Sunday, December 02, 2007

Do Your Job.

Nobody has ever accused Cafe 212 of being a well-run establishment (In fact, in April of this year I wrote a post almost identical to this). The hippy manager is always outside smoking ciggies and they are oftentimes out of bacon. Or, rather, they're simply too lazy to go make more bacon so that my sandwich can be as complete as possible. The end result is an eatery that makes OK sandwiches sometimes and charges way more than they have any right to. A sandwich and a bottle of water can cost you 9 bucks. I can go to a legitimate deli for less, but I don't because legitimate delis accept neither Flex Points nor Dining Dollars and all of my cash money is tied up in my blossoming and soon-to-be lifelong struggle with alcoholism.

The most frustrating thing I've encountered at 212, though, is when there is a long line and only one person on the register. That's not the best part, though. The best part is that there will be 2 or 3 employees just standing there, staring into space.

Have you seen this? They literally just stand around doing nothing even though people are waiting. Do your goddamn job you lazy idiots. I have class in ten minutes and you're standing around scratching your asses because, what, you don't want to punch a couple buttons and swipe my Columbia ID? Look, I'm sorry that you don't find any satisfaction in your job. But what did you expect when you signed up? Excitement? Give me a break, you can't possibly have expected that when applying for the role of "sandwich maker slash sometimes cashier."

At least if you were talking to each other I wouldn't feel so bad. If you gossipped all day about who was sleeping with who, I'd at least feel that my time was being wasted because 212 is a hotbed of action. But when you just stand there and ignore me, my blood boils. Do your goddamn job and ring up my sandwich. It's not hard.

Monday, September 03, 2007

Columbia Let Everyone in for 2011 Except This Guy

Dear Paul,

We regret to inform you that your application to Columbia University has not been accepted. While we here at Columbia appreciate your enthusiasm and interest, there were numerous problems with your application that left us no choice but to reject you for admission to the Class of 2011. In order that this may be a worthwhile learning experience for you, I am going to discuss in this letter exactly where you went wrong in your pursuit of admission. Hopefully, by understanding the problems with your application (and they are numerous), you will be able to regroup and apply successfully to another university.

The first problem was that under the section marked "Name" you scribbled, nearly illegibly, "P-Train, word." While such a moniker might be acceptable with your friends in the Long Island suburbs, it is hardly appropriate for an application to an Ivy League institution. You will notice that I addressed you at the top of this letter as "Paul," which, frankly, I'm not even sure is your real name, but since you didn't include your real name anywhere I was forced to guess. Needless to say, we had great difficulty taking the remainder of your application seriously, but, perhaps out of curiosity more than anything, we soldiered on nonetheless.

Under address, you listed Perhaps we weren't clear enough on this point, but we had intended for you to list an actual address where we could send this rejection letter. Luckily, one of our students was able to find your address on your aforementioned myspace profile, as you had listed it in case people wanted to send donations to your "Hedge Fund." I'm no expert on the financial services industry, but I'm not sure this is the typical way Hedge Fund managers raise money. I would likewise advise against attempting to raise said capital on the same myspace profile where you post pictures of you and your friends with a few dozen spent cans of whipped cream. It reeks of unprofessionalism.

Following on, you listed under extracurricular activities "Droppin' mad f-bombs," "Slingin' rock in the 'jects" and "Straight chillin'." We generally look for things like fencing, student government, poetry writing, or some sort of political activism. It is irregular for a candidate for admission to list such unique interests and we were quite frankly puzzled by your decision to include them. We strive to achieve a certain level of diversity in each of our incoming classes, but this is beyond us. Additionally, I'm not sure I believe that there are any projects in Garden City, NY where you could "sling rock." However, I don't know this for sure, so I will reserve judgment.

Your submission for the admissions essay was also spectacularly inappropriate. Our prompt, "Tell us about a time when you overcame adversity," is a relatively general question that is asked by numerous universities every year. Despite the ease with which anyone could answer such a question, you were relentless in your pursuit of absurdity and elected to write "My P.O. tellin me I need a nine to five / But I already got a job and that's stayin' alive / And I love it. -Young Jeezy, word." I assume "P.O." is short for "Parole Officer." Why didn't you take this opportunity to talk about overcoming your legal troubles? It's baffling.

You claim to have received a 9000 on your SAT, but we find this unlikely. Generally speaking, the maximum score one can achieve is 2400, which, according to my estimate, is an almost unattainable score for someone who enjoys dropping "mad f-bombs" while he's "straight chilling" in the "jects" looking to hustle some ice. We didn't even bother to check with the College Board because such an inquisition would have born no fruit and would have undoubtedly caused considerable embarrasment on our part. Honestly, I'd be shocked beyond belief if you'd even heard of the SAT, let alone taken it. Do you even go to school?

In the vast majority of entry fields, such as "AP Classes," "Favorite Books" and "Siblings," you wrote, in all capitals, "YOU CAN'T STOP THE REIGN." While I'm sure I can't, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about. Finally, your inclusion of a nude picture was simply unnecessary.

We wish you the best of luck with your college search. I wouldn't hold your breath, though.


Arthur C Studebaker-Clark
Dean of Admissions
Columbia University

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Pizza 33 is a hellhole

In a perfect world, I would eat nothing but Cheesy Gordita Crunches from Taco Bell. I would savor one cheesy, sour-creamy bite after another, delighting in the fact that I am eating pure joy. I would wash it down with Mountain Dew Baja Blast, a flavor so ridiculously good that it's available only in Taco Bell. To release it to the masses would be to invite anarchy to our beautiful American society.

Unfortunately, it is not a perfect world and, as such, I must from time to time consume things besides the prestigious Cheesy Gordita Crunch. Tonight was one such time when, at work, we ordered the Terra e Mare pizza. A more appropriate name for this catastrophe would be the Terror e Nightmare pizza.

The shrimp, which I imagined would be plump and delicious, were tiny. Do you know the feeling you get when you're embarrassed and want to curl into a ball? I expect that the shrimp were so ashamed to be a part of this disaster of a pizza pie that they shrunk into themselves. I can't say I blame them. I, too, would have been ashamed to be a part of that pizza. The mushrooms were also offensively bad. The other intern who ate the pizza said he liked the mushrooms, but he is from Maine, a den of iniquities so profound that I will not discuss them in the detail they require.

The analyst whose credit card we used to order was likewise disappointed. He told us that the pizza was depressingly bad and that it reflected poorly on us as interns. He said, rightly, that in a city known for pizza that it was a true feat to discover a place that got every aspect of it wrong. Well done, Pizza 33. Thanks to you I have discovered the ultimate depths of human depravity - infinite. The other person to have reviewed this place is either an out-of-towner so enamored with the idea of new york pizza that he/she convinced himself/herself it was good (despite it not being so, I assure you) or he/she is an employee of this awful excuse for a restaurant.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

To the hobo using my money to buy crack

Dear homeless man to whom I give money outside the Famiglia,

Let's be honest with each other. Let's put all the cards on the table, ok? I've been giving you money for two years now. Whether it's because you need food, or you need to get on the subway, or whatever, I've given it to you. Know what else? I've given it to you knowing full well that you're just going to go to the alley behind the Rite Aid and buy some crack rock. You don't need a slice of Pizza. I know you sure as hell aren't going up to the homeless shelter on 168th (because there is none, you sly devil). But I'm not trying to get you to change your ways. Far from it. All I'm saying is, maybe smoke me out sometime.

In all the time I've known you, you have not once invited me to breathe deeply of the sweet, sweet crack vapors I've been providing you. What gives? Is it my white skin? My collared shirts and ironed slacks? My Ivy-League class ring? Because if you're judging me, brother, then take your judging elsewhere, because I gotta have that crack.

It's true. How do you think I know about Big Jeffrey who sells behind the Rite-Aid? I'm practically his biggest customer! I've been using his services since he started slingin' rock back in '03. This one time, I smoked so much crack rock that I went crazy for a couple weeks. My boss had me declared legally dead. Good times!

Anyway, bud, I'd really appreciate it if the next time I give you a couple bucks as I'm walking down the street, you say, "Hey, man, would you like to smoke some ice with me?" Because yes...yes I would.

Mortimer G Thornock, III

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Question 3 on Earth, Moon and Planets Final

3b) What are spring and neap tides? How do they occur?

My answer: Spring Tide is the floral/grassy-scented laundry detergent marketed in grocery and drug stores starting in March each year. Neap Tide hasn't been invented yet.

True story. That's what you get when you skip an entire semester of classes and have no idea what the hell he's talking about.

Sunday, May 06, 2007

"Primal Scream" Is Retarded

At midnight, on the eve of the first day of finals week at Columbia, countless freshmen open their windows and scream, rendering it impossible for upstanding members of the undergraduate community such as myself to focus on the Scrubs episodes we're trying to watch on our computers (Geniuses don't study - we watch Scrubs). The most annoying thing about this tradition, in my opinion, is that it seems like the only source of it is wikipedia.

On Columbia's wikipedia page, it lists "Primal Scream" as a tradition. It then goes on to say that this "tradition" is also performed at approximately THIRTY-THOUSAND other schools. How can we claim something so ubiquitous as a tradition? We might as well claim that it's a Columbia tradition to have Mathematics classes.

This year, people staged pillow fights at the same time as "Primal Scream." At least this is showing a little originality.

A simple request, though, directed to the freshmen: stop your goddamn screaming. If you want to relieve stress you should either drink a few beers, have sex, or follow my Bored@Butler instructions. Yelling doesn't relieve stress. It adds me. The Greatest Happiness Principle is violated as I am worse off and you are as pathetic as ever.

So next time it's "Primal Scream," make sure you decide to fully participate and head over to the pillow fight after you're done whining. I'll be waiting for you with a sack full of doorknobs. That's how I relieve stress.

Get Off My Campus

Picture Stolen from Bwog

Dear High School Students,

Are you having a good time polluting South Lawn?

I bet it's real exciting coming in from Long Island to spend a whole day on a real college campus. Know what else is real exciting? Sunny days. Best part about sunny days? Getting to play Wiffle Ball outside. Except now we can't because you guys are too busy bringing sparkle motion to Morningside Heights.

What the hell are you doing here? I know that you think you're doing something for a good cause. I would like to tell you that you are wrong. While ALS is a terrible disease, putting up sparkly, distracting pinwheels all over the lawn is not going to do anything about it. But I'm sure everyone in Butler (that's the name of our library, you would know that if you had any business here) is really appreciative of the gesture. Nothing brings a college community together like thousands of flashing lights.

Did I mention that we have finals this week?

Yeah, finals. As in college finals, not the New York State Regents exams that you kids have to take. These are actual tests that we aren't prepared for. As college students, we retain the right to wait until the very last minute to study for our tests because there are days when we just don't want to go to class. You high schoolers don't have that right, because if you don't go to class, Mommy and Daddy can be fined or, gasp, they can go to jail!

What's certain, though, is that whoever invited you clowns to my beloved campus ought to go to jail. It's bad enough that we have Barnard students and families spending there time here, we don't need obnoxious high-schoolers running around. Even if you are an admit to the class of 2011 - wait your goddamn turn.

Mortimer G Thornock, III

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

2007 Guide to Not Studying For Your Finals

I still have a few pages to go on a paper before I can even start studying for the five finals I have in the next week, but we know that the more work one has to do, the better it feels to procrastinate. My last guide is still as relevant as ever (check archives) but for Columbia students there is now something even better than masturbation, whale adoption, or Alf: Bored@Butler.

For most people, Bored@Butler ( serves as an outlet for sexual frustration, depression, and boredom. For the truly gifted, though, B@B, as it is affectionately known, can be so much more. It can be the most hilarious website on the entire internet as long as you know what you are doing.

I can't reveal all of the weapons in my mighty arsenal, but I can give you a list of a few things to try out the next time you need a quick laugh at the expense of Columbia nerds.

1. Highjack Conversations
This is the most basic (and, perhaps, obvious) tactic. One of the primary functions of B@B is to facillitate communication between bridge-building SEAS students and the lesser-attractive Barnard girls. Often, they will discuss meeting one another. This is when you strike! You need to add disinformation and chaos to the conversation by pretending to be one of the interested parties. Here are some good ways to jump in (remember, this is after both have already agreed to meet):

"Oooh, are you cool with skipping on the condom? I gots to feel it."
"By the way, baby, in accordance with Megan's law, I am required by law to tell you that I am a registered sex offender."

Or, another good one is to confused them both by saying:

"You're a girl, right?"

This introduces so much confusion that these poor unfortunate souls will abandon the project altogether. Is this a little mean? Yeah, but for a five-second thrill, it's worth it.

2. Trick People into Going Somewhere Late at Night

This is perhaps the cruellest method. It is also the most hilarious, as long as you're a shameless misanthrope.

If you're on at 2 in the morning or later, strike up a conversation with the loneliest sounding person currently posting. Tell them that you could really go for pizza. Not just any pizza, though. You need Grimaldi's. In Brooklyn. Tell the person you will meet them there. Laugh because they are going to Brooklyn and you are not!

3. Have a heated conversation with yourself

This is the best option when it's a slow night at B@B. If people are being boring (ie not talking about what you want to talk about) then you need to spice things up a bit. The best subjects to talk about are:
  • Beastiality
  • Jon-Benet Ramsey
  • Racial issues
  • etc
The point is to be as inflammatory as possible. When people start commenting, ignore them. Simply turn up the heat and watch as the ridiculous pussies at this school start freaking out. For extra credit, "challenge" your worthy adversary to a fight outside Butler. See if anybody actually gets up and walks out after you say this. Remember any such individuals because now you know who else in the room is looking at B@B instead of studying.

I may post more ideas later. Try these out for now.

Sunday, April 29, 2007

The Killers Guilty Only of Eardrumocide

After yesterday's Beirut Tournament, in which Terminator and I made it to the semi-finals, we decided to go to MSG to see The Killers. Only problem: the show was sold out and we didn't have tickets.

Not so much of a problem for the Terminator. After sweet talking the people at MSG, we got in to one of the Sky Boxes. Free booze, free food...and some families.

At this point I should probably tell you that I was drunk. Hammered drunk, really. Five hours of Beirut will do that to you. Needless to say, the fact that there were two 11 year old girls in the Sky Box was probably not a good thing. I'm sure they couldn't understand why I kept dropping hot dogs and spilling mustard all over myself. Their fathers didn't appreciate it when we tried to strike up conversations with them.

So I was drunk, big deal. When there's a fridge full of frosty brewdogs, though, you know that stopping is out of the question.

That's when more people showed up to the box. This time, they were young-adultish employees of the company that owned the box. It must have been a pretty funny sight. Employees, their dates, their familes...and some 21-year old freeloaders double-fisting Bud Light with mustard on their faces. God Bless America.

The Killers were opened by some Beatles impersonators. Their voices were spot on - I mean it really sounded like The Beatles - but what the fuck? When we saw Guns N Roses, they were opened by Sebastian Bach. That makes sense, because they're the same era, genre, etc.

Having "The Beatles" open for The Killers probably went over most people's heads, but not mine. Since I am aware that Brandon Flowers (Killers Frontman) fancies himself a god, this was clearly his attempt to place his group above the legendary British rock outfit. In other words, Brandon Flowers is fucking insane.

It was funny, especially because I actually enjoyed the Beatles guys more than I did The Killers.
The Killers' music was way too loud and they were only playing the weaker songs from their latest album, Sam's Town. Incidentally, Flowers claimed that this would be one of the best Rock albums of the past two decades. Sure, pal. And The Beatles, if they were around today, would be opening for you, too.

We ended up leaving early because we were sick of the noise emanating from the stage. I considered myself a fan of The Killers, but I don't think I'd be able to go to their concert ever again. Or, if I had to, I'd probably avoid heavy drinking in the afternoon.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

The Best Facebook Group Ever

There is a facebook group called "8th Graders need to back off 9th grade guys especially other peoples BF's." It is the single greatest facebook creation known to man.

Unfortunately, the creator, a girl from Brearley, has closed the group and made it "secret," so there is no reason for me to be telling you about this group other than to rub in your face the fact that it is too late for you to join the hilarity.

Update: The creator has dismantled the wall and discussion group, rendering the group no longer hilarious. Obviously thousands of people have friend-requested her today.

ABC Family Has No Place Here

Today, while I was hanging out in the common room of our fraternity house, three girls wearing orange t-shirts let themselves in. The orange t-shirts said "ABC Family - GREEK" on them. I didn't like where this was going.

They introduced themselves but I wasn't able to catch their names as I was too busy trying to hide my disgust at their affected chipperness. They then asked how I was doing and got to the chase.

Turns out there's going to be a new TV show (they insisted it wasn't "reality tv") about Greek Life on America's college campuses. What did they want from me? They wanted to know if I or anyone in my houses wanted to talk for a minute or so ON CAMERA about our "craziest college experiences." That is a direct goddamn quote.

I couldn't believe this. Now, perhaps my "crazy college experiences" have been different from the majority's, but I simply don't see a story about a random weekend for me ending up in a half hour timeslot between reruns of Sister Sister and Full House. Something tells me that videos of my buddies and I pounding shots of Jagermeister and bringing shame to our familes wouldn't fare well on a channel which is dedicated to the non-threatening programming of the mid-90s.

I told them "No, we are not interested in something like that." They didn't believe me.

They said "Oh, but you can win a walk on part in a tv show." Great. I can play "Guy in Starbucks" on the next episode of Roswell or something.

Then they offered these things which are basically Solo Cups which hang on your door.

Consider that for a moment. ABC Family is handing out Solo Cup paraphenalia. Chocolate Milk Beirut, anyone?

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

The 212 Workers Are Awful

Almost every time I'm on the line at 212, the surprisingly delicious sandwich place in Lerner, I'm forced to wait longer than I have to because of loafing employees.

Before you try to interrupt me - no, they aren't on "break." They'll literally be standing there doing absolutely nothing for one or two minutes until they suddenly say "Next," with an impatience so obnoxiously undeserved that I want to reach over the counter and smack them. Except I can't, because I would probably get myself a disciplinary hearing.

The ones who stand at the registers, staring blankly into space for minutes at a time until they decide they want to go back to work are bad enough. The worst, though, are the ones who hide behind the partition which separates the main area from the back area. They will peek out every so often, notice that there is a line, but stay back there chatting with their fellow workers about God knows what.

Now I have worked shitty jobs before. I have. But I WORKED at those shitty jobs. I didn't stand around talking about nails and god knows what.

The people at the Lerner Hall Mail Center are just as bad. Even though there's a line of 20 people, only one person will be working while the rest are just hanging out. They aren't oblivious to us, either. They know we're waiting and they let us wait.

Well I can't wait for the day when these people need surgery and all the Columbia-educated doctors are too busy playing grab ass to operate.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Me too me too me too

<- What? "Today, we are all Hokies?" Really? Not me. Last I checked I was a Columbia student with no real connection to Virginia Tech or any of its students.

Do I consider Virginia Tech a tragedy? Absolutely. Do I wish it hadn't happened? Absolutely. Do I hope Cho Seung-hui burns in hell? Absolutely.

Am I going to change my facebook picture (already a trivial element of existence) to reflect my opinion on a national tragedy? No.

I have two problems with this. The first is that a facebook picture is meant to be fun, stupid, embarrassing, whatever. As a corollary, any time you put something serious up there, you necessarily trivialize that issue. Oh, you're serious enough about the Blacksburg Massacre to adopt a ridiculous "solidarity" posture on your facebook profile? Damn, dawg, let's rub our LiveStrong bracelets together and talk about how VTech has affected us so much.

The second problem I have is related to this last point: people need to stop co-opting tragedies. It happened on 9/11, it's happening now. If you were affected by this, my heart and prayers go out to you. Seriously. But if you're so bored with your life that you need to act like you're a part of this, then you can go right to hell.

Sunday, April 08, 2007


In a city of 8 million people with immigrants from all over the world, why is it so hard to find decent Chinese food? Especially in Morningside Heights there are no legitimate, consistent options for Chinese. By Chinese I of course mean Chinese, Japanese, and Thai, but not Korean because fuck that shit.

The only semi-legitimate option is what I like to call "Wack Chinese" from the Wien food court. The problem is that the idiots in charge are getting rid of the food court to make room for a "lounge." I love how they say they're going to "make" a lounge, which is basically an exercise in negating the space. Nothing is going to be added except for couches that nobody will use and instead we will all be worse off for not having wack Chinese to eat. Also, what is going to happen to the old, black guy who works there. I like to call him "Shakes McGee" because he has trouble keeping still. Yes, I realize how bad that sounds, but I don't care because it's hilarious. What's going to happen to Shakes? They took away his medical license so he can't go back to neurosurgery. He's going to go hungry because some kids need a university-sponsored lounge in order to feel like they're enjoying themselves.

With Wack Chinese gone there will be no legitimate Chinese (et al) left in Morningside Heights. Let's take a look at the available options. I am going to number them not because some are deserving of higher numbers, but because I like lists.

1. Ollie's - The last time I ordered from Ollie's it tasted like vomit. That's not a hyperbolic simile - it tasted like regurgitate. I felt as if I was eating food marinated in the wok with Bruce Lee's bile and puked up dog bits. Bizarrely, and appropriately enough I suppose, the two Ollie's that are further down Broadway are great. Despite this and perhaps because of it, I award our Ollie's zero points.

2. China Place - Aside from having the most boring name possible, their food is also as boring as possible. Everyone knows that the main ingredient in Chinese food is love - you need to hug the flavor into General Tso's chicken. Without this you're left with rubbery meat in nondescript orange sauce. They even get the rice wrong - how can you fuck up rice? It tastes like pellets of overcooked unhappiness. Zero again.

3. Caffe Swish - The first non-Chinese Chinese place on the list, Swish is known for discriminatory hirying practices. Specifically, they won't hire you if you're a decent human being. You need to be rude even by New York standards to qualify for employment here. The food is decent most of the time but the sushi is wack (and not good wack like wack chinese or taco bell RIP dawg) and the fountain soda tastes like bad medicine and not the Bon Jovi kind but the robitussin kind.

4. Empire/Concord - I have to rate these together because I can't tell them apart. Both have amazingly bad food. I often see one of them (I can't remember which) when walking down Amsterdam and I'm even more appalled by the appearance of the place. I almost cried when I saw the origins of my one-time-meal of Pepper Steak with Onions (as opposed to onion steak with peppers?). Stay away. Avoid at all costs. If you see a friend about to order it, steal the cell phone and break it. He'll thank you.

5. Wai Lee - unadulterated suffering. Misery in its purest form. I would take my hat off to this accomplishment except I've suffered at the hands of Wai Lee so it's personal. Rumor has it that Jack Bauer uses Wai Lee as the ultimate torture mechanism.

There are so many more, but I'm depressing myself by recalling all of this tragedy. Also, I need to go to Carnegie Hall to see a fucking high school band play because instead of seeing a concert for the report due Monday on a regular weekend night, I put it off til sunday so that I could preserve drinking opportunities. This is my life.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Ad Campaigns Which Make Me Want to Gouge Out My Eyes #1 and #2

#1) Glade = Glah-day?
As a rule, I’m angered any time a commercial has only female characters. I am angry because I find myself unable to identify with any of the people on the television and, immediately, this makes me feel that the product is inferior and should therefore not have infringed on my television watching time. The glade scented oils commercial is one such advertisement. If you haven’t seen it, you must have been one of God’s elect, because the rest of us have been suffering through it for months.

I will summarize it presently. Some stupid, Associate’s degree earner from the Midwest (speculation, but I’d put money on it) lights a scented oil candle in her kitchen and then removes the “Glade” sticker from its carapace. When she tries to throw it away, though, it becomes stuck to her dress. Oh, what wacky high jinx awaits us! When she opens her front door to her suspiciously diverse group of friends, they immediately comment on the scent of the candle, which, I remind you, was lit about FOUR SECONDS AGO. One of the friends, whose scent receptors must be as keen as a bloodhound’s, recognizes immediately that the smell is the result of a lit Glade candle. The homeowner, however, claims that the candle is not glade, but “French…from France.” As opposed to French from Turkmenistan? Whatever. One of her friends notices the “Glade” sticker on our Associate’s degree friend and says “What, haven’t you all heard of Glad-ay?” The friends then break out into piercing, earth-shattering laughter. If you haven’t seen the commercial, let me try to paint a picture of this laughter for you: in Ireland, parents tell their children scary stories wherein Banshees will come to them in their sleep and laugh so shrilly and maniacally that it will kill them.

Glade hired Banshees to do this commercial.

Besides the obvious annoyingness of the “Oh We Girls Are Such Good Friends” motif this commercial employs, it infuriates me that people probably don’t recognize that Glade is advertising their candles by making it seem like even a stupid woman from the Midwest would be ashamed to have it in her home.

If I were running the ad campaign for Glade, here is what it would look like, roughly: A woman is in a grocery store and sees two candles: Glade and Other. She opts for other. When she lights the Other candle, a siren goes off and we hear shattering glass. Special Forces operatives shoot the woman and extinguish the candle. That night, when the police are talking to the family, the officer asks if they would like to press charges. The father says, “No, those special forces guys did what any of us would have. Feed her to the wolves.” As the wolves are feasting on her, one of them looks up and says: “Buy Glade Candles.” Short, to the point, effective.

#2) The 23 Flavors of Dr. Pepper
I would absolutely love to know how they came up with the number “23.” The only thing I can think of was that it was a tie-in to the Jim Carrey movie regarding that same number, because there is no way they can actually conceive of 23 discrete flavors in this beverage, which is nothing but a poor, poor substitute for root beer.

Yet they claim that the flavor is actually the product of a mixture of 23 different flavors. What’s the point of this? Are we supposed to appreciate its real flavor (ie “bad”) more because it has 23 constituent parts? What the hell do I care if they mixed 23 good things together if the emergent result is awful? Is it somehow exciting to think that if we were able to acquire all 23 flavors, we could brew it ourselves? What the hell kind of advertising is that? If I were advertising for a beverage, I would focus on the fact that the audience is too stupid to make it but should feel lucky that they are able to buy it in 12oz, 20oz, and 2L denominations.

Because Dr. Pepper won’t release his secret recipe and keeps the list of 23 flavors locked in a vault deep beneath the earth’s surface, I am going to present my speculations about the 23 flavors. Here is my list:

1. Pain
2. Suffering
3. Nausea
4. Alienation
5. Glade scented oil
6. Rejection
7. Anxiety
8. Trepidation
9. Fear
10. Hatred
11. Skateboarding
12. Loneliness
13. A1 Steak Sauce
14. Hemlock
15. Anger
16. Confusion
17. Depression
18. Unrequited love
19. Bad poetry
20. Nazism
21. Manhattanville protesters
22. Betrayal
23. Syrup of Ipecac

That actually all sounds pretty good. You could call the resultant beverage “American Angst-a-cola” and sell it at Kim’s (ironically) or Hot Topic (unironically).

Thursday, February 15, 2007

February 15th, 2007 Hipster Convention is Not Appreciated

"I have an emergency announcement."

That's what the lip-ringed, Kangol-hat wearing douchebag said today twenty minutes into my 11 am class. (As a sidenote, there is definitely something about lip rings and ironic t-shirt that makes me think an individual is a smart, savvy politico). Was there a fire? Was Osama bin Laden found? Had TrimSpa found a new celebrity spokeswoman? No. The emergency announcement had to deal with the protest to be staged at noon that day.

What the hell is the emergency? There's no new information here. These idiots had posted flyers all over campus telling people to walk out of classes today in order to demonstrate that they don't like war.

Are you kidding me? What the hell is walking out of class going to do? As my infinitely wise suite-mate, the Terminator, said: "If you're going to walk out of something or strike something, you need to strike the people you're protesting. What is leaving class going to do other than piss off your professors?"

Then, to compound this obnoxiousness, these jerks pulled the fire alarm in Hamilton Hall. Way to go, dickheads. Now we have to hear that awful sound just because you think that whining about the Iraq War is important enough that EVERYTHING ELSE MUST STOP FOR A HIPSTER-EMERGENCY.

Now I don't think you'll find anyone on this god forsaken planet who thinks that Iraq is going well. But whether you are conservative or liberal or anything else, you should recognize one very simple truth: organizing on a college campus to demonstrate something which people already know (ie that Columbia students don't like Bush) is a waste of fucking time.

When I left class I was greeted with the sound of some schmuck on a megaphone yelling how "THIS. HAS. TO. STOP." Wow. Very inspiring, MLK. Did you stay up all night burning the midnight oil thinking about that line? Such rhetorical genius. I dare say that Cicero himself would have shed golden tears of glory had he heard your voice crooning from the bullhorn, stretching out across campus to touch the hearts of the noble Columbia students.

Get real. It's an unwritten rule that if you're going to get on a megaphone, you need to say something worth hearing. A prime example of this is how at the beginning of the Fall 06 semester some buddies and I decided to spend a rainy afternoon during orientation week by shotgunning beers on the stoop of our frat house and heckling passers-by through my sweet, sweet megaphone which I bought on eBay. For some reason, the administration told us we could no longer use the megaphone for such events.

But this is allowed? Clear prejudice. Hipsters and other douches are favored by the administration, but why? It is we, the non-hipsters, who will go on to become high-powered individuals with the financial means to support this institution. Why should Columbia alienate the future donors?

It doesn't even matter. What matters is how ridiculous these events are. Why do people show up to protests? They can't actually think that they're making a difference. They most likely go just to say they were there. I bet they keep scrapbooks full of photos of them protesting various things such as "War," "Anger," "Men," and "Dressing like a normal human being and not some transexual retard." I hear that last one was well attended by Barnard students.

It reminds me of "The Dundies," an episode of the US version of "The Office" where Steve Carell gives out awards to everyone in the office. What's the point of gathering to give your group of associates awards? If the award is so freely given, isn't the ceremony likewise spurious? These protests amount to little more than organized group masturbation.

Hipster #1: We're really political because we're protesting.
Hipster #2: I know, we're so deep.
#1: Dude, we should make out.
#2: "Dude" is such a bourgeois term you sheep.
#1: Well we should still make out.
#2: Totally.

Or at least that's how I imagine it happens in my homoerotic hipster fantasies.

As annoying as it is, it is avoidable. That is until I tried to go to 212 for a delicious Alexander Hamilton's Roast Beef Mexicali. Evidently the Hipsters pulled the Lerner fire alarm too. As a result, 212 had to close temporarily.

Alright, fags, now it's personal. Look, I'm sorry your father doesn't love you. I'm sorry the jocks in high school made fun of you. I'm sorry you didn't get the Derelicte campaign. But so help me God, if you sons of bitches ever get between me and my mexical roast beef again, I will personally cut off the last vestiges of your balls. This is an outrage so mind-blowing that I still can't believe it happened.

I hope the organizers of this protest get expelled for the fire alarms. I'm going to start protesting their continued existence at this university via my own megaphone from the stoop. SHOTGUN!