The leg warmers of the internet.

People who were alive in the 80s occasionally remind me of leg warmers. Apparently, a decade before my birth, it was actually stylish to garnish oneself with what looked like a tube sock missing its bottom half. In a similar way, current tweenage girls find it "fashionable" to wear short shorts with winter boots. Oddly enough, this trend seems equally as impractical as a sock that doesn't keep your feet warm.

I'm always pretty happy to see trends like these buried deep within the archives of fashion history never to be heard from again (hopefully). Recently, our campus fell ill with an obsession that started much faster than those ugly boots with the fur. It developed into what I like to think of as "the leg warmers of the internet." The fad was the website likealittle. Its name seems innocent, right? Wrong. This little guy had razor sharp fangs. And talons.

Likealittle's premise is to provide students at a particular university, in this case Indiana Wesleyan, the opportunity to anonymously express their thoughts about others. A constant stream of notes flow from anonymous senders to make a "wall" of comments. This is how it works:

1. A person makes the decision to publicly post an internet comment about another person in the room.
2. He or she goes to likealittle's IWU page.
3. This individual selects the location in which he or she is currently located (along with their unsuspecting victim).
4. The person then selects the hair color and sex of his or her victim.
5. They disregard dignity, integrity, respect, and whatever other qualities they are normally expected to uphold to anonymously (and often vulgarly) express an opinion about his or her victim.

Sounds harmless, right? It wasn't. Needless to say, IWU rightfully blocked this website in less than 24 hours after its inception.

I was shocked at the number of students who took to Facebook in defense of their "violated right to free speech," or the "way we are always treated like children." Well, you know what IWU students, you acted like children. Of course, the content was far too mature for most children's eyes, but regardless, most of those posts were immature, vulgar, and disrespectful. It made me honestly question the dignity of the students with whom I live. Perhaps if we did not want to be treated like children, we should hold ourselves to a higher standard.

Another lesson I learned from this experience, whether others did or not, was the dangers of anonymity. Online, people will say far more than they would about one another to their faces. When you throw in anonymity to that, there is no end to human depravity. The entire situation is just sad. This is yet another indicator of why we do have such strict rules and regulations in place on our campus, because with even the slightest bit of what some call "freedom," many of us loose what everyone else calls "dignity."

Good bye, likealittle. I hope leg warmers make a return from the grave before you do. Good riddance.

Sidewalk X-ing

Our eyes meet. She doesn’t know who I am, and I don’t know her either. We’ve passed each other a couple times on our way to class, never bothering to further our relationship. Today, however, is a special day. Our paths are crossing--literally.

We break eye contact. I speed up in order to reach our point of intersection before she does, attempting to avoid any potential collisions. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her doing the same.

“Okay, I’ve got to assert my authority in this situation. I sped up first,” I thought. I continue walking, quickening my pace even more. I notice her speeding up, too. In about a three seconds there is going to be a major collision just off of Elder and Noggle.

“I can’t back down, it is her responsibility to slow down. I have the right of way,” I thought. A split second before an impact of epic proportions, I slightly tilt my upper body, and mutter, “Excuse me,” with a nod.

She smiles politely from less than a foot away, her face slightly blurred due to the closeness of our encounter. I smiled to myself as I continued on my path. I had avoided the seemingly inevitable accident, and asserted my sidewalk authority.

Christmas Morning

Around holidays, Americans tend to adopt three mindsets. Some swoon over the quaint decorations and nostalgically embrace snow-laden pastimes. More high-strung people approach Christmas with a competitive mindset. They live for the stress and thrill of Black Friday shopping, only feeling fulfilled if they have successfully pried the most wanted toy of the season out from the bludgeoned hands of a weaker shopper in a survival-of-the-fittest sense of holiday cheer.






I experience Christmas in an entirely different way. I feel a twinge of disgust in my gut each time I see a temporarily psychopathic shopaholic on a mission or a house that is just as bright at night as it is during the day. I struggle to snuff out my fiery cynicism. The few things I do like about Christmas--vacation, family, and love--often seem to be at the bottom of most people’s “Wish List.” Either way, I brace myself for a bitter cold, occasionally nauseatingly nostalgic, time. By “brace,” I mean complain and utterly suffer to the point of extinction.






Even though the first weekend in November is not known for its appalling weather or garish manifestations of Christmas spirit, my residence hall felt the need hang shimmering tinsels, sparkling lights, and tacky ornamental balls around our lobby at 2:30 a.m. in order to surprise the residents. Due to the deadly combination of a holiday-hating heart, a long day, and Halloween having just ended, I was a little irritated. The cherry on top of this already soggy, undercooked cake was the music being piped through the lobby’s scratchy stereo system. The lineup included songs about a rose-nosed forest creature, an implausible man made of snow, and a small child whose barefoot mother is dying of cancer.
My thought process went a little like this:

“Why the HECK am I awake right now?”

“I hate these ornaments.”

“I hate these freaking songs!”

“I have no holiday spirit.”

“This is simply an omen of the deathly cold to come.”




And that was how my dorm burned down.