Steve Jobs was born on February 24, 1955 (2-24-1955 or simply, 2241955) and died on October 5, 2011 (10052011), at age 56. He was a computer entrepreneur and inventor. He founded Apple Inc. with two of his colleagues on April 1st, 1976 (4011976). As is well known, his inventions had a huge impact on the technological environment we live in today. In memory of him on his first (57th) birthday after his death last year, I put together this numerical brainteaser birthday gift for him:
Steve’s birth day February 24th represented by 224 (February 24th) equals four times 56, his death age.
We live in an age where our post-modern sensibilities have translated into flourishing musical creativity. This, paired with the death of radio, has led to the creation of nearly every subgenre imaginable. But how do you keep track of them all? Each week, we here at the Quest do our best to help you make sense of all this alternativeness. If you head to a discotheque in Europe, chances are you’ll be dancing to Ibiza-esque club music (think “One” by Swedish House Mafia and most of Rihanna’s new stuff) and an assortment of pop songs you’ve never heard of.
This week’s subby is a quicky but goodie. Surely, by now, you’ve seen Rebecca Black’s YouTube gem “Friday” and its subsequent parodies (if not, I would highly recommend watching before continuing reading). It’s terrible, and we all know it. And yet, I really don’t understand what the fuss is all about. Yes, “Friday” is the culmination of everything detestable about horrifically generic teen pop.
We live in an age where our post-modern sensibilities have translated into flourishing musical creativity. This, paired with the death of radio, has led to the creation of nearly every subgenre imaginable. But how do you keep track of them all? Each week, we here at the Quest do our best to help you make sense of all this alternativeness. This week, it was revealed to me that I have a reputation for being something of a Kanye West apologist.
Having been the poster child for overcoming stress culture at Reed for the past two and a half years, I assumed I’d be the last person to write this thing. And if I did, I thought it would be some moralizing, holier-than-thou, this-isn’t-hell-it’s-all-in-your-head type of thing. But after spring break—which should have been filled with sun, salaciousness, and ‘show us your titties,’ but was instead dominated by romantic vicissitudes, an academic juggling act, and the sixth plague of the semester—I’ll admit it: it’s not the stress culture, it’s just that time of year. That’s right, I said it: life sucks a little, go ahead and suck right back. We all have drafts to finish, classes to pass, futures to plan, and shreds of social lives to maintain.
What does “Barbra Streisand” mean to me? Oh god, where do I even begin? For starters, Barbra Streisand is deliciously danceable disco-house with a New York ethos attached to it. But that’s Choi the douchebag DJ talking. On a more personal level, Barbra Streisand is about take-out food; specifically, pizza.
Have you ever been to a skipping party? Until today, I’d never heard of them before. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t all that hip in high school (oh, hey, free periods spent in the library), but apparently while I was sitting in my morning calculus class and longingly looking out the window at the sunny day outside, cool kids my age were busy getting shwastied. For those you who, like me, were nerdin’ out in the A.M., a skipping party is when you throw a party at your home mid-school day by informing your buddies in the morning that instead of suffering through U.S. History they’ll be chillin’ at your crib, guzzlin’ a brewski and getting C-R-U-N-K. Sounds like typical teenage debauchery (who else is interested in getting super smashed before noon on a Wednesday?), but it was during one such party that the magical subgenre of Moombahton was born.
I dove so deep that I can’t find my way out. I wander through a dark coral reef of obscure journals and ambiguous data, unable to make any sense of my journey. I had a plan—once—I know I did. But it was lost among the anemones and sea cucumbers. Now, I struggle to make something real out of these old papers and abstract ideas.