Ahh. Thanksgiving.  When it comes to relaxing, eating good food, and watching football, there is no better holiday. While most people enjoy Thanksgiving for the obvious reasons, I find the silver lining in Turkey Day that is so much more pleasurable. In my opinion there is no better holiday than Thanksgiving because it is the best time to spend time with pretentious family members. Am I twisted for thinking that holidays are obligations to see family, whereas as most people think of them as opportunities to see relatives? Or am I just one of the few that will actually admit that spending time with family is more dreadful than it is comforting?

My immediate family went to Washington DC for Thanksgiving. I stayed behind because of the amount of work I needed do for school. I will say that I am very close to my siblings and to my mother and father, and I was disappointed to see them leave. For these purposes, when I refer to seeing family, I mean seeing the aunts, the uncles, the annoying cousins, and the wild in-laws that we all have grown to love, or, learned to love to hate.  For some reason, however, Thanksgiving allows all of the unspoken, spiteful relationships between family members to become speciously ignored, and perhaps that is why I love Thanksgiving.

Since I would not be spending Thanksgiving with my immediate family, my mother suggested that I go to my grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. Although she “suggested” that I make the 45-minute trip, it was tacitly implied that I more or less had to go. So when I arrived at my grandmother’s house on Thursday evening, I was not surprised to see my pompous aunts and uncles, my spoiled rotten cousin and my irritatingly, long-winded brother-in-law.  It was evident as soon as I walked through the door that everyone had on their holiday cheer facades. Typically I would have been welcomed with shady glances, conspicuous whispers, and a few casual hellos, whereas on Thursday I received immediate hugs, smiles, and seemingly warm greetings. I find it rather amusing to observe how family members hide their true character when the holidays roll around. There again, it seems as if its an obligation to act kindly towards others, rather than an expression of genuine care.

I could go into detail about my family members, but that would be downright superfluous. Point is, when the richest people in my family proclaim that they are thankful just for food to be on the table, something is wrong. Now I know the economy is bad, but a thanksgiving meal is like Ramen Noodles to them; they eat out at a nice restaurant at least four times a week. So for those in the family who are very grateful to have a hearty meal, it is kind of despicable to hear others say that. As for me, I thought the meal was delicious, but watching family members—so caught up in their own lives that they have no idea what goes on with family—act as if they are ideal relatives was much more tasteful.

Recently I have expressed interest in transferring schools for various reasons, but I realized this past weekend that I could be much worse off than I am now. With all due respect to the university mentioned in this blog, my opinions are derived from one weekend visit to the school. For all intensive purposes we will refer to the university I visited this past weekend as “School-X.”

This past week was excruciating. I have never felt so overwhelmed by tests and papers and projects in my life. Just so this blog doesn’t become a pity party, I’ll cut to the chase and say I made it through it, thankfully. So after I put it all behind me, I thought what could be a better way to blow off some steam than by paying a visit to my best friend at School-X.

Traditionally, School-X has a reputation of being a party school. My friend, a baseball player, is reputed as a partier himself. Before I say that I was astonished by what goes on at School-X, I must say that I should have been prepared for it. In actuality, I thought I was prepared for it because I was in desperate need of a college activity other than studying.

I arrived at School-X early Friday evening. By early, I mean before dinner-time, which where I come from is usually 6:00 PM. I know for a fact that no university has exams the week of Nov. 15, but after one stroll through the dorms, one would think that exams had just concluded. The place was a zoo—a zoo of intoxicated animals. And while they say it’s always five o’clock somewhere, everybody had been drinking “milk” since long before 5:00 PM based on the eastern US time zone. My friend proceeded to show me to his room where five guys were playing what appeared to be a game of basketball, except they were using ping-pong balls and multiple, little “baskets.”

As the night progressed, it became more and more evident that students at School-X really enjoy their college experience. I couldn’t help wondering if any of the students actually go to class, because by the looks of it, class didn’t seem to be the biggest priority for many people at School-X. While my conclusions are entirely inconclusive and somewhat demeaning, I understand that the kind of things I observed more than likely take place at every single school. However, in comparison to UNC, School-X has got us beat in the partying department. By a long shot.

Believe it or not, my weekend at School-X was quite fulfilling. It was interesting to go to a school as an outsider-looking-in and see what goes on. I often wonder how people perceive my school when they visit. One thing that I did discover upon returning to UNC is that on Sunday afternoon when most of School-X is recovering, our students are studying. I was proud when I looked through the study lounge window. I was proud to see scholars’ eyes concentrated on books, not being filled with clear-eyes. While I cannot cast judgment of School-X’s academia, I will say that UNC is a very solid school. For now, I’m perfectly fine where I’m at, where I have all the resources I need, where I can view rare book collections, and where I can balance having a good time and having a strong GPA.

My inspiration for this blog was watching my 8-year-old brother play in a baseball tournament this past weekend. He has came to every baseball game I have ever played in, but I have rarely had the opportunity to see him play. He has begged me to come to just one of his games for the past two months, and I finally had the chance to do so on Saturday. In his very first at-bat he glanced over in the stands to see if I had came and his reaction was priceless when he saw me. The very next pitch, he blasted a home-run over the left field fence. It was his first home-run ever. When he crossed home-plate, he had the most genuine smile I have ever seen on his face, possibly one of the most genuine smiles I have ever seen on anyone’s face. I thought to myself, I haven’t smiled like that in a long time.

Days when I used to have super-hero stories read to me have become nights where I read Freud before I go to sleep. Mornings when I would have a boy of cereal made for me have become mornings that I have to force myself to get up and go to class. I used to run around outside for hours, chasing dogs, birds, or even girls around the playground. Now, I may exercise three times a week at most and the girls, well, they’re much harder to catch.

While I was a smart little lad growing up, naturally I was much more ignorant about the world than I am now. And if ignorance is bliss, then perhaps that’s why being a kid was so fun. At the time, I thought I had everything in the world, but now I have realized how far I truly am from even coming close to what I want. I know what I want, but I’m not sure how to get there sometimes. I need end results, and while the ends may justify the means, nothing ever seems to go as planned anymore. When I was a kid, I never had to worry about where I’ll be in ten years, how will my choices affect my future, and what do I need to do in order to be successful. Eating chicken Mcnuggets, watching Toy Story and irritating my brothers was all part of a day’s work. Looking back, I never realized how good I really had it.

The point of this blog is not to reminisce about the good ol’ days nor is it to complain about all the responsibility that comes with growing up. In fact, I could write an entire blog about how much I enjoy being “grown up.” They say that the true mark of an intellectual is to be able to look at both sides of anything. When I looked at my brother’s face Saturday, I saw the beauty in being a kid. He thought hitting a home-run in front of a brother that he adores was the most glorious moment ever. I won a state championship, something I dreamt of throughout my childhood, and that moment will never leave me, but at the same time, I know it has little or no effect on my current life. Sometimes I just wish I could think similarly to my brother.

I like to use my blog space to write insightful, somewhat intelligent blogs. While this may not always be the case, it is something that I typically strive for. This particular blog will not be one of those blogs mentioned above. In actuality, if you are intending to read something worth your time, do not proceed any further, because if there ever was I time that I needed to use my blog for something other than a scholarly discourse, that time would be now. So, without further ado, I am about to rant, and rant hard.

I hate hypocrisy. On second thought, I don’t hate hypocrisy—I abhor hypocrisy. I detest hypocrisy. But as much as I am repulsed by it, I have determined that hypocrites and hypocritical people are as common as colds. It’s kind of like when your best friend says that cheating is horrible, but then tries to hook-up with your own girlfriend, even though he is dating someone himself. It’s kind of like when an RA reports that underage drinking occurred in your room, then you discover that she downs wine like it’s coming from the fountain of youth. On top of that, she’s 19. It’s kind of like your roommate asking you to turn down John Mayer while he plays Halo and then he decides he wants to blare Metallica while you study for a mid-term. In other words, hypocrisy kind of sucks.

If the preceding paragraph was not an indicator that I’m somewhat stressed, trust me, it gets worse. My best friend continues to ring my phone off the hook while my girlfriend has made no effort to talk to me. But oh yeah, she has done nothing wrong, is free of guilt and doesn’t have a thing to tell me. I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but something just doesn’t feel right. While underage drinking did occur in my dorm room, I did not partake in college students’ favorite extracurricular activity. Nevertheless, I took the fall for most of the guys in the room because I was the only sober guy that talked to the RA. She proceeded to write down my name, my PID, and an evaluation of the state of the room. It was trashed. So I got reprimanded. There is one highlight of all this though. My roommate and I are super-competitive when it comes to grades (we went to high school together) and I beat him on the same mid-term. He shouldn’t have been blasting music all night long!

Then again, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference if he had have done better than my 54. I love college.

I like to think that I have very good taste in music. Some of my closest peers would beg to differ, but in my opinion, they just can’t appreciate the nuances that I discover in every genre.  It’s easy for a person to have a preference towards one particular type of music, for instance soft rock, alternative, or country, but it’s much more difficult to be able to like all categories of music. If you were to take a scroll down my iTunes, you would find a vast gamut of musical selections with anything from Paramore to George Strait.  At this very moment, I am on a rap fix, which is somewhat uncharacteristic of me, but I have discovered that some rap artists are extremely talented.

I will say that I used to be cynical of the rapping industry. Like most other rap critics, I was appalled by how vulgar rap songs were. Every other word was an expletive or every other line degraded women in a manner that sounded more terrible than the previous reference. If that wasn’t bad enough, my mom would convince me that all the drug insinuations were suggestions about candy.

Fast forward about six years and my impression of rap is immensely disparate to what it was in my pre-adolescent years. When I listen to rap now, I find that many artists are masterful lyricists. If you ever wanted an English lesson in similes, metaphors, or analogies, you wouldn’t have to look any further than rap music. While the content may or may not be appropriate for some courses, I will assure that the concept is extremely apparent.

Perhaps the largest contrast between the rap industry now and the rap industry of yesteryear is that the artists are from a much different generation. In the past, rappers would rap about gang business, altercations with cops, sex, drugs, or all of the above. The most successful rappers were idolized for their ability to expose the struggles of life on the streets. While some of today’s rap material pertains to those earlier themes, the focus is more about overcoming life on the streets, for instance, the ascent to fame and stardom. What I find most intriguing, however, is that multiple rap artists nowadays are well educated as well as gifted intellectually. The best current example is Wayne Carter, best known as Lil Wayne in the rap business. While many people view him as a thug, they fail to realize that he has a psychology degree from the University of Texas-Austin. Another big name that has garnered much adversity in the media recently is Kanye West. But despite how people view them, both Wayne and West use their music to represent their beliefs or thoughts. Many of their songs are socially, historically, or politically loaded.

It can be said that the 90’s was the best generation for music. Considering my favorite genre is alternative, I would most likely concur.  Nevertheless, all types of music appeal to me and I respect anyone who has the ability to write meaningful, harmonious words and lyrics. Whether it’s metal, jazz, or rap, at some point everybody should try and listen to music for what it means rather than for how it sounds.

I am the ultimate sports fan.  I love anything that remotely resembles a ball, goal, or jersey.  There is nothing sweeter than the taste of victory, but I can be respectful in defeat.  I love being an athlete and competing, but I also enjoy being able to watch the action unfold as a spectator.  I have realized both ends of the spectrum can be very rewarding.  There are world-class athletes, and there are also first-rate fans.  There are devoted, passionate athletes, and there are zealous, fervent fans.  Unfortunately, too much of anything can become unnecessary, and at times, downright ridiculous.  Just as an athlete takes steroids to enhance his performance, a fan does something excessive to take away from an otherwise fine experience.

First of all, a fanatic is not a moniker for a fan. In actuality, a fanatic is the anti-fan. Team spirit does not necessitate screaming obscenities. Team spirit does not encompass calling the opposing team vulgar names, including references to the female reproductive organs as well as homosexuals.  Team spirit does not require a person to go berserk or become abusive when the adversary scores. Regardless, there is always at least one person at a sporting event that embodies all three of the aforementioned characteristics.  It just so happened that at the FSU vs. UNC game on Thursday, I stood right beside that one person.

I was anticipating the football game against the Seminoles of Florida State all week.  What kind of sports fan would not want to attend a nationally-televised football game against a perennial powerhouse? I went to the stadium early to claim some good seats.  I knew I made a good decision when my entire section filled-up merely twenty minutes later. The guy standing next to me seemed to be just as eager as I was.  Once the game started, however, I realized that eager was a drastic understatement.

When Carolina scored a touchdown on its opening drive, the whole crowd erupted. Instead of high-fiving and clapping like any other normal fan, my neighbor decided to slap his nearest friends in the face. He turned to me, but resorted to punching my outstretched fist. It was blatant that he was intoxicated, but over the course of the game he became belligerent. Every other word was an expletive, and he had to be reproved by security multiple times. When Florida State scored a touchdown, his eyes became beacons of rage. I’m sure the alcohol contributed to the redness in his eyes, but his countenance appeared furious. He proclaimed his disgust for Carolina’s fan base; obviously, not everyone in the stadium was as fanatical or outrageous as him.   Initially I thought his antics, although inappropriate, were quite entertaining.  That feeling changed when he spilt drink on me, not once, but twice. Being the kind person that I am, I asked him to leave with just two words—“[Fudge] off!”

I was highly disappointed when UNC managed to squander away a substantial lead and suffer a devastating lost to the hands of FSU. However, I was more disgusted by the way the guy beside me conducted himself before, during, and after the game. It was the fanatic, not the game, that left a bad taste in my mouth this time.

I have to say Alanis Morrissette was really on to something when she wrote her hit single “Ironic.” Whether it’s rain on your wedding, a free ride when you’re already late, or some good advice that you just didn’t take, there is a good chance that you can find irony in your life. My most recent, unfortunate collision with irony occurred Saturday.

Unless all of my fellow English classmates have experienced amnesia or other cognitive deficits in recent weeks, I think it is safe to say that they all remember their unit one speech projects.  I can certainly remember mine—it was about concussions.  In my speech, I talked about the prevalence of concussions as well as the serious effects they can implicate.  I referred to statistics and displayed images to illustrate the significance of concussions. I made sure to highlight why research regarding concussions needed to be developed and what type of safety precautions should be implemented. But even after my speech, and as I much as I hate to say this, I never thought I would be a victim of yet another concussion.  Well, I was wrong.

My Saturday, which I was really anticipating being a good one, consisted of six hours in the hospital.  While playing in a baseball scrimmage, a pointless scrimmage at that, I was drilled in the head with an 85 m.p.h pitch. I had no time to react as I watched the pitch coming straight towards me.

There was a loud smack, the sound of the ball colliding with my head, and then darkness—pitch black darkness.

I could feel a large amount of warm liquid flowing down my face when I awoke thirty seconds later.  I’m not afraid to say that I shed a few tears, but I was immediately able to recognize that the liquid was no was no normal tear duct fluid.  I felt dizzy, nauseated, and disoriented, all indicators of a concussion that I noted in my speech a few weeks earlier.

I was taken over to student health services where the nurse practitioner refused to apply stitches to two lacerations above my left eye.  She thought that the doctors at the emergency room would be better suited for the procedure.  So without further a due, I was escorted over to the emergency room at UNC Hospital.  Five hours, eight stitches, and a bunch of pills later, I was released and allowed to return to my dorm room.

I have found that it is very difficult to focus, making typing this blog very annoying. In addition, I have had trouble recalling events from the past few days.  My girlfriend called this afternoon and wanted to have a recap of our week. How ironic?  I have tried to study, but have had little success.  Let’s just say, I am not looking forward to my last two mid-terms.  If there is one thing that I can say, however, it’s that if I didn’t know the repercussions of concussions before, I sure as hell know them now. Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?

I got hypnotized on Thursday night.  I was not under the influence of alcohol. I was not taking any narcotics nor was I in a strip-club listening to Akon’s hit song.  I was hypnotized, legitimately hypnotized—by a real hypnotist.  And if you don’t believe anything else I ever say, believe me when I say hypnotism is real. It’s authentic. It’s genuine.  It’s bona fide one-hundred percent.

Let me start out by saying that if you ever have an opportunity to get hypnotized, by all means, you need to try it. I used to be very cynical about hypnotism. I thought that no one could “control” my mind.  After this past Thursday, I want to get hypnotized every chance that I can. I should also say that if you are easily embarrassed, maybe hypnotism isn’t the thing for you, but hypnotism can be likened to being drunk—it is the perfect alibi, except that being hypnotized is a much more justifiable reason to explain things, and not only that, chances are that you will not vomit, get naked, or harm yourself or anyone else when hypnotized.

I can vaguely remember what I did when I was hypnotized, but my friends captured enough videos to help me put the pieces together.  I was a contestant in an international butt shaking contest.  I performed a very entertaining “dance” to the tune of Michael Jackson’s “Beat It.”  Let’s just say, the name of the song says it all. I competed in an all-female-turned-male body building contest.   Out of all the mythical creatures I could be, I turned into a hypogriff, and I don’t even know what the heck a hypogriff is!  To make things even more interesting, I had to illustrate the “mating dance” of a hypogriff.   Needless to say, I was entirely unaware that all this was going on at the time.  My whole body was numb. I was oblivious to the rest of the world, except for the voice and visual commands of the hypnotist.  Do not ask me how it works; hypnotism is way above my head.  What I can tell you is that being hypnotized was euphoric.  It was unlike anything I have ever experienced.

Another exhilarating aspect of my hypnotic experience was how I felt afterwards.  According to the hypnotist, one hour of hypnosis is equivalent to eight hours of sleep.  When I awoke and became cognizant again, I felt extremely energized. I was ready to run a marathon. In fact, I ended up pulling an all-nighter.  I definitely think getting hypnotized would be a wonderful tactic to use before studying for a test.

Everyone has heard the saying, “when one door closes, another one opens.” I imagine there are many interpretations of this common idiom, but my personal spin on it is that when something unpleasant happens, there is an equally better or favorable thing that happens sooner or later.  The phrase obviously has an optimistic connotation, but the converse seems just as valid, “when one door opens, another one closes.”  It seems analogous to the Ying-Yang theory—that the forces of good and evil exist collectively and help to retain the balance in the universe—and after this past week, I’m not so sure that I’m not a believer.

I knew I was in for a whirl of a week when I missed my Monday-morning chemistry class.  Not only did my alarm fail to go off, but my roommate’s did also.  The positive outcome of missing class was that I was able to catch-up on some much needed sleep.  I have gotten up at 7 AM every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday since I’ve been here—except for this past Monday.   So it goes without saying that we took five pages of notes when typically it’s only two or three.

My day started to turn around when I found out how I did on my first geology exam.  My elation was short-lived, however, when during class I decided to look up the grade of my lab report.  It was far less promising, to say the least.

Tuesdays are typically wonderful days for me; I do not have any classes and usually I am very productive.  This past Tuesday, I was more sloth-like than worker-bee-esque. I felt apathetic and unenthused towards school.  I consider myself a motivated individual so it was a weird dichotomy for me.  I did successfully complete 15 Sporcle quizzes, so I felt as if I accomplished something.

The end of the week provided the biggest swing of ups and downs.  I was terrified about a drama mid-term that I studied for ever-so-slightly.  I was confident about how English was going. As it turns out, I aced the drama test.  Unfortunately, I never even realized an assignment was due in English class on Friday.  It’s funny how things work out.

From the best I can tell, college is going to have its ebbs and flows.  Just when I things are going my way, something makes me think otherwise.  When I’m having a rough time, something superb occurs.  I guess that’s life. For now, I’ll keep waiting for opportunity, good or bad, to come knocking.

I have to admit I entirely forgot about writing this blog. Now here it is 10:30 on Sunday night and I am having terrible difficulty trying to think of topics to write about.  I have since collaborated with my roommate, two suitemates, and two other friends to decide what to write about.  The consensus is that this blog should discuss all the “off-the-wall” topics that were suggested.

Topic #1: Eco-friendly condoms

The first suggestion to blog about was none other than eco-friendly condoms.  First of all, I’m not even sure if these things exist.  Apparently, my suitemate thought the sticker above my bed that reads “Just Wear It,” would be a great blog topic.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about “going green,” but trying to make eco-friendly condoms just seems absurd.  Condoms are a big enough hassle as it is.

Topic #2:  Smog

All the environmental talk seems to catch on fast.  I don’t know very much about smog.  I have asthma so it’s a hazard to my lungs, but I guess that can be said for just about every person in the world, regardless of whether they have asthma or not.  My suitemate, who transferred from the University of Southern California (The REAL “USC”), says smog is large problem in Los Angeles.  My roommate, who is a walking encyclopedia of useless knowledge, says that China has the worst smog problem in the world.

Topic #3:  Dogs

Rhyming does wonders for trying to generate blog topics.  All my cohorts seem to think they are going to sign million-dollar deals with rapping labels.  “Dogs” obviously rhymes with smog. I happen to have three dogs.  To be perfectly honest, I don’t like either one of them.  I wish I had a Dalmatian.  I often wonder why dogs are considered “a man’s best friend.”

Topic #4:  Sharpies

Sharpies are multifunctional.  I have a huge “Wall of Fame” in my room.  Every time someone comes in my room, he or she has to sign my wall.  I showed my girlfriend my wall via skype one night and she wasn’t too happy.  She said all the Sharpie colors were very pretty though.  My friend says that Sharpies can write on any surface.  She even went as far to say that you could probably use a Sharpie to write on the aforementioned eco-friendly condoms.  I always wanted to do that—sign a condom and keep it as a memorandum. Classy, very classy.