I’m currently seeing (is that what the kids are calling it these days?) a super genius mechanical engineer. Half the time I have no idea what he’s talking about because it usually involves math and logic (my two arch nemeses). But the other half of the time, we both happen to speak one language. Yes, he has a magnificent taste in television, mainly because it’s the same as mine.

Hey there, folks. Crazy week in the Olympics, eh? EH? Apollo Ohno winning his record seventh medal in speed skating, Bode Miller completing his comeback on the slopes, Shaun White obliterating the competition in the snowboarding halfpipe. Such an inspiration, that Shaun White, giving hope to all the ski bums out there who can’t put down the peace pipe.

My roommate Laura (Shepard ‘12-Happy 20th Birthday!) often says “Allie, you’re CRA-ZZZZY!” I don’t believe she thinks I’m crazy in the mumble-into-my-shoulder type crazy, but rather in what makes certain TV shows great: the character crazy. Or think about it like this: How many people do you run across in your average day?

Where December brings presents and January brings the New Year, mid-February brings anxiety over how a female singleton can properly celebrate and dress for this day of “romantic” connection. In my more youthful, optimistic days (pre-1997), Valentine’s Day was a strict dress code of headbands plastered with large glittery hearts and red knit sweaters from the GAP.

In 2007, Amy Winehouse released her now insanely popular hit “Rehab,” a lyrically blunt single that boasted of her refusal to receive medical help for her increasingly apparent drug and alcohol addiction. She was photographed with white powder scattered around the rims of her nostrils, allegedly had her stomach pumped after an overdose and previously admitted to self-mutilation. Meanwhile, her record Back to Black managed to become one of the greatest selling albums of that year, shipping over 10 million copies worldwide.

When Greek recruitment comes to a close at the end of the week, what better way to celebrate the start of pledging than tuning into the season premier of Greek on ABC Family next Monday at 10 p.m.? Alright, alright –– I know you have pledge parties to run off to that night to get sloppy at, but the show is a guaranteed amusing pregamer! Especially for freshman new to Greek life, Greek is great at painting a surprisingly accurate and only slightly unrealistic picture of what you’re in for over the next four years.

The holiday shopping season is truly upon us: Last Friday the most voracious of tramps woke themselves at 4:30 a.m. to go running wild through Target as if they were on that defunct game show, Supermarket Sweep. Hey, at least they made out with that $2 toaster (normal retail value: $6) and a story about “that time when someone roundhouse kicked [them] in the head ... from behind.”

Ask yourself: Was I one of the fawning multitudes that rushed to a theater last Thursday before midnight to see The Twilight Saga: New Moon? If the answer is yes, slap yourself audibly.

Second question: Was I surprised at all that the movie sucked? If the answer is yes, you’re probably one of those people who gets surprised when it gets dark at night. (Alaskan natives are the only ones excused.)

The quandary I find myself in as a fifth-year architecture student is a contagious middle-aged syndrome that has instigated a plague-like epidemic affecting both my fashion and manner. Though I still go out during my semester in New York City, I have recently begun to prefer soft Merlots over countless shots of vodka, Feist and my dear friend Fiona over loud Top 40 hits and sweaters and boots over skimpy tank tops and heels.

We are obsessed with our own destruction. Somehow, perhaps, we know we can’t keep cutting down rainforests, driving vehicles with single-digit MPGs or allowing Disney to keep unleashing clones of Raven and Miley upon us. How do these societal fears of worldly limits curbing our unlimited desires manifest themselves? In fiction. The big screen. Lots of CGI.