Dad Got Hosed

While taking a break from my Sunday Saints Prayer Spectacular (I practically chant “hold on to the damned football” in my sleep), a Verizon commercial prompted me to post some sort of year-end tribute. Seriously, I was touched by the script. Anyway, my tribute has already been done for me at this link.

While it may appear I’m not a fan of the holidays, one could not be further from the truth. I love this time of year, particularly the conclusion of it. What other time of the year can one witness the very best of the very worst of our species? I can't be the only one looking forward to the annual Darwin Awards.

Are you unfamiliar with this momentous occasion? The Darwin Awards are bestowed upon the recently departed whose death provides cautionary tales to us all. More specifically, these persons have achieved a level of carelessness and/or idiocy culminating in their demise. The best part about these awards is that you can earn one without even applying yourself. Who knows, you may already possess the makings of future Hall of Famer.

Check out the site for a glimpse at some of this year’s nominees, but be sure to check out one of my favorites “Stubbed Out.” Combine one part flammable skin cream with your choice of cigarette, and you get another indicator of why even doctors can’t save people from themselves. My condolences to the family, but for once it would have been helpful if dad actually got hosed on this one.

Grand Finales, Part I: Perfecting Attendance

Perfecting Attendance

Towards the end of every semester, it seems that at least two timeless thoughts cross the minds of every collegian: “How many classes have I skipped?” and “Wait – the final is when?”

Since finals are approaching in the coming weeks, you can look forward to some thoughts on them soon. I’d write about them now, but let’s face it: you can actually do something about your finals (cramming, cheating, or pushing your roommate to the brink of suicide so you can “take time off to deal with the loss” – so many options) When it comes to absences, there’s nothing you can do about it now. So, how about dwelling in the past?

Attendance in college is a particularly defining characteristic of one’s motivation and/or drinking habits. Often you’ll find that people who once spoke of ‘perfect attendance’ have been featured on the back of milk cartons since the first day of class. These are also the people guaranteed to be sitting in your seat when you arrive on the day of the final. What’s that you say? Yes, you are correct, it is protocol to stab them. Remember: if you hide the body before the exam is distributed, no one will even care – they were already missing, right?

Of course, there are some people who see attendance in a positive light. Maybe they’re studious creatures, gifted with patience for lectures and staying awake in class. Chances are that they are just trying to get those extra points because, well, they are going to need them. Badly. Some people show up still buzzing from closing out the local bars and downing the most important meal of the day (“beerfast”). Sometimes I miss those Fridays. Most times I don’t remember them.

If you find yourself in need of bonus attendance points during these final days, here are a few quick points of advice:

- Don’t wear bright clothing. Let’s face it – if the professor knows you and you have been a good student, never hinder your attendance by wearing vibrant colors. Your instructor will both notice your taste for pastels and make a mental note of your absences too. In fact, even if she doesn’t know you, don’t wear bright clothing. You want as little attention as possible. Once again, you are a phantom. Sign in and fade into oblivion.
- Orchestrate extravagant fictional emergencies. Your father was a world-famous paleontologist who was bludgeoned to death with a club years ago by suspects resembling the Geico cave men. The commercials traumatized you so much that you have been checking in and out of mental wards since they first aired. If it doesn’t make your professor laugh, perhaps it will make them cry. Sometimes it does both. Your mileage may vary. Go creative.
- Send in a clone. If no one recalls seeing you in that class, you might as well not even be the one to show up. Maybe you can track down someone who didn’t attend the class when they were in it. Give them a chance to atone for their sins. Haven’t you always wanted to be like Jesus? Don’t worry about atoning yourself – I’m pretty sure J.C. never had to apologize.

I’d love to stay and type, but I figure it’d be nice to show up on the last day. Sometimes, I really do spoil my professors.

Fail With Confidence!

Fun ways to make the most of failing a test:

Here’s a quick listing of interesting ways to fail a test. When in need, feel free to use one if not all the following (when applicable):

Arrive early. Remember, if you’re going to absolutely bomb something, you might as well get the bombing done as soon as possible. Delay leads to worry; worry leads to anger; anger leads to drinking…wait; never mind. Proceed.

If you do arrive early, don’t pull out the text to “panic cram” like all the kids who just did an all-nighter and are still worried. You knew better. You had other plans. Maybe it was the season finale of “The Office,” and you thought it’d be sweet to go out to celebrate it. Maybe you thought it was a weeknight, and you thought it’d be sweet to go out to celebrate it. Maybe you had a thought, and that was sweet enough to go out and celebrate it. No worries for you. Besides, you’re too drunk to panic. If you aren’t, you are a failure at the one thing you had listed as a “skill set.”

It’s important to be calm. Sometimes I develop a bloodlust in which I must ransack villages until a specific Indonesian tranquilizer dart can take me down. Your situation may be different. I recommend an herbal tea or large quantities of Valium. I must warn you that I am not a doctor, unless you count that time Amanda Perry and I played a special version of “Dr. Mario.”

Multiple choice tests are a chance to practice making patterns and coding hidden messages. Remember watching “The Da Vinci Code?” Neither do I. But I read the book and figure you too can leave cryptic messages in your everyday lives. Tests should be no exception. Make zigzags or connect the dots. Scantrons have never been this fun! Don’t be a fool and attempt to actually answer some of the questions, unless they are part of your pattern. Even if you get some right, without the pattern you’re just some dumbass. With the pattern, you might just be the next “Rainman.”

Short answer and essay questions are yet another chance to show your creativity. Teachers like funny answers way more than correct ones. In fact, even if you know the answer, use pictures and symbols that are funny instead of an exact answer. Nothing is more fun that failing something you know and getting tons of laughs in the process! You’ll be an instant star because people never forget “that guy who drew the thing in what’s-her-vagina’s class.”

I've no real reason why I bolded some text and not others. Maybe i'm just a rebel, the boldest rebel in the blogosphere. I am sooo going to fail this test...

The Ancient Fist-2-Face Technique

Who says you need to be in a bar to have an old-fashioned, alcohol-induced brawl? Nobody? Oh, well I agree. Follow these simple guidelines and you too can engage in reckless behavior.

Step 1: Become, as my friend Tyson calls it, “Rip-roaring Drunk.” This means that your number of shots per hour clocks in faster than your driving speed (though driving just to get an accurate measure would fall under “bad ideas" which is another column entirely). It’s always best to begin drinking prior to arriving at a bar just in case there is a fight along the way. Remember, it’s not the quality of the fight but the quantity of people you fight with.

Step 2: Belligerence is a state of mind, much like euphoria and "alcoholism." Practice on the finer points of such behavior, including but not limited to: yelling, cursing, slurred speech, and misdirected anger. Those with a troubled childhood and drunkards often possess these abilities inherently. If you do aren't lucky enough to possess such skill sets, fear not. Simply engage in pointless arguments over issues that neither you nor the other person actually has any control over. I recommend politics and/or religion.

Step 3: Throw punches wildly into crowds of people.. I recommend engaging a group of guys who most resemble a six-pack of douche bags. Again, quantity over quality is key, but it’s nice to get both for the price of one. Children and elderly pedestrians are often easy targets, but you’ll feel better in the morning if you swing indiscriminately. Besides, there are fewer elderly people and even fewer children out during most nights. If you prefer such targets, Halloween is always an option.

Step 4: Never bring along friends who can actually aid you in a fight. In fact, try to surround yourself with runners, preferably guys who did cross country or track in high school. That way, they’ll be too busy reliving their glory days while you proceed to catch punches with your face. If you do happen to have a skilled martial artist with you, be sure he leaves people barely conscious. It’s important that they can hear you taunt them. Also, if you’ve got a friend who actually can aid you, be sure he’s so drunk that he restrains you first, whether or not it leaves you vulnerable to strays punches. Those extra punches are for “encouragement” and just may fuel you enough to continue fighting.

Step 5: Self-restraint is for peace-keeping forces. You are not part of the UN. In fact, you are an ass-kicking force, deployed for maximum damage and minimum thinking. You are the real life Incredible Hulk. Eric Banananana was a chump in comparison, and King Kong ain’t got nothing on you. No matter how many times you’re tackled, once you get the tackler down, get up and taunt the next person. You’ve only got so much time before the army arrives to subdue you. Also, you’ll probably have to pee at some point.

Alright. Remember that fighting is never the answer, unless the question involves describing why you were arrested for assault, battery, and public disturbance. But if you aren't arrested, it's almost like it never happened. Be sure to obtain a scratch of some sort if the pansies you fight fail to leave any bruises.

*I can’t say that these steps will work for everyone, but I’ve recently tested the above for “quality assurance” purposes.

Southern Discomfort (Ext. Ed.): Lies, Damn Lies, and That Guy From WWII

As promised in this week's Scholarly Tabloid, I present another edition of "Southern Discomfort."

If there’s one thing that gets me through a boring day, it’s trying new ways to add adventure to the most mundane of processes. Maybe it’s my sense of adventure. Maybe it stems from the 12 year old buried deep in my heart or the two locked in John Mark Karr’s basement. Whatever it is – I often just feel the need to do something different.

My most common means of inciting adventure generally involves elaborate strings of lies. Certainly lying to your loved ones is wrong and should only be done on an hourly basis. However the lies I indulge in are the stuff temporary friendships are made of. If you have known me for years, there’s a chance you’ve been lied to heavily and often when we first met. In fact, I think the greatest part of the adventure in meeting new people is deciding when and how I’m going to break the news that I’m not actually on leave from the Peace Corps in Abu Dhabi.

When it comes to my string of lies, the truth is that I am honestly curbing my enthusiasm for a brighter future. I’m often sure that I’ll get along well with everyone I meet or, failing that, promptly extract enough humor to make meeting them worthwhile. There’s something to the art of white lies that almost becomes uncontrollable, particularly when you’re lying to someone of at least moderate intelligence. Fabricating tales in the company of idiots, although entertaining, is hardly even sporting. It’s when you convince Honors Neuroscience majors that a movie theater called “The Palace” actually has an “outdoor moat” and standing guards like Buckingham Palace. How I make such things sound truthful is truly the mystery that eludes those who know me.

In the end, the web of deceit often leads to a humorous “boy who cried…something” syndrome in which few can discern my sarcasm-laden demeanor from my sincerest of candor. If you’re wondering if this has affected my love life, the answer is clear: of course not. Perhaps I am like the Soviets whom Winston Churchill called “a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma” on this very day 68 years ago. Perhaps the honesty I display lies in laughing about what matters little and diverting attention to what matters most. Nah, no one will believe a line like that...

Southen Discomfort Extended Edition: Two Wrongs Make A Right(wing)

As promised in this week's Scholarly Tabloid, I present a special edition of "Southern Discomfort."

Before you flood my inbox with hatemail, allow me to build for you a bridge over the troubled water of wrongs of which my title refers. This week’s editorial is aimed particularly at individuals within the opposing parties that are so blinded by their rage of the opposition that their arguments often degenerate to a five-year-old tattling over who did wrong first and who committed the most grievous of numerous mistakes.

First, understand that the designation of who is right and wrong actually is interchangeable between the parties. Second, like any good title fight, I’ll introduce the combatants in more detail. On the Right, we have those in particular who categorize the left-wing (as if to say all leftists think and act alike) as a group of melodramatic, unpatriotic, intellectually-superior atheists. On the Left, we have those specifically who categorize the right-wing (as if to say they are all part of a vast conspiracy) as a gang of bible-thumping, gun-toting, morally-superior zealots. Granted, these generalizations exist, at least in part, to the existence of individuals who may actually meet some of the adjectives above. The caveat is that to say that everyone of either side of the political structure thinks according to a specific rubric is to deny faith in rational, independent thought. It is denying the possibility of any middle ground.

Certainly there exists a rational outcry against the concept of “straddling the fence.” Unfortunately, such an objection is used to bait people in hastily confirming or disaffirming concepts that they may not have fully understood. If peer pressure is thought of to be an influential aspect of grammar school, imagine how great of an impact a society of political bullying that convinces many that it’s better to join the masses of an umbrella party than to consider what they stand for and what about each party they may not agree with. Another popular exit strategy to introspection on one’s political stances is the timelessness of apathy. Sadly, we often only see politics as the choice between apathy and bilateral conformity. The sight of such malaise is corrosive to the advancement of intellect.

Though some reactionary or revolutionary party members may expect a plug here, such is not the intention of this piece. The reality is that no matter what decision we make in our political affiliation, the choice should be based on far more than the fallacious rhetoric of jaded party sycophants and the bias found on news programs and editorial tabloids (including this one). My point is not for you to choose one party or ideology over another; the point is for you to know why you make that choice and understand that others may have equally complex paths to making their choice as well. There is a place for social discourse between people of opposing political backgrounds. It begins when the yelling ends and discussion begins. Robert Frost wrote, “Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing one’s temper or self-confidence.” So lift a glass and continue to think for yourself. Here’s to truly becoming educated.

For more of The Scholarly Tabloid, check out the archives

Inside the Actor’s Studio Apartment (Morning Edition)

7 am – The alarm sounds and its off to the beginning of another beautiful…fuck that. I’m tired. Not bothering to sit up, I deftly apply the martial arts only years of Chuck Norris films could bestow to swiftly kick the snooze button.

8 – What? You thought I’d list the nine other instances I refused to get up? No time for that. Just know that I’m pissed at the alarm. Besides, alarm clocks are the reason I can’t keep a relationship. When it comes down to it, my alarm clock can nag the shit out of me just as much as commitment. The difference is that I can beat my alarm clock. Moral of the story: toughen up ladies or you need not apply.

8:10 – I’m still staring at the ceiling. A few days back I put up old t-shirts from concerts and events throughout my college career. Nothing says “I’ve been in college too long” like a wall full of beer-sponsored gag shirts and concert tees. Despite the shirts, the wall still looks classy. I think it’s the addition of the feudal Japan tapestry I stole from The Smithsonian. It’s either that or the “He won again? Shit. Bartender, It’s Four More Beers” banner I once solemnly hung. Sometimes you have to laugh through the tears.

8:15:35 – I drown my former apartment record of 45 seconds with a deluge of urinary marksmanship. I’m what R. Kelly would be if he were trained by the CIA. I’d high-five myself but again there’s just not enough time.

8:30 – I’m pretty sure my roommate is getting up. He should be or else this convoy isn’t going anywhere. Being car-less, I head downstairs to grab breakfast and wait. This is one of the rare mornings when I manage to get ready faster than my roommate. Unless there’s a wedding, he’s pretty much a t-shirt and shorts guy…and I’m not. I skip past the pool table and head over to the water cooler to discuss last night’s programming…with myself. After grabbing a Cliff Bar from the pantry, I head over to command center known as our “living room” and turned on the tv. I swear that with an entertainment center this big, should be labeled “for party use only.” Surround sound, high-definition quality replaces Folger’s as the best part of waking up. After the obligatory ten minutes of Sportscenter, I head back upstairs to google the headline news.

There’s a chance you’re wondering why I wouldn’t just abuse the ridiculous number of news channels on cable. To that, I say “with the jaundice lacing most media outlets, I don’t have the patience to get the long screw of network news. I’d rather have a quickie.” Google news does what CNN, MSNBC, and Fox cannot – it allows me to get exactly what I need without having a plastic anchorperson feigning emotional responses to news pieces. I just want to know who’s being blown up, what team is clinching the AL East, and something pertinent to the functioning of the planet. Sometimes I hit the “Drudge Report” just because I like the name.

8:40 am – My roommate is usually ready around 9, but my bed looks like she’s ready for another go at it. There she sits, lying quietly with the blankets barely covering her box….springs. I try to resist but cannot. I lose all control and plunge my face into the center of her massive, firm white pillows. I glance at the alarm clock. If this nap is going to be a quickie, it might as well involve a threesome.