the adventures of “squirtle”: dating, sex and power dynamics

“Got a call from my jeweler, this just in,

Bitches love me ’cause I’m fuckin’ with their best friends,

Not a lesbian, but she a freak though,

This ain’t for one night, I’m shinin’ all week ho”

What do the above lyrics have to do with gender power dynamics? To be honest, I’m not really sure. But what I am certain of is that Wiz Khalifa’s single “Black and Yellow” is 100% CERTIFIED DOPE. Perhaps though, through my eloquent and thought provoking writing (yes, I went to super college), you the reader will be able to infer greater meaning in the above lyrics after reading the following post (I highly doubt it though).

Like most individuals going through the clichéd quarter-life crisis, I often ponder deep questions such as: “What is happiness”, “Does love exist” and “Is Quiznos simply the Subway of the bourgeoisie?” Due to having great friends and Gchat, these deep questions are often pondered and discussed in great length during the work week. All joking aside, recent conversations with a good friend of mine raised some very interesting issues regarding dating, sex, and gender power dynamics in today’s twenty-something year old world. The following is her story, written with her consent, plus commentary.

A well-educated, attractive city girl, my friend who I will refer to as “Squirtle” (she chose this alias, I swear), has had her fair sampling of men. She is one of those individuals who knows what she wants and will use her capabilities to get them. This brings up the first and most obvious point. Individuals who do not know Squirtle (both male and female) may simply label such activity as being “slutty”. However, what does it really mean to be a slut? Is it simply sleeping with numerous individuals? If so, then why are men rarely called sluts and instead praised for their promiscuous activity? Double standard? I think so. I state this not because I am simply a guy selfishly promoting promiscuous females but instead because it seems that the label of “slut” is often used by both genders against females to mask insecurities. By calling someone a slut, you assume you are taking the moral high ground therefore justifying your own actions. It is disappointing that this method is often employed by females against each other. Males, assholes and animals that we are, often do the exact opposite. You don’t know how many times I’ve overheard random drunk males congratulate each other after bragging that they will be in fact leaving the bar/club/party/whatever with a female to go have sex. Why should females who know what they want not be able to explore sexual opportunities without fear of judgment?

Building on this notion, it has long been a stereotype that sex is something “sought” by men and “provided” by women. Anyone with half a brain will tell you that this is bullshit. Yet the issues surrounding the power dynamics of sex raise an interesting issue. According to Squirtle, the strongest defense a woman has is the initial holdout of sex. A “shit test” if you will to see if a guy is really interested in them, or simply interested in getting inside their pants. Being a male I can understand this. The timing issue, as Squirtle pointed out, is something I can only understand conceptually though. How does a woman calculate at what time in the dating process should she have sex? Too early, the guy may just “hit it and quit it”. Too late, and she faces the prospect of the guy losing interest. It’s like the problem faced by executioners back in the days of the gallows: If the rope was too short you risked strangling the condemned. If the rope was too long you risked decapitating them. You have to get the length of the rope just right in order to snap the neck. Delightful simile, no?

Squirtle raised another interesting point in that through her interactions, she has become jaded and cynical as to the possibility of any real emotional attachment forming between her and another individual (this may just be the angst of youth). There have been the instances of flings turning into “something more”, but they ultimately went nowhere. In one case, Squirtle ended the “relationship” once she deemed that the guy was incapable of showing real emotion. Legit reason to end the “relationship”? Sure, I think so. But here is the dilemma I see: If someone puts up strong defenses, how do they expect their partner to make an emotional connection with them? The metaphorical door swings both ways. We all put up emotional defenses in order to protect ourselves from all the assholes and bitches out there, this is true. But in order to have a real chance of emotionally connecting with someone else, we have to make ourselves vulnerable. This is something I’m just beginning to understand as well.

Lastly, and on a more humorous note, I love the fact that Squirtle will employ crazy tactics to see to what lengths guys will go to get laid. Recently, she employed “crazy game” in which she heavily flirted with a male and sprinkled disturbing facts throughout the conversation to see if the male would still be interested. They ranged from the simple, “I enjoy pain” to the more advanced, “I enjoy killing small animals”. Sure enough, none of these deterred the male. Haha, I love how simple minded us males can be. “What did you say girl, Jeffrey Dahmer is your hero? You’re hot; I can get down with that.”

 

blame the jews…introducing turkey’s version of jason bourne

As a twenty-something year old male, there is nothing more I like than a bad action film that tries to interject some socio-political commentary as if trying to save itself from its foreseeable future of ending up in the $4.99 DVD bin at Walmart. One only has to look at recent examples such as:

The Kingdom; AKA: Jamie Foxx blames it on the alcohol…and the Arabs

Green Zone; AKA: Did anyone actually see this?

Body of Lies; AKA: Aww yeah, Dicaprio all up in that Golshifteh Farahani

Black Hawk Down; AKA: Party in Somalia II, Electric Boogaloo in Mogadishu

What I’m trying to get at here is that for some reason, Hollywood feels the need to try and interject a certain sense of geopolitical “reality” into action movies as if gently acknowledging the sub-par intelligence of the masses. Well listen Hollywood, if I wanted to learn something worth value I would pick up a copy of Foreign Policy or The Economist, thank you very much.

I am pleased however to announce that the United States is not the only country to produce such garbage! Enter Turkish special agent Polat Alemdar (rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it?) and the “Valley of the Wolves” series. It seems the character of Polat was born in a Turkish television series resembling “24” in which he battles enemies of Turkey (I’m looking at you Israel) and the series has expanded to include two films. The first film, “Valley of the Wolves: Iraq”, did gain some notoriety when it was released four years ago due to its plot involving Jewish doctors harvesting organs of Iraqis and transferring them to Israel for transplants (scandalous, I know). Well, it seems Polat is back again and this time it’s on like Donkey Kong…in Israel.

Enter “Valley of the Wolves: Palestine”. Hot off of the Israeli commando raid on the Mavi Marmara (the aid ship that attempted to break the Israeli blockade of Gaza in May 2010) which resulted in the death of nine activists, Polat decides to take his Turkish ass-kicking skills and a special hit team to Israel to avenge the deaths (umm…Munich anyone?). Based off of the trailer, what follows is a ridiculous revenge-fueled fantasy in which Polat and his crew dispense some pita-tastic justice on the IDF, Israel, and perhaps Jews in general (who knows). But remember, this isn’t just an action flick, this is a movie ripe with deep political commentary on the Middle East. Hence, such amazing dialogue as:

Israel Soldier: “Why did you come to Israel?”

Polat Alemdar: “I did not come to Israel, I came to Palestine.”

Israeli: “You know you won’t make it out of our Promised Land.”

Polat Alemdar: “I don’t know what part of this land has been promised to you, but I promise you-six feet under.”

Oh snap, if that ridiculous dialogue doesn’t get you pumped, I don’t know what will. I have to admit though, the production quality doesn’t look bad on this film. Having unfortunately been exposed to numerous Turkish soap operas by my grandma, Polat may be the best thing Turkey has going for it (besides delicious doner kabob).

View the ridiculous trailer below:

 

damn Latvia, you got it goin on

While grad school now seems like a distant memory, there are instances where certain morsels of information come rushing back to me (they better, grad school costs a buttload). Recently, I was reflecting on a class I took on the former Soviet Union and how it turned out to be one of the best classes I took at grad school. Sure, I learned some stuff: communism = fail, Stalin = bad, Levi Jeans in USSR = their weight in gold, blah, blah, blah. But what I remember most vividly about this particular class was the Latvian girl, and man, she was gorgeous! Everything she said just sounded better because of her accent and I secretly wondered if she could in fact disassemble and then reassemble an AK-47 blindfolded.

As if to only nurture my immature fascination with Latvia (mostly its attractive, educated, female population), the BBC recently published an article confirming my hopes and dreams. It seems there is a serious man shortage in Latvia, and the ladies aren’t too happy about it! According to the report, there are 8% more women in Latvia than men, and Latvian women live 11 years longer on average than their male counterparts (the highest disparity in all of the European Union). So what gives right? I mean, if I was a Latvian guy surrounded by man-hungry Latvian girls, wouldn’t things just be grand?

Well, like most things in the former Soviet Union, it seems things are kind of shitty for Latvian men. Latvia’s abrupt transition to capitalism 20 years ago put massive pressure on men to become financially successful in an economic system unfamiliar to them. This coupled with heavy drinking (in Soviet Russia, vodka drinks you!), depression, and a machismo culture, seems to account for the poor state of Latvian men. Currently, more than 80% of suicides in Latvia are committed by men.

As could be expected, the pretty ladies of Latvia (remember, in my simple mind Latvia’s female population is comprised entirely of some variant of the girl in my grad school class) are not happy that not only is there a shortage of men, but that there is a lack in quality. According to Latvian sex columnist Dace Ruksane, “They [females] want to find partners who are equal to them. But a man, having this choice, doesn’t need to be very perfect.” Man, talk about raining hate on those Latvian men! I mean shit, how would I stack up then? I live at home, drive a Honda Civic (aka the Jihadmobile), and enjoy episodes of Frontline (gotsta represent that PBS!).

So where does this leave things? It seems young Latvian women are travelling abroad to meet suitable partners. Being a cosmopolitan young man, I started to wonder; wouldn’t it be dope if I travelled to Latvia to see what’s up? You know, see a new place, gain some culture, and perhaps find a lady friend? But alas, the constraints of my day-to-day life prohibit me from undertaking such an adventure. Now for those of you who may be shaking your heads (I presume the female readers, if this blog does in fact have readers) thinking these must be the unrealistic musings of a typical young male (and they are), it might surprise you to know that sometimes pipe dreams do become reality. My grumpy co-author of this blog, Sarcascio, met his current lady friend while backpacking in Germany.

*In my mind, this is EXACTLY how my trip to Latvia would play itself out*

Love is in the air….as well as college football

It’s official, with this week’s temperatures in the low-mid 80’s, fall has arrived in Texas (kind of a fucked up indicator, no?). In celebration, I fired up my hookah prior to work, opened the windows, and turned my stereo to the local soft rock station. While pleasant smoke filled my lungs and subsequently the oxygen that should have been reaching my brain, I couldn’t help but to be reminded as to why I really love fall so much. Besides the welcoming drop in temperatures, college football and Thanksgiving, I truly believe fall is the ultimate time in the year to hookup and/or find a boyfriend/girlfriend. But why you may ask? What is soo special about this particular season as to warrant an entire blog post? Well, it is my honor to present to you what should have really been developed into a full-blown college thesis: “Fall: Seasonal Effects on the Courtship Patterns of Homo sapiens” or as Marvin Gaye would put it, “Let’s Get It On”.

I will be the first to admit that my hypothesis lacks heavily in the scientific research arena, but contend that it more than makes up for it based on personal experiences and vague generalities. So let’s begin with the vague generalities. While summer used to be the all-time favorite season as a child, in reality it kinda blows now. Everyone is either working, or if they are still in college is probably stuck at some godforsaken internship. It’s hot, people are bored, and continual perspiration does not lend itself well to sexy time. Fall represents a rebirth if you will.  People are falling back (damn I’m clever) into their normal routines, hence the likelihood that they may be searching for something more stable than a summer fling. Furthermore, both males and females I surveyed (**um, my friends**) agree that cooler weather naturally unleashes the “spooning/cuddling instinct”. Some males may disagree with this assessment in order to safeguard their so-called machismo, but it’s true. Take it from a close friend of mine who once made the sad mistake of admitting that he enjoyed being the “little spoon” when temperatures dropped (mind you his girlfriend at the time was at least 6-7 inches shorter than him and weighed an approximate 70 lbs less than him). Even though I berate him to this day for his confession, my friend’s candor helped bolster the academic credibility of my hypothesis (whatever that means).

So with these factors in play, it is my belief that a “perfect storm” is created allowing people who are normally a bit shy to be more flirtatious in the fall. This of course all culminates in one magical/ridiculous/drunken night: Halloween. Halloween is great for numerous reasons: most people feel totally ok being somebody else, girls use it as an excuse to dress slutty, and let’s not forget the sweet, sweet candy. Mix alcohol into the equation and the next thing you know you’re flirting with a drunken princess/cute animal/cop (you choose). So with all of this said, I urge you to follow in Supertramp’s footsteps and “Give a little bit of your love” to somebody this fall. But please, not in a slutty way, just in that perfect quasi-slutty way that can somewhat pass for being classy.

The following are real experiences regarding fall for your amusement:

-While still in college, I was picked up by a Jewish girl on Halloween night at a bar. She actually thought I was Israeli (jokes on her) and proceeded to buy me drinks for the entire evening. This incident led me to conclude that Jewish girls are awesome because they are the ones who pick you up and buy you drinks. Hooray for gender equality! Note: She was dressed as a bumblebee.

-I met a girl I dated for a bit at a house party following a college Halloween party. While I was too drunk to recall meeting her there, and she later admitted that she had been on Ecstasy the entire evening, there was something magical in the air that night.

-While in grad school, I attended a Halloween party dressed as Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. The evening ended with some smoochy-smoochy with a drunk bumblebee, who in a moment of utter silence proceeded to flagellate in front of me. She later blamed the pumpkin spice cupcakes that were served earlier in the evening.

*Writer’s note: I will definitely be keeping me eyes open for girls dressed as bumblebees from now on.

Also for your enjoyment, please find this dope video by LCD Soundsystem which was shot in Houston. Hooray for the robot!

the straight “gay” evening aka let’s dance

*Disclaimer: The views expressed in this piece only apply to the specific individuals within this story. In no way should they be misconstrued as applying to entire groups of people. I guess this is my lame attempt at being PC, but most likely I’ll end up just saying, “Fuck it”.

Like most other evenings out in Texas, I found myself on the overcrowded back patio of a bar with my usual group of friends. Having deemed the karaoke bar we had previously been at “as costing a shitload for drinks”, we ended up hopping to another location in order to meet up with one of my friend’s “part-time lovers” (it sounds much nicer than friends with benefits) and her friend. Dressed in jeans and a black shirt, matched with my dark facial stubble, I probably looked like somebody you would see lurking in a dark alley. Anyway, as I was introducing myself to the two ladies we had met up with, my friend decided to crack a joke at my expense basically implying that I was gay. Poor girl, she wasn’t quick enough to catch that my friend’s statement had been laced with sarcasm, and so she innocently turned to me and asked, “Are you gay?” In that moment, not to deceive her, but more a show of defiance to my friend, I turned and casually said, “Yeah I’m gay.”

Previously, I had always wondered as to why having a gay friend was so popular among girls. I mean, I understand the benefits of being able to relate to someone of the opposite sex who in no way will misconstrue your kindness as a sign for sexual advances. But I mean really, c’mon, if this was the only criteria then flocks of straight males would be befriending lesbians, right? Based off of conversations with girls I know, aside from the “security” afforded by a gay friend they also felt as though gay men would be less judgmental of them than their female counterparts. And with a simple statement, I too would experience the “gay treatment” first hand.

As soon as I had made the false statement that I was gay, you should have seen it, this girl’s eyes lit up! Promptly, I was asked if I would be her friend. Feeling empowered somehow, because now I held the upper hand, I jokingly replied that I was not a commodity and that she would have to earn my friendship in order to fill her “gay best friend quota”. From that point on, she latched onto me for the remainder of the evening. The events of that night led me on two interesting avenues of reflection.

First, I would like to reflect on the girl’s reaction. After her initial excitement (I wasn’t aware meeting a “gay” guy was like meeting a unicorn or something), we launched into a natural conversation. However, her openness was a bit disconcerting since she even admitted that she would never be telling me these things if I was straight. Topics such as her insecurity, her fear of not finding a suitable husband, her age (all topics she brought up on her own), were all touched upon. In a way, it kind of saddened me because it seems she just wanted someone to listen to her without judging her. However, I will admit that I felt a bit like a commodity. Just because I was “gay” didn’t mean I automatically had to relate to her or act as her crying shoulder to lean on, and this was only one evening. I wonder if my gay friends ever feel annoyed that they are somehow seen as commodities by their female friends? I’m sure some true friendships form, but isn’t the initial pretense false if one assumes an individual will automatically relate to and like you simply because of their sexual orientation?

Second, and somewhat amusing to myself, was how the girl never even seemed to question my claim to be gay. Having close gay friends and having been exposed to the community, I am well aware that just like heterosexuals, homosexuals come in all different shapes, sizes, attitudes, etc. While our society has made great strides in accepting homosexuality, I still get the sense (especially in Texas) that people expect gays to be walking stereotypes: effeminate, skinny, lisp laden, well dressed men. I am none of those things, but I am also not a muscle-bound, Ed Hardy wearing, douchebag (a generic stereotype of men you find at clubs). What’s funny is that when I told a gay friend of mine the events of the evening, he replied “Yeah, you can pass for gay.” I’m not sure if that was supposed to be a compliment or something to be seen as negative. If that refers to my cleanliness, vast knowledge of pop culture, willingness to dance, and easy-going ways, then there are a lot of straight guys who could pass for gay.

I will be honest, while I did deceive this girl, I never used it in a manner to hit on her or perhaps make a move on her. However, I did enjoy an evening of honest conversation followed by dancing. I mean ideally, that’s a great time out, and it breaks up the monotony of the average sausage fest outing. Unfortunately, most everybody has their guard up at a bar or club, it’s instinctual. Most girls are probably annoyed when the majority of times their friendliness is misconstrued as romantic interest. As a male, it also annoys the hell out of me that it’s expected of me to approach females when you go out.  I mean, that’s just what you do. So a dilemma arises, how does one cut through societal expectations to just say “Hey, we can have a good time without all the other bullshit?”

unemployment = kesha = wtf?

You know that part in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, the infamous scene where the earwigs are introduced. Yeah, well, I’m coming to the conclusion that unemployment is a little like that. Now you may be saying, “Oh, come on. It’s only been two months. Don’t be a Debby downer.” Well that’s easy for you to say, because tonight I had one of the most disturbing epiphanies I’ve had in a long time…

I was watching Kesha’s new music video for “Take It Off”, and all of a sudden I found myself thinking, “Damn, Kesha looks good! Sure, she looks a bit unwashed, but damn she’s hot! Wait did I just think that? FUCK! WHERE AM I? WHAT DAY IS IT?”

Now the topic of Kesha, her potential hotness, and her desperate need of a shower have all been discussed in-depth by me and my good friend Sarcascio (the other half of TheBookofPop) on numerous occasions. While it is true that Sarcascio himself is a self-described “pervert”, I must say he is a true lover of the ladies (I guess all perverts are ) and he is one of the few people I know who proudly proclaimed his belief that Kesha is, in fact, hot, at the very beginning. But then again, Sarcascio has always been a man ahead of his time, a Renaissance man if you will, just like Adam Levine of Maroon 5.

With that foundation set, the following are several of my musings/thoughts/reflections on the one and only, Kesha:

1. Why am I attracted to someone who I have with 100% conviction deemed requires a shower? Those who know me well know what a clean and neat freak I am, and therefore this attraction to Kesha seems truly to conflict with my nature. Hmmm…Perhaps it has something to do with the concept of showering with Kesha? Seriously girl, HIT ME UP! I HAVE SOME DOVE BODYWASH AND A LOOFAH WITH YOUR NAME ON THEM!

2. Has music really come to this? REALLY? The best you could think of for your new single “Take It Off” was to set it to the tune of a childhood dirty rhyme from elementary school? C’mon! “There’s a place in France, where the naked ladies dance. There’s a hole in the wall, where the men can see it  all.” ABSOLUTE BAFOONERY!

3. For someone with slightly edgier lyrics than the countless Disney-bots being pumped into the pop market, none of Kesha’s videos really capture her raw, unbridled, Whiskey-drinking, Trans-Am driving skank aura.

4. Is it just me, or does that dude from Kesha’s “Your Love Is My Drug” music video look like Jesus?

5. Lastly, has anyone else noticed that Kesha doesn’t really sing? She either speaks her lyrics, or when she does “sing”, it sounds as though the voice of 14-year-old boy going through puberty and a mule braying where somehow both put through Autotune at the same time. Perplexing, really…

***Click here to view Kesha’s “Take It Off Video” in all its glory.***

i want you to notice when i’m not around….hence why I keep updating my damn FB status

Like millions of Americans this past weekend, I went and saw the totally bad-ass film Inception. However, this post isn’t about Inception (trust me, it deserves one, but I probably wouldn’t do the movie any justice). This post is about one of the trailers they played before Inception, you know the one, the one that made the entire theatre go silent because everyone could automatically relate to it: The Social Network.

Being released in October, The Social Network plans to tell the story of Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg, his ego, how Facebook grew from a Harvard dorm room in 2003 into the largest social network site in the world, and so on and so forth. Now, I must admit, the movie does look interesting, but what really set the tone were those creative bastards who chose the Scala and Kolacny cover of Radiohead’s “Creep” to be played in the trailer. And it got me to thinking, “What the fuck has social networking done to us?”

Now, I’ll admit, I’m no sociologist, or extremely old sage who has the wisdom of centuries (more like unemployed kid with a master’s degree), but I do remember what the world was like before Facebook, text messaging, and the constant, want, no NEED, to feel connected to everyone and everything, no matter how weak that connection is.

The thing is, Facebook is not something revolutionary because of what it does. No, in fact Facebook would not be what it is today if it weren’t for human nature. Yes, the technology is new, but that desire to know everybody’s business as well as showing off is as old as time. The danger however lies in the younger generations who do not understand that things like Facebook help to build on the foundation of real relationships, instead of replacing real relationships. Technology has made it possible to make our interactions, relationships, and communication all quick commodities that can be discarded if they do not please or serve us….

And here is the irony of it all, social networking only works because we actively choose to participate in it. Nobody forces you to put up a million pictures of that party you went to last weekend. Nobody forces you to change your relationship status so the rest of the world can know. In fact, you probably wouldn’t be reading this post if it wasn’t for Facebook. It would seem then that Mark Zuckerberg simply capitalized on this simple human notion:

“I want you to notice,

  When I’m not around,

  You’re so fucking special

    I wish I was special”

I just called to say I love you, wait, shit, what I meant is I texted you so we can hook up

Like any other typical Tuesday, I was at work looking up pictures of Sara Bareilles on the Internet (cause she’s super cute and talented) and listening to “Say It Ain’t So” due to my utter lack of interest in my job and any “responsibilities” it may entail. While such activities may seem “mindless” and “futile”, they are what keep me going as I approach graduating from my master’s program (read: HELLO SHITTY ECONOMY/WHY THE FU*K DID I SPEND 50K ON GETTING A MASTER’S DEGREE). Anyways, as you can imagine, I was in quite the reflective mood and therefore pondering the complexities of the world and the collective human condition. Then, all of a sudden, I was reminded of a conversation I had had the previous weekend. So sit back, relax, as I dissect the unique evolution of a courtship/mating ritual that we collectively have come to know as “THE TEXT MESSAGE BOOTY CALL”.

Whether we want to admit it or not, we all know what the Text Message Booty Call is. As humans we have become so lazy, so self-indulged, that it only makes sense that we should only be required to expend the least amount of our time/effort in order to gain the greatest benefit. Enter the Text Message Booty Call. For the cost of about 30 seconds and some minimal physical exertion (read: moving your finger along your keypad) one could be potentially rewarded with the gift of fooling around/hooking up (pretty sweet deal, huh?). The problem however lies in how this technology has transformed how we view one another. Basically, everyone is a commodity to be used, discarded, or traded. For example, ponder this situation:

Upon leaving your apartment to go out on a Friday/Saturday night, you send a blanket text message to all of those individuals who you may have a chance of hooking up with that night. As the night progresses, and certain individuals respond and others do not, you can narrow your choices depending on what is available to you. It’s kind of like going to your favorite Chinese buffet, but the catch is you don’t know if your favorite dishes will be available that night. If their not, ehhh, you’ll settle for the half-assed lo mein noodles. The flip side is that everyone you have contacted for a possible hook up is doing the same thing. It’s as if there is a “Booty Stock Market” on which we are all traded (I think my stock is pretty low, but hey, I like to think that the underdog always wins!)

Now, don’t get me wrong, while I consider this phenomenon a representative example of how we as humans are becoming lazier and possibly functionally retarded, the Text Message Booty Call can also lend itself to some hilarity. The following are actual Text Message Booty Calls that my friends have either received or have sent out:

-”I want to fu*k you in the worst way possible.” – Ah yes ladies, I’m sure that’s exactly what you’ve been waiting to hear after a long, stressful day. Who said chivalry is dead?

-”Pleeeeease?” – Haha, this one has been used tirelessly by both men and women throughout the ages. Basically, when it’s 3:00am and your self dignity is nowhere to be found, you can always rely on this safety.

-”I don’t mean to make this awkward, but we should meet up later tonight and hang out.” – This simple and kind message was sent by a lady. Notice how she is polite enough to hope that her message will not make her man target feel “awkward”. However, she would like to “hang out”, and by “hangout”, she means “fooling around”, and by “fooling around”, she means “the sex”.  

-”I hate you so much, yet I want you so bad.” –This masterpiece is unique not only in its brevity, but also for its honesty. Furthermore, I think this message clearly shows that people should rise above petty differences to unite for the betterment of humanity.

Snooki is America

It’s the “Punch Hear Around the World”, ok not really, but as many of you who watch the glorious MTV reality show “Jersey Shore” already know, in the most recent episode poor Snooki takes what can only be described as a Tyson-esque knockout punch straight to her guidette face. “Oh my”, you might say, “Are you telling me that on the Jersey Shore people get punched? How could this occur? What’s happening to America’s social fiber?”

Ok, putting jest aside, the incident does raise some interesting points. Foremost, MTV has been getting a bunch of shit for the show because critics claim it portrays Italian-Americans in a negative light. Hmmm…..Perhaps a legit point, but let’s think about this:

1. The cast, which is filled with self-described guidos and guidettes ARE JUST THAT, GUIDOS AND GUIDETTES!!! They represent a small, yet highly entertaining demographic of the American, and Italian-American population. As a Middle Easterner, and more specifically an Iranian, I wouldn’t be offended if they made a reality show entitled “Tehrangeles”, depicting all the fine Iranian-American, no wait, excuse me, “Persian” trash that fills L.A. Are they an embarrassment to Iranians? Sure, but overall they are just an embarrassment to humankind. But more importantly, THEY ARE ENTERTAINING AS HELL!!!

2. Snooki, real name Nicole Polizzi (not that anyone cares), is the guidette that is just too stupid for you to really hate. Does she deserve to have the shit knocked out of her, of course not. And believe me, I do not condone violence against women, but would anyone think twice if a guido got punched in the face??? I think not. To play devil’s advocate, is there a double standard when it comes to violence? It’s ok to show violence between individuals of the same sex, and Hell, it’s even entertaining to watch a girl beat up a guy, but as a society we have chosen to draw the line when it’s a guy punching a girl. Think about it, Elin Nordegren beat the shit out of Tiger Woods with a goddamn golf club (the irony is beautiful) and everyone seems ok with it.

3. The sack of douche who punched Snooki, Brad Ferro, claims he doesn’t remember the incident. Oh, really? You’re telling me you may have been too intoxicated to remember punching a girl? Surprise, surprise, it’s the goddamn Jersey Shore for Christ’s sake.

Due to complaints, MTV decided the pull the clip of Snooki getting punched when they aired the episode. If anything, I watch the Jersey Shore to see real, unadulterated, guido and guidette action. For me, I want to see the punch because it reaffirms the fact that some guys are just big piles of douche. Airing the actual punch would show the world what an asshole this Brad Ferro guy really is.  

So in conclusion, my tiny, dead, little heart goes out to Snooki and all the females like her. Are they annoying, vapid, and overall big wastes of space? OF COURSE! But this is America goddamn it!!! A nation built on the principle that all people are welcome, no matter how stupid they are (I think the forefathers also mentioned things like religion, race, and whatnot, but shit, it’s been a long time since I took a government class). Therefore, punching Snooki is actually un-American!!! That’s right, I said it. Now if you’ll excuse me, this patriotism has reminded me that I need to go buy ammunition for my assault rifle from Wal-Mart (with prices soo low, who can resist!)…U.S.A.! U.S.A.!

and nothing else matters…

Much to my chagrin, recently I keep finding myself uttering the same phrase over and over in my head, “I AM GETTING TOO OLD FOR THIS SHIT!” The funny part is that I never utter this phrase in reference to mind-numbing pop-culture, oh no, I’ll never outgrow that. Instead, this phrase creeps up when doing academic things, things I used to pride myself on. You want to discuss the use of non-state actors to advance a nation’s strategic interests? Possibly debate the merits of realism versus constructivism? How about mull over the influence of Islam in Central Asia? I used to be all about this stuff, but if I’ve learned one thing in grad school, and one thing only, it’s that NONE OF IT MATTERS! Yes, you read correctly. Now, don’t get me wrong, being intelligent and worldly does have its advantages (editors note: it has never gotten me laid), but trust me, it doesn’t really matter. Why the cynicism you may ask? Well, there is a laundry list of things I could ramble on about, but here are a few that I think should convey my point, if not peak your interest:

1. Many of you know that much of this nation’s foreign policy decisions are made, or at least are approved, by the Congress. You think the Congressmen and Senators make these decisions? HAHA, let me introduce you to an overworked, inexperienced, 20 year old who we shall call Foreign Affairs Legislative Assistant. Yup, I’ve seen kids younger than me have to tackle and form policy opinions for the Representative or Senator they work for. Now you know why Afghanistan is such a dank hole (no disrespect to Afghans, they’re good people, really. Their country???? Ehh, not so much.)

2. As a nation, we are consumed with tabloids and pop-culture (I do love both). And let’s be honest, who has time to read the Senate Health Care Reform Bill (it’s over 2000 pages long) when you can be keeping up with who Tiger Woods boned, is boning, or shall bone in the future (If you’re Tiger Woods, anything is possible!). Simply put, it is almost our job not to care. That’s what the government is for, right? Oh wait, “Dem liberals iz try’n to tayk my gunz!”

3. Furthermore, those of us who have had the privilege (I use this term loosely) to have been in the work force understand that work has nothing to do with what you know, but instead has everything to do with learning to perform tasks. Some mundane, others not so much. You think anybody gives a fuck that you have a degree in Comparative Literature from Dartmouth? Nope, now go fetch me my morning coffee, intern. Oh and bring daddy change, daddy wants change!   

Simply put, this is my end of term rambling because I am pissed that I need to write a bunch of papers I procrastinated on. However, it doesn’t mean any of the points I have made so far are not true and depressing. My advice? The next time somebody tries to engage you in an “intellectual” conversation, simply smile and ask, “So, are you on team Edward or team Jacob?”