With January coming to a close, it’s about that time that your New Year’s Resolutions are on their last leg. You had such good intentions of making your yearly promises last longer than the standard few weeks, but once again you find yourself justifying your reasons for eating three Hostess Cupcakes before bedtime and you now count the trek to the third floor of Norlin Library to be a perfectly adequate amount of exercise for the week.

If no one sees it then it never happened, CUI's Elizabeth Hernandez shares tips on how to follow through with your new year's resolutions. (CU Independent/Josh Shettler)

As an avid abandoner of resolutions, I am here to tell you that you are not alone in your surrendering of these yearly goals. In fact, this abandonment doesn’t have to be considered surrender at all. Your New Year’s resolutions simply need some modifications to be able to carry you throughout the rest of the year.

Everyone’s most popular New Year commitment — to regularly attend the gym and shed those holiday pounds — is typically the first to go. You buy new running shoes and work-out pants, make a few new playlists on your iPod full of upbeat songs that are perfect for cardio, and you end up walking through the gym doors a total of three times that month before you call it quits. It was a truly valiant effort, and I commend you on the dedication you put forth. However, I have a small modification for you.

Instead of going to the gym three times a week for some “me” time, you could watch Jim three times a week on re-runs of “The Office.”  That way the next time you’re looking for an excuse to get out of unwanted plans, you can say with the utmost honesty that you have to get your Jim time in today. If you spend time doing something you actually want to do, you will follow through.

Your promise to watch what you eat can proceed to be carried out once you realize that stealthy is the new healthy. The next time you feel like gorging yourself on six servings of microwavable pizza bites, go right ahead — just don’t let anyone see you do it. This way, nobody can cast their judgmental eyes upon you and make you feel like less of a human being simply because you have a fixation for food that will probably result in long-term health effects later in life.

Your friends will be baffled by your willpower when you show up on your lunch break with only a few carrot sticks and an apple, but little do they know, while you offered to gather napkins for the rest of the table, you also inhaled a pepperoni Hot Pocket you were stashing in your bag. These secret feasts will stretch your belly to its maximum capacity that will conveniently allow you to stomach this newfound shame.

Lastly, I’m sure you vowed to do better in school this semester. The sentiment behind that statement is admirable, but it’s much too broad. Do better than whom, exactly? Once you think of an adequate answer to that question, you’re good to go.

You could pledge to do better than the stoner in your British literature class who probably turned in an analytical essay on the themes and motifs of the inside of his eyelids. Perhaps you could do better than the engineer in your poetry class who spends the entire period trying to come up with a systematic equation for producing rhyme schemes. Whoever you decide upon, I trust that you’ll make the right choice.

Don’t let the next eleven months go by with regrets of tossing your resolutions to the curb. Push yourself to maybe a quarter of your potential. Your blissful delusion will be proof that when the going gets tough, it’s better to just lower the bar — that’s the American way.

Contact CU Independent Staff Writer Lizzy Hernandez at Elizabeth.hernandez@colorado.edu.

 (CU Independent Photo Illustration/Robert R. Denton)

The opinions represented in this article do not necessarily represent those of the staff of CUIndependent.com nor any of its sponsors.

A sense of comfort washes over me as I enter my parents’ house for the holiday break. I walk through the front door and smell a home cooked meal. The joy in me is so overwhelming that I set down my suitcase right then and there. I open my arms for a Hallmark-esque group hug while sentimental greetings of how much I missed everyone pour out of my mouth.

Instead of a reciprocating warm embrace, I am met with a laptop thrust into my arms and my mom’s concerned voice saying “Honey, I think I broke Facebook. Can you fix it?”

After typing in my mom’s password, successfully “fixing” Facebook, I am faced with so many Facebook faux pas that I don’t know what to do with myself. With an expression of horror painted across my face, I scroll down her wall and realize she is not the only one making such blatant offenses. The entire adult population has conspired to frustrate the younger Facebook generation, and they will stop at nothing to make sure their mission is accomplished.

First of all, nothing is written in the right place. For example, my uncle’s last three statuses were “How are you?”, “Are you still coming to dinner tonight?” and “Cool picture!”

What I now realize is that my uncle types everything from wall posts, picture comments, and chat messages into his status text box with the logic that it will all end up in its rightful place by itself.

This is because those over the age of forty are under the impression that computers specialize in mind reading.  You can try to correct them of this habit, but it will only result in more confusing statuses directed at you asking for help.

These statuses are made all the more confusing by the fact that their picture doesn’t reveal their identity. Facebook oldies feel the need to crop their profile pictures in the most awkward way possible so that their identity is impossible to discern. An extreme close-up of their face with their ear cut off is not flattering no matter the age, so why can’t more mature users simply drag the corners of the crop square a bit further?

I will tell you why. They don’t even know that’s an option. They sit staring at their sad profile, wondering why everyone else’s pictures are normal and full-sized. What sad internet lives they must lead.

On the off chance that they manage to find the correct place to write their message, don’t think that’s the end of their problems. They’ll still manage to make you facepalm with their unnecessary and excessive usage of the ellipses in their message.

A simple happy birthday message can go from standard to creepy in a matter of seconds with a few extra clicks of the period key.

For example, “Happy birthday, Jen!” becomes “Happy birthday, Jen…” as if they are lurking outside Jen’s apartment waiting to murder her, knowing that their message is ironic because this birthday will be her last.

I’ll chalk it up to old age making their hands shaky.

Due to the fear of inducing hostile Facebook retaliation from my elders, I will say this: if embarrassing both you and themselves on the internet is the worst thing those silly grown-ups are up to these days, then they’re probably pretty cool people.

If it really bothers you that badly, the next time your mom asks you to fix Facebook, conveniently forget her password and tell her the damage is beyond repair. Hopefully she’ll shrug it off and go knit something really pretty.

Contact CU Independent Staff Writer Lizzy Hernandez at Elizabeth.hernandez@colorado.edu.

CU Independent’s Chelsea Shettler takes a look at the Occupy movement.

(CU Independent Illustration/Chelsea Shettler)

Contact CU Independent Graphic Artist Chelsea Shettler at Chelsea.Shettler@colorado.edu.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

That is, unless the picture is a snapshot of you pouting into the camera with a shower curtain and toilet in the background. In that case, a picture is worth one word: stop.

The CU Independent's Elizabeth Hernandez takes on your Facebook photos in her opinion column this week. (CU Independent Photo Illustration/Robert R. Denton)

I’m all for taking photos. When I see an ideal photo opportunity, a voice in my head squeaks “new profile picture!” I understand the need to show people on various social networking sites documented proof that you lead an interesting life. That is why I don’t understand this trend of bathroom photo shoots. Do you really want people to think that the most photo-worthy moment you had all day was going to the bathroom?

May I inquire why you are making that face? Are you sucking on a lemon? Whatever you’re doing, I implore you to never do it again. The face, commonly referred to as “duck lips” is sweeping the profile picture nation. It consists of females puckering their lips in an exaggerated fashion. So much so that they far surpass their assumed goal of looking seductive and fall into the category of botched lip injection.

Don’t think I’m letting you males off the hook, either. Do I spy a bathroom mirror picture of you in a snapback, lifting your bro-tank up so that I can see your re-touched abs? Your subtlety astounds me. I don’t think you could have cocked your peacock feathers any more obviously without unzipping your pants.

In addition, because you so creatively snapped this photo in a bathroom mirror, I can see your acne cream and your sister’s box of tampons sitting on the counter. Cue the swooning.

While I question your venue and choice of facial expression, I admire your vulnerability. You’re not claiming to be anything. You’re just putting yourself out there, roll of toilet paper and all.

If you happen to have a Facebook album entitled “My photography <3,” on the other hand, you’re just asking for me to criticize you. I fully support finding an interest and running with it, but if you claim that photography is your passion, please don’t tell me that this sepia-toned bag of Doritos is your idea of art.

Who am I to judge your artistic license, you might ask. Where do I get the nerve to roll my eyes at your blurry, black and white flower petal? It’s common sense to know that it’s a stupid picture—that’s how.

The next time you’re about to upload a fresh batch of photos from you and your friend’s 10-minute adventure to the drug store, pause before you do so. Ask yourself if you have one or more pictures that would disappoint me.

If the answer is yes, I’m not saying don’t go through with it. I’m just warning you that you may have a few notifications the next time you log on that contain sarcastic commentary and virtual heckling.

Contact CU Independent Staff Writer Lizzy Hernandez atElizabeth.hernandez@colorado.edu. 

There’s nothing like Halloween to make you a paranoid mess.

Whether it’s vampires, werewolves, or that creepy guy at the haunted house who’s waving his faux chainsaw a little too close to your face, everyone has irrational fears. With so many of our greatest nightmares walking around in costume form, Halloween is the ideal holiday to confront our fears head on.

For example, I’m terrified of streetwalkers. The procession of women wearing a few stitches of material and calling it a costume is going to be really difficult for

(Courtesy of Yandy.com)

me. Since our morals seem to slip further and further with each passing year, I’m sure this Halloween’s selection of barely-there costumes will be even worse than previous years. It looks like I’m going to have to be brave if I plan on facing my fears.

To ease myself into the idea, I ventured to a costume shop to check out their merchandise. In case you have trouble finding the female section, just look for the rows and rows of costume names prefaced with the word “sexy.” As it turns out, you can make anything “sexy” these days.

Yandy.com, a leading online shop stocked with the hottest costumes for ladies seeking to show some skin, has some gems for sale. They have the old standbys including skimpy cops, nurses, sailors, and such. However, they also have a new generation of sexy costumes that I like to call “things-that-should-never-be-made-sexy.” These include a sexy Etch-A-Sketch, a limited edition sexy straightjacket, a sexy hamster, sexy pineapple, and my personal favorite, the sexy skunk.

Nothing brings the boys to the yard like a woodland creature known for emitting foul odors.

This is real life. These costumes are being purchased and worn by actual people. Probably by people we know. I hate to burst their skimpy bubbles, but squeezing into an itty bitty, yellow tube top dress does not count as a costume no matter how many times you try to tell me you’re a banana. If you’re wearing so little apparel that I can’t even understand what you’re trying to be, you’ve gone too far.

At least try to be a little clever if you’re trying to pull off the sparse style. If you’re looking for something cheap and innovative, why don’t you just go as a nudist?

For those who want to keep the boys staring without looking too trashy, I have some suggestions: racy recalled cantaloupe, risqué RA, and come-hither campus security.

The list could go on and on. With a little creativity, you can create something that will show off your hot bod without compromising your dignity because that’s all I’m really asking. I’m not suggesting you wear a baggy sack or anything. Everyone wants to look cute on festive occasions. Just keep in mind, you want to look flirty instead of dirty.

If nothing else, you’ll have a better time getting your grind on without the worry of your goods being exposed. This Halloween, instead of scaring small children with the shortness of your skirt, scare them with your ingenuity.

Contact CU Independent Staff Writer Lizzy Hernandez atElizabeth.hernandez@colorado.edu.

Hipster sightings have become rampant on Norlin Quad.

The subjects are said to be wearing disintegrating cardigans that they claim were salvaged from their grandfathers’ possessions. Plaid shirts are visible through the cardigans’ holes, and their skin-tight jeans reveal that the subjects are emaciated from their diets of black coffee and cigarettes.

While their non-prescription lenses—foggy from the steam of their hot beverages—made it difficult to discern which way the subjects were looking, it was speculated that they were snickering at the group of females to their right. These girls made the mistake of excitedly discussing the latest episode of Glee.

(CU Independent illustration/Kelly Kaoudis)

Experts in the field are warning onlookers to be careful, for the subjects’ apathy and condescension may strike at any time.

The hipster counterculture that has hit our nation is puzzling for many reasons.

Its premise of deviating from mainstream social norms is nothing new. The hippies, a term derived from ‘hipster,’ of the 70s fought the man, as well. The difference lies in the fact that hippies were promoting peace and freedom, while hipsters appear to be promoting superiority complexes and cheap beer.

The most confusing aspect about this phenomenon is the resistance of being labeled as a hipster when one is clearly displaying all symptoms.

Don’t think the stripes on your plaid shirt are hypnotizing me. You are a hipster. Own up to it. I can spot one faster than you can say “You’ve probably never heard of it.” I can see through your Buddy Holly-esque glasses to the core of your ironic soul.

Maybe if hipsters weren’t such assholes, they would be proud to admit to being one.

On the other hand, perhaps they can’t control their degrading behavior. Hipsters could have the desire to hoard their favorite musicians and pretend nobody has listened to their songs before transcribed in their genetic codes. Hostile debates over whose Polaroid camera is older could be as primal as cavemen fighting over the last piece of meat.

Hipsters strive with all of their obscure might to separate themselves from the masses and shy away from all things popular. However, the hipster fad is quite possibly the trendiest subculture at the moment. The fad, like most that appear through the decades, becomes a contradiction in itself.

If you or someone you know is victimized by a hip offender, do not crumble under their ridicule of your love for Top 40 radio and Abercrombie & Fitch. Fight back. Tell that belittling bully that you like their “vintage” T-shirt and were going to get the same one, but Wal-Mart was out of stock. They won’t be bothering you any longer.

In regards to those who fit the hipster stereotype, I urge you to keep your pretentiousness at a minimum. Your music taste is exceptional, your fashion sense is noteworthy, and your cultured understanding of the greatest movies, books, television shows and eating establishments is impressive.

Essentially, your conceit is earned—you just need a large dose of modesty to pull it off successfully.

Contact CU Independent Staff Writer Lizzy Hernandez at Elizabeth.hernandez@colorado.edu.

In the near distance I see it: a student lagging directly ahead of me, feet dragging along the pavement like dead carcasses. His pants sag as he listens to music through one ear-bud, yawning lazily as if the very world itself were running on his schedule. Zombie? No: a slow walker.

(CU Independent Illustration/Anne Robertson)

Suddenly, the vein in my forehead begins to throb. My hands shake but my legs refuse to stop moving. I’m getting anxious, knowing that soon an important decision will have to be made: do I start walking slower, or do I attempt to pass this vile specimen that seems so content on ruining my day?

I weigh my options, knowing that if I walk as slow as the student in front of me I’ll have admitted defeat.

I ball my hands into fists and take a deep breath and begin to pick up my pace, going in for the pass. Brows furrowed in deep concentration, I get closer and closer, my stride picking up. I’ve almost caught up with the culprit when suddenly, like a Pterodactyl swooping down to collect its prey, the slow walker in front of me shifts directions, drifting back and forth along the sidewalk as if marking his territory in some sick, ritualistic way. I side-step to the left but he’s already there! I spin back to the right but he clumsily changes sides again, forcing me into the grass.

My heart pounds as I wrestle for control over the sidewalk, moving as quickly as possible in the grass to pass him. Unfortunately, my feet are sinking in fresh mud, crippling my once lightning-fast stride into an embarrassing display of heavy, mud-ridden steps. Our paces are now even, and I can see the young man staring at me with fierce eyes, as if to shout like Gandalf himself: “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!”

It’s in that moment, as I hang my head in shame and scrape the mud off my feet, that I wonder how I could have better handled that situation.

Slow walkers are a common plague on campus, seriously hindering those who are simply trying to get from point A to point B without the hassle of strategically maneuvering around half-stoned students with no sense of urgency. It is for those suffering students, then, that I offer tips on besting our slow-walking counterparts:

The deep conversationalists:

Nothing is worse than accidentally eavesdropping on a conversation between students walking in a slow, horizontal line across the entire width of the sidewalk. Conversations between three or four people can range from that T.A. who “I’d totally love to see naked, brah!” to how difficult that Shakespeare for non-majors exam was, to how totally wasted someone was at Chad’s birthday, to deep, philosophical questions like: “Why was Becky being such a bitch last night?”

As a senior, I’ve heard all of these conversations before. They aren’t new or interesting or unique, but how these students revel in their meaningless talk anyway, crawling along the sidewalk like sunbaked slugs.

The best way to handle these situations, I’ve found, is to insert your own opinion in a way that catches them off guard long enough for you to easily pass. Why was Becky being such a bitch, you will have to ponder to yourself. A succinct answer may be: “Well, I heard she slept with Charlie and he totally ditched her for Lucy even though Lucy isn’t even into him.” By the time those ahead of you are able to react with a cocked head and perplexed gaze, you’ll already be streets ahead of them.

That disgustingly adorable couple:

We’ve all seen them, that couple that walks in a slow daze of puppy-love romance, whispering sweet-nothings in each other’s ears while holding hands so tightly and far apart it seems they are trying to symbolically show that their love is unbreakable.

Perhaps, but not for the 1997 Roxborough Elementary School Red Rover Champion. Annihilate their unbreakable bond of sweaty hand holding with a fast sprint and hands up in the air as if you’ve just won a triathlon. With any luck, you’ll have sprained their wrists in the process.

Those beautiful Greek kids who are way out of your league anyway:

Muscular fraternity brothers and pretty sorority sisters will gossip all day, never failing to make you miss the light change because you couldn’t pass them in time.

In this situation, the perfect motivational tool to get them to move to the side are a nice pair of Panasonic headphones and Slayer’s Reign in Blood blasting at full volume. Nothing says “Excuse me sir/madam, kindly let me pass” like a little thrash metal to subtly get their attention.

The cigarette smoker:

The mentality of a smoker while walking is relatively simple: as long as I have cigarettes, who cares how long the walk takes.

This can be an especially dangerous game, and not just because of the cloud of smoke billowing away from them and towards your precious lungs, but because they often have very little motivation and physical strength to keep up at a decent pace.

The real danger, however, lies in a smoker without a cigarette. With no nicotine buzz, a slow walk can quickly turn into a long, exhausting pilgrimage to the nearest gas station. You’ll notice a smoker by how often he or she hacks up half a lung before spitting out a delicious variety of mucus, tobacco and tar. If you notice a smoker without a cigarette, politely offer to give them one. When they reach for the cigarette, throw it as far behind you as possible and watch them tackle the ground to get to it. Just like that, you’ve made a successful pass and taken the lead!

And if all else fails…

A simple shoulder-check can often do the trick when trying to pass a slow walker. It doesn’t have to be as aggressive as, say, a punch to the back of the head, but just hard enough to let them know they should pick up the pace. Some people have places to be.

Contact CU Independent Managing Editor Sebastian Murdock at Sebastian.murdock@colorado.edu. 

Equipped with coffee cups and bags under their eyes, the kids in my 9 a.m. class foolishly compete to see who stayed up the latest the night before. Rattling off the list of homework that kept him awake, the self-proclaimed night owl to my left brags, “I pretty much never sleep. I went to bed at, like, one this morning.”

If I wasn’t so exhausted, I would have punched him in his well-rested face.

Assuming none of my dreams or aspirations ends up working out for me, I take comfort in knowing I am the idol that nocturnal species worship. I don’t sleep. I nap.

If you come to me expecting wonderment and sympathy because you only got six hours of sleep—comparable to a coma in my opinion—I might choose that exact moment to catch a few winks and tune you out.

(CU Independent Illustration/Robert R. Denton)

Why people choose to go unconscious for the entire night baffles me. Perhaps it is the idea that night offers a sense of mystery and excitement, as if anything could happen, that draws me to it. Maybe it is the procrastinator in me who views the night as a haven of homework catch-up that makes me so fond of it.

More realistically, it’s the ability of darkness to hide breakouts and flyaway hairs that makes me so partial. Whatever the reason, the span of time between midnight and 5 a.m. is sacred, and if you choose to snooze through it, I judge you.

I hope to see a day when I can walk up to a storefront at two in the morning and not be met with locked doors and dim interiors. I long for a time when it is socially acceptable to send a friend a hilarious text in the middle of the night without receiving just a sleep-muddled reply. I dream of a society of creatures of the night coexisting in sleep-deprived euphoria. I imagine them waving to each other with hands that are shaky from too much caffeine and ridiculing all of those infantile souls who passed out long ago.

I understand that sleep is “necessary” and that without it, our bodies could face negative side-effects. This is why I encourage naps during the day. You may claim that you are too busy for such luxuries, but I assure you that is not the case. I’ll show you the ropes of napping on the go.

Class, for example, offers the perfect amount of white noise to lull you into dreamland. Or perhaps you are obligated to attend a play because your best friend is the lead. Lucky for you, you are blessed with dim lighting, anonymity amongst the audience, and the right amount of back support. Just make sure to Google the play beforehand so you can tell her that she was particularly spectacular in Act IV, Scene II when she performed her solo song.

Now I’m not saying the nocturnal life is glamorous. Your best friend might begin to notice if you continue to sleep through her plays when you have no real feedback for her. Your grades may begin to decline when you start confusing what part of the history lecture was real and what part you dreamed. Betsy Ross and George Washington never got it on under the liberty bell, right?

As a night owl, your bloodstream runs with more coffee than blood, which is probably unhealthy. Not to mention, you’re probably jittery to the point of appearing deranged. With Halloween approaching, picking a costume should be a no-brainer since you’ll look like a zombie, regardless.

Despite a couple downfalls, the nocturnal lifestyle is the only way to go. Night owls of a feather flock together, so come to the dark side.

Contact CU Independent Staff Writer Lizzy Hernandez at Elizabeth.hernandez@colorado.edu.

A true cynic knows that there is nothing better than reveling in someone else’s stupidity. Undoubtedly, there is no greater feeling than letting the rage course through my veins while browsing through vague, melodramatic and grammatically incorrect Facebook statuses.

When I come across a status that is particularly dumb, sometimes I’ll type it into Google with the hopes of it being a lyric from some awful song that will allow me to judge the offender even further. Admittedly, my excitement to see whether it’s a Fergie or Jason Derulo lyric can cause me to make a careless typo into the search engine, and that’s when it happens.

“Did you mean:…”

Google corrects me. When I said that a cynic adores basking in others’ stupidity, I thought it was clear that if I were to make a mistake, it should be forgotten immediately.  Alas, along comes Google making me feel like an idiot.

Why is this website smarter than me, and more importantly, why is it so smug about it? Am I the only one who can faintly hear a scoff before its correction?

Maybe it’s just me, but I can hear Google saying, “Did you mean: ‘Big Girls Don’t Cry’? In case you weren’t aware, you put ‘Wig Girls Don’t Cry.’ Idiot.”

I swear, that’s how Google intends it.

Google isn’t the only culprit. My phone has so little faith in my intelligence that it comes programmed to automatically correct me as I text. Gone are the days where I am trusted to send someone a coherent text message on my own. Auto-correct weasels its way into all of my messages and changes word after word until my message doesn’t even mean what I intended anymore.

(Courtesy of damnyouautocorrect.com)

Despite knowing that autocorrect is at fault for swapping “I have a really bad cough” to “I have a really bad cock,” its artificial intelligence makes me doubt my original motives. Am I sure that’s what I wanted to say? Does autocorrect know better than I do?

I open up a word document on my laptop to blog about these confusing feelings, but the page soon becomes marred by the dreaded red, squiggly line that indicates I have cyber-sinned once again.

With my self-esteem at an all-time-low, I examine my supposed folly only to find that the word document is accusing me of misspelling my own name. No matter how many times I backspace and re-type ‘Lizzy’, this forsaken machine proceeds to tell me that my identity—who I am at my core—is incorrect. I am no longer a mere simpleton; I have been reduced to a nobody.

I hop in my car so I can find someone to help me with this technology-induced existential crisis. I’m driving aimlessly when my GPS condescendingly tells me that I’ve gone the wrong way and to turn around. I can’t tell if the sigh I hear next escaped from my lips or from the automated voice that sounds so disappointed in my directional mistake—I’m assuming the latter.

I wind up at a Geek Squad, holding all of the technology I can, and proceed to barrage the workers with questions as to why my electronic devices’ intelligence are so superior to my own. I beg of them to make my computer just a touch dumber—my phone just a tad more dim-witted. The employees look at me like I’m crazy, but it’s kind of nice to be looked down upon by a living, breathing being as opposed to cold, dead metal.

If you’re also feeling victimized by your technological devices, my advice to you is to accept that the electronic world is only getting smarter, and you really have no power over the matter. To make yourself feel better, there’s always good ol’ human beings to make fun of. They seem to only be getting dumber, so it works out perfectly.

If you would like to further discuss this trending topic but are too afraid of being outsmarted by your email, you can find me at Best Buy purchasing a replacement laptop since I may or may not have hurled my previous one at a wall.

Contact CU Independent Staff Writer Lizzy Hernandez at Elizabeth.hernandez@colorado.edu.