Hilarity

How do we define what is funny and what is not funny? Everybody seems to have a different gauge on it. There are some really successful comedians that I absolutely hate and have never laughed at (Dane Cook), but obviously, since he's so popular, apparently a lot of people disagree with me. Just like I cannot understand how those people think he's funny, those people probably wonder the same thing about me. Back in Springfield, the group of friend's that make up this post, minus Brendan and I, were considered kings (and queen) of hilarity. They formed, in my opinion, a pretty damn good improv troupe. Now don't worry, Allegra. I'm not making this post about improv, or sports, video games, or college for that matter. I'm just simply using improv as an example of what I mean when I say people have different gauges of funny. Like I said, back in Springfield, those guys were masters of improv. But now, only Nick (bastard) is doing improv, as far as I know. So, apparently people here have a different view on the comic talent of my friends. And honestly, aside from Titanic Players, I don't think that the improv troupes here are funny. Right back atcha, bitches.

I think that I'm generally a pretty funny guy, and that's something I pride myself on. My type of humor is relatively cruel, but at the same time rarely offends people. As for when it does, I apologize. I promise I don't mean it. And if I do say something cruel and mean it, it's probably not a joke and I probably don't like you. I also like to be committed to jokes, and that seems to be a recurring theme in our group as well. I myself think that that is the key to making the funniest jokes. It gives a firm, funny base to build from and make more branching, hilarious jokes. Example: me being dubbed "Classic Brian". To my knowledge, nothing negative has come from it. It was intended by Conor and Eliot to be offensive, and I think that they were a little shocked when I embraced it. But here I am, and it always makes my day whenever someone calls me classic, especially when they don't know about the joke or don't know me very well.

I also realize that there are many other forms of "comedy" out there. Since I know for a fact that Robert loves blog posts in which he receives compliments, here's a shout out to him. Robert has mastered a type of funny to which I can't really put a name. He's come up with the comedy gold idea that he'll change his personality with the seasons and see how thrown off people will get. Autumn Robert was bro Robert, and I personal found it to be chill as fuck. Good work, bro. Can't wait to see next season's emergence. He's also deadlocked in a spite war with Eliot for all eternity. Keep it up, fellas. Then there are those really over-the-top, loud and obnoxious people who think that making obvious jokes is a good idea. It's not. Stop it. Stop it now. There's a reason everyone else in the room didn't make the joke. It's not because you're infinitely more clever and arrived at the joke first. It's because it's a stupid joke that's been beaten to death by other stupid people like yourself (This is me not joking and intentionally being cruel). One person in particular comes to mind right off the bat, and I really can't stand to be around him. I physically fled his presence, which is something I've never done to another human being before. There's also skit comedy, which I tried out for, but I realize that I'm not really a fan. Granted, you meet and you write the script and make it a funny situation, but from there it's just an acting contest. I think true humor is being able to make stuff up on the spot, go with it, build from it, and be able to reference back to it later.

These are just my humble opinions. Obviously there are infinitely more forms of humor than the like 3 I mentioned, but those are the first ones that came to me. You're entitled to disagree, and I'm entitled to respond, "FUCK YOU." Jokingly, of course.

P.S. - Puns. Are. Not. Funny. Sorry, baby.

Conor - Food Is Really Great When I'm Hungry

Years from now I will look back on my freshmen year here at OU and realize that this was the best year of my life. Food wise.

I really can't say "years from now" if I'm acknowledging it now, but shit girl, I am eating like a king.

Every fucking day I go to that the cafeteria you see above (of which you're seeing about a fourth) and I enjoy an unrealistically good meal. Here are the normal contents of my meal.

- About half of my first plate is filled with white rice and General Tso's chicken. It's really good here. It doesn't compare to China Wok back home, it lacks the spicy kick, but other than that I honestly like it more than most other General Tso's I have tried at places where I pay real money.

- Mashed Potatoes usually makes an appearance. I often overestimate the amount of mashed potatoes I want, but I follow through. I always follow through.

- I haven't found out the schedule yet, but every now and again French Toast Sticks show up and I immediately abandon all previous plans, and stock up.

- At the end of every meal I go "I'll be right back, guys. I'm gonna get something else." I invariably come back with a single roll of bread. It's always delicious. I butter it when I'm feeling uppity. I always feel uppity.

- There's this awesome breakfast bar where they have like, 16 types of cereal on tap. Sure, you could just get a bowl full of your favorite brand, but that's so lame. The name of the game is combining cereal. It's all about strategy. Frosted Flakes is greeeat and so is Cookie Crisp, but do they combine well? Unfortunately, no. You need to think about what compliments what. Trial and error is all you can really do, but even the worst disaster is educational and somewhat tasty. My best combination thus far = bottom layer of Fruity Pebbles, middle layer of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, top layer of Lucky Charms. Hellll yeah.

- There's a dessert bar I don't go to often because I'm extremely boring, but to those who are cooler and more interesting than me, it's there. My friend Kevin always gets Cobbler or something. Apparently it's tasty.

- I occasionally get a few carrots or grapes. There! I'm eating healthy, see.

Because of Ultimate Frisbee, I was originally like yeah, hell yeah, I'm definitely going to lose weight. Then I didn't and I still haven't and it's all the Cafe's fault. The Cafe is a trap. A beautiful, beautiful trap. Every week I get 10 meals here. Sunday at midnight, those are renewed. If I don't use all of them, they don't rollover. So I should really use them. So I go here all the time. All of the time.

When I went home for the weekend, I looked forward to seeing Mom and Dad and Katie and my friends and everyone I had missed blahblahblahblahblah, but mostly Steak N' Shake and Little Saigon. Those define Springfield as much Butler's playground and SHS's gravel lot do. I took them for granted at the time, but never again.

There are some really good ones here, too. Other than the Cafe. I already sortof want to start weaning myself off of the Cafe. My Cafe mortality is sinking in. I won't have it next year. I can't always depend on it. So let's focus on the things I can enjoy next year. Freebirds! Freebirds is a burrito chain that I think originated in Texas and has spread into Oklahoma. Would you look at that, everyone. Texas did some good. Until Thanksgiving everything at Freebirds is half off for OU students which is k k k krazy as ballz. I've been going there reeeally often. Also there's a place here called Pad Thai (alternative title: Rad Thai) and it's effectively replaced Little Saigon for me. It's not quite as good, but hey. I have to use what I got.

Sometimes I think about eating better but then I don't and I don't forsee that cycle ending. It's a dull guilt, so I'm not all that worried about it. It's comparable to not going to church when you seriously meant to (this example is for a lot of people) or not doing your music theory homework (this example is for Mada). You shrug it off, and then go on with your day.

If you're waiting for an analogy or a some kind of deeper meaning to this post, wuh-oh. It totally doesn't exist. I just had some really good food earlier today and I was fully aware of it and it rocked. So go out there, gang! Go eat some food and chew it slowly and swallow it slowly and then think about it a little bit. And then eat some more food.

I discovered food and you guys can all thank me later.

Things I Love But Used To Hate

by Brendan Cavanagh

Throughout my life, I've consistently found that disliking and ultimately complaining about my distaste for a variety of things- people, places, activities, movies, food, etc.- has kept me thriving. I don't know what it is, but sometimes I simply love hating something. For example, in my junior year American Literature class there were a number of kids who had an either cynical or erroneous opinion about every novel, poem and short story we read, and it drove me mad! I would literally knock about papers and pens on my desk in exasperation, exhale rudely and loudly and give the teacher a look of utter disgust. But then I would jump into the discussion and do my best to disprove every point the previous speaker made, often to no avail, as some students were exceptionally mulish. The point is, though, complaining about anything is what drives me to maneuver past obstacles and succeed.

Occasionally, however, I will take a leap off my pedestal up in the clouds and admit that I was wrong in my opinions about any one of the aforementioned subjects. As a result, I have been able to take what used to be anathema and accept it as part of my identity at this point in time. Of course, my current tastes are apt to change in the future, but I'll worry about that fork in the road when I get there. Anyway, here's a list of things of love now, but used to hate:

One. Vegetables

I can distinctly recall several dinner scenes involving me staring in horror at the green menace that was invading my steak and potatoes: steamed green beans. Just looking at them literally caused me to recoil in terror. The hot, thick, malodorous steam wafted into my nose and triggered the gag reflexes at the back of my throat, as if I had just witnessed someone vomiting and subsequently smelled their vomit. As my parents prodded me into cleaning my plate, and in those final moments in which everything else was consumed except the green beans, I sometimes began to tear up in desperation. In order to alleviate myself of the taste, I would frantically drown the green beans in A1 steak sauce and reluctantly lift the fork to my mouth and drop. After I chewed up the disgusting mush, I was forced to do nothing else but swallow it. A couple times my throat closed itself up and I sort of pathetically choked on my green beans a bit. I still don't really care for steamed green beans, but since childhood I've developed an appreciation for many other types of vegetables. I like the way onions add so much flavor to French Onion Soup, or the way broccoli tastes when it's steamed and mixed into a cheesy sauce, and I've always been a sucker for potatoes. I don't really know why many children hate vegetables so much. Some suggest that it is the unappetizing color, but that's never what bothered me. I think my problem, at least, has been one of texture (i.e. diced celery, diced onions, mushy green beans).

Two. Milk

While I'm on the subject of embarrassing childhood dinners, why don't I go ahead and discuss my previous aversion to milk? I used to drink milk like a fiend, like any other toddler. But then once I grew up a bit and began attending grade school at St. Agnes, I was subjected to the atrocities committed daily in our cafeteria. I won't even begin to discuss the food situation, but one of my biggest qualms was the awful stuff that was cafeteria milk. You know, the kind in the paper cartons, which, when you opened the tops, got torn paper mixed up with the milk so you wound up drinking 3/4 milk and 1/4 wet paper. Made for an interesting milk mustache. I couldn't stand to drink it, or to watch one of the cleaning volunteers drink someone's half-consumed carton of milk after they disposed of their tray, and therefore went on the milk wagon for a number of years. For the entirety of the rest of my grade school years I brought a plastic bag containing a juice pack and some candy to lunch everyday to make up for my lack of calcium intake. And when I'd go home and eat dinner, I was forced to drink at least a glass of milk, which usually warmed up in the time I spent avoiding drinking it. It wasn't until about the end of junior high that I finally had myself a super cold glass of milk. And man, was it delicious. Milk is literally the most natural drink in the world (it comes from mammals!), and when it is served in a frosty glass with wisps of cold air emanating from it, I go nuts.

Three. Getting emotional During Movies

I was never a hard-ass or anything, but in my youth I rarely let a movie affect me to the point where I broke down and started crying or anything (except for the climactic bridge scene in Annie- I really didn't have any hope for her. I hid behind a chair, never looking away, but cried my eyes out the whole time). Even when I completed the tear-jerker eleven-season finale of my favorite show, M*A*S*H, I didn't allow myself to shed a tear (though I damn near when Col. Potter broke down saying goodbye to Klinger). Or even when millions of viewers lost it completely at the end of Season Three, when (SPOLIER!) Radar reports that a beloved character has been killed on his/her flight home. But as of late, something inside me has happened, and my rough exterior has been cast aside for a softer one. These days, movies kill me. Even the cheesiest ones, or those devoid of anything emotional in them. My mom says I'm a true Irishman. I think the first time I've cried during a movie in a long time was when I watched Ordinary People (particularly from 2:38 - 3:43 of this scene).

Four. Girls

This is almost a lie because I fell in love with girls in first grade. A lot of other guys ran around and hit girls or lynched their beanie babies or avoided them like the plague, but not me. Sometimes I took part in the gym-wide girl chases because for one, I wanted to fit in, and secondly because it gave me a chance to interact with them. But I thought I'd just throw this in because nobody really thinks about girls til grade school really, and so technically I didn't like girls at one point. What a turnaround, eh?

Five. Nyquil

Nyquil, like vegetables at one point made my throat close of its own volition. I detested the stench, which like the ubiquitous color of all cold and flu relief liquids, I can only describe as "red." My sister (I won't say which), unfortunately, still can't drink Nyquil. It's kind of humorous and sad to watch her prepare for an hour, ultimately holding her nose and tipping her head back in order to force the stuff down most efficiently and without much pain. But like with Number Three, something happened in my genetic code that has made me, as of late, fall in love with Nyquil. Having a cold can really take it out of me, but there's honestly nothing better than submitting yourself to sleep at the end of the night, by dabbing a little Vick's Vapo-rub on my chest, squelching a heavy amount of Bag Balm (yeah, that "Cow Stuff") out of the tin can and rubbing it under my sore nose, and topping off everything with a quenching 30 ml of Nyquil. I kind of like the taste. Then I'll lie in bed, suddenly all cozy and warm under my covers, and listen to some music as the Nyquil suddenly takes on the effect of a mild psychedelic. Music is much more palpable and heavy, and bursts of color cloud my fuzzy dreams. This has led me to determine that I have a cold when I probably don't have one.

Six. Black and White Movies/Widescreen

Nothing pissed me off more as a kid than a black and white movie. There was nothing inherently wrong with the film, except for its discoloration. I could pass up movies like Casablanca or Citizen Cane in favor of The Master of Disguise, simply because Dana Carvey had a little more tone in his complexion. Crazy, I know! And then if a movie was in widescreen, ugh! I couldn't even watch it. Eventually my tastes in cinema became a little more refined and I began to appreciate films for their intrinsic value and their quality rather than their color. And once I got used to more and more movies being released in widescreen on DVD, which I figured out shows more of the shot than fullscreen, I got over it.

Eight. Coffee/Shaving

What can I say? I'm a man now.

Nine. Cleaning My Room

Until about a year or two ago, you couldn't make me fold my laundry for all the money in the world, until I deemed it a necessary time to do so. And my desk was always cluttered with little toy figurines and magnets and papers and graphite smears, the products of my incessant experimenting and cartooning. Nowadays, however, I like everything in its place. I like to have more room in my room. I sort of feel like a cluttered room is a cluttered mind. Unfortunately, my roommates never learned that. I feel like I'm slowly dying of asphyxiation as my roommates laundry piles up, and they leave their books and papers and rock-climbing gear and yoga mats and prized collection of pizza boxes, which we discovered to harbor rancid ranch sauce and cheese that could grow its own sweaters. On the contrary, I'm in the most organized and cleanest shape in my entire life. It'll be nice to have my own place someday. I'm going to have the least amount of everything and the most space. Think of all the activities I could do!

Thus concludes another one of my myriad lists. I'm sure everyone has a number of things they like to eat, watch or do that they used to deplore. It's a natural part of growing up- we constantly adjust our personalities in the attempts of discovering our true identity. And even then, identities can always use some readjustment.

(I had a really bad idea for a title, but I changed it)

Ladies love it, old guys preach it, and most people generally try to avoid the subject altogether...

Religion.

Some of your eyes may have just glued themselves to this post, but more than likely you had the urge to roll them.

It's mere mention can bring a two-hundred mile an hour conversation to a violent halt within milliseconds. Nobody wants to talk about their beliefs in higher beings and there's plenty of reasons why.

Namely, it's awkward as shit.

Not so much when you're at church gabbing with the old ladies there (where do they GO after service?), but rather when you're at the lunch table, and bringing up Jesus may offend somebody in your direct vicinity.

I'm a wavering Christian, God and I have ups and downs. By no means does it define me. But, I mean, did you see how defensive that last sentence sounded? Why are people so embarrassed to throw themselves into a stance of forged faith? I don't get what it is about God that makes people so pretentious, but non-Christians can be total assholes about Christian people. Maybe that's what makes us so shy. The consistent scoffing and guffawing of self-righteous atheists (as opposed to non-self-righteous atheists, because they exist too) is enough to turn a vulnerable young teen struggling with his identity into a sharer of that belief. It's easy to be condescending and judgmental. I've had my flirtations with pretending to be above everyone before, and it's easy. By putting someone down you're essentially making a positive comparison to yourself. It's kind of like how every action has an equal/opposite reaction. E.g. "You're fat. (I'm not.)" "You're stupid. (I'm smarter than you.)" If you were ever wondering why asshole kids make fun of fatties in elementary school, bam. That's why.

Anyway, in a separate paragraph that should have been the second half of the previous paragraph, it's hard to grow up a Christian, commit to the faith, keep it, and then be able to broach the subject without it being practically beaten out of you.

What if someone's religion is different? If I proclaim that I love Jesus, does that offend my Jewish friend sitting three spots down from me? I've always wondered how I would feel in that situation, but I suppose I never will know. The fact is, if you are a true believer in God, it is a HUGE part of your life. HUGE. As in, it effects your family life, who you befriend, how you treat people, and your activities outside of school. It doesn't necessarily make them better, either, that isn't what I'm trying to say. However you pray before dinner, you celebrate Christmas in more ways than presents, you don't make friends with the middle school badasses (though you really want to), you try and be charitable when possible, also you have things to do on Sundays and, of course, summer camp.

All this, and you barely mention it to some of your closest friends.

When you hear kids talk about bible camp, and why it's so awesome, they'll give you a bunch of bullshit, but the fact is they feel great about loving God. Church camp works like this. Take hundreds of kids who are Christian enough to agree to suffer through a week focused on God, put them with other kids who share their beliefs to a certain degree, make them talk about the bible, and then let them talk about other stuff. Now see what happens. First off, ice? Broken. Everyone here is guilty of being Christian (or of the same religion, because other religions have camps too, I'm just using Christianity as an example). Anyway, everyone here is Christian. They can talk about their beliefs, what led them to their faith, aka family. You can't talk about your family with kids you meet at school. It's just not as easy. So within a couple days, you have a good foundation to form friendships on.

It's great, it's fun, it's easy to make friends. But, most downplayed is the fact that it's also easy to get close to God. To think with extra benevolence, and to regard even your enemies with compassion. It works. For like two weeks, maybe three if you're serious. The reason why this feeling of faith and belief (which is amazing, by the way) doesn't last? Because when summer camp is over, the real world reclaims its hold over your life. You face your parents' restrictions, you face schoolwork, you face the cool kids, you face Lil Wayne's music and phase out those praise songs that are catchy as hell, simply put, this world doesn't want you to hold your faith in high regard. If it's there, that's fine, it guesses, just don't make a big deal out of it. That's when it gets awkward.

So, what is God? Is it a dude? Is it a chick? Or is it just an economic tool? Is it a way to sway the people and keep them under control? Frankly, we don't know. We can believe one thing or another, but somebody of contrary belief will be waiting for you to shove some doubt into your head the moment you believe you've reached clarity. Why do we put other people's beliefs down? (Quick, use the theory we created earlier!) Because it makes what they believe seem more right by comparison. Nobody wants to feel wrong. Everybody has been taught that their religion is pure and preaches peace. Isn't it kinda fucked up that religion provokes so much violence?

I'm not certain when religion was created. Maybe it was when someone thought, "how the hell did I get here?" or later on "why the hell am I here?" "what am I supposed to do while I wander this planet?" Maybe it was "what happens when we die?" (quick aside: I used to plead for a zombie outbreak, that was before I moved to Champaign. Now if that happened? I'm fucked) or maybe it's "how do we keep people unafraid of death?" it could have been "how do we keep people from acting selfishly and being total assholes?" All are tough questions. All might cause ones to throw their hands up in the air and wish they could push their problems on to someone else.

The big question: is there an answer? Does divinity exist? It's hard to proclaim that yes, there is a God. It's a weighty claim. But perhaps it's even harder to say no. At least for me. Because I want to believe. On my better days I do.

So why not believe? Maybe it's too big of a risk to take. The fear of being let down is too much. Maybe you don't want to care, to be roped into the intense ferocious debates. Maybe it's because your older brother doesn't believe in God and he's right about everything. Maybe you don't want to sound pretentious like those other boastful Christians that your friends make fun of. Maybe you just didn't have time.

Who's got it better? The believers and faith-filled or the non-chalant passive atheists? I've got my beliefs, and though you may not see it, I cherish them. I choose not to boast because frankly you probably don't give a damn. You're allowed your beliefs. Allow me mine. Religion is a big deal. You have to acknowledge it, at some point or another. If you think you won't, ask yourself again when you have minutes to live and still are interested in your personal future. What happens when we die? Because, let's recall, we all die. I don't know what it is, but damn, it's gotta be something right?

At least I'd like to think so. Thanks for listening.

--Eliot Sill

PS-I titled it "God Post", but most of you never would have gotten here.

Yo

Heeeeey. Sorry for the out of turn post. I just thought I'd throw it out there that I'm considering starting my own blogspot just for random posts about shit that I may have on my mind on days other than Saturday. It may be funny stuff or it may be more serious, but I think it's something I wanna do. Don't worry, I'll still be hilarious on this blog on Saturdays. I just thought I'd let people know about this in case they wanna read about me some more, since I'm so deep and interesting. I'll update anyone who wants after I get it started. Thanks.

-Classic

Spontaneity - Mada

Hey guys? How's you night going? I'm assuming most of you are still awake, sitting in your dorms working on homework or wasting time some other way, probably on the internet. Where am I? In Springfield actually. Why? No idea.

Today i called my sister around 3:45 and asked her what she was doing. She said she was sitting at our dining room table petting the cat, eating candy and talking to mom and dad. She had come home to vote since she's still registered in Springfield. Well for some reason this sounded like the absolute best thing in the world to me and I was extremely jealous. "Then come home" was Allegra's advice. What an irrational idea. I can't go home. For one I have class at 4. Then there was the three hours of homework to which I had planned to devote my night. Also, what was the point of going home for just one night? One school night, no less. And how was I supposed to get there? I considered these reasonable questions for about 3 more seconds. Then I realized that I didn't really have any desire to go to my next class, I could call my oldest sister to borrow her car and the point of going home for one night was to live my life however the fuck I want. So I quickly turned around and headed back to my dorm to pack.

I got to Springfield, hung out with my sister and parents, ate Halloween candy, went out to eat somewhere that didn't serve dorm food, visited Jake, and now I'm going to go find my cat to annoy. This was absolutely a great idea.

If I have learned anything in my eighteen years of existence, it is that life can get pretty effing mundane. You do the same things every day, you get stressed over nothing, and you never get enough sleep. The way to fix this is to sometimes do something illogical. Like drive home on a Tuesday. Or go to an orchard. Or decide to go to taste of Chicago at 2 in the afternoon and don't think about the fact that it means eight hours of driving for four hours in the city. IT'S WORTH IT. There's always time tomorrow, you can always catch on sleep this weekend, and you can never get back today.

Nick - Party!

Forgive me for beating a dead horse, but it's time we talked about college parties. (Sorry Allegra.) Now, I've been to a few parties in my day, but I want to talk a little bit more about the huge frat parties that are the norm here.

The disclaimer you should have here is that I'm awful at parties. Remember that post I wrote about parties a long time ago that I linked to up there? I'm the guy who doesn't talk to anybody or make any friends. Anyway, despite this, I love a good party just as much as anybody else. But that's kind of what I'm here to talk about.

The last party I went to was huge. The music was so loud you couldn't have a coherent conversation with anyone. The beer pong room was designed to accommodate many games in a condensed and efficient space. It was, by all college standards, a grand party.

And, for me, it was just about the least exciting thing I can imagine. It was impossible to have a conversation with anyone. If you took away the music and the mass of people, you still wouldn't be able to have a conversation with anyone; they were too drunk to say anything coherent.

Now, I'm not that naive. I know that most of the people who go to these parties only care about hooking up and the like. But man, let me tell you, it's pretty vicious. There are girl who are too drunk to be understood when talking; there are guys who walk around and try to press their lips against any girl who looks too drunk to protest.

It's all basic economics. Frats provide the beer in exchange for women; but it's not really that straight forward. There are a couple of points I want to make about the cultural impact here. Let's start by talking about a guy I know.

His parents wanted him to have everything; they send him packages of food regularly because the worry about him. He was quiet and shy. He used to make his bed every morning. He would study diligently, for hours a day. And now he ends most of his nights drinking at frat parties. This culture is hurting people. It's become a norm; it's not even thought of as irresponsible or unusual among college kids anymore. How else are you supposed to make friends? It's hard to find parties that focus on anything other than excessive drinking. It sucks people in with social pressure.

That's the kind of effect this is having. Now let's think about the cause for a moment. Again, this drink-till-you-drop culture is all focused around hooking up. This seemed really strange to me for awhile; if people want to hook up, why don't they just do it? Why is the drinking necessary? But I think I understand.

If you just have sex with guys, you're a slut. Why? I don't know, we decided that it's that way. "But," we say, "if you're drunk, you weren't in control of yourself; you weren't really responsible." It's become more than an enabler; it's become the only means of expressing sexuality without being judged, because our culture isn't cool with being open about sexuality.

And I wish I had more to go on, but that's the end of the paper trail. I don't agree with you, partiers, but I understand why you're doing what you're doing, be it because of social pressure, the lack of alternatives, or the enablement that alcohol gives you. And I guess to a degree I pity you.

-Nick.

p.s.: I'm not trying to imply that drinking in itself is bad; it definitely has it's place. I'm just discussing the scenarios in which it is abused or dangerous.

EDIT: I wasn't clear enough about what my point was. There's nothing wrong with drinking. There's nothing wrong with partying. The point I'm trying to make here is that drinking culture here has been taken too far; beyond the realm of fun parties or just making connections at fraternities. It's become a serious problem for some people and it's become difficult to get into the fraternity scene without involving heavy drinking. I'm stating that our culture, specifically at U of I, has a drinking problem, and it's seriously capable of hurting people and encroaching on the rich culture that we could have. While drinking at parties can be fun, it has been so overblown that people are encouraged to drink a dangerous amount.

Why I Am Happy

--Robert Langellier

Monday night was a late one. I didn’t get down until 1:51 am, which is late because I have an 8 am class every morning of the week that I have never missed. Just before I switched off the light, I informed my roommate Dylan of my plans to end my Iron Man streak. I did. I slept in the next morning, apparently putting a refreshing end to what had so far been a short, shitty week. Until, that is, I found out the next day we’d had a quiz that morning, one of four so far. The highest potential grade I could now have was a 75%, raised slightly by the few compositions I’d gotten 80s on.

It’s really weird how one little event can become a nutshell for your week. I keep coming back to that one absence as the turning point of it. The kind of turning point where a downward slope becomes an even more downward slope. In fairness, I didn’t really have that bad of a week. It was just a typical downer period where your happy hormones are under temporary maintenance and you focus on the bad things and the stress builds and every day is cloudy and you can’t wait for another turning point to reset your footing on life.

Besides that stupid French quiz, I had a huge journalism test to worry about all week, with no study guides or knowledge of any readings or lectures to go off of. There’s been the frustration of a creeping dry skin problem on my face that refuses to moisturize quietly. It had been months since I’d seen anyone from home. I had a three-day internship lined up for the paper I work for that would consume a couple weeknights. College was beginning to get to me. The one thing I had to look forward was a magical Halloween weekend ahead visiting old friends at the University of Illinois. But life would not have it that way.

I discovered Wednesday morning that my internship was slated until Friday at 5 pm. My ride to Champaign, Illinois was leaving at noon. Noooooooooooooo, right?

It’s really weird how one little event can make you hate everything forever. I keep coming back to that discovery as the moment I decided that the life of the next person I saw was going to end. If I wasn’t going to Champaign for the weekend, someone was going to die, be it my roommate, my RA, or more likely my journalism and French grades. As soon as I reached into Dylan’s chest with my bare hand to rip his beating heart out, my newspaper editor emailed me, saying that my hours on Friday were cancelled. I could leave! Sorry, Dylan.

It’s really weird how one little event can make the sidewalks feel like pillows. I keep coming back to that email as the one that probably saved Dylan’s life.

It’s really weird how a week that was somehow more horrible than the horrible things that happened in it can spin upon itself and right itself. My weekend was as magical as magical can be. I bonded with Sunday (Classic) Brian, rebonded with Monday Nick and Wednesday Eliot, and ran into tons of old friends, some entirely by chance. Hell, the weekend’s not even over. I’m going out again tonight.

At the moment, though, I’m still on the ride back to Mizzou from the whirlwind of Ghosts of Friendships Past. I’m reflecting on how happy I was to see everyone I’ve missed so much. Or how excited my younger brother was to talk to me when I stopped at home on Friday. All my brother and I do is fight. Or how every day I was away from Mizzou I got texts from my new friends telling me how they missed me. Or how I have a very lovely ladyfriend in Springfield who I was lucky enough to see this afternoon. Her eyes are hazel. Or how this cop we’re passing pulled over that guy, and not us. All of these things would have applied to my life on Wednesday, when I was on Cloud 2, or any other time lately. Except maybe the cop. But nothing like them was on my mind on Wednesday.

It’s really weird how life is often more of a cliché than I ever expect it to be, as much as I sometimes want to fight it. I’ve never had anything against clichés, but I usually wish there’s more to life than some little quotable phrase – “Count your blessings.” Sometimes, though, when you focus on the bad things and the stress builds and every day is cloudy and you can’t wait for another turning point to reset your footing on life, it’s pretty comforting to have it a little more simple.