But there’s no point in dwelling on the past. What matters is that we’re here now to thrust into you with our journalistic prowess. We’re more than prepared to insert our firm, powerful take on current events into your docile, yearning hands. So get ready, dearest audience, because in the words of the immortal pop culture icon Ke$ha, this summer “we goin’ hard, hard, hard, hard, hard, hard.”I think we can agree that you all deserve a recap of spring quarter at Northwestern University. Did I say spring quarter? What I meant was SWEET MOTHER OF ASS, WHY HASN’T IT WARMED UP YET quarter. Yes, the sultry skank of a temptress that is Chicago’s climate certainly slipped us a Rohypnol this year, keeping the weather consistently below 60°F. Oh, and in case you were wondering, that “F” doesn’t stand for “Fahrenheit”, it stands for “Fuck everyone and everything.” (Note: NOAA is currently trying to determine if there is a correlation between the cool climate and the absence of new Sherman Ave articles.) Fortunately, the weather did eventually warm up; Memorial Day was a gorgeous, sunny day with temperatures in the mid 80’s, and practically every single student spent the day enjoying the weather. If I had a nickel for every brutally awkward sunburn I saw the next day, I would be well on my way to paying for a single class at this unjustifiably expensive university. Speaking of classes at this unjustifiably expensive university, another hot topic of spring quarter was the cancellation of the Human Sexuality course for its use of a fucksaw (a word that should be making its way into the Oxford English Dictionary before too long) in a post-lecture demonstration. This puts me in a difficult place, because I really don’t like disagreeing with His Royal Highness Morton O. Schapiro (you may think I use the word “royal” sarcastically, but damn, the man loves his purple). However, I really don’t support the censorship of educational materials, and neither does the majority of the Northwestern student body. I don’t want to blow this out of proportion, but I know that our founding fathers would not have stood for the censorship of an entire field of study based solely on the use of a motorized dildo. Granted, they didn’t have motorized dildos back then, but they certainly had steam-powered ones. As much as I’d like to picture Abigail Adams pleasuring herself with a sexual contraption, it’s more important to recount the highlight of spring quarter: Dillo Day. Dillo Day is a music festival at Northwestern that started in 1972, when six students from Texas decided it was necessary to honor the armadillo – an animal widely known for its keg stands, public urination, and drunken hook-ups. Waking up on the morning of Dillo is like waking up on Christmas; you know from the moment you open your eyes that your day will instantly be riddled with little treasures. Except on Christmas morning, those little treasures are wrapped gifts, whereas on Dillo, those little treasures are shots of Smirnoff that you’ll likely chase with a BK Breakfast Muffin. But that’s only the beginning of the day! The great thing about Dillo Day is that when you’re already drunkenly belting The Script at 8:45am, you have an entire day of unforeseeable events awaiting you. This year, we were lucky enough to have such musical artists as New Pornographers (a group I vaguely remember enjoying), Peter Bjorn and John (I don’t know, just Google them), and B.O.B. – a hip-hop artist whose talent is surpassed only by his douchebaggery, and most other people’s talent.
It’s difficult to give a valid account of Dillo Day, because Dillo Day experiences are like snowflakes; they are all unique in their own various ways, but ultimately, they all come together to form one giant clusterfuck that deeply frustrates the Evanston community.
After Dillo Day, we had ahead of us only a measly two weeks. That being said, it was a two weeks of final papers, final exams, final projects, final straws with TAs (I mean really, why the hell would a grad student studying political science be the TA for a Russian literature class?), and final goodbyes for the summer. And that was it! Now it’s time for a summer full of serenading you, our readers, with our brilliance. Prepare yourselves, because Sherman Ave is putting on its skin-tight leather pants and blasting Katy Perry’s “Firework”, and when that happens, God knows what will follow.