:(

Well, I finally did it. I finally confessed my love for the bookstore girl. Since I don't have her current phone number or anything, I sent her a message over AIM. I know it wasn't the best wau to do it, but I had to do something and didn't know how else to contact her.

She was away, so I'm still waiting on a reply. I'll update when I hear something, if I hear something. Either it will be a crushing, defeating heartbreak or perhaps I'll luck out for once in my life, who knows. Here's to hoping.

This post is about anger and missed opportunities.

I have now come to posess a hate in my heart that is greater than almost anything that I have felt before.

I'm sure you all remember the bookstore girl. I told you all in depth about her a few posts down. Well, I'm a wimp. I drag my feet, I procrastinate, I am generally frightened, and I get nothing accomplished. Never has that been the case more than now.

I have recently found out that she has this thing for/with another fellow. For purpose of this blog, let's call him Ethan. Ethan, from what I can gather, is apparently better than me in every way. If there were to be a book to be written about this saga, I would most likely end up as the antagonist (I can always hope to be an anti-hero though). Even though the majority of this is speculation, as I haven't actually seen the two together it could be just a crush of her own, there is a degree of likelihood and it doesn't involve me.

I bet you're thinking to yourself that it's a pretty petty thing to hate a guy just because he's going out with a girl you like. Well, that's not why I hate him, and I'm not sure I even hate *him* per se. It's the fact that I had an opportunity, a chance to be with a wonderful girl, but I'm the most chickenshit human being to ever walk the face of this earth. Their relationship stands as a monument to my indecision, failure, and lack of self confidence. It tears me up inside. Why? Because it's always like this for me and I hate it.

There is a lesson to be learned in this, so for those who it applies, learn it well. It probably could be interpreted different ways by different people, so I'm not going to limit anyone to a specific lesson.

I'll try not to be so depressing next time.

This is one of those stories that just has to be told.

Yesterday, I saw three squirrels commit suicide. You'd think the natural way for a squirrel to off themselves would be to run out in front of a car. Not these bad boys. They jumped out of a tree.

I was in the art building here today, generally slacking off when I should have been working, and headed out to meet up with a friend for dinner. I was on my way to the dining hall, walking through the quad, and I hear a loud rustling up in the trees. I look up to see a blurry mass falling down from a good distance up in the tree, it landed about 4 feet behind me and I walked over to check it out.

It turned out, it was a squirrel. He was just laying there, dying. Then, he looked up at me as if to say 'I told u I wuz hardcore' and went limp. That's the point where I said 'shit' out loud.

I turned and continued walking when, almost right in front of me, falls another one. It almost hit this other dude in the head. If it would have, I would not have been able to meet my friend for dinner, for I would have pissed my pants. This squirrel landed *splat* on the brick sidewalk.

Almost at that very moment, I heard another one hit the ground. 'Holy Shit' I both said to myself and out loud, 'I need to get out of here' I looked at the guy who almost got impaled my the rodent and we exchanged confused and fairly scared looks.

So, it seems depression among squirrels is up 300% at my university. With reckless abandon, they are jumping to their certain demise. I swear to you that every bit of this is true.

I finally got to the dining hall and while my friend and I were eating, a furry walked by in full garb. It was the first time I had seen one that close in full costume. I feared the fact that he very well may have been the "squirrel master" causing the animals to commit suicide. However, this is another story for another day.

I got the opportunity to see Spiderman 2 tonight, (movies at the student union, 6 months late but free) and I must say that it was the most depressing movie that I have ever seen in all my 22 years on this planet.

This is just a warning, from here on in, I will probably get a bit...ok well really vulgar. If bad language offends you, here's a link to Hello Kitty Figurines on ebay.

This movie was so depressing, I wanted to jump up and start throwning my shit in handfuls at the screen. Why did it do this to you, you may ask? Well, let me go through it, character by character, and tell you exactly why.

First, Spiderman. The web-slinging superhero himself. His life was a rich, full, fucking waster. His grades were bad, he wasn't getting any sleep, he was fired from his job, his spiderman powers were fading in and out, and to top it all off, the girl he loved was fucking a spaceman. When he thinks it can't get any worse, what happens? Some crazy scientist wants to rape him with his biomechanical tentacles, and his best friend wants him dead. The only people who even remotely liked him were his aunt and the lanky, inbred, hillbilly, Romanian, Super's daughter from across the hall. All this made me want Spiderman to run down to the Target, buy their most powerful shotgun, and sleep with it in his mouth.

Now, Doc Ock, this biomechanical, tentacled douche bag has a terrible, terrible life. His first fatal flaw was that he was overconfident. Don't listen to anyone else who is even remotely sensible, Doc. You're clearly the genius, you know everything, and that's why your miscalculations killed your wife that you loved so much and turned you into some sort of mechanical monster with AI taking over your brain. You're sooooooo overconfident that you can't rest with the fact that your work failed, and you want to kill every fucking body. Why don't you just jump out of the screen and take a steaming, hot, shit in my gaping mouth? How do we try to make things better? Oh, it's Peter, I'm going to fight this AI and save everybody. NO, IT DOES NOT MAKE THINGS BETTER, YOU STUPID DOUCHE BECAUSE WHILE IT WAS AGAINST YOUR WISHES, YOU CLEARLY DIE A MONSTER AND IT DOESN'T MAKE UP FOR ALL THE SHIT YOU'VE ALREADY DONE. Fuck you Doc Ock, fuck you in your stupid fucking ass.

Aunt May? Her house is being repossessed, and she is still in a deep state of depression over the death of her husband.

Harry? He loses a shitload of money, he's ruined as a businessman, he's obsessed, totally taken over with killing spiderman, and to top it all off, he's being haunted by his father. The next sequel will be equally depressing, I bet.

Mary Jane? She's confused about who she loves and what she wants from life. She's fucking a spaceman, but she still loves Peter. However, she can't stand Peter because he cannot commit to her. Just like a woman.

Jonah Jameson? The spaceman? The fucking spaceman? The one who's woman strings him along and leaves him at the altar? No, his life doesn't suck at all...oh wai...

You see? It was a really, horrid, depressing movie. The ending does not fix things. It does not make me happy or optimistic about the future. It was funny because it made me think about going to watch Schindler's List. At least then I know that the allies are coming, eventually. Which is incredibly sad. You do not do this to me, movie people, you just don't do it. To top it all off, 3 is going to be even worse, you just wait.

*sigh*

Sometimes, a cowboy is just a man in a cowboy suit.

Never is this more true than on Halloween. Here, Halloween is a pretty big deal. I've never been able to understand why, exactly this has come to be, but it's true. I figure the primary reason is that it's an excuse to gather up about 20,000 people in the street in silly (and also often revealing) costumes, and drink until their asses almost fall off.

Being that I don't drink, or really understand the fit raised over Halloween here, myself and a friend ordered Chinese food and played Silent Hill 4: The Room. There is no drunken frat boy on the face of this planet, no matter how costumed, as scary and creepy as silent hill. Well, unless you factor in their social graces, then they're horrifying.

We've almost beat the game, and I am really enthralled by its storyline even though it has not even the remotest semblance of sense to it. I'm going to put the plot stuff here as a spoiler, so if you don't want to read it, don't highlight it. It's basically about this guy who, as a boy, was seperated from his mother and father and ended up in a cult. This cult taught him how to "bring his mother back" but it turns out it was all a farce (supposedly, I haven't reaced the end yet). Now, he's basically trying to summon the devil by killing people. The kicker? He's dead now. So, here's where you come in. All the sudden, weird stuff starts to happen in your apartment, the doors are all chain locked, there are holes in your walls leading to places you know, except they're all rusted and covered in "meat" It's all this dead guy's fault and guess what, you're the last step in his plan to summon the devil. So, you've got to stop him. He thinks hi mother is your apartment, that's why it's happening to you, because he never knew his real mother. All he knew is that he came from that apartment. Weird, eh? and that was fun. However, the interesting part was when I was going back home.

I've never seen the likes of this before. I walked by a half dozen bunny girls ( :-O furries) a dude wearing nothing but a cod piece, and another girl who was about 12 seconds away from falling dead on her ass, just to name a few. Of course, I was wearing my "smirking bastard" costume, because I found the entire situation quite amusing.

The characters Halloween brings out is amazing. These are people I have classes with, and on a usual day, they would act nothing like this, but on this night, they go buck ass wild. I always expect some kind of riot or fire with all these drunk people gathered in some sort of dress-up symposium, but it never happens. One day, I pledge this to be my sociological experiment: Why grown, intellegent (for the most part) people would engage in such activity. Sure, it's fun. Yeah, it's nice to be something other than yourself sometimes. Maybe it just wasn't made for my understanding; which is perfectly fine with me.

I've always thought about joining in (hey, psychology people, you know what this says about me right?), but never had the will to actually do it. I don't like crowds, they make me nervous. So...yeah.

May you always live in interesting times, I know I do.

I was sitting here, looking at my empty pizza box and almost finished art project and listening to Clem Snide, and I thought I would blog something. Then I thought that I would devote this entire post to the bookstore girl. The one you've all sort of heard about but don't really know what I mean.

I met her in my very first class here at university. It was the economics of North Carolina and it was taught by a weasely looking man, whom I never want to encounter again. The devil, he was, but I digress. We were put together in a group for a group project and there I found out that she was also in the program I am in for future teachers. Imagine that, huh?

So, we got along and we were friends. I had a crush on her, I did then, and I do now. However, I was afraid to say anything. I mean, we were friends (insert ladder theory here, friend zone? :-/) and if I asked, I'd still have to see her every day. Welcome to awkward town, USA.

About a year ago, we were talking and she told me that she was going to leave the program. I was a bit stunned and heartbroken, I knew I'd miss her and I knew I only had one semester left where I would see her.

That last semester was kind of awkward. It was almost like she was gone already. We'd still talk, but it wasn't the same for me and I could tell it wasn't the same for her either.

That pretty much brings us to the present. In about August she got a job at the local Borders bookstore (ergo, bookstore girl) and I've been thinking about her quite a bit. The only difference between now and then is that now I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. If I ask her and she says no, well, I never see her anyway so brush it off. If I ask and she says yes, the party will be at my place. There will be Mountain Dew and possibly cake. I don't have much seating so you might want to bring a folding chair.

I said I was going to devote this entire post to the bookstore girl. Well, that was a bit of a lie. I will comment on a comment that I recieved on the last post where I was asked what distro I was using. It's Ubuntu, and it's pretty neat.

Thanks for stopping by

2004: A Linux Odyssey

I have made the jump from windows over to Linux, and thus far, I must say, I have been rather pleased. Linux has been running much more smoothly than anything I ever tried to run under windows, and it has certainly been doing it much faster.

While I'm still getting my feet wet, I think I'm really getting the hang of all of this stuff, but I guess time will tell.


Now for something a little less technical and a little more like me. I'm planning on asking out the bookstore girl at the next opportunity I get. Mark my words, this time, I will be successful. (confidence is a good thing, right guys?...right?)

However, if I do this, that means Mission: Norah must come to an end. Which would be bittersweet for me because while my efforts would have been in vain, I would have the bookstore girl and that would make things much better. So, Norah, sweetie, honey, dear, this is your last opportunity.

You stay classy, San Diego.

...and so, it begins.

That's right ladies and gentlemen, as of 12:30 am on the 13th of September, Mission: Norah has started.

What is Mission Norah? you may ask. Well, simply put, the goal of Mission: Norah is for me to make dear sweet love to Miss Norah Jones in a consentual manner. Consentual being the key word. Norah is obviously too classy a gal for suprise sex. I mean, you got to do it up right. A fire in the fire place, a little Barry White on the stereo (my usual music of choice is 'Feels like Home' but I think Norah might get a little weird, what grooving and grinding to her own music and all). However, I digress, that's basically the goals and intentions of Mission: Norah, in a nut shell.

Why is Mission: Norah happening? That's a good question. Mission: Norah is going down because I think it would result in something that would be good for humanity as a whole. This is exactly the type of thing that society is missing. Sexual intercourse between a stranger and a beautiful, young, female celebrity. I'm sure this will give the country the kick in the pants that it needs. It will boost the economy, end world hunger, stop all war, but most importantly, I will have laid a celebrity and, in the end, isn't that what's really important here?

Now an aside to Miss Norah Jones, if she has some how found this post googling her name just to see how enormous of a celebrity she has become. Miss Jones, the fate of a grateful nation is in your hands. You have the opportunity to become more than a celebrity; you can cross that threshold between celebrity to superstar, then on to WORLD ICON STATUS. All that is needed is one little thing. Don't go frosty on me now, baby.

Now, how can I help the cause? Well, if you're Norah Jones, you know exactly how you can help. If you are not, you can donate through the link over there on the side. It's not required. Not in the least, but it would help the cause and with your help, Mission: Norah will be a success.

Mission: Norah-- Surely I will bed her.

Today was the big art critique for our first multimedia project. Mine went rather well, actually. If I wasn't so lazy, I would upload a pic of it. I think I may have been picked out to be the teacher's gimp, as I am one of only two non-art majors in the class, and the other one is a girl who is really quite attractive. However, I don't have enough evidence to back this up yet, so it's another post for another day.

On the critique itself. I didn't wake up this morning until about 11am. I didn't have to, which makes it all the more sweet. I looked out the window and it was raining as though piss was being poured out of the proverbial boot. I was pissed, but there were still about three hours until I was supposed to arrive at the art building, project in hand. About five minutes before I was supposed to leave, it stopped. Oh sweet miracle of miracles. Then, to make the situation even better, I was able to catch the bus instead of having to make the 1/2 mile walk. I arrived, and I was the first one to be 'critiqued,' which was the second time this week this has happened because I was also "randomly" selected to go first in my digital media class. The majority of the comments were very positive. As a matter of fact, they all were, aside for a couple of nit picky structural things the teacher had to say, but never mind that. I, of course, was a smart ass during my artist statement, I had an answer for every question, no matter what it was. I was smooth, and that's the way I like it. It wasn't long before it was Helga's turn.

You remember Helga? In the last post, I called her Nancy. She got this nickname as a suggestion from a certain deceased artist after I suggested calling her "HLG" (hairy leg girl). Add an e and an a; it just works. Yes, she is still crazy. Yes, her project was about the creative spirits. No, she didn't include her menstruation cycle in the piece. I was kind of disappointed in that. She requested a seperate room to display her work. Her project consisted of a mailbox. She had painted it, and crafted a skull, a bull and some other little knick knacks that she attached to the outside of the mailbox. Inside the mailbox, she put cards inside envelopes, and requested that everyone take one of the envelopes with them. Accompanying the cards was this retena scorching heat lamp of sorts that damn near blinded me when I looked inside the box. She went through the whole spill about how she wrote poems to the creative spirits, called out to them for help, and how they had changed her whole life as of 2 years ago in her artist statement. Yes, she almost started crying again. I was hoping for a bit more drama, that would have made for a better story for you guys and a more interesting class for me, but it just was not to be. Maybe next time.

The Washingtons go to wifey, you know how we get down

Here's a little blog post that I hope will be a bit more light hearted than some of my others here recently. It's a story about a girl, but it's not what you're thinking. Well, if kind of is, but it's not. Anyway here goes.

I've been given the pleasure/misfortune of being in a multimedia class this semester here in college and in this class there was this girl, for the sake of this post we'll call her Nancy. I saw Nancy in class and afterwards we started talking at the bus stop. She seemed to be a nice girl and everything. She even has an ipod. I'm not sure what that last bit means, but dammitall she has an ipod. She was being kindly flirty but not really anything overt and I, being the 'so lonely' guy I am, I was really considering asking this girl out, she was nice, talented, well spoken, and other good things. Then it all came to a screeching halt.

I look down to pick up my bag, and, out of the corner of my eye, I see what I only assume to be the Amazon rainforest. Her legs had a thickness of hair on them that I have never encountered before in my life. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not *that* superficial. I mean, I understand that women don't always shave their legs. They're busy, what with trying to break the glass ceiling and what not, and it's only natural that one may not always get the chance to shave in this busy work a day world. Hey, it happens with men too. However, this hair was thicker than mine, it had been there for quite some time and I was afraid that, at any moment, a jaguar was going to leap out and attack me. I was willing to look past this though. I mean, she's still nice and everything. Plus, if we ever were to play footsie, it would tickle, and that would be fun.

However, today I came to find out that she's bat shit insane. There's really no other way to describe her. Today our art professor came around, discussing our projects with us. Our first project in this class is supposed to be something about ourselves in a box. Well, after taking a shit on my ideas, he moves on to our friend Nancy. This is when I can to the conclusion that holy shit she's insane. She started talking about these spirits, these creative spirits and how they helped her make art. She spoke of how she would, in the privcy of her room, write poems to these spirits, begging them to help her. She also wanted to do something with the moon and moons, and through these moons her femininity [read menstruation cycle]. At this point and time, my penis was shriveling up inside of me, and it only got worse. Out of FUCKING NOWHERE, she just starts crying and has to leave the room. HOLY SHIT. I was going to do what now? I don't know what she was on about but I'm quite sure I can't stand this dramady for any kind of relationship.

It is, however, probably for the best, because when she would have turned me down, what would that have said about me. It is apparent right now that my life is a rich, full fucking waster, but I'm quite fine with that at the moment, at least it's exciting...not to mention entertaining.

Dorm room update (final update):

Today I got confirmation that I do, in fact, have a dorm room for the fall, and I am excited. My roommate, turns out, is from the country of Amsterdam, which is pretty cool as I enjoy meeting new people from different countries and cultures.

Here's the thing, aside from the steady marijuana supply ;-) , I know nothing of the culture iin Amsterdam, if any of you reading this are from Amsterdam, or know anyone who is, drop me a line. At least then I'll sort of know what to expect.

Here's an interesting entry.

As a human being, you got to have faith in something. Whether it be some sort of diety, spirit, some sort of fungus that kind of looks like Patrick Swayze, or whatever, human beings need faith in *something* to survive.

Well, my faith has almost been pushed to its limits because of recent events and to tell the truth, I'm not really too sure what to believe anymore.

Tonight was a good reminder why I feel this way.

I'm going to go ahead and admit that I am a Christian. I'm not ashamed of it, but it's not really something I talk about in the average situation. My father has been the choir director at our church for about 10 years and tonight, he was fired.

Now, doin't get me wrong, the position was only part time, it didn't pay hardly anything and he has another, real job, but it's the circumstances surrounding the situation that piss me off to no end. First, a little back story.

About five years ago now, our current pastor left our church for the first time. It was rather unexpected, he left the congregation holding the ball with our pants around our ankles and our asses flapping in the breeze. Then there let loose a shit storm in the church the likes of which I had never seen and thought I would never see again (until now, but I'll get to that in a minute). The only thing that remained as a constant, and quite possibly one of the only things that held the church together was my father as the music minister. However, this was a church on the brink.

Then all of the sudden, out of the blue, like the phoenix rising from the ashes, our preacher returned. Pretty much with a "look, I saved the church, kiss my ass" mentality. I don't know if he expected the church to totally fold without him, or what, but who really cares. In the times in between now and then, he was real buddy buddy with my father, myself and my family, seeming like he was one of our best friends. He even drove to Baltimore, Maryland from North Carolina when my sister had surgery at Johns Hopkin's and he pretty much stayed this way up until yesterday...fucker.

Anyway, thew signs started up about a year ago that he had got an itch and wanted to leave again. He had a grandson born and his wife had lost several family members and was feeling rather homesick. Why he decided to get sneaky about it and not be a man and just say he wants to leave, I'll never know. Then shit starts going down.

The pastor decides to SELL HIS HOUSE and live in a trailor in the church parking lot (still taking the housing allowance the church pays him and skimming all his utilities for free off the church). The one thing about these campers, they have wheels, and they have wheels for a reason. They fucking move. If you were to blind to see his intentions here, you're fucking insane.

A couple months ago, there was a called staff meeting at the church. The church was out of money and may or may not be able to pay the bills. The fuck? Well this certainly is interesting, we've never had this problem before. So his solution to the budget crisis? Buy some more expensive shit. There is some definate misappropriation of funds going on here somewhere.

So tonight, they fire my dad. When I say they, I mean he, and the committee that he has manipulated. He just recently made a clause that the preacher had to have a seat on every committee. Wonder why that was? But basically they ganged up on my father and fired him. Of course, my father asked why and of course, they didn't have an answer except to make up a couple of bullshit things on the spot, things that would really have no merit over someone's job.

If you're still with me after that rant, I commend you on a job well done and thank you a great deal.

So, now I'm left with this, fuck this crooked preacher and fuck organized religion. I know of nothing that I couldn't learn on my own that I could from a preacher behind a pulpit. You're not required to go to some sort of church to be saved, there are plenty of people who are in chuch every time the doors are open that aren't saved.

Pretty much now, we can never go back to this church again, and I never would want to. It's pretty shitty but that's the way it has got to be.

Someone get my flamethrower, it's time to burn some bridges.

This is a little something I like to call the "Maestro_Calhoun college housing update"

I still don't have a room.

I am supposed to move in to this non-existent room on Aug. 22

However, I was informed by the lady on the phone that Dr. "bumfuckjenkins" or whatever his/her name is, who is over the housing assignments, said everyone will get a room. Except for me since I called him/her "bumfuckjenkins". I will call later to get dsl ran out to the bridge I will be living under. Feel free to come by and party.

Sometimes I say swear words. Nobody's perfect and I'm not ashamed to claim it.

IT IS MY DAMN BIRTHDAY!!!!!one!!!@seven!!!

That's right, it's finally wednesday and I have made it another year. This is my attention whore, look at me it's my fucking birthday post because I deserve it, dammit.

If I feel the desire, I'll post updates throughout the day.

word.

So, here are some updates on some stuff from the last post. Primarily the conference.

As a future teacher, they ('they' being the powers that be, also known as 'the man') have us do these conferences from time to time. I will never get away from them, even when I take that step from future teacher to teacher.

I must say, my expectations were pretty low coming in to this conference and I have to admit that it blew anything I could have imagined for it out of the water. Entertaining and powerful speakers adorned the program and hot, relevant discussion filled our afternoons.

One of the most powerful speakers was a lady who we all now affectionately call 'Mrs. A' She is a holocaust survivor who travels around the state of North Carolina telling her story. She does this for no monetary compensation of any kind. More important than her story, however, is the message she brings that one could draw as lessons learned through her experiences. This was by far the most moving experience of the conference to me.

Aside from the speakers and regular sessions, I had my paradigms shifted by the people I was around and already knew, for that matter. As I watched a friend of mine who I had known to be a rather strong willed vegitarian eat meat, I'm not sure why, but this shook my beliefs at the very core. I probably thought about this for at least an hour constant. Also when I found out that a friend of mine who happens to be homosexual was 'engaged' (I use the quotes out of respect for him and simplicity of writing at the moment. He doesn't called it an 'engagement' because of the meanings carried with the term, but I can't think of a better word.) This wasn't really a paradigm shift, of sorts. Personally, I think he should be able to go to any state in the union, get hitched, and have access to the same rights as everyone else. However, this made an issue, that is a pretty hot topic here in the states at the moment, personal. Which can change, or solidify one's belief systems. It also hammered home the theme of the conference in a different way than just hearing it from a keynote speaker.

The theme was diversity. It's obvious to tell how this stuff fits. I was asked, in a group session to respond to the statement "Diversity is..." and I was given 1/3 of a post-it note to respond on. I looked down at this sliver of paper and thought to myself "1/3 of a post-it? How could I define something so massive on this?" That's exactly what I wrote. Some people might of thought I was an ass. If they did, fuck them, they miss the point entirely and if this really is the case, send your kids to *my* class.

I also found out something a bit depressing. Remember the new crush from the last post? She has moved/transfered, and I will probably never see her again. I guess it serves me right for not speaking up when I had the chance and not coming to grips with my true feelings until now. I have the feeling that everything's going to work out though. I don't know where this new outlook is coming from, but I'm glad it's there. Still, I'm going to miss her.

No word on the room yet, they told me to call back sometime this week and check. I've yet to call and it scares the shit out of me. But I did have a couple friends offer me a place to crash in the event of the worst, which meant a great deal to me, even though they may be waging their bets on me getting a dorm room.

My birthday is still wednesday.

Of conferences, dorm rooms, birthdays, and ladies.

This is one of those 'I haven't posted anything in a while so I'm going to squeeze a bunch of shit in one post' post. I have several things on my plate here, so bear with me.

Conferences. Later today I'll be going to Greensboro, NC for the weekend for another shitty conference. It seems to me that I should be through with this after a while, but I'll probably have to die first. I can tell right now, short of scoring with a lady, this weekend isn't going to be any fun at all. Here's to keeping my fingers crossed.

Dorm rooms. Well, this is a fine kettle of fish I've gotten myself in. This all spawned from my transfer attempt that fell faster than a fat man ice skating. I hadn't registered for shit at my old school, so now that I'm going back, I'm struggling to get a room. If they'll run some cat5e cable under the bridge, I'll go live there. Hopefully they'll get me an assignment soon, otherwise, I've fucked myself, and not in the good, flexible way.

Birthdays. My birthday is next week. Wednesday to be exact. With all of the stuff I've been through in the past year, I can only hope this one will be better. However, things could be worse and I'm just glad to be going on this wild ride. I guess. Happy birthday to me.

Ladies. I seem to have developed a new crush (What else is new). I see some great potential in this one though. I hope things will work out here, this could change a lot of stuff.

Of course, I'll keep anything interesting updated here. If anything at all happens at the conference, other than the expected boring shit, I'll make a new post about it. The 'new crush' saga will naturally find it's way to the blog. What would it be without it?

So, I'm getting more and more in this web design thingy. I'm starting to muck around with this css stuff more and more. Now to leard php, sql, and asp and I will pwn. Tell your friends.

Going with the flow, I posted a donations link over there. So, if you're feeling generous there's no need to waste it on the poor or hungry.

Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt.

This is the creed of the atheletes in the special olympics. For those of you who do not know, the special olympics is a series of games involving people of all ages with mental retardation. I had the opportunity to volunteer at this years Special Olympics Summer Games in North Carolina this past weekend.

Special Olympics North Carolina is the largest special olympics program in North America with over 34,000 atheletes competing in some capacity state wide and it is the fifth largest program in the WORLD (ph3ar us).

We, the volunteers, had to show up two days prior to the actual games so we could set up and get everything ready for the weekend. These two days shall henceforth be know as the "two days from hell" and let me tell you why. First, I left my camera in the car. If I had driven myself, this would be no big deal, but I did not, and my camera turned around and went 3 and 1/2 hours back home. So, no pictures. Not a good start.

Next were these God forsaken tshirts. I am a self professed "big ass man" and by no sense of the word do I even resemble "small." (hello ladies) So, they send us an email two weeks earlier telling us "you're all supposed to wear the same tshirts while you're here so people will know who you are and what you're doing. Send us your sizes." So I did. When it comes time to get our shirts, they don't have my big ass man size. Apparently they had already ordered shirts before they even sent the email out. If you just thought "what the fuck" then you are right. I ended up having to get another tshirt that was another color which ultimately caused a deal of confusion. (I was with a special group that had special shirts, we had special duties at the special olympics. It was special.) However, I'm not one to sweat the small stuff, so enough with that noise. Let's carry on with the festivities.

Our volunteer director was not the most "together", "coordinated", or "cordial" person to deal with. To put it bluntly, she was a bitch and I did not like her. Of course we had to set up all the outside envents in a thunderstorm after a fucking tornado had touched down just a town over. Of course her "people" sent us all over fucking creation just to hurry up and wait and of course at the end of the day she gets pissed and loses her shit at us. "Fuck this noise," I says to myself, "I'm a damned volunteer, this is bullshit." and it was. Whenever I would get down, there was always a hot chick or two that would "lift my spirits" so to speak. By that I mean I would undress them with my eyes. They weren't exactly "hot to trot" at the special olympics and I'm creepy like that. None the less, it worked.

This whole attitude changed friday evening, however. The atheletes were there and it was time for the opening ceremonies. I was to assist the delegation from Randolph county. I would lead them in through the "parade of atheletes" and escort them to their seats. While we were waiting, one of the atheletes walked up to me. His name was Eddie. He was about 6' 4" and weighed about 350 pounds. He was going to be competing in the weight lifting competition. Holy shit this dude was huge. This fellow came up and gave me the biggest hug I have ever had in my entire life. I was overwhelmed. And I mean I was really overwhealmed, that dude hugged me hard. After he was finished squishing what used to be my spleen, he asked me to feel his muscle (On his arm, you pervert).

The low-light of this deal was when Miss North Carolina arrived to greet the atheletes. She was the most fake, put-on, harlot that I had ever seen. However, I felt a sick vindication in the fact that she was being groped by hundreds of special olympic atheletes (who, by the way, knew what they were doing. I heard them bragging about it. Hell, I almost went to get me a handful.) But, yeah.

The opening ceremony was nice. They kept it short so they could hold the crowd. There was a special song sung by this guy who looked a lot like Kenny G and his bass player looked a lot like sliquid, but the bass player's wife looked nothing like scarlette (Sliq, do you have an ugly, redneck concubine in North Carolina? Sorry to call you out if you do) and the lighting of the "Flame of Hope" was truely outstanding. But most of all, there were 1,700 atheletes there, representing the 34,000 from accross the state. Seeing them all together in one place and knowing what they went through to get there was inspiring.

The next day I watched volleyball all day. That was a real treat and there were some really exciting matches. Then I went home. I had to jet a little early because of some problems with my transportation, but it was pretty much over.

Was it worth all the grief? Absolutely. Would I do it again? Hell no.

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you, the joys of retail.

For thos of you who don't know, in between being an artist, philantropist, and international sex symbol, I work part time as a cashier at k-mart, an American retail chain. Yesterday was one of those days on the job that one wouldn,'t forget for quite a while.

Apparently, this woman with a cane, whom I later found out was eighty years old, came in to buy a spiral notebook. You know the thing. Seventy page count, wire bound, you can take notes in them. Well, she wanted to buy one but "forgot" to get her money. Well, this was none of my business at the time, but it later became pretty important to me.

She didn't come back with her money for quite, so, as it our policy, it was put in a cart to be taken back out on the floor and put up and I was given this task.

I take the cart with the notebook in it and put all the stuff up and then, about 20 minutes later, this lady comes back in the store with her money and she was pissed that her notebook, which she had left there for about an hour, had been returned to the floor and, of course, another one of the up front employees, which I don't really like, pointed me out as the one who put it up. This is where the shit hit the fan.

"Hey Big Boy!" This old lady calls out. I think to myself 'nope, she's not talking to me, she's talking to some else' but I was wrong. I begin to get pissed off.

"Hey, do you have MY NOTEBOOK in that cart?!?"

"No ma'am, I do not" I say, as she begins to walk toward me, mumbling something about how "this store does people."

"Well, I want you to go get me another one"

I hit the fucking ceiling, but keep my cool here. I'll be god-damned if I'm going to get this bitch a notebook after she was so rude to me.

"Well, I GUESS I COULD" I say, rather snidely, but I wasn't going anywhere.

I figured she knew I wasn't going to get it, so she when and got it herself. I was mad as hell.

I finished what I was doing and went up to the service desk to go get the next load of returns, and I begin to tell my story to the girl at the service desk, who happens to be a friend of mine. In the meantime, the old lady gets her notebook and checks out. She then spots me at the service desk. This begins part two of the story.

I turn to my friend and say "Ah, hell, here she comes." and oh yes, she was coming to see me. Was she coming to apoligize? you may ask. HAAHAHAHAHAHAHA, no, she thought it was time for her to give me a lecture on morality

"I just hope that when you turn 80 years old..." I stop her cold in her tracks, mid-sentence. I had all I could stand from this woman and I couldn't stand anymore. Enter internet M_C.

"Ma'am, my name is not 'big boy'. That is not something I respond to. My name is right here on this name tag they make me wear. If you cannot see my name tag, 'sir' or 'young man' are prefectly acceptable. If you wouldn't be so rude to people, maybe they would be inclined to help you."

She knew she had just been told. She lowered her head and said "ok, sir. ok...ok" and walked out the store.

The moral of the story, I am not a giant statue that stands out in front of hamburger resturaunts, nor am a part of a hip-hop duo with Andre 3000. If I don't know you and you want me to do something for you, don't insult me. This is true for anyone, or anything else for that matter.

That's my story from the other day. My next post should be about the special olympics, so look for something a tad more heart-warming. Maestro out!

Just a quick post with the nice new template. Things are kind of getting to be a mess at the moment. At least the blog is tidy.

Posting from a high speed access terminal in a hotel room. That's all I got to say. Happy cinco de mayo, celebrate your independence from France too

As this semester closes and I get ready to take the final exams that I will ever take at this university, I'm sitting here typing in a blog. Which is something I probably really shouldn't be doing because when I look around the room, all I can see is junk piled up everywhere when I have to be packed up and out of here in about 48 hours.

48 hours until I leave this school and never look back. In a way, that's what this entry is about. Not as much my ardent procrastination and transfering schools, but more the medium in which all this is suspended, time. So, yeah, time, I was thinking about this while I was boxing up my extra pants, I need some out so I can still have a couple pair for the next few days, and I am forced to wonder what time really is and just what it's all about. This is a concept most people only think about when they're stoned or about to die, but I can assure you that I am neither. OK well, maybe there's a leak in the gas line but still, that's not my fault. Is time something that man has generated himself or is it something more?

I decided that the answer to this question was "both." Primarily because while there is seconds, minutes, hours, etc... if we took them away, there would still be day and night. People would still be born and people will still die. If you took your alarm clock and unpluged it, or unwinded it if you're old school, your life would not go by any faster or slower but we are still ruled by the clock. At this point, all the thought caught up with me, I made a grunting noise, and passed out.

As I was down in the floor, throwing away trash and doing the best I can to get everything done, sweating like a hooker on shriner weekend due to the lack of air conditioning, I came to the conclusion that it really doesn't matter what time is, but what really matters is that we make the most of the time we have and that's just what I'm going to do.

So right now, I'm going to go back throwing stuff away and defrosting ye old fridge. When your alarm goes off in the morning, hit snooze once for me.

OK so here goes this thing. Today, April 17th 2004, is the 50th anniversary of the landmark court case, Brown v. The Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas. This courtcase, actually a series of cases, was a milestone in race relations and civil rights in the United States. As a result of this important anniversary, many schools, universities, and civic centers held a commemorative forum to reflect on the events of 50 years ago. I had the honor of volunteering at just such an event today and, well, it was interesting, but probably not for the reasons they meant.

I reported for "training" at 8:00 am. Training consisted of me getting a name tag, on which, my name was spelled wrong, and basic instructions on what I was to be doing that day. My morning job was being an assistant to the midday lunch program coordinator. Why she needed an assistant, I will never know.

I will never know, because my main duty as assistant was to eat a sandwich with the speakers. If you ask me, they should not have fed these people sandwiches like these, because, well, they were very shitty sandwiches and these people were taking time out of their busy lives to come and give lectures to the less than capacity crowd, but I digress. Besides, the $10,000 or whatever they were paid most likely made up for the crap sandwich. Either way, this was my job as a "volunteer;" to eat a sandwich. I had no real problems with that.

My afternoon, however, was a different story. In the afternoon, my job was "audio recording engineer" for a break out session. Which basically means that I had to flip the tape, and press record. Sure, I know that they needed a microphone for the recorder to work. Did I give a shit? No, that wasn't my job. Either way, this break out session was a very interesting experience. The break out sessions were "mini-lectures" given by respected members of the community. The guy I was recording for, it seems, thought he was Louis Farrakhan or something and one of the most interesting parts of his speech was where he made a Freudian slip and instead of saying 'racism' he said 'Reaganism' which I found interesting, even if no one else did. He was a very passionate speaker, although he did have a tendency to stray from his topic at hand. Some of the things he did say, which I won't repeat here, were a bit over the line, and was mainly inaccurate historically and sociologically. One of the less, possibly offensive things he said was he called American history an "elaborate fabrication." Which, as an American history major, and future teacher, I was a bit pissed off because for one, I hate it when people bad mouth my discipline and second, his bias was obvious to the fact that the only kind of history he thought was important was African American history. It *is* important but it's not the only important part of history, because it is the history of everyone that shapes society, not just one or two. However, I could also see where he was going with that, but his wording left something to be desired.

One thing that kind of got to me about this session was that there was a young, African American girl in there. She looked as if she was high school age and you could tell by the look on her face that what this man was saying made her excited and happy. I'm not saying this is a bad thing. I think this is a very important thing today, that African Americans are taught and know their history as a way to empower them and give them insight on where they should be going by seeing where they came from and, after all, African American history is everyone's history as well because it was not only the white man that shaped the face of this nation today. Either way, he had captivated this girl's attention, and gave her self-esteem and knowledge which will go with her for the rest of her life. This one act here was, to me, the reason Brown v. Board was so important.

In short, from my day of volunteering at the conference, I really didn't get that much from the speakers. Sure, they were interesting and informative but the real meaning of the importance of this court case that was decided 50 years ago was shown through a little girl who loved the knowledge she was being given and the meaning that it could have on the rest of her life. It seems that we, as a nation, still have a long way to go to foster true equality in our society, but for one little girl this afternoon, it was that much closer to being achieved.

Well, I just made some decisions that will affect my future and they were some of the hardest decisions I have ever made. The biggest of which was, earlier this evening, I finished an application to transfer universities. To some, this may not seem like a very big deal, but to me, it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

I've lost all kinds of sleep over this lately and it's really taken its toll on me mentally. I've had terible insomnia, basically staying awake until I just pass out. It has been really hard on me lately.

Why has it been so hard? Well, there are a lot of reasons. I currently attend the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, the first public university built in the United States and, quite possibly, one of the most prestigious universities in the nation today. Everyone I knew was excited when I was accepted here. Hell, I was probably the most excited out of all of them. I came here, I made friends, and gradually, things began to change. Almost all of the sudden, it got to the point where I would wake up in the morning, look around, and say, "What the hell am I doing here?" and pretty much wish I hadn't even woke up at all. This illusion was gone and I hated it. This also has taken a hold of my academic preformance. I think you should be starting to understand why this is so hard for me. I had a lot of high ambitions and lofty goals for myself, but I wasn't the only one. A lot of other people wanted me to succeed and achieve at this high level. I feel like I've let them and, most of all, myself down. I feel like a failure and that's something I really don't want to be.

Also, I made several friends here. These are the kinds of friends that you hate to leave behind because they mean so much to you. I'm going to miss them, they were probably the best part of this whole thing. I just hope that somewhere down the line we'll meet up again. I can only hope. I really wanted to graduate with these guys but shit happens.

There are just as good reason to go as there is to stay. I'm tired of hating waking up in the morning. I'm tired of the uselessness I meet up with everyday. I'd hate to think that I'm a failure by transfering, but I'm tired of hating my life, which this place has undoubtedly caused. Plus, if I transfer, it will save me a substancial bit of money, which can be considered a positive.

I cried as I filled out the application, but I knew it was for the best. I'm also starting to get teary eyed as I'm writing this, so I think I'll stop now.

Oh, no word from Julie Strain. Maybe she doesn't like turtles.

Recently, I sent an email to Julie Strain. Julie Strain is a porn star (you can find her website at JulieStrain.combut warning, it's not safe for work. Then again, you should know a porn star's website wouldn't be) Anyhoo, she's married to Kevin Eastman, creator of the cartoon The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Here's the email:

Hi!

I was just passing through your website, looking at the pictures when a thought occured to me. It occured to me that you were married to Kevin Eastman, the creator of the one and only greatest mutant turtle cartoon series, The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. That is like, the most awesome thing ever. I was kindly wondering what it was like to be married to such a genius as Eastman. I mean, Leonardo, Michaelangelo, Raphael, and Donatello, that's just brilliant. Simply brilliant. It must be something else entirely to live with such an imaginative mind.

Also, while I was wading through your pictures, oogling at yout beaver and staring at your breasts, I wondered if you and Eastman, in a moment of passion, would ever dress up like the ninja turtles. I could see how this could be very arousing as the turtles slick, slimy skin would act as a lubricant and keep you moist as Eastman showed you what the real "secret of the ooze" is all about. I would assume that if Eastman would ever dress as a ninja turtle in order to make love, that it would be as Raphael. I think Raphael is the most sensual of all of the ninja turtles, and, after all red is a color of passion.

I, personally, was always fond of Donatello. He seemed to me to be the most intelligent of these "heros on a half shell" and he could work through many problems by just using his mind. I always thought that was really cool. Plus, he didn't need anything metal or sharp to fight with. All he ever needed was a good, sturdy stick and he could really handle that stick well, too. Though, sometimes he did seem like the group's bitch, he often saved the turtles in a clutch. When I was a small lad, I wanted to grow up to be just like him. However, I realized I was not a turtle, nor was I even green. I couldn't really even handle a stick that well. (though I learned later on in life. nudge nudge wink wink, you know, when I took martial arts classes at the YMCA)

I always thought Krang was the worst villian. He was like a little brain looking dude that was mostly kept in a jar, but sometimes he had this robot man suit which looked as if it could kick some serious ass. I'd frequently have nightmares about him which often caused me to wet the bed in sheer terror. I'm not sure if that's what your hubby was going for there, but if so, it worked.

I will now close with the lyrics to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle theme:

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Heroes in a half-shell - Turtle Power
They’re the world’s most fearsome fighting teens (we're really hip)
They’re heroes in a half shell and they’re green, (hey! get a grip!)
When the evil Shredder attacks,
These turtles boys don't cut him no slack.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Splinter taught them to be ninja teens (he's a radical rat)
Leonardo leads, Donatello does machines (that's a fact chap)
Raphael is cool but crude, (gimme' a break)
Michaelangelo is a party dude (Hurray!!)

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Heroes in a half shell,
Turtle power!

Thank you for the pictures of your boobies and hoo-ha,
Juan Carlos Calhoun


That's it. My favorite part was where I included the lyrics. I'll keep you all updated on anything that happens with this. :-)

So, the internet, eh?

It happens this time every year. Everything turns shades of pink and red, and love is in the air. Yes, it is time for Valentine's day again and this year, like every other before it, I am alone. It's not really that big of a problem, per se, but I have always wondered what it would be like to have a "true" Valentine's day.

I know Valentine's day was invented by card and gift companies to fill the void between Christmas and Easter, but the actual "meaning" behind Valentine's day is much, much, more. Traditionally, Valentine's day is a day for couples. Typically a couple consists of more than one person, which counts me out as being a couple. Being alone, and an "angsty, emo, kid" I have started to come to the conclusion that Valentine's day is meaningless and too corporate. I mean, love isn't corporate, right? However, as a historian, I always wonder what the past has to offer by way of explaining the traditions of today. So, now, I shall present to you a bit of the history of our old friend, Saint Valentine.

There are accounts of three, seperate Saint Valentines. However, there are two of particular interest. One was a priest in Rome, the other was a bishop in what is now modern Terni, both of whom were martyrs and both of whom have ties (martyred on) to the date, February 14.

Some of the first records of the reasoning behind why we celebrate what we do can be found in the works of Chaucer.

For this was sent on Seynt Valentyne's day
Whan every foul cometh ther to choose his mate.

So, basically, on Valentine's day, the middle of the second month of the year, was when the birds used to pair off and find themselves a mate. Birds? BIRDS?!?! So, because birds get together on a certain day of the year, we dress in red and pink, buy flowers, and make sweet love? Basically, well, yes, that's exactly what that means.

Now, you might be asking yourself, "What does Saint Valentine have to do with any of this?" Nothing at all. It appears to be just a coincidence that a canonized saint named Valentine was burned at the stake on the same day that birds get together with their mates. Valentine's day has no real meaning.

What? Well, yes and know. Valentine's day does have meaning, but it's not the meaning that the corporate world hangs on it. Valentine's day *does* have a meaning, but the meaning is what we put on it ourselves. If you put some kind of meaning of love and compainionship on it, then that's what it is going to be for you, but if you use it as a time to brood and feel sorry for yourself, well, guess what nerd, that's exactly what you're going to do, and you're going to be miserable. So, like with most things, Valentine's day is what YOU make it, even though it really doesn't have any historical backing.

So, those angsty, emo kids were right after all, but then again, maybe they're not.

Well, what can I tell you.

I don't really read the news. Hell, I just barely wake up in the morning. So, I guess if you're looking for some kind of biting commentary about the state of the world, you're a little lost. That is unless I accidentally see some news somewhere, either the remote control's batteries die on CNN or I get tricked into reading a newspaper or something, and something catches my eye. Usually I'll just write about whatever's on my mind at the time.

So, I have a great e-friend that "blogs" also. Her blog is over there in the "linkies" somewhere. So, if you want to check it out, by all means, it's over there.

If you have, in fact, read the blog of shiny-ness already, then you probably know that today's entry is about yours truly. So, I don't know, I guess I should respond somehow.First of all, before you go getting down on anyone, I asked her to write it up and I respect her opinion. Before you read any further here, go read that. Hell, read it daily, you'll be glad you did. Anyway, here goes the other side of this dialectic.

Before I go any further, I'm going to make this one aspect perfectly clear, as if it wasn't already, I don't understand the opposite sex...at all. They confuse me. Apparently the part of my brain that was devoted to the understanding of the "fairer sex" has been pushed to the back by knowledge of how the Germans utilized and justified unrestricted u-boat warfare during World War I. Panzers are sexy. I do understand this though, girls and guys are so different, they're exactly the same.

You may be asking yourself, "What the fudge does that mean?" Well, I'm not 100% sure and I said it. Basically, what it means is this, and it's true for a lot of things in life with many different groups of people, or at least, that's how I see it, or how I like to see it anyway: We've all have goals. I have goals, you have goals, we all have goals. However, how we achieve these goals are different. When it comes right down to it, we all want the same thing; we just disagree about how to get it. Guys and girls have a different pool of resources, and they use these resources to the best of their ability. It's all you can do, after all. So, what's the difference between guys and girls? When you get right down to it, not much at all. If we were all that different, would anyone get together at all? Probably not. Sometimes, however, it gets frustrating.

Frustration is what I've experienced in the past couple of weeks. So, by now, you should have already went and read Cyn's blog. If you haven't, shame on you. Do it now. I'll wait........................ok. Alright, so, yeah, I picked "Jane." Not as much on the advice of "random people from the internet" mind you, this was a choice I thought about long and hard, and it helped to fuel my already raging insomnia. Besides, I found out "Sylvia" was seeing someone already, which made the choice a little easier.

I decide to summon up my confidence and ask "Jane" out. Why not, right? It won't hurt anything. Turns out she's not as much of a "Jane" as I once thought. Yes, she likes to play head games, and yes, she turned me down the first time I asked her out. The fact that I've never had a girlfriend before or played "the game" makes this even more difficult. Oh well, that just cemented the fact that I *am* a nerd.

"Why then", you may ask, "why then, are you still persuing this?" The short answer? Hope. Perhaps she was just having a bad day. Maybe she was just as confused and scared as I was. She's the only one who *really* knows. For added angst, I'll say here that, perhaps she just doesn't like me like I thought she did. (NOTE: Ladies, if you're not interested in a guy, DON'T FLIRT WITH HIM, plzkthx)

Well, it's a longer and more complicated story that this one blog, or even two blogs, can contain. So, I'll just leave it at that. Until next time.

Happy Valentine's Day

Welcome to the internet, it is indeed a strange place.

So, right, over the past couple of weeks, I've been without a television. Not that I really minded, but, being socially inept, my main source of enjoyment was taken away from me.

This past weekend, there was a little event in the sporting world called the "super bowl." Perhaps you've heard of it. Without a television, I didn't get to witness this event first hand, but I hear there was some sort of mammary mishap that happened during halftime. Yes, ladies and gentleman, there was a boobie on television. Not just any ordinary boobie mind you; this boobie belonged to one Miss Janet Jackson. Apparently, this incident was on the news or something, maybe you saw it, that is, if it wasn't obscured by poison being sent to congress or some kind of fighting going on in some desert country.

Now, I didn't get to see this "teat offensive" take place in real time, however, I thank the internet for wiping its hands off on its pants, screen capturing it, and making it available for me, in jpeg form. So, as I sat behind my computer, slowly getting a tumor from its radiant glow, I looked at this picture and thought to myself, "You know, this remind me a lot of otter pie."

"Otter pie?" You may be saying to yourself. Yes, otter pie. For one, I've never seen an otter pie in person either, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't exist, nor does it mean that it isn't disgusting. Now, I'm not necessarily saying that Janet's "fun bags" are disgusting, but it's hard not to imagine (or fantasize) her kiddie diddler brother's head on top of her body.

Otter pie isn't really the zenith of what I would consider a proper meal either. When I think food, my thoughts don't immediantly turn to otter pie. Just like when I think football, oh yeah, I think Janet Jackson. (what?) No. I would just assume take a spoon and shove it up my ass.

Also, otter pie is typically accompanied by some sort of other, horrid side dish, like eel stew or something. In the case of this half time show, it was Justin Timberlake. However, he's another thing completely.

I'm having trouble coming up with more euphemisms for Janet's boobies. So I will now make a new one up and continue using that one from here on in. From now on, Janet Jackson's boobie will be called "jiggly fruit."

So after three days and four keyboards, I finally closed the window containing Janet Jackson's jiggly fruit. I was glad I did. Which is another way her jiggly fruit is like otter pie. When it's gone, you're happy. Boy was I ever happy. It was at this point, I got a phone call. My new television had arrived. So I leaned my towel up against the wall, went out and got my new TV. I plugged it in, turned on CNN, and the first thing I saw was Janet's jiggly fruit. I began to weep. The last time I cried that hard was when they cancelled M*A*S*H. Then I promptly smashed my new television with a mustard jar and took a nap. What a week.