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Gov. Scott Walker’s office sent 92,000 letters to Wisconsinites this week and received one back from U.S. Sen. Tammy Baldwin, D-Wis., regarding the eventual removal of Wisconsin citizens from the state Medicaid program after Walker decided not to implement the Affordable Care Act.
This summer, two student leaders discovered firsthand the intricacies of passing legislation when they pushed to pass bills in the state Assembly and Senate.
We entered Saturday with renewed spirits. We’d dried off and so had the world; nothing but blue skies and slightly less health-endangering heats awaited us. The plan was to get to Pitchfork at around 1 p.m. and catch White Lung and Pissed Jeans for a notably punk afternoon, but underestimating both Chicago traffic and the lunch rush threw us off and we arrived too late to do either. Instead we headed over towards the blue stage, our consistently shady bastion, to see Julia Holter.
An Associated Students of Madison representative will retain his post after he violated election rules, ASM’s Student Judiciary ruled Monday.
This week, my roommate got a UW Secret Admirer.
By now it’s a time-tested cliche: “The record only sold 10,000 copies, but everyone who bought it formed a band.”
It's just a show, deal with it...
Wednesday marked the would-be 46th birthday of Kurt Cobain, the indie kid that drove punk rock from the sweaty underground to the heights of MTV without sacrificing a shred of dignity. In just over five short years, he was transformed from an outsider weirdo recording under the name Fecal Matter to the messiah for an unfulfilled generation–the posthumous ideal of a tortured artist, fated for perennial evaluation and reevaluation. What more can be said for the guy that hasn’t already been rendered banal by every entitled fan or controversial critic in the last two decades?
One of the best—and admittedly most confusing—elements of craft beer is the seemingly endless list of styles that brewers toss around. For the adventurous, such limitless variety creates an optimism in tasting new brews, as even the most experienced beer drinkers are bound to stumble upon something new eventually. But for everyone else, the giant range of flavors can be intimidating, too often forcing you to take a shot in the dark when ordering something new. Though I can’t touch upon nearly every beer style out there, I’ll do my best to help.
What a strange and wonderful beast comedy is. Unfortunately, it’s not always well adapted to the yoke of literature. The presence of mind required by reading is different than that of film or television or theatre, and the wordy rigid structure of a book can do serious damage to the sort of spontaneity and vivaciousness comedy demands. I’m being very vague here.
Man, I feel terrible. I had this whole thing planned out where I was going to formally introduce myself and my thoughts to everyone out there. But Ron Johnson just had to ruin it. The senior senator from our home state put on quite the speech over the weekend. Here’s an excerpt from this glorious display of oration: “Let me describe what we’re up against as conservatives, as patriots, as people who like freedom, as people who like this country... We are up against a strategy that is taking place by liberals, progressives, Democrats, whatever they call themselves nowadays, Socialists, Marxists... .” Now not only is this comparison offensive to Marxists, it also has absolutely no place in politics. It’s incredibly divisive and casts much doubt on whether he is fit to do what it takes to become an at least decent senator for our state. But this speech just underlines the larger problem with Ron Johnson, the fact that he might just be one of the worst senators in the history of Wisconsin politics.
Welcome back to school, everybody. If you read this space in the Cardinal last semester, you may remember me as a shameless hater with a Bruce Springsteen obsession often bordering on masturbatory. Those characterizations are indeed still accurate, but this semester I plan to convey such thoughts through a series of predetermined subtopics. My hope is that it makes my writing more enjoyable to read (Note: It’s also because I’m too lazy to synthesize an original column topic every week). We’ll call it the “Wednesday Morning Hangover.” Let’s dive in.
The first time I heard and saw Liz Harris perform under her Grouper moniker was in 2009, when she opened for Animal Collective after their meteoric rise to relative fame with Merriweather Post Pavilion. The crowd, a robust and remarkably enthused group of largely teenagers and college students, were all hot and bothered at the prospect of Animal Collective playing a presumed hour and a half rendition of “My Girls” and bobbing their heads manically until their collective necks ripped at the tendons.
Sundance Film Festival. The most important film festival in America. A time in which promising new voices in film, famous celebrities, fresh-faced film students, rich retirees, artsy hipsters, studio bigwigs and people who just so happen to live nearby can mingle peacefully while binging on the latest independent films in picturesque Park City, Utah.
There’s a good moment (one of many) in Haruki Murakami’s “Hard-Boiled Wonderland and The End Of The World” where the narrator indulges in a discourse on sofas. Here’s a tantalizing quote from that speech in Chapter Five:
Chazwick Bundick’s name fits his look. His appearance and lifestyle embody almost every stereotype of the, dare I say, stereotypical American hipster. Bundick is usually pictured with thick-rimmed glasses while sporting a lackadaisical look in his eyes. It all screams arrogance. But the man behind the moniker, Toro y Moi, single-handedly brought the chillwave genre to relevance. Perhaps his image is justifiable.
I’m sure that many of us social media-savvy (read: “obsessed”) college students have shaken our heads in exasperation at the recent Facebook privacy statement hoopla. Or maybe you unwittingly participated in it. I won’t hold it against you, I guess, but I think that those in question on this particular subject are vastly overestimating—and at the same time underestimating—the power of mass social media.
While it seems like a lot of people in my grade (15th, technically) are sailing across the seas to foreign lands to delve into academic rigor and life-changing adventures through a study abroad experience, there are actually a lot of us who, apparently, are too attached to Wisconsin winters and the beautiful bruises you get from slipping on black ice to pack up and head out. It’s a lot easier to meet new friends wearing a facemask with your head down swearing profusely during blizzards than it is in a new, exciting environment.
A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but would a book by any other name read as well? Could you imagine “The Great Gatsby” retaining its charms if it were named “Trimalchio” or “Under the Red, White and Blue?” Fitzgerald could’ve. He wanted to call it one of those two, or maybe even “Gold-Hatted Gatsby” or “The High-Bouncing Lover.”
Tame Impala is not Pink Floyd, The 13th Floor Elevators, The Zombies, or any other typical 60s psychedelic rock group. Unfortunately for them, this is their ill-fated future, as many first time listeners will come to relate them to these early pioneers due to Tame Impala’s characteristically influenced sound. Even lead vocalist Kevin Parker’s voice vaguely resembles that of Paul McCartney.
Solutions by The State News
