The Jazzy Bahsoun

Life's our oyster and we're gonna suck that bitch down with a champagne chaser.

Behavioral Therapist
MA Developmental Psychology, Columbia
BS Psychobiology/ French, UCLA

Shelfari: Book reviews on your book blog

Movies to See:
Mission Impossible
Haywire
Shame
A Dangerous Method
Underworld:Awakening

TV Shows to Watch:
Portlandia
The Life & Times of Tim

Book to Read:
Game of Thrones
by George R.R. Martin

Album to Listen to:
The Black Keys
El Camino

Person to Hate:
Newt Gingrich

Group of People to Despise:
Fox & Friends

Bitchin Links

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Mary's Website

Mary's Blog

Ravi's Blog

Lauren's Blog

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Cracked

Best Week Ever

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Cute Overload

Michael Moore's Blog

Joel Stein Columns

Maureen Dowd Columns

Secular Coalition of America

Richard Dawkins

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Machatz Self-Defense

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Sunday, May 18, 2008
Out of My Ivy League
Everyday since March 6, 2008 when I received a fraudulent letter from Teachers College at Columbia University stating, "Dear Mr. Bahsoun, I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted to Teachers College, Columbia University beginning Autumn Term 2008. You have been accepted to the Psychology-Developmental program in the Department of Human Development leading toward the Master of Arts degree...." yada yada yada, I have genuinely thought that there must have been some mistake. Either the admissions person was dyslexic and misread my mediocre overall GPA of 2.93 as the impressive 3.92 or Teachers College is the UCLA Extension of Columbia University or I'm headed off to Teachers College at Colombia Unviversity, Bogota, better known as TCCUB (Go Mules!). But who would've thunk, the damn place is legit and relatively prestigious. It's part of some school system named after some variety of flora...Fern Division or something. Nonetheless, I continue to be astonished that my dumb ass got admitted, perhaps as a mental way to distract me from the reality that I'm moving to freakin New York City in 3 months!

As I'm writing this, a rerun of "Shot at Love with Tila Tequila" is playing in the background. Why? I do not know, but there are lesbians and frat boys riding mechanical bulls. I may be lowering my genetic stock as we speak and it may be a contributing factor to the gradual descent of my intellectual capacity. Not too long ago, I attempted to do the LA Times crossword puzzle just for the hell of it. I'm usually a Sudoku kind of guy, but being a self-proclaimed sub-amateur writer, I felt like I should actually be proficient at a puzzle involving words rather than numbers.

Out of a possible 70 or so words, I correctly responded to 6, four of of which involved entertainment (Ray, Kline, Kelsey, Irina), one was a snack food brand (Ritz) and the other was a dumb one (Bin). I did not even know how to respond to the remaining "clues," which aren't actually clues just 3-4 words placed there to make you feel like you're lacking a substantial number of neurons that should theoretically be firing the answer to your hand upon reading. 33 Across: "90s NL president Coleman," I guessed Gary. It's not. It starts with L and is three letters. 7 Down: "Ruhr refusals," I don't even know where to begin. 52 Across. "Super __: game console," oh wait I just got that one, NES. Anyway the point is, I clearly do not have the chops for this sort of puzzle, something I'm sure my peers at Columbia would probably complete while walking into class, before taking a seat. I even tried the next day's crossword, thinking that that one was just a dud. Not so much. I quit after reading 7 Down: "Capital east of Bangor." Does Bangor exist? I assume it does, but it kind of sounds like a joke country. (To any Bangorites reading this, I do apologize for my ignorance, but have you considered relocating to somewhere slightly more on the radar. Laos? Luxembourg? Atlantis?) Needless to say, I haven't attempted another crossword puzzle since but have logged several hours on Super Smash Bros. Brawl, which I believe is more cerebral than extrapolating meaning out of a meaningless clue.

I was a Psych major right, and am going for some sort of higher education in the field, so let's self-psychoanalyze. Let's look at the facts: 1) from the moment I received my letter of admission, I have been in a state of denial in reference to my qualifications as well as the legitimacy of the institution. 2) I have lived at home for...ever. 3) Since I have chosen to register at Columbia, I would have to move 3000 miles away, sans maternal shield and services, sans flat screen and sans Mustang (that might be a good thing. 4) Laundry, Cooking, Responsibility, wholly would lie on yours truly. Now, many of these factors could have been knocked out had I gone away for undergrad, but I didn't so here we are. Conclusion: I have been putting myself down as well as a Fern Division university in Columbia, in order to convince myself that I'm not good enough and the school isn't good enough, thus sabotaging any potential departure from my comfort bubble well-established in Los Angeles. That is why I postponed my decision until the last possible day of May 15th, when the letters of intent for both Columbia and USC were due. My decision, as you know, is to head off to the east coast in pursuit of my Masters. A change of environment, a removal of comfort, an infusion of independence and responsibility are all, I'm told, supposed to do me some good. So with that, the decision is made, the deposit is sent, the housing application is in, and only time is left until I must pack up my 200 piece DVD collection, my Wii, my Xbox, my action figures, my books, my comics, my lounge chair, my mini-fridge, my TV...I can take all of that with me...right?

Now if you'll excuse me, there are lesbians kissing on the TV that I'm missing involving a girl named "Glitter" and a girl named "Sirbrina." Yes, with an I and an extra R, just for good measure.

4:33 AM
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