Saturday, October 30, 2004
Brief Conversations
Sitting with Sean last night in Johnny Rockets in Hoboken, I came up with something. Sean had paid his check and I had just paid mine when he began to get up. I told him to wait because I wasn't done with my apple pie; a small but substantial piece remained on my plate. I explained to him that I went into that slice of pie with the intention and objective of doing what was best for the pie. In this case it was eating it. The only correct exit strategy for this apple pie was to completely finish it. Leaving any remaining crumbs or residue would mean that I failed my objective and the slice would be left in ruins on my plate. That's not fair to the pie or the people who made it. I mean even if I didn't like the pie, I would still finish it because its something that you just have to do. No pie is bad enough that you can't finish it. I knew this when I ordered the pie and that's what made it such a successful and rewarding experience. Who knew pie could be so complicated? Oh, and does it help if there was an American flag stuck through the middle?
Sitting with Sean last night in Johnny Rockets in Hoboken, I came up with something. Sean had paid his check and I had just paid mine when he began to get up. I told him to wait because I wasn't done with my apple pie; a small but substantial piece remained on my plate. I explained to him that I went into that slice of pie with the intention and objective of doing what was best for the pie. In this case it was eating it. The only correct exit strategy for this apple pie was to completely finish it. Leaving any remaining crumbs or residue would mean that I failed my objective and the slice would be left in ruins on my plate. That's not fair to the pie or the people who made it. I mean even if I didn't like the pie, I would still finish it because its something that you just have to do. No pie is bad enough that you can't finish it. I knew this when I ordered the pie and that's what made it such a successful and rewarding experience. Who knew pie could be so complicated? Oh, and does it help if there was an American flag stuck through the middle?
Friday, October 29, 2004
Must kill all the humans
So this is what's left. As you can see the woman was an idiot. I've gotten an estimate on the repairs, and the insurance guy looked at the car. It's obviously totaled to them, so I have to see how much they are willing to give me. The next step would be the people's court. Oh yeah and the Giant Spider who lives down the street says fuck you lady.
So this is what's left. As you can see the woman was an idiot. I've gotten an estimate on the repairs, and the insurance guy looked at the car. It's obviously totaled to them, so I have to see how much they are willing to give me. The next step would be the people's court. Oh yeah and the Giant Spider who lives down the street says fuck you lady.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Hello human race, this is Tom. I hate you.
Sometimes things happen that are beyond our control. Sometimes these things happen in a split second. Sometimes they happen over a period of time. Sometimes you don't even realize they are happening. Sometimes your dad comes running into your room and says, "Thomas, someone hit your car."
At around 6:00 this morning, my parents were woken up by a large bang. My dad sprung up to take a look, and sees my freshly damaged car. He runs into my room, blurts out the above phrase and without thinking I run downstairs and outside with no shoes on and exclaim, "What the Hell"! I didn't care if anyone's hurt cause the woman was standing next to her car and all I can see right now is my severely damaged Lincoln. She says she dropped some keys or something and swerved right into my car...my huge parked car! This is semi-digestible, but she must have been going fucking fast. The majority of the damage is in the rear driver's side. The whole taillight is gone, and the remains are shoved into the trunk at least a foot in. The back left panel as well is pushed very deeply in, right up to the gas cap. The bumper is under the car and the rear is completely shifted. Oh, but the fun doesn't stop there. Somehow, and the main reason why I know she was speeding, she completely bypassed the left rear door and smashed into the driver's door just as hard. It flattened the mirror, and completely crumpled the door. Wait? What's that you say? Can it possibly get any worse? Yes. Her final hit occurred at the front of the car, dislodging the parking light completely from the chassis, knocking out the license plate, and scratching the front side panel as well as the rear panel of my neighbors car as well. It's my assumption that she was going too fast. If you know my car it's a tank...literally. To completely destroy the back left end with a KIA Minivan, a fucking KIA, she had to be speeding. What more, if the second impact on the door is as serious as it is, that means she lost momentum, but still had enough to make more damage. Finally to finish off with the front meant that it took her that long to slow down and straighten out. I mean WHAT THE FUCK! The car was parked, there was no traffic and you managed to destroy it in three separate large areas. Her front right end was decimated and her tire was popped. This is what happens if you hit my car that fast, with a piece of shit KIA. A FUCKING KIA! The cops came and took a report, and woke up my neighbor. Even the officer looked at me like what the fuck when he saw the damage.
So I've been angry...beyond angry today. Every time I go out, I have to look at what was once a drivable car. A car that had a history with myself, and my family. A car that was perfectly fine till some stupid woman decided to plow into it. And yes, I am upset that the car is a wreck, I am upset that I may not get enough to fix it from her insurance company. But in the larger sense I'm angry because it was the only goddamned real thing I had. Bad enough I'm looking for a job, at least I had a car to look for one in, to go places with, to say was mine. Now that's gone. I mean what the fuck else can happen at this point? And now I have to go through the long process of playing tag with insurance companies and demanding the amount it would take to repair the car. What will probably happen next is that they'll deem it totaled and only give me the worth of the car. That isn't very much. So I'll have to sue the driver in small claims court because I have no option. I mean I hate to be an asshole, but she should have thought of paying attention to the road and slowing the fuck down. Pictures will be up soon and I'll keep you posted.
QUICK NOTE: You want to know the justification of all this. She of course had not only a 9/11 "Never Forget" sticker on the window, but also one of those fucking stupid magnetic ribbons as well. The ones I so vehemently brought to your attention but a week ago. Fuck you lady. Fuck you Staten Island.
Sometimes things happen that are beyond our control. Sometimes these things happen in a split second. Sometimes they happen over a period of time. Sometimes you don't even realize they are happening. Sometimes your dad comes running into your room and says, "Thomas, someone hit your car."
At around 6:00 this morning, my parents were woken up by a large bang. My dad sprung up to take a look, and sees my freshly damaged car. He runs into my room, blurts out the above phrase and without thinking I run downstairs and outside with no shoes on and exclaim, "What the Hell"! I didn't care if anyone's hurt cause the woman was standing next to her car and all I can see right now is my severely damaged Lincoln. She says she dropped some keys or something and swerved right into my car...my huge parked car! This is semi-digestible, but she must have been going fucking fast. The majority of the damage is in the rear driver's side. The whole taillight is gone, and the remains are shoved into the trunk at least a foot in. The back left panel as well is pushed very deeply in, right up to the gas cap. The bumper is under the car and the rear is completely shifted. Oh, but the fun doesn't stop there. Somehow, and the main reason why I know she was speeding, she completely bypassed the left rear door and smashed into the driver's door just as hard. It flattened the mirror, and completely crumpled the door. Wait? What's that you say? Can it possibly get any worse? Yes. Her final hit occurred at the front of the car, dislodging the parking light completely from the chassis, knocking out the license plate, and scratching the front side panel as well as the rear panel of my neighbors car as well. It's my assumption that she was going too fast. If you know my car it's a tank...literally. To completely destroy the back left end with a KIA Minivan, a fucking KIA, she had to be speeding. What more, if the second impact on the door is as serious as it is, that means she lost momentum, but still had enough to make more damage. Finally to finish off with the front meant that it took her that long to slow down and straighten out. I mean WHAT THE FUCK! The car was parked, there was no traffic and you managed to destroy it in three separate large areas. Her front right end was decimated and her tire was popped. This is what happens if you hit my car that fast, with a piece of shit KIA. A FUCKING KIA! The cops came and took a report, and woke up my neighbor. Even the officer looked at me like what the fuck when he saw the damage.
So I've been angry...beyond angry today. Every time I go out, I have to look at what was once a drivable car. A car that had a history with myself, and my family. A car that was perfectly fine till some stupid woman decided to plow into it. And yes, I am upset that the car is a wreck, I am upset that I may not get enough to fix it from her insurance company. But in the larger sense I'm angry because it was the only goddamned real thing I had. Bad enough I'm looking for a job, at least I had a car to look for one in, to go places with, to say was mine. Now that's gone. I mean what the fuck else can happen at this point? And now I have to go through the long process of playing tag with insurance companies and demanding the amount it would take to repair the car. What will probably happen next is that they'll deem it totaled and only give me the worth of the car. That isn't very much. So I'll have to sue the driver in small claims court because I have no option. I mean I hate to be an asshole, but she should have thought of paying attention to the road and slowing the fuck down. Pictures will be up soon and I'll keep you posted.
QUICK NOTE: You want to know the justification of all this. She of course had not only a 9/11 "Never Forget" sticker on the window, but also one of those fucking stupid magnetic ribbons as well. The ones I so vehemently brought to your attention but a week ago. Fuck you lady. Fuck you Staten Island.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Jane, get me off this crazy thing...called crap.
Robots. Flying cars. 60's architecture? 80'S love ballads? Is there something seriously wrong here? There comes a point in a young man's life when he realizes the things he enjoyed as a child were actually crap. And boy, Jetsons: The Movie is perhaps the be all end all of crap; for so many reasons.
Basic plot synopsis: George gets promoted to a fledgling sprocket factory on some floating asteroid. The whole Jetson clan ups and moves to this asteroid. George begins his work and from day one there are problems, apparently due to some unseen trouble lurking in the factory. Multiple side plots later, it's found that the asteroid is inhabited by a primitive, but adorable species and that the drilling being done is ruining their home. With some translated peace talks, all wraps up nicely in the end, and the Jetson return home...to rap music.
Where do I begin? The problem with this movie, at least the main problem with this movie is that it technically mix of everything bad about the 80's, all set in a 60's style backdrop. The Jetsons were made in the 60's, so the sets in the cartoon look like something JFK would have envisioned the future would be like. While I like portrayals of the future from the past, "Retro-Future," I'm only a particular favorite of the 30's style. Why is this a bone of contention then? The soundtrack and themes reflects the 80's and it just doesn't fit! Why update the Jetsons with a movie, and completely ignore the time it was created in? That is what made it famous.
I like the 80's, I really do, but this movie takes everything I hate about it and engulfs the Jetsons in a time warp of shit. The music, typical 80's ballads, is just inappropriate. You can take a show like Transformers, born and bred in the 80's, and make a movie with an 80's soundtrack. With the Jetsons, having Judy voiced by teen-pop-sensation Tiffany, randomly start singing cause she needs a boyfriend, undermines what made the Jetsons so simple and enjoyable. On the surface you're treated to new fangled computer graphics and animation updates, but this movie has about as much in common with a Jetsons episode as my shoe does with a toilet bowl. For as the plot (if you can call it that) unravels, you realize that the movie is one giant "The more you know" PSA. Let me explain. The Jetsons go to this new place where they meet new people of different species (races). They end up all working together (harmony) to save the indigenous species of the asteroid (rainforest). They are all glad to go home because George had been spending too much time neglecting his family (family values). Now I understand that this is a children’s movie and good values are always important, but they are so obvious in this movie that you have to believe the writers made no attempt to hide them. In the end we are all taught that people of different races can work together to save the rainforest and spend more time with their family. And who's the bad guy? Mr. Spacely is, representing corporate America, looking away from the environmental impact technology has. But of course with the power of simple persistence, the multi-cultural crew warms his icy heart.
That's what gets me though. These children shows are so up on their values, but they always have unrealistic ways of solving problems. In the end, it's not reality that these little indigenous creatures, Grungies, have the ability to run the factory, re-sell the product to Spacely at a fair price and can recycle old sprockets (forgot about that important lesson) so they don't destroy their home. All tripling productivity instantaneously. WHAT THE FUCK!? Did all the goddamned Grungies go to business school? I mean really, it's pretty fucking stupid. I'd love to meet the tree huggers who decided that the Jetsons needed to stand for something, and not just make a movie relying on the Jetsons natural appeal. You know, to see the approach on the future that people had way back when the show was created. The most difficult things on the show were nothing more than a sitcom would deal with. Funny robots, gadgets that can do anything, and flying cars were all good enough to make a successful cartoon. Shoveling this shit on top of it is like saying Jesus turned water into wine to not destroy the grape crop that year.
Of course, the movie versions of any successful television show are crap anyway. Let us not forget: The Flinstones, The Brady Bunch, The Beverly Hillbillies, and many more to come. But trying to stop these things isn't possible because Hollywood has run out of fresh ideas and anything we see is either a re-make, a sequel, or a formulaic shitbomb. Fuck you Hollywood.
QUICK NOTE: Ben Affleck needs to die. If the world knows he sucks, why hasn't he found out yet?
Robots. Flying cars. 60's architecture? 80'S love ballads? Is there something seriously wrong here? There comes a point in a young man's life when he realizes the things he enjoyed as a child were actually crap. And boy, Jetsons: The Movie is perhaps the be all end all of crap; for so many reasons.
Basic plot synopsis: George gets promoted to a fledgling sprocket factory on some floating asteroid. The whole Jetson clan ups and moves to this asteroid. George begins his work and from day one there are problems, apparently due to some unseen trouble lurking in the factory. Multiple side plots later, it's found that the asteroid is inhabited by a primitive, but adorable species and that the drilling being done is ruining their home. With some translated peace talks, all wraps up nicely in the end, and the Jetson return home...to rap music.
Where do I begin? The problem with this movie, at least the main problem with this movie is that it technically mix of everything bad about the 80's, all set in a 60's style backdrop. The Jetsons were made in the 60's, so the sets in the cartoon look like something JFK would have envisioned the future would be like. While I like portrayals of the future from the past, "Retro-Future," I'm only a particular favorite of the 30's style. Why is this a bone of contention then? The soundtrack and themes reflects the 80's and it just doesn't fit! Why update the Jetsons with a movie, and completely ignore the time it was created in? That is what made it famous.
I like the 80's, I really do, but this movie takes everything I hate about it and engulfs the Jetsons in a time warp of shit. The music, typical 80's ballads, is just inappropriate. You can take a show like Transformers, born and bred in the 80's, and make a movie with an 80's soundtrack. With the Jetsons, having Judy voiced by teen-pop-sensation Tiffany, randomly start singing cause she needs a boyfriend, undermines what made the Jetsons so simple and enjoyable. On the surface you're treated to new fangled computer graphics and animation updates, but this movie has about as much in common with a Jetsons episode as my shoe does with a toilet bowl. For as the plot (if you can call it that) unravels, you realize that the movie is one giant "The more you know" PSA. Let me explain. The Jetsons go to this new place where they meet new people of different species (races). They end up all working together (harmony) to save the indigenous species of the asteroid (rainforest). They are all glad to go home because George had been spending too much time neglecting his family (family values). Now I understand that this is a children’s movie and good values are always important, but they are so obvious in this movie that you have to believe the writers made no attempt to hide them. In the end we are all taught that people of different races can work together to save the rainforest and spend more time with their family. And who's the bad guy? Mr. Spacely is, representing corporate America, looking away from the environmental impact technology has. But of course with the power of simple persistence, the multi-cultural crew warms his icy heart.
That's what gets me though. These children shows are so up on their values, but they always have unrealistic ways of solving problems. In the end, it's not reality that these little indigenous creatures, Grungies, have the ability to run the factory, re-sell the product to Spacely at a fair price and can recycle old sprockets (forgot about that important lesson) so they don't destroy their home. All tripling productivity instantaneously. WHAT THE FUCK!? Did all the goddamned Grungies go to business school? I mean really, it's pretty fucking stupid. I'd love to meet the tree huggers who decided that the Jetsons needed to stand for something, and not just make a movie relying on the Jetsons natural appeal. You know, to see the approach on the future that people had way back when the show was created. The most difficult things on the show were nothing more than a sitcom would deal with. Funny robots, gadgets that can do anything, and flying cars were all good enough to make a successful cartoon. Shoveling this shit on top of it is like saying Jesus turned water into wine to not destroy the grape crop that year.
Of course, the movie versions of any successful television show are crap anyway. Let us not forget: The Flinstones, The Brady Bunch, The Beverly Hillbillies, and many more to come. But trying to stop these things isn't possible because Hollywood has run out of fresh ideas and anything we see is either a re-make, a sequel, or a formulaic shitbomb. Fuck you Hollywood.
QUICK NOTE: Ben Affleck needs to die. If the world knows he sucks, why hasn't he found out yet?
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Dear Britney
Don't even ask how I came across this. If you want to be stupid and say I visit britneyspears.com on a daily basis then you obviously don't know me. But this letter came to my attention and I think it warrants a Tom treatment. I mean does anybody really care about her this much? Enough for her to have someone write a letter for her? She most certainly didn't write it. We call those people publicists. Thanks for helping to bring humanity down a couple of notches Britney.
THE PIECE OF SHIT:
Dear Fans, (Dear young impressionable girls)
I am going to start writing this column now as often as possible. The reason being is so I can talk directly to you, my fans, who have stuck by me & who continue to support me. (I'm going to try and convince you that I'm not self-centered and the fact that I don't give a fuck about you or your well being is untrue.) Also, I'm not going to be as busy as my Mom. She's running behind my sister like crazy! (Mom can't vicariously live through me anymore because I got married, so she's resorting to paying attention to my neglected sibling.)I am also going to take some time off to enjoy life. (By Fucking.) I've actually learned to say "NO!" (Too easy.) With this newly found freedom, its like people don't know how to act around me. Should we talk to her like we did when she was 16 or like the Icon everyone says she is? (Notice the capital 'I' in 'Icon.' She obviously thinks she is some kind of deity. And who the fuck says this? Can I stab them?) My prerogative (Convenient inclusion of title of latest single) right now is to just chill & let all of the other overexposed blondes on the cover of Us Weekly be your entertainment... GOOD LUCK GIRLS!! (Hopefully I won't be washed out in a year.) I'm sorry that my life seemed like it was all over the place the past 2 years, it's probably because IT WAS! (Man, you can say anything in caps these days. ALL PURPOSE FLOUR.) I understand now what they mean when they talk about child stars. Going & going & going is all I've ever known since I was 15 years old. It's amazing what advisors will push you to do, even if it means taking a naive, young, blonde girl & putting her on the cover of every magazine. (She's talking about Alf. Right?)
I know now that my knee gave out on me this past summer so that I would have no choice but to stop. My body was shutting down and needed rest. It's funny how the Man upstairs works. (So God made your knee give out? Now we can't possibly think you didn't care about letting your fans down. Oh you God; you are such a wiley character.) Right now, I have to go-- I really want to watch "Saved" with Mandy Moore and re-runs of "Sex and the City." (I will be watching these in my personal theater with gold plated ass cushions and diamond studded drinking cups. See! This is my desperate attempt to make you think I'm just like you!) I want to enjoy all of the simple things that I missed over the past few years due to working way too much. (Like Fucking.)
Being married is GREAT and I can't wait to start my family! There is so much change going on right now... not only with me, but in the world, as well. (You aren't the center of the universe!? You mean there is stuff happening outside of your life! Holy shit! Thanks for the heads up Queen Clueless.) So, the next time you see my face, hear one of my songs or even if I'm the topic of your next conversation, please remember that times are changing & so am I. (Does this mean she will have a role in the newly emerging geopolitical landscape...Nahhhh.)
Love always, Britney
P.S. I look forward to writing you all again soon. Kevin and I are finally able to take our Honeymoon!! (Fucking.)
Don't even ask how I came across this. If you want to be stupid and say I visit britneyspears.com on a daily basis then you obviously don't know me. But this letter came to my attention and I think it warrants a Tom treatment. I mean does anybody really care about her this much? Enough for her to have someone write a letter for her? She most certainly didn't write it. We call those people publicists. Thanks for helping to bring humanity down a couple of notches Britney.
THE PIECE OF SHIT:
Dear Fans, (Dear young impressionable girls)
I am going to start writing this column now as often as possible. The reason being is so I can talk directly to you, my fans, who have stuck by me & who continue to support me. (I'm going to try and convince you that I'm not self-centered and the fact that I don't give a fuck about you or your well being is untrue.) Also, I'm not going to be as busy as my Mom. She's running behind my sister like crazy! (Mom can't vicariously live through me anymore because I got married, so she's resorting to paying attention to my neglected sibling.)I am also going to take some time off to enjoy life. (By Fucking.) I've actually learned to say "NO!" (Too easy.) With this newly found freedom, its like people don't know how to act around me. Should we talk to her like we did when she was 16 or like the Icon everyone says she is? (Notice the capital 'I' in 'Icon.' She obviously thinks she is some kind of deity. And who the fuck says this? Can I stab them?) My prerogative (Convenient inclusion of title of latest single) right now is to just chill & let all of the other overexposed blondes on the cover of Us Weekly be your entertainment... GOOD LUCK GIRLS!! (Hopefully I won't be washed out in a year.) I'm sorry that my life seemed like it was all over the place the past 2 years, it's probably because IT WAS! (Man, you can say anything in caps these days. ALL PURPOSE FLOUR.) I understand now what they mean when they talk about child stars. Going & going & going is all I've ever known since I was 15 years old. It's amazing what advisors will push you to do, even if it means taking a naive, young, blonde girl & putting her on the cover of every magazine. (She's talking about Alf. Right?)
I know now that my knee gave out on me this past summer so that I would have no choice but to stop. My body was shutting down and needed rest. It's funny how the Man upstairs works. (So God made your knee give out? Now we can't possibly think you didn't care about letting your fans down. Oh you God; you are such a wiley character.) Right now, I have to go-- I really want to watch "Saved" with Mandy Moore and re-runs of "Sex and the City." (I will be watching these in my personal theater with gold plated ass cushions and diamond studded drinking cups. See! This is my desperate attempt to make you think I'm just like you!) I want to enjoy all of the simple things that I missed over the past few years due to working way too much. (Like Fucking.)
Being married is GREAT and I can't wait to start my family! There is so much change going on right now... not only with me, but in the world, as well. (You aren't the center of the universe!? You mean there is stuff happening outside of your life! Holy shit! Thanks for the heads up Queen Clueless.) So, the next time you see my face, hear one of my songs or even if I'm the topic of your next conversation, please remember that times are changing & so am I. (Does this mean she will have a role in the newly emerging geopolitical landscape...Nahhhh.)
Love always, Britney
P.S. I look forward to writing you all again soon. Kevin and I are finally able to take our Honeymoon!! (Fucking.)
Monday, October 18, 2004
Hate is what the weekend is all about
Some people say that getting out of the house is healthy because you get exercise. Other people say that getting out of the house makes you social, and can be an enjoyable experience. I say getting out of the house just presents me with more things that irk me in this world. Seriously, if I could make this my job, I would. The world is never going to run out of stupid people, so capitalizing on them is the only answer.
NUMBER ONE
It is neither patriotic or noble of you to attach a magnetic ribbon to your car...especially if you live on Staten Island. It only came to my attention this weekend; I don't know how I missed it. Slowly creeping onto every car on Staten Island, like a fungus reflecting the quality of people are these magnets. You know, like the big paws from Penn State, or the not so subtle replicas for Villanova that are sold in the bookstore. Instead of paws however, these are ribbons. Like the "fashionable" AIDS ribbons that storm Hollywood every award show. But these are for cars! Oh yes you heard right. Slapped on the side, hood, trunk, or wherever is most predominantly seen, is a giant yellow magnetic ribbon. Yellow? Yes yellow, cause we can't forget our troops...even when we are driving behind some asshole, or when ordering from the drive-thru, or even when going to a funeral. They are all over the fucking place. Even worse, they put more than one. What's the point of having a car painted a certain color? You can't even see the chassis under the visual stupidity markers. Don't get me wrong, I am all for remembering our troops...tastefully! How does the song go? "Tie a yellow ribbon 'round the old oak tree." Not "SLAP A GIANT MAGNET ON THE GUIDO MACHINE." Sorry idiot driver, thank you for reminding me of your distasteful show of patriotism, cause your massive window sticker depicting the WTC with "NEVER FORGET" emblazoned over them, and bumper sticker exclaiming "KILL ALL TERRORISTS" didn't set off the red flag in my head. I'll be glad to take that into consideration the next time you cut me off, fucker. And they are spreading. I saw a numerous amount of them in PA. What the fuck is wrong with this country? When did being tasteful become antiquated? Well, all I have to say is, if you see them disappearing, you know where to look to find one.
NUMBER TWO
Ah, October: the leaves, the weather, the holidays...the idiots who suddenly become Yankee fans because they are in the playoffs. Here's a big WHAT THE FUCK? for you. It's like clockwork. All year you hear nothing about baseball. Only those people, who I like to call "Fans," actually mention the Yankees and their season before October. But then as the season winds down, the others start emerging. Children, women, men, people of all races and creeds, the "Phans." Phoney baseball fans who only watch the game because the Yankees are playing. They have no idea what the record is, how the game is played, or what RBI means. But, if the Yankees are playing; they are the best source on baseball EVER! And this also brings out the Yankee haters. All those people who are too cool to root for a team that does so well, and never watched a game in the season for the team playing against the Yankees. You know what? All of you: Stop just going to playoff games, stop rooting for the Red Sox just because they are losers, stop pretending you know what your saying. It's like saying you belive in Jesus the day of Judgment. He's Jesus...I think he'll know the truth. You wear make-up, talk on a cell phone, and dress like a slut; I highly doubt you spend most of your year in, watching the games during the season. Oh and one more thing..don't take off school to go to the parade. Eye-fucking Derek Jeter isn't going to give you a future.
NUMBER THREE
I'm going to say it once and once only: Karaoke is not a showcase for you and your friends to sing a lot. I don't give a fuck how many acapella groups you were in, or how much you enjoy singing. If you and your friends are sitting next to the Karaoke guy and you have requested to sing more than three times in a half hour period, you my friend are a tool. Fuck you karaoke people who sing too much. That talent scout is NOT going to be in the restaurant, so stop trying so hard because no one else is. Oh, and Piano Man, Dust in the Wind, Total Eclipse of the Heart and anything by Bon Jovi are strictly forbidden.
QUICK NOTE: The inner workings of my mind.
Some people say that getting out of the house is healthy because you get exercise. Other people say that getting out of the house makes you social, and can be an enjoyable experience. I say getting out of the house just presents me with more things that irk me in this world. Seriously, if I could make this my job, I would. The world is never going to run out of stupid people, so capitalizing on them is the only answer.
NUMBER ONE
It is neither patriotic or noble of you to attach a magnetic ribbon to your car...especially if you live on Staten Island. It only came to my attention this weekend; I don't know how I missed it. Slowly creeping onto every car on Staten Island, like a fungus reflecting the quality of people are these magnets. You know, like the big paws from Penn State, or the not so subtle replicas for Villanova that are sold in the bookstore. Instead of paws however, these are ribbons. Like the "fashionable" AIDS ribbons that storm Hollywood every award show. But these are for cars! Oh yes you heard right. Slapped on the side, hood, trunk, or wherever is most predominantly seen, is a giant yellow magnetic ribbon. Yellow? Yes yellow, cause we can't forget our troops...even when we are driving behind some asshole, or when ordering from the drive-thru, or even when going to a funeral. They are all over the fucking place. Even worse, they put more than one. What's the point of having a car painted a certain color? You can't even see the chassis under the visual stupidity markers. Don't get me wrong, I am all for remembering our troops...tastefully! How does the song go? "Tie a yellow ribbon 'round the old oak tree." Not "SLAP A GIANT MAGNET ON THE GUIDO MACHINE." Sorry idiot driver, thank you for reminding me of your distasteful show of patriotism, cause your massive window sticker depicting the WTC with "NEVER FORGET" emblazoned over them, and bumper sticker exclaiming "KILL ALL TERRORISTS" didn't set off the red flag in my head. I'll be glad to take that into consideration the next time you cut me off, fucker. And they are spreading. I saw a numerous amount of them in PA. What the fuck is wrong with this country? When did being tasteful become antiquated? Well, all I have to say is, if you see them disappearing, you know where to look to find one.
NUMBER TWO
Ah, October: the leaves, the weather, the holidays...the idiots who suddenly become Yankee fans because they are in the playoffs. Here's a big WHAT THE FUCK? for you. It's like clockwork. All year you hear nothing about baseball. Only those people, who I like to call "Fans," actually mention the Yankees and their season before October. But then as the season winds down, the others start emerging. Children, women, men, people of all races and creeds, the "Phans." Phoney baseball fans who only watch the game because the Yankees are playing. They have no idea what the record is, how the game is played, or what RBI means. But, if the Yankees are playing; they are the best source on baseball EVER! And this also brings out the Yankee haters. All those people who are too cool to root for a team that does so well, and never watched a game in the season for the team playing against the Yankees. You know what? All of you: Stop just going to playoff games, stop rooting for the Red Sox just because they are losers, stop pretending you know what your saying. It's like saying you belive in Jesus the day of Judgment. He's Jesus...I think he'll know the truth. You wear make-up, talk on a cell phone, and dress like a slut; I highly doubt you spend most of your year in, watching the games during the season. Oh and one more thing..don't take off school to go to the parade. Eye-fucking Derek Jeter isn't going to give you a future.
NUMBER THREE
I'm going to say it once and once only: Karaoke is not a showcase for you and your friends to sing a lot. I don't give a fuck how many acapella groups you were in, or how much you enjoy singing. If you and your friends are sitting next to the Karaoke guy and you have requested to sing more than three times in a half hour period, you my friend are a tool. Fuck you karaoke people who sing too much. That talent scout is NOT going to be in the restaurant, so stop trying so hard because no one else is. Oh, and Piano Man, Dust in the Wind, Total Eclipse of the Heart and anything by Bon Jovi are strictly forbidden.
QUICK NOTE: The inner workings of my mind.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Moldy Peaches and a one-eyed cat
It's times like these when I need to take some time out of ranting and raving from my BLOG brand soapbox and actually talk about an episode of my life. When I read other people's reruns I find them boring and pointless. In fact it usually reignites my hate for all things conventional. But I rely on the fact that as a strange and abnormal person, I am attracted to strange and abnormal events.
Federico informs me that his friend has invited him to go see a concert that is a benefit for a record store. Already this has got alternative written all over it. The record place is called "Accidental Records" and it's on 131 Avenue A. in the East Village. So go if you're ever in town. At this point, Wednesday night, we still didn't know what the heck the band was like. All we did know was the name: The Moldy Peaches. Sounded interesting enough to warrant a search through cyberspace. We found the band's website, and the front page and video was enough for us to say "Yes, we shall go see these Moldy Peaches." A quick hop on the ferry and we were in New York, headed towards the East Village to his friend's apartment.
I couldn't have planned out the scene better myself. We enter the apartment...tiny apartment: the walls are painted lime green, the bedroom is painted pumpkin orange, the hallway is 2 feet wide, the living room area is squeezed with IKEA furniture (they had the klippan, the non leather version of this couch that I owned for 3 years and now sits behind me in Erika's apartment), the marijuana was being smoked and the alcohol was just enough to go around many times. Oh and did I mention, she had a one-eyed cat named Miso...like the soup. There were about 8 of us in this apartment, and the intimate setting allowed me to get to know some of these people rather quickly. I mean I was on top of them. After a quick tour (about 10 seconds), a bunch of drinks, we went on our way to The Hook in Brooklyn.
I'll save you the trouble of having to hear about the kindly bum who gave us directions when we got off the L train, the lazy eyed journeyman who found us, and the shaky concrete bridge over the Gowanus that we delicately traversed. These are stories for another day. The concert itself was fantastic. The first two bands just didn't spark my interest, but the Moldy Peaches were quite cool. Their music was straightforward, quirky, and very catchy. If I could compare them to anything it would be the Polyphonic Spree with less people, and singing about dirty things. I've already begun downloading what I can find, and am even interested in possibly buying the CD! A true important sign being that I never buy CDs; so that had to be that good. Top the night off with some Pabst Blue Ribbon (Pat I drank those to you buddy), a food bar that served grilled cheese and PB&J, and some great conversations, and well; I had an awesome evening.
Afterwards, we were cordially invited to stay at his friend's apartment, as in not to have to do the bizarro commute home at 3:00 in the morning. To accommodate, they were able to half-inflate an Aerobed, to fit halfway into a room, which I found most impressive. And of course things came full circle for me, and I ended the night the same way I ended many long nights at school: asleep on the klippan couch. That is of course until I woke up to a one-eyed cat standing on my chest looking into my eyes...eye...face.
QUICK NOTE: I would have voted for Kerry.
It's times like these when I need to take some time out of ranting and raving from my BLOG brand soapbox and actually talk about an episode of my life. When I read other people's reruns I find them boring and pointless. In fact it usually reignites my hate for all things conventional. But I rely on the fact that as a strange and abnormal person, I am attracted to strange and abnormal events.
Federico informs me that his friend has invited him to go see a concert that is a benefit for a record store. Already this has got alternative written all over it. The record place is called "Accidental Records" and it's on 131 Avenue A. in the East Village. So go if you're ever in town. At this point, Wednesday night, we still didn't know what the heck the band was like. All we did know was the name: The Moldy Peaches. Sounded interesting enough to warrant a search through cyberspace. We found the band's website, and the front page and video was enough for us to say "Yes, we shall go see these Moldy Peaches." A quick hop on the ferry and we were in New York, headed towards the East Village to his friend's apartment.
I couldn't have planned out the scene better myself. We enter the apartment...tiny apartment: the walls are painted lime green, the bedroom is painted pumpkin orange, the hallway is 2 feet wide, the living room area is squeezed with IKEA furniture (they had the klippan, the non leather version of this couch that I owned for 3 years and now sits behind me in Erika's apartment), the marijuana was being smoked and the alcohol was just enough to go around many times. Oh and did I mention, she had a one-eyed cat named Miso...like the soup. There were about 8 of us in this apartment, and the intimate setting allowed me to get to know some of these people rather quickly. I mean I was on top of them. After a quick tour (about 10 seconds), a bunch of drinks, we went on our way to The Hook in Brooklyn.
I'll save you the trouble of having to hear about the kindly bum who gave us directions when we got off the L train, the lazy eyed journeyman who found us, and the shaky concrete bridge over the Gowanus that we delicately traversed. These are stories for another day. The concert itself was fantastic. The first two bands just didn't spark my interest, but the Moldy Peaches were quite cool. Their music was straightforward, quirky, and very catchy. If I could compare them to anything it would be the Polyphonic Spree with less people, and singing about dirty things. I've already begun downloading what I can find, and am even interested in possibly buying the CD! A true important sign being that I never buy CDs; so that had to be that good. Top the night off with some Pabst Blue Ribbon (Pat I drank those to you buddy), a food bar that served grilled cheese and PB&J, and some great conversations, and well; I had an awesome evening.
Afterwards, we were cordially invited to stay at his friend's apartment, as in not to have to do the bizarro commute home at 3:00 in the morning. To accommodate, they were able to half-inflate an Aerobed, to fit halfway into a room, which I found most impressive. And of course things came full circle for me, and I ended the night the same way I ended many long nights at school: asleep on the klippan couch. That is of course until I woke up to a one-eyed cat standing on my chest looking into my eyes...eye...face.
QUICK NOTE: I would have voted for Kerry.
Friday, October 08, 2004
WHAT? I can't hear you over the massive front desk in Falvey.
I think a Villanova visit, calls for a Villanova Blog entry. "But Tom, you talk about Nova all the time, mostly in a bad way. Why, the special treatment"? Well, direct observations are so much more enjoyable then basic ideological mockery. And by the picture,you should have realized what this is all about. That's right! Villanova has done the campus some justice and renovated the library! Now even the though the books are from the 1960's, the library itself reflects the modern era. And what categorizes modern? Big, oversized, desks. Oh, and panels made of material. Let's discuss.
I'm not going into the ramifications of renovating the library. Besides the lack of a performing art center, and the lack of housing on campus, the priority here seems to be if you do live on campus (and the housing lottery didn't leave you homeless) you can now have usage of a fantastic new interior design theme...where sub-par educational material lies...and the staff still is a bunch of morons. Sure there's fancy new carpet and they moved some things, but has anything really changed? YES! The little old lady at the door, the gatekeeper who controls this informational homestead now can sit at a huge desk. Just enter and no longer will you have to be subjected to a normal desk. NO! Now you get a Villanova sized desk: big, inappropriate, and fake. Sounds a lot like the campus. Now the little old lady has a lair, a fortress of solitude of sorts, where she can dispense grateful nods when you show her the key, or threaten to take your SS number if you don't have it, and even raise her voice if the alarm beeps. Now you can get the fullest education knowing that yout information resource is well guarded.
But seriously, what were they thinking? The desk is circular and spans from the alcove all the way around and in. Is all that space really required for the librarian who takes a card and swipes it so you can check out? I mean look at that thing! The man in the picture is dwarfed in comparison to that behemoth. It's like a fort! Maybe they are actually hiding something back there? Bin Laden? Money? Babies? Baby geniuses that are the true source of information at the library? Whatever the case it is absurd.
What more is the fabric covered panels on the pillars. Were the marble pillars that much of an eye sore that you need to semi-cover them with grey and maroon fabric squares of various sizes? My personal favorite is the lone maroon one near the elevator; it's like padding for the mentally challenged.
Thank you Villanova for making the future of education so much bigger. As an alumnus I have the satisfaction to say that Villanova has the biggest librarian desk in the universe. And that makes my school a better place.
QUICK NOTE:I hate everyone here. Now here's a great picture!
I think a Villanova visit, calls for a Villanova Blog entry. "But Tom, you talk about Nova all the time, mostly in a bad way. Why, the special treatment"? Well, direct observations are so much more enjoyable then basic ideological mockery. And by the picture,you should have realized what this is all about. That's right! Villanova has done the campus some justice and renovated the library! Now even the though the books are from the 1960's, the library itself reflects the modern era. And what categorizes modern? Big, oversized, desks. Oh, and panels made of material. Let's discuss.
I'm not going into the ramifications of renovating the library. Besides the lack of a performing art center, and the lack of housing on campus, the priority here seems to be if you do live on campus (and the housing lottery didn't leave you homeless) you can now have usage of a fantastic new interior design theme...where sub-par educational material lies...and the staff still is a bunch of morons. Sure there's fancy new carpet and they moved some things, but has anything really changed? YES! The little old lady at the door, the gatekeeper who controls this informational homestead now can sit at a huge desk. Just enter and no longer will you have to be subjected to a normal desk. NO! Now you get a Villanova sized desk: big, inappropriate, and fake. Sounds a lot like the campus. Now the little old lady has a lair, a fortress of solitude of sorts, where she can dispense grateful nods when you show her the key, or threaten to take your SS number if you don't have it, and even raise her voice if the alarm beeps. Now you can get the fullest education knowing that yout information resource is well guarded.
But seriously, what were they thinking? The desk is circular and spans from the alcove all the way around and in. Is all that space really required for the librarian who takes a card and swipes it so you can check out? I mean look at that thing! The man in the picture is dwarfed in comparison to that behemoth. It's like a fort! Maybe they are actually hiding something back there? Bin Laden? Money? Babies? Baby geniuses that are the true source of information at the library? Whatever the case it is absurd.
What more is the fabric covered panels on the pillars. Were the marble pillars that much of an eye sore that you need to semi-cover them with grey and maroon fabric squares of various sizes? My personal favorite is the lone maroon one near the elevator; it's like padding for the mentally challenged.
Thank you Villanova for making the future of education so much bigger. As an alumnus I have the satisfaction to say that Villanova has the biggest librarian desk in the universe. And that makes my school a better place.
QUICK NOTE:I hate everyone here. Now here's a great picture!
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
You don't have to be anywhere you don't want to be
So there was this person who did something really funny, and me and my friends laughed at it so hard, but when I tell the story, I don 't realize that it's just not funny, and nobody else gets it, so I finish by saying, "It was really funny, you had to be there!"
Wrong, wrong, WRONG, FUCKING WRONG!
I hate this. I really really hate this. I hate these situations. And the number of times I encounter this course of conversation: well that's immeasurable. I mean really, how many times has someone finished a worthless story with "You had to be there"? And don't you think to yourself, "No, I didn't have to be there, cause if I wanted to I would have." People just don't get it. It's called exercising control. I'll be the first to confess when I tell a story and it just doesn't have the same effect, a small part of me hangs its head in shame. I value being funny, quick, and always on top of the conversation around me. And I'm not much of a storyteller, I never was. But I don't try to save a sinking ship by tacking on "It was really funny, you had to be there." It's too fucking late by then! You can't hide the fact that your story sucks by chanting one magical phrase. And I accept that, so I don't do it.
What about the rest of the world you may ask? They seem to have this problem. It's called NOT BEING FUNNY! If there's anything I hate more, it's unfunny people who think they are the wittiest fucks in the world. I'm not honking my horn here, but general consensus from people around me is that I have a sense of humor. I mean I was the fat guy, so I had to be funny because if I wasn't, I'd just be the fat guy...and no one likes the fatty who isn't funny. As a part of having a sense of humor, you know when and when not to say things. Hello? That's what funny is: comedic timing...you know...that stuff? And people just don't have it and they don't realize it. So they try to save themselves from embarassment by saying those words.
Do they even stop to think? If a situation ends up being funny, it's only so because you are in the environment at the time it happens. There is no possible way on earth that YOU can tell me every single detail that existed in that moment of time and space to make your story just as hilarious. Even worse, the moments themselves aren't that funny anyway. It's like taking the holocaust and trying to pull something funny out of it (which is possible, believe me). That takes a level of humor that Joe and Jane Schmuck just don't have. I mean why do you think comedians make up their own stories? Because the world will never fit into the mold that is situational comedy that perfectly. And if it does? Well, that is very rare, so consider yourself one of the few.
And the topping on this assfuck of a cake? It's spread from word of mouth to the world of AWAY MESSAGES. Yes. That land of idiocy and depression that has become an annoying aspect of our culture. The good out of this however, is that it becomes physical evidence of not being funny. When you sit and chat, and find something so hilarious that you need to put it up as an away message for all the world to see, you're also exposing the fact that you have a dumb sense of humor. So your little conversation with Gofo23 doesn't make any sense to me because it's probably a joke that only 3 people get, and isn't that humorous anyway. It's like when that annoying friend comes home from college and tells you all of stories he/she has. They make no sense, are completely moronic, and you end up not being friends with then anymore.
So do us all a favor. Think twice before you talk and/or put up that away message. If it's genuinely funny, share the wealth. If you don't know? Ask me. FOR GOD'S SAKE, ASK ME!
QUICK NOTE: The reason isn't and never will be YOU!! Unless you happen to beat the shit out of YOU, and then that is the reason you're an idiot because you quote that song.
So there was this person who did something really funny, and me and my friends laughed at it so hard, but when I tell the story, I don 't realize that it's just not funny, and nobody else gets it, so I finish by saying, "It was really funny, you had to be there!"
Wrong, wrong, WRONG, FUCKING WRONG!
I hate this. I really really hate this. I hate these situations. And the number of times I encounter this course of conversation: well that's immeasurable. I mean really, how many times has someone finished a worthless story with "You had to be there"? And don't you think to yourself, "No, I didn't have to be there, cause if I wanted to I would have." People just don't get it. It's called exercising control. I'll be the first to confess when I tell a story and it just doesn't have the same effect, a small part of me hangs its head in shame. I value being funny, quick, and always on top of the conversation around me. And I'm not much of a storyteller, I never was. But I don't try to save a sinking ship by tacking on "It was really funny, you had to be there." It's too fucking late by then! You can't hide the fact that your story sucks by chanting one magical phrase. And I accept that, so I don't do it.
What about the rest of the world you may ask? They seem to have this problem. It's called NOT BEING FUNNY! If there's anything I hate more, it's unfunny people who think they are the wittiest fucks in the world. I'm not honking my horn here, but general consensus from people around me is that I have a sense of humor. I mean I was the fat guy, so I had to be funny because if I wasn't, I'd just be the fat guy...and no one likes the fatty who isn't funny. As a part of having a sense of humor, you know when and when not to say things. Hello? That's what funny is: comedic timing...you know...that stuff? And people just don't have it and they don't realize it. So they try to save themselves from embarassment by saying those words.
Do they even stop to think? If a situation ends up being funny, it's only so because you are in the environment at the time it happens. There is no possible way on earth that YOU can tell me every single detail that existed in that moment of time and space to make your story just as hilarious. Even worse, the moments themselves aren't that funny anyway. It's like taking the holocaust and trying to pull something funny out of it (which is possible, believe me). That takes a level of humor that Joe and Jane Schmuck just don't have. I mean why do you think comedians make up their own stories? Because the world will never fit into the mold that is situational comedy that perfectly. And if it does? Well, that is very rare, so consider yourself one of the few.
And the topping on this assfuck of a cake? It's spread from word of mouth to the world of AWAY MESSAGES. Yes. That land of idiocy and depression that has become an annoying aspect of our culture. The good out of this however, is that it becomes physical evidence of not being funny. When you sit and chat, and find something so hilarious that you need to put it up as an away message for all the world to see, you're also exposing the fact that you have a dumb sense of humor. So your little conversation with Gofo23 doesn't make any sense to me because it's probably a joke that only 3 people get, and isn't that humorous anyway. It's like when that annoying friend comes home from college and tells you all of stories he/she has. They make no sense, are completely moronic, and you end up not being friends with then anymore.
So do us all a favor. Think twice before you talk and/or put up that away message. If it's genuinely funny, share the wealth. If you don't know? Ask me. FOR GOD'S SAKE, ASK ME!
QUICK NOTE: The reason isn't and never will be YOU!! Unless you happen to beat the shit out of YOU, and then that is the reason you're an idiot because you quote that song.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Bizarro Villanova!
I like travel. It's something I've generally accepted. I don't plane much, but car trips are always fun. Whether I'm alone or with Erika, or even a large group of people, I always seem to enjoy myself. For instance, this past weekend I went to Yale...as in the college. The reason I went was because my old forensics team was going and my coach needed someone to judge; Federico and I tagged along. Actually, the secret reason I went was because I really like the Yale campus. In fact I should have applied when I went to college. Bit I didn't so I'll never know if I could have made it in or not. Whatever! On to the point.
The point is, while the campus is beautiful and the weather was enjoyable, I saw something very odd. It seemed to be like your regular old college campus. Sunday morning: giant bags of clanging bottles were being brought out of dorms, a rug that was soaking wet for some mysterious reason was drying in the sun, and the campus wasn't populated until at least 2:00 in the afternoon; probably when the majority of the campus decided to wake up. But underlying all this, I like to believe that these people are very intelligent. That they are extremely smart. That's what I am convinced of when I think of Yale. Thus, the plague of self-centeredness that is Villanova, should not be at a place in a college like Yale. Unfortunately this is not the case. Mixed among the smart people, I saw a numerous amount of flipped collars, bleached blondes, and tennis skirts. WHAT WAS HAPPENING HERE? How did these morons slip through the cracks at admissions? Contrary to the status-quo, I do judge books by their cover, mostly because the cover and the pages were created at the same time. So when I see girls like these, I'm going to think, "There goes a bunch of bitches."
You must be thinking, "Tom, this is obviously you looking too hard at things, and fashion is something that dumb and smart people are slave to." Well, I'd agree, but the numbers don't lie. For example the number of collars at Villanova, are about equal to the number of normal looking people at Yale. Also there are people at Villanova who are normal, and that number equates to the number of collars at Yale. The only answer to this quandary could be that more intelligent family members of these "Bizarro Students" went to Yale, and that's the only reason why they got in.
But this makes you think about the Bizarro subculture that must exist at Yale. Where the fraternities and sororities are just that, a brotherhood and such for the whole campus, not a select few. That there is a small Bizzaro sorority and fraternity for the rejects. Where the arts program doesn't get second to the women's softball team, and collard girls are the ones searching for money in the most random of locations. I want to believe that Yale is a Bizzaro Villanova, where all the transgressions I found with one school are no longer a problem, and all the things I hate are only apparent in minute portions.
So I left Yale with this interpretation, and while it may be a dream that isn't reality, there is always going to be a spot in New Haven Connecticut that justifies the human condition, and isn't a complete waste of space and time.
QUICK NOTE: Ask me how many cell phones I saw? Two. Out of the whole campus, I saw two people with cell phones. The truth is out there. And here's some Bizarro for you.
I like travel. It's something I've generally accepted. I don't plane much, but car trips are always fun. Whether I'm alone or with Erika, or even a large group of people, I always seem to enjoy myself. For instance, this past weekend I went to Yale...as in the college. The reason I went was because my old forensics team was going and my coach needed someone to judge; Federico and I tagged along. Actually, the secret reason I went was because I really like the Yale campus. In fact I should have applied when I went to college. Bit I didn't so I'll never know if I could have made it in or not. Whatever! On to the point.
The point is, while the campus is beautiful and the weather was enjoyable, I saw something very odd. It seemed to be like your regular old college campus. Sunday morning: giant bags of clanging bottles were being brought out of dorms, a rug that was soaking wet for some mysterious reason was drying in the sun, and the campus wasn't populated until at least 2:00 in the afternoon; probably when the majority of the campus decided to wake up. But underlying all this, I like to believe that these people are very intelligent. That they are extremely smart. That's what I am convinced of when I think of Yale. Thus, the plague of self-centeredness that is Villanova, should not be at a place in a college like Yale. Unfortunately this is not the case. Mixed among the smart people, I saw a numerous amount of flipped collars, bleached blondes, and tennis skirts. WHAT WAS HAPPENING HERE? How did these morons slip through the cracks at admissions? Contrary to the status-quo, I do judge books by their cover, mostly because the cover and the pages were created at the same time. So when I see girls like these, I'm going to think, "There goes a bunch of bitches."
You must be thinking, "Tom, this is obviously you looking too hard at things, and fashion is something that dumb and smart people are slave to." Well, I'd agree, but the numbers don't lie. For example the number of collars at Villanova, are about equal to the number of normal looking people at Yale. Also there are people at Villanova who are normal, and that number equates to the number of collars at Yale. The only answer to this quandary could be that more intelligent family members of these "Bizarro Students" went to Yale, and that's the only reason why they got in.
But this makes you think about the Bizarro subculture that must exist at Yale. Where the fraternities and sororities are just that, a brotherhood and such for the whole campus, not a select few. That there is a small Bizzaro sorority and fraternity for the rejects. Where the arts program doesn't get second to the women's softball team, and collard girls are the ones searching for money in the most random of locations. I want to believe that Yale is a Bizzaro Villanova, where all the transgressions I found with one school are no longer a problem, and all the things I hate are only apparent in minute portions.
So I left Yale with this interpretation, and while it may be a dream that isn't reality, there is always going to be a spot in New Haven Connecticut that justifies the human condition, and isn't a complete waste of space and time.
QUICK NOTE: Ask me how many cell phones I saw? Two. Out of the whole campus, I saw two people with cell phones. The truth is out there. And here's some Bizarro for you.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
© 1999-2013 pazzesco.
© 1999-2013 pazzesco.