Moist, Panties, and Ointment

[cue all female readers cringing in disgust]

Ask a girl, any girl, and DTM promises you she will hate one of these words, most likely all three. Without fail. Why?

seriously, why?

I mean there is an obvious connection, and usually a common order (you can figure it out), but the need for actual hatred? Come on. I, for one, don't come close to understanding it, and I imagine the entire male species (it's always confounded me why the word species is used there) is behind me. I don't think I "hate" any word, much less band with all my brothers to express disgust at the same ones. It's a really silly, stupid, irrational, and FORCED thing to do.

And, for the record, my immediate mental associations for the supposed "words of horror":

moist: cake, always cake. Then soil. Never "it."
panties: no explanation needed, but by all means a positive.
ointment: healing, enough said. I don't even want to, nor do I, consider whatever it is that terrifies the XXers.

grow up.

Four go lotto

4 in the top 14

Marvin at 2, Ray at 5, Sean at 13 and Rashad at 14

Ray and Sean BOTH to the Bobcats = my new favorite team? (we'll see)

How sweet it is. Great day to be a Tar Heel.

Come on Jawad!

I would be remiss

if I didn't mention the most recent developments from the greatest company on Earth. Even if it does mean I will catch more shit from my friends (who then start using all this crap but never bring that fact up).

Personalized Search (the idea of this and it's long-term potential are cooler than anything)
Google Earth (remember those really cool sattelite images of the U.S. awhile back? One step better (and further away))
Google Video (we/I've been waiting for these to actually be accessible for quite awhile now and it's awesome that they finally are. Again, it's in its infant stages, but the concept is phenomenal and promising)

findlay out.

whycome

is it customary to "bless" people when they sneeze?

is sneezing a particularly heathen thing to do? Or are we simply thanking those kindhearted sneezers for hurling minute airborn projectiles into the communal abyss for us all to share? Or perhaps sneezing is just such a horrendous experience that we feel sorry for all those recently subjected to its evil tortures?

I wonder.

some movie thoughts

I am sick of this cookie cutter crap. Can we see some fucking originality? Please. Anyone? Or better yet, how bout all you assholes stop paying to go watch pure SHIT -- especially SHIT you 've already seen before.

While I believe Batman Begins should be exempt from this, all comic book movies -- yes all of them -- are horribly tired. They may be good. Fine. But let's take a damn hiatus for a few years, and then divvy them up just a little fucking farther apart next time.

Stop the "let's get as much pure action with awesome special effects" movies. There's nothing there, no acting, no plot -- and nobody seems to care. Here, let me tell you what happens. The world is about to end a different way every time. Things blow up. The end.

We can also put an end to the "machines come alive" genre. It's so played. Yet and still (and I just learned and embraced this horribly uneducated saying), NOBODY has come up with a decent explanation for how the horrible scenario actually unfolds yet. The machines always just "get hit by lighting" (the new, sad, Top Gun wannabe remake) or experience a "short" that magically alters their entire system of operation and gives them the ability to think. I'll tell you what that is -- shit. Stop paying to eat it.

No more ruining old movies. The Love Bug was good, leave it alone. And keep ugly, anorexic as hell Lindsay Lohan the hell away from the movie screen. Son of the Mask. Are you fucking kidding me? The first one wasn't even that good. Not good enough to deserve a second, that's for sure. The Longest Yard? No thanks. Sorry. Troy = Gladiator wannabe. And perhaps worst of all is the new Zathura -- which is a sad excuse for Jumanji. Wait. It is Jumanji. EXACT SAME GODDAMN MOVIE (and the inspiration for this post). I saw the preview, and I irated. But I blew a freaking casket when I saw that the writer for this atrocious new film is none other than the original Jumanji author -- what is this world coming to? We reward one writer of crap for writing more crap that EXACTLY mirrors the originial crap? Holy crap.

(now would be the time for me to write something original so I could actually stand behind my rant, but I'm too lazy and sleep sounds like a much better option.)

(oh, and Bewitched gets a total break because Will Ferrell is in it and therefore I like it, and if I like it, it can't be bad, regardless of any dogmatic statement(s) I have previously made. It's like a rule.)

never in my life

would I have expected to be in a workplace where Tupac blasts on repeat from the cubicle of a portly, 50-something, rural Va. farm-raised white woman librarian.

but life is cool like that.

Real glad I downloaded fucking Hello right now

http://googleblog.blogspot.com/2005/06/just-call-him-bruce.html

but still very pumped that my life just got even easier, thanks to my future fiance.


a good one to test it out on:


ah yes, I like this very much :-)

I work with ...

a dude named Thorfinn.

Isn't that the fucking coolest thing ever?!?!?!

I certainly think so -- on two levels. First, I never realized Thor, which has to be one of the singular best names in the history of human or neanderthal creation, was a nickname for something, much less as badass a name as Thorfinn. Second, I, DTM, actually work with and know a dude named Thor -- is that a fucking dream come true or what!!!

damn you, Harris Teeter

whoever this Harris Teeter fellow is, I despise his uncanny use of marketing/salesmanship. He puts the milk in the VERY back of the store, a decision that cost me $15 last night. I fell into the trap, the ruse is on me (and every other joker who has fallen for it).

vengeance shall be mine.

bizarro world

I passed a biker while running today. While running uphill. While struggling significantly to run uphill. It didn't feel right at all, because I know I wasn't going fast, and yet in just a quarter mile or so I reeled him in. I didn't know what to do and even slowed down so I could figure out the proper passing method. Are you supposed to say something in that situation -- or would that make you an arrogant boob? I said nothing, and decided against making eye contact.

now, he was probably doing some super workout or experiencing some mechanical trouble, but I prefer to think of myself as a superhuman who, for a brief two minute stretch, lived at a pace decidedly faster than the rest of the world. Of course the damn cars seemed normal, so there goes that theory of glory.

It's all downhill from here

in terms of daylight hours, that is.


and seeing as about 67.4% of my happiness is determined by how sunny it is, today is always a very depressing day for me. Hold me. But only if you have breasts.

my life got flipped, turned upside down

let me take a minute, just sit right there,
and I'll tell you the story of my mom, cat murderer.

So my mom, whom I've long-thought to be the sweetest, most caring, most nurturing individual I've ever been blessed to know, is apparently not. This epiphany comes after a surprising phone call yesterday morning from my little sister, who proceeded to inform me that she had just learned that our cat from when we were little, Addie ((UN)affectionately titled because of his FEROCIOUS case of ADD), had not ran away mysteriously after 4 years of living in our home as we had thought. No, no, no -- far from it. Apparently, my mother, fed up with the cat getting its tail bit off in fights and screaming all night to be let out so that it could get it's ass kicked again and finding some urgent need to shit all over the carpet, reached her wit's end, took the cat in the car, drove out to the desert, and left it there.

Highly cruel. Horribly wrong. Malicious lies. My mother.

Gone is my innocence. Lost, my faith. The woman I love more than any other is a monster.

I've always hated

Robert Horry -- and tonight even more so.

(I did call it, though...to maximize my anguish.)

EPIC N'awlins/Hotlanta trip tribute

(this blog entry is NOT the EPIC N'awlins/Hotlanta trip -- this is just a tribute)

WARNING: this is long as fuck. A shorter, more lucid, and flat out better version can be found here. And if you aren't one for the written word, here are some pictures. There are some duplicates below this post, because I was too stupid to figure out how to use Hello/Picasa to integrate them into the body of this post. Oh well.

It's been awhile since I let my song out in verse, but what better time to release the creativity contained within (some would say to "drop it 'cane' style") than the experience of a lifetime...

And so it begins,
With a tale of friends,
Chris, Alex and Dan,
Setting off for lands
unknown but dreamed --
motherfucking New Orleans.

The initial depart,
comes to a halt,
a car won't start (or at least won't idle),
until Phipps works his art,
and from Chapel hill we do part.

The road is quick and fast,
In Atlanta by half-past (midnight)
Swallowed by a sudden monsoon,
We rush to Adam's room (soaking).
We're at GaTech,
Ready to get wrecked,
With my friend from old,
GJ represent,
And some Busch and Coors Lights,
For our consumption meant.

Stories are told,
stories of old.
"asshole," "red or black,"
and "fuck the dealer" ensue,
and my friend from old
meets my friends of new.
As well happened things,
things you don't want to hear,
about the social misfortune
of EVERY damn engineer (they suck at hanging out or even being semi-normal).

Late bed prevents super-early rise,
but we get on our way,
with eager eyes (shout out to the Killers, Mr. Brightside, a song that was played during this stretch of road)
A quick trip to see
the campus of the bees,
then, Taco Bell stop #2 occurred,
and a speedy trip to New Orleans was spurred.
A gleeful Butts shout,
along the way ("Look at how many BOYS are in there!")
was, we hope, not gay,
though there is some doubt.

We arrive to never-conjured sights:
shit roads, a complete absence of signs,
potholes and falling-down street lights,
beads everywhere and streets mal-aligned.
Luckily we make it to Stuart's humble abode,
a quaint little house on Soniat St.,
which everywhere else,
wouldn't pass as a road,
but in New Orleans
easily passes the code.

Off to a delicious dinner and
first authentic po-boy (where I met someone from Fruita because I was wearing my Warrior Challenge shirt),
learned about New Orleans history,
which I did truly enjoy (remember, I'm the ultimate nerd).
In the mood to try it all,
we sought desert in the form of a snowball.

Then a night of bar hopping,
started by strong-ass drinks,
and in N.O. there's no stopping (because bars don't close unless they want to)
until the sky is pink
or your head's in the sink. (which we thankfully avoided)
We went from Teach-for-America kids (Ms. May's)
To cool porch/Abita place,
Then to girls won't dance with Chris and I,
before settling on balcony space (and drunkenly arguing about shit or listening to rich fucks "discuss" politics)

The next day saw no action
until afternoon,
when we sought the attractions,
of the French Quarter rues.
We took a streetcar (named desire)
down St. Charles --
After a lunch sans par (I almost forgot):
white beans, rice, and hot sausage.
Canal St. and Bourbon St.
occupied our day,
we trouped through Jackson Square,
and trekked through Area Gay (to Chris' oblivion).
We drank hand grenades,
and walked in the streets,
wolfed down some beignets (Cafe du Monde what what),
the tasty Crescent City treat. (named after the curve of the Mississippi).
A street performance of lore,
was also seen,
after a half hour of bore(dom),
and only by me.
A brief stop on the River Walk,
before a money pasta dinner,
filled with talk and planning
of how to best be a sinner.

The conclusion involved:
for each some diet coke,
a heavy dosage of SoCo,
and a trip to Bourbon St.
to behave like drunken folk.

The night, it will live
in glorious half-remembrance.
Highlighted by a penniless
trip to the strip club,
and an infamous dance. (Chris asked permission to dance with another man's wife -- and received it).

The next day brought news
of tropical storm Arlene,
as well as the stories
of two rolling shooting sprees (the one weekend we were there!).
A quick, but painful, decision was made,
Let's jet for Atlanta,
and thereby Arlene evade (and by evade I mean drive through hours of rain).
A sad farewell to New Orleans,
but an extra party night in Atlanta,
is what it means.

My first grub at Krystal
the only journey fact of note
That and a two-minute-too-late realization,
that Georgia sells no bear after midnight,
and we'd missed the boat.

So a trip to Central City Taverne
became the remedy,
because for some fucking reason,
you can drink there till three.

After Doritos and Totinos,
it was time for bed.
The morning saw a trip
to Moe's, and home we sped. (Speaking of Moe's -- in what had to be one of the highlights of the trip, I discovered a napkin dispenser, that get this -- was effortless, efficient, and simply beautiful. I can't explain it or my jubilation sufficiently, but it comes as no surprise that it would take little thought for fucking GaTech engineers to come up with such an EASY dispenser to prevent the maddening, ubiquitous alternative and then stash it away for themselves)

In sum, the trip was
completely without parallel.
Phipps was a man behind the wheel,
and -- the WHOLE trip -- drove Blue well. (seriously, I don't bestow the title of good driver lightly, but Alex is without a doubt one of the best on the road).
Friendships were strengthened,
and memories formed,
sights were seen,
GaTech was dormed.
And now when a Big Easy reference
happens to cross someone's lip
I shall forever remember Chris and Alex (and Stuart and Adam)
and our epic road trip.


wow, that was long. And bad. But it is done. Rejoice.

Hand grenades on Bourbon St. with friends during the day -- does life get any better? 

chowing down on my first beignet 

bead madness 

Home away from home 

yesterday was a day of days

last night, I called my mom to bitch. (read that again, "to bitch" not "a bitch.") Still, I'd never done that before. It was interesting. Why did I do it? I don't know. Why am I writing about it now? I don't know; it just seems significant. Why do I ask rhetorical questions in my blog? Is that a rhetorical question? <-----------this isn't

I also made a much-needed trip to the laundramat (J-school teaches you that this word needs to be capitalized, but consider my refusal to do so yet another sign of my hesitation to accept the world I have chosen). Some interesting things occurred there. First of all, I witnessed perhaps the saddest thing of my life in watching my pristine 20 dollar bill reduced to a massive heap of quarters (I HATE CHANGE. Credit cards rule a ridiculous amount and I use them to buy envelopes at the postal store even when that price comes in at a staggering 4 cents.) So that was depressing. Another bad moment came when I turned on my computer to get some work done -- my life has become one dominated by multi-tasking -- and a well-clad, albeit seductively, Diane Lane pops up on my background. No problems there. Thing is, there was a 7-year-old girl sitting right next to me who immediately honed in on the new development, making me feel like a shithead. She just stared at it, so I gave her a quick, awkward smile and opened a window as soon as I could. Of course, she proceeded to whisper about the incident to her sister, who soon came over, quite inconspiculously I might add, and sat next to me for a few brief seconds, realized the image was no longer visible, and promptly retreated. Man, I love kids. I just wish I didn't play a role in corrupting them. Lastly, later on there were two boys speaking some mad spanglish, which entertained me thouroughly. You know my infatuation. NOT with little boys, but with spanglish. They were bilingual, they were required to speak in English to each other, their dad mostly spoke English in order to encourage them, and their mother only spoke Spanish. Listening to them switch back and forth made for a near-orgasmic snooping experience. NOT because of the little boys, but because I am obsessed with linguistical things (speaking of which, if you haven't read Mother Tongue by Bill Bryson sp?, you should. Well, only if you are an ultimate nerd like me or in any way still respect me or ever did, that is).

Post-lastly, I made an improvised and ultimately titties (CO/GJ/Adam slang) dinner at midnight consisting of corn, peas, and chicken that did wonders to soothe the pallat and fill the estomago. This "Leftovers" idea may just have some legs yet....

Then, for unknown reasons, I decided to wear my old retainer -- which I haven't done in a year or so seeing as it is no longer recommended that I do -- to bed. When I woke up my gums were bleeding. And on that gruesomely classic DTM note, I depart.

better late than never

well, actually not if you really think about it, considering very few of you even care and those that do have already received the spiel or were there yourselves....but, it just doesn't seem right to compose the EPIC N'awlins/Hotlanta post until the long-past-due post-TOC entry has seen the light of the electronic underworld.

therefore, I give you my thoughts, mainly so that when one player I liked does well in the future (college or NBA) I can claim quasi-guru status. Of course, ignore any projections I make that are way off -- I deal with life on ego-inflating terms only. Be forewarned, though, it ended up being about half a book because I can't shut up.

ergo (I need to go back to the days where I started using this word more, which correlates directly with learning it in the second Matrix and the Architect's speech, which I never did watch/listen to a second time to actually figure out what it meant), I begin:

UNC commits:

Danny Green '05 -- not much new here. Very heady, savvy player regardless of his athleticism, which is decent. Unbelievable shotblocker all things considered. Didn't see the best stroke from him, but it's reputed to be a strong point. Could struggle on defense, but is such a well-rounded player that coaches (i.e. Roy) will love to have him on the court. Consummate leader? Maybe. He's got that potential.

Wayne Ellington '06 -- I don't know quite what to think here. Pleased, I guess. He showed everything to make me think he's really good, and he is. He didn't handle the ball as much or shoot as well in the games I saw as I'd have liked (or better put, as I might have expected, seeing as I like the fact he didn't absolutely blow up). He's got a weird crouch and plays hunched over at times, but you can tell he's got handle, sets himself up for shots really well, can get his own shot, and is quick as Willie, well, Quick. Had some unbelievable steals and incredible finishes that displayed tantalizing athleticism. And the best part is, I know he didn't play his best.

Other '06 guys:

Paul Harris -- I absolutely fell in love with this guy's game. One of the smarter players I saw, and probably had the best court sense, too. The fact that he's built, fearless, has a killer crossover, and carried his team only furthered my enamor. Favorite player in the class? I tend to like UNC guys (i.e. Lawson) but maybe so....he was that awesome (he freaking FAKED losing the ball in ORDER to make a tap bounce pass for an assist for chrissakes -- it was gorgeous).

Gerald Henderson -- He's going to dook so I don't want to talk about him, but he's good. Very athletic, powerful, will flourish in Durham.

Derrick Carracter -- A little underwhelmed with this guy. While big, he seemed to lack "set-apart" athleticism and tended to drift to the perimeter too much for my liking. I will say this, though, the kid is an excellent passer and if he ever develops a hunger around the glass he will be very good.

Earl Clark -- another guy on the Playaz, he impressed me from the get go. 6'9" with legit handles. That's all I needed (those don't come together very often). Decent shot, quick and long , a few nice blocks. I consider myself a guru for liking him (I had no idea who he was) and then he turns out to be ranked. Points for me.

Chase Budinger -- wasn't hard to see this guy was underrated. I liked him just from reading about his spring, but his looks just make you an immediate fan. And the fact he went off for 20+ in the first half of the first game. Great athleticism, great hustle, very versatile.

Greg Oden -- honestly wasn't that impressed, but it's still easy to see why he's regarded so highly.

Mike Conley, Jr. -- Solid, not spectacular. Surround him with talent, and he's EXACTLY what you want. Ask him to be the team instead of run it and your in trouble.

Daequan Cook -- didn't see a whole lot out of him. Smooth, for sure. Explosive, at times. Solid all-around. Wish I'd seen him rebound like he's been reported to. Clearly a good prospect, but I wouldn't have been that impressed if I hadn't known who he was.

Alex Stepheson -- I must have always turned just in time to catch a bad part of his game, because apparently he put up a double-double and impressed everyone else. All I saw was laziness, rawness, and apathy. And a huge body with a lot of potential (real potential, not Damien potential). And seeing as we are UNC, that was enough for me.

Jerry Davon-Jefferson -- liked this kid a lot. Bouncy, skilled, and a fierce competitor. He led his team, rebounded, played good defense and wanted it more than anyone else on the court. Throw in some nasty dunks and follows and a few buttery turnarounds, and you have a kid I'd be tempted to put in the Top 10.

wow, this is way too long....gonna go rapid fire from now on

'07 dudes:

Eric Wallace -- all athleticism and not much else. Tons of potential and little realization. BUT if he could ever put it together...

Bill Walker -- see above, except scarier. Best dunker I've ever seen? Close, and probably the most powerful. He's a MAN. Got a bit of a 'tude, but he plays hard. Give him a jumpshot and/or an inch and watch out.

O.J. Mayo -- honestly wasn't that impressed. THAT impressed. And he still lit it up, which should say a lot. He needs to pass more and shoot outside less, but it's obvious why he doesn't at this stage...

Taylor King -- a Neanderthal with nothing but a sweet touch from outside. I honestly liked his game -- but only as a third or fourth option for a team. Which he would be great at if he could find a way to not get abused defensively because his shot is as pure as they come and he can get an occasional bucket in the paint.

Alex Legion -- very smooth scorer who finds a different way to get points seemingly every trip down the court. Liked him a lot. He'll get a lot of attention next year...wonder if anyone can pry him out of Michigan.

I also liked Michael Sanchez in the 16 and unders....and a whole host of other dudes, but I'm too spent and ashamed of my insatiable lust for basketball (and AAU at that) to continue further (though in this case, 'farther' might actually be more appropriate and indeed grammatically correct). If you are still reading this, perhaps you are sadder than me. (And perhaps you might be interested in a road trip to North Augusta for Peach Jam -- everyone's gonna be there?. And by everyone, I mean Nike players.)

You made it to the end. Congratulations. And if you just skipped to the end, congratulations on making a wise decision as well.

why in the world

do I like to be called by different names?

Since the general consensus appears to have swung towards "Dan," -- I was Daniel pretty standard until college -- I have very recently found myself for some reason -- and at some level beyond conscious choice -- introducing myself as "Daniel" or signing my emails that way to people I don't know. Or mixing it up between the two until people (employers) finally ask which I prefer and then saying, "I don't really care either way" and making them choose. And I now realize I would use Danny, and would like people to call me that, if it wasn't so strange for me to introduce myself that way (so if you feel like calling me Danny, go for it, 'cause we need to boost those numbers considerably)

I am one strange mongoose, but at least I can recognize it.

updated postscript

to that last post about being a good roommate....

I might have to recant on that hollow promise (just hours later) because, at least with regards to "the family," my schedule just took a serious hit next year. That's right, I just took a job that should take up any free time I might have ever had during school next year. I guess I'm a big fan of making life as hellacious as possible.

possibly more to come later, possibly not -- I don't know if I can muster up the energy to talk about why I chose to make my senior year a work-laden one rather than a play-laden one. Just consider this the beginning of the excuses....because there will be many ahead

someday, I will be a good roommate

but that day is not today. No, it is not here yet, but it is coming. I think. I swear. And hope. It is coming. (Is is coming, right?)

In the meantime, I must apologize, to Manish, to Zach, to Grant, to Alex and Chris, to Jimmy, to everyone I've let down thus far this summer. I'm sorry. Somewhere the summer of Dan got thrown completely out of whack and jumped the tracks. I've pursued unhappiness and tireless hours (well, make that VERY tiring hours) at the expense of the smooth brew and joyous occasions. But that is going to change at some point (at what point?).

I know it's not logical, but it's DTM we're talking about. (Wait a second, isn't DTM purely logical? The answer to that is yes, so let's just call this an anomaly).

All I can do to make up for being a sucky, What The Fuck Are You Doing With Your Summer Kid is acknowledge my shortcomings, admit to them fully and work towards change. Believe me I am trying, but the progress is slow. Still, I'm creeping along -- the DTM engine that could. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel; I just hope my friends are still there revelling in merriment by the time I make it there.

I will be a good roommate. Someday. Will to power.

N'awlins

Yuh huh.

N'awlins.

It just looks pretty, don't it?

Well it better, as today marks the day that Alex, Chris and I set off on an epic road trip to the gloriously wild "Big Easy." [Cue craziness.]

Being down on the Bayou will certainly present its share of chaos, education, good eating -- if you know me, you know how much I like Cajun (and by this I just mean the seasoning as I've never been fortunate to actually live the real Cajun food experience but will do so shortly ;-) ), and of course, a full helping of Crescent City excitement. We owe a special thank you to Mr. Stuart Anderson for making the entire shebang possible.

What exactly is in store? Who knows? That's the beauty of a road trip. One certain highlight will be a stopover in Hotlanta, where fellow GJ native and best friend Adam Meininger will play host to our wacky crew. Yes, the A-bomb is out on the East Coast, making his appearance on the left side of the country this summer while getting a shocking (though hospitable, most likely) introduction to life in the South as he does research at Georgia Tech (which he seems enamored with, btw). Unfortunately he is not going to be able to trek down to the French Quarter with us as originally planned, but there are future weekends and the possibilities in the Summer of Dan are endless.

The rest of the trip, as in the entire N'awlins part, save for a visit to Jackson Square, spitting in the Mississippi, the eating of beignets and possibly some blackened catfish, remains an unplanned mystery, which is really a good way to travel on occassion. Rest assured, the zany adventures that most certainly will enter into our debauchery will be chronicled here upon return for your astonishment/amusement (and probably some other adjectives that are just impossible to predict).

Don't worry, we'll be sure to say "hi" to Emeril for you.

"The guy on the couch"

Yes, people, it happened. F i n a l l y . After an inglorious run of being "that guy? Oh, he sleeps on our couch," for one week short of a month, I once again have a bed, a room, and my pride.

Suffice it to say that never again shall I underappreciate the worth of a conglomeration of sheets, a matress, and a pillow or two. You can get by without 'em just fine for a few days or a week or two (especially when the first week involves passing out pretty much every night), but at some point when real life begins to require a real life schedule, the back says, "enough of this," and the need to catch up on the sleep that does not occur in the central living room becomes unbearable.

But why am I complaining? Today is a great day. The sun is bright, the air is crisp, and I feel refreshed. I haven't been able to say that since before finals.

Booyakasha! I have a room. And you can't take it away from me.

(and it doesn't even matter that I don't have a desk or a dresser or a chair or a nightstand or clean clothes (yes that smell is me (and yes that was a double, and this a triple parenthetical reference)) ....... -- although an appreciation blog entry for those undervalued bedroom items may be in store for the future)

(this has to be my earliest blog entry ever -- excepting the one just before this -- but I should stop being a sketchy employee and actually go work instead of hiding in the basement and playing on the Internet as my conscience is starting to catch up with me and I am beginning to doubt my inner character.)

Go Pistons!

The scary thing is, I actually found myself rooting for the Pistons -- and CARING. I got nervous for the last 2 minutes, which is all that I watched. Just enough to see Rasheed do his thing and some generally slopply play from both teams in a terribly anticlimactic finish.

Oh well, bring on a series I will watch none of.....unless this caring thing actually holds true. Problem is, I respect and admire both teams in the finals, and believe that either is the TYPE of team that should win. Of course, that said, Go Pistons!

(man, this feels weird)

First off

I'm not going to apologize for my extended absence. Or more accuratlely, my lack of posts. I hate when people do that. Frankly, I don't have anything to apologize for -- it's my life and if I don't have time or reason to post, then I won't. If that bothers you, deal with it, because I ain't changing my tune.

Moreover, I sincerely doubt any of you all are in any way importantly affected by my dearth of online activity, so I owe you nothing. It's summer, and summer is not a time for computers. At least not like school (even though with my FIVE jobs I'm on a computer even more than during school).

That said, let me explain what I do.

I live in the real world. Not the Real World (and I don't mean the show), mind you, just Version 1.0. It's a training module. For when I graduate and have to grow up. It sucks. I work a lot -- and I want to, don't get me wrong, because this blitzkrieg trip to Europe for August is looking to cost a pretty penny.

I have five jobs. I get up at 8. I go to bed around 3. I sleep on a couch. At various times in the last month I've had an ear infection (for like the first time in 20 years), a cough, allergies, and now a sore throat. My back is killing me. My lifestyle is not conducive to good health. When I do have free time, I work on one of my "at home" jobs.

And seeing as this schedule has robbed me of all fun time to play bball, or disc golf or tennis, I have to run simply to maximize time and because I can do it at 11:00 at night. Fun. Or the opposite. You pick.

So you see, I have good reason to be away. My life IS fun and exciting in a for serious way -- I just frequently lack the ability/motivation/reason to trek to the blogosphere.

I can hear you crying.

I work with (Cocaine and Maternal Behavior Study edition) ...

two huge scientist nerds and a lesbian boss, among others.

The dynamics of the lab are quite amusing. Well, amusing isn't the right word since all I do is pound the number pad into submission while trying not to fall asleep as I stare at an Excel spreadsheet with close to a million data points (OMG, I even sound like the stuck-up, holier-than-thou scientist now). I'm even considering listening to exclusively country on the iPod in order to stay awake (for those of you who don't know the same strategy was employed on the EPIC Gus drive out to CH in order to combat the hell that is Kansas).

But yes, back to the intriguing makeup of my fellow labbers. Apparantly, talking is very frowned upon. Somebody is always doing something life-changingly important, so bothering them is akin to murder, and the look of horror I frequently receive is meant to deter future inquiries. Actually, I'm exagerrating this a little -- the people I work with really are nice -- but they do tend to get overly annoyed when I need their opinion (since I wasn't part of the study, I don't know ANYTHING about what I'm putting into the computer, so questions inevitably arise, and they don't like an ignoramus non-scientist and therefore stupid person like myself much).

I sit next to a girl who is writing/summarizing abstracts and articles, then there's the dude in the corner from a different department (aka outcast). He isn't a part of "our" lab, so he's an outsider. But he gets to use a computer in Dr. J's lab, and although no words are spoken between him or anyone during the course of the day, he feels it completely necessary to say a genuine goodbye upon leaving everyday. Which I respect a lot. I guess sitting for 5 hours a day in the same room as others establishes some sort of human bond, even if no communication actually occurs.

Then there's Tom with the weird, unplaceable accent, energetic Matt with the outdoors love (he wears fleece jackets in the lab at all times -- and it's SUMMER), and Dr. Joey Johns (who I called Mr. in an email, before she rebuked me). Those are the ones who get to play with the animals and do scientific things. But they screw up the data, so I get to fix it.

Lastly, pretty sure Dr. Johns is (a) lesbian (what's the right way to say that? Adjective or noun?). Don't mean to make a big deal out of that point as I have no problem with it and realize it's prevalent in society, but for some reason I had just never gone far enough to project it's relevance to my professional life. But now that it's here, it's a pretty cool reality.

And that's the lab....stop by Taylor Hall and smell the chemicals.