I’m a firm believer that life boils down to a few simple things. Character, charisma, intelligence, and personality all come to mind.

One thing I think is lost nowadays, however, is self-awareness. We’re all guilty of being self-unaware at times, and it takes a great deal of discipline and time to truly be self-aware.

We all have opportunities for growth and improvement, and for me personally, I could eat a lot healthier. A shocking revelation I had this week came thanks to a tip I once heard watching Dr. Oz. (Yeah, I know.) This will change the way I eat for years to come.

He suggested that you journal all the things you eat and evaluate yourself at the end of each day to see where you could do better.

“Not so hard!” I thought to myself. I’d simply look back on my Declining and Flex history to see what unhealthy foods I’ve been frequently eating. The problem here was that the portal that allows you to look at what purchases you have made through Flex and Declining, accessed via Blackboard, has been down for about six weeks now.

I have since started carrying around a little notepad with all my food stats. This notebook has basically become my life.

So, in light of this, and the harsh reality that the semester is almost over, I decided to start journaling my food habits at the Pit and in the dining halls, so as to stay on track with my Declining and overall health.

What I found is that I have a problem. I had eaten Frosted Flakes every single day for the last five weeks we’ve been at school. Be it at the Pit, the dining halls, or at Hillside, it was just so accessible. I realized that I was, in fact, the person who had bought every single cup of Frosted Flakes at the Pit. Yes, I was “that guy.”

It all started when I was around 12 or 13 years old. Summer is going great, and I have not a care in the world. As I watched my fourth episode of SportsCenter of the day, I started to notice a pattern with the commercials. They repeated themselves. It was this Frosted Flakes ad with a son and his father; he was teaching his son how to play baseball. And then here comes Tony the Tiger, who, all of a sudden, makes the kid a baseball prodigy. That damn tiger was so charismatic, he drew me into his plan to get kids hopped up on Frosted Flakes. Ever since then, I was hooked.

This advertising campaign preyed upon my fragile, untapped mind and took refuge in the depths of my subconscious. “Gee, if I eat Frosted Flakes, maybe my parents will love me like the kid in the commercial,” I thought to myself. Who would have thought that harmless advertising with a jovial Tiger would lead me into a downward spiral of sugar highs, crashes, and dangerous cravings? I sure as hell didn’t.

So, in the end, I decided to do away with the “angel dust of cereal.” I am definitely going to be spending more time at the salad bar in the coming weeks, opting for a healthy snack rather than a sugary one. As good and as tempting as Frosted Flakes are, I cannot continue on like this. Good riddance, Tony. And good riddance, Frosted Flakes.



Life is pay to win. College? The giant paywall

For a game that preaches freedom of choice, there are an awful lot of decisions essentially made for us. Exhibit A: the decision to play at all.

‘Striking Power’: the truth behind the broken noses of Ancient Egyptian sculptures

The exhibit examines the patterns of damage inflicted on works of art for political, religious, and criminal reasons — the results of organized campaigns of destruction.

“Destroyed by mouth sounds:” a cappella demolition

His basic game plan: attract attention with a high D and wrist flourish to distract passerby, while the demolition team’s other members bulldoze campus property with equipment rescued from that one Elmwood Avenue construction site.