The Anti-Lantern

Snobbery for Dummies

2008-10-13T23:22:00.001-07:00

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 = ...

2008-10-08T15:19:00.000-07:00

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 â€¦ 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. â€ 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

2008-09-03T21:49:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-03T21:38:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-04T12:00:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-26T14:17:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-21T12:08:00.000-07:00

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.

The Lantern: The Last Bastion of Great Political Commentary

2008-05-11T14:16:00.000-07:00

Politics is a sensitive issue. Normally, I try not to hold the quality of the columns that pass for political commentary against the Lantern, because college students who are both good journalists and capable political analysts are very hard to find. Unfortunately, the column you're about to read is sorely lacking any semblance of a real effort at journalistic writing or logical political analysis. I've also taken the liberty of breaking up the gigantic paragraphs into manageable sentences. (sigh) Enjoy.

Clinton, Obama offer no solutions
Ben Schwarzwalder
Issue date: 5/9/08 Section: Opinion

As the race for the Democratic nomination is winding down with every negative political campaign ad run, I find myself as a conservative struggling to decide whom to root against. I mean seriously, who wants a candidate in office like either of the two democrats?

I know, who wants a candidate in office like Obama or Clinton? I guarantee you every single one of those 2,186,831 people who voted for either Obama or Clinton in the Ohio primary (according to CNN.com) did it on a double-dog-dare from his or her roommate. Seriously, Obama and Clinton suck, dude.

I also enjoy the fact that this column appears to be the transcript of a stand-up comedy routine.

They have hundreds of problems they want to solve, but not a single answer for one of them, well not a single viable answer.

Obama and Clinton = marauding buffoons. Not to mention, Hillary represents a major security threat to the White House. McCain, on the other hand, has the answers for all of America's major problems- the economy, the climate crisis, the war- stored in a secret magical amulet, which was given to him by Abe Lincoln himself during their high school days.*

*Requisite "McCain is old" joke. Won't happen again, I'm sorry.

Listening to Rush Limbaugh between his hilarious stories about his cat head-butting him to wake him up, you will frequently find him pressing and promoting the idea that people should vote for Hilary Clinton because John McCain has a better chance of beating her.

Well put, Mr. Schwarzwalder. Besides exposing Rush Limbaugh's secret identity as a 70-year-old woman who lives with her 18 cats, you make a strong case for the practice of using waaaay too many words to make an incredibly small point. Tell me if you can spot any difference between the preceding paragraph and this one:

"Rush Limbaugh has promoted voting for Hillary Clinton because John McCain might have a better chance of beating her."

Answer: NONE. Except my version doesn't include the second person, a statement of opinion as fact, or a MISSPELLING OF HILLARY CLINTON'S FREAKING NAME. Duh duh duh duh DUH. She's only RUNNING FOR FREAKING PRESIDENT, dude. Those unknown dark horses Barrack Obama and Jon McCain might be obstacles, though. You'd think a guy with a last name like Schwarzwalder would be more conscious of name misspellings.

This surprisingly has seemed to have an effect. The Huffington Post reported that "thirty-six percent of primary voters said that Clinton does not share their values. And yet, among that total, one out of every five (20 percent) nevertheless voted for her in the Indiana election." They also stated that the 10 percent of people who said that they shared values with either candidate, 75 percent voted for Clinton. Through this information, maybe Limbaugh's plan to overthrow the Obama iron curtain and force the Hildebeest into the presidential race is really working.

Wow. WOW. Talk about raking hard data over the coals. A few questions about this rock-solid evidence of Rush Limbaugh's grand success:

-36 percent of which primary voters? All of them? One state's worth?
-The "one out of five" business- did you, Mr. Schwarzwalder, insert that "(20 percent)," or does the Huffington Post just think we're idiots?
-So 75 percent... of the 10 percent... of "people" (voters?)... who shared values with either candidate (Clinton and McCain? Clinton and Obama? MAJOR uncertainty there)...voted for Clinton. Did you even analyze these figures at all, or did you just regurgitate them onto the page? It would seem to me, after reading that sentence about nine times, that those numbers actually indicate a positive for Hillary, but then again, I'm not the kind of omnipresent election force that Rush Limbaugh is.
-Just out of curiosity, since when has Obama represented an "iron curtain"*? Since when has Hillary been known as "the Hildebeest"? Apparently I haven't been following this election as closely as I thought... I must have missed the part where Obama divided America into democratic and Soviet states.

*"Iron Curtain" is capitalized in AP style. Know how long it took me to look that up? One minute.

It does seem though on the other side of the fence, polls reported by The L.A. Times showed in March that the anti-American, racist nutjob Rev. Jeremiah Wright hurt Obama. Although he did not seem to have an effect on the North Carolina primary, as Obama won by a large margin, and he almost upset Clinton in Indiana.

Two very salient points made in this gem of a paragraph:
1) Jeremiah Wright has totally torpedoed Obama's campaign hopes. Adios, Barack!
2) Jeremiah Wright has had no impact on Obama's campaign. "Hail to the Chief"!

It seems as though the race for the nomination will come down to the superdelegates, and it might be a bloody battle until the Democratic National Convention. I personally think that either candidate who is nominated will be beat by good ole' McCain.

Oh good Lord. "I personally think that either candidate who is nominated will be beat by good ole' McCain." I won't even try to find any survivors in that train wreck of a sentence. Style and grammar be damned- I'm making bold predictions here!

Nevertheless, I'd like to commend Mr. Schwarzwalder on his astonishing prediction. This is a groundbreaking opinion, man... every single expert is predicting a Romney-Paul White House! You're saying... McCain has a chance? But he's not even in this thing!

The latest Gallup Poll reads as a tie. Forty-six percent for Clinton or Obama compared to 45 percent for McCain. But with a margin of error of plus-or-minus three percentage points, this poll seems relatively invalid. For now, a victory by any candidate seems unpredictable.

Another jewel of a paragraph here. To summarize:
1) The Gallup Poll has all the candidates in a deadlock
2) But the poll doesn't really mean much
3) So based on that poll, it's impossible to predict a winner
4) ... So why did I even mention the stupid poll
5) Damn

My feelings are, you have a candidate with lots of experience as a senator, but who has no idea on what she wants to do with the country, and another candidate who has no idea what he wants to do, except he wants to waste $845 billion (almost 1 percent of our Gross Domestic Product) on Africa.

Good point, dude. Everyone had a sneaking suspicion Obama and Clinton had absolutely no idea what they wanted to do once in office, but with your insider knowledge of the situation, you've really opened our eyes. I remember when I saw Obama at the Schottenstein Center before the Ohio primary. He got up to the podium bugged out on meth, twitching and babbling gibberish about the CIA and UFOs, and then took off his pants before running off the stage clawing at his own face and screaming that there were bugs under his skin. I was still holding out hope that he knew what he wanted to do with the country, but I guess he just doesn't have a darn clue.

We also have someone who was captured, tutored, became an American hero (unlike John Kerry), has been in the Senate and in the House since before just about every undergraduate at Ohio State was born. This seems like a no brainier to me.

Well, at least Mr. Schwarzwalder closed out on a strong note. I think this one's almost better with the typos left in- God bless you, Spell-Check. I can only imagine the horror as McCain was captured, then forced to spend years staying after school with his tutor. All his friends got to go outside and play! McCain missed kickball every day during the proofs unit in geometry! DAMN YOU, YOU CRUEL VIET CONG!!! (sobs)

Also, I think we can all agree with Mr. Schwarzwalder that John Kerry is a first-class asshole. George W. Bush, now there's a veteran and an American hero. That's just a no brainier.

Man of Mystery

2008-05-08T14:28:00.000-07:00

The man at left is a guy who built himself in the image of untouchable reformers like Eliot Spitzer (for a hilarious bit of unintentional/ironic foresight, read the fourth paragraph of this New York times column), only to be exposed, like Spitzer was, as a philanderer.

We have to look deep inside ourselves and ask: how well do we really know him?

The Lantern did. In a recent poll question, they offered readers a chance to ask: Who is Mark Dann?

Well, I went ahead and asked Ohio's Attorney General, Marc Dann, who is currently under fire for carrying on an extramarital affair with an employee. He said he'd never heard of a Mark Dann, but expressed interest in trading lives with him nonetheless.

The morals of the story:

-Don't cheat on your wife if you are/were your state's Attorney General.

-Faithfulness to Spell-Check, on the other hand, is overrated.

Graham Beckwith, Informed Taxpayer

2008-05-04T19:53:00.000-07:00

Hey, kids! Are you looking for some informed, eloquent, intellectually stimulating prose about taxes and government spending? I thought so.

Well, look no further, because the Lantern's own Graham D.* Beckwith has written his magnum opus on the subject.

Full of thoroughly researched facts, quotes from knowledgeable sources, and proposals for sensible policy alternatives, this column proves that Graham really takes pride in his column and should never be accused of phoning in his half-baked opinions at the last minute. Enjoy!

*D = Danger. But you knew that.

My taxes well-spent
Editorial
Issue date: 4/16/08 Section: Opinion

One of the things I've had to suffer through in my old age has been paying taxes.

Pop quiz! Time to dust off your slide rules.

Question: If Graham Beckwith is a graduating college senior, and his job at the Lantern pays him a few hundred bucks a quarter (a salary which, calculated hourly, is likely below Ohio's minimum wage), how many dollars has he payed the federal government in taxes in his lifetime? Give your answer in year 2000 dollars, adjusting for price level.

Answer: Let's see...graduating college senior = 21 or 22 years old-ish, minus working age of, let's say, 16...let's say five years. Lowest tax bracket...probably used a 1040EZ form...carry the four...wait a minute! Why, Graham's probably given the federal governernment...jack shit! In fact, he's probably made money from his tax refund! I'll bet he's sent fewer dollars to the federal government than he has to girls at Arena district bars in the form of expensive drinks! (Damn you, Darren!)

Question: So where does he get off writing this column about the injustices of taxes?

Answer: No idea, but I think I hit my quota of exclamation points for the week in that paragraph alone.

As a college student, I make a pittance of a salary, so naturally I don't want to lose any of it.

Graham draws his pittance of a salary from his Lantern staffing duties, a salary which is paid- if I'm not mistaken- by The Ohio State University. Here's a little story I like to call "the circle of life." Gather round, children.

You see, it all starts with each of you. Your loving parents fork over your tuition money to Ohio State. Ohio State turns that pure tuition money into funding for a (cough) journalism program, through a process known as "photosynthesis." It involves chlorophylls and things- ask your mother. The good folks in charge of that program suck all the nutrition from your tuition money and use it to grow into a big, strong paper called the Lantern. Once an issue reaches maturity, it drops tasty little acorns like this Graham Beckwith column down to the high school upperclassmen in the soil, who read it, and are thus inspired to bring their talents and their tuition money to Ohio State's journalism program, starting the cycle anew.*

*For some reason, this last step stopped happening a while ago. Global warming or some shit. Either way, here's a little chemical reaction to keep in mind while you're reading this crapfest of a column:

Your tuition dollars ---> Graham Beckwith's salary ---> This column.

Graham will now continue complaining about people taking his money and using it for stupid things.

It combines my hate of crunching numbers with my hate of handing over money and my dislike of how the government spends it.

Graham's weekly Lantern column, on the other hand, combines his hatreds of spelling, fact-checking, and trying.

I think I'd rather drink bathwater than do my taxes.

Ha! That's funny, because nobody wants to drink bathwater...he must really hate doing his taxes! Hahaha! God, my sides are just splitting at that little doozy- I hope he doesn't drop another snappy one-liner on us, I might just die!

I'd rather snort Ajax bleach.

(Rolling on the floor with laughter, tears streaming down my face, gasping for breath)

But come April 15, the Internal Revenue Service will have reached deep down into my pockets to take every cent they can.

Phew! (wipes brow) I'm glad Graham wrote a normal paragraph that time- I don't think I could have handled another one of his zingers-

And while they're down there, they'll probably bust my balls.

(Head explodes)

I can't avoid paying taxes. It's un-American to do so - and I can either get raped by the government, or get raped in prison for not paying my taxes.

Alright, kids, we've completed the math section- time for social studies! This question is worth five points.

Question: In Graham Beckwith's landmark editorial "My taxes well-spent," which paragraph is the most politically incorrect? Show your work!

I don't think this is such a politicized statement to make - we make up almost half the world's military spending, and that's unbelievable.

Who does, Graham? Who's "we"? You and me? Because I definitely don't remember doing that- I'm almost positive that nobody could stretch my seven dollars per hour far enough for a defense budget. There was that one time I bought a jacket at Salvation Army for a costume party- is that what this is about?

Over $400 billion was spent last year on military. I guess that doesn't seem absurd to enough people, because we will most likely increase that figure in the coming years.

(Sigh) Again with the "we." Graham, just a heads up- USING THE AMBIGUOUS "WE," EVEN IN A FIRST-PERSON EDITORIAL, IS A MAJOR JOURNALISM NO-NO.

Also, just a polite suggestion, but you might want to cite a source or two for that $400 billion figure. Just a li'l nitpicky journalism thing about accuracy and whatnot.

It would be nice if our priorities could switch to something else. Education? Health care, perhaps?

The year is 2024. Across America, broken, stupid people clutter the sidewalks and alleyways, begging passing pedestrians for change to buy prescription medication or a math textbook. They have been failed by a greedy, selfish government that took all of their hard-earned tax money, only to spend it in one fell swoop on a fleet of gigantic, artificially-intelligent KillBots. Some believe the policy was the result of Exalted President-for-Life George W. Bush being allowed to see the blockbuster hit "Iron Man" in the summer of 2008.

Whatever the reason, not a single dollar has ever been spent, ever, on health care or education. After pillaging the funds of the most affluent segment of the population- college newspaper columnists- the Almighty RepubliCorp. Empire has let the country now known as "Pepsi™ Presents: America™" fall to ruin, with no health care or education system in place.

Maria, a small, sickly orphan girl, lies dirty, uneducated and diseased in a gutter in the slum of Schwarzennegra (formerly Los Angeles). With her dying breath, she gasps, "¡Dios mío! Will no one help us? Why has our government abandoned education and health care?" Within seconds, a KillBot swoops down and vaporizes her lifeless body.

Across the city, a rebel journalist known only as "Beckwith" types furiously at his DigiPad. Facing certain government execution at the hands of the taxpayer-funded drones, he soldiers on into the night. On this night, he will pen the column that will change history, and finally force the government to acknowledge the need for health care and education spending. He will call it "My taxes well-spent."

I would like to think that my money is going toward new textbooks for an inner-city classroom. But really, it's paying for one blast shell, for one tank in some desert.

I'm gong to stop being subtle here for a second, if you don't mind.

I would like to think my tuition dollars are going to a first-class journalism program with a student publication that employed talented writers dedicated to refining their craft. But really, those dollars are paying for mindless, sophomoric drivel like Graham's "editorial," which should embarrass not only the Ohio State student body, but sentient, non-mouth-breathing individuals everywhere with even the faintest grasp of what makes for intelligent commentary.

Cheers, Graham!

By the way, while writing this blog, I usually have the Lantern and the Anti-Lantern open side-by-side in separate windows...I guess I was expecting some kind of matter/anti-matter explosion, but so far, nothin' doing. I will now go back to doing nerd things.

Graham Beckwith, Dark Knight

2008-04-30T16:27:00.000-07:00

Welcome back! I took a day or two off to go on a Lantern field trip- I'm making an attempt to become legitimate in the fall- and I met the editorial staff, including Mr. Beckwith. I'm sorry to tell you that I don't have any rollicking stories to tell you about our meeting- pretty standard handshake and greeting, although I did hear one girl urge someone to throw a punch- but if it helps you sleep any better at night, here's what didn't happen:

Me: Hi Graham, I'm Dan McKeever. (extends hand)

Graham: SCKLLLLHHHHHHAAAAA!!!! (Graham begins to convulse uncontrollably as the head of a wild boar emerges from his throat. A creature with the head of a boar, the body of an orangutan, and a saurian club-like tail claws through Graham's skin, shedding his human exterior like the Bug in Men In Black.)

Other Lantern editor: No! Now you've done it!

Me: I knew it! (reaches behind back, pulls out crossbow) Go time.

Graham: (blood-curdling scream) (swats crossbow into corner of room)

Me: (scurries into corner of room, trips over Graham's flailing dinosaur tail, crabwalks backward into corner, Graham's lengthening shadow)

Graham: (frenzied hiss) (foams at mouth, raises arms for kill strike, freezes and crumples to the ground, revealing another Lantern editor wielding a silver pistol)

Another Lantern editor: We keep that in the desk. He'll be fine in a couple hours. I'd stay away for a few days, though- he may still have your scent in his nostrils.

So, yeah. On to the column!

Glam chowder
Graham Beckwith
Issue date: 1/31/08 Section: Arts

Welcome to the first and only installment of Gossip with Graham. With no further adieu, I'll get to your fake e-mails.

Whoa, whoa, WHAT? Fake e-mails? They're...he's writing them...to himself?...but...how...gullllghhhhh.

Hang on, folks. I'm going to have to delay this post. I need a few minutes to pick up all the pieces of my skull that are now scattered around my desk, because Graham Beckwith just BLEW MY FUCKING MIND. I'd suggest reading the rest of "Gossip With Graham" with a football helmet on, because your dome is about to be rocked harder than you could imagine. This practice is full pads, ladies!

Did you hear, Heath Ledger died from taking too much Ambien? How messed up is that? - Johnny Q. Tremain

Hmm...Johnny Q. Tremain...I'm on to you, Graham. Just come forward and admit that you are still a huge fan of Jonny Quest. It explains why you have his hair, and it certainly explains your adopted Indian brother Hadji.

OMG! I'm so glad I get an opportunity to write about this. Ever since I watched "10 Things I Hate About You," I've thought of Heath as a brother. He's like a brother who is much better-looking than me, who I don't relate to at all, but who I must scrutinize even after his death.

Although he's too modest to admit it, Graham received a fan letter from Heath Ledger too. It said that he also thought of Graham as a brother, despite their many differences. Heath listed their looks and their levels of proficiency in using the objective case as their primary differences. "You're like a brother to whom I don't relate at all," Heath said.

Just days before his death, it was reported that Army Spc. Jon M. Schoolcraft III, a26-year-old from Wapakoneta, Ohio, died in Iraq after his vehicle struck an explosive.

Waaaait a minute, I thought we were talking about Heath Ledger! But now you done flipped it all around on me! Is Graham about to use...juxtaposition? (Remaining gray matter still clinging to my brain stem quivers, bulges, finally explodes.)

An estimated 6,000 die each day in Africa from AIDS. But none of them were in film. So why should we care?

The year is 2029. A twisted skyline dots a mangled, post-apocalyptic landscape, puffing black smoke into a red sky. A lethal combination of HIV, robots, and HIV-positive robots has all but eliminated the human race, save for a tiny pocket of freedom fighting journalists known only as "The Lantern Keepers."

Their leader, a mysterious, blond, rebel journalist known only by his pen name, "Beckwith," gazes into the smoggy sky and grits his teeth. After seizing power, the gay robot hegemony made its first priority the destruction of all HIV-related major motion pictures, preventing the dwindling human race from gaining an understanding of the disease that ravaged the population.

Day and night, Beckwith works tirelessly at his typewriter- a device which he has assembled, MacGyver-like, from some wire and a few old Pabst Blue Ribbon cans. His columns are printed his own blood on the tanned hides of the sewer rats he is forced to eat, when he eats at all. He knows that it is up to him to expose the truth about AIDS- namely, that it is a horrible disease that kills people- because there has never, ever, been a major motion picture about AIDS.

He begins to type the column that will finally make people aware that AIDS exists, and thus change the course of history. He will call it...Gossip with Graham.

On Wednesday, I read something Ben Schwarzwalder wrote in The Lantern's opinion section about Heath, which just rang true: "I really do not think Ledger committed suicide ... why would he schedule a massage when he was going to kill himself?"

Ledger was clearly an amateur when it came to the whole "scheduling an accidental overdose" thing- I thought you were method, Heath! Just look at this entry from Nikki Sixx's day planner from December 23, 1987:

6:00 PM: Gym with trainer

7:30 PM: Dinner at the Ritz

8:00 PM-10:45 PM: Heroin

11:00 PM: Accidentally overdose on heroin, be declared dead for two minutes

11:02 PM: Be revived with adrenaline by Motley Crue-loving paramedic

11:30 PM: Write hard-rockin' hit "Kickstart My Heart" about the experience

11:45 PM: Massage

See, Heath, that's a professional.

This is why celeb gossip is such a worthwhile enterprise - brilliant deductive reasoning. There is no way anyone would kill himself without clearing his or her schedule. I'm sure Heath had an assistant, so how hard would it have been to make a quick phone call and say, "I'm planning on killing myself today, can we push back my massage a few hours?"

I know, celebrity gossip is sooooo stupid! OMG! Especially secondhand celebrity gossip! Maybe I should, like, write about that idea in a celebrity gossip column!!!!

I heard that Heath's masseuse called Mary-Kate Olsen three times when he was found dead. I want the phone transcripts.

Wait a minute, I think Graham's on to something! First Mary-Kate Olsen dates Heath Ledger, and he's found dead...now she's supposedly dating hockey player Sean Avery, and he goes to the hospital with a lacerated spleen. I ask you, what's the pattern here? Mary-Kate Olsen is the reaper of souls! Behold, the face of pure evil! (She looks like she's put on a little weight in this one.)

I want to see pictures of his dead body.

The morbid humor is already slaying me (ha!), but could you maybe write a sentence that's a little...y'know...creepier?

I want a lock of his hair.

(shing shing)

Detective Benson: Elliot, you're going to want to take a look at this.

Detective Stabler: What, what did you find this time?

Benson: It's...some kind of secret room. But check out what Graham kept in here.

Stabler: My God, is that...are those...locks of human hair?

Benson: Yep. Probably thousands. Celebrities, journalists, even the odd blogger.

Stabler: Wait a minute. Didn't his columns used to make references to locks of hair all the time?

Benson: The "Gossip with Graham" column. And then...the Danny Macintosh column too!

Stabler : (snorts angrily) That bastard was taunting us the whole time. We could have saved Macintosh, dammit!

(shing shing)

Heath, oh Heath, how I weep for you!

Please don't tell me there's more to this column. I'm willing to be a sport and wade through this spectacular brutalization of the satirical style, but for the love of God, please, just make it stop.

Did you hear, Dr. Phil and even Britney Spears' own manager called her crazy? - Gar Funkel

Dammit. There is more.

In case you were wondering, I am at an utter loss for words in reponse to the fake name "Gar Funkel." I just have nothing I could possibly say to make fun of that. You win, Graham. I just...I...just, fuck.

LMAO! In my opinion, I think the girl is crazy.

Let's see...one line of column text times the width of a column times the circulation of the Lantern...carry the one...yep, I think printing that sentence alone may have killed an entire tree. At least it didn't die in vain.

I'm glad Dr. Phil, as a respected psychiatrist, took time out to inform the rest of the planet on the girl's privacy. We needed to hear from him that she was unbalanced; the head shaving and the pantiless escapades weren't enough proof.

Maybe I'm just a little stupid in the head here, but I'm thoroughly confused by this column. Why is Graham talking about Britney now? Where is the mention of Jamie Lynn? IS THIS WHAT IS MEANT BY "GLAM CHOWDER"?

And I don't even understand why she is bonkers. All we did was make her a public figure right after she finished puberty, paid her way too much money for making awful music and then flashed cameras at her 24 hours a day while her life was crumbling.

In this paragraph, Graham is doing something called "relating to Britney." (I learned that from Dr. Phil.) He, too, knows what it's like to experience painful growing pains as a celebrity/sex symbol in the eye of the ravenous public. Like Britney, he has had a once-loyal fan base turn on him. The photo that was published last year of Graham, Antonio Henton, and Maurice Clarett piling into a car to go clubbing evoked the "three partiers of the Apocalypse" picture of Britney, Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan. Stay strong, Graham!

She's rich; she used to be beautiful. How dare she be maladjusted?

Alright, I can't do it anymore. This column is getting unbearable. I need a break, and so do you, so I'm going to introduce a little feature called... "Dear YouTube- Save Us From Graham!" (I'm picturing that title being chanted by a studio audience.) Ready? Here's your kick-ass clip of the day, featuring the greatest low-budget mascot of all time. Ten points if you can name his full address.

(sigh) Okay. Back to this column. I'll make it to the end of this thing or die trying.

Anyway, I can't wait to see what she does next - straddle an electrified fence, perhaps?

You know something? I'm actually in favor of this one. I would imagine that would prevent her from adding any more spawn to her litter, which, let's face it, is in the best interests of the human race.

Did you hear, Brangelina is having another baby? - Christian Daly

Ugh. You know what this reminds me of? When I was in sixth grade, our teacher made us write a one-page book report every night for the whole year. Needless to say, it was just busy work- with 25 kids cranking out a page a night, there was just no way he was reading them. So you know what I did? Eventually, I started writing the first half of a report, and then filling out the second half with gibberish. Hey, man, it was cursive, it looked just as good as anything else on the page.

Moral of the story? If you know no one's going to read it, don't even bother trying. I think Graham has applied this life lesson to the second half of this column. There could be twelve typos from this point on and I wouldn't even care. If I were editing this train wreck, I'd have thrown my hands up by now and just said whatever.

Another good trick: If you get assigned a paper in excess of eight pages, staple one of the interior pages (say, page six) upside-down when you put together the final project. Worst case scenario, you get caught, and it looks like you made a simple mistake. Best case scenario, you get it back, there's no comment on it, and it's obvious the professor never even read it. That's when you have them by the balls.

By the way, the fake name "Christian Daly" means that I can include this clip. That's an athlete, folks.

ROFL! This is such big news.

Look, I'm not totally against the net speak. There's a time and a place for the LMAO and the ROFL. Just not now, man. It's been a long, long column...just go easy on us.

Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie reproduce more than the fungus on my bath sandals.They're so beautiful; they're so interesting. They have beautiful, interesting children. They will have more beautiful, interesting children.

Here's one definition of irony: The preceding paragraph contained the word "interesting" three times.

"Mr. and Mrs. Smith 2"? I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

More like, "Gossip with Graham 2"? I'm keeping MY fingers crossed!*

*God no

Well, this has been fun. I'll be back with all-new gossip next time hell freezes over, or pigs fly or Larry King decides to stop airing sensationalist fluff.

Fun for who, Graham? Fun for you? Was this FUN FOR YOU? YOU'RE SICK! YOU'RE SICK! I can't...how can you...(sobs)

Ta.

Take a look at that concluding paragraph, future journalism majors of America. Do you see that? That is the sign of a broken man. You have to hate yourself just a little to be in the journalism business, but that, children, is a man that journalism has picked up, toyed with, chewed up, spit out, and crushed under its clawed foot. Run! Run while you still can!

AHHHHHHH

2008-04-27T17:48:00.000-07:00

It's "affect." With an "a." From the 2007 AP Stylebook:

-Affect, as a verb, means to influence: The game will affect the standings.
-Effect, as a verb, means to cause: He will effect many changes in the company.

I don't know how the Lantern doesn't have an AP Stylebook floating around the newsroom, or if they've given up entirely on that radical school of thought called "Reading What You've Written More Than Once Before Publishing It," but it doesn't appear to matter. Note the overwhelming response to this (cough) poll:

Now, for you math whizzes, here's a word problem: If I randomly click on "I will get to campus earlier to find a parking place" and hit Submit, and I see the following result on the pie chart, how many people participated in this survey?

Graham Beckwith, Style Icon

2008-04-27T13:37:00.000-07:00

A brief word before today's blog post. It's not every day that you get an entire hate column devoted to "exposing" you in the Lantern. Sweeter still are the hours that follow, when you receive a) more traffic than your blog has ever seen in its short lifetime, thanks to said column, and b) an e-mail from the one and only Graham Beckwith.

Sadly, Graham's response to my e-mail was kind of on the "too-long-and-boring-to-merit-posting" side, but I'll outline his key points in case any of you have been holding your breath for the dramatic conclusion of Thursday's little episode:

Liberally paraphrasing Graham:
-I didn't bother to read your e-mail. I will now go on to respond to every point you made in your e-mail.
-I'm sad you set your LiveJournal to private, because I shared it with other Lantern staffers and we all had a good laugh over it. I was clearly full of shit when I wrote in my column that I had too much class to read it.
-Stay away from me and my family- I have a poor understanding of the satiric style, and did not comprehend that you were kidding about stalking me.
-At the Lantern, we track IP addresses, so we can tell if all of these people that have commented on my column telling me that I suck/that you are better than me/that I REALLY suck are actually just your aliases. Spending all of our time on this practice may or may not be a contributing factor to the large number of typos in our publication.
-O' Doyle Rules!

So there you have it. I doubt that I'll be seeing/hearing from Graham again, although if I do bump into him, I will have the overpowering urge to tousle his hair and tell him to run along and play. My only regret is that I will never have the chance to work with Graham on the Lantern (he appears to be graduating, and I won't start there until next fall- by the way, the prospect of walking into a room full of editors who have GASP read my blog has, needless to say, left me terrified and unable to sleep).

Finally, if you're new to this blog (thanks Graham!), you should know that it was created in pursuit of the noble quest of Fucking Around In My Free Time, and that I plan on continuing to catch Lantern typos/barbecue Graham's columns in this space. Thanks to the wonders of caching/interwebs/whatever Graham was talking about in his column, I still have plenty of his work at my disposal on the Lantern archives. If you've made it this far...on to the column!

Naked truth about fashion
Graham Beckwith
Issue date: 4/3/08 Section: Arts

Even though I don't know anything about fashion - I am under the impression that black, brown and white go with everything - I can at least recognize how it can be a decent way for people to express themselves artistically.

As you can see, this one is off to a great start. I'm going to have a contest for you, noble readers. The first person who can tell me what the hell is going on in the next four paragraphs wins a free MS Paint doodle on their portrait in the next post. You have your choice of Gumby, Sub-Zero from Mortal Kombat, or Matthew Lesko.

Olmec, please put 45 seconds on the clock...ready...begin!

Of course, those fashion designers in Milan do some crazy shit I can't begin to understand.

Let's be fair to Milan fashion designers, though. The stuff Graham Beckwith doesn't understand could fill...well, could fill a Lantern column every Thursday.

(OOOH OOH OOH BLOGGER BURN)

Most of it looks ridiculous, but I can still respect it sometimes.

If there's one thing Milan fashion designers crave, it's the respect of Graham Beckwith. This I know.

But even in everyday life fashion has to be respected. One time a girl was walking down the hallway of my apartment building, and what she was wearing caused me to stare at her until I walked into a wall.

And so, on April 2nd, 2008, just as the first signs of spring began to show, Graham Beckwith...discovered breasts.

Now even with all that being true, it's stupid to look down on people because of the clothes they wear.

Time's up! I have no idea how to summarize those last few paragraphs, so I'm leaving it up to you. I've had a rough weekend, guys- not one, but two different chicks shot down my drink offers at Bar Louie.

I'll judge bands because those bands put themselves out there for me to judge.

Let's put aside for a second the fact that this sentence appears to be unrelated to anything. Bands do not (DO NOT) "put themselves out there" for you to judge, Graham. I'm guessing they put themselves out there because they enjoy performing music or something. Then again, I don't have my own column, so what would I know.

I saw this band opening at Skully's the other night that made me want to pierce my ear drums with my car keys. Even though they were a young band, singing out of tune, they made the decision to go up on stage so that pretentious, half-drunk people like me can look down my nose at them.

They may have sucked something awful, but God bless 'em, before they went on, they huddled up in backstage and said, "Guys, we may sound terrible, but Graham Beckwith is here tonight, and I think we owe it to him to let him judge us. Who's with me?"

*In Graham's case, I'm guessing "half-drunk" = "drunk"/2 = one appletini.

"At least you're nice enough to admit that you're a music snob," my friend Donna said one day.

Ah, good, Donna makes an appearance. We all know her so well, I was wondering when she was going to pop up in a column.

*"Donna said one day" may or may not equal "friend and quote Graham invented to keep this column limping along."

"But I'm enough of an a**hole to keep doing it," I responded.

Suck it, Donna.

Now, how is this different than judging fashion?

It is getting very hard for me to keep reading this column. So, so, SO bad. (sigh) But go on, Graham, I bet you're going to tell us how judging music is different than judging fashion.

If I were to, say, police fashion, and let's say I were to do it on a weekly campus university publication, I'm judging average people whose only crimes are putting on clothes even if those clothes happen to be a bit ugly to me.

(podium lights up)

Alex Trebek: Yes, French Stewart.

French Stewart: The answer, of course, is UWeekly's Fashion Police. I'll take "Pod-Pod the Rhino" for 400, please.

Sorry, everyone, I'm in a "Saturday Night Live Celebrity Jeopardy!" kind of mood today. Bear with me.

Not everyone has to play bad music on stage, not everyone has to even listen to music, but it's sort of against the law to go without clothes in public.

Except, of course, for that beauty that was walking down the apartment hallway, Graham thought to himself as he searched for a Kleenex to plug his bloody nose. She shouldn't have to wear clothes in public. Excited about meeting a potential gal pal, he reached for his cell phone to dial his mother.

That's just part of being an artist-putting yourself and your work out there to be judged by idiots.

Wait a minute...does that mean...does that make me an idiot?*

*No. Graham is not an artist. Moving on.

There are people in Columbus who put a lot of thought into their dress, buy mounds of clothes and change styles as the world spins in orbit. But there are thousands of other people who just throw on something each day before they leave.

With a little tweaking, I think this paragraph would be perfect as the opening voiceover for some kind of soap opera reminiscent Days of Our Lives/As The World Turns, in which the main characters work at a fashion boutique in the Short North.

I am hereby deducted twenty man points for writing the preceding paragraph.

What's worse is judging people who are just trying to get to class or work - in the freezing cold!

Nitpicky little journalism point here, Graham: Never, ever, nevereverever use exclamation points in journalistic writing unless you're attributing a quote to a physical (non-human) source. Poor form, Graham, poor form.

That's what got a chuckle out of me a few weeks ago - ordinary schmucks getting practically libeled in print, I guess for wearing parkas and mittens deemed unfashionable.

Graham, on the other hand, would never writing anything even resembling libel about an undeserving fellow student in print.

(Whoops.)

Heaven forbid someone would want to throw on sweatpants and Ugg boots to walk through the ice and snow.

This paragraph is actually the subtitle of Graham's upcoming biography, "Don't Hate My Stylish Life: Heaven Forbid Someone Would Want to Throw on Sweatpants and Ugg Boots to Walk Through the Ice and Snow."

It would seem that fashion policing would be stifling individuality as well. Does that serve fashion?

Bonus round! The first reader to pinpoint the exact moment when this column completely stopped making sense wins their very own awesome "Danny Macintosh"-esque nickname.*

*Nickname may not be entirely anonymous.

I'm not likely to ever be on a worst-dressed list because I dress so normally. My wardrobe usually involves usually Chucks, Levi's, T-Shirt and jacket. Earth tones.

Hey, Graham, you want to know what got a chuckle out of ME a few weeks ago? You attempting to paint yourself as an alpha male/Marlboro Man type in your column. That, sir, is fine comedy. I take back my earlier dig about you not being an artist. You are a true wordsmith, and you can elicit laughter from even the frostiest hearts.

Uninspired, I know.

Who, exactly, is this sentence a half-hearted stab at? The UWeekly Fashion police? The reader? Are we still on what best serves fashion? Throw me a freakin' bone, here, Graham.

Oh how I'd like to meet a real fashion policeman. Most fashion policemen I see in publications are anonymous, see. They get to have digs at people without having to defend or identify themselves. It must be a great position to be in, acting as if they are the czars of fashion around OSU without having to answer for it.

Wait- rewind that really quickly?

"Most fashion policemen I see in publications are anonymous, see."

YES! There it is! Ladies and gentlemen, at long last, Graham's signature "Genre-Shifting Paragraph Of The Column!" Today, Graham will carry us to the last paragraph in the style of a 1920s mobster, see.

Let me take a stab at that paragraph, this time keeping each sentence true to the genre:

Boy, how I'd like to get my mitts on an honest-to-John fashion flatfoot. Most fashion coppers I see in the broads are anonymous, see. These mugs gets ta take shots at av-er-age Joes like youse and me widout having to cop to it. (munches cigar) It must be a helluva spot to be in, see, paradin' like they was the cat's pajamas when it comes to fashion on this turf widout having to answer for it. Boy, I oughta...

You know, I never said I was going to be any good at it. Jeesh. Give me a break, I'm not a darn Lantern columnist.

Also, ten points if you picked up on the recurring theme found in this paragraph and Graham's anti-Anti-Lantern column on Thursday.

I wonder what's so amazing about your garb, fashion policeman. Rainbow-colored tassels on your footies. Neon-colored snow pants. Olde-English scribbled on a wife beater. Wicker bracelets. Yellow eyeliner, lime-green lipstick.

I apologize again for my limited MS Paint abilities. Also, quick question...footies? What are footies? Are those like shoes?

I'm sure it's genius, whatever it is.

Yeah, whatever, man. Graham doesn't even give a damn. He only spent a whole column on the subject, but, pshh, whatever dude.

Next time you're staring longingly into a mirror, strike a pose for all of us.

I always strike a pose for you, Graham. Always. Call me!

Your "stalker" forever, Dan.

P.S. I can't believe you wouldn't accept my Facebook friend request...does this mean I've been semi-"de-friended" by Graham Beckwith! Hallelujah!

Graham Beckwith, Gumshoe Extraordinaire!

2008-04-24T19:15:00.000-07:00

The following is an e-mail which I have sent to ace investigative reporter Graham Beckwith. His column today was dedicated to this blog- you can find it here.

"Wow. Never in a million years would I have imagined that this blog (which, as of this morning, consisted of a whopping six posts) would merit its own Lantern column.

A few points I feel I should make here:

-Before your column today, I think a total of four people had ever laid eyes on my blog. It's not like I meant to keep it private- posting it to the internet would sort of defeat the point of that. I'm just blown away that you actually wrote a column about me and my li'l ol' blog. Thanks for the free publicity, I guess!

-While your investigative reporting skills would make Carl Monday proud, I was never really trying to remain anonymous. I didn't exactly think of myself as some type of Riddler-esque villain with an alter ego, although you played the Val Kilmer to my Jim Carrey quite admirably. If I had really been dying to post anonymously, I wouldn't have written about it on Facebook, on my LiveJournal, and on the comments section of one of your articles. I did get a kick out of the way you painted this as if some Encyclopedia Brown-esque detective work led to my discovery. Sadly, I think fingering me as your Bugs Meany may be the most "investigative" reporting that I've seen in the Lantern. I think it also speaks to the level of discourse generally associated with your column that this breaking news story actually had a place in your column. Nice work, Magnum.

-I can't help but think that you've missed the point of this whole thing. I don't write satirical reviews of your columns even though you write about mundane subjects such as "Australian rappers and buffer seats." It's because you write about those things! I think it's a beautiful thing that those topics have a place in the representative publication of our journalism program, and that you're so eager to expound on them for your readership.

Speaking of your readership, I can't tell you how many text messages/phone calls I received today telling me how ridiculous the column was. I hate to say it, but if the comment section of the column on the Lantern website is any indication, you're going to come out of this thing looking like a bit of a schmuck.

-I'm glad that you caught on to the fact that I am, indeed, obsessed with you. Often, late at night, if I'm lonely and my trained monkey friend Charlie Bucket isn't feeling affectionate, I lie awake staring at your picture and plotting ways to procure a lock of your hair. I have also considered drinking your blood and/or constructing an elaborate scheme in which I become pregnant with your child, man-on-Oprah style.

I do have to wonder, though, if you don't feel the same way. After all, you devoted an entire column (readership in the thousands) to my blog (readership in the...four?), and appear to have read my blog, discovered my LiveJournal, and possibly archived my blog. In case you're wondering, I wasn't planning on deleting it, but in case there's some accident involving my laptop, I'll give you a ring to recover those pages.

-I enjoyed the remark about me "getting anywhere with" my blog. I quit the Sentinel in March, and I'm slated to take Lantern practicum in the fall, so I've been in limbo and felt like putting my creative talents to use in the meantime. While opining about Facebook de-friending, etc. may represent the pinnacle of your career achievement, this blog is, amazingly, not my highest aspiration in life. I should note, however, that since this blog came to light, the Sentinel editorial staff has asked me to return. If I do, I'll keep you abreast of any clever aliases that I employ, which may include Don McKiffin, Deion McKeeler, and Dan McKeeven.

-I also got a hearty chuckle out of your dream scenario near the end of the column, where I walk into the Lantern newsroom in the fall with egg on my face and grovel before the editorial staff, begging for their forgiveness. They are so appalled by my blog, in fact, that they've hit me where it hurts most- by linking to my blog from the Lantern blog homepage and describing it as humorous. Damn, they really hit below the belt. Good to see they've got your back here, Graham.

My two favorite points in the column were the "Graham Linux" bit (which may have been the first time I've read your column and laughed with you) and your sign-off at the end, "End copy." That was a pretty killer sign-off, although I would have gone with "Seacrest Out."

I guess what I'm trying to say, Graham, is that we should be men about this. Let's get some lunch, have a drink, and talk this over. Just imagine what we could accomplish together. Even better- how about I accompany a hot female friend to an Arena District bar, and you and your creepy friend offer to buy her a drink, then don't say a damn word all night. Just let me know what works for you!

Your #1 Fan, Now and Always,
Danny Macintosh/ Dan McKeever (d'oh!)

P.s. Sleuth is spelled with an "e.""

Graham Beckwith, Social Butterfly

2008-04-23T19:11:00.000-07:00

Welcome back! As you can see by my attempt at making Graham look like the little guy that used to be at the top left corner of Facebook, my MS Paint skills are limited. So, too, are Graham's writing skills.

Facebook friends ain't what they're cracked up to be
Graham Beckwith
Issue date: 3/27/08 Section: Arts

I'm not going to pretend I'm above using Facebook.com.

You just know, you just fucking KNOW, that Graham was the guy refreshing his MySpace every other second in high school. But you know something? Graham's a down-to-earth guy. He'll cop to using Facebook. He's not some liberal elitist- he's just a regular dude. Sometimes, after a long day at the Lantern, he likes to kick back with a beer*, watch a baseball game**, and scratch himself***.

*wine cooler
**E! News
***sob uncontrollably

Yeah, it's a simple way to stay in touch with people from back home. But really, just like everyone else, I'm enticed by the ability to look into people's lives while I should be writing history papers instead.

Graham's a bit of a voyeur- he has always been fascinated with the ability to look into the lives of others. This is just one of many, many reasons that his favorite singer/song remain Clay Aiken and his smash hit, "If I Was Invisible (I Would Just Watch You In Your Room)."

Because that's what Facebook really is for-advertising yourself for other people and browsing people's pages when you're bored.

And finding out which Disney princess you are. Can't forget that.

That's never what alarmed me about the site. It was never about the lack of privacy - there are millions of other ways to whore out your privacy in this country - or catching glimpses of peoples' day-to-day activities.

(A dark office. Slivers of light from between the blinds and the glow of a lit cigarette are the only light.)

I guess you could say privacy's my specialty. In my line of work, I've seen lots of bad things happen to good folks in this country who whored out their privacy. Yeah, I know privacy, alright. I'm Graham Beckwith. I'm a private eye.

Sorry. Where was I?

People will use Facebook in lieu of actual social contact, which is all fine and good if it's for something positive like planning someone's millionth McFadden's happy hour, or collecting phone numbers after losing a cell phone.

Goooo on...

What's scary is when people use a social networking site to deal with the ugly stuff.

To this day, Graham regrets joining the group "Nazi Dogfighting Human Organ Trafficking Ring- need ur numbers!!!".

I've heard of people breaking up with their significant other on Facebook. That's never happened to me, which is why my ancient Dell laptop isn't broken into a thousand pieces. But Jesus, Facebook makes a voice mail look classy.

What you didn't know, dear reader, was that this column was actually a transcript of Graham kneeling in his pajamas and saying his prayers before bed last night- hence the second sentence being addressed directly to Jesus.

Also, Graham is a man of great physical fortitude, and would not hesitate to spike his laptop and shatter it into a thousand pieces should someone break up with him via Facebook. Possible sound effects to accompany this action, and their respective likelihoods:

1. THIS...IS...SPARTAAAAAA!!! (1%)

2. FUNNY! FUNNY! FUNNY! (2%)

3. (prolonged girlish wail, followed by a stream of tears) (97%)

What I have encountered, on the other hand, is the Facebook de-friending.

(GASP) You're saying you can...you can...DE-friend someone on Facebook? How barbaric! Surely you jest?! Thank you, Graham, for bringing this too-oft ignored pheonomenon to light in your column. Good use of paper.

For those who aren't familiar, de-friending is the act of dropping someone as your Facebook friend after you added them. Apparently, it's the Facebook equivalent of telling someone to "f**k off for good" without actually having to say it to them.

Other things you may have missed if you're not familiar with de-friending on Facebook:

-Howard Dean is no longer running for President
-A dot-com business is no longer considered a lucrative enterprise
-America is at war with Iraq

For more, please search for "21st century" on wikipedia.org (that's a publicly edited encyclopedia website!)

To anyone else it might seem petty, dropping someone as their fake Facebook "friend." But to me it's funny. We've gotten to the point where we can't resolve interpersonal conflicts with face-to-face interactions.

Graham resolves most of his conflicts with face-to-fist interactions, baby. His fist. In a fight between you and Graham Beckwith, there's two hits- he hits you, and you hit the floor. You see that? That's barbed wire, friend. Goes allll the way around. Boop boop boop boop...boop!

One de-friending incident I guess I can say I deserved. A fit of rage and far too much alcohol caused me to get into an argument into the wee hours of the morning with two girls who did absolutely nothing to me. From what I remember, I yelled some awful things - I'm surprised my words were even intelligible - and I probably came across looking like a total prick.

The fact that the two girls did absolutely nothing to him was, in fact, the very source of the conflict. Graham had planned out his evening to include getting crunk off an entire bottle of Hennessy and then having a killer threesome with these two chicks. For some unfathomable reason, they declined, causing Graham to fly into one of his trademark (and not at all feminine) drunken hissy fits. The evening concluded with the two girls (who had combined to take four more shots than Graham, for a total of six) consoling him in the bathroom while he sobbed that he was sorry and that he loved his girls.

I realized what I had done the next morning while I was brushing my teeth. And I dropped my toothbrush to go on Facebook and apologize, because ironically Facebook had eroded my social skills.

Surprisingly, Facebook had nothing to do with the erosion of his hygiene- constantly dropping his toothbrush on the floor to go check Facebook was more of a factor.

Next thing I knew I had two fewer Facebook friends. What a pity.

Graham didn't need you anyway. Sluts.

Another de-friending came from a girl I was friends with in the real world for a time. I don't know what brought on her sudden animosity. And the funny part is, because she de-Facebooked me without a word, I'll never know.

Chilling paragraph, Graham. But- could you possibly follow it up with a stinging, yet poignant one-liner?

Maybe that's the point.

That's my boy!

Not only had she de-Facebooked me one day, she de-Facebooked two of my friends who know her and even my brother, who had only spoken to her on one occasion.

*The girl in question = Graham's girlfriend. The "two friends" = Graham's parents. The de-Facebooking = her method of breaking up with Graham.

The reason? Well, to put it delicately, she just couldn't handle Graham in bed anymore. Physically, that is. Let's just say that it's hard to drive an 18-wheeler through the kitchen door.

I left her alone to rot, because I obviously had already made enough of a dent.

Following the de-Facebooking, Graham murdered the girl and dumped her body in the trunk of a demolition derby car. This sentence was actually a cryptic taunt to authorities, who should have caught the "already made enough of a dent" reference to the dented demolition derby cars in the Demolition Events National Tour (D.E.N.T.).

My buddy Danny from freshman year, after getting fed up with me writing insults on his Facebook wall, chose to ban me from said wall.

I have to confess- it was me. Yes, just as Dr. Evil and Austin Powers once called each other "brother," Graham and Danny Macintosh were once Facebook amigos. Our partnership ended in 1989, with the fall of the Berlin Wall- I got fed up with Graham leaving non-stop "Mr. Macintosh- TEAR DOWN THIS WALL!" wall posts.

We have remained friends, and we hang out all the time, but I guess in Facebook land we're estranged.

True on all counts. We chill pretty much every weekend, but I have a Facebook restraining order against him just to be safe. He also gets pretty pissy if you block him on AIM.

I was definitely busting his balls too much back then, but I still see it is as a silly way to get back at me.That same friend admitted to me recently that he had de-Facebooked his roommate from freshman year because he had pissed him off too many times, only to be reunited as Facebook friends a few years later.

I hope Graham was an enterprising journalist about this and asked the question on all of our minds- I don't see how he could possibly resist asking!

"Wait a minute, who did the Facebook request the second-time? You or him?" I couldn't resist asking.

Yes! You're the man, Graham!

"It was him, but I accepted quickly. It was--" he then made the awkward turtle motion with his hands, and I understood.

Ooooh!!! Oh, oh, pick me, I know! That's a reference to Graham's "awkward turtle" column! Only true Beckwith loyalists would be in on that one. Well played, sir, well played.

Graham Beckwith, Pick-Up Artist

2008-04-16T17:31:00.000-07:00

Don't pooh-pooh the drinkypoo
Graham Beckwith
Issue date: 2/28/08 Section: Arts

One Friday night I ended up sitting next to my buddy Darren in some bar in the Arena District.

I like how all of Graham's stories involve him "ending up" somewhere, as if he has no conscious control over his pathetic weekend nights. I think Graham wants to give us the impression that he kicks off every bar-hopping session by doing some hard opiates and then embarking on some Hunter S. Thompson-esque, drug-crazed, rollicking, free-wheeling journey into the night.

But go on, Graham, which bar was it?

Doesn't matter what bar it was. They all look the same - bad music, low lighting, overpriced cocktails.

Damn. By the way, Graham, they have this new drink at bars now. They're calling it "beer" (or "bejer," it might be a soft "j"), and apparently it's a whole lot more masculine than cocktails.

Darren asked the bartender to offer a drink to some girl sitting a few yards away.

Here, in true Graham fashion, "Darren" is code for "Graham." By the way, had this girl been roughly 40 yards away, I would bet that she could break 4.5 running away from "Darren."

"The girl with the blue purse, yeah - that's the one," he said.

Graham knew she was the one the instant he saw her. There was something about her sparkling eyes, her carefree laugh- the way they she held his gaze for an instant longer than she should have the first time they locked eyes across the room. She was his everything, and nothing at once, but he knew immediately that he must capture this beautiful butterfly in the jar of his pounding heart. Graham had found the one, and everyone needed to know it.

He made a note to include her in his next Lantern column.

I had vowed long ago never to buy a drink for a girl. I would consider buying drinks for friends, underage siblings and kids who offer me enough money, but buying drinks for girls in a bar just to get their attention is a complete waste.

In a related story, Graham also vowed long ago never to attract a girl at a bar, take her back to his place, and have sex with her. That's not Graham's style, and neither is buying a girl a drink. Graham's above that. He is not, however, above buying alcohol for minors- this is actually how Graham finds out about most of the parties he goes to. He's a big hit with the high school set.

Besides, who wants to meet anyone in a bar?

Besides, well...everyone that ever went to a bar. I'm kind of new to the whole "bar" scene, but I was of the impression that they existed for that very reason.

But I had found myself thrust into the wingman role for the evening, so I encouraged him to do it.

If we assume the postulate "Darren" = "Graham" to be true, then we can only reason that Graham was, in fact, his own wingman for the evening. That takes some balls, friends.

Minutes passed. No word from the girl, no glance, nothing. No harm, no foul as it was.

Sentence written. Some fragment, another fragment, fragment. Nonsensical, non-sequitur, as it was.

But when we closed our respective tabs later, Darren looked at his bill in amazement. Apparently the girl with the blue purse had bought the most expensive drink in the house for herself and her friend, had given the brush-off to Darren, then let him flip the bill.

She...she WHAT? Oh my God, how RUDE! You mean she ordered a drink after some awkward, pimply geek at the other end of the bar offered her one? And it was expensive? Why, after the way he approached her so tactfully and respectfully, and contributed to her evening through entertaining conversation and gentlemanly behavior, that is just completely unacceptable.

Oh, he just had the bartender offer her a drink for him, then didn't say a fucking word to her all night while he awkwardly checked her out? Oh, well... fuck, man.

I don't know what the hell they were drinking. Maybe it was Grey Goose vodka mixed with Kabbalah water and 12-karat gold sprinkles.

Maybe it was an ungodly blend of Johnnie Walker Blue Label mixed with baptismal holy water from the Vatican and sprinkled with lava from the BOWELS OF HELL! Either way, I don't see how she resisted that foolproof pick-up attempt. Way to go, Mystery.

Darren was probably just trying to hide his disappointment, but I was more pissed off than he was.

Oh boy, I can't wait to hear why.

I was raised to respect women, and women should be respected, especially when they show independence and class.

I smell a crazy Graham Beckwith signature flailing, directionless rant coming on, but... goooo onnnn....

In this case, all Darren expected from this girl was an ounce of courtesy, but he didn't get it.

It seems more like all "Darren" expected was for this random girl to be so turned on by his awkward come-on that she would tell her friend to get lost, strut over to his end of the bar, rip his pants down and begin blowing him without so much as an introduction. But yeah, what a bitch!

Buying drinks for women is one of those inane societal courtesies that is so often abused.

Ahh, I've already caught a hint of that burnt-rubber/electrical fire smell that's a surefire sign of Graham's column straining and falling apart as he flails ineptly about, throwing random opinions about wildly as the gears in his brain spin and grind under the strain of using logic to write an article.

But go on, Graham, what other "inane social courtesies" do you want to take on? Holding the door for a woman? Standing when a woman enters the room? Actually speaking to a woman when attempting to pick her up at a bar?

If Darren had known better, he would've known he could've done just fine without the drink.

*Probably not

The girl with the blue purse, had she known better, could have politely refused the drink offer, could have said anything to Darren or could have simply chosen not to order the most expensive drink in the place.

Suggestion 1 (politely refuse the drink offer)- Sure. If she knew she had no interest in "Darren," that would be a merciful thing to do.
Suggestion 3 (not choose the most expensive drink)- Okay. That'd be a kind thing to do.
Suggestion 2 (say something to Darren)- Well, I don't know, Graham. I'm pretty new to this whole "girls" thing, but maybe "Darren" should have, um, INITIATED THE CONVERSATION, SINCE HE'S TRYING TO PICK HER UP IN A BAR. But what do I know, I don' t have my own column.

I completely stopped going to 18-and-older bars a while back, because I didn't want to be bothered with girls like her.

Graham's strictly working the under-18 crowd now- his scrawny physique and high-school whiskers allow him to totally fuckin' blend, man.

I know guys aren't perfect. At the very least guys should be on the level and treat women with respect, and unfortunately a lot of times they don't.

I'm nodding while I read this because I know that Graham is good with women.

But if we believe in equality for women - in the workplace, at home and even in bars - then they should be held to the same standards.

There it is! Finally, the quintessential random decree that, while trying to picture Graham writing a column, brings to mind a jumpy suburbanite firing a handgun wildly into the dark after hearing sounds in the night.

If only women treated men as equals- that's such a big problem in our society. For instance, blue purse girl should have dragged "Darren" out of the bar by his collar and made sweet, sweet love to him as a way of saying "thank you" for his drink offer. That's just courtesy, folks.

Unfortunately it's become far too acceptable for men and women to treat each other like swine because it's a game.

Ugh. Tell me about it, Graham. The last time I went to McFadden's, this chick came up to me and offered me some ground up apple cores out of a trough.

I don't know why the girl with the blue purse was cruel. She didn't know Darren, didn't know he was a nice guy and probably figured he was just some other jerk she wouldn't have to see again, so she might as well get the free drinks.

Can't reiterate this one enough- she didn't know he was a nice guy because HE NEVER SPOKE TO HER, jackass. She figured right. He was just some other jerk she wouldn't have to see again. She should have worked him for some free drinks. "Darren" got played, Graham, and I have no idea why this is so hard for you to get. How did you get a whole column's worth of outrage out of this?

The sad thing is, I see this sort of behavior at bars all the time. It is accepted bar etiquette. Maybe Darren was at fault for expecting better.

*He was

The only respite someone like Darren could take from that sort of situation would be that there will be plenty of other girls, plenty of other bars.

Luckily for Darren, Graham has assembled some of his tried-and-true pick-up lines for Darren to use, free of charge, at these other bars. Some of Graham's old standbys:

"The Carrot Top": Graham walks up to a girl with a copy of the Lantern's Arts and Life section, from which he has cut out his picture. He holds the paper up so that a small section of his face can be seen through the hole, and asks, "Look familiar?"

"The Blend": Graham strolls up casually behind a circle of men and women, lurks behind the tallest until one of them tells a joke, and then slides into the circle laughing excessively loudly, following with, "'Sup guys?"

"Mr. Sensitive": Graham sits alone at the end of the bar, quietly weeping until a beautiful girl comes over to ask what's wrong, and if he'd maybe like to talk about it over some sex at her place.

"The Little Animal": Graham puts on a #33 Ohio State football jersey and tells women he is Buckeye linebacker James Laurinitis.

As we were getting our coats to head out the door I said to Darren, "You want to talk to 'er at least? See what's up?"

Graham is far from the ideal wingman, partially because of his game-killing habit of adopting a Cockney accent whenever he goes out. Some women actually find it amusing the first time, but quickly lose interest after the sixth time wingman Graham asks Darren, "Yew want to 'ave a go at 'er, guvna?"

"No. F**k her. Let's go to another bar."

Had "Darren" known that Graham planned to detail his strikeout in his weekly column, his response would have likely been, "No. F**k you. I'm going to another bar."

My thoughts exactly.

You tell 'em, Grahammer. We know Graham's thoughts on the situation, but I enjoyed the comment left on the Lantern website by "Bob," who writes:

"Excuse me for thinking this is very funny. Correct me if I am wrong, but it appears that Darren wanted to have sex with a complete stranger, but didn't want to actually say a word to her. Nevertheless, his feelings were hurt. Poor baby. "

Zing!

Lantern Caption Mania!

2008-04-09T15:52:00.001-07:00

USG Vice Presidential Candidate Jacob Larger reminds voters about Subway's "5 Dollar Footlong" special.

Graham Beckwith, Party Animal

2008-04-07T22:19:00.000-07:00

Welcome back, Lantern enthusiast. In this post, we'll examine a delightful little morsel of delicious Graham Beckwith journalism. Having tackled world hunger, cold fusion, and global warming, Graham has moved on to another pressing concern: just how awkward he can really be.

Awkward turtle saves my life
Graham Beckwith
Issue date: 3/6/08 Section: Arts

My buddy Fish had rolled into town one weeekend and was staying with a few of his people at the convention center, so I went to go meet him with a few of my people.

Were you wondering how much of a badass Graham Beckwith is? Well, let's put it this way: he rolls with guys named Fish. That's right, fuckin' Fish, man. What a hardass. Apparently, on this particular "weeekend" (good catch, Lantern editing staff!), Graham and a couple of his "people" met up with Fish and a couple of his "people."

If you couldn't tell from Graham's swingin' prose, he and Fish are a coupla goodfellas. You know, goodfellas- they'll take care of youse, whatever ya need. Graham and his people, they're good people, youse all can get together. Also, Mama Beckwith makes a rigatoni dish that is outta-this-world, my friend.

Shortly into our conversation, Fish and his people started making odd hand movements in unison. It was one of the strangest things I had ever seen coming from people who I was pretty sure weren't on drugs.

Graham has seen a lot of people doing strange things on drugs- the entire Lantern staff routinely trips salvia wearing Tupac shirts. And you wondered how anyone could have ever come up with "Pod-Pod the Rhino."

"This - this is the awkward turtle," Fish said with a look of satisfaction one could only get finding something worthwhile to believe in.

Unbeknownst to Graham, Fish had also ejaculated.

He placed his palm flat on the back of his other hand and wiggled his two thumbs - pardon me if I can't draw a diagram.

Graham actually attempted to draw a diagram, but couldn't figure out how to hold a pen to draw both of his hands at the same time- he blames that M.C. Escher drawing for fucking with his head. Hence the testiness.

"Oh, I see." I said. The thumbs are awkward turtle legs, the two palms are the awkward bodies. But what does this mean?

Now, I'm no expert on the awkward turtle like Graham Beckwith, but isn't the "turtle" singular, with the two thumbs serving as flippers? If so, why does said turtle have two bodies?

As for what it means, well. It means Graham Beckwith just took this story to a WHOLE 'NOTHER LEVEL ON YOUR ASS. Graham's 'bout to get investigative.

"I was told about this awhile ago," Fish explained. "Awkward stuff just seems to happen to us. So what we do when it happens is do the awkward turtle, so that at least we can all share in it."

I picture Fish as a sort of older brother figure to Graham, passing on the lessons he's learned when the time is right. At the end of the column, Fish will tell Graham to go ahead and keep the glove and the hat. When Benny "The Fish" Rodriguez is playing ball in the major leagues and Graham is a play-by-play man, you can bet he'll have that hat on when he calls the next pickle.

I was elated. For too long I had suffered through countless awkward moments, all alone in the world with no idea how to react.

(stunned that Graham has ever, ever suffered through awkward moments)

Now I was being given an invitation to the awkward turtle club - maybe not the most prestigious club, but becoming a member felt right to me.

Graham initially struggled with the awkward turtle club's dress code.

Right before I started attending Ohio State, I ended up at this suburban dinner party back home - 70's furniture, appetizers, sycophantic laughs, sparkling white wine.

I will never get tired of how Graham always writes about his social life as if he's some kind of swinging, hob-nobbing Austin Powers-meets-1970s Jack Nicholson type. Graham, you're a pimply Lantern humor columnist. You probably can't do a push-up, and I'd be willing to bet you're a virgin. Your typical weekend night probably consists of wandering around east campus with your roommate like a freshman, trying to slip into a house party and wait in line for the keg. You're not out on the weekends with "your people" rubbing elbows with the Rockefellers. Please, please, just fucking spare us.

"Lots of students at Ohio State, eh?" said someone at the party, after I had been cornered into conversation.

Graham frequents Canadian dinner parties. Also, I'm guessing this person cornering Graham is an uncle or some other relative, but I can almost see Graham hunched over his laptop fighting the urge to change the character to a gorgeous redhead in a clingy, black satin dress, carelessly cradling a champagne flute between her elegant fingers. As she approaches him in a faraway corner of the party, she can't help but notice how cool he looks, leaning against the wall, effortlessly soaking in the party, his fedora cocked forward over his handsome face...

Sorry. Where was I? Ah, the awkward turtle.

"Well sure, but I imagine it'll be just like high school with all the sects," I said.

The beautiful redhead flicked her hand through her auburn hair and laughed a tinkling laugh, like rose petals falling on piano keys.

"What did you say your name was, doll?" Graham asked.

"Lily," said Lily.

"Listen, Lily. Let's you and I shake a leg and scoot back to my pad- we need to get that dress off of you before it goes out of style."

Lily blushed a deep red that matched her hair. Graham's awkwardness, it seemed, had unlocked the door to her heart...and her bedroom.

It took a long pause before I realized he thought I meant "sex."

(boiiiiiiiiiing sound effect) Aaaaaawk-waaaaard!

"No, no," I sputtered, "I mean 'sects.' You know, in groups?"

Graham chose to distinguish between the homonyms "sects" and "sex" by repeating the word "sects" and possibly making little quotation hand signals. Unless nobody told him about that hand signal either. The moral of the story is, Graham would never have been able to make it as a Blood- the two-handed lowercase "blood" would be far, far too much for him to handle.

With the realization that I had told this man that Buckeyes like sex in groups, and the awkwardness taking over the situation, I had to down my wine and make a bee-line for the door.

This man turned out to be Karen Holbrook. Now you know where she got it from. On top of it, she probably thinks that the "drunken orgies" are fueled by sparkling white wine, the drink of badasses like Graham Beckwith.

Save me, awkward turtle!

Pardon me for asking, but how exactly would the awkward turtle have saved you? You make an awkward comment, but if you follow it up with a gay little hand gesture, all is forgiven? Somehow I still picture that encounter being awkward.

There was also the time when a kid who looked like Thurman Murman from "Bad Santa" asked me to buy him porn at a DVD store. He darted away from me before I had the chance to finish telling him "no," but I had to feel bad for the poor fella - he could have used an awkward turtle in his life.

Good one, Graham. Everyone knows what Thurman Murman from "Bad Santa" looks like. Way to bring that story to the readership.

If I had known about awkward turtle during high school, it would have never left my side.

Other things that never left Graham's side in high school:

-copy of People magazine

-iPod loaded with Clay Aiken, Kelly Clarkson

-Danimals™ drinkable yogurt

One time during freshman year of college, my suitemates were watching some "SportsCenter" in the living room. A nice distribution of people I guess: eight ignoramuses, ranging from a Republican former high-school wrestler on one side of the room to a liberal flower-waver on the other.

That is a nice distribution. Seems to be approximately normal, with mean = Average guy that always wears an OSU football jersey and standard deviation = enjoyment of the movie "13 Going on 30." Needless to say, Graham has a z-score over 3.

In a related story, I proficiencied out of my stat class today. See ya, incomprehensible TA.

Maybe watching wrestling highlights prompted the wrestler to talk about wrestling for the millionth time that year. But I had heard it enough times for me to react, even though what he said wasn't bad at all.

Maybe this big, dumb brute smelled Graham's menstruation. Who knows.

"Look, when it comes down to it, isn't wrestling just foreplay?" I said, being the flower-waver.

Idea: Maybe your roommates would like you more if you a) didn't mention homoerotic foreplay so damn much and b) weren't waving a fucking flower while you did it.

It was one of things that just seemed to leak unwillingly from mind to mouth, when it should have remained just a passing thought.

I pride myself on being a more sophisticated humorist than Graham and/or Lyndon Collins, so please supply your own "other things that leaked unwillingly into Graham's mouth" joke here. I won't stoop that low, you hear!?

And as the wrestler sat in his chair across the room, his teeth grinding themselves to dust, all I could do was sit on my side of the room covered in blush.

Addendum to list from two paragraphs earlier: c) Your roommates might like you better if you DIDN'T COVER YOURSELF IN MAKEUP POWDER while watching SportsCenter. Idiot.

*It has come to my attention that Graham may have intended to say "blushing" rather than "covered in blush." That's his fault, not mine, and really- is it all that much of a stretch?

Although the wrestler surely wanted nothing more than to mount me and wrestle the life from my smart-alecky liberal head, all I wanted was someone in the room to flash me an awkward turtle gang sign to let me know everything was OK. I just didn't know it then.

I'm sure he wanted to "mount" you, Graham. If you're keeping score at home, Graham has bumped the bar for "homoerotic quotient in a single column" up a full three notches. Ball's in your court, Peter King. Not so gay without Brett Favre, now, are ya?

Awkward turtle can change the world, if it gets people like me to laugh at this stuff.

I think we can all agree that we had a good chuckle reading about the hilarity that ensued from Graham's awkward hijinks. Either that, or we put the column down, washed our hands, and then watched some girl-on-girl porn just to get that gay stench out of the air. Regardless- a job well done, Mr. Beckwith, a job well done.

New Feature! "Pod-Pod Explained" #1

2008-04-07T20:04:00.000-07:00

The main articles in this blog are written in the style of one of my favorite blogs, Fire Joe Morgan. In the spirit of borrowing shamelessly, I'm proud to introduce "Pod-Pod Explained," a brazen rip-off of Joe Mathlete's Marmaduke Explained.

Without furthur ado, today's selection (as presented, actual size, on the Lantern website):

Pod-Pod is not a fan of Valentine's Day. This is because the members of the "Holiday Council"(who have been drawn in the style of Steamboat Willie) have conspired to make Valentine's Day miserable by giving it the same side effects as Paxil.

Stay tuned for more of Pod-Pod Explained!

Graham Beckwith, Lantern Martyr

2008-04-06T17:58:00.000-07:00

Welcome, readers and Graham Beckwith aficionados. In this post, we examine a column by our good friend Graham with a distinct religious flavor. In case you were wondering, the title of this column is intended to draw a comparison between Jesus suffering for all mankind and Graham attempting to go for forty days without tugging on his penis.

Everybody has a cross to bear
Graham Beckwith
Issue date: 2/21/08 Section: Arts

On Ash Wednesday I received a text message from a buddy of mine from high school.

One thing I’ll say for Graham, he sure knows how to write a captivating lead. I’m hooked. Tell me more!

"Indeed, it has begun. Friends, embrace the RACE OF CHAMPIONS and refrain from sinning against God with your body. Good luck, unless you already gave in."

Chances that this is an actual quote: ± 12%.

I went to a Catholic high school, and for the last six years about a dozen or so of my former classmates have been engaged in a Race of Champions every Lent.

Here, “a dozen or so of my former classmates” is code for “Graham.” Graham is the sole participant in the Race of Champions, and thus the only loser.

For the Race of Champions, the rules are simple: no pleasuring oneself for 40 days. Guys and girls can join, and sex of any other kind is OK as long as one doesn't do it alone.

The “sex of any other kind” caveat was necessary to accommodate Graham’s unique sexual proclivities, which at various times have included Saved By the Bell-themed role play (Graham was Mr. Belding), the game Jenga, and Whitey, the south campus albino squirrel.

Also, something tells me that this challenge turned out to be really, really difficult for Graham.

It is run strictly by the honor code, and when a person exits the contest he or she must announce it at school the next day. The person who makes it the full 40 days, or makes it the longest, wins pride among his or her brethren.

Foreign TA: “…which gives us x squared. Yes, in the back?”
Graham: “I…I pleasured myself last night. I was watching “40 Hottest Over 40” on E! and I just…Teri Hatcher…I couldn’t help myself any longer. I’m so sorry.”
TA: (stunned silence)
GB: “What, don’t you read my column? The Race of Champions? Anyone?”
GB: (hangs head in shame)

Interesting how the “prize” to be won in this competition is pride, which must be in no short supply for a guy who has informed the readership of a newspaper with a circulation in the tens of thousands about his masturbation habits.

This is obviously disgusting and even blasphemous. But it's funny as hell.

Boy, is it! Although it was funnier back in 1992, when Seinfeld aired “The Contest.” For those of you who might not remember, “The Contest” was THE EXACT SAME FUCKING THING AS “THE RACE OF CHAMPIONS,” only it was well-written and entertaining.

Sex was always permitted during the Race of Champions because back in high school, sex wasn't going to be an issue for a lot of my former classmates.

Graham’s former classmates were a bunch of sad sacks who had zero chance of getting laid. Graham, on the other hand, was virtually swimming in a sea of cheerleader pussy. I pulled some strings and actually got in touch with Graham's orthodontist, who can verify that GB was undoubtedly Poon Brigadier General of the Ass Platoon in high school.

The way I see it though, it's not my god they are offending. And after a few weeks, most of the contestants start trotting around like rats in a storm drain.

Graham, master of the simile, has finally put his finger on exactly what one feels like after losing such a bet through sinful masturbation: a rat trotting around in a storm drain! As we all know, rats tend to trot around storm drains when they’re feeling the humiliation of defeat, although they’ll occasionally do the square dance or the Lindy Hop.

By the way, does the first sentence of that paragraph make any sense? I’ve re-read it six times and I have no idea what that means. Perhaps Graham has been worshipping false idols. If I had to guess, I’d say Graham worships the following people:

1. Frank Caliendo
2. Sal from E! News
3. Patrick Swayze
4. Jesus*

*Maybe

I grew up Catholic, and I've noticed just enough hypocrisy in the church to stay away from it. I also laughed at the lapsed Catholics to the left and right of me.

Graham lives in Northern Ireland, where he strolls down the street to his Lantern office every day. He strides past the pathetic Catholics strewn about him in the gutters, dying of hypocrisy and/or the gout, gasping for his salvation.

“Graham! If only we had your wisdom, Graham! If only we had stayed away!”
Occasionally, he pauses to step on their fingers.

For those who don't know, masturbation is considered a sin by many. Some would argue that condoms and other forms of birth control are blasphemous too, because they promote pre-marital sex.

Look for more of this type of hard-hitting, go-for-the-jugular commentary in Graham’s upcoming book, “Graham Beckwith Explains Controversial Issues to Four-Year-Olds.”

Oh, and of course gay sex - gasp - is a sin as well, or at least that's what those lunatics on the Oval have been yelling about.

Whoa, whoa, did Graham just - gasp - implicitly condone gay sex! Watch out, world, Graham Beckwith is pulling no punches!

So, if you call yourself Catholic and manage to stay master of your domain for 40 days, it doesn't mean diddly if you do the five-finger shuffle the rest of the year.

We’ll ignore for a moment the fact that this paragraph makes absolutely no sense in the structure of this column. I need to take Graham to task for a bit of good, old-fashioned plagiarism here- “master of your domain” is lifted directly from the aforementioned Seinfeld episode, “The Contest.” Graham has failed to designate his “borrowing” here, inserting the reference shamelessly without so much as an orphan quote. Keep up the great work, Graham- it’s because of writers like you that the Lantern is such a beacon of journalistic excellence.

I think most lapsed Catholics I know don't see themselves as such. Rather, they see themselves as Catholics who have chosen to follow certain dogmas and rules of their choosing.

Graham took time out of his busy schedule* to interview the pitiful “lapsed Catholics” huddling in the shadows.** You can find quotes and excerpts from these well-executed interviews in the remainder of the article.***

*Clicking “refresh” on Facebook all day
**He didn’t
***You can’t

It's not as important to memorize scripture, attend mass regularly and follow every rule as it is just to be a good person and show restraint.

Sunday School Teacher: “Settle in, children, settle in- we have a very special guest today. Boys and girls, this is Graham. Graham is a writer.”
Children: “Ooooohhhhh.” (Children lean forward, fascinated, their eager young faces resting on their hands.)
SST: “Graham’s going to teach us about religion today. Let’s give him our undivided attention, as I’m sure he won’t say anything unfounded or completely ludicrous.”

That means that binge drinking is OK, as long as you don't take a swing at anyone.

SST: (nervous chuckle)

Profanity-laced rants are OK, as long as you tone it down around the children.

SST: (tugging at collar, sweating profusely)

Doing coke is OK, as long as you aren't doing lines off a stripper's chest.

SST: (faints)

You know how you can tell Graham has a good handle on religious values in the context of today’s secular society? He finds a place to advocate the dangerous use of an addictive drug. God bless you, Graham, for keeping it all in perspective.

Whether you are a lapsed Catholic or not, I think most people would agree that Lent, and the concept of abstaining from something to honor faith in God, has been twisted beyond recognition.

Again, here “most people” = “Graham.”

So what if you're able to give up jelly beans for 40 days? Or coffee and swearing?

Graham has attempted to give up all three of these at one point or another, but you know what? He was just too much of a rock ‘n’ roller. Rock ‘n’ roll is in his blood, baby.

Coincidentally, I announced that I was giving up cussing for Lent this year. That lasted three damn minutes.

You see what he did there? Did you spot that clever manipulation of the English language? See, what he did was, he mentioned that he was giving up swearing, but that he failed…only he told you that he failed BY USING A SWEAR WORD! Take notes, young columnists of America. Some days, the man is unstoppable.

If people are genuinely interested in improving themselves or humanity, they don't have to do it for 40 days, and they certainly don't need any New Year's resolutions.

I like to think Graham writes a column the same way that a three-year-old attempts to burst a piñata at his birthday party. The point of the column (the piñata) is clearly out of the reach of Graham’s writing abilities (his bat and stubby arms), and he’s further limited by the fact that nobody finds him funny (the blindfold), but at first, he at least makes an honest effort to swing in the right direction. After a few honest hacks fail to yield any candy, he just gets more and more frustrated, and starts flailing wildly in every direction until he bursts into tears and his mom wrestles the bat away (deadline hits).

This column is a perfect example. He starts out generally focused on the topic of “The Race of Champions,” but fades fast. A summary of the rest of the column:

-Race of Champions
-Race of Champions
-Race of Champions
-Rats trotting around in a storm drain
-Catholic church is hypocritical
-Catholics suck
-Catholics do not follow their religion very strictly
-Doing coke is OK
-Maybe it’s just Lent that sucks
-Let’s not forget New Year’s resolutions
STILL TO COME
-How you should live your life in relation to religion
-Where to turn if you are in search of a god
-If you find a religion you believe in, don’t do anything crazy like follow its rules

Personally, I think people should find their own moral code and strive to stick by it no matter what anyone thinks. If you are in search of a god, don't wait until Lent. And if you've found something you believe in, don't feel forced to followed any religion, conforming to any Bible, or acting differently for 40 days.

Let’s recap what we’ve learned from this paragraph:
-There are multiple Bibles. You have your classic King James edition, and then you have the edition without all the “rules” bullshit, and then you have Graham’s personal copy, in which the Old Testament is replaced with a bunch of old Archie™ comics.
-The whole concept of Lent is ridiculous, although this column was supposedly about what Graham gave up for Lent.

Great work, Graham…you are an inspiration to us all.