Community college students listen to some whack music. Terrible stuff, really. Every single time I go to City College of San Francisco, there are always people driving in their cars and BLASTING their music. And they always listen to crap tunes. It's annoying and pathetic.
First of all, if you blast your music super loud with your windows rolled down as you cruise through the parking lot, you are an attention whore. You must have a skewed interpretation of reality if you think blasting cheesy pop music out of your lowered, spoiler-fied, and riced-up Civic makes you cool. Nobody thinks you are cool; doing something like that just shows what an idiot you are. Blast your music loudly on the open road, in the countryside, on a sunny day, as you enjoy your drive. No one wants to hear your garbage while they search for a parking space.
Secondly, everyone I have ever heard blasting music at CCSF has invariably played one of the following genres: crunk, hyphy, cheesy and bass-heavy pop, or radio rap. (Although there was one time I heard someone listening to salsa music, and that was probably the best thing I've ever been forced to listen to.) I would rather listen to another Shane Company commercial than anything from those genres.
Now, I don't care too badly if you enjoy listening to garbage. I completely understand that people generally don't think about what they listen to. I don't expect people to think about it. But if you're going to listen to something terrible, stop blasting it because I don't want to hear that shit. No one needs to hear Li'l Jon scream "Yea-YUH!" again. oh-KAAAAYE!!
Geez, I hate people who blast their shitty music on crowded streets.
Oh, and while I am on the subject of community college students... Here's tangential rant. [Originally posted by me on the Shoryuken.com forums.]
This one time, I took a Creative Writing: Novels and Plays night class at a community college. I tell you, lots of weird people take night class at a community college.
There was this one guy in particular who bugged me. I always referred to him, in my mind, as The Quintessential Douchebag. He had dark brown, curly, greasy hair that was semi-afro looking. He hardly ever shaved, so he had a half-grown beard most of the time, including neckbeard. He would always wear these brown corduroy pants and an orange sweater with a striped pattern. And he always wore these brown shoes... I don't know what you call them, but they are the kind of shoes that don't have laces.
Anyway, it was a creative writing class, right? So every week, there would be at least two or three people who would bring something to class so everyone in the class and the teacher could read and critique it.
The Quintessential Douchebag was such a loudmouth, egotistical, know-it-all. He would condescend everyone's work every week, offering pithy comments like, "The paradoxical ambivalence of this piece doesn't seem to resonate very well with whatever it is that you're trying to accomplish with this romantic-slash-slice of life fictional work. Nothing about this jibes with me. But keep trying, because I think there's some potential if you can weed out your negative tendencies."
I really wanted to tear this guy up when it was HIS turn to show us a story, but he never brought a single thing in to class for us to read.
At the end of the semester, the teacher asked each person in the class to go around and share one thing that we learned during the course. When it was The Quintessential Douchebag's turn, he said, "One thing I learned is that I'm not very interested in writing creative fiction. Even though I didn't bring anything in during the entire semester, I just came to the realization that poetry is my true passion. Good luck to everyone else."
And he was still wearing that orange sweater... I hate that guy...
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