Fall Preview Day Pt. III - The Return of the Ancient Mariner

The right side of Robert Pattinson's face does not endorse FPD.
He, uh, won't be there. 

You know the number one thing that sets our generation apart from our parents?

We enjoy the previews at movies. 

[Ok, maybe it isn't the number one thing, but opening a blog post with, "You know one of a myriad things that sets us apart from our parents," just doesn't have the same hook.]

Think about it. We—the generation that was raised with a DVR, the generation who supposedly hates and innately mistrusts marketing—will intentionally sit through fifteen minutes of commercials before every movie we go to (I even play a preview game: each person in the group picks a number from one to five. The corresponding preview is a commentary on that person's life. Try it; it's hilarious). 

I remember my parents would always arrive late to movies in my youth, with the same excuse every time: "It's ok. At least we missed the previews." Not me. I want to see them. I get disappointed if I miss them. 

But why? 

October Advice - College Applications: My Personal Horror Story

Ladies and gentlemen, it is near the end of October. That means it is time to begin completing your applications.

...My condolences. 

When I applied to college, there was simply nothing I loathed quite as intensely as the act of actually applying. I HATED it. All caps.

Part of it was the repetitiveness. There is only so many times a sentient being can be forced to type their zip code before the brain rebels. 

Part of it was my naturally scatter-brained personality. I found it exceedingly difficult to sit at the computer and hack out an application when there were other pressing things I needed to take care of...like, football. Or homecoming. Or the new video game that just came out. Or watching my fingernails grow.

The majority of the reason I was so reluctant, however, was my mother (no offense, mom). As time progressed and my list of target colleges didn't, she became more and more "insistent" that I buckle down and apply. As a mature and wise 17-year-old, this drove me crazy. 

"I know, mom! I have plenty of time," I maintained.

Until, suddenly, I didn't.