He came from space to save mankind with the power of rock n' roll

Foamcore. If you're an art major, you've probably encountered this mysterious and malignant substance at least once or twice in your day, and if you aren't, maybe you've at least heard its name whispered in a dark alley someplace, or from behind a cupped hand at a murder trial, or floating from the lips of the dark creature that hides under your bed at night.

Foamcore is basically two sheets of paper that sandwich a thin, flexible layer of foam. I don't really know what its true purpose is, or if it only exists to fulfill a number of smaller, less direct purposes, but either way, foamcore sucks. It's horrible. It's messy, it takes three cuts from your X-acto knife to get through it (and I've had way too many bad X-acto experiences to go using three cuts on something that should only logically require one), and it's ugly as crap 90% of the time, no matter how well you rubber cement it to whatever you were rubber cementing it to. It just gets in the way and really shouldn't be required.

But foamcore still somehow maintains a special place in my heart because of my theory behind it. My roommate and I, before we were even roommates, were wondering about the point of foamcore and who the idiot was that initially gave it the go-ahead when we realized that if ever there should be yet another musical offshoot from techno, it should be known as foamcore. It has all the earmarks of the next great genre name--it contains both a silly, nonsensical adjective and the word "core." It couldn't fail! So Jon set out to actually produce the first ever foamcore song while I sat around wondering how David Bowie could have failed to come to this conclusion before we did. He's a fine artist too, after all.

Eventually, after spending about twenty minutes staring blankly into the eyes of the photo I have at the top of this article, I realized that Bowie surely did create formcore. In fact, Wikipedia confirmed that foamcore already exists as a genre and is described as

"[...]a subgenre of House music that originated in foam dance parties and is differentiated by its conspicuously slow and heavy drum track in relation to the rest of the music.^{[citation needed]"}

And although I was saddened by the realization that we hadn't coined this musical term, I was lifted by the fact that Bowie did. I mean, sure, it doesn't expressly say right on the page that it was Bowie, but who else could it have been? Only someone as brilliantly insane as Ziggy Stardust himself could have come up with the mysterious and seemingly pointless substance known as foamcore, not to mention the plainly unnecessary musical genre. Who else descended from the heavens to save Earth with his guitar? Who else claimed to sleep in a coffin standing up, or that he found all his clothes in garbage cans? How many other "trisexuals" do you know? Who else could non-ironically dress as a Martian, a marionette, a pirate, and a goblin king, among others, while still maintaining an air of impeccable style? Of course Bowie invented foamcore, both the music and the actual stuff. Of course he did.

That's what I'm telling myself, anyway, in order to not commit suicide at the thought of spending all of today and probably close to $30 on foamcore supplies to make a scale model of a tradeshow exhibit for signage and exhibition class. Thy will be done, David Bowie. Thy will be done.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: could it really happen?

This might seem really crazy, but I got to thinking today as I walked to class in the frigid, arctic chill of yet another Monday in February: what would I do if vampires jumped out of that manhole over there, off the roof of Harvey Hall, and shimmied down out of the trees? Would I be prepared?

I think not, and that bothers me. See, lately my roomie and I have been watching the first season of Buffy on DVD (hey, don't judge). Suddenly I'm seeing vampires all over the place. I find myself secretly wondering if everyone seated ahead of me in my lecture classes with their hoods drawn up are hiding reptilian vampire faces. And people drinking V8 juice? My god, could it be more obvious?

I'm thinking about either bringing a stake with me wherever I go, or renting Season 2. I think either option would clock in at around $3, so it's not a monetary issue. I'm not sure Season 2 would hold the answer to "what you should do if all this shit turns out to be real," but I'm equally unsure about my ability to drive a stake into a demonic chest with enough gusto to shatter the breastplate, especially since, by most accounts, I'm not as hot as Buffy. On my best day I might approach Xander territory, but even that's iffy.

Maybe I just need to start getting to bed earlier. This vampire-related jumpiness does seem somewhat similar to a few weeks ago, when I was reading The Stand, and everyone around me was starting to get colds. Every time I heard a sneeze, I'd freeze and try not to inhale for as long as possible so I wouldn't catch Captain Trips.

Eh, you know what, screw it. I'm making a stake. I always wanted one anyway.

Count your lucky stars

It has come to my attention today that a lot of bad things are always sitting on the horizon, just waiting to happen, but are not happening yet. For this, each and every one of us is lucky. I'd like it if you'd read this list of various bad things that could happen to you right now, right this very instant as you sit hunched over in front of your computer dicking around on the internet instead of working, but have thus far chosen to remain at bay. Thank you.

1. Steve Buscemi could bust in your door and just stare at you. He would put one hand on his hip and the other on the door frame and just shake his head in utter, all-encompassing disappointment at your actions. It would not matter what you'd done--Steve would simply stay in the doorway, staring and shaking his head at you, giving you a look that suggests he can't freaking believe that you did this to him. Can't freaking believe it.

2. You could fall off a roller coaster and land on a trampoline. It wouldn't kill you, since it's a trampoline, but you'd probably bounce off and land on something that might. At the very least, you'd now have a lifelong fear of both roller coasters and trampolines, two things which, up until now, had clocked in pretty high on your list of awesome stuff.

3. Your right arm could be ripped off the first and only time you choose to disreguard the classic schoolbus warning of keeping all arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times.

4. You could answer the phone only to find out that the person calling wanted to speak with someone else.

5. You could find your grandmother's personal on Craigslist.

6. You and Billy Crystal could be the only survivors of the apocalypse. Perhaps you were in the process of taking out the AA batteries in the remote control for the never-used TV in your bomb shelter when you come back up the stairs, look out, and discover a brick red sky and skeletons all over the place. Or perhaps you live on a remote island that didn't get any radioactive fallout. Either way, you're stuck with Billy Crystal for the rest of your life.

7. The internet could go out of business, leaving you without access to YouTube or any of the other sites that are virtually necessary to make it through the work day.

8. The steering wheel could come off in your hands when you're driving to K-mart.

9. It could turn out that you're evil, and by the time you realize it, you're already in jail for robbing a hospital.

10. You could ironically die of exposure after your friends finally manage to talk you into competing in the Iditarod dog mushing race.

11. You could accidentally hand in the unflattering doodle you did of your teacher instead of your term paper.

12. You could discover, on your death bed of course, that Stephen King always hated you and that both The Stand and Salem's Lot were actually just elaborate metaphors for how you're a jerk.

13. You could fall down the stairs while going to the basement to retrieve your laundry.

14. You could suffer second degree burns when the remains of a high powered firework lit off in the park on 4th of July unfortunately land in your lap.

15. The raccoon you've been feeding for the past three weeks could turn out to be rabid.

16. The last thing you ever say could be, "No, check this out. Spraying a beehive with the hose is a good way to kill them because it makes their wings wet, and then they can't fly."

Day Once Again Saved By Raptors

I just got back home from a surprisingly unfun collegiate field trip, and I feel the need to share this amazing book that I discovered along the way with you all.

For my signage and exhibition class, we drove out to a creepy history museum that was connected to a rundown one-room schoolhouse that I'm about 90% sure was either haunted or taken over by spiders. The point was to look at how exhibits are set up, note how large writing on the walls is, and to gather other miscellaneous information that might help with trade show design. What I didn't count on, however, was the dinosaur factor.

I had just blocked the world's biggest yawn and rocked boredly back and forth on the balls of my feet for the millionth time, and I didn't have much energy left. Things looked bad--my first thought was to try to sneak away from the tour guide and his rambling, incoherent story about how the founder of my college was somehow involved with history, but I knew that would never work because there was absolutely nothing interesting to busy myself with in the museum. It was arranged like a maze of lame artifacts, boring photographs of things from the past, and a bunch of stupid junky mannequins dressed in Little House On the Prairie getup. The only room that might offer salvation was the one we'd entered through--the gift shop.

I quietly backed up from the crowd of students and ducked behind a corner. From there I moved from room to room through the horrifying labyrinth of boredom, and finally emerged in front of--you guessed it--a stack of dinosaur chapter books.

Amazed, I picked one up called Raptor's Revenge. I opened to the first page and read aloud, "A mysterious man was crouching in the bushes and watching the front of the museum and was, focused on a boy tying his shoes." Undeterred by the blatant typo that a quick once-over by any half-blind editor would've filtered out, I read on. The story was apparently about some guy named PaleoJoe (yes, Joe was capitalized mid-name) who was trying to do battle with a raptor or something. I didn't think it was worth the $6 asking price to finish the story, but I can say with near perfect certainty that I already know what would have happened at the end anyway: PaleoJoe and a raptor are in a showdown in a kitchen, and Joe has to hide inside something and use reflections on the shiny metal door across from him to trick the raptor into headbutting an oven. That's the only known way to beat them, after all.

Long story short, I almost had to declare this my first uncool field trip of all time, but thankfully, raptors saved the day once again. Seriously, is there anything they can't do?

One of the most awesome things I have ever seen in my entire life

Let me begin with a little back-story.

My dad, who was one of the most subtly hilarious people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, once discovered an old kung fu movie on TV late at night called Master of the Flying Guillotine. The story was about a kind-hearted kung fu master with only one arm (even though the other arm was clearly visible underneath his shirt in nearly ever scene) who trained his students day in and day out to someday be as great as he. However, in the prequel to Master of the Flying Guillotine, he had apparently smoked a couple of this crazy blind dude's cronies. Unfortunately for the One-Armed Boxer, that crazy blind dude happened to be the Master of the Flying Guillotine, and, as his named suggests, he was really good at flinging this bladed hat thing on a chain that decapitates anything it gets thrown at.

Long story short, there was a scene involving a kung fu tournament, and one of the fighters was a man wearing a bizarre BDSM getup who somehow resembled an Asian version of Hitler. However, since his nipples were exposed by his hilarious costume, he became known to my friends and I as, yes, you guessed it: Titler. Eventually we started using this name to order pizzas.

The other day, my friend was checking his mail where he goes to college in South Dakota, and he came across what is quite possibly the most awesome thing that I have ever seen. He must have snuck one past the International Pizza Database at some point in his collegiate career, because this was sitting in his mailbox, addressed to his apartment:


I very nearly wept with joy.

Also, this officially opens the floodgates for everyone on Earth using Tyban as the universal fake pizza ordering name! Anyone who reads this now has my permission to use my old alias as their own. Happy ordering, dudes and dudettes!

Let me tell you about my moral compass

Each time I dodge a party I said I'd be at or blow off class to sit around and read or listen to music, I get to thinking. Is this something Falkor would have done? I believe in many cases, yes, it is. Falkor always seemed like an unapologetic lone wolf to me. Not that Falkor didn't like people; he did (just not fuh lunch!). Falkor was also clever, generous, street smart, and very good looking. Actually, I believe he's as good a role model as any 22-year-old could aspire to have.

Every time I see someone hanging over a balcony with a red cup held loosely in hand, yelling enthusiastically at someone across the street, I shake my head and think, A luck dragon would never do that. I can't even picture Falkor swerving around on an old bicycle in just his boxers and a football helmet, now that I think about it. As much as I love college life and being around the people I know, there are a great many things that go on in this town that I don't think Falkor or even Atreyu would sanction.

I have similar thoughts about going to some of my classes. Every so often, usually towards the end of the week, I'll be lying down for bed and about to set my alarm when I'll suddenly think, Dude, Falkor would not care about going to his biology lecture tomorrow. I imagine that most of Falkor's formal education, if he even had one, consisted of back-to-back field trips with breaks for art class and kickball. I really doubt that he ever spent much time studying for finals, making sure his sources were properly cited, or dropboxing things on D2L in a timely fashion. In fact, Falkor probably didn't even have a broadband connection when he was growing up. We as a people have drifted so horribly, shamefully far from the magestic ways of the luck dragon.

Sorry about flaking out on all the things I flaked out on this week, but seriously, if Falkor wouldn't bother reading Section 3.1 and preparing a series of questions for the guest speaker, I don't see why I should have to.

Truth in advertising

I wish more products would present themselves exactly as they really are. Commercials for hamburgers should show smushed buns. Commercials for Band-Aids should show kids crying. Commercials for herpes medicine should not show people riding bikes on the beach.

Emails that get sent to me from Campus Life Today should not have "Important!!!!" in the subject line. This is probably one of the only things I don't like about college; it's not enough that the art department spams me daily with stupid sketchy contests, dumb study abroad things that normal people can't afford, and endless requests to come to annoying meetings and things in the big lecture halls that I try to avoid on my days off from class. The campus itself has to chime in each morning around 10am, which is the time that I'm generally most bored and therefore most crushed when my hopes are raised to heaven by "Inbox(1)" and then sent plummeting to hell when I realize that shiny new email I got is actually just junk. The worst part is that they sometimes hide a tiny bit of legitimately important information in those emails, like stuff about registering for next semester's classes, so I actually have to scan them before deleting them.

Movie posters should cite unfavorable reviews. Rottentomatoes is awesome and a great thing to browse in lectures for a daily dose of truth, but I can't even convey with words how incredibly amped I would be if I walked past a poster for a new "high octane thrill ride" that featured a phrase like "IDIOTIC!" or "UNINTENTIONALLY HILARIOUS!" in a sleek, metallic, speedy looking font as a prominent design element.

In stores, jars and boxes of off-brand food should be in a clearly labeled "Bad But Cheap" aisle. I don't necessarily dislike the things that should go in this aisle (I swear by those giant bags of breakfast cereal from Malt-o-meal or whatever it is), but it can be kind of lame buying one of these products by accident. Especially when you were aiming for the real stuff.

I realize these might be "high-class worries," but you can't tell me that starving kids in Africa don't hate Vin Diesel movies just as much as I do.