Brouhaha Rhythm
Halloween has always been my favorite holiday of the year. For one thing, it takes place during my favorite season — I grew up in a heavily forested area of Pennsylvania, and seeing entire mountainsides change color is pretty stunning for me now and positively mind–boggling to an eight–year–old. I also got to feed my hero complex, a long-standing tradition that continues even today in a manner that I suspect would be of some psychiatric interest. It started with a cowboy costume, presumably because I asked for it but likely influenced much less by Clint Eastwood and much more by the release of <i>An American Tail: Fievel Goes West</i>. From there, it alternated between “Robin Hood” and “Musketeer” (each with relevant movie releases, the more observant of you might notice) until I hit high school.
On Anal Virginity
Years ago, the fuss was over fellatio; nowadays, it’s everywhere. In a story on Duke University, <i>Rolling Stone</i> said, “oral sex [is] nearly ubiquitous, regarded as sort of a form of elaborate kissing that doesn’t really mean very much.” Likening oral sex to elaborate kissing might be extreme, but it isn’t extreme to say that oral sex has become a widely accepted practice.
My First Time
I was high and drunk and at a party and, against my better judgement, got in a cab with a Harvard student and went back to his apartment, where we fucked each other’s brains out. He was a good lay but boring to talk to. I bounced out of there early in the morning with the sex hair and the runny makeup, and got in the T and never spoke to him again.
For the Love of Lube!
Anyone who has ever taken basic Physics, which is a graduation requirement at MIT, can tell you that friction is the arch-nemesis of motion. Friction always opposes motion, and whenever bodies are in contact, a la intercourse, there will be friction. Some friction is a good thing, but too much can lead to painful consequences. When that happens, the result isn’t pleasant for either partner. Usually there’s a chain reaction: if a partner goes dry, the other partner goes soft. Many a virgin has botched an attempt at losing it because of too much friction.
Sex Toys: Your New Best Friend
I’m as big a fan of self-love as a newly sexually-awakened postpubescent, but sometimes a couple digits just won’t do. That’s when I reach for my favorite vibrator made by Fun Factory, a German sex toy company. Before I came across their nifty invention, I’d tried a lot of toys that left me feeling dissatisfied, so I resorted to masturbation without technological enhancements. Though it’s cheaper and equally pleasurable (especially if you’re familiar with your own body and nimble with your fingers), masturbation alone can get boring and sex toys can add variety to the bedroom. Some women have a difficult time reaching orgasm and can get closer to their goal with the aid of a toy. For me, finding the right vibrator made me realize that sex toy shopping is a little bit like playing Goldilocks. You have to find the toy that’s juuuust right and there are a lot of factors that come into play!
Brouhaha Rhythm
The other day, I had the unique experience of trying to open a coconut for personal consumption. It began with a butter knife and misplaced optimism. It ended with three sharp cooking knives, a multitool saw blade, a claw hammer, multiple nails of varying sizes, and one still-unrefreshed columnist. Oh, and a lounge so covered in coconut entrails that it could probably have been used as a set for a tropical-plant remake of <i>The Silence of the Lambs</i>.
Brouhaha Rhythm
I watched <i>Kill Bill</i> (parts 1 and 2) the other night with a few of my friends, and as impossible as I would have thought it, Quentin Tarantino’s movies have gotten more “out there” since <i>Pulp Fiction</i>. Granted, my experience with Tarantino films is only about as much as most (and not nearly as much as I’d like), but I imagine it doesn’t take too long to at least begin to grasp his particular film style. I’d wager that Tim Burton is the only director with a more distinctive stamp than Tarantino’s. The specifics are a little fuzzy, but I think if I were to draw a Venn Diagram with circles labeled “lack of color,” “Johnny Depp,” and “Helena Bonham Carter,” the intersections of two or more circles would get me pretty close.
Tech Review: iPod Nano
<b>WHAT IT IS: </b>The latest generation “iPod Nano” represents Apple Inc.’s contributions to the hot world of portable music and video players, currently a market dominated by Apple Inc.
Brouhaha Rhythm
Depending on who you ask, reactions to the idea of talking during a movie tend to be mixed. Some people feel like it’s perfectly fine, others feel there should be a special level of hell for violators of the “Silence is Golden” theatre policies. Some people don’t mind so long as what’s being said is funny or subtle, and some people prefer watching movies at home for the exact reason that they’re at greater liberty to speak/eat loud snacks/go to the bathroom, among other things. Ask me sometime about my idea of splitting movie theaters into “making out” and “non-making out” sections so that the lip aficionados don’t interfere with the film aficionados, and vice versa.
Trapped in Paradise
“I need to use the phone,” I told the man behind the front desk of the Havana hotel where I was staying. “Sir, it’s $2 a minute to call the U.S.” I had $5, enough for a 2.5 minute call home (or to eat that night). “This is an emergency!” I screamed, “Now let me use the fucking phone!”
Ask SIPB
This week’s column includes the annual cluster combo change, how to print to private printers, and some SIPB services — come to our cluedumps lectures and learn about various computing topics, and listen to free music on-demand through MIT cable.
Brouhaha Rhythm
The recent Stephenie Meyer phenomenon of <i>Twilight</i> has raised some very divisive questions among fantasy fans. All debating over artistic merit aside, up for contention is the matter of exactly how many liberties an author can take with established monster lore. The concept of the vampire has been around for centuries, and the <i>Twilight</i> series seems to incorporate very little of it. Fine, so Edward Cullen drinks blood, is sort of ancient, and has a mild allergy to sunlight, but then again, so does Ozzy Osbourne. Few would mistake Ozzy for a vampire, and much fewer would mistake him for the lead in a romance novel.
From The Desk Of Me
Recruitment was a bore. It was time-consuming, tedious, and repetitive. It required an extreme amount of small talk, Barbie-like smiles, and buckets full of patience. In contrast, Rush was long hours of as much crammed-in fun as possible. Men rushing the Greek system are encouraged to attend late-night parties, enjoy Six Flags and paintballing, and acquire free food at prospective houses, while sorority recruitment allows MIT women to participate solely in daytime formal soirees, while abiding to a long list of rules.
Brouhaha Rhythm
It always struck me as somewhat odd that Quiz Bowl was considered a varsity sport at my high school, as I imagine was the case in many others. The same was true of Debate, Forensics, and a host of other extracurricular activities that don’t have corresponding Olympic events. All arguments about breaking a sweat aside, the intriguing point remains that mainstream sports are not the only avenue by which one can be called an athlete. While I don’t consider myself what one might call “buff” — honestly, “semi–muscular” would be a stretch in its own right — I can at least take some comfort in knowing that not everything I do is so hopelessly lazy that ambient calories are absorbed from the environment. “Like what?”, you say? Well, I’m glad you hypothetically asked.
The Groovy American Dream
It’s that time of year again. No, I’m not referring to orientation, or rush, or the inevitable moment when your precious orientation BFFs get booted down to “awkward nod in Infinite Corridor” status. Rather, I’m referring to the short week in Boston during which the weather actually supports human life. Let’s face it, the Boston Weather Machine is nothing short of diabolical, especially during the extreme seasons. One hot summer day, I went jogging across the bridge, and came back a different ethnicity. Last winter, I went McDonald’s to get an iced coffee; they gave me a regular coffee and told me to stand outside. So naturally, I particularly cherish this <i>temps éphémère</i>, if only as the one time during the year that nature isn’t actively plotting my death.
From The Desk of Me
Orientation has been a blur of activities. To make it worse, with REX and general moving-in chaos, as well as family good-byes and newfound freedom, it often feels that we, the new fragile MITers, are always on the move, trying to stake out a spot on territory already peed on by the aggressive, intimidating upperclassman.
Ask SIPB
Wishing MIT provided more software and services for your personal computer? Need to use software on Athena at home? This issue, we cover many of the software options available from MIT.
Brouhaha Rhythm
Being home all summer has brought about a realization about my time at MIT.
Not All White, Still All Nerdy
MIT never seemed like a feasible option for college for me. The Massachusetts Institute of Technology was something for Nobel Laureates, audio company founders, renowned architects, and Iron Man. Not for me, someone who applied to MIT without any expectation of acceptance whatsoever.
Ask SIPB
This week’s column covers electronic communication at MIT — e-mail, mailing lists, and zephyr.