Writing my novel, guys. Fuck off.
-E
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Nick - The Portrait We Paint
I wonder what somebody would think of me if they read my Classic Brian post every week, but never met me in person? While I could just ask Sunday Robert's Mizzou friends, I elect to decipher for myself instead. Here are the caricatures painted by our blog posts, as well as how accurately they reflect our real personalities.
Resemblance: 1/10
Sunday Robert
Reading through Sunday Robert's posts, we start off with many sentimental, introspective posts. Robert maintains a strong streak of sentimentality throughout, with occasional bursts of hilarity. I imagine Classic Brian Robert to be a funny, sentimental recluse, living amongst nature and writing fiction.
Resemblance: 8/10
Monday Nick
My own posts read like a story. A story about a video game-obsessed guy with crushing social anxiety, who suddenly snapped and has been on a rampage ever since.
Resemblance: 3/10
Tuesday Mada
Mada comes and goes as she pleases, and never writes about the same thing twice. We never really know what she's going to write about or what to expect. In fact, her caricature is much like a schizophrenic cat: appearing and receding on no particular schedule, and jumping from one thought to the next.Resemblance: 1/10
Wednesday Eliot
Here we see basically rambling about stuff without getting to a coherent point, intermingled with really interesting posts about various topics. We also get an occasional glimpse at the expert sports journalist lying underneath. He could be some kind of NBA superhero who only comes out to post really late at night, and likes to talk a lot.
Resemblance: 6/10
Thursday Brendan
Brendan's posts paint a picture of somebody who is a very talented writer, an avid fan of Bob Dylan, and generally an overachiever when it comes to writing.
Actually, that pretty much describes him in real life, too. Yeah. Wow.
Resemblance: 10/10
Friday Conor
What facts do we know about Friday Conor? He has a band and he posts really late all the time. But looking through the window of Friday Conor's posts reveals more about him: a guy who goes through frequent and very strange obsessions. In fact, if you read through select posts about Conor's many hobbies, you could very easily imagine him to be a ten-year-old.
Resemblance: 7/10
Classic Brian
Behold, ladies and gentlemen, the Classic Brian. A being of pure spite and ill-will, his only respite from causing havoc is writing lists and half-assing things. I like to picture him as some kind of blogging deity, like the Zeus of Classic Brian, because he is our namesake. Like an evil blogging god, he reigns parody down upon the plight of us mortal bloggers.
Resemblance: 4/10
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Living the Dream
The morning came, and everything was as it was before, and I remembered everything but it didn’t feel real, and it didn’t seem to affect me at all. It was as if the last night, however long it was, hadn’t happened.
A headache pounded my skull like a machine, and I crawled out of bed and ached my way downstairs toward sweet Aspirin. I felt weird. Or I felt normal, and that felt weird, because I didn’t want to feel normal. I wanted my life to be different, and it wasn’t. I wanted to be enlightened, or full of wisdom, or to know and see the same things I did before, but I couldn’t. It was all gone.
I didn’t know what time it was; my watch wasn’t on my wrist. I didn’t remember where it was. At the foot of the stairs, I stopped for a moment, and I tilted my head a bit and saw the panorama of strange pictures on the walls. This wasn’t my house. This was Sophie’s house. I let out a quiet chuckle at the insanity that I could come this far without recognizing I wasn’t where I expected. It was weird how that could happen.
Sophie’s parents weren’t home, and I fixed myself some breakfast in her kitchen, or rather, poured myself some cereal with milk, and I couldn’t find the spoons, so I just held the bowl up to my mouth and drank and ate at the same time. The cereal tasted like cereal, and the walls looked like walls, and the table felt smooth like a table, and the very quietness of the house sounded like silence, and it was all very muddling to me for the reasons already stated. I wondered why the cereal didn’t taste like rock and roll on my tongue, and why the walls didn’t sound like soft velvet in my ears. It was all very much the customary way, and that was troubling. I lifted the cereal bowl high into the air above my head and let it drop, and it shattered loudly and violently on the tile floor, and all I felt was remorse for having broken her thing and soiling her floor, and I was only mad at myself as I knelt and removed the stain that really looked like it almost belonged in the unkempt house, which was really more of a shed than a house. Sophie’s parents were mostly like her, I figured, using things only as they needed them and not spending too much of themselves on the sensitive and nostalgic.
I put the normal broken bowl into the normal trash can and opened the normal door into the open world, and I walked out, and there were no epiphanies to be found that morning in the chirping of the robins or in the arms of the bright sunlight, except maybe in the lack thereof, which wasn’t very satisfying at all. Sophie didn’t live that near to me, and the long walk back home was long, and I felt every minute of it, no more and no less of it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey, guys. It's, uh...been a while since we've talked. It's been about a few months. About a summer, really. I've been busy, you know, just like you. Well, not busy at all, really, which has allowed me to be really very busy. You know, I've had a couple of jobs, but they didn't work too terribly many hours. I took a French class, but that was a joke. Other than my roommates, there wasn't even a full handful of people I knew living in my town. So I uh...wrote a novel! That was an excerpt up there in italics. Do you like it? I like it. It's from chapter 16. There are 28 chapters. It's pretty long. It's 161 pages in Word, which by my best guess might be somewhere a little over 200 pages of a novely book. Yeah, I don't know. I pretty much spent most of all my days this summer either researching or writing it. Six months ago, I never could have imagined I could have done something like this if I hadn't been confronted with a sudden and absolutely vacant summer to do it with. It was a lot of fun, and a lot of tired, but I'm really pretty proud of it, besides the parts of me that are less proud of it. I've been working since the end of May, basically. As a reference point, a couple days before this many posts ago on Classic Brian. I finished Friday, so I guess it took me less than 100 days of work. So far it is as yet untitled. But I did it. I, uh, thought you should know.
Here's a pie graph that I like to call, "Why I Didn't Tell People (Like My Roommates) About This"
A headache pounded my skull like a machine, and I crawled out of bed and ached my way downstairs toward sweet Aspirin. I felt weird. Or I felt normal, and that felt weird, because I didn’t want to feel normal. I wanted my life to be different, and it wasn’t. I wanted to be enlightened, or full of wisdom, or to know and see the same things I did before, but I couldn’t. It was all gone.
I didn’t know what time it was; my watch wasn’t on my wrist. I didn’t remember where it was. At the foot of the stairs, I stopped for a moment, and I tilted my head a bit and saw the panorama of strange pictures on the walls. This wasn’t my house. This was Sophie’s house. I let out a quiet chuckle at the insanity that I could come this far without recognizing I wasn’t where I expected. It was weird how that could happen.
Sophie’s parents weren’t home, and I fixed myself some breakfast in her kitchen, or rather, poured myself some cereal with milk, and I couldn’t find the spoons, so I just held the bowl up to my mouth and drank and ate at the same time. The cereal tasted like cereal, and the walls looked like walls, and the table felt smooth like a table, and the very quietness of the house sounded like silence, and it was all very muddling to me for the reasons already stated. I wondered why the cereal didn’t taste like rock and roll on my tongue, and why the walls didn’t sound like soft velvet in my ears. It was all very much the customary way, and that was troubling. I lifted the cereal bowl high into the air above my head and let it drop, and it shattered loudly and violently on the tile floor, and all I felt was remorse for having broken her thing and soiling her floor, and I was only mad at myself as I knelt and removed the stain that really looked like it almost belonged in the unkempt house, which was really more of a shed than a house. Sophie’s parents were mostly like her, I figured, using things only as they needed them and not spending too much of themselves on the sensitive and nostalgic.
I put the normal broken bowl into the normal trash can and opened the normal door into the open world, and I walked out, and there were no epiphanies to be found that morning in the chirping of the robins or in the arms of the bright sunlight, except maybe in the lack thereof, which wasn’t very satisfying at all. Sophie didn’t live that near to me, and the long walk back home was long, and I felt every minute of it, no more and no less of it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey, guys. It's, uh...been a while since we've talked. It's been about a few months. About a summer, really. I've been busy, you know, just like you. Well, not busy at all, really, which has allowed me to be really very busy. You know, I've had a couple of jobs, but they didn't work too terribly many hours. I took a French class, but that was a joke. Other than my roommates, there wasn't even a full handful of people I knew living in my town. So I uh...wrote a novel! That was an excerpt up there in italics. Do you like it? I like it. It's from chapter 16. There are 28 chapters. It's pretty long. It's 161 pages in Word, which by my best guess might be somewhere a little over 200 pages of a novely book. Yeah, I don't know. I pretty much spent most of all my days this summer either researching or writing it. Six months ago, I never could have imagined I could have done something like this if I hadn't been confronted with a sudden and absolutely vacant summer to do it with. It was a lot of fun, and a lot of tired, but I'm really pretty proud of it, besides the parts of me that are less proud of it. I've been working since the end of May, basically. As a reference point, a couple days before this many posts ago on Classic Brian. I finished Friday, so I guess it took me less than 100 days of work. So far it is as yet untitled. But I did it. I, uh, thought you should know.
Here's a pie graph that I like to call, "Why I Didn't Tell People (Like My Roommates) About This"
Robert Langellier
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Back To School
Next Saturday I'll be back at U of I, so this is my last post coming to you from Springfield for awhile. I thought I'd take this opportunity to beat the dead of what going back to college means for me.
Pros:
1. It's college
2. Ultimate freedom
3. I have a cool major so I actually enjoy learning things
4. A whole new social group to be part of
5. I actually conserve money better in college because of my lack of income
6. Meals that feel free but actually aren't (they're just prepaid)
7. Reuniting with college friends
8. Everything I need in one (relatively) small area
9. I don't have to drive anywhere and therefore don't have to pay for gas
10. Did I mention it was college?
Cons:
1. No mo family
2. (Half) my Springfield friends will be elsewhere
3. I have to do laundry
4. I have to pay for laundry
5. No more home cooked meals
6. Homework
7. Smaller living space
8. No video store
9. More tuition payments
10. I can't take the Wii with me
-Classic
Pros:
1. It's college
2. Ultimate freedom
3. I have a cool major so I actually enjoy learning things
4. A whole new social group to be part of
5. I actually conserve money better in college because of my lack of income
6. Meals that feel free but actually aren't (they're just prepaid)
7. Reuniting with college friends
8. Everything I need in one (relatively) small area
9. I don't have to drive anywhere and therefore don't have to pay for gas
10. Did I mention it was college?
Cons:
1. No mo family
2. (Half) my Springfield friends will be elsewhere
3. I have to do laundry
4. I have to pay for laundry
5. No more home cooked meals
6. Homework
7. Smaller living space
8. No video store
9. More tuition payments
10. I can't take the Wii with me
-Classic
Thursday, August 11, 2011
The Concert for Bangladesh
by Brendan Cavanagh
Sometimes you get really into an album or a specific artist or band for a while, and it dominates your vinyl-turning, or your iPod-scrolling or vehicular cruising. And then one day, you're listening to something else and your fixation transfers almost entirely to the point where you forget that you have the music you were previously listening to. This is unfortunate. However, that album or whatever is made infinitely better when one day you listen to it again and not only does its value hold up after time, but it sounds even better when revisited! That's when you know you've chosen a solid album that will remain in your collection for a long time (hopefully forever).
One such album is the Concert for Bangladesh, put on by George Harrison, his close friend Ravi Shankar and many of his most notable rock 'n' roll friends. This is a compendium of concert recordings I've had in my possession for quite some time, but at the tail end of Summa '11 it's received a considerable amount of listening.
When exposed to the abject poverty and malnourished suffering of the deprived citizens of Bangladesh, Ravi Shankar, a brilliantly talented Indian sitar player, turned to his close friend George Harrison of the Beatles to help him aid the starving masses. Consequently, Harrison decided to put on two benefit concerts at New York City's Madison Square Garden to raise awareness of the sad situation and accrue a healthy amount of monetary contribution.
To open each show, Ravi Shankar and a team of three or four other Indian musicians set the mood for the pending rock portion of the show by opening up with a lengthy, albeit intriguing and entertaining set of traditional Indian music. I mostly skip over this portion when listening to or viewing the concert, but it is still definitely enjoyable.
So many talented rock stars joined him in celebrating a jiving and animated second half: Eric Clapton on guitar, Billy Preston on the organ, former fellow Beatle Ringo Starr on drums, Leon Russell on piano and guitar, with special guest Bob Dylan, whose songs are stripped down and soulful. And there were countless backing vocals, bras, string and percussion accompaniments.
Some highlights:
The high-spirited, super-collaborative show opener, "Wah Wah:"
Billy Preston's frenzied, interpretive dance that accompanies his heart-rending "That's The Way God Planned It:"
Leon Russell expertly constructing a playful medley of "Jumpin' Jack Flash / Youngblood:"
Bob Dylan shyly walking onstage from the wings to kick off his mini-set with "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall:"
And the show-closing theme song, "Bangla Desh:"
FIGHT HUNGER. PLAY MUSIC.
Corner cutting (extended edition)
Mostly inappropriate,
socially dope but bogus wit
a side of champagne for ya dumb brain
got no problems except dealin with pain
dealin and administration
waiting for my turn
yeah i'm real fuckin' patient
nothin' to do, but think about you
you might as well quit dancin'
and tell me somethin' cruel
or maybe somethin' cool
or maybe somethin' else
statistically irrelevant,
i try and tell myself
now i'm waitin' on wealth
and i'll be waitin' in a few
got red money for days but
what the fuck can i do
just a man on a mission
a plan on which im pissin
a stand that im takin'
a dream i'm mistakin'
my misfortunes are wakin'
me up from my dreams
like tellin' me to get real
life ain't what it seems
to be
or maybe just not what it seems to me
it seems to me that this shit's obscene
but ey, it's free
you could take it you could leave it
don't matter to me
just another soul
who don't want it anymore
and yeah i hit the floor
live it up a little bit
make myself look like an ass
try and donald glover it
a white black nerd
who get down a little bit
like its cool to piss yourself
where the fuck is billy at
dumbass in a philly cap
in the place that we get silly at
nah it's really that
i ain't got time for ya'll
motha fuckas gotta ball
8-5 at the mall
got so much money that i don't know what to do with
so many problems that i don't know how to deal with
like how i ain't got money yet i still sit here and say shit
this rhyme's a funky thought, just somethin' for you to play with
and you know you don't rap, so i know you can't say shit
but when may hits, you'll be out there lickin my pay slips
look it up on ya bracelet
see what that fuckin play meant
these words are just my chess pieces
i need an X to play with
see damn son i got it
this flow inside my noggin
you're readin this and noddin
tryin' to think of what i've thoughten
and yeah i'm makin' words up
and yeah i got my courage up
and yeah i've got a surplus
of bullshit i can serve ya
but damn i hope you like me
my lyrics and my typing
my ranting and my writing
my bullshit and insighting
can't say i'm bottled lightning
but yeah i'm throttled, fighting
striving for the top of
whatever mountain i'm climbing
don't let me get you off track
and bring this classic shit back
to something that is in tact
and not a fuckin' train rack
i mean a fuckin' trainwreck
im groggy yo, my brain's wet
i'm soggy 'cause my brain's wet
i'm ballin' with no paycheck
just cuz i ain't got paid yet
don't mean that i don't got bread
throw some butter on that Wonder
after i toast it way black
that's burnt, get it?
the metaphor's dyspeptic
my flow is straight up septic
my breath smells straight like pickles
and my brain is always hectic
i am a frantic freewrite
with no aim and no guide
it's so plain, it's so nice
i'm so plane, i'm so high
i'm not though, chicago,
sealevel, el lago
here i go, espanol
this shit's too much to handle
if you don't like what i say
click any link and go away
i promise you this shit i made
was instant like the package say
and instinct like it's what i say
if you ask me to write a rhyme
so please don't write a complaint
i wish i had a refrain
some relief
some nice peace
where i could make this rhyme lead
where i could make this rhyme go
it's fuckin' silly, I know
i'm sorry bout my swearin,
mainly only to my parents
cuz everyone else who reads this
already know that we're friends
i'm hatin' on my blog,
i'm hatin' on myself
i guess this makes it pity rap
which means that i can go to hell
but yo i know you're tired as fuck
of readin' shit like this that sucks,
so i'm about to cut it off,
like a corner of a street
but i can't even cut off shit,
cuz' i don't even have a beat
so i guess i'll just stop writin' words
and hope you'll like in your head what you've heard.
random freestyle inspired by Kanye and Jay-Z. I just picked up Watch the Throne, and as someone with thoughts, I feel obligated to shine my light on the superduo's album.
Kanye West and Jay-Z have different styles. If you pick up their own work, you will hear much different brands of hip-hop. West tones down his evil creative genius, Jay-Z opens up, as it just feels like he's trying on Kanye's vision for size. It's a happy medium. It's a play album. This album is a hip-hop slumber party. Jay's stayin' at Ye's house! I picture them in one piece pajamas, eating pizza and playing Grand Theft Auto IV. It's a one player game, they can't both play simultaneously, but they naturally trade off missions and keep each other engaged.
Presenting this album to you is a crazy awesome amalgam of producers, spearheaded by Kanye. Kanye only made one song (Otis) by himself, but had a part in all but 3 songs of the original album. Swizz Beats put together beats for two of the songs, which makes me pretty happy. It's interesting to see how the different styles present themselves in a cohesive album, with Kanye making sure to be the unifying overseer of the tracks.
My tally has Kanye leading off 7 songs and Jay-Z dropping the first verse on 5 of them, and I'd say that's a pretty accurate depiction of how much of Kanye's fingerprints are on this compared to Jay-Z's. These guys rap like D-Wade and King James play basketball. Different styles, but both involve lots of scoring. They trade off being the guy and occasionally work together for a supreme highlight.
I can't pick a favorite song. Of the 12 tracks, 12 are full-blown songs. 12 of them have potential to be best and I like 12 of them. There is no outstanding winner to me after my first (and a halfth) listen. Favorite beats are "No Church in the Wild," "That's My Bitch," "Welcome to the Jungle," "Murder to Excellence" and "Why I Love You." There's no Power or Empire State of Mind from the album to tower over the rest, and I like that. Because I feel like these 12 songs and I have a long way to go yet.
Despite occasional overindulgence (see Beyonce on Lift Off) and no real home run song, a stylistic compromise, and the unfortunate lack of exceeded perfection, this album is fun. Can't wait to buy a physical copy tomorrow.
--Eliot Sill
socially dope but bogus wit
a side of champagne for ya dumb brain
got no problems except dealin with pain
dealin and administration
waiting for my turn
yeah i'm real fuckin' patient
nothin' to do, but think about you
you might as well quit dancin'
and tell me somethin' cruel
or maybe somethin' cool
or maybe somethin' else
statistically irrelevant,
i try and tell myself
now i'm waitin' on wealth
and i'll be waitin' in a few
got red money for days but
what the fuck can i do
just a man on a mission
a plan on which im pissin
a stand that im takin'
a dream i'm mistakin'
my misfortunes are wakin'
me up from my dreams
like tellin' me to get real
life ain't what it seems
to be
or maybe just not what it seems to me
it seems to me that this shit's obscene
but ey, it's free
you could take it you could leave it
don't matter to me
just another soul
who don't want it anymore
and yeah i hit the floor
live it up a little bit
make myself look like an ass
try and donald glover it
a white black nerd
who get down a little bit
like its cool to piss yourself
where the fuck is billy at
dumbass in a philly cap
in the place that we get silly at
nah it's really that
i ain't got time for ya'll
motha fuckas gotta ball
8-5 at the mall
got so much money that i don't know what to do with
so many problems that i don't know how to deal with
like how i ain't got money yet i still sit here and say shit
this rhyme's a funky thought, just somethin' for you to play with
and you know you don't rap, so i know you can't say shit
but when may hits, you'll be out there lickin my pay slips
look it up on ya bracelet
see what that fuckin play meant
these words are just my chess pieces
i need an X to play with
see damn son i got it
this flow inside my noggin
you're readin this and noddin
tryin' to think of what i've thoughten
and yeah i'm makin' words up
and yeah i got my courage up
and yeah i've got a surplus
of bullshit i can serve ya
but damn i hope you like me
my lyrics and my typing
my ranting and my writing
my bullshit and insighting
can't say i'm bottled lightning
but yeah i'm throttled, fighting
striving for the top of
whatever mountain i'm climbing
don't let me get you off track
and bring this classic shit back
to something that is in tact
and not a fuckin' train rack
i mean a fuckin' trainwreck
im groggy yo, my brain's wet
i'm soggy 'cause my brain's wet
i'm ballin' with no paycheck
just cuz i ain't got paid yet
don't mean that i don't got bread
throw some butter on that Wonder
after i toast it way black
that's burnt, get it?
the metaphor's dyspeptic
my flow is straight up septic
my breath smells straight like pickles
and my brain is always hectic
i am a frantic freewrite
with no aim and no guide
it's so plain, it's so nice
i'm so plane, i'm so high
i'm not though, chicago,
sealevel, el lago
here i go, espanol
this shit's too much to handle
if you don't like what i say
click any link and go away
i promise you this shit i made
was instant like the package say
and instinct like it's what i say
if you ask me to write a rhyme
so please don't write a complaint
i wish i had a refrain
some relief
some nice peace
where i could make this rhyme lead
where i could make this rhyme go
it's fuckin' silly, I know
i'm sorry bout my swearin,
mainly only to my parents
cuz everyone else who reads this
already know that we're friends
i'm hatin' on my blog,
i'm hatin' on myself
i guess this makes it pity rap
which means that i can go to hell
but yo i know you're tired as fuck
of readin' shit like this that sucks,
so i'm about to cut it off,
like a corner of a street
but i can't even cut off shit,
cuz' i don't even have a beat
so i guess i'll just stop writin' words
and hope you'll like in your head what you've heard.
random freestyle inspired by Kanye and Jay-Z. I just picked up Watch the Throne, and as someone with thoughts, I feel obligated to shine my light on the superduo's album.
Kanye West and Jay-Z have different styles. If you pick up their own work, you will hear much different brands of hip-hop. West tones down his evil creative genius, Jay-Z opens up, as it just feels like he's trying on Kanye's vision for size. It's a happy medium. It's a play album. This album is a hip-hop slumber party. Jay's stayin' at Ye's house! I picture them in one piece pajamas, eating pizza and playing Grand Theft Auto IV. It's a one player game, they can't both play simultaneously, but they naturally trade off missions and keep each other engaged.
Presenting this album to you is a crazy awesome amalgam of producers, spearheaded by Kanye. Kanye only made one song (Otis) by himself, but had a part in all but 3 songs of the original album. Swizz Beats put together beats for two of the songs, which makes me pretty happy. It's interesting to see how the different styles present themselves in a cohesive album, with Kanye making sure to be the unifying overseer of the tracks.
My tally has Kanye leading off 7 songs and Jay-Z dropping the first verse on 5 of them, and I'd say that's a pretty accurate depiction of how much of Kanye's fingerprints are on this compared to Jay-Z's. These guys rap like D-Wade and King James play basketball. Different styles, but both involve lots of scoring. They trade off being the guy and occasionally work together for a supreme highlight.
I can't pick a favorite song. Of the 12 tracks, 12 are full-blown songs. 12 of them have potential to be best and I like 12 of them. There is no outstanding winner to me after my first (and a halfth) listen. Favorite beats are "No Church in the Wild," "That's My Bitch," "Welcome to the Jungle," "Murder to Excellence" and "Why I Love You." There's no Power or Empire State of Mind from the album to tower over the rest, and I like that. Because I feel like these 12 songs and I have a long way to go yet.
Despite occasional overindulgence (see Beyonce on Lift Off) and no real home run song, a stylistic compromise, and the unfortunate lack of exceeded perfection, this album is fun. Can't wait to buy a physical copy tomorrow.
--Eliot Sill
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Five Things I've Learned In New York City- Mada
1. You cannot assume streets are parallel. Just because You can turn right in a block and follow it to Broadway Avenue does not mean you can turn right here and expect it to take you anywhere near there.
2. One scoop of ice cream is worth five dollars. Well actually it's not but if you want ice cream that's how much you're going to pay.
3. Crosswalk signals are irrelevant. You are allowed to walk across the street whenever there is the slightest break in cars. Go ahead, make that guy slam on his breaks, it's his fault if he hits you.
4. You will never be the hippest person anywhere you go. No matter what you are doing or wearing, someone will be doing something wayyyy cooler and wearing an infinitely more avant-garde outfit.
5. Don't even bother going into designer stores. The workers can tell you're not going to buy anything and you will never feel comfortable touching any of the merchandise.
2. One scoop of ice cream is worth five dollars. Well actually it's not but if you want ice cream that's how much you're going to pay.
3. Crosswalk signals are irrelevant. You are allowed to walk across the street whenever there is the slightest break in cars. Go ahead, make that guy slam on his breaks, it's his fault if he hits you.
4. You will never be the hippest person anywhere you go. No matter what you are doing or wearing, someone will be doing something wayyyy cooler and wearing an infinitely more avant-garde outfit.
5. Don't even bother going into designer stores. The workers can tell you're not going to buy anything and you will never feel comfortable touching any of the merchandise.
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