What to do when alternative is ordinary

What to do when alternative is ordinary

George Tsai

If everyone jumped off a cliff, would you? This question plagued
a good portion of my upbringing. The answer was simple enough to
shut me up until my next nagging. Of course, I’m in college now and
I am supposed to be a deep thinker. It seems like every Viewpoint
columnist is starting to be more inquisitive and it’s about time I
jump on the bandwagon.

Say everyone jumps. Why would it be so terrible if I decided to
copy them? Maybe the canyon is full of those plastic Chuck E.
Cheese balls and I’ll miss out on all the fun. Then again, they
could die and leave me with the world’s possessions. Deep, huh?

As a second-grader, I tried in vain to be like the rest of my
class. Everybody had Star Wars and Hot Wheels lunch boxes, but Mom
stuck me with my sister’s Raggedy Ann and Andy hand-me-down. Junior
high came, and I attempted to dress like my popular peers. But the
"Miami Vice" look only left me with ugly pastel shirts and big
blisters from wearing shoes without socks.

As time went on, we were fed with messages that said rebelling
against social norms was cool; a few hours of MTV viewing should
convince you of this theory. But, if everyone starts being
different, is the activity now considered mainstream? When does
alternative music become ordinary? If all of us followed Natural
High’s list of alternatives, is it time to resort back to drinking
in order to try something different?

My life is filled with decisions of whether to pursue good
mainstream fun or strive for exciting abnormal times. It’s a
hit-and-miss process, but it seems that I am seldom getting the
"hit" part of the experience. Spring break is a good example. Allow
me to bore you with my quests for hedonism.

After watching our basketball team’s victory over Mississippi
State in Oakland, I was in a festive mood. "What does everyone do
around here?" I asked a native. San Francisco’s Triangle ­ a
trio of great bars ­ was supposedly the place. Several cover
charges later, I realized this night was going to be a yawner. No
great crowds, no good music. Besides, one of the bars was shut
down, making the Triangle a … line?

For the University of Connecticut game, I decided to be
different. Taking advantage of my baldness, I had my roommate paint
a basketball on my head. Looking foolish was fun and celebrations
afterward intensified because of it. Soon, the Oakland Coliseum
cleared and it was time to return home. Going down the I-5, we all
agreed that my weird look for the game seemed to be a fun success.
That thought remained accurate until a highway patrol officer
pulled us over. He looked at my driver’s license (my friends and I
had made stupid faces at the DMV to make our licenses more amusing)
and then he shined his light back up at me in the driver’s seat: a
bald college student with black, blue and yellow grease paint all
over his head. There was no way to convince him of my sanity, and I
could have sworn he mumbled "smart ass" before handing me the
now-unavoidable ticket. Being different is bad.

Seattle was going to be better, I told myself. My plan was to be
content and remain a tourist from California: Go everywhere
tourists go, do everything tourists do and fall for every tourist
trap available. The win over Oklahoma State gave us yet another
reason to party. "Pioneer Square is where everyone is going to be,"
a friend informed me before rushing off. After finding the place to
be a Third Street Promenade with closed shops, we spent the rest of
the evening finding a bus to return us to the hotel room. Yet
another night wasted for the mainstream.

I was still determined to stick to my guns the next day. Off to
the tourist attractions! The convention center’s FanJam, our first
destination, was nothing more than Corporate America’s attempt to
advertise the heck even out of itself. Going to Seattle’s Space
Needle proved to be even more of a rip. Stand in line to pay seven
dollars to stand in line to cram into an elevator. Couldn’t we have
done this for free in the Wilshire District?!

I was through with following the

crowd. This night, I wanted to go anywhere to avoid my fellow
tourists. Acting on a tip about the Rock Candy night club, my
friends and I spent considerable time in the metro bus, conversing
and joking with the back-of-the-bus regulars, until the last stop.
We walked through some dark empty streets, occasionally asking for
directions, becoming excited imagining what a wild time we were
going to have.

"There it is!" My friend pointed to a building. We tried to open
the door. Nothing gave, and everything about the club was closed.
Crap.

Of course, not everything went poorly that week (refer to Pauley
Pavilion’s new addition). But, as an individual deciding where to
go for fun, I definitely had my share of duds.

Spending my second hour stranded in Stratton’s Pint Night line
last week, I had time to think back to all these fun-seeking
failures of spring break. It seemed like no matter what I decided,
I was in a lose-lose situation. And now, here I was: just another
sucker who fell for the Westwood bar scene.

The point of the story? Who knows. Maybe I’m just trying to vent
my frustrations on anybody who will read this crap. But wait. I
think my brain is starting to formulate some advice to instill in
you …

Go with the herd, everyone’s doing it. Stray from it, everyone
else is. Whatever you do, though, make sure it’s not the same way
I’m going.

With that in mind, so long.

Tsai is a fifth-year senior majoring in genital sunbathing. His
column appears on alternate Tuesdays.