Chapter 7
I was already a minor celebrity (on a very small scale) on campus as the writer of the “He Said”, but this column vaulted my popularity exponentially. Much of this added awareness, though, came as a result of being branded public enemy number one by a significant portion of the female student body. I was no longer fazed by the whispers, looks, and occasional comments, but this particular week things were noticeably different. I could just sense an extra oomph of vitriol spewing from female onlookers as I paraded around campus. I received looks of disgust, death stares, and even a “Don’t fucking touch me,” as I politely tried to slither my way through a crowded house party. I took all of this negative attention in stride because (well for one, any press is good press) the feedback I received from my column all year was overwhelmingly positive.
Most people that dished out complimentary comments also requested a shout out in a future column, though. It never got to the level where I was annoyed by it, but seemingly every guy and girl I knew wanted me to name drop them in some capacity. My go to response was, “I’ll see what I can do,” but I knew that if I was going to mention anyone by name it would only be a handful of my closest friends and I would need a real good reason to do it. Sure I wrote about my friends and their experiences, but I rarely used their names. Oftentimes I even deliberately chose to hold back information so that they wouldn’t know or think that I was referring to them. For example, if Kristen didn’t go to Kyle’s house for Columbus Day Weekend I probably would have held back much of what I said about rich girls from Long Island. Kristen’s dad was the CEO of some financial firm and he had more money than I will probably ever see in my lifetime. When I went to her house/castle the previous summer with Matty K, Kristen’s dad flaunted his wealth by taking his Maserati out from one of his many garages just to show it off1. Because I no longer cared as much about unintentionally pissing off Kristen (I honestly didn’t even have her in mind at all) I was able to incorporate another zinger into my column.
As convenient as it would be I cannot plead ignorance when it comes to the backlash that this column provoked. As much as I knew that my male readers were going to love it, I also knew that everyone on campus that had to sit down to pee was going to be a little perturbed by it. In fact, the following week The Mirror ran this letter to the editor and titled it, “Silencing Stanczyk”:
To the Editor:
I can look past the Columbus Day Weekend bashing and even the wild assumptions and generalizations of Dan Stanczyk's enthralling 'He Said' column, but this week had me particularly fired up.
Although he makes some accurate commentaries on the female population here at Fairfield, he falls short at not being able to recognize the small yet strong fourth group of women.
There is more to us girls than big sunglasses and Ugg boots. Find me a store that sells something other than shades with a 5' diameter and then we can talk. Believe it or not, there are girls here with brains under all that peroxide-soaked hair.
Try talking to us rather than just undressing us with your eyes. And please, get the idea out of your head that we are all the same carbon copy girl because we come from Massachusetts, Long Island or New Jersey.
Just because I'm from Jersey does not mean I'm an oopma loompa in training. That's one of those sure-fire ways to cancer. And maybe I think I'm God's gift to the world because I have to deal with guys like you on a daily basis and seek a little personal reward for it. Try tearing your eyes away from whatever manly thing you fill your spare time with, and look between the glaring highlights and low-cut necklines.
There's a considerable population of intelligent, free-thinking, and above all, interesting women on campus who don't wear pink Red Sox hats or pound Jager bombs all night long. And just because I have a great personality, it doesn't mean I'm unattractive and therefore not worth your time, despite what Urban Dictionary says.
Some girls enjoy video games, football and junk food as much as you boys do. But don't take my word for it, I'm just a blond2.
Sincerely,
Danielle Bush '11
This letter confused me. Was this girl angry? Did she agree with me? After all she did say that I made some “accurate commentaries.” Was she auditioning to be the “She Said”? Maybe it was because about 50 people told me about this letter before I had a chance to read it, but I expected it to be much more of a critique of my inflammatory language. I mean, I wrote that I wanted to throw a brick at the faces of stuck up girls from Long Island and all this girl wrote in to complain about was my failure to mention a “small, but strong group of women” at Fairfield? Really?
When people questioned me about this (and just about anybody that remotely knew me seemed to) I told them that it seemed like she agreed with me more than she was upset. I think most people just read the title and assumed that the letter was a sharp, biting criticism. For example, Tim was quick to write “Danielle Bush owns you” on my Facebook wall. He had been hooking up with a lovely girl from Nebraska named Allison for the better part of the year, so I promptly responded by writing “Allison’s bush owns you” on his. Allison, with her olive skin, sleek black hair, and shiny, brown eyes, wasn’t too happy about it, but the joke was too good to pass up.
Speaking of Tim and Allison, we had a friendly wager at the Rec Plex about when the two of them would make their relationship Facebook official. Now I’ll get to the many different levels of college relationships later, but let’s just say that going Facebook official was big deal back in the fall of 2007. One of the two graduate assistants that worked for the Department of Recreation decided it would be fun to chart everyone’s guesses. Obviously I was at a major advantage because I knew Tim the best. I was fairly confident that he would delay making the digital declaration for as long as possible so my plan was to wait until everyone else had made their prediction and then place my guess one day later than the latest guess (there has to be a study on the percentage of times that the person with the highest wager wins on The Price is Right3).
Despite my genius strategy I was forced to make my guess much earlier than I wanted to because of my constant presence at the Rec Plex. Begrudgingly I guessed sometime in early January, which was the latest date on the board by far. A week or so later I noticed that a few people had predicted later dates than me, but my friend Steve-O had perhaps the best guess of all; “Tim is way too college to make their relationship Facebook official.” This statement was 100% accurate, but I was banking on Allison eventually convincing Tim that they should make the jump; however they were still not Facebook official by the time we graduated. In fact, when they finally made the plunge about a year after we got our diplomas I sent out an email to my former Rec Plex comrades and we couldn’t even remember who the winner was.
The following week was Halloween, which was great because it meant that Jackie and I had an obvious topic choice. This left me plenty of time to think of a Halloween costume and based on my performance the year before I needed all the time I could get. I consider myself a moderately creative person, but I certainly didn’t put my best foot forward in ’06.
If you’ll recall during my Junior year I was living in a room with Matty K and Dylan. Matty K, half jock/half geek, was the type of kid that could sit on Google all day long and find countless ways to be entertained. In fact, I think he still does it quite regularly. He ordered his costume about a month in advance and for whatever reason he had decided to be a banana. He spent roughly $60 on the fruity costume and argued that it was an outfit that he could not only wear on Halloween, but also to parties from time to time. Despite his intentions, he only wore it during the week of Halloween that year4. Now I say “during the week of” because Halloween that year was on a Tuesday, which meant that plenty of parties were scheduled for the Friday and Saturday beforehand.
Dylan and I, true to our nature as procrastinators, waited until Friday to even think of what we would be. We started our costume hunt at a local Salvation Army store at 3pm. The thriftiest thrift store had served us well in preparing for theme parties in the past (i.e. our own 80’s party), so we figured that we could find something there. We had no clear costume idea in mind after an hour of browsing, yet we each decided to buy an ugly sweater and a pair of old man pants with the hopes of using them either that night or later on in the year. Our next stop was the mall. We pulled in to an absolute zoo around 4:30 p.m. I swear, every kid aged 5-13 in all of Southwestern Connecticut was there looking for a Halloween costume that day. We went back forth between two costume stores for nearly an hour and almost made a few impulse buys, but we just couldn’t pull the trigger. Dylan almost bought a breathalyzer costume (Matty K, Glancy, Pete, and I got him an actual breathalyzer earlier in the year for his birthday), but he didn’t want to be “that guy” and I almost bought a female Indian outfit, but I wasn’t entirely convinced that 1.) It was worth the $75 that I didn’t have and 2.) I could fit into it.
After deciding that we weren’t going to find what we were looking for at the costume stores we were back to square one and growing more and more restless. As a last ditch effort Dylan suggested that we go to Spencer’s. I was convinced that our costume search was a lost cause, but I figured that it was at least worth a try. After looking through Spencer’s for about 15 minutes I was ready to throw in the towel. Dylan didn’t find a costume either, but he did have an unusual idea.
“Dude, I think we should just go,” I said, “I’m beat and there aren’t any funny costumes in here.”
“Ok, how about this. We wear the old man clothes we got at the Army, but we accessorize.” He emphasized the word accessorize, but not in the way that homosexuals do. In fact, I think Dylan, a country boy from the middle of nowhere Connecticut, was incapable of attempting a gay voice even if it were clearly done in a mocking tone.
“I don’t think I follow. What exactly will we be?”
“Nothing,” he chuckled, “But it’ll be funny.”
“How will it be funny?” I asked in way that inferred how much I wanted to leave, "What will we say to people when they ask what we are?”
“We’ll say, “I’m having a great time. Good party.”
It took me a few seconds before I got it. I then laughed and said, “And we’ll just never answer them?”
“Exactly.”
So accessorize we did. I bought a Freddy Kruger-like hat, a walking staff with a skull on it and an oversized metallic looking chain made of foam. Dylan bought a pimp hat, rock star sunglasses, and a necklace clad with tiny penises.
That night we executed our plan to perfection. Of the people that asked us what we were, most didn’t ask again after we replied with something to the effect of, “Great time. This party is awesome.” Others soon realized that we were in fact nothing. Others, including Tim, got mad when we repeatedly dodged the question. And I have to assume that a bunch of people didn’t bother asking us directly because they 1.) didn’t care or 2.) felt mildly embarrassed that they didn’t know what we were. They must have figured that with all of the accessories that we had on we had to be something and that they just didn’t know what it was. One kid, who Dylan and I hardly knew, thought the idea was so funny (he may also have been coked out of his mind) that he would go on to say, “Great time. Good party,” or something of the sort every time he saw us for the rest of the year.
To no one’s surprise our costumes turned out to be more of a success than Matty K’s banana suit. On Saturday we were headed to a Halloween party on campus and to shorten our walk we decided to cut through a townhouse along the way because we could see that they too were having a party. What we didn’t know was that it was the townhouse where the four African-American males in our grade lived (yes, only four). Now this usually wouldn’t have been a problem as we knew them all (or at least I did-mainly from working at the rec plex), but the lights were off and Matty K’s banana suit looked a lottt like a hooded white sheet. After a momentary scare, the costume was explained and we were on our way to our friends’ party. Sure enough there was someone else there with a banana suit on and Dylan and I wouldn’t let Matty K hear the end of it. As the party dwindled down, Matty K got all sorts of fired up and started throwing full loaves of bread at the other banana.
When Tuesday (the 31st) rolled around I was all set for another night of, “I’m having a great time, awesome party,” until I had a stroke of semi-wittiness in the shower. I decided to go out that night as Dr. Pepper. I would dress up as a doctor while wearing my classic Dr. Pepper t-shirt. I called a nursing major friend of mine who lent me her lab coat and I was all set. It was one of those costumes that people thought was witty for about 0.35 seconds and then they were over it, but I was proud of my idea nonetheless because Dr. Pepper is my favorite drink of all time5.
So, of course, during my senior year I had my sights set a little higher with regard to my costume. In the week leading up to Halloween my roommates and I had intentions of dressing up as a group, but our plan fell through. Greg’s birthday is on Halloween, so he takes his costume pretty seriously, but his group suggestions were horrrrrible. So bad in fact that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he suggested that the four of us go out as a pencil, pen, eraser, and pencil sharpener. It was almost like he just thought of four semi-related things and thought it was a brilliant idea. I ended up going with another idea inspired by one of the t-shirts in my regular rotation and went as Axl Rose, the lead singer of Guns N’ Roses. I wore my black Guns N’ Roses t-shirt, tight faded jeans, and a red wig clad with a red bandana that one of Alyssa’s roommates had lying around. As fate would have it, there was someone in the bar that night dressed as Slash (the lead guitarist in Guns N’ Roses), so we took about 283,630 pictures together.
(I couldn't find any with Slash, but this is obviously the next best thing)
While I was crafting my makeshift costume, I was also trying to think outside of the box for my column. Halloween He Said articles in the past had always hinged on the sluttiness of female costumes. Along with the Valentine’s Day columns they were the most anticipated. This probably had a lot to do with the fact that they were obvious topics that the writers agreed on every year. Instead of playing on the same observations that my predecessors had pointed out I decided to change things up a bit and write about the pitfalls of male costumes. I figured that doing so would also give me a little challenge as a writer. I had grown accustomed to pointing out humorous generalizations about female actions, but could I entertain my male readership laugh by pointing out flaws in their costume selections? Of course I could.
The Mirror on October 25th, 2007
Halloween
Halloween was much better when we were kids. For starters, we never had bad costumes because our moms always made sure they looked good. We got free candy and at the time that was the ultimate high. Our parents constantly warned us about creepy old men who gave out candy that wasn’t individually wrapped. And the only reason we got mad was if someone’s lights weren’t on. What’s their deal anyway? Do they hate America?
Fast forward 10-15 years and everything is reversed. Most of our costumes are terrible because it’s up to us to make them look good. We don’t get candy anymore. We consider ourselves lucky if we are able to give some out and who knows if whoever we give it to is actually going to swallow. Girls your parents aren’t around to warn you about whether or not things are wrapped. And now we get pissed when lights are on because it usually means we are getting a ticket for drinking/urinating in public. What’s their deal anyway? Sorry for partying.
Guys we are getting both predictable and unoriginal with our costumes. I’m so sick of seeing the same things every year that I’m going to hand out a Least Creative award. The nominees are:
The Controversial Sports Story Costume: How many Duke Lacrosse players did we see last year? I also saw a juiced up Barry Bonds. A couple years back everyone was a rapist Kobe. For the record, it was consensual sex and don’t let anybody tell you any different. Bet your bottom dollar that a few Michael Vick’s will be walking around with bloody dogs come the 31st6.
“The Dylan Farnum look” or The (Not So) Doug Funnie Look: We all watched Doug on Nickelodeon growing up too. Quailman seems creative, but it’s one of those ideas that 14 other kids will also think of. If you don’t know what I mean by this title than you clearly don’t remember the episode where everyone wore whatever Dylan Farnum, the star of the hit teen drama “Teen Heart Street” wore on TV each week.
The Wanna be Male Strippers: Halloween is for girls to show off their bodies, not guys. No one wants to see Fireman Bob’s bare chest covered only by suspenders. It’s a cold October night, let’s save the hard nipples for Fire girl Betty.
I’ll let you pick your own winner.
1 As if the act wasn’t ostentatious enough Kristen’s dad made Matty K move his car, a green Honda Accord, so that he could take the Maserati out.↩
2 A quick Facebook search revealed that she was not a blonde, nor was she even remotely attractive.↩
3 I told you I’d make another reference to The Price is Right.↩
4 He wore it multiple times in the years that followed, including under/over (hard to say) a Santa Claus suit for Santacon in NYC in December of 2010.↩
5 I like it so much that I refuse to mix it with any alcohol. ↩
6 A kid who lived on my floor during our Freshman year came up to me that week and said, “Thanks for blowing up my spot. I’m going to be Michael Vick for Halloween.”↩
No comments:
Post a Comment