Let’s start with a sad truth: Sense Field’s prolific and ridiculously talented vocalist Jon Bunch left this world in 2016, and he will be forever missed. Bunch’s voice is paramount in the mid-’90s post-hardcore/emo/indie/whatever you want to call it world, he gave us a reason to believe that transparent sensitivity can create incredible art, and the band’s five albums are all classics because of such. The band’s career was quite frenetic in that they signed with NYHC staple label Revelation Records, also then home to hardcore legends Gorilla Biscuits, Judge, Youth of Today, and of course, Good Charlotte, released three back-to-back-to-back classic LPs on said label, signed with major label Warner Bros. Records and sat in a limbo to end all limbos there, and released their final two studio albums via Canadian label Nettwerk Records, and disbanded in 2004. Feel what you feel.
5. Living Outside (2003)
Although “Living Outside,” Sense Field’s fifth and final studio album is better than most band’s LPs in ANY genre, one record had to be listed last here, and we know, we know, we’re wrong about this and everything else we write below and moving forward for the rest of our sordid lives tonight and forever. The band went out with a bang here with “Living Outside” as said LP was their only Billboard charting record and debuted at #37 on U.S. Heatseakers, which is no small feat or pair of shoes. Sadly the band split just one year after this album was released, and sporadically reunited several times until Bunch’s untimely passing. Thankfully, Jon wasn’t done singing, as he eventually joined Further Seems Forever as their six-hundred-and-sixty-sixth vocalist before they disbanded in 2005, and fronted an underrated and rocking act called War Generation.
Play it again: “Burn”
Skip it: “Memory”
4. Tonight and Forever (2001)
“Save Yourself,” which is by far Sense Field’s biggest “hit” single, is likely why you’re here unless you’re punker than a rock, and reason enough for this record to not be in the dreaded bottom slot. “Tonight and Forever” asks its listeners two questions: 1) Are you ok? 2) Am I a fool? The simple one-word answers are obvious on your end: 1) No. 2) Yes. “Save Yourself” provided the band the opportunity to perform on late-night shows like “The Tonight Show,” “The Late Late Show,” and “The Oprah Winfrey Show,” but that might of actually been a fever dream we had when we stayed home from school. The record precludes a haunted memory regarding Sense Field’s future, and sadly the fun never starts again, but you’ve got to be strong. In closing, 2001 was quite a year for acts in SF’s sphere, as Jimmy Eat World, Dashboard Confessional, Thursday, and Boston all released groundbreaking records then.
Play it again: “Save Yourself”
Skip it: “Waiting for Something”
3. Self-Titled (1994)
While not a straight up punk rock record per se, Sense Field is still in said rock world, and released their debut self-titled LP to an aggressive sea of mainstream punk or “punk” if you’re feeling nasty/frisky/freaky/magical albums like Green Day’s blockbuster “Dookie,” The Offspring’s highly successful “Smash,” Bad Religion’s harmonious “Stranger Than Fiction,” and Sade’s compilation to end all compilations known as “The Best of Sade”; your love is king, as a smooth operator is much more than a smooth criminal but not as smooth as a smoothie from Erewhon. Containing a lot of one-word song titles like “Dreams,” “Sage,” “Soft,” and “Pizza,” Sense Field set the stage for one-word responses to said songs like, “rad,” “sad,” “mad,” and “Vlad(imir)”. Even though many SF shows don’t have public setlists , a quick search shows that another one-word title, “Voice,” was a favorite.
Play it again: “Voice”
Skip it: “Greater Than”
2. Killed For Less (1994)
After their breakout self-titled debut, Sense Field released their sophomore follow-up LP that same year called “Killed For Less,” and it’s where the band truly came into their own and into another. Opening said record with “Today And Tomorrow,” easily a top ten SF song, was a solid choice, as both old heads and new listeners of the band alike seemed to be drawn into a feeling of goodloveall, thus becoming super fans… And don’t get us started on the simple yet effective opening riff and “scream” for track two, Linkin Park’s “Hybrid Theory” opener known as “Papercut.” Also, like the album before it, there are many one-word song titles featured on “Killed For Less,” and said stat truly gets highlighted with tracks six through nine being called: “Futon,” “Voice,” “Soft,” and “Allyouneedisloveloveisallyouneed”. Now we’re building towards the end, and everyone we see will agree, or won’t.
Play it again: “Today And Tomorrow”
Skip it: “One from the Other Side”
1. Building (1996)
Reason to believe: We’re here at the top of the world, you and I, and said roof has no “skip it” tracks. Sense Field’s third record “Building” took many by storm, but we theorize that it would’ve been so much bigger if it came out when its follow-up was released. Still, we hope this album’s legacy remains strong and outlives all men/women/human beings/cockroaches. As stated above, the world still cries for vocalist Jon Bunch, and if you were lucky enough to attend the benefit shows for Jon’s son Jack on one or both coasts, it must’ve been a sight unseen any day prior, as bands like Rocket From The Crypt, Texas Is The Reason, Knapsack, and Debbie Gibson performed, and many singers guested on lead vocals with the remaining members of Sense Field.
Play it again: “Overstand” till you can’t stand
Skip it: Destruction
Absolutely not. Michel is a meticulous French concierge who wouldn’t be caught dead with a greasy kebab. He is repulsed by bagels, committed to the egg-white omelet and has a meltdown when he realizes he’s been drinking 2% instead of skim milk for a week. In fact, Michel might have an eating disorder disguised as early 2000s diet culture. Regardless, no street meat for Michel.
A drill-sergeant parent and a zealous Seventh-Day Adventist with a strict, likely religiously imposed diet. John Kellogg was a Seventh-Day Adventist, and he invented a bland cereal so that people would stop masturbating. Sylvester Graham also tried his luck at getting a boring fucking cracker to get people to stop self-pleasuring. Apparently it was an issue of the time. Anyway, Mrs. Kim is a hard pass.
I just have this feeling that Taylor is eating sweets at all hours of the day. He kicks off his morning with a cinnamon roll and ends his day with a fudge sundae, skipping lunch in between. His taste buds rarely crave a juicy, savory french dip. Also, he’s a little bitch who is the type to say shit like “back in my day, we didn’t receive participation trophies,” so here you go, Taylor – no participation trophy.
Mitchum seems like the type to subsist off black coffee, pills, martinis, and filet mignon. Shira seems like the type to subsist off protein shakes, Diet Coke, and salmon salads. They think Cubano is a type of ballroom dance and not a buttery sandwich with pork, ham, pickles, and mustard on toasted bread. And frankly, it’s better that way.
No, Miss Patty wouldn’t be cool with street meat. Not unless we’re talking about a male prostitute.
Sherry is a chamomile-tea-and-kale-chips bitch who would scoff at the suggestion of souvlaki. While she would absolutely slay at healthy weekly meal planning, she would rather have her Mary Kay credit card get revoked than eat a hotdog outside of the stadium.
Nope, Tristan is a fork-and-knife, country club kid who probably has never seen a menu with numbered meals. He’s skeevy, he’s scummy, and he’s a sexual predator–so even though he’d fit right in a dark corner of a dive bar, he’s more inclined to harass waitresses at high-end establishments.
Doyle is high-maintenance and a bit sheltered, so I don’t think he’d do well with spontaneity, which is half the fun of street meat. He seems like the type to get a tummy ache from eating basically anything and then complain about it all night long. He chronically forgets his Lactaid and then makes it your problem. I’d make sure this guy stays away from chili dogs, and me.
She’s the eldest Lorelai and the namesake of the whole god-damn clan. Because of her eugenicist-esque obsession with pedigree, I wouldn’t expect to find her inhaling a hoagie. On the other hand, she did rent a house to Korn. On the other other hand, she was a landlord. It’s a no from me dog.
Nicole is a lawyer (one strike) who cheats (two strikes) and who enjoys the types of salads that we’re being served in a diner in Nowhere, Connecticut in the early 2000s (three strikes). You know the ones–iceberg lettuce devoid of all chlorophyll topped with coins of carrots, black olives, shredded mozzarella cheese, and some Newman’s Own Italian Dressing. So no, she sure as hell wouldn’t be found eating a beef taquito from her local 7/11.
Nah, Max isn’t a food truck guy. This prep-school professor is a bit of a simp, so the only way he could be found eating a bucket of chicken would be to give a woman the impression that he’s a chill dude without a stick up his ass. But he actually kinda has a stick up his ass. And it’s not a KFC drumstick.
He was raised with a silver spoon in his mouth, and he can still be found sucking on it from time to time. He might indulge in a lobster roll when on vacation in the Vineyard, but he’d look at a sausage roll with skepticism. London’s street food scene is wasted on this pretty boy.
Since he’s a busker, you’d would think he’d be pretty comfortable with grabbing a late-night brat. But actually, this Troubadour is a dirty, crunchy vegan who slacklines and refuses to wear shoes, only going barefoot. He runs his own produce stand and definitely got scammed into buying some essential oils one time.
Jason is the human version of a $250 omakase menu. He likes confined spaces and tiny bubbles. He can’t sleep in a bed with another person and hates fast food. Get a life, Jason. He’s not dead last because he was willing to eat a giant grocery store egg roll, but still, he’s nowhere near the gold.
Chris would try an empanada, but he would mispronounce it and then embarrassingly defend himself. He would get so flustered that he wouldn’t even care about the delicious, steaming little pocket of beef and onion in front of him, only taking one small bite and then letting it get cold while he talked incessantly about his experience studying abroad.
Marty gives off “nice guy” Midwest vibes. He fucks with ranch, blue cheese, heavy cream, sour cream, whipping cream and cream cheese. He’s seen a hotdish in his day. I just imagine his upbringing in a depressing ’90s dining room with a distant father and saccharine mother, a la “Freaks and Geeks.” He’s a bit sheltered, and I just don’t think he’s the first to reach for a sambusa.
Emily Gilmore doesn’t know what “street meat” is. The only reason she made it this high is because she had a meltdown in a mall and then ate food-court Sbarro pizza with a fork. But still, she ate it.
Stars Hollow’s beloved-yet-curmudgeonly diner owner can be found serving up bacon and eggs every day. His career choice makes it seem like he’d be down to clown on some chimichangas, but Luke is actually an Almond Mom. Not only does he prefer turkey burgers and carrot sticks to ground beef and fries, but he also gleefully judges people who don’t share his healthy habits.
Sookie is what one might call a “foodie.” A classically trained chef, I think Sookie is happy eating anything from tacos to steak tartare, as long as it tastes good. But Sookie cannot relinquish control, and one component of enjoying street meat is removing yourself from the process. You just gotta close your eyes and dive straight into that dumpling, but Sookie would say something like “hmm, it needs chives,” and frankly, it would kill our vibe.
Jackson is a local produce supplier–he can always be found with his arms full of blueberries, zucchini, mushrooms, and rasp quats (don’t ask). Plus, he’s sleeping with–okay, married to– the best chef in town. Would he turn his nose up to Pelmini if offered? No. But does he have the inherent makings of a street meat savant? Also no.
Logan’s chaotic and deluded besties, these two would only be found eating a corndog on some sort of crude fraternity dare. But guess what? They love crude fraternity dares. They tend to be the hazer, though, not the hazee.
Group entry is usually staggered in a haunt to prevent overcrowding, so the line is long. To keep the energy up haunts usually have scare actors walking through the lines, providing a creepy ambiance and the occasional jump scare. A24 brought its own unique spin to crowd work. Gone were the killer clowns and executioners. Instead, there was the distraught-looking 40-something stumbling from group to group confessing that she didn’t know how to be a mother. There was a man clearly just going through the motions in a conversation with his girlfriend. There were British club dancers with no script.
When we made it to the front of the line we were greeted by a man dressed in an academic-looking suit who was somehow lit by neon wherever he went. He approached each member of our party, and with a paternal energy bluntly expressed why they were a disappointment to him before ushering us into the first room.
In a spooky old room with decrepit furniture and cobwebs everywhere (neon-lit) a coffin is opened by someone inside. The man who emerges is plain-looking and distraught. He wears a sign hung around his neck which reads “Not Dracula.” He approaches your group seemingly on the verge of tears and confesses that he doesn’t know how to be a mother. It is immediately clear that this isn’t you’re typical cheap-thrill spookehouse.
You enter a bedroom lit in a neon color palette. A young woman texts from her bed, seemingly bored and unaware of your presence. Suddenly, she looks distraught. She texts frantically chanting “No, no no…” until the phone drops from her shaking hands. A scream builds on her face but never comes out. If you ask what’s going on, the host puts a finger up to your lips and tells you not to embarrass him. This goes on for 7 minutes.
Dispelling the notion that they’re too pretentious for good ole Halloween fun, A24’s next room features a Universal classic-style mummy, though he does not emerge from a tomb. He is seated at a laptop computer, interviewing for an events coordinator position with Sallie Mae. You can tell this job would be a game changer for The Mummy, and at first, he seems confident, but it just doesn’t go well. The Mummy grows alienated and despondent, barely able to muster a “thank you for your time” at the end, which is not reciprocated. He may be thousands of years old, but this Mummy clearly feels like an imposter in a world of adults.
The setting is an Irish pub where everyone seems to know each other, and seems unwilling to interact with a Cyborg patron who moseys from group to group unable to penetrate conversations. Our host explains that the Cyborg was once a welcome member of the community, but was accused of an unspeakable crime, and though proven innocent, the stigma still follows him.
The make-up is top-notch, matched only by the grounded, all-to-real performance of the two zombie actors, who feign amicability as they sign divorce papers. They congratulate themselves on being mature and able to maintain a friendship despite the breakup, but it rings false. One of them notices your group and suggests eating you. The other zombie mumbles some affirmative reply, but they don’t move. Clearly, there is too much unresolved conflict between them for the zombies to function, and they’re both in denial about it. Haunting stuff.
Yes, the “Spring Breakers” star himself is there, and after a quick initial greeting, he will try to sleep with you. When rebuked, he will immediately claim that he only tried to sleep with you as a method-acting exercise for a role he’s preparing for and that he thought you were 18. When you tell him you’re actually older than 18 he will reply “Gross.”
The transformation uses movie-quality special effects, it’s really impressive, but then once he’s a wolf he just kind of goes shell-shocked describing an accident he saw that’s clearly traumatized him. He doesn’t howl or anything. He just keeps mentioning the empty baby seat he saw, and you really don’t know what to say to the guy.
As fans of the movie, we were pumped to see a “Green Room” themed haunt. The place was made up like a dive bar and filled with people you didn’t want to mess with. Your host then impatiently tells you to get on the stage and do your set. We tried our best, but half of us had never even played an instrument before, and we felt real danger getting off that stage.
Like, for real, it’s a hospice room with an actual terminal patient hooked up to a bunch of machines. His family is there and they can’t stop crying.
You turn a corner and bam, Art The Clown from the Terrifieer movies jumps out at you. I guess they figured throwing some traditional haunted house scares in there would help satisfy everyone, but at this point, we’re all too despondent to react.
Witness the horror of real people discussing the lowest moments of their lives they were driven to by chasing the highs and lows of irresponsible gambling in what they believe to be a safe environment.
Apparently, they were adopted and they are really hung up about it, which seems clear to everyone except the creature. Denial. Trauma. Neon lighting.
In the “Men” themed room every scare actor has had their face replaced with that of Rory Kinnear. It’s an impressive feat, and we can’t imagine how they were able to do CGI in real life, but the meaning of the face swap completely eludes us.
Happy Star gives the occasional like and is barely online. They’re just glad to be here, quietly chilling in your connections list. Easily the least annoying of the bunch, only weird when they start posting about their New Age interests. Apparently they’ve gotten into crystal energy healing in Arizona and have started offering “wellness courses.” Anyway, this Happy Star is most likely enjoying life away from their computer, and they’ll sometimes remind you about that with a post.
Sure, he’s from your distant past, but this little fella is a lurker. Why is he always looking at your page? You can always rely on seeing this guy in your notifications. You give him a pass because it’s Taco Bell and that’s still your fast food of choice, but this dude will even like and comment on sponsored content. Typical chihuahua, responds to anything. Mostly in barks and quivers – don’t move too quickly around him.
Who is on LinkedIn posting advice at 5 a.m.? It’s Birdie. The early bird gets the worm and apparently hijacks the algorithm, so you’re constantly seeing her posts. But there’s some sound advice in there, so you don’t mind. Sometimes you’ll screenshot one and, like most people, never look at it again. She was apparently the first female McDonald’s mascot so, if anything, Birdie is a trailblazer. Also, she seems to actually be into eating worms.
Too many selfies from the Jollibee Bee, plus they post way, way too often. Interacts with anything you post, too. Lots of emojis, especially the awful “laugh-cry” to punctuate sentences. You don’t exactly know what they do, but they are always sharing “wins” or excited about some new campaign. Constantly networking, always busy. They’re a fucking bee, afterall. But there’s something weirdly comforting about seeing a giant red bee at all of these events. You remind yourself that it’s just a parasocial relationship, you don’t actually know this bright red bee. But you know they spoke on multiple panels last year and made Forbes 30 Under 30.
Grimace treats LinkedIn like Facebook, sending unsolicited messages and oversharing constantly. Anytime a celebrity dies, Grimace posts a long rambling post about how much this “visionary” meant to them, somehow bringing it back to a recent injury or a clogged toilet. Way too many mentions of clogged toilets. Every other post is about a clogged toilet. Makes you consider Grimace’s anatomy in a way you never wanted to. What the fuck even is Grimace? Either way, you have a message from him on LinkedIn waiting for you.
Announces every job transition as though he were the fucking President resigning. Every career transition is like an awards acceptance speech, with multiple people tagged and awkardly thanked. Conjures up the most bland lessons learned imaginable. Wow, “teamwork makes the dreamwork,” huh? How long did that one take? The Little Caesar’s guy distributes half-hearted compliments to everyone before sharing a “quirky” office photo that makes absolutely no sense. Has honestly quoted lyrics from Green Day’s “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” when discussing his career change. Also, for some reason, frequently repeats his comments and types in all caps.
We all have that LinkedIn connection that makes you wonder: How the fuck do I even know this person? Their name is vaguely familiar, at best. You’d click on their profile, but the last thing you need is them knowing you’ve looked at their profile page. This is basically The Noid. He’s familiar but also kinda not, like a dream or the shittiest déjà vu you can imagine. Anyway, the Noid uses posts as a way to talk about recent “personal challenges,” mostly about stopping pizza deliveries in his neighborhood. What is this dude’s deal?