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(08/13/09 12:06am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>After close evaluation of my columns from this semester as well as the previous three semesters I have written for the Indiana Daily Student, it has come to my attention that, in my attempts to entertain my readers, I have failed to provide any substantial political, moral or spiritual opinions.Oh no! And now I have to go off and move away from Bloomington like a good graduate, leaving my friends, fans and people who leave nasty comments on the IDS Opinion Web page behind. Bye bye, love. Well, don’t worry because I have one column left, and I have made the decision to serve my readership to the utmost degree by providing all the opinions you ever need to know about ... everything! Don’t you dare laugh at this column, you guys – this is a serious one. So be prepared to learn, and learn big. (I know, I know, online commenters – you were never laughing. That, and you spread joy and sunshine to everyone around you every day.) First things first. Health care has been a big thing recently, right? I bet the other, more “legitimate” columnists have been writing about it a lot. Blah blah blah. Do you want the answer, the right answer? The answer you can sink your teeth into? No health care is the right health care! Private or government-run? Uh, excuse me, America. Who said we wanted health care anyway? Last I checked, survival of the fittest was in charge. If you get sick, sorry! Deal with it! Die off! Oh, and if any readers have perfect eyesight, please send me an e-mail so that we can arrange a time to breed. With regard to whatever food crises and “hunger issues” are currently disrupting our way of life, I feel very strongly that the best answer is to tear down any farms out there – “organic” or otherwise, and build fast-food restaurants in their place. Our appetites could use more Hardee’s, as could our society’s thriving ideas about gender appropriateness. Religion? Oh God, religion. Please lay off your churches and your synagogues and get with the program. The program being that average house cats have reached nirvana. Anyone who has one knows that they see spirits; they are always staring off into the distance and chasing invisible things around. They also meditate in the sun like, all day long, you guys. Cats – either find a way to become one or start worshipping them. Those are your two options. On a related note, bugs and mice are evil, by default, and should be crusaded against. And “dog people” are nothing but simple heretics. As far as social etiquette, my only strong opinion – and this is one I feel very strongly about – is that if you aren’t sure how to act in any type of social situation, getting Hoosier loud is always the right answer. It’s laughable that this even needs to be said, but newspapers should definitely stop printing and close. Immediately. Who reads newspapers anymore? Everything I ever needed to learn I learned from a Google search of “Lady Gaga” and a visit to catsinsinks.com. That’s all. Bye.
(08/05/09 10:13pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>“They’re like ants,” my friend Andy said. “Occasionally they all congregate in a big area, but mostly they’re just alone or in these small groups of three or four, raiding the Doritos and soda at the Village Pantry on Third and Jordan.”He was, of course, talking about the 7,000 members of the National Order of the Arrow Conference, which is going on in Bloomington this week.Basically, if you’ve left your house in the last week, you’ve seen them and, let’s face it, probably made fun of them. Arrowmen, as they are called, belong to an honor society within the Boy Scouts of America that recognizes those Scouts who “best exemplify the Scout Oath and Law in their daily lives.” They’re responsible for things like extra camping and service requirements, according to one I spoke with on the street. They also indulge in the occasional feathered-headdresses-donning afternoon romp, if my eyes haven’t mistaken me. The really interesting thing about them, though, is that most of them are older Scouts. According to their Web site, among the Arrowmen, a “youth” is considered a person 21 years old or younger, unlike the 18-years-old cut-off the Boy Scouts impose. Adults can also apply and many do, though their prime responsibility is to serve as role models for the youth members. This brings me to the fascinating juxtaposition of having the Arrowmen here this week, of all weeks. For many graduating seniors who stuck around for the summer to relax or take classes, these are some of our last few days in Bloomington. We are effectively being pushed out into the world, told it is time to grow up, while 7,000 grown and growing men are here in Bloomington – wearing knee socks and, one could argue, furiously holding onto childhood and the activities they enjoyed as children. While the Arrowmen “take over our campus” as the particular one I spoke to put it, IU’s seniors are busy filling cardboard boxes with textbooks and stuffing toothpaste into the holes in our walls. New tenants are moving into our apartments and houses. If we’re lucky, they’ll keep our paint colors, a small indicator that we were there once, that we lived our lives there – for awhile anyway.It’s kind of nice to realize that, even during these last few days, Bloomington has its own thing going on. It never belonged exclusively to the class of 2009, just like we never belonged exclusively to it. Come September it will belong to the class of 2013. Right now, it belongs to the Arrowmen. Frankly, that’s kind of a relief. So these last few nights, sitting on indoor couches on outdoor porches instead of contemplating impending goodbyes with friends who are leaving or who are being left behind, we have been awarded the wonderful chance to sit back, shake our heads and ask, “Hey – what do you make of all these Boy Scouts all over town?!”
(07/29/09 10:26pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>When simultaneously driving and texting, drivers are 23 percent more likely to crash than when driving not distracted, claimed a new study released Tuesday by the Virginia Tech Transportation Institute. “These results show conclusively that a real key to significantly improving safety is keeping your eyes on the road,” the study reads. America, it appears our second-favorite pastime (second only to putting on weight) is in jeopardy. No doubt some self-righteous politician is going to pander to the concerned parents of America, give in to the safety lobby and pass legislation to end texting while driving. But watching the road while you drive? That’s almost as silly as watching a baseball before you try to hit it. Who ever heard of such a thing?Apparently not many semi-truck drivers, who were used as test subjects for a large portion of the study, and who fared worse than car drivers when it came to crashing-while-texting rates. But most unfortunately, the makers of the study irresponsibly neglected to record the most important part – what the truckers’ text messages actually said.A self-righteous small-car driver such as myself could easily write off this study’s omission and simply adopt the attitude of “Who cares? (audible sigh) Trucks should just have their own highway” – which, I must admit, is tempting. But instead, I have decided to take the route of sympathy, oneness, unity and other buzzwords I would know if I ever made it past page 3 of “Siddhartha.” I have channeled the inner spirits of our nation’s truck drivers and, after emerging from a journey into the depths of their souls, covered in a residue of partially digested circus peanuts and nicotine, I’ve recorded some of the most popular text messages truck drivers send to one another while on the road:“Check out douchebag at mile marker 225. Run off road? HAHAHA...not after last time...unless ur game?”“How is the pork rinds selection at that Citgo off exit 28? Scale of 1 to 10.”“Sidetracked...gotta see beautiful Rock City.”“If fruit flies have been in my beard for more than ten days does that mean they’re laying eggs?”“Red alert: Sale on flannel at the Lands’ End outlet in Edinburgh.”“He drove with all the strength in his bulging muscles. He was running, going away from something. Or was it – someone? He could feel the wind on his brow, and his blind spot grew blinder as the daylight crumbled into nighttime...Check back tomorrow for next installment of my text novel. 160 char. Limit. Peace n’ love.”“Balls out...gonna do 65 in a 70 today. Git R Dun.”“Ever thought about what it would be like to eat bacon raw?”“I spy with my little eye, something gree – F it, it’s grass. Again.”“I mean, if you want to argue that Postmodernism died in the 80’s that’s fine, but just give some thought to the resonance that a well-directed production of “Godot” still holds.”“Check out big tits in white Nissan.”
(07/22/09 10:26pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>A few nights ago at two in the morning, I walked into a Village Pantry a couple blocks from my apartment. I bought a package of something called “Munchies.” I was completely sober. My craving was taken care of and I was pleased, but not after causing myself a great deal of mental and psychological strain trying to figure out what the cashier of the midnight shift was going to think of me and my purchase. Alone at 2 a.m., buying a bag of snacks. Most likely high. I eventually took a look in the mirror and thought, “Girl, you’re 22. You are attractive enough to pull this off right now, but check yourself in 10 or 20 years.” I pinched my cheeks. “Lord help you then, because that midnight clerk will probably have some thoughts about the direction of your life, missus.” Strangers, oddly, have a significant impact on what we think about and what we do. I know they keep me jogging far longer than I would if left to my own paltry devices. Wondering what a stranger will think if she sees me stopping before I have that gross line of sweat on my back is a much more powerful motivator than any desire of mine to pack it in and get a bag of “Munchies.” Strangers influence where we look when riding on public transportation and what kind of music we listen to (and how loud) when riding in our cars. And let’s face it – we generally hope they think we’re cool. We want them to like us. Whenever I am feeling bad about something I’ve done or said to a person in my life, I simply hold a door open for a stranger or swing by a blood drive and donate. It’s like doing some random good deed for a stranger tells the world you are a “good person” and cancels out whatever you did to your friend. I remember crying once in high school during the day, not because I’d gotten into a fight with my mother that morning, but because afterward I’d tried to participate in the blood drive in order to cancel out the fight and they told me I didn’t have enough iron in my system. I was left with no way to cope with the morning’s events and labeled myself a “terrible person” for the duration of the day. The ways strangers affect us are many. And while on one hand it is always good advice to “not worry about what other people think” and “march to the beat of your own drum” and other colorful euphemisms for being weird, the fact of the matter is that if you do something weird around a stranger, you are always and forever etched in their minds as the person who did that weird thing that one time. Well, you’re at least etched there for five minutes until the stranger gets distracted thinking about what other strangers think of him or her.
(07/15/09 10:04pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>There’s something interesting about readers of this publication at this particular time. The majority of you are students who chose, for one reason or another, to stay in Bloomington for the summer. Maybe some of you had classes to take, but others of you might have found you simply prefer living in Bloomington to living at home. Why is that?I know why I like it better here: My room at home is largely empty and my cat Simon decided somewhere along the way that ignoring me and giving all his attention to my stepdad was a better use of his time. I feel very strongly that I could give ol’ Stepdad a run for his money if I grew a beard as long as his, but – sigh – that’s not really the point. The point is this: Whatever your precise situation, going home can be strange these days. Sure, most of us will get married and make our own homes someday, but as the media loves to remind our generation, someday isn’t coming right after college the way it did for many before us. The media experts have many catchy media-selling names for the between-childhood-and-adulthood phase our generation seems so prone to: A cover story in Time circa 2005 labeled us as “Twixters.” David Brooks of The New York Times calls the post-college years “The Odyssey Years.” Stony Brook University sociology professor and author Michael Kimmel insists both young men and young women are living in “Guyland.” So the question is, for the roughly 10 years we’ll spend floundering around and buying magazines about our floundering around, where do we call home? I think, like most big questions in life, we can defer judgment to the universe’s smartest creatures – kittens.A wise kitten napping in a dirty flowerpot once told me, “When you are at peace with yourself, anywhere is home.” In complete journalistic disclosure, the aforementioned kitten told me this through the medium of an inspirational poster in my eighth grade English classroom. But its message transcends sticky tack and colorful borders. And, surprisingly enough, it transcends the years between eighth grade and college. You can try to find home in the refrigerator the fateful morning you decide to make a burrito from everything “not too expired” in your fridge. Or in the drain the first time you realize that human hair, when left to its own post-shower devices long enough, can actually resemble a large rodent or “hairodent,” hanging upside down in the drain from its tail. (And that it is your job and your job only to remove it.) But it’s doubtful. During this time, home means stability, and a series of walkup apartments or rented houses with moth-eaten couches don’t really scream stability. We might only be able to find home within ourselves. So maybe during our “homeless” years our goal should be to become emotional hermit crabs, carrying our homes with us in the form of thoughts, feelings, perceptions ... and probably a kitten poster or two, for good measure.
(07/01/09 10:00pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>When I was in the second grade, I joined a recess support group for the children of divorced parents called Banana Splits. By then I had spoken to a number of counselors about my parents’ divorce, and I was under the extremely healthy and mature impression that it was absolutely for the best, thank you very much. When it came to Banana Splits, I was only in attendance because they served actual banana splits at every meeting. At the first meeting the group’s leaders, a team of 20-something women with sleek bobbed haircuts – no doubt completing community service hours for a local sorority – asked us each to write down something we were afraid of and something we wanted, on two separate pieces of red construction paper. The well-adjusted 8-year-old I was neatly penned, “complete and total loneliness” on one piece. On the other I wrote, “trip to MGM studios.” Weeks went by and the pieces of paper sat on a shelf in separate, decorative cardboard boxes. At the last meeting of Banana Splits, the leaders gave each of us turns with an actual hammer and told us to smash the “fear” box in a parking lot behind the playground, where the well-adjusted children played hopscotch and four square. (I still don’t know what became of the “want” box.) I took a swing at the box like everyone else but was largely skeptical. I knew exactly what I was doing: hitting a cardboard box with a hammer. I wasn’t actually destroying any fears. I wasn’t even strong enough to really destroy the box. It reminded me of my one and only experience at Bible camp, and my repeatedly raised hand demanding the teenagers in charge please explain more logically how a “miracle” worked. (In retrospect, I think I would have accepted “magic,” but they never came up with that.) All I’d initially wanted from Banana Splits was free ice cream and maybe some acting practice whining and mimicking the children of divorced parents I saw on television. But instead, I found myself standing in a parking lot with a hammer experiencing for the first time the deep sinking realization that I had fears, and they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. And now I’m on the cusp of graduating college. I’m staring adulthood square in the face and it seems my fears, which were pushed aside for four years by Aver’s boxes and textbooks, spent that time pumping a lot of iron and rapidly breeding with one another. Uh ... where’s that hammer? Actively “confronting your fears” is something that exists exclusively in the realm of inspirational posters with pictures of people jumping off waterfalls in the jungle. Day to day, it’s hard to squeeze in between homework and the grocery. But maybe the bobbed squad wasn’t all wrong back at Banana Splits. They got us to bring our fears to the surface and be open about them, after all. And maybe being open and sharing them with the people we’re close to is all we really can do. That, and not turning down free ice cream when it’s up for grabs.
(06/24/09 9:55pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>How do you know when you’ve grown up? Can you gauge by easy cut-and-dry signs like receding hairlines and crow’s feet? Does it happen when you have a kid? What about when you catch yourself saying things like, “Oh – can I call you back? You caught me in the middle of my anxiety breathing exercises.” (Guilty.)I think it’s pretty much a universal fear for those of us whose days in college are numbered. Does graduating mean we’re adults? If so, does being an adult necessarily mean being boring and married (then, some time later, divorced)? It can really stress you out if you let it. I’ve come to think that there’s an easy way to tell. There are things adults own whose function is completely and utterly lost on me as a young person. I really believe that walking around someone’s house and taking note of what they own – what they choose to spend their money on – says a lot about whether they are a “grown-up” or just have gray hair. Cutlery trays for kitchen drawers are an extremely “adult” thing to own, for example. They aren’t necessary but succeed in making one seem orderly and in control. My own silverware has run wild and free, tempest-tossed across the vast expanse of its kitchen drawer for upwards of three years now. And you know what? It’s not been too difficult to find what I need in there. Turns out knives, forks and spoons actually look and feel quite different. Throw pillows can be dangerous harbingers of adulthood as well. Though they can be used for good rather than evil, I’ve seen too many adult homes featuring a throw pillow or two tossed on a chair, the only action it ever sees being when it is moved to a different location if someone wishes to sit down. Other notable “adult” giveaways include the ownership of multiple variations of the same thing (both paper napkins and paper towels, myriad versions of a simple broom for every surface imaginable), anything with the suffix “cozy” attached to it, lawn ornaments that aren’t ironic, sprinkler systems, monogrammed linens, paved driveways and mulch (last I checked, dirt came free). I can’t help thinking the more “nice,” “proper” things that fill your home, the less you own the things and the more they own you. This buying-in reeks of adulthood. We avoid it in college; our financial concerns don’t extend beyond rent, textbooks and whether we can afford a $5 sandwich. But after graduation we have choices to make. A friend of mine recently said that when she gets married she plans to ask for money to travel rather than traditional gifts. I called her a genius and then took a good look at myself. Why had I assumed blenders and salad-bowl sets were the only wedding gifts that existed? Maybe one way to avoid typical American adulthood is to spend the money we make on things we need or that make us happy, not things that make us trapped. Or at least use your throw pillows if you’re going to have them, for Christ’s sake.
(06/17/09 10:13pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Lately I’ve been careful. I’ve been looking over my shoulder if I’m walking alone at night, crossing the street in the presence of mysterious strangers, using the peephole in my door, contemplating the best way to jab my keys into a potential attacker’s neck. I am not really someone to be trifled with, currently. “Georgia,” you must be wondering, “what sort of female empowerment/self-defense/powder-puff mechanics course have you been attending? Where can I sign up? I, too, want to be more aware of my surroundings and safer!” The answer, gentle reader, is I have not been attending a workshop of any sort. I have simply been staying up into the wee hours of the morning, my feet propped on my desk and a bowl of Cap’n Crunch hovering just below my chin, streaming hour after hour of episodes of the television show “Heroes” online.And it has affected my behavior – a lot. The “Heroes” world is basically at the forefront of my mind constantly. If you aren’t aware, this world is inhabited by superhumans who have to fight evil with superhuman powers to save the world. As a result, I consider this aforementioned evil around every turn, and I act accordingly. This isn’t the first time this has happened to me. Last year I removed myself from life for a week because of overactive anxiety and subsequent outbursts of irrational, counterphobic behavior. (Look it up, self-help enthusiasts!) I planned to take a break from activities and relationships and spend some time recharging, discovering myself. What did I do instead? Streamed “America’s Best Dance Crew” from MTV.com while eating Cap’n Crunch.And I’d be damned if, when I returned to life, I wasn’t using the phrase “That’s so hard” more than a couple times an hour. I also constantly gestured with both hands outspread as if to address a crowded amphitheater, even if I was just talking to one person. My friends thought I had tapped into my inner being and retrieved a new, sassier version of myself. In reality, I was just acting a hell of a lot like renowned hip-hop choreographer and B-boy enthusiast Shane Sparx, a judge on the show. This phenomenon is mostly amusing, but it’s also a little scary. It’s cute when you take on mannerisms of your friends: “ZOMG Sarah I just did your hand thing! We are getting soo close.” But when the people you mimic are characters on television shows? Hmm ... that sounds suspiciously like the people you spend the majority of your time with are the people on television shows, girl. It can be strange. It can make you question whom you are and how stable your personality is. But my advice is this: If you find yourself in this situation, laugh, recognize it for what it is and don’t let it overcome whom you really are – a person who is so fresh, so hard and who just did the sickest B-boy headspin this show has ever seen.
(06/10/09 10:19pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>For two weeks I had somebody to say “I love you” to every day. Somebody to come home to and cuddle with constantly. Somebody to eat meals and watch television with. Somebody who always listened to what I had to say. It was love and companionship at its best. It was the perfect relationship. It was my friend Steve’s cat. We moved her into my apartment for two weeks while Steve went on vacation, and it was wonderful. Not only was there a soft, furry kitty inhabiting the same space as me, but also I achieved a complete and total understanding of, and empathy for, the male sex! It was quite a beneficial two weeks. It’s like this:I’m a cuddler. I also happen to be prone to fits of anxiety and paranoid thoughts about relationships late at night, which need to be discussed. Right now. Even if one half of the relationship is asleep. Hugs are also in order. Not to gender stereotype, but I think it’s kind of a girl thing. Though, whenever this happened to me in the past, the boyfriend inevitably mumbled that he was sleeping, and I inevitably huffed and puffed and got the creeping hot feeling in my chest that if he really loved me, he would wake up. I didn’t understand. I hadn’t lived with a cat yet. When Steve’s cat woke up in the morning, she did one of two things: chewed through the bag of cat food on top of the refrigerator or attempted to wake me up. I didn’t have a steady job, so, needless to say, I was sleeping in until about 1 p.m. The same is not true for kitty. At 8 a.m. she was at her most affectionate (hungry) mood, wanting to curl up in a ball on my stomach and have me interact with her – pet her, tell her how pretty she is, kiss her furry cheeks, analyze the time we went to Navy Pier and how I neglected to offer to buy her cotton candy, et cetera. But I didn’t want to cuddle at eight in the morning. I was asleep. “It doesn’t mean I don’t love you, sweetie,” I would mumble. But she wouldn’t believe me. So she’d huff and puff and go chew through the bag of food. The experience was, to say the least, surreal. After a couple days with kitty, I recognized a chilling familiarity between the way I treated kitty and the way my no-good-ex-boyfriends-who-didn’t-appreciate-me-anywhere-near-enough-God-damn-it treated me. Because I loved this kitty. I really did. But I just didn’t feel like waking up to cuddle at eight o’clock in the morning, woman. And there it was. I had come to resemble my ex-boyfriends. A startling empathy for the male condition unfolded in front of my eyes, and I transcended my very gender. So, men, a word to the wise: If you are running into this problem with a current girlfriend, consider just filling her dish of food the night before. It works wonders.
(06/03/09 11:12pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>What if instead of saying it to her face, Rick Blaine had waited until Ilsa’s plane took off at the end of “Casablanca,” and texted to her from the ground, “heres looking at u kid”?What if she had replied by sending him an emoticon of a face with a cartoonish tear trickling down it? Doesn’t really resonate, does it?What if Scarlett O’Hara had simply set her Facebook status to read, “As God as my witness I’ll never be hungry again,” for a couple hours and left it at that? Lucky for Blaine and O’Hara, they lived in ages when they had to express personal feelings, um, personally. We’re not so lucky. Even those of us who are old-fashioned, who still send letters through the mail, who read the newspaper in print and who haven’t used our iPods since the battery ran out that one time, aren’t immune from the lure of constant texting. I am pretty old-fashioned. I watch “Designing Women,” if that puts things into perspective any. Yet, I have backed out of plans, lent support, made jokes, flirted, said I love you, ignored, been ignored, apologized, been apologized to – all through the medium of text messaging. And I’ve done it with people whom I know, people whom I care about.And I can’t help but wonder – does any of it count?Sure, we can keep texts, store them. In many ways they are more real than the memories we hold in our minds. They’re certainly more tangible. But there’s something not quite right about them. Recently, I pulled an old Nokia cell phone out of the junk drawer. I turned the phone on long enough to read a number of texts from an old boyfriend: “I’m so excited we’re together,” “ur the 1 4 me,” “miss you.” They made me smile when I got them months ago, but now they hang in the air, frozen in their particular day and time like bugs that got trapped in the ice cube tray. They simply didn’t have the resonance of a memory or even a handwritten letter. They were just snippets, and reading them was more eerie than nostalgic.We can’t let that be it for our relationships. It’s convenient to text-talk, but we can’t let it substitute for real communication. Even we, the generation that grew up talking to strangers in AOL chat rooms, need to have some standards. The distinctions can be a little fuzzy, but they’re there. Mass texts to the crew – “whats good 2nite?” – are good and useful. However, “What do your parents do?” is a question best left to personal interaction. “Sorry im gonna be 5 mins late” works through text. “Sorry i hurt you” – not so much.And was there ever a famous tale of romance that began with a couple texting (drunk or otherwise) back and forth for a number of days before deciding to meet for coffee face to face, let alone fall in love?If there is, I certainly don’t want people of the next generation to read it as they fall asleep. But I guess it beats just texting to their bedrooms, “g’nite luv u.”
(05/27/09 11:10pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>As I mentioned last week, I have no real idea how to come out of a quarter-life crisis – jobless, single, anxiety-riddened, terrified into inaction, etcetera.However, I’ve made many discoveries (read: mistakes) in the last year or so, and I know a thing or two about how to weather it. If you are experiencing an end-of-college crisis, please, do yourself a favor and learn from my personal experience: Don’t yell at your mom or screen calls from friends.Don’t stay in bed all day, make any big decisions involving your hair or believe that you will never come out of this. Don’t think too much. Don’t stop thinking altogether. Don’t project feelings of companionship onto the squirrel that lives in the tree outside your window. Don’t project feelings of companionship onto strangers on the street. Don’t fantasize about what they would be like in committed relationships (imagining them naked is fine). Don’t let inspirational quotes impact the way you think or act for more than a couple minutes. Don’t talk about yourself too much – you rarely make sense these days. Don’t listen to crusty old men at the laundromat ramble about political conspiracies, mobile homes or anything else. (They are mentally insane, permanently. Your insanity is only temporary.) Don’t forget about your dream – what you wanted to do with your life when you were a kid. Don’t kid yourself and think that you have it worse than anybody else, really. Don’t think you’ll be alone forever. You can’t think that way. You just can’t. Don’t communicate emotions through e-mail. Don’t cry yourself to sleep. (Go sleep on a friend’s couch instead.) Don’t convince yourself that the cat walking around your neighbor’s yard with a collar on is a stray that you need to adopt to ease your loneliness. If you have a pet, don’t take it for granted (unless it’s a fish, maybe). If you lost your toenail clipper, don’t use your teeth. Don’t feel guilty about feeling confused. Don’t justify using Facebook or Twitter as any sort of creative outlet. If you happen to still have a MySpace – don’t. Don’t forget to drink water and to take deep breaths. Don’t overdose on NyQuil, down multiple double Jack-and-Cokes and make your friend drive you around while you holler the lyrics to Biz Markie’s “Just a Friend” out the window. Don’t think the job that rejected you is the only good job out there. Don’t commit any act of petty vandalism unless you’ve given it a good few days of serious thought. Don’t let any isolated, stressful event be the catalyst for your purchase of any sort of habit-forming accessory, especially from the “$40 and up” shelf. Don’t terminate a friendship or relationship based solely on your reading of a single chapter in a single self-help book. Don’t give up. Do put more of your mistakes and poor behavior than would be appropriate under the umbrella excuse of it being a “learning year.” Then move on, and try to begin to figure out how on earth to grow up. Good luck.
(05/20/09 10:52pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>While lying on my back on a bench in Peoples Park in late April, surrounded by homeless musicians and dreadlocked vagabonds, I spoke to my father on my cell phone. I was chewing on a straw, as I had been for the last hour and a half. “I’m considering just being a complete mess for a while,” I said matter-of-factly.“Well, if you’re going to be a mess, there’s really no better place to do it than” – I joined him and together we said, “Bloomington, Indiana.”“Good point, Dad.” “Your mother did it for six years,” he added. And there it was.My mother took six years to finish her undergraduate studies. Half my friends are doing fifth years. The ones who are out in the world wait tables and work in shops. (Well, one works at the Wall Street Journal, but we don’t like to speak about her.) I’ve seen “The Graduate.” I’ve read “The Catcher in the Rye.” I am supposed to be prepared for this. But it turns out you’re never prepared for the quarter-life crisis. That’s one of the characteristics of this phenomenon that plagues recent graduates. Other characteristics include anxiety about finding the right job, about money, about finding one’s soul mate and about getting stuck in a rut that lasts for one’s entire life. I’m not positive others experience this, but I have anxiety about having anxiety. So, that’s fun.It feels like what I imagine being pushed off a cliff feels like. Except you also have a guilt about your fear because your parents are still paying your health insurance, there are starving children in Sudan and you probably will get married someday – it’s just hard sleeping alone right now – etcetera. So what do you do? A friend of mine went to his cousin’s place in Amsterdam and spent three months chain-smoking on the beach, which sounded about right. Some others are teaching English overseas. And then there’s the majority of people who take “temporary” jobs in the food service industry in which they spend the entirety of their six-hour shifts talking to whomever will listen about their creative pursuits or how they plan on going back to school someday. This happens until they wake up one day in their mid-40s, in most cases. It’s scary out there. And it’s uncertain. Even the authors of http://www.quarterlifecrisis.com, the award-winning Web site that is supposed to be the best support community for terrified 20-somethings, put the phrase “real world” in quotes. It’s as if even those people who got through the crisis are still unsure of what the real world actually is. To this end I have absolutely no answers. But what I do have is a lifelong history of crippling anxiety and a laundry list of mistakes made throughout the course of the last year or so. And what you have is a promise from me that next Thursday I will share some of these with you. I hope you’ll read, and who knows, maybe it will help you a little. Don’t jump off any cliffs before then.
(02/19/09 2:27am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>The inauguration of our nation’s first black president. The global economic meltdown. Catastrophic job cuts. The impeachment of Rod Blagojevich. The past few months have brought our nation and our world overwhelming change. It seems that everyday brand new developments emerge to challenge the way we live our lives and what we hold dear. The very American dream is currently a dynamic and changing thing. Who knows what the future will bring? Can our emotions, our hearts, our minds take more? The answer to these questions, of course, is: Who has the time to care?! Oscar season is here y’all!And in case you were distracted by all the important things going on in our great nation at current and missed the nominations, you might not know that a significant number of new categories were added this year! And that, my friends, is a serious achievement if there ever was one. I mean it, folks, Feb. 22 this year will be a day that will actually live in infamy. Below are the highlights of the Oscar’s new categories, as well as my predictions for who will win. Most Intentionally Oscar Bait“The Curious Case of Benjamin Button”Stoner Favorite“WALL-E”The Last Film That Ben Stiller Will Ever Make“Tropic Thunder”Funny, I Guess, But Shouldn’t Have Actually Been Nominated For Anything“Tropic Thunder”Most Depressing/Hottest On-Screen Kiss“Revolutionary Road”Stoner Second Favorite“Notorious”Ooh, Artsy!“Synechdoche, NY”Best To See With Your Gay Friends (Just Like In “Will and Grace!” OMG So Fun. Gay People Are Soo Kewl)“Milk”Not Coming Out Till After Award Season But I Can’t Wait ... Ladies Night!“He’s Just Not That Into You”Ooh, Awkward :/“The Dark Knight”Best Date Movie For Men Who Are Whipped By Their Girlfriends“Twilight”Lifetime Achievement Award: Whatever Happened To Her? She Was So Talented! And, Frankly, Very Sweet In “The Parent Trap.” She Really Went Off The Deep End. I Mean, Wow. What A Wreck. What An Absolute Wreck. “Hayley Mills”If you have been paying too much attention to the news that you missed the announcement of these new categories, shame on you. And you’re welcome. I take PayPal, if you feel that my service (informing the public is a journalist’s job, you guys) deserves some payment. If you did pay attention when the Oscar nominations came out, well, lets just keep this between us.
(01/14/09 5:13am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>While the class of 2009 will be united in its collective struggle to find work after graduation, many forget that times of turmoil bring about times of great opportunity as well. When I tell people that my post-collegiate plans involve taking improv classes in Chicago and “waiting some tables, I guess,” I hear a lot more enthusiasm than I would normally expect. Why? Because I always make a point to throw in the now-ubiquitous buzz word of the new year: “the ECONOMY.” Cue screams and screeching tires. The point is, a vast number of strange and potentially risky endeavors are now acceptable answers to post-collegiate life thanks to ... wait, what exactly was it that happened to our economy? Moving on. While it’s true that the graduating class of 2009 will have an extremely hard time finding work after graduation, that doesn’t mean we can’t do great, innovating and inspiring things with our lives for the next few turbulent years. And, readers, you don’t all need to follow my lead next year and smoke crack outside a Red Line CTA stop, claiming that it’s acceptable because “John Belushi did it.” No, do as I say, not as I do. Below are some legitimate and admirable recommendations for the soon-to-be graduates out there.Graduate school: Feel absolutely free to take out more loans and get that master’s degree in East African literature you’ve always wanted. Your debt will be nonexistent in a few years anyway, as President Obama is going to turn everything bad in America into gold and jewels and sunshine. And hey, waiting out the recession with some dusty hardback books, elaborate latte concoctions, tweed jackets with elbow patches, unkempt hair and other grad student accoutrements (Dockers) is a pretty good plan. File bankruptcy: My father, Robert C. Perry, Attorney at Law, can be reached at 765-653-8833. His bankruptcy law office is located in the downtown square of Greencastle, Ind.Summer camp: It’s what you did when you were a tween/teenager before you worked, and it was generally considered acceptable by your peers, wasn’t it? Think of some summer camps you want to go to and just have at it! And, come to think of it, learning archery might not be such a bad idea if things continue to go downhill. Hey guys, didn’t Will Smith use a bow and arrow of some sort in “I Am Legend”? See? There you go. Go on an adventure: Take after Mr. Jack Kerouac himself or that dude from “Into the Wild” and leave this conformist, money-driven world behind. That’s right: Rather than cope with the situation, escape it. Just make sure you don’t eat any of those onions (spoiler alert!). Oscar Buzz: Can we talk about this since the column is straying this way anyway? Have you guys seen “Benjamin Button” yet?! What about “Milk”? I kind of think “WALL-E” is going to get a nod for best picture, but I mean, it obviously won’t win because it’s animated. Get old, and fast: Speaking of Benjamin Button, he was doing something right. Just find a way to get old right now and take up my Social Security money! Please! I want you to have it. The rest of America wants you to have their money, too. Our elders’ lives are important, and they contribute a lot to this country and to our daily lives, you guys. I swear. (JK.)Write a best-selling novel: Sure, why not? Sometimes bagel places give out stale bagels for free at the end of the day. I mean, if you’re hungry and broke, think about it, I guess. Get a makeover: Feeling good makes a big difference! Take yourself out to the local mall and treat yourself! Bring your girls. Bring your mom. She gave birth to you, after all. Don’t you think she deserves a special day? Invent something: Always worth doing. Hey, hey! Chin up, I believe in you! Come on; you can do anything you set your mind to. You know that, right? You’re a unique, special person and anyone who doesn’t know that doesn’t deserve your time! OK?Readers, I sincerely hope that my words have helped you all, and done a little to ease your minds in these troubled times. Just remember, together we made it through the Britney Spears scandal – Hey, remember that?! – and by George, we’ll make it through this.
(08/06/08 11:30pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>A couple of days ago I was walking along the street, minding my own business with a nonfat strawberry smoothie and a fresh manicure. I was stopped in my tracks, however, by a flyer advertising a manual labor job that was extremely upsetting to me.“Must be able to lift heavy equipment,” the flyer read. Well, I think that’s what it read. It is difficult to recall the exact language, because all I saw was a boy’s clubhouse with scrawled writing saying, “No girls allowed!”Needless to say, this bold and tasteless statement left me saddened and frustrated about the position of women in today’s workforce. Why do there exist jobs, such as this manual labor job, that no women are capable of doing and are in fact excluded from via vulgar, inflammatory and sexist subtext on flyers? It is completely and totally unfair. And you know what I say? It’s about time that somebody put an end to this breed of workplace discrimination. Up until relatively recently, women weren’t allowed to be anything besides teachers and nurses. It is a well-known historical fact that the only reason for this was that men said so. That eventually changed, thanks to some legislation and things that I don’t really know or care about. However, women were still unable, for so long, to pursue the jobs they wanted to pursue. We were unable to spread our butterfly wings and fly. As a result, I think it’s time for some reparations. Ladies, correct me if I’m wrong, but we had to suffer because of the sexism of men. It’s great that we are able now to pursue the jobs we want, though obviously not all the jobs we want – excuse you, manual labor flyer – but it isn’t enough. I feel very strongly that men should have to spend the next 30 years working exclusively as teachers, nurses, or stay-at-home fathers. They deserve it, because they forced us to have limited options for so long. This mass exodus of men from the rest of the workforce would create a lot of space for us gals in fields like manual labor, fields that formerly discriminated against us by having unrealistic requirements for employment (just like how the fashion magazines create unrealistic standards of beauty). Which is great, but I’m not sure that these jobs deserve to have us fill them, having discriminated against us for so long.So, I move that any and all jobs that have subtly discriminated against women through strategically placed bogus “requirements” on them that women can’t meet, such as being able to lift heavy things or being unafraid of insects, or should be outlawed. That’s right, outlawed. I’m saying there should be no more manual labor. If those fields don’t want to include women, then they shouldn’t be able to exist at all. Plus, lots of those mens’ jobs involve trucks and trucks are gross and loud. Ew.Now, please, everyone cut out this column and send it to your senator (Feel free to decorate it with sequins first)! Girl power!
(07/30/08 9:31pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Maybe it was the fact that without meaning to, I opened right to it. Maybe it was the pretty yellow-and-red color scheme in the photo. Maybe it was the word “gymnastics” printed big and bold in the headline, something that brought me back to 1996 and my goal to be Dominique Moceanu when I “grew up” to be 16. Either way, I read the sports page in the paper for the first time this week. The story, incidentally, was about two competitors on the Chinese Olympic gymnastics team, He Kexin and Jiang Yuyuan, who are both 16 years old – supposedly. Sixteen is the minimum age women need to be in order to compete, but records from their past competitions suggest that these girls might be as young as 14. By this, I mean they most likely are 14.The article mentioned that younger girls are lighter and naturally less emotionally involved in the competitions, and it is, therefore, an advantage to have them participate.Damn, China! Calm down! Way to cheat! Regulations are in place for a reason, and little babies like these two practically preteen gymnasts shouldn’t be allowed to compete. They have an unfair advantage, not to mention the fact that they probably shouldn’t be subjected to such intense pressure at such a young age. That said, how fun would it be if babies could compete in the Olympics? That would be so cute, right? Maybe instead of judging China for this, ahem, oversight, we should follow their lead. Just think about it: What if babies replaced the batons in relay races? Not only would that be adorable – because it involves babies – but it would add a lot to a generally boring Olympic event. It would create a sort-of hybrid event that blends regular relay races with those egg tosses at corporate picnics, thus raising the stakes and upping the danger quotient! Not to mention, the Olympics would score the much-sought-after middle-aged balding male advertising bracket.Equestrian events could also seriously benefit from the participation of babies. In the same way they’re good in gymnastics, putting little babies on top of horses would allow the horses to jump higher and generally be better all-around. Not to mention, babies wouldn’t complain about the stupid outfits because 1) They are unable to express their opinions and 2) It is the job of babies (and kitties) to wear whatever cute outfit their owner forces on them.Finally, I don’t know what handball is, but I do know that it’s super cute when you stick out your index finger to a baby and they close their whole hand around it. So adorable, right? In conclusion: Babies so need to be incorporated into Olympic handball. Perhaps China is really on to something here? Or perhaps they are just cheating scumbags who falsify passports in order to gain an unfair advantage and have too many human rights violations to deserve hosting the Olympics anyway? Either way, the world needs more babies. Right, China?
(07/23/08 8:19pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>The Indiana Daily Student recently ran an article that detailed the upcoming changes to the Campus Bus Service for the 2008-09 school year. Apparently, last school year saw the highest volume of riders on the campus bus services in more than 40 years. The grand total came in at more than 3 million riders. Naturally, these findings have brought with them plans to lessen the number of routes and make the buses less comfortable for riders. Campus Bus Services Operations Manager Perry Maull said in that story that services would have to be cut, including getting rid of the U-Bus route and cutting back services on Fridays and weekends. He also noted that seats on the lower levels of the buses would be removed, in order to accommodate (read: pack in) more people. The Friday bus route cuts are extremely appropriate because just this April we had University officials whining that there weren’t enough Friday classes and expressing that this resulted in scheduling problems. Cutting bus routes is obviously a step in the right direction. I personally know numerous students who would prefer to walk to class at 8 a.m. on Friday than take a bus.The proposed seat removal would apparently leave a couple seats for the elderly and handicapped, who so often need to take a campus bus from Jordan Hall to the SRSC at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon. I’m not sure this is the best plan of action. Anyone who is anyone is familiar with the great O-Town classic hit, “All Or Nothing.” If any readers are in the dark, here is a brief sampling of their inspirational lyrics which were supposedly about love but seemed to be more about sex: “Cause I want it all/ Or nothing at all/There’s no where left to fall/When you reach the bottom it’s now or never.”The Campus Bus Services would do well to follow O-Town’s brilliant, timeless and inspiring lead and do the same: “all or nothing.” Please, go ahead and remove all the seats from the buses. Who wants to sit, really? If any elderly, handicapped or generally fussy bus riders have a problem with this, let’s just strap them to the top with some bungee cords. And anyone who is overweight or has an abnormally large backpack should just forget about riding entirely – let’s ban them. Everyone knows that patience is a virtue, now let’s put that into practice. Buses should cease operating on any sort of “schedule” and simply come whenever the spirit moves them. Riders who are patient and can wait – forever, if that’s what it takes. Their patience will be rewarded with bus rides and, obviously, a glorious afterlife. Ideally, we could pack enough people on the buses to allow us to cut routes in half. Who wants a bus to come in a timely fashion? Not me. These proposals are definitely the best options on the table, just as “All Or Nothing” was the greatest song of all time. I am not going to make another O-Town reference.
(07/16/08 10:07pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>It’s July in Indiana, and that can only mean one thing: County fair season is upon us! No matter which Indiana county you call home, it is important that you heed certain behavioral “musts” in order to enjoy your fair fully. Almost all of us will share a very similar experience which will unite us with our brothers and sisters across the state the way television does when it isn’t July and people don’t have to eat fried things in order to have fun.Take note of my tips, and I guarantee that you will get the ultimate Indiana county-fair experience. First, it is imperative that you take complete and full advantage of the “free stuff tent.” I believe that this portion of the fair has a real name, something involving the term “merchants,” but I have never known it as anything besides the place for me to collect all my school supplies for the upcoming year. I suggest that you take the same attitude. Never feel guilty about taking magnets, pencils, fly swatters or anything else you can convince someone to give you. This is a good lesson to remember for life in general. Next, for ultimate fair enjoyment, it is necessary that you get a boyfriend or girlfriend “for fair week” and then abandon them the second the last hog leaves the fairgrounds. Hold hands a lot, win tacky prizes, enjoy your time together and then pretend you don’t know them anymore after the week is over. It is a fair-week tradition in small towns across Indiana. And even if you’re married, please don’t turn your back on tradition. Thank you.Purchasing an entire hog at an auction is another must. A freezer full of bloody meat is something every Hoosier needs to own at least once in their lifetime. Next, get a pedicure. It is important to look and feel your best when attending the county fair, as it is one of the more culturally infused summertime events of many Indiana counties.Oh, and by “pedicure” I mean wearing Wal-Mart flip-flops and walking through a barn with a dirt floor. Finally, an experience that everyone should have at the county fair, if they haven’t already, is walking around in circles for an hour and a half because you lost your parents somewhere and your older sister is too cool to break from her friends to help you find them so an older boy throws a rock at your head and your glasses fall off and you run home and cry to your cat that you wish you could move back to Indianapolis. Please, gentle reader, follow my plan and your time at the county fair, and your life in general, can be as pleasant and anxiety-free as mine has been.
(07/10/08 1:08am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>While at a movie theater Monday afternoon my friend Nate said something that, I feel, speaks volumes about the current Social Security crisis and our generation’s role in it. When we had arrived, he held the door for a senior citizen and afterward remarked to me that, “If you ever want me to do something, just get an old person to ask for you.” Nate, like many, is a sucker for sweet old people. While it is an extremely hot issue in the upcoming election, members of our generation are well-aware that we aren’t going to be seeing Social Security checks in our lifetimes. What we will see are herds of Boomers running around bragging about how “young at heart” they are while cashing in on our earnings. But no checks for us. I think that within Nate’s statement lies a real and viable solution to the Social Security problem, one that government advisors and Washington think-tankers have been unable to solve. The answer, my friends, is to Christian Children’s Fund this bitch. Rather than finding a way to ensure that we get back what we give (which, if I haven’t made myself clear, is never going to happen) the government should concentrate its efforts on making giving more palatable to us. Rather than continuing to throw our money into the vast black hole that is the current Social Security budget, let us sponsor just one loving senior citizen who desperately needs our help. With the job market as it is, things are probably going to get pretty dicey if our generation is forced to shell out thousands of dollars to a nameless, faceless Social Security fund in our doubtlessly low-paying post-collegiate jobs. If it gets to a point where we are working 40-hour weeks and still eating Ramen for every meal, we’re going to want to know where our Social Security money is going. And we might freak out about it. And we’ve all got ADD, so it won’t be pretty. But providing us with such essentials as a photo of a senior with protruding ribs and handwritten thank-you letters will guarantee that we will gladly sign those checks. A list of favorite activities, subjects studied, books read and jobs held while part of the contributing class would also help personalize Social Security and make giving easier. And, you know, establishing a relationship with our sponsored seniors could brighten our lives a little, too. I for one know that my grandmother doesn’t knit me things or send me baked goods. Perhaps the recipient of 6.2 percent of all my wages would be so inclined? I also wouldn’t argue with an offer to use my sponsored senior’s condo in Florida for a week or two over spring break. Forget the Republicans’ idea of privatizing Social Security. Forget the Democrats’ plan to ignore it until it blows up. Personalize it, and everyone wins. However, liver-spotted and hairy-eared seniors might want to start saving. As with starving children and puppies at the animal shelter, sponsorship will have to be determined by cuteness.
(07/02/08 10:25pm)
The last few days have brought with them an onslaught of criticism directed towards both Sens. Barack Obama, D-Ill., and John McCain, R-Ariz., regarding their level of patriotism. Retired general and former Democratic presidential candidate Wesley K. Clark suggested Sunday that McCain wasn’t adequately tested as a wartime commander. Obama has been generating heat over his background, religion and lack of American flag lapel pin. \nIn general, both men seem to be getting the same message: They need to be more patriotic. As “change” is the official slogan of Election 2008, I must suggest that both candidates do some changing of their own in order to make this apparent necessity a reality.\nSen. McCain needs to know that it really does not matter whether the extent of his military service ended when he stopped playing with his G.I. Joes. What does matter is whether he has a yellow “Support Our Troops” ribbon magnet affixed to the back of his car. They are absolutely the pinnacle of American patriotism, and I hate to think about what it means if he doesn’t have one. I also can’t neglect to mention that his car had better be an SUV. “Going green” may be popular out in the hippy coastal states, but real Americans drive big cars – they signify our freedom, as do our country’s vast open spaces and amber waves of grain.\nWith regard to Obama, several weeks ago he began wearing an American flag pin on his lapel after receiving criticism about his lack of one. This was a good move on Obama’s part, as an American flag pin is a very patriotic accessory for a suit. However, the question hangs in the air: Why is he wearing a suit in the first place? Real Americans wear Charlie Daniels’ Band tank tops, and I must wonder where his is. \nIf we really want to get down to it, it would be most effective for Obama to combine his tank top with a farmer’s tan to achieve the highest level of American-ness. I realize that, because of his skin tone, this may be too much to ask of Sen. Obama but, on the other hand, anything is possible in America. Amen.\nFinally, if either of these men have any honest hopes of winning the election, they need to work on their word choice. During a speech given by Obama in Independence, Missouri on Monday, he spoke about his love for America: “It is what propelled me into public service, it is why I am running for president.” \nReally? Three “p’s” in one sentence? Where I come from, alliteration is for the filthy, stinkin’ Brits and has no place in our great nation. \n“I know that Gen. Clark’s comment is not an isolated incident,” said McCain of the criticism about his military history. “Comment?” Last I checked, Americans do not “comment.” We shoot the shit, and it would serve McCain well to remember that. \nThere’s more I have to say, but the race is on, and my beer’s getting warm. God bless America, and God bless Dale Earnhardt.