November 3, 2004
| November 3, 2004
“[My music] hopefully has a certain like, um, unbound, like, like free and radical energy that people could use and go along with it and use it for their purposes, like have a certain dialogue with the music and get into a certain, yeah, get into an ‘exploratous’ momentum and if the music can provide that then I think it’s, yeah, I think there’s not more than you can push for music,” says Jan St. Werner of Mouse on Mars.
Mouse on Mars’ sold-out October 23rd performance at the Bowery Ballroom in New York City unleashed a frenetic energy unlike any I’ve seen in the realm of indie-rock and its aficionados. The Rapture preoccupy themselves with image. Interpol’s main indulgence is fashion. !!! grapple with the pronunciation of their name. Mouse on Mars’ only concern is rocking you off your ass.
The tour comes in support of their latest record, Radical Connector, an excited meditation on art, interconnectedness and the impulse of booty-shaking. “People dance the way they wanna; it’s really like that,” Jan emphasizes.
The response to the irresistible “Wipe That Sound” was unanimous: an unbridled robotic sway-cum-seizure. Apparently, most people in the crowd had a predisposition towards epilepsy. In the words of St. Werner, “First we have to unite them, and then we can start the party.”
For their current tour, Mouse on Mars brought along a legitimate live band, including St. Werner working the electronics, Andi Toma on the bass and Dodo Nkishi providing drums and vocals. For the additional rock of “Wipe That Sound,” the band brought out a “little orchestra” including a Ratatat guitarist and Muffin Man, an intimidatingly goofy rapper along the lines of Method Man. He was clad in a red jumpsuit, dreadlocks past his shoulders, a bandanna around his head, a pair of goggles above his eyes, and several metal spikes protruding from his forehead. He also wore an American flag handkerchief around his wrist, which stood out prominently when he waved his hands in the air
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November 4, 2004
Far, far away from cold, dismal Ithaca lies a land of warm sun, beautiful beaches and, of course, celebrities. While escaping to L.A. between prelims probably isn’t feasible, you can still bring a little piece of star style to Cornell. So strut your stuff wearing these items, and you’ll have that cute guy in your psych class asking, “Since when does Paris Hilton go to Cornell?” (Disclaimer: the authors are in no way responsible for any stalkers that may result from your our fashion advice.) Shirt You are only 85 percent natural, and damn proud of it! Besides, who really cares if your boobs can float on water, or your smooth forehead is a result of bovine injections? You look great and you know it. So now’s your chance to let the whole world know that plastic is fantastic! And besides, where’s the fun in keeping them guessing? Skirt From plodding along the wet Ithaca roads to wrapping this fabulous look from Ugg around your ass is as versatile as it gets. There’s no better way to protect your famous backside than with a soft and furry layer of shearling. And even if your butt isn’t insured for as much as J. Lo’s, we still believe it deserves pampering. Sunglasses Partied a little too hard with Hilton and company last night? No prob! Slap these babies on, and you can hide all that redeye from booze. Or coke. Or whatever vice you use to drown out the fact that your last box office hit was during the Clinton administration. And there’s a bonus: They will protect your sensitive retinas from the blinding flash of paparazzi cameras. Shoes When you’re a famous movie star, you’re not going to wear just any shoes. Only the big names belong in your closet — Manolo, Jimmy Choo … and Kate Spade! So forget the flip-flops, and put your Nikes away. For real star style, step into these FABULOUS shoes. We even recommend wearing these to the grocery store, because you never know when you’re going to end up in the pages of People. Body Tape Sometimes, “accidentally” letting a boob pop out is good for your career. Still, we don’t advise it unless you’ve been neglected by the tabloids for at least a month. (After all, desperate times call for desperate measures.) Besides, it didn’t work well for Janet Jackson, and she did it on national television. So if you want to be regarded as a “serious actress,” carry this magical tape with you at all times. Exerting a bit of modesty may not win you a popularity contest, but at least it won’t land you in the latest celebrity porn flick. Archived article by Wendi Kane and Katie AzzaroSun Staff Writers
November 4, 2004
If the Cayuga’s Waiters have ever done anything besides make all the Cornell girls, and me, beg for more manly a capella versions of Madonna songs, it was deliver a line in one of their hits that made me think. When I first heard the ballad “We Didn’t Go To Harvard,” in which those raucous, womanizing Waiters sing a grocery list of reasons to love Cornell, there’s a line that goes, “Louie’s Lunch kind of sucks, wait around for Hot Truck.” I was a freshman at the time and too naive to know any discrepancy between the two; I thought it was the same stuff, only in different locations. When I was a freshman, Hot Truck was only a name, a whisper in the freezing 200 mph winds on the Slope in April. North is all about Louie’s. I’m really not sure why, but I’m gonna take a stab at it and say it could be the location. I mean, even Zeta Psi is formally known as the “Louie’s Lunch Fraternity.” When freshmen stumble back drunk from a crazy night of waiting in line to get into parties, it’s inevitable that they will pass it, and most likely want to puke up a Pizza Sub. I know I did. If freshmen have Louie’s lunch, they’re probably not going to follow the Waiter’s sound advice (Get it? That’s called a pun) and hike all the way down to Stewart Ave. Since both meals on wheels have many great foods to offer, I thought I would do a little undercover investiging to make my own judgments. I realized that I would need to blend in with the demographic. So I slapped on my Diesel jeans and Puma tracksuit and made my senior ass into a freshman like it was ’01, biatch. First, I took shots in Donlon in some kid’s room until everyone realized they had no idea who I was. “Whatever,” I said in a huff, “I’m gonna be pulling some major ass tonight.” I then made my way to the lobby, where I found a small group of 40 kids who were about to head out together. “Hey guys, that Psych 101 prelim sucked, huh?” Everyone just looked at me, so I gave up talking and followed them out the door. Three hours and some four gallons of jungle juice and beast later, I triumphantly returned to North with the traditional ugly drunk girl hanging on my arm. Ugly she was, but to my friends, “She was pretty cute. I couldn’t really tell.” Anyway, we stood at the back of the long line and waited, and finally ordered a Plain Pizza Sub ($2.75), one with pepperoni ($3.00), a single Tully Burger ($2.40) and Cajun fries ($1.60) … all for the lady. I ordered the Buffalo Chicken Wing Sub ($3.75) spicy and Mozzarella Sticks ($3.25). It wasn’t long before they called my name and I got my food. My date passed out on the hood of a car, so I did what any nice guy would do and took all of her food. Since West has a lot of transfer students and no freshmen, I had to change my costume to blend in with them, so I quickly put on a SUNY Buffalo sweatshirt, SUNY Albany Sweatpants, and then draped myself in a SUNY Oneonta flag. To say the least, it was a sweet outfit. Still clutching my Louie’s, I waited in line for Hot Truck for about the same time as I did on North. I broke my do-not-speak clause when I asked some cute transfer girls, “don’t you think Cornell has hotter guys than our old schools?” Obviously, I was right. My God does Hot Truck have a lot of crazy sounding sandwiches and cryptic terminology to describe additions to them. The only one I remembered was the famous PMP, or Poor Man’s Pizza, which is a lot like Louie’s Pizza Sub. Some of the sandwich names made sense: The Full Suicide ($6.25) is Mozzarella, mushrooms, sausage, pepperoni and sauce, which I guess is like killing yourself with deliciousness. The Flaming Turkey Bone ($4.75) has chicken, onions, hot peppers and hot sauce, but no turkey, so that kind of makes sense. The Krazy Korean ($5.25) is sausage, cheese, mushrooms and onions, but again, no Koreans. This was becoming confusing. So, I ordered a PMP ($3.25) and a Mr. Pink ($4.75), which is chicken, pink tomato sauce and onions. I wanted some additions, which meant that I had use Hot Truck language. So I told them to “put my Mr. Pink through the garden, and make it extra wet,” which is lettuce and more sauce. Comparing the two establishments’ physical spaces is not easy: one is a truck, and the other is also a truck. Okay, that was kind of easy. As far as food, the only two similar items are the PMP and Pizza Sub. Both are served hot and gooey, with the right amounts of sauce and cheese that work together evenly. But the PMP is still king. My favorite part about it and Hot Truck’s other sandwiches is the crusty French bread they use, which is more texturally pleasing than Louie’s Italian subs. My favorite from Louie’s is the Buffalo Chicken Finger sandwich. It’s so good — it’s like Wings in a sandwich. Don’t puss out — get it hot. Aside from the PMP, I recommend the Mr. Pink at Hot Truck. Neither is really better than the other (although Louie’s does sell yummy cigarettes) because they’re selections are different, which are both mostly good. So I propose that they unite, leave stupid North and West, and park in Collegetown for only $40,000 a year. Archived article by Jon RichSun Staff Writer