As colleges around the country begin to pry open their gates, dust off their mess halls, and polish their silverware in preparation for the resumption of classes, we, too, have to prepare ourselves — for the departure of our interns. Please, everyone, stop crying about it. We have to let them go to let them grow, you know that. I’m sure they’ll be safe, but do remember that this is a time for experimentation and mistakes. They always land on their feet. STOP CRYING. With that said, this is the penultimate feature of Interns’ Corner. Next week they’ll be saying goodbye. This week they’ll be sharing something about French people and cars, something about Nicki Minaj and chicken, and something about silly running. So dry off your face and have a look!
Do you ever feel like some groups of people are completely marginalized by rental cars? You do? Haha. That’s weird, so does this guy! I think his concern is unfounded, though. I know you’re going to want to see my credentials to make sure I’m qualified to say something like that, so you should know that I’m so good at French. I’m a regular Muzzy. “Je suis la jeune fille.” “Ma maison est en flambe.” “Sacre bleu.” “Paris.” “Inspector Clouseau.” “Toast.” “Allons-y!” “Allons-z!” (and then it starts over again from “Allons-a!”) I’m basically fluent. I think the only important phrase I failed to cover here is a particularly useful one. See, the French once had a colloquialism that roughly translated to the English phrase “Madame Rental Car, please change the voice-activation language to French, the language of my birth and the one I am presently speaking,” but because it was uttered so frequently it grew shorter and more guttural in the name of convenience. Today a Frenchman can communicate that sentiment just as well with the present-day version: “Hooooooaaaawwwnh.” So as you can see, that was a perfectly acceptable snippet of the Gallic language for the car to recognize. Who’s racist against the French NOW, video uploader? (It’s me.) –Andrew
You know, it seems like all you see in today’s pop culture climate are knee-jerk declarations of intense like or dislike. There’s no in-between! Either you’re a raving fanboy/fangirl/fanboygirl (“OMG NICKI LUV U!!!! <3”) or your life’s mission is to assassinate the character of what it is you don’t enjoy (“fake n gay”). If you have any mixed feelings whatsoever, you’re weird and are probably “thinking about it too much.” So let me just say it’s a little refreshing to hear a voice that can be more concise! Glozell not only likens Nicki Minaj to a chicken -– a comment I really would have been satisfied with all by itself –- but she makes sure to steer clear of any connection to, uh, those organic chickens. To be fair, she’s like one of those chickens who are “puffed up” and “fluffed up” and ... pesticides! She doesn’t even have to say whether or not she likes Nicki Minaj. We get it. It’s subtle, but not too subtle! After all, this isn’t Inception, folks. Plus it’s interesting to see an opinion expressed through, uh, performance art? That butt! That. Butt. It adds a layer of humor to what might otherwise be a ponderous, academic sort of affair. AHH YAH GLOZELL!!!1/ –Joe
What are these guys running from? My RIDICULE? Not to be all “funny ‘cause its true!” but in elementary school, we had to run laps around the gym in gym class (while “I Like to Move It” and “All-Star” played on Jock Jams ’99) and while I approached this task with the same combination of annoyance and bad faith that I’ve approached every athletic undertaking in my life, I surely exercised SOME muscles pointing and laughing at the kids who inexplicably ran like their arms, legs and torsos were mortal enemies forced to work together to face the daunting challenge of the 10 minute free run. These kids, QWOPing around, blissfully unaware of their surroundings, let the melodic sounds of Reel 2 Real inspire their forward motion, preadolescent Forrest Gump legs be damned. Now, I’m sure all of these boys (and they were always boys, for some reason) went on to become Olympic runners and won all of the gold medals in Beijing and were in a regional Subway commercial once, so I don’t feel too bad about taking them to task for their decades old athletic failings. Which is a good thing, because my goodness, there’s nothing funnier than someone who runs weird. Mostly because it never comes up until it DOES and then it’s in your face, all awkward limbs and heavy, unsure stomps like a newborn calf and you’re left standing there wondering what the nicest way is to ask if you can record their strange flailing for posterity. Because, not everybody can be Usain Bolt, but everybody can laugh at people’s weird bodies and the weird things they do with them. Which, incidentally, was my big gym class takeaway. Thanks, Ms. Hillburn. –Kelly