Dear readers,It’s me, Hazel; back again for another year of embarrassing confessions of my youthful indiscretions as well as some quality advice on surviving your love lives (for more general survival tips, feel free to consult the ladies and gents of the Carol Tatkon center — they do wear shirts that say Ask Me Anything). I’d also like to take a second here to warn you that I have become somewhat of a skeptic in recent months. One thing that has fortunately/unfortunately not changed is my overuse of parenthetical commentary to such a level that I may one day be featured in the Guinness Book of World Records — keep an eye out for my picture, kids. Now, without further introduction, I present you with what I hope turns into your favorite form of entertainment every other Thursday: my column.Hazel
Back when I was a naïve high school student, only concerned about Myspace, quoting Mean Girls, David Beckham’s abs, and extracurricular activities that I could put down on my Common Application (because let’s be honest — applying to schools that weren’t Common App was too much work), I may have had a boyfriend or two. I may have even had them at the same time (who am I kidding? I can’t even hold one down). It was during this time in my life that I believed in love (you should know that I am shaking my head in embarrassment of my youthful views on life, the universe and everything). I’ve grown up since then.Don’t get me wrong, I still believe in the elusive L-word — in its ability to change us into mushy poetry-writing saps and people who jump on Oprah’s furniture (if they had a Tom Cruise category on Jeopardy, I think I’d even be able to give Katie Holmes a run for her money). But I’m going to let you in on a big secret: love is for dopes. I don’t doubt that many of you will think my previous comment is the opinion of a jaded columnist, but it’s not — it’s fact. People who are in love are dopey, sometimes to an astonishingly disgusting degree. I’m sure I’m not the first to have discovered this. Gabriel Garcia Marquez even wrote a book that likened love to a disease and so far as I’m concerned, love is the worst STD out there — more vicious than the clap and harder to cure than herpes. In summary, love sucks.Who wants to fall in love anyway? Just because birds, bees, and educated fleas do it (if you know what song I’m talking about, go ahead and fill out my new best friend application — I’m still in the process of persuading my editor to put it up on The Sun’s website), doesn’t mean you or I should. Think of all the other, more important things you could be doing instead of falling in love — planking, tweeting, reading my column, tweeting a link to my column, watching Pretty Little Liars parodies on YouTube — there are endless possibilities!Maybe one day, once you’ve seen all the PLL parodies and society has decided that planking is no longer a socially acceptable pastime (I’m dreading the day that happens), you can reconsider love and other drugs. But since the world is ending in 2012, it’s likely that you’ll be struck by flaming asteroid bits and die before getting a chance to revisit the whole love thing. Personally, I’d take the flaming asteroid bits over love any day. Perhaps they’re a sign from the cosmos — I’ll have to discuss this with my tarot card reader and let you know in two weeks.
What it all comes down to is this: I’ve learned a lot in my time at Cornell. I’ve learned how to successfully fail a prelim, survive a quarterlife crisis, and get off of Denise Cassaro’s list-serv. And yet, no matter how diligently I search the course catalogue, I can’t seem to find a class that will detail the horrors of love. There isn’t even a pamphlet on it at Gannett. So this is my offering to you: a bi-weekly dose of my cynicism, because no one else seems to be telling it like it is. (Just wait, by some cruel act of fate, I’ll probably end up falling in love and turning into the insufferable and obsessive girlfriend of some schmuck).
Hazel Gunapala is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. She may be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Appropriately Cynical appears alternate Thursdays this semester.
Original Author: Hazel Gunapala