I see you walking around Grounds all the time, off in your own little world, oblivious to the dominant social norms and conventional definitions of the word "normal." Good for you! You're a beautiful and unique snowflake and everyone is afraid to make fun of you because you have the courage of your convictions. You're better than everyone because you've risen above the oppressive social pressure to conform.
But just in case you someday decide that you'll have to grow up and become ordinary (perhaps because no one will hire you and living in a studio apartment with a coke addict just doesn't convey the artistic appeal you once thought it did), I've written this column to help you realize that you are not, as of yet, ordinary. You are, in fact, "that guy" or "that girl," and these things are what distinguish you as such. Ladies first.
That Girl: Welcome to February. Today's forecast calls for a 90 percent chance of a wintry mix with a high of 36 and a low of 26. Water freezes at 32 degrees, my friend. So why are you wearing high heels and/or a skirt? Skin is exposed, ergo you are cold. Is frostbite really worth the one creepy guy with a foot fetish checking you out? Didn't think so.
That Guy: Again, there's snow on the ground. So why are you wearing shorts? Oh, you're from Maine? Big deal. It's cold, you know you're cold, we know you're cold. Put on a jacket and a pair of sweatpants, doofus. By the way, the Hawaiian shirt is fooling no one. Warmth is not a state of mind.
That Girl: Oh, I love that song. Who sings it? [Insert your response of cliché pop artist/run-of-the-mill, soulful R&B singer] Yeah, let's keep it that way. You are no American Idol in training -- you are just as good as every other sorority girl who walks around with her iPod and sings Kelly Clarkson off-key at the top of her lungs in her Honda CR-V with her "girlfriends." I'm already late for class, don't ruin my brisk walk any more with your depressing attempt at Muzak.
That Guy: I've seen "8 Mile," and I loved it. I love freestyles in general. You walking around Grounds at 11 at night while I'm waiting for the bus, freestyling to your heart's content: I do not love. How do I say this nicely ... you're garbage. They say practice makes perfect, but you'll notice that they don't say practice in public makes perfect. I quote "8 Mile": "Here's a pencil / Go home, write some [stuff], make it suspenseful / And don't come back until something dope hits you / [Screw] it, you can take the mic home with you." Please do so.
That Girl: I went to go see "The Prestige" at our very own Newcomb Theater Saturday night, and you were there behind me, perpetually making noise. You began the evening with seven or eight bags of Skittles, rustling each package as much as possible to create the soundtrack to a battle scene between two opposing grocery bag battalions. You followed that up with an equally thrilling text message of about 74,629 characters in length, buttons beeping all the way. For your piece de resistance you had your boyfriend fill you in on what you'd missed in the last 45 minutes. I think by this point you've gathered that I despise you.
That Guy: Shut your girlfriend the hell up. I paid $3 for this ticket.
That Girl: Wow ... what've you got there? A PSP? Neato. How old are you? I thought so, ditch that thing. You can vote. You can buy cigarettes and porn. Upgrade your life, Ms. I Still Love Hello Kitty. Ohmigosh, is that a Tamagotchi? Yeah, you're a lost cause. Get away from me before I catch your disease that makes you think you're 10 years younger than you actually are.
That Guy: You are that guy whose girlfriend is way out of his league. None of us are sure how you pulled her in the first place, including you. Advice: dump her, stat. It's a trap! Either she's got a tremendous self-confidence problem and will drive you insane with her issues, or she's a cold-hearted she-devil who loves to pick up ugly guys and crush their souls. Either way you'll be holding her hair while she pukes or holding the bowl while you do. Neither position is good. Get out while you still can. There are plenty of fish in the sea.
I'll keep my eyes peeled for more of you unique individuals because, what can I say, I'm a public servant. If you even suspect that you're a "that guy"/"that girl," buy a Polo shirt, turn your hat backwards, listen to Jack Johnson, play beer pong and scour Facebook. The status quo is your friend.
Jim's columns run biweekly on Tuesdays. He can be reached at russell@cavalierdaily.com
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