I am a Stoic

I always idealized my stoicism. I was the world’s greatest liar.

I wasn’t nearly as invincible as I made myself out to be. I could see a video of a national tragedy, without so much as a blink. I could see people die right in front of me, and then continue to eat a cheeseburger. My cousin was disgusted after we witnessed a murder, and threw his away. I looked towards him, back to the In-N-Out Double-Double Animal Style sitting in front of me. The decision was easy. I raised it to my mouth, but then the eyes all darted towards me. I wanted to say, “A guy was killed, not my appetite.” It would have simply led to more fat jokes, part of my morning regiment of eating everything in sight. Instead, I folded. I reluctantly dropped my burger in the trashcan and moved and sat depressed. I mourned my cheeseburger for days.

Then I got to high school. Turns out girls love dicks. So it was easy to disregard everyone’s feelings. I knew it was wrong. I knew I was hurting them, but I couldn’t have cared less. Caring was reserved for my dog. The one and only thing I could honestly say I loved.

Then I met my crew. We worked on names for a long time: T3CH (pronounced “Tech-3”), the Trio, the Cunning Stunts. Or just Matt, Andrew and Danny. Matt was a year younger than us. Absurdly athletic, and often referred to as “Thor,” he could have easily been mistaken for the Norse deity without a hammer or winged helmet. Danny, the attention whore and one of my best friends. There was never a dull moment with Danny around. Finally, me. I was the foreign kid. With a fake I.D. bummed off my cousin during my sophomore year. Yes, a sophomore in high school with a fake I.D. If there was a party in our town, it could be attributed to me. I was the reason the liquid courage flowed through the veins of those teenage boys with raging libidos and teenage girls with few inhibitions.

We were popular. I’m not saying that in the, “I was better than everyone else” kind of way. More of a, “Everyone knows us, for one reason or another.” Danny and Matt were notorious man-whores. I however, was still pretty awkward. Somehow, I still hooked up with girls more attractive than I was.

Up to this point, I cared about Danny and Matt. A lot. They were closer to me than family. In fact, I’d probably trade my family for them in a second. We were brothers in fun. Armed with costumes, slip and slides, copious amounts of liquor, we stormed the beaches of “Funmandy”. The Fun Nazi’s didn’t stand a chance against our beer bongs, Das Boot, the Tour de Franzia, the Grapevine, or just “Bear”. Redlands, California was the battleground. And we were definitely in charge.

Then it happened. I had an idea. “Let’s have a competition. Let’s see who can hook up with the most Honors student girls. You get a point for each Honors class they are in. We keep a running tally until graduation night. To make it interesting, let’s make teams. I’ll take Jeremy, he’s a slut. And it can be you two.”

I never realized how much I would regret the idea.

From there, we went on our ways. I made 6 quick points by using relationships I had already made. But then I hit a brick wall. Jeremy was going hard. He earned 10 points. So we had 16 points altogether. Danny and Matt started slow, with only 10 points in early May. They had been severely slowed down by Matt’s interest in a certain Christian good girl. But he still got points on the side. Danny was a complete whore. Racking them up left and right.

Then came the week of graduation. Only 4 days left. I didn’t even care about graduating. The competition became consuming. The first girls had somehow figured out about the game. I did what I always did with women and manipulated them to believe that they were in the wrong. I even got them to apologize for me. I grinned as soon as I turned around, every time, without fail. By this point, the scoreboard was 35- 32. Danny and Matt had taken the lead after Matt had gone an amazing 3 for 3 one night.

So I needed one girl with 4 classes. I thought. One immediately came to mind. A girl that had been best friends with Matt’s Jesus Girl. Nobody had ever broken her before. It would be an epic challenge. I had 4 days to seduce her.

So it started. I asked her out. Denied. I kept talking to her. Told her what she wanted to hear. A lot. Did I care about her? Absolutely not. I had no apparent attachment whatsoever. I was wrong though. I took her on a romantic picnic the night before graduation. Mission Accomplished. Chicks dig picnics. We win the competition on an epic, buzzer beater. And I went out with her the next night after graduation. I always noted that this stereotypical movie plot where the star falls in love with a girl he only talked to for a bet was a joke, and couldn’t possibly happen.

Fast forward. We dated for the next 6 months; I thought it was a seemingly insignificant amount of time. But it wasn’t. I, the one who hadn’t cried since he saw Tarzan when he was 7 and saw the Mommy Gorilla shot and killed, was in love. I thought about her constantly. I missed her while I was still with her. People always told me that someone waits their entire life to tell a significant other that they love them. But when you get there, I love you doesn’t come fucking close.

That’s how it felt. I’ve never been happier. I’d never been happy. I had just been. But now I was complete. Then I moved away for school. I thought I could escape with telling her we should have an “open relationship.” But sadly, no girl here ever came close to her. I think about her when I wake up. I dream of her when I sleep. I don’t masturbate here. At all. Because I don’t feel attracted to any girl but her anymore. I can’t even imagine being with someone else.

Why did this happen to me?

One night she calls and says she needs it to be over.

I say it’s fine, I understand. Tell her what I think she wants to hear. I had always put her before myself. And this time, I realized it had always been about her. I was a pawn in a chess game. She was the rest of the pieces. It wasn’t a couple. It was me, and Natalie, the “love of my life.” A term I use with extreme prejudice.

I had visited twice already. I lived 500 miles away. It wasn’t easy, but I made it twice in one month just to see her. So it wasn’t like I wasn’t trying. She didn’t think it would work, so she decided to end it before it got bad.

It didn’t get bad until a month later, when she called to inform me that she had a new boy. It wasn’t serious, so she wouldn’t tell me who it was. I, being the genius I am, asked a friend, who knew who it was. Problem solved.

But now I’m in a state of utter depression. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I occasionally tear up for no reason. This is me. I saw P.S. I Love You, and laughed. A lot. But this girl has brought me to my knees. My stomach is constantly upset. My body aches. I thought I was sick. But it only happens when I think of her. Six months is not a big deal. Why is this happening to me?

Then I realized. I’ve been lying to myself. I’m not a stoic. I’m not immune to emotion. I’ve been trying to avoid it, because I didn’t want to feel this. I’m a boy. Just a boy. I’m vulnerable. I am a liar.

Then I straighten my back. Puff my chest out. Smile. Take my hands out of my pockets. Put in my headphones. Walk down the street humming a tune. I put on my shell again. I liked it better back then.
I am a stoic. I am a stoic again.

Innocuous

Innocent in every possible way. Nothing that could even be considered intimidating. How many times has that one been said? Tall or, more accurately, loppy arms swing from front to back, helping the top-heavy oaf keep his balance. He sticks one hand in his pocket to keep his beltless pants from falling down, again. He appears lopsided, and he narrowly avoids tipping over with every step.

He doesn’t find himself attractive, and everyone giggles when he walks by, and people constantly talk about how everyone “loves” him. Some even go as far to say “They all have a fat boner for you.” This is eloquence. Eloquence only gets one so far, and that is always right before 3rd base for him. He gets “Let’s Just Be Friends”ed instantly. It’s like his calling card. It’s basically a home run in loser baseball.Most regard him as smart, but he’ll never be smart enough. Others regard him as cool, but he’ll never be cool enough. He always carries a smile, but no one could ever tell you why.

Mistakes. They’re made, and forgotten, but usually remembered. He’s made so many that he’s lost count. Most visibly, in his personal life. Some say he has jungle fever. Those people couldn’t be more wrong.

The recently founded White Girl Addiction Rehabilitation Center, founded for men like our protagonist, has been helping men “get over ‘em” for days, even weeks. Sadly, the women he chooses are exactly what he thought they were: nearly perfect, but mediocrity never attracts perfection. The flowing blond hair, biting wit, gorgeous girl will never be his. No idea why not.

Life constantly asks him why he does the things he does.

Start at Oakland International Airport. Get on the AirBART. Jump on the BART towards Richmond. Couple of stops left. Downtown Berkeley. Mind the gap. Take that first leap. The foot makes contact with the ground simultaneously with the knife penetrating the man on the train opposite the platform. Welcome to Berkeley.

Action: The Only How-To Guide You Will Ever Need

Ambition.

Nothing is ever accomplished without ambition.

Fear.

Nothing is ever accomplished by complaining.

Now, this may be as trite as it gets. Fear is fear, ambition is ambition, but that’s not my point.

The title is misleading, this is not a self-help guide. It is not a how-to. It is just what I’ve found out recently.

The only person holding you back is yourself. Guaranteed. No one else can hold you back. Not your parents, not your friends, not your enemies.

I was not the happiest kid in the world. I was not the most dismal child either. There is only one thing that has definitively changed my life, changed the basis of my character, and that was the moment I swore to take action on my every desire.

It sounds horrible, it sounds like I’m about to justify rape or something horrid. In reality, the nuances of the word desire are left up to you. I simply want to assure everyone, there is nothing more to life than what we make of it.

I’m desperately trying to avoid philosophical bullshit. This is intended to be grounded and as realistic as possible.

I recently posted a Benjamin Disraeli quote, “Action may not only lead to happiness, but there is no happiness without action.”

It’s probably the most accurate thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t really do much past this, but this feeling I have can’t truly be described. However, this is an article, and thus, I will try.

I am not invincible, I am insecure, I am weak. How do I become stronger? By acting stronger. By taking initiative, by doing something about it. Too many people simply read these self-help books. Reading is fantastic, but it isn’t magic. Everything requires an outside input into the subject. We must do it for ourselves.

There is a limit at which the knowledge is irrelevant, but the application could not be more important. We’re an information based society, and we must change that. Now.

I’ve never been so satisfied with myself in my life. I’ve never felt so strong.

I took the initiative, and put myself out there. I was shot down. Horribly. I went out on a limb, and came crashing to the ground. I wanted to kill myself for a split second. I’ve done this before, but never quite in the way I did there.

And I have to say. It felt good. It felt good to fail, and to survive. To be completely dejected, realize it’s ok, and move on. I deleted the number. Deleted the old messages.

Game Over. Press Start to Continue.

I think I’ll give it another go.

Secret

Excuses.

I can find an excuse for everything. I am the most elaborate liar you will ever meet. The extent to which I can bullshit is so unbelievable, most people do not initially believe it.

The Secret

Don’t give them a reason to doubt you.

I have a great time. I am not any different than any other kid my age. Except that I realized one thing, as long as you take care of your responsibilities, the rest of the time is yours to fill. These people will drink, smoke, and ignore their future. They have so much to do, and they are wasting it. I can do whatever I want,  but I make sure to take care of my work, my other obligations, my family, and my future before I have fun.

American society is definitively stuck in the now. I have no problem with the now, but working for the now with no regard for the later is a dangerous way to play the game. Intelligent people are wasting their talent. Idiots who avoid time wasting are flying to the top of society.

As a result, I hereby state that I’m only going to live in the present. The past is irrelevant, the future is a waste of time.

I’ll be attending a college next year, either UCLA, UCBerkeley, Harvard, Yale, Northwestern, or UPenn. Wherever I’m accepted. And I don’t fear not succeeding there, I fear being unimportant there. Unimportance and mediocrity are my greatest, however irrational, fears.
I recently asked out the one and only girl that I truly enjoy speaking with. She’s not the first girl I’ve been with, nor will she be the last. However, I’ve been contemplating my time investment in women that I don’t enjoy. Sadly, they’re far more numerous than the rare “diamond in the rough.” Realistically speaking, this relationship will not work out. She’s a year younger than I am, much more busy. It’s tough to find a moment with her. But overall, I could not be happier with my decisions. Not only did I take action on something I truly wanted, it ended up successful, for now.
I am an anglophile. It’s a disease here on the West Coast. You can hardly find a place without a Union Jack plastered on a wall. Britpop is an epidemic. I also have a unnatural attraction to personalities of the UK (Smith, Ricardo, Malthus, Churchill, Bentham, and most importantly, Disraeli).

Benjamin Disraeli, in my opinion, one of the greatest leaders of the modern era, once said

“Action may not always bring happiness; but there is no happiness without action.”

I hereby affirm that I will act on every impulse I truly believe will increase my happiness. This experiment begins today, and will last approximately 2 weeks. I’ll update occasionally.
I encourage everyone to begin “Project Disraeli” for themselves, and see what changes.

Family is a Relative Term

The Family

A mother, a father, two daughters, and a son. Oh, and a dog. Sadly, the only one I have any emotional attachment to is the dog. My mother wishes I was more like the Indian kids she teaches dance to, who take an interest in their heritage. My father wishes I was more like his dream child, who is a wealthy doctor and never messes up. My sisters don’t really acknowledge my existence. One is a powertripping teacher with self-esteem so low that anything at all can become an attack on her character.

“Sis, your car is dirty. You should wash it.”

“Fuck, just because I’m not rich and white, and can’t afford to get my car washed every week, doesn’t mean I’m not as good as you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me…”

“Who asked you?!” It always escalated to yelling, cursing, and fucking annoying arguments over the semantics of suggestions that imply that she is of a lower class than the rest of the family.

The other sister is the complete opposite. Way too much pride, just no life experience to back it up. She’s never held a job for more than a summer. Lives completely off my parent’s money, and parties like it is 1999, which may be because she never quite moved on. Technically, she is going to law school. In reality, she just doesn’t want to go to the real world yet. Too much responsibility and stuff.

Then there is me. The quiet one. All I do is go to school and eat. I don’t have any attachment to anyone. If we were asked to pack up and move, I wouldn’t hesitate. I despise my family’s flaws, as the all subsequently became what I consider my “pet peeves.” I can’t stand anything they do.

This is my home. I just don’t live here anymore. I turn off upon entering. Some people try to pull the, “You’re so privileged, you just don’t know it.” I know I’m privileged, and I love my lifestyle. I just hate growing up in a home in which no one actually likes anyone else. Sometimes I wish divorce was an option in our culture.

A Window

Every person has a moment in which they decide their future. A proverbial point of no return. For some, it isn’t a conscious decision at all. Rather, life decides its own path, and guides us into a world in which we have no actual effect on our future.

Penn Patel, the archetypal Indian student from all appearances. What goes on in the confines of his mind is completely ridiculous. Hence, his resultant life motto became “Ridiculous.” Everything in his life was ridiculous, and it appeared as though he was the only one who could see it.

“Penn, you’re going to sit here quietly and listen to these men play music. They’re holy. Just do it.” His mother, a small quaint woman, with a personality that everyone else seemed to love, but the reason for which he never quite understood, constantly badgered Penn to have faith, to be a good Indian boy, and to embrace his culture. As many teens will understand, all that did was make him detest everything associated with his culture, “his” religion, “his” heritage. In fact, it became a punishment for insubordination, as insubordination, was the only crime his parents could possibly punish him for. What else can you do if the only problem with your son is that he is not what you want him to be?

I never believed her when she said there was a god.

If you ask any child what they want to be when they grow up, chances are “The survey says: Doctor or Engineer” being the next words are about as likely as Louie Anderson becoming a doctor or an engineer.

For an Indo-American parent (note that Penn shall never escape the confines of the hyphen) astronauts are too crazy, pilots are paid too little, firefighters aren’t educated, and childhood dreams aren’t protected by any means. The indoctrination to follow the path your parents set for your starts so early that doctors earned the ire of Penn, for no other reason than the fact that the word was spoken more often than his name. His innate racial ability to count and calculate was finally put to good use.

Thus, Penn always dreamt of something more. He wanted his name to be remembered. In fact, the only recurring dream of his entire childhood was being a professional basketball player, with his dog, Tiger, his fantastically talented canine companion.

Air Bud fucks kids up.

So where does he go from here? Every Desi has heard the story. The kid who doesn’t want to do what his parents desire of him. They are all looking for some sort of salvation.

For Penn, it came in the package of his cousin’s driver’s license.

—————————————————————————————-

“Guriqbal Mandeep Singh, 24365 Highview Cold Canyon Terrace Road, Malibu, CA. May 26th, Nineteen eighty… eight?”

“No. Eighty-six, dipshit.” I barely knew Patrick; we had met a few times before back in ninth grade. We had been connected by the necessity of alcohol at a party, so they asked me to buy it. I had made the mistake of bragging about the idea after procuring it. I don’t know if it was a mistake or not.

“Whatever, I doubt they’ll card me. Being 16 with a full beard has its perks.”

“And its curses. Look at them legs. Is that a carpet?”

Why the hell am I in this position? I don’t like any of these people. In fact, I despise most of them for the shit they gave me growing up.

“Your mom seemed to like it.” That’s the pinnacle of my comeback ability at the age of 16, a “your mom” joke. Even Wilmer Valderamma is dying on the inside.

“Whatev’ slut.” Patrick squinted when he laughed. It was at that moment that I had the idea of a viral video starring an Asian eating a lemon. The pointlessness would have been legendary amongst the townspeople. It also reminded me that I hate these people. If only I didn’t crave their social acceptance, being part of the cool kids crew. Again, it pains me to see how trite all of this was.

We choose a random, sketchy liquor store. The guy at the counter cards me; I show him my cousin’s identification. He nods and then asks me what I want. I ask for the high school classic, Smirnoff Green Apple. He goes to the Smirnoff row, and randomly touches bottles.

“Apple please.”

“Which one?”

“Apple. Right there.” Pointing at a wall of bottles tightly packed together is extremely inefficient.

“Hmmm…”

“Forget it, Watermelon is fine.”

“Watermelon…”

“The red one.”

“Oh, okay.” He then proceeds to hand us strawberry flavored vodka. That was when I realized he was illiterate. We just pay and leave for our red bottle. I wonder what he would have done if I had just given him my real identification.

We went to the party. It wasn’t my first, but it was the first that I had not planned. I was very much the friend of the moment. They came, drank my booze, broke my chairs, and puked in my hallway, and then I hear nothing from them for months, until they need my identification. Using people. It must feel good.

Luckily, this party was not at my house, but the next victim of the desire for acceptance, who is also Indian, and name rhymes with mine. I couldn’t help but laugh at the hilarity of the situation. I hope he realized that they were using him just as they used me, but I was disappointed, he greeted me warmly, as though we were friends. He was just as naive as I had been.

“Penn, thanks for buying all of this.”

“No problem. Any time.” I lied straight to his face.

I was one of the first people there. Soon after me and Patrick, Ansley, a guy I had known since the first or second grade, Prince Charming of the school, showed up. There was no person in my life I hated more than Ansley. When we were in elementary school together, I was fat, and he decided to write a song about me.

“Bounce like jelly on my belly,

 There’s a big rumble, when I stumble,

 Can you tell me who I am?

 Penn!”

In spite of their overt innocence, those words cut deep. The song replayed in my head whenever I saw him. I just left the room. The worst part is that I still told people he was one of my best friends. He didn’t mind too much, I wasn’t the only one.

Someone invited a gang of bros to the party. Someone else invited the graduated football players. This spells bad news for anyone familiar in high school clique interactions. In fact, this may have been the worst ending to any party ever. The owner of the house was forced into his bathroom. A fight broke out. A couch ended up in a pool. A vase was shattered. A neighbor had a two-by-four broken over his head. The shit hit the fan, and then was lit on fire, and stained the carpet as well. It was the scariest ten minutes of my life up to that point.

A text saying, “Oh, btw, I sent sen a text saying penn can buy alcohol for your party. Thought you should know” is equally terrifying, especially when every Indian person in the Deadlands knows every other one, including mine and Sen’s parents.

________________________________________________________________________________________

High school teens volunteering for the future

In response to the social problems and natural disasters of recent years, there has been an increase membership in charitable organizations and volunteering across the country, and high school students are firmly involved in the advancement of this altruistic revolution.

The American Red Cross, the Goodwill, the Salvation Army and on-campus student service clubs such as Octagon Club, In Society, and Key Club are opportunities for students to get involved in their own community. Groups such as these are vital to the social programs of this country, and emphasize the magnanimity of teenage students and volunteers.

Nonprofit organizations (NPOs) are often the first major form of aid to millions of victims to the various political, natural, and economic disasters. In the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina, the American Red Cross was commended for its swift response. However, not all NPOs focus on emergency aid. The American Library Association focuses on maintaining and supporting library education throughout the world, and the Phoenix House is a series of rehabilitation centers that help those who have fallen victim to various types of drug addictions.

These societies attempt to better society, rather than reap profits. This may seem naïvely altruistic, yet, with the amount of support these groups get from the communities they serve, they can facilitate a small paid staff in order to maximize effectiveness.

The most prevailing NPO in Redlands is the Young Men’s Christian Association. Although it is technically a nonprofit organization, it does charge a nominal fee for the use of its facilities. The YMCAs all over the country pride themselves first on their employment opportunities for young adults, their low cost child care, and their volunteer sponsored sports programs. Hundreds of high school students have gone through the YMCA Basketball program, dozens through their roller hockey program. High school junior M. Jiffry was one of the players who went through the basketball program, he articulated his gratitude for YMCA basketball when he said, “Most RHS student has in someway been involved with the YMCA. It helped me grow as a teammate, a player, and a person.”

Students are both major beneficiaries and donors to non-profit organizations. Through service clubs, the average student can become involved in projects and charities that help the people both directly and indirectly. The Octagon Club takes part in the annual Relay for Life, in which the members, along with hundreds of other students and volunteers raise money for cancer patients. A member of the Octagon Club, junior J. Campos, remarked, “Octagon Club tries to give its members a better understanding of the importance of teenager involvement in the community. I know my efforts and participation in events such as the Relay for Life will benefit those in need of help and support, particularly those making the fight against cancer.”

Volunteering has become vital to being considered a “complete” student for college admissions. Due to this, even more students have become active in the community. Yet, not all students do it only for applications. Senior Eric Hagstrom, a member of In Society discussed his motives behind joining the club as, “It makes me feel good inside; I do it all for the little smiles on the faces of the children”

Specific organizations often focus on helping students be successful. For example, the Mustard Seed Tutorial Center is a non-profit organization fully staffed by volunteers, even some high school students. Junior J. Lee, spends her free time helping other students from kindergarten to 12^th grade learn what they need to succeed in the academic realm. Lee expresses the positive aspects of her tutoring when she stated, “It was a great experience knowing that I was helping somebody.”

With all the pressure on youth in this age, some find it difficult to cope, and sometimes crumble under the burden. Suicide is one of the principal killers among teenagers, along with alcohol related accidents and homicide, however, the gravity of taking your life is alarming to many Americans.

Due to this phenomenon, hundreds of organizations have formed just for teens like these. “To Write Love on Her Arms,” or TWLOHA, is a group that collects money and provides counseling to anyone who may feel that they wish to take their own life. The organization began as a fund to help a young, depressed woman who struggled with addiction and self-injury, afford rehabilitation. However, when popular bands such as Switchfoot and Anberlin began to support the organization, it quickly grew throughout the fifty states, all the way to Europe. High school student K. Martin noted, “That sounds like a great program, helping people who need it the most. But sometimes, it can be tough to get people into the programs in the first place.”

Due to their tax exempt status, nonprofit revenues go almost directly to those who need them, rather than being tied up with the Internal Revenue Service. High school junior J. Bueermann stated, “I’m glad the government gives benefits to non-profit organizations, because it encourages them to continue their charity work.” With tax exempt status, aid organizations are optimized for success and through the involvement of students like the ones at high schools, the American Society, as Martin put it, “is at a peak of generosity.”

Best Buy constantly lets me down, but now they even lie to their customers…

I had just applied to be a member of the Best Buy team. I even had an interview, and from the way that the manager talked about my interview, and about the position, I felt like a shoe-in. I was applying for a job in the Computer Sales area, so I decided to mosey on over and spend some time with my future co-workers. When I arrived, one of the women who worked in the area was helping an older woman and her son purchase a new laptop.

From what I saw initially, she was just helping them with a smile on her face. Also, the store was recently redesigned, and the new tags listed only three items: Hard drive space, Memory, and Price. Not even the processor speed was listed. The boy that the Best Buy salesperson was helping had his eye on two specific notebooks, a Toshiba and a Dell. She initially reccommended the Dell on the grounds that “The model is being discontinued, so the price is lower.” I don’t know much about economics, but this sounds reasonable to me.
I was planning to purchase another mouse for a laptop I just purchased, so I decided to just creep around the area a little longer. I pick the mouse I wanted, and head for the register.

The woman and son are now checking out, and ended up picking the more expensive of the two notebooks. The girl continues on to her regular warranty sales pitch. The mother and son politely decline.

This is when it got bad. The woman must have realized that her customers were not computer savvy, or she was not savvy herself, but she decided to sell the buyers a Geeksquad virus protection program. In order to convince them, she said, and I quote “Well, do you play computer games?” The boy, like most kids his age, responds positively, getting into the games he plays. She continues “Sometimes, those games come with viruses. The viruses can break your computer. If you have Norton or something, it won’t detect it, but if you have our antivirus, it will detect that. So if you play games, you should definitely get the antivirus.”

I wouldn’t mind a simple overstatement for a few extra dollars in most cases, but when we’re talking hundreds of dollars for a completely ridiculous, useless service, I get a little hot.

At this point, I simply could not take anymore.

“Please, don’t lie to them to sell them something.”

“What? I don’t know what you are talking about!”

“Everything you just said was crap, none of it made sense. Ma’am, I implore you to decline her offer. If you need antivirus software, I’ll show you some places where you can get excellent protection for free.”

“But they won’t get the protection that Best Buy can offer, which is obviously the best!”

I just look at her quizzically, as I’m not sure if she is really serious. I return to the the woman, “Please, don’t buy this. If you need any help, take my email address, and I’ll provide any help I can.”

After that, I just walked back to the manager, asked her for my application, snatching it from his hand and tore it up. As I was storming out of the building, I continued to make a scene. All this time, I had forgotten to put down my mouse, and when I tried to walk out, I was grabbed by the security guards. I didn’t even hear the alarm go off. I just explained the situation, gave them the mouse, and continued on my way.

That is why I’ll never return to Best Buy. They no longer try to help customers make the best decision, instead, they only attempt to profit as much as possible. I guess I’ll go talk to Office Depot… .

I always judge my book by the cover.

     Congratulations Trey Songz, you officially have the lamest name known to man. Seriously, “Songz”? What the hell were you thinking? I imagine it was something along the lines of “Oh mah gah, I write songs, but I am also a dipshit. How can I get those both into my name at the same time?” I respect you as an artist, but why do you have to use a pseudonym? Does it make you more mysterious?

I like to judge a book by its cover, in fact, it often saves me time. For example, I thought the cover of every fantasy novel ever looked horrible, so I would skip reading it. Instead, I would head towards the cleverly illustrated covers of Chuck Palahniuk or the attractive jackets of the nonfiction economics related novels. Either way, I know what I am going to get before I read a page. But this applies to everything. Specifically, I can tell that I will hate Trey Songz because of his horrific abomination of a name, or that I will hate Dashboard Confessional because of their solemn wording, or even that I will like Tokyo Police Club, because it has the word Tokyo in it ^_^ \/.

This is why we should all judge books by their cover, you see the name “Lil’ Scrappy” What did you honestly expect? How about U2? The more one thinks about it, the more they realize it is often easier to judge a book by its cover.

Californication, not Californiacation

In spite of being home to some of the best academic institutions in the country, and being one of the most economically powerful states in the union, modern media has portrayed residents of California as nothing more than rich, superficial Caucasian kids that do nothing but start trouble, regardless of this negative stereotype being completely unmerited in reality.

Have you had plastic surgery? Do you live next to a celebrity? Do you surf? These are questions that every Californian will inevitably face upon their departure from the Golden State. Why do Californians have this slightly unusual stereotype?

Several plausible reasons arise; specifically, the envious residents of the other 49 states are simply acting out upon their unfortunate dearth of fantastic weather and wonderful cities. Mild summers and temperate winters warrant such resentment, but do not warrant this stereotyping of its people. Second, the typecast drama makes for excellent television, despite being completely trite and unoriginal. Television shows such as The O.C. only add to the state’s persona as rambunctious party guys and girls that constantly instigate vapid and shallow shenanigans. Though these extreme examples of Californians are enthralling television, they are completely baseless and can not be representative of the rest of the state.

Obviously, the lives of the Orange County’s rich and famous cannot define the average person, and some people understand that. However, these understanding people are the ones who believe that every resident of Southern California either knows a celebrity or surfs religiously, and every resident of Northern California is some species of tree, often mistaken for a Redwood. Not everyone can be on a first name basis with a celebrity, so there must be some perpetuation of the stereotype on the part of Californians, perhaps exaggerating the bounds of the term “next to,” extending it to the idea of “in the same general area as.” Living next to a celebrity can be a useful conversation starter, but it cannot be abused, as those who use it habitually are setting all Californians back by enabling and encouraging stereotyping.

Aside of the social aspects of Californian life, the state is by far the most economically powerful of the union. To put it in perspective, if California were to secede from the union, it would be between the seventh and tenth strongest economy in the world. Because of the Silicon Valley and companies such as Google or Apple, the image of Northern California is in sharp contrast to the south. The technological powerhouse of the Silicon Valley produces a majority of the world’s software and technology. Central California produces as many, if not more agricultural goods than any other state (proving that economic success sometimes requires the expense of a constant stench of cow manure across the region.) Obviously, technology and agriculture are not the preferred trades of a stereotypical Californian, as surfing and celebrity have little in common with hard work.

Besides the common jealousy, other states often view Californians as materialistic and superficial, due to their portrayals in such television series as Nip/Tuck and Dr. 90210. Each of these shows focuses on the plastic surgery industry, the former being fictional, and the latter being reality. The superficiality coupled with the idea of plastic surgery may be universal, yet the plastic surgery industry is coupled with the city of Los Angeles, and thus, the state of California. This petty stereotype is the image that other nearby states fear. Former Oregon Governor Tom McCall used the motto, “Don’t Californicate Oregon!” Don’t worry Governor McCall; there will be no “Californication” in the state of Oregon. The neighbors to the north apparently feared that they too would take the image of California, but most would find it difficult to replace the image of trees and depressing rain with the images of beautiful beaches and majestic mountains. There is a clear underlying theme, dividing California from its neighbors, usually because of the other party’s desire to distance themselves from the concept of a Californian. Rarely have Californians stated that they do not want to be associated with Nevada, as the image of “Sin City” would simply not fit its people.

On the other hand, why should Californians care? Living in the best state in the union, there is little that should offend a Californian. Also, it is clear that most of the stereotyping comes from the actions of the state’s own residents. It appears that the negative stereotype in the world community is the price of success and power, and that success is dependent on the stereotype. No matter what the opinions of other states are, a Californian must always accept the fact that “It’s understood that Hollywood sells Californication.”

Although it may be outdated, the video epitomizes what I’m trying to say.Actually, it doesn’t. Shirtless Keidis just gets me off. I apologize.