Incidental Amusements

Goodbyes are never easy. Maybe you're trying to say goodbye to a dying parent. Maybe you're saying goodbye to an opportunity that has slipped through your fingers. Maybe you're trying to say goodbye to a woman you picked up at the bar who wants to stay for breakfast even though you've already called a cab.

In all cases, goodbyes are usually accompanied by tears. But there will be no tears this time -

not just because I'm too manly and not just because I've started an all-cinnamon diet and no longer have the necessary moisture, but because I feel I've done my job with no regrets.

Sure, I've offended people, embarrassed myself and admitted to a slew of felonies and disgusting perversions, like that time I said I make my girlfriend dress up like JFK so I can shoot her with a BB gun to play into my time traveler fetish. But that was all for fun and because I was tragically born without a sense of shame. Creepily enough, I also can't see dogs. All I hear is barking.

Sometimes I try to think back and remember why I started writing this column. I took it over from a creepy graduate student whose wit was as pathetic as his constant attempts to pick up the managing editor. I was asked to write a column and it was well-received. Because I'd had experience writing a humor column called "Not Quite Newsworthy" during high school, I figured it would be something I might enjoy doing.

I was right, for the most part, but it didn't stop me from writing my columns the day before the paper got put together. I think one thing I liked most about doing this column was the ability to lie to strangers. I lied my ass off, my two-ham-hocks-covered-in-subcutaneous-cottage-cheese ass off.

After graduation I'll be back home on Long Island, attending the City College of New York to get my Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing while returning to my disturbing summer job: Writing stories for children at Speakaboos.com. That is not a joke, I actually write stories for children. Me, voted Most Likely To Inform Neighbors that I'm Moving into the Neighborhood by the 2010 graduating class. Even though I'll be gone, I know my legacy as the legend I so rightly deserve to be will live on at this campus.

This being my last column, I suppose I'd like to give some thanks to the people who have made my column such a hit. I'd like to thank Goings On Editor, sophomore Maris Finn, as well as Opinion Editor, junior Aaron Davis, and former Managing Editor Cassandra Visconti, class of '09. I'd also like to thank my friends at GSTV including Cory Alverson, class of '08 and juniors Dan Clark and Jack Silano for being such good sounding boards. And of course, I owe thanks to my girlfriend for taking each week's defamation in stride.

Finally, I'd like to thank my fans, specifically senior Christine Treimanis and the girls of the Pan-Hellenic Council. Without fans, I'd just be talking to myself, and they'd make me go back on my meds. To you, current and graduating students of Geneseo, I say: Keep life "Amusing."

In Case You Missed It...

In case you missed it, feminist influence in marketing is nonexistent.

While I haven't conducted any scientific experiments, polled any sampling of the American population or asked more than about five people, I've seen commercials and ads lately that have proven the above statement.

The market in question is the hyper-masculine beer market. One may say that it is expected for alcohol advertisements to be aimed towards men, but recent commercials have thrown all common decency out the window. They feature large-chested women wearing tight jumpsuits, giving ordinary-looking men lap dances. Some of these commercials even end with said women holding the beer bottled and bumping their curvy butts together (Requiem for a Dream, anyone?).

While real life situations like these may happen with the help of some beer, I would like to think that as a society we've progressed from the sexist, male-dominated world that produced "Baywatch" and "The Tyra Banks Show."

Nary is there a beer commercial that doesn't employ the use of the average-Joe-gets-vixen plot device. They don't advertise the immediate effects of beer at all - no one is bloated or emptying their bladders every 20 minutes (in a bathroom or otherwise). There are no bar fights, no "freshman 15" time lapse videos.

Beer marketers need to re-evaluate their advertising techniques and take a note from the liquor companies. Take Svedka, for example. They advertise their vodka as the No. 1 vodka of 2033. In the commercial, futuristic, attractive looking men and women dance robot-like in a disco scene. Sounds like a sweet time to me … Yeah, it ends with an extremely sexualized rendering of a female robot with breasts and a butt, but the rest of it was good!

Incidental Amusements

As my final semester begins to draw to an end, I find myself getting very reflective.

I've also started watching "Arrested Development," fitting the entire series in only a few days. It's a great show, but one thing I really noticed is how college and "Arrested Development" are similar, and I don't just mean that they were both funnier on Tuesday (wink, wink).

They both ended too soon, cut away from me by corporate America. They both had important life lessons to teach me, things like honesty, motivation and cat-like stealth. The show stresses the importance of family, which in college can really be anything. Your college family can be your friends, your study groups or the people you wake up next to.

The ongoing lesson that you can get out of your problems through unorthodox means rings true with every college student who has ever crammed the night before an exam, read SparkNotes or created Wikipedia articles to support your thesis.

One of the oddest things about the show is its treatment of casual incest. This really rings true in everyday America. It may not be our biological cousin we lust after, but a cousin of money or fame. Or, you know, our hot cousins. I'm just saying everyone has the same number of chromosomes in the dark.

The biggest lesson that "Arrested Development" has taught me is the importance of breaking the fourth wall. Socrates said that the unexamined life is not worth living, and a life that is self-referenced is certainly well examined. Breaking that barrier that separates the show from the audience allows us a whole new perspective on our lives.

We can look back at some of our most outrageous moments and, tongues firmly in cheek, laugh at ourselves in order to learn from our mistakes, and we only do that to be able to go on to make newer and bigger mistakes.

In Case You Missed It...

In case you missed it, The Learning Channel thrives on large amounts of children, people who can't dress themselves and food.

TLC's goal is not to teach you anything other than the fact that your life is probably better than the lives of the people on its shows.

Not only do they have four shows about "little people," four shows about larger-than-average families, and two shows just about cake, but there are a countless number of shows about people with medical oddities or who's lives are in shambles (see "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant").

It's almost guaranteed that at any time of the day, you can turn on TLC and feel good about yourself. You can take a sigh of relief that none of your friends nominated you for "What Not to Wear" and that you aren't off fighting petty crime like those cheeky "Police Women of Maricopa County."

You can also find solace in the fact that you don't have to take care of "19 Kids and Counting," and that you don't have your very own "Toddlers in Tiaras."

For the more prudent viewers, there are the shocking lives and even more shocking tattoos of the heathens on "LA Ink," and you can scoff at the greasy overweight men featured on "American Chopper."

If you're recently engaged and looking for the best things out of your price range, tune into "Say Yes to the Dress" and "Ultimate Cake-Off."

TLC has really struck gold in its newest show, "Little Chocolatiers." It combines two things that the network strives on most - it features little people making delectable chocolate morsels.

What will be next for the network? A show about dogs that make cakes with little people who work at a children's hospital? Or maybe a series featuring a tattoo artist who only works on pregnant women about to get married?

The possibilities are seemingly endless, considering that they use the same conventions in different permutations.

Incidental Amusements

English rock group Mungo Jerry once mused that, in the summertime, you can actually touch the sky. Granted, he also advocated drunk driving so I might take his advice with a grain of salt. I also doubt that you can actually touch the sky, but damn it, his heart was in the right place.

While it may be the start of spring, it's been feeling more and more like summer here in Geneseo. This summery weather seems to really be changing people. I've noticed a few things: more people are playing Frisbee on the fields, girls are tanning in skimpy bikinis, classes are being held on the green, girls are tanning in skimpy bikinis and girls are tanning in skimpy bikinis.

The weather has even had an effect on me. It's made me feel ... sticky. It's just one reason I hate this season. Ultraviolet rays are another. Any other time of the year, people have no way of telling whether or not I've stepped outside for three days. Now whenever my pasty butt goes outside, people try to shoot me with ectoplasm. That can hurt a guy's feelings, you know?

Probably the worst thing about summer is the existential funk it seems to put us all in. Tell me you haven't been sitting in class, looking out the window and wondering why you're bothering to sit in a little room instead of living free in the wilderness like Walden with toilet paper. Makes you question the whole established system, and that's dangerous thinking.

First you decide to study outside, next you decide to spend a day barefoot and then you're farming communal beets in 1954 Soviet Russia. Trust me, it happens.

Nice weather is threatening to tear the fabric of this campus apart. Bonding activities like huddling together for warmth are being replaced by things like tandem bike riding, which I guess isn't a solitary past time, but is totally lame. People will stop studying and start fornicating like animals everywhere, which I'm not necessarily against but they'll probably insist is rude to watch. So what can be done? Since we can't get the semester shortened, we need to re-instill that sense of faceless misery in the student body.

A one-two combination of artificial snow, wind, and me standing on a soapbox pointing out the character flaws of passers-by might just do the trick. If it doesn't, this school will go the way of San Jose State. God help us all.

Incidental Amusements

Lynyrd Skynyrd - Second HelpingI never got around to listening to it cuz I had homework and then "The Hills" was on but the track listing says that "Sweet Home Alabama" is on it and I like that song so I'm sure it's fine.4/5 stars

Radiohead - OK ComputerI listened to half of some song about an android. It was SO weird … hella ghey. If they ever want to make it big they should rap more, and do some songs with Kanye or JT. Also, WTF kind of a name is Thom? How do you even say it, is it a "th" sound or just a hard "t"? Maybe they can write some ghey song about some stupid android named Thom. Ghey/5 stars

Paramore - Riot!They're so awesome and I love Hayley Williams she's such a cool girl and I want to be just like her she's so comfortable with herself that she doesn't care what people think of her and "Misery Business" is such a sweet song and they're easily the best rock band around right now and they had a song in Twilight which was SO awesome. Cept mom wouldn't let me see Twilight with my friends cuz I was grounded but I just downloaded it online so the joke's on her.5/5 stars

Lil Wayne - Tha Carter IIIMom doesn't let me listen to rap because it has bad words but she's stupid because I hear people at school say those words all the time. The other day she took my iPod after she caught me listening to him but I know where the b---- hides everything so I took it back. I like how he has songs about candy too, a lot of rappers are really vulgar but Weezy is cooler than them even when he's rapping about lollipops. 4.5/5 stars

Jonas Brothers - A Little Bit Longer

Incidental Amusements

This article is very hard for me to write, not because it's dealing with a complicated issue - it's more of a physical difficulty in raising my arms.

Wednesday was the Food Expo; the magical day once a semester where food providers vie for Campus Auxiliary Services contracts. It is a glorious day for gluttony, but in my four years I've seen too many overeager students doubled over with stomach pains from overeating. I've had years of experience with these expos, gaining knowledgeable insight and hardly noticeable weight each time. I think I can give some pointers to make the most of this window of free food:

1. Stretch: Like any athletic endeavor, proper stretching is important. Making sure your legs are ready is doubly important because you're going to be carrying a lot of weight around with you, first in samples and packaged food and later in folds and jiggling fat.

2. Come Prepared: Conventional wisdom would tell you to come hungry, but conventional wisdom has all sorts of ridiculous claims and sayings like "Beer before Ipecac, never been sicker." Sure, feeling hungry will give you the idea that you can eat a lot, but you're not used to handling that quantity of food. I suggest prepping with years of overeating and little to no exercise until you can prick yourself and measure the awesomeness in your veins.

3. Learn Food Expo Etiquette: Specifically, that there is none. It is every man, woman, child, man-child and mannish woman for himself. This is not the military, people: I will and usually do leave people behind. Keep in mind that it's going to get crowded in the Ballroom so don't be afraid to use those elbows. It's dog-eat-dog out there, especially around the "discount meat" table.

4. Pacing: The slower you eat, the more aware you are. This is a problem. As far as I remember, when I went to the Expo, I ate one long, multi-flavored string of food. Granted, it made rating the foods a bit difficult but I just wrote in "the cheesy, buffalo chocolate fish thing" as my top pick. My apologies if they actually develop this food for next year, but this leads us into our final rule.

5. Ruin the Menu for Returning Students: Since I'm graduating, I don't really care what gets added to the menu. But I do care about cruel humor, so I made sure that if it were soy-based, organic or heart-healthy it would be on next years' menu. Don't look at me like I'm a monster. The class before me thought it would be funny to request gluten-free food. Instead of being mad, just pass it on to the following generation. Class of 2011, maybe you could request a menu option for foods that won't be fully digested in your poo. Imagine: a table of corn kernels, grass and Barbie heads (don't ask, just take my word for it). A semester of that will make next year's Food Expo even grander.

In Case You Missed It...

In case you missed it, spring has sprung.

Or, for a less clichéd observation, warm weather has finally arrived in Geneseo and people across campus are screaming about how much they LOVE IT!

Frisbees seem to have metastasized over the course of a few hours, Birkenstocks have been fished out from the backs of closets and Dave Matthews' vocal chords are belting far and wide. It's barely 50 degrees outside and every plot of soupy grass has been taken over by barefoot wannabe neo-hippies.

Everyone loves when the weather gets warmer and the burden of ice and snow melts away along with our memories of the first few topics of humanities (Antigone is who again?). Even me, a pale-skinned indoor girl, can appreciate the smell of the new approaching season because it means I get to wear my super cool sunglasses. I'm not about to set up a volleyball net on 'Daga Field and blast my new Jack Johnson album out my window, though.

Call me a Debbie Downer or a Negative Nancy, but I don't see the big deal about this week. There's still schoolwork to be done before spring break - not to mention the work that's due after - there's still a visible amount of snow on the ground, which means the grass is still muddy, and the weather still drops to 30 degrees at night. That does not sound like any reason for pre-emptive celebration to me.

I would for once like to appreciate the feeling of warm air and the tawny hue of a sunny day without worrying about getting conked in the head by a flying plastic dinner plate haphazardly thrown by a giggling girl, or an acoustic guitar carried by the Bro who kinda/sorta knows how to play.

There's plenty of time for Spring Fever to infect college kids everywhere, and now is certainly not the time.

Incidental Amusements

Woe is Jeremy! As I write this, I am currently 0-for-2 in graduate school admissions … I am apparently very rejectable.

I suppose this shouldn't come as much of a shock to me. After all, you have to consider the number of times I've been slapped, beaten up by totally un-cool boyfriends and maced with both the spray and Medieval varieties. But somehow written rejections always hurt more. Maybe it's because they put the thought into it, maybe it's because it technically costs them money to tell me I suck (which means a singing telegram must really be the ultimate insult). The point is, applying to grad school sucks chicken ovaries. Sucks 'em clean.

I realized how horrible a process it was when I first started. It's not like applying to college, where you can fill out one application and send it to a dozen schools. Every school wants something different and nothing that you send will ever be good enough. Who wants to hear about me? I'm boring! I just assumed they'd rather hear about something interesting like a man with rockets for feet that can make women's panties unravel with his steely gaze. And so that's what I sent them. I refuse on principle to believe that that's why I've gotten two rejections and a job offer from Harlequin Publishing so far.

Maybe the problem doesn't lie with me. Maybe we're all expected to lie a little, like when you say you've been a good student on the SOFIs, or when you tell your partner you're on the pill as you listen to the unrelenting ticking of your biological clock. I suppose in hindsight my advice for you younglings is to tell graduate schools what they want to hear.

People love royalty and hate learning geography (sorry Dave Robertson) so perhaps you should include a brief statement in your application informing the admissions office that you are the last remaining heir of the Grand Duchy of Svetletoniaheim. You know Svetletoniaheim, it's up there between Lornadoone and Snickerdoodle.

Perhaps the best advice of all is to have a backup plan. Maybe yours will be a job or an internship. I don't want to give too much away, but you should probably hope I get into one of my other schools because my backup plan involves taking you all with me in a blaze of glory and Geneseo University Store chicken oil. Every time your chicken poppers are too dry, that's me hoarding grease for my fire.

I hope you've learned something from our little chat and can use my advice for your own applications assuming there are still graduate schools in the country that are not smoldering piles of ash and broken dreams. Or law schools, which are already like that but without the ash.

In Case You Missed It...

In case you missed it, everyone seems to be "going green" these days - a noble cause for people to want to save the planet and everything.

There are groups on campus like Geneseo Environmental Organization, and even a brand new residence hall set to open next fall devoted to sustaining the earth and her natural resources. That's all well and good, but I'd prefer it if these environmentally friendly hippies would stop harping on me for my use of bottled water.

"Listen kids," I'll say to my grandchildren as they sip out of their Nalgene bottles. "There was a time when all you had to do to drink water was shell out $1.50 and you got a plastic container with fresh, filtered water already in it!"

I'm not into the whole tap water thing. Who knows where that comes from? I'm content knowing that when I crack open a bottle of Poland Spring, the water I drink comes from the best water in Poland … or Maine … or Poland, Maine.

I recently wrote a paper examining my relationship with bottled water, and I honestly had no idea the hold it had on me. Of course there are those new-fangled Brita filters and all this other crazy technology that I can pay even more money for to make my otherwise questionable tap water clean, but why bother? I'll take that 24-pack of water bottles instead. The brand of water doesn't matter much. I'll drink Poland Spring, Dasani, Aquafina, but not Nestle. Anything but Nestle.

I'm not saying that I'm completely numb to helping the environment. After I finish the bottles I almost always recycle them … or at least let them collect in my recycle bin until they flow all over my floor and under my bed and start making friends with the dust bunnies. Recently I've actually saved the bottles and refilled them with a 1-gallon jug (of Poland Spring, that I purchased), just so that I have the same portable container of the .5-liter water bottle to tote around with me.

I've tried to make the switch to those "green" water bottles, really, I have. But it's just so hard when I see a case of water, standing at attention in the aisles of Walmart and Wegmans. They are the faithful little pre-packaged soldiers that contain the chemical compound to sustain my life. When I pass them by they morph into sad puppies at a pet store, their droopy eyes making me feel guilty for neglecting them.

In Case You Missed It...

In case you missed it, the clean-shaven look is out. Sorry, straight-laced mama's boys, you're not en vogue anymore. Our society is in full-throttle scruff mode.

We've been slowly moving entering the dawn of the mustachioed man for a few years, but now it's here. Mustaches are fuller, beards are thicker and a man's face will never be subject to the wind and cold.

The ever-popular muttonchops, the delightful hybrid between sideburns and mustache, is also making its harshest comeback since the '70s and '80s. Follicle-friendly men, you might as well ride the beard bandwagon while it's still around.

Perhaps you're not a trendy guy, but facial hair is one accessory you don't have to buy. If it goes out of style, you can just shave it off. What are you going to do now that you've spent $40 on that fedora hat you got last summer? Or $15 on those neon Kanye West "sunglasses?"

This trend is especially useful for the gents who feel like they've been blessed (cursed?) with a perpetual baby-face. Instant man-ification: grow some facial hair. You'll instantly feel more mature and confident; especially since that cute alternative girl in your literature class is eyeing you (just remember to buy a pair of Converse All-Stars, or else she'll lose interest in a few days).

Merely having the ability to grow a patch of hair on your face is not enough to suffice though. Cultivating a stellar 'stache takes more care and responsibility than that. Grooming is key - no one likes an unruly mass of face-pubes.

If you don't trust my authority on the matter (since I don't have the ability to grow facial hair, nor would it be socially acceptable for me to do so), take a note from Brad Pitt - with a trimmed goatee, he looks suave and devastatingly handsome. Left un-groomed, however, he looked like something the Cowardly Lion would have a crush on.

Incidental Amusements

There are laws in this great country of ours to protect the rights of disenfranchised groups. In these Obama-driven, post-racial times we have no need for petty bigotry and discrimination.

You know who still does that? Those filthy Dutch. But we're better than that. Or at least, that's what I thought until I came down with a cough and sore throat.

I used to be "just one of the guys," doing guy stuff. We'd mess around, share cans of soda, watch the game, breathe on each other's faces, you know, male bonding. As soon as I started showing symptoms it was like I was a whole different person to them … to everyone, really.

When I showed up to work at my internship hacking up phlegm as I often do these days, they told me they didn't want me in their office. I was so undesirable that they wouldn't even let me work for free; all of this because I'm epidemiologically different. But I'm still the same Jeremy you've all come to know and worship, for Jeremy's sake!

I don't understand why we "infected Americans" are thought of as being worse or inferior to you "normals." What can you do that I can't? If anything, getting sick has greatly aided my ability to multitask. Now I can make copious amounts of mucus and small-d--- jokes at the same time. And then there's my coughing. You normals seem to cringe whenever I do it - especially on your food - but I don't see how it's any different than the music you listen to nowadays. They're both awful.

Also, a lot of famous, important people were sick. Where would we be without the contributions of Typhoid Mary, Alphonso Ausgustus Gonorrhea or that monkey in Outbreak? One could argue that their illnesses made them great. And dead, I suppose. Maybe I'll just take some medicine and lie down.

Incidental Amusements

I put ridiculous things in my body. Yes, I know that we've all seen that on Chatroulette, but let's save the weekend talk for the weekend. I'm talking nutrition.

Food is fuel, food is fun and food can be a great sense of pleasure, from the cook who prepares a sumptuous meal for his closest friends to the woman who gives the zucchini at the store a second glance. Though I may understand the rules of good nutrition, I'm pretty sure they don't apply to me (this is also my murder defense).

I generally concern myself with the Geneseo food groups: the distilled group, the deep-fried group, the buffalo chicken group, the three-day-old group, the Five Second Rule group, and energy drinks. If my physiology is anything like the common hummingbird, I should have a good, steady heart rate of around 240. Thanks to switching to energy drinks from, well, all other liquids, I'm already over halfway there. My blood is moving through my veins so fast I can actually feel it.

I consider myself an energy drink connoisseur, from the sweet and playful Monster to the dry and verdant AMP and even the precocious ... um, berrytastic 5 Hour Energy. And then, when trying to get energy to write this very column, I cracked open a Sugar Free Rockstar energy drink from GUS.

Now, I've swallowed a lot of foul things in my life, sometimes for money, but I have never had an energy drink quite as bad as this one. How bad is it? Bad enough for me to decide to write an entire column based around it. So yeah, that bad. I no longer wonder what the gel inside a Dr. Scholl's pad tastes like anymore.

I mean, I drank it all, and if I'm ever in that position where it's the only energy drink available I'll drink it again. I'm weak. But it's definitely given me pause to consider why I do these things to myself. Why do I drink things I know I won't like? Why do I eat things that I know I won't be able to keep down? For that matter, as I write this, why do I attend classes I don't pay attention in? I don't know, but the fact that I haven't slept since Feb. 8 may be a factor. Maybe it's time I lay off the enerzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

In Case You Missed It...

In case you missed it, RuPaul's "Drag Race" is now in its second season. Airing on the Logo channel, "Drag Race" features a slew of drag queens who compete to be the "next big one". The show is essentially a mix between "America's Next Top Model" and "Project Runway," but it has a little something extra (just like the contestants).

RuPaul, arguably America's most prominent drag queen, hosts the show as both a man and a woman, making the contestants jump through hoops to find their inner queen. Some of this season's challenges include a dramatic photo shoot with two hunky men, and a country-style commercial shoot.

The crux of the show's appeal comes down to the catwalk, which the contestants have to do each week, dressed in outfits they've made themselves. This is no Calvin Klein fashion we're talking about -- the contestants bring a whole new meaning to glitter, sequins, and drama.

Most of the contestants do their best model-esque walk, popping their faux-hips and pursing their heavily made-up lips. But some of them, like the recently eliminated, voluptuous Mystique, tried impressing the judges with their impressive (albeit frightening) split.

Now you may wonder who would possibly be able to sit on a judges panel and rate these over-the-top drag queens on their "performance" each week. In addition to RuPaul, we have Santino Rice, former "Project Runway" contestant and Merle, former contestant on Bravo's most recent reality show, "Launch My Line."

Each week we're accompanied by two guest judges, who are apparently as equally qualified to judge queens as the regular judges. For example, we've had Dita Von Teese, burlesque extraordinaire, and comedienne Kathy Griffin so far this season.

Perhaps this show isn't for everyone. Not everyone could handle keeping track of all the contestants in their ever-changing looks and personalities. However, when we get contestants with names such as JuJuBee, Jessica Wild, and Pandora Boxx, it's hard not to be intrigued right off the bat.

Incidental Amusements

My name is Jeremy Frank and I'm almost one week clean. It's been roughly seven days since I've felt those heady highs, lost hours of the day, alienated my friends and loved ones and neglected my personal hygiene. I've gotten myself a one-way ticket back to the real world. I have kicked Farmville.

I was level 43. I was the King of Farmville. I was the Muhammad Ali of Farmville, except without the mannish daughter. I planted and harvested like nobody's business! Float like a farmer, sting like a farmer, and also farm. But the many hours I played started to get to me. I started seeing the world ... differently.

Thankfully being a Farmville addict doesn't make you a filthy hippie pansy like dependency on some other drugs. There was no peace, free love or sharing with me. As far as I was concerned, this land wasn't "ours," it was mine and I was going to plant some damned pumpkins on it even if I had to compost your still-warm carcass for fertilizer.

But that's all behind me. One day, and I say day because it was 4:18 in the morning and I had to get up to harvest my 4-hour blueberries, I realized I hit rock bottom. I already had the million-coin villa and had upwards of a million more in my reserves. I only kept playing until I got all the blue ribbons, I told myself, but they kept adding more. I couldn't sell my old stuff because there might be a ribbon for it down the road. It was at that moment I realized I had become a sort of crazed hermit, collecting scraps and hoarding them in my den like some sort of animal. I didn't want to go out like my Uncle Marty, who died alone in his house full of old newspapers. When I die in a raging paper-fueled house fire, I want to take people with me!

I truly am one of the lucky ones to be able to combat my addiction in such a supportive place as Geneseo. I think this will be a good environment for me. Maybe, just maybe, I can take this empty void in my life and fill it with something wholesome and collegiate like sex and alcohol. You know, get me back on the straight and narrow, or as it will likely turn out, the staggering and two inches wide.

In Case You Missed It...

In case you missed it, a significant sporting event happened last Sunday which brought together men, women and children for a night of excitement. Yes, I'm talking about the Puppy Bowl.

For the sixth year in a row, Animal Planet has graciously provided us with this show as a delightful alternative to the actual main event of the evening, the Super Bowl, for people who think that the former has anything to do with the latter.

The premise of the show? Get around 10 puppies to play with each other in front of a stadium-like backdrop. There are no actual points, but for a bit of eye-candy, we get some unenthusiastic cheerleader bunnies.

Animal Planet does its best to make the show just like a real football game, complete with exclusive camera angles (right in the puppy's water bowl!), an actual (stuffed?) football, and a cheeky, albeit a bit creepy, referee. There are even slow-motion instant replays, so that you won't miss a minute of puppy play!

The Puppy Bowl is a way for non-sports lovers to provide their own insight to an otherwise inaccessible game. "Look at those silly men fighting over that ball! Why can't they be as cute and cuddly as those puppies when they gnaw at each other?"

The best part about the PBowl is that it has been going on for years. Just imagine the possibilities for its future. A bigger trophy, matching puppy uniforms, coaches! The ideas are essentially endless.

So do not fret, non-sports lovers. You too will be able to understand the ins and outs of a typical game of football just from paying attention to these adorable pups.

In Case You Missed It...

In case you missed it, the reality show genius that is "Project Runway" is now back for it's seventh season. Bring on the chiffon, the silk charmeuse and a bunch of other fabric names gained from my level of fan-dom.

As much as it may make people question my sanity, I have no qualms admitting that I've seen every episode of the show at least once, and mostly twice. I can speak eloquently about the failings of Angela's fleurchons, the hilarity of Santino's Tim Gunn impression, and quote back every one of Christian's sound bites. I can rank the seasons according to the most talented designers, best models and best Nina Garcia quotes.

But alas, this has not recently served me as well as it should. Whereas in high school, I could freely gossip and squeal around lunch tables with my fellow PR minions about how cute Daniel Vosovic was (and how he is totally NOT gay!), I'm at a loss here. It seems that people have lost their steam for the very show that keeps me going!

Yes, I can admit that season six was a bit of a clunker, both in personality and talent (and judges, am I right?...anyone?). However, the show has left its stale setting of LA and returned to its fashion roots in New York, thus re-infusing it with just enough oomph for Tim Gunn to utter his famous "Make It Work" mantra with even more pizzazz.

Here is my humble plea to you, Geneseo PR-watchers. Find me. Let's talk at length about our predictions for the current season and wince about the post-show "Models of the Runway." We'll talk about how Ping was crazy, but we think she shouldn't have gotten eliminated. We'll sit at the edge of our seats when designers throw each other under the bus during team challenges. It will be a grand time.

I apologize to you, unsuspecting reader who doesn't understand these references, but not really. If I have to listen to the ramblings of "LOST" fans and incessant quoting of "The Office," then you can suck it up and listen to me tout my "Project Runway" knowledge.