Cardio. Reps. Pump. Dumbbell. Deadlift.
Cardio. Reps. Pump. Dumbbell. Deadlift.
I have this weird habit of always putting the wrong contact in each of my eyes. When I’m taking my contacts out, I always put the left one in the left hand side of the container and the right in the right. The container is even labeled with an L and an R, but I always seem to mess it up in the morning. I could chalk it up to absentmindedness from morning exhaustion, but I’m lazy so I have no right to be tired in the mornings. Yesterday morning was the last first day of school of my life.
Caution: this is a low-key sentimental column. Lots of feelings, lots of emotions. I listen to lots of Drake. There might be some jokes here or there, but mostly just heartfelt words about the machinations of my inner soul. But yeah anyways, here’s my column.
My mom has this interesting habit of sporadically texting me throughout the day. Sometimes her texts are reminders to eat lunch, which weirdly always come around 6 at night, and other times the texts are more inspirational in nature. I’m her smart little boy and she’s always down to remind me. Anyways, the other week I got a bit of a bizarre text from her. She told me that her good friend’s daughter got accepted to Cornell and was visiting to gauge the campus.
I came to Cornell to learn lots of things. That’s what college is all about: learning shit. Among the things I’m most proud of learning are various intricacies of contemporary art history, how to roll my own cigarette and how to contract mono. The Ivy League education system is filled to the brim with diverse educational opportunities, some in the classroom and some outside. As a student in the College of Arts and Sciences, I have a bunch of specific requirements to complete so I can graduate.
Everyone deals with loss and sadness in different ways. Some people turn to their friends for support, while others look to find solace in the privacy of their own thoughts. Through my experiences, March always tends to be a particularly melancholy month. While spring has finally sprung and the sun is out and about, there’s a bizarre feeling of sorrow everywhere. One might claim this is due to Ithaca’s lack of warmth until April, but I’ve seen a similar misery in my perpetually sweltering home state of Texas.
What ever happened to predictability? This question often haunts me late at night. Whether your answer is innovation in the television industry or increased competition between networks and online streaming services, we can all agree that there’s never really been a better time to be a TV viewer. With unpredictable shows like Master of None, House of Cards and Transparent available at the flick of da wrist, we never really have to settle for the same, boring sitcoms of the past. But what if you just really want to watch a shitty old sitcom?
This past weekend, anyone with access to Vine or Facebook saw the infamous series of “Damn, Daniel” videos. Snapchat even had a “Damn, Daniel” filter yesterday, which prompted everyone I know to send me pictures of their white Vans. If you haven’t seen the videos, essentially one kid says “Damn, Daniel!” to another kid (who I assume is named Daniel) because his shoes are some heat. Okay, that’s all there is to say about “Damn, Daniel.” The rest of this is going to be about how strange sneaker culture is. Damn, Daniel.
I’ve been pretty good about going to class this semester, but not so good about doing work when I get home. Usually this means I’m up relatively late trying to convince myself that I can get away with doing my work between classes tomorrow or not at all. Last night was one of those nights, but luckily Kanye blessed me with another morsel of information about his forthcoming album. At 1:23 a.m., Kanye tweeted yet another new album title, T.L.O.P.
At this point of the night, I realized I could either briefly speculate possible words for each letter of the cryptic acronym or continue working with the fervor of a Cornell junior without a summer internship. I chose the former, but unfortunately this led to a full on Kanye appreciation night.
Relationships are hard. Many a TV and melodramatic movie have tried to portray this, and some have been sort of successful — think Blue Valentine or The Squid and the Whale. That being said, it always feels like something’s missing when I watch most romantic dramas. I don’t mean to discredit the aforementioned works and their creators in any way, I’ve just never really seen anything that holistically encapsulates what I feel like I’ve experienced. Blue Valentine understands the struggle of trying to force a relationship to work, but I’m not a middle-aged married man with two kids.