03 March 2010
...joke. But I did eat Chinese food sometimes. And whenever I went to Chinese restaurants, the placemats would always have the Chinese zodiac on them, with lots of pretty pictures of all the animals. Arriving in the restaurant, I would leap onto my booster seat (I was a smart and agile 3 year old) and I would immediately find the description of the "Year of the Horse."
"Horses have a pleasant, easy going disposition which guarantees popularity and a large following of friends...etc."
"OH EM GEE THAT'S SO ME!!" I would exclaim. My parents would look at me awkwardly, and quietly sip their wonton soup.
Anyway, the point is that I could not help but feel duped when I realized that EVERY SINGLE ONE of my friends was a horse. How can that possibly be specific to me if it applies to every single member of such a diverse group of 1990ers?
And then there's the astrological zodiac. While the concept is a little more believable than the Chinese one, the whole thing is a little bit ridiculous. Horoscopes are designed so that EVERYONE can say, "Wow! That applies to me!" They even have a link for yesterday's horoscope, so everyone can see how the previous day's events were written in the stars. These writers must be undiscovered geniuses, based on the way that they can make these predictions so obviously vague but so utterly appealing.
Angelica Haynes' horoscope, for example, tells her to "explore new horizons." Well, Angelica, you're fulfilling fate even if you just wear a bracelet that is a little crazy, or you try a new spicy food. When are we NOT encouraged to explore new horizons?? Did your teachers ever say to you, "Kids, stay WITHIN the box, and only eat cheerios and ketchup for the rest of your life!"
(Frank used to say that sentence to me a lot, but that's a different story).
MY horoscope today told me that my friends and family would need some words of wisdom from me. How fortuitous that I have a blog!
Wisdom: stop looking up at those stars every once and a while, and make sure you don't trip over life.
A watched pot never boils!
02 March 2010
The girls I saw were not dressed flashily. Most had a mild air of superiority about them, and maybe a nose ring. Some were sporting scarves. They all knew each other. They wore overwhelming, but nice-smelling perfume.
The guys were, for the most part, gay. They interacted with each other and the girls in an open way that you never really see on most college campuses. They wore tees and zip-up sweatshirts that made them look way more casual than people usually look here.
Most people, guys and girls, had really fashionable eyeglasses. I mean, really fashionable. The girl in front of me had bright pink frames. They absolutely put mine to shame.
What do I make of this? This artsy, bohemian culture is way different than anything I usually come across at Harvard. It amazes me that an entire college can be largely characterized by this one subset of people. Are all universities like this?
Let's take Harvard to use as an example. I mean, the easy thing to say is that the people that go here are the "intellectuals" of our society. But compare us to a school like MIT (which is right down the river) and the students look like apples and oranges.
At places like Williams (which is definitely full of intelligent people), students walk to class in their pajamas. But at Harvard? If you're not showered and dressed in your Sunday best for your 9 AM class, there's always a little bit of judgment going on. Upper middle class attitude dominates the social scene--if you don't come from a wealthy family and private school, you're expected to act like you do.
I think that most college campuses can be characterized in a similar way. My POINT, however, is that I think that people let their school shape who they are to become in more ways than simply their education. It's true that we're all just 20 year olds (more or less)--how different can we be? But in the context of one's university, a lot of change is possible. I find myself restricting the number of days I let myself wear sweat pants and sneakers to class. I take international diversity for granted. I've bought into the final club thing.
At theatre schools like Emerson, students will similarly find themselves slowly blending into the liberal atmosphere that surrounds it.
Should we make a conscious decision to stop this process? I don't know. We chose our schools for a reason. Just don't let yourself get to the point where you alienate yourself from the millions of other college students out there.
A baker's dozen,
28 February 2010
Read that sentence again. How Victorian novel-esque does it sound? Very, I think. But no matter how many date events that we have at this school, or what pseudonyms we choose for the attendees, to me there's always something empty in the actual event. As much as I enjoy grinding to Akon and his peers, I can't help but feel that we are making a mockery of what a "ball" truly should be.
I know that with this post I run the risk of sounding like a 28 year old librarian who reads romance novels (which I don't, but I know Alvin does). However, does no one else agree that the bulk of romance has been lost in today's society? What happened to masquerades where people kept their masks on and where they could only guess who they were dancing with? What happened to pebbles on a girl's window at 3 in the morning? Sure, a romantic dinner for two is nice. But EVERYONE does it, and if that's the case, every relationship is boring and identical.
I want to meet a girl outside of the solo-cup-littered club basements and dorm rooms, where everyone is sweating and the music is so loud that you can barely hear the kid booting next to you.
It doesn't have to be that difficult.
A quick catch of the eye across a dance floor. When you leave, you find yourself standing next to each other outside of the ballroom, both of you are separated from your friends. You decide to share a cab back, and on the silent ride, your hands touch each other. You part ways, but neither of you can stop thinking of the other so you meet up, and it's late. You go for a walk, breaking into a private garden, where there's a fountain. Kissing begins midsentence.
Etc. (no, I will not continue, Buck Turner).
It's sad that life isn't like this anymore. I wonder why divorce rates are so high.
Just once, I would like to wear a hat like this and win someone over by getting in a swordfight, NOT by doing a kegstand. I know you agree with me Dale Alvarez, you were such a sucker for Casablanca.
Don't get me wrong. I enjoy a good party as much as the next, and Chelsea, I am extremely excited to be going with you this evening. But just for one day, let's party like it's 1799.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,
P.S. I want to apologize for being so lax in updating this blog. Laura Dakota has pointed out to me that I am only diligent about updating this when I actually have school work to do. Having been sufficiently scolded, I promise I will try to make this MORE than a procrastination outlet.
24 February 2010
We've made it through one day of this readers. But how many more can we handle before we start losing our minds? Considering that the forecast is for this to go on indefinitely, I would like to use this post to show you the positive side of what Mother Nature is providing us with.
Inclement weather is automatically more exciting than "good" weather. No one wants to hear about a sunny day in Aruba. "People went to the beach today!" BIG DEAL. Rather, we want to hear about a monsoon that recently hit a large portion of South Asia. If you just had a leisurely stroll through a sunny park, that's nice, but I don't need a play-by-play. On the other hand, when Ally Hughes and I ran in sleeting rain through Boston, dodging cars and the homeless, in order to get a pair of decorative bowls from Crate and Barrel, THAT made for a story.
Don't use an umbrella. Umbrellas are for the weak. There is a reason that people who live in Boston go through 24 umbrellas a year. Mother Nature obviously does not want us to use them. You're going to get wet anyway, so embrace it! In the words of the wise Natasha Bedingfield, "Feel the rain on your skin." She's still got a pocketful of sunshine!
References to mediocre pop artists aside, if you walk into a classroom full of umbrella-toters and you're soaking wet, YOU are the center of attention. And your teaching fellow will take pity on you and give you an A. That's the truth.
By the time this extended bout of rain is over, spring will be almost here. And we'll be that much more excited for it. If the next few weeks were full of normal weather, the transition to spring would be unclear and unexciting. But now! Now, on that first beautiful day, I am going to spend the entire day outside and pretend I have nothing to do with my life (like I'm from LA).
Readers, don't mourn the sun in these next few weeks. Save yourself the skin cancer and get wrinkly hands instead!
Don't, like, jump in the river though. That would be taking it too far.
A hedge between keeps friendship green!
Whoever started this tradition should be sent to Alcatraz.
How can anyone EVER feel comfortable or justified in sipping punch while his or her bare hindquarters are pressed against a wall drenched with the sweat of 60+ naked bodies? HOW? What happens if you brush against someone else? What happens if someone gets too excited? The whole thing is simply repulsive.
And I almost forgot. Imagine the DANCING (there we go, just threw up a little bit in my mouth).
I'm certainly not trying to take a moral high ground over those two institutions. Naked parties do occur to some extent at my own university. In fact, I know of an instance where Fiona Canterbury, Allison Hughes, and Lucy Brentwood were all completely naked on the same evening--and they laugh it off as if it is a fond and humorous memory! I have also been witness to biannual mass-streaking, which is only a bit less horrifying because it is over within a matter of minutes. Many, many young minds who have been led astray (including our very own Melanie Wright and Conor Gershwin) have participated in this degenerate tradition.
Public nudity in all its forms is unacceptable. You are NOT making a statement, you are making an eyesore. Naked Cowboy, you are not heroic for standing in the freezing cold of Times Square in your underwear, you are rather a menace to society.
You may think I'm being too harsh on nudity. In fact, I know of very few people who hate it more (although Alvin Cabrera definitely does). I admit that I've had my own very embarrassing run-ins with nakedness. But this epidemic must be nipped in the bud before it spreads too far. Where will it end? Will this be the norm?!
Surrender, nudists. You live in a civilized world. Act like it. Or else you will be forced to wear clothes in the form of tar and feathers.
Call me crazy,
23 February 2010
Well, you're a practical person, and seeing your friend heading for the right side of the pole, you veer slightly to the left without breaking stride. But as soon as you're in the clear, you hear a bloodcurdling scream. Turning, thinking that your friend has seen George Clooney or been stabbed, you see her frantically running back down the sidewalk to pass the pole on the same side that you did.
"NEVER split the pole!" she pants.
This superstition is everywhere, my friends. For me at least, it makes every walk with others a nerve-wracking and stressful experience. Only today I was walking with my friends Fiona Canterbury and Angelica Haynes, and I accidentally walked on the opposite side of a street sign, resulting in their frantic yelling, and a feeling in the pit of my stomach that I only get when I run out of clean socks.
Can you undo a split pole? Is the connection elastic enough that going back and around is enough? Or is it so taut that a simple passing of the pole is enough to result in negative consequences? And what ARE those negative consequences? Does it result in a single instance of bad luck? Or is it like breaking a mirror, in which an entire decade is pretty much screwed? Does the whole group get this bad luck? Or is it only one person who is at fault?
I would like these questions, and so many more, answered. Life is stressful enough as it is, without ambiguous restrictions on a leisurely stroll down the sidewalk.
Don't count your chickens before they hatch?
22 February 2010
Imagine that you're in a Venezuelan nightclub on a hot night. It's late, the lights are dim, and a sultry salsa is playing in the background. A gorgeous Latina walks over from the bar, holding your favorite drink (which is the timeless mojito, in case you were wondering). She sets the drink down on the table, and poising herself gracefully on the couch next to you, she leans over, and whispers ever so softly in your ear, "Tengo queso."
Hi everyone, welcome to my newly created blog! Follow my musings if you find me interesting. Here’s a brief introduction, if you are unsure whether or not you do:
My name is Eddie, I get Eddy a lot of the time, but I really don’t enjoy it.
My hair is the subject of a lot of conversation.
When I introduce two people, I subconsciously say “Nice to meet you” under my breath. It’s embarrassing.
I really don’t like guillotines, everyone knows that.
My favorite food is mashed potatoes.
I’m going to be a doctor.
I’m very expressive.
I put A LOT of words in all caps to emphasize my point.
Speaking of capital letters, one of my favorite things an author can do is to capitalize words that are not supposed to be capitalized (e.g. “I have come to a Decision”).
I think Hemingway and Tolkien are geniuses.
Napping on vacation is probably my favorite thing to do.
If I have a lecture or an exam in the Science Center of my school, I always sit on the right side of the room (my right side, not the teacher’s).
I dislike most people before I like them.
Squirrels are my favorite animal. I recently learned that they cannot get rabies, contrary to popular belief. They also accidentally plant millions of trees every year.
Everything about cicadas is gross.
I hope SOMETHING happens on December 21, 2012.
Esther is my favorite person (I'll leave this in).
I’m obsessed with Russia.
I like people-watching.
I want to hunt poachers in Africa when I retire.
Multiple people have told me they want to take my eyes out with a spoon.
Most of the quirks I have, I’ve picked up from other people.
Ask me to read a story out loud to you, and you will immediately be one of my favorite people.
Consider yourself introduced! I will do my best to fill this space with entertaining observations and witty reflections, melodramatic stories and uplifting anecdotes, poignant poetry and groundbreaking prose.
Actually, I probably won’t do all of those things. But I’m not boring, I promise.
I’m working on a sign-off line,