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Growing Up Six Months at a Time
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This weekend marks a very important milestone for me. This Friday, February 13, 2009, I shall turn 21 and a half.
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Roughin' It: Faux Fo-20
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Nature. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. My friend and fellow columnist, senior editor Katie Engelhart ’09, asked me if I thought it would be fun to go camping sometime soon. Yes! It would! But I think you should know a little something about me first, young Katie. Longwinded as I am, I am going tell you publicly and ramble on about my retardation (and how it relates to my parents messing me up) for as long as my editor will allow.
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Either Everyone Else Sweats on the Way Up to Campus or I Have a Glandular Problem
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This is from an anonymous person, named Rebecca Weiss.
9:43 a.m. — Wake up. Find inexplicable patches of dry skin on arms when I get dressed. Think they may be from cold weather shock after coming home from California. Find one in particular on inside of left elbow. Consider that someone may have injected heroin into me in my sleep. Continue getting dressed.
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Whiteney Houston
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Most people’s parents don’t allow their grade school kids to choose a path of habitual insomnia via excess consumption of Nick at Nite. But mine did, and thank God, because I found my soul mate in the fogotton Brady Bunch middle child, Bobby. He and I are kindred spirits. His voice begins to crack just as he and his siblings get a recording contract, just like my siblings and I, whose single “Yeeeeee” — where we do three-part harmonies of the word “Yeeeeee” — never got released.
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Recipe For Disaster
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I consider the recent yet already beloved Disney Pixar film Ratatouille both a lie and an insult. The values it espouses are contrary to everything that my life’s experience has taught me, and what’s more, I find its title very hard to pronounce. My friend Sarah refers to it as “ruh-tah-tuh-ville.” I should think her way is better.
To say “anyone can cook” and to show an anthropomorphic cooking rat flies in the face of all that I learned growing up, which is “no one can cook.”
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25 Fashion Tips
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1. Wear sweatpants for an entire calendar year.
2. Embrace tie dye, and people who wear tie dye, unless they have unruly facial hair, are wearing bells, speak in rhyme or a fake british accent, or blow bubbles. That’s how you distinguish the benevolent hippies from the ones who will cause you corporal harm.
3. Banana Republic is a good place to go to find really boring but business-like clothing and a lot of asian people.
4. If you buy things abroad, no matter how cheap they are, their stock goes up when you can say “Oh yeah, I bought that in Uruguay.” Or “This jacket is from the colonial British Congo.”
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Naughty By Nature
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The many times that my family gathered on Friday nights after TGIF to watch 20/20, I often thought about the question of nature vs. nurture. Between the “Give Me a Break”-John Stossel segments and the ones where they said that children shouldn’t be allowed in pools or hot tubs because they sit on drains and their bowels get sucked out, there would be segments about long lost twins and the studies done to show that their similar behavorioral aspects are indeed from nature and not simply because they were raised together, because they weren’t.
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Future Plans? Beer Me a Baby
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Things are pretty low when you begin to hear a song by John Mellencamp, poor man’s Bruce Springsteen, and say, “Gee willakers. I never thought of the human existence in that light.”
Song in question: “Jack and Diane” of course, although “Small Town” does have its own poetic nuances. Well, pathetic nuances.
Yes, I believe that what I’m going through is a life crisis of some denomination. The largest one I can think of is “quarter-life” but I don’t want to sell myself short. I intend to see my 120th birthday and my grandchildren’s grandchildren’s grandchildren (grandchildren cubed,) so let’s call it a “sexta-life crisis.”
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Evolution’s Mistake
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On the spectrum of human deformities, mine are pretty minor. Besides the numerous mental defects my editor, Peter Finocchiaro ’10, tells me I have on a daily basis, I also am afflicted with a condition that we medical doctors describe as “toe thumbs.”
[img_assist|nid=33013|title=Toe Thumbs!|desc=Rebecca Weiss ’09 compares hands with Sun Eclipse Editor Leigha Kemmett ’10. Note that her thumb is freakishly small in comparison to Leigha’s.|link=node|align=left|width=|height=0]
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Wherein Rebecca Weiss Stalks Leonardo DiCaprio
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There’s a whole laundry list of songs from the late 1990s that I only associate with the movie Titanic. They have zero to do with the film, but the late-90’s techno craze coincided with the time period in which I learned what love truly was (Titanic taught me that). Every night for, like, I’d guesstimate about six months, I’d make sure I was in my room, listening to the radio. (Wow, times have changed — now my radio consumption consists only of Bay Area AM talk radio, and only when I want to set a romantic mood.) Every night at 9 p.m., I listened in for the Z95.7 top 9 at 9. Or was it top 10 at 10?