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Editors-in-Chief Sam Knowles Amelia Stanton Managing Editor of Features Charles Pletcher Managing Editor of Arts & Culture Jennie Young Carr Managing Editor of Lifestyle Jane Brendlinger Features Editors Zo Hoffman Emily Spinner Arts & Culture Editors Clayton Aldern Tyler Bourgoise Lifestyle Editors Jen Harlan Alexa Trearchis Pencil Pusher Phil Lai Chief Layout Editor Clara Beyer Aesthetic Mastermind Lucas Huh Copy Chiefs Julia Kantor Justine Palefsky Staff Wrter Berit Goetz Copy Editors Lucas Huh Kristina Petersen Allison Shafir

CONTENTS
lost in brunonia // zo hoffman

LETTER FROM THE EDITORS Were not gonna lie. There were a few bumps in the road. Writers fell out of touch; trusted veterans left the helm. The time apart has done us some good. The Narragansett tastes sweeter, the Stella crisper. But let us just say its nice to be back. Jennie produces genius not once but twice; the two of us are left out of Sexicons target demographic yet again; and Clara continues to dream aloud of putting the paper to bed before Jos closes. Ah, the joys of post- in fall. So here it is, our firstborn. Take time with her. Go ahead, turn to the sex page. But then read one or two of the other pieces. Theyre quite good. Until next week,

3 upfront 4 feature

g+=0 // charles pletcher

here there be dragons // jennie young carr just dress for success // amelia stanton and jennie young carr freaks in the city // clay aldern

5 arts & culture

6 arts & culture 7 lifestyles 8 lifestyles

will work for food // jane brendlinger shop til you add/drop// kate doyle sexicon // MM kiss em goodbye // sexy sadie

sam & amelia

TOP TEN Ways Weve Changed Since Freshman Year

OUR ILLUSTRATORS
cover // phil lai lost in brunonia // marissa ilardi g+=0 // phil lai here there be dragons // anish gonchigar just dress for success // phil lai freaks in the city // phil lai will work for food // phil lai shop til you add/drop // anish gonchigar sexy sadie // phil lai kiss em goodbye // phil lai

1 2 3 4 5

Were no longer friends with anyone from freshman year. We hate hipsters, but ironically, because were hipsters. We dont travel in packs anymore. We can handle our alcohol (addictions).

6 7 8

Frat life has lost its luster now that weve seen the bedrooms. We f*cking love cocaine! We have ventured downtown. Twice. Status updates require an addendum. #hashtag We hate freshmen.

Post- Magazine is published every Thursday in the Brown Daily Herald. It covers books, theater, music, film, food, art, and University culture around College Hill. Post- editors can be contacted at post.magazine@gmail. com. Letters are always welcome, and can be either e-mailed or sent to Post- Magazine, 195 Angell Street, Providence, RI 02906. We claim the right to edit letters for style, clarity, and length.

Drinking from plastic water bottles used to be okay. Now its a sin worse than heteronormativity.

9 10

five
1

weekend

SMOKED SALOMON Salomon 101 Fri 7PM

FALL ARIAS CONCERT The Underground Fri 7PM

ANXIETY OF INFLUENCE Granoff Studio 1 Sat 8PM

TRIPLE THREAT CONCERT Salomon 101 Sat 8PM

SLUTWALK PROVIDENCE Burnside Park Sun 12PM

Lost in Brunonia
zo HOFFMAN features editor
We all know what September brings: homework, stress, and confirmation that summer could maybe, just possibly be over. Over-air-conditioned offices become a distant memory, the number of EUROTRIP 2K11 Facebook albums begins to dwindle, and the library looms in the distance, hinting at the 12-page paper you already have to write on feminist aesthetics for tomorrow. At first, the prognosis looks bleak. Somewhere in the back of our minds, though, we can remember having gotten through these intimidating hardships before, sloughing through the fall months to emerge victorious on the other side. But how? How can we cast aside our post-summer grieving to come to accept, maybe even enjoy, the new semester upon us? Tip #1: Indulge your inner shopaholic. Those first two weeks at Brown are a time of chaos, with marathon sprints across campus and Banner carts stuffed to capacity. Yet, after a summer of sitting home alone or working a minimum-wage job in stuffy business casual it can be liberating to get back to class. Three months of following someone elses orders makes us forget the beauty of setting our own schedule. The 7 AM alarm clocks of your corporate summer cease to ring when you swear off all 9 AM classes. Despite the added stress, make sure to relish this magical time. Forage through the cast-offs to find that little gem of a class hidden in the depths of Banner just waiting for someone to try it on for size. And make sure to choose wisely. Itd be a shame to realize a few weeks too late that a class is going to ruin your life all the way til December. Tip #2: Stash a bottle away in case of emergencies. As past experience has shown, a few glasses of wine can help the words flow a little more freely while writing a paperand might help you tune out the pregaming of those noisy next door neighbors. Despite its faults, alcohol has the strange ability to make the most tedious of events bearable and the most ordinary veer toward the exotic. So make sure one of your first stops back in Providence is to Spiritus or Campus Wines. If you have to work on a Thursday night, grab that stowaway bottle of Yellowtail, fill a picnic basket with snatched Ratty goods, and set up shop in a prime people-watching spot on the Main Green. With a slight buzzwhich you should increase accordingly based on the proximity of the weekendno task will seem too mundane. Tip #3: Live every day like its Halloween. A girl walks by dressed in a nightgown, kneelength American-flag socks, and sparkly gold shoes. A

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2011

upfront

five tips to survive fall semester

boy follows close behind wearing a fur vest and nothing else. No, this isnt Halloweenthis scene is taken straight from the Main Green on a Tuesday afternoon. With theatrics as the norm here at Brown, make sure to compile your own collection of distinctive and versatile (and dare I say heinous) costumes. We may roll our eyes at the thought of a Rubiks Cube or Toga party, but in reality these events are anything but pass. Why simply escape your work when you can escape yourself altogether? Reinvention spawns creativity, spices up an evening, and, perhaps most importantly, breaks up the monotony that can erode our senses. So ditch the tired student look and become Wonder Woman, Farmer Joe, or a slutty nurse (or teacher or catholic school girl ) for a night. The envy youll inspire around Halloween will make those trips to Goodwill worth every penny. Tip #4: Pimp your pad. Walking into that depressing white cell of a room can cast a dark pall over even the sunniest of attitudes. As soon as possible, fill your room with trinkets from the flea market, dusty rock-band posters you found stuffed in the corner of your attic, or smiling pictures that recall a time when you werent bogged down with stress. Go ahead and buy that 59 dollar matching throw pillow from Pottery Barn youve had your eye on, or a hand-painted serving platter perfect for those potluck dinners youll never throw. Successful rooms run the gamut from Vineyard Vines preppy (think pink with green accents, with plenty of black-and-white photos of WASP-y families on sailboats) to hipster austerity (obligatory charcoal sketches pinned haphazardly to the wall, juxtaposed with decaying jam jarsfound art pieces, if you will). No matter what you fill it with, your room should be a safe haven from the outside world. We all need a comfortable nest where we can watch the latest episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hillswithout the judgment of prying neighbors. Tip #5: When possible, calm the f*ck down. This tip is the most important, but also the most difficult to follow. When we get stressed, we do ridiculous things. We convince ourselves that we need to stay in on a Saturday night in order to complete a one-page response paper. We snap after hearing at lunch that most students from our major go on to work at American Apparel. Instead of tearing your hair out at every moment of strain and uncertainty, relax a bit. Allow yourself a Thursday night beer at the GCB or a froyo break on Thayer. Unshackle yourself from your weekly planner and do something spontaneous. While these seemingly insignificant activities might not win any of us a Rhodes scholarship, they are vital to keeping body and soul together, propelling us forward when we feel like well be forever stuck in the day-to-day grind. September to December is a fight for survivala challenge thrust upon us by the school calendar. But its possible to get through more or less unscathed with a little effort. Put down this publication, take in the changing leaves and think about how good those Blue Room muffins are. Youll realize something: Summer might be at an end, but for all our complaints, its good to be back.

music is books is
... noting that Christopher Hitchens is still angr y ... Arguably. ... listening to Girl and wondering how the people that brought you Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell wrote the greatest pop song of all time.

film is

... watching Spy Kids in 4D.

theatre is
... listening to Harr y Potter sing about how to succeed in business. New CareerLAB promo, anyone?

food is

... off meal-plan. Day 1: Ate only cereal, cried outside the Ratty like a child in a Dickens novel.

booze is
... sipping gin and tonic while watching freshmen girls struggle to make friends in Sigma. You go, girls.

feature
POST-

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Twitters smoke-and-mirrors advertising monetization, Google wants to round out its existing suite of offerings with what amounts to an interactive nametagits most interested in using names as labels for interests rather than people. Mashables Ben Parr describes Google+s standout feature, Circles:

// google adds nothing

charles PLETCHER managing editor of features

should or shouldnt you use Google+? Google+ doesnt need ads because they have parceled the advertising segment to other parts of their domain. I defy you to search for a wellknown product via Google.com and not click the link highlighted in a putrid tan near the top of the page. Google+ achieves the separation of the behemoth. I have the lingering satisfaction of clicking a link generated solely by the ingenuity of Google engineers rather than clicking the pitch of an online used car salesmen. Once Google knows enough about a users interests, it can serve up increasingly relevant links and blur the distinction between paid-for and or-

Facebook is not a social network. Twitter is not a social network. These websites are surrogates and aggregators of facsimiled interactions, imitators belonging to a world of for-loops and if-statementsnot a social world at all. For the purposes of this article, lets follow Webster and take social to mean, tending to form cooperative and interdependent relationships with others. Social networks are thus not social by their failure to engender actual interdependence. They still revolve around a web of interconnected users, but this web only presents the illusion of interdependencein fact, all roads lead to dollar signs. Facebook, Twitter, and their internet kin, realizing that little money lies in facilitating written exchange, have revised their initial idealism for the sake of profit, seeking not to connect one person to another but to disconnect a person from him- or herself. Weve all seen this phenomenon in Facebooks increasingly relevant and increasingly creepysidebar ads. Facebook seeks to know more about an individual than that individual knows, to create an online identity more appealing and less thrifty than the sun-starved shell clacking at the keyboard. Facebook holds the keys to each users manufactured kingdom and deftly loosens the lock on his or her wallet. But wait, you say. What about Google+, the new kid on the block? Googles foray into the social web which, as hinted above, we should keep distinct from social networks combines Twitters off-the-cuff updates and one-way following with a Facebook-inspired interface and Wall- and News Feed-like functionality. This feature buffet places Google+ squarely between Facebook and Twitter, but this combination makes Google+ different from its predecessors. Google didnt launch Google+ to compete with Facebook and Twitterthe Internet King has no need to compete with peons. The Google ecosystem focuses on utility rather than illusion. In lieu of Facebook and

The focus of this social project is not on sharing with a mass group of friends, but on targeted sharing with your various social groups [M]ost social media services (read: Facebook, Twitter) havent been successful with friend lists because theyve been designed as a tack-on product rather than being integrated at every level. On its surface, Google+ intends to socialize the entire web experience. Sparks, Google+s answer to Facebooks Interests, means to give users access to ready-made communities of individuals with similar hobbiesif Google+ were Twitter, Justin Bieber would have millions of Sparks. People threw their information at these companies like panties at a Beatles concert under the auspice of connection. The optimist in me wants to believe that everyone involvedthe users and the companiessincerely wanted a more connected world. The realist expects that the companies needed to find a way to monetize their products and didnt want to thrust a paid service on their users, so they opted for an ads-based system (Facebooks being the most successful due to their targeted ads technology). And the pessimist thinks that monetization was the goal to begin with. Of course, these goals arent mutually exclusive. Site maintenance, feature provisions, and bandwidth all cost money, so its entirely conceivable that a site would aim for connectivity while keeping one eye on its bottom line. The tension here isnt between making money and serving the users; its between serving the users and milking them like the cash cows they are. At this point, its worth noting that Google+ still doesnt have ads, the sine qua non of Google. Memoirs have been written on Googles love for advertising (if you dont believe me: http://www.adweek.com/news/ technology/early-google-hire-tellsall-133658); Googles billions are built on the sum of companies paying pennies for individual clicks. But their assault on the social web has no advertisements. The interface is relatively clear of blue links. What could Google, the advertising behemoth of the modern age, want to do with a no-ads zone? Why

the ad platform and the data-gathering device. Through Google+, Google simply wants to learn more about youthey explicitly designed the Sparks feature to serve up relevant social posts about a users interests, and its nothing short of nave to hope that the data obtained through a persons sparks wont be used elsewhere in the Google labyrinth. You should use Google+ because its going to be your only choice. The downfall of Facebook and Twitter will be the coextensiveness of their ad and content platforms. Let me revise that statement: The downfall of Twitter will be its disregard for relevance. (Try searching for a topic on Twitter.) The downfall of Facebook will be the proximity of its ad platform and content farm. (Ever notice how Facebook asks why you wanted to delete an ad? Theyre gathering info about you then, too.) Google+s combination of these paradigms nullifies them both. Since 1999, Google has been King of Relevance, but it seems theyve been hankering to join another game. They decided to monetize shortly after proving the worth of their algorithm, and, like television networks have done for decades, Google went with ads. For a lot of us, the ads are just a nuisance. As they become more relevant, they seem mostly just to match the top result or two in the list of blue links. I dont know about you, but I go out of my way to scroll down the page and click those links rather than feed

ganic links. In short, we may soon no longer use the same internet. This repository of information, this gift to studentkind, may soon be so personalized as to render even relevance obsolete. The internetas filtered through Google searchesmay presuppose a mandate of pertinence: Does this result belong in my menagerie of interests? Does it fit into the factual online self I have cultivated? In the internets first post-search incarnation, mutual links and complicated algorithms determined relevance. The logged-in web (check the top of your screen on Google.com) has gradually replaced pure digital relevance with human interests. The obsolescence of relevance is at once dangerous and advantageous: it devolves quickly into solipsism but thrives on specificity. As the algorithm gets to know you, you get to know yourself better; the internet has a chance to tell you who (it thinks) you are. Googles data harvest, Google+, subverts the tired trope of online simulacra. The online identity becomes realitythe names of people become labels for containers of interests, purchases, and clicksand the person becomes simply a shell in need of sustenance.

Here There Be Dragons

jennie YOUNG CARR
managing editor of arts and culture
manicured sidewalks of literary fiction. Some of the responsibility for this stigmatization can be traced to fantasy authors themselves. The worst ones produce 800-page doorstoppers that either rehash Tolkien or feature absurdities like multi-species orgies. However, there are plenty of talented, innovative authors who are revered within the fantasy world and unknown outside of it. Until this summer, George R.R. Martin was one such author. The first installment in his A Song of Ice and Fire series was published in 1996, quickly gaining acclaim for its byzantine political intrigues and nuanced characters. His novels sweep grandly over multiple continents and story lines, and are narrated from no less than seventeen different points of view. They seem to have been written with a television adaptation in mind: Martin keeps up a relentless pace, cutting from one storyline to another with the same precision and eye for suspense found in Lost or Dexter. Eventually, executives at HBO took notice of the novels cinematic qualities (one jokingly dubbed it The Sopranos in Middle-earth) and the Game of Thrones series was born. Faithful to the book series in nearly every aspect but its title (presumably A Song of Ice and Fire was a bit too fantastical), the show enjoyed instant, overwhelming popularity, drawing 2.2 million viewers for its premiere. HBO promptly ordered a second season. Game of Thrones is every bit as grandiose as its novelistic counterpart-provocative in a way thats smart rather than gratuitous. The character of Tyrion Lannister exemplifies the shows appeal: hes a wise-cracking, libidinous dwarf with the mind of Machiavelli, the sort of man who can be both crude and brilliant in the space of a sentence. Hes also the perfect retort to naysayers who claim that fantasy lacks nuance or is he? Frustratingly, characters like Tyrion, who give Game of Thrones its edgy complexity, cause people like HBO programming chief Michael Lombardo to claim that the fantasy [in the show] is so incidental, it has a very adult tone. Note how Lombardo implies that fantasy and an adult tone are mutually exclusive without batting an eyelash. He can do this because hes expressing a common belief. Fantasy, our culture claims, is childish. Why? It is a genre devoted to the free exercise of imagination, a practice that is discouraged in the adult world. Imagination is to be harnessed and used for more practical purposes: the design of bridges and new narrative forms, for instance, not the creation of dragons. Inventing new worlds is a game that most people left I was in late elementary school when I began, through elaborate contortions, to shield the covers of my books from the prying eyes of other schoolchildren. Whats that you say? I would ask disingenuously, tucking my knees more firmly under my chin. A sword-wielding mouse? Not on my book. This is The Babysitters Club. My childhood observation still holds true: fantasy readers rarely belong to the cool kids club, whether membership is dictated by a fourth-grade tyrant or the intellectual elite. The genre exists on the outskirts of novelistic respectability-not quite in the red-light district of romance novels, but far from t h e

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2011

arts & culture

a foray into the fantastical

behind in childhood, if they played it at all, and so they conclude that a book that takes place in an entirely fictional setting must be juvenile. And, if something (like, say, Game of Thrones) threatens to disprove this assumption, well then, it must not really be fantasy. I regret to inform Michael Lombardo that, far from being incidental, fantasy is an integral part of Game of Thrones. The series takes place in a world profoundly different from our own, one in which geography has been reshaped and scientific laws overturned. I suspect that what unsettles people about Game of Thrones, and causes them to believe that it is not fantasy, is that this world feels vital and believable, and thus real. But thats simply the mark of a talented writer. A good fantasy world is so wellthought-out, so meticulously executed, that despite its inherent strangeness, it is wholly convincing. If you havent already fallen in love with fantasy, theres no way to convince you of this. Im like any other infatuated girl, cooing over a boyfriend who, to your cynical eyes, looks scraggly-bearded and thoroughly unremarkable. So dont take me on faith. Read a fantasy novel--go on, I dare you. What about the embarrassing cover, you ask? Thats why I have a Kindle.

Just Dress for Success

jennie YOUNG CARR and amelia STANTON
Today we face a new reality, one with a faltering economy and a glut of lawyers. Directionless humanities students can no longer count on law school as a ticket to a decade or two of high-paying corporate slavery, followed by retirement and the pursuit of their true passions. Yet, we have no answer to the question, If not law school, whats the back-up plan? We continue to plunge toward potential disaster, trying to ignore a barrage of pessimistic New York Times articles. Dreams of proving our merit fade as it becomes appallingly clear that, in this climate of fierce competition, one thing matters most: the law school on your degree. The highly fortified gates of the corporate law kingdom remain open only to those who can, with a condescending smirk, declare, Harvard Law. Enter Mike Ross, the star of USAs hit summer series, Suits. A college dropout with a photographic memory, Ross (Patrick J. Adams) stumbles into a job interview for top firm Pearson Harden while running a drug deal gone south. One of New York Citys premier legal closers recognizes that unique spark in Rossthat anti-establishment bundle of raw talent, that not yet crystallized something that makes for great summer TV. Sure, Ross becomes an associate in an elite corporate law firm through a preposterous string of events; it just so happens that he has the Bar Exam Handbook memorized and can recite case law with the inconceivable accuracy of a tween pop enthusiast mouthing Miley Cyrus. But whats remarkable about Suits isnt its implausible plot: its the way the show picks up on our love/hate relationship with the law and appeals to both emotions. Suits confirms what many of us secretly suspect: the system is broken. The value of law school lies not in the education you receive, but the prestige of your degree; claiming a Harvard degree, as Ross does, is just as good as earning one, if you can pull the scam off. Ross success appeals to both our inner idealist and anti-authoritarian. It represents the triumph of merit in a corrupt system, and an audacious cheat of that same system. We may play by the rules, fussing over GPAs and curating resumes, but we long for Ross shortcut. We, too, want someone to recognize our worth, pluck us out of obscurity, and allow us to dispense with the formalities that precede a successful career. Perhaps we ought to envy Ross, but the show goes out of its way to make him likeable, stacking the odds by making anyone who buys into establishment values into a villainous caricature. Harvard douche is the standard description for

tvs new take on the legal career

graduates of that august institution; one prospective Harvard Law student is overheard describing a Hispanic person as looking like a pool boy. The other Pearson Harden interviewees (all Harvard men, natch) are Brooks Brothers models with vacant stares, unable to come up with snappy retorts to a secretarys sarcasm. In contrast, Ross is an ambassador of the real world: underprivileged, street-smart, and appealingly earnest. Of course you want him to win. Even as Suits criticizes the system that leads to employment at a corporate law firm, it continues to sell the dream of what will happen once we get there. Harvey Spector, Rosss mentor, embodies our most feverish imaginings of life as a successful lawyer. Sharp-witted and sharp-tongued, hes far from a lackey to his wealthy clients. Within the first five minutes of the show, he dresses down an uncooperative client and snaps, Now get your ass in there and close the goddamn deal. In a subsequent scene, Spector puts the moves on a sexy cocktail waitress, who scoffs, Im never going out with you. Cut to the same woman, begging Spector to come back to bed. Despite our cynicism, we still want to be convinced that professionals are superior to mere mortals. We yearn to believe that theres some glamour in the life were

struggling to attain, and so Suits gives us scotch-sipping Harvey Specter and his store of one-liners. Faced with a depressing reality, we take refuge in Suits shrewd escapism. The shows appeal can be summed up in its title. Were fascinated by the trappings of success, represented in the show by its characters impeccably tailored, outrageously expensive suits. Were equally entranced by the possibility of transformation, of a shortcut to success. You can become anything, the show suggests, if only you put on the right suit.

arts & culture

POST-

Freaks in the City

the same songs over and over again. Certainly, the group is opposed to adhering to the notion of a genre box. It was this genre-defiance that presented a problem when attempting to enter the Providence arena, which tends to be dominated by equal parts straightforward folk and metal. However, as the group began playing shows, they began to accrue a following that complemented their manifold sound. Rice Cakes shows are attended by metalheads and folky folks alike. A purely creative feel reigns over the live experience: a barefooted Raskin will occasionally pick up a guitar or sit down at the drums, swapping places with the goofy-grinning Belisle. Instrument-swapping adds to the funcore groove: the audiences (and the bands) interest is maintained, and yet no musicianship is lost. Perhaps the best part about The Rice Cakes is their transparent accessibility. They are still the little guys, and they wholeheartedly welcome this concept. Despite being named The Providence Phoenixs Best Local Act of 2010, the group seems to be in solid awe of their success and support this year. We looked at some of the Kickstarter donors and were like, You listen to us and youre from California? It is this brand of candid modesty that pinpoints The Rice Cakes location on the music industry roadmap. The Phoenix award made us feel like we had some notoriety, added Raskin, but mostly we were offered more gigs. Stuff really began to snowball. Recent live ventures include playing a plethora of New England festivals and opening for folk monsters and longtime friends The Low Anthem at the Smart Flesh release party in Central Falls last March. Despite the snowballing success, The Rice Cakes have stayed true to their roots and embraced their eclectic

the rice cakes monstrous movement

soundscape. Monster Man, which was recorded in a Central Falls studio built by Foster, paints a picture of a group that is still toying with their complex sound and is truly passionate about that tinkering. There is a bubbling feeling in the tunes: a rolling, undulating sense of excitement that permeates the album. Grimy keyboard jazz contrasts plucked acoustic mumblings. Each piece is a profession of identity, articulating the groups fluid dynamic. Continuity is not the albums strong suit; rather, the 6-track collection comes off as a demonstration of the versatility of the band. On the surface, it is a fun and relatively accessible disc, but digging a bit deeper reveals fantastic composition and unabashed exploration of musical ideas. The short album is crammed to the brim with wonderful moments. Magma, an album highlight, demonstrates The Rice Cakes ability to simultaneously cut clean riffs and probe looser jams without sacrificing listenability. The satisfying combination of Fosters bass doodles and Belisles jungle-esque drumming provides a pounding, grooving framework. There is a lovely surprise appearance by a glockenspiel near the songs end. It is clear that the group likes to keep the listener guessing. In that vein, Gore meanders in the right direction just when the song seems on the verge of careless collapse. Raskins voice is a lighthouse amidst the plodding fuzz that is the songs instrumentation. The aforementioned versatility is incredible: The Rice Cakes seem just as comfortable laying down lo-fi indie jams as they do pumping out raucous keyboard punk. For that reason, Monster Man epitomizes individual artistic directionRoz Raskin and The Rice Cakes play music that they want to play. The charming music video for Magma is an extension of this individualism. Directed by Adam DePalma and Paul Medeiros, the Kickstarter-pipedream-turned-reality depicts a massive rag monster chasing a 35+ group of young adults through Chase Farm (aptly chosen) in Lincoln, RI. The towering monster, a huge puppet designed and operated by Brett Sylvia, is eventually dismantled via the collective effort of the pursued youth. Classic Rice Cakes themes resonant here: a strong DIY vibe encourages autonomy and drive without barring playfulness. It is this vibe that shines a promising light on the bands future. Grandiose whats-nexts were met with a sip of orange juice and a smile from Raskin: Its just nice to be recognized by people for what we do. This statement drives straight to the groups core, revealing a blatantly simple desire to do what they love. They are wonderfully humble and genuinely excited about their position. Over the course of our interview, Raskin stressed the groups astronomic gratitude for their listeners. No show attendee, album purchaser, tweeter or re-blogger goes unnoticed: the band is just as loyal to their fans as their fans are to them. The Rice Cakes are building more than a scenethey are building a community.

clay ALDERN arts & culture editor

In early June, Roz Raskin and The Rice Cakes launched a campaign to raise $800. The operation, facilitated by Kickstarter.com, was billed as a fundraiser for a music video that would be filmed within the coming months, the release of which would coincide with that of their new album, Monster Man. One social media frenzy later, donations to the Kickstarter account began to fly in and the $800 figure was soon surpassed. The Providence locals updated the goal to $2000which was also soon met. As the Kickstarter countdown timer ran out, the band cashed out with nearly 250% of their original goal. Since then, The Rice Cakes have had a busy couple of months: Monster Man was recorded and released, the music video was filmed and the group set off on a nationwide tour. The night before the tour van took off, front-woman Roz Raskin sat down with Post- to chat about her troupe. Over some orange juice (Blue State had already closed), Raskin reflected on The Rice Cakes history, their recent successes, and what it meant to engage with the Providence music community. The trio, comprised of keyboardist/vocalist Raskin, bassist Justin Foster and drummer Casey Belisle, is a quirky pyramid. An early incarnation of the group was essentially a 2006 solo project for Raskin (who, at the time, played in a duo with a different bassist). Belisle began adding his beats to the mix in 2008, and Foster subbed in for the original bassist the following year. After the member change, there was this fresh energy that hadnt been there before, suggested Raskin. Fosters perhaps darker edge was contrasted by Belisles animated, cartoony character. Combined with the dynamic, focused fireball that is Raskin, the Rhode Island College friends had become The Rice Cakes as we know them. I always thought we were freaks in the city, Black-and-blue-haired Raskin said of the groups first efforts to break into the local sphere. We needed to build our own scene in Providence. At the time (circa 2009), the problem with The Rice Cakes seemed to be that they defied categorization: the three-piece dips its collective toes in a multitude of genres. A strongly collaborative songwriting process flushes out tidbits of all members personalities. Often, a certain mushy altpunk flair emanates from the music, but this by no means defines the group. Floating, ethereal backgrounds occasionally add an atmospheric electro flavor. Jazzy jam riffing makes for abstract and delightfully disconnected phrases. Reflecting on the variance in the bands sound, Raskin offered, Its not like were writing

Will Work For Food

jane BRENDLINGER managing editor of lifestyles
How to eat a dandelion: Discard the leaves, then scrub the living daylights off the roots; roughly chop and toss them in the skillet with olive oil. Saut for a good 20 minutes or so, and spoon on some soy sauce toward the end. I first tried dandelion roots this summer, pried from a small organic garden in France, prepared in this manner by a Parisian painter named LN. I closed my eyes to form the memory: crunch and texture of a carrot, but a bitter taste more like a turnips, with just a hint of caramel. Id found a new reward for hours of weedingeating the harvest. Dandelions were just one of the delicacies I encountered during six weeks of WWOOFing in the south of France. WWOOF is the terrible acronym for the World Wide Organization of Organic Farmers, a network that connects organic farms, vineyards, and gardens to all manner of travelers seeking farm experience and a cultural exchange. WWOOFers work a couple hours a day in return for room and board, and, if all goes well, swell times with new friends! I signed up with an interest in French, thirst for an adventure abroad, and, Ill admit, only mild curiosity in farming. But I really paid that 20 euro WWOOFer fee for the food. Eating on organic farms for six weeksthe thought kept me up nights as visions of aubergines danced through my head. And oh how we ate. I tried so many new flavors that between the language and the food, my tongue worked overtime. One farm grew Ratte potatoes, apparently a gourmet variety that we were very lucky to be eating small, with a creamy, nutty taste and a wonderfully buttery texture. Despite their gourmand status, however, the WWOOFers used them as ammo in a potato war. Many casualties. Of course I tasted dandelions for the first time this summer, along with another French weed called chnopode, a wild variety of spinach that grew rampant in the gardens. The French love their weeds, and soon I just couldnt get enough of this spinach alternative, cooked as a sweeter, more velvety version of its domesticated counterpart. And after dull hours of picking cassis berries, then sorting the wet berries from the dry, a spoon of cassis sorbet on a scorching 40 degree day made it all worthwhile. My diet changed from farm to farm, with new hosts and new cooks. LN, the artist landlord of the first organic garden, made a killer vegetable lasagna (loaded with chnopode!). Her husband, a 60-year-old sculptor named Michel who more often than not walked around bare-chested, had a sweet tooth. I got on his good side with an apple pie on the Fourth of July. Ccile, wife and matri-

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2011

lifestyles

Tis a long day, a day without bread. F rench proverb

arch chef on farm two, was harried with the stress of three kids, another one on the way. So I learned the importance of leftovers, les restes en franais, which were generally cast into the salad to form a less than appetizing mlange of pasta, cheese, tuna, and cucumber. Bernard, my surrogate father on farm three, made Top Chef with his Mediterranean cooking. Good natured and trs drle, hed spend hours with me in the kitchen, discussing American literature and teaching me a recipe. Aubergine dip, homemade curried mayonnaise with cherry tomatoes, vegetables grilled on a metal plate a la plancha. I took notes. Being in France, though, two things never changed. Farm to farm, region to region, as long as there were death and taxes thered be bread and cheese. Bread, bought fresh every day, and sometimes even homemade. Every weekend LN would make dozens of sourdough loaves, infused with all manner of goodies: rosemary, poppyseeds, figs, walnuts, dried cassis. And it went fast bread and jam for breakfast, bread with lunch, bread with dinner, a light bread snack in between. After lunch and dinner came the cheese. All sorts, usually a fantastic selection from local fromageries: chvre, thom, and Roquefort were my favorites. My memories this summer, though many imprinted on my tastebuds, are

also rooted in sweet but fleeting acquaintances. Nienka and Maurice, fellow WWOOFers from Holland who live out of their camping car and sell digiridoos. Mahe, Cciles demonic two year old who would pee without abandon on the floor of his home. And Bernard, who showed me how to make tomato sauce and a great zucchini pasta. I dont think Ill be WWOOFing again soon Ive done my share of weeding for a lifetime. But I feel I must go back, if only to eat my share of dandelions.

Shop til you Add/Drop

kate DOYLE editor emeritus
Perhaps its time to call for a cleanup in aisle 12. For if shopping is the word for itthis barely civilized freefor-all, this beautifully run-amok manifestation of Brown hippie values, this one-and-a-half-week mania we call the start to the semester, this biannual (dare I say) messthen why not extend the analogy? At such metaphorical junctions as the checkout desk, the dressing room, the auction hall, the bargain-your-way flea marketeven pressed up against the glass at the superstore entrance in the moments just before doors open for the big salethe various mutterings, rants, and wise remarks of the shoppers of Brown have been (as ever) hard to miss this past week. For your consideration, I present such shopping period gems as: Im shopping at least thirty. Im shopping fifty-four! Banner literally will not let me fit a single course more in my shopping cart. Everyones very angsty right now! I treat shopping like an Olympic sport. Come with us to Culture & Health. You dont want to? You dont shop courses because you want to. You shop them because you have nothing else to do! Please, please, please coach me on what to say to her so shell let me take the course! And finally: We professors hate this, you know! Its very discombobulating. Too true, professor; Im all discombobulated myself. Ive haggled on the

discombobulation in browns open curriculum

theres something just plain off about frivolously sticking a years potential learning into a virtual shopping cart la Amazon or Ebay, and at this point you have to admit: Its a weird little limbo period we find ourselves in, once again. Whichever way you spin it, this thing surely is a hallmark of the Brown experiencethrowing us into the thick of it, hoping well swim rather than sink, that well make wise purchases and wont find ourselves suffering from buyers remorse in another week or so. Its so spur-of-the-moment they might have planned it that way, so freeing its maddening (or is it the other way around?), and in that sense, its classically Brown. So for better or for worse or until graduation do us part, getting discombobulated is here to stay, and might even be what its all about. But is shopping period a good thing, or a bad, you ask? Take a stance, you say, make a decision! Well, I dont have to say for sure yet, do I? Couldnt I take a few more days to reflect? Because speaking of classically Brown, its just thatsurprise, surpriseI cant say Im entirely sure yet how I feel about it. Im thinking really hard on it though. Really. Ill get back to you soon, or something. Im going to make up my mind, I swearright after this next class

price of James Joyce and the Modern Novel. Ive knocked forlornly at the entrance to the creative writing workshop shop, which (said the note on the door) would remain staunchly closed up until Monday, and open then only to a select clientele. Ive internet browsed. Ive impulse-purchased a theatre class and been forced to make a return. Ive wondered whether its just the marketing that made me believe life would be meaningless without TA22: Persuasive Communication. Thus in place of in deo speramus, I submit for the University motto: Shop til you drop, then shop more, and then whine about it a lot. (Anyone care to translate to Latin for me?) At least we can all lend a sympathetic ear; shoppers fatigue and a metaphorical loose wallet seem to be campus-wide plagues from which none among us is

spared. Which seems to me to say a thing or two about what it is to be (as my grandfather once termed it) a Brownie. If you spin it in a good light (and dont mind that itll reek of admissions literature warm-and-fuzzy), shopping period stands for Brown at its best, for academic freedom, for a student body so eager to learn a thing or two that itll willingly run itself into the ground for week and a halfall in the good name of intellectual fulfillment. In a less sunny take on things, you might say shopping is a cutesy, even belittling terma flimsy, happy-golucky mask on an unhealthy and rarely acknowledged campus-wide compulsion to literally do it all. Its a term that makes it easy to downplay just how lunatic our present behavior would strike any outsider. Add to this the fact that

lifestyles
POST-

Brophylactic
MM sexpert
been around since the 40s. Theres a biological rationale for the nearly century-long precedence of female birth control (synthetic progesterone, which can prevent ovulation in women, was developed in the 1930s from research on plants like sarsaparilla and yams), but the delay has certainly been culturally enforced. Once the demand for birth control had been met, and continued to be met, by oral contraceptive pills for women, a pill for men came to seem a little superfluousand, according to some suffragettes, possibly immoral. Funny, right? Im using all my authorial energy to abstain from a riot grrrl tirade on why male contraceptive pills are the best idea since bullet vibrators, while the feminists of yesteryear are rolling in their graves. Second- and Third-Wavers believed it was empowering for women to choose their own contraceptives, to have the sex they wanted, to exercise control over their own bodies. Which is totally right on. Male condoms are the most effective barrier method, but they do put the contraceptive power in the hands (crotches?) of men. Not to mention theyre a little less pleasurable

n. pregnancy-preventive measures for dudes that dont include vasectomies or barrier methods
than unprotected sex (though yall should always be using condoms for STI- if not pregnancy-prevention anyway). Female birth control pills (and shots, and rings, and implantations, and patches) are so amazing because they allow women to do whatever the hell they feel like without worrying about a fetus showing up. The predication for lot of O.G. feminist ideology is that Men Cant Be Trusted. Its times like these that I roll my eyes and go buy myself a box of doms: when reactionary behaviors start to look a lot like the paradigms to which theyre reacting (i.e., when women limit their contraceptive options to gynocentric methods, irrespective of equally effective methods for dudes). Women have the right to prevent pregnancy however they choose. But so do guys. At this point, there are a few prospective kinds of male contraceptive pills, the most exciting of which is the non-hormonal option, gamendazole, derived from anticancer medication that interrupts gamete production and results in nonviable sperm. There are hormonal meds in the works, using testosterone and progestin to stop sperm production. And the effects of all the pills so far have been reversibleone guy on gamendazole fathered a baby between clinical trials. There are plenty of women myself includedwho love the autonomy, safety, and freedom that the Pill provides, but whose bodies react poorly to the hormonal changes. Mood change, depression, weight gain, cramps, altered menstrual flow, nausea, and boob-aches are some of the symptoms women can experience from hormonal birth controland if you have a clotting disorder, or high blood pressure, or liver problems, it may be dangerous to take the Pill in the first place. When I think about an oral contraceptive thats effective, reversible, and non-hormonal, I get amped. If a sexual partner told me he was on the Pill, Id stick my tongue down his throat and rip off his boxers then and there. The way I see it, the more contraceptive options there existaccessibly, effectively, and safelythe more freedom to have the sex we want.

In the three months since my last column, millions of people have fooled around, fallen in love, found their G-spots, bought a butt-plug, tasted semen, worn a dom, and been touched where theyd never been touched before. A slew of New Yorkers tied the knot when the state legalized gay marriage in July. Anthony Weiner resigned from Congress after his cock selfies went viral. DSK was arrested, and then acquitted, for sexually assaulting a maid, and Lincoln Chafey signed a bill for same-sex civil unions, bringing Rhode Island that much closer to marriage equality. When the press went bat-shit about some studies on Neanderthal nookie, it became clear to me that sex, as reliably as a hurricane or a debt-ceiling crisis, will always make the news. All summer, theres been a lot of hype around the development of male contraceptive pills, making a lot of people who engage in hetero banging pretty excitedand anxious. To most of my peers, it makes a lot of sense. We have a lot of questions as to why exactly its taken until 2011 for male oral contraceptives to develop, as female birth control pills have

Kiss em Goodbye
SADIE sex columnist
girlfriend. Maybe you intimidate him. Or maybe he really likes you and just cant think of a cool enough excuse to text you. Think about it like this: If hes too scared to text you now, what makes you think he can provide intimacy and open communication in a hypothetical relationship? Theres no point in worrying about why you got rejected. Chances are its got nothing to do with you, babe. If he doesnt call, its not a reflection on you. It just might mean that he has got other things in his life that actually indicate that he would be a bad fit for you, like a girlfriend or a problem with intimacy. I heard once that Mans rejection is Gods protection, and it makes sense. Looking back, I wish that I had been rejected more. If only those guys could have told me before we got involved, Sorry, I have a girlfriend. Or, Im terrified of how confident you are. Or, my all-time favorite, I just got out of a psychiatric hospital and its not a good time for me to date. (I cant make this stuff up.) If Id been warned about these issues before we started dating--a simple sorry, not interested would have done the trick--it would have stung for a bit, but it would have hurt a lot less than the heartbreak and general confusion I endured from not being informed. I get better at dealing with rejection every time it happens. The first time I got passed over, I was 14, and I watched in horror as my zitfaced crush slobbered all over another girl on the Bar Mitzvah dance floor. I sobbed silently in a bathroom stall, Snoop Doggs Drop It like Its Hot playing faintly in the background. As I got older and began dating, the more rejection I experienced. Its a simple issue of numbers. And because its happened more than once, I can put it all in perspective. Knowing Ive gotten over rejection in the past-even when I never thought I would (a la seventh grade dreamboat)--reminds me that nothing feels all that bad. Today, I cant imagine crying to Snoop Dogg over a guy who ditched me. Because now, rejection feels like a little pinch. Sometimes, its just plain funny. And it always makes for great material to discuss with my girlfriends over lunch. One of those girlfriends, of course, is Lara, who is a perfect example of how rejection liberates us. After we left our Brazilian counterparts that night, we stumbled into the streets of Boston. As we passed by a bar, we decided to pop in. Within minutes, two men approached us and we all hit it off and exchanged numbers. Lara called me the other day. Shes still with the guy from the bar, and its only because the Brazilian rejected her that she met her new beau. Hes great in bed. And actually kind of funny. In Lara-speak, this means that shes in love. In short, when someone rejects us, its not the end of the world. In fact, its a gift. And in return, we can say, Thanks for the information. Now, whos next? A few nights ago, my friend Lara and I found ourselves in a living room filled with 10 very attractive Brazilian men taking turns serenading us with jazz piano. How we stepped into this rendezvous with those hunky Brazileros is another, much longer story. Lara had her eye on one particular guy. I want him, she said decisively when we arrived. I watched in awe as Lara confidently cracked sexual jokes and aggressively grabbed this strangers hips. I admire that Lara goes for what she wants, and its no coincidence that her phone is constantly buzzing with texts from different guys. But although her charm and beauty usually have guys falling over her, this one just wasnt biting the bait. Lets go, she said after a while. Im too much sand for this guys truck. My time with Lara made me wonder about rejection. Lara seems to possess no fear of being turned down but were not all that lucky. Were nervous. We think that if we are rejected, its a reflection on us: Oh, I must not be attractive enough. Im not cool enough. And sadly, there will be times in your life when someone will not see how great you are. Thats okay. It really is that persons losscause you and I both know that youre hot stuff. But rejection also happens for all sorts of other reasons that have nothing to do with you. Maybe he has a