Like a lungfull of needles, and I love it

I woke up with the crisp fangs of winter chewing on my nose for the first time since I moved into the Esplanade. And I loved it. I love the things that remind me of the season.

I fucking love winter.

See, I think it all goes back to growing up in Panama City Beach with some of the most gorgeous people you'll ever meet, both guys and gals. It was a very superficial world centered around tanning beds, going to the beach to tan, and hitting the gym before going to work on that tan. Winter was the great equalizer, drastically so back home; no longer did the pudgy and the pale feel the sting of inadequacy because God thought it would be funny to make them ugly and fat.

Winter undoes God's cruel joke and shoots the sun out of the sky. It forces us to bundle up. With enough layers of wool everyone looks like a giant, walking Hershey Kiss.

Winter is the American burqa.

Then our personalities come out to play. Our true selves are revealed, not pressured by the world of self-involved, masturbatory obsession on looks. Winter means having to hold a conversation. Winter means knowing what to do with yourself when the sun's not shining.

I am happier during winter.



Thanksgiving break was amazing, albeit short as always. I feel like I connected with my friends a lot better this time around since most of them are finally at real people college. It was a good prelude to the upcoming winter break. Winter break is going to be amazing.

Most of the Christmas gifts from my mom were bought on Black Friday. Check my two favorite.



Sexy.

I have another Thresher article hitting the stands Thursday night. But what I'm really waiting for is public reaction, because I'm ready to grab some friends and shakedown anyone who dares to argue with me.

Cooked rare and smothered with love

I love being home.

Bacon and two patties on wonder bread

Ah, to be out of the city. The drive from houston to panama city is a lonely one, but at least I can always eat waffle house.

Dude, where's my turkey?

I had a lot of fun being divisive in high school. While many people remember me as "that smart guy who sported Hawaiian-print T-shirts that were way too big for his tiny, rounded shoulders," others may recall that I wrote some intense and politically-charged opinions that got circulated around the school and caused commotion. But those days are over and I'm not just talking about my wardrobe.

I'm too unsure of myself to be 100% argumentative these days. College does that to you, as does trying to be as open-minded as possible. And being a giant pussy-- I'm sure someone would have pointed that out if I hadn't written it myself. I sporadically toiled over my magical cauldron this past week, throwing participles and historically relevant jokes into the brew and hoping that a noteworthy opinion column for the Thresher would inch its way out. Something came out, all right, but when I hold it against my writings of old...

I don't know. It's a winner, this new column. I'm still going to publish it. But I miss the days when I could stand firm on top of a highly offensive, blatantly one-sided liberal wankfest and laugh, ears covered, going "lalalalala" at the conservative-minded denizens of Panama City Beach trying to argue with me.

And though I do miss those days, I dare not return to them now. This is Rice University and not a high school in the Bible Belt. The conservatives around here know how to rip you a new asshole on the "Letters to the Editor" page, relentlessly, even when they know they're wrong. What did Nick Naylor say in Thank You for Smoking? Something about how winning arguments means never being wrong. I don't remember, I was too busy watching him hump Katie Holmes and thinking about humping Katie Holmes for the next five days.

And that brings me to the fun part about being published in print. No, not all the sex with Katie Holmes. The fun part about writing to a print publication is that your entire argument has to be spelled out and every end tied up. You don't get a chance to debate every person who takes issue with your opinion, unlike the Internet which basically exists for that purpose.

So we will see how this next article is received by the masses. Those troubled masses yearning to be free from, uh, things. If I had to guess which quote they're going to pull to stylistically eat up page revenue, it would be...

"Rice activism and involvement begins and ends with the "Join Group" link next to your favorite cause on Facebook."

See you in the funny papers.

[Note: Before you criticize the grammar and punctuation in a list-form comment, I've noticed that NO ONE has been blogging lately. At least no one I like. I'm sort of drowning in the flames of my own personal Google Reader hell. So before you go tearing down my fake empire of literary supremacy, I suggest you try being prolific and entertaining so I can rip your world to shreds :-)]

[Actually, I take that back. I love comments. Give me attention in any form.]

Heroic in an age of modernity

You know what's great? When prolific writers write about their writers' block and call it writing. Like me, for example, pulling at hairs and strings and looking under rocks and nooks and crannies for anything that might actually get me worked up enough to be entertaining. I've been eager to author another one of those trademark columns for the Thresher since I finished penning the last one.

Then suddenly, I stopped being pissed off about anything remotely interesting. I doubt the entire campus and all those parents with $50/year subscriptions to the rag want to read my insight on why ELEC classes are giving me IBS or how sleeping fifteen hours on Saturday is a good substitute for exercise. And besides the lack of creative ideas, the old standby topics seem more cliche than ever. I feel like I overdid politics in high school to the point that I never want to cover a presidential election again.

Any asshole can write about how Barack Obama will ride down on a chariot and save America from itself, or how evil Bush is, or whatever the Typical College Opinion is this hour. And likewise, Ron Paul is too popular and too easy of a target to warrant my attention in the print forums. If I dashed the Internet phenomena that is Ron Paul (and by the way, that's all he is besides old and crazy) in the Thresher, I'd get to read about fifty letters to the editor in the next issue from unrealistic, skinny armchair libertarians ready to eat foie gras out of my skull.

That's right. Ron Paul is below me. Now go cry.

Campus popularity, recognition, and all that stuff that strokes my ego (and compensates for my penis size) doesn't come from attacking national issues. Or state issues. You win the hearts and minds of a campus by sticking to local issues, uniting your audience against a common foe that's trying to quash "us" little guys. Like hunger, as was my column last time. The problem is that, on the whole, there's not a lot to bitch about at Rice. At least nothing that has personally affected me lately.

I guess the root of said problem is that Rice doesn't do a lot of stuff "wrong." But it could be doing more "right," which is a columnist's nightmare, since you end up sounding like a blond toothpick with a laundry list of demands rather than a scruffy-headed, objective cynic when you write about problems.

Okay, I thought of some random shit to droll on about, so I can stop acting like an authority on the subject of writing. Here's a funny picture to aid in the transition.

Har har.

So college is all about obsessions. Don't argue, let's just agree that the basis-- the underlying truth-- is that college is about obsessions and sorting through them to define your personality. Some people obsess over movies, bongs, going to the gym, speed cubing, hacky sack, or whatever. People have obsessions, and college lets us explore them.

My latest obsession is the Sopranos. It's about as healthy as any obsession, really. It's changing my mode of thinking and the way I talk and the jokes I make on any given occasion. It's a fun show; it helps me get in touch with my inner sociopath without having to weight down all those dead bodies and throw them in storm drains. What really surprises me more than anything, though, is that no one prior to this year thought to say "Hey Kyle, you might really like this show." It seems like I actually am the last person to find out about it, but hey, that just means I can appreciate it without the added pressure of being up-to-date and such.

Sometimes I wish my obsessions would lead me down a clearer career path. I can't make an EE job out of grilling cheese steaks and watching Heroes. Those are things to do in my spare time, not a viable gold mine to support two kids and my suburban fantasy world where I derive sexual gratification from owning multiple iPhones.

I did catch myself dreaming up different types of UAV projects I could do for a senior design project while sitting in class today. That's the kind of thing that my future military employer would salivate over.

Now comes the hard part: Action.

Salut.