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Amazingly, last Sundays Talib Kweli concert was not the stupidest planned concert ever. It was actually fun. But still, Student Events did little to discourage stupidity on all fronts.

First off, why would anyone in their right minds schedule a concert on a Sunday night in the middle of prime mid-term season? Granted, it might have been hard to find an alternative time but my Sunday nights are normally filled with a romantic comedy, hip-widening chocolates, and trying on the latest line of Clinique make-up.

Also, the cops were busting for drugs. How stupid is that? Our only opportunity at fun for a while and they break it up? I am hip with what you kids do these days, including smoking the joints filled with illegal substances. I do not do it myself, because that would be a violation of state and federal law. I never do anything illegal, except for drinking Jack Daniels Whiskey in my Ridgewood, Suite #17, every Friday night. But still, why the cops got to be all up in our grill? I say, stop being such playa haters and, next time, join in!

Even worse than this was the performers on stage and their intelligent comments that were the most enlightening things since The Enlightenment itself. One performer, who probably spends his time reading the philosophical stances of Dr. Dre and Eminem, told the large audience, F**k Bush!

Anyone could have gone to the concert and been a huge Bush hater and still been like, What are you doing? I am really, really high (on life of course) and am paid to hear you master the use of English words, not discuss politics.

The last person I need to hear from concerning any matter of intelligent debate is a rapper. Making rappers or Hollywood stars or anyone who is totally, totally not in tune with the real World experts on public policy is like asking Aramark to be professionals on sensitivity.

With her push-up bra, I dont need to hear Angelina Jolie lecture me on the need of expanding American aid, when the latest thing she has been worrying about expanding is her breast size through her fifth plastic surgery. Does she really know what she is talking about? She emotes a couple of lines, and whamo! she suddenly knows more than me? Honey, I dont think so. I actually go to an established institution where beauty might be lacking (except for the freshman girls), but at least we act like we know what we are talking about.

But then again, as much as I despise those out-of-touch stars, there is a part of me that would love to be just like them. I admit wholeheartedly that I would love to make millions and have a national following. And I think, finally, I could do my Herschels Peace Tour, which would inspire changes in American public policy to encourage peace amongst various factions of the penguin population in Antarctica. I get up on stage and say, Peace for the Penguins! and thousands cheer. Wow! That would be the life!

Going to the Bathroom

When classes started back up again, I was very excited to experience the beauty of another semester of classes. I was so pumped up for learning a little more about myself and about the material that was presented to me. That is, until I sat through my first whole day of classes and realized, Wow! I really hate this crap.

How do I get around going to class without really going to class? Well my friends, drinking is an expensive addiction. Drugs arent an option either, unless you count the seven medications that I take daily to cure my bi-polar disorder, my social anxiety, my lack of happiness, and other fun stuff my psychiatrist gave me. You remember what happens when I forget to take it? I start stalking my ex-girlfriend. (Theres only one of those. You know why. My love life is pathetic.)

But, now, I have decided to use something a little more natural. Its something called releasing your bladder. This is something which I just unbearably cannot control for a whole fifty-minute period of time and just have to take care of during one of my professors really interesting talks about his family and beloved children.

While I go to the bathroom, I mosey on about in the hallway, call a friend or two, checking my stocks, checking my e-mail, and stroll to the bathroom, where I look at myself in the mirror and practice my golf swing. I come back, looking all stressed, like as if I had been up all night last night studying really hard and just needed that break.

The beauty of it is that professors cannot ask too many questions. I have private stuff to take care of. And if they start asking questions, I will start crying. Hey, it worked with my mom. Why wouldnt a little bit of sympathy about my dog dying work with them too?

Something My Mother Said To Me

Did you repent this Yom Kippur for how you treat me? Everyone at Brandeis thinks I am this controlling mother!

Oh Mom, of course, I repented! I asked for forgiveness so that I could do a whole another year of making fun of my overbearing Jewish mother. To another year! LChaim To Life!