Hangover

We jumped in Lake Michigan during the winter so you don’t have to.

BY SAM HART

I come from a latitude on this planet where I used to regularly experience temperatures in the 60s in the month of January. And ever since I embarked on this arctic expedition some would call my undergraduate career, Lake Michigan in the wintertime has only been a beautiful but distant mass of icy gray visible from one of those pod chairs in Norbucks comfortably close to the fireplace.

But for some, it’s so much more. Every year I would hear about dozens of thrill-seeking adventurers plunging themselves into the lake, whether for a cause or just to say they had. I was intrigued but half-convinced my fragile Southern belle heart would immediately stop beating upon impact if I were to try it myself.

But as the years went on, for every time anyone from home would ask why I would elect to attend a university they had never heard of (sigh) in the distant tundra, for every time I would grit my teeth and say, “it’s really not that bad if you have the right gear,” I felt a vacuum I needed to fill. The Chicago winter couldn’t purely be something I tolerated; I had to truly conquer it. I had to plunge into Lake Michigan myself. NBN agreed. How bad could it be? The anticipation really hit hours before the plunge was to take place. I started googling how to best do a polar plunge effectively to learn best practices before throwing myself out into the unforgiving, icy waters. I found myself glossing past words like “heart attack” and “temporarily paralyzed.” (Turns out, these things only really happen if you have preexisting medical conditions.)

“You read in the press that people died of hypothermia in three or four minutes, but that’s just not the case,” an ABC News slideshow article read, quoting University of Portsmouth physiology professor Michael Tipton. Good, I thought. An expert saying you can’t die from this. “People dying in three or four minutes are dying of their cold shock response. They’re unable to control their breathing, aspirated water and drowned.” Oh. Flash forward an hour, and I’m standing on the shore of the lake with two photographers, and a cohort of editors on South Beach. They all assure me that this is what I put into it. Go as fast or as slow as I want; just make sure I feel safe.

After I strip down to a tank and a pair of floral print swim trunks, I’ve garnered the attention of several passersby. I take off my socks, and the sand feels frigid underneath my toes. It’s time to go in.

The first few steps into the water were surprisingly tranquil. I waded a few feet into the water, dodging large clods of fragmented ice. The water itself wasn’t so bad, but I did at times feel small shards of ice nipping at my lower shins and feet.

I ran as fast as possible through the shallow water, kind of like Baywatch but dozens of degrees colder and no babes in sight. I was feeling good: could barely feel the water around me. I turned to face my supporters on the shore. They were yelling things at me but I couldn’t hear them over the water and my own heart pounding viciously. They looked incredibly far away. I picked up a chunk of ice about twice the size of my face and threw it as far as I could. I had conquered Lake Michigan.

I began wading back, but when I arrived at the sand, the tune had changed. These same people who had been questioning me minutes before, who had convinced themselves I was going to die were now unsatisfied.

“You looked unfazed.” “Your reaction wasn’t good enough.” “You have to go back in and get your torso wet.”

I had to do this right. I took a quick look at my feet to make sure all of my toes were intact and resolved to venture back out into the water. Wanting to ensure I got my torso wet without getting dangerously too far out, I dipped as low as I possibly could. It immediately felt as though my lungs shrunk to half their original size and someone had wrapped 17 girdles around my chest. I quickly turned myself around and hobbled back to shore.

I only truly understood what I had put my body through upon stepping back onto the sand (also of note, a couple who had been filming me before was still there and continued to take pictures for an uncomfortably long time as I put on my clothes). As I pulled my pant leg up, I lost my balance and realized I could not feel my feet. This made putting on shoes difficult as well, a problem I solved by stuffing my foot inside my sock haphazardly and my socked foot into my boot. Handling my lower extremities felt like wrapping raw meat in butcher paper.

It also took someone else to notice that there was a small stream of blood running down my leg. What was either a particularly sharp piece of ice or a freshwater sea monster had given me a battle wound (which later stopped bleeding pretty easily, and Mom, I washed and disinfected it and everything like you taught me to).

To the couple taking pictures of me putting my clothes back on, to my dear fellow editors and photographers, and honestly to many reading this, I’m just another weirdo who plunged into frigid water for no reason. But to myself, I conquered Lake Michigan, and doing so accomplished as much in the way of closure as completing my final credits to graduate will.

For those of you with friends who just got back from abroad, you’ve probably discovered that we either won’t shut up about it, or won’t talk about what you really want to know (the sex). It therefore seems only appropriate that we abroad-alums now leave you with some CTECs to help guide you through the world of European hook ups and ungodly amounts of beautiful men you’re sure to discover.

BY HARRISON SIMONS

Please summarize your reaction to this hookup focusing on the aspects that were most important to you.

It was just a normal Tuesday afternoon. I was in class but the movie we were watching was hella boring, so I left to use the bathroom. Fast forward fi ve minutes, I’m standing at my urinal and this old dude a couple urinals down is staring at me. I’m like huh that’s weird, maybe it’s a Spanish thing. Turns out no, he just wanted some D. We somehow ended up in his office and fast forward 15 more minutes: I’m back in class, watching the same boring movie. Remember to always be on your guard, you never know when or where you’ll spot your next hunk.

What are the sexual strengths of the partner(s)?

He was kind of old… He was like, VERY into me, so the ego boost was a positive. He was also a professor, so that probably means he’s smart.

What are the primary weaknesses, if any, of the partner?

He was a little too old. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about this new daddy fad, but when you’re pushing 50, it all starts to feel a little too geriatric. Try and do a little research before you go boy hunting to make sure you’re hitting areas where you’ll fi nd the type of men you prefer, whatever that may be.

I’m at the modern art museum in Paris, right? I go down to the basement to use the bathroom, and as I’m washing my hands this guy walks in. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, tight bod — he looks good. We make eye contact in the mirror but it’s not normal eye contact, it’s way more intense than that (“gay eye contact”, I like to call it). He walks into a stall and right before he closes the door he gives me a little eyebrow raise. So I’m like, do I do it? I was feeling ~reckless~ so I walked over and lo and behold, the stall isn’t locked. I crack the door and this dude literally beckons me into his stall. We do the dirty; I washed my hands and went to get some falafel. If you’re not the relationship type, this is the sort of encounter you should be looking for.

What are the sexual strengths of the partner(s)?

Aggressive! But also sly. He was like a mystery man. Oh it was also nice to meet someone somewhere other than online. There’s something about that organic, in-person connection that’s so refreshing, even when it happens in a museum bathroom.

What are the primary weaknesses, if any, of the partner?

He was great. It was more the surroundings that got to me. An essentially public bathroom stall is never my fi rst choice for sexual encounters, especially of the anonymous kind. Also, we forgot to lock the door, and another poor man was forced to catch a glimpse of what I’m sure was not a pretty sight.

30-hour DM alternatives.

BY MALLOY MOSELEY

So the fi nal fundraising deadline is here and you have nothing to show for your efforts—what will you tell your donors who expect a great feat of human will out of you in exchange for their donation to a good cause? Have no fear! You can still give that money to a good cause and organize your own 30-hour demonstration to pass the time. Here are some NBN-approved alternatives tives to Dance Marathon.

Reading week is coming up, then finals week, but this is Northwestern, and let’s be real, you probably haven’t slept well since week two. To show your commitment to personal wellness, sleep for 30 hours straight. Like Dance Marathon, suggested training includes abstaining from caffeine and alcohol for at least a week, but there will be no struggling to keep your eyes open here. For those worried that this is too passive a choice to act upon for 30 hours, keep in mind how diffi cult it will be to keep your roommate from turning the lights on for over a day! Start practicing now by passive-aggressively sleepgrunting whenever she gets up earlier than you for a class.

Shots, shots, shots, shots, shots!—ha ha, just kidding. Take the 30 hours to finally jump on the bandwagon and start fermenting your own kombucha tea. With the powerful combination of antioxidants, vitamins and natural hydration, your body will feel like you’ve been dancing for 30 hours even if you’ve only been watching a glass of tea slowly ferment. The key to this marathon is to never take your eyes off of the glass! Can you say, “Staring contest?”

Given how busy NU schedules can be, when else are you going to perfect 30 different ways to cook an egg? This doesn’t just have to cover the egg itself—think of Block 8 as a great time to concoct different types of hollandaise and toppings for the perfect Benedict. Long time egg marathoners will recall the fun surprise at the end of Block 4 when the sun rises—egg drop! Who doesn’t love a shower with eggs? Rumor has it the yolks will make your hair shiny and the whites are full of lean protein that will make you glad you gave back.

For this 30-hour marathon, only two things are required: First, you must be willing to repeatedly walk under a wooden pole that continually gets lower, and second, you must constantly contemplate the wrong-doings in your life which may contribute to placement in limbo should the judgement day arrive. Think of this as a good time to do some personal reckoning and to practice a party trick that will make you the star of Caribbean nights for years to come!

From Shakespearian sonnets to Ray J’s “Sexy Can I?,” humans throughout history have spent their lives trying to describe the complex emotion of Love. So what happens when we ask a bunch of romantically-frustrated NU students to describe it in three words?

BY MADISON SHIREY

“Pepperoni sausage pizza” — Mollye Lent

“Inexplicable, fulfilling, unreasonable” — Garrett Matdusa

“That shit sucks” — Moriah Richardson

“Reliance, affection, attachment” —Sophia Krevans

“Kendall Nicole Jenner” — Martin Oppegaard

Bring this card with you into the tent to make the wait for the bathroom a little more tolerable.

BY MALLOY MOSELEY

Someone makes a pet out of one of the balloons they release at dawn.

Someone holds up the line for the bathroom because they’re crying.

Someone falls asleep during the performances during breakfast or dinner.

Someone compares the weather outside to inside the tent.

Someone gets way too into one of the games during a block.

Someone streaks during the dawn run.

The emcees make a joke about their matching outfits, as if it were an accident.

Someone is dressed for the wrong block.

Someone falls asleep during their foot massage.

Someone loses their shoes in the moshpit.

Someone tries to make a run for it and actually makes it out undetected.

Someone mentions how many times they have played the track currently playing.

Someone is visibly asleep standing up AKA.

One of the 120- hour seniors awkwardly tries to bond with freshmen.

Someone’s phone runs out of battery.

Someone wets themself waiting in line for the bathroom.

Someone comes up with their own choreography for the 30-hour dance.

FREE SPACESomeone complains about not being allowed to sit during lunch.

Someone tries to hook up with someone.

Someone is nicely told to stop standing by the water bottle refill station.

Someone makes a new best friend whom they will never see again outside the tent.

Someone asks you to take a photo of them for any form of social media.

Someone manages to destroy an article of their clothing.

Someone live snapchats the entire event or makes comment of how this is longer than their snap story.

Someone chases after Justin Barbin in pursuit of a new profile picture.