i should drop out

I should really drop out of college. I should sing on the streets of some American city and waitress part-time. I should save up and buy a roadside stand and make stuffed naans or burritos. There's a guy with a stand like that on 15th and K in DC, Pedro and Vinny's and he's been there for like a decade. And he banks. Then I could write a book about it.
Out of 6 billion people in the world, I'm in the one-third (or fourth) that has it good. I'm a spoiled piece of junk. I'm clothed, fed, sheltered and I'm getting a higher education. The worst thing to do with luxury like that is to sit around crying about the unsolvable problems on this globe and corner myself into an ivory tower. Yea, that's what's up. Intellectualism without practice is a dead language.

It was just that while I was at the bookstore today, I walked by around 8 books that I knew I wanted to read that I'd probably never get to actually sit down with. I thought about how nice it would be to take a semester off and wake up in the morning (yes, theoretically, the idea of getting up before 10 is fascinating to me), sit down with a coffee, an iced tea, a smoothie, whatever seems appropriate for the climate and to READ. I have time to read, but I don't have time to read everything I want to. I guess no one does. There's no point spending all your time reading.

This summer, I read a lot of fiction and my head started spinning. I decided that I'd make this the semester of non-fiction and biography, in the spirit of equal time. So far, I've been bad about it. I read A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini and I'm continuing Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I'm only 1000+ pages away from the end! The only non-fiction thing I've been reading is God is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens, the funniest angry man I know. When I finish that, on to my homeboy's new release, Giving. It's shorter than My Life.

Kaay, I have to go get some work done!

i haven't posted in here forever!

Quick update: I'm a college sophomore now. I apologize to my one or two readers for not updating more often. I'm making Blogger into my homepage so I remind myself to update more.

So anyway, I left my room today to grab dinner at the Diner and got on an elevator with this large-ish white guy holding a tuba. So down we went, from the 5th floor, stopping at the 4th floor and then the 3rd. By the time we were at the 3rd floor, the tuba guy was pretty frustrated, to the point, I think, that he took on an Irish accent when he said, "Lord, why's it keep stopping!"

The guy getting on at this point asked, "Is this elevator going down?" The tuba guy replied, "Seems to be a popular direction."

To this, the first guy said, "Well, I guess there's only two ways to go. Up or down."

And for some reason, this to me seemed a satisfying comment on life.

real beauty ad campaign

I found this on YouTube today and it made me feel gorgeous.



Dove has had this Real Beauty campaign going on for a few years now. They found a real niche with their billboards featuring these bodacious babes with their REAL afros and their REAL asses and REAL attitude and all that. It reads a little like the Spice Girls "Girl Power!" anthem minus the vanilla underwear. The Spice Girls would have blinged out underwear. However, as this blogger notes, the ads looked a little different in Hong Kong. Oh well, they're a homogeneous society, so I guess they can make excuses. Still, with the long hair and the skinny body types, clearly they missed the point of the campaign.

Or did they? Dove is betting it's corporate image on this Real Beauty schtick. Women applaud that, but at the end of the day, we'd much rather look like Eva Longoria, or fool ourselves into buying products that make us think we're closer to looking like Eva Longoria. A quick look at Dove's website shows it's eventual compromise: healthy looking women, the occasional torso tattoo, but above all, no real eyesores. Big points for Dove if they ever sign on Ugly Betty.





Also, I realize I'm like an entire year late catching up on this whole campaign in the first place, which is like ten years in cyberspace. I guess the rock I've been living under was pretty big.

the weathered attractiveness of mcgruff

Either yesterday or today, somebody said out of the blue at work that in a recent poll, 80% of the adult population recognizes McGruff the Crime Dog. 70%ish think he's "cool." I fished around for exact stats today, but couldn't really find any. Most non-profit organizations should be green with jealousy.

What makes this McGruff so cool? What's he got that, say, Smokey the Bear doesn't have? Well, if you take a look at Smokey, he's got a potbelly going on. He's obese, that thing. And can he prevent forest fires with his Billy Bob Jones' jeans and shovel? He sure can. He just can't look good doing it. In that particular second picture of Smokey fronting a legitimate national issue-turned-scary neo-fascist propaganda ("This Shameful waste WEAKENS AMERICA"...along with Arabs, out-sourcing to India and Ann Coulter) by standing before the flames of death with a sullen, generic look on his face, Smokey seems just scary. Like your mom, after she finds out you fed the green beans to the dog. Finally, it has never been clear to me why Smokey holds a shovel. No way that's going to quell the monstrous conflagration behind him. Am I missing something? Just wondering.

In contrast, McGruff is he-man, alpha dog, a weathered man of crime-preventing wisdom. He's gruff, he's inoffensive and everyone loves dogs. Just look at that chiseled dog face. There are signs of wrinkling and old age, but I'll bet McGruff is as persistent as the buff 60-year old ex-military man who jogs miles around the neighborhood. If McGruff were a man, he'd be a cross between General Wesley Clark and Ice-T. Authoritative and mellowed. McGruff distinguishes himself from other dogs because he has digits, and more importantly a thumb and an index finger. He's properly personified, now that he can point at YOU. Yes, YOU. McGruff has enduring fashion sense, because cops wearing trenchcoats is still a staple on Law and Order. It also makes him a little mysterious. What's behind the trenchcoat? When did he start wearing it? What does he hide behind it? Maybe it isn't for us to know.

first day of work + the recovery of my faith in humanity

Today was my first day of work at the National Crime Prevention Council (NCPC); it was a summer internship that I nabbed very late in the game. I will say that not having any sort of job lined up for the summer was starting to wear on my self-esteem, especially since I've been employed continuously since I was 16. I filled out more applications for odd jobs in Farragut, Dupont, Rockville and Bethesda. Anything! I'd take anything! I walked into one restaurant in Dupont Circle after I saw a big sign advertising their "Singing Servers!" If there were to be a perfect job, it could very well be that. However, they, like all other people, never called back. I also applied to a non-profit bookstore (whatever that means), and it was a pain in the ass to get there, but they didn't call back either. They all want retail or restaurant experience. Well, there's something I don't have-- maybe someone could donate me some? Really, being a college student doesn't have any relevance in the retail world. It doesn't mean anything if you're an honors student, or even a nice and bubbly honors student :-(, Baskin Robbins will do you no favors. It was a nice surprise to get this internship though, and I don't at all think I'm settling.

So today was the first day of work. I'll be working Mon-Wed from 9-5. It's reasonable, I think. I don't think I should be as young as I am and cooped up in an office all day. The summer goes by excruciatingly slow in an office. Last summer, I worked in an office only two blocks down and worked eight hours a day, all five days of the week. They were paying $8.50/hr, which is amazing money for a non-profit and the most I've ever made. Hell, I was ready to work seven days a week for that kind of money, and this past semester in my Intro to MicroEcon class, I found that there's indeed a name for this phenomenon. It's called the Work-Leisure model. The more money you make, the more expensive it is when you go on vacation. Naturally, you won't be calling in sick much. The office is in a great location, right across from the Farragut North metro. (They're moving to Crystal City near the Pentagon in the fall, though.) However, no Metrocheks, no using computers for personal email, Facebook, Myspace, or to stream any kind of video or audio. This is entirely draconian. If you work from 9-5 and have to sleep by 11pm to get a good night's sleep so you can get up at 7:15 again, you have about 6 hours of personal time a day. Normal people have to cook, take care of the kids, run errands (and exercise to lower the risk of heart attack!) When do they get the time? I'm not liking the real world. And I'm extremely resentful of not being able to stream music or Facebook in my free time.

But I still have faith in humanity. Last Friday, I went out with friends to White Flint Mall (Borders, Bertucci's), and then out to a movie. By the time we got to the movies, I realized I didn't have my ID wallet with me. It's one of those things you see college students swinging around with their college's name printed all over the lanyard. It wasn't in the car, and it wasn't in either store when I called. I was horribly afraid and resentful towards the universe. I'd finally gotten my permit again! (Yes, I'm 18 and have a permit.) And before I could drive it was gone. Fucking Spiritus Mundi. I tried recreating a possible pickpocketing. It just couldn't happen. My purse was too long; no way could anybody reach into that and pick it out. Besides, why would you want to pickpocket a college student? I have maybe $300 in there. But I got it in the mail today, in an envelope with a heck of a lot of stamps. Today, I want to thank my Good Samaritan, who I believe may be a teenage girl or a youngish woman (only girls have fatsy, cutesy handwriting like that.) Thank you.

I also found $16 lying on one of the shelves of milk at the grocery store today. I pocketed it. I know, I know.

vegetarian baby

This has to be the baby of my dreams. She's a natural vegetarian! When I was a kid, I went with my aunt and mom to some Thanksgiving dinner. Obviously there was a turkey there, and obviously I wanted a piece of it since everyone else was eating one. My mother said something like, "You can't! Or you'll die!" I think that's what she said, or at any rate, that's what it came off as, because I've been violently afraid of all meats to this day. You can be sure that I'll do that to my kids too. Scare them pantless.

anti-comic sans propaganda

Wow. Today I found out that people in the world that have, in fact, dedicated their lives to the eradication of the creepiest font on Microsoft Word, Comic Sans. The font itself is dingy, childish, unprofessional, banal and eerily omnipresent.


The hate-site puts it extremely well:

"Like the tone of a spoken voice, the characteristics of a typeface convey meaning. The design of the typeface is, in itself, its voice. Often this voice speaks louder than the text itself. Thus when designing a "Do Not Enter" sign the use of a heavy-stroked, attention-commanding font such as Impact or Arial Black is appropriate. Typesetting such a message in Comic Sans would be ludicrous. Though this is sort of misuse is frequent, it is unjustified. Clearly, Comic Sans as a voice conveys silliness, childish naivete, irreverence, and is far too casual for such a purpose. It is analogous to showing up for a black tie event in a clown costume."

Take a bow, for the world owes you much.

rush hour on dc streets

I was job hunting today around the streets of Farragut North when I saw none other than



Helen Thomas! I kind of turned around and stared because while I knew exactly who she was, I couldn't remember her name for the love of god. She was trudging over to her car and her chauffer saw me staring so he yelled out, "You wanna say hi?" So I walked over and told her "I LOVE YOU. I love everything you do and I'm an aspiring journalist too." And she held my hand and said, "You can do great things with journalism." She was nice enough to ask where I go to school and it would have all been a perfect Kodak moment if I hadn't spent the next 3 hours trying to remember her name!

mean girls, anyone?

I swear I was at The Diner today and saw a group of girls at a table all wearing pink. And it's Wednesday.

american idol gives back?

I'm currently watching American Idol, the big hyped version where Celine Dion sings with Elvis Presley? I'm a little confused about this one.

Guns and Murderous Psychos

What exactly do guns do other than kill?

From the Voice of America:

"A leading gun rights group, the National Rifle Association, issued a statement on its Web site expressing condolences to those victimized by the shootings at Virginia Tech, and adding that it will have no further comment on the incident until all the facts are known.

The NRA Web site also contains interviews with gun owners worried that gun control groups are always pushing for new limits on firearms.

NRA WEBSITE: "Gun owners, we are paranoid for a reason. It is because we have been burned over and over and over again."

Another pro-gun group said that gun bans were the problem, and that Americans should have the right to arm and defend themselves.

Gun control advocates like New York Congressman Charles Rangel acknowledged they face an uphill climb in trying to tighten regulations.

"It is a regional thing, it is a cultural thing and it is a sad thing,” he said. “But it is some type of a cult, 'do not touch, do not take the gun from my dead, cold hands,' and I do not understand it."

my fallen hero dies

He fell down some stairs and then he died. God bless you Kurt Vonnegut.

in search of a book sure to make a jackass of me

I figure that every good English major should find some esoteric book, some lifelong gem of knowledge found in the dusty corner of a used bookstore, to quote in a most highbrow and assholish manner at cocktail parties for the rest of her life. I just feel like college is the right time for that. So in that spirit, I ordered (from Betterworldbooks.com, in a most environmentally sustainable way) the book, Any Place I Hang My Hat by Susan Isaacs. I mean, I knew that wasn't going to be my life-long cocktail banter, but I'd never heard of her, so I gave her a try. It angered me so much by page 59 that I slammed it on the ground in disgust.

Here's your snippet: "I'd heard enough Mahler, read enough Donald Barthelme, seen enough Peter Greenaway films, and inspected enough Matthew Barney art to understand that a certain understanding was missing in me."

I may be drooling snot as a freshman college columnist/wannabe intelligent person, but I know unnecessary pedantry when it smacks me in the face. Especially when the allusions, the analogies, the wisecracks smack you multiple times with varying degrees of ouch. I'll only google things in a book so many times.

Anyway, the whole experience of reading about a bunch of stuff you don't really understand but reading it anyway because one may possibly reap some unforeseen benefit somehow related to cocktail parties, kind of makes me feel guilty of the same assholish thing. I doused my last column, which outlined the artistic inclinations of collegiate party-throwers, with literary allusions. They were pretty tame- a little Hemingway love, a little Ayn Rand hate. (I admit I've never read Ayn Rand, just scrunched my face at the obnoxious behemoths that swallow shelf spaces whole. How many pages do you really need to make your point?)

What I'm trying to say, is that I'm guilty of the same thing that pisses me off the most. Hell, if I'd heard of half the things that Susan Isaacs knows, I'd want to shoot out my own sarcastic educated babble too. I guess we all have our goals when it comes to writing, but I should probably make a faux-resolution to sound as little like her as possible. Or else my readers will end up with less brain cells than they came in with. Or they'll hop onto Google midway, trying to figure out some haute allusion I made and in a true sign of the Adderall generation, end up on Text Twist.

things to do before i die

-Invent a word that gets into the dictionary.

back from india

I got back from India on Friday and it was a delicious experience. The origin of Indian food is, of course, India. Traveling alone was unpleasant and I found out that I hate Germany (see Lufthansa Airlines, the German Language and smoking in airports and inadequate numbers of toilets). But since I was alone, I got in on some of the family's secrets and tribulations. I didn't travel much around the country like I did last time when I was with my family, which really helped my face stay somewhat clear and allowed for more shopping days. I started writing a faux-memoir/diary entry while I was there, sort of just to help myself grasp some things about my extended family. It's entitled "My Family is Incestuous!?! and Other Tales from my Solo Voyage to India". All I have to say is that one can experience great moments of clarity while on an overnight train. Other points of interest are that all of John Mayer's albums put me to sleep and the Indian definition of morning does not include 9am.