Max-stravaganza

Recently, Men's Health Magazine (aka the Gospel According to Whey Protein) came out with an article about proportionality in your workout. They insist that if weighed on a scale, your biceps would only amount to about 3% of your total body weight. And in the world according to MH, only about 3% of your workout should be dedicated to said muscles. Now, I'm a firm believer in Men's Health. It's my homepage. It's my spiritual text. It's what I read on the elliptical. Actually, it told me that men are allowed to run on the elliptical to begin with (no longer the Title IX version of the treadmill). Hell, I even have a copy signed by one of the male models who posed for the special abdominal issue (BTW, I know what you're thinking and no, this does not make me gay). The periodical has taught me how to eat right, how to exercise, AND it taught me all about what women want . That's an ability that only Mel Gibson has. But this new article has gone too

We were waiting in line for Bill Clinton tickets last Monday, and since there was a moritorium on Assassins, boredom set it. So we did the only thing that bored college students with pens and paper could....we played MASH . I know what you're thinking: Isn't that game meant for 6th graders on 2 hour bus rides to the aquarium for a field trip? I like to think that MASH fits well for any line in which FastPass is not an option. A lot of people have postulated as to my future. Some have predicted that I'll end up rich, famous and alone. Others have predicted that I'll end up in a ditch after offending the wrong minority. So allow me to stop the guessing game and give you my MASHIP'd future: I'll be living in an igloo, married to Emmy Rossum and we'll have 2.5 kids. I'll be working as a Naval Aviator and I'll drive a Diet Pepsi Truck to work everyday. Yup. Future's not going to be too bad. Only problem is that these results confuse me a tad

I submitted this last week for the Writing Center's little literary journal competition. I never heard back, so I'm assuming that the first prize e-mail got lost somewhere in the interweb, or that I'm probably not getting published. But isn't that what these blogs are for? So, in its entirety, is my entry. It started out as an epic poem, turned into a power ballad, and is now just some sort of Seussian work. I would also like to add that none of this is based on my own personal experiences. I may have a thorough knowledge of people's lives, but I would never resort to what follows. Facebook Stalker By Max Davison Hey there, do you also think this party’s lame? I can’t stand watching the same old Beirut game. I really wish there was something more to do Maybe if they had a tournament for Taboo? No fooling! It’s my favorite board game, too! I suppose The toughest word I ever got was “Axl Rose” Luckily my teammate’s favorite song is “Paradis

I had to go to Pitzer last week to get my final study abroad course form signed. I timed myself and it takes me only 8 minutes 42 seconds of brisk walking to traverse two campuses and get there. I only had to cross Mills and I was already in another world. You would think that 8 minutes wouldn't change your surroundings too much, but it was like I walked through a magical wardrobe or got swept up in a tornado or started tripping on LSD. But this time I didn't see fauns or munchkins or Jim Morrison telling me to shoot everybody (although I did find a dealer within my first two minutes on Pitzer). No, rather I got a lot of weird looks from people dressed like John Lennon before he got shot (read: Urban Outfitters). It's as though Pitzer students have a seventh sense about people like me. Their spidey sense starts tingling and immediately they all think "Voted for Bush! Kill! Kill! Kill!" But the mere fact that this campus is so different from every other o

I never thought that I would remotely see the day when people actually asked me to update this shrine to my own ego that some call "a blog." But the impossible happened, and I'm back in blogging business. The other reason that I've decided to do it is that from now until April 26th, I'm going to have over 60 pages of papers due. (Pause so that all men reading this will say "Wow. What a man!" and so that all women will take pity on me and offer to cuddle). So for the next 4 weeks while I'm twitching due to sleep deprivation and Red Bull overdoses, I'll find more time to get away from James Joyce and Tennyson and start aimlessly ranting about nothing at all. Kind of like the resurgence of the high five. Recently, Man Law has determined that the high five is going out of style and is overplayed. Jerome Bettis testified that he gave his teammates a high five after the Super Bowl...but he also gave a stranger on the street a high five after he f