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February 6, 2003

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Survival of the Students

By wpengine | February 6, 2003

You’ve seen those Worst Case Scenario Guides they have going around. They tell you how to jump out of a plane or escape from quicksand. But what good is that going to do the typical college student? However, there are situations when we all could have used a little guidance. So here’s the daze take on Worst Case Scenario: Cornell.

Your car is old, the hill is large

First of all, whatever you do, don’t go up Buffalo. Or Seneca. Unless you have to, and eventually, you probably will. If you’re in an automatic, you probably have several different gears (under Drive it should say either 4, 3, 2, 1 or L1, L2). Put your car in a lower gear to get up the hill. If you’re in a manual, shifting to a lower gear should still help.

Your battery is dead

A quick lesson on how to jump a car. You need two cars. This cannot be overstated. Get your friend or a stranger or whoever to park their car so that it forms the top of a T, with your car forming the vertical line, leaving enough room for you to walk in between the two. If you’re on the street instead of a parking lot you can also put the second car parallel to yours. Open the hood of your car. Open the hood of the other car. Locate the battery on both. Always starting from the live car, attach the cables plus to plus and minus to minus. After you attach the last cable, turn on the dead car. The battery should jump. Take off the cables, check to make sure there are no foreign objects in there and close the hood. Drive the car around for at least a half an hour or until the battery rating is above 14.

The cornell curse strikes

There are approximately 19,000 students at Cornell (undergrad and grad). It’s inevitable that the person you’re talking about will be standing right behind you. What do you do? You have several options. You can pretend you knew the person was there the entire time: “John’s really a pretentious ass — aren’t you, John?” You can pretend that you’re talking about someone else who has — get this — the exact same name: “Oh no, I meant the other Toshie Kelly Gomyo.” You can attempt to negate the insult by attaching a qualifier to the end: “Yeah, she’s a dog — if Grace Kelly is.” If you’re

Related

Rant: Want Minimum Wage With That?

By wpengine February 7, 2003

A couple of weeks back in the trenches as a wage laborer have taught me a few things. As a second semester senior, I’ve decided that I deserve to have the Spring Break of a sorority girl’s (or drunkard’s) dreams. As such, I have set my sights on Acapulco. After extensive research, I’ve found not a single airline that will bursar it. So, how to get the cash? Well, I’ve taken on a second job. I work at the Pita Pit 10 to 12 hours a week for Acapulco money. Don’t get me wrong; I like my job. My co-workers are nice, I ring in people’s orders and make sandwiches. It’s not a bad way to make some change. There’s nothing wrong with asking “Do you want chips with that” for a semester in the service of a debauched dream. But the thing I’ve learned that I’ll forever carry with me is this: sometimes, the customer is always wrong. The customer is always wrong when she, a 92-pound girl, asks me if she can have a third baba ganoush, a third hummus and a third falafel on her sandwich. And just a little lettuce. And no pita. He’s always wrong when he calls me asking why his 222 chicken pitas haven’t yet been delivered when he ordered over an hour ago. Has he ever made 222 chicken pitas? Does he know how long it takes to make 222 chicken pitas? Should he just smoke another bowl with his 221 buddies and relax? Finally, the customer is especially wrong when he or she puts in an appearance as The Drunk Customer. The Drunk Customer is a unique specimen. Both sexes look the same, for the most part. They are clothed in expensive outfits which must have looked good at the beginning of the night, but are now beginning to — for lack of a better word — wilt. Gelled hair has gone limp, and has chosen to part listlessly in the middle. Mascara has smeared above and underneath the eye. Beer has been spilt, usually on or near the crotch area of the pant. I will begin by describing my encounters with the male. Often staggering in with 48 of his closest friends, he begins his night at the Pita Pit aiming his beady, bloodshot eyes at my chest and smirkingly slurring out the words: “Whaza BLT?” Next, he proceeds to do one of three things: He invites everyone in the Pit to after-hours at his place. He asks the location of the bathroom. Unable to wait for a response, he rushes outside and pees in the snow. He asks the location of the bathroom. Unable to wait for a response, he rushes outside and pukes in the snow. Then, if he is able, he returns and orders a pita. Or two. Or FIVE. Oh yes, The Male Drunk Customer can eat. Let’s turn now to the female. She pays with someone else’s credit card — usually a close relative’s — which happens to have her name on it. I know this because when I say “$28.50, please,” she says, “Oh, that’ll break my father’s bank.” One can only hope that in a mere five weeks I too will be drunk enough to say something even stupider. Possibilities include: “Green things are better than blue things,” “Why don’t birds fly inside?” and “What are you doing later?”Archived article by Maggie Frank
End the Trend

By wpengine February 7, 2003

The battle. From the early inception of hip-hop, duels between MC’s, break dancers, or DJ’s have become a defining element of the culture surrounding this evolving music form. Hip-hop battles were as natural as the three-stripe Adidas jumpsuits that defined the old school aesthetic. People gathered at clubs or the local hangout to witness this feat, as intense competition led to displays of overwhelming skill and showmanship. It was the shouts of amazement from the audience that would determine who would emerge victorious and who would have to return to their home for hours more practice. In this sense, these publicly performed battles rendered hip-hop a democratic art form: the voice of the people decided what the future would sound like and served as a creative impetus for the advancement of the music. Though the spirit of competition continues, recent battles in hip-hop, now fought out through media sources and song lyrics, seem to have lost this populist edge, and are won by the loudness of one’s voice instead of the level of one’s skill. An example of one of the most recent hip-hop rivalries, manifested both in the hip-hop media and in the music, is the controversy surrounding Benzino and Eminem. In this duel, the battleground is no longer the club, and these petty conflicts don’t seem to be doing much for the advancement of the music. This conflict is representative of the new hip-hop battles, where the artists fight amongst themselves; removed from the immediate judgment of the listeners — the people. Benzino, the co-owner of hip-hop magazine The Source, seems to have little objection to using his publication as a platform for self-promotion or to shoot insults at other rappers, as The Source has also chimed in on the side of their co-owner, printing cartoons that shine the unfavorable light of Elvis and Vanilla Ice onto Eminem. On the subject of the white-rapper phenom, Benzino most clearly articulates his attack on Eminem in “Pull Your Skirt Up,” in which he rhymes “I’m gonna’ pull your skirt up/ expose your true sex