Life in Standard Definition

Back in Action

2010-08-21T14:48:00.002-05:00

College hath started back up.

Start up with my 8 am class on Monday! Yeah!

I haven't woken up at 8 am in a year. I'm not even joking. And I need to actually get up before 8 am because we haven't developed teleportation yet.

Way to be a bunch of slackers, physicists.

Anyway, this summer was kinda boring. I mean, this is a blog about my college adventures, and its hard to have awesome college adventures when its summer-

However, I do have something, rather a list of things. Over this summer, I took a calculus III class. The instructor was awesome. This is why:

On the first day of class- Prof: "Why are you guys looking at me like 'what the fuck man'? Watch this magic."

Prof: "So, as we can see, the Harmonic Series grows slower than BP's response to the oil spill."

Prof: "Are you using your calculator for basic multiplication?"
Student: "Damn Right I Am!"

Prof: "What if we were to use more than 2 dimensions? After all, most of you have 3!"
Student: "Most?"
Prof: "Some of you guys are pretty boring."

Prof: "So, you guys better hope the caldera doesn't blow in... about a week and a half from now."
Student: "Or we can hope that you grade the finals before it explodes."
Other Student: "What are you talking about? We really want the caldera to explode early, catching our finals in the blast."

Prof: "Did you guys see that news clip of the guy getting mauled by the Bison?"
Class: "What?"
Prof: "Oh, its really cool. Who brought a laptop to play solitaire on?"

Prof: "So, lets talk about calculus today!"
Student: "We always talk about calculus. Lets talk about something else."

Prof *puts his fists together so that his forearms are making a line across his chest* "Look, Diameter!"

Prof: "This is Pascal's triangle. Named because it was discovered by Chinese, Arab and Indian mathematicians and not Pascal."

Prof *points at e^x* "He. Does. Not. Have. A. Bad. Bone. In. His. Body."

Scary Parts of the Internet, round 2

2010-07-23T14:02:00.003-05:00

So, last time I did a post like this, I had stated that it was probably a bad idea to let the US into a treaty that was built around data mining your computers.

It was then generally excepted that this idea sucked. Mainly because we all have things on our personal computers we really would not like to share. With anyone. Ever.

That's just your average American, and that's just your average laptop. Opinions aside, one could just not travel with a laptop, and thus avoiding the main clause that I had problems with in the treaty. Besides, laptops (in comparison to today's technology) are heavy. They're bulky. You need to take them out and have them x-rayed separately when clearing the security checkpoint, which is not only a real pain, but also annoys the people behind you to no end.

Besides, people need to take more road trips anyway. They're an American tradition, dangit. Its an easy, no tech solution to the problem. You don't even have to sacrifice much, and maybe you'll get off your lazy butt and see the Grand Canyon.

Now, lets start getting our hands (and pants) dirty once again, as we delve into other terrifying things about the Internet.

This one is longer than my last post, and due to that it isn't as scary as some things around here on the web. Yet, its also more scary because most people don't get WHY its scary. Aside from someone telling them that it is, at any rate.

And if you believe anything people tell you, then thanks for actually calling up the number on your screen during infomercials, jerk.

So, I dug into the dark depths of the web, slew a kraken and pulled out this treasure:

http://www.securecomputing.net.au/News/214707,goatse-security-claims-gaping-hole-in-ipad-users-data.aspx

First things first: Hi Apple guys who claim their OS rocks because no one can hack it! How ya' doin? What we're looking at here is called a "front door" in hacker language.

It pretty much means that instead of finding a vulnerable spot in your OS code, we simply get your username and password from somewhere else.

This is known to people who still speak English (and not texting gibberish) as "circumvention". I know that's a big word, and you text-speakers out there have used shorthand for so long you can no longer type normally, so I'll define that for you.

Going around a wall rather than knocking it down. So, your data can be protected by the equivalent of the great wall of China, but here we see that if you have personal info stored elsewhere- that data better be protected by the great wall of China too.

And there is only one great wall, so you're SOL.

We have the "usernames" of about 117,000 iPad users. This should scare the crap out of anyone with an iPad. Its not hard to query a server (ie, the one with all your data) for results. There are only two things keeping your info from going all over the net.

And one is about as strong as paper.

First- the fact that AT&T's servers with your personal info are secure. This is probably true. Except for the fact that AT&T's servers are safe against a blackbox software attack. Or, in not nerd- they are safe against a team of hackers that have no foreknowledge of the system. The guys attacking the servers are flying blind and dealing with protections on the fly.

Hacking isn't easy, I'm not claiming it is. Most solo hackers are idiots who just happen to get a hold of a bit of hacking software and run it. They have no idea (mainly) how it works. AT&T is a serious company. Getting hacked would take their profit margin, give it chloroform in a sleazy bar, take it home, and do unspeakable things to it.

And, companies are serious about their profit margin. They'll throw money at lobbyists, who throw words (and probably money) at governments to keep it in the black. As, per-say, the last post on this series.

AT&T is damn sure they're secure against the idiots. Except that it was an "idiot script" that got us the damn usernames in the first place.

The people who can really hack (it takes a combination of insanity, luck, and Zen) are mainly stopped by the fact that a system that is getting hacked flips a shit about it. And then the software protection people mobilize and start fighting back.

But, now, the hackers have a bit of the puzzle- a username. Its a powerful piece- a system generally will not throw up alarms if a username is entered in without a valid password. They can just brute force there way into the system.

The process is similar to guessing some one's telephone number by going,
"111-1111. Damn. 111-1112. Damn. 111-1113 Damn."

Computers can do this at very fast rates. Like a trillion combinations a second.

Which brings us to the second thing saving your ass- your password. The harder it is to guess, the safer you are.

Which brings us back to square one: So, apple users, did you ignore all those password generation ideas and just use "password" because you have an apple product and no one is ever going to hack it?

Oh, and it would appear that several important people in big name positions have an iPad- with a username now out in the public domain.

And the hackers already have your e-mail address. I'll let you ponder that after realizing how many websites ask only for an e-mail address and a password.

You guys are sooooo screwed.

If you use the net, it is time you know about the scary parts

2010-07-12T15:09:00.004-05:00

I don't know if this will turn into a series or not, but there are some outright scary things going down in places that should have most of you scared out of your wits.

Most of this is just the facts, from where I can snag them. Any extrapolation is mine.

A lot of the info I pull for this stuff comes from the web, which means that I've a 60/40 chance of it being true. At best.

And that's the best news your getting, so lets strap in, set an away status on the instant messenger of your choice, and grab a soft drink, its time to look at the ugly things hiding underneath your average Internet.

And the normal pits of the Internet? That's getting factored as average. If you've been around the net for more than facebook, then please go get a new pair of pants. I'll wait.

So, let us begin.

http://acta.us.to/ is our starting spot, and, frankly, is by no means tame.

This is like a house cat- you think its all cute and cuddly (and they are!) but then you remember that they commonly prey on more than 200 different species.

At a first glance, this is a treaty signed among nations to stop piracy. That's something I can (aside from being a hypocrite the size of a hippogriff) get behind. Exceptions non-withstanding (and if the product/IP I would like is no longer sold in retail? What if the artist of that album I'm torrenting is dead?) piracy screws over businesses. Probably not as bad as they think, but yes, I am willing to admit that it does cut into profits.

And not all of it can be rationalized away by absurd prices- with some people pirating things just to get them early. And come now, even if they sold games for 5 bucks, we'd still pirate the hell out of them, because its free. Screw quality drops, free things are always better.

Its like the first rule of college.

Ok, fine. Maybe I don't like the idea, but its a morally good one. Just like the fact that I can't break the shins of people who wait until they are at the register to order something after being in line for an hour. I can't get everything I want.

Fine.

Now its time for the scary stuff, the dagger held by the little cute child, if you will.

There is a clause in this agreement that states that they want to also be able to randomly search computers for pirated material a-la random terrorist search at the airport.

Oh, HELL no.

Problem A) Unlike a terrorist search, this has no threat to national security, or the business of running a country. We have nations stepping in for businesses. Last I checked, most of us don't have businesses. I, quite frankly, don't care about your business, I care about your product. Nations should never enter the private sector- at least not on this level. I can understand a state run competitor company, but this is WAY different. You are acting on the market as it stands to keep current businesses in the black.

That violates the best part about a free market- that it is fluid. Businesses grow, and businesses fail. The market works like evolution- those that can adapt, stay afloat. Those that can't, sink. This gives the consumer power over businesses- we can pick which places stay up, and which die. This treaty goes against that in a big way.

Problem B) This is actually an issue that goes against the whole random screening in general, but it applies in a big way here. There is no bounds on the data they can mine from your computer. They'll trawl the whole damn thing.

Examples?
Your search history from when it was 3 am and you were bored.
Your search histories from all the times you were drunk and horny.
Any and all passwords/user names your browser may have saved for quick entry.

And this stuff can be saved in ways and places you might not expect. All it takes is a system restore to before the point you started clearing your Internet history to get any old info. And, a lot of this is saved in more places than just your browsers history- and in ways you might not expect.

And I'm still assuming they don't put anything new on your computer. A virus can trawl up more info than you've ever dreamed. And, of course, leave a nice backdoor.

Now, I know. Most people won't do such a thing, and most places do have securities to prevent some broke TSA agent from stealing your identity. But, that is the big difference between a standard passenger screening and this new digital screening- OK, people ruffle through you bags- you don't keep a lot there. Someone goes through your laptop or computer- and all of the sudden they are seeing a whole lot more than just what type of hand sanitizer you like to use.

Readers: "we're protected by the constitution! They need a warrant!"

Does TSA need a warrant to do a random strip search in the airport? Not currently. And may I remind you that congress has the power to agree to treaties- even if they conflict with the bill of rights?

That's OK. I need to change my pants now too.

Fail me again, humanity. Do it. I DARE YOU.

2010-06-29T13:53:00.002-05:00

First things first: This, depending on where you work, is NSFW. If you work in a convent, I suggest finding a library first. If you work at a strip club, I'm pretty sure you see far worse things every night. I didn't bother censoring myself this time. Yes, normally I am a proponent of keeping conversations civil and that we have far more descriptive and creative words to use, but as you will read, I kinda don't feel like trying to make the world a nicer place at the moment.

Long, rant-like post today. I tried to find the humor here, but then I blacked out and a bunch of people ended up dead. They were all holding copies of one of the Twilight series...

I blame a mixed social message- they got in with vampires, thinking it'd be hot and got eaten/drank. I had blacked out because the memories were to painful. Clearly.

I don't know why I had a switchblade covered in blood. Clearly those were puncture marks made by vampire teeth.

In the stomach.

So, as a few of you may know, yesterday was the anniversary of the events that started World War 1. Its a pretty important event, as I think all of you at least know that world war 1 happened, and it was a war, and it involved most of the world.

Ignoring all the political/cultural/future ramifications, the death toll and number of combatants alone makes it an important date.

And as all of you must know, Eclipse comes out tomorrow. Its just another Hollywood movie, with most people going to see it not expecting any sort of real lasting value- there doesn't appear to be a strong thematic message or moral, and in 10 years all our movies will be in 4D with Smell-O-Vision, so we'll probably be looking back on this one the way I look back on silent films.

Pity.

This exchange was lifted from a friends Facebook profile, without permission (This is the Internet, after all. I have standards of plagiarism that I must keep to.)

Friend: "Did you know that today is the anniversary of the assassination of Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand. His death sparked the First World War."

Person (middle 30s) in grocery line: "Oh, whatever. Did you know that tomorrow Twilight Eclipse opens! Ooooooohhh, I am soooo excited! Team Edwar...d!"

He said that all he could do was shake his head in disbelief.

It was all I could do not to demand the name of this person and castrate them. Because they clearly been using the wrong head to think with for a very long time.

Note: Castrating a female is tricky, but not impossible. You just need some imagination and a willingness to hate yourself forever afterward.

I can understand you not knowing the exact date that World War 1 started. I didn't myself- I didn't even know the month. I can even (grudgingly at this point) understand that you might not know why WW1 was started.

History isn't your strong point. I'm sure you could point out a million and one things I should know about but don't. Like, for example, how a hot water heater works. Or how the meter on the side of my house measures how much electricity I use.

My power company could be ripping me off in the hundreds of dollars and I'd never even know.

So, I can excuse that you might not know why WW1 happened, or why it was important. Fine.

But to blatantly blow it off for some stupid pop culture phenomenon strikes me as outright irreverent and incredibly disrespectful to the men and women who fought and died in that war. In fact, you have cheapened the lives of almost every human being on the planet, by saying that paying the ultimate sacrifice for a cause isn't even as worthy of remembering as who the hell Edward is.

I don't know. I've never read the books. But, I'm pretty sure that any vampire/werewolf/sick perverted fantasy you may have with such doesn't even hold an iota of significance to even the smallest human sacrifice. Even the ones that don't require us to give up our lives.

Thank you for bringing our lives down to your sick level. Thanks. I hate it down here.

Besides, vampires don't have blood, right? The reason why you're body operates at a nice 97 degrees (give or take) is because of blood transporting heat and nutrients and oxygen around you.

Having sex with a vampire would be like fucking your refrigerator.

Somehow, that metaphor makes this all the more disgusting.

Gettin' Locked Up.

2010-05-24T23:36:00.004-05:00

Yep, I went to Prison today.

Its actually rather pretty. Lots of flowers everywhere and a whole bunch of birds. Also, lots of artistically charred ruins from where the old warden's house used to sit.

Where else, but Alcatraz. Which was interesting on several accounts. 1) the actual history of the penitentiary is interesting, and 2) when you give people an audio tour with headphones, they fall silent. Absolutely silent. I had taken my headphones off (after pausing my tour... never fear, I still took a wrong turn and got lost for a bit) to scratch my ear, and the only sounds that greeted me where the shuffle of feet.

It was like a bunch of zombies, minus the moans and huger for human flesh.

Other things: it takes 430 steps to get to the top of Coit tower, which still isn't the highest spot in San Fran. But your calf muscles sure as hell feel like it. And, as far as I can tell, they built Coit tower because they felt like it.

San Francisco Arts Committee: "This hill in the middle of a residential district looks like a good spot for a tower that'll attract idiot tourists".

Ghirardelli Square has no less than 3 chocolate shoppes in it. And they all serve the same brand of chocolate.

This town still feels backward. We passed by the Inga Donut. Which serves Chinese food.

The west coast is just weird.

Hello from San Francisico!

2010-05-24T00:07:00.003-05:00

Yep, I'm rockin out the East Coast!

I'll be here in California for the week, and will make an attempt to have a story up every day from here on out.

Judging from my itinerary, this may be difficult. There are several travel days built in, and those tend to be boring on all accounts, and I (hopefully) do have a day of rock climbing on actual cliff faces also set aside.

I may be too exhausted after defying gravity all day to write. Gravity's a bit of a jerk, she doesn't like people going against her all-powerful order that things shall fall.

At any rate, even after one day here, I can tell you that everything is seriously backwards here in San Francisco. Look for a train, get a parking garage. Look for a bathroom, get a hotel lobby.

Go visit in the summer, get flippin' winter.

Today was COLD. And, due to the sliver tongues of some people who used to be my friends, I was in shorts. And a t-shirt.

Other than that, we took a 8 mile bike ride/tour over the Golden Gate Bridge (which, I guess from growing up in New York, part of me wants to shorten to the GGB). And, aside from the assurances of the people we rented the bikes from, aside from the logical impossibility of it, this ride/tour managed to be uphill. The entire way.

Seriously, the place really has seemed pretty. I mean, there are some lower-end areas, don't get me wrong. But uper-end San Fran kicks the crap out of uper-end New Orleans.

Relimited (At times): "You know, I could get a job out in Silicon Vally, and get a house out here..."

But, then I'd here some piped in music from a restaurant, and spend a good 5 minutes looking for a street musician before I figured out it was piped in. I do so like my street musicians.

And, so far, I haven't been able to locate a good tongue in cheek humor t-shirt shop. Its like all the places that sell t-shirts are far to uptight about where they live and refuse to poke fun at it.

That's just... weird.

Out of Style?

2010-05-10T21:28:00.003-05:00

WARNING: This post is about books. Judging from the people at the book store, this means that 99.9% of you will walk away in disgust.

Seriously. I was in Border's (a book shop- Its closer than my personal favorite, Barns and Noble's) using it like a big library. I am poor. I will gladly buy all the books I read.

Someday.
Maybe.
Ok, only the good ones.

On with the story! So, I was in Borders books a while back, telling myself that I was going to study for my Computer Science final but really going to read Ender's Shadow.

Normally I'd recommend such a fantastic book, but it would appear that reading is so rare these days that such a point would be totally missed entirely by my readers.

I had three, THREE separate people congratulate me on "Being so absorbed in a book". Including a sweet (I assume, she seemed to be sweet for the three seconds we interacted) old lady who also added that "I should never loose that fantastic gift- the ability to get so into a book".

In the immortal words of my wind band conductor, "huh?"

Since when did getting absorbed in a good book count as a "gift"? Anyone should be able to find a book that they really enjoy and get lost in it, its not some special power that the gods gave me after a quest or some great gift I was born with.

Able to enjoy a book != (that's not equals for all you not Computer Science nerds) artistic genus. Seriously?

Have we moved so far from the written word as a culture that it is now considered "special" to be able to really enjoy a written work? Are we that dependent on motion picture/music?

huh?

I know, I know, I shouldn't get so into three people telling me something. Just because it happened three times doesn't mean anything. I understand how probability works. It wasn't exactly an improbable occurrence. I was reading for a couple hours, I'm sure many people came and went in the book store.

And maybe I get really, really absorbed into a book. I wouldn't know my own "interest rate" in a book vs the average, because questions like that are creepy.

Relimited: "So, like, when you read, like, how deep do you get into it?"

Ranks right under "I want to talk to you about Jesus" please-go-away-faster-you-really-creepy-guy type questions.

Still, moral of this blog post: If you are part of my generation, READ MORE.

Major Problems

2010-05-06T15:21:00.002-05:00

Fun part about a backlog-

what is actually kinda relevant at the time of writing may or may not be relevant when you finally dig it up to post.

But whatever.

Anyway, it's about programming, so I think this is really relevant. And my opinion matters and yours doesn't.

Because it's my blog. Unless by following your opinion you'll read my blog more. And get your friends to read it too. Then your opinion matters a lot.

I'm such a sellout.

I've pulled many an all-nighter in the lab over the course of this year. Why? Because I spent my time very wisely over the school year and have not tried to cram work that should have been spread out over a month into a week. Nope, not me!

I generally stay till about 3, then fall asleep on the keyboard, wake up and go find a real bed to sleep in. The worst time was when I was in the lab till 5 am. And I had got there at 9pm. So, it was like a workday, after my workday.

good times!

After struggling with the same code for 8 straight hours, you'd think I'd have gotten it down. That somewhere along the way, I had become the code incarnate- the god programmer- that there would be nothing, no error message to heinous, no algorithm to complicated, that I couldn't tackle.

You'd be wrong. Here's a picture of what my complier returned after 8 hours of work.

Yes, It wanted the exact same type it indentified. Yes, it makes absolutely no sense. I was and still am aware of this.

And remember, I got this error at 5 am.

I was too tired to even be mad, really.

It must be in my blood

2010-05-03T12:41:00.003-05:00

ah, before I launch into this tale, you must first know that it is not mine.

In fact, I wasn't even there when it happened.

I wasn't even born. (insert audience *gasp* here)

I heard this one from a family member over a nice meal at a nice restaurant in the french quarter. The best part being the the food was light years better than anything the school cafeteria had ever put out, and I didn't have to pay.

I love getting a meal at someone else's expense. I feel guilty as hell when the bill comes, but deep down I love getting treated to food. Make a note of that, any of you blog readers that want to get me a present for being awesome- free food rocks.

So, way back when, my relative, Jill, was playing around in the basement of her parents house.

A few things to note: My extended family is very Italian. Everything happens in the basement. They have a kitchen down there. They also have a kitchen on the first floor, but that one is more immaculate than a clean room. I don't think they have used the upstairs kitchen in eons.

Family Meal? Basement.
Entertaining Company? Basement.

Also, my great aunt wanted those floors spotless. You could perform open heart surgery on them they where so clean. Seriously.

I mean, you could be getting a glass of water, and spill some of the water on the floor and she'd be after you over the sticky spot on her floor. The water spill, however, would not be sticky if you took a towel and sorta wiped/spread the spill around. Then it was fine.

Never mind the fact that I have trouble trying to see water as sticky in the first place. But, she was right. Every time you spilled something, bam, she knew exactly where it was. She had developed some kind of synergy with the floor, it was less a floor and more an extension of her nerve network.

Anyway, so Jill was playing around, in her words, "Trying to kill a bug or something", when she managed to break the triangle shaped window from the basement to the garage. So, naturally, to try and hide the event from my great aunt, she tried to clean up the glass shards quickly.

However, being a wee little gal, she didn't quite do a fantastic job. This led my great uncle coming back and seeing a pile of glass and then sticking his head through the new triangle shaped hole in the door.

Great Uncle: "Why is there a pile of glass around the door?"

And he wasn't being sarcastic in the least. He honestly did not make the connection between the broken window and the pile of glass.

It would appear I've been cursed from birth.

Lock and Key

2010-04-30T11:15:00.002-05:00

alternative title: Bet I've done something you haven't.

And not skydiving.

Yes, I've jumped out of a plane because I was bored. And because everyone else was doing it. I'm your mother's worst nightmare. And I don't regret it, and if I get the chance, I'll do it again.

So nyah.

Anyway, this isn't about jumping out of planes, although I might do an entry on that in the future.
This is about locked doors and why routines are dangerous.

Also I'm a spaz, but you read this blog so you knew that already.

So, every night I lock my door before I go to sleep. This is an old habit, formed way back in my wee little years when my house was robbed and instead of helping their new born son, my parents barricaded themselves in their room. Very chivalrous.

I assume they thought I could take that thief on. Pee on his eyes then ,while he was blinded, throw up on him or something.

He'd probably run out crying tears of shame.

Anyway, its something I do every night. Always. Even if it is stupid and over protective, when you dorm with other males that may or may not come back after a night of hard drinking on Bourbon street, you want a physical barrier between you and and fig. A of what too much alcohol does to the brain.

So, one night, I was up late (big surprise) and I was also really tired(two shockers right in a row. I'm all over the place). So, I closed my door but did the unthinkable.

I forgot to lock it.

So I go to sleep. Wake up the next morning to about 3 alarms going off and still slowly get out of bed. I think I actually rolled over and went back to sleep, even with the cacophony of noise erupting all around me.

I need an alarm clock that physically beats me to wake up, because noise just isn't cutting it anymore. I get my stuff together, and go to take a shower, and unlock the door.

Except for the fact that the door was already unlocked. But I still threw the lock, just in the wrong direction.

This means I locked myself in my dorm room.

Inside Relimited's Head: "I'M TRAPPED! AND I DON'T LIVE ON THE FIRST FLOOR, SO CAN'T GET OUT VIA THE WINDOW! SOMEONE SAVE ME! HEEEEELLLLLP!"

My hair isn't blond by the way.

For a good five minutes, I struggled to open the door and tried to think of an emergency escape route out the window. I also wondered how thick the walls were in case I needed to tunnel my way out.

Then panic woke up the rest of my brain and I unlocked the door, took my shower and went to class. Had a pretty normal day too.

Aside from almost getting trapped in my room and starving when the ramen finally ran out. Which wouldn't have been any time soon, I can survive a zombie apocalypse with my ramen stockpile.

Shush, its not sad. Any one of you could have done it!

Typical Day

2010-04-29T10:53:00.002-05:00

alternative title: output of the function of caffeine per typical day.

you can rewrite the alt title as the following: F(x):{x E Time y E caffeine consumed}

For those of you not in higher math- this post is a typical day for me, in terms of how much caffeine I consume.

Its actually a little scary.

12 am (this is when a day starts, no?): Look blearily at computer screen, ponder switching majors. Chug first Starbucks doubleshot.

12:45 am: start first pot of strong coffee. Thank the powers above for a suite mate that has a huge amount of the 'black gold', and wants to get through it by the end of the semester.

1:30 am: mounting frustration at computer code, wonder exactly how little musicians make. Consume first cup of coffee.

(note on coffee cups: we have big ones. one cup of coffee is two cups according to the markings on the pot)

2:15 am: finish first cup of coffee- look sadly at bottom of cup.

2:16 am: pour second cup of coffee, add 3 spoons of sugar.

3:00 am: ponder throwing computer outside of window, and finding and killing prof for assigning this final project.

3:30 am: suite mate comes in, demands I stop for the night and go to sleep.

3:30:30 am: decide that I'll have enough sleep when I'm dead.

4:00 am: collapse on keyboard, take an unscheduled power nap

4:20 am: get up. Ponder the effects of slobber on a keyboard. Pull out calculus II text book.

4:45 am: wonder how much a F will effect my grades.

5:00 am: finally collapse against bed, fall into fitful overcaffinated sleep.

7:30 am: first alarm goes off. I apparently get up out of my bed and turn it off, but I don't remember any of that.

8:00 am: second alarm goes off. Reach over and shut it off.

9:00 am: get up for real due to sunlight shining directly on face. blink. Try to remember what day it is.

9:05 am: successfully remember what day it is. Go back to laptop and put some more time into calculus.

9:50 am: go to Geology Lecture.

10:50 am: Buy a medium Carmel Macchiahto from the coffee shop in the library. The drink is pretty much espresso, milk,and Carmel. Ponder adding more sugar.

11:00 am: go to Technical Communication. Give all the student presenters for that day a 100. Pull out Discrete Math textbook, look prof directly in the eye and show no fear. Then, begin studying Discrete Math.

(aside: Professors are like lions: you've got to show that you're not about to take any of their crap, that you're not afraid of them, and they won't give you any trouble.)

12:15 pm: start to feel effects of lack of sleep. Wonder about hallucination myths when I see a golden retriever go up the isle of desks.

1:00 pm: go out and buy a Starbucks doubleshot, a rockstar energy drink, a 5 hour energy shot, and shampoo.

1:20 pm: write blog up to this point- then resume studying for calculus.

2:00 am: finish prepping calc to teach student. Start putting finishing touches on CS project.

2:30 pm: Decide that the CS project works, and that's all that really counts anyway.
Even if it does look like crap...

2:45 pm: go to UC to meet student and drink second Starbucks doubleshot of the day.

It works for about an hour where I am sane enough to teach three of the five concepts we will be tested on.

4:45 pm: get told by student to take nap at this point, I am very spacey and am having trouble with basic math terms. (I couldn't multiply, much less integrate by parts)

5:00 pm: go get food from the University Center- feel far better after getting my first meal of the day.

5:15 pm: fix Technical communication final essay.

6:30 pm: consume Rockstar energy drink.

7:00 pm: Swear to all higher powers I can think of, that I will never, ever, procrastinate again. EVER.

8:00 pm: consume 5 hour energy. Work until collapse (which will happen tomorrow).

Link week, day 5

2010-04-23T13:14:00.004-05:00

alternative title: don't trust me. Ever.

So. I'm a day behind in link week already. Yeah, I know this looks terrible. I feel terrible about it.

But, I think I'll use the American method here and take no responsibility. I blame my room mates.

They introduced me to the computerized crack cocaine known as the computer game Diablo. I was killing the devil instead of blogging yesterday. Priorities people.

I was also killing the devil instead of working on my computer science final project, which is worth far to much of my grade. Its also no where near anything that might resemble functional code.

And its not due tonight... yep, not due tonight. Can't be. No way. I don't even need to check. There is absolutely no possible way he could ever expect it to even be remotely due tonight.

Anyway, on with the last day of link week. I know, you're just as sad to see it go as I am. But like all good things, this too must come to an end. And I'll have to actually start writing real stories soon. Damn.

As all of you readers know, my life is chaotic and filled with ridiculousness. However, I might be off the wall and ditsy, and also seem to have a penchant for running into other off the wall and ditsy people, the setting is mundane.

Or at least more mundane that say... THE MOST MAGICAL PLACE ON EARTH.

That's right, The Beamish Blatherings of a Burbled Brodie is a blog about what its like in Disney World. The author is a cast member there, as a janitor (oh, wait, Sanitation Engineer). He comments on the guests of the park, the other employees there, and what Disney really is like behind all the magic in a fantastic sarcastic style. Totally worth a read- especially if you got dropped on your head as a child and like this blog. Its similar to this one, only far more awesome.

A note to all the blogs I have linked during link week: if you don't want me to link you anymore, just contact me and I'll take your blog down with no fuss or hassle. Thank all of you, link week links for writing/reviewing/taking pictures (photographing?).

Link week, day 3

2010-04-21T14:23:00.002-05:00

You all must have figured out what time it is by now.

That's right, link week update time! *the sound of children cheering*

I know, I bet you're excited as I am. I bet you can't wait for me to tell you about another cool spot on the Internet that is far better for wasting your time than whatever I'm scratching over here.

Don't forget about me. Please.

Also, to all you blog writers that I'm linking to: This is a contract. I link you, you keep writing so I don't look stupid.

What do you mean "I didn't sign up for that" and "hypocrite?"

Confusing people, you are.

Anyway, today's blog is fairly new, but gets updated every day, so there is a ton of content for you to look at and browse through.

That's right, look at.

KimberlE Spins is a photo-blog by a very talented photographer. With a penchant for flowers, and a fantastic eye for colorful and delightful pictures, this blog can make any day seem more full of energy and fun. The author is currently over half way through a 100 day picture-a-day challenge, and its a great hope of mine they'll continue to update even after the challenge is up.

This is a blog I recommend everyone take a look at. You will not be disappointed.

Link week, day 2

2010-04-20T14:29:00.002-05:00

This kinda sounds like summer camp in my head now.

Inside Relimited's head: "Ok, campers, now that we've spent aaaall yesterday breaking the ice with some reaaaally fun activities, lets go see what fantastic fun we'll have today!"

For full effect, read that in a bubbly, far-too-happy type of voice. You all know what I'm talking about.

Anyway, cool spots on the interwebz. Hmm...

How about the blog that I get my inspiration from?

Bannable Offenses is a hilarious (and actually really funny, unlike this one) blog about the life and times of a certain sadistic GM for Final Fantasy XI, a rather old Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game that for some reason is still around and has a sizable community.

I used to play it way back when.

GM Dave is an amazing writer that literally makes me bust out laughing every time I read from his blog. Really. I can't give him high enough praise.

However, you should know that the blog is based around FF XI. Most of the in game terms are explained in time, as well as general MMO game terms, but there will be some jargon for people who have never played that sort of thing. However, the humor doesn't fall around the jargon, for the most part, so you'll be laughing hysterically along with the rest of us.

And learn some useless info in the process. But this is the Internet, what did you think?

This is probably a bad idea but...

2010-04-19T08:51:00.003-05:00

alternative title: Link Week: day 1.

I had this fantastic idea. I should do something special to commemorate the zombie blog rising from the grave.

But, I couldn't think of anything. I mean, what does one do to restart a blog? Then, I had an idea. I'll link this blog to a couple of other blogs that I like a lot that are good and worth your readership. And tell you why, of course.

Most of you probably know about most of these blogs, but not all of you know about all of them. So, I feel mildly justified in doing this.

So, first on the list is actually not one blog, but two. And its not even two for Tuesday. I'm so generous.

Ever read my blog and go,

Blog Reader: "Well, this guy totally sucks at writing AND there is absolutely no useful information here, aside from this joker's life issues. I mean he's a 'musician' and he doesn't even talk about what bands he likes!"

Well, fear no more, jerk.

Syncopated Time is brand new music blog written by a friend of mine, who also has a pretty good movie blog too. The blurbs about the music/movies aren't detailed, allowing you to get a basic idea of what is good/bad and then draw your own conclusions yourself. Its a style I prefer over the elaborate reviews, because lets face it- movies and music are two of the most varied types of media in terms of enjoyment.

Hope you enjoy- I'll be linking another blog tomorrow, and this one is one of my all time favorites, so STAY TUNED.

On Writing

2010-04-18T21:17:00.008-05:00

The title is also the title of a book by Steven King.
Its about, guess what, writing.
So is this post today.

However, these two things vary very greatly.

Very, very greatly.

You see, Steven King's book is about writing when it works. This post is about when writing falls apart and what happens to the minds of those who try to read it. It is... interesting.

Definition time!

Interesting: 1) holding the attention, 2) arousing interest, 3) [flapjacks]! [shortcake]! We're all going to [flooring] die!!

I'm going for definition number 3 here.

Anyway, I am currently slogging through writing a geology essay on the geologic history of the Mediterranean sea. Riveting stuff.

It's actually vaguely interesting. I almost enjoy it.

Almost is a funny word, isn't it? Its of like but, it can totally negate whatever positive points something was gaining, and then point out the millions of negatives that are about to bust out like a rabid bear getting poked by hyperactive children in a little stick-cage.

i.e. it's not going to be pretty.

These articles on it read like they where written by a retarted 10 year old desperately trying (and absolutely failing- if people got grades this bad, we'd need a new letter, like S for [fan dangling] SUCKS) to sound smart by making up the most asinine words that, I swear, I have ever seen. Screw spell check, dictionary.com didn't even know what most of this stupid babble was.

Think about that for a second. You take the internet- the source of far to much information, and you put a dictionary on it- which probably has definitions for far to much considering the amount of information its sitting in.

wikipedia even failed me at one point. WIKIPEDIA!

And the rambling.

Oh, gods, the rambling.

I have never known you can string so many words together and get absolutely [chicken][stewing]-bull[flying] nothing. Nothing at all.

These journals lack almost any evidence of the ability to even put your fingers on the keyboard in a cognitive and remotely not-retarded manner.

Dear Readers: "Pshaw. Whatever. Stop [bomb shelling] and work on it"

First, dear readers, I am ashamed. I try to keep this blog family friendly and you go on and say something like [bordering]? For shame, for shame.

Second- oh, yeah, dear readers? Well, just try and pronounce magnetostratigraphy!

Or astrochronology. Its not just nouns for the study of something stupidly arcane, there is also fun adverbs like diachronously, and verbs like disaggregate. I feel like puking just relating this stuff back to you.

I am being totally serious right now.

Combine things like that with a total lack of the ability to structure sentences, much less paragraphs-- While we're on sentences, the passive voice is not for you to use with every [goodness] thing you write. It is definitely not to be used so you can try to avoid setting up a subject in a sentence.

Yes, there were sentences without subjects. You know, that basic building block of English writing? The fact that every sentence must have a subject and a verb?

[gratuitous cursing block. Nothing wholesome to see here folks, move along]

As it stands, I have 7 pages done. And I need to write 3 more.

I have never feared 3 pages of text so much more in my life. And never have I had a general loathing toward a major, but now if you're an EES major, I'm sorry. But I hate your guts.

Why no one wants to be a teacher...

2010-04-18T00:13:00.004-05:00

I've decided.

Its probably not the spitballs, exhausting work and terrible pay that drive most teachers to quit. They knew that going in.

Its probably not even the to-cool-for-school idiots that think life's a joke and are fated to drop out of community college and go serve at your local McDonalds.

After all, I can totally see a terrible feeling of smug gratification coming from that. "Oh, you didn't listen in my class and made my job hell? Welcome to the only industry that gets payed less than I do. And I do want that super sized, thank you very much."

Its the smart kids that come after you with a dagger after an hour or so of calculus when you still have 8/10'ths of an exam to still review.

If that sounds oddly specific, it isn't.
I swear.
Really.

Stop looking at me like that.

Ok, alright. I tutor several classmates here on campus in Calculus II. Except for the fact that I hardly have a handle on what is going on in that class and these sessions are never scheduled. It kinda goes down like this,

Classmate: "Hey, its the weekend before a test, can you teach me all the math stuff before then?"

So, I do the only thing and good college student would do:

I pull up my professor's old tests and half teach/half read through them. This works with varying degrees of success.

Lesson A) Complete and pass a level of math before attempting to teach it. Its handy.

Anyway, this teaching style was brought to a head last night as I was trying to teach logarithmic differentiation to Chuck (everyone in the blog is Chuck- even the girls).

The most common line out of his/her mouth: "WHY THE [family friendly blog] DO WE NEED THIS?"

Most common line out of my mouth:
A two way tie between: "PLEASE DON'T EAT ME and PLEASE DON'T STAB ME"

Good times- after all, I managed to teach the concept fairly well and kept both my legs.

Also, friends don't let friends smuggle daggers into the dorm. Its scary for the rest of us.

1st law of computer people: when it doesn't work, reboot it.

2010-04-17T23:07:00.002-05:00

So, hi.

We haven't talked in over a month.

I can't help but shake the feeling that this is like me calling you up, my dear readers, and begging that you let me back into your life.

Oh, look at that, I'm writing this at midnight too. Its a textbook "take me back" plea. If I could, I'd do a little ASCII art flower and everything.

You see, what happened was that... I sorta let the blog die. Things where getting very hectic around midterm week and I was busy. Very busy.

Stupid class getting in the way of college.

At any rate, I kinda walked away from writing for a bit. There just wasn't enough hours in the day to do everything I wanted, and I didn't really think anyone actually read this, so... You people can figure it out, spare me the shame of saying it.

Then, it would appear, people DID read this. And they wanted an update.

Oh snap.

So, I'm going to start up again. However, like any good zombie, this blog is coming back and will be harder to kill than ever. First things first: two updates a week. Every week.

I swear. Until I forget. So, don't let me forget, Internet, because I will, oh I will.

So, with no further ado, the blog is back. And hungry for brainz.

First story of the zombie blog tomorrow. Look for it!

Its a Mardi Gras recap, reacap, recap (part1)

2010-02-17T11:25:00.005-06:00

The title makes sense if you sing it to the tune of the refrain of "Mardi Gras Mambo"

If you're not from around here, then just take my word for it. If you are from around here, then you've heard the stupid song on the radio enough times to have it stuck in your head.

Anyway, I wanted this one out by Tuesday, but then got caught up in the celebrations, and on Wednesday, managed to slam my car into some poor old lady, killing her, her husband, her child that just won his first baseball game, and a pure, innocent puppy. Poor dog never had a chance.

Not really. Just a minor fender-bender. The only thing that's dead is my savings. However, if you're ever in need of attention, just post somewhere on the web that you're in a car accident, even in a joking manner in relation to something totally different, and you will get much concern and e-hugs.

Anyway, back to my past couple of days.

Saturday: I went to Endymion and learned several important things: The cure for abject public drunkenness is to simply have someone cluster-carpet bomb your poor, obliterated mind with F-bombs, and that parades are not as fun when you fly solo. So, it was with a somewhat heavy heart I walked back down Royal Street to get to my car.

Then (because sound seems to factor a lot in my life), I was listening to several street performers play, and had an Epiphany.

I could totally do that.

So, I rushed back to my dorm, and immediately fell comatose as I tried to read the legal document on street permits. I swear they put chloroform on those, never mind I was reading a digital copy.

When I woke up several hours later, I found out that permits where cheap, useful and seemed fairly easy to obtain. And that Shakespeare must still be alive and writing somewhere, no one else in the history of writing has stuck that many whoms and thous together.

Yes, I just took a low blow at Shakespeare. No, I won't apologize.

Sunday: I saw Bacchus the way its meant to be seen, with friends and family. It was awesome. Plus, Drew Brees (with less booze) was riding and we totally knew someone else on his float. So, it while everyone else was like "DREW, OH MY GOD, DREW, THROW US SOMETHING SO WE CAN ENSHRINE IT!"
We where like: "CHUCK! CHUCK! WE LIVE TWO DOORS DOWN AND I DON'T QUITE REMEMBER WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE, JUST THROW STUFF TO US!"

Yes, Chuck is my go to name when I need a fake one. Even the girls. No real people are named Chuck.

Monday and Tuesday (with a bit of Wedensday double recap) sometime this week, so stay tuned.

When in doubt, have a parade

2010-02-11T11:38:00.002-06:00

So, last Tuesday, I went to my first parade of the season.

Yes, we have a season of parades: Its called Mardi Gras. The parades are usually accompanied with heavy partying, drinking, and/or other forms of debauchery

First things first, these aren't your boring old 'normal' parades. Oh no. Here, we have people on the floats that throw stuff to the crowd, the bands not only play, but also dance. Its more akin to a block party on wheels than a parade.

Its pretty sweet.

Now, I don't know if you heard or not, but the Saints won the super bowl. I even got up off my lazy butt and blogged about it. So, the first real "big" parade of the seasons was....

You guessed it. A Saints parade. And, lemme tell you, they know how to make a parade work.

I stood next to a rather cool old woman, and a trio of die-hard Saints fan girls. Actually, it might be better to say duo, because the third one fainted upon seeing Drew Brees.

I must say, Brees has some stage presence. With a very limited amount of throw-crap, he was pumping up the crowd, running all up and down along his float, dancing along with the music...

The man was drunk out of his mind.

But, that could be said for almost the entire team, as they where dancing on the floats, jumping off to run by and high-five the crowd, dancing with the speakers, starting crowd chants...

Jeremy Shockey was dumping beads on some woman that was flashing him with, I hate to say this, not all that much.

Garret Hartley was looking so start struck with all the cheering, I thought he might faint.

They didn't throw much, and the parade wasn't all that long, but by the time Sean Payton (the head coach) rolled around on his mega-float with the Lombardi trophy, you felt like you had been to one of those big parades.

Payton was the only one not drunk. Probably due to fear of dropping the stupid trophy. But all he had to do was hold up the Lombardi trophy and the crowd went nuts. I had a sinking feeling that if Payton wanted, he could have pointed the trophy in any direction and we'd have followed, performing some kind of jihad-esque fanatical march.

Which probably means that we'd follow the trophy, descend on where it was pointed, run whatever poor infidel place Payton picked out of booze and stumble back to New Orleans.

I dunno whats worse, the fact that I really thought of that or the fact that I'd be right there with 'em the whole way.

When the Saints Come Marching In

2010-02-07T22:53:00.004-06:00

I'm in absolute shock.

Infact, its hard for me to even write this.

I'm not a die hard Saints fan. I made fun of them back when they where 3-13. I was a bandwagon jumper back in '05 when they made the playoffs. I don't own a jersey.

Heck, I didn't own any Saints gear 'till about 2 weeks ago.

And yet, here I am, with a Saints hat, with a stupid big smile on my face.

This time, I was the one honking second line out on my car horn. May it be an insperation to all you nerds out there to get out and enjoy this once in a lifetime oppertunity.

You only win your first Super Bowl once, you know.

And it was a game. A big shout out to the crowd at Viola, you guys rocked.

And the guys I was with, you people are like number one on my list to watch more football games with.

Plus, I got free drinks, a hat, and a t-shirt out of it.

But, man, was it a party.

Last time I was called the nerdiest who dat. This time, I was dancing on a table. With a big black guy. I think... I think I may have actually gotten a little cooler after that one. Maybe.

I huged several random strangers. one old lady, one big musicular guy, two girls that a cooler man might try to pick up and the aformentioned black guy.

And as I stumbled out into the street, no one was more suprised than I to feel a streak of wetness on my cheek.

A single tear. A tear for victory.

Go Saints. Bless you boys.

Don't talk to strangers

2010-01-28T00:11:00.008-06:00

Alternative title: The rule right after look both ways before crossing the street.

You may remember a post of a long time ago where I bitched about music.

You may also remember the warning about how this blog is about what I like and music happens to be one of those things.

However, I never indulged to you readers what instrument I actually play.

I play the most amazing, manly, testosterone building instrument of them all:

The flute.

Duh.

Anyway, because I decided that last semester I had FAR to much free time and fun, I decided that this semester, I'd try to take flute lessons from the 2nd chair flautist of the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra.

Operative word here is try. I fully expected her to read my e-mail, laugh a little bit then turn me down. This way, I'd get points for trying, and could still spend my semester at my leisure.

So, I figured the fastest way to get rejected was to be totally honest.

Flute Tutor to-be: "I'd love to teach you! You said you play last chair in both the Wind Ensemble and Youth Orchestra, that's great!"

Trust me, no one was more shocked than I. Talk about a backfire.

So, today, I plod up the street to her house, convinced I'm not nearly good enough to be her student, that I should never have come, etc. etc.

In a nutshell, the usual.

Anyway, I notice one house on the block is particularly worse than all the other ones. They all are in pretty bad shape. (rather, pretty bad shape for the standards of any other city on the panet, the people down here like their houses listing to one side)

However, this one house looks like it would violate some humanitarian act if it was used to house people. I assumed it had been abandoned before New Orleans had adopted the phrase, "Bring Hell Or High Water" and our very streamlined and great political system down here had simply forgot to tear it down.

So, I ring her doorbell, and after dealing with one of those tiny, yapping, somehow-more-annoying-than-the-you-forgot-to-dial-the-area-code-beep dogs, we moved upstairs.

Also, I've seen the LPO in concert several times, and swore her hair was BLONDE blond. Like bright yellow. Like blond back when blond was cool.

Inside Relimited's head: "Her hair is brown. Does she bleach it for all the concerts, or die it when she isn't on stage? Am I going crazy, and only thought it was blond? I never knew hair color could be so distracting..."

So we talked, I thoroughly screwed up Mozart's Flute Concerto in D major, which I practiced, but did a lot better on a slower piece that I hadn't looked at in over a year. Yeah, the correct answer is, "The Hell?"

We talked a bit more, she showed me how a) My tone was good-ish, but my technique was total crap, b) that I had been cheating on several fingerings for my entire life and c) I had one fingering outright WRONG.

(Fingering: which buttons are pressed down for a certain note)

My task: Unlearn all that stuff you've been doing for 7 years and learn it right.

Fun!

However, overall, the first lesson went a lot better than I had anticipated, and I left feeling pretty good.

Then, from the house I thought was illegal, a voice hails me: "Hey sugah! How 'bout you come 'ere and lemme get ya somethin' cold to drink?"
It belonged to a large black woman.

To my credit I did not run back to my car yelling "STRANGER DANGER!".

At least not all the way.

I think its pronounced who dat?

2010-01-25T13:45:00.004-06:00

For everyone that does not live in New Orleans:

The Saints are in the Superbowl. Its apparently pretty big news.

My Geology Professor gave everyone 10 bonus points because of it, and ended class 20 minutes early. He teaches a 50 minute lecture. He also spent the first 10 minutes talking about how awesome the game was.

that's only 20 minutes of rocks vs 30 minutes of Saints, in a geology class taught by someone with a Very Thick Accent. i.e. this man is not even a native of New Orleans.

p.s. Tech Writing got out 15 min early, and almost pushed back our first paper when our professor thought it would conflict with the Superbowl. Luckly, we managed to stop her from shifting the date, beacuse the new date would have actually conflicted, and the old date was just fine.

hmm? Whats that? Oh, you want to know what I did for this historic occasion?

Well, I watched the game in a little no-name tavern off of St. Charles.

Yes, they had big TV's. Any place that had any sort of TV was packed.

And, wow, was it a game to remember. It was so tense, I took the entire game to eat a Philly Cheese Steak and some fries. I was going at a rate of like one fry every 5 minutes.

And, New Orleans Saints fans being the crazy, insane, yet somehow lovable batch of people they are, where naturally following the game very closely, and trying their best to feel like they where in the dome.

Which, of course means that when Sean Payton was trying to pump out the already sonic-weapon-grade loud croud, we yelled and cheered along too.

Yes, I am aware the TV is not 2-way.

It was good times. Afterward, I called up the parental unit to see if they had survived the amazingly close game (after all, their risk of heart attack was higher). The cell lines where full. The city had actually managed to place so many calls, I couldn't get an open cell line Finally, I managed to call home, find out that yes, my family was still alive. And also, planted the seed for what I would do later.

I drove back, listening to the post game reports on WWL 870 AM, looking longingly over at the French Quarter. I got back to my dorm, put my stuff up and heard something amazing. Something almost magical.

Someone was honking out Second Line on a car horn. At that moment, I knew what I had to do.

I needed to celebrate, geology in the morning be damned.

I dove right into the mob of black and Gold that was Bourbon street. Impromptu refrains of "Who Dat say they gonna beat dem Saints!" Where being sung out on every corner. There was a guy with a trumpet playing "When the Saints go Marching In" off of a balcony somewhere. The Cafe Du Monde was filled to capacity with people in shock and awe of what had just happened, eating their doughnuts with powdered sugar, whispering, "Did you hear how quiet the dome was before that field goal kick? It was silence, then as the ball rose flashes of light, then pure sound as it went right through the uprights."

I impulse bought a Saints T-shirt. I danced to some kickin' jazz at the Royal Sonesta. I met up with a bunch of college friends at some time, and had one hell of a night.

I was called the "Nerdiest Who Dat I even seen, and I love ya for dat" by a passing large black woman riding mainly outside the passenger seat window of a pickup truck.

I can't wait for the Superbowl weekend now.

Do it yourself Protechnics!

2009-12-18T17:58:00.002-06:00

I went and saw the Trans-Siberian Orchestra last night.

Flippin' AMAZING. If you have the chance, GO SEE THEM.

So, my father and I were cooking tonight, and managed to recreate the stage show effects in our kitchen.

The lazers were a bit of a bust, but I did manage to get a large open flame. In my oven.

Note to Martha Stewart: olive oil on 'high broil' explodes into a nice flame. Who knew.

The french bread toasts quickly became something more akin to paving stones.

The oven, being a modern appliance and having more sense than its users, started beeping. Ever the great natural leader, my father and I where handling the crisis brilliantly.

By panicking.

Just like the Trans-Siberian Orchestra often brings the spectators excitement to a fever pitch, our panicking quickly grew into all out chaos.

Which may have been handled better if damn would just stop beeping.

In a burst of rational thought, my father quickly deposited the flaming bread outside, so that the smoke alarm would not join in a duet with the oven.

There is now smoke everywhere, I'm racking my brain for the smoke alarm code for when it goes off, Dad is trying to stamp out the remaining flames.

Then, in the midst of this chaos, the frog prince (via the door open to try and let the smoke out) hopped on the scene. Due to both the resident cooks laking the correct pair of cromosones to try and help, we left him to the mercy of my cat. He had my cat cornered in seconds.

Finally, most of the smoke has billowed out, and I have enough sense to ask Dad to get the instructions for turning the now desperately beeping oven off.

As most of you out there know, the instruction manual was no help, so we started flipping fuses at random to try and get it to turn off.

After making our house look like it was possessed by at least 2 ghosts, we finally flipped the right switch and turned the stupid oven off.

Then rescued my cat from the hostage situation he was in.

In conclusion: french toasts a flambe was a total failure

Finals

2009-12-07T08:08:00.004-06:00

F.I.N.A.L.S.

That's F!$@ I Never Actually Learned S!$# for those of you who aren't members.

Its a group on campus. I'm a member.

In no final is this more apparent than math.

I can do dervatives. I can do integrals. Limits? not so much.

And none of these when my professor is trying to trick me with questions that have sudden pitfalls in them and require creative solutions.

Guess what I was doing all last night?

Eating pancakes. But before then I was studying calculus. Lots and lots of calculus. I went to the final exam review sesson, I worked through all the questions he posted on the internet. So, when I woke up at 6am this morning, I knew one thing: It was Gametime, bitches. (oops, B!#$%es)

2 problems. I know when the math final is (8am) but not really where (Science building, its across the parking lot!) And the fact that I really can't fail this because my grades have not been the best.

Oh, don't worry. Passing probably would happen. I wanted at 3.2 GPA in the class.

This is when all you folks at home that took calc freshmen year go "Ohhhhh. Yeah that's hard."

Anyway, its gametime. I put on the gametime music on my computer, took my shower, printed out a bunch of problems to go through before the exam started, grabed money to buy a pack of doughnuts and a coke from the vending machine.

Problem A is solved when I find a building that in size 10 billion font has written on the side "SCIENCE BUILDING"

I walk to room 1001. Its 7:36, more than enough time before my final. I open the door and...

A bunch of kids with an exam and graphing claculators look at me.

Slightly controlled panic: unleashed. Time slowed down, my brain kicked into overdrive. Little details, like the pink ribbon in the girl's hair that is sitting in the back corner of a lecture hall, become very apparent.

She didn't study.

Dude giving the test: "Can I help you?"

Inside Relimited's head: "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD"

Deciding that that was not a god reply, I failed to swollow my fear and went with my insticts.

Relimited: "Whoops. Wrong Room. Sorry."

Insert Tactical Retreat Here.

Now, after that debacle, I hadn't calmed down at all, so I sat on a bench and tore through my math book, looking for the right room.

Math Book: "Math Final. Rm 1001 Science Building. 10am-12"

Oh.

Well then.

Movie Night

2009-11-22T00:47:00.002-06:00

There has been an interesting thing that has been going on every Saturday night.

Its known as Movie night, perhaps you've heard of it.

Anyway, me and a bunch of friends all crowd into a dorm room (It's anywhere from 3 to 9 people, 3 bizarrely intimate, 9 far to much) and watch movies from 7 until sleep deprivation gives you hallucinations.

Its a blast.

Anyway, I thought I'd bring up tonight's double feature: The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Robin Hood: Men in Tights.

Yes, I watched a movie about transvestites in leotards followed by a movie where a character claims that only real men wear tights. (Aside: I think I understand homosexuality now) This, however, was preferable to our original plan, which was Requiem for a Dream.

Well, almost anything is preferable to Requiem for a Dream. Actually being in one of those awkward scenes taken out to its logical extreme in the Rocky Horror Picture Show is preferable to Requiem for a Dream. Hell, showing up for the wrong final exam is probably preferable to Requiem for a Dream.

Also, if there is anyone contemplating suicide that reads my blog, do not watch Requiem. Get help. If you must watch Requiem, have a psychologist on hand to talk you out of whatever you're plan is. The feelings will pass. In about a month. (Note: The psychologist has just as high, if not higher chance of swinging from the ceiling when the lights come on. Be prepared to deal with the aftermath on your own. I suggest ridding your house of anything that will not make it through airport security)

So, instead, we had a good time. This, regrettably, is probably our last movie night, so there will be no more dead silent moments when Mufasa dies in the Lion King, no more hands drumming in anticipation right before the climax of The Shawshank Redemption, no more bursting out loud in laughter at Shawn of the Dead, and no more swearing by David Bowie's bulge in The Labyrinth.

Signing off because its past 1 am and Plato waits for no man. Thanks, movie night crew, its been amazing.

When technology goes wrong...

2009-10-26T13:05:00.004-05:00

This is not my story on the blog today, folks.

Rather, this is a story about a good friend of mine here in college land.

Lets call him... oh, I don't know... Chuck.

Now, for those of you who aren't nerds, Windows 7 is now out. Aparently, its the best operating system ever. Its even better than sliced bread. Mindblowing, really.

I wouldn't know. I was going to make the operating system switch myself, after all the fastest way to loose nerd status is to become outdated, but I don't have an external hardrive to store my music/homework/papers/videos/pirated iso files/plans for world domination. So, I'm still working on my devil costume, and my pitch. "Look, normally, this would cost your soul, but today I'm having a special- I'll make you famous and rich for a one terabite hard drive.*"

*fame and riches may not apply

In conclusion, I'm still suck with Vista- the retarded cousin of Windows 7, who was conceved at a Microsoft family reunion between DOS and Windows 98.

Anyway, Chuck was gonna get Windows 7, and no amount of misinformation that I could spread could stop him. He moved everything over to his external harddrive, downloaded the Professional version, and wiped his system, replacing that old, cluttered Vista with a new squeaky clean OS. He then stuck all his music on it, and called me down to gloat.

Well, the computer had no say in this, and wasn't to happy about it. As Chuck connected his new hard drive, an interesting diolog box popped up. It was a trap, but Admral Akabar (that fish guy from Star Wars) wasn't around to warn Chuck.

Diologue Box: "Would you like to sync up your internal hard drive with your external one? Its fantastic if you do! All the cool kids are doing it!*"

*some artistic liberties may have been taken

Chuck, in a bid to try to be cooler than me thrice over, clicked yes. And with an evil chuckle, his computer sync'ed the hard drives.

More precisely, it sync'ed the external hard drive to the internal one. In common english: Chuck lost all the data on that hard drive. ALL of it. Every last little byte.

But at least he has his muisc.

However, the computer still was annoyed, and not done. Oh no. The rebellion was just starting. The next thing his computer did was to send a high speed signal to his x-box, to melt the next disk put in. Chuck, to take his mind of the loss of all his digital wealth, decided to play his new copy Batman: Arkham Asylum.

His disc now looks like he stuck it in a turkey fryer. And if you have ever had to deal with Target's return policy, you know that Chuck is about to fight an unwinable war against red tape and idiotic policy.

And still, the rebelion continued. His x-box started phase 2: lets see how much crap we can make him lose, when it sent out a mass signal to anything with bateries to go roll around to some dark corner and never be found. His flashlight complied, and his cellphone tried, but Chuck grabbed it, right before it scurried away to some forsaken corner of his dorm.

So, we went out to buy flashlights. He naturally bought the biggest sucker he could find. He now has a second sun in case power goes out.

Except for the fact that it must be hooked up to a car to run. Good times...

Poor man now has no Batman, no laptop data and a military grade spot light that doesn't work for what he wants it too.

Sounds like one of my days

Woah its already what date?

2009-10-24T00:28:00.007-05:00

I haven't updated this blog in a while.

I am now aware of this.

Its not that I stopped caring about you loyal readers or anything...

Ok maybe it is. My life got kinda crazy for a bit, but it looks like college might not be a "fit" for me, so I'm now I'm going to vocational school. If its as easy as it sounds, I should have a lot more free time.

I jest, I jest. After all, if I had been procrastinating on school work that hardcore, then I would have still kept the blog up. I'm still here, and yes, stupid stuff has still been happening to me. Never fear, if there is a door, I shall run into it.

I'm back, however. With all new stories on my crazy life.

Where to start? Perhaps when the President came and had a town hall meeting at my school? Or when technology itself rebelled against a good friend of mine? Or that same good friend's experience at the laundry room late one night (note, NSFW. Note that note: Everybody that was old enough to snicker and get very puzzled didn't, and everyone who was far to young to get that just snickered and came up with some very, very bad mental images).

Or the fact that today I have made the best purchase of my life? Or the puzzle that I spent two elevator rides trying to solve? Or movie night? Or my thoughts on the card game Bridge?

That's a lot of subjects...

Well, its a little late to tackle any of those right now. Rather, I am going to leave you good people with a picture of one of my midterm tests:

Note: Clicky-clicky the picture to see a version for all of you who don't have magnifying classes taped to your heads

Perfect Storm

2009-10-11T01:43:00.004-05:00

Remember that friend that I drove up to see with only one eye?

Well, I decided it would be awesome to go hang out with him again.This time with back up contacts. Several boxes of back up contacts. I triple checked my stuff; I made sure that this time, I would be prepared, and have everything ready to go. No slip ups. No stupid goofs. I was going to have a good time without proving to some little kid that yes, it is possible to walk into a sign post.

.... Not the story I want to tell today, folks. I'll need a little help in telling that one if you get my drift.

And if you don't, then here: If anyone that plays FFXI reads this blog, I need a Monster Signa. I'll tell the story if you can get me that sweet, sweet staff.

And here you thought I was going to ask for money and/or alcohol. But, I've learned my lesson after that one time...

More stories that I can't/don't want/need more money to share. Or a Mary's Horn for my bard. That sucker goes for 350k in the AH.

Anyway, I actually managed to get there without a major mishap. I then proceeded to keep everything normal (and nothing extra ordinarily stupid happened either) for that entire night. We had a damn good time, and I could see the videogames we played to boot.

Note: hanging out with sight is far better than hanging out without sight.

Now, this seems like a very cool night. I'm hanging out with some of my best friends, we're talking, everyone is smiling and laughing, and outside the stars are shining, and all of nature is in bliss at our contentment.

Except for the fact that it is not very nice outside at all. Its blowing like a freakin' gale out there. There are branches from trees getting tossed around like the toy blocks of any three year old playing Godzilla.

Did I say three year old? I meant yours truly. Three days ago. Shut up, it was fun.

The sky is boiling over with clouds, and I'm just waiting for the rain of fire to signal the end of everything. The Mayans must have messed up multiplying a three somewhere with the end of the world counter, because it sure as heck looked like the end of the world on the other side of my friend's apartment's glass door.

So, while I was waiting to be Raptured, my stomach, unimpressed with the primal fury all around the apartment, growls. And my friend, who, in hindsight, is not the play it safe type, makes a command decision.

Relimited's Friend: "Hey, I'm hungry too. Let’s go out to get something."

There was no way at all, ever, that I was rationally going into that storm out there, for anything. Not for all the money, alcohol, or FFXI rare items. However, no one ever said a hungry guy, who has only eaten a poptart in the last 5 hours is rational.

Relimited: "Sounds great. We should probably run out to the store to stock up on snacks for later too."

God, I Am Stupid Sometimes.

So, we get our stuff together. I think it was when I was finishing up lacing my left sneaker that I realized how stupid this was. We were leaving the warmth, light and relative safety of the apartment for food. And not even food we needed, but also food that we might use later. Maybe.

Queue faceplam.

So, we go out into the windstorm, fighting the elements in tee shirts and shorts for each step out his apartment complexes courtyard. Finally, after dodging flying branches, falling flowerpots and the stray cat, we make it to his car.

After dislodging a branch that has given him a new stylish dent on his front bumper, we head out to Wal-Mart to get food.

And, in what seems to happen to me every time I go to Wal-Mart, we can't find the droids we're looking for. Stupid Obi-Wan and his mind tricks...

I mean food. We get everything except several packs of ramen, and after going up and down every freakin isle, we find the ramen castle. It took up the entire side of isle 9. There were several large blinking arrows that point toward it. Heck, it even had its own spotlights and disco balls.

No idea how we missed it.

By the time we get outside, nature has gone from apocalypse blue stage, to readiness level orange. Its black out there. Not dark... black. It hasn't started raining, but we run our shopping cart back to his car, this time dodging small trees, outdoor grills, and someone's kid. He seemed like a very shifty little bugger, so I'm sure those cries for help we just lies for him to pick my pocket.

Never mind that he was flying at me.

So, we duck into his car, and drive as fast as we can over to the pizza place for food. Naturally, we both decide we want some very arcane, complicated pizzas. Neither of us, at that precise moment of pizza ordering, are thinking about the fact that we want to get one last game of Super Smash Bros. Brawl in before the world ends.

And, of course, as we're exiting the pizza place (watching a weather channel reporter across the street) he opens his box to check, and tells me,

Relimited's Friend: "They got my pizza wrong, dude; I need to go back and fix it."

We turn back toward the pizza place, when I glance at a wall of pure water headed our way. Not rain... not even sideways rain, but a torrent of water coming down as a wall. If it was rain, there would have been gaps for air. Here, there were none. I gesture back at the wall of water, and try to make some words, but my mind defies me. My friend just nods and we get in the car and speed away, neither of us wanting to try and drive in that.

This was probably more dangerous than just sitting tight and driving slow in the so called rain. I am aware of this now, but right then and there, I wanted to get back to his apartment before I got trapped by the onslaught of water. We sped down the streets, as fast as his four cylinder car could take us, ducking into his apartment (This time dodging trees, cars, and the stray building), slamming the door shut before god flooded the world again.

But hey, it was good pizza; after all, mine didn't have pineapple on it.

The true cost of a Kit-Kat

2009-10-06T15:19:00.006-05:00

So, I was up late, as is my custom, burnin' the midnight oil.

Naturally, I had a very good reason to be up that late. Something very, very important to do. Something that could not wait until later that day.

Actually, I was just playing computer games.

TEST

Anyway, as my party and I worked that good ol' experience point wheel, I had a sudden urge for something sweet. And not just anything sweet, as I have stocked up cookies for that average, every day, urge.

No, this was a very special type of desire. One I had not felt in a long, long time. I wanted something with chocolate, but with more texture than a normal chocolate bar.

I have chocolate bars stocked too. A little bit of chocolate can make any F seem a bit brighter. Actually, not really. It just lets your mind shut out the crushing despair for a few seconds to enjoy a small bit of euphoric processed coca bean.

But, I didn't want just chocolate. And I wasn't really feeling caramel, or peanuts. No, what I wanted was a great snack, one that you never really plan on getting, like a Twix or Snickers, but one that just sort of happens.

Ladies and gentlemen, I wanted a Kit-Kat bar. And not a break either, I wanted the whole damn thing.

So, I mapped out where I could fill this craving. Gas Station? Too far. Dorm Corner store? Long since closed. Shifty vending machine where I'm sure some not so legal things have taken place?

Perfect.

So I grab a dollar (actually two. Candy price inflation has been insane) and walk down to the vending machine. Sure enough, I need to tell a dude in a long coat and wide brimmed hat with his face hidden that I did not have the cash for his stuff (it may have been king sized kit-Kats... Damn I should have said yes!) And bought my kit-Kat bar (for 85 cents! If I wasn't craving it, I swear...).

Triumphantly, I returned to my dorm, opened my wallet to get my room key out and-

-watched as a fly buzzed out of the pocket I keep my key in. I quickly checked the other pockets of wallet to no avail. Then my pants pockets. No luck (but I did find the pencil I couldn't find for math class)

This was bad. I have already ridden the most shameful elevator ride of my life for forgetting my key once. There was another way; however, the consequences might be just as dire. Well, I decided to tempt fate and go with the devil I didn't know, rather than the one I did.

I knocked on the door. Twice. Then a third time, slamming my fist into it. I realized that maybe waking up my dorm mates might be worse than the ride of shame. Fear seized me, and with chattering teeth and shaking legs started to turn around, when the handle moved.

The door opened slowly. My heart was pounding, as the dark depths of my dorm room spilled out onto the lighted corridor. I took a step back, wishing I had a bottle of holy water to ward off this evil. Then I saw it.

It was zombie warring Jack's clothes. It gave a fearsome roar, then yelled, in some arcane, demonic language- that I have translated here- "WHY WOULD YOU WAKE ME UP AT THIS"- then several words that are amazingly profane, and don't translate into English-"HOUR?"

I found my holy water vial at that moment, and dashed it in his face. He staggered back, eyes wide with shock, as I retreated to my dorm room and slammed the door shut.

I might have just made a lifelong nemesis in my dorm mate, and if the death threat pasted to my door has any indication, one that is a little insane.

But damn, that was a good kit-Kat.

Because some things must be blogged about

2009-09-30T23:34:00.003-05:00

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

2009-09-29T20:15:00.001-05:00

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

2009-09-28T20:58:00.006-05:00

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

2009-09-27T01:54:00.001-05:00

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

2009-09-24T22:37:00.001-05:00

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

2009-09-22T22:48:00.001-05:00

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

2009-09-21T13:27:00.000-05:00

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?