Correction: Missing word in column

In Danny Haupt's opinion column in the May 2 issue of the S&B, the first word was missing. His opening paragraph should have read:

At Grinnell we have a tendency to bitch on a pretty regular basis about pretty much everything. Some of the loudest and most frequent complaints are often about the college, itself, and the perceived failures of administrators and trustees to listen to students. But when the trustees presented themselves last Thursday to talk to students, not too many showed up.

Random Rant: Don't Touch That Dial

The S&B won't publish another print issue until after winter break, but that doesn't mean we've completely closed up shop. Keep following the S&Blog for both news and content like this, Fiona M. Martin '08's random rant.

What the hell?
I was under the impression that TV in the Grille was to
A) only broadcast news
and
B) remain on MUTE.
Yet here I am, in the weekend before finals, and the Grille TV was on the USA network showing some mediocre action move, and now its on some MTV dance show. Even worse, its not on MUTE! I'm up on the second floor above the grill, with my back to the TV, and yet I can hear every word coming out of that machine (two supermodels are having an argument).
Regardless of what people want to watch, the TV needs to be on MUTE. Plus, the student initiative I voted for, said the TV would be on a news channel.
Who's in charge of the remote anyway?
Your distracted peer,
-Fiona M. Martin '08

Horoscopes

Libra (Sep. 23 - Oct. 22) –On Sunday, you will write a new hit pop song that will earn you millions of dollars. By Tuesday, you will have dropped out of Grinnell and embarked on a nationwide tour. On Thursday, you’ll become an out-of-control drug addict and forsake your fan base. n Friday, your career will fail miserably and you’ll be forced to go back home and enroll in community college. However, by next Tuesday, you will have a culinary degree and a dumb but reasonably attractive fiancée. Bit of a whirlwind week, no?

Scorpio (Oct. 23 - Nov. 21) – I swear to God, if you poke me in the side and run away giggling one more time, I will punch you in the kidney. STOP IT.

Sagittarius (Nov. 22 - Dec. 21) – This week, you will learn the true meaning of Christmas. However, your miserliness and materialism will be back with a vengeance by the time the holiday actually rolls around.

Capricorn (Dec. 22 - Jan. 19) – This week, you will lose your first postgraduate job opportunity due to awkward drunken crossdressing pictures on facebook. You will then curse your stupidity and make promises to yourself that you will change all of your privacy settings and untag incriminating photos. However, before you get around to it, you’ll get distracted by liquor and wind up with tagged photos of you running around campus accosting sculptures with your genitals, which will result in the loss of your second postgraduate job opportunity.

Aquarius (Jan. 20 - Feb. 18) – Having trouble planning your future career and life goals? Simply walk over to your bookshelf, select the 6th book from the left, turn to page 135, and read the last complete sentence. In my case, this results in, "I'm pregnant with his child and want him to leave his wife and three girlfriends because I am more of a woman than they are." Now that is an actionable goal that my liberal arts education has adequately prepared me for.

Pisces (Feb. 19 - Mar. 20) – Don't forget to trim/pluck those unsightly nose hairs. You never know when you might spontaneously fall in love with someone much shorter than you.

Aries (Mar. 21- Apr. 19) – 95 percent of the time, horoscopes are stupid and wrong. That being said, the stars will align in your favor and you will meet your one true love if you send six candy bars and a check for $22.50 to box 3374.

Taurus (Apr. 20 - May. 20) – Despite being a natural-born citizen of the USA, you will be unexpectedly deported to Siberia later this week. Perhaps all those snarky letters you wrote to the president during your activist days in high school weren’t actually such a good idea.

Gemini (May. 21 - Jun. 20) – The next bottle of shampoo you buy at Wal-Mart will single-handedly cause the collapse of small business in America. Nice job, jerk.

Cancer (June 21 - July 22) – This week, you will click on one of those obnoxious sidebar ads that purport to calculate the exact name of your soulmate, and you will actually find and fall in love with your soulmate. S/he will be the person who comes to rid your computer of the horrible virus you contracted by clicking on stupid sidebar ads.

Leo (July 23 - Aug. 22) – The fact that you live in Iowa is no excuse for not planning for grizzly bear attacks. Don’t be foolish.

Virgo (Aug. 23 - Sep. 22) – Fact: every time you sit around gossiping with your friends about how strange or inept one of your professors is, s/he is sitting around saying the same thing about you with other professors.

Horoscopes

Libra (Sep. 23 - Oct. 22) – Make or break: Your romantic partner is perfect in every way except that s/he is a vampire. This seemingly trivial question will become surprisingly relevant to your love life this upcoming week.

Scorpio (Oct. 23 - Nov. 21) – Your entire hallway can hear you having sex. I can hear you having sex. That’s just disrespectful.

Sagittarius (Nov. 22 - Dec. 21) – This week, you will be confronted by no fewer than six wild possums. One of them will be carrying a small pouch full of $100 bills. Another will be rabid. Choose wisely.

Capricorn (Dec. 22 - Jan. 19) – Your 10/10 experience will be truly legendary. On Saturday, you feel like a king among men. On Sunday, you will learn, to your dismay, that nacho cheese damage is not covered by your laptop’s warrantee.

Aquarius (Jan. 20 - Feb. 18) – As it turns out, the recent tornado warning was actually an elaborate plot by Dining Services to establish a dictatorial regime in the JRC basement. Be on the lookout this week for more mildly suspect warnings, such as earthquake, volcano, and tsunami. Believe me, they are willing to do Whatever It Takes to rule over you with an iron fist.

Pisces (Feb. 19 - Mar. 20) – This is a bad week to come forward about that secret Freemasons ceremony you stumbled upon in the cornfields last summer. The police already know about it, and are probably in on it. Oh, and don’t eat the carrot cake.

Aries (Mar. 21- Apr. 19) – Today is a good day to tell your crush how much you care. Preferably in an awkwardly public place, with gaudy flowers and overpriced chocolates. Because really, there hasn’t been a hold lot of entertaining gossip lately

Taurus (Apr. 20 - May. 20) – The bad news is you’ve recently developed a severe, life-threatening allergy to Cajun Shepherd’s Pie. The good news is that this will cause absolutely no change in your dietary decisions.

Gemini (May. 21 - Jun. 20) – Remember how your parents told you that they couldn’t make it out here for Parent’s Weekend? That was actually a lie. They came, but they just wanted to hang out with your ex instead of you. Perhaps if you bring those grades up or clean your room once in a while, they’ll stop by to say hi next time.

Cancer (June 21 - July 22) – Don’t worry, that giant suspicious mole you spontaneously developed on your chest last week isn’t cancerous; it’s chocolate. Also, you should shower more.

Leo (July 23 - Aug. 22) – On Tuesday, you will single-handedly overthrow the white patriarchal hegemony. Just kidding. Instead, some townies will shout homophobic remarks at you from their pickup truck.

Virgo (Aug. 23 - Sep. 22) – On your trip home for fall break, you may be surprised to learn that Snakes on a Plane is not just a whimsical action spectacular starring Samuel L. Jackson. Watch for the black mambas, they’re feisty.

Caution: crossword answers

Answers for Sept. 21 puzzle
1. Steiner
2. Gerhardt
3. Hamilton
4. Corn
5. Exco
6. Fall break
7. Graffiti
8. Intel
9. Lyle
10. Tutorial
11. Burling Library
12. Brio
13. YGB
14. S and B, or B and S
15. GORP

Horoscopes

Aries (Mar. 21- Apr. 19) - If there's one astrological sign no one wants to be this week, it's probably Aries. Try changing it up if you can ... have you ever thought about being more of a Scorpio?

Taurus (Apr. 20 - May. 20) – The Ford Taurus has to be the worst car ever made. End of story. And now that they switched from making mid-sized Tauruses to making full-sized Tauruses, they've made the car even worse. I mean, you must have skill to take the worst car ever, and make it worse. Taurus, stay out of a Taurus.

Gemini (May. 21 - Jun. 20) - You're really sweet, Gemini, but the mullet thing is getting really distracting. I know a good barber in town if you'd like his number. If you don't want his number, though, I know how to get in touch with a few Billy Ray Cyrus fans in town, too.

Cancer (June 21 - July 22) - Get rid of all that baggage you've been carrying around! Nobody's really been listening since Tuesday anyway. Or, if you're really into baggage, try making something up to keep things interesting, and throw a little truth in here and there. Someone's bound to take the bait and give you some superficial advice!

Leo (July 23 - Aug. 22) - You made some bad decisions last week that are going to haunt you. If you feel like sharing, e-mail [newspapr].

Virgo (Aug. 23 - Sep. 22) - You might be loose, but you are not ready. Stay in this weekend and make yourself useful. By the way, that person you've been making eyes at all week totally saw you walk into that pillar in front of the JRC. You might want to stop staring at the ground all the time. And get a new shirt. That one you've been wearing all week just isn't that ironic. Also, avoid all Libras ... they've got it out for you.

Libra (Sep. 23 - Oct. 22) - Watch out for ladders this week, especially six-foot ladders being carried around by your advisor. Avoid confrontation as well, unless, of course, you enjoy having animal claws embedded in your medulla. Try seducing a Virgo on the evenings of odd-numbered days.

Scorpio (Oct. 23 - Nov. 21) - Your presidential ambitions will be dashed this week when you are caught snorting cocaine off an intern's stomach before your speech at the Harkin Steak Fry.

Sagittarius (Nov. 22 - Dec. 21) - Wednesday is going to be the most awesome day you have ever had. Enjoy it while you can, because your professor is going to drop a bombshell on Thursday. Bring a helmet to class just in case.

Capricorn (Dec. 22 - Jan. 19) - The votes are in. YOU are America's Next Top Model.

Aquarius (Jan. 20 - Feb. 18) - The weather is not your friend this week. Try avoiding any sun, wind and rain. But if it snows, you've got it made. If it does snow, go out into the middle of Mac field and build the largest snowman possible. This is your fated way to attract your one true love. If it doesn't snow, that sucks for you. Settle in for a long period of lonely days and lonelier nights.

Pisces (Feb. 19 - Mar. 20) - Yes, that cute editor from the S&B has been flirting with you after class every day. Try paying a visit to the Student Publications office next Tuesday after 4:15.

Penthouse Poverty

The Cast:
Wyatt: The violent roommate
Tim: The elitist roommate
Mike: The roommate who still retains a (somewhat) functioning conscience

This week we join our heroes as they discuss the merits and drawbacks of their lair in the Cowles apartments. Tim, Mike, and Wyatt are sitting on the couch in their living room watching Wyatt play video games while sipping some beers. On a Monday afternoon.

Tim: Listen, guys, I’m sick of people telling us how nice our apartment is. All I hear is, “Oh, wow, you have air conditioning! How awesome!” Well, guess what: our air conditioning only goes down to a balmy 60 degrees, and it can’t even maintain that temperature with the windows open! That might be acceptable if we lived in Alaska, but after spending a day barefoot in the apartment with the air conditioning set as low as it can go, my toes STILL didn’t have frostbite. Now all my mittens and scarves are worthless … all I need is slippers and a blanket.
Wyatt: Did you see me just rip the head off that fiery Minotaur? Sweet!
Mike: Come on, now. We have it a lot better than most students. After all, the school gave us this TV.
Tim and Wyatt: Shut up, Mike!
Wyatt: Yeah, Mike, the school gave us this TV, and it sucks! First, it’s only, like, 30 inches. That is downright insulting. Plus, it’s not even HD! How am I supposed to watch Everybody Loves Raymond from this school-provided couch five feet away when I can’t see the pores on Ray Romano’s face?
Tim: On top of that, the cable the school gave us only has 60 channels. Just basic cable? Our peer institutions get HBO and SHOW-Time. If we want to stay competitive, we need to add some premium channels. The people demand CineMax!
Mike: Honestly, those things are just luxuries. We don’t need them to have a happy, fulfilling year together. After all, we have each other, and we have the joy of learning and expanding our friendships.
Tim and Wyatt: Shut up, Mike.
Mike: No, really, I think that living without all those things can bring us closer together!
Wyatt: Mike, if you continue to talk, you should seriously consider saying goodbye to those testicles.
Tim: How can this hellhole bring us together? We don’t even have a balcony!
Mike: We do have a loft, which is kinda like a balcony.
Wyatt: Yeah, but you see all those stairs going up to the loft? Stairs! Where is the elevator? Did Housing honestly think that after a hard day of playing video games I would have the energy to haul myself up 16 steps?
Tim: I thought this was America, not a third-world country!
Wyatt: And even though the school gave us a lot of free stuff, they didn’t deliver on some of their promises.
Tim: Yeah, they didn’t include a fireplace. That leaves me with almost no options for placing the Italian marble bust of myself that I commissioned last year. And where is the gold-plated fountain of champagne?
Wyatt: And no fireplace means I don’t have any place to burn things! Plus the walls are so thin that I can piss people off with my heavy metal without even trying. Where’s the challenge in that?
Tim: Really, Mike, we live like poor people here. And you know how much I hate poor people!
Mike: Tim, I think it’s time you rethought your attitude towards the less fortunate. They are people just like everyone else …
Tim and Wyatt: SHUT UP, MIKE!

Letter to the Editor: Commencement speaker a disappointing choice

Editor's note: The following open letter to President Russell Osgood was submitted to the S&B this week. We're not printing any more issues this semester, so we've posted the letter here instead.

Dear President Osgood,

While making my travel plans to attend my daughter's upcoming graduation from Grinnell, I visited your website and was appalled to discover that the commencement address will be delivered by Angela Davis. I investigated on the Web to see if this could really be the Angela Davis of memory, whether she had undergone some type of inspirational change, and what she has been about since gaining notoriety. I listened to a recording made at one of her recent speeches.

I found that she's even worse than I had recalled. Hers was an appeal for an emotional response from those already convinced, certainly not a rational treatment aimed to educate or persuade.

Ms. Davis came to national attention decades ago because of lethal violence (murder, kidnapping at gunpoint) by associates all armed with weapons registered in her name. I find nothing from her indicating remorse over these acts, much less denial. Her legal acquittal is more sad commentary on our justice system than sign of her innocence. Since, she's apparently made a living as an academic professional victim, her trade racism, her scientific contribution nil. Her irrational rants masquerade as social science. Is this dishonest scholarship something Grinnell espouses? Why choose as speaker an unrepentant accessory to violence and pseudo-scholar? Why send off our graduating sons and daughters with a pep talk from a cartoon relic of 60's radicalism?

Colleges and universities surely should be places of unfettered free speech, of uninhibited airing of ideas. These should be subjected to withering but civil testing, cross examination, debate, and clarification. Blowing off the head of an intellectual opponent with a shotgun does not qualify.

Commencement addresses, on the other hand, should inspire, reassure, challenge, offer perspective, and admonish the graduates at a moment they're singularly receptive. I expect nothing positive in these areas from Angela Davis. I expect a call to emote in anger, resentment, and hate, not a call to think. While my daughter is sufficiently independent and critical of thought to escape damage from the sophomoric demagoguery of Angela Davis, it's sad her college graduation will not send her on her way with something other than sheepskin. I will attend commencement for the sake of my daughter, but I cannot sit through her address in quiet that might be mistaken for approval of Angela Davis.

I am offended at the choice of a commencement speaker. I resent having this unpleasantness imposed upon what's otherwise a happy occasion for my family. I am disappointed that Grinnell appears not to be the educational institution of integrity that I had been led to believe.

Sincerely,
Michael H. Denyer, MD

Letter from the Editors

By Caitlin Carmody and Ben Weyl, Editors-in-Chief

This letter was first published today in the print edition of the S&B.

When trying to think of something meaningful to say to the campus community about the tragic events of this week, we were at a loss. It’s hard to make sense of things that seem so senseless. It’s difficult to find words to talk about what we cannot wrap our heads around. The sadness and grief over Paul’s death was compounded by the tragedy at Virginia Tech. Receiving such horrible news on such a beautiful spring day felt so surreal.

It’s natural to want answers and lessons from the tragedy of a fellow student’s suicide. We look for ways to understand it because dealing with such acute and collective pain can feel incredibly overwhelming.

We’ve talked to students who are experiencing guilt about Paul’s death. But the responsibility to make someone happy or to keep someone alive lies with no one person. We’ve talked to students who weren’t close to Paul and feel weird about being upset. The same applies to the heartbreak of Virginia Tech—why are some of us upset even though we may not have known anyone who died? But there is no hierarchy over claim to grief, nor a prescribed trajectory of emotional coping. Everyone responds differently to tragedy, and that’s OK.

Community is a strange creature. We are tied together by common experience, common surroundings, a common ethos. Whether or not you knew Paul, he was one of us, a Grinnellian, and the loss of a friend, peer, or community member affects us all.

This week’s coming-together, scheduled and impromptu, was a moving demonstration of how supportive this community can be. We are humbled and comforted to be surrounded by the people around us, and to live in the community we do. Ours is a campus of thoughtful, supportive, and wise individuals. We should turn to each other for comfort.

If you’re in pain, please talk to someone, be it a friend, RLC, chaplain, or walk-in counselor at the Health Center.

In the coming weeks, we encourage the community to use the S&B as a forum for thoughts, emotions and reflections about what has happened and where we can go from here.

As a community we should remember and mourn those we have lost. And we should continue to love and care for each other. It is all too easy to forget about that love and support, especially when things seem horrible, but it is there.

Facebook research

Like most Grinnellians, I am busy as shit. It takes a lot of time to read for four classes, write papers, carry out my senatorial duties, work at the dining hall, DJ at KDIC, write columns for the S&Blog, get KrUnKz0rZ!, and occasionally sleep. As such, I often find myself annoyed by facebook.com and its completely inane yet utterly fascinating array of time-wasting minutia. Of course it is far more important for me to know that my gun-toting pseudo-friend from high school has “crazy Christian” listed as his religious views than it is for me to know that Broca’s area of the cerebral cortex is integral to the production of speech. Obvi. This is why I spent two hours in the KDIC studio today, putting off important reading in favor of looking through myriad unintentionally hilarious facebook groups. It wasn’t completely a waste of time, however, since I managed to stumble across more than a few absolute gems that I will now share with you, my loyal readers.
One of the first quality groups I found was called “Damn, Bitach Why You Just Cant Give Me The Answer?” My assumption is that the second word is supposed to be “biatch.” The general theme of this group is that people who don’t let you copy answers from their tests are total assholes. Part of me is tempted to join, if just to inquire as to what these people believe the purpose of testing actually is. However, I am loath to disrupt the distinctive motif of the group’s wall, which contains comments such as “Hell Yea!! I mean damn I studied. I jus 4got a couple of answers ‘DAMN.’ I hate when mufukaz b cover'n they paper. They act like they gon die if u give a answer. ‘STINGY BASTARDS.’” Reading this made me seriously regret all those times in high school when I neglected to facilitate cheating amongst my peers. I was a serious bitch. Or bitach, as it were.
In this same vein of exalting vices, I also found a group by the name of “MO5T WANT3D/53XI35T ON FAC3BOOK.” First off, it is completely unacceptable to use numbers as letters. This is why we have letters! To be used as letters! Numbers are for counting! The essential premise of this group is that you join if you are a smokin’ hottie, and then you post an excessive number of vaguely flattering pictures of yourself. The implicit rules regarding these pictures are as follows: 1. At least one of these pictures must be taken on a camera-phone and show the reflection of your ass in your bedroom mirror. 2. At least one of these pictures should show off your ‘cool’ or ‘model’ look. 3. None of these pictures should be taken by another person or contain any other people, as this may serve to threaten the extreme vanity of this endeavor. This group has 1,527 members and serves no other purpose than to reward narcissistic behavior and waste untold hours of time.
But, by far, the best awful facebook group I’ve come across during my “research” is one entitled, “Stop, Drop, and Roll…Doesn’t Work in Hell!” Yes, this group was created by someone who legitimately believes that the most effective way to evangelize to people is to joke about the burning agony of the afterlife. One person posted very authoritatively on the message board that “Stop, drop, and roll doesn't work in hell. But this isn't some joke. Hell is a real place and if you don't accept Jesus Christ as your savior, you will go to hell. Hell is NOT a happy place and you do live in fire. My biggest fear in life is drowning. I think that would be the scariest way to die. Now, imagine your worst fear, and multiply it a billion times a billion and more. Thats how scary and horrible hell is.” Clearly, this girl knows where it’s at. I’m assuming she has a wealth of empirical evidence about this perpetual fire scenario.
Fortunately (for my faith in humanity), not everyone on this group takes its message quite so seriously. One young person posed the following question about the stop, drop, and roll process: “Seriously, if you’re on fire do you really need to stop? What if the bank closes at 5 and its 5 til 5 and you’re 4 minutes away and you happen to catch on fire...you gotta get to the bank!! You don't have time to stop!!” Somehow, even though I’m fairly certain this young woman is particularly vulnerable to fire-related injury, I would feel more comfortable trusting her than the previous young woman. But maybe that’s just me.

Movies, My Family and Sexuality

By Lindsay Dennis

God bless the cinema. I’m so thankful for the fact that this country wholeheartedly supports a multi-billion dollar industry designed to allow us to spend quality time with our friends and loved ones without actually having to engage in that pesky business of conversation or looking at one another. This makes life so much easier for those of us stricken with debilitating cases of extreme social awkwardness. Or, at least, it used to.

Back in the day when they’d just come out with those new-fangled talkie films, cinema was much simpler. The storylines were classic and wholesome, so as to appeal to the whole family. But these days, all those heartwarming tales of angels getting their wings and whatnot have all been done to death, leaving filmmakers with no other option than to start pushing the envelope with crazy raunchy sex movies (because sex is the last thing that still really makes Americans uncomfortable).

There’s not anything inherently wrong with these movies, per se. They are often sincere, artistic, thought-provoking, or even just downright hilarious. The problem I have with these movies (which really hit home for me this weekend in Harris as I was sitting between my good friends watching the third or fourth orgy in scene in Short Bus) is that I never think through the implications of watching certain films with certain people. Surprisingly, as aware as I am of my own awkwardness, I never seem to think ahead about the content of a movie before sitting down to watch it with the family. This has led to me making the questionable life choice of watching American Pie, Kinsey, and the 40-Year-Old Virgin (uncut, no less) with my parents.

Granted, my parents were hippies. They are both alums of Reed College, and they have a history of liberal politics (marching through the streets of Portland shouting “Nixon eat shit!”, etc). However, this fact does not overcome our family’s uncomfortable WASPy tendency to completely ignore the reality of sex. For example, my primary experience with sexual education from my parents comes in the form of two succinct statements: “Herpes lasts forever” and “Don’t ever have sex…well, don’t ever have unprotected sex”. There was also a brief but exceedingly uncomfortable discussion about how diaphragms are no longer effective if you lose a lot of weight, a fact that is apparently proven by my existence on this planet. Still, despite these moments of mildly earnest sexual discussion, the general rule in the house is silence about sex.

As such, watching scenes of Jason Biggs humping a pie, an old lady masturbating, and Steve Carrell watching porn in a Circuit City was more than a little upsetting. Even though I never really got a clear impressive of what my parents expected normative sexual behavior to be, I was pretty certain that it wasn’t this. So I merely laughed awkwardly and tried to pretend not to understand the raunchier jokes. Those for which I couldn’t hide my knowledge, I simply played off as things I learned about in that one Bible class on what you should never do if you don’t want to burn in the fiery chasm of Hell. I assume that I was fairly convincing. But really, how would I know? We don’t talk about these things.

All in all, I like to think of these mildly traumatic experiences as opportunities to learn about the importance of considering consequences. I figure things have to normal out someday, and I will either find myself avoiding these situations entirely, or finally coming to terms with my sexual identity in a way that I feel comfortable sharing with my family. I’m thinking silence and avoidance is probably the more realistic option.

The rules of chains

Everyone loves Harris parties. This is a documented scientific fact, supported by a wealth of empirical evidence. By which I mean, of course, that Harris has essentially no redeeming value. The loud music damages your hearing, any calories you burn off by dancing are immediately replaced by empty booze calories, and the all in-the-moment drunken excitement about hooking up with someone pales in comparison to the immense awkwardness of the day after. We all know this. Yet we all still go. Hell, you probably still have the stamp from the last Harris party on the back of your wrist, you dirty hippy. All of this irrational Harris-related excitement is quintessential to the atmosphere of Grinnell, and no party embodies the gratuitous sketchiness of Harris more than last weekend’s Chains of Love party.

The premise is simple. Pick two people you (for some reason) think need to spend more time together. E-mail these names to an account, see if they accept an anonymous chain, and if all goes well, they get handcuffed (“screwed”) together at the party. On the good end of the spectrum, this can lead to people being chained to their extra special super best friends and having adorable platonic dance parties, or to two individuals with tremendously obvious sexual tension finally getting over their insecurities and having a practice session for 100 days, as it were. On the more negative end, this leads to people being chained to their worst enemy or to some random person they may or may not have once had a History class with. These malicious chains tend to lead to excess drinking, or even worse, really awkward situations in which your chain is making out with someone else’s chain, leaving you unable to do anything but stand off to the side, making idle chit-chat with your chain’s make-out partner’s chain. And that connection is not nearly enough of a common bond to facilitate the creation of a real friendship. Seriously.

As such, perhaps it is time to make a series of rules of chaining etiquette, so as to save future generations the pain and humiliation of a really uncomfortable chain.

The first rule of proper chaining etiquette is to make sure you actually know who you are chaining together. Many people on campus have similar names. As such, it is never a bad idea to pull up Stalkernet to double-check your choices. Your friends will thank you when you manage to actually chain them to their crushes rather than to Rusty K or Darcy, the pizza lady.
The second rule is that unrequited affection is not sufficient grounds for a chain. Even if your friends are creepy people who don’t mind being exposed for the stalkers they are, it will still probably be really awkward if they get chained to that one guy who works in the dining hall who has really shiny hair. Not even the bounciest hair can substitute for a complete lack of conversational topics. Nor should you assume that, just because the girl down your hall is always talking about how hot a certain football player is, that they have any amount of common ground or basis for spending the evening together. Clues that such chains might be a bad idea often come in subtle signals, such as the fact that she only ever refers to the fellow by his jersey number or vaguely descriptive nicknames such as Buff-o or Sexy Rexy.

The third rule is that chains should not be a venue for proposing riddles to people. That is, do not chain people together who have never met simply because you happen to know of some really insignificant commonality they happen to have. No one wants to spend all night asking stupid questions in an effort to figure out whether they and their chain had a goldfish with the same name when they were seven, or whether their high schools had the same vaguely racist mascot.
And finally, the fourth, and most important, rule about chains etiquette is that these rules really only apply when you are considering chaining me to someone. Honestly, I would have a much better time at chains if I had the opportunity to see everyone else in really awkward situations.

Why am I so awkward?

Every time I leave the Grinnell campus for an extended period, I wind up being rudely slapped in the face with the realization that I have no idea how to conduct myself in the real world. I often spend several days confused by the prevalence of people not between the ages of 18 and 23, people who are offended by profanity and sexual references, and people who stare blankly at me when I use words like “opprobrium” in casual conversation. My tendency to dress like a hobo and my love-hate relationship with makeup and shaving suddenly qualify me as a weirdo, whereas my Grinnell self had always seemed so painfully mainstream. But one thing that really frightens me about my inability to pass as normal in actual American society is that I’m pretty sure I never actually learned how to legitimately flirt.

I know that sounds dreadfully shallow. Shouldn’t I be concerned about human rights, the destructiveness of capitalist consumer culture and the impending disaster of global warming? Sure, and I am. Really. My interests are many and varied. They just also happen to include occasionally hooking up with people.

Generally, this is less of a problem at Grinnell. Most people here are awkward enough to make me seem vaguely charismatic. As such, my stilted, bastardized version of flirtation actually seems to work. However, I often forget that the real world operates quite differently. This often leads to strange situations in which I give the impression of being mildly tweaked in the head.

One prime example of this occurred last week, when I was visiting a coffee shop in Des Moines with my good friend, Christy “not-awkward-enough-for-Grinnell” Boeckholt. I approached the counter first, hanging back briefly to decide what I wanted to order. As I was perusing the menu, the fellow behind the counter addressed me casually, trying to make conversation. At some point during this interaction, it dawned on me that this individual was flirting with me. This realization was bewildering for me. I specifically remember being agitated. I hadn’t entered the situation with the expectation that it would require any form of actual social skills, and as such I had not prepared myself. I had absolutely no idea what to say to this man. I made a half-assed effort to play along, not wanting to seem unfriendly.

The fellow seemed to have noticed my stilted mannerisms and attributed them to tiredness, saying, “Had a long day, huh?” I could easily have lied, pretended that I’d spent all day at some sort of legitimate job instead of sitting around reading Plans and crocheting earflap hats. But instead I decided to be unnecessarily honest, saying “No, not really. I’m actually just incredibly awkward.”

Had I made a similar comment to a Grinnellian, we probably could have shared a friendly laugh of commiseration at our mutual social ineptitude. However, outside of Grinnell, a statement such as this sends a pretty clear message of “I’m really freaking weird,” as evidenced by the relatively quiet manner in which the rest of our interaction panned out. I walked back to my table, confused and a bit embarrassed. Christy subsequently ordered, flirting casually and comfortably with the same man who had already written me off completely.

The encounter wasn’t a total loss, however. I got a delicious café mocha out of the transaction, and I managed not to trip while walking to or away from the counter. Also, I learned that flirting should not include blatant admissions of my own awkwardness. This just puts me one step closer to the day when I will finally be able to have comfortable social interactions with people I don’t really know. I’ve been making a lot of progress lately. At this rate, I should be pretty damn charismatic by the time I’m elderly.

Cut to the Quick

I don’t know how you live at home. Maybe you have a maid that cleans up after every little mess you make. Maybe you just live in squalor. Or maybe your neat-freak personality shines through. But here at Grinnell, you are not at home. On any given floor, you are living with 20 other people, and, like it or not, you are sharing a bathroom with them. Some of them may even be of the opposite gender. As such, there are rules that need to be followed. A code of etiquette,if you will. Sit at your computer in awe as I educate you.

First of all, close that stall door. Seriously. There is absolutely no way that you could be in such a rush that you don’t have three seconds to turn around and lock the door behind you. And while you’re at it, flush the toilet. There is no reason that you don’t have the three more seconds it takes to push the handle. Both of these activities extend your total bathroom experience by six seconds. I certainly hope you can spare the time.

While we’re at it—the bathroom sinks are not a place to dispose of food. There are kitchens for that. When you dump leftover whatever into the bathroom sinks, they get clogged, and the next person to run water in them gets all your little food particles floating up to greet them. In case you were wondering, there are not garbage disposals in the bathroom sinks. Those are … where again? That’s right. In the kitchen.

Finally, as you are sharing a bathroom with all of these people, it is inevitable that you will run into them from time to time while brushing your teeth, washing your face, et cetera. At this point in the semester, you should at least know the names of everyone on your floor. Say hello to whoever is standing next to you at the sink. Nothing is more awkward than the whole brushing-your-teeth-while-pretending-the-other-person-isn’t-there thing, except for maybe the wow-I-really-wish-that-kid-would-put-some-clothes-on-so-I’m-going-to-ignore-them thing. You don’t have to be best friends, or eat dinner together, or even like each other. Just acknowledge each other.

Yes, Grinnell is different from the real world. There are different standards of cleanliness and acceptable social interaction. Every one of us is going to have to leave here eventually though (except for the weird, creepy ones), and I’m pretty sure that these are basic skills you’ll need to be considered even marginally socially capable wherever you end up next. All you have to do is nod at the kid brushing his teeth in his underwear, then lock the door, and push that little lever. You can do it. I have faith.

Game of the Century? No Question.

Over the past few weeks, many football fan friends of mine have entered my room and glanced puzzlingly at my computer wallpaper, which depicts Michigan RB Mike Hart and Ohio State QB Troy Smith in action poses with “Game of the Century” written on the bottom half. “Really?” they ask inquisitively. "This Saturday’s #2 Michigan vs. #1 Ohio State clash is the 'Game of the Century?'"

The unconvinced looks proved to me that few outside of Michigan and Ohio truly understand the magnitude of the greatest rivalry in sports. Other great rivalries give each team multiple chances to beat the opposing foe each year. The Red Sox and Yankees played 19 times last year, while Duke and North Carolina battle two or three times per year in basketball. For Michigan-Ohio State, each team’s shot at glory—and usually the Big Ten title—comes once a year, on the third Saturday in November.

No game has shattered more national title hopes than Michigan-Ohio State, and this Saturday, the game is even bigger. The two teams are playing each other as the #1 and #2 ranked teams in the nation for the first time ever, and both teams enter the game undefeated for the first time in 33 years. The winner goes on to play for the national championship, no questions asked.

Wait a minute. Enough objectivity. The best way to communicate the scale of this rivalry is to throw out journalistic integrity altogether. So let me put it bluntly:

I hate Ohio State. I despise them with every ounce of my blood. I rate entire seasons based primarily on whether Michigan beats Ohio State. I think that any Michigan coach who cannot win more than 50 percent of his games against Ohio State after five seasons should be fired on the spot, regardless of his record in every other game. I think OSU coach Jim Tressel’s sweater-vests are a sign of the anti-Christ.

My level of fanaticism at best equals that of any fan making the trek to Columbus this weekend. Tensions are running so high that the Michigan Dean of Students e-mailed everyone on campus traveling to the game, warning them of the Buckeye hooligans that roam the streets of Columbus.

The memo told Michigan fans, “If possible, drive a car with non-Michigan license plates, … stay with a group … [and] avoid High Street in Columbus,” referring to OSU’s main campus thoroughfare. One Ohio State student said, “There will probably be some rioting [if OSU loses] ... but I don’t think it will be too bad.”

Wow, that’s reassuring. But that’s Michigan-Ohio State, where calling in the National Guard is just another item on the Columbus to-do list. No #1 vs. #2 game has packed this much loathing into one epic Saturday. The result will either completely ruin my November or make me the happiest fan at Grinnell, with no in-between.

Such is the life of a Michigan fan, living and dying by the 3rd Saturday in November and always remembering the words of former Michigan broadcaster Bob Ufer, who once said, “Never forget that Ohio is a four-letter word.”

Go Blue.

Columnist Mark Japinga is a second year student. He invites all of those who are not Ohio State fans to enjoy the game with him in Read Lounge at 2:30 on Saturday.

Cut to the Quick

Okay, admit it. If you’re reading this blog, you’re probably on Facebook, too. I don’t care if you “almost never go on,” or if you think it’s “totally lame.” You’re on it. Period. Now that we’ve established that, we can get to the heart of the problem: profile pictures. Pictures of you smiling, or you with a friend or dressed up in some ridiculous (note: “ridiculous” and “slutty” are not the same thing) outfit … those pictures are okay. But there are certain types of pictures that aren’t.

The “Oh-My-God-I’m-So-Effing-Hottt” Pictures
You want to bring sexy back? I suggest you put it away again. I have no interest in pictures of you in your underwear, pictures of you giving any sort of “come hither” look to the camera or pictures of you taken by a professional photographer. Facebook isn’t a beauty contest, especially not here at Grinnell.If you put up some picture of you looking “sexy,” chances are everyone who sees it knows that you don’t look like that on a regular basis because they see you in the dining hall in your pajama pants eating stir fry and ice cream.

The “Look-Look-Look!-I-Have-a-Significant-Other!” Pictures
It’s wonderful that you have someone who thinks you’re special. Someone who likes you so much that they don’t tell you how creepy it is that you’re using a picture of the two of you kissing for your profile picture. Truly, I’m happy that the two of you have found each other. But I am not so happy for you that I have to be confronted with pictures of the two of you making out every time I turn on my computer, especially if the caption is something like, “Aren’t we soooo cute?” and you’ve listed their name as one of your interests. If you’re dating them, I’m going to assume that you find them interesting. (Although if you do this, I’m not sure that I can say what they see in you.) You do not need to inform the Facebook world of your relationship. It just makes it more entertaining when the status suddenly goes from “In A Relationship” to “It’s Complicated” and finally to “Single,” and the profile picture goes from the happy couple to you with your cat.

The “My-Soul-Is-On-Fire” Pictures
I’m sorry that you feel so much more existential angst than the rest of us. I realize that as an artiste, your emotions run deeper than those of the average person. You alone recognize the injustices in the world, and thankfully, you’ve found a medium to express this to the world: your Facebook picture. That black-and-white picture of you looking morosely off into the distance, or of just your eye, caked in black eyeliner, really makes the rest of the world take a closer look at itself and realize its inadequacies. The very fact that you can put down your poetry journal or guitar long enough to participate in something so pedestrian as Facebook astounds me, and I commend you for it.

Yes, Facebook may be a little ridiculous, and it is kind of embarrassing to admit that you use it. But don’t make it worse than it already is. Don’t be one of these people.

Cut to the Quick

College boys are the new high school girls. But it’s not the boys’ fault. I blame Laguna Beach.

If you’ve ever seen the show, you’ll recognize what I’m talking about. Whenever two or three of the guys are hanging out, they end up having a horrible, forced conversation about the “state of their relationships.” It’s supposed to be reality TV, but take in the conversations they have and decide for yourself. It goes a little something like this:

Gregory: So, man, um, what’s going on with you and Marissa?

Christopher: I don’t know, it’s like, complicated. It’s like, I have so many emotions. She’s just so, like…you know?

Gregory: Yeah, but you two are, like, so in sync sometimes. And she can be so chill, but other times, it’s, like, totally drama all the time.

Christopher: Yeah, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. We’re gonna have to have a serious talk or something. I mean, she’s really hot and all, and I’m really in to her right now, but I just don’t want to be, like, committed, you know?

Gregory: For sure, man.

I’m all for openness and honesty, but these boys are picking up on the wrong parts. Two friends from home have recently relayed situations to me that have convinced me that this “Laguna Beach Syndrome” (LBS) is spreading.

The situations I have in mind both took on the unnecessarily dramatic elements of the aforementioned conversation. This first involves an unbelievably long “we’re breaking up” e-mail, detailing the last three years of a relationship, and using the words “heed,” “succumb,” and the phrase “hopes, dreams, fears and wishes.” Real people don’t talk like that, except on MTV.

The other situation involves something called “The Man Code.” To set the stage, there were two male acquaintances. We’ll call them Ricky and Pat. Pat was dating a girl, and then cheated on her. Ricky, several months later, started dating the same girl. He then received an invitation to join a Facebook group—which only makes this better—from Pat, called “The Man Code,” which apparently has 37 rules. Ricky then received a subsequent Facebook message, informing him to look closely at rule number 9, which involves not dating a friend’s ex-girlfriend. I couldn’t make that up if I wanted to.

Having mature conversations about things that are important to you is one thing; it’s another to make declarations about breaking universal Man Rules. It reminds me of girls who, when they’re mad at someone, get all of their friends to stop talking to them as some sort of show of solidarity.

Don’t get all up in arms about how I’m being unfair to guys or girls or high schoolers. There is a cure for LBS. We should just all calm down. The next time you have the urge to act like Gregory or Christopher, take five minutes and think about whether or not you would want it aired on TV. I’m guessing not.

Cut to the Quick

The Sound of Snobbery

“The Dandy Warhols are amazing.”
(Superior, smudged-mascara stare.)
“Um, what I meant was that they, um, used to be cool … I liked them when I was, like, ten …”

Oh, I’m sorry. Did I say something to offend you? I didn’t realize that you were the All-Knowing Arbiter of Musical Taste. The Dandy Warhols are, like, so over? Oh my god, does this mean I’m not allowed to like the Strokes anymore either? They sold out? I didn’t realize! Hold on, let me get out a pen. Per your instruction, I will no longer be listening to the Strokes, the Arcade Fire or Sleater-Kinney. (Although I’m permitted to be nostalgic for this last group, now that they’re no longer touring. But it was way lame that they played Lollapalooza.)

You’ve been on one side of this situation: you’re either the poor person with absolutely no musical taste whatsoever, or you’re the music snob. You can always see one coming if you watch for the tell-tale sign: the slightly curled lip. Those people who, every time you mention liking a band or a song, even one that they themselves used to like, say, “Yeah, I was into them for like, a minute, but then they got so … whatever.”

I don’t know anything about music. I can’t tell you about composition, or what key anything is in or if something has a 5/12 time signature, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t figure out what I like. I’m not saying at all that you have to like everything, or that you can’t have an opinion. There are a few bands that I absolutely can’t stand. Just don’t dismiss everything you don’t personally enjoy as “lame.”

I don’t know how music became the most important factor in judging a person. No one, at least no one I know, judges people by what they read. Even movies, which can sometimes lead to snobbery, don’t carry the same sort of weight that music seems to.

So I’m sorry if it offends your delicate ears when I play my passé music. I know it makes you cringe when you’re forced to listen to my unbearably pathetic selections as you walk past my room. I sincerely hope that one day, I can be bohemian, like you.

(Note: The bands in this piece do not necessarily represent my personal taste. Rather, they are bands that I have either been berated for liking, or have heard others be similarly lectured for the same reason. Don’t try and be a smartass and e-mail me about my horrible musical taste. It’s too easy.)

An Open Letter from the S&B Editors

This open letter originally appeared in the 9/29/06 issue of the Scarlet and Black.

Since Monday morning, our campus has been one person short, but we have been left with a hole that is much larger than just one person. We are all anxious, and we must deal both with Paul's disappearance and our reactions to it. The S&B is charged with documenting campus events, but at this moment, we are more than journalists covering events—we are scared and worried students grappling with uncertainty. We are all searching for the right words.

Some of those who know Paul and some of those who do not have shown their support and concern by aiding the search for him, but this highly visible effort is not the only way to help. It is okay to feel uncomfortable with searching for Paul and there are other things that need to be done on campus.

Already, many students have opened their doors, minds and hearts to help support the student body. We are encouraged by the immediate compassion that people have shown and we hope that this compassion and events like last night's open forum are only the first stage of campus-wide discussion, reflection and coming together.

Our collective conscience has been powerfully jarred. It is difficult to articulate and address exactly how we feel. It seems as though many of us are waiting for some kind of conclusion before examining our feelings, but we are all experiencing emotions right now that should not be ignored. Discussing the effects of Paul's disappearance is—simply put—a difficult necessity, and it is something that we and the college administration must do now.

For many of us, sitting in class feels utterly irrelevant knowing that a classmate and friend of ours is missing. We are worried for Paul and his family and are hoping for the best. However, continuing on with our daily lives as best we can and checking in on each other are the most immediate actions we can and should take. Trying to know how we feel is scary, but engaging the emotions and thoughts swirling through our minds is the healthiest thing we can do right now.

If you are feeling uneasy, please talk to someone. It might be a friend, a professor, an SA, an RLC or someone at the mental health center or chaplain's office, but, whoever you talk to, the important part is dealing with what has happened.

A member of our community is missing, and on a campus as small as Grinnell's, we are all affected by his disappearance. We care about each other and that makes us all involved in some way. We should not stop worrying about Paul-quite the opposite, it is impossible not to-but we should also worry about ourselves and each other.

Ask your friends how they are doing. Then, ask again.

Take care of yourself, Grinnell.

Ritter: Keep the football team

On 9/29, the S&B Sports section ran an opinion piece written by Mark Japinga ’09 that argues Grinnell College should drop the football team. I disagree with Japinga’s argument and feel that he fails to take a fair look at the team’s on-field performance, Grinnell College’s finances, and campus-wide interest in football. He also does not address many key benefits of having the football team and, in focusing on win-loss record and finances to begin with, misses the mark on the real purposes of a Division III sports team.

Firstly, to clear up any misconceptions, Grinnell is not a perennial football cellar-dwellar. The Pioneers posted a 40-30 record from 1998-2004 and had a winning record (6-4) in 2004.

The past year and a half has been the exception, not the rule. Even if on-the-field performance was the judge of a college team's value (which it is not), it would be far too early to talk about dropping a traditionally competitive program. If Grinnell was this quick on the trigger a few decades ago, our most dominant program today—cross country—would have gotten the axe.

Instead, we should be supportive of getting a team that has proven it can be successful back on its feet and rallying for a repeat of the undefeated 1998 season.

Secondly, it is off the mark to criticize the football team for having “only” 400 people in attendance at the games, or around 2400 over six home games. Try to name even three of the other 17 sports that warm up 2400 seats per season.

400 people attending a sporting event here is very good. In comparison, the top-notch women's soccer team (6-1-1, 3-0 MWC) drew 100 versus a good Beloit team last Saturday. Contrary to Japinga’s claim, attendance figures make it obvious that a lot of Grinnellians would, in fact, miss football.

Thirdly, it makes no sense to bring up the collective finances of other colleges to claim that Grinnell’s football team is stealing funds from other sports, as Grinnell obviously differs greatly financially from the vast majority of colleges that go into such statistics. The facilities, equipment, jerseys, coaches and accommodations for all of our sports are tremendous compared to other schools at our size and level of competition. With a brand new athletic center and a staff of full-time coaches (something few colleges Grinnell's size can boast), the rest of the sports here are not at all being held back by football.

But the most important point to this discussion is that college athletics—especially non-revenue sports at the Division III level—are not about money and not about win-loss records and athletic accolades. All of Grinnell's sports lose money every year. And in the vast majority of years, no Pioneers become professional athletes.

Our teams should take pride in win-loss records and individual athletic accomplishments, but those accolades are not vital to the functions that athletics serve our small-college community.

Grinnell athletics should be about opportunities for students to play sports that they love. Football gives that opportunity to several dozen people.

Grinnell athletics should be about giving the student body entertainment. Football does that more prolifically than any other sport here outside of basketball.

Grinnell athletics should be about attracting unique, diverse students. Our athletic department considers football a “blue-collar” sport because it helps to bring in the working-class students that Grinnell so desperately needs for diversity. Football also brings in students from all over the country, as only a handful of roster members are from Iowa. The football team is one of our most valuable tools for admissions diversity.

What we have with the Grinnell football team is a program that has won half of its games over the past decade (including an undefeated season), a team that gives anywhere from 35 to 60 students an opportunity to compete every year, a sport that attracts more spectators than almost any other sport, and a sport that adds to student body diversity and recruiting. I see no good argument for eliminating the program but see many good reasons for keeping it.

Note: For those who use grinnellplans.com, Mark Japinga has posted more of his thoughts under the account [japingam].