This is my second post from jolly old England, and I wish I could write more, but I just don't feel it sometimes. I'd rather not force it and write some crap, but I have a sneaking suspicion that's what you'll be getting right now.
I am sitting in my flat before I leave for class in a little under 2 hours. Monday's are my worst class day because I have Management and Organizational Analysis, which is more boring than it sounds, amazingly enough. My prof is dry and takes about two minutes to speak 10 words. Imagine Ben Stein, with an German-English accent. I use that class for daydreaming and doing work for other classes in order to keep it from being a total bust.
After MOA, I usually head over to the University of London Union, which basically a student center. A few kids from my MOA class head over with me, we eat tasty and inexpensive nachos and shoot pool in one of the bars. It's not a bad way to kill a few hours, and it makes Monday's tolerable.
Monday night includes a class that all NYU students in London have to take called 'Issues in Contemporary British Society and Politics.' I think it's pretty interesting, and we have a new guest speaker every week. So far, we've had a columnist for the Independent newspaper and the head of Prime Minister Thatcher's policy unit--people in the know I'd say. Most people probably don't like the class because it is on Monday night and is required, but it could have been a lot worse.
This weekend was the most work I've done in London, and will be the most work I do until finals. I have to finish a paper for my class on the EU due Wednesday and finish a presentation for my class on Consumption tomorrow. I realized this weekend that I haven't written an academic paper in almost 10 months, since finals of freshman year. Last semester I was taking Economics and Math classes with sporadic problem sets, and even my Politics class had only short answer questions on the final.
This was the first weekend I didn't do one of my now famous jaunts around London. I usually pick a neighborhood to stroll about aimlessly and snap pictures of. I poke my head in various shops and cafes and talk to the locals, where whenever I open my mouth they ask me "Are you American?" There are a lot of Americans in London, which I expected and can't honestly complain about since I am one, but you'd be amazed how few English accents you hear. Most people in London it seems are from somewhere else, either in Europe, Asia or US/Canada. That part is mildly disappointing, but there are still loads of proper Englishmen around.
Lately, for some inexplicable reason, I've been feeling some degree of anxiety. I don't think it's because of school or being away from home or missing people, but it's a very vague feeling. Sometimes it's a headache or a tightness in my stomach. It comes and goes, and I don't really know why it comes or how it goes. It makes me feel very weird.
I was talking to my Dad this weekend and telling him that I don't like sitting inside to do work while I'm here because I feel like I'm missing something 'out there' and should be seeing London. He told me that I should enjoy London and get to see it, but to remember that I'm here for school and that 'Europe isn't going anywhere.' More than most people here in the study abroad program, I really like London. Other kids come back from trips into Europe and talk about hating London and wondering why they picked it. I couldn't disagree more--I like European cities like Paris and Rome, but I've also seen them before, and many of these kids haven't which contributes to their love of it. Those cities are great, but London has something different. It's got cheery locals who you can talk to because you know the language. It's got building that are a thousand years old. It's got fantastic television shows, and theater, and museums. The tiny little streets with pubs and customized umbrella shops. The black cabs with the best cabbies in the world. It's got parks that are a good 15 times better than any park in New York. Go to St. James's Park on a weekend afternoon and see how amazing it is. I really like London.
But I miss New York. Not so much that I'm sitting in my room crying about it, but I definitely miss it sometimes.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Thursday, February 09, 2006
London: Delayed
Well, I've been in London for almost a month now, and I haven't written any blogs. I really meant to, but I never knew what to write, so I'll just let it fly with scattered observations on British life as I know it.
Walking around London requires a lot more vigilance than in New York, because streets here aren't straight and often change names at unspecific intervals. You need your "London A to Z" on you at all time to make sure you are passing Cavendish Square and not Russell Square. That being said, it is ultimately more rewarding because I feel so comfortable in almost every neighborhood in New York, and here I am constantly assaulted with new images and sounds. There is a charm in how old and elegant virtually everything is here. Imagine if 75% of New York had the design of the West Village, and that's something of what it's like. This is right up my aesthetic alley, and I have to stop myself from takin pictures of every building that looks like that, reminding myself that I already have some shots of it. I love it.
British accents are not all what you imagine. As an American, it would be easy to assume that everyone in London speaks like Richard Burton, but the variety of London accents is astounding. Across the pond, we assume that everyone in England went to Cambridge and expect them to sound as such, but I find the phoenetic assortment exciting. I have picked up small British speech patterns simply by immersion. I say "you lot" for "you guys", "about" for "around", and "colonies" for "America". Also, the more British people I interact with, the more conscious I become of my own accent. British English, to me, sounds very clipped and precise, whereas American English, particularly that spoken where I am from, tends to be nasal and lets all the sounds in a word whine together until they are indistinguishable. It is very slack-jawed, floppy tongued way to speak. I don't want to be one of those guys who spends 4 months in England and comes back sounding like Jeremy Irons, but some change in my speech will be natural, and I hope it is permenant--it will add some verve to my speaking.
British women are, contrary to popular belief, rather pretty. Italian and French women get a lot of attention, and rightfully so, but just walking around London and sitting in cafes and bars, you see a lot of beautiful English roses about. Plus, they tend to be quick with a joke, which is a sure way to my heart.
British people, refined and classy as we imagine them to be, are obsessed with celebrity news, gossip, and trash reality shows. There are more celebrity gossip magazines here than there are mirrors at a Kate Moss party (oh, British humor is often very centered around schadenfreude.) I can't believe that a country that produces such quality journalism as BBC News, The FT, and The Economist also cranks out Heat, Hello, and OK! It's a duality, people I've met and spoken to around London seem just as happy to discuss Jordan and Kerry Katona as they are to ruminate on the Danish cartoon scandal. Generalists: my kind of people.
American goings on are not very big news here, which I kind of like. I find it somewhat satisfying that I can walk around all day, look at headlines on the front page of The Guardian or The Times (the London Times, the first one) and see news that has absolutely nothing to do with me or America. Here, people were pretty wrapped up with pedophiles in teaching positions and similar such scandals, surely no time to worry about Scooter Libby or Jack Abramoff. If I want American news, I have to look for it. But I'm ok being somewhat removed from the US and it's news cycle, it will make for a fun integration period when I return.
Finally, I don't miss any thing about the States, but I do miss my friends. London would be a totally different, and I think pretty cool, experience were my crew here. But as someone said "absinthe makes the heart grow fonder." Or something like that, I was pretty hammered when that homeless guy said that.
Cheers.
Walking around London requires a lot more vigilance than in New York, because streets here aren't straight and often change names at unspecific intervals. You need your "London A to Z" on you at all time to make sure you are passing Cavendish Square and not Russell Square. That being said, it is ultimately more rewarding because I feel so comfortable in almost every neighborhood in New York, and here I am constantly assaulted with new images and sounds. There is a charm in how old and elegant virtually everything is here. Imagine if 75% of New York had the design of the West Village, and that's something of what it's like. This is right up my aesthetic alley, and I have to stop myself from takin pictures of every building that looks like that, reminding myself that I already have some shots of it. I love it.
British accents are not all what you imagine. As an American, it would be easy to assume that everyone in London speaks like Richard Burton, but the variety of London accents is astounding. Across the pond, we assume that everyone in England went to Cambridge and expect them to sound as such, but I find the phoenetic assortment exciting. I have picked up small British speech patterns simply by immersion. I say "you lot" for "you guys", "about" for "around", and "colonies" for "America". Also, the more British people I interact with, the more conscious I become of my own accent. British English, to me, sounds very clipped and precise, whereas American English, particularly that spoken where I am from, tends to be nasal and lets all the sounds in a word whine together until they are indistinguishable. It is very slack-jawed, floppy tongued way to speak. I don't want to be one of those guys who spends 4 months in England and comes back sounding like Jeremy Irons, but some change in my speech will be natural, and I hope it is permenant--it will add some verve to my speaking.
British women are, contrary to popular belief, rather pretty. Italian and French women get a lot of attention, and rightfully so, but just walking around London and sitting in cafes and bars, you see a lot of beautiful English roses about. Plus, they tend to be quick with a joke, which is a sure way to my heart.
British people, refined and classy as we imagine them to be, are obsessed with celebrity news, gossip, and trash reality shows. There are more celebrity gossip magazines here than there are mirrors at a Kate Moss party (oh, British humor is often very centered around schadenfreude.) I can't believe that a country that produces such quality journalism as BBC News, The FT, and The Economist also cranks out Heat, Hello, and OK! It's a duality, people I've met and spoken to around London seem just as happy to discuss Jordan and Kerry Katona as they are to ruminate on the Danish cartoon scandal. Generalists: my kind of people.
American goings on are not very big news here, which I kind of like. I find it somewhat satisfying that I can walk around all day, look at headlines on the front page of The Guardian or The Times (the London Times, the first one) and see news that has absolutely nothing to do with me or America. Here, people were pretty wrapped up with pedophiles in teaching positions and similar such scandals, surely no time to worry about Scooter Libby or Jack Abramoff. If I want American news, I have to look for it. But I'm ok being somewhat removed from the US and it's news cycle, it will make for a fun integration period when I return.
Finally, I don't miss any thing about the States, but I do miss my friends. London would be a totally different, and I think pretty cool, experience were my crew here. But as someone said "absinthe makes the heart grow fonder." Or something like that, I was pretty hammered when that homeless guy said that.
Cheers.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Guest Blogger: Matt
Before I begin my blog, I think it’s important that I introduce myself, no this isn’t your quick witted friend Nitin that all of you have grown so fond of reading about, but in fact it is his light
hearted, 24 obsessed roommate of the past year and a half Matt. Now if you’re one of the literally dozen or so avid readers of his blog like I am you might’ve heard about me in previous posts. Since it has been so long since Nitin posted because he in a deeply spiritual search for creative material I offered my services to him as a guest post, and after first making fun of me he agreed. And so, after that long, arduous introduction I will begin my own post.
There are two things which I love about going to college in New York, going to bars and seeing all kinds of crazy shit. Fortunately Wednesday nights often afford me the opportunity to do both. There is a place that I believe resembles heaven called “Second Nature” that
has perhaps the greatest invention in the history of mankind, The Wednesday Night Open Bar. It is a thing of pure genius, fifteen easy dollars to poison yourself as much as you can handle from nine oclock to one oclock. Even since I’ve discovered this sanctuary of fun I have made it my mission to go whenever possible, and not once have a I regretted a night spent there. In one of my final weeks of the semester I made sure to attend this weekly drunk fest with a few
friends and although I do not remember anything after I began drinking a dangerously delicious drink called “Sex on the Beach” there was still enough crazy shit that went on before to entertain the hell out of me.
Upon arriving, I anticipated the bar being nearly empty because we were getting there so early, however the unpredictability of the city reared its head in the shape of what seemed to be an oversized office party that appeared to have been going on for at least a few hours.
What lay before me were at least thirty people over the age of thirty in suits and office attire getting wasted and trying to act half their age. Needless to say, it was hilarious. And of course u know there were younger women attached to the sleazy older men who I assumed had
very large…wallets. It took approximately 5 seconds for one of the girls I was with to get hit on by one of these suits and I duly made note of this. After seeing what I saw I can assure you there are very few things more entertaining than a bunch of trashed, unattractive 30
something year old women acting like they are hot shit and dancing like they were britney spears. This was especially funny (as if it needed any more humor added to it) because they kept falling all over the place. Now I’m not talkin about your harmless slip and get back
up casual drunk fall, I’m talkin head first legs in the air land with a fuckin loud noise fall that everyone hears and I was laughing my ass off at. Call me what you will but nothing puts a smile on my face quite like some drunk working woman fallin face first in the middle of a bar. As entertaining as this all was, the night had just begun and I had many drink ahead of me. Another great thing about open bars is the creativity and adventurousness that can accompany it. Because there is no limit on the amount of drinks you can get you are free to try all kinds of crazy concoctions that may or may not end your life. The drinks that I remember trying that night goes as follows in the order that I can barely remember: Kamikaze, 2nd Kamikaze, Red Bull and Vodka, Vodka Tonic, Sex on the Beach. The Sex on the Beach proved to
be a worthy adversary that night and only God knows what transpired between that time and 3:30 in the morning when I was told by your brave blogger, Nitin, that I arrived home. Although I do not remember much after the first one I have since been told tales of me drinking countless of these throughout the nite and later escaping to the bar bathroom and shamelessly puking in front of the well situated bathroom guard they employ there. Apparently he wasn’t fond of my vomiting and told me to leave, how I got home is beyond me, but when you put your life in the hands of Second Nature you can’t expect to remember all the details, or even hours you were there, but one thing is for sure, once you’ve experienced it you will never be the same.
hearted, 24 obsessed roommate of the past year and a half Matt. Now if you’re one of the literally dozen or so avid readers of his blog like I am you might’ve heard about me in previous posts. Since it has been so long since Nitin posted because he in a deeply spiritual search for creative material I offered my services to him as a guest post, and after first making fun of me he agreed. And so, after that long, arduous introduction I will begin my own post.
There are two things which I love about going to college in New York, going to bars and seeing all kinds of crazy shit. Fortunately Wednesday nights often afford me the opportunity to do both. There is a place that I believe resembles heaven called “Second Nature” that
has perhaps the greatest invention in the history of mankind, The Wednesday Night Open Bar. It is a thing of pure genius, fifteen easy dollars to poison yourself as much as you can handle from nine oclock to one oclock. Even since I’ve discovered this sanctuary of fun I have made it my mission to go whenever possible, and not once have a I regretted a night spent there. In one of my final weeks of the semester I made sure to attend this weekly drunk fest with a few
friends and although I do not remember anything after I began drinking a dangerously delicious drink called “Sex on the Beach” there was still enough crazy shit that went on before to entertain the hell out of me.
Upon arriving, I anticipated the bar being nearly empty because we were getting there so early, however the unpredictability of the city reared its head in the shape of what seemed to be an oversized office party that appeared to have been going on for at least a few hours.
What lay before me were at least thirty people over the age of thirty in suits and office attire getting wasted and trying to act half their age. Needless to say, it was hilarious. And of course u know there were younger women attached to the sleazy older men who I assumed had
very large…wallets. It took approximately 5 seconds for one of the girls I was with to get hit on by one of these suits and I duly made note of this. After seeing what I saw I can assure you there are very few things more entertaining than a bunch of trashed, unattractive 30
something year old women acting like they are hot shit and dancing like they were britney spears. This was especially funny (as if it needed any more humor added to it) because they kept falling all over the place. Now I’m not talkin about your harmless slip and get back
up casual drunk fall, I’m talkin head first legs in the air land with a fuckin loud noise fall that everyone hears and I was laughing my ass off at. Call me what you will but nothing puts a smile on my face quite like some drunk working woman fallin face first in the middle of a bar. As entertaining as this all was, the night had just begun and I had many drink ahead of me. Another great thing about open bars is the creativity and adventurousness that can accompany it. Because there is no limit on the amount of drinks you can get you are free to try all kinds of crazy concoctions that may or may not end your life. The drinks that I remember trying that night goes as follows in the order that I can barely remember: Kamikaze, 2nd Kamikaze, Red Bull and Vodka, Vodka Tonic, Sex on the Beach. The Sex on the Beach proved to
be a worthy adversary that night and only God knows what transpired between that time and 3:30 in the morning when I was told by your brave blogger, Nitin, that I arrived home. Although I do not remember much after the first one I have since been told tales of me drinking countless of these throughout the nite and later escaping to the bar bathroom and shamelessly puking in front of the well situated bathroom guard they employ there. Apparently he wasn’t fond of my vomiting and told me to leave, how I got home is beyond me, but when you put your life in the hands of Second Nature you can’t expect to remember all the details, or even hours you were there, but one thing is for sure, once you’ve experienced it you will never be the same.
***
The above was courtesy of Matt, but what follows is all me.
One thing I've learned from living with Matt is that there are almost no places in New York that you can't vomit if you put your mind to it. The most prolific puker I've ever met, I think Matt has upchucked in multiple boroughs on the same night, and even threw up in transit from the Bronx to Manhattan. That's a triple play most people don't have the stamina to pull off. In fact, Matt has been known to hurl in a bar/apartment bathroom, continue on the street, on the 6 train, and still be blowing chunks when he gets back to our place. You'd think I'd be mad, but I just have to salute that single-minded determination.
What made this night fun for me, although I wasn't at Second Nature, was the mystery left on the couch for me. I woke up to another of my roommates getting dressed in a hurry. I asked him what was going on, and he said, "I've got to get out of here before she wakes up."
I didn't know who he was talking about, so I walked into our common room, and saw a shape under a jacket and some of our pillows. It was clearly a girl, but I didn't know who. I needed to find out, so I figured out a clever way to extract this information.
"Yo, who the hell is that?"
My roommate tells me it's a girl who lives in a different dorm, but for whatever reason came home with him the night before. She tried to make out with him, but she didn't know that while my roommate is nice and pretty good-looking, he is terrified of girls. He is just not interested in girls who are interested in him. He also probably didn't want to take advantage of a girl who was very drunk. Anyway, this girl wakes up, my roommate makes a little small talk, and then bounces. I think I should mention that I've never met this girl before, and now she and I are in my apartment alone. It was awkward. After my roommate left, she hung around for about 45 minutes to an hour and seemed too hungover to really go anywhere. Of course, I can't really blame her, she was at the pleasure garden known as Second Nature. It's the kind of place that impacts even innocent parties like me by forcing them to take care of drunk strangers who crashed on their couch and spent the better part of a morning hanging around trying to summon the strength to leave. If you are thinking of going, beware this entirely possible chain of events.
The above was courtesy of Matt, but what follows is all me.
One thing I've learned from living with Matt is that there are almost no places in New York that you can't vomit if you put your mind to it. The most prolific puker I've ever met, I think Matt has upchucked in multiple boroughs on the same night, and even threw up in transit from the Bronx to Manhattan. That's a triple play most people don't have the stamina to pull off. In fact, Matt has been known to hurl in a bar/apartment bathroom, continue on the street, on the 6 train, and still be blowing chunks when he gets back to our place. You'd think I'd be mad, but I just have to salute that single-minded determination.
What made this night fun for me, although I wasn't at Second Nature, was the mystery left on the couch for me. I woke up to another of my roommates getting dressed in a hurry. I asked him what was going on, and he said, "I've got to get out of here before she wakes up."
I didn't know who he was talking about, so I walked into our common room, and saw a shape under a jacket and some of our pillows. It was clearly a girl, but I didn't know who. I needed to find out, so I figured out a clever way to extract this information.
"Yo, who the hell is that?"
My roommate tells me it's a girl who lives in a different dorm, but for whatever reason came home with him the night before. She tried to make out with him, but she didn't know that while my roommate is nice and pretty good-looking, he is terrified of girls. He is just not interested in girls who are interested in him. He also probably didn't want to take advantage of a girl who was very drunk. Anyway, this girl wakes up, my roommate makes a little small talk, and then bounces. I think I should mention that I've never met this girl before, and now she and I are in my apartment alone. It was awkward. After my roommate left, she hung around for about 45 minutes to an hour and seemed too hungover to really go anywhere. Of course, I can't really blame her, she was at the pleasure garden known as Second Nature. It's the kind of place that impacts even innocent parties like me by forcing them to take care of drunk strangers who crashed on their couch and spent the better part of a morning hanging around trying to summon the strength to leave. If you are thinking of going, beware this entirely possible chain of events.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Hilarious diversions
I am studying for my last final of the semester, and the last academic obligation I have before I go to live in London for four months. While I manage to read my notes for a class called "Poverty and Income Distribution" I also feel very sad as this class reveals that much of America's wealth redistribution programs end up screwing poor people. In order to restore my faith in humanity, I went online to read something funny, and I found it at McSweeneys.
Most of my friends play poker, and while I don't really care for poker, I do like slang. Poker slang is some of the strangest terminology out there, but I very much enjoyed this one.
Most of my friends play poker, and while I don't really care for poker, I do like slang. Poker slang is some of the strangest terminology out there, but I very much enjoyed this one.
Poker Terminology I Feel I Could Get Away With Saying If I Ever Played a Tournament.
BY ANDY SUTHERLAND
- - - -
He's holding Babraham Lincolns.
Caught in a flytrap.
Lay it down on "The Tarpits."
Short-weeding the double-down avocado splitter.
Deuce trips.
So I pull trash from the flop, and end up sinking the Titanic.
Laboratory rats to the left, and I know the guy on the right has a suicide johnny—nothing else to do but drop the transmission.
He was short-stacked, so I raised with nothing but a bumpy melinda and a bullet.
Crunking the small blind.
So a Madeleine Albright pops up on Fourth Street.
After his raise, I know he's sporting two mustaches, and I can see one otter swimming the river on the flop.
I've got leaky quads, and I call, after he bulldozes the pit with half his gold towers.
I fold.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
The utility maximization of "Next"
My roommates and I watch a lot of bad television, and we sort of revel in it. MTV has pioneered the field of awful shows that I cannot tear myself away from, including Laguna Beach, Super Sweet 16, Made, and Next. This entry is going to focus on Next, because I saw one of the best episodes ever the other day.
The rules of Next are pretty simple. There is one guy who is deciding who he wants to go on a date with. On a bus, there are 5 girls who sit together and are called out one by one to go on a date with the guy outside. The guy has not seen any of the girls before and neither has the girl seen him. They do some stupid activity like get fake body art or have a picnic for a while, and if the guy likes the girl, the date continues. If at any point the guy isn't having fun, he can dismiss the girl by saying "next" and another girl from the bus will emerge and go on a date with our young hero. Girls who are kicked off are given $1 dollar for every minute they are on the date. If the guy decides he likes the girl, he offers her either the amount of money she would get from leaving or a second date. Next can also be played with one girl and 5 guys, but those episodes tend to be pretty boring. It doesn't sound too amazing, but a lot of the time it's incredibly hilarious. The contestants are all between 18 and 24 and most are about as dumb as a sack of wet mice. They say the most absurd things and have the stupidest dates, like breakdancing or tae kwon do. If you watch enough, you'll get some real gems, but nothing like I saw two nights ago.
This was a one guy-5 girl episode, and the guy was an absolute tool. Smug, fake tan and about as shallow as a shot glass, I knew this guy's resolute and unshakable belief in his own perfection would lead to some cringe-worthy rejections of nice but slightly homely girls. And so it was. The lineup, in order of how they would appear was one so-so looking girl, two ugly girls, and two very attractive girls. This guy was going to have to go through hell to get to heaven. He "Nexted" the first girl in about 7 minutes, but in his defense she was boring to the point of being catatonic. The next girl comes out, they are introduced, and you can see the sadness in his eyes. He sticks it out for a little bit, and then tells the girl that she is too pale, and he takes her to a tanning salon. Not really where I would take someone on a date, but I am dark-skinned, what do I know? She comes out of a spray tan (how gauche) only to meet the icy hand of a "Next" slapping the dignity right out of her, pocketing about $17. The third contestant is a bit quirky, but even less attractive than the second player. Our host takes her clothes shopping (he insists a girl's style is very important). Here, we see the abject horror in his eyes that he has to be seen with this girl in public. You know he wants to reject her right there, but he needs the pretense of incompatability to avoid looking like the worst man on television. After about 8 minutes of shopping, he says they aren't working out and puts a "Next" boot in her ass. Now it gets interesting, as the fourth contestant is a very attractive Latina with...ahem...enhancements that are catching to many men. She steps off the bus and meets the host, and he lights up. 'Finally,' I imagine he imagines, 'an attractive girl in this competition.' In about 8 seconds, he decides to offer her a second date with him, or the cash value of her date, $1.
This is nothing short of a stroke of brilliance. Obviously, this offer of a second date is a purely physical reaction. While he complimented her style (read: enhancements), that was the entire extent of their conversation. He literally asked her for another date on the spot. What makes it so amazing is that it reminded me of the utility maximization problems we used to do in my International Politics class. By asking this girl for a date so quickly, he has made the choice of walking away worthless. $1 is not a lot of money. Most contestants who go in second dates are on their dates for 75-90 minutes. If you're with a mildly attractive and marginally fun person, you might just take the $90. That's a good night out with some friends, and all you had to do was hang out with an OK person for a little while and be on MTV. However, if you're offered $1, why would you even take it? You might as well go on the second date, because you could have a good time on that date (assume the probability of having a good time is about 50%) while you won't have any fun with $1, or at least any fun that doesn't come out of a vending machine. Since the host is looking for a second date, they dispense the money in such a way as to make it a disincentive, and by offering a prize that is worthless, they can lock in the outcome they want: a second date. It's actually very interesting, and my point was proven when this girl took the second date with a guy she'd only known for a few seconds.
Who knew Next was so unintentionally cerebral? I wonder what the hidden implications of Super Sweet 16 are.
The rules of Next are pretty simple. There is one guy who is deciding who he wants to go on a date with. On a bus, there are 5 girls who sit together and are called out one by one to go on a date with the guy outside. The guy has not seen any of the girls before and neither has the girl seen him. They do some stupid activity like get fake body art or have a picnic for a while, and if the guy likes the girl, the date continues. If at any point the guy isn't having fun, he can dismiss the girl by saying "next" and another girl from the bus will emerge and go on a date with our young hero. Girls who are kicked off are given $1 dollar for every minute they are on the date. If the guy decides he likes the girl, he offers her either the amount of money she would get from leaving or a second date. Next can also be played with one girl and 5 guys, but those episodes tend to be pretty boring. It doesn't sound too amazing, but a lot of the time it's incredibly hilarious. The contestants are all between 18 and 24 and most are about as dumb as a sack of wet mice. They say the most absurd things and have the stupidest dates, like breakdancing or tae kwon do. If you watch enough, you'll get some real gems, but nothing like I saw two nights ago.
This was a one guy-5 girl episode, and the guy was an absolute tool. Smug, fake tan and about as shallow as a shot glass, I knew this guy's resolute and unshakable belief in his own perfection would lead to some cringe-worthy rejections of nice but slightly homely girls. And so it was. The lineup, in order of how they would appear was one so-so looking girl, two ugly girls, and two very attractive girls. This guy was going to have to go through hell to get to heaven. He "Nexted" the first girl in about 7 minutes, but in his defense she was boring to the point of being catatonic. The next girl comes out, they are introduced, and you can see the sadness in his eyes. He sticks it out for a little bit, and then tells the girl that she is too pale, and he takes her to a tanning salon. Not really where I would take someone on a date, but I am dark-skinned, what do I know? She comes out of a spray tan (how gauche) only to meet the icy hand of a "Next" slapping the dignity right out of her, pocketing about $17. The third contestant is a bit quirky, but even less attractive than the second player. Our host takes her clothes shopping (he insists a girl's style is very important). Here, we see the abject horror in his eyes that he has to be seen with this girl in public. You know he wants to reject her right there, but he needs the pretense of incompatability to avoid looking like the worst man on television. After about 8 minutes of shopping, he says they aren't working out and puts a "Next" boot in her ass. Now it gets interesting, as the fourth contestant is a very attractive Latina with...ahem...enhancements that are catching to many men. She steps off the bus and meets the host, and he lights up. 'Finally,' I imagine he imagines, 'an attractive girl in this competition.' In about 8 seconds, he decides to offer her a second date with him, or the cash value of her date, $1.
This is nothing short of a stroke of brilliance. Obviously, this offer of a second date is a purely physical reaction. While he complimented her style (read: enhancements), that was the entire extent of their conversation. He literally asked her for another date on the spot. What makes it so amazing is that it reminded me of the utility maximization problems we used to do in my International Politics class. By asking this girl for a date so quickly, he has made the choice of walking away worthless. $1 is not a lot of money. Most contestants who go in second dates are on their dates for 75-90 minutes. If you're with a mildly attractive and marginally fun person, you might just take the $90. That's a good night out with some friends, and all you had to do was hang out with an OK person for a little while and be on MTV. However, if you're offered $1, why would you even take it? You might as well go on the second date, because you could have a good time on that date (assume the probability of having a good time is about 50%) while you won't have any fun with $1, or at least any fun that doesn't come out of a vending machine. Since the host is looking for a second date, they dispense the money in such a way as to make it a disincentive, and by offering a prize that is worthless, they can lock in the outcome they want: a second date. It's actually very interesting, and my point was proven when this girl took the second date with a guy she'd only known for a few seconds.
Who knew Next was so unintentionally cerebral? I wonder what the hidden implications of Super Sweet 16 are.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Choose your quotes wisely
As you may have read, there has been a Graduate Student strike going on at NYU for a few weeks now, and regardless of how you feel about it, it has provided great spots of entertainment. I am an economics major, a department here that is less than sympathetic to unions as a matter of principle--economists don't like the impact unions have on market clearing wages--and especially at a college. Interestingly, at a school thought to be as liberal as NYU is, the politics department here is largely against the union, and is one of the most apolitical groups of people you'll ever see. I understand the union, but don't totally agree with it. One thing all can agree on is the sheer absurdity of the picket signs. Outside of Bobst Library, there was one girl holding a sign that read as follows:
Once your labor protest is reduced to glibly reconstituting lyrics from a group called "The Pussycat Dolls", you might as well fold. You've lost the chance to be taken seriously.
Don't you wish your TA was tough like me?
Don't you wish your TA was an employee?
Don't you wish your TA was an employee?
Once your labor protest is reduced to glibly reconstituting lyrics from a group called "The Pussycat Dolls", you might as well fold. You've lost the chance to be taken seriously.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Test of a Man
This week, I have midterms in three of my classes. When you only take four classes, this is both alarming and rage-inducing. I've spent most of this weekend avoiding work and thinking about innovative ways to avoid work in equal measure. I'm also planning my classes for next semester, which I will spend studying in London at the appropriately titled University of London. I am very excited as some of my classes will be taught by faculty members of the London School of Economics, and will probably include the casual use of words like "bloody" and Cockney rhyming slang.
I just wanted to brag about going to London.
music: Vivali "Concerto per due Flauti"
I listen to classical music when I study because it makes me feel very erudite and composed, like a guy in a Lexus commerical, which always seem to feature violin based classical music.
I just wanted to brag about going to London.
music: Vivali "Concerto per due Flauti"
I listen to classical music when I study because it makes me feel very erudite and composed, like a guy in a Lexus commerical, which always seem to feature violin based classical music.
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