For Christmas last year, my brothers each got a Nintendo DSi (apparently the "i" is important because every time I say "DS" they correct me). When I found out that my dad and step mom were getting them the DSis, I remembered a Christmas many years ago when I got a Gameboy color. What game did I get with my Gameboy? Pokémon, of course! So, naturally, I decided I'd get my brothers a Pokémon game as well. Sometimes I regret that decision, because they ask me questions all the time. 90% of conversations they have with me are related to Pokémon. At first I didn't mind. I think it was nostalgia - me remembering how captivating Pokémon was for me when I was their age. Now, though, I sometimes don't want them to talk to me. The other day they had taken the hint that I wasn't in the mood for Pokémon talk, so they discussed it amongst themselves. I don't really remember what they were talking about, but then Sam said something I thought was noteworthy: "Liam, we should release some of our Pokémon that we caught." Liam and I both looked at him questioningly and simultaneously asked, "Why?"
"Well, I mean, the ones that we never use. Since we don't use them, they just stay locked up inside and that doesn't seem very nice. I bet they'd rather be free." He was very concerned for their well-being, and I feel like he was genuinely upset that the fictional creatures were not able to roam about freely.
Really? My nine year old brother just brought ethics into Pokémon? Next he's gonna start talking about how it's wrong to make them fight and make a joke about Michael Vick just trying to be a Pokémon master.
Just kidding - he doesn't know who Michael Vick is.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Twins Game (Kind Of)
Last night, I went to the Twins game with my mom and sister. The three of us had gone a couple of weeks ago on Mother's Day, as well. For that game, we had really great seats along the third base line. Since it was my mom's first time at the new stadium, though, she wanted to get up and explore a bit. During the seventh inning, we got up and walked around and ended up watching the top of the ninth inning from way up in foul territory. My mom really liked being up that high, though, so for the game last night,we got tickets way up in the upper deck along the first base line.
The game started out a little shaky. Actually, before the game started out a little shaky. My sister came home from work early the day before because she was feeling sick, so we weren't sure if she'd even be able to make it to the game. She felt better the day of the game, so we figured it would be okay. However, once we got to the stadium, she started to feel pretty sick again. I think she made it through the first inning before she decided she wouldn't be able to stay for the whole game. She left and walked to a friend's house who drove her home.
Before we even got to the stadium, we got to the parking ramp. We had to take an elevator to the street so we could get to the stadium, obviously. We got into the elevator, along with a bunch of other people, and were waiting for the doors to close when a man came sprinting over. He was comin' in hot and a few people inside the elevator reached out to keep the doors from closing. "There's always room for one more," the late comer said with a smile. That's completely false. In this instance, there was barely room for one more, so he gets a pass, but to say there's always room for one more? Totally not true. A couple seconds after that happened, a rather large couple came into view. Nobody made an attempt to hold the doors because there wasn't any room. Mr. Largeman thought there was, though, and jammed his arm in between the doors to keep them from closing. I thought for sure he'd realize there wasn't room for him and his lady once the doors were completely opened, but he didn't. Mr. and Mrs. Largeman waddled in, putting everyone in an uncomfortably tight squeeze. I did not hear that one guy say there was room for one more at this point.
The game, itself, was pretty bad. Our pitcher couldn't throw strikes, which meant the game went by very slowly. It was cold, too. My mom had said we'd be cold, but I thought I'd be okay with a sweatshirt under my jersey, and was very adamant about it. There's nothing worse than arguing over something with one of your parents and then being completely wrong about it, so I said I wasn't cold at all. I mean, I wasn't freezing, but I was pretty chilly. After the seventh inning, my mom (and secretly me) wanted to move around so we could warm up a little bit. We walked around and ultimately ended up behind the lower level seats near home plate. Here, we watched the rest of the game, which, by the way, ended with a three-run, walk-off homerun by Josh Willingham in the bottom of the ninth. It was incredible.
The game started out a little shaky. Actually, before the game started out a little shaky. My sister came home from work early the day before because she was feeling sick, so we weren't sure if she'd even be able to make it to the game. She felt better the day of the game, so we figured it would be okay. However, once we got to the stadium, she started to feel pretty sick again. I think she made it through the first inning before she decided she wouldn't be able to stay for the whole game. She left and walked to a friend's house who drove her home.
Before we even got to the stadium, we got to the parking ramp. We had to take an elevator to the street so we could get to the stadium, obviously. We got into the elevator, along with a bunch of other people, and were waiting for the doors to close when a man came sprinting over. He was comin' in hot and a few people inside the elevator reached out to keep the doors from closing. "There's always room for one more," the late comer said with a smile. That's completely false. In this instance, there was barely room for one more, so he gets a pass, but to say there's always room for one more? Totally not true. A couple seconds after that happened, a rather large couple came into view. Nobody made an attempt to hold the doors because there wasn't any room. Mr. Largeman thought there was, though, and jammed his arm in between the doors to keep them from closing. I thought for sure he'd realize there wasn't room for him and his lady once the doors were completely opened, but he didn't. Mr. and Mrs. Largeman waddled in, putting everyone in an uncomfortably tight squeeze. I did not hear that one guy say there was room for one more at this point.
The game, itself, was pretty bad. Our pitcher couldn't throw strikes, which meant the game went by very slowly. It was cold, too. My mom had said we'd be cold, but I thought I'd be okay with a sweatshirt under my jersey, and was very adamant about it. There's nothing worse than arguing over something with one of your parents and then being completely wrong about it, so I said I wasn't cold at all. I mean, I wasn't freezing, but I was pretty chilly. After the seventh inning, my mom (and secretly me) wanted to move around so we could warm up a little bit. We walked around and ultimately ended up behind the lower level seats near home plate. Here, we watched the rest of the game, which, by the way, ended with a three-run, walk-off homerun by Josh Willingham in the bottom of the ninth. It was incredible.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Happy New Year!
Five years ago (I think. I don't really know, but I'm just going to say it's five), I went to Hastings, MN to visit my cousins, the Jacksons, over New Year's Eve weekend. Billy's parents, Evangeline and Randy (my cousins) had plans to go out for the evening, leaving the house to Billy, his little brother, Elijah, his little sister, Shayna, and myself. Billy had asked if he could have his friend, Mike, come over, too. His parents agreed, so Mike was also there. Shayna was in the living room watching movies while Billy, Mike, Elijah, and I were in the basement playing Halo for a while until, inevitably, we got bored. "Hey, let's have a snowball fight!" someone suggested. We all agreed that was a good idea, so the four of us put on our shoes and sweatshirts and went outside. We threw snowballs at each other for probably half an hour until we got bored. I mean, you can only throw snowballs for so long until it becomes monotonous. Billy's house was located right next to the highway that goes through Hastings. Naturally, we started lobbing snowballs onto the highway. At first, it was just to see if we could throw across. It was a six lane highway with a pretty wide median, and we were throwing from a few yards away, so, I mean, don't judge. It was a long toss. Someone - I don't remember who - didn't quite make it all the way across the highway and accidentally hit a car. Then the goal changed - let's see who can hit the most cars. We'd unleash a barrage of snowballs whenever a car passed the house. Once, a car pulled over to turn at the intersection that was a few yards away from Billy's house. The four of us panicked, thinking they were going to yell at us or something, so we ran to seek shelter in the Jackson's large van. We all jumped in and closed the blinds in the windows of the van, peeking out periodically to see if the people were looking for us. They weren't, so we all got out of the van. That rush was incentive enough for us to keep throwing snowballs at cars, and we continued for probably an hour and a half, retreating back to the van a few times.
We were getting ready to go back inside, but decided we'd hit just a few more. We hit one, and I saw it turn at the intersection, but didn't say anything since nothing happened the previous times a car had turned there. We had just missed a car and I was watching it drive away. In the distance, though, I saw three dark figures. I thought they were dogs, so I didn't pay them much attention. We missed another car and I watched that one drive away, too. The dark figures were closer than before and I realized they were people that were sneaking towards us. "Hey, what are those people doing?" I asked. No one knew, but we all had a bad feeling. Mike and Elijah went inside, but Billy and I decided to try to hit just one last car. We hit the very next one. To our surprise and horror, the car pulled over immediately. At that time, the people that were sneaking up on us began sprinting toward us. To this day, I have no idea why Billy and I didn't just go into the house, but we didn't. Instead, we ran behind the house and hid behind the shed in the back yard. The people trying to...attack us...? I guess I don't know what they were trying to do, but those people went around the house to try to cut us off. When we weren't behind the house, they got confused, and we ran inside the house, locked the door, and hid in Billy's parents' room because that was the farthest from the door. Then we heard a pound on the door, and Mike, Elijah, and Shayna wanted to know what was going on. Billy and I came out of the room and looked down the hall. There was a very angry looking man peering in through the window on the door. I told Billy he should answer it. "No! You answer it!"
"No way! It's your house - you answer it!" Finally, Billy and I both answered the door, and the man was livid. This was the guy who was driving the last car we hit - the one that pulled over right away. "What the f*** are you kids doing?! Throwing f***ing snowballs at my G****** car?! I could've f***ing died!" Yeah, he was kind of angry.
"Um, would you mind not swearing? My little siblings are right here..." Billy replied.
"Oh, your little siblings, huh? Well a fine f***ing example you're setting for them, huh?"
"Sir, please leave our house." At this point, Shayna's chihuahua, Sheeba, began to bark at the angry man.
"Oh, is this your dog? I'm gonna eat this f***er for dinner. I'm gonna eat your f***ing dog!"
"Please leave."
"No. I'm gonna call the G****** cops. You're gonna be in big f***ing trouble!" Billy then shut the door and we went into the living room to explain what happened. We said that the crazy guy was going to eat Sheeba. This greatly upset Shayna. Then we said that he was going to call the cops. This greatly upset Mike. He asked Billy what he was going to do. "I know!" he said, and went downstairs. Mike and I followed him. Once in the basement, Billy turned on his Xbox and started playing Halo. This didn't make Mike very happy. "Halo?! You're playing Halo?! The guy's calling the cops, and you're playing Halo. Billy! I'm gonna get in so much trouble if my mom finds out the cops got called!"
"Well, then don't let your mom find out. Easy!" Seeing that he wasn't going to win this battle, Mike went back upstairs. I sat down and started to watch Billy play. Just as Billy was about to win, Mike came storming back downstairs and turned off the Xbox. "Hey! I was just about to win!" Billy said.
"I don't care! The cops are coming and you're going to do something about it!" demanded Mike.
"Fine!"
The three of us went back upstairs, and as soon as we reached the top step, there was another knock on the door. Billy and I went to answer the door, and we saw three cop cars, four cops, the angry/crazy man, and the three people who were chasing us. Three cop cars? I was curious as to what the angry guy had said on the phone. "So, do you boys know why we're here?" one of the cops asked, trying not to smile.
"Um, because we threw snowballs at cars?" I replied.
"Yes," he said, now stifling laughter. It was clear they didn't think it was necessary that they were called about snowballs when I'm sure they were supposed to be on the lookout for drunk drivers. "Now, why were you throwing snowballs at cars?"
"Ummmmm..." Billy and I both responded.
"Thought it was a good idea at the time?"
"Yeah!"
"But it doesn't seem like a good idea now, does it?" Both of the officers at the door started laughing.
"No..." we said, both chuckling. The cop doing most of the talking then asked the crazy guy and the three people who were chasing us to come over to where we all were.
"Now, was your car damaged at all by the snowballs?" the cop asked the angry man.
"Well, no...but it d*** well could've been!"
"So, no damage was done?"
"No! But-"
"Okay. No damage," the cop said, as he motioned to the other two cops in their cars that they could leave. "And you three - was your car damaged?" These three people had been laughing the whole time because of the ridiculousness of the situation.
"Of course not! It was a snowball! We were just gonna give these guys whities and throw snowballs at them. We thought it was funny."
"Uh-huh, so no damage here either. Alright, I'm gonna take down your names and addresses," the cop said, now talking to Billy and me, but he couldn't find a piece of paper. He ripped the corner off of a used piece of paper he had and handed it to us. "Write small because there's not a lot of room." We both wrote our names and addresses and handed the piece of paper back to the cop, who folded it up and put it in his pocket. I feel like he probably threw it away as soon as he could. "Alright, you boys have a nice night, and stay out of trouble," he said, and was on his way.
When Billy and I got back in the house, we explained to everyone what had happened, and we all agreed that it would be best if nobody's parents knew what had happened.
And then I wrote about it and posted it on the internet for everybody's parents to see.
Heh, oopsies.
We were getting ready to go back inside, but decided we'd hit just a few more. We hit one, and I saw it turn at the intersection, but didn't say anything since nothing happened the previous times a car had turned there. We had just missed a car and I was watching it drive away. In the distance, though, I saw three dark figures. I thought they were dogs, so I didn't pay them much attention. We missed another car and I watched that one drive away, too. The dark figures were closer than before and I realized they were people that were sneaking towards us. "Hey, what are those people doing?" I asked. No one knew, but we all had a bad feeling. Mike and Elijah went inside, but Billy and I decided to try to hit just one last car. We hit the very next one. To our surprise and horror, the car pulled over immediately. At that time, the people that were sneaking up on us began sprinting toward us. To this day, I have no idea why Billy and I didn't just go into the house, but we didn't. Instead, we ran behind the house and hid behind the shed in the back yard. The people trying to...attack us...? I guess I don't know what they were trying to do, but those people went around the house to try to cut us off. When we weren't behind the house, they got confused, and we ran inside the house, locked the door, and hid in Billy's parents' room because that was the farthest from the door. Then we heard a pound on the door, and Mike, Elijah, and Shayna wanted to know what was going on. Billy and I came out of the room and looked down the hall. There was a very angry looking man peering in through the window on the door. I told Billy he should answer it. "No! You answer it!"
"No way! It's your house - you answer it!" Finally, Billy and I both answered the door, and the man was livid. This was the guy who was driving the last car we hit - the one that pulled over right away. "What the f*** are you kids doing?! Throwing f***ing snowballs at my G****** car?! I could've f***ing died!" Yeah, he was kind of angry.
"Um, would you mind not swearing? My little siblings are right here..." Billy replied.
"Oh, your little siblings, huh? Well a fine f***ing example you're setting for them, huh?"
"Sir, please leave our house." At this point, Shayna's chihuahua, Sheeba, began to bark at the angry man.
"Oh, is this your dog? I'm gonna eat this f***er for dinner. I'm gonna eat your f***ing dog!"
"Please leave."
"No. I'm gonna call the G****** cops. You're gonna be in big f***ing trouble!" Billy then shut the door and we went into the living room to explain what happened. We said that the crazy guy was going to eat Sheeba. This greatly upset Shayna. Then we said that he was going to call the cops. This greatly upset Mike. He asked Billy what he was going to do. "I know!" he said, and went downstairs. Mike and I followed him. Once in the basement, Billy turned on his Xbox and started playing Halo. This didn't make Mike very happy. "Halo?! You're playing Halo?! The guy's calling the cops, and you're playing Halo. Billy! I'm gonna get in so much trouble if my mom finds out the cops got called!"
"Well, then don't let your mom find out. Easy!" Seeing that he wasn't going to win this battle, Mike went back upstairs. I sat down and started to watch Billy play. Just as Billy was about to win, Mike came storming back downstairs and turned off the Xbox. "Hey! I was just about to win!" Billy said.
"I don't care! The cops are coming and you're going to do something about it!" demanded Mike.
"Fine!"
The three of us went back upstairs, and as soon as we reached the top step, there was another knock on the door. Billy and I went to answer the door, and we saw three cop cars, four cops, the angry/crazy man, and the three people who were chasing us. Three cop cars? I was curious as to what the angry guy had said on the phone. "So, do you boys know why we're here?" one of the cops asked, trying not to smile.
"Um, because we threw snowballs at cars?" I replied.
"Yes," he said, now stifling laughter. It was clear they didn't think it was necessary that they were called about snowballs when I'm sure they were supposed to be on the lookout for drunk drivers. "Now, why were you throwing snowballs at cars?"
"Ummmmm..." Billy and I both responded.
"Thought it was a good idea at the time?"
"Yeah!"
"But it doesn't seem like a good idea now, does it?" Both of the officers at the door started laughing.
"No..." we said, both chuckling. The cop doing most of the talking then asked the crazy guy and the three people who were chasing us to come over to where we all were.
"Now, was your car damaged at all by the snowballs?" the cop asked the angry man.
"Well, no...but it d*** well could've been!"
"So, no damage was done?"
"No! But-"
"Okay. No damage," the cop said, as he motioned to the other two cops in their cars that they could leave. "And you three - was your car damaged?" These three people had been laughing the whole time because of the ridiculousness of the situation.
"Of course not! It was a snowball! We were just gonna give these guys whities and throw snowballs at them. We thought it was funny."
"Uh-huh, so no damage here either. Alright, I'm gonna take down your names and addresses," the cop said, now talking to Billy and me, but he couldn't find a piece of paper. He ripped the corner off of a used piece of paper he had and handed it to us. "Write small because there's not a lot of room." We both wrote our names and addresses and handed the piece of paper back to the cop, who folded it up and put it in his pocket. I feel like he probably threw it away as soon as he could. "Alright, you boys have a nice night, and stay out of trouble," he said, and was on his way.
When Billy and I got back in the house, we explained to everyone what had happened, and we all agreed that it would be best if nobody's parents knew what had happened.
And then I wrote about it and posted it on the internet for everybody's parents to see.
Heh, oopsies.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Perpetual Failure: Minnesota Sports
Thus far, my life as a sports fan has been nothing short of tragic. The only championship from a major pro sports team that I've witnessed was the Twins winning the World Series in 1991. I was three months old. Sure, just last year the Lynx won the WNBA title, but that just doesn't give me the same kind of excitement that I would expect from a championship. The major pro sports, I think, are football, baseball, basketball, and hockey. That means that, in order for me to witness a championship by one of my beloved Minnesota teams, either the Vikings, Twins, Timberwolves, or Wild would have to win one. The Vikings, Twins, and Wild are pretty awful, meaning the Timberwolves have the best shot at a title, though I think the Vikes will be a lot better this year (I'll get to that in a moment). You know Minnesota's sports outlook is pretty bleak when the Timberwolves have the best shot at a title. Their odds aren't good, either. They're not even decent. Sure, we've got Ricky Rubio and Kevin Love, arguably two of the best (if not the best in Kevin Love's case) at their respective positions of point guard and power forward, but outside of those two, we're not very good. Nikola Pekovic showed a lot of promise this year as the team's center, actually, so add him to the Love and Rubio group of "at-least-solid-starters. Derrick Williams showed flashes at times and, given that he was just a rookie, could end up being a very good player. The only problem is that he's more of a power forward than a small forward, and we've got the best power forward in basketball. The team desperately needs a shooting guard that can actually shoot (that seems like it should be easy to find, but apparently it's harder than it seems) and an athletic small forward. If we can get those this off-season, and if Rubio can fully recover from his knee injury, the Wolves will be a contender for a top-four spot in the west next year. Yeah, I said it.
*Sigh*... The Twins. This team is such a mess, I don't even know where to start. Yeah, we've won five of our last seven, which is good (it's actually really good. 1/3 of our wins have come in the last seven games), but frankly, we're a bad team. Without doing any research on this, I believe that Carl Pavano is the only current starter that was in the rotation at the start of the year. That's actually good because, even though all five of them were garbage, he was the best one. Consequently, I believe our starters had the highest ERA among starting rotations in baseball. Now we have three guys I've not heard of and Duensing in the rotation (I think), and I feel a lot more comfortable with that. It's not just the pitching though. Our hitting, though explosive at times, is inconsistent at best. It's unfortunate, too, because when the five guys on the team who can actually hit (Denard Span, Joe Mauer, Josh Willingham, Justin Morneau, and Ryan Doumit) are hitting well, we score a lot of runs. When they're not, though, that means it's up to guys like Alexi Casilla, Jamey Carroll, and Erik Komatsu to get hits. They can't get hits. Mauer and Morneau, though still good-very good, are shells of their former selves. If they were the Mauer and Morneau from five or six years ago, this team would be drastically better.
The definition of heartbreaker when it comes to sports has got to be the Minnesota Vikings. I mean, not last year. Last year they were pitiful. It's not like we've never been good, though. It's not even like we haven't been good recently, because we have. Remember 2009? Yeah, the 12-4, Brett-Favre-led Minnesota Vikings won the NFC North division, and should've at least made the Super Bowl. Yeah, I'm going to complain about that NFC Championship game a bit. First, though, I will reminisce. I remember week 3, Favre's last second, desperation heave to the endzone, miraculously caught by none other than Greg Lewis. I remember sprinting to my dorm room from my Monday night class to watch Favre beat the Packers on Monday Night Football. I remember all the "experts" saying the Cowboys would beat us in the Divisional round of the playoffs, their only reason being that the Cowboys won their Wild Card game. I remember saying, numerous times, "I hope we beat the Cowboys by 30, just so everyone will realize how dumb they are." I remember the Vikings winning 34-3, and the Cowboys complaining that we ran up the score. That game couldn't have been more perfect for me. Then, yes, I remember the NFC Championship game against my new-least-favorite team - the New Orleans Saints. The game in which Saints linebacker, Jonathan Vilma, offered $10,000 to whichever player knocked Favre out of the game. A sense of vindication came over me when the Saints' bounty system was discovered; I, along with many other Vikings fans, knew that the Saints players were playing dirty. Non-Vikings fans called us sore losers. What really bothers me, though, is that the referees just let that happen. They're just as pathetic as the Saints players.
That's not all with the heartbreak of the Vikings, though. Remember 1998? The '98 Vikings are the second best team to never win a Super Bowl, behind only the Patriots team that went 16-0 in the regular season. In '98, the Vikings went 15-1. Our kicker, Gary Andersen, didn't miss a single kick the whole year. That's unheard of! 100% accuracy on field goals for the whole year. Granted, we scored a ton of touchdowns, so Andersen didn't need to kick a lot of field goals. However, in the NFC Championship game that year, he not only kicked field goals, he missed field goals. We ended up losing in overtime, and seven-year-old Joe Russell cried.
Currently, the Vikings are not very good. We do, however, have the best running back in the league (Adrian Peterson) and the best defensive end in the league (Jared Allen). Christian Ponder, now that he has a decent left tackle in Matt Kalil, should improve drastically this year. An awful defensive secondary was improved (though only slightly) with the drafting of safety Harrison Smith and cornerback Josh Robinson. For some reason, no matter how bad the Vikings were the year before, I am always optimistic about the upcoming season at this time during the year. Knowing how horrible we were last year, looking at this year's schedule, I think six or seven wins is realistic. That's still not very good, but it's at least twice as good as last year.
(I know next to nothing about hockey, so I'm just going to assume the Wild will be bad again next year)
The thing about Minnesota sports teams is that we're not always bad, we're just never the best. I feel like if you want emotional balance in your life, you need to be a Minnesota sports fan. That sounds kind of crazy, given that it's pretty depressing here, sports-wise, but hear me out. You have to be optimistic to be a Minnesota sports fan. If you're pessimistic, the frustration, depression, and heart break will be too much, and you'll abandon ship. However, Minnesota sports turns anyone into a pessimist because Murphy's Law (what can go wrong will go wrong) is in full effect for every single sporting event. Actually, I guess it could go either way: you'll either find emotional balance, or you'll become a schizophrenic. Heh, well, good luck with that.
*Sigh*... The Twins. This team is such a mess, I don't even know where to start. Yeah, we've won five of our last seven, which is good (it's actually really good. 1/3 of our wins have come in the last seven games), but frankly, we're a bad team. Without doing any research on this, I believe that Carl Pavano is the only current starter that was in the rotation at the start of the year. That's actually good because, even though all five of them were garbage, he was the best one. Consequently, I believe our starters had the highest ERA among starting rotations in baseball. Now we have three guys I've not heard of and Duensing in the rotation (I think), and I feel a lot more comfortable with that. It's not just the pitching though. Our hitting, though explosive at times, is inconsistent at best. It's unfortunate, too, because when the five guys on the team who can actually hit (Denard Span, Joe Mauer, Josh Willingham, Justin Morneau, and Ryan Doumit) are hitting well, we score a lot of runs. When they're not, though, that means it's up to guys like Alexi Casilla, Jamey Carroll, and Erik Komatsu to get hits. They can't get hits. Mauer and Morneau, though still good-very good, are shells of their former selves. If they were the Mauer and Morneau from five or six years ago, this team would be drastically better.
The definition of heartbreaker when it comes to sports has got to be the Minnesota Vikings. I mean, not last year. Last year they were pitiful. It's not like we've never been good, though. It's not even like we haven't been good recently, because we have. Remember 2009? Yeah, the 12-4, Brett-Favre-led Minnesota Vikings won the NFC North division, and should've at least made the Super Bowl. Yeah, I'm going to complain about that NFC Championship game a bit. First, though, I will reminisce. I remember week 3, Favre's last second, desperation heave to the endzone, miraculously caught by none other than Greg Lewis. I remember sprinting to my dorm room from my Monday night class to watch Favre beat the Packers on Monday Night Football. I remember all the "experts" saying the Cowboys would beat us in the Divisional round of the playoffs, their only reason being that the Cowboys won their Wild Card game. I remember saying, numerous times, "I hope we beat the Cowboys by 30, just so everyone will realize how dumb they are." I remember the Vikings winning 34-3, and the Cowboys complaining that we ran up the score. That game couldn't have been more perfect for me. Then, yes, I remember the NFC Championship game against my new-least-favorite team - the New Orleans Saints. The game in which Saints linebacker, Jonathan Vilma, offered $10,000 to whichever player knocked Favre out of the game. A sense of vindication came over me when the Saints' bounty system was discovered; I, along with many other Vikings fans, knew that the Saints players were playing dirty. Non-Vikings fans called us sore losers. What really bothers me, though, is that the referees just let that happen. They're just as pathetic as the Saints players.
That's not all with the heartbreak of the Vikings, though. Remember 1998? The '98 Vikings are the second best team to never win a Super Bowl, behind only the Patriots team that went 16-0 in the regular season. In '98, the Vikings went 15-1. Our kicker, Gary Andersen, didn't miss a single kick the whole year. That's unheard of! 100% accuracy on field goals for the whole year. Granted, we scored a ton of touchdowns, so Andersen didn't need to kick a lot of field goals. However, in the NFC Championship game that year, he not only kicked field goals, he missed field goals. We ended up losing in overtime, and seven-year-old Joe Russell cried.
Currently, the Vikings are not very good. We do, however, have the best running back in the league (Adrian Peterson) and the best defensive end in the league (Jared Allen). Christian Ponder, now that he has a decent left tackle in Matt Kalil, should improve drastically this year. An awful defensive secondary was improved (though only slightly) with the drafting of safety Harrison Smith and cornerback Josh Robinson. For some reason, no matter how bad the Vikings were the year before, I am always optimistic about the upcoming season at this time during the year. Knowing how horrible we were last year, looking at this year's schedule, I think six or seven wins is realistic. That's still not very good, but it's at least twice as good as last year.
(I know next to nothing about hockey, so I'm just going to assume the Wild will be bad again next year)
The thing about Minnesota sports teams is that we're not always bad, we're just never the best. I feel like if you want emotional balance in your life, you need to be a Minnesota sports fan. That sounds kind of crazy, given that it's pretty depressing here, sports-wise, but hear me out. You have to be optimistic to be a Minnesota sports fan. If you're pessimistic, the frustration, depression, and heart break will be too much, and you'll abandon ship. However, Minnesota sports turns anyone into a pessimist because Murphy's Law (what can go wrong will go wrong) is in full effect for every single sporting event. Actually, I guess it could go either way: you'll either find emotional balance, or you'll become a schizophrenic. Heh, well, good luck with that.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Oh, Canada
Whenever I travel to a different country (which is only like thrice, maybe four times), I try to not live to the stereotypes of being American - lazy, stupid, entitled, etc. I've done a pretty good job of that, I think, except for one time. About six or seven years ago, I went to Edmonton (that's in Canada) with my cousins, the Jackson family. They have a pretty large family, so we traveled in a really big van. I mean really big. We had a generator and a TV in there. My second cousin (that's his relation to me, he's not my second cousin, like the second one to exist or whatever), Billy, and I played Xbox for almost the whole drive.
When we got to Edmonton, we went to the West Edmonton Mall. I'm not sure if there is an East Edmonton Mall, but if there is, there shouldn't be because the West Edmonton Mall is the largest mall in North America. Since most of you aren't Canadian, very few of you have probably ever heard of the WEM (that's what I like to call it) and thought the Mall of America was the biggest mall in North America. Ha. Silly Americans.
The WEM has a hotel in it, and this is the hotel in which we stayed. Billy, his brother, Elijah, their cousin Joshua, and I shared a suite. Billy and I decided we should hook up the Xbox to the TV in our suite. Unfortunately, the audio and video ports on the TV were blocked. No problem - we'll just get the TV from the van, we thought. We went out to the parking lot and found the van. Unbeknownst to us, there had been a recent spree of crime in the area, and more cops were on patrol than normal. Billy was in the van unplugging the TV when a couple of cops pulled up in their car. I'm sure it looked pretty fishy - one teenager in a van and another teenager keeping watch. The cops called me over. "Oh, man. This probably looks a bit sketchy. Oh well - I'll clear things up," I thought. Unfortunately, I hadn't yet mastered the English language. Or problem solving.
"What are you guys doing?" asked one cop.
"Oh, we're just taking the TV out of the van," I responded. As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted saying them. I became flustered, which didn't make the situation any better.
"Uh-huh... I see. Is this your van?"
"No. Well it's not my van, it's his van," I said, motioning to Billy, who was still inside the van. "Well, it's not his van, it's his dad's van." I felt like telling the truth was the most important thing for me to do, regardless of the sketchiness used to tell it.
"Uh... right. Do you have any form of ID on you?"
"Um, I have a debit card...? Does that count?" I was only 14, I think. I didn't have my driver's permit, and I certainly didn't have my driver's license.
"Yeah, sure, let's see that." I handed the cop my debit card. I have no idea what purpose that could've served. I peeked at what they were writing, and it was just my name. "Alright, Joe, have a nice day," the one cop said, and they just drove off.
I poked my head in the van to see how close Billy was to having the TV unplugged from everything. He looked up and asked, "Hey, who were you talking to?"
When we got to Edmonton, we went to the West Edmonton Mall. I'm not sure if there is an East Edmonton Mall, but if there is, there shouldn't be because the West Edmonton Mall is the largest mall in North America. Since most of you aren't Canadian, very few of you have probably ever heard of the WEM (that's what I like to call it) and thought the Mall of America was the biggest mall in North America. Ha. Silly Americans.
The WEM has a hotel in it, and this is the hotel in which we stayed. Billy, his brother, Elijah, their cousin Joshua, and I shared a suite. Billy and I decided we should hook up the Xbox to the TV in our suite. Unfortunately, the audio and video ports on the TV were blocked. No problem - we'll just get the TV from the van, we thought. We went out to the parking lot and found the van. Unbeknownst to us, there had been a recent spree of crime in the area, and more cops were on patrol than normal. Billy was in the van unplugging the TV when a couple of cops pulled up in their car. I'm sure it looked pretty fishy - one teenager in a van and another teenager keeping watch. The cops called me over. "Oh, man. This probably looks a bit sketchy. Oh well - I'll clear things up," I thought. Unfortunately, I hadn't yet mastered the English language. Or problem solving.
"What are you guys doing?" asked one cop.
"Oh, we're just taking the TV out of the van," I responded. As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted saying them. I became flustered, which didn't make the situation any better.
"Uh-huh... I see. Is this your van?"
"No. Well it's not my van, it's his van," I said, motioning to Billy, who was still inside the van. "Well, it's not his van, it's his dad's van." I felt like telling the truth was the most important thing for me to do, regardless of the sketchiness used to tell it.
"Uh... right. Do you have any form of ID on you?"
"Um, I have a debit card...? Does that count?" I was only 14, I think. I didn't have my driver's permit, and I certainly didn't have my driver's license.
"Yeah, sure, let's see that." I handed the cop my debit card. I have no idea what purpose that could've served. I peeked at what they were writing, and it was just my name. "Alright, Joe, have a nice day," the one cop said, and they just drove off.
I poked my head in the van to see how close Billy was to having the TV unplugged from everything. He looked up and asked, "Hey, who were you talking to?"
Saturday, May 12, 2012
The Doctor's Office
The other day I had a doctor appointment. Not a big deal, right? Well, it was my first trip to the doctor's office in five years. Oh, still not a big deal? I'm going to write about it, anyway - deal with it.
One day a few weeks ago, I was shirtless in my house. My step-mom pointed to a birth mark on my back. "What's that?"
"Oh, that's just a birth mark."
"No, it looks like you got smacked or something."
"I know, but it's just a birth mark. I don't know what this is though," I said, pointing to a mole-looking bump on my side.
"You should get that checked out. An irregular mole? Yeah, you should get that checked out."
Fast forward to last week. I still hadn't made a doctor's appointment. This time my dad weighed in, too. He said I should get a physical since I hadn't had one since my sophomore year of high school, which was actually the last time I went to the doctor. He also suggested that I should get my cholesterol checked - he's pretty concerned about cholesterol and blood pressure and stuff since he had his heart attack last year. Incidentally, my doctor appointment was on the one year anniversary of my dad's heart attack. Yeah. So, there's that.
I arrived at the doctor's office and I was a little nervous because I had to talk to the receptionist lady. I had never done that before and I was afraid I may make a mistake in giving information. That's not an irrational fear for me, because I don't know my mom's address, and I don't know my dad's home phone number. Anticipating the phone number question, I opened my phone and went to "Dad Home" in my contacts. When the question was asked, I discretely read the number. Works every time.
I waited for a few minutes in the waiting room, as is customary, before a nurse called my name. She took me back to a room and I filled out a little questionnaire thing. Revealing that I had asthma gave me another questionnaire to fill out. After those were completed, the nurse left and said she'd tell the doctor I was ready.
The doctor came in and asked why I was there. "Why am I here?" I thought. "I feel like you should know why I'm here. I feel like the receptionist with whom I scheduled this appointment would tell you why I'm here. What kind of doctor's office is this? Where did you get your degree?" Instead of saying that, though, I smiled and said "Well, I'm here for a physical and I want to get a mole checked and my dad wants me to get my cholesterol checked, too."
"A physical, eh? Is this for sports, or..."
"No, just because I haven't been to the doctor in a long time."
"Huh. After the sports physical in high school, we usually don't see you until you're in your 40's having trouble breathing."
He wanted to start with the mole, since that would be the quickest. I lifted up my shirt and showed him. He leaned in really close, then took off his glasses. I was under the impression that glasses help people see, but I didn't say anything. He is a doctor, after all. Then he leaned back and said, "Hmmm. Yup, it's a fwibedibedoo..." He didn't actually say "fwibedibedoo," but it was some scientific name that I can't remember. That's all he said, though. So after a few silent seconds I asked, "Umm, what's that mean?"
"Oh, it's just a mass of nerves and scar tissue. You can have it removed if you want, but it won't do any harm to leave it." Huh, well, that's that, I suppose.
Then the physical started. He asked me what sort of health issues ran in my family. What? I have no idea. I'm no family historian. I don't even know if that's a thing. Look, doc, I don't ask my parents, "Hey, do you remember great-grandma? What sort of health problems did she have?" Also, apparently, if it's only happened once in your family, that counts as "running in the family." I answered the question with, "Uhh...I don't know. I mean, my dad had a heart attack last year, but - "
"A heart attack? Well, let's give him credit for that!" and he typed that into his computer. Okay, now, apparently, heart attacks run in my family.
We went through the rest of the physical, and the doctor never actually said I was healthy, but he didn't say I was unhealthy, either, so I guess no news is good news. He then took me to a separate waiting room and said someone would come by shortly and test my cholesterol. Sure enough, a few minutes later, another nurse came and took me back to a room.
As I turned the corner to the room and took in my environment, I thought, "Huh, this looks like a place where blood is drawn..." I'd never had my cholesterol tested before, and for some reason I thought it would be like a blood pressure thing where they just strap something on your arm and voila - done. I'm not afraid of needles or anything, but I do need a minute to mentally prepare. I mean, it's a needle being jabbed into my vein, sucking precious blood from my body. The thought makes me cringe. Unfortunately, I didn't have that minute. It was just, "You can take a seat right here," dab iodine or whatever on my arm, "Look away. 1, 2, 3, poke!" and there was a needle in my vein, snatchin' my blood up. My arm hurt for the next day, which I don't think is normal. I haven't passed out, though, so there's that.
One day a few weeks ago, I was shirtless in my house. My step-mom pointed to a birth mark on my back. "What's that?"
"Oh, that's just a birth mark."
"No, it looks like you got smacked or something."
"I know, but it's just a birth mark. I don't know what this is though," I said, pointing to a mole-looking bump on my side.
"You should get that checked out. An irregular mole? Yeah, you should get that checked out."
Fast forward to last week. I still hadn't made a doctor's appointment. This time my dad weighed in, too. He said I should get a physical since I hadn't had one since my sophomore year of high school, which was actually the last time I went to the doctor. He also suggested that I should get my cholesterol checked - he's pretty concerned about cholesterol and blood pressure and stuff since he had his heart attack last year. Incidentally, my doctor appointment was on the one year anniversary of my dad's heart attack. Yeah. So, there's that.
I arrived at the doctor's office and I was a little nervous because I had to talk to the receptionist lady. I had never done that before and I was afraid I may make a mistake in giving information. That's not an irrational fear for me, because I don't know my mom's address, and I don't know my dad's home phone number. Anticipating the phone number question, I opened my phone and went to "Dad Home" in my contacts. When the question was asked, I discretely read the number. Works every time.
I waited for a few minutes in the waiting room, as is customary, before a nurse called my name. She took me back to a room and I filled out a little questionnaire thing. Revealing that I had asthma gave me another questionnaire to fill out. After those were completed, the nurse left and said she'd tell the doctor I was ready.
The doctor came in and asked why I was there. "Why am I here?" I thought. "I feel like you should know why I'm here. I feel like the receptionist with whom I scheduled this appointment would tell you why I'm here. What kind of doctor's office is this? Where did you get your degree?" Instead of saying that, though, I smiled and said "Well, I'm here for a physical and I want to get a mole checked and my dad wants me to get my cholesterol checked, too."
"A physical, eh? Is this for sports, or..."
"No, just because I haven't been to the doctor in a long time."
"Huh. After the sports physical in high school, we usually don't see you until you're in your 40's having trouble breathing."
He wanted to start with the mole, since that would be the quickest. I lifted up my shirt and showed him. He leaned in really close, then took off his glasses. I was under the impression that glasses help people see, but I didn't say anything. He is a doctor, after all. Then he leaned back and said, "Hmmm. Yup, it's a fwibedibedoo..." He didn't actually say "fwibedibedoo," but it was some scientific name that I can't remember. That's all he said, though. So after a few silent seconds I asked, "Umm, what's that mean?"
"Oh, it's just a mass of nerves and scar tissue. You can have it removed if you want, but it won't do any harm to leave it." Huh, well, that's that, I suppose.
Then the physical started. He asked me what sort of health issues ran in my family. What? I have no idea. I'm no family historian. I don't even know if that's a thing. Look, doc, I don't ask my parents, "Hey, do you remember great-grandma? What sort of health problems did she have?" Also, apparently, if it's only happened once in your family, that counts as "running in the family." I answered the question with, "Uhh...I don't know. I mean, my dad had a heart attack last year, but - "
"A heart attack? Well, let's give him credit for that!" and he typed that into his computer. Okay, now, apparently, heart attacks run in my family.
We went through the rest of the physical, and the doctor never actually said I was healthy, but he didn't say I was unhealthy, either, so I guess no news is good news. He then took me to a separate waiting room and said someone would come by shortly and test my cholesterol. Sure enough, a few minutes later, another nurse came and took me back to a room.
As I turned the corner to the room and took in my environment, I thought, "Huh, this looks like a place where blood is drawn..." I'd never had my cholesterol tested before, and for some reason I thought it would be like a blood pressure thing where they just strap something on your arm and voila - done. I'm not afraid of needles or anything, but I do need a minute to mentally prepare. I mean, it's a needle being jabbed into my vein, sucking precious blood from my body. The thought makes me cringe. Unfortunately, I didn't have that minute. It was just, "You can take a seat right here," dab iodine or whatever on my arm, "Look away. 1, 2, 3, poke!" and there was a needle in my vein, snatchin' my blood up. My arm hurt for the next day, which I don't think is normal. I haven't passed out, though, so there's that.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
From Brookings, With Love, Part 2: Electric Boogaloo
When I left Brookings, the clouds were erupting with thunder and lightning. I was excited because I love thunderstorms. Driving in thunderstorms is a bad idea for me - not because driving conditions are poor, but because I love watching thunderstorms, and if I'm watching the thunderstorm I'm not watching the road. Every time lightning illuminated the sky, I took my eyes off of the road to watch.
It didn't start to rain until I was about a half hour out of Brookings. It was incredibly dark, and my headlights were almost no help in brightening the road. I would've switched on my high beams, but, of course, there was a car just far enough ahead of me where they weren't guiding me at all, but close enough where I couldn't use my brights.
By the time I got to Marshall - which is the halfway point between Brookings and home - it was raining hard. Much to my chagrin, I needed to get gas. At the first stop light in town, I merged into the left turn lane. Since my dresser was in the back seat, I couldn't see anything out of my rear-view mirror. As I was taking a sip from my Arnold Palmer (the beverage, not the old golfer after whom the beverage is named), I got rear ended, which not only caused my car to hit the car in front of me, it also caused my Arnie Palmie to fly out of my hand and onto the floor. To give you a sense of my priorities, the order of my subjects of concern went:
1. My Arnold Palmer
2. My iPod
3. My radio (I'm not sure why)
4. All of my stuff I was moving
5. My car
6. My body
7. The other people and their cars
Turns out, everything was fine. My license plate was bent a little bit, but that was the only damage done to any of the three cars. My Arnold Palmer, however, was half spilled on the floor of my car. It's probably a good thing that happened, though (foreshadowing is fun!).
After Marshall, I had the road to myself. That makes a ton of sense, actually, because who would be driving at 10:00pm in a roughly-180-mile-long severe thunderstorm? It was still incredibly dark outside (it's weird that it didn't get brighter as the night got later, right?) so my headlights did nothing. Unfortunately, it was raining so hard that my brights were even worse. Well, they were worse for visibility reasons, but in the entertainment area, they were a lot better - it looked like I had put my car into hyper drive! Very cool, but very unhelpful, also. I decided to keep my brights off.
After Granite Falls, which is the town after Marshall, I had to pee. Like, I really had to pee. I decided that I'd stop at the next gas station. Unfortunately, the next town was an hour away. By the time I made it to Spicer, the next town, I was strongly considering just peeing my pants. To my horror, nothing in Spicer was open. I wasn't really surprised. I mean, there are like six places in Spicer, and it was after 11:00pm. Normally, in a situation like this one, I'd just pull over and pee in a ditch or something. However, the torrential downpour was still in full effect, and was a great deterrent for that plan. After about ten more minutes of driving, my eyes started to tear up, except I was certain that the tears were made out of urine. I was excited for a little bit because I thought if I cried enough, that would empty my bladder. That didn't work. I accepted the fact that I was going to die. Police would come examine my totaled car, and the autopsy would reveal that my bladder had exploded, and if that wasn't enough to kill me, the fact that my lungs filled with urine certainly was. Eventually, I decided getting a little wet was better than getting a little dead, so I pulled over on the side of the road. Any time you pull over to the side of the road to pee, you hope it's gonna go by really quick. Unfortunately, if you get to the point where you have to pull over just to go to the bathroom, it's not gonna be a twenty second pee-session. The fact that I was braving a monsoon made me want this little pit stop to go as quickly as possible. It just so happened that I had pulled over behind a hill. After having the road to myself for over an hour and a half, not one, not two, not three, but four cars drove over the hill. I have a little bit of dignity, so I wasn't about to relieve myself in front of an audience. Unfortunately, more cars kept coming, spacing themselves so perfectly that as soon as I thought I was in the clear, another pair of headlights would appear. Eventually, I didn't care anymore, so I just let 'er go. I'm not crude enough to tell you how long it took, but I will tell you that three more cars drove by me before I was done. Taking solace in the fact that I would never see these people and the fact that I could actually function now that my bladder was empty, I hopped in my car and drove the last half hour to my home in Cold Spring.
I got home at midnight, and the first thing I did was turn on House Hunters on Home & Gardening TV. Yup. After not having cable for the whole school year, the first thing I turn on when I get home is House Hunters. Don't judge me.
It didn't start to rain until I was about a half hour out of Brookings. It was incredibly dark, and my headlights were almost no help in brightening the road. I would've switched on my high beams, but, of course, there was a car just far enough ahead of me where they weren't guiding me at all, but close enough where I couldn't use my brights.
By the time I got to Marshall - which is the halfway point between Brookings and home - it was raining hard. Much to my chagrin, I needed to get gas. At the first stop light in town, I merged into the left turn lane. Since my dresser was in the back seat, I couldn't see anything out of my rear-view mirror. As I was taking a sip from my Arnold Palmer (the beverage, not the old golfer after whom the beverage is named), I got rear ended, which not only caused my car to hit the car in front of me, it also caused my Arnie Palmie to fly out of my hand and onto the floor. To give you a sense of my priorities, the order of my subjects of concern went:
1. My Arnold Palmer
2. My iPod
3. My radio (I'm not sure why)
4. All of my stuff I was moving
5. My car
6. My body
7. The other people and their cars
Turns out, everything was fine. My license plate was bent a little bit, but that was the only damage done to any of the three cars. My Arnold Palmer, however, was half spilled on the floor of my car. It's probably a good thing that happened, though (foreshadowing is fun!).
After Marshall, I had the road to myself. That makes a ton of sense, actually, because who would be driving at 10:00pm in a roughly-180-mile-long severe thunderstorm? It was still incredibly dark outside (it's weird that it didn't get brighter as the night got later, right?) so my headlights did nothing. Unfortunately, it was raining so hard that my brights were even worse. Well, they were worse for visibility reasons, but in the entertainment area, they were a lot better - it looked like I had put my car into hyper drive! Very cool, but very unhelpful, also. I decided to keep my brights off.
After Granite Falls, which is the town after Marshall, I had to pee. Like, I really had to pee. I decided that I'd stop at the next gas station. Unfortunately, the next town was an hour away. By the time I made it to Spicer, the next town, I was strongly considering just peeing my pants. To my horror, nothing in Spicer was open. I wasn't really surprised. I mean, there are like six places in Spicer, and it was after 11:00pm. Normally, in a situation like this one, I'd just pull over and pee in a ditch or something. However, the torrential downpour was still in full effect, and was a great deterrent for that plan. After about ten more minutes of driving, my eyes started to tear up, except I was certain that the tears were made out of urine. I was excited for a little bit because I thought if I cried enough, that would empty my bladder. That didn't work. I accepted the fact that I was going to die. Police would come examine my totaled car, and the autopsy would reveal that my bladder had exploded, and if that wasn't enough to kill me, the fact that my lungs filled with urine certainly was. Eventually, I decided getting a little wet was better than getting a little dead, so I pulled over on the side of the road. Any time you pull over to the side of the road to pee, you hope it's gonna go by really quick. Unfortunately, if you get to the point where you have to pull over just to go to the bathroom, it's not gonna be a twenty second pee-session. The fact that I was braving a monsoon made me want this little pit stop to go as quickly as possible. It just so happened that I had pulled over behind a hill. After having the road to myself for over an hour and a half, not one, not two, not three, but four cars drove over the hill. I have a little bit of dignity, so I wasn't about to relieve myself in front of an audience. Unfortunately, more cars kept coming, spacing themselves so perfectly that as soon as I thought I was in the clear, another pair of headlights would appear. Eventually, I didn't care anymore, so I just let 'er go. I'm not crude enough to tell you how long it took, but I will tell you that three more cars drove by me before I was done. Taking solace in the fact that I would never see these people and the fact that I could actually function now that my bladder was empty, I hopped in my car and drove the last half hour to my home in Cold Spring.
I got home at midnight, and the first thing I did was turn on House Hunters on Home & Gardening TV. Yup. After not having cable for the whole school year, the first thing I turn on when I get home is House Hunters. Don't judge me.
From Brookings, With Love
On Thursday of this past week, I finished my final exams for the last semester of my junior* year. I was pretty excited, but instantly faced with a daunting task. My dad wasn't driving out to Brookings with the van or truck to get my stuff and there was no way all of the stuff would fit into my car. Consequently, I rented a storage unit. The daunting task, then, was that I had to move all of my stuff, mostly by myself. My plan was to move it all on Friday and, depending on when that got done, go home either Friday evening or Saturday morning. Unfortunately, it rained all day Friday, so I couldn't move anything. The new plan was the same as the old one, but moved up one day. I woke up Saturday morning and noticed it was raining again. Early in the afternoon, it stopped, and I began moving some things to my storage unit. I had a few things with which I needed help, though, like my desk, my fridge, and my bed. "The desk and fridge will fit in my car," I said, audibly, to myself, because no one else was home. "I need Krsnak's Suburban for my bed, though." Mike Krsnak was one of my roommates. I waited until 6:00 for Krs to get home from work. We loaded my bed into his Suburban and then carried my desk out to my car. "Are you sure this'll fit in your car?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah - it'll fit." I was pretty confident because I had measured my back seat and the desk, and it worked out. Unfortunately, I'm no architect. I tried my best to force that desk into my back seat, but the desk was having none of that. We left the desk out, grabbed my fridge and packed it in my back seat, and drove over to the storage unit. While unloading my bed and fridge, I noticed that the sky began to look ominous again. I got a little nervous because I remembered we left my desk outside. We got back to the house, loaded the desk into Krsnak's Suburban, and drove back to the unit without a single drop of rain falling.
When I got back to the house, it was time to pack up all of my belongings that I was taking home with me. For some reason, my dad wanted me to bring my dresser home instead of just bringing all of my clothes home. I had kept all of my clothes in a giant duffel bag last year, and that worked out just fine. I took out all of the drawers and carried the dresser out to my car. I had measured my dresser, too, and decided it would fit into my back seat. Like the desk, though, the dresser had other plans, and they did not involve the back seat of my car in any way. A bit distraught, I thought I'd try to fit the dresser in the trunk of my car. No dice, but I thought I could close the trunk enough where a bungee cord would do the job. At that moment, my other roommate, Ryan Ackman, drove up and looked skeptically at the dresser in my trunk. I told him it wouldn't fit in the back seat, but he didn't accept that. He eventually got the dresser into the back seat, and as soon as he did, the thunder and lightning started. I spent the next twenty minutes sprinting in and out of my house, trying to move the rest of my stuff into my car and have a farewell conversation with Ackman simultaneously before it started to rain. I'm still impressed with myself that I managed to fit everything into my car. Before I left, Krsnak said that we were in a tornado warning. "Ha, maybe you are, but I'm leaving. No tornadoes or thunderstorms for me," I thought.
*Though this year was my third at college, I'm hesitant to call it my "junior" year, because I'm not graduating after next year. As far as graduation is concerned, this year was my freshman year.
"Oh, yeah - it'll fit." I was pretty confident because I had measured my back seat and the desk, and it worked out. Unfortunately, I'm no architect. I tried my best to force that desk into my back seat, but the desk was having none of that. We left the desk out, grabbed my fridge and packed it in my back seat, and drove over to the storage unit. While unloading my bed and fridge, I noticed that the sky began to look ominous again. I got a little nervous because I remembered we left my desk outside. We got back to the house, loaded the desk into Krsnak's Suburban, and drove back to the unit without a single drop of rain falling.
When I got back to the house, it was time to pack up all of my belongings that I was taking home with me. For some reason, my dad wanted me to bring my dresser home instead of just bringing all of my clothes home. I had kept all of my clothes in a giant duffel bag last year, and that worked out just fine. I took out all of the drawers and carried the dresser out to my car. I had measured my dresser, too, and decided it would fit into my back seat. Like the desk, though, the dresser had other plans, and they did not involve the back seat of my car in any way. A bit distraught, I thought I'd try to fit the dresser in the trunk of my car. No dice, but I thought I could close the trunk enough where a bungee cord would do the job. At that moment, my other roommate, Ryan Ackman, drove up and looked skeptically at the dresser in my trunk. I told him it wouldn't fit in the back seat, but he didn't accept that. He eventually got the dresser into the back seat, and as soon as he did, the thunder and lightning started. I spent the next twenty minutes sprinting in and out of my house, trying to move the rest of my stuff into my car and have a farewell conversation with Ackman simultaneously before it started to rain. I'm still impressed with myself that I managed to fit everything into my car. Before I left, Krsnak said that we were in a tornado warning. "Ha, maybe you are, but I'm leaving. No tornadoes or thunderstorms for me," I thought.
*Though this year was my third at college, I'm hesitant to call it my "junior" year, because I'm not graduating after next year. As far as graduation is concerned, this year was my freshman year.
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