Vlogging

Every year, I tell my family that I'd really prefer not to go on the traditional family vacation down to the Virgin Islands, and every year I manage to somehow get guilted in dragging my sulking self up at 6am the day after Christmas to spend 4-10 days in the tropics. Of course, no one I have ever met actually understands my plight. It's always "Oh, how lucky you are to be going there!" or "Oh that's just wonderful!" and I have to smile and agree with them because if I say anything otherwise I'm clearly a spoiled brat. No, No it's not wonderful. There was a time when it was wonderful, of course, but those days are long gone. Now, family vacations just mean I have to spend several days in solitary confinement with my neurotic relatives in a cell phone deadzone with nothing to do except swim, sleep on the beach, and go out to dinner with them. One day we might go out on a boat or go into town, but honestly that's it- we lie on the beach and do nothing for several days. It is an epic waste. Normally at least one fight occurs, so with no other distractions I'm left brooding about it for at least double the normal time period. While most people would revel in the opportunity to do so many new and exciting things, 20 years of the exact same routine has left me so jaded that I honestly could care less. After two days, I'm already in a horrible mood, counting down the days till departure, and keeping up the mental mantra of "get me the fuck off this island" as if I were actually shipwrecked.

I don't care if I sound spoiled but I have yet to see how nice weather and a first class ticket compensate for this. Luckily I've had no problem drinking here since I was 15, but that's pretty much the only available coping method.

Infact, I've decided I prefer summer in New England to tropical vacations. After winter I feel like I've really earned the heat.

But...Why Mario!?

So recently a friend of mine decided to time how long it took him to get 120 stars in Super Mario 64. Now my interest in video games has peaked significantly compared to around this time last year, but there is one thing I still don't get: Why Mario!?

I mean, if you're looking for really awesome graphic battle scenes this is obviously not the place to find it. The locations are creative and the stars and characters are cute, but that's pretty much it. And if you're looking for an exciting adventure, well, you're probably just going to end up rescuing Peach for the fiftieth time, or following some other random-ass plot like finding a baby that the stork dropped in the wrong spot, or scrubbing up graffiti. I mean really, who comes up with this stuff? How does it actually sell well? And to teenage boys?

And then there's Mario himself- for starters, he's cruel to animals. I mean had he not mistreated his poor little pet ape in the first place then half of the problems he has to deal with wouldn't have even developed. We're all supposed to empathize with him because he's a plumber and supposedly just your average joe, but when you and all of your friends live in castles that really just makes you a total poser. Not to mention you're clearly loaded or where else would you get the money to keep up your immense drug habit. C'mon, all those magic stars and rainbows? the mushroom kingdom? I'm no fool.

Finally, if you're going to risk your life (lives?) to rescue a chick that means one of two things: either a.) you're banging her, or b.) you wish you were banging her. So far Mario has rescued Pauline, Princess Peach, and Princess Daisy. This is my interpretation of events: Pauline was officially his girlfriend so she was clearly putting out and there's no shame in that. Soon afterwards, however, she dissapeared. She was probably sick of being number two to Mario's "just friend" Princess Peach, who has managed to get Mario to come save her pink little tush on a variety of occassions. And for what? A peck on the cheek and some cake? Totally pussywhipped. And then there's Princess Daisy. Ew, really dude? She's with your brother.


Now this* I would pay to see. But until then, I think an explanation is definitley in order.

Oh Peach, you ho...

*Wait... she's has to get the Vibe Sceptor? Uh.. double entendre much? And she fights with her feelings? Screw that. I mean jeez you might aswell at least create some sort of "PMS" wildcard while you're at it.

THE ENEMY:

Recently Located: All over my appartment

Origins: I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA!

Directive: K.O.S.

Comments:

I kill at least two of these BBs a day in my bedroom, yet somehow, there always seems to be two more spinning around my bed. My Bed! Ew! They currently dominate the airspace above the kitchen sink, and the bathroom is the only remaining uninfiltrated base. I don't even want to think about what's happenned in my nasal cavity while I sleep at night. If I see another one I think I am going to lose my mind. Silly Europeans with no screens on their windows; this has to stop. From here on out, this means war.



PS- I think the AE is getting to me...

Fuck Buddies

(Or "If I'm Ever Asked to Give a Speech Inwhich I Impart Deep, Life-Learned Wisdom upon Youth, This will Surely Be It")

Today I was talking with a friend of mine who was faced with a common decision: should she or should she not make plans to hook up with someone, despite the fact that she had been consistantly sleeping with someone else almost everyday for the past month. While the obvious answer is "yes, why not, you're just sleeping together," it provided me with the opportunity to do some serious thinking about the term "Fuck Buddies" and it lead to some pretty startling revelations.

I have always been an advocate of the great, clean cut simplicity that the term "fuck buddies" or any variation thereof seems to offer. While most people argue that just trying to keep things at that level will ultimatley fail- either resulting in a more meaningful relationship or one person desiring a more meaningful relationship and being sorely dissapointed, I disagree. Call me an idealist, but I honestly believe that it is possible in this world for two people to maintain a steady sexual relationship, and even maybe a simultaneously normal one too, without having things get too messy.

But why do things get messy? I think I've figured it out. You see, even though both parties will gladly acknowledge that they are each others' "fuck buddies" (or booty call, or FWP, or what ever they've decided to call it) and honestly admit to anyone else that they're using the other person to at least a small degree, they would hate to really think the same thing of themselves. It all depends on the way each person looks at it. While most people have no problem with "they're physically attracted to me but for some reason or another have no desire to be in a relationship" (the core basics of your average fuck buddy/FWP/BC situation) they may well have a problem with "When they're really feeling desperate and have run out of all hotter options, that's when they call me up!" or "They have a medical condition where they're just really horny all the time and have to take it out on someone!" (both of which may well be hidden or not-so-hidden details in such a relationship). In sum, It has very little to do with how much you like your fuck buddy, but very much to do with how much you think your fuck buddy likes you.

The key then, to maintaining an ideal and long lasting fuck-buddy relationship, is not nearly as simple as one might think. It requires either a.) a thorough, and at least semi-respectful understanding between two people that may actually not be so easy to find with just anyone, or b.) an intricate and careful manipulation- a balance of feeding the other person's ego just enough so that they'll enjoy sleeping with you and not feel like a tool, but not excessively so that they think you might actually want something more out of the relationship. In the latter sense, the ideal fuck-buddy relationship, therefore, might actually be a surprisingly challenging thing to maintain. Furthermore in the latter case, an ideal and lasting fuck-buddy relationship actually never lets its members see it for what it truly is in too much detail, even if they both well know the basics what's going on.

To conclude, while sex drive is obviously a key factor in perpetuating a fuck-buddy based relationship, ego and self-esteem can actually be just as important.




Hm. Fascinating.

My Dignity < A Spoon

In writing this blog, I've made no secret of being occassionally discontent with my, uh, "subpar" personal life. I realize bitching about this kind of stuff gets old pretty fast, so I've tried to cut down as of late, but the following was too good to pass up:

Today for lunch, I stopped at a small convenience store for a sandwhich to take to the library.

Me: And a spoon please, for the dessert.
Counter Guy: Just one spoon?
Me: Uh... yes, just one.
Counter Guy: You're eating all alone?
Me: Uh, yes.

Really? At Noon? On a Wednesday? Is the concept really that horrendous?

Oh, and the "creamy milk specialty" turned out to be essentially yogurt. Hmph.

Pretty in #FFC0CB

I'm not really sure how I feel about pink electronics.


Yes, I know pink is one of my favorite colors.


Yes, I know I should revel in the opportunity that so many things are now available in pink.


But to be honest, it kind of rubs me the wrong way. It's become almost expected in selection choice. What was once "black or white" is now "black, white, or pink." It's the all-too-predictable, looks-savvy, girly option. Where it once took a great feat of passionate and dedicated shopping to find that truly unique, special something in pink; it's now been reduced to the status quo. By purchasing an electronic device in pink, it's almost too clear how well I'm fitting into some (genius) marketing scheme for valley girls, sorrority sisters, and trophy wives. And whatever happenned to all the other dozens of colors in the world anyway? Now a purple computer, that would be something.


But I suppose I shouldn't spend too much time bitching about this. After all, that would render me a horrible hypocrite. Everyone, meet Pinky. She looks something like this:




Pinky is exactly half the size of Sabriel (my main laptop), roughly a third of the weight, and has about 16 times the battery life. (Sadly, I'm not exaggerating). Did I really need a netbook? Couldn't I have just quit my bitching and moaning about back pain, bought a new battery for my laptop, and made do? Maybe. But I'm convinced this thing will somehow exponentially increase my productivity. (Even if it just means I can log onto AE anywhere and get work done in 20-30 minute chunks between construction.) And besides, it's just so damn cute.

Interrobangin'

I turned 20 the other day so I figure blogging about it is pretty necessary. How do I feel? Well, I was having a great day until someone reminded me that, in ten years, I'll be thirty. Actually, I don't feel that old. I'm in age limbo. By teenager standards- yes, I'm grown up and therefore essentially dead to the world. But by adult standards, I can't possibly be any younger. Ultimately, they both kind of cancel each other out, leaving me with the mere shock that my age now starts with a 2. That's the wierd bit.

I recently learned about a new kind of punctuation that Word calls an "Interrobang." It looks like this:

I think that pretty much sums up twenty, in a nutshell.

RFTSOB

Recently, I've taken to re-reading old blog posts en masse when I want to waste time in the wee hours of the morning instead of sleep. First mine, then the blogbuddies. Having spent the past hour and a half wrapped up in happy blogosphere nostalgia of years past, here are my thoughts:

1. God this blog used to suck. As annoying as it is when people never post, I now fully understand your wise desire for quality control.

2. Note to self: avoid excess ditzy smiley faces in comments. Actually, work on commenting skills all together.

3. Once upon a time, I would tell people "oh yes, and these are the nerdy friends I hang out with. I only understand what they're talking about maybe a third of the time." Now, looking back based on what I know now, I'm pretty sure that number has tripled. It's official, I'm out of excuses. Oh well, the dork side is nice, plus they have cookies. (or at least that's what the t-shirt said)


Also- As you may know, I recently ran into a serious (yet serendipitous) snag in an attempt to dedicate the aching void in my life to WOW. When my credit card wouldn't work initially, an investigation yielded the following results: You see, a character cannot be transferred from the European server to the US server, making any efforts I put in whilst over here absoultely fruitless once I head back stateside. Furthermore, joining the European server means paying 14.99 Euros a month, not dollars. At the current exchange rate, plus the cost my credit card charges to convert, that's well over double what I would pay in the US. Initially I was able to get over my cheap-ass self enough to pay $14.99/mo for the joy that is being a Horde Tauren Shaman (I know, Tauren, surprising, right?) but this is simply too much.

So I need some serious help- and by that I mean another (preferably free) game to fill the void until I'm back in the US for an extended period of time. Come to think of it, with the multitude of mmorpgs out there, surely there exist several games just as awesome as warcraft, just without the brandname allure and hefty price tag, right? (BGII is still an option, but try finding a game store for US PCs in Francophone Switzerland. Internet shopping fails because I've probabaly already spent enough on international shipping from US websites to have the import facility in Zurich give me an entire file. Plus, this is also very expensive, which brings us back to the problem that started this questline to begin with- my cheap-ass self. And no, when you're in this deep to character development, Pokemon simply won't do. )

Suggestions? Guidance? Obi Wan?

OMGMSFT

When it comes to hard work and academic pursuits under non-stressed conditions, my attention span is decent, but nothing wonderful. Maybe 2-3 hours tops before I need a lengthy, serious distraction. I'm always amazed, then, when I find myself able to be entertained by doing the most mundane online activity for hours and hours on end (literally, six or more) without growing weary of it. Things like playing online games or reading webcomics are, to me at least, just the perfect balance between "doing something and being entertained by it" (albeit, clicking a mouse) and "not really anything that taxing" to the point where they become outright addictive. I think this also comes from my natural way of being. I know I don't like change in the longterm, but that often applies in the shortterm too. When I'm on the beach, I want to stay dry for as long as possible until the overbearing heat forces me into the ocean. Once I'm wet, however, I never want to get out. It's the same with sleeping vs. being awake, and apparently, hardcore web surfing.

But enough about me. Today I found the best webcomic ever, and I simply must spread the word. There are 900 something strips and I'm only on 200, and I am not at all knowledgeable when it comes to old school video games and the (apparently shitty) life of a game programmer, but the rest is Golden. By following this link, starting at one (which is technically #67), and proceeding chronologically (Very Important!!!) you will quickly find:



*Cosmology/Philosophy
*Zombies
*My College (no, really)
*Pirates
*The nature of the world as we know it
*Dungeons and Dragons
*Large quantities of self-pity and pessimism
*Cathulu
*Pink Floyd and Pearljam
*Pie
*The Northeast
*Beards
*An old school Atari game about Journey. (There were actually two)


So yeah, pretty much a must read. Click on, faithful Mango Addicts, and give this Godsend of a WebComic the hits it deserves:

Minimalist Stick Figure Theatre

(And in case you were wondering, yes, it did come first)

Dammit....

Nostalgia

Last night was pretty crazy. Infact, I only got two hours of sleep, and I was so hyped up from it that I managed to keep the buzz going all day long. When I awoke, my room was a mess, clothes were strewn everywhere along with empty glasses, and I couldn't beleive just how much I had consumed in one evening....



...Snack foods, that is. I am of course referring to the epic all nighter I had to pull to finish my half of a 20 page lab report. Today, for the first time in years, I actually bought and chugged a Red Bull so I could get all of my work done within my overcrowded class schedule. Sound familiar?



Yup, it's vectors. It's matrices. It's spherical coordinates. It's everything you didn't quite learn in PreCalc the last time you were a junior. And it's back...

Y'all Ready For This?

Funny European Cars

Yesterday, a very stereotypical Frenchman asked me if I was homesick, and I am. I'm also kind of sick in general. So I decided to make myself feel better by making a pretty list of things that I miss, and blogging about them in the alttext. Enjoy.















A guy outside of my window just yelled "Obama"...Meaning Obvious.

The Second Best Friend

(So it seems that since everyone went abroad, everyone decided to get a blog. I'm cool with this, but I would just like to point out that I was here first. No, MFA will not turn into a post-card blog after years of faithful blogging about whatever the fuck I want... though maybe expect something on the subject soon. And now, back to the show.)



I have recently had a tremendous epiphany: I am the Second Best Friend.

No really, one day when I was in elementary school, my friend said that I was her best friend and asked me if I was hers. I well-meaningly said no, you're my second best friend, and I have been suffering the karmic retribution ever since.

In pretty much every friendship I've had since then, I was always unfailingly, undoubedtly, and exactly number two. I often enjoyed Best Friend status because number one lived far away or went to a different school or something, but the fact remains. Now I don't want to sound like I'm complaining- oh no, number two is a highly honorable position. In fact, the differences that seperate the Best Friend from the Second Best Friend are infintesimally subtle, the kind that only the Second Best Friend could ever possibly notice, but they're still there. Even today, I've noticed that for every close friend I have, there is always one other person with whom I assume they are closer. This never bothered me, it was simply the status quo.

Come to think of it, I'm not sure if I've ever really had a Best Friend. OK, obviously I've had many in the basic sense, and I've had different friend groups for different things. But I don't think I've ever found one person who managed to encompass all of my bizarre and disjointed interests in a particultarly exciting and intruiging way. In short, I don't think I've ever shared the really outstandingly baller kind of Bestfrendship I've witnessed in some of the pairs I've met recently.


So, I've decided I'm on a quest. I'm now currently accepting applications for a mutually exclusive Bestfriendship. Anyone interested can contact me via the "comments" link below.

The End of Productivity as We Know It

One day, you will find yourself cramming a microwaved dinner down in the six minutes you have left before you resurrect. This is probabaly your 20th resurrection* today, seeing as you've been playing for roughly eight hours straight. You see a server shut down coming up and panic, but then realize this is serendipitous because you also need to shower, and might not have otherwise. This also reminds you that you're excited because The Guild updates soon. Oh, and next time you get a chance, you also need to check out Baldur's Gate II and see if it's actually as good as it's hyped up to be. Finally, As you coincidentally glance down at your xkcd t-shirt, a small part of your brain wonders "What happenned to my life?"

*Speaking of which, Season 4 came out in Switzerland this week. Thank you, random interview with Six in the daily paper. Apparently, she's Canadian!

Stephen Hawking- Live In Concert!

So originally I was going to not blog for awhile, so that all of you readers could only dare to speculate as to what extreme ballerness I must be up to in Europe. This, however, was too good to wait.

Roughly 1-2 Weeks Ago- I recieve notification that Stephen Hawking will be coming to the University to speak for free in celebration of its 450th Birthday. I practically shit myself. I temporarily dream that this is a sign that I will actually intern at CERN and help make great prodigic strides in the field of physics afterall. Once this fantasy fades...Uh... actually I'll let you know once that happens.

Today, 4:30 PM- I arrive, t-2 hours before the lecture is set to begin. I take a place in line, just barely inside the building by about 10 feet.

Approximately 4:35 PM: The elderly woman behinds me asks if she can cut just a little so that she can "read the paper better."

Approximately 4:45 PM: I see the woman has joined with an elderly man several people ahead of me in line. I give her the glare of death.

Approximately 4:55 PM: What was once a line is now rapidly morphing into a crowded mob in the foyer. From this point forward, it's clearly every man for himself.

Approximately 5:00 PM: The crowd starts to move towards the auditorium, half an hour before the doors were meant to open. I stipulate that a group of dedicated physics students have actually put their skillls to the test, and pummeled down the doorway with a ramming device. I also wonder if anyone in the room has swine flu, and if terrorists have anything against Quantum Physics.

Approximately 5:10 PM: I am one of the last 200 or so people admitted (legally) to the small auditorium, and get a decent seat near the middle/back of the room.

Approximately 5:25 PM: My friend arrives late, and pursuades the woman to let her pass through the barricade now surrounding the building. She somehow manages to approach the auditorium, where guards are fending off physics fanatics who still insist on entering despite the presence of tazors.

Approximately 5:30 PM: The aforementioned friend somehow leaps over a barricade with another group of fanatics, and enters the auditorium.

Approximately 6:30 PM- Introductory speakers. Blahblahblah.

Approximately 6:35 PM: He speaks. I am glad that I too speak English, and don't need to settle for the translation (which was apparently mediocre due to his synthesizer being a little hard to hear). I cannot help but reflect on the old brains vs. physical prowess stereotype, especially with the most extreme case fathomable actually sitting on stage before me. I am also wowed by whatever genius (likely himself) developed the computer program he uses to communicate, which senses his desires by mere ocular motion. [in old-school, computer-synthesized voice]: I. will. be thin.king. like this. for at. least. the. next. thir.ty minutes.

Approximately 7:35 PM: The (rather funny) talk is over, and there is no QandA. I am secretly relieved, however, because I forgot what my exact qualm was with his defintion of entropy as related to the development of galaxies in his book. Had I missed the opportunity to discuss it with him purely because of my own lack of prepardness, I would have had to cry myself to sleep for the next month... at least.

Approximately 7:45 PM: I steal a poster. It looks like this:

Approximately 7:50 PM: I and my entourage exit the building. We witness Mr. Hawking Himself being wheeled towards his transport a mere few meters away. I would like to think that we had the class and reserve to photograph him from where we were, instead just of running up to his face like someone else actually did, but this was probably just the result of me not being the one with the camera.

Did I learn anything that I hadn't already read or heard in class? Not really, though I didn't know that he'd been to the South Pole (in his current condition) or that his "voice" was used in a Pink Floyd song. Also, if you tried to heat a frozen pizza using only CBR microwaves it would only heat it to just above zero Kelvin, and Feynmen used play the bongos at a strip club. My current qualm: His third son, Tim, was born 3 years after his ALS was so advanced that he could not feed himself or get out of bed. Foul play, or is he actually just that baller?

Twenty, Twenty, Twenty Four Hours To Go...

It's been an odd summer.



Honestly, I feel like I've spent what little free time I had hanging out with two or three actual close friends, and about ten other people who I barely know, but somehow just keep popping up enough to get in on the "friend" list by default anyway. I think that happenns a lot as we get older. Overall- it's been a good summer for endings. Graduations, demolitions, this mode of life as we know it. I suppose that makes it an even better time to head out for a bit.









No Worries, I'll be back. You will too. It'll be awesome. And I'll definitley still be blogging.

PS- I think Cartman is gay. Actually, I think he is the metaphorical preteen version of Stewie...after some traumatically stupifying head injury.

PPS- I know what Soylent Green is.

PPPS- for those of you who think I tend to wax sentimental a little too much- my dad just came into my room and started gushing over a photo album of my kiddie pictures. Ugh.

Free Wireless, Man

In this day and age, I honestly believe it is a crime to charge people extra for wireless internet. It disgusts me that Starbucks, after you've already paid them $4.50 for a drink, insists on charging for internet when so many other enlightened places just give it out for free. These are modern times we live in. It should be complementary- like a shitty continental breakfast, or a hot towl.

What disgusts me even more, however, is when people set up wireless networks at home but then refuse to let anyone else use them. There is nothing more frustrating than being in the range of six or seven wireless networks, only to be dissallowed into every one of them. And to second that, I think it is downright un-neighborly. If I can go to my neighbor's house anytime to borrow a cup of sugar, why not internet? Infact, using their wireless internet is even less of a hassle to them than that. I don't need to go knock at their door, and they definitley don't need to pay for more internet next time they're out shopping to make up for it. Honestly, sharing internet is like sharing air, and does absolutley no harm to anyone involved. One day, when I pay my own bills, I think I am going to purposefully make my internet connection open and available to all. If I need to have some kind of password for the company's sake. then I'll probably name my network something like "The password is password" and act accordingly. The Sixties may have tackled Free Love, but this is clearly our own cultural battle to be fought.


I actually wrote this a week ago but couldn't post it. Guess Why.

½ (b·h) = ♥

With the recent tremendous influx of content to the local blogosphere, I feel moved to partake. Obviously I can't contribute in any real way due to severe bad luck that's kept me out of triangle territory for two months, but oh well. What else is new. Let's talk about feelings. And Posterity. And Oranges.

If the triangle is, well, the triangle, then I guess you could say I'm kind of like an orange. A triangle doesn't really need an orange, nor does an orange a triangle, but it's there, and oddly complementary, and uber appreciated. Ultimatley, both the triangle and the orange somehow benefit exponenetially from this mutual presence. I actually have no idea where else I was going with that, but I like the analogy. (Cuz, you know, it invovles fruit)

So anyway- sitting right next to the triangle, on my orangey perch, is me. The truth is, while not being an intimate member of this miniature, exclusive, legendary cult; I do care for it deeply, and know it better than most. I witnessed its birth, somehow stuck around long enough to still be here, and (perhaps most remarkably) actually understand what they're talking about a record-breaking 2/3 of the time. So here's to the triangle. Maybe the best has been, but may you always, well, triangulate.

TO OSK- Admiral Ackbar is cool, but lengthy, and frankly a little much for me to mouth without sounding like a total dweeb. The closest you'll probably get out of me regularly is AA, so that will just have to do. If you really insist on the full pronounciation, remind me and I'll do it on birthdays and special occassions. Besides, OSK is classic. Anyway, You really have a thing for geometric shapes, don't you? I mean, the triangle, the hexagon. While you had nothing to do with the writing of The Flapjack and Pokey Project, (nice corny western ring, no?) I sense the vinyl pentagram wreaks of your subconcious intellectual sabotage. PS- no, You're icky.


TO FLAPJACK- I really think you lucked out in this new generation of nicknames here. You see, flapjacks remind me of pancakes, and pancakes are flat and beige-colored and have nothing on them, kind of like your head. It really is magically appropriate. Plus, pancakes> penis (in this case, at least) so you can at least be thankful we don't make that joke too much anymore.


TO POKEY- It must be said, your phone etiquitte sucks. I don't take it personally, but you might wanna work on that. I hope you still have my litmus paper, and If you ever grow weary of computer science then I could use the lab help on my own little summer pet project. I think I still have a newspaper clipping of you somewhere if you'd like it. Most importantly- you've been single for almost a whole four months now, a personal record for you, how does it feel?


...So I was going for epic tribute but that degenerated pretty quickly. I would however, like to also flatter myself into thinking that one day an entire triangle-like protege group will emerge, along with maybe another fruity, female counterpart. (Though maybe not, this is the gender-equitable future after all.) It's nice to think that when they aren't also engaging in geometric bonding, they will hike amongst the ruins of the academic building, in search of our mysterious relics from days past, wondering about the subtleties of our very existence. They will find our yearbooks in the old reading room (hopefully condom free) and use them as maps from which to navigate a path throughout the ages. They will attempt to decipher our sporratic, coded, language, as they manage to simultaneously follow in our footsteps, while still carving out new and epic tales of their own making. On Alumni weekend, as we drunkenly stumble across our former haunts, they will glimpse us through the glass and wonder "could that possibly be one of them?"

I think we owe something to these hypothetical, future anothropologists. After all, they're practically us, and in reality, they always will be.

Sunday Drivers

Why? Because they're all a bunch of little old ladies going to church? No. The truth is, the expression "Sunday driver" actually hails from the youth of the nation, driving at 10 under the speed limit on a Sunday afternoon because (beleive it or not) they're still hungover from the night before.


I can now speak from personal experience. Ugh.

My Boys

Since this summer has arguably been one of the worst on record so far, I have found myself looking to sources outside of my own life for amusement more and more often. True, I've always loved a good sitcom about 20 or 30 somethings living together in a metropolitan area (you know, that really original plot you don't see much of) but this is developing into a minor obsession. Similar to the Sex and the City craze of the summer of 2006, I have now become a legitimate My Boys addict.






As veteran mango addicts know, I once spent a huge chunk of blogspace commenting and critiquing the finer points of Sex and the City, and I feel it only fair to give My Boys the same respect.


When I first saw adds for this show on TBS, I honestly thought it looked pathetic and overwhelmingly predictable (That tagline? Really?) but somehow over time it managed to peak my curiosity enough to coerce me into watching a few episodes, and even buy the first season on DVD so I could render a complete judgement. Soon enough, I was hooked.

The funny thing about My Boys is that its entire conception is based on the idea of an "Anti-Sex-and-the-City," yet I wouldn't be surprised if it appealed to the exact identical fan base. Sure, pricey shoes and snazzy city living have been replaced by baseball and beer, but the writing style is almost identical. (Though any fan of both shows will appreciate the entire episode devoted to blatantly parodying SATC, that was just brilliant.) The show is obviously made on a lower budget than HBO's almost movie-quality production, and so we must forgive the occassional, painfully obvious advertising plug, but otherwise I honestly think this show is really entertaining. No where else on TV have I heard the cast utter the phrases "douche" or "epic" as frequently as, well, I do. A lot of the jokes aren't laugh out loud funny, but they are the exact kinds of jokes you might make yourself poking fun at friends on a daily basis. (It was also really refreshing to hear a D&D reference far outside of the stereotypical gamer/nerd context- major cudos.)

Ultimatley, both shows aim at different kinds of realism. Sex and the City attempts to portray realistic personal relationships, while stretching the facts for hint of New York glamour and romance. My Boys on the other hand, wonderfully portrays day-today-living among friends, while fudging reality by giving the protagonist a suprisingly dominant role in all of the other character's lives.

While many praise the show's attempt to appease both genders, I honestly can't picture guys seriously digging this show (nor serious connisseurs of television, for that matter), but I am curious. So here's my proposition: just one evening of your time, I'll provide the junk food. Thoughts?