Stories
The Worst Salesman Ever
08/28/09 05:35 PM
Last night, Evan,
Jacob, Dave, and I decided to journey to Wal-Mart for
a few things and to conclude our outing with a trip
to PetSmart where we could buy a few fish. Dave
and I still had our fish tank from last year, and
Evan and Jacob were planning on purchasing a new
tank.
Our experience at Wal-Mart was largely uneventful; we got what we needed and headed on to PetSmart. We arrived at PetSmart and our first suspicion was that it was closed. Apparently the chain likes to make their large, sliding, glass doors extremely tinted so customers can barely see inside. Anyway, it wasn't closed (even though the hours on the front door said it closed at 7pm and it was 8:30pm). We received a dirty look from a salesman as we entered, but since the doors were unlocked, we entered without pause and made our way to the fishy section.
Over the summer I had two fish: a Molly and a Platy, tropical fish which need filtration and enjoy warm water. I have a 2.5 gallon tank with filtration, but since my room is always fairly warm and I had a lamp directly above the water, I figured that would be warm enough for them. Considering they lived for over three months (and one of them may potentially still be alive, depending on how well he likes the cows' water tank), I figured another one or two of those fish would be a good buy. Anyway, Dave and I were sick of Bettas. I've had numerous Bettas in my lifetime, and aside from Zapato (whom Dave and I managed to keep alive for over three months ... It would have been longer if he hadn’t a nasty run in with boiling water from the faucet), I've never been able to keep a Betta alive for longer than a week or two. Besides, Bettas are generally pretty lame unless you put them in a tank with other fish which they hate (namely, their own kind).
Demetrius and Bruno, the two fishes I had this summer, were quite active and played hide-and-seek and tag frequently throughout their days. They seemed quite happy.
After about fifteen minutes of debating, we made our decision: we'd get two different Mollies. Together, we wandered the store and summoned Jimmy, an apparent resident expert on all things fish. As we rounded the isle back to the fish section, our conversation with Jimmy went something like this:
Jimmy: “So, what are we looking at here?”
Me: “Well, I think we’re going to go with two Platies.”
Jimmy: “How big is your tank?”
Me: “2.5 gallons.”
Jimmy: “That’s not big enough for Platies.”
*long awkward silence*
Me: “Okay ... Um. Well, how big to Platies get?”
Jimmy: “They’ll grow to be about three or four inches when they’re full size.”
Me: “How long does it take them to grow that much?”
Jimmy: “Two or three months.”
Me: “Okay. Cuz, see, I’ve had Platies before. And Mollies. And they seemed to like my tank just fine.”
Jimmy: “Do you have a heater?”
Me: “No.”
Jimmy: “Well, they need a heater. They’re tropical fish, so the water temperature needs to be around seventy-five degrees.”
*long awkward silence*
It’s worth noting that, during these long awkward silences, Jimmy just stared at us. He didn’t bother offering up any advice to us like, “For a tank that size, I would recommend ...” or, “We actually sell heaters for *insert price* in isle *insert proper isle number*!” No, he just stared at us waiting to shoot down whatever our next decision might be.
Me: “Okay. Well ... Um. How about Mollies? I’ve had those before.”
Jimmy: “They need at least a ten gallon tank.”
Dave and I both looked at the tank which the Mollies were currently being held in, a clearly less than ten gallon tank holding well over thirty pretty, yellow Mollies.
Me: “I guess they probably need a heater too, huh?”
Jimmy: “Pretty much any of the fish on this wall will need a heater, since they’re tropical.”
Me: “They need a heater, or they like a heater?”
Jimmy: “They need a heater.”
Me: “Ok. Fine. What fish would you recommend for my 2.5 gallon, non-heated tank?”
Jimmy: “I mean, pretty much your best bet is going to be a Betta. They’ll live the longest in that environment.”
Dave and I looked at each other, both fairly perturbed at this guy.
Me: “No. Bettas are lame. They’re more expensive, and the Molly and Platy I had lived longer than all of my other Bettas combined, minus Zapato. He was a rare case.”
*long awkward silence*
After shuffling our feat on the floor waiting for Jimmy to recommend something, anything other than what his customer obviously didn’t want, I finally said to Dave in about as exasperated a tone as I could muster, “Alright, well, I guess we aren’t getting any fish then.”
Jimmy didn’t seem too saddened by this. I think he may have actually been happy that we had chosen not to torture the large, tropical fish in our cold, 2.5 gallon tank. It’s worth mentioning that neither the Molly nor the Platy I had grew much past the size they were when I purchased them.
On an unlucky trip, this would be where the story ended. But this wasn’t just an unlucky trip, it was a trip of absolutely no success. Negative success, actually, if you count gas spent. Jimmy turned his attention (after we regained it by force, that is) to Evan and Jacob. They figured they would just get a bunch of goldfish and put them in the 2.5 gallon tank they had grabbed from the shelf. After all, Goldfish are only twenty-seven cents; if one dies, it’s only a quarter!
Evan: “I think we’re going to get a couple of Goldfish.”
Jimmy: “Are you going to put them in that tank there?”
Evan: “Well, yes.”
Jimmy: “That tank isn’t big enough for Goldfish. And, anyway, they need a heater.”
Evan: “Oh. Does this come with a heater?”
Jimmy: “No.”
*long awkward silence*
Evan: “Okay. Well. What fish can we get?”
Jimmy: “For that tank, I’d say you’re going to be best off getting a Betta.”
At this point Dave and I came out from our laughing spot in one of the isles.
Me: “You don’t want to get a Betta. They’re lame.”
Evan: “Yah, we really don’t want a Betta.”
Jimmy: “Well, without a heater that’s really going to be your best bet.”
*long awkward silence*
Jacob: “What if we just got a bowl and put a fish in it? What fish then?”
Jimmy: “A Betta would live best in a bowl, since there’s no filtration or heating.”
The details are a little foggy past this point. If I recall correctly, there was a far too long awkward pause and then Jimmy managed to wander off to mac on some ladies he had seen in another isle (it’s worth noting that the ladies were clearly trying to get away from him). Evan and Jacob ducked into the isle Dave and I had retreated to again.
Evan: “Do we seriously need a heater for a Goldfish?!”
Me: “This guys full of crap. Just put the tank away and we’re coming back another day when there’s somebody here that will actually let us buy what we want.”
We put the 2.5 gallon tank back on its shelf. The one that, according to Jimmy, wasn’t suitable for any fish besides a Betta. The one that also had large words on the front of the box that read, “Goldfish Starter Tank.” And we left the store, never to return (at least not when Jimmy’s working). We’re pretty sure Jimmy must secretly be working for PETA or something. With that in mind, it seems Jimmy has successfully saved a few fish from almost certain chills and ultimate death! Unfortunately, he lost the sales of around $10 worth of fish and a $25 fish tank. Still, I’m sure his manager will be proud.
Our experience at Wal-Mart was largely uneventful; we got what we needed and headed on to PetSmart. We arrived at PetSmart and our first suspicion was that it was closed. Apparently the chain likes to make their large, sliding, glass doors extremely tinted so customers can barely see inside. Anyway, it wasn't closed (even though the hours on the front door said it closed at 7pm and it was 8:30pm). We received a dirty look from a salesman as we entered, but since the doors were unlocked, we entered without pause and made our way to the fishy section.
Over the summer I had two fish: a Molly and a Platy, tropical fish which need filtration and enjoy warm water. I have a 2.5 gallon tank with filtration, but since my room is always fairly warm and I had a lamp directly above the water, I figured that would be warm enough for them. Considering they lived for over three months (and one of them may potentially still be alive, depending on how well he likes the cows' water tank), I figured another one or two of those fish would be a good buy. Anyway, Dave and I were sick of Bettas. I've had numerous Bettas in my lifetime, and aside from Zapato (whom Dave and I managed to keep alive for over three months ... It would have been longer if he hadn’t a nasty run in with boiling water from the faucet), I've never been able to keep a Betta alive for longer than a week or two. Besides, Bettas are generally pretty lame unless you put them in a tank with other fish which they hate (namely, their own kind).
Demetrius and Bruno, the two fishes I had this summer, were quite active and played hide-and-seek and tag frequently throughout their days. They seemed quite happy.
After about fifteen minutes of debating, we made our decision: we'd get two different Mollies. Together, we wandered the store and summoned Jimmy, an apparent resident expert on all things fish. As we rounded the isle back to the fish section, our conversation with Jimmy went something like this:
Jimmy: “So, what are we looking at here?”
Me: “Well, I think we’re going to go with two Platies.”
Jimmy: “How big is your tank?”
Me: “2.5 gallons.”
Jimmy: “That’s not big enough for Platies.”
*long awkward silence*
Me: “Okay ... Um. Well, how big to Platies get?”
Jimmy: “They’ll grow to be about three or four inches when they’re full size.”
Me: “How long does it take them to grow that much?”
Jimmy: “Two or three months.”
Me: “Okay. Cuz, see, I’ve had Platies before. And Mollies. And they seemed to like my tank just fine.”
Jimmy: “Do you have a heater?”
Me: “No.”
Jimmy: “Well, they need a heater. They’re tropical fish, so the water temperature needs to be around seventy-five degrees.”
*long awkward silence*
It’s worth noting that, during these long awkward silences, Jimmy just stared at us. He didn’t bother offering up any advice to us like, “For a tank that size, I would recommend ...” or, “We actually sell heaters for *insert price* in isle *insert proper isle number*!” No, he just stared at us waiting to shoot down whatever our next decision might be.
Me: “Okay. Well ... Um. How about Mollies? I’ve had those before.”
Jimmy: “They need at least a ten gallon tank.”
Dave and I both looked at the tank which the Mollies were currently being held in, a clearly less than ten gallon tank holding well over thirty pretty, yellow Mollies.
Me: “I guess they probably need a heater too, huh?”
Jimmy: “Pretty much any of the fish on this wall will need a heater, since they’re tropical.”
Me: “They need a heater, or they like a heater?”
Jimmy: “They need a heater.”
Me: “Ok. Fine. What fish would you recommend for my 2.5 gallon, non-heated tank?”
Jimmy: “I mean, pretty much your best bet is going to be a Betta. They’ll live the longest in that environment.”
Dave and I looked at each other, both fairly perturbed at this guy.
Me: “No. Bettas are lame. They’re more expensive, and the Molly and Platy I had lived longer than all of my other Bettas combined, minus Zapato. He was a rare case.”
*long awkward silence*
After shuffling our feat on the floor waiting for Jimmy to recommend something, anything other than what his customer obviously didn’t want, I finally said to Dave in about as exasperated a tone as I could muster, “Alright, well, I guess we aren’t getting any fish then.”
Jimmy didn’t seem too saddened by this. I think he may have actually been happy that we had chosen not to torture the large, tropical fish in our cold, 2.5 gallon tank. It’s worth mentioning that neither the Molly nor the Platy I had grew much past the size they were when I purchased them.
On an unlucky trip, this would be where the story ended. But this wasn’t just an unlucky trip, it was a trip of absolutely no success. Negative success, actually, if you count gas spent. Jimmy turned his attention (after we regained it by force, that is) to Evan and Jacob. They figured they would just get a bunch of goldfish and put them in the 2.5 gallon tank they had grabbed from the shelf. After all, Goldfish are only twenty-seven cents; if one dies, it’s only a quarter!
Evan: “I think we’re going to get a couple of Goldfish.”
Jimmy: “Are you going to put them in that tank there?”
Evan: “Well, yes.”
Jimmy: “That tank isn’t big enough for Goldfish. And, anyway, they need a heater.”
Evan: “Oh. Does this come with a heater?”
Jimmy: “No.”
*long awkward silence*
Evan: “Okay. Well. What fish can we get?”
Jimmy: “For that tank, I’d say you’re going to be best off getting a Betta.”
At this point Dave and I came out from our laughing spot in one of the isles.
Me: “You don’t want to get a Betta. They’re lame.”
Evan: “Yah, we really don’t want a Betta.”
Jimmy: “Well, without a heater that’s really going to be your best bet.”
*long awkward silence*
Jacob: “What if we just got a bowl and put a fish in it? What fish then?”
Jimmy: “A Betta would live best in a bowl, since there’s no filtration or heating.”
The details are a little foggy past this point. If I recall correctly, there was a far too long awkward pause and then Jimmy managed to wander off to mac on some ladies he had seen in another isle (it’s worth noting that the ladies were clearly trying to get away from him). Evan and Jacob ducked into the isle Dave and I had retreated to again.
Evan: “Do we seriously need a heater for a Goldfish?!”
Me: “This guys full of crap. Just put the tank away and we’re coming back another day when there’s somebody here that will actually let us buy what we want.”
We put the 2.5 gallon tank back on its shelf. The one that, according to Jimmy, wasn’t suitable for any fish besides a Betta. The one that also had large words on the front of the box that read, “Goldfish Starter Tank.” And we left the store, never to return (at least not when Jimmy’s working). We’re pretty sure Jimmy must secretly be working for PETA or something. With that in mind, it seems Jimmy has successfully saved a few fish from almost certain chills and ultimate death! Unfortunately, he lost the sales of around $10 worth of fish and a $25 fish tank. Still, I’m sure his manager will be proud.
|
I Spoke too Soon
07/17/09 01:37 PM
Yesterday, after
blogging about how my two fish have lived the entire
summer through, Bruno kicked the bucket. After not
seeing him and Demetrius play tag all day, I grew
suspicious and looked into the tank. He was no where
to be found. Not behind his favorite plant, not
chasing Demetrius, not hiding behind the filter. This
concerned me. I then looked under the filter. There was poor Bruno,
dead and stuck to the air intake.
I suppose this is what I get for boasting publically of their long life, and I’m personally blaming Kylee for making me write that blog post, which led to me discussing their life, which clearly led to Bruno’s death. Kylee, this is putting a pretty big damper on our friendship right now. I just ... I ... I can’t talk about this right now ...
I suppose this is what I get for boasting publically of their long life, and I’m personally blaming Kylee for making me write that blog post, which led to me discussing their life, which clearly led to Bruno’s death. Kylee, this is putting a pretty big damper on our friendship right now. I just ... I ... I can’t talk about this right now ...
Is This a Real Ticket?
04/28/09 07:04 PM
The sun was burning
bright. It was beautiful. 85 degrees and not a cloud
in the sky. It was the perfect day for a picnic. Of
course, we didn’t go on a picnic.
The day was Sunday.
I make note of the day with significance at the start of our story because I think there should be a certain respect for this day of the week. It is, after all, the modern-day Sabbath, and on this weekly ritual I believe grace should abound. Sadly, The Greene disagrees ... Sort of.
Following a lovely service at Apex Community Church in Dayton, a group of somewhere between fifteen and twenty of us (enough that I didn’t think to count) went decided to go to BD’s Mongolian Barbeque to both celebrate and mourn our last Sunday service together for the semester. That’s right! In just five short days, on Friday, I will be taking my last Final Exam, finalizing the end of my Sophomore year at Cedarville University, and driving back to Iowa for the Summer! But I digress. BD’s.
A fantastic restaurant which I highly recommend. It’s one of those Mongolian-style restaurants where you put all the meat, noodles, and vegetables you want into a heaping bowl, pick three or four sauces and spices to top it off with, and hand it to a guy in a sweet hat to watch him cook it up for you on a massive grill with twenty other people’s meals. Not only is a fun experience, it’s a delicious adventure.
The BD’s we went to was around the Greene Mall, so we parallel parked out front, fed the meter, and went in. I gave Kylee at least six quarters, fifteen minutes each, so we had a good hour and a half on the meter. After having loads of fun joking with our waitress and the host of the hour, we finished our food, paid our bill, and walked back out to the car. There, on the windshield, tucked under the wiper blade, we found this:
The day was Sunday.
I make note of the day with significance at the start of our story because I think there should be a certain respect for this day of the week. It is, after all, the modern-day Sabbath, and on this weekly ritual I believe grace should abound. Sadly, The Greene disagrees ... Sort of.
Following a lovely service at Apex Community Church in Dayton, a group of somewhere between fifteen and twenty of us (enough that I didn’t think to count) went decided to go to BD’s Mongolian Barbeque to both celebrate and mourn our last Sunday service together for the semester. That’s right! In just five short days, on Friday, I will be taking my last Final Exam, finalizing the end of my Sophomore year at Cedarville University, and driving back to Iowa for the Summer! But I digress. BD’s.
A fantastic restaurant which I highly recommend. It’s one of those Mongolian-style restaurants where you put all the meat, noodles, and vegetables you want into a heaping bowl, pick three or four sauces and spices to top it off with, and hand it to a guy in a sweet hat to watch him cook it up for you on a massive grill with twenty other people’s meals. Not only is a fun experience, it’s a delicious adventure.
The BD’s we went to was around the Greene Mall, so we parallel parked out front, fed the meter, and went in. I gave Kylee at least six quarters, fifteen minutes each, so we had a good hour and a half on the meter. After having loads of fun joking with our waitress and the host of the hour, we finished our food, paid our bill, and walked back out to the car. There, on the windshield, tucked under the wiper blade, we found this:
Of course, my first reaction after seeing something
under the wiper was annoyance that I had gotten a
ticket while driving Kylee’s car. The second, after I
looked at the ticket, was how much it didn’t look
like a normal ticket.
The car ride back to Cedarville consisted of the five
of us going back and forth as to whether we thought
it was a real ticket or not. Our first conclusion was
that it couldn’t be a real ticket, it was just some
sponsorship type of a thing for this Hannah’s
Treasure Chest. But what if it was a real ticket? Not
paying it could result in a larger fine on Kylee’s
car.
After much debating, another one of us determined
it must be a real ticket because of the IRS
stamp at the bottom. This argument made sense until I
realized that every company, charitable organization,
and otherwise is registered with the IRS, so this
really didn’t mean anything. Again, we were back to
it not being a real ticket.
But there were those words in the first paragraph
“... when you pay this $5.00 ticket ...” which would
heavily imply it was a real ticket. Upon arriving
back at school, Garrett got online and did some
checking into tickets at The Greene. He called me
with the conclusion that it was a real ticket because a portion of
the proceeds from The Greene tickets went to a
charitable organization, which is what this ticket
claimed.
Then I thought of something that I don’t know why I
didn’t think of sooner: this ticket had absolutely no
information on it. It looked like a flyer than they
could easily print hundreds of in a few moments. It
was a standardized piece of card stock. It didn’t
have Kylee’s license number, her name, the time the
ticket was issued; it had nothing
relating to the
incident! If I put $5 into the enveloped and sent it
in, they would have no way of identifying that that
$5 was remittance for the “crime” attached to Kylee’s
license plate. There was no way they could keep us
accountable for paying the ticket or not, so it
couldn’t be a real ticket! After explaining this to
Garrett, he called the mall.
It turns out for all tickets issued at The Greene,
payment is optional. After thinking this over, I’ve
realized how big and silly of a scam this is. They’re
essentially trying to trick you into charitable
giving, which is the antonym of what charitable
giving should be. If I want to Hannah’s Treasure
Chest, I
will do it on my own time. Please don’t try to get money
from me by making me think I’ve committed some sort
of a felony. Please take specific note of this
wording: “a portion of the proceeds ...” Really?
You’re going to give a portion
of $5 to a charity?
On a final note, if you ever receive a ticket and
it’s only $5, be suspicious. I’ve never
gotten a ticket that was that cheap, and that should
have been one of the first signs that it wasn’t a
real ticket. The way The Greene dishonestly tries to
manipulate you into giving to their charity is
laughable and a disgrace for the mall. They’re making
a mockery of charities and the heart and intent that
should be behind the giving. If you want to give me a
ticket for illegally parking, do it. I don’t care
what you do with that money then. But don’t give me a
fake ticket impersonating a real ticket just to get
me to give to your charity. That really doesn’t make
me inclined to ever give to your sneaky charity.
Sorry. I’m not paying that ticket.
Blood:Water Mission; I Love My Friends
03/26/09 12:59 PM
Ladies and gentlemen, I
have a significant announcement to make. No,
I'm not engaged, but close. Actually, it has
nothing to do with marriage or relationships, unless
you consider my relationships with carbonated
beverages more than just the meaningless flings that
I consider them.
No, my announcement is that today, March 26th, 2009, is the twenty-fifth day I have gone without the consumption of a soda. Even more significant, without the consumption of a caffeinated drink. More significant still, I haven't drank anything except water in the last twenty-five days! If this doesn't seem significant enough to you, take into account that I will not be partaking in The Drink for another fifteen days.
Still not significant? Okay, maybe you don't understand my insatiable thirst for caffeine. I love it. I have no shame in admitting that I may or may not be addicted to it. (I guess by the way I sidestepped that question, I may have some shame, but you get the point.) I love Pepsi, Mountain Dew, Cherry Coke, Dr. Pepper, coffee, Latte (or "German Coffee," if you prefer), Macchiato, Chai Tea ... Really, if it has caffeine, I'll probably drink it. And that list doesn’t even include Energy Drinks, which I also enjoy (if they aren’t the nasty tasting ones, anyway).
That's just caffeinated content. I also love Orange Juice, smoothies, and those delicious lizard juices (that sounds weird) by SoBe. On average, considering all the possibilities for caffeine and the fact that soda, coffee, and tea are all free in Chuck's, I ingest ample amounts of caffeine per day. Numerous bottles. Many glasses. Several cups.
So, why the sudden urge to cut off my energy source Cold Turkey for forty days? Well, it's not for Lent, if that's what you're thinking. But really, it is. But it's actually not. Observe.
With proceeds going toward Blood:Water Mission, this non-Lent initiative is to raise awareness, in America specifically, of the fact that we have so many choices. Do I want water at this very moment, or do I want a soda? If I want a soda, which kind? I have dozens to choose from. In America, we're blessed with plenty; in many third-world countries, children have only one choice: water. And that water may not even be healthy, and it certainly isn't filtered and coming through a faucet. The forty days is offset from the Lent holiday by two days, presumably because they were attempting to appeal not just to the religious crowd but also to people who simply wanted to help make a difference around the world. So though it's technically not for Lent, it's practically the same thing. Call it what you will, we've given up drinking anything other than water for forty days.
Kylee the Magnificent, Emilie the Elegant, and I decided we wanted to do this together, so we have been. A few other stragglers from our sphere of influence have joined the bandwagon along the way. Despite the controversy that smoothies may or may not be a drink, we've decided to avoid them as well since we have them regularly too. At the end of the forty days, the three of us are celebrating our completion of this task with smoothies. Toasts and cheers will be made.
We're not just abstaining from anything that doesn't resemble two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom, we're also saving the money that we would normally spend on these drinks and donating it to Blood:Water Mission. $1 will provide water for an African child for one year. It seems hard to believe, but it's true.
The other day, I hid myself from the usual crowd in an attempt to study for an exam I had the following day. I needed to do well on this exam (and, by the way, I did), so from about four in the afternoon to two in the morning, I studied, jotting notes down here and there and working through problems. With the exceptions of Dinner, a few five minute breaks here and there to watch SNL videos on Hulu, and the walk back to my dorm, I was studying fervently for all ten hours.
I was a little stressed and had the onsets of a headache at around nine when the suave Ryan and the beautifully diverse Kristi appeared at my side. I say "appeared" because they literally did and caught me quite off guard. I was looking down, intently writing in my notebook, when all of a sudden I was startled to find a darkly-colored face peering over my left shoulder. When I realized it was Kristi, I gave her a backwards hug, which is slightly more awkward than you might think while sitting in a chair. Luckily, she rides pretty low to the ground, so it wasn't actually that awkward. At this point, Ryan pushed his arm forward into my face and exclaimed, "Here, we brought you this!" with a big smile on his face.
I blinked a few times, stared up and Ryan and Kristi who were both wearing big grins, and back at what Ryan was holding. I was still a little shaken by the headache, study overload, and surprising appearance of two of my favorites, but the fact that Ryan had put a can of Pepsi in my face didn't help either. I think it took me a little while to respond, because inwardly I really wanted that Pepsi, and I was trying to think of some way to justify drinking it. I mean, there it was: a free Pepsi. I hadn't seen a can or a bottle in over twenty days, and the aluminum looked so deliciously inviting.
"I ... Can't ... Have that ..." I managed to sputter out.
I felt bad saying it because I really wanted that Pepsi, and I knew they had only brought it to me because they knew how much I loved Pepsi and that I was studying for an exam, but I have principles, dang it! Forty days! When I start something, I simply must follow it through or I won't be able to live with myself. Sadly, I am forever required to live with myself, so this forty days will not be broken in a moment of weakness!
Poor Ryan and Kristi tried to apologize because they had forgotten all about the forty days of water thing, and they told me to keep the Pepsi in my fridge until the forty days were up. Yah ... Right ... I love you guys, but that just wasn't going to happen. Ryan, being the considerate person that he is, placed the Pepsi on the floor in a prominent place near me. It just sat there, staring at me, torturing me for another hour or so. Emilie, a fellow Pepsi lover like myself, showed up, I told her the story, and she "hid" the Pepsi (which consisted of putting it under the couch next to us so we wouldn't have to look at it. We both wanted it.)
Even though sometimes my friends forget that I'm fasting from a particular substance, I love them all because they’re still considerate enough to bring me something I love when they know I’m stressing out :). So, despite your silly forgetfulness Kristi and Ryan, I still love you both. It's the though that counts. Thanks for thinking of me!
I will make it these forty days. Not only will I then be able to help provide many African children with clean water for a year, I'll also have done something good for myself!
No, my announcement is that today, March 26th, 2009, is the twenty-fifth day I have gone without the consumption of a soda. Even more significant, without the consumption of a caffeinated drink. More significant still, I haven't drank anything except water in the last twenty-five days! If this doesn't seem significant enough to you, take into account that I will not be partaking in The Drink for another fifteen days.
Still not significant? Okay, maybe you don't understand my insatiable thirst for caffeine. I love it. I have no shame in admitting that I may or may not be addicted to it. (I guess by the way I sidestepped that question, I may have some shame, but you get the point.) I love Pepsi, Mountain Dew, Cherry Coke, Dr. Pepper, coffee, Latte (or "German Coffee," if you prefer), Macchiato, Chai Tea ... Really, if it has caffeine, I'll probably drink it. And that list doesn’t even include Energy Drinks, which I also enjoy (if they aren’t the nasty tasting ones, anyway).
That's just caffeinated content. I also love Orange Juice, smoothies, and those delicious lizard juices (that sounds weird) by SoBe. On average, considering all the possibilities for caffeine and the fact that soda, coffee, and tea are all free in Chuck's, I ingest ample amounts of caffeine per day. Numerous bottles. Many glasses. Several cups.
So, why the sudden urge to cut off my energy source Cold Turkey for forty days? Well, it's not for Lent, if that's what you're thinking. But really, it is. But it's actually not. Observe.
With proceeds going toward Blood:Water Mission, this non-Lent initiative is to raise awareness, in America specifically, of the fact that we have so many choices. Do I want water at this very moment, or do I want a soda? If I want a soda, which kind? I have dozens to choose from. In America, we're blessed with plenty; in many third-world countries, children have only one choice: water. And that water may not even be healthy, and it certainly isn't filtered and coming through a faucet. The forty days is offset from the Lent holiday by two days, presumably because they were attempting to appeal not just to the religious crowd but also to people who simply wanted to help make a difference around the world. So though it's technically not for Lent, it's practically the same thing. Call it what you will, we've given up drinking anything other than water for forty days.
Kylee the Magnificent, Emilie the Elegant, and I decided we wanted to do this together, so we have been. A few other stragglers from our sphere of influence have joined the bandwagon along the way. Despite the controversy that smoothies may or may not be a drink, we've decided to avoid them as well since we have them regularly too. At the end of the forty days, the three of us are celebrating our completion of this task with smoothies. Toasts and cheers will be made.
We're not just abstaining from anything that doesn't resemble two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom, we're also saving the money that we would normally spend on these drinks and donating it to Blood:Water Mission. $1 will provide water for an African child for one year. It seems hard to believe, but it's true.
The other day, I hid myself from the usual crowd in an attempt to study for an exam I had the following day. I needed to do well on this exam (and, by the way, I did), so from about four in the afternoon to two in the morning, I studied, jotting notes down here and there and working through problems. With the exceptions of Dinner, a few five minute breaks here and there to watch SNL videos on Hulu, and the walk back to my dorm, I was studying fervently for all ten hours.
I was a little stressed and had the onsets of a headache at around nine when the suave Ryan and the beautifully diverse Kristi appeared at my side. I say "appeared" because they literally did and caught me quite off guard. I was looking down, intently writing in my notebook, when all of a sudden I was startled to find a darkly-colored face peering over my left shoulder. When I realized it was Kristi, I gave her a backwards hug, which is slightly more awkward than you might think while sitting in a chair. Luckily, she rides pretty low to the ground, so it wasn't actually that awkward. At this point, Ryan pushed his arm forward into my face and exclaimed, "Here, we brought you this!" with a big smile on his face.
I blinked a few times, stared up and Ryan and Kristi who were both wearing big grins, and back at what Ryan was holding. I was still a little shaken by the headache, study overload, and surprising appearance of two of my favorites, but the fact that Ryan had put a can of Pepsi in my face didn't help either. I think it took me a little while to respond, because inwardly I really wanted that Pepsi, and I was trying to think of some way to justify drinking it. I mean, there it was: a free Pepsi. I hadn't seen a can or a bottle in over twenty days, and the aluminum looked so deliciously inviting.
"I ... Can't ... Have that ..." I managed to sputter out.
I felt bad saying it because I really wanted that Pepsi, and I knew they had only brought it to me because they knew how much I loved Pepsi and that I was studying for an exam, but I have principles, dang it! Forty days! When I start something, I simply must follow it through or I won't be able to live with myself. Sadly, I am forever required to live with myself, so this forty days will not be broken in a moment of weakness!
Poor Ryan and Kristi tried to apologize because they had forgotten all about the forty days of water thing, and they told me to keep the Pepsi in my fridge until the forty days were up. Yah ... Right ... I love you guys, but that just wasn't going to happen. Ryan, being the considerate person that he is, placed the Pepsi on the floor in a prominent place near me. It just sat there, staring at me, torturing me for another hour or so. Emilie, a fellow Pepsi lover like myself, showed up, I told her the story, and she "hid" the Pepsi (which consisted of putting it under the couch next to us so we wouldn't have to look at it. We both wanted it.)
Even though sometimes my friends forget that I'm fasting from a particular substance, I love them all because they’re still considerate enough to bring me something I love when they know I’m stressing out :). So, despite your silly forgetfulness Kristi and Ryan, I still love you both. It's the though that counts. Thanks for thinking of me!
I will make it these forty days. Not only will I then be able to help provide many African children with clean water for a year, I'll also have done something good for myself!
The Lonely Travelever
02/28/09 12:53 AM
It’s that time of the
semester again; time for break! Spring Break, that
is. I know, “Your Spring Break is ridiculously
early,” you say to me. I get that all the time, and I
often find myself saying it as well. I mean, Spring
doesn’t even officially start for something like a
month, and it certainly doesn’t feel like Spring.
Never the less, Cedarville declares March 1st through
March 6th Spring Break, and I’m not going to argue
about it anymore.
I only followed the typical Spring Break trend fifty percent. You know, go south to Florida. Usually Miami. Well, I went south, but not to Florida. I flew to Texas instead, to the residence of my beloved (and extremely feisty) sister, Jenna, and her ruggedly handsome husband, Joey. Oh, and Henry, their dog. He’s as much a part of the household as any human being.
It all started in the Columbus International Airport, a podunk airport that hardly lives up to its name as “International.” Columbus just wants to be bigger than it really is. Security was about the easiest I’ve ever been through in an International Airport. Sadly, my flight was delayed thirty minutes just after I got to the gate. Luckily, I had brought this month’s issue of Wired with me to keep me company.
I read an interesting article about delayed flights while waiting for my delayed flight. Here’s what I learned: 75% of all flight delays in America can be traced back to the skies over New York, specifically flights to and from the airports LaGuardia, JFK, and Newark. Which makes sense, if you think about it, considering there are some 2 million flights that fly over New York City each year. As a side note, LaGuardia is the single coolest airport name I’ve ever heard. But I digress.
Anyway, apparently the sky is mapped out like a bunch of highways with on and off ramps. Who knew? I didn’t. And each airplane is treated as though it’s 2,000 feet high and three miles wide. Well, apparently these highways are a little jammed over The City, so they’re working on “rebuilding” the skies, which is a pretty sweet concept. The ultimate plan costs $300,000 per cockpit (for new hardware/software) and requires building 800 or so buildings on the ground to map the locations of the airplanes, and is supposed to be implemented by 2025 or so. The redesigned cockpits would also change the FAA requirements that say a planes must be at least three miles apart when in flight, so there could be more flights taking off and landing per hour. The short term plan, set to launch in 2012, basically just remaps the on/off ramps and highways heading west out of the three airports.
All this large tangent just to say that my flight was delayed and it was probably JFK’s fault. I finally got on my flight from Columbus to Chicago. And can I just go on yet another tangent about Chicago O’Hare? I’ve never flown into that airport when there wasn’t plane parked at the gate my plane was assigned. How does that happen? You have hundreds of flights constantly going in and out of your airport; you assign each flight a gate. What kind of software does O’Hare use that it allows a gate to be double booked? The worst I ever had it was that we were reassigned to a new gate three times, each time when we got to the gate another plane was parked there. I was on that plane for over an hour.
Well, I didn’t have it so bad yesterday. In fact, we got to my gate and, to my complete surprise and joy, there was no other plane parked there! Unfortunately, they didn’t have anyone to operate the arm that lets us off the plane. I guess he went on lunch or something and forgot the giant metal thing in the sky was carrying a few hundred people that didn’t want to be cramped any longer. After remaining parked at the gate for some twenty minutes, someone must have looked out the window from the airport and said, “Oh, hey, guys, there’s a plane parked out there ... Do you suppose we should let the passengers off so they can get to their next flights?” Luckily, someone who knew how to operate the arm said “Yes.”
I got my next flight just in time board. My initial reaction was, “Aw, nuts, no time to write.” But my reaction after getting on the plane was, “Oh, crap, I was going to eat dinner at O’Hare ...” This was Bad News Bears because I didn’t get to Texas until 7:30 (which, to my tummy, felt like 8:30). Needless to say, I was very pleased when Jenna and Joey picked me up (holding a cardboard sign with “The Kid” written in sharpie on it), handed me a Cinnabon, and then took to me this delicious hot dog joint called Wild About Harry’s where I ate a Southwest Firedog, one of the most delectable brisket hot dogs I ever have eaten.
Upon arriving at their apartment, I was greeted by this sight.
I only followed the typical Spring Break trend fifty percent. You know, go south to Florida. Usually Miami. Well, I went south, but not to Florida. I flew to Texas instead, to the residence of my beloved (and extremely feisty) sister, Jenna, and her ruggedly handsome husband, Joey. Oh, and Henry, their dog. He’s as much a part of the household as any human being.
It all started in the Columbus International Airport, a podunk airport that hardly lives up to its name as “International.” Columbus just wants to be bigger than it really is. Security was about the easiest I’ve ever been through in an International Airport. Sadly, my flight was delayed thirty minutes just after I got to the gate. Luckily, I had brought this month’s issue of Wired with me to keep me company.
I read an interesting article about delayed flights while waiting for my delayed flight. Here’s what I learned: 75% of all flight delays in America can be traced back to the skies over New York, specifically flights to and from the airports LaGuardia, JFK, and Newark. Which makes sense, if you think about it, considering there are some 2 million flights that fly over New York City each year. As a side note, LaGuardia is the single coolest airport name I’ve ever heard. But I digress.
Anyway, apparently the sky is mapped out like a bunch of highways with on and off ramps. Who knew? I didn’t. And each airplane is treated as though it’s 2,000 feet high and three miles wide. Well, apparently these highways are a little jammed over The City, so they’re working on “rebuilding” the skies, which is a pretty sweet concept. The ultimate plan costs $300,000 per cockpit (for new hardware/software) and requires building 800 or so buildings on the ground to map the locations of the airplanes, and is supposed to be implemented by 2025 or so. The redesigned cockpits would also change the FAA requirements that say a planes must be at least three miles apart when in flight, so there could be more flights taking off and landing per hour. The short term plan, set to launch in 2012, basically just remaps the on/off ramps and highways heading west out of the three airports.
All this large tangent just to say that my flight was delayed and it was probably JFK’s fault. I finally got on my flight from Columbus to Chicago. And can I just go on yet another tangent about Chicago O’Hare? I’ve never flown into that airport when there wasn’t plane parked at the gate my plane was assigned. How does that happen? You have hundreds of flights constantly going in and out of your airport; you assign each flight a gate. What kind of software does O’Hare use that it allows a gate to be double booked? The worst I ever had it was that we were reassigned to a new gate three times, each time when we got to the gate another plane was parked there. I was on that plane for over an hour.
Well, I didn’t have it so bad yesterday. In fact, we got to my gate and, to my complete surprise and joy, there was no other plane parked there! Unfortunately, they didn’t have anyone to operate the arm that lets us off the plane. I guess he went on lunch or something and forgot the giant metal thing in the sky was carrying a few hundred people that didn’t want to be cramped any longer. After remaining parked at the gate for some twenty minutes, someone must have looked out the window from the airport and said, “Oh, hey, guys, there’s a plane parked out there ... Do you suppose we should let the passengers off so they can get to their next flights?” Luckily, someone who knew how to operate the arm said “Yes.”
I got my next flight just in time board. My initial reaction was, “Aw, nuts, no time to write.” But my reaction after getting on the plane was, “Oh, crap, I was going to eat dinner at O’Hare ...” This was Bad News Bears because I didn’t get to Texas until 7:30 (which, to my tummy, felt like 8:30). Needless to say, I was very pleased when Jenna and Joey picked me up (holding a cardboard sign with “The Kid” written in sharpie on it), handed me a Cinnabon, and then took to me this delicious hot dog joint called Wild About Harry’s where I ate a Southwest Firedog, one of the most delectable brisket hot dogs I ever have eaten.
Upon arriving at their apartment, I was greeted by this sight.
And so here I remain for the next week. A week in
which, hopefully, I will be able to blog a little
more than usual. We’ll see what entertainment the
week brings.
Minier: Sorry for Breaking the Elevator ... Again
02/05/09 10:35 AM
It wasn't all that
different from a normal morning, really. I woke
up a little before nine, slinked my way out of the
top bunk, observed that my roommate was still asleep,
and quietly crept out of the room to the
shower. Apparently my shower wasn't cold enough
or something, because I could still feel that the
sleepyness was winning in the fight for my body as I
got back to my room. Dave was still
asleep. Since the time was nearly past the
point of him rolling out of bed, throwing on some
clothes, and walking with me to chapel on time, I
opted out of waiting for him and quickly got dressed
myself.
Still somewhat groggy, I left my room and decided against the stairs. This early in the morning I just might tumble down them after losing my footing, and I do live on the third floor of Brock ... I deserved an elevator ride, I thought.
I pushed the call button. Immedietly, the doors to the waiting elevator pulled open. I stepped inside and pushed the button for the first floor. Here's where things began to get hazy, because in my delusional state, I'm not entirely sure what happened. This is what I remember: directly after pressing the button for the first floor, the elevator tried to go down. This wasn't all that bad of a decision on the elevators part, considering they are made to go up and down, except that it had forgotten to close the door first. Luckily, our elevator, as any good elevator should be, is equipped with a safety that won't allow the elevator to leave the floor until the door is closed. This resulted in the elevator shaking violently up and down; trying to move, trying to close the door, and probably trying to stop, all at the same time, all as I was thrown against the walls, grabbing the hand rails for dear life.
Finally, the elevator realized it should close the doors before trying to head down. It abruptly stopped shaking up and down and tried to close the door. We must have been just a notch below the resting point for the third floor, because the door had a horrible time trying to close. While it was trying to close at very slow speeds, the sound it made resembled that of a car crash, or some equally painful sound where metal is grinding and bending against metal. I took this opportunity, as the door was closing at just under the speed of a snail, to dive out of the elevator.
As I stood just outside the elevator, panting and trying to regain breath and concienceness, the grinding stopped and the door glided to a close. Then the power turned off. Needless to say, I took the stairs.
The Brock elevator has yet to work since this happened. This my open apology letter to you all. I never should have hit the button for the first floor ...
Still somewhat groggy, I left my room and decided against the stairs. This early in the morning I just might tumble down them after losing my footing, and I do live on the third floor of Brock ... I deserved an elevator ride, I thought.
I pushed the call button. Immedietly, the doors to the waiting elevator pulled open. I stepped inside and pushed the button for the first floor. Here's where things began to get hazy, because in my delusional state, I'm not entirely sure what happened. This is what I remember: directly after pressing the button for the first floor, the elevator tried to go down. This wasn't all that bad of a decision on the elevators part, considering they are made to go up and down, except that it had forgotten to close the door first. Luckily, our elevator, as any good elevator should be, is equipped with a safety that won't allow the elevator to leave the floor until the door is closed. This resulted in the elevator shaking violently up and down; trying to move, trying to close the door, and probably trying to stop, all at the same time, all as I was thrown against the walls, grabbing the hand rails for dear life.
Finally, the elevator realized it should close the doors before trying to head down. It abruptly stopped shaking up and down and tried to close the door. We must have been just a notch below the resting point for the third floor, because the door had a horrible time trying to close. While it was trying to close at very slow speeds, the sound it made resembled that of a car crash, or some equally painful sound where metal is grinding and bending against metal. I took this opportunity, as the door was closing at just under the speed of a snail, to dive out of the elevator.
As I stood just outside the elevator, panting and trying to regain breath and concienceness, the grinding stopped and the door glided to a close. Then the power turned off. Needless to say, I took the stairs.
The Brock elevator has yet to work since this happened. This my open apology letter to you all. I never should have hit the button for the first floor ...
Sitting in Traffic
12/24/08 04:02 AM
Yes, I am writing a
blog post at 3am. What are you going to do about it?
Apparently nothing, and apparently I can do nothing
about it either. Well, I guess I could just not write
it, but that wouldn’t help the fact that I’m still
stuck awake at this hour. Since I just finished
reading Fight Club
again, and I’ve already
exhausted much of my other reading for this trip, it
seems the only thing I really have left to do is
write.
This has been the longest trip to Indiana I’ve ever participated in. In fact, in the time I’ve been in the car, I could have now almost gone to and back from my grandparent’s house (in optimal weather conditions, of course). That’s right, I’m approaching coming up on being in the car for twelve hours. For a six hour trip.
We left knowing there were adverse weather conditions, but honestly they weren’t that bad. A little ice here, a little show there. No problem. We just took our time. There were times we went twenty-five, there were times we went sixty-five. I’m not sure we ever fully went the speed limit, but we went fast enough at least.
All those cars with their lights flashing. Why are your Hazard Lights flashing? It seems every three or four cars there would be another that had their Hazards turned on. Attention Everyone: Your hazard lights are to alert the traffic around you that, yes, you are indeed doing something out of the norm. When everyone around is going twenty-five due to slushy and unpleasant road conditions, your Hazards are only a nuisance. On top of that, you have to keep in mind people can’t tell when your break lights are on or if you’re switching lanes when you leave your Hazard lights on.
Highway 32 goes between Lebanon and Crawfordsville, Indiana, essentially connecting I-72 to I-465. I-465 is the bypass that goes around Indianapolis. My grandparent’s live in Carmel, on the North side. The interstate East of Champagne, Illinois was fine; slushy, but not too icy. Highway 32, on the other hand, was not fine. It was a perfect glaze of ice. We were on it for only a few minutes before retreating back to the interstate to take the long way to I-465 (continuing on I-72 toward downtown Indianapolis).
Apparently the long was a bad choice as well. That’s where we’re stuck right now, and have been for well over an hour and a half. I think it was around midnight, actually, that traffic just stopped moving. Now we’ve had snow plows, Highway Patrol vehicles, and the like all pass us on the shoulder, but the traffic remains at a stand still. Maybe the road ahead is super icy, so they’ve closed it. Maybe there was some atrocious accident that they, for one reason or another, just can’t get cleaned up. I’m not really sure. Nobody’s told us, that’s for sure, and the issue with it being such an ungodly hour of the morning is that nobody on the radio is reporting anything about anything.
So we’re stuck. Without knowledge. Without food. Without water. Oh, and I am very thirsty, I might add. You know, being stuck like this isn’t even the worst part. The worst part is that I have to go to the bathroom!
This has been the longest trip to Indiana I’ve ever participated in. In fact, in the time I’ve been in the car, I could have now almost gone to and back from my grandparent’s house (in optimal weather conditions, of course). That’s right, I’m approaching coming up on being in the car for twelve hours. For a six hour trip.
We left knowing there were adverse weather conditions, but honestly they weren’t that bad. A little ice here, a little show there. No problem. We just took our time. There were times we went twenty-five, there were times we went sixty-five. I’m not sure we ever fully went the speed limit, but we went fast enough at least.
All those cars with their lights flashing. Why are your Hazard Lights flashing? It seems every three or four cars there would be another that had their Hazards turned on. Attention Everyone: Your hazard lights are to alert the traffic around you that, yes, you are indeed doing something out of the norm. When everyone around is going twenty-five due to slushy and unpleasant road conditions, your Hazards are only a nuisance. On top of that, you have to keep in mind people can’t tell when your break lights are on or if you’re switching lanes when you leave your Hazard lights on.
Highway 32 goes between Lebanon and Crawfordsville, Indiana, essentially connecting I-72 to I-465. I-465 is the bypass that goes around Indianapolis. My grandparent’s live in Carmel, on the North side. The interstate East of Champagne, Illinois was fine; slushy, but not too icy. Highway 32, on the other hand, was not fine. It was a perfect glaze of ice. We were on it for only a few minutes before retreating back to the interstate to take the long way to I-465 (continuing on I-72 toward downtown Indianapolis).
Apparently the long was a bad choice as well. That’s where we’re stuck right now, and have been for well over an hour and a half. I think it was around midnight, actually, that traffic just stopped moving. Now we’ve had snow plows, Highway Patrol vehicles, and the like all pass us on the shoulder, but the traffic remains at a stand still. Maybe the road ahead is super icy, so they’ve closed it. Maybe there was some atrocious accident that they, for one reason or another, just can’t get cleaned up. I’m not really sure. Nobody’s told us, that’s for sure, and the issue with it being such an ungodly hour of the morning is that nobody on the radio is reporting anything about anything.
So we’re stuck. Without knowledge. Without food. Without water. Oh, and I am very thirsty, I might add. You know, being stuck like this isn’t even the worst part. The worst part is that I have to go to the bathroom!
In Which I am no Longer Single ... ?
12/22/08 12:40 AM
We watched Get Smart.
It was a great movie. When I saw the previews for it,
I thought it was going to be hit or miss. Apparently
it was hit, because I really liked it. I drove home
afterwards, and on the way I texted Kylee to invite
her.
I had College Group at my church the next night. You know, that group of awkward college students at your home church that are only really around during breaks? Well, we have a few cool college students at my church, so I figured it wouldn’t be the worst thing I’d ever attended. Still, I figured it couldn’t hurt to invite Kylee, since I couldn’t recall a time when she wasn’t fun to hang out with, and we had agreed to hang out a lot over break. Aside from this Get Smart session, we had failed on the “a lot” part, so I figured inviting her along might make up for it.
So she came. To the Regier’s house we went, to be followed by ice skating, and that was to be followed by a White Elephant Gift Exchange. Of course, I knew most of the people there, but I hadn’t really kept up with a lot of them, so I could have been married for all they knew. There was one complete stranger there, however, who we shall refer to as Steve.
We arrived. I brought both Gally and Kylee, but Gally actually attends my church, so apparently bringing her wasn’t really that unusual. I hadn’t previously considered the ramifications of bringing a girl from my college who didn’t attend my church to a College Group, I just thought she would have fun. It didn’t help that one of the other college students had brought their Attraction of the Month (or so).
After much food consumption and awkward small talk, it became apparent to Kylee and me that everyone was under the false assumption that we were a couple. I retreated to the kitchen to get a drink and smirk with my face in a cupboard. Unfortunately, we were already sufficiently past the inital introductions where I would have gone, This is girlfriend, Kylee, or, This is my friend, Kylee. Apparently all I said was, This is Kylee. Too vague. But I couldn’t correct myself at this point (or at least clarify) without making things even more awkward, so I just decided to roll with it.
We went to the skating rink and skated in monotonous circles until my ankles complained. I remarked to Kylee that they all thought we were dating and she got a kick out of it. I suppose we were playing the part perfectly, as we were the only two of our group left out skating around the rink. Steve only sat out to rest his ankles for a few minutes braving the ice again to question us. Somehow he got the false impression that Kylee was from Iowa, I wasn’t, and that the reason I was in Iowa was to officially meet her family. He never came out and said this, just, “So, is this your first time in Iowa?” No, I’ve lived North of Cedar Rapids my entire life, thanks. He thought I was from Ohio. An understandable error, I suppose, since I went to school there. It was only a slightly flawed idea considering he was at my home church, which I had mentioned.
There are certain unspoken rules about meeting a couple for the first time. By not clarifying what we were, exactly, when introducing Kylee, I pretty much put tension on all of these. After all, nobody’s just going to straight up ask you if you’re dating while the both of you are standing right there. Okay, some people would, but most people wouldn’t. We could tell they were all studying us to death, waiting for one of us to do something clearly defining so they could make a confident choice as to whether we were dating or not. Unfortunately for them, we were both onto them and making things increasingly difficult intentionally. It was considerably more fun to watch them stumble over ambiguous questions to attempt to get us to explain how we were connected.
We finally left the ice arena. Steve couldn’t come back to the house for the White Elephant Exchange, so he was hopping the bus from the rink. He must have thought my six-foot, red-headed, blue-eyed, not-girlfriend was insecure or something, because as he left and successfully got her off to the side, he told her, “It’s okay that you’re as tall as you are. I think it’s great. Anyway, Alex doesn’t seem to mind at all.” Well, if you weren’t as tall as you are, you wouldn’t be Kylee, so you’re right, I definitely don’t mind that you’re six-foot. Kristi’s good at being short and giving powerful hugs, you’re good at being tall and volleyball. You also give pretty powerful hugs, but I’m pretty sure you would agree that Kristi must lift daily and eat her Wheaties.
After reassuring Kylee that her height wasn’t an issue, Steve got me to the edge of the sidewalk, away from the rest of the pack, and told me it was great to meet me, that he hoped I enjoyed my time in Iowa (didn’t we already go over this ... Twice?), that he hoped college would go well for me, and that he hoped things with Kylee and me went well. “Thanks, I know they will.” After all, I’m not expecting to lose her friendship anytime soon.
The scariest part is that this is the second time in one week that Kylee and I were paired up. The other time Kylee wasn’t even in the room. In fact, the guy that said we were going to get married (yes, he straight up said that) had never even met Kylee, and he had met me only minutes prior to saying this. Needless to say, it’s been an unusual week. Good thing Kylee has a good sense of humor and puts up with such things.
I had College Group at my church the next night. You know, that group of awkward college students at your home church that are only really around during breaks? Well, we have a few cool college students at my church, so I figured it wouldn’t be the worst thing I’d ever attended. Still, I figured it couldn’t hurt to invite Kylee, since I couldn’t recall a time when she wasn’t fun to hang out with, and we had agreed to hang out a lot over break. Aside from this Get Smart session, we had failed on the “a lot” part, so I figured inviting her along might make up for it.
So she came. To the Regier’s house we went, to be followed by ice skating, and that was to be followed by a White Elephant Gift Exchange. Of course, I knew most of the people there, but I hadn’t really kept up with a lot of them, so I could have been married for all they knew. There was one complete stranger there, however, who we shall refer to as Steve.
We arrived. I brought both Gally and Kylee, but Gally actually attends my church, so apparently bringing her wasn’t really that unusual. I hadn’t previously considered the ramifications of bringing a girl from my college who didn’t attend my church to a College Group, I just thought she would have fun. It didn’t help that one of the other college students had brought their Attraction of the Month (or so).
After much food consumption and awkward small talk, it became apparent to Kylee and me that everyone was under the false assumption that we were a couple. I retreated to the kitchen to get a drink and smirk with my face in a cupboard. Unfortunately, we were already sufficiently past the inital introductions where I would have gone, This is girlfriend, Kylee, or, This is my friend, Kylee. Apparently all I said was, This is Kylee. Too vague. But I couldn’t correct myself at this point (or at least clarify) without making things even more awkward, so I just decided to roll with it.
We went to the skating rink and skated in monotonous circles until my ankles complained. I remarked to Kylee that they all thought we were dating and she got a kick out of it. I suppose we were playing the part perfectly, as we were the only two of our group left out skating around the rink. Steve only sat out to rest his ankles for a few minutes braving the ice again to question us. Somehow he got the false impression that Kylee was from Iowa, I wasn’t, and that the reason I was in Iowa was to officially meet her family. He never came out and said this, just, “So, is this your first time in Iowa?” No, I’ve lived North of Cedar Rapids my entire life, thanks. He thought I was from Ohio. An understandable error, I suppose, since I went to school there. It was only a slightly flawed idea considering he was at my home church, which I had mentioned.
There are certain unspoken rules about meeting a couple for the first time. By not clarifying what we were, exactly, when introducing Kylee, I pretty much put tension on all of these. After all, nobody’s just going to straight up ask you if you’re dating while the both of you are standing right there. Okay, some people would, but most people wouldn’t. We could tell they were all studying us to death, waiting for one of us to do something clearly defining so they could make a confident choice as to whether we were dating or not. Unfortunately for them, we were both onto them and making things increasingly difficult intentionally. It was considerably more fun to watch them stumble over ambiguous questions to attempt to get us to explain how we were connected.
We finally left the ice arena. Steve couldn’t come back to the house for the White Elephant Exchange, so he was hopping the bus from the rink. He must have thought my six-foot, red-headed, blue-eyed, not-girlfriend was insecure or something, because as he left and successfully got her off to the side, he told her, “It’s okay that you’re as tall as you are. I think it’s great. Anyway, Alex doesn’t seem to mind at all.” Well, if you weren’t as tall as you are, you wouldn’t be Kylee, so you’re right, I definitely don’t mind that you’re six-foot. Kristi’s good at being short and giving powerful hugs, you’re good at being tall and volleyball. You also give pretty powerful hugs, but I’m pretty sure you would agree that Kristi must lift daily and eat her Wheaties.
After reassuring Kylee that her height wasn’t an issue, Steve got me to the edge of the sidewalk, away from the rest of the pack, and told me it was great to meet me, that he hoped I enjoyed my time in Iowa (didn’t we already go over this ... Twice?), that he hoped college would go well for me, and that he hoped things with Kylee and me went well. “Thanks, I know they will.” After all, I’m not expecting to lose her friendship anytime soon.
The scariest part is that this is the second time in one week that Kylee and I were paired up. The other time Kylee wasn’t even in the room. In fact, the guy that said we were going to get married (yes, he straight up said that) had never even met Kylee, and he had met me only minutes prior to saying this. Needless to say, it’s been an unusual week. Good thing Kylee has a good sense of humor and puts up with such things.
Hypocritical RAs
12/08/08 09:58 AM
I have
no problem with RAs. I have no problem with police
officers. I really have no problem with authority.
Here’s what I do have a problem with: hypocrisy.
Especially when it comes from
authority.
This morning I had my last class in Old Testament Literature. During finals, we’re allowed to wear jeans to class instead of our usual Class Dress, which is basically anything but jeans. So, this week being finals week, I decided to wear jeans this morning. Sure, finals don’t technically start until tomorrow, but this week is finals week, so that was my defense. And considering 50% of the campus has the same mentality as I on this matter, I wasn’t too concerned about getting demerits for it, and I didn’t. But I did overhear a conversation entailing the demerits of another that made me want to stand up and shout!
I was sitting in my comfy rolly chair when it happened. Two girls were sitting in the row in front of me, one of which was wearing blue jeans, when a tall fellow, who was wearing black jeans, strolled up and sat in the chair on the end of the row.
Black Jeans Guy: Hey, you’re wearing jeans. I should write you up.
Blue Jeans Girl: It’s finals ...
Black Jeans Guy: Finals don’t start until tomorrow.
Blue Jeans Girl: Look around you. Everyone is wearing jeans today.
Random Girl: You’re wearing jeans!
Black Jeans Guy: No, these are black jeans. You’re wearing blue jeans.
Blue Jeans Girl: Your point?
Black Jeans Guy: The rule book says no blue jeans. Black jeans are fine. It’s okay though. You’re my friend, and it’s the last week, so I won’t write you up.
Random Girl: How considerate of you.
This conversation bothered me on so many levels. First of all, Black Jeans Guy was clearly going to let Blue Jeans Girl off the hook merely because they were friends. I was crossing my fingers the entire class, hoping he would turn around and try to give me demerits after class so I could give him the what’s-up. He didn’t.
Friend exceptions bug me, just like any amount of inconsistency bugs me, but the fact that he was actually trying to give demerits to someone else for wearing jeans while he was wearing jeans just made me want to jump into the conversation even more. I refrained.
I wanted to jump up and say, “Oh my goodness, do you not even understand the rules you’re supposed to be enforcing? The rule book says nothing about jeans whatsoever, no matter the color! Dr. Brown made a joke about it last year in chapel, but the rule book is silent on the matter.”
If he had talked to me after class, here’s what I would have said: “I’ll make you a deal. We walk to the SSC right now and get a Student Handbook. If the handbook says anything about jeans, specifically blue jeans, you can right me up for five demerits, if you want.” A dress code violation is only worth two demerits. “However, if black jeans are just as unacceptable as blue jeans, you and I are marching to your RDs office and you’re giving yourself demerits while I get none.”
Just for fun, let’s have a look at the Student Handbook, shall we? Yes, I actually have memorized parts of the Handbook just for moments such as these. It really would have made my day if he had talked to me ...
Men
Dress/sport shirt, sweaters/sweatshirts, slacks, and footwear (no long/short-sleeved T-shirts or shorts)
Women
Skirts, dresses, blouses, sweaters/sweatshirts, slacks, and footwear (no long/short-sleeved T-shirts, shorts, or leggings)
Since their seems to be a bit of confusion, let’s define “slacks” according to Webster.
slacks: trousers especially for casual wear
trouser: pant
pant: an outer garment covering each leg separately and usually extending from the waist to the ankle
As you may have noticed, as I certainly did, slacks mentions nothing of denim or color. In fact, if we took this definition completely literally, jeans may even be allowed! However, they aren’t.
It’s not so much that I care about the fact that jeans may or may not be allowed according to the Handbook. It’s that the RA used the “fact” that “the rule book says no blue jeans.” No, it doesn’t. I’ve heard RAs misquote the rule book numerous times, and it bothers me that those in authority that are supposed to be enforcing the rules on us don’t even have a proper understanding of the rules they are to be enforcing. This is why I memorize parts of the rule book. Now I just wish someone would call me out when I actually have a good defense like today ...
This morning I had my last class in Old Testament Literature. During finals, we’re allowed to wear jeans to class instead of our usual Class Dress, which is basically anything but jeans. So, this week being finals week, I decided to wear jeans this morning. Sure, finals don’t technically start until tomorrow, but this week is finals week, so that was my defense. And considering 50% of the campus has the same mentality as I on this matter, I wasn’t too concerned about getting demerits for it, and I didn’t. But I did overhear a conversation entailing the demerits of another that made me want to stand up and shout!
I was sitting in my comfy rolly chair when it happened. Two girls were sitting in the row in front of me, one of which was wearing blue jeans, when a tall fellow, who was wearing black jeans, strolled up and sat in the chair on the end of the row.
Black Jeans Guy: Hey, you’re wearing jeans. I should write you up.
Blue Jeans Girl: It’s finals ...
Black Jeans Guy: Finals don’t start until tomorrow.
Blue Jeans Girl: Look around you. Everyone is wearing jeans today.
Random Girl: You’re wearing jeans!
Black Jeans Guy: No, these are black jeans. You’re wearing blue jeans.
Blue Jeans Girl: Your point?
Black Jeans Guy: The rule book says no blue jeans. Black jeans are fine. It’s okay though. You’re my friend, and it’s the last week, so I won’t write you up.
Random Girl: How considerate of you.
This conversation bothered me on so many levels. First of all, Black Jeans Guy was clearly going to let Blue Jeans Girl off the hook merely because they were friends. I was crossing my fingers the entire class, hoping he would turn around and try to give me demerits after class so I could give him the what’s-up. He didn’t.
Friend exceptions bug me, just like any amount of inconsistency bugs me, but the fact that he was actually trying to give demerits to someone else for wearing jeans while he was wearing jeans just made me want to jump into the conversation even more. I refrained.
I wanted to jump up and say, “Oh my goodness, do you not even understand the rules you’re supposed to be enforcing? The rule book says nothing about jeans whatsoever, no matter the color! Dr. Brown made a joke about it last year in chapel, but the rule book is silent on the matter.”
If he had talked to me after class, here’s what I would have said: “I’ll make you a deal. We walk to the SSC right now and get a Student Handbook. If the handbook says anything about jeans, specifically blue jeans, you can right me up for five demerits, if you want.” A dress code violation is only worth two demerits. “However, if black jeans are just as unacceptable as blue jeans, you and I are marching to your RDs office and you’re giving yourself demerits while I get none.”
Just for fun, let’s have a look at the Student Handbook, shall we? Yes, I actually have memorized parts of the Handbook just for moments such as these. It really would have made my day if he had talked to me ...
Men
Dress/sport shirt, sweaters/sweatshirts, slacks, and footwear (no long/short-sleeved T-shirts or shorts)
Women
Skirts, dresses, blouses, sweaters/sweatshirts, slacks, and footwear (no long/short-sleeved T-shirts, shorts, or leggings)
Since their seems to be a bit of confusion, let’s define “slacks” according to Webster.
slacks: trousers especially for casual wear
trouser: pant
pant: an outer garment covering each leg separately and usually extending from the waist to the ankle
As you may have noticed, as I certainly did, slacks mentions nothing of denim or color. In fact, if we took this definition completely literally, jeans may even be allowed! However, they aren’t.
It’s not so much that I care about the fact that jeans may or may not be allowed according to the Handbook. It’s that the RA used the “fact” that “the rule book says no blue jeans.” No, it doesn’t. I’ve heard RAs misquote the rule book numerous times, and it bothers me that those in authority that are supposed to be enforcing the rules on us don’t even have a proper understanding of the rules they are to be enforcing. This is why I memorize parts of the rule book. Now I just wish someone would call me out when I actually have a good defense like today ...
Domo and The Kid's Grand Escapades, Pt. 1
12/02/08 05:00 PM
Jenna got me Domo for
Christmas (yes, we did Christmas early this year at
my house), so I decided to take him around with me to
my classes and such.
Since Jenna has also granted me permission to guest post on her blog on the second of every month (in correlation with the fact that my birthday is on the second of November, I guess), and since today is the second of the month, I decided to photograph Domo’s and my adventures and blog about them for my post. You can view the first two chapters of our many escapades HERE :).
Since Jenna has also granted me permission to guest post on her blog on the second of every month (in correlation with the fact that my birthday is on the second of November, I guess), and since today is the second of the month, I decided to photograph Domo’s and my adventures and blog about them for my post. You can view the first two chapters of our many escapades HERE :).
I like hot. I hate cold.
11/26/08 08:54 AM
I like hot.
I hate cold.
I woke up the other morning extremely drousy. Shuffling my way to the shower (and hitting a few walls in the process due to my not-even-half-opened eyes), I performed the morning ritual, as us Americans know it, of getting clean.
I remember standing in the shower in my delusional state thinking, Didn't Stephen tell me, once upon a time, that it's good for you to take a cold shower? You know, even if he had, I'm not sure why I would have thought it would be a good idea. But, like I said, I wasn't thinking straight at the time. It being, like, 6:00am, I wasn't actually thinking at all.
Something about waking up quicker. Something about jumpstarting all the systems in your body. Something about giving your immune system a Good Game pat for yesterday and a motivational speech for the upcoming game. Something about blood circulation and capillaries. Something about contracting muscles to eliminate toxins.
You know, I'll tell you, it may very well do all of those things, taking a cold shower. So after rinsing my hair, I reached for the handle and turned it to cold. All the way. This was not one of my better ideas in my lifetime.
After my body went into complete shock, it was nearly impossible to function. How was I supposed to get clean if I couldn't even move due to the extreme cold? I tried to tough it out for a while, but myself and I finally decided that this idea sucked, so we resorted to finishing the shower off warm. Bad news: once Brock showers turn cold, they don't turn back.
I was forced to suffer the remainder of the shower under bitterly cold water. Sure, maybe my immune system battled off a few diseases that day, and I certainly woke up faster than I ever have in my life. And, yes, the walk back to my room felt supremely wonderful instead of the usual chilly. But other then that, I don't think it was worth it.
I like hot.
I hate cold.
I hate cold.
I woke up the other morning extremely drousy. Shuffling my way to the shower (and hitting a few walls in the process due to my not-even-half-opened eyes), I performed the morning ritual, as us Americans know it, of getting clean.
I remember standing in the shower in my delusional state thinking, Didn't Stephen tell me, once upon a time, that it's good for you to take a cold shower? You know, even if he had, I'm not sure why I would have thought it would be a good idea. But, like I said, I wasn't thinking straight at the time. It being, like, 6:00am, I wasn't actually thinking at all.
Something about waking up quicker. Something about jumpstarting all the systems in your body. Something about giving your immune system a Good Game pat for yesterday and a motivational speech for the upcoming game. Something about blood circulation and capillaries. Something about contracting muscles to eliminate toxins.
You know, I'll tell you, it may very well do all of those things, taking a cold shower. So after rinsing my hair, I reached for the handle and turned it to cold. All the way. This was not one of my better ideas in my lifetime.
After my body went into complete shock, it was nearly impossible to function. How was I supposed to get clean if I couldn't even move due to the extreme cold? I tried to tough it out for a while, but myself and I finally decided that this idea sucked, so we resorted to finishing the shower off warm. Bad news: once Brock showers turn cold, they don't turn back.
I was forced to suffer the remainder of the shower under bitterly cold water. Sure, maybe my immune system battled off a few diseases that day, and I certainly woke up faster than I ever have in my life. And, yes, the walk back to my room felt supremely wonderful instead of the usual chilly. But other then that, I don't think it was worth it.
I like hot.
I hate cold.
Dear Verizon Wireless
11/25/08 04:41 PM
Dear Verizon Wireless:
My name is Alex Laird. I'm a 20 year old male student who attends Cedarville University, and I'm one of your loyal customers. I would greatly appreciate it if you would quit attempting to turn my own mother against me. Your conniving schemes to convince her that I am a lying teenager are quite childish and bothersome. I understand that you're the Wireless Giant whose lucrative business thrives more on loyal customers than on happy customers, but your sneaky methods are getting on my nerves.
I'm on your Family Share Plan. My Dad is the account head, and my mother, sister, and I are additional participants on the plan. For an additional $10 a month we can add additional lines to our Share Plan. For an additional $15 a month, I can add 1,500 text/picture/video messages to my line, plus unlimited messaging within The Network. I've done both of these things, so on top of my Dad's plan, you're making an extra $25 off of me every month.
Apparently this isn't enough for you, since the last three months you've charged my portion of the bill over $75.
It all started three months ago. Several applications were added to my phone against my will. You couldn't make it any easier to spend money on subscription services with your phone if you tried. All a customer has to do is browse through the applications list, select one, click "Accept" to the terms and presumable charge on his or her bill, and the application is downloaded. Some applications cost up to $20 a month! Applications, I might add, that do less for you and are less intuitive than any Freeware application I've ever downloaded on my computer. Yet still you manage to gouge the prices, and the reason you have success off of them is probably because people like me will inadvertently get them added to their phone.
After receiving a bill for well over $80 that month, I realized what had happened to my phone. I went onto your website and blocked all forms of applications, web services, or anything that could be added from my phone that would be charged automatically to my bill. I then went on my phone and canceled every subscription application that was on there. I then removed all the applications. I just told my mom to charge it to me, since it was my fault.
The next month my portion of the bill was hefty again, and again I received a call from my mom to figure out what the problem was. Wanting to give you the benefit of the doubt, I established that, since the applications were charged monthly, I must have been charged again before I canceled the subscription. Additionally, I had gone over my allotted 500 text/picture/video messages, so I upped my plan to 1,500 so that wouldn't happen again. Again, I didn't complain to you, and I told my mom to charge me for the mistake.
Then came last month. Again, I was charged over $75. Again, my mom called me. This time, I was beyond unhappy. I went onto your website and reviewed the bill myself. For my portion of the bill, I was charged over $40 for mysterious data charges. On your website, you have a section that will list every single phone call, every single text message, and every single data charge for the entire month. I looked at this section. For every single data transfer on my phone, the charge was $0.0. Yet somehow this added up to $43.68. Perhaps this is some new form of Calculus that I have not yet taken in my college career, but I was not aware adding zero and zero multiple times ever resulted in anything other than zero.
On top of the data charges, I had been charged for another overage of text messages. I had used significantly less than 1,500, but significantly more than 500.
Just these charges alone would probably be enough to make anyone upset, but I haven't even mentioned the most frustrating part yet.
We finally decided to call and complain, since the charges on our bill last month were without sufficient explanation. My mom called. After getting off the phone with your representative, my mom called me. The text messages were an easy fix; you had forgotten to apply my new texting plan. That was $35 back. What about the remaining $43.68?
"Well, here's what I found out," she said. "He said that the reason we were charged is because of applications that are on your phone. Mobile Email. Wikipedia. WeatherBug, etc. Do these sound familiar?"
I was frustrated beyond belief. "Mom, these are the applications I removed two months ago. They should have completely cleared the system last month."
"Well, he says they're still on the account and that the only way to get them off is by canceling them on your phone."
"I can't cancel them on my phone. They aren't on my phone anymore." I wasn't mad at my mom, but to anyone listening it may have come across that way. I reassured her. "I'm sorry, I'm not yelling at you. I'm yelling at stupid Verizon. This is not the first time they've done this."
"I know. Did you remove them from your phone or from the website?" she questioned.
"Both."
"But you're sure you removed them from your phone?"
"Positive."
"Because he says that some people think they remove them when they block them on the website, but they have to go through their phone manually and remove them as well."
"Mom, they're not on my phone." I tried not to sound peeved at her. She was doing the best she could.
"Well," she reasoned, "Why don't you hang up the phone, check in the Get It Now section of your phone really quick, and call me right back. Just to make sure."
I ended the call and browsed the Get It Now section. There were four items in there: "ozforms," "OZHTMLWIDGET," "OZWIDGETS," and "Mobile IM." The OZ ones seemed like they were probably helper files for the menus on my phone, and they weren't applications I could open (I tried), so I targeted Mobile IM. I tried removing it. It said "Erased:" still there. I tried removing again: still there.
There certainly wasn't any Mobile Mail, Wikipedia, WeatherBug, or etc. I called my dearest mother back.
"Okay," I explained, "Here's what I got. Write these four down, call him back, and ask him if any of these are what I'm being charged for. If so, I'll cancel them, but I think they're just helper files, and Mobile IM doesn't work anyway, so I don't think it's really on my phone anymore."
Twenty minutes later, my mom called me back again.
"Well, they're gone," she cheered.
"Wait, what's gone? I didn't remove anything."
"I know. But the lady I talked to said they're gone now," Mom answered.
"But what about those four things in the Get It Now menu I mentioned? Am I being charged for those?" I was confused.
"Doesn't look like it. She said there are no longer any subscriptions attached to your phone. They were all just removed."
"But ... I ... Didn't ... Remove ... Anything ..."
"You know what this looks like, Alex." Yes, I did. "It looks like I'm a naive mother who believes her teenage son who's lying to her. I know you're not lying to me, but they think I'm silly for trusting you."
"My generation is stupid," I interjected. Amen.
My mom and I continued to talk for a bit longer before I realized exactly what had happened. It was when I realized that she hadn’t talked to the same Customer Service Representative when she called you the second time. The second Representative told Mom that just minutes before, all the applications had been removed from my phone. But I had no applications on my phone. I had looked. How could I remove them if they weren't being shown on my phone? More significantly, how could I remove them when I removed them two months ago?!
I understand my generation loves to lie and twist the truth. I understand there are a lot of parents out there that are naive and don't fully understand when their children are taking advantage of them. But I would like to point out a few things: I'm not a teenager, my mother is not stupid or naive, I love my mother (and we get along great), and I don't lie to her!
Here's what I can only assume happened. The first Representative my mom talked to thought I did have applications on my phone and that I was lying to my mom about it. He then realized something after looking at our account history: I had tried to remove the applications two months prior, just as I was saying. They had removed themselves from my phone (rendering me helpless when trying to remove them manually) but for some reason were still attached to the account, thus charging me. The first Representative tells my mom that only I can cancel the subscriptions directly from my phone and that they're still on there. After she hangs up and calls me, the first Representative manually cancels all the application subscriptions himself, even though he specifically told my mom he couldn't do that (and she had even asked him to).
Now, how does this look? The first Representative manually cancels the subscriptions while the naive mother is on the phone with her lying son. See what this looks like? It looks like I just lied to my mom while canceling the subscriptions from my phone myself to get out of trouble. When my mom called you back to tell you there aren't any applications on my phone for me to delete, you were then able to tell her the reason there weren't any applications on the phone was because they were just deleted. And, according to the first Representative, the only way to cancel those applications was from my phone. Now I'm a liar. Thanks.
I would switch cell phone companies, I really would. I'd love to be able to threaten you with that. Unfortunately, you have the best coverage and plans of any phone company out there, and you know it. That's the most frustrating part. You know you have us wrapped around your finger, and you abuse that severely with situations like this. Well I may be a customer that's forced to keep my account with you, but I am not happy with you. Luckily, my mom is not stupid and naive, and she believed me over your lousy Customer Service Representative.
A Very Displeased Customer,
Alex Laird
My name is Alex Laird. I'm a 20 year old male student who attends Cedarville University, and I'm one of your loyal customers. I would greatly appreciate it if you would quit attempting to turn my own mother against me. Your conniving schemes to convince her that I am a lying teenager are quite childish and bothersome. I understand that you're the Wireless Giant whose lucrative business thrives more on loyal customers than on happy customers, but your sneaky methods are getting on my nerves.
I'm on your Family Share Plan. My Dad is the account head, and my mother, sister, and I are additional participants on the plan. For an additional $10 a month we can add additional lines to our Share Plan. For an additional $15 a month, I can add 1,500 text/picture/video messages to my line, plus unlimited messaging within The Network. I've done both of these things, so on top of my Dad's plan, you're making an extra $25 off of me every month.
Apparently this isn't enough for you, since the last three months you've charged my portion of the bill over $75.
It all started three months ago. Several applications were added to my phone against my will. You couldn't make it any easier to spend money on subscription services with your phone if you tried. All a customer has to do is browse through the applications list, select one, click "Accept" to the terms and presumable charge on his or her bill, and the application is downloaded. Some applications cost up to $20 a month! Applications, I might add, that do less for you and are less intuitive than any Freeware application I've ever downloaded on my computer. Yet still you manage to gouge the prices, and the reason you have success off of them is probably because people like me will inadvertently get them added to their phone.
After receiving a bill for well over $80 that month, I realized what had happened to my phone. I went onto your website and blocked all forms of applications, web services, or anything that could be added from my phone that would be charged automatically to my bill. I then went on my phone and canceled every subscription application that was on there. I then removed all the applications. I just told my mom to charge it to me, since it was my fault.
The next month my portion of the bill was hefty again, and again I received a call from my mom to figure out what the problem was. Wanting to give you the benefit of the doubt, I established that, since the applications were charged monthly, I must have been charged again before I canceled the subscription. Additionally, I had gone over my allotted 500 text/picture/video messages, so I upped my plan to 1,500 so that wouldn't happen again. Again, I didn't complain to you, and I told my mom to charge me for the mistake.
Then came last month. Again, I was charged over $75. Again, my mom called me. This time, I was beyond unhappy. I went onto your website and reviewed the bill myself. For my portion of the bill, I was charged over $40 for mysterious data charges. On your website, you have a section that will list every single phone call, every single text message, and every single data charge for the entire month. I looked at this section. For every single data transfer on my phone, the charge was $0.0. Yet somehow this added up to $43.68. Perhaps this is some new form of Calculus that I have not yet taken in my college career, but I was not aware adding zero and zero multiple times ever resulted in anything other than zero.
On top of the data charges, I had been charged for another overage of text messages. I had used significantly less than 1,500, but significantly more than 500.
Just these charges alone would probably be enough to make anyone upset, but I haven't even mentioned the most frustrating part yet.
We finally decided to call and complain, since the charges on our bill last month were without sufficient explanation. My mom called. After getting off the phone with your representative, my mom called me. The text messages were an easy fix; you had forgotten to apply my new texting plan. That was $35 back. What about the remaining $43.68?
"Well, here's what I found out," she said. "He said that the reason we were charged is because of applications that are on your phone. Mobile Email. Wikipedia. WeatherBug, etc. Do these sound familiar?"
I was frustrated beyond belief. "Mom, these are the applications I removed two months ago. They should have completely cleared the system last month."
"Well, he says they're still on the account and that the only way to get them off is by canceling them on your phone."
"I can't cancel them on my phone. They aren't on my phone anymore." I wasn't mad at my mom, but to anyone listening it may have come across that way. I reassured her. "I'm sorry, I'm not yelling at you. I'm yelling at stupid Verizon. This is not the first time they've done this."
"I know. Did you remove them from your phone or from the website?" she questioned.
"Both."
"But you're sure you removed them from your phone?"
"Positive."
"Because he says that some people think they remove them when they block them on the website, but they have to go through their phone manually and remove them as well."
"Mom, they're not on my phone." I tried not to sound peeved at her. She was doing the best she could.
"Well," she reasoned, "Why don't you hang up the phone, check in the Get It Now section of your phone really quick, and call me right back. Just to make sure."
I ended the call and browsed the Get It Now section. There were four items in there: "ozforms," "OZHTMLWIDGET," "OZWIDGETS," and "Mobile IM." The OZ ones seemed like they were probably helper files for the menus on my phone, and they weren't applications I could open (I tried), so I targeted Mobile IM. I tried removing it. It said "Erased:" still there. I tried removing again: still there.
There certainly wasn't any Mobile Mail, Wikipedia, WeatherBug, or etc. I called my dearest mother back.
"Okay," I explained, "Here's what I got. Write these four down, call him back, and ask him if any of these are what I'm being charged for. If so, I'll cancel them, but I think they're just helper files, and Mobile IM doesn't work anyway, so I don't think it's really on my phone anymore."
Twenty minutes later, my mom called me back again.
"Well, they're gone," she cheered.
"Wait, what's gone? I didn't remove anything."
"I know. But the lady I talked to said they're gone now," Mom answered.
"But what about those four things in the Get It Now menu I mentioned? Am I being charged for those?" I was confused.
"Doesn't look like it. She said there are no longer any subscriptions attached to your phone. They were all just removed."
"But ... I ... Didn't ... Remove ... Anything ..."
"You know what this looks like, Alex." Yes, I did. "It looks like I'm a naive mother who believes her teenage son who's lying to her. I know you're not lying to me, but they think I'm silly for trusting you."
"My generation is stupid," I interjected. Amen.
My mom and I continued to talk for a bit longer before I realized exactly what had happened. It was when I realized that she hadn’t talked to the same Customer Service Representative when she called you the second time. The second Representative told Mom that just minutes before, all the applications had been removed from my phone. But I had no applications on my phone. I had looked. How could I remove them if they weren't being shown on my phone? More significantly, how could I remove them when I removed them two months ago?!
I understand my generation loves to lie and twist the truth. I understand there are a lot of parents out there that are naive and don't fully understand when their children are taking advantage of them. But I would like to point out a few things: I'm not a teenager, my mother is not stupid or naive, I love my mother (and we get along great), and I don't lie to her!
Here's what I can only assume happened. The first Representative my mom talked to thought I did have applications on my phone and that I was lying to my mom about it. He then realized something after looking at our account history: I had tried to remove the applications two months prior, just as I was saying. They had removed themselves from my phone (rendering me helpless when trying to remove them manually) but for some reason were still attached to the account, thus charging me. The first Representative tells my mom that only I can cancel the subscriptions directly from my phone and that they're still on there. After she hangs up and calls me, the first Representative manually cancels all the application subscriptions himself, even though he specifically told my mom he couldn't do that (and she had even asked him to).
Now, how does this look? The first Representative manually cancels the subscriptions while the naive mother is on the phone with her lying son. See what this looks like? It looks like I just lied to my mom while canceling the subscriptions from my phone myself to get out of trouble. When my mom called you back to tell you there aren't any applications on my phone for me to delete, you were then able to tell her the reason there weren't any applications on the phone was because they were just deleted. And, according to the first Representative, the only way to cancel those applications was from my phone. Now I'm a liar. Thanks.
I would switch cell phone companies, I really would. I'd love to be able to threaten you with that. Unfortunately, you have the best coverage and plans of any phone company out there, and you know it. That's the most frustrating part. You know you have us wrapped around your finger, and you abuse that severely with situations like this. Well I may be a customer that's forced to keep my account with you, but I am not happy with you. Luckily, my mom is not stupid and naive, and she believed me over your lousy Customer Service Representative.
A Very Displeased Customer,
Alex Laird
RA Fail
11/25/08 01:18 PM
Dear RA Who Delivered
Demerits to the Gentleman Texting in the Balcony of
Chapel Yesterday:
My name is Alex Laird. You may have seen my picture here. You may notice that there’s a difference in appearance between that person and the person you gave demerits to yesterday in chapel who gave you my name as his own. That’s because that was my roommate, Dave.
I forget the state, but there was once a guy who was arrested for refusal to cooperate with a Police Officer. After being pulled over, the officer asked him to show him his Driver’s License and Insurance Identification. The man refused to show the cards, but diligently produced the numbers for each (including expiration date) for all forms of his identification. The officer again asked him to produce the materials. The man informed the officer that, by law, he was not required to produce the physical cards, all he was required to give the officer were the numbers. The officer could have just taken the numbers, written them down, and run them through system back in the squad car. Instead he arrested the man.
The case went to court. The man’s defense was that Police Officers should be required to know the laws in their own states. It’s true, you aren’t required to show your actual driver’s license (in certain states) if you can give them a valid number that they can look up; the officer didn’t know this, but the man who was pulled over did. The case was finally dropped because, well, the guy hadn’t done anything wrong. But he certainly proved his point. If the upholders of the law don’t even know all the laws they’re supposed to be upholding, what’s the point of having them uphold them?
Dave and I like to test RAs. It’s a sick fascination we have, I guess, taunting them by quoting from the rule book and weaseling our way out of demerits. I guess I don’t know the official procedure, but I would assume RAs are supposed to ask you for both your name and your identification number; at least, every one I’ve ever talked to always has. What are the odds you actually have a friend’s ID number memorized?
Yesterday, Ryan and I didn’t sit in the balcony of chapel. We sat down on the floor with Kristi for a change of pace. Dave still sat in the balcony. In the empty seats Ryan and I would have been, a Willets RA sat. Next to Dave. Who was texting (per usual). At the end of chapel, the RA informed Dave she was going to have to give him demerits for being inattentive. Though, let’s be honest, he was probably be more attentive than the majority of the rest of the students in chapel, right? Turkey Break starts tomorrow, let’s be honest. Out of spite toward Ryan and me for not sitting with him, Dave gave the RA my name instead of his own. She didn’t ask for his ID number.
These are, hands down, the bests demerits I ever will have received! Demerits take several weeks to process, usually, so I’m hoping they arrive in my Inbox before the end of the semester. I’ll be sure to post them on Facebook as soon as they do :)!
My name is Alex Laird. You may have seen my picture here. You may notice that there’s a difference in appearance between that person and the person you gave demerits to yesterday in chapel who gave you my name as his own. That’s because that was my roommate, Dave.
I forget the state, but there was once a guy who was arrested for refusal to cooperate with a Police Officer. After being pulled over, the officer asked him to show him his Driver’s License and Insurance Identification. The man refused to show the cards, but diligently produced the numbers for each (including expiration date) for all forms of his identification. The officer again asked him to produce the materials. The man informed the officer that, by law, he was not required to produce the physical cards, all he was required to give the officer were the numbers. The officer could have just taken the numbers, written them down, and run them through system back in the squad car. Instead he arrested the man.
The case went to court. The man’s defense was that Police Officers should be required to know the laws in their own states. It’s true, you aren’t required to show your actual driver’s license (in certain states) if you can give them a valid number that they can look up; the officer didn’t know this, but the man who was pulled over did. The case was finally dropped because, well, the guy hadn’t done anything wrong. But he certainly proved his point. If the upholders of the law don’t even know all the laws they’re supposed to be upholding, what’s the point of having them uphold them?
Dave and I like to test RAs. It’s a sick fascination we have, I guess, taunting them by quoting from the rule book and weaseling our way out of demerits. I guess I don’t know the official procedure, but I would assume RAs are supposed to ask you for both your name and your identification number; at least, every one I’ve ever talked to always has. What are the odds you actually have a friend’s ID number memorized?
Yesterday, Ryan and I didn’t sit in the balcony of chapel. We sat down on the floor with Kristi for a change of pace. Dave still sat in the balcony. In the empty seats Ryan and I would have been, a Willets RA sat. Next to Dave. Who was texting (per usual). At the end of chapel, the RA informed Dave she was going to have to give him demerits for being inattentive. Though, let’s be honest, he was probably be more attentive than the majority of the rest of the students in chapel, right? Turkey Break starts tomorrow, let’s be honest. Out of spite toward Ryan and me for not sitting with him, Dave gave the RA my name instead of his own. She didn’t ask for his ID number.
These are, hands down, the bests demerits I ever will have received! Demerits take several weeks to process, usually, so I’m hoping they arrive in my Inbox before the end of the semester. I’ll be sure to post them on Facebook as soon as they do :)!
Facebook Chat Friends and Soccer Players
11/25/08 11:00 AM
I was sitting in the
computer pit, outside The Hive, when I overheard the
following conversation. The names have been changed
to protect the innocent.
Soccer Jock 1: I got 120, man!
Soccer Jock 2: No way, dude! That’s awesome!
Soccer Jock 1: I’m serious. It almost didn’t happen, and I was so shocked when it did, but now I have the record.
Soccer Jock 2: That’s pretty sweet. So how did it happen?
Soccer Jock 1: Well, the old record was, like, 107. But I beat that by a landslide.
Soccer Jock 2: Yah?
Soccer Jock 1: Yah. Soccer Jock 3 and I were just sitting at my computer the other night, watching it go up. It was at 100, then it jumped up to 106, then it dropped down to 98. I didn’t think it was going to happen, and then, for a few seconds, it jumped to 120!
Soccer Jock 2: Nobody’s going to believe you, though.
Soccer Jock 1: No, dude, Soccer Jock 3 was there too! He saw it.
Soccer Jock 2: Well, at least you have a witness. That’s awesome.
Soccer Jock 1: Yah. So, now I have the record on the Soccer team for most friends on Facebook Chat at one time.
You, my friend, need to get a life. I have an idea. How about you go out and spend some time with a few of those 120 friends (who are clearly as anti-social as yourself) instead of sitting in your room hoping to get a record number of them to all sit down at their computers and sign onto Facebook at the same time. That’s just sad. What’s even more sad is that you’re having a competition over it with your Soccer team. You do know that most of the school scoffs at your arrogance, right? And this isn’t helping your case out much ...
I’m still not sure which is worse though: the Soccer team or the Baseball team. But this scenario definitely helped the Soccer team a lot of points against them.
Soccer Jock 1: I got 120, man!
Soccer Jock 2: No way, dude! That’s awesome!
Soccer Jock 1: I’m serious. It almost didn’t happen, and I was so shocked when it did, but now I have the record.
Soccer Jock 2: That’s pretty sweet. So how did it happen?
Soccer Jock 1: Well, the old record was, like, 107. But I beat that by a landslide.
Soccer Jock 2: Yah?
Soccer Jock 1: Yah. Soccer Jock 3 and I were just sitting at my computer the other night, watching it go up. It was at 100, then it jumped up to 106, then it dropped down to 98. I didn’t think it was going to happen, and then, for a few seconds, it jumped to 120!
Soccer Jock 2: Nobody’s going to believe you, though.
Soccer Jock 1: No, dude, Soccer Jock 3 was there too! He saw it.
Soccer Jock 2: Well, at least you have a witness. That’s awesome.
Soccer Jock 1: Yah. So, now I have the record on the Soccer team for most friends on Facebook Chat at one time.
You, my friend, need to get a life. I have an idea. How about you go out and spend some time with a few of those 120 friends (who are clearly as anti-social as yourself) instead of sitting in your room hoping to get a record number of them to all sit down at their computers and sign onto Facebook at the same time. That’s just sad. What’s even more sad is that you’re having a competition over it with your Soccer team. You do know that most of the school scoffs at your arrogance, right? And this isn’t helping your case out much ...
I’m still not sure which is worse though: the Soccer team or the Baseball team. But this scenario definitely helped the Soccer team a lot of points against them.
Please Stop Breaking Up In Awkward Places
11/24/08 04:55 PM
There I was, wandering
the SSC in an attempt to find Kristi. The search was
in vain, I now realize, because she was in Chuck’s; I
place I didn’t plan on looking. (Why are you eating
now? I still don’t understand. It’s before 5:00.)
Okay, first side tangent. People at Cedarville eat at ridiculous hours! At home, I’m used to eating at normal and civilized hours such as 6:00 or 6:30. You know, after your Dad gets home from work? I come to Cedarville, and it took me several months of eating by myself before realizing if I wanted company when I ate Dinner that I’d have to eat when I wasn’t hungry. Ridiculously early times such as 5:00 and 5:30. And, apparently, not 4:30. I didn’t even know Chuck’s opened that early.
But that’s not even really part of my story. My story involves breaking up. I went through The Hive, checked my mail (again), and finally decided she was nowhere to be found and that I would sit on one of the comfy couches by the computers underneath the stairs. As I approached said area with comfy couches, I noticed an Awkward Lounge Couple. Except this Awkward Lounge Couple was exceptionally awkward. They weren’t in a lounge either. They were in a coat room. The coat room by the bookstore. This seemed a strange place for a couple to be hanging, albeit I’ve seen stranger and more disturbing in my day.
Turns out this couple wasn’t just hanging. Oh no. The Awkward Lounge Couple seemed to be having a DTR, and it wasn’t the good kind of DTR. It appeared to be one of those “We aren’t an R anymore” sort of DTRs. It had all the tell-tale signs of breakupness. Guys head hung in shame. Guy still remaining to sit awkwardly close to girl, even though she was clearly trying to get away. Girl looking far too pleased with herself considering the guys extremely depressed expression. Guys hands folded in his lap. Guy on the verge of crying. Girl sort of doing that weird try-to-touch-his-arm-without-actually-touching-his-arm sort of thing to reassure him/not give him false hope at the same time.
It was just really awkward. And to add to things, it was in a coat room. On uncomfortable chairs that were stacked in the coat room. (Yes, the guy was actually sitting on said stack of chairs, feet not touching the ground.)
So, Cedarville couples, please stop breaking up in public places. This is at least the third public breakup I’ve seen this year. Lounges are just awkward places, not only for the other person involved in the breakup, but also for everyone else in the lounge ... Especially for everyone else in the lounge. This couple seemed to be making an effort to stay out of the lounges and opted for a coat closet. Really, that’s not any better. Not only was it close to a lounge anyway, it’s ... It’s a coat closet! I can’t say anything else about this. I’m too weirded out.
Okay, first side tangent. People at Cedarville eat at ridiculous hours! At home, I’m used to eating at normal and civilized hours such as 6:00 or 6:30. You know, after your Dad gets home from work? I come to Cedarville, and it took me several months of eating by myself before realizing if I wanted company when I ate Dinner that I’d have to eat when I wasn’t hungry. Ridiculously early times such as 5:00 and 5:30. And, apparently, not 4:30. I didn’t even know Chuck’s opened that early.
But that’s not even really part of my story. My story involves breaking up. I went through The Hive, checked my mail (again), and finally decided she was nowhere to be found and that I would sit on one of the comfy couches by the computers underneath the stairs. As I approached said area with comfy couches, I noticed an Awkward Lounge Couple. Except this Awkward Lounge Couple was exceptionally awkward. They weren’t in a lounge either. They were in a coat room. The coat room by the bookstore. This seemed a strange place for a couple to be hanging, albeit I’ve seen stranger and more disturbing in my day.
Turns out this couple wasn’t just hanging. Oh no. The Awkward Lounge Couple seemed to be having a DTR, and it wasn’t the good kind of DTR. It appeared to be one of those “We aren’t an R anymore” sort of DTRs. It had all the tell-tale signs of breakupness. Guys head hung in shame. Guy still remaining to sit awkwardly close to girl, even though she was clearly trying to get away. Girl looking far too pleased with herself considering the guys extremely depressed expression. Guys hands folded in his lap. Guy on the verge of crying. Girl sort of doing that weird try-to-touch-his-arm-without-actually-touching-his-arm sort of thing to reassure him/not give him false hope at the same time.
It was just really awkward. And to add to things, it was in a coat room. On uncomfortable chairs that were stacked in the coat room. (Yes, the guy was actually sitting on said stack of chairs, feet not touching the ground.)
So, Cedarville couples, please stop breaking up in public places. This is at least the third public breakup I’ve seen this year. Lounges are just awkward places, not only for the other person involved in the breakup, but also for everyone else in the lounge ... Especially for everyone else in the lounge. This couple seemed to be making an effort to stay out of the lounges and opted for a coat closet. Really, that’s not any better. Not only was it close to a lounge anyway, it’s ... It’s a coat closet! I can’t say anything else about this. I’m too weirded out.
In Which I Hack Jenna's Blog
11/21/08 09:19 PM
Current Status: Causing
Mischief!
That’s right, folks. Ashley and I took Jenna’s blog hostage. After hacking her account, we decided we would write a blog post (from her perspective) while she and Joey were in the car on their way to Iowa. After doing some preliminary research (i.e. reading old blog articles by her, stealing perviously used pictures of Henry, thinking up stories Jenna would tell, etc.), we recalled her aforementioned affection for the cows near the Kansas Turnpike. This was our target.
That’s right, folks. Ashley and I took Jenna’s blog hostage. After hacking her account, we decided we would write a blog post (from her perspective) while she and Joey were in the car on their way to Iowa. After doing some preliminary research (i.e. reading old blog articles by her, stealing perviously used pictures of Henry, thinking up stories Jenna would tell, etc.), we recalled her aforementioned affection for the cows near the Kansas Turnpike. This was our target.
That’s
right, Jenna. We’re both on your blog right now!
We sat on the Grandparent’s couch and hammered out a
post for JennaWoestman.com in less than thirty
minutes.
Our soon to be infamous blog post is
HERE!
The Best Hot Chocolate I've Ever Had
11/16/08 01:24 PM
Yesterday, I had the
single most delicious cup of hot chocolate that I
have ever had. And I credit the entire experience to
Kristi Zimmerman, as she showed me how to make
it, and it was her experimental recipe. So
all can share such a wonderful experience, I will
share the proper procedure for making this delicious
chocolaty goodness.
The last step is critical, as there is nothing worse than cold hot chocolate or coffee.
Thanks, Kristi. You’re officially the bomb-diggity.
- Get for yourself a proper sized coffee mug.
- Fill the mug 3/4 full of hot water.
- Fill the mug 1/8 full of regular coffee.
- Mix.
- Pour a packet of proper hot chocolate mix into the mug.
- Mix.
- Pour a shot of Irish Creamer into the mug.
- Mix.
- Drink and enjoy before it cools down.
The last step is critical, as there is nothing worse than cold hot chocolate or coffee.
Thanks, Kristi. You’re officially the bomb-diggity.
I Know You Were Texting in Chapel
11/14/08 03:28 PM
That’s right, I know
everything. But don’t worry, I won’t turn you in for
it. I do it all the time.
Who was in chapel this morning, can I see a show of hands? Well, someone was texting in chapel this morning; someone who uses AT&T, and I can almost prove it.
AT&T has got a few things going for them these days, namely the iPhone and their amazing 3G network. While 3G is awesome, here’s the biggest problem with it. It has such high bandwidth data transfer that the signal frequently interferes with surrounding signals. I’ve also heard, though this is not confirmed, that AT&T text messaging uses some sort of an interface that interferes specifically with Bluetooth devices, which your laptop and most computers probably have.
My roommate has a phone that is powered by AT&T. I can predict, almost with perfect accuracy, when he’s going to get a text message before his phone even buzzes. We’ll be sitting in our room, he watching TV, me at my desk doing who-knows-what, and the speakers to our dorm computer will start to sputter, making a staccato style “daaaa-ta-ka-daaa-ta-ka-daaa-ta-ka-daaaaa” sound over and over. “Dave, you’re getting a text.” Seconds later, his phone buzzes.
So, remember that loud and obnoxious “daaaa-ta-ka-daaa-ta-ka-daaa-ta-ka-daaaaa” that we heard blasting over the sound system this morning, interrupting Dr. Brown as he was recognizing our Grandparents? There’s an extremely high chance (I’d say ... 90%) that the cause of that was someone in chapel receiving a text message on the AT&T network.
Who was in chapel this morning, can I see a show of hands? Well, someone was texting in chapel this morning; someone who uses AT&T, and I can almost prove it.
AT&T has got a few things going for them these days, namely the iPhone and their amazing 3G network. While 3G is awesome, here’s the biggest problem with it. It has such high bandwidth data transfer that the signal frequently interferes with surrounding signals. I’ve also heard, though this is not confirmed, that AT&T text messaging uses some sort of an interface that interferes specifically with Bluetooth devices, which your laptop and most computers probably have.
My roommate has a phone that is powered by AT&T. I can predict, almost with perfect accuracy, when he’s going to get a text message before his phone even buzzes. We’ll be sitting in our room, he watching TV, me at my desk doing who-knows-what, and the speakers to our dorm computer will start to sputter, making a staccato style “daaaa-ta-ka-daaa-ta-ka-daaa-ta-ka-daaaaa” sound over and over. “Dave, you’re getting a text.” Seconds later, his phone buzzes.
So, remember that loud and obnoxious “daaaa-ta-ka-daaa-ta-ka-daaa-ta-ka-daaaaa” that we heard blasting over the sound system this morning, interrupting Dr. Brown as he was recognizing our Grandparents? There’s an extremely high chance (I’d say ... 90%) that the cause of that was someone in chapel receiving a text message on the AT&T network.
Another Cedarville Experience
11/13/08 11:13 AM
It’s been a long week.
Lost somewhere in exams, papers, and projects is my
sleep. I’m not complaining or saying it’s a bad week,
time just seems to be moving very slowly.
Yesterday, I woke up early to go to work, as usual for a Wednesday. I left work a bit early so I could lay my head on the desk in class for a few minutes before it started. That never actually happened, because as I sat in my comfy rolly chair, Nathan walked up to our row and asked if anyone was sitting in the chair to my right. It was empty, so he sat down.
Dr. Miller, the professor who teaches multiple sections of Old Testament Literature, a class of several hundred students, tore his Achilles Tendon a couple months ago, and he’s had to hobble around in a cast with crutches since then. A hard thing to do for a man who loves to walk up and down the aisles of his class while he teaches. I think he was in an exceptionally good mood yesterday, as it appeared he didn’t have the cast on at all anymore and he was walking up and down the aisles before class started.
Nathan has a travel mug that he had sitting on the desk. Dr. Miller walked up to our row and picked Nathan’s mug.
“It’s not even full,” he commented.
“No, I already drank most of it this morning,” Nathan replied.
“You could go fill it up outside.”
“That’s right!” I jutted in, “they have that stand out there now!”
Usually I would have had to walk all the way back to the SSC, and I was in the Bible building, so that was just too far of a walk. But they have a coffee stand in the atrium of the Bible building that I had totally forgotten about! I reached towards my bag before realizing I didn’t have my travel mug with me today; I had taken it out of my bag the day prior.
“Aw, nuts, I don’t have my mug.” My dismay was evident.
“You could just get one of the cups they have out there,” Dr. Miller suggested. “Here, do you need a dollar?”
“Are you serious?”
Apparently he was, because he reached for his wallet, pulled out a dollar, and handed it to me. “I am so getting a cup of coffee then!” I leapt up from my chair and ran out of the classroom, off to get my Sumatra coffee.
It could have been that Dr. Miller was in an exceptionally good mood due to the lack of a cast on his ankle. It could have been that it was incredibly obvious how tired I was and that he wanted me to stay awake in his class. It could have been that he felt guilty because he still hasn’t followed up on our coffee date which we agreed to last year ... And the beginning of this year. But I like to think that, had all the previous elements been missing, he still would have handed me a dollar. That’s just how Dr. Miller is.
Which brings me to my main point: that’s how Cedarville is. When people ask me what my favorite thing about Cedarville is, or why they should come (or transfer) here, I always tell them to same thing: the professors. Sure, the social atmosphere is awesome as well, and that’s a huge part of college, but the purpose of college is to study and learn, so professors are pretty important, I’d say. And when you’re paying ... Well ... A lot of money for a better education, there had better be some reason you’re paying that much more.
It’s not uncommon to visit your professor’s house, or your advisor’s, or the head of your department’s. The professors here don’t just try to shuffle you through their class with a passing grade, they’re actually interested in whether you’re learning properly. They’re also interested in your personal life, and I’ve had numerous professors offer to pray for me or help me in any way they can.
It’s not always just little things like offering a dollar for coffee though. Last year, I was in a class of about eighty people. For every section this professor taught, he had all the students over to his house to enjoy a home cooked meal after the Final by his lovely wife. Around the time of the final, one of my fellow classmate’s parents died. Obviously, the professor allowed them to go home and take the Final at a later time. That wasn’t all the professor did though. He actually bought the student a plane ticket home as well so they wouldn’t have to drive.
Whether it’s a genuine interest in the personal life of their students, a willingness to serve them in any way possible, or simply a dollar to wake a student up in their class, it’s evident that the professors at Cedarville care about you and your academic career. And, while buying a plane ticket for a student is a pretty awesome thing to do, that doesn’t lessen the meaning of “little” things at all. That coffee basically saved my life this morning. Thanks, Dr. Miller!
That’s just one of the many reasons I love Cedarville.
Yesterday, I woke up early to go to work, as usual for a Wednesday. I left work a bit early so I could lay my head on the desk in class for a few minutes before it started. That never actually happened, because as I sat in my comfy rolly chair, Nathan walked up to our row and asked if anyone was sitting in the chair to my right. It was empty, so he sat down.
Dr. Miller, the professor who teaches multiple sections of Old Testament Literature, a class of several hundred students, tore his Achilles Tendon a couple months ago, and he’s had to hobble around in a cast with crutches since then. A hard thing to do for a man who loves to walk up and down the aisles of his class while he teaches. I think he was in an exceptionally good mood yesterday, as it appeared he didn’t have the cast on at all anymore and he was walking up and down the aisles before class started.
Nathan has a travel mug that he had sitting on the desk. Dr. Miller walked up to our row and picked Nathan’s mug.
“It’s not even full,” he commented.
“No, I already drank most of it this morning,” Nathan replied.
“You could go fill it up outside.”
“That’s right!” I jutted in, “they have that stand out there now!”
Usually I would have had to walk all the way back to the SSC, and I was in the Bible building, so that was just too far of a walk. But they have a coffee stand in the atrium of the Bible building that I had totally forgotten about! I reached towards my bag before realizing I didn’t have my travel mug with me today; I had taken it out of my bag the day prior.
“Aw, nuts, I don’t have my mug.” My dismay was evident.
“You could just get one of the cups they have out there,” Dr. Miller suggested. “Here, do you need a dollar?”
“Are you serious?”
Apparently he was, because he reached for his wallet, pulled out a dollar, and handed it to me. “I am so getting a cup of coffee then!” I leapt up from my chair and ran out of the classroom, off to get my Sumatra coffee.
It could have been that Dr. Miller was in an exceptionally good mood due to the lack of a cast on his ankle. It could have been that it was incredibly obvious how tired I was and that he wanted me to stay awake in his class. It could have been that he felt guilty because he still hasn’t followed up on our coffee date which we agreed to last year ... And the beginning of this year. But I like to think that, had all the previous elements been missing, he still would have handed me a dollar. That’s just how Dr. Miller is.
Which brings me to my main point: that’s how Cedarville is. When people ask me what my favorite thing about Cedarville is, or why they should come (or transfer) here, I always tell them to same thing: the professors. Sure, the social atmosphere is awesome as well, and that’s a huge part of college, but the purpose of college is to study and learn, so professors are pretty important, I’d say. And when you’re paying ... Well ... A lot of money for a better education, there had better be some reason you’re paying that much more.
It’s not uncommon to visit your professor’s house, or your advisor’s, or the head of your department’s. The professors here don’t just try to shuffle you through their class with a passing grade, they’re actually interested in whether you’re learning properly. They’re also interested in your personal life, and I’ve had numerous professors offer to pray for me or help me in any way they can.
It’s not always just little things like offering a dollar for coffee though. Last year, I was in a class of about eighty people. For every section this professor taught, he had all the students over to his house to enjoy a home cooked meal after the Final by his lovely wife. Around the time of the final, one of my fellow classmate’s parents died. Obviously, the professor allowed them to go home and take the Final at a later time. That wasn’t all the professor did though. He actually bought the student a plane ticket home as well so they wouldn’t have to drive.
Whether it’s a genuine interest in the personal life of their students, a willingness to serve them in any way possible, or simply a dollar to wake a student up in their class, it’s evident that the professors at Cedarville care about you and your academic career. And, while buying a plane ticket for a student is a pretty awesome thing to do, that doesn’t lessen the meaning of “little” things at all. That coffee basically saved my life this morning. Thanks, Dr. Miller!
That’s just one of the many reasons I love Cedarville.
Cotton Balls and Cramps
11/07/08 10:36 AM
I was never really good
at Chemistry. Better at it than at Biology, but still
not exceptional. Granted, I earned an A when I took
Chemistry in college, but this was from Kirkwood,
which doesn’t have the highest academic prestige, so
the A was easily achieved without completely
understanding the material ... The same goes for
Biology, which I also took there and received a B+.
That being said, I may not have the fullest
understanding of acids and bases and things breaking
down. (In fact, if the previous sentence really makes
no sense, that’s probably why ... I was just trying
to throw the words out to sound intelligent.)
I’m also the type of person that, if you tell me to do something (you don’t even have to dare me, really) and it’s not against my morals and doesn’t seem to have the potential to cause a fatality, I’ll probably do it. I’m always up for checking off experiences from my “Things To Do Before I Die” list. I guess that’s why I have black nails right now ...
Last night, we celebrated the Finnish holiday of Pyhäinpäivä (PUH-HAH-IN-PIE-VAH). The American equivalent would be All Saints’ Day, but while All Saints’ Day is always on November 1st, Pyhäinpäivä is on the first Saturday between October 31st and November 6th. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Last night wasn’t Saturday. That is very perceptive of you. We just realized this morning that Griffin actually gave us the wrong day to celebrated the beloved holiday of our ancestors, but we will try to forgive him. But since we didn’t get to celebrate Pyhäinpäivä last Saturday, we decided to celebrate it last night, the 6th, by watching The Office and performing several Finnish traditions with a large group of people.
It was a fantastic turnout. We had seventeen people show up to a celebration that they had never even heard of. During the commercial breaks of The Office, we muted the volume and partook together in the Finnish festivities we had planned just an hour before the party started. Such festivities included, but were not limited to the following:
I offered Ryan a rolly-polly baby Panda for Christmas, Shannon performed the interpretive dance, we sang Fresh Prince of Bel-Air in memory of King Valdemar, and I happened to be the oldest male present. So I ate a cotton ball. Not just any cotton ball, mind you, but probably the largest one in the bag; it was dark and I just reached in and grabbed one, but it happened to be enormous. After mustering up all my gumption, I stuck the cotton ball in my mouth and started salivating to get it wet enough to slide down my throat. It took me quite a while, but finally I tried swallowing. It got stuck half way. I grabbed the nearest cup of Mountain Dew and forced the cotton ball the remainder of the way into my stomach. There was much rejoicing, and I took my seat again as The Office came back on.
Had I paid closer attention in my aforementioned Community College classes, I might have known that the acids in your stomach can’t actually break down cotton for some reason (which leaves me thoroughly unimpressed with my own stomach), and I may have been more wary of eating a cotton ball. As it was, I simply thought it would digest and there would be no problems.
This morning I woke up with horrendous cramps (on top of an already very upset stomach) and a terrible headache. I tried sitting up in bed, but that seemed to hurt too much, so I just laid there for a very long time, eventually skipping my first class.
So let this be a lesson to all of you! I know Buddy eats cotton balls in Elf, and it looks like fun and that he doesn’t suffer any consequences from his actions, but trust me ... He does! Your stomach, intestines, and basically any part of your digestive tract don’t get along well with cotton balls.
See what you missed out on last night, Jon McGill?
I’m also the type of person that, if you tell me to do something (you don’t even have to dare me, really) and it’s not against my morals and doesn’t seem to have the potential to cause a fatality, I’ll probably do it. I’m always up for checking off experiences from my “Things To Do Before I Die” list. I guess that’s why I have black nails right now ...
Last night, we celebrated the Finnish holiday of Pyhäinpäivä (PUH-HAH-IN-PIE-VAH). The American equivalent would be All Saints’ Day, but while All Saints’ Day is always on November 1st, Pyhäinpäivä is on the first Saturday between October 31st and November 6th. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Last night wasn’t Saturday. That is very perceptive of you. We just realized this morning that Griffin actually gave us the wrong day to celebrated the beloved holiday of our ancestors, but we will try to forgive him. But since we didn’t get to celebrate Pyhäinpäivä last Saturday, we decided to celebrate it last night, the 6th, by watching The Office and performing several Finnish traditions with a large group of people.
It was a fantastic turnout. We had seventeen people show up to a celebration that they had never even heard of. During the commercial breaks of The Office, we muted the volume and partook together in the Finnish festivities we had planned just an hour before the party started. Such festivities included, but were not limited to the following:
- As is custom, the host must advise all invited guests to bring their own eggs. At the celebration of Pyhäinpäivä, all guests must laugh at anyone who actually brings their own eggs. This ceremony is in commemoration of King Albert’s (of Mecklenburg) practice of sending out edicts via carrier chicken.
- The oldest male must eat a cotton ball in memory of our ancestors that, in the Finnish blight of 1728, had to ingest their bedding and pillows to survive.
- All guests must pass the flaming grease cup. This symbolizes the flame of unity and also reminds us of an old Finnish legend in which a crew of sailors were caught at sea during a long December. The crew was forced to burn their stores of bacon and butter for warmth to survive and was able to outlast the winter. The cup of grease must be passed counterclockwise, each person saying to the person to their right what they would give them for Christmas, if they could give them anything.
- One volunteer, or victim chosen at random if no one should volunteer, must perform the traditional Finnish dance to keep the spirits at bay for the coming year. Since the traditional Finnish dance has long since been forgotten, the volunteer must improvise interpretively. The person must volunteer without knowing what they are agreeing to do, thus symbolizing the stark bravery of Finnish dancers.
- A song must be sung to commemorate the coronation of King Valdemar of the house of Bjelbo. The original melody has long since been forgotten, so any song that is well known, radio-worthy, and at least nine years old may be sung. And, in light of King Valdemar’s decree regarding the Great Minstrel Hunt of 1264, the song must be sung a capella by all guests present.
- There was a chicken virus that went around in Finland in 1355. At that time, whenever someone ate anything made out of eggs, they weren’t sure if the egg had been infected or not. The chance taken in eating things made with eggs is represented by a game of chance referred to as “Never Have I Ever” or, in Finnish, “Koskaan Olen Koskaan.” All guests must form a circle, placing an egg on the group in front of them. One person says something that they have never done, and anyone in the circle who has done that thing must spin their egg. If the egg stops spinning while it is pointing at the person who spun it, they are officially out of the game. The last person remaining collects all the eggs at the end of the game.
- The Finnish are known especially for two things: Their love of unity and friendship, and their exception hip-grabbing ability. To celebrate, all members present must participate in an impromptu conga line from the party’s locale to the nearest seller of overpriced goods, through their place of business, and back to the party.
I offered Ryan a rolly-polly baby Panda for Christmas, Shannon performed the interpretive dance, we sang Fresh Prince of Bel-Air in memory of King Valdemar, and I happened to be the oldest male present. So I ate a cotton ball. Not just any cotton ball, mind you, but probably the largest one in the bag; it was dark and I just reached in and grabbed one, but it happened to be enormous. After mustering up all my gumption, I stuck the cotton ball in my mouth and started salivating to get it wet enough to slide down my throat. It took me quite a while, but finally I tried swallowing. It got stuck half way. I grabbed the nearest cup of Mountain Dew and forced the cotton ball the remainder of the way into my stomach. There was much rejoicing, and I took my seat again as The Office came back on.
Had I paid closer attention in my aforementioned Community College classes, I might have known that the acids in your stomach can’t actually break down cotton for some reason (which leaves me thoroughly unimpressed with my own stomach), and I may have been more wary of eating a cotton ball. As it was, I simply thought it would digest and there would be no problems.
This morning I woke up with horrendous cramps (on top of an already very upset stomach) and a terrible headache. I tried sitting up in bed, but that seemed to hurt too much, so I just laid there for a very long time, eventually skipping my first class.
So let this be a lesson to all of you! I know Buddy eats cotton balls in Elf, and it looks like fun and that he doesn’t suffer any consequences from his actions, but trust me ... He does! Your stomach, intestines, and basically any part of your digestive tract don’t get along well with cotton balls.
See what you missed out on last night, Jon McGill?
No-Shave November
11/06/08 03:45 PM
I used to really be
into nostalgia.
The other day I was reminiscing about my childhood. I try to do it regularly, thinking about the time I walked out onto our red back porch in the old house, looked over the rail and asked my mother, “Mom, if I jump off this, will I die?” (Oh, the questions you put up with, Mom ...) Or the time I colored all over the door to the toy room with sidewalk chalk; my older siblings had locked me out because I would have ruined their fun. Then there was the time I climbed on the wall at the library only to fall tumbling to the ground (it was about three feet high ...), landing on my face and breaking my tooth; we were on the way to Chicago, and my siblings were not pleased with me. My brother and I used to have this imaginary world which we dubbed “Nutkin.” We acted out the characters with different hand shapes and made them talk. It drove Jenna crazy!
Specifically, I remember always wanting a beard when I was a little boy. For some reason that is beyond my comprehension these days (but somehow made perfect sense to my feeble mind), I thought facial hair was the coolest thing. I think most little boys do, probably, and maybe some little girls ... Who knows? At some point I decided a beard may be too much, and I decided I just wanted a mustache. A mustache which, if worn these days, would make me look like an absolute creeper, but every little boy has a dream, right?
See, my Dad has a lot of facial hair. He shaves every day because it grows so fast and so thick. I always wished he would just grow it out, because I think he would look like the coolest dude if he did. Then I saw pictures of when he had grown it out and decided it was OK for him to keep it shaved. Not that he looked bad, I just realized I was used to him not having facial hair and it would just be weird if he had it. But every once in a while we would go on vacation or something and he would let it grow out. And if we were especially good, he would let us crawl up on his lap and feel it’s scruffiness with our hands. This just made me want facial hair even more.
No more! Why did I ever want facial hair? This is a message to every little boy out there who thinks he wants facial hair. If you have thick facial hair, you have to shave every day if you don’t want it to look icky. Unless you want to grow it out, in which case you could trim it every day until it’s a proper length; then you have to continue trimming it regularly so it doesn’t get out of control: Example. But until it gets to a certain point, your facial hair will be scratchy beyond belief. Quite annoying.
So, there’s this thing called No-Shave November which presents a solution to this problem. It’s pretty simple, really. You just don’t shave for the entire month. Girls are encouraged to participate, though as soon as we tell them to they all say the same thing: “Trust me, you don’t want me to not shave.” Actually, I wouldn’t care. I probably don’t touch your legs very often, and even if I did ... Isn’t that the point of No-Shave? To be gross? You never here us say that, and you actually have to look at our hair. But I digress. Let’s be honest, most participants in No-Shave don’t maintain their facial hair at all, so they just look like bums for a month. (Yah, that’s right, I’m talking to you.)
This is why I’m not participating. I don’t want to feel itchy for weeks until it finally gets smooth, all the while looking like a hobo. I will continue to shave throughout the month of November and that’s all there is to it.
The other day I was reminiscing about my childhood. I try to do it regularly, thinking about the time I walked out onto our red back porch in the old house, looked over the rail and asked my mother, “Mom, if I jump off this, will I die?” (Oh, the questions you put up with, Mom ...) Or the time I colored all over the door to the toy room with sidewalk chalk; my older siblings had locked me out because I would have ruined their fun. Then there was the time I climbed on the wall at the library only to fall tumbling to the ground (it was about three feet high ...), landing on my face and breaking my tooth; we were on the way to Chicago, and my siblings were not pleased with me. My brother and I used to have this imaginary world which we dubbed “Nutkin.” We acted out the characters with different hand shapes and made them talk. It drove Jenna crazy!
Specifically, I remember always wanting a beard when I was a little boy. For some reason that is beyond my comprehension these days (but somehow made perfect sense to my feeble mind), I thought facial hair was the coolest thing. I think most little boys do, probably, and maybe some little girls ... Who knows? At some point I decided a beard may be too much, and I decided I just wanted a mustache. A mustache which, if worn these days, would make me look like an absolute creeper, but every little boy has a dream, right?
See, my Dad has a lot of facial hair. He shaves every day because it grows so fast and so thick. I always wished he would just grow it out, because I think he would look like the coolest dude if he did. Then I saw pictures of when he had grown it out and decided it was OK for him to keep it shaved. Not that he looked bad, I just realized I was used to him not having facial hair and it would just be weird if he had it. But every once in a while we would go on vacation or something and he would let it grow out. And if we were especially good, he would let us crawl up on his lap and feel it’s scruffiness with our hands. This just made me want facial hair even more.
No more! Why did I ever want facial hair? This is a message to every little boy out there who thinks he wants facial hair. If you have thick facial hair, you have to shave every day if you don’t want it to look icky. Unless you want to grow it out, in which case you could trim it every day until it’s a proper length; then you have to continue trimming it regularly so it doesn’t get out of control: Example. But until it gets to a certain point, your facial hair will be scratchy beyond belief. Quite annoying.
So, there’s this thing called No-Shave November which presents a solution to this problem. It’s pretty simple, really. You just don’t shave for the entire month. Girls are encouraged to participate, though as soon as we tell them to they all say the same thing: “Trust me, you don’t want me to not shave.” Actually, I wouldn’t care. I probably don’t touch your legs very often, and even if I did ... Isn’t that the point of No-Shave? To be gross? You never here us say that, and you actually have to look at our hair. But I digress. Let’s be honest, most participants in No-Shave don’t maintain their facial hair at all, so they just look like bums for a month. (Yah, that’s right, I’m talking to you.)
This is why I’m not participating. I don’t want to feel itchy for weeks until it finally gets smooth, all the while looking like a hobo. I will continue to shave throughout the month of November and that’s all there is to it.
Suspicious Package Found at Cedarville
10/22/08 02:07 PM
Cedarville University
seems to have made it into the papers again. This
story is almost as amazing as the
Climate of Fear article reported a while back (the
parody of which, Climate of
Beer, was even better).
Apparently this is all they could find to report on ...
Here’s the situation: A suspicious packaged is found on campus by a staff member and is reported to the proper authorities. The bomb squad is apparently the proper authorities on such matters. The package is properly disposed of, Cedarville is in the news.
Let’s try to put this into a proper perspective ... So, you’re walking through the DMC, thinking of the best way to inform your class that the highest grade was a 79%, but it still doesn’t reflect your teaching (somehow), and you see a small, brown box off in a dark corner. I don’t know about you, but if that were me, I would first give my students a major curve because my exam sucked. Secondly, I would not assume the box was a bomb. This is Cedarville. Clearly there’s a legitimate explanation for the “suspicious” package. I’m not sure if the box looked at the staff member ominously, or if it just straight up said, “This Is Suspicious” on the front, but unless one of those two things is true (and believe me, a box with eyes is a cause for concern), I don’t think Campus Safety needs to get involved. Hey, but on the bright side, you now have an excuse to cancel class.
This evidently just goes to show how little Campus Safety really has to do, and how tired they are of simply handing out Parking Violations. They took this as their time to shine. The last time that happened was ... Sheesh ... With the Cadillitic Converters being randomly stolen off cars last year! So, Campus Safety gets this report of a suspicious package, goes to check it out, finds that it’s a harmless brown box, moves it to, of all places, the driving range on the outskirts of campus, and ... Calls Hazmat. Then they send out a campus wide email informing us they have the situation under control.
Good. Because we all were aware of the situation and very concerned. Of course, Cedarville being the small campus that it is, and not already having enough female gossip to go around, everyone starts talking about the package.
Of course, you can’t have a suspicious package without the news getting involved. So the nightly news came to campus to interview people and do a report on it. They decided to run it as a “bomb threat”, which I think should have meant we didn’t have school the next day, but we did. It wasn’t a bomb threat. It was a suspicious package. There was never even really talk of a bomb, except that the bomb squad was here ... Minor details.
So, what was in the package, anyway? Well, after the campus wide email regarding the suspicious package went out, a group of students who had placed the package (as suspiciously as possible, apparently) decided to come forward and admit their crime. They had placed the box in the DMC as part of a scavenger. I’m guessing it was the final prize. It contained a box of chocolates. After the group of students came forward, Campus Safety and the Bomb Squad turned the investigation over to local authorities. I’m not sure what that means, but if those guys are prosecuted for a scavenger hunt, they you know Cedarville has too much time on its hands!
But just think, if the staff member had just quietly taken the box with him or her, he or she could have had that entire box of chocolates to themselves, and no one would have been the wiser, and the people participating in the scavenger hunt would have felt severely shafted. Finders keepers.
Apparently this is all they could find to report on ...
Here’s the situation: A suspicious packaged is found on campus by a staff member and is reported to the proper authorities. The bomb squad is apparently the proper authorities on such matters. The package is properly disposed of, Cedarville is in the news.
Let’s try to put this into a proper perspective ... So, you’re walking through the DMC, thinking of the best way to inform your class that the highest grade was a 79%, but it still doesn’t reflect your teaching (somehow), and you see a small, brown box off in a dark corner. I don’t know about you, but if that were me, I would first give my students a major curve because my exam sucked. Secondly, I would not assume the box was a bomb. This is Cedarville. Clearly there’s a legitimate explanation for the “suspicious” package. I’m not sure if the box looked at the staff member ominously, or if it just straight up said, “This Is Suspicious” on the front, but unless one of those two things is true (and believe me, a box with eyes is a cause for concern), I don’t think Campus Safety needs to get involved. Hey, but on the bright side, you now have an excuse to cancel class.
This evidently just goes to show how little Campus Safety really has to do, and how tired they are of simply handing out Parking Violations. They took this as their time to shine. The last time that happened was ... Sheesh ... With the Cadillitic Converters being randomly stolen off cars last year! So, Campus Safety gets this report of a suspicious package, goes to check it out, finds that it’s a harmless brown box, moves it to, of all places, the driving range on the outskirts of campus, and ... Calls Hazmat. Then they send out a campus wide email informing us they have the situation under control.
Good. Because we all were aware of the situation and very concerned. Of course, Cedarville being the small campus that it is, and not already having enough female gossip to go around, everyone starts talking about the package.
Of course, you can’t have a suspicious package without the news getting involved. So the nightly news came to campus to interview people and do a report on it. They decided to run it as a “bomb threat”, which I think should have meant we didn’t have school the next day, but we did. It wasn’t a bomb threat. It was a suspicious package. There was never even really talk of a bomb, except that the bomb squad was here ... Minor details.
So, what was in the package, anyway? Well, after the campus wide email regarding the suspicious package went out, a group of students who had placed the package (as suspiciously as possible, apparently) decided to come forward and admit their crime. They had placed the box in the DMC as part of a scavenger. I’m guessing it was the final prize. It contained a box of chocolates. After the group of students came forward, Campus Safety and the Bomb Squad turned the investigation over to local authorities. I’m not sure what that means, but if those guys are prosecuted for a scavenger hunt, they you know Cedarville has too much time on its hands!
But just think, if the staff member had just quietly taken the box with him or her, he or she could have had that entire box of chocolates to themselves, and no one would have been the wiser, and the people participating in the scavenger hunt would have felt severely shafted. Finders keepers.
Kilz
07/10/08 01:09 PM
We had
to paint the ceiling of cabin Esther yesterday for
reasons I shan’t go into since they make little sense
to me. Rachel, Jesse, and I went up there after lunch
to paint for about an hour. Of course, boredom set in
quickly since all we were doing was moving our arms
back and forth, so Rachel and I put face paint under
our eyes. Yes, the paint we were using for the
ceiling.
Another while went by and Rachel said, “Hey, let’s paint our faces like Ben!” She said she would do it if I did it, so I came over to the bunk she was sitting on and let her decorate my face. Then it was her turn. So I decorated her face. Then Jesse was up, so Rachel painted a uni-brown and beard onto him.
“Wouldn’t it be funny if this wasn’t actually latex paint?” inquired Rachel.
Jesse assured us it was, and, in fact, it said Kilz Latex right on the side of the can. Even still, it would have been funny. Being latex paint, Rachel and I left ours on for the rest of the afternoon, thinking we could just wash it right off. Jesse chickened out and washed his off after a short while.
After Dinner I decided it was shower time. I figured a washcloth and warm water would take my latex paint right off. After all, it wasn’t oil-based ... Rachel and I got oil based paint on ourselves a few weeks ago, and it was definitely attached to us for at least a week. That stuff does not come out. What we didn’t expect was that, though the paint was latex, it was Kilz interior/exterior professional grade paint. Meaning it’s obviously weather resistant and very strong.
The joke ended up being on me. It took me for 45 minutes to get the paint off my face, and I’m quite sure I took off at least one, if not more, layer of skin. And I made my face bleed. Luckily, I took a shower directly after this to clean myself up. My face still slightly hurts, but the good news is I got it all off!
Lesson to be learned: Don’t put exterior paint on yourself intentionally; it’s tough stuff! Jesse’s so smart ...
Another while went by and Rachel said, “Hey, let’s paint our faces like Ben!” She said she would do it if I did it, so I came over to the bunk she was sitting on and let her decorate my face. Then it was her turn. So I decorated her face. Then Jesse was up, so Rachel painted a uni-brown and beard onto him.
“Wouldn’t it be funny if this wasn’t actually latex paint?” inquired Rachel.
Jesse assured us it was, and, in fact, it said Kilz Latex right on the side of the can. Even still, it would have been funny. Being latex paint, Rachel and I left ours on for the rest of the afternoon, thinking we could just wash it right off. Jesse chickened out and washed his off after a short while.
After Dinner I decided it was shower time. I figured a washcloth and warm water would take my latex paint right off. After all, it wasn’t oil-based ... Rachel and I got oil based paint on ourselves a few weeks ago, and it was definitely attached to us for at least a week. That stuff does not come out. What we didn’t expect was that, though the paint was latex, it was Kilz interior/exterior professional grade paint. Meaning it’s obviously weather resistant and very strong.
The joke ended up being on me. It took me for 45 minutes to get the paint off my face, and I’m quite sure I took off at least one, if not more, layer of skin. And I made my face bleed. Luckily, I took a shower directly after this to clean myself up. My face still slightly hurts, but the good news is I got it all off!
Lesson to be learned: Don’t put exterior paint on yourself intentionally; it’s tough stuff! Jesse’s so smart ...
I "Raced" A Van
07/05/08 11:22 PM
Today I had to run to
Wal-Mart for, well, Sparkling Grape Juice. It was
absolutely necessary, trust me. That stuff is
addictive. I was in my van, of course, because it’s
the only vehicle to be seen in. Of course, I had the
tunes cranked and I was in my own little world. (I
may or may not have been car dancing ...)
I pulled a stop light and white van pulled up beside me. As I reached to chain the radio station, I heard the other van rev it’s engine, and I saw out of the corner of my eye the passenger roll down his window and shout at me. I rolled down my window as well; I’m always up for a short car-to-car-chat.
“Hey, man, nice van you got there!” I sensed a bit of sarcasm, so I decided to return the gesture.
“Aw, you’re just jealous of my rims.” The driver leaned forward, grinned like an idiot, and layed his foot down on the gas one more time.
“Wanna go?” They questioned. It was at this point I had the severe craving to do something I’ve always dreamt of.
“I don’t think you wanna touch this,” I teased as I pushed down on the gas to let my ’02 Town and Country purr. The passenger and his driver looked at each other and laughed giddily. It was at this point I realized there were several passengers in the back of the van, all bouncing up and down as well. These were all obviously college students, like myself.
I rolled up the window and nodded at my new amigos. We both stared intently at the light. It snapped green and the world seemed to slow ... I could see everyone in the car to my left throw their hands in the air and scream at the driver, urging him on in the race! I heard their car rev up and start to move forward. At the same time, I slammed down (not literally, Mom, don’t worry) on the accelerator in my Chrysler.
But there was one difference between his van and mine. Mine was in park. Intentionally. The white van shot ahead (as only mini-vans can do) as my engine whined and I sat still. Seconds later I saw break lights from the white mini-van. I pulled the gear shift down into drive and started easing foward towards Wal-Mart. The other van slowed enough for me to easily catch them, and their window was down again, all arms in the car flailing wildly, mouths hurling insults at me (most of them too colorful for me to actually want to listen). I left my window up and only smiled as I passed them.
There’s hardly a better feeling than that when you’re in a vehicle. Unless, of course, you’re actually in a car with power ... in that case, racing and winning would be a far better feeling.
I pulled a stop light and white van pulled up beside me. As I reached to chain the radio station, I heard the other van rev it’s engine, and I saw out of the corner of my eye the passenger roll down his window and shout at me. I rolled down my window as well; I’m always up for a short car-to-car-chat.
“Hey, man, nice van you got there!” I sensed a bit of sarcasm, so I decided to return the gesture.
“Aw, you’re just jealous of my rims.” The driver leaned forward, grinned like an idiot, and layed his foot down on the gas one more time.
“Wanna go?” They questioned. It was at this point I had the severe craving to do something I’ve always dreamt of.
“I don’t think you wanna touch this,” I teased as I pushed down on the gas to let my ’02 Town and Country purr. The passenger and his driver looked at each other and laughed giddily. It was at this point I realized there were several passengers in the back of the van, all bouncing up and down as well. These were all obviously college students, like myself.
I rolled up the window and nodded at my new amigos. We both stared intently at the light. It snapped green and the world seemed to slow ... I could see everyone in the car to my left throw their hands in the air and scream at the driver, urging him on in the race! I heard their car rev up and start to move forward. At the same time, I slammed down (not literally, Mom, don’t worry) on the accelerator in my Chrysler.
But there was one difference between his van and mine. Mine was in park. Intentionally. The white van shot ahead (as only mini-vans can do) as my engine whined and I sat still. Seconds later I saw break lights from the white mini-van. I pulled the gear shift down into drive and started easing foward towards Wal-Mart. The other van slowed enough for me to easily catch them, and their window was down again, all arms in the car flailing wildly, mouths hurling insults at me (most of them too colorful for me to actually want to listen). I left my window up and only smiled as I passed them.
There’s hardly a better feeling than that when you’re in a vehicle. Unless, of course, you’re actually in a car with power ... in that case, racing and winning would be a far better feeling.
There's A Dead Man In My Front Yard
07/05/08 10:51 PM
It’s true; I’m not even
joking. There literally is a dead man in my front
yard. It’s the strangest thing.
It all started a few weeks ago when he started emerging from the ground. His head was above ground just enough for it ot make a ruccus when we mowed. It was alright for a while, but Dad got a bit fed up. The dead man kept rising further and further out of the ground, thus giving a harder blow to our fine mower. Not to mention the dead man ... But he’s dead, so what does he care?
This weekend Dad decided to take action. We went over to Randy’s (my neighbor) to borrow an extension cord, ran the line clear from the house to my front yard, and took a hand saw with us. We dug up around the dead man and pulled him as far up as we could. Then Dad started to saw off his head, which ended up being a bit more difficult than we had originally anticipated; the saw kept kicking back, very nearly slicing my and/or Dad’s finger off. Finally, the head just fell off. We shoved the remainder of the body as far into the ground as we could and put dirt back over it. I don’t think it will push it’s way back through the dirt and hit the mower blade again ... At least, I hope not.
I’m not sure if our front yard was an old cemetary and my house was the church or what, but it’s a bit awkward having a dead man rising out of your own front yard.
For those of you who are completely confused and have believed this post, a “dead man” is an metal achor for a power pole to give back pressure so the pole isn’t pulled over by the power cables tension. Probably there used to be power lines running through my front yard.
It all started a few weeks ago when he started emerging from the ground. His head was above ground just enough for it ot make a ruccus when we mowed. It was alright for a while, but Dad got a bit fed up. The dead man kept rising further and further out of the ground, thus giving a harder blow to our fine mower. Not to mention the dead man ... But he’s dead, so what does he care?
This weekend Dad decided to take action. We went over to Randy’s (my neighbor) to borrow an extension cord, ran the line clear from the house to my front yard, and took a hand saw with us. We dug up around the dead man and pulled him as far up as we could. Then Dad started to saw off his head, which ended up being a bit more difficult than we had originally anticipated; the saw kept kicking back, very nearly slicing my and/or Dad’s finger off. Finally, the head just fell off. We shoved the remainder of the body as far into the ground as we could and put dirt back over it. I don’t think it will push it’s way back through the dirt and hit the mower blade again ... At least, I hope not.
I’m not sure if our front yard was an old cemetary and my house was the church or what, but it’s a bit awkward having a dead man rising out of your own front yard.
For those of you who are completely confused and have believed this post, a “dead man” is an metal achor for a power pole to give back pressure so the pole isn’t pulled over by the power cables tension. Probably there used to be power lines running through my front yard.
To: Mr. FedEx Man
06/29/08 10:41 AM
I ordered a new iPod.
Which, normally, would be the most significant aspect
of this blog post. Alas, it is not. The more exciting
story is how it got here.
I ordered the iPod, with a case, on Tuesday. They informed me the items would be shipped separately depending on availability, which was fine by me. I got a shipment confirmation email later that night saying the case had been shipped from Memphis, TN. I checked my email the next morning to find a second shipment confirmation saying my iPod had been shipped from Shanghai CN. In my naivity, I assumed this was Connecticut, which I now realize is CT. At this same time, my case was leaving Memphis, TN.
I checked later that night and found my iPod case had successfully made it to Chicago. My case, on the other hand, was in Anchorage, AK. If AK was Arkansas, this would be closer than Connecticut, but AK is Alaska ... this was when I realized my iPod was coming from China, not Connecticut. In which case Alaska was progress.
I checked my email yet again on Thursday morning to find, to my great surprise, that my iPod was “at the local FedEx facility” in Cedar Rapids already! Apparently overnight it had gone from Alaska, to Indianapolis, to Cedar Rapids. One thing I found ironic was that it didn’t get an International Shipment Release until it went from Alaska to Indianapolis ... does that mean Alaska isn’t a part of the US according to FedEx? Anyway, back to my case ... it was still in Chicago for some reason. It hung out there for a while until it was finally shipped to Ottumwa, IA and loaded on a truck for delivery.
I was pretty excited; two days later and both my packages were going to arrive on the same day. Now if I could only get my paws on them before anyone else did and made me sing for them ... :P. (In case you don’t know, if you receive a package or three letters int he same day at the camp I work at, you have to sing or tell a joke in chapel for it.)
Ben, Jesse, and I were in the shop working on ... *cough* ... something. And we saw Mr. FedEx man pull in. Though, strangely, he didn’t come all the way to camp. He stopped at the house at the front of the lane. That’s Ben’s house. Definitely not 1433 F52 Trail, which is the shipping address I specified. Ben’s house is 1426, I think. The camp is 1433. This is clearly marked with numbers on Ben’s house. Even still, Mr. FedEx man insisted on delivering to the wrong location. I jumped into the truck and drove down the lane to snatch my package from the delusioned delivery men.
I got to Ben’s house just as they were about to pull out of the driveway and leave. “I have a package here for Alex,” said Mr. FedEx man after I waved him down. “I think you’re supposed to be delivering this to 1433, which is just down the lane from here.” He looked at me for a little while, unsure of what to say, and finally said, “Are you Alex?” I took his electronic thingy and put my John Hancock on it. I traded him his electronic thingy for my package and double-checked to make sure the delivery address was, in fact, 1433. It was. Shame on you FedEx.
Sadly, this package was just the case. The iPod itself was coming on some bigger and better truck, all the way from China! I figured it would come later in the afternoon, and I knew Joy was in the office to sign for it, so I felt safe taking a nap at 2:30.
I awoke from my nap at 4:30 and wandered dizzily over to the chapel to see if my package had come. “Not yet,” Joy informed me. I sat down at the computer to look at my tracking number. To my frustration, it said, “Delivery exception: Customer not available or business closed - signature required.” 4:24. Sarah came back from her house at this time, holding up one of those door hanger things they leave if you’re not home. They had just been there and delivered to the wrong place again!!
Needless to say, I was frustrated ... two seperate FedEx men tried to deliver my packages to the wrong address. What if that house hadn’t been Ben’s house? Someone else might be holding my iPod right now! Joy called FedEx Customer Service immedietly and tried to get the truck to turn around, but the lady on the phone was rather rude and mostly just wanted to get Joy off the phone, so the call was to no avail.
To redeem the second FedEx man, he came back on Friday while Joy, Jesse and I were sitting in the office, this time he came all the way to the camp and delivered my package. At least I have both of my packages now. Still, something about these deliveries seems very unprofessional ... if you pulled up to a house that was in the driveway to a camp and the owner wasn’t home, wouldn’t your first thought be, “I’ll bet he’s at the camp ...” No. Your first thought probably should have been to look at the house number :p.
I ordered the iPod, with a case, on Tuesday. They informed me the items would be shipped separately depending on availability, which was fine by me. I got a shipment confirmation email later that night saying the case had been shipped from Memphis, TN. I checked my email the next morning to find a second shipment confirmation saying my iPod had been shipped from Shanghai CN. In my naivity, I assumed this was Connecticut, which I now realize is CT. At this same time, my case was leaving Memphis, TN.
I checked later that night and found my iPod case had successfully made it to Chicago. My case, on the other hand, was in Anchorage, AK. If AK was Arkansas, this would be closer than Connecticut, but AK is Alaska ... this was when I realized my iPod was coming from China, not Connecticut. In which case Alaska was progress.
I checked my email yet again on Thursday morning to find, to my great surprise, that my iPod was “at the local FedEx facility” in Cedar Rapids already! Apparently overnight it had gone from Alaska, to Indianapolis, to Cedar Rapids. One thing I found ironic was that it didn’t get an International Shipment Release until it went from Alaska to Indianapolis ... does that mean Alaska isn’t a part of the US according to FedEx? Anyway, back to my case ... it was still in Chicago for some reason. It hung out there for a while until it was finally shipped to Ottumwa, IA and loaded on a truck for delivery.
I was pretty excited; two days later and both my packages were going to arrive on the same day. Now if I could only get my paws on them before anyone else did and made me sing for them ... :P. (In case you don’t know, if you receive a package or three letters int he same day at the camp I work at, you have to sing or tell a joke in chapel for it.)
Ben, Jesse, and I were in the shop working on ... *cough* ... something. And we saw Mr. FedEx man pull in. Though, strangely, he didn’t come all the way to camp. He stopped at the house at the front of the lane. That’s Ben’s house. Definitely not 1433 F52 Trail, which is the shipping address I specified. Ben’s house is 1426, I think. The camp is 1433. This is clearly marked with numbers on Ben’s house. Even still, Mr. FedEx man insisted on delivering to the wrong location. I jumped into the truck and drove down the lane to snatch my package from the delusioned delivery men.
I got to Ben’s house just as they were about to pull out of the driveway and leave. “I have a package here for Alex,” said Mr. FedEx man after I waved him down. “I think you’re supposed to be delivering this to 1433, which is just down the lane from here.” He looked at me for a little while, unsure of what to say, and finally said, “Are you Alex?” I took his electronic thingy and put my John Hancock on it. I traded him his electronic thingy for my package and double-checked to make sure the delivery address was, in fact, 1433. It was. Shame on you FedEx.
Sadly, this package was just the case. The iPod itself was coming on some bigger and better truck, all the way from China! I figured it would come later in the afternoon, and I knew Joy was in the office to sign for it, so I felt safe taking a nap at 2:30.
I awoke from my nap at 4:30 and wandered dizzily over to the chapel to see if my package had come. “Not yet,” Joy informed me. I sat down at the computer to look at my tracking number. To my frustration, it said, “Delivery exception: Customer not available or business closed - signature required.” 4:24. Sarah came back from her house at this time, holding up one of those door hanger things they leave if you’re not home. They had just been there and delivered to the wrong place again!!
Needless to say, I was frustrated ... two seperate FedEx men tried to deliver my packages to the wrong address. What if that house hadn’t been Ben’s house? Someone else might be holding my iPod right now! Joy called FedEx Customer Service immedietly and tried to get the truck to turn around, but the lady on the phone was rather rude and mostly just wanted to get Joy off the phone, so the call was to no avail.
To redeem the second FedEx man, he came back on Friday while Joy, Jesse and I were sitting in the office, this time he came all the way to the camp and delivered my package. At least I have both of my packages now. Still, something about these deliveries seems very unprofessional ... if you pulled up to a house that was in the driveway to a camp and the owner wasn’t home, wouldn’t your first thought be, “I’ll bet he’s at the camp ...” No. Your first thought probably should have been to look at the house number :p.
Bug Problems? Solution!
06/25/08 08:53 PM
We all have to share
the world with them; bugs. Those nasty, annoying,
flying creatures that oh-so-love to munch behind your
ears and up your nose. They have numorous advantages
over us. First of all, and most obviously, they can
fly! Secondly, they’re so tiny, they’re difficult to
whack and kill. Thirdly, they can easily land on you
and bite you before you even realize it, thus causing
a scratchy bump. Finally, they generally fly in
swarms, which just adds to the frustration of those
of us who don’t want to be eaten alive.
I hate gnats. I try to remember that they’re creations of God just like frogs, pandas, and me, but they still bother me.
Today, Ben and I were digging up border of the playground at camp in order to put new boards in for holding the mulch. We also added some tile so the water would drain down the hill without carrying most of the mulch with it after a hard rain :P. The gnats have been terrible at camp lately (and that’s a severe understatement) due to the exceptionally wet ground. In case you’ve been living in a hole for the last month, Iowa has gotten way too much rain lately. That gnats enjoy this. Ben and I didn’t. We were their meal.
I was trying to be as manly as possible, but I failed miserably. When you have twenty gnats feeding on you at one time it’s nearly impossible to not scream like a Junior High girl. Ben was too, which made me feel a little better. It struck fear in my heart to actually see the swarm of gnats around Ben’s head.
Then there was Krista. For relief, Ben and I retreated (running and screaming) into the kitchen to construct a new plan of attack towards the gnats. It’s difficult to get any work done when you’re being eaten alive. “Do you want to try some vanilla extract?” inquired Krista. At this point, Ben and I were desperate enough to try anything. I felt a bit strange taking a wash cloth and rubbing vanilla all over myself, but it definitely did smell better than bug spray. We rubbed it all over our arms, neck, face, and, for good measure, I put some under my shirt on my stomach and back.
We each took deep breathes and headed back into the battle zone. But a strange thing happened. Not a single gnat touched us! The swarm of gnats around Ben’s head? Gone! The gnats didn’t even think about coming near us, let alone landing on us. Jesse came out after drumming to help us finish up, and we immedietly sent him to the kitchen to bathe in vanilla.
Even though bugspray is cheaper than vanilla extract (by only a few dollars), vanilla extract works significantly better ... and it also makes you smell pretty. We decided to put some into a spritz bottle for regular use. Krista potentially saved our life, and we’re forever endebted to her.
I hate gnats. I try to remember that they’re creations of God just like frogs, pandas, and me, but they still bother me.
Today, Ben and I were digging up border of the playground at camp in order to put new boards in for holding the mulch. We also added some tile so the water would drain down the hill without carrying most of the mulch with it after a hard rain :P. The gnats have been terrible at camp lately (and that’s a severe understatement) due to the exceptionally wet ground. In case you’ve been living in a hole for the last month, Iowa has gotten way too much rain lately. That gnats enjoy this. Ben and I didn’t. We were their meal.
I was trying to be as manly as possible, but I failed miserably. When you have twenty gnats feeding on you at one time it’s nearly impossible to not scream like a Junior High girl. Ben was too, which made me feel a little better. It struck fear in my heart to actually see the swarm of gnats around Ben’s head.
Then there was Krista. For relief, Ben and I retreated (running and screaming) into the kitchen to construct a new plan of attack towards the gnats. It’s difficult to get any work done when you’re being eaten alive. “Do you want to try some vanilla extract?” inquired Krista. At this point, Ben and I were desperate enough to try anything. I felt a bit strange taking a wash cloth and rubbing vanilla all over myself, but it definitely did smell better than bug spray. We rubbed it all over our arms, neck, face, and, for good measure, I put some under my shirt on my stomach and back.
We each took deep breathes and headed back into the battle zone. But a strange thing happened. Not a single gnat touched us! The swarm of gnats around Ben’s head? Gone! The gnats didn’t even think about coming near us, let alone landing on us. Jesse came out after drumming to help us finish up, and we immedietly sent him to the kitchen to bathe in vanilla.
Even though bugspray is cheaper than vanilla extract (by only a few dollars), vanilla extract works significantly better ... and it also makes you smell pretty. We decided to put some into a spritz bottle for regular use. Krista potentially saved our life, and we’re forever endebted to her.
Cedar Monster
04/24/08 04:49 PM
This afternoon, as
Caitlin, Moses, and I sat down to Lunch in Chuck's,
something outside the large glass windows caught our
attention. Something was swimming in the waters of
Cedar Lake. From our perch on high, it was hard to
make out exactly what it was; to me, it appeared as
though it was a snake swimming in the water, sticking
it's head above the surface every few minutes, just
to look around. Moses admitted that she had seen it a
day prior.
The "thing" appeared to have glossy rubbery skin that was difficult to look at because of the suns bright reflection off it. I guessed that it was black, or at least very dark gray. When it first caught our attention, I thought it was a piece of plastic bobbing in the water, floating to the surface every once in a while. But Moses told me she had seen it on the other side of the lake yesterday and earlier that day. After watching it slither (or so it appeared) through the water, I was next convinced that it was a snake. This assertion made Moses angry, because she kept pounding her fist on the table insisting "it has a fin!" Finally, we realized from our far away position, behind glass, we weren't going to be able to figure out what it was. We decided to clean up our dishes and go down to the water to check it out.
We strolled out of the SSC and up to the water's edge at about the same time that Alberto (henceforth referred to as Bertrude) arrived on the scene. He threw his bike on the ground and joined us lakeside. We all stood there for quite some time observing the finned creature; Moses was right. It was no snake. It certainly had both a fin at it's "rear side" and along the top of it. It looked like a shark, I now thought. Quite honestly, it was about the size of a baby shark. Bertrude made an offhand and completely illegitimate claim that the monster was some type of "carpe." What does he know.
We had three major suspicions. Either it's a baby shark, a dolphin, or the Loch Ness monster. Our only doubt was that we weren't sure if the Loch Ness monster had a fin on it's back or not. Upon consultation of a far more reputable source, Jenna Woestman, we learned that "the Loch Ness monster could have a fin. It pretty much looks like whatever people want it to look like when they think they see it."
I still think it's a baby shark. No matter what it is, consider yourselves warned ... the Cedar Monster lives in Cedar Lake, and it actually ate Bertrude while we were there (may he rest in pieces in it's tummy). Clearly, this must be the cause of the apparent "climate of fear" on our campus, because I can't think of anything else that would be causing it.
At one point as we stood on the grass beside the lake, a group of four girls was walking by on the sidewalk behind us as we stared in awe (crossing ourselves after Bertrude had been eaten). One of the girls said to the others, "Look at the size of that thing! What is that? A fish?" I turned around and looked at the group. "It's not a fish. It's a shark." One of the girls got such a terrified expression on her face that I nearly felt bad for saying it.
The "thing" appeared to have glossy rubbery skin that was difficult to look at because of the suns bright reflection off it. I guessed that it was black, or at least very dark gray. When it first caught our attention, I thought it was a piece of plastic bobbing in the water, floating to the surface every once in a while. But Moses told me she had seen it on the other side of the lake yesterday and earlier that day. After watching it slither (or so it appeared) through the water, I was next convinced that it was a snake. This assertion made Moses angry, because she kept pounding her fist on the table insisting "it has a fin!" Finally, we realized from our far away position, behind glass, we weren't going to be able to figure out what it was. We decided to clean up our dishes and go down to the water to check it out.
We strolled out of the SSC and up to the water's edge at about the same time that Alberto (henceforth referred to as Bertrude) arrived on the scene. He threw his bike on the ground and joined us lakeside. We all stood there for quite some time observing the finned creature; Moses was right. It was no snake. It certainly had both a fin at it's "rear side" and along the top of it. It looked like a shark, I now thought. Quite honestly, it was about the size of a baby shark. Bertrude made an offhand and completely illegitimate claim that the monster was some type of "carpe." What does he know.
We had three major suspicions. Either it's a baby shark, a dolphin, or the Loch Ness monster. Our only doubt was that we weren't sure if the Loch Ness monster had a fin on it's back or not. Upon consultation of a far more reputable source, Jenna Woestman, we learned that "the Loch Ness monster could have a fin. It pretty much looks like whatever people want it to look like when they think they see it."
I still think it's a baby shark. No matter what it is, consider yourselves warned ... the Cedar Monster lives in Cedar Lake, and it actually ate Bertrude while we were there (may he rest in pieces in it's tummy). Clearly, this must be the cause of the apparent "climate of fear" on our campus, because I can't think of anything else that would be causing it.
At one point as we stood on the grass beside the lake, a group of four girls was walking by on the sidewalk behind us as we stared in awe (crossing ourselves after Bertrude had been eaten). One of the girls said to the others, "Look at the size of that thing! What is that? A fish?" I turned around and looked at the group. "It's not a fish. It's a shark." One of the girls got such a terrified expression on her face that I nearly felt bad for saying it.
Friendly America
07/20/07 08:13 AM
Yesterday I was over at
Mitch and Sarah Tucker's house. We were having a
jolly old time, and we decided to head over to the
park near their house. Mitch took the SUV because he
doesn't like to walk, and he had a lot of stuff to
cart over there. I decided to walk with Gus.
The park wasn't even 1/4 of a mile away from their house. You could easily see it from their house, minus a house or two that were in the way. I started my walk, Gus trotting ever-so-slowly at my side. After the first two steps he started panting because the exercise was too much for him.
We were about half way to the park when Gus decided he had to poo. This quickly became a problem when I realized I had nothing to pick this poo up with. And we were on the sidewalk in front of someone's house. (Of course, he had moved onto the grass before assuming the pooing position.) He finished doing his business and hopped back on the sidewalk, looking up at me like, "Well, are we going to finish our walk?" I stood pondering for a moment. What do I do in this situation? A little voice in the back of my head said something about the greater Cedar Rapids area having some law against leaving your dog poo lying on the side of the road. But I had nothing to pick it up with!
I turned around and faced the house. It was at this point I realized there was a lady squatting in the garage, staring me down. I knew we had a problem by the look on her face, which was contorted in such a way that looked like she was about to scream and/or cry.
"You're NOT leaving that there," Mrs. Grouchypants firmly shouted from the garage.
"I know ... I have nothing to pick it up with though," was all I could think to reply.
"You are NOT leaving that there."
"I got that! Can you please give me a paper towel or something so I can pick it up?"
"What are you doing walking your dog without baggy's?"
"Well, he's not actually my dog."
"I ... DON'T ... CARE!"
"Alright, well can you please give me something to pick this up with?"
"You are NOT leaving!"
"We've been over this."
"If you leave, I'm calling the police."
"Get me a bag, I will NOT leave."
"I'm serious ... I'm calling the police!"
Mrs. Grouchypants finally went into her house to retreive a bagy for me and hopefully not call the police. I looked at Alyssa, who I had been walking with, and said, "Honestly, how far am I going to get if I try to run right now? Especially with this fat thing that I'd have to drag behind me."
Mr. and Mrs. Grouchypants both emerged from their house, Mr. Grouchypants holding a ziplock baggy. Mrs. Grouchypants stopped just inside the garage and glared at me while Mr. Grouchypants brought me the bag. He thrust out his hand, holding the plastic baggy, and avoided eye contact with.
"Next time, bring a bag."
"Next time, I probably will."
"You wouldn't want me doing that in your lawn, would you?"
"Stranger things have happened."
I leaned down and picked up the poo with the baggy while Mr. Grouchypants joined his wife in the garage. They both stared as Alyssa and I walked off towards the park.
Honestly, what happened to friendly neighbors in America? Is it really so hard to just walk into your house and get me a plastic baggy? I was doing my best to be polite to the woman ... after all, the dog I was walking HAD just fertilized her lawn. But after about the third time of her snapping, "You are NOT leaving," I had just about had it.
We made it to the end of the block and had about 200 yards to go until we reached the park. We started crossing the street, and in the middle of the street, Gus decided he had had enough. He sat down. I pulled and tugged on the leash, but to no avail. He wouldn't budge.
"Oh my gosh ... Alyssa, pick him up."
So we had to carry him the rest of the way to the park. Gus, you're such a hassle!
The park wasn't even 1/4 of a mile away from their house. You could easily see it from their house, minus a house or two that were in the way. I started my walk, Gus trotting ever-so-slowly at my side. After the first two steps he started panting because the exercise was too much for him.
We were about half way to the park when Gus decided he had to poo. This quickly became a problem when I realized I had nothing to pick this poo up with. And we were on the sidewalk in front of someone's house. (Of course, he had moved onto the grass before assuming the pooing position.) He finished doing his business and hopped back on the sidewalk, looking up at me like, "Well, are we going to finish our walk?" I stood pondering for a moment. What do I do in this situation? A little voice in the back of my head said something about the greater Cedar Rapids area having some law against leaving your dog poo lying on the side of the road. But I had nothing to pick it up with!
I turned around and faced the house. It was at this point I realized there was a lady squatting in the garage, staring me down. I knew we had a problem by the look on her face, which was contorted in such a way that looked like she was about to scream and/or cry.
"You're NOT leaving that there," Mrs. Grouchypants firmly shouted from the garage.
"I know ... I have nothing to pick it up with though," was all I could think to reply.
"You are NOT leaving that there."
"I got that! Can you please give me a paper towel or something so I can pick it up?"
"What are you doing walking your dog without baggy's?"
"Well, he's not actually my dog."
"I ... DON'T ... CARE!"
"Alright, well can you please give me something to pick this up with?"
"You are NOT leaving!"
"We've been over this."
"If you leave, I'm calling the police."
"Get me a bag, I will NOT leave."
"I'm serious ... I'm calling the police!"
Mrs. Grouchypants finally went into her house to retreive a bagy for me and hopefully not call the police. I looked at Alyssa, who I had been walking with, and said, "Honestly, how far am I going to get if I try to run right now? Especially with this fat thing that I'd have to drag behind me."
Mr. and Mrs. Grouchypants both emerged from their house, Mr. Grouchypants holding a ziplock baggy. Mrs. Grouchypants stopped just inside the garage and glared at me while Mr. Grouchypants brought me the bag. He thrust out his hand, holding the plastic baggy, and avoided eye contact with.
"Next time, bring a bag."
"Next time, I probably will."
"You wouldn't want me doing that in your lawn, would you?"
"Stranger things have happened."
I leaned down and picked up the poo with the baggy while Mr. Grouchypants joined his wife in the garage. They both stared as Alyssa and I walked off towards the park.
Honestly, what happened to friendly neighbors in America? Is it really so hard to just walk into your house and get me a plastic baggy? I was doing my best to be polite to the woman ... after all, the dog I was walking HAD just fertilized her lawn. But after about the third time of her snapping, "You are NOT leaving," I had just about had it.
We made it to the end of the block and had about 200 yards to go until we reached the park. We started crossing the street, and in the middle of the street, Gus decided he had had enough. He sat down. I pulled and tugged on the leash, but to no avail. He wouldn't budge.
"Oh my gosh ... Alyssa, pick him up."
So we had to carry him the rest of the way to the park. Gus, you're such a hassle!
Will Someone Please Explain to Me Why It's Snowing
04/04/07 07:16 AM
I woke up late today.
It seemed to be a common theme. Jenna and Joey did,
as did the parents. My alarm initially went off at
6:30, but I stumbled out of bed and switched it to
7:00, subconsciously, of course. I woke up a bit
later and rolled over, glanced at the clock, at
noticed it said 6:59. Suddenly I panicked and jumped
out of bed and smacked my alarm off. No, I didn't
panic because I was late or anything. I just hate the
beeping noise it makes, and whenever I can wake up
before my alarm, my day just gets off on the right
foot.
I grabbed my Mae shirt and some jeans from the dryer and headed for the bathroom for a warm shower. After I was all clean, dressed, and smelling good, I went to the table for breakfast. The parents were just getting to the table as well. I ate my bowl of Wheat Chex, mostly in silence (I'm not a morning person 90% of the time). It was 7:30. I usually leave the house at 7:30. Somehow I wasn't in a rush. Perhaps because it was -3 degrees outside with the windchill, and it was snowing.
The munching stopped and Dad reached for his Bible. Usually I miss the morning reading because either I eat really fast and go to school, or Dad's already gone before I get to the breakfast table. Everybody was running slow this morning, so I actually got to sit in on it, which was good, because I didn't hadn't had time to read my own Bible yet.
Dad has this thing where he really likes "Our Daily Bread." I do too. It's quick and to the point, and usually a pretty good point at that.
"Truly, truly, I say to you, he who believes in Me, the works that I do, he will do also; and greater works than these he will do; because I go to the Father. Whatever you ask in My name, that I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If you ask Me anything in My name, I will do it. " — John 14:12-14
I think most of the time we take these passages out of context. Or we think of them as the "God for Me" verses, because they're all about what God can do for me, if I ask him for it. And I think most of the time we miss the bigger point, and we just say, "God's supposed to give us anything we ask for!" But I think the verse lays out some conditions, first of all. "He who believes in me," "In My name," "That the Father may be glorified in the Son."
Now it's not quite so easy. I mean, if you look at it, it's not really what God can do for us. It's what we should do for God so that the Father may be glorified. So we aren't even getting any of it (or we shouldn't)!
God's not saying, "Ask for stuff and I'll give it to you." I think the part that says, "The works that I do, he will do also" is pretty convicting. He's straight up saying, "If you believe in me, you'll do what I do." I don't know about you, but I do plenty of things I know God wouldn't do, or even be pleased with. "And greater works than these he will do." I don't know about that one. How are we supposed to do greater works than God?
We like to think of these passages for our bettering, and don't get me wrong, they are. But "our" bettering isn't always "God's" bettering, if you follow. If we truly abide in Christ, we won't ask for anything but what Jesus would ask for. But since we are inherently sinful, that can never happen. God's not saying he'll give us whatever we want, I think he's saying he'll give us anything that Christ would ask for.
On the flip side, he's also not saying he won't give us what we want. Sometimes I think we pray so hard for one thing, because we're sure if we just have that one thing, everything will be better, and that has to be God's plan for us, right?! Let's just throw an example out there that I'm sure nobody's ever done: A guy or a girl. Somehow we think that with our finite minds, we know what's really best for us. So we pursue one thing with all our heart. Not God's will, but our will. Maybe we're sure it's God's will though. So we pray constantly for it. Guess what, God may actually give that to you. He may give it to you saying, "I will give you what you ask for. You could have had something better, but you're so bent on having this one, here you go. That way next time you'll learn to ask in My name."
I think too often we pray for our wants and "needs", when in reality we should be praying for God's will to be done, just like in the Lord's prayer. "Our Father ... YOUR will be done." Don't get me wrong, God wants us to talk to him about our struggles, aspirations, dreams, little wishes, big wishes, and all that. But I think, even when praying for something we desire with all our heart, we need to finish it with, "... This is what my human nature wants, God. But my heart wants your will to be done, because your plan for me is perfect and is the best, and even if I don't see it all right now, I want your plan for my life to be fulfilled.”
In the words of my good brother-in-law, Stephen, "Jesus said to the Pharisees that they would have what they wanted, which was reward on earth, and that would be all they got." God has the best idea for your life, and it's fulfilled in Heaven. That's why we can't always see it. That's where our faith comes in.
I grabbed my Mae shirt and some jeans from the dryer and headed for the bathroom for a warm shower. After I was all clean, dressed, and smelling good, I went to the table for breakfast. The parents were just getting to the table as well. I ate my bowl of Wheat Chex, mostly in silence (I'm not a morning person 90% of the time). It was 7:30. I usually leave the house at 7:30. Somehow I wasn't in a rush. Perhaps because it was -3 degrees outside with the windchill, and it was snowing.
The munching stopped and Dad reached for his Bible. Usually I miss the morning reading because either I eat really fast and go to school, or Dad's already gone before I get to the breakfast table. Everybody was running slow this morning, so I actually got to sit in on it, which was good, because I didn't hadn't had time to read my own Bible yet.
Dad has this thing where he really likes "Our Daily Bread." I do too. It's quick and to the point, and usually a pretty good point at that.
"Truly, truly, I say to you, he who believes in Me, the works that I do, he will do also; and greater works than these he will do; because I go to the Father. Whatever you ask in My name, that I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If you ask Me anything in My name, I will do it. " — John 14:12-14
I think most of the time we take these passages out of context. Or we think of them as the "God for Me" verses, because they're all about what God can do for me, if I ask him for it. And I think most of the time we miss the bigger point, and we just say, "God's supposed to give us anything we ask for!" But I think the verse lays out some conditions, first of all. "He who believes in me," "In My name," "That the Father may be glorified in the Son."
Now it's not quite so easy. I mean, if you look at it, it's not really what God can do for us. It's what we should do for God so that the Father may be glorified. So we aren't even getting any of it (or we shouldn't)!
God's not saying, "Ask for stuff and I'll give it to you." I think the part that says, "The works that I do, he will do also" is pretty convicting. He's straight up saying, "If you believe in me, you'll do what I do." I don't know about you, but I do plenty of things I know God wouldn't do, or even be pleased with. "And greater works than these he will do." I don't know about that one. How are we supposed to do greater works than God?
We like to think of these passages for our bettering, and don't get me wrong, they are. But "our" bettering isn't always "God's" bettering, if you follow. If we truly abide in Christ, we won't ask for anything but what Jesus would ask for. But since we are inherently sinful, that can never happen. God's not saying he'll give us whatever we want, I think he's saying he'll give us anything that Christ would ask for.
On the flip side, he's also not saying he won't give us what we want. Sometimes I think we pray so hard for one thing, because we're sure if we just have that one thing, everything will be better, and that has to be God's plan for us, right?! Let's just throw an example out there that I'm sure nobody's ever done: A guy or a girl. Somehow we think that with our finite minds, we know what's really best for us. So we pursue one thing with all our heart. Not God's will, but our will. Maybe we're sure it's God's will though. So we pray constantly for it. Guess what, God may actually give that to you. He may give it to you saying, "I will give you what you ask for. You could have had something better, but you're so bent on having this one, here you go. That way next time you'll learn to ask in My name."
I think too often we pray for our wants and "needs", when in reality we should be praying for God's will to be done, just like in the Lord's prayer. "Our Father ... YOUR will be done." Don't get me wrong, God wants us to talk to him about our struggles, aspirations, dreams, little wishes, big wishes, and all that. But I think, even when praying for something we desire with all our heart, we need to finish it with, "... This is what my human nature wants, God. But my heart wants your will to be done, because your plan for me is perfect and is the best, and even if I don't see it all right now, I want your plan for my life to be fulfilled.”
In the words of my good brother-in-law, Stephen, "Jesus said to the Pharisees that they would have what they wanted, which was reward on earth, and that would be all they got." God has the best idea for your life, and it's fulfilled in Heaven. That's why we can't always see it. That's where our faith comes in.
A Tribute to Matt Richardson
03/11/07 05:24 PM
My dear cousin, Matt.
One of my favorite people in the whole entire world.
He's fun. He likes the same music as me. He has a
great sense of humor. He can juggle things. He even
rides a unicycle!
He lives in Texas, about thirty minutes away from my sister and brother-in-law.
Tuesday morning he was riding his unicycle along a curb when he slipped off the curb, lost balance, and crashed down on the sidewalk, breaking his leg in two places. Because it was still in the early morning, nobody was around to help him immediately. My poor cousin had to lay there for at least five minutes until a kind lady finally walked by. He asked her to call 911 for him. Matt was taken to the hospital, placed in a bed, and told, "The doctor will be right with you." Twelve hours later, the doctor finally entered the room to look at his leg.
There's more to the story, but I'm going to skip ahead to Saturday night of the same week. After doing surgery, the released Matt from the hospital on Friday morning. Saturday evening we get a call saying he's back in the ER with infection on his leg. So we stop watching Chicken Run, put some shoes on, and head out the door at 8:00pm to go see Matt. Mom, Dad, Jenna, Joey, and I all went.
We got to the Methodist Hospital about 8:30. We went in and saw Matt sitting in a chair in the waiting room, leg straight out resting against a phone book. He didn't look like he was having the best time of his life, surrounded by about fifty other people also trying to get into the ER. The nurse had told us that she had "called his doctor." We talked with him for about 30 minutes until 9:00 when my Dad finally said, "Well, when are they going to get you in?!" He walked over to the desk and said, "Excuse me, this man has a broken leg and possible infection, and that's serious! How long is this going to take before a doctor will see him?" He was informed that the average wait time was six hours. "Well, when is his doctor going to get here?" The nurse then confessed that they hadn't actually called his doctor. That his doctor wouldn't even be called until they had taken him back and another doctor had taken a look at it. Then they would decide if it was serious enough to call his doctor. Dad was not happy.
We got Matt several blankets for warmth and comfort (and propping his leg up), and Jenna found all the empty chairs in the waiting room and brought them over to where Matt was. We basically moved the waiting room over to Matt, and there was a large circle of chairs around Matt as we waited... and waited... and waited for Matt's name to be called. Jenna and I got in the car and drove across the street to Wal-Mart to buy some water, games (Skip-Bo), coloring books, and crayons (I got the 96 pack, even though she told me not to). Poor Matt didn't want to color though. Or play Skip-Bo. But he did watch. I felt bad that I hadn't though to bring my iPod so he could listen to music and just close his eyes and let that distract his mind. That's one of my favorite reasons to listen to music!
One hour went by. Two hours. Three. Four. It was now midnight. We kept pestering the desk clerks, asking how many names were in front of Matt's. Unfortunately, whenever somebody called 911 and an ambulance or helicopter went out to get them, they got first priority. And Matt's name was bumped back one more. This kept happening... we would hear the ambulances and helicopters come in and we would all groan. Matt didn't groan. He just left his eyes closed and didn't really move much.
While in the waiting room, we made a new friend named Clare. Even though the entire stay in the ER waiting room was less than desirable, it seemed that the real reason we had ended up coming down to the Methodist Hospital that night was because God wanted us to talk to Clare. And Mom had the privilege of praying with her! That was awesome!! Jenna, Joey, and I made another quick trip to Wal-Mart and bought her a Bible.
At one point a nurse was looking for something and she couldn't seem to find it. She turned to another nurse and said, "It's like trying to find a fetuses heart beat through the Mom's overcoat!" Matt, slightly delirious, but still conscious enough to hear what she said, looked at Dad and said, "Why would you just say, 'It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack?!'"
At 4:30am, the door to the waiting room opened. A nurse poked her head out and said, "Richardson...", and all of us went let out a huge, very loud sigh of relief. Then the nurse finished her sentence, "Matthew... is something wrong?"
"NO! Finally!!" Dad assisted Matt in getting back to the room while the rest of us remained in the waiting room. The nurses, knowing full well that his condition was worse than almost everyone else's in the waiting room, yet still they couldn't get him in any sooner, apologized more than once for the terribly long wait, and they said they felt very bad for him because they knew he was in pretty bad condition. Still... I appreciate your apology. But how about doing something about it? Like getting him in sooner so the infection doesn't spread and you don't have to amputate his leg, eh?
Needless to say, Dad, nor I, nor most of the family, and I don't think Matt either, doesn't like the hospital in Dallas, Texas. We much prefer to kind hospitality of Cedar Rapids, Iowa! But I'm glad Matt finally got in to be looked at and put on an IV. They did an ultrasound and found that he had a blood clot. Matt, you're amazing and I love you! Get better soon, homeslice :)! I'm sorry you have a broken leg and we didn't get to run and throw frisbees when I was here to visit, but that's alright. We'll do that in a few months next time I see you, OK? Heal up quick! I'm praying for you.
(To view pictures of Matt's leg and such, click here. I did NOT embed them in this post because you PROBABLY DON'T want to look at them if you don't like gross things!!)
To read a complimentary article on Matt's ER adventure, click here to view Jenna's blog.
He lives in Texas, about thirty minutes away from my sister and brother-in-law.
Tuesday morning he was riding his unicycle along a curb when he slipped off the curb, lost balance, and crashed down on the sidewalk, breaking his leg in two places. Because it was still in the early morning, nobody was around to help him immediately. My poor cousin had to lay there for at least five minutes until a kind lady finally walked by. He asked her to call 911 for him. Matt was taken to the hospital, placed in a bed, and told, "The doctor will be right with you." Twelve hours later, the doctor finally entered the room to look at his leg.
There's more to the story, but I'm going to skip ahead to Saturday night of the same week. After doing surgery, the released Matt from the hospital on Friday morning. Saturday evening we get a call saying he's back in the ER with infection on his leg. So we stop watching Chicken Run, put some shoes on, and head out the door at 8:00pm to go see Matt. Mom, Dad, Jenna, Joey, and I all went.
We got to the Methodist Hospital about 8:30. We went in and saw Matt sitting in a chair in the waiting room, leg straight out resting against a phone book. He didn't look like he was having the best time of his life, surrounded by about fifty other people also trying to get into the ER. The nurse had told us that she had "called his doctor." We talked with him for about 30 minutes until 9:00 when my Dad finally said, "Well, when are they going to get you in?!" He walked over to the desk and said, "Excuse me, this man has a broken leg and possible infection, and that's serious! How long is this going to take before a doctor will see him?" He was informed that the average wait time was six hours. "Well, when is his doctor going to get here?" The nurse then confessed that they hadn't actually called his doctor. That his doctor wouldn't even be called until they had taken him back and another doctor had taken a look at it. Then they would decide if it was serious enough to call his doctor. Dad was not happy.
We got Matt several blankets for warmth and comfort (and propping his leg up), and Jenna found all the empty chairs in the waiting room and brought them over to where Matt was. We basically moved the waiting room over to Matt, and there was a large circle of chairs around Matt as we waited... and waited... and waited for Matt's name to be called. Jenna and I got in the car and drove across the street to Wal-Mart to buy some water, games (Skip-Bo), coloring books, and crayons (I got the 96 pack, even though she told me not to). Poor Matt didn't want to color though. Or play Skip-Bo. But he did watch. I felt bad that I hadn't though to bring my iPod so he could listen to music and just close his eyes and let that distract his mind. That's one of my favorite reasons to listen to music!
One hour went by. Two hours. Three. Four. It was now midnight. We kept pestering the desk clerks, asking how many names were in front of Matt's. Unfortunately, whenever somebody called 911 and an ambulance or helicopter went out to get them, they got first priority. And Matt's name was bumped back one more. This kept happening... we would hear the ambulances and helicopters come in and we would all groan. Matt didn't groan. He just left his eyes closed and didn't really move much.
While in the waiting room, we made a new friend named Clare. Even though the entire stay in the ER waiting room was less than desirable, it seemed that the real reason we had ended up coming down to the Methodist Hospital that night was because God wanted us to talk to Clare. And Mom had the privilege of praying with her! That was awesome!! Jenna, Joey, and I made another quick trip to Wal-Mart and bought her a Bible.
At one point a nurse was looking for something and she couldn't seem to find it. She turned to another nurse and said, "It's like trying to find a fetuses heart beat through the Mom's overcoat!" Matt, slightly delirious, but still conscious enough to hear what she said, looked at Dad and said, "Why would you just say, 'It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack?!'"
At 4:30am, the door to the waiting room opened. A nurse poked her head out and said, "Richardson...", and all of us went let out a huge, very loud sigh of relief. Then the nurse finished her sentence, "Matthew... is something wrong?"
"NO! Finally!!" Dad assisted Matt in getting back to the room while the rest of us remained in the waiting room. The nurses, knowing full well that his condition was worse than almost everyone else's in the waiting room, yet still they couldn't get him in any sooner, apologized more than once for the terribly long wait, and they said they felt very bad for him because they knew he was in pretty bad condition. Still... I appreciate your apology. But how about doing something about it? Like getting him in sooner so the infection doesn't spread and you don't have to amputate his leg, eh?
Needless to say, Dad, nor I, nor most of the family, and I don't think Matt either, doesn't like the hospital in Dallas, Texas. We much prefer to kind hospitality of Cedar Rapids, Iowa! But I'm glad Matt finally got in to be looked at and put on an IV. They did an ultrasound and found that he had a blood clot. Matt, you're amazing and I love you! Get better soon, homeslice :)! I'm sorry you have a broken leg and we didn't get to run and throw frisbees when I was here to visit, but that's alright. We'll do that in a few months next time I see you, OK? Heal up quick! I'm praying for you.
(To view pictures of Matt's leg and such, click here. I did NOT embed them in this post because you PROBABLY DON'T want to look at them if you don't like gross things!!)
To read a complimentary article on Matt's ER adventure, click here to view Jenna's blog.
Then She Tried to Kill Me
03/10/07 08:08 AM
It wasn't five minutes
after I had awaken from my traumatic dreams that
Jenna cheerily said, "Do you want some Lucky Charms
and a Pop Tart, The Kid?" (Never let it be said that
Jenna used my real name, except when I was in
trouble.) Of course, I agreed. I wandered into the
kitchen and grabbed the large box of Lucky Charms.
"The bigger box was cheaper than the little box," she announced.
"Yah, isn't it usually?"
"No, I mean actually cheaper! Total price. Not like, proportionally."
"Oh, well, that's cool." I poked through various cupboards until I found the bowls. Jenna handed me the milk and told me where the silverware was. I poured the milk on my cereal and went back into the Living Room to eat my prized bowl of Lucky Charms. I hadn't had Lucky Charms in FOREVER! I downed the entire bowl (while writing that last blog post). Jenna came out of the bathroom and said,
"The Kid, we have to go to Tom Thumb's and get cherries now so we can make a pie. Hurry up and get your shoes on."
"Fine," I grumbled as I unleashed a kick in her direction. I missed.
I put my bowl in the kitchen just as Jenna looked at me and said, "The Kid, did you actually eat that whole bowl of cereal?" "Um... Yah. Why wouldn't I?"
"Dude, that milk was sour! It expired like five days ago!"
"WHAT?! You could have told me that BEFORE I drank the entire bowl!!"
"Yah, sorry about that, The Kid. We also need to get new milk and Tom Thumb's."
Needless to say, I shot several glares in her direction during the car ride to Tom Thumb's grocery store.
"The bigger box was cheaper than the little box," she announced.
"Yah, isn't it usually?"
"No, I mean actually cheaper! Total price. Not like, proportionally."
"Oh, well, that's cool." I poked through various cupboards until I found the bowls. Jenna handed me the milk and told me where the silverware was. I poured the milk on my cereal and went back into the Living Room to eat my prized bowl of Lucky Charms. I hadn't had Lucky Charms in FOREVER! I downed the entire bowl (while writing that last blog post). Jenna came out of the bathroom and said,
"The Kid, we have to go to Tom Thumb's and get cherries now so we can make a pie. Hurry up and get your shoes on."
"Fine," I grumbled as I unleashed a kick in her direction. I missed.
I put my bowl in the kitchen just as Jenna looked at me and said, "The Kid, did you actually eat that whole bowl of cereal?" "Um... Yah. Why wouldn't I?"
"Dude, that milk was sour! It expired like five days ago!"
"WHAT?! You could have told me that BEFORE I drank the entire bowl!!"
"Yah, sorry about that, The Kid. We also need to get new milk and Tom Thumb's."
Needless to say, I shot several glares in her direction during the car ride to Tom Thumb's grocery store.
Attack!
03/10/07 06:59 AM
It seemed like I could
possibly be dreaming, but I wasn't sure. It was one
of those in between states, where you feel as if
you're floating, but you're lost somewhere in
Never-Never-Land... but at the same time you don't
know you're in Never-Never-Land. No, I wasn't high.
But I did know that there were palm trees all around,
swaying quite severely. And then I realized it was
raining! Pouring, actually. I dashed for cover.
Somehow I found some.
As far as I could tell, I was on a deserted island. But it was a pretty friendly deserted island, because I found a shelter after not to much running and search. I walked in and was relieved to get out of the rain. There were benches and tables and chairs all throughout the shelter, so I picked a bench and rested my legs for a while.
As I sat there, trying to figure out where I was and how I had gotten here, and sudden *splash* of water hit my nose. I reached up and grabbed it... It tickled! I looked around and, *splash*, it hit me again! I stood up, but I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. I was inside, so the rain couldn't be hitting me anymore. Suddenly, it hit me constantly: *splash**splash**splash* over and over. I grabbed at my nose and squeezed my eyes shut... and then I realized my eyes were already shut! So I gave opening them a try. No luck. I spun in circles and flailed my arms around, but that didn't seem to get rid of the splashing either.
All of a sudden, the splashing stopped. I stopped spinning in circles and just stood there, somehow looking around the shelter I was in, but somehow I still had my eyes closed. I began to hear a low growling and a familiar *jingle*. Somehow, I forced my eyes open ever-so-slightly... I realized it was really dark. And I wasn't in the shelter anymore. And there was a large, furry beast breathing in my face. I then also realized I was laying on a couch, and this large furry beast seemed pretty friendly... although it did have really bad breath. I snapped my eyes open and remembered I was in Texas. And the large furry beast was actually the cute and cuddly Henry, my sister and brother-in-law's dog!! I reached down from the couch and grabbed the ball of fur and brought him up on the couch with me. He happily and thoroughly licked every single part of my face, neck, arms, and then, of course, my nose again. But it was all alright now that I wasn't on some deserted island with nobody I knew in some lonely shelter. So I snuggled up with Henry and fell back asleep.
My next dream consisted of only one thing. Jenna, Joey, and I were in their apartment, looking at their end table. Jenna was screaming, and Joey and I were looking at the end table in astonishment. Apparently, someone had left THREE glasses of water on the wood part ALL night without putting a coaster under them. The results looked devastating, but Joey and I both swore it wasn't us! We blamed Dad, who was still asleep...
As far as I could tell, I was on a deserted island. But it was a pretty friendly deserted island, because I found a shelter after not to much running and search. I walked in and was relieved to get out of the rain. There were benches and tables and chairs all throughout the shelter, so I picked a bench and rested my legs for a while.
As I sat there, trying to figure out where I was and how I had gotten here, and sudden *splash* of water hit my nose. I reached up and grabbed it... It tickled! I looked around and, *splash*, it hit me again! I stood up, but I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. I was inside, so the rain couldn't be hitting me anymore. Suddenly, it hit me constantly: *splash**splash**splash* over and over. I grabbed at my nose and squeezed my eyes shut... and then I realized my eyes were already shut! So I gave opening them a try. No luck. I spun in circles and flailed my arms around, but that didn't seem to get rid of the splashing either.
All of a sudden, the splashing stopped. I stopped spinning in circles and just stood there, somehow looking around the shelter I was in, but somehow I still had my eyes closed. I began to hear a low growling and a familiar *jingle*. Somehow, I forced my eyes open ever-so-slightly... I realized it was really dark. And I wasn't in the shelter anymore. And there was a large, furry beast breathing in my face. I then also realized I was laying on a couch, and this large furry beast seemed pretty friendly... although it did have really bad breath. I snapped my eyes open and remembered I was in Texas. And the large furry beast was actually the cute and cuddly Henry, my sister and brother-in-law's dog!! I reached down from the couch and grabbed the ball of fur and brought him up on the couch with me. He happily and thoroughly licked every single part of my face, neck, arms, and then, of course, my nose again. But it was all alright now that I wasn't on some deserted island with nobody I knew in some lonely shelter. So I snuggled up with Henry and fell back asleep.
My next dream consisted of only one thing. Jenna, Joey, and I were in their apartment, looking at their end table. Jenna was screaming, and Joey and I were looking at the end table in astonishment. Apparently, someone had left THREE glasses of water on the wood part ALL night without putting a coaster under them. The results looked devastating, but Joey and I both swore it wasn't us! We blamed Dad, who was still asleep...
Flashing Lights and Loud Music; May Cause Seizures
01/24/07 10:08 AM
First of all, allow me
to add to the all-too-common saying: "I" before "e,"
except after "c", and in weird words like "weird" and
"seizure."
Second of all, if you have a girlfriend, boyfriend, fiance, fiancee, husband, wife, WHATEVER... that's great. Fantastic. Good for you. But nobody wants to see you all over each other in public, so just quit that right. Oh my GOSH! There were WAY too many couples at that concert last night... So please, be considerate of those around you before groping. That being said...
Who here went to the Skillet concert last night? Raise your hands. It was fantastic!! I'm currently sporting a Skillet t-shirt, with all four of their autographs on the back. I just know everyone walking by me in the halls today is going, "Ooooh, he has a sweet Skillet shirt on." And then as I pass they look over their shoulder and scream, "OH MY GOSH!! IT'S SIGNED!" I try to pretend I don't hear it, but I know it's happening. I'm still not quite as cool as you, Meagan. After all, you got to meet and hang out with them before their show a couple months ago... jealous. But I still got to shake their hands.
As luck would have it, the concert started with my favorite opener, Leven. (That was sarcastic if you didn't notice.) I like metal and all, don't get me wrong. After all, Skillet is metal. But Leven... meh. Well, let's just say local. That should clear all questions that you have. Within ten minutes of Leven starting to shake the building, the fire department shows up. "Oh, GREAT! Somebody already passed out. Seriously, people, save that for Skillet or something exciting." But it turned out with wasn't anything exciting like somebody passing out, or having a seizure or a heart attack. No, all that happened was somebody from the light crew set something on fire, so it set the smoke detectors off. It was especially reassuring to know that we didn't hear any of the smoke alarms going off. Thank Leven for that one. And we weren't even in the auditorium, we were out front trying to avoid hearing the opener; and we STILL didn't hear the fire alarms! We could have DIED! Luckily, it wasn't that big of a deal.
It turns out we made it through an entire concert, to my knowledge, without anyone passing out, getting knocked out from getting smashed on the head, having a seizure from the flashing lights and bass that shook your whole body--that was lovely.
At 7:30, the lights came up and Leven walked off the stage. Fifteen minute intermission while Skillet sets up. Lights go back down and the bass starts to hum. Thirty seconds of that and we're ready for the lights on the stage to flash on and Skillet to start rocking out! As I recall, they opened with Collide. But it was the second song that really got me excited, because it was Whispers In The Dark from their newest album, which is my favorite song they've ever written!
Skillet performed an amazing show; I was really impressed! Though Skillet doesn't have the budget of, say, Green Day (who, if you didn't already know, has been said to put on the best show of any band every time), they had everything a good band needs--a vocalist who can still sing in tune when he's live; guitarists that can still rock hard; a sweet girl drummer (who is aMAzazaing); plenty of energy. Ok, let's stop right there. Any band that wants to be sweet needs to have ADHD. At least their lead singer does. And probably the drummer too. Because if you can't run around the stage looking crazy, you're not going to get your fans excited! John Cooper confessed he forgot to take his Ritalin last night. But that just made it all the better. I would also like to point out that he's the lead singer who plays bass, not guitar. Which at first I thought was kind of odd, but boy can that guy play a bass! He can scream quite well too.
So Skillet puts on a kick-awesome show. That's what it all comes down to. Their lead guitarist I'm pretty sure has the opposite of ADHD, because he basically just stands their--but he can still play amazingly. John's wife, Korey, plays keyboard and guitar, and I had to give her props for that one. Standing there, playing a keyboard with a guitar hung around your neck, and switching back and forth between the two... that takes talent!
I was most impressed with Skillet talking between songs. It sounds lame, but bands don't talk anymore! Sure, sometimes they say, "This next song is Better Than Me, and I wrote it after my girlfriend told me she hated me." But seriously, I want to know more than that. Especially if your a band who writes amazing songs and claims God as your inspiration... so what? (Switchfoot I'm talking to YOU!!) Skillet is a band that comes out and says what their songs are about--how they were inspired to write them, and how you should be living for God, not for popularity and other worldly things. I think that's awesome, especially with a group who tours with mainstream wonders like Three Days Grace, Staind, Shinedown, Saliva, Finger Eleven... the list goes on, and will continue to go on.
Probably the most impacting thing he said last night, for me, was when he mentioned being on tour with several of those groups and having people come up to him after the shows and say, "You know, I don't have a problem with Jesus... I just hate Christianity." And he said to the crowd last night, "What that says to me is Christians are failing." Because we need to show the world God's love. Not be judgmental about the way our non-Christian friends are living--they have no reason to live the way we do if they don't have Jesus, so how is it we yell at them and say, "Hey, don't use that language around me, I don't like it!"? We're not commanded to be judgmental--that's God's job! We're commanded to love. As John said, "So when you wake up in the morning and say, 'Mmm, I don't really feel like loving him or her today,' TOO BAD! Because you're commanded to." I like that. And I like how, at the end of the concert, before they performed Kill Me, Heal Me (I know, morbid song title, but it's a good song), he gave about a fifteen minute testimony!
WAY to go John! I'm proud of you for not letting the popularity and the fame sink into your head. You're getting to be one of the best hard rock groups out there, and you're staring to get very well known, but your songs still have meaning, and you're still living your life as a witness for Christ, even in front of 10,000 people with the guys from Saliva standing just off stage waiting to follow up your opening act. Christians can have fun, and they can have talent too. And as John said last night, "Yes, we can wear black!" It's not all about the rules. It's about the love. For those around us, and for our Savior, Jesus Christ. That's what life is all about!
"There's something deep inside that keeps my faith alive. When all you can do is hide from the fear that's deep inside of you. Something... to hold me close when I don't know." - Collide
"No. You'll never be alone. When darkness comes I'll light the night with stars… When darkness comes you know I'll never part. Hear my whispers in the dark." - Whispers In The Dark
"The older I get, will I get over it? It's been way too long for the times we missed. I didn't know that it would hurt like this... What I was waiting for? I should have taken less and given you more. I should have weathered the storm. I need to say so bad: What were you waiting for? This could have been the best we'd ever had." - The Older I Get
"I'm stretching but you're just out of reach. You should know: I'm ready when you're ready for me. And I'm waiting for the right time. For the day I catch your eye. To let you know that I'm yours to hold." - Yours To Hold
"Do you remember in December how we swore we'd never change? Even though you're leaving that our feelings would always stay the same. I wish we could be laughing
Instead I'm standing here asking: Do we have to end this now? Can we make it last somehow? We both know what we've gotta say, not today. Cause I don't wanna leave this way... And if it's over, it hurts but I'm giving you my word. I hope that you're always happy like we were." - Say Goodbye
"Let the world crash, love can take it. Let the world come crashing down. Love can take a little. Love can give a little more." - A Little More
Second of all, if you have a girlfriend, boyfriend, fiance, fiancee, husband, wife, WHATEVER... that's great. Fantastic. Good for you. But nobody wants to see you all over each other in public, so just quit that right. Oh my GOSH! There were WAY too many couples at that concert last night... So please, be considerate of those around you before groping. That being said...
Who here went to the Skillet concert last night? Raise your hands. It was fantastic!! I'm currently sporting a Skillet t-shirt, with all four of their autographs on the back. I just know everyone walking by me in the halls today is going, "Ooooh, he has a sweet Skillet shirt on." And then as I pass they look over their shoulder and scream, "OH MY GOSH!! IT'S SIGNED!" I try to pretend I don't hear it, but I know it's happening. I'm still not quite as cool as you, Meagan. After all, you got to meet and hang out with them before their show a couple months ago... jealous. But I still got to shake their hands.
As luck would have it, the concert started with my favorite opener, Leven. (That was sarcastic if you didn't notice.) I like metal and all, don't get me wrong. After all, Skillet is metal. But Leven... meh. Well, let's just say local. That should clear all questions that you have. Within ten minutes of Leven starting to shake the building, the fire department shows up. "Oh, GREAT! Somebody already passed out. Seriously, people, save that for Skillet or something exciting." But it turned out with wasn't anything exciting like somebody passing out, or having a seizure or a heart attack. No, all that happened was somebody from the light crew set something on fire, so it set the smoke detectors off. It was especially reassuring to know that we didn't hear any of the smoke alarms going off. Thank Leven for that one. And we weren't even in the auditorium, we were out front trying to avoid hearing the opener; and we STILL didn't hear the fire alarms! We could have DIED! Luckily, it wasn't that big of a deal.
It turns out we made it through an entire concert, to my knowledge, without anyone passing out, getting knocked out from getting smashed on the head, having a seizure from the flashing lights and bass that shook your whole body--that was lovely.
At 7:30, the lights came up and Leven walked off the stage. Fifteen minute intermission while Skillet sets up. Lights go back down and the bass starts to hum. Thirty seconds of that and we're ready for the lights on the stage to flash on and Skillet to start rocking out! As I recall, they opened with Collide. But it was the second song that really got me excited, because it was Whispers In The Dark from their newest album, which is my favorite song they've ever written!
Skillet performed an amazing show; I was really impressed! Though Skillet doesn't have the budget of, say, Green Day (who, if you didn't already know, has been said to put on the best show of any band every time), they had everything a good band needs--a vocalist who can still sing in tune when he's live; guitarists that can still rock hard; a sweet girl drummer (who is aMAzazaing); plenty of energy. Ok, let's stop right there. Any band that wants to be sweet needs to have ADHD. At least their lead singer does. And probably the drummer too. Because if you can't run around the stage looking crazy, you're not going to get your fans excited! John Cooper confessed he forgot to take his Ritalin last night. But that just made it all the better. I would also like to point out that he's the lead singer who plays bass, not guitar. Which at first I thought was kind of odd, but boy can that guy play a bass! He can scream quite well too.
So Skillet puts on a kick-awesome show. That's what it all comes down to. Their lead guitarist I'm pretty sure has the opposite of ADHD, because he basically just stands their--but he can still play amazingly. John's wife, Korey, plays keyboard and guitar, and I had to give her props for that one. Standing there, playing a keyboard with a guitar hung around your neck, and switching back and forth between the two... that takes talent!
I was most impressed with Skillet talking between songs. It sounds lame, but bands don't talk anymore! Sure, sometimes they say, "This next song is Better Than Me, and I wrote it after my girlfriend told me she hated me." But seriously, I want to know more than that. Especially if your a band who writes amazing songs and claims God as your inspiration... so what? (Switchfoot I'm talking to YOU!!) Skillet is a band that comes out and says what their songs are about--how they were inspired to write them, and how you should be living for God, not for popularity and other worldly things. I think that's awesome, especially with a group who tours with mainstream wonders like Three Days Grace, Staind, Shinedown, Saliva, Finger Eleven... the list goes on, and will continue to go on.
Probably the most impacting thing he said last night, for me, was when he mentioned being on tour with several of those groups and having people come up to him after the shows and say, "You know, I don't have a problem with Jesus... I just hate Christianity." And he said to the crowd last night, "What that says to me is Christians are failing." Because we need to show the world God's love. Not be judgmental about the way our non-Christian friends are living--they have no reason to live the way we do if they don't have Jesus, so how is it we yell at them and say, "Hey, don't use that language around me, I don't like it!"? We're not commanded to be judgmental--that's God's job! We're commanded to love. As John said, "So when you wake up in the morning and say, 'Mmm, I don't really feel like loving him or her today,' TOO BAD! Because you're commanded to." I like that. And I like how, at the end of the concert, before they performed Kill Me, Heal Me (I know, morbid song title, but it's a good song), he gave about a fifteen minute testimony!
WAY to go John! I'm proud of you for not letting the popularity and the fame sink into your head. You're getting to be one of the best hard rock groups out there, and you're staring to get very well known, but your songs still have meaning, and you're still living your life as a witness for Christ, even in front of 10,000 people with the guys from Saliva standing just off stage waiting to follow up your opening act. Christians can have fun, and they can have talent too. And as John said last night, "Yes, we can wear black!" It's not all about the rules. It's about the love. For those around us, and for our Savior, Jesus Christ. That's what life is all about!
"There's something deep inside that keeps my faith alive. When all you can do is hide from the fear that's deep inside of you. Something... to hold me close when I don't know." - Collide
"No. You'll never be alone. When darkness comes I'll light the night with stars… When darkness comes you know I'll never part. Hear my whispers in the dark." - Whispers In The Dark
"The older I get, will I get over it? It's been way too long for the times we missed. I didn't know that it would hurt like this... What I was waiting for? I should have taken less and given you more. I should have weathered the storm. I need to say so bad: What were you waiting for? This could have been the best we'd ever had." - The Older I Get
"I'm stretching but you're just out of reach. You should know: I'm ready when you're ready for me. And I'm waiting for the right time. For the day I catch your eye. To let you know that I'm yours to hold." - Yours To Hold
"Do you remember in December how we swore we'd never change? Even though you're leaving that our feelings would always stay the same. I wish we could be laughing
Instead I'm standing here asking: Do we have to end this now? Can we make it last somehow? We both know what we've gotta say, not today. Cause I don't wanna leave this way... And if it's over, it hurts but I'm giving you my word. I hope that you're always happy like we were." - Say Goodbye
"Let the world crash, love can take it. Let the world come crashing down. Love can take a little. Love can give a little more." - A Little More
It's Not Already a Law, but It Should Be
01/23/07 01:47 PM
I was in a mostly
apathetic mood this morning. Nothing really phased
me. If you and I had been in a heated debate and you
punched me in the face, I probably would have given
you a blank look and kept right on talking without
getting angry in the least. Needless to say, I'm
tired. While I generally consider myself a more than
usually observant person, today I was just too tired
and worn out to really care. So it's no surprise I
didn't notice the sign... but seriously, why can't
every restaurant be consistent?
Arby's on Collins road; I go left, you go straight. Culver's on Center Point; I go left, you go straight. Wendy's on Blairs Ferry; I go left, you go straight. Every one at Kirkwood; I go left, you right... well, right. But I still go left. My point is, can we just make this a norm that guys go left and girls go straight or right? It would save an awful lot of people, myself included, a lot of embarrassment and sheer frustration.
I would mention that Kirkwood goes so far as to assume. Most of the bathrooms at Kirkwood aren't actually labeled at all. They're all at the end of a short "inlet" off of the main hallway, and the guys is always on the right while the girls is always on the left. I can think of a few occasions when it wasn't me who was mistaken, but the girl coming into the guys bathroom whilest I was hangin' out doing my business.
The Culver's off of Edgewood over by Wynnsong in Cedar Rapids? I go straight, you go left. I didn't... I think that old lady almost had a heart attack.
Enough said!
Arby's on Collins road; I go left, you go straight. Culver's on Center Point; I go left, you go straight. Wendy's on Blairs Ferry; I go left, you go straight. Every one at Kirkwood; I go left, you right... well, right. But I still go left. My point is, can we just make this a norm that guys go left and girls go straight or right? It would save an awful lot of people, myself included, a lot of embarrassment and sheer frustration.
I would mention that Kirkwood goes so far as to assume. Most of the bathrooms at Kirkwood aren't actually labeled at all. They're all at the end of a short "inlet" off of the main hallway, and the guys is always on the right while the girls is always on the left. I can think of a few occasions when it wasn't me who was mistaken, but the girl coming into the guys bathroom whilest I was hangin' out doing my business.
The Culver's off of Edgewood over by Wynnsong in Cedar Rapids? I go straight, you go left. I didn't... I think that old lady almost had a heart attack.
Enough said!
Not Exactly "New," but I Still Enjoy It... As Will You!
01/22/07 01:10 PM
Over the summer I
worked at the wonderful camp we all know and love,
East Iowa Bible Camp. For 6th grade camp and Senior
High camp, me and two of the counselors (Jake Dickey
and Gabe Cox) perform a fabulous rendition of The
Houseplant Song by Audio Adrenaline. The 6th graders
were a good audience, but the High Schoolers enjoyed
it much, much more :). This video is from 6th grade
camp. For those of you who have never heard this
song... I pity you. The original is far better than
this video below, but I hope you will still enjoy it!
Water CAN Be Bad for You
01/18/07 02:21 PM
If you have to wee, by
all means, please just do it! Don't feel embarrassed
if you're with your friends, when nature calls, just
answer the phone--after all, everybody has to at some
point in the day. Some people more than others, but
still... I don't think it's anymore "cool" to hold it
than it is to say, "excuse me for a minute."
Did you know you can actually die from drinking too much water? It's called water intoxication, or hyper-hydration. Apparently if water enters the body quicker than it can be removed (through various ways which I'm sure you can think up yourself), your body is in danger of diluting important body fluids, thus screwing up your balance of electrolyte.
Jennifer Strange, a 28-year-old woman living in sunny California entered a radio contest last week. It was called, "Hold your wee for a Wii." As you can probably guess, the person who drank the most water and didn't go to the bathroom for the longest period of time would win one of the new Nintendo Wii's. Ms. Strange was in the contest for her children, trying to win them a Wii. She consumed over two gallons of water and called in sick to work the next day. Jennifer's mother found her dead later that day in her home.
It would seem this was an accident. She obviously drank too much and got water intoxication. But apparently the DJs responsible for the contest were aware of this disease and had been heard joking about it off the air (but still caught on tape...) and went ahead with the contest anyway. However, everyone entering into the competition was required to sign forms agreeing that, if said sickness would occur, or possible death, they would not sue the radio station or the DJs. Obviously, somebody died. And who's getting in trouble? The DJs at the station.
What's the point of signing those liability forms if people, the judges, our government always just sidesteps them anyway? The lady signed the form stating she was OK with entering the contest, even though she may die from water intoxication... granted, if she's anything like me, she never read the form before she signed it, but they don't care if you actually read the form, by signing it you're lying and saying you have and agree with everything it says. HOWEVER, if something goes wrong, like you do end up getting fat from a McDonald's burger, or the new Nintendo Wii controllers cause you bodily harm (oops... now who's fault is that one?), by all means, go ahead and sue them anyway! You'll probably still win, even though you signed the form.
Where did Americans get off thinking lawsuits are the solution to all of life's hardships and troubles? Where did Americans get off on a lot of things...
Be warned! If you drink a lot of water, when you feel the need, excuse yourself to the bathroom! It's for your own safety...
Did you know you can actually die from drinking too much water? It's called water intoxication, or hyper-hydration. Apparently if water enters the body quicker than it can be removed (through various ways which I'm sure you can think up yourself), your body is in danger of diluting important body fluids, thus screwing up your balance of electrolyte.
Jennifer Strange, a 28-year-old woman living in sunny California entered a radio contest last week. It was called, "Hold your wee for a Wii." As you can probably guess, the person who drank the most water and didn't go to the bathroom for the longest period of time would win one of the new Nintendo Wii's. Ms. Strange was in the contest for her children, trying to win them a Wii. She consumed over two gallons of water and called in sick to work the next day. Jennifer's mother found her dead later that day in her home.
It would seem this was an accident. She obviously drank too much and got water intoxication. But apparently the DJs responsible for the contest were aware of this disease and had been heard joking about it off the air (but still caught on tape...) and went ahead with the contest anyway. However, everyone entering into the competition was required to sign forms agreeing that, if said sickness would occur, or possible death, they would not sue the radio station or the DJs. Obviously, somebody died. And who's getting in trouble? The DJs at the station.
What's the point of signing those liability forms if people, the judges, our government always just sidesteps them anyway? The lady signed the form stating she was OK with entering the contest, even though she may die from water intoxication... granted, if she's anything like me, she never read the form before she signed it, but they don't care if you actually read the form, by signing it you're lying and saying you have and agree with everything it says. HOWEVER, if something goes wrong, like you do end up getting fat from a McDonald's burger, or the new Nintendo Wii controllers cause you bodily harm (oops... now who's fault is that one?), by all means, go ahead and sue them anyway! You'll probably still win, even though you signed the form.
Where did Americans get off thinking lawsuits are the solution to all of life's hardships and troubles? Where did Americans get off on a lot of things...
Be warned! If you drink a lot of water, when you feel the need, excuse yourself to the bathroom! It's for your own safety...
No, You Can't Flush the Toilet Paper
01/08/07 01:24 PM
"And you might want to
bring some long sleeved outfits," they said. "It's
kind of cold here." Of course, being the obedient
follower that I am, I brought long sleeves and
sweatshirts.
We were going to Patzcuaro, Mexico. It's over 1,000 miles south, and a little west, of Dallas, Texas. That’s just a guess…
My parents and I caught the 6:45 out of the Easter Iowa Airport. We were about to embark on a 6(ish) hour journey from Iowa to Mexico, and I couldn't even make it through our airports security without setting off the alarms. Did you know the tinfoil in gum wrappers will set off an airport's security alarm? We arrived in Chicago at about 7:15 and attempted to find Terminal 5. If you take a look at one of the Chicago O'Hare Terminal directories placed about every 500 feet, you'll notice that roughly 50% of the airlines that fly in and out of O'Hare International Airport are represented with a yellow number 5. This means they're an international airline flying in and out of Terminal 5. Terminal 5 being such a big portion of O'Hare's business, one would also assume it would be easy to access. Guess again. We finally found the Terminal, which you have to leave the airport to get to, about 35 minutes later. Since we had left the airport, we had to go through security again. We reached the other side of International security and were greeted by... silence. We looked left. We looked right. Terminal 5 was entirely too quiet for being "half" of O'Hare.
Turns out we were hungry. We found our gate, which had about five people at it, and wandered the rest of the dead terminal looking for food. News Flash: Terminal 3 has no food! We found some flight attendants who frequented the international terminal and asked them the best way to get a good meal. They have one person take orders, leave the terminal, order the food outside, and then bring it back in through security... of course, you can't bring drinks through security. So Dad and I left our stuff with Mom and headed out to McDonald's. I got a #9, accidentally ordering a drink which I had to immediately throw away. We took our food back into the terminal and ate our supper. After a two hour layover, we finally boarded our flight for Morelia, Mexico. It wasn't until 45 minutes into the flight we found out they serve a meal was provided...
Initial thoughts of Mexico: How many people live down here?? Flying over from 40,000 feet in the air gives you a new perspective; there were lights from huge city's to small villages everywhere down below. When we finally got over Morelia, it was much bigger than I thought it would be. Mexico has about 107,000,000 (nearly 20,000,000 of which live in Mexico City) people living in it, compared to about 298,000,000 in the United States. But Mexico is smaller than the United States land wise. Morelia is populated with about 735,000 citizens. I guess that would account for all the lights we saw, wouldn't it? Of course, none of the "official" populations take the metro into account...
Our greeting party at the airport in Morelia was Paul and Ashley Cheshier. I don't blame the rest of the family; it was almost 1 in the morning. The drive from Morelia to Patzcuaro was about 1 hour and 15 minutes.
We finally arrived at our final destination. I trudged up the stairs to the room which I was to sleep in and was quickly reminded not to drink the water OR flush the toilet paper. I gave an "A-OK" sign and plopped into bed. I think I woke up at about 10:30 the next morning.
Mexico had a whole lot more people than I thought it would have in it. Granted, I've been there once before two years ago, but I thought that was a big city... and it was, but it turns out there are a lot of big cities in Mexico.
As a whole, the things we as Americans call "laws" is directly translated as "opinions" or "suggestions for old people" in Mexico. Driving in the city there is possibly the most exciting thing you'll ever experience--of course, I loved every minute of it :). Your life is always on the line, and it's a constant thrill.
I was in the country over the New Years holiday, so, of course, we stayed up until midnight. At 12:00 in the A.M. we celebrated the New Year by blasting several Wal-Mart sized plastic bags of fireworks. Once again, in the U.S. you would upset someone with this random, and might I add loud act, but in Mexico the neighbors simply came out of their houses and clapped. On one occasion, a few people a few miles away decided to "return fire" and started setting off their own fireworks. I'm pretty sure several (most), if not all of the fireworks we set off were illegal... in the U.S. AND Mexico. But you remember what I said about the whole "law" situation down there...
I asked Paul, "So what are you not allowed to do down here? Socially acceptably speaking." He informed me basically anything was acceptable, socially and to the police (unless you were a white American); drugs, stealing, prostitution, assault, murder... the only thing that was completely uncalled for was losing your temper. I thought that was pretty interesting, and probably fitting for the way they drive. Mexico, as a whole, is very laid back and most certainly never on time. Example: The Church service I went to on Sunday started at 11:00 in the A.M. At 11:15 it actually "started," but only about 5 people (not including my hommies) were there. By the end of the service (almost 2 hours and 30 minutes later), there were about 25 people there. They just sort of mingled in thought the two and a half hours. So, socially, if you get upset at someone for being thirty minutes late or rear-ending you, that's out of line. You just have to sit back and roll with the punches, basically. Which, for the most part, I think it pretty cool... I don't like the late thing. I prefer to be ten minutes early, and it drives me crazy when people are late, because, to me, it shows a lack of respect to the people your meeting. But for everything else--what's done is done. If you get rear-ended, cussing the other person out doesn't fix your trunk. Sitting back and saying, "Oh well..." and taking it to the repair shop will. And you might even make a friend that way.
Here are some kudos that go out to the beautiful country of Mexico. American coffee sucks, OK? Let's just get that out so we're honest with each other. America has nothing on Mexico in the coffee department. I went to a local restaurant/coffee shop in Centro Patzcuaro and downed several fantastic Mocha's. I've never had anything like them--it was like a little taste of Heaven! Now that I'm back in the states, I want to go to Starbucks and say, "Hey, can you make me a Mexican Mocha?" Gosh, they were so good...
On either Tuesday or Wednesday (the days are all a blur now), Ashley and I went to see A Night At The Museum. Fabulous movie... one of Ben Stiller's best! I would love to brag and say the entire movie was in Spanish and I understood every word, but that would be a lie. There were about five words I didn't understand. No, just kidding... it was entirely in English, and it had Spanish subtitles. Oh, and the screen was, quite literally, twice the size of the one we have here in Cedar Rapids. I've never seen a screen so big. And out of the, probably, 250 seats in the particular room we were in, there were about... thirty people there.
I found it interesting that, in Mexico, you don't just tip your waiters and waitresses. You tip everybody. The guy who stuffs your bags at the grocery store, the guy who helps you back out of your stall at the grocery store (and no, you didn't ever ask him too either), or the guy who helps load your bags into your car.
Another thing about Mexico... it never sleeps. We're not talking New York City style either. We're talking the entire country! My flight got in at a little before 1 in the morning, and we arrived in Patzcuaro around 2. We drove down to Centro just to check it out, and there were vendors on the street, and the people at the fish market? Already standing at their door ready for business. Um, hello? When do you sleep?? Now, there weren't tons of people swarming the streets, but you also have to remember this was little Patzcuaro... in Morelia, there were.
Every house has a stone wall around it. On top of the stone wall? Broken glass so you wouldn't climb over it. In front of every door to the house was a large metal door for extra security. And I'm not actually sure there is an unlock feature on any of the doors in Mexico. I think they're all lock-behind-you style, just in case you forget. But I could be wrong.
Lastly, the architecture. It was gorgeous! There are so many beautiful monuments in Mexico, from all different types of ancient civilizations. If you love history, fly to Mexico! I was astonished by a man made National Park we visited. But, of course, the most notable and beautiful architecture in the country is the Catholic churches. They're so elaborate and beautiful. Another very important part of the Mexican culture is Catholicism. They're very closed to new beliefs and alternatives because they're buried in 500 years of tradition. Everywhere (and that's not an understatement) there are pictures of Jesus dead. They didn't get the memo that he was raised three days later, and it's pretty sad. At one occasion we went to a disabled and elderly food shelter to hand out cookies, and they invited us to stay for their prayer. I was informed after we left that, in their prayer, they had asked Mary to help Jesus. I think they think of Mary as more of our Holy Spirit, because they pray to her, and she is their intermediary to God.
That's about all I can think of right now for opinion of Mexico. I may add more later if I'm feeling ambitious, and in a reminiscing mood. As for now, thanks for reading, and check out the pictures from the link below!
Pictures of the entire trip have been made available by clicking here. Check them out!
We were going to Patzcuaro, Mexico. It's over 1,000 miles south, and a little west, of Dallas, Texas. That’s just a guess…
My parents and I caught the 6:45 out of the Easter Iowa Airport. We were about to embark on a 6(ish) hour journey from Iowa to Mexico, and I couldn't even make it through our airports security without setting off the alarms. Did you know the tinfoil in gum wrappers will set off an airport's security alarm? We arrived in Chicago at about 7:15 and attempted to find Terminal 5. If you take a look at one of the Chicago O'Hare Terminal directories placed about every 500 feet, you'll notice that roughly 50% of the airlines that fly in and out of O'Hare International Airport are represented with a yellow number 5. This means they're an international airline flying in and out of Terminal 5. Terminal 5 being such a big portion of O'Hare's business, one would also assume it would be easy to access. Guess again. We finally found the Terminal, which you have to leave the airport to get to, about 35 minutes later. Since we had left the airport, we had to go through security again. We reached the other side of International security and were greeted by... silence. We looked left. We looked right. Terminal 5 was entirely too quiet for being "half" of O'Hare.
Turns out we were hungry. We found our gate, which had about five people at it, and wandered the rest of the dead terminal looking for food. News Flash: Terminal 3 has no food! We found some flight attendants who frequented the international terminal and asked them the best way to get a good meal. They have one person take orders, leave the terminal, order the food outside, and then bring it back in through security... of course, you can't bring drinks through security. So Dad and I left our stuff with Mom and headed out to McDonald's. I got a #9, accidentally ordering a drink which I had to immediately throw away. We took our food back into the terminal and ate our supper. After a two hour layover, we finally boarded our flight for Morelia, Mexico. It wasn't until 45 minutes into the flight we found out they serve a meal was provided...
Initial thoughts of Mexico: How many people live down here?? Flying over from 40,000 feet in the air gives you a new perspective; there were lights from huge city's to small villages everywhere down below. When we finally got over Morelia, it was much bigger than I thought it would be. Mexico has about 107,000,000 (nearly 20,000,000 of which live in Mexico City) people living in it, compared to about 298,000,000 in the United States. But Mexico is smaller than the United States land wise. Morelia is populated with about 735,000 citizens. I guess that would account for all the lights we saw, wouldn't it? Of course, none of the "official" populations take the metro into account...
Our greeting party at the airport in Morelia was Paul and Ashley Cheshier. I don't blame the rest of the family; it was almost 1 in the morning. The drive from Morelia to Patzcuaro was about 1 hour and 15 minutes.
We finally arrived at our final destination. I trudged up the stairs to the room which I was to sleep in and was quickly reminded not to drink the water OR flush the toilet paper. I gave an "A-OK" sign and plopped into bed. I think I woke up at about 10:30 the next morning.
Mexico had a whole lot more people than I thought it would have in it. Granted, I've been there once before two years ago, but I thought that was a big city... and it was, but it turns out there are a lot of big cities in Mexico.
As a whole, the things we as Americans call "laws" is directly translated as "opinions" or "suggestions for old people" in Mexico. Driving in the city there is possibly the most exciting thing you'll ever experience--of course, I loved every minute of it :). Your life is always on the line, and it's a constant thrill.
I was in the country over the New Years holiday, so, of course, we stayed up until midnight. At 12:00 in the A.M. we celebrated the New Year by blasting several Wal-Mart sized plastic bags of fireworks. Once again, in the U.S. you would upset someone with this random, and might I add loud act, but in Mexico the neighbors simply came out of their houses and clapped. On one occasion, a few people a few miles away decided to "return fire" and started setting off their own fireworks. I'm pretty sure several (most), if not all of the fireworks we set off were illegal... in the U.S. AND Mexico. But you remember what I said about the whole "law" situation down there...
I asked Paul, "So what are you not allowed to do down here? Socially acceptably speaking." He informed me basically anything was acceptable, socially and to the police (unless you were a white American); drugs, stealing, prostitution, assault, murder... the only thing that was completely uncalled for was losing your temper. I thought that was pretty interesting, and probably fitting for the way they drive. Mexico, as a whole, is very laid back and most certainly never on time. Example: The Church service I went to on Sunday started at 11:00 in the A.M. At 11:15 it actually "started," but only about 5 people (not including my hommies) were there. By the end of the service (almost 2 hours and 30 minutes later), there were about 25 people there. They just sort of mingled in thought the two and a half hours. So, socially, if you get upset at someone for being thirty minutes late or rear-ending you, that's out of line. You just have to sit back and roll with the punches, basically. Which, for the most part, I think it pretty cool... I don't like the late thing. I prefer to be ten minutes early, and it drives me crazy when people are late, because, to me, it shows a lack of respect to the people your meeting. But for everything else--what's done is done. If you get rear-ended, cussing the other person out doesn't fix your trunk. Sitting back and saying, "Oh well..." and taking it to the repair shop will. And you might even make a friend that way.
Here are some kudos that go out to the beautiful country of Mexico. American coffee sucks, OK? Let's just get that out so we're honest with each other. America has nothing on Mexico in the coffee department. I went to a local restaurant/coffee shop in Centro Patzcuaro and downed several fantastic Mocha's. I've never had anything like them--it was like a little taste of Heaven! Now that I'm back in the states, I want to go to Starbucks and say, "Hey, can you make me a Mexican Mocha?" Gosh, they were so good...
On either Tuesday or Wednesday (the days are all a blur now), Ashley and I went to see A Night At The Museum. Fabulous movie... one of Ben Stiller's best! I would love to brag and say the entire movie was in Spanish and I understood every word, but that would be a lie. There were about five words I didn't understand. No, just kidding... it was entirely in English, and it had Spanish subtitles. Oh, and the screen was, quite literally, twice the size of the one we have here in Cedar Rapids. I've never seen a screen so big. And out of the, probably, 250 seats in the particular room we were in, there were about... thirty people there.
I found it interesting that, in Mexico, you don't just tip your waiters and waitresses. You tip everybody. The guy who stuffs your bags at the grocery store, the guy who helps you back out of your stall at the grocery store (and no, you didn't ever ask him too either), or the guy who helps load your bags into your car.
Another thing about Mexico... it never sleeps. We're not talking New York City style either. We're talking the entire country! My flight got in at a little before 1 in the morning, and we arrived in Patzcuaro around 2. We drove down to Centro just to check it out, and there were vendors on the street, and the people at the fish market? Already standing at their door ready for business. Um, hello? When do you sleep?? Now, there weren't tons of people swarming the streets, but you also have to remember this was little Patzcuaro... in Morelia, there were.
Every house has a stone wall around it. On top of the stone wall? Broken glass so you wouldn't climb over it. In front of every door to the house was a large metal door for extra security. And I'm not actually sure there is an unlock feature on any of the doors in Mexico. I think they're all lock-behind-you style, just in case you forget. But I could be wrong.
Lastly, the architecture. It was gorgeous! There are so many beautiful monuments in Mexico, from all different types of ancient civilizations. If you love history, fly to Mexico! I was astonished by a man made National Park we visited. But, of course, the most notable and beautiful architecture in the country is the Catholic churches. They're so elaborate and beautiful. Another very important part of the Mexican culture is Catholicism. They're very closed to new beliefs and alternatives because they're buried in 500 years of tradition. Everywhere (and that's not an understatement) there are pictures of Jesus dead. They didn't get the memo that he was raised three days later, and it's pretty sad. At one occasion we went to a disabled and elderly food shelter to hand out cookies, and they invited us to stay for their prayer. I was informed after we left that, in their prayer, they had asked Mary to help Jesus. I think they think of Mary as more of our Holy Spirit, because they pray to her, and she is their intermediary to God.
That's about all I can think of right now for opinion of Mexico. I may add more later if I'm feeling ambitious, and in a reminiscing mood. As for now, thanks for reading, and check out the pictures from the link below!
Pictures of the entire trip have been made available by clicking here. Check them out!
My Pencil and I
10/12/06 10:45 AM
People ask me, "Why do
you buy refill lead and erasers for your mechanical
pencil when it's usually cheaper to just buy new
pencils?" It's really a very simple answer. I love my
mechanical pencil. I am loyal to my mechanical
pencil, something a lot of you can't claim. I'm not
just going to up and leave my pencil in the gutter
one day. I'll always be there for it, whenever it
needs me. Allow me to go into further detail about
the beauty of my pencil.
My Pentel SideFX 0.5 PD255 Mechanical Pencil has been by my side for the entirety of my high school career. The same one. My pencil knows me, and we've become pretty close friends over the past four years. I'm comfortable with my pencil, and it's comfortable with me. It's trusts what I'm going to write with it, it fits my hand nicely. In fact, my hand has gotten used to the general shape of my pencil, and when I use a pencil other than my favorite one my hand almost doesn't know what to do with it.
No, but seriously. I am used to my pencil. And here's what thing that's obvious about pencils. They change about once a week. Seriously, you finally get used to the shape of a pencil, and your hand is comfortable with it, and it breaks or something. You go in to buy a new one. All you want is the exact same pencil again. You find the same brand, and "same pencil", but apparently this the Third-Week-In-August model and, while it claims to be the same pencil, it's quite different. They changed the form to be more ergonomically correct or some such nonsense. In short, you're going to have to get used to another pencil.
Pencils are very important, and it's important you and your pencil get along! You can't just pick up a pencil anywhere and trust it right away! No, you would never do that! The pencil has to earn your trust, and you have to earn it's. This takes a while, and if you're constantly getting new pencils, you never have the chance to get to know one particular pencil. It's like having a different girlfriend every week! You just don't do that. (Smart people don't anyway.)
All this is why I pay $1.60 for three new erasers when I could get 3 brand new, non scratched pencils that even come with extra erasers for just over $3. I love my mechanical pencil. I hope it and I make it through college together as close as we've been through high school.
My Pentel SideFX 0.5 PD255 Mechanical Pencil has been by my side for the entirety of my high school career. The same one. My pencil knows me, and we've become pretty close friends over the past four years. I'm comfortable with my pencil, and it's comfortable with me. It's trusts what I'm going to write with it, it fits my hand nicely. In fact, my hand has gotten used to the general shape of my pencil, and when I use a pencil other than my favorite one my hand almost doesn't know what to do with it.
No, but seriously. I am used to my pencil. And here's what thing that's obvious about pencils. They change about once a week. Seriously, you finally get used to the shape of a pencil, and your hand is comfortable with it, and it breaks or something. You go in to buy a new one. All you want is the exact same pencil again. You find the same brand, and "same pencil", but apparently this the Third-Week-In-August model and, while it claims to be the same pencil, it's quite different. They changed the form to be more ergonomically correct or some such nonsense. In short, you're going to have to get used to another pencil.
Pencils are very important, and it's important you and your pencil get along! You can't just pick up a pencil anywhere and trust it right away! No, you would never do that! The pencil has to earn your trust, and you have to earn it's. This takes a while, and if you're constantly getting new pencils, you never have the chance to get to know one particular pencil. It's like having a different girlfriend every week! You just don't do that. (Smart people don't anyway.)
All this is why I pay $1.60 for three new erasers when I could get 3 brand new, non scratched pencils that even come with extra erasers for just over $3. I love my mechanical pencil. I hope it and I make it through college together as close as we've been through high school.