I decided to watch the Oscars Sunday and thought they started at 7 rather than 7:30 p.m. This was a brutal mistake, as I was subjected to catch most of the Red Carpet show, which made me want to tear my eyeballs out. I guess the consensus was that Jennifer Lawrence was the best dressed. That’s the same Jennifer Lawrence who later tripped over her mountain of a dress and faceplanted on the steps when she accepted her Best Actress award, perfectly illustrating the absurdity of the Red Carpet show. If I’m ever invited to the Oscars, I’m going to show up in a T-shirt and jeans just to lampoon the Red Carpet show. And then when the TV host asks me, “Who are you wearing? Dior? Armani?” I’d be all like, “The hell if I know. Probably some 10-year-old kid from a sweatshop in Indonesia.”
Movie from your childhood that still kicks ass
“Pocahontas” (1995)—What? Disney made a movie that portrays women as subservient and perpetuates stereotypes about Native Americans? YOU DON’T FUCKING SAY. Disney knows that we’ll all still happily lap up their shit anyway, and “Pocahontas” was no exception. Like every other five year old, you better believe I hummed along to that “Colors of the Wind” song and strong-armed my mom into buying me and my sister those Meeko and Flit placemats for our dinner table. I liked that movie a lot, except for the parts with the talking tree, Grandmother Willow. That thing terrified me. For about a week after I saw that movie, I would wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweats, thinking about her freakish face while she dispensed her stupid brand of Confucianism. God, I just Google imaged her and she still gives me the chills. I wish the Virginia Company would have just sawed her down and used her for firewood.
Shit that salvages an otherwise shitty day
During peak hours at Memorial Union or the SAC, it’s borderline impossible to get an elevator all to yourself with so many people arriving in the building all at the same time. But when you do? Ecstasy! It gives you a solid 20 seconds of privacy to do whatever the hell you want without being judged. You can sing, talk to yourself, fart, send a Snapchat—virtually anything. But always stay alert in case some random asshole decides to pick up the elevator on the second floor and unexpectedly catches you while you’re in the middle of an air guitar solo from the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction.” And if you also farted in the elevator before you got caught air guitaring. That would really be embarrassing. Not that I’d know from personal experience or anything.
First-World Hate of the week
The week’s hate is reserved for the tangled mess your headphones become when you put them in your backpack. Whenever I go to the library, I wind up spending the first 10 minutes playing a demented version of Cat’s Cradle with my headphones. You think they’d have headphone cases or something to prevent them from getting tangled.
/Googles “headphone cases,” realizes they exist/Sees they’re selling anywhere from $15 to $45 /Says “fuck that” and stops bitching about his cheap-ass Wal-Mart brand headphones.
Song that will make you wet your pants with excitement
“Head Over Feet” (Alanis Morissette, 1995)—While a lot of successful albums often have a few dud songs to suffer through, Alanis’ breakthrough album, “Jagged Little Pill,” contains nothing but hot track after hot track. With hits like “You Oughta Know,” “Ironic” and “Hand in My Pocket,” the album still receives consistent radio play nearly 20 years later. My roommate has the “Jagged Little Pill” CD, and this past summer he would occasionally blast “Head Over Feet” whenever we were driving in his Subaru. You know how sometimes at the end of movies the final scene features a shot of the protagonist triumphantly driving their convertible off into the proverbial sunset? That’s exactly how I felt riding shotgun in the car when this song came on. The wind blowing our hair, the sun soaking our skin and Alanis’ golden voice pronouncing our promising future. We felt so damn cool in that instant. In actuality, we were two dudes in their early 20s blasting Alanis Morissette while riding in a freaking Subaru. So while I wouldn’t be surprised if more than a few people gave us sketchy looks, that didn’t stop us from believing we were George Clooney and Brad Pitt reveling in another successful casino heist.
Unedited moronoic facebook status from a kid from my high school
“snow snow go away come back never damn it I shud b in california damn it or afghanistan one of the two”
You know, they say Afghanistan is the new Panama City Beach for spring breakers. Book your tickets now!
Be sure to email ajwolf2@wisc.edu to share in his fright from the colors of the wind.
