I HATE NALGENE BOTTLES

Out of nowhere, completely unprovoked and seemingly independent of each other, about 98 percent of students on campus can now be seen obsessively carting around Nalgene bottles. They are nothing special, just ordinary water bottles, distinguishable by their clear, hard plastic construction and blue cap. And they’re like $7.99! It’s a goddamn water bottle! At least this ends the inexplicable fad of drinking bottled water, and in a state where the water is really good. People are finally back to tap water, but they’d rather spend eight bucks when they could just as easily fill an old Coke bottle for free. Nalgene is just the latest in this campus’ ongoing beverage status war. First it was coffee, then it was briefly chai tea, then bottled water. And now we have bulky, overpriced Nalgene bottles permanently affixed to everyone’s left hand. But that’s only because their Nokia phone has been surgically attached to their right.

I HATE MARTHA STEWART

True, everyone hates Martha Stewart. But most phobias of this craft-addicted, aging sorority girl stem from things like filet mignon with fresh Austrian cantaloupe leaves and pearl mink soup with jasmine, or color coordinated separates, two for one, isle nine. My fear, however, stems from something more legitimate: the fact that this woman alone has the power to reach one of the largest markets in America - the domestic housewife - five days a week at 9 a.m. sharp. EST or PST, it doesn’t matter: there she is. For all we know, Ms. Stewart and K-Mart could be in on it together: an entire subliminal messaging campaign - try this, taste that, nuke this, kill that one guy - all while you sleep naively on matching bed sheets that you got half-price on a blue light special. Sleep well, my friends… It’s a good thing.

I HATE RESTRAINING ORDERS

How far is 100 feet, really? Is it the distance from her bedroom window to my parked car outside? Is it the distance from her closet to her shower? Is 100 feet the size of the gap in her chest where her heart should be? Is it the distance she’ll run screaming when I chase her down? Is it really a restraining order if I love her?

I HATE CREED

Have you ever wished for a band that combined the gravelly, sanctimonious monotone of Scott Weiland with the cloying, vaguely religious lyrics and bland mainstream appeal of Michael W. Smith? Are you down with the raunchy, bad-ass heavy metal of Damn Yankees and Styx? Then you are probably a huge Creed fan, you fucking retard. What passes for alternative rock these days? Creed is horribly self-righteous and have over the past four years released a never-ending string of pseudo-Christian monster ballads with lyrics about pain and transcendence that could have come straight out of your high school’s creative writing club. Their videos are an odd mix of Skittles commercials and Nicolas Cage’s worst moments in City of Angels. Realizing that Christianity is commercial poison, Creed sings songs loosely about God and Jesus but refuse to admit that they are a Christian band, calling their unique brand of ear molestation “spiritual rock.” But for the sake of argument, Creed is a Christian band, although how good of a Christian are you if you’re too ashamed and money-grubbing to admit it? Remember that Bible passage about it being easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to get into heaven? Thus, when Creed wins another highly coveted Blockbuster Music Award and they thank God, they ought to realize that God made them successful and rich not because he loves them, but because he doesn’t want them in Heaven because they suck so very, very much.

I HATE THE COMMENTATOR OFFICE

The Commentator “office” was approved in 1972 to house three mops and a bucket. Today a dozen people crowd in here late at night like inmates in a cell trying to put out the next issue of F.E.D.S. You couldn’t cram that many circus clowns into a Volvo. There’s only one door in and out, no windows, and, being that it’s only a matter of time before the ELF throws a Molotov cocktail in here, no vents to let the outside world hear our death screams. “Watch out when this place burns,” the Fire Marshall tells us. “You kids are going to roast like hamsters in a microwave. We’ll have to scrape your jellied flesh off the walls. Only thing left of ya’ will be the fingernail scratch marks on the door.” Do Emerald staffers have that problem up there in their royal penthouse? Does Jeff Smith have to step over a sleeping Peter Hockaday to reach the printer? Probably not. I hate this place.

I HATE THE EMERALD SPORTS STAFF

I truly detest the sports staff of the Ol’ Dirty Emerald because, unlike the news and editorial staff, they are just so damned talented that it’s hard to mock them. I can always count on the news and editorial staff to make such egregious factual, intellectual and biased errors that there is constant fodder to dismiss everything they say out of hand. Not so with the sports staff. But while they set themselves apart in the paper by at least being correct, they still cover women’s softball, women’s basketball, girls rugby and all forms of track and pretend readers actually care about that crap. I got news for you guys, nobody gives a damn. You might as well be writing about the Ethiopian cricket quarterfinals. And how about you stop writing those damn columns tossing the Blazers’ salad? Editor Jeff Smith has set a terrible example of laziness for his young cub reporters and next year’s talent drain ensures that sports will continue to run more wire than the electric company and yet more superbly written stories covering the dramatic by the club soccer team.

I HATE COAXIAL CABLES

What’s wrong with RCA cables? Why does this television accept only coax cables? Sometimes a paper clip is all you really need, but obviously this television is going to have none of that. I’m down to my last millimeter of epidermis here, and I still can’t get The Simpsons to come in properly.

I HATE VONDA SHEPARD

Who is this woman? And why do I only hear of her in correlation with Ally McBeal? Is she supposed to be the show’s official contemporary pop/easy listening vocalist? And if she makes so many CDs, why is she always singing at the same bar every week? Maybe she’s the producer’s niece or something, sort of a How-Tori-Spelling-Got-on-90210 type deal. But how many songs can you possibly make up about Ally McBeal? “Oh, it makes me so sad / Every time you go to rehab…” Couldn’t they just bring back the cast of The Heights and have them run in every few scenes or so, do a little song and dance number, and call it good? I liked those kids - they never ran out of songs, either.

I HATE THOSE UO COMMERCIALS

You’ve seen them: those “Not bad for a bunch of Ducks” commercials for the university during football games. Number of Rhodes Scholars, number of U.S. Senators, number of weeks gone by without an alcohol poisoning death - you get the picture. Then it advertises: number of rivers running through campus: one. Yeah, right. Willamette runs through campus the same way Franklin does. Why don’t they advertise that?