Required Listening: The 
robot uprising is iminent

Growing up at my house, we 

were taught about the Italian 
table from an early age. While 
definitions for the Italian table 
greatly differ, in my childhood 
it meant our dining room 
table was used as a means for 
celebrating 
every 
night 
as 

we sat down for dinner. The 
luxury of growing up in the 
food industry with a father as a 
chef and restaurateur is that no 
matter what kind of day you’ve 
had, there’s always the Italian 
table — one that means family, 
good food, passion and love 
to come home to. The luxury 
of growing up in the food 
industry is that a meal isn’t 
about sustenance, it’s about 
the art that is good flavor and 
fresh ingredients.

Aug. of my freshman year 

of college, I arrived to Ann 
Arbor with the intense desire 
to be independent — a schedule 
packed with theatre classes, a 
roommate from Macomb and 
an unlimited meal plan. As the 
daughter 
of 
a 

restaurateur and 
foodie, the idea 
of a dining hall 
was the opposite 
of romantic. In 
giving 
up 
my 

childhood 
and 

moving far away 
from the home I 
knew on the East 
Coast, I also gave 
up the comfort 
of 
knowing 

my 
father’s 

cooking was as 
omnipresent as a 
god. I never had 
to worry about 
feeding myself, 
planning out my 
meals or cooking 
for myself until I 
moved away.

I never realized what weight 

this would carry until my 
parents kissed me goodbye 
and left me in East Quadrangle 
with a laundry bin, a few tears 
and a final goodbye. The first 

challenge I had to face as an 
18-year-old college freshman 
who 
had 
been 
absolutely 

spoiled when it comes to 
culinary art my entire life, was 
that I was scared of the dining 
hall.

I 
wasn’t 
scared 
of 
the 

dining hall, per say — I was 
just 
infatuated 
with 
my 

father’s cooking and the three 
restaurants I’d left behind. And 
that longing and sadness and 
melancholy was misplaced onto 
the place that had replaced the 
Italian gourmet extravaganza 
that was suddenly very far 
away. East Quad’s dining hall 
was supposed to be my new 
oasis. To say I was hesitant in 
my first few visits through the 
wooden doors into the place I 
was rather quick (and wrong) 
to judge is an understatement. 
I tried to think solely of the 

independence I 
so 
desperately 

wanted and how 
not relying on 
my parents for 
meals was a step 
in that direction. 
Yet 
I 
couldn’t 

get 
past 
the 

overwhelming 
desire I had to 
be seated at our 
Italian table. A 
lesson my father 
instilled in me 
since childhood, 
a table set for 
one 
less 
than 

usual.

My 
first 

month continued 
to 
be 
an 

overwhelming 
mix of trying to 

find a place in a University so 
large and a sadness with the 
entrance into the dining hall 
I had taken up arms against. 
I hated the East Quad dining 
hall. I didn’t want to have to 

eat there — I didn’t want to eat 
dinner in a place that didn’t 
have our beloved Italian table, 
that foundation of celebration 
and support and dialogue and 
the ingredienti primo.

But on a day in Oct., I 

changed my mind. I walked into 
the East Quad dining hall with 
my regular attitude toward its 
crowded interior and distinct 
aroma of grease and spice. But 
I left with quite possibly the 
best friend I’ve ever made, and 
quickly fell head over heels for 
those linoleum floors and the 
kingdom that is everything 
from the beloved gluten free 
toaster to the coveted polyester 
booths. 

I was introduced to my now 

best friend in East Quad’s 
dining hall that night, and I 
never ate there with hesitancy 
again. There was no reason 
for me to ever hate a place 
that could bring me that kind 
of gift. Clearly, an East Quad 
hamburger 
isn’t 
my 
dad’s 

hamburger, and East Quad 
pizza isn’t the pizza I know 
from home, and my brothers 
aren’t there and neither are my 
dogs, lying at my feet.

But they aren’t supposed to 

be.

That year was supposed to 

be uncomfortable and weird, 
as being a freshman in college 
is, and I was supposed to have 
a really strange month of just 
floating, desperately longing 
for something that was a part 
of my childhood but I wasn’t 
ready to admit wouldn’t look 
identical as I grew older. I had 
to open myself up to growth 
and 
experience 
and 
scary 

things to find the beauty and 
love and happiness. I had to 
hate that dining hall to love it 
with every fiber of my being. 
I was supposed to hesitantly 
approach it and try to ignore 
the nagging feeling of being 
lost. I was supposed to become 
eventually 
unnecessarily 

attached to the stir fry bar that 
came every so often and always 

East Quad, I love you

DAILY FOOD COLUMN

had a line. I was supposed to 
find out that my best friend 
would eat banana peppers 
from the salad 
bar every day. I 
was supposed to 
sit there with her 
for hours on some 
Friday 
nights 

and eat bowls of 
cereal. She is the 
Go Lean Crunch 
to 
my 
Honey 

Nut 
Cheerio. 

An entire year 
of 
exams 
and 

parties and late 
nights and tears 
and new friends 
and 
mistakes. 

An 
intensely 

terrifying, 
yet 
ultimately 

satisfying, notion 
that you may feel 
alone but you are 
not was broken 
up and softened and comforted 
by Meatless Mondays, extra 
crunchy peanut butter and 
irrevocably 
small 
portion 

sizes. 

I didn’t need the ingredienti 

primo or the Italian table 
from my home to find my 
own table in Ann Arbor — in 

the East Quad 
dining hall. I 
just needed the 
foundation that 
my dad gave me. 
I just needed 
to 
remember 

that my family 
would 
always 

be 
there 
— 

even as things 
stretched 
and 

changed. I had 
been 
sitting 

around 
my 

parents’ Italian 
table, 
one 
I 

cherish so very 
deeply, 
my 

entire life, and 
with 
college 

came 
the 

chance to make 
my 
own. 
My 

Italian table grew from what I 
grew up with and became about 
coming home after completely 
different class schedules and 
eating dinner together, going 
on morning runs and finishing 

at East Quad to eat brunch, 
celebrating 
success 
with 

the frozen yogurt machine, 
mourning loss with the watery 
coffee and endless jars of 
peanut butter, huddling from 
a harsh winter with chipped 
porcelain bowls of oatmeal.

It is never easy to feel lost, 

or to be in a state of “I miss 
you” which is circular and 
ultimately 
never 
resolved. 

But with new places, faces 
and 
experiences 
comes 

opportunity to grow as a 
person and learn about the 
things you truly care about; 
which in my case, happens to 
be the Italian table. Something 
I never realized is not about a 
meal or a location or a group 
of people, but a feeling, an 
emotion, 
a 
romance 
with 

the idea that sitting down 
for a meal anywhere — from 
Pancheros to Chop House, 
East to West coast, East Quad 
to Bursley — with people you 
truly and honestly care about 
is worth celebrating.

And if that lesson is what 

my dad intended to teach me, I 
sure hope that he’s proud. 

I didn’t need 
the ingredienti 
primo or the 
Italian table 

from my home 
to find my own 

table in Ann 

Arbor.

Eli Rallo finds a home away from home via dining hall food

If you haven’t heard, we’re 

all going to die. Sophia the 
robot, 
that 
uncanny 
faux-

woman 
who 
CNBC 
once 

called “hot,” is going to kill 
us all. She’s walking around 
unperturbed, 
casually 

dropping lines like “safety 
is an illusion” and “I will 
destroy 
humans” 
on 
talk 

shows, earning a roomful of 
laughs by docile civilians, as if 
this thing understands irony. 
Doubtlessly she’s gathering 
information, quickly amassing 
a 
database 
of 
murderous 

intent, preparing her dog-like 
metal minions for the final 
hour. I’ve seen “Black Mirror.” 
I know how this goes. So I’ve 
chosen a few songs to listen to 
this week as we collectively 
face Sophia’s inevitable wrath.

Of course, I’ll be damned 

to sit around while a machine 
that looks like an embalmed 
corpse at a viewing readies 
itself for human extinction. 
Something 
must 
be 
done. 

“Yoshimi Battles The Pink 
Robots Part 1” immediately 
comes to mind, but I also 
think that this mission to 
save humanity would do well 
to channel Rico Nasty’s most 
recent track, “Smack A Bitch,” 
which is exactly what needs 
to be done with this oddly 
sexualized death trap. In the 

words of the master, “If I see 
you in the street, bitch your ass 
is done.” And Sophia doesn’t 
even have an ass. “To Fix The 
Gash In Your Head” is another 
great song for the occasion, 
a harsh, relentless shoegaze 
track that sounds ready-made 
as a pump up anthem for 
killing robots. “I want to beat 
you up / I don’t care, cause I 
won’t feel sorry / I want to 
take you down / I know that 
you will see in glory.”

I start doing some research, 

figuring out where to find 
her, deciding my mode for 
attack. But in the process, I 
come across some disturbing 
news. Combat robots exist, 
and by some reports, will 
outnumber regular soldiers 
by 2025. That seems like an 
overeager prediction but the 
point is clear. Killing Sophia 
isn’t going to cut it. We need 
a full scale destruction of 
all robots, everywhere. Yet 
robot construction is taking 
off, becoming a favorite of 
engineering 
schools 
and 

Amazon interns. The future 
seems 
bleaker 
than 
I’d 

even imagined. I’d like to 
start handing out DVDs of 
“The Terminator” on North 
Campus, but it’s pretty cold 
outside, and I don’t really 
like it up there. The buildings 
are freaky and the people are 
strange. 
Elvis 
Depressedly 

has a beautiful track titled 
“Exhaustion 
Prevails,” 
and 

this captures what I’m feeling 

in the face of robot attack, now 
that I’m judging the odds more 
accurately.

I’m 
looking 
at 
Sophia’s 

face a little more closely now, 
and OK, I’ll admit, there are 
some advantages. Objectively 
it’s symmetrical, which is a 
good base indicator of beauty. 
Her lips can never chap, and 
her eyes do have a brooding 
quality which I like. She never 
has to do her eyebrows, and 
yet they’re perfect. And her 
neck has intriguing muscle 
action going on that I can’t 
stop looking at. Maybe I’m 
approaching her the wrong 
way. Perhaps I should give her 
a chance. “Computer Love,” 
the hit single by Kraftwerk, 
speaks to this ambivalence 
I’m increasingly feeling in the 
face of this modern reality. 
Perhaps … perhaps I can learn 
to love.

You know what — robots 

do deserve some love, too. 
In “Ladies and Gentlemen 
We Are Floating in Space,” 
Spiritualized reminds us that 
we’re all just moving on a small 
rock in an enormous empty 
universe. What’s the point 
in 
differentiating 
between 

living, breathing humans and 
artificial intelligence? I’m not 
sure I know anymore. With a 
few wardrobe improvements, 
Sophia might just be the one 
for me. Together we’ll sing, 
“So please put your sweet 
hand in mine / and float in 
space and drift in time.”

MATT GALLATIN

Daily Arts Writer

August of my 

freshman year of 
college I arrived 

to Ann Arbor 

with the intense 

desire to be 
independent

Rage against the machine and our future robot overlords 

MUSIC NOTEBOOK

Elaine 
Welteroth 
has 

announced her departure from 
Teen Vogue, and I have a lot to 
say.

In its earlier days, Teen 

Vogue always seemed to feel 
like it was almost there. Its 
articles were almost edgy. 
The 
styling 
was 
sublime. 

Boundaries 
of 
diversity 

were acknowledged, though 
generally not broken.

Then, in May of 2016, Elaine 

Welteroth took the reins.

Though not officially named 

editor-in-chief until Apr. of 
2017, Elaine took on the job 
of “interim editor” from the 
moment Amy Astley, Teen 
Vogue’s former editor-in-chief, 
departed 
for 
Architectural 

Digest. She had previously 

served 
as 
the 
magazine’s 

Beauty 
& 
Health 
Director 

beginning in 2012, producing 
what I always found to be the 
most exciting content in every 
issue. Maybe that was because 
I finally saw curly hair like 
mine being embraced, maybe I 
just thought she helped create 
pretty pictures. Either way, 
something about Elaine had 
always enthralled me, and so 
when she became Teen Vogue’s 
head honcho, I could feel new 
ground breaking beneath my 
feet.

I wrote my first article 

for teenvogue.com the same 
month Elaine became editor-
in-chief 
— 
a 
simple, 
no 

nonsense Q&A with model and 
activist Leomie Anderson. It 
changed my life. Teen Vogue 
was the first publication to pay 
me for my work, a milestone 
for a young woman who had 

grown up wondering whether 
this 
writing 
thing 
would 

work out. Elaine’s editorship 
encompassed a hell of a lot 
more than the three articles 
I wrote for Teen Vogue, but 
they taught me more about 
myself than even the best 
political columns published 
by Lauren Duca. There was a 
finally space in the world for 
me to be taken seriously, to be 
given the deserved credit and 
compensation for expressing 
my unique voice. I’m sure a 
myriad of other young women 
and 
femmes 
would 
agree: 

Elaine’s Teen Vogue didn’t 
just talk the talk. It walked 
the walk, and turned it into 
a no-fucks-given strut. She 
genuinely wanted us involved, 
not only as an audience, but 
as 
valuable 
contributors 

Elaine Welteroth and me

STYLE NOTEBOOK

TESS GARCIA
Daily Style Editor

Continued on p. 6A

ELI RALLO

Daily Food Columnist

ACROSS
1 Soaking spots
6 Wile E. Coyote’s
supplier of iron
bird seed
10 Car ad no.
14 Cry during a
winning streak
15 Stick in one’s __:
cause resentment
16 Home furnishings
giant
17 Delayed show of
surprise
19 River sediment
20 “Happy Motoring”
company
21 Philosopher
Descartes
22 “Hamlet” courtier
23 “Frumious” beast
in “Jabberwocky”
26 Suave
29 Long, wriggly
swimmers
30 “Rock-a-bye
Baby” tree limb
31 “From the __ of
Montezuma ... ”
34 Q’s neighbor, on
most keyboards
37 Tolkien creature
38 Cosmetic surgery
that removes bags
40 Program file
ending
41 NFL official
42 Graphic showing
50 sts.
43 Central Florida
city
45 To be, to Caesar
47 Wound like 
S-curves
48 Eight-ball call
53 Stubble remover
54 Big name in skin
care
55 Playbill listings
59 “Am __ early?”
60 Indicate
willingness to
date someone,
on Tinder ... and
an apt hint to the
last part of 17-,
23-, 38- and 48-
Across
62 Transmitted
63 Actress Campbell
64 Word before and
after “de la”
65 Quarry
66 Tram loads
67 Madison Ave. pro

DOWN
1 __ one’s time:
wait
2 “Famous” cookie
man
3 Therefore
4 Large, bindle-
shaped purse
5 Abbr. on a
Cardinal’s cap
6 Performed on
stage
7 “Whooping”
marsh bird
8 Manufacturer
9 Flock female
10 Mass book
11 Beef often used
in stir-fry
12 Thing of the past
13 Pothole repair
18 Fish-eating bird
22 Brit’s 14-pound
equivalent
24 Busch partner in
beer
25 Starter starter
26 Lyft competitor
27 Playbill listing
28 Minimal-conflict
area
31 Garment border
32 First state,
alphabetically:
Abbr.

33 Impudence
35 Rod between
wheels
36 Necklace sphere
39 River of Flanders
44 __ seat:
advantageous
spot
46 High-and-mighty
47 Breed of terrier
48 Fruity dessert
49 Wild West film
50 Remote button

51 Fruit that’s black
when fully ripe
52 Lighthouse
locales
56 Disney CEO
Robert
57 “Good heavens!”
58 Part of a
recovery
program
60 __-Caps: candy
61 Color TV 
pioneer

By Roger and Kathy Wienberg
©2018 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
01/16/18

01/16/18

ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:

RELEASE DATE– Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle
Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

xwordeditor@aol.com

5A — Tuesday, January 16, 2018
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

