Watch This. Don't Watch That.

So I've finished my latest long-term sub position and the only absences available in the per diem pool leave something to be desired. Unless I'm willing to make minimum wage teaching wood shop to urban high school seniors. (I'm good, thanks.) So what's a girl to do with all of this time in between working out, job hunting and applying for unemployment? Television, of course. A girl's best friend.

There are two shows in particular that I want to discuss, and they couldn't be more different. One is a show that I unfairly abandoned before even giving the pilot a chance; the other I realize I should've abandoned weeks ago. Let's break them each down respectively.

Breaking Bad 

I admit I sometimes judge books by their covers, movies by their posters and people by their faces. Television is no different. I'd been told about this show for over two years by pretty much everyone I know, as well as people I apparently knew at one point but are not ringing any bells on my News Feed. I continued to disregard their avid recommendations. This is their main character? Yeah, no. Archetypal guy show, I said, for sure.

Before I say anything, let's run down the basic framework of this show. Middle-aged chemistry teacher is diagnosed with cancer and starts cooking meth with a junkie ex-student to provide for his family postmortem. Said family? A brother-in-law in the DEA, a son with CP, and a lovely wife with an inappropriately low level of suspicion about the whole operation. Cue druglords, murder and overdose.

If I were a network executive, there's no way this pilot would even be made. On paper, it's a sick and twisted not-ready-for-TV plotline. But - you guessed it - I'm obsessed. I'm literally losing sleep over it. The writing is genius and suspenseful, the directing and camerawork is so creative, and the actors disappear into their characters.

Let's play a quick game called Things I've Said Out Loud to an Empty Room. I'll go first. "Oh my goddd." "Jesus Christ, get outta there." My personal favorite? Escaping in barely a whisper, "How does she knowwww?"

Oh, also? There's this eye candy to enjoy in all his law-breaking glory. 

Girls

On the other end of the spectrum, there's the kind of show that people love because everyone else loves it. I'm guilty! I bought into the whole masquerade, too. An updated, quirky Sex and the City for twenty somethings? Sure! 
  

Then the weirdness set in. I realized I don't relate to a single one of these characters. The shy paranoid one, the Bohemian hipster one, the whiny self-involved one, and the one that looks like she just stepped off the runway. Their problems in any given episode involve living in the city, having graphic weird sex with and/or marrying strangers, doing drugs in nightclubs, banging openly gay men, and tangential monologues in inappropriate situations. None of which I can personally relate to either.

Then there's the nudity. Now I'm not a total prude; a naked body is a naked body. But I'd have to conservatively estimate the ratio of unnecessary to necessary nudity on this show to be about 10:1. It's usually unprompted, inappropriate and painfully awkward.

Like I said, there was a good period of time where I was riding the Girls bandwagon. The critics love Hannah (Lena Dunham)'s fearlessness to write, direct and star in her own provocative scenes. "Good for her!" people say, "She's unapologetic for who she is and shines a spotlight on real women's bodies and insecurities." And if she's helping insecure people or people who feel like they're not represented on television, I'm being honest ... that's awesome.

For me, personally, I'm signing off. I can't watch another minute of this show. I refuse to watch her whine one more time about her problems while dancing around in a hideous onesie jumper, banging weird hot hippie strangers on a Sunday afternoon, then playing ping pong naked for no reason. Can't do it. I shouldn't have wasted my time watching a season and a half's worth of episodes thinking I'd find something I relate to or connect with anywhere in this show.

I might've just been watching for shots of this guy. It's a strong possibility.

The lesson here? I find more relateable emotion in the eyes of a crystal meth cook than a quirky twentysomething.

Wait..... what? 

Two Girls Walk Into a Bar....

So I've never been much a bar dweller. In fact, apart from the standard rite-of-passage allotment of sloppy college nights, I'm not usually a big drinker. So when my friend Kim and I decided to go out to a bar a few Fridays ago, we were pretty excited to be doing something different. Something that didn't involve surfing YouTube and ordering Chinese take-out.

I have to say, having experienced the bar scene for the first time in a while, it's quite a sociological study. We walked in, squeezed a path through the bumbling crowd, and managed to score the last two stools. And we didn't need to move a muscle after that. As we were about to find out, the entertainment would come to us.

Before I introduce them, it's amusing to know that all of the following people are related, in some twisted Kevin Bacon way, to a guy named Johnny. We met his best friends from home, his college buddies, some lady friends, a handful of cousins, his mom... But we never met Johnny himself and part of us still doubts his existence.

The cast of characters (in order of appearance):

• Overconfident Frat Boy Impressing His Female Groupies
• A friend of Johnny comes sidling up, showcasing dorky dance moves. He looks back at his giggling tribe of lady companions. We're not sure if he wants us to join in or just sit there baffled. We go with something in between - a few silly body movements, followed by an awkward staring contest. Finally, he moonwalks away.

• Little Miss Lack of Spatial Awareness
• Just as we're getting back to our conversation, some twenty-something in a half-shirt dives between me and the stranger on the next stool. She's waving a $20 in the busy bartender's face. Her boobs are pressed against the counter and I've lost so much personal space, I'm practically sitting in Kim's lap. Johnny's girlfriend's cleavage and aggressive approach get her served quickly, which ends up being a real blessing for my lungs as I can now breathe again. Cue drink spilled on my coat. 

• Mr. and Mrs. Infidelity
• At some point, I realize that the stranger to my left is cute and sitting alone. These qualifications make him a worthy candidate, I figure, so I introduce myself. Within a few minutes, we're in full flirt mode and he's whispering sweet nothings in my ear. (Make that loud nothings yelled directly into my ear canal; the music was on full blast.) But no sooner does his hand leave the small of my back than he is making out with the closest blonde chick. "Your girlfriend?" I ask him in between incredulous laughs. "Yep, five years," he replies, winking, "Kind-of wish we weren't together tonight though." Wow, okay. Over his shoulder, his girlfriend is grinding against another guy. These two are a match made in adulterous heaven.

• Guy Pearce from Memento
•  I turn around to check in with Kim. Her latest suitor is leaning all rico-suave against the bar, but I soon realize what Kim has been dealing with for the past ten minutes. First off, he's super drunk. Secondly, he's about as rico and suave as a Brillo pad. Somewhere amidst all of this, we learn that he's Johnny's (socially inept) second cousin. Of course he is. He keeps blurting out the one pick-up line he must have practiced in the mirror that morning, then immediately becoming unsure, awkward or accidentally offensive. The best part? In these moments, the seven shots he has just taken are swimming around his head, instructing him to revert back to that tried-and-true pick-up line. So he introduces himself again. And again. And again. And though he seems to know his name pretty damn well, he sure doesn't know Kim's. So by Round 10 of this mind-numbing cycle, we both stick our hands out. "Hi, I'm Kim," I say. "The name's Jill," announces Kim.

•  Lance Bass, Still in the Closet
• Okay, he's not that flaming. But, by my estimations, he likes dudes. He's trying to flirt, but I'm a little jaded by what the male population has had to offer tonight. Which makes the coincidence that our names rhyme - which he's pointed out every other breath - considerably less funny. Sweet kid, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was Johnny's gay lover.

Ode to a Third Grader

Fresh off a five-month position as a third grade teacher, I have gained a lot - perspective; ideas for the future; the ability to yell at a group of small children with ease. But there's so much more to be shared. So rather than writing the next great American novel on the trials and tribulations of being an educator, I'm choosing instead to close this chaotic chapter in my life with a series of succinct Top 3 lists. As a forewarning, these lists are all derived from my worst days as an educator - for humor's sake - and ignore the great ones.

Top 3 Quotes That Have Fallen Out of My Mouth

3.) I’m not impressed with how cool you think you are. Take a seat.”

2.) “Whatever you need, the answer’s no. Walk away from me.”

1.) “At this point in the day, Stephen, I don’t care. Find me tomorrow and see if I care then.”

Top 3 Incidents

    3.) That time the sink overflowed in the middle of a lesson, all hell broke loose and I spent the next twenty minutes on my hands and knees shooing away children and mopping up dirty water with 1/2 ply paper towels.

    2.) That time when, in a moment of frustration, I threw a pen forcefully across the room towards my desk. Except the toss came up short and it hit an unsuspecting 8-year-old directly in the face. Time stood still. Both of our jaws dropped. The ringing of angry phone calls echoed in my ears. Then one month later, the aforementioned kid accidentally pegged me hard in the face with a beanbag so I guess we’re even.

 1.) That time when I wished for something different to arise in my day
      to break up the monotonous school day routine, then promptly regretted it. The time is 2 PM. The lesson? Level I Geometry. All students are seated and accounted for when suddenly a putrid, unmistakable odor wafts into my nostrils. I scan the room and there it lies: a turd. My brain struggles to compute its existence on my classroom floor, but as a mature adult I know it is my responsibility to take charge of the situation. Which, naturally, involves calling Jon the custodian to come clean it up for me. How did it get there? We'll never know for sure. But next time you have an accident on the job, take notes from this stealthy third grader: Shake it out your pant leg and get back to work.

Top 3 Skills Gained

3.) A keen ability to listen and respond to five questions at once. Sounds a little something like this: "Bobby, yes. Lucas, in five minutes. Hannah, page 37. Grace, second shelf on the right. Josh, the answer's 12."

    2.) Sharpening pencils like a boss. They're needed at all hours of the school day and yet they appear, disappear, break, become dull, snap or are rendered otherwise unusable at a ridiculous rate.

    1.) The perfect death stare. Say you've pulled a guided reading group or you're in the middle of progress monitoring a kid. You look up and see young Billy hanging from the ceiling lights. Not a good time to yell? No problem... just switch on the anger and shoot daggers from your eyes until Billy turns and sees the face of wrath staring him down. No words needed and Billy is promptly back to work.

Top 3 Lessons Learned

3.) Kids are resilient. In my five-month tenure at Anonymous Elementary, I was yelling or punishing these children at least half the time. I'd say 50% of the time would be rounding down. It was always warranted by some kind of impulsive misbehavior, but I was still concerned that they'd forever associate my name with an image of the Trunchbull or Cruella de Ville. Then the day finally came and there they were hugging me from all sides and dropping chocolates and roses in my lap. Glad to know that they see around the discipline and know I really do care.

2.) If you give a kid something, don’t expect them to still have it in their possession sixty seconds later. If I had a donut for every time I heard "I lost that paper", I'd be clinically obese now. Where did you put it?!! Did you ball it up and throw it out? Swallow it? Fold it into an origami crane and fly it out the window? Good lord, children.

1.) Left to their own devices, kids will regress into a form not unlike their ape ancestors. I am no longer surprised if, in the span of ten seconds, each of them has crawled onto a high shelf, stood up on a table, began sprinting around the perimeter of the room or initiated a round of arm wrestling to flex their pre-pubescent muscles. Indoor recess looks like the stampede scene from Jumanji. 

Top 3 Responses on a Test or Student Survey

3.) Question: If you had three wishes, what would they be?

     Answer: I wish to get good grades. I wish I was in love. I wish I have 500 cats. (Who doesn't?)

2.) Question: Name one thing you are certain will not happen.

     Answer: I will not get older than God.  (Accurate.)

1.) Question: What is your least favorite subject?

     Answer:  pretending to be a princess   (WTF?)

X Factor Travesty

I have recently bared witness to a tragedy that, for whatever reason, has yet to grace the front page of any major newspaper. I, for one, am outraged. A transgression this deep should be making national headlines. I've spent the last two weeks reeling from the impact of such profound civil injustice. And to think - the majority of the public played a role in this mess, however small, and how they sleep at night is beyond me.

I am, of course, referring to the season finale of the X Factor.

Let me set the scene for those of you on The Voice bandwagon who are missing out on an even better competition just two channels away. After the mandatory number of weeks, thousands of singing hopefuls - mostly gimmick-y, mediocre fame chasers - got whittled down to just three acts.

I'll describe them to you now with all the obvious bias and favoritism I can muster:

Fifth Harmony - These ladies all came in as solo acts. Then Simon Cowell got a twinkle in his eye, similar to the one that birthed teenaged royalty One Direction, waved his magic wand and boom! A girl group. They were underdogs for the entire competition, mostly due to almost-weekly name changes and the fact that they had just met 10 minutes prior. Over time, the girls known as LYLAS (wow) became 4231 (wtf?) and eventually blossomed into Fifth Harmony. They found their sound and a gaggle of devoted Twitter followers in the final few weeks, which earned them third place.

Conclusion: They've got serious talent and adorable personalities. Definitely a group to watch out for!

Carly Rose Sonenclar - Since I was a kid, I've gone through periods of obsession with different music artists. From Backstreet Boys and Spice Girls to John Mayer and Pentatonix, there's always a fixation. What I'm saying is I should have seen this coming. The minute I saw this girl perform, I was hooked. She's 13, has been on Broadway and if Adele, Beyonce and Celine were having a tea party, Carly would be the guest of honor. She's a prodigy. Her raw talent is incredible and her confidence is ridiculously disproportional to her age. I could go on, but what I'm really doing is trying to justify the number of times I've watched her on YouTube in the last week. The view count is embarrassing but completely warranted by this little diva.

Conclusion: Here's where the travesty comes in. She finished out the competition in second place - I know, choke back the tears - to a cowboy buffoon I'll introduce to you now.

Tate Stevens - I have to get up for work in five hours and his story's not worth the lost sleep, so here are the key points: He's 37. I'm pretty sure he sleeps wearing a ten-gallon hat; I've never seen his hair. He sings country songs as well as any ordinary Texan riding through town, but he's boring as hell. He doesn't have the X Factor nor does he know how to spell it. I skipped most of the performances he gave - thanks, DVR! Yet some unidentified group of U.S. citizens passed over Carly's unprecedented genius and gave this joker enough votes to win. I've thought long and hard for an unreasonable amount of time and can attribute this mass lapse of judgment to two things: 

•  Country lovers are blind. They'll vote for anything with a twang in their voice and a spur on their heel. Essentially these people voted for an overall genre, not a singer.
• People love a good sob story. Tate probably heard Carly casually warming up in the dressing room next door, went into survival mode and called his wife. "Shit! We gotta play up this poor man's angle, honey. Cry harder next week when the camera pans to you." I sound heartless, I know. But this is a competition of singing, not sympathy. The fact that you may not have a job when you return home and you've dreamed of being Garth Brooks since you were a kid is sad, yes but unfortunately irrelevant to anything related to this show.  

Conclusion: In my eyes, it's not even a matter of opinion. Carly is, in every way, a superior and more marketable vocalist than Cowboy McGee. I realize she'll go far anyway, but it should've been an open-and-shut case. Carly for the win.

That being said, I just read in the news that all three acts are getting record deals with Simon. So all of the above is moot. You're welcome!

Manly Man Movies

So the other day, I'm walking out of the movie theater with a friend, having just seen the Dark Knight Rises. We're talking about our opinions of it and mine was essentially: "Great direction, great acting, great effects, but............ it's a guy movie."

I've used this phrase "guy movie" quite a lot recently because I've reached a point where I recognize what I'm looking for in a movie. In the case of a movie like Dark Knight, I can completely appreciate all the hard work and talent that went into making such a beast of a film. I can barely make a slideshow in iMovie; I get the blockbuster appeal. But I just don't love it. I don't feel the need to ever watch it again.

This is a sweeping generalization, of course. I don't mean to scoff at and disregard all guy movies. And though it may sound like I'm confirming gender stereotypes, I actually don't need bubble gum fairies and rainbow unicorns in a meadow of baby's breath to enjoy a film. I don't cover my ears during streams of foul language or shield my eyes when someone pulls a gun. And no, I don't own the Full House series collection (though, to be honest, I'd love to).

The quintessential "guy movie" I'm referring to usually has three or more of the following:

• incessant, unnecessary violence
• lots of blood, weapons, casualties, explosions and gunfire
• car chases just because
• ubiquitous drug use
• robots and superhuman villains
• curse words every other sentence

Again, I don't have iCarly and My Little Pony episodes saved in my DVR. A lot of my favorite movies do have at least one of the above. The difference is that I believe mine have substance. If it has a deeper layer or something legitimate to offer me as a viewer, I can make peace with some of the dumber aspects. If a movie has a dumb car chase but I laugh so hard I pee, I can probably deal. Maybe half the cast gets shot, but it keeps me on the edge of my seat guessing. Fine. I just need a film to have something more than sensationalistic, surface-level, 3-D blockbuster stuff. Some character development.... a believable love story .... a well-developed story arc.... anything!

Exhibit A:  Transformers

To be fair, never saw it. But I'd bet my life savings this movie's offering a healthy serving of weapons, giant robots, and lots of running. Presumably from said robots with weapons.

Exhibit B:  300                                        

Again. Never saw it. Don't need to. Manly men with muscly armor killing each other. I'll pass.

Exhibit C:  Fast and the Furious             

Boys and their cars. Ugh. I've given up in my attempts to understand the male obsession with anything motorized. I guess I'll just sit back and count the 11 dollars I saved from not seeing this one.

Exhibit D:  Pineapple Express           

From what I can tell, the theme centers on two guys trying to score pot, then smoking the pot, and then looking for more pot. Someone alert the Academy.

 

Exhibit E: Saving Private Ryan             

This is a war movie, I know, so of course there's violence. But I'm not ever going to see this movie. I'm not interested in a long slideshow of people dying. Sure hope someone saved that Ryan guy.

The Perils of Shopping

I almost didn't write this post. I figured I had already expressed my dislike for shopping enough. But after a recent trip to the mall, I felt another Ode to the Salesperson was in order. If I were going to rank my grievances, somehow "trying on endless piles of clothes" and "dealing with crowds of coupon-wielding soccer moms" still fall short to "an overemployed overzealous staff". These garment-pushers drain my patience more quickly than anyone I've ever encountered.

I'll start at the very beginning. ("A very good place to start"). On this particular day, I was on the hunt for some new shorts. After twenty minutes of searching the racks, I had managed to filter out a few candidates from the masses of ripped, acid-washed, butt-peeking variety. Any hope that I would actually leave with a pair of somewhat-dignified, properly-fitted shorts was squandered when I reached the dressing rooms and found an empty counter and a sign: "DRESSING ROOMS CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE". I see. So I'm supposed to just hold up each garment and visualize myself in it? Perfect. I left my jean orphans on a rack of bikini tops and got out of there. But not before stopping in the grocery section and picking up a pint of greek yogurt. I figured if my search for shorts had failed, the least I could do was bring home some protein.

Five minutes later, I had my yogurt buckled in on the passenger side and we were on our way home. (Kidding.) On a whim, I decided to swing a left and stop by the mall for a last-ditch attempt at some summer duds. This made me nervous because I didn't want my newly-purchased yogurt to spoil in the 95-degree car. The plan I formed was to run in a side exit, quickly scope out a few of the nearest stores, then hightail it out of there.

 What could go wrong?

I set my shorts radar on high and proceeded at a break-neck pace through three or four clothing stores. I looked like one of those grannies with one-pound hand weights power walking past your house at dawn. I would stride in, down some aisles, and back out of the store without stopping. All I could think was "Yogurt. I've got yogurt. There's yogurt." Nothing on the racks was catching my eye, so I didn't even need to slow down. This version of Speed Window Shopping was actually saving me from dealing with the aforementioned  bane of my existence  saleswomen. By the time they took a breath to start their spiel, I was just a memory.

My streak of good luck ended when I reached American Eagle. From thirty feet away, I could see the staff members pacing just inside the window. Sharks waiting for fresh meat. That was almost enough to send me running for the hills. Or, more accurately, my rapidly-warming yogurt. I could practically feel its expiration date moving closer and closer to yesterday.

 But my desire for new shorts superceded my desire to be left alone. So I took a breath and stepped through the threshold. I literally counted "3....2....1...." in my head. Before I hit 2, the blondie closest to me has swarmed in and stopped me cold in my tracks.

"Hey! Just so you know, we're having a big sale on our summer line. All the shorts are buy-one-get-one-half-off. And the tank tops over there are up to 40% off."

Okay, let's call you Stephanie. First of all, Steph, I didn't hear most of the words you just said. I haven't got much time. All I heard was "yogurtyogurtyogurt  summer line  yogurtyogurt  40% off." Secondly, the fact that your  pointless drivel  sales pitch - for once - was entirely relevant to my shopping needs and I still resent you is a testament to how much I want to be left alone right now. Lastly, are you having a big sale on your summer line? It's 90 degrees outside. I was hoping to find some deals on parkas.

I politely smiled, thanked her, and moved forward on my quest for shorts. I thought of the pint of dairy riding shotgun and quickened the pace. I rifled through their selection, picking five or six different sizes of five or six different styles. Who the hell knows? I had now enjoyed two whole minutes of blissful me time, but now here comes Steve. (That was probably his name.)

"Hey there! Can I help you find a size? Do you need any help with anything?"

In an attempt to banish him away, I chose the ever-popular response: "No, thanks. Just lookin'." What would make you think I needed help with sizes? I'm only trying on one of every item in stock. Now shoo.

Now, unfortunately, American Eagle is one of the many stores that employs Keepers of the Dressing Room to guard what I can only assume are stalls filled with diamonds and bars of gold. I figured I'd ask Stephanie for a key since we were already BFFs. Unfortunately, my beeline to Steph was cut off by Employee #3. We'll call him Arthur.

"Hey! Just wanted to let you know that shorts are buy-one-get-one-half-off and all these tank tops here are like 30 and 40% off. We're having a huge sale on our-"

Summer line, I know. Thanks, Artie. I'm on board.

"Just let me know if you need any help or a different size," Steph told me as she permitted me temporary access to one of her coveted dressing rooms, "And don't forget! The shorts are buy-one-get-one-half-off!"

Shut up! They ARE?!

Cut to me ten minutes later, bringing 53 pairs of shorts back to the rack. The 54th pair I tried on actually fit (praise Allah) so now I really need to get out of this place. As I'm shoving all these hangers back on random racks, a blonde figure materializes in my peripheral vision. STEPHANIE!

"How did we make out? Did we do alright in there?"

We? Were you in there with me? Cause if "me" really was a "we", you already be in the know. For the love of God, go FOLD SOMETHING.

I practically ran to the checkout counter. I passed Steve on the way, who asked if I was finding everything I was looking for. (No, I was looking to be left alone.) Arthur checked me out and offered me a store credit card. (No. I'll never come back again.) Then Steffy - I swear to God - reminded me about the buy-one-get-one-half-off sale one more time. (I know I only got one pair of shorts, but I don't have time to find its companion. Damn you, woman. Think of the YOGURT.)

Predictions for the Future

I have this obsession - okay, "recurring thought" would be more accurate - about time travel. Usually it's just me wishing I could go back in time to various decades or specific points in history. That said - I would never want to travel to the future. I think the unknown, while frustrating sometimes, is what makes life interesting. Plus, I think my mind would be too blown if I had an opportunity to see what's comin'. It'd be like opening all the Christmas presents early. And the presents are a jetpack hovercraft and a hologram image of an elderly Lady Gaga.

But just because I would never want to be let in on the secrets of the future doesn't mean I can't make a few innocent hypotheses. Some of these are just for fun; most are probably pretty accurate. Which are which? Your call.

1) Last names will overtake first names. Our children’s classmates will sound like characters from The Great Gatsby. Names like Templeton Jefferson and Williams Johnson will be all the rage until eventually, that trend will run its course and we'll come back full circle. That's when Jennifer and John finally make their grand reappearance.

2) Texting will make phone calls nearly obsolete. 911 dispatchers will be the only ones with any need to physically speak words over telephone lines. Communication in general will break down. In person, everyone will have completely forgotten or never developed the ability to express themselves. The average research paper in college will look like the lyrics of a Ke$ha single, expertly annotated with emoticons.

3) Everything will get smaller, with the exception of cell phones. iPods and ear buds will be one in the same. Computers will be the width of a sheet of paper. But cell phones will have to compete with the high demand for HD media and internet, so they’ll probably evolve back into bricks a la Zack Morris.

4) The percentage of the population between fitness fanatics and lazy obese people will dwindle to almost nothing. Either you’ve got a gym membership or you’re on a first-name basis with your local McDonald’s drive thru personnel. (Hopefully health makes a comeback but who are we kidding? To our international neighbors, U.S. will probably be synonymous with deep fried Oreos.)

5) Kids will read about civil injustice in History class. They'll start with slavery, breeze through suffrage, and land nicely on legal rights for gay couples. And the kids will say “Really? People couldn’t just marry whomever they loved? That’s silly.”

6) The first campaign for Queen of America will be under way. Oprah Winfrey will win in a landslide victory.

7) Movies will be shown in 9 dimensions. Tickets will have risen slowly and steadily to $25 a ticket. Popcorn will be a week's worth of wages and a month's worth of calories. A small soda will have tripled in price and quadrupled in size. We will still be happily buying these products with no contention.

8) There will be some new invention on the market, making DVDs and Blu-Rays defunct. I will continue my stubborn refusal to restart my movie collection.

9) Gas prices will be so astronomically high that cars will become a status symbol, only affordable for the richest members of society's upper echelon. And by that, I mean Jonathan Papelbon, still living like royalty off his 2012 closer deal with the Philadelphia Phillies. The rest of us will be subjected to public transportation or our own legs while scientists continue to ignore the long-standing existence of cheaper, locally-based, environmentally-friendly fuel sources.

10) Dubstep electronic dance music will invade the music world entirely. Billboard's Top 100 will consist simply of a series of beeps, bass thumping, and cowbells.

11) Bookstores will go the way of video stores. I sincerely hope this one never comes true.