Don’t hate him because he makes absurd amounts of money. Don’t hate him because he was married to the hottest girl on the planet and still found it necessary to cheat with other super hot girls. Don’t hate him because one of those other super hot girls was a former adult actress. Hate him because he can’t be beat. Hate him because despite everything else, he still is, and shall always be remembered as the best to grace the dance floor.

Tiger Woods did wrong, that is for certain. He laughed in the face of marriage and forever scarred his children by committing adultery. Furthermore, he thoroughly embarrassed himself through his excessive, sexually charged, and often violent text messages. Yet, despite the fact that everything the man did was multiplied on an incomprehensible scale by the media, and that for awhile he could do no right in the public eye, Tiger is back in action and in full swing.

Tying for fourth place at the recent Masters Tournament at Augusta, Tiger proved just how unrelenting of a force he is in the golf world. While all of his opponents were out practicing their game for the tournament, Tiger was trying to cope with the collective assault mounted against after his most personal information was displayed for the world to see.

Remember that time you got caught cheating or flirting with someone else and about five people got on your case about it and you felt destroyed? The drama Tiger had to deal with was similar to this, but merely 5 billion times worse.

Despite it all, Tiger managed to come in fourth place at a tournament reserved for only the best of the best. Tiger ousted men who had focused exclusively on this occasion for months, having to deal with the mental without distractions caused by trifling mistresses and an enraged wife and family. The best part about it all: that look of utter disappointment and shame on Tiger’s face as he finished the tournament tied at fourth place. Tiger didn’t come to Augusta to show he still has it, he came to win. This wasn’t a comeback, for the man never left. Expect to see some major wins in the future.

To all the critics out there, shut your freaking pie holes. Tiger screwed up, sure, but no more than a million other men have in the history of the world. Tiger did something wrong but the fact is, he did it in his personal life. Perhaps if Tiger had publicly cheated with all those women on a golf course we would have a right to be infuriated, but the fact is Tiger entered the spotlight for no other reason besides his skill as a golf player. Tiger is famous because he plays golf and it is what he does on the golf course that matters, end of story.

I am, of course, talking about spring break. That ethereal week-and-a-half in which all the pent-up anxiety of the school year is thrown to the not yet too humid wind is almost here, and I’m giddier than a school girl. Just thinking about it causes the song “Tik Tok” to emanate from my body, and I am literally bursting at the seams; blood is pooling along my sides and I think I can see my kidneys. But who cares? It’s spring break time baby and even self implosion can’t bring me down.

It’s a fact that spring break is the king of breaks. Anyone who says otherwise is simply ignorant and I hate them. Winter and thanksgiving break can’t touch it, for they come way too soon for the angst of school to have taken its toll, which makes a vacation that much more rewarding. Even our beloved summer plays second fiddle, for it’s the brevity of spring break that forces one to take full advantage of every possible moment, making it that much more exhilarating. Even those Carnival Cruise commercials fail to fully grasp the sheer awesomeness that is spring break (though those tantalizing offers sure do come damn close–a rock climbing wall and a slide, all on one boat!?)

Yet, as if this wasn’t enough, this spring break I am attending the senior class trip to the Bahamas. Indeed, my spring break promises to contain strobe lights paired with little clothing and an absence of parental figures. I’m genuinely worried that the anticipation may in fact kill me, yet such an experience would be akin to drowning in a pool of chocolate Snack Pack–I really wouldn’t be able to complain.

However, I digress. My intention is not to brag about the endless dancing and inevitable shenanigans that will be the senior spring break trip. Instead, I am here to acknowledge that many will not find themselves traveling to an exotic locale this spring break. The fact is, as long as you are just another typical kind-of-sorta’-hard-working-sometimes-when-I-feel-like-it-and-the-games-and/or-any-show-involving-a-talk-show-host-and/or-pregnant-teenagers-isn’t-on kind of guy, than you are just like me and it’s not fair that I get to go to the Bahamas and you don’t. I understand this and the guilt is killing me. So, in an effort to alleviate this guilt I have provided a few alternatives for the otherwise stranded.

1. Fill a large bucket with water and position it against a sandbox while playing recorded sounds of flying seagulls, giggling girls and whimsical children in the background. It’s not much, but you’ll be surprised how relaxing it is so long as you keep your eyes closed. Tip: for added effect enlist a younger/weaker individual, preferably a freshman, to continually fan you. Add coconut bikinis for even more fun (regardless of fanner’s sex).

2. Sit in a chair and play out those Corona commercials with a friend (with apple juice, of course).

3. See how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop but instead use an orange; see if you can actually throw up from eating too much candy, run through the woods screaming and see what happens, make an intricate fruit salad, devise a reasonable scheme for world domination with a time frame of 25 years and eat an entire watermelon and then use its outer shell for purposes nature did not intend (or did it?).

4. Continue to stalk people on Facebook, but amp it up it a little bit and see if you can actually find out the address of a complete stranger. I don’t actually recommend you do this one, and if you do, I urge you to promptly bring yourself to the nearest police station.

5. Read a book… I’m just kidding about that one. Instead, stimulate your brain by other means, like seeing how many times you can bite into a Popsicle without crying/passing out from the brain-freeze.

Whatever endeavor you find yourself mixed up in this spring break, it is my dream that everyone have a reason to look forward to it. No matter what your plans maybe, the fact is we, more than anyone else in the entire world, need this time to relax and simply blow off some steam. Whether it’s never ending homework, social and opposite sex anxiety or a general hatred towards everything, spring break is our one and only opportunity to get away from it all, and you would be a fool to let it pass by. No matter where you are, ensure the continuation of your sanity by remembering to enjoy every moment you get. And please, no guest appearances in any wild movies.

I am faring no better in the outside world either. My energy reserves have been depleted, and the Energizer Bunny with his Lithium Titanium Batteries and drum set are nowhere to be found. My lethargy forces me to spend hours, even days at a time thrown upon my bed in an endless slumber that is borderline hibernation, minus the pinecones. For confounding reasons, I have a strange desire to only wear sweats, eat unhealthy amounts of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and/or Froot Loops and watch episodes of Family Guy I’ve seen like a million billion times (actually). Most troubling, these symptoms seem to vanish into thin air during the weekend, when I routinely find myself shirtless and dancing.

Indeed, it would appear as if I have been stricken with the dreaded senioritis (senioritora infestans). Originating in my feet, it has coursed through my body, snaking its way through my tissue, up the lining of my lower intestine and through my esophagus until its fatal culmination in my cranium. With the onset of second semester it has taken complete control of my body, thrusting its dripping, puss-encrusted tentacles through my exposed eye sockets and wrapping itself around my head. For all you underclassmen out there, that is exactly what happens, and explains why my hair routinely looks the way it does (I assure you, it is not bed-head).

Seeing as how well entrenched the entity has become, I see no reason as to why I should fight it. For as much as I despise sleeping through class or sometimes not being able to come to school at all, any attempt to overcome this abomination would be futile; Charlie Brown had a better shot at kicking that football. Instead, I choose to embrace my condition and perhaps enjoy second semester a little bit – although I don’t see how I ever could. So without further ado, I present to you my brief list – I do have senioritora infestans after all – of how I plan to cope with my rapidly dissolving ambition:

1. Literally sleep through every class. I know this sounds simple and I’ m sure some of you out there are saying right now, “But Ben I already do that and I don’t even have senioritis yet.” Well imaginary person I just made up possibly named Archibald and/or Doug. What I’m talking about is literally sleeping through all seven periods start to finish, from bell to bell. Aside from the difficulty of having to fall asleep that fast, consistently and routinely, you also aren’t able to talk to that one person you really want to talk with or pay attention for even half a second in class. This is truly a daunting feat that I’m not sure has ever been accomplished. Thank God I’m up for the task.

2. Lounge in the dens of the teacher (teachteria taxus), known as teachers’ lounges’ disguised as one of them (button-up, khakis, glasses, book ajar, quizzical look upon my face) until I am accepted as a member of the clan. From here I will be able to take notes on this elusive species and find out once and for all where they go once the school day ends. I’m guessing it has something to do with a cave, a cape and/or a coffin.

3. Wear my hood with a hat on underneath and spark a gang war, rocking the very foundations of this institution.

4. Attend one of those seminars you hear about in the announcements during lunch. Actually, I have no intention of doing this. Instead, I hope to attend a ridiculously fancy restaurant during lunch where I will act hurried and short on time, thus looking really important. My return to school is questionable.

5. Do the aforementioned activity, but instead go to a venue associated with the late afternoon. I’m sure you can meet some very interesting people at a Dave and Buster’s/Chuckie Cheese’s/Night Club/Pottery Barn at 11:30 on a Wednesday.

6. Hack into the school’s mainframe and change my grades until I am apprehended by the FBI and forced to flee to Mexico in my white Bronco while wearing a blue ribbon in my hair…this one is wrong on quite a few levels.

No matter how I plan to approach these newfound goals in my life, I have only the loftiest expectations for myself. Instead of looking upon the senioritis festering in me with scorn and anguish for robbing me of the ability to do my one true love, homework, I will accept it and keep my head high. It is my duty, nay, my newfound obligation to ensure that I find myself in the wackiest of scenarios so that I may in turn provide a great benefit to the public, whatever that may be. I am the Wildcard.

While I am overtly proud of using my column to once again voice my support of “Party in the USA,” I yet again bring it up to not only serve the greatly needed public service of informing you that such a song exists, but to instead call attention to the abundance of remixes now flooding popular culture (sorry, parents, this one’s not really for you, but be sure to stay tuned for the life lesson following).

From the release of DJ Hero, to Lil Wayne’s No Ceilings mix-tape, Jay Z’s “Forever Young” or the Youtube sensation Super Mash Bros, the music industry is bursting at its wardrobe malfunction-prone seams with remixes and DJ culture. An art once reserved for the “underground” of music culture has been thrust into the limelight as countless artists continue to sample and elaborate upon each other’s work.
Any music industry that hopes to turn profits will inherently reflect the ideals and personality of it consumers. Yet I believe that the sudden rise in popularity of remixes can be attributed to something much greater than simple monetary gains, and after delving beneath the auto-tune laden exterior of many remixes and mash ups, I’ve found these jams have much more to teach us than to simply make money and engage with free-spirited women (a truly valuable lesson in its own right), but to mirror the changing social atmosphere of both CHS and society as a whole.

If anything, remixes are proof that we already have all we need. Society, especially the one of this area, often tricks individuals into believing that they must change themselves to be happy. Too often, CHS students, and even their parents, spend every waking minute trying to shape themselves in irregular ways and become something they’re not; the result is unhappiness and dissatisfaction. Yet, in the remix, we see something drastically different: the reconfiguring of an already present foundation to create something new, beautiful and straight up pumping, and it is from this that we must take heed.

Whether you’re a meandering Bob Dylan tune, a provocative and swaggering Drake or an absentminded and floating Kid Cudi, remixes prove that you don’t have to change who you are to be great. In remembering to stay true to our original selves, and then adding new and interesting dimensions from there, we follow the lead of the remix and are better because of it.

Yet, ironically, at the same time remixes also serve as a musical reminder of just how great the weird and alien can be. Remixes twist and transform an accepted form until it is not only vastly different from its predecessor, but maybe even better. A remix would be considered trash if it changed nothing from the original song, and likewise, how much cooler did you find that mash-up when something totally unexpected and unique was thrown into it?

While Biggie most likely never thought he would collaborate with a girl who moves her hips like yeah, there’s something to be said about a song that so effortlessly combines two greatly contrasting worlds. This remix, in its hodgepodge of glitter and bullet proof vests, blonde West Coast care-freeness and hardcore East Coast robustness makes null and void the stereotypes often labeled on both of the mash-ups artists. While initially serving the purpose of getting us to put our hands up and party, this mash-up ultimately shows just how accepting and impartial our society has become and it comes as no surprise that such a song would have such widespread appeal.

In fact, the ethos of this song is evident in our very halls. CHS, just like the artists in this song, is easy to break down into cliques and stereotypes. Yet, this only provides a distant, passing glance of our student body and fails to grasp the true identity of a CHS student: an individual who is beyond screwed and chopped, and breaks countless stereotypes. Composed of these students, CHS can be viewed as a remixed version of the classic high school, one that takes a proven system and adds a twist on it to create a truly unique, endearing and liberating environment.