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(06/25/08 9:20pm)
Summer is the time for lovin’. This is obvious to all. The docile summer winds have carried with them innumerable girls in lightweight cotton dresses and guys in aviators, walking alongside each other and looking like they are in some sort of Tampax commercial: Girls – you don’t want to miss out on this, do you? Of course not. Now toss that bulky pad and get livin’! \nAs do most things I encounter in life, the similarity of all these couples has eventually started to frustrate me. \nDon’t get me wrong – seeing happy couples around is often very nice. It can be refreshing. But, when one has to maneuver around 20 pairs of similarly dressed couples at the farmers’ market or movie theater, she begins to notice some things. One thing in particular: You’re all on the same date. \nI am a proponent of love. I am also a proponent of going on dates and enjoying the company of loved ones. However, I am not a proponent of generic things. Or of being blocked on my way to delicious organic broccoli. \nIt is for these reasons that I have compiled a short list of red-flag dates. Couples: If you decide to get up in the morning, stretch, embrace each other, kiss with your mouth closed and pretend it doesn’t taste like sewer water, and then decide to go on any of these dates, I ask you to please reconsider. Nobody likes to be generic. And I don’t like to be frustrated by the fact that you are generic. Okay, I kind of do, but only sometimes.\nPlease just avoid these places:\nFirst, please stop going to the farmers’ market together. I know, I know, it is an all-time Bloomington favorite location for couples that think they are special. However, I find it simply impossible to believe that this many young couples live together. It’s just not all that common. That said, why are you buying your groceries together? It’s unnecessary, and everybody sees through you.\nSecond, I see a surprising number of couples at public pools. Too often, they are making out in the pool. To that, I think we all know how to respond. Even the couple in question knows how to respond when it comes down to it: Um, there are children present. Go make out in your bathtub. \nThird, the “Sex and the City” movie has, devastatingly, been infiltrated by couples. I am not making this up. I have seen this movie twice in theaters (So far! Right, ladies?) and both times I did the respectable thing and went with girlfriends. However, while I was there I saw a surprising number of couples. OK, boys: You’re not extra-caring or extra-special because you take your girlfriend to see this film. We all see past you, even if she doesn’t. Girls: You haven’t somehow trained your man to be great and attentive. You simply have no girlfriends. \nAnd just to clarify from earlier, women: You’re all wearing the same dress.
(06/18/08 9:47pm)
Summer is not what it used to be. College students are a little “out of their element” during the summer months, as we find ourselves separated from the school-year comforts of textbooks and keggers and whatnot. Because of this, many students find themselves confused and self-conscious when applying for summer jobs. \nWhy? Because some summer jobs are only OK when teenagers have them, and that’s all there is to it. Unfortunately, many low-stress summer jobs fall into this category, but it is important that college students looking for work during these months maintain some self-respect and avoid these jobs at all costs. \nBelow I have compiled a list of the top five jobs that are only suitable for high school students. If you or someone you know is currently working any of these jobs, I suggest you terminate your employment immediately and look for a more respectable gig, like bartending. \nThis list is structured in a countdown format, from “most” acceptable to least acceptable, so that if you find your job on this list you can at least have some fun with the whole “10, nine, eight” excitement. Get out your confetti. And your loud popper things. Here we go!\nNo. 5: employee at father’s office. Really? He’s paying you $10 an hour to photocopy the back of your hand repeatedly and organize paperclips? Chances are, if you are in any way employed at your father’s office for the summer, you are using it as a cop-out and just got too lazy to apply for real jobs. Independence is out there – but you’ll never find it inside the break room at Dad’s office. \nNo. 4: lifeguard. Sitting in the sun all day and eating frozen candy bars for lunch are mind-numbing activities that are unsuitable for today’s college elite. Obviously it isn’t cool to care about nutrition or stimulate your mind in high school – you aren’t in control of your own life. But if you are in college and still a lifeguard, it’s not OK. \nNo. 3: babysitter/“nanny.” Ladies, we are in college so that we don’t have to spend our futures taking care of children. Put down the baby, pick up some sort of real thing and back away from the scene. If there are any male babysitters out there, the same goes for you. Except multiplied by 1 million. \nNo. 2: Volunteer at the animal shelter. Yep, animals are cute get over it. Time to make some money.\nNo. 1: paper boy. Do these still exist? Is anyone actually reading this column in print right now? Is it ever acceptable to get up at dawn while on summer vacation? Or anytime at all, ever? No, obviously. The only time delivering papers is appropriate is when you misjudged how much that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles video game was going to cost and need to pay back your mother. \nHopefully my words have inspired you to get out there and make something of yourself. And hopefully that something is more than $6 an hour.
(06/12/08 12:21am)
I have spent 20 summers of my life in Indiana and one in Long Island, N.Y. Long Island, for me, was essentially an unpleasant blur of large Italian men in tank tops bragging about flat pizza, and that’s all I care to say about it. Regarding Indiana summers, though, I do have something to say: I’ve never seen weather like this before. \nI don’t consider myself a particularly spiritual person, though I do indulge my mother when she encourages me to sing along to “Little Drummer Boy” with her as we make our way to Target for last-minute Christmas gifts every year. That’s just to be nice, though. I’ve never really believed all that stuff about the birth of baby Jesus and God’s wrath and cream that makes your varicose veins disappear. \nUntil now. \nThese floods are too intense to have come without a reason. Why are they here now? This summer? In Indiana? Well, I’ve got some ideas. \nMy first suspicion is Ohio. Ohio is used to being the darling of the primary elections, and I think it is a definite possibility that some jealousy crept up in their – where do Ohioans hang out? Barber shops? – barber shops this year. So they unleashed floodwaters on us. Well, Ohio, looks like you thwarted your own goals because the floods got us on national news yet again! Booya! \nMy next guess is that Marquette University is behind the flooding, specifically the flooding in Bloomington. I think we all know why and I have just one thing to say to those Marquette flood-makers: Back off! We’ve got Tom Crean now, and he’s never going back to you! Now it’s our turn to win games! Now it’s our turn to make puns substituting his last name for “cream” in “cream and crimson!” Suck it! Now stop the floods please.\nIU’s nondrinking population is my third suspect. Certainly all five of them retreated to their summer homes on Mt. Olympus after classes let out, and from their flood-safe perch decided that in order to punish the rest of us they would concoct the perfect storm: water. “You should be drinking water instead of alcohol, heretics!” they no-doubt shouted over a game of Bridge with Zeus last week. Hm. Interesting concept. But I’d rather get drunk and ride a broken wood plank down the Jordan River than stay sober, and I feel confident that I speak for the entire population of Bloomington when I say that. Even for the little babies. \nAnd finally, my last suspect is this waitress I left a smaller-than-usual tip for a few weeks ago. I had my reasons, and they involved her waiting to tell me until it was far too late that she had no cream cheese for the bagel I ordered. But regardless, if she happens to be a witch who created the floods then I apologize, everybody. But I really wanted that cream cheese. \nOr should I say, “Crean cheese?” Suck it, Marquette!
(06/05/08 6:23pm)
I visited home a few days ago. While I was there, I decided to be a good daughter and pick up a few groceries for Mom at a large, commercial supermarket, a.k.a. The Man. While there, I obviously browsed the shampoo aisle for personal enjoyment. I decided I needed a bottle that was green with a pointy top and an oblique angular body, not unlike some sort of boomerang. It looked like modern art. Because of this, it was clearly superior to all the other bottles of shampoo on the shelf in both aesthetic and chemical quality. \nWhen I arrived at the checkout, I saw that there was only one real lane open and about 20 (read: five or six) people with full carts lined up to use it. Then there were about 100 (read: exactly eight)\ncheck-out-yourself-because-we-don’t-care-about-your-shopping-experience-bitch lanes available. I only had a small basketful of items so I made my way to one of the do-it-yourself lanes. \nThe last thing I scanned was the angular shampoo – and it didn’t work. I made sure I had the bar code in the right place and scanned again. Again, it didn’t work! I tried a third time. And it worked ... just kidding! It didn’t. \nSo I lifted it. \nNo employees were around, and you know what I felt about this situation after leaving the store? Nothing. I didn’t feel the satisfaction of saying goodbye to a nice salesperson, nor the rush of knowing that I cheated someone and am therefore superior to them in both agility and wit. There was absolutely no one around who had any idea that I shoplifted or any concern whatsoever about my shopping experience. It was, in a word, whatever. It was so incredibly whatever. \nThe interesting thing is, that big old store lost a $4 bottle of shampoo because they didn’t want to hire an extra cashier for $6 an hour. It’s lame. I’m not saying I need someone to pump my gas for me or analyze every pair of jeans I try on, but there should at least be someone there to ring me up and make sure I don’t steal, or have an experience resulting in me having no qualms about stealing. Those do-it-yourself lanes are a good idea for the following: men buying their girlfriends tampons, race fans buying themselves health food and fraternity brothers buying something other than alcohol – obviously they wouldn’t want anyone to see them with such embarrassing merchandise. But me with my shampoo? I’d have been fine with a real person. \nThat said, I know this is the state of customer service in America. It isn’t all that big of a deal. But, if this is how it’s going to be I’d rather have cashiers at the supermarket than at clothing and appliance stores. As, well as the energy company. And the IRS.
(05/30/08 5:39pm)
Monday evening I stood under a dark awning with my arms crossed, warming myself from the cold rain. I had been at the movies with my father and, along with all the other men, my dad had gone to get the car in the pouring rain. As I stood there waiting with a group of about half a dozen women, I saw one girl departing into the soaking wet parking lot with the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up over her head, walking alongside her boyfriend. \nUnfortunately, only one word can describe this picture: pitiful. The girl may have thought she was being an independent modern woman of some sort, partners with her boyfriend rather than a purring feline standing under the awning. And in thinking so she may have been partially correct. But I say: Who cares? Ladies, you do not want to be this woman. Why? Because you will be all wet and probably listening to some sort of terrible sports program in the car. In short, you will be unappreciated. \nSad? Yes, kind of. But there’s hope. If you have ever seen any sitcom about married or dating people (read: all sitcoms), you know that women need to “train” their men. Chivalry doesn’t have to be dead. Below are some great practice exercises that will help you make your man appreciate you! \nFirst, if your man is not the type to hold open doors, dart in front of him when he pulls it open. Say “thanks” really happily and flash him a nice smile. Pretending that you assume he is holding the door for you defuses the possibility that he will get angry about you questioning the way he treats you or the fact that you just “cut him” and now get to order your Arby’s first. \nNext, if he doesn’t tell you on a regular basis that you look nice, go on strike. Start wearing his clothes, stop blow-drying your hair and consider getting a large fake tattoo of a grizzly bear or an automobile. Make up some sort of cause that you are supposedly doing this for, or border on the truth and say it’s for women’s rights. By the time you decide to go back to your regular self, he will be telling you all the time (or, at least the first time he sees you again) that you look nice.\nFinally, if he does not pay for meals when you go out to eat, pretend to get a very upsetting phone call every time the check comes. In your spare time, practice yelling things like “What? We’re bankrupt?!” “What? We have no money?!” and “What? We’re broke?!” so that when you’re actually out to dinner your performance will always be 100-percent believable. \nNow ladies, hopefully my words have inspired you to get out there and whip your men into shape! Believe me, these are not tricks of any sort. These are legitimate ways to openly and honestly communicate your needs regarding the relationship. Or something like that.
(05/14/08 10:39pm)
Apparently, dogs can do magic. The New York Times recently ran an article titled “Researchers Seek to Demystify the Metabolic Magic of Sled Dogs.” It explained how dogsled dogs like the kind that compete in the Iditarod trail race and star in films such as “Snow Dogs” with Cuba Gooding Jr., are able to perform magic on their metabolisms. \nApparently, Iditarod race dogs begin the race operating with the same type of metabolism humans have, which is one that burns up energy and then causes the dogs to get fatigued. However, unlike most humans who, if competing in the 100-mile-per-day race would pull over and grab an Icee and a bag of Chex Mix from the BP when tired, the dogs change their metabolisms and somehow “go back to the same type of metabolic base you see in resting subjects” when the race is over. How do they do this? According to the article’s title, magic. \nDr. Michael S. Davis, an associate professor of veterinary physiology at Oklahoma State University and an “animal exercise researcher” (Presumably he is behind all those YouTube videos of house cats running on treadmills and comically falling off backwards?) claims that the dogs have a “hidden strategy they can turn on” that allows them to change their metabolisms. And in his opinion, humans have the same capacity: “We have to figure out how dogs are turning (the magic) on to turn it on in humans.” \nOK, let’s stop for a second. Apparently what is going on is that sled dogs have some sort of magic ability to not get tired during strenuous activity, and this Dr. Davis thinks that he can make it so humans possess the same magic. Therefore, he is saying he can steal magic from the magical and give it to the nonmagical, somewhat like Robin Hood.\nNow, I’ve been around the block enough times to know that if something is magic, you can’t learn it and have it for yourself. Why? Because it’s magic. That’s how magic works. But this doctor says he can actually defy the laws of magic – he can figure out how magic works.\nHeavy. \nIf this is all true, I would like to offer my deep, heartfelt congratulations to Dr. Davis. I would then like to ask him to reconsider his target subject. You see, as cool as the magic metabolisms are for dogs, I doubt I’ll ever find myself in a position where I need to be running 100 miles per day. There are lots of qualities that other animals possess that I consider magic as well, and better magic at that. Therefore, I would like the doctor to refocus his attention on getting me these things instead: \n1. The ability to fly\n2. The ability to change colors like a chameleon\n3. Better nighttime vision, like cats \n4. The ability to talk to animals, like Dr. Dolittle and sort of like Robert Redford in “The Horse Whisperer”\n5. The ability to walk on water \n6. The ability to disappear\n7. A Nintendo Wii
(05/08/08 1:55pm)
As a native Hoosier, it feels great to know that Indiana was so important in this year’s primary elections. I saw a story about Indiana’s primary election on the first page of BBC.com on Monday. I’m pretty sure that’s the first time Indiana has ever been on BBC.com. \nHooray! \nWe should all take a moment to pat ourselves on the back for being so important. OK, done? Great! Because we have bigger fish to fry. Literally, in many instances. \nIt’s important, in light of the primary elections and the attention they are bringing to our great state, to make sure you remember Indiana’s other hugely important summertime events. As many of you have probably completely forgotten, Indiana has countless newsworthy events that will occur this summer. \nFirst, the state fair is extremely important. Not only is it a classic throwback to the days when teenagers ate cheeseburgers and milk shakes all the time and there wasn’t any sort of obesity “epidemic” “plaguing” our “great” “nation,” it is also fun when animals win ribbons. The state fair is extremely important in distinguishing Indiana as special – without the help of the primaries. Little-known fact: Not all states have fairs as good as Indiana’s. Some of them even suck. I know someone from New York, and he doesn’t even know whether they have a state fair at all. I also know someone from Florida, and he once said he thought their state fair took place in the fall. Littler-known fact: My Mom once went to the Massachusetts state fair and said it was just crafts. No fried foods or anything – just crafts. If I were from Massachusetts, that would make me ashamed to be from Massachusetts. \nAlso, Indiana has county fairs.\nThird, Indiana plays host to the Indianapolis 500. Regarding the Indy 500, Germany’s Oktoberfest can just cool it with their claims of heavy drinking, if you ask me. The 500 is a better event for drinkers everywhere. And most importantly, it puts Indiana on the cultural map of the world. And it has nothing to do with the primaries. It is also important to note that it is an automobile race.\nHm. Other than that Indiana has ... lots of other great stuff! There’s a strawberry shortcake festival here in Bloomington. And, um, my neighborhood in Indianapolis has an ice-cream social every year. It’s pretty fun. One time the kid who lives next door to me chased my dog around during it, though. That wasn’t cool. \nWhoo, uh. Yep. Guess that’s about it ... so, somehow all the things I listed had to do with food. That’s fun. Food and men in tank tops. I didn’t mention the tank tops specifically but, you know, you always see them at these types of events. \nSo...\nOK, I give up. The primary elections are pretty much the most important thing that ever has and ever will happen in Indiana.
(05/07/08 10:44pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>My interest in comedy developed, unfortunately, in middle school.In sixth grade, I had a small part in a school play called “Monday Night Live.” We performed it on a Thursday but it was still called “Monday Night Live.” I can only assume the copyright laws on sketch comedy shows for 12-year-olds are pretty brutal. In any event, the star of it, Peter, was one of those guys in middle school who was somehow good at everything. I don’t think he cared about comedy necessarily; he just happened to be hilarious. He was also great in serious plays and was the best singer in school. And somehow, he pulled off wearing an earring. Needless to say, the guy was very popular. “I bet that Peter guy will end up on Saturday Night Live someday,” my dad said to me after our production. I looked my dad square in the eye (read: fidgeted in my seat and haphazardly turned the pages on a “Magic Eye” book) and said, “or maybe I’ll be on it.” “Uh, sure. That would, uh, be a good thing for you to do,” he said. After that moment, I was determined to be funny, and to be recognized as funny: Half because I was really interested in comedy, and half because I wanted to upstage “Mr. Wonderful.” At first, I tried asserting my dominance in the comedy community of Northview Middle School. The community, I should add, didn’t consist of improv and sketch groups or aspiring stand ups as it does at IU. Rather, it consisted entirely of guys who quoted Adam Sandler movies in an effort to disrupt class and hit on girls on the bus. Even at the tender age of 12 I knew that those guys weren’t actually funny and I didn’t want to join their ranks. So instead, I did the only other thing I could do. I affixed a sparkly mini-bumper sticker to the outside of my locker that read “CLASS CLOWN.” The “N” was positioned to look like it was falling off the row of type, and one “S” was backwards. “Uh, what’s that?” a junior member of the comedy community from my grade, demanded of me. He had buzzed blond hair and wore Hawaiian shirts and sandals on a daily basis, even in the winter. “It’s a sticker,” I replied. “You’re not a class clown,” he said. “Whatever,” I said. “I said you’re not a class clown,” and then proceeded to rip the sticker off my locker. “Alligators are ornery ’cause of their medulla oblongata,” he added. Luckily for me, I realized at that moment that middle school was not the place to hone the craft of comedy—or to express oneself at all, for that matter. I spent the next two years acting quiet and reserved in school, but staying up late every Saturday to watch SNL, demanding that my parents go bed early and let me study the scenes on my own in the dark living room. After a while, my jealousy for the star of the play faded and I became interested in comedy completely on my own accord. I started an improv group in high school and am happily involved in the legitimate comedy community that exists here at IU. And Mr. Wonderful? He’s is in the music program at Northwestern University, which, I’ve got to say, is a huge relief.
(05/02/08 1:14am)
I remember an afternoon I spent many years ago, sitting in a dark room and waiting to pee. \n“It’s almost over,” I remember telling myself repeatedly, at various points in time over the course of about eight hours. “It’s almost over and then I can go pee.” But I was wrong; I kept misjudging this event’s end because it went on forever. I feel confident that I would still be sitting in that dark room if employees hadn’t eventually brought up the lights and allowed us to leave. I am, of course, referring to the year 2001 and its coup de grace, “The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Boring.” \nI know that my thoughts on this film put me in a minority, especially on a campus that plays host to a group called “Role-Playing Game Club,” but I have a reason for sharing this story. And no, it’s not because I want to wake up to a flaming Smeagol cutout in my yard tomorrow morning. Thanks for asking, though. \nMy reason for sharing the story is to relate to all you seniors out there. My experience at “Lord of the Rings” is more or less what your experience at commencement is going to be: about eight hours of sitting in Assembly Hall listening to aging hobbits give advice, and you don’t even get to throw your cap in the air afterward. It’s not going to be fun. \nAs a result, I have prepared a Commencement Survival Kit for those seniors who have decided to brave it. I implore all graduating seniors to follow the guidelines in this survival kit, for the sake of their own survival. Survival. \nFirst, I recommend bringing a crossword puzzle. Depending on what day of the week it’s from, a puzzle could keep you occupied for as long as two hours, or four if you majored in telecommunications. If anyone sitting near you seems to have a problem with your choice of activity, just say graduation speaker Will Shortz gave it to you. \nPlease note that you could also bring a sudoku puzzle, but I am not going to endorse that because I feel very strongly that numbers are no fun. \nThe second thing I recommend bringing is craft supplies, such as glitter glue and construction paper. Too many people waste precious precommencement time decorating their caps with messages for their parents and IDS photographers. To that I say, “You have eight hours, just do it there.” It’s the same theory as bringing homework along on vacation “to do in the car.” You may not end up doing it, but if you don’t bring it you’ll be sorry. You will also be playing the alphabet game with your parents.\nAnd finally, for obvious reasons relating to the first paragraph, I recommend bringing some sort of portable urine-collection device.\nCongratulations grads – now get out there and sit though your last tediously boring lecture of college!
(04/25/08 12:26am)
OK guys, time to dish. Get your popcorn and your toenail polish ready because I have some super big news. The IUSA Supreme Court just voted, and the Kirkwood ticket is out! They have been replaced by the Big Red ticket. This is great news to me because I totally know someone on the Big Red ticket from my math class last year. So, yeah. \nOK, I know that summer vacation is coming up, but I’m going to say these things now because I’m gonna be spending my summer at horseback riding camp and I’ll be having so much fun that I’ll forget! I was thinking, and I have some great ideas for cool changes that Big Red could make happen next year. I passed them a note in class about it, but I thought I’d better tell all you guys, too. You are all like, my BFFs. Seriously. No, seriously! \nAnywayz ...\nI was really thinking that we could get some new vending machines in the cafeteria. And I know that the principal said last year during the convocation that we had to try to be healthier and eat vegetables at lunch or whatever, but I don’t think that’s fair. First, vegetables are gross and everyone knows it. Second, if I am going to stay awake during shop class (btw, have you seen the way the teacher’s belly hangs over his shirt sometimes!? Gag me!!!), I am going to need some sugar in me. OK? New vending machines are definitely in order. Can I get a motion to ... pass, er, something? Whatever!\nSecond, passing periods (ew I said “period” LOL) are not long enough! Sometimes I have to go all the way from one end of the building to the other, and because the passing periods are so short I can’t even stop at my locker. So I have to carry all my books for two classes at once, and I have to go two hours without checking my lip gloss. A change is sooo necessary. \nThird, I really think the prom theme for next year should be Hollywood/Night at the Red Carpet (either title could work). I’m sorry, but last year’s “Jungle” theme was NOT working. And yeah, I was there because I was totally dating a junior at the time! Ahh! But anywayz guys, Hollywood would be great because we could wear, like, super cool dresses and there could be cameras flashing when we come in or something. I just think it’d be really kewl. \nSo, I mean, hopefully the Big Red ticket will step it up (Did you see “Step Up 2”? It was awesome!) and make some significant changes this year. I think the ones I’ve mentioned are definitely necessary and will make the school a way better place. And remember, we’ve gotta make the most of things because in a couple years when we go to college there won’t be any use for student government – oh, wait, are we ... what? Omg I’m confused. Uh, anywayz ...
(04/10/08 11:57pm)
One day last week, I walked past the library, and a young man in a red checkered button-up ran through the crowd on the steps and approached me. For a second I thought it was my long-lost love from Little League Baseball, Taylor, finally coming to propose. (He tried to give me his glove, but his parents wouldn’t let him.) But then I saw the clipboard. \n“Do you have a minute to help cure hunger, homelessness and global warming?” the young man asked. \nIf this were a Highlights magazine, I would point out two things wrong with this picture (well OK, three if you count the red checkered button-up). The first is – and correct me if I’m wrong – I’m pretty sure a single minute of my time won’t make much of a dent in the fight to cure any one of the three issues on that guy’s clipboard. Perhaps a minute of my time plus a donation of several thousand dollars would help? Or a minute of my time that involves me signing up to donate several years of my time? Maybe. But I’m willing to bet the minute itself wasn’t going to do much good. \nThe second thing is that this guy really needs to pick one thing he’s concerned about and stick to it. On the same day, I came across a handful of distinctly “cool” kids lounging on a living room couch on the sidewalk outside Wright dormitory eating chips, wearing super-cool sunglasses and collecting money for the Red Cross. If they weren’t smoking and drinking, they might as well have been. I was reluctant to give them money because, well, how can you justify trying to collect money for a charity while trying so hard to look cooler than those from which you are asking for money? But at least they had their crap straight and were collecting for solely the Red Cross. This was not the case with Checkered Shirt. Hunger and homelessness together? OK. I suppose I can see that. The two generally go hand in hand. But global warming, too? One can only imagine this guy’s life. I have little doubt that he went home that night and attempted to eat 50 hard-boiled eggs.\nPerhaps what we had there was a failure to communicate, but with an introduction like his, I wasn’t willing to hear the rest of his story. \nMy general take is that there’s too much pressure for us all to be superheroes. We can’t go around feeling guilty about all the issues out there. And we certainly can’t give time and money to all of them. Especially as college students (read: broke people).\nThere are bound to be at least one or two issues that each of us cares about. And if people don’t have any issues they care about, I think that’s fine, too. One’s own life is a pretty important thing. My take is that we should all find the things we actually care about and donate some time to them. Actions, after all, speak louder than a random dollar thrown in a tin can.
(03/28/08 1:43am)
Um, it’s still cold out. Yes, some days are better than others, but I ain’t buyin’ it. It is still very much winter here, and anyone who believes otherwise is a big phony, as Holden Caulfield would say. And you can’t disagree with Holden Caulfield because he speaks for all of us – just consult the essay you wrote on “Catcher in the Rye” your junior year of high school. Therefore, global warming is obviously a hoax.\nJust kidding! You can put the pen down – a letter to the editor isn’t necessary. And I’ll tell you something else that isn’t necessary: a column full of tips for dealing with the chilly and gray muck that tears through our “spring” days here in Bloomington. Personally, I have given up. So I’m not doing that either. \nWhat is necessary, though, is a recount of painfully sad attempts I have witnessed lately of members of our community trying to preemptively enjoy spring. For those of you who are still a little bitter about the game of yo-yo Mother Nature has been playing with us, sit back, read and let’s enjoy a spiteful laugh about all those naive optimists out there.\nMy first sighting occurred last week in my boss’s office at work. I noticed that the background of her computer monitor was a sunny beach scene. It is important to note that this computer resides in a windowless office covered in papers that have those weird perforated edges from the ‘90s and stacks of spiral booklets about things like “managing personnel.” Her office is no picnic at the beach, sorry to say. Actually, I’m not sorry to say. The woman needs to get over herself and accept that there is no warmth here. There is also no happiness. What there is, though, is freezing rain. This brings me to my next sighting. \nDuring the spontaneous freezing rainstorm Tuesday afternoon, I passed a frat guy wearing flip-flops and a puca shell necklace outside Woodburn Hall. He was either not over his spring break in Bermuda, or he was trying to force spring in Bloomington via Reefs flips and a determined attitude. Either way, men in flip-flops and puca shell necklaces are always worth a good laugh if you ask me, but add freezing rain, and that’s all the sunshine I need in my day. \nMy third and final sighting has been constantly occurring all over campus and, in particular, outside my window, for the last couple weeks. It’s birds were chirping away through all the gray mornings. Aww, cute, I know. Wait a minute, though: Is this a sign of hope or just a collection of birds that are going to die when and if it snows again? I am going to guess that you probably don’t want me to answer that. \nPerhaps I am being too morose.\nListen, I’ll do you a favor and end the column here. I need to go bake some brownies, anyway. Something’s gotta cheer me up, and I see no reason in the near future to stop collecting winter weight.
(03/07/08 12:26am)
Because this is the week before spring break, and the Friday before spring break at that, my readership will doubtless have significantly decreased. Most of my eight loyal readers are probably already off vacationing somewhere, and the brains of any readers left in town are probably too fried from midterms to want to read anything at all. \nA deserted campus and a mess of students with fried brains. What’s a columnist to do? Hmm. This seems the perfect occasion for ... \nGeorgia Perry’s Botched Column Ideas 2008!\nThe following are my botched column ideas from 2008: \nThe first idea is something I noticed in an Us Weekly magazine in January. In the “Stars – They’re Just Like Us!” section, there was a photo of Kim Cattrall seemingly having trouble sticking a plastic straw into her Diet Coke bottle. No one really knows what caused her frustrated look (pondering Darfur?), but regardless, the caption read: “They can’t get their straws in cans!” To me, that seemed like a stretch. Not many people have trouble getting their straws in cans on a regular basis. I could have gone on with this idea in a real column and made a comment about America’s fixation with celebrities growing more and more unnecessary because of self-promotion Web sites such as YouTube, but that’s kind of lame. All I really wanted to say was: What the crap, Us Weekly?\nSecond, you know that one homeless guy on Kirkwood who always says, “Hi, pretty. You’re so pretty. Can you spare anything today?” I recently found out that he says this to girls besides me. In particular, he says this to a certain tactless friend of mine who apparently takes sick pleasure in shattering my self-confidence. I mean whatever, I wasn’t in love with the guy or anything. But it’s mildly disappointing. I just thought I was kind of special. \nOh, here’s a good one: Lots of out-of-state students like to complain about the squirrels here. “What’s up with their brown fur? Squirrels are supposed to be black/gray/otherwise different from Indiana squirrels. But these squirrels are brown! My mind is exploding!” OK, you know what? The squirrels here are just the right color. If you don’t believe me, rent any animated Disney movie with squirrels (“Cinderella,” for example) and tell me what color the squirrels in it are. Wait don’t bother, I’ll tell you myself: brown. Drop it. \nI thought for a while that it would be cool to talk about the Oscars and reference the “winners” as those with the best outfits, rather than the actual winners of awards. That would have been kind of funny, right? Well, whatever. It’s not happening. \nAnd lastly, I just wanted to call out the employee at a sandwich joint who really messed up the pita sandwich I ordered on my birthday back in October. That sucked. I didn’t want to chat with you. I just wanted a sandwich.\nAll right. Have a good spring break, everyone.
(02/22/08 1:51am)
While watching the Hannah Montana movie in theaters last weekend I found myself disgusted. Obviously it wasn’t the film, which was one of the better movie experiences of my life. It was the audience. It was entirely made up of a group of people I generally get to avoid while living on a college campus. It was made up of the next generation.\nIf you ever go to a movie these days and come across members of the younger generation, you’ll notice something. They all have their cell phones out. They are texting nonstop, and therefore illuminating the theater nonstop. It’s repulsive. And if you think about it, it’s a little repulsive that they all have cell phones in the first place. They aren’t driving, after all, so what do they need them for? Who are they talking to anyway?\nThis generation also grew up in a time when computers and the Internet were fully entrenched in society. Our generation grew up alongside technology and can appreciate its power, as well as the possible threat of a world takeover by robots. These kids below us though, don’t have any concept of a world before computer technology. Instead of viewing computers as tools, they think of them as something that’s always been around — something that is absolutely necessary to human life.\nWe’re all thinking it. I’m going to go ahead and say it: They think of computers as kin. Be afraid.\nHow about this: Have you ever noticed that they all wear those printed hoodies with random words and convoluted designs all over them? They obviously send messages to each other in computer language encoded on the hoodies.\nAnd OK let’s face it. They are probably going to be the last generation on earth. No matter how many tips celebrities tried to give us about using reusable coffee filters during “Live Earth,” the planet is essentially done for. Our generation doesn’t really care because we’ll probably die before Earthlings have to flee to the moon or whatever. But the generation below us is different. They know that they have to start frying their minds while on Earth, so they can become completely made of wires and metal. This will help them communicate with aliens. It will also cause floating debris to ricochet off their metal heads when they fall out of their spaceships, which will be helpful to them.\nIf you don’t believe me, think about the fact that they all have Attention Deficit Disorder. When one kid in your class has it, that’s one thing. When all the kids have it — like all the kids in the generation below us do — something’s up. It is now the norm, not the exception. That’s scary. They can process too much. They know too much. They can multitask too easily. They can, for example, simultaneously watch the Hannah Montana movie and text outer space robots about how to take over the world.
(02/08/08 1:39am)
In October, the European Parliament approved a proposal by British representative Chris Davies, which advocated including cigarette-style warnings on car advertisements. These warnings, which would cover 20 percent of every ad, are intended to caution consumers about the dangers of carbon emissions. The proposal was approved in a nonbonding vote, and further action has yet to take place on the issue. \nTo me, this is preposterous.\nWhy has further action not yet been taken? I can think of lots of things that consumers need to be warned about on car advertisements.\nFirst and foremost, the dangers of crashing need to be addressed. More than one million people are killed in traffic accidents every year. This is a big deal, and the possibility of death is something that consumers need to be reminded of in ads. A note about the dangers of drinking and driving is also relevant. And, if I may, both of these dangers could be clearly represented by putting a picture of a corpse on all car ads. \nTeenage pregnancy is another issue that warrants space on car advertisements. “Parking” is a favorite pastime of many teenagers who want to get pregnant. It is up to the car manufactures to warn parents of this danger before selling them cars for their teens. \nIt is important to note that having a car can result in lost keys. The glow of a new car and the accompanying smell of fresh leather seats sometimes pushes this factor out of many consumers’ minds, but this equals loss of time and a lowered standard of living. It is the car companies’ responsibility to make sure we consumers are aware of this danger when selling to us. How else are we supposed to know? \nAnd you know what else? Sometimes people with not-so-nice cars feel really bad about themselves when they see people with nice, shiny sports cars driving around. It can really lower somebody’s self-esteem. It’s only fair to us consumers that car companies include a warning about this on their ads. It’s really important because if they don’t, somebody might have a sad day or be unable to turn their frown upside-down. \nAnd I don’t know about you, but frankly I can’t be warned enough about skin cancer. I will take every reminder I can get to wear sunscreen, so I say lets throw them on automobile ads as well. Seat belts, too. \nAnd also, there was this one time in high school when I left the top down on my convertible while I went to lacrosse practice, and when I came back to the parking lot afterward, there were rubber bands all over the inside of my car. At first I was like, “Jackpot!” But then I thought, “Hey, I really wasn’t expecting that. It really should have been on the advertisement when I bought my car. I would like it if the European Parliament would put it on future advertisements.”\nThat should do it. I think my recommendations, if taken into effect, will make car ads the most effective they’ve ever been.
(01/25/08 1:50am)
Former Libertarian candidate for president and archetypal wise old man Harry Browne writes that for a person to know herself completely, she needs time alone to figure herself out. “Even if the people around you haven’t been demanding or tyrannical,” he says, “you’ve still had to consider them when making decisions.” And in his book “How I Found Freedom in an Unfree World” – known in some highbrow circles (my immediate family) as the Bible – he touts the necessity of taking time to cut off all external influences and being the only decision-maker in your life for a while.\nIt’s easy to read Browne and feel empowered, as I do most evenings when repeated tearful, stiff-jawed viewings of the music video for “Listen” by Beyonce don’t do the trick. However, the feeling usually only lasts for an hour or so. When I come into contact with other human beings, I always find myself deferring to their better judgment. And it’s about time I put a stop to that nonsense. \nI realize that my column is only published every other Friday. This unfortunate fact makes it impossible for me to stand on the proverbial balcony like Evita, proclaiming to the masses my newfound freedom from the chains that have been binding me. However, all eight of you readers are in for a real treat. \nWhat follows is a cutting of the umbilical cord; a severing of those relationships that have been keeping me down all these years; an escape from the cage that has kept my hummingbird self in; a shot at love with Tila Tequila. This is going to be emotional. Prepare yourself. \nTo my hairdresser: Just because you think that my forehead isn’t long enough for bangs doesn’t mean that I can’t have them, OK? My constant “sweep bang” look has been under the influence of your iron fist for too long. The tyranny of your “volumizing” cream is over as well, just for the record. \nTo the DJ at my high school prom: Um, actually you did hear me right the first time. I did just request that Chumbawumba song. And the next time I see you, which will probably be when half my Indianapolis friends get married and hypocritically dance to “Independent Women” at the reception, I’m not going to let you bully me into choosing a different song. \nTo the art gallery in Boulder, Colo., that brazenly sends me announcements for all its openings just because I was drunk at my cousin’s wedding reception and when representatives asked me to sign the mailing list I thought it was a guest book for the wedding: Please take me off your mailing list. I’ll also thank you to disregard the crude drawing. It was intended for my cousin’s new husband. \nWhew, now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, I’m officially free! Man, those three people were really keeping me down. Please, readers, take a page out of my book and seize your own empowerment by – oh damn, what time is it?! I’ve gotta go do my boyfriend’s laundry.
(01/18/08 2:32am)
Tuesday was one of the more devastating days of my life. It started with one of those scary letters in the mail from the gynecologist’s office. If you haven’t ever gotten one, they say this on the outside: “Confidential. For patient’s eye’s only. If you aren’t the patient, I’m just warning you that you probably don’t want to see what’s inside. But just so you know, it includes a sour smell, pus-filled boils and a less-than-fresh sensation.” And then on the inside it’s all, “Just kidding! Time for your annual exam!” \nAfter I read the inside of the letter and my hands stopped trembling I called my gynecologist’s office to make an appointment. However, my cheery “I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. N. please!” was met with a sour smelling, pus-filled, “Um, Dr. N. has retired.”\n“... Excuse me?”\n“Dr. N. has retired.”\n“Are you sure?”\n“Yes ma’am.”\n“He didn’t leave me a note or anything? A gift basket? An apology?”\n“No ma’am.”\n“But what am I supposed to do now?”\n“Well, you may schedule an appointment with any of our other fine associates at...”\nClick. \nExcuse my phone manners, but if there is one thing my gynecologist is not allowed to do it is retire. OK, I suppose I wouldn’t want him to molest me or say, “Boys are yucky!” while engaging in a spittle-filled giggle. But my dear Dr. N. never did any of those things. He was my knight in shining armor. I loved him. And he is just not allowed to retire. \nDr. N. was always there for me during my most vulnerable times. Take, for example, the time in ninth grade when I sobbed in his office for half an hour after finding out my birth control pills had been making me gain weight. (Ten solid pounds of chocolate and Titanic, right ladies!? OK ladies?! But seriously. It was a big deal.) Like all my vag-related problems, Dr. N. solved it with a simple swish of his pen. His prescription for Yaz solved all my problems.\nWhen I got my first yeast infection, he gently responded, “Oh, ouchie ouchie,” which practically cured me on the spot. His sweet sympathy made me feel like a little girl who had fallen down and scraped her knee while searching for her lost My Little Pony instead of a woman with a fungus growing between her legs.\nDr. N. was always like a little teddy bear, gently checking for lumps in my breasts while expertly directing the conversation to my major in school and my plans after graduation. And that’s service you just can’t find everywhere. If only Dr. N. had practiced until all his patients died, cloned himself or left a teddy bear son in his place to pick up the pieces of his abandoned patients’ shattered souls. \nBut alas, he did none of the above and instead recommended me to some crackpot Bloomington gynecologist. He did, however, refer to the new guy as “just a big ol’ teddy bear.” So maybe things will work out, after all.
(01/11/08 1:33am)
If you are a sophomore, junior or senior, I find it safe to assume that you spent your winter break relaxing and spending time with family and friends back home. You probably took in a movie or two, ate nice home-cooked meals and enjoyed your time off. If you are a freshman, I presume you spent the break lying awake at night wondering what the hell you were thinking last semester. \nThat’s right, freshman X. It wasn’t just you. It’s a well-known fact among upperclassmen that the first semester of college is completely nuts. Sure, you were warned that you or some of your friends might “go crazy” with drinking and partying. That was expected. Other things that transpired were not so expected. Other things that, at the end of the semester, left you thinking, “Who am I?” and feeling cold and alone in your own skin. \nFor example, I joined the Ultimate Frisbee team. If this does not seem immediately strange to you, please note that I am the type of person whose free time is generally and most happily spent indoors writing, reading and looking at Web sites that feature daily cat photographs. Another example: I entered a serious relationship with a graduate student six years my senior – after knowing him for one week. \nOne friend of mine worked a part-time job at Spencer’s Gifts. Another made new friends on her floor in Read by encouraging them to drape her small frame around their necks and chests and carry her around “like a monkey.” \nFor whatever reason, many individuals who seemingly knew themselves perfectly well in high school come to college and immediately get lost. As a result, they behave in ways that are completely out of character. Perhaps it is the allure of a “fresh start” or the promise of new friends that does this to us. My personal theory, though, is that it’s because nobody knows exactly what to expect when they arrive at college. \nAssumptions must be made, and they are inevitably wrong. And usually pathetic. \nUpon arriving at IU freshman year, my suitcase contained, among other things, my prom dress (“Maybe I’ll meet a cute guy who wants to take me on a fancy date! With dancing!”); both Boggle and Scattergories (“Dorm fun with new friends! We’re so gonna order pizza and stay up late.”); a skateboard (“I’ll learn at college — maybe I’ll meet a cute guy who wants to teach me! With dancing!”); water balloons (?); and face paint intended rodeo clowns. \nSigh. We’ve all been there. \nFreshmen, I encourage you to completely forget about last semester and dismiss it as a dream or trance. Nothing will come from dwelling on it, besides insanity and/or tears. Trust me. I know from experience. \nOther freshmen, if you were unable to relate to this column and found yourself happy, confident and settled last semester, then, uh ... same here. I was just kidding about all that ... because I’m cool. See you at the fraternities on Saturday? Skinny jeans are still in, right? Let me know. I’m gonna wear them if they are. Kthnxbye.
(11/30/07 2:07am)
Holiday shopping for just about everyone on Santa’s (read: your) list can be pretty difficult. I, as a faithful public servant, appreciate the fact that “Black Friday” and the subsequent days are very turbulent times for America’s young adult population. We have all been there. We finally complete buying presents for our mothers, siblings, close friends and advisers we need to suck up to. We happily check them all off our lists and prepare to sit back with a nice cup of spiked hot chocolate and relax until Christmas morning.\nAnd then disaster strikes. All too often, it comes in the form of a scrawled name at the bottom of our shopping list. Rick, David, Bruce – the names and personalities of those involved are irrelevant – they are all pronounced the same way: stepfather. \nThe ubiquitous stepfather is a difficult character to shop for. Each year the possibility of giving another mug bearing the phrase “I’ve Had Enough!” or any of a number of related saucy phrases rests at the back of our minds. But really, can’t we do better? Won’t he catch on to our ambivalence of his likes and dislikes if the same gift is repeated each year? And if yes, do we really want that? He does carry a pocketknife, after all. \nSo, in order to lighten the load on everyone’s shoulders this holiday season, I have taken it upon myself to prepare the Ultimate Stepfather Shopping List – otherwise knows as the U.S.S. List (because all stepfathers love the Navy). What follows are my top five recommended stepfather gifts for “Holiday 2007”:\n1. Snack mix: For whatever reason, stepfathers all love snack mixes. They can’t get enough. Interesting note: Stepfathers tend to like the little pretzel bits best, the parts that usually get cast aside because they are no one else’s favorite. \n2. A quote book (inspirational or fishing-related only): Stepfathers, just like everyone else, sometimes need a little lift for their spirits. Just a pick-me-up. That’s all. \n3. A cooler or otherwise portable food-carrying device: Stepfathers love things that are useful, and they especially like it when there is a special little place for everyone, I mean, everything. Try to get one with cup holders built in. \n4. IU memorabilia: Stepfathers are unable to take ownership of their stepchildren in college like real fathers do. They can’t talk about what their “son” or “daughter” is doing in school legitimately, but they love to wear university sweatshirts and use university key chains so that people assume they have a real kid in school. \n5. A gadget: Just something shiny and sciency-looking. \nPlease, feel free to use this list for the next five years and enjoy the stress-free bliss that will doubtlessly accompany it. And after that, well, yours truly probably won’t be around writing columns anymore. Just hope that some sort of Lifetime movie-esque drama unfolds where you yell something hurtful and terribly cliche, like, “You aren’t my father and you never will be!” Maybe he’ll stop giving you gifts first and you’ll be off the hook.
(11/09/07 1:13am)
I don’t know about you, but I haven’t had time to work out since I was on my “prom diet.” Going to the gym is simply out of the question in college. All of us have homework to do, Facebook to check and wine to drink alone in our apartments while watching the “Freaky Friday” remake with Lindsay Lohan.\nIncorporating exercise into one’s daily routine is the only way to maintain a healthy lifestyle in college, and it is easier than most people think.\nMagazines often give descriptions of exercises that are good to do. However, they always require the reader to have “free weights” and often some sort of colorful floor mat. Excuse me? If I had $20 to spare I would own the “Bring It On: All or Nothing” DVD already, and I feel confident that I speak for the entire readership of this publication when I say that. \nI recommend taking a few minutes out of each day to do the motions described in magazines in the comfort of your own home. But please, don’t let gym rat magazine editors let you dictate how you spend your money. Feel free to substitute whatever you have lying around the house for the “necessary” free weights. Alarm clocks, gallons of milk and firearms are just a few examples of things that can be used instead of actual weights. \nSquatting while peeing is also a great “mini workout.” Not only do you avoid sitting in someone else’s pee, but you also exercise your thighs. In order to spread awareness about the growing obesity problem in our great, proud and freedom-loving country of America, I recommend deliberately peeing on toilet seats so others are encouraged to squat as well. \nA big part of a healthy lifestyle is a healthy attitude. You have to believe in yourself if you want to see results. I know that sometimes I wake up in the morning and notice that my abs are inexplicably sore. So you know what I do? I give myself a good old-fashioned pat on the back and acknowledge the fact that I probably slept in a way that exercised my abs. And then I usually have a bowl of cereal. \nIf my unconscious self chooses not to work out my abs overnight, I make a point to do something productive in the morning. Hitting the snooze button repeatedly is a good way to get blood flowing early. You keep raising your arm and lowering it again. It is a healthy, fit way to start the day and I recommend it for everyone.\nFinally, for just the ladies and the “men” who carry messenger bags, I recommend that you carry all your stuff in your bag. Cell phone, planner, framed baby photo, whatever. The more the better. You may wind up with a temporary hunch on one side that some quack doctors will call “scoliosis,” but what you are really doing is strengthening your arms. \nGood work everyone! \nMy final thought is that hopefully my words have inspired you to get out there and work on that firm grip by seizing the day. High five!