If you have anything to do with the Park School, you’ve noticed the slew of new flat screen TVs that showed up in the hallway over spring break. You can’t move five steps inside the building without running into a different, yet identical, expensive-looking TV hung overhead.

Frankly, we wonder what was wrong with the two flat screens that were already on display, and actually being used, in the lobby. One has Park School-related information (like what awards Park won six years ago and upcoming thesis screenings) and the other one usually plays CNN. What more do you need to see while you walk to your classroom or down to PPECS?

Now, even more than before, walking through Park feels ridiculous, constantly walking past pointless, high-quality flat screen TVs. And when we say pointless, we’re not exaggerating or ranting. We mean it in the sense that these TVs, which are not being used and seem to have no purpose, are actually pointless.

What was wrong with the couple of informative monitors in the lobby?

In the only times we’ve seen them turned on, a Mind The Gap logo was on it, and another time a blank computer screen took over the monitor. So really, what’s the point? People don’t need to see the same stuff on four different screens at once, especially if it’s a logo or… nothing.

Why does Ithaca College seem to be addicted to frivolous spending on the interior aesthetics of Park? (Check out the rainbow lights in Room 220 or the hundreds of thousands of dollars spent on the tile floor in the lobby.)

We’re assuming the only reason to install such things is to recruit potential students, but are students really going to come to Park based on the quantity of (not turned-on) nice TVs we have in the hallway?

Considering the TVs don’t seem to be in use yet, or at least productive use, we can’t help but question why they’re there. Even if they were all turned on, what purpose do they serve?

It seems as though Ithaca College is just committed to unnecessary spending. As if hundreds of thousands of dollars on a tile floor ($350,000, to be clear) weren’t enough, we have to now add unused TVs to the list.

If only that money could be spent on new computers, equipment or technology that might actually help students accomplish things during their time at college…

-A Giblin/Konerman joint

You’re driving slowly through your residential neighborhood listening to “TiK ToK” by Ke$ha. The windows are down, and you have decided this is the best car ride ever. No, it isn’t Ke$ha or the good weather—it’s the fact that you’re getting road head.  Yes, road head. 

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and my then-boyfriend picked me up from school. Our sex life had been nothing but routine, mediocre foreplay, so it was time to add some spice. We rode down the back road of a mountain and had a dull conversation—I was getting bored. I asked him if he wanted to go back to his house, but with his mom home, there wouldn’t be much difference. 

Then, he said he liked my lip-gloss. Given my boredom, I told him I thought he should unzip.

As I started to lean over, I could see the white showing up in his knuckles and a smile of “oh shit” showing up on his face. With each inch I drew nearer, his knuckles got whiter until they were out of sight. The clutch and center compartment were poking the sides of my body. I was now giving road head for the first time. 

The only thing on my mind was any approaching bumps or turns and the possible injuries I’d have to make up lies for. When the first bump hit, my head was slammed into the to steering wheel; luckily, everything kept intact, although my boyfriend momentarily broke the mood by laughing. Each turn he took with care, making sure nothing slid out. After a few more messy collisions with the steering wheel, I was able to handle bumps and turns with ease. 

His red car took laps down the mountain’s back roads. With each car that passed, a surge of adrenaline would pass through him to me. 

One car in particular happened to be his mom, on her way to the supermarket, who gave a polite wave. She then called his phone to ask where I was. His response assured that I was in the car, “bent over, looking for something.” Great, I thought, but it seemed to work. They hung up the phone, and at the next stop sign I came up for air. 

The car ride home was full of “wow,” “thank you” and “let’s do this more often,” but I couldn’t help thinking the hype of road head is a little exaggerated. Yes, it is new and absolutely exciting, but when it comes down to it, it’s just giving a blowjob with a clutch in your ribs. However, for the guys I’m sure it’s nothing short of bliss.

Besides potential fatalities with car parts or a bad blower, there are a few more things to be aware of. Bumps may cause involuntary jaw clenches and gagging, but hey, you can always blame the road! Oh and if you’re willing to do road head, you better be willing to swallow unless you bring portable Kleenexes or offer to clean his boxers. 

At the start, the move across the car could also be a pretty awkward stretch if the front seat is wide and things are out of reach. Just be aware of your capabilities and surroundings, both inside and outside the car. You never want to stop at a light next to your mom, his mom or an ex to whom you just proved you weren’t a slut. And the drive after doesn’t include mouthwash, so mints could be useful. 

Let’s not forget the safety of others: Boys, please watch the road. We don’t want the streets flooded with dented cars and people. As fun as road head is, safety always comes first, so beware of how you’re going to react. 

Taking these precautions could result in a really good time with a new, thrilling sex experience. As long as you are good, the boy will be grateful forever, but you might be in cars more than you expected. Never leave empty handed as well. Once you two are home be sure you have a reward waiting, as oral does go both ways. 

If you’re willing to be adventurously sexual for a bit while driving around, road head is for you. Knees need a rest, and joyrides need a new definition with a new license. A big thanks to the DMV!  

Image by Zachary Anderson

By Des Parrote

Mxxy name is Desiree Louise Parrote and I’m a highly attractive 21-year-old college student. I’m always busy running around to numerous activities, and I enjoy lonely nighttime walks along poorly lit paths.
So why isn’t anyone stalking me?

Lately, a bunch of my friends have been followed around by sketchy little troll-like men with greasy hair and trench coats. They follow my girlfriends around campus, lurk outside buildings and even follow them home to stand for hours in the bushes, desperately hoping for a glimpse of the bodily areas that don’t see the light of day.

Now that’s devotion.

There are lots of things I do that would make me an ideal stalking victim. I always walk alone, especially at night through creepily un-lit parking lots, and my path takes me by some very conveniently placed bushes. I suffer from stone-colditis, a condition in which I freeze at the slightest moment of alarm. I also live right in town, so any disturbing mail can be slipped into my mailbox — think of the postage my stalker would save!

I’m always leaving my bags unattended and forgetting things, which can by picked up to complete an elaborate, closet-based shrine dedicated to me. And my respiratory problems mean I’m always blowing my nose, and stalkers love getting some used tissues with their victim’s DNA on it, don’t they? Also, I never, and I mean never, close my blinds in my room, which is on the first floor. Whether I’m changing or sleeping or picking my nose, those suckers are wide open. It would be the easiest thing to take some telephoto pictures of me from across the street. And yet, not a single person has been following me around. It’s enough to boggle the mind!

I mean, I don’t mean this in any negative way, I care deeply about all my friends, but the people I know who are getting stalked do not deserve it. Mandy’s nose is way too small for her face. Karen has to pluck every day or else she’ll get a pretty nasty unibrow and Charlotte could be left stranded in the desert for three days with no food and she’d survive off her own reserves, if you know what I mean. And I’m pretty sure Jane is a dude. Oh, they’re wonderful ladies and beautiful on the inside and blah, blah, blah, but there’s a reason I was Dorothy when we did The Wizard of Oz for Halloween.

Also, none of them have lost their apartment key.

Creepy weirdos who don’t shower are as much a part of any college campus as professors in tweed jackets and out of control keggers. There seems to be no end of obsessive virgin freshmen, socially awkward chemistry majors or guys at least three years too old to be in school but  never seemed to leave. This is stalker central, and I’m just waiting for one of them to take this bait.

It has gotten to the point that I’d even be open to a girl stalker—after all, everyone is a little bi-curious in college. Hey, maybe some open experimentation would also attract skeevy guys to following me around, hoping to catch an erstwhile kiss or some second base action. I am completely willing to go there.
__________________________________
Anne Northgraves is a sophomore cinema production major who misses the old rape trail. E-mail her at anorthg1@ithaca.edu.

Less noticeable but possibly more significant, people can become obsessed with ideas. When an idea becomes an obsession, people have a tendency to forget about other aspects of life. This tunnel vision can be dangerous because it prevents people from fully appreciating experiences that do not conform to their singular view. If a person is obsessed with success, the commitment to the ultimate goal could hinder their enjoyment of leisure time. In Alyssa Figueroa’s article “Do Work, Get Money,” we witness an IC student who is more occupied with doing schoolwork and succeeding than making friends and enjoying his college years. Worse yet, if someone does not reach his or her goal or becomes disillusioned with the obsession, it could be emotionally devastating.

This isn’t to say obsessions are inherently negative. Sometimes they give people drive and motivation to accomplish goals. We all have certain things that get us up in the morning. And hey, who are we to judge fangirls who spend their time reading anime and pretending to date the characters? In the MoC article “Cult of the … Lost Lovers?,” Anne Northgraves discovers the world of devotees of certain television shows is more than just about being obsessed—it’s about sharing their love as a community.

In the end, though, obsessions are really what keep you up at night, whether it’s paranoia of being stalked by that creepy guy from your chemistry class or the fact that you can’t stop singing that new shitty Lady Gaga song.

- The Editors

Read the issue here

By August Moschitto

From the May 2007 Issue.

The Family Issue

-CLICK HERE FOR FAMILY ISSUE

Family is a word that is often said but not often considered. With seemingly half of America freaking out about the “destruction” of the nuclear family, with more families eating dinner separately or from the microwave, with our parents calling us at least five days a week, and with our aunts and uncles friending us on Facebook, family is a constant presence in all our lives. We can’t get away from it. But what does it mean, exactly—family?

Of course it is something that moves beyond “I have a mom, a dad, a brother.” With globalization quickly becoming the zeitgeist of our lives, people around the planet are having to re-conceptualize what it means to be connected to one another. Not only are literal families joined in a way they never have been before, but global and national initiatives like climate change prevention, human rights, economic recovery and health care are forcing people to think of each other in a more collective way.

Kasey Deamer’s article “Spiritual Bonds” explores the unique familial relationships of the Namgyal monastery in Ithaca. While most people pigeon-hole family as a mother, father and two kids, much of the Tibetan community here is able to move to past these conventions of American family.

Likewise, we as college students have a particular vantage from which to consider family as we are disconnected from our nuclear families for the first times in our lives, often coming to consider our roommates, friends and co-workers sorts of surrogate families. In Megan Blarr’s article, “Home is Where the Dorm Is,” she follows the many adjustments freshmen go through to come to view Ithaca as their home.

The definition of family is something that is in constant flux and as such, should be re-examined and re-evaluated for what it is, was and will become. As we build all of our multiple families, we need to keep the varied definitions in our heads. In the words of Sister Sledge, “We are family. I got all my sisters with me. Get up everybody and sing.”

- The Editors

First let us take a minute to review the debacle that was known as the VMA’s. From Lady Gaga’s crazy four costume changes to Kanye West’s drunken outburst, it was a sight to be seen.

From the moment Kanye stepped out of his limo everyone should have known that he was going to do something enormously unpleasant.  The man appeared on the red carpet with a bottle of Hennessy for goodness sake. People should have caught that. For those of you who are on Team Kanye, you should all be ashamed of yourselves. His interruption of sweet little Taylor Swift (who by the way I am not a fan of) was one of the biggest dick moves in the history of dick moves.

Not only did he make himself look like a imbecile he also caused everyone else’s views on the black community to go back to that old saying which shall not be named. Responses to his childish outburst, in which he stated, “Beyoncé had the best video of all time,” were highly expected. Many stars called him selfish and gave him a swift blow to his character.

Is Lady Gaga insane? First, the Vulture-like costume, then the performance dressed as a Rabbit with leggings. During her performance she was able to confirm the fact that she isn’t playing with a full deck. The cane, the hanging, and the blood-squirting incident that happened on the stage was proof enough.

After she gave a taste of her crazy side, she decided to show us that you can wear a stocking that covers your whole body and get away with it. She looked sort of like a used tampon. The end all to end all costumes was what I would like to call the “Yeti” or Eskimo get up that she wore when Beyoncé received her award for video of the year.

There were many great performances during the night. Pink did trapeze and acrobatic tricks while belting her song “Sober.” Beyoncé did a medley of two of her songs from her album I Am Sasha Fierce. Her awe-inspiring dance performance to “Single Ladies” was the climax of the night.

Jay-Z and Alicia Keys brought the house down with “Empire State of Mind”. Everything was going well until Lil’ Mama, Jay-Z’s protégé, jumped up onto the stage out of nowhere. I am guessing she figured Kanye did it without anyone saying anything so she could too.

This fiasco of a night ended on a high note with a tribute film made for Michael Jackson. Spirits were lifted after seeing the inspirational style and grace of this great man. All in all the night was full of great surprises.

By Jennifer Levitt

I have suffered through my fair share of stories about hook-ups gone horribly wrong. Dating stories though? Now those are purely pre-historic. With more people choosing hook-ups over long-lasting relationships, does this mean they’re having more fun, or does it just add more pressure?

Nowadays, relationships seem to be all about ambiguity. No one asks, “When should I hook up with him?” Instead, we hear, “We’ve hooked up X amount of times. When will he ask me out?” Many people think you need to hook up before anything can get serious.

It seems that the social stigma against first date hook-ups has changed. It used to be a big no-no to hook up before you felt that the relationship was going somewhere. If the sex ended up being bad, at least you had strong communication to make it better. Now, people are hooking up first and then, if they are lucky, things become more serious. It’s as if that whole getting-to-know-you part of a relationship has become inferior to good sex. Now it’s all about putting what you have on the plate from the get-go.

However common hook-ups might be, I’m not sure most people genuinely enjoy this nonchalant way of dating. By calling it a hook-up, people can hide behind the fact that they are scared it may not go anywhere. It’s a great excuse to tell your friends when you never hear from that person again. But this doesn’t change the reality that you will still be hurt when you don’t get a phone call from that person the next day. Except instead of just a bad date, you have the added intimacy to rehash and piece together where you may have possibly gone wrong.

Now I’m not going old-school by saying we should refrain from sex because it isn’t important in a relationship. We are all questionably mature adults here. What I am saying is that this new-age dating method isn’t taking the pressure off anyone. We used to feel the pressure of choosing the right time to get intimate, and now we just feel pressure to hook up immediately for fear of appearing prude. We used to think the first date hook-up would destine your relationship to failure, but now it seems like a relationship won’t start unless there’s initial intimacy. It’s almost as if there’s more pressure than ever to be good in bed.

So now that hook-ups are the primary means of starting a relationship, have the expectations changed? There’s still lingering anxiety over sexual performance, and for some, the worry that the hook-up may lead to nothing if they are hoping for something more. Why are people choosing to hook up over the traditional dating method? Hopefully, for the moment at least, they’re having more fun!
_______________________________
Jennifer Levitt is a senior journalism major. E-mail her at jlevitt2@ithaca.edu.

There are no real halcyon days of college to look back on for me. I was mostly pickled in beer and liquor. I wrote drunk, which is idiotic, and I went through four-day weekends drunk and skipped so many classes I didn’t graduate. There was plenty of fun, but I look back with embarrassment for wasting the opportunity and for wasting the money. It showed in my contributions to Buzzsaw, which were sloppy, stupid, profane and ill-conceived. Even the one piece I think is still printable withers at the end.

But there is some minor salvation. Buzzsaw is still going, and better than in those initial days. I would have said a few years ago the survival of Buzzsaw was improbable. But it isn’t.

Buzzsaw Haircut is, in hindsight, a triumph of common sense. It was more fun in its birthing stages to think of it as a mild revolution, but it should not be surprising to hear that a liberal arts college with a strong media/communications/journalism program has a thriving “alternative” publication.

And it seems that is what Buzzsaw has become, rising up from its poorly edited, yet inspired, roots in Sam Costello and Cole Louison’s bunkered-down dorm room, where there always was stale piss in the toilet at Sam’s insistence, and where we sat on the beds or window box or Indian-style on the floor.

Sometimes common sense feels like a revolution, and as small as it was in the winter of 1999, the revolution felt pretty foamy and bright—it would have been best celebrated in a beer hall with mugs slammed on the tables and huzzahs! in loose unison.

We’ll do that this year at the Glenwood Pines. It will be a celebration of our willingness to give physical life to a thousand bitch sessions in the halls of Park and dorm rooms. And it will be a celebration of the work of all the students in the intervening years who kept Buzzsaw a respected, legitimate publication at Ithaca College and throughout the city. So a rousing huzzah! for all of them, and for us, too.

And never forget someone stole our first issue and threw it in the trash bins. Cocksuckers.

James Sigman

I took Bryan’s phone call in the basement of the Sigman Family Compound in Staten Island. I had learned to pay close attention to what Bryan said in his calls after the incident about a year earlier when Bryan said, yes, I should buy him a ticket for that Steve Earle show in a few months. And then pointed the family car toward Austin, Texas, a few days later in his Escape from Central New York. He hadn’t, to the best of my recollection, hinted at that in the phone call.

Anyway, in this particular conversation, Bryan related how he’d been “fired” from his “job” as columnist for The Ithacan because he had committed the unforgivable sin of handing a column in late. Neither Bryan nor I were big fans of The Ithacan’s editor-in-chief at the time, and since we figured he had something to do with Bryan’s “firing,” one of us suggested that we start our own newspaper and that the cover of the first issue should have the editor-in-chief’s face with a big X across it. I should point out that I’ve matured only slightly since that phone call.

I don’t know if the seeds had been sown before that, but I do know that soon Bryan was telling me that something was being put together, and he, Kelly, Cole, Abby, and some guy named Sam were working on it. Eventually, the time came to publish, which, as it turns out, costs money. I was living at home and making piles of cash in the lucrative field of copy-editing direct-mail brochures, so I figured writing a check to cover the expenses would be a good idea. So I did, and soon there was Issue #1 (we went in a different direction with the cover).

Now, roughly a decade later, you’re reading Buzzsaw Haircut’s 10th anniversary issue, funded by genuine IC cash and assembled by people way more together than we were. Pretty cool.

As much as I love seeing Buzzsaw Haircut hit the Big 1-0 and look forward to celebrating many more anniversaries at the Bowl-O-Drome, I would love it even more if, after reading this issue, you called a friend and said, “Hey, we should start a magazine, too!” Because you absolutely should. There’s room for everyone.

Just don’t ask me for money. I’m tapped out.

Sam Costello

Other people probably remember it differently. They may cite other causes. If I had to lay money, I’d wager that we’re all correct: There was no single moment or event that caused the seven of us that late winter/early spring of 1999 to say, “Let’s start a magazine.” But if I had to pick one thing, for me, it was an ad in The Ithacan.

Cole, Bryan and I were in Egbert dining hall, reading the latest issue of The Ithacan. A small, text-heavy ad caught my eye. It took just a few seconds to read it. Buzzsaw debuted weeks later.

What was so powerful in that ad? It was a bounty. From a Holocaust-denial organization.

The organization—whose name I’ve forgotten now (I’ve got better things to put my memory to)—was offering thousands of dollars to an on-campus organization that could stage a debate about the Holocaust. That is, to debate if it happened.

This organization had been trying to sucker college papers across the country into running their ad. Most had the good sense and good taste to turn them down.

Not The Ithacan.

The editors cited their love of free speech in taking the ad, as I recall (not cited was that law holds that it doesn’t abridge free speech to turn down advertisements).

It’s been nearly 10 years since I last read The Ithacan, so I make no claims about what the paper does these days. Back then, though, some segments of the campus population—Buzzsaw founding editors and supporters among them—had been cringing at its editors’ efforts for a while.
With that ad, we’d had enough. We knew that there must be something better. Turns out, there was.

Cole Louison

It’s Easter Sunday in Brooklyn. It’s cold and bright and blue and the trees are out, and my e-mail just turned back on with a note from the Buzzsaw editors saying alum essays are due today. And with this more e-mails, and with these the temptation to launch into a VH1-sounding story about the purity of yesteryear—that’s nice reading, but not so true.

Because personally speaking, Buzzsaw was founded out of hate. Hate for the school where my Dad taught and all the students who weren’t enough like me. Hate for The Ithacan and all the people who worked for it. Hate for the girl who never returned my CDs and published herself in Stillwater. Hate, hate, hate; and not just hate, but fascist hate, because I wanted people to hate what I chose to hate. And out of this hate came love. Love so strong that 10 years later, it’s hard not to squawk about it here and talk about every late night at the Ichabod Lounge and every black morning in Sam’s heatless car, headed to the garage press in Chenango Bridge. Every dorm room meeting, every good idea—like publishing an ‘enjoy the cookies’ note from my Grandmother—and every bad idea—like calling our publication “The Humongous.”

Last week in Ithaca was the 10-year reunion for Buzzsaw, which is now a magazine with a staff, an office, a Web presence, an adviser in the journalism department and school funding. One alum is a lawyer. Another is a mom of two. All the men are balder and have beards. And the group hadn’t been together in a decade. And it was awesome. It was fun. A good, funny, happy time with fond memories and a feeling that the best is yet to come. That’s accomplishment.

Much love in 09 ever after.

Thom Denick

Buzzsaw taught me how good writers write. I can’t read the stuff I wrote back then because it’s too ridiculous. “Way Cool, Junior” is mediocre, and it’s the best of what I wrote. The other editors were too nice to shit on my stuff to my face—even when it deserved it. What I did do while working at Buzzsaw was really read and think about what everyone else was working on. I took a lot of writing classes in college, but the best lessons came from sitting in Emerson, working on the latest issue with the Buzzsaw crew.

Ten years later, I wouldn’t say I’m a great writer, but I’m good, and I can do it professionally. If cornered. I would say I owe at least a small part of that to Buzzsaw. Well, Buzzsaw and a few torrid alpha-sensual affairs with grammar nerds.
***
“Writers are liars my dear, surely you know that by now?” -Neil Gaiman, Sandman: Dream Country.

Working at Buzzsaw you can’t avoid learning that good storytellers were liars. Liars are a much-maligned segment of our society, but how drab it is without them.

Ted Haggard, swearing off the blow and cock one more time on Larry King Live, a crying wife at his side; a politician’s bleached teeth gnashing and weaving absurdist non sequitur; a beautiful woman smiles, lies keep her hair out of her face; seven miles west of the Cincinnati airport, children line up to hear a smiling woman with a hairdo escaped from 1984 tell them that God gave Tyrannosaurus Rexes 8-inch teeth so they can crack open coconuts.

Lies can be debilitating, destructive and detrimental, but they are the things people remember the most. Maybe that’s why the founders and I are celebrating Buzzsaw’s 10th year and not trying to re-create parties faded by serial weekend blackouts.

Thanks, founders.

Abby Bertumen

In the past couple of weeks, I have thought a lot about Buzzsaw. My first thoughts are how hard it is to write, especially to look back on something on a personal level. I never really was good at that, which shows in the pieces I wrote in college and which I guess is why I do what I do today. But when I reflect on Buzzsaw, it always starts with people who are, and will always be, my favorite writers.

I met James Sigman and Bryan Chambala my freshman year at Ithaca, when they were editors of the Accent section of The Ithacan. At the end of his tenure as editor (and as an Ithaca student), James wrote to me in an e-mail that I have saved over the years: “The day The Ithacan stops being fun is the day they should fold it up. It’s nice to hit deadlines and getting awards is good for a fragile ego, but without fun, The Ithacan is an insignificant piece of shit. Believe that.” And so, roughly a year or so later, Buzzsaw Haircut was formed.

I realize that today, Buzzsaw and The Ithacan are very different publications than they were then and I am glad now that they can co-exist with other publications on campus. I know that when we started Buzzsaw, one of our goals at least was to stop one publication from being the sole source of information on campus. That doesn’t usually fly in the rest of the nation, and so it shouldn’t have there either. I look at Buzzsaw now, and I am continuously impressed, and that is something for which I take no credit. But I remain grateful for what it was and what it is now.

When I think about Buzzsaw, I think about how important it is sometimes just to do things, without dwelling on the why or how. Recently, I have wondered why I don’t do that more. And then I find myself missing my friends, the founders of . It was a good ride, but also something you carry with you and that’s a great thing. Hunter S. Thompson, a great inspiration to the founders, inscribed his book Hell’s Angels as follows: “To the friends who lent me money and kept me mercifully unemployed. No writer can function without them. Again, thanks. HST.” Happy Anniversary, (Haircut).

Kelly Burdick-Chambala

If you’re in college and you’re not angry about something that you have learned in class, seen at a party, or found out about in this world—take your damn pulse.

Starting out at Ithaca as a journalism major with thoughts of one day reporting from France (really), I was constantly soaking up the world around me. There was a lot to learn from a professional standpoint (layout, inverted pyramids, ethics) and way more to learn from a growing up standpoint (taking showers with beer in your hands, 2 a.m. talks with people you never knew, questioning everything).

In class, the word objectivity was drilled into our heads. We argued about it, we tried really hard to report objectively and we didn’t always like it. When you are a journalist, you have to show all sides. Or try really hard to show two sides equally.

So what happens when something you see makes you angry and you have to report about it? What happens when the publication that you work for pisses you off or makes decisions that you don’t agree with? Or they don’t want to run that great idea that’s been running around in your head for weeks? Ten years ago, you would have started your own publication called Buzzsaw Haircut. At least that’s what we did.

But it was born from so much more than anger. There were creative, excited, intelligent and crazy people who were part of the whole founding process. I know I didn’t think too hard about what was happening. I just liked that I had a place to write without restriction, and I liked that other people were going to have a space to write thoughts that weren’t conventional or stories that didn’t make sense or stories that didn’t appeal to the president of the college.

It was good to create that space. I’m so happy that each year, someone has taken that space seriously enough to keep it going and make it a worthwhile publication.

Nowadays, there are other things that people—journalists and others— do when they get a little edgy about something. We create blogs (worth reading, too!). We seek jobs that are worth our time and that let us sleep at night or day. We turn into librarians—at least I did.

And eventually, we get a little happier about things. We’re still critical, we’re still always questioning, but we can see that as lovers/haters/writers/artists/30-year-old weirdos, there’s a lot out there in this world—and you better take note of it. And then write about it.

From its inception, Buzzsaw has existed on the fringe of the campus community. Every semester the issues pile up in The Ithacan boxes, waiting to be read by the dedicated reader or the curious passer-by, but Buzzsaw doesn’t exist for the masses. Buzzsaw exists for those who can see through the bullshit, those who are tired of our two-faced society, those who want to get away from force-fed entertainment. It’s a pompous, self-congratulatory thing to say, but it’s the truth, and the truth is what Buzzsaw strives for.

Buzzsaw Haircut was founded by a group of students pissed off enough at the community and world around them to start writing about it. Those who continued the magazine are cut from the same cloth. Sure, we may have added sections, dropped sections, stopped writing rants, started printing fiction, changed the font, or changed the name, but we never forgot where (or why) the magazine started. In the following pages you’ll see the evolution of Buzzsaw (Haircut). We couldn’t reprint every article, and your favorite might be missing, but we think these articles represent the spirit of Buzzsaw.

So this is for everyone who’s contributed to Buzzsaw over the years: the cultural warriors, the political activists, the satirists, the artists, the angry, the kids who knew from age 11 that the world is full of bullshit.

And, as always, our goal is that our readers walk away inspired, motivated, or enraged enough to continue the discussions started in these pages. Thank you. It’s been a great 10 years deconstructing society, pop culture, politics, college life and dominant Western beliefs and getting away with it. Here’s to another 10.