school

I just want to read and write on my own, unsupervised, forever.

what's the point anymore?

I just had a really down moment on my way to campus. I was driving along, thinking about Astronomy class that I have in about an hour, and contemplating just skipping the thing. We have a homework assignment due, yes, but I am pretty sure that even if I skipped every homework assignment I would still be able to get about a 95% because I usually test well. My logic for skipping class, even as I was already at campus and on my way to a favorable parking location, was that I could just stay at the library until I could keep my eyes open no longer, studying for another class. If I go to Astronomy, I will be exhausted (more than I already am) and hungry after, and most certainly go home where the atmosphere is much more comfortable. But nothing ever gets done in my apartment anymore. So why not spend my last window of productivity for the day devoted to a class that I probably need to spend more time in? But what about Astronomy? It's my favorite class. All of these possibilities were playing out in my head until I realized that I'm putting a lot of thought into only a three hour time frame. Just like a satellite moving around a planetary body (painfully cheesy analogizing, sorry), my life revolves around these two to three hour sessions twice a week for each class. And for what? I'm learning, sure. But it's a big let-down. Classes are great, but I prepare for them and work for them, and then I go, and it's over, and I repeat the process about twenty times. This is fine with me, but once I've allowed myself to skip one class I've somehow escaped the orbit around my classes and it's damaged my outlook for the next six weeks, because rooting my schedule around class doesn't seem as necessary anymore. It just becomes tedious and depressing. So I ask myself, what else is there to life (aside from page-ing) when I'm in college? And that, I'm sorry to say, is a pretty sad train of thought. The routine becomes less and less captivating, and more and more...empty. I'm just so tired. I usually stay positive, and have become quite good at reassuring myself, but today I'm just a bit melancholy and lost. I'm sure it's probably just the fatigue getting to me. This is the point when I let out a nice, long groan (mentally, though, I'm in the library) and get on with it.

Snow Day

I am looking out onto Third Street watching the snow fall to the tune of nearby church bells and enjoying the fact that it is a snow day, despite having come to work in the wee hours anyway. If you would call 730 the wee hours, which I do. Even though the day isn't even that much different than usual, I think just knowing it is a snow day makes it doubly fun!

Also, I made blueberry muffins from scratch at midnight last night for my coworkers, and I wasn't sure how they would taste because this particular recipe seemed not-quite-right. But they are incredible. Thank you, Alton Brown.

I'm also appreciative of the fact that people with large vehicles did not drive maniacally whilst the owners of two pound cars like myself kept a steady 20 yard per hour pace.

Representative Murray just ate a muffin and he asked for a second.
Sent from my BlackBerry Smartphone provided by Alltel

drilling, water, and photog, and table computers

I'll start off by saying that I'm always torn between including a comma before the "and" when making a list of more than two items. For example, the title of this blog. I have always done the extra comma and it has made perfect sense to me for years, but lately I'm inclined to omit. No one does it anymore! There is a crew outside The Beach blocking the entire road in order to fix a broken pipe. This requires the water being shut off for at least four hours, I'm told in a "breaking news" style email from management this morning. I don't mind the water thing, or the loud drilling, or the violent tremors caused by the drilling, but I am concerned. I raise the question: What is a Beach without water??? Alright. We just had a long weekend, and at some point, I happened upon Flickr, which I had known about for a while but never really looked at extensively. This is because I don't really feel the need to share all of my photos with people I don't know. And when I do want to share photos (and make the time to upload them, I might add) I just put them on Facebook. However, I've recently become something of a Google nut. I use Gmail, Google Reader, Google Calendar (not primarily, mostly just for reminders, since it's linked to my phone), GoogleDocs, and Google Sites. (I've used another comma before "and." Classic? Yes. Classy? Definitely.) I like using these things not because they make my life easier, or because they make me any more organized. I don't think I like having everything organized planned for every minute and recorded into my GoogleCrap so I can remember it all. So why all the technology all of the sudden? Frankly? It's fun. And I'm vastly intrigued with the different ways we can store information. For example, if we have an office filing system and we want to convert it to digital and get rid of paper, how much better is our system really going to be? Is it going to be any less cumbersome? Probably not. What are the ways that we manipulate our information to make it easier to find? What things are better left as a hardcopy? These questions seem to constantly pop up at work, where records retention isn't just for fun, it's the law. And then there's always the challenge of making any kind of online system as intuitive as possible. And safe. It reminds me a lot of some issues that came up in a lesson at the Archives last year in a History class. (Nay, a fantastic history class.) The archivists were introducing the topic of information management, and the problems associated with any type of storage technique. Paper takes up too much space, but lasts almost forever, depending on the care of storage. Analog is more compact, but its lifespan is significantly shorter. Digital is obviously amazing, but easily lost. Hardcopies like compact discs and hard drives? Delicate. Easily manipulated. And on the list goes. It all brings on feelings of angst and hate. Why can't everything we need not just fit into a small filing cabinet? What are these mysterious folders everywhere? Surely they have no purpose! I love it at work when D announces that she wants to store a load of files. I happily pack fifteen or so boxes and carefully label them for the Historical Society, then send them to the basement without a backward glance. Someday, someone might make use of them. Whoever that is, God bless his heart. Or hers? So back to Flickr? I like GoogleDocs because that way I can access a few things online when I'm at school, and not have to email myself papers all the time for printing. So I guess Flickr is just like GoogleDocs, except for pictures. Which is cool. But totally unecessary for my purposes. But this weekend I was thinking about how much I love Columbus, and how I want to enjoy it as much as I can before graduating. I'm not sure yet where I'll be living, it depends on graduate school acceptance, really. So it just makes me grateful for the time I've had here, because I really love Columbus! Some people think that Ohio is pretty lame all around, but I think it's a great state and that Columbus is the best city in it. It isn't perfect, and goodness knows every city is shady in one way or another. But I like the fact that it has a functioning downtown. I love driving to work in the mornings and seeing everyone walking to their offices or getting coffee. I love campus. College in general is frustrating sometimes, and there are moments when I wonder at the tedious and pointless, fiery, circus-style hoops we have to jump through to get the diploma. But I can't deny that I've learned a great deal and that I've become an adult here. So this weekend, whilst just appreciating Columbus, I found myself admiring some of the picturesque locales. There isn't always a lot of time for exploring. And it is freezing cold at the moment. But I would like to try and see more of Columbus while I can. And I'd like to take a bunch of pictures of it all! And I want to put them on Flickr. I can at least start putting impromptu phone pictures on something other than just my phone. I was inspired by the amazing photos that people take of the places where they live, including some Columbusites / Columbusians (?), as well as by possible plans for a photo shoot that have been put off by quite some time. I have no idea if I'll actually do this. But it'd be fun! And break up the monotany of winter, at the very least. Lastly, I'd like to tell a brief and embarassing story about table computers. First, you have to understand what a "table computer" is. Now, you have to understand why table computers are funny. This is all somewhat related to the question of when use of technology is actually necessary, and when it becomes completely far out and ridiculous. (Awesomely ridiculous? Bien sur!) Now, for the story. I'd wondered what had happened to the Microsoft Surface, as I've never seen one and haven't heard any buzz for at least a year. Touch screens aren't really new any more, and HP makes a rather nice touch screen monitor now. Presumably for far less than a table computer. But a few days ago I went to one of the libraries to study and noticed in a separate digital room that there was a coffee table that looked strangely like a computer. I didn't gaze at it for very long, but I was certain that this was the fabled Microsoft Surface. And that the university had purchased one simply because it can. It made perfect sense, considering that this "digital room" is basically a special room in this library with a bunch of the more high end technology for student projects. Anyway, I decided to return later with D(bag?) and check it out. We went upstairs and entered the digitalesque room to play with the table computer. It appeared to be on the same screen saver that I saw it on earlier, which was like watching an underwater scene with coral and starfish. So I started touching it, waiting for it to work, but it didn't feel like a screen, it just felt like plexiglass. This is the moment when my companion turned to me and said, "It's not a table computer, it's just a table." We left promptly. I can't believe I thought that a coffee table was a table computer. I have to say something in my defense, though. Why would anyone put a coffee table in a room full of expensive technological equiptment where beverages aren't even allowed? And don't even tell me it's for laying out papers and books during group discussions or for studying. People are drawn to the room for its super computers, which offer them the ability to map the genetic makeup of a new species they discovered at Stone Lab, or to analyze the night movement of country fowl in Maine. More importantly, why would one ever make a coffee table with a screen showing coral and starfish moving under the sea?! I rest my case. Maybe I should start my photog'ing with a picture of the starfish table. Cheers.

clocks

I have recently placed two new clocks in my apartment. One is a large pocket watch styled clock that sits on my coffee table, and the other is a large clock hanging on one of the walls. While hanging up the larger one with J after dinner this week, she commented that I should put the pocket watch in the kitchen so that the two different tickings wouldn't bother me in the night time. But I never noticed the ticking, and figured that neither clock made noise that I could hear, and so they sit in the same space. When I think of clocks ticking, I think of my grandparents' house. They have a grandfather clock that they purchased to commemorate one of their wedding anniversaries, and a small metal plaque on the inside is inscribed with the year and their names. That clock ticks so loudly, I can hear it from the kitchen. But I love it, and when it chimes, it's like hearing the past ring. My cousin has asked to be left the clock, and I don't blame her. It's beautiful, and kind of haunting. While home for Christmas, some guests at my grandparents' house remarked on all the clocks, as they have two others in the same room as the grandfather. They hang on the wall and are extremely old - one of them is over a hundred years old and came from Germany with my family. I listened to my grandpa talk about how the clock had hung in his father's workroom on the farm, and how my grandma always admired that clock. So my great-grandfather told his daughter-in-law that she could have the clock when he was done using it. When he passed away, it came to belong to my grandparents. Apparently there are a lot of other time pieces in the family, all old and sturdy and German. One of them is a beautiful mantle clock and it sits in our house, actually, though it is very temperamental and has to be tuned up fairly often, so it usually sits in silence. But when I was in high school we ran it all of the time, and the ticking was just as loud as the grandfather clock. These days, if I'm trying to count out seconds or think of timing for music, I can find it pretty quickly just from having listened to the tick tock of that clock for so long. Clocks clocks. I'm happy to have just realized that the clocks in my apartment, though they are not antiques and were not made in Germany, do tick. They tick on the off-beats of one another, and I love it.

a review of everything

I just read all my blog posts, because I had nothing else I wanted to do. It made me feel better. I haven't felt like myself this week. And I'm not sure there is any particular reason for it, that's just how I've felt lately. And now I'm going home for Thanksgiving, and sometimes when I go home I feel less like myself than I even do now. I'm glad that I write things down. I can tell when I was writing something because I had to put some truth on paper, and when I was writing to try to find myself again. Does anyone else feel this way? I suppose that's partly what I'm doing right now. At ten o'clock in the morning. Rather uncharacteristic of me. I've written jokingly before about how I'm not a morning person. I've written comical stories about alarm clocks and snooze buttons, but the truth is, I wake up to silence and an empty apartment, and the only person around to pull me out of sleep is myself. It is simply uninteresting. I live for the night. I live for having no assignments left to finish, and enjoying a respite with my favorite people. Not all of my actions or plans are entirely deliberate, but it is likely that if I spend time with you it is because I enjoy your company very much. Afterward I go home alone, and I put myself to bed. But sometimes I write something first. Because it helps me hear my own voice when I have the luxury (and the curse) of hearing no one else late at night. It's strange to read my journal sometimes, to hear my own voice. Even more strange, I almost perfectly follow a pattern of one entry written late at night to relieve some stress or despair that won't leave me long enough to sleep, followed by another entry written in bliss. Though, I suppose that since I don't write as much as I used to (something I'd like to change), at least I do write quality. And it would make sense that I only have been writing when I'm experiencing one extreme emotion or the other, instead of just stringing words together when nothing particularly exciting is going on. What is unfortunate is that long after I am gone, someone might find my journals and think I was totally off the hook for about ten pages, and then fine for thirty. Fortunately, no historian would probably ever be interested in my journal because it is more introspective than anything, though I used to worry a lot (and quite seriously) about the consumer culture and the possibility of depleting the fresh water supply. So when the fresh water supply does deplete and I go live on a boat in the lake, I can always tell people that I knew it was coming and had a plan. Or maybe I'll just grow gills and live in the ocean like Kevin Costner in Water World. Only, I won't be able to write, because I imagine it would be difficult while swimming around in the ocean. I think it is now time to go out into today.

water, where art thou?

This morning the water at the beach has been turned off until noon, which meant that I had to wake up far sooner than I would have liked in order to take a shower. I'm debating whether to skip class and just leave now for Thanksgiving, because I'm sure there will be plenty of traffic at 4pm. I felt like I had something to say but now I forget what it was.

i look out my window

It's snowing.

48 hours and counting

In exactly two days I will be done with my midterms and my first (hopefully my only...) attempt at the GRE. A beer sounds so good right now. A nice crisp Killian's, frothy at the top the way it is when fresh from the tap. Just one lovely beer. But for now, it will have to wait.

i continue to remain calm.

"There is no wealth but life." John Ruskin This quote was at the top of my gmail today.

a poem for everyone who hates bedtime.

I hate to go to bed, I do. Almost more than I hate a bucket full of poo. But sleepy I am, and to sleep I must Or my brain tomorrow may very well bust. So goodnight, adieu, I must shout "shoo! shoo!" To the thoughts that slow My mind like goo. So while I'd rather stay awake Because that'd be so great, I'm going now. It's been real. (Lolz) -OK

The old and the restless

I am attempting to blog from my phone. I will be surprised if this works.

My comments on the first day of class mostly pertain to bring annoyed that everyone on campus is much too young for my taste. It would be understandable if everyone just looked very young; exuberant and fresh, their first day of higher education. Full of hope and excitement, giddy in the anticipation. I was the same way, I'm sure.

But it isn't just the first day atmosphere. It is an issue of it all just being too young. The campus I love is now a haven for lost, dependent beings. The CABS shout out each stop in a horrid, computerized voice. People no longer just figure things out for themselves, excited by the challenge as we all seemed to be three years ago.

I'm going to be late for coffee. More at another time about french. Sent from my BlackBerry Smartphone provided by Alltel

an interesting experience

I've started using this program on my computer called Yahoo Widgets. If you've never heard of this, don't worry, not many have. I found it one day a thousand years ago and it was a great way to spend several hours avoiding doing anything important. Widgets is basically this hub for other smaller programs to put on your computer, mostly from third-party program creators. For instance, if your are looking for a weather updater that you can keep on your laptop, you just search for one and you'll find several different programs that all allow you to have some sort of weather display available on your computer desktop. The point of explaining the widgets is this: I have a fantastic program made by someone who clearly appreciates the art of waking up as much as I do. Being far from a morning person, I have devised many clever ways to get myself out of bed everyday. Mostly, I continue to add alarms to my morning regimen. Strategically. For instance, I have until recently used three alarms. One is my stereo, which starts playing soft classical music around 5:30 (yes). I find that at the right volume, it does not wake me up completely, but a part of me hears it somewhat and subconsciously registers that I need to begin weaning myself from my comfortable dreamy state. At about 5:50 I have my phone alarm (a very obnoxious, monophonic, techno beat) play at a sufficient volume annoying enough to make me walk across the room to put in on snooze and subsequently get back in bed. Once I've snoozed my phone, I've started to consciously notice the stereo music, which stimulates brain activity. If I'm lucid enough, I'll program the timer on the microwave to beep in 15 minutes. This way, my actual alarm beeps somewhat like a fire alarm at 6 o'clock, and five minutes after I've snoozed that, my phone alarm has gone off again, and the microwave alarm has gone off as well. I cannot say with certainty how many times I will snooze various alarms on any particular day, but if anyone ever made a video of me completing this ritual, I'm sure it would become a youtube sensation. Why do I do this? Why don't I just set one alarm for 6:30 and be done with it? Sometimes I do. It's always a gamble as to whether I will actually follow through with any morning schedule, but I somehow always miraculously manage to get to work at the same time every day. Back to the widgets. I have a widget that serves as a computer alarm clock, harnessing my itunes library. As of yesterday, this has become another fixture to the morning routine, set to play something peppy about ten minutes after my stereo plays sweeping Chopin selections. I recently purchased a song called "Sunny Sunday" and chose it as the first song in a playlist for waking up, but this was a mistake. I once read about those people who have sensory issues where their brains associate letters or words with color, or sounds with color, or musical tones with numbers, etc. It's very interesting. There are even some people who hear words and then sense particular tastes; often the words they associate with a taste do not have anything to do with that taste, either. As fascinating as these people's brains are, I'm sure this would be quite difficult and annoying at times. The morning that I used Sunny Sunday as my wakeup song, it started playing and was actually quite disturbing, despite the fact that I love this song. It is mostly vocal and acoustic guitar, but there are some other synthesizer parts to it, and when it was playing, I was half asleep and for some reason the music was so grating, and the sounds the synthesizer makes sounded like twigs. Yes. The music sounded like twigs. I'm not really sure how to explain this, but every time this one tonal sequence played, it sounded like twigs. Twigs don't sound like anything, I realize this. It was horrible, and I promptly turned off the music and went back to bed. But later, I realized that people with sensory confusion must be as annoyed as I was with Sunny Sunday. Because I was convinced that every time I listened to it I would just hear and see twigs and other wood products. The good news is that I've since listened to Sunny Sunday and I still like it, and (perhaps more importantly) I didn't hear or see twigs and branch like things. I think tomorrow morning I'll just wake up to a talk radio show.

look at that

I just thought I might provide an update on the Astronomy situation. Kid now has green hair. End of story.

intergalactic fools

I wrote the following during my Astronomy lecture this evening. _____________________________________________ We are learning about the huge basin on Mercury caused by a catastrophic meteroid impact billions of years ago. And we're looking at some diagrams and photographs showing how the shock waves are imbedded in the current geological makeup of the terrain of the hinterlands. But wait. "Kid" has a question. Kid is the eight year old son of a thirty something student in this Astronomy lecture. Kid is, along with his mother, the near-perfect manifestation of "That Guy." Every class has a That Guy. That Guy assumes the demeanor of knowing everything, yet is able to, simultaneously, assume the responsibility of asking questions at the most aggravating and inconvenient moments over the course of a lecture. That Guy moves you to believe that there is such a thing as a stupid question. Kid and "Hippie Mom" (yes) together join forces to fulfill the role of That Guy. Hippie Mom could easily leave Kid at home. He is eight. But, more importantly, one could interpret the interaction between them to indicate some sort of extraordinary intellectual ability on his part. I will explain. Hippie Mom approached Drennis (my secret name for Dr. Ennis) on day 1 of class, explaining that Kid would be attending throughout the quarter and that she hoped it wouldn't be an issue. Of course, Drennis could never have known. How could any of us? It seemed touching, even. Sure! Let Kid dabble in planetary studies! See Drennis' rocks and models at work! We were so wrong. We were all so very very wrong. Kid asks 95% of the questions in lecture. 100% of which may be considered part of the stupid category. Not as if he can't help it. Kid is the evil creation of Hippie Mom, who encourages and allows his innappropriate behahvior to flourish unchecked. She tossles his hair which each new, brilliant, out-loud observation - which for the rest of us was a subconscious reckoning at the age of five - rudely brought into actual discussion. Drennis is forced to subdue his genius to answer Kid's questions using such analogies as "Jupitor is like silly putty or apple sauce." Today, we see that Kid has gotten a haircut over the weekend. Of course, Kid and Hippie Mom are available for full viewing pleasure of any in the room, as they sit front and center of one of the largest pit lecture halls on campus. Hippie Mom is clearly thrown off her usual hair-tossle routine, and instead feeds Kid's ego by handing him treats, such as pretzel or dorritos (what kind of a hippie is she anyway?) or just gasps at him in disbelief. In fact, Kid and Hippie Mom often repeart variations of a performance in which Hippie Mom will ask a question and Kid, clearly insprired and unable to help his pavlovian response, actually attempts with his eight year old jargon to answer Hippie Mom's question. Drennis is speechless. We are all beside ourselves with shock. I have actually paid money to be here. Not only has Hippie Mom managed to be unsure as to why planetary bodies do NOT, in fact, orbit the earth, Kid is actually able to give her an incorrect and incomprehensable explanation for this staggering phenomenon...possibly even with a vague reference to Star Wars or mumblings about the speed capabilities of the mothership. Today's question? After Drennis flashed a slide stating that the average temperature of Venus is 900 degrees F, Kid asks if people burn when it's that hot. If Kid belonged in this classroom or paid any attention at all, he would know that there is no oxygen on Venus so there is no combustive activity. Drennis decided to tell Kid that they burn bodies at the crematorium at 12oo degrees. Kid was noticeably shaken. Strike one for Drennis.

...and what if you held all the cards?...

...or the coin? If you had the choice of sacrificing one to save thousands, would you do it? What gives you the authority to make that decision? Ever? Is it justice? Is it morality? Where do we draw the line? I was watching John Adams, the HBO miniseries a few weeks ago with a friend, and I noticed my increasing annoyance with a Mr. Dickinson of Pennsylvania. He was the only man in the First Continental Congress to hold out against building the Continental Army until the final vote. He refused to be moved. Why? Because he was a Quaker, and fundamentally opposed to violence of any sort. Of course, I have the benefit (or the curse) of hindsight. Mr. Dickinson was standing in the way of my America! Was Mr. Dickinson right or wrong? Let's examine the possible consequences: If Mr. Dickinson was able to sway the vote to his side, and encourage the other delegates to opt for the most peaceful activity possible, the United States would be another Canada or India or Australia. Sounds good, right? Not to us. But imagine: The future of the Western world was determined by a few dozen men in an unbearably hot room a couple hundred years ago. The question on everyone's minds? What right does Britain have? What rights do we have? I ask the same question of each one of us. How much power are we given? I realize that reducing the entire early history of the United States to a few moments in a chamber in Philadelphia is a rediculous exercise, but the point is this: Why do we choose to take things into our own hands and at what points? Defense and standing up for what we believe in is without a doubt something everyone must learn. But what of when it comes time for us to pull the trigger in the name of preventative justice? Nearly every story we are told has a good man and a bad one. The best stories are the ones in which the good man is good through and through - he does what is right no matter the circumstance, no matter how much the bad man deserves to be finished. In the moment when we ourselves feel the tension of the glorious moment when the villain will be vanquished, he is left hanging by a thread, untouched because it is right to spare him. It is just to spare him. But we are continually called by the allure of preventative justice. Sacrifice the vallain, save the innocent. What a tempting course of action. So what do you say? Would you take the reigns? Would you sacrifice one man to save a thousand? One hundred? Five?

macbeth takes a nap, and i write something else

My adrenaline levels until I finish papers will be a bit high, as they will be all that I can think about until they are gone from my life forever. I made the unfortunate mistake of deciding that I would get everything done before Saturday morning and drive to Pittsburgh for a couple of days. It is only unfortunate insofar as I cannot sleep very much before I actually go to Pittsburgh. And lack of sleep, as many of us know, has this knack for increasing any current anxiety or stress or frustration. The only frustration I have is with the fact that I have to write these papers. I think there should be a class in which my entire grade is based upon participation. And maybe if they need some concrete evidence of writing ability, a brief in-class writing assignment. Why is more necessary? Why don't I just carry around a portfolio of the thousands of pages I've written throughout my life as evidence that not only have I demonstrated that I learned something in class, but that I can write just fine. Practice makes perfect, you say? Yeah. Unless the assignment is incomprehensible and just ends up doing more harm than good. I had a discussion last night in which I became quite convinced that learning about State Government is important and that it is unfortunate the public school system neglects to teach its students how the State actually gets things done. It's always federal federal federal. The more we were talking, the more I realized that actually, knowing how something works is important. Yet, what good does it do for you if you only rarely can use it to change anything? That is, unless you decide that you are a destined politician (gag). I guess you could apply that to pretty much anything, following my off-the-cuff logic here, but I think what I'm saying is that I am more of a cynic every day. I hate watching the news. I hate reading the news on the internet. Listening to it on the radio can be alright, but whenever I turn on AM610, Rush is doing those cheesy radio ads about PosturePedic matresses or dental glue. So how am I supposed to know what is going on if a) I can't find a news source that isn't inundated with headlines about how Actress B slapped Actress D in the face and Model R has turned singer and made a new album and b) I can't read private news sources like the drudge or something at work, because they are politically tinged and biased (as if work isn't political or biased). It's too bad that I am feeling an all-time high of apathy and cynicism during the election year. Or maybe it's just the fatigue and papers talking. I would like to note that those who were fired today have my deepest sympathies. The boss-man clearly needs to rethink his decision making.

bliss

Today whilst I sat in front of my new flat-screen computer monitor at work, I was overcome by the most extraordinary bout of thirst. I quickly finished entering a phone number into google contacts, hunted the wallet out of my bag, and feverishly dashed from the office in search of a cool, refreshing beverage. Now completely parched, I reached the nearest liquids expo: The vending room. Home of the average pop and chip. Or, so I thought. . . For mine eyes did fall upon a most unexpected and wondrous site. The very last selection of the oldest vending machine, scratched hastily onto a piece of white printing paper and inserted into the button label were the words "Diet Vernor's." I reached quickly to press the button, filled with joy over the prospect of a crisp, cool ginger ale. But, alas. A demonic, red message lit up near the coin slot. SOLD. OUT. But all was not lost. After pressing the button frantically once or twice more in hopes of a computer malfunction, I noticed that "Vernor's" was a legitimate selection, ready for the taking. Complete with the actual Vernor's label on its vending machine button. I inserted five U.S. quarters, made my selection, and heard the satisfying crash of a fresh bottle of Vernor's land at the base of the machine. Retrieving my beverage and enjoying a first sip of that equisite carbonated delight, I could not help but think to myself: Who drinks diet Vernor's, anyway?

blah

Sometimes I really hate this stupid blog.

i love my job. i hate my job.

In a majoritarian system, politicians inevitably play the game of deflection. They never seem to answer a straightforward question, because it is impossible to magically agree with everyone. Thus, my job is born. Hundreds upon hundreds of deflections of the plain and simple truth. My worst day on the job? When someone is smart enough to ask the question "Do you agree or disagree with ___?" without inserting his or her own opinion. Because then I can't spin it. I enjoy most when people want to know things that I don't have to be vague about. I feel like I'm actually helping and not just spending hours writing responses with many words and little meaning. Other times I get angry at the people who write us. Today, woman: "My grandson attends a charter school. Since the charter schools do not get calamity (snow, etc.) days, my grandson had to attend school 6 days longer than the public school children. This is terrible! He recognized the double standard immediately! How can I possibly explain this injustice to him? I've written letters to everyone!" She wrote the letter last week. Her grandson will be done with the school year in...drumroll...three days. Oh! The injustice! We should call the NAACP! Where are the human rights advocates? And so on. What a waste of time. Switching to a more positive subject, I'd like to say that I'm becoming quite a darts player. At least compared to what I was capable of last week. I'm also reading Deception Point and it's fantastic (aliens!). Also, I finally got my grades for the quarter and I'm pleased (oh yeah). I must say that the euphoria of summer and the immense lightness that occured after my last final has kind of disappeared. Now it seems that all is business as usual (boo). Thank goodness that two of my classes are first term. I am somewhat excited, though, about classes. Even though it seems it will be a hot summer, last year it was wonderfully empty on campus. And I was smart enough to drop tennis before I contracted skin cancer at the outdoor courts. I heard a horrible story today (sizzle! radiation! crisp! rot!) about tanning beds that I am reluctant to share here due to its grotesque nature. Needless to say, I am even less inclined to use one than I was before. Now I feel I must clean my ever-dirty apartment and enjoy the fact that several people have been moving out of the apartment complex everyday. This is a good sign for summer. Peace and quiet!