A Slippery Slope, Indeed

If there's one thing I've learned whilst at college, it's that an 8:00am class in college is not the same as an 8:00am class in high school. A 9:00am class in college isn't even the same as an 8:00am class in high school. I'd go as far as to say a 10:00am class in college isn't even the same. I can't explain it, but it's 100% true.

If there are two things I've learned whilst at college, and one is that an 8:00, 9:00, or 10:00am class in college isn't the same as an 8:00am class in high school, the other is how to justify skipping a class. The morning classes are easy - "If I'm going to function properly for the rest of my classes, I should just stay in my bed and sleep; if I go to this class, I'll be too tired to focus for the rest of my day - that's more negative than skipping this morning class." That's how it starts. Skipping classes is a slippery slope, though. A slippery slope, indeed. I've never skipped an afternoon class without first skipping a morning class.

There are two sides to this slope, and both of them are slippery. First, there's the short term slope. The short term slope is just one day of classes. It starts out with just the morning class being skipped. Then, maybe something else keeps you from going to your second class: "Well, I slept a little later than I planned and I didn't get to eat breakfast. If I go to this class, I won't get to eat lunch, and malnutrition isn't going to help me learn. I should stay home and have lunch." After you skip your first two classes of the day, you think, "Well, I might as well go for the clean sweep," regardless of how many classes you have that day. If you have just one more, well, that's that. You just skip it for no reason. If you have four, you just think of one more excuse: "I have a lot of laundry...I should do it now while I'm thinking about it! Otherwise I might forget." Five classes? One more excuse: "Are those clouds in the sky? Huh, they look pretty ominous... I don't want to be caught outside if it starts to storm. Maybe I'll just stay here." On the very off chance that your adviser wanted to torture you this semester and you have six classes on one day, well, I don't think you'd even have to come up with an extra excuse. "Six classes" is the only excuse you'd need.

The long term slope is for just one class, but over the course of the whole semester. Obviously, you never skip class on the first day. I personally never make it a point to skip a certain class. Like, I never think, "Psh, this class is worthless, I'll just skip it," unless I'm on the short term slope at the time and need an excuse to skip a class. Since both slopes always start with morning classes, the long term slope starts with me going to bed much too late, and when my alarm goes off I just hit it a bunch until it shuts off. I open one eye and manage to have one coherent thought: "There's no way I'm going to this class," and that's that. The next time that class comes around, of course, I remember how nice it was to skip it and sleep in. "I'll go next week," I say to myself to condone my action of skipping. This action continues for quite a while until I need to hand in homework, take a test, or anything that requires me to be there.

That class this semester is the lab for my Wellness 100 class. Wellness 100 is like a health class. It's also exactly like the health class I took my freshman year at Concordia, but those credits didn't transfer because it wasn't a lecture and a lab, it was just lecture with lab days built into the schedule. That's another justification I use for skipping it - I've already taken the class.

Nostalgia Gland

I'd be lying if I said there was a time this school year where I didn't miss camp and all my camp friends. However, now that the school year is winding down (only 15 days of classes left, but who's counting?), I find myself practically giddy at the thought of returning to camp. I realize that reliving all of the moments that made last summer's camp so great during this summer is unrealistic, but I anticipate new great moments this summer. There are some particular events, though, that have been tickling my nostalgia gland as of late (the nostalgia gland is a very real body organ. It's located near the gall bladder and secretes nostalgialymine, which, obviously, causes nostalgia).

For instance, hiding out in the kitchen's fridge on especially hot days. This happened a lot of times, on any day of the week. During quick dip (a free time for the kids in the evening) was the most common time for me, among other counselors and staff, to venture in to the fridge. On one day in particular, there were a few of us in the fridge - Stever, Rae, Kiana, and myself, I believe - and we were hungry. It just so happened that there were also cookies in the fridge. We started eating cookies, except Rachel because she was doing some crazy thing where she cut out all sweets from her diet. A surprising amount of counselors did this during the summer, which just meant more for me, so I could dig it. Whilst eating a cookie, I remembered there was some left over frosting in the fridge, too. I found it, spread some on my cookie, and almost cried happy tears (I've never actually cried happy tears, but this is the closest I ever got). This was enough to convince Rae to make a one-time exception to her no-sweets rule, and I guarantee she does not regret it. No, really, she said that was one of her favorite moments of camp. That's how good the frosting was.

Another event is a recurring event. Before I say what it was, you have to promise not to judge me. Promise? Okay. The recurring event was lying to the campers. Not a week went by where I didn't fabricate something ridiculous, and the kids just ate it up every time. I'm not the only one who did this, by the way - it was fairly common. No big lies, though, don't worry. For example, one counselor, Kaia, and myself would tell the kids that we were married. They believed it every single time. I'm pretty sure the rest of the staff got pretty sick of this one, because we were "married" every week, and were believable enough to convince 10 year olds we were actually married. My favorite lie ever, though, was when I convinced my cabin I used to play in the NBA. Basketball is a common free time game - specifically the basketball game of "Lightning." One day, I was unbeatable. Actually, most days I was unbeatable. One day in particular, though, I was on fire (not literally) and one of my campers said something like, "Joe, you never lose!" I laughed and said, "Well I'd hope not! A former NBA player shouldn't be losing games of lightning!" His mouth dropped, but he didn't quite believe me.

"You didn't play in the NBA!"

"Yes I did."

"Oh, yeah? Who did you play for?"

"...The Milwaukee Bucks." That was the most random team I could think of.

"Really?! How long ago? I've never heard of you in the NBA before."

"Oh, yeah, ummm, let's see here. My rookie season was '96. I only played for four years, though."

"'96? How old are you?"

"30." The two-fer lie. Classic. During the conversation, I kept shooting hoops and they kept going in, making my claim a little more believable. At this point, the rest of my cabin was gathered around and listening in on the conversation, challenging my "facts." The final story was that I didn't get drafted, but signed with the Bucks. I didn't play very much (I wanted to make it believable more than anything), and that's why I retired after only four seasons. Also, I once challenged Michael Jordan to a game of PIG before a game, but he just laughed at me. I told my cabin he was scared. They totally bought it.

The last event that I'm going to write about (there are so many more, I couldn't possibly cover them all in just one post) is from the last week of camp. My "wife," Kaia, was leaving a few days early to go to some wedding or some other lame excuse. At around 10:30 on Kaia's last night at camp, after I had already declared "light's out" in my cabin, Bjorn, another counselor, knocked on my door.

"Joe," he said. "Put some clothes on and come with me."

"Wha-? Yeah, okay. Be right there." I thought something serious was going on. Bjorn had a very serious tone and an even more serious look on his face. A little panicked, I threw on some clothes real quick-like and hurried out the door. I followed Bjorn for literally about ten feet - from my cabin to the top of the lodge (the top of the lodge is the upstairs to our dining hall). We tried to open the door to the top of the lodge, but it was locked. Bjorn knocked and announced that it was he and I at the door. I heard some whispers, then running. The door burst open and Kaia flew out and landed in my arms. She wanted to say goodbye since she was leaving early the next morning. The whispers I heard were from her and Rae, who was also in the top of the lodge. As the four of us stood there talking, Linnae, the program director, walked by. "Joe," she began to interrogate, "don't you have a cabin to look after?"

"Umm, well, yes. But I mean, it's right there," I pointed to my cabin. "If anything happens, I'd be able to see it."

"Hmm, alright. Have a good night, you guys!" and she walked off.

About two minutes later, we went into the top of the lodge, totally destroying my excuse of being able to see my cabin. In the top of the lodge, all four of us were completely delirious, laughing hysterically at the slightest provocation. For about an hour, we just sat and talked. I also got a face massage, but there was talking during that, too. Eventually, Rae, Kaia, and Bjorn convinced me to go back to my cabin. By 'convinced' I mean 'forced.' That was probably a good idea, though.

These memories, along with many more, helped make last summer at camp one of the best summers ever. And just think, in two months, I'll be right back at camp, crushing the children's dreams of beating an ex-NBA player in a game of lightning.

Comin' In Hot

I've heard that when someone has nothing about which to talk they often talk about the weather. Guess what, you guys - this post is about weather. I'm actually a little ashamed that I'm writing a post about weather considering how agitated I become when I see a simple Facebook status about the weather. I have legitimate concerns about the potential weather this summer, though, and I feel like I just need to vent.

As most of you who live in the Midwest have noticed, the weather this winter was very unusual. I'm pretty sure there were exactly zero -20° days. Honestly, I'm not sure if it ever went below zero. What? Crazy, right? Well, brace yourselves, it gets crazier. In March, we reached 80° a couple of times. 80 degrees. That's borderline hot. That got me thinking - if it was this warm in March, how hot is it going to be in July, when I'm at camp with no air conditioning and fans that are defunct at best? With children that will complain about the heat almost as much as I will?Okay, not even almost as much as I will, but they'll complain in high pitched voices because they're little kids, and that's just annoying. Sure, camp is located on the shores of a lake, but you can't sleep in a lake, can't hold Bible study in a lake (I'm not sure about that, actually. I think I'll have to ask about that), can't eat meals in a lake, can't play whoop-whoop in a lake (whoop-whoop is a camp game. The best game. Don't tell me bonkers is better, camp folk, we all know whoop-whoop is where it's at), and you can't beat all the campers at lightening (the basketball game) in a lake.

Seriously, though. Usually, it's like 10° in March. I'm no mathematician, but I'm pretty sure 80° is eight times as hot. So, if it's usually 100° in July, that means it'll probably be 800°. 800 degrees! We'll all die!

Knowing full well that I will die this summer, I can still say, with confidence, that I have never been more excited for a summer in my life.

That can be taken cynically (I'm excited to die) or hopeful (it'll be worth dying over, given how fantastic this summer will be). I'll give you a hint as to which one it is - it's the second one.

March Sadness

March Madness is perennially my favorite time of the year. Well, if you don't count summer or Christmas, that is. I'm not sure why I enjoy it so much; it's just a yearly indication of how easy it is for me to totally fail at something in which I thought I would surely succeed. That's a depressing way to look at it, I know, but it's true. Every year I fill out a bracket and every year I see my Final Four teams go down well before the Final Four. I make my picks based on what I saw throughout the season - I love watching college basketball. So when my friend, Chelsie McGraw, who watches exactly zero college basketball games all year, beats me in bracket challenges every single year, well, that's a little deflating. Choosing to delve a little deeper into the failing concept, could the failure of March Madness carry over into other aspects of my life? I'm going to college to be a teacher. What if, when I finally graduate and get my first teaching job, I completely fail, despite knowing what I should know to make me successful? What if it's just that I'm not supposed to be a teacher? There are things that indicate I should be a teacher (I strongly feel that education is important, I love working with children, etc.), but what if I'm just not supposed to teach? Like in the tournament - there are teams that should win - everything indicates that they will win - but don't. Or even smaller scale - failing a final. I haven't done that yet, but it could happen, right? I go to class and learn what I'm supposed to learn for the final, but I could still fail, yes? March Madness is a constant reminder that one can never be too sure of anything. For instance, I had Duke and Missouri in my Final Four. They both lost in the very first round. Who saw that coming? I also had Florida State in my Final Four. They lost in the second round. At the time, based on what I had observed throughout the season, those seemed like pretty good picks. Nothing is a given, though, especially in March Madness.

Obviously, I realize that predicting the winners of basketball games is not the same thing as being a teacher. That was a bit of a stretch as far as metaphors go, but I still stand by the "one can never be too sure" statement.

Also, I may be taking March Madness a little too seriously. Or maybe this isn't actually about March Madness. Heh. I feel like this part of the post should actually be about the tournament and my epic bracket failure, so, this:

I should've known this year's tournament would be a failure for me. I had Syracuse in the Final Four before I heard their starting center was ineligible. About ten minutes into actually having a bracket and already I had to make changes. I printed off a bracket, filled out one on ESPN.com and Yahoo.com the exact same way, and filled out three more on Facebook. Two of the three were different from the printed/ESPN/Yahoo one. It gave me the choice to fill out three so I figured I should have a couple of brackets where I pick South Dakota State to win at least one game. Those two were my "whatever" brackets where I don't much thought into my picks. I either pick teams that I like or pick random upsets. "Random" like, as I'm filling out my bracket I think, "Huh, I haven't picked an upset in a while...13 over a 4? Well, okay." Sadly, both of my "whatever" brackets are better than my real bracket. Like I said before, I had Duke and Missouri in my Final Four. I should've known better with Duke - they usually choke. Missouri? I still am baffled. Florida State. That was a questionable pick. I got caught up in the hype of them beating Duke and UNC twice in the same year. Speaking of UNC, they're my last Final Four team. They better make it, too, because they're also my champions. Oh, wait, they're point guard broke his wrist and they just needed overtime to beat Ohio. Not Ohio State, just regular ol' Ohio. But what do I care? My bracket was busted by day two. Oh well. I fail at this every year, but I keep on living my life, and I'll try again next year. I feel like, given how cynical the first part of this post was, there should be a moral to this (you know, to throw everyone off the emo trail). Life is going to throw you things you didn't expect or see coming - that's inevitable. All you can do is accept it, embrace the failure it may have brought, improve, and do better with your next chance. Next chances aren't inevitable, though, so if you get one, make it count.

¡Aye! This seriousness is too much. This is a little ditty about March Madness. Just replace "Sparta" with "Florida" because they're my replacement pick in place of Missouri for the Final Four.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDRAhiBtOrQ

Frustrations of Spanish 102

Last semester, I took Spanish 101. I had to take it for my major, which was English at the time. Actually, I was supposed to take Spanish 202, but to get there, I had to climb the Spanish ladder. That doesn't make sense to me. If I'm majoring in English, I feel like I should have to take English classes, not Spanish classes. About a week in to last semester, though, I changed my major. That meant I had to change all of my classes. I decided to keep Spanish, though. I thought it would be fun, and it was. Since I enjoyed 101 so much, I decided to take 102. When I told my adviser that, she assumed I wanted to minor in Spanish. I don't think so, lady.

Spanish 102 started out with review from 101. I did very well and I thought, "Hey, 102 is gonna be a breeze." Then we started in 102 stuff. The first chapter was a little hard, but nothing I couldn't handle. As the semester has progressed, however, I find myself struggling more and more. The frustrating thing, though, is that the whole class is conducted in Spanish. So when I have a question, the professor answers in Spanish. Predictably, I can't understand the answer, so I still have the same question, compounded by more questions created by the answer given. Because the class is in Spanish, I have a lot of questions, too. It's just a vicious circle of confusion, except I'm the only one in the circle that gets confused. The professor also makes important announcements in Spanish. He'll say, "¡Clase! ¡Muy importante!" followed by a lot of Spanish words that I don't understand.

Other people seem to understand Spanish just fine. That's also frustrating. I'm definitely not used to being the worst in a class. I'm not the worst in Spanish, but I certainly would not put myself in the upper echelon of students. I know you may be thinking, "Joe, you were pretty bad at calculus. Are you sure you're not used to being the worst?" Hey, back off, guy (or lady). I wasn't the worst in calculus, either. I was pretty close, but not the worst.

I think I recently found out why I do so poorly in Spanish, though. It's not because I don't know the rules of Spanish (the rules we have covered, anyway), it's because I don't know the vocabulary. There are two words that mean "it" in Spanish - Ser and Estar. We did an exercise in class in which there was a paragraph, and we had to fill in the blanks with the correct forms of ser and estar. I didn't do very well. I know the situations in which I am supposed to use each word, but I couldn't tell what the situations were because I didn't know what the rest of the words meant. It was frustrating.

Less frustrating is that yesterday and today, I've been totally dominating Spanish. By "totally dominating" I mean "slightly able to understand." Yesterday we had an oral exam and I could actually formulate sentences. Big whoop, yeah? Well, that's way better than I had anticipated. Today, I understood words. Total domination of the language, right? Well, not so much, but it's a start.

The Case Against Google Maps

I don't travel by myself very much. Consequently, when I do travel by myself, I usually don't know how to get to where I am going. If you know me, you know that studying a map would not fall into the category of "my cup of tea." Luckily for people like me, there is such a thing as the internet. A lot of people like to use Google Maps to get directions. I used to be one of those people, but then I got tired of receiving faulty directions. Here are two instances (There are more instances, but I can't remember them. No, really. I'm not lying! (For real, though, I'm not lying)) of Google Maps failing.

In late December of last year (So, last December. Like 3 months ago), the Russell clan was having a family dinner. Like, big family dinner - aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. You get the idea. My dad was appointed, possibly by himself, as the dinner organizer. Not surprisingly, he picked a Chinese restaurant.* I was at my mother's house the night of the dinner, which meant I'd have to drive myself to the restaurant. As per the usual, I did not know how to get to said restaurant. I looked up the address and then got directions from my mom's house to the restaurant via Google Maps. I was a little skeptical of the directions as soon as I saw them. One of the steps in the directions was to make a U-turn. I'm no navigator, but I'm pretty sure U-turns are for when you've missed your turn. If you're putting U-turns in the directions, I feel like you're acknowledging that you suck at giving directions. The worst part is that the U-turn wasn't even necessary, but because I made the U-turn, I got lost. Instead of "make a U-turn at ____ Street," the directions should have said "turn left on _____ Street." Of course, since I followed Google Maps' directions, I was late. By a lot.

Two weeks ago, my mom and I went to a Timberwolves game (That's basketball). However, neither of us knew how to get to the Target Center (Where the Timberwolves play (Basketball)). My mom decided to take charge in finding directions, and did not adhere to my warning about Google Maps. Google's directions brought us to Target Field (Where the Twins play (Baseball)). Admittedly, that's actually pretty close to the Target Center (Basketball), but in reality, that's a horrible job of directioning.** Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. And shoe-bocce. But NOT directions!

*I've noticed that my dad is really into Chinese stuff, especially their food. I'm trying to decide if this is because he and my step-mom adopted two boys from China, or if he's always been this way, and his lifelong enthusiasm for all things China is what led to the decision to adopt from there. I don't remember him being a huge Chinese food fan, so I'm thinking it may be the former.

**"Directioning" is a new word I made up. It means "giving directions." I didn't want to use "directing" because that reminds me of a director, either musically or businessally (Another word I made up - "pertaining to business"). "Directioning," I feel, clears up any confusion.

Embrace The Wrinkles

If there's one thing I dislike, it's calculus. Unfortunately, there are many more things that I dislike. I'd say the number of things I dislike is rapidly approaching a bazillion. One of these near bazillion things are when old ladies try to hide their wrinkly faces. Maybe "hide" isn't the best word. I don't mean that they submerge their heads into sand like an ostrich or something (I'm now picturing an ostrich and I just realized how weird they look. They're just two giant legs, a fluffball body, a giant neck, and a tiny head with a big ol' bill-beak. For some reason, the ostrich I'm picturing also has giant eyelashes. Oh, now it's Chris Bosh. Chris Boshtrich), I just mean I don't like it when they can't accept the fact that they're getting old and try to get rid of their wrinkles. I have no problem if someone is applying magic wrinkle reducing cream - or whatever it is - religiously; it's when someone pays for surgery to get rid of their wrinkles. Are you kidding me? You're going to get surgery just to get rid of wrinkles. Are you aware that wrinkles are in no way detrimental? You know what you should do instead of surgery? You should take a clothes iron and iron your face. That'll get the wrinkles out and save you money, unless you're planning on treating your burns. Personally, I'd say leave them - you'd look scarier had you gotten a face lift, and the burns would serve as a reminder to how shallow you are. Seriously, when you get old, your face wrinkles - it's natural. Face lifts are unnatural. Unnatural = creepy. Ergo, face lifts = creepy. Just embrace your wrinkles, yo.

I feel as though this post pertains to exactly zero of the people that actually read my blog. Oh well. I guess this is just for future reference, ladies.

Also, fellas, if you're also contemplating a face lift, just...no. No.

RE: Lecture Hall Dreaming

I'm revisiting my post from last year in regards to big lecture halls. What's that you say? You don't remember that one, and it's not in the archives? Bummer. Maybe you can read it in an upcoming e-book or something. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what we in the writing universe call foreshadowing. I think. Maybe it's not. I'm done referencing it in this post, so I'm not sure if it's actually foreshadowing. Perhaps it's a cliffhanger. Hmm, starting out with a cliffhanger seems like a literary faux pas. Oh well. I'm starting out with a cliffhanger, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Anyway, in my original post about lecture halls, I mentioned that I sat in on about ten minutes of a class I thought was "Housekeeping 101," and that if I ever had a class in a big lecture hall I would either be super interested, pretend to be super interested and totally space out, or fall asleep. I mentioned other things, too, I'm sure, but those probably aren't important because I can't really remember them. Well, this semester I have not one, not two, not four, not five, six, or even seven classes in a big lecture hall. That's right - I have three. One of which is the class I thought was "Housekeeping 101." Turns out, it's actually Lifespan Development, and the professor starts every class with "Housekeeping," which is just a slide on the PowerPoint with announcements about the class. Regardless, my mind was completely blown the first time I saw that slide. It was kind of like a dream-come-true moment (If you've read my "Dream Come True" post, you're probably thinking I have the lamest dreams in the world).

As far as what I would do if I had a class in a big lecture hall, that second option I listed is exactly what happens. I always look like I'm really interested - I pretty much make a 1 with my left hand and then rest my chin on the thumb, with my index finger going up my cheek - but I think things like "What size shamrock shake should I get," "Do I have any more brats in the freezer," "When's the last time I had breakfast," or "I bet if I met Ricky Rubio, we'd be best friends." Just to clarify, the thought about brats - I mean bratwursts. Every time.

In retrospect, I have no idea why I so desperately wanted to have a class in a 300-person lecture hall. It's not that great. The best thing is that the professor wears a microphone, so sometimes I pretend like I'm at a concert. A really, really boring concert with an old, lackluster performer, whose songs don't rhyme and are all a cappella. As one would imagine, tickets for such a concert are not cheap.