“I can picture you watching that movie while eating a deer leg or something.”

So, I had about a 1000 word post about a woman who road-raged at me (flipping me off, flashing her lights, waving her phone?) for fourteen miles driven in heavy traffic (around thirty minutes) because I didn’t let her over when she tried to do that thing where you barrel down a lane that is about to end in order to cut in front of as many people as possible, but the damn computer eated it.

That means I had to make a new post because I damn well wasn’t going to rewrite the old one (writing about rage, funnily enough, can make you a bit angry). You guys may not know this, but I am essentially a barbarian. I enjoy eating large chunks of meat with my hands, and I like hitting things. Boom. Barbarian. The post title was spoken by the Wuggles (with whom I have been reunited after decades of pining/a couple of weeks) when I asked him if I would like 300. In order to thoroughly embrace my barbaric nature, I recently made another new character on Skyrim. This character is an Orc. A badass Orc. It’s a she-Orc because I always play female characters, and she has a motherfucking warhammer. A warhammer is the heaviest two-handed weapon. I’ve tried playing magic characters, but I just can’t. The whole point of medieval fantasy video games is for me to hit things or slice them up with swords. Wizards can only set things on fire. That’s not nearly as cool. So I’m playing Skyrim with my flawless Orc lady, and I get a kill cut scene. Sometimes, when you get an extra good, critical hit, they’ll show you an animated shot of your character killing the other one. Each weapon has a few different animations. Axes, for example, can be buried in someone and yanked out, bashed straight down on someone’s head, or used to decapitate a person (the head will roll down mountains, too). So, I had just started using this warhammer, and I expected the usual bashy/pully death scenes. And then, my character grabbed the warhammer with the left and right hands far apart, held it straight out in front of her, parallel to the ground, lifted it up over the enemy’s head, trapping them in-between the hammer and my Orc, and then headbutted the enemy to death.

That’s right, my Orc has the strongest, heaviest weapon in the game, and one of her cut scenes shows her choosing to kill the enemy with her skull instead. I don’t know if this scene is for warhammers or for Orcs, but it is so damn cool. It makes me want to go out, kill a deer, roast it, and then eat it with my bear hands while watching 300. It makes me want to go to a tavern and bash someone over the head with a pint of ale (we will ignore the fact that my tolerance has leveled out at one beer = tipsy). It makes me want to fight glorious battles where my enemies run at the sound of my barbaric cry. I shall bring them to the ground with mighty blows! I shall slice the tendons of their horses to bring man and beast crashing to the earth! I shall swing my warhammer hard enough to break armor! I shall take the enemies’ shields and crash them over their owners’ heads! I SHALL FIGHT IN FIERCE COMBAT AND BRING THE ENEMY TO HIS KNEES WITH MY RAW, VIOLENT FORCE!

HAVE AT THEE BRO

… I shall probably order drumsticks tonight, so that I may rend the tender flesh from a slain beast.

Advertisements

Dear University Apartments…

WARNING. I AM SO ANGRY RIGHT NOW. THIS IS AN INAPPROPRIATE POST.

Hades

Dear University Apartments,

Firstly, you really need to change your name to University Dorms Off Campus, because, lets be real, you aren’t actually an apartment complex. You’re a sad, worthless excuse for a dorm that happens to be off campus with a (tiny) kitchen and a (tiny) laundry room. For the unacquainted, “The U” (well aren’t we just clever and modern) does not, in fact, allow you to do adult things like pay your own utilities, choose whether or not you want cable, or choose your internet provider. You pay a monthly flat fee with utilities included unless you have an overage (which, during the summer, you will). It’s idiot-proof, my-first-housing. Now, those of you who know me know that I really hate all the hand-holding that tends to go on in and around colleges. When I lived on campus, I lived in a dorm that had lots of upperclassmen, so it was very hands off; however, after meeting new people, I realized that freshman dorms are not, in fact, housing for anyone who is competent. Apparently, large, freshmen dorms have check-ins where you have to show ID. Guests must be claimed. RAs are actually involved in your daily life and do more than just plan tiny parties and clean up broken mirrors. When I was in high school, my parents started traveling farther and farther away for art shows, and, as I aged, I did not have to go with them to these shows. I have also had a job and a car since I was sixteen, which means that before college, I had a decent chunk of experience doing things like buying my own food, cooking, doing laundry, vacuuming, buying my own clothes, and, you know, just general living without anyone else butting in. This leads me to my second point.

University Apartments, please fuck off, die, and decompose into a maggoty soup. SOME of your residents did not, as a matter of fact, choose to live here because of your SUPER COOL AMENITIES. I know that you have A POOL, A GYM, and FREE COFFEE AND (awful) BREAKFAST IN THE MORNINGS! I know that you have ACTIVITIES! You know, for people who really miss the feeling of a school dance. You project POOR QUALITY MOVIES sometimes! For the people who really want to watch a grainy image projected onto an inflatable screen. And you know what, my dearest apartment complex, I deal with that. I deal with hearing crappy movies in my room. I deal with the noises from the pool. I live right by it, so whenever you have an activity or the bastards who also live here decide to bring out a boom box, I get to hear it. And I have always been relatively OK with this.

Until now. See, it’s finals next week. I have gallons of work to do (not that I will be doing it). I just got back from work, and I come into the complex and hear a ghastly sound: Bad club music. And I hear this sound far sooner and louder than I should. I come into my apartment, and I can hear it in the living room, which is usually the more quiet room. I go back in to the lair of the Cuddly One, and he has closed my door (fun fact: at normal noise levels, you can hear the sound more loudly from my room than you can from his window) to prevent more noise leakage. I come into his room to see him engulfed in his headphones. I’m already not pleased, and I decide to go down to the office and say something to management. This is their party after all. I’m sure they don’t realize that it’s louder than normal.

Once in the office, I am directed to the manager (AKA the only person who works here older than 22. There is nothing more disconcerting than signing a lease and giving it to some punkass college kid. Seriously, he could have sold it for beer money). I explain that the music is a lot louder than normal, and ask if they can turn it down a bit, as it has permeated the entire apartment. I also lied and said that it was vibrating the windows because this place is a hell-hole and, I figured that they wouldn’t do anything for just too loud.

“I’m sorry, but it’s our end of the year party. We’ve been advertising for a while, so you should have been able to arrange to be somewhere else.”

“Yes, but it’s also the weekend before finals. I’m not partying. Also, your other parties and activities aren’t this loud. Like, I can’t hear the movies you play in my living room. This is louder”

“Listen, I will personally pay your cab fare to go wherever you want. We can send you to Jittery Joe’s or whatever, but we aren’t turning down the music. You can go wherever you want though.”

“Well, what I want is to be able to study in the apartment that I pay for.”

“The party is only until six-thirty. I’ll pay for you to go somewhere.”

I don’t actually remember what I said before I turned around and left the office. It might have been “well” or “no” or just “ugh,” but I do remember muttering “fuck off cunt” before I slammed the office door. The problem is that, when I get angry, I have trouble remembering exactly how loud I am. I mean, I was livid. I love how turning down their music would just, like, RUIN their end of the year party (SURPRISE MOTHERFUCKERS! THE YEAR ISN’T OVER. WE STILL HAVE FINALS AND CLASS ON MONDAY.) I wasn’t saying, “Umm, can you turn off the music.” I was saying that it was significantly louder than normal, which it is, and asked if they could turn it down just a bit. You know, so I couldn’t hear it loudly and clearly in every room in my apartment. Hell, right now, I’ve got that little vibration in my ears that you get from loud bass. I also love how I should have to VACATE MY RESIDENCE because the complex is throwing a small party at the pool.

Listen, I hate my apartment for many reasons. I pay way too goddamn much for it. The kitchen and laundry room are miniscule. Our oven is too small for a pizza pan. Our shower and toilet are disgusting. The carpet isn’t actually attached to the floor properly. I found this out when I was mopping the kitchen and the edge of the carpet came right up off the ground when I brushed against it. Our upstairs neighbors keep flooding their bathroom and leaks down into our walls and through our ceiling. The windows in my room don’t close properly. We have bugs. Always. Our couch is a piece of shit that fell apart (we will now have to pay for it). The internet that we have to have is balls. I would not have moved in here if I had another option because this place is tiny, dirty, nasty, and full of idiots who shouldn’t be allowed near outlets or sharp objects. The office is entirely run by idiot college kids. I hate this place. I have to live here until August. I want to get a gun and pick off partiers and DJs and employees, one by one from my window. I want to burn this place to the damn ground. I want the company that owns this place to go bankrupt. I want these apartments to be condemned as unfit for human habitation. I want the woman who offered to buy me a cab (Fuck you. I have a car. I just don’t want to have to LEAVE MY DAMN HOME BECAUSE YOU’RE HAVING A SAD PARTY) to lose her job and pick up a heroin addiction.

Plates

I JUST HATE EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW, OK. A LOT. AND I WANT TO BURN IT TO THE GROUND.

On the GROUND

OR THROW IT ON THE GROUND. BOTH. EITHER. WHATEVER.

So, if you are one of the 20-30 (no, I am not joking) people down at the mother fucking pool at University Apartments, just know that I hate you and everything you do. Especially if you are the fucking DJ.

EDITED NOTE: Now that I am less angry, I figured that I would clarify that I don’t actually want to shoot anybody or burn anything down, nor do I really want the manager of this party to come down with a drug addiction. I really hate my damn apartment, and I needed to rant. What are blogs for? Anyway, I have something of a personal policy about deleting comments/posts on the Internet, so I intend to leave this rant up. I just wanted to clarify that I was speaking with figurative rage so that the police don’t show up at my door. I love you all.

An open letter to those who would belittle studies within the liberal arts

People… people… look, we need to discuss something. It’s, well, comparatively speaking, it’s an incredibly unimportant issue; however, it’s an issue that has been weighing on my mind recently. This issue relates to liberal arts degrees. Specifically, everybody just needs to shut the hell up. No, really shut the hell up. Because, people of the world, I have heard that my degrees are going to be absolutely meaningless. In fact, I can’t seem to go anywhere without hearing how useless they are. I will never, ever, ever, ever, EVER be getting a job. And in this economy? Whew, engineers are having trouble getting jobs. I mean, those are smart people who do real things. What chance does someone like you have against intelligent people with actual skills? Sure, you study English. I’m certain that you will be called upon to explicate poems all the time in the real world. Oh yes, studying history means that you’ll always be welcome on the trivia team. It’s not like you learn any useful skills.

People, I have grown up hearing this. And do you know what’s funny? People still encouraged me to get the degree that I wanted. I was always told to study what makes me happy and to find a job that I enjoy. At the same time, I am currently studying what I enjoy, and, for some reason, I seem to be getting no end of shit for it. And I’m part of the problem. I’ve spent the last five or so years of my life joking about how useless my degrees are going to be. I’ve told everyone how I have no idea what I’m going to do with my future. I’ve made cracks about how easy English and History are compared to real degrees. Well no-fucking-more. From now on, anyone who condescendingly inquires what, exactly, are my plans for the useless piece of paper I am soon to receive? will be told to mind their own goddamned business. I don’t know what made me snap. Maybe I saw one too many of those “Math + Science = Success!” signs that encourage parents to teach their children important subjects. Or maybe it was that blog post I saw. It featured what appeared to be a whiny, privileged, little snot who had graduated from Stanford with an English degree and found himself unable to find a job. He whined about how he had no skills or work experience and how, when he took a year off to “find himself” and “work on his writing,” he wound up sitting on his ass all the time. Oh, he was in a frat back in college too. So, he decided to start a blog in order to do something. Look, if you spend all of college getting wasted and barely scraping by in your classes, I don’t think you can blame your degree when you can’t get a job.

And you know what else? My degrees in English and History ARE useful. Do you know what I can do? I CAN FUCKING WRITE. I can put ideas into words that other people can read and understand, and I CAN DO IT BETTER THAN MOST PEOPLE. Nobody seems to appreciate the importance of writing. And no, I do not want to be an ~author, nor do I consider myself a particularly creative writer. The fact is that, if you have a great idea or a magnificent breakthrough in science, and you cannot write, no one is going to care because POOR WRITING MAKES YOU LOOK STUPID. I’ve had people tell me: “Grammar and style don’t matter for this paper; the teacher doesn’t grade for that. It’s the ideas that matter.” Hell, I’ve had teachers tell me that. EVERYONE WHO SAYS THIS IS WRONG. DEAD. FUCKING. WRONG. Yes, some teachers don’t take off points for grammar or style. That’s true. However, anybody who reads your paper is going to be influenced by your writing. A well-written paper will be more positively received than a poorly-written one simply because it sounds better. A good writer is able to express their ideas more clearly and intelligently. That sort of thing ALWAYS affects the way a paper is graded. English and history also, surprisingly enough, encourage analytical thinking. Now, I’m not a super-smart science major or anything, but I would make the cautious assumption that engaging with texts and attempting to draw conclusions from them in an analytical fashion is probably good for your neurons.

“It’s soooo easy to get an English degree!” You might protest. Yes, it can be. It’s fairly easy to BS things or slam together a last-minute paper. It’s relatively easy to avoid reading things. And yet, I see a lot of people within the English department with poor GPA’s. I see people walk out of my classes clutching C’s. Maybe, just maybe, it isn’t quite as easy as everyone thinks. And what I don’t see are all of the holier-than-thou science majors being told that they have to write a six page paper on a six line poem, which is a shame because I think it would be funny. And no, there really isn’t an English equivalent to O Chem. Hell, a science degree, especially UGA’s, are harder than an English degree. That doesn’t make your degree inherently better than mine. It isn’t a pissing contest. The arts and the sciences are both important in their own ways. I went into the liberal arts because it is what I enjoy doing, and it is where my skills are. If your skills lean towards science and math, great. Just don’t act like you deserve more credit because your degree is somehow more “useful” or “important.”

And for the love of God, stop asking those of us with liberal arts degrees what we intend to do with ourselves–even if you are expressing genuine concern or interest. After hearing it for a while, you all just start to look like assholes.

PS: It goes without saying that this blog post was written in order to avoid working on that aforementioned degree. However, the work currently being avoided is Latin rather than my usual paper. My impending midterm is making me greatly miss the papers of last week.