Almost everyone goes to high school, and out of these people most of them are involved in sports or some other extracurricular activity that gives them pride in the school that they attend and in themselves. (Unless we're speaking of the usual kids that want to be "different" and do this by denouncing anything and everything that has to do with their school. These are the children that set fire to their cap immediately after leaving the graduation ceremony.) After this, most kids go off to a college, and the initial seed of pride that was planted during their high school days is now transferred to an undeniable pride in their newfound college.
More often than not, this pride in the institution is conveyed through sports teams and events. I have more than one friend who attend Penn State Behrend with me (keep in mind: Behrend is not the main campus, and none of us will be going to University Park until next fall) that had orgasms over procuring season tickets to the Penn State football games this year. One of them actually sent me a text message the morning that tickets went on sale that said "Penn State football tickets in 10! Good luck everybody!!" They will go to the White Out game, which is a game where everyone in the stands dresses in white, and that is totally acceptable. I will be there as well, and I will be cheering for Penn State, but unlike them I will not review the turnout of white-clad supporters that have been posted on YouTube the next day.
Just to be clear, though, pride in a school's sporting programs is awesome, and I don't frown on it at all. I have plenty of pride in my school, and I'm glad to be a part of it for many reasons. There is one phrase that grates on me, and it has to do with the people who justify their pride and rank of school throught the amazing parties that they throw on and around campus. These are the people that use the phrase:
"At _____________, we pregame like you party!"
I see it so often in people's buddy infos, away messages, etc. and I always say to myself What the fuck? Are you serious?
I say this because it comes off not only as cocky and arrogant, but also just totally ridiculous; and for many reasons.
First of all, most schools have the same type of party scene, and the only thing that has an effect on the amount and size of the parties is the size of the school. I doubt there would be much of a difference between the parties being thrown by the frats and students of Penn State and Ohio State. Every school has basically the same parties--though some might spice if up from time to time with astounding themse--they play beer pong, bong beers, boat race, flip cups, play quarters, kings cup, get girls to make out, et/al. All college students are drunks, pretty much, and I'd imagine the consumption level is about the same between kids of the same status regardless of where they go. The only school that really stands out that I have heard of is West Virginia. I mean, you hear some fucking stories about that place. One of my friends that goes there told me that he was at a house party one night and two cops came into the party. I asked him if it was to bust it and send everyone home or to hand out some underages, and he said that was what he initially thought before they partnered up and started playing beer pong. These people also burn couches in the streets...when they win!
That was a lot of rambling, and I just want to be clear that my point is, most college parties are inherently the same: booze (free for females), games, and drunk kids.
Another reason that the phrase "We pregame like you party" pisses me off is that it really doesn't make any sense at all. Any college student worth their salt knows that the two should be separated. Pregaming is exactly what it seems like it would be, if you consider a party a game. It's when you gather with a group of people, usually in your place of residence (or by yourself, if you've got what people call problems) and have a few drinks before heading to your party of choice (with a designated driver if it is not in walking distance) to get drunk and indulge in the socializing that comes with such events. So, if you were to say to your friend, "Oh, at my school...we pregame like you party at your school! Losers," you would be implying that their parties are simply sitting around in a dorm room passing around a bottle of Calico Jack Spiced Rum and watching re-runs of Seinfeld. That wouldn't even be considered a party, and to call it such would be the equivalent of a collegian blasphemy. Those who would consider that a party are not truly drinkers and shouldn't fancy themselves as thus. I mean sure, my friends and I have done just this...sitting around in our dorm room all night drinking hard liquor and watching tv. However, we never called it a party. We called it "Sitting In Our Dorm Room Watching LOST And Getting Too Hammered To Follow The Plotline So We're Going To Have To Watch It Again Tomorrow" night.
Also, you can look at it from another angle. If these people do as they claim, which is pregaming like other college students party, then they need some help. If they truly do have pregaming sessions like other people's parties, then they are setting up ping pong tables in the lobby to play beer pong and flip cup. They've got a keg in a tupperware basin covered in ice next to the sinks in their community bathroom, and they are playing extremely loud music. At some point during this session, they are going to play "Thunderstruck" by ACDC and drink everytime they hear the word "thunder." If it's an especially good pregame/party (apparently they're synonymous to these people), girls will make out or show their breasts after their fifth drink. There will be a makeshift dancefloor somewhere, and people will be grinding on it. There may even be a band playing later on.
If these people try to get away with this kind of behavior, they will be caught and probably punished, because chances are if you live in a dorm you are under the legal age. So, it would be stupid to do something like that, and if you happen to live off of campus and you are doing these things as a prelude to your party, then you are just an overenthusiastic primadonna that has not a drinking problem, but an inablitity to judge timing. No one starts a real party at five o'clock in the afternoon.
Next thing you know, people will be saying that they warm-up like rockstars play their actual concerts. Coincidentally, they also party like them.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
If You Don't Appreciate Mixed Condiments, You Had Better Ketchup
There's something you need to know about me: I was born with a burning passion for food. I don't discriminate at all when it comes to food, and you can believe me when I tell you that I will eat absolutely anything that is considered edible. More often than not I will like it and eat it again. If I don't particularly like it, I've mastered many ways to mask the unagreeable taste. It was in this way that I developed such a close relationship with condiments, which I am an enormous advocate of. Condiments rank pretty highly on my list of favorite things. It's current position is just underneath the memories I have of seeing Jessica Biel in her underwear, and it has recently overtaken the positions of both nicotine and LFO songs.
At the beginning of my infatuation with condiments I was content to try many different types with different foods and at different times. I had brief encounters with different kinds of steak sauces, before finally realizing that my personal tastes pertaining to steak and most kinds of beef were to lie in seasoning, not condiments. It was a lot of trial and error, and in the spirit of this I began to develop many experimental concoctions that are viewed as obscure by some, and flat out unacceptable to others.
The foundations of my condimental experimentations has always been set on one condiment, which is (this is not my opinion, but a scientific fact) the mother of all condiments, obviously ketchup. Anyone worth their salt knows that ketchup is the best condiment for most edible items, though sweet and sour sauce from McDonalds is making a convincing run at becoming almost as versatile. It's a dark horse, the Fidel Castro of condiments, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. Recent studies have also shown that ranch dressing could be considered a condiment as early as the year 2012. It has been slowly seperating itself from Italian and French dressing by showing its versatility and challenging bleu cheese as the number one dipping sauce for chicken wings and other types of poultry.
These "experimentations" I speak of have been met with many strange looks. It all started one day a few years ago when I was eating a Whopper from Burger King. I was in a very ponderous and observant mood, so I noticed the delight that I was experiencing from the condiments of my burger. I realized that the ketchup and mayonnaise had been combined into an orangish color that tasted absolutely unreal.
After I made this discovery, I began mixing ketchup and mayonnaise occasionally. I would put them both on my homemade cheeseburgers, and I would dip french fries in the mixture. I progressed to adding mayo to may hot dogs, which were already usually drenched in ketchup. I wasn't ready to go public with this finding yet, though, feeling that I may be subject to ridicule.
I soon became more comfortable with myself in public settings, and with this comfort came the broadening of my experimentational curiosities and willingness. It was during this period that I discovered my favorite condiment mix to date. This discovery and public advocation of its use has become one of the traits that I am most famous for. I'm constantly looked at with wrinkled faces and subject to jeering comments by friends and enemies alike because of my peculiar taste.
This mixture I'm speaking of is ketchup and ranch dressing. I discovered it one Friday night before a high school football game at King's Family Restaurant, when I was eating with my friends. I had fried chicken tenders and french fries, which I had ordered a side of ranch to dip the tenders in. I had ketchup on my plate as well, for the fries, when I made the greatest mistake of my young life.
I was deep in conversation about either the immortality of Steve Nash or Cat's controversial pick of Creedence Clearwater Revival as the topic of his research paper, so I wasn't paying much attention to my food. I accidentally dipped a tender into the ranch and then the ketchup after, making--I must admit--a rather gross looking combination of white on red that changed my life forever.
I have been dipping in this combo ever since, and it still brings me ridicule. Last night in fact I was eating chicken nuggets with my friends Emily and Kayla. I poured some ranch out onto the plate next to the ketchup, making sure they weren't touching so as not to offend anyone. I started dipping in the ketchup and then the ranch, and loving every second of it. Upon seeing this Emily had a seizure and Kayla vomited all over her Bowling Green State University acceptance letter. Bryan was also present, and he was able to keep Emily from choking on her tongue. She later regained consciousness and has no recollection of the adventure.
These girls were so totally grossed out by the look of my mixture, but they didn't even try it. I'm not asking you to take my word for it. I want you to try this for yourself, and if you don't like it, then you don't like it. And you don't know shit.
This event also proved something that I have been steadily learning recently, and that is that sometimes you have to do things that other people aren't going to like if you really want to be happy.
At the beginning of my infatuation with condiments I was content to try many different types with different foods and at different times. I had brief encounters with different kinds of steak sauces, before finally realizing that my personal tastes pertaining to steak and most kinds of beef were to lie in seasoning, not condiments. It was a lot of trial and error, and in the spirit of this I began to develop many experimental concoctions that are viewed as obscure by some, and flat out unacceptable to others.
The foundations of my condimental experimentations has always been set on one condiment, which is (this is not my opinion, but a scientific fact) the mother of all condiments, obviously ketchup. Anyone worth their salt knows that ketchup is the best condiment for most edible items, though sweet and sour sauce from McDonalds is making a convincing run at becoming almost as versatile. It's a dark horse, the Fidel Castro of condiments, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. Recent studies have also shown that ranch dressing could be considered a condiment as early as the year 2012. It has been slowly seperating itself from Italian and French dressing by showing its versatility and challenging bleu cheese as the number one dipping sauce for chicken wings and other types of poultry.
These "experimentations" I speak of have been met with many strange looks. It all started one day a few years ago when I was eating a Whopper from Burger King. I was in a very ponderous and observant mood, so I noticed the delight that I was experiencing from the condiments of my burger. I realized that the ketchup and mayonnaise had been combined into an orangish color that tasted absolutely unreal.
After I made this discovery, I began mixing ketchup and mayonnaise occasionally. I would put them both on my homemade cheeseburgers, and I would dip french fries in the mixture. I progressed to adding mayo to may hot dogs, which were already usually drenched in ketchup. I wasn't ready to go public with this finding yet, though, feeling that I may be subject to ridicule.
I soon became more comfortable with myself in public settings, and with this comfort came the broadening of my experimentational curiosities and willingness. It was during this period that I discovered my favorite condiment mix to date. This discovery and public advocation of its use has become one of the traits that I am most famous for. I'm constantly looked at with wrinkled faces and subject to jeering comments by friends and enemies alike because of my peculiar taste.
This mixture I'm speaking of is ketchup and ranch dressing. I discovered it one Friday night before a high school football game at King's Family Restaurant, when I was eating with my friends. I had fried chicken tenders and french fries, which I had ordered a side of ranch to dip the tenders in. I had ketchup on my plate as well, for the fries, when I made the greatest mistake of my young life.
I was deep in conversation about either the immortality of Steve Nash or Cat's controversial pick of Creedence Clearwater Revival as the topic of his research paper, so I wasn't paying much attention to my food. I accidentally dipped a tender into the ranch and then the ketchup after, making--I must admit--a rather gross looking combination of white on red that changed my life forever.
I have been dipping in this combo ever since, and it still brings me ridicule. Last night in fact I was eating chicken nuggets with my friends Emily and Kayla. I poured some ranch out onto the plate next to the ketchup, making sure they weren't touching so as not to offend anyone. I started dipping in the ketchup and then the ranch, and loving every second of it. Upon seeing this Emily had a seizure and Kayla vomited all over her Bowling Green State University acceptance letter. Bryan was also present, and he was able to keep Emily from choking on her tongue. She later regained consciousness and has no recollection of the adventure.
These girls were so totally grossed out by the look of my mixture, but they didn't even try it. I'm not asking you to take my word for it. I want you to try this for yourself, and if you don't like it, then you don't like it. And you don't know shit.
This event also proved something that I have been steadily learning recently, and that is that sometimes you have to do things that other people aren't going to like if you really want to be happy.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Shia LaBeouf: The Man.
Celebrities are an enormous part of the heartbeat of America. Most of us live vicariously through them in some way, and some of us would even like to be them. They are our role models, idols, or whatever you want to call it. For this particular essay, I would like to talk about actors: the people who act like someone that they really aren't in the name of entertainment. The ultimate escapists. When you and I are daydreaming about being them, they are actually being someone else, and for a ridiculous sum of money.
I have nothing but respect for these people, though. They have very glamorous jobs and lead very priveleged lives. Lives where they cannot make one misstep without the press revealing it to the entire world. They must watch their every move as close or even closer than the middle-aged women that pore over US Weekly for three hours on Thursday afternoon. If they don't, they will end up like Lindsay Lohan, who is perceived by the general public as...well we won't really put it into print.
Objection your honor! This rambling has nothing to do with the heart of the matter!
Anyway.
Every few years there is one or two very prominent actors and actresses that fly above the rest of the celebrity population. They are the idol to many of the same sex, and the wet dream of many of the opposite sex. They have some kind of appeal that cannot always be explained, but can never, ever be denied.
There was James Dean and Marilyn Monroe way back in the day. Then there was John Wayne. Then there was Jonathan Taylor Thomas for the teeny boppers in the nineties (by the way, what the happened to that guy? I miss him), and then more recently came the popularity of Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp. Angelina Jolie and Jessica Alba. These are the people who attract an enormous audience to the theaters on opening night, just because they are in the movie.
This year it seems to me that a new star is being born, if you will. His name: Shia LaBeouf.
I saw the new and highly anticipated film, Transformers, a couple of nights ago. This was deemed the movie of the summer by pretty much anyone who had a say in the matter. At the MTV Movie Awards in June, it won the award for "Best Movie You Haven't Seen Yet."
Tell me that that's not big time. This movie won awards before it was even a fucking movie.
I was totally blown away by this movie. I didn't know exactly what to expect going into it, because I didn't know if anyone could pull off the kind of special effects that would be needed to make a movie like this watchable. (For the record, all of the special effects were amazing.)
I may not have even gone to see it. I knew that Michael Bay was an extremely capable director (Bad Boys II, Pearl Harbor, Armageddon), but just hearing that he directs a movie doesn't make me rush to the box office.
The reason I really went to see this movie was the starring actor, who was obviously Shia LaBeouf. I'd grown up with this kid, since Even Stevens was one of my favorite shows in my junior high years. He'd played Lewis (or Louis) the eccentric boy in a family. I'd been attracted to this show initially because of his sexy sister, Ren, who looked a lot like a girl I used to date. After a while though, Shia's witty character won me over. He made me laugh, and that is my favorite thing to do in the world.
He made a movie a few years back called Holes, which I saw with my family but don't really remember. He was pretty good in it, but it wasn't extremely remarkable to me.
Then, he went under the radar for a few years, appearing only--to my knowledge--in the HBO series Project Greenlight.
But he is raging back. He was magnificent in the suspenseful horror/thriller Disturbia that came out this year, and then he landed the starring role in the summer's biggest blockbuster. It also seems as though he is going to be around for a while, since he has just begun filming the fourth Indiana Jones film. He also did the voice for the starring character in the movie about surfing penguins ( yes, I know), Surfs Up
He's the it guy for my age group, and I can't imagine a guy that wouldn't want to be like him. In both Disturbia and Transformers, he plays a character that would serve as a role model to any teenage or adolescent boy that is in anywhere near their right mind.
The type of character he plays begins the movie as a high school loser. The kind of guy that can't catch a break, a weakling on the social ladder. He progresses through the movie in an upward motion, becoming braver and braver and more accepted. Then, by the end of the movie he pulls off certain acts of unspeakably heroic proportions that yield all types of advantages. In both of his recent movies, he gets with extremely beautiful girls (Megan Fox in his latest, who my friends and me have deemed "possibly the hottest girl we have ever seen in our entire existence") and is viewed as the hero at the end of the film. In Transformers he even gets a brand new Camaro that turns into a fucking robot!
As I stated before, lots of kids want to be the kind of guy that LaBeouf plays in his movies. Even the jocks. Everyone wants to be the outcast underdog at the beginning, because then there is nowhere to go but up. Then, they want to battle evil robots or the psychopathic killer next door and win so that everyone respects them. After this, they want to bang unbelievably hott teenage women that live nextdoor to them and know how to fix cars.
I think that Shia LaBeouf is the next big thing as far as celebrities go. I think that if this happens, there will be a certain paradigm shift which would be absolutely amazing and beneficial for the general public. Instead of people idolizing and pining after beautiful and extraordinary celebrities, they can start to follow people that they can actually relate to. Ordinary guys that happen to have a personality that goes very well when parallell to the underdog movie character.
LaBeouf can usher in a new era for famous people. He comes off as a dork, and as long as he keeps becoming more popular, dorks will become a more accepted part of society. He is unintentionally helping misfits around the world by lowering the wedgy percentage by 37 percent.
It is a new age for Hollywood and the rest of its worshipping world. An ordinary guy has become a celebrity, and ordinary people will relate to him and act as he does, which will benefit the world as a whole: people will be ordinary. Or something.
Anyway, with this entry I would like to reveal a new monthly deal with this endeavor: The Man-Crush Of The Month. Every month, I will profile a new man-crush.
July's Man-Crush of the Month: Shia LaBeouf.
I have nothing but respect for these people, though. They have very glamorous jobs and lead very priveleged lives. Lives where they cannot make one misstep without the press revealing it to the entire world. They must watch their every move as close or even closer than the middle-aged women that pore over US Weekly for three hours on Thursday afternoon. If they don't, they will end up like Lindsay Lohan, who is perceived by the general public as...well we won't really put it into print.
Objection your honor! This rambling has nothing to do with the heart of the matter!
Anyway.
Every few years there is one or two very prominent actors and actresses that fly above the rest of the celebrity population. They are the idol to many of the same sex, and the wet dream of many of the opposite sex. They have some kind of appeal that cannot always be explained, but can never, ever be denied.
There was James Dean and Marilyn Monroe way back in the day. Then there was John Wayne. Then there was Jonathan Taylor Thomas for the teeny boppers in the nineties (by the way, what the happened to that guy? I miss him), and then more recently came the popularity of Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp. Angelina Jolie and Jessica Alba. These are the people who attract an enormous audience to the theaters on opening night, just because they are in the movie.
This year it seems to me that a new star is being born, if you will. His name: Shia LaBeouf.
I saw the new and highly anticipated film, Transformers, a couple of nights ago. This was deemed the movie of the summer by pretty much anyone who had a say in the matter. At the MTV Movie Awards in June, it won the award for "Best Movie You Haven't Seen Yet."
Tell me that that's not big time. This movie won awards before it was even a fucking movie.
I was totally blown away by this movie. I didn't know exactly what to expect going into it, because I didn't know if anyone could pull off the kind of special effects that would be needed to make a movie like this watchable. (For the record, all of the special effects were amazing.)
I may not have even gone to see it. I knew that Michael Bay was an extremely capable director (Bad Boys II, Pearl Harbor, Armageddon), but just hearing that he directs a movie doesn't make me rush to the box office.
The reason I really went to see this movie was the starring actor, who was obviously Shia LaBeouf. I'd grown up with this kid, since Even Stevens was one of my favorite shows in my junior high years. He'd played Lewis (or Louis) the eccentric boy in a family. I'd been attracted to this show initially because of his sexy sister, Ren, who looked a lot like a girl I used to date. After a while though, Shia's witty character won me over. He made me laugh, and that is my favorite thing to do in the world.
He made a movie a few years back called Holes, which I saw with my family but don't really remember. He was pretty good in it, but it wasn't extremely remarkable to me.
Then, he went under the radar for a few years, appearing only--to my knowledge--in the HBO series Project Greenlight.
But he is raging back. He was magnificent in the suspenseful horror/thriller Disturbia that came out this year, and then he landed the starring role in the summer's biggest blockbuster. It also seems as though he is going to be around for a while, since he has just begun filming the fourth Indiana Jones film. He also did the voice for the starring character in the movie about surfing penguins ( yes, I know), Surfs Up
He's the it guy for my age group, and I can't imagine a guy that wouldn't want to be like him. In both Disturbia and Transformers, he plays a character that would serve as a role model to any teenage or adolescent boy that is in anywhere near their right mind.
The type of character he plays begins the movie as a high school loser. The kind of guy that can't catch a break, a weakling on the social ladder. He progresses through the movie in an upward motion, becoming braver and braver and more accepted. Then, by the end of the movie he pulls off certain acts of unspeakably heroic proportions that yield all types of advantages. In both of his recent movies, he gets with extremely beautiful girls (Megan Fox in his latest, who my friends and me have deemed "possibly the hottest girl we have ever seen in our entire existence") and is viewed as the hero at the end of the film. In Transformers he even gets a brand new Camaro that turns into a fucking robot!
As I stated before, lots of kids want to be the kind of guy that LaBeouf plays in his movies. Even the jocks. Everyone wants to be the outcast underdog at the beginning, because then there is nowhere to go but up. Then, they want to battle evil robots or the psychopathic killer next door and win so that everyone respects them. After this, they want to bang unbelievably hott teenage women that live nextdoor to them and know how to fix cars.
I think that Shia LaBeouf is the next big thing as far as celebrities go. I think that if this happens, there will be a certain paradigm shift which would be absolutely amazing and beneficial for the general public. Instead of people idolizing and pining after beautiful and extraordinary celebrities, they can start to follow people that they can actually relate to. Ordinary guys that happen to have a personality that goes very well when parallell to the underdog movie character.
LaBeouf can usher in a new era for famous people. He comes off as a dork, and as long as he keeps becoming more popular, dorks will become a more accepted part of society. He is unintentionally helping misfits around the world by lowering the wedgy percentage by 37 percent.
It is a new age for Hollywood and the rest of its worshipping world. An ordinary guy has become a celebrity, and ordinary people will relate to him and act as he does, which will benefit the world as a whole: people will be ordinary. Or something.
Anyway, with this entry I would like to reveal a new monthly deal with this endeavor: The Man-Crush Of The Month. Every month, I will profile a new man-crush.
July's Man-Crush of the Month: Shia LaBeouf.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
OGP: An Analyzation
There's a common fear for most 14 and 15 year old boys who are about to enter their freshman year in college. It's something that many of us had tried to deny, despite the horror stories we had heard from our brothers and other older boys. Call it going into denial of what was undoubtedly going to happen before it happened. Deep down, we all knew that it would eventually force us into a world of suffering and degredation, where we were not cool enough or good enough, and I'm sure some of us have never fully recovered.
What were we scared of? There are many things that kids are scared of going into their first year of high school. The freshman year, when you were at the absolute bottom shelf of the pecking order. You were going to be the plastic bottle of Vladimir Vodka in F. Scott Fitzgerald's liquor cabinet. Was our deepest fear that we would be shoved into a locker by a senior? That we would be tea-bagged in the football locker room after practice? That we would feel small an inadequate?
We were scared of all of these things, but our deepest fear was not any of the previously stated travesties.
Our deepest social fear was an acronym: OGP.
When I first entered high school, we didn't have a name for what would later become OGP. It was just something that happened, like a Bar Mitzvah or death. It was a passage of life. Something that you had to go through in order to enjoy the fruits later on in life. It wasn't until a few years later when I was having a conversation with one of my good friends from another school about the dating of girls in a lower grade than our own.
"You've gotta love that OGP," he'd said.
"What the fuck is OGP?" I'd asked, having really no clue at all.
"Oh, Old Guy Power."
The menace now had a name.
Allow me to explain exactly what "Old Guy Power" is. I'm sure all men that have gone through high school and/or college know exactly what I'm talking about, and I have no doubt that most girls understand it too, though very few of them will admit to such knowledge. Old Guy Power is, essentially, the natural appeal of older men to younger women.
Why exactly this is has never been scientifically proven, though there has been more than a fair share of conjecture on the matter. Some feel that the girls are attracted because with age--usually--comes maturity, in both a physical and mental tense--consider this, ladies: Would you rather date a macho man or a 5'2" kid with the anatomical mass of a paperclip that still pube squeaks? Others believe that the girls are simply tired of the boys that they spent their long and dramatic junior high years with and are looking for fresh faces to alleviate the pains sustained from adolescent love gone wrong. This can also go the other way, as the older guys may have grown tired of the girls that they have previously shared a high school with. Still others believe that OGP only exists because of the social ladder. These theorists would imply that it is simply "cooler" in the eyes of their peers for one in the 9th grade to date a senior, thus elevating this person's stance on the social ladder and, in most cases, their own self esteem (personally, I cannot say that I believe this. That is some pretty shallow shit to ever think about someone, though some have been more substantially effected by the OGP plague than I).
OGP is usually first brought into a boy's life during his freshman year of high school, as I have previously stated. These adolescents almost immediately lose the apple of their respective eyes to older, usually popular, guys. Said boys walk around in a stupor of impenetrable existential angst for the next year or two, or even three, before the circle of secondary education completes itself. It is at this point that these once unhappy fellows are able to take advantage of...no, that is the wrong phrase. They are able to utilize the fruits of OGP and court younger women.
This same cycle again repeats itself in college. The incoming freshmen sometimes cannot even get a word in with their new classmates of the opposite sex before they are snatched up by upperclassmen. They endure the same pains that they had become all-too-familiar with in high school all over again, and then they bide their time until the next year when a new freshman class of girls comes in. Many of my friends and acquaintances are already salivating over the opportunities that they may come across this school year.
Then, after college, when students are released into the "real world," all bets are off. Age is no longer of any consequence, unless the boys are going "cougar hunting" (which would be scouting for older women, more often than not divorced middle-aged women), or the girls are "gold digging." Both are pretty shallow.
Why and when OGP happens is not extremely important. The fact that it does happen is. Old Guy Power has shaped the destiny of countless mortals for as long back as history can document. Joseph was older than Mary, Ben Franklin married a woman much younger than himself, Sid was older than Nancy, and many others (I really don't feel like doing the research right now). Oh, and Jerry Lee Lewis married his 14 year old cousin.
I can't find any legitimate gripe within myself against OGP for one simple and almost terrifying reason: If it were not for Old Guy Power, I very well may not be here. My own father was three grades above my mother, and is two years older chronologically. How can I complain about a force that was strong enough to aid in putting me onto this earth? I wouldn't even know what OGP was if not for my parents, because I would be nothing. I wouldn't have been born.
So, I guess you can say that OGP is sort of a necessity. This is putting it in a comforting way, to be sure. Whether it is necessary or not, it is here, and it is never going anywhere. Even legal age laws couldn't put a dent in the side of the massive ship that is the SS OGP. It's like the Titanic, except it is truly unsinkable.
The only thing that one can do is bear the stress and sadness that OGP sometimes offers, and then lurk in the bushes, waiting for the day that the power truly belongs to them, the day that they become an "Old Guy."
The circle, my friends, it will never end.
What were we scared of? There are many things that kids are scared of going into their first year of high school. The freshman year, when you were at the absolute bottom shelf of the pecking order. You were going to be the plastic bottle of Vladimir Vodka in F. Scott Fitzgerald's liquor cabinet. Was our deepest fear that we would be shoved into a locker by a senior? That we would be tea-bagged in the football locker room after practice? That we would feel small an inadequate?
We were scared of all of these things, but our deepest fear was not any of the previously stated travesties.
Our deepest social fear was an acronym: OGP.
When I first entered high school, we didn't have a name for what would later become OGP. It was just something that happened, like a Bar Mitzvah or death. It was a passage of life. Something that you had to go through in order to enjoy the fruits later on in life. It wasn't until a few years later when I was having a conversation with one of my good friends from another school about the dating of girls in a lower grade than our own.
"You've gotta love that OGP," he'd said.
"What the fuck is OGP?" I'd asked, having really no clue at all.
"Oh, Old Guy Power."
The menace now had a name.
Allow me to explain exactly what "Old Guy Power" is. I'm sure all men that have gone through high school and/or college know exactly what I'm talking about, and I have no doubt that most girls understand it too, though very few of them will admit to such knowledge. Old Guy Power is, essentially, the natural appeal of older men to younger women.
Why exactly this is has never been scientifically proven, though there has been more than a fair share of conjecture on the matter. Some feel that the girls are attracted because with age--usually--comes maturity, in both a physical and mental tense--consider this, ladies: Would you rather date a macho man or a 5'2" kid with the anatomical mass of a paperclip that still pube squeaks? Others believe that the girls are simply tired of the boys that they spent their long and dramatic junior high years with and are looking for fresh faces to alleviate the pains sustained from adolescent love gone wrong. This can also go the other way, as the older guys may have grown tired of the girls that they have previously shared a high school with. Still others believe that OGP only exists because of the social ladder. These theorists would imply that it is simply "cooler" in the eyes of their peers for one in the 9th grade to date a senior, thus elevating this person's stance on the social ladder and, in most cases, their own self esteem (personally, I cannot say that I believe this. That is some pretty shallow shit to ever think about someone, though some have been more substantially effected by the OGP plague than I).
OGP is usually first brought into a boy's life during his freshman year of high school, as I have previously stated. These adolescents almost immediately lose the apple of their respective eyes to older, usually popular, guys. Said boys walk around in a stupor of impenetrable existential angst for the next year or two, or even three, before the circle of secondary education completes itself. It is at this point that these once unhappy fellows are able to take advantage of...no, that is the wrong phrase. They are able to utilize the fruits of OGP and court younger women.
This same cycle again repeats itself in college. The incoming freshmen sometimes cannot even get a word in with their new classmates of the opposite sex before they are snatched up by upperclassmen. They endure the same pains that they had become all-too-familiar with in high school all over again, and then they bide their time until the next year when a new freshman class of girls comes in. Many of my friends and acquaintances are already salivating over the opportunities that they may come across this school year.
Then, after college, when students are released into the "real world," all bets are off. Age is no longer of any consequence, unless the boys are going "cougar hunting" (which would be scouting for older women, more often than not divorced middle-aged women), or the girls are "gold digging." Both are pretty shallow.
Why and when OGP happens is not extremely important. The fact that it does happen is. Old Guy Power has shaped the destiny of countless mortals for as long back as history can document. Joseph was older than Mary, Ben Franklin married a woman much younger than himself, Sid was older than Nancy, and many others (I really don't feel like doing the research right now). Oh, and Jerry Lee Lewis married his 14 year old cousin.
I can't find any legitimate gripe within myself against OGP for one simple and almost terrifying reason: If it were not for Old Guy Power, I very well may not be here. My own father was three grades above my mother, and is two years older chronologically. How can I complain about a force that was strong enough to aid in putting me onto this earth? I wouldn't even know what OGP was if not for my parents, because I would be nothing. I wouldn't have been born.
So, I guess you can say that OGP is sort of a necessity. This is putting it in a comforting way, to be sure. Whether it is necessary or not, it is here, and it is never going anywhere. Even legal age laws couldn't put a dent in the side of the massive ship that is the SS OGP. It's like the Titanic, except it is truly unsinkable.
The only thing that one can do is bear the stress and sadness that OGP sometimes offers, and then lurk in the bushes, waiting for the day that the power truly belongs to them, the day that they become an "Old Guy."
The circle, my friends, it will never end.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
I remember the first week of the 2007 baseball season. It was only a few months ago, but that's not why I remember it. The Pirates were doing good. Not good by the standards that most have begun to view them, which would be winning around a third of the games and having two players make it to the all-star game. Not as starters. They were doing good by normal baseball fan standards. I must have heard thirty people say, "Wow! The Buccos are doing good! Did you know that their record is better than the Yankees'?"
I was stoked, to say the least. It had been an up and down year in the city of Pittsburgh as far as sports went. The Steelers had been defending Super Bowl Champions, leaving us with extremely high expectations at the beginning of the season, only to have a less-than-par run at consecutive championships. They didn't even make the playoffs. It only seemed that things would get worse. The Penguins, who had been having a rough go of it for the last few years and hadn't won a Stanley Cup since 1992 were rumored at the beginning of the season to be uprooting and heading for Kansas City or Vegas. This coincided with the onset of my first winter in the brutal climate of Erie, PA. I was far from home attending school with a bunch of kids that supported the Buffalo Sabers. In other words, I was in sporting Hell.
My expectations for the Pens were not great, but I wasn't ready to turn my back on them and buy a Hartford Whaler's jersey just yet. I was in a state of fierce depression that could only be lifted by some amazing feat that could only come from the sporting world. I snapped out of it really quick whenever the Pens made the playoffs and were promised a new arena in the city.
I was still riding this high when the baseball season kicked off and the Pirates were tearing up. I tried to tell myself not to get so excited, because this happened almost every year. They would start out with a few wins and then fizzle into the bottom of the league, and watching them had become so torturous that I'd find myself flipping a coin over watching my hometown baseball team or a movie starring Queen Latifah.
Though I tried to keep my guard up, I became enamored with the Pirates success. I'd become addicted. I should have been content with the Penguins' success and called it a summer. But I found myself watching whole games in my dorm room every night, and getting excited to go home and go to tons of games. I even worried that since now they were "good," I wouldn't be able to get bleacher seats for ten bucks, and if I had to pay over fifteen, I wouldn't be able to buy my Quaker Steak and Lube wings. They wouldn't fit into the budget.
I didn't have to worry about it for long, though. Things came crashing down before long. They held on for a while, but at this rate they will almost definitely be in last place by the All Star break and Jason Bay will be auditioning for a role in Taxi 2
Ladies and gentlemen, the Pirates suck again.
I still love them, though. I hear so many complaints about their road to less-than-mediocre that it makes me sick. These guys have to be down on themselves if they ever watch tv or listen to local talk radio. What they need right now is some support. They aren't the most talented team in the world, which is why it makes it more difficult for them to come out of a slump than say, the Yankees, who have more money than Bolivia and Colombia put together and doubled.
I know that radio hosts and writers get paid to be critical, and that's what they do, but saying that they only go to Pirates games to check out the new stadium is extremely harsh. It's not even the case. These guys go to games because they love baseball (or they would not be writing or talking about it for a living), and everyday the Pirates take the diamond, they play baseball. You don't hear as much from them as from lots of professional sports teams. None of them are accused of taking steroids (which may be a big factor in their continuous lack of success), they don't publicly lash out at one another, and they don't take their MP3 players into the outfield with them.
They play baseball, for better or worse, and it looks like they may not get better for some time. So, our complaining about it is not going to light a fire under their ass and raise the collective batting average to .500. Things will remain the same.
In a country where you have to pay almost three dollars for a gallon of gas that in turn pollutes the globe causing global warming that will have us up to our necks in floods produced by glaciers in the next five years, people complain about something fun. The American passtime, if you will.
There are higher things at stake right now, I think. Give the guys a break. I know they get paid a lot, but so does the president and he doesn't always to the best job.
Well, at least I can still afford my wings.
I was stoked, to say the least. It had been an up and down year in the city of Pittsburgh as far as sports went. The Steelers had been defending Super Bowl Champions, leaving us with extremely high expectations at the beginning of the season, only to have a less-than-par run at consecutive championships. They didn't even make the playoffs. It only seemed that things would get worse. The Penguins, who had been having a rough go of it for the last few years and hadn't won a Stanley Cup since 1992 were rumored at the beginning of the season to be uprooting and heading for Kansas City or Vegas. This coincided with the onset of my first winter in the brutal climate of Erie, PA. I was far from home attending school with a bunch of kids that supported the Buffalo Sabers. In other words, I was in sporting Hell.
My expectations for the Pens were not great, but I wasn't ready to turn my back on them and buy a Hartford Whaler's jersey just yet. I was in a state of fierce depression that could only be lifted by some amazing feat that could only come from the sporting world. I snapped out of it really quick whenever the Pens made the playoffs and were promised a new arena in the city.
I was still riding this high when the baseball season kicked off and the Pirates were tearing up. I tried to tell myself not to get so excited, because this happened almost every year. They would start out with a few wins and then fizzle into the bottom of the league, and watching them had become so torturous that I'd find myself flipping a coin over watching my hometown baseball team or a movie starring Queen Latifah.
Though I tried to keep my guard up, I became enamored with the Pirates success. I'd become addicted. I should have been content with the Penguins' success and called it a summer. But I found myself watching whole games in my dorm room every night, and getting excited to go home and go to tons of games. I even worried that since now they were "good," I wouldn't be able to get bleacher seats for ten bucks, and if I had to pay over fifteen, I wouldn't be able to buy my Quaker Steak and Lube wings. They wouldn't fit into the budget.
I didn't have to worry about it for long, though. Things came crashing down before long. They held on for a while, but at this rate they will almost definitely be in last place by the All Star break and Jason Bay will be auditioning for a role in Taxi 2
Ladies and gentlemen, the Pirates suck again.
I still love them, though. I hear so many complaints about their road to less-than-mediocre that it makes me sick. These guys have to be down on themselves if they ever watch tv or listen to local talk radio. What they need right now is some support. They aren't the most talented team in the world, which is why it makes it more difficult for them to come out of a slump than say, the Yankees, who have more money than Bolivia and Colombia put together and doubled.
I know that radio hosts and writers get paid to be critical, and that's what they do, but saying that they only go to Pirates games to check out the new stadium is extremely harsh. It's not even the case. These guys go to games because they love baseball (or they would not be writing or talking about it for a living), and everyday the Pirates take the diamond, they play baseball. You don't hear as much from them as from lots of professional sports teams. None of them are accused of taking steroids (which may be a big factor in their continuous lack of success), they don't publicly lash out at one another, and they don't take their MP3 players into the outfield with them.
They play baseball, for better or worse, and it looks like they may not get better for some time. So, our complaining about it is not going to light a fire under their ass and raise the collective batting average to .500. Things will remain the same.
In a country where you have to pay almost three dollars for a gallon of gas that in turn pollutes the globe causing global warming that will have us up to our necks in floods produced by glaciers in the next five years, people complain about something fun. The American passtime, if you will.
There are higher things at stake right now, I think. Give the guys a break. I know they get paid a lot, but so does the president and he doesn't always to the best job.
Well, at least I can still afford my wings.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Party Like A Rock Star?
There's a semi-new song out there that was written (ineptly) and is sang by the Shop Boyz--with a Z. It's called "Rock Star," and most of the lyrics are centered around one phrase: "Party like a rock star." This line is repeated again, and again, and again, and again. It starts to melt into your head, and I think that these guys may be in competition with the legendary Mike Jones for the most repetitive rap song ever produced.
I've heard this song a number of times on the radio, and I must admit before I go into all of this that it is a catchy song. You can be driving down the road and it will come on the radio and make you want to bob your head. If Evan is with you, through no real fault of his own (I believe it's pure instinct...the kid can cut rug and I've hated on him about it for years but I feel it's time to give him his due) this may progress rapidly into a lot of moving and shaking that is never really comprehendible or necessary, especially when driving a car.
You start to think, SHIT! I can party like a rockstar...if hip hop artists are now partying like rockstars, why can't I? At least now I don't have to party like a rap star because I really suck at crip walking. That's where the problems begin.
I am a creep. I browse a lot of personal info's and screen name away messages on the internet, which is probably inherently wrong, but don't act like you don't do it. Everybody does. In doing this in the last month and a half, I have noticed somewhere around thirty (slight exaggeration probably, I didn't record stats) middle to upper class white boys and girls with something that has to do with partying like a rockstar on their cyberspace criteria. A lot of them claim that they do indeed party as rockstars do, which is kind of hard to believe. These famous people have quite the reputation for partying hard, but I don't think that most kids have really partied with rock stars or to the extent that they do. Most adolescents and teens don't have two of the things that are required to party in the traditional rock star fashion: 1) assloads of money, and 2) groupies of the opposite sex. Therefore, partying like a rock star just isn't possible for most kids excluding the Jackson 5, Hanson Brothers, Chris Brown, and Bow Wow.
Now if someone were to write a song about partying like rock stars, it would stand as expected that they would namedrop a little bit. Maybe talk about how they did blow with Keith Richards, tripped with Jerry Garcia, shot up with Kurt Cobain, smoked crack with Whitney Houston (I know she's not a rock star really, but I'd accept a lyric about that with open arms), or even just doing with NickelBack whatever it is that NickelBack tends to do.
Instead, they mention the Osbourne family. they say that "they're on a golf course, trippin' with the Osbournes." It's not too far-fetched to think that a member or two of that family may be tripping, but that's not the problme. Can you really envision Ozzy Osbourne on a golf course? I don't think I need to even elaborate.
They talk about how they've seen the Travis Barker show. If memory serves, this show didn't have much to do with partying. It was more like raising a family. And just because you watch a television program about how a celebrity behaves, it doesn't mean that you can mirror them. Case in point: I watch porn, but I cannot do what Ron Jeremy does.
This last example simply had to be saved for the end. In the song, one of the members of the group raps that "me and my band, man/ on the yacht with Marilyn Manson/ gettin a tan, man." They really do say yacht, tan, and Marilyn Manson in one verse. I'm not going to rule out that Marilyn Manson may own a yacht, but I'd hypothesize that it is for some morbid reason...like dumping dead bodies into the deep blue sea off of the coast of California. I'm also not going to dispute that these guys do or have hung out with Manson, but I don't really know. What I am going to throw out there, though, is that the way Marilyn Manson parties is almost certainly not the way that the rest of the rock star world does. He is not normal. Not by any means at all. Also...they say that they are getting a tan with Marilyn Fucking Manson. That fucking guy does not lay out and get a tan. He is one of the palest people I have ever seen, and I don't think it's because he can't add some color, but because he doesn't want to. Anyone that would ever say they'd gotten a tan with Manson on his yacht does not know what it's like to party like a rock star, or in any other normal and socially accepted capacity.
Anyway, most of us, if not all of us, do not party like rock stars party. So why say that you do? Say that you party like a high school senior, or a frat boy, or even an aspiring musician.
I've heard this song a number of times on the radio, and I must admit before I go into all of this that it is a catchy song. You can be driving down the road and it will come on the radio and make you want to bob your head. If Evan is with you, through no real fault of his own (I believe it's pure instinct...the kid can cut rug and I've hated on him about it for years but I feel it's time to give him his due) this may progress rapidly into a lot of moving and shaking that is never really comprehendible or necessary, especially when driving a car.
You start to think, SHIT! I can party like a rockstar...if hip hop artists are now partying like rockstars, why can't I? At least now I don't have to party like a rap star because I really suck at crip walking. That's where the problems begin.
I am a creep. I browse a lot of personal info's and screen name away messages on the internet, which is probably inherently wrong, but don't act like you don't do it. Everybody does. In doing this in the last month and a half, I have noticed somewhere around thirty (slight exaggeration probably, I didn't record stats) middle to upper class white boys and girls with something that has to do with partying like a rockstar on their cyberspace criteria. A lot of them claim that they do indeed party as rockstars do, which is kind of hard to believe. These famous people have quite the reputation for partying hard, but I don't think that most kids have really partied with rock stars or to the extent that they do. Most adolescents and teens don't have two of the things that are required to party in the traditional rock star fashion: 1) assloads of money, and 2) groupies of the opposite sex. Therefore, partying like a rock star just isn't possible for most kids excluding the Jackson 5, Hanson Brothers, Chris Brown, and Bow Wow.
Now if someone were to write a song about partying like rock stars, it would stand as expected that they would namedrop a little bit. Maybe talk about how they did blow with Keith Richards, tripped with Jerry Garcia, shot up with Kurt Cobain, smoked crack with Whitney Houston (I know she's not a rock star really, but I'd accept a lyric about that with open arms), or even just doing with NickelBack whatever it is that NickelBack tends to do.
Instead, they mention the Osbourne family. they say that "they're on a golf course, trippin' with the Osbournes." It's not too far-fetched to think that a member or two of that family may be tripping, but that's not the problme. Can you really envision Ozzy Osbourne on a golf course? I don't think I need to even elaborate.
They talk about how they've seen the Travis Barker show. If memory serves, this show didn't have much to do with partying. It was more like raising a family. And just because you watch a television program about how a celebrity behaves, it doesn't mean that you can mirror them. Case in point: I watch porn, but I cannot do what Ron Jeremy does.
This last example simply had to be saved for the end. In the song, one of the members of the group raps that "me and my band, man/ on the yacht with Marilyn Manson/ gettin a tan, man." They really do say yacht, tan, and Marilyn Manson in one verse. I'm not going to rule out that Marilyn Manson may own a yacht, but I'd hypothesize that it is for some morbid reason...like dumping dead bodies into the deep blue sea off of the coast of California. I'm also not going to dispute that these guys do or have hung out with Manson, but I don't really know. What I am going to throw out there, though, is that the way Marilyn Manson parties is almost certainly not the way that the rest of the rock star world does. He is not normal. Not by any means at all. Also...they say that they are getting a tan with Marilyn Fucking Manson. That fucking guy does not lay out and get a tan. He is one of the palest people I have ever seen, and I don't think it's because he can't add some color, but because he doesn't want to. Anyone that would ever say they'd gotten a tan with Manson on his yacht does not know what it's like to party like a rock star, or in any other normal and socially accepted capacity.
Anyway, most of us, if not all of us, do not party like rock stars party. So why say that you do? Say that you party like a high school senior, or a frat boy, or even an aspiring musician.
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