The Buzzsaw In Cabo Issue

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COMMENT

In this issue, Buzzsaw emerges from the beach waves of Cabo, the drops of water glistening on its binding and the salty ocean breeze flowing through its pages. Together, we’re sweating under the sun’s beams that’d melted the very ice caps that have provided us more sea for us to swim in. The sand is kicked into our cold-cut sandwiches while we’re guzzling our citrus-flavored mojitos. At the end of the day, we’re waving goodbye to our editors as they windsurf into the sunset, ready to behold what’s over the edge of the horizon.

STAFF LIST Julia Batista Rachael Prowles Mikayla Tolliver Brennan Carney Emily Imanishi Greta Unetich Gaudi Fanelli Sarah Borsari Ananya Gambhiraopet Quinn Karlok Adam Dee Julia Young Julia Batista M. Minton Kevin Gyasi-Frempah Carlos Figueroa Bryan Chambala Sam Costello Thorn Denick Cole Louison

Managing Editor News & Views Upfront Ministry of Cool Prose & Cons Sawdust Layout Art Website Editor Social Media Editor Copyediting Advisor Founders

Write Us! This magazine exists to inspire thoughtful debate and open up channels through which information is shared. Your comments and feedback are all a part of the process. Reach the editors by email at: buzzsawmag@gmail.com 2

NEWS & VIEWS Current Events, Local News, and Quasi-Educated Questions.

4 UPFRONT Selected dis-education of the month.

9 Ministry of Cool Arts, Entertainment, and other things cooler than us.

12 Prose & Cons Short Fiction, Personal Essay, and other assorted lies.

23 Sawdust Threatening the magazine’s credibility since 1856.

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Selected Articles: Dancing Our Way Through Reality A Grand Re-Opening

By Brennan Carney, Staff Writer

By Chelsea Colchy, Contributing Writer (Page 11)

Wasting Away in Margaritaville

By Kate Miller, Staff Writer (Page 39)

(Page 6)

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BUZZBYE

A Fond Farewell To The Mag That Made Me// By Rachel Powles, Staff Writer

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y second semester of my freshman year, I took a leap of faith. I walked into Williams 323 hoping for a chance to practice my writing. It was the Happy Birthday, Buzzsaw issue, and I’d just binged watched several serial killer documentaries, and for some godforsaken reason Anna Lamb and Owen Walsh let me write an introspective on the romanticization of Ted Bundy’s crimes. By the end of the semester they trusted me enough to be an editor.

It seemed like a fluke. How could someone as quiet and mild-mannered as me be an editor on this edgy, DIY magazine dedicated to deconstructing Western ideology? But over the next several semesters, I learned that Buzzsaw has a way of pushing you to places you never thought you’d be.

These last few years at Buzzsaw have unironically been some of my favorite memories of undergrad. I’ve helped expose injustice and educate people about important issues in this community. I’ve written reviews and satire and poems and investigative journalism. I’ve shown others how to tell their stories. I’ve met the most hardworking, dedicated people working on this team. We’ve survived a pandemic and made Ithaca College’s premiere alternative publication into a permanent fixture on this campus. I could not be more proud of the work we’ve done together.

And I know M Minton will continue Buzzsaw’s mission and run News & Views like an absolute boss.

I know wherever I end up next will be great. But nothing will be like Buzzsaw. There will be nothing like that delirious laughter after hours editing in the BuzzCave. There will be nothing like digging through costumes on the floor of Park for a photoshoot. There’s no way to explain needlessly bullying Adam or why gluten free pizza is hilarious or our affinity for Old Spice products. I will forever miss Mae and Mateo and Alex and Audra and Greta and Brennan and Sarah and Julia and Joe and Kevin and everyone who made this strange place ever so beautiful.

If you picked up this issue of Buzzsaw wondering if you’ve got what it takes to write for this mag, let me tell you right now: you do. Your voice deserves to be heard.

Your perspective is needed. Take the leap. I promise you, it’s worth it.

Goodbye Buzzsaw. Thank you for everything.

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A Grand Re-Opening Nearing Its 50th Anniversary, Moosewood Reopens Under New Ownership //

By Brennan Carney, Staff Writer // Art by Julia Young

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here are a lot of sayings about how working together produces something better, like the famous “Two heads are better than one, not because either is infallible, but because they are unlikely to go wrong in the same direction” (C.S. Lewis). But what happens when you put together 19 heads?

In 1973, a small group of Ithacans came together to form the Moosewood collective. The handful of friends eventually turned into 19 food fanatics who hoped to emphasize the importance of natural vegetarian cuisine that is locally and sustainably sourced.

It’s safe to say their goal has been achieved. Moosewood has been a successful pillar in the Ithaca community for 49 years, but also has a greater influence on vegetarians all over. The restaurant’s success led the collective to publish 13 cookbooks in its time, selling five million books in nearly 50 years. It has received critical acclaim from Ithacans and people around the world, including praise from The New York Times, Bon Appetit and the James Beard Foundation.

In 2022, it was announced Moosewood had a new owner: Danica Wilcox. She’s the daughter of Kip Wilcox, a member of the collective and previous chef at Moosewood, specializing in desserts.

“My mother has been part of the collectives starting in the early 80s, so I grew up at Moosewood; in the kitchen, doing my homework and waiting for her to be done with work. It was my first job, washing dishes and making salads. And then I waited tables there for several summers and Moosewood is really kind of like my home.”

After the trials and tribulations around the pandemic time, the collective began to discuss what would happen to Moosewood.

“When they decided to sell, I was actually looking for somebody else to buy it from them. But then, it just made sense for it to be me… the collective was like a family to

me, so it feels very much like a second generation taking over the business.”

Upon first hearing this, devoted Moosewood fans may fear that the second generation owner has plans to take the historic restaurant in a different direction. While Wilcox has made changes within the interior, exterior and general operations, they aren’t so much steps forward as they are steps back to Moosewood’s roots.

“I think really what we wanted to do was to strip Moosewood down to its bones. In doing that, we took up the carpet and in doing so, revealed more of the woodwork and space,” said Wilcox Another part of her changes has been a move back to some of the elements the restaurant had when it first opened, including the table settings. Bringing back the “original look and feel” of when it first opened has been a priority.

“We put the original signs back up, and we have mismatched plates on the table, which is how it was in the beginning,” explained Wilcox.

Moosewood’s menu has changed many times, but this current menu’s picks are also very purposeful. Under Wilcox and co, the hope is to bring it back to its focus on sustainability, with elements from local businesses at the forefront. This can be seen countless times on the menu, including a Wide Awake Bakery sourdough, chevre from Lively Run Goat Farm, sheep milk tomme from Nettle Meadow Farm and carrots from Stick & Stone.

“Obviously, there’s things that we can’t get here, like olive oil, that are crucial to vegetarian cooking. But, there’s a lot of things… if we can get it here, we will. And trying to integrate as many of the local producers as we can into the menus.”

As for changes that are truly “new” to Moosewood, Wilcox is trying to move toward more outdoor elements,

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despite challenges with Ithaca weather.

“We have plans for the patio and have a kitchen garden, and really make it a very green space and extend the patio in the front of the restaurant with awnings and tables,” explained Wilcox. “It’ll also be a much more vital outdoor dining experience available throughout the summer.”

As you sit at a table at Moosewood, people around you reminiscing and remembering the past isn’t uncommon.

Being around for 49 years brings a load of history. Crosby and Nash once shared drinks at the bar, and Allen Ginsberg ended his dinner with a Moosewood brownie and black coffee. Even the Grateful Dead stopped by during their trip for Cornell’s Barton Hall show, only to go unrecognized by the members of the collective.

On a Thursday night, seated in the newly-redone dining room, groups of old friends can be overheard reflecting on menu changes, praising the new local wines list and rejoicing in the continued presence of the Moosewood brownie years later.

Moosewood will be celebrating its 50th anniversary next year, a big accomplishment for a small business, especially in a town like Ithaca. In a Facebook comment, Moosewood revealed there’s a 50th anniversary cookbook in the works to celebrate. Wilcox sees this maturing as an opportunity for the restaurant to grow in new ways and refine what it wants to showcase to the world.

“I think of Moosewood as a 50-year-old. She’s going to be 50 next year, and now she needs to be an elegant woman and not a hippy diner,” Wilcox said with a little smile. “She’s coming into herself now I think, in a way. So, I wanted to recognize her—the heritage of Moosewood— and give her that dignity.”

Brennan Carney is a fourth-year journalism major who is always first in line for dinner. They can be reached at bcarney@ithaca.edu.

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Swinging to the Left What Kentaji Brown Jackson’s nomination means for the future of the Supreme Court //

By George Christopher, Staff Writer

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ollowing the one term of Donald Trump, the Supreme Court has been firmly tilted in a rightward direction. Trump appointed three conservative justices to the Supreme Court in his four years in office, one more than President Barack Obama was able to appoint in his eight years in office. Of course, Obama nominated Merrick Garland in 2016 following the death of Justice Scalia.

But, due to conservative control of the Senate and obstruction by then Senate Majority leader Mitch McConnell, Garland’s nomination never came to pass. As a result, the Supreme Court holds a 6-3 conservative majority. Additionally, Trump appointed over 200 judges to appeals and district courts. It wouldn’t be controversial to say that a fundamental shift in judicial balance is the most consequential achievement of the Trump presidency.

But President Biden has done his best to counter Trump’s actions. According to Ballotpedia, Biden has successfully appointed 59 judges to the federal bench since the beginning of his term.

So far, the most high profile of Biden’s judicial appointments has been his nomination of Kentaji Brown Jackson to the U.S. Supreme Court. Jackson would replace Stephen Breyer, a liberal who was first appointed to the court by President Bill Clinton.

Due to Breyer’s advanced age, the extremely delicate Democratic majority in the senate and the already conservative-leaning court, Breyer was under immediate pressure to retire following the 2020 election.

It was an understandable reaction given the memories many have of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s decision not to retire prior to the 2014 midterms. At the time, Democrats controlled both the Presidency and the Senate, but faced a daunting election that would ultimately hand Republicans a majority they would hold until 2021. Ginsburg herself was 87 years old at the time of her death and twice fought cancer. Though Ginsburg is still widely respected amongst Democrats, her decision not to step down has led to headaches for the party, now faced with a firmly conservative Supreme Court.

Jackson would act as a counter to the successful appointments of relatively young conservative jurists. Jackson is 51 years old, just one year older than Amy Coney Barrett, the controversial justice appointed by President Trump just weeks before the 2020 presidential election. To put that into context, if she remains on the court until the same age that Ruth Bader Ginsburg did (no

small task, mind you) she would be on the court till 2058!

Jackson also represents a significant shift in who presidents nominate for these positions. Jackson is the first justice who previously served as a public defender. Not to mention she is the first Black woman appointed to the nation’s highest court. While Republicans may attack Jackson as “soft on crime,” her confirmation suggests a shift in Democratic philosophy in terms of judicial appointments that could mold a court more amenable to the rights of the accused. Something that is crucial for major criminal justice reform.

Granted, Jackson may not have the opportunity to lead any major majority opinions for liberal causes anytime soon. After all, the court remains tilted conservative. Liberals on the court have had to rely on the three most moderate conservatives: Chief Justice John Roberts, and Associate Justices Brett Kavanaugh and Amy Coney Barrett. While these three could never be confused for liberals, they offer the best opportunity for the court’s three liberals to do damage control and keep in check the more radical rulings the court might hand down.

None of this should suggest the courts are a small or inconsequential matter. Due to the appointments of Donald Trump, women’s access to health care has come under a more concentrated threat than any other time in the last four decades.

Anti-abortion groups see now as their moment to overturn Roe v. Wade, and, by extension, rob America’s women of necessary health care and potentially endanger their lives. Restrictive abortion bans in states accross the country are a direct threat to the health of women in these states. Most importantly, poor women who will not be able to access the necessary health care in other states where abortions are permitted.

“Beyond Roe” Conservatives openly opine on the overturning of other cases too, like Griswold v. Connecticut, the Supreme Court ruling which allowed married couples the right to purchase contraceptives. It will not end at Roe v. Wade. That is merely the first step for social conservatives looking to roll back rights fought for decades to gain.

If one good thing comes out of the Trump presidency, let it be that America’s political left has a greater concern for the Supreme Court.

George Chirstopher is a third-year journalism major who waited on the steps of the court for weeks to deliver this report. They can be reached at gchristopher@ithaca.edu.

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The Danger of Tourism

Travel is exciting, but what does it cost the world around us? // By Stephanie Monteiro, Contributing Writer // Art by Adam Dee

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believe traveling is one of the most magical things a person can do in their lifetime. I know that I want to spend as much time as possible seeing the world; it’s always been a dream of mine. However, something I and many other travelers have failed to consider is how are wildly popular tourist destinations affected by the millions of people that visit every year?

Barcelona, Bali, Santorini, and Venice are renowned, must-see places, but they’re also the homes of thousands of people. This means that they need sustainable infrastructure, something that is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain when there are sometimes tens of millions of people using water, using energy, and creating waste. Amsterdam, for example, has a population of less than one million but Amsterdam receives almost 20 million visitors a year.

Overtourism has prompted cities like Barcelona to block construction of new hotels, to limit Airbnb rentals, to set a tourist tax and to block cruise ships, all in the effort of making cities like Barcelona and Amsterdam feel like rich, historic places again; as opposed to overcrowded, tacky, and money-hungry tourist destinations. When tourists crowd into the historic areas of Amsterdam, for example, the city-centers of Amsterdam end up catering to tourists with waffles slathered in Nutella as opposed to grocery stores or bakeries with fresh bread.

Tourist attractions like the large telescope that was recently constructed on Mauna Kea, Hawaii are funded and built by the Hawaiian government with promises of new jobs, but most people in Hawaii, especially in the tourism industry, work more than one job. In fact, according to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, Hawaii ranks in the top third of all states in the U.S. for the number of workers holding down more than one job.

One of the biggest complaints from native Hawaiians in regard to tourism is that attractions like the telescope are built with little to no respect for Hawaiian culture. Many native Hawaiians consider Mauna Kea to be sacred ground which prompted the protest against construction of the telescope. That protest was a part of a much larger message from native Hawaiians expressing their frustration with how their culture has been monetized and misused by non-Hawaiians usually to the detriment of Hawaiians and their traditions. Most resorts in Hawaii are owned and run by non-Hawaiians, Hawaiian people are often employed in the service jobs that don’t pay a living wage.

Hawaii’s locals aren’t the only ones directly impacted by overtourism. The number of tourists in Barcelona has quadrupled in the last decade which has also meant a 31% increase in rent prices between 2015 and 2020, this has made the city too expensive for many locals.

Barcelona has a year-round population of about 2 million, but over 30 million people will visit Barcelona this year. The vast

majority of those tourists will come between June and September and they will crowd the streets and tourist sites. To improve over tourism in these popular destinations, one should visit during the shoulder season, for Barcelona that is March to May and September and October. The weather in Barcelona will be more mild but still warm and there won’t be as much overcrowding at tourist sites like the Sagrada Familia. Another solution is to not book through Airbnb and to instead book with a licensed hotel or hostel, preferably in a neighborhood that’s not well-known. Despite my lack of knowledge about overtourism, I ended up staying in a neighborhood that is not wildly popular: L’Eixample and it was incredible, I would have never known that it was not as popular an area.

Furthermore, cruises should also be avoided. Barcelona sees as many as 20,000 tourists from cruise ships.

These tourists don’t stay for the night and don’t usually end up eating or spending money in the city which means Barcelona receives no economic benefit from the tens of thousands of day-trippers that inevitably create waste in the streets and crowd the city. Cities like Amsterdam and Barcelona have instilled a tourist tax as well in order to supplement the increase in waste management and policing that tourists create. Locals talk shit about the tourists from cruise ships, I heard it myself.

If there’s anywhere people, specifically people from cruises, should stop going it’s Venice. Venice has around 55,000 permanent residents, and around 20 million people visit Venice annually. It is suspected that by 2030 there will be no native residents in Venice. Housing prices are rising just like in Barcelona, the streets are ridiculously congested with people during the high season of tourism, and Venice has been seeing the most severe and frequent floods it’s seen in decades.

As an aspiring traveler, I want to go to all of these globally recognized places as well, however, in order for these remarkable cities to remain the rich and soulful cities that they are, they can’t become enormous tourist sites. Don’t you want to be the traveler that says, oh that place is too touristy for me, I went to this other place that’s super lowkey, no one knows about it? That is far more interesting than the trillionth person to get hammered in the redlight district, pee in the canal, and make a fool of themselves in front of the locals who are just trying to live. Traveling is exciting but you can’t forget that the places you are going are people’s homes.

Stephanie Monteiro is a third-year music major who is passionate towards ethical travel. She can be reached at smonteiro@ithaca.edu.

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Wonders of Escapism

What do you do to escape our chaotic world? // By Chelsea Colchy, Contributing Writer

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he room was hot and sticky. The fans buzzed underneath my teacher’s voice as he began to lecture about angles. I peered outside the window, staring at the pink flowers blooming in the distance. They reminded me of strawberry ice cream. The perfect cool treat. A gust of wind blew through; I dreamed of being at the beach, surrounded by the ocean breeze. I hadn’t moved an inch, but my mind had wandered beyond the walls of the classroom.

If you’ve lived long enough, you’ve probably escaped reality. Escapism allows us to cope and divert from the problems of life. It provides relief from trauma, and quells stress and boredom. It is there to assist us in whatever inevitable misfortunes we will face in life.

While the concept of escaping is universal, its application is unique to each individual.

I spoke with the president of Overbooked, an Ithaca College club for book fanatics, to get better insight into how others experience escapism. The president is freshman exploratory student Rory Gould, who often finds solace in reading graphic novels. This helps subdue her anxiety about the state of the world. Existential problems like climate change create an atmosphere of suffocating urgency and lingering feelings of helplessness.

“Escapism for me is a breath of fresh air, a little reprieve from the world,” Rory said. “Escaping [through books] allows me to live vicariously through other characters.”

Most experts agree and recognize that escaping reality is necessary and intrinsically a part of the human condition.

“We humans have a challenge that other organisms don’t have,”Jeremy Sherman, Ph.D., MPP in Psychology Today wrote. We are confronted with way more reality than any of us can stomach, and we are afforded way more ways to escape it. “Hobbies, pastimes, daydreams, and fantasies are how we discharge the tensions that accumulate in our

anxious, exposed human lives.”

Escaping allows us to decompress and recharge before facing tasks or solving problems. It buys us time to digest our dilemmas and indulge in temporary bliss.

However, it is also a slippery slope.

When misused, escapism can be a symptom of a larger issue. Escapism shouldn’t be achieved through unhealthy methods such as overconsumption of drugs and alcohol.

Signs of overindulging include not being unable to differentiate between reality and fantasy or isolating from friends and family to indulge in fantasies.

Healthy forms of escapism include reading a book, drawing, dancing, meditating, and daydreaming: activities that stimulate your brain and calm your nerves. The goal is to balance living in reality and escaping into fantasy.

Existing is inevitably painful, and being a human is hard.

But, it is important to remember that escapism should be used to alleviate problems, not avoid them.

As we emerge from the pandemic, many of us are coming out of a two-year-long hibernation of escaping reality.

The hardest part about escaping is coming back. When the artificial bliss subsides, you’ll feel a dreadful pit stirring in your stomach and anxiety seeping back into you. Returning is never easy but always necessary. It is through facing fears, tackling challenges, and overcoming obstacles that we grow as people and become more resilient to this planet we call home.

“Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” – Confucius.

Chelsea Coichy is a second-year journalism major who knows the fun of healthy escapism. They can be reached at ccoichy@ ithaca.edu.

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BUZZBYE

By Brennan Carney, Staff Writer

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was a late-bloomer to Buzzsaw because I was too nervous to go to any meetings freshman year. Sometimes, you just need a little time. But I can say with full certainty that Buzzsaw has been one of my most favorite things at Ithaca College.

I went to every meeting not because I had to, but because I love it. Laughing as other editors make jokes, listening intently to the latest news on campus and chatting with writers always, always made it worth it. Especially the writers. Certain ones would come along with a pitch they so obviously cared about, with passion shining through in their drafts over the weeks. That passion is why I originally started to write for Buzzsaw too, so seeing it in others is an emotional experience.

Thank you to the writers of MOC for keeping me in the loop.

Though I pitched review ideas each cycle, many of my favorites were ones I didn’t know anything about. Because of them, I’ve been introduced to so many new shows, films and music. It’s a good reminder that you can’t expand your mind without getting out of your bubble.

Even on Zoom, Buzzsaw was a highlight of the day. As a journalist, it’s in my nature to be a listener and take notes. My phone has a very lengthy page full of quotes I’ve overheard from people, Buzzsaw friends included. Here are a few Buzzsaw highlights, both from our virtual meetings and in-person: “This is like the third time you’ve been canceled at Buzzsaw.”

“There is no class solidarity at Camp Rock!”

“This is like an era of history and we’re all just trying to vibe through it.”

“Who’s not indebted to a capitalist raccoon?”

“So I’m like ‘what’s for dinner?’ and she’s like ‘the Great Depression.’”

The Buzzsaw gang are the kind of people who are always thinking, on levels big and small. They have compassion for people, they’re intelligent and informed. They want to raise voices who need help and aren’t afraid to critique things society has (sometimes blindly) accepted. But also, they’re just really really funny.

To those aspiring writers who are unsure and feel a bit unsteady about their skills: you may question whether your writing is good enough, whether you can write something you’re proud of or whether you’re an “expert” on a topic. If you’re a bit of a nervous perfectionist like me, I can tell you that you’ll never know until you try. I didn’t think I’d get the chance to be a part of that group of editors in front of Williams, so thank you to Mateo for giving me that opportunity. And best of luck to Emily as the MOC editor—I trust you to protect our Spotify with your whole being.

Buzzsaw—thank you for pushing me and making me better in so many ways, because we all know that you don’t get better by being comfortable.

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The Pop-Punk Revival?

By Jess Williams, Contributing Writer

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achine Gun Kelly. Three words that can strike fear in anyone.

This rapper-turned pop-punk star has been appearing in the public consciousness much to the dismay of many. MGK has inspired countless memes (I am weed), and has provoked very clear distaste across internet spaces. From his childish persona to his cringeworthy and very public relationship with Megan Fox, the blond e(mo)-boy seems unavoidable in pop culture. While I cannot bring myself to enjoy his music, I have to give credit where credit is due: MGK is the artist largely responsible for a very interesting resurgence of the pop-punk style in popular music - for better or for worse. Who gave this man-child permission to lead the pop-punk revival, and what does it mean for the future of the genre?

Every good pop-punk banger follows a simple two-step formula: be catchy, and go hard. Pop-punk takes the rebellious and loud nature of punk, slaps a catchy hook on it, and usually cleans up the lyrical themes to fit a more radio-friendly, adolescent sense of rebellion. The genre has achieved dedicated listeners, a defined culture; and a storied history. The first pop-punk album is widely considered to be the Ramones’s 1976 self-titled debut album, which features hit single “Blitzkrieg Bop”: a punk song with a memorable, softer, catchy hook. Pop-punk would continue bubbling excitingly in the underground with some charting singles popping up here and there, but it wasn’t until the mid-1990s that pop-punk really pushed its way through into popular culture.

All of a sudden, Green Day broke onto the scene, and Billie Joe Armstrong’s melodramatic yelling could be heard from MTV broadcasts across America, “Do you have the time /To listen to me whine?” from that point, pop-punk’s mainstream success would stick. Green Day ruled the mainstream pop-punk scene at its height, tailed by bands and artists like blink-182, My Chemical Romance, Paramore, Fall Out Boy; and Avril Lavigne. Even though the genre returned to obscurity by the mid-2010s, it had already made its mark on the music industry. When emo-rap emerged in the late 2010s, traces of pop-punk influence could be found in the lyrics and sounds these young rappers were using.

Lil Peep, Juice WRLD, and Lil Uzi Vert were among the many emo-rap artists to express their love for pop-punk. Around the late 2010s, blink-182 drummer Travis Barker became a sought-after producer in the emo-rap scene, inspiring more crossover between the genres.

It’s from the framework of emo-rap that pop-punk has seen a recent revival - with rapper Machine Gun Kelly making a transition to the genre in 2020. MGK released his first pop-punk album in 2020, titled Tickets To My Downfall. The record was a commercial success, prompting many rappers (Iann Dior, Vic Mensa, Trippie Redd) to enlist the help of Travis Barker and chase after the next pop-punk hit.

Machine Gun Kelly expectedly came back this year with his second pop-punk record Mainstream Sellout. Following in the footsteps of the bland Tickets To My Downfall, MGK serves us another helping of his signature brand of cringy pop-punk horseshit.

When returning to the formula of every great pop-punk song; (go hard and be catchy), MGK’s pitfalls as an artist become most evident. The polished-up guitar riffs and over-compressed drums that suffocate his songs make for an uninspired sound that blends together into a murky pastiche of the pop-punk aesthetic. Everything you already expect about a pop-punk song is here, but it's been chewed up and regurgitated back. Periodically Kelly will switch out the drums for a 5-dollar trap beat that turns his punky

drivel into cheap, lifeless playlist-fodder.

It doesn’t help that Machine Gun Kelly is about as edgy and rebellious as an episode of “Paw Patrol.” He scatters in drug and sex references for shock, but mostly his songs either boil down to vague descriptions of an abusive relationship or surface-level rants about mental health issues that are too general to be relatable. There are a few lyrical moments on both Tickets to my Downfall and Mainstream Sellout that get a little more personal, and usually, they are the most interesting and purposeful parts of the record. On “god save me”, Kelly describes how he uses the fast-paced celeb lifestyle as a distraction from the loneliness he’s felt ever since his parents passed away when he was young. It is one of the only genuine and vulnerable moments on Mainstream Sellout, but it's very short-lived, because he goes back to “She’s a goth girl, She’s a pop girl'' 10 seconds later. The moment that MGK lets his guard down and actually starts singing with purpose, he retreats right back into his bad-boy pop-punk caricature.

While Tickets to my Downfall focuses on addiction and adolescent relationships (which goes over just about as well as you’d expect for a 31-year-old man trying to resonate with teens half his age), Mainstream Sellout struggles severely to find its thematic footing. MGK loves playing the victim, whining about how the rock scene doesn’t accept him, how the music industry hates him, which all just feeds into the tiring age-old ‘I haven’t sold out, I’m just misunderstood’ narrative that MGK plays out to a pathetic extent. Of course, you also have the predictable and predatory “I’m so fucked up, we’re bad for each other, but we still have sex” story that comes up again and again on each record. All of the worst stereotypes of emo culture are here, and they are exaggerated to an insulting extent.

To wrap up my ranting, does Machine Gun Kelly’s music go hard? No, not at all.

Luckily for us, we don’t have to leave the pop-punk revival in MGK’s hands. Putting aside some of the smaller artists pushing the genre forward (Jeff Rosenstock, PUP, Joyce Manor), the savior of pop-punk lies in an unlikely newcomer. Actor, social media influencer, singer, songwriter, and young up-and-comer... Olivia Rodrigo. I was a bit late to the Olivia Rodrigo hype. “Drivers License” didn’t grip me, and her second single “Deja Vu” had some production quirks that caused me hesitation. It wasn’t until Olivia burst onto the pop-punk wave with her inescapable banger “Good 4 U”, that I started really paying attention. It’s a catchyas-hell, emotive, angsty foray into pure pop catharsis. Olivia’s breakup story displays the simple, powerful, and rebellious adolescent spirit that is lacking from Machine Gun Kelly’s rambling and meandering themes. Technically, Olivia Rodrigo has only made two pop-punk songs: “Good 4 U” and “Brutal”, but the same power-dismantling attitude that made them so effective as pop-punk songs, prevails in the softer ballads that comprise the rest of her debut album. Judging by the success of both “Good 4 U” and “Brutal”, I expect more pop-punk greatness from Olivia, and I hope she continues to make catchy punk bangers that blow MGK’s trite and annoying style out of the water.

Jess Williams is a Freshman Exploratory major whose most played songs are “Welcome to the Black Parade,” “Good 4 U” and “Sk8r Boi.” They can be reached at jwilliams16@ithaca.edu.

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A Love Letter to Buzzsaw

How does someone say goodbye to something that’s become part of their routine for the past four years? //

By Julia Batista, Staff Writer

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found Buzzsaw during a time when I was in search of my own little community; a family of people that I’d connect with outside of my friend group. I didn’t know what this family would do—would it give me the bandwidth and support that I needed to explore and come into my own identity? Would we actively nurture, collaborate with and advocate for the campus community? Would we simply just keep to ourselves, have our own little inside jokes and special traditions in our weekly meetings?

The Buzzsaw family did all of these things for me—and I felt the gratitude of working with and belonging to such a charming group of peers in all of the moments that I shared with them.

Every time that we printed a new magazine, I’d make sure to pick up my own copy so that I could nestle with it and devour all of the work that was inside; not because I felt an obligation to, but because I had a compulsion to know what strings of words my peers had crafted together for all of the topics that they passionately wrote about. Yes, Buzzsaw is considered the divergent publication on campus, but I’ve also appreciated it as a platform that offers itself to students looking to place their proverbial pens on paper and see their work manifest in print.

I acknowledge that there are other publications that exist on campus that offer just the same kind of freedom—but Buzzsaw felt different, at least in my heart. We are deviant, and because of that, I loved it.

In interviews where I’ve talked about Buzzsaw, I never failed to mention our mission: “to publish original creative journalism, commentary, and satire that works to deconstruct society, pop culture, politics, college life, and dominant Western beliefs.”

In its own right, Buzzsaw challenges industry norms of what journalism looks like through the manifestation of the different forms of expression that are cultivated out of the written word—whether that be reporting, op-ed, prose, poem, satire and personal stories. Here’s what I mean: Buzzsaw is special because we never turned anyone away—if you had a story to tell, a confession to make or a compilation of words to release from the depths of your mind, we always accepted it and aided you along the way so that you may sharpen your final draft.

I understand that what’s considered to be “good” journalism means requiring a system of selection for what

you say and the kinds of stories that you tell—but Buzzsaw wasn’t trying to be “good”—we are more than just a publication for news. We are a platform for student expression and revelations—both the agreeable and the unpleasant, the beautiful and the ugly.

Over time, I learned not to underestimate a college student’s power to wield words, especially when there aren’t any guardrails to contain their creativity, emotion and bravery to fumble around in the dark for what the truth was. The work produced by our writers and editors alike is both irreverent and perceptive, invaluable and far from mediocre not only in comparison to our community of creators, but I’d like to think so for the rest of the campus community.

It was because of Buzzsaw that I never tamed my burning curiosity for all things unconventional, it was because of Buzzsaw that I finally felt proud to come into my own skin, and it was because of Buzzsaw that I realized how important it was to me that I connect with people from very different and special walks of life.

I am eternally grateful to the Buzzsaw editors, as they always pulled through on every magazine cycle and made up the heart and soul of what Buzzsaw represents: an amalgamation of jumbled vagaries that manifested in the form of our magazines. In my mind, the act of facilitating the creation of the magazine was extremely special for us all, as for every cycle we worked hard to ensure that it would flower and come into its full glory—no matter how ridiculous the magazine themes may have seemed.

But we wouldn’t have had a magazine at all if it weren’t for the writers; we only survived more than 20 years of existence on-campus because of their courage. Buzzsaw exists as an outlet of expression and I’m happy to have witnessed the growth of our magazine over time (we’ve increased from an average of 50 pages per issue to 65 pages—because of you!). And as I’ve said, I can’t overcome how impressed and proud I am of our talented writers—most of which join our dysfunctional editing team if they stick around long enough. I hope that Buzzsaw did right by you and honored your work with as much gratitude as I am trying to convey in this very last piece.

Buzzsaw, this is my love letter to you—I hope that it exists and stays funky well into the future.

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The Ultimate Cabo Playlist

By Gabrielle Grady, Contributing Staff

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pring is just about here, but the weather has yet to reflect the heat and sunshine that we have all been waiting for. In the meantime, here is a playlist of songs that are perfect for warm weather. Put this one when you’re doing anything from sunbathing to driving with the windows down. Enjoy!

Center of Gravity - Yo La Tengo Violà - N.E.R.D., Gucci Mane, Wale Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Tears for Fears Pink + White - Frank Ocean Heaven or Las Vegas - Cocteau Twins OKAGA, CA (feat. Alice Smith, Leon Ware, Clem Creevy) - Tyler, the Creator EVRWNDR - Kid Bloom Althea - Grateful Dead Dancing in the Moonlight - King Harvest Sundress - A$AP Rocky Do It Again - Beach Boys Orlando - Blood Orange Come Down - Anderson .Paak Bennie and the Jets - Elton John Gypsy - Fleetwood Mac C.R.E.A.M. (Cash Rules Everything Around Me) (feat. Method Man, Raekwon, Inspectah Deck, Buddha Monk) - Wu-Tang Clan SIster Golden Hair - America Potato Salad - Tyler, the Creator, A$AP Rocky Heart and Soul - T’Pau Caught Their Eyes - Jay-Z, Frank Ocean Boogie Shoes - KC & The Sunshine Band Scratch My Back - Particle House, Divty Born to Run - Bruce Springsteen Driver’s Seat - Sniff ‘n’ The Tears WASTE - BROCKHAMPTON Night Moves - Bob Seger

Check out the playlist on Spotify here:

Gabrielle Grady is a Senior Journalism major who loves to listen to beachy music while she walks to class in the multi-foot snowfall of Ithaca. They can be reached at ggrady@ithaca.edu.

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Album Review: “Crash” “I’m about to crash into the water / Gonna take you with me / I’m high voltage, self-destructive / End it all so legendary.”

By Connor Stanford, Staff Writer

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rom the first moments of Charli XCX’s fifth record, aptly titled CRASH, she is fulfilling a ten-year-old promise.

In 2012, she shouted “I crashed my car into the bridge/ I don’t care” on the smash hit “I Love It.” Only a decade later, we see her go off the rails and into the surf. CRASH has brought Charli full circle as a chart-topping pop vixen.

Despite releasing several critically-acclaimed albums, this might be the first time you’ve heard of the “Boom Clap” girl in a while.

With a rollout that included her name on a gravestone and Instagram captions like “tip for new artists: sell your soul for money and fame,” the concept here is not some “Main Pop Girl” fantasy—it’s embracing the pop machine on what might be her last album on a major label. In an interview with Zane Lowe, she said “Everybody is wanting to be as authentic as possible…that’s the norm, and I—as we know—have always enjoyed pushing against the norm.”

CRASH might be sonically controversial for long-term fans.

On this album, Charli trades her usual palette of metallic snares and SOPHIE synths for wailing guitars, warm analog tones, and cellophane-wrapped drums. But she never sacrifices substance for style, crafting effortlessly-catchy hooks that will rattle around your brain for months.

The opening track, “Crash,” details Charli’s dedication to a blaze of glory with snatches of distorted vocals; it sounds like you kicked a Walkman down the stairs while listening to Prince. “Good Ones” is the platonic ideal of pop, suitable for gay clubs across America to blare ad nauseam until morning. “Baby” could be seen as a sexy, femme-fronted rewrite of American Psycho as Charli sings “I got no problem taking full control” prior to launching into a threatening declaration of “Imma fuck you up / Imma fuck you up / Imma fuck you up, baby.”

Charli tries her hand at interpolation on “Used To Know Me” and “Beg For You.” While the former is an update of “Show Me Love” by Robin S., the latter samples Septem-

ber’s “Cry For You” without much innovation. While both don’t seem out of place, they serve as a reminder that nostalgia can only stretch so far.

One can’t help but buzz with electricity in the vocoded pre-chorus of “Lighting” before it fulfills its potential in a chorus that commands the listener to jump to their feet.

“Constant Repeat” is a treat for fans longing for a taste of hyperpop, delivering booming bass with concentric synth riffs. “Twice” is a refreshing cocktail that blends all the elements tossed around on the album. The song gives a slip of Charli’s inner monologue: “All the things I love are gonna leave me / One day, you’re never gonna be there,” before the ride-or-die attitude of “Don’t think twice” pulls her back.

If the standard edition of CRASH is a hit-and-run, then the deluxe is a confessional rant while handcuffed and pressed to the hood of a cop car. Charli explores the vulnerability beyond the baddie with radical self-acceptance on these four tracks. Ending with the head-out-the-carwindow anthem “What You Think About Me,” she’s yelling “And I don't give a fuck what you think about me / What you think about me, so yeah, fuck you!”

While CRASH is by no means perfect, or even her best record, Charli XCX has never been this big-budget, this bombastic or this approachable. In a way, it feels like Charli is shedding part of her music’s personality to reach a wider audience. Continuing in this direction would be disappointing, but knowing Charli, it’s only a matter of time before she takes another left turn. CRASH is an easy four out of five stars. The record is the perfect combination of pop perfection and trendy throwback, smeared in a sheen of Charli XCX signature lip gloss. If you’re looking for a way to get into Charli's music, now is the time to call shotgun and buckle your seatbelt, because we all know from action movies that the real star always survives the crash.

Connor Stanford is a first-year theatre studies major whose motto is “Let’s Ride.” They can be reached at cstanford@ithaca.edu.

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TV Review: Bridgerton Season 2 Dearest Gentle Reader, did you miss me?” The world most definitely did, Lady Whistledown //

By Brennan Carney, Staff Writer // Art by Julia Young

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fter Bridgerton became the most-watched Netflix series at the time of its premiere, many eager fans have awaited the return of this Regency-era drama about nosy mothers, courting couples and forbidden romance.

I don’t know who runs the chemistry tests for Bridgerton, but they certainly deserve a raise for this season.

The familiar Viscount Anthony Bridgerton (Jonathan Bailey) clicks with Kate Sharma (Simone Ashley) so fast that you’d think they’ve been talking since season one. Unlike some characters in season one, they exchange a bit more than lustful looks. The two are given deeper backgrounds that draw their characters together, despite “vexing” each other daily.

As with the previous season, Julia Quinn’s novels are all about the slow burn. Be prepared to constantly shout at your TV in frustration at characters who seem so emotionally inept. But, it’s Anthony and Kate’s chemistry that allows you to set aside the cheesiness of the “enemies to lovers” trope and allow yourself to be invested in their pastel-colored world.

The plot for season two involves an angsty Anthony Bridgerton on the hunt for his future wife.

Interestingly, his standards seem quite high for someone who doesn’t desire a “love match.” When the Sharmas join the ton, the new family quickly becomes tangled up in Bridgerton drama.

While the Bridgerton family remains the center of the storm, the Sharmas, Featheringtons and other individual characters’ storylines intertwine in a way that makes them all captivating. Each episode will leave you wondering about how the latest development could possibly resolve itself.

A review for this season cannot, and should not, be written without acknowledging the amazing performances by the women of this show. Ashley’s performance is particularly stunning as a newbie to the cast. Her bond with her sister Edwina (Charithra Chandran) seems like one of the most legitimate family relationships we’ve seen, though it’s all based on sacrifice.

Like Anthony, her perfect posture and strict rules may be able to handle the weight of familial responsibility, but what about love?

The women of the show don’t just whisper and meddle. We see this in the way the Queen’s (Golda Rosheuvel) superficial insecurities about Whistledown are revealed between sniffs of tobacco, or the motherly-alliance between the more mature Lady Danbury (Adjoa Andoh) and Lady Violet (Ruth Gemmell) as they struggle to do their best for their families. Things turn more serious with Penelope’s (Nicola Coughlin) secret-keeping bubble nearly bursting, or Eloise (Claudia Jessie) struggling with her romantic side.

Lady Whistledown is definitely back and (almost) as spicy as before. For fans who loved season one for its scandalousness (ie. sex scene montage with “Wildest Dreams” in the background), this season brings a few less explicitly “dishonorable” scenes. Fear not, for scenes like a shirtless Anthony pulling himself out of the water are here to tide you over. But for fans who are ready for Bridgerton to be something a little deeper, season two is for you.

Brennan Carney is a fourth-year journalism major who can’t stop listening to the Bridgerton soundtrack. They can be reached at bcarney2@ithaca.edu.

TV Review: Book of Boba Fett

SPOILER ALERT: This was not a book and I am disappointed // By TJ Bogart, Contributing Writer // Art by Adam Dee

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E’S BACK! And questionably better than ever. Temuera Morrison returns as the cool-looking bounty hunter, Boba Fett. Before possible events that may have happened in The Mandalorian, we last see Boba Fett being flung into the Sarlacc Pit in Episode VI, never to be seen again. This clone goes on to rule Mos Eisley in a fashion that is different and very much peaceful compared to its previous rulers, while simultaneously answering questions that are brought up upon his return.

We finally got a Boba Fett solo project for fans after leaving such an iconic character with very little story. It is great because he is one of those characters that everyone

loves but no one knows anything about. Since questions about his appearance arose in The Mandalorian Season 2, we are able to reveal the answers while continuing where we left off. The story is enticing and keeps continuity in the franchise; although the episodes were very hit or miss . By having Temuera Morrison play the titular character nearly 20 years after he first appeared as his “father,” Jango Fett, we are getting to see how the characters are very different which creates a new world for us as fans. He is the same actor but is pulling off playing his own son very well.

Ming-Na Wen also returning in the series, as a more recent character but still a part of Boba’s story, is great because

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she is such a versatile actor and we love to see her in any form of media. She is able to play these characters that are kicking some major butt while still being the amazing actor she truly is. Lastly, you won’t be feeling blue when [spoiler] shows up. (Apparently, the universe won’t allow me to say their name).

This series portrayed Boba’s arc well, but it was overshadowed by the two episodes he was not in. Imagine that, you’re the titular character and you aren’t even in one-third of the episodes. Again, something felt very off in the beginning of the series. I don’t think it has anything to do with Robert Rodriguez directing those episodes because there were episodes that he didn’t direct that felt off in the series as well, it just happens that he directed a majority of it. Also taking the time to remove him from a couple episodes to set up a character for another show took away from something that was supposed to feel special for Boba fans.

We get to continue his short-lived story from the past, adding lore both old and new into Star Wars visual media.

This is very much a stepping stone for Disney, as they’ve been working on telling stories for characters we haven't gotten to see much, or we haven’t seen in live-action yet!

While I hate to say that this series was alright, The Book of Boba Fett was a book I could’ve gone without reading. I am intrigued to see how they continue the stories for

many of the characters that this series sets up. It acts as a seed for a tree I don’t see wilting anytime soon, so let’s see where this goes.

TJ Bogart is a Sophomore Film, Photo and Visual Arts major who wishes they could go back to being a child playing Lego Star Wars for the Wii in their Star Wars pajamas. They can be reached at tbogart@ithaca.edu.

Movie Review: The Batman

By TJ Bogart, Contributing Writer // Art by Adam Dee

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f you are depressed, and love journaling and eye makeup, then you’re either my girlfriend, or the Matt Reeves version of Batman, whom I am convinced she is. Going into this movie, I knew it was going to be the darkest Batman film to have surfaced, and, in many ways, The Batman is the darkest one we have seen. This new take on the Caped Crusader, portrayed

by Robert Pattinson, is unique and memorable, which makes me believe that this universe has potential.

You may think we didn’t really need another Batman and/or Batman film; however if you have seen this version, we very much did. In most Batman films, there is so much action that we just see Bruce Wayne as Batman. However, in this version, we get to understand Bruce Wayne and Batman separately; and comprehend that Bruce has his own struggles beyond the struggles of Batman. He has to be two completely different people and we see that very evidently.

The commentary this film makes on government corruption and policing is extraordinary in that we get to go

beyond policing from what the eye can see, into a corrupt system, and how the city of Gotham has to deal with this issue. The Riddler is perfect in this film because he knows what goes on with the corruption. His unique way of crime helps Batman to discover this truth and it is something we very much have to deal with today in the real world with the police getting away with crime.

Same goes for a critique on the rich, which is shown through minor dialogue and visual storytelling. It gives us the understanding that he is rich but he doesn’t understand how to live in a world where everyone relies on him. He is extremely young and we can understand why he hasn’t lived up to his parents name as a philanthropist. Given his previous roles, we gave Pattinson a typecast that made us believe that this film was not going to live up to what it was brought up to be; however, he kicked butt and proved us wrong because he gave us a Batman that I hope lives on for a while.

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While this film is not as dark as Todd Phillips’ Joker, this film is quite dark in tone. A lot of shots and angles in this film are very cliche and it takes away from the dark element and commentary this film brings to the table. Sometimes I couldn’t help but giggle at these cliche moments of the film. It made them off-putting for what the tone was supposed to be. There is even a certain villainous character we have seen many times (even if for a brief moment) that we could have gotten away without. Eternals star Barry Keoghan did a very nice job portraying this new take on said character regardless and I hope to understand more about this version in later films.

Reeves nonetheless does an excellent job bringing back another version of Batman, and proved to us why we

needed another version of the Caped Crusader. It proves how he can be more relatable to our world instead of having action scenes with a story. This film left us with a few questions that I hope get answered in possible sequels.

What we can note is that this is very different from other Batmans we have seen before, and while he won't be the only Batman on screen in the next few years, he certainly could prove to be one of the best.

TJ Bogart is a Sophomore Film, Photo and Visual Arts major who’s favorite hobby is wearing a cape and jumping off of tables saying “I Am Batman.”

They can be reached at tbogart@ithaca.edu.

Movie Review: Turning Red

By Mikayla Tolliver, Staff Writer // Art by Julia Young

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urning Red follows the exciting story of a 13-year-old girl, Meilin Lee, who’s found that puberty and growing up might be a little more than she could have anticipated. Turns out all the women of Mei’s family experience a unique and magical right of passage: around the same age, they all turn into fluffy red pandas! “The panda” is directly correlated to their emotions and comes out when Mei is unable to contain herself.

The film explores familiar themes as well as ones Disney has steered away from in years past: puberty, depictions of realistic teenage girls, diversity, and new stories. I had begun to feel disheartened by Disney in years past in which they seemed to be taking the easy route with remakes and other films based on previous stories. Disney was, and still is, simply capitalizing off of old films, redeveloping them, and presenting them as new. That’s incredibly boring in the long run and is lazy on Disney’s end.

Maybe these films will receive a moment of glamor in which we discuss how cool it was to see humans in place of cartoons, but ultimately there is nothing new being offered.

Previous Disney films starring people of color (POC) characters often involve the main character transforming into an animal for the majority of the film (The Princess and the Frog or The Emperor’s New Groove). It masks the POC character, yet Disney still gets to claim they’re diverse and inclusive. Animal cartoons are fun, but it becomes an issue when the only POC Disney films, or a majority of them, feature the main character as an animal with little reason: it sends a message to POC children that a character that looks like them is not suitable for being on screen the entire time. Disney has experienced pushback against this and has evidently strived to do better. We can see this change in films such as Encanto and how Mei spends less time as a furry creature in Turning Red (as compared to predecessors). While she’s still a red panda for quite a bit of the film, the red panda also ties in directly with her cultural identity.

Disney has made several films that feature women as the main character, but it usually revolves around a man. For example, in practically any early Disney princess film - Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, and The Little Mermaid young women depend on men in the film. A slow change has been made with Frozen, Moana; and now Turning Red. Turning Red offers an honest, fun, and ultimately refreshing look into the life of a teenage girl. Teenage girls for the most part are weird and creative. They have niche interests, enjoy drawing fan art, scream over their favorite band, go through intensely awkward situations, and have family problems.

Turning Red has received pushback for being “inappropriate” for discussing periods and for having the girls crush over the fictional boy band, 4Town. There’s nothing inappropriate about this: it’s real and it’s powerful to see this portrayed.

Another huge part of Turning Red which has led to positive feedback is the discussion around generational trauma, pressure; and family issues. We learn that like Mei, her mother, Ming, has suffered while trying to be perfect. The panda can be seen as a metaphor for this generational trauma as it’s passed down to Mei, whose biggest fear is letting down her parents. Films where the female protagonist isn’t obsessed with pleasing a man are leaps in the correct direction. Women deserve to see teenage girls on screen having fun, being true to themselves, and if they want, having a crush on a talented boy band member. Turning Red also infuses culture and diversity into the film. Mei shares a diverse friend group with her best friends: Priya, Miriam, and Abby; two of which are also Asian and one who’s Jewish. We see the people in Toronto’s Chinatown simply living their lives and enjoying Mei’s family temple. This family temple features images of the red panda and directly ties into Mei’s family history and culture.

Turning Red is a delightful as well as important surprise in the world of Disney films. Having it touch upon deeper subjects helps audiences to feel more seen and understood. Films like Turning Red are a step in the right direction toward films that touch on avoided topics in society. Genuine diverse representation is also integral and Turning Red does well in incorporating different characters of different racial identities and backgrounds. Hopefully, going forward, Disney, as well as other animators continue down this path.

Mikayla Tolliver is a Sophomore Writing major who just wants the chance to hug a big fuzzy red panda. They can be reached at mtolliver@ithaca.edu.

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Movie Review: Everything Everywhere All at Once

By M. Minton, Staff Writer // Art by Julia Young

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o put it plainly, Everything Everywhere All at Once finds true beauty and balance in the ultimate chaos of everyday life. It could be said that this film is thrilling, exciting, hilarious, insightful, dark, emotional, weird, strange and depressing—just like everyday life. But even so, making statements like these still sells short what an honest and life-changing experience watching this film is. It is sure to inspire future generations of filmmakers and film lovers.

Directed by the newly-iconic Daniels duo made up of Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert (Swiss Army Man), Everything Everywhere All at Once follows Evelyn (Michelle Yeoh), an aging Chinese immigrant who runs a laundromat with her family. One day, Evelyn finds herself thrust into the world of the multiverse, living through all of the lives that she could have had if she had made different decisions in her past. As she is swept up in a life-changing adventure, it becomes clear that her potential power in the multiverse is due to Evelyn having given up on her dreams, leaving her with so much left to experience. Despite the frantic and fast pace, the Daniels never forge the heart of the movie. They ground the stakes of a concept as mind-bending as the multiverse into the real-life stakes of a strained bond between mother and daughter.

Everything Everywhere All at Once centers Yeoh’s Evelyn as the protagonist in a performance that completely understands and utilizes her strengths as an actor, giving her the role of her lifetime. Yeoh’s training in martial arts from movies like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon along with dance and her experience playing just about every kind of character imaginable makes her perfect for Evelyn as she embraces all of her possibilities. Yeoh portrays Evelyn as charismatic, tender and relatable, but also allows the flaws of her character to come through the screen, particularly when it comes to accepting the sexuality of her younger daughter. The Daniels allow Yeoh, along with the other characters in the film, to be real three-dimensional people.

They mess up and make mistakes as they simply try to fig-

ure out what the hell is going on around them and where their place is in… well, everything.

At the heart of the film is the idea of embracing all of the different emotions and experiences one can have in life, despite how little and meaningless everything we do can seem at the end of the day.

Many scenes venture into hilarious antics as Evelyn travels through different universes that give the movie lots of levity. For example, one sequence portrays a universe where humans have hot dogs as fingers. These scenes don’t exist solely to provide laughs—they also drive home the idea that a life lived to the fullest is one where emotions are unsuppressed and we embrace just how weird everything around us is. Without these scenes that bring the humor up to exaggerated degrees, the juxtaposing emotional scenes later in the film wouldn’t hit as hard.

Ultimately, the existential themes and clear vision that the Daniels bring to the project provide a through-line that brings everything together perfectly.

Through it all—the infinite universes and the infinite possibilities of life—we only have each other. Before our time is up, Everything Everywhere All at Once reminds us to hug one another when we can, to bring positivity and joy around us when all else seems to fail, to laugh and cry and dance and sing and do everything we want to do in our lifetimes. And most of all, to share in the collective experience of wondering what the fuck is going on in this universe, while doing everything we can to make it feel like home.

M Minton is a first-year writing for film, TV and emerging media and writing major who’s that friend that always has a movie to recommend for the next movie night. They can be reached at mminton@ithaca.edu.

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The 5 Best Fictional Characters to Help You Survive on a Deserted Island

By Emily Imanishi, Staff Writer // Art by Adam Dee

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ou’ve seen it in movies and heard about it in books, but somehow the oddly specific instance of being stranded on a deserted island has become reality. You aren’t alone however, five fictional characters are stuck on the island with you. And bonus points! You get to choose who those people (or animals) are, so here’s a solid lineup that would (probably) help you make it out of this alive.

Tom Nook “Animal Crossing: New Horizons” This choice may not help you fight a panther or survive a shark attack, but if Animal Crossing: New Horizons has taught us anything, it’s that Thomas Nookington can build a capitalist society from the ground up regardless of location.

Somehow Nook will have all the needed materials to build everything from a house to a town hall, and with his streamlined construction process, you’ll go to sleep in a tent, and wake up in a mansion. What Nook lacks in physical strength, his knowledge of commercialism makes up for, and before you know it, people will be coming to you for their vacations.

Steve Harrington Stranger Things While you’re probably thinking, “Not Eleven? She literally has superpowers!” I have good reasoning behind my choice. Now, I’m specifically talking about seasons 2 & 3 Steve here; season 1 Steve is just a jerk. This man has unanimously won mother of the year within the Stranger Things fandom, and for good reasoning. Need someone to help defend you? Someone just crazy enough to risk that longshot idea? Maybe you just need someone to listen to your mental breakdown, or need a good laugh. Steve has got you. Not only can he be extremely helpful with the defense and heavy lifting aspects of being deserted, but he’d offer some comic relief that would help with the sanity aspect of things. And while not necessarily helpful here, he did work at Scoops Ahoy, a nautical-themed ice cream shop, so there’s that.

Wanda Maximoff Marvel Cinematic Universe She created an entire false reality in an emotional outburst–this girl will be extremely helpful in defense. This chaos-magic-wielding witch can not only move things with her mind, but also create force fields, harness energy and cast runes. Wanda will be the main line of defense, keeping the group safe as well as being able to fight against any threats that

approach. Plus, there’s a chance that she’ll be able to help with clothing, as in every episode of WandaVision, she was rocking stylish fits, and I mean, she does have magic.

Yoda Star Wars Help you he will, and a Jedi he is. He can move heavy objects using the force, and his lightsaber-wielding skills will prove to be quite helpful in hand-to-hand combat.

His force sensitivity can help in a variety of ways, and his wide range of knowledge can be useful with basic survival skills, constructing clever plans, and thinking up logical paths of action. I feel like Yoda would either be the one to come up with a plan and get everyone off the island, or get so annoyed that he returns to his hermit way of life, avoiding everyone else.

Moana Disney’s Moana She’s headstrong, she’s savvy, and she knows her way around both the land and sea. I feel like Moana would bring a different perspective on strategies, and help boost morale when everyone feels like giving up. Her knowledge of seafaring, nature and animals would help in a variety of ways, and her determination would help to create a cando group atmosphere. Her thirst for adventure would also make being stuck on an island fun, turning mundane or scary tasks into a group exploration.

While this team may not be the most conventional, each member brings a special set of skills to the table, which together, can make surviving on a deserted island something thrilling instead of petrifying. While there’s still a large chance that a snake will come and try to attack you, or you’ll accidentally eat a poisonous plant, with their combined brains, brawn and drive there’s a higher chance that you’ll leave with your sanity still intact, or at least, make it off the island alive. Or turn it into a vacation resort that challenges places like Cabo, whichever.

Emily Imanishi is a second year Writing for Film, TV and Emerging Media Major who has been in debt to Tom Nook since 2008 and really just wants to go to Starcourt Mall and try Scoops Ahoy ice cream. They can be reached at eimanishi@ithaca.edu.

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Sunday Washing Kristen Gregg Sunlight filtering onto the salt-stained pavement peeking through snow and ice. The sound of birds, many, singsonging their tales of travel to their partners and friends. It’s a Sunday morning. I’m doing laundry. All I can think about are the times I would wait for the bus with my parents in front of my house, winter jacket changing to a light zip-up, jeans swapped for shorts. All I can think about is the promise of more time with friends, and the anticipation of nights filled with s’mores in my backyard and as many rounds of manhunt until we decide to cram all twelve of us into my bedroom, whispering jokes and lightly giggling until the sun rose. My steps are weightless under the two large bags of dirty clothes and sheets.

But as soon as I step inside the laundry room, my chest is heavy with the faces of all my friends of the past, now dwindled down to the only one I keep in contact with. I watch the washer baptize my clothes, the colors darkening with water. They will be cold when they are done.

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Driving With You Ryan Vincent I first imagine driving with you Then, my hands on the steering wheel Yours at your lap, restless fingers Summer’s breath on our necks We’ll have sex however long it takes to stave off death I’ll come up with stories while you’re on top of me and watch the dark spots of your mind I cannot see She pushes away hands gently from her side as she sleeps Her lover’s breath within arm’s reach She’ll roll out of bed and look out the window peeking her head to the small opening to suck in air like she’s never gotten any at all She’ll stand naked there by the window and hear music in her head What she will do doesn’t concern him I then imagine the motel where we’ll sleep restless from the shakes of the car You think you killed your mother and we really haven’t even driven that far I think you have a brain tumor and then you’ll get a headache He wakes to the sound of her sleep She moans and whimpers from her dreams He’ll slip from the sheets and go to the window looking out, seeing how far the lights will go into the dark like he’s never seen light at all He’ll stand there in his boxers by the window and hum music quietly What he does doesn’t concern anyone else.

The sun drips in past the motel The car’s hum in tandem with the wind Sea spray in the window as I kiss your forehead It’s your turn to drive The earth smells alive She doesn’t come to bed until he’s asleep His eyes half open as he dreams She’ll think this is because of her somehow even though he said he did it on road trips and she’s never been on a road trip She’ll watch him for a while as his eyelids flicker What he dreams about will matter only to him Later, we find a cliffside You sit in between my legs smelling

25

like lilac Grass dew on your thighs I lay my hands around your stomach and pledge to hold you for a little while longer He holds her in a migraine Her cloudy head warm against his bare chest He’ll keep his heart rate down because he’s scared that this might kill her despite logic and now he must hold her against death He’ll protect her from nothing for a long time Someday, that fear will go away Mist unfolds at the end of the road and it is us and our car lost in the fog I feel the wet air in my lungs God hums low in our ears Maybe He is near I hold your hand and we walk far into the obfuscation and we hear a train stopping at a station We follow the horn through the fog I pull you close by your arm and kiss your damp forehead intermittently while we search for light I look to you Your eyes are dark and I want to keep driving with you They wake together in a moment they will not remember in the quick morning of that next day

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Greta Unetich Two Haikus: Evening Rain The rain tonight sends Everyone to their houses.

Our fingertips and Faces turned up, we Walk, side-by-side, to my car Beneath the damp trees.

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Google Search Results By: Rory Gould How to deal with feelings you don’t want to welcome into being true How to deal with the paper you haven’t written yet How to deal with irrational guilt How expensive is it to move to La Jolla How to make each day feel like it means something How to deal with melancholy How to deal with the relentless need to be creative and no will to do it How to deal with the absence of ideas How to deal with arguments you never meant to have in the first place How to get rid of unprecedented and unreasonable hate that rises to the brim of your being How to produce dim lighting in a bedroom without candles How to deal with having zero impulse control What should you do with a desire to leave it all behind and begin anew somewhere else?

I wish for an island of my own, away from all negative emotion; where the guitar chords are all played in sync and the harmonies are inescapable. I wish for a place where hate and jealousy and grief and death don’t exist. A place where I can watch the blur of a low sun inch closer to the horizon. The light dips below the horizon now, and I see it hesitate before sinking further. It looks at me with its big, bright, blinding eyes. And it says, “Come with me; I’ll take you away. I’ll take you to travel amongst the dreamscape of existing without purpose and prejudice.”

I wish for a place where the sand is the pink of rosy cheeks and the water of the beach presses against the shore, sure and strong. I wish for a place where the dusky pink of the sands turns to the sunset orange of my bittersweet mood, and there, it has the freedom to become something more. A place where the music of being is peaceful. A place where the part of existing that is hard can be translated into easier, smaller tasks. A place where there is no anger, no argument, no hatred, no discourse. I wish for a place where the affections I despise melt away and sink into the warm grains beneath my feet; the negativity of being human hardens the sand into shards of ice, cold and unfeeling.

I wish for a place where there is perfection and purity. I wish for a place where the sky is an ivory white in the mornings when I wake up on the beach and look out the panels of glass that form the walls of my conscience. I wish for a place where we can all finally feel better. A place where we can rest.

I wish for a place that is warm enough for wildlife to thrive. A place where the jungle cats brush up against me and wind me down into a soothing sleep. I wish for a place that is not here and not now but is there and then. A place where the future doesn’t exist, and the past is nothing but bliss. I wish for a place where I feel grateful that I am real, grateful that I am alive, grateful that I am.

I wish for a place unlike this one. I wish for a place that makes sense. A place that is easy. A place that is tolerable. I wish for a Valhalla, a Nirvana, a saving grace, a haven. I wish to be saved from all Earthly woes, not by a God, but by myself. I wish to save myself from this living Hell, this apocalypse of emotions, this hellscape of mistakes and misunderstandings.

I wish for a place where Pandora was obedient. A place that could be without boredom, without impatience and selfishness. I wish for a place with clouds that shine like pearls in the evening, upon which I can sleep for eternity, undisturbed.

I wish for a place without feeling, without pain, without numbness. Just the ever-present joy of nothing at all. But then, I wouldn’t be human.

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Vacation Sara Mallory It hasn’t been a full day since we drove out to the shore and already home has become shorthand for Room 312 A. Back at the hotel we drop off our bags, we go out to dinner and to walk along the boardwalk, and when a seagull starts harassing you for what’s left of your fries, you ask if we can go home.

Home is 3 hours and 224 miles away.

So, we walk back to 312 A, wash off our feet before tracking sandy footprints over the carpet anyway. We take out our room key, eat the mints left on the bed, flip on the local news, and sit at home together.

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Ode to Jazz

By Tyler Dale

Rising and rhyming, Rising and rhyming– Rhyming without reason!

Melting pot of highs and lows, Black and blue, white and gold, So rich, so elaborate; Each ingredient gets its share, Each party member dances in the spotlight!

I must dance with them!

I must dance with them!

I must dance to the rising rhythm!

Hold my hand and dance with me While the charming saxophone Chitter-chatters with the worldly-wise bass And captures the primitiveness of dance In the most fluid and enchanting of ways— Captures the sound of amusement and struggle.

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Happiness?

By Tyler Dale

Heart palpitations An overcast threatens me here Breathe; smile pain away

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Sticky Hands Loosely based on “Cartwheel” by Lucy Dacus My hands were still sticky from holding a lemonade-smothered quarter when she told me.

It was the summer of 2013. My best friend Miriam and I lived in a small, unbearably humid North Carolina town. We were entering the 6th grade, and each day we met up to bike aimlessly around town or jump in the town pool. That day, we were selling lemonade for Girl Scouts, as a fundraiser for our troop to go to Savannah, where Girl Scouts was founded. I was enthralled by the idea of this trip. I hadn’t been to Georgia since I had visited my uncle there years earlier and would not shut up about it to my mother.

Miriam and I met on our first day of kindergarten. After clinging to my mother’s leg for nearly an hour, she finally forced me off of her and I went to go sit next to Miriam, who appeared to be awfully confident. She made me feel welcome and safe, and the rest was history. Miriam meant more to me than anyone else in the world. I was never any good at making new friends, but she was different.

Miriam and I fit perfectly together. I never got bored talking to her. I wanted to live in her house so every morning I could wake up and spend the whole day with her. Like many best friends, we had a deal that if neither of us had a husband by 35, we would move in together and adopt a daughter and a Bengal cat or two. As horrible as it sounded, I always secretly wished every boy Miriam ever liked would reject her, or she would reject every boy that liked her, so she would have no choice but to live with me and we could grow old together.

The night before our lemonade stand shift, we had been riding our bikes around all day and came back to Miriam’s house for Creamsicles and a movie. I remembered being in 1st grade after a sweaty, loud field day on a raggedy grass field a few blocks away from our school. We ended the day with popsicles, and Miriam and I were the only two students who had picked Creamsicles out of the large assortment our teacher had brought. I always thought of that as a moment that reaffirmed that we were soulmates in one way or another.

We decided to re-watch the Hunger Games that night. I had read all the books and Miriam thought she was going to marry Liam Hemsworth, so it was always an enjoyable watch. We sat sucking on our ice cream and reciting the lines of the movie we had memorized. I always pointed out which parts, to my great dismay, had been changed from the book. Miriam would roll her eyes and laugh. “Lili, you nerd,” she would always lovingly slap my arm. That night, she kept glancing down at her phone in between her favorite scenes. My ever-nosy eyes wandered to her screen, and I saw a string of messages from Henry.

Henry was a boy who went to school with us. He was ginger with bold freckles and considerably shorter than me. Personally, I had never been fond of him. He was horribly immature, not much unlike most of the other boys from school. Once he broke an old swing on the playground by jumping on it. He was sent to the principal’s office for hours and I later saw him crying as his mother took him out of the building, looking like she was about to drag him by the ear. Him and his friends had always passively made fun of me. I wasn’t nearly as pretty as the other girls at my school, I knew that.

My brown hair was inconsistently curly and often knotty. I wrote in my diary frequently, lamenting about my awkward tallness or how I wished I had blue eyes. My mom wouldn’t let me get my ears pierced, so my lobes lay bare while every other girl in my class wore golden hoops or butterfly studs. I was bookish. But regardless of how low I might’ve been on the elementary school social totem pole, I always thought of myself as being lightyears of a better, more interesting person than Henry or any of his other friends. And seeing Miriam, more attractive and intelligent and sociable than me, text him confused me.

“Why are you talking to Henry?” I asked, moving in closer to her on the worn-out couch.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, still staring at her phone. “We’ve been texting.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” I responded. “What are you texting about?”

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Her face grew red, and she let out a little smile. “I don’t know, stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“I don’t know. We just text.” She threw her back against the couch, and we sat there for another moment, Katniss Everdeen yelling in the background. “He wants to hang out, if you wanna come.”

“When?” I asked. “Now?” Miriam nodded. “Soon. He’s gonna bring some of his friends too, like Jake and Nathan.”

“But we’re watching a movie,” I protested.

“Lillian, we’ve seen this movie a hundred times.”

Miriam suddenly turned nonchalant about one of her self-proclaimed favorite movies of all time.

Her addressing me by my full name, Lillian, also caught me off guard. Miriam always called me Lili.

She was the only person who ever called me Lili.

“I just don’t really wanna hang out with Henry right now.” I stared at the floor. “Can’t you do it tomorrow?”

“They’re at the park right now though and it’s right down the street,” Miriam explained. “Plus, I think he likes me.”

“Really?” My head shot up.

“Yeah,” Miriam said bashfully. Her cheeks grew red once again. “He texts me a lot. He said I was pretty.”

My stomach suddenly panged with jealousy. Jealousy of Miriam? For being called pretty by Henry?

That couldn’t be it. But the feeling happened, and I let it pass through me.

“It’s kind of late.” I began scrambling for excuses. “I think my mom would be mad if I went out right now to go meet boys.”

“She doesn’t have to know,” Miriam replied. Miriam’s parents did not care about what she did. They were both doctors and worked long hours and were simply too tired and overworked to care aboutMiriam’s whereabouts all the time. My parents were different. They were Baptists; my father is a banker and my mother is a housewife. I was the youngest of four children, with one older sister and two older brothers, and took special care to make sure we were well-behaved, good Christian children. My mother often warned me against being too slutty, whether that was wearing short shorts or giggling too much around a boy. My father once said in an outburst that “anyone who stays out after midnight is a whore.” So I assumed that if they ever found out I snuck out of Miriam’s house at night to go hang out with boys, I would be in deep trouble.

“I’m gonna go home,” I said after a few seconds of deliberation. “I can walk with you there if you want. But I’m gonna go home.”

“You sure?” Miriam asked. “I can cover for you. Or just say you’re sleeping over or something.”

“You know my parents don’t like last minute plans,” I reminded her. “I’m tired anyways.”

Miriam and I stepped out into the finally cool night sky. I took my bike with me and walked it by my side. It occasionally slammed against my already bruised legs. We loved to go on walks at night, especially after spending the whole day in such intense humidity. Sometimes we would race each other down the backroads of our town. Tonight though, we walked in awkward silence down the streets. Usually, I could be silent with Miriam and still feel filled to the brim with noise and laughter.

This time felt much emptier. We walked a few blocks until I had to turn left to go home, and she had to keep going straight to get to the park. “Goodnight,” I said. I turned and started walking as she returned my farewell, not wanting to look her in the eyes for some reason.

I walked home overly aware of how silent and lonely the streets were. My bike continued to bang against my legs, and I let it. I felt like crying but the tears wouldn’t come. I had no reason to cry. I imagined my mother seeing me walk in with a blotchy, wet face and telling me to pull it together, or even worse, asking me what was wrong. I reached my house after what seemed like a very long time, placed my bike in the garage, and made quick conversation with my father who was sitting watching a movie alone in the dark of our living room. I did not fall asleep until very late.

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The next morning, my mother dropped me off outside the local grocery store. Upon arrival, we both saw Miriam. She wore a black spaghetti strap tank top and ripped light-wash jean shorts. My mother looked at her in disapproval, shook her head, and looked at me as if to silently warn me to never dress in such a way. I got out of the car and she pulled away quickly.

Miriam seemed full of energy and life today, so full of it that I could feel it from over ten feet away.

“Hey!” she exclaimed to me as I sat down in the close-to-broken folding chair next to her.

“Hey,” I replied.

“You get home okay?” she asked, adjusting the straps of her tank top.

“Yup,” I answered. After a minute of silence, and only because I felt like she was waiting for me to, I asked, “How was your night?”

Miriam smiled, her cheeks once again turning red. Miriam had a very sweet smile—a little toothy, but very comforting. Usually, it made me smile as well, but I couldn’t for some reason this time. “Um, it was interesting.” She let out a giggle.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I just…” she trailed off, then swiftly turned her body to face mine. “Okay. So, I get there, and Henry is there with Jake and Nathan, and Meg from school. Did you know Meg and Nathan are dating?” I shook my head. “Oh, well they are. Anyways, they were just kinda sitting around in the park and I sat with them for a while, then Henry asked if I wanted to go on a walk.”

“Did you go?” I hoped the answer was no. I picked up a quarter that was sitting on the folding table. It was sticky from lemonade someone had spilled. I placed it in between the palms of my sweaty hands and played with it to avoid looking at Miriam for too long.

“Yeah,” she replied. “And we walked around the block for a while, and then we stopped and sat on the curb for a minute, and, uh…” She laughed again.

“What?” I tried my hardest to show indifference to whatever she thought was so entertaining. I felt my stomach begin to churn in fear of what she would say next.

“And then we kissed.” Miriam bashfully lowered her head and giggled into her hand.

All at once, I felt a sensation similar but far worse than the one I had felt the night before. A sock in the gut that evolved into tingly nausea in the chest. I could feel the blood shooting to my head and my face felt cold and warm all at once. If I was standing, I think I would’ve lost my balance. I profusely played with the quarter. “What?” I let out.

“Henry and I kissed,” Miriam repeated, either not noticing the look on my face or blatantly ignoring it.

After I did not respond, she added “It was just a little kiss. But it was wet. Like really wet. And I could feel his teeth. Did you know that you feel someone’s teeth when you kiss them?”

“Well, no,” I answered. “But that sounds disgusting. I don’t know why you would do that.”

Miriam’s silky black hair shone in the sun as she looked for a response to my apparent disgust. I found myself suddenly annoyed at how it never frizzed up in the Southern humidity, how it was always so perfect and beautiful, and how I almost wanted to run my hands through it.

“Because I like him,” she laughed in a way that felt slightly condescending. “And when you like a boy, it’s fun to kiss him. I mean, he kissed me first. But I kissed him back.”

I didn’t get it. She could’ve explained it to me a million times and I don’t think I would’ve ever gotten it. I had never looked at a boy and felt the urge to put my mouth on his. In fact, I thought it would be quite gross, especially now that I knew there were teeth involved for some reason. “I mean, it’s fine, I guess,” I replied eventually.

“Are you mad that I kissed someone?” Miriam asked.

“I- I’m not mad,” I stammered, “I just… don’t get it, I guess.”

“Sorry that a boy likes me and I like him.” Miriam looked away as she said this, knowing it would probably hurt my feelings.

“Do you think I’m jealous of you?” Miriam shrugged and barely nodded. “Well, I’m not. I said I don’t care. I just don’t want you to start spending all your time with Henry. You’re my best friend and I

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think I would be mad if you started choosing a boy over me.”

“I’m not going to choose a boy over you,” she defended herself. “I just might hang out with him sometimes instead of you if he asks me to be his girlfriend.”

“Is he going to do that?” I turned my head quickly, the tingling nausea rising and consuming my entire body. “Ask you to be his girlfriend?”

“Well, I hope so.” Miriam sheepishly smiled into the distance.

I felt like I was about to throw up. I swallowed down the sensation occurring in my throat and felt hot tears forming in my eyes. I turned away from Miriam and squeezed them shut. I sat like that for a while.

“Are you okay?” Miriam put her hand on my back after an unknown amount of time.

“I’m gonna go home.” I stood up fast, not making eye contact with her. “I feel sick. But I can walk, it’s not that far.” Without any more deliberation, I began to leave the grocery store parking lot, my grey Converse stomping on the scorching pavement. I think I heard Miriam call out for me, but by the time I had reached the sidewalks, I was so consumed with trying to not make myself sob in public, I couldn’t hear anything except for the empty carousel of thoughts flying through my head.

When I was far enough out of town, I sat on the curb of a street I was vaguely familiar with. I crouched down as fast as possible and buried my face in my hands. They were still sticky from the lemonade-drenched quarter, but now were also drenched with sweat from walking with clenched fists in the North Carolina sun. Between the never-ending flow of angry tears and this, my face was quickly a mess. The sun had started setting, enough so that people could hopefully not see the details of my face from too far away. I didn’t want anyone to see me because crying was embarrassing, but I also had no idea how I would explain to someone why I was crying so hard. My best friend kissed a boy and might have a boyfriend soon. That happens to everyone at some point. I probably should’ve been happy, but I had no idea how or why to do that. I was going to lose Miriam to a boy. I wanted Miriam for myself. I didn’t understand her need for a boyfriend. What could she do with a boy that she couldn’t with me? We were supposed to be together forever. I found myself suddenly wishing she was here so I could hold her and never let go. Maybe in a possessive way, but also in the way that I wanted to protect her, and I wanted her to protect me, and I wanted my face to be in her silky hair. I wanted her to run to me right now and tell me that I was right, that boys suck, that I would be all she ever needed. I had no idea if these feelings were “normal” or not. I don’t think I cared in the moment. I just wanted her to come and sit beside me and never leave.

I didn’t leave my house much for the next few days. Miriam would call my house phone each morning to ask me to come out and ride my bike with her, but I always told my mom I was nauseous and wanted to rest. I sat in my room and reread the books on my shelf. I never touched The Hunger Games series. I doodled in my diary, unable to specify the feelings I was having enough to write them down. I stared at the wall as I played melodramatic songs on my iPod touch. I cried a few more times.

Those days were bleak, maybe the bleakest I had known in my 11 years of life.

After about four days of this, there was a knock on my door around 2 pm. It was horribly humid that day and the sky was filled with looming greyish-bluish clouds, sure-fire signs of an oncoming thunderstorm. My mother opened the door and called for me. I felt a shock of sorts run through my body. I looked out my window and saw the top of Miriam’s head. My mother called for me again, and I reluctantly began to go downstairs.

When I reached the door, my mother walked away, and Miriam and I stood there alone.

“Hey,” she awkwardly grinned. She was wearing a grey tee-shirt from the softball team she was on and pink athletic shorts. As usual, her hair was perfect. Despite this, her green eyes portrayed sadness and confusion.

“Hi.” I responded, standing awkwardly at the door.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Miriam asked.

35

“It’s about to rain.” I nodded towards the overcast sky.

“Not for an hour, maybe.” She protested. “I just wanna talk. Just the two of us.”

I felt a pang in my ribs. I stood there for another second and then nodded. “Let me get my shoes.”

After a prolonged shoe tying, I told my mother I was headed out for a bit. I walked back to the door and stepped outside. Miriam shut the door behind me. We walked in silence until we reached the sidewalk, me being a few steps ahead of her.

“Did I do something?” Miriam asked. “I’m sorry if I did.”

I kept walking, not knowing what to say. “You didn’t really do anything. I’m just in a weird mood, that’s all.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” I answered. I still didn’t know, honestly. “I think I was just shocked that you kissed Henry.”

“Why were you shocked?” Miriam clearly did not get it.

“Because, just, I don’t know. I don’t like him that much, you know that. I’ve told you that. Sorry if that hurts your feelings, but I don’t. And I don’t know, just… I think it’s weird that you might start putting someone else above me.”

“I’m not gonna put him above you.” She attempted to reassure me. “I was gonna tell you that he asked me to be his girlfriend. But clearly you don’t like him, so I don’t think it matters much.”

The tingly nausea returned. Tears sprung to my eyes again. I stopped walking abruptly. Miriam turned to face me. “What?” she asked.

“I don’t know!” I exclaimed through tears, which were starting to pour down my sunburnt cheeks. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m acting like this.” I sat down on the curb, taking a similar position to the one I did the day of the lemonade stand.

Miriam sat down next to me. “I’m not gonna leave you, Lili.” She was the only one who called me that. “It’s just… I’m allowed to have a best friend and a boyfriend. I’m allowed to love people in a friend way and in a different way.”

“Why can’t I be both?” I burst. Miriam looked at me strangely.

“What does that mean?” she asked, a confused look on her face.

“I don’t…” I stuttered. “I didn’t mean it in a… I just mean why can’t you loving me as your best friend be enough? You’re enough for me.”

Miriam sat, staring at the road. Drops from the sky were beginning the stain the street, one every few seconds. “I don’t know why you’re always so weird about boys.”

“What do you mean, weird about boys?”

“Like,” she paused for a second. “Everyone else our age talks about boys. And I try to talk to you about boys sometimes, but you shut it down so fast. I didn’t tell you about Henry because I thought you would be weird about it. And clearly, I was right, so maybe I just shouldn’t have said anything.”

I sat there silently, considering her point. It was true, I didn’t like to talk about boys. I just didn’t care enough to give the subject much attention. “Sorry,” I laughed in a snarky tone. “I just don’t care about them that much.”

Miriam sat there for a minute, playing with her shoelaces. “Can I ask you something? And can you promise not to get mad?” I nodded. She gulped, then said—“Do you like boys? Like, at all?”

I glanced up at her. “What do you mean?” I responded. Although, I think I already knew.

“Like… I mean, my parents told me about, um, you know… boys who like boys and girls who like girls and stuff,” Miriam said. “I don’t know if your parents ever did. I know it’s not something people like them like to talk about, and-” “Are you asking if I’m a lesbian?” I cut her off. To be honest, I didn’t really know what a lesbian was.

I once had seen two girls kissing when my family took a trip to New York City and my mother grabbed my shoulders and turned me away swiftly. Every time a segment on the news featured streets full of rainbow flags protesting one thing or another, my father grabbed the remote and turned the televi-

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sion off as fast as he could. Miriam was right, my parents didn’t like to talk about these things. Any feelings I had around the topic were that being a lesbian or gay or anything like that was that bad and I shouldn’t do it, or else my parents might try to hide me away the way they hid all other gay people away from me.

“I guess,” Miriam finally replied. “It’s just… you know, my parents talked to me about it. My dad has a gay cousin, so I guess they thought I should know. They don’t really care about that kind of stuff. But once they asked me if I liked you, like in a crush way, just because we spend so much time together.

And I said no, I like boys. And then my mom asked if you liked me, and I said no but…” she trailed off.

“Do you? In a crush way?”

I didn’t know what to say. The betrayal I felt from Miriam’s mother, who practically was my second mother, was unbearable. Why would she assume that? Why would anyone? I didn’t know if there was any truth to what she had said. I guess I hadn’t really thought about it before then because no one had ever given me a reason to. I started to think about the times my mother had told me what love feels like. She always said it was a feeling of wanting to be with the person all the time, and having the person feel like home to you. Wanting to protect them and wanting them to protect you. Always wanting the best for the person you loved. I mentally checked off all those boxes for the way I felt about Miriam. But my feelings still made no sense to me.

“I don’t think I know.” I finally answered, a silent tear slipping out of my puffy eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to tell me the truth.” Miriam quickly replied.

“Well, I don’t know the truth.” I snapped back at her. “You just asked me if I was a lesbian, and if I was in love with you. I barely even know what a lesbian is. Why is your mom even asking you that?”

“It’s not in a bad way,” Miriam responded. “She just didn’t know. And I don’t care if you’re a lesbian.”

“Well, do you care if I like you?” I cried back, utterly confused by this conversation.

“I mean, I- I don’t feel that way about you.” Miriam looked down and played with her shoelaces once again. “So, it would be kind of weird, I guess, yeah.”

My brain swirled again, but it was almost too hot to think, and the rain was beginning to come down harder. It had somehow never occurred to me before this moment that my feelings towards Miriam might be something more than friendship. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do about that. It had been made very clear to me by everyone around me that this would be a bad thing. An evil thing.

Maybe even a thing that would send me to hell. I couldn’t handle all of that at once. I always wanted Miriam close to me. But in that moment, I felt the sudden urge to be alone.

“Can you leave?” I asked her quietly without looking up.

“I wanna talk more.” She replied.

“It’s starting to rain,” I responded. “I think you should go.”

She picked herself up off the pavement and wiped dirt off her shorts. “Okay, well, goodbye Lili. Tell me when you’re ready to talk again.”

I didn’t respond. She walked away, the rain beginning to wet her hair and make it even darker than its already jet-black tone. I shoved my head between my knees and watched as the rain painted the street with little dots until it covered the charcoal in its entirety. My shirt was soaked. I could get sick.

I did not care.

I had a lot to think about.

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38

Wasting Away in Margaritaville A White Family’s Paradise // By Kate Miller, Staff Writer // Art by Julia Young

I

want you to imagine something: You’re in an airport after a beach vacation. You are sunburnt, tired and somehow relaxed, but reluctant to go back to the real world.

It took you two hours to get through security because, despite the insistent yelling of the security guards, thirteen people didn’t know they had to take their shoes off. While multiple kids, all under the age of six, are throwing temper tantrums while their parents just stand there.

we sat there listening to “Margaritaville” (on repeat) and watching a lovely little video of white people in Hawaiian shirts and parrot hats tailgating before a Jimmy Buffet Concert circa 2003.

Here is a list of things I think have been said by those white people: - “Let’s rock and roll” or “Let’s blow this popsicle stand” when it’s time to leave - “What’s the damage?” when looking at the bill at a restaurant - When the waitress asks if they enjoyed their food say ing “No, we hated it.”

- “Get these away from me” or “These are dangerous” when eating a snack - “Must be free then” when an

You watch someone put their backpack in a tray and then WALK AWAY before it gets to the conveyor belt.

The bag is still on the belt rollers that are not motorized. They won’t move by themselves. Sir, you have to push your bag. Push. Your. Bag. Then another woman is asking if she should take her three-year-olds Ipad out of the bag, and the TSA officer just stares at her in disbelief.

Ma’am, what have they all been yelling for the past two hours we have been standing in line? All electronics larger than a phone must be put in a separate tray!

There should be a separate line for people who apparently forget how to go through security every time they come to the airport.

Take your shoes off. JUST TAKE YOUR SHOES OFF. Okay, you made it through security only to find out your flight is delayed two hours. What airport restaurant does your family choose in order to end the vacation with a bang?

A white family’s paradise…

Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville…

Where some people are hungover beyond their wildest nightmares, while others are trying to get as drunk as possible before they board the plane home.

item doesn’t scan - “Printed those this morning” when a cashier checks the cash they used to pay - “Let’s play it by ear…” when there is no plan - “Working hard or hardly working?” when seeing som one at their job - “Fancy meeting you here” when they run into someone they just saw - “How do you like dem apples?” when they are winning at game night - “Just what the doctor ordered” when they relax on the beach - “Cold enough for ya?” when it’s freezing outside - “It’s raining cats and dogs” or “We sure needed that” when it rains And finally, my personal favorite. Directly from Jimmy Buffet himself: “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.”

White people love being told it's time to drink. If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere,” I’d be able to pay off my student loans.

Kate Miller is a second-year Integrated Marketing Communications major who likes their Margarita on the rim and salt in the glass. You can reach them at kmiller11@ithaca.edu

We had a two-hour wait till our plane started boarding. So,

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BREAKING NEWS:

Spring Breakers found with Trace amounts of Sunscreen and Hand Sanitizer in their System //

By Stephanie Tokasz, Staff Writer 3-20-22 A recent trend shows an increasing illness contracted by youth who have consumed trace amounts of sunscreen and hand sanitizer from sneaking alcohol into concerts.

The illness is sweeping across the nation following last week’s spring break for the majority of college students.

Beginning on Friday, March 11th, the popular boy band “Heart Sickness,” started their string of concerts across the U.S., and the performances came to an end after the boys reached their final destination in Los Angeles, CA on Friday, March 18th.

The concerts were extremely successful, pulling in over 20,000 attendees at each performance. The band performed the same set at each destination, but “Spring Break Banger” and “Girls Are Hot” drew the most attention due to their current rankings in the Top 100 Music List.

However, the media tabloids have now dubbed the band, “One Diarrhea” due to the number of illnesses that are still increasing since the boys have ended their concert string.

Just two days after the string of concerts began, over one hundred youths from the major cities where the performances occurred were admitted to the hospital. At first, the CDC assumed there was a new strain of COVID on the rise.

However, after hospitals began more closely monitoring patients’ symptoms and running tests, it didn’t take long for health professionals to realize there was a correlation between the concerts and the illness- that was not the result of a contagious disease.

With the help of Poison Control Centers, traces of sunscreen and hand sanitizer were found in the patients’ blood. After this realization, it didn’t take long for medical professionals to begin finding empty sunscreen and hand

sanitizer bottles at the concert venues as well as in the bags of hospitalized patients.

To add to this, parents across the nation also began to discover that the bottles in their liquor cabinet were filled with water.

They’re calling it the Youth Alcohol Sunscreen-Sanitizer Sickness, better known as YASSS. One patient, Jack-Jack James III, who attended a concert while on Spring Break from Florida State University, has been in the hospital for almost a week now. He claims that at first, he thought he had alcohol poisoning from “how wasted [he] gets every night dude.”

To add to this problem, he stated that he just wanted to meet girls at the concert, causing almost twenty more young females to also be in the hospital because of the hand sanitizer bottles full of vodka he gave them. As of today, over 50 2 oz. hand sanitizer bottles have been found in his possession.

However, Jack-Jack also claims that he “would do it again.”

As a result of youths like Jack-Jack, many concert venues have enacted new laws for upcoming concerts this summer. For example, one venue in Dallas, Texas, is now limiting attendees to bringing 1 bottle of sunscreen or hand sanitizer into future concerts, but they must first be inspected by security.

Another venue in New York City vows to turn away attendees at the gate if they attempt to bring in even one bottle of sunscreen or hand sanitizer.

The manager of “One Diarrhea” stated in a recent interview, “I get more ashamed of these fans every day.”

Stephanie Tokasz is a second-year film, photography and visual arts major who prefers their sunscreen on the rocks. You can reach them at stokasz@ithaca.edu

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In Search of Sea Monsters How One Jackass Ruined My Vacation // By Andrew Donnelly, Staff Writer // Art by Julia Young

CABO SAN LUCAS, MEXICO: I anticipated my visit to Cabo to consist of my toes in the water and ass in the sand, not a worry in the world, cold beer in my hand. However, the higher-ups at Buzzsaw Magazine have a very different idea of what a vacation is. Apparently, there was a new tourist attraction that had sprung up, one that was quickly gaining attention from media outlets: not a whale watching tour, but a monster watching tour. I know, you must be thinking that’s ridiculous. Insane, even. I thought the same, but I decided to ignore my doubts and go for it anyway. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?

I found the answer to my stupid rhetorical question standing at the end of a half-rotten pier, breathing in the stench of diesel fuel and dead fish. In the green waters all around me, the half-sunken husks of old pontoon boats laid in eternal rest. After about forty minutes of waiting, I figured I had been scammed. It was in my moment of doubt when I heard something that can only be compared to a lawnmower being kicked repeatedly by an ostrich. Out on the horizon, a boat chugged into view. Calling it a boat may be a bit generous, in hindsight. What may have once been a canoe with a motorcycle engine duct taped to it lurched its way to the dock. Having come to a full stop, a man proudly wearing a grease-stained Hawaiian shirt and a bass pro shop hat stepped onto the dock.

The Ahab of this story was a man named Carl. I introduced myself and told him why I was there, to which he responded by saying “never heard of a chainsaw magazine”.

Honestly, fair enough. Carl proceeded to help me onto the boat, and before I could take my seat, he revved the engine, and we were off with alarming speed. I was launched on my back, the salty water of the Pacific spraying over me. Once I regained my composure, Carl wasted no time in offering me what appeared to be… dip. Out of a Ziploc bag, to paint an accurate portrait of the event. Carl always kept it classy.

Carl’s latest business endeavor was not his first venture involving monsters of the deep. It began when he was a young man growing up in Mississippi, he informed me, completely unprompted. He told all of his friends that he spotted the Loch Ness monster in the pond down the street. Being the entrepreneur he was, he charged five

bucks a head to see the elusive beast. When someone with a lick of common sense came across this, they told the crowd of would-be suckers that the Loch Ness monster was exclusive to Loch Ness. The one in Scotland, to those of you reading this at home. This little roadblock did not stop Carl for long. Shortly after, he pulled himself up by the bootstraps and tried again. He would continue this pattern for years. One kraken-themed food truck, a Cthulhu line of candles, and a Leviathan-inspired Christmas album later, and Carl eventually found himself in Mexico, giving tours to spring breakers who had nothing better to do on a Wednesday afternoon.

The boat ride was agony. For four hours, we rocked back and forth, any swell or wave could mean the destruction of our floating jalopy. Carl, try as he might, did not make the trip go any smoother. When asking me if I liked “listening to tunes”, he began singing “Mama Roux” by Dr. John. Loudly. Or at least, the parts of the song that he remembered. After some time, his voice faded out, right as I began succumbing to heatstroke. Right as I began to question if seawater was really that bad, the boat came to a very sudden stop. Without a word, he pointed out to the water. The sun had set at this point, so it was hard to make out exactly what I was looking at. But there was certainly a shape in the water. For a moment, doubt took control of my mind. Was this maniac hillbilly onto something here?

Had he truly found some new species off the coast of Mexico?

My questions were answered as soon as the “creature” came into view. Carl’s monster was but a porpoise with a flamingo pool tube resting gently on its head.

Collapsing back into the boat, I asked Carl to turn around and take us back. He laughed, revealing a hidden flare gun. Shooting it into the air, he informed me that he did not actually know how to navigate the ocean at night.

Instead, his plan was to sit tight and wait for the Mexican coast guard to come pick us up, whenever they got around to it. As the sun disappeared and the porpoise swam off, I truly wondered how that old man didn’t drown himself in the sea.

Andrew Donnelly is a second-year theater studies major who cannot wait for their trip to Antarctica to meet the Yeti.

You can reach them at adonnelly@ithaca.edu

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Spring Breakers Retrospective Spring Break Forever…// By Connor Stanford, Staff Writer

I watched Spring Breakers in preparation for spring break.

Nothing prepared me for the significant life changes it would cause. It has broken me. I was fine until twenty-one minutes and three seconds, and my existence was changed on a molecular level. Alien as portrayed by James Franco in the 2012 film Spring Breakers haunts my nightmares.

Alien as portrayed by James Franco in the 2012 film Spring Breakers tortures me every waking moment.

All I can think about is how he looks. Why does he have a gold grill on his teeth? Why does he have the world’s most greasy appropriative dreadlocks? He has a marijuana leaf tattooed on his hand. Even when he wears sunglasses it somehow makes his twisted visage worse. The bedroom walls are plywood with a space-age headboard. There are guns and nunchaku hung on the walls everywhere. The wheel-wells are reflective dollar signs. The vanity plate reads: “BALLR.” It makes no sense. This character makes no sense. Alien as portrayed by James Franco in the 2012 film Spring Breakers, MAKES NO SENSE. How old is this character supposed to be? Is he young but looks old because he doesn’t take care of himself?

Old but look young because his mental development and perception of reality are entirely skewed? Does he exist outside of the modern conception of linear time?

I can only think of Alien as portrayed by James Franco in the 2012 film Spring Breakers when I think about this film.

I do not think of Selena Gomez as the girl who goes home first or Rachel Korine as the second girl who goes home. I don’t think about the fact that Gucci Mane is in this movie. I do not think of Vanessa Hudgens who plays the girl played by Vanessa Hudgens, or Ashley Benson who plays the other girl who is not Vanessa Hudgens.

There is a scene in this film where Alien as portrayed by James Franco in the 2012 film Spring Breakers is forced to perform fellatio on a gun because he is being threatened by Vanessa Hudgens and the girl who is not Vanessa Hudgens. Why do I have to see James Franco perform oral sex on a gun barrel? Why is that something in this timeline that exists? Why did I have to see it? Why didn’t I stop the movie right there?

There is a pivotal sequence in which Alien as portrayed

by James Franco in the 2012 film Spring Breakers performs a horrible cover of Britney Spear’s “Everytime” to a trio of girls in pink ski masks with assault rifles. This cover is performed on a white piano very close to a pool and near the ocean before becoming a montage of violence and

extortion…TO A BRITNEY SONG. Asmodeus himself possessed James Franco in the filming of this movie. The energy of this rapper named Alien is like the photonegative of the “my main goal is to blow up and pretend I don’t know nobody” guy from Vine. If James Franco himself told me that every time the camera would begin rolling that he lost control of his body by some extraterrestrial-party-parasite that pushed his consciousness into the recesses of his psyche, I would believe him. There is pure evil behind those eyes. His essence oozes into your pores. And into your brain. Alien as portrayed by James Franco in the 2012 film Spring Breakers terrifies me. James Franco has been abducted and replaced by an alien.

His first lines are “Y’all just got transported, I don’t know if you all know that, but we’re in a magic place y’all.” And little did I know he’d do just that. He has elevated me to a different planar dimension. Even as his character dies in the film, the xenomorph inside lives on. This is eldritch horror. The transmissions from space are interfering with my brain waves.

Whenever I close my eyes, I see him. There he is. There he is. There he is. The tinfoil hat doesn’t help at all.

I hear his half-southern drawl whisper… “s p r i n g b r e a k f o r e v e r ” like a demon sent for my soul. I hear “s p r i n g b r e a k” in my ear as uttered by Alien as portrayed by James Franco in the 2012 film Spring Breakers and jolt awake in a cold sweat. The drips in the shower become a dissonant round of “s p r i n g b r e a k.” I can’t focus in class because every thought is interrupted by “s p r i n g b r e a k.” Every word that is said out of earshot is “s p r i n g b r e a k.”

I look up into the sky full of stars and whisper, “s p r i n g b r e a k,” as the elliptical silver spacecraft emblazoned with a dollar sign descends. The muffled sound of Skrillex's “Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites” blares into the night with LED disco lights. Suddenly I am engulfed in a column of green light. This I leave as my last message to the planet Earth before I go on my final vacation: ............. ..........s p r i n g b r e a k…….……s p r i n g b r e a k….…..s p r i n g b r e a k f o r e v e r :) Connor Stanford is a first-year theatre studies major who spent their spring break in a James-Franco induced haze. You can reach them at cstanford@ithaca.edu

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BUZZSAW ASKS WHY... my parents are so resistant to my spring break plans?

I

think I am an easy child. I get good grades, work hard, and sustain myself. I haven’t totaled a car or landed myself in a hospital from eating too much ramen.

So why can’t I have a Keg in the living room?

I could have gone to the beach for spring break, soaked up the sun and the surf and sipped daiquiris while breathing the salty air. I could have gone swimming and clubbing and live wild and free like a college kid is supposed to. Yet I chose to go home at the behest of my mother who ‘missed me’ and ‘needed help cleaning the basement.’

I figured I could make it the best of both worlds. I would set up a beach chair next to the couch, throw some sand under the dining room table, and blend myself up some smoothies in the kitchen. I would soak up the natural rays from my great-grandmother’s heirloom lamp, and take a dip in the same bathtub we wash my dog in.

I got away with it at first. I would be on island time during the day and play the dutiful daughter when my parents got home from work. My Dad would make a comment about how the house smelled like sun bum, my Mom would wonder how sand got into the carpet and I would gaslight the way only a film major can. Sand in the house? That doesn’t make any sense. Your brains must be disintegrating, you decrepit elderlies.

On the last day of break I was exhausted from the rave and ready to call it quits, but not before I completed my master work.

I was going to pull off the classiest solo keg stand my town has ever seen. I put on my Sunday best, a coconut bra, and a helmet (I'm not an animal.) I raised myself above the spout, prepared mentally for the fame that was inevitably going to consume my life post-stand. And just as I was about to go in for the kill, my mother walked in.

‘Appalling, disgusting, strange…’ were some of the words my parents used to describe my actions. If I had my say it would have been: ‘heroic, inspirational, revolutionary’ but whatever that’s not my call.

Now I am grounded.

No surf or sand or warm beer in the living room. My parents even lied to my school and said I have covid so I can serve out the rest of my punishment at home. I am a prisoner of a crime of passion, a martyr akin to Jesus of Nazareth.

I am a good kid. I promise. I will be a better kid since the incident, but that doesn’t mean I won’t occasionally remember my moment of glory, the rush of freedom and the wind in my hair as I approached the shores of Valhalla.

Until Next Spring, Sarah Borsari

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