You’re never too old for Seventeen
After waiting nearly 25 minutes in line, the 16-year-old judgmental grocery store clerk said, ""Are you going to buy that Soap Opera Digest? Usually only the old ladies get that.""
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After waiting nearly 25 minutes in line, the 16-year-old judgmental grocery store clerk said, ""Are you going to buy that Soap Opera Digest? Usually only the old ladies get that.""
Under normal circumstances, the UW student section is welcoming and pleasant. Gentle hostilities are exchanged between the sections and opposing fans have to expect ridicule, but I was not prepared for the intense alienation I felt Saturday afternoon. I have long felt the sting of prejudice and second-class citizenship since it was discovered that I have an inability to clap on rhythm, whistle, snap and—worst of all—participate in massive group dances.
I spent an inordinate amount of my middle school existence in a mall. I don't really remember what the point of my weekly Saturday trips to the mall was—except to maybe scope out the latest selection of butterfly clips at Claire's (I always color-coordinated my clips to either match my braces or provide an extra bit of super trendy accessorized support for the Packers) and try on different shades of pink lip glosses (ok, and to check out all the eighth grade football studs who roamed the mall wearing snap pants). All I knew was that it was the cool thing to do and I wanted nothing more than to be a cool seventh grader.
Midterms are quite possibly the most unnecessary form of stress in collegiate life, and after a slew of midterms last week, my roommate and I found ourselves sitting in our living room looking for some way to relax. With no better idea in mind, we turned on the TV to the best 30 minutes of escapism available. We figured that as long as no one walked in on us, it was probably the best way to spend the afternoon.
Some people are unlucky in life, some unlucky in love and a few unfortunates are unlucky in lecture and bus seating arrangements. Stories have floated around since freshman year of people meeting friends, boyfriends, future husbands and football players in their lectures, and more than once I have eavesdropped on the Badger Bus and listened to people making new best friends.
It's large and square, with slightly slanted sides and four 20-foot high screens covered in thousands of tiny lights. When it's dark, it's just another JumboTron. But when it lights up, and cameras around the Kohl Center start panning the crowd, it's my archenemy.
This guy, this big guy right here, he's the beer bong drinking champion,"" a man in a San Diego State mock turtleneck said, pointing to his friend. The self declared 1982 world beer bong champion was warming up for his return to glory, slowly sipping a lukewarm Miller Lite and brushing the dirt off of his world champion beer belly.
The temperature was slowly dropping outside the Kohl Center Friday night and despite my contraband blanket, (which was in turn supplemented by an artificial one of Sunny D and vodka), I couldn't keep my mind off the cold. So, I did what any otherwise normal person who had been sitting in a lawn chair for 11 hours would do—I decided to eavesdrop on the boys next to me.
There were two things that should've immediately signaled to me that a supermarket-based singles night was not a good idea: A bumpin' DJ was spinning hot Top-40 hits and telling all singles present to put their arms in the air and wave them 'round like they just don't care; second, a line of men stood alone next to a deli case of specialty cheeses; and the fact remained that I was actually going to a singles night on a Friday.
No one really tells the truth about themselves when you meet for the first time freshman year. Too desperate to make friends, traits from high school get lost, attachments to old music and TV shows are abandoned, and too many people start pretending to like Radiohead and Dave Matthews Band. The dorm is a hostile environment, and it's no place for the weak-willed Celine Dion addict.
School spirit causes otherwise normal people to do interesting things. A seemingly mild mannered computer engineering major might spend an hour perfecting his chest paint, while a quiet English major scrunges for a foam finger and a bevy of philosophy majors spend an evening making insulting T-shirts.
Saturday morning cartoons made my parents nervous. ""Ghostbusters"" was too violent, ""The Smurfs"" too ambiguous, and ""Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles"" too ... too ... well, they were too much of everything. It wasn't turtle power, per se, that made them nervous—it was all that Saturday morning cartoons had come to represent and their ""unfortunate"" influence on my behavior. They taught me slang.
The lobby of a dorm on move-in day is the eighth circle of hell. It's hot, it's sticky, parents are screaming, there's no water to quench your thirst and your fate (meaning, whether you get that laundry cart and how fast you get on that elevator) is in the hands of someone in red who cackles devilishly at you as he takes your ID card.
The lights were dim, the music was pounding and the models were barely clothed. One after another, pairs of models sauntered down the rickety pink tulle-edge runway, stopped at the end, ignored the hands that attempted to grab them, pouted and scampered off the stage.
Wind, snow and sleet may not stop the most determined of moped riders from zipping down University Avenue in between classes, but a little piece of rock salt may put an end to their moped riding during the winter.
The recent spike in fuel costs has homeowners scrambling this winter to cover the expected rise in heating bills; but as to exactly how these high fuel costs will affect the UW-Madison campus, not much, if anything, is known.
Cold, isolating and uninclusive-Plan 2008 often paints a bleak picture of UW-Madison campus racial relations. However, a forum hosted by the School of Business this week will try to change that image by closely examining classroom climate in the School of Business, and encouraging a campus-wide discussion on racial inclusivity.
Skirts are causing a sensation this prom season. So are asymmetrical hems, the color green, ruched bodices and anything bejeweled. But there is something even hotter than pairing that dress with a wrap-the booming, $150 billion-per-year-teen market that has retail executives eyeing teens with disposable incomes just as feverishly as teens eye the latest prom dress.
Annie Walsworth, a UW-Madison sophomore, is well-aware of what she is wearing.
The future is looking brighter for Chanel, Christian Dior, Louis Vuitton and other luxury brands.