Yesterday, I decided to walk around all day with my iPod headphones on.
It's part of my ongoing transformation into an Urban Outfitters clone. You know, the idiots with their messenger bags thrown over their shoulder with their faux-vintage t-shirt over their long sleeve T and destroyed jeans, checkerboard slip on shoes, two days worth of stubble and aviators. God do I hate those people. But I decided to go "undercover" as one of those pretentious homos, you know, to walk a mile in their shoes. It's what Atticus Finch would have wanted.
Those people with their headphones on have always been a conundrum to me. They're on the short list of "things that I don't understand," along with String Theory, extended warranties, Senator Harry Reid, and the appeal of Scarlett Johansson.
So I slipped my earbuds under my Flash T-shirt, under my long sleeve T and headed out to class in my green Vans. Oddly enough, it was very comforting. My "Get Psyched" playlist set the tone for the entire walk. Life is just that much more exciting when Bon Jovi provides a soundtrack for your every step.
And then I took a step off the curb and I was honestly living on a prayer when I nearly got smashed by a Suzuki Swift. The irate driver probably started screaming at that "goddam kid with the idiot iPod not paying attention to anything," but I couldn't tell since the opening chords of "Runaway" started blaring.
This would happen another 3 times.
Conventional logic says that being deprived of your sense of hearing is a detriment to your daily life. Well I only have two words: Bu and Llshit. Thursday was the most exciting day of my life. You never know who's going to bump into you or scream at you or try to mow you down. It's like running across the freeway while hired stunt drivers pretend to hit you. Without the constant threat of being killed, there's no point to living. This is why I went bungy jumping, sky diving and told a large Bostonian man that Curt Schilling didn't really bleed on his sock and then ran in the other direction.
So while before I thought it was a sign of retard Emo kid rats, but now I realize that it's just another way of tempting fate. BAM. Max Davison stamp of approval.
Now, I just have to make that stamp...
-MGD
Max Davison is a junior at Claremont McKenna College. He was brought up on a side street. He learned how to love before he could eat. He was educated at Woodstock. And when he starts loving, he can’t stop.
It's part of my ongoing transformation into an Urban Outfitters clone. You know, the idiots with their messenger bags thrown over their shoulder with their faux-vintage t-shirt over their long sleeve T and destroyed jeans, checkerboard slip on shoes, two days worth of stubble and aviators. God do I hate those people. But I decided to go "undercover" as one of those pretentious homos, you know, to walk a mile in their shoes. It's what Atticus Finch would have wanted.
Those people with their headphones on have always been a conundrum to me. They're on the short list of "things that I don't understand," along with String Theory, extended warranties, Senator Harry Reid, and the appeal of Scarlett Johansson.
So I slipped my earbuds under my Flash T-shirt, under my long sleeve T and headed out to class in my green Vans. Oddly enough, it was very comforting. My "Get Psyched" playlist set the tone for the entire walk. Life is just that much more exciting when Bon Jovi provides a soundtrack for your every step.
And then I took a step off the curb and I was honestly living on a prayer when I nearly got smashed by a Suzuki Swift. The irate driver probably started screaming at that "goddam kid with the idiot iPod not paying attention to anything," but I couldn't tell since the opening chords of "Runaway" started blaring.
This would happen another 3 times.
Conventional logic says that being deprived of your sense of hearing is a detriment to your daily life. Well I only have two words: Bu and Llshit. Thursday was the most exciting day of my life. You never know who's going to bump into you or scream at you or try to mow you down. It's like running across the freeway while hired stunt drivers pretend to hit you. Without the constant threat of being killed, there's no point to living. This is why I went bungy jumping, sky diving and told a large Bostonian man that Curt Schilling didn't really bleed on his sock and then ran in the other direction.
So while before I thought it was a sign of retard Emo kid rats, but now I realize that it's just another way of tempting fate. BAM. Max Davison stamp of approval.
Now, I just have to make that stamp...
-MGD
Max Davison is a junior at Claremont McKenna College. He was brought up on a side street. He learned how to love before he could eat. He was educated at Woodstock. And when he starts loving, he can’t stop.
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