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Satire

On "The Hill", Satire

Confessions of a Keeney RPL

September 20, 2017

Note: The author has since become a senior and a non-RPL and she says HAHA WADDUP BISHES!

I’ve lived in Keeney twice. Once during my freshman year and now as a junior working an RPL job in Archibald (my official title is World’s Worst WPC).

Living in Keeney again has had me deeply reflecting on my Brown experience, especially as I move on to my senior year. A lot has changed since freshman me lived in Keenasty. I mean, do we even call it that anymore?

For example, when I first got to “Jameson-Mead, 1st floor, Wait, oh my god, like, you’re a Ravenclaw, too? We should go to Josiah’s or something!” I still thought I was going to law school. Law school! Three years later, and while I do still plan to be unemployed, it will sadly be sans the JD. Continue Reading…

It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs, Love & Romance, Satire

The Everygirl’s Guide to Tinder

September 19, 2017

Well here I am, single again. No it’s cool, I’m okay, unfurrow your brows. Fortunately for all of us, I’m slowly but surely moving out of the “crying in line at the bank” phase and progressing into the “tequila will never leave me” part of the grieving process. Oh, and I’ve made myself a Tinder account. Admit it ladies, there’s honestly nothing more gruesomely satisfying than rating a man based on four low-qual photos of him at his senior prom and two lines of poorly-constructed self-reflection. Especially when one certain member of his species has Maced your heart in the face. Or perhaps you’re not in some sort of emotional spiral at all, you are a self-respecting, responsible young lady out here looking for love on a handheld device. More power to you. Future spinsters and social goddesses alike, I have compiled for us all a quick and easy guide to navigating the fuckboy hellscape that is Tinder. Enjoy. Continue Reading…

Life & Other Drugs, Satire

The Ethics of Magic in Sabrina the Teenage Witch

May 10, 2017

Sabrina the Teenage Witch is the best television show in the history of motion pictures, the moving image, and humankind. It’s the best show because it combines teenage girl problems (studying, sneaking out, what to do when your boyfriend gets two cartilage piercings) with young witch problems (getting your Witch’s License, traveling through a vortex in your linen closet, what to do when your furniture starts talking during your Halloween party), thus making it highly relatable.

If this premise doesn’t convince you of Sabrina’s excellence, let me remind you that the school mascot was the Fighting Scallions, and that Ru Paul, the Violent Femmes and Jerry Springer were guest stars, and that in one episode the family’s talking cat Salem dons a suit stuffed with dollar bills and orders sushi from two very confused chefs. Continue Reading…

Satire

I Listened To All These Things Backwards and Here’s What I Heard

April 26, 2017

As everyone knows, rock ‘n’ roll is the devil’s music  and many rock ‘n’ rollers have relayed satanic messages through backmasking, a recording technique in which a message is recorded backwards onto a track that is meant to be played forward. There are many famous examples of well known rock ‘n’ roll music bands using this method to send subliminal messages to their fans about all kinds of freaky stuff, but I have found many more secret messages from other famous songs, speeches, and other assorted noises. Here’s what I found… Continue Reading…

It's a Girl Thing, Satire

We’re Obsessed With This Liquid Lipstick Collection Inspired by the Morrill Land-Grant Act of 1862

April 21, 2017

The. Wait. Is. Over.

After six torturous months, we’ve finally got our hands on them. And we’re never letting go.

In case you haven’t heard/ don’t have internet connection/ live under a rock, Old Crone Cosmetics just dropped their  highly-anticipated Morrill Land-Grant Act of 1862-Inspired “Granted” liquid lipstick collection. It’s got 12 gorgeous shades ranging from pinks to nudes to reds to yellows (say what?!) and everything in-between.

Ever since BH Cosmetics dropped the Galaxy Chic Palette in 2012 and Too Faced the Funfetti Collection in early 2017, it feels like makeup fans everywhere have been lying in wait for the next big thing. And (you heard it here first) “Granted” is it. It’s fearless, it’s flawless, and it’s inspired by one of the finest pieces of legislation concerning proceeds of federal land sales this country has ever seen. Continue Reading…

Life & Other Drugs, On "The Hill", Satire, Uncategorized

My Story: I Got a Record Deal from Humming in the Ratty

April 21, 2017

My trip to the Ratty started like any other. I got up from my table and started humming a tune the second my foot hit ground because I can’t stand to be alone with my thoughts for more than a moment. I shamelessly continued to showcase my vocal talent at the peanut butter station. I know what you’re thinking, and no, this wasn’t a teeny tiny hum, audible only to me and to dogs with enormous, floppy ears. I was humming from the heart, and the people around me definitely heard. I mean, it’s just humming. I wasn’t full out SINGING like a weirdo; I was merely producing a wordless tone through my nose with my mouth sealed shut like that time capsule my middle school buried. When are we gonna open that thing, anyway?

I guess I’m kind of weird like that, but I love humming! I did choir in high school, so it comes really naturally. I also tried out for a cappella at Brown, so, like, duh. Just one of my quirks, I guess!

Not everyone shares my passion for the art form. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve hummed a ditty while in line for an omelette. In those moments, I am in my own little world — until the person in front of me says, “What?” and I have to explain, “I didn’t say anything.”

But last Tuesday, I didn’t have to do any explaining. I had just finished my meal, so I got up to bus my plate. I fell back on one of my favorite melodies: The “Five Dollar Foot Long” song on repeat. As I scraped rice pilaf into the compost bin to the beat of the tune, a woman approached me. I steeled myself for a trash-related insult, but when I looked in her eyes, I saw tears of awe.

Image result for tears of joy

“I heard you humming, and I recognized your immense talent. I’m so glad you shared your gift with every single person you pass by in here,” she gushed, laying out the paperwork.

And then I signed a deal with Interscope Records!

I know, I know, it’s crazy. What are the odds that a talent scout would compost her food in a student dining hall just in time to hear the musical stylings of a virtuoso like myself? All those years of friends and family begging me to stop humming at “inappropriate times.” All the accusations of humming loudly for the attention — I mean, yeah, I occasionally work a riff into “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” but I do that for me. I thought my biggest contribution was my ability to get songs stuck in the heads of all who cross my path… Turns out, my greatest strength is my angelic voice that has been dying to come out this whole time.

I’ve been with my label for a week now, and recording is going really well! The sound engineers don’t love that I keep humming during the instrumental intros, but like, that’s my brand, ya know? I know I’m going to be a big star — even though my vocal cords only work when I’m holding a plate from the Roots and Shoots line.

Image via and via.

Life & Other Drugs, On "The Hill", Satire

Keeney Gym: An Exposé

April 17, 2017

Last year, I came to the conclusion that Keeney Gym is a nexus for strange happenings after witnessing two bizarre events there. These stories could be surmised as “the time a boy jumped in through an open window, lifted one weight, then leapt back out” and “the time a group of pot-smokers inexplicably walked through the gym with lit joints while I watched on from my stationary bike, most likely listening to Bet On It from the High School Musical 2 soundtrack.”

I’ve since wondered—is Keeney Gym a place of cosmic significance? Does a high density of exercise equipment just invite shenanigans among college freshmen? Are Keeney Gym antics becoming a rite of passage, akin to eating your first spicy with, completing a Sci Li challenge, or breaking an exit sign? I’ve also wondered—what hijinks have I been missing out on this year!?

So as an amateur comedy writer investigative reporter with decades of experience in the field, I decided to go undercover to see if I could witness more tomfoolery. Perhaps, I would gain a better understanding as to why Keeney Gym is a reoccurring locale for mischief. Perhaps I would gain a hilarious tale to tell. Perhaps I would make actual gains.

After all, I hadn’t worked out in awhile and figured, ya know, two birds one stone.

On a warm Wednesday night, I went to the gym-in-question with sharp focus and ASICS sneakers on. You could call me Woodward and Bernstein, or also Adidas Just Do It (I don’t know anything about athletics). As nonchalantly as possible, I strolled over to an elliptical with my headphones on, queuing up the tunes for my workout. I should also note that aside from window-jumping and pot-smoking, I will forever associate Keeney Gym with the Velvet Underground because I have such a distinct memory of listening to them for the first time there. Your typical Velvet Underground song was not written to accompany intense exercise (which begets the question: why the hell did I workout to them in the first place?), but nonetheless I found it imperative to put the band’s discography on shuffle so I could recreate the circumstances of my previous experiences as precisely as possible.

Three minutes into my workout (a.k.a. the moment I realized I was in over my head because of my excessive panting), I decided to take in my surroundings. Most of the treadmills were occupied, which made me hopeful that a flash mob would break out. All of the windows were open, which made me hopeful that a drone would fly in to deliver food or a tiny dog. And there was a suspicious looking phone on the wall, which made me hopeful for a prank call.

Eight minutes in and I was slowing down, which I attributed to the slow, sultry voice of Nico that had just entered my ear canals. But wow, I had not worked out in a long time. Was the last time I went to the gym really that time I did the most gentle yoga sequence ever in the midst of a group of intense squatters?

After “running” one mile on the elliptical, I moved over to a stationary bike for a different viewpoint. Everyone was doing pretty standard gym things: stretching, flexing, watching episodes of Grey’s Anatomy on their iPads. Since everyone had the nerve to be normal, I let my mind wander and started devising scenarios I really wanted to happen. Here is the list I came up with:

  • a trap door opens to reveal a secret laboratory
  • the boy lifting weights grows a tentacle
  • someone is Prom-posed to
  • one of the weight machines transforms into a human man
  • the walls start to close in on themselves and I have to escape
  • the ghost of Richard Nixon floats through jangling chains with his hands raised in double V signs
  • someone runs through in the nude, and I belatedly realize it is Rod Stewart
  • free ice cream

Once I had Rod Stewart on the brain, I realized my efforts were futile. Everyone was going about their run-of-the-mill routines and no one had tried to jump in through a window and the quad didn’t even smell like weed that night and I couldn’t keep biking because I lack defined calf muscles and I had to throw in the towel, reasoning that Keeney Gym had just lost its eccentricity since my Jameson-tenure last year.

As I emerged from the gym onto Benevolent street, which was warm and shiny and slightly sticky like a puddle of Hawaiian Punch Vodka on the floor of an Everett double, a wave of realization washed over me. Could it be that, perhaps, I was the strange thing all along? Me, a sophomore in a freshman quad whose sole purpose in that space was to anticipate a weird happening (yeah, yeah, yeah and work out too I guess). Me, with my crazed eyes, my highly alert posture, Lou Reed’s voice emanating from my earbuds, was it me all along?

Sweaty and content, catching my breath under streetlights, bursting out in a joyous rendition of “Pale Blue Eyes,” I left the gym with newfound knowledge: I am weird, Keeney Gym isn’t very weird, and I need to work out more.

Image via Sarah Clapp.

On "The Hill", Satire

A Millennial’s Guide to Meme Tagging

April 16, 2017

Have you ever been tagged in a meme? Or maybe you’ve wanted to tag your friend in a meme? I have decided to create “A Millennial’s Guide to Meme Tagging” to help all my fellow social media lovers who need some help with traversing the complicated world of meme tags.

First: Spot a dank meme.

Fresh content is always the best content, so do your best to find memes that are relatively new. Usually, it’s okay to have one or two other friends previously tagged in the meme, but don’t you dare be that person that tags people in stale memes like a middle-aged mom that discovers viral trends three weeks late through Ellen. It’s embarrassing for all of us. At its essence, dankness is an ineffable quality that you can truly understand by hanging out with dank people and browsing dank places on the internet. If you’re interested, the origins of the word can be found on urban dictionary. I recommend that you just spend some time observing which memes have a lot of tags and likes on Facebook. An appropriate amount of reconnaissance is integral to using memes like a millennial.

Second: Determine a suitable friend to tag.

While deciding who to tag in a meme is often an organic process (you’ll just see the meme and think unironically, “Wow! This is so us.”), sometimes you need to be careful with who you tag. It’s important to ensure that there is no way the meme could be misinterpreted as shade–petty meme tagging is its whole own art. Also, it’s good to align yourself with other meme lovers in these dank times, so that they have a solid understanding of the semiotics of memes. Hopefully, they study of the evolution of memes with the same intensity as you and your bond of friendship will happily deepen.

Third: Lie in wait for that delicious like and reply.

This step is self-explanatory. There is nothing like the thrill of waiting for your friend to open Facebook on their phone or computer to see that sweet notification that they’ve been tagged in a meme. So many possibilities lie ahead. They could reply with a witty retort that begins fruitful banter. Someone else could insert themselves into your conversation, which will further complicate the dynamics of your squad. They could slight you by ignoring the tag and start a meme war. It’s such an exciting time to be alive.

 

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On "The Hill", Satire

My Life As a STEM Major

April 10, 2017

I wake up every morning at 6 am. Sike!👏 👏 👏 👏  I never went to sleep ‘cause the grind 👊 don’t 😈  stop👏! Camped out in the basement of the Sci Li all night, working on that problem set. My body is deteriorating but Orgo waits for no one! 👩‍🔬🏃

I step out of the Sci Li and head straight to class. Breakfast you ask? No time for breaks👏 ! The only sustenance I need is avocado’s number! 6.023^10th for breakfast👏  lunch👏  and dinner 👏 .

While I’m in class my mom texts me. I smile at my phone even though I don’t know what the text says. I can’t read.

But who needs to be able to read Harry Potter when you’ve got the real heroes, my boy Isaac Newton 🏃and homie Madame Curie👩‍🔬! G👏O👏A👏T^10th

On my way to the lab I pass by the kindergarteners playing in the playground. I chuckle and shake my head. Foolish children. 😈 Who has time to do the monkey bars when the lab 👩‍🔬grind🙌 is 👏 non👏  stop👏!

I leave the lab having cured cancer, eradicated the common cold, and shoved a beaker up my ass. Work hard👊, play hard🙌!

I head back home, towards the sci li. When I realize I haven’t grabbed dinner (mind always on the equation) I eat a couple of radium atoms and record the change in molecular weight once it’s digested while I settle down at a desk in the 50 decibel section of the basement. Never a 00 for this stem gal! 50👏 is👏 an👏 A 👏with👏 the👏 curve👏.

As I sit down to oxidize some proteins and grind through 12 problem sets, I hear some humanities concentrator mention to her friend, “Yeah, I’m writing about gender and sexuality in Macbeth but also Shakespeare on a broader scale-“

I scoff. “Shakespeare? More like Will-I-get a job with this worthless English degree? Answer: no.”

She gave me a weird look, “What?”

But I didn’t answer her, instead choosing to triumphantly shove my head in pipet. Changing the world, demolishing one humanities major at a time. 👏😈👏👏👩‍🔬 👏

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