I did it again, Aztecs. My constant quest to find a good time and, in turn, hopefully find myself, has brought me to a place I never thought I’d come to. Welcome to Sobriety, population: Me.
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One of the fundamental life lessons I’ve learned since entering college is accountability. It’s a lesson that seemingly requires profound levels of maturity and self-awareness, which are two aspects that have been rejected by a few highly-successful professional athletes such as “Sugar” Shane Mosley, Marion Jones and Barry Bonds.
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For those of you who haven’t heard, Somali pirates are taking over the world. OK, maybe not the entire world, but parts of it. Expensive parts.
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I most recently had the pleasure of having my butt go numb on the three-hour drive back home in my 1988 Volvo station wagon (with broken springs in the driver’s seat). The tingling cheeks were definitely worth it to return to my star-studded and cultured home of Los Angeles. I’d hate to admit it, but after a few months I start to miss seeing the hoards of girls strutting around Hollywood & Highland like they are on “The Hills.”
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It’s a difficult thing, moving to a different country when you’ve just become a teenager. The impetus of the shock of having to live and assimilate into a new culture is not as cumbersome as when you’re an adolescent.
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Looking for parking at San Diego State is as maddening as if “Star Wars” was made into an animated TV series based solely on the character of Jar Jar Binks. After almost an hour of demolition-derby-driving and no parking spot in sight, I transform from a preacher of peace and love to a promoter of Social Darwinism. In response to more than three years of wasting precious Wii playing-time circling around parking lots, I’ve devised a plan.
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I’m currently involved in an imaginary relationship with a girl in one of my classes, and I have to admit, it isn’t going well.
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While getting ready to check out of our hotel room two Sundays ago, my family and I found ourselves glued to the tube by a rerun of James Cameron’s “Titanic.” We picked up from the scene where Jack, played by my childhood (and adult) crush Leonardo DiCaprio, confronts Rose, portrayed by the talented Kate Winslet, on how scared she is to break away from the constraints of the upper-class world.
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Each semester we start anew. We have new schedules, new professors, new classmates and new routes to new classes. Eventually we find consistency and familiarity in our new schedules and it all becomes repetitive and routine. Before long you can guess which bikes will be parked at the bike rack by Aztec Center, who’s working at the East Commons Aztec Shop before your lit class and which guy will be rushing out of Parking Structure 4 blaring some Ludacris or Chingy song with the windows down.
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Coffee entered my life at a very young age. As a kid, the peer pressure to stay awake for TGIF and still be expected to wake up for Saturday morning cartoons was as difficult as admitting that “MMMBop” is one of my favorite songs.
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"Life’s a wedding. Crash it.” If you’re unfamiliar with this catchphrase or simply need a quick refreshment, it’s from my all-time favorite movie, “Wedding Crashers,” a 2005 comedy about two men who crash weddings to meet and sleep with women.
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As soon as your eyelids peel apart and you let the sun ricochet off the walls of your skull, you realize you have a headache. You groan, you roll over, you cling to your pillow for comfort as the night floods back to you in one big smack on the forehead. You don’t think you’re nauseous but when you stand up to check — no, definitely not going to make it out of this morning alive.
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I was mere weeks from recovering from my Post-Traumatic Strike Disorder after the 100-day writers strike, before the possibility of an actors strike ensued. On June 30, the Screen Actors Guild’s contract with the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers expired, and until now, a new contract has yet to be signed. “Actors strike” is as lethal a combination of words as “game over” or “mission failed” is to hard-core gamers.
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Because of our country’s economic downturn and gas being expensive as all hell, the last couple of months I’ve been getting to and from school via San Diego’s public transit system. I bought a pass that lasts all year and I have to say, it has been working out pretty well.
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Ever since I was a kid, sports have been my life. For starters, my favorite television show is SportsCenter and my aspiring tattoo is the Dodgers’ LA symbol embroidered with purple outlining and gold filling. If that’s not enough, perhaps my license plate frame best portrays the sentiment: “Nothing matters but sports.”
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I hate Urban Outfitters. “Why?” you ask. “I love Urban Outfitters! Their stuff is so cute!” That’s the general response to my hatred.
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Every four years, the Olympic Games fill viewers’ digital video recorder space. Athletes incapable of waiting their turn participate in synchronized diving, while rhythmic gymnasts attempt to perform as gracefully as Frank the Tank. February has long been separated from the 29th day of the month, but every four years a leap is taken and the flame is rekindled.
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The first time it happened was in January of 2006. It was a wonderful start of something new for me and the three other guys involved. As much as we enjoyed it, we knew society wouldn't understand. None of us would admit it, but there was a fair amount of shame to go along with the unadulterated pleasure we received from our newfound love.
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Hate is a strong, ugly word. I’ve always made a conscious effort to avoid using it casually (though it seems to pop out whenever I’m discussing my esteemed Sports Editor, Edward Lewis). So I hope when I say, “I hate Boston,” you don’t assume I’m using any sort of hyperbole, because I really, really hate Boston.
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I just sank my teeth into a delicious Snickers bar, and am thinking to myself that if an award for the best chocolate candy bar in the whole galaxy existed, I would rush to vote for this particular one. Before you start neighing like a horse and dispute that it could easily be bested by other ones, your argument will fall on deaf ears.
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I’ve spent the last few weeks in deep thought over a pressing matter currently affecting a vast majority of people. Very soon, a vital decision will need to be made and it is very important for people to be aware of all the issues beforehand. Personally, I’m trying to decide between a character possessing honor and decisiveness and one with creativity and boldness.
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Oh holidays, the season of sharing, loving and gaining weight. Right? Everyone knows that winter is the scariest time of year for us gym rats.
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If you always listen to the media, you’d never cross the border into Mexico. The media, what a joke. This is the same “media’” that killed Princess Diana, remember? The media doesn’t know jack.
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The first time I heard the word “nonchalant” was in my junior year of high school. I’m not too sure of how I came across it exactly, but I think a fellow classmate had it as her username on a blog site. From then on, every time someone said “nonchalant” I pictured it dwarfing the other words in the sentence.
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Vacations are retirement test trials, and the tourism industry desires trips to last as long as it took Moses to find the Promised Land and then save Private Ryan. For travelers, fanny packs not only serve as mini backpacks, but act as human bumpers in the event of a fast paced run-in. While traveling safely, vacationers explore local attractions, taking as many photos as paparazzi take to make sure selling their souls doesn’t go to waste.
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Hello San Diego State, this is Kristina Peltin reporting from Costa Rica. Yes, you read right, reporting from Costa Rica. For those chepitos (nosy people) wondering why I’m here, you can refer to my Dating and Romance article from Aug. 28 at The Daily Aztec Web site: www.thedailyaztec.com.
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This is a public service announcement intended to improve the overall quality of life on campus. I’ve been noticing a few things that have been making it hard for me to show my sunny side. Up until now, I just figured these things would work themselves out as students wise up to campus life. Well, that hasn’t happened yet, so hopefully this will help.
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I turn 23 tomorrow. I am not dreading this. I’ve been looking forward to this since the day after I turned 22. This is not the primary reason, of course, but I get to indulge in any Cold Stone Creation that I want for free since I’m a member of their Birthday Club. Mmm...strawberry ice cream with graham cracker pie bits and white chocolate chips. Heaven, make a space for this little angel here, because she’s coming your way! Yeah, yeah, that was corny, but I figured I’d exercise my right as a birthday celebrant to put that in.
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A few weeks ago, my temptation to wear a muscle tee made me realize my books had become dumbbells with prose inside of them. From years of carrying my backpack on one side, my shoulders were as unbalanced as the justice in O.J. Simpson’s murder trail. After finding Simpson in bed with Lady Liberty, Lady Justice made sure his new collection of memorabilia would include an orange jumpsuit.
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Oh no, did you hear? I can’t believe it. It can’t be true! Louie’s Bar is closing! I can’t believe it. I said that already! They can’t close down Louie’s. They just can’t. There are already so few reasons to skip class once I’m already on campus, and Louie’s has been the best one for years. What do the suits upstairs think they are doing? I mean, this is a college campus. College. We can’t have more libraries on campus than we do pubs. Madness!
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Life’s milestones gave birth to Hallmark cards while “The Scarlet Letter” was the inspiration behind letterman jackets. One milestone I have been through countless of times is being engaged. The engagement lasts around an hour, until I have licked the ring pop to its core and have no use for it anymore. Graduation is a milestone, and at San Diego State, graduating in four years is as impressive as becoming a vice-presidential nominee when only having a small amount of experience.
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Did you know that San Diego State has ostriches? Yes, as in the creatures known to bury their heads in the ground when frightened, thinking that because they can’t see anything around them, they can’t be seen either. Fun fact: Ostriches don’t actually bury their heads. They lay it flat on the ground.
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Oh Palin. Palin, Palin, Palin. As I’ve been watching her the past few weeks in her attempt at interviews, the debate she just participated in and the brilliant Saturday Night Live skits mocking her, I’ve wondered, “Palin, how did you get to where you are?” Of course she can’t answer that question to; she’s too busy doing … wait, no really, how did she get where she is again?
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Disgust. Hatred. Murder. All of these things were prominent in my heart after 50 minutes of Geography 102. I arrived to class early and landed my favorite seat, back row, with the aisle to my right.
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If you're like half of my friends and you're a dude, then you are probably feeling the stress of week 5 in your fantasy football league. Now, you could have been like me and drafted Tom Brady in both your leagues as your first pick. Or, you could have been like my friend, who will remain unnamed, but has a very similar name to that of Benedict XVI, and drafted the entire Green Bay Packers' offense and defense because he thinks that they are God's football team to men.
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I remember one afternoon when I was grocery shopping with my mom. I was watching the cashier bag our items, when my eye caught her name tag. "Evelyn" was written in big, bold letters. My six-year-old self mentally examined my name, Ching Ching, which, at that time, I didn't know was just a nickname. Why did my parents have to give me such a kiddy name? Even at that age, I was already starting to worry about what future employers would say when they received a résumé from a certain Ching Ching Danganan. No one would take a person with that name seriously, I theorized. I thought I was doomed for good.
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