Fuck you again, Cornell.

So two nights ago I got drunk and fell in a hole while walking to a Wigwam. Apparently, doing that is not good for your feet because I broke one of them. Yep, I broke my fucking foot…AND just in case that wasn’t fun enough, there’s also a fracture in there somewhere. So, Hobblee McHobbling Gimp Foot is now coasting across campus in crutches and a very attractive Boot which will go by the name: Boot. 

Like Laura Krouse’s class, during which I went through a shit ton of garbage on my hands and knees, this has been a learning experience. The following is what I have added to my wealth of knowledge:

Cornell Is NOT Handicapped Accessible: This actually isn’t a new thing. I, too, have seen those poor assholes hobbling on the Ped Mall attached to casts and the like, but I just laughed and skipped on my merry, two-legged way. I figured after they passed out of my line of sight, they ceased to exist and I didn’t have to worry anymore…until I became one of them. This is what I, unlike my intelligent, non-drunk asshole friends, have to worry about: 

Bathroom and showering: What was once a forty-five minute experience has tripled. I now do this: 1) pry self off bed. 2) scrabble around for crutches. 3) cry and make little whimpering sounds as my underused muscles react angrily to being forced into action (seriously, i better have rippling thighs, abs, and biceps after this stupid thing is over). 4) hobble the ten feet to where a giant heavy door sits, blocking my screaming bladder and unwashed body. 5) struggle to open the door…get tired..lean on good foot, which gets immediately angry that all my weight is balanced on it. 6) wait vainly for friend to open door. 7) grow impatient. manage to open heavy door myself, and get stuck between the door and the wall. 

(see how tedious this is? i’ll skip the part where my crutches slip on the tile and go straight to the restroom)

8) struggle to get inside bathroom stall. by this time, i have pretty much peed myself, so i try and take my clothes off as quickly as possible, all the while glaring at my awkwardly-sticking out Boot. 9) For some idiotic reason, the prison architect of Projects-Rorem installed a “curb” between the changing area and the actual showers. this is SO FUCKING DIFFICULT!!! SERIOUSLY!! WHAT A PAIN IN MY ASS!!!!! This curb has FLOORED me…hahaha. BUT STILL! WHAT THE FUCK, PROJECTS???!!! 10) naked, angry, and in pain, i flop my naked ass into a spindly blue chair that has been brought up from the RA box just for my showering pleasure. since i don’t have the same weight as a toddler, the chair threatens to explode under my 19 year old poundage. So, wait for a future blog entry, in which my chair collapses and naked, angry Ariel has to be air lifted from the bathroom by helicopter. 

…eventually i get dressed and my hair combed, but by then it’s nighttime and totally not worth it. I am suing Cornell. Together, my fellow gimps and I will file a class-action suit and get probably thousands of dollars when we win. Of course, after that our tuition will rise about ten fold but it’d be worth it.




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That is because Mac users are “so cool”

ARTICLE: Mac users think they are so cool

ANDREA GARDNER: You know the commercial.

MAC COMMERCIAL: Hello I’m a Mac — And I’m a PC.

Apple rolled out these ads to make you think Macs are much cooler than PCs. After all, the Mac guy wears designer jeans and sneakers, and the PC guy is overweight and balding, but over time, many consumers have found themselves charmed by the bumbling PC, and irritated by the lofty Mac. Marissa Gluck is a marketing analyst with Radar Research.

MARISSA GLUCK: The character of the Mac guy is almost too perfectly cast. He is smug. He is condescending. He’s just that uber-hipster you love to hate. It just makes you want to slap him.

According to a new marketing study, if you own a Mac, you might want to slap yourself. Mindset Media surveyed 7,500 computer users in 20 different personality traits, such as self-esteem, pragmatism and modesty. They found that Mac owners pretty much personify the Mac guy from the commercials. Among other things, they think they’re more extraordinary than the average Joe. That’s according to Mindset co-founder Sarah Welch.

SARAH WELCH: This is a group that is not afraid to shout its accomplishments from the mountaintops. They’re happy and proud to talk about their successes and their accomplishments, and that can come across as possibly a bit conceited.

The survey revealed that Mac users often describe themselves as perfectionists. They’re also more likely than PC users to whiten their teeth, drive hybrids, drink Starbucks coffee and eat organic food. Nitty-gritty research like this helps companies craft an advertising message around their customer’s mindset. Again, marketing analyst Marissa Gluck.

GLUCK: It gives advertisers just a fuller understanding of who their target market is. What are their preferences? What makes them tick? Why do they buy certain products?

Apple didn’t commission the Mindset survey, but it’s clear that the company knows its buyer. Apple’s computer market share has grown significantly since these ads debuted in 2006, but there are risks when companies create ads that precisely reflect the persona of their core consumers. For some, it could be too close for comfort, says Gluck.

GLUCK: I do think that Mac users recognize themselves in the Mac guy, but there’s probably that uncomfortable recognition, that slightly uncomfortable degree of self-hatred that you’ve become a cliche.

After taking an honest look in the mirror, I too realized that the Mac cliche is fitting: perfectionist, Starbucks drinker, organic eater, and yes, even a bit superior. Not surprisingly, I own a Mac, sigh.

In Los Angeles, I’m Andrea Gardner for Marketplace.



That bitch reporter does not know what she is talking about. My teeth are perfectly yellow, I only patronize independently owned coffee shops or Dun Brothers, and organic food is a bunch of bull shit. She can take her high fallutin’ article and shove it where the sun don’t shine. Along with her pc with an apple decal over the eMachine logo. Hater!

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What the Hell?


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Fuck my life.

So my roommate (who is henceforth to be known as “Bear”) thought it would be really hilarious to buy something called a “Diet Piggy” (re: oxymoron) and stick it in the minifridge. Oh, how I laughed when, upon opening the door to get a pickle, I found myself berated by squeals and obsense oinking noises. The culprit was a fat, plastic piggy wearing a white wife beater.

Unbelievable. This form of abuse was NOT in the roommate contract, but then again, neither was “Eating all of Ariel’s starcrunches and chocolate Animal Crackers in one sitting.”

I’m sure the pig would make me feel a lot guiltier, but our fridge only contains a jar of pickles (mine) and empty, old water bottles (her’s. You can tell by their collapsed shape, as she likes to scoop them out with her paw and chug them like no other. Must be a Texas thing.) Maybe if we had, say, a double-decker chocolate cake instead of stale water, I’d feel a lot worse about my eating habits, but we don’t, and anyway, if we DID have said cake, it would be eaten in 4.5 seconds.

In addition, after our little frolick to the pig farm two weeks ago, I’m pretty sure the pigs–plastic or not–have it worse than I do. After all, they’re all genetically engineered to have beady eyes, white skin, and lean meat. At least I’m an individual or whatever. And, even though I’m a Jew, it’s not the Holocaust so I won’t be sent to slaughter anytime soon. Therefore, I pity Mr. “Diet Piggy” and hope he finds happiness lurking in the minifridge, just waiting for three AM, when Bear comes lurching in, looking for some dill spears. It’s not a diet control mechanism, but a food burglar alarm. Praise Jesus.

However, I may just have to chuck it out the window anyway.

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Internet Capers

Today I decided to embark on a mission.  A mission that you could only even begin to think up while sitting on your bed in panties and a tank top at 5pm on a Sunday.  I decided to find a picture.  A picture that, if found, would be very dear to me.  I wanted a picture of a bear fighting a small dog.

I turned to my old friend Google for this.  I know some nerd is probably sitting in his boxers touching himself to some chick dressed as an elf right now, berating me for giving the responsibility of this epic quest to Google.  I’m sure as you orgasm, dear nerd, you shout something like “She should have used Flickrrrrrrrrrrrrr”.

To this I respond “Stop jacking it to an elf you sick fuck”.

But I digress.  I began my journey with high hopes.  For personal reasons, the sight of a bear fighting a small dog would bring laughter to myself and a select group of people.  Instead of laughter, I found incredibly depressing pictures.  For all you fellow bear/small dog enthusiasts, I have come to realize that the picture I was hoping to find doesn’t exist.  What does exist, and in great numbers, are pictures of sad looking dogs missing skin.

While this was not something I particularly enjoyed having thrust in my face, I did go to one of the websites that contributed a good number of pictures.  This brought me to a list of things they were asking people to donate.  At the top of the list was something i was not expecting:  Super Glue.

What exactly are these people doing?  Is it really possible to super glue an animal back together?  If this is the case, why have I been going to the doctor all these years when I could have gone down to the Hardware Store and have some guy with a hairy ass sticking out of his jeans glue me back together?

This particular website pissed me off anyway.  They tried to depict the pitbull as a noble, gentle, family friendly animal.  The author went so far as to say “the pitbull is a victim of circumstances.  They have been bred to be vicious.”  To me that’s like saying, sharks are the victim of circumstances.  They’re retarded and mistake surfers for seals.  Or, yeah, the lion ate that small child, but to be fair it hadn’t eaten in hours.

Bottom line. Pitbulls are assholes.  Don’t even fucking pretend like they’re not. If you want someone to protect your vault of precious jewels, yeah, consider a pitbull.  If you have an infant and you’re looking for a family pet, don’t buy something that will eat the kid.


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Inside the homoerotic mind of a Ginger


I value Facebook for many reasons, but my hands-down, number-one reason for loving this website are the stupid people who post their innermost thoughts and feelings via “Notes.” It makes me happy. Observe the following, taken from a certain red-haired, acne-scarred individual who will remain anonymous (sort of). The bold bits are my thoughts, but they also point out what is so hilariously sad about this man’s existence. See if you can spot the particularly homosexual parts.

Cornell College has been like chutes and ladders for me. I knew this would be funny right away. Metaphors are always wonderfully crap. Oh, wait, is this a simile? Wait, never mind, fuck it, I don’t care. First semester, was mainly chutes with me falling down and not so many ladders to climb onto. Many reasons contributed to this, but mainly I had a hard time finding a niche of friends that I could hang out with and have a good time. The important parts of this sentence are in bold.
I thought I found groups of friends (at least three groups) Three? Was he keeping count? How did he group them? “People Who Let Me Sit Near Them, People Who Make Brief Eye-Contact, People Who Are Forced to Talk to Me Because we Live Together”? but they weren’t. In these cases, I was hanging out with them, thinking that they wanted to hang out, but they didn’t want to hang out with me and left me on the road, looking for a different path (wtf).
For me, not having a good group of friends is very hard on me. I can go through school, tennis and work but there is still an empty spot in my heart where friends are occupied and when I don’t have any, it really does get to me. I was very depressed my first semester year. My former roommate was the only person I called my friend. (He didn’t like you, either) Slowly, I was building some friendships, on my intramural team I joined, the Ramballs. These people were nice and let me join and hang out with them. First semester, due to my depression, I didn’t hang out with them that much and that they were all in Pffier (mostly) and I was in Rorem. I’m glad he can spell. Pffier?? What the hell is that?? Pffier is the sound you make when someone punches you in the stomach for being incredibly stupid and posting your feelings on a social networking site. Pfeiffer, on the other hand, is where the sad sacks like this note-writer live on campus.

Then, the incident happened after winter break, and that was the longest chute I had encountered so far (Rumor has it, he called someone a whore). The result of the incident was that I moved into Tarr, a dorm a lot closer to Pffier (there’s that sound again), and I began to realize that these friends on the Ramballs were great people and hung out and ate dinner with them more and more often. So, after falling down, (not literally, unfortunately, but I would definitely try to trip or shove this individual) I found a ladder and have been rising ever since. I have found my group and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I trust these people, and I feel the vice-versa is true. This whole thing is an Elton John song waiting to happen.

Second semester has been infinite times better (what the hell does this mean??), and I am not depressed. My depression was due to not having friends I can trust. Then, the axe fell about three weeks ago. Again, not literally. Unfortunately.

Cornell raised the tuition by 4 or 6 percent; I forgot the exact figure. Well, anyway I was thinking about the money issue and here is the harsh truth: I am going to transfer to University of Iowa this upcoming fall solely for financial reasons. Right now, I have my $10,000 a year scholarship, so deducting that (including tuition increase), Cornell now costs $26,000 a year while Iowa is $14,000 a difference of $12,000 a year.
I was and am responsible for books and spending each year, which is approx. $1000 +/- at Cornell. Also, I was supposed to pay for my senior year on my own (tuition and room/board included). All together at Cornell, all four years, I would owe about $30,000. So, I would have to come up with $25,000 by my senior year (I already saved $5,000).
My parents are paying the college costs (tuition/housing) for the first three years. Initially, my parents were willing to pay an extra $5,000 a year to allow me to attend Cornell. Now, that the price has jumped to $12,000 more each year, it’s alot of money. I save $12,000 a year by attending Iowa. That’s a lot of money. With that money, I can afford a car, go to grad. school and study abroad. After hearing this devastating news, I went to the Scholarship Office at Cornell to see what my options are. The lady (she has a name, you pompous tool, and I’m sure she was thrilled to tell your rich ass that you don’t qualify for the grant and scholarship money reserved for students who actually -need- it) told me that I only qualify for a$10,700 because of FAFSA, and my scholarship takes most of that away. I told her my predicament, and she told me about the Stafford Loan. Even if I use the loan all four year, I get $19,000. I still owe, personally, $6,000 and my parents owe a lot too. Plus, it’s a loan, let’s not forget that. There is a 6.8% interest rate on it. That means after six months of graduating Cornell, I would owe $232 a month for the next ten years!!! There is nothing else Cornell is offering me. I am stuck. I have no choice to leave Cornell and attend the University of Iowa next year.
I know I am leaving, but I am planning on purchasing a used car this summer and since Iowa City is only 30ish minutes away from Mt. Vernon, I can still visit my friends at Cornell. I would like to say I am sorry. I didn’t want this to occur, but it has. I have to move on. I will miss the classes (OCCAT!!!!), tennis (great coach, great teammates), and my friends. This is one of my hardest decisions in my life but I am going through with it. I will miss you guys terribly so her at Cornell. I have had some of best memories at Cornell.

I will always remember little Mt. Vernon. Puke.
If you want to talk about this in person, feel free to call me.
PS: Some of you know that I applied to be an RA. If I get that, I will decline it.
Also, Jake Czaja never checks his facebook, so he isn’t my friend on FB but is in real life. So Jake would be tagged in this note.


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Okay this concerns me a little bit.  We can see what people put into search engines to get to us.  Whoever typed in little children suck dog needs to never come here again. Ew.

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