College Days pt 1

Originally written November 2007

Dark, menacing clouds glared at me through my window as I awoke this morning. Normally, I'd appreciate and welcome the rainy weather, because it meant I could sit inside, sip hot cocoa and listen to the raindrops on my window. But today I had to go to the JC, and one of my classes is outside. Rain would not make things fun.

To top things off, I had my midterm oral presentation due today, and a math quiz I was sure I wasn't going to do very well on....
I figured I was probably going to have a pretty lousy day.
I was dropped off in front of the language department. I walked into my class dripping. I sat and watched a few presentations. I wasn't nervous, considering I had practiced it several times the night before. All I have to do is give an oral presentation in a foreign language, no sweat! I got up. I began speaking.
"Bonjour, étudiants! Aujourd'hui je vais parler d'Yolanda. Yolanda est un ami de mes parents. Elle est du Mexique. Elle est venue ici en 1962. Elle parle l'espagnol."
I tell ya, it was a fantastic presentation. So great it would have earned an A+ had I been taking French instead of Spanish...

...Oui...

After Spanish I ran to change into gym clothes and then headed all the way across campus to the track. This made me more wet and cold. Believe it or not, running around the track in the rain made me even more wet and cold!
I've never looked forward to P.E. class. Don't get me wrong, I believe exercise is good for you. And my P.E. teacher is the most encouraging I've ever had. (Maybe that's because I lost my cookies on the first day of class...)
But we run in circles. Then we stretch. Then we spend the next half hour setting muscles we never knew we had on fire.

My least favorite part is the running. I'm usually fine with running. It's wonderful along the beach or through a meadow or on a college campus after 3 days in debate shoes. But there's something so terribly boring about running around the same track again...and again...and again...for half an hour. Stopping every 10 minutes to check your pulse and make sure you still, in fact, have one.
One of my classmates passes me...
"Haw haw, I've lapped you 6 times already."

"Indeed you have. And looky here. We're both in the exact same place, going to the exact same destination, but the only difference here is that I've spared enough energy to make sure my brain still functions properly."
I guess it took him a while to understand I had just insulted him...because he didn't punch my lights out until he lapped me a 7th time.
After P.E. was my brief 30 minute lunch break. My usual eating locations are under a tree in between the administration building and my math building.

(Note: My math building is called "Shuhaw". I'm telling you this because I wanted to give you a chance to say it out loud. "Shuhaw...Shuhaw..." teeheehee. Great huh?)

Unfortunately, due to the rain, sitting under a tree was not a great idea. In fact, it was a terrible one. I didn't know of any nearby indoor facility I would be allowed to eat in, so I took shelter under an awning of a neighboring building with Jerry, the shirtless campus propagandist who talks to the stuffed tiger wallet attached to my backpack. (The tiger's name is "Tigre: el encargado de las tarjetas de Starbucks", but I didn't tell Jerry this.)
"Would you like to sign this petition?" Jerry asked.
"No, I'm still not interested in signing your petition."
Jerry looked at me.
"I wasn't talking to you."
I sighed and ate the rest of my sandwich, dropping crumbs on the math notes I was studying for the quiz. When I finished I slouched over to Shuhaw, Tigre: el encargado de las tarjetas de Starbucks was getting as wet as I was, but he had it worse considering he absorbs water much better than I do.

I reached the building. I slinked into the room. I slumped into my seat.
Before class began we received our quizzes from last week back. I don't let the letter grade dishearten me anymore. In fact, I've convinced myself that it stand for "delightful" or...or...
There really aren't many nice things that start with "D".
"Good afternoon class." my profesor began, garbed in bright blue, "Today's quiz is going to cover what I went over with the honors advanced trigonometry class. You should be able to apply your basic Algebra skills to it. After the quiz, we will go outside and each launch our own rocket to space. If yours crashes, you will fail the semester. Any questions?"
I raised my hand.
"Yes?"
"Can you shoot me? Please?"
Math was my last class of the day. Thank heavens. After getting another "Delightful" on a quiz and crashing a rocket in a magnificent explosion, I fled Shuhaw. The rain had cleared up, and I could feel the warmth of the sun against my face. Tigre: el encargado de las tarjetas de Starbucks bounced along on my backpack happily with every step I took.


I survived.

Wise Man Says

When at movie theater and offered large drink for twenty-five cents more than medium, take it.


Do not, however, attempt to drink the entirety of said drink before the end of the trailers.

Of Myopia, Music, and Contact Lenses

I think I shall go back to Saturday. Saturday was my older brother’s birthday party. It was here that my glasses broke. Now, it wasn’t irresponsibility or carelessness that broke them, they were doomed to break eventually anyway, judging by that bent arm (though perhaps I shouldn’t have put them in my pocket and then attempted to lift heavy objects, but I digress…)
No, they were quite bent anyway, and rather unfixable I might add. At the debate tournament prior, a few of my fellow debate friends attempted to fix the crooked arm by bending it upwards. It was to no avail. There was a point where a long line of debaters zig zagged throughout the campus in an attempt to straighten the arm and thus be crowned Knight of the Prep Table.

But nobody succeeded, and the arm broke off a week later.

It made it rather hard to see things…without glasses and all that. That Monday was my first day of this semester at the JC. (college days to be posted soon!) I managed my first class orientation (fencing) fine without them…voice was a disaster. Rather than just orientation, our teacher actually made us pull out our books and sing along to a song. Not only did I not have my book (or a writing utensil…or anything really except my backpack and Tigre: el encargado de las tarjetas de Starbucks) but I had to share with the person next to me. Since I no longer had my glasses, I had to lean over her knee to see the page…and lean…and squint…and lean…

Let’s just say it was an appropriate time to pull out the awkward turtle.

Oh well, I’m dropping voice class anyway.

That very afternoon was my eye appointment. I went to see the optometrist. Optometrists are very friendly. They aren’t twisted like dentists can be sometimes. I really don’t know why that is. I always feel a little stupid when I go in to see the optometrist, however. They often ask you to read series of letters, and make you keep going until you read one incorrectly. Then they say “ok, that’s good” in a sort of sorry and sympathetic way and scribble something cynical on your prescription notes. Even though the point is how well you can see, not read, I have a theory that they silently laugh at your stupidity.

I refused this optometrist that pleasure.

“Can you read that line?”

“Yes, I can. I can read other lines too. I’ve read lines upon lines of Dickens, C.S. Lewis, Ray Bradbury and --”

“Could you please read that line?”

“I just did.”

“Out loud?”

“Do you not trust me?”

“Come on, what does it say?”

“Uh. It’s hard to tell. Your handwriting is fuzzy, blurry and awful. But if I were to guess--”

Then comes the slides.

“Ok, which is clearer, slide 4 or slide 5?”

“Neither are clear at all.”

“All right, but which one is clearer?”

“They’re both the same.”

“What?”

“They’re both equally unclear. What does F L C O stand for anyway? The Fuzzy Llama Company? Funny Looking Children Organization?”

“ But…do they look different?”

“Well yeah, slide 4 is blurrier than 5.”

Then comes counting.

“Ok, look at my face. How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Seven”

“No. Look at my face when I hold up my hands.”

“Ok”

“How many?”

“Uh, this may take a while.”

“What?”

(pause)

“I’d wager about 75.”

“What?”

“You have 75 freckles.”

“No! Fingers! Your supposed to count the fingers!”

“You said to look at your face!”

“Your supposed to count my fingers while looking at my face.”

“I’m nearsighted for pete’s sake, how the heck am I supposed to do that?!”

Then he used some utensils to look inside my eye.

“Next time you have an appointment, you should get your eyes dilated so that it’s easier to see inside of them.”

“But you charged extra for it. If it’s so necessary, why do you charge extra for it?”

“Uuh”

“Isn’t that like charging extra for a scalpel during a brain surgery?”

After taking note of my prescription, he pulled a couple of small packets out of a drawer and opened them.

“Hold still…look up”

Before I knew it, I could see clearly. And I wasn’t even wearing glasses! I had been installed with little high tech rubbery lenses in each eye.

So after taking a little How to Take Care of Your Contacts 101, we went home and I showed my new contacts to the rest of my family. They couldn’t see anything though. No, you can’t really see them unless you look very very carefully.

But they can see you.

Magic in All of Us, The

It is a little known fact that, while nearly all of the magical items have left this world for good, off to the favored realms of the east and under, there are still many a mystical and/or magical spring of adventurous spirit, that now reside in unlikely sources.

One of them, is Facebook.

Spawned and lived by the great River MySpace, the land of Facebook spans deep and wide into the realm of the Internet. Its series of trade and commerce is unlike any others, as it thrives off of new technology and applications, the factories of which cover nearly half of the land itself. These factories are maintained by the Developers, who are mysterious blue creatures, revealing themselves only at night for small get-togethers and drunken parties.
Off of the land of Applications lies the peninsula of Profile, a mysterious land where it is said that even the water looks different for every living being. None have yet tested this fact, yet it lingers in local legend all the same. The land of Profile recently released itself from the oppressive tyrrany of Community, whose iron rule of unknown origin still reigns indefinitely across the remainder of Facebook. Still, there are even more mysterious and unknown lands still to explore in Facebook...

It is there, my friends, that even the most mundane of profiles may have magical gifts, and each is granted a small amount of power, with which one may benefit humanity, or doom it to an ugly fate. For within its walls lies a closely-knit community of groups, and events, where those with the power of invitation bring together or divide members of society, playing key roles in the constant change of the landscape. I have such power.

Yes, I must admit publicly now my ability for raising Groups; the magical aura of membership that radiates from my bones. Through sheer force of will I can raise and lower the virtual cities of groups and classification, bending them to my will and whimsy. It is not just I, my friends, Facebook is willing to give its powers to others, as well, and if you listen close enough, it could be you.

+2 Posting Skill

Yes, I know it's been a while since there's been a post. Yes, yes... I know, I know. We'll be with you in a moment.

Anyway, what was I talking about. Oh yes, while we're at it, let's talk about marriage in role-playing.



In one's fantastical experiences in the fantasy lands of hither, thither, dice and yonder, one may find him- or herself in many a romantic situation. This is perfectly acceptable and in no way wrong. Unless, of course, you break any of the rules stated below.

Firstly: Inter-species relationships are, in fact, greatly encouraged. As Abraham Lincoln once said, "If you are a racist, I will attack you with the North." That being said, however, one must, if you will, consider the children. I don't care if the elves in Azeroth are cute, what I care about is the fact that you're a Minotaur barbarian, and I don't want to have to deal with freakishly tall, pointy-eared bull-kids rampaging through my guild. I. Just. Don't.

Second, one must go into considering classes. No, I'm serious. I mean, warriors only have a prospected lifetime of, like, two minutes. That's all you get. Two minutes. And then what? You're done, that's what. Done. On the other hand, sorcerers or wizards last forever, but they never stop talking! Conquer the world, this. Epic weaponry, that. Blah, blah blah blah blah.

Three: Avoid rogues. Period.

Four: Be cautious as to what kind of role-playing game you are involved in. If there is any sort of dice roll involved in your newfound relationship, run for the hills. If you happen to get a magical amulet from a strange old hermit in the hills, consider yourself better off. Rather, if you find an ancient dragon with a +10 to flame damage and a rather awful craving for flesh, you may instead reflect upon how much better your life would have been if you had just rigged the dice.

Lastly, I would like to quote what the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has to say about love: "Avoid, if possible."