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Hate

TWO MINUTES HATE (Part One)

By the Staff of the Oregon Commentator

I Hate Metallica

Remember when Metallica used to be cool? Yeah, me neither. Sure, And Justice for All "rawked" but S&M? Pleeeeeeeeease. The band was probably sitting around in the studio one day, contemplating their next tepid release when James Hetfield came up with a brilliant idea: "Hey guys, instead of cranking out a live album of our lame-ass cheese metal, why not mix our cheese metal with elevator music?"

Five gazillion CDs and four new Plymouth Prowlers later, these pot-gutted poseurs have the audacity to start suing both Napster and their more cash-strapped fans for downloading copies of their VH-1-ready tunes. Drummer Lars Ulrich personally hauled 30 boxes with the screen names of 335,435 users with Metallica MP3s into a California court earlier this month (probably during a lunch break from sessions for the band's next album: More Easy-Listening Metal for our Aging Fanbase). First of all, Lars probably scored himself a hernia prancing around with useless evidence ("Some guy going by the name StarRaver55 downloaded a copyrighted track off Load, your Honor." Yeah, that'll stand up in court). Second of all, taking on internet piracy is not unlike attempting a frontal assault on a fleet of zeppelins with a moped and a backpack full of irritable kittens.

Metallica should really stop whining about Napster and go back to waddling around their mansions in silk robes with Cuban cigars in their flabby mouths and glasses of brandy clutched in their delicately manicured hands.

I Hate Colored Chalk

I Agree with Ryan. Here is now. Today is the first day after yesterday. If you spend more than five minutes on campus, you've likely been subjected to messages like these written in colored chalk on every single patch of concrete at the UO every day of Spring term thus far in the Year of Our Lord 2000.

Isn't it enough that we're subjected to advertisements, billboards, neon signs, Mr. T pawn shop commercials and bumper stickers every time we set foot off campus? A poor chap can't even look at the ground without being subjected to the opinions and philosophical musings of his fellow chaps. And when it drizzles, the chalk smears and leaves a big smudge of neon glop which doesn't go away for weeks. Anyone caught writing so much as a word on the sidewalks on campus should have their buttocks surgically removed and replaced with volleyballs dipped in glue and broken glass. Oh, and they should have their chalk taken away too.

I Hate Group Projects

Hard workers who have had the good fortune of being assigned to a group project will understand the hate that burns inside me. If you are a social loafer and free ride on the skills of others, you are the reason for my contempt. Everyone has experienced the pain of group activities at some point here at the UO, but I am being put through this agony in three classes this term, and I am very bitter about it. These cruel jokes that professors put so much emphasis on are intolerable.

When teachers dictate the group makeup, every group is guaranteed its share of complete idiots. Idiots who do not show up for meetings, do not attend class for weeks at a time, and neglect their share of the work. Even when these freeloaders do complete a task, it is usually of such poor quality that I end up redoing it, making my workload even bigger. I am currently in a group where five of the eight people fit this description, and these simpletons do not realize that copying lines word for word from the textbook is not considered thought-provoking or original.

Another infuriating obstacle is when I end up the only English speaker in the group. Since we are in the United States, it seems logical that people living here should speak the country's native language instead of thinking that the United States is here to accommodate them. If I were studying abroad, I would not expect others to adapt to my needs nor do I think they would for that matter. Now mix defective minds with language barriers together and you have a match made in heaven.

Professors are under the impression that they are preparing us for the real world, but I pray that I have a job that is selective in their hiring process. The only thing that I have learned from these trying experiences is that in order to get something done right, I must do it myself.

I Hate Assumed Public Displays of Ethics

I would like to reproach what I call "assumed public displays of ethics." This means putting up with caustic occurrences we fall victim to diurnally simply to uphold a fabricated standard of tolerance. Lets face it, we put up with a lot of crap everyday that whittles away at our patience. What do we actually benefit from this? We certainly offer enough: our scarce, daily ration of forbearance. Besides, if we just "smile and nod" to situations that really bother us, aren't we lying? I say yes, and lying is bad, especially when it is to yourself.

I am veritably bothered by the abused use of food dividers at the grocery store. I will eventually get to using it when the time is right. The thing that plagues me are the people who slam it down with a vengeance as soon as I step up to the line and look at me like, "How could you have the audacity of placing your shabby morsels next to my hand-picked provisions without the proper protection?" Oh, give me a break, like my 40oz of fine malt beverage, box of generic Twinkies and two pack of MD toilet paper is going to be mistakenly mixed in with your lobster tail, Hilfiger toothpaste, and 80 pound bag of gourmet, "real meat" dog food.

I guess I could have picked another line, but then I would have taken the chance of running into something worse: the meandering, elderly, bickering, patience sucker. These people are a vortex that absorbs all time and space around them. I had a senior in front of me in line one time spend eight minutes arguing about an expired 25 cent coupon that wasn't taken off her bill while insisting that the date on her watch was right because her grandson who is a doctor of agriculture got it in Switzerland from a certified factory with a money-back guarantee and... well, you get the idea.

I respect the fact that this is the type of tenuous stuff you heckle about at that age. Personally, I can't wait for my "grumpy old fart" rights. Anyway, ignoring this is a travesty. I think these people deserve their own line. We have 10 and 15 items or less lines, why not a 65 and older line? Or a, "if you usually spend more than 45 minutes in line even if you're the first line line."