CREDIT: The American people
The popular vote pulled through in a really big way—and I’m not just talking about returning the same warm pair of buns to the Oval Office swivel chair. I’m talking about the real stars of Sexy-lection Day: ballot measures. Same-sex marriage bills survived referenda in Maryland and Washington, dodged a peen+vag amendment in Minnesota, and passed by popular vote in Maine. And the Cheeto on top: recreational marijuana got puffed and passed in Colorado and Washington. Weed, wine, and women, amirite?? And I don’t have to hop around the country to do all my favorite things, either. Now in Washington State—the new default Washington and official best place to be a gay pothead with moisture-friendly hair—you can legally smoke a jay while marrying a woman. A wedding catered by Trolli Gummies where no one complains? The American dream.
D: The Credit/D/Bail deadline
This is a D to memorialize the indecision indigestion you’ve had all day. Fri., Nov. 9, also known as Credit/D/Bail Day, is the last day to—say it with me—convert from the CR/D/Fail option in a fall-term course to a letter grade. So grab your hat and start running—Master’s office or bust—5:01 is late! You’re doing way better in Death than you thought you might be! Just kidding, not you, you’re still definitely getting a C, but this is a turning point for all the undecided voters in swing-seminars or auto-skip lectures or people who just like to hedge their pets, run them up the flagpole, and see who salutes. You know, insecure freaks. So, today’s the day you thought would never come, when you have to crunch some letters and decide how much longer your TA is going to believe your recycled Model UN Crisis Simulation prompts. It’s 4:45 p.m. and you’re still on the toilet—you’ve been decision pooping for an hour (to be fair, you took several phone calls). How checked out are you? How is it all going to turn out? And why won’t Nate Silver return your emails??
FAIL: Sandy and [your fave snowstorm baby name here]
I know this section of the Herald has been awfully hard on the weather lately. Sure, it’s probably morally questionable to incessantly rag on poor storms locked into inertial, New Haven-bound sweeps. For all we know, Sandy was digging her high heels into the Atlantic saying, “Not like this.” [She slowly, poignantly shakes her head.] “Not like this.” Or maybe I’m thinking of the bleached blonde lesbian in The Matrix right before Cypher unplugs her. But names make it hard for me to avoid personifying these massive meteorological phenomena (I have attachment issues). Half of the administrators at my Girl Scout camp and 100 percent of women I’ve ever met who wear short-sleeved blazers were named Sandy. I love ’em. So it didn’t help when the Weather Channel, working directly against me as always, named the snowstorm that followed Sandy…Athena. Who gave them the authority to name the cruelest November nor’LeightonMeester after the Greek goddess that every putz wants to be and every schmo wants to get with? So that’s why, to prevent emotional confusion, I’m naming this godforsaken snowstorm Bopkiss. It’s not elegant, but it’s the direct antonym of Athena, and I can’t afford to be the only chick in a toga making snow sacrifices this week.