Punctuality - What in God's Name Happened to it?

Imagine this: you’re on your way to see a movie (for the purpose of this hypothetical the movie does not have Sean Penn in it, so it might actually be good) and you plan on meeting a couple of your friends at the theater because you’re all coming from different places. They’re on the way to the theater from their designated polling place, and you’re on the way from your residence since you, being a well-informed and probably groomed reader of this fine internet-publication are of the mental capacity to realize that voting is mostly stupid since most of the people who do it are dumb. What, given this situation, can you safely assume? The friends that you plan on meeting will be late, you will miss the previews, and the entire movie-going experience will be ruined. Why is this? Because punctuality is dead.
I don’t know when it happened, I’m not a historian nor am I boring enough a person to follow trends and graphs regarding punctuality, but at least I am capable of adhering to schedules. The simple and terrible fact is that more often than not people are getting places later than when they promise to, and this is the sort of thing that makes me so sick that my Pepto Bismol expenditures have gotten a little out of hand as of late. There is absolutely no excuse for this, since the average person now has with them upwards of 5 devices containing clocks at all times – cell phones, watches, iPods, laptops, more cell phones. Granted, only 4% of the population with these things is capable of successfully setting their devices’ internal clocks.
I’ve been thinking about this whole affair for awhile now, and after much deliberation I feel comfortable putting on my finger-pointing glove so that I may place the blame squarely on the guiltiest culprit: the institution of breakfast. For a little while this country was extremely supportive of keeping breakfast brief, clean, and simple, and our economy flourished as a result of it. Think back to about ten years ago – you couldn’t watch TV for ten minutes without seeing a commercial for a breakfast bar, shake, or injection of some kind, one that promised to keep you on time and on-the-go. But at some point all that changed, and America went back to sitting down to heaping plates of food-that-requires-preparation. This results in a morning meal that takes too long (causing immediate lateness) and contributes to this country’s terrifying fat-kid situation (causing long-term lateness). At this rate things can only get worse.
So here’s the solution folks: put down the forks, spoons, knives, and mugs of scalding Columbian bitterness – you won’t need them for the answer to all your future schedule and nutrition-related prayers. Start your day the way I start mine: a 12 oz can of Coke, and a multivitamin. I call it “The American Breakfast,” since it is extremely good for this country. It’s mercilessly efficient and extremely easy to make, especially if you can get a bottle of multivitamins that don’t have a child-proof lid. This will make your life better, this will make the world better.

People with Problems - Why do They Always Want to Talk About Them?

Anybody alive in this era of bit-rates and LCD’s is sure to be under a lot of stress, certainly more than their ancestors who were terrified (but not stressed out by) teletype machines back in 1925. I can appreciate that various changes in the social and political climate since then have given people a lot more leeway in terms of what is “okay” to talk about, but there’s one area of free speech that’s really been getting on my nerves lately: problems.
People it is time for you to stop talking about your problems, and more specifically, talking to me about your problems. It’s not that I don’t understand, or that I’m a compassionless shell of an Adonis of a man. It’s just that having to listen to the lamentations on daily life with which people I know constantly bombard me makes me want to tear their mandible from their skull, leaving their face distorted, hideous, and unable to articulate their vocalizations into such words as “this is the problem I’m having,” or “here’s what’s bothering me.”
“Why such a problem with problems, Guiles?” you ask, your word choice a conscious decision made in an effort to alleviate the gravity of the situation (no dice, nosebleed). Here’s why: often times when people have a complaint they wish to discuss they often want to complain about me. Now, I am highly aware of the importance of complaining, as is self-evident, but when someone has an issue with me two things happen. First: I get confused, because what on earth could someone possibly find to complain about with respect to me? Second: I get angry, because if this person has a problem with me they are obviously unfit intellectually to even engage me in conversation, meaning that whenever I hear their voice my time is being wasted.
Listening to people’s problems that don’t directly involve me is also tortuous, as I’m sure some of you know. These trouble-factories who are constantly whining seem unable to schedule their sob-story-sessions at convenient times. Usually it’s a phone call at an unreasonable time (any hour greater than 1 and less than 10, a.m.) that sets into motion these unpleasant exchanges. And, this being Gufts University, 93% of all people with problems are piss-ass drunk at the aforementioned hours. My avalanche of resentment towards the intoxicated is an entirely different grouse, one that would require more pages than I’ve got years to my name, so I will not go into it now.
The point is this: if you’re having trouble with your love life, your social life, your sense of political efficacy, your family, a medical condition, finances, or whatever, remember that hearing about it only makes me root against you that much harder.

Museums - Shouldn't They Be More Accomodating?

We’ve all been there: The Museum. Of course, as a hygienic and handsome member of society I do enjoy the occasional visit to a museum, or “house of fancy stuff” as the unwashed sectors of the populace refer to them. There’s no doubt that museums serve important purposes, like harboring paintings by dead schizophrenics, keeping hideous modern sculptures out of our public parks and restrooms, and providing a location for dates with women who are always saying that all you like to do is watch action movies and yell at the neighbor’s fat children for no reason aside from the fact that they’re fat, and you need to prove them (the women, not the fat children) wrong when they say you lack depth of character, hypothetically speaking. So, everything’s hunky-dory, right? Not right.
For all their glitz – the columns, the windows, the high school dropout employees wearing suits – museums lack a couple important amenities, like heart, and more importantly, an abundance of comfortable chairs in every room. Once upon a time I visited a gigantic and huge museum in a little town called Paris (I won’t say which museum, I don’t want to namedrop), and I found that I was having a serious problem: the problem of very tired legs and feet that don’t want to walk.
“That problem doesn’t seem too serious, Guiles” you might say. Bullshit. A man cannot effectively absorb culture if his feet are sprouting blisters and his legs are full of aches. What’s more, I find feigning interest in the thousandth painting of an unattractive woman in a state of unerotic undress becomes exponentially more difficult the less comfortable I am.
Fortunately for the world I’ve got a foolproof solution (what else is new?). Every museum simply needs to obtain a fleet of luxury wheelchairs, the kind that people of intellect deserve. Leather upholstery, hydrogen powered, dual cup-holders, and etcetera. This way people like me can enjoy museums under optimum conditions. What’s more, should one find himself driven to sleepiness as a result of the draining strain of cultural intake he can simply roll himself to a secluded corner (museums have lots of these – they’re mostly for making out with people who are under the impression that you’re sophisticated) and have a nap. Think about it, this could change the world. With more cultural knowledge the disparity between the average “Die Hard: With a Vengeance” watching person and the average contestant on “Jeopardy!” will begin to be eliminated, making it more likely that you might win two thousand dollars for asking someone “Géricault?” when you overhear them talking about tubercular infections.

Plato's Allegory of the Cave - Isn't It Time Teachers Stopped Using It in Their Curricula?

Recently, ten students (who have chosen to remain anonymous) at Gufts were handed a photocopied excerpt of The Republic of Plato. Specifically, the so-called Allegory of the Cave. Asked to comment, several of these students claimed to have been exposed to this work previously at Gufts, one Jewish male even stating, "My God. If I have to read this fucking allegory one more time I will throw a [Jewish] fit." The Gource, while it does not support Jewish fits, also is of the fact that it is time our educational system jettisoned the Allegory.
First of all, it is widely known that both Socrates and Plato believed in having sex with children. Even by today's standards, this is absolutely unacceptable. When did we start taking advice from pedophiles? Next we will allow alcoholics to hold positions of political power. What if they throw up on a foreign dignitary, or drunk-dial the Big Red Button? Or even Red Buttons?
That aside, even if Socrates had sex with one or more women, like a regular person, the Allegory of the Cave is not fit to be taught in the classroom. First of all, it is not an allegory. Modern research shows that this was an actual event in Socrates' life, the time he was chained up underground, and his passing it off as an allegory is merely a duplicitous attempt to mislead modern readers.
Even if it weren't true, it makes absolutely no sense. Just because a person has never seen the sun does not mean that what they perceive does not exist. Someone standing outside would be observing something different, not necessarily something better. Example: even if you read nothing but The Grimary Gource, it would not mean that it was illusory. In fact, quite the contrary.
That's just fact.

Tea - Shouldn't You Stop Drinking It?

Time to feel guilty, America.
It seems that lately, which is to say within the past few years, the popularity of tea has really started to go up. Okay, first of all: what the fuck is everyone’s problem? Tea, like all hot drinks that aren’t cocoa, is nasty as all disaster. Do you even know how it’s made? A man with extremely dirty feet stomps around in a big pile of leaves somebody raked up during the fall time, except the pile of leaves was moved into a barn and it is now the following spring and the guy stomping on the leaves is eating a burrito that isn’t maintaining its structural integrity. Then they put the leaves and toenails into tiny bags that you soak in water until it smells bad enough to drink. Gross.
Second of all: tea-drinkers hate the American dream. Remember in history class, how you learned about the great Anglo-slaughter of seventeen-seventeen-seven? If you’ve forgotten here’s a refresher: the British Tea Alliance tried to destroy the fledgling colony of Satcheltown, but was repelled by the shirtless American forces, a battle that single-handedly solidified America’s stature as a country nobody wants to fuck with. As a result, most American colonies adopted constitutions that forbade the production or consumption of tea, and for a while this country was great. But things change.
The olde time constitutions no longer hold any “legal” power and haven’t since sometime in the early 1940’s, so tea isn’t a controlled substance per se, but the fact of the matter is that it still carries un-American connotations (like civil liberties do in the south, basic fucking etiquette does in the Northeast, or haircuts do in California). However, tea’s unpatriotic message is universal across this great nation. Or, at least if fucking ought to be. So let’s put an end to this liquid equivalent to flag burning. And by the way, stop burning flags.

Nostalgia – Isn’t It Time We Just Got Over It?

Recently, the Gource has noticed a viral outbreak of nostalgia all over the United States. “Things were so much better then,” people whine, “back when there was courtesy and no cuss words and fifty cents would buy you a tractor-trailer and all you needed was pluck and aspirations in order to maintain a perfect lawn.” There are more people I have heard say this than there are awful, mass-produced bagels in the state of Massachusetts. I have news for these people: things were not better back in the pre-nostalgic days. In fact, it was quite the opposite. They were worse.
Seriously, look at the statistics: 80% of people born between 1900 and 1980 held their hair in place with Bryl-Creme. Elections were held monthly to decide on local dogcatchers. The only illegal drug was Quaaludes. There were only two websites: Yahoo! and shockwave.com. And the soul patch-to-person ratio was 3:1. I am not making any sort of subjective judgment here; there are the facts. Go ahead and interpret them as you will.
Just consider these. It is time to stop being nostalgic. The fact is, there was never any perfect time period. We can only hope to work together and create a uptopia where the Velvet Underground is banned from our airwaves. Where kites shaped like anything but a diamond are summarily conflagrated. And we can cure the common cold. Remember, these ideas ran first here, in the Gource.

Jews - How Long Will You Let Your Noses Do the Talking?

Recently, Gufts Gillel was vandalized with spray-painted pictures of big-nosed Jews. The Campus Jewish Alliance responded by covering over the pictures with even bigger pictures of famous Jews. This took place during the Jewish celebration of Shabbat, an annual grain festival. The Gufts Genate voted to staunchly condemn the acts of the vandals, and swore to take stronger action should this event occur again. The Gufts Genate was dead wrong.
Usually, the Grimary Gource is not a supporter of bigotry or vandalism. In this case, though, the Jews deserved it. If they do not want to be accused of having big noses, it would well behoove them to keep their big noses out of our faces. It's like, hey Jew buddy, just because my nose won't reach yours is no reason for yours to meet mine halfway!
Honestly, it's like the Jews are just aching for acts of anti-Judaism (The Gource does not use the term "anti-Semitism" as it technically refers to all Semitic people. Know your facts.)! When they can just resign themselves to a life like everyone else's, we can peacefully coexist.
Predicted and to be proven.

Cars on Campus - Why Don't They Just Find Their Own Roads?

Imagine this scenario: a typical student (white) is walking around campus, reading a copy of the Grimary Gource, imagining how much better the world would be if the "one strike, you're out" policy were implemented, feeling comfortable enough with his sexuality not to have to look where's going, when suddenly he is mowed down by a car, usually driven by a senior citizen. You don't have to imagine this, because it happens every day. "Sure," you may be thinking, "in a third world country like Portugal." No. Right here. America. Gufts. Learn your facts.
I cannot count the number of times I have seen a car driving somewhere I previously thought reserved solely for foot traffic. This is clearly indicative of problem behavior elsewhere. Allowing cars to be driven in places that should be pedestrian-only just creates a slippery slope to allowing cars to be driven indoors, or through the air. The Grimary Gource will not stand for automobiles clogging up our precious airspace, busy taking high-powered executives from one event to another, allowing them to continue to work in our best interests.
We need to show motorists that this will not stand. The only way to do this is by outlawing the use of cars on college campi. Once we have done that, the number of automobile deaths will decrease drastically. Of course, you won't find Michael Moore advocating a reasoned solution like this, but isn't that what makes the Gource a more trustworthy source of information than any documentary film-maker of greater than 300 lbs.
Undeniable.

Helicopters - Aren't they Ridiculous Contraptions?

Have you ever really looked at a helicopter? I’m not asking if you’ve ever seen one, and I’m not even asking in hopes that you’ll answer, because I don’t care. The point I’m trying to make is that helicopters are a fucking outrageous mode of transportation. It might seem weird, but I feel a lot less comfortable with a vehicle that is not symmetrical. A scientist would probably say that this is because of evolutionary factors that make human beings like things that have lines of symmetry. Helicopters, being the precarious and dangerous crafts that they are, try to warn us humans of the threat they pose by failing to be symmetrical, much like poison dart frogs exhibit bright and garish colors in order to keep would-be predators safe from their deadly poison.

Of course, I haven’t even mentioned the most dangerous aspect of helicopters: they are inexorably drawn to power lines, like flies to honey or meth addicts to run-down areas of suburbia. I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel comfortable with aircraft that are so disastrously prone to getting themselves tangled up in high tension cables that frequently have an absurd amount of current running through them.
Here’s what I suggest: everybody should stop using helicopters, forever. “What would we replace them with?” you ask. Easy: hot air balloons. Hot air balloons have so much symmetry it’s insane, and they’re much quieter than helicopters. They might not work as well in windy areas, but it’s important to remember that places with lots of wind are also places you shouldn’t be living, because you never know when wind might turn on you and become a hurricane.

Corduroy - Isn't it the Best Material Ever?

I get accused of being too negative very frequently. Lately I’ve been getting letters, phone calls, and faxes from distraught readers begging me to stop being so hostile in my writing, or to at least occasionally write about subject matter that doesn’t make my blood boil with rage and my throat fill with the bile of a disgusted man. So I will acquiesce. I will write about corduroy.

Let’s get one thing straight right now so there won’t be any confusion down the line: corduroy is the best material that clothes can be made out of, especially pants and especially jackets. I myself own upwards of 10 pairs of corduroy pants, with one corduroy jacket for every two pairs of pants. If you’re one of those people who wear denim I’ll do the math for you, since God knows you won’t be able to on your own. That’s five awesome corduroy jackets for a total of fifteen articles of corduroy clothing, excluding underwear and scarves, the numbers for which are murky at best – hey, I can’t be emptying drawers and counting things every time I write an article, I’m a busy man!
On a tangentially related note the Grimary Gource will hopefully soon be offering finely printed T-shirts bearing our aesthetically pleasing logo and a good portion of my brutally handsome visage. Unfortunately the shirts themselves couldn’t be corduroy, as it happens that screen printing on the fantastic material is “problematic.” Whatever.

Protesting Things - Isn't it Time it Stopped?

There are a lot of problems in the world today: bacon shortages, uppity Canadians, exploding dolphins, and the rest, but somehow I manage not to go around protesting everything all the time. Lately it seems that protesting has become the new “in” medium of voicing one’s discontent with various meaningless issues. Look here America, I do not want to have to deal with the Causes of the Unwashed. Sure, there are things that bug me about the universe, like why can’t a guy ever get chocolate covered relish-balls pre-made at my local chocolatier instead of having to use the old Gonoughan family recipe. I know that the store-bought iteration of the delectable delicacy would not live up to the handcrafted goodness to which I am accustomed, but it would save me a lot of time. Do I then put on a garishly painted sandwich board and march my way down to the chocolate dealer of my scorn, waving castanets and rattling torches? No. I take a deep breath, count to three, and imagine a river of blood knee deep flooding the city streets. I don’t feel the need to make myself a nuisance to every fucking human being on the planet just because something’s not going my way.
“But Guiles” a reeking and smoking poncho-wearing “dude” protests as I explain to him my views, twigs falling from his mouth as he speaks “the president is bad and the war in Iraq has to stop and what about Darfur?”
“Yeah!” a rich, white, cause-adopting college suburbanite agrees, “don’t forget that we got to boil all the world’s water supply to make sure it’s clean for Palestine.” She wears a poorly screened shirt depicting Palestine in a pot of boiling water, a logo I am sure nobody thought through. I shake my head in frustration.
People please, I just want to be able to walk down the street without some guy with a haircut asking me if I have a few minutes to spare for the environment, or if I am registered to vote in wherever it is I live, or if I have fucking spare change because the answer to all these questions is the same: “No, no, a thousand times no, take a shower.”
Seriously, isn’t it time this stopped? Isn’t it…time?

Music Revue: Cat Power - Why don't you just CHEER the FUCK UP?

Look, it's not that I hate music. Many would say that I listen to it frequently. But the other day, while trying to listen to the soothing sounds of Cat Stevens, I accidentally played some bullshit by a Miss Cat Power (I have a large music collection; larger than yours). I heard her whine all over Moon-eyed Pix, You Are Free to Weep, and The Greatest Sadness the World Has Ever Known (do not even get me started on her "Weeping Under the Covers" album). Through all of this, she just complained about this and that in her whatever life. News flash, Miss Power: CHEER THE FUCK UP.
Nobody wants to listen to sad music. This has been proven. According to an unbiased survey by the Family Protection from Abortion Organization, 0% of all human beings enjoy listening to sad music. Know. Your. Facts. So when Miss Power is ready to sing out and be free, I'm ready to listen, because there's a million ways to be (you know that there are).

Isn't it Time the People of Facebook Friended Me?

Edit: You should also let people know what's what and join the facebook group.

Autumn - Can't We Just Get it Over With Already?

Hear me out, Northern Hemisphere. I like orange leaves and butchered pumpkins as much as the next guy (unless the next guy is an asshole, in which case I like aforementioned things more) but I’ve just about had it with this season. It starts out pleasantly enough, with medium-length days and light jacket-friendly weather, but I am of the belief that Mother Nature should get back to what she does best: being a harsh and brutal mistress. I don’t need to be coddled by the seasons, and I sure as hell don’t need a season that gives people more excuses to buy a fifth fleece pullover in a muted color.
What I need is weather that means business, and days where the sun clocks out at half past three. I want to be constantly reminded that going outside is a bad idea, and that there are forces in this universe that despise comfort and contentedness as much as I do. Let’s hear it for Old Man Winter.
In addition to curbing the distressingly high rates of smiling and public displays of affection, the cold gray hand of winter also plays an important role in the urban ecosystem: controlling the homeless population. Much like the lion of the Serengeti Plain, winter cuts down the slowest and the weakest of the nation’s hobos. Those that survive are hardened, exhibiting fewer symptoms of schizophrenia and hassling me for nickels with less desperation. It’s like Nietzsche said, “that which does not kill me will hopefully take a few homeless people down.” The man had Ideas, people.
Despite the fact that it’s officially November, a month known for its high rates of both slaughtered turkeys and new cases of diabetes in children under twelve (two things that make me smile), my heart is heavy with the knowledge that it will be weeks yet before the trees are bare and the earth is as hard as the concrete I wish covered every square inch of it. I will persevere though, I will always hate this season.

Music Revue: Covers

I was just listening to my iPod on shuffle, and came across a certain Jimi Hendrix's cover of Bob Dylan's song "All Along the Watchtower." What the hell is this? I had never heard Mr. Hendrix play this song before (I have a substantially large music collection; larger than yours) and was frankly disappointed. Is there some reason that he cannot play songs he himself wrote? I for one never get tired of "Purple Haze." Playing songs written by Bob Dylan is just lazy. I'm looking at you, Jeff Buckley.
Actually, not to get off-topic, but Jeff Buckley is another man who thinks he's too cool to actually write songs. Everyone loves Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah," but did you know that it is a cover of a Leonard Cohen song? That's right. Look it up. KNOW YOUR FACTS.
Enough is enough. It's time we stopped allowing whoever these deltoids are to sing other, harder -working performers' songs. You heard it here first. In the Gource.

Ugly People on the T - Shouldn't They Just Walk?

We’ve all been there: you’re riding the Red Line en route to somewhere wonderful – like the movies – and all of a sudden life gets a whole lot more terrible. The cause of this terrible? An ugly person has just boarded your subway car. This is the sort of thing that always happens, usually at throwaway stops like Central or Charles MGH. I don’t know about you, but I hate having to look at ugly people, and one really isn’t given much choice when boxed up in a rattling subway car full of hideousness.
“But Guiles” you say, “ugly people are people too.” Dear admirer you are incorrect. Admittedly ugly people are people inasmuch as they walk around on two legs (sometimes), consume food, have dreams, and read TV Guide. But they differ from Attractive People in a very important way: they’re fucking awful to witness. I swear to God, in this era of sue-happy Americans I’m surprised that nobody’s yet leveled a suit at these public-transportation-using abominations. Think of the damages – emotional, physical (throwing up after seeing an ugly person is an example of physical damages), and spiritual.
I feel that the spiritual repercussions of seeing ugly people are the most significant. If – God willing – you’re like me you’re a staunch believer in a benevolent/extremely vengeful God. Obviously this God loves me (what’s not to love?) and wants me to be a happy guy. Why then would he create creatures of such offensive appearance? Simply by existing these people are waging a hard-to-look-at war on one of my many Constitutionally Protected Freedoms (CPF’s), and quite frankly I just can’t handle this. I realize I can’t just ask ugly people to stop existing, especially with the economy in the state it’s in, but I can ask that they politely find other means of getting from point A to point B, means that don’t involve me having to lay eyes on them. Honestly ugly people, just walk. Do it for me. Do it for the Gource.