28 February 2010

Funny You Should Mask or Why I Want to Live in 1652

I will be attending the Sapphire Ball with Chelsea Remington this evening.

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

Old Men Are Beginning to Snore or Why You Should Jump in Puddles

Days like today are inherently depressing. Even if you don't sleep through two classes and have a terrible midterm experience (=[), the combination of freezing rain, dark skies, and wet sidewalks is thoroughly discouraging. Your feet get uncomfortably damp for the entirety of the day, and every walk is a torture experience (WATERboarding anyone?). It's enough to drive you to sit in your room and listen to Simple Plan.

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!


The Naked Truth or Buy Some Pants

I would like to inform you, reader, that at some Ivy-League schools (let's call them Clown and Bale) they actually have social events in which it is considered acceptable (indeed, it is encouraged!) to show up and immediately strip down to one's barest anatomy. One then spends the entirety of the evening completely unclad, surrounded by others of all shapes and sizes, also declothed. These fun get-togethers are called "naked parties."

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

Call the POL(E)ice or Superstition Ain't The Way

So you are walking down the street with your best friend on a beautiful day. Everything is going great until, right in front of you, a flagpole emerges in the MIDDLE of the sidewalk. What do you do?

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

Shall I Compare Thee to A Summer's Cheese or Sometimes Things Get Lost in Translation

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."

You excuse yourself to pull out your pocket translator, which quickly informs you that your exquisite beauty had been trying to inform you that she "has cheese."

Wait. She HAS cheese? What does that mean?! Is she a black market seller of cheddar? Has Chavez gone so far as to ban this delectable dairy product from the country? Or is "queso" really a code word for ecstasy? You start to panic and you depart the club, alone and confused, even going so far as to leave that delicious mojito unsipped.

Dear reader, this situation will never happen to you. As a man with a diverse set of acquaintances, including Alvin Cabrera (note: most names in my posts will be pseudonyms for people I know) from Latin America, I have become familiar with a host of different cultural idiosyncrasies. One of these is the expression, "Yo tengo queso." Although LITERALLY it means "I have cheese," outside a dairy shop its connotations run much deeper. That Latin beauty was not trying to sell you drugs, but was rather expressing her interest in sharing some face time with you (read: make out).

Puzzling metaphors like this exist all over the world. But how far will we let these analogies go? While working on organic chemistry this evening, I was witness to a bizarre conversation between my two friends Laura Dakota and Melanie Wright. In a strange twist of "Yo tengo queso," cheese had suddenly come to represent men and Melanie was enthusiastically explaining her different "cheeses" to Laura.

"No, that one's not moldy! It's more of a pepperjack. And that one is definitely aged cheddar."


I'm not sure how I feel about this. Shall I be reduced to a simple type of food? Does that encompass all of this? If so, I'm definitely a Brie.

What kind of cheese do you have?

Keep your nose to the grindstone...or something,


In the Beginning or How You Got to Know the Greatest Person You Ever Met

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,