Grad School Smad School

Remember how good it felt to graduate from college? You did it! You took countless tests, crammed late night, and partied your face off all the way through the finish line. You wore your birthday suit under your cap and gown. That poor horrified mother of yours.

If you’re like the majority of college students from our era, you used those 4+ years of higher education to put forth as little effort as possible. The real world was coming and you wanted to make sure you got your kicks in before responsibility took over. So much of your parent’s money spent in pursuance of the highest (ironic) low hanging fruit philosophy imaginable. Man, that was awesome.

And then it was done.

So what did you do after you graduated? You thought, hey, I’m like a professional student now. Four years of learning. I think I know what I need to do. I need to do grad school.

Law school is the obvious choice. I mean, you’re so analytical now. You can decipher so much academic material and those all night cig infested conversations about religion and the US government prove you’re awesome at arguing. And oh yea, one time you convinced two chicks to make out. Done deal.

So you buy an LSAT book, Kaplan probably. Maybe, you take the class. And then you sign up for the test. But you’re already so well studied. With your free time you play a lot of Xbox 360 and eat cheetos on your parents couch. You get in a lot of arguments with your dad. Dude, I don’t need to get a job! I’m studying for the LSAT. I’m going to be a bad ass lawyer. And then you go out partying with all your friends that never left your hometown the night before the LSAT. You sleep through it. Fuck it. Law school is for chumps and nerds anyway.

Remember that one time you bought extra tickets to the Fleetwood Mac concert? You scalped them to a bunch of over the hill wanna be’s and made a boat load. That was a strong display of business acumen. No one likes attorneys anyway. Business men. Mad Men shit. That’s where it’s at.

Everyone knows that the best way to prepare for b-school is to research which school’s MBA program best fits your future trajectory and ultimate rise in the corporate world. You’re going to make fucking millions you dirty dog you.

Georgetown has a good program if you want to get into the business of the government. But I hear government bureaucrats are pussies. Fuck that. Harvard’s pretty legit, but the girls are busted. I think SoCal has a decent program and plus I’d be near the beach. Your grades are so so. You’re going to have to crush the GMAT.

And so you decide to really take the initiative. You call up your university’s Career/Academic counseling department. You god damn captain of industry. You do this, because you know that they are available to you a full 6 months after graduation. Your poor poor mother is so proud. You talk to an adviser, and you even go so far as to schedule an appointment. Damn. That is like the definition of thorough.

You sit in front of the adviser. They bring up your grades but you don’t wait. You go right into your pitch, already blasting out reasons why you should probably look at a top 20 b-school due to your innate social skills and ability to work well with others. Fuck. She is so impressed.

Hm. Even with a high score on your GMAT, I think you need to look at schools a bit more in your range. What exactly did you make on the GMAT?

What? I mean, I haven’t taken it yet per say. But I plan on getting a book and studying right away.

So you haven’t taken the GMAT yet?

No.

What kind of work experience do you have? Do you have a copy of your resume handy?

Like. I worked at this sandwhich/coffe shop on campus for a couple months.

Hm. You know business schools like to see a minimum of 3 years solid work experience if you’re trying to make up for a lack luster college performance.

Lack luster? Who the fuck are you calling lack luster? I was a legend!

I hear that new bar in town is hiring bar backs.

Maybe you’re right. I’m sorry I threw all your pictures off your desk and spit on your floor.

It’s OK. It happens.

--

Maybe with a night schedule I can study for the GRE during the day. I hear getting your degree in physical therapy leads to cake gigs helping MILFs get in shape. Party just a little. Save some loot and live rent free with my parents. Ah, sweet mediocrity. That low hanging fruit tastes just right.

Ah so so t-rex, not living at home, but not at grad school either

Suit? Jeans? Polo? Khakis? Don't sweat it, man.

What drove me to wear a sweat suit to work for the entire winter of 2008?

I guess this is probably a total rip off from "Forgetting Sarah Marshall' but since they weren't Costco Brand, and I was wearing Under Armour and other high end sweats, I figured ehh, why not?

Key Contributing Factors:

* I had two kids driving me up the wall and I pretty much gave up

* I was carrying boxes of t-shirts, uniforms, and sweats all day. I am pretty sure nobody important noticed.
* A normal eating day consisted of 2 trips to 7-11 (then I threw the trash on the floor under my desk) then maybe ordering a pizza for delivery or stopping at 7-11 for a 3rd time

* I was pretty much not sleeping, showering, or paying any attention to my own personal appearance at the time. It was like 2 weeks before finals during college, only it lasted the entire winter, and I'm an adult.

* My boss's prerogative at the time was to wear one Bill Cosby sweater after another, potentially driving me insane with rage.

* I was wearing lacrosse shorts as underwear so the next logical step in layering was a pair of sweats once the winter weather set in.

Overall, looking back on my apparel choice of the time, it was a glorious period for me - but no one else. To me, working in sweats is greater than or equal to working in the nude. Sweats are very warm and stretchy. I am 100% positive that most attractive females were utterly repulsed, but the ones that were like ehh 'he is comfortable' and didn't gag upon seeing me were probably easy targets for corruption. When I retire, I'll dress like this every single day, but at my age, it's unacceptable. My grandmother was known to love a good matching sweatsuit. Maybe it is a genetic thing.

I mean, I was wearing a matching Under Armour set most of the time. I mean it was not like I was wearing a FUBU or Phatfarm deal, but that doesn't really make it any better: I just have less street cred and spent more money.

BO was a constant issue around the office, I'll just say that I may or may not have used hand soap to combat the smell.

Sweat Suit Bandit, sweats for f*ckin' ever brah, 93% chance I'm wearing them right now

10 minutes TOGETHER, 3 hours together.

Hello,

Just an average Sunday afternoon, I am heading to a friend's place to hang out, watch some football, and generally enjoy each others company: until my energy level crashes - oh no!

A run down of the day's uneventful events:

Arrival at friend's house: 1:30 PM

Time spent chatting: 10 minutes

Time spent sleeping on his couch (very comfortable, but ruined by cats): 3 hours

Time spent being awake, saying goodbye, and leaving my phone at his place: 3 minutes

Time spent going home, emailing him, getting a response where the key is hidden, going to get phone: 40 minutes


So over a 3 hour 13 minute period of actually being at my friend's house, we spent 13 minutes interacting. Surely I could find a better way to spend my Sunday and surely I could find a better way to interact with friends. But hey, if you're fast asleep, you're still in their company, just not being good company. I don't have to think of witty things to say when I'm asleep, or pretend I care about whatever my friend is blabbering about - that's low, way low.

I'll just make a quick mention about leaving my phone - c'mon man (to myself).

Greg Rose, Sunday Specialist, Ideserveaslap.com #1 Slappee

1st Annual My Low Hanging Fruit Christmas Post

"Where should we go and what should we do for Christmas?" This is a question often asked by many people in my mixed family.

Let's get to know the players involved (in relation to me):
Hank - father
Louise - stepmother
Greg - myself
Jackie - sister
Allie - stepsister
Kristen - stepsister
Donna - mother

This year, just like last, we have decided to do Christmas at Louise's family's house in Rehoboth Beach, DE. The reason we chose this beach house (normally used during the summer season, obviously) is that it's the easiest thing for ALL of us. We have collectively chosen the lowest hanging fruit off of our Christmas tree (a 2 foot plastic tree - lame).

But, in honor of Christmas and happy tidings, this post will not end in mediocrity. This post is inspiring to all of us who would rather do the bare minimum and have it turn out wonderful. Although this seems opposite of the intention of this blog - this IS the reason we keep grabbing for that low hanging fruit. If it never worked out to be great, despite our miserable effort level, we'd probably just try harder - and that wouldn't be any fun!

As a group, we have decided that heading to a house that isn't ours is the easiest, most effective way to spend Christmas this year. It's a beach house: spilled eggnog, Black Label, general misbehavior, and dog slobber is encouraged. Since no one can claim this house as their own, the pressure is off of everyone else. No one is telling me to take my shoes off, watch the crumbs, or stop farting on the dog's head (well maybe that's a little Xmas white lie).

But that same pressure is taken off in the opposite direction. The people usually responsible for making Christmas work can now share the load. Kids are cooking breakfast, dads are walking dogs on the beach for fun, and moms are hanging out drinking coffee in bed. The normal Christmas routine puts ALL the pressure on parents, and, in our family, they are taking a fucking stand!

Christmas is about being with family, loving them, and helping them out. Although by choosing this destination, it's easier for everyone involved - in this case, our low hanging fruit was the ripest, juiciest, tastiest, and most delicious of the bunch.

Let's all raise our glasses to those rare times we can slack like crazy and it turns out for the best! Thanks to all my supporters and contributors. Happy holidays, super Kwanzaa, and rockin' Christmas to all.

Greg Rose, MW06, let's all get fat and tipsy over this holiday season - January is for being good :)

Let's go run an ultra marathon - tomorrow!

I've often heard of this overwhelming sense of accomplishment that people feel after running a half marathon or a full marathon. I have also wondered what it might feel like to finish one myself.

One random day at work I was talking to a friend on gchat (of course) and she asked me to run a half marathon with her in Baltimore ... Sure! What the hell? I paid my 75 dollar entry fee and told almost everyone I knew "I AM running a half marathon in October".. A few people thought it was interesting but no one else really cared. I think I signed up in July and planned to start training in August.

Well August came and went...

I got married- went on my honeymoon, you know, the usual summer shenanigans! In the whole month I might have ran a total of 7 miles. So that means (31 days in the month of August), I ran only .225 miles a day throughout the month of August. Wow - 13.1 in one day was my goal, damn! Only 12.875 miles to go. WTF, not happening!

September rolled around and I still had every intention of starting my training program and running the race. On or around October 7 (3 days prior to the Oct. 10th race), I told my friend "there's absoluteley no way that I can run this race! I haven't trained at all and I don't want to die in Baltimore" so we made the decision the "downgrade" to the 5k because I knew I could definitely run 3 miles...or so I thought. I mean, I did take about 10 miles off what I had originally planned - couldn't be that hard to do...

Next thing I know it's Friday (day before the race) and I decide I should get my plan together for Saturdays big 5k! Well for some reason they started the 5k at 9am-ish and I knew we'd have to take the bus or light rail in and out and that I wouldn't get back to VA until at least 1:30.

This wasn't going to work! I had a 2 pm wedding to attend and needed time to shower and get ready. This would be wayyyy more trouble than it was worth. I called my friend and cancelled on her with less than 24 hours to go.....so not only did I pump myself up to friends and family about running a half marathon, I made my friend run the race alone. I guess I just hit that runner's wall marathoners talk about, just a little earlier than most.



But look at the bright side: at least I got a 75 dollar bag of junk and an under armour tee..... Right? (shakes head in disgust)

Kristen "Ay" Freudiger, illegal immigrant

Begins and ends with "P".

You might think that as the sister of the blog creator that I would be able to come up with a celebration of my mediocrity fairly easily. The truth is that I find it harder than my brother to admit my own complacency. I may be mediocre in many facets of my life… but, admitting my mediocrity is the problem. Well, I recently got a dose of reality.

Let me take you back to Thanksgiving break, a time to celebrate family and food. One very important member of the family is my dog, Ralph, who definitely celebrates food. A little turkey scrap here, a piece of buttered roll there. Not to mention the extra bowl of dog food that my parents put down for their dog, Zoey. What can you expect from a dog with Lab in him? All of this extra grub must have sent Ralph over the edge. In the middle of the celebration my Dad informed me that Ralph had errr... left a present for them in their bedroom (hint: it starts with “p” and ends with “p”)

Not a big deal, right? He is not used to being away from home. All of this extra food upset his stomach. He is distracted by family and friends. He is only a little over a year old. He NEVER does this! I swear!

As I recount this story to my boyfriend a week later he smirks and nods through my explanations and justifications. Then, silence.

A few minutes later he says, “Your dog shits in my parents’ house every time we go over there.”

“Every time!?”

“Every time.”

Sigh. Should I even try to explain to you the excellence of Ralph’s retrieving skills? His loyalty and affection? No, I think it is time for me to admit the mediocrity of at least part of my dog training skills. Honestly, I am not that disappointed in the discovery. After all, just look at this picture of Ralph. You would have been blinded, too.

Jaclyn Rose, UMW 07, Ralph also peed in Greg's truck

If I don’t expend energy, I don’t need fuel.

Recently, due to a series of more expensive endeavors and some bad decision-making in general, my coffers have been running a little dry. I still have a job that pays relatively well, but those concerts and bottles of good bourbon don’t buy themselves. So I have been trying to figure out new ways to reduce spending without changing my (drinking) habits too much. The most recent strategy? Sleep.

Now I’m no doctor, but I’m relatively sure that the time we burn the least amount of calories is while sleeping. All sorts of systems are shut off while you sleep. Digestion is nixed, conscious thought – gone, and obviously there is very little movement in your skeletal muscle. Just like a car, the less you drive it, the less money you need to add to the tank.

So during the weekends, after spending far too much money on booze and junk food the night before, I’ve been sleeping in. Way in. I woke up at 1:30PM today. As of this writing (5 hrs of being awake), I’ve had two hot dogs and a PB&J. I’ll probably rocket down a box of mac and chee for dinner, which brings my food expenditure well below $5 a day.

While this strategy seems to be working so far, I think I’m going to have to supplement this strategy with something that contains more “vitamins and minerals”. The sodium intake is starting to take its toll.

‘Saac Halstead, EmDubb ’07, isn’t it my bedtime?

Weaknights.

Remember when you were watching TV as a kid, just old enough to understand what it was when people would go out and get drunk, find sloppy hookups or crazy inebriated adventures, and thinking to yourself “I can’t wait to do that shit!” I can, in fact I still do. I fantasize about the big tit-tied broad who will come up to me in the bar(any bar I go to, without fail) and just start “fel*ting” me. Then, I get into a bad-ass, Roadhouse style brawl, which I win by using my perfected martial artistry. This is typical for me, I am used to it. Every week I spend my crappy days at work trying to convince myself that my daily routine is merely a stop-gap between awesomely bad-ass weekends. I have to create this world and tell myself this because my weekends are not bad-ass, they are typically pretty mundane and predictable. I go to one of maybe 6 locations on a regular basis, which includes houses and bars. There is little variance in this routine, why? Because it’s easy.

I do one of two things if I am at a bar. If possible, I find whatever game they have available (be it darts, shuffleboard, pool, or minigolf) and play it while avoiding contact with all the chicks already avoiding contact with me. If there are no games around, I stand awkwardly out of the way (except I am never out of the way, I could be hanging from the goddamn ceiling 2 feet above average human height and I would still be in the fucking way in a bar) preferably with one of my friends so we have the option to talk. We don’t talk though; we just stand there, awkwardly, avoiding the chicks already avoiding us. After an hour or so, I get tired of paying for my drinks, or I just get upset that I am paying someone to do something I can do for myself, only they get to do it drunk. I, on the other hand, due to their slow pace (caused by their drunkenness) am not drunk and I either go home, or I head to another bar to repeat the whole process.

If I don’t make it out to a bar, my night is not all that much different; I just have a better variety of games from which to choose. Most bars do not have gaming systems, this is a major incentive to stay in. Occasionally we will play beer-pong, or Beirut, or whatever your group of friends called it (BTW, anyone who takes offense to others using different terms for this game, go fuck yourself, you are a tool. But that is for another post); however, for the most part, we keep it to video games. Call me a loser, call me a tool, call me lazy, call me an opportunist, just don’t call me unhappy. I could not be more satisfied with my nights never turning out as I dreamed. I do this because it’s easier than going out and trying. I do this because it's more convenient, I don’t need to worry about what I wear, or washing my sheets, or trimming my ball hair… uh I mean beard. I love my weekends, I love them because they are easy, it is the lowest of my low hanging fruits and it keeps me happy all weekend. That is, until Monday rolls around and I realize I spent my weekend doing exactly what I do on my weeknights. I think I will start calling them weaknights.

posted by T. Jefferson Snodgrass II

Pull up, button, zip, sweat my ass off.

Jeans? Khakis? How about just the absolute easiest thing to do in the least amount of time, with the least amount of effort? That's right my friends, I've been wearing the same pair of khaki, flannel lined pants for 3 days. I'll let you ponder why for a second....

..okay, it's not because I really like them. I actually quite dislike them. They aren't modern fitting. They are big, square, fat boy pants that lend me 15 extra pounds and chop me down to 5 foot 6 and a half.

It's also not because we are having the biggest snowstorm in over a decade. BUT GREG, they are flannel lined, why else would you wear them except in extremely cold weather or blizzard conditions?

I'll tell you why, how about because of one of the simplest tasks known to man kind? A baby could do this, would do this, and put me to shame.

Changing out my belt is really kind of a pain in my ass. Pull up, button, zip, sweat my ass off.

Greggy Rose, MDEEZY OH SIX, want to join the reversible clothes revolution

Stayin' Alive

You know what the biggest challenge in my life is? Staying alive.
I'm talking about the three things you gotta do every day. Eating,
drinking fluids, and peeing. Now I know you are saying to yourself,
"But Drew I poop everyday? Shouldn't you include that?" The answer is
no. You can hold poop in forever, its a fact.

Eating: I find eating so incredibly annoying. I either have to
grocery shop (I have once in the last six months) or travel to an
establishment where food is prepared for me. This requires getting
off the couch, driving, dealing with places having times they are open
and closed, paying money, quite a hassle. I'd rather just sit on my
couch then go through all that rigmarole.

Fluids: Perhaps this is not as challenging. I do have a faucet and
glasses. But it seems like every time I've just finished a glass of
water, a few hours later I need another one? I'm pretty much in a
constant state of dehydration. And it leads to all that peeing.

Peeing:Maybe a little background is required to understand why
peeing is so obnoxious, and these two other seemingly easy things... which bring
people much joy are a constant burden to my life. I spent much of the
last four years in the Marines. Basically doing whatever I want. If
I had to pee I'd pull down my pants and do it. Societal designated
facilities be damned. I find toilets an incredible burden on my life.

I guess that explains the public urination charge on my record, that's
my low hanging fruit.

JDH MWC 05

Beyond Dial Up

When you’re in Holiday Europe for a couple months, it is easy to get doped into a “seize the day” kind of mentality.

The pressure is on.

Every jerkoff who has ever stepped foot outside the states is an expert traveler, and you can bet your ass they will be grilling you to try to validate their own experiences once you get home. Did you visit this? Did you see that? Did you try the (insert bullshit inedible crap here)? It’s fucking divine!

Nope, I sure didn’t. In fact I came back to my hotel room at 4:00 this afternoon, and laid in bed looking at Craigslist on a dial up modem. One might argue that there is plenty of time for this while at home, work or school…why not go out and have life changing experiences, meet new people, learn from different cultures?

Sometimes you are cultured out. Sometimes you want to lie in bed for six hours dulling your mind with Internet personal ads.

Did I at least get out of bed for dinner? Did I go try the local cuisine?

Nope, ate half a KitKat that I found in the hotel minibar. Am I satisfied with my meal? No, not really. Will it get me through the night…maybe. Was it the lowest hanging fruit I could shove in my mouth? Yup, sure was.

Sir Alexander Defee, UMW 2005, Cafe Wanna Be, SPF 70 for Life

Why farm, when you can Farmville?

Facebook isn't just growing, it's evolving. What started as a way to put pictures and personal info together in an on-line friends database, facebook has now turned the corner. You don't just waste time looking at photo albums of Amy's trip to Bermuda (hot bikini shots included), now you can play video games, too. Vidoegames like Farmville. You don't know what's up? Farmville, that's what's up.

I read the Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men in high school. That shit sounded hard. You had to wake up at sunrise everyday and go milk some cows, harvest some hay, and even put down your oversized mentally challenged buddy for commiting murder. Also, this dust bowl garbage is going on, leaving you out of work and with no land walking around america like a fucking nomad. No way. You probably got real dirty and eat crappy food. You never get laid cause you spend all your time trying to cheer up Preacher Casey, which sucks. Halfway through English class Junior year I decided NC State's school of Agriculture was not in my top 5 choices for college. Chumps.

But then I found farmville, and now I'm like...hell yea. Why break your balls day in and day out trying to plant real crops when I can build an empire in a month. Bitch, I got 25 neighbors and counting, and we all fertilize each other crops. You think horses are cool, I got like 6, and they are all througouhbred I assure you. You in the mood for an apple, fuck that, I got a row of avocado treess. They make the dankest gaucamole.

My little Farmville man has an afro AND a chin strap. You can't even grow proper facial hair. Last week I bought an oversized snowflake, cause that's just one of like 50 seasonal decorations I can buy. I drink red bull and eat Fritos while harvasting my cabbage. That's right, cabbage. That shit makes me bank. I got like $200k in reserve. You know how much real money I have in the bank. Not that much.

I've got three houses and counting. That means I could probably take on 3 wives, just like Bill Paxton in Big Love. You know how awesome he is. This one time I found a lost black cat. You know what I did? I took that feline in and nursed it back to health. Now, it just hangs out on my farm chillin' and shit. Way better than a real cat.

Guess what? The whole time I was writing this I planted a bunch of corn, and in two days I'm going to cruise around in my harvester cutting it all down and selling it at the market. You know what you do with corn when you try to sell it at the real market? You have to pay a train company money to haul all your shit to some distributer just so you can get ripped off. Fuck that. It only took me 3 clicks. I'll probably reach a new level, too.

Forget real farming. Farmville. That's low hanging fruit I can get into.

a So sO T REx, Farmville addict 2009, fiend 2010, no longer living real life 2012

Good job little Johnny! You're the bestest EVER!

(We're looking at you, twinkle toes, top left corner)

Although this post has nothing to do with my life, or where it will be in the next few years, I want to make a statement about coddled little kids. Parents everywhere are boosting egos, slapping their kids on the back, and cheering like a pack of wild idiots. These acts may seem like the greatest thing they can give to a child, the gift of love and nurture. But you're WRONG (according to my opinion and recent studies)! You're leading your child down the path of mediocrity or his/her very own low hanging fruit.

"Little Johnny, great job playing soccer today, you were the best player on the field!!" Wrong again Pops! Were you watching Mommy? Your kid sucks and you're to blame, maybe! Sheltering little Johnny from all life's hardships and not encouraging him to get better at something, whether it be soccer, the sax, or math, can be extremely detrimental. "Whatever doesn't kill you, will make you stronger." I'm not saying you should be mean to your kids, just be a realist.

"Great job walking up and down the field, maybe next time you can pay attention to the ball? Maybe try to kick it? Please? YOU'RE FUCKING EMBARASSING ME YOU LITTLE SHITHEAD! ALL MY FANTASY FOOTBALL PALS BUST MY BALLS NON-STOP!" Okay, maybe that last part was a little strong, but you get the idea.

Complimenting a child for actually doing something will boost self esteem and confidence, but complimenting a child for doing nothing? Why not just tie a blindfold over their eyes? To the future leaders of the free world: go for that high hanging fruit, but, if you feel like using the last scraps of the toilet paper, maybe even the cardboard roll, we're not going to judge.

Gregory Andrew Rose, MDUB 2006, mylowhangingfruitastic

Holy Mid-90's TV-Cable-Video Game Love Connection!

Technology in my household is a unique phenomenon - I've very advanced in some aspects, but others, wow, not even close. Let's talk TV: old school, non-HD, big as Spacey's fore-dome, and the color is juuussst a little off from all my friend's "cool" TV's.

My TV is a parental hand-me-down with years of abuse. Let's just say my situation is pretty embarrassing. My tele was made in the time of VCRs. Not DirecTV, not XBOX, not PS3, not DVD players. My TV was made in the time of Nintendo and coaxial cables, not Monster cables and HD receivers.

Now let's add it all up: TV circa 1995, XBOX 360 owner since Dec. 2008, and DirecTV subscriber since August 2008.

The RED, the WHITE, and the YELLOW - 3 cables that haunt my dreams, raise the hair on my left chest (don't have any on the right), and emotionally slap me in the face.

1. Watch a movie: get up, move tv out from wall, pull out DirecTV cables, insert XBOX cables, switch TV to video mode, plug in XBOX (which shares a plug with my laptop, phone charger, and lamp - why get a power strip? I'm gettin' by), play DVD

2. Realize the E-A-G-L-E-S game is on mid-movie watch: get up - again, move tv out from wall, pull out XBOX cables, insert DirecTv cables, switch back to TV mode, watch game

3. Anyone for some halftime video game fix?: get up, move tv out from wall, pull out DirecTV cables, insert XBOX cables, switch TV to video mode, plug in XBOX, play game

Over a 1.5 hour span, I've moved from couch to tv and back 3 full times, coming on a 4th for the 3rd quarter of the game.

The worst part about my mediocre TV-Cable-Video game sitchu: thinking about all the money I've wasted on Chinese take-out, $50 fedoras, a mind boggling collection of sunglasses, and tequila shots every time I get my full, hatted, glassed, buzzed ass off the couch when, with a little self control and low fruit denial, I'd probably be kicking back with a monster flat screen and an ounce of self respect.

Greg Rose, UMW 2006, My Low Hanging Fruit, created 12/13/09, mediocre paddle tennis player

The origins of my low hanging fruit, a personal account.

It started at a pizza joint in Chapel Hill, NC. A group of my college friends reunited that weekend, and a discussion emerged from the $3 drafts and pepperoni pizza. "What type of girls do you go for?"

Some answered with traditional responses. Big ass. Hot face. Feisty personality that probably means more fun in bed. And one person answered "wide mouth." Kinda confused about the last one, but to each their own. When it came to me, I knew my response already. Low hanging fruit..um...what you say? Allow me to explain.

You're rocking out at a party full of smoke. You're in the fucking zone. Already 5 good convos deep, effectively planting five solid seeds with five above average women and it's only midnight. You post up on a spot at the edge of the dance floor to scan the crowd, hoping one the of aforementioned girls is available for a late night grind and make out.

Then it happens.

A busty little red head with a moderate face comes up to you, grabs the back of your head, and punishes your open mouth with her tongue. You know her. She has a rep for being a blackout, and the Jack Daniels taste now in your mouth (you were drinking gin) confirms this. It's late. It's aggressive. It's my low hanging fruit.

Forget that tall 8.5 blonde working for Apple that might be interested. The stacked brunette who used to cheer in college, no way. It's simply not an option anymore. You're job is done. One phrase later, "let's go back to my house" and the party is over, the fat lady has sung, and in less time than it takes to watch an episode of the Family Guy you're going to be face deep is bosom. You motor-boating son of a bitch!

The philosophy of the low hanging fruit is simple. If it's there, if it's available, and if it's easy to get to, do it. Don't worry about those higher options. They all seem very far away, require a greater work load, and may not pan out. But that sweet and succulent low hanging fruit. So available. So ripe. It's easy to pick and the instant gratification is something our generation thrives on.

So here is my first blog entry on the low hanging fruit philosophy. Let me make a disclaimer. I DO NOT only go for the low hanging fruit. That would be lazy. Sometimes I need to achieve those higher goals to sustain a successful life. But sometimes, many times, I like to reach my arm up in a 45 degree angle and take down a piece of low hanging fruit that may or may not be starting to rot. Who cares? It's still good. But, most importantly it's there. And, there's something to be said for that.

"A so so T-Rex", University of North Carolina 2007, the first fruit picker and "low hanging fruit" name dropper

Shared Living Space - doesn't seem that difficult...

Scott Fletcher is a mediocre housemate (his email below):


This was all my junk left in the washer for, oh, a week, maybe two. Really? It is hard to get stuff out of the washer? What do I look like? A responsible human being? Let's just stop those thoughts right now.

An email from his landlord:

Hi Guys,

I hope you had a great weekend! We absolutely loved the card last month -- that was a first for us!! Thought I'd run this by you: Brett, the downstairs tenant, is a bit miffed about the laundry mess you guys are leaving (see attached picture). I know I never laid down rules, but please remember that the laundry nook is a public place and not a spot for anything personal (detergent, trash, dirty clothes, clean clothes, etc.). Try not to leave anything in the washer or dryer after the cycles are finished. Thanks so much for making Grace Street a happy place for everyone! :)

Let me know if you have any questions.

Lisa

p.s. not sure if I have the correct emails for everyone, so if not, please forward as appropriate - THANKS!

Submitted by Scott Fletcher via email, University of Mary Washington 2008, location: Richmond, nickname: Smeagol

The History of My Low Hanging Fruit

A friend, Tommy Guns., in an attempt to explain his life philosophy on his standards for women, once described a "low hanging fruit" scenario. While attending a party at The Mansion on O Street, instead of going for the most attractive, intelligent woman: he settled, as many of us do. Our "low hanging fruit" philosophy is to give as little effort as humanly possible, and still get by fine.

We pondered and discussed, ranted and raved, and finally decided that in our life decision to choose the lowest hanging fruit, we have settled on mediocrity: not with all things, but enough to talk about.

The mission statement for this blog is to tell stories, discuss life choices, and relish in our own mediocrity.

These acts of mediocrity can be explained in small anecdotes or lavish stories: no tale is too huge and no narrative too tiny. To provide some stimulus, I will share a small story about my new life as a bachelor.

Nov. 1 - move into new basement apartment. No longer than 3 hours after moving into my new spot - SNAP goes the chain that makes my toilet flush. Therefore I must either reach my hand into standing toilet back water, or use my newly fashioned turbo flusher (a lacrosse handle). After choosing to just use my hand most times, I must then waddle to the sink with pants around the ankles - a very mediocre thing to do.

Dec. 10th - friend, Drew Hornby, flies in from Hawaii to celebrate my birthday and attend friend's wedding (which I crashed with him - free food and dancing? Why not?). No longer than 30 minutes of being in my apartment, he has fashioned a ghetto rigged, lime green shoelace into a chain: my toilet now works.

My mediocre choice for almost a full month and a half: the hand flush - in my own defense, the toilet was still very usable, just very mediocre.

I hope this story can inspire others to share their own acts of mediocrity.




posted by Gregory A. Rose, University of Mary Washington 2006, My Low Hanging Fruit created Dec. 13th 2009