A Word or Two about Television

I know I still need to do my "Wrap-Up" entry, telling you about all the wonderful changes I notice in myself and how America differs from Sweden, but since that requires thought and effort, that will come after I am done with my final paper.

Ranting does NOT require effort.

Being the football/soccer fanatic that I am, I listen to BBC phone-in podcasts about the game. One host, called Danny Baker, had an idea that there were too many teams in the world and decided to create a Totalitatian League. Fans then called in and made cases as to why their team should be only one of twenty left in the world. Of course, this is a hypothetical.

Here is another hypothetical: Totalitarian Television. If I were a politician, I would get called a fascist or communist, but since I am one insignificant person of nearly 7 billion, I don't care.

In the current space of time, there are countless television channels. There is a channel for nearly every interest, its cousin broadcast channel in HD, and then channels about things absolutely no one, save for maybe its owner, is interested in. Topics that used to receive their own show now receive their own channel.

While I'm not calling for a revert back to the six channel system of the recent past, I do think it would do humanity (or anyone who has cable or satellite) to slim down the channel pickings to twenty. Fatasses everywhere would be forced to pull themselves off their sunken-cushion couches if their favorite channel, Midgets Running in Circles HD, suddenly only had sixty minutes of airtime. Then it could be broadcast when it should be broadcast (besides never), at 3 am when said fatasses couldn't be outside playing ball or stoners get too high to repack their bongs.

Okay, but seriously, kids wouldn't be as fat.

And hey, now I can tie this into Sweden. Swedish basic cable only had ten channels (imagine that!). And I do recall an older Swede telling me he was rushing home with his little boy so they could catch cartoon hour. HOUR. Maybe that's why there aren't any fat people in Sweden. Timmy, or let's call him Anders, watches cartoons for an hour then goes out and chases butterflies for a couple hours.

I'm not going to give you the twenty channels that would remain a) because i am too lazy, and b) because it would be incredibly biased (ArsenalTV WOULD be among them). But you can use them as a conversation piece at your next social gathering, or try to forget you ever read this nonsense.

And as for the answer to your question of "Will this blog continue after he finishes writing about Sweden?" Absolutely not.

A Quick Rant at Nike

So about a year ago, I bought some awesome new Nike socks. They're black and go up past my ankles, and they're really comfortable.

So of course, in choosing to buy socks about six months ago, I elected to stick with the Nike black half-rise socks. Little did I know that these six new pairs of socks would cause me constant consternation (how's that for verbosity?) for the entirety of my time in Sweden.

You see, these socks feature a prominent L or R, telling me which foot to put them on. Being far from Obsessive Compulsive but caring a bit about order, it is just one more thing to bring the temperature of my blood closer to the boil. And for those of you that know me, you'll know that my blood already teeters dangerously on the brink.

Why do the clowns at Nike's design department need to do this? Both socks are the same, but for that godforsaken 1/26 of our alphabet. So when I inevitably put my right foot into the left sock, I have that split second of horror. Or, when I'm folding my laundry, I have to care not to match up two left socks even though it doesn't matter. It matters subconsciously, which I can tell you, irks me even more.

Of course, you're thinking, "Does this blowhard really need to rant about socks?" The answer is yes.

Two days until I reenter the realm of smog, earthquakes, and fires. Oh yeah, and apparently I have to worry about lightning too now.

Good day.

BC = Bullsh*t College

*UPDATE*
The pick times have been postponed for a day. Gotta love ResLife. I'm heading to London tomorrow.

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Well in case you'd like to know how I spent my day, it pretty much went something like this:

1. Cultivate dislike for Boston College
2. Develop dislike for Boston College into hatred for Boston College
3. Cultivate already intense hatred for Boston College Office of Residential Life

Let me explain.

At approximately 14:45 GMT+1, I sat down at my computer in order to register for Fall 2009 classes. I'd already had a difficult time retrieving my registration code from the BC bureaucracy, but my adviser sent it to me Monday evening. I typed the four-digit password into the registration system, and VOILA! it didn't work. So I whipped off two e-mails quickly to my adviser and the history department secretary pleading for my key. After already bursting several blood vessels in my head and neck, I finally received a corrected password from Student Services and was able to register. Only then did I find out that one of my courses had changed times. This didn't interfere with other courses but will interfere with my sleep schedule next semester.

Then began the already infamous (in BC circles) debacle – I wish a stronger word was in my grasp – with ResLife. The plan was for one person to register our two six-person groups. At first, we couldn't register two of the twelve because of niggly ResLife requirements (a simple "checked box" on the housing application). I quickly rang the two via Skype in order to take care of the matter.

The group registration was supposed to end at 1pm EST, but certain technical difficulties with the system precluded this promise. I should add that this is the first year the housing process has been completely digital, so my class are the guinea pigs. And clearly, ResLife don't have their *CENSORED* together. It wasn't until 2pm that the registration closed, and not until 5pm that we received our lottery picks.

Therefore, I wasted a grand total of four hours waiting for news from ResLife. Given my experience with this utterly useless organization, I am none too pleased with them.

Let's examine the people who work for ResLife, shall we? At the very bottom are the Resident Assistants, or RAs. I have absolutely no problem with these people. They receive free housing from the university in exchange for playing bad guy, which excusing some RAs being stricter than others. Next are the Resident Directors, or RDs, of which there is one in each building. From my experience with RDs, BC has taken the most needlessly strict, power-tripping RAs and promoted them. Most of these people are over the age of 25 and should not be spending their lives busting college kids for what college kids are supposed to be doing: drinking (besides studying).

I must digress for a moment to inform the reader that, as this esteemed author is writing this blog, he has received another e-mail from ResLife informing him that pick times have been delayed by another hour.

Now where was I. After the RDs, we move up into the ResLife higher staff. Dealing with these people for numerous college-related offenses (i.e. hosting a party in my suite or GOD FORBID, deploying a fire extinguisher), I have learned that these people are illogical morons. In several meetings with them, we have easily found flaws in their cases against me and my roommates. I have a feeling that their limited life potential has inspired them to use solely their passions in enforcing the already unjust ResLife codes. In Laymen's terms, these people didn't have fun in college and don't want you to either.

I should add, somewhat diminishing my own passion in this blog, that there are always exceptions to these laws of the universe. For every idiot, there are two people trailing in his wake trying to fix the mess. Unfortunately for the latter two, the idiot is the one who receives the most attention and spoils their own reputations.