Suppressed Memories: AP Calc (Michelle Made Me Write This)

I know I've posted about my high school AP Calc class before, but this one is going to be a little different. It's also probably going to be a bit longer. Probably. I don't write rough drafts for my blog, so I don't really know. It's all up in the ol' noggin. I guess we'll just see how much of these suppressed memories I can recall. Also, if you're wondering who Michelle is, Michelle Yordi is a dear friend and former classmate. She's having a rough week and loves nothing more than reading about my suffering. Out of the kindness of my heart, and since all I do is give, I've decided to write an unprecedented ninth post this month.

I know I've mentioned my teacher from this class, Ms. H, before. Let me just reminisce a little bit. I remember, on multiple occasions, she would make me throw my school-issued breakfast in the garbage. "I don't allow food in my classroom." Despite my highly logical and well thought out argument that breakfast is the most important meal of the day and will allow me to think better and, given my current grade, being able to think better is clearly necessary for my success, I still had to dispose of my breakfast. Just think about how unfair that is - I didn't have time for breakfast at my house, so I got breakfast at school - I paid for breakfast at school - and she makes me throw it away. Now I'm under nourished and don't have the brain capacity to understand Calculus, especially when taught by a sub-par teacher. Ms. H also loved to not let me go get a drink of water. Denying me the most essential facet of human life? And she wouldn't deny everyone - just me. I remember one particular instance my mouth was dry. I mean really dry - like the Sahara desert or something. I told Ms. H this and asked if I could go get a drink. "No," was the answer. I asked why and she gave me some lame reason like, "I don't want people in the hallway" or something. I noticed there was a sink in the classroom. "Ms. H, can I get a drink from the sink? That's not in the hallway, and it gives water. Everybody wins." Again, the answer was no. Now, the sequence that followed was when Michelle showed how evil she is. I can almost guarantee that she wasn't even thirsty, but she went up to Ms. H and said, "Ms. H, we have matching pencils! ...Can I get a drink?" Ms. H said yes to that! I wasn't going to stand for that! "Ms. H, are you kidding me right now?! I'm back here dying of thirst and you don't let me get a drink, but Michelle has the same pencil as you, and she gets to get a drink? I bet she's not even thirsty!" Ms. H just laughed. So did Michelle. When Michelle came back, I was still angry. And still thirsty. "Seriously, Joe, you should just get a drink from the sink. Ms. H is busy right now - she won't even notice!" This is what Michelle said to me. She was right - Ms. H was busy. I got up, sneakily, and went over to the sink. I turned on the cold water and started to drink from the faucet when I hear, "Pssst! Ms. H! Look what Joe's doing!" You know who said that? You know who ratted me out? Michelle. Yep. She planned that! I got in trouble for trying to survive. Michelle got a drink and the satisfaction of seeing me get in trouble. It was ridiculous. That's not all, though. Michelle got to keep a plant in Ms. H's classroom. I mean, seriously? A plant? You know what I got to keep in Ms. H's classroom? My D letter grade, and not my breakfast. Michelle gets a plant, and I get to throw my breakfast in the garbage. I don't...I can't even...

Not all memories are bad, though. One time, Ms. H wasn't in class, and Damian (my friend and college roommate my freshman year) texted her. I have no idea how, when, or why he got her number, but he did. He, Mark, Freddy (more friends), and I were wondering where something was. Or something. I don't remember. Anyway, Damian texted Ms. H, and she replied with, "No texting in class! ;)" Yes, that is a winking face. An important note: Damian had this really creepy pretend-crush (sometimes I was pretty sure it wasn't pretend) on Ms. H, and everybody in the class knew it. Ms. H favored Damian because she didn't know it may have been pretend. So, Damian got the winky-face text and showed everyone in the class. When Ms. H came back, she never heard the end of it, and it was fantastic. One day we were doing something with magazines where we had to cut them up and glue something...I don't remember. I have no idea how it pertained to Calculus, but someone found an article about how the winky-face is very flirty/sexual and gave it to Ms. H. Phenomenal.

That's one good memory. The vast majority are bad memories, such as the AP Calc exam. I know for a fact that I've written about this before, but for the sake of relevance, I will revisit this subject. The AP exam was to determine whether or not I had wasted the year taking AP Calc by giving me college credits if I scored at least a 3 out of 5 (or 6, maybe - I don't really know. I focused mainly on the 3 because I knew whatever was the potential high score was out of my range). The weeks prior to the exam, all we did in class was review. Or, in my case, give one last attempt to learn the material. I grasped a couple of concepts, and I felt mildly confident that I could, with a lot of luck, manage to get a 3. "Mildly" as in "35%." Well, the day of the AP exam came, and I had no chance. I left at least half of the multiple choice questions blank (you're supposed to leave them blank if you don't know because you lose points for wrong answers, but lose nothing (and gain nothing) from leaving answers blank). Then came the free response section. I think I answered half of the questions in the calculator free response section, and I left all of the answers blank in the no calculator free response section. Instead, on the last question, I wrote this letter:

To whom it may concern,

As you may have noticed, I have not answered, attempted to answer, or even written anything down for any of the questions in this section. But do not think that I didn't try, or don't care, because I did, and for the most part, do. To be honest, I have no idea how to do any part of any of the questions in the no calculator free response section of the 2009 AP Calculus AB Exam. I do not even know how to pretend to know how to answer these questions. Normally, in a situation like the one I find myself in now, I would make up work, or B.S. my way through this, but I don't know what work for these problems is supposed to look like. In all honesty, I don't even consider Calculus to be a form of Mathematics. It deals too much with symbols and letters (aka variables), even more so than numbers in some cases, to be considered math.

While writing this, I decided to go back to question number 4 and label my nonexistent answers, because on the problems we did in preparation for this exam, I got points for that. Unfortunately, that is the closest I can come to giving an answer to any of the questions in this section. I consider this a failure of epic proportions. Please do not think less of me for it.

-Joe Russell (Calculus Master)

That is verbatim what I wrote. It took me about ten minutes to realize I wouldn't be able to answer any of the questions, and that gave me about 50 minutes to write that letter. So I wrote it, and then wrote it on a scrap piece of paper so I could keep it. I got a 1 on that exam, and no response to my letter, which was a pretty fitting end to that class.

Also, I just want to say that the reason I did so poorly in this class was not lack of effort. I mean, it kind of was. I started out with pretty decent effort, but Ms. H is a bad teacher. Anyone who has had her before will vouch for that. Sitting through a lecture in which she tried to teach a concept was just sad. She didn't know what she was talking about and, consequently, I had no idea how to do the homework, which lead to poor scores on quizzes and tests. She'd say, "Well, if you don't understand it, come in before class or after school and I'll help you." Firstly, there's no way she could've helped. She didn't know the material, either. Secondly, I tried to come in before school multiple times and was not helped. After doing poorly on the first few quizzes and tests, I realized that no matter how much effort I put forth, I was not going to succeed, which is simultaneously the most depressing and the most relieving feeling one will ever experience. So I decided to stop giving my best effort. My grade pretty much stayed the same, and I wasn't really sad about it anymore. That's about as close to a win-win as you can get with Calculus.

All-NFL Fail Team

My friend, Aaron Sundmark (AKA Sunny) just texted me with this idea, and I thought it was fantastic. I don't know how many of you have watched NFL football this year, but there have been some pretty lackluster performances this year. Personally, I'd like to just elect the Packers as the epitome of NFL fail teams given their early exit in the playoffs, but I have to put personal feelings aside. I would feel bad for them because I know what it's like to have the best team and then underachieve in the playoffs (See: 1998 Vikings, 2009 Vikings (though 2009 was a culmination of obvious favoritism by the refs ("New Orleans is the team of Destiny!" *barf* More like team of cheap shots and complete lack of sportsmanship, amiright?) and horrendous ball control), but they're the Packers, and I had to deal with "We're the best team EVARRRR," and "Green Bay dynasty is back!" and "How many championships have the Vikings won?" and "Derpty-derp de teedly herpty derpty do" all year. I am definitely savoring these weeks before the Vikings inevitably mess up the draft and are placed on the pedestal of failure for all to laugh at and mock. Wow, that was quite the unanticipated rant. Sorry. Without further adieu, the 2011-2012 All-NFL Fail Team.

QB - Donovan McNabb/Mark Sanchez. The McNabb experiment, predictably, was a complete failure for the Vikings. He was awful, then got benched, then got placed on waivers where nobody claimed him. As for Mark Sanchez, well, he's never been good; this is just the first year people besides me finally figured that out.

RB - Marion Barber III. Barber pretty much single-handedly lost that game against Denver late in the season. He ran out of bounds when the Bears were trying to run the clock out. Then in overtime, he fumbled, which set Denver up for the game-winning field-goal.

WR - Lee Evans. This one is hard, because he's on here for his dropped TD yesterday. I personally thought he caught it, and it should've been a TD. Still, though, you gotta hang on to that, Lee!

WR - Chad Ochocinco. Seriously, what happened to Chad? 15 receptions for 276 yards and one TD...for the whole season. This is a guy who, a few years ago, had the ability to get those numbers in one game.

WR - Bernard Berrian. He was garbage before this year, but if you get cut from the Vikings, that's a pretty big fail.

TE - Jermichael Finley. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he had more drops than receptions this year. If he would drop a few letters from "Jermichael," he'd have a normal name, so, fail for his name, too.

OL - 49er's unit. Alex Smith was sacked more than any QB in the NFL. I know it's not all the offensive line's fault, but it's mostly their fault.

Defense (I'm not analytical enough to find TD's allowed for CB's, or missed tackles for LB's, etc, so I'm just going to pick a defense that was very underwhelming as a whole and pick them) - Packers/Patriots/Buccaneers. The two worst defenses as far as YPG goes, and the worst defense as far as PPG goes, respectively. Bucs were also third worst in YPG, so if I had to pick just one defense (which I don't because it's my list, so they're my rules, too), I'd pick Tampa as the worst defense.

K - Billy Cundiff. Oh man. This one hurts a lot. Remember how I mentioned the 1998 Vikings? Well, in the NFC championship game that year, Gary Andersen missed two kicks that would've ended up winning us the game, after not missing a single kick the whole year. I know how it feels, Baltimore fans, but that doesn't make it any less of a fail.

P - I have no idea here. Can I use that Giants punter from last year who punted to DeSean Jackson? Yes, I can, because they're my rules.

KR/PR - Kyle Williams. That's the 49er's return man. The one who fumbled a punt in overtime to set up the game winning field goal for the Giants. Yup. Epic Fail.

You got a problem with this list? Let me know. I did probably a total of five minutes of research on this and absolutely no use of my memory.

Grocery Shopping

Patience is a virtue. That phrase is forever engraved in my mind, as I was a very impatient child. I think it's safe to say that I'm much more patient now, except for when it comes to grocery shopping. I don't mind grocery shopping, unless I go with my family, because then I know it will be at least an hour spent in the store. I don't understand how people can take that long to buy groceries, especially when they have a list. Usually, it only takes me about twenty minutes. Granted, I get less than twenty items, but I feel like, compared to the national average, that's a pretty impressive time. The only thing that slows me down is if I can't find something, there's a jillion people who are also grocery shopping at the time, or the cashier has the mental capacity of a fetus. Sadly, that last one is mildly common.

I went to Wal-Mart the other day (yes, I know. How could I go to Wal-Mart? My walk of shame is going from Wal-Mart to my car with bags of groceries) to get three things. That's it. Just three things - bread, spaghetti sauce, and ground beef. Do you know for how long I was gone? At least half an hour. Why? Well, I will tell you.

First, the parking. There was a good amount of people at Wal-Mart, so parking was a bit difficult, even for me. There is one trait I did not inherit from my father, and that is the trait of Russell Parking. Russell Parking, if you're wondering, is when one drives around the parking lot for as long as it takes to get a good spot. A first-four spot (the first four spots in each row) is considered a "good" spot. I, on the other hand, realize that the parking lot is close to capacity, and consider it a victory if I can find a spot in general. There's one thing that can thwart either strategy - idiot parking lot drivers. Not surprisingly, I encountered an idiot parking lot driver immediately upon entering the parking lot. I was driving up a row just looking for a spot, and the guy in front of me just stopped. "Oh, lucky guy, someone is pulling out of a spot and this guy's gonna take it," I thought. I mean, obviously that's what was happening. There's no other reason to stop. Well, pedestrians, I suppose, but whatever. There weren't any pedestrians. There also wasn't a guy backing out of a spot. This joker just stopped in the middle of the parking lot. Baffled, I sat in my car trying to fathom possible reasons for his stop. Then he started moving again. I didn't, though, because right after the guy in front of me moved, the cart guy was right there to collect carts. There were a lot of carts. As a former cart guy, I know it's important to not impede the movement of cars in the parking lot. It was clearly this guy's first day on the job, because he did not know this basic rule. He pulled out the carts in such a fashion that it took up the whole row of the parking lot, then left the train of carts there to go and gather the stragglers. Eventually, he gathered all of his carts and left, and I found a parking spot.

Once in the store, it honestly took me about two minutes to get my three things, which may not sound too impressive, but based on my observations, if there was a grocery shopping event in the Olympics, I would be vying for the gold medal every four years. I went to the checkout. I hate the self-checkouts because I don't trust them. I've used them twice, and they messed up both times. So, I went to the 20 items or less checkout. I think. Maybe it's ten or less - I really don't know. I do know that it wasn't two items or less, so I was fine. The cashier was an old lady, and very slow. The three people in front of me were also old, and also very slow. This did not sit well with me, as the two clowns in the parking lot had left me feeling very impatient. It was finally my turn to check out, and the total came to like $5.99 or something. It was definitely something and 99 cents. I said, "You can keep the penny," because I hate pennies. The cashier smiled and said, "No, you take it - you might need it," which I feel is a pretty accurate assumption of anyone who shops at Wal-Mart. Sadly, she was right - I probably will need that penny.

The Make-Out Policy

I had six classes today. Well, five classes and an online discussion. Well, four classes, one lab, and an online discussion. My lab is actually like a class, though, so five classes and an online discussion. Today was also the first Tuesday that I've had classes this semester, so for most of the classes (including the lab/class thing), we just went over the syllabus.

My first class was my Wellness lab. I left my house earlier than I normally would because I didn't know where the building in which that class was being held was located, nor did I know where the classroom in which that class was being held was located. It ended up that my initial hunch of the building was correct, and there were signs directing me to the room. So, I ended up being about ten minutes early for this class. The door was locked so I, along with several other students, waited outside the room until the professor came to unlock it. I just realized that none of this is actually important. Like, at all. I'm sorry.

The professor was introducing herself, and it turns out she's actually a graduate student, not a professor. It also turns out that she is very attractive and also teaches a yoga class. Whoa. Talk about your two-fer. Anyway, she was going over the syllabus and I was zoning out (not like that, you sicko. Get your head outta the gutter), when I heard her mention her "make-out policy." That caught my attention. I thought, "You have a make-out policy? Wait, you have a make-out policy? Wait, you have a make-out policy?" Then she mentioned a "make-out test." What did she mean by "make-out test"? Like, do we all have to make-out with each other and she just gives us grades? Or is this one of those "in my office" kind of tests? I was hoping for the latter. Alas, it turns out she was actually talking about her make-up policy and make-up tests, which made a lot more sense, but was a little disappointing, too. I think she should "make-up" a new policy. A make-out policy, perhaps.

And this is what happens when I am tired.

Motorcar Miracle (Reunited And It Feels So Good)

I'm back in Brookings for college, now. Guess how I got here. Aww yeah - I drove. Guess what I drove. Aww yeah - I drove Maxwell. "But I thought Maxwell was dead!" you may or may not be thinking. He was dead. So dead. Let me tell you what happened.

My dad found out about this guy just outside of Cold Spring who does good work with cars, called him up to inform him of my predicament, and told him we'd bring Maxwell out for him to fix. My dad and I went out to where Maxwell was laid to rest, applied some jumper cables, and let him charge up for about 15 minutes. It was about 10 miles to this guy's shop, so we figured one minute for each mile, plus an extra five minutes, just to be safe. Well, we weren't safe enough. Ol' Maxwell died again, probably 60 yards (I'm horrible at estimating. It could very well have been 12 feet - I have no idea) away from the shop. We pushed him the final few unknown amount of unknown units to the shop, and the guy said he'd bring it to this other guy, and only charge us what he had to pay + labor. My dad was telling me he anticipated $400 in the worst-case scenario. This guy said no more than $150, which was quite reassuring. It turned out that the alternator was completely dead. The guy said the brushes no longer had brushes on them, which I would guess is bad and probably counterproductive. Since this was the case, it ended up costing me $163. Being the eternal pessimist that I am, I was a bit distraught, because he said "no more than $150." Now, I'm no mathematician, but I'm pretty sure $163 is greater than $150. On top of that, he informed me that the gas gauge and the temperature gauge were both not working. Temperature gauge...eh...I can handle that not working. The gas gauge, though? Really? That's a little problematic to not know how much gas I have. I wouldn't have been upset had he decided to fix that, too. I guess I can just refer to those failing gauges as Maxwell's battle wounds, though. It's so great to be reunited with my car!

I was a fool to ever leave your side

Me minus you is such a lonely ride

The breakup we had has made me lonesome and sad

I realize I love you

'Cause I want you bad, Maxwell

I spent the evening with the radio
Regret the moment that I let you go
Our mishap was such a way of learning so much
I know now that I love you
'Cause I need your wheels, Maxwell

Reunited and it feels so good
Reunited 'cause we understood
There's one perfect fit
And, Maxwell, this one is it
We both are so excited
'Cause we're reunited, Maxwell

"Reunited And It Feels So Good" - Peaches & Herb, altered by Joe Russell

Driving Dilemma (We'll Meet Again)

Okay, so, this just happened:

I was sitting at home, just watching some TV, when I got a text from a friend. The text said something like, "My house at 8:30 if you're still on break!" and I thought, "Hey, I'm still on break! This applies to me!" So, at 8:15, I headed out the door to journey to my friend's house. It takes me about 35 minutes to get to his house in Litchfield from my house in Cold Spring. I was going to be a little late, but he'd get over it. I turned on my car and noticed the battery light was on. Well, I'm no mechanic, so I just thought, "Psh, whatever, Maxwell (that's what I named my car)! You turned on, so that's all that matters!" I got out of town and was going 59 mph with the cruise control on, jamming out to some tunes on my iPod, which was plugged into my car via an auxiliary cord. I had my brights on, you know, because it was dark, and I realized that my dashboard lights were a little bit dimmer than normal. I turned my brights off, and the dashboard lights got a bit brighter. "Ha, problem solved," I thought. I continued on my way for a few more miles, and I realized I was slowing down. I thought that was pretty weird, considering the cruise control was on. Then I realized that the cruise control had turned itself off. A few seconds later, the radio turned itself off. I decided I should call my dad to inform him of my current predicament, so, pulling off to the side of the road, I made the call to my dad and explained the situation.

"Where are you?" my dad asked.

"Um, on the side of the road."

"Well, yeah, but where are you?"

"Um, I don't know." There aren't many landmarks between Cold Spring and Litchfield, and the way I go, there aren't any towns, either. I knew where I was, but I didn't know how to explain it to my dad, so I just said, "I don't know." Sometimes I think people think I'm less intelligent than I actually am because I'll do things like this, but really, I'm more intelligent than they think I am, because I know they won't understand what I'm saying, because I'm so intelligent.

"Oh, well just come back home and call me if you don't make it." I'm pretty sure the "if you don't make it," was referring to if I don't make it back to town, not if I die.

About a minute after I turned around, my lights turned themselves off. Like, my headlights. Like, the things that allow me to see the road/where I'm going. So, I'm driving with no lights on at about 8:30 at night. It's dark. I can't see. There were no cars on the road when I was driving towards Litchfield. On my way back to Cold Spring, though, there definitely were cars on the road. Every single car that drove by me flashed their brights at me. Yes, I am aware that my lights are off, but who's in more danger, here? You, who can see the road and see me coming because you have lights, or me, who cannot see anything because A. my lights are off, and B. you're blinding me with your stupid high beams? That's right - me. Guess what - it's now more likely that you will die, because I might veer off into your lane because I can't see. Or, I might veer off into your lane because YOU ARE BLINDING ME WITH YOUR HIGH BEAMS AND I HOPE YOU DIE.

So, that was happening, and I was trying to maneuver my way back home. Everything in my car was not working. Well, that's not true. The brakes, the accelerator, and the steering wheel still worked. Until I got back to Cold Spring. As soon as I entered Cold Spring, the accelerator and the steering wheel stopped working. "This is highly unfortunate," I thought, because those are pretty vital parts to a car. I was going down a hill, though, so I thought maybe the accelerator not working wasn't a huge deal. Then I remembered that there was a turn coming up. I have no idea how I managed to will the car around that turn since the steering wheel didn't work, but I did. The car slowly coasted to a stop as I guided it safely to the side of the road. I called my dad. He came and gave me a jump start. As soon as he pulled the cables off of my car, though, the lights started to go dim again. "Quick! Jump in and give it some gas!" implored my dad. I jumped in, but instead of giving it some gas, I accidentally stepped on the brake, which immediately killed my car. Dejected and defeated, my dad told me to grab my stuff from my car and get into his. So there Maxwell still sits, alone and cold, with dead innards. Til we meet again, Maxwell...

Let's say goodbye with a smile, Maxwell,
Just for a while, Maxwell, we must part.
Don't let the parting upset you,
I'll not forget you, sweetheart.

We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when,
But I know we'll meet again, some sunny day.
Keep smiling through, just like you always do,
'Til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away.

So I will say hello to the folks that you know,
I'll tell them you won't be long.
They'll be happy to know that as you saw me go,
I was singing this song.

After the rain comes the rainbow,
You'll see the rain go, never fear,
We two can wait for tomorrow,
Goodbye to sorrow, Maxwell, my dear.

"We'll Meet Again" - Vera Lynn, altered by Joe Russell

Applebee's Adventures

If you know me, you know that I love me some Applebee's. More specifically, I love me some half-apps (half-apps, if you're wondering, are half-priced appetizers. Applebee's has half-apps after 9:00 PM (Note: some Applebee's restaurants do not have half-apps on weekends. Be sure to ask your server about potential half-apps deals)). This past week, there was not one, but two half-apps nights for me. Both times I was accompanied by some great friends, which always makes those half-apps even more delicious (it doesn't make them even more half-priced, though). There were some shenanigans both times. One shenanigan* was pretty funny. The other, however, was just sad.

On Wednesday of last week, a bunch of friends and I went to see a movie, followed by a delicious meal at Applebee's. It's kind of a tradition for us. Anyway, our food was great, our server was patient/nice, etc. Since our server was so patient/nice, I decided I should tip an extra dollar in addition to what I already left as a tip. I pulled out this extra dollar, said, "Make it RAIIIIN!" and tossed it on the table. This dollar had other plans, though. It fluttered away and hit some girls that were walking by our table. So, in essence, I threw a dollar bill at some girls while saying "Make it RAIIIIN!" I've never laughed so hard at something I've done in my life. The sad thing, though, was that the girls didn't react at all. They didn't slow down, look in the direction of our table, look at the dollar, or anything. I mean, if I were walking by a table, and someone said "Make it RAIIIN!" I would look. Even if they didn't throw money at me, I'd look.

The very next night, I went to Applebee's again, this time with camp friends! I wasn't very hungry, but I knew I would be later, so I ordered two half-apps (I usually order two half-apps, but I'm usually hungry enough where I think I can eat two half-apps (I usually can't)). Sure enough, I still had five honey-barbecue boneless wings and two cheeseburger sliders by the time my stomach had reached maximum capacity. I asked for a box; I received two, which I thought was great, because I don't like when my food touches. I put the wings in one box and intricately drizzled ranch over them, so it wouldn't just be a big ol' delicious mess when I opened the box. I had to reconstruct my cheeseburger sliders so I could actually pick them up (Applebee's does a great job at making them delicious, but it's like they were trying to make a salad out of mini cheeseburgers - everything was just kind of there and not assembled in any way). After all of this hard work to ensure I would be fully satisfied when I opened these boxes again, we left. Except I forgot my boxes. That's a pretty decent meal I just left on the table, all neatly organized and such. I didn't even realize what I had done until about 3:00 the next morning, and hear you me, that is a horrible realization to have - especially at 3:00 AM.

*I've never used the singular form of "shenanigans" before. I thought that was worthy of a * sub point thing.** Also, I really just love using these * sub point things.

**Someday, I'm going to learn what the actual name for a * sub point thing is. Someday, but not today.

The Jokester - Thoughts Of A Liam

If I didn't have to go to college and could stay home forever, I think I could start a whole new blog titled "Thoughts Of A Liam." Alas, I do have to go to college and cannot stay home forever. That just means that I have to take advantage of my brother's puzzling little cranium while I can. Luckily, in order to do that, I don't actually have to do anything. I just sit here and he'll come up and start talking to me. Today, he had a joke. I think. It was more like a different way to present me with a fact, but it was told as a joke.

Liam: What do you call a turtle without a shell?

Me: Naked?

Liam: Nope!

Me: Homeless.

Liam: Nope!

Me: Okay, I give up. What do you call a turtle without a shell?

Liam: A not-turtle! Get it? Because all turtles have shells, and if this one didn't have a shell, it wouldn't be a turtle!

Me: ...That doesn't make any sense.

Liam: Oh...

Me: Well, I mean, it does, but it's not very funny.

Liam: Oh...

Me: Maybe you should go back to making up knock-knock jokes.

Liam: Maybe. What kind of ice cream are you going to get?

Me: (Confused stare)

Little kids are definitely in my top five for sources of entertainment, and having two brothers that are little kids is kind of like having two personal sources of entertainment, available to be used at any time. That's kind of a dark twist to the positive side of having little brothers, but I think you know what I mean. I don't "use" my brothers, I just get to be entertained for free almost every day I'm home.*

*Don't get me wrong - they're funny or whatever, but they're still my little brothers, which automatically makes them annoying. Like, really annoying. Most of the time they just annoy each other, though, so it's okay.

Visiting Mark

This story happened quite a while ago. I'd been meaning to write about it for a long time, now, but I'm pretty much pro when it comes to procrastinating.

In the middle of October, I decided I'd visit my friend, Mark, at his home in Owatonna. I went to my home in Cold Spring first, though, because I had to watch my little brothers on Friday night whilst my dad and step-mom were gallivanting about (I really don't remember what they were doing. They probably went to Menards or something). So, Saturday morning, I set out on my journey to Owatonna. The directions were pretty simple - 94 to 35W to Owatonna (those numbers are highways. Or freeways, I don't really know... Those big roads that cities have (I'm from a small town. Shut up)).

I found my way to 35W pretty easily, despite the fact that I followed the signs directing me there (the signs in the Twin Cities would be laughably inaccurate if I didn't depend on them to direct me places. Since I do, they are infuriatingly inaccurate). However, after about five minutes of driving on 35W, there was a sign indicating that there was construction work and, consequently, a detour. The whole highway/freeway/big road that cities have was blocked off, forcing the drivers to exit via the closest exit ramp, which I did. The people in charge of the detour forgot to put up detour signs, though. I was very much out of my element. I decided to follow other people who exited, which is a great plan, because, obviously, everyone else was going to Owatonna, too. When I realized that the odds of everyone else going to Owatonna were actually much lower than I had initially suspected, I called my dad, because he's pretty much a human GPS when it comes to the Twin Cities area of Minnesota. He directed me to Owatonna, where there was much rejoicing and fun had by all.

Sunday evening (Yes, I am going to skip over my time in Owatonna. It was fun, but this post is strictly about my driving woes), I had to go back to Brookings. You know, classes and stuff on Monday. I wanted Highway 14 West, because that's a straight shot to Brookings. I was driving and went by a sign that said in order to get to Highway 14 West, I'd have to take my next left. Except that next left was immediately after the sign, not giving me enough time to slow down and turn. I continued on, made a U-turn, and took the turn. Then there was sign that said there was construction on 14 East, which didn't affect me at all. The next sign said 14 East would be my next right, and 14 West would be my next left. I turned left, and realized that there was construction on this highway. Then I remembered that 14 East was supposed to have construction. I turned around and got onto 14 "East," which was actually 14 West, which was actually the same road I was on when I missed the turn to bring me to 14 West. It only took me an extra hour to get back to Brookings. Don't worry, though - I listened to the Vikings get annihilated against the Bears on the radio, so my drive was... actually it was pretty horrible.

Neither of these first two posts were about the Vikings, yet they both ended with a sad little factoid regarding them. So much for happy endings, eh?

Amish Cars

Weeeeee! Look at this new site! That's pretty neat, yeah? Yeah. It is. I kind of feel like I have to introduce myself or something, but I'm not going to do that. Actually, the fact that this is the intro for this post is a pretty good indicator that I can't think of an intro for this post.

A few months ago, my sister got a new car. There are two things wrong with that statement - 1. I don't actually know how much time has passed since she got this car, and 2. It's not actually a new car. It was a salvaged title, but when it comes to cars, 'new," to me, means, "different than the previous one," which this car is. Actually, there was no previous car... Um... My sister got a car a while ago. It's a pretty nice car. She named it Alfred, and it's black. I don't know what kind of car it is other than a black car. Named Alfred. Like I said, it's pretty nice, except it doesn't have cruise control. Or power windows. Or power locks. And the headlights are questionable at best. I was riding in it recently, and I thought, "If the Amish believed in technology and drove cars, this is the kind of car they would drive. No cruise control or power anything, and the headlights are like candles."

A time period unbeknownst to me after my sister had purchased her Amish car, my dad also purchased an Amish car. I fear that my family is slowly making the transition to Amish...ness (Amishism? Amism? Anyone?). Every time I come home from college, now, I expect to see the lights replaced with candles, a fireplace where the stove is, and the TVs replaced with etch-a-sketches. That last one would make watching the Vikings a little bit less tragic, I guess. I could just skip watching it and sketch a big "L." That would stand for loss. Because the Vikings suck and lose all the time. Boy, this post certainly changed topics pretty quickly.

Dream Come True

Yesterday, I actually lived out a dream. Not in the sense that it was something I'd always wanted to do, though. I just literally experienced something that I once dreamed about. Two years ago, during my freshman year of college, at which point I was attending Concordia-St. Paul, I lived with my friend from high school, Damian. One particular morning, Damian had woken up earlier than I had, and I'm pretty sure he was waiting for me to wake up so he could tell me about a dream he had the night before, because when I woke up, almost instantaneously, he told me about his dream. Like, seriously, I wasn't even out of bed, yet. I think he was watching me sleep. Anyway, Damian told me about his dream.
"Okay, so, I was climbing up this mountain, right? Like, a HUGE mountain! I was climbing up it, and I almost fell a couple of teams, but I caught myself, and I looked down, and I couldn't even see the ground anymore, that's how huge this mountain was. So I was climbing it, and I made it to the top, and I looked out and I could see everything. (At this point, I made a smart remark about how incredible that is, considering he couldn't see the ground before) Oh, shut up. It was a dream, and I could see everything. I mean, EVERYTHING. Then - this is the best part - I skydived all the way back down to the bottom. It was so awesome!"
I took this all in, and then replied with, "Wow! That's a pretty sweet dream. You know what I dreamed about last night? I dreamt that I got new glasses..." Yeah. That's pretty much what my dreams have become, now. I remember once, a long time ago, I dreamt that I was living a particular level on Donkey Kong Country for the Super Nintendo. The level was "Mine Cart Carnage," (thank you, google) and in the level, you're in a mine cart in an abandoned mine shaft, and it's like a roller coaster. So I dreamt that I was in a super awesome roller coaster, which is a pretty sweet dream to have, let me tell you.
So, yesterday, I lived out a dream. Can you guess which one? Yup. The glasses. I got new glasses yesterday. Literally, a dream come true.

AIS Final

Finals week ended last Friday, so, you know, I probably should've written this last Friday. Maybe Saturday. But come on - give me a few days to gather myself first. If you know me, you know that I tend to not study, partly because I hate it so, but mostly because it usually isn't necessary. For AIS, it was necessary. If you will refer to my previous post(s) (I don't remember if I had more than one, but I feel like I would) in regards to my AIS class, you'll see that I have struggled mightily on the tests, but lucked out due to the professor's philosophy of adding points. Well, good ol' profe informed us that he will not be adding points to the final, which made me sad. Throughout the semester, he let us keep the test packets, and he gave back our answer sheets, indicating which questions we got wrong. My course of action was clear, then: Memorize all 200 questions from the four tests we'd taken during the semester. Except, maybe it wasn't so clear, because the professor didn't tell us what the right answers were to the questions we got wrong. I probably spent three hours looking up the right answers online (Google - the ULTIMATE study guide), and still didn't find the answers to some of them. I thought, "Well, now I have a 33% chance of getting them right instead of 25%. That's a step up, yeah?"
Over two days, I dedicated two hours (Total - let's not get carried away, here. I studied, but I'm still me, yo) to memorizing these tests, and I nailed it. If you go back a little bit, though, you'll realize that I spent more time finding the right answers to questions than I did actually studying. Holy whoa, yeah? I was torn between being thrilled and being not-thrilled over that little factoid.
Friday, the day of the final, arrived. My final was at 9:00 AM, which you have to understand, is very early for me to be taking a test, even if it's just recalling information from memory. I went to bed at around 11, a reasonable hour, I thought. However, when I know I have to wake up earlier than I usually intend to wake up, I become restless throughout the night. This night was no different. I woke up at 5:30, and, for some reason, seriously considered just getting up. Then I woke up at 6:00, then again at 6:20, and once more at 6:45. I was tired. I decided that I should drink some cream soda for breakfast, because, you know, caffeine. Cream soda is a lot like coffee in that sense, except it's delicious instead of offensively awful. I feel insulted when someone offers me coffee.
Anyway, if you were wondering, cream soda is not an adequate breakfast item on it's own. Or probably just in general. I felt a tad sick. I went over the four tests again real quick-like to see if I still had them memorized - I did. I put on my finals week attire of sweatpants over basketball shorts, a shirt and a sweatshirt, and was on my way.
I arrived at the classroom about five minutes early, and it was PACKED. WAY more packed than it had ever been for any other test. There was a single desk in the very back of the room. "Ha, perfect. It's like they were waiting for me to get here." Except, there was a different professor at the front of the room, and I didn't recognize anyone I glanced at in the room. "Oh no. This isn't my final," I thought. But then my professor came out of the back room, and a wave of relief washed over me. I slowly gathered that there was another class that was scheduled to take their final in this room at this time. The other class was a pharmacy class, and they found a different room and filed out. As soon as they were all a safe distance away, my professor said, "I was about to offer an extra credit opportunity: five points for every scalped pharmacist, ten points for every scalped pharmacy professor, and twenty points for the scalp of the head of the pharmacy department." Awesome. I laughed, more so out of discomfort than humor.
12 minutes later, I had finished the final. I ended up getting 86% on it, which was a huge disappointment. A lot of the questions to which I could not find the answers were on the final. This made me sad. I managed to get a B in the class, though, so whatevs, yo.

TGWSIFOMIFR, Part 3: Blonde Joke Come To Life

That stands for "The girl who sits in front of me in Family Relations," in case you haven't read the previous two posts in regards to said girl. Last week was the last week of classes, which means the last week of Family Relations, which, hopefully, means the last time I will ever sit in the same room as this girl. I decided, just out of nostalgia, to sit behind this girl again. Things were going well. She didn't even have her laptop open. The whole taking-up-an-entire-row-to-stretch thing was still going on, and her elbow hit my leg multiple times. I let it slide. But then it happened. In order for you to really comprehend what happened, I have to tell you a blonde joke. The joke is much better told in person because there are hand movements, but hang in there.
So, a brunette walks into a coffee shop. The lady working says to the brunette, "Your hair is so beautiful! How did you get it to be that way?" The brunette responds by running her hand through her hair and says, "It's natural."
A few minutes later, a red-head walks into the coffee shop. The lady working says to her, "Your hair is so beautiful! How did you get it to be that way?" The red-head responds by running her hand through her hair and says, "It's natural."
A few more minutes later, a blonde with streaks of greenish-yellow in her hair walks into the coffee shop. The lady working says, "Oh my. You're hair is...interesting. What happened to it?" The blonde responds by running her hand through her hair, starting at her nose, and says, "It's natural."
Do you get it? The greenish-yellow streaks in the blonde's hair was snot, because when she ran her hand through her hair, she started at her nose. It's gross. So, guess what the girl in front of me did. Yeah, she ran her hand through her hair, starting at her nose. Not once. Not twice. Thrice. Yeah, thrice. It was disgusting. And she was staring right at me as she did it. I'm almost positive I gave a look of horror mixed with disgust, and it didn't even phase her. She just turned around, stretched (hitting my leg with her elbow), flipped open her laptop, and began to Facebook creep. Things escalated very quickly, and not for the better.

What Could Have Been: A Tale Of A Midnight Breakfast

Finals week is upon us. Or, it's upon me, at least, and my fellow Jackrabbits of South Dakota State (my roommate and I agree that it should be changed from "Jackrabbits" to "Fightin' Hobos," but that story is for another time. Actually, that's the whole story. I just told it). Last night/this morning, at the cafeteria, there was a free breakfast for students. I believe most colleges have this, so if you went to college, you know what I'm talking about. Ours is referred to as the Midnight Breakfast (I totally just made that up. I have no idea to what it's referred as. By me, it's referred to as the Midnight Breakfast, and that's all that really matters here). Oddly, the Midnight Breakfast started at 11:00. At around that time, one of my roommates informed my other roommate and I about the impending luncheon that was actually a breakfasteon, then left. About twenty minutes later, we decided to go get some free breakfast food. I suppose I should have bypassed the Midnight Breakfast in favor of studying for my final the next day (today), but I mean, seriously. Free food > studying. Every time.
So my roommate and I got in his car and drove over to campus. We drove around looking for a close place to park and finally found one in the parking lot a dorm that is connected to the cafeteria. The second set of doors to the dorm, however, were locked. We knocked on the doors for a couple of minutes until, finally, a guy walked by. He looked at us and laughed. Then kept walking. Seriously? I was legitimately angry with this guy. Why would he not open the door? I can't even think of a sarcastic reason to put here. Probably because I'm still angry and not thinking clearly. Anyway, a few minutes later, a true gentleman came and opened the door for us. We went to the cafeteria and saw that there was a huge line. I bet if that first guy would've let us in right away there wouldn't have been a huge line. We waited for a few minutes and did not move at all. We then decided that Perkins was a much better option, so we left.
On our way to Perkins, we realized that Perkins costs money. Then we realized that Wal-Mart is right next to Perkins and, though Wal-Mart also costs money, is a lot cheaper. We went directly to the doughnut (donut?) section. Boxes of doughnuts were just $4. BOXES of doughnuts. We split a box. I ate two, and then I felt sick. Then, our other roommate came home and informed us that we "really missed out!" which, oddly enough, did not make me feel better.
So, just to recap, some jerk wouldn't let us in the building that was hosting the free breakfast. Consequently (not really), we didn't get a free, delicious breakfast, but, instead, paid for food that made me sick. *Sigh* What could have been...

Fear Of Change

That title actually has two meanings: The fear of things changing, and the fear of receiving coin money in exchange for paper money. I have both. I put my change in my wallet, but then my wallet gets all bulky and heavy. It's just a hassle. However, this is going to be about the other "fear of change," you know, the one that actually exists.
Yesterday, my housemate bought a new TV stand for his room. His other one was a little dilapidated, and the new one was clearly an upgrade. Also, It only cost like ten dollars. He was pretty excited to set it up and, when he removed the old one, he contemplated drastically rearranging his whole room. He moved a couple of things around, but ultimately decided against the complete home-makeover. While he was moving his couple of things, though, our other housemate asked if we needed help, which we declined. He then said that he was going to rearrange his room next week: "Rearranging your room is always a good thing." My response was, "Yeah, and if you do it next week, you won't have to study for finals!" which is totally true. I mean, you can't study and rearrange at the same time. Well, you can, but that'd just be exerting a ton of effort, and neither would be as effective as it would be without the other. I had to ponder these new ideas and theories and whatnots. I hate studying, and, quite frankly, I don't need to study, especially for the finals I have. I thought about the possibility of rearranging my room during the whole ten foot walk from my housemates room back to my room, and even for a few seconds upon entering my room. I decided against it. At the time, I thought it was because I just didn't feel like moving stuff, but upon further contemplation, I believe I have an underlying fear of change. If I rearrange my room, it will be different, and different is bad. I would like it stay the same; I feel safe in here. The underlying fear of change could also explain some other habits I have, like not looking for the remote when I lose it. I know that if I find it, I'll change the channel, and change is scary. It could also explain why I wear the same pair of jeans for days at a time - I feel safe in those jeans. I don't want to change into a different PAIR of the SINGULAR word, jeans (I will never get over how nonsensical the word "jeans" is. If you have a pair of jeans, you really only have one thing. And that one thing doesn't even make sense). This fear of change has an unhealthy hold on my life. I'm stuck with it, though, because in order to get rid of the fear of change, I, myself, would have to change, which is the one thing I fear most. If you don't count like 20 other things I fear. This is quite the conundrum. I should've stuck with that Psychology major.
Just as a disclaimer, I don't have a fear of change. Or, more correctly, I don't have a crippling fear of change that prevents me from looking for the remote control. I don't do the things I said because, sometimes, I'm lazy and/or unmotivated. Except the jeans thing. There's just no point in changing jeans every day.

But Im Not Tired/But I am Le Tired

"But I'm not tired." We've all said that before. Granted, most of you probably haven't said it since you were around 10. I, however, say it pretty much every day of my life. This could be considered to be a sequel to my "Passion For Sleep" post that you can find back in the archives. In that post, I mention that smart people pick when they want to go to sleep and consistently go to sleep at that time. I don't do that. I go to sleep when I'm tired, which, usually, isn't until 1:30 AM. Every night, though, at around 11:00 or 11:30, I think, "I should go to bed now...but I'm not tired." Sometimes, though, I DO go to bed before I'm tired because I know that if I stay up until I am tired, I'm not going to get enough sleep because I have to wake up at a certain time for something. I go to bed earlier, but I fall asleep around the same time, because I'm not tired. One of the worst things is not being able to fall asleep. When this happens, I set deadlines for myself to fall asleep. I'll think, "Okay, if I fall asleep in fifteen minutes, I'll still get eight hours of sleep." This actually makes me fall asleep slower because then I stop trying to sleep to see how much time has passed.
On the other hand, "But I am le tired," is an excuse I often make to not do something. Similar to when I think I should go to bed, sometimes I'll be in my room and I'll think, "I should really clean my room...but I am le tired," or, "I should put my laundry way...but I am le tired," or, "I should do study for that thing tomorrow...but I am le tired," or, "I should fire ze missiles...but I am le tired," (youtube "end of the world" and keep watching videos until you find the video that makes that last thought make sense).

The Vikings Game Minus The Vikings Game

I went to the Vikings game yesterday. Your condolences are appreciated. I mean, don't get me wrong - it was fun and all, but seriously? Talk about heartbreak - and I know a thing or two about heartbreak. I'm not going to talk about the game that much, though. I'm going to talk more about the overall experience. So, I went to the game yesterday with my good friend, Mark. I'm fortunate enough to have a dad who graduated from North Central University. How is this a relevant factoid? Well, NCU is six blocks from the Metrodome, and since my dad is an alumnus, he can just call the school and ask if it's okay for me to park on campus, which it was. With Mark as my navigator, we found our way and parked. There was a car with a Wisconsin license plate in the parking lot. I left a space in between our cars so mine wouldn't smell as bad when we got back to the lot. After about two blocks of walking, I realized I should've worn a shirt underneath my sweatshirt, and I probably should've worn gloves. You'd think someone who has lived in Minnesota for 20 years would've gathered that it gets cold in December, but alas, I'm slow. Unable to feel my torso or hands, I, along with Mark, approached the stadium at Gate F. Ours was Gate E. Using logic, Mark suggested we go to the left, since E comes before F and we read left to right, which is actually really sound logic. However, logic was not part of the plans in constructing the Metrodome, as anyone who has ever been there would tell you. So we had to turn around. Upon arriving at our gate, it came to our attention that there is a new security procedure where the security guards have hand-held metal detectors, and the fans are supposed to have all electronics and metal items in their hands. Well, I couldn't feel my hands, so it took me a while to get my phone, keys, and iPod out of my pockets.
We made it to our seats, and behind us were two people, obviously. One was a guy. I couldn't tell if the other one was a young boy or the dude's girlfriend. I didn't look at them, I was just hearing what they were saying. The questionable person sounded like a young boy, but used very colorful language. I became sad that a young boy would use such language, but then I thought, "Maybe it's the guy's girlfriend, but she has a weird voice." Well, two older dudes came along and informed them that the seats Mr. Guy and Questionable Companion were sitting in belonged to the two older gentlemen. I turned to watch them leave, and the questionable one was, in fact, the dude's girlfriend. Or sister, I guess. Or friend. She was a girl of similar age. I'm really glad those two older guys sat behind us. I'm pretty sure they were BFFs and one was a Broncos fan, and the other was a Vikings fan. They were arguing and ripping on each other the whole game. It was fantastic.
Something that wasn't as fantastic was that there was a guy there in a Packers jersey and a Packers hat. Why? Just...why? Your team isn't even playing in this game. I feel like he was the owner of that Wisconsin car in the parking lot. In that moment, I hated Packer fans even more than I did before. I wouldn't be surprised if this tool was a Vikings season ticket holder. That's the kind of thing a Packer fan would do. They think that just because they're team is better than everyone else's team (which it is, I hate to admit), they are also better than everyone else.* After Denver kicked the game winning field goal, for some reason, the Vikings "fight song" - or whatever you want to call it - began to play. I was confused. That was not the correct time to play that song. We had just lost. Defeated, disappointed, but not surprised, we trudged back to my car, and realized we couldn't leave using the same directions that got us to the Dome because of one-ways and whatnot. So, like a boss, I drove towards the Metrodome in an attempt to leave the area. This is when I learned that driving towards the Metrodome is a horrible strategy for leaving the area. It took us about an hour to drive maybe five miles. AND People honked at me. The audacity of some people in the cities, I tell ya.
*Not ALL Packer fans are like this. I know some nice ones. The majority, however, are like this. Just calling it like I see it, yo.