True Life: I’m a Junk Foodie

“So times have changed… thin is in … It’s why I stopped eating. I think food is for fat people and poor people. Rich people don’t eat. They get dressed up and go shopping.”

This ridiculous quote comes courtesy of the chronically inane, Robert Verdi.  The topic of discussion was the termination of Filippa Hamilton’s Ralph Lauren contract for allegedly being “too fat.”  The lunacy of Verdi’s comment is self-evident, we all know that the fashion industry maintains largely untenable standards of beauty, yadda, yadda, yadda.  Honestly, the guy is all camp and  I wouldn’t be surprised if this was just an attempt to drum up some publicity by spewing some Karl Laggerfeld-esque drivel.  However, it did make me think about my own eating habits.  From where I currently sit I can grab:

1. The wrapper from my insanely delicious Chicken, tomato, pesto wrap
2. A package of skittles
3. Crasins
4. A package of mixed nuts
5. Salt ‘n Vinegar Kettle Chips
6. Cheez-its

The conclusion is clear: I’m a junk foodie, a connoisseur of all things fried, processed and unhealthy.  Don’t get me wrong I lust after Alice Waters’ cuisine just as much as the next California hippie, but sometimes you need to find comfort in a giant tower of onion rings from TGIFridays.  For most, these are one-off indulgences, peppered carefully into their weekly routines.  Not me.  I have have something of a problem, dare I say addiction?  I’m constantly snacking on something; be they Funyons, Cheez-Its or Sour Patch Kids.  I don’t know where my parents were when other kids were learning healthy eating patterns, but I don’t have them.  My life is an exercise in spoiling one’s appetite.  The perpetual snacking leaves me unable to eat meals at their traditional times, and completely famished at random, inopportune moments (like this morning at 4:00am).  Though my love of sinful snacks will almost certainly cause congestive heart failure by the time I’m 27, let’s face it, I’m not likely to change my ways. Nacho cheese bugles are just too fucking good.

Can I interest you in some salsa con queso Mr. Verdi?

-Corey

College is fun, until it’s not: Confessions of a graduating senior

Since Katie is now graduated and off in San Francisco pursuing her illustrious career as a journalist, I’m left without a late-night library partner (seriously, remember how much we loved them?).  Braving this labyrinth of a library all by my lonesome has forced a realization, two actually, 1.) I’m utterly incapable of being productive in my senior year of college and 2.) prolonged exposure to fluorescent lighting has devastating effects on the human brain. See:

Here’s the thing: I was in school all summer (no really there were 12 days in which I was not in school),  the summer before last I interned in Washington, D.C. (a great experience but hardly a vacation), I never studied abroad and I always take more units than are practically necessary.  I’m burnt-the-fuck-out!  I realize this is all my own doing, and hopefully I’ll one day seek the help of a professional to deal with this masochistic behavior.  But for now I remain holed up in the library, writing about sexual equality in Millian political theory and fantasizing about graduating into the worst job market of the decade.  My only consolation is Holy Ghost Lynn:

Amen

Oh hey, this blog exists

Hello, everyone (and by everyone, I guess we mean the 50-something people who still apparently read this blog everyday although we haven’t updated in months, but apparently most of them have just stumbled through by searching for “smegle,” “how to bleach asshole,” or “babes”). We’re back!

What’s the same in Katie’s life:

• my desktop background is still a picture of cheese

What has changed:

• I graduated from Berkeley
• I traveled all over Europe with one of my best friends for two and a half months
• I no longer live in a dungeon, but a beautiful house in San Francisco with large bay windows
• I’m currently working on my YA novel (ha, but really) and writing a column for sfappeal.com. You can read it here.
• Other than that, I don’t have a full time job as of now, SO I will (ideally) have lots of free time to write here.

What’s new in Corey’s life:

• nothing

What’s the same?

• All-nighters fueled by Bugles, Red Bull and a blithesome disregard for healthy sleep patterns
• My job at a weapons manufacturer has reaffirmed my suspicion that a degree in Peace & Conflict Studies is utterly useless.
• My anemic bank account still prevents me from fulfilling my sartorial fantasies
• I still eat Kettle Chips like its my job
• Too many of my evenings are spent struggling to remain perpendicular to the floor
• I still live for shit like this.

What’s the same with both of us:

• We maintain a possibly unhealthy, but completely necessary attachment to one another

Cosmo

Cosmpolitan makes me want to shoot myself.

I am at the dentist reading it because that is my only option besides aarp magazine and this is what I have learned:

• shoulder cleavage and grilling bison are in, but traveling to europe is out (oh fuck)
• 62 percent of people think drew barrymore is sexier when she’s “taken,” and by this I mean they think a picture of her with justin long is sexier than this other pic of her standing alone.
•  the combined effect of lavender and pumpkin pie scent increases blood flow to the penis by 40% (seriously? Because that combo sounds disgusting to me, but I guess I don’t have a penis)
• “we” love it when guys sweat because, amongst other reasons, we don’t need to use lube to “make things slippery”
• the mid day lunch line at chipotle is the best place to meet guys. Also, long tables at restaurants.
• if a guy texts me before noon or after five p.m I should never talk to him again.

I have to go get my teeth cleaned now, slash throw up. sorry I can’t share more wisdom.

Why why whyy can’t cosmo be the next to fold?

goodbye house.

so long, whorehouse walls.

Tuesday's Prop 8 ruling

My post for the SF Appeal on Tuesday’s Prop 8 ruling in full:

I’ve never lived anywhere that wasn’t ultra-ultra-liberal: around half of the teachers at my notoriously tolerant, pseudo-hippie private high school in Los Angeles were gay, I recently graduated from UC Berkeley, and I’m in the process of moving to San Francisco. I’ve been surrounded by people who love to voice their opinions, speak up in the face of prejudice, and protest authority for my entire life – some in, shall we say, less subtle ways than others.

So, when a hefty harmonica-playing woman covered in black face paint led a mob down Gough Street towards a frantically retreating anti-gay street preacher, spewing spit out of her mouth and screaming, “Jesus was a faggot too!” or a girl wearing barely nothing more than a bra and a few strategically placed rainbows accidentally knocked me down with a large “NO ON H8″ sign, or when a lesbian couple, Chihuahua cozily ensconced between them, loudly declared that they’ll marry their dog, too, if they want, I was hardly shocked.

I cringe a little when I think about how jaded I must have looked during one point during the Prop Eight protest yesterday, when the police started setting up barricades and slowly inching their way towards the circle of gay-rights supporters holding hands in the middle of the intersection between Gough and Van Ness and we all stood there silently, tweeting and typing and wondering what was about to happen. There I stood, only a few feet away from the “civil disobedience” going on in front of me … eating a hot dog. I hadn’t eaten anything since the night before – and live-bloggers need subsistence, right? – but, nevertheless, I couldn’t help feeling like I was at the circus, shoveling down street food and watching a show.

#15. The Main Stacks

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#15 on my list of Berkeley Places I Will Miss: The Main Stacks.

I don’t have a desk in my room, because I think it’s a waste of a space I’d rather fill with bookshelves and dresses. I do all of my homework in my bed, or sometimes on my couch. Unfortunately, when I do homework in my room, I usually end up falling asleep. When I do homework upstairs, I usually end up watching Wife Swap or, well, drinking. When I do homework at cafes, I usually end up spending too much money on coffee and snacks and too much time on gchat.

When it’s time to crack down, when I’ve reached the utmost level of procrastination possible, it’s time for the Main Stacks.

Many people I know despise the Main Stacks. I have more than a few friends who refuse to go there, citing the head-ache inducing florescent lighting, the clammy over-air conditioned atmosphere, the nazi-like library monitors, and the insane, stressed out berkeley students that sleep in the hallways as reasons to stay far, far away. I’ll admit that, yes, it’s probably the ugliest library on campus (except for Moffit – ugh, I hate Moffit), the lighting is tough on the eyes, and an overwhelming sense of panic – especially during finals time – permeates the chilly air. I tend to thrive on panic when it comes to deadlines, so maybe that’s why I love the Main Stacks so much, especially during finals. I like leaving the warm, friendly, chatter-filled FSM Cafe and walking down the narrow hall to silence and sleep-deprived, hunched over students, pouring through books and typing frantically on their laptops. I like to think of that hallway as my metaphorical bridge from procrastination to hard work.

Of course, I hardly ever leave procrastination on the other side. With the right combination of adderall and delirium, the Main Stacks can be pretty fun. This one time, I spent TWENTY THREE hours in the Stacks without ever going outside. Okay – so maybe “fun” isn’t the right word to describe my experience writing a 20 page paper on the “modern clown as terrorist” for my english senior seminar – but, in a way, I had a good time. I was never alone – thanks to all of the other ridiculous Berkeley students who refuse to sleep during finals (btw, I do NOT condone this) – up until the last few hours, during which I tried to sleep in FSM but felt too bad about myself thanks to all of the bright-eyed, energetic people buying morning coffee and croissants while I crouched on a bench like a homeless person.

I don’t do a lot of college-y things anymore, like attend frat parties, drink at berkeley bars, actually go to football games, or, uh, leave my house – so maybe that’s why I’m already so nostalgic about leaving the Main Stacks behind. I never feel more like a Berkeley student than when I’m frantically trying to memorize Shakespearean sonnets at 4 am in the morning on level C.

I pulled my last undergraduate all-nighter a few days ago. My friend Laura and I finally left the library at seven am, to go get bagels before our final at eight. As we walked through campus, we swayed from side to side, dizzy from lack of sleep and giggling like you only can after you’ve been stuck inside cramming for way too long. The campus was empty and almost eerily serene. Above us gray clouds were just beginning to clear from the rain the night before and the Campanile rose regally in the background. Laura turned to me and said, “This is why I like being on campus this early, because when you get to leave everything is perfect.” I nodded and tried to remember what HOLC and FHA stood for in preparation for my American Cultural Landscapes final and reminded myself that I still needed to return one library book so that wasn’t my last time in the Main Stacks, not yet.

F you, Comcast

“What you want, where you want it. Comcast customers have one thing in common: You know what you want. And since you know what you want, you don’t want to have to wait around to get it. You want the whole process to be fast and easy. Us, too.”

Yes, Comcast. How do you know me so well? I do want what I want, WHERE I want it! You’re right; I don’t want to have to wait around to get it. On this, we agree. However, I take issue with your claim that we are on the same page. I take issue with this because, as I speak (type), I am suffering from severe back pain which I believe is a direct consequence of the fact that my internet only works if I put my computer in the most uncomfortable position possible. Seriously, if I move my body even an inch or so in a different direction, so that I don’t have to twist my entire spinal column to the right and put all of my weight on one elbow, my internet shuts off. DO YOU KNOW WHY? Because, inexplicably, our modem “broke” and I have to take it in to exchange it. Even though we did nothing to break it!

What I want is the internet. Where I want it is in my house, while I am lying in my bed with my laptop on my lap instead of perched on the far left corner of my bed, so I can watch GLEE without Hulu having to fucking buffer every 20 seconds.

That is all.

Oh, Berkeley.

oh someone left their baby on level B of the main stacks by the spiral staircase! wait NOPE. it’s a berkeley student. WTF

sorry for the bad quality, I had to turn my flash off as so not to wake her.

thnx Obama

“We count on you [journalists] to help us make sense of a complex world and tell the stories of our lives the way they happen, and we look for you for truth, even if it’s always an approximation. […] This is a season of renewal and reinvention. […] And I know that for all the challenges this industry faces, it’s not short on talent or creativity or passion or commitment. It’s not short of young people who are eager to break news or the not-so-young who still manage to ask the tough ones time and time again. These qualities alone will not solve all your problems, but they certainly prove that the problems are worth solving. And that is a good place as any to begin.”

- Obama at the White House Correspondent’s Association Dinner.

Nothing snarky to add (for once). Full transcript here.

(via prettylegit)