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(11/01/05 4:40am)
Where in the world is Rosie O'Donnell?\nReplace that fabulously over-sized red hat with a pair of Birkenstocks and Rosie O'Donnell is merely the talk show equivalent of Carmen Sandiego. \nAfter dropping her TV career to become a full-time lesbian, she seemed to disappear, fading into thin air like a poof of homosexual smoke. \nUnbeknown to many, Rosie O'Donnell is still alive. In fact, she's in the midst of fighting a Mario-like gay adoption quest, dueling political Bowsers in an attempt to bring justice to the American kingdom.\nUnfortunately, there is no magic whistle for equality. \nFor years, she has struggled with the inability to adopt her foster child. According to state law in Florida, where she resides, gay and lesbian individuals and same-sex couples are prohibited from adopting. Utah and Mississippi share this oppressive law. \nThe only things gay people can adopt in these states are highways and whales. And frankly, it's quite embarrassing to introduce your son when he's got a mouth full of kelp.\nIn the last two years, nearly a dozen other states have considered restricting gay parenting as well. In fact, according to an article by the Purdue Exponent, Indiana state legislators have attempted to implement a gay adoption prohibition three out of the last four years.\nApparently, there is more than corn in Indiana. There's ignorance! \nUnfortunately, the latter is harder to pop. This ignorance is fueling two main arguments against gay adoption. \nThe first argument centers around the naïve assumption that children of gay parents will suffer psychological damage. \nThis claim is undeniably bull funk. According to the academic article "Does the Sexual Orientation of Parents Matter?," by examining "21 unbiased psychological studies," researchers found "no noticeable differences between children raised by heterosexual parents than those raised by gay and lesbian parents."\nThus, this argument is nothing more than an illogical lollipop. By licking past the sugar-coated exterior, it becomes apparent that the core is merely filled with a big glop of Tootsie bullshit. \nThe second argument is that gay parents will "brainwash" their kids into becoming homosexual, as if every time a boy reached for a basketball, he would be hit with a throw pillow and forced to re-upholster an antique chair. This is ridiculous multiplied by four. The fact is homosexuals want the same thing heterosexuals want. \nWe want to have a family. We want to spoil our kids. We want to wait for them at the bus stop. We want to tuck them in. We want to buy them Nix the first time they get lice. And above all, we want to protect them.\nThe equal protection clause of the U.S. Constitution grants us these rights. If we are to remain true to the doctrines of freedom as composed by our Founding Fathers, gay adoption needs to be legalized nationwide: no ifs, ands or bigoted buts. \nAnd until these rights are granted, we will continue to fight.\nMoreover, Rosie will continue to fight. \nAnd believe me, there is nothing scarier than Koosh ball-shooting lesbians.
(10/26/05 5:13am)
Football gives me the giggles.\nThe outrageous fanaticism of the crowd and bombardment of male stereotypes are downright giggle-worthy. With every passing quarter, however, these giggles grow louder and louder, until finally, a guffaw resonates like a sonic boom -- shattering glass and ripping brassieres. \nWhile watching the IU-Ohio State game on TV Saturday, I was reminded of these humorous football trademarks. The referees scramble around the field like a bunch of zebra-colored coke addicts. The male fans showcase their painted nipples. Then there are the players' cupped crotches, the appearances of which can only be described as "bulbous." When those Rotisserie Barbecue-sized spandex bulges are shown on screen, the status of my bladder control switches from dependable to iffy. \nThe icing on top of this giggle cake derives from football's blatant exploitation of hyper-masculinity. The sport is based primarily on penile domination, mainly through the use of animalistic aggression. \nSimply put, if football was a pasta, it would be called testosteroni. \nThe hyper-masculine commercials exemplify this point. Nearly all of the football advertisements are centered on the construct of Western masculinity. Commercials for alcoholic beverages, cars and sports equipment are undeniably fluid, permeating the airwaves with 30-second stereotypes. \nThese companies might as well be advertising monster trucks made entirely out of gonad. \nHowever, despite viewing the laughable utilization of hyper-masculinity, I still find myself entranced by this game. And, after carefully analyzing Saturday's game, I think I finally know why.\nThe game of football is saturated with sexual undertones, ones that fixate on the fulfillment of male sexual fantasy. And, like all hot-blooded Homo sapiens, I am unfortunately, yet innately, hypnotized by images of televised sex appeal.\nFootball and sex actually have a remarkable amount of similarities. With both activities, the power dynamic, namely the distinction between "giver" and "receiver," is vital. Moreover, the interaction between these givers and receivers results in sweaty, physical exertion. This physical exertion is mirrored in the psychical exertion of sexual intercourse.\nAnd, in both cases, two-hand touch is not nearly as exciting as the Real McCoy. \nThe objective of both activities is to ultimately drive in a "score" by positioning yourself in someone else's "end zone." In which case, the divided goalpost could merely represent a pair of spread legs. \nDon't make me explain the implications of having a "tight end."\nSubliminal sex appeal plays a huge role in American consumerism, especially with sports. As author Steven Heller states in his book, "Sex Appeal," the majority of "mainstream marketing focus(es) on sexuality and eroticism." \nWhether it's a suggestive shape of a perfume bottle or blatant televised advertisements, American institutions, including sports institutions, are using the desires of male "tools" as tools to sell their products. In which case, sports could merely be considered a twisted version of athletic pornography. \nNevertheless, I, like so many others, will continue to watch for my personal pleasure. Because when it comes right down to it, America revolves around the glorification and utilization of balls. \nIt's how we make money. It's how we make babies. It's how we make America.
(10/18/05 4:51am)
The stars are melting. The stripes are turning black.\nAmerica is on fire. \nOn Wednesday, the Indiana Daily Student ran an article concerning two 17 year olds who stole and burned a gay pride flag. \nApparently, they each had a big bowl of stupid for breakfast that morning, washed down with an even bigger glass of plucky. Only foolhardy hoodlums are naïve enough to think that flamers can be eradicated with fire. The flag that the minors burned was quite large, roughly 3 feet by 5 feet. Their ignorance, however, had even larger dimensions. \nThe teens felt it was not appropriate to have an American flag in alternative colors because it was "unpatriotic," according to the article. \nSo they lit it on fire! Because what could be more patriotic than burning a flag! \nIt's ludicrous. Burning a flag is about as patriotic as sitting on an apple pie or defecating in Abe Lincoln's top hat. \nAlthough I disagree with the actions of these fire-happy hooligans, I do agree with their dislike for the rainbow-striped American flag itself, called the "New Glory" flag. I believe it sends the wrong message.\nWhile I support the traditional "rainbow flag," the "New Glory" almost implies that homosexuals are striving for an all gay nation, like gay-liens intent on invading a straight planet. The truth is, all we want is equal representation. \nBy giving the American flag a queer makeover, it seems like we are trying to put homosexual rights above the entire country's rights. \nThis irks me hard-core.\nI would be equally as irked by seeing an entirely African-American flag with only black and brown stripes because it is not an accurate representation of American diversity. \nIf we wanted a more accurate gay pride depiction, a flag should show America and a rainbow sipping out of the same chocolate shake. Or, perhaps, helping each other accomplish the frustrating task of carrying a couch down the stairs. \nEither way, visuals of gay representation do need to be made. Because we are not cyclopses or unicorns; we are real. We are vital pegs in the Lite-Brite of American culture.\nWe aren't just hairdressers either. We are doctors and lawyers and teachers and churchgoers and citizens of the United States of America. \nThe New Glory tries to symbolize this idea. \nUnfortunately, for many homosexuals, the vibrant colors of nationalism are beginning to fade, bleeding in the spin cycle of bigotry. Because the flag is supposed to symbolize "freedom," and homosexuals are not entirely free in this country, for me, the American flag's colors still have dramatically different interpretations.\nRed is the color of Matthew Shepard's blood. \nWhite is the color of documents prohibiting us from getting married. \nBlue is the color of ink used to sign stacks of adoption release forms. \nSometimes it's hard to feel patriotic in a country that seems to hate us. Nevertheless, we will continue to fight, live and die for the country we love. Our affection for America, unlike these pathetic homophobic fires, will never extinguish. \nA thousand lighters and a million matches can never burn the fag out of the flag.
(10/11/05 4:16am)
Oh boy, does it itch.\nThe rash that makes otherwise rational fingers dance a zesty rendition of the Phalange mamba: poison ivy. \nUp until a week ago, I had never encountered the inflammation. Up until a week ago, I thought I was completely immune. Up until a week ago, I would have bet my right gonad that I would never get it. \nNow I'm just an itchy mofo with a lopsided crotch.\nThe rash first appeared about six days ago. It was red, bulbous and was shaped a lot like Quebec. However, at the time, it was relatively dinky. Since then, it has continued to blossom every day, ballooning like a giant Chia-rash. How much has it grown, you ask? \nLet's just say there are now 51 stars on the flag. That's right. Government officials have since titled it, "My-rash-achusetts." \nIn an attempt to muffle the screams of my enraged skin, I drove to CVS and bought a generic cortisone cream, the knock-off title of which sounded something like, "Freakin' Corti." I then went home and applied the cream gently in a Venn diagram-like motion.\nBut as the ointment began to sink in, so did a striking realization: Perhaps my encounter with poison ivy wasn't an accident! Perhaps it was karmic leafy revenge. \nLet's consider the evidence. Last week, I wrote a column about my contempt for the opera and received a hefty bushel of criticism. This week, I have a rash. Coincidence? \nI think not. \nThus, I devised a theory. During one of my peaceful slumbers, a CIA opera-tive must have broken in and poisoned my epidermis out of anger.\nI have come to realize: If you hurt someone, whether incidentally or intentionally, you risk not only getting an angry backlash, but an angry back rash.\nIronically, poison ivy and anger seem to share a lot of the same characteristics. They both spread quickly, are difficult to eradicate and creep below the surface until summoned by a vengeful itch. \nIn this situation, the outbreak began with a buffoonish column that, quite unprofessionally, attempted to fill others with operatic contempt. As a result, in a whirlwind of defensive itching, people decided to volley contemptuous messages right back via Facebook. I received several hate messages, one of which simply stated, and I quote: "You suck at life." \nThis instance of malicious, verbal badminton is symptomatic of a campus trend. Students get frustrated at teachers, friends and ex-lovers quite often. Rather than trying to soothe the irritation, however, people proceed to itch uncontrollably in order to ameliorate a nagging pain. \nThe key to dealing with hatred is the same as dealing with poison ivy: do not scratch. Because when you do, you will not only exacerbate the inflammation, but risk spreading the infection. \nIf someone, or something, happens to rub you the wrong way, take a deep breath, floss and try to decompress. Rather than itching an area that causes you irritation, try applying some conversational cortisone. \nBecause when it comes to hatred, it's important not to act rashly.
(10/03/05 4:35am)
Last Saturday, I canceled my colonoscopy appointment to go to the opera "Così Fan Tutte." \nBig mistake. \nGoing to the opera is like taking musical Dimetapp. Side effects might include vomiting, pale stools and losing the will to live.\nBefore the show started, while watching the vast majority of people roll into the building, I probably should have anticipated boredom. The bipedal slice of the opera's mobility pie could have easily been defined as "sliver."\nThe average age for opera attendees was 170. In fact, when I walked into the auditorium, I found myself seated in between a Pterodactyl and a cotton gin. \nEven more archaic than the patrons was the patrons' attire. Fur coats, tuxedos, monocles and cummerbunds. A couple of times during the show, I became so confused by the outdated attire that I actually forgot where I was, and kept referring to the Pterodactyl next to me as the unsinkable Molly Brown. \nPeople were even wearing hats with feathers in them. Note to the reader: Never wear a head garment that has been mocked by a man with the name Yankee Doodle. \nClad in a casual jean jacket and chords, I felt like everyone's cataract-filled eyes were locked directly on me. Once the show started, though, I didn't have to worry about that anymore: because their eyes were too busy falling asleep. \nDuring the show, I too was trying desperately to avoid the snooze caboose. But might I just say, in regards to this particular show: choo freakin' choo. \nI was aboard. Totally a-bored. \nThe playbill in my hand was my only source of entertainment. As the opera dragged on, I began rolling the playbill tighter and tighter, hoping it might magically transform into a giant, operatic doobie. \nThe show was ridiculously long. How long you ask? Well, the opera started at 8 p.m., and about halfway into the show, I looked down at my watch and it said, "GET ME OUT OF HERE." \nWhen the show finally ended, I did clap. However, this was just to wake up my hands, which had fallen asleep along with the rest of my appendages. \nWhat disappointed me most about the opera is that the performers themselves have remarkable talent. They've got phenomenal pipes, ones big enough to erect an Alaskan pipeline. This talent, however, was lost in the antiquated script. \nI realize Mozart was a genius for his time. However, in Mozart's time, Pop-Tarts did not exist.\nI repeat: Pop-Tarts did not exist. \nThree hundred-year-old operas are not currently palatable for the same reason 300-year-old green beans are not currently palatable. They have expired. \nEven according to the Metropolitan Opera Radio Broadcast Web site, opera is dead.\nMy suggestion, however, instead of burying it for good, we take opera from RIP to RAP. Just think about it! Classical style with a ghetto twist. Tchaikovsky meets Puff Daddy. \nWe could call it Hip-Hopera. \nThe fact is that it's time to bury this dreary style of opera and resurrect a revolutionized style of music.\nFeel free to wear your feathered hat to the funeral.
(09/27/05 3:51am)
The sun was a giant lemon, plump and ripe in a deep, Smurf-colored sky. As I mowed the grass one serene day last August, I watched the sunlight bounce across cumulonimbus cotton balls, hopping from cloud to cloud like a meteorological kangaroo.\nThat's when my neighbor, a peer of mine, drove by my house and yelled, "Faggot!" \nThe word was startling, like a kick in the groin, and shot through my pride like a bullet. The sky's shade quickly sunk from Smurf to smut.\nIt was like he had reached into the sky itself and begun squeezing the lemon right over me, allowing the droplets of tart juice to fall into an open wound. \nI was livid. \nI went inside, smeared large streaks of black glitter under each eye and devised an ingenious revenge strategy. I would go to Kroger late the next night, buy a large jug of bleach and drive over to his house. Then, when no one was looking, I would sneak up to his car and poop through his sunroof.\nThen I'd go home and do a load of whites to cool off. \nAll I had to do was wait one day. During that time, however, I began to wonder: Why was it that I was so outraged by the word? I called my other gay friends "faggots" all the time, not to mention myself.\nEven now, the question remains: When is it OK to call someone a faggot?\nTruth is, using the word "faggot" is like using a gun. It's all about intent to kill. Whereas some people are using the words jokingly, like cap guns used to play Cowboys and Indians, others have guns that are fully loaded. \nCocked. \nAlthough homosexuals using the word "faggot" seems hypocritical, by using this word playfully, we are attempting to reclaim it as our own, to siphon the power out of a previously degrading word. \nTake the word "nigger" for example. Since it was used primarily throughout history for degradation, the African-American community began adopting the word in rap lyrics and communal conversation. They emasculated it, like taking the battery out of a remote. Without it, there is no control.\nNevertheless, you should think twice before pulling these verbal triggers.\nAccording to C.J. Pascoe's essay "Dude, You're a fag," although the word "faggot" has become a part of the regular lexicon, "it may be used as (an incidental) weapon." An act of manslaughter can still kill someone's self-esteem.\nAlthough I was the victim of a first-degree shooting, I decided to take the mature path. Because, when I drove to his house the next day, bowels loaded, I saw my tinted reflection in his car window. \nI suddenly realized by seeking this revenge, I would merely be putting the batteries back in his remote control. \nFurthermore, I realized how childish I was being. After all, dog poop can be traced for DNA.
(09/21/05 5:14am)
Lance Armstrong has cancer in his testicles.\nLooking around campus, this fact is made abundantly clear. It seems the notorious "Livestrong" wristband is now being purchased more often on campus than birth control.\nBut why is it that these bright, banana-colored bands have become so popular? \nThe answer can be summed up in one word: bahhhhhh.\nPeople are sheep, though, in this case, the sheep mentality has finally been harvested for a benevolent purpose. Giving to a charity, for the first time in my generation, is finally considered popular. \nI can't help but wonder, however, if these charitable contributions are merely part of a Beanie Baby-esque phase, another fad that will inevitably pass. Throughout childhood, a number of bracelet trends came and went. In kindergarten, slap bracelets were the radical things to own. If you had one of those pliable puppies wrapped snuggly around your wrist, you were king of the wooden block castle. The hand that sported the bracelet, despite being used primarily for nose-picking, suddenly had an omnipotent quality.\nIn grade school, kids collected the flaccid, neon bracelets from Chuck E. Cheese. Bright splashes of color covered arms up and down, making it look as though students had just performed a Caesarean section on a pregnant rainbow.\nBesides the brief infatuation with clunky Fossil watches, the last prolonged trend was probably the "What Would Jesus Do?" bracelet, which, considering the current trend, is kind of funny. Jesus was shafted for some dude with a bicycle and a ball disorder.\nWhile all of these bracelets can be viewed as positive accessories, allowing people to showcase different aspects of their personalities, the Lance Armstrong bracelets seem to have a more philanthropic purpose. Rather than buying these bracelets to impress others or simply to "bahhh" with the other sheep, the Livestrong bracelets are bought for the sole purpose of helping others. This purchase, in turn, helps you showcase something even more valuable: generosity. \nBecause of the high number of yellow wristbands that have been sold nationwide, the Lance Armstrong foundation has "awarded more than $9.6 million in research grants,"according to www.livestrong.org. Every bracelet is like a link in the chain of finding a cure.\nIn light of the success of the Livestrong bracelets, a variety of other charity bracelets have been sold as well. \nLast week, for example, campus organizations began selling red wristbands in support of the hurricane relief effort. While having people accessorize with natural disasters seems strange, like wearing a pair of tsunami earrings, the proceeds of these wristbands go to people who desperately need the money.\nSo if you're contemplating buying a wristband, take the plunge. Donate a measly $5 and display your generosity with pride.
(09/13/05 4:59am)
When I returned to my high school last year to see "Grease," it became very clear that most of the male extras were gay. Heterosexuals doing wild pelvic thrusts would have simply been too anomalous, like finding a hamburger in the desert. Obviously, the trend for the gay moths to gravitate toward their inner acting flame was still going strong.\nHowever, this fact made me wonder. Why is it that so many homosexuals enjoy acting?\nSimple. We've been doing it our whole lives. \nFrom middle school to grade school, from hiding lisps to pretending to enjoy basketball, we've had plenty of practice playing the part of "the heterosexual." \nFor me, the curtain rose in sixth grade. Since the word "gay" was shot around my junior high like a stream of bullets, I learned early on that acting straight was crucial for surviving school. Thus, I adopted a queer-ified version of Darwinism. \nFor years, I played the part flawlessly. In fact, in 2001, I was nominated for a gay Emmy. \nBut believe me, winning that "Golden Vagina" statuette was hard work; I had to date a lot of overweight girls. I had to go on numerous faux dinner dates as well, most of which just felt like a funeral with appetizers. \nIn 8th grade, I even began "straightening" my language. While talking, I'd try to sound as heterosexual as possible. This involved using terms like "booby sandwich" with regularity, as well as immediately following the words "vaginal intercourse" with "cowabunga." \nIn high school, the fake celebrity obsessions began. First, it was a prolonged fixation on Jennifer Love Hewitt, or as I liked to call her, Jennifer "not real love because I prefer the Y-chromosome" Hewitt. Then, it was Denise Richards. Finally, it was U.S. olympic gymnast Dominique Moceanu -- which was fantastic -- because it gave me a great excuse to watch the floor routines. \nThe truth is, all of those fake dates and pretend obsessions were merely apparitions -- imaginary scenes in the giant, fantastical production of "Colin Likes the Pooty-Tang."\nI didn't realize until I came out just how painful and demoralizing the part really was. \nLooking back, I can remember how bruising it used to feel.\nWhenever anyone made a gay joke, I was always the one who laughed the loudest. Whenever a school dance came up, I could never dance with the person I loved.\nWhenever a teacher would make a gay reference, I would get so nervous that I didn't even want to swallow. I was afraid someone would identify my apprehensive swallow as a homosexually-repressed gulp. When I finally did, the sound seemed deafening.\nI guess it was the sound of me swallowing my pride. \nAs time progressed, however, I began to outgrow my costume. Finally, one day, exhausted of memorizing dialogue, and buying posters of gymnasts, and worrying about loud gulps, and lying to girls ... I decided to tear up my script and flush it down the giant toilet of my past.\nI beseech all current "actors" to do the same. \nBecause your life is waiting for you offstage.
(09/09/05 4:47am)
Just as endangered birds in the wild flock together, endangered minorities, in this giant bird cage called IU, flock together. Because the vast majority of IU is populated by Christian Caucasian Cardinals, an astoundingly prolific breed, all the religious, racial and sexual minorities tend to nest in groups on campus. \nDon't think so?\nWell then, hang on to your babies and beverages, because we're going for a ride on the Bloomington Bird-Watchin' Bus!\nTo your left, residing in the McNutt dormitory, we have a large flock of "Jewish Jaybirds." To your right, nesting in Eigenmann Hall, you can spot a pack of "African AmeriCanaries." To your left, grouping near the Tulip Tree Apartments, we have a sizeable gathering of "Asian Albatrosses!" To see the rest of this flock, we're off to the library! \nWhile some might claim that pinpointing areas of segregation is borderline bigotry, this is simply a liberalized, knee-jerk reaction -- because the satire in this case does not derive from bigotry, but from the humorous, evolutionary migration of minorities. Year after year, minorities end up flocking to the same housing areas. But how does this happen?\nAccording to Director of Housing Assignments Buck Walters, "No demographic information concerning race, religion, (sexual preference) or ethnicity is included on the dorm enrollment application." Therefore, these housing trends could only be perpetuated by minority members choosing to reside with their specific flock.\nSelf-designated separation can be seen through the flight patterns of my own minority: the "Queer Quails." Just as birds fly south in the winter, homosexuals fly south on campus in the fall, gathering somewhere near Read Center. It's really quite a spectacle to see: hundreds of music majors fluttering about, assembling nests of discarded Hoosier Café chicken fingers and "Songs for a New World" sheet music.\nIt's all about minority migration. Substitute feathers with feather boas, and we're nothing more than giant gaggles of gay geese. \nUnlike bird watching, you don't need binoculars to witness these distinct migrations -- all you need are stereotypes. For example, if you're an artistically gifted, soy-loving lesbian with a hair color found only in the Crayola 84-pack, you probably live in Collins. If you're a closeted bisexual who shimmies to Shakira in your XS boxer briefs, chances are you live in Forest. If you're a theater diva with a heavy lisp and a glitter permit, you probably live in Read. \nOn Facebook.com, these stereotypes become increasingly validated. The number of gay, lesbian and bisexual individuals living in the Southeast neighborhood (Read, Forest and Willkie), as opposed to the Northwest neighborhood (McNutt, Briscoe and Foster) is supremely unbalanced: roughly 3 to 1. \nSo how and why does this cycle perpetuate? Are these self-imposed, homosexually-sequestered nests healthy or harmful?\nFor endangered birds, the tendency to form collective masses is quite natural. Not only does a large mass frighten off prey, but it becomes a community where safety and security are ensured. The fact of the matter is some minority students need that kind of kinship to feel comfortable because everyone wants to feel normal. \nNo one wants to fly alone.
(04/28/05 5:33am)
Have you ever noticed how homosexual outer space seems to be? Come on now, there's "Uranus," "black holes," not to mention planets, which are really nothing more than giant, cosmic testicles. In a way, outer space is like an intergalactic gay nightclub, with all of the planets dancing around the world's largest disco ball: the sun. Hence, I believe that outer space is, in fact, a closeted homosexual.\nThis theory becomes increasingly validated by constellations. As if stars just aren't flaming enough, the other day I saw Aquarius undoing Orion's belt. \nNeedless to say, he had a pretty big dipper.\nDespite the fact that the galaxy's gayness has now reached Jupiter-sized proportions, the question still remains, "Is the universe closeting its sexuality?" \nThis universal gossip not only applies to celestial bodies, but human bodies as well. \nMany earthlings, though they might claim to be heterosexual, have simply too many tendencies to ignore. \nWhy is it, then, that although asking about someone's astrological sign is so easy, asking someone about someone's sexual sign is so difficult? \nThe query is this: When it comes to "questionable homosexuality," is it better to perpetually question someone's straightness or simply get straight to the question? \nBecause this accusation comes with the risk of offensiveness, most people just stick with gossiping, piecing together various pieces of evidence, like gay Clue. ("It was Colonel Mustard ... at the Cher concert ... with the throw pillow.") The irony, however, is that although heterosexuals speculate and desperately try "outing people," the majority of straight people still consider homosexuality unnatural. Perhaps it's just so they know who to oppress.\nSome, on the other hand, are simply relationship scouting. Beware, however, of the sexually wishy-washy. It is important to know someone's orientation before entering infatuation. If you're not careful, your heart could end up blown to pieces.\nIt's funny, though. Generally, it seems gay men tend to like straight men, straight men like gay women, gay women like straight women, and straight women like gay men. The traditional "love-triangle" has now evolved into a new shape: the Homo/Hetero rhombus. Nearly every woman, at some point, falls in love with a gay man. It's become a female right-of-passage, as inevitable as menstruation or sexism. \nConsider my story. I always suspected a male friend of mine from high school was a "mo." He was involved in choir, gymnastics, color-coordinated his outfits and watched "Charmed," a TV show which might as well be called "Up the Rear."\nFinally, last weekend, exhausted because of perpetually wondering, I asked him directly if he was gay, anticipating an affirmative response and positioned myself for the smooch. \n"Uh ... no."\nI felt like I had just reentered the Earth's atmosphere in a spacesuit from Burlington Coat Factory. \nIt's embarrassing enough to tell someone you like them. It's even more embarrassing when they're like, "Hey ... I don't like your gender."\nNevertheless, now that the lunar phase of mortification has passed, I find myself relieved and refreshed. All the wasteful "wishing upon a star" is finally over.\nWondering about what people do behind closed doors in bed is a natural curiosity. While I do encourage asking about someone's orientation, I would say it's still important to use the right context. Crowded gymnasiums, bordellos and sporting arenas are not appropriate venues. If you're going to ask, you should sit your friend or crush down privately, ask him or her casually and accept whatever answer he or she gives you as the truth, even if you think he or she is not being completely honest. \nAnd if they really are keeping their sexuality private, until it happens that they feel comfortable to talk about it, all you can do is wait, hoping that one day they, like the sun, will finally come out to shine -- hot, flaming and fabulous.
(04/20/05 4:55am)
Toby is a rabbit. \nToby has furry ears. \nToby likes to eat carrots. \nToby is going to die. \nIf you go to the Web site www.Savetoby.com, you can learn all about this cute rabbit, which, unless his owner is paid $50,000 by June 30, will be "[taken] to a butcher and slaughtered."\nDonations are to be made either by credit card on the Web site or by purchasing bunny-killing merchandise, such as a "Save Toby" thong.\nThe Web site sadistically preys off of people's emotions for materialistic gain. On the site, there are various pictures of the frightened rabbit, many of him sitting in a large pressure cooker. The man responsible has also posted recipes, the first ingredient for many of which is simply "Toby."\nYep, I no longer have faith in the human race.\nThis is repulsive. If you replace that bunny with an American hostage and the webmasters with al-Qaida, you've got nothing more than furry terrorism. \nYet despite American non-negotiation policy, people from all across the United States have already donated, adding to a total of $24,515.62 as of Tuesday. And although the donations seem like a humane gesture, I can't help but wonder: What's next? A cat? A horse? A poodle?\nYou'd better believe if someone tried to kill my dog, I'd kick him so hard in the money spot, he'd be sneezing out of his vas deferens. \nAlthough some people have speculated the Web site might in fact be a prank, I fail to see the humor in this grotesque stunt.\nWhat this man is doing is sick, and unfortunately he is not alone. \nEarlier this month, two farm owners from Ashwork, Ariz. were accused of caging and starving more than 100 dogs, cats, chickens and pigeons, according to KPHO-TV, a CBS affiliate. Similarly, The Arizona Republic recently reported a story on abused animals, including Thomas, a cat that was shot twice and sealed alive in an airtight bag. \nThese instances help emphasize the fact that stunts like www.Savetoby.com are potentially as realistically violent as they are nauseating.\nWhile it's obvious these maniacs are a couple of slammers short of a Pog collection, to find a similar example of abuse, one need look no further than this University.\nLast semester, a group of students threw a guinea pig out of a Briscoe window with a parachute strapped to its back.\nThe parachute was made out of a garbage bag, duct tape, floss and dumbass.\nAlthough the garbage bag they used was Hefty, the fine they were given, comparatively, was anything but: $500. Apparently, their morals went out with the pig.\nSome more subtle forms of abuse occur with ordinary pet owners, too. Many people leave their dogs outside to shiver in a rickety, doorless doghouse. Then, once the dogs are inside, they are forced to eat food from a 20-pound bag, the likes of which taste like a mix of cardboard and colonoscopy. \nWhether it's blatantly torturing their pets or simply making them eat torturous food, animal abuse is prolific. \nIt's quite ironic, though: By abusing these creatures, we are becoming increasingly animalistic ourselves. As the elite species in the food chain, we must remember to maintain a balance and respect for the lower creatures of the mammal hierarchy, if for no other reason than the fact that our Lord and Savior could very well end up being a German shepherd. After all, we all know what God is spelled backward. Thus, our placement in the afterlife could depend on our treatment of animals here on Earth. Saving the animals would in turn save our immortal souls. \nI can only hope that Toby is saved as well. However, I won't be clutching my lucky rabbit's foot.
(04/13/05 5:58am)
Last weekend, I saw a grown man, dressed in a leather leotard and glow-in-the-dark underwear, do a dance to a techno Meow-Mix medley.\nMan, the things my grandpa will do after snorting Ovaltine!\nOkay, I jest -- this was actually at the IU Auditorium for Miss Gay IU. To get a free ticket to the show, I volunteered to open the front doors for patrons, a task I decided to have some fun with. As people walked in, smiling and laughing, prepared to see three hours of drag queens, I greeted them by saying, "Hello ... and welcome to the IU Christian Coalition Forum." \nIt was absolutely magical. \nAbout a half hour into ushering, however, my amusement was quickly dispelled as a man approached with two young children. Eager to treat his kids to a spontaneous "night at the theater," he asked a fellow usher what was playing that night. \nApparently, cross-dressing and breast-tassel shaking is not PG-rated.\nThe man was outraged, yelling obscenely that "[the show was] sick and disgusting."\nWhile it's true the show was not exactly "family friendly," the man's rage was so intense, it clearly revealed his irrational bias toward drag queens and transsexuals, which got me thinking: Are other people this disturbed by the prospect of cross-dressing and sex reassignment? \nThe topic of blurring gender constructions is subject to much societal contempt. Many people, including myself, lack the understanding of the motivation behind bodily reconfiguration.\nAccording to www.mhsanctuary.com, some cross-dressers live with a "gender identity disorder," which, in turn, might engulf the subject with an overwhelming desire to physically transform to the opposite sex. \nYet, as liberal and open-minded as I consider myself to be, when people start transforming their genitals, I am, frankly, very disturbed ... for two main reasons: First, by physically altering their bodies, they are reversing biology, which seems like a ridiculous abuse of science. Secondly, penises are fabulous! Why would anyone just throw one away? Shoot, I'll take it! \nDespite my own personal uneasiness and confusion considering crotch reconfiguration, however, I realize that for those people who do identify as transgender, this situation must be even more terrifying, and they might feel lost in a painful confusion of personal and sexual identity. \nFurthermore, I believe cross-dressers and transsexuals carry deep sociological importance. \nAs it seems, men are from Mars and women are from Venus ... but cross-dressers and transsexuals serve a very valuable purpose here on Earth. They exist as important mediators between the two genders, which have now become so distant, they are defined as having galactic separation. \nFrom the time we are born and placed in our pink and blue blankets, we are taught gender separation. Boys are pressured to collect cards, have football jerseys and play sports. Girls are pressured to collect Cosmo magazines, have eating disorders and play kitchen. It's almost like we have begun cultivating separate "gendered species." \nBy splicing together the characteristics of both genders, cross-dressers and transsexuals teach us a valuable lesson. Too often, we become wrapped up in the notion of "being a man" or "acting like a woman." These people facilitate the depolarization of the ideas of "masculinity" and "femininity."\nWe, as adults, take our "male" and "female" distinctions far too seriously. Yet, as a child, every single boy put balloons in his shirt to make fake oxygenated breasts, and, at one time, had the infamous "tuck it behind" epiphany. Therefore, it seems ironic that people would harbor such disdain for cross-dressers and transsexuals like the incensed man at Miss Gay IU. \nBecause, when it comes right down to it, everyone is a little transsexual curious. The only difference is that some men, instead of temporarily renting fake balloon breasts, decide to sign a lease.
(04/07/05 4:29am)
There are two sweaty guys together, both half-naked, with only a thin layer of silk boxers protecting them from absolute nakedness. The beaded jewels of perspiration glisten off their hard, muscular bodies, twinkling like seductive stars on a Milky Way of tight flesh. As one man approaches the other, their eyes entangle in a deep mix of excitement and desire. Finally, they start going at it, with appendages flying in a flurry of heated passion.\nMan, don't you just love boxing?\nIf you enjoy the sport as much as I do, you probably have heard about NBC's new blockbuster reality show, "The Contender." On the show, 16 athletes are led through an intense boxing challenge, where the winner of the show ultimately walks away with a $1 million prize. \nOne of the most recent episodes featured a dramatic duel between boxers Peter ManFredo Jr. and Miquel Espino. For the first half of the fight, Espino completely pulverized his opponent. It was like watching Vin Diesel fight that Dell computer guy. Though ManFredo was down and bloody, near failure, he somehow miraculously got up and mustered enough willpower to beat his opponent. \nThroughout history, our culture has grown up with inspirational stories of rising from defeat, of miraculous triumph over insurmountable odds. In Greek mythology, there is the story of the Phoenix, the bird that perished only to rise from its own ashes. In current politics, we have George W. Bush. Despite the fact that his intellect is about the size of a Monopoly thimble, he was able to become the president of the United States. Isn't that inspiring? \nEach story helps remind us -- against the punches that life can throw -- to keep up our dukes. Though there will inevitably be times when we are beat down, either physically or emotionally, it is important to stand up rather than admit TKO.\nRecently, in an interview with Mike Wallace, actress Hilary Swank said that prior to winning an Oscar for her work in "Boys Don't Cry," she was rejected repetitively by casting agents and was so broke she had to live in her car. Overcoming her own personal struggle, however, this year she won yet another golden statuette for "Million Dollar Baby." Coincidentally, it was an inspirational story about a young female boxer. Moral of the tale: You should be more like Hilary Swank. \nPeople are always grappling with possible failure, particularly in college. Students are failing classes, failing auditions, even failing in relationships. It's important to remember, however, that failure itself is important. Because before we can succeed in anything, we must first fall -- except for tightrope walking ... and bungee jumping. But other than that, failure serves as a crucial stepping stone for success. \nJust look at the biblical story of Jesus Christ. When he died, did he say, "Oh, well I guess I'll just go to heaven now and catch up on my reading." No! He put on the boxing gloves, got jiggy with his resurrection and became king of the Western world. Just think about how much different the world would be had he decided not to resurrect. Churches and Cadbury Eggs would not exist.\nIt is important to remember, when fearing failure, that someone, whether a friend, a family member or faith, help is always there. Someone will always there to catch you. (WARNING: The aforementioned advice is purely metaphorical. The Indiana Daily Student is not responsible for any injury involving the act of falling).\nLet this column serve as a reminder: Don't take failure lying down on the mat. Stand up, put on the gloves and come out swinging. Give that half-naked opponent a fist he'll never forget.
(03/31/05 4:37am)
I hate Clay Aiken. \nEver since that emaciated, little twit reared his pale, weird-lookin' face on "American Idol," people have been ... well ... mistaking me for him. Apparently, our hair is identical. At the state fair last year, an obese woman wearing a multicolored muumuu was determined I was the real Aiken and asked if I would take a picture with her. After agreeing, she began worshiping me, offering up her elephant ear as a sacrificial martyr.\nTo this woman, Aiken was Jesus. Jesus with fabulously frosted tips. \nThe next day, I decided to cut my hair to diminish the chance of a similar occurrence happening again. That's probably the best aspect of hair: By simply changing it, you can completely alter your appearance. \nCurl it. Kink it. Gel it. Braid it. Color it. Cut it. People change their hair all the time. But why is it that although people are easily changeable externally, people are so stubborn to change internally? \nWe change numerous things everyday: our clothes, our oil -- hell, we even make change for a dollar. So why can't we apply this same "change mentality" to bigger aspects of our lives?\nTo evaluate this fear of change, we can examine three typical areas of hesitation involving college students: corn walls, chemistry and Catholicism.\nFor me, selecting a college wasn't easy. I wanted desperately to go out of state, to experience a life beyond corn walls; however, my fear of change ultimately pushed me to IU. Frankly, I knew if I went out of state, I'd miss my mom too much. Not necessarily just my mom (it's not like I'm still breast-feeding or anything), but I would miss the comfort of home. \nDon't get me wrong. I love Bloomington. I embrace the IU trident and mammoth squirrels with open arms. Yet I still wonder what my life would have been like had I had the courage to move. Just as changing my hair gave my follicles a new look, by changing my environment, I might have given my life the same thing.\nOnce we finally choose a college, we are faced with yet another difficult decision: changing the major. Every student inevitably grapples with this, fearing that if they switch their chemistry major, they'll wind up clipping toenails professionally for the rest of their lives. \nThe majority of people who graduate end up with a career that is totally different from their major, though. Take my parents, for instance. My mom majored in elementary education, my father majored in optometry, and they both ended up being drug dealers. OK, business owners, but you get my point. Your major does not necessarily determine your life -- you do.\nPerhaps the most fearful change of all, however, is emotional change. Sometimes we become so trapped in our mentality of what we consider "normal," we are unable to accept alternative, societal ideals. Case in point: homosexuality. Many people are still uncomfortable with gay relations, primarily the traditional, older generations of Catholics, who refuse to expand their definition of love.\nThese people remain steadfastly ignorant for the same reason that some redneck, beer-bellied, OshKosh B'gosh-wearing idiots still rally for the Ku Klux Klan: fear. What these people don't realize is your attitude is like your underwear: If you don't keep changing it, it will eventually become stagnant and disgusting. And these people have some funk-nasty britches.\nChange is important for everyone. In the literal sense, change can help you pay a parking meter. In the figurative sense, change can change the world.\nWe all change our hair frequently. Dying it. Cutting it to avoid looking like Clay Aiken. Perhaps even giving it a perm. \nBut isn't it time we gave our lives a perm as well?
(03/10/05 4:29am)
Spring break is a time of rest, relaxation and humiliation.\nIf you've ever had to stay at home during break when your friends are "living the vida loca" down in Mexico, you probably know what I mean. Every year, for the two weeks prior to vacation, the question "Where are you going for break?" is asked repetitively. Consequently, some people are forced to sulk in shame while uttering the embarrassing confession, "I'm staying at home."\nAs I have recently come to realize, our society appears to have an unspoken "spring break hierarchy." This vacation-caste system lets us know not only where we stand in the rankings of society, but the rankings of college coolness. The quality of our vacation destination is equally proportional to how cool we are considered by our peers.\nThis social ladder has four main rungs; the top rung is comprised of the promiscuous Cancun-ers. For those unaware of this terminology, Cancun-ers are the wild-n'-crazy freak dancers who travel all the way to Mexico, leaving their homeland, and inhibitions, far behind. They party for six days straight, coming back at the end of the week with both a bright red burn and possibly an exotic new venereal disease. This is considered the caviar of vacations. \nThe second rung is designated for the beach-bumming Floridians. These are the people who, along with the rest of the Midwest, migrate to the phallic-shaped state of Florida to sizzle like Canadian bacon in the sun. Although not as cool as the Cancun-ers, these bronzers are very high on the ladder.\nNow, taking a drastic leap toward the bottom of the hierarchy, we have family vacationers, the unlucky souls forced to travel with their parents to see the most boring places on Earth. You have probably been on this rung at some time in your life. \nYour parents take you to see something lame like "The World's Largest Jar" and start reading various jar brochures. After viewing the gigantic jar, your dad says something really obvious like, "Damn, that's a big jar," and then everyone begins buying overpriced shot glasses and amethyst chunks at the Jar gift shop, which has some stupid title like "Once Upon a Jar." Before you exit, everyone takes a funny photograph with their head sticking out of the hole in the cardboard jar cutout. When it comes to the caste, these vacationers are close to last.\nHowever, as sad as this vacation might be, there is still one category more unpopular: the stay-at-homers. These vacationers will spend the entire week playing with their dogs, text messaging their votes for Carrie Underwood on American Idol and, of course, judging people on TheFacebook.\nAfter examining the different types of vacationers, however, I can't help but wonder: Why does it really matter where we go? Why is there a pressing desire to go to exotic destinations, drink massive quantities of alcohol and have a "cool" vacation story?\nThree letters explain it all: M-T-V. \nOur generation regards MTV as the college survival guide, which seems to brainwash young adults into thinking that to look cool, you have to mimic what you see other college co-eds are doing on television. Our vacation caste system is influenced by what is portrayed in the media as the "happening hot spots."\nWho's to say, though, that getting hammered on some beach is any cooler than staying home and playing Scrabble? \nSo if you're a stay-at-homer this year, don't dwell in your social inferiority. Because while those of a higher caste might be drinking their booze on a cruise, ain't no shame in just catching some snooze.
(03/04/05 4:03am)
I was completely, totally, mind-numbingly, incomprehensibly bored.\nMy teacher's rambling had been going on for nearly an hour and was as tiresome and dreary as watching a Kevin Costner movie on Dimetapp. It was painful. It felt like my brain was being sent through one of those penny presses at the zoo: squashed, smashed, flattened and finally branded with a firm stamp of boredom. \nEven playing my usual "Testicle Swap" game didn't alleviate the boredom. This is a game where you replace a word your teacher keeps saying with "Gonad" -- in this case, it was the word "poem."\n"Today, we're going to be looking at Sylvia Plath's (gonads). Some of her (gonads) are quite meaty, so I recommend that you dissect each (gonad) piece by piece." \nIt wasn't until the woman sitting next to me spoke that I finally perked up. While analyzing the poem we had just read, she used the word "anthropomorphized": a word so grandiose and impressive, I immediately considered impregnating her just so I could have smart babies. \nHowever, as her analysis continued, she repeated the word again and again ... and ultimately four more times. It was then that I realized: She was a Pretentious Vocabulary Poser (PVP). PVPs are annoying people who only know about seven large words but use them ALL THE TIME. \nUnfortunately, like pancakes, these people can be found almost everywhere. \nIn nearly every class, every group of friends, there is always that one person who likes using words like "quincunx" and "archaic" just to try to look cool. It all comes down to manipulating intelligence. People use these words to make themselves sound smarter -- like saying the word "facilitates" when "helps" would have been just gravy.\nPVPs are guilty of doing this not only in speaking, but with writing as well. Case in point: the synonym function on Microsoft Word. PVPs use it all the time, transforming drab words like "sad" and "mad" into stylish "forlorn" and "barmy." It's like giving your writing a queer-eye makeover. All words just keep getting better! Ironically, however, writing clearly with smaller words is much more effective than using an incoherent jumble of large words.\nWhile sometimes, I'll admit, it is fun to use these big words to make others feel inferior (like asking the McDonald's employees to evenly juxtapose your french fries), overall, the use of these fancy terms is completely unnecessary. While you may appear culturally astute by using these frilly words, too often the meaning behind florid speech is lost in the complexity of the phrasing. \nFor example: Have you ever read a page of your history or biology book that's so convoluted with gigantic words that you feel like you're reading a different language? And that even after re-reading it, the information still doesn't sink into your brain?\nThat's bunk. My idea of an articulate writer and speaker is one who can effectively communicate with the audience. Big words merely complicate the transversal of speech to the point that the meaning and purpose behind the argument is lost in a labyrinth of language. \nThe convolution of syntax can stifle the communication of true feelings as well. While our emotion may be genuine, sometimes, as Gloria Estefan explains, "The words get in the way." Take for example the following phrases. \nWhich is more effective?\n 1) My aortic valves yearn with emotional plasma that encompasses my entire cardiovascular system.\nor\n2) I love you.\nPerhaps there's something to be said for simplicity. \nSo, the next time you're comparing word size, try to remember: It's not the length of the dictionary ... it's the motion of the syntax.
(02/25/05 4:24am)
Do you know what month it is? \nAccording to American history, this month marks the anniversary of many infamous events, including the declaration of Mexico's independence, the first mass meeting of the Nazi party and, more importantly, the official premiere of the televised phenomenon "Supermarket Sweep."\nAlthough those might be some of the most important accomplishments in history, we often ignore the inception of one of the greatest -- an invention so grand its magnitude can only be matched by that of Einstein's theory of relativity. This invention ... is masturbation.\nToday, you will learn about the greatness that is masturbation, looking at not only the social implications, but the history of this fascinating creation.\n'Tis not well known, but I believe the word "masturbation" actually comes from the Latin phrase mastus bastere, meaning "to baste one's mast." It was initially discovered by Ferdinand Magellan on Feb. 24, 1775, the same day the Chinese discovered spices and the French discovered arrogance.\nShortly after circumnavigating the globe, Magellan began to wonder, "Hmmm, what else could I circumnavigate?" The next day he came across a copy of Naughty Oregon Trail Girls Monthly -- and the rest was history.\nThe discovery of masturbation, a fabulous renewable resource, was soon sought after by nations worldwide. People began bartering for it overseas in exchange for deer skins and turquoise. Before long, the act was practiced cross-culturally.\nFrom then on, the "'bation timeline" was filled with a variety of premier events.\n1882: News of this secret invention is officially released to the public. Coincidently, door locks and tube socks are invented the following year.\n1883: Teenage boys find out about this remarkable "hand-held" game. Vaseline sales skyrocket.\n1950: The same year the Russians become the first nation to put a monkey in space, an American astronaut becomes the first to do something else with a monkey in space.\nHowever, even though it is now 2005, this time line has not entirely evolved. Despite the fact that 97 percent of males and 93 percent of females below the age of 35 admit to masturbating, according to data in Kinsey's The Sexual Behavior in the Human Male, discussion of cette action is often considered taboo. Even with the aforementioned, frivolous jokes, some people will undoubtedly become offended. \nMasturbation is still considered, by many, as sleazy and immoral. But why?\nOur country has an illustrious Puritanical background, one that continually manipulates societal mind sets to believe that inherently mammal tendencies like masturbation, which dolphins, birds and elk practice alike, are disgraceful. It continues to pervade our culture by overlapping the fear of sin with the act of masturbation, like a religious Venn Diagram. However, as I, as well as a multitude of psychologists, can attest, the urge to wank is simply inherent and perfectly normal. \nSadly, as the previous instance exemplifies, masturbation is often linked with feelings of sin and shame, despite the fact that nearly all of America masturbates, according to the Kinsey Institute, I believe by learning and laughing about the psychological reasoning behind it, we will finally shed our shame over this human tendency. \nI'm not saying that people should masturbate in the middle of Starbucks, but I do believe practicing occasional self sex is healthy and perfectly normal. In fact, according to a recent IDS Health and Science article, research from the Kinsey Institute also shows masturbation lowers blood pressure and stress levels. \nMasturbation is, undeniably, a fantastic societal innovation. True, it doesn't save the whales or help the ozone layer or anything, but it keeps people generally, or should I say genitally, very happy. \nWhich is why I have officially coined today "National Masturbation Appreciation and Awareness and Remembrance Day!" \nThrow your hands up and celebrate! Correction ... hand.
(02/17/05 4:04am)
Valentine's Day, like venereal diseases, Vin Diesel and various other VD-initialed words, makes me irrationally angry. \nFirst of all, the symbol of Valentine's Day is the heart, and I hate anything related to the cardiovascular system. Don't get me started. \nSecondly, I hate that stupid love poem you see on all the cards: "Roses are red, violets are blue ..." What the heck? Violets are violet. Lying about the color of flowers just to make a poem rhyme is not very Christ-like.\nMy primary source of contempt for this day, however, spawns from these three words: whiney single people. Every Feb. 14, disgruntled singles throw nationwide hissy fits about the woes of singleness. \nHowever, there is always a rationale explaining someone's single stature. In fact, every instance can be linked to three main reasons, which can be seen through the breakdown of the word "Valentine" itself: VAL-ENT-INE.\nFirst of all, a number of singles suffer from what I call the "VAL" syndrome. These are people who, although they are not very attractive themselves, only lust after people as good looking as Val Kilmer. There was a girl in my high school, for example, who for nearly four years obsessed over and was repeatedly rejected by her two gorgeous male friends. As luck and one too many episodes of "The Golden Girls" would have it, however, both of them ended up being gay. It wasn't until she lowered her standards to someone who was moderately good looking and heterosexual that she was finally able to find love.\nThis concept of having high standards brings us to our second category of singleness: "ENT." Whereas in the medical profession, ENT (ear, nose and throat) patients generally have temperatures that are too high, ENTs in the dating world have expectations that are too high. They are far too picky and fickle about finding the "perfect mate," to the extent that even excessive eyebrow girth can be cause for breakup. They project grand fantasies and huge expectations upon possible mates, which are promptly shattered to pieces when the person does not meet their standards of perfection. \nThe final cause of singleness spawns from the "INE" factor. In chemistry, when iNe (ionized Neon on the periodic table) molecules are put into a vacuum tube, they glow orange and give off a high discharge. In contrast, many singles in this giant vacuum tube called life do not perform like the iNe molecules. They do not make the effort to attract others, nor do they give off a high sexual discharge. With atoms and love alike, it's all about creating positive chemistry.\nAs sad as it is to say, we live in a very shallow world. People like big breasts, nice butts and hard bodies. Exterior presentation is paramount -- kind of like with Christmas presents. No one wants to open a gift that's wrapped in newspaper or is still in the T.I.S. bag, no matter how good the inside really is. I'm not saying that conforming to these beauty standards is necessary to lure a mate. However, looking good will greatly increase the likelihood of someone opening your package.\nThe bottom line is, with all three categories, the path to couple-hood begins with a crucial first step: honesty. You must be truthful to yourself, not only about how you look but also what you are truly looking for in a relationship.\nSimply put, looking for love is like looking for gum under your seat. You can't expect it to be flawless and unchewed. The best you can do is scrape off the excess hair and learn to appreciate a new and interesting flavor.
(02/02/05 4:40am)
A hammer is good if you build a birdhouse with it.\nA hammer is bad if you kill a bird with it.\nA protractor is good if you measure angles with it.\nA protractor is bad if you jam it into someone's foot.\nThe Bible, like the aforementioned tools, has both creative and destructive powers. It is the individual's interpretation of scripture and subsequent use of Christian principles that determines whether this religious tool has been used appropriately. \nToday people are not only using the Bible as a tool of hatred (e.g., regarding same-sex marriage) but also blatantly misinterpreting the fundamental message of Christianity. Such misunderstanding is widespread even on campus. This exploitation of Christianity generally spawns from one of the following origins: penitence, ignorance or malice.\nPenitence, or the apology of sinful acts, is a very popular practice in the Christian faith. It works as a kind of "get-out-of-hell-free card," allowing Christian sinners to repent away all of their wrongdoings. Too often, however, people rely on the practice of penitence to legitimize their immoral actions, claiming "God will forgive me." It is entirely hypocritical when self-proclaimed "Christians" at IU get on their knees Saturday night -- and then get on their knees Sunday morning to ask for forgiveness. \nThe second example of religious exploitation surfaces through ignorance. The other day in my psychology class, I asked a girl if she had studied for the day's test. After admitting that she hadn't, she proceeded to chant "Lord, help me," followed by gesturing the sign of the cross.\nWhat people like her don't understand is that God is not a vending machine. He's not going to give you whatever you want just because you make the command. If you haven't studied, you're going to fail. Expecting God to help you on a test you haven't studied for is like lathering yourself in molasses, kicking a bear in the balls and praying you don't get mauled. Rather than following the expectations of Christianity, this girl was creating her own expectations for God to follow.\nThe third way Christianity is being misused is through malice. \nOne day not long ago, I was awakened at 9:30 in the morning by a group from a campus Christian organization. I opened the door, weary-eyed and clad only in a sheet, to face a bombardment of religious questions.\n"Are you a Christian? Have you accepted Jesus? He died bleeding on the cross to absolve your sins!" \nI hadn't even had coffee yet. \nI told them to come back and talk to me about crucifixion when I was wearing underwear. \nLater on, when I told the story to a friend on my floor, he shared with me a similar experience. The Christian entourage had knocked on his door, too, and after he told them he was gay, they shoved a flier at him and told him simply, "You're going to hell."\nRather than simply admitting they are homophobic, or racist, some people hide behind the veil of Christianity, stating that they are "following the word of the Bible." \nIn the words of social commentator 50 Cent, "They frontin'."\nThe Bible states, "The Lord makes you to increase and abound in love one toward another, and toward all men (1 Thessalonians 3:12)." If God wanted everyone to be white, male and heterosexual, the world would be nothing more than a legion of Burt Reynoldses.\nWhether these instances of misinterpretation are committed purposefully or accidentally, it is important that Christians recognize this blatant exploitation. Because when it occurs, the core message of Christianity is skewed, often resulting in hypocrisy and hatred. \nThe Bible is a powerful tool. Remember to use with caution.
(01/28/05 5:04am)
TheFacebook is a fantastic resource for journalists. It is a virtual anthropological peep-hole, allowing us to observe and document college students in their natural, online habitats. \nThrough various hours of personal investigation on TheFacebook, I have made several observations of my own. First of all, everyone doltishly posing with a Corona bottleneck is either a business or exploratory major. Secondly, anyone who conveniently skips the "interested in men or women" category is a total closet-case. Finally, people who get "random play" from TheFacebook are big loser-heads.\nBut one of the most startling observations occurred to me the other day. While perusing the various profiles, I noticed somewhat of a disturbing trend. While the "favorite movie" categories were always jam-packed with a plethora of films, the book category was generally emptier than a line for "Satan Sausage" at a Christian vegetarian convention. \nIt was then that I came to a saddening conclusion: We are living in the era of "bye, bye, books."\nAccording to an article in The Indianapolis Star, Americans spend an average of four hours a day watching movies and TV; however, 68 percent have not read a book in the past five years.\nThis trend of choosing television over books has continued to inflate and puff up during the years, like a dangerous, societal hernia. Thanks to the television, books will soon join the ranks of both dinosaurs and UPN watchers: total extinction. \nNobody reads anymore. In fact, if it weren't for Harry Potter books, 93 percent of the U.S. population would be illiterate, according to a fake survey available at www.colindugdalerulz.com. \nIt has now heightened to such an extent that libraries nationwide, including the Marion Country Public library back in my hometown of Indianapolis, have had to entice kids to join summer reading programs by offering them candy. Is it just me, or does that sound a lot like librarian pedophilia? In essence, the library is bribing them to read. In previous generations, reading was done simply for literary adventure and educational value ... not Dilly Bar coupons. \nConsidering the success of the reading program, I have come up with a few ways of my own to increase reading levels. \nSince Americans are obsessed with eating, book publishing companies should make all books smell like Ball Park franks. That way, with every savory page-turn of Mein Kampf for example, it's like you're mentally eating a big ol' Hitler Hotdog.\nFurthermore, all book purchases should come with a free ticket to see a theatrical production of the novel, like "Helen Keller: The Musical!" and "The Diary of Anne Frank: ON ICE."\nOK, so maybe I'm being a little fantastical. Nevertheless, a greater emphasis on reading should be adopted. Yes, in the midst of my inane sarcasm, there is a point. Here it is. Are you ready? Hold on ... here it comes! \nReading is good. \nTa-dah!\nIt's Vitamin C. It's an apple a day. It's two servings of dairy. It's important, not only for maintaining traditional education and democracy, but for establishing a viable form of national communication. \nSo, for the love of Buddha, read. \nRead something -- a cookbook, a leaflet ... anything! If you're a fan of bestsellers, start checking out books from the Oprah Book Club. Or, if you are just starting out, grab something from the President Bush book club, like Where's Waldo? or something from the Amelia Bedelia collection. \nJust think of reading as a lap-dance for the brain, an exotic pleasure ride -- heating up our neurons and titillating our imagination. So open up a book ... and open your mind. Turn on your neurons ... and turn off the television. Because "illiteracy rocks" is not TheFacebook club worth joining.
