Because some things must be blogged about

Hey guys.

I didn't plan on blogging today. I really didn't. This is due mainly to the fact that I needed to write a 1,600+ word paper about some really old Greek dudes. I started yesterday and its due at 9:30AM.

Also, I got about 4 hours of sleep two nights ago, and only six hours last night.

But, then something happened. Or rather, it happened a while ago but I only just saw it today.

Sub note for all you anti-facebook people: It is a very good device for finding new ways for you to give up on humanity/the education system. Take your pick.

Naturally, I have found something that makes me want to just decide that our race isn't really worth the space it takes up on planet earth. Kinda like that painting you bought, that seemed like a really good idea at the time, but the more you look at it, the more you realize that it really doesn't look like a dog, it looks like a bunch of squiggles.

Or all those CD's you own of early punk. Great idea at the time, now just waisting space because your ears refuse to continue to take a beating.

Or all those VCR cassettes you still have lying around. I think I've made my point.

But why? What has caused me to fall so low, and truly believe that perhaps humanity is destined for its cultural nadir on 2:30 of a Friday afternoon, as predicted by the Onion? (only source of news that has covered how well our children are prepared for the zombie apocalypse, and hence the only source of news I'll trust)

This

What? Was this guy watching way to much Austin Powers or something? I mean, what the hell was he even thinking? Was he thinking? Do numbers beyond 100 hold any significance for this man? Was it a prank?

Prank get ruled out, as this is not his first suit for a stupid amount of money. This leaves me with a devastated hole on the inside.

A hole nothing can fill.

Except for you to read my posts. That always makes me happy.

PSA

The fact that my font is a different size every post is not on purpose.

I'd like to say that I'm experimenting with font to sizes to find the best one, but the truth is Microsoft Word has (what I though of as handy) post to blog feature. Apparently it just screws around with my text.

I hope to have a standard font size by the next post.

Music By Chance

I was going to write about another escapade of mine today, but I'm a little busy looking for napkins to clean my exploded brain mess that's all over the floor.

I'm sure that this is somehow a fire hazard.

Anyway, I might as well make this a post about music (which is somewhat related to why my brain exploded). Hmm? What's that?

Oh. You're not a musician, and feel like you won't understand this post?

Never fear. Allow me to run you up to speed.

Music is normally written with a bunch of kinda cool looking lines and squiggles. Musicians normally perform a complicated algorithm to transform the symbols on the page to music. Now, in order to keep musicians on the same page, a conductor (that dude with the baton that always looks kinda silly) makes some arcane motions that denote where we are in the music. The players simply play what they read from left to right, top to bottom until they get to the end of the piece, perhaps making a few stylistic changes (such as loudness) on their own. Everything else is written for us, and we just play what we see, working together to blend and sound as one.

Its rather simple in reality, and the result is the audio equivalent of a beautiful, epic painting.

Now, when I showed up to wind ensemble practice today our conductor said something a little scary.

Conductor: "I'm going to pass out one of the pieces we're doing for our spring concert. I know it's early yet, but you'll need a few days to get your head around it."

This should have sent up a warning flag, but it didn't. I was mildly curious at what we might be playing. We got three sheets of paper, two were instructions on how to play the music, and the next was a slightly weird piece of music. Instead of flowing from the top left corner to the bottom right, it was broken into numbered sections.

Not normal, but not too hard to understand. I'm sure it was just some little quirk that was easier to write this way. Not. At. All. Allow me to quote from the playing instructions, giving commentary.

"All performers play from the same page of 53 melodic patterns played in sequence."
Not all that scary, but this is a little confusing. Why number them if we're just going to play them in sequence?

"Patterns are to be played consecutively with each performer having the freedom to determine how many times he or she will repeat each pattern before moving on to the next."
What. The. Hell? This goes against like every fundamental law of music ever. Like… like… ok, that above example was given because it showed how awesome music is when everyone works together. This is like some kind of music battle royal. I might as well just hold down one note, and not give a damn about what is happening around me. You know what? According to this, I don't even have to play. It's my choice. I can just sit on the stage and !@#$ing smile for all it matters. Or just repeat the first numbered pattern the whole time.

This is like a kick to the musical groin of every other artist on the planet. Ok, maybe, just maybe, there is some mathematical rule, some limit to the madness.

"There is no fixed rule as to the number of repetitions a pattern may have," You know what? Banana. It makes just about as much sense as that line did, but wait, there's a comma. I'm going to sit here and cling to my fading sanity that there is some limit to this.

"since performers normally average between 45 minutes and an hour and a half, it can be assumed that one would repeat each pattern from somewhere between 45 seconds and a minute and a half."
That's my musical law to this piece? A suggestion? How are we supposed to get 35+ musicians to sound good together with a suggestion? I couldn't believe it. It's the equivalent of a football coach walking out on his team and telling them, "Don't suck, and try to win". No way would anyone actually perform this piece so I decided to YouTube it.

Well, some jerk decided to, and if I were to draw what I heard, I'd pick this:

This is called chance music, because there might be some chance that something that might resemble music's ugly cousin will come out of this. You know, if you set up enough monkeys at enough typewriters, you'll get Shakespeare. That doesn't mean you ACTUALLY TRY IT!

I think I'm gonna need a mop for my brain mess.

Driving, Pirate Style

Alternative title: Glasses 1, Contacts 0.

So, a few weekends ago, I decided to go over to a friend's apartment and spend the night there, eating leftover food (probably pizza) and playing videogames. This sounds very cool on paper. However, just like Socialism, I had a few hiccups actually putting this plan in motion.

Problem A. The streets around here are terrible. And I mean that both ways. There are streets here where a four wheel drive and a high undercarriage are required to go down them. These streets aren't really streets, more like a collection of pot holes semi straight line between buildings that would break the Geneva Convention if they were used to house POWs. Yeah, it's not exactly a blast to drive through in my economy class car.

However, there is another subsidiary of problem A. That is the streets also don't make sense. I think the urban planners around here just paved over the local game trails, then got really, really smashed and started pasting one way signs, no turn signs at random. To say that it's confusing is an understatement. I think they actually based it off of the original blueprints of the labyrinth.

Makes you wonder if there is a Minotaur in the center of it all. Then you realize where the center is, and remind yourself that far scarier things live there.

Problem B. Map Quest. Now, Map Quest on the main has worked great for me. But, the one time it screwed up, it screwed up giving me directions to Disney World. You would think that that's impossible. You're wrong, as the poor cashier at the Walgreens somewhere near Orlando can testify. I must have walked in there like 20 times, asking directions each and every time. Margret, I am so sorry for all the trouble I must have caused you that night. I'd use your last name too, but your nametag didn't have it.

Well, eventually, I did get to Disney World, or what I assumed was Disney World because as I pulled up to a T intersection, next to a large produce truck filled with fresh illegal immigrants, the directions stopped.

There was nothing there. Just woods and a bunch of Mexicans in the truck. Then the truck pulled away, leaving me without a single "Chao" alone in the woods. But they must have been magical woods, because according to Map Quest, we were in Disney World!

Screw you, Map Quest. Screw you.

Despite these two problems, I set out on my merry way, confident that I'd make it to my friend's apartment somehow, even though I had no idea what it looked like. And, the crazy part was that I was making it all work. I was actually headed in the right direction and everything. Then, fate and disaster struck.

My eye itched, so I proceed to take both hands off the wheel, finish my text with one hand and rub my eye with the other. Well, as you contact users out there might know, it is possible to rub your contact out of your eye.

I proceeded to do just that. Normally, this is a medium grade problem. It usually gets caught on an eyelash, or on my cheek, and I stop what I'm doing and grab it and stick it back in, telling myself that sight is worth the burning pain of jabbing something that hasn't been coated in special fluid in your eye.

Everyone should feel that at least once. It really brings perspective into what you're willing to do in order to function properly.

Well, I somehow managed to get the precise, perfect rate and angle of rubbing, that I didn't just rub the contact out of my eye. I shot it into another dimension. Now, I (as you previous readers can testify) am not the sharpest chip on the block, but I did pull over to look for it.

There was no way in hell I was putting something that fell on the floor of my car back in my eye, but I checked anyway. It was nowhere to be found. Undeterred, I kept driving on, toward my destination.

Remember the part where I said I was using directions? How about the part where I don't know what his apartment looks like? Now I only have one usable eye. If I try to use both, one in focus, one so far out of focus it can occasionally pick up ultraviolet light, my brain implodes. If I use one, I lose my sense of peripheral vision and depth perception. Multiply that by trying to read directions and a map while driving and having no idea what your destination looks like.

Sounds fun, right?

At least his couch was really comfy. It was almost as good as a bed. Almost.

Going to sleep on the wrong side of the bed

Actually, due to my spacious dorm room, my bed only has one side.

The other side is occupied by a large immovable object. Actually, that's a bit of a misnomer.

But, we'll get to that.

Anyway, it was late…err, early. And not exactly very early, either. I was in my dorm room, studying like the great student I am, when I glanced over at the clock. You know what's funny? Realizing how early it was triggered a panicked adrenaline rush. You know what adrenaline does? Here's a hint: the exact opposite of NightQuil.

So, I was now more awake that I knew I had to go to sleep very soon. My body is retarded. I leapt out of my ergonomic chair.

Quick tangent: The only thing that stupid chair does is make me see my life flash before my eyes when I throw my hands in the air out frustration. I would like a chair that passed school thanks, not a "special one".

Back to my story. I leapt from my chair, managing to somehow grow a third arm to grab my contacts, toothbrush and toothpaste, and my pro acn—I mean anti acne cream… err, that cream is another story for another time. Anyway, I dash into the bathroom to perform my nightly ritual while trying to break the speed of light.

And yes, I don't know why I try to race physics in my bathroom. It's not exactly a place I want to shatter the space-time continuum. If I were to bring about the end of the universe as we know it, I'd at least do it in a mall, so I could get as many people as possible before going down in an implosion of all matter.

So, story. I managed to get back to bed (the light barrier was still intact, but I think I heard a small pop. Might have broken the sound barrier) and slipped under the covers. Now let's do some simple math here:

Adrenaline + moving quickly =/= sleep. Not to mention that I have actually mutated while living in my dorm, and am now used to the fact that one of my dorm mates apparently is a polar bear.

I think he just shaves his fur coat every hour. And we can't see it because it's clear. Don't go "huh?", and give me that look. Common, you've all watched that episode from animal planet, hoping that a polar bear would eat a penguin.

Then you found your dreams twice crushed: the polar bear's fur is clear, (it only appears white because its body is white) so your idea to blend into white walls by replacing a doormat's fuzz with polar bear hair will never work. And then you found out the penguins and polar bears live on opposite sides of the earth.

Hope I didn't spoil that for anyone.

The point is that I am used to it being the current temperature in Iceland in my dorm. So, I am hot and uncomfortable underneath my covers, whereas, if I was still a normal human, I'd probably be trying to find a parka. So, I start tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. This adds to my duress, so now I tossing and turning out of a low grade panic as well.

Then, I tried to roll on my left side from my back, practically throwing myself in the motion, when my face collided with something very hard. Funny, I don't remember much after that.

I think I'm the first person ever to not roll out of a bed, but roll into a wall.

I had a nice bump and matching headache the next morning. By the way, I now worship Advil as a minor deity. I'm gonna sacrifice a goat to him on the beach on Sunday, if you're interested in gaining the god of pain relief's favor.

Mourning

I woke up this morning, to a retarded cell phone ring and as my custom, reached over and shut the damn thing off. I proceeded to go back to sleep.

15 minutes later, my backup alarm then went off. In a moment of sheer stupidity, I had decided that at this back up alarm, I'd actually want to wake up. So, I would not be annoyed in the slightest if I had to traverse all two and a half steps of my dorm room to turn it off.

I was pissed.

I opened my mouth wide, and let the whole floor know my anger with an earth-shattering yawn. I then proceeded to turn off the alarm, which vaguely reminded me of my own feelings. It sounds like C-3P0 throwing up. I sorta wanted to throw up.

I then gathered my clothes, and stumbled toward the shower, moaning about human flesh. However, as soon as the shower turned on, it was game time. I leapt in, and then proceeded to try and shatter the light barrier with my frenzied washing motions. However, for all my speed it was no avail, and the water was up to my ankles when I got out.

Note to self: Drano is crap.

After my world record setting attempt at the shower, I went back to my room and decided to replenish my energy supplies by grabbing a bottle of Starbucks coffee from the fridge. Unfortunately for me, apparently at one point over the weekend, I had decided to perform a thermodynamics experiment. I don't know why, especially after swearing to any god I could think of that I would never take another physics class after high school.

I didn't realize about my experiment immediately. I just sort of stared dumbfounded at the brown frozen liquid all over my mini fridge. Then I saw the three cans of coke I had stuck next to the cooling element. I can now report that the group of cans placed far away from the cooling element (the door) did not explode. Group 2 (the cans placed by the cooling element) did explode. This experiment was conducted using the number '6' setting on my mini fridge (the factory default). This proves my hypothesis, that the factory setting would be fine for storing cans of soda, incorrect. I conclude that whoever decided to use that setting as the default is a jerk, who kick kittens and makes kids cry.

Needless to say, that really messed up my whole day. It's hard to focus on Greek Literature when you're trying to figure out exactly how to clean up 36oz of frozen liquid in your fridge.

But, it's ok.

After all, I still got my morning treat of getting eggs via the ice cream scooper. It even has that little blade on the end the helps the ice cream detach from the scooper. Not sure how that helps with eggs.

So, the begining of the end

First Post!
Damn straight.

Anyway, This Is My Blog. If found, please return it to the address listed below. Trust me, it might look valuable on the outside, but you can't pawn this off for more gambling money.

So, if you didn't get it from the above paragraph, this is my ramblings/musings on my college life. I'll update when something happens that's worth updating about. Which could be all the time, or never.

Life's fun like that.

Lets get started on this ride, shall we?