The realm of carchases and explosions.

I got bored. Shit is going to start exploding within the next two weeks.

Mark my words.

*(Just as an aside, you should be proud of me. I didn't make a bad pun about the weather.)*

</laukaisyn>

Quote of the Day

"It tastes like... burning."

</laukaisyn>

There is something wrong with me.

Okay. First, a tiny bit of explanation. Every wednesday morning, I go to a local elementary school, where I volunteer for four hours. It's one of those set-the-alarm-for-5:30,-shut-it-off,-don't-wake-up-'til-seven,-freak out,-go-bundling-out-the-door-five-minute-before-the-bus-leaves type scenarios.

That's how my wednesdays work.

Now, if I had any concept of how to teach, they probably would have me helping out as a teaching assistant. But when they ask you if you're an education major, and you say "no, I'm a Political Science major"... there's a big difference.

I'm the one that re-organizes the class library. And, having spent four hours completely re-doing three book-shelves full of books for a class of twenty second-graders, it makes you feel really warm and fuzzy when they all scream "Thank you, Miss Ki."

So, they were taking a test today, and I moved all their desks into proper rows while the teacher read to them. They liked the rows -- except for two of them, who were now in the back, and couldn't see the board as well. Then, I finished the bookshelves (because I didn't finish doing so last week). I labelled the bookselves -- y'know, Fiction, Non-fiction, that kinda thing. I did it on those brightly colored strips of paper that elementary school teachers always use, in the neatest print I could muster.

They even had one of those plastic aquariums, which we all assembled. When I say "plastic aquarium", I mean a television-shaped thing with plastic fish in it that bubbles so the fish move. When I say "we all assembled", I mean "here, you hold these -- be careful not to lose any of the fish," and "here, you hold this -- be very careful not to drop it." The teacher did the important part -- the actual filling of the tank.



On their way line up for lunch, they all screamed "Thank you Miss Ki!"

I got this great warm fuzzy feeling inside.


...until I set foot outside the door.

Then I felt fucking awful about... well, I don't know. I just had this cold, bleak feeling. You know that feeling? I had that. The second I set foot out the door. And I don't know why.

</laukaisyn>

I am most definately the only one not getting it.

I just went through all the little folders that I keep on the Yahoo! server.

This is an email mom sent me on September 10:

you're definitely majoring in the wrong thing

you should be a humanities scholar... all these great quotes,
anecdotes and observations are without a doubt the Great American
Novel - at this point you could graduate already published with
royalties

</laukaisyn>

I think I'm the only one not getting it.

I honestly believe that I'm the only one not picking up the clues. But the clues are for me.

Okay. We decided, yesterday, that we needed to do something. We were having a "hall party". That's where we all sit in the hall, and talk, until we come to that point where we come to a lull in the conversation. Then we just stare at each other.

Finally, someone said the inevitable "we need something to do."

That lead to "we need somewhere to go."
"Let's go to Arundel Mills."

Arundel Mills, by the way, is the nearest shopping mall.

That lead to a disection of the bus schedules, dinner, and us actually going to the Mall, to get Nerf guns.


Just so everyone realizes, Arundel Mills is fucking massive.

It's divided into five "neighborhoods".

Somewhere in Neighborhood 2, I think, there's a Gamestop.



...And this would be the part where the story arbitrarily skips back to the seventh grade for no apparent reason. The sixth grade, actually, but, yeah. Whatever.

The Playstation. You know the playstation? I'm talking about the Playstation one. The days when they gave you a demo disc with the system, with demos for, like, twenty games.


You know what I'm saying.

Well, in the seventh grade, I finally got around to a game, buried on that disc, called MediEvil. You may have heard of it. You're a skeleton -- Sir Daniel Fortesque -- brought back from the dead by your old nemesis -- Zarok -- and you have to fight through his undead hoards to get to him. Right. Basic premise. The frst time I saw it, I was horrified, but, after a while, it was my favorite thing. Of course, the demo only had the first two levels -- the Crypt and the Cemetary -- so, naturally, those were the two levels I knew the best.

If I had that game and a playstation, I could do them right now. That's how well I knew Dan's Crypt and the Cemetary -- just from the demo. And the second game came out when I was in the seventh grade.

I still remember part of the cheat code. I never fully memorized it. But the first part is Δ, O, Δ, O, O -- yeah.



Okay. Arbitrarily skip back to last night. Sometime between the bus dropping us off and picking us up. We wander into Gamestop, just to see if they have anything good.

The entire right-hand wall is devoted to games for the PSP. Now, I don't really know much about the PSP other than it's handheld.

But, I glance over. And there, on one of the boxes, in all his glory... is Sir Daniel Fortesque. Directly above him are the words "MediEvil: Resurrection".

There he is, in his not-quite shining armor, missing his jaw and one eye, brandishing his broadsword -- for all the world to see. I pick up the box and skim the back cover. "MediEvil Resurrection puts players in the role of Sir Daniel Fortesque to embark on a gothic journey of redemption to defeat the evil sorcerer Zarok..."

Yup. That's it.



Alright. Fine. So, we all left, after having found nothing of any great value in the $3.99 box.

We bought foam disk shooters, got back on the bus, and came home.


We had our battle -- we know what to do for next time -- and then, we sat and talked.

A hall party, only, in the common room, not the hall.

So, we're sitting, talking... keep in mind, it's me, the Political Science major, talking to a Computer Science major and an Information Systems major. (Almost all my friends are CompSci majors, incedentally.)

The conversation seemd to go in a "when Ki changes her major" direction. They're all well aware of... well, of something.


Of what, I'm not quite sure.



And I'm still not sure what I want to be when I grow up.

But I do know that driving to Seven-Eleven on the Subwoofer of a pickup truck at one in the morning is more than fine for me.

</laukaisyn>

Quote of the Day

"You had to mortgage Mount Doom?!"

</laukaisyn>

Quote of the Day

An actual conversation from my "Contrasting Visions of Society class:

"Everytime I hear him say 'Plato' with a 'D', I think of Play-Doh."
"I know, right?"
"Yeah. When we actually start reading it, I'm going to bring some, and be like, 'oh, oops'."
"I used to eat that stuff as a kid."
"Really?"
"Yeah. It's salty."
"And the different colors taste different."
"Yeah!"
(high fives)

</laukaisyn>

I'm going to spill my heart and soul out onto the keyboard; all I need you to do is listen.

This story starts at 4:37 this morning. I know that seems like a pretty arbitrary time, but it's not. It's accurate.

No, no -- wait. I'm sorry. Hang on. I -- this story didn't start this morning. This story actually started long before that.

...It starts six years ago. Almost exactly six years ago, as a matter of fact. Six years ago, this past June, I had graduated from Elementary school, and was moving up to the "big" school. Six years ago this month, I was a seventh grader, and Nowheresville Memorial Junior/Senior High School was going to take me. I was heading to the massive fucking brick building on the other side of town.

You have to realize, I was eleven. I was cute, and innocent, and naïve.

My seventh and eigth grade years were spent doing very little of anything. Most of our "highschool" teachers still saw us as children, and didn't torture us to badly, save for one slightly psychotic Math teacher... but that's another story for another post. My friends and I hung out in the cafeteria, did our thing, had study halls, and tried to be fashionable. It was that whole really pleasant, stereotypical middle school experience.

This is the part where the story skips to 4:37 in the morning. This morning.

I couldn't get to sleep last night. At all. I spent an excessive amount of time staring at the ceiling. So I decided, "aww, screw it. I'll listen to the radio -- really, really low, so it won't bother my roommate."

So I click on the tiny clock/radio next to my bed. It's set to a specific station, which I also used to listen to back in Nowheresville.

It's about halfway through a song that I've honestly never heard before.

Fine.

Next, it starts playing Fastball's The Way. Do you remember that song?

They made up their minds and they started packing
They left before the sun came up that day
An exit to eternal summer slacking
But where were they going without ever knowing the way?

They drank up the wine and they got to talking
They now had more important things to say
And when the car broke down they started walking
Where were they going without ever knowing the way?

Anyone could see the road that they walk on is paved in gold
It's always summer, they'll never get cold
They'll never get hungry
They'll never get old and gray
You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere
They won't make it home but they really don't care
They wanted the highway, they're happy there today, today

The children woke up and they couldn't find 'em
They Left before the sun came up that day
They just drove off and left it all behind 'em
But where were they going without ever knowing the way?

Well, when I was in the seventh and eigth grade, it was my favorite song. Seriously. I still know all the words.

Here I am, six years later, staring at the ceiling at four in the morning, mouthing the words to the song that I used to love in Junior High.

I started to get teary-eyed.

The only thought that went through my head was, "What the fuck am I doing with my life?"

Of course, now, I'm not a cute, innocent, naïve seventh grader. Now, I'm a jaded, cynical, slightly-pissed-at-the-system college freshman, who actually knows what that song means.

</laukaisyn>

Quote of the Day

"Clinton is the only U.S. president to be honored with his own condom brand line."

</laukaisyn>

Quote of the Day

"Is it edible? Is it an insanely beautiful woman? 'Cause if it isn't either of those two things, I'm not interested."

</laukaisyn>

But, is it really early or really late?

You know those days when you stay up really late, to the point where it's the early morning hours? And you're not sure if you've stayed up late or if you've stayed up early?

Well, yeah, this is one of those.

It's also a re-affirmation of my nerdlyness.

But, nonetheless...


This story starts about a week ago. Joey (the one who strangled the dean of students with razor-wire in a demented dream) arbitrarily got an invitation to a party in Ellicott City. And he asked if any of us (a) were going and (b) even knew about it.

Okay. Skip to last Thursday. We're playing video games in The King of All Cosmos' room. He tells us there's going to be a party, in Ellicott City -- where he's from -- and asks would we like to come. And yes, this is the same party Joey got an invitation to.


We all sort of mumbled, and continued our quest to do... whatever it was that you do in that particular game. It doesn't matter. But as the King started to corner us each individually, he started to get answers like, "well, I'll go if he goes" and "I don't want to be the only one there."

That brings us to Saturday. We were all standing around in the hallway, talking -- we seem to do that alot -- and came to a lull in the conversation. We seem to do that alot, too.

The King came out of his room, which is right near where we stand, and brought up the party again. We all kinda shrugged and mumbled. He asked Wilding (a Junior) if he was going, and then declared, "Ki's going!"... which, of course, was news to me.

He tried to bully us some more, but then we all went to dinner. Joey, Wilding and I sat at our own little table, and plotted against him. Well, no, technically, that's not true. There was no plotting. It does sound cool, though. In reality, it was, "y'know, I really don't want to go."
"Yeah, he peer-pressured me into agreeing..."

If we did indeed have to go to the party, I'd bring my Gameboy and pass around Tetris. We'd stand in the corner, away from all the drunk people.

Eventually, we decided that Wilding would be our rebel leader, since he had a TV. We told the King we weren't going, he tried to convince us one last time -- "You mean you don't want to get drunk and have sex with random people?" -- and we were on our way. We played with a Slinky in the staircase for a bit, then went up to the apartments, where we played Super Smash Brothers, and Mario Power Tennis. We came back down to our dorm in Wildings Pickup truck -- two in the bed, one in the passenger seat, and me on the Subwoofer.

By the tiem we came back to the dorms, the King had gone, so we sat in the study lounge and played Munckin. If you've never played it, it's a card game, and it's like Dungeons and Dragons, without the plot. It's really a lot of fun. We played it twice, staying up, in the end, 'til 5:30 in the morning.

And that would be why Sixty Percent Chance of Rain is so late.

</laukaisyn>

Quote of the Day

it's official, l am divorcing your father

actually, the hell with the divorce, l am putting him in a box and
mailing him to you


l had a box going, on the floor of the dining room... it had goodies
in it for you... fish, treats, etc. .. l had a big bag of chips ahoy
cookies in the box, he was walking thru the dining room, stopped,
rummaged thru your box, took out the cookies and said ' if ya snooze
ya lose'

he's eating your cookies right now

</laukaisyn>

Quote of the Day

City officials also are refining a "Regional Walkout Plan" for use if Metrorail stops running. "That's people using their left and right feet," said Dan Tangherlini, the director of the D.C. Department of Transportation. Routes leading out of the city could be designated for pedestrian use based upon the availability of sidewalks.

</laukaisyn>

Quote of the Day

"Is that my wooden plank?"

</laukaisyn>

"Be nice to your suitemates."

This story is odd. That's all there is to it.

It begins with one of the guys down the hall coming to me and asking if he could borrow a razor. When I asked him why, he explained that one of his suitemates was being a real jerk to he and his roommate, and he wanted to exact revenge by shaving off one (or both) of his eybrows.

He said he'd do that wednesday night.

So, thursday morning comes, and he hasn't come to get a razorblade from me, or talk to me, or anything, so I don't know what's going on.

He arrives, and declares that there's been a "change of plans". He tells me that they're going to take his mattress down to the laundry room. All I have to do is re-do the sheets so that it looks like there's still a mattress.

Okay, so they do all that, and we all leave.


Well, there's a bit more to it than that. They put a note on the bed, leading to another place. And that just leads around in a grand scavenger hunt.


Well... there were a few problems.

• It was decided to move the mattress from the laundry room, which you can always get into, to the kitchen, so that no one would take it.
• You need a key to get into that kitchen.
• When trying to get a key for the kitchen, someone -- someone uninvolved -- actually said to the desk staff, "someone took his mattress, and we think it might be in there."
• ...And that would be where our RA got involved.

So we all got a warning speech about how we should never do things like this ever again, whether we were involved or not it didn't matter, because the mattress -- and the desks, shelves, and armoirs, for that matter -- are all technically property of the school.

But she still thought it was funny.

And the guy this was done to had to leave halfway through this debacle to go to class. So he called us to ask what was going on, and we told him that his mattress had been retrieved. Still not noticing it was a prank, he asked us to make sure "they" didn't take anything else.

</laukaisyn>

Quote of the Day

6 x 9 = 42
2 + 2 = 5
This is why we don't learn math from novels.

</laukaisyn>

You guys might appreciate this.

I figured out what's wrong with the Happy-Time Hobo Ninja Brigade.

In order to get onto third-south, you have to be a drunkard or a Computer Science Major.

That would probably explain why I have the option of logging into any of five different wireless networks from the study room up here.


At any rate, I had a freaky dream last night. All my friends in Nowheresville may appreciate this one.

See, there was this one social studies teacher, who was promoted to "Dean of Students". Which gave him all kinds of disciplinary power. So he was on this major power trip most of the time, with his little palm-pilot and his golf cart and all.

Any way, the dream I had last night was supposed to have taken place in Nowheresville Memorial -- something told me in was Memorial -- but it in no way resembled the school in real life. Any way, the Dean of Students was giving me a hard time. Out of nowhere, one of the guys that lives down the hall from me -- who has probably never set foot in nowheresville, nor met the Dean of Students at Memorial -- leaps out of the shadows, strangles the man to death with razor-wire, and disapears again.

I'm still trying to figure that one out.


The King of all Cosmos (read: the senior down the hall who organizes movie nights) wants to see what I'd do in the game Hitman now. Because I have freaky dreams like this.

</laukaisyn>

Quote of the Day

"What kind of pin is it? Is it the kind you use on a shirt, or the kind you poke someone with?"

</laukaisyn>

...

See, alot of people have differing views as to how to remember September 11th. Some simply go on with their lives, for those who can't.

Some believe in a moment of silence. Or in some form of monument, specifically to the victims.

Some see it simply as a day to reflect on the world. And on the nature of our lives.



...And if I had any brains in my head, I would've gotten on a bus, and gone to D.C.

Some of you understand that logic. And some of you really have no idea where I'm coming from.

I'm just going to say that it has to do with the handkerchief in my wallet and the World War II memorial, and I'm going to leave it at that.



©Matt Davies, 2002.

</laukaisyn>

"Put that on CollegeHumor, but blame it on College Park."

I told you that my fellow Happy Time Hobo Ninjas were, shall we say, entertaining.

They duct taped a girl to an office chair, set up plastic Solo™-cup "bowling pins", and rolled her down the hall.

On an entirely unrelated note, there was an exceptional amount of partying and drinking, considering today was, y'know, friday.

"Are you drunk?"
"No."
"You're not drunk?"
"I was at a social gathering that involved the consuming of certain liquids which are illegal for individuals under a certain age."
"So you're drunk."
"No..."
"So... you're tipsy?"
"Yeah. Yeah, that's it. I'm tipsy."

So, yeah. We were sitting in the hallway, and this random guy just walks down the hall. And he proceded to ask each o fus if we wanted a beer. And we all politely declined. And he went around the circle again, because he was drunk, and he didn't remember the first time we said "no".

And then there was the "we don't need to be drunk, we have Super Smash Brothers" crew. They played there way through for a bit, before deciding that they didn't really need to see what was going on. They pulled out the video cable, and the screen went black. You could hear the characters jumping and making their various trademark noises, but no one had any idea what they were doing. Tuxedo Mask won, by the way.

Oh, and someone got really drunk and vomited outside the steps to the dorm. It's roped off with Caution tape and the Campus police were here earlier.

I'm waiting for the Beer Pong competitions to start. It'll be just like Nowheresville. Only, y'know, without the drainage resevoir.

</laukaisyn>

Quote of the Day

"I have blonde and black arm hair. I'm diverse."

</laukaisyn>

Quote of the Day

It's true, unfortunately. Vaccuum cleaners, stanley steamers, back pain relief...

</laukaisyn>

Quote of the Day

My A.P. Statistics teacher handing out textbooks to Kathryn's A.P. Stats class: "If you get the one that says 'LoConte should die.', it'll save you the trouble. That was Ki's by the way."
</laukaisyn>

Photobloggingnesses.

It's my pet grass.

</laukaisyn>

Quote of the Day

"I mean, I'm here 'cause I'm lazy. You're here 'cause your stupid."

</laukaisyn>

Hullo.

And how are all of you, out in blogosphereland? hmm?

I'm actually doing pretty well for myself. Considering we have a three day weekend. No, no, it's cool. The entire campus is shut down for today -- because it's sunday -- and tomorrow -- because it's labor day.

Wow. That's a lot of dashes.

I have the room to myself 'til tuesday. It's like, everyone just left.

Oh, and y'know those little whiteboards people like to hang on their doors? I've vandalized every one with my stoned smiley face.

^___^

</laukaisyn>

What's the Russian word for "Rain"?

You'll get Sixty Percent Chance of Rain after I install my Cyrillic font for Russian 101 and 101C. Deal with it.


...At any rate, I now have a perfectly stocked pantry under my bed. Yeah. Two microwave-safe pyrex bowls, Spaghetti-o's, Chili, Oreos, Soft Baked Snickerdoodles, and Oatmeal Raisin Cookies.

Unfortunately, I am in the land where Spaghetti-o's and Chef-Boy-ar-dee are in the "International" aisle.

I also have to inform you that I am out of disposable forks.



Other than that, though, I'm good. And I'm not going to get homesick, because I apparently have The Sump here on my floor. Though I've heard the other dorm on this street is the place to be, it's really up here, on third South.

And what is The Sump, you ask?

It's a Nowheresville thing. And I don't just mean you have to be from Nowheresville. You have to have gone to Nowheresville Memorial High School.

See, we at Nowheresville Memorial are a classy bunch. When we're drinking underage, but to young to pass for 21 -- even with a fake ID -- we drink at a place called The Sump. But what is The Sump? Well, The Sump is exactly what it sounds like -- it's a sump -- or, rather, a drainage reservoir.

Yeah. There are two ways into The Sump: through the hole in the fence in the CVS parking lot -- that's the "proper way" -- or over the fence in the County Department of Public Works parking lot. (It really ought to be noted, though, that going over the fence isn't that big of a deal. The fence dips down to ground level, so you can just walk over it. The hard part is getting into the parking lot in the first place.)

When you actually look old enough to pass for 21 -- usually senior year -- it's like a ritual of passage. You get a fake ID that says you're 21, throw out the one that says you're 18, and go down to the bar at the end of the street, where you can now (with any luck) be crowned Reigning Beer Pong Champion of the High School.


That's why I can't get homesick. The Sump came with me.



Oh, and, on an entirely unrelated note, I've noticed that no one has been commenting. But, y'know, no one ever comments. The last comment I got was a spammer talking to me about logging. As in chainsaws. And trees.

That was awkward.

</laukaisyn>