Why I love Finals

Yeah, I'm retarded for saying it, but I kinda love finals. People moan and bitch about finals more than just about anything else, but let's be honest with ourselves, there are worse things to be doing. Tonight I'm reading shakespeare plays I should have read 2 months ago, and listening to a huge list of country music that I should have started at the beginning of the class quite a few weeks ago. And I am stressed, drinking too much Diet Coke, and well on my way to smoking both of the buy-one-get-one-free Parliament's I bought at run in jim's today. But I could be digging ditches, painting houses, working in a factory, sweeping floors, or any other shitass job that doesn't promise to help me get to a better tommorow. Suffering of this kind isn't quite as bitter when you stop to think you're doing it for something worthwhile; and don't give me the bullshit about not getting a job, you'll all get jobs somewhere better than wal-mart. So let's try to have a few less pity-me away messages, and get a little more excited about what we're doing here; plus, once finals are over, we can all go get really fuckin wasted. That should perk you up if the damn positive goals don't.

Confidence

Ate at ramshead dining hall twice today. That's twice more than the rest of my life. Seems like quite the turning point in my life as a senior. Also wasted most of the day sleeping and eating; "Everything" bagels are damn good for the money. Too bad exams have to happen at some point, and for me they are knocking on the door. Not yet a priority, so not yet am I working on them. And yes...Beer didn't help the focus. Goddamn beer, always there when free time is present; always looking for an opportunity to keep us from achieving our goals. And always ripe to distract us with some terrible latenight discovery channel show about building distroyers or some such bullshit. And then there's the cloud of sparta hanging over my head. Guess I better make the most of the week to waste; unless this plot to deepfry a turkey works out, then its damn sure golden.

Absolute Zero

Since I go to a school pretty big on science, I have to clarify that this doesn't mean REAL absolute zero (some of those chemistry nerds already IMed me), rather, it means that I haven't done shit. Not damn shit. At all. It was a unique time, really. I managed to fuck up the easiest week/weekend of my life already. I lit a cigarette on a stove. Yeah, that's fuckin redneck as hell. I learned it from my mom. Later on in the week, I managed to get my nose busted by a drunk girl in a laundry room. Blood all over the shirt, it was awesome. That's what you get for drinking LIT's at Top O and thinking you should be a gentleman. I managed to sleep through work the next morning, around 9am. The alarm went off, the snooze button was hit, and over I rolled. DAMNIT. I was struck by the lethargy, and the results weren't great. Today being sunday, I woke up around 2. Did some laundry, did some cleaning. Took a nap at 6. What the Fuck. Perhaps it had something to do with my decision to try and avoid caffiene for the entire day; let me just say, that doesn't work at all. Something else that doesn't work is my laptop battery. Now I guess I have an overly expensive and extremely small Desktop system (thanks a goddamn lot IBM). It's now 3 am. I have nothing to do tommorow. Here we go again...

addictive like crack

Procrastination is addictive. Damn addictive. Once it gets those hooks in your brain, and you feel that rush of starting the 10pg paper due tommorow at 1am, its game over. You're hooked. And that's just the beginning; you never realize its a GATEWAY drug. Next thing you know, you're walking to the coke machine at 3 am, bumming cigarettes off your neighbor all night long, eating Chickfila biscuits like mana from heaven. You sleep late, drive to campus, and blow $9 on parking. You don't shave. You don't call your parents; they worry sick about you and leave voicemails. You put off showers so you can check facebook and make sure away messages haven't changed in the last 2 minutes while you were reading CNN.com. Worst of all, you start making excuses; you miss the big meeting, the early deadline, the first draft. Pretty soon, you can't get a rush until you're actually LATE in turning in assignments. That's when the grades drop. You start stealing for cash to buy just one more redbull. Your teeth turn yellow from all the coffee. And your face hasn't been shaven since midterms...You see where this is going. One day the roommates will find you face down on the keyboard, half-empty redbull in one hand, the other still rightclicked on that last away message in the "Carolina peeps" section...

Review day

1. Why has Cheerwine existed since 1917, yet still not made it to nationwide distribution?
2. Why are some dumbass people afraid to drink Eggnog?
3. What would ever lead someone to ask "What's the One Thing we should take away from this class?" in a review session for a multiple choice test?
4. How can some people achieve senior status at a major university like UNC without understanding the basic functions of a Listserv
-----4b. and how can they manage to always reply to the Listserv, despite being told not to?
5. How come Cosmic Cantina doesn't deliver?
6. How come Miami Subs does?
7. Why isn't there an advanced level of Ultimate Frisbee class?
8. What the fuck is Burger King's problem?
9. Why can't Dan Findlay hear comments spoken directly to him from the room next door?
10. What the fuck did I just waste this much time doing this list for? (perhaps the only one with an easy answer)

Hickory Smoke Flavor

These days I suck at consistency. It's hard to make it to the grocery store every week (except to buy alcohol), really tough to make it to the SRC every day, kinda hard for me to get up for work on time, and damn sure impossible for me to ever do any assignment more than a Day in advance. Into this mix comes an old friend in new clothes; since the summertime, it has been a dream to partake of the barbecue from Allen & Sons. I heard lots of good things, I saw some nice reviews, but try as I might, it was an impossible task to make it the few miles down 86 that seperated me from the pulled pork palace. In perhaps the most odd turn of events ever to occur in my working-at-the-union life, a visit to my superbitch managing directors house brought me to the impossible dream. Yes, Mrs. Watkins decided that our christmas celebration must occur at her newly completed, no way she payed for that with State Money mansion. Obviously all of Ops was appalled at the prospect of being required to celebrate the end of the semester at the house of a women so universially disliked. But then, the word came down: Catering by Allen & Sons. Boom, we rolled. And quite an impression im sure we made, with Jason Strange still grappling with the effects of the force (6 cans lemonade concentrate, 6 red bulls, 12 beers, 1 handle vodka, ice) and myself transporting 2 empty kegs from friday in the back. The rest of the crew was forced to ride with manager ashley, listening to gospel and christian alternative the entire 20 min drive. But boy, wasn't that rich smoked taste and moist flavorful pork worth it? oh yes, I think it was . And just so you know, we were also the first department to leave in masse. We don't fuck around.

Time well wasted

I consider any break from school a batch of time wasted. Yes, home is nice, food is free, and things are easy. But the lack of sound and fury around the Phipps household, and in the county of Alleghany in general, leaves me feeling less than satisfied at my use of time. Breaks should be spent sleeping in the back of cars (such as the excursions of Mr. Findlay). Satisfaction drops to an all-time low when sad things occur, and good people leave us (Tommy Bobbit; I'm still confused and saddened by that one). So we find ourselves seeking solace in the one film that truly defines the Holiday Season: the comedic masterpiece Bad Santa. Yes, this film is one that finally graps the nature of the time, and how disenchanted some can be with the all-too-happy G-rated period we create for commerical interests. If a man can drink in a Santa suit, find true love in a bar, and come full circle in his life by becoming a mentor to a child, there is hope for us all in this holiday season. Sadly, few of us embrace the daytime drinking, blatant abuse of open container laws, and incessant consumption of cigarettes that is obviously the path to reform and success.

Like a Phoenix

Pronunciation: 'fE-niks
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English fenix, from Old English, from Latin phoenix, from Greek phoinix
: a legendary bird which according to one account lived 500 years, burned itself to ashes on a pyre, and rose alive from the ashes to live another period.
--That is me and the old Computer. Because yes, she has risen, from the ashes of 3 spent hard drives, 2 visits to ATN, and quite a bit of concern and dismay on my part. The computer is like my 3rd hand (which as we know is slow in evolving), linking me to the world, allowing me to function as a productive student and employee, and giving me a social outlet. It is sad that without a small black electronic device I am less of a person, but yes, it IS that vital to my functioning. Some say that the Cell Phone is an extension of themselves; for me, without the computer, I might as well be a castrated drunkard wandering the streets of durham with a cardboard box begging for spare change. Now hopefully, with less than 2 weeks left in this, the most vital of semesters, I will be able to regain footing and press on towards the ultimate goal of 100%. And yes, I'm 22 fucking years old. Old man, yes, dead to life, fun ending, game over. Fuckdamn it all.

Crapass

So maybe you were excited to hear what I planned for halloween. Maybe something like a ghostbuster, with a flightsuit and oldschool proton pack from back in the day; but sadly, that was Mr. Robert Banks, not myself. Perhaps a Dr. Seuss character with red socks on my hands and a blue wig? Nah, that was Mr. Butts. You probably also figured that I spent some time planning out this costume and not waiting for the last possible moment so that I would have a real costume for the first time in the history of Halloween on Franklin street; again, you would be incorrect. For the second year running, my costume came from the children's costume section of wal-mart, in a plastic bag, with an age reccomendation of 7-13 years. In fact, it was the same, exact costume, a knight outfit that consisted of a helment that never made it to the street, a shitty breastplate, and a pitiful shield. Don't ever underestimate my ability to underachieve.

Smokin

Tonight we smoked a huka (spelling? also, it was just tobacco this time, haha) and damn, that shit is good. It's quite the event to spark a night out.

Herding

Every once in a while, your job asks you to do something that makes you feel that you're really making a difference. Helping visitors find their way around, giving tips to freshmen and their parents, setting up for a red cross blood drive...all great. Today was different; I had to herd a squirrel. Yes, a beady-eyed, scraggly-ass gray crap nature squirrel. He decided today was the day to visit the art gallery in the Union. And the desk decided that Alex (with Cassandra as sidekick) was the man to call to remove him. The call, verbatim (as I remeber it) "Hey, Ops, ummmm, yeah, we have a SQUIRREL down here, and, ummm, I'm not really sure who to call, sooooo, uh, can you guys take care of that?" What the Fuck? Because obviously, We are qualified to take care of any building disturbance, including insane little furry animals that seem to have found their way into the fucking building. But, we didn't have shit to do besides read the Daily Tar Heel and go buy Diet Cokes at the student stores, so we rolled out. Evidently, herding squirrels isn't like herding cows. Cows are big, and relatively slow, and if you go behind them, they go the other way, like a logical animal. Squirrels react like running backs on cocaine; at you, away from you, juke left, spin move, hurtle the potted plant, across the chubby girl's backpack, over the chemistry kid's legs (still wearing headphones, quite startled) into the glass window, into the door, back from the door, and past me out the door (as I jumped to avoid him). Yes, Animal control is the next thing going on my resume. And no, I wasn't scared of the squirrel, he just startled me. Seriously, this was a scraggly squirrel; he wasn't healthy with a tail that looked like a cheap wal-mart toliet brush.

Hicktown

So in case you didn't know, I took it up to Sparta this weekend. Just a few stats: 61-0 (the asskicking that Elkin High gave Alleghany High friday) 7-5 (the bizarre game that UNC "dominated" UVa in saturday) and of course, 6-3 (the goddamn score of the Alabama lucky-as-hell game Tennessee lost because of a stupid fumble by the fullback, can we say act-of-god?) In Sparta, all the magic happens. Magic like Dan, Grant, Sippi, and Ryan camping at stone mtn state park, only to get locked out of the campsite. Thus ensued a 1.4 mile hike with full equipment, and a grillfest over open flames; flames as a result of burning ridiculous amounts of bundled firewood. Discoveries? Why yes, such as the discovery that Grant can't start a damn fire, that eggshells will burn (and pop and generally kickass when in the flames) and if you want to put out a fire, you HAVE to take a piss on it (but watch out for that steam). Yes, I also tailgated at the aforementioned Alleghany high game. Justin West provided the burgers, Craig bullins provided the buns, Rex Hart was the token sketchy old guy, and I was there smoking up a storm. Yeah, I smoked alot this weekend. Sorry for those who hate it, but damn, Sparta basically requires the consumption of some sort of addictive substance; beer and caffeine didn't cut it. Anyone that has any imput on Law schools to apply to, let me know; I'm basically shooting in the dark trying to pick a few.

Four pictures that sum up this weekend.

Here we go again

Like the damn seasons, time for midterm examinations comes again. And it rolls hard, like it grew up on the streets fist-fighting for its dinner and getting kicked in the head by its dad every day. Then it decided to say fuck that old man, and got the hell out when it was only 16, got some bitch from its junior-high pregnant, and had to start robbing gas stations to stay alive. Then it got busted when a job went bad, did some hard time (maybe folsom prison), and came back on job placement for ex-cons to my town. And right off the bat, we didn't get along. Maybe it was all the diet coke and the late night pizza; they don't have DVR and HBO HD in prison. Needless to say, I'm fucked. And this is a figurative fucked, because even though it went to prison, Midterms will not make me its bitch. Besides, I don't really have a pretty face.

I'd like to

Eventually, I would like to work out some sort of daily routine that allows me to take a jagerbomb sometime before class, or maybe post-class pre-meetings/homework, just to get me over the hump. Also, our football team made me sad this weekend. Also, I have 2 midterms this week, pledge beach, then another midterm. See why I need to start drinking? No? Well fuck you. You are insensitive to the hefty load placed on my shoulders. Perhaps I will resume my habit of smoking. Then, using smoking as an excuse, I can start drinking 2 or 3 cups of coffee a day. Then, using coffee as an excuse, I can start eating pizza constantly. Then...well, I'll probably die. But goddamn, at least I won't lose 69-14.

Obviously, things didn't go our way.

The Jesse Holley Offense

Another week goes by, and I like these kids more and more. But who is the most important element?

such a short post

Who are we to judge the worth of tools
so pressed into such dire service?
Those ugly, or alluring,
ones rough-hewn or well crafted?
Why ask the beauty of the hammer
so long as it can drive the nail?

Twitch

I really have to stop staying up so late; much to my displeasure I noticed my left eye twitching uncontrollably today. Definately not a normal sign of a healthy sleep-awake cycle. Perhaps this is also due to my addiction to caffeine; Mt. dew keeps me alive at the union. And this goddamn tv doesn't give me any reason to sleep. DVR means anytime is a good time for family guy and the daily show, rome and entourage. And for those of us with the wonderful disease of ADHD, the books and the bed both lose to the siren song of the cathode ray tube...

troublesome

It's always an odd sensation when something reminds you of a part of the past you haven't though about in a while. Recent examples include seeing a dated photograph of yourself with another distinctive hairstyle (thanks to Lexi), having someone recall you from a freshman year class where you had another distinctive hairstyle (If you don't know the various stages of Alex's hair, perhaps you should make a visit to the refridgerator door of G9 for a few choice examples) and last but not least, having to request a goddamn transcript from Wilkes Community College for 6 credit hours (yes, just 6) that you took as a high school student at Alleghany High school. And when I say credit hours, I mean, taking a high school class, with a high school teacher, in a high school classroom, and at the start of the class, signing a WCC enrollment form. That's it. No lengthy registration, no long commute, nothing at all really to symbolize the college nature of these courses. Nothing, that is, except for them showing up on your Undergraduate Transcript from the slightly more important (in my educational career) institution of UNC-CH. So when I wished to apply to Law School, I sent this transcript to LSAC, furthering the $106 rackett they are running for the Law school data assembly service (required) for admisssion. Lo and Behold, those 6 lonely hours, representative of Mr. Taylor and his Calculus class in the corner room of Alleghany High (the one with the AC unit, quite the luxury) appear and create the apperance that I am attempting to conceal a portion (however small it may be) of my Undergraduate education. Ah, thank you so much for those credit hours. Now, a request must be sent from here at 706 Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd. in Chapel Hill, NC, all the way to Wilkes Community College in Wilkesboro (quite creative with names up there) NC. And then, we pray, because if they did not keep records of this alumnus, Alex Phipps's LSDAS application will be significantly derailed. But what treasured memories of higher education...I guess you can just call me a teary-eyed Cougar (evidently, they even have a mascot...who knew?)

puzzle solved

Thanks to the wisdom of those with much more clothing-related experience:

HannaUNC1 (9:53:24 AM): the purpose of the permanent press cycle on the dryer is to dry permanent press fabrics at the ideal temperature so that they do not wrinkle.
HannaUNC1 (9:53:59 AM): the point of a permanent press shirt, as opposed to a 100% cotton one, is that the latter will wrinkle and the former will come out of the permanent press cycle all nice and fluffy and unwrinkled without you having to lift an iron
HannaUNC1 (9:54:18 AM): the same principle works for fabrics that are part synthetic
HannaUNC1 (9:54:56 AM): but you are accurate in saying that you should be careful what you put in there, because it is a hot enough dryer cycle that it can shrink jeans, for example, and lord knows jeans aren't long enough already.
HannaUNC1 (9:55:11 AM): things you don't want to shrink, you should wash in cold water and dry on "delicate"

puzzled

All I asked was one thing, and of my many friends, none could come up with a suitable answer, or even really a suggestion, as to what exactly would Permanent Press be appropriate for. According to Chris, it was the setting on the dryer that got "really really hot" so he used it for towels and sheets, things he didn't care about shrinking (what if you shrank sheets down to like, twin sized from full sized??). Others fielded answers as varied as "its for delicates" and "it is only for clothes you WEAR, everything else goes in regular." How can it be that a cycle exsists on the Dryer, has been there since who knows when, and yet, not one of the people I know understands what the hell it really does? Searching on google determined that Permenant Press was:

"A permanent press is a fabric that has been chemically processed with methanol to resist wrinkles and hold its shape. Treating fabric with the simplest form of alcohol (methanol) has a lasting effect on the fabric."

And so, we learn that alcohol is involved, perhaps guiding us closer to the root cause of this apparently useless laundry cycle. How is it that I know if my clothes have been treated with methanol? Why would I want that? Is this like the Dockers stain defenders pants? Because seriously, if they are stain defensive, why is it that they need a special cycle at all? And why would anyone want to dry something with alcohol on it at an even higher temperature (if chris's hypothesis was correct) than good old 100% Algodon? I really want some answers here people, because this is not acceptable. Meanwhile, I am making sure that I never, ever put anything on this cycle; who knows what might come out?

Matt Baker, Touchdown Maker (!?!)

So it turns out, the boy can play. Not that he was a perfect player, but it works for what we need; perhaps this year won't be the apocolypse that all have feared. Plus, who would have thought that matt baker would actually run a touchdown in??

Money?

Is money really worth this bullshit that I'm doing for it? I ask this in light of the fact that I have to be up at 8am, in order to be at work at 9am for work all day tommorow. Tommorow is labor day, the universal day to honor us of the laboring professions (actually, Mayday is the universal day of labor, but since we are all so scared of socialism, we need our own seperate holiday to let the masses drink beer and get sunburnt at the beach while spending plenty of money at walmart and mcdonalds and paying 3.50 a gallon for gas). Plus I just listened to this song about harlan county, which is a fucked up place, but it makes me reflect on how bullshit some jobs are (Harlan county = Kentucky coal mines; take a class on it sometime bitches). My sister came up today, so I got the joy of experiencing Pottery Barn; what a damn place that is. First off, I was expecting pottery, like maybe some bowls and pots and mugs and shit maybe. But no, theres like leather furniture and tables and shit, and barstools, and all types of things that do not immediately suggest pottery to me. Further complicating things is the confusion over what is actually for sale, and what you can take off the displays, and what should be left alone and asked for from one of the "Associates". I understand it is the yuppie home furnishing mecca, but to me, it did not suggest comfortable home living. On the other hand, those motherfuckers at P.F. Changs have the Chinese food on lockdown. Diet coke and Chang's Chicken, you can't fuck with that shit. You can't fuck with 3.22 a gallon for gas either; actually, 3.22 a gallon gladly and enthusiastically fucks you.

Goldmine

I have struck the goldmine; my music 44 class has an online database of like a million songs. The best part of all is they are all COUNTRY. Haha yes, some old school, some new, but a damnload of it all. So tonight I wasted almost 2 hours that I was supposed to be spending listening to like 3 songs browsing the whole collection. I think maybe it's the coolest school related thing that I've ever experienced (with the exception of the nextel radios from work, but that's not quite school related). Let's be real, you don't get free access to that many songs all that often, legally, and get a grade for listening to them. The real question is how can I figure out a way to steal them all? Probably going to be a tough nut to crack, but I'm on it.

Gasoline

Bet you all feel real stupid for making fun of me riding my bike with the red tires all around town now, don't you? Hahaha, those automobiles don't run on people power now do they? Anyway, my best advice to all of you is to go out and steal a bicycle so you can start saving gas too (or if stealing is one of those things you have a personal hangup about, as I hear its immoral or something, you can always buy one). Yes, the world is quickly spiralling out of control, with general chaos in New Orleans the likes of which have never been seen before in a major american city in the modern era (yes, 9/11 was amazingly terrible, but it wasn't 80% of the city underwater, now was it?), 90% of the east coast's gasoline pipeline infrastructure out of commission, and a stampede in Iraq killing more people than I imagined possible without some sort of explosion. And paleing in comparison to these, UNC has recommenced classes in the fall semester of 2005. Yes, the new crop of Classes has come along, and right up there are a few promising prospects: History of country music, The Political Economy, Shakespeare, and 18th-20th century English lit. I'm enrolled in Classical Political Theory, but since I didn't make it to the first day, I'm skeptical about the chances of keeping it in the lineup. In a gross example of university misappropriation, the Union has given us Nextel Push to talk phones to use while on duty. Wow, do we need them? Nope, not at all. But this gives us the capiblity to remain in contact should we have to go to say, Hinton James on a random mission in the middle of the shift. Which means you will be seeing much more of me in the Union shirt in buildings not considered the Frank Porter Graham Student Union (unless they get smart and take them away...)

It's tough making posts

When you go out drinking every night, and work at 8am every day for a week at the goddamn union you still use for your single source of income. However, the school year being upon us now, it is time to suck it up and begin the final year. The implications of this are quite dauting; let's be honest, who is really ready for this gravy train we call college to end? Not me, most assuredly. But can we really spend the rest of our lives going to he's not on tuesday and Top O on thursday? (actually, after seeing certain select graduates of '05, maybe we can...) In the interest of starting the new year off in the correct manner, I skipped my first class today. It was justified, in my opinion, because I worked 11 fucking hours at the union monday. Most people agree, until I tell them the class started at 11am. That usually qualifies as "late in the day" so I lose any sympathy points I scored, right away. But fuck all that, I drank for 7 nights in a row, that should qualify me for some special school week off privledges. Finally G9 has come to completion, with the return of mr. findlay. Hopefully now we will be able to get digital cable for the 57 INCH BIGSCREEN TV. In case you had forgotten we had one, that is. With that, I'm out, because I can't afford to be missing all my first classes of the year; but for a final nugget, today I arrived at my ultimate frisbee class (10 min late) to discover that we met in woollen gym. Thinking I was the last dumbass to come in late on the first day, I sit in the rear of the group. Not 5 minutes afterward, Seth Dearmin, the SBP of UNC (ah, what an esteemed title) rolls in, last one to sign the roll and first to admit that he had been lost trying to find the room. Oh shit, what kind of administration do we have this year? (and really, does it even matter? A monkey could probably be SPB; look at NCSU and their "Pirate Captain")

Teapots

Sparta now has a Teapot Museum....
and isn't it quite sad that this website might be the finest website ever involving sparta? Honestly, the teapot museum is a joke among us real sparta residents (61,000 annually? thats more than 6 times the population of allegany county!!!) but more importantly, it is a wonderful exibition of the pork that courses through the veins of modern american politics. We don't really want the museum, but we'd love 400,ooo US dollars spent on our county, regardless of what really happens with the money. Sadly, it won't bring the visitors, and it won't revitalize the downtown, that will be quite a more difficult task to undertake than building a ridiculous Teapot museum. But the encouranging thing is that we are actually trying, because without some effort, Sparta could quickly become a ghost town; views and cheap land only take a county so far.

Small Footprint

I'm out of 40H and into G9. Everyone go ahead and correct your address books, because if you show up at 40H looking for alex phipps, you will be sorely disapointed (actually, who knows, there might be a cooler person living there you could meet). The move was not without its difficulties: the most noteworthy was the homelessness from the end of july to august 3rd. I must give thanks to Mr. Dude Searcy for allowing me a 3-day stay at the luxiourious Housey House, on a very comfortable futon. Unfortunately, the house animal, Pus the cat, caused a profound allergic reaction in me, but I built up the tolerance. Living across from a Harris-Teeter definately has its advantages (plus cheap King Cobra 24's). Using the F-350 we made around a million trips from our storage unit from old, and then to new apartment living areas (the storage unit was itself a small miracle, and without it we would have quite fucked). Moving, as a process, and an experience, sucks. The accumulated shit of more than a year of living is reduced to a simple process of Keep or Toss, and you better chose wisely, because all of that accumulated shit must be packed, transported, and rearranged in a new, smaller room in a 4 bdr. apartment in the hottest period of the summer. And once you get to that new place, the challenge of arranging, organizing, and settling begins. All those boxes of hamburger helper and random assorted cereals must be placed, as well as the stolen cups from Top O and coffee mugs that probably no one will ever use. Moving, in a word, sucks. But I pride myself on my ablity to fit all I need in my small orange packpack and live for an extended period, keeping the footprint small. A huge drawback to the new place is the lack of a porch for the peppers to live on, so currently they are looking for a new home. If anyone has a suitable home and would like to host them, then feel free to contact me. On a final note, I burned the fuck out of my skin on a recient trip to atlantic beach, but one happy thing occured; the cheesy gordita crunch from Taco Bell is pretty damn smeezy, or chsmonchy, or whatever the fuck you wanna say for good.

Chicken Fries

Oh goddamn, here goes burger king again with another terrible idea for a fast food product. Really, what is so cool about these chicken "fries" that seem to have come to the forefront of the advertising campaign? Come on BK, what are y'all thinking about over there? IT'S JUST A SKINNY CHICKEN NUGGET. Simply shaping a processed chicken product into a French Fry shape does not magically confer upon it any qualities it would not posess shaped in its usual roundish shape. Like the mysterious "chicken rings" my high school cafeteria served on a regular basis, its hard to imagine this oddly shaped food product having its origins in a living animal; let's just think about what parts of animals are shaped like these interesting, deep fried creations. I guess all the money over at Burger King went to pay Dairus Rucker and Brooke Burke for that badass tendercrisp bacon cheddar ranch commercial; they obviously aren't spending money on those office commericals for the Angus. I'm not going to lie, I've got a soft spot for BK, and I keep hoping that one day when I go there they will have miraciously stopped sucking and live up to the memories I used to have, of eating double bacon cheeseburgers like they were the shit. Dad always said the damn place was dogfood (he said that shit about Golden China and Taco Bell as well, he's wrong as fuck about those two) and I guess he's pretty much right now. For fuck's sake guys, why do you have to constantly use the microwave in the preperation of my food? I bought an angus the other day; boom, straight to the damn microwave for some "reheating". That's not how you keep my business (and don't offer me these stupid chicken fries, cause I ain't impressed).

Powerstroke

Due to the impending move from 40H to the new home at G9 Mill Creek, I am in possession of the F-350 for at least another week. I reccomend we grill out immediately, using the tailgate as a bench to sit and drink, while listening to the radio with the doors open. And yes, I'm serious.

Bacon

So I don't know how you feel about the eating of pig, the wonderfully fat, ugly, dirty animal that gives us such wonderful products as bacon, baby back ribs, sausage, and pork rinds. Perhaps you are like Samuel L. in Pulp Fiction; You don't want anything to do with the filthy animal. Or perhaps you are like Mr. Travola in the same film; You love it cause it tastes GOOOOOOD! (and damn, it sure does) Personally, I'm no fan of pigs. They smell like all kinds of hell, make a mess, and aren't really that friendly. Let's be real, cows are 10 times fucking cooler, and chickens are birds so who gives a shit about them. BUUUUT, I like my ribs and I like my bacon and I like my pork rinds every now and again. Now, with this said, and with what yall know about me and my eating habits, you know I am no where near a vegetarian; but today I tried some of this Morningstar "bacon". I say "bacon" because obviously it contains no pork (100% vegetarian), which I viewed with skepticism. Upon further inspection, the outward apperance of the strips did not do anything to dispell my uncertainty, but after a few minutes in the microwave, the smell was inviting. So, with much trepidation, I took a bite. And damn, it was actually good. Like, I would eat it more. And I'm pretty damn glad they are finally making decient food with no cholesterol, cause let's be honest, in the back of every dudes head is that little concern about heart disease (we ain't kids anymore, haha). So yes, I ate vegetarian food and liked it. Maybe I'm turning into a college-hippy-pussy-nutjob, but in my defense, there's still quite a few pounds of frozen beef in the fridge. And oh yeah, I haven't seen vegetarian baby backs around (and I definately won't be trying them if they exist.)

Wedding Crashers is pretty damn good

Mom, the meatloaf! FUCK!

addition

unfortunately, the previous list was incomplete; the vital addition of time eating mediocre food at the patio with ms. sheets (wow, that sounds weird. I don't think I like using that, we'll go with Maloree Elise), although she will likely develop some excuse relating to making dinner for her family or talking on the phone (haha).

Taking it to the streets (that's how J brad does it)

Sparta this weekend yall; I got 40 nations ready to roll son, I got a damn coaliton of the willin (haha yeah, actually I just have winter clothes and unnecessary items from 40H). The parents decided they wanna live up the summer with vacation #2 to the outer banks (that's how it goes when you're a retired teacher) BUT, with a bustling industry like phipps family farms you can't leave the property unattended. SO who's enlisted to feed the dog and watch the cows? Yep, you know who. So to make the best of the situation, I have a few goals for myself: 1. I need to eat some good ribs at home, it has been far too long since I had a good meal at motley's BBQ. 2. I need to eat some good chinese; I haven't ate at golden china since way back. (You can see food is the main thing I think about most of the time) 3. I'm gonna drive the damn F-350 all the hell over the county, cause dad has a diesel tab at the store but he isn't home to tell me to keep the miles down. 4. I need to somehow sunburn my legs so they aren't white as paper when compaired to my already sunburnt arms and sholders. So yeah, I understand this is a pretty crappy sounding list, but I think it covers all the bases when it comes to what I need to get done. Oh damn, I almost forgot going to wal-mart; there's no place like home.

The Ditch

Remeber that ditch on south road I bitched about a few posts earlier? Well, the construction people found a novel use for it the other day; they backed a damn fully loaded cement truck into it. After it was confirmed that no one was actually hurt from the incident, it was agreed by the observers (CTOPS parents and unoccupied union employees looking for excitement) that this was the damnest spectacle ever witnessed in the long history of campus construction. A fully loaded concrete truck weighs quite a bit; also loaded cement sets up after a short period when not in constant motion (hence the rotating drum), so the vehicle quickly became a solid, wedged mass in the mysterious ditch, requiring 2 trucks to remove. Luckily, after the great excitement, work on the ditch continued at its breakneck pace. A well-oiled machine such as this construction team cannot stand idle for long.

Dumb as Damnit

Watching the daily show tonight, Jon Stewart was his usual self (I like him because he's probably the only guy on tv in political discourse (yes, it is politics, come on) that will actually have a real point/counterpoint discussion without shouting/insulting) and when it was pointed out he might lose the state of alabama for a crack he had just made about an alabama supreme court judge, he said "oh come on, its alabama, like they have comedy central." Why is this noteworthy, since it's obvious I don't live in Alabama? Because Alleghany Cablevision (Sparta's best and only source for cable) DOESN'T HAVE COMEDY CENTRAL !!!!! It's a abserd joke on the Daily Show, but it's fuckin real life up in S-town, damnit. What do we have? We've got the goddamn SPEED channel, GAC (great american country), OLN, Tech fuckin TV, the motherfucking totally worthless UNIVISION, and various other cable un-notables. Why the hell do we have these stupid worthless channels when we don't have the cornerstone of modern entertainment? We have a community access channel that is just a powerpoint running on a computer in the high school "cyberclassroom" with announcements of what is for lunch that week! But the damn finest example of why alleghany cablevision is the biggest shitass organization in the world, is the channel of local announcements and the "current" date. See, around 1999 or so, everyone in the world made sure their computer systems were ready for the Y2K bug, so they could go ahead and advance beyound the year 2000. Round about 12:00 eastern, everything went smoothly everywhere; everywhere, that is, except for the office of Alleghany Cablevision. In the only example I have ever truly seen of the Y2k bug, the date changed not to 2000, but to some random year in the 1960's (perhaps this was done intentionally by the office, instead of going all the damn way back to 1900, so the days would match up; but damn, if you can do that, why not just fix the problem?) Everyone in the county thought it was funny, laughed about it some, and figured yeah, thats how it goes in Sparta. Over the 4th of July weekend, I was in Sparta. I watched the Cable. And the date is now July, 1972. WHAT THE FUCK!?! IT'S 5 GODDAMN YEARS LATER! (in case you think it is just a temporary glitch, I can assure you that every time I return, I faithfully check, just in case a miracle occurs. It never fucking does.)

Directions

So I was running down the road the other day, when I was stopped by not 1, but 2 seperate cars asking for directions. They were both pretty easy directions; one was cobb, the other was winston. However, this little episode made two things very clear to me about directions around this damn campus: 1. Our campus is not labeled, signed, directed, whatever the hell you wanna say, worth a damn. Yeah there are names on the buildings; but there is no way to see that shit unless you are up close, and half the times, the name is only on one entrance. They did that shit with the white hanging signs, but evidently money ran out (guess they had to finance the neverending ditch going down south road) before they could get around to the buildings hardest to find. I'm damn glad there is a sign for Hanes hall (easy as fuck to find; right in the main quad) but not for anything you need to see from the road, except for those stupid parking lot signs that don't make anything clear, except how you are not allowed to park there. 2. You better either explain to people how much construction is going on around the destination they have in mind, or get the hell alway from where you were before so when they come back confused they can't be mad at you for telling them how to get to a dorm that is currently surrounded by a giant construction fence and a crane. Obviously, it helps to walk off the road; people aren't crusing across the quad asking for directions to Alexander. (seriously, what the hell is that ditch going down south road? its like a giant hole they dug, fucked around in, and then filled back up. I never saw any pipe, wires, missle silos, etc down there. And damn, can't they spray a little water on that shit? It's like the dustbowl driving down there; concrete dust isn't quite the greatest introduction for the CTOPS kiddies)

wow

I did a really decient job of making a blog post, even though I was pretty damn drunk. I'm proud of myself, and perhaps I will do it more often. (notice the 4:30 publishing time; what the hell was I doing posting to a blog that late???)

Fuckin hell

Yes, look at me, making two posts in one day! Anyway, we think perhaps my roommate chris is dead on the side of the road, or otherwise unibilitated, because we found alot of hair in his sink, and general disorder in his room. If you have any information regarding the whereabouts of mr. Chris Butts, please contact 1-919-423-7418 immediately, as we are definately worried sick. Take some boys from Colorado out to Top O, you'll see a wild time, I promise. Let's all drink and read our library books (haha yeah, like you guys go to the library); I might be watching the house in sparta next weekend, yes! This concludes the drunk portion of this blog post, hope you all enjoyed the inebriated version of the real thing, LATER!

What about wal-mart?

So I took a week off from blogging. Sorry, geez, didn't realize people expected output from me on the week of the 4th of july, so I shut down like Jessie's barber shop for the whole damn week (it's in independence, a town that is remarkably smaller than Sparta). Anyway, yes, I had fun on the trip to S-town. Most of you will never know the simple joy of floating down the wideass, shallow New River (they claim it's the second oldest river in the world, but really, who the hell knows that?) with a "New River mix pack" (PBR, Budweiser, Yuengling) 1 pack of cigarettes, 1 quart jar of strawberry moonshine, and two other members of the elite alleghany high class of 2002. Letting my fat whiteness burn in the sunshine while constantly ramming rocks with my co-canoer patrick was the perfect "get away from it all" experience. Most of you will probably also never realize just how entertaining it can be to go to Wal-mart and buy clothing, especially the tackiest pair of swimming trunks you can find, because they were rolled back to 11 american dollars. I now want to talk about something very exciting to me, something I have anticipated for quite a while; The Crunchwrap Supreme from Taco Bell. Yes, I finally had one, in the company of mr. Andy McMillian, (who also happens to occupy my old job at Roaring Gap Lake Grill, a proud line of Sparta men cooking) and I have to say, I'm a fan of the new portable. I went to a party at my neighbor's house, and drank beer with my old elementry school wrestling coach (he's not really that old, it was just funny), and various other sparta notables, while letting my neighbor justin know that my dad did not appreciate his dog jake digging bigass holes in our yard and fucking up our garden hose; this progressed into a general imitation of my dad's various mannerisms, since almost EVERY person at the gathering had been taught in 7th grade by my dad. I also attended a party at the old workplace, where 24oz-ers were the norm and shots of Courvoisier (god, what a waste of money) were taken, like we were high rollers (haha). Finally, by the end of the trip, I was able to even out the sunburn on my left arm from driving home with sunburn on the rest of my body from floating down the river; I'm now a happily pealing mess of dead skin flakes in a crab-red hue. But you take what Sparta gives you, and I can't really complain this time.

danceoff (?!?)

Sorry to the roommates, but this post just had to happen (stolen picture, cause obviously I don't take pictures at parties; hell, I don't even handle cameras.) For those of you that don't know, the right (in direction only) one is Chris Butts, left is Mr. Jimmy. And from what I gathered about the event, this was a "danceoff."

Fuck those student stores fuckers

There are things about the student stores that I enjoy: it is perhaps the only location on campus that still sells Diet Coke, they have various types of Combos (one of the more perfect snacks made), any carolina shirt you could ever want, well, they have it. The enjoyment comes to an end right about the time you take that merchandise to the register, and encounter the 100% bastards that stand behind the counter. Yeah, they are bastards. Sorry if your friend (or lover, or whatever) works there, but they suck. I figured this out during the lovely summer session, as my coworker edmond and I continued my year-long tradition of visiting the "diet coke store" in the heat of the midday, after bringing in the goddamn pit tables (fuck the student groups too, who really needs more krispy kreme donuts?). This was our one little break from the shitheads that inhabit the management structure of the Union; obviously, I enjoyed it. Usually, a nice older dude runs the "pit stop", the part of the Student stores that is primarily concerned with selling snacks and drinks; the summertime has brought this trend to an end. Now, the outside door is usually closed, and we are forced to visit the assheads at the main counter. 1st visit: Edmond gets XXL and Dub, I get a diet coke and combos. We proceed to the register, where the dude leads off with "whoa, union guys, whats up at the Union??", like being paid by state of North Carolina made us friends and fellow coworkers. "Slow day at the Union? Do they just let you guys do whatever?" No, you dumbass, they actually let us out to eat every once in a while. "Hey, nice uniforms, you guys partners? Hey, do they really make you guys wear flair?" No, they don't like the buttons on my uniform, precisely why I still wear all 6 of them, fucker. "Hey, you ever see that movie Office Space, where they had to wear flair?" GODDAMN YES, WHO HASN'T. Instead of the graphic responses, I gave deadpan "yea" or "nah", making it obvious I was not interested in conversation. Edmond was already standing at the door, obviously we weren't tryin to hang out. After this visit, a few days passed without me working, but again, we found ourselves visiting the store (you expect me to drink Diet Pepsi all day?). Again, same stupid fucks working the counter. And as soon as we roll in, "Hey, Union guys again. You guys takin a break?" We were sweating from bringing in 13 pit tables in the damn 95 degree heat; obviously, we were taking a break. Then, the questioning preceded almost VERBATIM from the first episode. Hmm, imagine our suprise. When the guy asked if the flair meant I was higher ranking, I almost popped the fucker in the head with my DC (if it had been Diet Pepsi, game over). It's been decided that never again will we visit the Diet Coke store unless the pit stop part is open; I'm pretty sure fighting on the job will get us fired from the Union (not that Edmond would care, he goes to A&T, but some of us need shit jobs because we don't have the ambition to get better ones). If you go to the Stores, besides going to get fucked over on books (another reason to hate them), make sure to tell them to go to hell, courtesy of Union Operations.

the (2nd) 4th of July

This Instant message greeted me as I returned home from work:

BoudreauxMan (6:06:40 PM): phipps, i heard you were going to be in sparta over the weekend, i was thinking about having a july 4th celebration at the cabin

Auto response from Alleghany150 (6:06:40 PM): away as crap

BoudreauxMan (6:09:49 PM): here are the plans: July 2-Saturday, wake up relatively early and go canoing, tubing, etc. down the river while enjoying tasty beverages, cigerattes and maybe even some marijuana. when we reach our destination there will be coolers of beer waiting on us. our destination should be the cabin and we should have one hell of a july 4th bash on july 2nd, i've heard that there are going to be several people in town, so we need to get up with everybody

So the weekend of Sparta looks like a promising one, after all. I especially love the unbridled enthusiasm of Mr. Evans, planning a 4th of july celebration on the 2nd of july (pure sparta genius), as it's usually hard to get Spartans to get excited about a return trip. Also, it is funny as damnit that patrick misspelled cigarettes, but correctly spelled marijuana...

Potato Chips for sale

I guess I'm a pretty big fan of pizza as well.

King Cobra

For about one american dollar, you can purchase a 24 Oz. (to freedom) of King Cobra. I bought 4. In cause you wonder why, let me just say that the last searcyparty required it to happen. This party also required the discovery that snakes are, in fact, the worst fireworks the world has ever known (I'm not so sure that they should even be called "fireworks"). Another good idea is to put fireworks in a Harris-Teeter shopping cart, light them, then push them around (since fireworks can't fly in North Carolina). A requirement is for all random male members of the party to remove their requisite white T's. The party can't stop before 4am. And you can't eat afterwards. Basically, it's fuckin hardcore, bitches. You could even say, BOLD.

It's all over

169. Makes me wonder what could have happened if I had started studying before May 17th...


Dude searcy threw a goodass party, which now makes 2 weeks in a row that goodass parties were thrown by dude. King cobra and 40's all around.

He's obviously crazy; How can you not like Fruit loops?

So I read this story, which is one of the first in a while that actually made me laugh out loud (CNN usually doesn't produce comedy, unless it's unintended). But for some reason, some genius wrote this article for the AP about an upcoming GQ article on Saddam and his prison fare. Why this is newsworthy is not at first apparent, but allow me to share some nuggets:

"The Bush father, son, no good," Cpl. Jonathan "Paco" Reese, 22, of Millville, Pennsylvania, quoted Saddam as saying.

Saddam was friendly toward his young guards and sometimes offered fatherly advice. When O'Shea told him he was not married, Saddam "started telling me what to do," recalled the soldier. "He was like, 'You gotta find a good woman. Not too smart, not too dumb. Not too old, not too young. One that can cook and clean." Then he smiled, made what O'Shea interpreted as a "spanking" gesture, laughed and went back to doing his laundry in the sink.

For a time his favorite snack was Cheetos, and when that ran out, Saddam would "get grumpy," the story said. One day, guards substituted Doritos corn chips, and Saddam forgot about Cheetos. "He'd eat a family size bag of Doritos in 10 minutes," Dawson said.


I agree with the doritos, but damn, a bag in 10 minutes? And really, who is suprised that saddam would make a "Spanking" gesture in regards to women? Good to see that the most important part of our culture ( junk food) can transend the barriers with our most hated enemies (except fucking fruit loops).

buying books

So I felt the calling of the bookstore on sunday night; yes, I'm a book nerd. Thank damnit that the barnes and noble stays open till 11. Turns out, the B&N is the late night spot, due to the fact that they have a starbucks (and I guess exams help). Still, the rows of books are quite a thing to spend some time browsing, even if books are overpriced as hell these days (why can't the cheap editions be on books less that 100 years old?) My selections made, I proceeded to the counter to make a purchase. The less than attractive girl at the counter glanced over my two selections (Cat's Cradle by Vonnegut, which I have not read; Fahrenheit 451 by Bradbury, which I have), and sincerely asked if I would like to have them giftwrapped. Now, perhaps I missed something here. Maybe I read just a bit too much into this, but why is it that me, my typical unshaven self with unsophisticated white T-shirt, would need these giftwrapped? Ok then, bookbitch, I'm too dumb for these books to be for me. Guess I better go pick up some harry potter. This is why I hate going to these stores; that's why god made the internet.

Hello Downing street

First, read the Memo, then read this summation/reaction in the washington post. Why is it that we do not hear of these things in greater detail? Maybe this is indicative of a larger problem the democrats have, and the article hints at; this is a valuable tool for exploring just exactly how the decision to go to war was made, and what deceptions, if any, were used on the public. However, it seems the only reactions we can get from liberal sources comes either as silence or overraction, claiming a smoking-gun type of document, when it is probably the tip of the Iceberg, judging by the continuing leaks coming from the unnamed London source. Hopefully this will garner greater media attention now that the greatest question before the world (can a grown man sleep platonically with little boys?) has been laid to rest.

The fucking Road, my friend (This one is a bit long)

So, I have discovered why it is that people should go on trips; no matter how much you hear, read, watch, or think about a certain place, you will never discover how it is to actually be there. New Orleans is such a place. You would think that a place as famous as the big easy would be pretty much exactly like you imagine it: drunken, spicy, and humid as hell. On a trip of 1700 miles in the Explorer, we found out just how wildly unique that fucking place is, as well as discovering just how different Atlanta is as well. In terms of planning, this was not a well execuited trip; I forgot soap AND toothpaste, as well as any manner of raingear. The Wednesday of departure, I still had no sub for friday work, a fact that the managerial staff was not pleased with, but that would not derail the voyage. Neither would the curious automotive difficulties that blue decided she would pull on us before leaving, consisting of some sort of idling difficulty which forced me to keep my foot on the gas or the engine would stall (which makes for interesting stop-n-go traffic situations). Despite these difficulties, the voyage begain, out the door at 85 on the way to Atlanta and the campus of Georgia Tech, to hang out with engineers. Actually, it was a very cool friend of Mr. Findlay's who allowed us to sleep on his floor, drink with some weirdass people (those engineers can be pretty socially inept), and gave us a campus map with no streetnames, to aid in our exploration. Turns out, GT has our rec center beat, hands down. But before I forget a vital detail, let me just say that the trip owes a large debt to Taco Bell, 2 times in all. Also to krystal (love those little burgers), Mcdonalds, and Moe's burritos, all of which played a vital role. It becomes quickly apparent to a driver that the trip from Chapel Hill to Atlanta is much more entertaining that the trip from Atlanta to New Orleans. Sadly, Alabama and Mississippi do not hold much in the way of interstate entertainment; the highlight was passing the Boy Scouts of America headquarters and hearing chris say "Look how many boys are over there!" Mississippi doesn't even have bathrooms in its reststops; evidently they want you go hurry up and get the fuck through. Well fuck them, we aren't all visiting Mississippi, now are we? Hell no, we want to get to New Orleans, where the beads hang in the trees (for real, they are actually still in the trees), and the streets sink into the swamp (again, for real, the damn things have more potholes than a dirt road). Literally, the first thing that struck us as we drove into town, besides the lack of a major skyline (its no Atlanta), was the hellatious roads. The second was just how close together the houses are, with the streets, and the trees, and the general chaos that was driving down the streets with parallel parking. It was obvious that this city took a different approach; at one point, we saw a pothole large enough to place an orange construction barrel in (we knew it was this large because there actually was an orange barrel in it, in the middle of the street). I don't want to give you the impression I disliked the city, in fact, I loved it. But you simply can't imagine the attitude of the city; Stuart pointed out that many of the old building exist not because people have intentionally preserved them (though some have), but because no one ever got around to tearing them down and building new ones. We went to the resturants where gumbo came with bigass chunks of crab(shell and all), where they called spaghetti sauce was called "red gravy" (New Orleans has a large Italian population, who knew?). Stuart's house was in what I felt was a good neighborhood, but not 10 yards from his house stood a large and very cool looking graveyard, not a usual thing for a city neighborhood. You would pass houses worth millions, only to see the next one boarded up and empty. Then you roll to bourbon street, to drink anything you want on the street (we went with hand grenades and a bottle of southern comfort that we bought from the GROCERY STORE!!!), and only one street over from your drunken madness stands the Louisiana District Court building, which you can walk by with your huge beers. I can't do the French Quarter justice by describing it, you just have to look at the pictures, or better yet, visit for yourself. But try and get away from the tourist shit if you go, there is definately more to the town than one big drunken street (there are lots of kickass bars and resturants that don't live on bourbon street). There are also massive old houses, catholic schools that look like palaces, public schools that look like hell, Snowballs (a badass form of snocone), bars in old houses, bars with patios that put any chapel hill bar to shame, food you can't pronouce or understand, but will enjoy, and a hell of alot more. On the first night we were there, we went to a bar known as Ms. May's; teach for america's New Orleans group had chosen this bar as their congretation spot. It looks like the Public schools will be receiving about 80% hot white college girls as salvation. The trip home consisted of a longass drive in the pouring rain that darlin Arlene dropped on us, but another night in Atlanta and some more drinking with engineers made it all ok. I realize this post has been long as hell, and not really provided many quality details, but it's all too big to ever write here
(ask and i'll tell you all you'll ever want to hear). Basically, go to New Orleans, and if you live somewhere else that isn't CH, invite me to visit you, because I will damn sure come. As I woke up on our final day there, my mother called me a big worried; evidently, 2 seperate multiple fatality murders had occured, and a Tropical storm was on the way. That's New Orleans for you.

Guess we should have just called it Dumb and Dumber...

Not that I am any fan of W and his brand of genius, but I think this is one of those situations where the defintion of Irony is illustrated quite well. (Definiton in question, for all of you confused: incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected result) Guess we all better start worrying more about our Undergrad GPA's.

Me and Ms. Lewis (or how I learned to stop worrying and love the LSAT)

Ray isn't the movie to watch before you take the biggest test of your life. Jamie Foxx is a hell of an actor, but damn, Ray was sleazy, man. As I sat on the couch, starting to get a case of the nerves, it reminded me of stretches before a game; you have the butterflies, you can see the crowd coming in, and you are second guessing yourself like a nervous middle-schooler trying to touch your first boob (will she let me? will she hate me?). Then, something happens to break the mood; My something was Dave Chapelle...Killing them Softly...at 12am. Like the first hit, butterflies disapeared. And what a good thing that was, because 9:30 came on like a hustling linebacker to a G105 soundtrack (I've always held the opinion that the worse the music, the faster you get up). After frosted miniwheats, an apple, and the obligatory 3 cigarettes, I was ready to roll. Unfortunately, it was 10:30; that's 2 hours too early. So here I am, calling Karmen, eating an apple, brushing the teeth, sitting on the picnic table with the iPod, utilizing the magic of Sublime. After an uneventful trip past the biscuitvilles and seafood places of downtown Durham, we roll up, park in a handicapped space (Karmen has a placard, haha) and walked up. Turns out, you don't even get to go in the DOOR till 12:30...and it was 93 fucking degrees outside. Yall know how I love heat and humidity. Wonderfully, if you have a name after O, you get to wait longer(fucking P names, phipps be damned). So I'm cooking in the sun, making smalltalk to defuse the recurring nerves, and wondering why in god's holy name I am standing on a brick patio in the middle of the day. As they take my THUMBPRINT, I realize it might be a while till I get out of here. Thats an understatement of epic proportions. And then Ms. Lewis walked into my life. An older black lady with her hair in a bun and glasses with one of those old lady chains around them (I guess people do wear those), and a voice that reminded me of my old bus driver telling us all to sit down and shut the hell up. Proctoring the LSAT was to her the highlight of the summer, evidently. BUT, that meant taking forever on every reading section she had to do out of the book (always adding some local color, obviously) and making the test last an amazingly long SIX HOURS!!! How does it make it that long, you ask? Well, first off, Norman Miller was our assistant proctor, and evidently, he had never before graced the halls of LSAT administration. He was not at all gifted in the art of assistance, and we suffered immensely. But once the exam began, it was like a special kind of zone, one that included a terribly designed yellow desk chair, that swiveled, rotated, and pivoted, none of which I desired during the actual test administration. After I dealt with the backpain that the wonderful yellow chairs induced, it was automatic. Not bragging; I probably owe a few people some drinks right now (made a few wagers on the outcome) but after you take a few, it gets to the point where you don't really care, you just fill in the ovals. Then, you realize your hand is cramping up...and what the hell do you do about that?? Well, you stretch it out, pray to god that it doesn't keep you from finishing (turns out quite a few people threw up prayers for me, thanks yall) and basically just turn into a robot. But the best part is the end. Of course, they have to count the total exams, check your ID's again, and generally make it difficult to leave the exam room. But once you walk out, the air is sweeter, the sun is brighter, the air is warmer (well no shit, it was cold as hell in the test room), and basically any other rip off of Fight Club you can think of. Truly, if you would like to appreicate your humanity, take an exam of the type that will decide your life; you definitely won't have a problem getting drunk afterwards...

It's coming...

The LSAT concern level has been elevated from Green to Orange (elevated consumption of caffenated beverages, smoking of cigarettes sporatically in the daytime, hightened desire for Taco Bell). I shouldn't have drank three blue cups last night, randomly IMed people, and spent the day in the office talking to Edmond and Liz. But procrastination got me this far, so why not dance with the one that brought you?

I hate mowing grass

In hell, I'm quite certain that one of the tasks reserved for allergy sufferers will be mowing the grass. It has plagued me since a young age, this asscrap job of mowing. Growing up on a farm, there were hotter jobs, nastier jobs, and tougher jobs. But none reduced me to a snotty mess like riding the stupid red snapper mower (think forest gump) while mowing. Even worse was mowing the river lot, where the sand would mix with the grass to form some special kind of airborne biological weapon, capable of hanging in the air for extended periods. This childhood memory was revisited today, as I was recruited by dad to help prepare the camper lot on the river, a job he claimed would take about an hour. Luckily, I learned long ago that my dad always lies about the difficulty and length of any task (that one didn't take long to learn); 1 hour equals about half a day, give or take. This prediction turned out to be true; instead of mowing the lot with a riding mower, we should have been putting up hay. Not to bitch, I just really, really hate mowing. Justin West was spotted for the first time yesterday, oddly enough, it was at the Mt. Airy movie theater (cause its not like we have one). It is a proven fact; you will see sparta people anywhere you go, except when you really want to see them. Not that Justin West was a bad man to see, its just carrying out another proven fact of sparta living. Very similar to the situation with tyson edwards, again I missed him and was forced to leave a handwritten note on his trailer. It is shameful to show others that despite my college education, I cannot legibly write a 20 word note without misspelling at least one word. By the way, why the hell does Mt. Airy get a cookout, a Ruby Tuesday's, and a new movie theater, and we can't get a damn McDonalds?? You would be suprised just how damn fast you can go in a F-350 on a two lane road. The stiff suspension really gives that performance feel. Speaking of performance, Danica Patrick turned out to be a pretty damn good racer, and she seems deciently hot too. If you think a hot tennis player is popular, imagine how popular a hot racecar driver could be. Hello NASCAR. I take the LSAT in one week...and I probably should be practicing instead of posting to my blog. But I'm going to chalk this one up to relaxation. Beginning tommorow, I will start making the attempt to work every day; as much as I'd like to pretend, I really don't have shit else to do during the day: MTV is getting old, and Instant Messanger only works when there is actually someone to carry a conversation on with. I think I will write "LSAT" on myself, to remind myself to make myself study, and go to a quiet place, by myself, where I can focus, because let's be honest, only I can motivate...myself.

The Big Lebowski

In the movie, The Dude never actually bowls.

The cigarette girl

FIRST, a little background for those of you who do not frequent bars, and do not smoke cigarettes at those bars. Camel has one of the more interesting marketing techniques; they hand out free cigarettes, scan your id, send you junkmail coupons, etc. The people responsible for carrying out this are seemingly college age kids with massive black packs full of camel goodness (or evil, depending on your opinion of smoking.) Tuesday night, I succombed to the offer of free cigarettes at He's not; the girl noticed my address (700 bolinwood dr.) and recognized it as stratford hills, where she used to live. A short conversation ensued, Stuart made an under-his-breath comment about her large, asian titties (he was drunk, don't hold it against him), and we walked off. Skip ahead to friday: chris, grant and I are at goldies, in a high state of inebriation and who should we see but the free cigarette girl. Out on the patio she offered us some more, and suprisingly, she remebered chris and I from Tuesday night. A conversation ensued; turns out, this cigarette girl was an interesting character. Not only does she not smoke, but after a little conversation, she began to encourage us to stop smoking as well. She was a graduate of UNC, and intended to be a Physician's assistant; seems like a bit of hypocracy to give out free cigarettes while objecting to the use of them. I guess its like the stripper paying her way through college cliche. Regardless, I put the free camel lights to good use, as I made one box the 21st birthday present of Lindsay from the desk at the union, who was celebrating with her fellow 21 year old Desk employee Abby. Top O, what a place. Speaking of, the night before I finally made it to the bar with Karmen, something that had proved impossible up to this point, despite our both being of age for quite some time. Is it a bad omen that this only occurs the week before we both have to take the LSAT? Perhaps. But maybe, just maybe, its a good sign.

More on the problem

I recommend reading the NY Times article "The college Dropout Boom" (If you don't have an account, you can register; it is free and then you can read other NYT shit as well). This article first caught my attention from the location; Chilhowie isn't all that far from Sparta, and then I was further interested by the fact that my cousin just graduated from Radford (by the way, it was once an all-female school, and is still a large % female), the school Andy drops out of. However, the best portions of this article are not the stories of Andy's struggles in southwest Va, because let's be honest, Andy has it pretty good for that corner of the state. The best parts are nuggets like this one,

"In fact, though, colleges have come to reinforce many of the advantages of birth. On campuses that enroll poorer students, graduation rates are often low. And at institutions where nearly everyone graduates - small colleges like Colgate, major state institutions like the University of Colorado and elite private universities like Stanford - more students today come from the top of the nation's income ladder than they did two decades ago. Only 41 percent of low-income students entering a four-year college managed to graduate within five years, the Department of Education found in a study last year, but 66 percent of high-income students did. That gap had grown over recent years."

This is a sad fact that most don't realize, and its a larger problem than you think. It's the same old system of priviledge, but instead of being obviously biased towards the old money and status, it is now a direct result of these; kids in places like southwest virginia do not come to the table with the same tools as those growing up in richer areas. It isn't that the schools are necessarily biased against them, but in the end, higher education needs to realize that diversity is more than race, sex, and religion. Another wonderful part of the article is the focus on UVa., and if you are not familiar with the stigma (or aura, depending on your outlook) attached to that university, ask a friend (who isn't a Doctor or Lawyer) from Virginia. One of the best public schools in the country, in U.S. News' opinion; but how do they do it? By pawning off the lower class students to other state schools like ODU and Radford. As the article points out,

"Admitting large numbers of low-income students could bring clear complications. Too many in a freshman class would probably lower the college's average SAT score, thereby damaging its ranking by U.S. News & World Report, a leading arbiter of academic prestige. Some colleges, like Emory University in Atlanta, have climbed fast in the rankings over precisely the same period in which their percentage of low-income students has tumbled. The math is simple: when a college goes looking for applicants with high SAT scores, it is far more likely to find them among well-off teenagers."

If you are looking for a parallel in NC, think Appalachian, Western, etc. Not that UNC is quite as bad, but perhaps looking north of the border can give us a valuable lesson about what a Public University shouldn't be. It's also encouraging to see a publication like the New York Times focusing on this area, which is one of the poorer regions in the country; despite the vacation homes and ski resorts, there are many who struggle to make it up there. Andy had a hard time leaving, and he is a microcosm of the larger problem. Sometimes, it's just too hard to make it out.

This is kinda awesome.

So maybe it is a bit early to be excited with the summer, but so far, it seems that this will be a good, hot time. Let's review: first, I have no summer school classes, damn cool. Second, the copious amounts of active things such as basketball and bike riding that has gone down with Patrick E., Jason S., and the 2H kids. 3. Diet coke with splenda. 4. All the food. 5. Almost everyone is 21, so finally, the bars are a viable option. and 6. after the LSAT, I have no responsibilties for the rest of the summer. Of course, the dumbass managerial staff at the Union has me working 30-some hours in the second summer session. And won't it be awesome when I drop the nuclear bomb 2-week notice and fuck the schedule for the rest of the summer? Is the beat on the new Sunkist commercial kickass? Is the Missing Audi A3 commercial cool? Is it bad that I wish the car was in my driveway? Is it bad that I still don't have a blockbuster card, and don't plan on getting one soon? I bought some microwaveable eggrolls today; they were named "asian sensation". Still don't know how I feel about that one. The rest of the week will be filled with LSAT prepping, Union working, activity-ing, and let's see if we can't fit some drinkin in there to. Fuck Timewarner.

maybe a little crazy

Let us be honest for a moment; we all are confused as to the nature of our lives. Yes, I know, you are completely positive of what you will be doing in the future. Yeah, ok, I'm sure that will work out well for you. Regardless, you will get fucked at some point, and sometime, you will be confused. Here to cast no light on the problem you will face is myself. Last night, I had a dream that spiders were infesting my case of milwaukee's best. Obviously, I took it, and threw it as hard as my arm could manage. Not a fan of spiders. But that brings me to the point I realized when this dream woke me up...What if the only thing that separates the good from the bad is the simple ability to stand back and see the impact of our actions? Think about it; some can see the way their lives impact the others around them, can imagine the way that their lives will play out in respect to the other elements that are in the equation. Others live as if there is no impact, no repercussions. Either way, past this point, there is a divergence; the ones that can restrain their actions and see the impact ( Saints), and the ones that can see how they will end up, but do not have the strength to restrain themselves or help any others (Writers). Sadly, there are very few of the former, and a major excess of the latter.

(in)Validation

YES, the chaotic ordeal that was exams has ended. The dust has settled. I shaved, showered, and slept for long periods. All has returned to a normal and right state of affairs for the conduct of the summer. Perhaps you would like to know how exams went, since you are previously aquanted with the level of procrastination to which I suffer. Well friends, exams went well. Very well. Preposteriously well. I got a 3.5, which if you are keeping tabs, is the highest GPA ever recorded by alex phipps in an alex phipps-style semester (which means 12 hours of random bullshit classes). How could this happen? You are saying now, "Alex, I know you didn't read any of the books for that philosophy class, and the test was cumulative!" You would be right in saying that. You might also say, "Alex, I know your computer messed up in the middle of your English final, there is no way you did good with that sort of complication!" Again, you would be correct in putting forth that statement. So, to explain how someone that perennially puts off work and study can achieve this level of mediocracy, there is only one possible conclusion (excluding cheating, of course). You might think that answer is that I am a brilliant last-minute studier, or lucky-as-hell bastard. No, not true. The truth is, College is bullshit. This semester proves it, beyond all shadow of a doubt, the complete structure of college, testing, exams, papers, and finals. Invalidated, because of the obvious success within the system of a person such as myself who should obviously fail. So there you have it; I fully expect for the entire system to come to a grinding halt as soon as this mistake is pointed out to the controlling parties, and I'm sure I will be rejected, back to the GPA purgatory from which I came. But until that happens, I will enjoy the momentary suprise and excitement of the parents; "Oh boy, maybe Alex won't be a failure after all (they have known since quite early I was destined for failure)! We can really use that room for a study." Somewhere, my hated english teacher Mrs. Bost is wondering why she spent her life's work teaching kids how to write papers and prepare for college, when an obvious dumbass such as myself can succeed; she was never a fan of seeing us studying at the lunch table before her class, because it indicated clearly we had not prepared for that vocabulary quiz. In short, I expect the repercussions to echo throughout the educational system. On an unrelated note; Do you think Oprah was the one responsible for bringing about the massive campaign to stop Jerry Springer and the fights on his show? If we all remeber, she did not claim top daytime TV status until AFTER Jerry was out of the way. And we also know she has more money that God (why would god have any money at all, actually?). Hmmm, something to ponder.

hmmm....I guess I am crazy.

You're One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest!

by Ken Kesey

You're crazy. This has led people to attempt to confine you to a safe
place so that you don't pose a danger to yourself or others. You feel like you pose a
great danger to the man (or maybe the woman) or whatever else is keeping you down. But
most of the time, you just end up being observed. Were you crazy before you were
confined?


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

And I'm spent.

OVER, done and completed. Ahh, this has been quite the semester. And now that it is over, I am finally realizing how much shit actually happened this semester, and how bored I am sitting on my couch in the middle of the afternoon, in the sweltering heat, with a slight ache in the front of my head and a strange red bump under my eye. Perfect time to fuck around on the blog. Let's be honest for a moment; it is amazing to me the sheer volume of alcohol consumed this semester by myself and my companions. It isn't like I never drank before, it's simply the fact that now I can trade money for beer or liquor in a legal, capitalistic, purely american fashion, without fear of prosecution. I really think I have been the worst procrastinator this semester, but I kept putting off actually doing something about it, and now the semester is over; ironically, perhaps this will be one of the better semesters grade wise. Remeber that computer meltdown exam fiasco mentioned in the previous post? Turns out, out of a possible 200 points on the exam, I got 199. Perhaps I am awesome, or perhaps the professor took it easy on my exam because of said fiasco, but either way, I got an A. Yessss! I also realized that i have put off cleaning and rearranging 40H indefinately; we have food that predates the paul era, the john era even, all the way back to the Jessica era of 40H evolution. I can no longer focus on anything for extended periods; I'm struggling to make it through the rest of this post without distraction from AIM or TV. It amazes me to think about how long ago I started school, and how long ago I began putting things off. How I used to suck at focus, just like I suck now. I was shorter, I had blonde hair at various points, I didn't shave, I couldn't drive. Instead of working at the Union, I worked for Dad on the hell-farm, growing Tobacco instead of Peppers out on my porch. But consistently, I put work off, I procrastinated, I ate dinner in front of the Television because I would become too bored eating at the table and couldn't stand it any longer. I used to hate summer; perhaps I still do to some effect. I tell people it is because of the heat, but thats not all that I dislike. I hate the boredom, and the lack of activity, especially back when I had to rely on parents for transportation. Nothing happens, the day is too hot to do anything, the only highlight is night time, and that's only good if you have the right crowd. And then there are the storms. It rained almost every day for a two month period when I worked at Roaring Gap; at some point, you would think God would get tired of throwing the same old torrential downpour/thunderstorm/15 degree drop in temperature/abrupt end and humidity of almost 100%, creating a sticky hell routine. I guess that was what the drout in 2002 was about; evening the lineup a little. Either way, summer is here, I'm on the couch, I guess no matter how much things change, me putting things off will be a constant.

Ah, Good Times.

Diet Coke now comes in a splenda version, damn isn't it about time? Personally I am a fan of the old school; but the close resemblance to real coke is striking. I found this out on the way to my first exam today, English 42: Movie Criticism, otherwise known as the best class in the whole world. Being experienced with the exam format, I expected a fairly straightforward exam period, a little typing, some bullshitting, and a quick exit. Yes, typing, because in this class, we use the SecureExam computer bluebook program. Basically a modified word window, it seems fairly stable and quite the effective method of test taking. Rolling along, I had completed 5 of the 10 questions, was feeling fairly confident, and was bordering on cocky assurance of a good exam knocked out early. I pressed the shift button to begin typing #6. Then, a friendly little window popped up, letting me know that an I/O error had occurred. Thank you little window, I appreciate the news. Now go away, I have more test to take. But after I closed the window, another came, this one much larger, informing me that an unauthorized shutdown of SecureExam Student Edition 4.01 had occurred. Ok...not so appreciative of this window, but I clicked the comforting "ok", expecting something to occur. Well, this prompted another window, and perhaps 4 of his friends, to begin an all-out orgy on my screen, followed by a strange fade to flat white. Needless to say, I was suprised and quite interested as to the nature of this computer malfunction, and also the condition that my half-completed exam was in. The hand went up, and my TA Maura came over; the look of amazment on her face let me know we were out of regular exam territory. We quickly proceeded to the front of the room, where Todd Taylor the professor stood. After taking a look at the computer, he called for a cellphone, "we need the ATN guy". Oh great, ATN, they always take care of the problems. Well in this case, I should not have been so pessimistic, the guy that came was the overall administrator for the bluebook program on campus. While all this excitement is going on, everyone else is writing answers, and obviously, the clock is still ticking away. Todd handed me a bluebook, and said, Just start writing. Yes! yes yes yes, just what I wanted to do, write all the shit I already typed over again. With my shitty mechanical pencil, which was the only writing utensil Left in the backpack of devastation...Great. I return to my desk, to sympathetic looks all around from the group I sit with. I begin to bust out answers, fast. Superfast. Like handcramp fast. Here comes the ATN man, does he have my computer fixed? No, he just needs my password, because he has finally discovered how to restart the computer. This is going so well. Still busting out answers, its now 2:00. The exam ends at 3, and although I am fairly positive I have a case for extended time, my hand is reaching the point of complete failure. Again the man returns, he needs the password one more time. Restart again. He's now in the back row, my hopes are rising. He returns one more time, this time he has it fixed. However, the program is gone, now I'm in Oldschool word, my computer is running in some strange safe mode, and my wonderful background, "Marissa Miller-Swimsuit Edition" has been replaced by a flat red screen. But no worries, I quickly bang out the last 5 answers, still finish before 3. I call over Mr. ATN, to see what I should do with this random word file. He takes it on his little USB memory key; but not before giving me a look of utter amazement and saying, "hey man, I didn't want to say this before you finished, but i just wanted to let you know. That's the hardest thing I've ever had to do with a computer. I'm amazed it worked out." He awkwardly patted my shoulder, with a look of exhausted pride, like a man who had just conquered his own personal Everest. I said thanks, not really sure what else to say, since I'm sure he realizes that he held my exam life in his hands like an open-heart surgeon. He says, "hope you don't have any more exams after this, that would be rough as hell." Well actually, I have two. "Oh, well, good luck man."
That's right folks, it never goes normally around here. But in the end it was pretty damn funny (after I had sweated and cramped up my hand), and the Diet Coke with spenda, well, its the shit.

How to distroy yourself: Simple, Easy, and Effective.

Make the trek to the library, making sure to go at a time when it is sure to be most crowded with other worried students who are obsessed with 4.0's. As you walk, think about how humiliating it will be to explain the first B- of your life to your parents, working your mind into a fever pitch and twisting your stomach into knots of anxiety. On the way, stop by for a pack of cigarettes and a diet coke; use these to wash down the aderal that will keep you focused in the library for 10 hours. As you roll into the ground floor, be sure to pick a spot under the florescent light that flickers most; perhaps one that emits the insane-asylum buzz of faulty engineering. Even though your exams have no internet content, make sure you connect the ethernet cord, because obviously, you will not be able to use the computer without Instant Messanger. Opening the laptop, go ahead and check your email account, since you will likely have messages of doom from your professor and fellow classmates that cannot wait to be read. Then, spend some time creating a dark and pessimistic away message, sure to garner sympathy from your fellow sufferers. Just to make sure the away message is dark enough to inspire empathy, go ahead and check everyone on your buddy list, noting other unique and saddening calls for attention. Since this has taken quite some time, go ahead and take a bathroom break, that first diet coke has probably already worked its way through your system and the caffeine is an effective diuretic. Since you are up, might as well take a cigarette break, and buy another drink, because the terrible taste of burning tobacco isn't condusive to learning. On the way back, stop to talk to your friend about how many exams you have, how close they are together, and the terrible luck of all of them being cumulative. Go ahead and take a lunch break with said friend, and be sure to splurge on the fattiest fried foods you can find, since you need fuel for all the studying. After lunch, you are quite tired, so its time for cigarettes again, and perhaps another check of the email. Finally, you rush through some composition on your paper, which is due so much sooner than you had originally thought, and be sure not to worry about the squiggly green and red lines under the text you are hurriedly producing, since obviously your professor won't be grading for grammar. Since the aderal seems to have worn off, it must be time to call it a day, and you exhaustedly haul your backpack of learning back home, and sleep the dead sleep of those on a caffeine low. Be sure to set the alarm unrealistically early, so that you have plenty of chances to hit the Snooze bar. Repeat for the entirety of exam week, and you should be in such shambles that it will take you the rest of the summer to recover, just in time for fall semester. Enjoy!
(obviously, this is not my approach to exams. I would never ignore the squiggly lines...)