Run, Kaiju, Run - Review: Pacific Rim

 This review will be just a bit different. Seeing as there isn't very much to discuss as far as preliminaries. It's Giant Sea Monsters vs. Giant Fuggin' Robots: The Movie. Either you're in or you're out. If you're in, feel free to continue. Otherwise, continue your trolling in peace.

Pacific Rim is the latest action/sci-fi vehicle from director Guillermo Del Toro which features gigantic humanoid fighting robots and their struggle against the invading alien race which seeks to take over the planet Earth. Now, I don't ordinarily set up a movie in such a clear-cut synopsis-type way but it seemed that I should for this movie considering that so many people seemed to not know what it was about. Early reports saw that the movie was tracking well behind competition, including the Adam Sandler comedy Grown Ups 2. Make what you will of that situation, it's another subject for another time. I bring it up to make this statement: whatever you may think of Pacific Rim after you see it, it can't be denied that it will have fans split.

Chances are as word-of-mouth spread you may have heard comparisons of this movie to different anime features like Evangelion or Attack on Titan. A fair comparison as this is certainly a genre film. With its various set pieces and tropes, even down to its characters, it feels like a live-action cartoon. Whether or not you can enjoy that in-context may determine how you feel about this film. But whether or not you can get down with that doesn't take away from what this movie really has going for it. Which, as you could tell from the banner above, is size. This movie is huge. [So huge I almost considered using all caps there. But I'm not about that life.] Both the Kaiju and the robots – or “Jaegers” as they're called here – look incredibly massive. And unlike Michael Bay's Transformers who look like they're six feet tall and made of cardboard, these machines carry their weight. They feel as massive as they look. Each punch thrown; every step taken is a heavy task.

As one would imagine, a machine that large couldn't be handled by one person alone. The mental and physical burden is one that must be shared which is why two pilots who are “drift compatible” are chosen to co-pilot their machine. Once inside the drift, you see the other person's thoughts, experience their memories, feel their pain. This leads to some interesting - albeit brief – development. Brief being key with characters that do indeed hit every note you'd think they would. Even casual movie-goers should be able to spot them: the hero, the love interest, the grizzled veteran, the fiery young upstart, that one guy who's gonna die, the quirky nerd, the quirky Brit, that other guy who's gonna die, those guys over there who are probably gonna die, and the fuzzy canine companion.

That's not to say the acting was unwatchable. It was passable for a movie designed to be a live-action cartoon epic. Idris Elba – perhaps the best actor cast, who has a great record for giving above average performances in semi-decent movies – does well to keep things moving when there aren't any Kaiju to slice up. He is one of several characters who helps explain the science of the situation in a very wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey kind of way. How will you react to the inter-dimensional portal at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean? That's up to you.

If you do see this movie, do your best to catch a screening at your nearest IMAX theater. This movie was built with IMAX in mind. And make no mistake, the enhanced experience may very well have swayed my final verdict of Pacific Rim. Scenes like the showdown in Hong Kong City or the drift memory of the barren streets of Tokyo post-Kaiju just wouldn't have been as effective without the crisp picture or earth-shattering sound that IMAX brings to the table.

So then how to score this flick? There's no doubt it's entertaining. And there's no doubt that it is quite silly, as well. There's no doubt that many characters leave a lot to be desired but you also have to note that they mostly serve their purpose in the context of this particular monster movie. Does one grade it on its merits alone, docking points in the portions it deserves? Or do you give it just due for wearing it's Jaeger heart on its sleeve?

I've found that is the best way to judge the movie and I, for one, will choose the latter. Who knows? Maybe my opinion will change once -if- I see it again in a home theater setting. Maybe it will be one of those films I don't wander near again for some time. But as I left the theater on that day, I felt that my money, and the semi-lengthy drive to the nearest IMAX, was not spent in vain. It was an incredibly visceral experience that assaulted my senses and for that, I'll give Mr. Del Toro a tip of my cap. Not many people get to make a passion project such as this. And while it wasn't a magnum opus of any sort, it was still a solid film.

Oh yea, and you can take it or leave it with the 3D.

4 Stars out of 5

KD's Righteous Summer

Or What KD Should've Written This Summer

Seriously, that last post was last November and I hardly know what month we're in now. The first part of 2013 saw me working nearly everyday. It's a nice gig, and a lot of fun most days, but any time that could have been spent writing was spent resting instead. When the summer time came - along with my off-season - and I was able to do more things of such nature my time was spent traveling, hanging out, seeing sights and taking in views.

Hence, the title, you see. It really was a pretty cool summer. Even temperature-wise, it was mild this year. Other than the obligatory heat wave near mid-July. But how pleasant of Mother Nature to then give us the chance to live in San Diego for the first half of August? Really. It was appreciated.

And speaking of appreciation, how about you guys out there in the vastness of Teh Internetz? I curiously looked through the stats of the page since I last visited some months ago. Almost 200 hits this summer alone. Which, I'm sure doesn't sound like much but take into account these two facts: 1) This is a little start-up blog by some punk-ass kid from Missouri with no real theme or direction. 2) I didn't post anything all Summer. That's some pretty good stuff. And upon seeing this, I'm all the more sure of the direction I'm about to take.

It's been a good year so far, and I've been getting better but I'd like to take that just another step further. So, in the interest of stepping up my game, I'll also be stepping up my platform and taking The Bay with it. No decisions yet on where the next HQ will be; many logistics to be worked out still. But the plan is already in motion because, frankly, my presentation needs some work. In addition, there are also plans for a KD the Ghostwriter website. Featuring yours truly and hopefully being an adequate platform for the stories, pictures, audio and perhaps even video(?) that would follow.

Until then, you can follow my newly revamped Tumblr page found here. It's used as most Tumblr pages would, I suppose. The usual reblogging of cool photos and clips along with the occasional reposting of links to projects of my own accord or some other mathematical individual.

But don't think I'm done with this page just yet. No sir. I began establishing my online presence by writing reviews. Mostly to movies I saw but also games and shows and more recently albums. And to pay homage both to my "roots" so to speak and to make up for lost time here at the Bad Wolf Bay, here is the plan.

Over the next few days, I will go down the rest of my queue and complete every piece that hasn't already been finished as well as punch-up the ones that have. This will include reviews/breakdowns of:

Pacific Rim


The Great Gatsby


Star Trek: Into Darkness


 Fast 6


Assassin's Creed III


Tomb Raider (2013)


Sly Cooper: Thieves in Time


Get Jiro


 Random Access Memories


Yeezus


The Wolverine


 Shingeki no Kyojin [Attack on Titan]


 The World's End

Is that all? Who knows? I've probably seen more but that list right there should keep me busy enough. My aim is to make this a sort of literary adventure by posting each piece in a semi-thematic order. Not unlike the pub crawl found in the last item on this list, The World's End.

I'll do my best to get this out in a timely manner. As well as come correct with my future plans as well. It's all about improvement people. Thanks for your time, today and down the road. I hope you join me when I make the jump because I'm not gonna miss editing on Blogger at all.

~KDG

The Old-Fashioned Way - Review: Skyfall

This wasn't a Lethal Weapon movie. And Danny Glover was nowhere to be found. But that didn't stop anyone from hinting to 007 that he just might be getting too old for this shit.

Yes indeed, it’s time for the latest in a long line of adventures for the world’s most famous spy, James Bond, just in time for the 50th anniversary. And having that in mind, it just might make sense in a full circle kind of way as to why this particular film turned out the way it did.

This movie starts as many would. With a mission-in-progress. James Bond and his partner are on the trail of a mercenary with invaluable information. He has stolen a storage device on which are the names and identities of every MI6 agent currently undercover in multi-national terrorist organizations. His job, of course, is to retrieve it and eliminate the target. As the chase reaches its apex, Bond is downed by friendly fire and the man escapes with his priceless cargo. Bond goes M.I.A., believed by most to be dead, until news of the attack on MI6 in London prompts him to return. His objective to now recover the list more critical as top secret information is revealed to the world.

One thing this film had plenty of was questions. There were questions of authority. Questions of trust. As my opening line suggests, there were many questions of the endurance of Bond and even the practicality of secret agents working as he does. This, along with the massive leak of classified information, leads to the question of the efficiency of MI6’s brand of espionage. “Validation” seemed to be key.

I must say that I've really only had a passing interest in the Bond franchise overall. There are certain films I like more than others; certain portrayals I like more than others. But this iteration of the James Bond character (taken up again by Daniel Craig) has perhaps had me the most intrigued. Even as one whose knowledge of the books and universe overall is limited to say the least. Expectations weren't exactly lofty but they weren't non-existent, either. So as the name of this review alludes to, Bond went back to basics.

007 was ruthless when he needed to be, heroic when he wanted to be, and wasn't afraid to get sentimental, either. On this, the third installment of this era of films, it does seem like they've gotten closer to the mixed bag of tricks we were initially looking for. Giving hints and nods to the many quirks and ticks that make Bond, well, Bond but were also quick to point out that crazy gadgets like “exploding pens” aren't really their style. But that doesn't stop the Bond-villain archetype from making an appearance. Javier Bardem turns in an infectious performance as Silva, a former MI6 agent with revenge on his mind who is as charismatic as he is dangerous.

It’s the 50th Anniversary of the James Bond movie franchise and the folks who made this film are all too aware of this fact. Clever callbacks and references are abound including a cameo by one very famous car. Fans of Bond will have no reason not to like Skyfall; casual observers may just be surprised by how things turn out. Even I must say that this is the best Bond we've seen in some time. It succeeds not only because it’s a solid piece of film, but also because it’s not afraid to revisit the roots of 007. The new direction is clear and the team moves bravely forward but they do afford themselves a fond look back. It’ll be interesting to see where things go, but it should work out as long as they remember that sometimes it’s just better to do it the old-fashioned way.

~KDG

Quiet Time

Some musical accompaniment for your faces. Technically, I was listening to the Cowboy Bebop soundtrack when writing this but I feel this song does just as good a job capturing my somber yet emotionally charged mood that night. Often times my haste gets the best of me and all of the ideas in my head try to get out at once. But Bebop holds a special place for me. So I feel it will serve me best to save those ideas for a more appropriate time. When the time comes we'll get down to the uncanny parallels between myself and the World of Bebop. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

Spelunking into the dark, long dormant corners of the hard drive. Looking back over everything, everything I've written. Re-reading my own stuff is hard enough to do by itself but it's different this time. Anyone who's known me long enough knows that the last two years of my life have been...interesting. I can't say they've changed me because, as I've said, life doesn't build character, it reveals it. And this time and these words have revealed this to me.

I was mistaken. About many things. Really, the one thing I am sure about is that I'm Kyle and I messed up. Mostly because I was thinking thoughts not of my own meddle. Now there's nothing wrong with having your ideas and philosophies influenced by others; that's where most ideas come from. But it gets to a point where life happens and you realize just how sterile and petty it all really was. That all of your supposed beliefs had been so steered -- if even unconsciously so -- that there was no room for growth. That when it came time to be truly tested, it was much harder bough and not break against the winds of change. Harder than even you remember. That when it comes to making the big choices that actually matter, you aren't much of anything. A tough pill to swallow, but no less true.

It was never really my choice. Never a chance to sink or swim. Late one night, in what should have been a defining moment to see how I dealt with adversity, I was sent away for the night. "It's time to be an adult and deal with this issue. No, it's time to be a child and go to bed." Not all of this could be helped, I know. But that didn't make it any less of a problem.

Here I stand now. 20 years of age more or less on my own and it never ceases to amaze what a difference a year can make. The fact that my views on life, love, spirituality and otherwise wonders of the Universe have shifted so completely simply because I stand on my own two is something to marvel at. Only when it was truly Sink or Swim was I able to fully realize this.

But I'm off track. What matters is my writing. And that most of it centers on how I view the world at large. Hindsight being what it is, I find them to be flawed. The unnecessary schmaltz, Kumbaya mumbo jumbo, nostalgia over unimportant bullshit. I once had a plan to collect all of my writings together for a super compilation of all things KD. That's not gonna happen now without some major modifications. This may even include editing and updating my numerous FB Notes accordingly. Time will tell.

The overall messages would more or less stay the same since I can't really change the way I felt at that time. But the delivery - the tone - that needs an upgrade. Now that I can actually write. For reals this time.

Call it brash. Call it cynical. Perhaps unfamiliar. But it really does seem like this is the KD that was always meant to be. Again time will tell. But for the first time in what might be forever, it all feels about right. So we'll just roll with this for awhile.


Thank you for your time,
~KDG

Consecration Camp

    I don’t plan to get married.  Not if I can help it, anyway.  There are a number of reasons that have influenced this decision but first, I think I should take the time to make a brief observation of the marriage culture as it stands today.

    There’s an old saying: the more things change, the more they stay the same.  In the context of marriage, this means two things.
Number One: Expectations for marriage are essentially the same as they were 50-60 years ago.  Graduate, get a job, marry your high school sweetheart, have 2.5 kids, etc.  The American Dream, if you will.  Mostly because of what their parents have told them, or simply because of what they’ve seen, most kids still believe that finding your true love on the first attempt and marrying them years down the road is a forgone conclusion.  It’s not, of course, but that another post completely.
Number Two: The problem with expectations staying the same is that things are always changing.  There’s nothing wrong with having standards, obviously, but we now live in a world where getting married and having kids at 19-years-old just isn’t the best move.  It definitely works for some but one should really, really think about it.  Women make up most of our workforce now.  They make up most of the college student population.  Say what you will, but there still a surprising amount of people, females included, who think women are better suited to stay at home and play the same roles that they did 50 years ago.

    That begs the question, “If expectations for marriage are more or less the same, why is the divorce rate at 50%?”  Easy.  While expectations tend to stay the same, standards can change drastically.  For example, my grandparents have been married over 40 years.  The catch?  They can’t stand each other.  I have never, in my life, seen two people with more disdain for living with one another.  So why do they continue to live together?  Standards.  The standards back then where much different.  You got married; you stayed married.  Even if you hated your spouse and staying married would be incredibly unhealthy.  If anyone from that time broke things off, even if it was for the best, they were black-listed; social suicide.  They were shunned by society and everyone who participated.  Nowadays, divorce is par for the course, mostly because people are much too busy doing their own thing to give a good god damn who is doing what in their bedrooms or in court.

    But the worst part of it is that people are still trying to sell the “Sanctity of Marriage” angle, which is what the title of this piece refers to.  You know you’ve heard it.  This is America.  You can’t even get through a presidential candidate‘s press conference or debate without hearing at least one mention.  Marriage is a sanctified union between a man and a woman.  Allow me to call bullshit.

    Obviously, there are people who truly do believe this view to be true.  There’s nothing wrong with that.  You can believe what you want.  I have no problem with the union of a man and woman being viewed as a blessed union.  But before I can take this seriously, get rid of the tax write-offs and benefits and other little perks that come with marriage, and then I’ll be willing to believe in its sanctity.

    And do you mean to tell me that same-sex unions are contributing to the downfall of civilization?  Of the sanctity of marriage?  Two people, who just so happen to be of the same sex, who have been together for years are causing more trouble than two people of the opposite sex, who can get married in the most cynical and selfish way and pull a profit for the whole world to see only to get divorced 72 days later?

    No.  No, I don’t think so.  I don’t care what you believe.  The only way you couldn’t see the hypocrisy dripping off of that statement is if you were already wading in it.

    Back to my point, though.  I don’t see myself getting married.  Maybe it’s because the only girl I could see myself with is happily taken and very much out of my life.  It probably doesn’t help that all of the marriages in my family are either ended or unhealthy.  Or maybe it’s for all of the reasons listed above.

    Whatever the reason, please remember that these are my opinions and mine alone.  I am in no way trying to sway your decisions now or in the future.  I know several people who were married right after high school graduation and they are now living very happy and fulfilled lives.  I simply want to help you to make your own decisions by giving you a perspective that you might not have heard otherwise.

    I won’t claim I’ve got all the answers.  But I’m a whole lot better to keep up with than a damned Kardashian.


~KD the Ghostwriter

Cat

Tonight, after work and a short trip to pick up some essentials, I made the usual turn onto my street to come home. This time, as I crested the hill, I found my dad walking across the driveway with a shovel. Though it had been dark for some time and an irregular drizzle fell every few minutes, I thought that he was just doing some nighttime yard work. I pulled into the driveway, where mom was standing in front of the opened garage door watching me pull in. I parked and stepped out of the car next to mom.

"Somebody hit a kitty and he's taking it to the back," she told me, with a curled lip and a look of dismay.

I looked toward the side of the house just in time to see the last of dad disappearing into the dark. Then I turned my head to the right and saw a large, dark spot on the road.

"Is that what that is?"
"Yeah."
"Is he burying it or chucking it?"
"Probably just chucking it."

I made my way to the side of the house and caught dad on the way back from the backyard, carrying an empty snow shovel.

"Did you bury it?"
"No, I just threw it."
"Where?"
"I just stood at the edge and chucked it."
"Well I'm gonna bury it."
"Then you'll have to do it in the morning. You probably won't be able to find it."

I walked back to my car, grabbed a flashlight out of the glove box, then went into the garage and took a shovel that was leaning against the wall. I made my way to the backyard and walked down the slope at the edge of our backyard into the huge field of rocks and small, gnarly shrubs and sticks that extends outward behind our house.

I darted the flashlight across the rocks and bushes looking for anything that resembled a cat. It didn't occur to me until a minute into my search that I was likely to find the limp, broken body of someone's pet. As small a thing as it may seem, it was something I hadn't prepared for. I just couldn't stand the thought of being thrown out into the dark of night and left to decay in the soft rain. For the first time, holding the shovel in my left hand, I realized that I was a gravedigger. Standing in the dark out in the middle of a barren field, a small light began to glow at the bottom of the empty, abysmal feeling I had inside of me since mom had told me about the cat.

The drizzle started up again, but I spent several more minutes walking around in the dark searching between the small bushes. Every now and then a dark spot would appear on the ground. But as I walked toward it, I realized that it was just the shadow of another bush against the beam of my flashlight.

I turned to search the line of small trees and dense brush that acted as a boundary between our yard and the vast, barren field of rocks. I shined my light underneath every pine tree, hoping that dad's throw hadn't been so strong and might have just rolled the cat to the bottom of the slope. But after several more numb minutes of looking, I found nothing. I ascended the hill to check the line of brush from the other side. Still nothing.

I walked up the hill back toward the house to see a silhouette against the light shining through the back doors. As I came closer, I realized it was mom, waiting to see if I had buried the cat.

"Did you find it?"
"No, I have no clue where he threw it."
After a pause, I started up again.
"I just don't understand why you wouldn't bury it. It was probably someone's cat... it was a living thing. And if nothing else, why would he just leave it out there so the dogs and coyotes could come behind our house and eat it? I just don't see why you wouldn't bury it."

Mom turned and went into the house through the back door and I walked back down to the driveway. I put my flashlight back in the glove compartment and leaned the shovel against the wall in the garage. I closed the garage door and made my way up the stairs. I went to my room and opened the door to check, but she wasn't there. I walked back across the house and found my sister on the computer.

"Where's the cat?"
"I dunno."

I walked over to my parent's room and opened the door. There she was, sitting on the floor. She stood up to greet me as I reached down and petted my cat.

Now I sit here in my bed and listen to a steady patter against my window. Somewhere out there is a cat, left in the rain.

"I don't wanna be a student, mama, I don't wanna die"

College visits have always been somewhat of a surreal experience for me. They tend to remind me of every reason why, deep down, I really have no desire to go to university. 
Two days ago I took my fourth college visit in the past year and it proved to be no different. College visits present more than enough opportunities to fall into severely awkward situations, but this latest one put the icing on the cake.  

To start off, I already have one major "awkward strike" against me: I'm in the middle of a gap semester (and one that I didn't intend to take). So while all of my friends are off at school somewhere, I'm still in the same old place with the same old job doing the same old things until January rolls around. People tend to have a hard time wrapping their heads around the idea that people can go to college in seasons other than Fall.

"So you're going to school next Fall?"
"No, this Spring."
"So you're a transfer student?"
"No, I'm starting college in the Spring."
"..."

Another "awkward strike" is that I've chosen to completely shut my parents off from any of my college decisions. I've found that there is an interesting one-to-one ratio of times I tell my parents about a college and times I don't go to any college. This actually speeds up the college decision-making process quite a bit, but brings it to a grinding halt when it comes to actually visiting a school. Think about it: how weird would it be to go on a college visit alone? To alleviate this problem, I asked my grandfather to accompany me on my latest visit. Was it an ideal solution? No, nobody wants their grandparents around them in a college environment. But it was the best I could work with.

So it was that I awoke the morning of my college visit, already two strikes down, with one pitch left to go: the actual visit. 

Grandpa and I settled into the seats of the car and began the day's journey into the unknown. North Missouri is a desolate land of bean fields and mobile homes, and it only becomes more desolate when everything starts to die after the first frost. Needless to say, barren fields and double-wides offer little for striking up a conversation. So the ride was mostly silent - a silence supplemented with the unwrapping of sausage McMuffins and the occasional yawn. I should have taken this as a cue that I was already starting to strike out. The awkwardness was already here, and the day had hardly begun.

We finally rolled into the town we had been heading for and parked the car in front of the admissions office.  Things were already beginning to look up: most admissions offices I've visited were either in houses the university bought up or were located on the umpteenth floor of some state-office-tower-style building. These offices were in a modern-style building that doubled as a museum. With a hopeful outlook on how things might turn out, I opened the door to find...

... a woman sitting at a desk in black sweats with a giant felt "P" pinned to her chest and an upside-down colander on her head talking on the phone.

 Oh god no, not today. What the hell is this?

"Hi, how may I help you?"

"Uh... I'm here for a 9:30 visit."

"Oh, okay. Just a minute and your admissions rep will be out to see you. If you'd like, you can check out the museum. Be sure to vote in the Halloween costume contest!"

I glanced at a small index card on the desk that indicated that the secretaries were dressed as salt and pepper shakers.

No, no no... why had I scheduled the visit for Halloween? Now it simply meant that I'd have to spend the day putting up with all manner of ludicrously dressed university representatives, who are usually already overly giddy, outgoing, and ultra-positive. This was only sure to add a whole new layer of awkward to the visit. Then came the admissions rep, who was by no means ready to disappoint. 

"Hi!" I'm Kara!"
What the fuck are you wearing, Kara?

I continued with the usual greeting and introduction of my grandfather, all the while ignoring the cheap pink jacket with the "I Heart Insurance" pin attached to the chest.

"Nice to meet you! I'm Frenchie from Grease today! Hahaha!"
What a fucking horrible musical.
"Ah, sorry, I've only seen it once."
"Oh, well you should definitely go see it again."
How about no.

I figured that as long as I avoided the whole acknowledging-Halloween-costumes thing I could get past the day fairly pain-free. Of course I was forgetting all about the "super happy college rep" thing.

Despite her bright-pink, obnoxious get-up, the meeting in Kara's office went without a hitch. She ended up being a gold mine of information. However, she would have been in my lap if she had gotten any closer during our conversation. There seems to be an across-the-board admissions rep job requirement that you have the full will and ability to crawl up the ass of any future student. Personal space never exists in admissions offices.

Having successfully avoided all the potential awkward situations in the meeting, I wiped my brow in relief and looked over the day-long schedule Kara had printed for Grandpa and I. Next was the tour. The tour is, infamously, the most risky part of any college visit - they present the most opportunities for social awkwardness. In the best case scenario, you get thrown into a large group in which you can hang around the back and fight to see things without fear of it being weird because that's what everyone else is doing. You might even get to take a tour with no one but your guest and the guide. But the worst category of college tours is the tour with one other student, and the worst scenario in that category is if the only other student is a girl. That is the epitome of awkward. Whether the girl is Marilyn Monroe or Steven Tyler, there is nothing you can do right as a man on a tour with a girl and her parents.

Kara walked us back to the entrance for the beginning of the tour as I girded my loins and hoped for the best.

"You'll have people to help you find everywhere you need to go, okay? We've got a tour lined up for you next. You might just have it on your own..."

Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes...
"... but I think there's another family with you."
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck... 

And sure enough, there they stood, the bane of comfortable campus tours: a curly-headed brunette girl and her mom. This was sure to be the hour with no end.

Our tour guide, Sean, introduced himself and gave me a sliver of hope. We walked out of the admissions offices and he made a sugar-coated complaint about the ridiculous salt-and-pepper shakers sitting at the desk. Finally, someone agreed with me that the costumes were only making the day that much more uncomfortable. On top of that, he made an unofficial agreement with us that he would avoid the usual "omg! you should totes come here it's great" crap. The tour began and Sean asked the girl and I about ourselves. She barely spoke. It was also becoming more evident by the second that she was the hyper-shy, avoid-acknowledging-that-anyone-of-the-opposite-sex-exists-nearby kind of individual. Was this really going to be a silent tour in which no one could say or do anything without it being weird?

I resolved to just act like the girl and her mom didn't exist and to simply pay attention to Sean and whatever he was showing us at a given time. Doors immediately trashed my plan. I would courteously let the girl go first when entering a new building, then step forward to follow behind when her mom would dart in front of me as if I were going to knock her daughter out with my club and drag her off by her heels to my cave. So I decided to just let the mom through before me at later doors. Problem solved, right? Of course not. When I tried my plan out she would put her hand forward and say "No, go ahead, you need this info more than I do." What the fuck do you want, woman? 

As the tour progressed, it became increasingly evident that Sean was gay. While his uniquely gay (clarification: snarkily feminine) demeanor added some zest to the tour, it became tiresome as "fantastic" suddenly became the only adjective in the English language and our tour route slowly began to mirror a late-night pub crawl of campus coffee shops.

About halfway through the tour Sean began showing us different dorm rooms. We shimmied down a narrow hall until Sean stopped outside of a door and began fingering through a ring full of keys. He finally unlocked the door and ushered us in to a small, cozy room. One of the guys who evidently lived there and wasn't expecting us slid up against a wall and immediately began flipping through menus on his phone as Sean began pointing out the room's few features. 

"Now open the door here, and this is the shared bathroom..."
I turn toward the bathroom door and look up to see Kesha staring down at me in nothing but underwear underneath the huge word "MAXIM."

"... now they share this with the room next door, so only four people use it," Sean went on without missing a beat. Everyone stood engrossed in the bathroom.

I had never witnessed such a coordinated, unspoken effort to ignore the immense presence of a half-naked party-pop star brought to us by one of the world's premier porn magazines. This was not the sort of moment that anyone wants to spend with their grandfather.

After another awkward half hour of walking through buildings and a sit-in on a class, Grandpa and I walked back to the admissions offices to meet up with a student for lunch. There we met Curtis, a short, husky classics major. When I scheduled the visit, I marked classics and Latin down as an interest because I had liked the subjects in high school. The admissions folks had really taken off with the idea, so here I was with Curtis walking to the nearest cafeteria. 

Five minutes into our walk I began to realize that our conversation was already sputtering out. You can only talk about Latin for so long before running out of things to say before you start having a who-can-be-more-pretentious-and-list-off-their-knowledge-of-mythology contest. And I was not about to do that with a classics major. This was bound to be an awkward lunch.

We finally made it to the cafeteria and Curtis disappeared into the lines of people. 

I froze. I hadn't been in a lunch line since the second grade. I had been Lunchbox for 12 years, and now I stood before a massive interchange of fast-moving lunch lines without any clue about what to do. There is a scene in Talladega Nights in which ESPN interviews Ricky Bobby and he botches the interview because he doesn't know what to do with his hands. For once, I was Ricky Bobby. Where am I supposed to get a plate? What if I don't know what I want? What am I supposed to do with my hands?

Grandpa, Curtis, and I sat down at a table and resumed our failing, sickly conversation. But all I could think the entire time was "God damn, I am going to be the most awkward person at college. I'm going to have to avoid human contact and live on PB&J sandwiches in my room while my neckbeard grows thicker every day...."

The day continued on, awkward and uneventful. "Awkward" became the word of the day, and I wore a giant, imaginary red "A" on my chest the entire time. The visit may not have been promising, but hopefully I'll be able to adapt to life in a colleg enviro - wait, hold on. I have an email from Kara about something....

These next four years are going to last forever.