Arctic Monkeys/04 The Weekly Student Magazine of the University of Minnesota
Whatâ€™s Left of Dinkytown /10 PLUS
Summer Concerts / Album Reviews / and more Summer 2007
Your ad here. —4,500 students a week —Cheap rates —email@example.com
LETTER FROM THE EDITOR/
Co-publisher Elizabeth Keely Shaller
Co-publisher Alice Vislova
Arts Editor Jacob Duellman
Birds & Bees Editor Sage Dahlen
Campus Editor Jessica Mann
Sound & Vision Editor Carl Carpenter
Voices Editor Ali Jafaar
Editorial Assistants Becky Lang, Brad Tucker
If you have stumbled across these legendary pages, then you must also be stumbling around campus, guided by relentless maroon and gold search-engine questions spray-painted on the sidewalks. Let’s just be clear about one thing: You signed the papers, and now there is no turning back. Welcome to Gopher Country, home of Liberal Education Requirements, crosswalk stampedes, UDS, and Bob Bruininks. Welcome to hell.
PRODUCTION/ Art Director Dave Hagen
Photography Editor Ethan Stark
Graphic Designers Ben Alpert, Jacob Duellman, Dave Hagen, Eric Price, Jeremy Sengly
Copy Editors Brent Campbell, Erin Lavigna, Eric Price, Elizabeth Keely Shaller
Distributors Preston Jones, Luke Preiner
Conversation. That’s why The Wake is really here. Alternative publications provide enough half-finished Sodoku puzzles in a month to kill an entire rainforest, so don’t come looking for something to do during your Chemistry lecture between these pages. You’ll only find good old-fashioned satire, debauchery, and a page devoted entirely to bastards. You’ll only find commentary on the state of campus and country written for and by your classmates. You’ll only find a magazine chock full of concert reviews, student literature and art, and opinion pieces that represent the diversity found at the U.
BUSINESS/ Advertising Executive Tyler Jones
Business Manager John Colombo
Public Relations Director Liliya Kosovan
Office Manager Seth Vertelney
Advisory Board James DeLong, Kevin Dunn, Courtney Lewis, Gary Schwitzer, Kay Steiger, Mark Wisser
Face it. That’s really why you chose this school out of all the other overpriced, over-sized state schools out there. We represent a student body that comes from as many walks of life as there are squirrels in Northrop Mall. It should be a comfort to know that from a crowd of 50,402 students your voice—or one that sounds just like it—can still be heard at The Wake. Submit your work. Pick up a copy. Take some free wallpaper.
THIS ISSUE/ Cover Artist Jeremy Sengly Illustrators Cole H.W., Dave Hagen, Jeremy Sengly Photographers Rahima Schwenkbeck
Contributing Writers Carl Carpenter, Sage Dahlen, Ali Jafaar, Bryce Vincent Haugen, Nick Nelson, Jeremy Sengly, Elizabeth Keely Shaller, Stephanie Snell, That Bird Outside the Window, Andrea Vargo, Luke Walker
/5:29 ©2007 The Wake Student Magazine. All rights reserved. Established in 2002, The Wake is a weekly independent magazine and registered student organization produced by and for the students of the University of Minnesota.
Please don’t be alarmed with our greeting; we are glad you are here, because maybe you will use the cover of this magazine to decorate your dorm-room wall, just as I did four years ago. Consider it a gift from us, and save yourself the $15 you would have spent on Bob Marley at the Poster Sale. It might spark a conversation. At least it will scare your new roommate.
The Wake Student Magazine 1313 5th St. SE #331 Minneapolis, MN 55414 (612) 379-5952 • www.wakemag.org The Wake was founded by Chris Ruen and James DeLong.
Good luck this year, ELIZABETH KEELY SHALLER
Sound & Vision/
Put On Your Danc Arctic Monke
\Sound & Vision
cing Shoes: eys Live in Concert
By Carl Carpenter On May 7th, the Arctic Monkeys sailed into First Avenue on a wave of hype and high expectations. They didn’t disappoint. The venue was swelling with British pride and swagger. The Monkey’s crew of roadies were some of the most overtly British creatures seen outside of a Guy Ritchie movie. They bantered amongst themselves, none too shy of vulgarities, or to the same obscure slang heard in Arctic Monkeys’ songs, recognizable only to bornand-raised Brits. The majority claimed large beer bellies from endless eves spent at the pub. The one skinny roadie earned the title of strangest with his long, blonde ponytail and his cut-off denim plum smugglers. In the crowd, soccer jerseys were common and the chants heard at Premiership games across the pond echoed off the walls. On top of this, an entire British Rugby team made their way into the building. They wore matching t-shirts and devious, drunken smirks. One sported British flag pants with
a cut-off British flag t-shirt and several wore large Halloween wigs. It was 25 minutes before the Arctic Monkeys took the stage and the crowd had already reached frenzy. As they played the majority of their catalog, every expectation was fulfilled and surpassed The crowd became a chorus of slurred syllables and drunken chants as they sang along with every word The large rugby players pushed their way about, making frequent trips to the bar for more beer. The show continually pushed the boundaries of control. Things were often thrown on stage and people were thrown from their spots as songs marched and flurried to their charging conclusions. First Avenue security was attempting to make their presence known, but showed clear apprehension considering the plethora of sizable Brits. At one point, one of the fatter rugby players found himself on stage. No real effort was made to
stop him while he danced a bit before face planting out of sheer drunkenness. He culminated his trip to the stage with a running dive that took down a good number people. The stage banter was witty and the band exuded with due confidence. Turner leaned over his microphone, spilling word after word, leading the crowd as they chanted along with him. Lead guitarist Cook forced each riff out with quick strikes of hand, his face contorted in a Keith Richards-esque disconcerted cool. Drummer Matt Helders was treated to a rousing rendition of happy birthday, as it was his 21st. He played furiously while adding his backing vocals along with bassist Nick O’Malley. Maybe it was the fact that Arctic Monkeys shows sell out instantly in the U.K, or that they were playing so few dates in the U.S., but it was one of the most action packed shows played for an incredibly responsive audience—one for the ages by all accounts.
Sound & Vision/
CD Reviews by Carl Carpenter Two CD releases and two Minneapolis shows that had the campus talking this spring were Nebraska-bred Bright Eyes, and England’s own Arctic Monkeys. Both shows left their attendees satisfied and energized, while both disks led to much appreciating and contemplating. Given the themes of these two albums, a spring release was perfect for college students and high school seniors around the globe. Each represent universally confronted questions which arise every spring. High School seniors must ask themselves, off to college or work at home? Current University students are forced to make a similar decision; will it be one last summer with the parents or the first out on their own? As U students walked across Washington bridge, spring breezes adding color to their faces, songs from these new CDs sparked their thoughts. As high school seniors drove down their familiar blocks, windows down and volume up, these were the songs that provided glimpses of sweet liberation, or stirred up nostalgic memories as they wished these days would never end.
Bright Eyes Cassadaga
Arctic Monkeys Your Favourite Worst Nightmare
Child prodigy-turned-tortured teen pinup/proclaimed voice of a generation, Conor Oberst, is no stranger to overblown titles, hype and pigeon-holing expectations. At 27 years of age, he’s already been a traveling 12 or 13 years. On his newest release, titled Cassadaga after a spiritualminded community in Florida, Oberst turns his pen on politics and religion while the band turns up the twang.
Following up a popular and acclaimed debut album is a notoriously taxing affair. Many bright and promising bands have crumbled beneath such pressures. For the Arctic Monkeys, it’s even trickier. Their 2004 release, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not, was the fastest-selling debut album in the illustrious history of British music. Whether you find it a surprise or not, these lads from Sheffield, England have achieved the impossible, creating an album sure to please current fans and make believers out of skeptics.
Cassadaga that speaks to idealists about drastic measures. It does so with songs like “Hot Knives,” bearing the lyric, “Out the window, as the car rolled away./She just vanished, into a thick mist… of change,” and the freewheelin’ anthem, “If the Brakeman Turns My Way,” with its call to action, “I never thought of runnin’, my feet just led the way,” while the back up singers cry, “Movin’ Out!” There were several other songs brandishing similar sentiments, including the beautiful, flute-laden love ballad “Make a Plan To Love You.” The see-sawing violin and rollicking, down home feel on “Four Winds” create an overwhelming irony when meshed with Oberst’s biting lyrics. His songs condemn blind-faith religion and the traditional approach to politics which have landed the United States in our current perils. “No One Would Riot for Less” employs the eerie coo of a female backing vocalist while Oberst pleads for the support of rational thinking in the face of a unexplainable war, “Little soldier, little insect. You know war it has no heart/ it will kill you in the sunshine, or happily in the dark.” Musically, Cassadaga has Bright Eyes at their most atmospheric and full. Tracks like “Cleanse Song” and “Coat Check Dream Song” try out new instruments and clutter things pleasantly in the perspective of Bright Eye’s often stripped down, acoustic guitar tendencies. “I Must Belong Somewhere” allows Oberst to flex his lyrical prowess, reeling off short, intricately descriptive lines which ultimately form a greater picture. Some question the rationale behind such frequent production, but assuming he keeps them this good, there’s really nothing to argue. I give this album an 8.8 out of 10 on Carl’s less callous than Pitchfork but more consistent than Rolling Stone scale of review.
Nightmare carries on the tradition started on their debut. The group’s song writer and frontman, Alex Turner stuck his claim by spinning tales of life in working class England. He carried on in this vein, creating characters, situations, and feelings we’ve all met, experienced, and felt. Listeneres get a hometown feel on tracks like “Brainstorm” about the kid you grew up with and never liked, and “Fluorescent Adolescent” about the unavoidable personal crisis sure to come about with age. The album is comparable to earlier works in its youthful accounts of skirt chasing and the interesting effects which follow, (ex. “Leave Before the Lights Come On,” a single released between albums, and “D Is For Dangerous” and “The Bad Thing” off Nightmare). The sound is consistently more aggressive, darker, and paranoid, accompanying Turner’s weariness of fame and his pondering of the changing of his friends and fans. The Acrtic Monkey’s patented stops, starts and building guitar attacks continue to evolve and impress. Lead guitarist Jamie Cook whips up some monster riffs and churning solos, recreating a unique blend of guitar sounds from classic surf to modern staccato, though this time with a harsher edge. The band embarks upon their first pair of true slow songs to the tune of smashing success. As “Only One Who Knows,” and the organ driven “505,” drift and waver peacefully, you’ll find yourself thinking about many a former sweetheart or opportunity missed. I give this album a 9.2 out of 10 on Carl’s less condescending than Pitchfork and less contradicting than Rolling Stone scale of review.
\Sound & Vision
Shit Happening... The Wake recommends some Twin Cities summer shows and events Friday, June 1st
June 21st – 24th
Heartless Bastards @ the 400 Bar
Twin Cities Improv Festival
Saturday, June 2nd
*Featuring our best and brightest along side national talent from Chicago and The Onion writers from New York.
Charlie Parr CD release @ The Ceda Saturday, June 30th Saturday, June 2nd
Leroy Smokes @ The Fine Line
15th Annual City Pages Beer Festival in Downtown Minneapolis *A variety of more than 100 kinds of beer for sampling!
*A poor man’s Heiruspecs, but still better hip-hop than the rest of the Continental is accustomed to.
Thursday, June 7th
Saturday, June 30th
The Pines and Ray Bonneville @ The Cedar
Built to Spill @ First Avenue: Main Room
Thursday, June 7th
Saturday, July 7th
Albert Hammond Jr. @ Station 4 in St. Paul.
Radio On @ the 7th Street Entry.
*This small venue is unaccustomed to acts of such national reknown. It’s a bit of a dive, but it could add the understated, charming quality of Hammand’s debut.
*Minneapolis’ most unique and best live band take to the Entry for an evening of instantly catchy and danceable delight.
Saturday, June 9th
Sunday, July 8th
The Pipettes @ 7th Street Entry with Smoosh and Monster Bobby. $10.00 advance, $12.00 door.
Brother Ali @ First Avenue
*The British gals are a Motown reincarnation sure to provide an evening of supreme entertainment. Opener Smoosh are a mind blowing sister act of 14 and 12 years of age. The younger sister, on drums, will blow your mind with her prodigal timing and skill. Sunday, June 17th Deftones @ The Myth Sunday, June 17th Deadboy and The Elephantmen @ The 400 Bar
*Minneapolis’ newest star returns home after a national tour.
*Caroline Smith Wednesdays at the 400 Bar. University of Minnesota student, Caroline Smith, will be performing every Wednesday this summer at the 400 Bar on the West Bank. Caroline was your typical U of M freshman these last two semesters, living in the Superblock—the only difference being that she’s an undeniably talented singer songwriter who’s opened for the likes of Mason Jennings and B.B. King. Her sets include both bare acoustic and amped-up full band portions, and often a soul stirring rendition of Sufjan Steven’s “Romulus.” Her strong voice and captivating stage presence have been winning over fans throughout the spring and with the landing of this residency, her star is clearly on the rise.
Wednesday, June 20th Feist @ at the Pantages Theatre with Grizzly Bear.
*Critical and peer favorite Feist got her start touring with the erotic electronic artist Peaches, and later added vocals to several Broken Social Scene tracks. Her solo material combines sexy lounge vocals with fun danceable beats and airy, sing-along pop. Opener Grizzly Bear were last in Minneapolis at the 7th Street Entry, and earlier in the fall with TV on the Radio. Their expansive, Floyd-like arrangements and soaring harmonies will not disappoint.
Voices/ Ramen has a lot to offer in the beginning of the relationship. Once the awkwardness passes, you learn about the whole world of flavors ramen can offer: beef, roast beef, pork, mushroom, shrimp, oriental and my personal favorite, roast chicken. Those are only a few of the flavors out there. That’s where the “can’t get enough of each other” stage starts. When I hit that stage, ramen was there for me when I missed dinner at my dorm, for night class or for whatever extracurricular activities I had. It was there to meet me at my microwave and we got along so well, I couldn’t believe it. Of course, that was short-lived because one can only handle so much ramen, as all ramen eaters quickly learn.
Just like when you spend a little too much time with that significant other, too much ramen means you start to feel smothered.
Love in the Time of Ramen Convenient snack or abusive relationship? By Stephanie Snell
Things can only go so well for so long before something happens. Some hardy college kids make it for a year or more with no problem with ramen. By the time they reach a point where there is no UDS to feed them and they have no money, things change. They realize that the only thing they can eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner is ramen and the relationship takes a turn for the worst. Just like when you spend a little too much time with that significant other, too much ramen means you start to feel smothered. Let me just say that ramen knows how to bicker with the human body, especially when it comes to triggering the gag reflex or pissing off the stomach. Call this the token big fight of the relationship. The only good solution is to spend some time apart. I got lucky when it happened to me; the timing lined up with winter break and I got to go home and eat real food with some nutritional value.
When I started college, I had no idea that I would also be gaining a new, non-human significant other. My pockets were empty. My stomach was growling. I had nothing but a bottom-of-the-line microwave. Then it graced me with its presence: Its name was ramen. Ramen is the college kid food staple. Being the college kid I am, I quickly learned that a relationship with ramen follows the same patterns as a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship. From start to finish, ramen is right there in its own noodly ways.
They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, or something like that. When people spend time away from their significant others, they start to miss them and want to see them again. With ramen, the same thing happens for the college student. It’s almost like a crazy nightmare. “Why, oh why,” you ask yourself, “do I still need it?” realizing that the craving you can’t seem to fill with real food can only be satisfied by ramen.
When freshmen move into their new dorms, they suspect nothing. They meet their new roommates, unpack and maybe check out UDS for the first time. Classes start, a week or so goes by and the unsuspecting freshmen suddenly realize they keep missing lunch or even worse— dinner. Like all hungry college students, the freshmen become sad. Just when they start to lose all hope of ever eating again, they meet ramen: the affordable, microwave-compatible, speedy quick brick of noodle glory. My first meeting was awkward: learning how long to cook ramen in the microwave is an art that takes refining. After a few of those awkward, get-to-know-you meetings, where the ramen tasted like soggy Styrofoam, the relationship got better.
So, you go back to campus, begrudgingly make amends with ramen, and the lover-turned-foe graduates to lover status again. This part happened more quickly for me when I ran out of leftovers from home. I thought enough time had passed that I would be okay allowing the salty stuff back in my life. Besides, I had nothing else to eat. After the token fight is where the relationship sinks or swims. Some will spend the rest of their lives with some ramen around the house and will feed it to their kids someday. Some will be on-again offagain with ramen. Others will never look at one of those brightly-colored square packages with affection for as long as they live. Whether you love it or hate it, get prepared for ramen!
Little Miss Shallow by K. Shaller Today, I made the regretful mistake of stepping back in time. Forgetting the two papers looming over my (unstyled) head, I walked aimlessly into Northrop Auditorium on a Saturday afternoon to be blinded by the glare of hot-pink feather boas bouncing to a techno re-mix of “I Know What Boys Like.” It took me a second to realize that under the heavy layers of neon fuzz were dancers. Dancers from the six-year-old very-competitive category, to be more specific. Here, on that same stage that so many bright women have crossed to receive their diplomas, were miniature prim donnas whoring themselves to an audience of adults numb to the horrifying spectacle of their own children. You know the type. These are the parents you have seen on television, forcing their starving daughters to become fixated on their comparative appearance while eating teaspoons of cottage cheese. The mothers that boo the other little girls on stage, and rush outside for a gulp of cigarette smoke between performances. I guess I thought some of that was for the ratings. Unfortunately, our liberal campus hosted the real deal. I have nothing against competition. Life seems to be one big contest, and I want my own children to be prepared for the fight, but not at the expense of their self-respect. As a society we are concerned with the ways with which the media has manipulated women’s perception of beauty, and presented them a highly skewed paradigm on the cover of Seventeen magazine. However, I think the prob-
lem must begin before any “teen” is involved. I think the problem starts with those most pivotal models in a child’s life—and I am not referencing a runway. I am talking about parents.
No father should be comfortable watching his daughter—or son— gyrate their pre-pubescent hips to lyrics such as “I make them want me/ I like to tease them. No father should be comfortable watching his daughter— or son—gyrate their pre-pubescent hips to lyrics such as “I make them want me/ I like to tease them/ they want to touch me/I never let them.” Doesn’t the acceptance of such raunchy behavior negate the right to judgment when those little girls become mommies a few years down the line? Do the flashy costumes and drag-queen makeup cancel out the message of hip thrusts and come-ons? Do those men, looking out across a sea of daughters, even remember that looking at nearly-naked little girls in any other situation could warrant their arrest? I didn’t want to be a part of this degrading parade, but I couldn’t stop watching. We all sat there, mesmerized, waiting to see the next set of girls traipse across the stage. Many were quite talented, but I didn’t really notice, because I was too busy staring at them wiggle around much too seductively for an all-ages show. I do want them to come back to that stage, though, if they work hard enough to earn a degree. I want them to keep dancing, too—or writing, or sewing, or playing basketball, or conducting science experiments, or becoming mommies—if they get a chance to figure out if that’s what they want. We have come too far as a “research institution” to be providing a venue all about fulfilling the long-lost dreams of former beauty-queen mothers. Little kids shouldn’t be asked to slog through a whole lot of misguided competition—they should be spending their weekends preparing for the real fight, by learning how to be themselves.
a New Student’s Guide to People on C ampus
by Luke Walker
7’ 6’ 5’ 4’ 3’ 2’ 1’
The Sorority Girl
The Carlson Baby
With no prejudice do we focus on the Sorority girl as the epitome of “Greek” life at the U. But let’s face it, in comparison with their frat boy counterparts, the Sorority girl community is simply a more “visual” presence in daily life on campus. Pride is the marking characteristic here! Pride in the two or three bold Greek letters (Alpha Phi, Kappa Kappa Gamma, Visa Visa MasterCard) embroidered on the chest of their hoodies, pride in the enormously bugeyed sunglasses they sport rain or shine, and pride in the Motorola Razors, iPods, and Louie V or Coach purses that mommy and daddy probably paid for. Whether by Sorority regulation, or by choice, these girls usually travel in packs. Whether it be five of them sitting at Caribou Coffee doing homework, or thirty of them marching down University Avenue dressed as cowgirls on a Saturday night, their strength is clearly in numbers. Fortunately, the Sorority community is self-sustaining; they are completely satisfied within the function of the Greek system, and tend to stick to themselves—no preaching. One final observation for spotting the Sorority Girl: it’s either PJs to class or “looking fine,” not too much room for middle ground.
Nothing against the Dinkytowner Café (fabulous food, music, happy hour), but if you have ever witnessed the clientele meandering around the Café doorstep between 11pm and 2am, you know exactly who I’m talking about! “Random” is the first word that comes to mind: crossbreed the crew of the Black Pearl with the audience of a Judas Priest concert—that’s about as close as it gets.
Lookout cruel world, here comes the future of America! Enter the Carlson School of Management—a fabulous institution which propels America’s finest college graduates into the business world like none other. Trouble is, this “premature immersion” into business requires that these folks bring Wall Street to Washington Ave. on a daily basis. Even more notably, CSOM turns out these corporate hopefuls like clones. They were once bright-eyed kids all hoping to be the next president when BAM, Carlson desensitized them to finance adjustments, economics, group projects, and marketing schemes. Check out the Carlson School between class periods; it’s like a dress rehearsal for the New York Stock Exchange! Carlson babies also attempt to bring a union to professional business and collegiate life some can pull it off; many fail trying (and fail to recognize it). Speaking of “premature immersion,” picture this “entrepreneur”: pinstripe suit, tie, Bluetooth phone, briefcase, backpack, and rollerblades. Yet the Carlson Baby deserves our respect, for even though these “cubicle-bound” characters seem ridiculous now, you will need them to fill out your tax forms in a few years.
Everybody loves the Yuppie, and Yuppies love themselves too. Arguably the most numerous group on campus, you see these people everywhere: coffee shops, classrooms, sidewalks, and lecture halls. A Yuppie stands out because he or she DARES to be different. They usually wear retro clothes, ride vintage bicycles, carry messenger bags instead of backpacks, listen to public radio, and use Mac notebooks (no PCs allowed). It’s a risky business being a Yuppie. As you can see, a required Yuppie characteristic is being “different;” indeed it is in “difference” that Yuppies are united. And somehow, within the Yuppie community, there is an undertone of making the world a better place—buying organic food, supporting non-profit orgs, protesting American foreign policy, and concerning themselves with the woes of the environment. Yet far too often do we find Yuppies purchasing their organic Kashi cereal in bulk from Sam’s Club (a conglomerate of WalMart) and driving their “eco-friendly” gas-guzzling SUVs home. This leads to another important Yuppie quality—hypocrisy.
Without delving into much further detail and classification, the previously outlined personalities ARE NOT limited to the descriptions provided. There are several subgroups; mergers, and mutations existing between the categories. Crossbreeding is VERY common, and is in fact, a recommendation for newcomers to campus. Why sell yourself out to one category when you take part in as many as you want. Your identity is only as worthy as you make it. That being said, you best figure something out before we invent another personality for you: The Stupid Freshman.
\ Feature Freshman year is a time of confusion; a time when even the brightest of young America lose their way. These days, people tend to equate intelligence with street smarts. This is an incorrect assumption! Our more “seasoned” collegians know this to be an “all-to” common mistake. They remember the
days fondly and laugh. Fortunately, it is at this tender age that one often turns a misdirection into an opportunity for exploration - taking in a spontaneous walk up a less-traveled street, dropping into a new café, or just sitting on a bench and watching the world go by. In this “freshman cycle” of complete
naivety/brilliant discovery, you begin to detect trends with people on campus. One might say that certain “personalities” appear more frequently than others, but in completely different individuals. Is this to say that all U of M students are lemming automatons who conform to predetermined structures?
Certainly not! But let’s be honest, sometimes it’s just cooler to look like someone else. Whether you conform to one of these “personalities” willingly or by default is not the issue here; any identity crises must be dealt with on a personal basis. This is only an introduction.
The Emo Kids
The Varsity Athletes
The Liberal Artsy
The Party Hardy
There is a strange correlation between depressing Emo music and modern “gothic” culture that cannot be deciphered. Since when did “Screaming Infidelities” have anything to do with wearing really tight clothes and dark colors, having black hair that covers your eyes, and living life as if the weight of the world is on your shoulders? Cheer up, Emo kids! Good Lord! This community is marked by looking depressed and lethargic, a lack of interest in anything (except one’s own problems), and low rise jeans with buttcrack visuals. When The Get Up Kids and Dashboard Confessional came on the scene, the Emo community appeared happy. Yet at some point (in Minnesota at least), the community took a turn to the dark side.Beaten-up Chuck Taylor’s and studded belts of old were turned in for crappy melodramatic poetry and self-mutilation. I spoke with an Emo specimen the other day—it was like interviewing the girl who crawled out of the well in The Ring (guttural noises and all). The strange thing is these kids may not have it all that bad! So part the hair, open your eyes, and stop playing Dracula ... we want the old Emo back! Or not.
You have to be careful with this one; many behavioral distinctions exist between the various men’s and women’s sports on campus, which prevent any sweeping characterizations from being made. Yet undoubtedly, there are certain traits which apply to the various athletic groups, not to mention an aura which surrounds their community at-large. In a sense, they can all be distinguished by their common tribal natures: A) Common Residence: you often hear of parties at the “soccer” house, or up in University Village with the football players. B) Matching Apparel: each team can be identified by their corresponding jumpsuits and street gear. C) Transportation: while this cannot be universally applied, it is clear that the football team must have some kind of monopoly on our local moped retailer. In essence, each “tribe” has its chiefs, villages, war paint, and customs. Nametags are common too—the athlete wants his or her status known, as if his matching jumpsuit and shoes aren’t a dead giveaway.
Another huge presence on campus, the Liberal Artsy’s represent the academic prowess of the University (perhaps a little too boldly). Similar to a Carlson Baby, the Liberal Artsy is also premature. One might overhear these people outlining their doctoral dissertations in their freshman year, or blabbering on about their triple major/quadruple minors. Granted, it pays to be ambitious—but not everyone wants to hear about it all the time! No one really cares that you are technically an 18 year old senior because you left high school with a million college credits to your name. For the Liberal Artsy, however, this academic jargon may be their only social outlet; the rest of their time is spent cooped up in a library, attending office hours, or writing papers. Spotting a Liberal Artsy is easy—just look for a combination between formal and casual, such as tweed jackets and elbow pads with jeans and sandals for men, or long skirts with denim jackets and a pencil in the hair for women. Scholars keep this University going, and we do in fact need them—so the next time a Liberal Artsy rambles on endlessly about academics, just nod and smile.
Everyone knows one of these guys; the quintessential John Belushis of the U. Party Hardies are nocturnal by nature, their lives fulfilled between the hours of 11pm-4am (and between 1020 beers). If you spot a Party Hardy in the AM, the first question that comes to mind is “which trash can did you roll out of this morning?” Most likely wearing the same clothes from the night before, complete with beer stains left over from Burrito Loco keep an eye out for unkempt hair, “hang over characteristics,” and U.P.I.’s (Unidentified Party Injuries). The nocturnal Party Hardy will most likely sleep through lectures, and only be able to provide an occasional “uhhhhhhhhhhh” to the class discussion. Most Party Hardies are enrolled in college, but in my time at the U, I have been fortunate enough to meet a few individuals who can’t stand (or physically manage) to part from this lifestyle—not enrolled, graduated, unemployed, homeless, whatever. Yet somehow, this carefree and pathetic lifestyle has at sometime appealed to everyone. And let’s be honest—college wouldn’t be the same without these guys.
WHAT’S LEFT LOS ANGELES DINKYTOWN One man’s exploration of the University’s long-cherished wilderness By Ali Jaafar I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t been to campus in about two weeks, at least not since classes had ended. Would it be a desolate wasteland? Would it be a sort of after-school yuppie wonderland? A hipster sidewalk sale? I had no way of knowing. The one thing I wasn’t expecting, though, was exactly what I saw. As I gazed down 14th avenue, it hit me: Dinkytown was breathing. After months of classes, stress, and drama, Friday afternoon felt like an exhalation; a body of nervous energy in repose.
Despite its calm exterior, not all is well in Dinkytown. The venerated campus hangout has been undergoing changes that have put some individuals on edge. The arrival of more restaurants and chains, as well as the marginalization of independent business and local culture have prompted many to ask a variation of that titular question: What’s happening to Dinkytown? Is this once-proud institution being driven into the ground by greedy corporations and opportunistic landlords (“You’re gonna help me buy city hall,” as the Dead Kennedys said?)? Or is it simply another round of the same sort of changes that have defined the culture of Dinkytown since its inception? I found myself in Dinkytown under the pretense that the only honest answer would come from the people who work, live,
and just hang out in the area. My first stop was CD Warehouse, the center of a recent controversy involving their closure and subsequent reopening. The story goes like this: citing decreased disc sales and the cost of rent as obstacles, CD Warehouse closed earlier this year leaving only a legacy and an angry letter to the world. Miraculously, the store reopened and posted a slightly more hopeful letter in which it promised to stay open as long as possible while only selling used stock and new releases. Unromantically, the reopening was actually due to the inability to find a sub letter. Speaking to employees and customers of CD Warehouse, it was obvious that the conflict contributed to many local’s dwindling opinions of Dinkytown. Ross, the resident man-behind-the-counter, bemoaned Dinkytown’s transformation into a more “happening” place that caters to middle-aged suburbanites, complete with high prices and familiar names. He recounted his return to Camdi restaurant, a favorite of his, only to find that prices had skyrocketed since his last visit. One customer, a well-dressed hardcore fan who openly proclaimed his love of Bad Brains and Ween, lamented the disappearance of indie restaurants and places serving affordable fare. There was one thing everyone agreed on, though: there are just too damn many restaurants in Dinkytown. With old favorites like Espresso Royale, Erbert’s and Gerbert’s, Kafe 421, Camdi, and Al’s Breakfast rubbing elbows with newcomers Q’doba, Bruegger’s Bagels, Jimmy John’s, Subway, and Pizza Hut, not to mention all of the vendors housed in the Dinky Dome, it’s a wonder that Dinkytown isn’t renamed “The University Food Fair,” or maybe “A Taste of College ©.” (By the way, that one’s mine and you can’t have it). Even more egregious are rumors that CD Warehouse was slated to be replaced by a chicken joint. Yeah, I know. Ross speculated that the sort of restaurant monoculture spreading through Dinkytown is driving students away. “When Know Name
T OF S
agreed, complaining that the new condo development in seven corners is destroying the view that patrons of Annie’s used to enjoy as part of the dining “experience.” While it may sound alarmist, I found it hard to disagree. It is much easier to form a personal connection with smaller, independent vendors who deal with customers in a more personal manner than with the managers of a fast-food chain. To wit: most people are more likely to swear allegiance to their favorite “hole-in-the-wall” restaurant than McDonald’s. (Apologies to everyone whose favorite restaurant is McDonald’s; I have nothing against you). Furthermore, Dinkytown is Dinkytown (with a capital “D”) because of the unique businesses that can’t be found anywhere else. Without them, it would simply be a glorified version of the Southdale food court, and I’ll be damned if I’ll ever acknowledge Dinkytown if Pac Sun moves in. Of course, as Ross was quick to point out, there is no reason that large corporations and their employees can’t add to the local community, citing the fact that employees from chains like McDonald’s are always present at the yearly Christmas get-togethers that define Dinkytown’s community. “One thing Dinkytown is good at is creating a community feeling,” he added.
it’s a wonder that Dinkytown isn’t renamed “The University Food Fair,” or maybe “A Taste of College ©.”
closed, we thought we might be able to pick up some of that business. That didn’t happen,” he said. “The decrease of business in Dinkytown has had a direct effect on CD Warehouse.” These changes bring up another very important question: what is Dinkytown? Unsurprisingly, it all depends on who you ask. While the most obvious answer would be a college town or an on/off campus hang-out spot for university kids, the area holds a lot of meaning for some people. Phil, an employee of Everyday People, Dinkytown’s premiere spot for awesome clothes, sees it as a place that “has a lot of history,” citing the numerous marches and rallies that the area has hosted as well as artistic connections to Bob Dylan’s music. The changes currently wracking 4th and 14th take on a much more sinister air in his opinion; he openly laments the fact that landlords are “Masking everything with a corporate face and taking away from the atmosphere of social change.” The idea of an “atmosphere” and “culture” unique from the rest of Minneapolis also seems to be very important to the denizens of Dinkytown. Due to its relationship to the university, many of the area’s most well-loved and well-known businesses have become institutions to current students and alumni alike. Part of the controversy surrounding the arrival of new businesses involves the loss of these institutions and the irreparable damage done to the culture and image of Dinkytown. “We lost a lot by moving Purple Onion and Espresso Royale… it’s not the same,” opined Phil. Similarly, Cummins Books (the finest bookstore in the Twin Cities for my money) has faced faulty plumbing, broken glass, and other building problems since they moved from their old location near the corner of 5th and 14th. “It’s not the same vibe,” laments Erin, an employee of Cummins Books. A related concern is that the community aspect of Dinkytown is being lost. Surprisingly, Dinkytown is seen by many as a friendly alternative to Uptown’s too-chic brand of impersonal commercialism. “Everybody (in Dinkytown) knows each other,” commented Grace, another employee of Everyday People, “It’s not like Uptown.” A customer trying on a fedora agreed: “I just got evicted from Uptown, and I’ve never been happier to be evicted!” he exclaimed. “Last winter, I got cabin fever staying there… I’ve never been so lonely.” The arrival of so many new chains and restaurants (combined with the disappearance of institutions like Know Name Records) has many worried that the communal aspect of Dinkytown is going the way of its independent businesses. “The chains… impersonalize what Dinkytown was,” alleges Erin, in a convenient summation of many residents’ fears about the much-loved area. A group of nearby customers
It is also unfair to ignore the personal side of such businesses, as the employees of such chains also share many of the same concerns as the independent vendors. Tyler, an employee of Q’doba, admitted that “(Large) businesses don’t add to the culture” and expressed worries that corporations are pushing out smaller, independent businesses. Despite this, he observed that chains (like Q’doba) serve students, give jobs, and mix up the corporate culture of the area. The blame also can’t be placed squarely on the chains, as many are wont to do. Landlords are also doing their part to gentrify Dinkytown. As one manager of CD Warehouse was apt to point out that the combination of rising property taxes and cutthroat landlords means that it is not economically viable for a small business to open up shop in the area. He speculated, sadly, that large chains may be the only entities who can afford the area’s rent within ten years. With Cummins Books and many other businesses forced out of their previous locations (sometimes under false pretenses – Cummins was supposed to be replaced by a Kinko’s and a remodeled interior, but neither came to fruition) at the merest mention of a tenant flush with cash, it’s easy to see how careless and money-hungry property management could be bringing Dinkytown down. Of course, if there’s one thing everyone agrees on, it’s that Dinkytown is still an awesome place. With an inimitable community and enough unique businesses to warrant its reputation as a singular entity in the Minneapolis landscape, Dinkytown will always be a great place to shop, eat, or simply hang out. As Ross aptly put it, “Dinkytown has character.” As I left the area, I walked in on a theological debate between a staunch atheist, an eccentric Jew, and a vocal Muslim man. As things heated up and the Jewish guy flashed me his vintage Borg t-shirt, I had to agree. Dinkytown has character.
Get In the Game
playing fields and referees. For these reasons, taking part in intramurals is a superior option to setting up your own pick-up games. After all, you won’t have to worry about the t-shirt you were using to mark the end-zone blowing away in the wind, nor will you have to worry about being forced to engage in hour-long arguments over the rules. “I would recommend intramurals to all students because it is a great way to meet new people and stay active,” says director Nicole Rajkowski. She also notes that participating in intramurals offers an opportunity for students to try out a new sport that they’ve never had an opportunity to take a shot at before. Sports are played on various nights of the week, with leagues offered for men, women and coed. And, if you actually happen to be good at sports, the varying levels of competition offered for most leagues will ensure a sufficiently challenging experience. You can put together your own team, or sign up as a free agent to be placed on one randomly. Here’s a breakdown of the different sports that will be offered by the intramural program this fall:
Soccer By Nick Nelson Just because you’re not good at something doesn’t mean you can’t do it anyway. The preceding sentence isn’t the slogan for the intramurals program run by the University Department of Recreational Sports, but perhaps it would be fitting. Just because you weren’t putting up 40 points per game on your high school basketball team or breaking historical rushing records on the football field your senior year doesn’t mean you can’t take part in such sports recreationally in college. By signing up for an intramural sport, you’ll be provided with a fully structured experience, including schedules,
Indoor and outdoor varieties are both offered. Head-butting not permitted. Team fee: $90.
Softball Just as the playoffs approach in the big leagues, you can do your best Mr. (or Ms.) October impression by crushing a slow-pitched softball into the muddy outfield plains of Bierman Field. Team fee: $105.
Basketball Offered in both a three-on-three or more traditional fiveon-five format, basketball is one of the most popular intramural sports. Speaking from experience, I can say that
the higher levels get pretty competitive. Team fee: $45 (3on-3); $50 (5-on-5).
Flag Football If you have a desire to play organized football but aren’t big on the idea of getting tackled by someone who weighs three times as much as you, flag football is the way to go. Team fee: $85.
Volleyball This might be one of the most underappreciated sports out there, especially for guys. Played indoors in the fall; outdoor sand volleyball is offered in the summer. Team fee: $90.
Hockey This year marks the first time that a hockey league will be offered during the fall season. Hockey is a little more expensive than the other sports listed because rink time and the specialized referees are more costly. Team fee: $160.
Ultimate Frisbee Know how to throw a Frisbee? The most inexpensive league offered. Team fee: $50.
Bowling I’ve always wanted to be in a bowling league, if only so I could sit around and have philosophical discussions about nihilism and Vietnam. Team fee: $100. If any of the options above strike your fancy, you’d be wise to make your way to the Rec. Center between Tuesday, September 11 and Thursday, September 13 to sign up. My advice: get there early. The lines can get pretty long.
\Birds & Bees
Colony Collapse Disorder A scary name with even scarier results by Sage Dahlen
Overworked, underappreciated and now under attack. In the past few months, European honeybees, responsible for pollinating many crucial crops as well as producing honey and wax have been rapidly disappearing, oftentimes vacating entire hives. Unbeknownst to most, many aspects of our day-to-day lives are dependent on the work of these bees. Anyone familiar with the food pyramid knows the importance of foodstuffs like fruits and vegetables, of which many require honeybees for pollination. European honeybees also pollinate countless varieties of flowers. AP Science Writer, Seth Borenstein additionally points out that cattle feed on alfalfa, a plant pollinated by honeybees. All of this information contributes to the fact that if the honeybee disappearances continue, it could theoretically also reduce much of the meat available for the human diet, in addition to the countless varieties of produce and nuts. First reported in November of 2006, this rash of bee die-offs has been observed across the United States as well as in parts of Europe, Brazil and Canada. Defined by bee expert Dennis van Engelsdorp, who first coined the name for this occurrence as Colony Collapse Disorder (CCD), the disappearances are characterized by “sudden colony death” with only the queen and a small brood remaining. While there have been large-scale dieoffs in the past, 25% of bee colonies in the United States have been lost in the past few months alone. This is five times the normal loss during winter.
It is hard to say whether or not CCD is what truly affected these bees. A cause for CCD has not yet been determined, though many hypotheses are circulating, ranging from outlandish gossip to those based in significant amounts of research. Cell phone tower radiation, genetically modified organisms (GMOs) such as BT corn, suburban sprawl, parasites, malnutrition, stress, pesticide use and lack of genetic diversity are just a few of the ideas that have been brought to the foreground. Other studies, which included bee autopsies, have identified bees with reduced immune systems that show symptoms similar to humans with cancer. Many of these suspected causes are anthropogenic, meaning the disorder may have been induced by human activity.
In a podcast released in January of this year by Penn State University, Senior Extension Agent and Honeybee Specialist Maryann Frazier discussed the early findings and hypotheses for causes of CCD. While Frazier stated that information concerning the disorder in northern states was still hard to determine, this has not prevented Minnesotans from taking action. Marla Spivak, a researcher and bee expert at the University of Minnesota, teaches several classes, both academic and public, dealing exclusively with bees. In addition to her research and teaching, Spivak spoke at a recent meeting of the Minnesota Hobby Beekeepers Association (MHBA). “We are really lucky to have access to the U of M,” said President Kris Miller, in reference to the amount of information and interaction with scientists and researchers available to the MHBA. Having Spivak as a guest speaker has only been one aspect of the MHBA’s discussion of CCD. While a few members have had bee disappearances consistent with other reports of the disorder, Miller says it is hard to say whether or not CCD is what truly affected these bees. “It’s kind of a garbage term,” said Miller, explaining that the moniker of Colony Collapse Disorder has become a catch-all for bee disappearances. This will likely remain the case until a cause can be determined. “It’s hard to say if members have been affected until you really know what is going on,” said Miller. With so much of CCD still largely unknown, both Spivak and Miller emphasize the importance of simply being proactive, their efforts focused mainly on education and keeping bees healthy. In terms of prevention, “there’s nothing you can really do except practice the best management,” said Miller. With the warmer weather reaching the Midwest, it will soon become evident to what extent our bees have been affected. While the predicted long-term results of CCD have tended toward the apocalyptic, Miller states that the best thing beekeepers can do is to take things one step at a time. If it turns out that our colonies have joined the mass exodus, Miller remains realistic. “You cry a little bit and hope you can buy some more bees.” The Minnesota Hobby Beekeepers Association meets the second Tuesday of every month on the St. Paul Campus of the University of Minnesota. For more information you can visit www.mnbeekeepers.com. For information on the courses offered at the U of M related to topics in this article visit www.extension. umn.edu/honeybees.
MN to DC Walk
by Bryce Vincent Haugen Minn. --- If you’re from the Midwest and it doesn’t matter where, say shh. Say shh. If you can drink tap water and breath the air, say shh. Say shh …Roam if you must, but come home when you’ve seen enough. Holla Minnesnowtans. That salutation took a while; please forgive me. Oh, and you probably wanna go on a month-long walk with me to D.C. With this whole war going on, it’s surely a month that will go down in history. Why not write the history – live the history. If you wanna come, meet me at Northrop Mall on June 4th. After a handshake from a few friends of mine and yours’, we’ll walk down Uni to the Capitol to meet yet more friends, and then we’ll head south to Red Wing for the evening, ya know, yada, yada yada. A Madtown stop is certainly in order, as well as a visit to that toddling town of Chicago. A stop in Lima, perhaps? Ohio, not Peru, ya friggin’ idiot. And what venture from the land where we walk on water would be complete without the breathtaking Gateway to the Piedmont: the Cumberland Gap. Pull up your bootstraps, Johnny Appleseed, we’re on an expedition. No cutting down cherry trees, though. If we get there early – before the
Fourth of Ju-lye – I guess we’ll hang out across the Potomac on Alexandria or Arlington – or even Pentagon City, gasp – for a bit. Maybe sleep in Arlington National Cemetery. Or dig up George Washington’s skeleton a short jaunt south at Mount Vernon. Who knows what may, but we’ll probably shut down the Interstates heading into our fare Capital, considering how popular this idea has/will have become come this here Ju-lye, as Sinatra might have said. We will carry on, as a herd of buffalo soldiers here in the heartland of America heading to the densely packed, scary East; land of the crooked politician and fast-paced, fascist greed. Just a bunch of bitches and a big fucking Dick – several. This is sadly, not a joke. Yes. I am crazy. But it’s the Summer of 07 goddamnit and it’s time to believe in something. And it’s long past time to bring the troops home, before Vietnam II kills ANY MORE and makes those henchmen any richer.
by cole HW
Summer Songs from That Bird Outside the Window May 1st, 2007 by that bird outside the window What scares them most is That NOTHING HAPPENS! They are ready For DISTURBANCES. They have machine guns And soldiers, But this SMILING SILENCE Is uncanny. - Anise I want to talk against this police state a little bit while the onslaught by the L.A.P.D. on immigrant rights protestors are still swollen and red from the welts of the rubber bullets flying in crowds of women and children and the elderly and reporters in an act of aggression towards those redressing their grievances
On Wars of Aggression
This is by no Means an Anything
by that bird outside the window “War is the health of the state” - Randolph Bourne
by that bird outside the window
Remember sitting in AP Government Remember the New York Times Remember the cover of the cover of the cover of the New York Times splayed with ideas on 1% doctrines where it’s ok when one feels the slightest bit threatened to plow homes with sweet depleted uranium? Unaccounted—does a child scream when nothing is around to listen except for the dust settling under the once-terrace, now splayed heap of arms and feet and vaporized concrete?
I want to speak of the peace that came with their strike I want to speak of the crime rates falling I want to speak of the peace of Seattle, shut down. I want to speak of the peace while the L.A.P.D. tramples families off of their feet.
Eugene Debs went to jail under accusation of obstructing the World War
“The master class has always declared the wars; the subject class has always fought the battles” but what does that mean? Obstructing Where did it stall? On the banks of the Somme? Or in the recruiting office, after the truth?
What’s wrong with gutting the children for their mother’s milk? What’s wrong with curdling the skin that doesn’t fit in with the smoke stacks, or the mercury harbor, the uranium river, what’s wrong with curdling the skin? Arbusto thrusted in ‘77’s scented oils in-laden anointed little ones— scurry critters, scurry with the weather or the withered, just some ordinary demon, with a skillful part and a wispy grin.
it was not always this way. In 1919, a General Strike Committee set the city of Seattle on a stand-still urging laborers to go out and protest their grievances for a better a wage, and a comfortable way of life.
It’s an everything! And for that many people don’t reside well within it for that many people reside well in certain tides of mildew, others soft linen, and others the whip of the arid cries of locusts to the stalk the locust to the stalk the locust to the stalk is not a certain anything it is an everything that’s what makes the stalk rot.
Many kill to profit patient excess suffer.
What’s wrong with gutting the children for their mother’s milk? What’s wrong with curdling the skin that doesn’t fit in with strictly business, strictly existence, strictly the insistance that we all are the, We are the locust! and all we’ll ever be Arbusto, we are the energy. Arbusto, indefinitely [.]
The Roof by that bird outside the window I sit on the roof, outside my window on the second floor of my house smoking hookah and watching the Bunge plunge into the sunset. The smoke ring sits gently with the parked letters of the spray can’s spark, flutter me an antidote “A T T A K T H E G L O B E” Why not take the globe and push it a little down a hill, maybe give it a kiss with a few toes and a nimble hello with the passing stones. Maybe we could wash it with sweet liquor and watch as the little mountains grow sicker and soak with the languid moats surrounding. Is this kid kicking with him the middle of the street or is it just his feet with him? It’s so easy to just give it a rinse and then be done with it. It’s so easy to just rise and say that the sun isn’t part of it anymore. It’s so easy to fall from here. The shingles frail the windows unraveled the cringe of the bugs scatter the sound of the Boards of Canada under my window out of the nostalgia without the mouth the crawl and the incandescent light bulb.
by Bryce Vincent Haugen I’ve been smoked like a cig. I’ve been treated like a pig. I’ve been Newtoned like a fig, oh Lord. Oh, Lordy Lord, oh Lord, Lord, Lord, Lord, Lord. Feels like I’m gonna snap like a twig. I’ve been brought up way too high. And dragged down far too low. I guess that’s just the way things go. Oh, Lordy Lord, oh Lord, Lord, Lord, Lord, Lord. But mere man shouldn’t try to disturb this river’s flow. I’ve been dragged on through the mire. And tainted with false desire. I’ve been wrangled and tangled just like a wire. Oh, Lordy Lord, oh Lord, Lord, Lord, Lord, Lord. But this war won’t stomp out these good soldiers’ fires. No this rain it won’t Stamp out our American fire.
Summer Reading Looking for some new avenues to take in your reading selection this summer? Check out these titles at your local library or book store. Fiction: Scott Bradfield, The History of Luminous Motion Haruki Murakami, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities Paul Auster, City of Glass Jose Saramago, The History of the Siege of Lisbon Non-Fiction: John R. Stilgoe, Outside Lies Magic: Regaining History and Awareness in Everyday Places Carlos Castaneda, The Teaching of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge Christopher Hitchens, God is not Great Lenny Bruce, How to Talk Dirty and Influence People Frank Rich, The Greatest Story Ever Sold: The Decline and Fall of Truth from 9/11 to Katrina Al Gore, The Assault on Reason James Scully, Line Break: Poetry as Social Practice Poetry: Jules Boykoff, Once Upon a Neoliberal Rocket Badge Juliana Spahr, This Connection of Everyone with Lungs Éireann Lorsung, Music for Landing Planes By Claudia Rankine, Don’t Let Me Be Lonely
Keep Your Eyes Peeled for Liminal, Coming Soon! 18/Summer 2007
Best jewelry store for those on a budget Cemetary
Best healthplan Healthasaurus Rx
Runner-up Pawn America
Runner-up A healthy meth addiction and an affinity for street blowjobs
Best way to use up a roll of tape Packing up old clothes Honorable mention Home bikini wax Most embarrassing sexually transmitted disease The Clap Runner-up Diaper rash
Best way to waste time The internet Honorable mention Getting street blowjobs from meth addicts Least recognized form of birth control The rhythm method Close second Punching