Iron Man II, on the other hand, is chiefly composed of gimmicks and cheesy dialogue—clearly Paramount Pictures considered epic action scenes to be sufficient. I disagree; comic book movies can’t be awesome without the steadfast elements of awesome moviemaking.

Iron Man II re-introduces Tony Starck (Robert Downey Jr.), alter-ego of the Amazing Iron Man. Committed to defending humanity against evil, Starck battles villains, murderers, and the US Supreme Court. Indeed, America herself is out to get Iron Man, claiming that it’s illegal for Starck to have sole possession of his all-powerful suit. As you’ll remember from the sequel’s trailer, Starck disagrees with the self-assured exclamation of “I have successfully privatized world peace!”

Cheesy dialogue like the aforementioned quote separates Iron Man II from good comic book movies. In fact, I can’t recall a single realistic conversation throughout the film.
Starck delivers several witty one-liners, no doubt a ploy by Paramount Pictures to add humor. It worked; I chuckled profusely. What Iron Man II needed, however, wasn’t humor—it was character development. Starck was so far from relatable that I, the audience, couldn’t get into his head.

While I couldn’t quite tell exactly what Starck was doing, Robert Downey Jr. was clear as crystal. He was acting, (doi), and doing so remarkably well. With quirkiness and energy, he truly became Tony Starck, narcissism and all. Though I generally avoid the word charming, Robert Downey Jr. was unmistakably such in his role.

Of Iron Man II’s several storylines, the one involving Ivan Vanko proved the most entertaining. Vanko, played by Mickey Rourke, was a standard-issue villain, dedicated to destroying Iron Man and ending world peace. Though his motives were unclear (something about a dying father?), he epitomized badassery with a throaty laugh and Russian accent. His cool gadgets, namely some fiery whipping device, made for exotic action scenes full of special effects.

But his character was just as undeveloped as Robert Downey Jr.’s, which was a shame considering Rourke’s talent. In very few scenes did he do anything other than laugh maniacally, spew threatening quotes, or battle Starck.

Vanko was infinitely less human than Spiderman’s Green Goblin, for example. By the looks of it, he was simply a villain for the sake of being a villain.

While Vanko’s storyline was entertaining, the bazillion other storylines detracted from it. Along with the Supreme Court situation, Starck was dealing with a body ailment, daddy problems, woman problems, and other superhero problems. The plot was overcomplicated and confusing—just as I began to understand one storyline, another came up.

To compare Iron Man II to its predecessor, I’ll use this delightfully apt and original metaphor: if the first Iron Man were a freshly whipped-up salad, the second would be its wilted, day-old cousin.

The movies were certainly similar, but Iron Man II lacked the personality and creativity of the first. In Iron Man I, we were given a glimpse into the world of Starck. In Iron Man II, we simply saw him battle heroically and spit off witty quotes.

Some may argue that the purpose of watching a movie is to be entertained. Those folks are 86% likely to love Iron Man II, because the whole experience is one big adrenaline rush. It’s action scene after action scene, with a lil’ Scarlett Johansen thrown into the mix. Both Starck and Vanko sport high-tech weapons, and their battles are consistently clever and fun to watch. So if you’re looking for a two hour roller-coaster ride, look no further. If you’re looking for cinema at its best, however, look halfway across the world (metaphorically, of course).

A few weekends ago, I went on Post’s trip to Lopez Island. It was a weekend of firsts. I’d never slept in a tent before, gotten stung by a bee, or been exposed to the class of 2013. The tent was alluring, the bee sting sucked, and ’013 was ridiculous.

Before I clown on this year’s batch of freshmen, I’d first like to clown on myself. Sure, I’m suave and filthy now, but to classify Becca of three years ago with those adjectives would be a gross misrepresentation. In the name of justice and journalistic integrity, I won’t hide my history.

I was an absurdly awkward freshman. I gangled, I stuttered, and I had multi-colored braces. I idolized the upperclassmen, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. It seemed that they were simply cooler human beings than me, destined for exciting Fridays while I Metro’d home from Lincoln.

Riding up to Lopez a few weekends ago, I found myself in a situation I hadn’t been in for a long time. I was on a bus filled almost entirely with freshmen. Having forgotten my pillow, I was unable to sleep and therefore forced to make conversation with the youngins.

Seated across the aisle from me was a shifty-eyed freshman boy sitting alone. I greeted him amicably, inquiring about his middle school, senior crush, first impressions of Garfield, etc. After roughly thirty seconds of small-talk, he suddenly changed the subject.

“All of my friends are on the other bus,” he said. “That’s why I’m sitting alone.”

A-ha! My young friend was no loser, or so he tried to make abundantly clear. Little did he know, however, that statements like his are the root of what differentiates underclassmen from upperclassmen.

Being the big-boss-dogs isn’t what makes seniors cool. It’s great being the oldest, but it’s even greater being the wisest. In high school, wisdom is almost synonymous with confidence. Not the sort of confidence that comes with wearing designer jeans, but the kind that comes with sweats and a tee-shirt. It’s not about making everyone think you’re cool, because it’s about legitimately not caring.

Just last week, in fact, I spilled what seemed like several gallons of water on the front of my pants. It quite literally looked like I peed, but guess what? I didn’t care! Know why? Because I’m a senior, dammit!

The cycle I’ve been through was grueling and treacherous. Recalling the thoughts I had as a freshman makes me both wince and laugh. I remember working up the nerve to chat up a popular Washington girl on my school bus. I remember frantically calling my only friend at break to ensure that no one saw me wandering the halls alone. I remember rejecting “nerds” who reached out to me, not wanting to appear uncool. Now, to use a quote that will hopefully make readers think I’m awesome, “what a long strange trip it’s been.”

I don’t blame that kid from my Lopez bus for being so doggone ridiculous. I would have done the same thing three years ago. I urge him to change, to accept himself, but the cycle of high-school is just too age-old. Some words of advice, however: we’re not cooler than you by default (even though ’010 ruuuules!). Even if you’re having a helluva time adjusting to high school, it’ll happen. The only difference between us and you is that you care what people think and we don’t. Also, you’re really short and will probably get your ass kicked today. Happy Homecoming!

On paper, I should be your ideal English student. I’m an enthusiastic reader and think writing’s cool, too. Why, then, is SparkNotes.com one of my most-visited websites? For the sake of my AP LA grade, I’ll refrain from spelling it out for you.

People tell me that “Huckleberry Finn” is both enjoyable and enlightening. Technically, I should know this first-hand, but all I know is what SparkNotes has told me. I suppose that I also know the few snippets of text we read aloud during class-time, but those just evoke memories of awkward Southern dialects and giggling.

The two don’t add up: I love reading, yet I intentionally did not read an assigned classic. It’s sad, but there’s a clear and sensible reason: Reading books for school ruins them.

Nothing is enjoyable when you’re pressed for time, but most homework-related things aren’t really supposed to be all that fun. When one rushes through one’s math homework, it’s implied that one is not missing out on any excitement (unless one is a nerd. Read: Zach Wener-Fligner).

I don’t mind zipping through math, but I do mind zipping through potential enlightenment. These are books that I should be enjoying and benefiting from—not skimming and writing journals for. It’s nearly impossible to stress about finishing a book and then enjoy reading it. I prefer not doing things halfheartedly, so I just don’t do them at all. I get by and tell myself that I’ll read “Huckleberry Finn” this summer.

School-assigned books also suck because we analyze them to pieces. Let me liken the situation to visiting National Parks with my parents. My mother will say, “Goodness, honey, this is a spectacular view!” Dad will then say, “It sure is, dear. Absolutely stunning.” I proceed to be annoyed, and they continue praising Mother Nature.

Why does the above scenario represent school-assigned books? Because it involves analyzing subtleties in beauty that are best left to be enjoyed privately. If scenery or literature inspires me, I prefer to quietly appreciate it rather than vocalize my feelings. Analyzing symbolism and rhetoric takes the magic out of a book; perhaps you understand why it’s so meaningful, but its meaning ceases to move you.

By that same principle, analyzing books strips them of their innocence. No, I’m not implying that English teachers deserve sexual assault charges. Rather, charge them for murder: they’ve killed the warmth and happiness that we all associate with a good story.

Remember curling up with “Cat in the Hat” as a tot? You probably liked it because you’re programmed to like a good story. It’s lovely to read a book, think, “oh, that was nice,” and move on. It’s a very natural and human process. It’s not natural, however, to finish “Cat in the Hat” and then think, “So what exactly does Thing 1 represent?”

Maybe it’s necessary. Maybe this rhetorical analysis and last-minute cramming will make Mark Twains out of us all. It’s conceivable, but it’s no fun. Dog, I like reading and I’m not even embarrassed about it! When English departments make me forget that, you know something’s up.

I understand the necessity teachers find in assigning books—most students wouldn’t read at all if it weren’t for class. But is it really necessary to read one book a week? No. Books should be assigned to us with less urgency so we can enjoy them at a leisurely pace.

In addition, we should go easy on the analysis. A few essays are fine, but no more tearing books to pieces. Maybe once teachers get that memo we’ll remember that reading is enjoyable again.

Given that our only reference for olden days pop culture comes from VH1, it’s likely that you’re lost as to what old films are worth watching. Never fear! Here is a comprehensive list of quality movies from each decade through the 1980s.

Gone With the Wind (1939)

Got four hours to kill? If you’re a freshman or second-semester senior, your answer is likely a resounding “yes.” I’m sure you’ll love growing mildly depressed as you observe Scarlett O’Hara, the classic southern belle, lose her wealth, love, and mind during the Civil War. Make it to the end of the film and you’ll hear the crucial 1930s quote: “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” Post-movie you can say it without being labeled a fraud by the movie gods.

Casablanca (1942)

Set in World War II Morocco, “Casablanca” tells the story of big-shot Rick Blaine who’s bitter over his lost love Ilsa. When she re-enters his life to demand a favor, things get tense. Will she leave her husband to be with him? Or will she continue being the tease of the century? Watch the film to find out!

Some like It Hot (1959)

As I’m learning in AP US History, the ’50s were pretty ridiculous and everyone loved Elvis. Similarly, everyone loved Marilyn Monroe (fun fact: she was the first girl featured on the cover of Playboy). “Some Like It Hot” is about two men who, fleeing from the mob, join an all-girl chorus and dress as women. One falls for Marilyn, and the other fends off advances from a cougar (modern definition). Quite a feel-good movie, and, of course, a hoot-and-a-half.

Lolita (1962)

Opening lines: “Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.” If you’re thinking “awwww” right now, you’d best substitute an e for that a. “Lolita” is about an obsessive pedophile named Humbert Humbert. He and his “nymphet” Lolita traverse the United States, forsaking a normal life. It’s a fascinating character sketch and a compelling story. It’s also the subject of my term paper, but don’t let that put you off

The Godfather (1972)

In my opinion, “The Godfather” was the first piece of true cinema ever released. Granted, I have no means by which to back that claim, other than that it’s my favorite movie on this list thus far. This story of New York’s leading mob family is so artfully constructed that each mobster seems relatable and personable. Don Vito Corleone would make a great grandpa, even though he puts the head of a dead horse in his enemy’s bed. See this movie, or I’ll “make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

Star Wars (1977)

Unfortunately, I’ve already ranted about my love for “Star Wars” in the Messenger. It was a good seven issues ago, however, so my bad for reminding you. It’d be ridiculous for me to describe the plot of “Star Wars,” so I’ll let it suffice to highlight its best qualities. 1. Chewbacca. 2. Darth Vader’s quote, “I find your lack of faith disturbing.” 3. The Ewoks!!!

The Breakfast Club (1985)

Perhaps the most genre-capturing film ever made, “The Breakfast Club” screams ’80s just like pregnancy screams babies (Freestyle Rap Club, here I come). Laden with side ponytails and all-together funny hair, it’s a tale of five high-schoolers forced together by Saturday detention. Each student represents a distinct stereotype, yet by the end of their Saturday an important lesson is learned: we all have more in common than it may seem.

The Princess Bride (1987)

No side ponytails to be found here; “The Princess Bride” is simply a classic good story. The lovely Buttercup has been arranged to marry the evil Prince Humperdink, while her true love Westley fights eels, evil people, and Rodents of Unusual Size to save her. It’s likely that you saw this movie at approximately age 5, but I urge you to watch it again. It’s full of legitimately funny jokes. “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die” never loses its humor.

Now I know better; sometimes, you must manhandle your way into Angelina’s path. Sometimes, mere existence isn’t enough and persistence is key. I also now know why Britney Spears punches the paparazzi.

Technically this article should start with cheesecake, because that’s what Conan O’Brien was serving. And anyone who’s anyone knows that all celebrity interviews start with “eating a parmesan garnished salad, *insert celebrity* looks very chic in her Vera Wang pea-coat.” It’s a given that Conan looked fly, but the circumstances under which I met him are similarly noteworthy.

It started with Thomas Huston, a man so phenomenal that Ms. Cram called his term paper “perfect.” Perfection indeed came to my mind when Thomas divulged his A&E related secret to me: His dad knows Conan O’Brien’s mother-in-law. This struck me as a big whoop, until Thomas further divulged that Conan would be in Seattle the following week, visiting KING5 to promote The Tonight Show.

If you associate Conan with Late Night instead of The Tonight Show, you do it with good cause. Conan has been hosting Late Night for 16 years, and before that he wrote for Saturday Night Live and The Simpsons. He’s particularly proud of writing “Marge vs. The Monorail”—a Simpsons episode designed to spoof The Music Man.

Thomas and I decided to make a pact. Not only would we destroy the ring and kill Voldemort, but we’d meet Conan O’Brien on our way.

We began by calling Mrs. Mother-In-Law. This was both an obvious move and a preposterous one. Imagine that you’re famous and someone calls your mother-in-law to set up an interview. What a rookie move, right? Anyhow, she gave us her warmest wishes and instructed us to contact KING5. We bid her adieu and proceeded to follow the advice.

After repeatedly harassing a mysterious woman named Meryl, we determined that KING5 had no say in Conan’s schedule. Meryl encouraged us to contact Conan’s “people,” which at least made me feel like a vaguely legitimate journalist. Given that the only Conan-related “people” we knew was his mother-in-law, it seemed clear that we’d hit a brick wall.

Meryl had made a blunder, however, in mentioning that Conan would be giving a speech at KING5 around 3:30 p.m. on March 13. Thomas and I are feisty little buggers and knew that no one could say no to our puppy-dog eyes. We vowed to show up at the studio and force our way into an interview. The manhandling had begun.

Fast-forward to March 13. We’re at the front desk of KING5 news, babbling about Meryl and Conan and mother-in-laws. The receptionist is eyeing us skeptically, and tells us to “take a seat.” She whispers something to a fellow receptionist, and the two reach a conclusion. With a “whatever” shrug, she motions us into a glass-windowed room full of adults.

There are about forty people in the room. Everyone is wearing a suit. We are wearing jeans. Everyone is above the age of 30. We are 16 and 18, respectively. People are looking at us funny, but then a man starts talking so they turn to look at him.

“Hello, everyone, so good to see you all! Don’t hesitate to eat the cheesecake. As you know, today’s a very special day. Conan will be getting here in the next 10 minutes, so prepare yourselves! First he’ll be speaking, then he’ll mingle around with all of us.”

Thomas and I look at each other like we’ve just won the lottery. I had expected KING 5 to be this huge, hospital-esque building, and here we have just wandered into the one room Conan will be in. We sit on a nearby couch and attempt to look inconspicuous. Then, two minutes later, Conan walks in. And then stops walking. Three feet away from us.

Conan O’Brien’s presence is extremely overwhelming. You know that kid who’s just so confident that it makes you feel small? He’s that times a billion. Every joke he makes is directly on-target and every phrase unerringly precise. He’s also six-foot-four and quite the carrot-top. As I slowly sank into the couch, he began speaking.

After cracking a joke about having made the cheesecake himself, he got down to business. His purpose for visiting KING5 was to promote The Tonight Show, which he’ll start hosting on June 1, 2009, so he began his speech by discussing that.

“This is the only television job I’ve ever wanted.” Laughter. “And I want it to be my last. This is exactly what I want to be doing right now, and I’m extremely excited. We had some good times on Late Night, but I need a change of scenery.”

Someone asks whether he will “tone it down” for an earlier audience (Late Night aired at 12:35 a.m., while The Tonight Show runs at 11:35 p.m.). “Nah, America can handle it.” Even Triumph the Insult Comic Dog? “He’s funny! When people like something and think it’s funny, there’s no need to change it! Don’t fix it if it isn’t broken. Plus, it’s a comic dog…like a children’s toy. People look at him like he’s an international terrorist or something.” More laughter.

Next, someone asks who Conan’s first guest on The Tonight Show will be. “It’s not set in stone yet. It’ll be someone I have good chemistry with. I’m not so concerned to make the first episode the very best, because I want the second to be better, and then the third, and then the fourth.” Nods all around.

Did I mention that during this whole time, Thomas and I are extremely close to Conan? As in, three feet away. As in, we are being filmed because Conan is being filmed. Halfway through his speech, Conan realizes this and makes eye contact with me. It’s unwavering, and serves to make me feel even smaller. He then asks the question I’m sure that everyone’s been thinking for the past half-hour.

“Who the hell are you guys?”

I giggle. Thomas answers.

“Uhh…we’re from our high school newspaper.” Conan’s eyes switch to Thomas. Evidently their eye contact must have wavered just long enough for Conan to spot Thomas’ fiery red hair.

“Ah, okay. And you must be the long-lost son I never had!” Everyone laughs, but Thomas and I laugh the loudest.

Once we’re done laughing, some outspoken man loudly demands who Conan’s favorite guest he’s had on the show has been. “C’mon, I can’t answer that! There’s no one who sticks out to me as number one. It’s like asking to pick when you ate the best sandwich you’ve ever had.” Outspoken man declares that it was a tuna melt in Atlanta, Georgia. “Oh, okay, what’s your name?” His name is Dan. “Well, Dan, let’s just make this all about you! Come up here, man, why don’t you be my first guest on The Tonight Show? And no one will get it but the people in this room. And we’ll all think it’s hilarious.”

At this point, Thomas gets bold. By bold, I mean willing to ask a seven-word question, which still is no small feat when in the presence of such a huge personality. “What do you enjoy doing in Seattle?”

“Well, I really like the EMP. I think it’s so cool how you can make actual music there. At other music museums I’ve been to, you can’t do that—you can only listen to music. And I really like the restaurant Nishino.” I almost pee my pants; I went to Nishino last week with my parents.

Maybe it’s the fact that Conan and I have something in common or maybe I’m inspired by Thomas; in any case, I get bold too. I came here with a whole sheet of questions, and I’ll be damned if I don’t get at least one answered. I ask, “Are there any days when you just don’t feel funny?”

I think Conan could sense my shyness. He could tell that I was shell-shocked, and would have shrunk to nothing had he mocked me. And so he looked me dead in the eye and answered seriously.

“There absolutely are. There are days when I wake up and think, ‘Can I do this?’ But when I get in front of the audience, that’s when I start feeling funny. Give me an audience and I’m good.”

Break eye contact. Did Conan O’Brien and I just share a moment? Part of me thinks yes; not only did I brush with fame, I connected with it. I’m all set to judge myself better than everyone else, when it strikes me that this is simply what Conan does. He’s a comedian. He’s a celebrity. He conquers rooms; he connects with entire audiences. His presence is indeed overwhelming, but it’s supposed to be.

After answering a few more questions, Conan mingles around. Thomas and I hunt down the grub, and I determine one thing for certain: maybe Conan can conquer rooms, but I sure as hell can conquer cheesecake. Perhaps it’s a less valuable skill, but I now realize that we can’t all be Conan O’Brien. Why God bestowed unto him such wit and charisma remains a mystery, but it’s a mystery that I gladly accept and enjoy.

After waiting in line to be photographed with Conan, I jokingly ask whether he’d be willing to give Garfield’s commencement speech. He politely suggests “another year,” and I detect true sincerity. So I guess it’s still possible that I’ll get to fully interrogate Conan O’Brien one day…or maybe he’ll even give me a tour of The Tonight Show studio. Are you reading this, Conan?

A side note: happy 15 minutes of fame, various bros featured throughout this article! It’s sorta weird that I’m judging you all without knowing you, but rest assured that I’ve done top-notch investigating to determine the quality of your friendships. Sam Lachow, you are in my chemistry class. I also listen to Shankbone. Jonah Golden, I am older than you and therefore unconcerned with your opinion of me. Other than that, happy reading!

The Ratings:
★ — Spang and Stever
★★ — Chandler and Joey
★★★ — Luke and Brody
★★★★ — Heath and Jake

Jonah Golden and Andy Boelter
★★★
Nice guys? Check. Backstreet Boys-esque looks? Check. Kings of ‘011? Triple check. To some they’re like teddy bears, and to others they’re like Ron Jeremy (or so I’m told). Let’s hope their mothers don’t read the Messenger.

Glenn Jones and Eric Dere
★★★★
I’ve long harbored resentment towards Glenn, simply because he obsessed over my friends and didn’t even add me on Facebook. This all changed at 1:06 on February 28, however; it’s safe to say that we’re now destined for a lifetime of cyber friendship. I won’t lie, though—I know I’m no competition for Eric. Their bromance has the distinct advantage of a crew: they are united in the common pursuit of comradery and winning March Madness.

Tony Wroten and Nam Ngo
★
In your dreams, Nam!!!

Tony Wroten and Glenn Brooks (really though)
★★★
So it’s pretty clear that Garfield and the Messenger are jockin’ Tony, but who is Tony jockin’? Given that he’s not allowed to date, bromance is his sole means of expressing tender, intimate feelings. And according to the expert ’09 boys, he and Glenn have been friends since long before stardom. Aww!

David Ayala-Lindeman and Max Lyon
★★
Don’t let their nice guy personas fool you; these troublemakers delight in lurking around Northgate, making fun of fat people. David’s pretty weird for divulging that to me when I asked him to describe his and Max’s friendship, but I guess Max likes it. Regardless, the two compliment each other nicely, though they hated one another freshman year. No stars for you!

Andrew Bennett and Noah Neighbor
★★★
Both tough and manly at first glance. Soft-spoken, sorta shy, yet willing to open up when prodded. Dashing looks and similar heights. What distinguishes their bromance from Brokeback Mountain? Cows and a camera roll. Nothing more.

Miles Miller and Brendan Uomoto
★★★★
I classify Miles and Brendan as unknown entities, given that I have never interacted with either of them. In order to get the full scoop on their bromance, I looked up Brendan on Facebook and was met with the funniest school picture I have ever seen. Miles had already won me over by break-dancing at the Purple and White assembly, so now they’ve jointly stolen my heart. Props, you both seem quite cool and apparently really into each other.

Dylan Koutsky and Russ Layng
★
Little brings men together better than music, as Dylan and Russ are a living testimony towards. What began as an innocent drumline flirtation evolved into a full-on love affair, marred only by one thing: another man. Indeed, sophomore Ian Zapolsky aims to bring Layng down. Says Koutsky, “He, like, loves me. A lot.” Sorry, boys, but in this case three’s a crowd. Except when you have iChat conferences. Which apparently you have thrice a week. Nerds.

Sam Lachow and Skylar Swenson
★★★
Leaders of the infamous “Shade Brigade,” Sam and Skylar strike me as characters from a less pristine Gossip Girl. Spotted: S and S at G’s party, layin’ their mack down upon anonymous honeys. Spotted: S and S crusin’ down Alder like it ain’t no thang. The key to their bromance? The creation of fancy new words like “blaow.”

Jonathan Frankel and Max David
★★
A prime example of Messenger love, these hunks self-advocated their way into this article through sheer tenacity. Quote Max: “Hey Becca…I know you’re writing that thing on Garfield bromances, and I really, really think that me and Jonathan should be on it. It’s, like, no big deal, but…we spend every second together. We literally hang out every day. Please??” Translation: “Hey, Becca, I am jockin’ Frankel soooooo hard. Can we be in your article?” Yes, Max. Yes, you can.

As is the case with most of my friends, I sometimes hang out with her. Sometimes we’ll see a movie, sometimes we’ll partaaaaay, and occasionally we’ll go to really strange concerts.

The other Friday I had nothing to do. Embarrassing!! Sike, Nova friend saved the day. Sort of. I called her up, and the conversation went like this:

Me: Kailee, I have nothing to do.

Kailee: Okay, come to a concert with me.

Me: Who are you going with?

Kailee: No one.

Does this seem weird to you? It seemed weird to me. I’m tryna see Britney when she comes to Seattle, but I’m not tryna see her alone. Concerts strike me as social events; I’d feel awkward and lame seeing one without friends.

In any case, Kailee and I headed to Capitol Hill all set to see Generifus, PWRFL Power, and Tiny Vipers. Really popular bands, right? As a young, immature freshman, I teased Kailee for being emo, yet she always insisted that she was merely “indie.” And that’s what these bands were: unadulterated indie, and surprisingly good.

After achieving the impossible feat of finding parking on Broadway, we set out to Cairo, a hole in the wall music venue tucked away on Mercer. Any by-passer would dismiss the place as a coffee shop…or perhaps a cult gathering area. Why cults, you ask? Just peep the funky hairstyles and you’d know something was up.

I suppose the indie music scene is somewhat of a cult, in fact, but somewhat more socially accepted. Everyone involved in it knows each other. We walked into Cairo, and the man who sold us tickets exclaimed, “Kailee! So good to see you!”

I brushed it off like it wasn’t no thang (what’s the past tense of ain’t?), assuming they knew each other in, like, a normal way. False. He was a band! That man himself was PWRFL Power, number two on the lineup. And he knew Kailee simply because she’s an avid indie concert-goer, and she knew him for the exact same reason.

We purchased tickets in a hurried fashion, given that Generifus was halfway through their performance. Once our presence was legal, I looked around.

The audience members ranged from age 13 to age 50. There seemed to be no uniting theme; some looked goth, some looked scene-o, and some looked normal. This took me by surprise, and upon analyzing why, I hit a life-altering epiphany: I’m sorta judgmental. On MySpace in eighth grade, I wrote, “Don’t judge, thnxxxxx,” yet judgmental is what I am.

You see, I expected the indie folk to all dress strangely and have dreads or something. They didn’t. I now know why Kailee wasn’t afraid to attend the concert alone: it truly was all about the music. Therein lay the uniting theme: Every audience member was a genuine fan of the bands playing (except for me, I just needed something to do on a Friday night).

Once I had cleansed my soul, I began enjoying the experience. It was sort of meditative. Here everyone was in this relatively small room, all sitting down, all really enjoying themselves, and all really silent.

The bands were good, too. I don’t want to sound like a tool, but my one complaint was that PWRFL Power sounded too unique. Hear me out! One song of theirs was about chopsticks and a cute girl. It went, “You are so pretty, but holding them wrong,” for three whole minutes.

Aside from the weirdness, each singer had a great voice and true ability to make music. My favorite was Tiny Vipers, a band consisting of one woman and a guitar. She was pretty timid upon first taking the stage, and I braced myself for awkward jokes and an awkward stage presence. She certainly had the latter, but she also had a bone-chilling voice and magic fingers (guitar-wise, perv).

All told, the concert was an enjoyable experience. Not quite on par with Britney, but surprisingly satisfying; I left with the same warm, fuzzy feeling I get after eating a fresh batch of cookies. I guess there’s just something about surrounding yourself with people who love what they do.

I’d like to call He’s Just Not That Into You a self-help movie, but that’d be a lie comparable to those told by the under-committed men featured throughout the film. He’s Just Not That Into You is none other than a class-act chick flick; its self-help message is lost in both the happy ending and lack of instruction.

Self-helpful or not, it’s based off the book of the same title by Greg Behrendt. The book takes a no frills, simplistic approach to relationships: if a man likes a woman, he will do absolutely everything in his power to woo her. If he fails to woo accordingly, he’s just not that into you. If he doesn’t call, he’s just not that into you. Even if his cat died, he’s just not that into you. No exceptions.

While the movie toys with the ideas explored by Behrendt, it uses them neither instructionally nor, in the end, as definite rules. All told, that’s what limits He’s Just Not That Into You to simple chick-flickdom: it has no message or purpose, other than to make viewers feel content and go “awww.”

Loaded with an all-star cast (Scarlett Johansson, Jenifer Aniston, Ben Affleck, Drew Barrymore, etc.), each of the characters has their own unique set of relationship issues. As a wise man once said, “with so much drama in the L-B-C, it’s kinda hard being Snoop D-O-Double-G”…though in this case, the L-B-C is actually Baltimore, Maryland and Snoop Dogg is every living man and woman. In Baltimore each story unfolds, each relationship develops, and each character simply dies from heartache.

Each of the characters is slightly linked to one another, whether they be co-workers, housemates, or bar buddies.

Beth’s (Aniston) problem is that even after a seven-year relationship with Neil (Affleck), he still won’t marry her. They’re very close, practically married, yet she can’t quite ignore her deep-seeded craving for a ring.

Gigi (Ginnifer Goodwin) is too clingy and can never hold onto a guy. She’ll obsess over her date from the previous night, checking her phone incessantly to see if he called. Through her, we meet Alex (Justin Long), the voice of Greg Behrendt’s book. As Gigi’s bartender, he enlightens her into the inner-workings of a male mind. He explains that because her date didn’t call, he’s just not that into her. Etcetera.

Ben (Bradley Cooper) and Janine (Jennifer Connelly) are happily married and moving into a new home. While Janine pours over sofas and tiling and other home furnishings, Ben can’t quite overlook the spark between him and smokin’ hot, yoga-instructing Anna (Johansson). He loves his wife, yet he very well may love Anna more. Dilemma!

As far as chick flicks go, this one’s quality. Each character is developed to the point where viewers actually care about them, and the acting is convincing. I laughed in a typical, girly way at the clever humor. I teared up when Ben Affleck proved himself to be such a good guy. I enjoyed my movie-watching experience, and would recommend the film to all seeking a happy two hours.

Unfortunately, my enjoyment level and my intellectual stimulation don’t always go hand in hand. I attribute my love of Gossip Girl to this very reasoning. And while I generally don’t expect chick flicks to be intellectually stimulating, He’s Just Not That Into You had potential. Which is why I’m somewhat disappointed.

The premise of men not being into girls they won’t go out of their way for could be interesting. Psychology could be explored. Heartbreak could be analyzed. I assume the self-help book went into detail, but the film barely skimmed the surface.

Another dictum of the book is “you are the rule, not the exception.” This essentially means that while some folks get lucky, most don’t. In action, it’s like this: just because Betty married a guy who initially didn’t call her for a week, doesn’t mean you will. In fact you won’t.

It’s a bit iffy, then, that there are approximately four exceptions made in the film. Initially this got my goat, but then I realized that there’s no explanation other than the obvious: He’s Just Not That Into You is a chick-flick, made with the sole purpose of entertaining. Chick flicks are fun and good, but rarely phenomenal. That’s what this is: fun and good, yet nothing more.

Seeing as I’m in the psychology section, it seems fitting to dish myself out some self-prescribed psychology. Who am I to dismiss self-help books as solely for the psycho? Bridget Jones is funny and (at least in the movie) quite hot—and she likes them! Who’s to say that a little Dr. Phil therapy couldn’t completely alter my entire state of mind?!

I’ve got thirteen bucks to spare, and Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus has a sorta funny title. Among books called Self-Esteem: A Proven Program of Cognitive Techniques for Assessing, Improving, and Maintaining Your Self-Esteem and The Anxiety and Phobia Workbook, it strikes me as the perfect buy. And thanks to that shiny new twenty I made babysitting, it’s mine!

I creep into Starbucks, order naught but a water, and read my book start to finish. Let me clarify that I didn’t intend for this to happen. My aim was to skim approximately a chapter, self-importantly declare myself above the phenomenon, and return home. Later, I planned to share a somewhat romantic dinner with a boy. Unfortunately, now I was too preoccupied with the notion that I give him too much advice and “speak a different language” than him.

Don’t read a self-help book unless you need to. Don’t copy my “Why not?” thinking—life will seem overly complicated and you’ll analyze every little gesture.

See, before Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus I was a carefree lass, content to interact with boys in whatever way I judged appropriate given the situation. Now John Gray, the book’s author, tells me that I probably talk too much, offer my opinion too often, and altogether don’t understand the male race.

The book arches around the idea that women and men are an entirely different species. They met in space, interacted in harmony for a good while, and eventually flew to Earth. Upon reaching Earth, they forgot their differences and unrealistically expected one another to have the same needs as themselves. You’re probably asking yourself: wacky sci-fi or a keen metaphor? Remember the genre in question and problem solved.

Among John Gray’s observations/advice: men take advice as a challenge to their competency, women seek their men to listen rather than give advice, men go into caves to hide from their problems, and men want to feel needed whereas women want to feel cherished.

It’s relatively intuitive stuff, but Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus spells it all out for you. All of it. In a way that dictates readers to follow its advice word for word. Someone more well-versed in love and life than me might solicit this advice, but as of now I just know things I wish I didn’t. All told, I crave the carefree lass I was of yesteryear.

In an effort to quit sounding like a CosmoGirl!/Seventeen article, I’ll cut to the chase. Sometimes Valentine’s Day sucks, and there’s nothing to do but watch cute romantic comedies. Sometimes Valentine’s Day is all lovey-dovey, and you’re tryna set the mood with appropriate music. Whatever the case, I have prepared top-notch Valentine’s Day lists designed to either bring up your heavy heart or further excite your happy one.

Movies to Enjoy

When Harry Met Sally: A late ’80s classic, When Harry Met Sally has a thesis straight out of AP LA, plus a little raunchiness: “Men and women cannot be friends without sex getting in the way.” It’s the story of Sally and Harry as individual entities, as friends, and as “friends.” The two meet in college, bump into each other five years later, and eventually become great pals. Their closeness becomes apparent through hilarious scenes like Meg Ryan’s ever-famous faked orgasm in a diner. Although no other scenes have achieved equal notoriety, the whole film’s full of funny moments that make for a happy movie-watching experience. Also, Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal have extremely believable chemistry.

Music and Lyrics: Nothing screams “good romantic comedy” like a little Hugh Grant on the repertoire. Music and Lyrics, like most of Hugh Grant’s movies, stars him as a witty, charming bachelor. In this case, he’s a washed-up former pop star living off of his former glory. Determined to write new music, he enlists the help of his plant care-taker who happens to be a spankin’ Drew Barrymore. The two click in an awfully adorable way and frequently sing while staring into each other’s eyes. Many funny moments occur, a couple lol’s are had, and Hugh’s charisma lights up the screen.

Titanic: Perhaps even mentioning Titanic in the Messenger doesn’t qualify as bringing insight to the masses, though in all fairness this is a list of Valentine’s Day movies. All right, there’s a good chance that you’re either a boy or you’ve seen this movie. If both, then there’s absolutely no reason you should be alone on Valentine’s Day. For those of you a tad behind on the times, here’s a brief synopsis: poor, spontaneous Jack meets rich, beautiful Rose on the boat the Titanic. They fall in love, and the boat sinks. You will cry. As perfect a love story as they come, Titanic pulls on the heartstrings like no other.

Songs to Set That Bump n’ Grind Mood

“I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz: Perhaps less bump n’ grind and more passionate eye-contacty than you’d like, “I’m Yours” is real sweet and loving. I’m hesitant to gush too hard about it, because it was at one point in the Top 40. In any case, Jason is convincing some girl to stop hesitating because he is hers. It is their fate to be together. Set to a bubbly, cheery beat, “I’m Yours” sort of just makes me smile. Sing it with your friends, sing it to your lova, or just sing it alone.

“End of the Road” by Boyz II Men: Perhaps title-wise this song doesn’t send quite the right message to your loved one. As the saying goes, though, don’t judge a book by its cover. In reality, it’s simple fact that Boyz II Men must be on this list. “I’ll Make Love to You” is another classic, but our beloved principal isn’t really feelin’ that track. “End of the Road” is wonderfully sappy and slow as well as simply wonderful. It’s an expression of the Boyz’s sadness at their boo leaving them. They argue that it’s unnatural and that they belong together. Aww!

“Ordinary People” by John Legend: Evidently a master of both psychology and lovin’, John contrasts the passion of love with the reality of a relationship. Deep s***, right? In any case, it’s set to a nice piano melody and John’s voice is really soulful. It’s the perfect cut for either belting in the car (too personal?) or singing with that special someone.