Smile Like You Mean It

No, I'm not talking about that annoying phrase your mother always barked at you when relatives were about to visit, or The Killers for that matter. However, if you guessed the awkwardness that ensues durings those split-second-passerby-interactions, then its a gold star for you!

Just imagine you've awoken in haze, your room littered with Dominos boxes and Lost DVD cases from that marathon you had last night. Realizing you're once again late for class, that familiar phrase, "Oh, crap!" Runs through your head. Before any more precious moments can be lost you yank on clothes, making yourself look mildly presentable, people shouldn't take bathing so seriously anyway right? So down to class you march, back on track to a normal schedule. Now, up until this very moment your whole day seems to be up to par (shower aside) until this fatal moment happens.

Oh hey, look its that girl from my bio class. I wonder if I should say "hi." Naww, she probably won't even recognize m- oh, oh wait. I think we're making eye contact. Damn what do I do now? She's smiling at me. Should I smile back? Ughhhh crap, if I do that, I'll be smiling at her and then the five people behind her. Awwwkward. But if I don't smile she's gonna think I'm an ass. Damn, ok here goes.

And so the tale goes on. You plaster a smile on your face and the other person in question moves on past you, allowing only moments for said smile to be removed and your face returned to normal. Sadly, this never actually works. Normally, you end up grinning on like a jackass to the people behind the intended target of your smile.  This usually results in a mixture of:

1.) People averting their eyes away quickly, as though to say "Ahhh! Whyyy is that weirdo looking at me like that?!" (Frankly I can't blame them)

2.) Looks of shock and anger "What? Who the hellllll do you think YOU are? Huh? You keep staring at me creeper and I'll cut you!" (a tad more hostile, but still understandable)

3.) This is the worst reaction of all- they smile back. To which I would say, "Why you gotta be so damn friendly, hippie?! Look away. Look. Away." (well maybe not, but seriously? I'm not out to make any friends on the way to class here, mk?)

And so to remedy such a situation, I have devised the grimace, a face made when you curl the edges of your mouth upwards, allowing a quick retraction of facial muscles to your standard "I'm on my way to class and I have no coffee in my hand" face. Thus allowing the party in question to feel aknowledged and you to be able to move on with your day awkwardness free. So let this be a lesson to all you friendly people out there: the next time you wish to extend and amicable hand (or face) to those walking in the opposite direction, don't.

Cyclists, Innocent Travellers or Culprits Intent on Ruining an Otherwise Pleasant Walk to Class? You Decide. No Pressure ;)

A college campus is a place for learning. It's a place for frat houses and sorority chicks. It's a place for dining halls and students unions. When walking to and fro to these places the average student has number of options laid out before them. Many go for the ever popular method of walking, its good, healthy, I myself have utilized this many a time. Next up, for the slightly more lazy student, there's the bus. Hey, I don't judge, I live on the side of a hill that is so steep, snowboarding to the bottom in the wintertime could actually be considered a viable option. And, I've never actually seen students do this outside of movies, but I sure as hell wish I had one of my own- golf cart. Mainly on campus I only see university employees carting food around in them, but I think with the right marketing plan geared towards tubbies and freshman, this trend could really catch on. However, there is one last mode of transportation that is unfortunately present in every campus- the bike. I live my life in fear of being clipped every time I step outside my room, danger lurking around every corner.

Just take this scenario into consideration: Ever walk down a street and realize someone else is walking towards you and you think to yourself, Oh crap, is she going towards the left or the right? Well its America, we bear to the right here. And so just as you move right, the girl charging towards you does as well. Uh oh, maybe she's British, here, I'll overcompensate and quickly dart to the left. Unfortunately, this train of thought is also applied by the adversarial walker in question and hence the awkward hippity-hoppity interaction takes place. This is where one pauses, does some sort of move commonly found in a square dance, smiles awkwardly and then scurries off.

Well, this interaction is bad enough on foot, so do you know what happens when your on a bike? Well, your reaction time needs to increase, however it rarely does and unfortunately this is the result:



I would have a slightly more irate reaction, only slightly. But there you are, now you know the dangers that bikes pose to normal people, simply going about daily business. So the next time you think cycling is a good way to get from point A to point B, don't. Get off your lazy ass and walk somewhere.

And You Thought Your Job Was a Bummer...

Ever watch The Tudors? Ever hear of The Tudors? Well, for most people, or at least the ones who paid attention during World History in high school, its a dynasty who ruled England for about 150 years . You know? The one with Queen Elizabeth and Henry, the guy who was a serial marrier? I guess if you don't fit into that category then you either have no idea what I'm talking about or you think I'm refering to the TV show, in which case you are correct.

I picked up this habit via recomendation. I can't really say how accurate to history it is because it really airs on the side of soap opera with men in frilly outfits rather than docudrama. But one thing I definitely have come away with is a sense of gratefulness that I wasn't born way back when. I mean pretty much back then for a woman you were either a wench or nun. Maybe if you were lucky you got to be a barmaid or the Queen or something, but for the most part job opportunities were limited.

Not that I can say job options for men were much better. Nowadays we generally have some sort of labor union- 16th century England? Not so much. Which brings me to the three crappiest jobs you could possibly have back then.

1.) Executioner- Nowadays if you're about to kill someone for murder or whatever, you sit in a little booth and press a button. The unlucky bastard about to die for whatever reason has fluids sent intravenously through his body and he falls asleep. Executioner circa 1300? Well, not only is your job so sucky that you're stuck killing people all day, but the incident of having their bodily juices all over you is also greatly increased. I guess the main form of ending a life was generally limited to beheading and burning, although in one instance (and by that I mean episode) a man was boiled to death in a vat of soup- the same recipe he used to kill some clergymen, how poetic. So props for creativity, but imagine trying to wash out that stench at the end of the day. I mean I complain about smelling like mashed potatoes, better than burnt flesh.

2.) Royal Jizz Disposer- What is a king to do when neither his mistress nor wife with puteth out? Why call in your own personal towel holder to collect, uh, well, you. Yup, this dude literally exists to do nothing other than to show up during times of frustration and dispose of whatever lands on that towel. And I thought being in maid service was bad. But again, with the bodily fluids being dispensed everywhere? I don't know, it must be sort of 16th century thing.

3.) Ooh I did it! I found yet another job a woman could do- Milk Nurse Person. Basically when you're queen or just wicked rich, you are deemed to be above such primitive instincts as breast feeding and after having your baby, it is promptly snatched away to be nourished by someone else. I wonder what the interview process for a job like that is? Perhaps something like a nanny?

Queen: Ahh, I see here that you have had two prior experiences with breast feeding.

Interviewee: Yes, your highness that is correct. One in Kent and then over in Nottingham. 

Queen: Right, yes, and what was the reason for leaving?

Interviewee: Uhmm, it grew up and graduated onto that of a cow?

Queen: Oh! Yes, yes, of course. Well everything seems in order, just send in a CORI form and we'll be all set to start in about a month. Fingers crossed its a boy otherwise I'll end up like that wench Ann- beheaded for only spawning off females.

Interviewee: Uhhhm, I'm uh, I'm gonna go now your Highness.

Hmm, well maybe that isn't how it went exactly, but you get the idea. Quality of life back then? Not so good. I mean if you weren't to busy dodging the black plague or figuring out how to best ward off those pesky gypsies from stealing your crops, then you probably managed to wiggle your way in Court and therefore spent most of your time trying to avoid becoming the King's latest conquest- apparently he was quite the man-slut. So, if your job entails being an actuary or making paper or something, don't complain! You could be stuck throwing out entrails for a living.

The Great American Bore

I would never claim to be a film fanatic. I don't understand camera angles or the use of negative space or the point of avant garde, but what I do know is that if the total amount of events could have actually been portrayed in about five minutes and are dragged out for 2 hours, then there's a problem.

So a quick synopsis of the film I just saw (trust me it will be quick as nothing happened)- George Clooney is an assassin, he moves to Italy and makes a gun which he then sells to a woman who uses it to try and kill him. This attempt is negated however because she herself is shot by dun, dun, dun the very man who hired her to kill him. Oh, and he bangs an Italian prostitute throughout the movie. If any of this sounds vaguely familiar to you, then it's probably because you too watched "The American," and for this I send out to you my sincerest condolences, for you have just lost a solid two hours of life that you can't every retrieve.

There isn't much more to say about this because, well, nothing friggin' happened! I can't say there was any character development, no reason why Clooney wants to run away with the aforementioned prostitute, no explanation as to why people are trying to kill him. The only subplot I can detect, which is about a priest with a secret son, isn't followed. And then, at the end of it all, after the assassin who tried to kill him is shot by the very man who gave her that order in the first place, there's no explanation for that either!

Apparently there's a book, though I can't say I have any intention of reading it because after watching Clooney walk around pouting for 2 hours I'm notentirely sure if I could stand reading a description of him walking around pouting for hundreds of pages.

So, movie snoot balls, you may turn your noses up at me, "What?" you say, "you wanted action, excitement, some semblance of a plot line? How bourgeois." I'll just let these critics' comments  (though few and far between)  speak for me:

"Those who believe they’d be happy watching George Clooney do nothing for two hours can now test that theory."

"It’s like ordering a hamburger and getting escargot. Which is OK if you like snail, but it’s an acquired taste."

"At some point in their careers, most male actors want to play (a) Hamlet, and (b) a hit man. I hope that Clooney has gotten "b" out of his system."

Really, Rotten Tomatoes? 62%? Clearly a perfect example of the inverse principle of movie critics- if they like it, I hate it and vice versa. If this artsy fartsy stuff is your thing then go for it. If your an average joeshmo like myself, then take a pass and go watch "Going the Distance"- stupid but full of dialogue. See? It's all give and take.  

We're Back.......

And by we I mean students, and by back I mean to school. Yes, tis the season to get out those backpacks and notebooks, minifridges and 30 racks- of water of course, load up the minivans and head out to school whether it be in bustling city, a cozy hamlet, or if you're like me, the boonies. So get ready for kids aged 18-22 to be crowding your downtown areas and parking their cars illegally on your streets- school is back in session.

So every year comes a new slew of classes; and the winner this year is..... a  toss up between British Lit. and Creative Writing.  British Lit? Do you have an affinity for literature written in an obscure and practically unintelligable manner you ask? Why no, but I am quite fond of the professor, who remindeth me of the mohel from Seinfeld.

The shards will be deep in the fibers. Is that what you want?!

                 Because I don't think thats what you want!

The classroom is actually made with tile flooring, but I feel if placed in a room with shag carpeting and put to the test he could pull off a good mohel impression.

This leaves me with Creative Writing. Creative Writing attracts creative people. Now, I'm English major and I like to think I'm moderately creative, but I'll be first to admit, I'm a PC and this is a class full of Macs. Hippies, hipsters and that chick who spends to much time in the dark writing stories about horses fill this class, but by far the best part was the opening speech by the professor, "Look guys, I'm not going to lie. This won't be an easy course. It will be hard. We're going to read a lot [there are only 3 books on the syllabus] We're going to write alot. It's going to be greeeeat."

Oh yeah, I think this semester will be greeeeat. Lets hope so at least, it is my last- I liked college so much I thought I would make it a five year experience. So three cheers for my last four months of being a kid.