Classifieds
Call: #734-418-4115
Email: dailydisplay@gmail.com
ACROSS
1 Principal
introduction?
5 Ladybug lunches
11 Handle for a
chef?
14 “Yikes!”
15 Bully
16 ’60s-’70s news
focus, informally
17 Allowance for
food, vet visits,
etc.?
19 Old sports org.
using colorful
balls
20 Place to play
21 PC key
22 Some execs
23 Bedtime for
bats?
27 Annual New
England
attraction
31 Mutt
32 “__ a traveler ...”:
“Ozymandias”
33 Dolts
36 First Poet
Laureate of
Vermont
40 Threw a tantrum
at ballet school?
43 You might wake
up to one
44 Satirist once
dubbed “Will
Rogers with
fangs”
45 Heavily sit
(down)
46 Draft choice
48 Lost it
50 Decisive “Star
Wars” victory?
55 Eclectic online
reader
56 Slime
57 Treacherous type
62 Beads on blades
63 Answer to “What
did people listen
to during the
Depression,
señor?”?
66 Poetic
preposition
67 Landlocked
African country
68 When some ties
are broken,
briefly
69 Clear
70 Grant
71 Part of CSNY
DOWN
1 “Up in the Air”
Oscar nominee
Farmiga
2 Aircraft pioneer
Sikorsky
3 Give in
4 Ideal world
5 Diplomatic VIP
6 Little, in Lille
7 Went after
8 Hastings hearth
9 Tab alternative
10 Play area
11 Muddled situation
12 Fife-and-drum
corps instrument
13 It has a med
school in
Worcester
18 Avis adjective
22 Crooked
24 Awestruck
25 They might
cause jitters
26 Snit
27 Maine forest
sights
28 Arabian sultanate
29 Toy for an
aspiring architect
30 Repeat
34 DOT agcy.
35 The “e” sound in
“tandem”
37 Ceramic pot
38 Dinner on the
farm, maybe
39 Enter, in a way
41 Where to nosh
on a knish
42 Wire service?:
Abbr.
47 Captivate
49 St. Petersburg’s
river
50 More boorish
51 Comic Cheri
52 Single
53 Some floats
54 Essence
58 “Let’s do it!”
59 Cóctel fruit
60 They may be
inflated
61 Author who
created
Zuckerman
63 Barbecue
seasoning
64 Prefix with meter
65 Carpenter’s tool
By Marti DuGuay-Carpenter
©2015 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
03/13/15
03/13/15
ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:
RELEASE DATE– Friday, March 13, 2015
Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle
Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis
xwordeditor@aol.com
! NORTH CAMPUS 1‑2 Bdrm. !
! Riverfront/Heat/Water/Parking. !
! www.HRPAA.com !
THESIS EDITING. LANGUAGE,
organization, format. All Disciplines.
734/996‑0566 or writeon@iserv.net
WORK ON MACKINAC Island This
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friends.
The
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Shops are looking for help in all areas be‑
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and
discounted
meals.
(906)
847‑7196.
www.theisland‑
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ROOM FOR RENT. In AA, close to
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Call 734‑666‑3486
6 BEDROOM HOUSE 511 Linden.
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& Smoke free. Fall 2015‑16
$3,600 + utilities. 734‑996‑1991
2 & 3 BDRM APTS IN A HOUSE
South Campus Fall 2015‑16
1015 Packard ‑ $1370‑$1930 + Utilities
Call 734‑996‑1991 to sched a viewing
RELIEF CAREGIVER FOR medical
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4 BEDROOM HOUSE Fall 2015‑16
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2 Baths, Wshr./Dryer, 3 Prkg spaces, Pet
& Smoke free. $2300 + utilities
1010 Cedar Bend Dr. 734‑996‑1991
2 BED. A
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AIL. April 1st‑August 21st
Furnished, Heat & Water & Free Internet
734‑761‑8000 primesh.com
EFF, 1 & 2 Bedrooms Avail Fall 2015‑16
$750 ‑ $1420. Most include Heat and
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Call 734‑996‑1991
HELP WANTED
FOR RENT
SUMMER EMPLOYMENT
SERVICES
6 — Friday, March 13, 2015
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
FILM COLUMN
Scared shitless
This column is inspired by
Andrew Eckhous’s The ‘Nevers’ and
the ‘Haven’ts’.
I
’m scared shitless, you guys.
I’m that girl on the cover
of the “Scream” poster,
the one with her hand over her
mouth that
most Yahoo
Answers
users seem
to agree is
Drew Bar-
rymore.
I’m Jessica
Biel, loping
through
clothes-
line after
clothesline
as the hot
Texas sun swelters down my back
as a chainsaw-wielding psycho-
path tries to turn me into living
room upholstery. Of course, in
this interpretation, Leatherface
is Engineering Dean Dave Mun-
son and his chainsaw is a freshly
inked college degree, hellbent on
making my existence as excit-
ing as a stick of celery in a Xerox
machine.
I’m terrified because in approx-
imately seven weeks, I will be sit-
ting shoulder-to-shoulder with
thousands of other 20-some-
things, all scared shitless, while
an old white person stands on
a stage to make speeches about
the future. I’m scared shitless
because, in all likelihood, that
same old white person made a
version of The Future Speech last
year, and will be doing so again in
12 months as he stares down the
next legion of 20-somethings, all
scared shitless.
The funny thing is, I wasn’t all
that bothered a couple days ago.
Senioritis had set in the summer
before fall term. And a sizeable
portion of my soul was very much
occupied counting down the
maximum number of spaces on an
Ahmo’s meal card I could check
off before leaving Ann Arbor for
good. Was I a little glum? Sure. It’s
Ahmo’s. But still, no poo had yet
been lost.
Until, in the span of 24 hours,
I devoured a three-course meal
inventively labeled ‘Hollybrown-
wood.’ It roared out of the gates
with Aziz Ansari’s “Live At Madi-
son Square Garden,” followed
closely by a double whammy of
Dev Patel — first, Neil Blomkamp’s
“Chappie,” and then Some British
Guy’s “The Second Best Marigold
Hotel.” Watching all three in close
succession is a bit like jumping off
the Taj Mahal. Or, more accurate-
ly, jumping off the Empire State
Building and through the dome of
a Trump Organization Taj Mahal
in Las Vegas. It’s smile-inducing
hearing Ansari seemingly dig into
issues of race, a topic his previous
material always kinda prodded but
never really managed to craft to
its own designs.
I say seemingly because, at first,
the ‘being Indian’ jokes punch
along with the typical irrever-
ence we’ve come to expect from
an hour of his comedy — heartfelt
story followed by “That’s what
you have to do when you’re an
immigrant: Handle your shit! Kill
some racist motherfuckers when
you need to.” He’s letting the
air out of the tires, deflating the
stakes in the same way he’s been
doing for a decade. And yet, for
the first time, he offers us a reason
why, as succinct as it is blunt: “I’m
never going to have any of these
stories to tell my kids about. Are
you kidding me? My life is super
easy because my parents did all
the suffering for me.”
The next hour is a brisk jaunt
through relationship advice, the
inherent creepiness of the male
sex and a Ja Rule impression so
good I googled Ja Rule for the first
time in five years and learned he
was born on a leap day and raised a
Jehovah’s Witness by his mother.
Not so much as a callback to racial
commentary until the show ends
in a hail of confetti. Ansari calls
his parents onto the stage, wraps
his arms around them and clasps
the mic with his father’s hands.
The first time I saw it, I cried.
Not really, but I did walk away
(closed the Netflix tab) with a feel-
ing that ‘maybe Hollywood isn’t
out to get my people’ (an actual
note now scrawled on a corner
of Ahmo’s wrapping paper), to
pigeonhole them or glaze them
into the fine, digestible pow-
der of stereotypes. I didn’t walk
away with any sort of realiza-
tion, but with an acceptance that
this
unperturbed
star-making
machine — that almost never
launches Indian-American tal-
ent — maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t
caught in a tug-of-war: That grap-
ple between the burden of honest-
ly representing problems facing
‘my people’ or shoving them under
the table. Does Aziz have to talk
about being Indian just because
he is Indian?
By boasting “my last three roles
were Randy, Chet and Tom” at
Comedy Central’s roast of James
Franco, is he thumbing his nose
at the fact that most people can’t
fill 10 fingers with the names of
recognizable brown stars work-
ing today. That there simply are
no parts tailored for Indians? That
“Slumdog Millionaire,” told by a
white British guy, is and will for-
ever be the last semi-interesting
movie you saw about people from
my country?
I’m scared shitless, you guys.
I’m scared shitless because in
approximately seven weeks, I will
no longer have a sounding board. I
will no longer be able to sit down,
put these questions on a piece
of paper and have people look
at them, think about them, even
if for only a couple minutes. But
above all, I’m terrified because an
industry I want so desperately to
be a part of still hasn’t answered
them.
Aziz’s specials have a calming
effect. Any short man jittering
around on stage impersonating a
rapper is bound to. But this hour,
and especially those first few
minutes of jokes, went further
because they were like his hand
over my shoulder, a click in my
brain that Aziz is being Aziz. He is
saying “Maybe I’m not the vessel
for your questions, as important as
they may be. I haven’t really faced
the harsh realities of racism. My
parents made sure of that. Maybe
I need to be the person I want to
be.”
“Slumdog Millionaire” is a
movie I try to rewatch at least
once a year. A) Because it’s a great
fucking film, brilliant in its level
of craftsmanship and smarter still
in the depth of its performances.
And B) Because it reminds me of
what was the first and may be the
last time in my life I get to watch
an Indian man perform a song on
Hollywood’s biggest stage on Hol-
lywood’s biggest night. Then walk
away with Hollywood’s greatest
award. The film’s success gave my
high hopes for its star’s, Dev Patel,
career. He had been in virtually
every frame of the picture. More
than anything or anyone else, he
had been the its emotional center-
piece, the needle round which the
compass was built.
I thought Hollywood would
write movies to accommodate
him. That the strength of this
showing would prove this high-
lighted sliver of Indian culture is
more than some exotic sideshow,
enjoyed, lauded for one awards
season and forgotten in the next.
I wasn’t right. And Dev Patel’s
career arc since “Slumdog” has
been a storage bank of the reasons
why.
Part two of this column will be
posted online on Sunday night.
Seth is singing “Jai Ho.” To
join in, email akse@umich.edu.
AKSHAY
SETH
TV NOTEBOOK
Hilarity is everlasting
at Chicago’s Second
City improv
By HAILEY MIDDLEBROOK
Daily Arts Writer
Tucked into a creaking corner
of Chicago, a comedy club called
The Second City waits for the sun
to set and the stage to light up.
My boyfriend and I had booked
two tickets for the Sunday night
show as a sort of grand finale for
spring break in the Windy City.
After dutifully shivering at the
snowy Bean, stuffing ourselves
with
deep
dish
pizza
and
sipping expensive Intelligentsia
coffee, one tradition of Chicago
still remained unchecked: the
comedy scene — specifically,
improvisational
comedy,
trademarked
through
generations of talented actors
at The Second City, whose
sketches laid the foundation for
NBC’s “Saturday Night Live” and
launched dozens of stars into
funnyman fame.
If you haven’t heard of Second
City, the performers probably
wouldn’t blame you (though
fans, including myself, may be
seriously offended). In the late
1950s, a misfit acting troupe made
its mark on the seedy outskirts
of the University of Chicago,
performing
short
comedy
skits in the back of a bar called
Compass. Though the gig began
as a gimmick to sell more drinks,
the “Compass Players” quickly
grew
in
popularity
because
of
their
unique
interaction
with the audience: instead of
strictly following script, the
players would act out audience
suggestions
with
on-spot
improvisation.
These
scenes
combined to set a movement into
motion — timely, organic comedy,
performed on a bare stage, with
only bar stools as props.
Heavily influenced by the
Compass Players, The Second
City soon opened its doors,
housed in a cheaply renovated
laundromat. It was 1959 and
tides were shifting — Democrats
were growing under charismatic
John F. Kennedy a few years
before his presidency, the Civil
Rights Movement was underway
and love was on the minds of
righteous, Elvis-rocking teens
— staging a perfect storm of
satirical comedy to sweep the
nation.
The Second City wave wasn’t
a one-hit wonder, nor were the
actors it whipped out through
the decades, among them Bill
Murray (“Ghostbusters”), Mike
Myers (“Austin Powers”), Steve
Carell (“The Office”), Jason
Sudeikis (“We’re the Millers”)
and my personal favorite, Tina
Fey (“Date Night”). Though the
lineup has shifted, replacing
now-famous stars with the fresh
faces we saw on Sunday night,
the show’s essence remains: in
the end, it’s all about the actors
and
the
audience,
together
seeking humor through laughs
and flops.
As Bill Murray said in an
interview with the late Roger
Ebert in 1990: “The reason so
many Second City people have
been successful is really fairly
simple. At the heart of it is the
idea that if you make the other
actors look good, you’ll look
good. It works sort of like the
idea of life after death. If you live
an exemplary life, trying to make
someone else look good, you’ll
look good too. It braces you up,
when you’re out there with that
fear of death, which is really the
difference between the Second
City actors and the others.”
In her book “Bossypants,”
Tina Fey also comments on
the unrelenting stage and the
mutual trust between players: “I
always liken it to basketball. If
you get passed to once in a game,
you have to learn to make that
basket or you don’t get passed to
again.”
Both Fey and Murray would
later be plucked from Chicago
and dropped in New York for
“Saturday Night Live,” Lorne
Michaels’ live sketch comedy
show that first aired in 1975
and recently celebrated its 40th
anniversary. Fey would soon
become the show’s head writer
and a comedic icon. Murray
would replace Chevy Chase
(“National Lampoon’s Family
Vacation”) and catapult his way
to fame, proving that talent
remains even when a star leaves.
Perhaps the most remarkable
thing about “SNL” is how it
strikes a subject with pinpoint
precision, year after 40 years —
a feat that can only come from
hours of practice on a tiny stage,
whether in a dingy bar or the
spotlighted Second City theater,
using the energy of the audience
to feed the flame.
Second City & SNL
SECOND CITY CHICAGO
“One day, I’m gonna be on Saturday Night Live!”
Second City
isn’t a one-hit
wonder.
Rick Owens
disrupts norm
PARIS FASHION WEEK RECAP
By ANDREW MCCLURE
Daily Arts Writer
Rick Owens told the Los Ange-
les Times that he calls his clothes
his “diary and biography.” After
dropping out of Otis College of
Art and Design, Owens said “fuck
it” and enrolled in a nondescript
trade college to learn patterns
and how to drape — dude just
wanted to roll up his sleeves. And
so began his line that would’ve
left
ancient
Greek
maidens,
Middle-earth warrior chicks and
the showgirls in Kubrick’s “Eyes
Wide Shut” agape. It’d be naive
to call him derivative, as each
piece, no more influenced than it
is fresh, communicates his fasci-
nation with time and how solemn
it can be.
His “diary” actually pulls from
all of these areas — dark and vio-
lent and mystic — and even his
own Mexican blood. His dusty
and fringed moccasin-like deer-
skin pieces swallow his models,
wrapping them with asymmet-
ric twists without suffocating
or tightening gaits. Replete with
quiet granite beiges, impenetra-
ble blacks and lukewarm beiges,
Owens tapers virtually nothing
and drapes everything. He mar-
ries Roman tunics with skirts that
hang ankle-length up front while
cut at the knees in the back — both
a way to showcase his form-fit
boots and lock-in breathability.
The collection plays with
shoulders over all else, Owens
seeing them as the vertex for
functionality and ingenuity. He
hits extremes when one piece
boxes in its wearer, shoulders
jutting straight out nearly a
foot, reminiscent of “Dr. Cal-
gari” ’s somnambulist. When
he’s not inflating the shoulders,
he just gives them wings, as the
back fabric spreads out, leav-
ing the fronts of the arms still
exposed. No matter the cut, you
can bank Owens will rattle the
cage with oblique seams to dis-
rupt when things get too paral-
lel, too perfect.
Owens tapers
virtually
nothing ,drapes
everything.