Dick Measuring Contests: Who�s Your Daddy?

Who�s your daddy?

Before you tell me... ask yourself one question...

Does Robert actually care?

Nine times out of ten... the answer is NO.

I am going to take a minute to talk about the horrid problem in my school, which I fondly call �Who�s Your Daddy� Syndrome.... but first... here�s a little background...

I am in the School of Hotel Administration at Cornell University. Hotel Admin... yes... it *is* a major...

Other students at Cornell don�t give us any respect. They make fun of our cooking classes and of �Donuts.� They just don�t understand.

Ok. I will agree... some of the courses we take are... well... fluff. But... the program, which we all take, is really a business major... only it has a very practical hospitality base.

Sure... I think that it�s stupid that we have to memorize information about the gelatinization of starch... and who the hell cares about where in a hotel room the best location for an ottoman is? And having a course where you are graded merely on showing up, staying awake and dressing up is pretty ridiculous.

But let me just tell you... it�s not as easy as it sounds. Some of the most innocent sounding courses are evil. Take Into to Food and Beverage Management, for instance. Sure, sounds harmless... but... for the first exam, three people left the room crying... and at one point, I became so stressed out that I moved to the aisle of the auditorium and laid down to help de-stress. Or Hospitality Law... this coming Thursday evening, I have an exam which is *scheduled* to last for at least 4 and a half hours... last semester, for the first exam, some people started the test at 6:00 and stayed until 3am. Insanity.

Sure, some of the ogranizational behavior classes are fluff... but I have four finance courses to suffer through... 10-page single-spaced papers are a way of life... and then there�s TCAB, akaSatan's Kitchen, with the 8-hour lab, which has dictated much of my life this semester...

I mean... really... all of y�all kids in the Arts school and other schools who have no respect for us can suck it... I got into an Ivy League school, just the same as you did. However, after your degree in underwater basket weaving fails to get you anywhere, I will be the one giving you a job in the coffee shop of my luxury resort... if you�re lucky, that is...

And yes... I expect massive amounts of backlash on that last paragraph.

Anywho... in the Hotel School, many of the students are in the school because their parents graduated from the school and are now successful in the hospitality industry... and many of those kids... well... they have no place in the school.

They are stupid.

Just plain stupid.

No common sense... totally superficiality and *zero* substance... had their parents not refused to pull funding from the school, I believe they would all be failing out of community college...

How are they still at Cornell? I�m guessing it�s a combination of cheating and parental lobbying....

But... that�s just my personal opinon.

So... their presence isn�t what angers me... it just annoys me and gives me something to talk about... but... all I have to say is...

If you�re going to have a dick measuring contest... don�t pull out daddy�s dick... for the love of god... use your own!

Example... in my communication class, we went around the room to give each other a little bit of background on ourselves... where we�re from, our interests in the hospitality industry and some of our prior work experience...

So... the room is set up in a giant �u�... it�s a typical boardroom set up... and on the bottom of the �u� is the group that irritates the fuck out of me... all of the stereotypical pompus superficial sheep with too much money for their own good...

On my side of the room, we talk about ourselves and what we�ve done... and I mean we�re trying to sell ourselves to our classmates... making ourselves sound as good as possible...

Then we get to the bottom of the �u�... this kid stands up and talks about... �I live in and out of hotels because my father... blah blah blah... and he�s the most successful... yadda yadda... and I�ve worked in his hotel, which is the best... this, that and the other.�

Then... �Hi... you all know my name is... blah blah... my family owns the oldest bar... stuff stuff... and I was a manager at my family bar... meaningless crap...�

I mean... what the fuck?!?! How did this suddenly turn into a game of Who�s Your Daddy?!?!

Ok... so... maybe I don�t have the most impressive resume or whatever... but... at least when asked to talk about MY resume, I can talk about MY resume... not what my daddy does or what he owns.

I haven�t had anything handed to me on a silver platter... I�ve worked very hard to get where I am...

I guess I�m just annoyed by people who take it all for granted... but I also feel badly for them... I mean... I wonder if they really know who they are... if you take away daddy and his accomplishements... where are they left...? In my opinion... pretty much... nowhere... unless you count... ok. I have nothing witty to say, here. I was going to say something to the effect of poor sorostitutes and frat boys... but... they don't exisit at Cornell... since you have to submit financial statements at most... ahh... Ivy League Schools: the word "pretentious" doesn't even begin to describe them...

Moral of the story... if we�re ever in a dick measuring contest and you pull out daddy�s dick... I�ll take pity on you... but just be warned... I�m assuming that you don�t have a dick of your own.

SCRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAPE.

�Oh my god... I�m going to die.�

Riding the elevator in Collegetown Plaza is always an interesting experience. First of all, that building is on *crack*. The front door, the main door... it�s on the fourth floor... which is just bizarre. And the elevator door opens about 6 inches before it reaches its target floor...

So... I�ve gotten used to the bizarre elevator whenever I go to Rachel�s apartment... but... today... I thought it was the end of me...

So... I get into the elevator and the door closes... and I hear this *aweful* scraping noise... I start freaking out... as I pass each floor, the scraping gets louder...

�My life is over.�

Up five floors to the ninth... and the door begins to open... about 6 inches before reaching the floor. I had made it...

The scraping...? A piece of plastic lodged into the grooves of the door.

Stupid college student pigs.

So... the troll, aka my ex-roommate Geoff evidently has a significant other.

This means several things...

• The girl is either blind and deaf... or mentally instable or retarded.

• Geoff is far luckier than I had ever thought he would be... or he finally got his foot out of his mouth and said something somewhat humane... although *my* money is on the former...

• There is no god.

later, kids...

~robert