Grape Flavoring

Why does it exist? Whether it's Jolly Ranchers, popsicles or Kool-Aid, the purple ones are always the ones left and the back of the breezer or the bottom of the bag. There's of course that one kid from summer camp who likes grape flavoring, but there can't be enough of those kids to justify the flavor. I mean, purple's a color worth using, but it doesn't have to be grape; raspberries are never blue, for example, yet there are blue raspberry sno-cones.

I think the first problem with artificial grape flavoring is that it tastes nothing like grape. Admittedly, artificial apple, strawberry, etc. flavors taste nothing like the fruits arbitrarily associated with them, but at least those flavors are good.

Case in point: my suitemate had a crate of Fruit2O waters. "Natural Grape" was of course a lie. It was artifical grape, or else the liquid wouldn't be clear. The premise behind the water is that you dip your tongue in sugar without having to drink soda or gain any weight, since it's calorie free. I sampled her waters, addiction forming. But then we ran out of the flavors that I like.

I started at the crate, scowling at the purple label. Grape. My artifical flavor arch nemesis. I pulled it out, thinking that since the other flavors actually tasted like, to my surprise, the actual fruits mentioned on the label, I might enjoy a grape-flavored anything for the first time. Grape, however, did not disappoint me with its evil taste. Why does grape fail in being replicated when other fruits don't? And why do they keep selling it, despite this deficiency? Yeah, think about it.

technorati tags:grape, candy, artificial, food

BUMP!

I have come to a conclusion: college students are assholes. But the passive aggressive kind. And only in one particular circumstance (well, some engage in being unpleasant at other times, too, but I'm putting that aside). This time when people are at their worst is while walking to class.

The masses surge into the streets of the city, jaywalking en masse. They jostle, shove, and do anything short of push people moving in opposite directions into oncoming traffic to get to the next class five minutes early (for a power nap before lecture). There are these distinct, fifteen minute windows in which slow walkers are blessedly abused and eaten alive. But with slow walkers out of the way, there is only one concern: not being the one thrown in front of the speeding Jeep.

There are no real words to describe the chaos. I guess the best way to put it is this: I've seen riots less brutal than what I endure two to three times a day. Going off on a tangent, I do this thing where a part of me thinks that if I keep on my present trajectory, the corner of the railing or chair will move out of my way, bowing to my supreme will. They don't, and I run into them. Many of the walkers do the same thing, only with people. There are butt cracks between buildings into which people stream from side stairwells in the buildings. The students rush to turn into the main flow of the foot traffic, wielding their blunt instruments, cleverly concealed in tote bags.

I engage in a battle of wills with these people, especially when people turn to move in the opposite direction as me. Today a girl took a wide arc out of a building butt crack and our shoulders slammed against each other, forcing us almost off balance with the force of our passive aggressive rage. Neither of us muttered an apology, and looked peeved.

Filled with anger and stress that we're not allowed to express, we use these daily rituals to let it out, battering each other. It's mortal combat: no mercy.

technorati tags:college, war, class, city

Another list!

Five Events to Summarize My Weekend:

1; I'm in love.  His name is "My Super Hot Art History TA."  It's like some hand has been strategically choosing my TAs this year in order to maximize my distraction.  First Jorge, the anthropology TA, now the art TA.

2. Seeing The Exorcist in no way prepares you see projectile vomiting live and in color.  It was at a party, and the shrieking crowd parted like the Red Sea.  I felt bad, but only as bad as a spectator to unanticipated, projectile vomiting can be.

3. Sometimes it's time to just turn down eating.  I had three dinners on Friday.  My suitemate left for the semester, so we were having a goodbye dinner.  I had to leave that dinner early, after eating, to attend my pre-orientation group's reunion dinner.  Stuffed, I thought I was finished with eating for that day.  But then I ran into some of my friends and they dragged me to go eat pizza.  And because I have a compulsive need to not just sit in a restaurant without ordering something, I agreed to split the bill on pizza and have a slice.  I had two slices, and it was a mistake.  NEVER AGAIN.

4. Any expectation that a group of people who were mildly awkward together and unable to hold a conversation without long silences will change just by being apart for a couple months is a foolish one.  Everyone will still be awkard, but still wearing different clothes.

5. Those birthday hats that you used to wear at all the pool parties? You know the ones, shaped like a cone and with the elastic that straps it to your head, even through the soda- and cake-induced high? They're not meant for adult-sized heads.  The elastic doesn't want to be friends with your chin.

technorati tags:love, college, movies, food, friends, parties

A summary of my day

In short, today I proved my mother right: I am a mess.

I had a good day, but then I had to write a review of the new album by The Shins, "Wincing the Night Away."  And for some reason it just wasn't coming.  I knew what I wanted to say, but there were no metaphors or brilliant word plays that I could think of with which to express it.  So in the end the review turned out like the digital equivalent of pooping on a piece of paper and turning it in.

My editor had a definite "what happened?" face, because I'm normally pretty good, and editing my reviews doesn't take an hour and a half.  I'm going to write this review off, hope people don't hate me for taking a review that a bunch of people wanted and doing it no justice and show their displeasure by hurling flaming bags of dog poo through my window.  But I have no guarantees of that.  At least I got a free album that's pretty good.

I will now go stare blankly at some text as I turn the pages.  Maybe now I'll get my butt in gear for this semester.

technorati tags:music, newspaper, college, reviews, writing

The Rage of the Phone-a-thon

Well, as is my typical fashion, I've come to be fanatical about my school.  So naturally, when the opportunity came to host pre-frosh (recent admits) in my room in April gush at them, I lept at the opportunity.  But before I'm allowed to fill my suite with impressionable high school seniors and receive my free t-shirt (for every t-shirt I throw out to minimize my collection, three more free ones appear), I had to participate for an hour and a half in the phone-a-thon.

The went something like this:

"Hi, I'm Meredith and I'm a freshman at ** University.  Congrats on getting in! Do you have any questions?"

*insert one of two initial reactions:

1. panicked silence...he has 8,000 questions but suddenly they can't remember a single one.  But what if the opportunity passes and he never get to ask the questions? Suddenly an innocent evening hating on George Bush while watching the State of the Union has become one that could determine his future happiness.  Oh God, oh God.  The PRESSURE!
2. silence.....uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh

despite the difference in silences, they both come out sounding like this:*

"Um, no, not really."

The instruction sheet said not to leave it at that.  Ask them questions, it commanded.  Look at their interests, pull one of those 8,000 questions out of the abyss into which they flew.  I did as told, and then grilled (subtly) for information on their college plans, the likelihood they would come and be submerged in our propaganda.  Some had more questions than others, and I ended up talking to a couple for a long time.  The girl I'm supposed to be hosting for the re-visit weekend seemed excellent, so I hope she comes.

But there was a problem: four of the people I was supposed to call go to boarding school.  I guess the admissions office figured that would be enough that we had in common to make me a good connection.  Perhaps true, if I could have reached them.  But as soon as I saw the numbers, I knew what was coming: lovely conversations with parents confused as to why the college would be calling their child when it had a record that he/she goes to boarding school.  And of course, as I had predicted, every time I got a cell number, the person didn't pick up.

But my favorite moment of the night was when I called the one person of the night who was watching the State of the Union.  His mother picked up, and asked if I could call tomorrow.  I said someone else would call back, which I guess she interpreted as indignation.  So she called her son over, who repeated his firm interest in watching Bush make a fool of himself and his lack of interest in talking to me.

"Congrats! How are you?"
"I'm watching the State of the Union.  How long will this take?"
"Well, it depends on how many questions you have."
"What."
"I'm calling to see if you have any questions about the university.  Do you?"
"NO."
"Well, I see you do tennis.  Do you have any questions about tennis here at the university?"
"NO."
"Okay, well, are you interested in information on the re-visit weekend?"
"NO."
"Well, then have a great night, and enjoy the State of the Union."
"*ANGRY PHONE CLICK*"

technorati tags:college, admissions, recruiting, prefrosh, conversations

The Belch Game

I can't believe I haven't written about this before.  If I have, someone please correct me.  I was reminded when I instinctually said a color after burping today.  The situation played out like this:

*burp*
"Green!"
"Poo!"

Kaley insisted that she was trying to say blue and purple at the same time, but we made merciless fun of her anyway.

The game is this: whenever someone belches, everyone in hearing vicinity says a color.  If you repeat a color or are the last one to say a color, you have to make a sex noise.  The real joy is in being one of a few people who are in on it, and taking advantage of another's ignorance to make them lose the game.  Sometimes, however, sensing imminent danger from not succumbing to the flow of the crowd, people will say a color even having no idea what's going on.

That's all for today.  No insights, no witticisms, just a request that you spread the game around and enjoy yourselves.

technorati tags:games, burping, friends

Aaaah, bureaucracy

I didn't post yesterday because I lost track of the week, and thought it was Saturday...don't ask, being at college has made things fuzzy.

I braved a hospital alone for the first time ever yesterday. I'm working at the psychology department's comparative cognition monkey lab this semester, something I mention at every opportunity. It's one of those situations where I thought I had only told a few people, but it turns out that I'd told everyone I know multiple times. I finally caught on when people started saying, "Yes, you already told me," and their eyes went wide like they were prepping for wider-ranging laser vision to eliminate me and my talking more quickly.

I have to get health clearance before I'm allowed near the capuchins. It's not for my own safety, mind you, but for the monkeys'. For the psychology department's purposes, I'm a disease-ridden threat, despite not ever touching the monkeys. I was instructed to get a TB test with the location "Innoculations Department" only listed, and waltzed over to the university hospital to get one.

It was sort of like a board game/labyrinth hybrid. The start is at the front desk. I rolled a four and ended up on the fourth floor at Student Health Services. I was sent back two departments to Employee Services and receive paperwork. Go forward one step and receive information about my last measles vaccination. Roll snake eyes, get sent to Immunizations desk. And then, enter the bowels of the Immunizations department to discover that the reason you couldn't find it in the first place, why it wasn't labeled on any signs, was because it was a sub-department of the immunizations department, something you just have to know. And if you don't, you get punished by being sent on an undesired tour of the hospital building. After 45 minutes of wandering through the bowels of the hospital, it took 30 seconds to get my test.

technorati tags:psychology, college, monkeys, health

Six Weird Things

I was tagged yesterday, with the powers of Blogger's "next blog" button, by filbert. The game is to list six ways in which (I think) I'm weird and then tag six other blogs. Here it goes...

1. I went to clowning camp one summer, and it was one of the best times of my life. I still know how to spin plates on sticks, engage in comical whipped cream pie antics, paint squirmy childrens' faces, make balloon animals, and juggle (sort of). The student council president my senior year was a certified clown. He juggled knives during one of his addresses to the student body, and it made me recall my fond memories of training to throw pies at people's faces.

2. In elevators with guys whom I don't know, I look at them and try to figure out what it would be like if we were dating based just on their appearance.

3. Sometimes I cross the street even when I don't need to when I see someone I know coming from the opposite direction. It's not even that I don't like the person, it's just that I'm never sure when the exact moment is to wave, how long to avert me eyes from them, and whether or not we'll have to start small talk. So I just avoid it and go on my merry way.

4. I hate pants. I wouldn't shut up about it all during high school, as my friends will verify.

5. For some reason, I am incapable of getting a glass of milk without incident if I pick that up before I get food. Since I arrived at college, I have knocked over a glass of milk, filling my tray and splashing the floor and my clothing a total of five times. It's always a glass of milk, never any other drink. I smack it against the juice machine, I knock it over pulling out salad dressing from under the sneeze bar. I try to pay attention, but I only notice at just the moment of no return.

6. After to listening to a song with mildly intelligible lyrics two or three times, I can sing along with the entire thing. I retain the lyrics for years.

I'm tagging:

Harrison
Elisabeth
Mimz
Bekka
Joe
Kiwiqueen

Also, I have some important news: in the next couple weeks, I'll be moving to bananatheory.net. So be prepared to update your links.

technorati tags:tagged, weird, facts, milk, relationships, clowns, pants

Trash Mountain

Calling what we have in my suite Trash Mountain is misleading.  It's more like Trash Tower, coming closer and closer to reaching heights the proportion of Babel.  But when it's finally felled by a higher power (gravity, God, the secular hand of external force, for example), it will end with factions, rather than multiple languages.

In one camp will be the people who take out the garbage diligently while planning how exactly to execute a passive aggressive retaliation.  In another camp will be the environmentalists, raising their eyebrows, hands on hips, matter-of-factly stating that if people just recycled their bottles instead of putting them in the garbage, took one minute showers and stopped releasing balloons into the atmosphere to rain down and choke baby penguins, all problems would be eliminated, including the garbage.  Finally, there will be those who slink away in silence.

We have a habit in my suite of ten girls of, upon find the garbage can full, just stacking our yogurt carton and still-folded box on top of it, resting the lid of the can so that it sits higher and higher from the can, creating an appealing layer of visible garbage between them.  People can't be bothered to take the garbage down four flights of stairs just because they happened to be the one to have garbage when the can was full.  The only solution is to pack down the garbage and cram new things in.

The only problem with this otherwise excellent avoidance tactic is that when someone finally decides to be the good Samaritan, they can't get the garbage out.  It's a two person job.  Someone holds the can while the other tugs furiously, jerking the can off the floor occasionally, despite the spotter's efforts.  The garbage rises up teasingly before sinking back in, wedged.

As my suitemate so eloquently put it at the end of today's latest run-in, "I feel like I just gave birth...to a tower of garbage."

technorati tags:college, trash, garbage, roommates, birth

Shopping Period

It's shopping alright, but not the fun kind. Shopping period, for those not familiar with it, is a practice some colleges engage in; rather than going for the "grin and bear it" philosophy of choosing classes and sitting through a semester in the front row with the professor affectionately known as "The Spitter," you go to as many classes as you're interested in for about two weeks. At the end of the period, you register for the ones that seem the best. It's sort of fun to go to all the different classes, but it presents some problems, such as doing homework for 9 classes until you narrow down the options.

Some people are in the habit of sitting in on a class and leaving midway through to attend another. I don't engage in that practice, but it potentially means sitting through a boring lecture. It reminds me of those times in department stores when someone's making a long-winded sales pitch for something I'm not interested in, like an orange, knitted poncho (in this case, an international relations class), but I'm too polite or too something to tell them to stop.

But my favorite part about reading week is definitely finding the classes. Even if you understand the "building code" under which buildings are labeled on the classes server and therefore have a vague idea of where the class is being held, it may be of no use. For instance, my classmates and I, searching for our seminar classroom at 9 this morning, milled around in a building looking for classroom 266. We could find 265, 264 and 267, all of which were in the same general area, but for some reason 266 was nowhere to be found. The rooms were behind a door, sitting in a ring. 264, 265, SKIP straight to 267. Despair set in after about ten minutes.

Finally, the professor came out into the hallway, wondering why his supposedly intelligent students couldn't find a classroom. It turns out that classroom 265 has a hallway that lets you in to classroom 266. So the reason we couldn't find it was because our classroom was hidden inside of another classroom. Logical enough. Oh, shopping period, and your unending surprises.

technorati tags:college, class

A Couple Thoughts for a Monday

"A giant filament! A giant filament!"
-kid on the train today

I saw Dreamgirls on Saturday. My favorite quote came not from the movie, but from the man behind me in the theater who asked his wife, an hour and a half in and in a disgruntled tone, "What is this, some kind of musical or something?"

technorati tags:quotes, Monday

You damn kids!

One of the problems with living away from home is not receiving vital updates from home.  For instance, the workings of the house alarm system.  For the first time since early summer, I was exiting the house when no one else was there, and had to set the alarm.  So naturally I flubbed up this basic procedure and set off the alarm as I was leaving.

I got a call from the security company and gave them the incorrect password, because I was out of the loop.  While it occurred to my parents to keep me updated on these changes when I was at home, it was a case of out of sight, out of mind.  The woman said, "Thank you very much," and hung up.  Then I left.

My mother came home about five minutes after I left.  She let the dog out into the back yard, and then a policeman ordered her and our house guest out of the house.  She didn't understand what was going on at first, since the words were garbled.  My mother assumed it was some of the noisy neighbors getting into some new loud interaction.  She said that when she finally came out and realized that it was a policeman and that he was talking to her, the situation felt surreal.  After all, she was going on with business as usual, and here was the policeman telling her to come out of her own house with her hands where he could see them. 

The policeman figured out almost immediately that she was probably not the criminal mastermind he had been sent to capture.  Nevertheless, he wouldn't leave until she flashed her driver's license and called to the company to tell them that her teenage daughter figured out how to set off the house alarm on herself and give an old password.

I felt so guilty when I got back and she told me.  The security lady had sounded so casual, I assumed that everything was fine.  But of course logically she isn't going to yell, "I CAUGHT YOU IN THE ACT, THIEF, AND THE POLICE ARE GOING TO NAIL YOUR ASS!" when someone gives the incorrect password.  I went on my merry way, just in time for the police to show up and order my unsuspecting mother from the house.  By coincidence, her cell phone had run out of batteries, so when the company called to ask if the name I'd given them was legitimate, and the password business was a mistake, she didn't pick up the call.  She had no idea that the alarm had been tripped.

So here's the take-home message: unless you want to be assaulted by the police, keep your college student up to date on important changes in the house.

technorati tags:house, alarms, police, family, accidents

Haikus

Zombies in my yard.
I attack with greatly force.
No more zombies. Yay!

My wireless will
spontaneously shut off.
Why? Curse you! Grrr, aaaarg.

No more romantic
comedies, please. My friends are
susceptible girls.

When I play Myst at
night, I think something is in
my house...and flip out.

I check behind my
shower curtain to see if
people are hiding.

technorati tags:haikus

Presidential speeches and liquor

There's a popular drinking game at my college called the Presidential Speech Drinking Game.  The rules are slightly different depending on the topic of the speech.  There are anticipated "hot" words that will come up, such as some variation of the word "strong" or "terror."  Each time the president says the designated word, the entire room has to take a shot. 

Aside from getting people plastered in an immediate fashion, it's also an interesting commentary on the structure of these speeches, if you're sober enough to appreciate it.  The repetition of certain words, meant to inspire confidence and drive the point home, are mocked by college students to their own benefit.  Watching presidental speeches is so sobering, it requires a little liquor to soften the blow.

I just finished watching Bush's speech about the new plan of action for America's occupation in Iraq (free of drink).  I don't really know what to say; the ensuing fifteen hours of analysis by various experts on various television networks should cover much of what I would say, liberal bias included.

But there was one salient idea that arose.  The nation needs a Brazilian: the expeditious removal of excessive Bush.

technorati tags:politics, Bush, college, drinking, games

Head implosion and affairs of the heart

Once upon a time, in the year 1996, my father and I were trying to fly from Orlando to D.C. with an inexplicably located layover in Chicago. This short layover was 30 minutes long when we took off in Florida, and 8 hours when we landed in Illinois. Deciding that we could better invest our 8 hours of unwanted free time in exploring Chicago than sitting in the airport, we departed for a short trip.

My father took me to FAO Schwartz. My seven-year-old head imploded. I'd never been much into shopping, and that included toys. So upon entering this toy Mecca, its sheer power overwhelmed me. My senses were overloaded. The store even had that piano you dance on to play, like in the movie Big. This was more exciting to me than many other children, because it was my childhood ambition to grow up to be Tom Hanks.
("What do you want to be when you grow up, Meredith? A veterinarian? A lawyer?"
"Tom Hanks!"
"You mean you want to be an actress?"
"No, just Tom Hanks.")

Though my father offered to buy me something, I left the store empty-handed, unable to cope with the magnitude of the experience. How could I chose, when the mere thought of picking a single toy from just one aisle nearly sent me into cardiac arrest? Traumatized, I boarded the plane. Later on, after I'd acclimated myself to seeing that many toys at a time, I was able to make subsequent visits to the New York store (which, now that it's returned to specialty toys, is really fun to window shop in) without incident.

My father and I went to New York yesterday, and got back tonight. Though we spent most of the two days together, he had a lunch meeting that left me alone in NYC for three hours. There was only one logical use of my time: shopping (I grew out of my aversion to it). When, after an hour of wandering Bergdorf Goodman (which I'd never visited when old enough to appreciate it) I finally entered the shoe section at a familiar feeling arose within me. The sweaty palms, the increased heartrate, the euphoria all spelled one thing: L-O-V-E. I hadn't recognized it when I was seven, but I knew then what it was.

The younger me, ashamed at how I've strayed from my former aspirations to be as un-girly as possible, cried out, "What's wrong with you? You girl. Where did I go wrong?"

But I can't help it, this dark path I've taken. You can't choose whom you fall in love with. And to you, my new beloved: be still my heart.

technorati tags: shopping, childhood, Tom_Hanks, NYC, love

Smelly Fingers

Reason #323 I don't trust people with smelly sprays in hand: My most recent incident at a perfume counter.

My mother and I were out shopping for makeup a couple days ago, and we decided to swing by the perfume counter.  Innocuous enough, I thought.  The plan was to spray on a couple of samples and then go investigate the make-up while the scents set. 

I sprayed perfume on my wrist, keeping the other one clean so that I'd have more skin to test blush and eye shadow on.  My mother grabbed a couple of perfumes she consistently uses and set them aside with the saleswoman.  The woman at the counter, spotting unresisting, easily snared (teenage girl with parent, and therefore credit card) prey and trying to make a sale, insisted that I let her spray samples of "young and fresh" perfumes on each pinkie.  That was when I made my mistake.

I held out my hands, unsuspecting, and she coated them with two spritzes of perfume, point blank.  I walked through the makeup section of Nordstrom, trying to keep my pinkies elevated and away from the rest of my fingers until they dried.  But my pinkies wouldn't dry; there was too much perfume.  For fear of leaving the scents on every surface I touched, I eventually had to wipe my pinkies off on a tissue.  But still the intermingling smell of the two overpowering perfumes remained.

As I moved through the crowds of people huddled over trays of blush samples, I could feel the reproachful gazes of those around me.  In such an enclosed space, the multitudes were hit with the full brunt of my flowery stench.  I could feel one woman's stare when I stopped at the Mac counter.  I tried to focus on the pitch of the saleswoman trying to sell me 8 different brushes that all do the same thing, but to no avail.  To the saleswoman's distress, I quickly purchased only one brush to perform the one task of blending eyeshadow and made my getaway.

When the perfume specialist said "young and fresh," what she really meant was "baby prostitute."  Two showers, multiple hand washings, and two days later, I still reek.  The perfumes may not have smelled good, but they're long lasting.  Every time I move my hand too close to my face, I get a whiff of a flower-vanilla-something.  My skin and nostrils gently weep.

Let this be a warning to you all.

technorati tags:perfume, makeup, shopping, teen

Aren't signs supposed to be useful?

I went to the National Portrait Gallery with my mom this afternoon, checking out a special Josephine Baker exhibit.  We were out enjoying the freakishly warm weather (high of 72 degrees).  The National Portrait Gallery reopened during the summer after years of renovation and blocking a formerly convenient street.  It's a beautiful building, but there are some tricky aspects of it.

One such aspect is that it's difficult to navigate it.  Someone in charge realized this, so they set up signs periodically telling us where things are located.  For example, "Floor 3: Interpretive Dung Portraits of Disenfranchised, Indigenous Peoples."  The museum is set up as a circle, so any direction you walk, you'll end up where you started if you walk for long enough.  Unfortunately, the circle route is not an option, but compulsory.  There are no cross-hallways from exhibit to exhibit, and getting to one exhibit often means passing through another.

The signs point us in the right direction once we reach the floor of interest.  But not the signs next to elevators and stairwells.  So here's the basic scenario: you reach the new floor, knowing only that it has four exhibits, one of which is the one you want, "Ear Portraits in Various Mediums."  It is listed on the sign next to the stairwell, but there are no arrows.  So you have to take your chances and pick a direction.  Once you're firmly on the wrong path and wandering through the "Paintings of the Dead, White and Moneyed," another sign appears.  The ear exhibit was in the opposite direction, the arrows say.  Entrenched in the exhibit, you are unsure of what to do.  Do you go back, or would it be faster to just finish walking through the exhibit? After all, there's still a chance that the ear exhibit is behind another exhibit, and therefore farther away.

So here's the key question: why in the world would they put the signs with direction arrows only in places where they're too late to be of use?

Okay, so I posted on Sunday, and I misled you all by saying to check on Saturday.  Apologies...my wireless internet was on the fritz.

technorati tags:museums, portraits, signs, directions, family

Oh no! Cop out, part II

Sorry kids, check back for a post tomorrow.

In the mean time, you should go to a TEA PARTAY!

technorati tags:laziness, tea

50 Things I Learned in 2006

I'm not normally into these blog challenge thingies, but I've decided to go for it. Taken from Mimz at Illogical Paradox, who got it from Lorelle.

1. Executing Saddam Hussein won't resolve anything.
2. all the words to "Rapper's Delight"
3. how to evade Sephora employees
4. jello shots are delicious
5. how to take photos that capture at least 2/3 of my face without looking through the viewfinder
6. chai tea lattes are highly addictive
7. choreographed a capella performances make me laugh
8. my Hogwarts letter didn't just get lost in the mail
9. the most exciting thing about being 18 is being able to vote
10. people often don't really want your advice, just to know you care enough to give it
11. I sometimes make jokes even when I'm not happy because I'm afraid that people won't take me seriously if I act serious
12. absence makes the heart grow fonder
13. ...sometimes
14. I kind of like that JC Chasez song, "Blowin' Me Up With Her Love," but I will chalk up this admission to temporary insanity
15. the most peaceful place at college is the fire escape attached to my dorm
16. graduating from high school is anti-climactic
17. laser tag never gets old
18. knowing global warming is bad and having social consciousness doesn't stop one from liking it when it's 57 degrees in January
19. trying to move around in D.C. during a state funeral is like trying to go through a maze with no exit
20. 69-pound English bulldogs exist
21. football is far more interesting when you know the rules
22. spending your summer lazing around is not a crime
23. when there's a tie on the door of the bathroom in a frat house, take it seriously and don't walk in
24. Maria Callas' version of "O mio babbino caro" from "Gianni Schicchi" makes me cry
25. Harlequinn romance novels are hilarious
26. people don't care if you spit in your food; they'll still eat it from the dorm fridge
27. how to eat ice cream for breakfast without feelings of guilt
28. how to dance in high heels
29. when in doubt, it's best to say hi to that random dude from English class
30. vegetarianism isn't a lifestyle but an epidemic
31. one shouldn't wear shorts when riding a mechanical bull
32. human birth is a highly improbable affair
33. how to be in a marching band
34. not knowing what you want to do with your life at 18-years-old is okay
35. your mom jokes don't necessarily lose their entertainment value with age
36. youtube is beautiful
37. wikipedia isn't the devil (but it's still up to no good)
38. how to write an album review
39. no matter how many times I pick up my friends' guitars and strum random notes for 10 minutes, that will not be sufficient to teach me guitar
40. hitting a deer can derail a train
41. living on the 4th floor of a building doesn't mean it's quiet
42. I will live to see a female Speaker of the House
43. the relationship between alcohol and feces
44. you can buy Skittles in a resealable bag
45. Hugh Hefner has three girlfriends
46. more about Britney Spears' life than I ever wanted to know
47. how to make a paper written late at night be at least read like English
48. fire stairs aren't for escaping burning buildings; they're an extra closet for all the stuff that doesn't fit in your suite
49. how to parallel park in under 30 seconds
50. how to jaywalk across an intersection, rather than just a street

Oh, and on the shameless self-promotion front: the Bloggies have come around again. If you're interested in nominating me for awards (HINT HINT!), I would like to note that I am a teenager, am absurdly humorous and have a new blog (started in 2006).

Cheers.

technorati tags:knowledge, college, band, wikipedia, internet, youtube, alcohol

Why television marathons cause me pain

There is a phenomenon in television in which all television on Saturday night is horrendous.  More horrendous than usual.  I realize that this is because people are supposed to have social lives and not be watching television on Saturday night.  But every once in a while, when I want to take a break from my wild, Paris Hilston-esque lifestyle, I spend the night in.  These rare times are frustrating.  The only way I can describe the apparent philosophy for lining up shows on Saturday night television is: why bother?

The feeling that television stations have given up on providing me with something interesting to watch is doubly prominent around the new year.  They make a minimal effort to dress up the fact that nobody wants to work by giving us a series of marathons of popular shows.  As a college student, one of the only times I can bask in the downward spiral of entertainment in an unadulterated fashion and sit in front of a television with the single-minded intent to kill brain cells is Christmas break.  This coincides with the television marathons.

Mass marathoning presents two sides of a coin of interest.  In some cases, I like the show, and therefore spend hours watching it, clutching the remote to my chest and hissing like Golem from The Lord of the Rings when my mother tries to turn on the nightly news.  Entire days are wasted.  VH1 is showing "America's Next Top Model" for the next week; thank goodness I scheduled things to get me out of the house prior to knowing this, because there would be trouble, otherwise (I just can't resist a catfight between girls who are so malnourished and skinny that their arms snap in two when a strong breeze blows.  I sort of understand why they're all so bitchy, since they all look so hungry).

In other cases, I hate the show.  I surf through channel after channel, weeping on the inside upon  encountering a third straight day of a Law and Order marathon.  Having the mass marathons of shows I don't enjoy shove out the occasional shows I actually watch is like falling asleep in a rainforest with sickly trees, only to wake up and discover that they've chopped down even those.  And that the paper from those trees is being used for emo middle school poetry.

Alas!

technorati tags:television, marathons, college, Christmas, New, Year

Happy New Year, kids!

When I was in driver's ed, I took particular joy in silently noting my parents' mistakes. I made sure that I proved to anyone who'd (pretend to) listen how much I'd learned by talking incessantly about what poor drivers everyone else was. It was like verbal diarrhea; it poured forth without ceasing. I'm past that stage now, but I still find my simple pleasures.

My new joy is in being on the lookout for drunk drivers. I watch cars weave out of their lanes randomly and putt behind the car going 30 mph on the freeway. This game was particularly fruitful on New Year's Eve, during which I drove a total of 80 miles. I spotted the irresponsible revelers left and right, glaring angrily at them with a sense of glee and accomplishment.

This anecdote had no point, but I feel that random confessions aren't a bad way to begin the new year. Hopefully, it will channel some of the romance and dramatic explosions a la 007 movies. Enjoy, everyone.

And now an unrelated thought to kick off the new year:

"Stop kicking my baby-maker!"
-Caroline