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| So. First things first, I can use my favorite font of all time (Tempus Sans) for this entry... which makes me happier than a font should make anyone. Now, it's Strange Alex-Related Storytime (SARS, for short... oh man, that's an unfortunate acronym)! The story begins today, after my shower. I'm getting ready for breakfast with my dad, and I need my pre-day shower. I'm all dried off and ready to get, you know, clothed and all, which begins, of course, with the underwear (Yes, this is an underwear story). I put on my underwear (for those of you wondering, today was boxer-briefs) and think "Wow. This underwear is comfortable." This, of course strikes me as one of those out-of-the-ordinary things, as I never start my day by putting on my underwear and marveling at the sudden increase in comfort. As I go for whatever article of clothing I put on next, my pleasant feelings toward my underwear become pangs of doubt. I look in the bathroom mirror, which, to my misfortune, reveals that this underwear is foreign to me: I do not think this is my particular brand of underwear. Upon further investigation, I decided that this was, in fact, not my typical underwear (which, on one hand, saddens me that my regular underwear is wholly less-than-comfortable). Two possiblilities run through my mind- this is my dad's underwear that got in with my laundry, or, an even less settling chance, this is a pair of underwear worn by someone in my house in Peoria. I vaguely recall a pair of underwear mysteriously appearing in my room and me going, "Huh. This looks like my underwear... but that's not the brand I wear... Hm." Now, given my father's relative size, I pretty quickly determine that I am not wearing his, and thus am wearing underwear that had made its way to my possession via a Theater House. Uh oh. To make it worse, there was a basket of laundry I did during my last few days in Peoria, so that I would have underwear and socks and undershirts for work. I did not fold all of those clothes, and instead brought the whole basket back to Manteno for me to fold and sort with my other laundry. Had that underwear made its way into that basket... well...
Now, the best-case, rather unreasonable scenario is that I'm wearing underwear I haven't worn in a long time from a brand I wouldn't have purchased in a while. Generally, I keep good tabs on my underwear; I like to think I can identify my own.
The worst-case scenario is this sordid affair: I am wearing some random person's underwear, brought to me via a house which is primarily theater persons (which implies all sorts of things), and there is the off chance that they have not been cleaned. Now, I'm not one of those typically proud people, so of course I continue to wear the underwear to this moment (hey, they're comfortable... and there's only a slight chance that they have in the recent past been... well, you know... all up in someone's business). And wow, just typing that made do a weird, uncomfortable looking-away-from-the-computer-screen-because-I-know-that-you're-all-totally-judging-me-right-now head move coupled with nervous laughter. But yes, gentle reader; I am uncertain of the origins of the underwear I currently don. But isn't life all about the unknown? Yeah, I'm not fooling myself either, there. But damn are they comfortable. Merry Christmas!
-Alex | | |
| Assignment #1:
Given the following scenario, I ask of you, gentle reader, to determine if the following situation is ironic, poetic justice, or merely coincidence. We start at the beginning (a very good place to start):
So. About a month ago, I (as well as my project partner) receive an assignment to create a 3-minute How-To Video. The day approaches that a topic is due for the video, and my partner and I have not discussed our ideas until the walk over to class. Along the way, we toss around ideas, and settle on How to Make a Cup of Coffee. Sounds simple enough to show in 3 minutes. And we submit the idea. Then, the time comes to submit a script and storyboard, and we come up with an opening concept.
The concept included our talent (later to become my ex-roommate Kevin) collapsing on a bed as if they had just spent a long night elsewhere. Almost immediately, the alarm clock goes off: but what does it play? It has to be the one song you don't want to wake up to, particularly after not getting nearly enough sleep. It is decided that it should be U2's Beautiful Day. It works well with the piece and all of that, the project is finished, etc.
Fast forward to this morning. After getting to bed much later than previously planned and already having to wake up earlier than I would want to (6:30 AM for my 7:30 class), my alarm clock goes off. I'm lying in bed, and I hear music. Seconds pass and I realize it's my alarm clock playing nothing else than U2's Beautiful Day. A few more seconds pass and I realize that this is in fact ushering in my day. I get up, hit my snooze button, give my alarm clock the finger, and collapse into my bed for a blissful extra 5 minutes.
The situation is now presented before you.
Extra Credit: This is the only time I have ever given my alarm clock the finger, but it felt so, so right to do. Am I a bad person? (2 pts)
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| So, my story of the day:
Monday, I had woken up to my alarm clock (after hitting the snooze button at least twice) playing the song "Jenny (867-5309)". Nothing spectacular about that, but its the kind of song that sticks in your mind as being an "okay, I'll wake up to this" song. I went about my day, and left my cell phone on my desk to charge.
I go to class, and get back around... 2-ish. I check my phone, and I have missed a call. I look at who it is, and my Caller ID says "867-5309". Just like that. I close my phone and continue on with my life.
So, my mind takes a minute to register this, and then decides... "waaait..." and I pick up my phone again, and look at that number. I laugh, I think "Huh. That's funny. I don't know anybody with the phone number..." I close the phone again.
And my mind registers this new information and says- "Wait a second. What was the area code on that?" And sure enough, there had been no area code. It only said 867-5309. I check my other unknown calls, and all of them include the area code.
At this point, only two possible scenarios pop up in my mind:
1.) A radio station tried to randomly call my number to award me a large sum of cash for a trivia question. I, being at class, missed it, and will continue to live in poverty... or the more likely of the two...
2.) I had finally gone of the deep end and lost my mind, now seeing my own hallucinated world where famous phone numbers appear on my Caller ID.
After about 20 minutes of worrying about Scenario 2 (and messing around at my computer for lack of better things to do), 867-5309 calls back!
... it was FinancialAid.com, asking me if I'd consolidated my student loans yet. I said "Yes, I've done that with another company." and they said "That's what we needed to know, thanks!" and they hung up.
While this proves Scenario 1 wrong, it still says nothing about Scenario 2. This does not bode well for me.
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| So, I was just in the shower, and I looked down and saw my feet. Something which happens all the time. There's the floor, there's my feet. But for some reason, today's viewing made me feel rather happy, even excited. I was overjoyed at something... perhaps the prospect that I have feet, the way they look like feet, or just some "heehee, feet" kinda thing. I dunno, but I looked at my feet, smiled, and even laughed a little bit.
... I... may be losing my mind. This is fair warning to everyone.
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| Merry Day-After-Christmas all... thought I'd write some more. Gotta do something while I wait for responses to IMs.
One reason I really enjoy being home and not in Peoria, is nights like this- where I've done nothing, seen nobody but my family, and really just putzed around all night. And, since I'm home, it doesn't feel like a complete social failure on my part. It's relaxing. I like it. However, I still can't wait to get back to Peoria.
Anyway... just gettin' ready for another four days at the ol' library. Processing magazines and shifting books. Whoo-hoo.
I attempted to spend some of my chunk of money I received for Christmas today, and quickly discovered how little I actually wanted to buy. I guess the whole where-would-I-put-it rules out big things and the when-would-I-use it rules out the small things. So I ended up using gift money on a new pair of shoes, which if I'd asked my parents to buy them for me, they would have. Particularly during a buy-one-get-one-half-off sale. Sheesh.
Yet I remain adamant that it gets spent on extraneous stuff. It will not be spent for rent, utilities, books, etc. That's what I work for. This money is what people want to give me. And they don't want to give me money for SBC... they want me to have a set of juggling balls, and calendars. Because damn it, I deserve a wall calendar.
Wow, am I rambling tonight. Chalk it up to tired energy, or a case of the Mondays...
Oh, when I was Christmas shopping, I saw an aisle marker that read "Juvenile Storage". I laughed. Not to my self, I'm pretty sure it was out loud.
In the library, there are copies of The Five Chinese Brothers and The Seven Chinese Brothers. It's the same story, pretty much, only instead of having one brother lead to the back story, it takes three. And two of them really don't contribute at all to the story in The Seven Chinese Brothers. Which I think goes to show that there really is a population issue in China.
I hope that doesn't sound offensive. But if it does, what's your problem? Get over it. Move on. There are greater things in life to be angry about than one person pointing out a major social issue. Like global warming. Go get angry about that...
Fuckin' global warming. Messin' up my shit.
Well, I think I've exhausted my time. Till next entry.
-Alex | | |
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