"Omegle is a brand-new service for meeting new friends. When you use Omegle, we pick another user at random and let you have a one-on-one chat with each other. Chats are completely anonymous, although there is nothing to stop you from revealing personal details if you would like."
In one study, these consumer psychologists asked college students how they felt about the balance of work and play on their winter breaks. Immediately after the break, the students’ chief regrets were over not doing enough studying, working and saving money. But when they contemplated their winter break a year afterward, they were more likely to regret not having enough fun, not traveling and not spending money. And when alumni returned for their 40th reunion, they had even stronger regrets about too much work and not enough play on their collegiate breaks.
“People feel guilty about hedonism right afterwards, but as time passes the guilt dissipates,” said Dr. Kivetz, a professor of marketing at the Columbia Business School. “At some point there’s a reversal, and what builds up is this wistful feeling of missing out on life’s pleasures.”
Used in the trailer for the super-endearing Away We Go trailer (Damn you Dave Eggers, between this and Where the Wild Things Are, you are basically dominating 2009), I couldn’t help but download and love and appreciate this song for its poetic beauty and its channeling of Nick Drake. Now excuse me while I play this on repeat for the next week and half until I can’t stand to listen to it anymore.
Editor and reporter Trina Ortega was the first paid employee of the Sopris Sun, which opened in February to replace the defunct Carbondale Valley Journal in Colorado. “I believe 100% we still need some form of journalism, whether it’s online or print.” (Marty Treadway / Sopris Sun)
Journalism is important! But journalism is dying! So I guess it’s now commnity service.
Fine, I’m writing about Hard 13, which is not quite a rave, but rather a hip-hop-electro-experimental-but-not-trance-dance music festival that takes place a few times a year. It’s youth oriented and combines the worst of all parts of youth culture, from the American Apparel brand of consumerism and the tackiness of Hot Topic with the whorishness and hedonism of the 80s.
For the record, I did not take any sort of substances that night. I only say that on the off chance that a prospective employer stumbles upon this not-so-subtle web site and misses the joke. But I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out that I received a contact high from the ocean of substance abuse that filled the Shrine Expo Hall that night.
I wouldn’t consider the ability to adapt to new environments as one of my strong suits, so it wasn’t the greatest time of my life. I had bought the ticket to the event in the spirit of spontaneity, I imagined it’d be like Steve Irwin going into the Serengeti: a wild expedition with danger and exotic creatures abound. This whole school year has been an existential crisis for me and has spurred me to try to leave my comfort zone as much as possible to expand my horizons and force myself into new experiences before it’s too late and I realize that I missed out on all the fun in college. Instead of finding fun, Discovery Channel-style, I found myself harshly judging everyone for playing to such foolish stereotypes of empty and ridiculous behavior. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to enjoy this at face value, but I think it would have been more pleasant if I were more capable of losing my inhibitions and allowing myself to be fully immersed in environment, channeling the spirit of Hunter S. Thompson and gonzo journalism. Oh no – I think I might have just been guilty of being as cliché as everyone there that night. Crap.
Anyways, as if the pictures don’t illustrate the scene well enough, I found myself not so much in a dance party, but an emotional and physical orgy of sweaty adolescents of all shapes and sizes, races and ethnicities, sexualities and lifestyles. My hopes of viewing the night through an ironic lens of elitism and old man-ism failed as I just became freaked out and uncomfortable with the swarm of shirtless teens and Eurotrash-inspired skanks. I didn’t really feel like cutting a rug, so I decided that I may as well just go up to people and take their pictures without their permission and then publish them on the Internet, mocking their lifestyles and calling them names. That sounds fair, right?
Given that I arrived fashionably late and done no research prior to stepping into Gomorrah, I missed out on the opening parts and can’t write too much about the candy that was being given out and things like massage trains and hug fests. Ok, I just made up the hug fests part, but I’m still not 100% sure of what exactly I witnessed.
Everyone did seem to be having a good time, enjoying the extremely loud music and wide-open spaces. I didn’t think so many people would be sitting on the floor, but it was a good 8 hour-long event, so you can’t say that you didn’t money’s worth. I found it slightly shameful that EMTs patrolled the floor, looking around with flashlights to spot people whom OD’d and passed out, but I suppose it makes sense. The concessions people must have made a killing off of bottle water sales, as it was hotter than Aretha Franklin’s armpits during her Tae-Bo workouts. Does that make any sort of sense? Probably not, but it’s 4 a.m.
I was also a little creeped out by the range of ages of the audience. It was funny in a sad way to see a few older men who clearly took advantage of the 60s and 70s and now were attending massive dance parties while their peers decide between a round of golf or not being totally out of place in a large public event. It was sad in a funny way to see kids who could not have been older than 14 wandering around with saggy jeans showing just enough of their boxers to tell that they were still adjusting to having descending testicles. Was that an inappropriate description? Probably not, but I can’t fall asleep. It’s a stream of consciousness thing, James Franco would approve.
Having little (a.k.a. “no”) experience with mind altering substances, it was also quite a surprise to see the extent to which people made out with one other. The passion in which bros would grope hos was shocking and I would have gotten all hot and bothered if it wasn’t for the lovely breeze from the open doors leading outside. Though I never walked past anyone participating in activities relating to intercourse, there were enough dark corners in that room for a couple (or trio) to make that happen. And of course, I imagine a roofie or two or twenty made its way through the crowd.
I feel like I’m writing too much here and I’m going to make a fifth attempt at falling asleep tonight. So unless you were there or you found a better account of that night online, you’ll just have to miss out on my thoughts on Lil’ Jon’s appearance with Diplo, the zany raver outfits and oversized hats, the handful of androgynous dancers and my surprisingly lengthy rant on how horrible it is that McDonalds only serves its breakfast menu at 4 a.m., when clearly there is a market for Filet-o-Fishes at that time. Your loss, I know.
Movie trailers are the best - they sell you only the gems of a product and if you are emotionally unstable like me, can evoke tears in less time than it takes to think about all the things that went wrong in my life.