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(10/14/10 10:59pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Let’s talk about free time, cause I get a lot of that.Keeping busy is probably the hardest task for an intern. I admit there will be some days where you are smothered with work. It will feel like your supervisor is holding a pillow to your face, gently whispering “go to sleep, grandpa.”But for a majority of the time you’ll be counting the dots on the ceiling tiles. Unfortunately, if your office is as small as mine, you can finish that within a few days. So what’s the best way to waste your time?The internet is a vast wonderland filled with pictures of cute cats and videos of women that might not be safe for work.I log onto Facebook frequently, about eight times an hour. I creep on the same six girls to see if they have new suggestive pics. If I find a good album, I’ll tweet it to all my bros back home.I update my status because I’m bored, and I’m bored because I’m updating my status. It’s a never-ending cycle of poor time management. I look at my profile constantly. I change my profile pic every Monday to a new photo of me and a bunch of other people. This lets everyone know that I am a big deal. For that same reason, I only keep myself tagged in pictures that make me look hot. Every Thursday I make sure to redo my entire info section to keep it fresh and hilarious.When I’m not starting awkward conversations on Facebook chat with girls, I’m searching for pictures of cats. One day last week when all of my supervisors were out of the office, I watched videos of Maru, a cat from Japan, for more than an hour. Nothing is funnier than a fat cat jumping into tiny boxes. If I can make it to lunch without falling asleep, I take my food to the break room and listen to a “This American Life” podcast. Not because it’s the greatest radio show of the decade, but because I have a serious man crush on Ira Glass’s voice. While I eat my lunch, I like to work on a graphic novel of Ira and me going on a road trip across America. It’s a strictly platonic, heterosexual, male bonding, not gay and totally straight coming-of-age story. I swear.Moving on — every 30 minutes I leave the office to check out the bathroom. There’s nothing exciting going on in there, but there are full body mirrors and the thickest two-ply toilet paper. I spend a lot of time sitting in the stall listening to rap, but eventually I have to flush and get back to my desk. For my last hour in the office I typically sift through paperwork and look up contact information for databases. I’ll answer calls then fail at transferring them to the appropriate supervisor. Maybe I’ll do some research here and there and probably write a memo. You know, work.E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(10/07/10 10:42pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Being an intern means you’ve got to attend discussion panels and hearings. You sit, you take notes and you write a memo. Sounds simple enough right? It should be, but some interns can’t handle this responsibility. Hey idiot, can you even dress yourself in the morning?Well, I can’t help you pick out a tie, but I can give you some essential pointers on networking, note taking and sleeping on the job.Let’s start with networking. When you sign in, they’ll hand you a tag with your name and affiliation. Remember, you represent your organization when you attend a discussion panel. Who knows what reckless or sexist things you’re liable to say. This can be dangerous. Like I’ve mentioned in previous articles, everyone is out to get you. To avoid getting fired, I RSVP as Matt Dillman working at the North American Mortgage & Bond Liquidators Association, or NAMBLA for short.Grab a muffin and some coffee from the breakfast table and then mingle with the other interns. Don’t bother talking to the older professionals. They could care less about your opinion on domestic renewable energy policy. Don’t worry, you won’t miss any thrilling conversation. All they want to talk about is either their last vacation to Europe or baseball.Other interns are easy to spot. They are half the age of everyone around them, and they still have ambition. Interns tend to disperse themselves evenly throughout the audience. You’ll be there for a while, up to four hours in some cases. So before the speakers come out, find a spot near the center a few rows back with another intern. Don’t bother sitting next to an ug. Go straight up to a dime, and impress them with how uninterested you are in the subject of the discussion panel. This is similar to the technique I use when picking up chicks in class. It almost never works.Pull out your notepad and get comfortable. Play footsy with the old guy in front of you while the speakers get mic’d up.Don’t bother writing everything down, only about a quarter of what they say will be pertinent. Normally, I just write down whatever the person next to me has. If you miss the definition of an acronym, forget about it — you’ll never figure out what it means. Undoubtedly their stale talking points and soothing voices will lull you to sleep. Most people won’t judge you, except for Sen. Sam Brownback from Kansas. Never let him see you dozing off. He will stare you down and haunt your dreams like a Republican Freddie Kruger cutting up taxes and scantily clad interns. The man won’t take anything less than your full attention, trust me.Also try to not sit in the line of sight of a camera. Nothing is worse than C-SPAN catching you drool. They’ve caught me sleeping at nearly every hearing I’ve attended. If you ever see me conked-out live, be a pal and send me a text or something to wake me up. I’ll leave the sound on.E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(10/01/10 12:38am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>On Tuesday I went to Giant, the fancy D.C. elitist version of Krogers. I was there to buy my normal groceries: frozen chicken nuggets, salt and vinegar chips, hot sauce, prepackaged deli meat and orange juice. I caught a great deal on 20 Yoplait yogurt cups for $10. You know, I gotta look out for my boyish good looks and slender thighs. Then I totes Kobe’d some toilet paper into the cart from like ten feet away — my roommate and I high-fived in celebration, it was awesome. And two chicks that totally wanted me kept looking at me. Overall, things were going pretty swell.That is, until I came to the orange juice aisle. Giant was running a dope deal on Simply Orange Orange Juice, two bottles for six bucks. But there was a problem. I counted fourteen bottles of “No-Pulp” and seventeen bottles of “Lots-of-Pulp.” There was no “Low-Pulp” or “Medium Pulp” or even “Medium-Low-Pulp.” Absolutely no middle ground was to be seen. I know for a fact the Krogers on College Mall Road offers “Medium-Pulp” if not “Low-Pulp,” too.I thought about it for a second while I winked at those chicks. This is symbolic of the political polarization in Washington, D.C. It’s either one extreme or the other here. You’re either a Tea-Partier or a Marxist. Normally I approve of polarization. It holds Congress nice and stagnant, like rainwater that’s been collecting in a can of Milwaukee’s Best Ice for a few weeks. Mmm, just the way I like it. Polarization simplifies decision making. For example, when you’re voting for the House Representative in the 9th district this election cycle, having just two options makes the choice much easier. It’s either the old guy who approves of chunky bits in the budget that has been there for a while, or the young new guy who opposes extra chunky bits in the budget.In politics, polarization benefits everyone, and I see no possible reason why you would ever want to compromise. We all know third parties are for stoners and environmentalists. They’ve accomplished nothing over the years except make us look like nerds by forcing us to wear a seat belt. But when polarization starts to keep me from enjoying the appropriate level of pulp in my OJ, something must be done. Unfortunately, it was not that time yet. I had to make a decision soon.I stood there in front of the OJ aisle for at least ten minutes with a blank stare. A bunch of nobodies came and went picking up one or the other like the decision was a no-brainer. The two chicks that were totally into me each grabbed a different one.I weighed my options.I could either get “No-Pulp” and feel empty on the inside or buy “Lots-of-Pulp” and have chunky bits stuck in my grill braces all day.I heard my roommate walking up to me. I panicked. I closed my eyes and picked one.I accidently grabbed a bottle of Simply Lemonade Lemonade. My life has been in shambles ever since. E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(09/24/10 12:04am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Before I started my internship in Washington, D.C. I was told, “A duck could be somebody’s mother.” Even an ugly-looking nobody could be the second cousin of the person you’re joking about. Stupid wisecracks can get you canned if you happen to sit next to someone with enough free time and a Blackberry.My dedicated haters know that I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut, but if you rolled with my crew back in elementary school you wouldn’t take any beef either. As a child from the ghetto streets of Bloomington — Bryan Park, chillin’ where my honkeys at — I’ve learned that snitching gets you stitches. It was a fact of life on the playground of Templeton Elementary School. If you witnessed someone shooting a rubber band gun or stealing Pokémon cards, you’d turn around and look the other way. It ain’t your business, don’t get involved. But if you had something to say you wouldn’t let a punk sixth-grader keep you quiet just because he was older. So why do people care enough to go out of their way to stay PC? I used to think Washington was just filled with sensitive thugs who either can’t take a joke or are too insecure. They say Washington, D.C. is a smaller town than you think, where everyone knows each other. It’s all about sticking to your gang here. In Congress, the two biggest gangs are the Bloods and the Crips. They both started as community groups backin the 1800s. The Bloods and Crips just wanted to protect their own political blocs and put their younger members through committee. But eventually things turned sour when they started slanging subsidies. Capitol Hill can be a dangerous place; they have turf warfare on a biannual basis. Members of Congress stay strapped with fully-loaded Blackberry’s and roll out at least ten deep wherever they go. Being an outsider is frowned upon, that’s why you join a gang before you get here. Some people join the GAO or a non-profit like the AARP, but once you’re in there are only two ways out: prison or with your duffle bag on a plane back home. The other day a friend of mine, who will remain nameless because I ain’t no snitch, was in line for a hearing on human rights. She said under her breath, “Since when did they start caring?” — obviously being sarcastic about Congress.The next intern in line turns around mean-mugging her with his hand on a Blackberry and asks, “What’s you’re name girl, and where do you intern at?” pretending as if he’s trying to holler or something.She realized what was up and gave him a fake name and organization. She wasn’t about to get clapped by another intern. The competition in our nation’s capital is rough; this kind of scrappin’ happens here on the daily.That’s why you learn to keep your head down and leave your hateto the blogs. E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(09/16/10 11:17pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>In Washington, D.C. there are plenty of monuments and museums to see. While you’re interning it’s important to visit most of these attractions. The presidential monuments are all fantastic despite their own quirks. The Washington monument makes you feel inferior as a man, and the Lincoln memorial makes women wish they didn’t wear heels with its endless, steep staircase. Besides the monuments, almost all of the Smithsonian museums are entertaining, except for the Smithsonian National Zoological Park. It’s one of the nation’s oldest zoos, founded in 1889; the National Zoo has been disappointing its patrons for more than 100 years. At first glance, the zoo will grab your attention with words such as: free, giant pandas and endangered animals.Yes, the National Zoo is free. It is supported by your tax dollars and like any government-funded initiative it’s huge, unwieldy and utterly useless. As you walk through the pedestrian entrance you enter the Asian part of the zoo, where they keep at most five or six animals in what feels like a four-square-mile area. The largest part of the zoo is reserved for two giant pandas. But, the exhibit is engulfed in enough bamboo to feed every endangered panda in China. Signs along the path tell visitors to keep a sharp eye out for Mei Xiang and Tian Tian. Excuse me, but if they are “giant” shouldn’t I be able to see them from a mile away? But that isn’t the problem here, the issue is that they reserve enough space for Godzilla, yet the tiny pandas are actually held in two cement gray 15x15 rooms with a few logs and a bunch of leaves in the basement. Opposite the panda cages is an exhibit about panda sex where the children can look at sperm and vaginal fluids through microscopes. Next to that is a piece of solidified panda poop on a wire for the children to play with. Not emotionally disturbed enough? Right around the corner is a wall filled with pictures of pandas in heat and if you press the white buttons you’ll hear the sounds of pandas pleasuring each other. If you got all hot and bothered on your way out, there is a misting station/broken pipe a few yards down the path where you can cool down and collect yourself.Next on the list of attractions is the small mammal house which should actually be called the Golden Lion Tamarin House. It has what looks to be the remains of that endangered species collected in a few cages. In all honesty, the small mammal house is probably the best part of the zoo, because it’s the least sinful exhibit. At the end of the zoo is the American animal section where they have cows, rabbits, hogs, etc. Essentially there are the animals we eat, all hoarded together, in a big red barn. These delicious looking hamburgers and brats-to-be are off limits so you can’t eat them there. Fortunately, across the street is the Zoo Bar Cafe where you can. E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(09/10/10 1:36am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>After being rejected from all the internships you wanted and facing the mad rush of finding an agency to work at, you have about six days left before you fly to DC. You’ve found an internship, and you’re ready to make the change on Capitol Hill that you think it so desperately needs. You’ve got ambition and drive, which means you haven’t been to work yet.Here are some important tips for your first day at an internship. On your first day you will be plenty anxious. You might throw up a couple times in the lobby bathroom, like The Office version of Eminem in 8-Mile. Make sure none of it gets on the new tie you bought. Your mom would tell you to take a shot of Pepto Bismol, but I recommend chain-smoking cigarettes and a Natty before you leave. Not only will it make meeting your new boss and fellow interns amusing, but driving there will be interesting, too.Arrive at least three or four minutes late on purpose. It lets them know you have better things to be doing than interning. You’ll be regarded as the “cool” intern from then on and probably get some dates out of it.When you walk up to your new boss he will go for a firm handshake. Be sure to smile and look him right in the eye as you give him a sloppy dead fish grip.While you’re being shown around the office, take note of where the break room is, you’ll be spending a lot of time in there. As you make your way through the tour, meeting all the people you will work with, be sure to act uninterested in what they do and who they are as people.Eventually you will need to fill out some paperwork. Never sign with your real name. The purpose being that you can’t violate terms and conditions you never agreed to follow in the first place. Don’t get too fancy with the name or you might get noticed. Just switch the first letter of your first and last name. For example, I sign all of my documents Jick Nacobs. Who is Jick Nacobs? I don’t know, but I’m sure he’s a great guy and follows all the rules.When lunchtime rolls around, go to happy hour with your coworkers. Not 21? Go to the cafeteria and sit alone while you wait to become an adult. The time after lunch is generally reserved for napping or Facebooking. Once you’re done poking babes and lol’ing over pictures of your bros, you should probably walk around the office to look for odd jobs. Don’t look too excited though, you might be given something to do. The rest of the day is cake. Look busy, keep your head down and wait until quitting time. Congratulations, you’ve made it through your first eight hours on the job, only 200 more to go.E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(08/23/10 10:45pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Listen, I’m a busy man. When I’m not verbally abusing my family or trying to put up a border fence between my foreign-looking neighbor and I, I’m working my butt off at the IU Law Library to pay down my immense credit card debt. Therefore, I am bounded rationally to have someone else keep up with and interpret the news. That’s why I watch Glenn Beck. He makes the news interesting by telling me what I should be angry about. I have no time for Wolf Blitzer’s monotone voice, and Anderson Cooper’s smooth features give me a fluttering feeling in my stomach that I suppress by re-reading the Bible.Recently Glenn told me about a mosque that’s going to be built on sacred Burlington Coat Factory soil in New York City. Normally I couldn’t care less about east coast elitists, but I’ve been told this is a big deal.If the Moslems build this mosque, the terrorists will win the war by some arbitrary rule that Fox News has created. I am scared of a future America where Burlington Coat Factories across the country are replaced by Islamic cultural centers.I’ve loved that store since my childhood. I remember being loaded up into our Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme station wagon and making the trip up to Indianapolis every November to buy a new coat. I would skip down the halls to where the kids’ jackets were kept. Every year I would beg and plead for a new blue Colts coat, and every year my father would lovingly swat me in the face. I cherish these endearing memories, and to think that the Indy Burlington Coat Factory might share the same terrorist-generating fate of the NYC BCF sickens me.This is a slippery slope we face as Christian God-fearing Americans if we let this mosque be built. If we let one Burlington Coat Factory be transformed into a terrorist recruitment center the others will surely fall as well. There are more than 400 BCF stores across 44 states, according to Hoovers.com.This leaves fly-over states like Montana, South Dakota, West Virginia and Wyoming as strongholds against terrorists who undoubtedly hate us for our quality discount coats.How can you help stop this?Your outrage must be heard at your local Burlington Coat Factory. Look up the phone number of the Burlington Coat Factory in your hometown, and tell them they shouldn’t convert their building into a terrorist training camp. They might not follow at first, but as the volume of calls increases, we will be understood.If the manager gets belligerent it might imply the store is already in the hands of Moslems. In that case your only choice will be to buy a weapon, fortify your house, apartment or dorm, say goodbye to your loved ones and wait for the revolution.
(07/07/10 10:32pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>You begin by walking up to the baggage check-in area. You don’t know what the bag guy meant when he asks for some appreciation for his service, so you just shake his hand. He dead-fishes you with the lifeless gaze that you will see often from airline employees.You get lost trying to find the security check-in area, but you laugh it off when you explain to the TSA agent that this is your first time flying. She doesn’t find the situation amusing but instead strips you naked, looking for marijuana. When she doesn’t find anything, the agent pushes you down with the butt of her rifle and says, “Welcome to Indianapolis International Airport.”Confused and broken, you stumble through the terminals, knocking into smelly airport hoppers and livid businessmen with shiny earpieces. You walk past all the duty-free merchandise shops to your terminal and meet new travel buddies. After about 30 minutes, you realize this is the wrong terminal, but consider boarding the wrong flight anyway to avoid the embarrassment of leaving your new friends. They get in line, you skulk away, eventually forgetting they ever existed.Upon arriving at the correct terminal, you find that your flight will be delayed. You sit and wait.A Santa Claus look-alike picks crumbs from his beard. He looks left to right, and you make direct eye contact. He eats some of the beard poop. He mouths the words, “You tell no one.” You nod and move over to a group of over-privileged youths. A particularly fat one stands while the rest sit. His shirt is buttoned up all the way, making his head a little larger than it should be. His half-open eyes scan the room for cleavage, and when he spots some he breathes with his mouth open. You think about warning the busty chick he’s ogling, but then you begin to do the same.The plane rolls in, and you board. On the flight, you sit next to Santa Claus in the seats next to the emergency exit.After the flight attendants review the safety protocols, you declare you are not ready for the responsibility of protecting the lives of your fellow passengers, so you are moved to a window seat behind the left wing.Your neighbor is a New Yorker who turns 17 in a few weeks. He asks you what you’re going to do in Europe. You reply, “Drugs.” He’s silent for most of the flight, and you couldn’t be happier.Dinner is served — microwaved chicken and boiled spinach. You eat it all but regret it later while sitting in the lavatory. A flight attendant asks if you are all right. A long queue develops while you violently empty your bowels. The smell is foul, and there’s no air freshener. You flush the toilet several times with the seat down to exhume the odor, and then you open the door. The TSA agent from before pushes you back into the bathroom and makes sure you didn’t slip any marijuana past her. Again, she finds nothing.She tells you to put your pants back on and welcomes you to London.E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(06/20/10 8:56pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Last week I exposed how insecure soccer fans are, and I got a lot of people telling me I’m an ignorant hick who has never left the country. This is true; I have never been outside the United States in my entire life. I thought I should do something about this because the people seem so distressed about it.Dedicated readers will remember that I am filthy rich with scholarship money. I went to my money room, where I keep my tall stacks of cheddar, and stuffed a few crumpled hundos in my pocket. From there, I went to a travel agent and booked a trip to England, Germany and France. I will be gone for five weeks, and while I am gone, I will report on what is wrong with the country I’m in.In Europe, I will try my best to only stay at youth hostels, but if I ever run into an Eastern European clerk, I will run away as fast as I can. I’ve seen both “Hostel” movies — I know how dangerous they can be. I don’t want to get hepatitis, or worse, get slaughtered by a disgruntled American CEO with a fetish for young men and dull, rusty knives.While I am in England, I will be reminding every Brit I meet that we won the war and that they would be nothing without us now, like old, sickly great-grandparents who live in your house and refuse to die.To prepare for England, I made a few purchases at the Cracker Barrel, my favorite restaurant on the west side of town. You can’t find a more parochial and culturally insensitive place in Bloomington. I bought a few patriotic shirts with flags, guns and explosions on them. My favorite one says, “Freedom isn’t free — These colors don’t run” below a huge red, white and blue bald eagle.Everywhere I go in England, I will keep a copy of the Declaration of Independence in my left back pocket. In the other, I will have a decoy wallet filled with Monopoly money that has the letters FML scribbled on the reverse — just in case some Industrial Revolution-era pauper tries to pick my pocket.The next country I will be visiting is Germany. Again, while I am there, I will remind every German I meet that we won those Other Wars against them back in the day.Lastly, I will take the train to Paris. I am planning on getting blasted on absinthe at the Louvre, where I will attempt to break the Da Vinci Code. I’ve read the first 80 pages of “Angels and Demons” and have seen the last 20 minutes of the movie. I’m sure I can fill in the gap — if you’ve read one Dan Brown book, you’ve read them all.Now, I know you all will miss me something terrible. I will take a camera so it’s like you’re over there with me, insulting the world. At every landmark I see, I will get my picture taken in a shirt that says “Screw Soccer.” If you don’t hear from me next week, I want you all to assume I have been captured by ignorant, xenophobic soccer fans.E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(06/13/10 10:22pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Who has two thumbs and doesn’t care about the World Cup? This guy — and you shouldn’t, either.What about soccer is even remotely interesting? I guess you could say it’s a funny game to watch when grown men try their hardest to hit a ball with their faces. But other than those few NASCAR moments, it’s a low-scoring, boring game. But once every four years, Americans have to care about it.All of a sudden, everyone is a soccer fan. People think back to their childhood soccer teams. The nostalgia gets to them as they remember when, back in the day, they scored on a dead ball. But they didn’t really care that much about soccer — because when they turned 10, they started playing good sports.I know the history of soccer. I understand the weight of the rivalries countries have with each other, like the England-Germany rivalry and that of Brazil and Argentina. It’s a pretty awesome event, I agree. Solving hundreds of years of colonial frustration in a nonviolent ball game has its cathartic moments.But let’s be real. There are only two sports in this world that are worth following: basketball and football.Even with all this professed hatred of soccer, I still watched the England vs. USA game, but that’s just because the only other thing on TV was college baseball, which might be the only thing more boring than soccer.Here are a few things that just don’t seem right about the World Cup.First, the sportscasters for the World Cup are all wrong. I’ve never heard of any of them. It’s like the execs at ABC and ESPN were eating at an IHOP and hired their waiter and a few guys washing dishes in the back.You can tell how unpopular the World Cup is because they couldn’t get Erin Andrews on the field. Even the Scripps National Spelling Bee got her on the scene making 13-year-old boys warm and uncomfortable.The next thing I don’t like is when soccer players get injured — because they make a big deal about nothing.“I stubbed my toe!” they scream.Well, they need to stop rolling around on the ground and walk it off. Unless he blows out his knee, I don’t want to see a soccer player writhing in pain.Why can’t they be as tough as basketball players? Last month, in Game 4 of the NBA’s Western Conference semifinals, Phoenix’s Steve Nash got an eye full of San Antonio Spur Tim Duncan’s elbow. He didn’t lie on the court crying about it. He got stitches midgame and got back to work. Nash led his team to a 107-101 win with only one good eye.Speaking of 100-point games, I don’t like sports that can’t reach double-digit scores. By the end of the England vs. USA game, the score was tied 1-1. In the NBA Finals, there would be at least 40 points on the scoreboard by the end of the first half (from each team).And how can you really be satisfied with a draw? I guess you could say you didn’t lose — but you still didn’t win, either. The score is mediocre, just like soccer.E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(06/06/10 11:00pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>I imagine sometime last month President Obama was doing Irish Car Bombs with Energy Secretary Steven Chu and 82-year-old hydrogen bomb pioneer Richard Garwin when Chu got a brilliant idea.In my conception of this meeting, Obama noticed how the shot of Bailey’s contained in the drink curdled explosively with the Guinness as Chu chugged it.“Hey, Barry, what if we used a nuclear bomb to stop the BP oil leak?” Chu might have asked, letting a bit of the drink settle at the bottom of his glass.I bet Obama looked over to Garwin, who shrugged, “Maybe.”Back in the reality of May 14, Secretary Chu, Garwin and four other nuclear physicists visited the Gulf of Mexico.One plan some scientists are recommending would involve drilling a hole near the spill site that would eventually reach the gushing well about a mile below the Earth’s crust and detonating a nuclear bomb at the very bottom.When it’s detonated, so the thinking goes, the shockwaves will compact the surrounding earth and crush the pipe, blocking the flow of oil. Because the nuke will be so far under the ground, it is hoped that the resulting radiation will never see the light of day or even touch any water.Like curdling Bailey’s, the thousands of feet of earth separating the bomb from the sea will contain the blast.Russian online periodical Pravda reports that the Soviets performed a similar operation in 1966 when they had trouble containing a massive oil leak in Uzbekistan. Hell, they did it five different times, successfully fixing the problem in four of the cases. If vodka-sipping communists can do it, so can we. I’m sure environmentalists are wary of this idea, but is it that much worse than plugging the hole with trash? When plugging an undersea hole with trash doesn’t work, you just have to send another cleanup crew to collect the residue. If the warhead plan doesn’t work, we’ll just have to deal with Godzilla, which would be easily remedied with yet another nuclear bomb.Now, I don’t say this often, but I think Obama is on the right track here. He’s pissed off, and rightly so. He wants to see some action that will silence the haters. This really shouldn’t be his problem. It’s BP’s mismanagement that led to the disaster, but Karl Rove is calling this catastrophe “Obama’s Katrina.”First, when did Karl Rove become an environmentalist? And second, is Rove trying to say that dead, oil-covered animals are equivalent to dead Americans? I mean, to be fair, this is a totally reasonable comparison — if you’re a racist.My only problem with this nuke plan is that I would not be able to see the explosion. The nuke would be detonated so deep underground that you wouldn’t even see fart bubbles breach the surface.That’s why I propose they test another nuke a few miles away — a big one. A 15-megaton Mark 24 would make Michael Bay proud. And what could be a better way to celebrate the Fourth of July?E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(05/23/10 9:46pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>At 6:18 a.m. New Delhi time Saturday, a 16-year-old broke the world record for being the youngest person to conquer Mt. Everest. Arjun Bajpai accomplished the feat after taking courses at the Nehru Mountaineering Institute in India and was assisted by 12 experienced climbers, including a Sherpa who was on his 20th ascent.A few hours later, Jordan Romero, a 13-year-old adrenaline junkie from Big Bear, Calif., broke Bajpai’s record. Romero was aided by three Sherpas and his father. As soon as he got to the top, Romero pulled out a satellite phone and said, “Mom, I’m calling you from the top of the world.”The first thing I thought when I heard this news was, “How come that kid gets reception on the summit of Mt. Everest, but I can’t get 3G in my third-story apartment?”Better yet, what was in Bajpai’s head when he found out he was beaten by a prepubescent American boy with loaded parents? The guy didn’t even get to relish his achievement. Before he even made it back down the slope, his record was smashed.Imagine Bajpai at the base of the mountain, getting bro-hugged by his Sherpa. A camera crew from CNN runs up to him for a quote. He’s chatting with Anderson Cooper about how important it is to set goals when Romero parachutes onto the scene, letting out a high-pitched warrior screech.Romero lands close to Bajpai and opens a can of Red Bull, saying, “’Sup Arjay?”The New Delhi boy holds up a trophy, yelling, “I just broke a world record!”“Really? How old are you?” Romero wraps his arm around Bajpai’s shoulder as if to say, “We’ve done it!” to the cameras.“I am 16 years old,” Bajpai says, wondering why some little kid is touching him.“Actually, I just broke your record. I’m 13.” Romero then pulls the trophy out of Bajpai’s hands and peaces out.Or at least that’s how I envisioned that awkward moment.Romero has been mocking the dreams of indigenous mountainside youths for years. When he was just 10 years old, he scaled the highest mountains in Africa, Europe and Australia. In 2008, he broke records on both of the Americas’ tallest peaks.His next goal is to become the youngest to scale Mt. Vinson Massif, the highest mountain in Antarctica, this winter. After that, he gets to rub it in the face of Johnny Collinson, a 17-year-old who became the youngest to complete the Seven Summits challenge this January.Jordan Romero would be a terrible person to see at a house party. He’d butt into your story about Hoosier Heights and tell everyone how he climbed the tallest mountain in the world before his mom would let him watch MTV, and how it was “no big deal.” This kid is called a one-upper; he feeds his ego by minimizing the accomplishments of others. For breaking a world record immediately after someone else did, Jordan Romero receives the award for the Greatest One-Up of 2010.E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(05/16/10 9:44pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>In Bloomington, we have many shops catering to the feminine, such as London Dog and countless women’s clothing stores. It seems like business has been booming for women, but where can a man go to be a man?I’ve compiled a list of the manliest stores located on the town square, ones that kick you in the shins and raise your testosterone levels upon entrance.Let’s start with the most beard-inducing establishment: The Briar and The Burley. It sells just about everything a man needs, including tobacco and leather-bound anything. Every time I step in, my nostrils are soothed by the smell of fine cigars and new luggage.This shop’s collection of cigars can make a grown man weep with joy, and it has the best selection of pipes and pipe tobacco in town. The greatest aspect of The Briar and The Burley is this: It’s probably the only store in town where you are allowed to smoke inside and talk with the staff. If I had enough money, I would buy one of everything in the store just to bring the smell home with me.J.L. Waters Adventure Outfitters is next on the list because it’s the only store on the square that has all of the necessary equipment to survive a Red Dawn-style Russian invasion, minus the munitions. They sell tents, canoes, fishing gear and anything Bear Grylls would wear.When I visit J.L. Waters, I like to pretend I’m about to go on a nationwide camping trip. I sift through their walking sticks, and when the staff comes to help, I make a beeline to their selection of urine-to-safe-drinking water conversion systems while mumbling incoherently to myself.It’s an unwritten law that every man needs to play at least one instrument. Located on the north side of the square, Vance Music Center is the oldest and largest musical instrument store in Bloomington. Vance also has instructors for those who want to learn.When I was a little kid, I wanted to learn how to play the banjo, but they told me I had to be at least 40 years old or something to start. So I tried to pick up a mandolin, but they swatted it out of my hand and gave me a recorder. It was all I could manage at the time.Finally, Opie Taylor’s is one of my favorite restaurants in Bloomington. It’s got $5 burgers on Mondays, a great deal considering most of them normally cost about $7.What makes this place so manly is the Tank Burger. It features a pound of beef nestled between two sturdy buns. On my 18th birthday, I had to prove my manhood by eating an entire Tank Burger with steak fries. I’ll admit it took me a while (and I had the meat sweats like none other), but I finished it.Then suddenly, like some kind of heavenly reward, my waiter, a Jacobs School of Music student, belted out an operatic version of “Happy Birthday” that brought a tear to my eye. I felt energized, ready to conquer the world. I took two steps out the door and grew a full beard. I had become a man.E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(05/12/10 11:55pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Well, it’s been almost a full week since the end of the spring semester. The population of Bloomington seems to have dropped by almost 30,000. Those who are left in Bloomington are probably taking a class or two this summer. It can feel vacant on campus. Soon restaurants will start their summer hours by being closed.Don’t worry, though; vacationing in Bloomington is a blast. I’ve been doing it for 20 years, and I have some tips to help you enjoy your stay.First, be sure to have a job — something that will make the days go by quickly. The best-case scenario is a posh downtown gig, where you can sit around in stores with minimal traffic. Or, if you’re into something more fast-paced, there’s waiting tables.Either way, it’s better than being unemployed. It’s rough getting up at 11 a.m. with a bowl of Crunch Berries, flipping between highlights of the NBA playoffs and episodes of “True Life.” Venture off campus to Bryan Park. It’s got picnic shelters — perfect for illegal day drinking.Remember that when the weather starts to get humid, it’s important to find either shade or water. Being without either is completely out of the question, unless you like the feeling of walking through a warm, damp blanket. Bryan Park’s pool is known for having the tallest water slide in town, the Twister. I’ve gone there at least once every year since I was three years old. I always spend the extra money to buy a water slide bracelet, but every year I can never work up the nerve to conquer The Twister. I stretch while I wait in line; being limber is important. After 20 minutes, I’m at the top, not looking down. I sit down at the beginning and wait for the nod from the lifeguard. As his head slowly bobs up and down, I get nervous about how high up I am, thinking, “Everyone looks like crushable ants from here.” My fear of heights always gets me. I give up and walk down the stairs, pushing through the line. Elementary school kids have the most emotionally damaging kind of laugh.Another way to get rid of free time is to check out comic book movies. The summer can’t have enough of them. As an aside, I want to remind everyone that I dislike comic books but love comic book movies. They get rid of 50 years of backstory and give me the simplest interpretation of the character that will fit into two hours. There’s no need to know the canon, like which one of the Super Friends Batman knocked up or when Thor’s brother will come out of his coma. The midnight premiere of “Iron Man 2” got the whole town stuffed into two theaters, only to have them come out a few hours later disappointed that Robert Downey Jr. didn’t bang Scarlett Johansson. This frustration is common in comic book movies.If you don’t follow any of these tips, at least be sure to work on your tan. That’s how others gauge their summer experience against yours. E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(04/26/10 10:35pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Stephen Hawking said in his Discovery Channel special “Into the Universe” that extraterrestrials most likely exist and probably want to kill us. Cool, even Hawking is getting on the bandwagon of sensational apocalyptic broadcasting that has plagued our television programming. I guess his brand of mystical physics couldn’t sell by itself so he had to sex it up by adding evil aliens.Hawking theorizes that “advanced aliens would perhaps become nomads, looking to conquer and colonize whatever planets they can reach.” His research for this program included playing through the Halo series and watching B-list invasion movies. But this raises an important question. If aliens did try to invade us, how would America fare? Honestly I am confident in America’s ability, but it wouldn’t be easy; we would need a plan, a damn good one. Luckily for President Barack Obama, I’ve been committing horrible atrocities against aliens in video games for more than a decade now. Trust me — I think I know a thing or two about intergalactic warfare. First off, never have a conference with all the world leaders in one building. It will likely be destroyed leading to mass chaos. If they need to discuss strategy, Skype will likely suffice. God help us all if we lose the Internet. Sacrifice is an essential part to any war. At least one country is going to get completely annihilated. Let’s be proactive and choose one that will have the least impact on the rest of the world. I suggest Moldova; it really hasn’t done anything important since the 1400s. Cultural insensitivity might save most of the world someday. Next, we’re going to need lasers. My prior experience leads me to think that 5.56mm bullets will do nothing against their hard, insect-like exoskeletons. Unfortunately we are far from reaching that kind of technology. One option would be to steal their weapons. They are far superior to ours; they almost never jam.We are also going to need amphetamines, a buttload of them. You can’t fight aliens if you got that 2:30 in the afternoon feeling. America will need every disgruntled farmer in the country hard at work in their labs cooking up meth. We should subsidize their work to provide them proper incentives. Hawking advised that we avoid all contact with aliens. By this he meant don’t have sex with them. No matter how attractive their space women are, do not touch them. Like old WWII propaganda posters say, “The enemy is listening; keep it to yourself. He wants to know what you know.” Not only will careless bed talk cost human lives, but your chances of getting Space-AIDS increases dramatically after laying with an alien. Once we win the war we will be left with super advanced alien technology, which we could potentially use to cure cancer, solve our dependence on foreign oil, or do something worthwhile, like invading another planet. If Mr. Obama needs to discuss tactics, I will be in a dark room by myself reviewing old matches of Supreme Commander 2 for most of the summer. I’ll be waiting for the call.E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(04/21/10 12:28am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Last week a volcano erupted in Eyjafjallajökull, Iceland. If you can’t pronounce that, it’s OK; neither can I. So let’s just call the city of the volcano Hannes, shall we?The blast has kept European flights grounded for days. Now normally I wouldn’t care about what happens in Europe and neither should you. They are thousands of miles away from us, and most of them don’t speak English — therefore they are irrelevant to you and me.But this volcano has made its presence known to America by costing our airlines millions of dollars in travel revenue. Like the attack on Pearl Harbor, Hannes has awoken the sleeping giant.The last time this mountain spurted it did so for 14 months. Since April 15, as a whole, the big five American airlines with flights to and from Europe have lost an average of $21.9 million per day. We’re looking at more than $9 billion in lost revenues if Hannes keeps unloading its ashes for as long as it spewed before. This could potentially bankrupt the entire airline industry.What do we do about it?Good question. Since there is no mountain-sized version of Tums to calm Hannes’ mighty indigestion, I see only one other option: the use of tactical nuclear weapons.Indeed the time for bilateral negotiations has passed; European leaders are simply trying to appease Hannes by grounding all their flights. But this simply reinforces its actions. In order to put a cork in Hannes’ volcano’s O face, we need to drop a few ICBMs in his pie hole. Nothing major, just the complete annihilation of the countryside.The wonderful part of this solution is that there will be absolutely no negative side effects that I can foresee. But what about the cute herds of sheep that graze on its pastures?Those sheep have been living with Hannes’ belligerence for generations; they knew this day would come. If they do not want to be obliterated, the sheep can vote with their hooves. Honestly, you should be saving your sympathy for sheep living in the continental United States.But America can’t drop a nuclear bomb on Hannes. Iceland is protected by the Nuclear Posture Review that President Obama signed earlier this month.We never found any WMDs in Iraq, though, and we still invaded. I haven’t heard much about Iraq in a while. No news is good news, so I assume it was a resounding success and that bombing Hannes could be just as successful. In addition, the Nuclear Posture Review has yet to be ratified by the Senate, meaning Obama still has time to push the button.It’s kind of like getting sloppy with a stripper at your bachelor party one last time before you tie the knot. Yeah, it can ruin your reputation, but it’s worth it because once you say “I do,” you won’t be dropping any bombs for a long time. Am I right guys? Don’t answer that.We are working against the clock. Every day that Hannes’ volcano relieves itself into the sky, Americans lose another dollar. And every day that passes, the Senate gets closer to eliminating our only viable option for dealing with Hannes’ ashen discharge.E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(04/19/10 11:23pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>The California initiative to legalize marijuana is coordinated by Oaksterdam University, a left-wing group that wants the state to regulate and tax the sale and use of cannabis.Nothing new here, just liberals wanting to overregulate an already stable market. I don’t get why the far left can’t just let the invisible hand of the free market pack a bowl in peace. I always thought it would be against stoner etiquette to tax marijuana.Furthermore, with this legislation a permit would be required to grow large quantities of marijuana and hemp. Who would likely be the first to capitalize on this? Tobacco companies, of course, like Marlboro and Newport.Have you ever smoked a cowboy killer? They’re filthy sticks of what could loosely be called tobacco. There are more preservatives than nicotine in them. Does the left wing really want to smoke a joint made by Marlboro? Think of how nasty that would taste. Or what about menthol marijuana cigarettes, for when you’ve got a sore throat but still wanna get high. Though on the other hand, brands like Swisher Sweets would probably stop producing tobacco entirely, cutting the chase and just selling pre-rolled blunts. I suspect many companies that strictly make cigarillos will end up switching industries.But where would you buy these finely mass-produced goods? At one of many little small head shops that would pop up overnight, of course. In Bloomington we only have a handful of these: Amused Clothing, 420, and Stimline Variety to name a few.These would become the aristocracy of dealers, while numerous smaller shops would open up next to every Big Red in town. Though these establishments are pretty chill right now, they will know how great it is to have money, and they’ll understand how taxes can screw up their prices.On the hemp side of things, companies like Hanes would start producing hemp shirts and underwear. They wouldn’t sell because they’re softer than cotton, but because the “idea” behind it, which also means that trendy downtown stores would start selling the crap out of hemp clothing. Urban Outfitters would dominate Bloomington by creating a whole line of hemp clothing, which look exactly the same as their other Goodwill-inspired hand-me-downs but $10 to $20 more expensive. I could see them selling a D.A.R.E. shirt made of hemp. It would be a hit with ninth graders taking health class. I can already hear them laughing about smoking their shirts. I hope some dumb kid would try; he’d instantly win a Darwin Award.It seems like the left wing is trying to do what they try do every night: taxing and regulating the nation.E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(04/14/10 12:16am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>After Michael Jackson died, his approval rating skyrocketed, and there was an explosion of new fans.When Ronald Reagan died, he became nearly as holy as Jesus to Republicans.Because a star has died, people tend to gloss over all those glaring, previously unforgivable acts he or she committed. We tend to just focus on the good things they did. I mean, they’re dead now, and you wouldn’t disrespect the dead, would you?Ronald Reagan is widely considered to have been the greatest president of all time, or at least that’s what Sarah Palin tells me. Here are some reasons:Ronnie said if he won the 1980 presidential election he would get our hostages back from terrorists in Iran. Yeah, he was fighting terrorism before it was cool. No big deal.That Reagan fellow was crazy like a fox — there was no telling what he was capable of.I heard he kept an ICBM in his front yard like a totem pole. Less than 20 minutes after he was inaugurated, the Iranians let the hostages go.Boom, what’s next?Oh yeah, someone tried to assassinate Ronald in March of that same year. Emphasis on the word tried, because a month later Ronnie was back in business, cutting taxes and popping bottles of Alizé with Tupac.What else did he do? He single-handedly won the Cold War by pretending he was going to institute the Strategic Defense Initiative.About 30 years ago, Ronnie declared he had scientists working on a project the media nicknamed “Star Wars.”This was to be a highly sensitive system of satellites that could accurately shoot the arming trigger of a commie nuke with light sabers, or something, effectively turning warheads into harmless aluminum tubes of nuclear waste.Meanwhile, back in Moscow, Mikhail Gorbachev was standing in a bread line being briefed by a bear. He nearly dropped his ration in surprise, asking, “Hold on a moment...Is that even remotely feasible?”The bear shrugged, “I dunno.”In response, Gorbachev spent billions of dollars trying to create his own version of “Star Wars.”By 1990, the USSR was bankrupt and the Cold War was over. You’re welcome, world.As you can see, Republicans are right. Evoking Ronald Reagan’s name should be just as powerful as evoking God. The man didn’t have an evil bone in his body. He never did anything wrong at all, ever.Unless you count the Savings and Loan Crisis, when hundreds of lending institutions failed after Reagan manipulated borrowing regulations, resulting in America’s first large-scale bank bail-out of $160 billion.And then there was the Iran-Contra Affair, when Reagan sold $30 million in arms to Iran to fund a secret revolution in Nicaragua.And even after several U.S. officials were indicted on conspiracy grounds, none of them went to prison because they were subsequently pardoned.But other than that, he could walk on water. E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(04/06/10 10:37pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>This morning I awoke to a swooshing sound from outside. I pushed away the blinds, revealing light green poofs, full of life, swaying at me. I smashed my arm through the window, grabbed a branch and investigated. Looks like your classic average case of leaves. It was finally time to go outside again.I felt naked wearing just shorts and a T-shirt, but I stepped out to soak it all in. It appeared all the trees around the apartment building were budding leaves and flowers were sprouting up in so many embarrassing places: between sidewalk cracks and in potholes. Suddenly, I had an urge to start walking. Northward bound, I passed some old men sitting in front of the halfway house. They smiled and were significantly less creepy than usual. They said hello to me for the first time this year and I made a mental note to stop making fun of them. They seemed like all-right guys.I couldn’t remember the last time I ate a stack of pancakes, so I sat down at a picnic table outside of The Village Deli. I brought a small jar of Dillman Farm’s grape jelly — I’m not into those prepackaged tabs of Smucker’s.While I enjoyed my meal, I watched people walk down Kirkwood. Girls wore sun dresses, and bros, their best polos. Everyone was more relaxed and less broken than a month ago. Instead of darted glances, I got wide smiles.With my arteries blocked, I paid my bill and decided to buy a pair of sunglasses. For the first time in a while, the sun was almost too bright. I stopped by Haley’s to pick up a pair of sick, white Oakleys to let people know I have money, but I still like to buy ugly crap. Then I strutted toward Dunn Meadow like a boss.I was ready at any moment to catch a Frisbee. There must have been five or six different discs flying in the air, which made the clearing somewhat of a battlefield. I got into a pickup game of Ultimate Frisbee with some chill looking dudes from Collins. And I must say I was doing well until about halfway through the game, when I caught a Frisbee with my face and everything went black.While I was knocked out, I thought about all the things I should have been doing.I hadn’t registered, let alone even looked at, classes for next semester.And wasn’t rent due last week? Probably shouldn’t have bought those sunglasses. Could it slide until I get paid next Friday? Hell, I still haven’t found out where I’m living next year. It’s probably too late to find an apartment close to campus by now.Then I woke up, in the grass, with a bunch of onlookers standing in a circle around me. My shorts vibrated. It was a text, “u missed the stats exam btw.”Eff it, who cares? It’s nice out. E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu
(03/30/10 10:50pm)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Normally I don’t like to get involved in national politics. Mostly because I’m always right and people don’t seem to understand why. But I have to express my inalienable right to serve up some truth. Ding. Did you hear that? Your justice is ready; let’s do this. Last Tuesday Barack “The Taxman” Obama signed into law the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act. I haven’t heard much about what it does, and that’s not really important. What is important is how much money will be left in your bottle after Washington takes a swig.What really bakes my scrod is how the Big O is handling the cost of health care reform. He plans on actually paying for it. Raising taxes to account for new government projects? I don’t think he knows how America works. You start by legislating some new service. After that you cut taxes, and then you let the next guy figure out how to pay for it. It’s called procrastinating. All the cool countries are doing it.There are a few new taxes that make me livid. First is a 10 percent service tax on indoor tanning. It’s expected to collect $2.7 billion by 2019. Obama obviously hates the Midwest. During the winter, I go tanning probably 20 or 30 times a month because we don’t get sunlight between December and March. This is devastating; my graham-cracker tan will fade to white like it was dipped in a glass of milk. Effective in 2018, there will be a 40 percent excise tax on “Cadillac” insurance plans. These are insurance packages that cost more than $27,500 for families or $10,200 for individuals. I don’t understand why the government wouldn’t want me to spend more money.My insurance plan is saving someone’s job. I also don’t see how other people can make it out there if they don’t go to the ER as much as I do. I’m not a doctor. I don’t know what the proper procedure is for stubbing your toe on one of the many uneven sidewalks in Bloomington. I’d rather have a professional roll their eyes while applying a band-aid than do it myself and screw it up.It’s becoming clear that Obama hates rich people. Starting in 2013 there will be an increase of 0.9 percent to the Medicare payroll tax for individuals who earn more than $200,000 per year and married couples with annual incomes greater than $250,000. That’s almost a whole percent. Great, now I can’t afford more jet skis. What could bother me more than paying taxes? Seeing the government take responsibility for mismanaged programs like Medicare Advantage, a program that forwards Medicare coverage to private insurers.Through time, MA clients became liabilities to hospitals. Instead of Medicare reimbursing the fees, hospitals were paying for their patients. It’s like going into Qdoba and getting paid to eat a burrito. Obama has decided to cut the Medicare Advantage budget by $132 billion during the next 10 years and eventually might eliminate the entire program.All this accountability makes me nostalgic for the American government of the 2000s. We used to live in the moment, cutting lines of taxes in the club bathroom, not giving a damn about tomorrow.E-mail: nicjacob@indiana.edu