One thing I’ve noticed about the University is the great respect it gives to its mentally deranged student demographic, the one driven by severe sleep deprivation, manic depression and a proclivity for being named John Nelson.
Totally kidding on that last one, of course. But not really. I don’t know the guy, but I hear he’s in charge of some self-righteous political organization, thus automatically making him kind of a tool and worthy of some serious, ungrounded heat from the belligerent media.
But I’m a nice guy, so I’m not going to do that. Instead, I’d like to look back on the legacy of the University’s first mentally unstable student, the great Edgar Allan Poe, whose 200th birthday the University library is honoring this year with a special exhibition portraying the author’s enduring influence. To conclude the exhibition’s opening ceremony, one University official eloquently put forth the significance of the bicentennial, noting, “If Poe were alive today, he would be one decrepit-looking old dude.” Continue reading Edgar Allan Poe: dead, but still kicking
You know what they say: “April showers bring May flowers.” This old adage, which is a slightly adapted version of the even older Pacific Islander expression, “April showers bring much death and destruction,” seems to adequately sum up the current state of the University community.
After putting up with all of March’s crap, including the persistent cold weather, Daylight Savings Time, the basketball coaching controversy, the commencement speaker controversy, the switch to SIS and Twitter, we are finally ready to move on and put up with all of April’s crap, including taxes, spring cleaning, Kelly Clarkson’s birthday, the onslaught of allergies and mysterious egg-dealing bunny rabbits.
Yes, there are a myriad of things to get excited about in April, which according to the omniscient Professor Internet, has been deemed by federal lawmakers as National Pecan Month, Irritable Bowel Syndrome Month, Women’s Eye Health and Safety Month and, of course, National Straw Hat Month. Here are just a few highlights of the next 30 days: Continue reading April is (not) the cruelest month
Times are tough. We are in the midst of a horrendous economic crisis, thousands are dying needlessly in conflicts overseas and innocent people all over America continue to be subjected to Nickelback on their radio stations. Locally, a backwards honor referendum is being passed (or are they? I wrote this thing four days ago, people.) Students are coping with the loss of their most trusted news Web site (Juicy Campus), biweekly Cavalier Daily columnists continue to work without pay and needy underage punks constantly pester surprisingly old second-years named Nick Eilerson to buy them beer.
Now throw all that in a pot and stir it up with a smorgasbord of personal problems: I recently suffered a sprained ankle, am still recovering from yet another bout of football-related depression (or, in medical terms, Rooting-For-the-Dallas-Cowboys syndrome), continue to live in Gooch/Dillard and was recently dumped by my girlfriend of three years, Selma Hayek. Continue reading Bloodthirsty birdflesh
Like most people my age, I realize I am statistically likely to die this week. According to the U.S. Bureau of Questionable Statistics, 55 percent of 20-year-olds fear drowning themselves on their 21st birthday, while 76 percent actually do drown themselves. Yes, I am on the verge of becoming just another statistic, as I turn 21 Wednesday.
For the average American college student, this final rite of passage into adulthood can mean a number of fun and diverse things, such as eliminating all those unwanted excess brain cells, losing complex skills like walking and completing a sentence, obtaining a renewed fascination with toilets, depleting one’s credit card by buying drinks for anything that moves or makes noise, feeling suddenly less inhibited to remove one’s clothes in public, annihilating one’s liver, puking all over … well … everything and even waking up in prison the next day. My 21st could very well involve all this and more, but here is how I envision the night playing out:
I roll into Coupe’s with my usual weekend posse of anywhere between 10 and 35 of the finest babes on Grounds. I take a seat at the bar, and the bartender says, “What can I get you? Pepsi? Sprite? A juice-box perhaps?”
The ladies giggle and begin to caress me sympathetically.
“Watch the hair,” I warn them. To the bartender I cockily reply, “How ‘bout a Heineken?” Continue reading 21, here I come
There are questions that have baffled scientists for millions of years: What the heck is eggnog? Better yet, what the heck is “figgy pudding?” And why do the carolers who sing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” always force their listeners to get in the kitchen and fix them several batches of it? Talk about rude! I mean, let’s get real — if the main ingredient in this stuff truly is figs (I don’t know what they are, either), can it really be that delicious?
These important issues naturally lead into a slightly less important, yet equally relevant question: What is the true meaning of Christmas? To find out, let us examine a few of this holiday’s most cherished traditions.
According to the disciples of Jesus, the most important element of Christmas is the depletion of one’s bank account via purchasing gratuitous numbers of gifts for one’s parents, siblings, friends, cousins, second-cousins, second-cousins’ cats, ex-spouses, and ex-spouses’ brothers’ nephews’ pet sheep. For years humans, particularly of the female gender, have been wandering aimlessly into stores and buying random cute, little items in bulk, which they then cover in cute wrapping paper and couple with cute Christmas cards depicting fat, bearded men and large, antlered mammals. This strange practice, one that many women begin as early as July, apparently originated in biblical times, when shepherds got sweet deals at Best Buy and were able to buy the baby Jesus an Xbox 360 and Call of Duty: World at War for the price of just two arms and a leg. As the infamously incoherent Little Drummer Boy so eloquently explains in his famous song, “Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum, to lay before the King, pa rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum…” Continue reading The true meaning of Christmas
It’s a question I get all the time — “Nick, how did you get to be so darned manly?”
The answer I give to people is never clear. Typically, I just demonstrate the old front double biceps pose, followed by a simple front abdominal/thigh isolation pose and then insist emphatically, “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The signs are all there: gigantic cinder blocks of muscle popping out of every conceivable area of my body (scientists recently discovered that I have more muscle in my index finger than the average adult male has in his entire arm), massive amounts of facial hair, a tendency to single-handedly construct large buildings when bored, hitting puberty at age seven and owning more Old Spice products than socks. Continue reading The art of manliness