Cardinal View: Free Speech is not selective
(09/21/17 11:00pm)
Free Speech is not, and cannot, be selective. This is an idea often, and ironically, overlooked by State Sen. Steve Nass, R-Whitewater.
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Campus needs to improve diversity
(09/21/17 1:00pm)
I am not from Madison, WI. I come from the buzzing city of Los Angeles, Calif. I just finished my first official full week of college and I’m truly exhausted. I’m exhausted of all the work but ultimately exhausted of questions, looks and awkward vibes I receive on a daily basis.
Campus douche shocked to find that women no longer thrilled to hear his mediocre rendition of “Wonderwall”
(09/18/17 12:00pm)
Following the Badgers’ sweeping victory last Saturday, most of the student population could most likely be found in celebration, including junior Econ major and aspiring hipster Hugh Jass. Hugh and his friends were enjoying a night of revelry in their communal Mifflin home when he noticed something unusual.“When we were all hanging out in the basement to watch the end of a beer pong tournament, I thought I’d whip out my guitar. You know, to set the mood and help everybody relax. It’s usually a big hit with the ladies, too,” Hugh told me, when I spoke with him about his experience earlier this week. He quickly found out that wasn’t the case.“I had to play the opening progression three whole times before anyone even realized I was playing! Even after I said ‘Anyway, here’s Wonderwall,’ which is, like, my signature opening line, more people moved away from me than usual!”Hugh was both shocked and surprised at the reaction to his “classic” ice-breaker for many casual gatherings and social events of the past. When I proceeded to ask if he had considered mastering yet another overplayed campfire tune, he was adamant that it was his “signature song.” With the well-known progressive social environment of our fair city, change has become commonplace as it reflects the artistic diversity of our community. New bands and independent artists are steadily emerging onto the scene and show no signs of slowing down, continually setting the bar higher and higher for those wishing to make an impression. “I don’t know what’s going on with people these days,” Hugh remarked when I asked about the future of music. “All I know is that stupid Oasis song doesn’t get me nearly as much poon as it used to.”Those akin with Hugh who possess only a casual interest in music involving actual instruments instead of Macbooks and drum machines will too feel the effects of this evolution as it takes place right before our eyes. That being said, twenty-something desperados hoping to stay afloat in this turbulent musical era should look no further than the simple four-chord progressions behind 90s hits such as Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, Sublime’s “Santeria”, and Green Day’s “Wake Me Up (When September Ends)”. As for the future of these campfire crooners, will they continue their reign of terror over casual friendly gatherings and bonfires? Or will the demand for real talent finally snuff them out?
Could moving late night eats curb crime? Some city officials think so
(09/10/17 11:25pm)
In efforts to reduce crime in the area, city officials are tweaking late night vending laws near a strip of downtown Madison bars.
OSU clear favorite in Big Ten after big win
(09/07/17 9:00am)
Through the first weekend of college football, the Big Ten showcased its depth and went 11-3, including No. 2 Ohio State’s 49-21 victory over conference opponent Indiana. Highlights included No. 11 Michigan’s 33-17 win against a depleted No. 17 Florida team, Purdue hanging on but ultimately falling to Heisman trophy winner Lamar Jackson and No. 16 Louisville 35-28 and Maryland outlasting No. 23 Texas 51-41 in Austin.
Badgers, find your balance
(09/07/17 7:42pm)
September brings the start of a new school year and a clean slate for every student—the chance for reinvention.
Cons outweigh pros of Foxconn factory deal
(09/06/17 3:00pm)
In late July, President Trump along with Gov. Scott Walker and Speaker of the House Paul Ryan announced the Taiwanese electronics manufacturer Foxconn’s plan to build a flat-panel display screen factory in southeastern Wisconsin. The President boasted that the company would bring a potential 13,000 jobs to the area and it was a sign that the world once again believed in American manufacturing. While a $10 billion investment from the world’s tenth-largest employer makes a nice headline, a further reading of the deal reveals that it is not as good as it seems.
Coveted freshman class pushes Wisconsin past Louisville, Badgers secure sweep in season opener
(08/26/17 9:02pm)
Following an offseason rife with roster turnover and personnel change, the Wisconsin Badgers arrived at the UW Field House Friday night in its opening match of 2017 looking quite different than it had a year ago.
Diamond Digest: When to move on from struggling stars
(05/25/17 5:11pm)
This column begins with some good news and some bad news. The bad news is, baseball season is already more than a quarter of the way through. The good news? We still have almost 75 percent of the regular season to look forward to. With most of the year still to come, big moves made now still have a substantial impact on your season’s outcome and it may be time to make some of those difficult and risky moves. So which struggling stars should you let go of? And for whom? How do you know when it’s time to give up?
Nowhere
(04/24/17 11:00am)
This the third and final installment of our ongoing mystery series. In the second installment of “Nowhere,” Hannah runs to Cade’s apartment after Levi says that Cade was not with them when they walked on the lake the night before. While in the apartment, Cade’s voice speaks to her and tells her to find Levi and take him to the lake. Chapter the Third: Now Here ...The call from Cade bursts into static.“Hannah,” I hear his voice again, not over the static, but over the train barreling toward the crossing by Union South.I look across the train tracks. Cade’s standing there, staring at me.“Cade!” I scream, but the train cuts in front of me before I can cross the tracks. When the train passes, he’s gone. What was it he tried to tell me to do? How will I save him? Get Levi, I think, the lake. I cross the tracks, but there’s nothing left of Cade. He’s nowhere. No, what did he say, not nowhere—Now Here. I think of the memory of him sitting in his apartment, how he was there and there again, a loop, stuck in the same moment. The memory wasn’t repeated, it was relived. “Now Here,” I think of him saying. Here. He doesn’t mean a place, he means a time.It’s late, maybe midnight, closer to one. I cross Dayton, cutting through the empty intersections onto Johnson. I’m going back to the lake, back to where Cade went through the ice. I call Levi, it’s late, but I know he’s still awake—he can never sleep when he’s upset. The call rings then is answered with a dull silence and Levi’s tired voice, “Hannah?” he says.“Levi, I know where Cade is,” I say. “He’s in the lake.”“What are you talking about? Did the police say something to—”“No Levi, the police are wrong. He’s trapped in the lake. He was … he still is. We have to help.” I can’t explain completely, but I need Levi to trust me. He doesn’t.“Some of us are trying to help, and I don’t know where you’ve been all day, but it hasn’t been helping Hannah! When the police were asking questions, when the divers were in the lake, while I was there thinking Cade was dead—”“Levi, I need your help—” There’s a long pause over the line. “Cade needs your help.” I say. “Meet me by the lake,” I say with finality and try to hang up.He tries to say my name in clear frustration as the call cuts him off. I turn down Park Street. The yellow police tape flutters slightly in the wind coming off the lake, bright yellow against the dark sheen of the now-open water. Memorial Union Theater remains illuminated. Its four vertical bars casting the shallow water awash in the soft, yellow glow. The lake reflects stray beams of light in oranges, yellows and bright reds. I duck under the police tape and stand at the water’s edge beyond the terrace. I stop and stare out at the water. I don’t know what I’m doing here.I thought that I’d know what to do once I got here, that I would be struck with a revelation, a set of guiding instructions, but I’m not. I’m confused and cold and standing empty-handed with no way to help. I try to suppress the swelling feeling in my stomach that I can’t help and that I had lied to Cade. He trusted me; he had been completely, unflinchingly honest, and I promised more than I could do. I stare at the water. I close my eyes.“Hold on,” I say. It’s what I had said when I saw him looped in my memory, what I had said when I walked him home. And I mean it. “Hold on,” I say again. “Hannah,” Cade says in that distant waterlogged way that I heard him in my memory. I open my eyes and see a figure standing on the end of the Goodspeed pier. The lights of the union behind me flare and flicker then suddenly burst as the figure disappears. Cade. I run to the end of the pier, and stare into the dark water. “Cade!” I say. The wind coming off the lake is stronger. In the deafening howl of it I hear a low, unsteady voice.“Hannah,” I say. I close my eyes. I think I hear a cracking sound: thin ice. I remember the way Cade yelled last night, and then went silent. The dark glare of open water against the thick, white ice. The moment plays over and over in my mind, just like that other memory of Cade, not repeated, re-lived. He’s in a loop of time, the same moment—him falling in the lake—over and over again.“Hannah!” I hear in his distant voice, “Where’s Levi?” I can’t answer. I don’t know, Levi doesn’t trust me like Cade does. I don’t know where Levi is, I don’t know if he is going to come help me. “Need Levi!” Cade’s voice sounds frantic, “Need light!”“I—” I stutter, I don’t know what to say. I remember Cade, face upturned, eyes wide and terrified, fists clenched against the cold and his body slowly marbling a waterlogged blue, gently sinking.“Hannah!” Someone yells. It’s not Cade; it’s Levi. I open my eyes and see him running past the union theater toward the pier. He is here, either because he trusted me or he didn’t, but it doesn’t matter. He’s here.I look back to the water just beyond the pier. There’s a light, white and hazy, somewhere deep below the surface, and Cade’s there. I see him, eyes wide and terrified, in the lake. “Now Here,” I hear Cade say in the wind. I turn to see Levi running down the pier. “Now Here,” Cade says. He means Now. I turn and dive into the frigid water.I swim down toward the white light I saw glowing there. As I get closer, everything’s pulled harder into focus. Cade’s here, floating just as I had seen him before, against the White Wall as he called it. The sound of footsteps crunch on the other side of the barrier, two maybe three sets. I come up beside Cade and press my hand against the barrier; it’s ice. It’s the ice of the lake. Cade’s under the ice and now I am too. The footsteps sound again. “It’s us,” Cade says, “We’re here again. Now here.” When we were on the ice, it was Cade underneath. The pounding above the ice was Cade, and that response, that pounding from beneath, was Cade too. He’s been here stuck in this moment, both sides of the ice, watching the scene play out again and again. Multiple timelines, converging on this event. Maybe that was it, why Levi thought Cade wasn’t on the ice. I was in a timeline where Cade was on the ice, and Levi was in a timeline where Cade was beneath the ice; this moment simultaneously existing in both. From the above side of the ice, Cade and I hear the pounding. We frantically beat on the ice. The other side illuminates; that’s when Levi and I pulled out the flashlights on our phones. We hit the ice more frantically. Need Light, Need Levi. Suddenly, Levi comes up beside us. He must have followed me into the lake, diving and swimming toward us. He presses his hands to the ice, and a burst of white light spreads, enveloping the three of us, then goes suddenly black.Cade, Levi and myself stay in that black moment for what feels like forever, but slowly light starts to edge its way through. First small, shimmering pinpricks, then the signature four vertical bars of light on the union theater and their reflection on the ice. We’re on the ice again, as we were last night, exactly as if all the events of tomorrow haven’t even happened yet. Levi looks baffled, but he understands now. “Cade!” he says. Levi helps him up, then me. He looks urgently around, like he knows something we don’t. “We have to get off the lake,” he says and we take off running, all three of us close together. We hear a cracking sound. Thin ice. Levi knows about it, knows that’s how Cade got trapped in the lake. He grabs Cade’s arm and pulls him sharply back from the edge of the ice, safely keeping him from the open water, safely keeping him from the lake. We look at him in disbelief. This is where the loop is broken; this moment isn’t re-lived because Levi stopped it from ever happening. Levi saved Cade. “Cade wasn’t there.”What are your thoughts on the story? Did you like it? Would you like to see more stories like this in the future? Would you be interested in writing a story or know anyone that would be? Send us an email at almanac@dailycardinal.com.
Elif Batuman’s ‘The Idiot’ updates Dostoevsky for the millennial era
(04/24/17 11:00am)
Conor Oberst, the mascaraed Bright Eyes frontman, has a verse on his new album, Ruminations, about life under Ronald Reagan. True, Reagan doesn’t seem so bad now, but at the time he seemed like a bad joke. “Reagan flexes his worn, snipped, tucked, mottled face,” wrote Martin Amis in 1979. “He would make a good head waiter, a good Butlins redcoat, a good host for ‘New Faces.’ But would he make a good leader of the free world?”
The Flaming Lips fuse psych pop with classic rock in trippy set
(04/24/17 11:00am)
The Flaming Lips stopped by the Orpheum Theater Friday night while on the Midwest leg of their current world tour and, yes, they brought a unicorn.
Diamond Digest: Don't overreact to first week stats
(04/14/17 12:03pm)
One week into the 2017 MLB season designates the beginning of overreaction theatre. Bravo! Big league and fantasy managers alike will respond to a week of evidence in favor of longstanding trends and principles of smart decision making as they scramble to keep their ships afloat. Much volatility exists in player performance in baseball, and making sense of the noise affords tremendous opportunity for fantasy owners. A critical question must be asked: What do we respond to and what do we ignore?
The Presence of Trees
(04/10/17 12:00pm)
I found an article the other day about a situation in Melbourne last year on how the city had identified all trees with a different number and email address, so that citizens could send emails to city officials about complaints, a way to improve the city life. It turned into people of the city sending love letters to their favorite trees:To: Golden Elm, Tree ID 103714821 May 2015I’m so sorry you’re going to die soon. It makes me sad when trucks damage your low hanging branches. Are you as tired of all this construction work as we are?To: Green Leaf Elm, Tree ID 1022165 29 May 2015Dear Green Leaf Elm,I hope you like living at St. Mary’s. Most of the time I like it too. I have exams coming up and I should be busy studying. You do not have exams because you are a tree. I don’t think that there is much more to talk about as we don’t have a lot in common, you being a tree and such. But I’m glad we’re in this together.“The email interactions reveal the love Melburnians have for our trees,” the article said. Why then, did the article make me want to cry? I’m sorry you’re going to die soon, are you tired? I’m glad we’re in this together. Something about these professions strikes me as lonely, and the lonely life of a city tree, their myth contained in a square of wood chips at the base, their fate marked with orange spray paint. I think about my mom desperately trying to raise the trees in our previously barren backyard, disappointed when, as the seasons pass, she sees they’re not going to make it. Something about the fickle Minnesotan weather and our soil not being conducive to life. A city is no place for trees, I think, but it’s where they’re needed most. There is a tree on the lake my parents live near, Lake Harriet, that hosts a small wooden door at its base. The door is about four inches tall, painted wood, covering a hole in the tree through which people stuff notes. I can’t remember if it was supposed to be for fairies or for goblins or whatever mythical creature, but whatever it was, children (and some adults) would address it letters and leave them there. According to my parents, someone who lived on the lake would answer them. I don’t remember if I ever left a note in the tree, or how anyone would be able to answer the notes, or how old I was when my parents told me that it was a human who answered the notes and not fairies. I just remember walking around the lake, leaves ripely green in the belly of summer, noting the unassuming door in the tree at that point in our walk.The birch tree in my front yard also had a magical quality to it. Tall and withered, it hung over the front porch like a benevolent giant watching the house. I got sad when my parents expressed fear that a branch would fall off during a storm and damage the house—my tree wouldn’t do that. The birch, massive and looming in shady lemonade days of summer and spindly in the snow-capped winter, had an enormous rut in the base. A large circle, the shape of an oval, that looked like someone has burned it there sacrificially. I made fairy houses in the rut, setting sticks into a tiny fort, adding feathers and nice rocks, a little piece of fruit. The birch was a constant growing up, a calming presence. My mom and I would sit in the porch, reading together, or playing gin rummy, as it stood sturdily overhead. I never had a sense of what would become of the both of them when I left for college, but you don’t notice these things until you’re gone.I had a relationship with the trees surrounding my family’s cabin as a child, but there it was even more magical. I would build fairy houses in the wilderness of northern Minnesota, placing springy moss beds in rock crevices on the stream outside the cabin, collecting forest trinkets, shells, flowers, leaves, forming a perfect haven for some unseen creature. Lake Superior is one of the places I’m overcome by trees, and where I feel they’re meant to be; there’s no threat they’ll be felled, since the forest is protected. If city trees have lives and emails, the trees of the North Shore of Lake Superior have a mythology to them. Their myth is captured in the construction of the cabin itself: fallen lumber stacked sturdily, the cracks stuffed with fur and other grimy materials, makeshift glue. It was built generations ago, by an ancestor who helped found the forest and died there, in a chair the cabin still has, an enormous wooden frame covered in scratchy red wool cushions. There are old tobacco pipes on the walls, hidden canes and leather bags in the closets. I am imbued with the scent of pine when I go there. It overwhelms me, hiking up up up to where we can see the massive lake through breaks in the trees. I don’t realize that I’m starved for trees until I’m around them again after being away from them for so long. I returned from my first semester at college to find an embarrassingly bare front yard: the birch tree had been cut down. My parents had told me that they were going to cut it down, but in person, the emptiness was palpable. “It was sick,” my mom told me. That’s what the burnt-out rut in the tree was, a sickness. Still, it’s hard to watch something go when you’ve grown so accustomed to its presence. I see this on her face as I board the Megabus again, promising to call. “‘Dear 1037148,’ wrote one admirer to a golden elm in May. “You deserve to be known by more than a number. I love you. Always and forever.”
Hayes, seniors carry Wisconsin Badgers over defending champion Villanova Wildcats
(03/20/17 9:18pm)
BUFFALO, N.Y. — As Zak Showalter watched the final seconds of No. 8 seed Wisconsin’s (27-9) 65-62 win over No. 1 seed Villanova (32-4) tick off the clock, his arms shot up toward the sky. Standing at the free-throw line across from the Wildcats’ bench, Showalter stood frozen in the same pose Rocky Balboa stood in Philadelphia, the site of Wisconsin’s Sweet 16 loss last season.
Cold War Kids performs a lively set for an eclectic crowd
(03/16/17 6:51pm)
After the lull of an average school and work day, fans of all ages gathered together at the Majestic Theatre on a seemingly quiet Tuesday night for Cold War Kids, an alternative, indie-rock band that is most notable for their hit, “First.” Shivering from both the chilling weather and anxious excitement, I stood in line for the doors to open at 7 p.m. There was a small crowd beside me making small talk and shivering; all of us were different, yet all of us were fans, and together, we were all unaware of the bold and lively dynamic that awaited inside the theater.
A tale of two stories as state, federal entities work to combat sexual assault
(03/15/17 3:12pm)
At a time when many aspects of the UW System have encountered politicization, increasing reporting and investigation of sexual assault on college campuses has become an area of bipartisan support at the Capitol.
Nowhere
(03/13/17 11:00am)
This the first installment of a new mysterious story that will be released in multiple parts over the remainder of the semester. “Nowhere” follows the story of Hannah in her search for her friend Cade and takes place right on the UW-Madison campus. The story begins on Lake Mendota in the middle of winter. Our next installment will be released April 3.Cade is unflinchingly honest. I’m not listening, and the night is quiet and clear. “This is a bad idea,” Cade says, sinking his hands deep into the pockets of his Carhartt. “Hannah.” He means for me to come back. “We’ll just stay away from the thin ice,” I laugh. “It’s still solid.”Levi lets out a huff and watches his breath plum in a slow curling cloud above him; he hikes up the collar of his black peacoat. Even in the dark, I can see the warning glance in his grey eyes as I climb over the rocks behind Memorial Union and out onto the ice of Lake Mendota. “Goddamn it, Hannah,” Cade says and reluctantly he, then Levi, follow me. The sound of a night train rumbles from the other side of campus. The hazy glow of the Capitol, the castle-like Red Gym, the lights of the Union Theater, all behind us now. I turn around to see the boys. “Woah.” My breath also climbs up above, away from me. “Look at it reflecting on the ice,” I say. I pull out my phone and point the camera at Cade and Levi with the lights behind them. The auto focus jumps from Levi to the Union Theater, underexposed then blown out—dark, blurry images. “You’ll never get a good one,” Cade says. “You just have to look at it, and hope you remember it right.” I roll my eyes. Levi stands motionless staring at his Converse against the ice; he lets out a deep sigh and watches his breath rise and disappear into the clear night sky. I slip and fall. Levi’s gaze snaps down to me, “You’re drunk. Go home,” he says with a small smile. “You’re drunk. You go home,” I say. “It’s not even midnight.” “OK, Hannah,” Cade helps me up then mutters under his breath, “That statement would have been true an hour ago.” His hands are winter-dry and cracked; he never wears gloves. He holds his hands out to make sure I’m OK. I laugh. As we move further onto the ice, Cade develops the concern of a worried chirp when I almost slip—that kind of genuine tenderness on the brink of a laugh, and a caution in the way he watches me to make sure I don’t slip in that half-second of complete confidence after I get my balance back. Levi stops suddenly, “Hannah, did you hear that?” I listen, a sound like a metal cable snapping and then a low resonant groan. “It sounds like the Titanic going down.”“It must be the ice heaving apart, you know,” Levi says.“Like the bigger pieces breaking and settling,” I add. Cade kneels and brushes the loose snow from the ice. He plants his hands squarely, heavy on the smooth surface. “I wonder if I could feel that, the ice breaking.” The sound comes booming again, reaching us distantly from the far part of the lake. I watch a smile grow slowly across Cade’s face. “As long as it’s not breaking under us,” Levi says. Cade laughs, balling his hands into fists, and pounds on the thick ice underneath us.Something pounds back. “Cade?” I say. He pounds on the ice again. The response from the underside is frantic, quickening, terrified. “There’s something under the ice. I can’t see,” says Cade. I pull up the flashlight on my phone and shine it on the ice, but it’s too thick and too white to make out anything beyond it. Levi, looking a little confused, does the same. The underside goes into a frenzy; there’s a blinding flash that lights the ice beneath us. We run for shore. Levi sprints ahead; I follow him, and Cade a short distance behind. Then I hear a cracking sound—thin ice. Cade yells, then goes silent. I turn around and make out the dark glare of open water. I inch beside the edge of the break. I see him; his face upturned, eyes wide and terrified, fists clenched against the cold and his body slowly marbling a waterlogged blue as he sinks gently. I grab his hood and then the back of his jacket and pull at him. He reaches, grasping for the edge of the thicker ice. He pulls himself onto the ice and lies coughing. “Cade, get up,” I plead. “We have to get off the ice.” He stands and stumbles with the cold working its way up against his wet skin. When we get back to shore he slumps against the rocks, lit with the soft glow of the lights of the union. Levi stands, shaking on the concrete above us. He pulls at the collar of his coat and yells down at us. “What was that?!”I try to take off my wet coat but the soaking sleeves cling and bunch at my wrists. My heart is racing. I’m shaking. I cough because I can’t catch my breath. Cade is even worse. “Hannah!” Levi says.“I don’t know, Levi! Alright! I don’t know.” I look up at him standing above me; he looks small with his arms drawn into his chest. He’s shaking too. “I just want to go home,” I say. He’s quiet for a long moment, “Do you want me to walk you home?”I shake my head. Levi hesitates, like he’s going to say something, then just nods. “OK,” he says. He turns back toward State Street, synching his arms tighter to his chest, he wavers as he walks away.I look at Cade, lying against the cold rocks, coughing. I pull at his arm. “Can you stand?” He does. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.” He stumbles and grabs onto my arms. He looks at me with wild eyes. “I don’t want to be here,” he says. “I don’t want to stay in the lake.”“I’ll get you home, Cade. I promise.”The night goes dark and loses all detail on the walk home. The empty streets echo the rumble of empty busses. The streetlights flare and flicker as we pass under them. We stop as the train crossing flashes across Union South. A night train looms in the dark coming toward us. “I’ve been here before,” Cade says suddenly while shaking badly.“Yeah, Cade, you live down the street.” I say. “No, Hannah. I’ve been here so many times, and you’ll be here again too,” he says. His head whips wildly back-and-forth and his breathing quickens. He brushes his damp hair from his forehead and starts hyperventilating. “Cade,” I say. I don’t really know what to say. “In the water, di-did you, like hit your head?” Really I was pleading that this is not what I think it is. That this won’t be one of the nights Cade locks himself in and sits in the middle of a dark room too terrified to move and calls me at 2 a.m., to say it’s bad again. “Cade?” It’s me pleading that this isn’t that. Not here, not out in the street in the dark while he is drenched and half-frozen and shaking so hard I can feel it in my bones. He looks to his left and right and over his shoulder. The train blows its whistle and his shoulders jerk up suddenly as his shaking becomes more violent.“Hannah.” He means he’s scared. Unflinchingly honest—at least he is with me. “Hold on,” I say. The muscles around his mouth pull tight; he’s really trying not to lose it. He balls the fabric of my jacket in his hands and a thin layer of ice flakes off. “I don’t want to be here,” he says again. “Not the nowhere. The white wall, not here,” he stutters. I get him in his apartment. I bundle towels from the bathroom in my arms and give them to him, like they are mine to give. I’m bad at taking care of people. He’s gone white and stares off vacantly. I leave his keys and phone on the counter. I help him take off his coat and drape a towel over his shoulders. After that I just kind of watch him for a while. I lean against the front door frame.“Cade?” He turns to me and his brow furrows together.“Hannah,” he says. He means it’s OK if I go. He nods lightly. We’ve always been like that, strangely attuned to meanings, understanding the odd familiarities of each other’s voice in the recital of our own names. All the conversations I remember best are only our soft-spoken names repeated back-and-forth between us. The next morning, walking to College Library, the sun is unseasonally bright. When I turn from University Street onto Park Street, I see the yellow police tape coloring the far end along the lake. Then I see Levi’s stiff, narrow shoulders under the weight of his peacoat; the collar still hiked around his neck. I come up beside him, shuffling between the others that stand in the sun that feels too bright and stare out at the lake. The water just beyond the union is open and police boats and campus rescue troll the confined free water. Men in thick navy coats, emboldened with the large, white letters of POLICE, hang over the sides of the boats with poles and pickaxes breaking the still-standing ice into chunks that fall and rise beside them in the water. “What’s going on?” I ask.One of the policemen nearby answers, “There was a call that someone went through the ice last night.” He pauses. “We’re looking for them.” The pounding on the ice—what if there was someone underneath us? What if they needed help and we just ran away to leave them there, trapped under the ice, alone? I grab Levi’s sleeve and pull him back. “Do you think that had something to do with last night?” I say in sharp, hushed tones. He looks at me, confused. “Whatever that sound was.” He looks at me like he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. I try again, “When Cade was beating on the ice…”His face draws itself tight in a succession of indecipherable micro-expressions. He stares at me a long, ugly moment; then his lips break into words as he speaks through a tight frown. “Cade wasn’t there.”What do you think happened to Cade? Who or what was the pounding that was under the ice? Have any cool theories about the story so far? Send any questions, comments or theories to almanac@dailycardinal.com.
Residents plan to ‘make Mifflin a protest again’
(03/06/17 3:26pm)
Toward the end of every spring semester, Mifflin Street residents open their doors to hundreds of UW-Madison students and Madison residents for a Saturday of celebration. The residents of one house, though, are planning for their home to serve a different purpose and mirror the inaugural Mifflin Street Block Party.
Drive for five: Wisconsin learns from storied legacy of past teams, players
(02/23/17 2:33pm)
Born in Oct. 8, 1999 in Madison, Wisconsin’s women’s hockey program has yet to reach its 18th birthday, and the program itself is still younger than all of its players.
