Time of the stranger

If I could go back a few weeks and relive the first day of class this is what I would do:

when the teacher goes through roll call and asks how to pronounce your name and then asks if you go by anything else I would have said, “yes. I go by the name T-Bone.” I mean wouldn’t it be absolutely hilarious to hear professors call a student T Bone all semester. I mean just imagine some middle aged (typically white) professor utter the words T bone when asking someone about their thoughts on Man’s existential dilemma in the postmodern world.

In other news,
I think that fast food places that don’t spot you a penny when your total comes to 5.01 should be shut fined for being greedy SOBees. Are fast food places really this frightened of the idea of socialism that they won’t even hook up so take a penny leave a penny welfare system? It is a penny. Are you punishing me for not getting the diabetes inducing XL size? Don’t you think that I will probably end up paying that penny back at some point? Further, do I really need 4.99 in change? This is not Europe. Change don’t get you shit.

Also,
I am sick of women calling my mustache the molesta’stache. I mean most of you have fathers and grandfathers who have mustaches? Does this mean your fathers and grandfathers are molesters? Oh wait, sorry. I mean I get it when a romantic partner complains. I get that you don’t want to kiss anyone with facial hair that resembles your father’s. But to all you platonic ladies, do you really need to gasp and complain every time you see it? Why does the mustache have such a bad fucking rep?

Lastly,
I am glad that I am part of a facebook age group that does not have prom pictures posted. I am not going to say anything else about that one.

Desperately seeking

Starting to type without a plan is somewhat like drunk driving. It is reckless and it can usually get you into trouble. Even when there are no police around you can always crash into a tree.
Nonetheless,
Randomness straight from the dome:
Cell phones should have sobriety tests on them. If you are over the legal limit they should send a text to a designated party asking them to pick you up, and then it should not allow you to make any outgoing calls so you don’t drunk dial anyone.

Hay bay bay is a song lyric. You cannot greet people using this line anymore. It is like me saying “livin la vida loca” when people ask “What are you doing?”

It is funny how when you are at college ambulances lose a small amount of seriousness and begin to signify that someone is just drunk.

Beer cans should be made like sippy cups. That way there is no awkward party foul moment.

Every college should ask applicants to state which teenage mutant ninja turtle they identify with. Responses will help them determine who is going to be responsible for dorm damage, who will make deans list, and who will party. Answers are as follows:
Donatello: Deans list, Help Desk, TA
Leonardo: Leader, activist, class president
Michaelangelo: Papa Johns on speed dial, 30 Rack, Smith, Party animal that you will love in the moment, Snowboards
Raphael: Breaks shit, Lives in “JB,” Drinks powerade, Sits on the “other” side of the salad bar.

Hair today gone tomorrow

I am a senior. Graduation is a mere three months away (December), and the real world seems to be approaching at an emetic pace.

In many respects I am ready for the transition. I am eager to have my residential and work space severed. I am ready to graduate to parties where I can drink without having to play some Bozo the Clown type game. And I am ready to see and live in a city that stays open later than 10.
But there is one thing that has me a little concerned and looking a little pekid and it has everything to do with the word JOB.

Now, unlike most of my comrades the prospect of working is not too frightening. I know I am a smart, hard working, critical thinker who can adapt to, and succeed in, various types of work environments.

What I am concerned about is that my employment future signifies a shift in how I represent myself. I am dreading the big JOB mainly because I know it will inevitably confine my body, aesthetic, and various other modes of expression.

For the past 22 years of my life I have been able to sport a crazy haircut, grow a beard, wear bright scruffy clothes that are typically two sizes small, a motley assortment of jewelery, and exhibit my tattoos at my discretion without much consequence. Sure there were a few occasions when I had to clean up, but these came so infrequently that my concessions were not that irritating, and were in fact well received breaks from usual costume.

However, it looks like my future, whether in consulting, the Academy, or business, is not going to afford me so much liberty. The prospect of having my personal body choices stifled is a little disconcerting. I am kinda freaking out about the idea of not being able to sport long hair or some asymmetrical haircut, grow some crazy sinister mustache, or wear Levis 5 days a week.

Maybe this is growing up, and maybe it is something I am just going to have to deal with.

I think I can handle buying a mattress and learn about a 401 k plan, but I am not sure if I am ready to take my clothes to the cotton version of the glue factory. I am not ready to have a presidential haircut. And worse yet, I am afraid of having my tie selection be the only piece of flare that I can dawn to work.

This may appear superficial, but entrenched in my angst is a concern for, and disagreement with, the rather silly sacrifices we make in order to be adults. Unfortunately, I am too much of a coward to resist this system. I am probably going to placate their demands cause I am too afraid of what might happen if I don’t.

Fuck.

The deconstruction and translation of College Conversations

College is one big intellectual exercise in preparation for the big game called life. As expected there are some who choose to abstain from the work out process (see kids who have the mental capacity of a shot glass and are fat with ignorance) and then there are kids who work out voraciously. Now me, i am one of those people who cannot help but make every part of their lives a part of the exercise process. To run (yes that was intentional) with this metaphor, I am one of those people that carries a step counter and velcro weights with them wherever they go.
So here it is folks, my critique of college small talk:

Back to school conversation:
This happens when returning to campus after a semester abroad or a summer away. Conversations staples are: How was your summer/trip? Where did you go? What classes are you taking? Where are you living these days? Lets hang out.
The pace of these conversations is always the same. And in fact I am convinced that you could record your answers and play them and no one would be the wiser. In these circumstances no one is actually listening. Rather they are just going through the motions. I know this because on a few occasions I have said my summer was shitty and the person said “great” as if I said good. These conversations happen because we all think this an essential part of polite society and that it is some toll you have to pay in order to enter back into college. I always thought that your good friends knew what you were doing, and that everyone else knew based on your facebook activity. Why do people who didnt care to contact you over the summer or take the time to utilize stalkerbook ask these question as if they really care? Why do we force these conversations on like that pair of old jeans? I think this happens again and again because until the first week of school acquaintances really have nothing else to talk about.

Friday night pre 10 o’clock conversation:
This happens between 6 and 10 at night (hours vary depending on your college’s party lifespan–ours ends early like 1 or 2 am). This conversation will begin after dinner and will include questions like “what are you up to/getting into tonight?” and “what’s going on tonight”
Of course, people act like they don’t care when asking, but in actuality people are really anxious about finding something to do. You can see it in their eyes.

People ask questions like they are junkies looking for some smack instead in this case the smack is the longitude and latitude of a party. During these exchanges anxiety and uncertainty are high cause god forbid you don’t have a plan by ten. If you are able to get past the dinner hour without facing this question you will inevitably get a text from someone (probably me) asking what’s going on. The text is a non committal way of getting to the same end as asking in person but you dont seem so hungry and the receiving party cannot smell your desperation as much.

Hip Small gathering conversation:
These are basically circle jerk (slang for masturbation for the non-wise) parties. Everyone sits in a circle and takes turns talking about the recent movie, book, cd they have seen, read, or heard. The more obscure the better. No one ever agrees that the movie, book, cd is good. And rarely has more than one other person in the group seen, read, or heard the damn thing. When the majority of the people say they have seen, read, heard the subject that is being presented you know you are in a room with at least two liars.
These are moments for kids who got picked on in middle school to feel exclusive, hip, and well-informed. Good beer is served, cigarettes are smoked, and yet everyone has really good gums. In between the name dropping people will talk about things they have recently thought about or read. In these cases voices will raise an octave and half the room will disagree. A debate will ensue, but no one will ever really listen to what other people are saying. Rather people will simply wait for their turn to talk. Remember, stubborn is cool, circular arguments are only acceptable if they are concealed, and your proverbial penis is only as big as your arsenal of pop culture minutia and 5$ words.

Big Party Conversations:
Everyone is shouting. If you don’t shout you won’t survive. Ask about class, nod, and comment about their outfit. Repeat. No one is listening. People are thinking about when to get in line for another beer, who can be their fuck puppet for the night, and whether or not they can get out of their conversation without being a dick/cunt. People make the rounds because these social performances indicate you are not some hermit and that you are in fact still enrolled.
Before going study names on facebook so you dont have to that awkward moment where you have to play the pronoun game with someone.

Sticks and stones fucking hurt and those words make me want to kick you in the shin

You all know that nursery rhyme, “Sticks and stones may break my bones but your words will never hurt me?”
Well, I have to say that it is a load of suburban mid-western cult-christ nonsense. Sure there are words that you can walk away from. Sure, you can just say “Fuck m’” most of the time and keep on strutting. But sometimes fuck m just ain’t enough. Sometimes, words act as little fists of fury and punch the living shit out of you, and you have no choice but to respond.
Now by no means am I advocating some V-Tech or C-bine type actions.

Obviously, verbal slug festivals never warrant going to Walmart and purchasing something that has the potential to rip the life out of someone. Such acts are senseless, and really, when your teacher calls you a a lying son of a cunt (as mine did) you should shrug your shoulders and keep on walking because you know she is nothing but an angry and lonely drinker. When someone calls you skinny you should just kept on struttn’ cause you know that heroin chic is on the upswing and that your frame will one day be praised (cue Christina Aguillera song). And when people relentlessly mock your sense of humor simply remind yourself that the fabulous Shake (and bake) Speare was one pun-tastic and righteous dude.

However, there are plenty of words that will drive the most patient carbon based individuals to the edge of their limits and lead to fisticuffs. Sure we are mostly water, but water can boil, and water can fucking tsunami your ass.

Ok, so what exactly warrants such action? Well, obviously hate speech. Fucking duh. Any word that any self-respecting and mildly decent individual refers to as the _____ word is an invitation to get your self beat til your as pale as Michael Jackson. Still don’t know what these words are? Then you deserve to get your beating–Darwinism dude.

There was a time when it was only these types of words that made me get the strength and fury of a thousand suns and the courage of a frat boy after a handle of jack, but as of late another word has made me want to junior soccer league kick some ignant people in the shins.

Now hear me out, I am not comparing the following word to hate speech (notice, how I said this word makes me want to kick people in the shins, which is hardly that physically violent?). Rather, I am just saying that this word is one of the few words, or phrases really, that gets my calvins in a bunch. Also, bare in mind I am just trying to write something mildly funny. Ready?

The word is Super-senior. I fucking hate it, but since coming back to college for my 8th and final semester this fall I cannot help but hear it whenever someone talks to me. They say “oh I thought you graduated” and before I can respond and tell them that yes I am back to finish up this fall cause I took a semester off my sophomore year (Not code for I got suspended as it is for some) they say guess you are around one more “super senior.”
Now of course details vary, but again and again the gist is the same: You are not supposed to be here, you were supposed to be gone, so since you are here you are a super senior.
Now many, probably read this and say hey “whats the big deal?”

Well, first i could give a crap if the masses do not see it since the masses are in fact asses. Second, the big deal is that in these cases the word super is not being used conventionally. Rather, it is infused with a whole set of pejorative connotations. It is undergoing some Hulk time transformations–trust me. When used in this context it does not mean excellent or very good like my buddy OED says. Rather, it means something the like the word “special” when used in the context of the “special olympics.” It stirs up images of someone who is fucking inept and incapable of functioning within the confines of normal college timeline.

Ok, so again, who cares- Who wants to be normal-right? Well I dont want to be some boston red sox wearing, crox sporting, A&F adorning, pomemade cluster fuck archetype of normal, but I also don’t want to be your punching bag for your passive aggressive judgments. I am not collegically handicap and I am fucking pissed off about everyone thinking I am.
So, let this be warning. You call me Super Senior and I will kick you in the Shins, and like the cool indie pop band this will be a hit.

Road tripping

So I hit the road like Kerouac a few days ago. Well, maybe not quite like Jack, but I could not pass up the opportunity for a simile. Anyway, thanks to cruise control and some stretches of empty highway I had some time to think about a few things and jump to some outrageous conclusions about states. So, here is a brief summary of my observations while on the road for 18 hours. Cliffs notes cause it is 2am and I have to get my beauty sleep, cause lets face it–when you have a face made for radio you need every minute.
I will go in sequential order.
Indiana: If the US were to have an autobahn (spelling escapes me but you know the highway in Germany where you can go as fast you want?) it would be in Indiana. The speed limit is already 70 on some stretches so people are hitting something like 84 without worrying too much about smoky bear. Smells like sulfur…smells like summer in the midwest.
Ohio: Swing state, but no swingers. I get stared at whenever I get out of my car to stretch my legs.
Pennsylvania: hmm. A mish-(mash) of everything. Yes that was some PUNishment
New York: I am going to say that New York is one of the most American states around–at least top five–cause it is large and in charge.
Mass: Fah from my favorite place. People drive thay cahs like meth-crazed-teenagers-with somewhere to be.
Maine: More vanity plates than any other state (fact).