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In This Issue

• Blind Guy Shows Us the Way
• Columbia's Cruel Iron Maiden
• Letter From the Editor
• Daddy Was a Shrink; Momma Was a Street Corner.
• Columbia Socialist Pronounces ‘Bourgeois’ The Right Way
• Holiday Thoughts for the Dysfunctional
• Dear Alma Mater
• Columbia Vs. Colombia
• WHAT TYPE OF DYSFUNCTIONAL IS YOUR FAMILY?
• Uncut Tales of Dysfunctional Literacy
• White Boys Need Money
• I Am So Not a Man
• Press 'M' for Mezzanine... if Ye be Brave Enough
• Your Daily (read: Monthly) Horoscope
• Wacky Fun Whitey: Evil Just Like your Mom
• Newsbriefs
• THEY Watch
• The Staff of 17.4

Katie O'Shea

Katie O'Shea

Katie O'Shea

Katie O'Shea

1. Thanksgiving eve. An immigrant wandering the streets peers into your dining room window to find:

(a) Foodwise: think illustrations in I-Can-Read book about Thanksgiving.  Peoplewise: think illustrations in I-Can-Read book about Protestantism.
(b) Turkey purchased on e-bay, mashed potatoes advertised in Yahoo Classifieds, "Gin and Juice" on MP3.
(c) Fowl-shaped blend of semolina, bulgur, tofu, tempeh, and other products resembling cat vomit, garnished with commune-grown carrots, beets, and acid: only eight tabs, though nine people present. ("All right. Two of you are going to have to share...")
(d) Lunchables.

2. Thanksgiving at your house just wouldn't be the same without:

(a) De rigeur bite of Waterford Drumstick (turkey leg, in Waterford family for over two hundred years, of which all family members must take nibble every year before returning it to hope chest in attic, next to Great-great-great-great-grandfather's boarding pass from Mayflower.)
(b) Everyone sitting around Panasonic Mini-Hearth, respective laptops plugged into power strip, engaged in I.M. debate about who holds patent on idea of pie.
(c) Grandma performing experimental dance incorporating small children, beads, and atonal music of indigenous Alaskan peoples.
(d) Someone filling Ranger's water bowl with leftover Colt 45.

3. Mid-meal. No one so much as raises an eyebrow when your Aunt says:

(a) "...and don't even get me started on how [abolition] ruined the economy."
(b) "...and it's the only [soup spoon] that vibrates when you have new mail!"
(c) "I just had an orgasm."
(d) "I'm also your daughter."

4. After-dinner family bonding consists of:

(a) Hating Jews.
(b) N/A. (Appreciation for simple things in life not valid.)
(c) Taking walk through neighborhood in search of people of Native American descent; upon finding aforementioned, apologizing profusely for Trail of Tears and offering to share miracle of growing marijuana as belated thanks for gift of corn.
(d) Wet tee-shirt contest, M.C.'d by 10 year old sister Nikki, judged by Dad.

5. Thanksgiving night. You fall asleep to the sweet sound of:

(a) Your own self-satisfaction.
(b) Virtual peace and quiet.
(c) Alan and Carol ("Mom" and "Dad" if you want to be fascist about it) having tantric sex in next room, scratchy recording of "We Are the World" on 8-track as background music.
(d) Neighbor's German Shepherd mix, tied to chain-link fence, barking motherfucking head off, followed by single shotgun blast and Uncle Randy yelling something along lines of "Hot Diggity Dog!"

ANSWER KEY:

Mostly As: Compulsively Old Money

Although at times, it might seem that living Jay Gatsby's wet dream will bring you lifelong happiness...actually, wait, never mind. It will. Yeah, you're pretty much the reason people come to America. I guess in the name of political correctness, try to be sensitive to the fact that not everyone around you is fluent in sailing lingo, and despite what your parents raised you to think, the J Crew diapers were never really necessary. (although as both your baby pictures, and your pal at Princeton's homemade porn will confirm: Oatmeal Heather goes great with ass.)

Mostly Bs: Compulsively Modern

Since you're reading this article online, go ahead and scroll past this section if you can't deal with this simple fact: Electro-toys are a cheap, (though ultimately more reliable) substitute for love. If you don't start trading some of those Webcam visits from Mom for actual face-time, you're going to end up feeling completely alienated from your parents-think Evie's troubled relationship with Dad in "Out of This World." Now's the time to take a crash course in functionality. Study up on families that value love, tolerance, and mutual respect, i.e. families in Italy and Spain.

Mostly Cs: Compulsively Compassionate

Sure, in theory your parents are kind, loving, and out to make the world a better place. But in the end, the pressure they exert on you to be as caring as they are is no less oppressive than the parental woes of James van der Beek's character in Varsity Blues. Hypocritical? You betcha, and that's all the more reason to say something. It's like all those kids here who are really pious about being socially active and act supernice to anyone who's suffered any sort of hardship, yet are complete assholes to everyone else. If you don't point out the irony, who will? So bite the bullet and tell Mom and Pop about that J.P. Morgan internship you did last summer (though that was some nice work, convincing them you worked for a company that makes freedom.)

Mostly Ds: Compulsively Trashy

Don't lie. You're one of the people in this world for whom Jerry Springer is "funny cause it's true" instead of just "funny." Bluntly put: you guys are the people 21-year old photo students take bad pictures of and call them art. And you know all those times you've wondered if you're paranoid for thinking people are making redneck jokes behind your back? Trust your instincts. But what might sound like a snide exchange between two philosophy majors at the expense of your mother's mullet is actually a poignant indicator of Columbia-wide jealousy. After all, you've had an enviable amount of life experience. You got to attend a real high school, complete with Belding-esque principals and hot cheerleaders and kids who were actually badass instead of just fake-badass, while the rest of us were stuck in SAT Prep courses. It's all about using your Columbia degree to figure out how you can turn your un-illustrious background into millions of dollars. Hit Me Baby One More Time!