With finals looming on the horizon, it’s almost time to start the bi-annual end-of-semester pissing contest (The metaphorical piss being one’s volume of papers/exams in combination with the slew of impending due dates).  It’s kind of like Victoria’s Secret’s “Semi-Annual Sale,” except it sucks.

The conversation goes something like this:
“Hey what’s up?”
“Oh not much, I just have 432 pages to write and 19 finals to take in the next 20 minutes.”
“That’s nothing, I have 5,213 pages to write, 23 finals to take and Wawa is out of Red Bull.”

This dialogue usually goes back and forth with each party one-upping the other until exhaustion takes over, and both people collapse on the floor of the lobby in Van Pelt.

But really, can we stop having this conversation? In the time we waste recounting the seemingly insurmountable mountain of things to do, we’re really not accomplishing much. In fact, in the time I’m wasting whining about people whining I could have at least made a dent in those 5,213 pages or scored some Red Bull from CVS.

(more…)

I know the historic D-Day (you know, the one with all the heroism, medals and movies about it) was June 6, 1944. But in my own exceedingly self-centered world (Susanville, if you will) the new D-day is December 8, 2008.

Why?  Because that’s when the South Street Bridge closes.

As a member of the Penn softball-playing race, let me say that the South Street Bridge can only be described as the sole, life-giving artery that connects civilization (my humble abode on 41st street) with distant savage lands (Warren Field).

While I knew that the bridge closing was looming in the future, my heart still sank when I got the e-mail and read about the “24-month project.” Nice try, Philadelphia: I know that really means two years, and by two years I mean three to five.

The Chinese did the Great Wall in, like, a few centuries; can’t we knock out this bridge project in a summer? (more…)

The day after Penn fell to Drexel by two, it seems like we could all use a feel good, Rudy-esque basketball story. Penn, meet 73 year old Ken Mink: he is your Rudy.

Kind of.

Standing an even six feet and weighing in at 190 pounds, Mr. Mink might just be the septuagenarian maverick we’ve heard so much about.  Kicked off of his own college team (Lees College, if you’re wondering) for an incident involving either the use of shaving cream or soap (sources disagree) to vandalize his coach’s office, Mink has taken to the courts again to finish out his college career.

I would like to pause here and note that unless that shaving cream or soap was anthrax-laden, and “coach’s office” really means some kind of federal agency, dismissal from the team seems a little harsh.  Just sayin’.

Anyway, at 73 he’s looking for closure to that fateful season 53 years ago, and with a spot on the Roane State Junior College team, he’s put himself in a position to get it.

That’s all well and good, but the man is 73.

(more…)

The Lambda Sigma Phi fraternity was founded in 2001 at the University of Alabama in the hope of showing “other groups at the university what Jesus is all about.”

Disciples.

Same story with the Alpha Delta Chi sorority. Its 13 membership requirements include “personal acceptance of Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord,” an “interest in leading others to Christ” and a “willingness to abstain from alcohol in circumstances where the Christian witness would be adversely affected.”

I would venture a guess that the Christian witness is adversely affected by jell-o shots, keg stands, and beer pong.

According to Jay Reeves’ article for the Associated Press, “members [of Lambda Sigma Phi] get pumped up about prayer, Bible study and service projects, passions they say campus officials should and often do embrace as fresh amid a Greek culture typically seen as centered on hazing, keg parties and little else.”

Something about this makes me cringe.

Wait, no, everything about this makes me cringe. Perhaps its the Animal House image of Greek life that’s burned into my brain, or Penn’s own quasi-sacrilegious Greek scene, but does Jesus really belong in a frat house? (more…)

The University of Pennsylvania has a pretty campus — so pretty, in fact, that you might be tempted to take a picture.

By all means, go ahead: capture on film our vast array of architecture, the deciduous rainbow of Locust Walk or one of the 429 statues of Ben Franklin.

But please, as a member of the Penn community, I implore you — do not take pictures of the squirrels.

Yesterday alone I stumbled (literally) over no fewer than three members of the squirrelerazzi. Rather than chasing their subjects through the streets of LA and New York, the squirrelerazzi can be found crouched low, waiting quietly for the perfect shot with their zoom lenses suction cupped to their eyes so as to capture every flea buried deep in Scrat’s matted fur. (I know you saw Ice Age).

My own walking safety is not the real concern here, my problem with the myriad photos of members of the family Sciuridae is their resulting inflated egos. Each image further solidifies their position as the sought-after socialites of the rodent world, Squirrelis Hilton if you will.

These pictures are not taken in an attempt to produce Jacob Riis-esque exposes of the horrors of squirrel life in University City. Quite the contrary; they are gratuitous photos of bushy-tailed rats living the life of the rich and famous.

(more…)

I spent an embarrassingly large portion of my childhood glued to Home and Garden Television. While I loved “Mission Organization” and “Decorating Cents” as much as the next eight year old, I would argue that no name is more synonymous with domestic goddess-hood than Martha Stewart’s.

So imagine my delight when I came across the headline “Martha Stewart Eats Cheese Steaks” on philly.com. It’s not every day you get to see a Queen of the Kitchen turned jailbird turned Queen of the Kitchen (again) sample Philly’s finest.

I’m not sure where you stand on the cheesesteak battle. I’m of the “I don’t care” school, but I couldn’t think of a better way to settle The Question than by deferring to the refined palette of Martha Stewart.

Now, before I reveal the results, let me remind you that this is the same woman whose website contains no fewer than 400 hits for “turkey recipe.” (Roasted with quince sauce, salt-and-pepper grilled, spice cured, roasted with sage, herb-rubbed, brined, deep-fried…) Her halloween specials included marzipan pumpkin petits fours, devil’s food cake with flame tuiles and chai-spiced cider punch, so from the start I was sure that Pat’s and Geno’s were doomed to be dismissed as layman’s food, chock full o’ grease and drizzled with something Martha wouldn’t even consider to be real cheese.

But I was wrong. (more…)

No, not the election of a black president with the middle name Hussein — please, give me some credit. 

It appears that an investment banking Wharton and Engineering alumnus has won the lottery, guaranteeing him one million dollars per year for the rest of his life.

Kenan Altinus, a 1997 Penn graduate, struck it rich recently, which is great because before he won he was only kind of rich. During his time at Penn Mr. Altunis was not only a dual degree masochist but also a member of Alpha Chi Rho. (Note to brothers: now would be a good time call in the alumni card).

The winning comes at a superb time for Mr. Altinus, as he is headed off on a Caribbean vacation — that was already paid for prior to his win. The opportunity to get away from it all will give him a chance to think about the correct allocation of his freshly augmented wealth. It is rumored that he may swap out his toilet paper for dollar bills, use his winnings to make hundreds of origami animals or possibly torch the whole pile of cash just for funsies.

If you were looking for the typical screaming/crying/jumping up and down reaction from Mr. Altunis, I’m afraid you’re in for a bit of a disappointment. Rather than yelling to his trailer park neighbors about all the front row NASCAR tickets he can now afford, Mr. Altunis offered, “Is it going to materially change my life? No.” 

Whoa, whoa, whoa, try not to get so riled up.

(more…)

I don’t know the origin of the phrase “patience is a virtue” (thank you lack of religious education) but it definitely wasn’t this guy. Anyway, we’ve waited so long for Election Day that I just thought I’d remind you, dear reader, that you might have to wait a little longer.

Hopefully by now you’ve emerged from your Halloween-induced incapacitation (diabetic coma or otherwise) refreshed and ready to fulfill your civic duty. But just know that all those thousands of new registered voters are going to make for some long lines at the polls.

While your Blackberry may allow you to settle any bet in seconds, the R1 gets you to the airport in minutes and Gia Pronto gets you that salad, well, pronto, the only thing that’s going to let you cast your ballot on November 4th is some good old fashioned waiting — that may last hours.

May I remind you that you’ve suffered longer waits. (more…)

Let me get this straight.

You and your friends went to McDonald’s “in the early hours of Sunday, October 19th.” Their employees were mean to you. You had them fired.

Really?

The Daily Pennsylvanian article reported that the group of friends initially entered the restaurant so they could use the bathroom. You couldn’t hold it? Or better yet, partake in a little public urination?

Anyway, they made you order and the cashier, as cashiers often do, made a mistake that required help from the manager. Fair enough. But at this point “you had already complained about the service.” Service that was probably tired of deciphering slurred orders from the several dozen patrons that pack Mickey D’s “in the early hours of Sunday” (read: the end of Saturday night).

But it gets better. The manager comes out, and, in an effort to waste valuable minutes of your life (I’m not exactly sure what your next destination was…) tells the cashier to take her time. (more…)

“Marty from Delaware” called in to Baseball this Morning the day after the Phillies clinched a trip to the World Series. Perhaps he was exhausted from watching an emotionally draining game or maybe he only has a 5th grade education or maybe he knew full well what he was saying. Regardless of the circumstances, with Marty’s grammatical slip, an “endearingly dopey” post-season slogan was born: “Why can’t us?”

Philadelphians have been swift to adopt the rallying cry, and the motto has spawned an entire line of merchandise in support of the Phightin’ Phils.

“Why can’t us?” are three little words that Jeff Kolakowski says summarize “the joy and the passion and the pain release that getting into the World Series brought.”

Penn’s motto Leges sine Moribus vana (I know, you already knew that) is neither endearing nor dopey — there’s no joy, a questionable quantity of passion and a decided lack of pain release. According the website of the University Archives and Records Center the phrase translates to “laws without morals are useless” (I know, you already knew that too…) but what exactly does that mean? (more…)