Nobody looks like their social media
I’m in an on-again-off-again relationship with Marky Mark Zuckerberg and the Funky Bunch of Instagram, Snapchat and for certain months of the year, Tinder.
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I’m in an on-again-off-again relationship with Marky Mark Zuckerberg and the Funky Bunch of Instagram, Snapchat and for certain months of the year, Tinder.
It all begins in the Adirondack Mountains where I was working last summer. On my days off, I’d explore the little towns, beaches and tourist destinations where families from across the Eastern seaboard used to flock in the 1970s in droves of wood-paneled station wagons. At night, I’d get myself a cheap room at the Motel Montreal and watch crime reports on local TV to drown out the sound of the couple having sex in the room next to mine. I can’t prove it was the same couple each week, but if there were that many couples with that kinda stamina in remote upstate New York, they really must be putting something in the water.
You and I are both going to need a little metaphorical foreplay before I tell this story.
We are in it now, my friends. Yank up your thermal long johns and shoplift all the scented candles you can get your hands on because we are now entering the worst of winter. We are collectively tobogganing full-speed ahead into a barren wasteland of dirty snow in which the only things capable of prospering are Abominable Snowmen, clinical depression and Burlington Coat Factories. However, what is perhaps most troubling about this next endless stretch of winter is the shattering, devastating, really and truly horrific absence of any worthwhile holidays.
I did it for love. But primarily, I did it for snacks.
Dear [insert name],
A couple weeks back, I spotted a religious group on Grounds handing out flyers for “Sin Awareness Day.” While I tenaciously avoided eye contact, in the spirit of the event, I was inspired to compile a list of the seven deadly sins of student life.
I am hot. Additionally, I am bothered.
I may steal your watch. There’s a good chance that sweet, sweet Social Security number of yours could one day be mine. In the event of an emergency, I will change my name to Trixie and marry an elderly Texas billionaire for that deathbed dime.
I hope my second year is a doozy. Like every other ambitious little college goblin, I’m always on the prowl for opportunities to achieve academic and personal success, but deep-down, at my core, I’m really looking forward to all the embarrassments this next year must have in store.
My sister and I had a childhood library collection to which my dad provided three books: a book on conmen, a book on the mafia and a book on death cults.
First and foremost, there will be no metaphor here today. There will be no deeper connections made relating either to interpersonal relationships or spiritual development. If you're on the prowl for that sort of multidimensional mumbo jumbo, I recommend you pick up any esteemed literary work. Perhaps "The Baby-Sitters Club, Volume 8."
Let’s all take a moment of silence to remember Blockbuster and all the things that rocked our (or maybe just my) world back when subprime mortgages still seemed like a swell idea, President Donald Trump was just a reality star and JoJo had a viable music career.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Sure. You’ve got me there. However, absence can also make the heart sit back, furrow its brow and realize how downright weird certain places from your past seem with added time and distance. Over the course of your school break, you might find yourself returning to once-familiar places and thinking, “Hey, uh, were there always this many empty Wendy’s parking lots per capita or is this a new look the zip code is trying out?”