About Me

After a discussion about people’s About Me sections of facebook with my friend Jess, I realized that here I am, a senior who’s been writing for over two years, and most of you still know nothing about me. On a related note, I’m always amused by the once-a-month occurrence of talking to someone I’ve been friendly with for about a year, then suddenly having them say “wait, you’re the Andrew from the paper! I never realized that!” Anyway, time to do a better job introducing myself.

Despite what the picture may have you believing, I am not Nelly’s long lost albino twin with dyed red hair. That costume was the end of a thought process on Halloween my freshman year that went something like this: “Oh…. looks like people dress up in college for Halloween… damn it, I’m supposed to be somewhere in 10 minutes. What can I be? (opens closet) Hmmm, a football jersey. Hmmm, a hat. Hmmm, a box of band-aids…”

In case you've only read it online: the author's picture in each week's paper.

I’m half-Jewish, so when I screw something up, I only say “oy” instead of the full “oy vey.”

I believe that the Red Hot Chili Peppers are the best band of our generation… but I’d rather listen to Cascada. And speaking of music, I love hip hop despite being unable to relate to most of it, I have an unhealthy addiction to crappy techno that I recognize is awful but listen to anyway, and I enjoy Dave Matthews Band, although I don’t understand why people love them more than their families, friends, and all non-dave-matthews-cd-possessions combined. They’re pretty good… not amazing. And that being said, if I happen to be discovered at the bottom of the Thames River sometime within a week of this column being printed, I encourage any and all investigating to head straight to Emily the diehard DMB fan, who is probably already plotting my death upon reading this.

I only have three heroes – Takeru Kobayashi (ate 53.75 hot dogs in 12 minutes), Shakira (which is Spanish for “watch me move my hips and just imagine what I’m like in bed”), and the late, great Steve Irwin, mate.

The only thing I hate more than driving behind an old lady from Florida driving her car slower than David Wells immediately after he eats a meal in the left lane with the blinker on for 46 miles is biting into a delicious looking chocolate chip cookie, only to find out that it has nuts. Biting into a cookie with a nut in it is getting hit in the face by an asteroid as you’re walking down the sidewalk on your way to class: you never see it coming, and it hurts every time.

My heart beats about 30 beats per minute faster with excitement every time Darkwing Duck says “Let’s… get… DANGEROUS.” And yes, I do own the first 25 episodes of Darkwing Duck on DVD.

I have problems with people who fail to recognize the difference between “clean” and “organized.” I only wear clothes once before I wash them, I change my sheets once a week, and I shower at least once a day; I am clean. I am frequently forgetting homework assignments, have piles of unfolded (but clean) laundry lying around, and have to play hopscotch to get from my bed to my desk; I am unorganized. It’s quite easy to be both.

I have spent the past 5 years pushing for a law that would require people to say “sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY!” like a monster truck race announcer every time they want to talk about the day after Saturday.

The only thing better than ice cream is ice cream a la mode. Speaking of ice cream, I do not believe in the phrase “it’s too cold for ice cream.” There is no such thing as “too cold for ice cream”, only “hey, the ice cream will melt slower!”

Finally, my birthday is September 28, so it seems like a good time to remind you that it’s better to give than to receive.