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.