The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Monday, April 18, 2016 — 5A
ACROSS
1 “That was
close!”
5 Fictional whale
hunter
9 Dying-out sound
13 Affectionate
email closing
14 Farmer’s place,
in song
15 Cuisinart setting
16 Ready to admit
customers
19 Al __: firm, as
pasta
20 “Splish Splash”
singer Bobby
21 Inexact no.
22 Baseball card
figs.
24 Skillful
26 Blot up the
moisture on
29 Like a perfect
game
32 Cinderella’s
horses, after
midnight
35 “I __ you one”
36 Like wolves
37 Springsteen’s
“Born in the __”
38 Outfit for the
slopes
40 TV program
breaks
41 Cocktail party
bite
43 Envoy’s bldg.
44 Thicken, as
cream
45 Many-headed
monster
46 Potato or rice,
e.g.
48 Gulf of Aden
republic
50 False name
53 Texter’s “Hang
on a minute”
55 Super-fun party
58 Planet attacked
in some sci-fi
films
60 It more or less
coincides with
2016 on Chinese
calendars ... and
a hint to this
puzzle’s circles
63 Fortune-teller’s
deck
64 Coke, e.g.
65 Like a 2-2 game
66 “What __ is
new?”
67 Wait on the
phone
68 Memo starter
DOWN
1 Walk with
difficulty
2 Crosses one’s
fingers
3 The World
Series, e.g.
4 Came unglued
5 Hue and cry
6 Buffalo group
7 “Dark Angel”
actress Jessica
8 Movie disk format
9 “I used to be a
banker but I lost
interest,” e.g.
10 Seller’s come-on
11 Come clean, with
“up”
12 Dry run
15 Pesto ingredient
17 Brine-cured
Greek cheese
18 Vicious of the
Sex Pistols
23 Tend, as a fire
25 Dad
27 SADD focus
28 Put back to zero
30 Bring to ruin
31 Hornet’s home
32 “__ obliged!”
33 Words to an old
chap
34 Snickers and
Milky Way
36 Sign of many an
October baby
38 Program that
sends unsolicited
messages
39 Thurman of “The
Producers”
42 “__ you nuts?”
44 Wine in a straw-
wrapped bottle
46 Grab
47 1963 Liz Taylor
role
49 Helper for Santa
51 “Argo” actor Alan
52 T-bone source
53 Computer
memory unit
54 Genuine
56 “Beat it!”
57 Be a snitch
59 Jekyll’s alter ego
61 Lobster eggs
62 Fuming
By C.C. Burnikel
©2016 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
04/18/16
04/18/16
ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:
RELEASE DATE– Monday, April 18, 2016
Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle
Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis
xwordeditor@aol.com
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SUMMER EMPLOYMENT
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ANNOUNCEMENT
SUMMER EMPLOYMENT
HELP WANTED
D
ear Gillian,
I’ve been seeing this
boy for around a month
now, and I find myself falling for
him hard. He’s super smart and
charming and handsome and kind
of perfect. The one problem is, we
are both seniors and will be going
our separate ways in a few weeks.
I’m trying not to confront this
fact but it is
unavoidable.
I feel like I’ve
really formed
a deep bond
with this
person and
want to spend
as much time
with him as
possible, yet
every time
we hang out,
in the back of my mind I hear a
voice telling me to not pour so much
into the relationship because it’s
coming to an end shortly, whether
or not I like it. Do I just end it now
in order to make our good-bye that
much easier? Or do I say screw it
and keep up the intense level we’ve
reached now? I would never want to
stunt my natural inclination, which
would be to continue on with him,
but I can’t help but feel scared that
it’s all for naught once graduation
happens. I want nothing more than
to just be in the moment with him,
but it’s really hard. Help me out!!
— Reluctant Graduate
Dear Reluctant,
Whether it’s the end of summer,
the end of a program or the end
of an adventure, many are the
looming last stops on a life path
that have been ignored by love.
But the advice to fellow travelers
in love is always the same,
quintessentially expressed in the
Victorian poet Tennyson’s timeless
trope: “tis better to have loved and
lost than never to have loved at all.”
If you were hoping for the
opposite advice, you’ve come the
wrong place. The history books,
poetry volumes, fiction shelves,
gallery walls and Netflix queues
all brim with characters carrying
on with loves that everyone knew
were doomed. Good luck finding
any whose pragmatism wasn’t
pummeled into submission by
love’s mighty forces.
Do you think “Casablanca” ’s
Rick and Ilsa, who were from
opposite ends of the Western
world, knew zero about each other
and were facing the Germans
rolling into Paris, didn’t know they
were doomed? Nonetheless they
carried out a storybook romance
montaged in dreamy flashback.
They loved, they lost, but they’ll
always have Paris.
It was the same for Dido, queen
of Carthage and Aeneas, who
commanded the Roman fleet soon
to sail home. You can’t stop divine
fate; you can’t stop human passion.
The “Before Sunrise” trilogy is
conceived entirely around short
timeframes where the lives of two
individuals intersect and then
separate. While the spontaneity of
Ethan Hawke’s decisions to hop
off the train in Vienna with the
beautiful and French Julie Delpy
seems like a no-brainer, the night
animates the entire rest of their
lives.
Many believe it is the very
nature of love to be fleeting. The
examples are countless, but look at
these elegant lyrics from the song
“Who Wants Love,” by Gus Kahn
and Franz Wexman, and made
famous by Billie Holiday:
Who wants love?
Love is a joy we borrow
Pay back in tears tomorrow
So who wants love?
Who wants love?
Something to fill your heart with
So very soon to part with
So who wants love?
So you might say that love
is comfortable in a temporary
setting. In your situation, Luct, the
temporariness of your setting may
well be enabling, even intensifying,
your love. Go with it; who’s to say
it’s not the best kind?
And really, you can’t ever fully
possess anyone, even if you were
not scheduled for an imminent
parting of ways. Consider this
passage from Mark Merlis’s novel
“The Arrow’s Flight,” which
sets American gay culture of the
late ’70s within a classical Greek
framework:
“Do you know how sometimes
you see a man, and you’re not sure
if you want to get in his pants or if
you want to cry? Not because you
can’t have him; maybe you can:
But you see right away something
in him beyond having. You can’t
screw your way into it, any more
than you can get at the golden
eggs by slitting the goose. So you
want to cry, not like a child, but
like an exile who is reminded of
his homeland. That’s what Leucon
saw when he first beheld Pyrrhus:
as if he were getting a glimpse of
that other place we were meant to
be, the shore from which we were
deported before we were born.”
The lesson, beautifully
intensified in the passage, is that
owning your lover’s perpetual
time may be an illusion and being
with them in the moment, as you
say, may be the only, or best, thing
there is.
Read the rest at michigandaily.
com/section/arts
Jakab will be missed very
much. If you miss her already,
email gillianj@umich.edu
The ship has sailed
CULTURAL CURES COLUMN
GILLIAN
JAKAB
I
NT. STUDENT PUBLI-
CATIONS NEWSROOM,
NIGHT
A table full of misfits, a com-
puter that barely works, six
friends
brought
together
by fate and
a shared
appreciation
for Courtney
Barnett.
Our heroine,
CHLOE, is
dressed up
in one of
her several
frilly black
shirts. She knows it’s a special
night — a season finale of sorts.
It’s her last nightside shift at
The Michigan Daily. She edits
a Rick Ross album review and
lays the articles out on the page,
exports them to the printer. She
is disappointed how normally
everything goes. No excitement,
a well-written but unfulfilling
ending to such an excellent show.
B+.
And then it’s finished. The
underclassmen leave. THE
ONLY OTHER SENIOR goes to
a club meeting or study session
or something. She bullies one of
her co-editors into staying at the
table with her, then encourages
him to read her senior goodbye,
which she knows will probably
make him cry. He suddenly leaves
mid-read, and she is alone at the
table. She puts on music to fill
the void. “Don’t Dream It’s Over”
comes on her shuffled IPOD
and her eyes well up. Within a
few minutes, she is out of her
beloved newsroom and openly
sobbing and gasping for breath
at a red light.
Chloe has seen enough TV
finales to know when she’s liv-
ing one. It’s the last night of
production at The Michigan
Daily, maybe the last time she’ll
be paid to do journalism. It’s the
last night she’ll spend with these
beautiful friends without having
to catch up, ask what’s new or
comment on who grew a beard
in the nine weeks since she has
seen him. Even though she’s
supposed to stay back at the
Daily and do senior activities,
she needs a few minutes to sort
herself out.
She crawls into bed with her
iPod, scouring her collection
to find a song that’s a worthy
score to her hurricane of emo-
tions. She settles on “Holy Shit,”
a song that Father John Misty
wrote on the day of his wedding
to express the ambivalent terror
and hope he felt about mov-
ing into a new phase of his life.
“Holy Shit” ’s lyrics are mostly
cynical nonsense, but sometimes
the searing guitar and piano
break through for a lyric or two
that make your heart stop from
their sincerity.
Oh, and love is just an institu-
tion based on human frailty /
What’s your paradise gotta do with
Adam and Eve? / Maybe love is
just an economy based on resource
scarcity / But what I fail to see is
what that’s gotta do with you and
me.
For a half hour, she listens to
the song on repeat, the last 30 sec-
onds punching her rawer every
time, and texts the FRIEND
WHO LEFT to apologize for
being shitty and making him read
her goodbye at the table. She’s a
slave to dramatic narrative. She
just wanted a good finale.
***
Since that night in December,
I could list off a dozen others that
have felt like finales — Friday
night at Rick’s when they played
“Toxic” and I had a serendipitous
run-in with a recurring character
from a few seasons ago, buying a
graduation gown in the Student
Publications building conference
room while “Wouldn’t It Be Nice”
played from someone’s laptop,
texting a friend from a hotel room
in Austin and feeling every mile of
the distance between us. I’m try-
ing to keep an album of these little
goodbyes, because the real ones
are coming soon enough, and I’m
not prepared to say them.
In August, I’m moving to Aus-
tin for grad school. My friends
are scattering across the country,
some immediately, some in a
year or two. I don’t know anyone
in Texas (unless you count the
Taylor family from “Friday Night
Lights”), and I’ll be a three hour
plane ride from all my friends and
family. I wish I could say I was
excited, but it’s hard to stomach a
fresh start when you’re so in love
with the places and the people
and the life you’ve got right now.
This dream and future are com-
ing closer and faster, but none of it
feels real — at least, not as real as
my place in line at Zingerman’s,
April snow flurries in my hair or
a hug from my best friend who is
right here. It’s a lot to let go of. I
don’t know how to do it.
During the last few minutes
of the “Six Feet Under” series
finale, Claire Fisher says some-
thing along these same lines.
She is leaving her family for the
first time to set off for New York,
where she’ll get her dream job as
a photographer. But the dream
doesn’t feel real, and it’s the
hardest thing she has ever done
to stand on her porch and hug
the real ones goodbye. “I have
no idea how to do this,” Claire
admits to her brother David.
“Just say goodbye. Just say
I love you, I’ll miss you.” The
rest of her family files out to the
porch to bid Claire farewell, and
she pulls out her camera to take
one last photo of everyone stand-
ing together. Her older brother
Nate appears below her on the
porch, a talking ghost or halluci-
nation or just the person Claire
needed to see, her twin soul that
passed away earlier in the show’s
final season. He leans into her
ear and whispers some words of
wisdom and tells her how to say
goodbye.
“You can’t take a picture of
this. It’s already gone.”
Since I first watched this epi-
sode five years ago, I’ve tried to
make sense of this haunting line.
I think I finally get it. The porch
is the gateway to a new part of
Claire’s life, and now that she’s
on the porch, she has already
started to move away. Every
second that ticks by is gone with
the next tick, time stretching and
pulling Claire farther from this
version of herself and her life.
The way Nate says this line is
peaceful, like he’s telling Claire
not to cling desperately to these
dying moments, but to cherish
each of them as they’re happen-
ing and let go as they slip away.
Let the dream guide you, let the
picture of happiness stay mythic
and imagined, don’t try too hard
to re-live the finale.
***
A week or two ago, following
one of my finale nights, I had
a dream I was on the shores of
coastal Greece, falling into a
quick and desperate affair with
Ezra Koenig, the lead singer of
Vampire Weekend. I’ve had a few
dreams about celebrities before
— probably a symptom of my
general pop culture obsession or
the fact that I listened to Modern
Vampires of the City earlier that
night. The dream with Ezra was
by far the most vivid I’ve ever
had. It played out in full like a
movie — specifically, like a com-
plete rip-off of “Before Sunrise.”
Ezra and I met by the beach.
We’d both been living in Greece
for a while but never crossed
paths before, which I guess
sometimes happens with people
who become your best friends.
You’re existing in parallel, walk-
ing down the same street and
thinking the same things and
loving the same movies, yet
somehow never knowing that
person on the other side of the
gulf.
We talked about the stuff
we love first, because the way
we related to each other was by
sharing our opinions about TV
and music and art. He was really
jazzed about the upcoming LCD
Soundsystem festival reunion
tour and we recited all the lyrics
to “All My Friends” to each other
while standing in the ocean.
And if the sun comes up, if the
sun comes up, if the sun comes up
and I still don’t wanna stagger
home / Then it’s the memory of
our betters / That are keeping us
on our feet.
Ezra reminded me of home,
something I hadn’t felt in all the
months I was living in Greece.
He wasn’t from Ann Arbor or my
Illinois hometown or anything,
but I felt like he’d been traveling
alongside me the whole time.
We loved the same things in the
same way — with earnestness
and sincerity and a double dose
of passion. I couldn’t think of
anyone I’d rather walk the dream
streets of Island City, Greece
with.
***
After a few hours of lazy
dream haziness, I was feeling
especially candid and wanted to
let Ezra know how I felt about
him before I lost my courage.
I was so glad I’d spent this day
with him, so glad we could talk
about things we loved and know
somebody else saw the world the
same way
—
this world of beauti-
ful and silly things, dumb jokes
and good veggie burgers, nights
like this where we feel like we’re
the only people awake in Island
City and all its gorgeous splendor
is ours for the taking. I wanted
to stretch our night into forever.
So did he.
We made the impulsive deci-
sion to take spaceships to Mars,
because we’d always wanted to
go there, and we felt the clock
ticking closer to morning and
our inevitable parting. Ezra and
I wanted to get to a place where
time couldn’t hurt us anymore
and those gorgeous moments
didn’t have to die. We’d sit on
Mars and look out at little Earth
below, smiling at how beautiful
Island City looks in August from
a million miles away.
Still, I could feel our paths
sorting out into parallel again. I
was meant to wake up from this
dream and we were meant to
separate. We were taking indi-
vidual spaceships to Mars, and I
was already resigned to the fact
that we wouldn’t get there at the
same time.
Read the rest at michigandaily.
com/section/arts
Gilke will be missed very much.
To send her a farewell message,
email her at chloeliz@umich.edu
An album of finales
TV/NEW MEDIA COLUMN
CHLOE
GILKE