How Not to Meet People

It was nearly midnight on a Saturday night, and I had effectively spent my entire evening playing video games. Well that’s not true. I also mindlessly browsed YouTube videos, devoured an entire bag of barbeque-flavored potato chips, and took a quick three hour nap. But other than that, I was mostly getting my thrill by listening to twelve-year-old boys hurl racial slurs every time I made them eat metal from my tricked-out AK-74.

My phone vibrated. “Come dance with us,” the text read. My friend Matt was at a club a few blocks from my house.

The choice was not easy. My couch was very comfortable, I had just leveled up, and I don’t think I’d worn anything but underwear so far that entire day. But I decided a strapping young bachelor such as myself should be out meeting people and whatnot.

My Brush with Law

Just like every other idealistic college student, for four years, my career aspirations changed every three seconds. One enjoyable music class, and I was sure I’d be a brilliant composer. One insightful physics lecture, and I was bound to be a revolutionary scientist. During my sophomore year, I took a course on the United States’ law and legal system. From there, I had the briefly-lived notion that I’d study law. This idea died a grisly death during the spring of my junior year when a Constitutional law class manhandled me. However, during that fall, I enrolled in a legal reasoning course.

Kael, the Douchebag

This morning, I woke up to an email that said someone had left a comment on my blog, and I had to accept it before Wordpress would show it. “Woo-hoo! More approval seeking!” I thought.

Then I read the comment. First, I am going to reproduce it uncensored and in its entirety before I rip the author to shreds. For the purposes of addressing this person, I am going to assume it’s a guy and his name is Kael. Not only does Kael sound like a name that could only belong to an annoying jerk, it’s also the first name of one of Faded Paper Figures’ bandmates, and that just seems like a band Kael listens to.

How to Fail at New Yorking

[...] The bus stopped once at a rest stop in Delaware. The bus driver only granted us 10 minutes, but that was all I needed to witness a uniquely American brand of stupidity. I wanted to snack on some frozen yogurt from TCBY, and there was an 11- or 12-year old boy in front of me in line. He wore his hair in an aimlessly gelled bob, ensured all his clothes had ostentatious designer labels embroidered on them, and spoke in uncomfortable sentence fragments that reeked of a misplaced sense of superiority. God, this kid annoyed me. Clearly, he was superior to no one, seeing as how he was in Delaware. Nobody has an excuse to be in Delaware besides Joe Biden and that struggling writer from Melrose Place.

Tales from Israel, Part 2

Israel may have embarrassed and injured me, but I’m basically Rocky, The Hulk, and Obama all wrapped into one. When my spirit is beaten, I get right back up again. And turn into an enormous green monster bent on national health care reform.

For about half the trip, we had six Israelis staying with us—five soldiers and one student. Among the soldiers was a girl named Lotem. She had big, wavy hair, a bigger voice, and an even bigger personality. If you are within earshot of her when she’s talking, which is every moment in the history of the universe, then you have already been introduced to her. My first real introduction to her, however, was while spending a night in Bedouin tents. Mind you, this was tourist Bedouin, not actual Bedouin. The Bedouins there provided us with central heating, sleeping bags and mattresses, and, well, a gift shop. Nevertheless, we did have to sleep surrounded by dozens of other people, and our itinerary had us waking up at 5 o’clock the following morning.

Tales from Israel, Part 1

Not long ago, I went on a 10-day trip to Israel. Apparently, if you’re Jewish, Israel is automatically an optional homeland, and you can visit it for free. (Yes, I’m serious.) There is a catch, though. The trip is a giant advertisement to convince you to move there. Sort of a Zionist timeshare. They put you in a huge group, give you new Jewish friends, and have you share “meaningful experiences.” It’s hard to complain too much though; after all, it was a free trip.

The Death of the Album Cover

[...] Instead, my memory of it is a horrifying green Manson silhouette, juxtaposed with a pink, childlike “Marilyn Manson” stamp, complete with a top hat planted above the first M. In fact, the entire album oozed rebellion and taboo, summarized with a “Parental Advisory: Explicit Content” label, which was a hot-button issue at the time. Just the words “Marilyn Manson” during the mid-90s evoked images of Columbine, self-mutilation, and sexual ambiguity. Even the reverse side of the album was intriguing. The track titles alternated between disgusting (“May Cause Discoloration of the Urine or Feces”) and obscene (“Fuck Frankie”). Profanity in the titles had asterisks in place of most of the letters, adding to the album’s intrigue. To this day, I maintain an enormous amount of respect for Manson. As a musician, he is mediocre at best. But as an artist, he is superb.

The Inside Joke

Today is St. Patrick’s Day. The actual story, in case you don’t know, is that St. Patrick came to Ireland, told the people they’re fools for believing in multiple gods, and force-fed his Christian propaganda down their throats. Now that the Republic of Ireland has collectively agreed that there is one imaginary being in the sky looking at them, effectively doing nothing but doing everything “for a reason” (as opposed to several imaginary beings in the sky looking at them, effectively doing nothing but doing everything “for a reason”), St. Patrick is a hero.

On “It Is What It Is”

I’m warning you now; this is a serious post. I suggest finding pictures of cats with humorous captions to have next to this web site so you don’t get too bored. You may also want to copy and paste the whole thing into Google Translate and see what happens if you switch it to Japanese and back. It will probably add some unintended humor.

Online Conversation

Normally, I am a patient, relaxed person without a care in the world.

That, by the way, was a lie. I have as many pet peeves as a feral dog has fleas.

For every habit that annoys me, I probably have 32 habits that annoy other people, but whatever, this isn’t their blog. Now please bear with me while I make my way up the soapbox.