People I Meet (Attempt #2)

Dear Readers, I apologize for the turn our last adventure took, here I will attempt to complete what I set out to do the other day.

College is a fairly magical place, everywhere you turn there are many statues, which is always a sign of high society. Also there is a fairly high concentration of limestone, which lends an air of academia.

Now I will list my classes and professors and the various characters that inhabit my college world, if you've read a blog by a student in the Fall or Spring you know how it goes.

I start every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 9:00am. My alarm is set to "Blues" which is nice because it's like I'm being awoken by BB King with a recorder.

I shower, drink orange juice, take vitamins, get dressed, drive to North parking, get on the bus, get off the bus, walk to the Mass Comm building, and sit in my chair.

In Mass Comm, I sit at the back between a chunky sorority girl and a dude with long curly hair that wears rolled up jean frequently. I chose that particular seat because on the first day I was pretty petrified about actually looking at anyone so I sat next to the nearest open seat that was beside a girl.

Little did I know that me and the girl (her name is Kelsey, i saw on the roll sheet) would soon become mortal enemies. I don't know why we are enemies, but there is a palpable hatred between us. Perhaps it is because she is chunkier than I thought and she crushed my expectations? Perhaps it is because I was sick earlier in the year and she kept looking at me when I sniffed. Maybe it is because she is clearly dumb as a box of rocks.

Regardless, my distaste for her has caused me to ally myself with long curly haired dude (greg). Greg and I don't actually speak, except for once when we mocked a Celine Dion video we were forced to watch, but those snickers cemented a resolved stance against fat sorority girl.

There are many women in this class and it is easy to distinguish between the serious students of journalism and the girls after an easy degree. The journalism girls are not very attractive, also they email Dr. Dean about people looking at Facebook in class.

It is it really their concern what people do in class? My guess, jealousy of the pretty girls.

The professor for that class is Dr. Dean. He likes to start every day with a joke, but i think the funniest part about him is that his title is Dean Dean, double name = comedy gold. He's a good teacher and bald, plus he presupposes that all students drink, so he isn't an idiot.

My next class is Music Appreciation with Dr. Wilson. (Real name, Dr. Fried). I call him Dr. Wilson because he looks exactly like that character on House. He really loves music, which is charming, but he also loves very boring music. This class has a couple of characters in it that I would like to address.

Super Well Dressed Homosexual Black Man: Scott Schuman would bust a nut over this kid. (That's right ladies, I read the sartorialist). This guy seriously brings his A-game with every outfit. He sports a tie almost everyday, but usually with blazers or a cardigan, occassionally a vest. He rocks some pretty legit Chanel sunglasses as well. I always appreciate the effort he puts into his outfits, I can only assume he feels the same about my cargo shorts and t-shirt espousing my favorite Wes Anderson movie/Texas Tech.

Girl With Short Blond Hair: I appreciate your boldness with the short hair, and your macbook, and your diligent note taking. I spent the entire first week of class trying to determine if I found you attractive, the final verdict was not really. Also you ride a pink bike, which I would probably find endearing if i wanted to date you, as it stands, it just looks like you are trying too hard.

I now go to History. My professor is Dr. Kriedler, and he is the most animated of the bunch. Also he looks like Robert Downey Jr. so I like to pretend that it's him. When he talks about how people struggled during the Great Depression I know that he can identify after his stint in rehab. Also he is a pretty hardcore Southern apologist, which is entertaining. Time to outline some folk from this class.

Ginger Eric Eberhart: Name is self explanatory, we talk every once in a while.

Pretty Girl With A Mole on Her Chin: Your constant talk about your partying on your cell phone before class is irritating, but I gave you a cough drop the other day because I am a gentleman.

Girl with Lots of Tattoos and Stickers on Her Macbook: I think your tattoos and stickers are an attempt to be cooler than you really are. If it's any consolation, I think your music staff tattoo is neat.

That about covers that class, with the exception of Bifocaled Blond that Always Looks Stressed Out and Never Speaks.

My last class of the day is Sociology.

Sociology is terrible.

The professor is foreign and despite her best efforts, fails to interest anyone in GH Mead's theories of child development.

Luckily for us, whenever there is an awkward pause before she answers her own question one man dares to break the awkwardness, with more awkwardness.

His name is Billy Bob, because he looks like Billy Bob from Varsity Blues. He has a hick accent and loves to wear a backwards Tech hat, jorts, and a short sleeve button down. Whatever the topic at hand is, he will interecept it and turn it into some uninteresting and unnecessary confessional from his childhood.

I find him so fascinating that in addition to taking sociology notes I have begun to take them on Billy Bob.

Here is the transcript:

Facts about Billy Bob
-Doesn't have a Facebook
-Likes black hats
-Father liked Westerns
-Still wears a watch
-Finds women, "Very different, but cool"
-Hates Iran
-Didn't play kickball
-Had ADD
-Uses a PC
-Did research group recently, fascinated with protestors
-Member of college republicans
-Slow note-taker
-Expert on computer dvd technology

The only redeeming qualities about this class are that we get open book exams and that we watch movies on wednesday and the cutest girl in the class is in my small group.

Tuesday I get up at 7:00am and work from 8-12 then 5-10, it's a pain. In between work sessions, I have math class. Math is a joke, it's all super easy, I do it online, and I don't have to show up. I do anyway, because I am dedicated. The class is full of shapeshifters, I can't pin down what anyone really looks like.

Thursday is the best day, I get up at 11:30 and have class til 2, then work til 5. It's the best.

That is essentially how my life goes, with little to no deviation. I apologize for this being one of the weaker entries, it belongs with "If I Was a Super Villain," unlike the previous one, which turned out better (more about me). I realize that most people will speed read through this hoping to get the end.

I'm sorry I failed you loyal readers.

People I Meet (I don't actually meet them, I'm too shy for that)(Turns Out I Don't Do That)

Hello avid readers, I have to warn you, this blog will probably be pretty terrible, ranking down there with "If I was a Super Villain." I am doing this to alleviate the suffering of a friend who is trapped in a land of fakers and heartbreakers. I feel his pain, even though I'm here in Lubbock with tons of friends I feel a little left out of the college scene, but hopefully that will get better.

After a month at Tech, I have finally got around to typing the cliched "Here's my Life in College!" post, but it has to be done, it's a Blog Law.

As those of you that know me personally know, I'm living with David and Nick. (For my readers across the nation that is new information)(Rhyme Alert!)

This is a pretty tranquil existence, the only major issue was when I once left an empty bag of popcorn on the floor and David didn't speak to me for 2 days.

As a journalism major my classes are not particularly rigorous, a basic math, intro to mass comm, sociology, history, and music appreciation.

Whenever any adult I ever encounter inevitably asks what my major is and I respond and then I am forced to justify my degree choice I find it very difficult to respond, because, let's be honest, Mass Comm is barely a step above Human Development and Family Studies in terms of degree. The last resort of youth pastors and future teachers. (No offense, but the degree is not difficult)

So, here in my blog (which I can only assume all future employers and acquaintances are reading) I will lay out my future plans.

I am going to graduate, already a cult figure due to the popularity of my blog and pieces in the venerable Daily Toreador.

This will lead to a lucrative editorial position at a magazine in a cool city like Austin, Nashville, or New York, where my incredible wit, intelligence, writing ability, sports knowledge, pop culture savvy, and charming anecdotes will cause me to be labeled the next Bill Simmons/Chuck Klosterman/David Sedaris.

At this point I will develop the wanderlust inherent in brilliance and travel the world (my knack for mastering languages will lead to several foreign women falling in love with me, and hopefully treasure!). During my travels I will have all sorts of experiences that would look super meanigful and poignant when overlayed with Sigur Ros or the Shins, and hopefully start a revolution (musical or political) and return home safely.

I will then write about these experiences and sell them to GQ, where I will be offered a job.

That will begin my "New York" phase, where I gallavant around the city making money and connections, all while dressing impeccably.

Soon I will become cooly disenfranchised and return to Texas to reconnect with the Earth. I will travel the trails as a cowhand, never revealing my true identity (and getting totally ripped as well).

When I get tired of working the land (which will be soon cause i'm kind of a puss) I will buy a house and work on my first book of essays in dark room on a typewriter, clouded in pipe smoke.

After the book is released, things really get going. My genius will be fully recognized by literary critics, sexy indie girls, and people that listen to NPR.

This will lead to a booming social life, and not because I am a famous writer, because I am actually that awesome.

Also, anyone that was ever mean to me or didn't appreciate me will take a long hard look at themselves and realize that they are just big failures.

And every girl who has ever rejected me will look over at their sloppy husbands and sigh and wonder what could have been, they will want me back, but it'll be too late, I'll be marrying my author/doctor/chef wife, who is also a model. And she's in a band, a good one named after an obscure punctuation mark or Kafka short story, and she won't be the singer cause girl bands suck, she'll play bass or something. And when they play at Madison Square Garden I will come onstage and just pull off the most bitchin' tambourine solo.

After my first book comes out and I am regarded as the preeminent essayist in the United States I will start work on my novel.

The novel is gonna be pretty bad-a, it will be dark and gritty, but hilarious, and actually hilarious, not just retarded like American Psycho. Think Chuck Palanhiuk but without all the rape. Also there will probably be either a wizard or big foot.

The novel will come out and I will be called things like, "grasps emotion better than Foer," "More sinister than McCarthy," "Best satire since Swift," "a Chobsky for people with testicles," "Gaimanesque storytelling," "wordier than Faulkner!," "The American Hemingway who didn't write all his books in Paris," and, "Makes Shakespeare look like a faggot."

After this book comes out I try my hand at self producing/directing/writing/starring in a feature film. The film comes out and I am a critical and commercial darling, like Diablo Cody but with talent.

After all this wild success, you'd think I may develop an ego. Well you'd be wrong, I would not only be the nicest guy in Hollywood, I'd be the nicest guy anywhere. And I'd impress you with my humility.

I'd then return to Texas and get back to my roots. I'd get to work on a departure from my previous literary excursions with a book on theology and spirituality. It would be lauded as better than Miller, Bell, McLaren, Chesterton, Lewis, Spurgeon, Luther, and Aquinas. People would read it and finally "get it."

Then after all my success I would disappear and spend the rest of my days as an anonymous music critic with my wife and family, occassionally releasing new books under a pseudonym, like I already do, as John Grisham.

An Open Letter to the Beautiful Girl Behind Me In Line at Chick Fil A (An Introduction)

Beautiful Brunette,

Hello, you may not remember me, but about 5 minutes ago we were both in line for delicious breaded chicken from a family friendly restaurant in the Student Union Building. I was the guy wearing the grey American Eagle hoodie. (Don't worry about the smell, it's new and the rain gives it a vomity odor). I couldn't help but notice that not only were you beautiful, but you were not wearing a T-shirt espousing the merit of the sorority that you joined. This gives me hope that you aren't a stupid vacuous slut (no offense to all you God fearing sorority girls, but you're mostly whores!). I also noticed that you were with your less attractive friend, hopefully this means you value personality and aren't trying to make yourself look better by comparison. Whenever I stole a furtive glance at you, you didn't immediately turn away and face the opposite side of the line, this did wonders for my self-esteem. (I just saw Alex Natarajan, I thought he was dead). I thought about talking to you, but what would I say? "Hello, You are very pretty, please be nice to me." Also I had my headphones in, so even if i said anything I wouldn't be able to listen to your response. But rest assured, if we had spoken, I would have offered to pay for your waffle fries (please don't let me, my mom only gives me $200 for food). Your hair was wet, which makes sense because it is very rainy outside, but if we happened to hit it off and you wanted to walk to class together i would totally let you use my umbrella, even at the risk of making my jacket smellier! And whenever we encoutered a particularly precarious puddle (there are many in this flat town) I would help you get over them (you would think I was so sweet). Then maybe after you got done with class you could come talk to me at the information desk and we could listen to the new Say Anything rarities that I found on the internet. It would be a pretty awesome day. Then when I got off, maybe you could come hang out at my house for a little while, but you'd have to leave soon because Thursday is when I go to Buffalo Wild Wings with my friends.

Love Always,

Kyle

Nothing In the World Makes Me Happier Than This (A Sad Commentary)

It's an elephant wearing an adorable hat.

If I Were a Super Villain (A Fantasy)

I have often pondered what if would be like to be a super villain. A menace of the most maleficent kind. I bet I would be pretty great at it.

You may do some pondering yourself, and in this period of reflection you may wonder, "If Kyle were to proclaim himself a super villain, what would his name be, what powers would he wield, and what havoc would he wreak? (If you pondered this I would commend you, because you pondered in parallel structure)

Well, I am prepared to answer those questions as long as you promise not to betray my secrets to any potentially interested parties (CIA, FBI, Christian Bale) because I fear both clandestine organizations and men who yell at their female family members.

When choosing a super villainous name, one must reflect on the image one is projecting to one's subordinates. That is why I chose a name that not only reflects my magical background, but also my mastery of alliteration.

*Merlin Man*

I know what some of you are thinking, you are thinking, "Kyle, isn't that name a little too intense and graphic for a silly trip to the land of imagination?"

You people are thinking wrong.

I don't want my subjects mocking some ridiculous name like Dr. Doom when they are mining in the Frito pits of Juarez, they need to know who is boss. (Merlin Man is boss)

You may wonder what my main method of madness will be.

It will be riddles.

Like the mighty Sphinx I will pose the mightiest heroes of each town a riddle, and like Oedipus they will fall before the power of logic. New Deal, Hereford, Abilene, each will be subjugated to my will.

I will constantly try the psychological patience of my subjects. They will drink nothing but Capri Sun (both disgusting and made of plastic straw impervious material) and all of my correspondence will be typed in ALL CAPS.

I may or may not fashion some sort of death ray or kill beam or maim light.

I also to the liberty of creating some concept sketches of my costume.

For those of you not gifted with a wizard's looking glass I will take the liberty of describing the labels and details of the costume.

Boots of Fury
Jorts of Rage
Mustache of Riddling
Awesome Hat!

Now that my plan for domination has been laid out, all that I have to do is wait for a foe to defeat and then rise to national prominence. (I'm waiting Nicolas Cage)