So the other night, I came home to find my inbox cluttered with e-mails. Most were from work (still haven't started rebuilding my filters yet), but one was from a person I had never heard of before. While most of the time I delete these e-mails, the subject inspired a change of heart.
"we have your frying pan"
It was all I needed to know. Of course, inside were details of how to get my pan back, and how they stumbled on it. Apparently after visiting, the girls became curious and dug around the apartment. Tucked away in some obscure drawer was my pan, with the note Sarah told me she had written.
I was really excited. Haven't gotten it back yet, but I'm still really excited.
---
Course enroll is tomorrow, but I've got to be to work by 8 a.m. I'm thinking of going in, getting into the building early, and setting up my laptop to do course enroll via the wireless connection we have. Then, I figure I can get it done on time and be to work early. We'll have to see if this bone-headed scheme actually works.
---
Last night Jason, Phil and I decided to make burgers and waffles. The result was a damn-good waffle burger, and a hilarious ride through college town. On our way back from Wegmans, we drove all around Cornell. I held the box of Waffle mix out the window and yelled things to people.
A lot of them responded positively to the messages of "Waffles!" and "Make waffles, not love," with some even responding back. One guy chased us down to a red light, poked me on the shoulder and yelled "Waffles Rule" into the car.
Due to the wild popularity of our waffling message, we have decided to make a whole box of mix next weekend, and take the resultant waffles into college town around 1 a.m. when the bars close. We're then going to hand the waffles out to people. Phil really wants this to take off, thinking we could be known as the waffle guys. I just want to see people's reactions. If you want in, e-mail me. The address is on the left-hand side of this page.
Sunday, April 04, 2004
Thursday, April 01, 2004
A Guest Rant:
"Dear Mr. Buck,
I recently appealed ticket number #523485, and I have received your
response to my appeal. I feel that your response is both misguided and
extraordinarily misinformed.
Firstly, you wrote in your letter, "I understand you do not feel the above
violation was properly issued." To that, I have a simple response: The
violation WAS NOT properly issued. As I indicated in my initial appeal, I
always park in the metered spaces, which are clearly marked, and are
clearly posted to be free in the evening. There are never any exceptions
to this. Why would I park in a spot that is restricted and get a ticket
when I can park in a spot that is free and unrestricted?
Secondly, you indicate that "the ticketing officer has clearly indicated
that your vehicle was parked in a space by Helen Newman Hall individually
posted as reserved for "MT" permits at all times." You mean to tell me
that the ticketing officer remembers exactly where I was parked on March
8th at 7:02 p.m.? I highly doubt this, especially considering the fact
that the ticketing officer incorrectly labeled my car as a 4-door sedan on
the ticket when in fact my car is a 2-door coupe. Since he or she could
not even correctly identify how many doors my car has, I would think that
his or her memory as to the spot I was parked in would be incredibly
suspect.
Lastly, you wrote: "As I can find no error in how this violation was
issued, the fine is being upheld." You go on to say, "If you have
additional factual evidence that demonstrates you did not violate the
cited regulation, you may reappeal within ten calendar days." My question
to you is, what factual evidence would be required for you to eliminate
the fine? Clearly your only goal is to extract as much money as possible
from every person possible, so why would you eliminate my fine at all? The
answer is that you wouldn't...judging from the wording of your letter and
how quick you are to assume that the ticketing officer did not make any
mistakes, you have one motivation: to make money. However, I again pose
the following question to you: Why would I park illegally when I can park
in metered spots which are free? The answer is that I wouldn't, because I
am a rational human being.
Please note that I have written the check for the ticket and will mail in
my payment tomorrow. However, please note that I now carry a camera in my
car at all times, and if I am ticketed a third time incorrectly, I WILL
take you, as well as Cornell Transportation and Mail Services to court,
and my lawyer has assured me that I am well within my legal right to do
so.
Regards,
Philip Rant"
I recently appealed ticket number #523485, and I have received your
response to my appeal. I feel that your response is both misguided and
extraordinarily misinformed.
Firstly, you wrote in your letter, "I understand you do not feel the above
violation was properly issued." To that, I have a simple response: The
violation WAS NOT properly issued. As I indicated in my initial appeal, I
always park in the metered spaces, which are clearly marked, and are
clearly posted to be free in the evening. There are never any exceptions
to this. Why would I park in a spot that is restricted and get a ticket
when I can park in a spot that is free and unrestricted?
Secondly, you indicate that "the ticketing officer has clearly indicated
that your vehicle was parked in a space by Helen Newman Hall individually
posted as reserved for "MT" permits at all times." You mean to tell me
that the ticketing officer remembers exactly where I was parked on March
8th at 7:02 p.m.? I highly doubt this, especially considering the fact
that the ticketing officer incorrectly labeled my car as a 4-door sedan on
the ticket when in fact my car is a 2-door coupe. Since he or she could
not even correctly identify how many doors my car has, I would think that
his or her memory as to the spot I was parked in would be incredibly
suspect.
Lastly, you wrote: "As I can find no error in how this violation was
issued, the fine is being upheld." You go on to say, "If you have
additional factual evidence that demonstrates you did not violate the
cited regulation, you may reappeal within ten calendar days." My question
to you is, what factual evidence would be required for you to eliminate
the fine? Clearly your only goal is to extract as much money as possible
from every person possible, so why would you eliminate my fine at all? The
answer is that you wouldn't...judging from the wording of your letter and
how quick you are to assume that the ticketing officer did not make any
mistakes, you have one motivation: to make money. However, I again pose
the following question to you: Why would I park illegally when I can park
in metered spots which are free? The answer is that I wouldn't, because I
am a rational human being.
Please note that I have written the check for the ticket and will mail in
my payment tomorrow. However, please note that I now carry a camera in my
car at all times, and if I am ticketed a third time incorrectly, I WILL
take you, as well as Cornell Transportation and Mail Services to court,
and my lawyer has assured me that I am well within my legal right to do
so.
Regards,
Philip Rant"
A Hussein Moment
We have a brother in our house who's done some pretty crazy things (think substances), and occasionally it shows. The past two days, I think I've had some of those crazy moments.
No, no drugs for me (not the fun ones anyway), just good old fashioned fever and dizziness to make me slightly less perceptive than normal. Of course, while walking around while sick instills a strange and almost fun-house like feeling (loopiness, jolting sensation -- not necessarily bad, just different -- shooting down your extremeties with every step. Yeah, I kind of like it, except for the falling over feeling.), being bed ridden does something else.
It seems to be a lot like the withdrawl symptoms I've read Steven Tyler had. I convulse alot. One minute I'm burning up and sweating -- the next I'm freexing cold. I've got two sweatshirts, a fleece, and a long sleeve-t next to (or on) me at any minute of the day. I'm rarely hungry, I pee the color orange, and my eyes hurt to open.
Being sick sucks. It also messes up your sleep schedule, something awful, which is why I'm up at 6:06 a.m. writing.
But the cool thing is that you look for something to do. I could be studying for a test I have this Friday (tomorrow -- gasp!), but instead I checked out the web stats for the new Daily Sun site. They're pretty cool. It turns out that my column was viewed 189 times yesterday. Considering we ususually sell around 80-150 papers at news stands, and then those papers are re-read in places such as Trillium and the Ivy Room, I can estimate that around 300 people read my column yesterday.
Why should you care? You really shouldn't. Why should I care? I really shouldn't. But it's cool to say that I'm the best read sports columnist on the website.
(No. 18, currently as the most requested article at our new site -- the only "regular" columnist beating me is Mark Harrison, but that shouldn't even count becuase he wrote about Cornell and the SAT. Can you imagine how many long island families spend time researching "Cornell + SAT" in google?)
Oh, and Spring has finally arrived in Ithaca. It's early morning and I can once again hear several birds chirping outside my window.
No, no drugs for me (not the fun ones anyway), just good old fashioned fever and dizziness to make me slightly less perceptive than normal. Of course, while walking around while sick instills a strange and almost fun-house like feeling (loopiness, jolting sensation -- not necessarily bad, just different -- shooting down your extremeties with every step. Yeah, I kind of like it, except for the falling over feeling.), being bed ridden does something else.
It seems to be a lot like the withdrawl symptoms I've read Steven Tyler had. I convulse alot. One minute I'm burning up and sweating -- the next I'm freexing cold. I've got two sweatshirts, a fleece, and a long sleeve-t next to (or on) me at any minute of the day. I'm rarely hungry, I pee the color orange, and my eyes hurt to open.
Being sick sucks. It also messes up your sleep schedule, something awful, which is why I'm up at 6:06 a.m. writing.
But the cool thing is that you look for something to do. I could be studying for a test I have this Friday (tomorrow -- gasp!), but instead I checked out the web stats for the new Daily Sun site. They're pretty cool. It turns out that my column was viewed 189 times yesterday. Considering we ususually sell around 80-150 papers at news stands, and then those papers are re-read in places such as Trillium and the Ivy Room, I can estimate that around 300 people read my column yesterday.
Why should you care? You really shouldn't. Why should I care? I really shouldn't. But it's cool to say that I'm the best read sports columnist on the website.
(No. 18, currently as the most requested article at our new site -- the only "regular" columnist beating me is Mark Harrison, but that shouldn't even count becuase he wrote about Cornell and the SAT. Can you imagine how many long island families spend time researching "Cornell + SAT" in google?)
Oh, and Spring has finally arrived in Ithaca. It's early morning and I can once again hear several birds chirping outside my window.
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
Not panning out as hoped...
So today Daniel and I went to go turn in our last check to Sage Associates, for our posh and swanky senior year housing. Well, it was the last check for this school year, anyway.
We both had class until 11:25, but were free after that, so we met at Mallott. I got worried becuase the guest speaker we were having in Comm 345 was running long, and I know how anal Dan is about punctuality. I got outside to meet him at around 11:30. He commented about me being late at 11:31. At 11:32, midway between Day Hall and Mallott, Dan remembered he needed to mail some letters to his parents. At 11:38, after a trip through the magical underground passage that is the belly of Trillium, we were back on our way to turn in our checks.
The rest of the trip there was seemingly un-eventful. We turned in our checks. I signed some form. The ladies in the office smiled at us. Then we left. On our way back, however, Daniel reminded me of something I had told him just minutes earlier. Some girls I had never met had a pan of mine, and I should get it back.
If you're confused, you're not the only one. You should have seen the look on the girl's face when she came to the door of her apartment to find Dan and I standing there.
But this was no ordinary apartment.
This was the apartment that just a semester ago had been home to Rachel (of rice rocket fame), Sarah, and Lauren. Rachel and I used to take turns cooking at each other's places, and one time I brought a really good frying pan over to do catfish in. It was specialized, with ridges and grooves to lift the object you fry out of the grease it may produce. I dare say it was my favorite pan. But I'm an idiot. I left the pan at Rachel's late in the semester, and we both forgot about it. I got back to school after break to realize I didn't have my pan, or a way to contact Rachel, who had since gone abroad for the semester.
So fast forward from that point, two weeks, where I am visiting frm. roommate Dylan at the Cornell in Washington center. We did the dinner thing, watched West Wing with his current roommates, and talked for a bit. Then, during the evening people started to drop by. One of them was Sarah, who had lived with Rachel the semester before.
"Your pan is still at my apartment," she told me. "I left a note for the girls who moved in, so you should go ask for it."
Well fast forward another eight weeks, to today, when I tried go get it. The girl was confused, and polietely showed me all the cookwear in the apartment. My Pan was not among them. I left crushed, to take solice in an afternoon nap.
(On another tangent, they only had two frying pans. Two?!? -- how can anyone cook with just two frying pans?!? I mean, I have a roasting dish, wok, several frying pans of varying sizes, pots, and even a freakin' waffle maker. And *warning -- oncoming sexist comment -- * they were women. If I have an X and Y chromosome, and all that stuff, they should have at least half that. At least a third pan, or a pot or something...)
We both had class until 11:25, but were free after that, so we met at Mallott. I got worried becuase the guest speaker we were having in Comm 345 was running long, and I know how anal Dan is about punctuality. I got outside to meet him at around 11:30. He commented about me being late at 11:31. At 11:32, midway between Day Hall and Mallott, Dan remembered he needed to mail some letters to his parents. At 11:38, after a trip through the magical underground passage that is the belly of Trillium, we were back on our way to turn in our checks.
The rest of the trip there was seemingly un-eventful. We turned in our checks. I signed some form. The ladies in the office smiled at us. Then we left. On our way back, however, Daniel reminded me of something I had told him just minutes earlier. Some girls I had never met had a pan of mine, and I should get it back.
If you're confused, you're not the only one. You should have seen the look on the girl's face when she came to the door of her apartment to find Dan and I standing there.
But this was no ordinary apartment.
This was the apartment that just a semester ago had been home to Rachel (of rice rocket fame), Sarah, and Lauren. Rachel and I used to take turns cooking at each other's places, and one time I brought a really good frying pan over to do catfish in. It was specialized, with ridges and grooves to lift the object you fry out of the grease it may produce. I dare say it was my favorite pan. But I'm an idiot. I left the pan at Rachel's late in the semester, and we both forgot about it. I got back to school after break to realize I didn't have my pan, or a way to contact Rachel, who had since gone abroad for the semester.
So fast forward from that point, two weeks, where I am visiting frm. roommate Dylan at the Cornell in Washington center. We did the dinner thing, watched West Wing with his current roommates, and talked for a bit. Then, during the evening people started to drop by. One of them was Sarah, who had lived with Rachel the semester before.
"Your pan is still at my apartment," she told me. "I left a note for the girls who moved in, so you should go ask for it."
Well fast forward another eight weeks, to today, when I tried go get it. The girl was confused, and polietely showed me all the cookwear in the apartment. My Pan was not among them. I left crushed, to take solice in an afternoon nap.
(On another tangent, they only had two frying pans. Two?!? -- how can anyone cook with just two frying pans?!? I mean, I have a roasting dish, wok, several frying pans of varying sizes, pots, and even a freakin' waffle maker. And *warning -- oncoming sexist comment -- * they were women. If I have an X and Y chromosome, and all that stuff, they should have at least half that. At least a third pan, or a pot or something...)
Saturday, March 27, 2004
Spring Breaking
I'm at wits end here -- thank God spring break is almost over. For some reason, I cannot sleep in any later than 5 a.m., and usually give up sleeping in general around 6 (despite having gone to bed around 1 a.m.). Resigned to napping most of the afternoon away, I have developed a vicious cycle, missing out on the sunlight and warmer weather that is not Ithaca. (Not that Lancaster's been sandy beaches or anything of the like...)
Bill and Mary Ann have been wonderful hosts, although I've already settled on a warmer climate for next year. Mr. Frasco recommends The Islands, Mexico (Cancun, if I recall properly), or the great state of Florida -- all prime choices that I hope to work out with the Men of Sage. If they can't settle on something, I'm hoping to get some of the fraternity brothers together for some bar hopping in warmer climates.
Oh, and while I'm rambling ... anyone else notice how quickly "Honey" moved from theaters to DVD? If only the good movies could do that, that quickly. I saw Starsky and Hutch last night with the 'rents, and they loved it. Personally, I thought it dragged a bit in the beginning, but then quickly got up to good-humor speed. Not quite the plot complexity of Zoolander, or Tennenbaums, and the characters weren't as developed, but easily a fan favorite for any Wilson/Stiller film.
(Although lets be honest, can anything beat Meet the Parents? Maybe Meet the Fuckers (due out this Spring/Summer), but Parents was a damn good film, and offered the talents of both Stiller and Wilson.)
Gems from my most recent Canadian sojourn, coming soon...
Bill and Mary Ann have been wonderful hosts, although I've already settled on a warmer climate for next year. Mr. Frasco recommends The Islands, Mexico (Cancun, if I recall properly), or the great state of Florida -- all prime choices that I hope to work out with the Men of Sage. If they can't settle on something, I'm hoping to get some of the fraternity brothers together for some bar hopping in warmer climates.
Oh, and while I'm rambling ... anyone else notice how quickly "Honey" moved from theaters to DVD? If only the good movies could do that, that quickly. I saw Starsky and Hutch last night with the 'rents, and they loved it. Personally, I thought it dragged a bit in the beginning, but then quickly got up to good-humor speed. Not quite the plot complexity of Zoolander, or Tennenbaums, and the characters weren't as developed, but easily a fan favorite for any Wilson/Stiller film.
(Although lets be honest, can anything beat Meet the Parents? Maybe Meet the Fuckers (due out this Spring/Summer), but Parents was a damn good film, and offered the talents of both Stiller and Wilson.)
Gems from my most recent Canadian sojourn, coming soon...
Thursday, March 18, 2004
Can you strike out with one swing?
So tonight I got home and checked my messages. The machine was blinking, telling me that I had two of them.
"Hi this is Brook, I tried to call you twice last weekend but you're never home, and I don't like to leave messages on machines but..."
I admit, I smiled. But the message didn't say much. She apologized for not calling me sooner, and said that I was sweet, and to give her a call.
So why is this guy such a sweet guy? Perhaps pathetic, shy, and clueless could also be used to describe this guy. You see, last Tuesday I decided I was going to nut up and ask this girl (Brook) out. I had met her a few weeks earlier at the house, and we'd had some pretty good conversations since then. She seemed payful, she smiled at me, and she liked to dance. To top it off she was a curly-haired blonde (dyed as I later found out, but who am I kidding -- the larger-looped curly hair drives me crazy). Needless to say, I was sold at first sight.
So I had this plan. I was going to buy a single carnation, walk up to her place, and ask her out. Then things started to go wrong, fateful even. The florist was out of carnations, so I had to buy something else. I ran into everyone I knew on the way to her place, and they of course asked me what I was doing with a flower. And the biggest problem -- she wasn't home.
Now, the first thing they teach you in the boy scouts is to tie a square knot. Somewhere after that they drill into your head that you should always be prepared, and about the third time you forget your poncho during rainy season at summer camp it breaks through. Remembering these timeless lessons, I brought a note, just incase she wasn't home.
It was simple. "Brook, I think you're cool ... call me sometime if you want to hang out ..." I drew my inspiration from that one note I got in sixth grade history class. Albeit, I didn't have any boxes saying: check yes if you like me...
So I left it. Then I waited. And Waited. And Waited.
Nearly two weeks later, she calls me. Excitedly I begin planning out where we might go, what we might do, what I should say on the phone. To gauge my level of elation and comittment to what I think of this girl, I offer you this: I even cleaned our bathroom -- toilet and all.
So then I realize I might be putting my cart before the horse, reach for the phone and call her.
me: Hi
Brook: Hi (as if she had my number programed in)
me: It's Matt
Brook: I know ... so ...
(insert meaningless tap-dancing conversation here)
Brook: The flower was really sweet
me: ...
Brook: I have a boyfriend
Too bad sweet also equates to lonely...
"Hi this is Brook, I tried to call you twice last weekend but you're never home, and I don't like to leave messages on machines but..."
I admit, I smiled. But the message didn't say much. She apologized for not calling me sooner, and said that I was sweet, and to give her a call.
So why is this guy such a sweet guy? Perhaps pathetic, shy, and clueless could also be used to describe this guy. You see, last Tuesday I decided I was going to nut up and ask this girl (Brook) out. I had met her a few weeks earlier at the house, and we'd had some pretty good conversations since then. She seemed payful, she smiled at me, and she liked to dance. To top it off she was a curly-haired blonde (dyed as I later found out, but who am I kidding -- the larger-looped curly hair drives me crazy). Needless to say, I was sold at first sight.
So I had this plan. I was going to buy a single carnation, walk up to her place, and ask her out. Then things started to go wrong, fateful even. The florist was out of carnations, so I had to buy something else. I ran into everyone I knew on the way to her place, and they of course asked me what I was doing with a flower. And the biggest problem -- she wasn't home.
Now, the first thing they teach you in the boy scouts is to tie a square knot. Somewhere after that they drill into your head that you should always be prepared, and about the third time you forget your poncho during rainy season at summer camp it breaks through. Remembering these timeless lessons, I brought a note, just incase she wasn't home.
It was simple. "Brook, I think you're cool ... call me sometime if you want to hang out ..." I drew my inspiration from that one note I got in sixth grade history class. Albeit, I didn't have any boxes saying: check yes if you like me...
So I left it. Then I waited. And Waited. And Waited.
Nearly two weeks later, she calls me. Excitedly I begin planning out where we might go, what we might do, what I should say on the phone. To gauge my level of elation and comittment to what I think of this girl, I offer you this: I even cleaned our bathroom -- toilet and all.
So then I realize I might be putting my cart before the horse, reach for the phone and call her.
me: Hi
Brook: Hi (as if she had my number programed in)
me: It's Matt
Brook: I know ... so ...
(insert meaningless tap-dancing conversation here)
Brook: The flower was really sweet
me: ...
Brook: I have a boyfriend
Too bad sweet also equates to lonely...
Verb choice: killed vs. died
Cornell student George Boiardi passed away yesteray evening after taking a shot to the chest during a varsity lacrosse game. Admittedly I was stunned, first to hear the news, second to the idea that none of the other beat writers (I cover the team) had contacted me, third to hear the news.
I saw it on the way to class today. I was passing the Indian-run convenience store by the Eddy Gate, when I saw the Ithaca Journal banner headline in the news stand. I didn't catch the words, but the photo was unmistakable -- a paper-width shot of the men's lacrosse team, lined up and on their knees. I quickly bought a copy, along with the day's Daily Sun.
What started as a walk to class has quickly turned into a trial of sorrow and reflection.
I didn't know George and had never met him during my time covering the team, but the fact that he was chosen as a team captain tells me plenty. He was clearly a dedicated teammate, caring friend, and talented athlete. I have no way of putting into words what his teammates must be feeling. I feel for them, his family, and even more so for the young man who fired the shot. I hope that he doesn't blame himself for the fluke accident.
Which leads me to something that I've been questioning all day: killed, or died? As a writer, word choice is crucial becuase of the emotions and memories certain phrasings may envoke.
To me, the word killed implies malice. You kill an enemy, or a pest. Murderers kill. Killing happens on the battle field. So does it apply to an athletic event?
When a student commits suicide, we say suicide. We say they passed away, or died. We don't say that the razor blade, overdose, or gorge killed them. Instead, we describe those things as a cause of death.
That said, I take issue with the use of the word "killed" to describe George's death. George died, of an accident no less. There was no malice. There was no intent. There was no killing.
I saw it on the way to class today. I was passing the Indian-run convenience store by the Eddy Gate, when I saw the Ithaca Journal banner headline in the news stand. I didn't catch the words, but the photo was unmistakable -- a paper-width shot of the men's lacrosse team, lined up and on their knees. I quickly bought a copy, along with the day's Daily Sun.
What started as a walk to class has quickly turned into a trial of sorrow and reflection.
I didn't know George and had never met him during my time covering the team, but the fact that he was chosen as a team captain tells me plenty. He was clearly a dedicated teammate, caring friend, and talented athlete. I have no way of putting into words what his teammates must be feeling. I feel for them, his family, and even more so for the young man who fired the shot. I hope that he doesn't blame himself for the fluke accident.
Which leads me to something that I've been questioning all day: killed, or died? As a writer, word choice is crucial becuase of the emotions and memories certain phrasings may envoke.
To me, the word killed implies malice. You kill an enemy, or a pest. Murderers kill. Killing happens on the battle field. So does it apply to an athletic event?
When a student commits suicide, we say suicide. We say they passed away, or died. We don't say that the razor blade, overdose, or gorge killed them. Instead, we describe those things as a cause of death.
That said, I take issue with the use of the word "killed" to describe George's death. George died, of an accident no less. There was no malice. There was no intent. There was no killing.
Monday, March 15, 2004
As The Sun turns...
A controversy is a brewin'
Apparently, I was not elected to a senior editor position at The Daily Sun, despite garnering more than the necessary total number of votes. What does this mean? Two things: first, from an election standpoint, one or more of the big three (Editor in Cheif, Managing Editor, Business Manager) didn't vote for me, and two, I am for all practical purposes done at The Daily Sun.
I'll keep the column. I'll keep my beat. It wouldn't be fair to dump more work on the current editors. I will not however help with pullouts, read over and edit content, or design pages. Those are rights and responsibilites reserved to editors, of which I am supposedly not one.
And the Controversy? Well, for starters, the current sports editor said he'd quit if I didn't win. Does he hold up to his word and shock the rest of the editorial board? Do his assistants go too? It'd cripple the paper, and create an interesting standoff. What if the other editors followed? How strongly do they feel about it?
Then again, all of this is just based off of bits and pieces of rumors. We'll find out the whole thing on Tuesday, when (undoubtably) I'll be whining and speculating again.
If anyone has any suggestions for my newfound free time, feel free to pass them along.
---
And Cornell lost in hockey tonight. It was dissapointing to say the least. Check out my column in The Sun tomorrow for my full thoughts on the season.
Apparently, I was not elected to a senior editor position at The Daily Sun, despite garnering more than the necessary total number of votes. What does this mean? Two things: first, from an election standpoint, one or more of the big three (Editor in Cheif, Managing Editor, Business Manager) didn't vote for me, and two, I am for all practical purposes done at The Daily Sun.
I'll keep the column. I'll keep my beat. It wouldn't be fair to dump more work on the current editors. I will not however help with pullouts, read over and edit content, or design pages. Those are rights and responsibilites reserved to editors, of which I am supposedly not one.
And the Controversy? Well, for starters, the current sports editor said he'd quit if I didn't win. Does he hold up to his word and shock the rest of the editorial board? Do his assistants go too? It'd cripple the paper, and create an interesting standoff. What if the other editors followed? How strongly do they feel about it?
Then again, all of this is just based off of bits and pieces of rumors. We'll find out the whole thing on Tuesday, when (undoubtably) I'll be whining and speculating again.
If anyone has any suggestions for my newfound free time, feel free to pass them along.
---
And Cornell lost in hockey tonight. It was dissapointing to say the least. Check out my column in The Sun tomorrow for my full thoughts on the season.
Saturday, March 13, 2004
An officer and a (half naked) gentleman...
So Wednesday night soon turned into Thursday morning as I struggled to finish up my notebook for Comm 345, and put together a video segment for my Comm 486 class. To top it off, I had just spent several hours at the paper, working to ensure that the Hobo feature I had written was properly published. Four extremely long readings, and one dropped CS class later, and our dear friend Mr. Sun was beginning to make his brief, yet daily appearance on the Ithaca horizion. The all-nighter was over, and the morning after had come.
So there I was, coasting through the day, making some insightful — yet mostly incoherent — comments in lecture, and slowly counting down the hours until I could go home and collapse into a ball on my bed. Nap time came soon enough, yet was too brief. I awoke at 6:30 p.m., to call down to the Daily Sun office and see if anyone had gotten hockey qoutes. This night would (hopefully not) be the last hockey pullout I would ever have to work on. (Hopefully not, beucase we'd do another one if the team went to the NCAA Frozen Four in Boston, and that'd be worth the lost sleep).
Owen, the new sports editor, picked up the phone. No one, to his knowledge had gotten qoutes. I hung up the phone, put pants on, and rushed to East Hill.
The ice was empty when I arrived, but the lights were still on in the hockey office. Breathless, I rushed in to find Sue, the hockey secretary, finishing up for the night. We chatted a while, and I took a sigh of relief since Alex — the former sports editor — had actually gone to practice before me. Sue and I chatted for a while, and then I went home to write up my senior editor proposal and head to the office.
I made it to the office around 9:30, after a meager lunch/dinner of four eggs (scrambled) and some chopped up sasuage. I then started writing one of my two articles for the night. Total, I'd have to produce 1800 words out of basically nothing. It was nerve wracking, but four hours, and 12 mini chocolate covered donuts later, I finished. Then Alex and I laid in the text, wrote some headlines, and headed home.
So now it's 3:30, and I check my e-mail and get into bed. Four a.m. rolls around, and cue our mysterious phone call:
me: Hello?
them: Did you just call 911?
me: No, we're all sleeping here.
them: are you sure?
me, nervously: uh, yeah...
them: well an officer will be by to check on you in a few minutes.
'Click'
So now I'm freaked out, and trying to figure out the best way to check on my apartmentmates. I decide just to knock and ask if they're okay, and three-minutes of confused conversation later, I find out they all are indeed just fine. Then the office shows up.
Now keep in mind, it's 4 a.m. I sleep in my underwear (little boy underpants, as Mr. Mcalvin has described them). There's now a stranger at the door, forcing me to put pants on. I'm not happy. Then he starts asking questions like, "why can't I speak with the other people who live here?" and "Why am I supposed to believe that just becuase you look like the guy on this id that you are the Matthew who lives at this address and who's name the phone is registered under?"
Luckily Brian, one of the guys I live with, was up going to the bathroom at this time, and was able to corroborate some of my facts. Then the officer left, and I went back to bed.
---
Playoff hockey tonight, and it was amazing. The team scored five goals total, and had an incredible amount of energy in the first. There was also a great fight, but it's late so I'll describe it another time. Expect another confused story about a girl as well.
So there I was, coasting through the day, making some insightful — yet mostly incoherent — comments in lecture, and slowly counting down the hours until I could go home and collapse into a ball on my bed. Nap time came soon enough, yet was too brief. I awoke at 6:30 p.m., to call down to the Daily Sun office and see if anyone had gotten hockey qoutes. This night would (hopefully not) be the last hockey pullout I would ever have to work on. (Hopefully not, beucase we'd do another one if the team went to the NCAA Frozen Four in Boston, and that'd be worth the lost sleep).
Owen, the new sports editor, picked up the phone. No one, to his knowledge had gotten qoutes. I hung up the phone, put pants on, and rushed to East Hill.
The ice was empty when I arrived, but the lights were still on in the hockey office. Breathless, I rushed in to find Sue, the hockey secretary, finishing up for the night. We chatted a while, and I took a sigh of relief since Alex — the former sports editor — had actually gone to practice before me. Sue and I chatted for a while, and then I went home to write up my senior editor proposal and head to the office.
I made it to the office around 9:30, after a meager lunch/dinner of four eggs (scrambled) and some chopped up sasuage. I then started writing one of my two articles for the night. Total, I'd have to produce 1800 words out of basically nothing. It was nerve wracking, but four hours, and 12 mini chocolate covered donuts later, I finished. Then Alex and I laid in the text, wrote some headlines, and headed home.
So now it's 3:30, and I check my e-mail and get into bed. Four a.m. rolls around, and cue our mysterious phone call:
me: Hello?
them: Did you just call 911?
me: No, we're all sleeping here.
them: are you sure?
me, nervously: uh, yeah...
them: well an officer will be by to check on you in a few minutes.
'Click'
So now I'm freaked out, and trying to figure out the best way to check on my apartmentmates. I decide just to knock and ask if they're okay, and three-minutes of confused conversation later, I find out they all are indeed just fine. Then the office shows up.
Now keep in mind, it's 4 a.m. I sleep in my underwear (little boy underpants, as Mr. Mcalvin has described them). There's now a stranger at the door, forcing me to put pants on. I'm not happy. Then he starts asking questions like, "why can't I speak with the other people who live here?" and "Why am I supposed to believe that just becuase you look like the guy on this id that you are the Matthew who lives at this address and who's name the phone is registered under?"
Luckily Brian, one of the guys I live with, was up going to the bathroom at this time, and was able to corroborate some of my facts. Then the officer left, and I went back to bed.
---
Playoff hockey tonight, and it was amazing. The team scored five goals total, and had an incredible amount of energy in the first. There was also a great fight, but it's late so I'll describe it another time. Expect another confused story about a girl as well.
Friday, March 12, 2004
How I nutted up...
coming soon...
And you know it'll be an instant classic becuase it's about romance, mystery, intrigue and stove-top delights.
And you know it'll be an instant classic becuase it's about romance, mystery, intrigue and stove-top delights.
Friday, March 05, 2004
Happy and you know it
I've been described and named many things. Childish, obnoxious, sweet, a credit union ... but today, at the risk of appearing self depricating, I'd like to add one to the list:
Happy.
Last night was my last night as an editor at the paper, meaning that now I don't need to spend 20-40 hours a week immersed in the Daily Sun. I'm excited at the prospects my newfound freedom brings me. I can live a life again, be social, do my homework...
The best part is that I feel happy. It hasn't completely sunk in yet, but I know it will over the next few days. Already I feel as if a great weight has been removed from my shoulders. I hope this is only the beginning.
Now don't get me wrong -- I've loved my Daily Sun editorial experience. Without it, I'd have half a dozen fewer close friends. The bonds I've made while taking road trips, putting out wraps and dicking around at the office rival those from pledging. Without being an editor I never would have met Jeremy Schaap, let alone have his cell phone number.
The Lacrosse, Football and Hockey seasons? Priceless. I love interacting with those guys, getting involved, it's like falling in love with someone, only my someone is a team of 20+ sweaty guys and a rough and tumble coach. You feel for them; angst when they don't make the post season, happiness when they do, and sheer joy when they go all the way.
But today, I'm done. Today I'm going to the gym for the first time all semester. Today I'm having dinner at the house. Today I'm joking around with the housmates. Today I'm happy.
*expect the daily details after this weekend ... I've got some good ones coming up.
Happy.
Last night was my last night as an editor at the paper, meaning that now I don't need to spend 20-40 hours a week immersed in the Daily Sun. I'm excited at the prospects my newfound freedom brings me. I can live a life again, be social, do my homework...
The best part is that I feel happy. It hasn't completely sunk in yet, but I know it will over the next few days. Already I feel as if a great weight has been removed from my shoulders. I hope this is only the beginning.
Now don't get me wrong -- I've loved my Daily Sun editorial experience. Without it, I'd have half a dozen fewer close friends. The bonds I've made while taking road trips, putting out wraps and dicking around at the office rival those from pledging. Without being an editor I never would have met Jeremy Schaap, let alone have his cell phone number.
The Lacrosse, Football and Hockey seasons? Priceless. I love interacting with those guys, getting involved, it's like falling in love with someone, only my someone is a team of 20+ sweaty guys and a rough and tumble coach. You feel for them; angst when they don't make the post season, happiness when they do, and sheer joy when they go all the way.
But today, I'm done. Today I'm going to the gym for the first time all semester. Today I'm having dinner at the house. Today I'm joking around with the housmates. Today I'm happy.
*expect the daily details after this weekend ... I've got some good ones coming up.
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
What is it about the yellow ones?
So yesterday morning, I went to my shift at the helpdesk -- 8 a.m. -- like usual. Things progressed normally, the shifts changed over, and I was free to leave. As I packed up, however, this really cute girl came up to the counter. Still gathering my things up, I listened in.
"Is Andrew here?"
"He Just left," the front desk consultant said.
"Oh, I'll come back."
Now I don't really know too much about the consultants or their personal lives, but in the case of most, they have no lives outside of the helpdesk. Andrew seemed like a cool customer, so I didn't make this assumption about him, but the visitor did surprise me. When I was back on shift in the afternoon, he came in to do his afternoon thing, so I asked him about it.
And he had no idea.
I was baffled -- envious more so. Andrew had a secret admirer, or stalker of some sort and she was cute. She happened to come back in the afternoon, and asked if Andrew was there. I took care of this time (being at the front desk), and offered to go get him. She declined, but handed me a bag to pass on.
I gave it to him, and he smiled, but he was still confused. Then his face brightened. Inside of the bag was a plastic, clear water bottle -- like a nalgene, but slightly smaller. Inside of that were a ton of skittles.
"She even knew I didn't like the yellow ones," Andrew said with a dreamy smile, referring to the fact that the girl had picked out all of the yellow skittles before filling the bottle.
I've since suspected that he knows more than he was letting on, but he really didn't seem to understand why he got a thing of skittles. And does it matter? Gifts from good looking girls? Mystery, surprise, romance? Who doesn't crave those things?
Perhaps the better question is what is it about the yellow ones?
---
It's strange sometimes to think that I work for the same organization (Daily Sun) that EB White, Dick Schaap, and thousands of other alumns have worked for, but it's also humbling. My work carries on their legends, perpetuates their myths, and continues to provide thousands with up to date, and accurate Cornell news.
So last night, when a writer phoned in an egregious error, I was inclined to fix it -- it's my duty as an editor to present the facts. I then wrote the editors in training a note, letting them know about the error. They had labeled John Edwards (D - N.C.) as a senator from South Carolina. Two writers, two news editors, and a copy editor had all read this story, and the gaffe had gone un-noticed until one of the authors phoned in the mistake. In my mind, it was as rediculous as saying A-Rod plays for the Mets; close, but no cigar.
In my passionate e-mail I noted that I -- an assistant sports editor -- knew that Dennis Kucinic was from Ohio, how come they didn't know where Edwards was from? I suggested they think about the great responsibility that they were about to enter into, and think of how they were connected to the greats such as White and Schaap. I let them know that I wasn't out to hurt feelings, but that I felt very strongly about this error. I also told them that if they wanted to vent at me, comment, or discuss, they should shoot me an e-mail.
The two editors in training sent me wonderful responses, citing their own love for the news and politics that they will soon be delivering to the campus. I feel that they now understand the scope of their new positions. One of the Editor in Chief candidates even applauded me for the note.
Then the hating began.
Another editor and I, who have never had a great amount of love for each other to begin with, blasted me -- calling me childish, hurtful, and obnoxious. Another told me that I should have sat down with them first, and that my comments weren't helpful. Yet does it hurt to strive for perfection? Is it childish and obnxious to take pride in my work, the organization it represents, and the rich history and tradition that has come before?
If it is, then lock me up and throw away the key. I plead guilty on all accounts.
---
I'm on a quest to change my CS 100 J grade to pass/fail. I need to get the proff's signature before Thursday at noon. I'm going to track down my own advisor tomorrow. If all else fails, I'm just going to drop the class and audit it.
"Is Andrew here?"
"He Just left," the front desk consultant said.
"Oh, I'll come back."
Now I don't really know too much about the consultants or their personal lives, but in the case of most, they have no lives outside of the helpdesk. Andrew seemed like a cool customer, so I didn't make this assumption about him, but the visitor did surprise me. When I was back on shift in the afternoon, he came in to do his afternoon thing, so I asked him about it.
And he had no idea.
I was baffled -- envious more so. Andrew had a secret admirer, or stalker of some sort and she was cute. She happened to come back in the afternoon, and asked if Andrew was there. I took care of this time (being at the front desk), and offered to go get him. She declined, but handed me a bag to pass on.
I gave it to him, and he smiled, but he was still confused. Then his face brightened. Inside of the bag was a plastic, clear water bottle -- like a nalgene, but slightly smaller. Inside of that were a ton of skittles.
"She even knew I didn't like the yellow ones," Andrew said with a dreamy smile, referring to the fact that the girl had picked out all of the yellow skittles before filling the bottle.
I've since suspected that he knows more than he was letting on, but he really didn't seem to understand why he got a thing of skittles. And does it matter? Gifts from good looking girls? Mystery, surprise, romance? Who doesn't crave those things?
Perhaps the better question is what is it about the yellow ones?
---
It's strange sometimes to think that I work for the same organization (Daily Sun) that EB White, Dick Schaap, and thousands of other alumns have worked for, but it's also humbling. My work carries on their legends, perpetuates their myths, and continues to provide thousands with up to date, and accurate Cornell news.
So last night, when a writer phoned in an egregious error, I was inclined to fix it -- it's my duty as an editor to present the facts. I then wrote the editors in training a note, letting them know about the error. They had labeled John Edwards (D - N.C.) as a senator from South Carolina. Two writers, two news editors, and a copy editor had all read this story, and the gaffe had gone un-noticed until one of the authors phoned in the mistake. In my mind, it was as rediculous as saying A-Rod plays for the Mets; close, but no cigar.
In my passionate e-mail I noted that I -- an assistant sports editor -- knew that Dennis Kucinic was from Ohio, how come they didn't know where Edwards was from? I suggested they think about the great responsibility that they were about to enter into, and think of how they were connected to the greats such as White and Schaap. I let them know that I wasn't out to hurt feelings, but that I felt very strongly about this error. I also told them that if they wanted to vent at me, comment, or discuss, they should shoot me an e-mail.
The two editors in training sent me wonderful responses, citing their own love for the news and politics that they will soon be delivering to the campus. I feel that they now understand the scope of their new positions. One of the Editor in Chief candidates even applauded me for the note.
Then the hating began.
Another editor and I, who have never had a great amount of love for each other to begin with, blasted me -- calling me childish, hurtful, and obnoxious. Another told me that I should have sat down with them first, and that my comments weren't helpful. Yet does it hurt to strive for perfection? Is it childish and obnxious to take pride in my work, the organization it represents, and the rich history and tradition that has come before?
If it is, then lock me up and throw away the key. I plead guilty on all accounts.
---
I'm on a quest to change my CS 100 J grade to pass/fail. I need to get the proff's signature before Thursday at noon. I'm going to track down my own advisor tomorrow. If all else fails, I'm just going to drop the class and audit it.
Saturday, February 28, 2004
Contending
So last night, Cornell came out to play the game like it always does. Weak, slow, lethargic, and unexcited. Honestly, I thought we'd lose or tie with the way they played into much of the second. And it's not that SLU was so great, it's just that the guys were slow. SLU had at least three one-timers that were three inches away from opening up the game, and finally one did. 1-0 SLU.
Strangely enough, the fan also weren't into it. Like the last home game we played against Yale, the score was 1-1 heading into the final period, but there was so much more energy then. I remember standing in the press box, having to shout to Bill Moore, feeling the concrete quiver beneath my feet. That's how loud Lynah was.
This week? Last night? Not the same, by a longshot.
But then they snapped out of it — the team, not the crowd — picking up a second, and game winning goal. They continued to pound away at SLU, dumping it into their end and beating them up along the boards. On one shift, Mike Iggulden left the ice, clearly winded, only to return and create a Cornell break away on the tail end of his next shift. For weeks, I've seen them dog it in the third, not give everything they had. This, and the following break away goal on the next shift, and the empty-netter punctuation mark, were signs of how things have changed.
And after Brown lost to Dartmouth, and Colgate lost to Clarkson, Cornell is just one point (and some help from SLU) out of first place in the ECAC. More importantly, this late in the season, the guys have put things together. For the first time this season, they looked like contenders.
Dare I say it? Froz ... no, not yet...
Strangely enough, the fan also weren't into it. Like the last home game we played against Yale, the score was 1-1 heading into the final period, but there was so much more energy then. I remember standing in the press box, having to shout to Bill Moore, feeling the concrete quiver beneath my feet. That's how loud Lynah was.
This week? Last night? Not the same, by a longshot.
But then they snapped out of it — the team, not the crowd — picking up a second, and game winning goal. They continued to pound away at SLU, dumping it into their end and beating them up along the boards. On one shift, Mike Iggulden left the ice, clearly winded, only to return and create a Cornell break away on the tail end of his next shift. For weeks, I've seen them dog it in the third, not give everything they had. This, and the following break away goal on the next shift, and the empty-netter punctuation mark, were signs of how things have changed.
And after Brown lost to Dartmouth, and Colgate lost to Clarkson, Cornell is just one point (and some help from SLU) out of first place in the ECAC. More importantly, this late in the season, the guys have put things together. For the first time this season, they looked like contenders.
Dare I say it? Froz ... no, not yet...
Friday, February 27, 2004
This just in....
The AIM headline scrolling bar just said this:
"Six Pence None the Richer Breaks Up..."
Who?
Last home hockey weekend is tonight, sort of. We're garaunteed a home playoff series, so there's going to be at least two more games. Still, it's an emotional weekend becuase the senior's parents all come, and they get introduced to teh crowd. It's really nostalgic and always makes me think about the last time I do things at Cornell (Like this Spring will be the last time I do Spring course enroll...).
Anyway, the weekend should be fun. It's the house's pledge alum weekend, which means all of our alumni come back and we have a rousing good time. Saturday night is culminated with a trip to the local ice rink, where we face off — Brothers vs. ALumni — in a fairly low-skilled hockey game. Needless to say, I'm excited.
"Six Pence None the Richer Breaks Up..."
Who?
Last home hockey weekend is tonight, sort of. We're garaunteed a home playoff series, so there's going to be at least two more games. Still, it's an emotional weekend becuase the senior's parents all come, and they get introduced to teh crowd. It's really nostalgic and always makes me think about the last time I do things at Cornell (Like this Spring will be the last time I do Spring course enroll...).
Anyway, the weekend should be fun. It's the house's pledge alum weekend, which means all of our alumni come back and we have a rousing good time. Saturday night is culminated with a trip to the local ice rink, where we face off — Brothers vs. ALumni — in a fairly low-skilled hockey game. Needless to say, I'm excited.
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
95,000 and counting
It's amazing how interpersonal networks can blossom (and overlap). I recently started using my friendster account, and have added three friends in the past two days. Since then, my personal network has grown to more than 95,000 "friends." The craziest thing to me is that I was at 90,000 something just this afternoon.
Prelim tomorrow ... now it's time to start studying.
Prelim tomorrow ... now it's time to start studying.
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
Smells like Spring
I was making one of my many Monday trips between Kennedy hall and the CIT HelpDesk center, when I noticed something exciting. With the air wafting from the north east, and a familiar friend poking out behind the clouds, Ithaca began to smell like Spring. It was only for an instance (someone with a cigarrette had to ruin it, of course), but it smelled like Spring.
And what does Spring smell like in Ithaca, you may be wondering?
Well...it feels like hitting the home stretch in a mile race. It is like winning. Spring means that you have survived the winter, that the break in the semester is almost here, that exams are on their way.
Basically, Spring smells like hope.
And what does Spring smell like in Ithaca, you may be wondering?
Well...it feels like hitting the home stretch in a mile race. It is like winning. Spring means that you have survived the winter, that the break in the semester is almost here, that exams are on their way.
Basically, Spring smells like hope.
Sunday, February 22, 2004
Sleep to Dream Her
(Warning -- the first part of this is Whiny -- for a substantial update, skip to the next section)
So the other night, a friend (Jackie) asked why a nice guy like me didn't have a girlfriend. I really couldn't answer the question. I suppose part of it deals with my inability to committ, and part of it stems from the fact that it's just hard to meet people at Cornell.
But it was nice she asked. She also made the comment that I should be getting laid regularly. It's nice to know someone else agrees...
We both happened to be at Bar night, and she ad just asked if I'd be a partner with one of her pledges for a game. I said sure, I figured I had nothing to lose. As it turned out, I didn't have much to gain either.
The girl was named Anna, and happened to be from Williamsville (a town back home, for those of you not familiar with B-lo). She was a freshman, and sported the typical "I'm too good for this guy" attitude. She even told Jackie that I was mean (?!?). We both sucked at the game we were playing, so Jackie and Jason (her boyfriend, and my pledge brother) were winning pretty handily. Of course, I took the blame for our team's poor performance, and when my some of Anna's friends offered to take over for me, I gladly let them.
My mind was elsewhere, particularly on the curly blonde haired girl in the other room.
We have a fair amount of attractive girls wander in and out of the house for Bar night, so when this one was in line to get a drink I was content to watch and day dream about things that would never happen ... like conversation...
But then it happened. She and her two friends happened to come on over, and I noticed she was checking me out. I was pretty excited but gave it another few minutes before confirming that she was actually checking me out. I glanced over a little while later, and sure enough she was still looking at me, and kind of smiling. She hadn't even gotten her drink yet.
So when two other brothers I was talking with turned to talk to them, I was stuck on the outside looking in. She pulled me into the conversation, though, reaching past them to ask me a question. I couldn't believe this. I was in the conversation, and things were going well.
She was there with her friend Allie, who I recognized as one of the regulars, and one other girl who I didn't remember. We chatted for a while, I apologized for not remembering their names, and we kept the conversation going.
But all the while she was still wearing her fleece -- not a good sign in the "are you sticking around for a while" department. As it turned out, she was also popular, and kept getting calls from other guys (all Freshman, though) asking where she was and how they would get there.
But we kept chatting it up, and she never really left. There were two other guys hanging around her all night, and both were freshmen, with one presenting himself serious competiton. He clearly already knew her, but they weren't dating, just having a good time. Eventually she (let slip/said) that she'd never date a younger guy. I'm not sure if this was her way of giving me a green light for asking for her number, and me not being swift in the dating vernacular department, I didn't ask for it.
So yeah, that's it. There's no grand conclusion. I didn't walk her home, almost hold hands with her, look at photos of her ex-boyfriend, or get her screen name. It was just something that I was excited about, and made me smile for a while. Hey -- you're the one reading this, so don't complain to me about content.
So did I dream about her -- is that where the title of the entry comes from? No.
Last night I had a dream about Briton, my pseudo high-school girlfriend. I say pseudo becuase we had a few dates before we both left for college, but that was about it. She also came to visit me freshman year, got hit on by every guy at a party we went to, and made all of the guys on my floor really jealous. H (Haymaenth - sp?) kept talking about her for the rest of the semester. She was definitely one to remember, but we lost touch, and I haven't seen her since two summers ago.
She was a thin brunette, about 5-7, with an olive complextion and dark eyes. Sultry would be a good word to describe her. She danced for fun, which is why she was in such good shape (see tight "everything"), and was easy to have a conversation with. We were comfortable with each other, and that's really what made it such a great (though limited, and short lived) relationship.
She's also set the bar for every other girl to measure up to since.
So last night, after spending the weekend with Ip, Owen, and Christine (the Photo editor) covering the hockey games, I came home, ate some cookies and went to bed. Then I had a dream about her.
She was hot, like always. I was in a computer lab somewhere, and she walked in the door. I was also surrounded by a bunch of girls who thought less of me (but I didn't care, the feeling was mutual). Briton walks in, comes over to me and sits in my lap. Everyone else in the room drops their jaw on the floor.
It was a great dream, and I don't remember what I was showing her on the computer, but I do remember being happy in it. It was hard not to be happy around her.
---
Prelims this week. I've got two of them, on top of some other quasi-nausating assingments to be done. I'm just hoping to do well on the prelims. Bill and Mary Ann have been nagging me for a while about my GPA, becuase semesters of "3.4" aren't good enough for them. It's just a pain in the ass.
Internship applications also need to go in soon. My Dept. Chair finally got back to me about submitting a letter of reccomendation for my attendance at a Journalism conference. The only problem is that the letter was due last Monday. He wants to meet tomorrow, where I'll tell him we missed the deadline, and then ask if I can have a different letter for an internship. I'm not sure how he's going to take it.
I've also only got four more times to desk. I'm really excited, beucase after that I can get some normal sleep patterns established, and resume going to my 9:05s.
I suppose in the end, it's just all frustrating. I feel like I'm really close to getting out of Cornell with everything I want -- an honors thesis, an acceptance to a top 20 law school, and possibly "honors." Still, I can feel things slipping away, and no matter how far I go to try to hold onto them, or tread water, it feels like I'm still drowning.
We ate at KFC last night in Albany, and I was estatic to see that they had parfaits. It reminded me of the times when Grandma and Grandpa would come and take me out to lunch on half-days of school. I had a parfait, and for three minutes I was six again, sitting there with Jake and Julie, reliving the glory days of legos and crayola crayons.
Then I finished the parfait, got indegestion, and realized how much everything sucks right now.
*sigh*
So the other night, a friend (Jackie) asked why a nice guy like me didn't have a girlfriend. I really couldn't answer the question. I suppose part of it deals with my inability to committ, and part of it stems from the fact that it's just hard to meet people at Cornell.
But it was nice she asked. She also made the comment that I should be getting laid regularly. It's nice to know someone else agrees...
We both happened to be at Bar night, and she ad just asked if I'd be a partner with one of her pledges for a game. I said sure, I figured I had nothing to lose. As it turned out, I didn't have much to gain either.
The girl was named Anna, and happened to be from Williamsville (a town back home, for those of you not familiar with B-lo). She was a freshman, and sported the typical "I'm too good for this guy" attitude. She even told Jackie that I was mean (?!?). We both sucked at the game we were playing, so Jackie and Jason (her boyfriend, and my pledge brother) were winning pretty handily. Of course, I took the blame for our team's poor performance, and when my some of Anna's friends offered to take over for me, I gladly let them.
My mind was elsewhere, particularly on the curly blonde haired girl in the other room.
We have a fair amount of attractive girls wander in and out of the house for Bar night, so when this one was in line to get a drink I was content to watch and day dream about things that would never happen ... like conversation...
But then it happened. She and her two friends happened to come on over, and I noticed she was checking me out. I was pretty excited but gave it another few minutes before confirming that she was actually checking me out. I glanced over a little while later, and sure enough she was still looking at me, and kind of smiling. She hadn't even gotten her drink yet.
So when two other brothers I was talking with turned to talk to them, I was stuck on the outside looking in. She pulled me into the conversation, though, reaching past them to ask me a question. I couldn't believe this. I was in the conversation, and things were going well.
She was there with her friend Allie, who I recognized as one of the regulars, and one other girl who I didn't remember. We chatted for a while, I apologized for not remembering their names, and we kept the conversation going.
But all the while she was still wearing her fleece -- not a good sign in the "are you sticking around for a while" department. As it turned out, she was also popular, and kept getting calls from other guys (all Freshman, though) asking where she was and how they would get there.
But we kept chatting it up, and she never really left. There were two other guys hanging around her all night, and both were freshmen, with one presenting himself serious competiton. He clearly already knew her, but they weren't dating, just having a good time. Eventually she (let slip/said) that she'd never date a younger guy. I'm not sure if this was her way of giving me a green light for asking for her number, and me not being swift in the dating vernacular department, I didn't ask for it.
So yeah, that's it. There's no grand conclusion. I didn't walk her home, almost hold hands with her, look at photos of her ex-boyfriend, or get her screen name. It was just something that I was excited about, and made me smile for a while. Hey -- you're the one reading this, so don't complain to me about content.
So did I dream about her -- is that where the title of the entry comes from? No.
Last night I had a dream about Briton, my pseudo high-school girlfriend. I say pseudo becuase we had a few dates before we both left for college, but that was about it. She also came to visit me freshman year, got hit on by every guy at a party we went to, and made all of the guys on my floor really jealous. H (Haymaenth - sp?) kept talking about her for the rest of the semester. She was definitely one to remember, but we lost touch, and I haven't seen her since two summers ago.
She was a thin brunette, about 5-7, with an olive complextion and dark eyes. Sultry would be a good word to describe her. She danced for fun, which is why she was in such good shape (see tight "everything"), and was easy to have a conversation with. We were comfortable with each other, and that's really what made it such a great (though limited, and short lived) relationship.
She's also set the bar for every other girl to measure up to since.
So last night, after spending the weekend with Ip, Owen, and Christine (the Photo editor) covering the hockey games, I came home, ate some cookies and went to bed. Then I had a dream about her.
She was hot, like always. I was in a computer lab somewhere, and she walked in the door. I was also surrounded by a bunch of girls who thought less of me (but I didn't care, the feeling was mutual). Briton walks in, comes over to me and sits in my lap. Everyone else in the room drops their jaw on the floor.
It was a great dream, and I don't remember what I was showing her on the computer, but I do remember being happy in it. It was hard not to be happy around her.
---
Prelims this week. I've got two of them, on top of some other quasi-nausating assingments to be done. I'm just hoping to do well on the prelims. Bill and Mary Ann have been nagging me for a while about my GPA, becuase semesters of "3.4" aren't good enough for them. It's just a pain in the ass.
Internship applications also need to go in soon. My Dept. Chair finally got back to me about submitting a letter of reccomendation for my attendance at a Journalism conference. The only problem is that the letter was due last Monday. He wants to meet tomorrow, where I'll tell him we missed the deadline, and then ask if I can have a different letter for an internship. I'm not sure how he's going to take it.
I've also only got four more times to desk. I'm really excited, beucase after that I can get some normal sleep patterns established, and resume going to my 9:05s.
I suppose in the end, it's just all frustrating. I feel like I'm really close to getting out of Cornell with everything I want -- an honors thesis, an acceptance to a top 20 law school, and possibly "honors." Still, I can feel things slipping away, and no matter how far I go to try to hold onto them, or tread water, it feels like I'm still drowning.
We ate at KFC last night in Albany, and I was estatic to see that they had parfaits. It reminded me of the times when Grandma and Grandpa would come and take me out to lunch on half-days of school. I had a parfait, and for three minutes I was six again, sitting there with Jake and Julie, reliving the glory days of legos and crayola crayons.
Then I finished the parfait, got indegestion, and realized how much everything sucks right now.
*sigh*
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
We'll just call it "Trainwreck"
I wrote a column today for that other *great* publication, the Cornell Daily Sun. It's in the sports section, and as some of you may have guessed from the title, it happens to be about one of my dating experiences.
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
[insert screaming here]
And e-mail from CIT to its network admins
"Hi,
At 2:58am on 2/10/04 we experienced a system crash due to a filesystem problem with spool3 on Postoffice8. At 5:30am we determined that the filesystem was corrupt and not stable. We attempted to restore the filesystem from backups but by late morning we realized that it would not complete in a timely fashion. We have created a empty spool with the same mailboxes as before the crash but they are empty at this time. We are continuing to restore the filesystem from backups and Sun technical staff are on-site to attempt to recover as much data as possible from the failed filesystem. We regret to inform you that the restoration of mail from before the crash will take an extended amount time and we don't have an ETA for that restoration at this time. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause. We will be contacting the affected users directly as well.
Jim Howell"
[insert my pained "I can't believe I lost all my e-mail" screaming, here]
"Hi,
At 2:58am on 2/10/04 we experienced a system crash due to a filesystem problem with spool3 on Postoffice8. At 5:30am we determined that the filesystem was corrupt and not stable. We attempted to restore the filesystem from backups but by late morning we realized that it would not complete in a timely fashion. We have created a empty spool with the same mailboxes as before the crash but they are empty at this time. We are continuing to restore the filesystem from backups and Sun technical staff are on-site to attempt to recover as much data as possible from the failed filesystem. We regret to inform you that the restoration of mail from before the crash will take an extended amount time and we don't have an ETA for that restoration at this time. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause. We will be contacting the affected users directly as well.
Jim Howell"
[insert my pained "I can't believe I lost all my e-mail" screaming, here]
Monday, February 09, 2004
Cornell the Craptacular
I had to wake up early to get to work by 8 a.m., but decided to get up even earlier today. I was a man on a mission, and my only objective was a Trillium Grill breakfast.
I wanted one of those greasy egg omlettes, with all the cheese and bacon. Then I wanted a really strong coffee to keep me going through the day. Of course, like most things at Cornell, what I wanted and what I ended up with were completely different.
I made it to Trillium with plenty of time (t-minus 10 minutes until work), and walked in through the double glass doors. Much to my surprise, there was no line. Upon closer inspection, there was also no grill.
That's right, due to an early morning fire, there would be no Grill that morning. I almost cried, but that would have meant Cornell got the best of me. Instead of my greasy egg omlette, with the cheese and the bacon, I had to settle for cold cereal.
I went to work, wrote some e-mails, renabled some freshmen's ethernet connections, and got ready to go to class. It was soc 101, one of my favorites.
You can never find a seat, the class is full of unintelligent underclassmen, and practically screams "Greek Athlete!" at you when you walk in the door. Still, I love it. The subject matter is so interesting (go social sciences -- last week we talked about Goffman and his notions of Face), and the professor is hot. Red hair, shapely body. She definitely provides for some pleasing lecture material.
To top it off, she has the European accent (which drives me nuts -- I love listening to it), and constantly slips in jokes. If you're not paying attention, you won't catch them, but I usually am, so the class is great for a laugh.
Then I went to Comm Law. Another class I love, this time only for the material (although the proff is really cool -- Dale Grossman). I had a hard time staying awake beucase I hadn't had my coffee yet, but managed to keep my eyes open for most of the class.
Then came lunch.
I headed back to Trillium, since the sign said it would only be closed for the morning. Of course, it was also close for the afternoon. No grill, no fried food, no happiness. Instead I walked to the Ivy Room, where I ran into Pledge EZ Bake. He was whining about how Latin was killing his GPA, and how his department chair lied to him.
He had asked earlier in the year if he could take the class pass/fail, but was told no. Then he found out he could. Apparently he's going to petition the dean of A&S, and pray to God that everything comes through. I hope it does. It wouldn't just be a victory for EZ Bake, but a victory for all of us who have gotten screwed in the GPA department while at Cornell. The proud owner of a 3.2 (give or take a .01), I can understand where he's coming from.
Then I took my fried food (ah, cholestorol), and headed back to work the afternoon shift. It was epic, to say the least.
There was no PC super, so I was flying blind, renabling ports left and right, and dishing out generic advice for complex problems. Somehow I always manage to make it through the supervisor shift ok, without anything or one blowing up. I think that's why they gave me a raise.
Then, out of nowhere, Cornell's commodity Internet goes down.
Sure, you can connect to any .edu, and any of Cornell's internal pages when on campus. You can even send e-mail to all members of the Cornell community. But you can't get outside, and those on the outside can't get in.
Ah, Cornell the Craptacular.
So here I sit, updating my blog, beucase my other favorite pastime (checking my e-mail) is lost to me.
---
On a side rant, there was a mistake in this morning's Cornell Sun (there's always mistakes, but this one was important to me). The Communication department was called the "Communications" department. I would like to take this time and space to inform people of this egregious error.
As I wrote to editors-l, Ted Lowi does not teach for the Historys department. Likewise, A.R. Ammons (RIP) was not an Englishs faculty member. With this in mind, please note that there is no Communications department. Cornell, however, does offer study in the field of Communication.
Now I was called picky for noting this, but had it been your department, wouldn't you feel obliged to do the same? Maybe it's just my drive to make everything perfect, and fix every mistake I have the capacity to (I say capacity because Lord knows I've made my share of goofs in Sports). Yet if someone told me about my mistakes (and the sports editor has on numerous occurences), I'd take the time to make sure it didn't happen again and thank them for their views.
It'd be nice if everyone held that view.
I wanted one of those greasy egg omlettes, with all the cheese and bacon. Then I wanted a really strong coffee to keep me going through the day. Of course, like most things at Cornell, what I wanted and what I ended up with were completely different.
I made it to Trillium with plenty of time (t-minus 10 minutes until work), and walked in through the double glass doors. Much to my surprise, there was no line. Upon closer inspection, there was also no grill.
That's right, due to an early morning fire, there would be no Grill that morning. I almost cried, but that would have meant Cornell got the best of me. Instead of my greasy egg omlette, with the cheese and the bacon, I had to settle for cold cereal.
I went to work, wrote some e-mails, renabled some freshmen's ethernet connections, and got ready to go to class. It was soc 101, one of my favorites.
You can never find a seat, the class is full of unintelligent underclassmen, and practically screams "Greek Athlete!" at you when you walk in the door. Still, I love it. The subject matter is so interesting (go social sciences -- last week we talked about Goffman and his notions of Face), and the professor is hot. Red hair, shapely body. She definitely provides for some pleasing lecture material.
To top it off, she has the European accent (which drives me nuts -- I love listening to it), and constantly slips in jokes. If you're not paying attention, you won't catch them, but I usually am, so the class is great for a laugh.
Then I went to Comm Law. Another class I love, this time only for the material (although the proff is really cool -- Dale Grossman). I had a hard time staying awake beucase I hadn't had my coffee yet, but managed to keep my eyes open for most of the class.
Then came lunch.
I headed back to Trillium, since the sign said it would only be closed for the morning. Of course, it was also close for the afternoon. No grill, no fried food, no happiness. Instead I walked to the Ivy Room, where I ran into Pledge EZ Bake. He was whining about how Latin was killing his GPA, and how his department chair lied to him.
He had asked earlier in the year if he could take the class pass/fail, but was told no. Then he found out he could. Apparently he's going to petition the dean of A&S, and pray to God that everything comes through. I hope it does. It wouldn't just be a victory for EZ Bake, but a victory for all of us who have gotten screwed in the GPA department while at Cornell. The proud owner of a 3.2 (give or take a .01), I can understand where he's coming from.
Then I took my fried food (ah, cholestorol), and headed back to work the afternoon shift. It was epic, to say the least.
There was no PC super, so I was flying blind, renabling ports left and right, and dishing out generic advice for complex problems. Somehow I always manage to make it through the supervisor shift ok, without anything or one blowing up. I think that's why they gave me a raise.
Then, out of nowhere, Cornell's commodity Internet goes down.
Sure, you can connect to any .edu, and any of Cornell's internal pages when on campus. You can even send e-mail to all members of the Cornell community. But you can't get outside, and those on the outside can't get in.
Ah, Cornell the Craptacular.
So here I sit, updating my blog, beucase my other favorite pastime (checking my e-mail) is lost to me.
---
On a side rant, there was a mistake in this morning's Cornell Sun (there's always mistakes, but this one was important to me). The Communication department was called the "Communications" department. I would like to take this time and space to inform people of this egregious error.
As I wrote to editors-l, Ted Lowi does not teach for the Historys department. Likewise, A.R. Ammons (RIP) was not an Englishs faculty member. With this in mind, please note that there is no Communications department. Cornell, however, does offer study in the field of Communication.
Now I was called picky for noting this, but had it been your department, wouldn't you feel obliged to do the same? Maybe it's just my drive to make everything perfect, and fix every mistake I have the capacity to (I say capacity because Lord knows I've made my share of goofs in Sports). Yet if someone told me about my mistakes (and the sports editor has on numerous occurences), I'd take the time to make sure it didn't happen again and thank them for their views.
It'd be nice if everyone held that view.