Saturday, April 16, 2011

Conor - What's Old Is New

Today’s Saturday.  This I know. I post on Friday’s. I’m aware of that, too. I’m also aware of the fact that I did not post yesterday. I don’t want to continue my recent habit of not posting, so here I am, loudly shouting “better late than never” and begging your/Classic Brian’s forgiveness.  Sorry, ladies.

Senior year of high school we had a sub, this young guy who was an assistant coach for the football and generally pretty sarcastic and wiseass-y. Throughout my four years at Springfield High School he would often make fun of me and I would joke around back and that was that. I heard he got with a high school girl or something? Is that true? Can anyone confirm that for me? Weird. Weeeeiiiird.

Anyway, so in physics class we this guy as a sub and Wednesday Eliot and I were joking around with him, and I made fun of him for probably the first time in our history together. Normally he made fun of me, but I had stepped up, I guess. I was on the offensive and he jokingly didn’t like it. He put on a facial expression that made it clear he was judging me and said “you’ve changed,” condescendingly.

When the sub said that to me I was caught off guard, then laughed and said “Damn, man. Ouch,” and went on with my life. I know he was joking, and it didn’t hurt my feelings or anything, I’m a man and I can deal with things and lately I’ve been having to shave every 3 days or so, but it made me aware of how afraid of that phrase I am.

“You’ve changed” will always sound like an insult to me. It’s an extreeemely neutral statement, it doesn’t judge positively or negatively, but the possibilities terrify me. Be it from a friend who hasn’t seen me since I left for college, an ex-girlfriend in an angry facebook message or an assistant football coach permanent sub who never really knew me in the first place, those words make me immediately question myself.

Which is ridiculous because I’m universally accepted as great.

There are a lot of things I do anything to change about myself, and there are a lot of things I would fight equally hard to keep. This leads to me wanting change, while simultaneously fearing the consequences. I should be more confident when it comes to certain things, but if I’m sure of myself and uberconfident, isn’t that going to change my personality? I have the best personality. I should not change it. Change never seems good or bad to me. Some parts can be identified as great and awesome and rad and sick, but there’s always something you lose, too.

Which is stupid and dumb.

It’s easy to pick out change in hindsight. A brief history of the biggest changes I’ve gone through in my young life.

February 6
th, 1992 – I end a somewhat sedentary period of my life and become a more active member of the community.

February 6
th, 1992 – February 6th, 1999 – For 7 years I live the dream. People tie my shoes, feed me, change my pants when I soil myself, and generally do everything for me. On my 7th birthday all of this ends, and, as is O’Brien tradition, I have to kill my own dig with a shovel.

February 6
th, 1999 – I become inexplicably terrified of dogs, switch over to being a cat person.

Sometime midway through 2002 – I discover hygiene.

2003 - 2004 – I have a really shitty 7
th grade year, I emerge on the other side a beautiful butterfly.

2005 – 2006 – I enter high school, I subtly plant the seeds of my imminent evolution into the most popular kid alive. It’s like if a beautiful butterfly went into a cocoon
again and everyone was like “what the fuck is he upto” and wouldn’t you fucking know it, here comes something even cooler than a butterfly, like a bear or walrus or something.

2006-2007 – I get one dinosaur graphic t-shirt and because of that, Sunday Robert buys me another dinosaur graphic t-shirt for my birthday. Things spiral out of control and all of the sudden I’m that guy.

2008 – 2010 – Things went great!

It’s weird, but I’ve become nostalgic and reflective about this school year and it’s, uhhh, I mean my finals are in about a month so I should probably cut this shit out now. But I want to talk about it a little bit.

It’s been a good year. A very good year.  I’ve changed, and I’ve accepted this. Good things have happened to me. Good things have slipped away from me, too. Not everything has worked out, and while my attempts to cling onto everything from back home were largely successful, some things myfriendshipwithMada were destined to fade out. I can’t have it all, and I’m not mad about that, I guess. Just disappointed.

Thanks to OU Frisbee I quickly found a group of friends who continue to reveal themselves as “awesome” and “sick.” I really lucked out with that one. I’m living in a house with 6 other people next year and I could not be more excited for that. I’ve gotten in shape for the first time. Guys, I ran a 5k this morning and liked it. I wasn’t smiling like some moron, but I mean, it felt pretty cool. I was passing people and like, generally being really attractive and cool.

I have friends who are needlessly competitive in things that don’t matter and it’s sweet. Earlier this week I went on a bouncy inflatable obstacle course with a friend and we drew blood from one another, prompting the people running the whole thing to change the rules. I’m currently brushing up on my Super Smash Bros 64 skillz because apparently the captain of the B team is incredible at it, and I don’t take kindly to people politely suggesting they may be better than me at anything. He’s going to destroy me, and I’m going to throw a tantrum. I’m trying to get into this group of Frisbee peeps who play this really lame board game Catan, but I’m not cool enough to join them. Being not cool enough to play a game called The Settlers of Catan is pretty demoralizing, but I’ll get over it.

I’m getting involved with the things I want to be involved with. I’ve been writing for the OU Daily all this semester and that’s been pretty cool. I’m in a play right now called 30 Second Plays that is the closest I’ve gotten to recapturing the creative energy the Easily Amused Improv Troupe had. I’m busy, but it’s a good busy. The kind of busy I like, the kind of busy I’m used to.

There are times when I feel the drawbacks, too. I don’t have a ton of friends who aren’t directly connected to Frisbee. I know a lot of cool people from the music school and other stuff, but I’m so busy with Frisbee and other work that I don’t really hang out with any of them. I live in this bubble, and it’s a nice bubble, but a bubble nonetheless. I’m not a part of a pair. It used to be Conor and Mada, or Conor and Tynan, or Conor and his cats, but that doesn’t really exist here. Sometimes I don’t know who to talk to. Nobody listens as well as my cats, anyway.

The other day somebody asked me if I was staying in Norman this summer, and I replied that I wasn’t, and they asked me if I wanted to. That was really the first time I had ever really contemplated summers in Norman. It doesn’t sound so bad. It sounds exciting, even, but not this summer. I need to go back. I need to see everything and do everyone. Springfield is still home to me, but it’s not my only home, now.  I’m pretty psyched about that.

Pretty fucking psyched, guys.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

The Outcast of House C

 The author struggles to choose sides.
by Brendan Cavanagh

A lot of people dislikes fraternities because they have some sort of moral objection to excessive "partying"- that is, an unabashed abuse of certain substances, most prevalently alcohol. I'm not saying I approve of underage drinking, but that's not my biggest qualm. What have really been aggravating me lately are three things:

First, that most of my freshmen brethren who are newly initiated into their respective houses have naively thrust themselves into arbitrary rivalries with other houses.

Second, that they have also bought into establishing a false facade of true brotherhood with brothers they dislike.

And third, that I have been unnecessarily ostracized for withdrawing from pledgeship just prior to initiation.

1. Last night, two prominent houses on the social scene, whom I shall refer to as House A and House B, played a massively-hyped, albeit unofficial basketball game between each other's pledge classes. Houses A and B have a well-known distaste for one another, and their respective pledge classes have previously opposed each other in sport, earlier this semester taking part in the mandatory "Freshmen Skits," a song-and-dance competition between the pledge classes of every fraternity and sorority. Much to House B's chagrin, House A placed first in Freshmen Skits, inspiring the sore losers to challenge House B to a game of basketball with the hopes of being looked upon more favorably by the rest of the campus. I am in favor of superficial rivalries between houses, to a certain extent, because as in professional sports, games are so much less meaningful when there's no emotional investment. However, after House B played a poor game last night and consequently lost, some of the young men of that pledge class took it harshly. One guy in particular walked up and down the hallway of my unit, where many of the rival brothers reside, walking into rooms and throwing a hissy fit to anyone who would put up with him. As my friends and I discussed the match with a boy from house B, the other indignant young man entered and immediately informed us, "I fucking hate House B." Looking at the smirking brother from House B beside him, he went on to say, "No, I don't even fucking care. I fucking hate those guys so much. They're fucking pussies." Well spoken. It upset me to hear that earlier, after the game, the same young man got into a row with one of his new "brothers," who tried to calm him down and tell him that it was only a game. To this he responded with, "Shut the fuck up, you fucking faggot," inciting some harsh words between the two. Smartly put, as this other guy, this brother of his, is an admitted homosexual. Which brings me to my next point:

2. How can one profess to be someone's brother, and then call him a faggot? How can anyone, in good conscience, become a member of a society that openly claims to house a group of men that are not simply friends united under a similar cause, but rather brothers who unanimously hold themselves up to standards that make them men of good repute? This is something that taught me that I did not want to go through with initiation into House C. I cannot stand hypocrisy. I cannot see myself walking around campus, pretending to love all the guys in my house, despite their faults. Learning to overcome people's negative facets and holding back criticism is one thing, but it goes against my nature to pretend I still like some douchebag for sake of holding up the house's reputation. When I dropped out of pledgeship a couple weeks ago, one of the brothers of the house sat down and had a discussion with me about my priorities. After I gave him my explanation for leaving, he was very sympathetic and understanding, but told me that the number one reason he is still involved is because he feels an inherent obligation to convert those douchebags into well-rounded and sophisticated men- a sort of noblesse oblige, if you will. I understand what he meant, and I find it admirable that he would stick with the fraternity system with the intentions of changing it for the better. I wish him luck, I really do. But I'm also very cynical sometimes, and I think sometimes bad people stay bad people, despite what I may do to change them. And I also don't feel it is within my right to change them for "the better" anyway. Or maybe I'm just lazy. Whatever it is, I don't want to join a house, knowing I don't fit in, mainly so that I can take a governmental role and hopefully churn out respectable men.

3. And finally, I'm upset because even though I explained my rationale for withdrawing to certain individuals in the house, I've since become a pariah of sorts. The newly initiated freshmen have been cool about it- I still hang out with the ones I'm actually friends with. I expect they know how I'm feeling, seeing as they are currently in a position where they're assessing the house's strengths and weaknesses and determining if it's right for them, and they're freshmen, so they know firsthand how hard it can be to find one's true identity at this age. But some of the older guys, who have lived in the house for a couple years now and have fully committed themselves, are less understanding. Perhaps they're angry because I didn't consult any of them before making my decision, or maybe they're doing the opposite of what I told them to do, and they're taking it personally. Either way, some of the nicest guys in the house a couple weeks ago are now the ones who barely acknowledge me when I pass by and say hello on campus.And that's aggravating. I'm not an asshole; I didn't drop out simply to spite any of them. But at the same time, I'm not bothered by their change in behavior because I would not want to claim virtual consanguinity with people who are so narrow-minded that they can't accept that someone's made a  decision in his best interest. To be fair, a lot of the brothers are still nice to me. I've been told by a few that I'm always welcome back and they respect my decision. I was accosted on my way into the library yesterday, even, when a brother asked me how I was doing- about ten times. I think he thought I was severely depressed about it or something.

To summarize, I'm really very happy I didn't join a fraternity. I can't put up with unprovoked hostility between houses, and I certainly cannot tolerate exemplifying false ideals. And it's tough to experience firsthand animosity from brothers who feel spited, and to hear from a newly initiated friend that some of the guys in the house still hold rancor against me. I haven't had many people to whom I can articulate all these tempestuous thoughts, which makes me thankful I have this blog to assemble everything in a less-than-coherent blog post. Even if none of my friends or family members read this, I can always count on my cult status in Denmark to earn me a few page views this weekend.

Your name is Hollister

So, I feel like this post has been half-written before, but, nonetheless, comma, I think that it deserves to be fully addressed (haw haw).

I'm here in the Blaisdell Hall laundry room, doing, other than my Classic Brian, laundry. Laundry in college is one of those big “oh fuck” drawbacks that no one looks forward to, yet everybody has to put up with. I don't know when everybody else does laundry. But I always hit up the L no earlier than midnight on a weeknight. And by always I mean, ya know, the four times I've done it. Any time I am close enough to stretch to a break and not do laundry here for money, I usually go with that. Like, I guess it's part of being a big boy, but not a fun part and I see no way to derive enjoyment from it.

But really, why do we do laundry? Because we don't use clothes to merely cover our junk, as was the original purpose. We do laundry because we love our clothes. One of the more overlooked hobbies that pretty much everyone shares is clothes. I mean, other than skin color, hair and any jarring abnormalities one might have, clothes are the go-to in comprising a first impression.

For example, if you wear backwards hats, athletic shorts, and maybe a cut-off shirt or “ironic” basketball jersey, I can tell you're probably a bro who won't invite me to any of your numerous parties. (The only acceptable excuse for wearing a hat backwards is because Ken Griffey Jr. does it.) If you wear something that makes me laugh, I immediately like you more. If you wear something to look good, well, that's not my kind of fashion.

But it can be, and for all intents and purposes should be, right? If something looks bad, don't wear it. I feel like everyone has that general rule. But people have different criteria for what looks good.

In eighth grade at Myles Peralta's house, Troy Klunick instilled in me that wearing two shirts (an undershirt) was cool and what you should do. So I did. In fact, I'm wearing two shirts right now. Over summer, Sunday Robert convinced me that was a stupid idea and that wearing one shirt was plenty damn enough, given the heat. One at the most.

Also, anybody who gets their clothes through one consistent medium is scoffingly identifiable as nothing more than a label. If all you wear is shit from Urban Outfitters, then you're like, a mainstream hipster. (BOOM!) If you only go to the mall and do the American Eagle-Abercrombie-Hollister-WhateverothergirlystoreIcan'tthinkofrightnow circuit, then you're a prep. And a bitch. If you only shop at Target and Kohl's for clothes. You're kinda poor and shitty. I, for one, make sure to get a little of everything. How tooly of me. Label me a poser. 

But each of us, we like our clothes. It's one of the few things in life we really have a solid amount of control over. I can't imagine what it would be like if you didn't like how you looked in the clothes you owned. I used to actually have this problem when I was young. I think until about third grade my mom just chose my wardrobe for me and did a horrible job because she was raised by Norwegians and didn't get to play enough dress-up as a child. Or something. All I'm saying is she didn't by me a twenty-dollar article of clothing until I was old enough to be called a gaywad. So actually not that long.

I find it interesting, though, as I sit here in the laundry room, watching other people put their identity in a machine to be renewed. Everyone values the shit out of their clothes and it seems like they reflect well on that person. Take everyone at Classic Brian here. Time to start doling out some hate.

Classic's wardrobe is Classic. Lots of thumbs up shirts (shirts that are undeniable cool, but easy). Lots of clothes to look nice in. Lots of clothes that accentuate his skinny body and Cowboy-Bebop ass legs. He has cool trendy indie shoes and may or may not be becoming a hats guy now. If he wears them, that means they're cool.

Robert's wardrobe is odd and inconvenient. The guy owns like, a pair of shorts. He overloads on jeans because he can wear them any time of year (even though he HATES it in the summertime) and has a pair or two of sweet plaids. Or at least he did when I hung out with him, the kid's dynamic so I don't know what's up now. He owns more belts than actual pairs of pants (include shorts in this, I don't know the word for what I want) and matches them with his cool t-shirts, occasional sweater vests, and specially occasional blue and white button-ups. Robert's had the same piece-of-shit pair of shoes since, like, birth, but also got a suave pair of blue low tops and of course, his good luck sandals. I know a lot about these people.

Monday Nick's wardrobe, well I don't know. Shit. Back before he was upgraded, he owned really quiet clothing. Not a lot of graphic stuff, not attention-getting designs or thumbs-up shirts, Just a lot of solid colors, usually to go under a unbuttoned-up shirt and of course. Nick has a few definites. In the used-to category, that beautiful green headband that he got at Relay for Life (STOLEN APHRODITE BEAUTIFUL AND MIGHTY!), and Berkinstocks all the fucking time. Even in winter. Just with thick, hand-made (by his aunt?) socks. He thinks brown belts look stupid. I don't. It's whatever I guess.

Tuesday Mada's wardrobe suits her well. She has proper clothes to impress anyone while simultaneously upholding the notion that she doesn't give a fuck. Oh, look at that cool lion shirt. Boyfriend jeans! Soy Legal shirt. Mada has a few iconic things. Her shoes have to be cool enough. She has a code each article has to pass, and part of that includes being low-budget. But then she liked Abercrombie clothes. So she got a job there to make them cheaper. Basically Mada just uses her clothes as an excuse to be needy. Love her.

Me? Well, to sum it up, I'd say I dip my toes into a lot of genres of clothes so I can pretend to be a certain style in particular for like, three days at a time. I have a few graphic shirts, a few sports shirts, a few university shirts, a few polos, a few artsy shirts, a few Jesus camp shirts, a few of anything I wanna pretend to be for a while basically. I have a pair or two of tight fitting jeans. A pair or two of baggies. A bunch of pairs of in-betweens (or, as some call them, jeans that fit). Got plaid shorts, khaki shorts, athletic shorts. Okay this is getting boring. Acknowledged. Shoes: basketball, casual, running, converse, run-around shoes. A pair of old flippy shit-flops and of course, shower thongs.

Thursday Brendan has dignified clothes. That make him look intelligent. Or a rebel. Whichever he prefers to be on the given night.

Friday Conor likes his shirts loud and attention-getting. And damn right they're hilarious. Remnants of that fourth-grade boy who didn't care about cleanliness show through, but he's added a suave line to his collection so he can seduce the ladies and highlight his new-found level of fitness. Changing! I'm so bored of this.

Point is, clothes define who you are, whether you like that or not. It's embarrassing, for me, how much I hate relinquishing old clothes, even if I don't wear them anymore. I have an attachment, because, I guess, that's what I looked like once. I was the kid wearing that shirt. And now I'll never be that again. My wardrobe, though, will change over time and become adulty. Which'll suck.

So, I mean, here's to clothes. And fuck laundry. Thanks mom.

--Eliot Sill

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Things I Think Shouldn't Exist

Mondays! Am I right?????


Classes before 10am.- I mean, I'm not going to go to them so why do they exist. Even if it's Floral Design. Actually, especially if it's Floral Design. How do you expect me to get my self out of bed at 8 for a lecture about flowers. This is probably why Floral Design is my lowest grade right now.

The DMV- I went there yesterday and they wouldn't take my photocopied birth certificate and therefore wouldn't replace my lost license. I also locked my keys in my car and had to sit in the parking lot for an hour until AAA came and broke into it. I GUESS you could say these things weren't the DMVs fault, but you would be wrong.

Other people that want to use the study rooms in my dorm- Just because you started your homework before 10 and therefore got there first doesn't make you better than me and you should therefore go to the main lounge so I can sit in the adorable little nook one time this semester. Just one time.

Vegetarian Night at my dorm- Seriously this is the worst dorm food I've ever eaten. And I have nothing against vegetarians. I eat at the vegetarian lunch dining hall every weekday, but for some reason Allen hall thinks that vegetarian meals mean that you should take things that are already delicious and meatless and make them inedible. Like 4 cheese macaroni and cheese with leaks. Gross, just give me Kraft and I will be so happy.

The 19 and up age limit at U of I bars- It's not like I think bars are the coolest thing ever or anything, but when you have a really late birthday like me it feels like someone is throwing a party every weekend and inviting the entire school except you. Like all the guest list says is 'Don't let Mada Larson come into this bar and laugh at her if she tries'.

My procrastination problem- Self-explanatory.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Nick - Juxtaposition

I storm into the meeting room furious. I have a prepared speech in my hand, but I'm not going to read from it; I know it by heart. I looked around the room. Senator Kirby is sitting on the left side of the long, oval shaped meeting table. He is my staunch political ally, but he averts his eyes as I walk in. He has already caved in, and he knows I am going to fight.

I nervously open the door handle to David's apartment. I can hear the party going on inside, but I still wish that Ryan would come let me in. He is the only reason I am here; I really don't even know David that well. I had come out here on Ryan's insistence that I should get out and have fun more often, but it was feeling more and more like a bad idea. I opened the door.

I hear the meeting room door slam behind me as I walk around the table, giving Senator Ryan Kirby a stern look of disapproval. There are two men in suits, standing, ready to give a presentation. Supposedly they are "experts," but I know better. They're nothing more than pawns, probably in the employ of Senator Adrianna Christie.

I squeeze into David's apartment, and my ears are assaulted by loud music, and even louder shouting and laughing. The noise is a little overwhelming. I squint around, trying to find Ryan, who had said that he would be here. I had been texting Ryan earlier this night, but he had stopped responding. I struggle through the crowd of people, but I'm having trouble moving around at all, let alone finding Ryan. I see a sliding glass door leading out to the balcony, and decide to see if my friend is outside.

"Nice of you to join us," says Senator Christie, who sits at the head of the table. She sneers in a way that makes me want to drop the act of professionalism and punch her in the face. She seems to revel in her position as the head of the newly-formed Agricultural Subsidies Commission. I keep my cool and say nothing, my countenance remaining stern and immovable.

I sigh in relief as I step out of the hot, crowded air of the party, onto the cool and relaxing balcony. Ryan is out on the balcony talking to a small group of people. I interrupt him and say hello. He shakes my hand, and urges me to wait out here for him while he goes and talks to someone inside. Feeling slightly abandoned, I watch him head back into the apartment, taking much of his social circle with him. I'm left out on the balcony with two men having a smoke, and a very bored looking girl.

"We think the evidence clearly shows," said one of the men in suits, as they finish their presentation, "that the implementation of this subsidy increase for high-yield plantations is absolutely necessary. After all, certainly we can all agree that we want to encourage efficiency?"

Standing on the balcony, feeling the cool breeze, I stand by myself until the girl standing not far from me strikes up conversation. I answer all of the usual questions: how old are you, where are you from, how did you hear about the party? I was twiddling my thumbs shyly, but finally I look up at her and we make eye contact. She's beautiful. We talk for a surprisingly long time.

I slam my hands down on the table in response to such a ludicrous question. "This subsidy is nothing short of highway robbery, and you know it!" I burst out violently, "all of your keywords, your talking points, are just smoke and mirrors. These subsidies are no more than handouts to the richest parts of the agriculture industry, and calling them 'high yield' or 'high efficiency' doesn't change that fact! This is the money of the taxpayers, and it should be going to those who need it, or nowhere at all!"

"I know you said you were here with your friend Ryan," says the beautiful girl, "but I really am not at all good with parties. I'm meeting a few of my friends at a restaurant in a little while. Any chance you'd like to come with?"

My face is red from shouting. I look around the table at everyone else present. No one meets my eye, except for Senator Christie, who looks back mockingly.

"I would love to go with you," I tell her, giving a warm smile, "I'm not very good at parties either. I don't think I'm going to miss this place much."

"There's really no need to get so upset," Senator Christie sneers, "After all, we already have the votes to clear this plan, with or without you."

As I walk out of the party with the beautiful girl, I remember that I don't know her name yet. "I totally forgot to ask your name."

I lean in close to Senator Christie, and my mind fills with hatred as I stare into the soulless void of her eyes. "No matter how many votes you have, I'm going to keep fighting this. I'm not giving up this time."

My smile widens as the beautiful girl laughs, her eyes sparkling, and says, "Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Christie."

Sometimes I think that maybe, if we had met under different circumstances, things would be different.



--Robert Langellier

Let's be completely honest with ourselves. Friendships vary in value and style to an extraordinary level. There are just some kids you're destined never to bond with and others you inexplicably can't get enough of, despite how dumb and boring and condescending and one-upping and a girl they are. But some types of friendships I find are especially interesting and categorizable:

First, the When Harry Met Sally friendship. This is the best-friends-in-love-where-everyone-can-totally-tell-except-for-the-two-in-love cliche. Ew sick I know, right? Well usually it's funnier because usually at least one person in the friendship feels this way and usually less than two people in the friendship feel this way. These are like car wrecks; you know you're absolutely awful but unless it's someone you know then you love watching it happen anyway and you're constantly hoping for it.

Second, the "Conor and Robert" friendship. This is when both sides of a friendship inherently despise the other and use the friendship as a competitive struggle to cause as much irreversible damage to the other as possible before finally being separated by the babysitter called college. Inevitably, neither side will win this friendship, and both will generally regret ever entering the struggle in the first place.

Third, the 0.99 Cinnamon Twist friendship. This is the kind that looks really cool and stuff to have, but then when you actually bite into it, you realize it's already exploded in a cloud of Splenda, sodium, and corn dust by the time it hits your teeth. This is a friendship characterized by extra friendly smiles and comically undeserved affection sternly backed up by essentially no qualities of a deeper understanding of each other. They're especially awesome because you never have to worry about asking them about their day and receiving any response more difficult to deal with than sunshine and rainbow gumdrops.

Fourth, the One Joke friendship. This type of friendship is usually formed with classmates who one, for the most part, only sees in class. At some point during the school year, the two bond over a hilarious inside joke. Unfortunately, due to limited exposure to each other, these two friends are doomed to recount the same relatively funny inside joke a pitiful amount of times because that's the only friendship ammunition they have. There are no known instances of this type of relationship advancing beyond this fatal phase.

Finally, the Linking friendship. Everybody has that guy they want to be better friends with, but don't really have the mutual friends to make that possible. You need a Linker. A human bridge to step over on your path to more desirable choices. I mean why else would I hang out with Brian McMahon if he wasn't friends with Jimmy Gvasdinskas and Duke? I wouldn't. Unfortunately, these friendships do sometimes slip beyond these initial stages into a real friendship if you're not careful, as indicated by Brian skype IMing me a half an hour ago. GET OVER IT BRIAN NO WE CANNOT HANG OUT.

Friends come in all sorts of sizes, shapes, textures, boxes, and personalities. Some of them in bad ones. I hope that with my new categorized friendship evaluator you guys will be able to spot the signs of a disastrous friendship early on and stop them before it's too late.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Tynan The Creator

10 Tynan Haikus:

1. Tynan Shevlin is
the drummer in Band practice
he makes some music

2. I'm writing these cuz
Caitlin Sutcliffe told me to
I lack good ideas

3. Caitlin Caitlin love
love love love love love love love
Caitlin Caitlin love

4. We named a hot girl
in final fantasy games
after him (he's hot)

5. Wears a fedora
Sister called him a hipster
DJs Clustercuss

6. Yoko is his dog
craziest dog in the world
Ha, "Yoko, oh no."

7. Went to same grade school
Blessed Sacrament sucks balls
Mrs. Joiner blows

8. Allergic to cats
It's not creepy that I know
Caitlin told me so

9. Halo, Heroquest
Risk, poker, many phases
Abundant good times

10. He likes type faces
Bass bass bass bass bass bass bass
Tynan Kenobi

Moral of the story: Haikus are dumb and easy to write.

-Classic, co-written by Caitlin