Flushed: My Brief Adventure In A Busch Campus Bathroom

By Spence Blazak

The date is April 28th. The time is 4:11. My location is the bathroom in Busch Dining Hall at Rutgers. Some moments in time fly away into the abyss of eternity like chaff in the wind. Others are engrained into our minds forever and become a part of who we are. This moment is one of the latter.

I step into the bathroom to do what one generally does in such an establishment. It is Open House Day at Rutgers, so throughout the morn there were many partakings in which one could partake. I partook in face painting and received a Mike Tyson face tattoo (pictured above). For frame of reference, I also was wearing an obnoxiously red Hawaiin shirt that cost me 50 cents. It is the kind that one generally finds worn by recovering alcoholics.

Needless to say, I was looking good.

I go into the bathroom stall and lock the door. I drop my key and bend over to pick it up. Somehow, this bathroom stall is a realm like no other in the physical world. Somehow, gravity was manipulated by God's merciless hand to pluck my phone from my pocket and plop it into the icy waters of the toilet bowl behind me.

I stare into the one eyed soul of ceramic evil. It has snatched my phone. I then avert my gaze briefly and realize that there is a motion sensor detecting my every move: if I make one false step, then my phone will be flushed away to the land of dead goldfish and radioactive waste from Three Mile Island.

My woes didn't end here. There was a speck I saw right under the corner of the phone. A speck of brown deceit and melancholy. A speck that, when stared into for too long, could drive a man to the Edge of Sanity on the Canyon of Reason. Poop. There was poop in there.

Flash back to a side quest in my life: destroy my hell-forged phone so I have an excuse to buy myself a new one. Flash back to the present. I'm, at first, very excited about this. I thought I would have had to make a trip to Mount Doom (where it was incepted) to destroy the forsaken piece of technology.

Then I have a horrible realization: I gave my number to the beautiful girl from my Psych class that morning via Facebook chat, and I'm still waiting for her text. Horror rushes through my head. What. Have. I. Done. I just know what she will text me later on. "Dear Spence. I love you. If you respond to me by the end of the night, I'll dress up as Taylor Swift/Princess Leia and be forever yours. Can't wait! :)". Smiley face. I need that phone back.

I try to make a stick out of toilet paper to push the phone out without touching it. This works about as well you would expect. No choice. The skies open up, thunder swells into a stormy cloud and tears off the bathroom's roof. I puff out my chest, call upon the power of Odin, and jam my fist into the belly of the beast.

I arise, triumphant with my phone..........but covered in the toilet's bloody pulp. It flushes itself. I felled the beast in the nick of time. Nay. It still lives. It continuously stares at me, mocking me with its unblinking gaze. My hand will never be the same. Its scar will always remind me of this day and this horrible battle.

I wash up my wounds next to another man who washes up as well. I dry off and leave the battle field.

I then walk back in as the man stares at me, with a perplexed look on his face.

"I forgot to go......"

"Blunderbuss"-Jack White: Review

By Spence Blazak

What kind of 21^st century man writes some of the best music of the new millennium with a woman, takes her name when they get married, and tells the press that they are so much in love that they are siblings, not spouses? The answer: the same man who could write an album like Blunderbuss.

Jack White, the patron saint of the Nashville music scene, was a hopeless romantic. When his second wife and him divorced in 2011, the couple threw a party to celebrate the fact that they would still be friends. This is the first original music that fans have heard from White since his divorce, and he has taken his music into a whole new territory.

As brilliant as Jack White’s music has always been, it has never been one thing in particular: personal. Sure, he wrote “Seven Nation Army” about the extreme anger and passion bubbling inside of a man wanting to participate in a protest, but that is still a broad subject matter. With Blunderbuss, White took a risk by letting his fans into his personal life. This risk paid off with an album that is an instant classic which will be played on this writer’s laptop for many times to come.

For the first time in his songwriting career, White isn’t in love with the idea of being in love. This resonates from the first keyboard trill of “Missing Pieces” to the last chord ringing out of “Take Me With You When You Go.” In “Sixteen Saltines,” the powerful opening lick raises the hairs on the back the listener’s neck as White denies jealousy of his ex’s new lover, even though his lyrics show the intrinsic haunt he feels.

On “Freedom at 21,” his pain is more tangible when the woman in question “cut off the bottoms of my feet/make me walk through salt” all with “a smile on her face.” Womankind has clawed at White’s heart, and as the saying goes, “Hell hath no furry like a Jack scorned.”

The most powerful track on the album is the single “Love Interruption.” It is a song that must be fully absorbed in every aspect. He sings, “I want love to change my friends to enemies/change my friends to enemies/and show me how it’s my fault.” Love, White’s old friend, is now a punk whom he refuses to acknowledge. Disillusionment fills his voice more and more with each verse as he howls sarcasm in Love’s face.

White has always played head games with his fans, in moments like when he performed a one-note concert in Canada, and the White faithful are finally getting what they always wanted: to know what’s on their idol’s mind. No beating around the bush of personal struggle, like with The Dead Weather or hiding behind glorious guitar playing, like with The White Stripes. Blunderbuss is essentially Jack White in his musical birthday suit.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spence: My Life as a Spy

By Spence Blazak

Stone-cold jaw line, irises as creamy as a Hershey kiss, and an affinity for tangoing with femme fatales. I was made by God Himself to be a secret agent assassin.

My mission was this: The Scarlet Crusades. Everyone in my building was given a target who also lives there. To assassinate a target, one must put a sticker onto them. Simple enough? WRONG. This is a game that was filled with lies, intrigue, friendships that were tarnished, sex, How I Met Your Mother, me getting mad, and lots of Pirate's Booty.

I'll start at the beginning. The boys and I all register and wait for our target to come on Gmail. We sit in the lounge.

Me: "So how do you think this is going to turn out?"

Joe: "I'm going to lose."

Me: "….aaaaanybody else?"

James: "WE SHOULD USE THIS TO MEET THE HOT GIRLS FROM UPSTAIRS!"

Me: "That just might be -THE BEST IDEA I'VE EVER HEARD!"

Nick: "Yeah!"

Our plan is to walk up to one of the angels from upstairs, pretend that we are going to tag them, then ask them if they want to get married. It's truly a fool proof plan. We then go off on a tangent of the funniest pick up lines we can think of. The best one we have is "hey…we are twins and it is our birthday." Yes. We used it the following night. Yes. It worked. But that's another blog post for another day.

We then go off on another random tangent, securing the boys' place in my mind as "Rutgers' Answer to Seinfeld". This new tangent is about whether Wortortle the Pokemon is a tortoise or a turtle. Just as I yell "YOU FREAKING IDIOT, DO YOU THINK THAT ASH WOULD WASTE A POKE BALL ON A FREAKING TURTLE?!?!" one of the angels from upstairs walks by. I make a mental note to cross her off the list of potential women I will ever talk to again.

A few days later, I get my target. Irv from the second floor. It looks like I'm going to be in dangerous territory if I venture upstairs, so I decide to wait in my lair on the first floor, like a trap door spider waiting to pounce. I immediately forget about the game for a few days, like any great spy. How will my enemies know what I am thinking when I'm not thinking at all?! Genius.

In the meantime, all of my friends begin to fall. Cole from the second floor kills Joe immediately (as he prophesized…..poor Joe). James is killed by Shiv from the second floor (who has an A Beautiful Mind-esque web of connections on her notebook to figure out who is trying to assassinate whom). Cole kills Ben while he is studying for Chem. The bastard.

Then. All of a sudden. Everything changes.

I finish up my weekly shower and go to unlock my door, then receiving word that Irv is upstairs in his lounge. Unguarded.

Me: "All right. Let me put pants on first….eh.......YOLO"

I get Ben and Nick to be my bodyguards before heading upstairs with my assassin sticker. I then immediately have a wardrobe malfunction. But spies don't trifle themselves with "laws" or "caring about wardrobe malfunctions."

I see him. My target is on the phone. I walk by, pretending that I'm just "walking to the other side of the lounge". Then, the Black Mamba strikes. I tag him. I say, "I'm sorry." My calling card. My adrenaline is pumping. I then realize Irv was on the phone with his mom having a serious conversation. I run downstairs. I feel like a criminal. I'm such a badass now!…..I'm about to throw up.....

Shiv comes up to me and tells me that Irv's target was Marj, so now I have to tag her. Right on cue, Marj walks into my lounge.

Marj: "Spence! I know who your next target is!"

My mind: "THE JIG IS UP! I'M ALL WASHED UP! SOMEONE TELL NICK I'M SORRY I TOOK HIS RAMEN!"

Me: "Who?"

Marj: "Ryan at the front desk! Here is a sticker! Go get him now!"

I take the sticker and start to write the name of my target on it. I do this discretely. Like a badass. My hand shakes. "M-A-R-"

Marj: "Hurry it up Spence!"

I'm literally about to throw up.

I write the final "-J." I muster up all my courage, then tag Marj.

Marj: "Spence…..?"

Me: "I'M SORRY MARJ I HAD TO-'

Marj: "Spence you freaking idiot! Irv already killed me! DO YOU THINK I'M THAT STUPID!"

Me: This

I go, tag Ryan, then slink back to my room. My newest target is Jasmine from the third floor. So, once again, I wait.

In the meantime, I lie to Shiv and tell her I was killed to lower my profile. Also, our friend Jeremy is Cole's most recent target. Cole camps outside the bathroom and waits for Jeremy. Our boy somehow escapes and darts into Nick's room at the end of the hall. He then pulls out the screen and jumps out the window, sneaking away to the dining hall. Cole follows him out and tags him. One of the saddest things ever.

Days pass and the competition is always in the back of my mind. Like any great spy. We have a floor meeting about combatting racism in the building. A girl screams and runs through the lounge, immediately followed by her assassin. This scares some people into stop being racist, but mostly makes them just want more of the free chips.

Later that night, as I am sitting in my room eating the chips I stole from the meeting, I hear someone say "Jasmine" outside. I open my door just as she is running away, having been warned by Ryan my previous victim. So it goes.

I bide my time. Apparently someone named "Lisa" has me. This "Lisa" will have a pretty tough time catching the Black Mamba. That's me, in case you forgot.

As I sit in the lounge one night, I see Jasmine get into the elevator in the lobby. I immediately get up and run with the speed of an ocelot towards the metal doors. They start to close. I throw myself between the doors and it closes on me. It opens slightly and I get in.

Me: "You're Jasmine, right?"

Girl: "What? Haha. No. She lives down the hall from me."

Defeat. I awkwardly leave the elevator. I then run into my roommate.

Bayo: "YOU IDIOT THAT WAS HER!"

I then lay on the floor, go into fetal position, and make this noise.

Now, I find myself running from Cole. Somehow I bullshitted my way into the final four people. Anyway, he tailed me back from my Psych class, but couldn't get me on the crowded bus home. He then waited outside our building for me. I play it cool. I know he will screw up this hit on me. He comes over to me and says he needs to ask me something.

Me: "PISS OFF!"

I start to run like never before. My adrenaline is yet again pumping. There is nothing I want more right now than to win, win, win! He is getting closer. I contemplate throwing my back pack at his feet, then maybe he will trip and explode. Naw. I have my laptop in there. He leans forward to pin me. I make a fist and get ready to hit him in the face. What am I doing? What kind of a spy am I?

In the middle of my existential crisis, he tags me and I die. This all lasted about 4 seconds.

I'm a ghost now. Forever floating amidst the abysmal nothingness of College Ave campus. I retreat to my domicile. I swipe into the building.

Cole: "Hey, could you hold the door for me?"

I smile a Grinchy smile , then pull the door shut right behind me.

Me: "Piss off."

Game, Set, Spence.

Goodnight, My Love: A Farewell to the New Jersey Nets

By Spence Blazak

As my friend Dave once said when I got a breakaway in the first few minutes we ever played NHL 10, "this is where it ends." It's all over. The New Jersey Nets are a thing of the past (they are playing their last home game tonight, before moving to Brooklyn next year), and now it is time for me to do something I should have done a long time ago: apologize. I plan on giving them the best "I'm sorry" message since Ruben Studdard in this song or this lizard with his wife.

Dear New Jersey Nets,

I know why you are leaving. It's because of me. As a New Jerseyite I know that I should have faithfully followed you, but my haughty eyes gave in to my temptations before me. Yes. I decided to like the Celtics instead of you. Please forgive me.

I treated you like that nice girlfriend who gets taken advantage of. I made out with you, said I loved you, then dumped you on prom night and shacked up with your ex-best friend. But every once in awhile, I still call you up if I want to go to second base, because I know you will be down(on account of your "daddy issues").

I only saw you play twice. Once against the Chicago Bulls and once against the Atlanta Hawks. I only went because I wanted to see Derrick Rose and Brian Scalbrine. I'm not proud of what I've done. I plan on spending the rest of my empty life making it up to you.

I'm sorry, okay? What else do you want me to say? All right. I'll tell you all the things I'm sorry for, even though I doubt that will ease your hurt.

I'm sorry:

-That I only went to see Nets games so that I could see the visiting teams play.

-That I yelled "Hey Humph! I won't break your heart like Kim did!" at Kris Humphries right after his divorce.

-That I yelled to Brook Lopez: "LIFE REALLY WENT DOWN HILL AFTER STANFORD DIDN'T IT?!"

-That I frequently suggest making a banner that says: "The New Jersey Nets! Where Talent Goes to Die!"

-That I hit Sly the Fox on the butt.

-That I referred to the drug deal happening in the third floor bathroom as the most exciting thing to happen during the whole game.

-That I laughed when one of the Nets Dancers asked if I wanted a calendar with all of their pictures on it.

-That when I saw Taylor Swift perform in your arena, and it was one of the most depressing nights of my whole life, I said to myself "Hey, at least I didn't have to see the Nets lose as well!"

-That I laughed until I hurt myself when the only celebrity on the celeb cam was a random Jets practice squad running back.

-That I had the exact same reaction when Lil Bow Wow was at the other game.

-That it never gets old how the "Tinker Bell spreading pixie dust" noise is what they play when a Net makes his free throws.

-That I laughed when Bill Simmons ranked the Nets as the single least appealing NBA team to see play live, and he said their only savior was the slim possibility of seeing co-owner Jay-Z in the stands.

I'll remember you as you were: losing by double digits when I left 10 minutes early so that I could catch the train home.

I'll always love you,

Spence

Rock N' Wookiee: The Year's Hall of Fame Snubs

By Peter Long

Another year, another Hall of Fame screwing up something important. Now, I know what you’re thinking, and no, I’m not talking about Alanis Morisette’s sixth straight snub from the Canadian Music Hall of Fame (Isn’t THAT ironic!). I’m talking about those who were once again not inducted into the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame, and there are some glaring omissions.

As if Rolling Stone’s bias isn’t present enough in the induction process (Mr. Douchey-First-Name himself Jann Wenner, founder and editor-in-chief of Rolling Stone, is the chairman of the RnR HoF Foundation for God’s sake…and I’m pretty sure Bono is the treasurer…I could be wrong), Donovan was inducted this year, ladies and gentleman. EFFING DONOVAN.

The Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame’s original intention was to induct those artists who were not only influential to the genre, but also influential to music in general (REMINDER: ABBA and Steely Dan are enshrined in the Hall, but I love the Dan as much as anyone). This year they somewhat returned to that principle. The Red Hot Chili Peppers were the fore fathers of the alternative movements and more-or-less created the forgettable rap rock genre, The Beastie Boys brought hip-hop even further into the mainstream and The Faces were one of the most infamous rock n’ roll bands of their generation who were overshadowed by their frontman (Rod Stewart). But, there are certain artists (no, not Alanis) that need to get their due sometime soon.

Here is a list of seven artists who need to be inducted into the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame. Order of importance goes from the lowest number to the highest number:

7. Deep Purple- Sure, they wrote “Smoke on the Water,” but they released a string of albums form the late-60’s to the early-70’s that were classic and heavily influential on the metal genre. They are often forgotten as pioneers of heavy metal when in reality, it should go 1) Black Sabbath, 2) Led Zeppelin, 3) Deep Purple.

6. Cheap Trick- The creators of pop rock. Without early hardcore (Minor Threat, Bad Brains), 80’s independent rock (Husker Du, Minutemen) and Cheap Trick, we don’t have the generation of alternative artists that saw a renaissance in the 1990’s or the pop punk bands of today.

5. Chic- One of the earliest disco groups, wrote “Good Times,” sampled by the Sugarhill Gang on their song “Rapper’s Delight,“ and created hip-hop. They should be in.

4. Black Flag- The creators of hardcore. The hardest of hard. As was the case with Cheap Trick, without Black Flag, we wouldn’t have the 90’s rock that we know and love, specifically Seattle bands such as Nirvana, Pearl Jam and Soundgarden.

3. Rush- Without Rush, bands like Smashing Pumpkins, Metallica and Rage Against the Machine would cease to exist. These Canadians have always been bullied by Rolling Stone and have never received coverage in the publication, hence completely defeating their chances of getting in.

2. Carole King- Not only did King create one of the best pop albums of all-time (1971’s Tapestry), but she wrote “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?” for The Shirelles, “You Make Me Feel (Like a Natural Woman)” for Aretha Franklin and “Pleasant Valley Sunday” for The Monkees. This woman has played a pivotal role in rock n’ roll history both as a songwriter and a performer, yet hasn’t received her due.

1. Kiss- Kiss’ absence is exhibit A for the Hall of Fame’s status as the “What Critics Think You Should Listen To Hall of Fame.” Not only was Kiss influential to metal bands such as Pantera, but they were an influence on anyone who walked onto a stage, most notably Lady Gaga and Madonna.

My Application for the Coaching Position of the Tennessee Lady Vols Basketball Team

To Whom It May Concern,

I take women's basketball VERY seriously. With the retiring of legendary women's basketball coach Pat Summit, I am throwing my hat (or should I say hand bag) into the ring for the head coaching position of the NCAA Women's Basketball program at the University of Tennessee. I was really banking on getting hired by the Raiders for their coaching job (as seen in this article), but I feel I am even more qualified to coach this group of gals. Through my answers to the following questions I'll show you, Tennessee Athletic Department, why I'm the right man for the job!

1. What experience do you have in the game of basketball?

-Can you say, MVP? Let's run through my long track record of playing:

-Middle School- In Eighth Grade I was the Kevin Love of the Christian School Basketball Circuit: Double-Double up in the hizzy every single night! Granted, I was several inches taller than the average power forward that matched up against me and my best move was telling jokes to the kid covering me so he would screw up, but hey, I'm sure Coach K does the same thing. I also learned in my tenure at St. Paul's how to foul a kid so he would be out for the whole game. My coach demonstrated this move on me to show the rest of team. I was out for the whole game.

-High School- Much like the plot of High School Musical, I had to choose between the school basketball team and the theater. I traded in my arm band and gatorade bottle for a script and a scarf......bad, bad call. I instead played in a Rec League. Over my junior and senior year, my team went 0-19. Why not 0-20, you ask? The league cancelled the last game when I almost got in a fight in the penultimate game. The other kid totally started it though. Also, the words "If you come over here, you will be eating out of a tube until you are 25" may or may not have been said. He keyed my car. (I believe this animalistic terror that I can strike into the fear of my opponent will translate well to the coaching level).

-In the "Student vs. Staff" basketball game, I had a 100% field goal percentage. I was then fouled in the face by a history teacher/ former U. Maine Offensive Tackle. I lightly broke part of my nose and sat out the rest of the game.

-College- Played in an intramural league. I was hit in the temple with the elbow of an ROTC recruit in the first half. I went through the rest of the game without throwing up (a testament to my will power and strength) before realizing I had a concussion and sitting out the rest of the season.

2. What is your relationship with the good state of Tennessee?

- At a house party, I once used the pick up line "Are you from Tennessee? Because you are the only ten I see!" She walked away.

3. What could you bring to the team?

-Testosterone. 9 out of 10 doctors agree that too much estrogen can lead to frequent outbreaks of the bubonic plague, so by hiring me, you will be saving the lives of these girls. Next, I can introduce a very interesting offensive move to the game: I watched the video "Michael Jordan's favorite move" on youtube. NO BODY can stop it! Also, we will advertise the games in a way that people will think they are played by Victoria's Secret models in lingerie. This will get male fannies in the seats. The cheerleaders will be fired and replaced with Chippendale's male strippers. This would get lonely females/future cat ladies (an untapped demographic) into the crowd. New slogan: "Come for the topless men, stay for the unblocked layups!"

4. What would your legacy as head coach be?

-A winner. A hero. A fighter. That guy who wore booty shorts to the March Madness Championship game.

5. Anything else you would like to add?

-I already own a coach's whistle, so there's that. I also promise to wear a full orange pantsuit to every game.

I'll expect my check and a "You're The Only Ten I See" guinea-T in the mail by Monday. Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

S. Blazak

The Best Things Women Have Ever Said to Me

By Spence Blazak

A wise Canadian once asked Americans a question: "Have you ever really loved a woman?" . I thought long and hard about my answer. Has Spence Blazak ever really loved a woman? I have. But not in the way you think. Relationships end, flames of passion go out, and one night stands take walks of shame home until you awkwardly see them at the dining hall a month later. I'm talking about true love. The love felt in a single moment. The love inspired by a sentence. This list is made to commemorate those perfect sentences that were said before prom rejections, slaps to the face, and vomit on my favorite shoes (true story). I've compiled a list of things that I have loved that women have said to me, all of them are truthful. I swear. Spoiler alert…..it doesn't take much.

"OMG you can do a Wookiee noise? Thats so cool!"

"I think its kind of cute that you always cry at Toy Story 3"

"Yeah! Pokemon ARE awesome!"

"I love beards on guys!"

"We were both young, when I first saw you. I close my eyes and the flashback starts, I'm standing there on a balcony of summer air."

"You're cool!"

"Wilco is NOT your favorite band! They are my favorite band! I never meet people who like them!!!"

"No, I don't have a boyfriend."

"You have the body and demeanor of Marshall from How I Met Your Mother, but the intrinsic jaded cynicism of Ted!"****

"I really like furry guys!"

"I read your most recent blog post, Spence!"

"You are a great liar!"

"OMG, thats crazy that you actually went to see Taylor Swift in concert! TELL ME ALL ABOUT THE CONCERT IN EXCRUCIATING DETAIL"

"Don't worry, I'm not judging you for reading that comic book."

"You don't have to go to my five hour track meet this afternoon."

"Wanna go to Taco Bell?"

****confession……that one was my friend Fernando…..still waiting for a girl to say that one