Official Orange: Blog

Dancing Queen - May 9, 2012

As I have scrolled through my Facebook timeline this week, I have been privy to the fact that another prom has come and gone at my local Alma Mater; and while I hope all went well, there is something that I feel must be addressed: one topic that apparently has gone un-discussed by many young men and has led to some startling outcomes. That is the topic of a proper tuxedo. Gentlemen, unless your date has expressed EXPLICITLY that she wants you to match her colors, these are the un-bendable rules that you must go by in order to make her night special. And yes, it is HER night. If you are attending any type of event in which it is traditional to take a date who wears a gown/dress, then you should adhere to the time honored mantra WWGD. (What Would George Do?) There is a reason, after all, why so many women (and men) swoon over him.

If it's good enough for George, it's good enough for you. PERIOD. In answering this esoteric question, abide by the following guidelines:

Number one: Black

It should be a no-brainer, but it isn't. Many young men will stray from the path of George and opt for a less debonair tuxedo, all for the immature sake of humor. Listen to me, and remember my words: the night isn't yours, it's hers. You are an accessory, only a little more important than a corsage or clutch; and while she many assure you otherwise, allow this to be your mindset at all times. By deciding to be a peaCOCK goofball, you have taken eyes off of your date and placed them on you. In essence, you have put your date on a lower pedestal than you and George would never do that. Ever. There are exceptions to the rule, however, but they only apply to these men:

click here.

Guess who just got back today? - April 27, 2012

Well we've come to that point in the year where summer is so close you can smell it, and it is on this cloudy day atop Lewis Hall that my thoughts turn to the upcoming summer and of summers past. Growing up, I lived for the summer. Summer meant staying up late and sleeping even later, trips to the library with its distinctive smell that makes me so nostalgic. Summer was a time of friends coming over to play and swimming and hot days accompanied with warm nights. Even now, I still kind of live for the summer but more and more they are becoming bittersweet. I am slowly coming to realize the inevitable, that my summers are limited. After this year I really only have two summers left before I am faced with living in the real-world and that scares me...a lot. And so it is with this frightening epiphany in mind that I have chosen to reflect on summer and the summers of yore, and through this reflection have come to realize that I have been awarded the type of freedom that will never come again. To those who may be reading this and have many more summers to spare I would encourage you, wholeheartedly, to enjoy them, and live them to the fullest because growing up is scary. All my life I have been eager to be on my own, all the while my elders have been telling me to not wish my life away. I feel as though I haven't wished my life away, but rather have been afflicted with the same kind of naïve eagerness that affects all children.

We all want to be grown-ups because we feel as though we will have more freedom, but when we step out from the nest we realize just how good we have it, or rather, had it. This, however, is not meant to a lament, oh no, it is a wakeup call, perhaps more for me than for you, to quite simply live like we were dying. As much of a cliché as it is we should NEVER under any circumstances take our time on this planet for granted. We shouldn't spend our time mourning for what was, but rather face every day as an opportunity to be taken advantage of. To boldly face the new horizon and its bounty and realize that we have been shaped by the path that lay behind us. To those...

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Riders on the Storm - April 19, 2012

It's late Friday afternoon, April 13, 2012 and I get a panicked text from my Mother. "There is going to be storms tomorrow" it says, "please reconsider your plans for tomorrow". Despite her wisdom I choose not to heed her warning, not out of defiance mind you, but for the sheer fact that I've worked up a considerable wanderlust and this adventure might just do the trick. A few months ago, my friend Will invited our group to accompany him to a Sleigh Bells concert in Omaha, Nebraska; I was the only one who had the desire and means to go. The weather reports on Friday before the day of our "Broadtrip" were foreboding. Warnings of both the size and severity of this storm peppered our path to The Slowdown Theater, but despite the weather we were all set on going—two riders on the storm who were going to boom into Omaha on the back of a cyclone like flaming hellhounds! Our adventure actually began that Friday night with a concert at The Granada. Treasure Fingers performed for a crowd that was composed of 95% foreign exchange students from Asia, 3% odd, misplaced frat guys, and 2% people dancing like the world was burning (we fell into the latter minority). Sticking to my standard "Ecstasy fingers" dance, the opening DJ asked me if I slipped Treasure Fingers some sort of pill. I didn't, but apparently my trance-like dancing made me appear as if I might possess some designer drugs. Upon leaving the venue, my blonde compadré and I stumbled into the night amidst party-goers and bar hoppers. We arrived weary to the home of OO's own Jeff Hinshaw and slept like the dead.

In the morning, after a rousing game of D&D, we checked the weather forecasts and were on the road. Grabbing some Taco Bell near the state border, we found the energy to zip through po-dunk towns and arrive in Omaha just in time to get rained on. With time to kill, we went to a record store that bore the moniker "Homer's". Looking through their Rod Stewart albums for a gift to give my parents, I had worked up a considerable appetit...

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Tour De Campus - April 12, 2012

Freedom. That's what it is. Pure, unadulterated freedom. Those two, thin strips of hardened rubber under the aluminum frame can take me wherever I want to go and with over 23 gears to choose from no terrain is too difficult to master. I can wake up ten minutes later now and be to my destination in under 10 minutes whereas if I walk it would take double that. I don't have to wait for the large-cumbersome buses to take me to where I need to go, I am my own master. There is a kind of Zen-like quality about it. Your body gets to that strange state, alternating between hot and cold as your legs burn and a haze of sweat develops under your clothes only to be cooled down by the breeze you create with that very sweat. you push yourself to the brink of exhaustion before allowing yourself a moment to coast and rest, one leg extended closer to the ground before pushing off and building momentum again.

The wheels almost become a metaphor. Creation and destruction, pain and pleasure, action and reaction all acting seamlessly as you glide down the road. Honestly, it's better than meditation simply because it forces you to be mindful. If you lose sight of the road for just one split second, if you become distracted and aren't in the moment, then the results could be disastrous. But once you reach your destination, you realize that your bike is not merely a vehicle to be used means to an end but rather it provides a sense of adventurous fun to a daily chore that would otherwise be mundane. I thoroughly enjoy riding my bike and when I ride around campus, I feel like I'm Lance Armstrong, peddling my way to a yellow jersey. Better yet I feel like I'm one of those hip, nihilistic messengers from San Fran or New York when in reality I probably look and act more like this. Never the less I believe that biking is the best way to get around campus and I'm sure others would agree as well. It is faster that walking, more versatile than a car and you can control how and when you get to your destination rather tha...

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And I Like It, a Little Bit - April 5, 2012

A while back a friend of mine introduced me to a wild band that I had never heard of. Coming back from his annual Hajj to Warped Tour he spun me a tale of incredible on-stage antics such as pianos being played with feet and cigarettes being eaten. If by now you haven't figured it out, this exotic new band was none other than Foxy Shazam. They very quickly became the soundtrack to that crazy, last summer before my freshman year in college and whenever I hear one of their songs I am instantly reminded of dreadlocks and Jimmy Wongs. So when I heard earlier this year that they were coming out with a new album I was instantly excited. "OH BOY!" I thought, "Another head-banging, Queen-esqe, good time jam album!" (yes those were my actual thoughts) However, upon getting to the halfway mark in the album I was less than pleased. But why? Let's break this down and find out:

Okay so you have "Welcome to the Church of Rock and Roll" it's full of driving rhythms and power chords and loud, intense, rock choirs that would rival any glam-band worth its salt. A solid start. Next, we make it to the well-known single "I like it" about Eric's apparent affinity for African-American ladies with prolific posteriors (if it wasn't already made apparent by the music video for their single "Oh Lord"). Ok I can still dig it, this album is starting well. Continuing, we get to my favorite song on the entire album "Holy Touch" full of Alex Nauth's trumpet fanfare and a breakdown in the middle that has Eric wailing on a supersonic level. "Last chance at love" has Eric in prime form, crooning about his need for companionship. But this is where the album dies. Up until this point it has all been the Foxy that we know and love, but "together forever" just kills the mood, not because it's slow or somber it's just that the song is more of a coffee-house ballad than the heart wrenching tune that is "Evil Thoughts". Then you have "It's Too Late Baby" which sounds more or less like Toto, and from there the alb...

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