2/7/13
1/16/13
A Few Final Exam Questions
The Ampersand knows that exams are stressful, forcing students to draw from their innermost reserves of perseverance and Adderall. To that end, we’ve compiled sample questions from various finals in order to give you a taste of what to expect.
HIST 136:
The Cold War and espionage
1.Retrieve the microfilm container taped to the underside of your chair.
Did anyone see you get it? Good.
Your directives are contained within. Construct a flowchart to outline the network of opposing agents, and then eliminate the cell’s leader. Good luck. Olin library has umbrella-shotguns and mini-pistols on reserve. Hint: One of your classmates is not who he says he is.
THEA 352:
Nudity on Stage
A recording of the seminal nude work “Rekindling the Heat”, about a senior couple who decide to inject some romance back into their faltering relationship in the most graphic way imaginable is now available on Moodle. Watch the play in its entirety and then comment on the agency of the female characters, providing screengrabs for reference to particular scenes.
LANG 110
Elementary Melodic Clicking
Translate the following sentences.
1.!!!mmmmmm
2.Å!ÅÅÅ!Å Å Å
3.!!!!!!bålls!!!!!
MATH 202
Alien Geometries
Construct a diagram of a house with no right angles that might house a being of such pure beauty that a single glance will render one awestruck in rapt insanity.
You may use a calculator.
BiOL 103
Marmosex: Reproduction and Sexual Behavior in Marmosets
1.Find two marmosets and get them to bang. Videotape it.
2.That was pretty hot, wasn’t it?
Empty Thesis Carrels A Haven for Druggies and Wild Animals
This spring’s slackadisical seniors have neglected to clear out
and secure their thesis carrels,
says a new report from Public
Safety, and the derelict cubbies
have attracted all sorts of crime
and vermin.
Rabid and/or drunk raccoons have moved into carrels in the basement of SciLi, several of whom are “tripping balls” after ingesting substances they pilfered on Zonker Harris Day. “There is definitely a sperm bank operating out of the fourth floor of Olin,” added Dean Scott Backer, “and at least two meth labs. No one goes there anymore, because no one comes back.”
One senior, Abigail Wright ‘12, fell asleep in her carrel for eighty-seven hours after handing in her philosophy thesis, “Derri- don’t: Meta-Paradox of Ritualistic Thought in Given Time and the Impossibility of Time.” When she awoke to the sound of gunfire several cartel members were already bickering over her carrel-neighbor’s abandoned Teddy Grahams.
“I didn’t understand the language they were shouting in, but it sounded like Laotian maybe?” said a shaken Wright. “I opened the door a bit and almost got mauled by a wolf. Are those even native to Connecticut?”
She managed to secure safe passage to the regular stacks from a passing Ranger who wanted to know which carrels might contain precious metals or fresh water. One senior had set up a twenty-four hour webcam in their carrel and mistakenly left it on after fleeing at 3:58pm on April 15th. The footage has provided valuable clues to the police, who have already identified a Wiccan prostitution league and two currency counterfeiters.
“There are some baboons running around, maybe? They’re hard to identify,” said Scott Backer. “We know they feed on human blood.” Physical Plant plans to fumigate and/or napalm the carrels over summer break, when students won’t be so uptight about the reality of war.
Rabid and/or drunk raccoons have moved into carrels in the basement of SciLi, several of whom are “tripping balls” after ingesting substances they pilfered on Zonker Harris Day. “There is definitely a sperm bank operating out of the fourth floor of Olin,” added Dean Scott Backer, “and at least two meth labs. No one goes there anymore, because no one comes back.”
One senior, Abigail Wright ‘12, fell asleep in her carrel for eighty-seven hours after handing in her philosophy thesis, “Derri- don’t: Meta-Paradox of Ritualistic Thought in Given Time and the Impossibility of Time.” When she awoke to the sound of gunfire several cartel members were already bickering over her carrel-neighbor’s abandoned Teddy Grahams.
“I didn’t understand the language they were shouting in, but it sounded like Laotian maybe?” said a shaken Wright. “I opened the door a bit and almost got mauled by a wolf. Are those even native to Connecticut?”
She managed to secure safe passage to the regular stacks from a passing Ranger who wanted to know which carrels might contain precious metals or fresh water. One senior had set up a twenty-four hour webcam in their carrel and mistakenly left it on after fleeing at 3:58pm on April 15th. The footage has provided valuable clues to the police, who have already identified a Wiccan prostitution league and two currency counterfeiters.
“There are some baboons running around, maybe? They’re hard to identify,” said Scott Backer. “We know they feed on human blood.” Physical Plant plans to fumigate and/or napalm the carrels over summer break, when students won’t be so uptight about the reality of war.
Jonathan Franzen Disappointed by Camp Cardinal
As American writer and bird
lover Jonathan Franzen was dismayed to learn, Wesleyan’s Camp
Cardinal is in fact a daycare for the
children of alumni, not a forum for
enthusiasts of birdwatching and
other amateurs of avian activity.
Franzen, who often publicly expresses his affinity for cardinals and their ilk, traveled all the way from his bodega in Boulder Creek, California to attend Camp Cardinal. He arrived on campus in high spirits, binoculars at the ready, but he was soon gravely disappointed. “I came here to watch some birds,” said Fran- zen, visibly shaken. “But this is just a bunch of children. Why would I look at these illiteate ur- chins when I could look at dope- ass birds?”
To the Camp Counselors’ dismay, Franzen refused to leave the premises, hanging about in a foul humor and ruining the oc- casion for everyone. “Can children poop and fly at the same time?” Franzen asked one counselor rhetorically. “Not any that I’ve seen.”
Sorely disappointed, Franzen tried to cheer himself up by organizing a writing workshop for Camp Cardinal’s juvenile attendants. True to his curmudgeonly and sour public persona, Franzen was harshly critical of his peers’ work. Franzen described the poetry of one Charles Hildenburss, age seven, as akin to “a dyslexic Billy Collins.”
“Come on, impress me!” the contemporary American novelist and essayist was heard yelling. “You call this literature? This makes me want to vomit. This makes me want to go read Stephen King in Rosie O’Donnell’s hot tub.”
Though this criticism was cer- tainly harsh, many of the attendees of the Camp Cardinal writing workshop appreciated Franzen’s feedback. “It’s so difficult to get honest feedback at most workshops,” said Darla Harrington, age six. “A lot of the time people show up without having even reading your work; they just want something to put on their CV so they can get into some shitty MFA program. That doesn’t happen at Camp Cardinal.”
Franzen spent the rest of the weekend wandering alumni brunches and lunches with a petition demanding that he replace Michael Bennet ‘87 as commencement speaker. “I have a lot more to say about birdwatching,” Franzen explained.
Franzen was last spotted talking to the Wesleyan cardinal, which is a human being dressed as a highly an- thropomorphized cardinal. According to witnesses, he was quizzing it on its nesting habits, plumage, and whether or not it had a boyfriend.
Franzen, who often publicly expresses his affinity for cardinals and their ilk, traveled all the way from his bodega in Boulder Creek, California to attend Camp Cardinal. He arrived on campus in high spirits, binoculars at the ready, but he was soon gravely disappointed. “I came here to watch some birds,” said Fran- zen, visibly shaken. “But this is just a bunch of children. Why would I look at these illiteate ur- chins when I could look at dope- ass birds?”
To the Camp Counselors’ dismay, Franzen refused to leave the premises, hanging about in a foul humor and ruining the oc- casion for everyone. “Can children poop and fly at the same time?” Franzen asked one counselor rhetorically. “Not any that I’ve seen.”
Sorely disappointed, Franzen tried to cheer himself up by organizing a writing workshop for Camp Cardinal’s juvenile attendants. True to his curmudgeonly and sour public persona, Franzen was harshly critical of his peers’ work. Franzen described the poetry of one Charles Hildenburss, age seven, as akin to “a dyslexic Billy Collins.”
“Come on, impress me!” the contemporary American novelist and essayist was heard yelling. “You call this literature? This makes me want to vomit. This makes me want to go read Stephen King in Rosie O’Donnell’s hot tub.”
Though this criticism was cer- tainly harsh, many of the attendees of the Camp Cardinal writing workshop appreciated Franzen’s feedback. “It’s so difficult to get honest feedback at most workshops,” said Darla Harrington, age six. “A lot of the time people show up without having even reading your work; they just want something to put on their CV so they can get into some shitty MFA program. That doesn’t happen at Camp Cardinal.”
Franzen spent the rest of the weekend wandering alumni brunches and lunches with a petition demanding that he replace Michael Bennet ‘87 as commencement speaker. “I have a lot more to say about birdwatching,” Franzen explained.
Franzen was last spotted talking to the Wesleyan cardinal, which is a human being dressed as a highly an- thropomorphized cardinal. According to witnesses, he was quizzing it on its nesting habits, plumage, and whether or not it had a boyfriend.
Summer Housing Students Get Multicultural Experience
As the class of 2015 prepares for
the final stretch of its first year, it behooves one to remember that some of
these fine young things are struggling
to make ends meet. That’s right—
come fall many members of the rising
sophomore class will be without one
of the necessities of life: shelter. I refer,
of course, to those who were assigned
summer housing.
As everyone knows, there are about a billion too many people in 2015, and though Modest Proposal- like suggestions have been circulating around North College for months, Laura Lay ’15 engages with her hosts. it seems the execution of such a plan would put a moderate to heavy strain on the alumni network, thereby hurting our venerable institution’s already meager endowment.
So where will these “young minds,” “scholar-athletes,” and “Hot Rachel” live next year? That’s the question being asked on most ACB threads, including “Anger...everyone sucks” and “why don’t Asians under- stand sarcasm?” The answer: many students will be required to live with Middletown host families. “It just makes sense,” explains one ResLife member. “Like the sentence, ‘Do you surf the library?’”
A representative from the Office of International Studies agrees. “It might be hard for them to understand the lo- cal accents at first, but once they get used to it, I think the different cultural perspectives will be really valuable.”
The last time the university had to resort to such measures, it was met with mixed result. Sam Gringold, ’83, noted, “I mean it was nice of the fam- ily, I guess, but it was pretty annoy- ing when my host mother made me stay in on Fridays for family movie nights.”
Another student recalls, “That was what made me decide not to go abroad.” The system wasn’t a complete fail- ure though, to which many students can attest. “The food was pretty weird, but once you get used to it, Usdan seems weird! I love cultural immersion!” says one enthusiastic alum.
Despite the obvious drawbacks, many students are excited for a chance to connect with individuals outside the “Wesleyan Bubble” and even those who aren’t are, as expected, choosing the option over Light House.
As everyone knows, there are about a billion too many people in 2015, and though Modest Proposal- like suggestions have been circulating around North College for months, Laura Lay ’15 engages with her hosts. it seems the execution of such a plan would put a moderate to heavy strain on the alumni network, thereby hurting our venerable institution’s already meager endowment.
So where will these “young minds,” “scholar-athletes,” and “Hot Rachel” live next year? That’s the question being asked on most ACB threads, including “Anger...everyone sucks” and “why don’t Asians under- stand sarcasm?” The answer: many students will be required to live with Middletown host families. “It just makes sense,” explains one ResLife member. “Like the sentence, ‘Do you surf the library?’”
A representative from the Office of International Studies agrees. “It might be hard for them to understand the lo- cal accents at first, but once they get used to it, I think the different cultural perspectives will be really valuable.”
The last time the university had to resort to such measures, it was met with mixed result. Sam Gringold, ’83, noted, “I mean it was nice of the fam- ily, I guess, but it was pretty annoy- ing when my host mother made me stay in on Fridays for family movie nights.”
Another student recalls, “That was what made me decide not to go abroad.” The system wasn’t a complete fail- ure though, to which many students can attest. “The food was pretty weird, but once you get used to it, Usdan seems weird! I love cultural immersion!” says one enthusiastic alum.
Despite the obvious drawbacks, many students are excited for a chance to connect with individuals outside the “Wesleyan Bubble” and even those who aren’t are, as expected, choosing the option over Light House.
1/15/13
Roth’s Workout Obsession
As any tour guide worth their mettle will be glad to tell you, President Roth likes to maintain an active and visible presence around campus. So active, in fact, that the number of hours our president spends at Freeman Athletic Center have increased exponentially in recent years.
“What’s the problem?” questioned Roth from the stair-stepper machine as the sweat gathering on his brow streamed steadily into a stagnant pool of perspiration gathering beneath him, “I can still do my job, I swear.”
“I don’t know,” said a concerned Dave Robbins, ’12, Freeman Center employee and resident muscle-bound DKE bro, “for every hour I spend at bench-press, he spends ten. DO CURLS GET GIRLS!”
Roth’s workout regimen is concerning many of those in Wesleyan’s administration, including ResLife, whose operations directly beneath Roth’s office have been significantly disturbed by the president’s incessant routine of jumping jacks and wind sprints. Roth’s new personal assistant is also feeling the strain.
“To sustain this level of activity, Michael requires around 8,000 calories per day,” said assistant Brendan O’Donnell. “Most of my job is making pancakes.”
Roth Commences Midlife Crisis
The Chevy dealer’s lips gleamed with sweat as his bowels fluttered with excitement. He always got diarrhea after a big sale. The whole industry was reeling, so to sell $60,000 of Corvette was something of an event. He wasn’t going to be fired today, and his bowels were sighing with relief.
“This car goes very fast,” he said. “Seriously, it’s faster than a cheetah or an older car, you can drive away from a lot of problems in a car like this.”
The customer glanced nervously over his smart black sunglasses. His square jaw jutted forward resolutely. Overall, he had the aura of a significant man.
“Is this Anthony Weiner?” thought the dealer.
The man emitted the aura of a significant man who, knowing that he is doing something unbecoming of his station in life, goes right ahead. What kind of man drives such a car? The man asked himself what Freud would say about such a blatant phallic symbol. Would the car somehow impede the inevitable deterioration of his body? Was his constant exposure to the young and vital troubling some unknown corner of his mind? Who would this car impress? He was pretty sure he didn’t even want a mistress.
“I’ll take it,” he said in the authoritative voice he often used to impress upon his students the importance of Lacan, then drove and drove, certain he would never die.
Michael Roth’s Birthday Wishlist, April 2012
— Copy of Kari’s new book about animals with underlines already in it
— Gift certificate to Thai Garden
— New assistant/best friend (send out application for job candidates familiar w/ Kant, Hegel, HuffPo styleguide)
— Gary Trudeaus head on plater
— cooler nametags fo wesfest
— Steely Dan for spring fling (possible to add 4th act last minute??)
— Backscratcher massage thingy to scratch back when Kari refuses
— Carole King In Concert DVD (song about “pave paradise parking lot??”)
— Giant picture of me in south college (+ maybe exley)
— The Whey Station (keep staff; move cart to front yard?)
— Bonnie Iver CDs???
— New dog: nicer to Dave Pesci?
— Permission to ring tower bells
— Building bigger than Usdan named “Roth”
My Application to be Michael Roth’s New Assistant
Dear Michael Roth,
I am writing in response to the highly prestigious and publicized career of the post of Assistant to You. As per the job description, I have a four–year college degree but no desire to move on. I have a passion for fundraising. Nothing makes me happier than ruining a normal social function by using it as an opportunity to solicit people who probably already think the food is only okay. I am also comfortable with social media, which you will recognize if you have checked the Vaseline Facebook page recently. Michael, I wrote you this poem, because I feel dry prose is an insufficient vehicle to which to tie my qualifications for this position. My qualifications are a Christmas tree, Michael:
Saddle your dreams before you ride ‘em.
— Mary Webb
Assist. Help.
That is not quite the paradox it seems. A landscape exists
as a temporal constant
And on this landscape, which is psyche, which is
One finds, that is to say, I
Find
Boughs laden with the fruit, which itself bears
And which bears eat —
Self-determining, self-effacing
I put the fun in fundraising
I assist with the veracity of a famished bear
Of a hungry herald at once
being and was —
being and was —
Knelt. Kneeling.
Helping, assisting.
A gerund? That continuous but infinitely present, that cry for sanctity, that
Tense. Intense, and yet out
The walls of South College
another realistic tragedy
another realistic tragedy
Of longing and longitudinal desires
For which and to which I devote myself, my
Self, as a whole and as a
collection of pieces as
collection of pieces as
A bear
A Christmas tree
A contradiction
An assistant.
Sincerely.
Roth’s Birthday Celebration an Unrivaled Triumph of Art and Spirit
This past Sunday, the University celebrated the birthday of its leader in the traditional manner. A stage on Andrus Field was erected over the last two weeks. The scaffolding around the edges of the stage was ringed with scenes depicting pivotal moments in Roth’s life, such as his transformation into a bear, his first time shaving, and the slaying of Chattur’gha. These scenes were conceived and composed of students covered in body paint.
On the day of the celebration, criers were dispatched across campus to signify the date of the president’s birth by reciting the works of Hegel at the top of their lungs. At noon, Roth de-cloistered himself, emerging onto his office balcony to address the gathered throngs, his sacred heat radiating as a bright shimmer around his form. He gave his customary thanks for the devotion and gratitude on display, and then briefly levitated to scattered applause.
At dusk, Roth strode onto the black marble viewing platform on Foss Hill constructed especially for him. As he reclined in his couch, Andy Tanaka began peeling grapes for his consumption during the tribute. After the customary freshman sacrifice was met with the bloodthirsty cheers of the crowd, the wesband Linus took the stage to perform a thirty-minute long piece consisting of three chords and the repeated whisper of the president’s name. For an encore, Roth requested Das Racist’s hit “Combination Pizza Hutt and Taco Bell.”
Next, a troupe of dancers took the stage to re-enact the circumstances of Roth’s birth, with numerous dancers representing the Universe, Krishna, Francois Truffaut, and an allegorical piñata meant to represent Roth’s mother, from whom he bursts forth in a shower of grape and watermelon Jolly Ranchers.
Finally, Wesleyan’s theater department performed their rendition of the epic poem prophesying Roth’s ascendancy and rule, written by the mad poet Abdul Alhazred some 1300 years ago. As to be expected, half of the audience was reduced to gibbering madness upon viewing it, but most other students interviewed agreed, “It was pretty okay.”
On the day of the celebration, criers were dispatched across campus to signify the date of the president’s birth by reciting the works of Hegel at the top of their lungs. At noon, Roth de-cloistered himself, emerging onto his office balcony to address the gathered throngs, his sacred heat radiating as a bright shimmer around his form. He gave his customary thanks for the devotion and gratitude on display, and then briefly levitated to scattered applause.
At dusk, Roth strode onto the black marble viewing platform on Foss Hill constructed especially for him. As he reclined in his couch, Andy Tanaka began peeling grapes for his consumption during the tribute. After the customary freshman sacrifice was met with the bloodthirsty cheers of the crowd, the wesband Linus took the stage to perform a thirty-minute long piece consisting of three chords and the repeated whisper of the president’s name. For an encore, Roth requested Das Racist’s hit “Combination Pizza Hutt and Taco Bell.”
Next, a troupe of dancers took the stage to re-enact the circumstances of Roth’s birth, with numerous dancers representing the Universe, Krishna, Francois Truffaut, and an allegorical piñata meant to represent Roth’s mother, from whom he bursts forth in a shower of grape and watermelon Jolly Ranchers.
Finally, Wesleyan’s theater department performed their rendition of the epic poem prophesying Roth’s ascendancy and rule, written by the mad poet Abdul Alhazred some 1300 years ago. As to be expected, half of the audience was reduced to gibbering madness upon viewing it, but most other students interviewed agreed, “It was pretty okay.”
1/13/13
Drinkathalon!
If you’re thirsty for sports- themed drinking but Tour de Franzia is looking dry, try a toast to sports with these inebriating alternatives:
The Olympic Grains: Wearing togas, carry your team’s keg to all twelve checkpoints where your team will perform a site-specific feat. Drunkenly comment on the nature of revelry, wisdom, human conflict, and the divine à la the Symposim. Cars prohibited, scooters permitted.
Johnny Walkathon: Takes place on the outdoor track. A cruel and endless relay in which each team must best a handle of whiskey. At mandatory checkpoint participants must reflect on Christopher Hitchens, who was bested by alcohol. Lame DJ playing “Jock Jamz” mandatory.
Goose Wrestling: Johnny Walkathon with sideshow of vodka and pâté wrestling.
US Open/Winebledon: Each team has to drink a glass of wine when they lose a tennis game. A person is disqualified when they can no longer explain tennis scoring. They can, however, continue to throw tennis balls at players from the sidelines.
Yellowtail Hop: Teams jump between checkpoints. Wine must be carried in a makeshift belly pouch (e.g. fanny pack, duct tape, pilfered baby sling, etc.) Kangaroo costumes encouraged. Round of inebriated kickboxing decides the first-place winner.
Captain Morgan’s Regatta: Pirate-themed midnight sailing race at Lake Pocotopaug.
Election Update: Malter Vows To Increase WSA Accessibility
In an ongoing effort to increase accessibility and transparency, WSA presidential incumbent candidate Zach Malter ’13 has announced plans to sleep in a cot in the Butthole every night this week and release his cell number, blood type, credit card number, JC Penney purchase history, and Westicles password to all students on campus.
“Wes students need to know that they can approach me any time, anywhere,” Malter urged, “no matter where I am or which frosh At-Large biddy I’m trying to get with.”
Butts inhabitants have taken to calling Malter’s cot setup “Malterville” while nearby Bayit residents have mistaken it for a Sukkah, replacing Malter’s laptop, toothbrush, and stapler with assorted fruits and skhakh.
“This is fab,” Malter reported. “I’ve never been this approachable. It gets my motor running.”
Malter claims he has recently obtained a pure nylon transparent women’s top, which his mother mailed him from their family home in Irvington, NY.
“I intend to wear this see-through nylon shirt during Tour de Franzia to let everyone on campus know that the WSA can be transparent and let loose at the same freaking time,” Malter told the Ampersand.
Opponent candidate Arya Alizadeh ’13 questions Malter’s accessibility.
“Our new work is far more accessible than any of our older stuff,” assured Alizadeh, who prepared for the cutthroat campaign by shaving his facial hair and undergoing costly removal surgery on his three Diamanda Galás tattoos. “Our first WSA debate was just noise. Critics called it ‘Firkecore.’”
Williams to Sponsor TDF
Fuck Williams. News broke on Saturday that Williams College, the world’s favorite NESCAC school, will be sponsoring Wesleyan’s own Tour de Franzia. Several legions of Williams’ own “athletes, fratstars, browers (bro-rowers), and dolled-up beazies” will be spending their weekend running purple-and-white ambulances, flooding Wesleyan’s campus with Franzia supply carts, and dousing garbage can fires with liberal doses of douchebaggery.
Come the night of the Tour, you can plan on seeing signs saying, “Thanks for getting Ephed up,” “Don’t Eph yourself into Ephin oblivion quite yet,” and “This year’s Tour de Franzia brought to you by Scott Backer Williams College.” Whether or not Williams’ help is indeed effective, let’s give them a big “Fuck Williams!” welcome. Williams sucks.
“Yeah man like anything to confirm William’s status as king of the ’CAC. We’re doing God’s work. We’re saving these Wes kids from themselves,” said Jeremy Yardsworth V (Williams ’13).
The Overachievers Club, Williams’ equivalent of the WSA, sent a letter to Dean Mike Whaley and Scott Backer asking if they would like Williams’ help during the TDF. North College leaked a copy of their response letter: “Dear Williams, Hell yeeeeeeeeeeeee, please y’all come help. Thanks broskis, Dean Mike ’n Ya Boy Scotto.”
Roth Embroiled in TDF Group Drama
This year Michael Roth is sad. Ordinarily he would be looking forward to rocking the Tour De Franzia with a group of close friends. But it looks like this year he’ll have to go it alone.
“Man, this really bites the big one,” complained the University’s president. “I was gonna be in a group with Kari, but now she’s with all her Animal Studies friends. They’re dressing as their favorite animals. Hers is our dog, I think.”
Roth also thought about teaming up with eminent medievalist Gary Shaw, but Shaw said he just wanted to do a group of one. “Gary’s been having a hard year,” said Roth. “I hope he doesn’t drink too much alcohol.”
Head of ResLife Stacy Phelps reminded Shaw that he still had to form a group even if he was in a group of one.
“Maybe I’ll go in with the IT Help Desk,” said Roth. “I’m worried they’re a bunch of lightweights. As long as we’re all sipping out of the same wine bladder, I’ll have a good time.”
Roth added, “I hope Dean Whaley doesn’t catch me. He didn’t have to send that email to my mom. God.”
P-Safe Officers Mistaken for TDF Participants Dressed as P-Safe Officers
CAPS and Public Safety released a joint statement this week asking that students not dress like Psafe officers for the upcoming “Tour de Franzia” event. This plea comes in light of a year-long attempt to rehabilitate four officers who, caught up in chaos of the evening, mistook one another for student-participants wearing cheap cop costumes.
The four unnamed officers, who had been advised against chasing intoxicated students, reportedly met outside of Exley Science Center and proceeded to harass one another for nearly an hour. After demanding WesID cards and trying to tear off each other’s mustaches to no avail, they stood in a circle with their video cameras out and repeatedly shouted, “You think you’re really funny, huh?” and “Where did you even get that uniform?”
Things took a turn for the weird when the officers became convinced of their accusers’ claims that they were, in fact, Wesleyan students. The four grown men sprinted off join to the debauchery, howling “Fuck the Po-lice,” and “You’re not even a real cop!” They were discovered the next morning by RAs and their fellow officers, passed out in Clark Lounge under the ping-pong table.
In the months since last May, CAPS has been working with the woefully mistaken officers to reestablish their former identities, but the process has been slow-going. The men continue to attend Hewitt pregames and DKE parties and become bewildered when the events disperse upon their arrival.
An Ampersand Tour Guide
The Tour de France is a bicycle race held each year in and around the country of France. The best known and most prestigious of cycling’s three “Grand Tours,” the Tour de France is the event that brings the sport of cycling to the masses since its inception in 1903.
The race is broken up into stages, with one stage completed each day of the twenty-one day, 3,200km race. While the course varies, the finish line is always located in Paris, which is in France. The New York Times has said that the “Tour de France is arguably the most physiologically demanding of athletic events,” and that is saying something, considering the number of sporting events, which exist!
The winner is determined by the time taken to complete the course, except you want to have a small time, not a big time. Everyone loves the Tour de France, and it is an emblem of bicycles for people everywhere. But can it last?
The race is broken up into stages, with one stage completed each day of the twenty-one day, 3,200km race. While the course varies, the finish line is always located in Paris, which is in France. The New York Times has said that the “Tour de France is arguably the most physiologically demanding of athletic events,” and that is saying something, considering the number of sporting events, which exist!
The winner is determined by the time taken to complete the course, except you want to have a small time, not a big time. Everyone loves the Tour de France, and it is an emblem of bicycles for people everywhere. But can it last?
1/12/13
Overheard: Three Prefrosh Talk it Up
Gabe: Are you guys going to the seminar at 3 on “Athletics?”
John: No, I’m going to go look at some classrooms in 41 Wyllys Avenue.
Rachel: Hmm I’m not sure. Like I play varsity tennis now but I’m not sure if I will in college and I don’t even know where I’m yet for sure so what’s the point?
Gabe: Yeah I’m totally not going either.
John: Have you guys been to the Oozedan Marketplace yet?
Gabe: Yeah, my host and I got Chobani yogurt.
John: No, I’m pretty sure you’re talking about the Cafe; the Marketplace has ice cream sandwiches.
Rachel: Where else did you guys get in?
John and Gabe: Vassar, Skidmore, UChicago, waitlisted at Brown.
Rachel: Cool, all of my friends in Westchester, which is where I’m from, also want to go to Brown.
Gabe: Oh, you’re from Westcheser? I’m from the city.
John: What city?
Gabe and Rachel exchange judgmental glances.
Rachel: Do you guys want to live in the Butterfields?
John: Maybe; it seems like the students who live there really know how to balance their academics and social life.
Rachel: Yeah, a lot of the students here seem be “work hard, play hard” types.
Gabe: My host lives in the Nics. It smells like my grandma’s house.
John: Did you guys know that MGMT went here?
Frequently Asked Questions
Is this the Ohio Wesleyan?
Is there anyone else from Wyoming here? Anyone?
Is it WEZ-lee-an or WES-lee-un?
How do you pronounce Usdan?
If when I cross campus I have to pass an infinite number of midway points, will I ever leave?
If I slowly replace all the parts of a car in repairing it over a lifetime of use, is it still my car, or do I have to pay that registration fee all over again?
You know that second c in Connecticut? Why’s that there?
What’s Mitt Romney’s real first name? I heard it was Mittens.
Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?
What does the scouter say about his power level?
If whatever happens to me today was always going to happen, do I really have any control over how I live my life?
Was this the most vegetarian-friendly college campus in 2009?
Admissions Office Hires Specialist to Seduce Students
This WesFest, University officials have flown nobleman and infamous seductive force Count Domenico Gautrand-Hass in from his “love chateau” on Lake Geneva in order to teach the university a thing or two about the delicate tango we call temptation. Gautrand-Hass, known throughout Western Europe’s orgy community as “le vipere,” brings two decades of experience, a cask of aphrodisiac brandies, and an ancestry that includes François Gautrand, the French homosexual credited with “turning” Oscar Wilde, as well as Kaspar Ludwig Hass, known to readers of Goethe’s Faust as the inspiration for the character Mephistopheles.
“Lust is not a night boat,” reports Gautrand-Hass. “It is a cosmic perfume.”
Prospective and current students alike report that they did not think that they could ever be attracted to the sort of razor-thin moustache that runs puckishly along Gautrand-Hass’s upper lip, but they are.
“I was looking as the art center and he rode up to me on a Hungarian purebred stallion. He asked me what I knew about the breeding of truffle smelling pigs,” says Ethan Rosenblatt of Sbarro, PA. “I told him I was interested in Neuroscience and Film Studies. He put one finger to my lips, an unseen hand barely caressing my nape. I felt safe. The next thing I remember, I had already sent in my deposit. Go Cardinals…”
“Domenico has been great,” reports Elsa Flips, Dean of Admissions. “We used to focus all our attention on alumni panels and barbeques. Count Gautrand-Hass has shown us that the only things necessary for a successful WesFest are tasteful cheeses, the strength to give as well as take, and the confidence to take what you must not lose.”
Other schools have intensified their prospective students weekends as well. Harvard introduced “Crimson Spoken Karaoke,” a participatory event meant to introduce students to the joy of telling other people they go to Harvard. Sarah Lawrence hired well-known pick-up artist John Shadow, author of The Pull to lure students to their school through alcohol and well-placed comments deriding their weight. For now, Wesleyan has its European sorcerer.
“Give me one night with them,” says Gautrand-Hass. “One night to change their lives.”
Admissions Office Unnecessarily Mean in Rejection Letters
In a very much uncalled for manner, the University’s Office of Admissions was uncharacteristically rude in its rejection of a record number of students this year. Applicants have reported receiving letters with no less than three uses of the term “bitch-tits” in reference to themselves, and in more than one case a large envelope was received which contained, instead of the customary information packet given to accepted students, a slab of raw, festering tenderloin.
“Of course I was nervous when the letter arrived,” said high school senior and prospective student Elizabeth Tanty. “Then I opened it up and saw that the office of admissions had written me a poem that…well, I won’t go into details, but let’s just say you’d be surprised how many different rhymes you could make with words describing feces.”
“You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do,” said Head of Admissions Carl Hackabasset. “We simply can’t afford to keep taking on students like this willy-nilly. Really, you could term what we’re doing a public service. By making it so explicitly clear that they have no chance with us, prospective students are free to more efficiently direct their energy in the stressful college admissions process.”
“I graduated from Vassar in 1993, so I definitely wasn’t expecting a letter from Wesleyan,” said Systems Analyst Gary Brooks of New Haven. “Then I open up the envelope and it’s just this piece of cardboard with ‘YOUR ASS IS GRASS’ scrawled on it in black marker. I mean really, what the hell?”
Hackabasset plans next year to widen the scope of the Office of Admission’s ability to inform rejected students of their plight.
“If we can muster up enough resources, the hope is to get local Wes graduates to pie prospective students in zir faces, preferably in front of their friends or family. That should make it pretty clear.”
Brendan O’Donnell Inexplicably Acquainted with Every Prefrosh
1/9/13
The Spin Cycle: More Thoughts on LaundryView
LaundryView is everything I look for in a man: convenient, three-dimensional, and sudsy. But if you thought this hunk of a technological advancement couldn’t get any hotter, then you were wronger than wool and hot water. Next year we can expect numerous innovations to what is being called “the next Chat Roulette.” Hello, 4.5 percent tuition increase! With the launch of LaundryView 2.0 we can look forward to:
Livechat and other social media:
Starting next year, Facebook will seem weirder than the way Irish step dancers hold their arms or the logic behind spear fishing. There’s a new social media in town, and the Sheriff is angry, and he’s mandating that there are no secrets anymore. LaundryView’s livechat will make talking about laundry with your friends and professors easy and fun!
Detergentleman04: hey, karen, i think ur lites r dun. i c u used cold water 4 the environment.nice
Hotnakedchick12: thx bill!
And let’s not forget uploading pics of your laundry to your LaundryView profile. This way, you can protect your identity while saying something about yourself at the same time, i.e. your laundry is separated into darks and lights, but there is a stray white sock in the dark pile= “I’m smart and put-together, but I also know how to have fun!”
LaundryView 3D:
Thanks to the surveillance cameras being installed in all laundry rooms on campus, we can forget about primitive rotating graphics and say hello to actual footage of our actual laundry rooms!
Special features (for which students will have to give up their meal plans) will let you personally sort through other peoples’ laundry (I totally knew she wore that slutty top out even though she said she wouldn’t!), send messages that will appear on the time screens of a machine of your choice (Sry I took out ur clothes, all the washers were full! should have checked the weekly usage chart lol :/), or inform a senior that you have a crush on them.
At the beginning of the semester, ResLife will hand out 3D glasses for use with the newest LaundryView. If you lose your glasses, you have to pay double tuition. Those of you with a faint heart and a fainter stomach: fair warning. I hear that something pops out at you.
LaundryView dating service:
Are you ready to put yourself out there? Fall 2012 will see the dawn of a new era in on-campus dating life with the additions of LaundryLove, LaundryView’s new dating service. Simply post a blurb on your “MyLaundry, MySelf” profile and watch the offers role in. See example profile below:
“Male seeks a lady in mostly hand-washables. Nothing serious, but if you’re up for it, I’d love to tumble dry on low with a cutie in cotton.”
Sponsored Poetry and Essay Contests:
Each week, LaundryView will be sponsoring essay and poetry writing contests, with prompts like:
— Describe a time when you felt laundry was more than just laundry. What caused this change in perception, and how did you respond?
— Imagine a situation in which laundry makes a difference, individually, or globally.
— What does “redefining sorority” mean to you?
LaundryView’s Glorious History
The history behind Wesleyan’s favorite laundry monitoring systen is one of fascinating detail that certainly leaves some suds a-bubblin’. Shortly after his suspension for creating the pornography website WesPorn, self-styled
“internet maven” Steve Laundry ’83 returned to the WesDigital scene hard with LaundryView.
Steve explains that during his suspension, his beloved neighborhood Korean laundromat became a place of refuge. While speaking with laundromat owner Gun-woo one foggy night, Steve was indoctrinated into the fold with tales of laundry lore.
That night, Steve went home and bought washingmachine.gov (a website that filmed unsuspecting laundry room goers at work), dryme.gov (similar to the former but made by a group of people who perform long-distance reiki on diabetic cats), and detergentbottle.tmblr (security camera footage of the detergent shelf of a wal-mart, soon to be implemented by the washing-goods shelf in WesShop).
Laundry does it for altruistic purposes, or so he claims. “I love the people, you know? If there’s anything I can do to help them out, I’m gonna do it.” Laundry currently resides in the Silicon Valley, and is working with Justin Timberlake on creating a new Napster.
LaundryView or Die Hard
Previously, our hero tracked down the cabal of hackers responsible for the rash of plumbing failures, but their leader had managed to escape. After a harrowing pedicab chase, we find ourselves at the entrance to the MacGray office building…
The doors to the skyscraper I found myself facing appeared to have been forced open, and as I ran into the marble-floored lobby I noticed the bodies of a pair of security guards. When I saw that someone had moved the hand of one corpse onto the butt of another, I knew I was looking at the handiwork of Arcturus.
I followed his trail of broken doors, smashed locks, and dead guards in humiliating poses. It led at last to a room marked SERVER CONTROL. I drew my revolver and edged my way through the doorway, only to be met by a hail of gunfire that forced me to leap for cover behind one of the many desks that filled the room.
“You’re too late!” Arcturus shouted from his place behind the central console. “You can’t stop what’s coming next!”
“Oh yeah?” I asked, hoping to distract him as I moved from desk to desk. “And what’s that?” He chuckled.
“It’s simple... the death of LaundryView.”
I froze in my tracks. “You’re mad!” Arcturus responded with a burst of fire from his AK.
“I’m more sane than anyone! Laundries are the last places of physical community we have left in this world! Waiting around and awkwardly making small talk while your load finishes is the only human contact left untainted by technology, and now even that will disappear! America can’t afford to let its social bonds deteriorate like this, or we’ll just be easy pickings for the Chinese.” There was a pause.
“…wait, what?” Arcturus fired at me again.
“Once the worm has uploaded, all the machines in America linked to LaundryView will explode. It’s a failsafe the creators built in to the system, and now it’s the only thing that can save our country.” The gigantic screen at the far end of the room helpfully turned on and displayed a progress bar that crept toward completion. I checked my gun and saw only one bullet left in the chamber. I gritted my teeth and whispered to myself, “Looks like it’s time…to do this.”
TO BE CONTINUED?!?!?!?!
LaundryView Pretty Slow Over Spring Break
Like many students, all Chester Peeves ’14 wanted to do over spring break was to see his friends, relax, and catch up on all the laundry viewing he missed while mired in his demanding academic schedule.
“With no classes to speak of,” Peeves recalls, “all I wanted to do was spend all day in my pajamas, eating delivery pizza and viewing laundry on the revolutionary new LaundryView monitoring system. But like nothing happened. I waited all day and like one guy did a load of laundry and he didn’t even dry it.”
Julia Tanets ’12 agrees. “All through midterms,” she bemoans, “I eagerly anticipated showing my home friends the revolutionary new LaundryView monitoring system. I built it up so much, but when we finally broke out the wine and got the projector to work, there was hardly any laundry to view at all. Now everyone thinks I’m some sort of neo-minimalist perv.”
“Just seeing all those empty washing machines on made me want to rush over and wash a hot load of laundry,” admits Conrad DeLazaro ’12. “Unfortunately, I was stuck in Venice with my Mom who does all my laundry for me and doesn’t even tell me so I can watch. Now the revolutionary LaundryView monitoring system is better than ever, but I’m busy with my stupid thesis.”
In this world there is no respite for those who burn with longing.
Editors' note
The esteemed editors of the Ampersand are very smitten with the parallel world of wonders we’ve found in LaundryView. Please enjoy this selection of our intensive research, to which we’ve applied the very best minds that “The Tufts of Central Connecticut” has to offer.
Mozzle Tov!
11/10/12
LOLin’ in Olin: A Brief Meditation
Olin is a beacon. It is impossible to overstate its centrality in the lives of so many Wesleyan students. It is a home. The kind of home where you try to get in the front door, but actually the front door is at the back, so you have to maneuver around hedges and snow banks and your children or whatever to get inside. And the front of your home has huge, majestic windows, so you can see all the wonderful things happening inside bathed in soothing yellow light, but you can only look. Your kids could be on fire in there, and you’d spent twenty minutes edging your way between your house and the Clark Hall that is your garage to get to them.
Oh, Rollie Pollie Olin. On the first floor, there’s those giant dictionary pages with seemingly arbitrary words highlighted. You assume they have some sort of important meaning but you’re not really sure what it could be, kind of like Pascal’s Triangle or Wolfmother lyrics.
There’s the weird half-floors that no matter how much physical evidence there may be of their existence, you have a hard believing actually exist. But enough about Rho Ep. Can’t you just picture someone getting lost on 2B? He opens the door and the smells of the orient waft towards him.
Where am I? He tries to find a book and the Dewey Decimal system doesn’t apply. Nooooo! What’s going on??? Running back to the staircase, he finds that all other floors are closed off, and no matter how far he runs, he stays on 2B. Damn you, Escher! He can see people quietly studying on 2A as though through some kind of haze. He shouts, but no one hears him. Back to the staircase and finally another door opens! But where is he? And then he realizes: Usdan. NOOOOOO! Michael Roth wakes up in a cold sweat.
Then there’s that weird little room on the second floor with the couch and the nice lighting that’s ideal if you’re alone, but too intimate if someone else is there, like Thai Gardens. From the hall, you can’t see if there’s someone sitting there until you’re basically in the room. Bad design for sure. Speaking of which, did I mention that SOMEONE SHOULD PUT A BACK DOOR ON OLIN. I’d do it myself but I need to brush up my networking skills at a continental breakfast.
The Secret of the Bibliophilic Professor
Previously, our hero had discovered the body of Professor Thompson, who clutched in his corpsey hands a note scrawled in blood directing our hero to Olin. Now our protagonist finds ze-self in a race against time to recover Thompson’s research!
After discreetly but forcefully indicating to the fornicating duos positioned in the third-floor stacks that I had business to conduct, I set about studying the floorboards. After much poking and prodding, I at last found my prize: a loose board which, upon being pried out, revealed a manila folder. The Professor’s Research!
“I vill be taking zat.” I spun to find myself face to face with none other than the dastardly Commissar Zurm, Luger pistol in hand!*
“I vas the vun who commissioned ze Doktorr’s research on ze properties of turning babies into gold, so kindly hand ovah vhat ist rightfully mein!”
“Alright Zurm, I’ll—Holy shit! The Krampus!” (figs.1 & 2) Zurm spun to where I was pointing at the window behind him, his Teutonic brow writhing in fear. I took my chance and flung myself forward, propelling both of us through the glass and onto a reading table. I grabbed a shocked student’s water bottle and flung the contents into Zurm’s face — the hidden vodka I knew to expect blinded his eyes.
As the foul Commissar shrieked and clutched at his face, I darted off, the research tucked into my coat, only to find myself face to face with Latika, the lascivious leader of the Lapadap Cult, sitting astride her lion steed, Bumpus!**
“The Holy Child must be turned to gold for the prophecy to be fulfilled!” she shrieked, as Bumpus lunged for my throat!
To Be Continued!!!!!!
*(See Volume 12, “The She-Monsters of Bali.”)
**(See Volume 13, “Legend of the Cat’s Crystal: Return of The She-Monsters of Bali.”)
The Chamber of NO Secrets
Last Thursday night I went to Olin. As I walked up the steps towards the front entry chamber, I could see someone else walking toward the entry chamber from the lobby side. My view was partially obscured, but I could see their head, and that was enough. The other individual neared the other side of the entry chamber at a similar if not equal rate.
I recognized him as someone I had seen on the main floor many times prior; we had made eye contact awkwardly several times in the past and had once scrabbled for control of a highly desirable electrical outlet. We reached our respective sides of the chamber simultaneously.
As I placed my hand on the door handle, I looked up to anticipate his direction. He, too, raised his eyes, meeting mine for the smallest possible fraction of a second before we redirected our gazes to the floor, then to the side. We opened the doors concurrently, which was difficult because opening the doors at the same time created a weak vacuum within the chamber, initiating a strong gust of wind that blew across my face and hair, parting my bangs in the middle like Sean from “Boy Meets World.”
Upon entering the chamber, there was a ¾ second pause as we feinted in both directions, each trying to discern the intended direction of the other. We both chose WRONG, almost slamming into each other as we charged purposefully to the left, our heads down. He tried to step right, but the inner door of the chamber was still open so he just backed awkwardly against it. The impact of his body with the door caused him to exhale sharply, his stale Sabra-breath coating my face and shoulder.
In a desperate bid for control, I placed my hand gently on his shoulder and pushed him lightly aside, clearly delineating the spatial boundaries of the chamber and thus assuring absolute lack of contact for the duration of our enclosure. He grimaced and I knew his pain. We both exited the chamber, ashamed.
The Ampersand Liveblogs Olin
8:35 Wave at Sally by the computers but she doesn’t see me.
8:36 Shun elevator for the stairs.
8:37 JK, take elevator.
8:40 Settle into a cubicle on 3A.
8:42 Open Econ textbook.
9:05:06 “Should I run to Weshop?”
9:05:10 “Too far… and this is cubicle that smells the best.”
9:15 Four pages… twenty to go.
9:30 Four pages…
9:50 Four pages…
9:51 Five pages!
9:52 Have to pee but don’t want to lose seat/have things stolen.
9:56 Risk it: run to the bathroom.
9:59 Run back: everything still there. Sigh of relief.
10:10 Super productive: seven pages.
10:11 Reward self with Facebook break.
10:40 Log off Facebook… rats.
10:41 Still hungry.
11:00 Still page six.
11:20 Wow, page ten! Facebook!
11:21 Receive Reddit link.
12:00 a.m. Close Westicles, turn off airport, curse self: Weshop has closed!
12:20 So, so hungry.
12:21 Text friends for food.
12:23 What ‘friends’?
12:25 Very cold and very alone.
Entire Student Body Temporarily Sexiled From Olin
The Olin Library door handle donned a highly symbolic sock late Thursday afternoon. By 5 p.m. — prime stress relief time for distracted studiers Ben Cox-Smith ’13 and Amy Johnson ’14 — the locked doors and drawn curtains offered clear signals to students that they had been sexiled from the library.
Johnson and Cox-Smith met up at approximately 4:23 pm on Floor 2A, when Johnson knowingly commented that Cox-Smith’s copy of Judith Butler’s Kierkegaard’s Speculative Despair in The Age of German Idealism “looks kinda rough.”
As the two were getting hot and heavy and presumably kind of dusty beside a stack of nineteenth-century Russian short fiction (N-P), scores of Olin regulars turned away from the entrance, frustrated.
“I mean, like, good for him,” commented a frustrated sophomore. “But he could have texted us. Bro-code, dawg.”
A pack of thesis writers anxiously milled around Weshop waiting for the couple to exit. “I really need my computer charger,” complained Matt Timmons ’12 as he slid a hastily written note under the front door. “If that fucker splooges on it….”
Dozens of students took refuge across the street in SciLi as Olin remained abandoned save for Johnson, Cox-Smith, and an admissions tour group unable to open the padlocked main doors as the couple’s shrieks of passion quickly escalated.
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