If you were to hop on a plane and fly east, across the Atlantic Ocean, past France, Germany and Poland, you would hit one of the smallest, most ambiguous, least-understood countries in Eastern Europe: Latvia. You have never heard of this Baltic state? You’re in good company, for I cannot count how many times in my life that I have had to explain to friends where my ancestors are from, what language I speak to my dad over the phone, and why I disappear for six weeks every summer to be with kids across America and Canada and dress up in funny, multicolored woolen costumes in the blazing summer heat and dance to accordions playing upbeat, twangy foreign music.
To the few members of the elite “Of Course We Know About Latvia” group: You may roll your eyes and nod your heads in offended exasperation, but be wary. You may know Latvia was under Soviet control, that it is a Baltic state, or that the girls are pretty and blonde. While all of the above is true—especially the pretty, blonde girls part—few people understand what it actually means to be Latvian. Being Latvian isn’t about having high cheekbones and grandparents with thick accents. Latvians are proud—not of themselves as individuals, but as a whole, a people. For overcoming the rule of the Soviet Union after 50 years, we are proud of the country and the culture we struggled, succeeded, and are continuing to preserve. That Latvian pride has transferred from generation to generation, and it is what makes us the steadfast, determined group of people that we are today.
How do I meet a Latvian? Latvians are scattered throughout America and Canada, so, in order to befriend a Latvian, you simply have to know what to look for. First, you must find a surname that looks foreign, usually consisting of weird characters and ending in “-iņš” (“Kalniņš,” “Bērziņš,” and “Ozoliņš” are all strong examples). Once you have established that the last name is arguably Latvian, you approach (cautiously—a Latvian may be a proud individual, but is not always inclined for probing questions) and ask the candidate how he feels about pork, sauerkraut, and broiled potatoes. Only a true-blooded Latvian will swell with pride and exclaim, “My people invented that meal!”
What brings such a small, scattered group of people together? Latvians have an innate need to stick together. When our grandparents came over during the communist invasion, all they had were each other. They established communities all over America, from New York to California, and raised their families in cultural emersion. They founded Latvian schools, churches, and summer camps for their kids who, in turn, sought out other Latvians, married each other, and raised our generation of Latvians. We go to the same summer camps, Latvian schools, and churches built by our grandparents and forge friendships with the kids of our parents’ best childhood friends. (We often end up dating our parents’ camp sweethearts!) We have been raised to value the meaning of a community. Latvians across the U.S. and Canada travel far and wide to be together, whether it be for parties, confirmations (which end in parties), or family functions (which are parties in and of themselves). Because we are so widely dispersed, it is not unusual for Latvians to spend twice as much time traveling as actually being with each other.
What do Latvians do when they’re together? We may be a small group of people, but when you walk in on a roomful of Latvians, the crowd seems bigger than Woodstock. The Latvian pride fills the crowded room and resides among the beer bottles and pīrāgi—a strictly-Latvian snack concocted of chopped bacon and onions baked in a fluffy, golden-brown, doughy bread. Latvian women are proud of their pīrāgi and refuse to reveal their secret recipes to each other; even family members understand the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. Nowhere does “until death do us part” ring truer than among the Latvian grandmothers of our generation and their pīrāgi recipes.
Although food is a central focal point at Latvian get-togethers, we bond over more than Yuengling Lagers and sauerkraut. Latvians are, were, and always will be singers. Our grandparents crossed the Atlantic with nothing more than the songs in their heads—the only part of their identity not taken away by the Soviets. These ancient, traditional folk songs (ranging in theme from wandering through one’s field with his horse to “drinking from the beer glass now, because when we’re old, water will have to do”) have been passed down through generations, and when Latvians congregate, a few hours of steadfast singing is inevitable. And everyone—from 7-year-old children to 95-year-old grandparents—proudly joins in.
After the songs are extinguished, Latvians push away the tables and chairs, grab partners, and dance. Like our folksongs, the traditional folk dances have been passed down through the generations. We can polka around in circles for hours—Latvians seem to have an unnaturally high tolerance for dizziness—and when we finally sit back down, panting and sweating, we smile, simply unable to imagine what the unfortunate, non-Latvian does for fun.
I think I have 12% Latvian in me; am I considered a Latvian? We Latvians have various standards for considering someone “One of Us.” Some believe it doesn’t matter how little maroon and white blood one has flowing through his veins, while others, especially those of the earlier generations, only consider full-blooded Latvians a part of the community. Personally, I am inclined to disagree with the latter view, as I am only half-Latvian. You are probably thinking, Only half? What does she know about all this Latvian stuff? To me, it is unimportant how much Latvian you have in you; what matters is what you do with it. Sure, you can join one of the many “Latvians Unite!” Facebook groups and attend the massive annual parties but does that make you Latvian? Some say you are only Latvian if you attended Saturday schools and speak the language fluently. While that is undeniably a major part of being Latvian, I believe it is more than that.
To be a true-blooded Latvian, you must care. You must care for your country’s history. You must care for your grandparents and parents, and appreciate the effort they made to raise you in a Latvian family. Most of all, you must care about the future. True Latvians will do anything and everything in their power to preserve their heritage. They will raise their children to speak the language and appreciate the culture, and to raise their children the same way. The Latvian population is slowly decreasing with each generation, but we are striving to brighten our future.
I have a shirt that reads: “Be kind to a Latvian—we’re an endangered species.” As our numbers decrease, our pride increases. Our Latvian pride alone is what will save us from extinction. That Latvian pride is what makes a Latvian truly a Latvian.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
A Greek Guide to Guys at the Gym
I had to write this for my English 015 class Freshman year...it's one of my favorite essays I've ever written.
Exploring the White Building for the first time jolts the naïve, wide-eyed Penn State freshman. The sudden immersion into a jungle of clanking machinery, whizzing belts, and glaring televisions disorients to the point of disturbance. Blinking a few times helps cushion the blow; however, before your startled eyes finish adjusting, you see them. Scattered everywhere like grains of rice on the kitchen floor of a cheap Chinese buffet, they permeate the room in a cloud of sweat, muscle, and heart-pounding chauvinism. You have spotted the Guys At The Gym.
They prowl around a forest of dangerous-looking weights and pulleys like beasts stalking unsuspecting prey. However, as in the animal kingdom, not all beasts are created equal. Each one has his own place, and, if you know what to look for and how to distinguish the characteristics, you can easily figure out which Guy At The Gym belongs to which category.
You will most likely first spot the Alpha Male. This male owns the place and will not hesitate to show it. He struts around like a peacock, displaying his immense, bulging muscles as the multicolored bird displays his beautiful feathers. These muscles induce gawking, envy, and squeals from spandex-clad, admiring girls. The Alpha Male’s shoulders span close to twice the width of his narrow waist (a seemingly anatomically impossible task), yet he maintains perfect balance as he confidently parades from one muscle-building machine to the next. Note: The Alpha Male parades solo. He needs no companion besides his own reflection in the glass doors separating the workout room from the weight room.
Along with the many confident, inhumanely strong men at the gym come several other characteristics to look for when distinguishing the Alpha Male. The most obvious tell-tale sign of this guy is the way he dresses. Never caught dead without a wife beater or carefully cut t-shirt, he guarantees his audience a display of every vein in his basketball-sized biceps working to its maximum capacity. His shorts always hang a little too low, but do not fall off. (The Alpha Male makes sure not to fall victim to the evil clutches of gravity, a dead giveaway of the complete newbie.) His sneakers are tied a little too loosely, as if to say, “I don’t need my shoes tied tight to look tight, dawg.”
If the Alpha qualities are still a little ambiguous, you must observe further details. First of all, look for “The Chain.” This status symbol, a simple gold chain around his trunk-like neck, gives the Alpha Male the confident swagger he so competently uses to establish his high rank at the gym. When this accessory has a symbol that reveals the Alpha Male’s religion—the Star of David or crucifix, for example—look out, because this particular Alpha is a man of faith, far above the lost “little people.” Of course, feeling confident in one’s religion is a perfectly admirable trait. However, one cannot help but wonder whether his particular denomination encourages pride and vanity, and, unfortunately, this discrepancy discredits the Alpha’s devout ways.
In addition to what he wears, what he carries helps determine a bona fide Alpha Male. The Alpha Male, obviously the most “hard core” athlete in the place, needs the most water. He needs so much nourishment, in fact, that a normal, 24-ounce water bottle miserably fails to support his oversized body. Thus, he carries a gallon. Seeing him take a swig out of the enormous jug makes you admire him and loathe him at the same time—exactly the reaction the Alpha Male desires. He loves the jealousy of the other, subpar boys, and, clearly, a gallon-sized jug of water perfectly and efficiently ignites green envy.
The Alpha Male does not carry an iPod. Far too busy juggling his massive weights (bigger than the head of a full-grown lion), he does not bother with the annoyance of music. The Alpha’s sole auditory motivation comes from the sound of his own grunts piercing through the muggy air. Once in a while, you will hear the less-common “sssssss-ah!” as the Alpha struggles to lift his final barbell. Hear this loud, snake-like noise, and you know you have spotted the creature known as the Alpha Male.
The next type of Guy At The Gym to watch for is the poor, insecure Beta Male. Much like Cinderella’s ugly twin sister, the jealous Beta Male hopes to fool everyone into believing that he belongs to the Alpha category. A chameleon in the weight room, after careful, scrutinizing observation of the Alpha Male, Beta can camouflage himself to look like one. Many Penn State freshmen mistake the Beta Male for an Alpha—a common yet fatal blunder. While the Alpha’s ego swells to the point of unattractiveness, the Beta’s complete lack of confidence shrinks to the point where you just want to slap him.
One of the unique, identifying features of the Beta Male falls in his walk. He lacks the easy swagger of the Alpha Male, yet tries to carry himself in a confident manner. Unfortunately, his shifting eyes constantly searching for an audience immediately give away his subordinate status. He may as well wear a sign that confesses: “I am a total and complete wannabe, but am trying really hard to make you to think I’m cool.”
The Beta Male’s position in the cardio room also indicates his status. It takes little to make the Beta feel insecure: One or two Alpha Males on treadmills will immediately rush warning signals to the Beta’s ego. In such cases, the Beta Male will always use the machine farthest away, as he refuses to risk comparison to the “Kings” of the gym. He fears scorn for his incompetence, and quickly tries to dispel any possible inkling that he may be weak or vulnerable to imperfection. This is the Beta’s largest flaw: self-doubt ineffectually disguised as confidence.
Because of their need of constant encouragement, Beta Males, unlike our solo Alpha, travel in packs, usually of three. This method of leashing boosts the Beta’s ego. However, this confidence booster only works if the Beta Male considers himself, to quote Kanye, “harder, better, faster, and stronger” than his buddies. If not, he would rather pump iron solo, as his delicate self-esteem can handle little pressure before a dangerously drastic drop.
The polar opposite of the Beta Male comes in the form of the Gamma Male. His characteristically laid-back manner immediately attracts fellow gym members, compelling complete strangers to approach and make conversation. Unlike in the previous two types, the Gamma Male’s appearance varies drastically among the members—a refreshing break from the clones of the Alpha and Beta species. The Gamma Male usually wears a t-shirt, workout shorts, and running shoes tied tightly around white ankle socks—a modest appearance reflecting the Gamma species’ overall unassuming nature. However, I once spotted a Gamma running the treadmill, sporting Chuck Taylor All-Star high-tops—an old-school style reminiscent of basketball players in the 1920s.
Like the Beta Male, the Gamma travels with buddies, and therefore, one must learn how to distinguish one group from the other. The Beta Male seeks competition and praise from his workout partners, whereas Gammas congregate merely for the social aspect. They joke about their physically subordinate bodies, poking fun at their not-so toned abs and measly arm muscles—-self-deprecation at its finest. Of course, you may occasionally hear a Beta Male criticizing himself. In such cases, it is in your best interest to remember the difference between confidently poking fun at oneself and “fishing for compliments:” a commonly-used tactic among teenage girls who seek adamant disagreement about their physical shortcomings, thus boosting their confidence and satisfying their compliment cravings. The Beta Male who feels especially inferior that day uses this fishing method to his full advantage. Gammas never expect objection to their jokes, and encourage agreement.
This ability to laugh at himself marks the Gamma’s finest quality: confidence. He shows his security easily, yet gracefully avoids any mark of arrogance. He has successfully perfected the “Goldilocks”—just the right amount of confidence mixed with the exact amount of humility. Not too big, not too little. Just right. Because Gamma Males’ physical appearances can range anywhere from McLovin to Seth, this confidence is the most important feature of the Gamma. While confidence is sometimes difficult to trace in Beta Males (and, conversely, knocks you off your feet in an Alpha), the security of a Gamma Male seems to radiate off his body as strongly as the stench of sweat emanates from the dripping weight-lifters.
The Gamma Male’s friendly, helpful manner makes him the most approachable. Because he can readily admit to needing a hand with a machine, he has no problem with helping others. Struggling with a new piece of equipment, I knew I needed help. After a quick sweep of the surrounding area, I spotted an Alpha pumping iron, a Beta watching him enviously, and a Gamma, with his friends, laughing hysterically at the thought of even attempting to lift such a massive piece of metal. I knew that the Alpha would scorn and laugh at my ignorance, and that the Beta, pretending to know everything, would give me faulty yet plausibly accurate information. Thus, I approached the small group of Gamma Males and, as soon as I indicated that I needed help, the four of them rushed over to explain. The Gamma, a sensitive creature (unlike the Alpha), shares compassion with someone who strives to learn the intricacies of a new piece of equipment. Although he may not always approach the struggling gym member, he jumps at the opportunity to help when asked.
This eagerness to interact with and help others marks the Gamma Male’s candidacy for an excellent workout buddy. He uses competition to his advantage, yet doesn’t lose sleep if his partner runs .4 miles per hour faster than he can. His helpful encouragement makes working out at the gym—a usual trepidation for most new exercisers—fun and entertaining. Because of his extroverted personality, your relationship with a Gamma may evolve into more than just a gym partnership.
Now that you have established a firm understanding of the arrogant Alpha, wannabe Beta and go-to Gamma, you are ready to apply this knowledge outside the gym, anywhere on campus and beyond. The Alpha will always be the narcissist, trying to impress the girls with his perfectly-styled crew cuts and bulging biceps. The Beta Male will constantly attempt to impress girls and guys alike, failing miserably in his effort. The male you want to find and befriend is the trusty, likeable Gamma. His confidence outside matches that in the gym, and a friendship or relationship forged with a Gamma Male guarantees to last a long time.
Exploring the White Building for the first time jolts the naïve, wide-eyed Penn State freshman. The sudden immersion into a jungle of clanking machinery, whizzing belts, and glaring televisions disorients to the point of disturbance. Blinking a few times helps cushion the blow; however, before your startled eyes finish adjusting, you see them. Scattered everywhere like grains of rice on the kitchen floor of a cheap Chinese buffet, they permeate the room in a cloud of sweat, muscle, and heart-pounding chauvinism. You have spotted the Guys At The Gym.
They prowl around a forest of dangerous-looking weights and pulleys like beasts stalking unsuspecting prey. However, as in the animal kingdom, not all beasts are created equal. Each one has his own place, and, if you know what to look for and how to distinguish the characteristics, you can easily figure out which Guy At The Gym belongs to which category.
You will most likely first spot the Alpha Male. This male owns the place and will not hesitate to show it. He struts around like a peacock, displaying his immense, bulging muscles as the multicolored bird displays his beautiful feathers. These muscles induce gawking, envy, and squeals from spandex-clad, admiring girls. The Alpha Male’s shoulders span close to twice the width of his narrow waist (a seemingly anatomically impossible task), yet he maintains perfect balance as he confidently parades from one muscle-building machine to the next. Note: The Alpha Male parades solo. He needs no companion besides his own reflection in the glass doors separating the workout room from the weight room.
Along with the many confident, inhumanely strong men at the gym come several other characteristics to look for when distinguishing the Alpha Male. The most obvious tell-tale sign of this guy is the way he dresses. Never caught dead without a wife beater or carefully cut t-shirt, he guarantees his audience a display of every vein in his basketball-sized biceps working to its maximum capacity. His shorts always hang a little too low, but do not fall off. (The Alpha Male makes sure not to fall victim to the evil clutches of gravity, a dead giveaway of the complete newbie.) His sneakers are tied a little too loosely, as if to say, “I don’t need my shoes tied tight to look tight, dawg.”
If the Alpha qualities are still a little ambiguous, you must observe further details. First of all, look for “The Chain.” This status symbol, a simple gold chain around his trunk-like neck, gives the Alpha Male the confident swagger he so competently uses to establish his high rank at the gym. When this accessory has a symbol that reveals the Alpha Male’s religion—the Star of David or crucifix, for example—look out, because this particular Alpha is a man of faith, far above the lost “little people.” Of course, feeling confident in one’s religion is a perfectly admirable trait. However, one cannot help but wonder whether his particular denomination encourages pride and vanity, and, unfortunately, this discrepancy discredits the Alpha’s devout ways.
In addition to what he wears, what he carries helps determine a bona fide Alpha Male. The Alpha Male, obviously the most “hard core” athlete in the place, needs the most water. He needs so much nourishment, in fact, that a normal, 24-ounce water bottle miserably fails to support his oversized body. Thus, he carries a gallon. Seeing him take a swig out of the enormous jug makes you admire him and loathe him at the same time—exactly the reaction the Alpha Male desires. He loves the jealousy of the other, subpar boys, and, clearly, a gallon-sized jug of water perfectly and efficiently ignites green envy.
The Alpha Male does not carry an iPod. Far too busy juggling his massive weights (bigger than the head of a full-grown lion), he does not bother with the annoyance of music. The Alpha’s sole auditory motivation comes from the sound of his own grunts piercing through the muggy air. Once in a while, you will hear the less-common “sssssss-ah!” as the Alpha struggles to lift his final barbell. Hear this loud, snake-like noise, and you know you have spotted the creature known as the Alpha Male.
The next type of Guy At The Gym to watch for is the poor, insecure Beta Male. Much like Cinderella’s ugly twin sister, the jealous Beta Male hopes to fool everyone into believing that he belongs to the Alpha category. A chameleon in the weight room, after careful, scrutinizing observation of the Alpha Male, Beta can camouflage himself to look like one. Many Penn State freshmen mistake the Beta Male for an Alpha—a common yet fatal blunder. While the Alpha’s ego swells to the point of unattractiveness, the Beta’s complete lack of confidence shrinks to the point where you just want to slap him.
One of the unique, identifying features of the Beta Male falls in his walk. He lacks the easy swagger of the Alpha Male, yet tries to carry himself in a confident manner. Unfortunately, his shifting eyes constantly searching for an audience immediately give away his subordinate status. He may as well wear a sign that confesses: “I am a total and complete wannabe, but am trying really hard to make you to think I’m cool.”
The Beta Male’s position in the cardio room also indicates his status. It takes little to make the Beta feel insecure: One or two Alpha Males on treadmills will immediately rush warning signals to the Beta’s ego. In such cases, the Beta Male will always use the machine farthest away, as he refuses to risk comparison to the “Kings” of the gym. He fears scorn for his incompetence, and quickly tries to dispel any possible inkling that he may be weak or vulnerable to imperfection. This is the Beta’s largest flaw: self-doubt ineffectually disguised as confidence.
Because of their need of constant encouragement, Beta Males, unlike our solo Alpha, travel in packs, usually of three. This method of leashing boosts the Beta’s ego. However, this confidence booster only works if the Beta Male considers himself, to quote Kanye, “harder, better, faster, and stronger” than his buddies. If not, he would rather pump iron solo, as his delicate self-esteem can handle little pressure before a dangerously drastic drop.
The polar opposite of the Beta Male comes in the form of the Gamma Male. His characteristically laid-back manner immediately attracts fellow gym members, compelling complete strangers to approach and make conversation. Unlike in the previous two types, the Gamma Male’s appearance varies drastically among the members—a refreshing break from the clones of the Alpha and Beta species. The Gamma Male usually wears a t-shirt, workout shorts, and running shoes tied tightly around white ankle socks—a modest appearance reflecting the Gamma species’ overall unassuming nature. However, I once spotted a Gamma running the treadmill, sporting Chuck Taylor All-Star high-tops—an old-school style reminiscent of basketball players in the 1920s.
Like the Beta Male, the Gamma travels with buddies, and therefore, one must learn how to distinguish one group from the other. The Beta Male seeks competition and praise from his workout partners, whereas Gammas congregate merely for the social aspect. They joke about their physically subordinate bodies, poking fun at their not-so toned abs and measly arm muscles—-self-deprecation at its finest. Of course, you may occasionally hear a Beta Male criticizing himself. In such cases, it is in your best interest to remember the difference between confidently poking fun at oneself and “fishing for compliments:” a commonly-used tactic among teenage girls who seek adamant disagreement about their physical shortcomings, thus boosting their confidence and satisfying their compliment cravings. The Beta Male who feels especially inferior that day uses this fishing method to his full advantage. Gammas never expect objection to their jokes, and encourage agreement.
This ability to laugh at himself marks the Gamma’s finest quality: confidence. He shows his security easily, yet gracefully avoids any mark of arrogance. He has successfully perfected the “Goldilocks”—just the right amount of confidence mixed with the exact amount of humility. Not too big, not too little. Just right. Because Gamma Males’ physical appearances can range anywhere from McLovin to Seth, this confidence is the most important feature of the Gamma. While confidence is sometimes difficult to trace in Beta Males (and, conversely, knocks you off your feet in an Alpha), the security of a Gamma Male seems to radiate off his body as strongly as the stench of sweat emanates from the dripping weight-lifters.
The Gamma Male’s friendly, helpful manner makes him the most approachable. Because he can readily admit to needing a hand with a machine, he has no problem with helping others. Struggling with a new piece of equipment, I knew I needed help. After a quick sweep of the surrounding area, I spotted an Alpha pumping iron, a Beta watching him enviously, and a Gamma, with his friends, laughing hysterically at the thought of even attempting to lift such a massive piece of metal. I knew that the Alpha would scorn and laugh at my ignorance, and that the Beta, pretending to know everything, would give me faulty yet plausibly accurate information. Thus, I approached the small group of Gamma Males and, as soon as I indicated that I needed help, the four of them rushed over to explain. The Gamma, a sensitive creature (unlike the Alpha), shares compassion with someone who strives to learn the intricacies of a new piece of equipment. Although he may not always approach the struggling gym member, he jumps at the opportunity to help when asked.
This eagerness to interact with and help others marks the Gamma Male’s candidacy for an excellent workout buddy. He uses competition to his advantage, yet doesn’t lose sleep if his partner runs .4 miles per hour faster than he can. His helpful encouragement makes working out at the gym—a usual trepidation for most new exercisers—fun and entertaining. Because of his extroverted personality, your relationship with a Gamma may evolve into more than just a gym partnership.
Now that you have established a firm understanding of the arrogant Alpha, wannabe Beta and go-to Gamma, you are ready to apply this knowledge outside the gym, anywhere on campus and beyond. The Alpha will always be the narcissist, trying to impress the girls with his perfectly-styled crew cuts and bulging biceps. The Beta Male will constantly attempt to impress girls and guys alike, failing miserably in his effort. The male you want to find and befriend is the trusty, likeable Gamma. His confidence outside matches that in the gym, and a friendship or relationship forged with a Gamma Male guarantees to last a long time.
Monday, March 29, 2010
"Blog" is not a cool word.
Well, here it is. My first-ever blog post. And I have absolutely no idea how to do this.
Blogging is stigmatized. Anyone see that Twix commercial? This guy at a party invites a girl to his apartment, and she's incredibly offended that he would come on so strongly (they don't show the before clips, but I'm sure she was doing her fair share of flirting, so who can blame the poor dude?), so he chewed it over with Twix and said, "I just thought you'd like to come over and we can blog about our ideals." Well, what do you know? He got her to come over. She "loves blogging!"
Blogging.
What a stupid word. I mean, blog? Really? At least Facebook's name makes a little sense...it's a virtual book of faces. "Twitter" just sounds like a website for story-telling. But the word "blog" is so...nerdy. It immediately brings to mind a picture of a skinny white boy in a slightly wrinkled polo shirt tucked into high-waisted khaki pants that land about 3 inches above his ankles, revealing high, slightly mismatched tube socks. This boy just played around with his TI-193 and can't WAIT to tell all his followers (a sea of glasses and pencil protectors) about how easily he completed his p-chem homework with his new apparatus. (And yes, he uses the word "apparatus" in his blog post.)
Well, I'm a nerd. I don't wear short pants, and I definitely could not pass p-chem--or any college chemistry class, for that matter--but I am a nerd at heart. I find punny jokes about electrons and European countries absolutely hilarious. I listen to classical music and laugh at dorky online comics. Therefore, I find it fitting that I blog.
My second motivation to create a blog has been my Facebook statuses. Over the past year, I've developed somewhat of a following on Facebook due to witty (or, if not witty, self-deprecatingly honest) status updates. But after a while, the 2-sentence limit on statuses began to cramp my style; I wanted to write more, and be able to expand on my views about Miley Cyrus and eating peanut butter out of the jar.
Therefore, I bring you Geek Chic. I hope you enjoy my blogs (the word will never sound cool). I'll try my best to provide insight, or at least a laugh at my expense.
I'm not sure how to end blog posts yet...but I don't think "happy following" will make me sound cool.
The End...for now.
Blogging is stigmatized. Anyone see that Twix commercial? This guy at a party invites a girl to his apartment, and she's incredibly offended that he would come on so strongly (they don't show the before clips, but I'm sure she was doing her fair share of flirting, so who can blame the poor dude?), so he chewed it over with Twix and said, "I just thought you'd like to come over and we can blog about our ideals." Well, what do you know? He got her to come over. She "loves blogging!"
Blogging.
What a stupid word. I mean, blog? Really? At least Facebook's name makes a little sense...it's a virtual book of faces. "Twitter" just sounds like a website for story-telling. But the word "blog" is so...nerdy. It immediately brings to mind a picture of a skinny white boy in a slightly wrinkled polo shirt tucked into high-waisted khaki pants that land about 3 inches above his ankles, revealing high, slightly mismatched tube socks. This boy just played around with his TI-193 and can't WAIT to tell all his followers (a sea of glasses and pencil protectors) about how easily he completed his p-chem homework with his new apparatus. (And yes, he uses the word "apparatus" in his blog post.)
Well, I'm a nerd. I don't wear short pants, and I definitely could not pass p-chem--or any college chemistry class, for that matter--but I am a nerd at heart. I find punny jokes about electrons and European countries absolutely hilarious. I listen to classical music and laugh at dorky online comics. Therefore, I find it fitting that I blog.
My second motivation to create a blog has been my Facebook statuses. Over the past year, I've developed somewhat of a following on Facebook due to witty (or, if not witty, self-deprecatingly honest) status updates. But after a while, the 2-sentence limit on statuses began to cramp my style; I wanted to write more, and be able to expand on my views about Miley Cyrus and eating peanut butter out of the jar.
Therefore, I bring you Geek Chic. I hope you enjoy my blogs (the word will never sound cool). I'll try my best to provide insight, or at least a laugh at my expense.
I'm not sure how to end blog posts yet...but I don't think "happy following" will make me sound cool.
The End...for now.
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