about what you
shouldn’t have done last night or what you need to do today.
Right now, it’s just you, your mat, and your sweat.
Ten minutes into class, you feel like a waterfall during
your downward facing dog. Mascara and sweat stream down
your cheeks, and the poisons from last night’s shots rush
out of your pores. You flow through the poses as gracefully
as you can while keeping up with Margot’s swift pace. You
simultaneously curse Margot for making you hold chair pose
for so damn long and yourself for that greasy Yorkside you
had before bed.
By the end of class, the room is visibly steamy and there’s
a puddle on your yoga mat. You worked hard; your body
shook, fell, and even flew. Your muscles burned, and your
limbs twisted in ways you didn’t know were possible. But
somehow, your kinks and aches have disappeared. You feel
rejuvenated and detoxified, ready to tackle the coming week.
As you walk out of the studio, you smile at Margot and say,
“See you next Sunday!”
BEST LINE FROM AN
ADMIN EMAIL
Emma Schindler
Linda Koch Lorimer got a lot of email-play around Sandy.
Now, I mean no disrespect to Lorimer (affectionately known
as LKL in these here Herald parts), but I’ve really always
had a thing for the underdogs. Like Lady Liberty, I say give
me your tired, your poor, your hungry masses. Now, the dean
of Silliman College might not be tired, poor, or hungry in a
social sciences sort of way, or even in a humanities kind of
way, honestly. Really he is none of those things. But in an
email cage fight with LKL, he would decidedly be the underdog. I only watch movies with happy endings because, come
on, life is hard enough, and Dean Flick’s triumph over this
Hillhouse insider is a fairy tale ending that restores my faith
in---well, let’s just say I search for it often in my Gmail, and
leave it at that.
“If you have any plants that you will not be taking home
for the summer, consider giving them to me since I have a
house in West Haven where I can plant or hang them. Also
don’t throw out your rugs or furniture since I can always use
those things at my house as well. Thanks. Dean Flick”
23
BEST PARK
Charlotte Parker
Does any other park in New Haven have its own wise man? Edgewood Park’s wears
spandex, and twists his long white beard in a bun under his chin to keep it from getting
sweaty when he does lunges and squats by the basketball courts. Last winter, the first
time I visited his verdant haunt, he pronounced something philosophical while stretching his quads, then un-bunned and braided his beard. I was sold.
Edgewood Park—an S-shaped stretch between Chapel Street and Whalley Avenue
about a mile away from Alpha Delta—also has tree-lined trails, protected wetlands, a
dog run, a skate park, a playground, a softball field, and bocce courts.
I lived in Swing Space last year and never went running towards Edgewood because
crossing that weird triangular wasteland between Broadway Liquor (RIP) and Amigo’s
would have significantly increased my chances of getting hit by four cars at once. But
now I live in the Elmhurst, thank God, and it’s pretty much just a straight shot down
Elm to Edgewood Park. The people-watching is distracting salvation any time you go
for a run because, say, you think it might help you vanquish your hangover. One time,
a five-year-old boy with a purple backpack started running towards me, yodelling. Most
times, people hanging on the street shout words of encouragement at key points in a
sweaty fiasco of a run. “Yo I like your leggings!” “You go girl!” “Wahoooooooooooo!”
When else in life do you get personal cheerleaders like that?
Your journey, should those cheerleaders do their job, will be rewarded by the discovery of the duck pond tucked in a corner of the park. It does everything a duck pond
should: reflect autumn foliage, shimmer under the first frost, shine under starlight. It
also has ducks. It might just become an unexpectedly necessary component to your
mental health.
So because this is reading week and we at the Herald are all about Cliff Notes, let
me summarize for you: Edgewood Park. Prophets, cheerleaders, and ducks. Could you
ask for anything more?
BEST PILE OF LEAVES
Alisha Jarwala
When you take a tour at Yale, someone very perky will be
happy to tell you that Old Campus was designed with zigzag
pathways to facilitate conversation with other Yalies—no
doubt the brainchild of some pedagogically-inclined Important Historic Man. What they forget to tell you is that
mid-September, before it gets foggy and wet, the landscaping staff will aggregate millions and millions of leaves under
the tree that’s slightly to your left when you enter the High
Street gate. There they will sit, a perfect combination of red
and yellow and crunchy brown, asking if you will fall into fall
this year. So before they dissolve into soggy mush and are
carted away to a landfill—or hopefully to the compost pile at
the Yale farm—forget the state of your Hunter boots and pea
coat, and take a running leap.
BEST ALLERGY
Sophie Grais
BEST DOG
Andrew Wagner & Maude Tisch
The backyard of 66 Wall St. has a wooden fence around
its perimeter. Behind the fence, you can always find Maggie,
rain or shine. She’s there all day every day, just sitting in the
yard, watching the hustle and bustle of Wall Street. It’s like
she’s waiting for you.
Maggie is a very sickly dog. You can just tell. She’s obviously remarkably old, and she just sort of stares lovingly at
you with these depressing eyes that look like they have all
kinds of cataracts. We’d like to think she’s staring lovingly at
us, anyway, but the cataracts make it hard to tell. That’s all
part of the charm—does the SigEp dog have cataracts? We
didn’t think so.
We’re also pretty sure she has arthritis because of the
slowness and apparent difficulty with which she moves.
Maggie has an inherent capacity for expressiveness, so these
things are just obvious.
If you want to take it to the next level and pet Maggie a
little, you’re in luck—she’s totally down. Maggie loves to be
petted. You can tell because when you pet her, she makes
this kind of weird whiny high-pitched noise. Occasionally
it sounds a little sad. But sometimes she’ll even lick your
hand.
It’s also our dream to jump over the fence and play with
her. So far that hasn’t happened. Maybe someday.
24
Remember that kid at summer camp who couldn’t play outdoor freeze
tag? Who could only participate in select activities, like learning sidestroke
and playing Newcomb (also known as volleyball for awkward 11-year-olds)?
Mysterious child, we envy you. Your allergy to grass is what we always
wanted. An excuse to refrain from physical activity, the ultimate opportunity
to do arts and crafts all day long and never see the sun. I’m sorry, though,
for all the things you must have missed out on: lawn tennis, croquet, picnics
with gingham tablecloths and wicker baskets. But I guess they invented
picnic blankets for a reason.
Although I’ve always been fascinated by the grass allergy, I never quite
understood it. How does it work? Does it apply to all kinds of grass? Sod?
Short grass? Tall grass? Kentucky Bluegrass? The only things I have learned,
I have learned from watching Claritin commercials, and those haven’t helped
much at all.
We know you’re out there – please do tell! The daycamper in me is
incredibly jealous, and I just want to know more. But whoever you are, for
goodness sakes please be careful on Cross Campus.
BEST DAY TRIP
Maggie Neil
If New Haven’s just not doing it for ya right now (when is it ever?), find a friend with a car and some playlists you can stand, and head west on I-84. In just under two hours, you will reach one of the Northeast’s finest
attractions—if what you’re attracted to is art, love, or beauty.
Sprawling over some 500 acres of sometimes-wooded, sometimes-hilly fields, Storm King Art Center is
home to “more than 100 sculptures by some of the most acclaimed artists of our era,” as per its website
(check it out, great pics!). And if you start to miss campus, there’s a Maya Lin and multiple George Rickey
pieces to make you feel right at home.
If you are not at all interested in the artwork (sad), it’s still a great place to go take a mild hike/long walk
with a good friend, and maybe have a picnic on the famed Andy Goldsworthy wall. There’s even a lovely covered patio where you can get cider or coffee and chat with others who made the trek to upstate New York for
the day. And of course we all know fall is best appreciated when stunning foliage surrounds you.
The center is only open from the beginning of April to the end of November (even art’s gotta hibernate), but
this spring, take the leap to crown yourselves Storm Kings and Queens.
BEST PRANK
Marcus Moretti
BEST RANT
Justine Bunis
Once a year, Rumpus publishes a list of the 50 most
beautiful people at Yale. Cool. But now they also do a contest wherein lots of people try to sell themselves as such to
the Yale population and people vote on one of those 50 by
“liking” pictures of the candidates. In some ways, Rumpus
is doing everyone a favor by simplifying things: a strange
social phenomenon that is inherently a popularity contest
becomes, for a few swift days on Facebook, an undeniable popularity contest. And as the photos flow in, so must
the rants. Brief and dismissive or rambling and disgusted,
rants on the 50 most photo contest may vary in intensity,
but everyone must participate, distancing themselves from
the Rumpus’s lack of class or standards. And so they do,
rightfully pulling all the necessary cards in the process. We
say keep on ranting, until the day Mary Miller wins the whole
thing. On Sept. 12, 2010, President Richard Levin was worried that the faculty wouldn’t take
him seriously. He had just composed an email to all of Yale and was ready to send it. In a
seminar room in SSS, the Corporation was huddled together, giggling nervously as it awaited
Levin’s announcement.
“We knew that if we pulled it off,” Levin told the Herald in an exclusive interview for the
100, “it would be the prank of the century.”
Then it arrived. The faculty was told that Yale would be launching a new university in
conjunction with the national university of a notoriously illiberal city-state on the other side
of the globe. The university, to be called Yale-NUS, would build Yale’s brand in the East and
fuse Western liberal arts with Asian culture.
“Yale, the brand!” Levin cried, full of mirth. “Liberal arts in a country without free
speech! How hilarious is that?”
“Fareed and I came up with it,” Levin added.
Over the next few months, the Corporation acted swiftly to execute the hoax. Three-dimensional graphical projections of the new dorms were disseminated. Facebook and Twitter
accounts for Yale-NUS went online. Administrators and professors spoke bombastically of
“brand accretion” and “influencing the world” in interviews with the Yale Daily News and
others.
But the jig is up. Yale-NUS President Pericles Lewis told the Herald that the Corporation
is ready to come clean to the Yale community. He further noted that he was surprised the
Corporation could keep the wool over the community’s eyes for this long.
“This is Yale. I thought someone would call bullshit within a few months, tops,” Lewis
said. “But we managed to run with it for over two years! Yalies are so gullible!”
Lewis added that when Eugene Mayer Professor of Political Science Seyla Benhabib proposed a faculty resolution committing the university to respecting the “ideals... at the heart
of liberal arts education,” he “almost shat [his] pants.”
“I could barely contain myself in that auditorium of fuming profs,” he said. “I almost
gave it all away!”
BEST SCANDAL
Colin Groundwater
Two thousand twelve wasn’t the juiciest year in terms of
Yale drama. Nonetheless, one thing struck the Herald as
particularly scandalous. We’re big on journalistic integrity,
and Fareed Zakaria, BK ’86, dropped the ball this year in a
big way.
Remember how awkward this was back in August? Zakaria
was one of the most revered pundits around until he “unintentionally” plagiarized a New Yorker article on gun control.
After Newsbusters broke the scandal, Zakaria instantly
became a media pariah. Time, where Zakaria was an editor:
suspended. CNN, where he hosted his own show, Fareed Zakaria GPS: suspended. And, of course, the Yale Corporation,
on which he sat as a board member: resigned.
Zakaria seems to be back on his game now. CNN and
Time have reinstated him after an investigation, saying they
“found nothing that merited continuing the suspension.” But
Zakaria won’t be coming back to the Yale Corporation—the
damage is done. What a disgrace for the former President of
the YPU!
BEST SECRET
Justine Bunis
The thing about secrets at Yale is that people love having
them almost as much as they like telling you about them.
(Certain senior year -xtr-c-rr-c-l-rs excluded.) If I had a
nickel for every time someone has recommended Koffee? on
Audubon to me in hushed tones, I would have way too many
nickels. Same goes for Thali 1, or Wooster Square, or every
single roof on campus. People here love nothing more than
to feel, for just a few moments, that they discovered something first.
But here’s the deal: students here are constantly discovering things before anyone else, and they’re doing it all in
the biggest, most underrated secret awesome places at Yale.
Those places are the libraries here, and they are literally
hiding in plain sight. Everyone needs to take a break from
pretending they invented pizza at the farm to remember that
we all have practically 24/7 access to millions of irreplaceable treasures. Do you want to go through all of Langston
Hughes’ personal photographs and papers? Go ahead! My
friend Allison found an unpublished poem there last year.
Want to peruse ancient tablets from Babylon? Third floor
of Sterling. Want to read every edition of every book in the
entire world on any topic in any language? There are actually people employed by this school who are dying to show
them to you. I haven’t been to a lot of roofs on campus (I’m
afraid of heights), but I have gotten lost in the stacks before,
and it’s pretty awesome. To really discover the best secret
at Yale, everyone just needs to nerd out a little more—it’s
“secretly” kind of why we’re all here. The Yale Herald (Dec. 7, 2012)
25
BEST ELECTION
RESULT
BEST VOTING
STORY
Ariel Doctoroff
Emily Rappaport
True life: I have a thing for Election Day. This year, Nov. 6 brought a whole
lot of great results for me. I voted for the first time, I treated myself to a Dunkin’
Donuts pumpkin munchkin as a reward for voting for the first time (“Just one?
Are you sure?”), I got a free stale loaf of bread from Atticus, and I spent the evening with some family-sized bottles of Yellowtail and all my homies lounging and
news-watching on my Jennifer Convertibles Labor-Day-Sale sectional.
Then my boy took it home (as Teju Cole tweeted, “The things a tall,
handsome genius can do with 852 million dollars”), Team Rape lost big in Congress, and 97.6% of my close friends gained the right to get married in Washington, Maine, and Maryland. But folks, none of that is why I’m here to talk to you
today.
I think we all know that the residents of Colorado and Washington were
the real winners that Tuesday, and it had everything to do with a little herb I like
to call marijuana. Ever heard of it? (If you go to this school, probably not, am I
right?) Well anyway, the drug was legalized for the first time in those two places,
which was a phenomenal victory for the Sane People of America (an admittedly
niche group). The reason why it’s so awesome is because the United States has
a significantly higher incarceration rate than anywhere else on the planet, which
we get away with because it’s all in the name of this War on Drugs. That’s a rant
for a different day, but suffice it to say that it’s time someone gave this prisonindustrial complex the evil eye.
All that, plus now even more kids from my sleepaway camp are going to end
up at the University of Colorado Boulder. Let’s keep America happy and hungry,
y’all.
BEST ELECTION
COVERAGE
Kohler Bruno
I was sort of obsessed with election coverage. I sat and
read the special “Election” section of the New York Times
every day, from their coverage of Herman Cain sexually assaulting a handful of women to their coverage of Mitt Romney
“not” writing his concession speech. But my favorite piece of
election news that I found over the past two years didn’t come
from America—it came from the BBC.
In an article from Nov. 1, just five days before the election,
the BBC took it upon itself to explain to its audience some of
the finer, weirder parts of US election laws. “Why is Election
Day always a Tuesday?” asked the article, which was titled
“US Election: 10 Oddities explained.” “Why the obsession with
‘folks?’” the article also asked. To this question the author offered a hilariously, amazingly British answer: “The word, which
finds its origins in the Old English, is in the US historically
associated with the South. That’s a stereotypically less-pretentious region that neither Obama nor Romney are from.” I love
that.
They included a funny description of the intricacies of our
dearly beloved electoral college, and spent a couple paragraphs
explaining Obama’s thumb jab: “Featured in the three presidential debates were Romney, Obama, and Obama’s thumb.”
To be fair, the New York Times ran an article on Oct. 2 called
“What Romney and Obama’s Body Language Says to Voters,” which was accompanied by a painfully ridiculous online
interactive feature, so the Brits weren’t the first to look at this
silly issue. But I definitely liked their coverage the best: “At
the debates, the president frequently jabbed his hand, with his
thumb resting atop a loosely curled fist, to emphasise a point.”
(Notice the s/z switch.) Needless to say, I was chuffed as nuts.
26
No one tells you that the downside of participating in public discourse (by which I mean, SMH during debate-watching
parties) is an overwhelming sense of guilt. Which is why I
had to haul ass to NYC on Election Day because I forgot to
get an absentee ballot. Though the Upper West Side isn’t
exactly the new Cuyahoga County, anyone who has taken an
elementary school civics class knows that American citizens
only have two real obligations. One is voting. The other one
is way more annoying and involves watching some pretty silly
videos.
At 6:00 a.m., there were already long lines outside P.S.
75—that little bitch Sandy and an unfortunately timed polling place consolidation were to blame. I wanted to yell, “This
isn’t Florida, people!” At least we were all in it together,
though. On the stairs, I had a nice chat with a woman about
her daughter, who had applied early decision to Duke (fingers crossed, Laura!).
But it was only once we finally got into the gym that I
realized the true root of the problem at Emily Dickinson
School: a bunch of arthritic grannies were running the show.
Now, I am all for giving these adorable people this job,
except that when it takes five minutes to flip through the
book of signatures + two to get your paper ballot + two to
find a privacy protector + three to scan the damn thing, my
patriotic guilt just doesn’t seem worth it anymore.
BEST CRYING
SOUNDTRACK
Blijan Stephen
While I expected senior year to be sad, I think it’s safe to say that I didn’t foresee
the sheer amount of crying—over existential crises, frantic job applications resulting
from existential crises, harsh job rejection letters, etc.—seniority brings. Sobs, man.
So, I jumped at the chance to declare the five best soundtracks to cry it out to;
write what you know, right? Here they are, presented in no particular order and without regard to this author’s personal experience.
Silence. The classic “quietly weeping into my pillow in the middle of the night
because oh god I’ll be contributing to the unemployment rate next year.”
Whatever’s playing in Blue State. Those guys barist—“verbification,” not for those
on junior varsity—like pros (which they are), which includes making Blue State’s “alternative” playlists. They’re also surprisingly tolerant of distraught students sniveling
in their armchairs.
The Robot Unicorn Attack Theme Music. Self-explanatory (or about to be). It’s
flawless.
Urban Outfitters Soundtrack. Indulge your deep self-loathing as only the truly hip
would. Add irony, to taste.
Anything from Damien Rice’s oeuvre. Not recommended for beginners. To quote
Nietzsche (who was, no doubt, a master weeper): “When you stare into the abyss, the
abyss stares back at you.”
Honorable Mention: Cat Power. See: “Anything from Damien Rice’s oeuvre”
Best of luck, sobbers! And remember—we cry for catharsis! Employment be
damned.
BEST ALL NIGHTER
SOUNDTRACK
BEST FINAL EXAM
Jessica Sykes
Vincent Tolentino
I knew I was taking a special class when on day one Master T
demanded that all the football players come to the front of the lecture
hall to demonstrate a huddle. What was shocking was not that the
professor had asked for their participation, but the sheer physical
mass of the approximately 40 men who came plowing down the stairs.
At that moment, I knew I had won shopping period—both because of
the obvious eye-candy present (holla @ cha gurl—woah derr not da
phat ones doe) and my assumption that the course load of “New York
Mambo: Microcosm of Black Creativity” would not be as rigorous as,
say, “Biophotonics and Optical Microscopy” (heard it’s actually a gut
though).
As the semester went on, class attendance started to drop. And
among those who did attend, fewer and fewer bothered with the
formality of opening their Word docs. I found myself becoming an avid
MarbleBlast fan. One day a girl literally played Sims during lecture,
which is fair seeing that class was in the one room on the entire Yale
campus without WiFi. You know things aren’t going well when it’s
decided that a generous portion of your grade (mind you, there is no
section and only a midterm, final, and final paper) is determined by
your willingness to do a cartwheel on stage. December came quickly, and like everyone else in the class, I had
done none of the readings, didn’t own the books, and could tell you
very little about the Afro-Atlantic artistic tradition, besides maybe that
gold looks better on dark skin. Instead of cramming as I got to class
early to take my final, I found myself desperately trying to remember if
Master T was grading this test on a curve. I sat down and was passed
a white sheet of paper face down. Printed on recycled paper, I could
see that the only text on the other side was smack dab in the middle
of the page in size 20 font. The final exam prompt read, “What did
you learn this semester?” I, along without everyone else in the room,
was #fucked.
Definitely not the fluorescent hum at G-Heav.
Rather: someone stretched out Beethoven’s 9th without distorting pitch so that it’s
24 hours long. This is the secret. Get deep inside the mind of a real genius. If you listen
to it while you work, you actually start to get the sense that you’re moving between the
notes at super speed, ninja-like, dodging rain, citing sources, flying—literally—through
your paper. Keep it here all night if you’re feeling strong (the drop is at 18:24:02).
If you’re not feeling strong, and also feeling mystical, turn to Alice Coltrane’s Journey
In Satchidananda. Here are the sitars and jazz harp that will carry you upward and
along into the satchidananda that is your thesis. The horror, the horror, and the great
Pharaoh Sanders on tenor sax.
For something truly horrific—the sounds of impending doom, impending dawn—to,
you know, get real and just do it, look to Jonny Greenwood’s score for There Will Be
Blood. This is full of dives and swells that sound, if you’re listening correctly, like the
births of brilliant ideas. Standout track “Eat Him By His Own Light” is deliciously ironic
around 3 a.m., and “HW / Hope Of New Fields” is a real glimpse of heaven, if you’re in
need of that.
If things get languorous, put on Cosmogramma. It helps to hear another crazy,
beautiful mind continuing into the night. Amnesiac for this same reason. Ditto any Bach
cello suite. Come to think of it, you might as well make a playlist of all of these, go to
bed, and wake up at six to work. As a wise friend once told me, all that matters is that
it gets done, and one way or another, it always does. And really, skip the trip to G-Heav.
BEST LATE NIGHT
STUDY SPOT
Elliah Heifetz
The late-night study spot—and by late-night, I mean late-night, like post-Bass closing
time—can be a tricky beast to slay. After 30 announcements that the library will close in 15
minutes, there isn’t a single part of you that wants to keep working. So when you pick your
next location, you’re in full-on pessimist mode: lights that are one shade too bright, vents
one decibel too loud, or other occupants one snapback too annoying-looking—all of these
become immediate triggers of ceaseless grief.
Take solace though, Yale College, in the Herald having got your back. Behold: a space
that buzzes brightly enough to keep you awake, but not enough to make your arms itch in
that awkward way; a location neither ear-shatteringly loud nor ear-shatteringly silent; a room
known formally as Stoeckel 405, but more colloquially known as your late-night savior.
Stoeckel Hall (pronounced “Steckel.” Or is it “Stokel?” “Streudel?”), the home of the
music department, is conveniently located near Bass at the corner of College Street and
Wall Street. Swipe your ID to get in at any hour, any day of the week. Take the elevator to the
fourth floor, walk forward and kind of left, swipe again, and enter the Holy Land: Yale’s only
24-hour digital music lab.
Not to worry, all you naysayers: even though the room is filled with keyboards and musicmaking Mac computers, all the instruments are plugged into mega-noise-cancelling headphones (honestly the soft pattering they make is kind of nice), and there’s always desk space
by the printer or on the moveable table.
Ultimately, though, 405’s a winner because it’s there for you in all the ways that count.
No one will tell you to leave, the School of Music student who sits down next to you will be
cute, you’re too far from G-Heav to eat your pain away, and your window has an ideal view of
the coming sunrise.
BEST WAY TO
PROCRASTINATE
John Stillman
What I do is type a pretty broad conceptual term, “media” or “consciousness”, let’s say, into the Wikipedia search
bar. The articles are nice in themselves, for sure, but even
better, they provide a launchpad to many more—and more
specific—pages, each one a little knowledge-world in its
own right. So open up the first five hyperlinks you see, then
go to them, click more, and watch the power of exponents
do its thing on your browser. Now close your eyes, massage
your temples, try to get your mind straight. Give it a minute.
Now open your eyes and behold the task before you. The
tabs seem to glare at you, don’t they, like the Freudian Wolf
Man thing. But here’s the fun part: X-ing them out. You can
pop this motherfucker. You have to pop this motherfucker,
if you’re going to get anything done. “Dadaism”? Kill it.
“Onomatopoeia”? Knock it out. “TV Tropes”? No más. “Soft
Rock”? Actually, keep that one. That one had sick hyperlinks. Read them, now check the time. Hit up Walgreens for
some Trolli items.
BEST STUDY BREAK
Alisha Jarwala
When doing a cost-benefit analysis on whether a study
break is worth giving up the Bass cubicle you fought so hard
for, ask yourself the following three questions, in order: 1)
Is there Claire’s cake? 2) Is there sushi? 3) Do I care about
the group? This is why the Women’s Center wins the Herald’s
endorsement: in their spring study break, they served two
kinds of Claire’s cake, and in the fall, there was Miya’s sushi.
When I was a freshman, this kind of pissed me off (“Brown
rice and sweet potatoes? I want real tuna!”), but with age
and wisdom, I understand Miya’s and I understand myself.
We all love Claire’s cake. We all love sushi. We all love women. So get on that panlist, and remember that, sometimes,
it’s just time to give up that Bass cubicle.
27
BEST ALL YOU CAN
EAT SUSHI
Alex Shaheen
Everyone likes sushi because it’s really good. Like a lot of
foods, sushi is also more enjoyable when you can eat a lot of
it, or more specifically, when you can determine how much
exactly of the sushi you want to eat. That’s why all-you-caneat sushi is especially good and fun.
For example, how they only give you two pieces of shumai
per order because then you can get a couple orders for dessert. I wonder what the system is for distinguishing which
platter to use. Do they have piece limits for each one? Big
boat platter for 200+ pieces. See, good and fun.
The best to go for this type of meal is Sushi Palace on
Dixwell, a few stoplights past the McDonald’s (if you want
a McFlurry for later). Once I left my credit card there and
got it back the next day. Basically, it’s a comfortable place,
where you can eat a lot and not worry about too much.
They have all the fancy stuff, even cream cheese and some
jalapeño shit, and they won’t put ice in your water if you ask
nicely. Please all go there. BEST MEAL PLAN/
BEST KEPT SECRET
Jake Orbison
Bang for your buck. That’s what makes the “unlimited meal plan” the
best Yale has to offer. Whether you live on campus and mother Yale, with
her smothering embrace, is coercing you to eat at one of her many lovely
dining halls, or you just like the comfort of not having to think about when
and where to get dinner, this is the meal plan for you. Well, a hungrier, more
popular you. For just 71 more dollars a semester, the dining gods will let you
eat as many times per day as your stomach can handle. You can also use your
many guest swipes to give your off-campus friends that elusive free lunch.
You even get 70 points to use at Durfee’s, which brings me to why this is the
best plan. It’s not because you can blow this perk on a whopping 10 sandwiches. It’s because the plan costs $2,996 a semester, whereas the default
21-meal plan costs $2,925. Why not make it an even 2,995? Or a pleasingly
divisible 3000? I like to think that it’s because, assuming you would have
bought the equivalent of a 70 dollar credit to the many fine retail establishments, Yale still turns a cool profit of one dollar. BEST LATE NIGHT
SNACK
Olivia Rosenthal
It’s 2 a.m. on a Thursday. You’re craving something exotic. Something to make you forget the past 12 hours spent in the depths of hell (read: Bass weenie bin).
You dig the GHeav lo mein but know such a choice will garner both judgmental looks
from the biddies grabbing their post-Toad’s Naked juices and judgmental groans from your
stomach hours later. Sure, Mamoun’s is something different, but the little boy working there
kind of freaks you out. You want to explore new cuisine and new neighborhoods.
Get you to the Greek, we say! By which we mean Whalley Ave’s Athenian Diner, offering
delectable “Jewish style franks,” “fancy fresh seafood—FRIED,” Greek delicacies, and four
different categories of “Tasty Sandwiches,” all 24 hours a day. Seriously, a diner offering
gyros, an “ATHERIAN BROILED SEAFOOD COMBINATION,” [sic] and my personal favorite,
the “TOASTED BAGEL ALL TEH WAY”[sic] —count us in. Though not everyone sings our
favorite Athenian’s praises.
Word to the wise: just stay away from the Yelp reviews; don’t let the cyber bullies ruin
what will surely be your authentic immersion into a Greek paradise (complete with spare
ribs and Jersey pork chops). A sassy Sarah J. complains that the gyro was just a piece of
bread with “meat and tomato and oignon cut in vulgar pieces” [sic] (seriously, Sarah, what
shapes where they cut in?). And you guys, she would know about this. She has “eaten
Greek food in a couple of places all over Europe and North Africa.” Congratulations on the
frequent flier miles Sarah, but we beg to disagree. Being cultured is overrated.
But oh, Art S., you write that the sandwiches are capable of making your entire day. Us
too, babe, us too. We’ll see you there. Turkey Clubs on us. BEST HEALTH TIP
A Smithy with Wenzel sauce instead of the Wenzel.
28
BEST OVERNIGHTER
Brenna Highes Neghaiwi
We’ve recently accrued some on-again off-again overnight guests
at my humble Edgewood abode. It started out with the one until she
started bringing her (pushier, more socially anxious) friend along. That
really might have been the moment to say no, but things were so far
along already and there was no stopping our newest housemate, who was
putting out three pounds of food for our feline miscreants—we call them
Batman and Pixie, respectively—on the daily.
Things came to a head the Friday before Thanksgiving break
when it was just me, Pixie and Batman, the mice getting cozy in the
third kitchen drawer, and the mama raccoon plus three in tow making
the regular late night, back porch appearance. You know, a regular Friday
night.
We’d clamped down on the no-cats-in-the-house rule (tracked dirt,
slippery slope arguments, allergies, oh my!) but, alas, there was Batman,
making a run for it, weaseling her way through even the most directed of
my flailing limbs.
Several pitiable attempts on my part and one night later, the basement was filled with the aroma of freshly-spilled cat poo and Batman
(the more temperate and one-eyed feline, baptized so by a visiting friend
who stridently proclaimed that Batman was the worst—and, by that,
most hilarious—name ever for a cat) was out in the world again, loosing
her feral feet.
Not that this ensemble sounds like a delight to all but, quite honestly,
I would have spent the evening knitting my way into a yet-earlier onset
senility had it not been for the Jumanji releasing itself on my home and
hearth. Takeaway message: every night’s better when it’s a heyvoon
bazi.*
*…which is Farsi for “animal party,” if you haven’t watched Season 1
of Shahs of Sunset yet.
BEST BATHROOM
BEST BATHROOM
STAPLE
Jack Schlossberg
Gourmet Heaven. Not too many people know about this
one. It’s tucked away in the back left corner of G-heav and
you have to ask to use it. It’s great. It smells good and it’s
private, unless (or especially if?) Adam walks in on you like
he once did on me.
BEST CEILING
Jack Schlossberg
If, like me and everyone I’ve ever made small talk with,
you’re never not bored in lecture, then you should take a
class in the SSS lecture hall. There are dozens and dozens
of lions, shields and flaming torches painted up there. One
of the lions has an earring, but I’m not going to tell you
which one!
Claire Smilow and Emma Sokoloff
Fiber Gummies. First of all, these shits taste famaze. We keep ours on a
window sill, which means they’re either kind of cold and hard because of the
outside temp, or warm and soft from the radiator just below. Either way, it’s
a daily struggle for us to limit ourselves to the recommended serving size of
two gummies. And the flavors are exactly what you want—peach, strawberry,
and blackberry—none of which are offensive, and all of which can be paired
harmoniously with one another, or chewed in their own purity.
Secondly, they are incredibly healthy. About eight months ago they
changed their label from “Fiber Gummies” to “Fiber Well.” At first we were
taken aback, unsure of what this change in branding strategy implied. But
you know what, they’re right. Sugar- gluten- and dairy-free and “naturally
sourced colors and flavors.” Those babies really do make us well.
Which brings me to the number three reason why everyone needs to get
on the fiber gummy train. We all poop. And we all hate really frustrating
rock-solid-really-have-to-push-hard poops. But we all love smooth, satisfying,
ghost-wipe poops. And fiber gummies will give you just that, every single day
for the rest of your life.
BEST PUBLIC
RESTROOM TO HAVE
SEX IN
BEST NEW BUSINESS
Bespoke.
Julia Calagiovanni
A few blocks up Whitney Avenue, you’ll find Katalina’s Bakery, a bakery specializing
in really fancy, really delicious cupcakes. Move over, Magnolia. At Katalina’s, you’ll find
old standards—chocolate, vanilla, red velvet—alongside more inventive flavors like
chocolate-nutella, lavender, and coconut lime. If cupcakes aren’t your thing, surely a
cookie, brownie, scone, artisan pop-tart, or a giant whoopee pie will work. (Just stay
away from the dog biscuits.) Katalina’s also hosts birthday parties (you’re never too old)
and baking classes (admit it, you’ve always wanted to get domestic).
The shop’s bright and pleasant, and smells sort of like this brown sugar lotion I got
at Bath and Body Works when I was eight. Katalina’s might even work as a study spot.
(The brain needs glucose to function, right?) Even a few hours before closing when I
was last there, monstrous, freshly-baked cookies were just coming out of the oven.
While I suffered from analysis paralysis at the options, my vegan companion opted
for a chocolate coconut cupcake topped with a giant chocolate-covered espresso bean;
I eventually ordered a marshmallow-filled chocolate cupcake with loops of icing meant
to mimic those surely grosser Hostess ones that one might purchase out of desperation
at a gas station.
We ate our cupcakes, smiled at the small child sitting one table over, and generally
felt kindly toward humanity. We stumbled back down Whitney, bracing ourselves for the
sugar crash to come, almost too happy to care.
29
BEST CHRISTMAS
DECORATIONS
Emma Sokoloff
You know who’s been owning this year’s storefront holiday decoration? Derek
Simpson. You definitely don’t recognize that name—it’s the jewelry store under
the British Art Center, right next door to Shen. It’s still unclear whether this is an
annual thing for them (this is now my fourth holiday season at Yale and I’ve never
noticed it) but D-Simps has moved me this year.
Here’s a visual: the store is a small, corner space on the street level under the
BAC. The two exterior walls are entirely windowed, allowing for maximum viewing
from the outside in by passersby. The store is as one would expect a jewelry store
to look—dotted by glass cases exhibiting New Haven’s finest jewels which all mysteriously disappear at night after the store employees have to spend an annoying
amount of time putting them in a safe so they don’t get stolen, only to take them
out again 14 hours later.
These committed employees have also lined the whole store with silver, reflective wrapping-slash-wallpaper. Every inch of wall. It kind of looks like the inside
of a present, which totally rhymes with the spirit of the winter months. But it also
kind of looks like some sort of weird art installation—either something at a dinky
“just off the ground” gallery with one standing fan blowing in the corner, or some
phenomenological work by an MFA student that seems to be commenting on the
commodified vanity signified by the cases of (let’s be honest kind of uninspired)
jewelry.
I’m obviously reading too much into this, but it looks wild. We’ll see if other
New Haven businesses will be stepping up their Christmas game as we get closer
to winter break.
BEST WINTER
FRIEND
Lucas Iberico Lozada
Yale is lying to you. And it’s not just administrationYale, it’s us-Yale. We’re all lying, together. We’re lying to
our friends, to our family and to the donors we thank every
semester for that scholarship check. Worst of all, we’re lying
to ourselves.
The lie gets retold daily, on the internet and in the dining
halls, over drinks, in a casual text and in a drunken heart-toheart. Here’s the lie: “spring semester.” As in, “I’m so gonna
take that class spring semester” or “Yeah, can’t wait to take
up that sick leadership position spring semester.” It’s sick,
really. Calling the period from January to May “spring semester” is something like referring to a play as “that thing where
you clap and leave the theater”: true only when callously disregarding all the other, you know, shit that happens. In our
case, it’s winter. Yeah, that’s right—“winter semester.” Yeah,
I know I’m harshing your buzz, bro, but come on, does thinking “well at least it’s spring semester” really make sludging
through thigh-high puddles any easier? Didn’t think so. So
go ahead and buy yourself a happy lamp, cuz it’s gonna be a
long winter.
BEST STOCKING
STUFFERS
Katy Osborn
As daylight becomes ever more elusive and the dark twilight zone of a finals-filled
zombie apocalypse encroaches, suitemate dynamics are bound to get a little hostile.
But before you start constructing a duct tape divider down the center of your double,
we’ve got a better solution—one that won’t leave you crying alone to “Back to December” in the event that next semester actually happens. ‘Tis also, after all, the season of
stocking stuffers!
If you want to do this right, it’s time to throw down the cash and get a little bougie.
And there’s no place better for bouge than Wave: A Gallery, Chapel Street’s “home of
unique giftware.” In all its exposed-brick-and-marble-columned glory, the tasteful boutique totes designer and artisan everything—from uncomfortably realistic hand-shaped
hooks to dreidel cake pans, from “no two pieces alike” recycled wool mittens to handmade cruelty-free soaps. But we’d like to direct your attention to a few key selections
in the interest of stocking stuffing that is therapeutic for all parties involved. Nothing
says, “I’m sorry I broke your lava lamp and left a half-eaten Wenzel in your bed, but
also, still think you kind of suck” like these (not always so stocking-sized) trinkets,
crafted with love and sprinkled with a hint of passion aggression:
“Happy Hangover Tea.” Complete with a floating Shark Fin that gradually infuses the
tea in a sanguineous red cloud, this is the coolest gift ever. That is, unless you gift it to
your sloppiest suitemate, preface it with something along the lines of: “I was trying to
come up with something that you’d constantly have a use for,” and follow up weekly by
delivering a Sunday morning cup to the tune of Jaws.
Pick-up Sticks. Also all about the delivery here. Throw them up into the air and
rejoice, “It’s like that game you play with your dirty laundry, but with sticks!”
An Inspirational Sign. The one we have in mind is a black-and-white wooden wall
hanging that reads: “We’ll always be friends because you know too much.” Creepy, but
it gets the job done.
30
BEST MOMENT
The ghost wipe. It’s the gift that keeps on giving, shit
after shit.
1. When professors try to tell you what the fuck “A work” is
2. Water damage 3. Room for milk
4. Syndicates
5. Zines, except SI
6. The controlled substances log at Walgreens 7. Off-brand chips
8. Lux/Veritas puns
9. “Still workin’ on that?”
10. Bought five identical Moleskines, now I can’t tell them apart
11. People who tear off pages along the perforated edge
12. Too many stickers on stuff
13. Keep calm and I’m gonna flip the fuck out stop with that shit
14. “Rage Nite” playlists
15. The strips of sticky shit that fail to hold your posters 16. The chat-n-cut
17. “High” playlists 18. Language tables 19. Pennies
20. Pinnies, pinny sales, pinny sales for charity
21. Genocide
22. LSF
23. People who say “killing it” too much
24. NGOs
25. The “Rumpus”
26. Sociopaths
27. “Yalies,” “Elis”
28. People who aren’t sociopaths but try to be
29. Dandruff
30. Going grey
31. Going green
32. Printing
33. Flu season
34. Primary sources
35. Secondary sources
36. News’ View
37. Jack Wills’ storefront display
38. Pyrrhic surveys
39. Levin’s sexy smirk
40. Mystery beeping noises in libraries 41. Coming up with paper titles
42. New Haven traffic patterns and street directions
43. THOM BROWN
44. “You look so tired!”
45. Cutesy cocktails
46. The timing of English course apps
47. Being coerced into secret Santa
48. Dinner meetings
49. The little bath for the Dhall ice cream scooper
50. Braces 51. The male gaze
52. Fog
53. Hunger
54. Chronic fatigue
55. Split ends
56. Emails from LinkedIn
57. “Tribal print” computer accessories at the Apple store
58. College rankings
59. JSTOR
60. Yale’s sex-hating culture
61. People who lie and say that Yale is sex-loving
62. Clickers
63. Participation grades
64. Dancing but not grinding
65. The “Yale Shirt” at Gant
66. Master’s Aide power trips
67. The Crescent Underground (Morse + Stiles basements)
68. Adopting a Prefrosh
69. Elm Campus Partners 70. J&B’s dishrag smell
71. Blue laws
72. New Haven closing times
73. Milford, Conn.
74. The Extracurricular Bazaar 75. “Why haven’t I seen you out??”
76. People who pack up before the class is over
77. That vintage “Y” sweater
78. People in running clothes
79. People who look cute in running clothes
80. People who try to look cute in running clothes
81. Bass Kingdom
82. The “No Smoking” sign on your cigarette break
83. Global Grounds
84. UCS “Peer Advisors”
85. Reading responses 86. Meditations on alcohol culture 87. Durflation 88. Chairigami
89. Anxiety
90. Yale HEALTH
91. Inconvenient bathroom placement in WLH
92. Sterling Memorial Complex backpack checks
93. The residential college system
94. People who are alarmingly racist in classes about race
95. Seniors who say they can’t do something because they
“have plans on Sunday night”
96. GroupMe
97. Drama
98. Forgetting headphones
99. Uneven Gchats
100. Taking notes
31

best freshman 15 - The Yale Herald

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