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April 05, 2019 - Image 6

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The Michigan Daily

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By Robert and Marlea Ellis
©2019 Tribune Content Agency, LLC

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle

Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis



Release Date: Friday, April 5, 2019

1 Triumphant
5 Illusion
11 “The good is __
interred with their
bones”: “Julius
14 Ostrich relatives
15 Payday lender,
16 Extract with effort
17 Suffers
18 Make some
cote residents
20 Singer Etheridge
22 One no longer
23 Enjoy at a
leisurely pace
24 Pikelike fish
25 Nihilistic art
26 Calf roper’s
31 Put away
32 Young one
33 Storm
37 Ranking suit
40 Giant Mel
42 Fund
43 2019 Grammy
Awards host
45 40-Acr. is in it
47 Savings plan
48 Birdwatcher’s
journal entry?
52 “Frozen” sister
55 “Live __”: Taco
Bell slogan
56 Prop for Palmer
57 Valley element?
59 Embezzlers, e.g.
63 Borden, in the
65 Cloud of gloom
66 Golden __
67 Singer Grande
68 Biblical twin
69 Risk
70 Identified
71 Editor’s notation

1 Group of
2 Parisian love
3 Hardly inspiring

4 Good
Samaritan’s offer
5 Persnickety one
6 “The Thin Man”
7 Help in the
8 Biblical mount
9 Unfavorable
10 In the past, in the
11 Adams’ “Nixon in
China,” e.g.
12 Let go
13 Far from
19 Out of sight
21 Work for parents
24 Juicy tidbit
26 Greek salad
27 Bowling great __
28 Sewing case
29 “I can’t get no
30 Farm mom
34 First name in
the cast of “The
35 Sped

36 Christmas song
38 2008 presidential
39 Actress Zadora
41 Heavy weight
44 Bedroom piece
46 Dimwit
49 Polish seaport, in
50 Welcoming gift
51 Leaked slowly
52 Founded: Abbr.

53 Feudal subject
54 Reason for
closed schools,
58 Show
59 Stabber
60 Still-life standard
61 Airline known for
tight security
62 Turn on an axis
64 Half a slalom



Teenage girls have been the
humanity since the beginning
understanding of alienation is
made fun of, turned into memes
of “mom, it’s just a phase” and
humor that proliferates across
teen and adult society, even
infecting girls themselves. It’s
no wonder this is true — our
media consistently pushes those
few teenage girls who are self-
confident and genuine down to
join the rest of their age group
through unrealistic standards for
everything from their bodies to
the colors they are supposed to
wear. We all know this, and many
of us (including myself) have
channeled their frustration at that
pressure into classic existential
angst. We pierce our noses, we
dye our hair, we pick up the guitar
or the cigarette, sometimes all at
once. In avoiding one stereotype,
we slowly move into another.
There’s no better example of
this kind of response to society
than the mere existence of
singer Billie Eilish. Eilish is a
veritable unicorn in the music
industrial complex — she’s a
teenage girl, yes, but she’s missed
and hypersexualization by a
thread. She’s in charge of her
own songwriting, often done
with her brother and producer
Finneas. Eilish is partial to pairing
incredibly oversized sweatshirts
and pants and has developed a
fashion sense that literally only she
could pull off. She’s not dancing in
the hallways of a Catholic school
in miniskirts, she’s collaborating
Takashi Murakami on Hot Topic-

trademark is a sense of angst that
never makes it into eye-rolling
territory, creating an enthralling
case study in what the fusion
of 2019’s feminist environment
and the extant pressure of her
industry can do.
So it’s no wonder that the singer
has accrued a devoted army of
followers and fans, most of them
teenagers like herself. Though
it’s a surprise to remember
after watching a few of Eilish’s
interviews or music videos, she’s
only 17 — and started making
music four years ago. Despite her
age, Eilish oozes a kind of beyond-
her-years understanding of the
world that many modern girls do,
too. In a world that plays to their
insecurities constantly, Eilish’s
main audience sees a light in her
music, one that tells them their
jaded perception of society is ok
and even cool. In this, the singer
is under tremendous pressure
to maintain her image as a
perpetually bored and depressed
beauty, languid in the spotlight of
her own creation.
This is why the cult of Billie
Eilish is more complex than it may
seem. The legions of supporters
she has garnered through her
first EP and now her recent studio

expect a certain vibe from the
performer at all times to mirror
their own. Unfortunately for
Eilish, that vibe is depressed and
flippant. She’s real as hell, but at
some point, that realness takes
its toll. After all, the girl is only
17. Eilish may have escaped the
more classic markers of industry
control, but instead of those, she
has now fallen into a different sort
of trap. Just like those of us who
left bubblegum-pink lip gloss for
fishnets, Eilish has broken the
restraints of Ariana Grande-style
pop-stardom only to find herself
in another box: that of the emo
There are dozens of examples
that show there is a way out
of this image, namely, that of
Hayley Williams, the lead singer
of Paramore. Now in her late
twenties, Williams has managed
to shed her early punk teenager
image for that of a more balanced
woman, one that still makes
incredible music in the same
alternative vein. This could be the
path that Billie Eilish goes down,
but for now, it’s up for debate.
Watching her talk about how even
the last year of her life has changed
in the wake of fame, in a side-by-
side interview in Vanity Fair, it is
worrying to see how Eilish’s dark
stage persona has leeched into her
real outlook on life. She represents
a change in the industry towards
a deeper understanding of the
minds of teenage girls — but will
that pressure to change drag her
down? It’s hard to say right now, as
she rides the wave of her album’s
success this month. But in the next
few years, I will keep a close eye
on Eilish. She might transcend the
constraints of her image, or delve
deeper into their murky waters.
Hopefully, she’ll swim.



The cult of Billie Eilish

The Daily Artz Punk Rockers ran the Probility Marathon relay
last Sunday. We shockingly placed 14th, verified by the race’s rather
impressive standardized results system. Writers can run, too. Ask John.
He finished first in his leg.
The Probility Marathon, facilitated by Epic Races, held their first
event in Ann Arbor in 2012. This event raised thousands of dollars
for Ann Arbor Public Schools and various nonprofits. Recipients of
this year’s race proceeds include Packard Health, Cancer Support
Community, Ele’s Place and North Star Reach. Epic Races has raised a
total of $205,000 for nonprofits since 2015. This number continues to
grow through their events — which not only benefit charities, but the
local runners who participate in them as well.
This year’s starting line began near Michigan Stadium, directly
outside of Fingerle Lumber (RIP Fingerle). The course then proceeded
into the Hill neighborhood, around Forest Hill Cemetery, through Gallop
Park and, finally, through the Arboretum, which was arguably the worst
leg of the run, thanks to its massive hill. The course then finished back
at the start — outside of Fingerle, in view of Michigan Stadium in all its
Cameron Trinh mastered the course and won the Marathon, with a
time of 2:49:03. That’s a 6:27 pace! For 26.2 miles! Congrats from Daily
Arts, Cameron. Most of us can’t run a mile that fast on a good day.
6:00 a.m. - Verity
I wake up on my couch to the tinny rattle of the iPhone alarm preset,
computer still asleep on my stomach. My roommate and I have passed
out perpendicular on the sectional again, feet kissing in the middle,
up until three a.m. pounding out bad poetry analyses (sorry Marjorie).
My lymph nodes are swollen for whatever reason; my mind is weak. I
somehow peel myself out of the scene and fumble around in my bedroom
for a minute or ten, tossing on a couple sweatshirts and throwing back
various generic cold & flu pills in an effort to Feel Better. I’m moving
slow. I can’t find my earbuds, and shake my roommate awake demanding
she lend me hers.
When I look at my watch it’s somehow 6:45, and Fingerle Lumber is a
30 minute walk away. I shamefully text the Punk Runners that I’m going
to Uber to the start line, but then Emma offers to scoop me. Hell yeah.
I lay back down on the couch for another five, willing my headache to
abate, and then she texts me “Here.” I rise, anti-heroic, and my roommate
stirs awake to murmur “you’re a champion, dude.” I almost fall down the
stairs and then crawl into Emma’s Chevy. “I feel like shit,” I tell her. She
hands me a CLIF bar. We roll out.
7:30 a.m. - Jenna, who ran the first leg and missed the rest of the marathon
Thankfully, I’m more awake now than I was 45 minutes before. I woke
up late, inhaled oatmeal and spent the whole pre-race period praying that
I wouldn’t vomit whilst running. The night before, I’d Googled “What to
eat before running 7.05 miles,” but promptly ignored and subsequently
forgot the Internet’s advice.
I also didn’t train whatsoever and hadn’t run all winter (because,
honestly, who would want to). I wondered in between prayers if I could
even run 7.05 miles. To chase the thought out of my head, I remember
that, when Verity asked me if I could run 6 to 7 miles a week before the
race, I responded with an enthusiastic “YES!” It was decided: whether
or not I can run 7.05 miles, I’m going to run 7.05 miles.
Before I reluctantly leave my team to head toward the start line, John
gives me a bandana, which I tie around my ponytail, and Emma and
Verity hype me up for the race.
“I’m gonna win!” I say in response, knowing damn well that I am, in

fact, not going to win.
“That’s the spirit!” they respond. Before I know it, the horn sounds
and off I go, into an abyss of runners who are undoubtedly more ready
for this than I am.
After fighting off the thought that I just might throw up, the miles
seem to fly by. I’m perplexed by this the entire time I’m running, because
usually I start dying around mile three. Conveniently, however, my
boyfriend shows up with my dog and an adorable sign that says “Go
Jenna” at the mile three marker. The thought of stopping then becomes
impossible because stopping would fail both him and my dog, who not
only woke up at the crack of dawn for me, but also made me a sign that
I’ll keep until I actually die.
Another factor contributing to the rapid passage of miles might’ve
been the fact that I’m listen to Queen’s “Fat Bottomed Girls” on repeat
the entire time I’m running. Great choice in the context of running, bad
choice in the context of contributing to a collaborative Punk Rockers
Who really knows how I finished my leg. The important thing is that I
did. I round the corner in Gallop Park to see my loyal relay team hooting
and hollering for me next to the giant bus that they missed earlier that
morning just to see me start the race. I pass John the relay belt, wish him
luck and watch him fade into the distance, his long strides looking a lot
more graceful (and productive) than my short ones.
Though dead, I feel accomplished. I see my dad, my step-mom, my
brother, his girlfriend and my dad’s so-ugly-she’s-cute bulldog waiting
for me across the park. I kiss the dog before my dad tells me she just
puked all over my brother’s girlfriend’s leg, and my brother’s girlfriend
shows me the stain on her pants. I smile. I just ran 7.05 miles and not
even dog puke can bring me down now.
I say goodbye to Emma and Verity, eat an omelet with my family and
go straight to a three-and-a-half hour orientation for study abroad. I sit in
an Angell Hall auditorium in my sweaty running clothes and “love” react
to my relay team’s pre- and post-race selfies. My FOMO is overwhelming.
I cheer aloud when I get the “we did it!” message a few hours later, and
realize that, wow, we did do it. We ran a marathon.
7:31 a.m. - John
Preceding such a gentle passing-of-the-belt, Verity, Emma, Noah
and I were meanwhile on the hunt for transportation to the hand-off
point where I would take over from Jenna. Thankfully, Epic Races was
providing a bus that would drive to the hand-off point. Unfortunately,
we missed that bus. Granted, this was purposeful — the bus departed
before the race began, and we wanted to see Jenna start. So, after she
sped off, we were stuck at the finish line, race apparel doing little against
the freezing weather, scrolling violently for a Lyft or an Uber that would
pick us up.
Things didn’t look up much once we found a ride, though. Almost
every road surrounding the race site was closed off. So, while we had
succeeded in acquiring a Lyft, it was far away and struggling to come any
closer. We huddled together for half an hour, watching the Lyft do circles
on the map — all the while with Jenna approaching the hand-off point
where no one waited for her.
At last our ride arrived. We crammed (certainly not illegally) and
endured a fifteen-minute ride of near silence broken only by early
morning jazz radio. Verity pulled out a copy of “Pride and Prejudice”
from the dash, but it turned out to be an empty iPad case. It was silent
and maybe a little awkward.
We arrived just on time to see Jenna making her way (galloping?)
through Gallop Park.
8:30/40 a.m. - John encounters a woman holding a dixie cup
After Jenna handed me the belt (and Verity tightened it for me — yes,
I am truly that incompetent) I was off. Unlike Jenna, I didn’t have a
boyfriend or a dog awaiting me at mile three. Defeating, I know. All that
expected me at such a checkpoint was an older woman hunched over,
holding a cup of water and saying “good job.” Which is also fine.
The miles felt surprisingly short (which is emphatically not to
say easy), and I guess I could say there seemed to be some sort of
friendly ambience between all of the runners as we went along. Some
understanding of mutual pain coupled with the fact that we all smelled

revolting that made the movement easier. All the while I reveled in some
good old Kero Kero Bonito and Polo and Pan which made me go faster
(or so I’d like to believe).
The course twisted through U-M Medical Campus, through the Arb,
and back down Central Campus to Hill Street where my very own abode
lies. Things were feeling somewhat fantastic save a slight urge to vomit,
and after my miles I finally crossed the second hand-off point, sweating
violently, and I transferred the belt victoriously to Emma. Or, I would
have transferred the belt victoriously to Emma, if she would have been
there. She was not.
8:31 a.m. - Emma
After Verity and I watched John run off in all his glory, we made our
way back to the start — this time with the wonderful (and free) help of a
Michigan Flyer sponsored bus. It was as good as a chartered bus could be,
which means it was pretty great. With its cushy seats and temperature
control system, the bus provided a welcome respite from the morning
cold. Verity and I spent the superlit ride back discussing everything from
the race to high school crushes; it was an enlightening experience.
The bonding didn’t stop there, though. Once we arrived at the start, we
talked to Eva Solomon, the event coordinator, about the race and started
to explore the amenities offered to athletes. We eventually found Gabe
Solomon, a human pancake making machine, and some scrumptious
breakfast burritos. All the while John was trudging along through the
second leg of the race, it truly was the best of both worlds. That said,
Verity and I got sidetracked exploring the start line and ran into some
problems finding the exchange point for the relay. We eventually got
there (and John only had to wait for five minutes.)
9:15 a.m. - Emma listens to a podcast
Verity made a collaborative playlist so we could share what we all
listened to while running and I contributed, like the team player I am.
But I won’t lie: I wasn’t listening to the songs I put on there. My media of
choice is a podcast and I’ve been called a psycho by one person several
times because of it. I still stand by my choice – the podcast in question is
Crooked Media’s “Keep it” and helps me keep up on all the pop-culture-
turned-political-drama I could ever ask for. The hosts are a funny trio
(Ira Madison III, Louis Virtel and (my favorite) Kara Brown) and keep
my mind off the fact that I am without a doubt dying while I run.
The actual run wasn’t too eventful. Did I know where I was supposed to
go the whole time? Not particularly, but that’s why the other participants
are there. I will admit that it took me at least four miles to remember that
the plan wasn’t for me to circle back to the start, but rather end at Gallup.
Pro tip for running a race: look at the race map before you head out.
There is something oddly satisfying about running through the streets
of Ann Arbor; the roads are closed just for racers and you have the whole
street to yourself. I timed it well enough, or maybe I was just that slow,
where there were never too many people around me, and I didn’t have
to share the street with anyone but the encouraging race volunteers. My
heart was light, even if my legs weren’t.
On the point of the race volunteers, I had absolutely no clue how to
interact with them. Was I supposed to smile? Did I have to make eye
contact? What do I do when they’re shoving water in my face? Obviously,
I appreciated the water and the encouragement, but when you’re the
only one in the general vicinity and have no ability to chalk up your
rudeness to the fact that they weren’t talking to you, it gets real. Most of
the time, I gave a half-hearted smile or quickly averted my eyes and just
pretended not to hear them. I had headphones in, so that’s fine, right? My
manners may appall Emily Post, but my nerves applauded the decision.
By the last three miles of the race, I was in the middle of Ira, Louis and
Kara’s interview with Busy Phillips and I just have one quote to leave
you with: “I know that you think that I’m like the mom down the street,
and that’s chill, but I’ve also worked my fucking ass off in Hollywood
for 20 years and I have some nice shit.” Busy Phillips provided all the
aspirational moods I needed to get through my last mile, and I may not
have worked 20 years in Hollywood by the end, but I did run seven miles
and it felt great.

Daily Arts really ran a marathon. We nearly won.



Daily Arts Runner

Daily Arts Runner

Daily Arts Runner

Daily Arts Runner

6 — Friday, April 5, 2019
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

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