The Beginning of the End

It's finally here. For the past 22 years this moment in my life has been lingering on the horizon, unreachable, but always there, lurking and waiting, and now I'm upon it. Somehow, without my even noticing, I crossed the valley and reached the point where sky meets land, the point that everyone assumes does not really exist until they are right on top of it and the breath is knocked out of them and they can feel their hearts seizing up. In about 3 and 1/2 months I will finally be graduating from college, a moment that stirs within me the most incredible mixture of utter terror and unadulterated joy that I've ever known. Maybe I'm being melodramatic, but I am absolutely terrified to think that soon I will be entering the work force, that I will be a "grown-up." I can't be a grown-up; I still get nervous raising my hand in class, even when I'm completely and totally confident that I have the right answer. How am I supposed to go on job interviews? How am I supposed to put on panty hose and sensible pumps and command to sort of respect that the businesswomen on TV have taught me to expect? I've already begun applying for jobs in places like New York and Boston, places that I've so romanticized in my mind that I imagine just living there will give me the sort of confident swagger that a young professional should have. I know it's too early to start applying for the kinds of jobs I want (publishing, magazines, all of the industries that my father assures me are quickly dying and so are wastes of my time, but from which I can't seem to turn my attention); most of their openings are looking for immediate hires, but I feel like if I can just get my name in their heads, maybe they'll look past my mediocre grades and minimal involvement. Maybe my sheer persistence will finally crack them and force them to give me a job. Maybe, like Anne Hathaway's character in The Devil Wears Prada or America Ferrera's character on Ugly Betty, the decision makers will be intrigued by my "differentness" and hire me on a whim, only to realize it was the best decision they have ever made. Or maybe I'm, once again, romanticizing the future and I'll end up working the drive-thru at the Burger Doodle and adopting stray cats, but I really hope not. I guess, at the risk of sounding absurdly cliche, only time will tell.
Here's a song:
It'll All Work Out by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

Signs That You Are a Pretentious Asshole

Have you spent nights tossing and turning, just wondering if your prentention was really enough to warrant the title of "pretentious asshole"? Sure, you had the Hermes ties or the Longchamps luggage, but was that enough to take you from simply snobbish to truly pretentious? Here is a list, a collaboration between my brother and myself, two of the most pretentious assholes you may ever come across, that can put your mind at rest. It was inspired by a blog post of the same name, that was simply insufficient. What they were describing was a hipster douchebag, and no true pretentious asshole would be caught dead drinking PBR or listening to Animal Collective. If at least 10 of the following apply to you, then congratulations, you are a pretentious asshole.

-You attended prep school (boarding is better, but day is fine), preferably in the Northeast or Virginia.
-You joined or plan on joining a country club immediately upon graduation from higher education.
-You have the numeral III or higher behind your name.
-You have referred to others as commoners, peons, rabble, prole (proletariat), LC (lower class), or not PLU (people like us).
-You insist on pronouncing non-English based words with their respective foreign accents and correct others when they do not.
-You snub those who attended public school.
-In college, you joined a top-tier fraternity/sorority and a secret society (if applicable).
-After college, you joined a secret society (again, if applicable).
-You refuse to eat Chili's, TGIFriday's, Bennigan's, or any other chain, eschewing them as "middle class," and opting instead for local dive restaurants because they are more "authentic."
-When someone walks by in particularly ostentatious garb, you roll your eyes and whisper "new money" to your group.
-You have an extreme aversion to "hip" bars and, instead, insist on wearing trendy clothing to dive bars.
-You frequent private clubs.
-You only use the word "classy" ironically, as no one raised properly would discuss class in such a crude manner.
-At least 3 of your 4 grandparents went to college during the Great Depression.
-You have engraved calling cards.
-You own opera-length kid gloves or a white tie and tails by the time you graduate from college.
-You have known what the term "costume de rigeur" means since you were 5-years-old.
-After college, you wouldn't be caught dead buying furniture from a furniture store.
-You know the difference between a "woman" and a "lady."
-You had to pick out china and silver patterns as a child so that your godparents could by you pieces for Christmas and birthdays, even though you are set to inherit silver and china from both grandmothers.
-You know that "season" has nothing to do with weather or time of year, but can either be good or bad depending on whether or not you're asked to be a deb or stag.
-You know that a true gentleman's club does not employ strippers, and escort is not a euphemism for prostitute.
-You know at least 5 people whose first names are variations on their mothers' maiden names.
-Whenever you mention a new friend, your parents want to know where they're from and who their people are.


Remember, you're either born to be a pretentious asshole, or you're not. If you weren't, it's okay, you're just less of a human than those of us that were.

Dinosaurs

Finally, a plausible explanation to how dinosaurs became extinct. That whole "ice age" thing is absurd. If they froze, how did they end up underground? And, wouldn't they have just woken up when they thawed? It's a bunch of hogwash.

Penultimate: Sounds a lot cooler than it actually is

It's almost over; the penultimate semester of my college career is almost at an end. This is by far the strangest feeling I've ever felt, like a mixture of pure, heavenly joy and total, annihilating, all-consuming terror. On the one hand, I will be done with school forever (unless, of course, I later decide I need some other degree), and so will finally be freed from the millions of trivial exercises disguised as learning that have plagued me for all of these years. But then on the other hand lies a some sort of box, the contents of which I don't know. It could be a treasure chest, filled with a job as an editorial assistant in New York and the opportunity to publish all sorts of amazing new books; or it could be Pandora's box, filled with a dead-end waitressing job that holds nothing but never-ending stretches of the same bad country playlist and whiny customers complaining that they never got their side of ranch. I'm terrified and I'm excited in a way that could only be described as sublime, except, instead of the power of nature inspiring my terror, it is the power of modern society and the treacherous depths of the American workforce.
I haven't written any poetry in quite a while, but after hearing Sara and Anderson read last week, I felt pulled back to writing, so here's something.

Winter

He's up there laughing, alright. Look at him, all big and yellow and silly. "It's not very funny down here," I shout, but he takes no notice. "My hands and feet are frozen, you big jerk. Have you ever tried walking to class on ice blocks? It's not easy!" He acts like he can't hear me, like just because he's a big ball of fire and exploding gas suddenly his ears don't work, but I know what's what. All day, he just sits up there staring at us, not sharing any of that heat that I know he's got bottled up in the hall closet. A few months ago he was handing it out like a Jehovah's Witness with a quota to meet and pamphlets piling up, but now he's just being plain stingy. Probably because he thinks it's funny to watch me try to light a cigarette with ice cube fingers. Well, I'm not laughing. I'll get him back; one of these days, BANG, ZOOM, straight to the moon with him. Then he'll be sorry; that blue cheese stench is enough to choke a horse.

And, as has been my pattern, here's a song.
12:59 Lullaby Song, Bedouin Soundclash

Where is Craig? Gary and Steve Go to Auburn

Another milestone has come and gone. The last Georgia-Auburn game of my college career is over and the Bulldogs managed to choke. Honestly, it's really not that surprising, considering how we've been playing all year, but they really messed with my emotions that first half. That wasn't really the highlight of the weekend, though. Friday night was fun, yesterday was silly (as is usual when large amounts of day drinking are involved), but last night and today really made the weekend a success. At the bar last night, I'm pretty sure I made a scene. It's pretty fuzzy, but at one point I know I was standing behind a guy that Caroline was talking to, pointing and flailing and mouthing, "He's so cute, I love him, you should date him." Then he turned around and I tried to pretend I was dancing; I don't think he bought it. Caroline received a text from Michelle saying, "Key understand. Clean up go to bed." Michelle had not been drinking at all. While waiting for Michelle to come get us, someone (probably a drunk, obnoxious Georgia fan) set the toilet-paper covered Toomer's Corner oak trees on fire, hence why it makes no sense at all to roll your own campus. Don't worry, Perrin and Caroline got pictures. Also while waiting for Michelle, Sarah picked up some random dude named Doug, so obviously I had to sing "What do tigers dream of", especially the refrain of "Dougy Doug Dougy Dougy Doug Doug." I think he really liked it. At lunch/brunch/meal time today, as we discussed Caroline's inability to pay attention to anything else when a TV is on, Caroline described her active watching of TV shows by asking sample questions. "What's going on? Where is Craig?" We not only found this funny because of Caroline's voice and general joviality, but because of the specific use of the name Craig. It is just random enough to be completely silly, yet ordinary enough to sort of make sense. After lunch, on the way back to Caroline's, I put on part of her Halloween costume: a hat made for a dog that looks like a turtle head and thick- framed, black glasses. Then I said a lot of really weird things and basically just pretended to be a turtle. Well, a baby turtle. Named Franklin. When I got out of the car I said, "I'll be back in a minute for your reading lesson!" and then walked really slowly in front of the car. Then Caroline high-fived Michelle for "having such a funny friend." I'm the funny friend. Boom. I may or may not be brain damaged. Now I'm home, watching Harry Potter on ABC Family and stalking the actor who plays Neville Longbottom because he's gotten really hot. Who knew? It's been quite the long weekend, one that really allowed me to display once more how unprepared I am to be an adult. Cin cin to only having to take 4 hours next semester so I can continue on this path of self-destruction. Here's a fun song.
Self-Destructive Zones, Drive-by Truckers

21st Birthday: The Sequel

Well, it's happened. I'm actually 22. Now, I know that's not that old, but in an age where everything happens at an earlier age (kids are learning foreign languages and math in kindergarten, for god's sake), I feel that I should have actually accomplished something by this point in my life. I mean, I'll be graduating in less than 7 months and I really have almost no idea what I want to do with my life. Pretty much as far as I've gotten is that I don't want to live on the street and it would be nice to be able to afford food. I'm having a quarter-life crisis. That's right, yet another thing that's happening earlier in life, an age-based identity crisis. Fantastic. Don't worry, though, just because I'm worried that I'll never get a job/get married/have kids/be a real human being, doesn't mean I've felt the need to mature in my social life. Thursday and Friday night, the night before and night of the dreaded birthday, I acted like a complete and total buffoon. It was like freshman year all over again (not that I ever drank underage, it's illegal and dangerous). I had a fantastic time, and thanks to my absolutely amazing friends whom I love and appreciate, I was in such bad shape that I went to bed at about 10:30 last night. Or maybe I'm just getting old. At least I can still have a good time, even if in the future I probably won't be able to afford to go out and will have to use my welfare checks to get drunk off of codene cough syrup.
In other news, I always use my birthday as the marker of when it's acceptable to start listening to Christmas music and watching Christmas movies, so I'm currently watching Love Actually. Here's one of my personal favorite songs from the movie. And yes, it makes me cry every time.
Both Sides Now, by Joni Mitchell

The World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party

While most people in the country will spend this Friday putting the final touches on their Halloween costumes, I will be on a beach on St. Simons Island, Georgia drinking beer and generally causing a scene. It's finally that time of year once again: GEORGIA v. FLORIDA. I'm not saying this is better than Christmas, but isn't it? The Friday before the game is the one day of the year that hundreds of UGA students get together simply to celebrate being Georgia students. Well, that's not entirely true, but it's the only time we all get together on a beach. It's the World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party; how could that not be fun? Actually, it's "frat beach", but as I'm not going to Jacksonville, the actual home of the WLOCP, I'm just going to pretend that SSI is the Cocktail Party (honestly, it's better). Some people opt to go other places on the three day weekend that Michael F. Adams calls our "fall break," but I just can't resist the idea of drinking beer on the beach with 5000 of my closest friends. Who cares that our football team is not exactly top notch? I'm really not going for the football (not to say that I don't love to watch the Dawgs, I just love AC more), hence the no Jacksonville. Why would I pay to ride a bus and sweat all day in the sticky Florida heat amongst thousands of jort-clad Gator fans when I could be sitting in an air-conditioned bar with fellow Bulldog fans? Honestly, the Dawgs might be able to pull out a W, but if and when they do, I'd rather be surrounded by Georgia fans; you never know if one of those swamp dwellers is carrying a rusty shank, and I personally don't want to be around to find out. So, if you're looking to have quite possibly the best weekend of your life, head down to SSI this weekend. Or you can regret it for the rest of your life; it's really up to you.