All this talk of accents led to me keenly analyse what it is that makes accents rule, exactly.

In that light, join me in a thought experiment.

Girls (and guys) imagine a tall, tanned man with aquiline features. Lean, winning smile, the works. Let’s give him an Italian accent and call him… Antonio. Swoon-worthy, n’est-ce pas? If the physical features didn’t do it for you, that accent should certainly tip you over the edge.

Now let’s make him short and fat. His smile isn’t so winning, his face not so tanned. But he retains both his name and his delightful accent. Put beside him an identical-looking short and fat man. He could be Antonio’s twin. Except this man is not called Antonio. He is an American, and he is called Trent. Trent is from Dayton, Ohio and does not sound particularly special.

Now ladies, and some of you gentlemen, if you had to pick only one of these two rotund and vertically challenged men, which one would it be?

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Penn students behave in peculiar ways. A customary hello on Locust walk– well actually, the internal debate of whether to say hello — seems to induce pain. When did a moment of shared recognition become a comparable experience to speaking a foreign language sober or worse, menstruating without a tampon handy?

A preliminary glance down Locust can quickly give way to sheer panic; you have about five seconds to make a decision: risk embarrassment and second-class status by acknowledging that plebeian who was your friend, but only because he lived three doors down from you — or ignore them, hope that they ignore you too, and breathe a sigh of relief. Other common, but no less cringe-worthy run-ins include last month’s hook-up (very drunk), hot people you distinctly remember talking to at parties (their memory may be hazy), and class friends (didn’t talk to them about anything but).

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“What aspects of the course could use improvement or change?”

This standard course evaluation question elicited a not-so-standard reply from University of Georgia student Brian Beck, who began with “Joe Disponzio is a complete asshole,” ended with “To hell with all gay teachers who are terrible with their jobs,” and included in the middle some remarks that make South Park look positively PC.

Beck’s brashness, while it certainly won’t win him a spot among my Top Friends, can probably be explained (though not excused) by the fact that course evaluations are — at least ostensibly — completely anonymous. As any stall in a public bathroom will demonstrate, anonymity can unleash the (often stupid) beast within. But anonymity, however scary, should be protected when it’s been promised.

The University of Georgia disagrees.

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Quick free association:
Rhodes scholar. Academic All-American. White House fellow. Miss America.

Looking at Ivy League graduates, who (usually) doesn’t belong?

Miss America might seem like the exception, but that could change this weekend as Lindsay Casmaer (College ‘05) attempts to bring the title to the Ancient Eight. The reigning Miss Missouri, she’s in Las Vegas right now, doing… pageant things… in advance of Saturday’s competition, televised at 8 p.m. on TLC (You can see a short video interview here, read Lindsay’s travelogue here, and vote for her here.)

Our school’s filled with diversity, but admit it: pageantry and Penn in the same sentence is a bit surprising. As it happens, Lindsay didn’t come to Penn as a pageanteer but began competing last year — hoping to pay back student loans — so if you doubted whether West Philly attracts former Little Miss Sunshine types, you’re probably right.

But why is it surprising to think Miss America could be a Quaker? Every few years, some Ivy Leaguer’s in the competition, and a parade of Harvard-associated women have walked across the stage in recent years.

Is it because we assume that pageantry is for the less studious… or because Ivy Leaguers are known for brains and ambition before beauty?

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A British alum once told me, “If you’ve got an English accent, you’ve got it made, mate!” (”Mate” is English for “dude”.)

For the most part , the accent thing is but an icebreaker. It gets you what I like to call the “deer in headlights” moment. The girl (or guy, for some) will notice the accent, and will have a wow moment. After that, it’s down to the accent holder to use the advantage.

So, part 1 of this series is a list of useful and not-so-useful places for accents (whether you have them or can put them on).

Places where the exotic accent is useful (based on the experiences of yours truly)

1. Random meetings: Waiting for college advisors and see a nice-looking someone? Strike up conversation and let the accent do its work. Obtain number.

2. House parties: ‘Nuff said.

3. Frat parties: If you are a foreign brother - you’ve got it made. If not, then enjoy distracting girls from frat-like juvenile attempts at seduction simply by speaking.

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I have no class. No, not in the “I wear rayon, leopard print thongs, am oblivious to my orange skin, and enjoy bl*wing a new fraternity brother every weekend” sort of way.

I’ve just dropped all of my classes, but deflect all blame for my classless tendencies. Just like someone from New Jersey would. If I fancied similes, I’d say pre-registration looked like a robust tree in my backyard; it is now winter and each class has fallen like a rotten crab apple — stubbornly, one by one.

To be melodramatic: it’s the second week of classes, and I’m cold, starving, and distraught. As Christina Domenico pointed out in a DP column last week, other top universities (e.g. Harvard, Yale, Stanford) try to combat first-week apocalypses. They have what is known as a “shopping period.” It is similar to our add/drop period, yet a a consumer-friendly title adorns students’ transition. 

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Embarrassing but true: before this weekend I had never been to Koch’s, the tiny take-out deli located at 43rd and Locust. That means I never met Bobby Koch, the popular owner of the store, who passed away a couple of years ago.

If my belated exposure to Koch’s has any upside, it’s that my inexperience has allowed me to formulate a totally unbiased opinion, one untarnished by loyalties or nostalgia.

The verdict? Koch’s is overrated. Prices are ridiculous: my Restaurant School Special cost me $9.35. And the wait is even worse. People should stand an hour in line for Splash Mountain, not for reubens.

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This Monday was MLK Day, this year brought to you by Lyndon B. Johnson. Two weeks from yesterday, however, is Super Tuesday — which Wikipedia says is also referred to as the Tuesday of Destiny. (Regardless of accuracy, I will call it that until I die.)

There are a couple of reasons I’m especially excited for Super Tuesday ‘08. For one, this is the first presidential election cycle I can vote in, and everyone says you never forget your first time. (That’s what they were talking about, right?)

But more importantly, this year’s Super Tuesday will go down as one of the most important in recent memory. Both sides of the presidency are still up in the air, and Feb. 5 looks to be the day that solidifies our two contenders for November. This is a race where there’s no sure thing: no incumbents, no dominant party and no Al Gore. I can’t wait to be part of the change that all the candidates are talking about.

There’s just one big problem: Pennsylvania has no say in the matter.

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As an international student from Alabama, the transition to PennLife (soon to be copyrighted by the University) was a tricky one. However, the toughest adjustment was neither the cold weather nor the lack of camouflage pick-up trucks. Nope, not even in-door plumbing.

The true uncharted territory was recycling.

As the 48th greenest state in the nation, ‘Bama is not exactly known for it’s environmental awareness. In short, we don’t have recycling bins. For us, it is one of those inconvenient practices suggested by elementary and junior high school teachers but generally ignored by students. You know, like avoiding fast food or abstaining from sex.

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Ann Coulter is one great American dame. Her constant presence in the American media circuit and her inspired authorship of many best-selling books are testament to the resonance of her arguments.

Or maybe it’s just because she’s blonde. She’s a MILF, too wouldn’t you say? It makes her stand out from the other female Republican pundits - and there you have the probable reason for her media success. Bill O’ Reilly is probably thankful he sits under a desk when he sees Ann Coulter on his show.

“There are other female Republican pundits?” one might ask, to which I would reply,

“Yes, you are just confusing them for men.”

It is quite easy to do, since, whilst relatively coherent, they all look like the spawn of Margaret Thatcher and a gerbil. If Ann Coulter had looked like one of these Maggie-gerbils, I would bet all the money in my pockets against all the money in yours that you just wouldn’t know her name.

Unless you were related to or haunted by her. Sonnet to this affect after the jump.

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