JOSHUA BAIZE
Rushing My Masculinity
A few weeks ago, I’d been feeling quite inadequate, dear reader. I don’t mean inadequate in the sense that I couldn’t get an erection (though erectile dysfunction is a serious health problem that makes big pharma millions of dollars a year), but rather that I felt impotent in the face of modernity, death’s impending oblivion and the impossible demands of being a full-time student while also having to do my own laundry. Most men cope with their metaphorical castration by smoking cigars, playing golf or voting for Donald Trump (or, if you’re Casey Affleck, you glare at the ground, as he did throughout “Manchester by the Sea,” universally regarded as 2016’s worst movie). I, however, sought a different route. To make myself feel macho, empowered and ineffably badass, I decided to immerse myself in Yale’s most syphilitic cesspool of toxic testosterone. That’s right, dear reader, I boldly dared to rush an all-male a cappella group.
September 14, 2017
