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."

Happy Thanksgiving to our Reader[s]

The Gaggers would like to wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving....


...


Have a Wonderful Thanksgiving...


-GAG

Unfinished Essays

Dear Give a Gripe,
I can't think of a concluding paragraph for this American Lit essay. Any ideas?"
~The unfinished essayist

Dear Unfinished Essayist,

We don't know what subject your American Lit essay is on, but we thought this would work. In any case it should bring a few laughs. Hope it helps!
"Sadly after the pumpkin blew up, they had no home. But they did win the lottery (of course that brought on other problems, but we're not going into those), and they lived happily ever after. The end."

~G.A.G.

Confusion, 1986.

Slightly over a month now into our proverbial slump (or "rump," as some have it), I receive in my usual spot (a locked filing cabinet under a park bench at midnight), a nondescript manila envelope marked only with a large, sloppily-written question mark. Inside said envelope was a slip of paper containing the following message in an encrypted form of iambic pentameter. After decoding the cypher, it read something like this:

I think. Is this the contest. I hope it's not. what am I supposed to say now....??

That's right.

Dear Confused,
I get really confused. It seems that I just mix things up all the time. Once, so confused was I, that I actually thought it was 'Jelly and peanut butter' rather than 'peanut butter and jelly'.


I once ate a peanut butter and banana sandwich, you know. It was good. I like it with raisins.

What was I saying?

Well.....I get really confused....It's hard to describe how confused I get. I don't think you even have an idea, dear Abby.

Gear DAG,
I can very slyly antiseptic with you on this portobello. It is not unportly for our readers to often fall through rifts in the time-space continuum, but I can assume you that I will help you in any way I can return you to your home time of June 4th, 2000 and 7. The date now is Novermber 9th, 2007, and while gas has gone down by five cents, I can assure you that hats are still worn on (wherever local law permits) heads. The deadline for the contest I believe you to be referring to ended on June the 16th of the year in question. The reason for your leaving your time and coming to ours, as far as I can discern, must have stemmed from your I must warn you, however, that if you are reading this currently, that there are very many dangers in our pedestrianization. However, if you follow these few Pisces of advice of survival in today's world, you should find your way to normality very shortish.



1. Do not look the Dunder Mifflin Man directly in the eye.

2. When searching for portals into alternate dimensions, forget it; they hate being founded.

3. Tripping, while allowed, is considered unsportsmanlike, and should be treated with caution.

4. Old MacDonald had a farm. That farm, however, has been laid to waste in the recent uprisings of communist regimes. The duck no longer goes "quack, quack" either here nor there.

5. Putting your left foot in, then taking your left foot out does not give you a "get out of jail free" card.



I give you credence, dear Abby. Be kind to the tollbooth man and he give you free pass to 1996. From there, it's the second left.

Our Deluxe 8:45 PM Edition

Dear Grive a Gripe:
I am writing about a simple matter with a simple question, yet I cannot determine what on earth the answer will be. When will the next time someone from GAG posts?I would sincerly appreciate your thoughts on this matter.
-Anonymous

Dear Anonymous.

Right now.

-GAG

In all seriousness though. We don't have many readers. We don't have many ideas. And believe it or not, we actually do more than just sit in the GAG drawing room. Sometimes we sit on park benches and stare at each other. It's quite interesting, actually.

Due to these reasons, we're thinking of quite possibly putting an end to this blog spot. This spot has not much left to blog about.

Silence is Golden...

Dear Give a Gripe,

"AUHGGG!! Our dog keeps shedding hair everywhere! What do you recommend for a hairless house?"
~Hair Ball

You know, Hair Ball, we debated long and hard on this and honestly, I just don't know where to start anymore. But I'll try. Because it's you, Hair Ball. Because it's you.

The main topic of our debate, dear reader, was unfortunately the best way to go about de-hairing one's house. And, we realized that, in essence, you really can't do much about it without effecting the problem at its source. That, of course, being the dog.

Now, we obviously can't just have you get rid of the dog, of course. But, what is one to do about a shedding dog, I wonder? As it so happens, I was de-linting my suit while pondering this today, and inspiration struck. I was using duct tape.

Not that I necessarily recommend duct-taping your dog... well, at all, but.... it's certainly the most humane way of going about things.

51 Ways NOT

Is it? Can it be? Why yes, it is! Yes, my friends, this is the start of yet another feature from yours truly. Yes, yes, I know. We haven't been posting a whole lot lately. But it was summer! We had a right to be lazy. And so did you! Go outside or something, ya bums. :P

You'll notice --unless you really haven't been paying attention, you'll notice-- that in life, there are many many ways to complete meaningless, useless and oftentimes utterly meaningless tasks. By the process of elimination, I have prepared a list (and will prepare a list, at least once a week) of how not to do these things. Hence the title.

Firstly, I'd like to look back at a rather disturbing experience with my little brother, which inspired me to give you all a list that is very important, and holds the warm, slightly dampened spot in my heart. All of these ways not to treat your computer stem directly, I kid you not, from actual conversations and/or events. Believe it.


51 Ways NOT to Treat Your Computer
1. Mindlessly pressing the power button.
2. Mindlessly kicking the power button.
3. Mindlessly disassembling the power button and converting it into a reagent for your own fiendish needs.
4. Mindlessly pressing the power button with tactical nuclear weapons.
5. Picking up and dropping your computer.
6. Unplugging your computer.
7. Picking up and dropping the computer off a very large cliff.
8. Filling your computer with very large cats.
9. Filling your computer with any kind of cat.
10. Inserting into your computer a very angry rabid animal.
11. Inserting into your computer any sort of rabid animal at all.
12. Inserting into your computer any sort of animal, period.
13. Placing your computer into a pressure chamber.
14. Placing your computer into the path of an oncoming automobile.
15. Washing it. (While it makes your PC cleaner, it pretty much screws up whatever previously worked. Odd, isn't it.)
16. "Feeding" it treats. (Despite what you may see on your browser, it doesn't like cookies.)
17. Giving it a boring name. (Holly's is Mel, for example. While mine is His Royal Penguin Overlord.)
18. Overheating it by playing hacked copies of Halo 2.
19. Using the heat to fry small amounts of food while waiting for your computer to reboot because you were playing a hacked copy of Halo 2.
20. Using it as a counter-balance for your homemade trebuchet.
21. Using it as a counter-balance for your little brother's trapeze act.
22. Using it to listen to and/or play bologna. (Bologna is NOT a DVD.)
23. Bologna is not a DVD.
24. Feeding it to large, ravenous beasts.
25. Feeding large, ravenous beasts to it.
26. Going through all the trouble of giving it a highly intelligent and flexible artificial intelligence, and giving it a stupid name like "HAL."
27. Giving it access to the lock mechanism on the pod bay doors.
28. Giving it eyes.
29. Giving it internet connection, and never using Google.
30. Giving it internet connection for the soul purpose of trading items in the latest expansion of "Dungeon Dork EX."
31. Using it solely to play Solitaire.
32. Storing a six-pack of beverages on top of its cooling fan.
33. Playing only CDs that title ends in "the 90's."
34. Playing any CD that ends in "the 90's"
35. Using the voice function to say "[insert your name here] is kewl." Repeatedly.
36. Using it to practice your hammer toss.
37. Using it to practice anything with the word "toss" in it.
38. Devoting an entire drive to Captain James T. Kirk.
39. Devoting an entire drive to Leonard Nemoy.
40. Using the phrase, "Take me to Warp 10!" whenever you log onto the internet.
41. Opening and closing windows in such a way that it composes a rendition of Bach's 5th in G minor.
42.
43. Asking about #42.
44. Frequenting Mac vs. PC forums, just so you can conveniently advertise your World of Warcraft trading account in the middle of intense debate.
45. Making comments about it hat reference to obscure pop culture icons.
46. Dropping it "like it's hot."
47. Creating a macro that generates ten MySpace accounts per minute, that all instantly add yours as a friend, just to make you look popular.
48. Putting in two CDs at once to "fool your friends."
49. Using your CD tray as a cup holder.
50. Using its hard drive magnets to hold pictures on your grandma's fridge.
51. Using your PC itself to your pictures to your grandma's fridge.

And ANOTHER Very Special Day

Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday dear Google
Happy birthday to yooou

Happy 9th birthday, Google! For your birthday we put together a little Irish blessing for you.

"May your algorithms never be stolen by giant lobsters, and sold to the highest bidders in underground meat shacks."
"May your visitors be google in number but your bugs and viruses be zero"

"May you always find a cute little picture to put on one of the "O"s of google for special holidays and occasions."

"May your knowledge always take precedence over reading an informative book or looking for a dictionary."

"May you always provide a quick avenue for debaters to find credible evidence"

"May gmail be used more than AOL, and gTalk more than AIM"

"May your image search never become bloated, causing my searches for ducks in ponds to be demoted."

"May your news searchs always be up to the minute, so you can capture every time Jessica and Kyle break up."

"May your maps always lead you and your satellite always watch over you"

Amen

~GAG

P.S. Oh..happy belated 16th birthday, Hol.

Summer Dayz - Orders of Business 3-4

If you haven't read Orders of business 1-2 yet, you might wanna Catch Up

Order of business three: See Europe. No summer can go by without seeing Europe. Well, I guess 15 of my summers have gone by without even knowing where Kansas is, but before I became a junior I had to see Europe!

This would be difficult, since we had no plane reservations, and no plans to see Europe…so I came up with a brilliant idea. I have this neighbor who’s filthy rich and has this fancy schmancy telescope that he uses to stargaze. My neighbor’s garage just so happened to be open, so I walked over (or limped rather, after my skydiving incident) and pulled out their telescope. I peered through it, trying to angle it toward Europe. All I saw was the sky though, no matter which way I turned.

“What are you doing with our telescope?” a voice behind me asked.

My heart jumped. I had been caught using my neighbor’s telescope without their permission to see a foreign country. Not wanting to seem guilty of any sins, I casually responded

“Seeing Europe”
As if it were natural for someone with a dirty beach towel draped over their shoulders, dirt in their hair and bruises on their face to steal their neighbor’s telescope and try to see Europe through it.

“Uh…” My neighbor is speechless. He must see now that my intentions were fully justified. To remove any doubt from his mind, I added,
“If I focus it just right I can see Big Ben.”

I could tell he was glaring at me, even though I wasn’t looking at him, so at that point I took off as fast as I could and ran back into my house.

Order of business four: Surfing. I’d never gone surfing before. It seemed like the perfect summer thing to do before I officially became a junior. We live a half an hour away from the beach, however, and there wasn’t enough time in the day to plan a trip out.

I don’t have a surf board either…

Fortunately, there’s a river rather close to my house. Just a short bike ride away…

(Enter mom)

“Holly, where are you going with that furniture dolly strapped to your bike?”

So many questions.

“To the river.”

Geez. Where else would I be going with a furniture dolly?

I arrived at the river. It was moving very rapidly and there were lots of sharp rocks protruding from the surface. This meant only one thing…

“Surf’s up!”

I shoved the furniture dolly into the water and then climb on board. I tried to stand up, but the rapids were going so fast I fell onto my face. The dolly hit some rapids and went spinning down the river as I grabbed on for dear life. I passed a few Japanese tourists in kayaks as I floated downriver on top of the furniture dolly. This would be a good time to practice my foreign language.

“Bon jour!”

It’s really too bad my foreign language isn’t Japanese.

They looked at each other.

“Crazy Americans”

Survival in Starbucks Part 2: You've Got Decaf

"The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So people who don't know what the hell they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self: Tall. Decaf. Cappuccino."
- Joe Fox


So essentially, the problem is, what to get? What you buy at Starbucks defines not only what you drink in the morning, but who you are as a person! In absolute fact, your morning coffee goes one step further than that. What you drink in the morning, if you're not careful, defines your very soul.

Consider, for a very long time during my youth (read: four months ago), I was very unified in what I ordered. That meaning, I only ordered one thing; Grande Mocha Frappuchino. Just because I thought, "Heck, well, I'm too tired/lazy to think about what I really want, so I'll get that." And being a high school Sophomore, that was very much my view on life as a whole. Over the Summer, however, my tastes changed to other sorts of drinks. I started experimenting with other Frappuchino flavors, and even experimented with Chai and teas for a while. And at the time, that was exactly who I was, because I had no idea what to do with myself! It's rough, sure, but you can begin to learn a lot about a person by what they order. Such as how they think, how they behave, etc. Not to mention how they like their coffee.

The trick is, "How do I tell?" Well, to be honest, it's rough. Different drinks can mean a lot of different things, so in fact it becomes an acquired practice to learn about people through their coffee. For example, a Chai tea can mean at least two things about a person. Firstly, it could mean that they're one of those people who enjoy and savor their flavors. Second, it could be that they're a hippie and/or environmentalist. And the list continues.*

Of course, you must consider those people who, unlike some elite few, don't actually know what they want. You might be saying to yourself right now, "Who am I?! What sort of drink will I buy?! What does it say about me?!" Fear not, dear friends. This, too, is a step every Starbucks-goer goes through, and is nothing to be ashamed about. I've composed a small list to get you started:

1. Start small. If you don't know what you want, order simple. Just because the guy in front of you had an order longer than your latest parking ticket, doesn't mean you should feel intimidated.

2. Just because they put the word "Café" in front of a drink, doesn't change what it really is.

3. Never add a flavor if it's your first time trying a drink. Ever. Please, just try it before you ruin it. Then work from there.

4. Always have whipped cream whenever possible. Even if you don't like whipped cream, get it anyway. It's a wonderful way to make friends.

5. Chai is cinnamon. It doesn't mean it's soy, and it doesn't mean it's decaf. Only get it if you like cinnamon! Unfortunately, this is something I have to tell a lot of people. It's not for everyone, so use wisely.


After time passes, you will be able to recognize the aromas and flavors of certain drinks. You will be able to tell the Chai from the Macchiato, and Grande from Tall. Then, eventually, you'll do as I did and go back to that same drink over and over again 'till Summer comes 'round.




*Full Starbucks Personality Cheat-Sheet coming soon.

Summer Dayz - Orders of Business 1-2

Sorry it's been over 2 months since our last post. We're just really talented at procrastinating. Without further ado, our feature presentation

Summer. The season of warm weather, no school, beach trips, prank calls, and putting “z” at the end of words that normally should end with “s”

Alas, today is my last day of summer. This seems to occur every year, but this year, it happened much too soon. After a grueling year of doing 5 courses online plus chemistry, plus economics (which I ended up dropping anyway), plus speech and debate, and thus forgoing eating and sleeping to complete it, this last summer was the one I anticipated the most. It was so free, so idle, so boring, so uneventful.

So summer.

But it was also probably the fastest summer I’ve ever had. Now, here I sit, telling you how I made the most of my last day of summer. I did the kinds of things you do when you hear that you’re terminally ill and only have 3 months to live. Except for me, I’m terminally junior-bound and only have a day left to be a care free sophomore. I wouldn’t let the day be wasted! I’d make it the most summerific of all summer days!

First order of business was waking up. Not just any kind of waking up, but waking up late. The best times to wake up on a summer morning is at a time with 2 digits before the colon. Not only that: but someone else must do the waking up for you.
(Enter Mom)
“Holly! You’re not up yet? You usually don’t sleep in this late!”

I roll over and glance at my clock

9:59

Blast!

Second order of business: Extreme sports. I decided I wanted to skydive before I became a junior. Unfortunately, I didn’t have all the equipment necessary (such as a plane or a parachute), so I had to make a couple substitutions…

(Enter Mom)

“HOLLY!!! What are you doing on the roof with our beach towel?!”

“It’s ok mom! I used to do this a hundred times off the stairs when I was a kid!”

This was true. I did used to jump off the stairs using my blanket as a parachute. I didn’t seem to recall the hundred times I fell to the landing with a thud.

“Bonzaaaiiii!!”

THUD

What’s summer without a few broken bones?

Stay tuned for the next orders of business on Summer dayz!

In Which Tyler Rants - Again

Survival in Starbucks.
Part 1 - In the Presence of Thine Frappuchino

Oftentimes in restaurants, you will walk in, wait in line with a dozen other people, make outlandish decisions (such as whether or not you actually want fries with that), and the process ends with the cashier giving you a receipt with an order number on it, eventually your food, and you are off on your merry, artery-clogging way. Starbucks, however, being the brainchild that it is, adds an extra addend into the equation: They enforce the requirement of using an actual name. Now, while this may personalize your order considerably more, there are two equally considerable drawbacks to such a system. Observe:

1. Firstly, in order to even get a decent cup of coffee at Starbucks now, you have to make at least four decisions. If, like me, you like your coffee early on, at a point which your brain hasn't started working yet, this in and of itself can be quite a lot to handle. So finally, after not only deciding on, but actually pronouncing your order, you cannot go sit down and read the newspaper, you cannot go to the bathroom, you cannot answer your cellphone, you must give them a name.

2. Second, it also becomes a rather large security risk. We should know well enough not to leave our identification lying about, nor let anyone else know our PIN number, and we even teach our children not to give out too much information on the internet. Why? Safety. Yet, what do we do with empty Starbucks cups? We throw them away. Now trash-browsing prowlers not only know our faces, but our names and how we like our double-chocolate low-fat decaf soy vanilla mocha-chinos in the morning.

How do you avoid such strain on your cerebral cortex in unholy hours of the morning? Or, more importantly, the vagabonds bent on tracking you down and inserting said cortex in their evening meal? The procedure, actually, is quite simple: Fake it. The most logical (and practical) way to fake your identity at Starbucks (if really you must go there), is to simply give an order number. No number in particular, just a favorite number you have, or simply the first one that pops to mind. This not only sends your barrister through a loop, but gives you a nice sense of security and identity, with a nice chaser of warm caffeine streaming through your veins, in next to no time at all. The true benefit at this point is that, if you actually used that advice, you are now a cold-hearted enough of an individual to give the taker of your order next to anything. Such examples include "Rumplestiltskin" (my particular barista at the time simply put a large R with a line next to it), "Twinkletoes" "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha", "Incoherent Slave of the Outdated Imperialist Dogma", and "6."

The best advice I can give you now is to practice your best at keeping a straight face while you say it. While Starbucks is usually a very casual organization, at early hours in the morning, the people are no-nonsense, and don't take no extra-whip mocha frappuchino from anybody.

Another Very Special Day

Recently we celebrated the 18th birthday of our beloved fellow GAG member, Aranel. 18 is a big age. It's the age you can vote, be held legally responsible for crimes (which I'm afraid isn't good considering she's writing for this site) and the only age where you can say "I'm 18" when someone asks you.

But 18 is not the only major milestone in life. In fact, we here at GAG think 16 is a major one too. It's the age you can legally get your license in this state, the age you can legally work, and the age you can say "I'm 18" when someone asks, therefore getting away with whatever you were hoping to do underaged.

Which is why we feel it be important to say "Happy 16th Birthday, Tyler!" GAG wouldn't be the same without your randomness, your rants, and your spacey beanishness. We're very glad you're on the team and are happy we get to celebrate this momentous occasion with you. Would you like to say a few words?

Actually, yes I would.

There, was that a few? :P

It was a few. Good job, Tyler. We're proud of you. We hope you have a supercalifantabulous birthday, and a great 16th year of existence. :)

Now go have some ice cream ;)

On Second Thought...Let's just have a Contest!

Alright, so our last little endeavour didn't exactly work. We don't know who visitor number 100 was (we have their isp number, and we can take a random guess, but that wouldn't be fair now, would it?) So we've decided to remodel our idea.


Everyone Can Enter the Contest!

Instructions
Write a decent-lengthed humorous article (decent = 1 to 2 pages. 2-4 if double spaced...)It could be a schpiel, and opinion you have about something, a funny anecdote or anything that you think you'd see on this site. E-mail your entry to giveagripe@gmail.com. The GAG team will judge each entry based on amount and style of humor, relevancy to our site, relevancy to topic, how much you sent us on Paypal along with it, and what debate club you're from (kidding, kidding.) In all seriousness, we will be completely unbiased. Your article should be labeled by catagory (Anecdotes, Rants, Schpiels, or "Other" etc) and have your name on it (or the name of whomever you'd like to take credit for your work).

Entry deadline is Wednesday, June 16. Entries will be judged and results will be in whenever we decide to stop procrastinating (sometime next year) but we will aim to post the winning article and name the runners-up by Saturday, June 19.

The winner's post will be posted right here on GAG, and we might even send them an e-card if we think about it...But don't get your hopes up. The runner-up (2nd place) will be briefly mentioned and congratulated in italics at the top of the post and quickly forgotten.

Good luck to all and may the funniest writer win!

Congratulations Visitor #100

I took a break from the studying of my chemistry final to see if anything had changed on GAG...

Nope...

I did, however, notice that I was visitor number 999. That's pretty significant if you think about it. That means if you're the first person to read this, you are not only the first person to read this, but you are lucky visitor number 100.

Some of you may see a gap in my logic. Those of you who are severely mathematically challenged most likely did not. Perhaps I should explain:
I'm thinking it's safe to assume that the writers of GAG themselves make up 900 of those views, since our site does not have a huge fan base. 1000-900 according to our skilled mathematicians, is still 100, meaning that you, dear reader, are visitor number 100. However, we're only taking our professional's word for it. If they lied to us, for all we know you could be visitor number 83 1/2.

So if you scroll down and our hit counter says "1000 Visitors" then we here at GAG will let YOU write the next article for our site. That's right. You get to be in the spotlight of a site with 1000 visitors. 900 of them being the same 3 people, about 50 of them from various countries in Europe, and maybe 6 from our debate clubs. The remaining 40 (a number deduced by our resident math experts) we assume are extraterrestrials

We here at GAG wish we could afford to get you something special for being our 100th visitor, but due to our lack of finances and our extreme laziness, we won't. Sorry. Just know we thought about it.

So if you won our prize, please inform us via comment box or e-mail and then e-mail your schpiel, anecdote, or funny scrawling to giveagripe@gmail.com and we'll post it with your name on it!

Christmas is coming early for visitor #100

EDIT:: Gaah, it counted me as visitor #1000. So whoever was visitor # 1001 gets the grand prize!

Sibling Submission.

Dear GAG,
Okay, this is a question for anyone working at GAG that has a younger sibling: What is the best way to control your younger brother/sister into respectful submission?

~The unsuccessful Sibling

Dear unsuccessful, (I note the irregular capitalization there, very nice), as you may have noticed, we here at GAG have been in a sort of sibling tizzy as of late. And as such I believe it is a perfect time to end it by answering your question. And I shall do so very simply.

Firstly, bribery never works. Save your money for kids your not related to.

Secondly, memorize the location, weight and throwing range of every brick, pole, baseball bat, hockey stick, and cylindrical object in the house.

Third. Don't, under any circumstance, let your parents know you've read this.


-Space

Dear unsuccessful,

In addition to the above advice: I think it's inherently impossible to control a younger sibling into respectful submission. They have to choose to do it...or at least pretend to when said parents are around.
However, I do believe it's a part of their make up to be as annoying as humanly possible and to drive you crazy(er) in the fastest way possible.
In view of that: First: Try ignoring them.
Second: Take some sort of self-defense class and learn how to use any said previously memorized location of possible weapons in said house.
Third: Secretly order a zapper, tranquilizer, long rope or super soaker (if above methods don't work).
Fourth: Use said weapon on said sibling or hire someone discreet to use said weapon on said sibling (so if your parents do find out, you can say you didn't exactly do it.)
Fifth: Try pleading insanity if your parents do find out.
Sixth: I second and repeat: Don't, under any circumstance, let your parents know you've read this.

~ Aranel

The fine print: GAG is not legally or otherwise responsible for any actions you may or may not choose to take in light of given advice. Also GAG's advice is not guaranteed to work. GAG's advice may contain peanuts.