Happy Thank Your Local Salt Miner Day!

So apparently the Federal Government gave a two-hour delay to its employees this morning because of the nasty weather. I, as an intern, am not on their list. When Linda tried to put me on their list last week they said that they do not want any interns or contractors to be on the list because they will leave soon anyway. That is sweet of them. So...here I am. No one's really here. Gives me time to write a blog post.

I did something new yesterday. I walked in ice. Before yesterday, I thought ice was pretty. You make sculptures with it, you eat it, you put it in sweet tea. Today my eyes have been opened. It's slippery, it's wet, it's cold, and it wants your legs to break. Water and steam are welcome to any parties I might have in the future, but H20's solid form does not merit an invitation. My views of salt were just as equally challenged, however. I am not a huge fan of salt. I like salt-free pretzels, low-sodium potato chips and I avoid adding salt to really anything. But salt battles ice quite nicely. There are these little men, I don't know where they come from, but as soon as the ice hits they come out with these fertilizer machines and cover the ground with ice. They're like elves, but taller. (Actually, they don't really look like elves at all, they look like very cold, under-paid laborers, but I still get the vision of the elves that sneak out at night to make shoes.) It's a slug's nightmare.

Anyway, you'll be happy to know I didn't even fall once. (Or, maybe, like Joe and Dean, you are hoping for an "I almost died today" story. It will have to wait for another day.) But, waiting for the bus last night I had to restrain myself from laughing at the people sliding across the street in front of me. It really wasn't funny...but it really was. Have a great day, everybody, and if you see a salt miner, thank him.

Where Have All the Chickens Gone?

My Uncle Richard lives on a farm in Arkansas. There's not much around. Let's face it; it's Arkansas. However, he does have a neighbor a couple miles away that has a chicken farm. You're probably picturing in your head something like this-



Let's go with something like this:

Let's go with four of them. There are thousands of chickens in each one.

Now, a couple weeks ago there was a tornado about eight miles from my Uncle's house and it hit his neighbor's chicken house. The guy lost 8,000 chickens. That's a lot of chicken. Hopefully he had chicken insurance. However, Kenley brought up a good question. Where did all the chickens go? I mean, we all know gravity. What goes up must come down. How would you like to be the person over in Tennessee who wakes up with 700 dead chickens in his front yard? Not me. So, this week, if you spot some of the missing chickens, give me a call. I'll pass on the information to my Uncle's neighbor. I'm sure he's out looking.

Have You Seen This Chicken?

Call
555-6875

Just some pictures of where I live (if you're curious)

This is my room. :0)




















My kitchen is kind of dreary. It needs some coloring pages on the fridge.


















This is the view I get in the morning from my office building.


















The most important part of any commute. :0) I have two within sight distance of my office. Yeeesss.


















This is my apartment building. Clearly I do not belong in it. Not exactly my socio-economic class. I'm not complaining, though. ;0)

That's about all I've got so far. I'll work on getting some more when it's not dark outside. It's dark when I leave the house and usually dark when I get home, so I have trouble taking photos you all would be interested in. That will be my Saturday project. Arrivederci!

Someone's Gotta Turn Phil the Other Way

Not having a car makes me feel as though I'm back in Kyiv again. Riding the metro, dragging bags home from the grocery store, searching for bus stops...running after busses, it's something that I associate with Kyiv, which makes me think of Lori, which makes me smile. :0) Today I went on a running adventure to find places to shop. I discovered that past the Target is a New York and Company, a Best Buy, an Old Navy, a Starbucks, a Subway and a grocery store. These are all very good finds. So, after I went home and took a shower, Becca and I journeyed to the grocery store to stock up for this next week. We have to make sure to do all of our shopping on the weekends, because when we get home during the week it's already dark and we can't walk to the grocery store. I decided to splurge this week and invest in some peanut sauce. I was going to make some, Jenshka, but i figured it was more expensive to invest in all the ingredients, so I just bought some. I can't wait to make stir fry. :0)

Anyway, happy Groundhog Day to you all. I guess ol' Phil saw his shadow today, so we're in for six more weeks of winter.



Looks to me as if Phil needs to lay off the Twinkies. I was very disappointed that I can't seem to find "Groundhog Day" on TV. I need a little more Bill Murray in my life. It seems like TBS always has it on all day, but this year they decided to play the "Fantastic Four" instead. Clearly a superior movie...not.



So next year, Carli and I will have to have a date and make sure we're in the same city and country to have a Groundhog Day marathon. Until then, "Do you ever have deja vu, Mrs. Lancaster?" "I don't think so, but I could check with the kitchen."

So I have to do some sightseeing :0)

One can hardly express the magnitude of the Lincoln Memorial. I’d seen it in the movies; I’d seen it in pictures; in postcards, on the news, but never in person. Lincoln's likeness shows the incredible weight that he had upon his shoulders. His overwhelming need to preserve the Union accompanied by his belief that all men should be free. It is incredible. On the wall to the right is an inscription of Lincoln’s second inaugural address. It was given in the midst of the war between the states. Here is what he said:

Fellow Countrymen:

At this second appearing to take the oath of the
Presidential office there is less occasion for an extended address than there
was at the first. Then a statement somewhat in detail of a course to be pursued
seemed fitting and proper. Now, at the expiration of four years, during which
public declarations have been constantly called forth on every point and phase
of the great contest which still absorbs the attention and engrosses the
energies of the nation, little that is new could be presented. The progress of
our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as well known to the public as
to myself, and it is, I trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all.
With high hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured.

On the occasion corresponding to this four years ago all thoughts were anxiously
directed to an impending civil war. All dreaded it, all sought to avert it.
While the inaugural address was being delivered from this place, devoted
altogether to saving the Union without war, insurgent agents were in the city
seeking to destroy it without war—seeking to dissolve the Union and divide
effects by negotiation. Both parties deprecated war, but one of them would make
war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather
than let it perish, and the war came.
One-eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not distributed generally over the Union, but localized in the southern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. All knew that this interest was somehow the cause of the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest was the object for which the insurgents would rend the Union even by war, while the Government claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it. Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with or even before the
conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result
less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible and pray to the same
God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any
men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the
sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The
prayers of both could not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully.
The Almighty has His own purposes. 'Woe unto the world because of offenses; for
it must needs be that offenses come, but woe to that man by whom the offense
cometh.' If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of those offenses
which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having continued
through His appointed time, He now wills to remove, and that He gives to both
North and South this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the offense
came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which
the believers in a living God always ascribe to Him? Fondly do we hope,
fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away.
Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's
two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every
drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword,
as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said 'the judgments of
the Lord are true and righteous altogether'.
With malice toward none; with
charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right,
let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds;
to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his
orphan -- to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace,
among ourselves, and with all nations.

Absolutely incredible. Lincoln’s faith in God was so strong that he trusted him completely in the mess America was in. No matter what the cost, no matter the outcome. I’d always admired Lincoln, but after seeing this monument to him, I am more resolute in my feeling that he and Washington were our nation's greatest presidents. As the next election draws near, it is hard to believe that we have any men like Lincoln there. All seem wrapped in selfishness in some way. None really stick out to me as men who follow after God's heart. I hope that God will put someone in place that will do his purposes.

Sammy Davis Jr., Jr! K MHE!

Well, here I am in the Charlotte Airport. Evidently my love for airports did not protect me from them plotting my demise. The trip could hardly have started on a worse note. My flight is cancelled; I’m going to arrive past my 6:00pm deadline to get my key; my bags may be lost; I don’t have my baggage tags so there is no way of finding my bags, and they confiscated my amazing aromatherapy lotion I bought from Bath and Body Works. (That's really not that big of a deal; I was just a big fan of eucalyptus. The lady assured me that it will go to the Shelter, so I felt a bit better about it, but Jenna may have to dive into my eucalyptus reserves at home and send me some more. ;0)

I wonder how many other passengers are twitching beneath their polished façade of calm. Perhaps a few, but they all look pretty content to me. They didn’t lose their baggage tags…There is a Starbucks manager behind me training her new posse. She’s explaining to them all the intricacies of a French Press while they look on in awe. Clearly they have never met Jake and Taylor or they would understand all the mysteries a press affords. Lori and I used to marvel at the wonders of it when we made coffee for movie nights with the laptop. You push it down and coffee pops out. Amazing.

There is a flight to Birmingham behind me that I tempted to get on. Actually, I could probably go pay Madison a visit and make it back to Charlotte before my next plane leaves. If not, maybe she can fax me some Whole Foods gelato. I wonder if they have Whole Foods in DC. I'll have to make a search. What is it that Alex says on "Everything Is Illuminated?" Oh, yes. A "very rigid search." I will make a very rigid search and get back to you all.

Until then, arrivederci. If I ever make it to DC, I'll let you know.

Nearly every Christmas, my mother gives me some type of puzzle that I have to put together to get a present. One year it was a maze that contained a pair of tickets to an off-Broadway production at the Civic Center. There was a secret compartment in the back that could only be opened when the pieces were put together. A couple years back it was a pair of metal circles that had to be reconnected. I will be honest, my first inclination when I receive gifts such as these is to smash them with a hammer until I get what I want. But sometimes the presents inside are slightly less sturdy than a pair of "Miss Saigon" tickets. In the end, reason triumphs over impulse and I either suck it up and mess with it until I get my prize or I whine until Lori does it for me.

Why is it that we will sit ardently on the floor all Christmas morning with passionate determination to figure out the secret of how to fit two metal circles together? Does the frustration give us some sort of sick pleasure? Of course not. The only reason reason we put in all the effort is because the prize at the end is much more valuable than the task at hand. To reconnect the circles yields something far better than a couple of metal hoops.

I learned in science class that energy systems are in a constant state of entropy. In other words, it is far more natural for my two metal rings to become disconnected than it is for them to become reconnected. Unfortunately for Christians, the church seems to be the poster child for this second law of thermodynamics. Schisms and breakups have been one of the most constant elements of church history. There's a denomination for every letter of the alphabet and churches within each denomination maintain a vicious cycle of dilemma, discourse, dissension and division, leading to their eventual splits into various other factions named after pleasant road names or picturesque landforms such as "Rose Hill Methodist" or "Sunny Meadows Baptist." In the church's defense, there are many valid reasons that congregations split. And perhaps it is only keeping with the laws of physics that those churches never reconnect again. But what if they did?
What if two congregations could put aside their differences and reunite?
What if they realized that each had something special to offer and together would be a much more perfect body?
What if the gifts of one could compensate for the weaknesses of the other and vice versa?
What kind of a witness would that be to their city?
I think both's goals are the same. One might be a Chapel and one might be a Dome, but Solomon's musings still ring true:

"Two are better than one because they have a good return for their labour."

Getcha Head in the Game

I'm afraid that if my life rested upon the ability to dance the moves to High School Musical I would be lowered into the crocodile cage and there would be nothing left but some nickles I have in my pocket and the 10 dollar ring I bought in Kilkenny that I am convinced would survive twelve nuclear blasts and the destruction of earth as we know it. However, my roommates would survive and live quite comfortably on what I leave them in my will. (A couple of used-to-be-red couches, some movies and a bunk bed.) Try as I may, I cannot see what it is that girls see when they look into the face of Zac Efron. I think he looks like a girl. James and I are convinced that he's gay. After all, what basketball player do you know that likes to break into song in the middle of the court? Despite mine and Tori's protests, our house was subjected to the "High School Musical Interactive DVD Game" for the better part of two hours. As happy as I was to see the game end, I was disappointed in the fact that the win went to Jenna.

But after the horror of High School Musical, we moved on to a much better interactive game. Jenna has come into possession of a something called "Karaoke Revolution." Except for a poorly selected Ashley Simpson song that got on there, I'm convinced, by mistake, the songs are great. My favorite is Kenley's spot on of Take On Me, although Dean's rendition of Play that Funky Music, White Boy, is almost as good. ;0)

So come on over to the house this week and try out the new microphone. Embrace your poor singing skills by selecting a character that looks a bit too much like Sanjaya and putting it on the easy setting. Or you can dress your character in a dazzling evening gown and bust out "I Will Always Love You." (Try your best to mimic Whitney Houston and not Dolly Parton.) I will be at Leshay's watching Prison Break tonight,



(I <3 Michael Scofield.)

so you can even sneak in and play High School Musical if you'd like. Just don't let me catch you.

Are you smarter than a 5th grader?

As my move to Washington DC approaches, I've been trying to Google important DC information. Where is the nearest stir-fry place? If I order tea, do I have to specify that I want it sweet? Are buggies called shopping carts or baskets? Or buggies? You know, the important things. So I figured we could all learn a little something together.

Which of these things does not belong in Washington DC?


A.
B.
C.











If you said "C," then you are correct!

Okay, now we'll make it a little trickier.



A.
B.
C.


















If you said "B," then you are correct!

A.
B.
C.















If you said "A," and "C," then you are correct! (I had to try to trick you.)




A.
B.
C.







If you said "C," then you are correct!


A.
B.
C.















Okay, actually none of these are from DC. If you got them all correct, hooray for you. If you got them wrong, well, then you should come visit me and we'll go see monuments first hand. I'll have the nearest stir-fry place mapped out. :0)

A B.A. in Elvish Studies????

Selena and I have decided that being an elf would be the perfect job for me. As one nears graduation, it is common to worry about what jobs to look for, where to live, what to do with you life... I have been considering the elvish profession for quite some time, and if anyone is considering it, here are some good reasons it may be the career path for you:

1. Santa is your boss. Except for inherently knowing who has been naughty or nice and seeing when you are asleep or awake, Santa would be the best boss ever. Plus, you would get to make toys all day. It's inevitable that making toys requires testing toys.

2. Elves get to wear pointy shoes. Having spent some time in Europe, I have a strange fascination with pointy shoes. I never got up the nerve to buy any, because I knew I'd laugh every time my eyes wandered to my feet, but I still have a peculiar affection for shoes of the non-rounded variety.





I'm not really sure where your toes are supposed to go in these, but I assume Elf shoes are a bit more comfortable, despite their pointy-ness. Some less-festive elves are shoemakers, so they're probably good at shoemaking.

3. Being an elf comes with a package of instant hobbies. After making Tonka Trucks and Candyland games for your shift, you have a list of awesome choices on how to spend your free time. Buddy's list was, "First we'll make snow angels for two hours, then we'll to go skating, then we'll eat a roll of Tollhouse cookie dough as fast as we can, and then to finish, we'll snuggle!" These are all great hobbies.

4. Singing at all times of the day is not only normal, but encouraged. Everyone knows that Christmas carols are the best songs ever written. Those hymns express things that I just couldn't ever put on paper. We learned from Buddy the Elf that, "The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear." I have to agree with him wholeheartedly, but unfortunately for me, singing loud for all to hear is not generally accepted at my workplace. They're on the verge of sending me to the insane asylum anyway. Singing would just add fuel to their fire.



"Looks like somebody needs to sing a Christmas carol."

5. You can leave your Christmas decorations up all year. Have any of you seen that Verizon Wireless commercial that's out right now where the guy is unplugging all of his Christmas lights and he's just so sad? I am that guy (minus the tacky sweater and Buddy Holly glasses).



(This looks like my dad's yearbook picture. )

My father has instilled in me a love for Christmas that borders on obsessive compulsive. I love everything about Christmas. (Except for the Christmas Shoes song. Worst song ever written. That's for a later post.) Nothing can be better than curling up by a fire with the light of the Christmas tree illuminating Jimmy Stewart's face as you listen to him shout, "Merry Christmas, Bedford Falls!" Because of this, December 26th is the saddest day of the year. Fortunately for elves, December 26th is only the start of the next Christmas season so the lights never have to come down and you can celebrate Christmas forever.

Too bad Mr. Stanaland's Santa mailbox isn't up anymore in my parent's neighborhood. I need to send Santa my resume.

It's a Wonderful E-card!

Don't send a lame Holiday eCard. Try JibJab Sendables!

Baby, It's Cold Outside

It has happened. For the first time since September, I have woken up as something other than a shivering mass under a pile of blankets. Space heaters are magical things. This tiny 25-year-old box is able to predict when the exact right time it right to begin showering me with warm air. I'll take the risk of having it burn the house down any day. (Besides, it's Todd's house.) Waking up warm puts a new outlook on one's life. Coffee can be enjoyed as a delicious beverage instead of as something to thaw out your insides. I like it.

Tonight I am going on a roadtrip to rescue my wallet from the Greensboro Chevron at Exit 174. Here is the story:

You see, we all went on a camping trip Thursday night at Torreya State Park. (I highly recommend it. Ranger Dennis is super great.) In Greensboro there is a Chevron station where me, Lori, James and Jenna can take our Express Lane cups and get 50 cent refills. (I also highly recommend this. 50 cent refills are the best thing since sliced bread.) So we stopped in and I brought my wallet to pay for my refill, only, the Greensboro Chevron sucks and the drink machine was out. A very incompetant lady told me, "Oh. Yeah. We were gonna fix that." Man, that lady deserves a raise. So, rather disgruntled, James, Lori, Jenna and I left the Chevron.

Along with my wallet.

My beautiful X-men wallet that Sarah Wirgau gave me was left on the edge of the drink machine.

So when we got to Tallahassee and stopped at my Chevron to get refills, my stomach dropped and I realized that I had left it on the counter. I called the Greensboro Chevron and was told by the same incompetant lady that my wallet had been stolen. She had looked for it and it was gone. I left her my number and she took it rather reluctantly, assuring me that the wallet was gone. So, sadly, I began calling to cancel my debit and credit cards and bemoaned the loss of my Leon Lion discount card that Kenny Nikkens sold me. It got me free drinks at One Stir Fry.

About two hours later, at about the time I was searching to find the Old Navy number to cancel that card, the lady called and said, "We found your wallet. It was where you said; I just didn't see it." Genius, that one.

Sunday morning I had to drive to Camp Charis to play Christmas carols. I hopped in my car and my gas was pretty low, so I thought to myself, "I'll stop and get gas in Georgia. (The state, not the country. ;0) It is cheaper there. So when I got to cheaper gas I pulled my car in and I realized something. I had no wallet. Even if I had had my wallet, I had cancelled all my cards. No credit cards. No cash. All of these things = no gas. I didn't have time to drive back home so I marched back into the desert, eyeing the oasis I had just left jealously. I prayed that I would make it to Pelham. 30 more miles.

I rolled into Pelham with my gas light dinging mercilessly, but I did make it. Julie Queen was my savior and followed me to a gas station nearby, otherwise I would probably still be walking towards Havana right now. Thanks, Shirley!

A Quite Convenient Book, Actually

At the risk of Todd making fun of me, I'd like to inform everyone that
Glenn Beck will be at Books a Million tonight (by the Albertson's on Thomasville Road) at 6 o'clock. If you have no idea who I am talking about, you can still come and just hang out with me. You really should watch the news occasionally, though.

It is clear that this mom plays favorites.

Perhaps Alexander's Day Would Have Been Better Had He Simply Put in His Contacts.

Today is a no contacts day. If you find me at school with my glasses on, just stay away. You see, I really like my contacts. I hate staring at rims all day and having my vision skewed because I've smeared the glass in front of my face with my fingers. Sometimes I even smack my glasses on door frames because I only give the part of my face that's chemically connected to my body doorway clearance. It hurts your nose really bad when your frames smash up against the side of them. Besides the fact that I look silly in them, the prescription is terribly old and everything is still really blurry when I wear them. It's like watching ESPN in HD and then going back to just plain old channel 8. And since I don't have HD, I need all the help that I can get. The point is, I avoid wearing my glasses at all costs. So naturally, if I show up to work wearing my glasses, something must be wrong. Either I've dropped a contact down the sink and haven't been able to scrounge up enough change for new ones, or it's one of those mornings that I've stayed up far too late, my alarm awakens me from a brief coma and I'm saddened to find that my eyes are almost completely glued shut. This is confirmed when I jump down from my bunk bed and run into a wall because I didn't notice it was there. It is at these times that I stumble into my bathroom, feel around for the contact case and realize that there is no way I'm going to be able to get my extra eyeballs in. I've already given up on the day before it starts. A no contact day says three things. 1) The world around me is just not worth looking at today. 2) There is at least one bruise on my shin. 3) Forget the mascara. Fortunately, no contact days can usually be cured by crawling onto the couch with a fuzzy blanket and a cup of coffee and watching a couple episodes of Cheers. This is what I plan to do when I get home today. Happy Friday, everyone. May you find the strength to pop in your contacts.

So, for Halloween this year, after already getting to dress up as an X-men character for Mark and Jenn's superhero party, I had to come up with a different character. I decided that recycling costumes is lame, as Facebook will surely rat you out in the photo section. So, I decided to go as Ginny Weasley, Ron's younger sister who ends up marrying Harry in the Harry Potter books.

It seems as though there was far too little holiday spirit happening on FSU campus yesterday. I only saw one other guy dressed up. He was dressed in a Peter Pan costume with some amazing green tights, so I have to give him props for that, but he was the only one I saw.

I got numerous compliments on my outfit. In the beginning, I thought they were complimenting the costume, but then I came to the horrible discovery that, wand or no wand, people didn't know I was dressed up for Halloween; they just thought I had dressed up for work. I thought back and realized that I rarely get complimented on my outfits at any other time.

So, what I learned is that the only time I look good is when I'm dressing up as a Harry Potter character. It was a sad realization. Oh well.

Coming to You Live with a Battered Nose

The first cold front has finally arrived in Tallahassee. We cut our temperature nearly in half and I think that's a pretty decent fraction. But it is at this special time of the year that a peculiar natural phenomenon occurs on campuses around the nation. Let's let Marty Stouffer give us some commentary.

It is as this time, in the land of the American college campus, that a strange occurrence occurs among creatures known as greeks. Greeks tend to flock together in packs and live in burrows together by gender. Male greeks can be distinguished from their female counterparts by the absence of Vera Bradley handbags, giant sunglasses, and intense accessorizing. With the first sign of a fall chill, female greeks immediately develop similar neck and hand fur of bright colours. This is known as the Walmart $9.99 matching glove and scarf set. The female greeks don't seem to mind the fact that their winter fur develops when temperatures still hover in the 70's and sometimes 80's. Nature and evolution cannot explain it, however, scientific research is still being done to determine the reasoning for the female greek's strange behaviour.

Apparently even Wild America is not able to answer my question. I am probably the most cold natured person I know, and sometimes I am tempted to bring a hat and scarf to work with me to keep from going into shock in our office, but even I know that 65 degrees is too warm to be marching all over campus in furry boots and woolen mittens. However, it did provide me amusement as I trekked up Copeland this morning. I would have gladly stayed and watched the typical Floridan students (of which I am one) meander in their paradoxical attire of flip-flops and warm jackets to escape being the guinea pig of a cruel scientific experiment of which I was about to be a part.

In my oh-so-pointless-but-required-to-graduate Speech class I'm taking, we have a requirement to participate in some sort of research project and it gets counted as a test grade. Most of the ones my TA listed were communication experiments dealing with things like brain injury, speaking issues, and hearing problems, and healthy students could participate to provide the "normal" data. The one I signed up for dealt with vocal cords and I thought that would be easy enough. I have vocal chords. They work properly. Too properly, maybe... So how hard could it be, right?

I should have known when I went down my third flight of stairs into the bowels of the Diffenbaugh building that this was not going to turn out well for me. Experiments should never take place in basements of 200 year old edifices. Make a note of that. Anyway, I did not take my own advice and so, determined to get my 50 points, I cautiously made my way into a small, damp room where my TA stood with a certain device that I'm quite sure is used by the CIA for "convincing." It was a long wire about the thickness of a TV cord with a camera attached to the end.

"We're going to stick this down your nose into your throat to look at your vocal chords," my TA said. "It doesn't hurt at all; it's just kind of weird feeling." You've got to be kidding me.

Well, as that chord went through my nasal canal and made its way down my wind pipe I started to believe that my TA must equate "weird feeling" with "severe torture." I felt like a what a duffel bag must feel like when a football player's trying to stuff just one more shoe in it and it won't go. This went against everything my pediatrician taught me. (One time Chris stuck a tic-tac nose and Dr. Bonnell told us that we should never put anything in our nose, especially cinnamon tic-tacs. So much for "breathe friendly." I don't think Chris took a breath through his nose for weeks.) I thought for sure I would lose my nose and be forced, like Major Kovalyov, to wander the streets without it.

And then, the final blow. Seeing my face stained with tears, my TA said to me, "Just think of the extra credit you're going to get."

"Extra credit?" I said. "This is for my research grade."

"Oh," she said. "Weren't you here Friday? I told you all that we were having a researcher come to the class and you could count that as your research grade."

I wanted to tell her she could take that cord and...well, I have to keep this G-rated. If that camera had not still been in my throat I might have done something that I would have seriously regretted later. She asked me how it felt and I told her getting my nose pierced hurt less. How much extra credit did I receive for that lovely experiment? 5 measly points on a quiz grade. That comes out to 2/10 of a point on my final grade. I'd say I laughed to keep from crying, but as I was already crying, the chuckling would have just been overkill.

The moral of this story is threefold.

1) Do not zone out in class.
2) Do not participate in scientific experiments that take place in dungeons.
3) Never let anyone put anything larger than a hair in your nose. If it's larger than that, it obviously does not belong there.

Alright ladies! Let's all get out our matching scarf and hat sets! It's 68 degrees out!

Quote o' the Day

"It's a good sign...when you win." -Bobby Bowden

See ya!

Over by the music building yesterday I overheard a man say to his blind friend, "See ya tomorrow." The blind man replied, "Yeah, see ya."

Call me a horrible person, but I was very amused by this.

(Plus, I figure few blind people read my blog anyway, so they will not be offended.)

In case you guys missed it, yesterday was the 50th anniversary of Sputnik 1. I imagine the launching of Sputnik 1 was quite distressing to the United States, since its R-7 launch vehicle was designed to carry nuclear warheads, but as I was not here then, to me it just looks like a cool spider thing.



Sputnik 5 was the mission that carried Belka and Strelka, the Soviet dogs. They were super cute.

Unlike Belka and Strelka, I like to keep my feet firmly planeted on terra firma. Well, maybe not on just the ground, but defnitely in this atmosphere. I don't think that's too much to ask. I like space. I like looking at it. I'd rather not be in it. I mean, what does space have? Aliens, death, destruction... There's no gravity, no air, no food, no Walmarts. Why would anyone want to go there except for sinister reasons like to blow other countries up? I tell you, no good can come of it.

I'm excited about the game tomorrow. Melissa got me super great seats. Unlike the USF game, I will actually be able to see the players this time. (Just kidding, Dad. The seats were great...)

Happy October, everybody!

Saturday Morning Nostalgia

I am not a good little kid shopper. Last night I went to Walmart for the sole purpose of buying a present for my friend Sveta's kid's birthday party tonight at Chuck E. Cheese. Masha is turning six and well, if she were 6-teen or 6-ty I probably could have found something with no problem, but 6 is just not good. I wandered aimlessly through the toy section amidst Tonka trucks and Barbie castles and came to the conclusion that there is just way too much crap in the toy section. Let's face it; it's all a rip off. I mean, how many toys did you actually play with when you were little for more than a week? More than a day? When it comes down to it, there are really only 3 things the basic kid needs to keep him or her happy:

1. Quilts
2. Legos
3. A Refrigerator Box

Let me explain because Lori is probably the only person who is with me at this point. Saturday mornings were very structured in my house when I was little. Dad always worked on Saturdays and Mom took the opportunity to sleep in, so we were on our own. When we didn't have soccer practice, at 6:30, on the dot, my brothers and I got up and fixed ourselves some cereal and watched Beast Wars on Fox 49 with Mrs. Jan. (Can I get a shout out for Mrs. Jan? Any native Tallahassean remembers her. We didn't have cable so the privilege of watching Stick Stickly on Nickelodeon was lost to us.) Then we moved on to Power Rangers, then to X-men, then to Spiderman and sometimes to Bill Nye the Science Guy if we were feeling in the educational mood. Chances are we weren't- so the T.V. was left behind at about 10 a.m.

Now sometimes we read books or watched more TV or played games, but the all time favorite thing to do on Saturday mornings before Mom got up was to get all the quilts and blankets out of the bathroom closet and make a giant tent out of our whole living room. The key to this fantastic event was to get it started before Mom got up, otherwise she wouldn't let us because she knew she would be the one folding up all the blankets and quilts afterwards. But as long as we got it started before 10:30 we were good to go. We always began by stuffing the pink and white quilt into the top of our upright piano (another thing Mom disapproved of) and draped it over the bench. From there on out we threw blankets over couches and love seats and even the fireplace mantle. We had our own country under there, each of us with a separate little piece of the kingdom. I, of course, always ruled the lands surrounding the Piano Castle. This was undisputed. I think that Chris usually ended up ruling the dark, hilly lands of KofeeTabel and Cameron got stuck with the heavily industrial Entertainment Centre Field. Sometimes Mom would even let us keep it up all the way through Sunday. Somehow, even though the blankets were really the equivalent to an indoor shanty town, they managed to keep us entertained for a good part of the whole weekend.

If by some chance Mom got up early on Saturday morning or Dad happened to be off, they would generally look down upon our destroying the whole house for the sake of creating our little indoor kingdom, so we just had to make one that was much smaller. Causing nearly as much mess was our collection of legos, a collection that had been built up for years by small purchases ever so often at garage sales. Cities rose, battles were fought, planets were explored, skyscrapers were constructed- all in the foyer of our house. It was the kingdom of primary colors- red, yellow and blue. We built to our hearts' content, hours on end.

And then there was #3. Every once in a while on the way home from somewhere, Mom would stop by the Maytag store and throw an old refrigerator box into the back of our van. Sometimes she'd get three so that we'd each have one. There is nothing greater than a refrigerator box. They are for both indoor and outdoor use. You can live in it, sleep in it, decorate it, cut holes in it, eat in it, watch movies in it, color in it. Anything exciting you can do as a kid can be made even more exciting by doing it in a refrigerator box. All other toys pale by comparison.

Naturally, I had to bypass getting Masha #1 or #3 for her birthday. And the Lego selection at Walmart seemed to be limited to incredibly complicated, instructions-required legos. A plethora of colors and sizes, translucent and opaque- Lego has gone tragically far from its simple primary color beginnings. I left the toy section feeling quite uninspired. Fortunately, at that very moment Ruth called and gave me some good advice, so I traipsed over to the jewelry section and bought Mashenka some princess jewelry. I hope she likes it. Otherwise I might stop by the Maytag store and get her a slightly unconventional but much more exciting refrigerator box.