分类： 赛事资讯

I’m not scared of clowns or ghosts or sharks, but author Amelia Gray utterly terrifies me. Her 2015 short story collection “Gutshot” is provocative and unsettling. This hauntingly original collection pushes the boundaries of what a story can be, leaving readers unnerved along the way.

“Gutshot” is an apt name for the collection. It contains 38 densely packed short stories, each one stranger than the last. The stories gently coax the reader, only to pummel their mind with unnerving concepts and scenarios, and spit them back out, frazzled and tumbling into the next one. Thematically, they bring to mind Flannery O’Connor’s characteristic gothic stories.

Dissimilar to O’Connor’s, they truly are short stories. Some of the stories span only one or two pages and there’s an enthralling power to these shorter stories. Gray serves a strange scenario, lets the reader take a nibble, then pulls back the plate abruptly. There’s “Fifty Ways to Eat Your Lover” which embodies Gray’s flair for the macabre juxtaposed with the sentimental. One line reads, “When he takes you to meet his parents, smother him with a pillow and eat his middle finger.” Gray doesn’t apologize for violent sentences like these. Neither do her characters for their strange behaviors, and neither do her concepts. They simply exist. Gray challenges us to read her stories without recoiling.

However, at times the especially short stories left me unsatisfied. Their images were compelling, but they lacked the deeper exploration I craved. The concepts felt half-baked or abandoned. Most often, I enjoyed the longer stories where Gray’s strange concepts are given space to breathe and develop. In “House Heart,” a couple keeps a girl locked in the claustrophobic vents of their house. In “The Lives of Ghosts” a woman is haunted by the ghost of her dead mother who has taken residence in a pimple on her face. The lengths of these stories allow for more development of the narrator’s voice while still experimenting with other untraditional elements. Sometimes the stories talk to each other. In “Precious Katherine,” a sparrow speaks using lines from a previous story, giving both stories additional dimensions.

“Gutshot” is an intense collection of fearless tales. Each one containing a small festering chunk of this thing we call life. In reading “Gutshot,” one enters the peculiar mind of Amelia Gray and reflects on what can disturb, what can provoke, and what that says about ourselves. The collection gives us an excuse to explore the grotesque and dare to call it beautiful. To read one of Gray’s stories, you must have a tough stomach. Because you will be gutshot. Multiple times over.

The bluesy riffs and screeching vocals of Greta Van Fleet, a young four-piece from Michigan, were compared to that of Led Zeppelin after their 2017 double EP topped rock charts. However, the group’s debut album, “Anthem of the Peaceful Army,” shows that while lead singer Josh Kiazka’s best howl may land in the realm of Zeppelin vocalist Robert Plant’s, the likeness stops there. The seeds of a potential rock revival are chewed up and spit out in an overproduced bastardization of rock that romanticizes the hippie era without any of its relevance or defiance.

Packaged in vagueness, themes about love or peace simply lack resonance for a modern audience. Climate change is touched upon in “Watching Over” when Kiazka sings, “And it’s our demise/With the water rising,” but the overtness found here is the exception rather than the rule. A more typical lyric borders on the ridiculous, like, “March to the anthem of the heart,” found on the album’s opener, “Age of Man.” Or try, “And every glow in the twilight knows/That the world is only what the world is made of,” the fluff of the acoustic tune “Anthem,” a song that might have been their “Dust in the Wind” or “Tangerine” but instead, devoid of nuance, falls flat. The track titles alone make Greta Van Fleet’s Achilles’ heel painfully clear: They are too unqualified to address these themes comprehensively yet not self-aware enough to realize it.

Occasionally, songs like “Brave New World” will border on well-realized emotion, but then Kiazka screeches, “Kill fear, the power of lies,” and we remember that the band doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Even looser romps like “The Cold Wind” feature riffs too safe to be exciting, padded with store brand hippie lyrics about this flower child or that Tolkienesque landscape.

Despite the lack of innovation, the band is at its best tackling lighter fare. “Mountain of the Sun,” a textured reprieve from cloying talk of apocalypse, builds the energy expected from a few twenty-somethings. Where much of the album is weighed down by too many instrumental tracks and postulations on the meaning of love and pain, this song soars in its simplicity. For a while, the Michigan boys don’t bite off more than they can chew, and artist and listener alike can finally enjoy themselves.

Greta Van Fleet has one foot in each time period, an imitation of flower power twisted in a how-many-Spotify-playlists-can-we-slide-into kind of way. Their sound is manufactured to be clickable. And when moments like “Mountain of the Sun” show that they don’t lack talent, just authenticity, we can only hope that the group will eventually find their own stairway to heaven.

Sixty keys. No number pad, no arrows, no function row. The spots where the control keys should be are blocked off. Instead, control takes caps lock’s place. Backspace is where backslash was. Right shift is cut short; its rightmost part becoming an “Fn” key. This was Professor Eiiti Wada’s peculiar new design for a computer keyboard. Later, Fujitsu would market it as the “Happy Hacking Keyboard” or HHKB, which would pick up steam in mechanical keyboard circles, hobbyist communities of writers and programmers. Within, the HHKB is nothing short of a controversial icon, both vilified and lauded by typists. It’s noted for underwhelming construction: creaky plastic and flimsy flip-out feet. So, what could possibly justify a $200 price-tag on a keyboard?

Consider this: When was the last time you needed to hit Pause/Break? This and many other keys are rarely touched by most users. Wada then asks: Why have unused keys occupy desk space? The HHKB eliminates them. A smaller keyboard means your mouse and keyboard are closer together, leading to less arm strain. Similarly, the nearby placements of control and backspace are godsends in reducing awkward finger placement.

Like how holding shift enables uppercase, pressing the Fn key in combination with others enables a second “layer” of functionality: Fn + various keys accesses arrows, function keys, etc. There’s no longer a need to take your hands off the home row because full functionality is within pinkie’s reach. I’ll admit; it’s intimidating at first, but the learning curve is gentle. Rather than slow me down, these layout tweaks have increased my speed from word processing to webpage navigation, all while minimizing repetitive muscle strain for long computer sessions.

Fujitsu went with Topre key switches, lightly tactile rubber domes making each key a cushion. Typing is like pleasing pitter-patter, a sound fondly dubbed the Topre “thick-thock.” I’d say it feels like punching a pillow, soft but quick — perfect to add some oomph to your typing speed and stamina.

Topre switches can withstand 30 million keystrokes — virtually a lifetime. Add this on top of the lightly-textured keycaps which won’t fade, yellow or wear, and you have what enthusiasts call the sought-after “endgame” keyboard. For me, the HHKB’s lightweight longevity has made it my go-to, to-go laptop accompaniment.

For some, the HHKB is a canvas. There are forums dedicated to colorful keycaps, case painting and stickering, Bluetooth adaptation — you name it — all for the little keyboard I’m typing on right now. Wada’s thoughtful design is so popular because it’s ergonomic; it’s aesthetically pleasing; it’s customizable yet streamlined and minimalist. It turns a mundane input device into a personal piece of expression most comfortable and enjoyable by you, the user. In Wada’s own words, HHKBs are not keyboards, but “important interfaces” of “functional beauty.”

I have a notoriously short attention span. See: the fact that I never watched the cult-popular “Stranger Things” — the first minute bored me. But sitcom “The Good Place” somehow immediately piqued my interest — with its unnaturally cheery lighting and intriguing premise, it practically screams a promise of a good time. To devout Christians and Buddhists and atheists alike, it sums up the afterlife into the Good Place … and the ominous, self-explanatory Bad Place.

It seems simple. After death, humans go to either place based on the balance between good and bad actions during their time on Earth. Eleanor Shellstrop (Kristen Bell) wakes up in the Good Place, but soon realizes that she most certainly does not belong in this land of philanthropic frozen-yogurt enthusiasts. Throughout the characters’ hilarious antics, you may begin to think “The Good Place” will get predictable … spoiler alert: It never does!

With startling self-awareness, the twists of this utopia-turned-dystopia are riddled with wittily delivered jabs at the tendencies of human nature, as seen when Michael (Ted Danson) declares, “Now we’re going to do the most human thing of all: attempt something futile with a ton of unearned confidence and fail spectacularly!” While Eleanor endeavors to improve from her corrupt life of telemarketing drugs to the elderly, viewers become enthralled in this exploration of what it really means to be a good person. Is it holding the door open for others? Is it ignoring the selfish urge to steal all the cocktail shrimps? Is it reading all of Immanuel Kant’s philosophical theories?

Through existential crises and unexpected revelations, viewers are increasingly shown that nothing is black-and-white — this world even features a literal Middle Place. The plot may be unpredictable, but its overarching theme of ethics becomes consistently more important and insightful in this age. As our current nation confirms a man onto the Supreme Court because he sexually assaulted a woman while only being “a boy in college” and school shootings continue due to contentious beliefs around our “right to bear arms,” the ethical battle between the overall good versus personal values rages on.

“The Good Place,” an unexpectedly profound sitcom, does a remarkable job of not only compellingly discussing morality, but also the persistence of human nature; all of this is accomplished while remaining both tasteful and immensely entertaining, leaving viewers wanting more. Take it from Eleanor: Striving to become a better person is what matters most — preferably before death. To quote Eleanor’s ethics teacher, Chidi Anagonye (William Jackson Harper): “I argue that we choose to be good because of our bonds with other people and our innate desire to treat them with dignity. Simply put, we are not in this alone.”

There’s a new major force in hip-hop: mumble rap, a subgenre of rap that is characterized by songs with intense bases and little lyricism, performed by rappers with rowdy personalities. And if mumble rap were a feudal kingdom, Gazzy Garcia, more commonly known as the rapper Lil Pump, would be one of its most important lords. Pump released his first commercial album, the cleverly titled “Lil Pump,” in October of 2017. Now, much like most mumble rap, two things are true about “Lil Pump”: it is exceedingly stupid and yet, at the same time, worth listening to.

Lil Pump once tweeted, “I REALLY DID DROP OUT OF HARVARD TO SAVE THE RAP GAME.” Unfortunately, none of the genius that earned him Harvard acceptance shines through in his lyrics. If you’re the type of person who wants music that gives complex commentary on race, love or other intellectual topics, “Lil Pump” isn’t for you. If you instead happen to love songs with uncreative and repetitive verses about Pump’s wealth and fame, this is the perfect album for you. Perhaps no track exemplifies this more than the infamous “Gucci Gang,” where Pump repeats the phrase “Gucci gang” fifty-three times while bragging about his wealth.

That said, while the nutrition label on a jar of mayonnaise may be more clever than this album, it’s still an enjoyable listen. And therein lies the true genius of Lil Pump and other rappers of his ilk; their lyricism may not be amazing, but their tracks are downright fun. On “Lil Pump,” that shines through in the energy of the beats and delivery of every track. The song “Youngest Flexer” is a perfect example of this. Every line features Pump bragging about his ability to afford expensive brands, but the partnership of Pump’s passionate delivery and an energetic beat featuring laser noises and xylophones will make you incapable of getting the phrase “I’m the Youngest Flexer” out of your head. This trend continues on every track, with the repetition, catchy beats and Pump’s intense delivery combining to make songs that you will inevitably end up guiltily enjoying.

Ultimately, the jury for the Pulitzer for Music probably shouldn’t be putting “Lil Pump” on their shortlist anytime soon. But that doesn’t mean the album is inherently bad; it’s just the musical equivalent of a stupid action movie. Sometimes, it’s okay to set aside complex dramas and watch a brainless but enjoyable movie where the Rock jumps out of a helicopter as his muscles bulge. Similarly, sometimes you need to ignore the more artistic side of the music industry and listen to a teenager who claims he went to Harvard say “Gucci gang” fifty-three times.

加菲猫风格的餐厅。马滕斯医生。纽约的宾夕法尼亚车站。利佐演唱会。

这些只是学生们选择为我们的第五届年度学生评论大赛撰写的艺术和文化作品中的一小部分，我们邀请他们审查他们想要的任何东西，只要它符合《纽约时报》审查的创意作品类别之一。

今年，我们将这个受欢迎的比赛分为两类——一类是高中，一类是初中。超过2，300名年轻人进入了我们的高中类别，该类别对13-19岁的学生开放。他们写了从当地餐馆和艺术展览到喜剧表演和隐藏的建筑瑰宝的一切。

在我们收到的众多优秀参赛作品中，我们的评委选出了 9 名获奖者、8 名亚军和 18 名荣誉奖。您将在下面找到全文发表的九篇获奖文章。滚动到这篇文章的底部，查看所有决赛选手的名字。

关于今年的参赛作品，我们注意到了一件事？学生们似乎已经掌握了锅的艺术。虽然我们经常收到许多免费评论，但在这一批获奖者中，您会发现与批评评论一样多的热情洋溢的评论。而且，正如您将看到的，两者都是一种阅读的乐趣。

无论是正面的还是负面的，我们认为这些学生论文中的任何一篇都会成为伟大的导师文本。如果您决定在课堂上使用其中任何一个，请写信给我们 LNFeedback@nytimes 告诉我们情况如何。

恭喜我们所有的决赛入围者，并感谢所有参与的人！

要查看我们本学年还将举办哪些其他比赛，请访问我们的2019-20竞赛日历。

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Lizzo in Concert: A Dynamic Reminder of the Power of Self-Acceptance

Few Democratic politicians in recent memory have spiraled so swiftly and so irrevocably from political stardom to scandal-ridden infamy as former Senator Al Franken. Since eight women leveled allegations of non-consensual kissing or groping against Franken, his abrupt resignation in December 2017 still occasionally haunts Democrats.

Franken’s 2017 memoir, “Al Franken: Giant of the Senate,” is a relic from the former senator’s glory days. I turned to Franken’s memoir to see if his account of events during his Senate career exposes any of the attitudes or actions that compromised him. What I found was simultaneous evidence of Franken’s current caricature, a remorseless, perverted product of Hollywood‘s hypermasculine underbelly, and the virtues that once endeared him to progressives: down-to-earth humor and artless candor.

At the beginning of his narrative, Franken describes S.N.L.-related controversies resurfacing during his campaign for Senate. Yet rather than confronting his comedic blunders with humility, he labors to explain away a rape joke he pitched about journalist Lesley Stahl. Somehow, Franken thrived in a liberal paradigm defined by crusades against rape culture, but he still defends (in print!) his own vulgarities by identifying himself with television’s “good ol’ boys” club. Franken’s sleazy justification for verbal misconduct — “I was a comedian” — suggests his liberal celebrity was all along a contrived myth, disguising latent toxic masculinity.

As clearly as Franken frames himself as a sorry-not-sorry misogynist, Franken’s later account of his time in Congress reminds readers of the heart and humor he brought to the Senate, a chamber notoriously bereft of either. Franken makes long-winded policy battles surrounding Obamacare and Native American rights genuinely entertaining, augmenting technical explanations with stirring anecdotes.

Not all of Franken’s comedy attacks liberal values, either. Many of his jokes, including ribbing against Ted Cruz and calling Antonin Scalia’s dissension against gay marriage “very gay,” inject casual satire into Franken’s tour of his Senate tenure. By dispensing with the cloying, 10,000-foot-high patriotism that typically bloats political memoirs, Franken reveals his main objective: appearing relentlessly authentic, even if that means becoming dangerously risqué.

Given his current reputation, marred by allegations of sexual impropriety, even Franken’s most convincing appeals to the heart — or the funny bone — appear less legitimate. His tainted credibility is by no means redeemed with a few laugh-out-loud one-liners. Nevertheless, Franken’s gut-busting, earnest progressivism explains why some of his Democratic colleagues delivered tearful farewell speeches on the Senate floor for him. The potent jokes contained in Franken’s prose recall the unique role he occupied in the Democratic Party: a charming, recognizable, funny senator, who, unlike every other talented Democrat, wasn’t seeking the 2020 presidential nomination. With the vacuum of genuine hilarity Franken’s left in Congress, reading his memoir two years later is nostalgic and disheartening, if not very exonerating.

A word of warning: The BBC’s “Great British Baking Show” is not mean and dispiriting television. If you enjoy the petty and often cruel conflict most reality programs include, this won’t be your cup of tea.

Set among vast greenery, the “Baking Show’s” prestigious venue makes for a quiet viewing escape. Have a crippling fear of climate change? A math exam on Monday? Your granddaughter hasn’t texted you back? The crisp, white competitor’s tent can tackle those worrisome distractions. Here, where the best amateur bakers in Britain compete, even President Trump seems eons away.

Since 2010, “The Great British Baking Show” has provided episodes filled with eager bakers ready to demonstrate their expertise. The show’s latest season, which includes a variety of creations (fig rolls and tarte tatins to name a few), does not disappoint. Every week, someone goes home, and someone is crowned “star baker.” The first two baking challenges, the “signature” and “technical,” may seem overly crucial to new viewers. But, as a true fan knows, who stays and who goes invariably comes down to the third challenge, the “showstopper.”

The program isn’t, however, only about baking prowess. Humorous at its core, judges Prue Leith and Paul Hollywood assume traditional good cop bad cop personas, and the witty, eccentric hosts Noel Fielding and Sandi Toksvig fool around on set.

After watching the “Baking Show,” Gordon Ramsay’s iconic profanity-filled tantrums won’t seem as indulgent as before, and the drawn-out reveal of “which chef’s dish is on the chopping block” in Food Network’s “Chopped” might feel like cruel and unusual punishment. The “Baking Show” is oriented toward celebration of people and food, rather than degradation of them. Despite Sandi’s jokes about stern Paul “not having a heart” (she compares him to the Tin Man in episode one), he displays more compassion than most reality program personalities. During the finale, when fan-favorite baker Steph’s showstopper falls short of expectations, Paul consoles her. There is something touching when he comforts her and says, “Nevermind Steph, it doesn’t matter.”

And this is precisely the point. It doesn’t matter. The eliminated contestants return at the end of the season to cheer on the finalists, and in the closing credits are pictures of participants baking and visiting each other after filming. The show has a “life goes on” attitude that is absent from our often anxious, everyday discourse. A stark contrast to the harsh media we are so constantly exposed to, “The Great British Baking Show” stands apart in its genre, rooted in good-natured humor and celebration of its contestants and their work.