heARTS and conSCIENCE

My major project for the last few days was to read through all of the courses listed under every single major Temple offers and make a list of the classes I want to take. It eventually came out to be 10 pages long, two columns, in 10 pt. font... There are so many things I want to minor in, but nothing appealing for a long-term immersion. While it looks like I'll be continuing with Calc II next semester, I don't believe I have "the math brain." Right now, the minors I'm most interested in are:

Biology (which I'll probably be declaring Monday morning at 8:30)
Art History
Sociology
Urban Studies
Information Systems & Technology

What the hell am I going to do with myself? Another, littler project was to more concretely define what I want in a future job. I only came up with 4 careers that would definitely offer a majority of my listed benefits.

Curator of a Museum of Natural Science (Franklin Institute! Sky bike!)
Professor, so I could take classes forever for free
Jeopardy! card writer (puns + trivia!)
Editor of a scientific journal or magazine (though magazines are dying)

I simply don't know. I simply don't.
Not to mention still considering law school as the "fuck it" option.

In Programming class, I put my computer to sleep to take a bathroom break. When I got back, I almost typed in my password.java. It was bad.

Collage

Dan G. has been writing short stories and poetry that collectively sum up existence of the suburbs. During math, I contemplated what I would write out to make a similar collection of my college experiences. The following is everything I wrote on the page.

thick bodied painted on dress
painted on face

unrequited love of math
deceiving myself
passive aggressive retaliation
for abandoning me every night
em{me

I am in fatuous infatuation

college is the first time I'm alive
so was my first kiss here my first kiss alive

subway
aeroway
arrowway

cornrows for Christmas

tan + blonde + fuck me heels

sexy changing new painful
he was changing in the bathroom

considering tattoos

high school to college
not call teacher
there's no obligation to teach

going to the play alone
michael jackson sing along

solo puedo escribir las lineas [broken]

sassy is the new black

Sweet Caroline (so hood! so hood! so hood!)

clothesline homesick

What I Desire vs. Logically Want

I'm a silly 18 year old girl who has nothing productive to show for her life.
I've only traveled to states that border the Atlantic.
I have no idea what I want for my life,
and yet I think I have my priorities in order.

Wait it out. Don't hope.

I Never Owned a Black Barbie

I've been doing mostly factual writing as of late. Organizational writing for memory's sake, but nothing especially creative in style or content. I like to think my unique phraseology adds some merit to the blasé recollections, but there are no new thoughts eventually collected in this electronic journal. It's been a very long time since I've had any tragedy worthy of inspiration. My last flurry of intensely productive thought was probably after Dave.

Coming back from an information session on Study Abroad, I ran into Sarah S. at the beach. We talked for a while on varying topics, at one point talking about the Charleston Market's ability to combat homesickness. Firstly, I barely remember any meal at my dad's that was not steak/baked chicken + mashed potatoes + corn/broccoli. Secondly, I haven't been homesick at all. Of course, I miss individuals and recognize that my mom would like to see me, but I have no desire to be home. :\

[Today, in thinking about my tablet, I realized I do not remember the day that I broke up with Jimmy, but I remember the day of our last kiss and where it was. I also remember the dates and locations of my last kisses with Dave and Jeff. Also, Fava, but that is not by any merit of his doing, and I geographically have no idea where that apartment is.

Retrospectively, today was not my day. I verbally expressed frustration at the cymbal girl I don't like, and unfortunately may've recognized the end to my infatuation after spending time with him and his roommate at the beach. Perhaps if I wasn't PMSing, things would have a better outlook. I'm on edge and cranky. My roommate told me that she was going to bed, so I'd have to listen to my music in headphones. Not a problem. However, "going to bed" to read for an hour does not get the same consideration. ]

Updates!

On Monday, we switched our cymbal grip from crazy to what I was familiar with at GV. So much more control, but it's a different kind of visual available to us now. However, cymbals are not the last step in my musical path. Temple has a "basketball band" which is open to any member of marching band who wants to join, sans audition. You get another scholarship and are able to travel with the team to NCAA tournaments (if applicable) where you'd get a generous weekend stipend. I've been considering what new instrument I want to learn, and saxophone has always called to me. [In typing this, I discovered the proper spelling is not saxaphone.]

On the note of band, I'm crushing out of my league on a baritone. He's a brother in Phi Mu Alpha and invited me to their bad movie night only a few minutes before Dana extended her own invitation. While it took a physical toll on me to watch four movies in a row (Thankskilling, Santa's Slay, Pootie Tang [not a bad movie], and The Toxic Avenger), I got to hug it out at the end of the night because I'd been through a shared traumatic experience. It makes me feel like a super cool kid to hang with Sinfonia. They're pretty much all the loud personalities in band, and they have pancake Sundays. I get invited to pancake Sundays. Yes.

To another note, I visited Viv! There were pancakes on her table from breakfast that morning, but as I arrived at her place slightly after 7, they were irrecoverable. We talked. We updated. She made me my first real dinner since arriving at school. It was fantastically good. She showed me her own personal studio in the building. Moore was giving away fancy, free tampons, so I grabbed a few packs. I intend to use the case of one for my camera. Touring the streets of Philadelphia, we walked and talked and patronized Yogurino for frozen yogurt. Taking the subway back to Temple was not terribly intimidating.

Related to art: I've been drawing buildings on campus as part of my "Buildings on Campus" poster series instead of paying ridiculous prices for ridiculous posters. My first piece, The Baptist Temple, came out slightly disproportionate, but the Paley Library has been coming along with more accuracy.

Jumping back to movies, my residence hall held a "Cult Movie Night" which featured "Videodrome." I'd tried to convince my suitemate Tina to come down and watch it with me, but she had homework and the Real World was coming on. She recognized that the movie probably had more creative merit and asked me to let her know if it was any good. Definitely an enjoyable time, the movie itself needed the introduction to be any good. It was very odd. I 110% rocked the discussion afterward. Watching TV is exactly the same thing as having sex. Exactly.

Tina knows Jeremiah, my little brother's best friend. While she is well aware he is a little ass, he also admired her for being the "cool, independent study photographer" who was unfortunately sitting in on Intro. Photography. Jack and Jeremiah were being super cool hooligans Saturday night, and I would love to have them come visit for a weekend.

However, not this weekend. My roommate, Jess,'s boyfriend is coming over this weekend to visit from Pittsburgh. While she made it clear she wouldn't really sexile me, I've decided to have a sleepover with Viv. He's arriving Friday night, and there's nothing to do about that. But Saturday, after the football game and a little bit of the band party, I'll be headed over to her super-luxurious RD dorm with my toothbrush in tow.

Also, not the weekend afterward. Temple University's Diamond Marching Band is going up to Penn State for a performance at Altoona High School Friday night, and the football game on Saturday. Afterward, I'll be spending the night at Jeff's and taking the Megabus home with some other drumline kids the next day.

With my weekends so busy, I have no desire to go home. There is absolutely nothing I could do there except to drive my car, which isn't even a pleasant thing. Sure, there would be good meals and my little brother, but my little brother should come up to the city, and food isn't really important to me anyway.

Kinda about food, I tried to give blood to a NJ Bloodmobile today, but their weight standards were different than the Red Cross's, and I didn't make the cut to give blood. It kinda sucks, 'cuz I usually am over the weight limit, but this summer totally knocked me out. In the winter time, I'm safe by a pretty good margin.

Using the subway has been a fun experience. Todd and I went to South Street to look for his alternative medicine placebos, and I got to learn the stops that come after Race-Vine.

Standing on the Hill

It is fantastic the number of people I don't think about until I try to recall the people I don't think about often. I've been having some very excellent conversations on Facebook about how everyone from back home is doing, now that we are scattered abroad. Even people I never spoke to much in high school, our shared experience is always a conversation point, as well as loudly enjoying the differences between GV and "here."

I found a 2 liter bottle of Ginger Beer for $.99. Even though I reminisced, I passed it by. Smiling through the rest of my trip, when I finally got to the express lane, I ran back and grabbed it. Heaven forbid the future trying to get through it.

On the way to the football game yesterday, I saw a dead baby squirrel. It had fallen out of the tree.

My roomie makes really terrible psychological evaluations of people, which I think is mildly hilarious. While it's okay to quietly laugh to myself, I'm bad about keeping it to myself.

Routeenager

I haven't had time to think at all. It's not actually that I don't have the time; I'm so flustered from the lack of routine.

Yesterday, I finally got to ride the subway for the first time and utterly bungled every step of the process. Headed into Center City for the Reading Terminal Market, I managed to lead the group onto the wrong side of the tracks. Luckily, our friends watching (laughing) from the other side corrected us. I didn't know why quarters and nickels came with my tokens, forgetting that they were my change. When I put in my token, I pushed the turnstile too early. Only Tina saw that, thankfully. On my way out, the escalator had broken into stairs (by the words of Mitch Hedberg). Being ingenious, I used them instead of the very crowded real stairs. I'm so cool! At the very last step, I tripped up it. While I proclaimed my "fineness," I was bleeding when I got back to the dorm.

It's been the decided that I should get a tattoo that says, "I'm really fucking cool" in some horrific font on my arm.

With my meal plan, I could get cheesecake every single night in my building. That is horrifying. Tonight was the first time I ate off campus at a McDonald's with Tina. I had a coupon for $4 20 nuggets, so she bought the fries and drinks. It was justified as a last night before classes celebration. I threw out my Welcome Weekend informational packet.

Intermediate Spanish starts at 10 o'clock tomorrow morning. I'm excited.

A big apology to all those I do not contact. I think about you.

Experts from Email

The following was an email I sent to Jeff that I have edited to remove the emotional content, and direct statements to him changed to about him:

The daily schedule is 8:30 downbeat (for legit this time) until at least 9:30, but will probably be longer. There are rumors that tomorrow is going to be until midnight because we only have our hard ass instructor until Tuesday night.

Because we have a hard ass instructor, I don't even know the names of all the drummers yet. The important and loud ones, yes, but not the two quiet tenors or most of the basses. Our lead cymbal is really nice and reminds me of my cousin Laura. She's also really pretty. There's an even prettier girl on the cymbal line, but she, in all serious, said, "Wait, is Portuguese really a language?" When everyone was absolutely dumbstruck to silence, she asked, "Is that a stupid question?" Luckily, someone managed to get out, "There are no such things as stupid questions," but my lord.

There are three freshmen on the line and none of us have ever played. One of the kids tried for snare I think, and got bumped. The other girl was homeschooled, but plays on a set. She actually, you know, reads percussion rhythms and counts, so she helps me out a lot when I don't need it. It's irritating, but I try to be nice. Also, she was homeschooled.

One of the sophomore cymbals who creeped me on Facebook is actually a total creeper. It was announced on the first day that he slept around a lot. I think the girl who announced it was one of them.

The other guy on the line reminds me of Wizpig because he's balding. He's next to me during all of my sets in "Bad Romance." Oh, yeah. The first show is Lady Gaga.

I think I go crazy when I'm alone, 'cuz I keep making all these weird noises when I have things to do in a rush. I'm glad I don't have roommates yet.

I had to learn how to shave my legs while standing up. Eventually, I went with a back press against one wall to support my leg on the other. There's all sorts of gross things growing in the shower, so I'll try to scrub it before my roomies get here, but I doubt I'll have time.

Kira moved in today. Sadly, we couldn't get dinner together or hang out after band because it ended so late and I was beat.

It's really weird to have A/C, because everything is cold even though I'm sweatin' balls outside.

I got locked out and my room key has still not turned up, so I may have to get a permanent replacement tomorrow. *sigh*

During the first all band practice together, they mostly played around as a warm up. One of the songs they played last year and will be playing again this year is "Fat Lip" by Sum 41. It was surreally awesome to be nearly exhausted, but still watching all these guys singing together "Don't count on me, I'll do it again..." During some songs, I got to groovin'.

I haven't made any real friends yet, but I'm working on it. I'm getting more comfortable with everyone. During the first meeting as cymbals, she told us to all get in a circle and we'd just talk. That made me a little sad/happy there's more circle time.

The snare captain reminds me of a young and more modern Bishop Bishop.

I'm not entirely sure if it's the college experience or picking up cymbals that has made me feel so refreshed to completely learn something new. Admittedly, I had the slightest background information, but still... I feel like such a weeny freshman, possibly aggravated by my lack of experience in this musical format.

On the first full day of lunch, I went to get orange juice from the little dispenser. Rather than going from the nozzle into my cup, it shot out at 90 degree angels parallel to the ground and got me slimed. One of the upperclassmen made fun of me with sympathy, and demonstrated again what had just happened to his friend. However, he was safely backed away from the jets.

My mom wrote me a letter that I was to read once they were gone and I was all settled in at night. It was super cute. Definitely not as relevant or meaningful as I would've liked as far as content, but it was very "my mom," which was more important. She spelled a couple words wrong, including my nickname "Punky." It's very obviously Pucky in all of the spellings.

I have all the hottest bruises this season. The ones are my stomach are totally ridic, but my hips and left arm are also taking a beating. There are no open sores on my hands yet though, like one of the sophomore boys.

The first full night I was gone, my mom called me, and when we said goodbye, I cried immediately afterward. I think it would've made her feel a lot better to know that, but I wanted her to think I was alright. She called me something like three times today and texted twice. Her second message was a little frantic, so when I finally called her, I joked that I hear police sirens all the time. I was joking, but it's also true.

After eating dinner at the cafeteria (hot dogs and french fries because I couldn't find the rice), my stomach hurt a lot during set reps. I knew that if I didn't focus on it, it wouldn't matter so much, so I tried thinking about Jeff. It worked super well! Until I almost got to the point of tears for a whole little rush of memories. Then I had to stop and think of something else.

Our hard ass instructor used his cell phone tonight, and we made fun of him from the field about his statement that cell phone usage at drumline is an automatic 256 laps. His musician friend going way back had a heart attack and is in a coma. He told us to appreciate life because you don't know when it will be gone.

I haven't managed to crack the drumline humor yet (because it's non sequitor pop culture references or inside jokes), but I have had some independent moments appreciated. Plus, I'm still enthusiastic as ever.

It's weird having super fast internet, but I don't know what our data usage rate is.

The difference between a competent band director working with kids who want to be in band vs. D and our band is astounding.




Today, I definitely made up my mind to make this blog private. It's not to keep the past out of my new life, but to keep the new people I meet from discovering my past without me knowing about it. Then tonight, I was wishy-washy on it. I'll figure it out.

Contentment

"Do you know what happened to the little boy who got everything he ever wanted?" asked Willy Wonka.

"No, what happened to him?" said Charlie with eyes widening.

"He lived happily ever after."

I got everything I ever remember wanting. Never peace on earth or a sky dancer, but everything else I remember wanting, from a pogo-stick to an Easy Bake Oven to a car to a college education to the guys I've had crushes on (except one :P ). This is a statement to the universe that I am gratefully satisfied, and I will do everything in my power to remain content with everything the future deems appropriate to give.

Dreams & Schemes

My dreams have been rather dark as of late. Not scary or bad necessarily, just dark.

Two nights ago, I dreamt that through my own trust and negligence, I let my dog Faith be dognapped. A man with two little girls asked to walk her and walked right off. My brother furiously and heroically managed to get her back, leaving me to feel extra guilty about my actions. This all happened in the back sale parking lot, so as Dad and I sat with the dog in the minivan, a couple guys came over and started harassing my dad. Because in the dream I already had my digital camera, I started taking their pictures to show the police, which made them mad. One guy menaced over and attempted to take the camera, which scared me 'cuz I kept thinking, "No! It's special, and I just got it!" At one point, I fell over and started kicking at him, but they decided to leave. Dad and I went in the sale to sort things out afterward. A lot of my dreams take place in the sale.

Last night's dream, well, there were several and I remembered them upon waking and later in the shower, but not now. Usually, if the ideas make it to the shower, they're in my head for the rest of the day. However, the feeling that lingers indicates the most important one was also dark. [Edit: I remembered my dream when I later said, "Nah, dawg" while reading Superpoop. Anyways, in the dream, my little brother, his friends, and I were snuck outside, sittin' at a picnic table in the driveway. The neighbor Jack kept slamming the door. But when I went to teach him how to shut it silently, there was this awful blaring music from the front yard. Everyone rushed inside, hoping my dad would rush to the front, not back, and we were right. Curious though, we also rushed to the front, only to find there was a choreography group in the grass of our front yard? My brother Jack and I were grounded, unfortunately, so I actually watched TV. One of the shows that proved hilarious was Sesame Street. I watched it twice within the hour, and recommended it to Jeff. At some point, my brother came in to the room with me, so I tried showing it to him. Sadly, during the third watching, I could not figure out why I'd ever thought it was funny. As I stood up to turn off the TV, we noticed there were additional cellar doors behind it. Inside was a dank room with a dais, a desk, and a bathtub. There were people everywhere, and we found out it was a "fight to the death" fight club. Somehow, I got volunteered, and managed to slowly get my opponent close to death, but I couldn't kill him. I didn't want to die though, so the lady at the desk said they'd take care of it. Then I found Yellow Version for $4.99 and bought it. Seriously. That was the end of the dream.]

My neighbor gave me a ton of purses. Not literally a ton, of course, but something like 1/100th of a ton of purses. One of them is a "for legit" Louis Vuitton, and while I was trying to identify the model number for eBay, I went through three other spellings before using the Google spell-check to arrive at that conclusion. Girls are really gross. Besides all of the paper trash in various pockets, there were a whole lot of weird, sticky stains I had to clean off. The collective smell made me nauseous, so they are in bags in two different rooms. Hopefully, I can make a lil' money, which would be nice to offset the ridiculous amount of money I've spent on stuff for college.

"He Models Genes"

During a TEDtalk on the moral roots of liberals and conservatives, the speaker surveyed the audience to determine what their political leanings were. There were more libertarians than there were conservatives. I giggled and giggled.

While browsing my book shelf organized as "Beloved Fiction," I stumbled upon Mrs. Dalloway, but momentarily thought she was the author and Virginia Woolf the character. Oops. For those interested, I eventually settled upon a book of short stories by Mark Twain. Now, for your enjoyment, some quotes from Mark Twain:

Of all the animals, man is the only one that is cruel. He is the only one that inflicts pain for the pleasure of doing it.

Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.

Always acknowledge a fault. This will throw those in authority off their guard and give you an opportunity to commit more.

Be respectful to your superiors, if you have any.
-Mark Twain

One of the reasons I post these is because the second quote seems to capture the essence of TEDtalks. Sadly, my interest is likely a binge and not habit forming. I can only hope that some of my professors can manage such thrilling lectures at least once.

TED Performancs

Dance

It's rare for me to think of dance as a legitimate form of art, because so rarely anything innovative seen in the public forum. My family is not much for arts and culture, so I've never been to the ballet or other movement performance. Still, I dream about dance. Ballerinas makes me feel ugly and loping, but stunned at the beauty of the human body. Most often, I herald the achievements of the mind and the creative spirit while ignoring the expressive body. This excerpt revitalized my appreciation. It's beyond my realm of imagination to the point it unnerves me for its oddness. It makes me forget the dancers are human and that gravity exists. Maybe the fact I dismiss its artistic potential is one of the reasons why it's so striking now.

[Edit: It's worth noting that this is the most erotic, most intimate interaction I've ever seen that I have not personally experienced. To communicate that tenderness is astounding, and something difficult to come across, even in music and literature.

Additionally, the movement is so natural, yet requires such unbelievable strength that it draws the comparison to spider silk. Even though I feel like such an irritating, flowery sell-out for that metaphor, it's appropriate.]

Life is Good

Mind you, I'm not going to be one of those douchebaggy, John Mayer types with the visors, bumper stickers, and frisbees, but it is a statement I will endorse. There are 17 days of paper left in my journal, which is just long enough to document my first full day away from home. Realizing this, I went back to see if all this writing had its intended effect, for me to be able to read the words and remember all the left out detail and emotions. Selecting two days at random, one from May and another mid-June, it appears to work! From the sentence, "We went to the mall." I remembered where and why we went and the conversations had along the way. I'm glad to see that my gifts were put to good use and so pertinent in recording this particular summer. Maybe this winter I'll read through the entries and hopefully just as easily say, "life is good."

Privileged

This evening, after the art museum, after my hair cut and half-slice of "Chocolate Lovin' Spoonful Cake," I retreated to the hammock in an attempt to get through Tortillas, Beans, and M-16s. Content wise, the book offers a fascinating insight into the guerrilla war of El Salvador during the mid 1980s. The author is a photographer, not a writer. I have to drag myself through her writing style. Her attempts at deep understanding and platitude fall very short from the mark. And I hate her whiny white person attitude, but appreciate that she does not portray herself as a tireless saint. Those complaints out of the way, I love the personal, intimate encounters with poverty. Because the author of the book primarily set out to document the war through photojournalism, her writings detail the daily lives of people fighting and supporting the "compas.*" While I've learned a lot about the nature of this particular war, the book draws my attention for highlighting the abyssal gulf between American perceptions and reality.

Poverty not necessarily in the sense of abject lack compared to an American middle-class standard of living, but how that absolute absence shapes and defines an entire culture. I feel so utterly self-absorbed and unaware as I read. Firstly, I have never traveled outside of the United States. I have never felt a need to understand in great detail the political and military histories of any countries that weren't covered in Euro. Especially those in South and Central America, Asia, and Africa, which is roughly greater than 70% of the world I would imagine. Secondly, my sense of how poverty affects the human psyche has always been in the terms of the American poor. The fact that other countries have different cultures as a result of their economic standing never occurred to me. I had naively assumed it was the different histories and geographies. I'm sure those factors play some part, most likely because they are the cause of poverty.

For all of the information and wealth and privilege that has surrounded me since I was born, nothing has ever prompted me to think like this. No public school education. No parental guidance. No other book I've read, fiction or nonfiction. The only thing that even got close to this consideration was Jeff's voyage abroad, because he personally narrated stories of the differences. Being in the AP track, my historical education was solely Euro-centric. Sure, while I hold the belief that the majority of "cultural exposure" classes are hastily designed to satisfy some politically correct agenda, by God, how much more could my horizons have expanded if I'd known? Every mention of poverty in school seems to instill the idea, "Aren't you proud to live in America and not these horrible other places?" No, I'm not proud, I feel guilty now that by lottery of fate and genetics, I am here, writing in my interblog on my nice laptop in my swivel chair with running water, electricity, and a half-slice of "Chocolate Lovin' Spoonful Cake" left in the fridge. And that I will still do nothing about distant oppression.

I'll get over the guilt, it's a white person thing. Admittedly, I'll probably even forget my initial horror at how ignorant I was. Still, I wish this wasn't some revolutionary, adolescent discovery. I guess if every child was inducted at an early age to realize how precious and tenuous their life is, they'd be more satisfied with themselves. They wouldn't need to buy so much, and then maybe they'd have a little more money and a little more time to actually do something about the problem.

*compas is short for compañero/as, "friend" similar to comrade

Judicial Review

The Christian idea of Judgment Day is a very cruel notion. Obviously, an omnipotent, omniscient being should have the ability to instantaneously determine "your" fate. Instead, it's been fabricated as a Holy courtroom to exploit human fears of shame and public speaking.

Text

Jack and I went to see Inception again this evening. It definitely proved its worth in rewatching, and a solid use of his free tickets. Nearly all of the early scenes dust in subtlety that requires an understanding of the whole. A second viewing also helped me solidly pin down thoughts about the movie and ideas it represents. Still, my mind wandered very far from the cinema. Forty minutes in, my mom texted me out of the blue. I hadn't spoken to her that day, and it made me sad I'd never realized that she probably spends a lot of time thinking about me when we're apart. Of course, technophobe as she is, she sent it in drastically abbreviated "txt tlk." Her text, short and broken as it was, summarized a nagging thought too tantalizing to ignore, but too painful to answer. As a practical utilitarian, I hope that she's wrong. As a cynic and a skeptic, I tell myself that she is wrong. As a selfish girl experiencing something more than anything I've ever lived through, I wish that she was right. I don't want an answer. I try not to think about it, try not to come to a solid conclusion. Because without a definitive answer, everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

August 1st

The beginning of the end has begun.

Last night, the very late evening of August 1st and the very early morning of August 2nd, I snuck out to visit a friend. While waiting for their mom to fall asleep, I climbed up onto the roof of a nearby building and gazed up at the stars, reflecting on the joy of the day and how few days are left. I cried with my sweater all stretched out to cover my legs from the air and the bugs. I cried for the phrase " I don't know when I'll see you again," and the long hugs that follow. I thought about how lucky I was that this day, this perfect representation of everything I could want from a goodbye summer, wasn't over. I smiled and smiled and hugged myself and laughed for how happy I was. All thanks to friends.

Alcohol-Wise

For Temple, as for many colleges, I have to a mandatory alcohol awareness course. Some of it is informational, but it is a very condescending course. Also, its free-response sections are not very comprehensive.

For the prompt, "In your opinion, how would drinking rank on your list of fun things to do and what would be number one on your list. "

I responded, "#1 fun thing would be learning something with friends or going out, and because I don't drink, drinking would probably be at the bottom of the fun things list. "

No matter how I arranged that, I kept getting the response, "You must provide a relevant answer. Use at least three words in your entries, and DO NOT use any profanity." *sigh* I guess learning is not a fun thing. I'll probably have to put shopping or going to the movies or something abhorrent like that.

Revelations [The Edit]

A web comic in the tradition of great webcomics inspired me to Google Image search Barack Obama this evening. I forgot how attractive our president is, and I feel like a bad citizen for neglecting this important fact of government.


[Edit: www.en.wikipedia.org/Beewolf: Not to be confused with Beowulf

EVIL BEES!!!!!

My mom knows nothing about me!

I kinda want to write "Pit: The Musical." Or the very extensive music video.]