The next Zach Braff: Chris Poole and Pat Bishop

Communication seniors Chris Poole and Pat Bishop aren’t making a kids movie. Their screenplay for Running Fox, a Studio 22 production, depicts a group of fifth graders and a running joke about checking for signs of rape. Yeah, not exactly Disney Channel fodder.

Macabre humor is Poole and Bishop’s signature, a tone they share with ‘97 alum Zach Braff, who made his premiere with the Studio 22 absurdist comedy, Lionel on a Sun Day.

Running Fox is about a boy named Henry, his fascination with Native American culture, and the lesson he learns at the end. “It’s just the wrong lesson, because it justifies being a serial killer,” Bishop says. “It’s an anti-moral story.” Poole says his childhood in rural Iowa inspired much of the film.

What do the two think of Braff? “I mean, we both do go to Northwestern and are interested in filmmaking,” Poole says. “I feel like we could fight him if it came to that.”

The next Stephen Colbert: Tim McGovern

In his first weeks as a freshman, Communication senior Tim McGovern saw the comedy troupe he would one day lead. “I remember I was so impressed by Mee-Ow. The second I saw them I was like, ‘This is what I have to do,’” he says. Thus began a busy comedy career at Northwestern, just as ‘87 alum Colbert had when he transferred to Northwestern as a junior. McGovern also joined the Titanic Players as a sophomore.

This year, he’s a head writer for Waa-Mu, something that translates to his future plans. “I’d love to be a writer/performer. That would be the most optimal thing because I like doing both pretty much equally,” he says.

What does McGovern think of Colbert? “He’s the kind of performer I want to be, or hope I am, but there is no way of really knowing that,” he says.

He even had a run-in with Colbert himself. In 2006 when His Truthiness was Grand Marshall of the homecoming parade, then-freshman McGovern shouted “I love you, Mr. Noblet!” to which Colbert responded “Right back at ya!” A reporter ran over to ask what he meant, not knowing that Chuck Noblet is Colbert’s character from TV series Strangers with Candy.

The next Andrew Bird: Benjamin Zoll

Like ‘95 alum Andrew Bird took a classical violin education and turned it into contemporary music, Bienen senior Benjamin Zoll, a jazz studies major on trombone, takes his musical training and applies it to electronica and hip-hop.

“I feel if you understand the music at its core elements better, then you can manipulate those elements to create a better overall track,” Zoll says.

Known as “Ink” as a producer, Zoll began creating hip-hop tracks his senior year of high school. “I can create any sort of music or style that I want, and I can, depending how much effort I want to put on a particular track, make exactly the way I want,” Zoll says.

Zoll also plays the guitar and piano as well as jazz trombone. Andrew Bird also had a taste for jazz: he led several jazz inspired groups.

Zoll has worked with artists from all over the country, and is currently collaborating with Northwestern rapper Jordan Looney, or J.Loonz.

The next Julia Louis-Dreyfus: Jen D’Angelo

As a part of her nonfiction creative writing sequence, Communication senior Jen D’Angelo met with one of her professors to discuss her writing style. Her professor complimented the humor in her pieces, but something concerned him. Alongside the humor, there was an undeniable sadness.

This dichotomy has become D’Angelo’s signature at the Northwestern comedy scene. “That is the kind of thing I’m really drawn to in terms of what I like to write,” D’Angelo says.

Although she considers herself more of a writer than a performer, D’Angelo has established quite a hefty résumé on the improv circuit at Northwestern, joining the Titanic Players as a freshman and Mee-Ow as junior.

Her work with the renowned improv group Mee-Ow, a credit she shares with ‘82 alum and comedienne Julia Louis-Dreyfus, incited ambitions to end up working in a writer’s room someday. “Mee-Ow worked so well together…and I think being in a writer’s room is very similar because it’s all these people getting together to make each other laugh and get really good material on the air,” she says.

D’Angelo is also the playwriting chair for Vertigo Productions and has had two of her plays produced.

Expect the subtle vibration in my pocket and the thud, thud, thud, of something tapping on my shoulder. I turn around to see an elderly woman, looking at me with eyes of utter and complete disdain, shaking her head back and forth. To this day, I’m still pretty sure I have three distinct dimples of disappointment embedded into my right shoulder.

The residents of Evanston and the students at Northwestern have had innumerable run-ins in the past, but none so great as the bloody civil war of passive-aggressive backward glances that I witness every time I visit the Century 12.

As a school, we really are lucky to have such a great cinema just a few blocks off campus. The Century 12 was one of the reasons I thought Northwestern was the bee’s knees when I was searching for schools. I remember looking at the show times in the paper and seeing films listed that were still in limited release (Oh my god, foreign films!). As a movie lover trapped within the cinematic barren of the Chicago suburbs, I know the value of the good movie theater.

The problem with the Century 12 is that it isn’t just our movie theater. It is also the City of Evanston’s movie theater, which, quite frankly, means that we students will often encounter elderly people.

What we have at the Century 12 is a quizzical dichotomy; two distinct types of movie-goers on opposite sides of the spectrum trying to occupy the same theater. There is a mutual lack of understanding throughout the two populations, which in turn leads to hatred.

For example, I recently had the unfortunate experience of watching A Serious Man, the newest film by the Coen Brothers. I adore the Coen Brothers. Though I have not seen everything they have made, everything I’ve seen I love. Although A Serious Man had its moments, made me laugh on occasion and was without question well-made, it ended up being a frustrating experience. Not only did I have to deal with the disappointment of sitting through a Coen Brothers movie I didn’t absolutely love, I had to listen to the uproarious laughter of the Evanstonians behind me. Things that confused or frustrated me were hilarious to the rest of the audience, mostly an older crowd, with the exception of my two friends who sat with their heads in the hands. The two demographics clearly view comedy, and cinema in general, differently.

Similarly, Evanston is probably the only place in the entire world where shows of There Will Be Blood sold out. Apparently Evanstonians read the paper. If you don’t plan ahead, you might end up without a ticket to the next “obscure” art house picture.

It’s easy to put all the blame on the Evanstonians for the civil war of cinema. While my cell phone vibration seemed like a minor inconvenience to me, it probably disturbed the movie going experience for the person behind me. We aren’t exactly the most considerate generation and my cell phone vibration is only the start of it. I sat next to a girl during The Hangover who sang along with most of the songs on the soundtrack and exclaimed “He’s so fucking hot!” every time Bradley Cooper appeared on screen.

In situations like these, no one is in the right. Both groups can stand to learn a thing or two from each other. College students should take a note from the elderly and feign complete ignorance when it comes to cell phones. Silence them. Don’t settle for vibrate. But accidents do happen and Evanstonians need to be a little more patient with others before doling out shh’s or pokes on the shoulder.

The war of the Century 12 is truly a microcosm for many other goings on in the endless disputes between the university and the city, and the same rules can be applied elsewhere. If your off-campus party is bumping (or buzzing), try to keep it down. There are people doing their own thing around you. On the other hand, if you hear a party that’s gotten a little noisy, give them a little while to quiet down. You are living in a college town after all. Hesitate before you call the cops (or poke them aggressively on the shoulder).

This cinematic civil war needs to end. Too many ill-advised tickets have been purchased and too many shoulders have been tapped. You don’t know what it’s like until the index finger of war taps you on your shoulder, and by then, it will be too late.

Dinner from the point of view of a fraternity brother:

Okay, fuck, they’re going to be here any minute.

Oh, hey. It’s Ethan Barry from Charleston, South Carolina. Age: 18. Major: Political Science. Distinguishing feature: stupid glasses. Initiating hello sequence.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?”

“Fine. It’s Chris, right?”

“Yeah. I actually go by Queefer Sutherland around here.”

“…cool.”

“I’m sorry, bro, but I can’t seem to remember your name.”

“Ethan.”

“Yeah, whatever, just head on in. Grab a bro-rrito and chill.”

“Alright. See you.”

He wants in. It was as clear as day. But if he thinks he’s getting a bid, think again. We’ve got this campus on lock. Rush won.

Dinner from the point of view of a prospective pledge:

I never thought I could eat so many half burritos. This shit is the best. Free food and all I have to do is tell a bunch of guys what my major is and where I’m from. I did actually meet a few down to earth guys. I’ll be back, if not only for the free food.

Shit. This house? That Chris kid from my poli sci discussion is in this house. He walked up to me after section and started talking me up. He said he liked my reference to Scarface, which was in his opinion the greatest movie ever made. I thought, “What’s next? Is he going to ask for my number?” He did. He only texted three times this morning, which is much less than I was expecting.

Dammit. He’s coming over.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?”

“Fine. It’s Chris, right?”

“Yeah. I go by Queefer Sutherland around here.”

Queefer Sutherland? I go to the same school as a guy who goes by Queefer Sutherland. I’ll be sure to let mom and dad know in the morning.

“…cool.”

“I’m sorry, bro, but I can’t seem to remember your name.”

“Ethan.”

“Yeah, just head on in. Grab a bro-rrito and chill.”

“Alright. See you.”

Why do I get the feeling he’s more nervous than I am? The guy sounded like he was ready to piss his pants. It doesn’t matter. I’m not that interested in Kool-Aid-Sigma-Blood Stains anyway.

Most of these guys don’t understand. I’m looking for a second home here. Anyone can ask me what my major is and what it’s like and how’s it going. If they just drop the pretense bullshit and just talk to me, I’d be fine. Yeah, I want to come off as cool and acceptable, but when you dismiss someone immediately as not being a “fit” for the house without even getting to know a person, do you really expect me to be interested at all?

I’m not going to lie: Discovering new, undiscovered talents or older and forgotten gems is thrilling. There is nothing I like more than sharing something exciting I’ve found with people who I know will enjoy it. I get to see their eyes light up with delight and can’t help but feel that at least part of that expression is there because of me. It’s like giving a fantastic gift. The actual present is what’s making the person happy, but facilitating that joy makes you partly responsible.

Now, if that were the case at Northwestern, I would have no problem. But here, we are a bit more malicious. Most people just want to prove that they know more than you about music or movies. They pride themselves on this knowledge. They will hate on anything mainstream that you find appealing. It makes them special. That’s all well and good, but not when it comes at the cost of other people’s embarrassment.

These people are always going to exist. Wherever intellectuals gather there will be competition. The idea is the take away their power. For your benefit, I’m going to share my fool-proof method of deferring any form of snobbery.

1) Listen to snob describe the grandiosity of an obscure movie, band, or book.
2) Nod.
3) Nod again. This time pantomime saying an enthusiastic “Oh!”
4) Let the snob finish.
5a) If discussing music, inform the snob that you’ve heard that band before, and that they’re totally overplayed on the radio back in your home city.
5b) If discussing film, inform the snob that you agree that the director is genius, but that the director whose name you made up is much better. Go with a foreign sounding name.
5c) If discussing literature, inform the snob that you had to read it in high school for AP Lit and thought it was “okay.”

With this guide you should be able to avoid most art snob situations. But getting yourself out of those scenarios isn’t the only problem when it comes to snobbery. The fact is, it’s all around us, and it would be easier to disagree with such behavior if most people were not occasionally guilty of it themselves. Though the transgression may be nowhere near the level of the more serious bragging aficionados, the average person does have the occasional slip. Who hasn’t felt the slight pang of hearing what he or she thought to be relatively unknown music on the radio playing alongside every other pop song of the day?

The problem is art possession. Songs, for example, have a way of connecting to the listener on a much more personal level than other art forms. When we come into contact with a song that particularly speaks to us, we take possession of it. It is ours now. When we realize that the song belongs to the world, we can’t help but feel a little betrayed. This is the more subtle, more common form of snobbery. When we try to take sole possession of something that belongs to the world, we will undoubtedly get hurt.

So while art snobbery may be annoying, remember how it feels to be on the other side of it. It might be more innocent or well-intentioned than you think.

But to be fair, Nickelback sucks balls, though.

1. If you’re going to use paint yourself, throw on a fresh coat of self-respect first.

The biggest problem body painters run into is a lack of foresight. How cold is it outside? Is there an “N” to my “U” out there somewhere? Is there even a home game today? These are the questions that plague the body painters of Northwestern. With just a little leftover Halloween make up and the cosmetic skills of a low-class prostitute, you can be the life blood of the fan section, but you need to ask yourself those questions first and adjust accordingly. I know your farmer’s tan might seem like a convenient base coat, but please shell out a few extra bucks for white makeup.

2. If you’re going to clap along with the crowd, make sure basic rhythm is something attainable.

I thought it was simple enough, until the Minnesota game. Where there should have been a steady CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP, I got a CLAP — CLAPCLAP — CLAP — disheartened sigh. This might be a little demanding for some of our less-rhythmic students, but my advice to you is either watch the spirit leaders from the marching band or just hold a Pepsi and a soft pretzel at the same time, thus making it totally inconvenient to try to clap.

3. If you’re going to wear a purple and white rocker wig, don’t.

Seriously. It’s not your fault. I blame the Northwestern’s official merchandise. The problem with the rocker wigs is that they’re outdated. Most of the students weren’t even alive when hair metal reigned supreme. To connect with today’s students, there needs to be a more contemporary novelty wig for Northwestern. Why not create a Kate Gosselin wig decked in purple and white? That way it can look stupid and be culturally significant.

4. If you’re going to be our mascot, make sure your costume fits appropriately.

I’m talking to you, Willie. I’ve had my qualms with you before, but after the loss the Minnesota, I can’t put up with it anymore. Frankly, you’re embarrassing. As one of my friends put it during the game, you look like you’re wearing sweats. Perfect. Our mascot looks like he’s still getting over the breakup with his longtime girlfriend and doing nothing but lying around spending his days drowned in a bath of Cheeto dust. And your sweat pants aren’t the only problem. Your head is too small. It is scientifically proven that the less proportional the head is, the better the mascot. Look at Sparty from Michigan State University. Huge head. Great mascot. Albert E. Gator from the University of Florida. Or whatever the fuck that thing is from Ohio State University. If you need any more proof, look to last week’s opponent, Syracuse. Otto the Orange is nothing but a head, and we all know how that game turned out.

5. If you’re going to make-up new cheers and hand out copies, make sure the cheers don’t suck.

This is probably the most important rule I have to offer. Any of you who attended the game on Saturday probably saw the cheers and promptly dropped small sheet of paper on the ground, but for anyone who read the flyer, you know what I’m talking about.

There is no other way to explain the crappiness of these cheers other than to share my favorites.

Any time Kafka does anything it was, “FIRST HALF, SECOND HALF, SMACK THAT RAFF KAFKA.” How does one smack a raff? What the hell is a raff? Not to mention the The Sweet Fitzgerald song (to the tune of “Sweet Caroline”) during every quarter/timeout break:

Sweet Fitz-gerald… BUM BUM BUM
To beat Minny feels so good SO GOOD! SO GOOD!
Fitz has been inclined BUM BUM BUM
To lay down the purple wood GOOOO…NNNN….UUUU… (repeat)

After a defensive play (sung to “Ghostbusters”): “DOO-DOO DOO-DOO DOO DOO, GOPH-BUSTERS!”

If you follow these rules, I am confident that you can be the best Wildcat you can be. You’ll be out there hooting and hollering and not knowing what is happening on the field with the best of them. Now all we have to do is win a football game.

Hi, Kevin!

I’m not going to lie; it’s surreal being up at this lectern, looking down on others who share my addiction and are brave enough to share. I really don’t know where else to begin except the beginning. I didn’t know I was an alcoholic until this past week, Wildcat Welcome, and all I wanted was a drink with my friends.

If you had told me last Monday that I’d be standing here today, I probably would have laughed at you. “I’m not an alcoholic,” I would have said. “I simply enjoy an occasional, casual drink in appropriate social situations.” It wasn’t until my eyes were opened that I saw that what I consider to be an appropriate social situation can be the foundations of a problem.

A restless field of chatter filled Ryan Auditorium as a Wildcat Welcome staffer took the stage in front of the peer adviser trainees. We had been there for a few hours, and the topic’s discussion seemed inevitable. The infamous alcohol contract is one of the first things you learn about your job as a peer adviser. It hadn’t been discussed in detail yet, but those very same details are my reason for being here today.

“As you guys know, there is a strict alcohol policy for all Wildcat Welcome staffers. When you break up into your small groups, your peer coordinators have alcohol contracts for you. The contracts state that for the entirety of Wildcat Welcome, you will neither be in the presence of alcohol nor consume alcohol. And guys, this really isn’t that big of a deal. I mean, if you can’t go a week without a drink, you have a problem.”

It made complete sense. It was a week without drinking. I’ve done it before without even trying. Plus, they made an excellent argument. My advisees could need me at a moment’s notice and I needed to have my wits about me. They deserved a great adviser that could be there for them. It was why I volunteered for the program in first place. I wanted to help people, give them the transition from high school to college I wished I had. They deserved my best effort.

Leaving that training, I felt confident in my ability to honor the ink on the contract and keep to my promise, but would it really be an indication of a problem if I just had one drink?  That question kept bothering me after the meeting, but I was determined to keep my contract. It was the responsible thing to do. Come September, I would be ready to give these baby Wildcats a proper welcome.

After a summer of manual labor, nothing could have been a more welcome change of pace than a week of freshman orientation.  I was ready and willing to be the best peer adviser I could be.  The only thing standing in between me and my responsibilities was four additional hours of extra training.  The same sentiments from before were echoed.

“Just to remind you guys, you guys signed the alcohol contracts, promising you wouldn’t be in the presence of alcohol during the duration of Wildcat Welcome. Seriously, you guys, if you can’t go a week without a drink, you have a problem. That’s what CAPS is for.”

That last sentence struck me immediately as blatantly wrong. That is not what Counseling and Psychological Services is for.  CAPS is for people with real problems, not peer advisers unable to go a week without drinking. That sentiment seemed to demean and lessen the seriousness and importance of the services by CAPS.  I tried not to let it bother me.

The beginning of Wildcat Welcome went by smooth enough, aside from that safe I had to carry to the fourth floor North Mid-Quads (I wish I was joking). I met my advisees, and they were exactly what I was hoping for: eager kids excited to start the next four years of their lives.  They were the type of kids I joined the program for, and the experience was entirely satisfying. It was near the middle of the week when I discovered my problem.

I wanted to drink.  My friends began moving into my house. I had missed these people all summer, and with the stresses and responsibilities of new student week, all I wanted was to relax and share a drink with my old gang. It seemed like an innocent desire, but the words echoed in my ears.

“Seriously, you guys, if you can’t go a week without a drink, you have a problem. That’s what CAPS is for.’

It was spelled out clearly by the staff of Wildcat Welcome: I had a problem. Not only did I have a problem, I needed psychological help. I was an alcoholic.

It’s kind of jarring saying  that. I’m an alcoholic. It’s one of those lows you never think you’ll reach, a compulsion to drink.

But wait.

It wasn’t a compulsion. It never was a compulsion. I didn’t need a drink. I simply wanted one. Does that really constitute a problem?

Now that I think of it, all of the talks and reminders of the contract never talked about want, only need. There was no gray area.  Either I needed a drink or I didn’t.  There was no room for want, but that’s what it was, and last time I checked, CAPS wasn’t for people that occasionally wanted a beer. CAPS is for people with actual problems with compulsion to seek help, not for light social drinkers.

Maybe, I’m not the one with the problem. Maybe Wildcat Welcome has the problem. Everything in the contract made sense to me, but when it came time to relate it to peer advisers, it got lost in translation.

Wildcat Welcome is a great program, and the alcohol contract is well-intentioned. It just has some problems it needs to work through. And as we all know, step one is admitting you have a problem.

I’m going to go have a beer.

There is so much to read into the silence after “…is typing.” it can be a dizzying descent into instant messaging madness. Where does one even begin to decipher such a cryptic and foreboding statement?

Let’s begin with context.

A discussion with a group member about a project

The conservation started out casual enough. The two of you aren’t well acquainted. You may have shared a word or two about the piece of toilet paper still delicately attached to your professor’s shoe, but other than that, the two of you are relative strangers. You get the creative juices flowing with a perfectly timed and worded quip referencing how funny that toilet paper thing was. Ice broken. You two are practically best buds. The other groups are filled with awkward quiet kids and conspicuous athletes in sweatpants. You’ve got a leg up on the competition. Now let’s get down to business. You toss some ideas back and forth until you get to a point you feel strongly about, the direction you want the project to go in and…

Your Partner is typing…

Then nothing. It’s already clear this partnership isn’t going to work out. The right partner would have responded immediately with a “TOTALLY” or a more casual “definitely-sauce,” but no, you get a “is typing…” followed by a bone-crushing, I-vehemently-disagree-with-your-stupid-suggestion silence. For all you know, he or she has bowled in hysterical laughter and wet him or herself. It’s over. Just phone this one in. Split up the work. Your partner’s slight hesitation has said more than any animated emoticon could.

Someone you secretly like/love/are infatuated with/Facebook stalk

Oh fuck. Okay, now slow down. Tell me what happened.

So The Silent One doesn’t know you like him or her? And you may have involuntarily let him or her know? But your layered and subtle passes wouldn’t be picked up by radar. How could The Silent One have seen through it? Oh, The Silent One is good. He or she sees through that façade. The Silent One’s got you dead to rights and has already contacted the proper authorities. The silence says it all.

All that work, the downplayed smiles, eye contact filled with near-telepathy, unconscious yet appropriate seat selection in lecture — all gone. Where did you lose it? So smooth. Perfect wording. Then this. You basically proposed. Idiot.

Well, I don’t know what to tell you. It’s all there is plain Gchat. He or she was typing. Then he or she was not.

While the “is typing…” message followed by silence can be a terrifying experience, it is far from socially life-threatening. The problem is social telepathy, putting thoughts into the heads of others and making conclusions based on those implanted thoughts. You don’t know what the other person is thinking, no matter how sure you are that his or her silence means “Meet in the fourth floor, south tower of the library for mind-blowing sex.” No one knows what someone else is thinking, but the person thinking it. That is, unless they say it themselves.

So the next time you are faced with silence and begin to hyperventilate, remember this. How swift are your responses? You’ve begun typing and stopped to think or talk to someone else before. Don’t hold your chatter up to standards you don’t even meet. Give him or her time to reply, and relax.

Okay?

…

Reader is typing…

…

Fuck.

Charlyne Yi and Michael Cera star in the mockumentary Paper Heart. Photo courtesy of Getty Images.

Have you ever had a really good conversation about love? It might have been brought on by one too many drinks at a party — where you never would have guessed it — but before you knew it, you’re in a bedroom talking with a group of people you may or may not know about love. What is it? Is it even real? Is love for everyone?

The new film Paper Heart takes the best and funniest moments of those conversations and fits them into a romantic comedy. What saves this movie from the pratfalls of a typical romance is its inventive mockumentary structure and its irresistible star and co-writer Charlyne Yi, whose scene-stealing cameo in Knocked Up as the stoner girlfriend Jodi is probably the only time you’ve seen her. Always smirking, as if on the verge of hysterical laughter (which she usually is), Yi is simply infectious.

Paper Heart begins with Yi in the middle of the Las Vegas strip asking a simple question, the same question you asked your fellow party-goers in that bedroom — What is love? This question is the catalyst for a film project. Yi’s friend Nick wants to make a documentary about her because she claims to not know what love is and believes she’ll never be in love. Their plan is to cross the country, talking to different people, and finding out what love means to them. They speak with biologists, bikers, a judge, a family law attorney and — in one of the film’s best scenes — a group of children in a playground, and each of these people offers their own version of love.

During these interviews, the subjects tell stories of love lost and found, all of which Yi acts out with hilariously low-budget figurines. It is impossible to listen to these stories and not think of someone from your own life, and that’s the beauty of a movie like this. Yes, it’s quirky and funny, but it also has a real heart and a wonderful idea — albeit a little too idealized — of what love is. It gets you thinking about love in your own life, just like real-life conversations about love do, and you’ll know exactly who you want to call or text as you walk out of this movie.

What makes Paper Heart truly unique is its structure. While the interviews are with real people, I believe Yi’s search for love is fictional. Yi’s friend Nick, who shares a name with the actual director and co-writer, is played by a man named Jake Johnson. Are you following this? Along the way, Yi meets a friend of a friend, Michael Cera, played by Michael Cera. The two begin to fall in love, and Nick insists on capturing every moment of it on film. What follows is Charlyne Yi being Charlyne Yi and Michael Cera doing his best Michael Cera, and it’s honestly hilarious.

Paper Heart was a big smash at Sundance, and it’s easy to see why. From its undeniably charming protagonist to its honest and beautiful portrayal of real love, Paper Heart is a film that will make you laugh, say “awww,” and think a little bit, and you don’t even need to drink to get a conversation started after.

Grade: A-

Should you drink on Dillo Day? Of course you should. It makes everything more fun. People like you more. Walking is more interesting–who doesn’t love a good challenge? You won’t even remember hearing the Estelle songs you’ve never heard before. It’s going to be super fun. Everyone under 21, including me, is going to be totes jealous of you.

Oh, to be 21! Drinking looks like a lot of fun from what I’ve seen of it. My dad likes it a lot. He drinks alcohol like I drink chocolate milk, and I love chocolate milk. After a night of yelling at the god-damned TV because the fuckin’ DVR didn’t record the last episode of Dateline, Dad always likes to curl up with his friend Jimmy – Jim Beam to you – and weep while listening to Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young records and reminisce about his college days. I remember the last thing he said to me as he dropped me off at college for the first time: “Son, remember *burp* I’ll always love you… and never drink and screw. You’ll end up with an 18-year-long hangover that’ll cost you $45,000 a year. Have fun.” I wouldn’t call my dad my hero, but he’s at least a close second behind Ellen DeGeneres. He says that drinking the good stuff puts hair on a man’s chest. I look forward to my first taste of alcohol and my first strand of body hair…

But I digress. Dillo Day is the perfect opportunity to throw off your inhibitions and shed the responsibilities of being responsible and just enjoy yourself. After three quarters of only studying and not drinking, we need at least one day to act like a normal college. It’s not like we have an arbitrary day of the week – cough*Monday*cough – to go out to a bar – cough*KegofEvanston*cough – and get plastered. We — well, not me, but the people over 21 — get a chance to drink and act how college students are supposed to act: stupid, obnoxious, and vomitty. If I’ve learned one thing from my two years at Northwestern, it’s that Northwestern isn’t like any other school. It sucks. No one does anything, has friends or is exciting. All we do is study, put on student productions, engineer stuff and join a cappella groups.

I don’t know if you’ve seen Greek, which is from what I can tell a documentary series on the ABC Family Channel about the life of an average college student, but I have. It is nothing like Northwestern. I don’t know when it happened, but at some point Northwestern lost its cool. I’m sure we used to be cool at some point. I heard Frances Willard could even pound Keystones with the best of them. It couldn’t have always been this lame of a school. What Dillo Day really should be is a reminder of what we once were and what we should be.

The gods of Dillo Day have been generous enough to give our lame-ass school all of the ingredients for a day of actual college-like behavior. We’ve got three (well, maybe two) great acts and full day of lax alcohol policies. For those of you able to drink, do everyone around you the favor of letting them know that this song is your favorite or the best fucking song of all time. They’ll appreciate your critical insight and you’ll feel important.

So this Dillo Day, do your university proud. Legitimize it in the eyes of your state school friends. If you’re not sure what to do, rent a film from the multimedia center about college and copy off those kids. Drink for all the kids under 21 who will have no access to alcohol. But most importantly, have fun and be safe.

The freeze has been a thorn in the collective side of the Greek system since 1989, when the rule was established. The idea behind the concept was to introduce freshmen to the Greek system gradually, instead of it having a direct influence on students’ first month here. As Artaiz explains, the rule was “designed to account for the realities that existed in 1989.” When the rule was initially proposed, it was meant to promote deterred recruitment. Up until the establishment of the freshman freeze, it was common practice for houses to begin recruiting freshmen as soon as they arrived on campus.

The Greek system (to which I belong) has undoubtedly changed since then. Though dirty rushing — rushing before the prescribed time — still exists, Artaiz pointed out that new recruitment regulations have been put in place and that Greek houses are now dry. The negative aspects of Greek life present when the rule was established have either been done away with or regulated under the strict guidelines of Greek organizations like IFC, Panhellenic Association, the Multicultural Greek Council (MGC), and the National Pan-Hellenic Council. The proposal submitted to ASG on behalf of the Greek community suggests that the freeze has long since completed its objectives and now hurts the houses by remaining unaltered.

Northwestern frat houses aren’t like Animal House, no matter how much we might wish they were. North By Northwestern file photo.

There is no longer a valid reason to keep the four-week freshman freeze. Artaiz is correct when he says that the statute is out of date. One of the problems cited in the proposal was that the freeze does not account for MGC, which was created after the rule was established. The proposal calls for an inclusion of all Greek societies.

The Greek culture at Northwestern is not the least bit reminiscent of the infamous Delta House from Animal House. A house like that wouldn’t stay on campus for more than one party with IFC looking over its shoulder. Now that the Greek system has changed significantly and for the better, a measure as extreme as four weeks of freshman freeze just seems based on old stereotypes of the Greek system, like it’s some big, bad, scary thing that new freshman are too delicate to encounter in their first weeks of school.

One of the biggest problems I’ve personally experienced with the freshman freeze is the skewed image it conjures for the houses. As a freshman, I initially had little to no interest in rushing. The idea of freshman freeze made it seem like the university was trying to protect me from something. I couldn’t get an idea of what any of the houses were really about until a month into school, when houses had to scramble to put together the traditional Sunday night dinners to make up for lost time. Instead of a natural introduction to the Greek system, I had to take the plunge as soon as the freeze ended. As a Greek sophomore, I can now see why people who hold similar views on the Greek system that I once had don’t join a house. Because of this, they’re missing out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

The biggest problem with the current state of the freshman freeze rule is that it entirely undermines any level of personal responsibility in the freshman class. We’re told that college is supposed to be a time of adulthood and deciding things on your own, but as soon as we get here, we’re told where we can’t go. Where is the freedom? The personal responsibility? I thought I left mom and dad back in the suburbs.

One of the biggest benefits of the potential repeal would be the ability to conduct and advertise for philanthropies. Under the current rules, Greek organizations can’t hold philanthropic events during freshman freeze, and they can’t even advertise during the four weeks for events that occur after the freeze. If anyone remembers, we’re supposed to be service organizations. I think that should be the first impression freshman get of us, not the “you can’t go there” mentality that the university instills in them as soon as they arrive.

This proposal should and hopefully will go through. What harm could really come from allowing freshmen into Greek houses after their first two weeks on campus? It will certainly keep them from flocking to sketchy off-campus parties, where cops have to get involved. There would inevitably be concerns of an increase in dirty rushing, but if IFC keeps it promises to regulate recruitment more closely, this shouldn’t be a problem worth halting the proposal for. Cutting the freshman freeze in half is the least the university can do for the almost 40 percent of the student population in the Greek system, and for the 2,182 incoming members of the class of 2013.