Better Looking than Eli Manning

For some people, today is only about one thing– the Super Bowl. (ESPN)

For others, it’s not so much about the game as it is about the halftime show, or maybe the drunk food. (MTV, Gawker)

If Madonna and nachos have no allure, you could always head to the library. But be warned–even once you’re fought your way into Butler, seductive alternatives to studying still await (Global Times, The Daily Beast)

In the end, you’ll probably just end up on Facebook but, as always, people are judging you. (NYT)

Top Priority Via Wikimedia Commons

Some students in a Butler study room, have gone mad, putting their hope of safety in a wooden/paper wall. Spoiler alert: Athenian glory is only temporary.

A short while ago, a tall, well-dressed, middle-aged man strolled into Butler and started handing out candy canes to disheveled students. Grinning and making polite conversation, he proceeded confidently from the café to the third floor. Bemused bookworms naturally sent a flurry of tips, having cottoned on to the fact that this was not another beneficent alumnus, but rather our very own Deantini (aided by CCSC Prez Aki Terasaki). Why on this night does the Dean dole out delights? Because he can.

Saint Tini

Caught red-and-white handed by FILO

It’s finals week and you know what that means. We’ve lampooned the inanity of Butler before, but this year we’ve adapted Butler Bingo around those closest (literally) to you: Butler Archetypes.

Here’s how to play: sit in Butler. Look at the game board. Scroll over each square to read its description. Look around you. When you spot an archetypal individual, click that square to fill it in. When you get four in a row, stand up, shout “BINGO!” and do a little dance. Then pat yourself on the back and feel accomplished that you actually did something while in Butler.

Double-clicking on a square will take you to the Archetype page, and just like at Pleasant Oaks Community Center, each time you play is a whole new experience. Every time you refresh this page, the board randomizes and the positions of the squares change. So play a new game every time you’re in Butler, and good luck with finals!

You’ve seen it before, and you’ll see it again: an elusive group of Columbians start to go a liiiiittle bit crazy during finals season. At this point, we’re pretty sure everyone’s just trying to comply with tradition. In any case, it makes for some quality overseens. The latest chapter, for your procrastinating pleasure:

Because nothing says, "Hey, this sign is super official and you better follow its instructions!!!" like chicken scratch on printer paper. Nothing.

The Butler gods have spoken. Starting next Tuesday, this hallowed building’s fifth and sixth floors will be open 24/7, thereby inviting 170 more students to join their sleepless comrades on Milstein floors two, three, and four. But remember friends, this is a trial run, so if you really want more 24-hour space in Butler, you’ve gotta use it! If the trial goes well, Butler’s powers that be have agreed to make the change permanent, meaning that Butler floors two through six will be open 24-hours, ALL YEAR LONG. Can ya dig it?!

It’s finals season—time to get serious. But not for these guys. Give Penis Pundit Matt Schantz a casual head nod and maybe decide to stay for a while as he crafts a masterful portrait of those Butler Archetypes who just can’t seem to stop dicking around. 

A pornographic image purchased at a dimly lit 7-Eleven by Louise McCune on her 18th birthday

They’ll come bearing a few muffled grunts, perhaps a quick chuckle or two.

You’ll hear these noises—their imminent approach—before they will actually become visible. Before you have time to look back down at your work, you’ll see a group of faces, peering into the room; a small sea of fitted caps will peck against the glass portion of the door. Their slack-jawed expressions will resemble those of visitors to a zoo. It will be clear that they’ve never been to the library before. As you return their gaze, you’ll be unsure who the animal on display really is—you, or them.

The door will creak open and they’ll shuffle in. A few mumbled words. A guffaw. As the herd sweeps through the room, looking for a place to set up headquarters, one will see an acquaintance and stop for a moment; “Final tomorrow, bro,” he’ll say, and offer a melancholy fist bump. Finally, they’ll descend upon a four-top, carpeting it with notebooks, binders, loose sheets of graph paper, and lecture slide print-outs you’re sure they won’t use.

“Can you forward me your study guide?,” they’ll mouth frantically at one another as they arrange and rearrange the hodgepodge of class materials on the tabletop. They’ll spend the next hour and a half emailing one another the same attachment, over and over again. (“Dude, send it to me,” one will urge another, until they’ve all finally located the file in their inboxes.)

Then, there will be a long silence, followed by an even longer game of “Nose Goes.” One will eventually stand up and walk out to fetch their guides from the printer.

The remainder of the crew will look around, a devilish glint in their eyes. Slowly but surely, the same shit-eating grin will appear on all of their faces. One will brandish a Sharpie. They’ll grab the nearest notebook of their absent companion and open it to the first page. The Sharpie wielder will make a dramatic display of removing the marker’s cap, lowering the tool, and drawing a large penis on the front page of the notebook. The steady stream of chortles leaking from the table will now erupt into full-blown laughter. (Meanwhile, the condescending glares of the rest of the room’s inhabitants will be blatantly ignored.)

More markers will appear, and the solitary phallus will be joined by a host of others, the notebook’s pages being transformed into a Boschian journey through a forest of dicks. One will draw a bulging penis. Another will add a long, skinny one that curls into a loop-de-loop. A third will sketch a penis that splits off into two heads. Several of these phalluses will spurt impressive fountains of ejaculate, spelling something you won’t be able to quite make out from your seat. One penis will have a bushy mustache. Another will wear a top hat and smile. For good measure, one artist will draw a pair of breasts, and write “NICE” right beside them.

Suddenly, a hush will fall over the four-top—they’ll look up as their friend returns to the table, copies of the study guide in hand.

His momentary expression of indignation will make way for the same shit-eating one his cohorts wore earlier. He’ll lean down, and carefully outline a large dick on one of his friends’ copy of the study guide. Another group member will give him a fist pump, but not before adding a thick vein to the design.

“Let’s call it a night,” one will suggest, and with a round of fist pumps for all, the crew will leave, never to be seen again—until next finals season.

With less than two weeks of classes left, chances are you’ve found yourself Butler-bound, day after day. And that elite species of Blue Java-loving Stacks inhabitants—known to the more general public as the Butler Archetypes—are by your side the whole time. Rest your head on Conor Skelding’s very soft shoulder as he reminds you why that’s a bad thing…

Flip-phone selfie taken by Louise McCune

While more practical students use cNet terminals for a quick print, these patrons of the library have a loftier goal—populist film criticism.

Writing under pen names such as “nycQT2015″ and “butlerbabe69,” they craft sharp invective, intended to cut down those presumptuous enough to upload sub-par content to Youtube. Such apt critiques take minutes of painfully complex consideration—should they begin with the more straightforward, “You obviously know nothing about Return of the King,” or prove their superiority with a pithy line such as, “You’re just a dick, like Saruman”?

Whether ensconced in the computer lab, 209, or the Ref Room, these arbiters of Internet fodder impress everybody waiting patiently to print. Before the day is done, they will even showcase their abilities to enjoy the ultimate no-brow entertainment: drooling, gaping infants. And what do they have to say for themselves?

“OMG CUTEG4SM.”

Louis XIV may have sported some pretty high stilettos (thanks for the cocktail party fodder, Core Curriculum), but at least he had the courtesy not to stomp around the Ref Room. Heel Hater Meriam Raouf profiles that Butler Archetype whose sharp clicks down the marble hallway are turning your hair gray. 

The "after" photo from Louise McCune's Thanksgiving break makeover.

It’s Sunday night. You’ve managed to squeeze yourself into a prime spot (read: comfy armchair) in your favorite Butler room. The desk is warm, you’ve got extra highlighters, and you’ve run out of things to read in your newsfeed. You’ve hit the pinnacle of study conditions—and just in time, you think to yourself, as you open a Word document to start that 5-page paper due tomorrow afternoon.

Maybe you’ll even take it to the writing center in the morning and have someone proofread it. Ah, the very thought.

As you relish in your own academic planning and maturity, you can’t help but scoff at your disorganized peers who are very clearly watching Parks and Rec on their own laptops. But just as you’re really getting lost in your academic wet dreams…

…you… [Left foot]

…hear… [Right foot]

…the… [Left]

….approach. [Right]

She comes to a halt, right beside your spot. She is wearing pumps, or wedges—whatever they are, they sound like tap shoes. And she will shuffle around your Butler room for the rest of the night.

Having found no empty seats directly next to you, she will proceed to pace up and down the stretch of walkway closest to you, pausing between the tables like a confused high school teacher proctoring an SAT exam. She’ll scan the tables for an empty spot, and upon finding one, will eventually settle down.

But not for long.

During this second lap, The Girl With Noisy Heels will give you a polite nod; she seeks your understanding and compassion. She’ll now leave her stuff to go down to buy coffee (“Be right back,” she’ll mouth, with a wink). She will click and clack out of the room, and you’ll let yourself relax, just a little bit.

With a sigh, you’ll put your janky Apple Store headphones on, hoping her heels break on the way to Blue Java.

But, no—rest assured, she will return, hot cup of coffee in hand. It won’t be until she sits down for about a millisecond that she’ll realize just how badly she has to use the bathroom. And then another millisecond before she’ll realize she forgot her phone in the bathroom, and before you know it, she’ll be looking for a new spot (“Creaky chair,” she’ll mouth, once again with a wink).

You don’t know why she wore her Louboutins to Butler, but you be sure that she’ll wear the heels down by the time you can even think of a thesis.

Welcome back from Thanksgiving Break—if you were one of the fortunate Columbians who left campus, that is. If you weren’t, you probably tried to steer clear of Butler. But these guys didn’t; join hands with Amateur Expert Anthropologist Claire Sabel as she paints a very pretty picture of The Long Weekender. 

Representation of hypoallergenic cats that Louise McCune may or may not have smuggled into Butler.

Unable to return home for the holidays because they’ve developed a sudden and violent allergy to the childhood pet, and just really need some space right now, the Weekenders abandon their families for the safest space there is: the Reference Room of Butler Library. Sighing contentedly in their misery, they move in Thursday night, sporting an assemblage of sweats and PJs designed to exclaim, “Yeah it’s Thursday night, I’m comfy, and I don’t give a fuck.”

The Ref Room is a strategic choice. You don’t just put your feet up and take a snooze in here. Only under ceilings of this height can the loft of their academic ambitions soar to their true heights, buoyed by thoughts of frivolous freshpeople at home with their parents complaining about the Iliad and sexting their darkest LLC fantasies.

Since they’re here for the long-haul, the Weekenders bring all the essentials. There’s going to be so much space for the next few days, and they really want to utilize it. A pillow pet, a large bag of M&Ms, the ten books at the core of their thesis research, glasses, contacts, glasses cleaner and contact solution, are all laid out. It passes 11, 12, and the Weekenders thoughtfully gaze down at their reading, occasionally around at each other, and munch peacefully on the M&Ms (they’re holiday-themed). Soon though, one notices a neighbor has set aside his work and opened up a copy of Deadalus. Others around the room notice this shift to recreational, yet still intellectual, activity, and gradually follow suit. A trickle-down effect is noticeable, as screens across the Ref Room display Ted Talks, then xkcd.

Soon enough, every Weekender has given up pretense of academic pusuit and is watching a Pixar movie (Toy Story 3 is noticeably dominant). Safe in the knowledge that everyone else is in the same boat, with only the best of intentions, these archetypes do not judge.

After all, they’ve got the entire weekend ahead of them.

The ever-glorious Reference Room turned off its overhead lighting yesterday, leaving only desk lamps to sustain the loyal inhabitants. How or why the lights went out remains unclear, but the asian gloves-wearing circulation desk guy popped in and fixed it around 10 pm. The lights humorously went out again about an hour later, and they remain off through Sunday morning—still to be fixed. The same mood lighting occurred last year during Thanksgiving break.

UPDATE: And by noon the lights are back on without an apparent cause. Ghosts?

UPDATE 2: 1:05, and they are out again. These results are consistent with the Ghost hypothesis.

UPDATE 3: 1:11 Lights are on.

UPDATE 4: Lights are reported to be back off.

What's wrong with adding a little coziness and reduced eye strain to studying?

You may be getting ready to forsake Butler and head home for break, but there are a few individuals who would never dream of abandoning its marble walls and fancy woodwork: the Butler Archetypes. Lend your ear (eyes?) to Aurally Annoyed Bijan Samareh as he profiles those study buddies who stick out like a giant snow penis sore thumb: the Indiscreet Whisperers.

Louise McCune's artistic interpretation of a "That's What She Said" joke.

Rather than marvel at that poster of Africa you bought at the flea market over the weekend (along with a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and a vintage T-shirt that’s so nineties), today you decide it’s best to bid your dorm room farewell for the afternoon in hopes of making some headway on that long overdue Courseworks post.

Halfheartedly, you pack your things and leave the vast land of Carman six for Butler—but not before running your finger along the map’s central mountain range that’s actually raised.

Upon arrival, you survey your surroundings, hoping to score a location with a bit of privacy and a power outlet. To your dismay, all the best cubbies are taken, so you settle for a table that’s already half-occupied. As you wait for your MacBook to boot up and reflect on just how worldly your Africa poster must make you look, it happens.

“Pshshphsshph,” says the person in front of you to their friend.

“Oh! Pshhspshh,” their friend mutters in response.

It was probably just a question about Montaigne, you assume—it happens to everyone (seriously, how do you pronounce his name?). You start working on your post, but before you can even finish typing “Since the beginning of history,” it begins anew.

“Pshpshph.”

You wonder what could possibly be important enough to break the sacred silence of 210. You naïvely imagine that one of the two whisperers is having a severe heart attack and is seeking medical attendance.

Not quite.

“Pshpshph weird name pshpshph freshman,” says one. “Pshpshph so wasted!”

“But, pshpshph Carman six…” responds the other, with a knowing look.

“Well,” the first whisperer says, with a furtive glance at the door, “Pshpshph pshpshph pshpsh back alley FourLoko.”

“Pshpshph Koronet’s pshpsh dry heaving pshpshph—”

That’s it. You’re out of there. Backpack half-open, mechanical pencils flying to the ground, CourseWorks post forgotten (you’ve decided to make this assignment the one you drop), you begin your passive-aggressive statement of intent disguised as a dramatic exit. But as you frantically gather your things, you can’t help but eavesdrop on one last fragment of their conversation.

“—my mouth psh-pshpshph vomit all over pshpshph Africa poster… pshpshph actually raised!”

You wish you hadn’t.

Bleary-eyed and ready to start ranting to the nice ladies in Butler Cafe, you enter the library at the crack of dawn (okay, 10 am) to start work on that project you really, really didn’t mean to procrastinate on. But wait—what’s that smell? Is it possible that someone got here even earlier than YOU, and has since been deteriorating into a pile of eraser shavings, empty snack packaging, and last night’s clothes? Join Interior Investigator Bijan Samareh as he creates an extensive anthropological profile of the Butler Archetype who just doesn’t seem to need sleep. Ever.

Sketch Louise McCune created on a used Koronet's napkin after getting a little drunk and watching Beetlejuice one too many times.

It’s midnight at Butler. You get up after a few hours of solid work, feeling proud to have finished that essay after checking your Facebook a mere 17 times, Wikipediaing time-travel, and watching an episode of All That. You see a gaunt student across the small study room with a stack of books about the height of the bed you are about to go sleep in.

He or she might have a cup of coffee or a Red Bull, but you think nothing of it. You depart for a good nights’ sleep, go to class the next morning, and head back to the library to get some work done and… BAM! They’re still there!

Same clothes, same books, except they’re now accompanied by an additional 4 or 5 empty coffee cups and a half-eaten pastrami sandwich. It smells like caffeine and loneliness all at once, and makes you feel a little guilty that your major ends in -ology.

You take a seat, leaf through some note cards…

But a casual glance in the student’s direction reveals that it’s now all systems down! You see a head slam onto the desk, vibrating with a thud of defeat; an empty Red Bull can rolls to the ground. Should you wake/ignore/CAVA them? Just as your pity really starts to set in, the Zombie lifts its head, does an espresso shot, and gets back to scribbling furiously in the margins of some oversized textbook.

You should’ve known all along; it was just a disco nap.

It’s been a long weekend—one you spent in Butler, no doubt. Re-join us as we continue to profile those library regulars who spent it with you. In this installment of Butler Archetypes, Carpal Tunnel Victim Conor Skelding takes a close look at just how many notifications the guy next to him has. 

Sketch from Louise McCune's dream journal.

He’ll give up anything, just to feel that rush.

New tab, f-key, return, c-key, down arrow, return, tab, password, return—inhale, pause. The moment it takes for the page to load stretches to infinity. Then, yes! God, YES, a notification! His brain floods with dopamine release.

We’ve all been there; Butler can be a sad, lonely, place. Who are you to judge the guy next to you for taking the edge off with a little Facebook action? We all do it in moderation, and it’s not as big a deal as people make it out to be.

But oh, no. With this guy, it will never be just be “a little.” He needs those little red boxes. He craves them.

Seeing a fellow human being go on like this isn’t easy for you. He’s fighting his instinct, fighting his brain which has not-so-sensibly determined that the immediate return of Facebook outweighs his paper. And the Reference Room isn’t a very friendly place—maybe a little human reinforcement, a head nod from you, will go a long way to curb his cravings. But you wonder… will he try to Friend you after?

And there he goes again! He’s waiting for the page to load. When it does, he’s disappointed, but tries to hide it. You can see him drafting an internal status; “No notifications? Whatever. Anyways, I just checked! How crazy is that. People value me. Back to workkkkk.”

Do they really, though? He’d better check, just one last time…