Snobbery for Dummies

Having spent a year studying at an upper-end music conservatory, I'm all too familiar with the type of kid who wrote this next column. So to aid in your understanding of this tasty morsel, below the original text, I've included a modified version of the article everyone can relate to. Enjoy.


EDITORIAL: Owning a guitar does not make you a musician
Collin Binkley
Issue date: 10/14/08 Section: Arts


There is a growing epidemic saturating college campuses nationwide: the hobby-guitarist.

There is a growing epidemic saturating college campuses nationwide: the snobby musician.

In nearly every house, apartment or dorm on campus, you can find that guitarist. He's the guy who bought an acoustic guitar as his wing-man in picking up women. He has little or no intention of developing musical talent, and he is constantly impressed with his ability to maintain mediocrity. The first three songs he learns are "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)," "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and "Stairway to Heaven" - and they are usually the last songs he learns.

In nearly every house, apartment or dorm on campus, you can find that guy. He's the guy who thinks that because he started playing the guitar in the ninth grade rather than freshman year of college, he has some inalienable right to the instrument and everyone else who tries to learn is a poser. Those “posers” may have little to no intention of becoming a first-rate guitarist or starting a band—or even doing anything more than playing for a few friends or killing a little time—but since they're not as good as the snobby musician, they don't even deserve to play for fun. The first three songs those posers learn are "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)," "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and "Stairway to Heaven" – and while simply picking up an instrument cold and learning to play it is something to be proud of, snobby musician won't give them any credit for their accomplishments because they can't play “real” songs.

The small subcategory of this group who actually attempt to write their own music get an "A for effort," but usually nothing more.

The small subcategory of this group [that] actually [attempts] to help the aspiring hobby-guitarist out [gets] an “A for effort,” but they're usually too pretentious to do so.

I wouldn't be offended if these guys kept their pseudo-musical urges under wraps in their private lives, but, ironically, they never pass up an opportunity to pull out their six-string and bore an unsuspecting crowd. They'll do it at parties, on street corners, at open mic nights or at any bar desperate for a "musician."

I wouldn't be offended if these guys kept their psuedo-pretentious ramblings under wraps in their private lives (whatever that means), but, ironically, they never pass up an opportunity to pull out their laundry list of complaints and bore an unsuspecting audience with their complaining about musicians who “aren't true guitarists.” They'll do it at parties, on street corners, or at any college newspaper desperate for a “columnist.”

Before you click "send" on that hate e-mail you're already working on, realize that I'm not discouraging creative expression. Artistic expression, at its worst, has some value to the artist, and at best, can be life-changing. At some point in their lives, Charlie Parker, Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon probably weren't very good musicians. But they practiced, with determination, and became some of the most influential musicians of our era.

Before you click "send" on that hate e-mail you're already working on, realize that I'm not discouraging freedom of speech. Pointless grievance about an inane topic, at its worst, has some value to the writer's grandmother who has the article posted on her fridge, and at best, can be hanging on the parents' fridge. At some point in their lives, Ann Coulter, Gregg Easterbrook, and Graham Beckwith probably weren't very good complainers. But they practiced, with determination, and their work became some of the most influential drivel of our era.

The difference between these musicians and "hobby-musicians" is the drive to learn. Your hacky-sacking neighbor who sings "What I Got" on repeat might not be interested in the complexities of chording - but he should be.

The difference between these hobby-guitarists and "snobby musicians" is the drive to be an elitist. Your hacky-sacking neighbor who sings "What I Got" on repeat might not be interested in the complexities of chording – and he doesn't have to be to enjoy playing music in his spare time, but he should be if he ever wants to tell other people how to play and enjoy their music.

Learning to play music is similar to learning a new language, but many people are content with learning the absolute basics. The result: a stunted musical vocabulary and a limited expressive capacity.

Learning to bitch and moan about other people learning your instrument is similar to learning a new language, but many people are content with learning the absolute basics. The result: a narrow range of pointless arguments and a limited sense of understanding of what being a musician is actually about: fun, however one experiences it.

Fortunately, the cure to the epidemic is simple. If you want to be a musician, take lessons and practice hard. People devote their entire lives to music, so it isn't going to be a one-week endeavor. If you can't commit to practice and you don't want to learn, keep the guitar in your room.

Fortunately, the cure to the epidemic is simple. If you want to be a snobby, take lessons and practice hard. People devote their entire lives to belittling others, so it isn't going to be a one-week endeavor. If you can't commit to incessantly find fault in others and you don't want to learn, keep the quill in your inkwell.

21 x 20 = ...

I'm going to warn you that this one isn't pretty. In the college journalism world, two types of bad articles seem to rule the bad-article realm: the kinds that try and fail, and the kinds that don't even try. In my eyes, the latter is decisively worse. At least when an article is sincere in its suckiness and tries to argue something with passion, the author—no matter how wrong or how terrible a writer—comes away looking like he made an effort.

But when a column like this comes along that looks very, in a word, slapped-together-hastily-an-hour-before-deadline... I get irritated. A column is a form of an essay, whose etymology, as some overzealous teacher has probably told you, is derived from the French verb “essayer” which means “to try.” This column does not try to argue or prove anything. There is no analysis. There is very little opinion. There is no news or information. Just a bunch of things you've probably heard, lazily thrown together, sometimes in the context of some current event. The article may just appear in a college paper, but any "column" that doesn't have a clear and discernible argument doesn't belong in any paper. Period.

OK, I'm coming off the soapbox now. Time to try to be funny at someone else's expense again.

This article is a horribly written list of recent events, not a column. In fact, a sports article where at least half of the content in some way relates to politics is not even a sports article. It's just... all sorts of awful. To save you some time, here is a condensed version of all of the information in the article, with current political events excluded:

• The Cubs and White Sox both lost.
  
• James likes Joe Torre and the Yankees, and disagrees with Torre's de facto firing last year.
  
• A MLS player downed a beer at a tailgate.
  
• Brett Favre.
  
• The Bengals and Browns stink.
  
• Thinly-veiled marijuana reference.
  
• The NHL starts soon.
  
• The Wild have a new mascot.
  
• Michigan sucks, har har har.

Still want to subject yourself to this? Knock yourself out.





Flag on the play! Thoughts on sports and the world at large
James Crepea
Issue date: 10/8/08 Section: Sports


Where would you rather have been this week, the floor of the New York Stock Exchange or in a Chicago baseball clubhouse?

Back the truck up! You're telling me I can be a Wall Street broker working on commission during one of the biggest financial crises in history, or I can be a professional baseball player in Chicago making millions per year playing a game just five months of the year? Sign me up!

The Tampa Bay Rays were too much for the White Sox and the Cubs were … well they were the Cubs.

Yes, both Chicago teams lost in the Division Series. I'm sure the Cubs and White Sox players will somehow make it through this dark, trying time... probably by nailing their trophy wives in their mansions and playing golf every single day. †indeed, by the way.

I don't understand the point of these first two paragraphs. There was some semblance of a joke, I guess, but there wasn't any analysis or personal opinion, nor was there any play-by-play account. We basically just heard, “The Cubs and the White Sox suck,” twinged with a timely pop-culture reference. A developing pattern, I think.

Since my beloved Yankees were eliminated long ago I'm pulling for Joe Torre and the Dodgers.

James follows my mom's approach to being a sports fan. She's a Yankees and Giants fan, like the rest of my family. But when the Yankees or Giants are eliminated, I lament my team's losses, and resign myself to being nothing more than a causal fan the rest of the season. My mom thinks of things differently. The Giants lost? No problem, because she has the Bills. She likes them because, you guessed it: she has a friend who lives in Buffalo. Same with the Yankees: shouldn't we, she asks, root for the Cubs (because my aunt in Chicago is a Cubs fan)?

No! As Bill Simmons has said, there is no sports bigamy. You're a Yankees fan? Watch the games, perhaps passively hope that Torre succeeds, but don't break out the Dodger blue.

I want the executives (Randy Levine), who chased Torre out of town by insulting him with a one-year contract and a pay cut, to look as moronic as possible. Resigning Brian Cashman to try and fix things could have already gotten the ball rolling in that regard but I'll reserve judgment until Spring Training and see if he has truly changed his ways, or if 40-year olds are brought in to the new Yankee Stadium.

You don't have to wait until Spring Training to see who the Yankees signed over the offseason! You won't believe this, but ESPN actually covers this kind of thing! Check your local listings to make sure you don't miss Tim Kurkjian, Steve Phillips and the whole gang's latest shenanigans.

And I hope you enjoyed that last bit, because that was the most salient piece of analysis or opinion that you're going to find in this piece.

*****


Prior to this Saturday's Columbus Crew game in which David Beckham made his debut in Columbus, suspended Crew captain Frankie Hejduk made an appearance in the parking lot.

Frankie Hejduk, in the parking lot of a Columbus Crew game? I think I saw that on the front page of National Enquirer, right next to pictures of Othella Harrington buying a gallon of milk and Jeff Saturday on a boat.

Hejduk got up on a fan's tailgate and pounded some beer along with the common folk.

When was the last time you saw Lebron James throw back a Bud Light with Cavs fans?

Probably never. Probably because LeBron James makes ten bajillion* as much money as Frankie Hejduk. Probably because nobody cares what Frankie Hejduk does, but if LeBron did the same thing, SportsCenter would change its name to LeBron Scandal Center for a week and LeBron would be heavily fined. Probably because LeBron, for the first part of his career, wasn't even of the legal drinking age. Probably because LeBron cares about his reputation. Probably because someone as rich as LeBron would never drink Bud Light.

But this is all conjecture.

(By the way... people tailgate for MLS games? Really?)

*****


I don't know about you but I was just glad to make it through a weekend without hearing about Brett Favre.

Ah, a Brett Favre joke. Never gets old. Neither does incessantly talking about Brett Favre, or whining when other people do. This is rich.

Then again if you're a Bengals or Browns fan you probably want anything to divert your attention from the fact that your team is just plain awful.

“Y'know, Bill... our team sucks.”
“You're right... let's knock back a couple brews to help forget about it.”
“I've got a better idea: let's talk about Brett Favre!”
“Great idea! I hear he's a gunslinger!”
“I hear he's just like a little kid!”
“I hear he's having fun out there!”
“I hear he mows his own lawn!”
“I hear he wears Wrangler jeans!”
“Oh Bill... take me!”

Look at the bright side, the NBA season tips off in 21 (20) days and the NHL drops the puck this week.

Blatant comma splice aside, what is this article? James includes asterisks between every few random thoughts to serve as some sort of "divider," I suppose, between "sections." But what are they really dividing? Almost every line is just as random and out of place as the last. Why is going from LeBron's drinking habits to Brett Favre more deserving of a divider than "transitioning" from sucky NFL teams to when the NBA tips off? These asterisks could be anywhere, because nearly every single paragraph is only one sentence, and no two consecutive sentences display logical progression of any kind.

As long as we're at it... I really don't understand the parentheses there. Is that an editor's note that wasn't removed? Or maybe it's multiplication. 21(20) = 420... oh. Nice, Lantern. It's one thing to put out meandering, content-free sports drivel and try to pass it off as a column. It's another altogether to conceal drug references in your columns.

Speaking of the NHL, the Minnesota Wild recently unveiled their first mascot, "Nordy," a hybrid of various wild animals.

You don't get the benefit of a picture in this article. “Nordy” is pretty hideous. But wait for it... wait for it...

Apparently "Nordy" came out of hibernation once he knew Sarah Palin left town.

BA-ZING!

*****


I won't dive into politics very often

—but you will spend the rest of this article talking about it—

but it's an election year and the economy is in shambles so as a political science major I have to get it out of my system.

Good ways to “get it out of your system:” political science essay, opinion piece on politics.

Bad ways: sports column.

I don't care if Gov. Palin exceeded expectations in Thursday's debate, that just means the expectations were lower than my stock portfolio.

AHHH comma splice and horrible joke.

Let's be honest, if you or I winked as much as she did last Thursday in a two hour period we would be told to see an ophthalmologist.

AHHHH COMMA SPLICE AND HORRIBLE JOKE!

But that's not a real issue; setting preconditions when meeting with Iran is a real issue.

Thank Jeeezuz for breaking that disturbing trend. Maybe James gets paid 20 cents per comma and only 10 cents per semicolon or something.

Forget the five former secretaries of state who think diplomatic talks with Iran are a good idea; they're probably communists like the people of Northern Virginia, right Joe McCain?

[yawn] Is Joe McCain an athlete or something?

As Bill Maher suggested on his show Friday, can someone, anyone, ask Gov. Palin to name a precondition she would make before having talks with Iran?

... wait, was this about sports, at all? No? OK, so it's not just me, then.

*****


I don't want to pick on my party's ticket exclusively, no matter how easy it may be.

Actually, most people pick on the other party's ticket. And should anyone care which party you support, seeing as this is a sports column?

I know all politicians and diplomats are guilty of this, but I can't take Sen. Obama seriously when he said he wants to help the middle class, when he stays at hotels that charge more than $600 a night and in excess of $25 for an omelet.

Also, I don't ever remember a friend buying property adjacent to mine and selling it to me for $0.20 on the dollar just so I could have some privacy.

I give Obama some credit for acknowledging the fact that he can't directly relate to poor and middle-class Americans right now. Hey, if you can stay in $600/night hotels and eat $25 omelets, might as well live it up. Smoke if you got 'em.

...And I just fell for the trap of discussing the content of the article and ignoring the fact that this is supposed to be a sports column and nearly half of it is being spent talking about politics, and poorly at that. When you're Peter King or Bill Simmons or Will Leitch and you've established yourself as a respected columnist with a sizable following, you can work colonoscopies or 80s movies or iPhones prominently into your work. But when you're a fledgling college journalist who might be submitting published work to prospective employers in hopes of landing a job someday, wasting half of a sports column on political jabs and using the other half to blandly describe the weekend's sports events might not be the best course of action.

I honestly feel bad for James here. I feel like he must not get it. I want to tell him that getting a platform like this column is a privilege, not a right, and that he shouldn't peter it away on “ramblings” clearly written with a lack of inspiration an hour before deadline. If I were passed over for a Lantern columnist position in favor of this guy, and then I read this, I'd be pissed.

*****


Following Saturday's 45-20 loss to Illinois, Michigan coach Rich Rodriguez had this to say:

"We're not a very good football team, that's obvious."

It's good to see that some things never change."

And it's good to see random, unnecessary quotation marks tacked onto the end of the last sentence of a random, unnecessary column.


* - approximately

Ducks Love Silly Putty

Good evening, my name is Girardi Party, and I'll be your waiter this evening. Here is our wine list and—forgive me if I mess this up, but I'm new here—tonight's special is a bunch of words haplessly thrown together to make a "column" about fake first words, phone sex, and ultimately, female genitalia. The special is served completely charred and burned, by yours truly. It is also almost a year old, and it tastes awful, but remains one of our most popular dishes, according to a poll on the front page of The Lantern. Bon effing appetit.


Only dirty boys use dirty words
Amanda Dolasinski
Issue date: 10/9/07 Section: Arts

"Da."

This was the first word I ever said.

So you were brought up Russian, then, comrade? Dolasinski... probably a Polish refugee from the old Communist Bloc. Don't despair, Comrade Amanda. The proletariat will rise again! Da!

By the way, da was the first word you ever said? That is to say, it no longer is? Has the first word you ever said changed? Of course, this is all assuming that "da" is an actual English word... which it isn't. Your first word has to be a real word. Mine was "piggy." I'm sure I babbled and burped and puked and cried a bunch of times before I said that, but my parents didn't tell me that my first word was "waaaaah!" or [belch].

I was a little more than eight months old and my dad said I had a huge smile on my face. From "da" I went on to quickly learn hundreds of words thanks to mom's "word of the day" on-the-fridge policy. I learned big words, Italian words and even cuss words, although these weren't on the fridge.

“On-the-fridge policy” sounds like a Nixon-era diplomacy tactic, doesn't it? Also, I'd say mom's “word of the day” played a considerably smaller role in Amanda's learning English than, I don't know, growing up in an English-speaking household and attending kindergarten.

Side note: I've never done this before, and I'm quickly finding out that the hardest part is knowing where to fucking start. I realize it's the opinion page at a college paper, but people should at least run a freaking comb through these things before putting them in print. I blame the editors as much as the "columnists" who write this junk.

I remember the first time I cussed. I was on the bus and a girl dared me to say "damn." I did and felt so guilty; I cried when I got home.

[sic] for the ill-advised semicolon.

Well, a lot has changed since I was 12 and I don't cry when I cuss.

Listen, sweetheart: you didn't have it so goddamn tough, OK? I chugged a whole bottle of Jim Beam on a dare when I was ten! Did I feel guilty? Hell no! Did I cry when I got home? If by “cried” you mean “washed it down with a stiff Bloody Mary and a cigarette,” then yes, I cried. Quit yer bitchin'.

However, I got a crash course on dirty words over the summer from a boy who, well, had needs he needed me to fulfill over the phone.

...what?

That's right, he wanted me to talk dirty to him.

Of all the directions I expected this “article” to go—early word memories, perhaps the evils of cussing—Amanda working the phones for 555-SEXY was not one of them. This is simply appalling! When I read my fluffy opinion pieces, I demand that they merely consist of soapbox rants on inane topics like cussing—not softcore porn!

I'll spare you the graphic details,

...now I'm sort of curious...

but I did play along until he used the one word I hate to hear: "p---y."

Now, what's so offensive about “putty?” Maybe it's all of those suppressed memories of building the Berlin Wall or something. Or maybe Amanda hearkens back to Power Rangers. Those Putties... they still give me nightmares.

Or maybe he said "poopy." I could actually see that offending some people in a sexual context; Cleveland Steamers still aren't exactly "mainstream."

This word is so degrading I considered never answering his calls again.

"...I couldn't do that, though, because my supervisor would flip a shit if I refused to talk to a paying customer. It's $4.50 a minute, after all, and they have to get what they pay for: sexy chats with hot singles."

I'm not the only one who has had a boy talk dirty to them.

My friend Brooklyn (not her real name) met a boy at a bar and they hit it off.

Really? That's not her real name? Because I was sure that "Brooklyn" sounded like a real name for a person, and not a borough of New York City.

They hung out a few times and got to know each other. From what I saw, this was the most polite guy she'd talked to in a long time. He opened doors for her and had immaculate manners. She told me she never would've expected him to use dirty language.

At first it wasn't even that bad. For example, he would say: "Can I stick it in you, please?"

Alright, not so romantic, but I'll give him credit for the manners - he did say please.

Amanda's "argument"—roundabout and aimless as it is—just lost all credibility. There's ZERO chance that a guy who seriously says “Can I stick it in you, please?” is getting any “putty.” It's impossible. Especially not from Brooklyn—come on, she's better than that.

I now really think that this "boy" is made up, and that "Brooklyn" is part of Amanda's crew of ethnically diverse imaginary friends, à la Extreme Ghostbusters. (Brooklyn would the blue-haired crack whore third from the right, between the paraplegic and the laid-back Latino dude.)

But then, he tried to get her to say things she couldn't. She would laugh and say "no." He actually begged her to say: "Your d--k feels good in my p---y."

Oh no—someone call PETA! I'm no animal-rights expert, but I can't imagine that “ducks” respond very well to being placed in “poopy.” In fact, my friend The Bronx (not his real name) tried that once... and he's still serving time.

When she said no, he asked if she had a problem with the word "p---y."

She answered him with one word: "Ew."

"I cringe when I hear it," she said. "I don't think it's degrading, I just don't like it."

Needless to say, this is really compelling journalism. I'm not a journalism major like Danny Macintosh, but isn't this what they teach in intro journalism classes? Start with the facts, and work back to include quotes from notable experts? I just regret that she omitted the rest of Brooklyn's quote, which likely read, "now get the hell away from me, ¡puta!"

It could just be my friends and I [sic], but yes, we have a problem with the word "p---y." In fact, I think most girls do. [...] I especially hate it when boys use it to insult other boys because they're using it to cut down someone's masculinity as if there was something inherently wrong with being a girl.

Yo, there's nothing wrong with being a fuckin' chick, brah! It's just that no bro wants to be a pussy! Or a fucking queer. Or a fag, bro. Or a gay-ass fag pussy queer! That's fuckin' gay. Just like being a fuckin' pussy. Here, have another Keystone: we're watching fuckin' Scarface again.

The etymology of the word is unknown, but the most sensible derivation I found is from medieval French: pucelle, which refers to a young girl or virgin.

I can't find a list of works cited in the article, but I would bet a hefty sum that Amanda's exhaustive quest for the true etymology of “p---y” led her to exactly one site. Know what it was? I'll give you a hint: it starts with “W” and ends with “ikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia Anyone Can Edit.”

On a hunch, let's check the Wikipedia page for "pussy" ......... HEY! I know you won't believe it, but...

The medieval French word pucelle referred to a young adolescent girl or a virgin...

If you placed a big bet on the fact that Amanda's "research" was done on Wikipedia, congratulations. Expect a check in the mail in the amount of 13 Canadian dollars.

The word itself still flourishes in our society, but the meaning has changed and now refers to female genitalia. It has become offensive and like my friends, I cringe every time I hear it.

Don't get me wrong; this ending is thrilling enough as it stands now. Really, I'm being serious. It gets you all fired up and brings the whole article together.

But don't you think it would have been even better if it had really gone out with a bang? Something like, “thanks for reading my article. No, seriously, thank you, I didn't think anyone would make it to the end of this load of crap I typed up 20 minutes before deadline. By the way, if you're feeling lonely and want to talk to HOTT singles in your area right now, call 555-SEXY and one of our girls will be there to chat all night long!”


Editor's note: Thanks for sticking with me—no, seriously, thank you—through my maiden voyage. I'm no longer an Anti-Lantern “pucelle," and I even made it all the way through this sloppy mess of a "news" article without pulling my hair out due to comma splices a 7th grader could fix. Huzzah!

An Introduction

Welcome back to The Anti-Lantern. It's been a while since anything's happened around these parts; Danny Macintosh's hilarious spat with our favorite son, Graham Beckwith, seems like a lifetime ago. But with school (and by extension, terrible school newspapers) starting up again, we're back to work, ready to fill your RSS reader with cheap potshots aimed at the worst of The Lantern.

But before we get into it, I present a brief introduction to year two of this blog: my name's Girardi Party, and as Danny Mac mentioned in the most recent post in June, I'm joining the elite team here at The Anti-Lantern as a co-editor and admin. Knowing that the majority of this place's (very small) audience is comprised of Ohio State journalism students, I'll tell you up front that I do not go to Ohio State. I'm a Spanish Language and Literature major going to school in upstate New York. That said, I can spot terrible writing when I see it, and making fun of it is a rather nice time killer.

Last time he wrote, Danny Macintosh mentioned that he hoped this little blog might do some small part in trying to “heal that which ails” the OSU journalism program. While I honestly don't give a shit about the OSU journalism program, I do believe in Danny's wonderfully cynical and quixotic vision of this blog's mission: exposing bad college “journalism” though Fire Joe Morgan-style criticism.

The Anti-Lantern, however, isn't just a blog dedicated to attacking The Lantern. The Anti-Lantern stands for that feeling college students across the nation get every single day, when they read a column in their school paper that sucks—sucks so badly—that they seriously consider wiping their ass with it just for the satisfaction of having done so. And while The Lantern most certainly does reek of all kinds of journalistic suckage, I have no intention of limiting this blog to Lantern-only suckage. If you come across an egregiously misinformed or poorly written piece in your college paper of choice, send the article (or a full submission complete with formatting) to me or Danny Macintosh. You may just see it up on this page in as little as a year.

This leads me to the last point of my little welcome speech: we can always use more help. Danny mentioned this a few months ago, but if you're interested in pursuing our noble quest and would like to become an Anti-Lantern contributor beyond a one-time submission, drop us a line and a sample of your work and we'll let you know what we think. (We're an equal-opportunity “employer." Class, dignity and clean language are all optional.) Also, as much as the “work” we're covering sucks, we know that we, too, suck. If we make a mistake or you just want to let us know how much we can eat it, feel free to let us know.

Finally, in a rare moment of non-sarcasm, I'd like to say that if you find yourself on this blog, don't take it too personally. We're not out to be overtly cruel (unless you really deserve it). We're just doing our self-appointed jobs: trying to help you do yours better. Or something like that.

Casting Call

Hey readers,

So my year ended at 11:18 this morning, and the Lantern wrapped up publication for the year earlier this week, which means that for the forseeable future, there won't be any adorable little Lantern articles running into the street for me to turn into roadkill.

Additionally, I'm slated to take the Lantern practicum class in the fall, which means that for fall quarter, I won't be able to bash Lantern articles in this space. After fall quarter, we'll see where it goes.

HOWEVA. In my delusional little mind, this blog is actually important/meaningful, because even nasty criticism can be constructive. I've seen a few typos that I've caught in this blog get fixed on the Lantern website, which may not seem like a huge deal, but consider this:

You're a high school junior. You live in East Football, Ohio, and you've got a knack for writing. You're the best in your school. Now, you can take your talent to one of any number of great journalism programs- Ohio U, Northwestern, Syracuse- but you've also got Ohio State in the back of your mind. You love everything else about OSU, so why not check it out? You go to the website of the publication you'd be hitching your wagon to, http://www.thelantern.com/, only to find a poll on the main page asking what should happen to Ohio Attorney General "Mark" Dann. (To be fair, he wasn't really that important of a guy or anything.) Disgusted, you decide to spend your weeks studying journalism at OU and your weekends participating in festivals like 5 Fest (which, for the record, looked a lot like that "Where's Waldo" where he's with about a thousand trolls in a giant mud pit).

My point is, the Anti-Lantern, in its own little way, helps OSU's journalism program heal that which ails it. (Namely, about 4,000 different types of suck.) Hopefully I can continue this (cough) altruistic purpose while I'm on the inside.

Which brings me to the real reason for this post. I'm looking for a group of wiseasses who are both good at blogging and passionate about OSU journalism. I'm looking to train my replacements. I want someone to give me the flashy-thing and let me return to my long-lost wife.

I've already lined up the next Anti-Lantern admin, my blogging partner-in-crime Girardi Party from over at Manual Buzzer. Now, he's a busy guy at a good school, so he'll need a team. Do you think you have what it takes to carry on the Anti-Lantern in my stead? (My guess: you probably do. This isn't the Times.) If you're interested, just send me an e-mail (mckeever.16@osu.edu) and let me know. Of course, if there are times when I'm not working with the Lantern, I will pop in and post.

Finally, I'll be really busy this summer, but I'll take some time out to shake the Lantern archives tree to see what kind of tasty little journalism apples fall out. Look for more posts this summer as regularly as I can bang them out, and again, let me know if you want to write for this blog.

Sincerely,
Danny Macintosh

Graham Beckwith, Cultural Ambassador

So, who's ready to be offended today? I know I am. While the Graham Beckwith has written the final column in his godforsaken journalism career at Ohio State, I wanted to make sure I got a crack at this little number.

I want to say one thing, before we get going. I'm proud to attend OSU, in part because (and I mean this sincerely) we have such a diverse campus. What we have at Ohio State is a global society scaled down to a college campus. We have a veritable cornucopia of people representing different races, nationalities, religions, and cultural traditions, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I believe that the diversity we are blessed with, as students, offers us a unique experience and a chance to grow culturally, educationally, and spiritually.

Now, the Lantern purports to represent "the student voice of The Ohio State University." That student voice should do justice to the aforementioned diversity of our campus, right? That's where Graham Beckwith comes in. In one fell swoop, he manages to:

a) cast himself as an unbelievably transparent bigot,
b) offend any non-mouth-breathing readers with a sense of social equity, and
c) lower the bar at the Lantern even further by using a journalistic technique I like to call "Blatantly Making Shit Up."

So enjoy, friends, Graham Beckwith's harrowing tale of how he courageously survived the Dark Continent that is Downtown Columbus, with little more than a machete, a compass, and four dollars for bus fare.

My 27 long minutes as a minority
Graham Beckwith
Issue date: 4/17/08 Section: Arts

I shouldn't have argued with the girl. At least not when she was the one driving the car.

Dear Mystery Girl, wherever you may be:

Hi, my name's Dan, and I write a blog in my spare time. I love you, and I cannot thank you enough for attempting to teach Graham Beckwith a valuable life lesson by dumping him in downtown Columbus. While it doesn't appear he had an eye-opening experience, I applaud you for a) being the one driving, b) forcing him to get out of the car, and c) using the method you did to reject his offer for a second date to go see Herbie: Fully Loaded.*

Yours truly,
Dan

*I might have made this part up.

Also, a warning to readers: Graham has written the next few paragraphs in what appears to be his take on film noir style. I'll underline the lines that should be read in your best "Muggsy from the Bugs Bunny cartoons" voice. It will help to munch a cigar and wear a fedora tilted over your brow.

So it came to be that I was stranded somewhere west of downtown Columbus, with $4 in my pocket.

Ah, it starts already.

I want to play a little "choose your own adventure" game, readers. Let's say you found yourself in Graham's situation. You're alone in the downtown area of a city where you've attended college for four years. You have four bucks on your person, although, as an Ohio State student, you can ride the COTA buses for free with your BuckID. How would you solve this problem?

TO LOCATE A BUS STOP AND CATCH A FREE TEN MINUTE RIDE TO CAMPUS, turn to page 53.

TO FREAK THE FUCK OUT AND WRITE A REALLY RACIST COLUMN, report to the Arts desk in the Lantern newsroom.

She was crazy, but I was stranded. And it was definitely the ghetto - I was too far out of my element to describe it properly.

It was horrible, I'm tellin' ya! There were...buildings...with no front yards! (shuddering gasp) And...and...people that were...not...white! (muffled sob) PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION! I saw homeless people taking...(long breath) PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION! One guy...asked for my change! Just right there in the street, asked for my change! WHO ARE THESE ANIMALS!?

I was too scared to be angry, and I didn't even care about the cold.

Okay. I've been to downtown Columbus. I've been to the far west side of the city, which involved riding the elusive Number 1 bus. I have been sitting on a COTA bus coming back toward campus watching a homeless man roll a gigantic joint in clear view of the driver, while a homeless woman in the seat behind me had a hacking fit all over my neck.

You know something? I lived. At no point did I fear for my life. I certainly didn't try to regale thousands of people with my tale of personal bravery for having survived such an ordeal. I'm sorry you were scared, Graham, I really am. What this says about you is that you either have zero street sense, or that you're just a big ol' lovable teddy bear of a racist. Let's read on and find out!

I grew up in the upper-middle class suburbs, see. Manicured lawns, fresh paint, windows without bars and unlocked doors.

I grew up in the upper-middle class suburbs, see. Now I keep an upper-middle class office in a lower-middle class city. (blows smoke ring from cigar) I keep two things close to my heart- my dear sweet mama and a .38 special. The name's Graham Beckwith. I'm a private eye.

You don't really understand how divided this country is until you spend 27 minutes in unfamiliar territory. This was America, only a few miles away from where I rest my head every night, and it might as well have been Uzbekistan. And it is sad this division exists - and I'm pretty sure it wasn't just in my head - considering it was 2008.

Many peoples have ask about my movie-film, "Graham Beckwith: Cultural Learnings of Downtown Columbus for Make Benefit Glorious Readership of Ohio State Lantern." You will not believes the kinds of a movie and musics they have in downtown Columbus ghetto!

Pretty much everything I know about the ghetto came from watching "Boyz n the Hood" or listening to N.W.A.

REALLY, Graham? Really? You listened to N.W.A.? You. You listened to N.W.A. I challenge you to name three members of N.W.A. Name one song other than "Straight Outta Compton." You, sir, are a first-class bullshitter, and I commend your aplomb. That is seriously the least believable sentence I have ever read. You've just told us that you lived in a neighborhood straight out of the Eisenhower era, yet we're supposed to believe that you were up in your bedroom blasting N.W.A.? What, did your dad holler up to knock off all that noise and ruckus with your rock 'n' roll records? Jesus H. Christ, Graham, at least make it believable. Tell us you've gained this "knowledge" from Leprechaun: Back 2 Tha Hood or something. Don't insult N.W.A. by claiming you're a fan. My god.

So for the first few minutes I just stood there on the sidewalk. I threw a hooded sweatshirt over my head and just waited for something bad to happen.

For some reason, this paragraph keeps calling to mind the opening credits of "Hey Arnold." I'm eagerly awaiting the column where Graham and Imaginary Friend #13 run around downtown in banana and strawberry suits, spending mob money.

By the way, yes, looking up that link was a lot of fun. Yes, I went and watched all 3 parts of the episode. I'm okay with that.

Anyway, let's get back to Graham's predicament. What's the worst that could happen to him?

It's like I was expecting some siren to go off in every crack den, in every gang member's house alerting them that there was a skinny white kid on the block ready to be mugged.

Wow, well I guess that would kinda suck...yeesh. These crack-smoking gang members- they've adapted! They're evolving! They've learned to work together! Jesus, they can open doors now!

As open-minded as I've always tried to be and as respectful as I've tried to be of everyone, every ill-conceived notion I had about the lower class raced through my mind.

Whoa. Whoa. Let's hit pause and rewind about two seconds here. Graham's always tried to be open-minded/respectful of everyone....and then he refers to "the lower class."

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? What are we in, INDIA? Graham, a little tip here- if you're trying to come across as sensitive, probably shouldn't evoke the untouchables in the caste system. WOW. How did the crack editing staff at the Lantern not catch that little gem?

Oh, shit, Graham's the editor of his section. Thaaat's right. Way to keep it not-at-all-offensive, guys! Well, I guess it can't get any worse, right? I'm sure there will be zero parts of the remainder of this column that are racially or culturally insensitive.

I had it planned out if some guy pulled a gun on me.

That sound you just heard was me kicking over my desk in excitement. I cannot WAIT to hear this one.

First I thought I should just give him the $4 and save myself the trouble. My mom would've kicked my ass if she found out I risked my life over $4.

a) Good plan- never mess with a mugger. Any other course of action you could take would likely be a lot costlier than $4.

b) Your mom can kick your ass? Really? Does she chase you around with a rolling pin wearing those hair curler thingies? I'm just saying, my mom was an athlete who, at one point, was part of a track team that set a Guinness World Record, but I bet I could still take her. (This is an open challenge, mom- bring it.)

Also, my mom is better than your mom. I am in the 2nd grade.

But enough about that. What's Graham's other course of action for taking on this hypothetical mugger?

Then I decided not to be a pussy, and instead knock the hypothetical mugger to the ground while taking the gun - apparently in my head I saw myself as Jason Bourne - and pistol-whip him until the cops came.

(Head explodes in a mushroom cloud)

I...I...just, no. I thought I was in disbelief when Graham claimed to listen to N.W.A., but COME ON, DUDE. You-- the guy who has spent the whole column telling us how his survival strategy up to this point in the game has basically consisted of pissing his pants-- are going to take down a mugger bare-handed and beat him with his own gun? Also, did you use the gun to dial 911 for the cops? I just...I can't. I'm going to go for a long walk to clear my head.

What the hell was I thinking? Cops don't come to the ghetto.

Hah! Good one! Cops suck, dude. I mean, cops are just the worst, right brah? Nevermind that police are the entire reason that you were able to live peacefully in Suburbaneisenhowereraville. We all know the police are just total layabouts that spend their days munching donuts and engaging in maple syrup-related hijinks.

So with that realization, I made my way to the nearest bus stop.

So this entire story--this entire fucking drawn-out saga of you surviving with just your wits on the mean streets of Columbus--begins and ends with you thinking a bunch of stuff, then getting on a bus? WOW. And here I was expecting some real action worthy of a column.*

*I wasn't at all

My quick-paced walk was mimicked that of the sewer rats and alley cats nearby.

(cough) hhhaaaahemBULLSHIT. Really? There was a veritable parade of sewer rats and alley cats marching in step with you, Graham? I know there's absolutely zero chance that you've fabricated this saucy little detail to bolster your story-- after all, you'd have to slip it by a crack editing and research team!* By the way--what is it with you and sewer rats? I'm thinking back to the first-ever post in this blog.

*Yourself

Years ago when I was living at home, I went to pick up my buddy Denny for a soccer match. He lived in a Hispanic neighborhood. I got the address wrong, and poked my head in through the open front door shouting, "Hello? Denny?"

Gather round, children. It's storytime with Graham. Make sure you give Grandpa Beckwith your full attention-- he's about to tell you a wonderful tale from his youth about one of his...multicultural...friends. I'm sure it will be sensitively written and not at all racist.

A small Mexican girl inside looked at me terrified, and I was pretty sure Denny had no sisters, so I left quickly.

Fair enough. Graham knows Denny well enough to know the makeup of his nuclear family, but not well enough to know which freaking house he lives in. I wonder if this little "Mexican" (/Spanish/Puerto Rican/Dominican/a million other possibilities) girl will pop up again in the story? Oooh, this is exciting!

When I finally got to Denny, he told me the little girl who lived two doors down was his little cousin, and had called him up after I had poked my head in.

Ahh, of course! We all know Hispanic people make sure to live no farther than 300 feet from their entire family, from the little ninos all the way up to old abuela. Thanks for clearing up that rumor, Graham, although you neglected to mention that there were 42 of them living in the house and sleeping on a dirt floor, and you left out the detail of how delicious Denny's madre's bean dinner smelled.

"Un gringo esta en mi casa!" his cousin said.

Now, I don't want to call you a liar, Graham, but after the little "Graham Beckwith = the Pied Piper marching the rats and cats out of Columbus" incident a few paragraphs back, I'm just a liiiitle suspicious that this extremely convenient quote is 100%...you know...I guess I'm just not sold that any of this story...what's it called...actually happened. Yeah, that's it.

I had a new respect for Denny that day. He lived among his own people because it probably made his family feel comfortable - apparently I had been the first "gringo" on the block for a long while, if ever - and it's for the same reason white people clump together in suburbs.

He lived...among...his own...people. Just gnaw on that one for a minute, readers. Graham Beckwith, cultural ambassador, has identified his amigo as living "among his own people." I don't even know what to say.

Also, I'm guessing the reason Denny lived "among his own people" (aka his family) was because he was in high school, and I don't know about you, but I lived with my family in high school. I'm sure it made his family comfortable that Denny was living with them rather than sleeping in the driveway, but that's probably not why he lived "among his own people." I just can't get past that phrase- it reminds me of something you'd hear in Pocahontas or something.

One more thing- you were the first white person on their block in a long time, Graham? They didn't have one white mailman, FedEx delivery guy or even an acquaintance visiting? What is this, some kind of racial Bermuda Triangle? I'm glad Graham made it back to tell his harrowing tale.

But other times, when he was attending my predominately-white high school or simply venturing outside his neighborhood, he certainly would have felt like an outsider being the only Hispanic guy.

You know what probably wouldn't help? Writing a whole column about him being the only Hispanic guy.

After finding myself in his shoes for just five minutes and that's all it took for me to feel uncomfortable and out of place. Perhaps it wasn't the crime I feared as much as being the outsider. We're always afraid of what we don't know.

After reading this paragraph for just ten seconds and that's all it took for me to realize that I should just kill myself now rather than suffer through this grammatical and logical nightmare. By the way, I don't know a lot of things, but I'd probably be more afraid of the crime.

Back in present time, I finally got on the bus after 27 minutes in the ghetto and took the long ride home, unharmed and unaffected. Back to High Street, back to relative comfort.

Well, that wasn't anti-climactic at all. A few things I like about this:

1) The fact that Graham has this whole ordeal timed down to the minute. Why were you timing yourself throughout this whole thing? Were you picturing yourself as Jack Bauer, and you wanted to picture a little blinking clock in the corner?

2) "Unharmed and unaffected." Clearly unaffected. You only wrote a whole column for all of OSU to read about your 27 minutes as a "minority," but yeah, you just shook it off, dude.

3) "Back to relative comfort." I just like imagining Graham jolting awake at night, having nightmares about fighting off muggers (and scribbling down a few column ideas- "Graham's dreams this week!") before passing out again.

Oh My Lord, This May Be The Absolute Worst To Date

Hold me. I...just...just hold me. I might end it all tonight after this article was actually published. I'm an econ and journalism double major, so the unbelievable stupidity of this poorly-written, poorly-structured, poorly-researched article offends my entire person rather than the journalism half that Lantern articles usually shake to the core.

I'll break some of these gigantic paragraphs up into more easily-digested chunks to try to ease the pain of reading this steaming pile just a little bit. It's taking everything in my body to critique this article rather than tracking down every remaining print copy of this article and setting them all on fire.

I'd also ask you to read this article in its entirety before you read my critique, because I got a little wordy with this one, and I don't want you to lose the full effect of the crappiness of this column.

Time to stop whining about gas
Amy Hoover
Issue date: 5/21/08 Section: Opinion

It's everywhere - the newspaper, TV and it's apparent in that dent in your wallet. Gas prices have reached an all-time high. There are a few reasons why this could be.

Yes, there are a few reasons why this has happened. Now, because I'm an econ major and an informed citizen, this is one of those instances where I like to do something I like to call "Knowing What The Fuck I'm Talking About." Really quickly, here are five of the contributing factors behind high gas prices:

-High demand bolstered by the low gas prices and subsequent SUV craze of the late '90s, which meant fewer key players gave serious thought to developing fuel alternatives
-Natural disasters (Katrina wiped out southern oil refineries)
-The Bush administration's hijinks in international diplomacy with Venezuela, Iran, etc.
-Shrinking supply of a finite resource
-Wild speculation by investors in big oil- an industry blessed with an inelastic demand curve in a slumping economy

Sources: CNN.com, common freaking sense.

Now let's see what Ms. Hoover has to say!

Maybe it's because the oil hounds are wringing us dry. Or perhaps it's because our president is using the profits to line his down-feather bed. It could be attached to the food price crisis and ethanol craze. But, most likely, they are high because they can be.

Excuse me for a minute- I'm going to walk into the other room and scream at the top of my lungs for a minute after reading that. Be right back.

(door shuts)

(still loud) WHAT! THE! FUCK! HOW CAN YOU...WHAT THE...JESUS! ARE YOU KIDDING? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? (sound of swigging directly from a bottle of whiskey) "The oil hounds are wringing us dry?" Bush lining his feather bed? The oil companies, environmentally damaging as they may be, are not evil, eye patch-wearing robber barons. They make an insane profit because a handful of corporations sell the most vital product to the American lifestyle, a product which is almost entirely without a substitute! And Bush, that big meanie, he makes money too? Amy, he was only A FUCKING OIL EXECUTIVE HIS WHOLE LIFE! How DARE he? (sound of fist slamming table, bottle being smashed) HOW DOES A PAPER RUN THIS FUCKING GARBAGE?

Sorry about that. I was just a little upset about the notion of Bush being paid in feathers for his corrupt oil exploits. He's our president, dammit, and he deserves to be paid in actual dollars.* I also got upset because my family just had to put down our old oil hound, Blue. He was a good ol' hound- why, Blue could sniff out oil five miles away from clear across the tracks on a windy day.

*Said actual dollars may be worth less than feathers.

Environmentalists have made this issue a cornerstone for the "go green" campaign. I find some of the arguments pretentious, but most of them do have a good point - that gas is running out and we can't replace it.

So...you're...agreeing with the environmentalists? About...what exactly? Whatever. I won't pretend to understand that you have any idea what you're talking about.

I understand that this is an opinion column. With that said, an opinion column should represent an informed, knowledgeable opinion supported with salient factual evidence. What we have here is a case of someone saying, "Well, shit, I don't much care for these high gas prices. Why don't I just completely fly off the handle and write the first things that pop into the top of my head and present them as facts supporting my ridiculous argument- sources and logic be damned!"

Let's say I wanted to write an opinion column about a topic in the news- let's go with, I don't know, the whole California gay-marriage thing. If I use Ms. Hoover's approach, I could go ahead and write something like this:

"A lot of people have been making a big stink about this whole California gay marriage thing. Well, we need to acknowledge the real causes of this travesty. The fact is, California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger is a cyborg entrusted to protect John Connor, who is gay, so Arnold is legalizing gay marriage, according to a 1991 published report called "Terminator 2." Another reason for striking the gay marriage ban was the fact that Tom Cruise, a resident of Hollywood, put Col. Nathan Jessup on the stand, and he couldn't handle the truth about homosexuals, which is that they should be allowed to marry. Also, Reggie Bush played football in California for the Trojans, which is also a brand of condom, which has to do with sex, which has to do with marriage, which has to do with gay marriage, so he must be involved too. Finally, O.J. Simpson did it. I know this because I thought of it, meaning God put it in my brain."

You know what? I bet the Lantern would run it! I think I've cited my sources pretty nicely there.

A man from Wisconsin has chosen to bike nine miles to work, each way, in protest of the high gas prices. My roommates have adopted his plan, and most of us have opted for public transportation in lieu of the crippling costs.

So...you and your roommates all bike nine miles to work every day? Also, do you know how to properly use the phrase "in lieu of"?

By the way, I don't know about you, but I always do whatever a random man from Wiconsin does...if that man is BRETT FAVRE! WE MISS YOU, BRETT! COME BACK!*

*Please, please, PLEASE stay retired.

On May 15, motorists were encouraged via an e-mail not to buy gas as a protest against the big oil companies. Not many people followed through, as gas is a necessity in the world. The companies know this. Why else would they milk us for every cent they can?

Oh sweet Jesus. Please, please tell me she's not attempting to cite the Facebook group "How to get GAS back down to $1.30 per gallon" as a source. I honestly would shoot myself in the face.

At least she made reference to gas being a necessity, which, as she explains, is why everybody didn't drop what they were doing and start picketing in front of the Stop-N-Go. (Most of them settled for getting to work.) I guess this begs the question, why make reference to the May 15 e-mail? Furthermore, if this source is remotely influential or credible, why not use the active voice like a good journalist and tell us who wrote the e-mail?

Was it Bush! It was, wasn't it? I knew it! It was all a trick! I bet that little rascal's sitting at home watering his plants with diesel just to jack gas prices up so he can add to his collection of gold coins (minted with his own face on them) in which he likes to make snow angels. I also heard from a reputable source that he has a waterpark in his backyard that uses regular unleaded instead of water on the slides.

Let's try this: Why don't we let Shell, ExxonMobile and the Marathon Petroleum Company keep their fossil fuels. Instead, fill up at a smaller subsidiary, like British Petroleum, blocking the Big Guy's profits. Remember when BP disappeared, then returned with a vengeance? It was short-lived, but with further advancement, I know whom I'd invest my dollar in.

By Jove, she's done it! Good news everybody- THE GAS PRICE CRISIS IS OVER! AMY HOOVER SOLVED IT! Turns out, all we had to do this whole time was buy gas from BP! Why, she was so fired up, she ended a sentence with a preposition!

What a fan-fuckin'-tastic idea! Boy, even though you told us last paragraph that nobody will stop buying gas because it's such a necessity, I can't see how this plan would fail! After all, there's no medium more persuasive for a global-scale change in consumption habits than a half-baked article in the Lantern. Problem solved.

Now, before we get to the glaring factual inaccuracy in this column (other than the spelling of Exxon Mobil), let's talk Econ 101. Knowing what you know about the almighty forces of Supply and Demand, what do you think would happen if a whole bunch of persuaded readers suddenly flooded BP gas stations everywhere, demanding gas? Do you think that BP could afford to raise prices just a little? (Answer: Prices would skyrocket right on up to a little heaven I like to call "market equilibrium.")

I'd now like to turn the blog over to Lantern reader "Resolute," who wrote the following in a comment on the article:

As you stated in your article, "Instead, fill up at a smaller subsidiary, like British Petroleum, blocking the Big Guy's profits...", its obvious that you never even completed even the most elementary amateur research on Wikipedia to see how large of a company BP actually is (hint: 291 billion in revenue is a start).

Taken from Yahoo Finance company profiles, it states "BP, an oil giant, a vast company, arose from the merger in 1998 of British Petroleum and Amoco, which made it NUMBER THREE IN THE WORLD in oil and gas behind Exxon Mobil and Royal Dutch Shell.", as well as being among the largest private sector energy corporations in the world. That's right, they are one of the six Supermajors in the oil industry or as you probably haven't heard them called yet, Big Oil. A simple Google search would have told you that. Yeah, they are just a small fry out there amongst all the big bullies in the oil fields huh? Sniff sniff, they can't catch a break.

Amen, friend. Yeah, BP's a regular one-stop Mom 'n' Pop petroleum shop! Come on in, Ma BP has a pie cooling on the back sill! Nah, you don't gotta pay for your pet-rol today, Lester, we know you're good for it just as soon as the missus has her operation paid for.

In a recent Lantern survey, 12 percent of respondents claimed they "would buy gas no matter the cost." I drive a gas guzzler - a 1993 Crown Victoria that struggles to get 22 miles per gallon. There is an argument for having no other option besides driving, but why not carpool?

The following disclaimer appears below each Lantern poll:

This The Lantern poll is not scientific and reflects the opinions of only those Internet users who have chosen to participate. The results cannot be assumed to represent the opinions of Internet users in general, nor the public as a whole.

Awesome source, Hoover! By the way, there's a whole wide world called the Internet just yonder beyond the horizon. Try trekking out into the Internet wilderness some day and DOING SOME ACTUAL RESEARCH. Google searches take all of what, half a second? How is it that computers and the Internet are faster and more accessible than ever before, and the amount of research that Lantern writers put in has gone steadily downhill?

There is too much arguing and complaining going on, and not enough doing. A few brave vigilantes have taken the big oil companies on their gambit and found an alternative route, but the rest of us whining is not going to change anything.

Complaining like...say...this column? And please, for the love of God tell me that you're not referring to yourself as a brave vigilante for pumping your gas at BP. And I thought I was sad and deluded.

You know, I haven't threatened to kill myself in a few paragraphs. I hope this next one doesn't contain anything that might make me want to run full-force into a door!

Just like the Facebook information fiasco, when things are blown out of proportion they get worse, then fade away from regular conversation as soon as the new "catastrophe" arises. The gas price crisis is just another one of these, but there is great potential here for change brought about by a new awareness of this urgent situation. Lifestyle or otherwise, we can make a difference. Our economy is capitalist and our government is democratic. Without us and our money, these institutions are nothing.

I...you beat me, Amy Hoover. You have broken my spirit and my will to go on. I have nothing to say to this paragraph. This is, by far, the worst thing I have ever read. In one fell swoop, you make a vague reference to Facebook, make a strange generalization and present it as fact, and encourage the reader to believe that the gas crisis will go away because we live in a capitalist country. I know this is an opinion column, but I am literally astounded that this got published. This is the space you need to be using for ad revenue, Lantern!

But, as long as we listen to them, we're no better off than the words they feed us or the prices they charge us. If a grocery store charged $6 for a gallon of milk, we would pay for it. So things are crappy. What are we going to do about it? I don't expect anyone to change the world, but we do have a chance to give them a clear message.

Um...what? So everything you just wrote about how we can choose not to pay high gas prices, how we can fight the man through the power of capitalism...none of that was true? (sobs) I believed in your message, Hoover! I BELIEVED!

Also, I have a solution for stores charging $6 a gallon for milk. Let Target, Kroger, and Giant Eagle keep their dirty dairy. I shop at a tiny little out-of-the-way milk stand run by a local farmer and his friends- it's called Sam's Club. Who's blocking the big guys' profits? That's right- thiiiis guuuuy.