So, what is this? I have my own review column? Well, I guess the Daily’s been known for unsound judgments before. After all, they did put the sex column and tech column on the same page (tee hee!). Yeah, my first article and already I’m going to be ducking someone’s plastic Chewbacca figurine next time I walk into the office. Well, that’s okay. Allow me to be the first to give a hearty “fuck you” to all of you. I’m here today to be an iconoclast, not to balance a milkbone on my nose and shit out a new bar on my resume. So let me get into my role of crotchety old man (done) and get crackin’.
This review is actually about a place many of us know very well: the fabled Hill area (including residence halls like Markley, Mojo and Stockwell). Now, I spent a couple years on the Hill, so you might assume I have a particular fondness for it. Not really. It’s a piece of crap. But I’m not supposed to say that yet, because I haven’t legitimately reviewed it. So here we go. Ready? One, two, th . nope, nope! Got you. Critics can be tricky sometimes. One, two, three! There it is.
Part one of the Hill Review involves its people. Now, people on the Hill are certainly multifaceted, what with their rich histories and ideals, but today we’re going to look strictly at their “interesting” level. Just how interesting are these people, really? Do they contribute very much to the intellectual evolution of our society? To find out, I sat down at local dormitories on the Hill area and absorbed the many conversations propagating the dining halls. What do these people chat about in their leisure time? Sure, you can’t get to know everybody, but you can at least see what the average person talks about. I casually listened in for about a week, and man, the people were so damn boring. It’s the same thing every time. The same! Thing! Every! Time! Here, I even constructed a Hill Dining Hall Conversation Template for you to use the next time you eat there. You’ll blend right in! Just follow the text.
“Hi (Insert Name of Person Here)!”
“Oh hiiiiiiiiiii (Insert Name of Person Here)!” if you’re a female.
“What’s up / Sup / Sup dawg / Sup G / What up,” if you’re a male.
“My alarm clock went off at (Insert Time Here) and then (Story about alarm clock).”
“Oh man / Good Times / Yup / (Useless filler comment).”
“(uncomfortably test out neologism or television slang term here).”
“Yeah, and (whine about homework you have to do here).”
“(Insert something about football or some slut you banged here),” if you’re a male.
“(Start gossiping about other girls in your social network here),” if you’re a female.
That’s it. Really, that’s it. You think I just made that up, didn’t you? Well then, go to the Hill, sit down, and listen to what people are talking about. That’s all they talk about. They’re robots. I heard the alarm clock story at least five times, and wonder if these people ever realize that they’re just regurgitating the same crap every day. Unfortunately, anyone who doesn’t talk like this on the Hill (that is, someone who actually has a personality) is doomed to be a social recluse. Sorry buddy.
So after their conversations, people got up and left, having refueled themselves and wasted their breaths on trivial nonsense. Now, this only applies to males, but oftentimes the getting-up-and-leaving part involved walking with a particular “tough guy” swagger to exude an apelike masculinity. Sorry, but you’re setting evolution back about 23 million years. But that’s okay, because apparently it’s supposed to be cool. So, note to self: lots of bad boys on the Hill. Ooooh! :-* Will that emoticon get printed? We’ll find out. If it does, that’s our little secret. Okay? Just me and you. And maybe the guy sitting in the stall next to you. Shhh!
Onto the Hill dorms. Whoops, I meant residence halls, because that’s supposed to give an air of class to these hovels. Whoops, I meant shovels. Shovels that you can live in. Man, I keep messing this up. It must be the “baby’s first column” jitters. Nope, got you again – I did mean hovels. You see, these Hill dorms are filled with loud, uncouth swine who like to belch and repeat things they hear on MTV, because that’s what’s cool (Read: that’s how a media mogul makes you think you have good taste as he scrapes money off your hide). And every other door has some kind of phallic symbol drawn on it. There’s really nothing here for anyone, unless you’re trapped in high school, and you just want to PARTYYYYY!
Unfortunately, the Hill may very well be a reflection of mainstream society and a testament to how uncultured and intellectually underdeveloped people really are. That’s okay, I guess, because college is the place to learn and grow and any other mother-like word I can put in here and italicize. But it’s rather difficult to do this when you’re constantly trying to party in your 4-inch dorm room, which inevitably turns into a wading pool of your own bodily fluids. And, unfortunately, these become the so-called “treasured” memories that you will tell your friends again and again and again and again and again and again! That is, if you’re sober enough to remember them.
Then there’s Palmer Field, which is rather nice. I like it, especially in winter, when the sun is angled such that the smoke billowing out of the nearby factory casts interesting moving shadows over the snow. It’s rare, but it happens at least once a year. And the Observatory is pretty rad, when it’s open. So those places get the nod of approval.
But besides those locations, sorry folks, the Hill is a pretty crappy place, unless you’re one of those blissfully ignorant characters I’ve mentioned above. A couple of the girls on the Hill were pretty attractive though, so I’ll give one star for that. It just goes to show that if you don’t have a personality, you can hide behind your fortuitous genetically predetermined facial structure that you did nothing to deserve, and still get points.
The Hill. Overall Score: 1 out of 5 stars
Jason can be reached by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.