Scholastic inquiries

As I watch the steady rain wash away the dead heat of a summer’s day and baste the green life until permeated with a vibrant gloss, I begin to contemplate one of life’s more convoluted questions that only the cleansing rainfall can induce me to answer...

Why is it that the majority of cute kids—and I use the word “cute” hesitantly because let’s face it, a blob is a blob—seem to grow up fugly? Is it because they use up all their good looks early so the only natural progression is toward the disagreeable aesthetic? Interestingly enough, the other kids who are shunned by onlookers and questioned if it be a boy or girl tend to grow into their looks, and thus improve over time. THAT IS SOME BENJAMIN BUTTON SHIZ!

Now some of you may be shocked and horrified, but maybe some proof will put your outrage at ease:

To begin, here is George Clooney, then and now, as an extreme example of someone growing into their looks.












Almost unrecognizable!! Javier Bardem's No Country for Old Men character would be jealous of that coiffure. Based off of that hot mess to tha left, Mr. Clooney has come a long 'n triumphant way.

On to the next! Who else has fought the good fight and came out victorious? Drew Barrymore, for one.














It's a miracle!! Those brows once looked hopeless paired with that feathered 80s hair. But no more! Though Drew has experimented with an infinite number of hair colors and styles in the past, she has most certainly locked down a look that works for her now. Rejoice!

Andrew Lawrence is another champ that overcame the same adversities Drew Barrymore and George Clooney faced. You may recognize him from the Disney show Brotherly Love, though no one would blame you if you don't. You see, Andrew was unfortunate enough to have 2 attractive brothers while he was just a doughy kid with floppy hair. But behold the transformation!











Dayummm! And we all know what Joey Lawrence looks like now... I'm just saying...

But wait! They can't all be as fortunate as the examples above. It's a cruel world to some. My primary, and best, example is that little boy from the Jerry Maguire movie. Poor kid, he was at the top of his game at the age of 6. And now, look at him!!
















I know there are exceptions to this rule, or perhaps these are the exceptions, but you cannot deny it!!! I'm simply making observations (with irrefutable proof). Accept it, fools!!

It's jealousy but don't tell anyone!

Today power-hungry (or is it just hungry?) Oprah pityingly revealed another one of her secrets of the world that she hides in her inflated hair, which is filled with secrets. Filled! I would tell you, but I’m trying to collect my own secrets to form a kind of repertoire, if you will, so I too can benefit from the wonders of voluminous hair. By the end of summer, I hope to have the most grandiose hair and credit it, not to the vengeful humidity, but to my proliferated secrets. Pinky will ask me what we're doing tonight, to which I will respond: the same thing we do every night, Pinky, try and take over the world!!! With Oprah’s hair, there’d be no stopping me!

Sinnerman

My night consisted of watching a melodramatic Lifetime movie (…I know…) instead of cracking the surface of a 20-page French paper, an assignment signifying all that is wrong with the French (another story for another time). Needless to say, I learned two very important things from the gripping tale “Live Once, Die Twice.” First: you can die more than once; and second: men are not to be trusted!!! Especially men who fake their own deaths so they can embezzle platinum bars and escape from their Long Island and Detroit wives. Naturally as the story goes, the two wives bond over their murderous husband’s web of lies and form a lasting friendship. Moral of this story:

All men are murderers. OBVIOUSLY.

We have to stick together, ladies! Even if the other was secretly married to your husband. Sisterhood of the traveling pants that drama shiz back where it belongs, OK! Repress those betchy feelings deep down and only allow them to cat-fight their way out when making backhanded compliments and gossiping behind the other’s back. Ah, true friendship! It stands the test of time… Or something.

Facebook official

I mistook a chocolate chip for a bug, which made my reaction to the charlatan all the more nonsensical. My foolery must have been because I declined a message from God on Facebook earlier today. I knew the moment I clicked decline that I would soon face the wrath of God, for no one, deities included, possesses immunity to the pangs—pangs, I say!—of Facebook rejection. And by golly, no, by God (!) I knew the fury would come down mercilessly upon me.

And so it did.

Blame it on the a-a-a-a-alcohol

My travels back to Virginia proved to be the perfect representation of my home state. The closer to arriving, the more brazen its character became.

At the airport in Boston, I quickly compromised my morals (for financial gain, naturally). Now to those who might be shocked at the very possibility that I possess morals, I must first say: JERKS! And second, frankly say: I too am occasionally surprised for I tend to forget about those slight details. Nevertheless, it turned out to be an advantage that did not go with out shame. I place the blame on, not my denial-crazed self of course, but on my exponentially growing frugal nature, which needless to say blames the economy! That’s how the dice roll in blame game…

Once I made my way through Security (luckily being culturally hazardous to society is no need for alarm), I took a seat at my terminal. Despite empty seats everywhere, a guy wearing a fitted hat and crisp white sneakers sat next to me bringing with him a thick atmosphere of cheap cologne. His luggage invaded my personal space and his boxers protruded out of the top of his dangling jeans. Enough said. I gave heavy side-eye but it was lost in the Axe-polluted smog. I worried the douchebag smell would stick to me causing hypocrisy and reinforcement that I am in fact a douche!! I couldn’t risk catching the disease so I moved seats.

After boarding the plane, I noticed the seat to my left was empty. As each passenger shuffled down the isle, I remained cautious yet expressively honest with my reaction until they passed my row. A woman carrying a grumpy child stepped on the plane… NOOOO!!! Nothing is worse. She continued to the back of the plane. Behind her, an old man wearing a medical mask and gloves inspected the row numbers with confusion. Swine flu or paranoia?!?! The difference is paramount! He settled in two rows back from me. Finally a portly man, whose potbelly lost tragically in a battle with gravity, aggressively waddled to the seat next to me and threw his body weight down. His Harley Davidson jacket accentuated his business in the front, party in the back hairstyle and his dirt-stained t-shirt that conservatively needed another two inches of fabric in length.

I flipped through the channels and settled on an episode of Family Guy. The red-neck (literally!) beast showed no restraint when heartily commenting on what I was watching, despite having his own screen. I quickly switched to CNN; he fell taciturn. The selection of drinks did not satisfy him, so he ordered a Bud Light. I half expected him to shotgun the beer, and he did, only in a more socially modest manner (if such a thing exists). The unconventional in-flight entertainment continued after he finished the beer; he knocked something off his tray onto my foot. When I tried to pick up whatever fell, he grumbled, “It’s just ice.” Ohhh ok, no problem! He then discovered the radio wherein the power of country music overtook him, as it does to the hillbilly demographic. When it got to be too much banjo rhythm to hold back, he wailed and hollered inebriated lyrics. Everyone but him seemed to mind. Typical, Virginia, typical…

Life in the fast lane

A lot has happened since last. I am now a college Senior, which means one treacherous stride closer to starting the “real” world, where seven strangers are picked to live in a house and have their lives taped—oh wait, that’s not it. Then whilst celebrating, not so much 21 years of life but rather the first few hours of being 21, I bent the limits of social etiquette to a dangerous angle that would have made fancy people quiver, as I imagine they do. Yes, when the hands on the clock aligned at midnight on May 6th, I was already too deeply involved in the insurmountable festivities to possess awareness of time or responsibility. It was, I think, a great foreshadowing of what’s to come. I won’t go into too many details for obvious reasons but I will tease you with this: It involved sweatpants. MSNBC News. And cookies. Use your imagination to piece together the rest.

Now that you know, I readily reject your judgment.

Caution: egocentricity follows

In an attempt to frantically escape all future responsibilities, I lived these past few days introverted and too selfish to care about any foreseen consequences—knowing not the severity of my slumped posture, but assured of the fact that it will indeed influence my future self. I cannot help but continue in my undeniably insatiable quest for peace of mind. How can one reconcile two clashing beliefs when both seem plausible despite each gliding dangerously close above irrationality in comparison?

Money makes the world go ‘round. It is an inevitable fact that countless dreamers try to refute, but reality, once the idealisms dissipate, solidifies the untold truth. Money is influence is power is change. What kind of change, depends. We’ve all seen the varying shades of that spectrum. But as I become more fondly aware of the simpler wonders of life, I can’t help but notice a personal shift in priorities and expectations. Once driven by money and future (corporate) power, I can no longer connect to that former greedy craving. What I want from the everyday doesn’t come from—or at least not directly from—the number of bills in my wallet or the number on my paycheck. This is not to say that the work I do should go unjustly overlooked; recognition, both in monetary and societal terms, is what drives human ambition—that and the possibility of personal and professional advancement. It is clear that everything monetarily is a constant in this rapidly changing world. The burden of bills and taxes will forever remain countered against the dollar value of your income and investments. Isolating the issue from external factors, what can be a personal choice, in my present opinion, is how heavily you place a value on your individual monetary gains amongst the rest.

The rest, of course, being anything and everything.