muffin theory

I’ve been told to start writing again, so hopefully this is the first new post of many more to come.

By the time I reached page 50, Neil Strauss’ The Game already had become the most repulsive, vile, and demeaning book I’ve ever picked up.  

And I’ve picked up Mein Kampf.*

Welcome to the secret society of pickup artists. Getting girls and flirting isn’t hard at all, Strauss and his fellow PAUs (as they call themselves) say. It’s just a matter of learning some parlor tricks to manipulate social cues, and soon you (yes, you with the balding hair and beer belly) can leave clubs with hot women on your arms.

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• Question: I met you at Berkeley MUN. I thought that you had some serious balls to go and dance with that guy at the Delegate Dance. I admire you so much for that. I wish that I had the courage to dance with you. We had locked eyes and you were approaching me for a dance, but I had to ignore you because well... I'm not exactly as brave as you. Words cannot express how much I wanted to... I still regret it to this day. :/ - Anonymous
• Answer:

  Man, I’m sorry to hear that. The world’s always darker inside the closet; I think you’re braver than you believe.

  If people stop and stare, then do what I do and give ‘em something to look at ;)

  Best of luck—hope you get to dance soon.

Pride, Prejudice, and Purple

Six teenagers across the country committed suicide this month. We cannot have another suicide.

The nationwide vigil—of wearing purple en memoriam—resonated true at LAHS today. With so many donning violets and lilacs I thought, for a moment, we had changed our school colors. It was moving and powerful: It gives me hope that acceptance has the strength to rally a school so notoriously lacking in spirit.

It was also a terrible step backward for preventing teen suicide.

So this is what happens when you think a monologue would be a great college essay, then realize halfway through that it’s a terrible idea, but still finish anyway.

I’m a modern kid
A twenty-first century
Adolescent advertisement
For a romantically monogamous
Culturally dichotomous
Multilateral, polyunsaturated
Suburban overachiever

I’m post-racial
Postmodern
And post-consumer
My wall posts
Are my post office

I eat free-range and pesticide-free
My food has antioxidants and probiotics
High fiber but high fructose
And always extra-virgin
I’m an adventurous, omnivorous
Vegetarian foodie
Who eats like a hippie
But spends like a yuppie

I can flambé and sauté
I can cook anything
Gastronomical or economical
Except for chocolate chip cookies

I’ve got email and iPods
After a century of a-bombs and U-boats
Online and underground
In the know, outside the box
I’m networking and overworking
Environmentally friendly and politically correct

I’ve got computer mice and CAT scans
We’re in a bear market full of bullshit
I’ve got viruses, bugs, and worms in my computer
But at least our tuna fish are dolphin safe

Synthetic music
Synthetic fabric
Synthetic food
Synthetic medicine
I have gigabytes of sound-bites
I buy the fall line online
My photos come in pixels
And my chatting comes in texts

I Photoshop my pictures
Google my homework
facebook my friends
and Hulu my shows

I’m a modern kid
A twenty-first century
Adolescent advertisement
For a romantically monogamous
Culturally dichotomous
Multilateral, polyunsaturated
Suburban overachiever

Inspired by George Carlin.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hkCR-w3AYOE&feature=related

Part 1

Modifiers are the makeup of writing.

Too little and you get the I-look-like-crap-in-the-morning look. Without a bit of powder and eyeliner to smooth out the edges, a single glance from your writing will send small children screaming for their mothers. They were told monsters don’t exist.

Then again, too much and you get the nightwalker look. The more you tack on cheap adjectives and gaudy adverbs, the more your writing will belong on the (page) corner selling its body (paragraphs) to the highest bidder. In a phrase like “his piercing blue eyes looked deeply into her soul,” “piercing” and “deeply” are the equivalent of smeared cherry-red lipstick and weeping mascara from the dollar store.

But if you hit Goldilocks and get just the right amount, then you’re all prettied up. Make heads turn and jaws drop—with the proper adjectives and adverbs, your writing will be a bombshell that’ll command a room. That “sanguine” does wonders for your hips, that “precariously” illuminates your eyes, and that “quaint” gives your complexion the touch of innocence.

Oh, but the question is: How?

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I shot little kids yesterday.

Two, to be exact, and both in the back. I lined up my sights, aimed right for their torso, and zap. My laser hit them squarely on their receivers. I forgot how much fun Laser Quest was.

I’ve been remembering a lot lately—usually just little stuff like the joy of sniping at elementary school students—but also something more: I remembered how wrong I was at the beginning of this summer. I walk into every June with my nose turned contemptuously so high that my nostrils could collect rain, and I leave every August always saddened and humbled. The very same people with whom I was playing laser tag (and teaming up against little kids) were the objects of many a raised eyebrow eight weeks prior.

I still haven’t learned a goddamn lesson.

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Don’t use the words and phrases:

• paradigm
• ad hominem
• entropy and equilibrium (unless you’re writing a chemistry paper)
• mankind
• etc. (you can use etcetera …)

You don’t sound smarter. Your arguments don’t sound more rational. Congratulations, you can type “Thomas Hobbes” into Wikipedia, and you know how to hit shift + F7 in Microsoft Word. Vomiting a mess of isms and foreign phrases all over your paper just show that you’re a kid armed with a thesaurus.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with these words, mind you. “Metaphysics” and “human civilization” are as much a part of English as “bicycle” and “flowerpot.” If in my To Kill a Mockingbird essay I write the phrase “the sole criterion for the path of mankind’s history is the ownership of power,” a kitten will not die somewhere in the world. A bus full of orphans won’t tumble off a cliff to a gruesome death. (If that were the case, then this essay alone probably will be responsible for a cat genocide committed by falling buses.)

What happens when you write poorly.

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What do you know … original content! I just threw this together as more of a concept piece than an actual finished product.

If you aren’t an interior design buff/Doctor Who nerd, then see this and this for an explanation.

I Like You So Much Better When You’re Naked, by Ida Maria