The 2013 Graduation Issue

Vol. 141, No. 9

TH E YALE

May 20, 2013

RECORD

Move to beautiful

DETROIT It could be worse.

Not much, but still.

I mean, at least it's not Cleveland. —L. Sedlacek

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ININTHE THEHEART HEARTOFOFYALE; YALE;NOW NOWDELIVERING DELIVERINGININTHE THECHAPEL CHAPELAREA! AREA! Dear fuckers, This class has gone on for three hours.

Three. Fucking. Hours. And you’re asking questions with two minutes to go?

Why, dammit? You are the worst kinds of people. I hate you so much.

—The professor Dear Enrique Iglesias, You like it? The way I move on the floor? Well, I would’ve thought you’d be creeped out more than anything, but okay, I guess I can skitter around some more.

—A silverfish

BRITISH WOMAN LOSES TEN POUNDS IN ONE DAY, FINDS IT IN HER WASHING MACHINE Dear person, Why the short face?

—A horse bartender

LINGUIST FINALLY TRANSLATES LYRICS OF TOM PETTY SONG

Dear microeconomics professor, Why are you so tiny? I can’t even see you!

—Rick Silver, CC ’16

Dear Samantha, Okay, I’m sorry your girlfriend broke up with you, but seriously, it could be worse. My soulmate got separated from me in a horrible flood. Then she lay in a crumpled heap for days before someone found her dirty, bedraggled body and threw her in a dumpster. So suck it up.

—A sock missing its match

Dear Mr. Silverstein, I very much liked your book, Where the Sidewalk Ends. It was really cool and made me feel really special, because I already totally knew where the sidewalk ends! It ends right behind my house, where that man in the trench coat sells plastic baggies of powdered sugar!

—Katy, age 6

Dear Yale, You know, I can’t believe that with all your acronyms, there are still some phrases you haven’t shortened yet. For example, why are people still staying “Science Hill”? “Sci-Hi” is much faster and more enjoyable to say! Let’s forget about “Science Hill” and walk up “SciHi!” Who’s with me?!

—President Richard Levin, in a last-ditch attempt to do something meaningful with what’s left of his term

Dear Katy, This is very important. You must never tell anyone about that man. If you do, I will no longer be able to get my “inspiration” to write more poems. Do you understand me? Good.

—Shel Silverstein

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T he Y ale R ecord Dear Random House, I’m so glad you’ve decided to publish my children’s book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie! If you’re interested, I’ve also written several sequels, including If You Give a Drug Addict a Fix and If You Give a Shark Its First Taste of Human Blood. Let me know at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely, Laura Numeroff

AMPUTEES THROW THEIR HANDS IN THE AIR LIKE THEY JUST DON’T CARE THAT THEY’RE NOT ATTACHED Dear John, I think when they say a dog is a man’s best friend, they should also say it’s one-sided. Like, a dog is a man’s best friend, but it turns out the man has a DIFFERENT best friend, and the dog is really more like a third wheel in their relationship who will never receive as much love as he gives.

Try caring about me sometime, Patches P.S. Aw, who am I kidding? I still love you, buddy. I always will.

Dear Patches, You’re not even my dog! I have literally never seen you before today. Please stop following me.

—John

TV AD EITHER FOR LINGERIE OR HAMBURGERS

For sale: your diploma. For more information, please call your senior advisor and be prepared to offer a variety of bribes.

Dear phrase “If you can’t beat them, join them,” Okay, but how does this help me?

—A man who lost his egg beater and proceeded to duct tape all his eggs together

Send for Booklet!

T he G raduation I ssue The Yale Record

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Emmy Waldman ‘11

Like so many of my papers throughout my Yale career, I have put off writing this editorial of the Graduation Issue of The Yale Record until the last possible moment.

I made the usual excuses. First I had to cross an item off my Yale bucket list by running completely naked through Bass Library. Then I had to cross another one off a week later by doing the Naked Run. Then there was right after I turned in my senior thesis, when I felt the need to crawl into my advisor’s bed one last time.

Wow, I just realized how dishonest that sounded.

It’s not what you think; I was having sex with his wife.

Anyway, when I finally sat down to write, I realized that the only reason I had been procrastinating so much was because it was nice to know that I hadn’t yet left the Record. As long as the editorial was unfinished, there was still something left to be done—still drinking wisecracks to be made, dog puns to be composed, and premature ejaculation jokes to be created. But all things must come to an end,1 and now it is time for my tenure as Editor-in-Chief to do so.

I refuse to put any goodbyes here, mostly because I’m just not very good at them. During the last Stiles study break, when Master Pitti walked up to me and said, “Well, 1

Sometimes embarrassingly quickly

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Lincoln… I guess this is goodbye,” I panicked and began shoving large amounts of cannoli into my mouth, hoping it would give an excuse to make my “parting words” nothing more than a squelchy mumbling sound. When this didn’t work, I pretended to have a stroke, ensuring he didn’t ride with me to the hospital by farting loudly right after the paramedics loaded me into the back of the ambulance.

The other reason I refuse to say goodbye is that I really don’t consider this to be a goodbye. The Record has been a family to me over the past four years, and I do not plan on forgetting about my family simply because I’m no longer able to attend family meetings, share family dinners, or hook up with my most attractive family members. Okay, maybe the metaphor falls apart around that third thing,2 but you get the idea. No matter how far away I am from the Record office, I will always consider the Record to be a part of my life.

Still, while I will not say goodbye, this editorial would be incomplete without my saying thank you to those people who have made my tenure as Editor-in-Chief so amazing. I’d like to start out by thanking Michael Gerber, the Student Advisory Board, and all of the other Record alums who helped guide us through the year. True, some 2

of your suggestions may have been a little too unorthodox, like having the full text of the Classy Issue released in cans of alphabet soup as opposed to magazines, but for the most part your advice was sound. You guys are the best: never change. Except for Jordy.

Next, I’d like to thank the Editorial Board, the Staff, and all of our contributors for their hard work writing, designing, cartooning, businessing, and brainstorming novel ways to blackmail the Undergraduate Organization Funding Committee. I know the magazine is safe in your hands. Sydney, Jack, and Aaron are going to be a phenomenal triumvirate of Record leadership.

As of this date, they’ve already planned out next year’s issue themes, sold several ads, and lined up three separate master’s tea guests, only one of which is a porcupine wearing a fedora and sunglasses in an effort to pretend to be deceased comedian John Belushi.

So here’s to everyone I know who made The Yale Record my home this year, and to everyone who will make it their own next year. For the record, it’s been an amazing ride.

—L. Sedlacek The Yale Record May 2013

Unless you’re from Kentucky

Chairman: Michelle Taylor ’13

Editor-in-Chief: Lincoln Sedlacek ’13

Publisher: Jack Newsham ’14

Design Editor: Sydney Shea ’14 Managing Editors: Aaron Gertler ’15, Mitchell Nobel ’13, Zachary Schloss ’15 Art Director & Publicity Manager: Ilana Strauss ’13

Video Director: Natey Weinstein ’14

Online Editor & Supplementals Editor: Emily Sandford ’14

Staff Director: Daniel Fraser II ’14

Staff Writers, Artists, & Designers: Allie Beizer ’15, Ethan Campbell-Taylor ’16, Ben Garfinkel ’16, Nicholas Goel ’16, Ian Gonzalez ’16, Victoria Kim ’15, Spencer Katz ’13, Becky Marvin ’16, Travis Reginal ’16, Claudia Shin ’16, Scott Stern ’15, Autumn Von Plinsky ’13, Sylvia Zhang ’15, Claire Zhang ’15 Old Owls: David Kemper ’13, Jerry Wang ’13

Senior Editors: Alli Hugi ’13

Contributing Writers, Artists, & Designers: Angus Ledingham ’12, Yoonjoo Lee ’12, Andrew Calder ’13, Jordan Greenblatt ’11 Special Thanks to: Michael Gerber, Gwyneth Tuckett, and Lincoln’s senior advisor’s obsolete plagiarism detecting program.

Cover: This month’s cover was illustrated by Ilana Strauss ’13, who got distinction in the English Major and your mom.

Founded September 11, 1872 • Vol. CXLI, No. 9, Published in New Haven, CT by The Yale Record, Inc. Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520 • yalerecord.com/magazine • Subscriptions: $50/year (print) • $10/year (electronic) All contents copyright 2013 The Yale Record, Inc. The Yale Record is a magazine produced by Yale students; Yale University is not responsible for its contents. Any resemblance to characters and events portrayed herein, without satirical intent, is purely coincidental. The Record grudgingly acknowledges your right to correspond: letters should be addressed to: Chairman, The Yale Record, PO Box 204732, New Haven, CT 06520, or chairman@yalerecord.com. Offer only valid at participating retailers while supplies last. The Yale Record would like to high-five the UOFC for its financial support.

THE COMMENCEMENT SPEECH PRESIDENT RICHARD LEVIN WILL FINALLY USE AFTER TWENTY YEARS Congratulations, Class of 2013. I am so proud of you… Well, I am proud of the top five percent of you.

Those of you who are graduating Magna Cum Laude – your sleepless nights and carpal tunnel have finally paid off. You will be hugely successful, earning six-figure incomes and spawning a long line of Yale legacies. You will become CEOs and Wall Street moguls, lawyers and senators, and bring honor to God, country, and Yale.

You will own boats and planes and enormous plots of land, and in your monetary success, you will find true happiness. You deserve this.

However, the rest of you will have a very different fate. Ten percent of you come from trust fund families, and you’ll live out your lives doing whatever your parents say, waiting on them hand and foot for the largest share of the inheritance. Another ten percent of you just happen to be beautiful people and will become trophy spouses, latching onto someone like a parasite and sucking them dry. But the seventy-five percent of you who are left… well, here’s what’s going to go down.

You’re going to struggle through the next few years, living in roach-infested apartments, trying to make ends meet, and “looking for your passion” – which you should have found in college. You’ll move to New York, move

away from New York, move into your parents’ basement, and then move back to New York. After that, you’ll finally settle for the job you thought was your back-up plan, depressed because you’ve been forced to give up your dreams. Statistically speaking, half of you will become divorcees, one third of you will become overweight, and one tenth of you will get cancer. The lucky few of you who don’t fall under any of those categories will still have such pathetic jobs that you’ll be embarrassed to tell people you graduated from Yale, because your Ivy League degree will have amounted to nothing. Your sad children will try to apply to Yale in future generations but because of your failure, they still won’t get in. Your connection with Yale ends here, on your graduation day. This is what your weekends at Toad’s and hours of procrastination have gotten you. I hope you enjoyed every minute of it, because it’s over now, and you fucked up.

For the top five percent of you, today is just the beginning. For the rest of you, this is the end. I don’t mean that cliché “this is the end of the happiest days of your lives” – I mean actual death. Some of you will probably die after I say these words.

On an unrelated note, Dean Mary Miller would like me to remind you to return your library books – you will be charged $25 per missing page after the due date.

Thank you.

—C. Shin

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YALE DROPPING: A GUIDE Normal social interaction is designed in a way that makes it difficult to drop the Y-bomb whenever you feel the need: you may find that people consider it crass or even arrogant to sport your college hoodie to work on casual Fridays, but they may also be perplexed by more elliptical approaches. In any case, while there is fun to be had in going to great lengths to contrive accidental Yale references in day to day conversation (For example, finding yourself a hairdresser called Ezra so that you can say things like, “No one styles like Ezra styles. Which actually reminds me of this one time when…”), this requires a significant time commitment which may prove unfeasible, particularly when it is best to mention your alma mater several times to the same person in order to achieve maximum impact.

Consequently, the Record’s Graduation Issue offers the following practical suggestions: 1) Use a discussion about any recent violent crime to solemnly note that “this kind of thing happened all the time when I was at college in New Haven.” A certain lack of specificity is to be encouraged at such moments, so that when asked the inevitable follow-up question you can look slightly uncomfortable about the change of subject.

2) Accidentally use Yale-specific vocabulary in

conversation and then find yourself obliged to offer an embarrassed explanation. An example might be: “I don’t really think of my big sister as a blood relation; she’s more like the best froco anyone could ever have.”

3) Encourage your colleagues to join you after work at the nearest karaoke bar and sing the entirety of YouTube sensation “That’s Why I Chose Yale” as your contribution to the evening. Casually mention some time later that, somewhat fittingly, you actually did choose Yale.

4) Buy a pet toad. Obviously you should never mention this explicitly, but display its tank prominently in your home and then wait for your dinner guests to ask about it, at which point you should look sheepish and say that it reminds you of your misspent youth. Acceptable variations include decorating your office at work with pictures of toads, or telling people that your favorite poem is “Toads” by Philip Larkin (although if you’re already into favorite poem territory then the likelihood is that your interlocutor has already ascertained your superior level of education).

5) Try asking what college they graduated from.

That one probably seems obvious to the socially-skilled individual, but we figured we’d better mention it since, well, you went to Yale.

—A. Ledingham

−Y. Lee

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JOBS THAT ARE GUTS

UNFORTUNATE SUPERLATIVES

Forest Fire Lookout: Sit in a box and look at the forest.

Possibly while smoking marijuana.

Professional Whistler: It’s a thing. But actually.

Escort: Only requirements are to look good and act smart.

And also have sex. You’ve got this, fresh Yale grad!

Beer Specialist: Because beer in a can is sooooo freshman year.

Poker Player: Nobody judges you if you drink on the job!

At least, nobody who won’t already judge you for gambling for a living.

Beginner Trumpet Instructor: There are three buttons.

Cartoon Voice Actor: What does the scouter say about this job’s gut level? IT’S OVER NINE THOUSAAAAAND. Dog Walker: It’s a great way to make money while subtly coping with post-grad depression.

Ryan Seacrest: Whatever his job is, I want it.

Most Average Moistest “Smallest” Frat Bro Most—Just the Most Deadliest Catch Most “Phlegmboyant” Least Conversational Second-Best All Around Most Likely to Write Thrilling Articles about Other People’s Success Worst —L. Sedlacek

—A. Calder

USES FOR YOUR SENIOR THESIS AFTER GRADUATION Graduation party confetti Hamster cage liner Toilet paper Turn it into [Title of Your Senior Thesis]: The Musical!

Piñata!

Phone Walden Peer Counseling and read them the whole thing Inflict a painful death of 1000 paper cuts upon that architecture TA you always hated Sell the movie rights Write the much-anticipated sequel that fails to live up to expectations Save it to hit muggers when you’re a grad student walking alone at night in New Haven Prop up a wobbly table Fact-check it —Staff

Pimp and Circumstance

—S. Katz

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THE DIARY ENTRY OF AN EP&E MAJOR

October 17, 2013 They told me that I could have it all—I did not need to decide between my undying love of both the Leviathan and utility curves, nor my passions for the categorical imperative and the Electoral College system. As soon as I was accepted into this highly competitive major (indeed, the hardest to get into at Yale), I knew that I was set. All of us EP&E majors would meet thrice a week in the TD dining hall to reminisce about our days in DS, dissect James Joyce’s use of punctuation in Ulysses, and bask in the glow of the admiring (and yes, a little jealous) glances thrown at us from all of the lesser students in the room.

Life would be as good as it could be in a world built upon such a perilous state of nature as that which we have inherited.

What they did not tell me was that no employer outside of Yale has any idea what the hell EP&E stands for, nor do they appreciate my status as a member of the most exclusive major at Yale. Goldman Sachs told me, via email no less, that “this skill set does not demonstrably meet those needed for the most entry-level position at this firm, or McDonalds” and Morgan Stanley suggested that I “take a couple of 100-level classes in basic business management at a local community college before wasting any more of our time.” TFA informed me that I had not spent enough time teaching English to girls in underdeveloped countries to merit the honor of filling out an application, although if I wanted to build my resume, they were willing to find me a position in a hostile war zone. President Obama told me that I had to hone my Photoshop skills if I wanted to blackmail him into giving me an unpaid summer internship with pictures of me and Vice President Biden in compromising situations.

I was perplexed by the responses I received from these clearly state school “educated” individuals, but luckily I had a silver bullet: I sent my applications to Harvard, Yale, and Stanford grad schools, condescending to waste time applying to Princeton as a safety. My three top choices asked me to explain to them how my pastiche of random classes constituted a major before they would honor my alleged B.A. Princeton said they would accept me, however, on the conditions that I sacrificed a puppy, bought the president’s daughter a unicorn, and donated money to construct a 50-foot tall statue of Woodrow

Wilson on their central campus. Imagine! I deign to apply to Princeton, and they expect me to jump through hoops.

But have no fear: I have emerged unscathed even from the Sisyphean hardships I’ve been made to endure since graduation. Bikram yoga, Martha Stewart, and Meatloaf have all been empowering me to take control of my life and move forward from these humiliating rejections. I went to Yale—I can do anything. Everyone must want me and my “overly broad, unspecific and pretentious” skill set (Stanford’s words, and with that kind of compliment, I was truly confused that they so summarily rejected me).

Anyway, Uncle Madoff has promised me that as soon as his promotion goes through, he’ll get me a great job making copies of important documents for Congressman Ferrance. For now, I’m just going to enjoy dinner. Mom says that it’s macaroni night!

—A. Hugi

Graduated Cylinders

—S. Shea

WHERE YOUR MAJOR I There’s no bigger difference in the world than that between the job you want your major to get you and the job you’ll actually get. So to help disillusion you new college graduates, here’s a handy list of majors, the jobs you want to obtain with them, and where they will actually land you...

PHILOSOPHY Preferred Career: Getting paid big bucks to have deep thoughts about Plato’s Allegory of the Cave.

Actual Career: Getting paid jack squat to have deep thoughts about why employers keep laughing at your resume.

ARCHAEOLOGY Preferred Career: Running around like Indiana Jones, rescuing priceless historical artifacts and fighting Nazis!

Actual Career: Spending weeks at a time poring over nearly identical, nondescript fragments of ancient urns.

PRE-MEDICINE Preferred Career: Saving the lives of countless individuals with intriguingly obscure Houseplotline-worthy diseases.

Actual Career: Going straight from Yale to medical school, where you will be treated to four years without sleep, friends, or respect as a brief reprieve before you begin working 120-hour weeks filling out endless piles of paperwork, because even though robots will have taken over all medical procedures, you’ll still have to record everything on paper.

IS GOING TO GET YOU THEATER STUDIES Preferred Career: Acting as the lead in an award-winning Broadway musical, like Cats or Phantom of the Opera, or that one where everyone’s pissed off and swearing and one of the main characters dies of AIDS at the end. What’s that one called again? Oh, yeah: Annie.

Actual Career: Barely scraping by with a part-time job as a high school drama teacher while you volunteer to direct your local church’s Christmas pageant every year, which usually ends with one of the wise men wetting himself.

POLITICAL SCIENCE Preferred Career: Becoming President of the United States, ending poverty and hunger, eliminating the national debt, and finally getting the Middle East to take a chill pill.

Actual Career: If you’re lucky, becoming a representative whom nobody knows or cares about. If you’re unlucky, becoming a representative nobody cares about until they find out about a scandalous love affair. And if you have wealthy, well-connected parents, becoming the President of the United States who will be hated for a variety of sound and constructive reasons, ranging from “things are too expensive” to “Glenn Beck shouted something about you being a papist.”

ENGLISH Preferred Career: Writing New York Times bestsellers about finding true love in the wake of your father’s tragic death.

Actual Career: Living in a box, editing law briefs in exchange for sandwiches.

LINGUISTICS Preferred Career: Working in the FBI, breaking impossible codes and occasionally blowing a case wide open by realizing that the small word written in the margin of a letter between drug lords is Somali for “blackbird.”

Actual Career: Teaching a 2nd grader how to speak without lisping his S’s.

Written and Designed by L. Sedlacek

To the Person Who Can Give Me a Job:

I write to apply for a position at your consulting firm. Given the fact that I can write full sentences, use Microsoft Word, and nod and smile when you say something stupid, I’m sure I will be just as good at the job as any recent grad.

Working for The Lit has given me valuable experience in writing. Poetry, that is. I have no idea how to write business memos or anything you might need, but we’ll just tackle that bridge when we get there. As a frequent intramural water polo and volleyball player, I have exposed myself to a variety of challenges, such as having large balls chucked at my face. This has also taught me how to work with a team, provided that team is primarily concerned with floating on inner tubes.

Furthermore, as a member of an a cappella group, I understand the pressures of singing show tunes and getting drunk, both of which could easily come in handy.

Like, what if you are giving a presentation and the PowerPoint fails? I can distract the audience with “Everythin’s Up to Date in Kansas City,” and get everyone in such a good mood that we’ll all just want to forget about the presentation and go party.

And then where will your business deal be? Not technically failed, is where.

My studies, too, have prepared me to pursue consulting. In my Comedy in Performance class, I am learning how to prevent a red clown nose from slipping off my face. Ask yourself: Would you really want to employ someone who couldn’t keep a simple clown nose on? But that’s not all; I’m also taking Thinking About Gender.

Thus, I have the ability to identify the genders of people I work with: male, female, everything in between, everything outside of that spectrum, and genders whose entire identities are based on that they have no labels. Okay, I guess I can’t actually identify peoples’ genders – doing so would, in fact, be counter to the mission of Thinking About Gender – but I can think about how they could identify themselves.

Effectively, I can pretend I don’t have the ability to say “he” or “she” and call everyone “zie” instead, which would spice up office chatter. Furthermore, I just finished my thesis on the effects of vampire mythology on Fifteenth-­‐Century Spanish cuisine, so if any time-­‐traveling vampires show up at the office and want to drink your blood, I can stall them by chatting about tapas.

For these reasons, and for the fact that I’m two hundred dollars short on rent, I know working at your company would be both a literally and figuratively enriching experience. Thank you for your time, and I look forward to hearing from you, provided I don’t forget who you are, because I’m sending out, like, three hundred of these.

Regards, Ilana Strauss

Dear Mr. Greenblatt, I regret to inform you tha t we have decided to hir for the position as a Ch e a different candidate inese-to-English translat or for the United Nations York. I know this proba in New bly comes as a disappoint ment, but based on your application, it should no t come as a surprise. Af ter closely reading your translation exercise, it is sample clear to us that you snuc k a Chinese menu into the testing center and, for ea ch term, wrote down the meal description of the that sounded the closest. item We even figured out tha

By J. G t it was the menu from Ti Noodle on Canal and M reen ger ott.

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We still have your photo on file so please do not building or you may be try and enter the incarcerated for a durat ion of up to five years.

You have , Dear Mr. Greenblatt

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Sincerely,

“astrold apply for the position of cou u yo nk thi to u yo led David I am not entirely sure what assume that you meant t it does not exist. I would tha u yo ure ass I t bu , SA knight” here at NA alified), except that your and educationally underqu ly cal ysi ph are u yo ich wh evision “astronaut” (for d chivalry as well as the tel an es Ag le dd Mi the to s reference applications had numerous miniseries “Merlin.” to contact us will against you so any attempt er Dear Mr. G ord ng ini tra res a for d file reeFu nbrth latt erm , ore, we have t extent of be prosecuted to the fulles I am sorry to tell you that Mr. Sp There was no opening ielberg doe s not need p o s te d anywhere the letter fi a new assis rst. and of cou tant. rse, as his assistant, I re ad Needless to say, I did n irresponsib o t a p p reciate bein le dickwee g referred d” or “a la you insulte to as “an zy little bit d my Czec c h .”

I a m h p a a n rt d ic Austrian h ularly offen spied on m eritage, an ded that e long eno d greatly d ugh to bec isturbed th ome aware at you of it.

I have con tacted the FBI and if Mr. Spielbe you harass rg yourself me or try to , you will b ecome a ta get in touc rget of a fe h with deral inves tigation Regards, Dear Mr. Greenblatt,

Timothy A bernathy

Assistant to Steven Spi elberg

I am unable to offer you a position here at Pink Flowers Female Escort Service in Las Vegas. Even if the name of the service was not enough of a tip off, a quick look at our website or brochure would have revealed that we only hire women. Furthermore, as an escort service, we are not particularly looking for people with major intimacy issues and an irrational fear of human contact. In fact, I would venture to say that these are both prohibitive attributes in an escort.

We keep a number of bulky guards and bouncers in the building so it would be a very bad idea for you to come back or we will have Ramón and Buzz take you to the cellar andtape your legs death.

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T he Y ale R ecord

EMBARRASSING REASONS NOT TO GRADUATE

WAYS TO COPE WITH THE ABSENCE OF YALE’S HOOKUP CULTURE

Sterling says you owe $0.03 in outstanding fees You have a D on your transcript You have thirty-five Fs on your transcript Klingon does not fulfill the language requirement You tragically misunderstood the rules of “Stiles Assassins” You were caught plagiarizing Dean Mary Miller’s signature on your diploma Turns out “Pornographic Film Studies” isn’t a real major Turns out “Film Studies” isn’t a real major You failed to pay for those hookers you bought on your bursar at Durfee’s You woke up the morning of your Kafka final exam only to discover you had turned into a giant beetle Commencement got cancelled for the same reason as Safety Dance—too many people blacked out last year

Become a bartender at Toad’s Grind up on strangers Hire a prostitute Masturbate – more than usual, I mean Refuse to move out of your frat house Become a prostitute Grind up on stop signs Sneak into Inferno every year Work in a department store and fall for a mannequin; she can’t talk, but her eyes say yes Fall in love Become celibate Go to grad school at Quinnipiac University —Z. Schloss

—Staff WAYS TO SELL YOUR SOUL WITHOUT GOING INTO FINANCE Deal meth Write infomercials for “Ab-Cruncher” Secure an entry-level position in Uncle Kim Jong’s office Get a taste of the real world by working in a repetitive assembly line, coating cheap Chinese toys with all the lead paint money can—or rather, will inevitably—buy Find work as a Dickensian orphan-starver Go to med school to become a plastic surgeon or pharmacist specializing in performance-enhancing drugs Become a headhunter for either Goldman Sachs or the Niaquin Tribe of the Amazon River Basin Do Teach For America and change the lives of a class of inner-city youths—for the worse Move down to Georgia and get into a fiddle-playing competition with a dapper gentleman named “Lou Siffer” Put your Film Studies degree to use by scripting, directing, and filming Al-Quaeda’s latest terrorist threats Go into consulting —S. Stern

THINGS I AM GOING TO WEAR UNDER MY GOWN AT GRADUATION

—Staff

“Let me guess, you lived on-campus all four years.”

−Y. Lee

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T he G raduation I ssue

NERD BECOMES BOSS, JOCKS AND FRAT BROS COWER IN FEAR Pandemonium struck Goldvine, Inc. Sunday morning when Yale alumnus Daniel Goldberg ’05 was officially promoted to CEO, sending many employees into a state of panic.

Goldberg, whose Facebook page lists his interests as “robotics,” “Magic: The Gathering,” and “pimples,” was ecstatic to be promoted, claiming that his years of nerdiness and geekhood had finally paid off.

“Yale was a rough four years for me,” he said, adjusting his pants to soothe the chronic groin pain he experiences as the result of an especially vicious wedgie from his freshman September. “I wasn’t necessarily the most popular guy. In fact, I may have been the least popular.

It was worse than high school. In high school, I was just stuffed into lockers. At Yale, my friends would tie me to the top of Harkness before they started ringing the bells. I could never get into parties. Oh, and Toad’s paid me not to show up on Wednesdays. Is that how it usually works?”

Many employees—especially Goldberg’s former Yale classmates—reacted in fear to the news of Goldberg’s assumption of absolute power within the company.

“I’m fucking terrified,” said Luke Thomas ’05, former Yale starting point guard and Sigma Chi brother, from the fetal position he had assumed under his desk.

“Not that Moldberg...I mean Goldberg...won’t do a great job. It’s just...err...uhh...he’ll do great. I mean he’s a great guy. I’m sorry for everything! I mean, not that I did anything…shit, let him know he’s welcome at the frat now if he wants. Not that he wasn’t before—it’s just—FUCK.” Other employees shared similar sentiments.

“Look, honestly, it was never my idea to bully the poor twerp—I mean, CEO,” said Ryan Slepko ’04, former Yale starting quarterback and treasurer of Delta Kappa Epsilon. I mean maybe the swirlies were my idea, but those were all in good fun, right? No hard feelings?”

Goldberg, however, claimed that his college years are behind him, and that he will hold no grudges in his new position. Still, his implementation of a “Wet Willy of the Month” program drew criticism from Goldvine’s puzzled Board of Directors.

But while the company’s beta males are taking cold showers to prepare for the painful payback they anticipate, other employees have responded quite differently.

Receptionist Kelly Watson ’04 explained that now that Goldberg is the highest-paid man in the company, she

hoped to “get on him” and “tap that.”

“Look, I think everyone is just really overreacting. I’m just glad to be promoted, and that has nothing to do with my former college peers who work here,” explained Goldberg, collecting a fresh batch of “Kick Me” signs from his personal printer. “Do I still resent them? No, of course not. That would be juvenile. Now please excuse me. I have some firings and titty twisters to attend to.”

—Z. Schloss

YALE BUCKET LIST Eat an entire pan of magic bars Ride the Peabody Museum’s triceratops Get mistaken for a law student Fill a hole in your residential college’s courtyard with dirt from your rival college Fill a hole in your rival college’s courtyard with landmines and shrapnel Go to section sober Hand in the pages of your senior thesis (in order) Kidnap the entire Harvard football team so that Yale will finally win the Game (7-3) Complete the infamous residential college buttery crawl Lose all of the weight from the infamous residential college buttery crawl Come out as a straight male Eat whatever your belief system forbids you (the Record recommends G-Heav’s famous Cheesy Beef-‘n’Bacon Wenzel with Blood Sauce, cooked over an American flag) Make the front page of the YDN (preferably with a headline including the phrases “honored for,” “esteemed professor,” and “squirrel sodomy”) —Staff

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T he G raduation I ssue

“PROCRASTURBATION” ADDED TO OXFORD ENGLISH DICTIONARY

Dear antiquated gender roles, Seems like everyone’s down on you guys lately. Maybe you should freshen things up. Come up with some new, original stereotypes. Like “Why are men always stapling everything?” or “How come women just can’t eat a carrot without spontaneously combusting?” or “Why are transgender people so innovative in the field of geopositioning technology?”

Sincerely, Just a weird guy, a really weird guy

Dear Pacman, Mmm, yeah! Chase me! Tee-hee! Uhoh, you’ve got me cornered! Oh yeah, now bite me! Naughty! Send me back to the center of the maze, like the bad ghost I am! Don’t worry—I won’t tell Mrs. Pacman!

—Blinky, the horny ghost

Dear Whore Number One, Well I’m sorry! If you want to be addressed differently, you should ask the director of this film to credit you with an actual name! Now come on, take your place for the next scene! Hardcore pornography doesn’t make itself, you know!

—Bob, the cameraman

Dear fifty-eighth bottle of beer on the wall, Thaaaa novelty beer rack shore wassa nice prezint, but I dunn thing we gun’ finiss the song tuhnight. There’z juss three’v us. And Carl’s chokin’ to dead on hiss own vomit as I say theez words.

Thass too bad. Guhnight.

—Frank

MAN SCREAMS “FIRE!” IN CROWDED THEATER, CROWD SAFELY EVACUATES BEFORE THEATER BURNS TO THE GROUND

Dear Dan Brown, For an author of best-selling thriller novels, you sure have a boring name.

You should do something about that.

Sincerely, Jack Danger Lightning Hotrod Corleone, author of Microsoft Outlook 2007 for Dummies

Dear Matt, Don’t listen to your mom, the Facebook photos of your kegstands are the bombdiggity. If you take them down, the next photos of you streaking won’t make any sense, so keep them all up! I’m proud of you for expressing yourself, and I hope the attention helps you get laid!

Love, Grandma Dear bar crawls, You think you’re being cute, but your name is really offensive to those of us who have no other means of transportation to travel to bars.

Sincerely, Babies Dear yogurt, Like, oh my god, you’re so delicious.

And now I can fit into this red dress!

My life is complete.

—Every woman in every yogurt commercial ever

SOCIALLY AWKWARD MAN CELEBRATES ARRIVAL IN FRIEND ZONE

22

T he Y ale R ecord Dear Jake and Suzy, Oh, great, you’re finally here! Hey, wanna hear a joke? Okay, so an EP&E major and a WGSS major walk into a bar. Everyone else leaves.

Bye, Jean

Fine Indian Cuisine

SLOW NEWS DAY

“A Treat for the senses” —Hartford Courant

Dear Magic 8-Ball, Tell me…will I win or lose this game?

—Nipun Mehta, SC ’14

“Amid elegance, a variety of Indian dishes” —New York Times

Dear Nipun, Outlook not so good. That’s what happens when you pick up the eight ball during a fucking game of pool. Geez, why do I even bother trying to play with you when you’re high?

—Jake McGraw, SC ’15

Hours Lunch Monday - Saturday: 11:30 AM - 2:30 PM Sunday: 12:00 PM - 3:00 PM Dinner Sunday - Thursday: 5:00 PM - 10:00 PM Friday - Saturday: 5:00 PM - 10:30 PM

Every Day Lunch Buffet 148 York Street, New Haven, CT 06511 203-776-8644 www.zaroka.com

Lost: my dignity. Last seen shortly before Wednesday Night Toad’s.

For sale: pictures of your affair you thought nobody knew about.

Dear Timmy, Please stop trying to eat me. I’m not food; I am a person. A person who loves you. I’m your grandmother, not an apple!

Sincerely, Granny Smith

NEW STUDY LINKS LIVING, DYING

Zoi’s

Local breakfast & lunch café

s Zoi’ Orange on

We Cater Hours: Monday - Thursday 7 am - 6 pm Friday Saturday 7am - 3 pm

7:30 am - 1:30 pm

338 1/2 Orange Street New Haven, CT 06511 P: 203.777.6736 F: 203.777.6740 Catering: 203.777.6735

Lost: parrot. Answers to Chip.

Might be heard saying, “I’m sick of you, you stupid, stupid...oh, God, what have I done?” Bird may be wounded.

Dear Marilyn, Some may like it hot, but some like it cold, okay? And some like it in the pot, nine days old. Don’t be so particular.

—Pease Porridge Dear Mike, I was totally wrong to doubt you, man!

What a view—this place is awesome! I mean, check that out! And those! I’ve never seen any this close before! Do you know if we’re allowed to pet them?

Sincerely, A guy who’s about to get thrown out of a naked party

GOING, GOING, GONE

T he Y ale R ecord

YALE SHOP

ON CAMPUS

24

THE OLDEST

OFFICIAL YALE SHOP

ON CAMPUS

T he Y ale R ecord Dear American Red Cross, It has come to my attention that you teach the Heimlich maneuver in all your life-saving courses. In my opinion, it is just as important to teach the Dan maneuver, another life-saving procedure.

To do the Dan maneuver, you pop, lock, and drop it, then moonwalk across the room. I can tell you from personal experience that it has saved the life of the party many times.

You’re welcome, Dan Phillips, BK ’15

COOL TEACHER SITS BACKWARDS IN CHAIR, INSPIRES INNER-CITY YOUTH Dear Mother Hubbard, You went to your cupboard to get your dog a bone? Why do you have bones in your cupboard? What kind of creepy-ass operation are you running here?

—The man tied down on Mother Hubbard’s table Dear student trying to exit Bass Library with 20 pounds of uncut cocaine, No library books?

57 BROADWAY, NEW HAVEN, CT 203-789-2157

57 BROADWAY, NEW HAVEN, CT 203-789-2157

—Bass security guard

MAN IN TRENCHCOAT SMILES CREEPILY AT CHILD, EVERYONE ELSE ON SUBWAY SORT OF OK WITH IT Dear Fort Minor, So, I actually have a PhD in mathematics. I just checked your arithmetic, and “10% luck, 20% skill, 15% concentrated power of will, 5% pleasure, 50% pain, and 100% reason to remember the name” adds up to 200%, not 100%. You must be so embarrassed right now.

Sincerely, Dr. Dre Dear wife, Now that we have placed a gnome in our garden, it is complete. We are an average American couple.

—A husband who is a normal man Dear people of Yale, What are you doing here? This is my house. Leave.

Confusedly, Mory

Hey Seniors!

Unsure of what to expect once you graduate from Yale? Don’t know what those slots in the machines at the laundromat are?

Don’t know how to buy your own alcohol or condoms?

Bulldog Daze is an event designed to bring you back to Earth (the real one, that is) and to teach you how the world outside the Yale Bubble works. Bulldog Daze will be held in Brooklyn. As part of your orientation, transportation will not be provided or paid for.

Take it from recent graduates:

G O D L L U B AZE D “Imagine my shock when I learned that Dean’s Excuses were invalid outside of Yale!

In fact, we don’t even have deans! Thanks to Bulldog Daze, I’ve been thoroughly disillusioned with the expectations of work facing me postgraduation.”

- Dan Wilson, CC ‘09 “If it weren’t for Bulldog Daze, I never would’ve figured out how to cook my own food with a stove.”

“Bulldog Daze taught me several important lessons. Did you know that avowed homophobes and racists exist in the real world?”

- Allison Cho, TD ‘07

“Did you know you have to pay for the bus? I did not. Nor did I attend Bulldog Daze.”

- Maria Fitzgerald, DC ‘08

- Geoff Elliot, ES ‘10 How to eat without bursaring - dating - buying insurance - getting tested for STIs - driving a car that is not a Zipcar - fixing your computer without a student tech - being insulted and not complaining about it going to parties with clothes on - using light switches - paying money for world-class entertainment - being friends, but not on Facebook working for eight hours a day - using laundry detergent - buying a bed - meeting conservatives - using shorter words

Bulldog Daze will teach you all this and more, but keep in mind that Bulldog Daze is limited to 500 participants. Your orientation will not include sustainable farming, culturally diverse foods, or bonding with people you just met while hiking through beautiful mountains, so leave the swimsuit and boots at home.

Register by sending an e-mail to bulldog.daze@ yale.edu with your name, college, and phone number, and do so quickly; the deadline will not be extended, and you cannot register late and pay a nominal fee for doing so.

Breakfast is plain bagels, just like at real corporate meetings. No omelets or steel-cut oats.

Seating will consist of cold metal chairs.