On the Town

Hello, blogworld. I'm back. At least for now.

An enormous number of life changes have happened since I last laid out a real blog post, none of which are particularly interesting, and all of which involve me sending my bank account update emails straight into my spam folder every month. Life.

Anyway, back to things of actual blogportance.

I boycotted my beloved Thought Catalog after my roommate and I attended a semi-disastrous Ryan O'Connell-sponsored happy hour a few weeks ago. It wasn't disastrous, actually, so much as it was swarmed with every lifelorn twenty-something in the five boroughs, and cemented my horrible, creeping notion that I AM A CLICHE. I AM NOT UNIQUE. Free booze, though, so that was a plus.

Anyhoo. So, I stopped reading Thought Catalog for a few weeks in order to purge myself of the twee and precocious. But one of my NYC buddies posted this article, which documents the relationship newcomers have to New York as they live here over time. It's full of the usual litany of memories - high rent, love-hate relationship, the moment one realizes he or she really is one with the city.

It's a strange thing for me to read, though. New York isn't some place I moved to in hopes of making it big. New York isn't really a new adventure for me at all. I rode the subway the other day (like I do every day) and marveled at how I've been here for five months, and train throttles aren't novel to me anymore. But taking the subway, or strolling down 7th Avenue, almost getting run over by a taxi -- these things were all part of an old life of mine, and now they've merely crept back in. These things were never novel to me. There has been no moment where I've finally felt a part of New York, because it's always been a part of me.

Maybe that's what makes it hard for me to live here. It's too easy, in a way. I don't get excited when I manage to get from point A to point Q correctly. I don't make a connection with the city the way I did with Rome or Baltimore, because I've never felt like New York was a place I needed to conquer.

Maybe it's time for a new adventure. Maybe I need time away before I return again.

I miss the blogverse. I'll be back soon.

Blog/Life Failure.

OH GOD I'M SO SORRY BLOGVERSE/MOM & DAD! I've been so busy being an overworked/underpaid twenty-something Brooklynite that I haven't had any time to blog! Well, theoretically, I've had some spare time, but most of it has been spent drinking away post-grad life and/or watching episodes of How I Met Your Mother online, also in an attempt to drown out the real world, but with canned laughter instead of whiskey.

I will return. I'll be cooking up something good tomorrow. It'll probably be Easy Mac.

Life is wonderful, isn't it.

Rejection Is A Beautiful Thing

I love you.

I'm scooting off to work in a sec, but I needed to post a link to this beautiful rejection letter written by the one-and-only Hunter S. Thompson in 1971 in response to a piece of satire submitted to Rolling Stone magazine. I saw it posted on my beloved bible, the Gothamist (!!please hire me!!), this morning and felt the need to share it with my blog readership/my parents, who may be the only members of my blog readership.

You worthless, acid-smoking piece of illiterate shit! Don't ever send this kind of brain-damaged swill in here again. If I had the time, I'd come out there and drive a fucking wooden stake into your forehead. Why don't you get a job, germ? Maybe delivering advertising handouts door to door, or taking tickets for a wax museum. You drab South Bend cocksuckers are all the same; like those dope-addled dingbats at the Rolling Stone offices. I'd like to kill those bastards for sending me your piece... and I'd just as soon kill you, too. Jam this morbid drivel up your ass where your readership will better appreciate it. P.S. Keep up the good work. Have a nice day.

If I get rejected from another job, which I most certainly will, I can only hope that Hunter's ghost will fly from the heavens and tell me to "jam [my] morbid drivel up [my] ass where [my] readership will better appreciate it."

And people wonder why I've read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas approx. 17 times...

Talkin' About Things. And Things.

I really should update more... in the span of time since I last wrote a post, the United States economy went way downhill (again) and I finally learned how to snap my fingers with my left hand. What a week.

Also, today I saw SEVEN rats at the 1st Ave L stop. SEVEN. That's almost as many mice as I had in my college apartment! I became a bit nostalgic as I watched them scurry about the tracks, carrying cardboard, cell phones and random bits of machinery into their lairs. I'm not sure why everyone's so concerned about robots taking over the earth. Those damn rats are huge and will totally wipe out humanity some day.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS! SCARY NUMBERS!!!

Speaking of wiping out humanity, as I'm sure you've all heard, the economy is tanking (again), China keeps chastising the US for living outside "its means," or whatever, and Obama is getting even grayer and sad looking. This is all nuts. Luckily, I now make slightly above minimum wage, so everything's dandy. I can totally afford to live in New York City, guys!

I'm still not really clear on how the stock market works, anyway, so I can't be too concerned. Money, schmoney. Living off Easy Mac and bar pretzels is nothing to be ashamed of, right?

I saw one of the L stop rats use its teeth to drag a huge silver watch into a hoarding hole. If there's one New Yorker who knows how to keep afloat when times are rough, it's a subway rat.

I've Never Felt So Close to You Before...

My commute.

Doesn't the New York subway system look glorious? I've always wondered what it felt like to snuggle up to strangers' armpits. Yummmm.

That being sad, nothing in life is more tragic than watching a throng of people exit a subway stop right as you're about to enter it. Especially if you take the L, because then you can look forward to at least 18 minutes of new wait time in the glorified sauna otherwise known as the station platform.

The DC Metro might not be as fast or as convenient, and that single-tracking system they have going on the weekends in absurdity, but man, those stations are nice and breezy.

Hrmph.

Summer in the city. Super fun times.

If I Can Make it There, I'll Make it Anywhere

After a brief, blessed stint as a fully-employed person, I will soon return to the land of the food stamp-eligible, which means I'll probably have more time to blog. True, it would be nicer to have less time to blog and more time to drum up some rent money, but hey, man, beggars can't be choosers. Though we can be bloggers.

And now, for a moment of seriousness.

I've been back in New York for two months now, shuffling from Brooklyn to Manhattan and back day after day. I've sent out job applications, though certainly not enough, signed up for unpaid/low-paid freelance gigs, and fact-checked countless magazine articles. I'm not really any closer to finding a job, but maybe some of that is because I'm still not even sure about what kind of job I want to get.

New York is the kind of place that beats the hell out of you and doesn't have any interest in letting you fight back, a quality I vaguely recognized growing up here. There's always someone better, brighter, prettier, more accomplished, more connected, and more talented than you are, digging their heels into your toes and reminding you that you really aren't anything special. I've been told time and again that I need to develop more of an ego, but sometimes I feel like it's better to be here without one. It's hard to survive if you're interested in going with the flow, because the flow in New York is more like a tsunami.

There's really nothing to do but latch on and hold tight. It's an adventure for sure, but an exhausting one nonetheless.

I miss Baltimore.

A Whole New World

Well, after a week-and-a-half long battle between the demon keepers of the InterWebz (Time Warner Cable) and ourselves, my new BK roommate and I can finally access all the glorious things the 'Net has to offer!

Of course, the instant we had Internet again, I watched an adorable YouTube video of an adorable sleepy baby bunny. I have posted it here so all three of my readers can soak themselves in the cuteness. It's two and a half minutes long. I watched it four times. Huzzah, Internet!

So, as you may have guessed, a great many changes happened in the few weeks I was off the Web. First and foremost, something called Google+ was invented. I have no idea what Google+ is. At first I was banned from it because I wasn't popular enough to be "invited" by some posh keyholder, but once I was, my computer was too old and cranky to access it. Looks like Baby MacBook and I will have to be satisfied with the old, boring Google.

Also, Facebook Chat has Skype on it now, so that's pretty weird too.

But aside from all the Internet updates (all of which were quite jarring at first), many life changes happened as well. I am now officially a Brooklyn resident, living in what I like to call The Lion's Den - right off the Bedford stop in Williamsburg. My new neighborhood looks like this:

Disneyland for history buffs.

JUST KIDDING, THAT'S COLONIAL WILLIAMSBURG! I'm such a joker. But actually, those lobsterback outfits look pretty sweet, and if someone dressed like that in my 'hood, I would totally make them be my friend.

Disneyland for hipsters.

But anyhoo, my actual neighborhood looks more like this:








Ah, BK. The land of PBR-swigging, neon clothing, and tattoos. It's a little different from the hallowed halls of my alma mater, in which dressing up meant wearing jeans instead of sweatpants. I wore leggings a lot, so I was considered pretty avant-garde, if I do say so myself.

Now, of course, my roommate and I are in a perpetual search for see-thru baby crop tops and suspenders so we fit in with the rest of the BillyBurg clientele.

Life is such a struggle.

the Internet is a privilege, not a right

Blog World, I am so sorry that I've abandoned you! Brooklyn has temporarily banned me from the Internet. I am writing you this message from a hijacked iPad (thanks, Dad!) and will provide you with more ponderings as soon as I'm granted access to the wonderful world of wireless web.

Until then, live free and prosper.

Name-Stealers Update

Just an update on those name-stealing no-goodniks, the Beets: apparently they are SUPER popular in Brooklyn.  Like, one of the top-listed Shea Stadium recordings kind of popular.

There you go. Another example of how completely uncool I am.

MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY

I've begun to notice that this blog has turned into me regurgitating other blogs, but quasi-unemployment has enabled me to spend time reading things on the InterWebz, and it's impossible for me to keep some amazing finds to myself. So, in addition to re-twittering, posting links on theFacebook, and shouting wildly upon discovering some life-changing piece of blogwork, I'm going to post awesome things I find here!!! YAAAAAAY. I know. You're all excited. I understand.

Today's bit of insightful blogdom is courtesy of Thought Catalog, my current favorite snarky and intelligent culture-collector and commentator (HIRE ME HIRE ME HIRE ME HIRE ME ACCEPT MY SUBMISSIONS PLEASE). During my daily (i.e., hourly) Twitter search, I saw this article titled "Spending Money Like A 20-Something". The piece notes how, despite the fact that almost every 20-something lacks serious funds, we spend money on things like rent/alcohol/iPhones as if we have access to some everflowing fountain of dolla dolla bills.

tastes like pee, but oh so cheap...!

The alcohol thing is particularly true. On an average night out in New York City, it's real easy to drop like six bazillion dollars on overpriced booze. $4 PBR and a shot Happy Hour special? AWESOME, DUDE! SO CHEAP!...and a few/six beer-shot combos later, there goes the rent money. And maybe whatever you ate that day.

Where is all this spare drinking/renting/life living cash coming from? Excellent question. When you find out, let me know.

The Craigslist (Time)Killer

One of the least/most mediocre things about being quasi-unemployed is taking advantage of the vast entertainment provided by Craigslist. I've been spending a lot of time on Craigslist looking for job openings, and I've come across some wonderful, wonderful listings. Here are some of Craigslists' most stellar recent gems:

1. Death --> "I am doing some research for an upcoming project and need your help. I am asking for written responses to the following questions. You may reply to one question or as many as you choose.

1-What is your personal definition of death?
2-Write about your first encounter with death.
3-Write about your first funeral."

2. Need Someone to Do My Dishes -->  "Pretty straight forward, I have a sink full of dishes and I'm too lazy to do them, if someone want to come over and do them I'll pay them $15, I'd like this to be done tonight, email me your phone number and I'll call you."

3.  Asian Female Braniac/Nerdy type for interview --> "I am looking for a young (18-26) asian female intellectual nerdy type to spend some time interviewing for a private project. Compensation is $25 per hour (plus beverages, snacks), several hours per week. Please send brief bio and pic."

4. $575 Decent Room4Rent Util. Incl Clean Responsible Working Females/Male...(Buswick, Brooklyn) --> "IAM A KOOL PERSON AND FRIENDLY GUY BUT MY RULES MUST BE ACCEPTED AND FOLLOWED IN ORDER TO LIVE HERE I DONT VIOLATE ANYONES PRIVACY OR TOUCH THERE THINGS BUT EXPECT THEM TO DO AS WELL N NOT VIOLATE MY PRIVACY OR TOUCH MY THINGS N GIVE ME THAT RESPECT IF YOU CANT DO THIS OR DONT I WONT ACCEPT IT NEITHER OR TOLERATE IT N WILL TELL U TO LEAVE BASICALLY I DONT ACCEPT ANY BULSHIT OR SHIT IN MY HOUSE AT ALL THANK YOU BUT IF YOU CANT KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOUR SELF OR MIND UR BUISNESS THEN YOUR OUT OF MY HOUSE AND ALSO IF YOUR NOT A ANIMAL OR PET LOVER THEN YOU CANT BE HERE AS WELL THANK YOU I HAVE A BIRD MY DOGGIE A TURTLE N RABBIT TOO BUT MY HOUSE DONT STINK OR SMELL OR INFESTED WITH BUGS OR ANYTHING ELSE AND ITS DEFINITELY NOT DIRTY SO WE MUST KEEP IT CLEAN ALWAYS!!!!! IF NOT THIS IS DEFINITELY NOT FOR YOU AT ALL!!.. Iam 420 Friendly Iam gay friendly but iam not gay at all completely straight just dont disrespect.... I also Have a 1 year old Jack Russell Chiguagua she is clean quiet friendly and adorable and cute too...Iam not asking for to much just for a clean person and not a liar that would say one thing and do and say and show another thing and way about them....Iam a very clean person and since you would be living in MY Apartment I Expect you to be CLEAN all around meaning not just your appearance and also since you would live here you must CLEAN i have to be very specific since others i had here claimed where CLEAN but where total SLOBS AND PIGS so please if you Aint CLEAN or want too CLEAN dont answer my ad this aint for you, dont lie to me or yourself..." (this just continues, read the whole thang for some real entertainment!)

5. Braid My Hair in Exchange for Cleaning Your Apartment --> "I did the big chop, so my hair is completely natural and would like to have my hair braided. If you are interested in exchanging your braiding expertise to have your home cleaned, let's talk asap. I live in Manhattan but can commute anywhere in the city. Thank you." 

God, I love Craigslist. 

What, Me Worry?

bleeding ulcer, yum!

One of my new Twitter friends posted this New York Times article about the significance of worrying. According to behavioral scientists, apparently excessive worrying can actually lead to eventual success, not just bleeding ulcers.

This is good news for me, since I am, for lack of a better word, quite a worrier. I worry about lots of things. Sometimes, these things relate to my academic performance, or the rise of the Tea Party, or impending apocalypses. Or my hair, because it's tempestuous and rowdy.

I am comforted, though, that people who worry tend to find success. Or, at least, that worrying drives people to find success. I've been worrying a lot about pesky things like money and jobs. They laid off a significant number of the staff at my internship on my first day. First day, first fifteen minutes that I started working there, in fact. Rough stuff.

Man.

Ch Ch Ch Changes

Several recent important life changes have occurred.

Look at me, I'm all growed up!

1) I graduated from college and have joined the ranks of the food stamp eligible.

2) I am semi employed at a legit magazine, but very unpaid, which is both wonderful and tragic.

3) I have moved back to New York and am living with my parents, like 85 percent of America. They have been very accommodating of me and the remains of my Baltimore apartment, now comprised of three duffels/four boxes/several miscellaneous shopping bags/a Hefty bag full of shoes.

4) I have spent many, many hours on Craigslist looking for an apartment in East Williamsburg because I am under the likely erroneous impression that this particular part of Brooklyn is a magical place filled with ponies and dandelions instead of hipsters and gangsters.

Hidy-ho, future neighbor!

5) I will likely find housing somewhere in a sewer.

6) 90 percent of my job search thus far has involved sitting in my apartment wondering why I don't have a job, 8 percent has been googling what it's like to work at Urban Outfitters, and 2 percent has been fantasizing about becoming best friends with Todd P.

7) I have held no less than four (4) extensive conversations at rando bars with dudes who work at Goldman Sachs/Morgan Stanley/etc. about bond trading or whatever, and I still have absofrackinglutely no idea what they're talking about, yet I continue to feign complete interest.

Eep.

A TURTLE THE SIZE OF A GRAPE LOOK AT IT!!!!

When I'm done willing myself to die post-19th Century British Novel final, I promise I will pontificate on life, love and the pursuit of happiness. Or whatever. But right now, all you need from me is this:

I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, that's a picture of a turtle the size of a grape. You're welcome, world.

Teaser

Man, blogging is harddd.

I'm cooking up something real good for y'all about teen angst and My So-Called Life because my roommate and I have been watching it obsessively instead of studying for finals. But you'll have to wait for it until the morning, because I need to go to sleep before 5 a.m. at some point this week. I know. The suspense will be difficult for you. I understand.

Until then, here's a lil Jordan Catalano to pump you up.

He can't read and he's kind of a jerk, but he leans great!

Hasta luego, amigos!

This Is A Blog Post

I know, I know, I know. I am providing some major fail juice on the blogging thing. Lots o' things have happened in the past week and a half - the Royal Wedding, Osama bin Laden's death, Hope getting kicked off Celebrity Apprentice - and perhaps I will recap all these things, but for now, just enjoy this article about that saucy minx, Hillary Clinton.

That's right, if you haven't heard, a Hasidic newspaper photoshopped that now-famous Situation Room photo because Secretary of State Clinton and Director for Counterterrorism Audrey Tomason were way too seductive for their readership.

Pantsuits, man.

You're Fired.

Once upon a time, I was super invested in politics. Not in a particularly active way - I didn't put in any real volunteer time for campaigns, or try to intern at a local representative's office or anything - but in the way a very, very casual sports fan might follow his or her favorite team, especially towards the end of the season. In 2000, when I was in sixth grade, I watched Bush accuse Gore of utilizing "fuzzy numbers" in their first debate and cried when the final Florida recount came through.

These were some really rough times, guys.

In 2004, I walked around the Upper West Side of Manhattan and took in my fellow liberals' somber, downcast stares. In 2008, I phone banked a bit for Obama and read Nate Silver religiously and had nightmares that Sarah Palin allowed polar bears to frolic on the White House lawn.

But somewhere between "hope and change!" and Michele Bachmann, I gave up on politics. I even stopped watching the Daily Show. I mean, seriously, things were getting sad.

This all has changed now that Donald Trump has decided to run for president.

I mean, my god. The man has a magic comb over that has DEFIED THE TEST OF TIME. He stamped his name in GIANT GOLD LETTERS all over the Upper West/East/Mid/Whatever side of Manhattan. He created/fronted the The Apprentice, and introduced the ever-charming and not at all insane Omarosa into our lives. And then he created The Celebrity Apprentice. Also, he totally thinks Charlie Sheen is an awesome guy! Or so I've heard.

I mean, really, how could this man not be the leader of the free world some day?

Nothing about this isn't the best thing you've ever seen.

And now he's all convinced that a) Barack Obama wasn't born in America, a debate that absolutely no one gave up on like two years ago, and b) Barack Obama isn't actually intelligent, because, as Elle Woods said about getting into Harvard, "What, like it's hard?" and c) that people think his stylish windswept hair isn't covering up a really unfortunate bald spot at all. Right on the money, Trumpsie. Can I call you that? Well, I'm going to.

I think maybe I'll run for president next year. Seems like the thing to do. I read this book about a twelve year old who ran for president, and things turned out okay for him. Actually, in the end the kid realized that being president really sucks, so he resigned right after coming out of election night triumphant. But he was twelve, and twelve year olds get all angsty and pubescent, so I'd be better for the job anyway. Besides, my kitchen is filled with horrible mice who poop everywhere and I have to clean up after them every morning, that's so like being president, right?

The future's gonna be great, guys.

Nothing's Sacred Anymore

The other day, I stumbled upon an article  discussing the sudden rise of a new Ramones-esque band. The music seemed cool and the hype perhaps justified, but one thing really threw me - the band was called the Beets.

Total Beets imposters.

Now, for anyone born before 1987 and after 1994, the name the Beets likely means very little. But for us Millenials birthed in between, the Beets are none other than the über-popular band from that baller Nickelodeon show, Doug. "Killer Tofu," guys! "Killer Tofu"! I showed the article to my roommate, who shared in my outrage.

A Daytrotter blurb from 2010 described the faux new Beets as "a band that doesn't care about too many other things...They don't like many other bands and they seem to be living strictly for their own music and the aesthetic eccentricities that can be co-opted into that." I mean, that's all well and good, and I'm all for living for the music and what not, but seriously, guys, WHY DID YOU NAME YOUR BAND THE BEETS??!! That's all I can think about. This is almost as devastating as when they moved Doug to 1 Saturday Morning on ABC and there was a completely different theme song and everyone's voice was different and I think Porkchop was a different color. THESE ARE THE THINGS THAT DISTURB AND UPSET YOUNG CHILDREN.

I mean, maybe I was twelve or so when that happened. But still. Very distressing.

The REAL Beets!

Also, what is up with that? When animated shows change the characters' voices, children notice. The aardvarks on Arthur have gone through practically seventeen different voice actors, and it's just like, OH HEY FRANCINE'S VOICE WENT DOWN FIVE OCTAVES, NO BIG DEAL. Children recognize voices of their favorite characters, and it's as if the character has been replaced entirely when the voice changes. When I went to Disney World way back when, like, circa 1993, I remember being really upset because the Belle at the Disney Characters Breakfast didn't sound like Belle at all. Actually, now that I think about it, she didn't sound like Belle because she didn't speak, and that totally creeped me out.

I'm going to stop ranting about this and go to class. But seriously, Beets. Either change your name or get your act together and come out with a hit single like this. Otherwise, you've lost me forever.

Right, I Have a Blog...(and other thoughts)

Yes, so I haven't been quite the dedicated blogger I envisioned myself to be, but to be fair, I've been under academic duress recently. Also, this past weekend was Spring Fair, which is the only ultimate fun weekend at Hopkins, so I was quite busy with all that.

There is something quite fantastically non-mediocre about day drinking outside in the sun. I wouldn't recommend it, say, on the streets of Manhattan during your lunch break, but beer gardens, man...those are the bomb. Apparently there's a beer garden under the High Line this summer. NEW YORK I LOVE YOU.

Saturday night, a bunch of Hopkins skidz embarked on a mass exodus off campus to go to the Floristree, this uber-hip ad-hoc space downtown-ish that plays host to some cheap shows. The Floristree is kind of a scene - mustachioed hipsters galore! - but at the same time, it's one of those real essential Baltimore spots, one of those places where you feel inserted in the heart of the local youth culture. Everyone chugs 40s of Natty Boh and moshes to the music without any consideration for rhythm,  the bands abuse Vocorders, and people wear suspenders.

Bmo', you so cool.

It's, in a word, awesome.

And when I looked around the other night and soaked up the scene, I thought about how much I was going to miss it.

Netanyahu Just Needs "Somebody To Love"

Bieber, whatchu doin' over there in the Middle East?

I brought out the English minor in me the other day when I procrastinated doing a homework assignment by reading Frank O'Hara poems online.

"After the first glass of vodka
you can accept just about anything
of life even your own mysteriousness
you think it is nice that a box
of matches is purple and brown and is called La Petite and comes from Sweden
for they are words that you know and that is all you know words not their feelings or what they mean and you write because you know them not because you understand them because you don't you are stupid and lazy and will never be great but you do what you know because what else is there?"

Thanks, Frank. You always know what to say.

Modern Times

My computer charger killed itself the other day. Disillusioned by its monotonous "plug in and plug out" existence, it decided to forgo supplying my laptop with life source, choosing instead to lay limp and useless on my bedroom floor. No crisis, as luckily it turns out that my university stuck an Apple Store into the basement of an old classroom building, though it took me a few days to figure that out. I had to rely on the kindness of others to maintain my internet addiction.

Maybe I can call it "vintage"...?

Technology is a weird, temporal thing. It's a strange of moment when you realize that the beloved baby Macbook you bought the summer before your freshman year, the one that loaded at the speed of light and made your '03 Dell look like a body-building regime accessory, has become a dinosaur. Freshmen and sophomores carry around sleek new Apple computers that aren't covered with years of dorm-room crust. These new computers aren't missing keys, or cracked in odd places due to a casing defect. They don't even make the Macbook in black anymore.

I'm going to need a new computer soon. When I turn this one on, there's a real moment of suspense before the welcome screen loads. Writing papers has turned into a gamble against time.

And yet...the world spins madly on...Except for the U.S. government, apparently.

NEWS FLASH

America at its finest.

Denny's has a bacon sundae.







I mean, there's really nothing more to say.

Bitten by the Senioritis Bug

My one true devoted follower keeps asking me why I haven't updated recently, and to her, I apologize. Sadly, the academic monsters that rule my universe have kept me locked in a cubicle-crammed cage called the library for the past few days.

My reference to academic monsters is, of course, in jest, as my professors are certainly not monsters, and my workload really isn't all that overwhelming, all things considered. I've probably spent more time doing online crossword puzzles and reading about impending apocalypses than researching examples of class warfare in Strindberg. But still, I've logged like eighteen hours in the basement of the Milton S. Eisenhower library. How can this be?

The problem is that pesky little bug called Senioritis. The sporadic reappearance of the sun has infected me and my fellow future graduates with this plague, the symptoms of which according to Wikipedia include "procrastination, lack of motivation, a drop in academic performance, a desire to drop out of school, and "coasting", which is the act of going through classes with very little concentration or application of intent along with truancy and frequent tardiness."

Basically, we sit around and do nothing all day. Or, at least, that's what we want to do.

Most people go through this during their last semester of high school, after the college applications are in, grades stop counting, and the future, though not set in stone, looks pretty bright. When I was in high school, most of my teachers enabled our lack of focus, trading in physics lessons for YouTube Captain Planet marathons. Seriously. I was very up-to-date on the power of eco-friendly magic rings in April '07.

Unfortunately, senioritis isn't as easy to coast by on in college. Especially when your post-grad plans aren't set, and your GPA might ultimately be an important factor in your near future. More importantly, professors don't really care that you've lost interest in their assignments. I tried to suggest writing a paper on the South Park parody of Great Expectations rather than on the Dickens book itself, but to no avail.

Ah, well. The library calls.

The Future Freaks Me Out

HELLO!

All seven of my devoted readers have lamented my lack of recent entries, but DON'T WORRY, FOLKS! I'm back from an absolutely fabulous, not in the least bit mediocre trip to Catalina Island, off the coast of Los Angeles, and I have many stories of Franzia fests and games of Cards Against Humanity to tell. Probably not in a blog post, but if you know me personally, just ask me. Or, if you don't know me, attempt to send me a message with your mind, and perhaps I will respond.

Catalina Island, baby! Photo courtesy of Emma Alterman

Anyhoo.

I managed to make it home for approximately two and a half days, and during one of my lovely lounging hours on the couch in my parents' living room, my baby sis and I caught the end of the movie Accepted. Some of you might remember Accepted, a 2006 summer flick starring Justin Long. It's that one about a kid who gets rejected from every school he applies to, so he starts his own college. It wasn't exactly an Oscar contender, but Lewis Black was in it, and it was funny. Sort of. Almost funny.

I saw Accepted in theaters the summer it came out, which was the summer before my senior year of high school. I hadn't started applying to schools yet, but the stress was starting. The film was terrible, but it spoke to me in the way those films accidentally tend to do. Also, it pumped me up for the life of freedom that lay ahead.

This time around, though, the message of college applications "rejecting rejection" wasn't what caught my attention. It was the penultimate line, in which Lewis Black - playing the dean of the made-up college - gives an orientation speech to new students, that hit me right where it hurts.

"College is the greatest four years of your life," he said. "And after that, you're f****d."

Dear god. Someone give me a job.

Lady Rap Keeps It Real

The '80s were probably mediocre years at best - stock market crashes, Reaganomics, Van Halen - but hey, the decade hosted my birth, and it played home to this fantastic little ditty right here.

We watched this in my How to be a Marxist class (or, as it's technically called, the Anthropology of Mass and Popular Culture), and I have to say, it's pretty inspiring. Gets my inner feminist all tingly, and makes me want to stage a rap battle. Plus, there's an old school subway car involved, which is always a win.

When one of my roommates heard this blasting from my speakers, she asked if I was listening to Justin Bieber.

Joie pour le monde.

Is it Too Late to Ask for My Tuition Back?

According to this illustrious piece of journalism, there will be about one million new openings for "middle-skill" jobs by 2018. Middle-skill, according to the article, means no college degree. Dental hygienists, who apparently fall into this middle-skill spectrum, will be expected to make median annual earnings of $65,160.

My expected median annual earnings next year, by the way, are approximately $0.

But it's okay, guys. I got to spend four years learning how to critically analyze three passages about artwork in Jane Eyre. There's no price on that kind of knowledge.

(Photo stolen from allhealthcaremonster.com)

Bolt Bus Fail Blog

This probably has more to do with utter failure than simple mediocrity, but a few days ago, a bunch-O news sites mentioned that a Bolt Bus driver got pulled over for drunk driving en route to Baltimore from New York. More importantly, über-hip writer/purveyor of mediocrity Tao Lin happened to be on board this particular bus, keeping his concerned Twitter followers calm and updated in 140 characters or less. Quelle disastro! Luckily, everyone is safe and sound, and we can expect more novellas name dropping American Apparel in the future.

In other news, it turns out I can't get a Mark Zuckerberg action figure after all. O, cruel world.

Photo of Tao Lin courtesy of thegothamist.com, though I should mention they don't know I took it.

Presto, Blog-o

Hello, blog-o-sphere.

After many, many failed attempts at creating an online opus containing all my hopes, dreams and aspirations, I have launched this as my future claim to fame.

What will I write about?

Well, first and foremost, there will be few to no documentations of the first two items noted in my blog's title. I'm a big Chuck Klosterman fan (if you haven't heard of him, run RIGHT NOW to Barnes & Noble and purchase Killing Yourself To Live, I command you), and am ripping off the first portion of his own "low culture manifesto," Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs.

There will, however, be quite a bit of information following my own pursuit of mediocrity, as I navigate the fun future working world ahead of me, pre- and post- my impending college graduation. Or something like that. Unclear.

I mean, hey. All the other kids are doing it!

See y'all on the flipside.

Becca