Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Bigger Than Guns, Bigger Than Cigarettes

It's been a while, friends, and I am forced back to work not just because my friend Katie chastised me for my laziness last night, but also as preparation as I will once again be trying out for a column in the BU independent newspaper, the Daily Free Press. This time I'm going to actually follow the guidelines and write three 800-word columns and not, say, try and condense old posts from here into manufactured ideas that lose half their humor but are still in the Land of A Thousand Words. Instead, I will form NEW ones that I can't reproduce here because if they're printed in the Freep, I think Google can sue, cause they're an evil, heartless corporation who tries to keep the little businesses down, MAAAAAAN. Anyway, here are some more random thoughts.

Let's tackle some college-related quotes I've seen recently. "I live for the nights ill never remember with the friends ill never forget." Yeah, yeah that's good. So you only live to get black out drunk with people who enable you to get black out drunk in the first place? That's probably not healthy for you, your liver, or your social life. I've never understood why being in college can somehow wipe out the fact that you are starting a debilitating problem that could ruin the rest of your life. But oh, to waste those halcyon days not being wasted. What's the point of showing up, am I right?

Point of fairness: if you are to believe that having more than four beers is in fact binge drinking, I might have some questions to ask myself as well. But not now, cause I’m a senior at college whooo!!! Edward Forty Hands mother fuckers!

Here's a recent quote that has been going on with the recent influx of fresh meat men girls: its not goodbye... its see ya later. There is an inherent difference? It sounds like some sort of Diet Coke commercial. We're not differentiating between Apples and Balzac here folks, you’re saying parting words twice with the same meaning.

Why is goodbye such a bad thing? True, no one says "Let's say our final 'see ya laters' to Grandpa," when they push their kids into the hospital room, but I like goodbye. It's formal, it's straightforward, it's to the point. I also enjoy its shortened "bye" form, which is easier to use in the fickle world of the "how personal do I want to get?" society that we live in. If a loved one said "see ya later" to me, I'd probably ask when and where so I could stand them up for not giving me a proper fucking goodbye.

Is being traded in baseball for a player to be named later one of the most humiliating things one can go through? Your team wants you gone so bad that they usually pay the other team to take you off of their hands AND don't even have the time to figure out what they are getting in return for your services. They are so desperate to get you out of their jersey that they'll trust the other team will give them something of equal value. In the mean time, get the fuck out, you black hole of victory.

I'll never understand why when you're in a library or some place studying on campus and the person next to you gets up to use the lavatory they ask you to watch their stuff. This person is asking you--a complete stranger--to please watch their laptop from being stolen by other complete strangers. Your trustworthiness is based specifically on your proximity to the valuable object. I'd love to see this in prison where the warden leaves and leaves the jail in control of the closest inmate.

To close, I'll leave with you something I did this past weekend. My mom called me in mid-August explaining that the annual Anton Family Reunion would feature a comedic drumming on some members of the family who are turning 50 or 60 over the course of 2007. One of those lucky few heading towards seriously considering joining the AARP was my father. Mom thought that since every other sub-family was doing something for their chosen older person, I should write a roast of my dad for her to read aloud.

My audience is a group of people who mostly laugh at very easy, simple things, such as mugs for 40th birthdays that read, "I'm not 40, I'm just Twenty Twice!" If you read the first 600 words, you can kind of see how this is going to turn out. While I toned down a lot of my stuff (for example, no jokes about fucking or dead relatives, or both), it was not very well received, especially jokes about Poland. We're a 100% Polish family, with me--part Irish--being the freak. So in love with the motherland are they that the other Anton sect formed their own Polka band for weddings, and, uh, Polka festivals? I don’t know. Wherever there are parogies. Here is an excerpt from the opening:

I hope today finds all of you well, clearly meaning that the Anton Family Polka Band is 100 feet away from their instruments like my court order instructed, carried out in the name of “good music.” By no means would I try and demerit the skill of the performers. I’m sure they play Polka to the most of its enjoy ability: sounding like a belt sander in three-four time. My only regret is when Russia and Germany expunged Poland they didn’t take Polka with it.

Oh Christmas gifts and Birthday cards, it's not goodbye, it's just "see ya never."

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