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!

Tags: Vacations

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.

Tags: Friends

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 ...

Tags: Cedarville, RA

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 :).

Tags: Jenna, Family, Domo

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.

Tags: Mornings

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

Tags: Family, Cell Phones

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 :)!

Tags: Cedarville, RA

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.

Tags: Cedarville

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.

Tags: Cedarville

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, 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!

Tags: Jenna, Family, Blog

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.

1. Get for yourself a proper sized coffee mug.
2. Fill the mug 3/4 full of hot water.
3. Fill the mug 1/8 full of regular coffee.
4. Mix.
5. Pour a packet of proper hot chocolate mix into the mug.
6. Mix.
7. Pour a shot of Irish Creamer into the mug.
8. Mix.
9. 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.

Tags: Friends

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.

Tags: Cedarville, Apple

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.

Tags: Cedarville

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 include, but are not limited to ...

• 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 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?

Tags: Holidays, Kirkwood, Cedarville

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.

Tags: No-Shave November

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.

Tags: Cedarville

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 ...

Tags: East Iowa Bible Camp

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.

Tags: Racing