Susanna Wolff

What I'm Watching:

I’ve been making my way through Ken Burns’ World War II documentary mini-series, The War, for the past few days. So far I’ve seen about six of the total fourteen hours and I highly, highly recommend it.

Now, this may be slightly old man-ish, but I love WWII documentaries, I love Ken Burns’ style of the slow pan over a photo while someone with a soothing voice like Tom Hanks reads a quotation, and I love hearing about American history, but these aren’t the only reasons that I would recommend this documentary. What makes it particularly fascinating is that, unlike most WWII documentaries that are almost solely about Europe until the A-bomb is dropped, it focuses on America’s role in the war and the impact that fighting that war, that making such a drastic foray into global politics, had on America. We went into the war as a rather isolated country with a pathetic army and came out a global super power.

And that’s really something.

Inner Monologue of a White Person Singing a Rap Song at a Karaoke Bar

Oh man, this song is awesome. And it’s rap so it’s like not even singing. Such a good choice.

Yo. Yo. Should I do that bobbing thing with my hand? No. Too much.

How did I forget about this fast part? Just read the screen. Yo. Ok, just get the last word of the line right.

What is gov’ment cheese?

Why do these lines rhyme in the actual song, but not when I say them? I guess I have to say them with a thuggy accent.

Is it racist to say “thuggy?”

Nah. I don’t mean it in, like, a moral way. I mean it in, like, a…cultural way? Is that worse?

Whatever. There are no black people here anyway.

There are no black people here? Do I not know enough black people?

Steve is Korean, but…are you really counting your non-white friends right now?

Yo. Yo. You decided you wouldn’t do the hand bob thing.

Seriously, is the government just giving out cheese to people?

Yes! The chorus, the part I actually know!

Oh, are those the words? Whatevs. My lines sound the same. Nobody knows what these people are saying anyway.

“These people?” Was that racist? It was sort of off colored. I mean, not colored.

You know what? F*ck it. I know I’m not racist. Throw that hand up! And there’s a black person over there. It’s all good. Read the lines.

“Yo my nig-ahhhherm”

Next time I’ll just sing “Semi-Charmed Kind of Life.” Fo’ shizzle.

Possible First Sentences for My Memoirs

(Note: When I have writer’s block, I like to write first sentences for my hypothetical memoirs. It’s not that I’m narcissistic, I just don’t feel qualified to write first sentences for anyone else’s memoirs.)

Frankly, I thought the beginning was really stupid.

“No,” was my usual response.

I wasn’t particularly fond of that kind of thing.

Most of the decisions I have made in my life have either been guided by fear or by not paying attention to the instructions.

I spent a great portion of my youth anticipating the contents of my memoirs without actually doing anything to warrant being remembered.

Caption Contest

I post a column on CollegeHumor called the “Caption Contest.” It is, as you can imagine, a contest in which I post a picture and CH users try to write the funniest caption they can.This is NOT a weekly column. I do not choose when this column goes up. It is a column that is posted when we have a gap in the article schedule.
The reason I am bringing up this column is that CH users have taken to demanding Caption Contests in the comment sections of my other articles and they have now moved here to my personal blog.

Now, I have a logic question for you: if you love submitting to a contest and have a desire to ever win, should you harass the person who picks the finalists?
Answer: No, you morons.

The greatest sleazy pick-up moment of my whole life happened on Saturday night:

An old man who smelled like urine pulled up beside me on his Rascal and said, “Hey baby, can I give you a ride somewhere?”

Is there a rule amongst gravediggers that they must dig 6 feet, no more, no less?

I’m going to request 8 feet.