Arian Murati STAFF WRITER

I'll say this right away. I am no Dave Goldman. He is a pretty man. I, on the other hand, am moderately attractive. I don't have his suave moves, impeccable fashion sense, or flawless hair, but what I lack in general skillz, I make up for in mediocre abilities, such as awkward silence and mismatched socks.

My disposition lends itself to some interesting situations. For example, I often find myself staring at the clothing racks at stores while thinking, "Can I wear this? " For someone with the proper credentials in the looks department, that question would never cross their mind. In my case, a button up that only buttons up halfway is questionable, especially with my lack of chest hair. I look rather malnourished at times, which is apparently very cool nowadays, so that helps. My skeletal 5'7 frame saves me money on clothes, because anything other than a size small makes me look like a prisoner trying to conceal a shank. I also recently found out that black and brown do not match very well.

I have no knowledge of fine wine, although I do enjoy it. By fine wine, I mean cheap liquor, and by enjoy it, I mean drinking obscene amounts of it. It helps me feel more comfortable around people, because my social skills leave something to be desired. I don't let this get me down though, because I've perfected some skills of my own. I've mastered the art of looking lonely. This, coupled with my I-lost-my-razor beard is unstoppable.

My skills often take years of practice. I got kicked out of middle school dances for moshing when the DJ played Nirvana, so I've had the rebel reputation down pat for a while now. In high school, I went to Junior and Senior prom by myself, just so I can have that in my arsenal for future use. Pick up lines are for suave gentlemen, and therefore useless to me, but you tell a girl that you didn't have a prom date, psh, you just stand there and watch her melt.

Enough about my moves, let's move on to the visage. That's the face for those of who didn't take six years of French. As I've mentioned before, my beard is unruly but gentle. It is approachable. I've had a cowlick since I was nine, and I've given up trying to keep my hair down. My eyes are a lovely shade of pitch black. It appears as though I don't have pupils, and that's a nice conversation starter. My acne has cleared up over the years, but still manages to come back whenever I have to play a big show or meet a promoter. Aside from that, I'm doing alright.

Now, you might ask, "With all those sexy skills, where is the downside?!" Well my friend, I'll tell you. Being so slightly above average, I have no concept of who is in or out of my "league," and that has led to some uncomfortable situations and restraining orders. On a scale of 1 to 10, being a 6 makes me feel as though I can approach both a 1 or a 10. It just makes too much sense. I'm doing the 1 a favor, and the 10 would look like a 14 standing next to me, so again, I'm doing her a favor. I guess I'll just never learn, but this is my burden to bear. I think I'll just stick to the house lights. Those groupies may not be drop dead gorgeous, but they know who Sigur Ros are, and that's just fine with me.

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