Take Off Your Lance And Jacket |
Exposing the charade brigade, one Doug Christie jersey at a time. Lance.ryan.pauker@gmail.com @lanceryanpauker |
I’m one of those people who never wastes a chance to tell others I grew up in the epitome of Long Island suburbia, so naturally I remember the first time I heard Blink-182’s now immortal hit, “What’s My Age Again?” I was nine, sitting in the backseat of a minivan with one of my best friends at the time. He, more musically inclined, was pumped the fuck up about a new CD he had just got for his birthday—something called “Now, That’s What I Call Music! 3.”
Like most overly impressionable kids, I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually like the song. Twenty-three seemed like another life, and I’m fairly certain my innocent and sheltered 4th grader self wasn’t exactly down with “watching TV with no pants on.” But Blink became the sort of thing you were supposed to like at the time, so I figured there was something wrong with me if didn’t totally buy in—it was like saying how dope “Billy Madison” and “The Waterboy” were, or laughing your head off after every loud armpit fart.
Middle school brought a pretty heated Good Charlotte phase, and the early high school years were all about the now non-substantial mid 2000’s rap—Unk’s “Walk it Out,” The Game’s “How We Do,” and our basketball team’s main jam, the Terror Squad’s “Lean Back.” Blink was always kind of around though, particularly as the themes became more applicable. “Feeling This” hitting the Madden 2004 soundtrack (the one where Mike Vick was stupid good) was a pretty big deal, and liking Blink became even more important after their 2005 indefinite hiatus. Sure, the internet wasn’t totally around to manufacture nostalgia via shit like “14 Punk-Rock Reasons Why Blink-182 was the Band of Our Generation,” but we managed to figure it out anyway—liking, even worshipping Blink became some sort of strange universal testament to growing up “where we grew up.” I’d find out a few years later that this all had to do with a bunch of media theory bullshit like semiotics and the encoding/decoding theory, but even those old guys were wrong—after all, they didn’t grow up in Smithtown. How could they be right?
Over the years, I have remained relatively close to the owner of “Now That’s What I Call Music! 3.” A lot of this has to do with the fact that we’re neighbors, we both have parents who enjoy talking about college applications, and the similar caliber schools we went to have rendered some “no way!!” (yet, predictable) mutual friend connections. We now both live within 10 blocks of each other in New York City, he happens to live with one of my better friends from college, and my roommate happens to be working for the same company that he is. I’ve just gotten a Facebook invite to his 23rd Birthday Party.
The funny thing is though, I rarely see this kid—we have relatively different friends, we only have so much free time, and our various pursuits of trying to #makeit don’t really intersect. We make plans to hang out, but a lot of times they don’t exactly make it past the “we totally should” barrier. And when they do, one of us (me) will usually find a way to not text back, or say “I’m there in 15” and then never show up. We have plenty to say to each other when we do hang out, but the infrequency in which we do renders the never-ending carousel of jokes about people we know the predominant conversational fodder.
*****
I was recently rehashing weekend adventures with a friend from college that I do sorta hang out with, and after recounting one of those “only in NYC” stories where a strange series of circumstances led him to making a decision he wasn’t 100% proud of, he tells me that he’s come to the conclusion that “all 23 year-olds are sorta assholes.” I think to myself that 1999 was fourteen years ago, but he’s exactly right.
Now, to take a moment to incorporate big-picture ideas into things that our demographic cares about, I will consult Golden Age Comedian Louis CK, who makes a pretty funny yet real point about people who are 20:
I’m prejudiced against twenty year olds. Because, nineteen you’re still your parents’ fault. Twenty, you’re technically an adult, but you still haven’t done anything.
Twenty year olds at their jobs are always like, “This job sucks.” Yes, that’s why we gave it toyou! Because you’re twenty. You haven’t done anything. You’ve just been sucking up resources, you’ve just been taking food and love and education and iPods, and taking it and judging—“I like that,” and “Oh, that sucks.” You’re like a big orange on a tree that’s rotting, and the tree is like, “Get off!” and you’re hanging on, “I don’t want to go.” If you’re twenty, you definitely have never done a thing for anybody.
Twenty-three though, and you don’t necessarily have that luxury of hanging on. “Real Life,” despite being the name of a recent facebook album, is decidedly a thing. Yes, the job you take right out of college could just be something “you give a shot,” but if you look at the kids a few years older, that never really seems to happen. Like Red at Shawshank, you become “institutionalized” — privy to a certain lifestyle, the nuances of which become increasingly hard to understand for people not in your same boat. You then develop different reflexive tastes, wants, desires. You prefer the trail with moguls, they like the one with that dope jump.
Trails that may intersect at some point, but ski mountains don’t always do that. We’re at the point where life is demanding that we weed out certain things—friends, hobbies, shitty lifestyle habits—and start embracing other things—waking up early, realities of a career, and for some, even settling down and ceding to permanent monogamy. Compromises need to be made, and compromises inevitably hurt at least one party, if not both. And because you’re really compromising for the first time, this is also the first time people are going to get seriously offended. No longer can we really go back on this shit. Congratulations, we’re officially all sorta assholes.
I have tickets to Louis CK the night of my friend’s 23rd birthday party, so I probably won’t end up going. I guess this is growing up.
Today, I discovered the blog known as Fuck! I’m In My 20’s. Given my general ish, the lack of prior knowledge on this shit is astoundingly inexcusable. It’s really deserving of an analogy, but that’d be like saying this girl is the equivalent of some well-known, legitimized entity. And to get completely real for a second, that’s just pushing the envelope way too far, way too fast. Who are you, what have you done, and insert third somewhat existential crisis-ey line that would make for a solid early 2000’s pop song.
This is not to say the blog isn’t very well done—it is. All things equal/ceritus paribus/we all took economics so lets make a meme and a pictograph, its a HIGHLY impressive take on the narrative that seems to have encapsulated every girl from 20-27 who thinks she has a personality and/or something unique to offer to the world. Very Lena Dunham-esque, a phrase which is essentially the epitome of what this whole movement is aspiring for—to be the “indie” voice of a generation that only the cool kids know about.
The indie part is of course necessary for preserving creative integrity, thus enabling a persona to be constructed based solely on artistic authenticity. In non-shitty “look how smart I sound speak,” this means that this shit is all about being SO relatable that you become famous. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy that’s ultimately doomed (once someone “makes it,” it’s only a matter of time until they start amassing a scary amount of twitter followers, inevitably leading to informal twitter conversations with other rising stars and/or established celebrities.) Whether or not these are contrived or not, I really don’t give a shit—being part of “that world” is now who you are to the point that you need to let everyone else know. Not saying it’s a good or bad thing, but it’s the career-stage equivalent of moving high school lunch tables.
I’m not gonna act like I know exactly how being a 20something goes for these types of “Girls,” but there’s something so glaringly ingrained within the overall narrative that isn’t so much disturbing as it is…well, it just needs to be called out. The fact that these girls spend half their time complaining about non-existant relationships, how they can’t find a good guy let alone a semi-redeemable one, and how everyone who they’ve ever so much as looked at the right way treats acts the exact opposite way they want to.
How much, for lack of a better word, they claim that guys suck.
To this general thesis, harken to the following rebuttal:
Things and shit and look, we’re going through such a weird time in our lives. Sick. But as much as it’s “so true,” and “the story of my life,” integrity is also kind of cool. Not saying that myself and the rest of the male race is cool. The amount that we suck is nearly unfathomable, particularly our penchant for thinking we know everything. But why the fuck would you think something and not believe it? It’s refreshing to have a bit of confidence. Radiate confidence. Teddy Geiger.
Obscure, but well known enough to be legitimately adored as an off-the-beaten path pop-culture reference. Original, dawg.
I moved into New York City two weeks ago. The homie commonly know as Zeitgeist would lead you to believe that I’m telling you this due to some conflated sense of self-importance, a trend primarily brought about by getting pumped the fuck up by every new twitter follower. This is of course, shamelessly true.
(Note: I used the word “shameless” in that last sentence, because people who acknowledge themselves in self-deprecating fashion think the self-deprecation gets them off the hook for being douchey. Of course, it ironically does the opposite.)
In other words, telling you of my recent move is a confirmation that despite being a postgrad in the real world who has no clue, I am also on the right track. Obviously this is beyond crucial, and is the sole reason why there’s no point in instagramming your tapas unless they are sitting in your “look, I can’t afford things”* kitchen—a nice foreground to your decidedly meh window-side view that gets much more Facebook likes than it aesthetically merits because MANHATTAN. It also sets the stage nicely for me to tell you about a mundane occurrence, that is obviously a huge deal because it occurred on the elevator of my apartment building in New York City, the surefire sign that I am a 22 year old, who, despite being on the right track, is figuring everything out and doesn’t have a clue.
INT. Elevator, Stuyvesant Town - Day
Me: Dawg, I have all this change that I’m saving up in my change jar.
Roommate: You talk about this change jar a lot
Me: Not only is such obsession a tremendous exhibition of Judaism, but it also underscores that while I would one day like to have a cabinet with spices that no one ever uses, being fiscally irresponsible is a hobby I cannot currently enjoy. Overall, a win-win
Roommate: Truth. The East Village
Me: What?
Roommate: It is a requirement for people our age to randomly mention vibrant neighborhoods in the cities we have just moved to.
Me: Oh word. But this change jar. I’m thinking either I cash out at the end of each calendar year, or wait like 30 years and go on a dope sauce vacation. I really wanna do a second one, but what if I die? I know that we have all the time in the world, but some of us are unfortunately winners of the reverse lottery, so its important to savor every day and all that good shit.
Roommate: What if you write a will? That way it wouldn’t go to waste
Me: Yea, but that still doesn’t solve the problem of ME, Ricky Bobby’s racing automobile, capitalizing on using the change.
Roommate: But that’s where you couldn’t be more wrong, my friend. You could BLOG your will!
Me: HOLY SHIT
Roommate: You’re welcome. Looks like you have a date with that desk of yours that is way too nice for you to have at this stage of life, but isn’t because of helicopter parents.
CUT TO
Me, Desk, Now
Homies, this is my Will. Also known as my Smith, my I.AM, or my Nye the Science Guy.
I am accomplishing two things here. One, if I do happen to die, this shit will go VIRAL and I would get so many more twitter followers up in death-land. Two, I can underscore how I don’t have many possessions at the mo’, but the little things in life ya digg.
Yea Hi. Ok. Here We Go:
Change Jar:
My Jar of Judaism, also known as a green lysol jar with a fuck ton of change it, goes to my good friend Paul Stoltz. As a person who is into mundane things that are actually not mundane, he is perhaps the only person who would treat said change jar with such undying and unnecessary devotion. He is also currently watching Breaking Bad, a television show that I am required to mention at least once per post as mandated by blogging law.
Backpack With Patches of Every Country I Went To While Abroad In Europe
Nothing screams “look, I am an individual” more than this. Therefore, I would like it to be buried alongside me.
Dillon Panthers Trucker Hat
To Christopher Gudgeon, Ben Goldhaber, and Ari Khuner-Haber. All are former college roommates who share a collective passion for Dillon Panthers Football.
Furthermore, because including them in my Ferrell is the ultimate testament of BFFs, I now don’t have to attend one of their bachelor parties should it seem unappealing.
Books
Will be split equally amongst the children of my two siblings. Being that they wouldn’t know me, they wouldn’t feel guilty about not reading them. Anyone else would just have to waste time out of some dumb sense of obligation that I am probably exaggerating.
Artsy as fuck picture collage
On my wall, I have a picture collage of things I find particularly dope sauce, inspirational, or attractive. Essentially the same idea as the wall of legends, except I had mine before Angry Boys. I also listened to “Levels” before everyone else.
I bequeath this to Kelsface Cohen, mostly for the priceless reaction that is sure to occur when she reads this.
A Sweatshirt of Choice
To Catherine Walsh, because she asked nicely. There are many to choose from, so its important to choose wisely here.
Ripped Georgetown Basketball T Shirt
To Modern Nightclub, who would likely never accept this, because stooping to one’s level defeats the entire purpose of nightclubs
Dope Sauce Light, That Looks Like A Tripod
There’s a few options here, but all of them are kind of weird and essentially networking plays.
Booeymongers Sandwich Card
To Justin Eisenband, who likes this particular sandwich establishment more than people who unbutton one too many buttons like cocaine. I’m two sandwiches away from a free one, so this is a really good deal
The Optioning Rights To This Will
To Evan Karr, for coming up with the tremendous idea to do this will
All Other Possessions
The obligatory, yet not necessarily less meaningful word up to the fam. Marty, Jen, Nolie, and Alyssa. Not only are they significantly cooler than your family, but they also never eat dinner on time, and drink more coffee per capita than 99.9% of the world’s population
**Those Tapas were likely $18, and definitely not enough food.
Louis C.K.
There’s this new song out by Flo Rida called “Whistle.” It starts out in a rather refreshing manner, meaning that it doesn’t really sound like a Flo Rida song. The acousticy background gives us a glimpse of evolutionary potential, and perhaps a departure from the never-ending versed torture chamber Flo Rida songs often bring with them.
45 seconds in: Shit, nevermind.
I view this as a musical tragedy. It’s clear that the song is—or claims to be—trying to do something different. Though when it comes down to it, the departure is really just Flo Rida saying “Look guys, I could sing over a guitar for 15 seconds, I’m evolving as an artist! Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.”
And the regularly scheduled programming is the musical equivalent of CSI. Meaning, Flo’s incredible popularity is more derived from familiarity and existence as the lowest common denominator than it is actual respect. Its popular because you know what you’re getting with a Flo Rida song. People like to know what they’re getting. That’s why Applebees and TGI Fridays both exist.
Flo Rida’s evolution as an artist represents a strange sense of musical complacency. Low and Sugar, his two breakout hits, offered something new and refreshing. I was never particularly a fan of Low, but I appreciated what it did. There was a niche role somewhere in between Kanye and Ne-Yo. Flo Rida filled in the missing gap, and all was good in the world. Only problem is, Flo hasn’t budged from that space since. Sure, a song like “Good Feeling” is arguably a major statement to the faux EDM world/Guetta music factory, but its decidedly Flo-Ridian. Its more of dance music catering to Flo Rida more than Flo Rida catering to a musical movement that isn’t totally his. Even “Club Can’t Handle Me,” arguably pop music’s first jaunt into the EDM scene, played like two different songs. There was the awesome chorus and Guetta part, and then there was Flo Rida farting all over the place for awhile.
It’s important to note here that musicians are successful because they have a unique sound and ethos, and the failure to wholeheartedly embrace and hone these things can often spell artistic doom or irrelevance. At the same time however, the landscape of music, mainstream or otherwise, isn’t exactly down to sit in the same place for 15 years at a time. R&B turns to Hip-Hop turns to Dance-Hop turns to Gym Class Heroes Dance Hop. Point is, movements come and go, but the good artists manage to rep their shit through and through. A good example of this is Usher. Usher could easily whip out whatever the fuck he wanted at whatever time, and people would listen to it no matter what it sounded like. He’s reached the same level of popularity by familiarity that Flo Rida has. Except that Usher, unlike Flo Rida, has managed to reinvent himself with every mini-movement. He had it bad in the early 2000’s, then he started saying YEAH a lot, then he brought his lovemaking vibe to the club, then OMG he’s still in the club, then he featured Pitbull because it was time to feature Pitbull, and now he’s singing over tracks that sound like Swedish House Mafia on dubstep. I’m not saying these songs are particularly amazing and should be awarded Thriller status, but its clear that this particular evolution indicates both an awareness and a respect for musical trends. Whether this is the product of Usher himself or good representation, the fact remains that Usher has weathered the storm and then some. Flo Rida on the other hand, appears to be stuck in his own storm.
Flo Rida’s level of music complacency isn’t necessarily his fault. I have no idea whose fault it is, actually. But if we’re looking at this from a big picture perspective, its clear that there’s no reason for Flo Rida to stop doing what he’s doing, because nobody is exactly stopping him. Its the same reason why MIB III made $70 million this weekend. Maybe like Will Smith, Flo Rida isn’t as much into his artistic growth and evolution as he is creating a self-branded business model. In other words, why bother putting in all the extra work to do something original and inventive when there’s a cookie-cutter formula right in front of you? The cookie-cutter is a bit overused and rusty at this point, but hey it still cranks out cookies.
I’m not sure where this leaves us. But if Flo Rida ever ventures into movies, I’d bet a lot of hangovers like too much vodka that he’d ride the Wild One’s franchise all the way to the straight to DVD trilogy.
In high school, college, and I’m assuming in adult pickup sports leagues where people smell increasingly worse by age, there are always the players who everyone assumes are really good solely based on their looks and/or athletic accessories. These are the guys whose closets are stocked full of under armour, four new versions of Nike Shox, and audition tapes for Dicks Sporting Goods commercials.
Logic tells you that these guys probably were all-state superstars with a million D-1 offers, and ended up on the pickup bball court only because of some freakish Willis McGahee type injury. The fatal flaw of logic however, is that it never actually watched these guys play.
Pablo Sanchez is the opposite of Mr. I Look Like An Athlete So I Must Be One. For what he lacks in looking like a human meatball, he more than makes up in being arguably the greatest video game athlete of all-time. There’s no question that if given the chance to star in a shitty movie waiting to happen where a kid from the backyard sports series enters a virtual reality machine, becomes a real person, and must vanquish the evil forces of elementary school bullying, Sanchez would decline starring in the sequels to pursue a career in professional athletics/twitter celebrity. Thus we must ask, given his excellence in all athletic endeavors, what sport would “The Secret Weapon” ultimately choose?
Baseball
His first sport, his first love. It’d be silly to say that Pablo wasn’t attached to baseball more than DJ Khaled is attached to screaming how “the best” he is.
Pros
Cons
Soccer
We are never told where Pablo is actually from, but we are definitely led to believe he spent many a childhood day playing some futbol with the hermanos.
Pros
Cons
Football
Pablo played QB on the Backyard Cup winning Mighty Wombats, though that’s only because Barry Sanders was the running back and Jerry Rice the WR. He easily could’ve played all three.
Pros
Cons
Hockey
I started thinking pros and cons, but lets be real here. Sure hawkeys making a nice little jaunt into the American sports consciousness, but that’s about as far as it goes for Pablo. Besides, then he’d have to start listening to SlipKnot.
Basketball
He’s got a low center of gravity, which would render him a Mark Jackson type point guard.
Pros
Cons
Verdict: There’s really some solid arguments for all of them. I want to go soccer, but it’s also definitely got the most potential for him to have a midlife crisis and end up becoming most known for being the subject of unfortunate articles on Deadline well into his 40’s, all of which involve him doing sketchy stuff in hotels around the LA area. With that in mind, we’ll have to go with baseball. It’s the game he’s known forever, and it’s the game we know he’s just got that natural flair for. It’s the difference between ability and destiny. Sure Pablo could become an all-pro QB, but that doesn’t mean he was meant to play football. He’s a baseball player. He guns down runners, steals bases, and hits homers. Plus, the quirky handshakes. He’d destroy the quirky handshakes.
Title: Aging Bull
Logline: A burnt-out college student struggles to make up believable excuses for why he hasn’t written his 20 page research paper.
Title: Pulp Nonfiction
Logline: Upon discovering that a local Tropicana distributor is actually a drug front, one man must sacrifice his love for orange juice for the greater good.
Title: Forrest Ump
Logline: A man struggles to overcome his history of terrible sports arbiting.
Title: The Ion King
Logline: The heir to the electron throne must save his kingdom after a group of evil proton Hyenas murder the king of electrons, James Earl Jones.
Title: Ink Like A Man
Logline: A classic coming of age story chronicling a brave Octopus’ tumultuous journey into adulthood
Title: Stand By E
Logline: A man finds himself in rehab after attending too many EDM shows.
Title: Itch
Logline: Kevin James gets bitten by a mosquito
Title: The Quid And The Whale
Logline: After a british sea mammal is forced to declare bankruptcy, she turns to the lucrative world of underwater strip clubs.
Title: Pollo 13
Logline: The tragic story of a spaceship built entirely out of chicken.
Title: Lawrence of Rabia
Logline: A guy named Lawrence deals with the aftermath of an unexpected raccoon attack
*This post was inspired by good friend and budding comedic mastermind, “Chet”
Now I usually don’t do this but uh…my good friend (we’ll call him Aaron) has consistently called me out on the fact that I don’t actually like sports, and only care about making internetty pop cultural connections and/or reacting to events in sport via witty commentary. I’m not saying he’s right or wrong—all I’m saying is that during the second overtime last night, he noted that the only reason I was still watching was so I could blog about it the next day.
I want to call this a self-fulfilling prophecy on Aaron’s part, but it’s more like a twisted, hedged investment that yielded some strange continuation of his self-imposed frustation that is my lack of what he deems to be “true” sports fanhood.
Funny thing is, I proved him mostly right. But maybe a bit wrong:
First Period: I had come back from this farewell picnic for my major, which is exactly what you’d probably picture it to be. I’m not going to elaborate here, because there’s a decent chance it would actually ruin what you’re picturing to be. And then I’d just be a liar.
But it’s important to note that when I walked back into the house from the picnic, I had no idea the Rangers game was actually on. Furthermore, I had no intention of actually watching it. But in the game of bros, you sit in the main room and hang out with everyone, or you go upstairs and die a death of everyone ripping on you for no reason. Rangers game it was.
Second Period: Catching up on Breaking Bad generally trumps every other life activity, and looking at the TV when Ryan Callahan scored is no exception. Between the first and second intermission I watched 2 episodes of Bryan Cranston pwning noobs like it was 2008, and man is that show some real dope sauce.
I managed to somehow be watching the game when the Caps tied it up, which was probably more due to Doc Emerick’s game-long Gus Johnson impersonation than anything else. Sidenote, Gaborik was named star of the game, but I’m pretty sure the nod should go to Doc. If I were Duracell, first thing I’m doing this morning is getting that dude in a commercial that is slightly less serious than other battery commercials.
Third Period: My other roommate—whose name isn’t Chet—is from Rome. This makes him both a huge Washington Capitals fan, and semi-regular receiver of care packages that contain awesome Italian shit. I’m talking the real deal here; truffle oil, olive spread, and those really long cylindrical things with the old world maiden on the cover holding more wheat than she could probably carry. The point here is that he had this dope bizzle pasta that was in a plastic bag rather than a box, which automatically means that it was one of the most gourmet foods ever to enter our house:
Me: Yo, is that pasta? (secretly hinting that we should make it)
Chet: Yea, you dingis
Me: Yo, we should make it (not secretly hinting that we should make it)
Chet: Yea man. We got olive oil?
Me: Nah. I’ll go get some, but I’m too scared to go anywhere by myself because college does that to people.
Chet: I feel ya. Let’s go after the game since there’s only like 10 minutes left.
Me: Yea word.
Barry Melrose’s “Hawkey Gods”: Muwhaahhaha
Overtime 1: I thought about starting another episode of Breaking Bad, but figured it’d be interrupted, being that it was Ovitime and all. My fatal flaw here was that I didn’t account for Ovitime being the period where you just hit the post and don’t score.
(Burn.)
This is when I actually started watching the game. I can’t remember if it was this overtime or the second when the Caps held off a powerplay that occurred entirely on the defensive end, but it was strongly reminiscent of King Leonidas’ strategy in 300. I don’t think the Rangers even got a shot on goal, which again, given the decibel level of Doc Emerick’s intonations, is truly astounding. It was also at this time Chet and I started calling Holtby’s dad Ned Schneebly.
Overtime 2: My body was saying watch the game you fool, but my heart was saying olive oil. Twitter was doing its thing, so I had to do my thing and talk about how the Rangers and Caps were impeding my pursuit of olive oil. I exaggerated in my tweet about how places were closing soon, because that’s what people do in the twittersphere.
But it was after that tweet when I realized that I hated myself for having a laptop out. This was playoff hockey. The same playoff hockey that I didn’t give a shit about during the blackhawks series, but kind of cared about when the Caps beat the Bruins in game 7. Yet, there was this thing in the back of my head that told me I had to watch this game. It was like when you’re a little kid and you go to school the next day all tired, but you’re a better person for having that insane memory that everyone else probably didn’t have the mental stamina for. If I was watching this game, I was going to watch the shit out of it. So I closed my laptop, moved to a better viewing seat, and placed my butt in prime leaning forward position.
Overtime 3: Out of all of us, Chet was by far the most invested in the game. Yet is was here where he started losing steam. Actually he started engaging in one of the most egregious acts anyone can commit nowadays, also known as making a .GIF.
His inability to continue his vociferous viewing paralleled exactly what was happening on the ice; actual hockey was being replaced by full-body dives in front of pucks, and the Rangers intensified the style of play I like to call “The 2007 Phoenix Suns.” Shots weren’t being fired because they were probably going to go in, but because the game had reached “I’m physically no longer able to give a shit, so I will continue to torture myself by giving more of a shit than I ever have before, but won’t be too upset if we lose because like, honor and shit” status.
It was tough to watch at times, which was what made it hands down the most invested I’ve ever been in a hockey game. The olive oil no longer mattered, even though another period meant that places were actually going to be closed. It was so evident that this game was just one of those things that you have to watch not for the outcome, not for the blog posts, and not even so you could be one of those people who could say they watched the entire thing. It turned into something you watched because it was one of those rare experiences that only sports can provide; the one’s where you cannot possibly imagine doing anything else at that moment, because that would be contrary to who you are as a person. There’s really no logic or reasoning for this, it’s just the truth.
The year in college could probably be summed up in one excruciatingly overused, overly exaggerated phrase about something that has an extremely minimal effect on anything, all sent from an iPhone with a “dope” new EDM track playing in the background. But in the spirit of the internet and procrastinating for finals, it’s clearly more prudent to break down the year in college into a 32 player, four region bracket. Besides, brackets are clearly the way of deciding true college champions.
(Insert loud throat clearing noise, followed by the word “BCS” here)
The bracket consists of that which was pertinent within the college sphere uniquely, if not exclusively. Read: Tebowmania and Linsanity are cool, but they are not “college.” World events are important, but they often have nothing to do with the campus bubble. A bubble, as we continue to learn, isn’t exactly what one would generally describe as “real life.”
Onto the brackets. Regions are broken down by aptly named categories. Seedings, not so much.
The Dope Sauce Region (Music & Entertainment)
1. Da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da
2. Mashups for Raging (Kap Slap & 3Lau)
3. Carly Rae Jepsen
4. Thrones (Watch The, Game Of)
5. Artists We Just Assume Other People Like (Mr. Worldwide, #teamdrizzy)
6. IQ Lowering Television Programs (Dance Moms, Kardashians, Campus PD)
7. A Capella Groups Singing Adele
8. Overly Quirky NBC Comedies (Parks & Rec, Community, 30 Rock)
The Whhyyy Can’t I Get Anything Done?!?! Region (The Interwebs)
1. The Many Mistresses of Facebook (Instagram, Pinterest .GIFs, Republican Nominee Jokes)
2. Shit “ “ Say
3. Progressively Annoying Memes (What I’m calling this, what my friends think I’m calling this, what I’m actually calling this)
4. Humblebragging
5. Spotification
6. whatweshouldcallme/howdoiputthisgently.tumblr.com
7. YOLO
8. Turquoise Jeep
The That’s Sooooo True Region (Social Norms)
1. Mainstream Hipsters
2. Sent from iPhone
3. Obscure Jersey Wearers
4. EDM Josh Weinsteins
5. Deceivingly Healthy Desserts
6. The Inverse Farmer/Occupy Phenomenon
7. Something, With Friends (Drawing, Hanging, Wording)
8. Extremist Sunglasses ( < $10, or >$100)
The Gavin DeGraw Region (Somehow prominent)
1. Almosting
2. Impractical Hashtags
3. Dom Mazzetti
4. Unapologetic Apologies
5. Unproblematic Problems
6. Killin’ It
7. Endearing Vulgarity
8. That awkward moment when this isn’t real life.
Round 1 (Pregaming The Pregame)
Dope Sauce Region
(1) Da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da vs. (8) Overly Quirky NBC Comedies
As an ode to pretty much everything that college has stood for in the past year or so, Avicii’s “Levels” has managed to be in part responsible for a number of items on this bracket, as well as some unfortunate snubs. Although they didn’t quite make the cut, “Suddenly being soooo into house music” and “Acting like you’ve gone to Ultra for the last five years” are pretty much a product of Avicii putting like 5 or 6 notes into a computer, pressing a bunch of keys, and perfecting the one-armed roof-raise.
Overly quirky NBC Comedies have definitely been the rage this year. Highlights include Ron Swanson tumblrs, Reddit and co. going ape shit over Community, and Alec Baldwin making sure that you’re very aware that you’re watching Alec Baldwin. All of them generally do too much in terms of telling you about their lovable flaws; though you could say that exact same sentence when talking about Zooey Deschanel, and New Girl is on FOX.
Verdict: Avicii by a landslide
(2) Mashups for Raging vs. (7) A Capella Groups Singing Adele
Every 18-22 male who has ever worn a pinnie has secretly dreamed of being Kap Slap & 3Lau. While there’s no doubting both are riding the seemingly endless EDM wave, their unprecedented ascension to the top of the collegiate music scene has been embraced with open arms.
Because Adele is the Ghandi of the international #NoManCanHoldMeDown movement, it is with a hundred percent certainty that every single female a capella group has sung an Adele song within the past school year.
Verdict: Adele is too emotionally distraught to think about what’s coming next. Mashups For Raging take this in a matchup that was never as close as it actually seemed
(3) Carly Rae vs. (6) IQ Lowering Television Shows (Dance Moms, Kardashians, etc.)
The matchup is interesting for the sheer fact that half of society is at loss as to why either of these things exist. For the other half, a day of Carly Rae + Khloe and Lamar is the only day worth having.
Verdict: Call Me Maybe doesn’t even get started until like the third consecutive listen.
(4) Thrones (Watch The, Game Of) vs. (5) Artists We Assume Other People Like
I’ve come to the conclusion that Pitbull is the Orlando Bloom of music. His talent isn’t derived from the fact that he’s actually talented, but rather from piggybacking the shit out of industry success formulas. Drake is in the same boat, but it’s a boat that requires you bring your most emotionally draining memoirs aboard as well.
On the other hand, Thrones have emerged as the de facto “it” items of the year in their respective fields. Watch the Throne was probably the most talked about album of the year that had actual words, and HBO’s epically epic series filled the void of awesome fantasy-land television drama that we previously never knew existed.
You win or you die in this bracket, and and the second round is coming.
Verdict: Thrones
The Whyyy Can’t I Get Anything Done Region
(1) Facebook’s Mistresses vs. (8) Turquoise Jeep
Instagram is technically the only mistress of facebook, but it’s almost inevitable that Facebook will “repin” their way into somehow acquiring every single .GIF-able Republican Nominee joke made over the past year. These guys are essentially the Avengers of useless things on the internet. Like superheroes they’ve been rammed down our throats to the point of no return, but still manage to be exceedingly popular.
Turquoise Jeep, on the other hand, doesn’t have much business being here. I actually only snuck them in because Flynt Flossy and Pretty Raheem would put every single person ever on a celebrity dance show to absolute shame. If you don’t have the slightest idea of what I’m talking about, the wonders of the smash bang fusion will undoubtedly change your entire outlook on the meaning of life.
It’s tempting to smang a first round upset here, but think of Facebook’s Mistresses as the Coach Calipari of the tournament; loved by few, hated by most, and unabashedly way too into how awesome they claim to be.
Verdict: Facebook Mistresses, by an illegal recruiting violation
(2) Shit “ “ Say vs. (7) YOLO
For me, YOLO was the SMH of two years ago. Both blew up uncharacteristically on newsfeeds, and their unwillingness stop trending made it increasingly embarrassing to not know what they actually meant. Yet, because looking up an abbreviation is this generation’s ultimate social faux-pas, it’s generally easier to convince oneself that you know what it means rather than actually succumbing to post-Millennial un-hipness.
On the other hand, Shit Girls Say + its 42.3 million spinoffs was arguably the biggest golden age late night library procrastination has ever seen.
Verdict: As mentioned in “Shit Fat Ladies From Yogi Berra Quotes Say,” it’s over.
(3) Progressively Annoying Memes vs. (6) Whatweshouldcallme/howdoiputthisgently.tumblr.com
Verdict: After Tumblr & Memes Anonymous published a scathing report on how both of these unequivocally forced users to overdose on their products—causing an unhealthy and immoral obsession with thinking that these things are in any way, shape, or form instrumental to societal progress—we were (thankfully) forced to ban both from competition.
(4) Humblebragging vs. (5) Spotification
Both of these blew up over the summer, and have gained increasing momentum throughout the school year. Spotification is named as such due its status as the internet’s version of Brooklyn; the top played songs are generally of the Fun./Foster The People ilk, it used to be more underground than it is nowadays, and is decidedly the go-to destination for people who want to experience a culture that decidedly more unique than everyone elses.
Then again, the amount of humblebraggery us college students produce per day is awesomely disturbing. Also, I just went on Facebook and the first thing I read was this girl’s status about how it was awkward that some lesser grad school thinks she’s still going there.
Verdict: Brooklyn goes hard, but Humblebragging goes so hard that it has to complain about how many engagements it has. #Humblebrag.
The That’s Soooo True Region:
(1) Mainstream Hipsters vs. (8) Extremist Sunglasses
Apparently there is this law on college campuses that states that you aren’t allowed to have reasonably priced sunglasses. The shades you rock must cost the same as either a McDouble, or a date at Morton’s.
Spoiler alert: Mainstream hipsters have got this, due to their ability to be simultaneously interested in thick-rimmed glasses, fratting, and M83.
Verdict: Mainstream Hipsters
(2) Sent From iPhone vs. (7) Something with Friends (Drawing, Hanging)
“Wanting to get an iPhone” didn’t make the cut, but look for Sent from iPhone to make a dangerous run in this tournament. With its uncanny ability to be progressive, trendy, and douchey all at the same time, its dominance of the collegiate messaging sphere is reminiscent of the early 2000s AIM dynasty. Draw Something has taken on a life of its own recently, but the sheer fact that everyone secretly cheats at words with friends makes the category a surefire goner.
Verdict: Sent From iPhone
(3) Obscure Jersey Wearers vs. (6) The Inverse Farmer/Occupy Phenomenon
This may be a function of me attending a school that could easily pass for a country club where everyone is named Worthington, but I’ve found that the general sentiment towards occupy from us college students has been rather apathetic. I also found that the more flannel worn by a college student, the less likely that person supported Occupy.
Obscure Jersey wearers have been growing steadily over the past few years, but 2011-2012 was definitely a breakout season. A Chris Webber Washington Bullets Jersey has never been so popular, and probably never will be.
Verdict: Obscure Jersey Wearers
(4) EDM Josh Weinstein’s vs. (5) Deceivingly Healthy Desserts
EDM Josh Weinstein’s are named after Entourage’s poser agent Josh Weinstein, who had this rare knack for making it seem like he had his shit together, only to fall apart in embarassingly spectacular fashion. EDM JW’s are of the same mold—their general demeanor will lead you to believe there isn’t an underground DJ they haven’t heard of, but fear not—they will always slip up when truly tested.
Whether it be an unnecessarily expensive cupcake or a blueberry fro-yo, deceivingly healthy desserts have been all the rage this year. Their guise of “not being that bad for you” have contributed to the blissful ignorance of every sorority girl in the entire country. And for that, we totes can’t continue this tournament without them.
Verdict: Deceivingly healthy desserts
The Gavin DeGraw Region
(1) Almosting vs. (8) That Awkward Moment When This Isn’t Real Life
The combination of the two most despicably collegiate phrases vs. everyone’s morning after story chronicling how they couldn’t close due to some impossible circumstance that no human being has ever had to endure prior to that night. Almosting is also very popular when having even the slightest encounter with the police (Dude, I almost got arrested last night), or when being mad at your friend for doing something that won’t matter in a few hours time (I almost…you don’t even want to know man.)
Verdict: Being that almosting is notorious for exaggerating events that never actually happened, we will take this time to talk about how the first seed came really close to being upset by the eight seed, but actually won by a pretty decent amount.
(2) Impractical Hashtags vs. (7) Endearing Vulgarity
Being called anything less than a morally deficient wench probably means that your best friend doesn’t actually like you. The other day when walking down the street, an exchange between two clear besties resulted in one of them calling the other “whore-bath.” That folks, is BFF status.
Hashtags though. As if infiltrating facebook statuses without any real purpose were bad enough. We definitely haven’t seen the last of this category. #nosir
Verdict: Impractical Hashtags
(3) Dom Mazzetti vs. (6) Killin it
After coming on the scene last spring, Dom has been tearing up the college environment at the rate of a (insert reference involving an exotic animal, a recent development in pop culture, and a sexual innuendo here.)
There’s no doubt that Dom has been absolutely killin’ it, especially as of late. But that’s the thing. He’s been killin’ it.
Verdict: Sorry Dom. No justice today.
(4) Unapologetic Apologies vs. (5) Unproblematic Problems
The matchup that lies before you is a result of a firestorm of superficiality, and is therefore the reason why all of Middle America—or just anyone who has “values”—despises sorority girls to no end. Whether it be a first world problem, a white girl problem, or a maxing out parent’s credit card problem, you could be sure that the perpetrator will profusely apologize about their lack of apology. You could call it meta, but only in the sense of “I meta boy who’s the heir to a super good hedge fund.”
This is very much a chicken vs. egg dilemma. Logic says that one needs to have fake problems to fake apologize. Though if that were the case, people would just apologize at their lack of problems.
Verdict: Problems takes it in a nailbiter
ROUND 2 (Bring Out The Burnetts)
Dope Sauce Region
(1) Da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da vs. (4) Thrones
Let’s not talk about how Joffrey kind of looks like Avicii.
Verdict: Avicii > Joffrey
(2) Mashups for Raging (3) Carly Rae Jepsen
This is actually a pretty pertinent matchup, as the mashers for raging are scrambling to implement Carly Rae into their arsenal. Kap Slap did it by nicely mixing it with SHM’s Greyhound. Both 3Lau and The Jane Doze, another out of this world rage mash duo, made some pretty “crae” mixes with Porter Robinson’s new bangersauce track “Language.”
For proof that guys like Kap Slap and 3Lau are living the collegiate dream, read this article about 3Lau from Business Insider. But even so, Call Me Maybe possibly greatest/most polarizing/biggest internet explosion of a song to ever exist. Done and done.
Verdict: Call Me Maybe
Whyyyy Can’t I Get Anything Done Region
(1) Many Mistresses of Facebook (Instagram, .Gifs, Pinterest) vs. (4) Humblebragging
As much as humblebragging is better than watching the Rugrats passover episode 15 years later (they make jokes only adults would get too, and it’s awesome), the many mistresses of Facebook are like a swarm of angry wasps nesting right by your pool—no matter how badly you want them to be gone, there’s no way you’re going remotely near them. Which means that at the end of the day, it’s the wasps who get to go swimming.
Verdict: Many Mistresses
(2) Shit “ “ Say vs. DISQUALIFIED ANNOYING AS FUCK TUMBLRS
Verdict: Phew.
That’s SOOO True Region
(1) Mainstream Hipsters vs. (5) Deceivingly Healthy Desserts
The ultimate pitfall of the mainstream hipsterdom is at the end of the day, the MH is proudly self-aware of how much of a walking contradiction he or she really is.
The ultimate pitfall of the deceivingly healthy dessert is that at the end of the day, it has morphed into this inexplicably aspirational societal end goal. The truth remains; if you’ve never had a choco-choco peanut butter latte swirl cupcake-ette, you are utterly worthless
Verdict: Deceivingly health desserts.
(2) Sent From iPhone vs. (3) Obscure Jersey Wearers
Have you ever erased the “Sent From My iPhone” prior to sending an e-mail? Of course you haven’t.
Verdict: Sadly, there are only so many jokes one could make about their 1998 Mookie Blaylock Hawks Jersey.
The Gavin DeGraw Region
(1) Almosting vs. (5) Unproblematic Problems
Both are definitely on the same vein of shit people stop listening to after about 10 seconds, and can often be detected well before the time-wasting story is launched. Tough call, but almosting has way too many weapons. Unproblematic problems is more of a one trick (but really expensive) pony.
Verdict: Almosting
(2) Impractical Hashtags vs. (6) Killin’ it
Killin’ it is nice, but #KillinIt really just kills it. An example: “Dominating some O Town on Spotify right now. #killinit”
Verdict: Impractical Hastags
ROUND 3 (Chasing With Keystone)
(1) Da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da vs. (3) Carly Rae Jepsen
Both espouse different models as to the life cycle of a popular song. If Avicii is the steady girlfriend who you could always count on night after night, Call Me Maybe is the girl whose idea of true love requires you spend every waking moment together. Carly Rae’s love will definitely be more passionate, but there’s much more risk for quick burnout or an extremely messy breakup. You’ve been through it all with Levels, and you both know your boundaries. And that’s what we call wifey material.
Verdict: Da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da
(1) The Many Mistresses of Facebook vs. (2) Sh*t “ “ Say
Due to the obnoxiously reflexive nature of the internet, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to make a shit this bracket says. Then again, it would probably make it on some Pinterest Board about non time-wasting time wasters.
Verdict: Pinterest makes a shot to take the lead with .4 seconds left, but the two seed pulls a Derek Fisher and counters with a Shit People Who Like Pinterest Say.
(5) Deceivingly Healthy Desserts vs. (2) Sent From iPhone
Well, it’s only logical that you’re gonna tweet out a picture of your triple berry smoothie.
Verdict: Sent From My iPhone
The Gavin DeGraw Region
(1) Almosting vs. (2) Impractical Hashtags
Almosting is undoubtedly a dominating collegiate force, though it’s been on the rise for a few years now. Impractical hashtags #blewup this year. That means they’re the team that’s hot right now. Which means they’re like Hansel.
Verdict: #
FINAL FOUR (Keg’s In The Back)
(1) Da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da vs. (2) Sh*t People Say
There is obviously not only a “Shit DJ’s Say”, but also a “Sh*t People Say To DJs.” Big ups to the internet for never ceasing to surprise us with the amount of people that will do anything for attention. Though real talk, if Levels didn’t exist there is a good chance that neither of these videos would either.
Verdict: Le7els
(2) Sent From iPhone vs. (2) Impractical Hashtags
Tough matchup, considering both came into this year building upon some late momentum during the prior collegiate season.
Technically, you could reply to a shit ton of things using Sent From iPhone. But in reality, the only thing you’re actually doing is confirming that you may or may not deserve your place in the unintentionally snobbish echelons educated class culture.
Impractical hashtags are of a similar derivation, though they more indicate some strange counter-culture that only the hashtag user is a part of. Which means that if the iPhone is a universal signal, the hashtag is the antithesis of that universality. The hashtag also has no obligation to your parents cellphone plan.
Verdict: Prior to this write-up, I had iPhone advancing here. This was before I remembered that in this bracket, games are won on paper. And on paper, the impractical hashtag just matches up too well against Sent From.
Hashtags #FTW
CHAMPIONSHIP.GIF (DFMO IN SIGHT)
(1) Da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da-da-da-davs. (2) Impractical Hashtags
Around the one minute mark of Levels, there’s that few seconds before the initial major drop where the whole song is kind of in flux. You’re waiting for that barrage of epicness, and it comes through every single time. It’s that brief experience of joy and amazement mixed with this aspirational potential that, for those fleeting seconds, is totally within your grasp. It’s as if together, you and that song have accomplished something incredible. But the thing is you haven’t. Like at all. All you’re doing is procrastinating for some bullshit paper or whatever, dreaming of that time this song made your weekend, cemented your next day story, and became forever incorporated into that which sums up whatever it is that you think you are or want to be. It’s the voice in the back of your head telling you that it’s possible, as long as you want it bad enough. Four simple notes, but they’ll rage on long after we graduate.
Verdict: Da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da secures the championship.gif, and with that, the elusive DMFO. But to be fair, like a lot of DFMO’s, we knew this was coming for quite awhile.
Sunday Funday (N):
Definition 1: Something college kids do so that they can drink alcohol at a time when it is not socially acceptable to drink alcohol. This is generally underscore the fact that this isn’t real life.
Definition 2: Something college kids do so that for three hours of a given week, they could both act and wear clothes that could only be taken seriously at the following places:
DJ BAHLER ft. The Jane Doze - Hey, Breathe Out
