There's no internet in the apartment again, so I'm on a midnight library run.
I'll probably be here again in 7 hours to sign up for classes; see you soon book-box.
And thanks, shitty ISP.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Poor Prince of the Land
I went over my developed sketches with the professor today in class. He kept calling the prince a "she".
I have never needed a reminder on my lack of understanding the human figure. There was no change today.
I have never needed a reminder on my lack of understanding the human figure. There was no change today.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Conned!
Going back to the city from fall break was looking to be a dreary task, and my ipod (damn me for supporting them!) was dead and charging. So something needed to be done to kill time. Dinner was out of the question as it was far to early for my traditional-dinner-dad to eat. I was actually hungry, but that was neither there nor anywhere else.
I suggested ice cream; little sounded better right then than a little hot fudge sundae. I was thinking Sonic; it was close and rather inexpensive. I suggested this fat packed plan to my father, who would have had it no other way than to make the trip to ...Coldstone. Not wanting to argue and really, just wanting some free ice cream, I assented.
At coldstone, I realized what a silly dream the hot fudge sundae had been - just think of all of those brownie and carmel filled options! I was even willing to spend time mulling through the pricey possibilities to find the perfect concoction.
Alas, the line was nil and my father had not heard my mental exclamation of delight at all of the different flavors. He asked straightaway for a sundae and the gentleman behind the counter was confused.
I sighed, giving up, and declared that all I wanted was a hot fudge sundae. The gentleman shrugged and said he could put hot fudge over vanilla creme ice cream. I mentally rolled my eyes (I'm not entirely sure about the mental part) and said yes, that would be fine. My father ordered the same thing (except with black cherry ice cream - a desire that is most decidedly not burned into the genetic line) and we went to pay.
I was handed my hot fudge sundae, I looked and, while putting the black plastic spoon into the lard mountain and delivering it to my face, I forgot all desire to have some fancy schmancy ice cream. For that moment I delighted in the wonder that is Hot fudge and Ice cream.
It was to be the last; paid in full, we walked to the table and I grew melancholy as I realized that the fudge was congealing around my ice cream -- it was hardening hot fudge! I debated as to if I should tell my father. Eventually (2 seconds later) I gave in to my disappointment and let him know.
We devoured our ice cream in silence.
Epilogue:
While driving away, I made my remarks about the fudge again, "That first bite was awesome, but then the fudge started to harden," and then recalling my actual experience with the ice cream added, "But after that [the fudge] was basically a brownie, so who gives a s***?"
And so it was.
I suggested ice cream; little sounded better right then than a little hot fudge sundae. I was thinking Sonic; it was close and rather inexpensive. I suggested this fat packed plan to my father, who would have had it no other way than to make the trip to ...Coldstone. Not wanting to argue and really, just wanting some free ice cream, I assented.
At coldstone, I realized what a silly dream the hot fudge sundae had been - just think of all of those brownie and carmel filled options! I was even willing to spend time mulling through the pricey possibilities to find the perfect concoction.
Alas, the line was nil and my father had not heard my mental exclamation of delight at all of the different flavors. He asked straightaway for a sundae and the gentleman behind the counter was confused.
I sighed, giving up, and declared that all I wanted was a hot fudge sundae. The gentleman shrugged and said he could put hot fudge over vanilla creme ice cream. I mentally rolled my eyes (I'm not entirely sure about the mental part) and said yes, that would be fine. My father ordered the same thing (except with black cherry ice cream - a desire that is most decidedly not burned into the genetic line) and we went to pay.
I was handed my hot fudge sundae, I looked and, while putting the black plastic spoon into the lard mountain and delivering it to my face, I forgot all desire to have some fancy schmancy ice cream. For that moment I delighted in the wonder that is Hot fudge and Ice cream.
It was to be the last; paid in full, we walked to the table and I grew melancholy as I realized that the fudge was congealing around my ice cream -- it was hardening hot fudge! I debated as to if I should tell my father. Eventually (2 seconds later) I gave in to my disappointment and let him know.
We devoured our ice cream in silence.
Epilogue:
While driving away, I made my remarks about the fudge again, "That first bite was awesome, but then the fudge started to harden," and then recalling my actual experience with the ice cream added, "But after that [the fudge] was basically a brownie, so who gives a s***?"
And so it was.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Solution? Turkey Leg and Beer
Problem: Sometimes people suck alot.
Directions:
Directions:
- Turkey Leg and Beer
- Repeat as needed
- Unless you're driving:
- (Part of the problem in the first place.)
- (Sorry.)
Friday, October 9, 2009
Adventures in Maymont
or A One in Three Success Rate of Insect Collection
As it was apparently the last beautiful day of the season, several friends and I ventured to Maymont park. This was to be a relaxing walk, filled with a petting zoo and Koi fish. So it was -- but the real highlight of the day involved our group dealings in entomology. One of our group members, A-----, is taking a class in insect study and has a running assignment of collecting insects of different Orders and Species and other Scientific Mumbo Jumbo.
Bug #1
As we walked another group member, J------, said she saw a bug and asked A----- if she wants it. The rest of us insisted that it was a berry, but lo and behold, it was really an insect, and an unusual find for our state at that.
The Problem:
How do we store this little critter? No one has a bag and A----- beats herself up for not being prepared. A third group member, L----, does have a ziplock bag of chips and we quickly consume them in order to store the unusual (I called it Rare to make the discovery sound even better) Velvet Ant (which is not really an ant but a flightless wasp, thank you A-----). The critter is stored in my purse. But could it survive the journey?...
Bug #2
At the petting zoo, a bug landed on A------'s shirt and she got really exited and picked it up and said, "Hey it's a such-and-such, I needed this!" and we were again stuck with the problem of finding a bag for this little guy.
The Problem:
No bag. Would we find one?...
Bug #3
A grasshopper bounced away from us nearing the end of our journey and as A---- declared that they were too hard to catch and she could always get another one, I caught that effing grasshopper and held it up to the group as proudly as any four year old has ever done. We transferred it from my adept hands, to A-----, to L----'s purse's zipper pocket.
The Problem:
As A---- later inspected her well-caught and efficiently-transferred grasshopper, she noticed that one of its hind legs was missing. L---- commented that that was why I was able to catch the little bastard and I came as near to ripping her hair out as any four year old would - it took all I had not to even stick my tongue out. The fact remained that the grasshopper only had one leg. Would that matter for insect collecting?...
Answers.
Bug#3: Yep. A shitty specimen calls for a shitty grade; we let him go.
Bug#2: It didn't matter that we couldn't find a bag, because he jumped out of A-----'s hand, never to be seen by the likes of us again.
Bug#1: So it could. The little bastard was pretty hardy, spending all day in a plastic bag in my purse, though he did make some odd noises. I am told, however, that this his normal for his Rare species.
All in all a very successful venture, considering that we had no etymological goals.
As it was apparently the last beautiful day of the season, several friends and I ventured to Maymont park. This was to be a relaxing walk, filled with a petting zoo and Koi fish. So it was -- but the real highlight of the day involved our group dealings in entomology. One of our group members, A-----, is taking a class in insect study and has a running assignment of collecting insects of different Orders and Species and other Scientific Mumbo Jumbo.
Bug #1
As we walked another group member, J------, said she saw a bug and asked A----- if she wants it. The rest of us insisted that it was a berry, but lo and behold, it was really an insect, and an unusual find for our state at that.
The Problem:
How do we store this little critter? No one has a bag and A----- beats herself up for not being prepared. A third group member, L----, does have a ziplock bag of chips and we quickly consume them in order to store the unusual (I called it Rare to make the discovery sound even better) Velvet Ant (which is not really an ant but a flightless wasp, thank you A-----). The critter is stored in my purse. But could it survive the journey?...
Bug #2
At the petting zoo, a bug landed on A------'s shirt and she got really exited and picked it up and said, "Hey it's a such-and-such, I needed this!" and we were again stuck with the problem of finding a bag for this little guy.
The Problem:
No bag. Would we find one?...
Bug #3
A grasshopper bounced away from us nearing the end of our journey and as A---- declared that they were too hard to catch and she could always get another one, I caught that effing grasshopper and held it up to the group as proudly as any four year old has ever done. We transferred it from my adept hands, to A-----, to L----'s purse's zipper pocket.
The Problem:
As A---- later inspected her well-caught and efficiently-transferred grasshopper, she noticed that one of its hind legs was missing. L---- commented that that was why I was able to catch the little bastard and I came as near to ripping her hair out as any four year old would - it took all I had not to even stick my tongue out. The fact remained that the grasshopper only had one leg. Would that matter for insect collecting?...
Answers.
Bug#3: Yep. A shitty specimen calls for a shitty grade; we let him go.
Bug#2: It didn't matter that we couldn't find a bag, because he jumped out of A-----'s hand, never to be seen by the likes of us again.
Bug#1: So it could. The little bastard was pretty hardy, spending all day in a plastic bag in my purse, though he did make some odd noises. I am told, however, that this his normal for his Rare species.
All in all a very successful venture, considering that we had no etymological goals.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Tonight at 9 the new episode of
Because I do not want to prove my roommates correct, and because my fanaticism is slightly embarassing, I will not be discussing tonight's episode of The Office. If it happens to leak into this serious, academic and all around important blog, I apologize and beg forgiveness.
Events of the day, completely non-relatedthis evening's 9pm event:
My roommate locked herself out of our apartment. In addition to her keys, also left inside the apartment - meaning not on her person - was her cell phone. She borrowed a phone, called her mother, and let nature take its course. I believe her mother, as any good mother would do, called every number in her aresenal. I cannot prove this for a fact, but as she called my phone (which went straight to voicemail due to the lead box that is the Life Sciences building) and left a message, and also phoned my father at his work place and left a message for him, who, in turn called my phone - and you know the story there. That's the best part of the story. The end is I came home then decided that Chipotle was better than waiting around for my roommate and
But on The Office Andy ripped his scrotum and Dwight slept with Pam's best friend and Jim spilled the beans on Pam being preggers and Michael slept with Pam's mom and Jim and Pam really got married on the boat at Niagra falls but no one knew it and in the beginning of the episode Pam was vomiting all over the place because Dwight was being an ass and eating an egg like she had asked him not to and then everyone else was vomiting because they saw her vomiting and Jim was sweet and cut off his tie so that Pam wouldn't feel so bad about ripping her veil and Kevin's shoes got thrown away because they were too smelly for the shoe shiner to even be near and it was all really stupid sweet but still funny and Pam had a fake little baby bump and Jim's brothers are still assholes and
Sorry.
Events of the day, completely non-related
My roommate locked herself out of our apartment. In addition to her keys, also left inside the apartment - meaning not on her person - was her cell phone. She borrowed a phone, called her mother, and let nature take its course. I believe her mother, as any good mother would do, called every number in her aresenal. I cannot prove this for a fact, but as she called my phone (which went straight to voicemail due to the lead box that is the Life Sciences building) and left a message, and also phoned my father at his work place and left a message for him, who, in turn called my phone - and you know the story there. That's the best part of the story. The end is I came home then decided that Chipotle was better than waiting around for my roommate and
Sorry.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Gift Giving / Keeping
My mother had a birthday last weekend and for the sake of protecting her pride I will not reveal which birthday this was.
Several days before the event (on Sunday, which was destined to be a beautiful early fall day, complete with slight breeze and surprise funeral) I was walking the streets of my beloved dirty little city and walked by a flower vendor. He had advertised flowers for sale at 2 dollars and up. I dismissed the thought before I even had it because I knew for a fact that there was only one dollar bill in my bag.
However, on my return trip home, I rummaged through my tiny purse and found that while there was only one single dollar bill, there were quarters aplenty*. I smiled and, upon reaching the vendor, purchased a not-quite-perfect pink rose for my mother's birthday.
*aplenty = here, referring to more than a dollar and fifty cents because this will more than pay for any parking meter or will wash one very expensive load of laundry note. a copious amount of quarters would have purchased any of the vendor's flowers on their own or washed and dried that same load of laundry
This was Friday afternoon and the events that followed the purchase are not relevant to this story. So much is to say that when I returned to my parents' house on Saturday afternoon, I cried to an empty house, "Damn!" as I had left my mother's not-quite-perfect pink rose in my refrigerator in the city.
Epilogue:
I purchased my mother a fifteen dollar bouquet of kind-of-shitty fall colored mums and assorted things from the local food lion. (I apparently could not recall that there was a legitimate florist three minutes down the road.) She enjoyed them and all was well in the home on Sunday except for a rather tragic surprise funeral. It's tragedy was the death, the manner of the death, and it's date of my mother's birthday.
Afterword:
I only regurgitate this story because as I avoid writing a lab paper on glycolysis, I am staring at a lovely pink rose which perked up well after being in the cold for 3 days without water and I am not terribly horribly sorry that I left it here. I'll never pass up on a little cheer nearing midnight.
Several days before the event (on Sunday, which was destined to be a beautiful early fall day, complete with slight breeze and surprise funeral) I was walking the streets of my beloved dirty little city and walked by a flower vendor. He had advertised flowers for sale at 2 dollars and up. I dismissed the thought before I even had it because I knew for a fact that there was only one dollar bill in my bag.
However, on my return trip home, I rummaged through my tiny purse and found that while there was only one single dollar bill, there were quarters aplenty*. I smiled and, upon reaching the vendor, purchased a not-quite-perfect pink rose for my mother's birthday.
*aplenty = here, referring to more than a dollar and fifty cents because this will more than pay for any parking meter or will wash one very expensive load of laundry note. a copious amount of quarters would have purchased any of the vendor's flowers on their own or washed and dried that same load of laundry
This was Friday afternoon and the events that followed the purchase are not relevant to this story. So much is to say that when I returned to my parents' house on Saturday afternoon, I cried to an empty house, "Damn!" as I had left my mother's not-quite-perfect pink rose in my refrigerator in the city.
Epilogue:
I purchased my mother a fifteen dollar bouquet of kind-of-shitty fall colored mums and assorted things from the local food lion. (I apparently could not recall that there was a legitimate florist three minutes down the road.) She enjoyed them and all was well in the home on Sunday except for a rather tragic surprise funeral. It's tragedy was the death, the manner of the death, and it's date of my mother's birthday.
Afterword:
I only regurgitate this story because as I avoid writing a lab paper on glycolysis, I am staring at a lovely pink rose which perked up well after being in the cold for 3 days without water and I am not terribly horribly sorry that I left it here. I'll never pass up on a little cheer nearing midnight.
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