Arian Murati STAFF WRITER
My best friend and I first became acquainted in a 6th grade detention room. We were there because we threw wood chips at a rabbit. We didn't actually hit it, but it warranted the detention. Now we're inseparable. Sometimes, when he calls me, he'll say things that I don't necessarily want to hear. Things like " Alright brother, I'll head over after I take a poop" or "Yeah I'm just gonna jerk it real quick before we head to the diner". I really don't want to hear these things – especially if we're going to get food.
I'm taking a basic math course at Rutgers. I'm a horrible mathematician. I'm an English major, so I'm alright with word problems. What irks me is the way my professor speaks. He's an old black dude – he speaks kind of like Dolomite – you know, as if it's still 1976. He doesn't teach us math. He teaches us Maf. In this maf class, we discuss vurribles a lot. He said that it wasn't necessary to put the number one in front of the vurrible when only the vurrible was left; that it was redundant. I don't care; I always put it there. I want to be damn sure that vurrible knows what's up.
I used to be in a band in high school. We played a lot of shows. And you know, when you're playing live, the guitarist and bassist always have to tune up between songs, so I was left there with nothing to do. I was usually the one who was stuck trying to be funny and keep the audience entertained. I've never said anything funny onstage. Once I said, " Thanks for coming out tonight – you're all looking great", to which I was greeted with "You can't see any of us!" This was true. I couldn't see anyone in the crowd because the stage lights were bright. I should have said something about our band, like " Our EP is over there on the Merch Table- check it out!" But I would always say something stupid, like "Hey, thanks for coming! The headliners aren't showing up, so you can all leave after we play!" We weren't very liked.
Has anyone ever seen those "Donate Your Car" billboards on the highway? Why are there pictures of babies on them? I get so confused. "Donate your baby, get a car!" I don't get it.
I find that women use different parts of their bodies to dance at rock shows depending on their age. When they're really young (kids), they just tap their feet. In their teens and twenties, they use their hips a lot. When they're middle-aged, they tend to overuse the "arm flail" move, and when they're old, they move only their heads. This is in sharp contrast to men, who use the "accidental pelvic thrust into your back" move for most of their lives.
I think abstinence rings are ridiculous. Is a ring really going to stop you when you're on top of a girl and she's asking for it? "I'd like to, but…my ring…" What do I think would be more effective? Abstinence girdles. Or Alligators. But I don't see the practicality in a razor-toothed amphibian.
Sometimes a person's voice can make all the difference in their speeches. Can you imagine if MLK Jr. had Gilbert Gottfried's voice? (Recite a portion of the "I Have A Dream" speech in Gilbert's voice) What about if Bob Dylan had Morgan Freeman's voice? (Sing "Like A Rolling Stone" in a Freeman tone)
I hate when people say, "I like all kinds of music". To me, that says, "I don't care enough to formulate a legitimate opinion on what I enjoy listening to". But nothing is worse than when they say "I like everything except country". Really? You're a Bavarian Monk Chant fan?
Ninety percent of my cell phone use is dedicated to checking the time. I don't want to wear a watch cause that's not hip. It's also like a choke collar for my sensitive wrists. The other ten percent goes to Ms. Pac Man.
I hate spring. I don't have allergies and I don't mind the weather – I just hate seeing people enjoying themselves outdoors. Especially joggers. I'm not fat, but I'm not active either. I just dislike their motivation versus my lack of it. I can, however, cut my Mario Kart times in half during the spring, because it's warm enough to play video games in the basement again.
I met Ne-Yo once. It was during a Q&A session at a Grammy conference at Pace University. He went on a huge rant about downloading music and how illegal downloads were hurting his ability to make money from his work. He was wearing a fedora, leather jacket, pinstriped pants, and white leather shoes. I asked to be given the microphone to ask a question, but he wouldn't give it to me. Instead, he gave the mic to overzealous fans of his who would say things like, " Yeah, I download music buy I buy all yo' albums Ne-Yo! WOO!" I went home and downloaded his entire discography, then turned the files into download-friendly mp3's. I sent it around to a few friends and then deleted everything. Take that, Ne-Yo.
When I was a little kid in Jersey, there was a building across the street from my elementary school. In big letters across the face of the wall, it said "Popular Club." There were bars on the windows at my school and a fence that surrounded that building; so looking out at that, I learned what irony was at a young age. I figured that if I started dressing nicely and combing my hair, those bars and the fence would come down, and I'd be able to walk into that building. A few weeks ago, I drove by my old neighborhood, and that building was demolished. I'll never be popular.
There used to be a lot of corner shops where I grew up. Every day after school, I'd walk into one and buy one of those 25 cent unmarked juice drinks. Does anyone know what I'm talking about? They were about the size of a grenade, literally cost a quarter, and had no labeling or nutritional facts anywhere on the bottle. They were just (whatever color) juice. I'll have a Red Juice, please.
I was good at soccer when I was a kid, but not many other sports. Looking back at it now, I'd love to play football against a bunch of ten year-olds in my current shape. I'd be a running back for once, and I'd tear those fuckers apart. Little League Baseball would be awesome too. The fences were only like a hundred fifty feet away, and no one threw harder than forty miles per hour. I'd be the Mark McGuire of Little League if I played now. No more obligatory comments from the third base coach like, " GOOD CUT SON, EYE ON THE BALL" or "Your father couldn't make it to the game. He thinks you suck."
Speaking of soccer, I would love to have yellow and red cards in my pockets at all times. They would come in handy at parties. You spilled a beer? That's a yellow. One more and you're out of here. They would also be good in traffic. I'd blow a whistle and pull someone over. " Listen, you cut me off. It wasn't a clean tackle. I'm going to give you a yellow – keep it clean, man. Your squad won't win if they have to play with ten men for the rest of the match".
I can't swim. I thought I could, until I almost drowned at Lake George one summer. We were swimming from a dock to a small island about two hundred yards away. My arms and legs stopped working after about fifty feet. The water was just slightly deeper than I am tall, so I was drowning in tippy-toe water. My best friend called out to his sister and another girl, who were in a canoe, to come save me. They came over and I somehow pulled myself into the canoe. I lay in the canoe in the fetal position until we got to the shore, and I immediately ran into the bush and threw up. The other girl in the canoe? She's my girlfriend now – that's how we met. Her first memory of us involves my pale body hunched over in a canoe breathing heavily and throwing up. Some people call this having mad game.
I don't like kicking people in the nuts, do you know why? It's basically like putting a hit out on yourself. Kicking a friend in the nuts invites him to wage a personal vendetta on you that can last anywhere from five minutes to the rest of your life. They will never forget it. It can be your wedding day, and at the reception you see him and give him a hug. Out of nowhere he'll kick you in the nuts and say, "That's from college, asshole."
I've always wanted to kill a man, but never wanted to dispose of the body. It's a more serious version of trying to hide liquor in your room so your parents won't find it. Closet? No. Under the bed? No. Hudson river? That's just too tedious.
I think I would make a great homeless person. I've thought of a few good ways to keep myself fed – like going to the grocery store with my can full of change to buy some food, going to the deli, ordering a pound of salami, eating it before I checkout, and only buy something like a bag of chips or a drink. I think this is especially funny because most homeless people don't do this – it's mostly housewives. I can also wear close to ten coats at once, so I'm set for the winter. Styrofoam doesn't taste that bad either.
Being a musician, I try to find parallels in comedy and music. For instance, Dane Cook covers a lot of jokes.
People mess up my name a lot. It's come to the point where I don't care anymore. The Aryan race jokes stopped being funny when I was eight and I found out what that was. Before that I just thought there was a happy-go-lucky group of people similar to me that enjoyed Starfox and Pokemon Cards. I was proven mistaken once we started learning about history in 3rd grade.
I'm not racist; I'm ageist – especially in the workplace. I don't trust anyone over 60 with any piece of technology more sophisticated than a ruler and I would never hire a three year-old, unless the job called for pooping and crying. But I could just hire really old people for that. But I still don't want to hire them. So then I'd have to look at more baby applicants. Such is the vicious cycle of ageism.
I never understood the point of Christian metal. I guess it's like jumbo shrimp or kid-friendly priests.
My mother is a teacher, but before that she was a substitute. I actually had her as a sub once in 4th grade. She didn't let me call her mom and I had to ask to go to the bathroom. At that point I realized what it felt like to be my father.
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There are few things that warm my soul more than the spiritual radiator of good old fashion corporate domination.
There are a few possibilities of what can happen next. It could be Friend Y telling you how they've secretly loved you for years, it may be Friend Y informing you of some really pivotal news regarding something of serious importance, it is almost definitely a video of Friend Y recording himself lip syncing to the Numa Numa song for 3 seconds and then making a farting noise with his mouth. Either way, the result is the same-- you are now inexplicably and inconsolably happy.
Our desire for physical contact and real-life interaction is painfully brought into the light through this indirect manifestation of reality via virtual communication.
