Notes on the exhibited behaviors of college students: an outsider’s perspective

Well, blags,

It’s pretty goddamn September out there now. Leaves are falling, the kids are back to school, and my hands are cold all the time because I have the at-rest circulatory system of an 83-year-old.

But perhaps the most noticeable indication of the change in seasons is the arrival of the hordes of Boston College (which is actually a university, but who cares?) students to my new neighborhood which is, indeed, quite close to Boston College, so that all makes plenty of sense.

Things I forgot about college kids since going through the post-college, real-world gauntlet of broken dreams, diminished leisure time and extended work hours:

  1. They’re loud all the time, especially late at night.
  2. They travel in packs, which are loud all the time, especially late at night.
  3. They wear inside-clothes outside, saving dungarees for special occasions.
  4. They drink and do drugs during the day, often in front of their houses.
  5. They never invite me to hang out (I actually remember this from college).

A less list-oriented observation: White college kids are remarkably similar to East L.A. hispanic gangs, according to movies I’ve seen. They disregard chronological norms (weekday afternoons are an acceptable time to party), dress almost exclusively in athletic attire, drink and drug in broad daylight, spend a lot of time relaxing and they get audibly very angry, very late at night, loping around in Clockwork Orange-inspired packs of light-beer swilling droogies, only they provide no kind of literary insight to the onlooker, other than a bland sort of modern decay. They’re just dumb and drunk and they walk places. And as I mentioned above, they never invite me, not that I’d want to hang out with them anyway.

This is what we’ve created. This is what we’ve created with Bud Light Platinum. We have reached the event horizon.

Last night I watched in disbelief as about 30 of them ambled mindlessly through a green light as taxis and other late-night drivers were forced to stop at the intersection, give the odd beep and wait for them to cross the street. This, I imagined, is what the zombie apocalypse may look like. College or no, these roving bands of ethanol-driven groupthink  exhibit few signs of higher intelligence.

This horde of youngsters, beer-addled and marching to feast upon innocent under-cooked pizzas are our future, I thought. As much a portent of things to come as a palantir glimpse at the horrors that already exist. A little drunk myself, I stood at the window in darkness and watched for a few moments before curling into bed, terrified. My fingers clutched the handle of a large knife I keep under my pillow for protection. That night, my dreams were to be no kinder than waking life.

Compelling stuff, indeed. Now it’s time for another quick installment of Danny Explains! This time, we explore the entrepreneurial side of Twitter!

How does one get rich off Twitter, and nothing else?

By being a completely lucky shitstick. Seriously, no one gets rich off twitter (unless you’re Rob Delaney). I’m a numbers guy and I ran some Excel models recently and determined that the odds of becoming a Twitter phenom are just south of the likelihood that I could get Kate Upton to sleep with me.

Thanks, Danny, and don’t be so hard on yourself — any guy can appeal to any woman, as long as he’s really rich!


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