I suck at this

Turns out, I am terrible at blogging. Instead of just reviewing events, there should be some content not related to the consumption of alcohol and the driving of trucks. Add that to the list of things I suck at (math, basketball, handwriting, etc.) But sometimes, nights are just so crazy, I have to add a few comments on the shit-piece that is this blog. And last night, well, it makes it up there. There were guest appearances by the kid doing community service at the Union (punkass kid stole shit at the mall.) Hospitality was extended by Justin Lee, and I made out with his girlfriend's dog (not literally, but I am not ashamed to admit that I allow a dog to lick my face now and then.) Let's be honest, the moat party sucks, it always sucks, and why I ever end up going there is beyond me. Damn, I wish I could fill a bigass thing with water and get lots of people around it just standing around because they don't have BRACELETS. Oh wait, that would be like having a Pool, which stratford hills does have...well damn, thats sad. For the first time in a while, I had a chance to speak with the king of SAE, Mr. Dan Tracy. It's always good when you see the freshman year kids, and they are doing well for themselves and not addicted to crack cocaine or 100 lbs. heavier than when we were all drinking in a Hinton James dorm room and playing beer pong on a closet door, while getting alcohol citations for trying to have a "public alcohol source" (keg) in said dorm room. It's really not a good idea, no matter how cool you think your suite is. On an unrelated note, my mom called me yesterday; it seems that back when I met the phillip morris guy in deep end, and he took my ID before giving me free cigarettes, he got my address and sent some bullshit about being added to Phillip Morris's "Adult Smoker List", which she was worried indicated that I had picked up a bad habit (ha, ha, ha) so I assured her that no, I was not a smoker, and it was probably junk mail. I did this with a cigarette tucked behind my ear. Thats irony, kids. At least irony in one sense of the word. On to Top of the Hill, where my fellow 40H resident and chief of getting fucked up Chris ran afoul of the law. Not really the law actually, more like the bartenders and bouncers of the Top O establishment. All for a little taste of the expensive-ass crab dip sitting innocently on the bar, waiting for its rightful owner. Who knew that when someone touched a dish there, the staff instantly flipped out, gang jumped you, and proceeded to physically throw you out of the bar? $8.50 later, I had purchased the offending dip. And I ate the fuck out of it, with a little help from scott mcduffie and stuart anderson. To end up the cameos of the night, Tyrell Clemmons made an appearance at Miami Subs, and promptly pronounced me to be "drunk as hell." So true. Hope this is a suitable rundown of the night, sorry if I forgot details, but lets be honest, I WAS DRINKING.

An Evening with Billy Collins

Billy Collins was the U.S. poet laureate 2001-2003. He is now the New York State poet laureate, 2004-2006. Tonight he spoke at the Union. And in my mind, going to hear a poet speak is quite the worthless exercise (not only because I work at the Union, either.) True, it is interesting to hear the man who actually wrote the works explain the motivations behind his creations. However, he is famous for writing, not speaking, the last time I checked. He could just as well write his motivations and reflections on the tribulations of writing in a preface. On a deeper level, it is somewhat disturbing/unsettling to see the man or woman responsible for poems, and even more so for novels, short stories, etc. It is like hearing a new song on the radio, then seeing the person singing; they are never quite how you imagined them, and it is never quite the same. I create my own understanding of the work they have created, and would rather keep it, regardless of the actual motivations behind their work. I understand this is slightly childish and quite a bit stupid, but I hold to it anyway. In the end, perhaps the creator is not even fully aware of all the influences behind his/her creation; or they are not willing to share with the world. Hemingway said the Old Man and the Sea was simply a book about a big fish. Do you really think that is true? Or did he think it was so, and only unconsciously was he pushed towards the story he created by other influences? In my mind, we should all come to a story fresh, and only afterwards involve outside knowledge of the author and the context. If you love an author, or are convinced a book is a classic and worth respect, or any other previous bias, how can you objectively regard what you are presented with in the work? Wow, this post makes me sound like an english major or an asshole, or perhaps both. Too bad.

shape without form, shade without colour

yes, there was a saturday night as well. Not quite as notable, but still quality, with a keg and 3 boxes of macaroni; some chose to eat this macaroni out of coffee filters (what the fuck?) but most ate off paper plates. Sunday was a day of work at the union, discussions with fellow employees regarding various topics ensued. Is it such a weird desire to have a left-handed girlfriend? Is it really such a terrible thing for a little sarcasim and profanity to be incorporated into daily conversation? I say no on both counts. Today at APO final banquet, I discovered what my fellow brothers truly thought about me when we had "greek gods and goddesses." Needless to say, I was not expecting any honors at this point; but much to my suprise, i received Hades, god of the underworld. Obviously, this means everyone thinks I am an asshole. The subscript on the award states, "Trouble is your middle name, and anyone that has a problem with that, you have a few choice words for them...and most of those words are 4 letters long." If there was no adult swim, late nights would be uninteresting and quite a bit less amusing. And I say for this week, let us gather and consume the alcohol in a grand brotherhood; Ops bar night thursday, because that is the last day of my real classes.

Goodbye F-350

I hate reviewing all the things that happened over the weekend in a journal-type setting like this. I do it constantly, but I always forget major details, sound like a drunk dumbass, and end up rambling off to some other topic unrelated. But, this was a week/weekend that hit me like a truck (probably a large blue F-350). Thats right, the week of the F-350 had come to an end, and with the return of the Explorer, I fully expect a return to normalcy. No more rumbling diesel-ness, no more UNCW women's basketball players spending the night at our apartment, no more wearing crown royal bags as hats, and certainly no more using a red plastic bowling pin as a microphone. Friday, I went with chris and dan to a lazy afternoon of some sort at P-bob's, since chris is now a member of the non-fratty-guys-dating-a-sorority-girl team, and would need backup. Drunk we became. Proceeding to Carver street, we were by default the drunkest 3 of the party, and things did not change as the night wore on. Why is it that I constantly seem to chain smoke when drunk? I had a talk about farming with a guy named Hunter. I had a talk about Beer-bonging with a guy who I can't remeber (he took 3). I watched another dance-off. I managed to lose another beerpong game. Much more happened, but that will be omitted in the interest of those parties involved. As I assumed the night would be coming to a close, chris and I made the long walk home to 40H, happily drunken and expecting no suprises. Lo and Behold, Paul Shafer, the Champps bandit, had somehow managed to get 5 girls to spend the night at our apartment, 1 from Elon (which was not a suprise), and 4 UNCW girls, who were on the Women's Basketball team (which was a surpise.) Being the friendly hosts that he is, chris ran into his room and locked the door, passing out. I, unafraid of women taller than myself, sat on the couch in their midst, talking on the ever-vital AIM. Memories of the night being quite unclear, I dont recall what happened till a little later, when they (and I) were going to sleep. As I walked to my room, one asked if I would give her a kiss goodnight. It seemed a fine idea to me, and as I did this, it somehow turned into full-on make out. Evedently, that scores them points or something, so I guess I was used. Do I mind being used? Not quite.

I just found

while using the next blog button, an intriguing and very funny blog that might be my favorite in a while.

A real post

Haha, yeah right, what is a real post to a blog like this? I'll try and avoid the "I'm probably drunk" style post. Man, I love to eat late at night. I know, it's a terrible thing to do, and yes, it is how I went from the 160's to the upper 170's and perhaps breaking 180 if I don't watch it. But there is no better feeling (ok, it is debatable) than sleeping after a feast of pizza or steak or hamburger helper or spaghetti or on and on. Back on track, we learned today that Michael Moore is kind of a bastard when it comes to filmmaking (suprised? not really); for a good example, watch the scene in Bowling for Colombine where Charlton Heston says the infamous line "out of my cold, dead hands" while holding a gun over his head. Moore leads you to belive, by a cut in he strategically places, that this is said at a rally in Denver just days after the tragedy. In actually, this occured at an earlier rally, and you can tell by the different ties, the style of podium, and the color of the backdrop behind him as he speaks. Not that Heston is blameless for the Denver rally, but it seems a dubious editing choice on Moore's part. His interview style is also questionable, more of an interregation than an interview, very un-documentary in style. However, I do like Bowling for Colombine, and not necessarily for the conclusions he comes to, or the approach he uses. It was a film that needed to be made, as much of a cliche as that might seem. September 11th had all the media, the government, and the world's attention at the time when this film was released, and rightfully so. But it is much easier to deal with foriegn enemies, and much easier to understand why they would want to kill us. Students killing other students is an entirely different, and in my mind much more disturbing situation. Schools are not one of the places where one expects to fear for your life, and children being our most vital resource (no, its not oil, despite what you might belive) it is all the more disturbing that they would have such horrible violence subjected by their fellow students. There are also very human elements to the film, such as the interview with marylin manson, perhaps the finest moment of the entire film, where you find yourself thinking perhaps this isn't such a bad guy, and the honesty with which he approaches the trials of growing up and the escape of music is refreshing and touching. With that said. his stats are terrible, his logic is faulty, and sometimes he is downright irritating. But you must respect him, for one simple reason; you can tell he is truly passionate about the cause. From the massive amount of personal information he involves in the film (the city of Flint and the state of Michigan get more screen time that Denver) to his selective portrayal, he is sending a message, a manipulative message, but one that he seems to be putting forward because he believes it is true. Chris and I are APO's social chairs for next semester, and it should be glorious. And yes, I just ate, and am now going to bed. If you write stories, you should let me read them. Especially if they are entitled "Dicks in the Wind."

You just got served a plate of humiliation, how does that feel?

I hope this Will Ferrel movie is positive. Also, family guy rocks. Long live the F-350. I call her "the Beast." But sadly, can it get any worse for the panthers? When the good guys are dying, it is a rought time in Charlotte.

Harlan County, USA

Today, I experienced amazement at the crass and idiotic nature of our fellow students not felt since attending this university. For a bit of background, Harlan County, USA is a documentary from the 70's about a coal miner's strike for the right to join the UMWA union (as a very interesting aside, Duke power happened to be the company owning the mine, and attempting to prevent them from signing a Union contract, proving that nothing with the Duke name is good for the world). It is a very grainy and amateur film visually, but its quality comes from the candid nature of the investigation it makes into the poverty of the eastern Kentucky coal mine country, and how the struggle between the little man and big business can destroy lives. None of this was debated by my fellow Engl 42 students; the amazement occured with a single comment by the one known as "melted GI Joe" and he found a second in what I like to call the corner of Idiots. His offending statement went something like the following, "Why don't those people just go on strike the whole time, or even just move away? It looks like that place sucks anyway, I would leave." Now, this might not at first glace seem such a bad statement, but let us consider the implications of this. First, how can we expect those living in extreme poverty to pick up and leave, when they have children to support, no built up nestegg to finace the move, and no education to speak of with which to find a new job? Some people seem not to realize how destructive the cycle of poverty becomes in a family like those in the film; to pay for the kids, the mother and father work hard at low paying jobs just to make ends meet. Then, the oldest begin to work, to help the family along, and education goes out the window. Just about the time it seems they will get their head above water, someone gets sick, the car breaks down, etc. And then, back to square one, with no one ever making it beyond the limited education that can be afforded before going into the workforce. Perhaps this genius does not realize that people of lower income are not lesser individuals; they are not seeking a lifelong handout and a life of barely getting by. Despite the claims of some of our finest politicians, not everyone on welfare simply wants a handout; to many, it takes a quite a bit of swallowing their pride (and a hungry family at home) to bring them there, and they definately do not want to remain there forever. It makes me particularly mad because of upbringing I had, and the realization I made sometime in my teenage years that I had been amazingly fortunate to be two steps away from the same cycle. Not that I ever lived in poverty, I have my parents to thank for everything I ever needed growing up. But my mom and dad did a very good job of teaching me that I was lucky, not entitled to that situation. I remeber two guys that worked for us in tobacco, a shit job for sure, that also worked at the furiture plant in Galax during the day. I always kinda wondered why we always had them help, even when it was pretty easy stuff dad and I could have done by ourselves (Not like we have a plantation), but one day I figured it out as I overheard them talking about their hours being cut at the mill. Dad was paying them way more an hour than they asked for. Now not that my dad is a saint or any sort of spectacular philanthropist, but after that was discovered, I thought about him a little different light. I heard my grandma talk about how hard it was in Grayson County back before my Grandfather got a job with the DOT. I remeber my Mom getting kids jobs with anyone in the county that would take them, helping in hay or tobacco, whatever that could be found. I guess this kinda reflection makes me a sentimentalist, and it probably doesn't matter much except to make me look like a preachy asshole, a bastard trying to make myself look better because I care about those less fortunate when I am in extremely lucky circumstances. But don't tell me they should go somewhere else, or get another job, or that we don't owe anyone else a part of our paycheck. When the mill closes, you do owe that man or woman a helping hand, because somewhere down the line, you got one too.

What the Fuck is Apple Chill?

Where did it come from, how did it start, and how did it go from being a simple family street festival to wildass durham ghettoness on the streets of Chapel Hill? Why does a street festival turn into a carshow/motorcycle rally? Obviously, the weekend provides us with another question, the answer to which is perhaps unsolvable. Lewis Black was at Top of the Hill last night. He also signed the phonebook at the Union. But drunk me, I did not see him there. The grilling occured, and was quite a success, as it has given me the drunken with food feeling and a strong desire to sleep before 2 am. The F-350 is still badass to drive. And the beef is sapping my strength. So I'm down. God let's hope this is a good week and I don't piss anyone else off.

Who needs plans when you have Liquor?

I awoke this morning in a room with two beds. I looked down, and saw that I was wearing my shirt, but not my pants. My arm was asleep from hanging over the edge of the bed for the unknown duration of sleep. I saw a lumpy figure in the other bed, with no disernable identifying feature about him/her. I quickly reviewed what I last remebered: taking shots of Bacardi 151, holding them in my mouth, lighting them on fire and then swallowing, as taught by Stuart Anderson. So, I assumed perhaps he was the one passed out in the other bed; not an illogical assumption. Not wanting to awake others, I quietly said, "Stuart, Stuart, hey stuart, how did I get in here? What happened?" As the lumpy mass of humanity rolled over, a familiar face replyed, "I don't know, I don't remeber how I got here either." However, the face belonged not to Stuart, but to the roommate of 40H, Chris Butts. Not that he seemed to care that I called him by the wrong name. This incident spoke volumes about the nature of the weekend so far; by the way, this was in a house in Boone, which I decided to go to around 3PM yesterday. Not to be a boring blogger relating all the events of the time, but I rode in a Taxi, got a cigarette from a bartender at deep end, and messaged people I should not have on facebook(bad drinking idea) on thursday alone. This leads to the friday events, which involved going to Sparta, trading the explorer for my Dad's F-350, and proceeding to buy 6 cases of beer and get hammered at a house that can only be described as bizarre. Needless to say, the car swap has left me with a vehicle that is not well suited to around-town driving in CH. Needless as well to say, I got pretty drunk last night. I learned that my Grandma is not the only person in the world who puts mayo on grilled cheese sandwiches, as Claire Sauls made a masterpiece with the same technique. American cheese is good to eat as a snack in general, but especially as a chaser to 151. Flaming dr. peppers are actually a very close approximation to the real Dr. Pepper, if you can get past the stench of buring alcohol. Why is Backyard Burgers the best fastfood burger that is no where near CH? Why also did I use the women's bathroom in Deep End, only to find it clogged by the largest turd I have seen in quite a while? Why did wilmington plans fall through, only for boone plans to work out? Let us hope that Saturday leaves us with more answers that questions, and no suprises in the morning.

Snake Dog-Pirate Captain-Finding Nemo

Well, well, well. Looks like the House is finally listening to my ideas about the alcohol content of beer. Not that I actually ever told them my idea about raising the limit, I'm pretty sure the lobby for microbreweries took care of that. It is quite the turn of events; one day, we are the crown jewel of the Bible Belt, the next, we have a lottery, 15% alcohol beer (that means real Steel Reserve!) and who knows, perhaps legalized prostitution. Quite the month in North Carolina, not to mention a National Championship. As for today, we watched Finding Nemo today in movie class. Now this might sound weak, but it's actually a pretty damn good film. By the way, guess who won the SBP at NCSU, talk about a crazy week. Back to Finding Nemo. Pretty damn amazing graphics, fairly funny, plot that is kinda childish, but wait for it...IT'S A KIDS MOVIE, so its all good. I wrote a paper on it without having actually watched it. Hope that works out. Sadly, after spending big money on a Tuxedo (yes, if pressured I will provide pictures) the LSAT, groceries, and a stupid bet with a co-worker that had me paying for lunch at Alpine motherfucking Bagel, I am broke. But let us speculate on this one idea; In perhaps a year, I will be graduating, drinking beer of a percent above 6, scratching off a lottery ticket, and planning on law school. And wow, was that southpark ever fucked up? not every day you see interracial sex on a cartoon, thats for sure. Tommorow, Grilling, for real.

I Say...

WE GRILL, Thursday perhaps? Its long past due. Pollen, Cold, Rain be damned, its time to light a fire and cook some beef. Never take a man seriously who cannot cook his own food. Also, it is time I had a day free of Pizza or Cosmic. So let's do it. Bust out the charcoal, crack open your beverage of choice (IPA for myself), and celebrate a meal that was not prepared for you, but by you, with the labor of your own hands, not the sketchy hands of the people working at wendy's or the Dining hall or those motherfuckers at Alpine Bagel. I now write a paper about Finding Nemo, God bless America. Goodnight, good luck, and godspeed.

Oh wow, its already tuesday.

So perhaps winning the national championship has created some sort of time warp, or perhaps that is due to drinking in excess on multiple weeknights, but it seems that the weeks have begun to pass at an astondingly fast rate. I thought I had posted two days ago; turns out it has been 3. By the way, the legend of the Pirate Captain has spread tremendously, I would like to say that I broke the story before those bastards at the DTH. Not that this is to be at all considered a journalistic operation. Or at all professional, for that matter. It also seems that my professors decided this semester to team up and create sucessive due dates at inopportune times, as this week has had me taking a Roman history test, producing a very sub-par philosophy paper, and now, a Critical Review of the very fine film Finding Nemo. I realize this last one blows the credibility of the entire group to hell, but in defense of Roman History, Talbert is a horrible british bastard (no offense to the british in general). Pollen levels have reached Dust Storm levels; as I drove to work yesterday the swirling dust of plant reproduction created a surreal scene in front of my headlights, like our modern version of the dust bowl. I assume that this is the norm, but since I used to own a green car, I did not notice quite so much the massive buildup. I have also noticed the green coating on my alarm clock, as my window is constantly open. This makes me wonder what the stuff must look like inside my lungs, probably mixing with the already nasty mucus that lines the resperatory passages. Perhaps not the best mental image for the afternoon. A better one: I was so bored in class, I deeply carved "I Love Desk" into my wonderful desk of Phil 42, with the finest artistic tool available, my ballpoint pen.

News from Raleigh

This week, Andrew "andypants" McMillan directed me to a news story that is perhaps the oddest yet most intriguing political tale ever told. It seems that amist the Student Body President elections at NCSU, the usual doucebag career-overachiever types had a little competition, from a man calling himself the "Pirate Captain", and surrounding himself with a crew of pirate buddies, he threw his hat into the ring. Now, oddball canidates are nothing new, but this guy is above and beyond anything I've ever heard of; he has yet to reveal his actual name, and speaks in pirate language, "I couldn't bae happier,' the Captain said. 'The wind bae in our sails. It warms our souls and carries our boats. More than amazing was the ratio of student votes he recieved, 44%; the next highest competitor garnered 21% of the vote. In one single situation is the most disturbing and most hilarous example of the bullshit that is student elections. On one hand, it is obvious that the process is a joke if it takes a guy dressed as a pirate to create the largest turnout in a student election; with the UNC system in turmoil due to budget cuts and tuition increases, now is the time when student leaders should be most important in speaking for the interests of their constituents. On the other hand, none of the jackasses that ever actually run for the position have any real intention of doing anything monumental, instead, they are simply interested in adding it to their Law School applications. The BOG never takes Students seriously, and with ass-kissers as representatives, we don't do very well. But before I make this guy out to be a working class hero, we should remeber, He is Dressed as a Pirate. And how seriously can you take a guy dressed as a pirate? Obviously this story has caught my attention, and the deep intellectual questions it raises could occupy great minds for hours. Also, NC State is going to have a Pirate for a SBP, and how retardedly hilarious is that? Those crazy kids in Raleigh; it must be all that brick.

Actually, I'm switching to beer.

Well it has been quite a week here in CH. And with that amazingly ridiculious first sentance, we will begin the narrative. We won the National Championship. We got drunk. Chris fucked up his face, to the point where old people get scared when he is at hardee's. Things burned. I bought a 40oz. from TJ's campus beverage, and drank it in an alley with random people from Freshman Orientation. Most importantly, we won the National Championship, with Power. Today as I walked to the locker room in Fetzer, I passed Sean May, QT and Marvin Williams on their way to woolen. I gave them a congradulatory nod. This will hopefully ensure that Marvin and Sean return next year; if not, I did all I could. I saw Lost in Translation today, and I think Bill Murray, despite his affection for Illinois, is a funny, yet very human actor. Scarlett Johanson, well, she is pretty hot, and spends alot of time in panties. Japanese people do weird things, American people realize they are fucked up and have awkward moments, and the girl from scary movie makes blondes everywhere look like idiots. Good times. Also of monumental occasion is the passage of a bill in the house to create a lottery in North Carolina, a step that signals either the coming of fiscal stability, or the emminent damnnation of our eternal souls (depending on your political/religous affiliations, of course.) As we all know, lotteries are nothing but a mass-marketed tax on the guilible poor. But, since Virginia, Tennesse, South Carolina, and Georgia all have them, it seems that the tax is being levied on OUR poor and guilible citizens, as border residents cross the line in droves to play the pick 6 or what have you. So with this in mind, it is far past time that we ourselves began to capitalize, not to mention the fact that Govenor Easley has been planning it into the budget since he was elected. Now, obviously, the argument for having a lottery because all the other states have one seems on the surface to be about the same as if everyone else was jumping off bridges, we should as well. But actually, nah, it isn't quite that simple. If and when people from North Carolina cross the line to buy tickets, they give money to other states, propping up their treasuries with our money. It is bad for a state to steal money from its citizens; it is far worse for another state to steal money from our citizens. It is more like developing a Nuclear program because the neighboring country does so; you don't want to, but there is no rational way you cannot. Prisoner's Dilemma anyone? Not that it will be the magic bullet to solve monetary problems in NC, but at least it keeps Georgia from paying for GT and UGA with our money. Another action that should be copied quickly from our neighbors is the ability to sell beer above 6% alcohol, and in packs larger than 24. What are you really keeping us from doing besides enjoying the economies of scale and efficiency? As long as we are all going to hell, it might as well be a quick fall down (At least we have radar detectors; how is that ban working out for you VA?)

There ain't no liquor in this town.

Tommorow, more like later today actually, we (UNC) will play for the national championship in men's basketball. When I was a freshman, we were playing in the NIT, and the infamous wave incident ended all chances of us defeating Georgetown and advancing. That year we also got the hell beat out of us against Texas in football, and I had to wait until my Sophmore year to see a home victory by a UNC football team. I had bleached hair and ate chinese food alot. This game is one of those moments when it becomes obvious why sports are so popular and influential; they cut across time, age, gender, social standing, etc. and provide a unifying event that carries significance for all involved. Like the kenndy assination, people remeber where they were and what they were doing (barring the influence of alcohol) during such a game. Not to sound too sentimental, because there are many ugly and unadmirable parts to organized athletics on the scale of Division I bball, and they constantly receive the attention and feverent adherence that Religion fills in certain ESPN-less cultures. They are, unarguably, a major cultural event, on the level with things perhaps deemed more sophisticated or significant that a simple game, and perhaps this is a valuable characteristic in a society as diverse as ours. Back in the real world, I had perhaps the longest day possible featuring only the Union. From an early opening at 9am, or should I say 8 since the evil time people that steal our hours away for the summer declared today the day, to a last-minute closing shift to avoid working on monday night, i spent around 11 hours in the Union today. A good deal of that was spent sleeping at the desk, with my head on Kristin's coat and my uniform safely hidden, living in its home of the office cubbyhole. There are some days when your body lets you know you should take a few days off from drinking, and today was certainly one of those days. I arrived at work to battle with a curious burning feeling in my esophogus (how the hell that is truly spelled I do not know or care) which Diana and I assumed could only be the beginnings of Acid Refux disease. It was to the point of having an inability to drink Diet Coke or Coffee, two things I was in desperate need of at this point in the day. Tommorow, aside from the obvious excitement of the NC game, there is the added suspense of the Arrival of the INTERNET MAN. Time Warner, the corporate bastard juggernaught that they are, will be arriving sometime between 8 and 12 to grant the first legitmate internet connection that 40H has seen thus far. For those of you keeping tabs, we have made it from May of 2004 to April of 2005, only to cave in the last month of our original 12 month lease, a dream run by any standards. This follows on the heels of the excitement of the NEW DISHWASHER, thursday's wonderful gift to the week that has passed. A new Hotpoint dishwasher was installed, featuring a white cabnet front that matches none of the other appliances in the Kitchen. We win that game. Also, a new fullsized map of the United States adorns the wall of the living room, purchased for $10 by me at Barnes and Noble. Chris bought a map as well, this one costing $24 and showing the entire world; when opened, the resulting map was less than what was expected, being around half the size of the US map. An ordeal of rolling insued, as Chris used his expertise with maps (being a Geography major) to recreate the retardedly small tube diameter. All is now well with the maps, as the $24 debacle will be rectified. Wear shorts in the warmness, and make sure you have some material picked out for burning just in case Monday night goes our way. Actually, have stuff to burn either way, fires are the key to a good time no matter what the situation.

Bloggy

This is how I create all my posts. Honestly. That explains the strange lack of paragraphs, and smallminded focus on unimportant details. But not the profanity, or the semicolons; I add those myself.