Is it just me or is 2011 flying by? As April comes to an end I figured it was only fitting to recap the best of pop culture (that I consumed) from the month. In reality I totally ripped the idea from one of the pop culture blogs I read (they do it every Friday). Either way, this may or may not become a new staple to The Shampoo Effect.
Best TV Show I watched- Parks and Recreation on April 21st. My new favorite television character (and new Twitter avatar) Ron Swanson (played by Nick Offerman) fights to keep hamburgers on the lunch menu. He goes toe to toe with health and fitness freak boss Chris (played by Rob Lowe) in a cook off. Chris buys all sorts of earthy ingredients and makes an exquisite turkey burger. The judges (co-workers of the Parks and Rec staff) love it. Ron buys ground beef and hamburger buns. That’s it. The judges, and Chris like his burger more and hamburgers get to stay on the lunch menu.
You can watch the whole episode right here and I strongly recommend that you do.
I also enjoyed- The Office (I always love the Dundies and while I didn't love the Michael Scott farewell the goodbye with Pam was well done.), Big Love (a great comedy on CBS on Mondays at 8:30pm ET that stars Jason Biggs (American Pie) and Sarah Chalke (Scrubs)), The O’Reilly Factor, The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, and Friday Night Lights.
I didn’t go for- 30 Rock (It’s normally the funniest show on TV, but I didn’t care for 2 of the 3 episodes that aired this month (the gas leak and plan B), The Real World: Las Vegas
Best movie I saw- Love and Other Drugs- Back in the Fall when it was in theaters one of my friends called it “the best chick flick of all time.” Now I don’t know if I’d go that far, but it's definitely up there. I think the key to getting guys to liking a so-called chick flick is to have a male protagonist (i.e. (500) Days of Summer). That said, Anne Hathaway is half-naked for about half of the movie and her body is a lot nicer than I ever thought it was.
I want to see- Nothing that’s currently in theaters, but I’m sure I’ll see The Hangover Part II shortly after it comes out in late May. It should be noted that I’m already bracing myself for disappointment.
Best thing I heard- I’m currently mildly-obsessed with the Mumford & Sons album Sigh No More (2009). Everyone knows (or should know) about “Little Lion Man” and “The Cave”, but the entire CD is fantastic. Also, if I didn’t look it up a while back I would have thought that this English band was from somewhere in the South (Tennessee, Mississippi, etc.)
Best thing I read- "Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas". It’s the only book I read in its entirety in April and I devoted an entire blog post to it, so obviously I liked it.
I also enjoyed- The article on my new #1 celebrity crush Brittany Snow (she supplanted Zooey Deschanel, who held the title for a longgg time) from the April edition of Maxim, The Rolling Stone articles on Howard Stern (March 31st issue), Rihanna (April 14th issue), Ricky Gervais (April 14th issue), and Bill Maher (April 28th issue).
Friday, April 29, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
The (Rotten) Fruits of my Labor
I live in West Hartford, which is pretty much the middle of nowhere Connecticut. The best way to describe its location is "in-between Boston and New York City". In fact, most of the people who grew up in this area feel as if the equidistance between the two major cities gives them the right to pick and choose the sports teams that they like. You have New York Jets fans who also like the Boston Red Sox, New England Patriots fans who also root for the New York Rangers, etc. Quite frankly I find the whole notion despicable. You can't have it both ways. You need to pick one city and root for its teams. I mean, hell, Boston and New York are rivals in just about every sport.
I tell you this because, as a West Hartford resident, I have taken this liberty, but in a way that only marginally deals with sports. As many of you know I received my highest form of education at Fairfield University in Fairfield, CT, which is closer to New York than Boston, but a lot of kids from the surrounding Boston area go there. As a senior (junior? I'm not really sure. I'm getting old) in college many of my classmates began reading a Boston based website called barstoolsports.com. Despite the almost unbearable slant to Boston's professional sports teams it was a great website because of its largely male humor, pictures of hot chicks, relevant sports talk, gambling advice, etc.
In fact, the website became increasingly popular when one of our female classmates was featured as the bartender/model of the month. There was an interview, a bunch of racy pictures, and a video of the photo shoot set to the tune of the John Fogerty classic "Center Field" (I dare you to find a male from the Fairfield class of '08 that hears that song and doesn't think about this girl).
Quick sidenote- God bless Google for making those links so easy to find.
Not so quick sidenote- During my freshman year my buddy Robby and I co-hosted the best radio show in WVOF history. The station was located on the bottom floor of the campus center and right outside of it was a lounge area with chairs, couches, etc. Whatever was said on the radio was sent out not only on the airwaves, but also through a speaker directly outside the station (in the lounge area), but the volume was usually turned all the way down because people did their homework in this lounge area.
Well during one now infamous show this girl that was the bartender/model of the month for barstoolsports.com was sitting in a chair right outside the radio station and if memory serves she was looking particularly seductive. Sitting with her were two other complete smokehouses that were also in our grade. I forget how it happened exactly, but Robby or I must have briefly stumbled while trying to express some groundbreaking thought and when we were called on it (probably by Kyle Korver, who routinely sat in as our guest for hours at a time) we said something to the effect of how it was hard to focus when there were three incredibly hot girls sitting outside of the radio station (I probably should have mentioned this already, but the wall separating the station and the lounge area was made of glass). This (justified) excuse soon led to a little back and forth about how hot these girls were. As this was going on the future bartender/model of the month casually put her pen in her mouth, like most people do when they are trying to think of something. Well because radio is not a visual medium I, being the great broadcaster that I was, described the act by saying, "Oh my God...she just put her pen in her mouth. Her pen is now in her mouth."
Evidently the sound on the speakers wasn't turned all the way down that day because about 7 seconds after I made that comment (we broadcasted on delay in case anyone swore, etc.) all three girls turned and looked through the glass at Robby, Kyle Korver, and I. We quickly threw to our next song, but the awkwardness/embarassment level was at an all time high.
So a few years ago the barstoolsports empire expanded to New York and I have read both sites routinely ever since with the justification that I live directly in-between both cities. It has since expanded to Philadelphia and a site aimed at kids currently in college, but I don't read those.
Well this past Wednesday Barstool posted the following article that was written in the Fairfield student newspaper (The Mirror- which is a terrible way of signifying that the articles printed are a reflection of the student body as a whole. It should be noted that Fairfield annually ranks in the top five of “Most Homogenous Student Bodies” in all of those college review books because the student body is 88% white).
Barstool Sports.
Guys (dare I say gentlemen?) of Fairfield, please don’t tell me that your lives are so devoid of entertainment that you have to resort to staring at women whom you will never get anywhere near. And ladies, if you’ve just had a fight with your best friend, or you didn’t get that job you wanted, or you are feeling upset and/or suicidal and/or less than downright chipper in any way, DO NOT CHECK OUT THIS WEBSITE. Let’s make a website that makes women exploit themselves on the Internet so that guys can ogle for hours in front of the computer screen over strategically posed women and so girls can feel thoroughly insignificant despite their perfectly beautiful appearances. Yay! By the way, the tagline for Barstool Sports: “By the common man, for the common man.” How about, “By the desperate, unloved man, for the brainless, idiotic, male-chauvinistic, equally desperate and unloved man?” Yeah, I think that works. Of course, a few more profanities come to mind, but I don’t necessarily think they’re Stag-approved.
Naturally the Barstool writers ripped the girl that wrote this article to shreds, but I was none to pleased to see the article coming from my alma mater in the first place (someone tweeted me the link and someone else posted it on my Facebook wall). Seeing it caused me to feel slightly guilty because I know that I am least partially responsible for transforming Fairfield into a breeding ground for feminist idealogues.
As many of you know I wrote a gender driven weekly column for The Mirror as a senior at Fairfield. The roots of my egomaniacal, pompous, male chauvinist writing style trace back to this role (they actually can be traced a little further back, but who really cares that much?) My, for lack of a better term, incendiary writing caused a minor uproar on campus virtually from the get go. Shortly thereafter a class on feminist idealogy (I just threw up in my mouth as I typed that) devoted entire classes to dissecting my column. They even wrote an editorial to address the "hate speech" that they claimed I had used. I was asked and gladly attended a class on Race, Gender, and Ethics with my female editor to defend my column. As the weeks went on Facebook groups formed, letters to the editor came pouring in, and a new female group on campus, called "The Vagina Warriors" (I wish I was making this up), was formed.
The year after I graduated, as I was told by my former News Writing teacher, a new clause was added to the student handbook to address "hate speech". According to her, this was a direct result of my column. Probably because my shoes were too big to fill (that's just my ego talking) some twat took over my column and was neither funny nor controversial. The next year, though, a kid re-ignited the spark that I had lit and actually forced the administration to do away with the column altogether. A few females claimed sexual harassment (thanks to that new clause in the handbook) and after a little back and forth between the administration that was that. Quite frankly I thought this kid was writing specifically to stir up controversy (whereas I was writing to make guys laugh and my writing just so happened to incite females) and that he wasn't a good writer by any stretch of the imagination, but the uproar he caused far outweighed whatever I did back in '07-'08.
To deny that this recent feminist outcry is at least partially a byproduct of what I unintentionally started is simply inaccurate. It pains me to know that this army of femi-nazis is now part of my legacy (if you could even call it that).
I tell you this because, as a West Hartford resident, I have taken this liberty, but in a way that only marginally deals with sports. As many of you know I received my highest form of education at Fairfield University in Fairfield, CT, which is closer to New York than Boston, but a lot of kids from the surrounding Boston area go there. As a senior (junior? I'm not really sure. I'm getting old) in college many of my classmates began reading a Boston based website called barstoolsports.com. Despite the almost unbearable slant to Boston's professional sports teams it was a great website because of its largely male humor, pictures of hot chicks, relevant sports talk, gambling advice, etc.
In fact, the website became increasingly popular when one of our female classmates was featured as the bartender/model of the month. There was an interview, a bunch of racy pictures, and a video of the photo shoot set to the tune of the John Fogerty classic "Center Field" (I dare you to find a male from the Fairfield class of '08 that hears that song and doesn't think about this girl).
Quick sidenote- God bless Google for making those links so easy to find.
Not so quick sidenote- During my freshman year my buddy Robby and I co-hosted the best radio show in WVOF history. The station was located on the bottom floor of the campus center and right outside of it was a lounge area with chairs, couches, etc. Whatever was said on the radio was sent out not only on the airwaves, but also through a speaker directly outside the station (in the lounge area), but the volume was usually turned all the way down because people did their homework in this lounge area.
Well during one now infamous show this girl that was the bartender/model of the month for barstoolsports.com was sitting in a chair right outside the radio station and if memory serves she was looking particularly seductive. Sitting with her were two other complete smokehouses that were also in our grade. I forget how it happened exactly, but Robby or I must have briefly stumbled while trying to express some groundbreaking thought and when we were called on it (probably by Kyle Korver, who routinely sat in as our guest for hours at a time) we said something to the effect of how it was hard to focus when there were three incredibly hot girls sitting outside of the radio station (I probably should have mentioned this already, but the wall separating the station and the lounge area was made of glass). This (justified) excuse soon led to a little back and forth about how hot these girls were. As this was going on the future bartender/model of the month casually put her pen in her mouth, like most people do when they are trying to think of something. Well because radio is not a visual medium I, being the great broadcaster that I was, described the act by saying, "Oh my God...she just put her pen in her mouth. Her pen is now in her mouth."
Evidently the sound on the speakers wasn't turned all the way down that day because about 7 seconds after I made that comment (we broadcasted on delay in case anyone swore, etc.) all three girls turned and looked through the glass at Robby, Kyle Korver, and I. We quickly threw to our next song, but the awkwardness/embarassment level was at an all time high.
So a few years ago the barstoolsports empire expanded to New York and I have read both sites routinely ever since with the justification that I live directly in-between both cities. It has since expanded to Philadelphia and a site aimed at kids currently in college, but I don't read those.
Well this past Wednesday Barstool posted the following article that was written in the Fairfield student newspaper (The Mirror- which is a terrible way of signifying that the articles printed are a reflection of the student body as a whole. It should be noted that Fairfield annually ranks in the top five of “Most Homogenous Student Bodies” in all of those college review books because the student body is 88% white).
Barstool Sports.
Guys (dare I say gentlemen?) of Fairfield, please don’t tell me that your lives are so devoid of entertainment that you have to resort to staring at women whom you will never get anywhere near. And ladies, if you’ve just had a fight with your best friend, or you didn’t get that job you wanted, or you are feeling upset and/or suicidal and/or less than downright chipper in any way, DO NOT CHECK OUT THIS WEBSITE. Let’s make a website that makes women exploit themselves on the Internet so that guys can ogle for hours in front of the computer screen over strategically posed women and so girls can feel thoroughly insignificant despite their perfectly beautiful appearances. Yay! By the way, the tagline for Barstool Sports: “By the common man, for the common man.” How about, “By the desperate, unloved man, for the brainless, idiotic, male-chauvinistic, equally desperate and unloved man?” Yeah, I think that works. Of course, a few more profanities come to mind, but I don’t necessarily think they’re Stag-approved.
Naturally the Barstool writers ripped the girl that wrote this article to shreds, but I was none to pleased to see the article coming from my alma mater in the first place (someone tweeted me the link and someone else posted it on my Facebook wall). Seeing it caused me to feel slightly guilty because I know that I am least partially responsible for transforming Fairfield into a breeding ground for feminist idealogues.
As many of you know I wrote a gender driven weekly column for The Mirror as a senior at Fairfield. The roots of my egomaniacal, pompous, male chauvinist writing style trace back to this role (they actually can be traced a little further back, but who really cares that much?) My, for lack of a better term, incendiary writing caused a minor uproar on campus virtually from the get go. Shortly thereafter a class on feminist idealogy (I just threw up in my mouth as I typed that) devoted entire classes to dissecting my column. They even wrote an editorial to address the "hate speech" that they claimed I had used. I was asked and gladly attended a class on Race, Gender, and Ethics with my female editor to defend my column. As the weeks went on Facebook groups formed, letters to the editor came pouring in, and a new female group on campus, called "The Vagina Warriors" (I wish I was making this up), was formed.
The year after I graduated, as I was told by my former News Writing teacher, a new clause was added to the student handbook to address "hate speech". According to her, this was a direct result of my column. Probably because my shoes were too big to fill (that's just my ego talking) some twat took over my column and was neither funny nor controversial. The next year, though, a kid re-ignited the spark that I had lit and actually forced the administration to do away with the column altogether. A few females claimed sexual harassment (thanks to that new clause in the handbook) and after a little back and forth between the administration that was that. Quite frankly I thought this kid was writing specifically to stir up controversy (whereas I was writing to make guys laugh and my writing just so happened to incite females) and that he wasn't a good writer by any stretch of the imagination, but the uproar he caused far outweighed whatever I did back in '07-'08.
To deny that this recent feminist outcry is at least partially a byproduct of what I unintentionally started is simply inaccurate. It pains me to know that this army of femi-nazis is now part of my legacy (if you could even call it that).
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Hypothetically Speaking
In my business, people don't discuss hypotheticals. Athletes, coaches, general managers, etc. generally refuse to answer questions about hypothetical situations. For example, if a reporter were to ask Albert Pujols whether or not he would sign with the Chicago Cubs in the off-season if they offered him a 10-year $300 million dollar contract he would not answer it. He would most likely say something to the effect of, "That's the last thing that's on my mind right now. My only focus is helping this team win baseball games."
The interesting thing is that hyptothetical questions make sports much more exciting. They often spurn debate and drive sports talk radio. People love speculating and hearing other speculate. For example, will Chris Paul opt out in the summer of 2012 and sign with the Knicks? Will Dwight Howard leave Orlando for the Lakers just like Shaquille O'Neal did?
Hypothetical questions, as unlikely as they are, also make life more interesting. Case in point, I just finished reading a book titled, "Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas". Klosterman, in case you don't know already, is a renowned writer in the world of popular culture. He mostly writes about rock music, musicians, athletes, trends, movies, and television shows. I wouldn't call his work academic, but it's not just "I like this movie" or "I don't like this TV show and here's why". He likes to contextualize pop culture and decipher it's larger meaning or purpose. If that confused you, don't feel bad. Half of his ideas confuse me too. They do offer a different way to look at things that we generally take for granted as purely entertainment, though, and that's why I like reading Klosterman's work.
"Chuck Klosterman IV" is a lot like Malcolm Gladwell's "What the Dog Saw" in that it's a collection of his past works. Klosterman presents a bunch of articles on various topics that he's written for different publications and provides a bit of background on each particular work. How he stumbled into the assignment, what he thought of the subject he interviewed, whether or not he liked the particular article, or a hypothetical situation that ostensibly relates to the article.
Now it is the hypothetical situations that ostensibly relate to his articles that interested me the most. More often than not I didn't exactly see the parallel between the hypothetical and the article, but because I did understand a few of them I assume they were all tied together in this manner (there's a 100 page portion of the book that introduces each article with a hypothetical). These seemingly abstract questions were both intriguing and thought provoking. Below are 10 of the approximately 15 chapters/articles that began this way. After each I will do my best to answer the question that is posed.
1.) You are given the chance to control what your legacy will be. You can’t specifically dictate how you will be recalled by future generations, but you are given the chance to choose between two general idioms of legacies.
The first kind of legacy (“option A”) would be that you lived your days as a good, honest person who worked hard and contributed to society. However, the limitation of this legacy will be that almost no one will know or remember this information (including future members of your own extended family). Most average people will never even know that you lived. The second kind of legacy (“option B”) will be familiar to almost everyone in the world for centuries to come. However, this legacy will be extremely strange and neutral; it will be an obscure fact that has almost nothing to do with your tangible day-to-day life (the best comparison being the legacy of General Tso Tsungtang, an extremely gifted and successful military leader during the seventeenth-century Qing Dynasty who is now exclusively remembered as the namesake for the popular Chinese dish General Tso’s chicken).
Which legacy do you want?
My answer: Ultimately I think this is a question about vanity. I think most people want to be remembered after they're dead and gone even if it's for something "strange and neutral". That said, I think the more popular answer is "option A" and I'd probably play it safe and say that even though I love General Tso's chicken.
2.) Think of someone who is your friend (do not select your best friend, but make sure the person is someone you would classify as “considerably more than an acquaintance”).
This friend is going to be attacked by a grizzly bear.
Now this person will survive this bear attack; that is guaranteed. There is a 100 percent chance that your friend will live. However, the extent of his injuries is unknown; he might receive nothing but a few superficial scratches, but he also might lose a limb (or multiple limbs). He might recover completely in twenty-four hours with nothing but a great story, or he might spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.
Somehow, you have the ability to stop this attack from happening. You can magically save your friend from the bear. But his (or her) salvation will come at a peculiar price. If you choose to stop the bear, it will always rain. For the rest of your life, wherever you go, it will be raining. Sometimes it will pour and sometimes it will drizzle-but it will never not be raining. But it won’t rain over the totality of the earth, nor will the hydrological cycle be disrupted; these storm clouds will be isolated, and they will focus entirely on your specific whereabouts. You will never see the sun again.
Do you stop the bear and accept a lifetime of rain?
My answer: Absolutely not (and I won't tell you the name of the friend I was thinking of). Call me a bad friend if you want, but I hattte rain. I couldn't imagine having all of my future softball games, golfing events, and vacations rained out. I guess the best case scenario would be to move to Ireland and accept the rain everyday, but I don't think that I could do it.
3.) You work in an office, performing a job you find satisfying (and which compensates you adequately). The company that employs you is suddenly purchased by an eccentric millionaire who plans to immediately raise each person’s salary by 5 percent and extend an extra week of vacation to all full-time employees.
However, this new owner intends to enforce a somewhat radical dress code: every day, men will have to wear tuxedos, tails, and top hats (during summer months, male employees will be allowed to wear gray three-piece suits on “casual Fridays”). Women must exclusively work in formal wear, preferably ball gowns or prom dresses. Each employee will be given an annual $500 stipend to purchase necessary garments, but that money can only be spent on work-related clothing.
The new regime starts in three months.
Do you seek employment elsewhere?
My answer: No, not immediately. I would definitely give this a chance. Who doesn't like to get all spiffed up? And I think I could get used to female co-workers in ball gowns and prom dresses. If this became an issue, and after a few months it might, I would begin looking elsewhere.
4.) At the age of thirty, you suffer a blow to the skull. The head trauma leaves you with a rare form of partial amnesia−though you are otherwise fine, you’re completely missing five years from your life. You have no memory of anything that happened between the ages of twenty-three and twenty-eight. That period of your life is completely gone; you have no recollection of anything that occurred during that five-year gap.
You are told by friends and family that−when you were twenty-five−you (supposedly) became close friends with someone you met on the street. You possess numerous photos of you and this person, and everyone in your life insists that this individual was your best friend for over two years. You were (allegedly) inseparable. In fact, you find several old letters and e-mails from this person that vaguely indicate you may have even shared a brief romantic relationship. But something happened between you and this individual when you were twenty-seven, and the friendship abruptly ended (and−apparently−you never told anyone what caused this schism, so it remains a mystery to all). The friend moved away soon after the incident, wholly disappearing from your day-to-day life. But you have no memory of any of this. Within the context of your own mind, this person never even existed. There is tangible proof that you deeply loved this friend, but−whenever you look at their photograph−all you see is a stranger.
Six weeks after your accident, you are informed that this person has suddenly died.
How sad do you feel?
My answer: Initially, no, but eventually I would definitely feel sad. I'd be sad that I would never know what this friendship was like and what caused the schism.
5.) You have been wrongly accused of a horrific crime. Due to a bizarre collision of unfortunate circumstances and insane coincidences, it appears that you have murdered a prominent U.S. Senator, his beautiful young wife, and both of their infant children. Now, you did not do this, but you are indicted and brought to trial.
Predictably, the criminal proceedings are a national sensation (on par with the 1994 O.J. Simpson trial). It’s on television constantly, and it’s the lead story in most newspapers for almost a year. The prosecuting attorney is a charming genius; sadly, your defense team lacks creativity and panache. To make matters worse, the jury is a collection of easily confused sheep. You are found guilty and sentenced to four consecutive life terms with virtually no hope for parole (and−since there were no procedural mistakes during the proceedings−an appeal is hopeless).
This being the case you are (obviously) disappointed.
However, as you leave the courtroom (and in the days immediately following the verdict), something becomes clear: the “court of public opinion” has overwhelmingly found you innocent. Over 95% percent of the country believes you are not guilty. Noted media personalities have declared this scenario “the ultimate legal tragedy.” So you are going to spend the rest of your life amidst the general population of a maximum-security prison . . . but you are innocent, and everyone seems to know this.
Does this knowledge make you feel (a) better (b) no different, or (c) worse?
My answer: Maybe this is a cop out, but I would say that this would make me feel simultaneously better and worse. Better because the overhwelmingly majority would be on my side, but worse because there's nothing that anyone can do about it. Also, did anyone else notice that this is kind of the reverse of what happened to O.J.? Maybe that was the whole point.
6.) You are offered a Brain Pill. If you swallow this pill, you will become 10 percent more intelligent than you currently are; you will be more adept at reading comprehension, logic, and critical thinking. However, to all other people you know (and to all future people you meet), you will seem 20 percent less intelligent. In other words, you will immediately become smarter, but the rest of the world will perceive you as dumber (and there is no way you can ever alter the universality of that perception).
Do you take this pill?
My answer: No way. It's sad really, but perception (how competent people think you are) is a lot more important than reality (how competent you actually are).
7.) You begin watching a new television series, and you immediately find yourself strongly relating to one of the supporting characters. You’ve never before experienced a TV character that seems so similar to yourself; this fictional person dresses, behaves, and talks exactly like you. And−slowly, over the course of several episodes−the similarity grows spooky; on two separate occasions, the character recounts personal anecdotes that happened in your real life. The actor portraying this character begins mimicking your mannerisms. In at least three different episodes, the character’s dialogue quotes things you’ve said (verbatim) during casual conversation.
You become convinced that this is neither coincidence nor mental illness: somehow, this character is being actively based on your life. The show’s writers generally depict the “you” character in a positive manner, but−as far you can tell−you don’t know anyone involved in the show’s production or creation. It’s totally inexplicable.
You have two friends who also watch this show. One of them is certain that your theory is correct and that (somehow) the character is, in fact, based on your life. She tells you to get a lawyer. The second friend concedes that many of the similarities are amazing, but that the whole notion is ridiculous, impossible, and egocentric. He tells you to see a therapist.
How do you respond to this situation? Do you do anything?
My answer: What I find most interesting about this question is that most people generally like to think that this happens to them all of the time. Either a character acts just like them, a movie should be made about their life (Truman Show style), or a song completely sums up their feelings for a particular person or sitatuation and it was almost as if the artist wrote it for them. That said, this seems like enough evidence to go on to do something. I'd like to speak to the writers/creator to see how they came up with this particular character. If the only way to do that was to hire a lawyer I guess I'd do that, but I wouldn't want to sue for any compensation. I'd be much more interested in where they got the idea for this particular character than I would be in somehow capitalizing financially on this.
8.) You are placed in the unenviable position of having to compete for the right to stay alive. You will be matched against a person of your own gender in a series of five events−an 800-meter run, a game of Scrabble, a three-round boxing match, a debate over the legalization of late-term abortion (scored and officiated by reputable collegiate judges), and the math portion of the SAT.
In order to survive, you must win three of these events (your opponent will be playing for his or her life as well). However, you (kind of) get to pick your opponent: you can either (a) compete against a person selected at random, or (b) you can compete against someone who is exactly like you. If selected at random, the individual could be of any age or skill level−he/she might be an infant with Down syndrome, but he/she might also be an Academic All-American linebacker from Notre Dame. If you pick “the average human,” he/she will be precisely your age and will have an identical level of education, and the person will be a perfect cross-section of your particular demographic−he/she will be of average height and of average weight, with a standard IQ and the most normative life experience imaginable.
So whom do you select? Or−perhaps more accurately−do you feel that you are better than an average version of yourself?
My answer: First things first, I think I'd be pretty confident either way. I'm faster than the average male my age, I'm a pretty good Scrabble player, I'm confident in my pro-choice argument, and I got a 740 on the math portion of the SAT. That said, I think I'd pick the random because my odds would be better that I'd get someone from 0-16 or 65-80. If that were the case I would dominate all 5 events against the young person and at least the race and boxing match against the elderly person. I'd take my chances at beating the elderly person in Scrabble, debate, or the math portion of the SAT. I think taking an average version of myself is a much bigger risk because that way no event is an automatic win.
9.) It is 1933. You are in Berlin, Germany. Somehow, you find yourself in a position where you can effortlessly steal Adolf Hitler’s wallet. This theft will not affect Hitler’s rise to power, the nature of World War II, or the Holocaust. There is no important identification in the wallet, but the act will cost Hitler forty Reichsmarks and completely ruin his evening. You do not need the money. The odds that you will be caught committing this crime are less than 2 percent.
Are you ethically obligated to steal Hitler’s wallet?
My answer: Yes, no questions asked. The impulse for vengeance in that moment (as small as it might be) would be much more powerful than the notion of treating your neighbor how you want to be treated.
10.) While traveling on business, your spouse (whom you love) is involved in a plane crash over the Pacific Ocean. It is assumed that everyone onboard has died. For the next seven months, you quietly mourn. But then the unbelievable happens: it turns out your spouse has survived. He/She managed to swim to a desert island, where he/she lived in relative comfort with one other survivor (they miraculously located most of the airfcraft’s supplies on the beach, and the island itself was filled with ample food sources). Against all odds, they have just been discovered by a Fijian fishing boat.
The two survivors return home via a helicopter, greeted by the public as media sensations. Immediately upon their arrival, there is an international press conference. And during this press conference, you cannot help but notice how sexy the other survivor is; physically he/she perfectly embodies the type of person your mate is normally attracted to. Moreover, the intensity of the event has clearly galvanized a relationship between the two crash victims: they spend most of the interview explaining how they could not have survived without the other person’s presence. They explain how they passed the time by telling anecdotes from their respective lives, and both admit to having virtually given up on the possibility for rescue. At the end of the press conference, the two survivors share a tearful good-bye hug. It’s extremely emotional.
After the press conference, you are finally reunited with your spouse. He/She embraces you warmly and kisses you deeply.
How long do you wait before asking if he/she was ever unfaithful to you on this island? Do you never ask? And if you mate’s answer is “yes,” would that (under these specific circumstances) be acceptable?
My answer: I would never ask (it just doesn't seem right), but if my wife admitted that she did I would deem the act acceptable under the extreme circumstances.
The interesting thing is that hyptothetical questions make sports much more exciting. They often spurn debate and drive sports talk radio. People love speculating and hearing other speculate. For example, will Chris Paul opt out in the summer of 2012 and sign with the Knicks? Will Dwight Howard leave Orlando for the Lakers just like Shaquille O'Neal did?
Hypothetical questions, as unlikely as they are, also make life more interesting. Case in point, I just finished reading a book titled, "Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas". Klosterman, in case you don't know already, is a renowned writer in the world of popular culture. He mostly writes about rock music, musicians, athletes, trends, movies, and television shows. I wouldn't call his work academic, but it's not just "I like this movie" or "I don't like this TV show and here's why". He likes to contextualize pop culture and decipher it's larger meaning or purpose. If that confused you, don't feel bad. Half of his ideas confuse me too. They do offer a different way to look at things that we generally take for granted as purely entertainment, though, and that's why I like reading Klosterman's work.
"Chuck Klosterman IV" is a lot like Malcolm Gladwell's "What the Dog Saw" in that it's a collection of his past works. Klosterman presents a bunch of articles on various topics that he's written for different publications and provides a bit of background on each particular work. How he stumbled into the assignment, what he thought of the subject he interviewed, whether or not he liked the particular article, or a hypothetical situation that ostensibly relates to the article.
Now it is the hypothetical situations that ostensibly relate to his articles that interested me the most. More often than not I didn't exactly see the parallel between the hypothetical and the article, but because I did understand a few of them I assume they were all tied together in this manner (there's a 100 page portion of the book that introduces each article with a hypothetical). These seemingly abstract questions were both intriguing and thought provoking. Below are 10 of the approximately 15 chapters/articles that began this way. After each I will do my best to answer the question that is posed.
1.) You are given the chance to control what your legacy will be. You can’t specifically dictate how you will be recalled by future generations, but you are given the chance to choose between two general idioms of legacies.
The first kind of legacy (“option A”) would be that you lived your days as a good, honest person who worked hard and contributed to society. However, the limitation of this legacy will be that almost no one will know or remember this information (including future members of your own extended family). Most average people will never even know that you lived. The second kind of legacy (“option B”) will be familiar to almost everyone in the world for centuries to come. However, this legacy will be extremely strange and neutral; it will be an obscure fact that has almost nothing to do with your tangible day-to-day life (the best comparison being the legacy of General Tso Tsungtang, an extremely gifted and successful military leader during the seventeenth-century Qing Dynasty who is now exclusively remembered as the namesake for the popular Chinese dish General Tso’s chicken).
Which legacy do you want?
My answer: Ultimately I think this is a question about vanity. I think most people want to be remembered after they're dead and gone even if it's for something "strange and neutral". That said, I think the more popular answer is "option A" and I'd probably play it safe and say that even though I love General Tso's chicken.
2.) Think of someone who is your friend (do not select your best friend, but make sure the person is someone you would classify as “considerably more than an acquaintance”).
This friend is going to be attacked by a grizzly bear.
Now this person will survive this bear attack; that is guaranteed. There is a 100 percent chance that your friend will live. However, the extent of his injuries is unknown; he might receive nothing but a few superficial scratches, but he also might lose a limb (or multiple limbs). He might recover completely in twenty-four hours with nothing but a great story, or he might spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.
Somehow, you have the ability to stop this attack from happening. You can magically save your friend from the bear. But his (or her) salvation will come at a peculiar price. If you choose to stop the bear, it will always rain. For the rest of your life, wherever you go, it will be raining. Sometimes it will pour and sometimes it will drizzle-but it will never not be raining. But it won’t rain over the totality of the earth, nor will the hydrological cycle be disrupted; these storm clouds will be isolated, and they will focus entirely on your specific whereabouts. You will never see the sun again.
Do you stop the bear and accept a lifetime of rain?
My answer: Absolutely not (and I won't tell you the name of the friend I was thinking of). Call me a bad friend if you want, but I hattte rain. I couldn't imagine having all of my future softball games, golfing events, and vacations rained out. I guess the best case scenario would be to move to Ireland and accept the rain everyday, but I don't think that I could do it.
3.) You work in an office, performing a job you find satisfying (and which compensates you adequately). The company that employs you is suddenly purchased by an eccentric millionaire who plans to immediately raise each person’s salary by 5 percent and extend an extra week of vacation to all full-time employees.
However, this new owner intends to enforce a somewhat radical dress code: every day, men will have to wear tuxedos, tails, and top hats (during summer months, male employees will be allowed to wear gray three-piece suits on “casual Fridays”). Women must exclusively work in formal wear, preferably ball gowns or prom dresses. Each employee will be given an annual $500 stipend to purchase necessary garments, but that money can only be spent on work-related clothing.
The new regime starts in three months.
Do you seek employment elsewhere?
My answer: No, not immediately. I would definitely give this a chance. Who doesn't like to get all spiffed up? And I think I could get used to female co-workers in ball gowns and prom dresses. If this became an issue, and after a few months it might, I would begin looking elsewhere.
4.) At the age of thirty, you suffer a blow to the skull. The head trauma leaves you with a rare form of partial amnesia−though you are otherwise fine, you’re completely missing five years from your life. You have no memory of anything that happened between the ages of twenty-three and twenty-eight. That period of your life is completely gone; you have no recollection of anything that occurred during that five-year gap.
You are told by friends and family that−when you were twenty-five−you (supposedly) became close friends with someone you met on the street. You possess numerous photos of you and this person, and everyone in your life insists that this individual was your best friend for over two years. You were (allegedly) inseparable. In fact, you find several old letters and e-mails from this person that vaguely indicate you may have even shared a brief romantic relationship. But something happened between you and this individual when you were twenty-seven, and the friendship abruptly ended (and−apparently−you never told anyone what caused this schism, so it remains a mystery to all). The friend moved away soon after the incident, wholly disappearing from your day-to-day life. But you have no memory of any of this. Within the context of your own mind, this person never even existed. There is tangible proof that you deeply loved this friend, but−whenever you look at their photograph−all you see is a stranger.
Six weeks after your accident, you are informed that this person has suddenly died.
How sad do you feel?
My answer: Initially, no, but eventually I would definitely feel sad. I'd be sad that I would never know what this friendship was like and what caused the schism.
5.) You have been wrongly accused of a horrific crime. Due to a bizarre collision of unfortunate circumstances and insane coincidences, it appears that you have murdered a prominent U.S. Senator, his beautiful young wife, and both of their infant children. Now, you did not do this, but you are indicted and brought to trial.
Predictably, the criminal proceedings are a national sensation (on par with the 1994 O.J. Simpson trial). It’s on television constantly, and it’s the lead story in most newspapers for almost a year. The prosecuting attorney is a charming genius; sadly, your defense team lacks creativity and panache. To make matters worse, the jury is a collection of easily confused sheep. You are found guilty and sentenced to four consecutive life terms with virtually no hope for parole (and−since there were no procedural mistakes during the proceedings−an appeal is hopeless).
This being the case you are (obviously) disappointed.
However, as you leave the courtroom (and in the days immediately following the verdict), something becomes clear: the “court of public opinion” has overwhelmingly found you innocent. Over 95% percent of the country believes you are not guilty. Noted media personalities have declared this scenario “the ultimate legal tragedy.” So you are going to spend the rest of your life amidst the general population of a maximum-security prison . . . but you are innocent, and everyone seems to know this.
Does this knowledge make you feel (a) better (b) no different, or (c) worse?
My answer: Maybe this is a cop out, but I would say that this would make me feel simultaneously better and worse. Better because the overhwelmingly majority would be on my side, but worse because there's nothing that anyone can do about it. Also, did anyone else notice that this is kind of the reverse of what happened to O.J.? Maybe that was the whole point.
6.) You are offered a Brain Pill. If you swallow this pill, you will become 10 percent more intelligent than you currently are; you will be more adept at reading comprehension, logic, and critical thinking. However, to all other people you know (and to all future people you meet), you will seem 20 percent less intelligent. In other words, you will immediately become smarter, but the rest of the world will perceive you as dumber (and there is no way you can ever alter the universality of that perception).
Do you take this pill?
My answer: No way. It's sad really, but perception (how competent people think you are) is a lot more important than reality (how competent you actually are).
7.) You begin watching a new television series, and you immediately find yourself strongly relating to one of the supporting characters. You’ve never before experienced a TV character that seems so similar to yourself; this fictional person dresses, behaves, and talks exactly like you. And−slowly, over the course of several episodes−the similarity grows spooky; on two separate occasions, the character recounts personal anecdotes that happened in your real life. The actor portraying this character begins mimicking your mannerisms. In at least three different episodes, the character’s dialogue quotes things you’ve said (verbatim) during casual conversation.
You become convinced that this is neither coincidence nor mental illness: somehow, this character is being actively based on your life. The show’s writers generally depict the “you” character in a positive manner, but−as far you can tell−you don’t know anyone involved in the show’s production or creation. It’s totally inexplicable.
You have two friends who also watch this show. One of them is certain that your theory is correct and that (somehow) the character is, in fact, based on your life. She tells you to get a lawyer. The second friend concedes that many of the similarities are amazing, but that the whole notion is ridiculous, impossible, and egocentric. He tells you to see a therapist.
How do you respond to this situation? Do you do anything?
My answer: What I find most interesting about this question is that most people generally like to think that this happens to them all of the time. Either a character acts just like them, a movie should be made about their life (Truman Show style), or a song completely sums up their feelings for a particular person or sitatuation and it was almost as if the artist wrote it for them. That said, this seems like enough evidence to go on to do something. I'd like to speak to the writers/creator to see how they came up with this particular character. If the only way to do that was to hire a lawyer I guess I'd do that, but I wouldn't want to sue for any compensation. I'd be much more interested in where they got the idea for this particular character than I would be in somehow capitalizing financially on this.
8.) You are placed in the unenviable position of having to compete for the right to stay alive. You will be matched against a person of your own gender in a series of five events−an 800-meter run, a game of Scrabble, a three-round boxing match, a debate over the legalization of late-term abortion (scored and officiated by reputable collegiate judges), and the math portion of the SAT.
In order to survive, you must win three of these events (your opponent will be playing for his or her life as well). However, you (kind of) get to pick your opponent: you can either (a) compete against a person selected at random, or (b) you can compete against someone who is exactly like you. If selected at random, the individual could be of any age or skill level−he/she might be an infant with Down syndrome, but he/she might also be an Academic All-American linebacker from Notre Dame. If you pick “the average human,” he/she will be precisely your age and will have an identical level of education, and the person will be a perfect cross-section of your particular demographic−he/she will be of average height and of average weight, with a standard IQ and the most normative life experience imaginable.
So whom do you select? Or−perhaps more accurately−do you feel that you are better than an average version of yourself?
My answer: First things first, I think I'd be pretty confident either way. I'm faster than the average male my age, I'm a pretty good Scrabble player, I'm confident in my pro-choice argument, and I got a 740 on the math portion of the SAT. That said, I think I'd pick the random because my odds would be better that I'd get someone from 0-16 or 65-80. If that were the case I would dominate all 5 events against the young person and at least the race and boxing match against the elderly person. I'd take my chances at beating the elderly person in Scrabble, debate, or the math portion of the SAT. I think taking an average version of myself is a much bigger risk because that way no event is an automatic win.
9.) It is 1933. You are in Berlin, Germany. Somehow, you find yourself in a position where you can effortlessly steal Adolf Hitler’s wallet. This theft will not affect Hitler’s rise to power, the nature of World War II, or the Holocaust. There is no important identification in the wallet, but the act will cost Hitler forty Reichsmarks and completely ruin his evening. You do not need the money. The odds that you will be caught committing this crime are less than 2 percent.
Are you ethically obligated to steal Hitler’s wallet?
My answer: Yes, no questions asked. The impulse for vengeance in that moment (as small as it might be) would be much more powerful than the notion of treating your neighbor how you want to be treated.
10.) While traveling on business, your spouse (whom you love) is involved in a plane crash over the Pacific Ocean. It is assumed that everyone onboard has died. For the next seven months, you quietly mourn. But then the unbelievable happens: it turns out your spouse has survived. He/She managed to swim to a desert island, where he/she lived in relative comfort with one other survivor (they miraculously located most of the airfcraft’s supplies on the beach, and the island itself was filled with ample food sources). Against all odds, they have just been discovered by a Fijian fishing boat.
The two survivors return home via a helicopter, greeted by the public as media sensations. Immediately upon their arrival, there is an international press conference. And during this press conference, you cannot help but notice how sexy the other survivor is; physically he/she perfectly embodies the type of person your mate is normally attracted to. Moreover, the intensity of the event has clearly galvanized a relationship between the two crash victims: they spend most of the interview explaining how they could not have survived without the other person’s presence. They explain how they passed the time by telling anecdotes from their respective lives, and both admit to having virtually given up on the possibility for rescue. At the end of the press conference, the two survivors share a tearful good-bye hug. It’s extremely emotional.
After the press conference, you are finally reunited with your spouse. He/She embraces you warmly and kisses you deeply.
How long do you wait before asking if he/she was ever unfaithful to you on this island? Do you never ask? And if you mate’s answer is “yes,” would that (under these specific circumstances) be acceptable?
My answer: I would never ask (it just doesn't seem right), but if my wife admitted that she did I would deem the act acceptable under the extreme circumstances.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Prank'd
I know I'm way late on the whole April Fool's Day thing, but who doesn't love a few good prank stories? Although I like to think of myself as witty, creative, and borderline devious I'm really not any of the above. In fact, my prank resume is pretty weak. My prime, if you could even call it that, was unquestionably when I was in high school.
As a Sophomore one of my friends and I somehow got our hands on what I guess you could call a classified document. This document was the key/guide to one of the school's circuitboards, which for some reason was located in the boys bathroom right outside of the cafeteria. It told us which switch controlled what. For a span of 2-3 days we would periodically turn random switches on or off.
One day our admittedly haphazard approach messed with the school's bell system and extended our lunch period by at least 10 minutes. After a while we soon got careless and started turning off more and more items on the circuitboard. Towards the end of one particular lunch period we were caught virtually red handed by the school's maintentance man. He was walking towards the bathroom in response to something we had turned off as we were making our exit. As he sped up his brisk walk we sped up our not so casual departure from the scene of the crime. As I remember it, and this was 9-10 years ago, the maintenance man actually pushed me out of the way as he pursued and eventually reprimanded my accomplice (I was more of the sidekick to his evil genuis).
My friend was suspended for a few days because of the circuitboard fiasco, but he refused to rat me out. Thanks to his loyalty I got away scot-free. In fact, during one of the days that my friend was suspended our Global Studies teacher actually said to me, "So Mr. Stanczyk I hear that you're friend is covering for you," to which I replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
By the time I was a senior in high school I felt that I had to pull off some sort of prank on April Fool's Day. Not a senior prank. I wasn't that broad of a thinker or that much of a risk taker. As I was growing up two of my older brothers pranked each other relentlessly on April Fool's Day. I only remember an alarm set for an obscene hour in the morning and pine needles underneath the other's sheets, but I'm sure there were plenty of others. With this history of inter-sibling pranks I decided to prank one of my sisters.
It was a very simple prank, but it was well worth it. A few days before April Fool's Day I had a buddy of mine, who ironically enough now teaches at our high school, memorize my sister's locker combination. He once memorized my locker combination and stole a homework assignment of mine so that I wouldn't get credit for doing it (to get me back for something), so I knew he was highly capable. I would have done it myself, but I didn't want my sister to notice me and then suspect something after the fact.
During my free period on April 1st I took all of the books, notebooks, binders, mirrors, etc. from her locker and put it all in mine. I want to say that I left a note that said April Fool's Day because I didn't want her to start crying, but I honestly don't remember. I just remember standing about 20 feet away watching her face as she opened her locker and saw nothing. Just sheer terror and disbelief.
Ideally I wouldn't have come clean until school was over, but after a minute or two of her freaking out I approached her and told her that I would bring whatever books she needed to her next class.
While those are two pranks that I pulled off this last story is about a time when I was pranked. As most of you already know, in my senior year of college I wrote a column for my school newspaper titled "He Said/She Said" that often included some inflammatory language. Basically a female counterpart and I decided on a different topic each week and then wrote a 400 word column from our respective gender's perspective.
Well in the week after I wrote a column where I referred to girls as wildabeasts, heffers, dragons, asked why all overweight women are incredibly well endowed (definitely just the fat, right?), talked about the incredible urge to dump in the morning after sleeping in a bed with a chick, and mentioned how guys in college have their roommate's schedule memorized for masturbating purposes I was pranked big time by a group of girls that I was friends with (I'm a huge FOG).
During my senior year I lived in a tiny house on the beach with my cousin who will remain nameless, Mad Max, and a buddy of ours called the Raucc Man. Outside of our dinky little beach house (I can't stress how tiny this house was) we had a loose stone driveway that could fit one, maybe two cars. My roommates and I usually only parked one of our four cars there because on the other side of the street was a little parking lot that we shared with our neighbors.
On the Monday after the aforementioned column was released, I left our house in the morning to go to class like it was any other day. Sundays were a big day for intramurals and I was an intramural supervisor, so I usually got home late and was relegated to parking in the lot across the street. As I crossed the street and got closer to my white ‘02 Ford Taurus on that fateful morning, I noticed that something wasn’t right.
It looked like my car was littered with flyers from local businesses, which by the way is a marketing tactic that I don’t fully understand. I mean, it must provide some level of success, but I would assume that more often than not, people angrily crumple up those flyers and subconsciously take a stand against the companies for stealing two seconds of their time. Anyway, after a second glance I realized that this couldn’t be the case because every other car in the lot was unblemished.
My car, which was not nearly the most luxurious in the general vicinity, seemed to shine brighter than all the others on that sunny September morning. As I approached the vehicle I learned what was causing this peculiar luster.
My car had been tightly covered in saran wrap. It was as if someone had it for dinner and wanted to save it for tomorrow’s lunch. I tried to open the driver’s side door, but it barely moved. I pulled a second time, with much more force, but again the door would not budge.
It was at this point that I again noticed what I initially thought were business flyers. They indeed were not. They were pieces of white computer paper, each with their own message, taped to the windows above all four doors. The messages read, “Fat Girls Are People Too”, “I <3 my big boobs”, “Let Me Live Four Eyes”, and “More Cushion for the Pushin’.” On the front windshield was my article and accompanying picture cut out from an issue of our school newspaper.
It took me a good five minutes to rip through all of the saran wrap. I even had to go back inside to grab a knife. All the while I was removing the wrap I was scanning my brain trying to think of who could have done such a thing. Thankfully the vigilantes wrote the messages or else I might have thought the act was a serious retaliation to incendiary column (not really). By the time I was able to enter my car I had narrowed the potential culprits down to two groups of girls. Then I remembered that a girl crazy enough to conjure up this diabolical scheme was in my house the entire night before hooking up with the Raucc Man.
It turns out that the masterminds behind this plot were a group of girls that I regularly partied with. They snuck over around 11 p.m. (I presume) and did the dirty deed while my housemates and I were awake and in our house. They even got all dressed up in black and took a boatload of pictures around my car to claim responsibility for the prank. Kind of like how Al-Qaeda leaks a video tape claiming responsibility for terrorist attacks. Knowing that the prank was all in good fun, I took it in stride and told them that I was impressed that they pulled off such a stunt, but to be prepared for my retaliation.
That night, the Raucc Man and I were sitting around the house thinking of ways to get this group of girls back. Before I continue, there's something that you need to know about the Raucc Man. He’s one of those guys that has ‘a guy’ for just about everything. If you are looking for a new pair of shoelaces, his Uncle will have a friend who knows a guy that can pull a few strings (no pun intended) and get you 50% off.
That being said, our best idea was something that Raucc Man’s cousin’s friend told him about. The idea was to nail two large pieces of plywood over the front and back doors of the girls’ house, so they literally could not get in or not. I was all for it, but I didn’t want to respond right away with a return prank. I wanted to retaliate when they least suspected it. I wanted them to forget all about the prank war they had started and then wake up one morning and not be able to leave their house. Sure enough, I waited so long that I effectively forgot all about it.
As a Sophomore one of my friends and I somehow got our hands on what I guess you could call a classified document. This document was the key/guide to one of the school's circuitboards, which for some reason was located in the boys bathroom right outside of the cafeteria. It told us which switch controlled what. For a span of 2-3 days we would periodically turn random switches on or off.
One day our admittedly haphazard approach messed with the school's bell system and extended our lunch period by at least 10 minutes. After a while we soon got careless and started turning off more and more items on the circuitboard. Towards the end of one particular lunch period we were caught virtually red handed by the school's maintentance man. He was walking towards the bathroom in response to something we had turned off as we were making our exit. As he sped up his brisk walk we sped up our not so casual departure from the scene of the crime. As I remember it, and this was 9-10 years ago, the maintenance man actually pushed me out of the way as he pursued and eventually reprimanded my accomplice (I was more of the sidekick to his evil genuis).
My friend was suspended for a few days because of the circuitboard fiasco, but he refused to rat me out. Thanks to his loyalty I got away scot-free. In fact, during one of the days that my friend was suspended our Global Studies teacher actually said to me, "So Mr. Stanczyk I hear that you're friend is covering for you," to which I replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
By the time I was a senior in high school I felt that I had to pull off some sort of prank on April Fool's Day. Not a senior prank. I wasn't that broad of a thinker or that much of a risk taker. As I was growing up two of my older brothers pranked each other relentlessly on April Fool's Day. I only remember an alarm set for an obscene hour in the morning and pine needles underneath the other's sheets, but I'm sure there were plenty of others. With this history of inter-sibling pranks I decided to prank one of my sisters.
It was a very simple prank, but it was well worth it. A few days before April Fool's Day I had a buddy of mine, who ironically enough now teaches at our high school, memorize my sister's locker combination. He once memorized my locker combination and stole a homework assignment of mine so that I wouldn't get credit for doing it (to get me back for something), so I knew he was highly capable. I would have done it myself, but I didn't want my sister to notice me and then suspect something after the fact.
During my free period on April 1st I took all of the books, notebooks, binders, mirrors, etc. from her locker and put it all in mine. I want to say that I left a note that said April Fool's Day because I didn't want her to start crying, but I honestly don't remember. I just remember standing about 20 feet away watching her face as she opened her locker and saw nothing. Just sheer terror and disbelief.
Ideally I wouldn't have come clean until school was over, but after a minute or two of her freaking out I approached her and told her that I would bring whatever books she needed to her next class.
While those are two pranks that I pulled off this last story is about a time when I was pranked. As most of you already know, in my senior year of college I wrote a column for my school newspaper titled "He Said/She Said" that often included some inflammatory language. Basically a female counterpart and I decided on a different topic each week and then wrote a 400 word column from our respective gender's perspective.
Well in the week after I wrote a column where I referred to girls as wildabeasts, heffers, dragons, asked why all overweight women are incredibly well endowed (definitely just the fat, right?), talked about the incredible urge to dump in the morning after sleeping in a bed with a chick, and mentioned how guys in college have their roommate's schedule memorized for masturbating purposes I was pranked big time by a group of girls that I was friends with (I'm a huge FOG).
During my senior year I lived in a tiny house on the beach with my cousin who will remain nameless, Mad Max, and a buddy of ours called the Raucc Man. Outside of our dinky little beach house (I can't stress how tiny this house was) we had a loose stone driveway that could fit one, maybe two cars. My roommates and I usually only parked one of our four cars there because on the other side of the street was a little parking lot that we shared with our neighbors.
On the Monday after the aforementioned column was released, I left our house in the morning to go to class like it was any other day. Sundays were a big day for intramurals and I was an intramural supervisor, so I usually got home late and was relegated to parking in the lot across the street. As I crossed the street and got closer to my white ‘02 Ford Taurus on that fateful morning, I noticed that something wasn’t right.
It looked like my car was littered with flyers from local businesses, which by the way is a marketing tactic that I don’t fully understand. I mean, it must provide some level of success, but I would assume that more often than not, people angrily crumple up those flyers and subconsciously take a stand against the companies for stealing two seconds of their time. Anyway, after a second glance I realized that this couldn’t be the case because every other car in the lot was unblemished.
My car, which was not nearly the most luxurious in the general vicinity, seemed to shine brighter than all the others on that sunny September morning. As I approached the vehicle I learned what was causing this peculiar luster.
My car had been tightly covered in saran wrap. It was as if someone had it for dinner and wanted to save it for tomorrow’s lunch. I tried to open the driver’s side door, but it barely moved. I pulled a second time, with much more force, but again the door would not budge.
It was at this point that I again noticed what I initially thought were business flyers. They indeed were not. They were pieces of white computer paper, each with their own message, taped to the windows above all four doors. The messages read, “Fat Girls Are People Too”, “I <3 my big boobs”, “Let Me Live Four Eyes”, and “More Cushion for the Pushin’.” On the front windshield was my article and accompanying picture cut out from an issue of our school newspaper.
It took me a good five minutes to rip through all of the saran wrap. I even had to go back inside to grab a knife. All the while I was removing the wrap I was scanning my brain trying to think of who could have done such a thing. Thankfully the vigilantes wrote the messages or else I might have thought the act was a serious retaliation to incendiary column (not really). By the time I was able to enter my car I had narrowed the potential culprits down to two groups of girls. Then I remembered that a girl crazy enough to conjure up this diabolical scheme was in my house the entire night before hooking up with the Raucc Man.
It turns out that the masterminds behind this plot were a group of girls that I regularly partied with. They snuck over around 11 p.m. (I presume) and did the dirty deed while my housemates and I were awake and in our house. They even got all dressed up in black and took a boatload of pictures around my car to claim responsibility for the prank. Kind of like how Al-Qaeda leaks a video tape claiming responsibility for terrorist attacks. Knowing that the prank was all in good fun, I took it in stride and told them that I was impressed that they pulled off such a stunt, but to be prepared for my retaliation.
That night, the Raucc Man and I were sitting around the house thinking of ways to get this group of girls back. Before I continue, there's something that you need to know about the Raucc Man. He’s one of those guys that has ‘a guy’ for just about everything. If you are looking for a new pair of shoelaces, his Uncle will have a friend who knows a guy that can pull a few strings (no pun intended) and get you 50% off.
That being said, our best idea was something that Raucc Man’s cousin’s friend told him about. The idea was to nail two large pieces of plywood over the front and back doors of the girls’ house, so they literally could not get in or not. I was all for it, but I didn’t want to respond right away with a return prank. I wanted to retaliate when they least suspected it. I wanted them to forget all about the prank war they had started and then wake up one morning and not be able to leave their house. Sure enough, I waited so long that I effectively forgot all about it.
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