WOAH.
So. Go to Google images and type in "Detroit Mexicantown" and see what comes up first. OK I'll just tell you. MY. ARTWORK. Do you REALIZE that Jack White has probably Googled that?! JACK WHITE HAS PROBABLY SEEN MY ARTWORK. Which was posted on this blog, so he probably read my blog (because he has the spare time), which mentions him, quite a bit! And he would LOVE me, obviously!
JACK WHITE IS COMING TO WHISK ME AWAY.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Woompava, Woompava, Boiler Up!
I'm not against team spirit. I think a moderate amount is pretty healthy and good for forging a sense of community, especially in college when thousands of kids are feeling pretty lost (and plus, you choose the college you go to, so you must have some sort of pride in it). But Purdue has taken it to a ridiculous level in this past week. I moved in last Saturday amid cheers. Not from my parents for moving out (although they might have been cheering, too). Not to myself for moving on to this exciting chapter in my life. No, I moved in to Meredith Hall amid cheers of Boiler Gold Rush team leaders. As we pulled into the parking lot, they started doing a peppy chant about how happy they were to help me move. They asked me if I was PUMPED UP for PURDUE! In the first five minutes of my being at Purdue University, I was already in the environment of a professional wrestling stadium.
It became very clear, very fast, that I was in trouble.
See, I moved in a week early to participate in Boiler Gold Rush, a week long orientation program. I thought it would be pretty relaxed, full of club call outs, doing Boiler-related crafts, and talking about ourselves in fun ice breakers.
I was right about the ice breakers, except the fun part. I love talking about myself and finding out other people's tastes. Unfortunately, other people's tastes seem to center around their hair color and their agriculture majors. I had nothing in common with the people in my group (although some of them liked the White Stripes, which is obviously the correct opinion). It was awkward and humid on that first night. And then came the team chants.
The dorms were separated into themes and we had to compete against each other for, well, nothing except bragging rights. And my dorm's theme was breakfast cereal. BREAKFAST CEREAL. And not only was I surrounded by pictures of Fruit Loops, we had chant with enthusiasm ABOUT cereal.
To the tune of "I Kissed a Girl" by Katy Perry.
That's the punchline, really. I was going to elaborate on this, but there really isn't anything else to say. So I basically quit BGR after the second day. I hid in my room and watched episode after episode of House and let the calls from my BGR team leader go straight to voicemail. But even then I wasn't completely safe. The Boiler Express, a little train vehicle that rides around campus that I rode when I was in kindergarten, would circle my dorm every ten minutes until 11:30 at night, honking its horn and carrying kids that were VERY excited to be Boiler-ing up.
So the past week has been a bizarre, black and gold circus. And I have watched, annoyed, smoking cigarettes. And I think that really probably says a lot about me. Not that I smoke cigarettes, but that whole watching from the outside thing. And I am much happier in that place then playing on a moon bounce and flirting with RAs.
BOILER UP!
It became very clear, very fast, that I was in trouble.
See, I moved in a week early to participate in Boiler Gold Rush, a week long orientation program. I thought it would be pretty relaxed, full of club call outs, doing Boiler-related crafts, and talking about ourselves in fun ice breakers.
I was right about the ice breakers, except the fun part. I love talking about myself and finding out other people's tastes. Unfortunately, other people's tastes seem to center around their hair color and their agriculture majors. I had nothing in common with the people in my group (although some of them liked the White Stripes, which is obviously the correct opinion). It was awkward and humid on that first night. And then came the team chants.
The dorms were separated into themes and we had to compete against each other for, well, nothing except bragging rights. And my dorm's theme was breakfast cereal. BREAKFAST CEREAL. And not only was I surrounded by pictures of Fruit Loops, we had chant with enthusiasm ABOUT cereal.
To the tune of "I Kissed a Girl" by Katy Perry.
That's the punchline, really. I was going to elaborate on this, but there really isn't anything else to say. So I basically quit BGR after the second day. I hid in my room and watched episode after episode of House and let the calls from my BGR team leader go straight to voicemail. But even then I wasn't completely safe. The Boiler Express, a little train vehicle that rides around campus that I rode when I was in kindergarten, would circle my dorm every ten minutes until 11:30 at night, honking its horn and carrying kids that were VERY excited to be Boiler-ing up.
So the past week has been a bizarre, black and gold circus. And I have watched, annoyed, smoking cigarettes. And I think that really probably says a lot about me. Not that I smoke cigarettes, but that whole watching from the outside thing. And I am much happier in that place then playing on a moon bounce and flirting with RAs.
BOILER UP!
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Maybe They're Just Really Fat Ghosts.
ATTN: ORBS ARE NOT GHOSTS.
Much more effective.
But maybe orbs are really ghosts. And if these ghosts really are choosing to appear as orbs, those are some weak ass ghosts.
It's become the very in-vogue (En Vogue?) thing to take pictures at night at graveyards and cornfields with decrepit barns (where a farmer DEFINITELY hanged his whole family and then his self- that's DEFINITELY not a legend/rumor/ridiculous story told by stoners on cruises). Then to put the pictures on Facebook, Myspace, or their ghost blog and point out white, nearly-transparent circles on the (UNEDITED!) pictures and claim them to be ghosts.
THEY ARE NOT GHOSTS.
Here's an example of one such picture:
If you look at this picture without knowing about the "orb phenomenon" you'd probably guess that it's probably just a camera glitch. Or snow. Or rain. Or dust. Or the effect of using the flash in really dark settings bouncing off of dust particles with a shitty digital camera. In all logic, you would be right. But some people-the same people that wave sage around their houses in a reckless manner to rid their bathrooms of bad spirits-would say you are WRONG! NAIVE! UNSCHOOL-ED IN THE FIELD OF THE SUPERNATURAL.
These people are, of course, ridiculous and possibly out of their minds.
I don't doubt that supernatural situations occur, or that ghosts exist. I'm sure there are some pissed off Confederate soldiers wandering around Gettysburg. But why would they choose to come to life (no pun intended) in the form of a circle? That's not scary, it's not even remotely creepy. It's just kind of an irritating obtrusion in the photograph. If I were an angry spirit unable to cross into the other world, I'd appear as a bloody-eyed Medusa or something. Definitely something more like this:
Much more effective.
But maybe orbs are really ghosts. And if these ghosts really are choosing to appear as orbs, those are some weak ass ghosts.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
6 Inch or Foot Long?
I haven't written on here in ages. But a friend of mind, who also happens to be hilarious and a really talented writer, said that this (and Scene Kid of the Day, but that's a story for another entry) is one of her favorite online things to read. So with the pressure on to turn up the hits, I return.
Most of the reason I haven't been writing is that I'm too busy making your Italian BMT (would you like the works on that?) at Subway. My mom would beg to differ since I only work about 10 hours a week. But I feel like I've earned my sandwich cred there since I worked last summer and fall at about 20 hours a week and I will undoubtedly return next summer.
The job itself isn't too bad. Aside from prepping the crab, most of the tasks aren't that disgusting or arduous. It's the customers that makes me want to take my hand and slam it into the bread oven. On the spectrum of fast food, Subway is probably the most expensive (although Arby's is getting up there...have you seen the price of a beef 'n' cheddar recently?) and thus attracts the biggest assholes. I don't care if you have a BMW parked outside, ma'am, you have to pay for the extra cheese you put on that sandwich.
There are a lot of different kinds of assholes that come into my place of employment, though. So here is a brief list of them. If one of these sounds like you, please, stop. I will not hesitate to get really pissed off at you but not show it because I don't want to get written up.
1. The Sandwich Dreamer- This is the idiot that stands blankly in front of the vegetables and just CAN'T decide if he/she wants cucumbers or not. Especially when there is a line out the door behind them. Or the person that spouts out their entire order, veggies and all, in one breath without telling you what kind of bread. And then not being able to decide what kind of bread they want. Let me tell you something: most of our bread tastes exactly the same. Everything is based off of either white or wheat dough, and once you douse your sandwich in honey mustard, you won't taste a difference anyway. And even worse about the Sandwich Dreamer is that they almost always come through drive-thru. Ma'am (because these are usually middle aged women in minivans...or stoners), there are 10 cars behind you, so please decide if you want regular or spicy mustard.
2. The Big Order- This is pretty simple. Don't come in at 12:15 during lunch rush and order 10 foot longs for your office buddies. We hate you and everyone else in the store hates you.
3. The Stickler- This person is straight out of whitewine.com. They don't think our white bread is white enough for them, they aren't sure if the bread is fresh or not (we make it every morning), please change your gloves even though all you've touched is food, the same damn kind of food that you are going to eat, can you double wrap that?, those banana peppers look pretty hard, here let me show you, oh man not that much mayo! etc. These people wouldn't be too unbearable, except they are always the most condescending DOUCHE BAGS on the face of the planet. I cannot express how much these people make my blood boil. They absolutely deserve to have their hearts ripped out by wolves. I'm not a 4 year old, yes I speak English, and yes, you need to leave my store before I take this loaf of Italian Herbs and Cheese bread and beat your face in with it.
You're ugly anyway.
Today some jerk came in asking for directions to campus, and when my perfectly kind coworker chimed in, he turned to him and said "Excuse me, SHE was giving me directions." He was not using his indoor voice or his friendly tone. I wanted to shove jalapenos into his eyeballs. And since my last day at Subway this summer is tomorrow, I decided to not just grit my teeth this time. I said to him, "Sir, first of all don't be rude to my coworkers. Second of all, buy a map." And I turned on my heels and went back to the kitchen to scream about it. Do you know how good that felt? And that all of us feel that way about you if you fall into one of the above categories?
Now, are you going to have a meal with that?
Most of the reason I haven't been writing is that I'm too busy making your Italian BMT (would you like the works on that?) at Subway. My mom would beg to differ since I only work about 10 hours a week. But I feel like I've earned my sandwich cred there since I worked last summer and fall at about 20 hours a week and I will undoubtedly return next summer.
The job itself isn't too bad. Aside from prepping the crab, most of the tasks aren't that disgusting or arduous. It's the customers that makes me want to take my hand and slam it into the bread oven. On the spectrum of fast food, Subway is probably the most expensive (although Arby's is getting up there...have you seen the price of a beef 'n' cheddar recently?) and thus attracts the biggest assholes. I don't care if you have a BMW parked outside, ma'am, you have to pay for the extra cheese you put on that sandwich.
There are a lot of different kinds of assholes that come into my place of employment, though. So here is a brief list of them. If one of these sounds like you, please, stop. I will not hesitate to get really pissed off at you but not show it because I don't want to get written up.
1. The Sandwich Dreamer- This is the idiot that stands blankly in front of the vegetables and just CAN'T decide if he/she wants cucumbers or not. Especially when there is a line out the door behind them. Or the person that spouts out their entire order, veggies and all, in one breath without telling you what kind of bread. And then not being able to decide what kind of bread they want. Let me tell you something: most of our bread tastes exactly the same. Everything is based off of either white or wheat dough, and once you douse your sandwich in honey mustard, you won't taste a difference anyway. And even worse about the Sandwich Dreamer is that they almost always come through drive-thru. Ma'am (because these are usually middle aged women in minivans...or stoners), there are 10 cars behind you, so please decide if you want regular or spicy mustard.
2. The Big Order- This is pretty simple. Don't come in at 12:15 during lunch rush and order 10 foot longs for your office buddies. We hate you and everyone else in the store hates you.
3. The Stickler- This person is straight out of whitewine.com. They don't think our white bread is white enough for them, they aren't sure if the bread is fresh or not (we make it every morning), please change your gloves even though all you've touched is food, the same damn kind of food that you are going to eat, can you double wrap that?, those banana peppers look pretty hard, here let me show you, oh man not that much mayo! etc. These people wouldn't be too unbearable, except they are always the most condescending DOUCHE BAGS on the face of the planet. I cannot express how much these people make my blood boil. They absolutely deserve to have their hearts ripped out by wolves. I'm not a 4 year old, yes I speak English, and yes, you need to leave my store before I take this loaf of Italian Herbs and Cheese bread and beat your face in with it.
You're ugly anyway.
Today some jerk came in asking for directions to campus, and when my perfectly kind coworker chimed in, he turned to him and said "Excuse me, SHE was giving me directions." He was not using his indoor voice or his friendly tone. I wanted to shove jalapenos into his eyeballs. And since my last day at Subway this summer is tomorrow, I decided to not just grit my teeth this time. I said to him, "Sir, first of all don't be rude to my coworkers. Second of all, buy a map." And I turned on my heels and went back to the kitchen to scream about it. Do you know how good that felt? And that all of us feel that way about you if you fall into one of the above categories?
Now, are you going to have a meal with that?
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
I Don't Think Thomas Jefferson Would Have Cared This Much
My best friend is a huge Hillary Clinton supporter, and she wanted me to spend the weekend with her in Washington D.C. at a rally to get the Michigan and Florida votes counted. I did vote for Hillary, but this wasn't a cause I felt super strongly about. But I went anyway, thinking it would be fun and interesting. Well, I was right about the latter.
We took off from Lafayette (on a small-ish Lafayette Limo bus) shortly before a monstrosity of a storm hit the city. We're not talking just high winds and rain, we're talking about 50,000 tornados swooping down to feed on the young of Greater Lafayette. And severe weather (and the complimentary onslaught of tornados that so often comes with it) is absolutely my worst fear. Orca whales are up there, but tornados terrify me like nothing else can. So with my stomach shaking and eyes darting around the open planes for signs of imminent death, we were off.
Not long after we were on the road, a crotchity old lady with a giant fleece sweater-blanket contraption quizzed us about why we like Hillary. I said that I am a fierce labor union supporter and I think that Hillary has workers' backs better than Obama, blah blah blah...when I was done she gave me the most awkward, tepid, condescending smile I have ever seen in my life. Then she and some other women on the bus started laying into Barack Obama for reasons I HIGHLY suspect were racially motivated (they did everything but use racial slurs).
Also, they were really mean to our bus driver, who was like 800 years old but extremely nice.
So we tumbled all night through Ohio and Pennsylvania to get to Washington the next morning. That day and night would be one of the most ridiculous times of my entire life, but we'll save that for another entry. Tornados and raisin-eating old ladies threatening to vote for McCain if Hillary doesn't get the nomination (big surprise: she doesn't) is enough for now.
Plus, it's thunderstorming.
We took off from Lafayette (on a small-ish Lafayette Limo bus) shortly before a monstrosity of a storm hit the city. We're not talking just high winds and rain, we're talking about 50,000 tornados swooping down to feed on the young of Greater Lafayette. And severe weather (and the complimentary onslaught of tornados that so often comes with it) is absolutely my worst fear. Orca whales are up there, but tornados terrify me like nothing else can. So with my stomach shaking and eyes darting around the open planes for signs of imminent death, we were off.
Not long after we were on the road, a crotchity old lady with a giant fleece sweater-blanket contraption quizzed us about why we like Hillary. I said that I am a fierce labor union supporter and I think that Hillary has workers' backs better than Obama, blah blah blah...when I was done she gave me the most awkward, tepid, condescending smile I have ever seen in my life. Then she and some other women on the bus started laying into Barack Obama for reasons I HIGHLY suspect were racially motivated (they did everything but use racial slurs).
Also, they were really mean to our bus driver, who was like 800 years old but extremely nice.
So we tumbled all night through Ohio and Pennsylvania to get to Washington the next morning. That day and night would be one of the most ridiculous times of my entire life, but we'll save that for another entry. Tornados and raisin-eating old ladies threatening to vote for McCain if Hillary doesn't get the nomination (big surprise: she doesn't) is enough for now.
Plus, it's thunderstorming.
Friday, May 23, 2008
This Is Going to Get Me Into Trouble
I started a new blog.
For a while now, my best friend Corey and I have been fascinated by the ridiculousness that is the "scene kid." Today at graduation rehearsal, my friend John asked me what the difference between an "emo kid" and a "scene kid" is. To me the difference is pretty obvious, but that's because I'm really boring and I think about these sub genres of cliques a lot. So I guess the main difference is that scene kids love themselves. I mean, REALLY love themselves. They think they are awesome in so many ways that we would never be able to understand.
Also, they tease their hair like they're in an 80s hair metal band.
While I absolutely despise everything they stand for and everything that they listen to (any genre of music with the suffix "-core" is pretty much guaranteed to suck), they do get what they aim for: attention. You would not believe how much attention these kids want. They would LOVE for the paparazzi to follow them around all day; in fact, most scene kids consider themselves famous (having over 10,000 friends on Myspace is, regrettably, just about as notable as Amy Winehouse's latest crack-binged video of her raising baby mice).
So, I'm going to give them what they want and give them a ton of attention by making a new blog that is entirely devoted to the "scene kid of the day." While it is sarcastic at best, bad press is better than no press!
Right?
Anyway, visit www.scenekidoftheday.blogspot.com for more.
For a while now, my best friend Corey and I have been fascinated by the ridiculousness that is the "scene kid." Today at graduation rehearsal, my friend John asked me what the difference between an "emo kid" and a "scene kid" is. To me the difference is pretty obvious, but that's because I'm really boring and I think about these sub genres of cliques a lot. So I guess the main difference is that scene kids love themselves. I mean, REALLY love themselves. They think they are awesome in so many ways that we would never be able to understand.
Also, they tease their hair like they're in an 80s hair metal band.
While I absolutely despise everything they stand for and everything that they listen to (any genre of music with the suffix "-core" is pretty much guaranteed to suck), they do get what they aim for: attention. You would not believe how much attention these kids want. They would LOVE for the paparazzi to follow them around all day; in fact, most scene kids consider themselves famous (having over 10,000 friends on Myspace is, regrettably, just about as notable as Amy Winehouse's latest crack-binged video of her raising baby mice).
So, I'm going to give them what they want and give them a ton of attention by making a new blog that is entirely devoted to the "scene kid of the day." While it is sarcastic at best, bad press is better than no press!
Right?
Anyway, visit www.scenekidoftheday.blogspot.com for more.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
This Is a Really Good Idea
I should start a comic about a tiger that plays baseball and name him Tyger Cobb.
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