This Winter break my friends discovered Snapchat. It is a mobile phone app that allows the user to take a picture — typically of herself, and send it to another user for a specified amount of time, then it is deleted forever. I assume it was originally a tool for sex communication. I have yet to receive pornographic content. I think my friends are confused about how to use it. You can draw on the pictures, so, naturally, on every image I draw a phallic symbol. I’m a boy.
Over break, I found Emory Secrets. It is a Facebook page where Emory students post secrets anonymously. I learned that I’m glad I only know people on a superficial level, and I hope to never know anyone that well. A professor posts anonymous secrets bemoaning how students fail to make connections with their professors. My Emory secret is that I think the Emory Secrets professor is a terrible lecturer. There, I said it.
On break, I discovered exactly what kind of “good” school Emory is. I went to the Dentist. The Dentist with the advanced degree asked where I go to school. I said, “Emory.” He replied, “Great school. Fantastic medical school. I have some colleagues that went there. It’s in Georgia, right?” When I told the Hygienist where I went, she said, “Oh, what kind of school is that?” I told her what kind of school it was. She asked, “Why’d you travel so far away? Do you have family there?” Not that I know of. Emory is the kind of school that academics, doctors and businessmen know and praise but that your dental hygienist has never heard of.
Contrary to popular belief, there is such a thing as too much football, according to my mother.
After last semester’s finals, I’m afraid to go back to the library because I think the security guards think I’m homeless. There’s nothing more pathetic than waking up from a power nap in the Chinese Cultural Exploratorium. If you didn’t know we had a Chinese Cultural Exploratorium, venture to the 1st floor of the Library. It has three computers and two generic pictures of “Old China.” The school was given money from the Haban/Confucius Institute to create a wing of the library dedicated to Chinese Cultural studies. I don’t think we used all the money.
My father works for a company that is famous for canned fruit but makes most of its revenue from pet food. A report on pet food consumers revealed that humans are pet food consumers even if they don’t eat it. The report also explained that there are three types of dog owners: those who recognize that dogs are subordinate allies to the family, those who recognize the dog as a full member of the family and treat it as such and those who believe the dog is a person and cook it steak or talk to it and believe it responds, like my aunt. Rocket, my dog, would have been indignant to discover that other dogs eat steak, if he could understand English. He can’t because he’s a dog.
I’m still mad at my friend for not picking me up from the airport after I drove him there twice. I’m using my humor column to call him out. Now I’ll find out if he reads these or just says he does.
For fun, over break, I followed the Fiscal Cliff drama in real time. Politics is the new reality TV, and it’s awesome. But as it turns out, the people who call in to C-SPAN, who you would expect to understand basic civics, fail to realize you cannot impeach a president for disagreeing with you.
Frankly, I’ll support any administration that can produce this kind of response: “Why would [the Obama Administration] spend countless taxpayer dollars on a Death Star with a fundamental flaw that can be exploited by a one-man starship?” It’s official, Obama would make a better Emperor than Palpatine.
Finally, over this winter break, I learned that the San Francisco Ferry Building has fantastic restaurants with magnificent views of bay, but its railing makes for an uncomfortable, post-New Years Eve hangover vomit.
— By Alfred Artis