My First Impressions of the Rest of My Life

Yesterday, I went for the first time to my new school’s campus. I realize that it is extremely risky and not generally recommended to sign over multiple years of your early twenties to an institution you’ve never seen in real life, but in this case I think I lucked out.

The campus is nestled mere blocks from the hallowed halls of Tropicana Field with a quaint view of Bayboro Harbor and buildings that seem younger than I am, which is always nice when you consider that such edifices are more likely to have clean bathrooms. Also, their Chick-fil-A is on the waterfront, which I think is the perfect way to enjoy overpriced (but admittedly delicious) chicken.

But the best part? YOU SHOULD FEEL THE AIR CONDITIONING. I’m not kidding. I walked across 6th Avenue South after my appointment with human resources so I could scope out the building where most of my classes will be, and I’m pretty sure I somehow fell asleep and entered into that dream from Inception with all the snow. Trust me, after parading around in my avian disguise for the amusement of strangers in temperatures above one hundred degrees day in and day out, the frigid respite of the Peter R. Wallace Florida Center for Teachers is quite a welcome surprise.

In an unrelated matter, I’m pretty sure the hardest part about adjusting to J-school will be only using one space between sentences.

The One Where I Declare (Delicious) War Upon Steak 'n Shake

As my arteries and wallet will tell you, I have an uncanny knack of finding the most delicious food values.

During that brief time when McDonalds’ one dollar sandwich was a bona-fide double cheeseburger instead of the flimsy McDouble, I was there. When Wendy’s introduced its delectable double stack for 99 cents, I was there. And yes, when Burger King countered with its one dollar quarter pound double cheeseburger, I was there.

I fought beside brave trans fats at the battle of five dollar all-you-can-eat pancakes on the banks of the mighty IHOP; I flew with fearless endless chicken wings over the perilous Ale House ravine; and I landed with the super value squadron on the shores of the Taco Bell atoll.

However, all of my service in the delicious food corps has led me to a higher consciousness of edible values. And this, friends, is why I have one hell of a tasty bone to pick with Steak ‘n Shake.

Recently, these folks have advertised four meals under four bucks (though with tax and a Coke, you’re looking at increased minimums). Of these four meals, three consist of burgers and fries. The burger options include a single steak burger with cheese and bacon, a double steak burger with cheese, and a triple steak burger sans cheese or bacon.

So, if my well-trained palate and checkbook serve me correctly, these Steak ‘n Shake crooks would have me believe that a slice of cheese is equal to the cost of a couple slices of bacon, which is also equal to the cost of a patty of beef.

Now, I realize that employing transitivity in the delicate field of value pricing is a risky venture. This said, I cannot in good conscience allow this travesty of the taste bud to go unnoticed.

However, when it’s 2:00 a.m. and I’m in dire need of a steak accompanied by a shake of some variety, I’m afraid I’m pretty well painted into a corner. You may have won the battle, Steak ‘n Shake, but trust me: you won’t win the war.

A random thought concerning American cinema and promotional tactics

I was reading the other day on Wikipedia about the crappy box office reception of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory back in 1971. Curious, I checked out the trailer that was unleashed on an Oompa-Loompaless public in the Nixon era and found this.

Oh, dear. Apart from having the decade-old phenomenon BonziBUDDY read the dry voice over script, I can see no worse way of advertising this movie. It’s like having a combination of Ben Stein and all of my old college professors advertise a film that that they in no way can relate to.

Maybe this is just the way movies were promoted then. Man, if that’s the case I am sure glad to live in the new millennium.

I go where the "in" crowd goes, then I go home and blog about it.

Oh, indie girls. How I long for your tender embrace. I don’t know what it is, but I have been increasingly attracted to quirky girls who like trendy music and don’t agree with me politically.

Last night, for example, Ian and I went to eat at The Top in Gainesville. It’s the kind of place that, when ordering, the server is sure to let you know that their food is all natural and animal friendly. I personally don’t understand how you can be friendly with an animal if you’re eating it, but God knows that hasn’t stopped me yet.

Anyway, throughout the restaurant are multitudes of super skinny chicks with super short hair, super tacky clothes, and a super ability to make me angry that I’m not clued into the “in” crowd like they are.

Maybe it’s because the hipster chic runs rampant throughout Gainesville and I’ve come to accept the fact that during a zombie apocalypse, one such lady might see it necessary to procreate with me. Maybe it’s because I’m a political science major and these types are always to my right and left (mostly my left). Hell, maybe it’s because I’m secretly a hardcore vegan who wants to wear chucks and ride my bike everywhere for the sake of the environment.

But don’t count on that last one, I like meat and air conditioning too much.

Is not Oasis the greatest British band since the Beatles?

Just a quick thought on the Twitterverse fodder of the day: I think Joe Wilson is doing a great service to America by gradually introducing a House of Commons type discourse to the Congress. If we could get anything half as entertaining as the Prime Minister’s Questions, CSPAN could well become a legitimate factor during sweeps week this year.

Oh wait, it would be going up against Jay Leno’s new show. Never mind, I think Congress is more entertaining as it is.

A rare retraction

Okay, so I was wrong about the whole Billy Mays being Jesus’ right hand man thing. I imagine I should have realized something was going on when he got so excited over the iTie. No one should be that pumped about an article of men’s fashion.

Billy Mays, we hardly knew ye

Well, a couple of weeks have gone by since the King of Infomercials passed on. And you know what? I am pretty well peeved by the fact that the death of this true American hero was overshadowed by the untimely(?) death of some eccentric white woman with an affinity for little boys.

Billy Mays, you deserved better than this. In the wake of Michael Jackson’s trip to the preteen farm in the sky (or, as it were, deep below the ground in the special section of Hell), your passing garnered nothing more than a footnote in the media.

I watched Jackson’s memorial yesterday. Mariah Carey and Lionel Ritchie performed. Thousands flocked to see his gold casket. They closed down a Los Angeles freeway for his funeral procession, for Christ sake. People seem to forget the fact that mere months ago, this dude(?) was a monster in the eyes of society. I know it’s not kosher to speak ill of the dead, but in my defense Michael Jackson looked like he died 15 years ago. His heart was just catching up with the times.

But Billy Mays? There had never been a bad thing to say about this bastion of capitalism. He never slept with children. He was never a weird guy. The closest he ever came to buying a chimp named Bubbles was doing that TV show with Anthony Sullivan. He was just an honest man with a timeless beard that peddled mighty products that helped Americans every single day.

America, you sicken me. Sure, Jackson may have busted a move now and again. But his legacy seems vastly overrated. His music, in my opinion, was all right. But it was nothing compared to the stain-fighting powers of OxyClean, the adhesive abilities of Mighty Mendit, or the absorbency of Impact Gel.

In the end, though, Billy Mays’ celebrity status caught up with him. Because when God called the toll-free hotline for Michael Jackson’s kicking of the bucket, he threw in the passing of a television legend absolutely free. Just paid shipping and handling.

So, it took me a month to formulate a new opinion?

I know I have been very derilect in my writing duties, but school, work, and my devotion to Spring Training are killing me nowadays. Maybe I will return next month. Moving on, a random observation.

You know what’s stupid? Kids who wear those army-type ball caps. Dude, I realize that you are a twentysomething who hates the machination of society or something, but the mere fact that you feel the need to wear that shows me that you care more about appearing like a revolutionary intellectual than actually, you know, thinking about stuff.

Escalating Conflict

You know, folks in this dog-eat-dog world need to embrace the little things in life that can provide a well-deserved breather.

I realized this today when I was in Library West on campus, proceeding up to the second story to use one of the (inexplicably often broken) water-free urinals on the second story. For those who avoid the library like the plague due to the masses of gabbing sorority chicks and braniacs, to get to the second story of the library one must first proceed up an escalator to get to the meat of the building.

It seems that whenever I’m making my way up these escalators, there’s always some toe-tapping kid behind me who takes exception to the fact that I remain sedentary on the escalators, waiting for the magical moving steps to whisk me up to the next level.

When this happens I feel sort of pressured to treat the escalator like an immobile staircase and climb it like some sort of health nut. Naturally, I do as I am tacitly expected, thus exerting myself – though unnecessarily – so that I can minimize any awkward feelings from the folks behind me.

Now, I’m not really overly concerned with the sacrifice of motion that I make for these people. What I’m most disturbed by is the fact that these people cannot fathom the notion of merely relaxing for ten seconds and letting the wonders of modern innovation make their lives a smidgen easier.

I think the world would be an infinitely better place if people would just accept any gift of mechanized relief that might arise in their path and take comfort in the wonders of the twenty first century.

Better late than never

Recently, I have undertaken a quest to grow into a more responsible adult. In the past few weeks, I have begun reading books recreationally (right now, I am reading Herman Wouk’s Don’t Stop The Carnival), and I have even been to get my oil changed for the first time in a year and a half.

My most recent achievement, however unpleasant it is, was a trip to the dentist for the first time in seven years. I won’t bore you with the details of my cross bite and oral hygiene, but I would like to take this opportunity to say that this guy is my doctor. I didn’t go into the office thinking that I would meet the Doogie Howser of dentistry.

I guess he went on his journey to grown-up life a smidgen earlier than I did. My bad.