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

Iwant you to imagine something: You’re in an airport after a beach vacation. You are sunwe sat there listening to “Margaritaville” (on repeat) and watching a lovely little video of white people in Hawaiian burnt, 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. 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? 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 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.”

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. 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

Spring Breakers found with Trace amounts of Sunscreen and Hand Sanitizer in their System // By Stephanie Tokasz, Staff Writer

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

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

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

Ithink 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