Guess who's breeding the next generation of espionage, lawyers, thieves, and stalkers? My dorm building, where we're learning to lurk, lie, thieve, and stalk.
It's a fantastic concept, really, running around trying to murder your fellow co-eds, followed by a report of how they met their gruesome end.
I should probably explain.
"Sock Wars".
You are assigned a target, you hit said target with a *clean* sock, you take their target, and so on. All the while dodging whomever is after you. There are certain safe zones, such as your own room and the bathroom, but other than that, you're essentially a sitting duck.
However, some people have officially taken it one step beyond where it needs to be. Waiting outside classes...that they are not registered in. Leaving threatening boxes outside doors. Lurking outside doorways. Petty theft. And my personal favorite - the Facebook Stalk.
It's amazing just how much Facebook can tell you about someone - where they live, their friends, what they look like, what their personal interests are, and their schedule. Ridiculous, really, the amount one can discover about someone using something that helps you "connect and share with people in your life" - and that includes those that you don't even know are in your life... until you get beaten with a sock.
It's an unfortunate truth, but outside of a game such as sock wars, the Face-stalk does happen. Your pictures, information, groups, friends, and even emotional status become the property of anyone who cares to look. And you may not even realize who those people are. I'm not saying that you're being stalked by a serial-rapist or something as dramatic as that, but just think... that person always staring at you in History? That guy practically dry-humping your leg at the club last weekend? Your next-door neighbor? Or worst - your parents...? Well, they can ALL see your life as it unfolds, like living your own personal tabloid. So do yourself a favor, and maybe reset those privacy settings.
If not, watch out, cause I've got a sock, and it's got your name on it.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
What am I doing here?
Recently a friend came into my room, collapsed, completely exhausted, onto my bed and uttered the words,
"Sometimes I feel like all ____ is is common sense and readings."
And then time stopped.
Let's face it, apart from classes actually teaching you something (like sciences and math), the subject matter is mostly just common sense. It's not really a revelation when you find out that people are likely to believe that they would have known the answer to a question once finding out said answer, or that generally speaking white people have oppressed every native culture they've come across and stolen their stuff, or even that the square root of X is Y.
It becomes completely draining to go to a class, be bored out of your mind, and observe nothing you hadn't already when you walked through the door. This is a disturbing thought, considering I myself am paying something like $15, 000 a year to be here. It's like being at some sort of carnival - everything is really, really hard to win so that when you manage to get even the worst prize in the barrel, you're ecstatic. And then you realize you just spent $20 and one hour to get a three dollar toy.
I'm throwing my money at University and all it's dishing out are crappy carnival prizes.
And then there comes the readings. Usually long, tedious, and repetitive, they are meant to add the the copious amounts of lecture, online notes, and text book. The readings give us learned people's thoughts, research, and opinions, and then we are told to model our thoughts after that. The readings become the ultimate example of what we are to do with this newly acquired Common Sense. Plagiarism? No, that's only when they can get it in writing.
"Sometimes I feel like all ____ is is common sense and readings."
And then time stopped.
Let's face it, apart from classes actually teaching you something (like sciences and math), the subject matter is mostly just common sense. It's not really a revelation when you find out that people are likely to believe that they would have known the answer to a question once finding out said answer, or that generally speaking white people have oppressed every native culture they've come across and stolen their stuff, or even that the square root of X is Y.
It becomes completely draining to go to a class, be bored out of your mind, and observe nothing you hadn't already when you walked through the door. This is a disturbing thought, considering I myself am paying something like $15, 000 a year to be here. It's like being at some sort of carnival - everything is really, really hard to win so that when you manage to get even the worst prize in the barrel, you're ecstatic. And then you realize you just spent $20 and one hour to get a three dollar toy.
I'm throwing my money at University and all it's dishing out are crappy carnival prizes.
And then there comes the readings. Usually long, tedious, and repetitive, they are meant to add the the copious amounts of lecture, online notes, and text book. The readings give us learned people's thoughts, research, and opinions, and then we are told to model our thoughts after that. The readings become the ultimate example of what we are to do with this newly acquired Common Sense. Plagiarism? No, that's only when they can get it in writing.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Thunder-Mob
Mob mentality and organized sports - how would we see the beauty in one without the presence of the other?
Picture a large, intimidating group of people screaming obscenities, gesticulating, and chanting. Not at you, mind you, because that would be terrifying. No, you are caught up in a crowd, at an organized sports-type thing, and there is nothing else to do but yell, scream, shout, and roar. Even if you don't quite what's happening. College football ("university football" does not quite have the same ring, nor is it as entertaining) is one of those such events in which mob-mentality and humanity's more basic instincts come into play in a near poetic fashion.
All it takes is that one person who is SO INTO THE GAME. It's about bringing the intensity, because as soon as everyone sees how into it you can get, everyone wants a taste. Although everyone else may think it weird, personally I think it's a fun game to sit in the center of a crowd at a sports event that I'm not overly interested in and just sit there and watch them cheer. Every single time, it follows a sort of pattern...
You know that person I mentioned before, the one who is just really into the game? Well, they're usually there with a group of their equally rowdy friends. It's usually them who starts it - something particularly noteworthy happens, and they go absolutely nuts. I should mention that these people are usually knowledgable about sports in general.
People around them, catching on that something has happened believe they, too, should cheer, and proceed to do so. This creates a chain reaction that spreads from the Rowdy Epicenter of actual fans to the rest of the crowd. It goes back to the days of the Colliseum, when a cheering crowd determined the life or death of innocent people. Except in football, the crowd simply deems how satisfying a play has been. You don't even have to know what is going on, or what you are deciding; the mob gives you the excuse to act blindly.
Have you ever experienced the thought that you don't actually know what you're cheering for, but that it must be important, so you just go with it?
Happens to me all the time. Therein lies the beauty, and supposed danger, of mob-mentality. No conscience, no decision, just going with it.
Of course the formula goes beyond just the basics, as there is always the element of competition: who can be louder, or clap the longest, or "woot" for the longest... or chug a beer the fastest, or invent the greatest victory dance. That's where things get entertaining, because that's where the Drunken Fan comes in.
The last sporting event I attended was a football game, and there I met my hero. Aside from the dancing mascot, of course. I like to refer to him as Random Drunk Fan in Kanye Glass or RDFKG. RDFKG was taking on all the responsibilities of the Rowdy Epicenter, and then some. Dancing with the mascot, dancing by himself, marching around pumping people up. A very large part of me wanted to BE this guy. Not one other drunken fan could top him, not even the fist fighters and the Crazy guest-official-fan (who, quite frankly, was just simply terrifying).
In the end, even though it is these memorable individuals who start the cheers, and make up the memories, it is the crowd in general that makes the event.
The collective cheers, the group chants... no one, not even the players, would be as into it if the mob wasn't a part of it. Everyone becomes part of the mob to avoid thought, to remain anonymous but still expressive - so I leave you with this dare - become my hero, the one who starts, it, the one not afraid to be an individual in the face of the mob.
Picture a large, intimidating group of people screaming obscenities, gesticulating, and chanting. Not at you, mind you, because that would be terrifying. No, you are caught up in a crowd, at an organized sports-type thing, and there is nothing else to do but yell, scream, shout, and roar. Even if you don't quite what's happening. College football ("university football" does not quite have the same ring, nor is it as entertaining) is one of those such events in which mob-mentality and humanity's more basic instincts come into play in a near poetic fashion.
All it takes is that one person who is SO INTO THE GAME. It's about bringing the intensity, because as soon as everyone sees how into it you can get, everyone wants a taste. Although everyone else may think it weird, personally I think it's a fun game to sit in the center of a crowd at a sports event that I'm not overly interested in and just sit there and watch them cheer. Every single time, it follows a sort of pattern...
You know that person I mentioned before, the one who is just really into the game? Well, they're usually there with a group of their equally rowdy friends. It's usually them who starts it - something particularly noteworthy happens, and they go absolutely nuts. I should mention that these people are usually knowledgable about sports in general.
People around them, catching on that something has happened believe they, too, should cheer, and proceed to do so. This creates a chain reaction that spreads from the Rowdy Epicenter of actual fans to the rest of the crowd. It goes back to the days of the Colliseum, when a cheering crowd determined the life or death of innocent people. Except in football, the crowd simply deems how satisfying a play has been. You don't even have to know what is going on, or what you are deciding; the mob gives you the excuse to act blindly.
Have you ever experienced the thought that you don't actually know what you're cheering for, but that it must be important, so you just go with it?
Happens to me all the time. Therein lies the beauty, and supposed danger, of mob-mentality. No conscience, no decision, just going with it.
Of course the formula goes beyond just the basics, as there is always the element of competition: who can be louder, or clap the longest, or "woot" for the longest... or chug a beer the fastest, or invent the greatest victory dance. That's where things get entertaining, because that's where the Drunken Fan comes in.
The last sporting event I attended was a football game, and there I met my hero. Aside from the dancing mascot, of course. I like to refer to him as Random Drunk Fan in Kanye Glass or RDFKG. RDFKG was taking on all the responsibilities of the Rowdy Epicenter, and then some. Dancing with the mascot, dancing by himself, marching around pumping people up. A very large part of me wanted to BE this guy. Not one other drunken fan could top him, not even the fist fighters and the Crazy guest-official-fan (who, quite frankly, was just simply terrifying).
In the end, even though it is these memorable individuals who start the cheers, and make up the memories, it is the crowd in general that makes the event.
The collective cheers, the group chants... no one, not even the players, would be as into it if the mob wasn't a part of it. Everyone becomes part of the mob to avoid thought, to remain anonymous but still expressive - so I leave you with this dare - become my hero, the one who starts, it, the one not afraid to be an individual in the face of the mob.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
The Inevitable Nickname
A new take on blogging - the short anecdotal story. *Names have been obliterated to respect the privacy of those innocent/not-so-innocent people they pertain to.*
I find it funny how quickly nicknames can be created, circulate, etc. etc. Especially in a residence setting, on any given university campus. I can barely count the number of people I've "met" before actually being introduced just based on a nickname a rather astute friend of mine has given them. My favorite case : Scruffy ___, luckily not particularly sensitive. He wears silly hats. A lot. In public non-silly-hat-wearing places. Not necessarily a bad thing.
This friend of mine had met this Scruffy ___ and quickly discerned that this was the perfect name to "introduce" him to our little group with. So, before the point in time we had actually met, I knew who he was - by reputation and nickname only.
Coincidentally, our first actual meeting was also the day that we met our floor RA, Dell. I will tell you right now she is very sweet, without a malicious bone in her body, and that the following is a happening of mere chance, which is why it is downright hilarious.
We (a couple friends, the Nicknamer and Dell included) had just sat down to a mediocre cafeteria dinner when who should join us but Scruffy ___ and a few of his friends. In the brief seconds in which the Nicknamer managed to spot him coming over she said as an afterthought,
"Oh, there's Scruffy ___."
He sits down with us, we go through the introductions - name, what floor you live on, what city you came from, and what faculty you're in (it's a pretty standard procedure by week two), and he and Dell start up a conversation about something. I'm not really paying attention until I hear,
"So, how'd you get the nickname Scruffy ___?"
I freeze, anticipating the next moments - hilarity, or disaster?
The Nicknamer freezes, eyes wider than a kid in a candy store, quesidilla poised to be bitten.
Scruffy ___ gives an awkward smile, not understanding quiiiiite yet.
And Dell says,
"Ohhh, it was a secret nickname."
I burst out laughing, the Nicknamer makes awkward apologies and Scruffy ___ brushes it off. Life goes back to normal with the lesson learned - nick names, while a source of entertainment, are dangerous when places in the wrong hands. Case in point: Calling someone Hot ___ to their face. That situation does not even approach the possibility of comedy
At this point in time we have designed nicknames for an entire clan of people, and they are spreading rapidly. Cheeky ___. Scruffy ___. Hot ___. Sexy ___. The list goes on and on. You're probably on it, but no one's going to be blurting it out now.
I find it funny how quickly nicknames can be created, circulate, etc. etc. Especially in a residence setting, on any given university campus. I can barely count the number of people I've "met" before actually being introduced just based on a nickname a rather astute friend of mine has given them. My favorite case : Scruffy ___, luckily not particularly sensitive. He wears silly hats. A lot. In public non-silly-hat-wearing places. Not necessarily a bad thing.
This friend of mine had met this Scruffy ___ and quickly discerned that this was the perfect name to "introduce" him to our little group with. So, before the point in time we had actually met, I knew who he was - by reputation and nickname only.
Coincidentally, our first actual meeting was also the day that we met our floor RA, Dell. I will tell you right now she is very sweet, without a malicious bone in her body, and that the following is a happening of mere chance, which is why it is downright hilarious.
We (a couple friends, the Nicknamer and Dell included) had just sat down to a mediocre cafeteria dinner when who should join us but Scruffy ___ and a few of his friends. In the brief seconds in which the Nicknamer managed to spot him coming over she said as an afterthought,
"Oh, there's Scruffy ___."
He sits down with us, we go through the introductions - name, what floor you live on, what city you came from, and what faculty you're in (it's a pretty standard procedure by week two), and he and Dell start up a conversation about something. I'm not really paying attention until I hear,
"So, how'd you get the nickname Scruffy ___?"
I freeze, anticipating the next moments - hilarity, or disaster?
The Nicknamer freezes, eyes wider than a kid in a candy store, quesidilla poised to be bitten.
Scruffy ___ gives an awkward smile, not understanding quiiiiite yet.
And Dell says,
"Ohhh, it was a secret nickname."
I burst out laughing, the Nicknamer makes awkward apologies and Scruffy ___ brushes it off. Life goes back to normal with the lesson learned - nick names, while a source of entertainment, are dangerous when places in the wrong hands. Case in point: Calling someone Hot ___ to their face. That situation does not even approach the possibility of comedy
At this point in time we have designed nicknames for an entire clan of people, and they are spreading rapidly. Cheeky ___. Scruffy ___. Hot ___. Sexy ___. The list goes on and on. You're probably on it, but no one's going to be blurting it out now.
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