Making Your Sunday

Katerina Dalavurak

School Teacher Queasy

femsex, msex, and the brown experience
upfront music theatre tv food
Clubbing in Paris New Artists Dramatic Traveling Skins Burrito Wars
2 upfront
POST-
FROM THE EDITORS CONTENTS
‘Morning, sunshines!

We’ve got a snarky reputation to uphold, so if we tell you something,

03 upfront
you’ll have to keep it pretty hush hush. Can you? The truth is, you see, Debaucherie à Paris \\ amelia stanton
in the early days of this still-young semester (the very air so rife with POST- IT NOTES \\ post- staff
Editor-in-Chief promise!), we’re feeling pretty chipper.
Kate Doyle
04 feature
Managing Editor of Hey, we’re a little surprised ourselves. After all, we’ve slipped spec-
Features tacularly on sidewalks this week. We’ve puddle-jumped, bundled up, MAKE YOUR SUNDAY SCHOOL TEACHER QUEASY \\ ana
Amelia Stanton and packed our schedules to the bursting under some sinister gray alvarez
skies. But none of it seems to detract from the fact that it’s just so very
Managing Editor of
Arts and Culture good to be back. Slush, shopping period, and all. Jaded comments? 05 arts & culture
Sam Knowles Not here. Hey, listen up now—we’re shedding our cynicism. We’re LOOPY FOR LUPE \\ post- music staff
Managing Editor of eschewing the sharp-tongued remarks! This fine Thursday morning, EYE OF THE TIGER MOTHER \\ jennie young carr
Lifestyle could it be that great new class, Friday with friends, and the odd spon-
Matthew Klebanoff taneous snowball fight that make our sopping snow boots and full
Features Editors
Mocha shopping carts so very worth it? 06 arts & culture
Ana Alvarez
Fred Milgrim Could be, we think. It just might be. So happy back-to-Brown. Hap-
FROM BROWN TO LONDON TOWN \\ kate doyle
py almost-end of shopping period, happy no-more-sleet, and hap- BRITS DO IT BETTER \\ sam knowles
Music Editor
Eric Sun py Thursday. For shouldering through the first week, bravo all of us.
Theatre Editor
Here’s to a fresh semester! We’re glad we’re back, and we’re glad you
are too—
07 food & booze
Emma Johnson ONE FOODIE’S NEED TO KNEAD\\ jane breadslinger
Film Editor Rosily, in a warm glow of contentment, MEXICAN FOOD WARS \\ matt klebanoff
Priyanka Chatterjee

Literary Editor
(look, no snark!) 08 sex
Jennie Young Carr BONEROMA \\ mm
Lifestyle Editor YOUR NEXT STOP, THE FRIEND ZONE\\ lovecraft & dorian
Sakina Esufally EMILY POST-\\ emily post-
Layout Editor
Clara Beyer

Graphics Editor
Katerina Dalavurak TOP TEN
Copy Chiefs
Julia Kantor
Kathy Nguyen Things to do in Providence Slush
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Columnists
Jane Brendlinger Hotbox an igloo on the Main Green Hose down Brown walkways. Watch people fall.
Rémy Robert
Sexicon
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Emily Post-

Copy Editors I f*cking love cocaine! Snow Owl (Berge) Watchin’

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Charles Pletcher
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Throw ripper.
Slush Angels.

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Leave it to melt in between your bra and your

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shirt so that the boyfriend who you’re actually Write your name in pee next to the bear
Katerina Dalavurak not into is led to believe that he makes your statue.
Anish Gonchigar
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featurette
upfront
3
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 2010

Debaucherie à Paris Post- It

following the white rabbit Notes
what we’re doing
amelia STANTON
managing editor
this week
MUSIC is
Paying the check, we are the only diners left bowing its head for a
in Chez Pierrot, an unassuming bistro just out-
side the Latin Quarter. We were the only diners
moment of silence in
when we arrived at the restaurant, shortly after 11 memory of the White
pm. A little on the late side—we had been primp-
ing. But this is Paris, I say, where is everyone?
Stripes who went Icky
Sadly, the scene that we had come to love dur- Thump this week. Even
ing our Parisian winter break excursion--the 24
euro per bottle, appetizers always, and manda-
a Seven Nation Army
tory tarte tatin--is not really the milieu of our age won’t bring them back.
group, which seems to prefer drinks, clubs, and
cigarettes over traditional bistro fare and tasty
assortments of Ladurée macaroons. We scrimp
FILM & TV is
to eat well and often; they scrimp to go and do looking forward to
something else, something tortured and poten-
tially pretentious. But where? We decided that the Super Bowl. Be-
we were finally ready to find out. cause Glee is on after,
After some subtle inquiries and a quick Google
search, we tracked down the mother of all Pari-
mashing up Michael
sian clubs, the magnet to which eager, perhaps Jackson’s “Thriller”
desperate, aspiring socialites cling: Showcase.
The kingdom of chest-pounding techno. Reign-
with Yeah Yeah Yeah’s
Marissa Ilardi
ing queen: the adolescent suburbanite. Reign- “Heads will Roll.”
ing king: the disgruntled business student and/ clearly fucked up had a flask jammed in his pants. Filling
or the wayward traveler. Located romantically
under the Alexander III Bridge, a stone’s throw
our empty plastic shot glasses with Karkov’s poor cousin,
we contemplate our lack of a chaser. But we are problem- THEATRE is
away from the iconic Eiffel Tower. solvers. We take advantage of some unmanned champagne is going Gogol ga-ga
Before walking over the bridge and lining up flutes and head toward the bathroom. Long pipes gushing
to be severely judged by fashion-savvy Parisian water hang from the ceiling over stone slabs. This water is
about Geoffrey Rush
bouncers, we stop briefly to gaze at the Seine. A the answer. Hovering by the end of a pipe, we fill the flutes flipping crazy shit in
moment of awe and silence. Three college girls to the brim. Guy with glasses smirks as we gulp for more.
who’ve managed to secure a free apartment and Vodka followed by champagne water, five times over. Dedi-
BAM’s upcoming
many, many weeks of break. Yes, not long ago cation. production of “Diary of
we were eating at the Ratty and begging for mer- We take a lap. One of us stops to speak to Hot Loner,
cy. Now, here we are, in a slightly tipsy state of Raphael. Dull and almost mute in both French and Eng-
a Madman.”
peace. Brief, but precious. lish, Hot Loner slowly reveals that he works in a women’s
Then we turn and spot a gang of rambunc-
tious Parisian boys. Guy in Military Jacket who
clothing store. Gay? No, just stylish. Raphael does not have
much to say. He assures us that he does have friends—they
BOOKS is
is clearly fucked up, Guy Who Is Cuter with Hat are just elsewhere. braving the number
On Than Hat Off, Guy with Glasses, and Really The dance floor poses other challenges. Rabbit ears jungle with the help of
Nice Short Guy offer us some generous swigs of bob up and down, the music slams me in the solar plexus.
an apple juice-vodka combo in a two-liter plastic Bounced off bodies that do not dance like we do, we watch
You Can Count on
water bottle. We accept, willingly. Arm-in-arm, drops of raspberry light sink into hair, shoulders, hands. Monsters, a picture
we saunter over le Pont Alexandre III, and they Losing sight of the others, I land in the arms of Finance
eagerly explain that we can have the honor of be- Guy. He asks what I do, and I say that I go to Brown. “That
book by Brown prof
ing their “plus ones.” Slyly avoiding the 15-euro is an Ivy League school,” he responds knowingly. “Yes, yes Richard Schartz that
cover charge, we accept, willingly. it is,” I say.
We enter the kingdom. Like lemmings me- “I want to get to know your person,” he smiles. A drink?
may just cure our child-
andering toward the cliff’s edge, we queue up to I accept, willingly. He seems disappointed when I order a hood fear of factoring.
pay 10 euro to check coats and bags. We will not bottle of water. As he sips a gin and tonic, I enjoy every
be constrained by articles and things. Staring
at what lies before us, we catch a glimpse of the
last gulp of Evian. Finance Guy lives in the burbs, but he
explains that he played basketball for a year in Miami. He
FOOD is
white rabbit; he is tonight’s theme. Follow the thinks palm trees are really, really tall. contemplating Crock-
white rabbit. Veering toward a black leather couch, I stop at the win- pots. Here’s to coming
This evening, the rabbit will hop around dur- dow while Finance Guy checks the stocks. Just ten feet
ing sets played by a DJ considered by some to beyond these walls, a man struggles to sleep. Sandwiched home to a Grad Center
be France’s best. Listeners are already sporting between the Seine and the club, his eyes land on my water suite that actually smells
rabbit ears in celebration of the mad chaos that bottle. Finance guy pulls me away and offers me his rabbit
naturally complements the bunny theme. We lat- ears. “I want to wake up next to you,” he says. I take the good for once.
er learn that the theme derives from The Matrix, ears and head for the door.
which adopted it from good old Alice in Wonder- Five hours after we arrived, the crowd does not seem to BOOZE is
land. Still, we do not quite understand the con-
nection.
thin. Back up on the bridge, dawn is breaking, and we want
French fries. Hailing a cab, fries in hand, we hover and skip
getting plastered on
It becomes evident that this is not something those ahead of us. The first driver does not want fries in his Whiskey and shackng
we will experience sober.
The heavily tattooed bartender pours us each
Mercedes. We refuse to give up the fries. When the second
taxi stops, we hide the fries and pile in. He sees the fries
up with Jack. Smooth
one third of a shot and demands fifteen euro. We and scolds us. and hot, perfection
scoff, pay, and seek out other options. One of us It’s 5:30 a.m. and we are catching an 8:00 a.m. bus to guaranteed.
remembers that Guy in Military Jacket who was Brussels. There, we hope to have curbside fries in a cone.
4 feature
POST-
Make Your Sunday School Teacher Queasy
femsex, msex, and the brown experience
ana ALVAREZ
features editor
As universities go, Brown seems
to be as open as a college can get.
While some schools feature basket-
ball games or football tailgates as
can’t-miss-this-before-you-graduate
events, Brown infamously celebrates
more uncommon activities in its ar-
ray of campus traditions.
Take, for example, The Female
Sexuality Workshop. More common-
ly known as FemSex, this workshop
has grown into one of the integral
ingredients of the Brown experience.
Held every semester for the past eight
years, the workshop brings together
a small group of men and women,
some Brown students and some not,
twice a week to discuss issues deal-
ing with—you guessed it—female
sexuality. One look at the workshop’s
syllabus is sure to make your Sunday
school teacher queasy—dis-
cussion topics include female
anatomy, masturbation and
orgasm, porn and erotica, and
sex toys. MSex, Brown’s other
sexuality workshop, address-
es similar racy topics.
Due to the sensitive sub-
ject matter of the workshops,
people who don’t know much
about their curricula might
have misguided conceptions
of the workshops and their
participants. For example,
after FemSex disseminated
table slip ads in 2007 that
showed a picture of three ex-
posed vulvas, the workshop
made quick enemies of some
conservative-minded mem-
bers of the Brown community.
(When MSex had previously
made a table slip depicting
a penis, no similar contro-
versy ensued). One offended
student, Joshua Unseth ’08,
wrote in The Brown Specta-
tor that FemSex is a “good excuse
to masturbate (and for guys, I have
heard, it is a place to find a horny
hookup).”
Yet if you talk to any of the stu-
dents who are actually involved in
the workshop —who lovingly refer to
each other as “femsexies”—you will
more often than not hear that the ex-
perience changed their lives for the
better. In fact, without fail, FemSex
gets over 100 applicants every se-
mester for coveted spots in one of
its three or four 15-person sections
and the chance to say that they have
partaken in of one of Brown’s most
notorious experiences.
But what about MSex, FemSex’s
lesser-known cousin? It is commonly
thought that MSex is the “male ver-
sion” of FemSex, but although they
are related, the workshops started up
separately, and run independently of
each other and of Brown. Although
the facilitators from both workshops
are friends, they have no official bond.
Moreover, although FemSex joins
the ranks of Spring Weekend and Sex-
PowerGod as hallmarks of the Brown
experience, it is in fact MSex, and not
FemSex, that originated at Brown. Yet
FemSex continually overshadowes its
male counterpart.
One possible reason is that FemSex
came first. FemSex was originally de-
veloped at UC Berkley in 1993, not as
an extracurricular workshop, but as a
student-run and -developed course. In
2003, FemSex came to Brown. Since
the workshop is intended as a a dy-
namic concept that can be adapted and
instituted in many different communi-
ties, facilitators adjusted it to work for
Brown.
MSex was created later, after Fem-
Sex had taken roots at Brown. Chase
Huneke and Lieva Whitbeck ’06 met
at a seminar on the Anthropology of
Masculinity in 2004. A FemSex partici-
pant at the time, Whitbeck approached
Huneke about organizing an equivalent
function for men at Brown. They origi-
nally called the workshop Mansex, but
later changed it to MSex because, as
Huneke writes, the old name “implies
gay porn.” The next semester, Whit-
beck and Huneke devoted themselves
to developing the workshop by creating
a “Mini Man-Sex” with a small group of
men who, along with Huneke and Whit-
beck, took resources from the existing
Berkley and Brown FemSex syllabi and
crafted what would become the MSex
syllabus. The next semester, MSex offi-
cially began and has since thrived, even
if under FemSex’s shadow.
It is hard to compare the two work-
shops because each participant’s experi-
ence is different. But, as one workshop
is a derivative of the other, their class
structures are strikingly similar. Sec-
tions consist of two facilitators who
have previously taken the workshop
and about 15 participants. FemSex
sections are generally larger (because
of the higher demand) and are over-
whelmingly female. In a typical section
of FemSex, there are only one or two
men if any. Facilitators have always
been female, though no rule forbids
men from the position. MSex sections,
on the other hand, are generally slight-
ly smaller and are split evenly between
the sexes. Although originally only men
were to facilitate MSex (as FemSex is
facilitated only by women), it currently
has two female facilitators.
Both workshops follow the same
basic syllabus, which focuses on topics
like body image, violation of boundar-
ies, communication and consent, re-
lationship models, and reproduction
Katerina Dalavurak
(FemSex focuses on abortion, contra-
ceptive methods, and child birth, while
MSex focuses on fatherhood). And, of
course, there are the X-rated topics
too.
Language is another key element of
the workshops’ success. For example,
both workshops use gender neutral
language. So, instead of using he/she,
mother/father, sister/brother, or girl-
friend/boyfriend, participants and fa-
cilitators use the pronoun “phe” and
words like parent, sibling, and part-
ner.
Even though both workshops use
similar structure and language, MSex
facilitator Sara David ’11 and par-
ticipant Justin Pflughaupt, who have
taken both FemSex and MSex, attest
to the fact that FemSex felt like a more
“intense” experience. For one, FemSex
sections more strongly enforce proper
gender-neutral language. This added
demand makes it seem like there is more
at stake. And FemSex’s reputation as a
life-altering event can make the ex-
perience more daunting. Pflughaupt
mentions that he wouldn’t have felt
prepared for the emotional question-
raising aspect of FemSex if he hadn’t
first taken MSex. But he stresses that
the experience in either workshop is
highly dependent on the facilitators
and the participants in each section,
so each has a different feel.
In fact, as MSex facilitator Daw-
son Dohlen ’13 verifies, it is the va-
riety of people involved, and the ex-
posure to wide-ranging opinions and
sensibilities, that make the work-
shops what they are. For example,
even though MSex began as a space
primarily for gay men, Dohlen’s male
facilitator was heterosexual. Indeed,
one of the merits of the workshops
is that participants often learn more
about themselves from listen-
ing to the experiences of oth-
ers. “It impresses me every
time,” Dohlen says, “how you
can get a random group of
people all from different social
groups and put them in an in-
timate situation. It never gets
redundant.”
And that’s perhaps the most
valuable thing about these
workshops, the reason why
Brown students are urged to
experience at least one of them:
they both encourage introspec-
tion and exploration by ask-
ing participants to engage in
honest conversation with one
another about their sexuality,
validate their own sexual expe-
riences, and promote respect
for the views of others. Yet
these workshops aren’t class-
es—there is no set agenda or
objective. They strive for per-
sonal growth.
Even though the workshops
are popular among the student body,
their subject matter raises plenty of
questions. Why do females feel com-
fortable participating in MSex while
few males do so in FemSex? And
why are heterosexual men largely
absent? Yet if the workshops teach
anything, it is that using gender
and sexuality to generalize people’s
behavior is dangerous. Each par-
ticipant’s sexual preferences and ex-
periences are as variable as their rea-
sons for taking part in the workshop.
Perhaps one of the most important
things the workshops can provide is
self-awareness and exposure to dif-
ferent perspectives. This experience
is part of Brown’s liberal promise—a
promise that allows us to pursue any
topic, no matter how unconvention-
al. Along with our Open Curriculum,
our naked parties, and our boister-
ous concerts, we are one of the few
schools to boast sexuality workshops
for all genders.
music
arts & culture
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 2010 5
Loopy for Lupe
artists to watch in 2011
post- music STAFF

With 2011 just getting underway, Post- Music is
looking forward to a year of new tunes and new oppor-
tunities to impress others with our clairvoyant powers.
Here’s our list of rising artists who will leap into the
spotlight this year.
Lupe Fiasco
2008 Spring Weekend act Lupe Fiasco quietly
dominated the hip-hop charts in the last two years. In
2006 he was named GQ’s “Breakout Man of the Year”
and released sleeper hits like “Kick Push” and “Super-
star.” “Solar Midnight” even appeared in Twilight: New
Moon (for you “Twihards”). With three albums and one
Grammy under his belt, Lupe is poised to achieve the
stardom enjoyed by former collaborator Yeezy with the
release of his latest album Lasers due out in March.
Debut single “The Show Goes On” features a sped-up
sample of “Float On” by Modest Mouse backed by tri-
umphant horns—anthemic elements that will catapult
this understated rapper to superstardom. Sounds like:
Kid Cudi
Oh Land
To the casual observer, Oh Land might seem like
just a carbon copy of fellow Scandinavian dance-pop
queen Robyn. Born Nanna Oland Fabricius, Oh Land
shares the same airy vocals and playful electro beats as
her contemporary, but with a unique warm and dreamy
sound the singer likens to a “snow globe.” Oh Land’s
magic is exemplified in her new single “Sun of a Gun”
a thumping number about lost love that compels you
to dance and sing along, without any sugary-pop after-
taste. With the fashion and indie world raving about her
model looks, killer live shows, and new album Fauna
(coming out this March), world domination for this
former ballerina is only a perfectly choreographed step
away. Sounds like: Lykke Li
Fitz and The Tantrums
If Amy Winehouse is the aging matriarch of mod-
ern-day blue eyed soul, Fitz and the Tantrums are her
hip offspring who grew up on a steady diet of Hall &
Oats. The LA sextet has the usual combination of sax,
horns, and impeccably-tailored suits reminiscent of
Motown, but what sets them apart is their nod to the
R&B-pop sounds of the ‘80s. This mixture of funk,
soul, and keyboard creates a sound that is as infec-
tious as it is energetic, and is well-suited to take over
airwaves and hearts alike. Sounds like: The lovechild
of Amy Winehouse and Prince
The Naked And Famous
The Naked And Famous song “Young Blood” has
already been featured in the insultingly obvious up-
coming teen movie Prom so you know the band is on
the up and up. The single charted at number one in the
band’s homeland of New Zealand, and it’s only a mat-
ter of time before The Naked And Famous joins the
proud ranks of fellow exports like Lord of the Rings
and “Flight of the Conchords.” Their album Passive
Me, Aggressive You is not revolutionary per se, but
revels in a dreamy pop aesthetic that MGMT’s Oracu-
lar Spectacular achieved in years past. Like Oracular
Spectacular, this album is sure to achieve more than
a blip on the feel-good-pop radar. Sounds like: Pas-
sion Pit
Bag Raiders
Long beloved in the electronic scene, Bag Raid-
ers has delivered consistent, creative, and malleable
songs since their 2007 EP Fun Punch. In the likeness
of GRUM and Miami Horror, Bag Raiders crafts me-
Ethan Zisson
lodic gems while remaining true to the genre with funky
dance beats and soaring synths. Techno giants like The
Juan MacLean, Siriusmo, and Knightlife have remixed
the group’s tracks, and in return, Bag Raiders has con-
structed smart, catchy redubs of songs by Chromeo, Cut
Copy, and Midnight Juggernauts. Their self-titled al-
bum just dropped in January and the blogs are already
infatuated with the group’s slow-burning single “Way
Back Home.” Sounds like: Miike Snow
Foster The People
Foster The People stormed onto the indie scene this
summer with its breezy, irresistible anthem “Pumped
Up Kicks.” With its warm, bouncy bassline and chant-
worthy chorus, “Pumped Up Kicks” launched Foster
The People into the blogosphere limelight and landed
them a record deal with Sony Music. The recent release
of their self-titled EP reveals an electronic-rock sound
evocative of a less-psychedelic MGMT. For those disillu-
sioned by the trip that was Congratulations, Foster The
People might swoop in to fill the void with catchy tunes
like “Helena Beat” and “Houdini.” Watch for the band
to make a bold statement at this year’s Coachella Music
and Arts Festival and cross over to mainstream fame.
Sounds like: MGMT
Contributing writers: Ivy Alphonse-Leja, Gopika
Krishna, Lily Goodspeed, and Eric Sun.

books
Eye of the Tiger Mother
appreciating my bathroom breaks
Phil Lai

jennie YOUNG CARR

literary editor
The Tiger Mother controversy in
a few short sentences: Woman writes
memoir about using traditional Chi-
nese methods of child-rearing. The
Wall Street Journal publishes an ex-
cerpt of said memoir, given the pro-
vocative title “Why Chinese Mothers
are Superior.” Everyone goes batshit
crazy.
At first, I was excited about the
heated discussion surrounding Battle
Hymn of the Tiger Mother, the mem-
oir that launched a thousand death
threats. (I hyperbolize. ABC News failed
to specify how many death threats Amy
Chua, the author, received, but I sus-
pect the number is substantially less.)
A passionate bibliophile, I found it re-
freshing to see a book at the center of
a controversy, rather than, say, Sarah
Palin. Then I realized something: no
one actually read the book. Discourse
has been dominated by vehement igno-
ramuses who assume that a sensation-
alized excerpt is representative of the
entire memoir.
Taken from the opening pages of
Tiger Mother, the published excerpt
glosses over elements of self-satire in
Chua’s writing, presenting her work as
a serious diatribe against weak-willed
Western parenting. While other parts
of Tiger Mother reveal Chua’s devo-
tion to her daughters, she comes across
here as cold and exacting, though ad-
ept at producing child prodigies. In one
anecdote “in favor of coercion,” Chua
uses psychological warfare—including
refusing bathroom breaks—to goad her
7-year-old daughter into perfecting a pi-
ano piece. Extreme? Of course. And yet
her daughter proudly played the once-
daunting piece at a recital the next week.
A bemused Good Morning America re-
porter summarized the ambivalent reac-
tions that Chua’s harsh parenting tactics
and undeniable achievements provoke:
“I don’t know whether to be repulsed,”
she said, “or completely jealous.”
My advice is: be jealous. Not because
of Chua’s daughters, though she raised
two poised and accomplished young
women. Be jealous because, while you
are wondering how to feel about her par-
enting style, Amy Chua’s book is number
two on the New York Times nonfiction
bestseller list. She’s making guest ap-
pearances on The Colbert Report, gig-
gling coyly as Stephen Colbert ever-so-
gently roasts her. (Her appearance is
as disarming as her unexpectedly girl-
ish demeanor. Chua favors slim-fitting
sweaters and wears her long hair loose
and sleek, producing a foxy effect that
has not gone unnoticed by viewers—on-
line discussion boards are flooded with
witticisms such as, “She can be my ti-
ger mother anytime.”) And when critics
claim that Chua’s book is a how-to man-
ual for abusive parenting, she just bats
her eyes ingenuously. As she should: she
wrote a memoir, not a manifesto.
Virtually all of Chua’s television ap-
pearances follow a similar pattern. She
smiles often and laughs good-naturedly
at her interviewer’s foolishness. Battle
Hymn of the Tiger Mother isn’t a par-
enting manual, she stresses. It’s about
her journey as a parent. Once, she
snagged the interviewer’s copy of her
memoir and tapped on the subtitle with
one tastefully manicured nail. “The sto-
ry of how I was humbled by a 13-year-
old,” she read. “It’s all there, right on
the cover.”
Exactly how much Chua was hum-
bled is open to debate, but few seem in-
clined to argue the point. Instead, inter-
views follow the framework established
by the Wall Street Journal, perpetuat-
ing the oversimplification that Chua is a
superior know-it-all who scorns West-
ern parenting methods. The discourse
about Tiger Mother is, regrettably, not
about the book at all. Rather, it is about
a neatly packaged—but reductive—
conception of the book created by the
media. The need to attract viewers and
sell papers led to a choice of shock value
over substance, lamentably focusing
public conversation on the most trivial
question that Tiger Mother raises: Is
Amy Chua a bad parent?
Having made it to 19 without pro-
ducing any progeny, I don’t feel quali-
fied to judge. But I want to continue
the fine tradition of fixating on a dumb
question, so here’s my take. Chua is not
the sort of parent one would choose; she
is demanding, inflexible, and occasional-
ly horrifying to the point of hilarity. (Call
me unfeeling, but I laughed at some of
her threats, including, “If the next time’s
not PERFECT, I’m going to TAKE ALL
YOUR STUFFED ANIMALS AND BURN
THEM!”) Yet, her children—presumably
the best judges of Chua’s parental merit—
seem devoted, even appreciative. In a re-
buttal of the various accusations leveled
against Chua, her elder daughter Sophia
thanked her “Tiger Mom” for the pres-
sure to excel, saying, “If I died tomorrow,
I would die feeling I’ve lived my whole
life at 110 percent.” And while that pace
seems a bit strenuous to this product of
laissez-faire parenting, it’s a far cry from
child abuse. Bad mother? Good mother?
It’s a flawed question that allows for no
ambiguity and, like all unanswerable
questions, deserves only one response: a
derisive roll of the eyes.
 6 arts & culture
POST-

theatre
Victoria Elmore

From Brown to London Town

kate DOYLE
editor-in-chief
Well, reader, you certainly have some decisions
to make. Should you dare to turn your wandering
traveler’s eye off campus this spring, towards the
plentiful offerings of downtown Providence, Boston,
New York, and even London, picking and choosing
is bound to take a turn toward the overwhelming.
For such a woeful affliction, oh brave traveler, never
fear! As to whither you should wander this spring for
a theatrical fix, your own Post- Mag provides some
answers—ours, anyway. Take ‘em or leave ‘em, from
Waterman Street to the West End, here’s what we’re
watching this spring.
Just Downtown: Cozy, eccentric and unpre-
dictable, Providence’s Perishable Theatre regularly
takes the cake when it comes to personality and ar-
tistic fearlessness. Come spring, the research and
development theatre will be staging the New Eng-
land premiere of Carson Kreitzer’s 1:23, a haunting
crime history of filicidal mothers Susan Smith and
Andrea Yates. Not set to open until mid-April, the
production remains, at least for now, shrouded in
mystery, but promises a potent squirm factor and
a seriously chilling vibe. Transit time: 21 minutes
down College Hill. Pay up: $15 for a student tick-
et—plus whatever a good pair of walking shoes’ll run
you.
Trot to Boston: If you’re willing to wander a lit-
tle farther afield, we’re picking Huntington Theatre
Company’s production of Ruined for this semester’s
best-bet Boston-area production. Playwright Lynn
Nottage ’86 earned rave reviews and a Pulitzer in
2009 for the New York production of her flooring
around the world on 5 stages
drama—a gripping story of women in the Demo-
cratic Republic of Congo. Huntington’s production
is giving that earlier incarnation a run for its money,
having garnered some serious buzz this past month
amongst Boston critics. But beware and be warned,
it closes in mere days (on February 7th), so it’s now
or never. Transit time: A little over an hour on
the MBTA, a few minutes on the T, and a few more
on foot. Pay up: $25 for a “35Below” ticket, plus a
few bucks for the T and $15 for a round-trip on the
train.
New York, New York: Transplanted from a
current run at London’s Donmar Warehouse, a new
production of King Lear, starring Shakespeare great
Derek Jacobi, will take to the stage in late April at
the theatrical force-to-be-reckoned-with Brooklyn
Academy of Music. To steal a line from the family
friend of one Post- staffer, critics thus far have been
pretty much “drooling.” Since this one’s coming
straight your way from overseas, you’ll even get a
little international flair thrown in for good measure
on your weekend away—not to mention the added
chic of prowling the NY theatre scene far from the
Great White Way. Transit time: About 3.5 hours
on the bus. Pay up: About $30 on Peter Pan, and as
low as $20 for a cheap seat on an off-peak night.
Jaunt Across the Pond: West End, anyone?
Assuming you play those spring break cards just
so, it’s certainly conceivable (albeit in a dreamy, “if
only” kind of way). While you’re at it, you you may as
well go for broke and get yourself a little star-power
bang for your “quid.” Our overseas pick, presently in
previews, is the celebrity-buzzed talk of Londontown
The Children’s Hour. This much-hyped revival of Lil-
lian Hellman’s scandalous-for-its-day 1930s drama
centers around ruinous rumors at a girls’ boarding
school. The show’s leading lady, string-bean cool
Brit Keira Knightley, made her West End debut in
The Misanthrope a few years back and earned an all-
around report card amongst critics of “not too shab-
by, though neither too spectacular.” She’s back in the
West End with something to prove, but it remains to
be seen if she can step up her game. Transit time:
It’s Keira Knightley, who cares? Pay up: Something
steep, that’s for sure. Look out for spring break airline
sales, and expect your ticket to the show to run you, at
a minimum, £35 (or $55).
What’s that you say? Think you’d prefer to keep it
close to home (and on the cheap)? Not the wandering
type? Can’t leave the immediate vicinity of the SciLi
without experiencing violent convulsions? There’s al-
ways something close to home...
‘Round Brown: Over on our own theatre de-
partment mainstage, the talent’s brand new from the
UK. Now in rehearsals, visiting Prof Nick Ridout’s
production of Shakespeare’s As You Like It opens
this March. Already rumors are a-flying about actors
in panda suits—to say nothing of Ridout’s gutsy new
approach to memorizing one’s lines, in which, well …
one doesn’t. In our book this one’s not-to-be-missed—
if only for sheer quirk factor and a breath of fresh air
from a fresh faculty director. Transit time: 2 min-
utes up Thayer from your home sweet home. Pay up:
$7 for your seat, not a penny for your travels!

film & tv
Brits Do It Better
the skinny on skins
sam KNOWLES
managing editor

MTV’s Skins opens on a lone girl clad
in ragged party-wear walking down a des-
olate suburban street. Her older brother
doesn’t notice, too busy practicing jujut-
su, doing pushups, and, of course, play-
ing window-to-window strip-tease with
the woman across the street. A typical
morning for the Stonems, the camera
intimates. And so begins a gratuitous
remake of the hit British series, borrow-
ing nearly all of its plot from the original
while botching nearly everything else.
Premiering in 2007, the award-win-
ning British Skins follows nine teenag-
ers in Bristol, England, through pills
and booze, sex and break-ups, divorce
and death. Each episode begins with a
close-up of one of the main characters,
the camera slowly zooming out until the
viewer finds himself in someone else’s
world. Some of the more memorable
scenes include Chris walking around his
suburban neighborhood entirely naked,
a mad warehouse party where guests are
suspended by ropes and flee just before
the cops can catch them, a school field
trip to Russia that starts with a sexy vil-
lager seen from afar and ends with her
angry husband and drawn guns. With
these plotlines, it would be difficult to
call the original Skins realistic. But in its
dedication to seeing the world through
the eyes of its characters—who are re-
markable not for being hot or cool but
believable as human beings—the show
stood out in the overcrowded genre of
teen melodrama.
Media coverage so far has focused
on accusations of child pornography tells Tony, nearly salivating. “Chris says one. Whereas the British characters were
directed toward the show. The Parents we could probably convert them. It’ll be beloved but never fully understood, the
Television Council has called Skins “the like girl on girl on dudes!” What would American teenagers are flat and predict-
most dangerous television program for American Skins have done with Tony able. They lack the depth that made the
children” in the history of the medium. and Maxxie’s brief tryst midway through British series so riveting, that allowed the
(As if MTV could have asked for bet- the first season? Would the producers show to seem real even as its plotlines be-
ter advertising.) Those tuning in for a have allowed Tony, here presented as came increasingly far-fectched.
glimpse of the action will be disappoint- little more than an over-confident and All of which begs the question, was an
ed—despite ample sex, so-called graphic excessively suave (if surprisingly short) American remake really necessary? Are we
imagery is limited to dance-floor grop- alpha male, to get with his gay friend? as a people incapable of relating to charac-
ing and some spirited foreplay. Even Surely not. ters with funny accents? Could we not all
though the British show was racier (one And here lies the greatest disap- guess what “tosser” meant? In its attempt
could expect a bare breast or two every pointment of American Skins: the char- to Americanize a work of uniquely British
few episodes), it used sex to show its acters. Tony is the confident guy. Cadie genius, MTV simply gets its knickers in a
characters at their most vulnerable—not is the crazy girl. Michelle is the hot twist.
to turn on its viewership, the clear goal
of the American version.
Most of the characters in the Ameri-
can version carry over from the British
series, with a few notable exceptions.
Diehards will surely miss Maxxie, the
rare character who is gay but not merely
a token. The writers treated him as a
person first, not a vehicle for poorly con-
ceived social commentary. Viewers will
find in his place the gorgeous Tea (pro-
nounced TEE-ah), whose same-sex en-
counters MTV likely thought would be
more palatable for American audiences.
But the substitution seems ill-conceived.
Consider when Chris and Abbud agree
to stop by a gay bar with Tea, as they
did with Maxxie on the British series.
With Maxxie, the scene served as a re-
markable testament to the strength of
childhood friendship and its ability to
defy expectation; in the American se-
ries, it is merely a clumsy reaffirmation
of stereotype. “It’s like live porn,” Abbud
Kelly Winter
 food & booze
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 2010
Illustration by Lauren Youngsmith
7
Me Jane, You Food
one foodie’s need to knead

which seemed to me a perfectly reason- Nina Ruelle’s No-Knead Bread

jane BRENDLINGER
food columnist
Over winter break, when my travel
plans were limited to a work commute
and trips to the local Blockbuster, I de-
cided to venture into the culinary un-
known. Snowed in with countless hours
at my disposal, I resolved to bake my
own bread. What, I asked, could possi-
bly be more comforting then the scent
of bread baking in the oven, more satis-
fying than that first warm bite? Though
I cannot remember, nor even imagine
a time when bread was a homemade
staple in the Brendlinger household,
the idea called to mind memories of a
home that wasn’t mine, a childhood I
never had. So I set out on a treacherous
expedition to the local co-op for yeast,
and I was in business.
Or so I thought. Turns out, bread
was a trickier adversary than I imag-
ined. Granted, I kept making mistakes.
For my first attempt, I chose a basic
wheat recipe from The Joy of Cooking,
which called for fast-acting yeast. (Dif-
ferent, I learned, from active dry yeast,
able substitute.) My bread refused to
rise, lying at the bottom of the bread pan
like a dead pet your dad tells you is just
sleeping forever. On my second try, I was
older, but none the wiser. Yes, I used the
correct yeast, but I quickly discovered
that cottage cheese and sour cream are
not happy bedfellows—my food proces-
sor heated to the verge of combustion in
the mechanical kneading process. Again,
the product was similar: squishy and
practically unleavened. Needless to say
(no pun intended), I was frustrated. Did
I knead too much? Too little? Too vigor-
ously? I ate the weird bread, but I felt
weird about it.
Back on campus and determined to
overcome my bread disability, I enlisted
the help of Nina Ruelle, baker extraordi-
naire and all-around sweetheart. With a
foolproof, no-knead recipe, Nina walked
me through the process and the over-
night affair that, yes, took patience, but
only about 30 minutes of real work. The
result was perfect: crusty on the outside,
soft yet light and cavernous within, and
just a hint of sour flavor for a tangy kick.
All you really need is a cast-iron pot, or
a friend with one. I recommend mak-
ing the dough on a Saturday afternoon:
while it rises, rage.
Courtesy of The New York Times, which adapted its recipe from Jim
Lahey, Sullivan Street Bakery
Ingredients
3 cups all-purpose or bread flour, more for dusting
¼ teaspoon instant yeast
1¼ teaspoons salt
1. In a large bowl combine flour, yeast, and salt. Add 1 5/8 cups water,
and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy and sticky. Cover bowl with
plastic wrap and let it rest overnight.
2. Lightly flour a work surface and place dough on it; sprinkle it with a
little more flour and fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with
plastic wrap and let rest about 15 minutes.
3. Using just enough flour to keep dough from sticking to work surface
or to your fingers, shape dough into a ball. Generously coat a dishtowel
with flour and place the dough seamside down on top of it. Cover with
another towel and let rise for about 2 hours. When it is ready, dough will
be more than double in size and will not readily spring back when poked
with a finger.
4. At least a half-hour before dough is ready, heat oven to 450 de-
grees. Put a 6- to 8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex, or
ceramic) in oven as it heats. When dough is ready, carefully remove pot
from oven. Slide your hand under the towel and turn dough over into pot,
seam side up. It may look like a mess, but don’t fret, it will turn out fine.
Shake pan once or twice if dough is unevenly distributed; it will straighten
out as it bakes. Cover with lid and bake 30 minutes, then remove lid and
bake another 15 to 30 minutes, until loaf is beautifully browned. Let it
cool, but not too much.

Mexican Food War

wrapping up the burrito debate
matt KLEBANOFF
managing editor
In the fall of 2008, like all new first I’m talking about American burritos, the
years at the time, I was faced with a Mexican equivalent of chicken and broc-
choice: Antonio’s or Nice Slice. You coli at a Chinese restaurant. (In the en-
couldn’t wholeheartedly enjoy both, or suing discussion, I decided to disregard
the taco Winnebago, because it’s only
Caroline Washburn

simply dine at one establishment with-

out an opinion on the other. In this
way, the Thayer Street pizza rivalry was
not unlike the Michael Jackson versus
Prince debate during the ‘80s: both situ-
ations required you to make a choice
and defend it with a thoughtful and co-
gent argument.
But this is no longer the case. In
the collective consciousness of College
Hill, the pizza debate has taken a back-
seat to a more pressing issue: el debate
del burrito. The December opening of
the Chipotle on Thayer lies at the heart
of this Mexican food-fueled debate. It
has forced students to ask themselves:
Where am I going to buy my burrito?
Even before Chipotle came to Thay-
er, there was no shortage of options for
the hungry Brown student in search of
a pseudo-Mexican fix. Bagel Gourmet,
Bagel Gourmet Olé, Baja’s Tex and Mex
Grill, Gordito Burrito, the taco Winne-
bago, and even Toledo (the “cone zone”)
all served up Mexican fare long before
Thayer had a Chipotle of its own.
To highlight the strengths and weak-
nesses of each establishment, I decided
to choose a “winner” in four categories:
ambience, price, taste, and options. I
intentionally did not focus on authentic-
ity as a critical factor, because it doesn’t
matter to me. This article is not about
the burritos that people eat in Mexico.
around when everywhere else is closed,
and very few people ever make a sober
decision to go there. That being said, its
tacos are cheap and tasty.)
Ambience: If you want to eat a bur-
rito in a pizza place, then go to Gordito,
which shares its premises with Antonio’s.
If you want to eat a burrito in a bagel
place, then go to Bagel Gourmet or Bagel
Gourmet Olé, which are essentially bagel
shops that also sell Mexican food. If you
want to eat a burrito in a burrito place,
then go to Chipotle. Though an awkward
table arrangement makes it difficult to
find a spot at peak hours, Chipotle is
the only real burrito establishment with
even halfway adequate seating.
Winner: Chipotle.
Price: Burritos aren’t cheap, but
considering how enormous they are, I
wouldn’t let a small difference in price
affect where I get my lunch. Gordito’s
burritos are certainly the most afford-
able; it is currently having a two-for-one
deal, presumably to step up its game
against the new competition.
At Baja’s, a standard burrito will run
you $5.99, no matter what meat, veg-
gies, or toppings you choose. At Chipo-
tle, burritos range from $6.25 to $6.65,
which isn’t a huge difference from Baja’s,
especially when you consider the amount
of sustenance a Chipotle burrito can
provide (a chicken burrito with cilantro-
lime rice, black beans, two types of salsa,
and cheese contains nearly 1000 calo-
ries, and about 30 g of fat). What really
makes Chipotle the loser in the price cat-
egory is its policy of charging $1.95 extra
for guacamole. That’s just not cool.
Winner: Gordito
Runner-up: Baja’s
Taste: Not everyone will agree, but
Chipotle’s burritos are far superior to all
of the other options on Thayer. Many
Brown students know it but won’t ad-
mit it, because Chipotle is a chain and
therefore must be uncool and evil. But
Chipotle’s emphasis on using fresh,
high-quality ingredients and hormone-
free meat makes for the best burrito on
College Hill.
As far as Mexican fare goes, you
couldn’t go wrong at Bagel Gourmet or
Bagel Gourmet Olé either, which both
offer solid burritos, tacos, and nachos.
Even though I’m a big Chipotle fan, I
still frequent Bagel Gourmet, mostly
because of their excellent breakfast
burritos.
Baja’s isn’t bad either, although it
seems to have spread itself too thin,
focusing on quantity of options rather
than quality of the individual items.
When you also make cheese steaks,
burgers, and hot dogs, it makes sense
that your burritos wouldn’t be top
notch.
Winner: Chipotle
Options: Baja’s makes cheese
steaks. Bagel Gourmet (Olé) makes
bagels. Chipotle just makes burritos,
burrito bowls, tacos, and salads, all
with the same basic ingredients. Sure,
its menu isn’t big, but Chipotle does
what it does well. Every time you step
foot in that stainless steel fortress of
classy Mexican fastfood, you know
you’re going to get a good ch*ngado
burrito.
Winner: Chipotle
8 sex & etiquette
POST-
MM
sexpert
Boneroma: n. umbrella term for
the genital fragrance (and resultant
gustatory flavor) experienced by the
giving party during oral sex
The first boy I ever loved smelled
like shit. Instead of adhering to so-
cially acceptable standards of hy-
giene, he’d rub patchouli on his scalp,
sanitize his breath with a clove ciga-
rette, and go commando for purposes
of crotch fumigation. I could always
tell he was approaching when the air
around me started to smell like the
inside of a lumberjack’s Carhartt’s.
Deodorant, he thought, polluted the
virility of his natural stank.
He was right. Scent is the single
sexiest sense, and it’s through vari-
ous chemoreceptors in our olfactory
systems that we pick up the pher-
emones of our sexual partners. To
be honest, I thought his pit-sweat
smelled so good I’d have worn that
shit before Chanel No. 5. When I look
out my window at night, I know there
is a noxious cross-country trucker
your next stop, the friend zone
L&D,
It’s now the start of my fourth
semester at Brown, and most of
my friends seem to have found re-
lationships, but I haven’t had much
success. None of the straight men I
know are interested, but they all say
I have a great personality. Help!
Stuck In Friend Territory, Es-
cape Demanded
Darlink SIFTED,
I could bore you with the tradi-
tional advice for this (e.g., put your-
self out there and join some clubs
to meet people with similar inter-
ests), but I’m sure you’re doing this
already. I’m also going to believe
you have a great personality, even
though I don’t know you. Why am
I making these assumptions? Be-
cause I have seen my straight fe-
male friends have the same problem
over and over, and I know they are
awesome, beautiful, datable, and do
all of the things you’re supposed to
do to snare Your Dream Man. But,
both demographically and cultur-
ally, you are at a slight disadvantage
here. So I’m not going to tell you to
do that. I think that the rule of find-
ing someone to be with is that they
don’t appear until you stop hunting
them. Just chill, go about your busi-
Boneroma
the scent of a (wo)man
somewhere out there, waiting to make
a married woman out of me.
Taste, though, is an equally impor-
tant part of the equation. As the other
chemoreceptive sense, taste is deter-
mined by the chemical ingredients of
whatever’s being ingested. Though my
high school boyfriend may not have
had the best personal hygiene, he ate
a lot of fresh produce, stayed hydrated,
and didn’t drink too much alcohol. As
a result, when I wrested my face from
inside his armpits and moved it to the
place his underwear should have been,
I found his semen tasted pretty good.
Semen, which is composed mainly of
water, with some proteins, carbs, fat,
and trace minerals, should taste gener-
ally kind of like snot—a little sweet and
a little salty, with varying degrees of
acidity, blandness, and bitterness.
The same is true of female secre-
tion. The vaginal environment is more
astringent than that of the seminal
vesicles, so it often tastes more acidic
than male ejaculate. Since the inner la-
bia are moist with secretion most of the
ness, spend time with your friends,
be friendly, hook up with people if
you want to. Eventually something
will happen. This method sucks.
A LOT. But I’ve found it much less
frustrating than the usual routine of
eye-f*cking random dudes in coffee
shops or trying to snag someone at a
sweaty frat party.
xoxo
Lovecraft
Dear SIFTED,
First, let me congratulate you on
your acronym, one of the cleverest our
readers have submitted. Second, it’s
good for you to take the initiative. In-
stead of simply eye-f*cking the dudes
in the coffee shop, go say something
to them. It may seem weird, it may
seem absolutely awkward, and they
may tell you to get out of their faces
because they’re cramming for orgo,
but the odds are that you’ll be able to
at least talk to them for a little while.
That said, don’t be discouraged if
you chase and keep ending up with
nothing. You’ll get someone—it’s just
a matter of time. If you’re nearly as
awesome as you say you are, people
are going to notice.
Your Friendly International Stag,
Dorian
time, while penises generally hang out
in various states of dryness and sweati-
ness, vaginas often have a characteris-
tic smell. Depending on the stage of the
menstrual cycle, the amount of sweat,
the presence of infection, the recency
of showering, and—last but not least—
diet, the vagina can smell sweet, sour,
fishy, yeasty, or any other adjective
that may precede the name of a dish at
a Chinese restaurant. I’d be much more
worried about a floral-smelling snatch
than a healthy, musty one.
Almost everyone I polled—both
men and women—had tasted their se-
cretions at one time or another, either
via the mouths or genitals of their part-
ners, or by licking their fingers under
the covers after a clandestine wanking
in their dorms. If you’re curious or con-
cerned about how you might taste to a
partner, go ahead and sample yourself.
If you’re flexible enough to lick your
own genitals, then not only should you
do so, but you should also consider
yourself incredibly blessed and forward
me your contact information.
Emily
Post-
DISASTER! I think my dad
found my piece, the Green Hornet,
over winter break. Like a f*cking
idiot, I left it in the pocket of my
jeans, which I later gave him to put
in the wash. The next day, it was
gone without a trace. He hasn’t
mentioned it since, but I’m sure he
must know now that I smoke. Am I
being paranoid? Should I bring it
up? And, most importantly, can I
ask for it back? The Green Hornet
was my first piece and has been
there for me through high times
and, well, more high times.
-Piece of My Heart
Dearest Piece of My Heart,
How saddened I am to hear
of your dilemma! And sadder to
still to bear the unfortunate tid-
ings that your dear Green Hornet
is lost forever. After such a fresh-
man mistake of leaving the Hornet
in your trousers, it either went to
High Heaven in the laundry or was
discovered by the launderer: your
father.
In the former case, your fam-
ily is still in the dark about your
propensity to light up. Bringing up
the issue will only lead to unfortu-
nate revelations and an even more
Finally, if you’re a really picky
eater, don’t be afraid to ask your
partner to cut down his or her red
meat consumption, drink and smoke
less, eat more veggies, drink more
water, stay away from garlic, and
nom some fruit (pineapple in partic-
ular has been proven to make semen
taste like the inside of a Nik-L-Nip,
i.e., super tasty). There exist a range
of products, from oral strips to deep
throat mints, from “B.J. Drops” to
“Green Apple Cock Rocks,” that im-
prove the gustatory experience for
the discerning cunnilinguist or fin-
icky fellatrix. My advice? Don’t bring
foreign cherry-flavored substances
into your oral sex, and for the love of
God, don’t anaesthetize your throat
with a “tongue tingler” or any bottle
reading “Yummy Cummy.” While I
don’t recommend burning incense
near your nads and calling it a “show-
er,” I think being natural, conscious,
and considerate is generally the way
to go.
unfortunate “big talk”, in which case
you can always blame the influence of
“those crazy hippies” at Brown.
If the latter is true, and your father
has acquired this damaging piece of in-
formation, your silence is still golden.
Honesty may be the best policy, but
there’s no need to stir up unnecessary
conflict. If he hasn’t brought it up, Dad
appears to be giving you a free pass. If
he is blazing mad, he appears to feel
that confiscating your piece is punish-
ment enough. If he is just blazing, you
can trust that the Hornet will be put to
good use, and maybe one day he will
invite you to feel its sting once more.
As someone who has celebrated 4/20
with her own family, I can attest to the
pleasure of the shared parent-child
toke. But this is an experience he, and
not you, will have to initiate.
So cut your losses and zip your
lip. And remember, there are always
more fish in the sea, or pieces on the
street. Thayer Street, that is. With just
a modicum of investigative effort, you
will find a veritable potpourri of smok-
ing apparatus available at College Hill
stores. And when you’ve discovered the
new piece of your heart, do yourself a
favor and leave it in your dorm.
Sincerely,
Emily Post-