Recently I took a road trip with three close friends up to Colby College and back. As we head towards Maine, I experienced all matter of things I have truly missed as a result of living in New York. Clean air, for one. Second of course was riding in a car that played American music and didn’t have a meter running. And then there were the sights! I saw the color green, such as one might find in trees and grass, and then if I looked straight up, or to the left, or to the right, I could see here, there, and everywhere that often-elusive natural wonder, the sky. (Now don’t fret fellow New Yorkers, we have our natural wonders too! For nothing can produce such a sunset as a terrific layer of smog strewn across a polluted skyline.)
As we drew closer and closer to our Alma Mater, the four of us began to feel a great deal of excitement that could only be matched by our ample trepidation. Would it be just like old times? Would our ID cards work and our favorite college foods and beer games be ready and waiting? Would we be treated like world explorers back from the great beyond, otherwise known as the “real world,” a world apparently distinct from that which is inhabited by all those twenty-two and below? When we told people what we were up to these days, would they look back at us in adulation and applaud how “real” we really are? (And on a more personal note, would my erroneous “I freelance” answer be correctly misinterpreted as respectable employment, such that I wouldn’t have to hide in a corner and cry, comforted only by a constant supply of booze?) We could only hope.
When we got to campus, it was just like old times. The 80’s-themed party we were headed to had just been broken up by campus security, and in the senior apartment building, fist-sized holes decorated the walls of hallways that still had that quintessential Colby hallway smell, and the toilets still flushed so violently you had to plug your ears and run for cover. And then, of course, there were my friends.
My Colby friends, those I traveled with and those I visited, are quite simply some of the best people on this earth, and I am putting it mildly. Basically, my friends are better than your friends, so deal with it. Seeing these amazing people was refreshing and invigorating and fantastic; and yet, the constant reminders that my time on campus had come and gone were plentiful and disconcerting. I no longer had a home base, people had studying to do when I wanted to play, and ultimately there was not enough time to catch up and far too much time to linger and feel awkward in a place that had been, but was certainly no longer, my home.
By the time Sunday rolled around, we were ready to go. It was sad to leave our beautiful campus behind, and sadder still to say good-bye to friends that in the coming months or years will also graduate and disperse themselves along these continental states and beyond. I took great comfort in those I traveled with, however. Colby might not be my home, but my friends are still my friends.
Indeed, road trips are great because they’re a time of intense bonding, a time to learn important facts about your friends you’d never know otherwise. For example, a road trip is the perfect and perhaps only time when it is appropriate to ask not only “If you could have sex with one celebrity, who would it be?” but the follow up: “If, in order to have sex with said celebrity, you had to first kill a baby that you were 90% sure would die the next day anyway, would you do it?” Here’s an example of something I learned: If Matt had to be killed by a wild animal, he would wish to be ravaged by a pack of wolves. I didn’t know that. Julie, on the other hand, would choose to be nibbled to death by a giraffe (which we all agreed was pretty lame). Max proposed death by piranha, which I think says a lot about him – probably all you'd ever need to know. As for me, everyone knows the best way to die is to be savagely ripped apart by a 300-pound grizzly bear. I mean, really.
Post-graduation, some things do remain the same. My friends remain as wonderfully perverted and flatulent as ever (yes, that’s right, be jealous). We still laugh about the same stupid stuff, like the time Matt and Max bought a bunny at a pet store and killed it and then turned it into soup and ate it. Or that time Emily got ass-drunk and outran two Waterville police officers before passing out in her dorm room. But now there are new things to experience and laugh about. It’s like how Julie became a high school teacher, but she’s still Julie, which means sometimes she goes to school dressed as a pirate. And thank God for that.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Global warming, global schwarming
Many out there (wrongly) believe that our earth is becoming warmer and warmer with each passing diesel truck. But how many of you have considered the far more likely and far scarier reality that the world, in only a matter of years, decades, centuries, millenniums, or days(!!), will face another devastating shift of our magnetic poles? That’s right. North will become South. Confederate will turn Yank. Yankees will become Marlins, the North Pole will be in Antarctica, and Australia will become, well, Australia. But the toilet will flush in the opposite OPPOSITE direction. And as we all know, a world in which we can’t predict the proper swirl of our poo is a very frightening world indeed.
There have already been nine polarity shifts in the history of planet Earth. Do you know how many “global warming” incidents there have been? If you said, “Not a one,” give yourself a nice ol’ pat on the back. If you said, “Uh. I don’t know. What’d’ you think, Frankie? Should we say one or two? Two’s a good number. I can count to two. One, two. Just like that. Okay, Imma say three,” punch yourself in the face.
My point is this: Instead of trying to prepare for something that may never happen, we need to be prepared for a day that already has happened nine times. Forget “scientific theory,” I’m talking common f’ing sense, people. The last magnetic pole reversal happened 740,000 years ago. So we're pretty freakin overdue.
In anticipation of that fateful and fast approaching day, here are 10 Tips to Help You Prepare for the 10th Polarity Shift of Earth:
1. Just turning your map upside down will not help. Unless you…
2. Learn to read upside-down.
3. Walking on your head will also be totally useless. But you should learn to walk backwards.
4. Come up with your market-savvy apocalypse-prevention toolkit NOW. Test out the product and ad campaign well ahead of time. Conduct focus groups. Explore color options. I always find pale yellow to be very calming, but of course the fourteen-year-olds will want something with a funky textile in hot pink polka dots or similar. Anticipate the demand for inside pockets lined in pleather leopard print, perfectly sized for holding lipstick, mascara, and/or crack vials. (This may be time to discuss dumping all teenagers into the erroneous North by South-Northerly region for the betterment of all human kind.)
5. FAQ: If North becomes South, does that mean East becomes West? No, idiot. “East” will still be called East, but it will be in the West. See how easy that is? What that means is those fuckers in Chicago will finally be getting the Northeast’s bad weather, and not the other way around. Take that Windy City.
6. People should feel free to invade Russia in the winter. But don’t try it in the summer or you will get fucked.
7. Many terrorist groups will have to alter their hate jargon and letterheads. There will be a lot of administrative costs.
8. Get into cartography NOW. You WILL make bank.
9. Move to the equator. Buy up all the good property in Brazil, Ecuador, and Peru. On second thought, just in case this whole “global warming” b.s. isn’t total bollix, stay inland.
10. In permanent marker, relabel your compass to reflect the new magnetic directions. You will need this to help you find the grocery store and gas station. Using a regular compass drunk will work just fine too.
There have already been nine polarity shifts in the history of planet Earth. Do you know how many “global warming” incidents there have been? If you said, “Not a one,” give yourself a nice ol’ pat on the back. If you said, “Uh. I don’t know. What’d’ you think, Frankie? Should we say one or two? Two’s a good number. I can count to two. One, two. Just like that. Okay, Imma say three,” punch yourself in the face.
My point is this: Instead of trying to prepare for something that may never happen, we need to be prepared for a day that already has happened nine times. Forget “scientific theory,” I’m talking common f’ing sense, people. The last magnetic pole reversal happened 740,000 years ago. So we're pretty freakin overdue.
In anticipation of that fateful and fast approaching day, here are 10 Tips to Help You Prepare for the 10th Polarity Shift of Earth:
1. Just turning your map upside down will not help. Unless you…
2. Learn to read upside-down.
3. Walking on your head will also be totally useless. But you should learn to walk backwards.
4. Come up with your market-savvy apocalypse-prevention toolkit NOW. Test out the product and ad campaign well ahead of time. Conduct focus groups. Explore color options. I always find pale yellow to be very calming, but of course the fourteen-year-olds will want something with a funky textile in hot pink polka dots or similar. Anticipate the demand for inside pockets lined in pleather leopard print, perfectly sized for holding lipstick, mascara, and/or crack vials. (This may be time to discuss dumping all teenagers into the erroneous North by South-Northerly region for the betterment of all human kind.)
5. FAQ: If North becomes South, does that mean East becomes West? No, idiot. “East” will still be called East, but it will be in the West. See how easy that is? What that means is those fuckers in Chicago will finally be getting the Northeast’s bad weather, and not the other way around. Take that Windy City.
6. People should feel free to invade Russia in the winter. But don’t try it in the summer or you will get fucked.
7. Many terrorist groups will have to alter their hate jargon and letterheads. There will be a lot of administrative costs.
8. Get into cartography NOW. You WILL make bank.
9. Move to the equator. Buy up all the good property in Brazil, Ecuador, and Peru. On second thought, just in case this whole “global warming” b.s. isn’t total bollix, stay inland.
10. In permanent marker, relabel your compass to reflect the new magnetic directions. You will need this to help you find the grocery store and gas station. Using a regular compass drunk will work just fine too.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Tall, Gangly Dudes (TGDs)
I was once at some stuffy networking event with my good friend Emily, and we were standing in a sea of collar-up imbeciles feeling thoroughly lost and particularly hateful when we spotted a 6’3” skinny dude across the room. We immediately sidled over to him, assured that while everyone else there was a dick, this guy would be cool, by which I mean adverse to being cool, and therefore pretty damn cool. But he turned out to be a dick too. We were shocked. Rattled, in fact. We just didn’t get it. And yet, not knowing the guy at all, we also couldn’t figure out why his dickishness was so very shocking in the first place. We walked away towards the cheese platters, sulking.
“Man, I thought he’d be cool,” I said.
“I know,” Emily added. “I mean he’s so tall and gangly!”
That was it. Tall and gangly. Tall and gangly guys are the best. Besides that one bad egg, it’s almost a steadfast rule that tall, gangly dudes are where it’s at. But what is it about being tall and gangly that makes TGDs (Tall, Gangly Dudes) so great? It’s not just their constantly flailing limbs and generally comical physique. Their gangliness has somehow positively impacted their chi. My tall and gangly guy friends are all hilarious, they don’t take themselves too seriously, they’re refreshingly smart, they’re masters at trivial pursuit and all things trivial, and they’re just plain good guys. They’re kind of dorks, and kind of rock stars, and all comedians, and they all have secret stowed-away talents like musical genius or mad whittling skills or they just dominate at table football. And they all have kind of funny hair. Basically, they’re all kind of awesome. Except that one dude. He was a dick.
This is my theory. There’s nothing wrong with being tall and gangly, but if that describes you, you probably think you’re supposed to be 2-6 inches shorter and 20-60 pounds heavier. You probably think you’re not that desirable, when in fact, your gangly personality makes up for your spaghetti arms, lack of upper body strength, and razor sharp hip bones. Your desire to pack on an extra few pounds makes you more receptive to women who’d like to lose a few, which makes me like you, because I could lose a few, and you don’t seem to care. You’re simply not as superficial as those who are tall and toned, or short and toned, or toned in general, and you don’t have a complex like guys who are short and shrimpy, or just plain short, or overweight, or uber-muscular.
Yes, you are a bit silly looking. You’re a normal dude that got stretched. Your stomach is concave. You can wrap your long-ass fingers around your skinny-ass arms. But you’re also superhuman: you can devour whole pizzas and not gain a thing. In fact, you’ll be hungry again in an hour. And you can laugh about it. You don’t have low self-esteem, but you can rip on yourself like no other (which means others have trouble doing it for you). You generally have a lot of friends.
To be fair, I should mention that TGDs are often gross. Just like their naturally funny physique gives them a funnier personality, their knobby-need Gumbo look gives them (they think) free reign to be as disgusting as possible. Snot rockets, farting contests, and detail-ridden poop discussions might have died in middle school for most guys, but not TGDs. You might say it’s a downside, but I say not. Look, everyone farts. One day you will do so in front of your boyfriend, and if he is TG, he’ll look at you and not laugh or make a face or run away. He’ll say, “It’s about time,” and then challenge you to a duel.
In short, if you see a TGD, give him a chance. You might fear he’ll look better in your jeans than you do, but you’ll just have to get over it. He has. And if you’re a tall and gangly dude, don’t be a dick. It’s not in your nature, and it’s pretty disappointing to random people at networking events who’d expect more from you. Also, call me.
“Man, I thought he’d be cool,” I said.
“I know,” Emily added. “I mean he’s so tall and gangly!”
That was it. Tall and gangly. Tall and gangly guys are the best. Besides that one bad egg, it’s almost a steadfast rule that tall, gangly dudes are where it’s at. But what is it about being tall and gangly that makes TGDs (Tall, Gangly Dudes) so great? It’s not just their constantly flailing limbs and generally comical physique. Their gangliness has somehow positively impacted their chi. My tall and gangly guy friends are all hilarious, they don’t take themselves too seriously, they’re refreshingly smart, they’re masters at trivial pursuit and all things trivial, and they’re just plain good guys. They’re kind of dorks, and kind of rock stars, and all comedians, and they all have secret stowed-away talents like musical genius or mad whittling skills or they just dominate at table football. And they all have kind of funny hair. Basically, they’re all kind of awesome. Except that one dude. He was a dick.
This is my theory. There’s nothing wrong with being tall and gangly, but if that describes you, you probably think you’re supposed to be 2-6 inches shorter and 20-60 pounds heavier. You probably think you’re not that desirable, when in fact, your gangly personality makes up for your spaghetti arms, lack of upper body strength, and razor sharp hip bones. Your desire to pack on an extra few pounds makes you more receptive to women who’d like to lose a few, which makes me like you, because I could lose a few, and you don’t seem to care. You’re simply not as superficial as those who are tall and toned, or short and toned, or toned in general, and you don’t have a complex like guys who are short and shrimpy, or just plain short, or overweight, or uber-muscular.
Yes, you are a bit silly looking. You’re a normal dude that got stretched. Your stomach is concave. You can wrap your long-ass fingers around your skinny-ass arms. But you’re also superhuman: you can devour whole pizzas and not gain a thing. In fact, you’ll be hungry again in an hour. And you can laugh about it. You don’t have low self-esteem, but you can rip on yourself like no other (which means others have trouble doing it for you). You generally have a lot of friends.
To be fair, I should mention that TGDs are often gross. Just like their naturally funny physique gives them a funnier personality, their knobby-need Gumbo look gives them (they think) free reign to be as disgusting as possible. Snot rockets, farting contests, and detail-ridden poop discussions might have died in middle school for most guys, but not TGDs. You might say it’s a downside, but I say not. Look, everyone farts. One day you will do so in front of your boyfriend, and if he is TG, he’ll look at you and not laugh or make a face or run away. He’ll say, “It’s about time,” and then challenge you to a duel.
In short, if you see a TGD, give him a chance. You might fear he’ll look better in your jeans than you do, but you’ll just have to get over it. He has. And if you’re a tall and gangly dude, don’t be a dick. It’s not in your nature, and it’s pretty disappointing to random people at networking events who’d expect more from you. Also, call me.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Pancakes Anonymous
I thought this sounded like a good name for a post. or a website. Don't steal it. I will come after you. With a spatula. A big metal spatula. And if you are a pancake, I will eat you. And no one will ever know cause it will be anonymous. muah ha ha ha.
i'm starting to creep myself out...
i'm starting to creep myself out...
Sunday, April 8, 2007
It's That Time of Year Again!!
Can you believe it?!?! Only 260 days left till Christmas! I am so excited. I can barely keep my stocking on. That's right. When my xmas stocking isn't being hung ceremoniously from my fireplace begging to be filled with luscious trinkets - signs of Saint Nick's love and devotion to me and no one else - it is adorning my right foot. Sometimes my left. It's important to alternate and share the Christmas love. I love Christmas.
Christmas is the time we reaffirm what matters in life, and that, of course, is out and out, holier than thou priggishness. All this hullabaloo monkey schmonkey about family, and Christ, and miracles, and three kings, and wise men, and being kind to your fellow man simply distracts from the real meaning of this glorious day: Keeping it in your pants. Isn't it obvious? The Virgin Mary was rewarded for being vestal. She was given a child. And not just any child mind you. She got the son of God. That lucky M of a S of a G.
I myself haven't done the deed in... it's been a while. And yes, that's right, it's because of Jesus. Of course you, like most, will now assume that means I'm some crazy religious fanatic and that's why I'm waiting for marriage. Well, phooey on you and your presumptive judginess. I'm not waiting for marriage; I'm simply waiting to be rewarded with Jesus's little brother.
I've been thinking of names and so far I've come up with Sofia for a girl and Stuart or Ricardo for a boy. Stuart Christ. Ricardo of SpaHa (if I decide to raise the kid here). I admit they're not perfect... What about Guillermo? I had a boss named Guillermo once. He owned the bar where I used to work. Nice guy. Big fan of porn. Really hardcore porn. On second thought, maybe not the best for a son of The Big Guy, eh? I've got it! God Jr. It's so perfect, I'm surprised He didn't use it the first go around. Mary's veto maybe? I won't hold it against her. She's kind of my hero. I mean she got married to Joseph and she STILL stayed a virgin. Ever think it's cause she didn't want to get pregnant? Just saying...
YAY Christmas. 260 days to go! I'm so psyched. A little more of not having sex and I'm totally gonna get preggers.
Christmas is the time we reaffirm what matters in life, and that, of course, is out and out, holier than thou priggishness. All this hullabaloo monkey schmonkey about family, and Christ, and miracles, and three kings, and wise men, and being kind to your fellow man simply distracts from the real meaning of this glorious day: Keeping it in your pants. Isn't it obvious? The Virgin Mary was rewarded for being vestal. She was given a child. And not just any child mind you. She got the son of God. That lucky M of a S of a G.
I myself haven't done the deed in... it's been a while. And yes, that's right, it's because of Jesus. Of course you, like most, will now assume that means I'm some crazy religious fanatic and that's why I'm waiting for marriage. Well, phooey on you and your presumptive judginess. I'm not waiting for marriage; I'm simply waiting to be rewarded with Jesus's little brother.
I've been thinking of names and so far I've come up with Sofia for a girl and Stuart or Ricardo for a boy. Stuart Christ. Ricardo of SpaHa (if I decide to raise the kid here). I admit they're not perfect... What about Guillermo? I had a boss named Guillermo once. He owned the bar where I used to work. Nice guy. Big fan of porn. Really hardcore porn. On second thought, maybe not the best for a son of The Big Guy, eh? I've got it! God Jr. It's so perfect, I'm surprised He didn't use it the first go around. Mary's veto maybe? I won't hold it against her. She's kind of my hero. I mean she got married to Joseph and she STILL stayed a virgin. Ever think it's cause she didn't want to get pregnant? Just saying...
YAY Christmas. 260 days to go! I'm so psyched. A little more of not having sex and I'm totally gonna get preggers.
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