A Letter from the Editor: Funniest of Times, Saddest of Times
Dear John readers,
Singer-songwriter Gillian Welch opens her song “Hard Times” with the story of an aging farmer, “a camp town man [who] used to plow and sing/ who loved his mule, and the mule loved him.”
But with the weariness of time, “the camp town man, he doesn’t plow no more,” Welch writes. “Guess he lost that knack and he forgot that song.”
Across campus the past month, students have described this overwhelming feeling of weariness. During our classes, in our dining halls, at our parties — even the groundhogs have gone quiet. In the face of a bleak future, it can feel like we’ve lost the knack for song.
During our semester of work for The John Wesley Methodist Charter, Wesleyan’s humor magazine — the product of which you’re holding now — we have Instagram-headlined, and copy-editid, and asbestos-abated. In the realest of ways, we have sought to bring laughter to languish, poignancy to the political. We submit to you our collection of humor and gratitude as a fight against weariness.
12 contributors have filled this issue (one of whom we’ll push off a cliff The Secret History style), and four of them appear in The John’s ink for the first time here. This magazine has profoundly misguided movie reviews, parodies and poems, foreign correspondents stuck in the wrong century, and alums stuck in Miami. If you’re interested in joining the team, you can always email (and he will always respond) trlyons@wesleyan.edu.
Sing with us,
Thomas Lyons Editor-in-Chief
Freshmen Friend Group Reaches Senior Year Peace Agreement
NEW YORK, NY - Today, after two and a half years of stalemate, the United Nations reports that the conflict between a formerly feuding freshmen friend group has finally been laid to rest.
“Of course, we are glad to see this conflict resolved,” said Asif Khan, Director of Policy and Mediation at the UN Department for Peacekeeping and Political Affairs. “Tony and Mac’s dynamic has been throwing off the vibes for a while now.
As roommates in Bennett, Mac Bernstein and Tony Resnik initially grew close from a shared love of the band Wednesday and being a little weird to women. Alongside a cast of hallway acquaintances and WestCo defectors, they quickly formed a historically significant mega-freshmen group. By sophomore year, however, cracks began to show. Both sides reported a tense Fall Break trip to Resnik’s Boston home, ending in two different group chats, a weird DM side thing, and a blowout housing conversation. There was no communication throughout junior year, much to the distress of their last remaining mutual friend, Sarah Cassidy. “I had to have two separate birthday dinners,” recalled Cassidy. “Like, Jesus, get over yourselves.”
It appears that the approach of graduation has softened all parties’ hearts. A recent piece out of AP News reports that Bernstein and Resnik were seen “at the same function and it was, like, fine. A little awkward but they were chilling. I think they said hi.”
Bernstein could not be reached for comment at this time. A spokesperson for Resnik and his Fauver buddies declared on Sunday that “it’s all love”. “Oh also,” the spokesperson added, “We’re throwing this weekend. Tell whoever.”
– Liv Rubenstein, Social Politics Correspondent
Horoscopes For our Favorite Signs
Aries: Watch your back. Someone is planning your immediate destruction. Trust no one—except the astrologers (we only want what’s best for you –you can trust us). But yeah, don’t trust anyone else. Especially family.
Leo: Boy oh boy, you’re gonna have a great day! 10 stars out of 5 kind of day! Just be grateful—this ain’t gonna last. After today, man, are you in for a nasty surprise. But savor it for the moment!
Scorpio: You get a bad rep. And sometimes it’s deserved—like now. Today you will double cross someone (as you should, it’s really in your best interests). What you have been suspecting is correct. Aries is out to get you. So sneak up behind them when the time is right and strike fast.
Virgo: Sorry, buddy, I hate to break it to you, but there’s really no other way to say this… Ugh! It pains me to do this to you. You’re really my favorite sign. Oh, well. It has to be said. I can’t put it off any longer… Here I go… [deep breath]… [See next week’s edition]
Libra: You guessed it! Today everyone is judging your outfit (why did you wear those jeans?) and all your friends don’t like you and the person you like hates you and your professors don’t respect you as a student. You’re not overthinking this, don’t worry. People might tell you you’re overthinking this, because you’re prone to overthinking, but you’re not. It’s all true, you’re not crazy. Would we, the stars, lie to you? No. So just believe us and have a great day, you sack of absolute shit!
Cancer: 2 star day. That’s all.
- Charlotte Schatz
Reviewing “Summer Blockbusters,” But I’ve Only Seen Wesleyan Student Films
This past summer, I needed to hold myself over until the spring semester when I could go back to watching REAL movies. I am, of course, referring to the Film Department’s Senior Thesis Screenings, which were, until this summer, all I’d ever seen of the movie medium. Which is to say I had a high bar of expectations. I went to a movie theater where I had actually to PAY for movies not made in Middletown, Connecticut. It was a confusing and upsetting experience that I repeated several times. I will now review the movies I watched in close detail to educate my peers who probably haven’t heard of most of these lesser-known media.
Dune: Part 2
The most alarming problem I had with Dune: Part 2 was it was two hours too long, as were all the other films from this cinema season. Second off, what professor allowed a student to make TWO films? Was Dune: Part 1 made by someone the year above? Either way, I think this shows a lack of creativity and is stealing (which is wrong and violates University policy). My even biggest problem with Dune: Part 2, though, was that I didn’t recognize any of my friends on screen. How can I enjoy a movie if I’m not able to make lunch plans with the actors? They must go to Vassar. Anyone from The Crooner would have made a better Paul Atreides than that random boy they had on the big screen. The boy’s acting was bad because when the character was sad, he just looked grumpy instead of crying, which made me confused.
Twisters:
I thought Dune’s so-called Part 2 would be the lowest of the low, but Twisters got lower. I also didn’t recognize any of the film locations, so it was hard for me to judge the spatial proximity to Summies. Also, while I didn’t like them for being vague, at least the second part of Dune HAD dream sequences (a sequence is like a scene but with more frames). Instead, Twisters was all in real life and had no protagonist (male character) dreams, which made it hard for me to understand the character’s fears and feelings. I think the movie missed out on a lot by not having any black-void dreams where the character sees a twister wearing a mask of their own face. Also, a side note: I think it was really irresponsible of the students to film in active twisters. I guess Vassar can’t afford a wind machine.
Challengers:
This movie became promising for me when I found out that it was about white college students. Representation is important. However, seeing something so beloved and familiar as teenage drama and college but through the lens of a camera that even my father couldn’t buy me was harrowing. I was excited to see a classic dance sequence, for instance, but it had so many more shots (different frames) and characters than felt natural for a movie. How did all those extras find time in their gcal? It was both familiar and unnatural. Dune: Part 2 and Twisters only had subjects completely foreign to Wesleyan cinema, mainly alien planets and Southerners, so the production differences weren’t as unnerving, but Challengers is real and topical to me and my time at a D3 college. Despite this, things quickly became confusing and unrelatable again when the challengers left college. When they left college, it was hard for me to relate to them and scared me about my future. What if I don’t get a job at Hollywood right out of Wesleyan? Can I still come back to watch the senior thesis screenings? These were concerning questions to me that Challengers failed to answer and I left the multiplexema more yearning than ever for the sweet, sweet relief of Quack On’s Insta page.
Signed, Earl Johnson
Earl Johnson is an editor and reporter for The John and holds an interest in declaring the film major.
- John Earling
Piano Man: Bar Night Edition
By Roman Zelman and Eva Gamboa
TIt’s 9 o’clock on a Thursday, And the college kids are making a scene: There’s a young man sitting next to me, And I think that he may be nineteen.
He says, “Dude, can you play me a banger? I know that it’s all filled with slurs, But it’s lit and a bop, and it’s by ASAP Rock, And I swear I won’t sing the N-word.”
Oh, la, la-la, di-dee-da La-la, di-dee-da, da-dum
Sing us a song, you’re the piano man
Sing us a song at bar night
Well, we’re not in the mood for piano Honestly, we’re just being polite
Now Steve at the bar is a friend of mine, He gives baddies drinks for free. And he’s quick with the beers, bringing athletes to tears,
But there’s someplace that he’d rather be.
He says, “Bro, I believe this is killing me.”
As he took a big hit from his vape.
“Well, I’m sure I could get out of Middletown, If I could only get hired by Bape.”
Oh, la, la-la, di-dee-da La-la, di-dee-da, da-dum
Now Jack is a Humanities Major, Who doesn’t have time for a life,
And he’s talking to Eli, who studies CompSci And probably won’t find a wife.
And the bi girl is talking to a straight guy, And the senior’s hitting on frosh.
Yes, they’re sharing a blunt rolled by Tony, But it’s safer than joining the mosh.
Sing us a song, you’re the piano man
Sing us a song at bar night
Well, we’re not in the mood for piano Honestly, we’re just being polite
It’s a pretty good crowd cause it’s Thursday, And the bouncer just gave me a sneer, Cuz he knows that it’s me
No one’s coming to see, And I have to be here all year.
And the piano sounds incoherent, And the mic’s in the hands of a queer, And they dance on the floor and make out some more,
And say, “Dude get the fuck out of here!”
Oh, la, la-la, di-dee-da La-la, di-dee-da, da-dum
Sing us a song, you’re the piano man
Sing us a song at bar night
Well, we’re not in the mood for piano Honestly, we’re just being polite
A Letter from Abroad
My dearest Wesleyan friends,
I write you this letter from the far-off continent of Europa - Europe it has become colloquially known in recent years. It is a strange continent indeed, stranger even than the journals had suggested! Upon landing in the airport (where I was able to enjoy a flush toilet for what I suppose will be the last time in a period), I was immediately struck by a stench that I now know well - a bitter fog originating from the tobacco sticks these Europines like to puff with abandon. Peering above the stink, I was greeted with the visage of the city I was entering - a flat landscape of centuries-old buildings that looked to be made of some kind of stone. Glass and metal, those stalwarts of modernity, were nowhere in sight. All an apt introduction to this exotic corner of the map. “Welcome to the old world, leave civility at the door.”
I trek the continent with a group of 20 other Americans (and thank god for their company!) led by our native guide, a member of the Frinch named “Bon-Yor”. Bon-Yor is a fine specimen as far as they go, ne’er at the hip with mournful green-brown eyes and thick brown hair shorn slightly by the ears (a ‘fade”?), a style they tend to sport. We find his guttural yammering quite amusing - truly we could listen all day to the poor thing gargle away! Fortunately, one or two academics on the trip picked up some of the local language in University, allowing rudimentary communication - more than enough for us to get around. A trip to this continent, my friends, is more than worth it if just to hear Bon-Yor’s tongue!
The food here is strange - prehistoric meats mingle with brown sauces, potato tubers appear at every meal, and no food is eaten without an accompanying fermented liquid refreshment. Suppers are arduous, hours-long experiences. Lunches are longer still and end every time with crowds of spittle and beer-covered Europines staggering drunk in the streets. I miss the good, civilized foods of Connecticut more than I could tell you - what I wouldn’t do for a good casserole! I shouldn’t complain about a hamburger sandwich either.
Anyhow, I hope all is well at grand old Wesleyan. Still pulling delightful pranks on old boy Roth? Don’t have too much fun with me in absententia!
I would ask you to write back but I imagine the letter would be intercepted by some wretch and used as tobacco paper before I could read it, so don’t bother.
OREVWA, Your good pal Adam
- Adam Wilan
Joe Greenfield’s Post-Grad Report
If you are a loyal John reader, you may be familiar with the previous articles I have written. You may also know I have not written any this school year. This is not because I have perished (contrary to what the rumors will tell you), but because I graduated from Wesleyan University last spring and moved onto new horizons. However, like a graduate who appears at a party on Fountain, I come back to you now to update you on how things have been going for me since graduation.
Shortly after graduating, I moved with my sister to Miami, Florida. Miami is home to beautiful beaches, warm weather, social media influencers, numerous lizards, and questionable politics. It also has a very large Spanish-speaking population, which is a language I do not know. Clearly there was no better place for me to build my future. And as the rays from the hot tropical sun beam down on my pasty Jewish features, I can sense opportunity around every corner.
The first thing I decided to…the first thing I did…is…um…
…Oh, I can’t do this anymore! Take me back, please! I’m not ready for the real world! It’s so scary out here! I don’t know what to do with myself, I don’t have a schedule, there’s no difference between weekdays and weekends, there’s no breaks—there’s just life!
I haven’t seen any of my friends in ages. At school, you could just run into them around campus. I don’t even know anyone in this state! My girlfriend broke up with me because I wasn’t “emotionally available” and couldn’t “fully commit” (and live over 1,000 miles away), and now I only have cats to talk to. I’m so lonely all the time! And sexually frustrated!
I’m not ready for adult responsibilities. Did you know you have to make your own food? Well, you do. And you have to decide what you’re going to eat—and when. And when you’re going to exercise, and make appointments, and write emails, and pick up medication, and text friends that you want to stay in contact with but you don’t know how.
And don’t get me started on getting a job. I have a degree in theater for Christ’s sake; you think I could make it in a real job?! Turns out no one’s really interested in a 23-year-old punk with no real experience. And I’m 23 now—I’m ancient! Is it too late for me? Have I let my youth slip away? Will I ever accomplish my dreams? And what are my dreams, anyway? I’m not even sure. I’ve been working in a goddamn haunted house for the past month! You think this is what my parents wanted for me? You think this is what they paid my tuition for?!
So if I were to impart you kids with any advice, it would be this: Be thankful for what you have and who you have around you, and make sure you are prepared to hold onto it.
And also, text me from time to time, yeah? Just to check in?
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to being slowly consumed by an alligator.
- Joe Greenfield
Platitudes on Gratitude
As the season for giving approaches, I am constantly reminded of our hollow outlook on thankfulness. It can be difficult to remember to be grateful when the sun is setting at 5 P.M, when every news alert causes an existential crisis, and when I always get to Weshop after all of the meal sushi’s been taken.
Instead of broad statements on being thankful for friends and family and etcetera etcetera, why don’t we move beyond your fourth grade class’s Thanksgiving Day brainstorm? I’d rather hear about how much you love the closet space in your split-double inner room than about your vague admiration for “nature” while you toss compostables in the trash bin.
I asked students to give me some real things they’re grateful for, and it was pretty eye opening:
“The comfortable chairs by the windows at Olin.”
“My trust fund.”
“Boobs.”
“The John Wesley Methodist Charter Humor Magazine, which never fails to entertain me.”
“The yellow Gatorade at Usdan.”
“The nylon strings on my guitar because they improve ‘timbre’ blah blah blah.”
“Watching the really fat squirrels waddle away on Foss.”
You can list out all of those generic things that you think you should be grateful for, but they might not be giving you that warm gooey feeling because they don’t resonate with you the way that boobs do.
Tell me about how you’re grateful for your brother’s hand-me-downs that are finally trendy again. The one single-stall bathroom you always shit in, or that you can breathe out of both of your nostrils right now. I’ll be the first to admit that I find no reason to be grateful for cold showers or 8:50’s, but at least I can still say I’m grateful I get to complain about all that stuff. And that makes me glad…until I find another assignment to moan about.
- JoJo Treisman
Opinion Piece: Stop Brushing your Teeth in the Dorm Water Fountain, You Freaks
Pouring milk before cereal, biting into popsicles, sleeping on your back—all habits deemed shameful by respected members of society. However, one act has gone unpunished in residence halls across college campuses: brushing your teeth in the public water fountain.
What is wrong with you? Good, innocent people drink from that water fountain. They are certainly not deserving of your post-Wingstop mouth germs. There’s a bathroom two feet away, yet you still insist on cramming your face into what should be a sacred space, untainted by Crest toothpaste.
Everyone blames the so-called “Wes Plague” on shared cigarettes and bongs, but that’s the tip of the iceberg. The illness clearly stems from the copious amounts of saliva and Wesshop mouthwash spat into communal watering holes. I propose we set up cameras with facial recognition to catch these freaks so we can properly punish them.
I believe the only way to prevent further tainting of campus water fountains is to put the perpetrators in the stocks. They should be set up in a public place such as Foss Hill so that everyone who walks past them can point and laugh. Tomatoes will be provided in case those watching desire projectiles. The only other punishment that I think would be as effective is forcing them to wear shirts that read, “I’m a little freak who brushes my teeth in water fountains.”
I ask the student body to consider my words and keep a careful watch over water fountains. You never know who these monsters could be; they could even be your neighbors.
- Eva Gamboa
Your Least Funny Uncle Is Unimpressed By
This Article
It’s me, your least funny uncle, and whatever you’re going to write in this John article, I will probably find it only mildly amusing and will, at the next family gathering, heavily imply that I could’ve done better.
I’ve been submitting to the New Yorker caption contest since before you were born, buddy, and let’s just say… I never won, but I bet I came pretty close a few times. That’s the kind of ice-cold satirical experience I’m bringing to my analysis of your college humor magazine, which you did not ask me to read, but which I found anyway because your mother posted it on her Facebook account. Also, she mentioned you’re an American Studies major. What is that? History for people who don’t want to read an actual history textbook?
Wha-bam! That sweet, sweet Am Stud burn was an example of one of the many hysterical jokes I would include in a satire article if I currently attended Wesleyan University. You see? I know my stuff.
This is the part in the article where you’ll escalate the scenario, I’m assuming. Things are gonna get wackier, premises are going to get more deranged. Well, in response to that, I, your least funny uncle, have an anecdote for you about MY time in college, when my friend Luke ate a tampon soaked in vodka as a dare, and he didn’t even throw up or anything. You should write an article about Luke! You could write a story about the time Luke ate TWO vodka tampons. This is called poetic license. You’re allowed to lie for comedic effect, like that time I told you I thought you were the next Conan O’Brien.
Oof. That’s the kind of hard-ass comedy burn that would get me in trouble at your grandmother’s funeral. What do you say we keep that one between us, huh? Your mother is already pissed at me for inviting Luke to the last sibling get-together and pretending he was our long-lost younger brother. She does not appreciate poetic license–that’s the kind of bit that would KILL on SNL.
Speaking of—what if you auditioned for SNL? You know what. Never mind. I’ve seen the kind of stuff you’ve written for the New Yorker caption contest.
- Phoebe Mulder
WesNicknames: A Guide for New Students
When I transferred here last year, one thing that took me a while to get used to were the campus locations exclusively and universally referred to by their nicknames. Avoid my mistakes, and follow this helpful guide to sound like a senior in no time.
Instead of WesWings call it Swings
WesWings already sounds like a nickname, but Wesleyan students like to shorten it even further. Why use two syllable when one syllable do trick?
Instead of the Frank Center call it the PAC
The Public Affairs Center was built in 1927; it reopened last semester following extensive renovations and was renamed after former Wesleyan board chair John B. Frank. Frank is a controversial figure because he also serves on Chevron’s Board of Directors and because he was accused last year of sexually assaulting a student. To make a long story short, everyone outside the administration still just calls it the PAC. Nobody’s ever thought of boycotting it though — if you sit in the chairs in the room that connects it to Olin and the art center, you’ll understand why.
Instead of Butterfields call it the Fields
Wesleyan students are known for their maturity, and thus avoid the obvious joke when shortening the name for this collection of dormitories. The courtyard in the middle of these dorms is referred to as the Fields Field, naturally.
Instead of Summerfields call it the Fields
I recognize this name may cause confusion with the nickname for the Butterfields dorms — or with Wesleyan’s many athletic fields — but I assure you, you’ll be able to figure out which location is being discussed based on context.
Instead of the Patricelli ’92 Theater call it Patricelli
I saw this one on Google Maps, so it must be right.
Instead of Nicolson 5½ call it nothing, because it doesn’t exist
This “dormitory” is actually a hoax perpetrated by upperclassmen. Don’t fall for it! Think about it — how can you even have half of a dorm? Would it have even smaller beds than the other dorms? Would it have showers but no sinks? Toilets but no paper towels? Oh wait, scratch that last one.
Instead of a campaign call it Wesleyan
Because this is not a… I’ll see myself out.
- Wilder Perkins
Top 3 Places to Break Up with Your High School Girlfriend
So you’re a freshman, and you’ve been trying to make long-distance work. But you’ve realized that maybe it’s not just the distance, but that Wesleyan and Oberlin are totally different worlds.
And maybe you realize that you’re being held down, and you feel like you’re not getting the real college experience, etc. These are serious impediments on the independent, free-flying man, and they require immediate action. Best to make it brief, and do it over the phone—don’t bother bringing her all the way from Ohio just to break the news as she cries on an inflatable mattress in your dorm room. But where to make the call, send the text paragraphs, untie the knot? Your room is not melodramatic enough for the occasion. Speaking from personal expertise, here are some suggestions:
#3: Next to the Printers at Olin
Yes, the library, a spot for peace and quiet. The pro here is that no noise is going to interrupt your one-sided dialogue, and you’re far enough from the study area that it’s fine to use speakerphone! No, nobody will mind your post-fall-break-breakup. I mean, what else would they be doing? Anyway, the area will be so full of freshmen trying not to crucify themselves on automatic staplers they won’t care about the sobbing coming from your phone.
#2: Mezzo’s on Bar Night
If you’re feeling even more non-confrontational, this one’s for you. The booming ambient noise will be sure to reduce your apologetic mumblings to utter incoherence. Additionally, who wouldn’t want to get broken up to the soundtrack of “FergaliciousExtended Tech House Remix”? And when you’re done, you can immediately get back to trying to flirt with a lesbian. Or maybe she’s bi? One way to find out, gentlemen!
#1: Summies
This is the hot spot, the Alfred-O’Maille-approved call environment: the future core memory your ex will use to evaluate every subsequent potential partner. Your sentence-long breakup line will be filibustered by calls of “138!” and “Dude, I’m so gone right now pass me a fry.” The abundance of energy and grease will seep into your phone and overstimulate this girl so bad she may not realize that you’re trying to end things. It’s like those magicians who use misdirection. Abracadabra, you’re single, and your order’s up!
- Alf O’Maille
Thomas’s Reflections
Hey there, stranger. Yes, you. In the overalls with the carabiners. Sorry to yell out here. I’ve been reduced to writing in chalk on College Row because they’re renovating our office and sanding paint really freaks me out. If you know me, you’ll know that of my greatest fears, lead paint exposure ranks second only to asbestos. I would ask you what your greatest fear is, but I’m a man, and we’re bad at these types of questions.
If you’re a first year, by now you’ve already purchased a Waste Not mini fridge you’ll convince yourself will draw people to your room with the promise of “artificial refrigeration” and “Miller’s Lite.” You’ve also unwisely purchased condoms at Waste Not, because you’re a goddamn communist with a “reuse, reduce, recycle” sticker slapped on your dad’s Range Rover. Lot of ranges to rove in central Connecticut.
Upon visitation to the Nics bathroom, you will suspect the new absence of paper towels is related to endowment funds drying up after the end of legacy admissions, and you will protest this illcomfort by refusing to wash your hands all November. By now you will have made many unwise decisions, including bringing your backpack to a Fountain party upon your mom’s suggestion that you might “do a little reading” between “all the fun.” It may be many months before you can make eye contact with anyone again.
You are sure something fuller, grander, more eloquent exists somewhere in the streets of Middletown, but these things take time, and you still aren’t washing your hands, which makes meeting people difficult.
You wonder what you missed all those months ago. You sometimes feel unprepared for what has already happened. You think, “this article isn’t that funny anymore,” and also “what does he/they mean? Please I don’t want to do it wrong.” But kid, life’s a lot like an injective function: it goes up, it goes down, but it never goes backwards.
Oh well, you know what they say.
The Little Man Downstairs, Thomas Lyons
