Second Dining Hall Update

I spoke to the lady in charge when it comes to meal plans on the phone today. We actually had a fairly pleasant conversation, and towards the end she asked me to resend my first email because she found it amusing. I'll spare everyone the details, as they're pretty boring, and just say that the situation was resolved to my satisfaction. Hazzah!

Saturday Morning Review, Part I

We all remember days of preadolescent innocence, awakening on Saturday mornings and turning to our televisions to induldge in some animated (and not so animated) wonder. At least I do. In honor of these (mostly) fond memories, I'm writing a three part series of commemorative reviews, dedicated to revisiting these old shows. The first part will harken back to the shows of early childhood, which were mostly devoted to educating children in some way. The second part will focus on the television of early adolescence. Finally, the third part will revisit the stuff of my generation's teenage years.

Part 1: Early Childhood- The PBS Era.


Barney and Friends


I think it's pertinent to mention that shortly before my birth in 1986, my father was quite keen on naming me Barney. "Who could not like a guy named Barney?" was his main argument. My mother wouldn't have it. It was probably too blue collar or something, which is why I was marked with the more aristocratic sounding moniker of Oliver. I mean, Olivonius. Damn, there goes my secret identity.

Well, it turned out that mother had the right idea, because it wasn't long after I arrived in this world that Barney the Purple Dinosaur was spawned from the darkest realm of Hades to wreap havoc upon the watchers of PBS (funded by viewers like you). Barney, or Barnzlebub as he is known among Satan worshippers, would point his vestigial little demon claw at the camera at the end of every show and claim that "You're special!" as if he knew each and every one of us personally like our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. This was obviously an attempt to sham his young viewers into warshipping him as a false idol so that he could usurp The Lord's authoritah over his Kingdom.

Not convinced are you? Then I ask you, have you ever played the "I Love You Song" backwards? Here are the lyrics to the "I Love You Song" played forwards at normal speed:

I love you
You love me
We're a happy family
With a great big hug
and a kiss from me to you
Won't you say you love me too?

Now, here's what it sounds like in reverse and slowed down 66.6%:
WARNING: EXPLICIT AND DISTURBING CONTENT

Satan's hounds
shall consume your soul
You are but a centipede
from your mother's vagina
Join the legions of the Dark One
We provide a very comprehensive dental plan.

That should clear up any confusion regarding the true nature of Barnzlebub, the Purple Hellspawn. And even if you still don't buy any of this, you've got to admit that Barney is pretty sketchy on the surface. I mean, here's a guy in a dinosaur suit who hangs out with kids after school when all the teachers have gone home. Oh, and he "loves" them. And somebody try to explain away the "NAMBLA" tattoo he's got under his tail. All I can say is, I need an adult.


Sesame Street

I loved Sesame Street and still recall fond memories of it today. Still, the show leaves several important questions unanswered. Allow me to explain.

Sesame Street is, well, a street in New York. It looks kinda Bronx-ish. It's got families and local shop owners like any urban area. But it also has a giant 10 foot yellow bird living in an ally who is friends with some kind of wooly mammoth type thing. Meanwhile, right outside an apartment, a green, ill tempered mutant occupies a trash can.

What beats the hell out of me most of all is that NOBODY ON SESAME STREET THINKS THIS IS STRANGE.

There are no scenes, even in the first season, where some guy looks out his window onto the street below, and says to his wife, "Jesus fucking Christ, there's an owl playing the saxophone down there! Owl's don't even have lips, how is this fucking possible? My world is collapsing around me! FUCK!" Nobody even calls animal control the first time Oscar sticks his head out of that trash can. And don't get me started on Ernie and Bert.

After decades of the show's existance, not a single scientist or tabloid reporter has shown up to observe the urban anomoly that is Sesame Street. It's so unrealistic. Look, if they want to make a believer out of me, they should have researchers in HazMat suits poking things with Geiger counters in the background while Elmo explains how many sides a rectangle has. At the end of every show, instead of announcing that the episode was brought to you by the letters "H" and the number "2," it should say something like, "Today's show was brought to you by an irresponsible government who burried toxic mutagenic waste under a busy New York street."

Now, you may be thinking, "Come on, Olivonius, quit being such a fagort. Sesame Street is a kid's show so they can get away with this stuff. Obviously the child inside you is dead; dead and gone forever, you souless, empty, pathetic excuse for a human being. Just go kill yourself, you bastard."

Now now now, hold your horses. Just look at E.T. He's got a lot in common with many of the characters on sesame street. I mean, he's a loveable (albeit freakish) puppet who's great with the kids. Now, why is it that when Sesame Street broadcasts it's freak show all over the world, nobody bats an eye, but when word get's out about E.T., Nasa and the EPA barge in to Eliot's house and stick a probe up his ass? I don't know, but since I go to UC Santa Cruz I think I'll just assume it has something to do with racism.

ERT ERT RACISM GEORGE W. REPUBLIKKKANS WHITE PEOPLE ERT

Oh, sorry, that's just my Turret's Syndrome. Ever since I came here I've been saying stuff like that involuntarily whenever something bothers me.

Well, that sums up Part I. Tune in next time for the SHOCKING Part II experience. Godspeed.

Dining Hall Update

Regretfully, I will not be corresponding in email any further with the dining staff, as I have been prompted to communicate with them via telephone regarding this matter. The email I recieved asking me to do this reads as follows:

Hello Oliver,
I forwarded your email to Carol Del Po, who is your accounts advisor and who can help you with this; she sent you an email, and, to help facilitate your request of "Please don't make me wade through miles of beaurocratic garbage to do this one simple thing" she asked you to call her directly. My advice: call her! Here is her number again: 831-459-IFEELBADPOSTINGTHERESTOFTHENUMBERFORSOMEREASON. Good luck!

Sincerely,

Jed Milroy

Now, oddly enough, Carol never sent me an email, or at least I never recieved one from her, but whatever. I got her number! WOOT, SCORE, I'M TOTALLY IN, DOOD! I mean... cool, I guess.

If our conversation is interesting enough I'll write about it, but it probably won't be. No matter, I did what I did and I'd do it again! I have no regrets! Actually, I've got one: The intern who drafted my original email misspelt "bureaucracy." I don't see a letter of recommendation in his future.

I will update with something this weekend regardless of what happens.

Another Letter!

Okay, here's the deal. Last Spring I applied for a seven day meal plan at the dining hall, which I've realized was stupid because I have an on-campus apartment and can (more or less) cook for myself now, or at least force my roommates do it for me at gun point.

Today I wrote a letter requesting to downgrade to the cheaper and much more reasonable 55 day meal plan, but after reading the Dining Services Web Site, I caught a whiff of an impending run in with the uniquely abominable bureaucracy that saturates the administration of the University of California. (I've had problems with it before, just read some of my previous stuff, especially, "The UC's Administration is Over Run With Souless Bureaucrats").
Well, through the following email, in which I request a meal plan downgrade, I decided I'd try to nip the growth of any red tape in the bud. Read on, Grasshopper!

To Whom it May Concern,

Hi there. Currently I am a junior living in the College 9 apartments who holds a 7 day meal plan. Over the past few weeks, I have come to realize that such an extensive plan is unnecessary, and would like to downgrade to a 55 day meal plan instead. If you are planning to acquiesce, read no further; just let me know if there's anything else I have to do.

If this is going to be more complicated, or in other words, if you plan on telling me I can't downgrade, keep reading.

Your web site reads, "Requests to downgrade meal plans will be reviewed on a case-by-case basis and approved for exceptional circumstances only." I assure you, sir or maddam, that this is a very exceptional case. Using mind control rays, the evil Bush Administration forced me to apply for a seven day plan last Spring against my own free will thanks to the Patriot Act and Military Recruiters on Campus. This was all part of a hair brained scheme to jump start the economy before the midterm elections. I was almost able to resist through sheer force of will power, however my girlfriend broke up with me and my need to eat massive amounts of greasy pizza when I'm depressed turned the cards in favor of the Dub'ya Mind Control Array.

If you doubt the validity of this letter, know only this: I do sincerely want to downgrade my meal plan. Please don't make me wade through miles of bureaucratic garbage to do this one simple thing. I've had to before, and it sure as heck ain't pleasant!

Thank you for your time,

Oliver M. Perez
Valued Customer of 2 Years.


P.S Seriously, don't make me jump through any hoops unless they lead directly to a downgrade. Thanks!

I'll post their response, hopefully it will be interesting.

Oh, and I assure you that everything in this letter is completely true, except the bit about the girlfriend. I've never had one; most girls can smell tiny penis from a mile away.

What?

The Designated Noob

Before I present the following letter which I composed roughly a year ago, allow me to provide a brief backstory.

Last year, some friends of mine created a group on facebook.com that was based entirely around drinking. I joined it grudgingly after being needled continuously to do so. However, once I finally gave in, I was annointed the position of "Designated N00b" by the club's esteemed creators, mostly because I virtually never drink myself stupid. This "promotion" lead me to submit my letter of resignation, which reads as follows:

To Whom it May Concern,

Ahem. As designated N00b, I have perpetually striven to avoid being n00besque when it comes to my drinking. Recently, I undertook a study to find out how to become a Respectable Drinker like the esteemed creator(s) of this group, who either collectively or individually decided to make me the "Designated N00b." I reaped a bountiful amount of knowledge while conducting my research, but unfortunately, it also brought me to the conclusion that I am simply not cut out to be the Manly-Very-Heterosexual Respectable- Drinker that the founders of this group have managed to become.

Still, for those among you who think you may have the potential to be as "MANLY" and "G" and "NOT GAY" as the guy(s) who designated me a n00b, I have compiled a list of the required drinking necessities. Once you have accomplished these things, which I in my infinitite noobity and homosexuality and unmanliness will never achieve, you will walk among the very CHAMPIONS OF ALCOHOL that created this site. Without further ado, here are a few things you need to do to become a Respectable Drinker and a True Heterosexual Manly Man:

1. Drink enough to start yelling everything you have to say.

2. Drink enough to find yourself and your opinions incredibly interesting and start babbling them to girls who must like you now because you’re drunk and incredibly interesting.

3. Drink enough to think nature photos of animals are hot girls making out. (In other words, drink enough to think animals are hot.)

4. Drink enough to start calling your friends faggots.

5. Drink enough to think you can walk through solid objects.

6. Chug a beer and a shot of vodka or five at 2:30 in the evening, just before class. When you get to the lecture hall, sit down in a chair that you didn’t realize already had someone sitting in it. Get the shit beat out of you.

7. Drink enough to claim that you’re not drunk.

8. Drink enough that you wake up next to a crack whore and a salmon. That’s right, a salmon.

9. Vomit. Everywhere. On the floor in the communal bathroom, on the bed, on that girl you like, on yourself, on the dog, on your left eyebrow, on the vomit you already vomited. Real men throw up.

10. Drink enough to pass out and have your slightly less drunk friends draw penises on your face. Real men have their faces covered in penises.

11. Follow every shot of hard liqour with orange soda as a chaser. And have your mommy cut the crust off your peanutbutter sandwhich while you're at it.

12. Drink enough to die. What a hero. What a man. I’ll remember you.

13. Drink enough to forget about items 1 through 11. If you’re lucky, you might even get drunk enough to forget item 12 and somehow return from the grave. Of course, the greatest thing about forgetting everything is that when you sober up, you’ll think you haven’t accomplished any of these things, thus giving you a goal for the next time you drink. You will always have a goal, and thus, your life will always have meaning!

That concludes my list, as well as my tenure here as the "Designated N00b" who never had the ball(z) or the MANLINESS to accomplish any of the above things. To those real men out there who have done these things, and to those who surely will, I am, and will always be, envious to the highest degree. I officially put forward my resignation. Thank you.

-Oliver M. Perez, Designated N00b.