Erin Kay Van Pay

---

Board of Regents approves discount on tuition for out-of-state legacy students

Goodbye: a reflection on academic year 2010

As we resume urinating in proper, designated and morally acceptable areas post-Mifflin and dust off our Sparknotes for the final haul, we must all take a moment to recall what has brought us to this point in the semester. Perhaps there is a particularly faithful bottle of 5-Hour Energy that deserves a sincere thank you, or perhaps it is the friend who, on that fateful night, was able to turn your imminent shitshow into a shit-monologue by sending your one-and-a half-glasses-of-wine drunkass off in a cab. Whatever the case, as a community we are one academic year more learned than we once were, and if I could give the over 40,000 UW-Madison students the high five they deserve, I would. Unfortunately, I have sensitive palms.

What do you mean, you didn't do the reading?!

Alright guys, calm down, calm down. I know it's Friday, but hey, I got places to be, too, huh? Right Jimmy? Right on. Today we're going to jump right in to an open discussion, and no, this time it is not going to be about Jimmy's unfortunate mishap with mixing Benzos and Admiral Nelson's, but rather, about the reading assigned for this week. Ready to start theorizing? Cool, me too.

The top 15 things to do after a breakup

—Tell him that you've changed, for real this time. Even show him the dryer sheet for that extra kick in the pants.

Lady mags and his bedtime body language

I have no problem with magazines in general. At least, last time I checked, I was not driving a butcher knife into a sexy cover photo or psychotically tearing out pages with my bared, somehow severely salivating teeth. No, unless it was magazine made entirely of bacon, I would not be driven to such delicious extremes.

An open letter to the crook who stole my bike

I'm so mad, I could spit. You, my friend, are what we used to called a, excuse my language now,  whippersnapper. A fucking whippersnapper. Who do you think you are, going out into the dead of day, stealing a bike right in the middle of a mildly busy street? You must be a n00b bike robber. I hope your bicycle thief ringleader, I imagine his name to be either Bubba or Thor, has taken you into his dank lair cluttered with handlebars, chains and little honky horns and beaten you over the head with a basket for your ill-conceived audacity.

Spring break plans: A companion chart

Spring break in a tropical or nearly tropical location

Dontcha know Wisconsin is da best, huh?

I've lived in Wisconsin my entire life, save for the two unfortunate months my family resided in the Cat-Skinning Region of southern Illinois, and I am damn proud to be a Wisconsinite. Recently, I have come to think that perhaps my undying love for my state is a defense mechanism, as these past two years at UW-Madison have been the first ones where I have had to fervently defend my homeland's integrity, usefulness and attraction from the throes of ""Is it really a -40 degree windchill?"" and ""I am so fucking bored, what am I supposed to do, bowl?"" and ""Why is everybody so obese here?"" I, like many other natives to this state, have found myself constantly making excuses for Wisconsin as if it were my video game glazed-eyed, socially perverted and chunky tween brother. Come on guys, he's not so bad! His acne'll clear up real soon, and he's already got his third level 70 Orc in World of Warcraft!

Honest résumé for your future applications

Potential employee #G3045

Writer's block: Stories that missed the cut

Writer's block: It's like your brain is taking a poo that's just a tad too big for your cranium, minus the blinding, searing physical pain. We've all felt mentally constipated in theory, and usually during the absolute worst times: the night before that 25-page research paper about periodical cicadas is due and you've done nothing but watch ""Hoarders"" for the past two weeks, at the altar during that vow part you were supposed to have memorized but forgot last night when Destiny at the bachelor party poured a 15th shot into your mouth using only her cleavage and when you're next up at the National-Level Articulate Thoughts Materializing Into Something Not Only Useful, But Necessary Competition. And we all know that no amount of Phillips' can loosen up the stool of your mind, but do you ever wonder where those abandoned ideas go?