Brouhaha Rhythm
Those who know me well will know that it is impossible for me to be only vaguely interested in something. The moment I get excited about anything; be it a video game, television show, movie, or music group; I go directly into “fanboy mode.” I become almost unhealthily obsessed, becoming as fervent a fan as is physically possible, short of getting logos tattooed on my face. I quote from film and television constantly. I annoy all of my friends, trying to convert them to whatever new cause I’ve adopted. I create relevant costumes for Halloween parties and, in a recent and potentially unsettling development, conventions.
Brouhaha Rhythm
With Valentine’s Day inbound, the annual chorus of its detractors is at its loudest. Some, still hoarse from the holiday season, decry the commercialization of a day supposedly dedicated to romance, while others bemoan the existence of the day at all, concerned that the setting aside of a special day for romance demeans the passion of the everyday.
Talk Nerdy to Me
Last year, I spent Valentine’s Day in a mental hospital. The day before that, I spent a couple of hours in jail. In the age of the Internet, I should be terrified to write this piece, as Google will forever attach it to my name. Then again, my reputation on the World Wide Web isn’t exactly flawless — this information about me is already out there in an MIT Police log and in my personal blog.
Brouhaha Rhythm
The practice of gift-giving around this or any other time of year can be a tricky proposition. Excellent gift ideas abound, but giving the right gift to the right person (at the right price) often requires a certain element of finesse that tends to come and go, at least for me. Gimmicky gifts only make matters more complicated, with their often-overestimated merit invested more in novelty than practical use. Sure, that Christopher Walken bobblehead seemed ironic and amusing back in December, but when someone opens up their gift in a bag because you couldn’t be moved to wrap it yourself (sorry, Mom), is it really going to produce the “audible gasp and speechlessness” or “hyperventilating gush-fest” reactions you were hoping for?
Ramblings From Hell
When I was four, I told my mother that I wanted to grow up to be a cocktail waitress. “I never want to leave home,” I said, “I want to stay here with you forever.” Whenever I remember this, I laugh, until I realize that seventeen years later, my desires aren’t so different.
Squid vs. Whale
1 — <b>Civil and Environmental:</b> Congratulations, Barack says you are not frakked. Now start making windmills.
Talk Nerdy to Me
According to my mother, I started “dating” in preschool. His name was Timothy, and when we’d say “goodbye,” I’d lick him across his face in front of both of our mothers. Now, I know this story sounds far fetched, but all my relatives remind me that I greeted them with slobber, instead of a kiss, until I hit the age of 5. Also, there’s a photograph of a birthday party in preschool, and I’m sitting awfully close to a boy, with my tongue hanging out. On the back of the photo, it says, “Christine and Timothy.”
Brouhaha Rhythm
<i>Editor’s Note: This column was originally intended for publication on December 2nd, but due to the lateness of submission, it was pushed back until this issue.</i>
Talk Nerdy to Me
Holidays are about family — and sometimes, that includes the significant other’s family. My parents have not liked any of my boyfriends, and I’ve told every boyfriend to be himself. That was my mistake. It’s not that he can’t be himself — it’s just that he should be the professional version. I might be able to forgive drinking out of the milk carton; however, my dad will instantly go into the bacterial colonization of the defenseless milk. (I should really show him the carton in Pecker.)
Ramblings from Hell
When my mother was in eighth grade, her St. Michaels Catholic School class went on a trip to Bear Mountain in upstate New York. Two kids — let’s call them Patty and John — disappeared into the woods for an afternoon of good Catholic fun. At the end of the day, the whole class had to wait on the bus while the nuns went searching for the sinners.
Ramblings from Hell
Sometimes when I get bored, or when I feel like I’m in a slump, I re-read comics, articles, or stories that have made me smile. There is one comic in particular, from the PhD series, that I read every time someone asks me to check over an important e-mail they have written. It says “Average Time Spent Composing One E-mail …” The first square says 1.3 seconds and it shows a professor writing responses like “No.”, “Yes.”, “Sure.”, “Do it.” The second has a graduate student biting his nails, agonizing over every word of a very long, very polite e-mail for a period of 1.3 days.
Talk Nerdy to Me
The first time I had ever heard about kegels was from my Kotex panty liner.
Brouhaha Rhythm
Being a geek is what I do. Some people are bank robbers, some people are geese-jugglers — I’m a geek. As you might imagine, around here, I am but one of the many, which makes for heated, mostly-intellectual discussion about subjects that normal people would consider beneath their consideration. Those pretentious normal people. Bah.
Talk Nerdy To Me
The media portrays nerds as wearing pocket protectors, taped glasses, and “outdated” underwear. Girls don “granny panties,” whereas guys don “whitey tighties.” At MIT, I’ve encountered pocket protectors and taped glasses, but never briefs.
Ask SIPB
This week, we talk about a few miscellaneous things that might make your life easier.
Ramblings From Hell — Charles Lin
My search for the perfect woman ended in May of 2005 when I wrecked my car as I was driving my ex-girlfriend back from her grandfather’s funeral. Standing by my wrecked Camry watching her hands shake, I came upon the realization that I was not the sort of man that deserved anyone even approximating perfection.