The Wildwood Danger Index

“Nothing good happens after 2AM.”

You know that popular phrase people tell themselves when they’re getting their drunk on, almost always around 9PM, when the first couple beers are going down easy, and they’re pretending that it won’t be *THAT* kind of night? Wildwood is like that. Except nothing good happens pretty much the whole time.

Wildwood is not for the faint of heart. It is a gut punch to sanity and sensibility. Take every reasonable routine and tournament expectation you have and chuck them in the garbage can. You will not be needing them.

Wildwood is, at heart, an exercise in not dying on the Jersey shore. So that’s what we are going to do today: learn how to not die. Through extensive experience with near misses at Wildwood, I’ve put together this handy primer, based on the McArthur Forest Fire Danger Index, to enlighten you to the most dangerous times of the weekend. After reading this, you will know the answers to such vital questions as: What are the greatest threats of Wildwood? How do you combat them? What are you doing you here?

Take a deep breath. We’re gonna make it.

Friday, 4PM-9PM

Danger Index: Low-Moderate

This is a real photo I swear.

The safe zone. Unless you are a sociopath who got to Wildwood at noon (or worse, Thursday), these are the hours where you arrive at your hotel, safely hide your belongings in one of the rooms, and proceed to the Binns rooftop for some beers and catch-up. The crew will be small, and maybe you are actually drinking something of decent quality before your taste buds are decimated by swill (here’s looking at you, Kirkland Light). You might even be adventurous enough to make a trip to the boardwalk before the party starts, and soak in the local flavor a little bit. The greatest danger to you is the Hot Spot IV you got for dinner. 

Friday, 9PM-12AM

Danger Index: High

By now most of your team has arrived and you are cruising. The two people that brought coolers have had the entirety of their alcohol consumed by people they don’t know, but that’s ok because you are having a raucous enough time and someone brought Fire Water. You’ve met your hotel neighbors, almost entirely frisbee teams except for the 1-2 families that had the cataclysmically bad judgement to schedule their vacation this very weekend at this very place, despite the clear and dire warnings on the Binns/Bonito booking site. Serves them right. 

The weekend is full of promise at this point. This might be the first ever Wildwood without disaster! You’ve already overcome the challenge of opening that bottle of wine with a broken bottle opener. It was messy and involved way more people than it needed to, but the important thing is you solved the problem and no one got hurt. That’s a win. Perhaps you were wrong to swear that this would be your last Wildwood. Nothing has gone awry! Careful though – that’s precisely how Wildwood hunts – by lulling you into a false sense of security.  Human memory is a fickle thing.

Friday, 12AM-3AM

Danger Index: Very High

We need to clarify the time frame of this entry. Technically the clock has ticked over into Saturday, but for all intents and purposes you are still living in the Friday. I don’t know a single frisbee player who has been to a party tournament and distinguishes between Friday night and Saturday morning when the clock passes midnight. During this weekend, Friday is the rare day that extends beyond the traditional 24 hours into something far more perilous. If you are going to mess with time, you better be prepared to defend yourself. 

From personal experience, the worst moments of Wildwood never occur in this time frame, but in retrospect, the seeds are planted. You may have gone a little too hard on that bottle of liquor, but come Saturday morning you emerge more unscathed than you deserve. Maybe you and a contingent of other degenerates decide that you need to have a late-night hotel room dance party. Nothing wrong with that. But occasionally the structural integrity of the bed frames at Wildwood aren’t quite up to snuff and, could break under the weight of your dance party. You won’t notice it at the time, but the broken bed frame will lurk in the shadows, awaiting its moment to inflict great pain. This is a bad time to be awake not just because of its hangover potential, but also for its likelihood of inducing injury down the road. You might want to win the party by being last one up, but sometimes there is honor enough in finishing runner up. 

Saturday, 7AM-5PM

Danger Index: Low-Moderate

Saturday morning will be painful, but it’s not especially dangerous. Waking up in a fetid, disgusting hotel room stuffed with too many people is par for the course. Naturally, you wander out to the boardwalk in search of your next Hot Spot IV fix before games begin. Because of Wildwood’s unique (stupid) bye structure, you’ll have ample opportunities to traipse about and encounter such New Jersey cultural icons as overly expensive grease masquerading as pizza, poorly made daiquiris, and hordes of dudes in Come At Me Bro pinnies.

If you have your druthers, you’ll be day drinking something light and sluggable on the sidelines. Maybe you’ll shotgun for pull a couple times, or play a round of Gin or More Gin where the only acceptable answer to the eponymous question is “Yes.” If there is danger to be found during this time frame, it lies beneath. No joke. Since this is Wildwood, there could be nails or broken glass or shards of all kinds of nasty lurking in the sand. Don’t worry, though, puncture wounds will almost certainly happen to someone else. 

Saturday, 5PM-8PM

Danger Index: Very High

Somebody call Kenny Loggins, because we’re back in the Danger Zone. You’ve been out in the sun roasting and not hydrating appropriately, because what is this, a real tournament? The wait for the hotel showers will be endless, so it might be best to figure out dinner plans, unless you want to be the daring one who skips dinner. Who is to say eating dinner is safer though? Let’s say, hypothetically of course, you and your teammates wanted to go out for a team dinner. You find one of the few non-Hot Spot food-serving establishments and order some drinks. A couple rounds later someone orders shots.. It’s all going so well until someone spills their drink. Then another drink. Then someone else’s drink. Then their sandwich. How on Earth did they do that? Eventually their clothing is so stained they look like a cross between a Jackson Pollock and an advertisement for OxiClean. Friendships in ruins, they’ll throw some money on the table and leave, never to show their face in that restaurant again. All hypothetically, of course. 

Saturday night is at risk of going off the rails, and it’s not even 8:00PM. 

Artist's rendition of Smokey the Bear at Wildwood.

Saturday, 8PM-11PM

Danger Index: Severe

It’s time for Rooftop Party 2: Ravaged by Drink. You are ready for the night to begin and you’ve learned from Friday. Sure, it was fun to try and play table-based drinking games inside the hotel room, but in retrospect, maybe that wasn’t the best idea when there’s a security deposit at risk. No need to make that mistake again. The Saturday night party might take a little time to kick off depending on how the rest of your teammates are doing. Maybe a few of them went too hard on the “no alcohol in this Gatorade cooler, officer” sideline mixed drink and are sluggishly trying to rally from a nap. Maybe the boldest of your teammates attacked the post-games, late afternoon 5PM-8PM period with a little too much gusto, not realizing that their base layer drunk from the fields was probably enough to carry them into the night. Watch out for them. If they don’t find a way to hurt themselves now, chances are they will later. 

Saturday, 11PM-1AM

Danger Index: Extreme

No it doesn't.

Friday and Saturday nights of Wildwood follow a pattern. The first night, everyone arrives at various points and congregates at the chosen cheap hotel that you all should have stopped staying in years ago but still do because of nostalgia and it’s honestly what you deserve. Saturday night you party at the hotel again, but there is also the tournament party, if you are of age. In recent years, you’ve had your choice of the Bolero or Stardust. Both will be completely packed, so deciding whether to go really should come down to how much you like sweating, because You. Will. Sweat. A. Lot. Do your drinking at the hotel before heading out, since a packed bar means it’ll be tough to order anything, and if you aren’t in a good enough place before arriving at the Bolero, you certainly won’t enter a better one when you get there. Assuming you survive the tsunami of perspiration on the dance floor, you still need to navigate your way home. The most important thing to remember on this Odyssey: avoid the locals at all costs. Interacting with them can only lead to a Schrödinger’s cat of fist-based probability: the positive is punching a townie and the negative is getting punched by one. There exists no greater shame than getting mugged in a New Jersey beach town with its own Doo Wop Preservation League. 

Saturday, 1AM-4AM

Danger Index: Catastrophic

You knew this was coming.

Actually, hold my beer - that’s not true. There are in fact greater shames, though they can only be found here, at the pinnacle of the Danger Index. If you’ve made it this far, you are entering a time when there are so many threats of such gravity that they endanger the survival of humanity itself. The safest thing to do if you’re still up in this time frame is to go to sleep immediately. Find the nearest unlocked room with people you know in it. Do not worry about an open bed, let alone finding a comfortable one. That ship has sailed hours ago. Maybe you can’t find a spot and decide to sleep outside. Chances are, though, that some people have the ingenious idea of having one final late night dance party on the roof. They’ll get yelled at by the security guards a couple times; they might even go so far as breaking some furniture. If you’ve never seen someone jump up and down on a picnic table until its legs break and it collapses, you are in for a treat. 

Speaking of breaking things, remember that bed frame we talked about before? It’s still busted, and not everyone on your team knows about it. Wouldn’t it be awful if someone turned the corner by the bed just a little too fast and tight and speared their foot? Because this is the beach they will inevitably be wearing flip-flops. But such a relaxed and breathable footwear choice won’t save you. It might have taken two nights, but someone finally got injured, and it’s past midnight and no one is in a state to drive to an urgent care or hospital, so you’ll have to tough it out a few more hours until morning to get those stitches. Such is the ignominious fate of the traveler who laughs in the face of Wildwood and expects to go unpunished, for the final weekend of July is cruel. 

Sunday, 7AM-Friday 4PM next Wildwood

Danger Index: That which is dead may never die!

Perhaps, by some sliver of luck and a snippet of skill, you may avoid any of the above downfalls. You lucky dog. You smartened up, made better decisions than the rest, and emerged unscathed. And if you didn’t? Fuck it. Make one last trip to Hot Spot IV and gorge yourself on some pizza. By this point, your insides have almost certainly defensively shut down in a desperate bid to survive, so what’s the worst that can happen? Going to work Monday morning, that’s what.

How Prepared For Jive Fest Are You?

Fall at Dickinson. Students are adorned in trendy scarfs and ugg boots. Cold hands clench hot cups of coffee to make the early morning trips to language class more tolerable. The campus is beautified by the changing foliage. It is very much decorative gourd season. 

Elsewhere, the Jive Turkeys have invited freshmen and other newly interested students to come to practice, learn the sport, and, if you are truly lucky, make a doomed trip to Gettysburg for the first scrimmage of the year. After weekend tournaments at other local colleges, the time has come for Jive to host their annual fall tournament: Jive Fest.

The Fest is no ordinary weekend, it is one that requires serious planning of numerous parties from numerous parties. Reminded of this task as I’ve been readying The Godfeathers for another trip back to campus (and another chance to lose in the finals to Jimmy Changas), I decided to ask myself how prepared I was for this weekend. This question eventually snowballed to consider not just how prepared I was, but how prepared ANYONE would be going into the weekend. Thus, in the interest of helpfulness, I have decided to analyze just how ready each person could be, depending on their age and experiences. Here are my conclusions:

Freshman: aka What’s a Jive Fest
Preparedness Level: You are utterly unprepared for Jive Fest
In truth, unprepared is perhaps underselling it. While you’ve undoubtedly heard the upperclassmen referring to the mythical event - one that you have yet to experience, might I remind you – the stories probably sound so preposterous (someone passing out using a sweatshirt as pants) or overblown (a townie punching a visiting player for standing in the road) or exaggerated (breaking the beams of a house with a dance party), that your idea of what Jive Fest truly is remains unclear. You know there is probably some frisbee to play, and some sort of party on Saturday. But you might be unclear who, or what, an HTOD is, and you were thinking of getting some homework done on Friday to stay ahead. Nonsense. As Rick Sanchez once said, you quit school, but you still got some learning to do. 

This category also applies to transfer students, non-drinkers, and literally any Lafayette player.

Sophomore/Junior: aka Give me HTOD, or Give Me Death
Preparedness Level: You taught yourself how to open a beer with your eye sockets

This might be the perfect place to be, at least as an undergrad. You’ve got one HTOD under your belt (and know what that acronym means), but you are still a year or two away from having to house teams and host a station and watch the world burn. You’ll be the most enthusiastic team leader on Saturday night because you want to make up for your first HTOD when you went too hard during trailer park bombs and had to be helped home before the dance party started.

Wherever the Friday night party is, it’ll be you and your cohorts that help the alumni take over the first senior house, which will one day be your house. This process will repeat forever.

Senior: aka Please don't knock my house down
Preparedness Level: You’ll be fine by your first Hurricane
The last three years have brought you to this moment: your senior year Jive Fest. But what should be a moment of excitement is a source of dread before the weekend starts. You must house a team! And run a station! And put all your stuff away, lest you want it ruined or lost. On the plus side, the alumni know you the best, and will at least be mildly respectful to your house while there are only a few of them on campus. After the 5th or 6th shows up, you’re screwed, and you know it. So, grab a Hurricane from the case and enjoy the ride. You can get the freshmen to clean up your house Sunday afternoon.

Young Alumni: aka No parents, no rules!
Preparedness Level: You took multiple days off from work to be here
It’s your first Jive Fest as an alum. You survived the experience as an undergrad and finally get to experience the highs of being back on campus as an alum and the lows of the murderous, real-life hangover you will soon unleash on yourself. Maybe there is a professor or two you want to catch up with, and that’s the excuse you are using for taking off work. But deep down you know the idea of having a couple extra free days on Dickinson’s campus was too good to pass up, so take the PTO and trade your new mattress for a couch and sleep through the first game on Sunday. That degree you’ve been meaning to hang on your wall (but won’t) says you’ve earned it.

Not-Quite-Old Alumni: aka Who Are These Children?
Preparedness Level: You bought all of Walmart’s Pedialyte. ALL of it.
By your sixth or seventh Jive Fest, you tell yourself you know better. While you still know a handful of people on campus, sleeping on a beer soaked floor hurts significantly more than it did a couple years. Monday will hurt like hell, if you go into the office at all. Yet somehow, you’re optimistic. Sure, you aren’t 22 anymore, but it’s not like this is your only party tournament of the year. If you can handle MARS or Wildwood in your mid-twenties (meaning in athlete years, you haven’t even hit your prime yet!), you can surely handle Jive Fest, right?

It depends on how you wake up. If you wake up drunk, you are in the clear. Grab a warm, flat microbrew and some Sheetz and power through Sunday. But if you find yourself hungover, then you are in trouble. On the car ride home, sobered up and in a world of pain, you will turn to your passenger and say “never again.” Your passenger won’t say a word, they’ll merely nod and stare out the window as you both silently know that this isn’t true, and that there will, in fact, be an “again.”


Old Alumni: aka What Am I Doing Here?
Preparedness Level: You Invented This Shit!

Pictured: Inventing this shit.

That’s not a joke. You may have literally invented Jive Fest. And if not Jive Fest, there’s a decent chance that you invented HTOD, or certain parts of HTOD. Point is, you transcend Jive Fest altogether, existing somewhere above its physical plane as a Party God. Your foresight, your wisdom, your creativity, have allowed this weird annual tradition to continue to blossom. Others have followed in your inebriated footsteps and built upon your raucous foundations to keep this tradition alive. The current hosts of Jive Fest may not even know your name, and if they do it is spoken in hushed tones, such is the reverence for you, His Majesty: The Sage of Rage, The Sultan of Stack Race, The Despot of Debauchery.

You also shouldn’t be here. You’re too old. Go to MOSH or something.

Time and Tide Wait for No Man

I saw Brand New for the first time last night. I also saw Brand New for the last time. I do not know this, but I think I do. Rumors of Brand New’s eventual demise first surfaced a little over a year ago, and since then, the band’s intense online fan community has speculated to almost no end about the future of the band, treating each concert speech, music rerelease, and t-shirt design as another puzzle piece that, if arranged delicately enough, might just reveal the band’s future. It seems every performance is an opportunity to analyze, and that nothing should ever be taken at face value. 

The "face value" way to explain last night’s show at EagleBank Arena in Fairfax, VA is that it is just one more performance on a tour that began in October and concludes next week. Jesse Lacey said as much after the band had finished playing “Handcuffs,” the closing song on their 2006 album The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me, which was performed in its entirety. In his only comments to the crowd of the night, he said “playing a show every night, or every other night, playing the same songs, you start to feel anonymous.” In fact, for much of the show it seemed Lacey, if not all of Brand New, tried to retain a level anonymity. Thick clouds of fog concealed the bands faces for most of the show, Lacey drifted away from the microphone at nearly every opportunity, and when the songs were supported by a bright light show, he and guitarist Vin Accardi deflected the lasers off their guitars back into the audience. You were supposed to hear Brand New, not necessarily see them.  

And then towards the end of the set, the band turned out a nearly 9 minute version of “You Won’t Know” - a song I am convinced holds an extra special, secret meaning to Lacey judging by its past live performances - teasing the crowd by letting the coda fade out before tacking on “Tautou” and one extended jam after another. The band kept on playing, so we kept on watching and jumping, not knowing when they were going to stop, not caring if they even could.

Brand New may think that their time is up, but for one song, it seemed like they could go on forever. 

Happy Halloween!

Halloween is just around the corner and what better way to celebrate than curling up on the couch and scaring the shit out of yourself? Now, I know scary movies aren’t for everyone; I can think of certain girlfriends who refuse to watch anything even remotely frightening. Confession: I used to hate scary movies too. I had heard tales from my parents about seeing Don’t Look Know in a theater and then being leery of anyone wearing red for a week. I was 10 or 11 when The Blair Witch Project came out and I heard about the crowds screaming in theaters and the reported heart attacks. Paranoia, heart-pounding tension, scared to look around corners? Who in their right mind would want these things?


Over time, I’ve become fascinated with scary movies. I love the heart-pounding tension; I love when a scene jolts you upright; I love the agony of watching some poor protagonist creep down a dark hallway as both they and you dread whatever’s around that corner. I love committing to the fright and turning the lights off and watching in complete silence. Full disclosure: I am no hero about these scares and the lights will often come back on, sometimes all of them. I may have been known to move a cat onto the couch next to me as some sort of meager (and disinterested) security blanket.


The list below is a collection of 8 films I recall having a strong reaction to, and they range from intensely unsettling to truly terrifying. I didn’t include classics like The Exorcist, The Shining, Psycho, etc. because while those are great movies, they just didn’t scare me that much. Also ignored are Hostel, Saw 2 - infinity, and other gore-fests of that ilk that rely on gross-out shock-value. If you’ve never made a foray into the horror genre before, I recommend you give it a shot this year. If you’re an old hat at this sort of thing, maybe explore some new titles this spooky season.

It Follows (2014)

Not only is It Follows one of the scarier things I’ve come across, it’s also one of the best all-around films I’ve seen in recent memory. It takes such traditional horror tropes as “the unstoppable stalker” and the “have-sex-and-you-die rule” and spins them into something new and fantastic. The whole film overflows with nostalgia; paying homage to the idyllic suburbs of John Carpenter’s 80’s where Michael Myers and Freddie Kruger stalked. The steady, trudging presence of It Follows does not reach a clawed hand out from a wall or sneakily pick off your friends, it only does one thing: follows. Every day and every night the pressure and paranoia slowly build, fraying the nerves of the characters and of the audience. I promise you that you will never have been so terrified of an average Joe, walking at an average pace, in the distant background of a shot. I can’t recommend this movie enough.

Alien (1979)

This is sort of a no-brainer, but should also serve as a wakeup call to change your life if you haven’t seen it. Alien was the first truly scary movie I ever saw and I immediately fell in love with the film. Going in I knew it was a sci-fi movie but my well-worn library of Star Wars books did little to prepare me for something so fantastically terrifying. Ridley Scott’s masterpiece, Alien is an exercise in cinematic atmosphere and everything from the silently sweating eggs to the dripping, cave-like bays of the Nostromo fits into a world that feels as real as Sigourney Weaver’s distaste for sequels. Of all the movies I’m writing about today, this is the number one must-see-if-you-haven’t.

The Invitation (2015)

For those less interested in the frights of a true horror flick, I highly recommend this creepy thriller. The entire film takes place at a dinner party, a reunion for a group of friends who were fractured years before by the death of a child. If social awkwardness makes you squirm, prepare to be tied in knots. We, as a trained, suspicious audience, not only cringe at each outburst or overfamiliarity, but also seek to find the nefarious in each tense exchange or behind an innocuous locked door. The Invitation preys on this feeling that “something isn’t quite right” as well as any movie I can think of. At every crescendo of suspicion we expect a vindicating shoe to drop but the doubt is patiently explained away, and we’re left twisting in the wind. The ending is a bit disappointing but the magnificent slow burn of the first 95 minutes makes it well worth your while.

You’re Next (2011)

I remember seeing trailers for You’re Next and dismissing it as another crummy, violent, home-invasion thriller (which is apparently a distinct genre now?). I was dead wrong. Zing! You’re Next is no Oscar-winner but it takes the home-invasion trope and adds a couple twists and surprising character depth, providing the audience with plenty of scares and plenty of unpleasant deaths. The protagonist Erin is played by Sharni Vinson, of Step Up 3D and Blue Crush 2 fame, and she gives a awesome performance as a quiet girl who turns out to be a kickass heroine.  It’s definitely one of the bloodier items on this list, but You’re Next is self-aware and creative enough to keep the vengeance interesting, and it's a personal guilty pleasure.

Halloween (1978)

Halloween is one of my favorite older movies and it scared the absolute shit out of me when I saw it for the first time. Now almost 40 years old, on repeat viewings Halloween’s bits of first-person camerawork and sound effects can feel a bit hokey but it’s a classic for a reason. In 1978 Michael Myers set the standard for horror as a sociopath who escapes from a mental institution to lurk in his old hometown. His silent, determined stalking is riveting and his seemingly inescapable suburban reign of terror will have your adrenaline pumping. Despite having a murderous villain, there’s actually very little bloodshed, so this is a good place to start if you’re squeamish but still looking for a scare. One viewing and that simple piano theme will give you chills for the rest of your life.

The Babadook (2014)

Some movies just make the viewer feel the anxiety of their characters more than others and the TheBabadook excels in this regard. The film centers on a young widow who is constantly at her wits end trying to raise her troubled child. The obvious strain this puts on her is leveled up into a full-blown mania when she reads a mysterious bedtime story about “Mister Babadook” and the creature manifests to haunt their lives. The monster is freakishly horrifying. Its shadowy movements and guttural croaks come in a jerky, unnatural fashion that evokes some sort of primal dread. For poor mom, the unrelenting suspense turns every daylight hour of childcare or housework into a nightmare and every night into an exercise in terror. This was a turn-the-lights-back-on movie for me. “You can’t get rid of the Babadook.”

Paranormal Activity 2 (2010)/ 1 (2007)

I don’t think there’s a person alive who isn’t tired of the “found-footage” films by now. Believe me, I felt the same way, but Paranormal Activity One and Two are the best iterations of the genre and legitimately great scary movies. Filmed for practically no money, they rely on astonishingly-effective claustrophobic voyeurism and small-scale special effects to make you jump at the slamming of a door or a ruffling bed sheet. The house is haunted – that’s the plot. Sure they provide more backstory or “narrative” in later sequels but that fluff honestly doesn’t factor into why the series is damn frightening. I watched these two back-to-back and while I can’t tell you what happened in one versus the other, I know they both scared the crap out of me. The stunt they borrowed from Poltergeist where a character turns around in the kitchen and all the cabinets are suddenly open remains one of my favorite scary effects.

 

                                                                        The Descent (2005)

A quick Googling of The Descent turns up both a 4-out-of-4-star review from Roger Ebert and a review from someone less renowned that describes it as “pants-shittingly scary.” I have to say that I agree with both assessments. I first watched this as a freshman in college, by myself, in a dark dorm room. Our awful, blaring, flashing fire alarm went off about 30 minutes in and I came as close to a heart attack as I have ever come. Wikipedia provides this excellent summary: “The film follows six women who, having entered an unmapped cave system, become trapped and are hunted by troglofaunal flesh-eating humanoids.” (Troglofaunal is Nate’s word of the day!) Cramped and poorly lit by shaking flashlights and flares, the subterranean world is a claustrophobic’s nightmare and when you add subhuman monsters, well, it becomes everyone’s nightmare. Make sure you watch the unrated version with the original ending not initially aired in America. The Descent is absolutely merciless and probably the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. Approach with caution.

MOSH 2015

Pictured (Sunday crew, left to right) first row: Kat, Pepe, Sally, Lisa
Second row: Becca, Kiwi, Goemaat, Gabe, Ethan
Third row: Ducky, Nikki, Grefe, Tall Paul, Simon, Jake, Vinny, The Body

I don’t remember the exact conversations that took place or who said what, but I remember the sentiments: Never again. Just plain stupid. Worst tournament ever. For those that were spared the calamity of attending Mosh 2014, you have, at the very least, heard of the tournament described in such tones. As ultimate players, we have had to persevere through cold, wet, or windy tournaments. Everyone has done it, and complained about doing it, but done it nonetheless. Such is the nature of our playing a sport that is so effected by wind and weather that it can render even good teams looking feeble. Mosh 2014 was all of that, the miserable tournament to top all miserable tournaments.

And yet… we went back to Mosh. Thank god we did. 

Saturday

After a night of watching terrible/fantastic/baffling movies (with Death Bed: The Bed That Eats the obvious highlight) and nearly dying while drinking Bai Jiu, myself, Vinny, Moonshine, Simon, and the man, the myth, the legend Shen headed to the fields for the first game of the weekend. We had to make a pit-stop at Taco Bell to satisfy Simon’s breakfast crunchwrap cravings, but we arrived at Edgely otherwise unscathed. We met up with a few of the non-Dickinson pickups that we rounded out our numbers, Gabe, Jenna, and Messiah’s own Ethan Peck, and prepared for the first game against the team Shen had defected to, Big Trouble in Little China. 

The clear highlight of this game, a 13-4 win in favor of The Godfeathers, was the amount of pick-6 that was played. Up 4-3 to start the game, the Feathers weren’t really playing ultimate, instead just catching turnovers and running them back for scores. I’m not kidding, I think our first 4 points were scored in this manner. Eventually we did start playing the sport we were there for, and took a 7-4 halftime lead before running the table in the second half. A comfortable win, and Big Trouble was a fun team that invited us to a post-game spirit circle and more Bai Jiu drinking. Not that anyone wanted any more, but it was a nice touch.

Pictured: Simon and his stump

With game 1 in the bag a little early, we had time to look around at other team’s sidelines and realize that we were woefully unprepared. The St. Joe’s team behind us had one fold-up table stocked with food and drinks, and a second table for slap cup. We had… a stump? So Jake and Moonshine went off to remedy this with rum, apple cider, and Wawa Sizzlis. Unfortunately, while they were away, we struggled against our second opponent, Buttmop (the team otherwise known as Bitmap). Down 5-2, we tried to score right as Jake and co. returned to make it look like we weren’t playing like crap, but of course we didn’t. The look of frustration in Jake’s face as he returned to find us losing was best summarized by Gabe: “Jake showing up to find us losing is like dad coming home from work to find LEGO sprayed all over the floor.” Best quote of the weekend, but not our best game. Feathers fell 13-8.

Facing Call of the Wiest in game 3, we played much better, which must be attributed to increased concentration and focus resulting from our rum and apple juice cocktails. Throwing a mix of zone and man defense, we were simply the better team, generating turnovers and capitalizing off both good field position and hucks when we needed to. On the back of our second win, we rolled into our final game knowing that we could lock up the first seed in the pool with another win. In even better news, the kegs were finally tapped (who decided on that pesky 1PM tapping?). Needing a break from the rum-ciders from earlier, many of us went over to the clubhouse to get beer for the team. Beer in tow, we prepared for the last game. Facing the Fredericksburg Mothers, the Feathers built up and early lead and more or less coasted to victory. We were by far the more talented team, although we did get lazy towards the end of the game and let the Mothers win a few points back. It didn’t matter, though. We won the game and the pool, earning a first round bye Sunday morning in the process.

Due to the tournament scheduling, our pool play bye was during the last round, so while other teams were toiling away, The Godfeathers were among the first get a chance to eat the smoked pig the Millersville alums had prepared for everyone. The pig was a nice addition to the tournament’s offerings, and something I had not seen before. And so we spent some time milling about with each other and the other teams before heading out to relax for a few hours. Moonshine and I accompanied Simon to his house, where I got my ass handed to me in Mario Baseball. Around 9, we met up with many of our teammates at Vinny’s for some card games and revelry. On the way home, Simon and I decided to poison ourselves with Wawa, ordering and eating entirely too much food.  

Pictured: Saturday crew staring into the sun and some Feathers on the line.

Sunday

With a 10:30 start time, one might assume that we’d arrive on-time, rested and ready. But in true Dickinson & Friends fashion, most of the Feathers rolled up to Edgely five minutes before the game was to begin. Kat even locked her keys in her car. So a 10:30 game was out of the question. Luckily, our opponents, the Ithacettes, were coming off of an early morning win, and didn’t mind the delay. When the game mercifully began, we cruised to a 4-1 lead due to sharp defending and calm, 100% offense (and a diving catch off of a Gabe hammer by yours truly). From there, however, we started making dumb mistakes and let the Ithacettes back into the game. Jake called a timeout before half to implore everyone to regain the focus that made this game feel so easy for the first few points, but we never quite took control as emphatically. Granted, we stretched our lead in the second half and were able to take the game 15-10, but this game required us to grind out more points than we would have liked. I actually think the first few points were an accurate reflection of how much more talented we were, but we made the mistake of assuming that we could roll the whole game without, you know, putting in the effort to do so. We made this first win much more difficult than it needed to be, and knew that in order to win our semi-final game against Safety First (Garden State), we’d have to be much better.

 And we were better, thankfully. Safety First was comprised of Garden State players, and some very good players from other teams. They were fast and athletic, and capable of going on four or five point runs, as they did to come back in their previous game. This game started out tight and on-serve, with Safety First taking a 3-2 lead. We were then broken to go down 4-2 and a timeout was needed. Out of the timeout, we picked up our play and took half at 8-5. This was another game with lengthy points, with neither team generating many turnovers defensively so much as forcing them upon themselves offensively. 

Pictured: Field Captain Gutter

That three goal cushion wouldn’t last much longer, however, as Safety First rallied to tie the game at 9-9. We were leading 11-10 when soft cap came on, but proceeded to give up two in a row to trail 12-11. We tied it at 12-12, but couldn’t get the stop we needed and went into game-point receiving, down 13-12. Early hopes of working it down the field to score and tie it were diminished when we turned the disc over in our half due to a miscommunication. Forced to defend a short field, we made them throw a lot of swings between their handlers, their cutters unable to find space in the end zone. The disc made it over to the sideline, where they tried a short up-line cut into the end zone, a cut that had worked well throughout the game. But at that moment, Adam Kracht, aka The Body aka Senor Monday, made a game saving layout D. In his first game of the tournament, he made a tremendous play that gave us the disc back and propelled us to the win. We tied it at 13-13 and, on a back and forth universe point, came out on top as Ethan tossed up a huck for our final score. 14-13. Game over. Exhale. 

The final was against Scorpio (AMP, with a great Simpsons reference). Their game had ended much sooner than ours, and they had a plethora of fresh people on their sideline. Our numbers had shrunk due to injuries and some having to travel home early, and those still playing could have used more time between the tense semifinal and this game. We prepared ourselves knowing that Scorpio was a very good, very deep team, and we were not favored to win. We wanted to give it our best shot, but started out sloppy and sealed our fate by going down early. The final was not a heavily imbalanced game, and Jake did especially well to carry us, but we never recovered the ground we lost early on. Scorpio took Mosh 15-9. The Godfeathers finished 5-2 and in 2^nd place, a year after some of us “vowed” never to return.

Epilogue

What a difference a year makes. I will remember Mosh 2014 as one of the most disappointing tournaments I’ve been to. I will remember Mosh 2015 as one of the best. I think of Mosh 2014 as the beginning of what was a difficult period for me ultimate-wise. Last fall was a time of transition as I was settling in to my new life in DC and still adjusting to being out of school. I found less opportunities to play, and the opportunities I did have were challenged by elements in and out of my control. You can’t fight weather, but to have three tournaments I was looking forward to (Mosh, Fool’s Fest, and Driftwood) so crippled by bad conditions was disheartening. Throw in an injury in the early summer, and what should have been the busiest ultimate time of the year turned into a wash. Ultimate was not quite as much as fun as I remembered.

And then this past weekend happened, and every previous idea I had of Mosh and the last year was laid to rest as we had beautiful weather and played some pretty damn good ultimate. Most importantly, we had a fantastic group. The Godfeathers are, in essence and in name, a Dickinson alumni team. With an alumni team, you get all the joys of reconnecting with those you played ultimate with in college, and it shows how many of us make the effort to stay in touch despite geographical challenges. But there are also the non-Dickinson folks who join up with us. Part of the fun of The Godfeathers is welcoming new people into our circle and getting the chance to play with them. While yes, these friends are there to complete our roster, they also there because we want them to be a part of our culture. The intimacy of the Dickinson Jive Turkeys has not been lost in our post-college lives, despite having to navigate work and real-life commitments. I find that astonishing, and I am thankful for it. If outsiders feel welcomed into that, even better. Dickinson was a small school, after all.

A year removed from the tournament that seemed to begin a downward cycle, I feel a new cycle starting. I am excited to be playing again and want to do everything I can to play more. And I want to be around the people that elevate these weekends from just another tournament to one we’ll look back on fondly. Maybe next year we’ll even win this danged thing. 

Selected Highlights
-Kat’s amazing homemade apple juice
-Pick 6. Always.
-So many hammers
-Death Bed: The Bed That Eats
-Eating a pig’s eyeball (thanks Esser)
-Large sideline/coaching squad
-The Stump
-Not huddling under a rain tent for the entire weekend to prevent freezing to death

-More pictures here

Jive Turkey Dictionary: High Tide Edition!

In the original Jive Turkey Dictionary, I defined High Tide as "a debauched Spring Break trip and “BEST WEEK OF THE YEAR” where the Jive Turkeys rent a house, play Ultimate, party wildly, and try not to get evicted. In 2010 and 2014 the team had to try extra hard to not get evicted." 

As much as I stand by that definition, the dawn of High Tide 2015 (and my joining the Five Year Club) had me thinking that one cannot explain High Tide in merely 45 words. Instead, it takes greater examination of the nuances of the entire trip, from the drive down to the tournament, and from the healthy food to the healthy party habits. 

That being said, no two High Tides are alike, each one with their own idiosyncratic tendencies that make them as much fun as they are. It would be impossible to try and include so many specifics, so I've chosen terms that are either mainstays of the High Tide experience, or were so notable that they have become a part of High Tide lore. Since I obviously missed something (I always miss something), leave a friendly note in the comments telling me how awful I am at this. 

So put on your best Hawaiian shirt (the one you'll wear all week), and check out the previous installments here and here if you need to. Although you probably don't, it's not like you are missing valuable plot information or anything. 

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Barbosa Rum (n.) – Knock-off Calico Jack for people south of the Mason-Dixon line. Not that Calico Jack needed a knock-off version of itself...

Beat On (phrase) – How you’ll feel at the end of the week. We are off to a good start.

Carbomb Night (n.) – An age old tradition that began with Dan Zahn's appreciation of Irish Car Bombs, and has been carried out by donations from gracious Godfeathers. Although St. Patrick's Day does not always occur during High Tide, the Jive Turkeys celebrate Thursday night by doing car bombs and getting every flavor of wasted. This is typically the drunkest night of High Tide. Don't do 11 car bombs. You'll hate yourself for it. 

Detonator (n.) – Back for another entry of the Dictionary. Detonator’s current popularity can be directly attributed to March 18, 2011, when I celebrated my birthday with Nips and Simon by learning how to smash beer cans against our heads until either the cans split or our spirit did. Five years later, only the cans have.

Drunk v. High (n.) – a High Tide tradition that pits the drunkest of drunks against the highest of er… high people in a game of ultimate. Starting Sunday morning, each person will choose their vice and give a big wave goodbye to that day’s sobriety. No one really ever knows who wins or loses, except in 2011 when everyone lost because the game wasn’t played. Fuck Marion.

Burying people in the sand is widely considered an acceptable alternative to playing

Flagger (n.) – Perpetually invited-to-High-Tide Gettysburg Dickinson alum, whose interests range from partying with people half his age (kidding) to squatting mad weight (less kidding). He is the bro who even lifts.

Fricket (n.) – The noble game of frisbee-cricket played on the beach amongst well inebriated chaps.

Fun Bucket (n.) – Who are we? Fun Bucket! What are we? Fun!

Genny Light (n.) – Genesse makes the great beer known as Genny Cream. This beer is most certainly not that, and you will most certainly drink more Genny Light than you previously thought possible during High Tide. I’d say pre-treat your liver by buying some ahead of time, but that would be an unpleasant experience for all involved.

Grilled Cheese (food) – You’re favorite drunk food (and who knows, maybe sober food) for the next week of your life. Nothing says good eating habits like Winn Dixie white bread, kraft singles and butter. Thank God we run around during the week to counteract all that drinking and gross eating.

Grits' My Life Be Like (Ooh Aah) (n.) – Legend has it that many spring breaks ago, one ultimate team dared to listen to this single by Grits for 14 consecutive hours. Predictably, spirits were broken by the 14^th hour and the song was turned off. Some say that on a windy night you can still faintly hear “Ooh Aah” drifting through St. Simon’s Island. But those are just legends. Aren’t they?! AREN’T THEY?!

Harry (Ivanovich) Driggers (n.) – Patron saint (and namesake) of the fields at St. Simon’s Island. Intrepid discoverer of the Northwest and Founder of Schmidt Brewery, the beer that shaped the great Northwest.

Hat Tournament (n.) – As the first official event of High Tide, the hat tournament functions just like any other hat tournament, taking players from random teams to make new teams that don’t really like playing with one another and just want to drink on the sideline. It behooves you to play poorly during the hat tournament, or else you’ll be there all day. You can also get waitlisted from the tournament and not have to even bother.

Jive Turkeys Went Down South (n.) – Jive's self-created anthem for Spring Break. It was written years ago, long before anyone on the current team was even college, and despite someone being asked to write a new song each year, no one has, indicating the staying power of Jive Turkeys Went Down South.  

Missions (n.) – On Sunday night, each person will receive a “mission,” which is a specific task they are encouraged to complete at some point during the week. The missions are thought up by a Missions Committee, a small team of individuals who specialize in the ridiculous. You don't have to complete your mission for the week, but if you don't you'll be victim of unending derision and mockery.  

Party Bitch (n.) – Award bestowed upon the person who passes out early and makes no effort to be any fun at all that night. Awardee’s “prize” has varied from OG Four Loko to Alcoholic Daiquiri mix over the years, and is every flavor of unwanted.

Party Champ (n.) – Award bestowed upon the person who exhibits the most exceptional party habits during the previous night of debauchery. You will be given a 40oz, and you will enjoy every sip of your malt liquor-based champion beverage.

Poolception (n.) – A pool in a pool. Requires the upfront invest of an inflatable pool, and it is highly recommended that you also have an electronic air pump, lest you want to turn the color of a ripe tomato. 

Somewhere, Hedonism Bot is shedding a single tear of joy

Right of Return (n.) – In which an abroad Jive Turkey comes back, unbeknownst to the masses, to lead the charges of raucousness and make everyone miss them all the much more when the return to their country of study. Unless you are Posey, who had to stay in the U.S. because of volcanic eruptions. Thanks Mother Nature!

Savannah (n.) – original name of Jive’s spring break because the tournament was held close enough to the city to visit. Now, when people refer to High Tide as Savannah, they either do so out of nostalgia, or because they are young, impressionable, and simply don’t know what they are talking about.

Shotgun Wedding (n.) – By admission of former Jive historian Eddie Small, one of the greatest parties he’d ever been to. Thrown by the class of 2012 at High Tide 2010, almost led to Jive getting evicted from the house and the main reason for establishing a no non-Jive policy at the High Tide house for the remainder of the tournament’s time in Georgia, and indeed in most states.  

“Song of High Tide” (phrase) – Every year it seems that without fail, there will be one party song to rule them all throughout the week. It will probably be pretty obvious by the middle of the week what the Song of High Tide is, but sometimes it takes the same song being looped for 14 hours straight to mark a clear winner.

Southern Soul (food) – Delectable BBQ joint that was commonly considered the best place to eat whilst at High Tide, not that drunk grilled cheese gives it much competition, but still. Unfortunately, due to the tournament moving north, Southern Soul will no longer be a part of the High Tide experience, meaning veteran High Tiders will wax poetic about it and probably confuse anyone who has never been.

Overrated! *Gets stabbed*

Sunrise Blunt (n.) – the reward for staying up all night at High Tide. Your faithful author has never done a sunrise blunt, and therefore cannot speculate as to what exactly goes on during one without going to deep, dark places of the human psyche that will make everyone uncomfortable.

Pictured: A sunrise, to put it bluntly

Tybee Island Iced Tea (n.) – Long Island Iced Tea with spiced rum. Terrible.

Waffle House (food) – Where dreams of eating decent food during spring break go to die. Drink the coffee, eat the shitty eggs, and shotgun the mayonnaise packets. You'll come out of it a stronger person. 

Wagon Wheel (n.) – The all-time champion of High Tide songs (and not that Darius Rucker version), soundtracking Jive’s heading down south to the land of the pine since time immemorial. Can be played at any time, but begins to feel most appropriate when you are thumbing your way through North Carolina.

Zaxby’s (food) – the best restaurant you haven’t eaten at on your way down to High Tide. It’s basically the KFC that we deserve in the north, but not the KFC we need right now.

Books!

So it took a while, but here is the sequel to last year's post about what I've been reading over the past 12+ months. I didn't read as much excellently-written fiction as I did in 2013 (ie The Secret History, The Round House) but I did find a number of very interesting books full of addictive dramas and mysteries and fantastic characters. I strayed a bit from last year's goals to read primarily Pulitzer and award-winning books and I ended up discovering some new favorites that I'll reread for years to come.

Being able to get lost in a book is an underrated privilege and in case you're looking to do some literary exploring yourself, here are several of the best things I've read in the past year. Please share any ideas for new books I could check out and please keep the criticism of my pretentiousness to yourself.


Black Moon
Kenneth Calhoun (2014)
We live in a time where apocalyptic fiction (and non-fiction) is churned out almost weekly and Kenneth Calhoun's debut novel presents a unique and fascinating take on the concept: insomnia. Black Moon follows the journeys of several protagonists in a world where fewer and fewer people can sleep. Driven by deteriorating brain function and a primal, jealous hatred of those who can still doze, the people of Earth are slowly becoming zombies. Calhoun's structure wanders a bit at times, but his excellent and surprisingly moving prose mostly covers for it. The daily gory or shocking horrors become almost pedestrian compared to the tormented memories of loss and failure. It is these regrets and the occasional cause for hope that drive the story and the characters within. It's not all misery and there are points where the book touches on the science of sleep and even several comical tangents, one prominently featuring Viagra. I can definitely say that Black Moon was one of the oddest things I read this year, and unexpectedly affecting.

The Magicians Trilogy
Lev Grossman (2009-2014)
I'd come across this trilogy numerous times when looking up the best new fantasy/sci-fi, and the best-selling series more than lived up to its reputation. Any great work of fantasy will suck the reader into a world with too many interesting possibilities to explore, and Lev Grossman's magical realms of Brakebills and Fillory do just that. This is not teen fiction, it is definitely for a more mature audience and when Quentin is introduced to magic he is also introduced to sex, booze, and tragic loss. If you read Harry Potter and thought where are the jaded smart-asses? why aren't these college-aged kids all trying to drink and sleep with each other? why aren't wizards using their powers to get rich and influence politics? why isn't anyone busting their ass to become an amazing wizard? All these very practical, real-world issues populate The Magicians, and the story is far better for it. Grossman's fiction is not fanciful, it's fantastical: a distinction I would say makes all the difference in creating these excellent, unique books. No one should be turned off by the fact that these novels deal with magic or are branded "fantasy," the trilogy stands up just fine as incredibly inventive fiction. Seriously, you should go out and find The Magicians and start it today.

Gone Girl
Gillian Flynn (2014)
I won't say much about Gone Girl other than that you should read it. At this point, I assume most everyone has seen the movie trailer and/or the movie, or heard friends talk about it in some form. This means that you can probably guess the spoilers but even if you think you know what's going to happen it doesn't take away from the quality of the book. Flynn's writing is scathing and insightful and her assessment of male-female relationships manages to be sad, funny, and wickedly delightful. You should see the movie, because it's great and so is David Fincher, but the book is full of bold twists and turns, and if nothing else it will certainly make you think (hopefully not about killing your spouse).


Hild
Nicola Griffith (2013)
An immensely immersive work of historical fiction, Hild is the imagined story of the very real St. Hilda of Whitby, a noblewoman and abbess in AD 600's Britain. I say imagined because very little is known about Hilda's life before she became an abbess other than that from an early age she attended the court of the local king Edwin and wielded considerable influence for one so young (and so female). Nicola Griffith has done an extraordinary amount of research and pieced together a story of what Hild's growth to adulthood could have been like. While there are battles and trysts, the majority of the story is simply devoted to Hild's daily life and her growing understanding of the natural world and the social power dynamics around her. In a time ruled by violence, competing religions, and men, her mother's simple mantra, "quiet mouth, bright mind," teaches Hild to listen, observe, and wield her most powerful weapon: her brain. This often puts her in conflict or distances her from her peers, yet she eventually embraces this otherness and becomes an intimidating icon in the nearby kingdoms. Griffith has a gift for language and while the material may be a bit dry at times, the prose is always gorgeous and keeps a simple story vivid and absorbing.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane
Neil Gaiman (2013)
I gushed last year about Neil Gaiman's grim and wonderfully unique American Gods, and his slender new book The Ocean at the End of the Lane excels in a similar vein. As the narrator says in a revelatory moment near the end of the novel "the reality I knew was a thin layer of icing on a great dark birthday cake writhing with grubs and nightmares and hunger.” Oof. Our story begins when the protagonist revisits his childhood home and with proximity comes a rush of memories. He recalls a battle with dark, ancient evil and the unusual but well-meaning Hempstock family at the end of the lane. We're never quite sure how much of the harrowing recollection is real or embellished but fairytales are real to children, and the emotions and terrors are never uncertain to the child experiencing them. Simultaneously managing to be well-balanced and alarmingly unsettling, Gaiman has created another gripping tale that will stay in your thoughts for weeks. I fully recommend everyone pick it up for a quick read that you won't want to put down.

p.s. pretty sure it gave Allie nightmares
 
A Drink Before the War/Darkness, Take My Hand/Gone, Baby, Gone
Dennis Lehane (1994-1998)
This summer I finally picked up a copy of Gone, Baby, Gone I'd gotten as a gift years ago and I blew through it before immediately scrambling to get my hands on the rest of the series. This outstanding six-novel set featuring detectives Patrick Kenzie and Angela Gennaro delves deep into the dark, scarred underbelly of Boston(/humanity?). Taking place primarily in the rougher, older neighborhoods of Boston, Lehane's hometown, the city is as much a character as any of the policeman, bartenders, or thugs that fill the pages. The series teems with shocking violence and rye, razor-sharp dialogue and Patrick and Angela's characters are developed so extraordinarily well that I quickly found myself embarrassingly devoted. Along with the twists and sleuthing, Lehane's stories present moral quandaries and bleak social commentary in a bitter, poignant fashion much more memorable than what you'd find in the average detective book. I picked these three books (#1, #2, #4) as my favorites in the set but really they are all great.

The Goldfinch
Donna Tartt (2013)
It takes guts to embark on an 780-page novel but The Goldfinch never got boring and in no way did it disappoint. Once I started I couldn't put it down and it wasn't until I finished the last page that it suddenly felt long, like you'd just lived a life. That life belongs to Theodore Decker, a child who loses his mother in a tragic terror attack in an art museum before growing into a troubled, neurotic man. That tragedy and the bewitching Fabritius painting he recovers from the rubble, The Goldfinch, stay with Theo for years, always hovering in the back of his mind like an addiction. When doing a little digging to see what critics thought of Donna Tartt's Pulitzer Prize-winning third book, I was surprised to find that some high art critics labeled it simplistic and the prose juvenile. I would wholeheartedly disagree and while it might not be rife with transcendent individual sentences, as a whole the meticulous detail and free-flowing internal monologue suck you into Theo's consciousness. It's a captivating story and the breadth and depth amazed me. I'm sure I'll find time to read all 780 pages again someday.

The Narrow Road to the Deep North
Richard Flanagan (2014)
This novel by Richard Flanagan is without a doubt the best thing I've read in the last year and one of the most moving pieces of literature I've ever encountered. I haven't cried during a book since Where the Red Fern Grows (RIP Old Dan & Little Ann) but I was almost moved to tears multiple times during this one. The story is that of a fictional character, Dorrigo Evans: a doctor, a soldier, and ultimately an Australian WWII POW pressed into slave labor by the Japanese. He leads men on the construction of the Death Railway between Bangkok and Rangoon, a real-life horror and one often forgotten when discussing the monstrosities of WWII. Flanagan initially pieced his story together from his father's accounts of his own time spent on the railway, and the conditions described within are truly devastating. In between pages of mud, starvation, and cholera in the jungle, we follow Dorrigo's singular romance with a woman named Amy. While some of the labor camp passages are brutal and shocking to read, Dorrigo's life away from the war is just as fascinating and heart-wrenching. I can't say enough about what a beautiful, amazing book this is and the writing is unflinching. Australian reviewer Geordie Williamson described the novel as "poetry without any pity at all," and Flanagan's visceral and immensely detailed prose glues you to the page, even at times when you wish you could pull away. If you read one piece of fiction this year, make it this masterpiece.

I Remember You
Yrsa Sigurðardóttir, trans. Philip Roughton (2010)
I haven't read many horror books since Goosebumps in elementary school, and then The Exorcist at some age that was way to young for me not have the lights on to finish it. Maybe I'm missing out. This is a gripping, scary, creepy book and after it's wild success in Sigurðardóttir's native Iceland, it's come to America, where someone has already snapped up the film rights. A group of friends head to a remote island to fix up an old cottage and it's not long before they encounter a bone-chilling haunting. That might sound like your archetypal horror plot but it's much more complex than that and perhaps I Remember You is better described as a mix of a crime narrative and a ghost story. A number of different threads concerning missing children, suicides, and spectral apparitions are woven together expertly, resulting in a supernatural, macabre mystery. Sigurðardóttir creates and expertly manipulates a sense of menace that builds to a genuine edge-of-your-seat thriller as more and more secrets unravel. It's a really fun book and a well-written, scary read if you're in the mood for that kind of thing.


I realized after I made my initial list that no non-fiction made the cut but there are a couple I'd like to recognize:


Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil: A Savannah Story
John Berendt (1995)
Many who have made a trip to Savannah, whether as part of the Jive Turkey Great Migration or otherwise, can confirm there is something magical about the city. John Berendt's classic work recounts his experiences there during the trial of a wealthy socialite accused of killing his fiery, potentially bisexual assistant/lover. Twenty pages in you'll want to visit the Spanish moss-draped boulevards of Savannah and by the conclusion you'll be just as curious and enamored as when you started. One could loosely describe the plot as a murder mystery but the heart and soul of the book are the city itself and the unusual and incredible characters that populate it.
  


 Lawrence in Arabia: War, Deceit, Imperial Folly and the Making of the Modern Middle East
Scott Anderson (2013)
A fascinating read about one of the great enigmas of the 20th century. As a kid I was amazed by Peter O'Toole in the 1962 Lawrence of Arabia and this biography focusing on T.E. Lawrence's time in the Middle East is the first I've ever read about the real man. Anderson does an excellent job providing context for Lawrence's trials by mixing in the stories of several other power players in the region and the result is a very readable but detailed microhistory. Anyone interested in Lawrence or the creation of the "modern" Middle East should check this out.

 


 In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex
Nathaniel Philbrick (1999)
Did you know that Moby Dick is loosely based on a true story? This is that true story and if you thought Moby Dick was tough to sit through: beware, but for a very different reason. Nathaniel Philbrick's narrative of the wreck and subsequent fight for survival by the crew of the Essex is one the most incredible true stories I've ever come across. It's pretty harrowing and even gruesome at times, but definitely worth the read. In retrospect this was actually one of the most fascinating things I read in 2014 and deserved more thought, but I'm tired of writing.
p.s. Chris Hemsworth is making a movie of this book, do you think they'll make it realistic and have him lose 40 pounds and eat his crew? (spoilers)


Other notes:
- Red Dragon is the best in Thomas Harris' Hannibal Lecter series, by far
- Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex (Mary Roach, 2008) is a really interesting book, and it covers pretty much everything you'd ever want to know about sex and plenty you don't. Bonus points if you read it in public
- re-read two of my all-time favorite Star Wars series this summer, and they're still awesome: The Han Solo Trilogy and the Thrawn Trilogy