Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Random book excerpts

One of my favorite things in the world is watching how people react when you know they are about to receive a text. Some people get really excited, and immediately dive for their phone like its the last ticket to a Billy Joel concert. Others try and play it off real cool. They’ll feel the phone vibrating in their pocket, do a little head nod to themselves in acknowledgement of the text, and go about their business. Five minutes later, they’ll  casually reach into their pocket, glance at the message, then put the phone back in their pocket for another five minutes before responding. The last set of people are the completely oblivious ones who either don’t realize their phone is vibrating, or simply forget to respond.
Juliet, being a member of the female race, fell into the first category. 


For introductions, the leaders are supposed to facilitate awkward “get to know you” games called icebreakers. These games have the uncanny ability to make its participants feel more uncomfortable than a 16 year old girl watching Superbad with her parents. One of the games, called “Bunny Bunny,” requires players to prance around the room yelling nonsensical phrases such as “Dunga Dunga.” Yep, thats right. DUNGA DUNGA. Being that everyone in my group was above the age of five, I refused to play any such games. 
Lastly, we were supposed to eat, sleep, and breathe the Georgetown Fight Song. Since that cacophonous abomination is undoubtedly the worst fight song I have ever heard, I refused to learn the lyrics. Supposedly a gleaming bastion of school spirit, I was unable to teach my new students the fight song. What a shame. Not really. 
Why did I rebel against the rules of orientation advising? Was it because I hated Georgetown or something?
Nope. Not at all. Actually, I was a big fan of Georgetown. If it were a sport, I would root for it. But if you thought I was going to sacrifice my personal values for a falsified and overall less awesome presentation college life, you’ve got another thing coming. There was absolutely no way I was going to mask my true self. Putting on mask would have made me fake. A fake me would have given off a fake impression of the school. A fake impression of the school creates a fake school. And a fake school just sucks. I don't know about you, but I'm done with that "playing pretend" thing. It was soooo 1993.   

My voice came out rather confident, but I was anything but. She made me much more nervous than anyone should be talking to a girl. In fact, I was so nervous that I resorted to my “I’m uncomfortable in this situation” twitch. Everyone has one. Some people bite their nails, some people scratch their arm. As for me? I rub the area underneath my eye with my index finger. For whatever reason, that stuff from your eye (I think its called eye mucus) likes to chill there. 
As I rubbed away, I realized that I hadn’t shaven for the past few days. God, I must have looked like an overly scruffy idiot. In a move of pure genius, I thought it’d be a good idea to grow out a finals beard. Geez Blake, what were you thinking?
At least my appearance wasn’t totally shot. I was wearing my best sweatshirt. The green American eagle brought out my eyes pretty nicely, and it was one of those cuts that were perfectly shaped for my body. If it wasn’t for my idiotic aspiration to look like Zach Galifanakis, I would have easily been Abercrombie model material. Though I’d keep my shirt on. Those shirtless models are giant tools. 

The inevitable slowly but surely began to creep in. I was running into dead ends. I was trapped. I had no idea what time it was, and I was beginning to panic. I was scared. I was confused. I had a headache. I wanted mommy. 
Dejected, I decided to trudge back to my apartment. My stairwell was indoors, somewhat shielded from the unfriendly and formidable outside world that had just chewed me up and spit me out like a shitty piece of gum that loses flavor after about 30 seconds. The stairwell would give me a little shelter, at least for a little bit. I knew I couldn’t fall asleep, because I would risk missing NSO training. Thus, I knew I was going to have to bite the bullet and pull my first all-nighter of the year. Second day in, and classes hadn’t even started yet. Not too shabby. 
After a brief walk of utter shame, I rounded the corner and mounted the stoops leading to the door of my apartment building. Immensely relieved that the stack of flyers I found at the foot of the stairs remained wedged in between the doorway, keeping it unlocked, I opened the door, fully prepared to wait it out until the sun rose. About to go in, I decided to take one last feeble look at the lifeless street in a last ditch effort to save myself. 
And just like that, my world was turned upside down.  

song of the day:

Use ur love: B.O.B

B.o.B rapping over the outfield's 80's classic. solid stuff. 

Monday, June 28, 2010

Cleaning Ladies Are Counter Productive

Theres not many things I intensely dislike in this world. Other than doritos, the jokes on popsicle sticks, and male scarf wearers, all of which are tremendous embarrassments to the progress of humankind, I cannot not think of a single thing that I could verbally clean house on.

I use the words "clean house" for a reason. Being that this post is about cleaning ladies, you would think that "cleaning house" is their bread and butter. Or in most cases, their nacho's and sour cream*

sorry if that's racist. though it kind of has to be, otherwise it takes away from the "this is real life" aspect of everything. If I didn't make that slightly racist comment, the shiny-ness effect wouldn't be there anymore. and then there wouldn't be all shiny coins on the floor. and then i wouldn't be able to pick them up and horde them in my cave of jew gold.

see? what goes around comes around. now all we need is timbaland and his really low voice.

thats enough sidetracking for now. to begin this epically awful misuse of windex and dust pans, I will give you a brief history of my experience with the species known as "the cleaning people." At first it was terrific. Then it was decent. Then it was just a nightmare on Thatch Pond

Billy B  (1993-2003ish)

Billy B was the man. When I was like 3-5 years old, he would play this sweet game where he would trap us in the corner and we would have to escape his monstrous wrath. According to my mother j woww, Billy B was the best cleaning person of all time ever. What a legend.

Billy B was rather old (by the time he left he was at least in his 70s), but you would never be able to tell. In addition to noting the superior athletic abilities of his race, he loved to brag about how "black don't crack," meaning that african-americans age in a much less noticeable manner.

Billy B was also the VERY first guest at my barmitzvah. Mad props. He used to do this roller skating dance thing at the Roxy back in the day, and he was quite adroit at busting a move. Needless to say, he showed up all us less talented dancers.*

*Not really fair. He's black and we're jewish. You ever see anyone named Alan Bergenstein on so you think you can dance?

**They should have a new show called "So you think you can be an accountant?" We'd clean up on that shi'ite

Anyways, Billy B retired somewhere around the time when Blink 182 broke up, and moved to Georgia. We have not heard from him for awhile, so if he is in a better place, may he rest in peace. Though Billy B wouldn't want to rest in peace. He'd want to party.

Maria (2003-2005ish)

I don't remember much about Maria, but apparently she was pretty good. I don't think her cleaning was as spot on as Billy B's, but she was never a nuisance. For instance, if I was on the computer, she would never obnoxiously clean the monitor while I was playing snood (yes, some people actually have the nerve to interrupt snood. Or worse, the helicopter game.) Though she definitely didn't enhance the household atmosphere, she was no buzz killington either. Overall, I'd rank her at a solid B+

Maria left for reasons I don't really remember, but apparently it was a really emotional goodbye and she and my mom starting crying. Oh, the things women do.

I'm not really sure where she is now, though she definitely is a big fan of christiano ronaldo and will be really pissed if david villa's triangle goatee advances to the next round.

2005-2006 was kind of like that period in Russian history after Krushchev died, and they didn't really have a solid leader for a few years. Nothing important really happened, so theres really no point in talking about it

The Reign of Terror (2007-Present)

I never really understood how truly lucky I was before my fateful junior year, when the Dolores Umbridge Inquistorial squad of cleaners invaded my house and ransacked sense of belonging in the world. There's just too much to say here, so i'm just going to revert to one story, which I think sums up their entire essence quite well.

Last summer, I returned from work one August afternoon, ready to relax by the pool, take a nap, or engage in some activity that allowed me to clear my mind and potentially practice occlumency against the black eyed peas, because the song "I got a feeling" was being more overplayed than Tyler Perry's House of Pain.

Little did I know, I was about to walk into a house of pain. As I drove up the driveway, my heart sank faster than the speed of love. The van of doom was parked in the driveway. Needless to say, it was also parked in my spot.

As I jammed my car into this little alcove thingy on the side of my driveway, I couldn't help thinking how stupid I was. Of course the cleaning ladies were coming today. I spent about a half hour before work cleaning my room so that the cleaning ladies could clean it.

Yep, I just said that. I clean my room so we could pay money for a service to do the exact same thing to my room that I just did. Wise use of money. Might as well take that money and light it on fire.

I walked into the house, only to find one of the members of the sweeping squad in the entrance hallway thingy whose official house name I am not actually sure of. Dancing around her vaccuuming (which was louder than the WOW! THATS A LOW PRICE! guy), I slipped off  my shoes. Because she pretended not to notice me, I had to do a really tricky dodge move to avoid bumping into her. At the very last moment however, she unexplicably decided to pull on the vaccuum wire, causing me to trip and roll my ankle.

This was clearly a red card, but they obviously payed off the ref to that they could have their full squad.

Boy, did they have their full squad. There was someone in EVERY ROOM. I couldn't even go to the bathroom. In my own house.

Immensely frustrated, the only option was to leave. I walked onto my deck to find j woww, her college roommate, and her college roommates son, who were both staying with us. They recently moved from Syracuse to Taiwaan (yep, Taiwaan), and were coming back to the states to check out some schools for the son, Anthony.

Anthony was also clearly upset with the invasion. Judging from the look on his face, it seemed as if we were native americans being forcibly removed from our land for no reason other than to completely ruin it.

Even though the reign of terror swarms every room in the house, they somehow manage to take about 90 minutes to "clean." I am putting clean in quotes to imply that they actually don't clean. Instead, they usually break the air-conditioning, somehow mess up our wireless internet connection, and misplace nearly every personal belonging not safely tucked away in a secret closet.

Being that we were in exile, I decided to take Anthony to the driving range. I was in a pretty bad mood, and let him know about how much I despised that group of fantastik-wielding who constantly infringed upon my pursuit of happiness. I was so out of sorts that when we got to the driving range (about 15 mintues away), I had realized that I had forgotten both sets of clubs. I briefly considered attempting to play golf with the invisible set of clubs I had, but then I figured that would probably raise some eyebrows from the wrong kinds of people. I then hastily backed out of the parking lot to return home and get the clubs.


Knowing that the word "crash" all capitalized and in large font was definitely not a good thing, I hopped out of my car to figure out what the mcfreak just happened.

In the middle of the gravely, uneven parking lot that is in more need of repair than the script to "Land of the Lost," there happened to be a big old pole without padding.

I thought I had trained up my subaru forrester well, but it was clear that it could not take a punch. One of the back taillights were completely shattered, and the back bumperish part of the car was more bruised than that Jacks Mannequin song.

Pole 1, Car 0.

Anthony thought I was the worst driver on in north america, and it cost mad money to fix. The worst part of the whole thing was due to the fallout from the incident, I was not able to attend a party that night. Normally it wouldn't be a big deal, but this party was hosted by none other than the Tsunami Blocker, an individual whose name I will not reveal because I feel like he probably wouldn't want it out there that he had a rager. Though he does block Tsunamis. Anyway, the Tsunami blocker is one of my best friends, and to this day, I have still never dranken with him. That was our one shot, our one opportunity. And through the overdone soap suds, I let it slip. Truly a crime.

I never would have went to the driving range if it wasn't for the cleaning ladies. Fate fell short this time.

The terror squad comes once a week. Since I have returned home from school, I have made it my mission to avoid my house at all costs during those fateful 90 minutes.

Lance 1, Cleaning Ladies 0. Bring it on: Mopped and Loaded

Song of the day:

This song came onto my i-pod today and put me in one of those really good moods where you are just really happy, and aren't sure why, but all you know is that this song always makes you happy. That didn't make sense, but its not supposed to.

If Work Permits, the format

My Day Job

Theres going to be a lot more where this came from. In fact, the shenanigans that go on at the smithtown beaches deserve a blog in itself. They also deserve state of the art brooms (which we have). boo yah.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010


Dude, i drank so much last night. i'm so cool man. dude, i had like 12 shots and 9 beers. i'm the shit, dude. people that exhaggerate how much they drink are lame, man. they can't keep up with me. I'm a TANK. 

We all know someone like this. For the rest of us, here's a nice little compilation of songs that could help us "get on their level."

if only we were that cool


Monday, June 21, 2010

Get A Twitter

Its a waste of time. Its pointless. I'd never use it. Its for nerds.

No. No. No. Yes.

I may not know who you are, where you're from, or what you did. But as long as you have a twitter, i'll love you.

wow, that was just an awful joke.

Reasons why you should get a twitter (in under 140 characters)


-The gems people come up with are just priceless

@RustyRockets (Russell Brand), on the England's goal allowed against USA:

Steve Gerrard "The whole team is behind Rob Green". In retrospect, that's a good place to stand.


No idea why carne asada is trending on Twitter in LA, but if BP fucked up carne asada some how, I'm gonna be fucking PISSED.

@Paul Conna:

Adam Morrison has two NBA championships. I need his jersey now.


Can't wait for Vuvuzela hero to come out on the xbox.

@StephenAtHome (Stephen Colbert)

george w. bush has a facebook page. i bet he's clearing a lot of brush in farmville

-Even if people hate you more than the French soccer coach, someones bound to follow you

-Follow the people/things/events you want, and twitter becomes a personalized news source. about things you actually care about. 

-If you ever want to show the world how awesome you are, link your shit on twitter and the twaddicts will be straight up on that kryptonite

-You get say idiotic things, and get away with it.

-You probably feel like a fat, washed up loser after spending 6 hours a day on facebook. Twitter is facebook on anorexia, so it'll help you lose weight

-You could follow Enrique Inglesias

-It is USEFUL. I set up an interview with DJ Jewboy (he makes it rain on the shiksa's) through the twitski

-I want to adopt that twitter bird as a pet. Its just the coolest. and its so blue

-Twitter just told me that Amanda Bynes retired

-People will automatically think you are much more interesting than you actually are

-The twitter accounts of Georgetown basketball players are just a wonder to behold. I especially recommend Henry Sims

-Like I said... third best*

Cool. Now go sign up. It'll be happiest day of mah lifes

oh, and follow me: @LanceSauce

song of the day:

Infant Sorrow: Bangers, Beans, And Mash

Awesome Sauce clip of the day

Sunday, June 20, 2010


ALSO, Wishing all you fawtha's and yo fawtha's fawtha's a happy fawtha's day.

song of the day:

Geeks get the girls, American Hi-Fi


This post was boring, so here's a cool picture:


Friday, June 18, 2010

Parking Lots

I had a revelation today.  Just now actually.

I have spent a lot of time in parking lots. Normally, these automobile oceans act as a blip on the radar of everyday life. If your life were a movie, the parking lot would be one of those transition things. Parking lots aren't important enough to merit their own scene, so all they could really handle is a "fade in" or "fade out' effect.


I realized today that the most important thing about life are our parking lots. It probably sounds slightly stoopider than a lame cover band of sublime, but its the truth. Our parking lots not only define us---they healthily consume us. A dementor's kiss would not take away our heart, mind, body, or even soul. It would away our parking lot.

What is a parking lot, you may ask?

A parking lot is much much much ever so muchly more than a great plain of pavement, brightly colored lines, and a random assortment of litter.

Like I said, parking lots are transitions. They are the small nuances in life that you don't even notice unless you take a second look at everything. Parking lots are only discovered in the moments where you sit out on your porch at 12 39 in the morning when everyone else is sleeping. You have just watched an inspiring movie that got you in one of those "thinking" modes, so you are reflecting.

Little by little, it all comes back to you.

When you think of something, someone, someplace, the things you are "supposed" to remember-birthdays, your first kiss,your high school graduation-- often are not the most important. Sometimes, the things worth remembering are the things you don't even notice are there. In the words of cliche proverbs, unrefined ignorance is bliss.

That is actually bullshit. When you realize something is gone, it pains you. Channel that pain into positive nuances. They make you smile. Its the little things that are important in life. Yea, maybe you'll remember every single detail of the first date you had with your girlfriend who you are currently happily in love with. But in the grand scheme of things, that isn't that important. What is important is the way she absentmindedly brushes those innocent strands of hair out of her eyes on a windy day. The kind of things that you don't pick up on unless you really know someone.

Instead of remembering what you did for your birthday, remember your friends reaction after his favorite song came on in the car on the way to the party. Instead of remembering your first kiss, remember the park bench that was lucky enough to play host to a pair of lustful lovebirds. Instead of remembering high school graduation, remember how unbearably hot it was that day, or how you probably looked like an idiot because your hair was still wet from taking a shower right before you left because prom was the night before and you just woke up.

By simply remembering moments, you are actually not remembering anything. By remembering the props of the moment, you create a tangible scene. A tangible memory.

Tangible=Feeling. Feeling=

I've never been good at math, so i'll just let you solve that one.

I grew up in a parking lot. In high school, many a night was spent in a random parking spaces outside a now hipstered out starbucks. music would be bumping, the five people in the car would switch in and out between joking around, flirting, complaining about how theres nothing to do in this town, and talking about how college would be so much better because we could actually do stuff more exciting that sitting in a car listening to Chumbawamba.

I've told people in college about our parking lot ventures. Truth be told, its very difficult telling people you hung out in parking lots for fun. Just writing right now sounds like the most uncool thing since Shia LeBouf's goatee.

I really don't care. You could take the man away from the parking lot, but you could never take away the parking lot from the man.

As I went on to bigger and better things in the big old gtown, I kind of forgot about the parking lots of my life. No, I didn't completely lose myself and start tripping on heroine. I just moved on, is all. It was a clean breakup, and I didn't look back.

Until now. Its all flooding back to me.

The memories I have from the parking lots Smithtown are countless. I choose not to remember each as a distinct event. Instead, I view them as all interconnected, arched together by two parallel bright yellow lines.

My life, who I have been, what I have done, who I have become, and who I will become, was more or less inspired by a bunch of asphalt outside the pavement of American Burger.

To you, that may sound like a shitty life. But as far as i'm concerned, i'm living the dream.

I challenge you to find your parking lot. And fast. Because before you know it, you'll have to start honking for a space.

Song of the Day:

Home: Shi 360

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Gettin that faux sho hawk

For those of you up in arms about this mckricken (http://reallycoolwebaddress.blogspot.com/2010/06/vote-on-my-new-hairstyle.html), the big day was today.

Rather than tell you how the snippety snip went, I thought I'd show you. Tom Riddle said that to Harry once*, and it worked wonders for good old Voldy.

*Chamber of secrets, pensieve. I know your out of practice, but its summertime. Get some HP in. We all know its the only book you've ever liked reading

Anyways, here's some background info for the day to help make things more cleary than Beverly.

12:00 pm : Myself and friend/co-manager Giffun-dawg are driving around Smithtown, collecting money so that we can go register our summer softball team (i'm not sure why they are even bothering to play the season considering our ridiculously talented and roided out roster, but I digress). After mentioning to her that I am getting my haircut today, she proclaims that it is Christmas and that she absolutely, postively, otherexcitingadjectivethatendsin-ely, is coming to watch me get my haircut.

I must admit that I was quite nervous. I've never had a fan watch my haircut live. Usually, they just DVR it. What if I folded under pressure? Would my haircut career be forever tarnished? Rob Greene?

Anyways, she decides that the event must be filmed. Here's what went down:

Props to: Giffun-dawg, the radio station at the haircut place, Barbara the hair-cutter

Sunday, June 13, 2010

iDig This Shiznat. So Does Jack Black

As I am writing this post to the blog blog audience of the world, iAm proud to say iAm a proud owner of an apple computer. This is huge, people. What this means

-I'm instantly tremendously more hipster
-iShould start wearing beanies even when its not cold
-I have to start giving into branding strategies that emphasize an "on the go" lifestyle
-iHave to be in good shape, but not enter a gym
-iHave to do every day tasks like checking my e-mail in public places to flaunt how trendy I am
-I have to start drinking Odwalla
-My job can't be monotonous or boring
-My clothes must vibrant colors
-I have to wear shoes with two different color laces
-I have to tweet a lot more
-I have to listen to bands such as vampire weekend
-From now on, I have to prefer organic food
-I have to like soccer much more than the average american
-Coffee shops
-I am obligated to "express myself" as much as possible to give off the impression that I am a fun, exciting person that you would like to grab lunch with. ------Lunch would be a chicken caesar salad and frozen yogurt.

Being that I have pretended do half these things for the past few months, I am rather excited to embark on this journey. Basically, this means that the blogosaurus rex will spread tremendously more awesome sauce. Spicy.

More to come in the next few days. The blog is back and its better than ever. (For christmas, this year.)

Being that I can do really cool shit now, enjoy this movie, the first of many. I plan on making this thinger much much more media-ish:

Why Don't You Party Hard (School Of Rock):

Song of the day:

i just gave you two in the video, you fool. jeez (and crackers)

Friday, June 11, 2010

Shallow Trouble, Deep Hope.

"a lot of times people don't really get what they deserve...... that's a good thing, i think for a lot of us. i mean if we all got what we really deserved we probably wouldn't have any friends or much of anything really. that's why it's such a big deal when someone decides to cut you some slack and forgive you for all the dumb stuff you've done to them. so i think that sort of just sums up what it really means to live life with people. you gotta decide if you care enough about other people to get over their mistakes and just accept them regardless of all the crap. so that's what being friends with someone really means i think. it's someone who can put up with you long enough to actually get to know each other. that's a bit of a depressing definition but it does make friends seem a little more special than just the people you hang out with from time to time, they're the people who accept you."

-Brooks Birdsall

People hold grudges. Its an unfortunate fact of life. Well, not that unfortunate.

I've been thinking about this quote a lot lately, being that I feel like it really resonates with the whole mantra of early adulthood. In other words, this quote encapsulates the experience of what it means to grow up. Of what it means to mature. No longer am I just a kid, and life is a nightmare. Shying under the covers won't work anymore, because life doesn't have a Simple Plan.  

I'm not really sure where I want to go with this, but I feel like there's some sort of line here that can't be crossed. Sometimes, you can't forgive. Not immediately, at least. 

I understand that people fuck up. It's human nature. In fact, its a defining characteristic of who we are, and who we end up becoming. Failure fuels fire. Defeat fuels triumph. Look at Andy DuFresne

However, there is a standard. Yes, a true friend will understand the shit you put them through, and, although they may not outwardly express it, they will accept you for who you are time and time again. But thats the problem. "Time and time again" shouldn't happen. Fucking up once is fine.  But once you get that second strike on you, you're in a real hole. Maybe you could stay alive by fouling off some pitches, but its only a matter of time until you swing and miss. And in life, the umpire isn't always that forgiving. 

Drama doesn't exist, actually. It is merely a concept constructed by two people who feel like a certain action by an individual has a direct emotional impact on them. Relationship drama only exists because you have intensely strong feelings towards your partner, positive or otherwise. If you didn't care, you would never talk about it. To each other, to your friends, or the random guy you meet in the bar. If you didn't care, a show as dumb as the secret life wouldn't exist.

By the way, that show shouldn't exist. I watched some of it the other day--it's an insult to script writers everywhere.

I don't want this to be a negative piece, but in many ways, it has to be. Otherwise, the light at the end of the tunnel would blow out, and then we would have to go buy flourescent bulbs. They may be better for the environment, but they sure as hell don't provide that old fire.

I guess what i'm trying to say is that everything in life is relative. Money wouldn't be worth anything if everyone in the world decided one day that they were going to use beanie babies as the new form of currency.* Without negatives, there are no positives

*I've been hoping for this for ages, as I would be a billionaire. Then I wouldn't have to listen to that awful Travis McCoy song. 

I think what friendship, relationships, and life in general is all about is realizing our OWN mistakes. Sure, you could forgive other people for hurting you...but thats only half the battle. The other half lies in how you make THEM feel. Its easy to forgive someone for something they once did. Being that each and everyone of us its always right at all times, its sometimes really hard to look in the mirror, and realized that you've been a real dick. That they deserved better. That how you are acting is defining who you are to others, even if that person is the last thing you want to be.

Its easy to forgive yourself. Its not easy to sacrifice your pride. 

In true friendships however, you have to sacrifice your pride.  Because in true friendships, ego's don't exist. This is because in true friendships, both players play for the same team. Both players push each other to be the best they could possibly be, but also understand the limitations of their individual talents. Isolation plays aren't going to get the job done--you need a pick and roll. 

The real challenge lies in moving forward with that person. I think forgiveness isn't about overcoming the past--its about overcoming the future. Whatever obstacles you and your friend, family member, or significant other may face down the road must be tackled successfully if forgiveness is to come full circle. You must recognize where you went wrong before, and prevent the same outcome at all costs. Because if you don't you're just back at square one. At that point, any past attempt to reconcile becomes utterly meaningless. 

Its easy to forgive someone for something that already happened. Its not easy to forgive someone for something that will happen. 

Trust is essential in any interpersonal endeavor. Losing faith in someone you once trusted is one of the most painful experiences that a human being can endure.

 Having someone lose faith in you IS the most painful experience a human can endure. 

Today may be  is the first day of the rest of your life. But if you forget yesterday, what are you really living for?

Put a little faith in your neighbor. If he's not too busy playing Halo 4, he might catch it and throw it right back to you. 

Don't forgive and move on. Don't forgive and forget. 

Forgive and live. Together. 

song of the day:

Leaving Town, Dexter Freebish


Friday, June 4, 2010

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

What Rocks? Everything.

Imagine a website that was genius enough to combine the social networking aspect of sites such as facebook and twitter with the substantial/intellectual components of newspapers, the huffington post, and Jimmy Neutron's brain. 

Sound pretty cool, right?

If you disagree with my rhetorical question/answer, you are full of shit. Of course it's pretty cool 

Hoyas up in this hizzle, a new website is coming that will rock yo body about a million times harder than that mediocre Justin Timberlake song. And no wardrobe malfunctions here. This is gonna be the real dealio. 

After http://what-rocks.com/ takes Georgetown by storm, you'll never be bored in class again. For now, check out our beta site, currently in the embryonic stage (though this is a very strong embryo). Much more to come soon. When we do our officially awesome intense launch, you'll hear about it. 

For now, i'll treat you to a post I did for the site. From now on, you will have to visit www.lancelancerevolution.what-rocks.com/. But since you've been good, here's some anti-coal presented by the Jewish Santa Chhlaus.

 Below is a story about college. half fiction, half true. I hate being a cocky idiot, but I really think this is one of my finest works to date. 




Don’t worry, it wasn’t one of those really inconsiderate, self-indulgent groans. Those are just obnoxious.
It’s early friday morning. Or late thursday night. I’m not really sure which one. College time is funny like that. Day is night, night is day, and everything else in between is just another Kid Cudi lyric.
I usually don’t get hangovers, but I guess I forgot to tell that to the vodka from last night. I felt miserable as I rolled around in bed, searching for that one soft corner of my pillow. My head was pounding harder than that overvalued British currency.
Well, maybe it’s not overvalued. I actually don’t know. But i’m just gonna pretend like I do. Georgetown students are supposed to pretend to know that kind of stuff, right?
Last night wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Being that it was a Thursday, I don’t even have to tell you where I went–you already know the drill. The upstairs was packed (big surprise), and I was again unable to get with my girl (bigger surprise).  We aren’t really together. She only really likes me when our friend Captain Morgan is there to facilitate interaction. When he’s not there, it’s more awkward than Michael Cera’s character in every single movie that he’s in.
After Thirds ruined “Bad Romance” for the 5th consecutive week, my three buddies from my freshman floor (D3 represent) and I skated back to my village B. Dissatisfied with our inability to hook up with anyone, we proceeded to take some “let’s drink because what else are we going to do” shots. Bad choice.
It’s 8am. I’m not really sure why I am awake, but the collegeness in my blood just tells me to go with it. Moseying into the common room, I stumble upon my one roommate who actually wakes up early (everyone has one). He’s got the full early morning setup going on– rocking the no-pulp tropicana and scrambled eggs wedged in between the natty light can-laden coffee table, his eyes fully absorbed on the FOX newscaster on the TV in front of him. He’s so focused on the news, he left some egg dangling.
The news anchor is talking about the healthcare bill, facts and figures comin out her mouth like blah blah blah. Ryan, playing the role of “I go to Georgetown so I have an established opinion about everything” starts ranting against everything the newscaster is saying.
“She’s so stupid. Obama has no idea what he’s doing…does Congress understand anything about fiscal responsibility? Because it seems like they don’t. Geez.”
Being the polemical political atheist that I am, I decide to stir up the pot a little bit. We end up having a rather heated discussion about the definition of the common good. According to Ryan, concern for the well-being of others has nothing to do with the common good. Then again, he is a republican.
Just playing. His argument was actually much, much better than mine–he’s a really intelligent kid. If it weren’t for my frequent references to Albus Dumbledore, he would have blown me out of the water. stupefy style.
We would have kept going, but Ryan had to go to his 8:50 Chinese class. Apparently, it controls his life. Apparently, China controls all of our lives.
My only class for the day was at 12:15, so I had a lot of time to kill. All of my lazy ass MSB friends didn’t have class all day and thus wouldn’t wake up until hangover-is-gone o’clock, so I decided to be productive and get some work done.
I live about 90 seconds away from Lau, but there’s no way I could have gone there–that place is more depressing than that Will Smith movie Seven Pounds. Instead, I decide to take the trek to Leavey. Uncommon Grounds to be exact. I don’t really like the Cult Of  Rampant Pompousness too much due to their air of self entitlement, but you there’s no denying the outstanding study environment that they produce. Plus, the playlists at those places often produce some real gems.
I snag a table, order a bagel, and get to work. Well, not right away. First, I had to figure where to put the other half of my bagel while I was spreading cream cheese, being that the Corp gives you plates that are the size of an I-pod shuffle. Real convenient. After that adventure, I got to work. That is, after I checked facebook, my e-mail, ESPN, facebook, sporcle, facebook, the vox populi, and facebook.
I still managed to get a decent amount of work done, which could probably be accredited to UG’s decision to play the Backstreet Boy’s “Millenium” album. They may not be able to produce normal sized plates, but at least  they know what makes me larger than life.
12:05. Time to head to the Great White Gravenor for American Civilization II. American Studies is clearly the best major on campus. Don’t even try to argue. You’ll lose.
On the walk there, I ran into three people of note.
-My good friend Bobby. After recapping our nights, we decided we were going to play basketball later and “tear shit up”
-My Professor from last semester. We exchanged a rather formal “this is awkward seeing you outside of class” greeting
-A girl I drunkenly hooked up with last year. After pretending to be friendly for a brief period of time, we have now reverted to acting like we don’t know each other.
Fridays are crucial for my well-being, as class is only 50 minutes. That extra 25 minutes on monday/wednesday is just a killer. It’s the difference between drool and wow, thats actually cool.
The thirty some-odd person class spent the entire period engaged in a rather (blake) lively discussion about regional dialects and how they promote the development a distinct of cultural character within that specific region. The inner nerd inside me was going haywire- everyone in the class was putting in their two cents. The shy girl from Oklahoma, the pompous idiot from Massachussetts, the jersey b-frat bro, the proud Nebraskan, and the overly intellectual Manhattenite were going back and forth more furiously than the Man in the Yellow Hat’s monkey
…Oh wait. That’s CURIOUS George. My bad.
Jokes aside, the class more or less defined what I love about Georgetown. Regional differences are relative. They mean both everything and nothing at the same time. All the time.
Wow. This is longer than that paper you stayed up all night writing two days ago. You obsessed over it more than you needed to, you were going to get an A- no matter what. Because you’re a Georgetown student and have things to do, I’ll hit you up with the abridged edition
1:15: Leo’s with two of my friends and a mutual friend of theirs who I never met before. They were serving that awful falafel wrap, so I went for the make your own pasta. It always looks better than it tastes, but it’s still my go-to.  Sweat-pant-laden football players were sitting at the table next to us, which prompted the discussion of how much money the school could save if they discontinued the football program. My heart says play on, playa, but my metaphorical Georgetown wallet said the rational thing to do is stop that booty (here we come).
Fraternity meeting/general loafing around with friends. Nobody realizes it, but Georgetown is secretly run by fraternities. We’re in every student organization there is and them some. And as for parties? Pur-leasse.
Basketball with Bobby. We also played with a bunch of other random kids I know- my OA, a kid I met searching for parties the first week of school freshman year, a dudester from my high school, a surly guy I say “whats up” to on the basketball court but nowhere else because Georgetown has strange social rules, and a kid who once dated one of my best girl friends. Georgetown is awesome like that. Like it or not, you are inevitably connected with everyone.
Basketball makes me hungry. Shower is followed by Chipotle with the roommates, followed by Towne. We talk about the plans for the night. Ryan has heard of this party, Chad has heard of that party, and Charlie wants to go to Eppe.
Start the pregame with some beer pong. The girls haven’t arrived, so we decide to be all cool and play beer pong with our shirts off (though we keep on our backwards hats). Don’t want to get those button down vineyard vines semi-casuals all dirty.
Four and a half beers in, we start to feel it even though none of us are willing to admit it. Girls arrive. We switch over to the handle of Burnetts and play Kings. The girls just laugh the entire time and talk about eye-liner. We’re a very incestual group- half of us have hooked up with each other, but nothing serious has really transpired. Other than Chad and Courtney, that is. A year into their relationship and they’re tighter than the skinny jeans that the kids who smoke outside Lau wear.
All of us are hammered. We venture off to one of our friend’s parties in a Henle. My friend in the Saxatones is there. I haven’t seen him in about two months, so we start chatting it up. We had planned to make mashups together, so we decided to talk some music theory while pumping everyone beer. I love pumping kegs. It makes you feel powerful. Plus, its a surefire way to flirt with girls. Though the “guy at the keg” hardly ever gets past the flirting stage.
DoPs breaks up the party. It was registered, but being that Georgetown determinedly hates fun sometimes, they end it anyway. We scatter to a “stoplight” party in Burlieth. Naturally, everyone is wearing colors that aren’t red yellow or green.
My girl starts texting me, clearly drunk. I fend her off. I realize that there is nothing significant about our relationship and although it is nice to hook up with someone sometimes, I was in one of those “I’m going to assert myself” drunk moods. I decided that I was going to look cut the ties. I decided I was going to look for someone who liked me for me, and not because I hang with Leonardo, or know that guy who played in Fargo. I decided to explain my entire situation to an acquaintance at the party. She asked me “how is life?” So I told her.
She then told me about her life. She told me of how she thought she was taking on too much extra-cirricularly, her problems with her ex boyfriend who still bothers her even though she’s not interested,  and how she feels like she is not living up to her parents expectations with a 3.2 GPA. An hour later, we went from being people who knew each other from Georgetown Radio meetings to decent friends. Come to think of it, I was starting to like her.
We exchanged numbers, and I bid her a “farewell, my good lady.” Eric Prydz’s “Call on Me” dance jam was bumping while I pushed my way through the freshman infested dancefloor, so I busted a few dance moves on the way out. She laughed.
I knew I was going to see her again. Georgetown has a funny way of taking care of that for you.
2:01 am: Crash back at the Village B with the seven other survivors of the original group. Chad and Courtney retired early, clearly playing that funky music in the Chad’s room. Everyone talks about drunk stuff- who’s texting who, the latest rumors about the cuddler, LOST, gossip girl, that idiot professor who should be fired, etc. Portland Trail Blazing is taking place in the bathroom.
2:59 am: 2 Pies of Pizza is delivered. Ranch dressing and all. It is devoured within 9 minutes
3:36 am: After losing a game of Fifa, I decide to hit the (hoya) sack-sa
Closing my eyes, I can’t help smiling. I smile because after nearly two years away from home, it suddenly hit me-Georgetown Rocks.
I smile because each day at school presents just enough monotony to create the unexpected. That clearly doesn’t make sense, but neither does this school. There is something special about this place.
We may not have wireless, that doesn’t stop us. We live life on our own ac-cords.
Every story is beautifully different. What Rocks your Hill-topsy turvy world?

REally fitting song of the day: 

time of our lives: Miley Cyrus 

I have no idea why this song is not insanely popular. It's awesome sauce in a bottle