The Slant» From The Editor

From The Editor

Dan King — Mon, 25 Apr 2011 04:29:40 +0000

Hey guys, I didn’t really have time to write a “From the Editor” for this issue, so you should really just move on to some other section.
Seriously, there’s nothing here. I was super busy this past week and I didn’t have time to write anything to put here. Stop reading now.
I promise you, there is nothing to read here. I’ll admit that it’s my fault I didn’t have time to get this done. But I had to go to Washington, D.C., this weekend to celebrate Easter with my family. I mean I guess I didn’t ‘have’ to do that, but I really wanted to go. I mean, come on, I haven’t seen my family since the semester started! What, you think the “From the Editor” column is more important than my family? Well of course you would say that, you’re not a member of my family.
But seriously, I’ve got nothing here. Just stop reading. Stop. Now. I assure you, there will be no reward for finishing this column.
You know that part of “Fight Club” where they start Project Mayhem and in order to join you need to stand outside the door for three days while Brad Pitt tells you that you can’t join? Well, this isn’t like that at all. I swear on all that is holy there is nothing in this column.
What the hell, bro? Why are you still here? There are so many better stories in this issue. Did you see that thing on page 3 about the Bon Jovi songs? It’s really funny; go read that instead of this. There isn’t anything here.
Christ in heaven, what am I going to have to do to convince you to stop reading this section? Maybe you’ll go away if I just stop typing right now.
DAMMIT YOU’RE STILL HERE.
As a matter of fact, if you won’t respect my authority as EIC, then you don’t deserve to be reading this publication. Put this copy back in the nearest Slant distribution thingy so it can go to someone who will actually listen to me.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re betting that at some point I’ll quit telling you to stop reading and then I’ll say something really profound. And then you can go talk to all of your friends and be like “Oh yeah, you need to read to the end of the ‘From the Editor,’ he says something really cool in the last paragraph.”
Well the joke’s on you! There is nothing profound in the last paragraph of this column. Do you know how I know that? Because this is the last paragraph of the column.

All (adjective) Things Must Come to an End

Clay Christain — Wed, 30 Mar 2011 18:49:18 +0000

Happy Friday, everyone! In honor of this special Friday issue of The Slant, I hope that all of you enjoy your Friday by doing what you do best on the weekend: don’t do any studying, go out to party really late, drink heavily, don’t remember when you ended up going to sleep, and waking up after noon to get disgusting Rand brunch. Enjoy today like you would the start of any other weekend!
It’s hard to believe, but it’s already April. It’s been so long since I was handing out pairs of orange Slant frat-glasses to you ungrateful freshmen at the August student organization fair. You assholes probably lost them too. If only back then you could have seen how cool you’d be today… Your loss!
Seeing as how my mind is now completely void of any future clever or creative ideas, the autonomous collective has decided to put me out to pasture and bring to you a new voice of reason for the final Slant issue of the year a few weeks from now. Listen for when the football stadium’s foghorn goes off randomly at 9:30PM on a Monday night. That means we have a new pope of joke!
For now, my image as a sprightly 20-21 year old will be forever preserved in the school’s library collections online and otherwise. I will join my predecessors in the continuum of cartoon fools that will be looked upon years from now by some crazy kid going through the entire back catalogue of The Slant just as I did myself. And then one day I will have a job, real or fake, but to Vanderbilt I’ll always be the one who consistently wrote esoteric sports and history references and for almost two years placed pictures of Asian girls and Japanese text all over the pages of the greatest student newspaper in the universe.
I leave you with these truths: invest money in your own personal hot sauce. Coffee is the greatest smell in the world. Some people take beer pong too seriously. Girls who eat junk food (responsibly) are awesome. The Chef James soda fountain is the fizziest. You can get two soda bottles from some vending machines if you stick your hand up the hole and hold the gate shut. The dorms are never actually closed over non-summer breaks. Picking up pizzas at Papa John’s on West End saves you tons of meal money. I love boobies.

Pensive Thoughts

Clay Christain — Wed, 02 Mar 2011 19:54:41 +0000

Ladies, gentlemen, I write this to you near the end of my tenure as editor in chief of The Slant, your favorite student publication. March 23rd, as hard as it is to believe how quickly that it has come, is my last issue leading you blindly into the fray against corruption, bigotry, snooty professors and sometimes downright disgusting food.
As I return from walking back home slightly drunkenly on a Saturday night, all I have to say is that The Commons experiment is not as bad as we all think it is or thought it was. You freshmen may not believe it, and you Kissam-free sophomores may enjoy being away from it, but the conveniences of living with your entire grade within urinating distance is certainly something to remember.
Sparing you the buzzwords such as “community” or “living and learning,” The Commons truly is a bonding experience. After the awkward couple of weeks that we all shared, I used to look forward to when I’d be 21 and living in a Towers suite, but honestly I want to return back to when we were a little more innocent and had a few more years ahead of us. Not to say that this year and the last were lost, but walking through Commons slightly inebriated at 3:00 in the morning made me realize that living there is a lot like getting hazed except with 28 meals a week. We all went through it, and we all really hate those people who had the corner rooms in the new buildings. Assholes…
As someone who’s lived in Nashville his whole life, I didn’t think much of these crazy new and renovated dorms in August of 2008. However, now I yearn for the simple days of being an undecided engineering major who delighted a side of Japanese class. Thinking about that, I really do miss having a class where we actually talked with each other about things that didn’t suck. Even as my GPA and tendency to fail Calculus classes repeatedly shows that I’ll probably be here past 2012, I miss those lazy winter nights of being absolutely dumb and going into the cold to smoke cigars next to the Wyatt center. I live on the 14th floor now; I can’t be crawling out of people’s windows onto balconies…
Freshmen, freshwomen, as the time draws near to pick housing ballots, please realize the great opportunities you have remaining to stay friends with people you may not otherwise know, also known as your random hall mates, because once you return for you sophomore year, things will not stay the same no matter how hard you try to convince yourself that they will be.

Lunch Rush is Super Serious Business

Clay Christain — Fri, 28 Jan 2011 20:32:26 +0000

Stardate: January 24th, 2011; 8:40 PM. I sit before you, the public, attempting to enjoy my southern fried chicken wrap from The Pub. Meager chicken influx. Poor wrapping job. Lukewarm fries. Depression rampant.
Everyone has numerous beefs with the school – hard tests, Kissam singles, Greek drama – but none are quite as infuriating as when dining goes wrong. Before I go out on a tear, let’s praise what we all share. I live in Towers West, so on a piss’s whim, I can have either Quiznos or CT West. Big ups for that one. I also have a kitchen to make my specialty, bacon and eggs, whenever I so desire. Thanks, Housing. Dining, though, you better be prepared for the wrath. Half a gallon of milk in the Towers East munchie costs as much as a gallon would out in the real world. I know that the $250 given to us is fake money, but it’s still part of my semi-annual budget.
As you can see in my picture, I am tolerating a Rand burger. The burgers are edible now that I know about the excellent Fire Sauce. It burns your mouth so good that the food’s flavor doesn’t really matter anymore.
Honestly, I don’t care so much about the quality of the food. Well, okay, Rand Brunch has gotten me very sick multiple times in the past, but now that I can make eggs on my own time, that’s no longer an issue.
The problem about lunch is that EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU JERKS has it at 12:00 or 12:15 with me. As soon as my class lets out, I turn on my primal rage and I book it from Featheringill to Rand. You’d better get the hell out of my way, because I’m a man on a mission. Seconds lost in the footrace is minutes wasted standing in line. Rand real estate is of prime value as well. I’m gonna get that table, so, girls who decide to hold conversations at the foot of the stairwell, you best take your gab elsewhere, because chivalry is dead on arrival when quesadillas are at stake… or steak, delicious steak.
VSG wants to put food trucks on Frat Row to alleviate the Rand congestion. That’d be a great idea, except to be really effective, they’d need to be there all of the time in locations where people can go inside to eat. Contrary to what a tour guide will tell you, it’s cold most of the time at school, and at least in Rand we can waste time in line indoors.
Granted, the greatest unsolved mystery is what the hell goes on at The Pub. If any computer science majors can figure out the algorithm they use on picking what to make first, please email your answers to eic.theslant@gmail.com. I’ll buy you some Pub wings for the right answer just so that I won’t have to wait in that damn line anymore.
My number’s next now, bitch.

Things Not Understandable

Clay Christain — Fri, 17 Dec 2010 21:51:59 +0000

There are many things in this universe that I don’t understand, and as a result, these things annoy me quite a lot. Whether it is sports, music, food, cultural geography, spark plug design or Australian Rules Football, I just don’t get some of it.
I don’t understand why people who live in a college town are diehard fans of the school they didn’t attend. People who live in Nashville who are UT fans confuse the bejebus out of me. Is it the age-old debate of Proletariat vs. Plebian? Most likely so except not stated as snobbily as I just did. Are all Catholics required to be Notre Dame fans even if they live miles away? What makes even less sense to me are fans of pro teams from states in which they do not live. In high school, I knew a guy who loved the Broncos. The only problems are we lived in Nashville, not Denver, and his family had never lived in Colorado. His reasoning was based on the fact that they should have been good with Jay Cutler. At least he has the dignity to stay loyal to the franchise – something that can’t be said about most Patriots or Red Sox fans.
I don’t understand when people use the first person when talking about their favorite sports team. Are you on the team?? The only appropriate situation for doing so is if it’s the school you’re attending.
I don’t understand lab reports as a teaching mechanism. I don’t think I’ve learned anything useful other than that there are many ways to fudge data, there are many heavy-duty machines on campus that have a very specific use, and that most of them don’t work. Well, fudging data has made a lot of people successful in life…
I don’t understand free-form jazz. It’s cool and all, but I’m not going to remember it later despite my best intentions.
I don’t understand people who eat cheese pizza or don’t like spicy food. Sack up; stop being a little bitch.
I don’t understand anything about California. Shit’s messed up.
I don’t understand the appeal of diet soda. It does NOT taste good, and it’s made of Aspartame. That’s way too much chemistry going on, and as a Civil Engineering student, I’m against that. Always buy Mexican sodas from the K&S World Market, because they’re made with delicious sugar. SUGAR!
I don’t understand how I was able to fill this box with so much fluff and still impress my good friend Lady GaGa.

Kanye West vs. The World

Clay Christain — Thu, 18 Nov 2010 01:54:15 +0000

Not that it needs to be said explicitly, but it keeps becoming more and more apparent that heavily-circulated music keeps getting worse and worse. Case in point, Far East Movement’s “Like a G6” might be the absolute worst song I have heard in many years, and that is saying a lot. It’s as if someone took a computer and made a song, but forgot to put the song part into the .flac file. Many claim that T-Pain is to blame for the computerization of music, but I believe he redeemed his ways by collaborating with the genre-bending “I’m on a Boat.” However, even the fact that T-Pain has become less relevant clearly hasn’t stopped the multitude of hack jobs from making “music.”
Over the past few weeks, I have come to the conclusion that the downfall of contemporary pop music can be experimentally traced to Lil Wayne’s 2008 single “Lollipop.” As the 90s officially died in 2001, it can be deduced that hip-hop entered a strange era of being popular, yet still being distinctly rap. Ludacris, Kanye West and 50 Cent were able to use old-school sample-based beats with gangster-esque vulgarity to create a bastard child of creativity that somehow still managed to be pretty dang cool. As a certified white-boy, I am obliged to be in love with Madvillain’s 2004 Madvillainy – the most critically acclaimed hip-hop album of the decade, which naturally means it’s not popular and that no one has ever heard of it. Lil Wayne shook up the scene by being so goddamn strange, but “Lollipop” was the definitive “jump the shark” moment.
Consider the other songs on Tha Carter III. They are mostly all classic Weezy, especially the bad-yet-still-good “A Milli.” “Lollipop” had Lil Wayne using Autotune prominently for the first time, and its popularity still has all of us reeling in the consequences.
After “Lollipop” blew up, everyone and their producer’s brother was booking Lil Wayne to be featured on a single. Kanye West took the idea and made an electronic album that was clearly too advanced for Top 40 listeners’ brains. The Autotune epidemic became so inundating that not even Jay-Z could fully kill it in his tracks.
As hip-hop becomes more and more like pop, it disturbs me that artists are trying to come up with catchy choruses rather than a complete song. One of my roommates, bless his heart, often falls victim to the ruse. He knows the words to choruses of every song in the Top 40, but ask him to sing a verse and he has know idea what’s going on.
The truly, scary part of this is that I have no idea who has the ability to revive 90s hip hop. Jay-Z failed, Lil Wayne gave up, and Kanye West is a jackass. I think if we’re ever going to see another Straight Outta Compton or a Big Willie Style for our own generation, then one of us is going to have to step up. That’s right Slant readers, I’m calling on each one of you to put together a sample beat from your favorite James Brown song and spit some bars over it. And act quickly, we don’t have much time to spare.

On Birthday Happenings

Clay Christain — Fri, 22 Oct 2010 14:47:38 +0000

By the time you have picked up this newspaper and promptly begun to undo your pants in steamy shit-or-jizz anticipation, something amazing will have happened: today, October 27th, is my birthday. I’m not sure if this has ever happened before in the 124-year history of The Slant, but it is actually a bit strange in that I have written this editorial beforehand. Who am I to believe now that I will still be alive on October 27th? Every Pub lunch I outlast is another wet noodle fight with Death himself.
If one has a birthday on a Wednesday, is it really a birthday at all? In 2008, mine was on a Monday, and I had the gift of a Japanese test. お誕生日おめでとうございますね？ 2009’s edition brought me the unabated joy of Physics B lab from 4:00-7:00, and this year, the English or Japanese languages cannot express how excited I am to have Fluid Mechanics Lab from 1:00 to maybe 5:00 PM. Nothing against any of those classes, well, except the septic tank from hell that is Physics B, but maybe – just maybe – classes should be cancelled on October 27th. First Vandy caves in for MLK day, then Veterans’ Day, then Moon Pie and RC Cola day… How about Clay Day? Just sayin’.
As I turn 21 years of age, let us reflect on the last true birthday that allows for a government-given privilege. Turning 15 grants you the glory of identification in the form of a learner’s permit and 16 – a restricted license. 17 meant you could drive past curfew, and 18 sent you a nice letter in the mail about the selective service act. 18 also let you vote, but 19 and 20 leave you a bit empty. What a cliffhanger! Other countries don’t seem to believe in the tortur- I mean, delaying gratification.
Last year, as The Slant crew was preparing our glorious and much-heralded Payne Award for Ethics in Journalism-winning October 28th, 2009 issue, Managing Editor and spicy Cajun Justin Barisich turns to me and says, “Hey Clay, I just told you it’s your birthday on Facebook.” If there’s one aspect of Facebook that has not been tainted by Farmville, blatant violation of the end-user-license-agreement or ceaseless scavenging for bikini pictures, it’s the little pink present box that appears to the side of the home page. For one day a year, you get to make someone you may not even know feel all bubbly wubbly. My go-to phrase is usually the incredibly terse yet emotional “hb, yo,” yet people still appreciate the deviation from the normal “happy birthday!” as the little red notifications increase.
So, as this editorial makes its way into the library archives to forever encapsulate my age as a brisk 21, hear me out: the next time you see that it’s someone’s birthday and you don’t see them in person, give their online ego a little boost and just say something. It doesn’t have to be profound – hell, the stupider, the better. Your little blurb may rekindle some lost magic. Unless, of course, you don’t want to ever see those people again and relive whatever embarrassment their metaphysical presence brings. In that case, be a man and ignore the ramifications of your steadily declining social prowess!

WRVU and Music at Large

Clay Christain — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 06:58:08 +0000

For those of you out of the loop or who are really, really lame, our radio station WRVU’s 91.1 FM broadcast frequency has been considered for sale by Vanderbilt Student Communications, Inc. – the parent company of this publication. Since I’d like to think that I could influence thousands of people incredibly easily, I’m going to use my little black box here to speak my mind about this complicated matter.
Even though the sale of the broadcast license would somehow benefit The Slant in some sort of strange trickledown cash flow, I don’t know if I would feel comfortable knowing that my group benefited from another’s loss. Also, if the money went to more Slant issues, I’d get even more stressed out. Putting out one every three weeks is challenging enough; I don’t know how my predecessors did it biweekly!
WRVU and I have a strange yet wonderful relationship – kind of like a cab driver and his passenger if that taxi were the Cash Cab and the passenger were an Orangutan. I have lived in Nashville my whole life, and ever since I received my driver’s license, that magical number 91.1 has managed to evoke a wide range of emotion from me every time I turn the dial. From cringing at the postdub alterna-folkwave to being puzzled by garagepunk-thrashmathcore, WRVU is the local grab bag of musical gooditude. My personal favorite is always when the station plays obtuse techno-dance music that not even Shazam can recognize.
Well, it’s my favorite asides from Japanese female-fronted shoegazey-surf rock, of course. MASS OF THE FERMENTING DREGS is my current obsession. Check them out if you have any idea what I’m talking about and enjoy being confused if you don’t.
What else can bring such joy as calling in and constantly requesting such great contemporary British dancehouse-rumpthumpbuzz such as “In the V.I.P.” by Wideboys & Majestic? It’s even more fun when I know the show isn’t going to play it. Sorry for bothering you, heavy metal DJs.
Nashville needs WRVU more than we students do. The most popular radio station that doesn’t play top 40 or sports talk is probably 96.3 Jack FM, and that thing is just a playlist of songs from 80s bands that weren’t their one-hit wonders. Yes, that’s the station they play at the Rec Center most of the time. Don’t you love that stuff?
In my as-of-now brief term as head of a student media division, all of my experiences with the VSC staff have been incredibly helpful and accommodating. For some reason, they continue to let my gang and I ramble about the deep implications of potty-sex humor in front of the whole school, nay, the world.
While the prospect of making mad bank tickles my capitalist fancy, the thought of WRVU being castrated makes me nauseated. Can we look at the .com bubble for a second? Sure, Mark Zuckerberg was able to make a billion dollars by jacking off to pictures of Harvard girls’ faces, but I still don’t have much faith in this “new media” world we live in, and I wouldn’t dare invest millions of dollars in it. Perhaps invest it in salt. It used to be worth more than gold, and that market is looking pretty bad…
Upon reaching the conclusion of this editorial, the whole school, nay, the world, now knows that I know nothing about anything.

How’s it going, Vandy??

Clay Christain — Fri, 17 Sep 2010 16:39:48 +0000

It’s been a while, Vanderbilt. Quite some time since we last had a little chat. How are you doing? You didn’t email me at all over the break, even though I was in summer school. Why didn’t you answer my phone calls either, Vanderbilt? Is our relationship not important to you anymore? Don’t tell me that you were busy with football. I’m not buying that excuse. Not again.
No, Vanderbilt, I’m not going ask “…so, how was your break?” because I don’t care. I know you just sat around unemployed and unashamed. Vanderbilt, for having so many economics professors, did you not learn anything about big spending? You worked hard for those dollars, and you went and spent them on renovating Sarratt? Eh, don’t fret. I’m just giving you a hard time, Vanderbilt. It’s what I do.
Do anything fun in your free time, Vandy? You and I had been talking about going to Bonnaroo, but what did you do? You bailed out and made me pay for the tickets! Low blow, man. You’re not much of a warm weather type, anyway. I’m not sure if you would have made it in that humidity. Hey, don’t give me any lip. The people who camped next to me were from West Virginia, and I had to overhear stories of a woman rolling on ecstasy after shoving it up her ass. Seriously! You woulda seen some of your old friends, though, like Jay-Z, Phoenix and The Flaming Lips. They were wondering why you didn’t come out to see them. Even Trombone Shorty was worried, and he’s the one who stood you up before!
I heard you and Passion Pit are getting back together. That’s cool, I guess. You two were complicated before, so I’m not sure how it’s going to turn out this time. What? You’re two-timing with Snoop Dogg? What would Kanye and Lil Wayne have to say about that? You’ve been friends with them since high school; you gotta take their advice seriously. Don’t even think about talking to that guy Eminem. He’s a wash-up. He’ll promise you some edgy social commentary, but you’ll just get lame chorus hooks and weak stage presence. If he crashes any of our parties, I’m not gonna be pleased with you, Vandy.
What’s your plan for the future, bro? It sucks that Bobby Johnson had to split. Hey, Kevin’s still with you! He’s always been more thoughtful of your needs anyway. He knows how to please an institution of higher learning.
Look, I’m running out of time. I gotta run to class, but before I go, could you please fix the A/C in Towers IV? It’s hot as balls in there.

My Name Is–What?

Clay Christain — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 00:12:03 +0000

Woah, hold on a second, who does this crazy guy think he is to come over on this page and put his face over there? Well, public, I suppose this is my introduction to you, the most loyal fans and readers on Vanderbilt’s campus. I’m Clay, and I am The Slant’s new editor-in-chief for the next year! Unfortunately, that means you, the reader, will have to put up with me for an entire year. That’s gotta suck.
No, I am not some scab editor filling in during a labor crisis. I don’t work for some editorial outsourcing company, but I hear they pay pretty well. I’m just your run of the mill engineering student trying to figure out what exactly it is I’m going to engineer. I’m known to have an affinity for annoying Japanese alternative music, and I always bring the heat when I roll out on my 2006 Scion xA. If you see a tiny plastic, peanut-shaped car blaring Lady GaGa around campus, please wave! I’ll do my best not to swerve into you!
Next semester, my friend and former boss Meryem Dede will be in the great motherland. That’s right, we’re shipping her off to Russia. It’ll be the first time a woman has ever flown IN to Russia! A lot of news happens in Russia, and we at The Slant absolutely need to have a beat writer covering all of the ins and outs of Europe’s most dastardly nation. Her new role as foreign correspondent will allow for us back home in Nashville to better understand some of the great mysteries of the globe.
Erstwhile, the school days for this spring are coming to a close. Rites of Spring is looming over the ridiculous amount of work you haven’t started! Last year, we were treated to a psychedelic spectacle when The Flaming Lips, one of my personal favorites, led us into a parallel dimension of sight, sound and drunk. Regardless of your opinion on the artists, I’m sure you will be having one hell of a weekend. Even if the weekend isn’t a memorable one, literally that is, make sure that you stay safe. You won’t be enjoying your summer if you’re a new parent or find yourself in jail.