Beta

Cred/D/Fail: January 31, 2014

Cr: Earmuffs are the visors of winter headgear. Maybe you don’t like visors, but maybe you also haven’t thought about them enough. Those things are pretty damn practical. Why do you need to cover your whole head just to get some shade? It’s restricting, inefficient, and sadly, not just a summertime fad. This winter I’ve noticed a lot of people wearing hats, too. Don’t you feel like you’re overcompensating? Beanies and ushankas may keep your rukovoditel warm, but most of us have hair for that —hair that maybe we don’t wanna hide. This is where earmuffs come into play. If 40 percent of body heat is lost through the head, and there are 300 million people in America, then Cosentino would say at least 35 percent of that heat goes straight out the ear cavities. If your forehead, temple, hair or brow bone is even kinda worth looking at, suck it up on that last five percent and throw on a pair of muffs.

D: We all had that moment—whether it was while watching a TV show about teen pregnancy or while watching a YouTube video in which people sang—when we decided that Yale was the place we needed to be. Mine came in the basement of Berkeley, Bulldog Days, 2011. Across campus, Paul Bloom was giving a lecture on some combination of chocolate and sex (thrilling, to be sure), but down in my own little version of Madison Square Garden I was ballin’ out. Now I don’t want to brag about my triple-double in a pick-up basketball game with three other 17-year-olds, but let me be clear: I had a triple-double in pickup basketball game with three other 17-year-olds. As the week went on and I continued to skip lectures in favor putting on my own clinic, I finally had an epiphany: Yale kids suck at basketball. Kobe (that’s what I call my shooting hand), we’re not at an all-boys prep school anymore. You see, I’ve never been the best baller, but the high schoolers of the Berkeley basement and the gentlemen of Intramural C-Hoops make my middle school team look like the Clippers. It’s C-Hoops season, so pro tip to the mildly coordinated: there’s no better way to blow off steam and inflate your ’go than making it rain in the W.K. Lanman Jr. Center. C-Hoops gets the D only because last week I broke Kobe and can’t play anymore.

Fail: On Monday morning, I woke up to a confusing text. “You got robbed. I wanted you to win. You should have. It’s weird and it sucks that I robbed you…” And on and on for one full iPhone screen. This text was frustrating, and not because the “it’s me, not you” language reminded me of every breakup convo I’ve ever had. Rather, this blue box abomination killed my vibe in a very different way. There’s only one good kid from a pretty maad city, and he’s been making the best mainstream rap in the game for a couple years now. He deserved a golden gramophone for his efforts, but the politics of it all got in the way. It’s cool, whatever—awards shows are passé anyway, but did you really have to text the man and then post it on social media to show everyone what a cold ass honky you are? Martin had a dream, Kendrick had a dream, Joe had a dream, and then Macklemore ripped them all to shreds. And don’t even get me started on Ryan Lewis.