In which I complain extensively about the Super Bowl

Today is Super Bowl Sunday. Hooray and so on. The entire country makes a massive fuss over this every year, although to this day I don't understand exactly why. In my opinion, real football is a sport played with a round ball, continuous play, and no helmets. In which the players actually use their feet. Seriously, how did football - or at least, the American variety thereof - come to be called football? It's not a sport for feet. We might as well say racquetball instead of golf. I mean, we don't say we're putting on socks when we're actually putting on gloves. So why is it football when feet are clearly not the most important aspect of the game? Also, as I've previously mentioned, this game lacks a continuous state of play. Football players stop every twenty seconds or so, and so, unfortunately, does the clock. If it says that the game will take forty-five more minutes, it's liable to last for three more hours. And for the duration of that indefinite amount of time, viewers all over the United States will eat. And eat and eat and eat. For the most part, it's junk food. Fried chips, fried chicken, fried pizza, fried fries - if it's spent at least an hour soaking in oil, it's being consumed during the Super Bowl. That and beer. Why a sporting event has become synonymous with splurging on junk food, I know not. It seems counterintuitive somehow. There people are, watching athletes physically attack one another (always fun, no?), and all the while they're planted on the sofa, inhaling the unhealthiest calories possible. It's like those escalators that are in front of some health clubs. And what else is synonymous with the Super Bowl? If you said "commercials," then you would be 105% correct. I know people who watch the Super Bowl solely for the commercials. Sports? Psh. Evidently it's much more fun to absorb masses of widely-televised advertisements. I guess I don't entirely blame these people for not wanting to watch football, but then again, I can think of a long list of things that sound more entertaining than total immersion in blatant materialism for hours on end. Well, whatever makes them happy, I guess.

I want the World Cup back.

This is a public service announcement. Sorta.

Read the following in a highly serious and dramatic tone:

Have you ever known someone who has been affected by a Chapstick addiction? Have you or a loved one fallen victim to this terrible affliction? If you find yourself constantly craving Chapstick due to dry, burning, or chapped lips, then YOU too may have this addiction. In fact, recent studies* have shown that the number of Chapstick addicts has risen by over 892% since 1720**. But there is hope! Call 867-5309 to receive information about your nearest Chapstick intervention and rehabilitation centers, or join your local Chapstick focus group. Remember, you can take action to save the lives - and lips - of your loved ones. Spread awareness today! This Public Service Announcement has been brought to you by HBATOT.

*"Recent studies" meaning I thought of it and did not scientifically verify it. It counts, right?
**COUGHitotallymadethatupCOUGH

Note: I dedicate this post to some certain person for their concern regarding worldwide Chapstick addiction. You know who you are.

The day I was eaten by a puffer fish

I loathe college essays. I loathe them so much that I've become completely unable to be funny. Not that I'm sure I had much of an ability to be funny to begin with, but whatever sense of humor I ever had has been eaten by the venomous puffer fish otherwise known as a college essay. Yes, I called it a venomous puffer fish. This is because it doesn't look like too much of a threat at first, but then you mess with it and it inflates and turns out to be covered in spikes. And if it pokes you (or if you're stupid enough to eat it), you die. From the venom, you know. Puffer fish venom.

I just googled puffer fish and it turns out that they actually are highly poisonous. Also, they have four large teeth which they use to eat crustaceans.

In case you aren't quite sick of puffer fish metaphors yet (which I'm sure you aren't - how could you ever even think about getting sick of puffer fish metaphors?): if my college essays are puffer fish, then I'm the crustacean. Yes, I'm the nearly-brainless-shrimp-crab-type-thing that gets eaten by a fish that resembles a spiky balloon. Yay.

Stupid college essays. Turning me into an unfunny, brainless crustacean. Good times.

Lions and tigers and bears and dreams and stuff

I had a weird dream last night. In my dream, I was at the zoo and I was trying to take a picture of a lion. I distinctly remember my dream-self saying the words, "I will take a picture of this lion because he looks very lion-like right now." My dream-self is a flipping genius. Apparently the person who built the lion's cage was also a genius, because the only thing keeping the lion away from the general public was a thin, loosely strung little rope. So as I was trying to take a picture of this stunningly lion-like lion, it awoke from its slumber and proceeded to slip underneath the rope. At that point, there was nothing to separate me from this giant, hungry looking cat except for air. Which, believe it or not, is not the most effective means of defense. I turned around and walked away, hoping that the lion wouldn't notice. I guess I thought it was a very stupid lion. Maybe it was, because instead of just biting my head off or something, the lion just trudged along behind me, theoretically giving me plenty of time to escape. In fact, I came up with an escape plan, which was to jump up to the top of a thirty-foot tree by the side of the path in one giant bound. As I already pointed out, my dream-self is all sorts of brilliant. But, alas, before I could take a superhuman leap to the top of the very tall tree, the lion ate me and I woke up.

Of course, once I was awake, I sat in bed in the dark and had all of these sleepy delusions about how there were probably lions in the backyard and outside my bedroom door. And grizzly bears. Heck if I know where that one came from.

Then, without being eaten by lions that weren't there, I went back to sleep and dreamt something about giant pink pieces of styrofoam.

Disney Princess Face-Off

Disney princesses. Little girls want to be them, little boys think they're gross, and adults roll their eyes at them. People admire them, parody them, criticize them. But no one's asked that all-important question: what would happen if you were to put them in a room together and leave them to their own devices? (And yes, this is an all-important question. Don't contradict me. I don't want to hear it.)

Well, luckily for you, I know the answer. And I'm quite prepared to describe the entire scenario for you. For a fee of only one million dollars and fifty cents, plus my full college tuition.

...Okay, okay. Fine. I won't charge you so much. You can leave out the fifty cents.

Anyways. Allow me to present to you... What Would Happen If Various Disney Princesses Were Put In The Same Room And Left To Their Own Devices!

Princesses: Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, the Little Mermaid

The Scene Unravels Thus: Almost immediately, a catfight begins because each princess claims to be the most beautiful person present. Snow White says that it must be her because her stepmother's talking mirror says so. Plus, she has seven guys who follow her around at all times, and if she dies, the forest animals come to look at her in her glass coffin. Shocked, Sleeping Beauty argues that she's the beautiful one because, duh, she has the word "Beauty" in her name. Cinderella gasps and bursts into tears because she knows she's only named after some ashes, but between sobs chokes out the words "I'm m-more beautiful than... than all of you c-combined-d-d because... my fairy godmother - she'll m-m-make me more beautiful! With magic!" The Little Mermaid trys to make a snide remark but then realizes that she has no voice. So instead she flops around making obscure hand signals and trying to brush her hair with a fork. Unfortunately, Sleeping Beauty can't handle the high-stress environment and deals with the problem by - surprise, surprise - going to sleep. As she drifts off, she mutters something about how her prince will save her. In unison, the other three princesses say, "Me too!" There is a brief pause as they all wonder whether they're all after the same prince. Chaos ensues as Cinderella and Snow White attack each other with assorted cooking and cleaning utensils while the Little Mermaid pokes Sleeping Beauty with her fork. Sleeping Beauty wakes up and screeches, "Why, you little sea witch!" She pulls out an extremely sharp spindle, but before she can use it, an elephant appears out of nowhere and squishes them all. The elephant wins.

Things on my desk

I have two options right now: 1) do my calculus homework, since it's still slightly too early to go to bed and I'm not doing anything productive whatsoever, including writing the essays for the college apps that are due in two weeks, or 2) waste time, which seems nice right now but will cause me all sorts of unneccessary stress, hard work, and loss of sleep in the future. Being the smart and well-organized person that I am, I will opt for choice number two.

So, without further ado, here is a list of some of the items on my terminally messy desk, just because I feel like writing one:

-A comic book. In French. Which is, may I add, I language that I don't speak.

-Some flowers that I was given at my cross country senior night

-An eraser that has the words "Don't Panic" written all over it, designed for particularly troublesome tests

-Italian mints in a fancy Italian tin labeled "Casa Fondata Leone nel 1857." Another language I don't speak.

-Pre-wrap. Blue. Lifesaving in many athletic situations.

-A blue pencil case with multicolored sheep printed all over it

-My wallet, which contains $14, some old receipts, my license, a debit card, an ATM card, and several assorted gift cards (most of which are probably expired or void of money)

-A thick novel in Spanish. Aha! A language I speak! ...Sort of.

-An unlabeled CD

-Another unlabeled CD

-A ticket to Rumors at my high school's theater. It was fantastic, by the way.

-My dad's library card

-My friend's old (Product)red iPod, which has a picture of Holger Badstuber stuck to the back

-Paintbrushes in a glass jar

-An alarm clock, which has to be kept away from my bed so that I'm forced to get up when it rings

-A yellow insect-repelling "Super Band" that was given to me by the same friend who gave me the iPod and the French comic book. She wanted to know if it works and figured that I, being a mosquito magnet, would be the prime candidate to test it out. I've yet to do so.

-Stacks of books and papers threatening to tumble down onto my head. Duck.

Musical prodigy

No, I am not one.
But this kid is:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDPk5xKx3Yg
Seriously, this is insane. He's nine. NINE. Normally I'm not all that impressed by piano music, but this is borderline unbelievable. Did I say borderline? I meant completely. I mean, the kid has to put a box under his feet when he sits at the piano bench because he can't reach the ground, and yet he plays the piano like someone with a lifetime of practice. I believe he's playing Mozart in that video clip. Seems appropriate somehow.
Why oh why can't we all be this talented? Oh right. Because then it would just be normal. Did you hear that, crazy piano-playing prodigy child? If we were all so talented, you would be nothing special! Nothing at all!!! ...No, I'm not jealous in the least. Ahem.
No, only joking. I really do think that this is extremely impressive and noteworthy.