Aww, GW

For as much as I love GW, sometimes I kind of hate it. Not in the “I need to transfer” way or even the “I can’t wait for Spring Break to get out of here” way. More in the, “Really? These are the people I chose to go to school with?” way. Because, honestly G-Dub. Sometimes you’re kind of repulsive. (**cough** Losing to St. Joe’s last night. **cough**)

This last month, however, has brought a string of things that make me proud to go here. Instead of the richy-rich, over-privileged, uptight Greeks with their Crackberries and Longchamps complaining about the lines in Starbucks, a bright burst of genuine quirkiness was exposed. Some people are clearly after my frigid, geeky, pop-culture obsessive heart. Aww, you guys.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m never up to date on the newest music. Well, that’s not necessarily true. I’m rarely up to date on Top 40 music. Especially rap. Just a character flaw, I suppose. So, while I knew the song “Shots” existed, I wasn’t all too familar with it. Now I am, thanks to a certain president of a private university in Washington, DC. That’s right, Steven Knapp. (He’s in the light grey suit.)

They even used that clip during a dance contest at last week’s basketball game. GW for the win. Speaking of music videos and basketball games, one student made this video to get us pumped for our shot of going to the A10 tournament. (Sigh.) It’s kind of my favorite song, even if I can’t recall having heard “Black & Yellow.”

But maybe the quirkiest development is our movement to have Charlie Sheen deliver the Commencement Address for the Class of 2012. And yeah, you read that right. At last count, over 1700 people had joined the group of Facebook. I’m just saying, that’s more than 15% of our student body. And the seniors that aren’t joining don’t really count, because they won’t even be here. There is also a Twitter account for the movement as well as a blog. I’m not the biggest Charlie Sheen fan, but I do have #TigerBlood. Besides, what college graduate doesn’t want to bi-win? They could bi-win here (on campus) and there (in the real world).

I’m Terrible at Birthday Wishes

Mid-January is always a bit of a busy time for me. I have to readjust to life in DC, start all my classes, figure out my work schedule, celebrate my birthday, and this year go to GW basketball games as a member of the band. To make matters worse, this is a 17 credit semester. That’s the most you can take. I’m not complaining, I like all of my classes.

But. Anyway. January, right. Birthday-times. I’m now 20. I’m not sure how I feel about this. It’s kind of blowing my mind. I’m not a teenager anymore. I’ve officially embarked on the third decade of my life.

At the same time, 20 seems to be the most useless age I can imagine. 16’s cool because you get to drive. 17’s nice because it’s your last year at home, last year to pull shenanigans without the repercussion of being arrested and charged as an adult. 18 you get to vote!!! 19 is good for getting drunk in Canada. And everyone knows that at 21 you can drink. But at 20, well, there’s really nothing beneficial being thrown your way. It’s just a big milestone number with no milestones associated with it. At least I got a good birthday and two cakes out of the bargain.

I had a great time. I brought in my 20th birthday playing Mario Kart and Super Smash brothers with some friends and my “exuberant” RA. Then we watched Family Guy. When I woke up again after officially turning 20 (January 17, 10:01 am) I went to see my advisor to get the greenlight for my study abroad plans. Then Amanda and I played Mario Kart for a solid 4 hours before heading to dinner with a huge group at Fuddruckers, eating a special-made triple-layer heart-shaped chocolate chip cake with chocolate icing. It was heaven.

But maybe the best gift that could have been given me that day (aside from Anne’s wonderfully beautiful birthday card) was getting a happy birthday tweet from Joshua Malina. He has the same birthday as me, don’t ya know? (So do Muhammad Ali and Michelle Obama, but Josh Malina, guys!!!) I mean, Will Bailey himself tweeted me happy birthday.

Best day ever. Honestly, it was a great day. I even got to make ridiculous birthday demands and vetoes. For a person who doesn’t like the spotlight all that much, the power was kind of fun.

Thanks, everyone, for the wonderful day. Now, a gift for you:

I have big dreams for this year. Let’s hope that at least a few of them come true!

Surreal Life

This last week has been great. Well, as great as a Spring Break spent at home can be (what up, North East Ohio?). Which isn’t all that bad, really.  I had a pretty good time on the whole. I got to hang out with my parents, learn how to use my new (1920s) camera, go on an “adventure” with my good buddy Peter, go cosmic bowling, stay out later than I ever have before, go to Cleveland’s St. Patty’s Day parade* for the first time, and then some.

Now, in the final hours before my train trip back to DC (yeah, it leaves at 2am. I’ll be spending 11 lovely hours on a train tonight.) I’m hanging out with my family, watching some Jeremiah Johnson interspersed with some March Madness.  Overall, I’ve been having a great time. There has only been one friend that I really wanted to visit with but haven’t, and I also wasn’t able to go see my high school’s production of Grease. Although it’s supposed to be heavily censored (there was, apparently too much objectionable content in the original: gangs! teenage sex! sneaking out! pink ladies!) I still wanted to see it. When I was in high school, I went to the musical every spring.

So, it looks like I’ll be spending my last night at home with my family.  After last night, I’m a little wary. It wasn’t that we didn’t have fun, just that the bar we went to for dinner had a live band. A live, amateur band. A live, amateur, country band. Made up of middl- aged men. My brother pointed out that it was the first time he’s ever seen line dancing occur in real life. I had to agree. The bar music was okay, the food decent and the company great, but it wasn’t my scene. We pegged most of the people in there (last night, at least) as friends of the band. One woman was wearing a cowboy hat. That led to a prolonged conversation about judging people based solely on what they wear.

So, now, in my final hours at home, I’m reveling in how strange it is to have two homes. I’m at home, yet slightly homesick. My friend Hannah really pegged the sensation with which I’ve so recently become familiar. Unlike myself, however, having two homes, she seems to be stuck in some sort of hobo-limbo. But she can really explain it better than I can.

To complete the strange occurences of the last two days, it’s really been topped off by Northern Iowa beating Kansas in the Second Round of March Madness. Who’d have thunk it? Not that I’m complaining, I have Kentucky to win it all, anyway. (Don’t blow it, UK!)

Here’s a little bit of extra weirdness, courtesy of Jeremiah Johnson:

*More to come on St. Paddy’s Day in Cleveland in the next few days.

And it rained all night…

Dear Hannah, I love you.  Remember that blog post where you included this video? Alright, well, I showed my roommates and it was a hit. It helped us rediscover our love for the Backstreet Boys. (And by ‘us’, I mean Ellen and I.)  Boy, did I love the Backstreet Boys! So, in honor of you, Hannah, we listened to Larger than Life on our way to the Colonial Invasion – the pep rally that kicks off our basketball season.  You should have seen us.  Two girls, sharing an iPod, singing and dancing to BSB in the cold that only occurs on a 43 degree night in DC after almost three days of constant drizzle (best name EVER!).

Oh, and after we arrived at the Smith Center, Ellen and I got to watch men expertly bounce around on Olympic-style trampolines. Sometimes they involved props like a volleyball, ski boots, or a snowboard.  It was fantastic, to say the least.

Speaking of rediscovering some of my favorite things from the nineties: Boy Meets World. I watched a few episodes today and will continue to do so every time I need a little pick-me-up. It’s like a 30 minute happy-pill. Mr. Feeny (Fee-hee-ee-ee-nay!) knows what I mean.