Status Report: Questionable...

Relationships: A Behavioral Analysis

2009-03-03T13:15:00.000-08:00

For those of you that have spent more than a few hours interacting with me, you surely know my philosophy about passing on my genes.

And so as not to tarnish my pool of potential mates, I won't elaborate on it here.

Instead, I'm going to present an argument about one aspect of relationships in an extreme and likely horribly offensive way.

But at its very core, it will be based on sound principles of animal behavior.

For years, people have studied animals and their behavior in a variety of ways. I'm sure you've all heard about Pavlov's dogs learning to salivate at the sound of a bell.

Humans, for all their complexities, are still animals at their very core. As such, their actions can be predicted on the same set of principles as those that apply to animals.

Today we are going to explore the concept of reinforcement versus punishment.

For all of us that have dated someone for more than three days, we are familiar with the situation of having to do something nice for your significant other to make up for some prior dumb action.

Examples of dumb actions would be hitting on someone else, getting too drunk, forgetting your anniversary, etc.

Typically, the male performs the "something dumb" and "making up for it" roles, but I haven't lost hope that eventually these roles will reverse.

This situation presents a prime example of negative reinforcement. As the male repeats the bad behavior, he is forced to perform some "make up" action that requires significant inputs of time, income or other valuable assets.

In theory, the male will eventually associate the negative consequences with the dumb action, and the behavior should be eliminated.

I have never actually achieved the elimination phase, but people change.

So what does all this mean, you might be wondering. How does this help me?

I'm glad you asked.

A key step is missing from my original equation. It should look something like this:

Male does something dumb ---> female gets mad ---> male performs compensatory action.

Because let's be honest, most males will not waste their energy performing the compensatory action if the female doesn't "suggest" it is necessary with her less than ideal mood.

So now let's examine this equation from the female perspective.

The female is undoubtedly harmed, usually emotionally, by the actions of the male. And her response of anger is normally justified. Normally.

The female is then the recipient of some beneficial goods or services on behalf of the male.

But herein lies the problem: the compensatory action of the male must only be just enough to offset the initial harm done by the male.

If the balance is tipped in one direction or the other, the relationship is doomed to fail.

Allow me to explain.

Say, for example, after a minor error by the male, the male performs an overly elaborate compensatory behavior.

Let's get back to the female perspective. Subconsciously, she is associating her anger with the overly kind compensatory behavior. Thus, the male is positively reinforcing the anger of the female.

This is not good for the male.

It can result in the female looking for opportunities to display anger so as to elicit the compensatory behavior from the male, which would rapidly deplete the male's resources.

How can we avoid this from happening? Punishment.

It is clear that the negative reinforcement males get from having to perform "make up" behaviors is not sufficient to eliminate the "dumb" behaviors.

So, rather than continue the current system of negative reinforcement, I suggest either positive or negative punishment.

Positive punishment is the administration of some unpleasant stimulus. An example would be an electrode implanted under the skin of the male that shocks him when he performs a "dumb" behavior.

Pain aversive behavior is one of our basic instincts.

Negative punishment is the removal of a pleasant stimulus. An example would be withholding from the male access to the female.

This speaks for itself.

I know, for me, that either of these options would be more effective.

If males and females could agree to one of these techniques, not only will the males' resources be preserved, but the "dumb" behaviors are likely to be eliminated much more quickly.

I'm not saying, I'm just saying...

Aging

2009-03-02T10:16:00.001-08:00

Joking about my age used to be exactly that, a joke. That is, until recently.

I was sitting on our front porch Friday morning, enjoying the nice weather and an interesting chat with a friend, when I noticed his eyes wandering from my face to the top of my head.

I tried to shake it off, but I just couldn't concentrate on what I was saying. It started with a quick glance, became a slight pause, and ended up in a full on stare.

Frustrated, I gave up on our conversation. And for the first and almost definitely last time in my life, I got to experience what it must feel like to be a hot girl.

"Don't move," he ordered as he slowly got up and approached me.

I felt my heart rate increasing rapidly as he hovered over me before he delivered the fateful blow:

"You have a shining silver hair right here."

And just like that, I saw my world crashing down around me. Visions of myself walking with a cane, and then scooting around in a Hoveround bombarded my brain.

Before the shock subsided and I could mount some sort of defense, I was surrounded by people combing through my hair like a gold rush, or a primate grooming session.

Not two minutes had passed before claims had been staked on at least a dozen silver hairs.

Taken alone, perhaps I may have been able to brush off the incident, or chalk it up to the stress of the interviews I had just had the last few weeks.

But this was a day I had seen coming for a long time.

As many of you may know, I am approaching the ripe old age of 23. On the upper end of the college spectrum you might be thinking, but nothing too out of the ordinary.

Well, Robin Williams was only 22 in Jack when he graduated, and he still looked like this.

Others of you might be thinking that a few gray hairs don't necessarily convey old age.

But there have been other signs...

Like, for example, the high blood pressure I was told I had during a routine physical last year.

Or my recent inability to walk due to severe back pain after a few hours of basketball.

Pretty soon, crippling arthritis will be setting in. And after careful consideration, I've decided that drastic action must be taken. Here are the options I'm currently considering:

1) Continue Ponce de Leon's search for the fountain of youth.

This option has the advantage of being the most permanent solution, but the disadvantage of having almost zero chance of success. It's a gamble to be sure, but when you're feeling lucky, you're feeling lucky.

2) Shave my head.

I'm not exactly sure there are any pros with this option. I got a buzz accidentally when I was twelve and it looked horrible, so I'm not sure how a shaved head would look any better. But considering men have used this technique for centuries, I figured I ought to at least consider it.

3) Seek hormone therapy.

This is the most physically attractive and fiscally unattractive option. While I've seen the wonders testosterone therapy has done for a formerly prepubescent 19 year old friend of mine, I imagine I would have to steal in order to fill my prescription.

4) Take a class in meditation/relaxation techniques.

Let's be honest, this wouldn't help.

5) Dye my hair with Just for Men's Touch of Grey

This is my number one option at this point. With this product, according to their advertisements, I will "look like I know what I'm doing, and can still do it."

This would be a significant improvement on my current state of looking like I don't know what I'm doing and not being able to do it, and all for only under $10.

If option 5 makes me look like Brett Favre then I'm golden. Needless to say, I'm not holding my breath.

Senior Class Events

2009-01-18T12:27:00.000-08:00

A friend and loyal follower of my blog recently told me that he feels that more people don't read my blog because of the overriding negative themes that seem to characterize my posts.

"All you do is pick something and complain about it for a long time."

I wish to refer him and anyone with similar sentiments to my first post, which, in spite of being horribly written, does in fact mention my intention to use this blog as a forum for uninterrupted ranting.

So without further ado...

I'm a senior now at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (it sounds so regal when you say it like that).

Hurray for me, right?

Right (gotcha).

Seriously, it is quite an accomplishment. And although many of us may have been raised in an environment where graduating college was an expectation and not an achievement, it is still something worth commemorating.

Seniors choose to do this in many different ways. Some relax their study habits and lighten their course load.

Others spend a few more nights with their friends out socializing.

Many do both.

But regardless of how someone chooses to treat their senior year, there is one thing we all have in common.

With very few exceptions, we are all dreading the thought of venturing out into the world in a few short months.

The uncertainty surrounding the transition from college student to adult is unlike any we have yet to experience.

So how does the university help us to deal with this?

By forcing us to congregate on and off campus in the form of exclusive senior class events.

Why, after two years of being forced to strike out on our own, does the university decide that it needs to provide a social forum for its next graduating class?

I understand that there are many traditions associated with being a senior. Although I don't know any of them yet, I do intend to partake in them.

And I also understand the need to leave our mark on the university and in the community as the Class of 2009.

What I don't understand is the concept of having senior-only social gatherings.

The result is a scenario as awkward or even more so than that of orientation.

At orientation, all incoming freshman can bond over the fact that they are merely a group of strangers thrown together and forced to interact.

The need for friendship is so strong that even the most shy people can force themselves to struggle through several awkward introductions, knowing they could be forming a potentially lifelong friendship.

Neither of these applies to senior class events.

Not only do most seniors already have a strong group of friends, but the appeal of going to a social gathering of only other seniors is nonexistent.

And those awkward conversations you had as a freshman? At least they weren't entirely predictable.

Any conversation between two seniors that don't know each other will inevitably move towards "what are you doing next year?"

I, personally, have a few problems with that question.

For one, I'm not entirely sure yet. And although I'm reasonably assured that something will work itself out, until that happens I don't want to talk about it.

Secondly, how often do you think we each answer this question?

The answer is enough times to make me tell people that I'm a junior at first just to avoid that follow up question.

But back to the senior class event. Best case scenario, against all odds you survive the awkward introduction, and avoid the topic of graduation.

Say you and this person really hit it off, and strike up a friendship.

And then you live happily ever after.

That is, until the guillotine that is graduation comes along three months later and severs your friendship at the head.

Let's be practical, university.

If you want to help us celebrate surviving until senior year, give us a bar special or something.

Just don't lock us up someplace where everything reminds us that our time is almost up.

Snoozers

2009-01-16T09:59:00.000-08:00

Sounds like the name of a horrible band, or perhaps the new high school drug fad.

And I must admit, I am a snoozer. Well, was.

As facebook would say, "it's complicated."

Snoozers are the people that set their alarm clocks long before they actually want to get up, just so they can hit snooze several times and still get up on time.

Think about the logistics of that.

Isn't the whole point of snooze to indulge yourself in a guilty pleasure, to steal five minutes of sleep from all the other things you should be doing?

Aren't you supposed to get that "I'm a badass" feeling you get when you consciously do something you know you shouldn't?

The process is similar to becoming a drug addict, just a little less expensive.

The first few times you try it, you still get that glorious feeling.

Then you have to snooze more and more to get the same high, until eventually, the high is gone and you are hopelessly addicted.

I thought I was bad when I would routinely get up 25 minutes before I needed to so I could snooze it up.

But I only stopped at 25 because someone had the foresight to program a maximum number of times you could hit snooze.

And in the cruel and ironic world we live in, it was probably the same moron who invented snooze in the first place.

Then, the guy had the balls to make the snooze button 100 times bigger than all the other buttons.

Even if you want to turn your alarm clock off, chances are you're going to hit the snooze button.

Granted, it would have been hard to predict the lasting implications his/her invention would have on our society, but I still want to hit that person in the face.

Or better yet, repeatedly slam my alarm clock in their face.

I mean, there are people in this world that begin every day by spending the last two hours of their night repeatedly waking up, pressing a button, and sleeping for five more minutes.

And they wonder why they need to hit snooze so many times in order to, as a snoozer will tell you, "wake up gradually."

These people have decided that waking up 24 times a night is the best way to get them ready to take on the day.

But even in the face of such sound logic, they vigorously defend their way of life.

And what this has done is create a huge demand for alarm clocks that can effectively force people to wake up in order to turn them off.

I had the fortunate experience of attempting to study while one of these gadgets was going off.

This particular variety had wheels and would scamper around the room, forcing you to chase after it.

Which is precisely what my friend did, but only after enduring 15 minutes of its high-pitched shrill.

And when he finally caught up with it, he smashed it to pieces in a fit of rage.

Although this reaction may have been a bit above average, imagine having to wake up every day to the frustration of attempting to find a tiny robot in the dark while it screams at you and runs away.

Anyone who could find some way to help rehabilitate these poor souls would be a millionaire.

Which is why I came up with a few ideas (patents are pending).

1) Sync alarm clocks to showers.

When your alarm goes off in the morning, it turns on your shower to a pre-set temperature.

But the temperature you select will only run for ten or fifteen minutes. After that, the hot water is shut off and you have to take a cold shower.

I don't know about you, but this would be sufficient motivation for me to get up.

2) Create a financial incentive for getting up on time.

Bear with me on this one.

What I'm imagining is almost like a lottery of sorts.

For a small monthly fee, every morning our users will log onto a website with a name and password to confirm that they are awake.

If they indeed get up by a certain time, they are entered in a lottery where they can win a range of prizes.

The site will offer different types of subscriptions, with different amounts of money you can win at different odds.

I guess what I'm envisioning is kind of like an online casino that is only open early in the morning.

And the best part is, we'll be marketing this to people who have already demonstrated they have addictive personalities.

We're just substituting gambling for snoozing.

Anyone want to invest?

Voicemail

2009-01-07T18:32:00.000-08:00

I don't know what you call them, but there is no ambiguity in my feelings regarding voicemail a.k.a. messages.

I hate checking them, and I don't know how to leave one.

In fact, I just wish they didn't exist.

After years of bad experiences both leaving and receiving voicemails, I feel like I have come to a sound conclusion.

And perhaps the following scenarios, which I'm sure many of you have experienced, might make you feel the same way.

CHECKING MESSAGES:

In the modern era of text messaging, the use of the voicemail as a social tool has become all but extinct.

And if it were not for the 160 character limit, or the impossibly small buttons on cell phones, I'm not sure anyone would use voicemail at all.

The only thing keeping voicemail alive is technologically backward people like myself with second generation cell phones that use the index finger of one hand and the thumb of the other hand to text with.

I could write a letter, tie it to the leg of a carrier pigeon with the proper postage, and have it delivered to a person in about the amount of time it takes me to text them.

Thankfully, this is not the case for most of my friends, or really anyone from the ages of 8-50, and they text message me often (read: I check 75 times a day and receive on average 1.4 texts per day).

Occasionally, I do receive voicemails. And when I do, I categorically respond to them in the same way.

I would say at least 75% of the voicemail I get is from my parents, whom I love dearly.

But I don't even have to listen to their messages to know what they are saying:

"Hey Gar, just wanted to check up with you, see how things are going. [Something about the current issue of interest.] Anyway, give us a call at home when you get a chance. Love you. Bye."

That doesn't sound so bad, does it?

And taken individually, it's not.

It is the sheer number and repetitiveness of these voicemails that drives me crazy.

And I don't blame my parents. I know they mean well. But I wouldn't mind if they would somehow coordinate these phone calls.

Because every time one gets the feeling they haven't heard from me in a while, so does the other, and so on that day I get two calls, and two voicemails.

And also on that day, I get two reminders about whatever the current issue of interest is.

Most of last semster, it was secondary medical school applications. Now, it's my efforts to get back in shape.

But since I know what the message says, I have no inclination to check it.

Only an abnormal increase in frequency of calls will cause me to stray from my regular schedule of calling home and elicit a response.

So the voicemails just pile up.

Rarely, I will get a voicemail from a friend.

And by the sheer infrequency of such voicemails, I assume the matter is somewhat urgent, and immediately call back.

Plus, I know in order to access this voicemail, I have to get through about eight other old voicemails first.

Our conversation goes something like this:

Me: "Yo, what's up?"

Friend: "Nothing, you get my message?"

Me: "No, sorry, just saw the missed call and called you back. What's going on?"

Friend: [Repeats content of message].

So those voicemails just pile up as well.

The only motivation I actually have to check my voicemail is when I get a missed call and a voicemail from a random number.

And for whatever reason, you always assume the best possible scenario.

For me, it's a random girl that thought you were cute and asked a friend for your number so she could ask you to their upcoming cocktail (a situation I will revisit momentarily).

So far, this has happened a grand total of zero times.

And until recently, I did not know that you could delete voicemails in the middle of them by pressing "77".

What this means is that every time I got a voicemail from a random number I had to spend at least five minutes listening to my parents ask me to call them and my friend tell me a story I've already heard while eagerly awaiting the faint possibility that I will hear the sweet, sweet sound of a young woman's voice asking me to court her.

Those were some of the biggest letdowns of my life. Right up there with the Easter Bunny.

But that's not all.

Most of these random numbers don't leave voicemails, because nobody leaves voicemails anymore.

You can respond to this situation in one of two ways:

1) Not do anything and hope this person contacts you again while your curiosity eats away at you.

2) Contact this person, having no idea who they are or what you want to say to them.

A good example of a lose-lose situation.

I typically choose the latter, again out of hopeless optimism.

But to save some measure of pride (read: I'm too big of a pussy), I go with a text that says:

Hey, sorry, who is this? Just got a new phone.

And in my experiences, the responses have typically been either a wrong number or someone who thought we were better friends than we were and is slightly taken aback that I have not taken the time to store their number.

It might be time to consider option one.

LEAVING MESSAGES:

Many of you might be thinking that you leave messages all the time, and that it is in fact quite easy to do.

Well, you are referring to casual messages, which are about as useless as the messages I described earlier.

I'm talking about serious messages that you only have seconds to prepare for when someone doesn't answer the phone.

But let's back up a step.

Let's use the cocktail invitation for an example.

Before I make any call of such magnitude, I prepare both for the possibility of speaking to the person and leaving a message.

This is usually done in a small group with one or two of my closest advisers.

When I feel satisfied with the plan, I throw everybody out of the room and lock the door.

Then, depending on my mood, I blast either loud rap music or Backstreet Boys, insult myself in the mirror, throw up and make the call.

Those seconds listening to the phone ring are the worst.

For the first couple rings, I am rehearsing the funny story or small joke that will serve as the transition from "Hey, what's up" to "do you want to come to our cocktail with me?"

But as the phone continues to ring, I begin to devote some of my energies to regurgitating the message I had memorized two minutes before.

Once you reach this step, the potential for disaster is high.

Say, for example, she answers on the last ring. At this point I am so focused on my message I will probably just start talking non-stop as if I were leaving a message and she didn't actually pick up the phone.

But alas, I get the machine.

Sweet relief, right? Absolutely not.

There is no centralized form of answering machine.

You could get hit with an immediate beep, and then be expected to leave a decent message.

Or, if I do hear the person's voice, I will commonly mistake their answering machine as them answering the phone, and will start leaving my message, only to realize my mistake and become so flustered that I completely mess things up.

There is also the possibility that you get the hypnotic voice of an operator that effectively lulls you into a trance until the beep suddenly brings you back to reality.

Or, the operator gives you a menu with several options that prompt you to press a key to leave a message, only that when you press it nothing happens and you have to wait for the ever looming beep.

And if you can somehow avoid all these obstacles, and calmly leave your message, you're home free.

Well, not quite.

In the most cruel twist of fate, in the middle of your message the person you called will beep in.

If this happens, just go ahead and start thinking about another date.

You again find yourself in a lose-lose situation:

1) You can answer their call and attempt to reconstruct the conversation you had planned had they initially answered the phone.

2) You can ignore the call, finish your message with a sense of composure, regroup and call back.

Option one has the advantage procuring an immediate end to the fiasco the situation has become, and through your awkwardness you either manage to salvage the conversation or completely implode.

Option two presents a cool, suave demeanor, but does not account for the fact that she will eventually check your message and realize that you ignored her call while leaving it. This typically makes for an interesting conversation when you pick her up at the beginning of the night.

So as you can see, I have conclusively demonstrated that voicemail no longer has any utility in today's world.

From now on, don't bother leaving me one, and don't expect any from me, as I will no longer be using it.

I'll just have to figure out some other way to deal with those unknown numbers...

Sharing and the Slippery Slope

2009-01-05T16:14:00.000-08:00

Kind of sounds like the name of a fairy tale, doesn't it?

Well, I can assure you this is much more serious than that.

As I often have, I like to blog about my past, vast experiences in relationships, during which time I came to realize a few things.

Also, I guess without knowing it I have written a disclaimer of sorts, so that if for some unknown reason I was ever about to reenter the world of relationships, I could go ahead and show future-girlfriend my blog so perhaps we can just have one giant fight instead of 4,817,329,473,671 small ones.

I'm talking a two week long epic brawl.

But anyways, it wasn't until I had had my first relationship that I realized it, but...

I HATE sharing.

Thank god this sentiment didn't manifest itself during kindergarten, I would have failed and had to repeat it.

Kind of like second grade...

But I really do hate sharing. And I bet a lot of you do as well.

Let me give you some examples.

EXAMPLE 1: It's a hot, summer day, the kind where you sweat the second you step out of the air conditioning.

Your girlfriend wants to do some shopping, and since you have no balls you tell her you'd love to come along.

So you park the car by the first store, which of course is as far away as possible from the other stores in the shopping center she wants to go to.

But rather than drive, she wants to walk, because "miserable heat" translates as "a nice day" in the absence of a Y chromosome.

And as you're walking you pass one of those lemonade stands that always seem to be positioned just far enough from your destination that you don't think you can survive without one.

So you decide to get one, and, being the gentleman that you are, you offer your significant other one as well. But she politely declines.

Then, about ten steps past the stand, she asks the dreaded question...

"Can I have a sip?"

It seems innocent enough, but you know what a sip means.

The damn things are filled to the brim with ice. You'd be lucky to get three good gulps out of the glass before you had to wait for some ice to melt.

And all you want to do is explain that you ordered the precise amount of refreshment that you wanted, which is exactly why you asked if she wanted her own drink.

In fact, you were willing to pay the price of an entire drink for her in exchange for the fourth of your drink you knew she would ask for.

And god only knows how much damage a whole group's worth of sip requests would do.

Which brings me to my next example.

EXAMPLE 2: As you are returning home from a night out on the town, you decide to splurge on a late night snack.

In Chapel Hill, the popular fare is Pokey Stix.

Other than being described as a heart attack in a box, for all of you non-Chapel Hillians (or is it Hillites), Pokey Stix are essentially a salty, crunchy cheese pizza cut up into breadsticks and served with ranch and marinara.

And for whatever reason, around 2:30 am they might as well be manna from heaven.

Which is actually a better analogy than I originally intended, because any time you purchase Pokey Stix, everyone you come into contact with feels that they are entitled to eat some.

So as you sit down on the couch to enjoy them, you notice people slowly creeping closer to you, like hyenas circling the kill of a lion.

And you can see the gears spinning inside their heads, frantically searching for anything that will help them obtain a few Stix.

Eventually, you'll get a few "I bought you this and thats" and "you owe me such and suches."

But whatever you do, you must absolutely refuse to share, because once you give away one, you might as well give them all away.

And that's because of the slippery slope, by far the most terrifying of all the logical fallacies.

But every once in a blue moon, someone will attempt to monopolize the market, and prevent the slippery slope, by offering to pay for some of your Pokey Stix.

This sounds a lot better than just giving them away. And it is, if you can't eat as much as you've ordered.

But if you are hungry enough to eat them all, their faulty logic is almost insulting.

And it wasn't until a banker friend of mine explained it to me that I finally understood.

When you ordered the Pokey Stix, your intention was not to bring them home and sell them to your friends at face value.

Because surely the price they are offering you does not include the opportunity cost of the time you spent waiting for them to be done, picking them up, and bringing them back.

At the point where you are about to eat them, the Pokey Stix are in fact worth way more than what you paid for them.

I don't exactly know what all that means, but I guess it's the biological equivalent of a mother bird going out and hunting all day only to come home and have to vomit in the mouths of all her young.

But anyways, I guess the lesson here, if any, is to think twice next time before you pull out a pack of gum in a crowded room.

Or at least be willing to face the consequences.

Your Real Resume

2008-12-24T12:15:00.000-08:00

Faithful readers,

Please allow me to beg and grovel for your forgiveness, as I have finally returned to the world of blogging after my ten day hiatus. After some thinking, I came up with several reasons why this may have occurred:

1) My last 4 posts (which after rereading all my posts were much better than the rest) received zero comments

2) I'm at home with my family, who does not and will not ever know that I have a blog

3) I've developed a new sleep schedule (watch Heroes from 11:00pm to 6:30am, sleep until 2:00pm, repeat)

However, none of these excuses are valid, and I am asking for your forgiveness.

If you forgive me, I'll attempt to entertain you with the following post. If not, I guess it's goodbye forever.

And now for the main event...

I have had a lot of time to think over the break thus far, and try as I might I couldn't completely block out the feelings of nostalgia that flood my mind when a little reminder of my impending graduation pops up.

Now these reminders can come in several forms, ranging from mildly pleasurable to entirely infuriating.

At the positive end of the spectrum are the feelings that arise when you stumble across an old picture or a funny email.

Moving towards the neutral end of the spectrum are the reminders from the university to register for graduation, buy a cap and gown, etc.

But by far the worst reminders are the incessant questions from your family and friends about what you are doing next year.

To be fair, question itself is relatively harmless, and is a great filler for an awkward pause in conversation with old high school acquaintances or twice removed cousins.

It is just the sheer numbers of times you have to answer this question that makes it so loathsome.

Now if you guys are anything like me, you have enough trouble figuring out what you are going to do for dinner that night, much less planning out the rest of your life.

It makes me long for the days when any answer to the question "what do you want to be when you grow up" was the right answer.

Because no matter what you said (cowboy, astronaut, scientist, sports star, etc.) you were always reassured you could do anything so long as you put your mind to it.

And although I wasn't cognizant of it at the time, I would have to say one of the worst days of my life was the day it became no longer acceptable to tell people I wanted to be a cowboy.

If I had to guess, I'd say it was around my 11th birthday. But I digress.

Often times when you are asked what you want to do next year, you'll find yourself face to face with someone who does precisely what you want to do, or at least knows someone who does.

Sounds great, right? I'm sure they would have a lot of great, reassuring advice.

Wrong.

Without your consent, you immediately launch into an impromptu interview and you are asked to go down the laundry list that is your resume.

But the one thing that never comes up in these conversations are the experiences you can't put on a resume (read: nobody would hire you if they knew what you actually did).

But seriously, did you make lifelong friends? Do things you'll never get to do again? Take chances? Make memories?

Answers to these questions can only be found on what I call your real resume, that only you have access to.

Allow me to explain.

Sure, it's important to make good grades, give back to the community, get involved on campus, etc.

But it is just as important to live a little bit.

So, if your resume is one page, on the front you have your formal resume that you would present at an interview.

For those people that treat college as a checklist to get into some professional school, their resume might even spill over onto the back.

These extra accomplishments listed on the back typically come at the cost of lost experiences, which I believe fill up the back page of your real resume and complete it.

By the same token, anyone that has too much fun in college will be forced to fill up the front page of their resume with items like high school assistant junior varsity soccer team manager and spelling bee winner.

Cheesy, I know.

But I've only got one semester left. I can get away with saying stuff like this.

Now it's time to go ahead and fill up that back page...

Haircuts

2008-12-14T17:38:00.000-08:00

Don't worry readers, I'm back on the rant train.

And today, I'm pissed at hair.

Think about hair. Almost everywhere it grows, you don't want it there. And the places where you do want it to grow, it is a fiscal and social burden.

Allow me to explain.

The only places a guy wants hair to grow is on their face and on their head.

Well, that's not entirely true.

You don't want to be the kid growing up who is the last to grow armpit hair, or the fifteen year old that gets turned down at a PG-13 movie because of his baby-like smooth skin.

Ideally, you have just enough leg, arm and armpit hair to look your age and not get made fun of.

I was fortunate in that regard. Neither of those people was me.

But as you get a little bit older, the situation changes (surprise). When you leave for college, you assume the fiscal and social responsibility for managing your hair.

And not just the hair on your head. You've got facial and body hair to worry about too.

Not everyone is up for this responsibility. Call it "rebellion," or "self expression," or whatever you want. The only explanation for guys that look this is laziness.

I mean come on. You look horrible.

Again, I am not that guy. But I digress.

Think about how nervous you were the first time you got a haircut by yourself. You were at the mall with your mom, and rather than watch you and your brothers get your hair cut she decided to pop in a nearby store.

When the hairdresser asks you what you want, you mumble what you remember your mom normally says. Thirty seconds later, you have a buzz cut. I'll never go to that GreatClips again.

College males face their own dilemma.

We have to choose between spending a lot of money or spending a fair amount of time looking awkward and bad.

The latter happens every time you get a noticeable amount of hair cut off. This is because in reality, the only truly good haircut is one that nobody notices. Unfortunately, the rapid growth rate of my hair and my rapidly depleting college budget make this unfeasible.

So I have to spend two out of every six week haircut cycle looking pretty bad: the last week of the previous cycle and the first week of the new one.

Or so I thought.

By timing my shaving cycle to coincide with my haircut cycle, I have been able to look marginally better during my bad hair weeks and significantly better during normal hair weeks.

I call it ideal stubble. It is a simple ratio of facial hair length to hair length. If you have longer hair, you can afford to wear your facial stubble longer.

Although it has recently become very popular, ideal stubble was first implemented by Brett Favre several years ago.

Since then, it has exploded into a worldwide phenomenon.

And as much as we all hate to be followers, looking good is simply too enticing to turn down.

So next time you start thinking about getting your hair cut, take a look at your stubble and say a silent thank you to Brett Favre and to me.

You can thank me in person later.

Exams

2008-12-09T18:30:00.000-08:00

Given my tendency to use this blog as nothing more than a forum for me to complain without interruption, I bet a lot of you might think you know where this post is going. I hate studying, I can't go out, blah blah blah.

But you're wrong.

This year, I haven't dreaded exams at all. In fact, I have even looked forward to them.

The thing I like most about exams is that most everyone looks terrible all the time. I mean really bad. Bloodshot eyes, sweats and messy hair are the norm.

And that means at least for a little while people won't look at me so damn weird.

I think I stopped caring what I wore to class about my third day of college. My misguided decision to stay on south campus without AC my freshman year was based largely on some grandiose vision of the "freshman experience" I would be missing out on if I stayed somewhere else.

Well for all you incoming freshman reading this (nobody), let me tell you something. The only thing you are missing out on on north campus are the large circles of back sweat that no amount of undershirts can curtail.

I can readily conjure up the images of my young naive freshman self, eager to pop down next to a cute girl in class and charm her with my wit and mediocre looks.

Instead, I would always end up fanning myself in the back, just hoping I didn't smell as bad as I looked.

While the decision to submit to looking terrible was an easy one to make at the time, I must admit it had some ramifications that I struggled with for quite some time.

The first was that girls were simply never going to look bad in class when the temperatures were high enough.

For starters, girls don't sweat. Ever. Occasionally, they glisten, and even when they do it doesn't smell bad (and don't try and tell me otherwise; seriously, don't ruin it for me).

Secondly, as temperatures climb, girls can compensate by just wearing less and less clothing and correspondingly look better and better. Guys can attempt to compensate, but short shorts can only get so short.

Lastly, girls have clothes with built in ventilation systems. The crotch of my shorts rubbing against my legs doesn't provide the same cooling sensation that I imagine the swishing of a skirt would.

It wouldn't be so bad if all guys were playing against the same stacked deck.

I soon discovered that some guys were able to wake up in their air conditioned north campus dorms, shower, put on nice clothes and make the short walk to campus before they started sweating too badly.

Not me. Down at good ol' Hinton James I would start sweating from the moment I woke up. I didn't even have time to finish toweling off before I would start sweating again, much less put on something decent. Not to mention the 15 minute hike uphill both ways.

Eventually I came to accept my dreadful appearance, and learned to dodge the disapproving eyes of my peers.

But during exams, especially during winter, is my time to shine.

I wear sweatpants to class almost every day, and can say with confidence that I have mastered the look.

And although I couldn't have known it at the time, the result of that decision is me transforming from one of the least appealing to one of the most appealing guys on campus almost instantly when exams roll around.

I am so good at looking bad that when people see me on my way to or from the library during exams, it appears I have the self-assured swagger of someone who has studied an ample amount and doesn't care how they look. In reality, I look like I always do and have been rather unproductive wasting time doing thing like writing this blog.

And the outcasts are the people who do dress up to go to the library. Instead of appreciating how good they look, they are ostracized and publicly scorned.

My how the tables have turned.

Working In Services

2008-12-08T07:16:00.000-08:00

How would you feel if every day you went into work you had no idea how much money you would make that day? I can say with confidence that most of us would find that horrible.

But some people thrive on it. This lifestyle is only sustainable for those who are annoyingly cheery, incredibly attractive, or really good at what they do.

And somehow it took me three separate stints working jobs in services to realize I don't fit any of these criteria.

My first such experience was at the luxurious Ham's Lakeside Restaurant in my hometown of Greensboro. Being just a sophomore in high school, I had no reason to anticipate anything other than absolutely loving the job.

Except that I had never eaten there. Or worked in a similar job.

But how bad could it be, right?

The answer is worse than you are thinking. And I came to this realization during my very first week.

The first table I ever waited on was a very affluent elderly couple who the manager assured me were very loyal customers and would tip very well. That is, if I didn't screw up too badly.

Things started off great. They ordered an appetizer, several rounds of drinks, and entrees in the upper price range of the menu (an exorbitant $9-12). I even felt confident enough to hang out by the table and make small talk after dropping something off (translation: I didn't want to go do dishes in the kitchen).

But as I came to deliver the bill, it all came unraveled with one simple question:

"Do you know what lake that is?"

Cue "deer in headlights" look.

I had no idea what the lake was, and in my panic the names of lakes it couldn't possibly be flooded my brain: Huron, Ontario, Michigan, that one that starts with "E", Superior, Titicaca, Great Salt, Okeechobee, Tahoe etc.

But I finally gathered myself and made the only logical conclusion. The restaurant was located near a neighborhood aptly named (or so I thought) Lake Jeanette, and I responded in kind. To which my customer coolly replied,

"No, it's actually Buffalo Creek Lake, but I guess I couldn't expect you to know that," as he handed me a hundred to pay for the bill.

A little rattled, I got the correct change are delivered it to the table. After a few minutes, I went back to the table to clean up and collect my tip, only to see that the couple was still there and that the gentleman was motioning for me.

When I arrived he told me that I had not made the correct change, and handed it all back to me. I brought it back inside, recounted it, decided that I had in fact made the correct change, and returned it to him with an apology.

But as I was walking away he called me over again and said "look, son" and showed me the hundred sitting there with all his change. Horribly embarrassed, I took the hundred and offered another apology. He responded with an apology of his own, handing me a five dollar bill and saying "I'm sorry, but this is all I can give you," approximately 6% of their bill. I doubt they ever went back.

Miraculously, I was not fired, and instead was fortunate enough to endure three months of 39.75 hour weeks (so as not to get overtime) and minuscule tips. Meanwhile, I had to watch my annoyingly cheerful coworker (see Brian from Office Space) and incredibly attractive coworker (see Joanna from Office Space) make double my tips. But hey, at least I learned from it.

Well, not really.

I recently started working with a buddy in a Christmas tree lot, trying to make some extra money before the holiday season. I like working outdoors, and liked the idea of doing it with a friend.

And the experience is almost exactly what I thought it would be, except for one minor detail: around 60% of people don't tip at all.

I don't know how this has come to be, but for some reason this is one of those jobs where tips are expected but not always given, like valets, hairdressers, bellhops, and golf course guys.

I guess I can see how someone might think that I am following them around the lot, giving their kids candy canes, making polite conversation, manhandling huge trees, putting them on their stand and tying the tree to their car in the freezing cold simply because I enjoy it.

But some people were able to convince the customers otherwise. Ironically, my Jewish friend with five years experience at the lot regularly made more than double my tips, and I eventually learned his secret.

By subtly reminding the customer how miserable my job actually was, or casually mentioning that I am working to make money for my sibling's Christmas gifts, the percentage of customers who tipped increased dramatically. And then it came to me.

People love to talk about how they think everyone should work in services so they know how miserable it is and would tip better. But let's be realistic, this isn't going to happen.

The solution is to replace generosity with sympathy as the source of tips. It's much easier to convince someone to feel bad for you than to like you, and it requires a lot less pretending. If done tactfully, complaining about how bad your job is just might be the best way to make it better.

It's Not The Thought That Counts

2008-12-04T08:04:00.001-08:00

This time of year has finally arrived. Decorations go up, Christmas music is abound, and the gift-giving spirit is abundant. As we all prepare for this joyous occasion, we get our wish lists together and start thinking about who we'll be getting gifts for and what we'll be getting them.

And whether it is consciously or subconsciously, each year we evaluate who we might give a gift to that we haven't in the past and who we might decide not to get a gift for that we have in the past. Although fortunately I haven't had to start sending Christmas cards yet, I have learned that the process is very similar to gift buying, surprisingly political and is subject to a set of unspoken rules.

Ostensibly, the point of sending Christmas cards is to keep in touch with friends and family, letting them know how you and your family are doing and learning the same from them. But in reality, the Christmas card exchange is much more complex.

Basically, your main goal in sending Christmas cards is to send a card to everyone you expect to receive a card from. These cards are usually sent and received well before Christmas. However, inevitably you will receive a card from people you didn't include on your list. This presents a very awkward situation. Your initial reaction is one of embarrassment, and you immediately want to appease them with your card as quickly as possible. But there are other factors at play here.

For one, you anticipate getting more cards from people you didn't send them to, and would rather lump all these people together rather than send cards out one at a time, so you wait a week or so. However, the longer you wait the worse chance they receive your card in a timely manner, and any cards received after Christmas are assumed to be this sort of "make-up" card.

Two, you need to consider whether this person is really someone you want to keep in touch with. By not sending them a card, you can effectively communicate that you would rather save yourself minuscule amounts of time and energy than continue to exchange cards with that person, and you won't be hearing from them for quite some time.

But I digress. Earlier I mentioned that sometimes you consider not getting a gift for people you have given gifts to in the past. This year several people fall into that category for me. The first group is my five siblings.

The art of gift buying is one that is mastered by few, and I do not by any means consider myself in this category. However, my shortcomings in gift buying are almost exclusively in buying gifts for members of the opposite sex. I have found over the years that I am actually quite good at buying gifts for my friends and family.

But unfortunately I cannot say the same for my siblings. To be fair, my youngest brother is 6 and my only sister is 13 (+/- 1 year), so they aren't actually responsible for getting me gifts. But you would think my other three college-aged brothers would have a pretty good idea of something to get me. But every year, without fail, I always get a couple paperback novels, a DVD, and a hideous article of clothing.

And I just don't think I can feign enthusiasm for another year.

I mean I'm not that hard to buy gifts for. I'm an avid sports fan, enjoy nice, simple clothes, love country music and religiously watch several TV series. I have a harder time thinking of things I wouldn't like than things I would. If only I could just tell them what to buy me...wait, this sounds familiar. But I'll get to that in a minute.

I think what I'll do is buy them gifts that I would enjoy as well (which is what I normally do anyways). Then, I won't give them my gift until I open theirs. This way, if I don't like their gift, I can simply hand it back to them and keep what I got for them. Perhaps this will illustrate why they shouldn't buy something for me they wouldn't like themselves.

But as bad as this seems and is, it pales in comparison to the dilemma faced by guys across the nation: buying a gift for a girl they are dating/want to be dating.

This is simply a lose-lose situation. You could try to get creative and get them something original, but the chances of them liking it are slim. Or you could play it safe and get them a traditional gift, only to have them consider it not romantic and have them think you didn't put any thought into it. Either way, you're screwed.

Perhaps this is why it seems many relationships end right before the approach of birthdays, Christmas, or Valentine's Day. Rather than deal with the unpleasantness of trying to find a gift, many people would rather just end it.

But these people probably don't have what it takes to make it in the long run anyway. If you find someone you really like and vice versa, you're going to give gift buying an honest effort, at least for a while. Because during the "honeymoon phase" of any relationship, the old maxim holds true, and it really is the thought that counts. Any bad gift will be tolerated so long as it is supplemented with a card full of emotional stuff and a romantic dinner or something.

Once you settle into your sustainable long-term routine, however, the romantic element of the relationship erodes slightly and makes room for the practical element. While it's romantic to stay up talking all night, whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears, it isn't practical, and this practice quickly fades out.

The same goes for gift buying. After a few exchanges of bad gifts (read: me buying something she doesn't like and feeling terrible because her gift is usually better), both parties just want something that won't collect dust in their closet. So you pretty much just have to have her just tell you what she wants and try to spruce it up with some smaller accompanying gifts.

Some of you might be thinking, "wow, that sounds really depressing," but that's not how I look at it. If I find myself comfortable enough with a person that I can ask them what they want and they can tell me, I'd say things are looking pretty good.

Hopefully I'll just never meet someone so good at gift buying that this stage is unattainable.

Bluffing for the Bill

2008-12-02T10:42:00.000-08:00

Bluffing for the bill is an art form perfected by women that men are still trying to learn. What I mean by this is offering to pay for something when in reality you have literally zero intention of paying for it.

Let me walk you through some hypothetical examples. Say I meet a nice girl and I want to take her out to dinner and a movie or something like that. It's our first date, and I want to make a good impression, so I go into the night planning on buying her dinner and her movie ticket. Not a big deal, right?

Wrong. She knows that it's our first date, and that I'm going to buy dinner and her ticket. At the same time, she knows that in this world of gender equality, she can't seem completely helpless by letting me pay for everything. So how does she balance these two conflicting factors? By bluffing.

This bluffing can take on several forms. When the bill comes, she might make an aggressive play at it, snatching it before I have the chance to. Of course, she is assuming that I will insist on paying, and although she refuses at first, she will initially give in to my pleading. What this effectively does is convey that not only was she ready and willing to pay, but that by her giving me the bill she was doing me some kind of favor.

Another popular technique is pretending to not notice when the bill is brought, or purposely timing a bathroom break to coincide with the end of dinner. This forces me to pick up the bill before she can, at which point she will "realize" what has happened and will say something like "you don't have to do that" and will ask to pay, or to at least pay for her half. Again, she knows I'm not going to say "you're right, I shouldn't do this" and slide the bill across the table. But after a nice thank you and a disarming smile, the whole experience isn't much more than an afterthought.

That is, of course, until the first date becomes the 40th date.

But before I completely destroy my chances of ever dating again, allow me to clarify something.

Girls, in all fairness, you do often offer to pay, and how can you be blamed for us not taking you up on that? I'll get to that later. Also, you are by no means the only ones that bluff for the bill, you are just much better at it. Allow me to illustrate again with some hypothetical examples.

I'm an awkward high school student going to one of my first dances. It's our spring TWIRP dance where The Woman Is Required to Pay. However, let's say for whatever reason it's my first high school dance ever, and my date is my new girlfriend of four days. She sets up a nice dinner group at a decent restaurant, and we have a nice meal.

But then the check comes. My date goes with technique A, taking the bill right from the waiter's hand. As the rest of the checks are being distributed, I offer to pay for dinner, insisting that I should pay since we just started dating and all. I don't know why I thought this would be wise, considering the $40 in my wallet wouldn't cover it, but I wanted to seem like a nice guy.

Then the impossible happened. She took me up on my offer, and called my bluff, sliding it towards me and asking "are you sure?" I then quickly tried to quietly explain that I was just trying to be nice, and that I'd love to pay for the next one, but we had already attracted the attention of the rest of the table. Then after a series of glares was shot my way by the other guys at the table, they tried to save face by half-genuinely offering to pay for dinner, nervously wondering if their dates too would call their bluffs.

In the end, the girls ended up paying, including my date and soon to be ex-girlfriend. After failing to adequately change the subject I tried to diffuse the situation with a smile, which she returned with a smile that changed into a grimace as she pointed out the large piece of lettuce stuck in my teeth. But again, that was just a hypothetical scenario.

Fellow men, I think we've found our answer. Chivalry died with the gender equality movement, and let's keep it that way. If your escort offers to pay, take them up on it. Although it will be an awkward transition, somebody has to set the precedent for the generations of young men to follow.

"Did you get my last three emails?"

2008-12-01T12:39:00.000-08:00

Of course I got your last three emails, you idiot. And if I haven't responded at this point, I think it is time to abandon the nice pretenses and proceed with harsher tactics, such as threats.

I think I speak for us all when I say that nobody enjoys writing emails. Every day when I wake up and attempt to check my email in the two minutes I have before class, I end up ignoring every email that deserves a response and instead just see if I have gotten a response to my latest facebook message or if I have gotten a med school interview, both of which are rare.

Think about the evolution of email. When it first came out, it had the novelty appeal of being too sophisticated for many people to understand, and too exclusive for most people to use. Spam didn't exist, and getting an email evoked feelings of excitement that getting a genuine letter used to.

And lest I forget perhaps the most missed feature of primitive email technology: the Unsend button. I'm not sure if anyone other than AOL had it, but I can't tell you how many times that thing came in handy. The best part was that if you did unsend an email before someone got to read it, they still received some sort of blank email from you with the initial subject line.

Imagine being able to write a scathing email to someone with an inflammatory subject line releasing all the rage bottled up inside of you and then unsend it, leaving the recipient to wonder what it was you actually said. Those were the days.

But times have changed. The technology is now ubiquitous and reliable enough that it is a reasonable way to contact another person. But somehow, for some unknown reason, it is still considered socially acceptable to ignore an email. And not just one email. You can ignore several in a row without any real repercussions.

When someone asks "did you get my last email" what they mean to say is "why didn't you respond to my last email?" The former typically does not elicit any sort of truthful response, but instead gives the recipient an easy out to say simply "no, I didn't get it." And even with this easy out, still many of us are too lazy to take it, and will let three, four, five emails go unanswered.

So I guess my question is when will it no longer be a valid excuse to claim that you didn't receive an email? I've noticed recently upon opening some emails that a pop-up window opens telling me the sender wished to be notified upon my reading his/her email. Although this seems like a good idea, the window gives me the option of notifying the sender or not. What this effectively does is allow me to click "no" and leave the sender to think that I actually did not get his/her email, since they received no confirmation, when in fact the opposite is true. Ha.

I suppose eventually people will begin to refuse to accept this excuse, but I hope that day never comes.

Awareness Bubbles

2008-11-23T15:39:00.000-08:00

***Note: I already wrote this blog post once. Then, before spending an hour looking for a picture, I decided to check my fantasy roster. Firefox then froze, and I lost the entire post. God damn chance. So if this post sucks, you'll know why.

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Many of you may have heard me describe this theory somewhat, but here is a quick synopsis for those that haven't. Basically, an awareness bubble is everything that a person is aware of. Everyone has one, but not everyone's is the same size (that's what she said). Awareness bubbles also typically grow with age, forming a bell shaped curve when graphed.

While in the womb, for example, your awareness bubble is pretty small. There is no light, you are surrounded by fluid, and you can only move a few inches in any direction. Basically all you are aware of is the small weird damp pouch that you are (or have) in. You don't even know that anything else exists.

As a child, your awareness bubble is significantly larger. You are aware of the city that you live in, and maybe even some of the surrounding area. You know that other places exist, but don't really have any concept of how big the world is yet. You also are completely dependent on your parents, so you have no need (haha) to be aware of anything else.

Although teenagers are usually self absorbed, their average awareness bubbles are larger than those of children. They are now somewhat aware of the sex, violence and drugs they are constantly bombarded with through the media. Some outliers with larger bubbles are the people that discover a cause, immediately attach themselves to it, and pretend like they know a lot about it, such as girls that become vegetarians after they find out about how the chickens are killed. This is balanced out by the people that have their first obsessive relationships and feel compelled to spend 3+ hours on the phone each day, budgeting at least 30 minutes at the end of the conversation to ascertain who loves who more. God that sucked.

Many people might assume that college-aged people and young adults might have by far the largest awareness bubbles with their political activism and intellectual curiosity. This is a horribly misguided perception. For every college student that fits this stereotype, their is at least one other person of the same age working for slightly more than minimum wage in their hometown with no aspirations to go any further. In spite of this, on average the awareness bubbles of this demographic are near the peak.

On the descending half of the peak of the curve are middle aged adults. Although there are many that do live in ignorance, the majority watch the news and have a general sense for the pulse of society. Many also have children, and thus must expand their bubbles in order to account for the absence of their children's bubbles.

At the far end of the curve are the elderly. As their mental faculties slowly begin to deteriorate, so do their awareness bubbles. However, many develop conditions such as dementia that wildly distort their bubbles, perhaps turning them inside out.

But the size of one's bubble is not solely linked to age. One's actions can result in rapid and radical changes to the bubble. For example, if you sustain a serious injury, it is hard for you to think about anything other than your injury, and your bubble is localized to that particular region of your body.

Another bubble altering action is drinking. This begins when the decision to drink socially is made. At this point, the bubble shrinks to the city that the person is drinking in. All other concerns about fade away. As the drinking continues, you become aware of only the building you are in, then to the room you are in, to the people your talking to, to people that are touching you, to practically nothing. Blacking out occurs when the bubble implodes inside your hippocampus.

This is something that has plagued college students for years. If anyone knows can think of a way to halt this epidemic, please share it with us all.

Tattoos

2008-11-17T16:16:00.000-08:00

I recently heard a story of a man who got a company's logo tattooed on his face for something like 20,000 dollars. I believe it was some coffee company's tattoo that was supposed to represent the big red mark you have on your forehead when you fall asleep on your desk. But I digress. I use to think I had a handle on all the types of people who get tattoos. But I believe this development has fundamentally altered the tattoo culture.

Before this development, only three types of people got tattoos: people who wanted to prove to everyone else how hard they were, drunk people on a spring break dare, and the lizard man. Thus, when I met people with a tattoo, I knew I was supposed to either be intimidated, turned on/off (depending on tattoo image and location), or weirded out. But now when I meet someone with a tattoo, I have to consider the possibility that they merely sold a part of their body to an advertiser.

This new age of advertising prostitution has the potential to radically alter the very fiber of our society. Currently, only a few people are in this superminority: the lizard guy, the pregnant woman who tattooed her stomach for tickets to the Bears super bowl game (which they lost), and now this guy with the giant logo on his face. But what if this trend catches on?

Imagine you're the guy with the logo on his face. If he had a girlfriend/wife before making this decision, needless to say he no longer does. But how does he go about meeting people? I'm sorry, but there is no way any reasonable person finds this attractive. Also, if your only shot of impressing someone is with your personality, I can imagine it would be hard to hold a conversation with a person when you notice that they are constantly staring at your forehead.

But all this weird logo guy needs is for other people to get logos on their faces as well. And with the economy going the way it is, I can see more and more people choosing this method to solve their financial crises. Not only will this group of people no longer have to worry about physical appearance in forming relationships, but they will also all have significant financial advantages over the rest of us normal people. Soon this faction will multiply and attempt to coexist with the remainder of society until eventually they get their own political party and God knows what else.

And who knows where it will end. If people will become walking billboards for money, what else will they do? Perhaps they will offer to walk around crowded cities and hand out pamphlets, do promotions and answer questions in addition to getting their bodies tattooed for an hourly rate. Imagine a guy with a Carrot Top like demeanor and tattooed logos covering his body harassing you every time you walk down the street.

Something has to be done about this.

Counting Swans

2008-11-14T19:16:00.000-08:00

It's raining. Hard.

As I sit in a suburban headed to the Outer Banks, I wonder how I got myself into this situation. I am on my way to a mandatory field trip for my vertebrate field zoology class. Our agenda for the weekend consists of waking up at 6:30 am to leave for an isolated island where we get to observe migrating birds and keep a tally of how many we see. But as miserable at it sounds, it gets worse.

Our professor as said that under no weather conditions will we not go out into the field to perform our research. Kind of like the US Postal Service, but some would contend what they do is more important. Unfortunately for me, the forecast is calling for heavy, driving rain all weekend.

Had I prepared for this, as was strongly suggested to us by the professor, I would be able to adequately cope. Instead, I decided it made more sense to put literally zero thought or energy into preparing for the trip and throw clothes in a bag an hour before we had to leave. I now find myself with one pair of pants to wear for the entire weekend.

But we couldn't possibly count birds all day, could we? God I hope not. Our football team has perhaps the biggest game of the last 5 years tomorrow. Normally preparation for a game of this magnitude would call for some serious tailgating. I don't even know if I will be able to watch it, or even be in an area where I get enough service to get text message updates.

Strange, this sounds better than I anticipated. Oh wait, how could I forget. Our basketball team also begins its season tomorrow. Don't think I'll be catching any of that one, either.

But at least I am here with a lot of my good friends. Ha. Tonight I'll be sharing a double bed with a complete stranger. Before leaving I had only had a conversation with one other person on the trip, an attractive female friend. Perhaps the silver lining to this very dark cloud? Nope. She has already quasi-dated one of my much more attractive friends.

In an attempt to break the ice in the car, I talked about how for the past year I have attempted to catch and kill a squirrel on campus with only my hands and feet. Normally, this conversation is so absolutely ludicrous that it provides entertainment for those involved. But I underestimated my biology loving peers, and then was forced to listen to them share their similar accounts. Fortunately, I had the foresight to prepare for just such a situation, and I reached for my Skoal. Unfortunately, I put a sizable dent in it the night before, and I don't see how I can ration it out to last the entire weekend. I might be taking a cab home.

Methods of Transportation

2008-11-11T10:32:00.000-08:00

As students at UNC, we have many methods of getting from one place to another, such as walking, driving, riding a bike, taking the hypotenuse or taking the bus to name a few. Having used almost all at some point in my collegiate career, I have come to realize that thousands of people all using these different means of transportation simultaneously on perhaps the narrowest roads this side of the Mississippi is simply not compatible.

I arrived at this conclusion sometime last year as I was power walking to an exam I was running late for. Now I don't mean I was actually ten minutes late and would have to awkwardly climb over people to find the one open seat in the center of the classroom.

No, this was one of those classrooms where the seats are made for the anorexic, so that you're in constant contact with the people next to you, and the heat is always just a little bit too high so that if you're not sitting next to two petite girls you get to deal with the odor and heavy breathing of the slightly overweight dude who doesn't shower. This scenario does not exactly facilitate my test taking abilities, and I try to avoid it whenever possible.

So on this day I leave just a few minutes after I normally would, assuming I can just make up the time by walking a bit faster. But wouldn't you know it, I get stuck behind that group of people that walks incredibly slow and is completely oblivious to the people around them. But they don't just walk slow. They also walk shoulder to shoulder and block the entire sidewalk.

As I frantically dart back and forth, trying to find the hole, I decide to make a break for the outside when from out of nowhere a guy on a bike speeds by, making sure to hit the puddle of mud on his way past so as to maximize the amount he could splash on me. Unbelievable.

At this moment I realized that whatever method of transportation I'm using I assume has every right to the road. When I'm walking, I expect cars to yield to me. When I'm driving, I expect the biker who can barely make it up the hill to move onto the sidewalk. If all of these people don't part like the Red Sea in front of me, I instantly become furious. Thus, I propose we all choose one primary means of transportation for getting around campus and become fiercely loyal to it. However, each must comply to a set of understood rules and regulations.

Walkers:

The sidewalks are your domain. If you happen to see a biker zooming in and out of groups of people, push him over, or ram a stick in between the spokes of his front tire. This will cause him to fly over his handlebars, and hopefully break his bike. But also ensure to keep the crowds moving at a reasonable pace. I suggest slightly higher than a jog, and just shy of a stampede.

Drivers:

Stick to the roads around the perimeter of campus, not the ones that go through it. If you're dropping someone off, you don't have to get them right in front of the door. I don't care if it's raining. You're doing them a favor anyways. If they won't get out, just refuse to take them any further. Also, just because you're too dumb to know where you're going, doesn't mean you have the right to drive 11 miles an hour. Get a gps thingy or turn over your license.

Bikers:

I really don't know what to say to you. You think that getting a bike gives you permission to leave for class later than everyone else and attempt to make up time by nearly running people over in your mad dash to class. You are by far the most dishonourable, believing that you own both the roads and the sidewalks, and instead just infuriate drivers and walkers.

Bus riders:

I don't have much of a problem with you when you ride the bus normally, so long as you don't ride your bike to the bus stop and slow down everyone else as you awkwardly try to get your bike onto the rack in the front of the bus. All that does is allow for more people to squeeze onto the bus, and make everyone that much more miserable.

Mopeds:

Seriously? Drop out and move away.

Plagues

2008-11-09T17:27:00.001-08:00

Yes. Plagues.

Think about how much they suck. Good thing those don't happen anymore, right? Wrong.

You would think having twenty of your best friends coming back to school for Homecoming would be something to look forward to. Instead, I dread it worse than an exam. The event is similar to a plague several ways. It is short in duration, horrible in severity and leaves you reeling.

This morning I awoke to a scene that was very disturbing to say the least. Bodies clothed in tattered khaki's and button downs littered the floor around me, as if I was the lone survivor of a cult mass suicide. The stench of the stale beer, cigarettes, and vomit polluted the air. As I attempted to find my keys, one of my socks literally stuck to the floor and slipped off my foot. Too overwhelmed to make an effort at cleaning, I collapsed back to my bed (couch), defeated. As I shut my eyes and prayed it was all a dream, as I often do, I reflected on what had actually happened this weekend. This is what I could come up with.

The entire weekend's events have become something of a blur. My only way to assess what happened is to think about what I had before the weekend and what I have now.

Before:

Health
A reputation
Adequate shelter
A stocked fridge

Now:

An empty wallet
A grass stained, torn shirt
A badly bruised back
No keys

Can't wait for next year. At least I won't be the one to try and pick up the pieces.

Welcome and a Brief Thought

2008-11-09T16:42:00.000-08:00

If you have found your way to this blog, than you know more about blogs than I did thirty minutes ago. Although initially strongly opposed to them, I have lately decided they provide a convenient venue for my numerous rants and otherwise almost worthless thoughts.

A good friend of mine introduced me to the concept of blogging. We share many similar philosophies and experiences, and you can find his here. We'll do our best to avoid wasting too much of your time with related posts, but if you find them to be similar I strongly encourage you to forsake his and seek mine for its proper use: an entertaining alternative to doing what you should be doing.

Which brings me to my next topic: why am I writing this? Honestly, I really don't know. I can think of a lots of reasons here, but I would call them all questionable at best. This is a philosophy of mine that I doubt I will believe in after graduation, but for now has worked extremely well. I don't believe in bad decisions, only questionable ones. I don't know when I stumbled upon this gem, but I think it arose as a way for me to justify my current lifestyle. Sort of a necessity is the mother of invention type deal.

But anyways, when I heard about a way I could spend hours of time I don't have for a few moments of enjoyment for several other people, I just couldn't resist. But before you read any further, I want you to know what your getting with this blog. This is not one of the trendy blogs with cool gadgets and shit (can I say that?). This is just merely a forum for me to attempt to entertain an audience without interruption from one of my more attractive friends.

I don't really know how blogs are suppose to work or care. I mean, Pomer had to make the link to his own blog for me. So feel free to suggest ways in which I can improve it so I can throw them back in your face.