Okay, it's really coming this time

After travelling every weekend for the past month, I'm going to finally update tomorrow morning. Expect new stuff up after 10 a.m.

Coming soon...

...an update. This week has been a bitch, mainly becuase I have to baby other kids (in more way than one).

It's 2 a.m. now, and I'm going to eat breakfast and then go to bed.

Too Late For a Thank You

While in NYC, I ran into one of my co-chairs from last year's reunion week. I was a clerk for the class of 1978 then, and worked with two outstanding people: Ken Moguil and Mary Bowler Jones. While inbetween sessions, I caught Mary in the hallway and waved hello. I really wanted to thank her for reccommending me to be a head clerk.

I was smiling, and genuinely happy to see her. She smiled back, and walked over to me. Then I got the news -- Ken was dead.

Cathy, my boss at alumni house, said how Ken had raved about me. I really think it was his reccommendation that got me the job, even though Cathy claims it was a joint effort. I liked Ken, too. He was a family man, great alumnus, and always in control of the situation.

Except his own.

Sometime after Reunion Ken fell into a deep funk. He kept to himself, shutting out his wife of several years, and even Mary -- a friend of 30 years. One day after New Years they found his car, empty and parked on the edge of a resovoir. There was no note, no reason, no sense to it.

A bottle of prescription pills has since floated to the surface, but not Ken. Part of me is hoping he's still alive, and didn't actually go through with it. I hope he's collecting himself in some small town out west. I want him to be okay, deal with his issues, and return to the people who need him -- his family.

But I can also see the hand writing on the wall, and from here, it spells a pretty clear sentence. Ken is dead. It truly is too late for a thank you.

I was deflated -- drained -- after my conversation with Mary. I still am.

Is it over yet?

Rush week really lives up to its name. I've rushed to get to the house, rushed to clean things, rushed to meet people, rushed to get to events, rushed to eat, rushed to dress, and done just about everything other than rush to bed.

It's also really repetitive.

If it wasn't for my computer clock, I wouldn't have the foggiest what day it was right now. Meetings, events, and smokers blur together. Luckily I have been able to keep the names and faces of the rushees straight, and we've been getting quite a few.

So I think I can say I'm sick of it. I mean, I love meeting the rushees and I love the brothers, but I'm sick of rush. I'm sick of having to censor my thoughts, and watch what I say about house activites and hints about which guys we might bid. I really just want it to be over so we can have a normal brotherhood again.

"Secrets, secrets are no fun. Secrets, secrets hurt someone," or at least that's what Sam Hauge used to tell me in high school. She's right. Secrets are no fun, but unfortunately they're what rush is about. It kind of reminds me of poker. You need to play your cards carefully, and you can't ever let someone see your hand.

(On a separate note, I really miss girls like Sam. Cornell doesn't have too many cute, perky girls. Or maybe I'm just not meeting the right people.)

Luckily Alumni House has provided me a nice distraction. This morning, at 6:45 a.m., I'll be leaving for NYC on a bus full of Cornell students and staff. My job is to help train the reunion classes on the use of the computer registration system, but I'll also be the "bitch" for the weekend. When a box needs to be opened, carried, blown up, etc... I'll be the go to guy. I'm also working with three girls, so I'll be looked to as the work horse. I suppose the y chromosome has it's advantages, but the sterotype of a burly male isn't always one of them.

I'm not really nuts about manual labor, but I am pretty excited to get away and stay in the Grand Hyatt. As nuts as it sounds, I think I'm going to stay in on Friday night, work out, and go to bed. It'll be one of the most fullfilling Friday nights I've had in a while.

--

Today was course exchange, but I didn't. I think I'm set with my classes, but the first week will help decide that. I also haven't bought my books yet, something I'll have to do when I get back.

I was also supposed to meet my travel buddy for next week's DC journalism conference. I slept through our meeting, however, so I'm hoping she'll catch me for lunch sometime next week. I wrote to her advisor to find out if she was normal, and he said some nice things about her. His key word was that she was very "intense," something I'm excited to learn more about, especially since I've been described with the same word in the past.

J. Frasco was also supposed to introduce me to Betsy Cooper. He mentioned that we might do it tonight, but then ditched me for cuddle time with the woman. Can't blame him, but I will hold him to meeting Betsy. She's a Truman Scholar (you smart people will know what it is, I do), and has worked in Senator Clinton's DC office. It's kind of like my Jainee Baker quest in high school. I just want to meet this person to see what they're like. I hear she's also "intense," so she's probably someone very interesting to speak with.
--

I'll be heading to Church this Sunday, too. I'm hoping that girl I don't know is there. I don't stare, but I feel like Charlie Brown when she's in the room. She's like my verson of the little redheaded girl, only she's a curly-haired blonde.

--

I'm trying to figure out how to phone overseas. I've got a few friends I want to stay in touch with this semester. I'm also planning on sending a few letters to a girl who's studying England. We were good friends freshman year and lost touch. I think a hand-written letter could go a long way to rekindling our friendship, and that'd be good since I'll be with the Bailey Boys next year in our sweet house. It'll be a time of high-class parties, dinner dates, and rousing fireside chats.

But I suppose I'm getting a head of myself. This semester hasn't even started.

"Routine Matinence"

If you've sent me an e-mail in the past 24 hours, I haven't gotten it. The Cornell mail server I'm on has been malfunctioning, and I haven't been able to access my mailbox since Sunday night.

I'm even more pissed becuase I called the Network Operations Center (NOC) and they told me (at 5 a.m. on Monday) that the servers were down for "routine matience." I work at CIT, I should have known better. That's always been code for "fucked up." Worse, they still haven't fixed the issue, meaning I'll be without e-mail for a while longer.

At least Rush is going well.

I went to a meeting tonight to learn about contacts. Our elected rush chair told us all that he was going to Italy this Spring, but assured us that he'd be here for rush week. Then he suddenly remembered that he had to be there before Rush, so we got screwed.

The meeting went well, and Jon and Jason were there, too. We then met with Tabari to discuss rush week and how we would run things. T is getting sick, so he asked if we could help fill in at some things. There's also a lot of behind the scenes activity that needs to happen for rush to run smoothly. Like tomorrow, the rest of the house will be paintballing in Rochester, while Jason and I head back early to clean up for our smoker.

Tonight we also had six guys over. They had a blast and we took them to Hot Truck and played pool and foosball with them. Four more guys called us about paintball tomorrow (Zeke put together a sweet flyer that the J's and I handed out after the meeting). Starting rush with a huge activity like that, too, will be a big help in getting rushees to come back.

Now if only it would work on my lost e-mail...

---

Side note* Rumor is that Cornell hired Marc Trestman, my OC boy from the Bay Area. Cali what!

Don't cry for losers

I've lost a lot of various games since coming back to school. Scrabble, fooseball, Steak...the list is pretty long. All that really matters is that I now own bragging rights over guys in the house regarding Trival Pursuit.

Sure there were four of us playing against three teams of one, but we still beat them.

Why all the games? Why all the free time? It's because I've finished my final goal of the break -- finding the finalists in Cornell's coaching search. I was right about Trestman, and with a little help from some friends on East Hill, I was able to find out the other two names.

So I guess not only do I own bragging rights over guys in my house, I also own bragging rights over the football reporters at the Ithaca Journal, Buffalo News, Boston Globe, Sacramento Bee, and the Patriot Ledger. I had the story a whole day before they did. In the timeline of a newspaper, that's an eternity.

Of course, that still hasn't gotten me an internship, but to borrow from Freddy Mercury, "don't cry for losers cause we are the champions."

Now if I could only figure out which category I fit into.

Please come to Boston for the weekend...

Yeah, there's a song that has a line like that. Some whiny white guy writes to his ex-girlfriend, or grandmother, or gay lover or something like that, and he asks her to come to Boston for the weekend. I now have a better idea of who these people are.

The chick defintely isn't me. The Dude definitley isn't Harvard Athletics.

Okay, so my whiny story goes like this...

One of my big goals this year is to sit in every press box I can. I'm only going to be an assistant sports editor once, meaning I'll only get one crack at all the other school's press boxes. After that, I'll leave my legacy for the assistant sports editors to come, and the foo..er, next edit board.

So of course when Alex told me he wasn't going to Harvard, I was like "Money!" That meant that Owen and I would get to sit in the press box, all I had to do was get to Harvard.

I had that covered. Owen offered to pick me up, and together we'd drive down. Adam Sinovsky then joined the group as our photographer, playing the cowardly lion to Owen's Tin Man and my Scare Crow.

All we were missing was our Dorothy. We probably should have written her and begged "Please come to Boston for the weekend," beucase then I would have had someone to sit with.

"What?" you may be asking. "You didn't sit with Owen?"

No, I'll tell you now. Owen had the distinct pleasure of sitting the press box. His company for the evening? The Boston Globe reporter, the USCHO.com reporter, the radio guys, and Satan.

That's right, in the Ivy League's ever-expanding quest to squeeze money out of a poor excuse for a D-I doormat league, Harvard sold the broadcast rights of the game to CSTV. That's great. It's great for the fans, but it sucked for the team and it sucked for me.

It sucks for the team, beucase now Cornellians have less of a need to flood Bright Hockey center and turn the place into a Red home game. Instead of "Lynah East," the rink turned into "Lynah Least," with a dismal showing from the usually rowdy Boston fan base.

And don't think the players didn't notice. Sure they loved the crazies who always travel to see the team, but even Captain Vesce noticed the smaller than usual Cornell crowd.

"It felt like a neutral site game," he said afterwards.

And why did all CSTV, aka Satan's spawn, ruin the game for me? Simple, they took up half the press box. Then one of the cranky beat writers from one of the Boston papers that isn't the Globe bitched to have space for his space heater in the press box. I.E., no space for Matt.

Result? The dream is over. The dream has died. I did not get to, nor will I ever, sit in the Harvard press box. Instead, I was given a ticket and herded like cattle to sit with the common folk. Worse, the common folk I sat with wore crimson and carried an attitude.

(At least I answered one of life's great riddles. You can clap with one hand. I saw the Harvard fans do it, I mean how else could they clap when one thumb was wedged up their respective asses?)

Oh, sure! Disco Stu, the Mars going Harvard Astronaut and I had plenty of fun for a while. The Harvard Gorilla had even me going Ape Shit. I even got my picture taken with Harvard's Kid Rock. But then the truth came out. Cornell had built Stu's Martian Rover, Kid Rock realized that my Ag school affiliation didn't mean I could score him weed, and the Rally Rawlings started humping the ape's leg. That's when things started getting ugly (and cold -- record lows while we were in the East).

I could go on, but I won't. I promised the children I wouldn't make a scene on the internet. And Lord knows, you can't dissapoint the children.

That, and it's time for bed, where I can dream of happier days at Lynah rink, beucase you know that somewhere, someone's writing their sweetheart and asking...

...please come to Boston for the weekend.

I hope she comes to her senses and heads to Ithaca instead.

Singing the Blues to La La Land...

The presents are unwrapped, the relatives are visited, and my high school friends have paid me their once-a-year visit.

Now I'm bored.

For a while, there wasn't any snow, so I was able to fill my spare time running. That was good for about two hours out of the day. Now, however, the snow has reclaimed the frozen hell that is Western New York.

While sitting at home this weekend, my curiosity got the best of me. I sat infront of the TV, watching bowl games and playoff football, all the while devouring sports content online. By Sunday night I was officially caught up on Plaschke and Simers columns, and dare I say it -- I was sick of sports.

Monday, curious, I sent an e-mail to Steven Bell at the Buffalo News. I wanted to see if I could send them some more of my clips to accompany my summer internship application. I expected a swift answer, and certainly got one.

Bell told me that they had already done interviews and he was offering jobs. He closed his e-mail with that famous, "better luck next year" line. I've gotten twice from him, like he's doing me some deal if he hires me senior year.

Thinking of ways I wish I could tell Steven Bell to go screw himself, I sat and realized my journalism prospects looked bleak. If I couldn't beat out 100 other kids for an internship at WNY's news source, I'm not sure how I can do it anywhere else. I'm pretty sure there weren't 100 kids at the LA Times convention, let a lone 20 that were applying to the Buffalo News. I'm pretty sure no one else from Cornell did.

So who beat me? What was so great about them? Was it their gender? Was it their skin color? Was it who their father knew? Was it what school they went to? Honestly, who's going to turn out a better product than Cornell?

I then lamented the fact that I'd "have to" go to law school, and probably give up on sports writing. It was too bad, I had just figured out football and the difference between the counter and the slam...

Then I got over it. I found a new distraction.

While online, I somehow found an Ivy sports forum. It's a goldmine, and one of the biggest topics was about Cornell's next coach. Speculation and names flew, but one stood out. It wasn't of a coach, but rather of one of the posters. He called himself Jack, and claimed he was class of 1972. He also seemed to talk a good game.

I followed up, asked Jack to e-mail me, and waited. I then started calling some of the names on the posting, for additional information.

Along the way, I called the Raiders PR office, e-mailed Sac Bee staff writers, head coaching candidates, and our own lovely sports info staff. None of them were as helpful as I'd have liked, but I did get a call back from the Raiders.

"Hello?" I said.

"Mr. [Redacted], Mr. Davis has you down for an interview at noon tomorrow."

"Great, what about Mr. Trestman?"

"Well, as head coach you're free to hire anyone you'd like, even those dismissed by the Raiders..."

"Head coach," I cut the PR person off, "I just want an interview with Trestman regarding the Head Coaching Position at Cornell..."

"Oh," they responded. "Mr. Trestman isn't picking that candidate, you better call Cornell's AD. He's the guy who makes that call..."

And then they hung up. But it was okay, I spoke with Trestman's wife a little while later. We talked about the kids, Gov. Schwarzzenager, and whether or not Jerry Rice is losing his hair.

The result: it is now confirmed by the Cornell Daily Sun that Oakland Raiders Offensive Coordinator Marc Trestman interviewed for Cornell's head coaching position. I'm going to be getting in touch with him tomorrow, and hopefully will be able to get a few more names from him. The other assistant editor is going to try to squeeze some info out of J. Andy Noel, the athletic director.

In the meantime, Jack turned out to be a bust source. There is no Jack Reynolds, class of 1972 from Cornell. He also didn't have anything useful to tell me. Oh, and I've somehow become some sort of reputable news source at Cornell. I put up a joking away message about how the Raiders called me all confused and some kid took it as fact. He then blabbed the whole thing on a message board, citing me as a reputable source.

It's kind of flattering, but a bit annoying. I like to showcase my fictional and humorous accounts on my im window. It's a bit disturbing to think someone would take them as true, and worse than that post them on the internet. Then again, it's something that needs to be tested...

Hopefully this all turns out well for me. Then maybe next year I can turn down Steven Bell and the Buffalo News, instead of things happening the other way around.

Three Times a Bride's Maid ... Always a Friend?

Jevon left yesterday, and I was there for that but it didn't seem emotional. Maybe it's the fact that I'll see him again in January, or maybe I was just burned out from doing my paper at 5 a.m. Still I didn't get emotional.

Not that I got all Dick Vermeil-like when Kajsa and Dylan left, but I did feel sad to see them go. Kajsa has always been someone I could gripe about classes with, while Dylan would share his keen observations about the quality of life, all while keeping a level head. Beyond that, they were my friends. I will truly miss them both next semester.

This morning I went to work, fell asleep on shift, and ran around like a chicken with my head cutoff. There was no PC supervisor today so I was forced to play mother hen to the entire helpdesk. Rolling the phones so customers could call us was the easy part.

About 30 minutes into my weekly Friday-morning, 8 a.m. love fest, one of the PC consultants -- Jon -- came over with a question. He had a customer on the phone who needed to assign room privledges in Cornell's network calendar program. Ironically, he came to me with questions no more than 2 minutes after I had explained to the other macintosh consultants how I didn't know anything about the system. Of course, I get paid to know these things (or at least pretend to), so I had to help the consultant find the solution.

It was easy in the end. The person wasn't connected to the network, which is why they couldn't assign privledges to other users. Of course, that took 25 minutes of web searching, brow beating and stomach churning to come by. The next thing wasn't so hot either.

Apparently one person had called us four times in one hour. Everytime they asked a queston, got the answer, thanked the consultant and hung up. Around 10:30, the onsite supervisor came over to me.

"I need you to give me a consultant," he said. "We're going to need someone to get rid of a virus on this machine."

Sure enough, he handed me a sheet filled with complaints about viruses, firewalls, and crazy other things I had never even heard of. The fixes seemed simple enough, but judging from the number of calls the user gave us, they were computer illterate. They were also some administrative assistant to the graduate programs. I sent Jon to go deal with it. He was going to be at the call center all day anyway, so I figured a break from the phones couldn't hurt him.

Jon ended up allright, and so did that computer I sent him to fix. We also had an irate woman come in and bitch about her laptop being slow. It was actually old, but we turned some buttons on to make her feel better. Then I did myself in.

I began playing fishy (www.xgenstudios.com).

It's such a simple game, and from watching it, you'd think it was easy, or a waste of time. Once you start playing it, however, it's something else. It grows on you, eventually becoming an addiction.

I've never had crack, and after fishy I don't want to. I don't think it would be as good.

I "crashed" from my fishy high around 3 p.m., when I returned home to run a few errands on the commons. I went to the bank, mailed a book to my brother, and then climbed the steep hills of Ithaca back home.

That's when I learned Kajsa's dad was coming around 6 p.m. Originally, I thought she and Dylan were going to head home around 2 a.m., or something like that. I really didn't understand what they were planning on, but in the end it made sense. The original course of action was to sleep for a while, then start back to Wisconsin. Instead they decided to go right home.

We loaded the car with garbage, and they dumped it. We then loaded the car with their belongings and headed to dinner. Dinner was great, and we talked about the semester, recapping the high points (not having anymore bats made my list), and joking about the things we would be doing over break. Along the way, the topic of Kajsa's being a bride's maid came up. Since being asked to fill the position, she's also been overtaken by a great fear: three times a bride's maid, never a bride.

Earlier in the year, Dylan and I joked about having Kajsa be a bride's maid at our weddings, and making sure to get married before she did. Then, if she did go to this upcoming wedding as a member of the bridal party, she would have been a bride's maid three times.

A laughter-filled "Oh no!" was her common response, as it was tonight when we told the tale to her father.

Kajsa's dad is a really cool guy, but I didn't expect anything less after living with Kajsa for nearly a full academic year. I'll miss the lazy afternoons watching WE, and waking up in the evenings to find our living room full of strange and wonderful people, playing games on Echo's high-class tables. Kajsa -- you were truly the life of the apartment -- spending your time on as many fruitful activities of scholarship and friendship as possible. Dylan, Jevon and I merely struggled to keep up.

And tonight, as the three of my apartmentmates have departed, it appears I have failed to do my "keeping up." Alone, I have fallen behind, resigned to spend the night in an empty apartment.

Safe journeys my friends, on whichever interstate you may be travelling. While the months between now and our reunion are many, perhaps tonight we will reminisce in my dreams.

Now excuse me while I go get all Dick Vermeil-like. Anyone got a tissue?

Wow

Just got to watch the Spider Man 2 teaser (it was some sort of members only preview -- I'm a dork like that). Just one more reason why I'm excited about July. I should have been doing work, but it was well worth the minute distraction. Oh well, back to the grindstone.

Stalled

So tonight we had a formal fraternity meeting. I can't write about it becuase I'm not supposed to write about the covert dealings of the fraternity. I'm also not supposed to write about the house's covert business transactions ... what ever that means.

Anyway, we had the meeting. Then we all cleaned up and went to dinner. There was also a huge snow storm going on outside, so before we went to RPU we had a giant snowball fight.

I think Tabari was the loser in it all, only beucase he started it. A black man in a winter wonderland is an easy target, especially when he aggrivates everyone.

Dinner was also great becuase we made the grill people give us all of the mozzarella sticks they had. They didn't want to at first, but when we started going up in four-man shifts, they gave in.

We also took over the mongo line, made tons of loud off color remarks, and stole a bottle of soy sauce. I credit the soy sauce stealing to S-Com (pronounces "scum"), or the house's stealing committee, formed for the purpose of getting us free rock salt from unlocked university sheds and buildings. I know soy sauce and rock salt are like apples and oranges, but we've got to start somewhere. Think baby steps people, baby steps... Of course, I suppose I shouldn't have written about that, seeing as how it would most likely be covered under the house's policy of "covert business transactions..."

After dinner, we went and did donuts in the local church parking lot. Yeah Ithaca Excitement! Seriously though, it was great. We had two suburu outbacks, and we had them wheeling and squeeling like fat people at an all-you-can-eat pork rib bar-b-que. We stalled a few times, but eventually got the car going again.

But now it's time to do work. I've got to pound out three pages of an english paper before 1:30 p.m tomorrow, and then finish a take-home final for my comm class. Oh Friday! Why did you ever have to end?

Maybe there's a future in all this

So the Kajsa, the boys, a room full of guests and I enjoyed The Two Towers on the big screen tonight. It was a great setup thanks to Jevon, who rented the projector and DVD plaer from work. We did a little rearanging, and after about 30 minutes of setup, we had a mini theater in our living room.

Sometime during the night, Kajsa made reference to my posting about last night.

"You might have a future as a romance novelist," she said.

I never thought about writing novels. I'll have to see what I can come up with over Winter Break. For now, however, I'll have to be happy with writing papers. Just two left before I'm done...

Incubating Gloria with 12 Holiday Hangovers

So I went to bed Thursday night around 3 a.m., depsite the advice of the Gannett people who had given me a flu shot. I'd just gone 14+ hours with the weakened flu strain in me, and I was starting to feel it. It was incubating. I had also finished 11 pages of my final comm paper, revising the four pages the group had sent to me as well as our original six. They were now all translated to English, and semi-coherent.

Unfortunately, the massive amounts of caffine in my body prohibited me from falling asleep right away. Where I had originally planned to get up around 6 a.m. and do another two to three pages, I ended up not getting to sleep until closer to four. As a result, I hit the snooze button several times, one of which I actually turned it off. This resulted in me jerking awake at 7:50, frantically pulling on clothes, and rushing to work.

At least I got my daily run in ... sort of...

Work was work. While on shift, I managed to effectively decrease the size of the queue, and finish up a scholarship essay. Afterwards, I went to go see Brian Earle. He was supposed to write me two letters of recommendation, but needed some reminding. I would have to return to the comm department later that day to pick them up.

Distraught and foggy-headed, I started home. I finished my paper in my room and sent it to Jeff (the professor). Then I headed back up to the ag quad to pick up my letters.

I ran into Scott Jones along the way, and seeing him was like seeing my brother. Scott and I, and even Alex and I, have bonded in an amazing way this semester. I hope I can keep in touch with both of them over the years, so we can share life's high points. I'd like to even say I'd invite them both to things like my weeding (should that happen someday), but it probably won't happen. Scott would just run off with my fiance and make her fat.

Professor Earle's letter was amazing. With my other clips, references, and accompanying materials, I think I might actually have a shot at the NCAA Freedom-Forum Journalism Award. I really want it, not for the money, but so I can say I won an NCAA award. I think it would be a cool thing to tell my kids about.

I then speed walked to the post office on the commons. It didn't take that long to get there, although I cheated and ran part of the way. I was filled with a nervous excitment. Though I don't think I'll win the NCAA award, I knew that if I didn't get it in before postmark, I'd never really know. It now rests in God's hands.

I went home and watched some TV to kill time until the next big thing. It just happened to be a suprise invitation to dinner on North with Rachel. It was great to see her again and catch up. She also happened to pay me a great compliment, that the two of us have bonded to the point where even though we don't see each other often, we can still make great conversation. I like that.

After dinner, I came home and sat in the living room with Jevon. The boys and I got ready to go to the Hangovers' Holiday party. I was a bit apprehensive, but after thinking about who would be there, I decided to go. I like all the guys, and enjoyed my time in the group. I imagined I would enjoy my time at the party, too.

I did.

Sam, Jeremy, Adam, Ben, Doug, Doug, Evan, Arnold and even John Cape (despite not being in the group) were all there. (Dylan, Jevon, and Brian were there, too, but I live with them, so they don't count.) I love those guys. They always know how to have a good time, and tonight was no exception. There was a ton of food, and some great stories were shared.

Then around 11 p.m., I truly began to appreciate my time at the party and Cornell.

She was tall and well proportioned; a bright-eyed brunette who carried herself with a slight air of sophistication and grace as she entered the room. She was dressed in earth tones that covered nearly everything except for a slight band of nicely-defined skin at her midriff. Shoulder length hair fell ever-so-slightly to frame her gentle face and smiling eyes. Her lips were thin, and her cool walk betrayed her. Every motion seemed to give hint of the burning passion for living that smoldered within.

Even though she was on the other side of the room, I was intoxicated, instantly.

She ended up in John Cape's room, but I knew they weren't doing anything more than talking. For the two of them, it was an escape from the rest of us -- a place where they didin't quite belong. The Hangovers sang in the common room, while the two of them conversed in John's room.

Eventually things broke up. Dylan and Doug wandered back, and I followed. Dylan and I entered the room a few moments later, joining the conversation as we did. Midway though, I introduced myself.

Her name was Lauren, but I thought she said Gloria. Of course, I took that incident and did what I enjoy most when meeting someone new -- I called her by the wrong name all night, even when we parted company. I loved the look she gave me when I did it.

We laughed about it at first. She of course appeared annoyed, but it was playful. We didn't even flirt, we just talked -- but it was probably some of the best conversation I've ever had at Cornell. We joked about everything, and even postulated on the six-degrees of separation theory, noting that it could probably be done within three or four at Cornell. All you needed was a Kevin Bacon, in this case, any hotel student.

She mentioned that she read my columns, and even remebered my last name from print. It was flattering to hear that from a total stranger.

I was in and out of the dog house all night, though. At one point, she tilted her head back and laughed at something I said. While she did so, I caught a glimpse of fillings in her mouth. I ventured a guess at how many she had. It was a mistake on all accounts.

If there's one thing you're never supposed to ask a woman, it's their weight. If there's another, it's got to be how many fillings they have. Lauren took great offense to this question, and even took a personal affect of mine as a bargaining tool. In the end I ate crow, and begged for forgiveness on my knees. I told her I was geniunely sorry, and that I wanted to marry a girl like her someday, even though I knew I wouldn't be good enough for her. She didn't seem to buy all the BS I was selling, but she took enough of it to give me my card back.

All in all, it really opened my eyes as to who you just might find if you happen to be in the right place, at the right time.

Not that I want readers to get the wrong impression. She has a boyfriend, and from the way she said "you don't look like your column moniker," I'm assuming I'm just not attractive enough for her. Though I would clearly jump at the chance to get to know her better, I doubt it'll ever happen.

Still, for one night, I was the guy who had the ear of the most beautiful girl at the party. And tonight, for me, that's all that really matters.

Let it snow

Ah-ha

The snow's been in Ithaca for a week and I'm starting to hate it. I'm running out of long sleeve shirts becuase I accidentally left them home over Thanksgiving. I've only got three papers to do until I can go home, and possibly an exam. I say that because if my group wins it's extra credit project, then we get an overall A+ in the class.

Cool, right?

Except for the fact that our professor wrote us all e-mails today accusing us of cheating. He said our work was exemplary. He also said that it was too good to be done just for this project, and wanted to know what other class we did this for. Of course we just did it for the project, because we want/need A+'s. It'll be interesting to see how this plays down.

The boys at 711 invited me and 58 others to go caroling this Saturday. I'm definitely there, and think I can bring some other people. I'm kind of excited about this, but am not completely sure how it'll turn out. Matt is always able to generate massive interest in his events (see flashmobbing), but 58 carolers could be a bit much. Ah well ... the more the merrier?

Now it's off to bed. I've got to get to work early tomorrow.

The Score

165, 93rd percentile, and that's good enough for me. I've got column a and c filled out, now I just need to bring up my GPA and I think I'm looking at a top 20 law school for next year.

A beautiful walk

It's kind of like a long, beautiful walk to no where.

The road keeps winding, you stop along the way, you think you know the end. You do not.

The sights distract you, and though you admire the beauty that surrounds you, you also know that you can never be a part of it. Time is fleeting. Your time is short, and in the end you are just a slice of what is, what has been, and will be.

Along the way you realize this. Not caring anymore, you live for the now, for the experience. You run, you cry, you laugh, you love, you lie, and in the end you live. The sum equals the whole.

Above all you fear. You fear missing out. You fear losing. Above all, you fear being alone.

In the end, you just want someone to share your slice of time with. Time spent together passes lightly, time spent alone is hell.

And so, at the request of a friend, I return to posting.

Stealing e-mail

So I'm pirating a wireless internet signal, since our router has been on the fritz. I guess, that means I'm stealing my e-mail.

I skipped my classes today. Instead I did LSAT work. I ran through an online workshop and took a full test. I scored a 165 today -- much better than I had been doing previously. The best news is that I haven't even improved on LR yet, meaning I can only go up from here (provided I work on my assumption questions).

Otherwise, the week from Hell continues (seems like I get a lot of weeks from Hell). I am now going to start reading for paper No. 1. Then I'll write part of it, go to bed, get up and write the rest.

Interruptions revisited

So I realized I never posted that really "cool" event from a few weekends ago.

It went like this...

Owen had to go pick up Rob so he could shoot the cross country match. We were excited beucase Rob has an amazing eye for photography, and we didn't have any pics of the current cross country team. I decided to tag along, because I had nothing better to do until 7, which is when we were going to interview football players.

It was the best thing I ever did.

Upon our arrival at the course, we instantly spotted the team. Things were awkward, though. I know a lot of the guys, like Greg, Emory, Mike, and Zeb -- so it was cool to watch them -- but it was also awkward just kind of standing around with them.

Then Rob got ready to do his thing.

Our plan was to shoot the beginning and then the end of the course, but that soon changed. A few minutes after we figured out what we'd do, Rob spotted the University's photog with a golf cart.

"He's got a golf cart, how come I can't get one?" Rob joked.

The good thing was that Owen and I took him seriously. In our minds, Rob is one of the allstar photogs, and what Rob wants, Rob gets. We walked in and asked the woman at the desk what we had to do to get a golf cart. She was nice, joked around with us, and then asked us who we were. I pulled out my card.

I could tell she was confused, so I explained things again. Eventually she caught on and handed us the keys to golf cart No. 12. The only problem was that No. 12 didn't exist. We scoured the lot, but couldn't find it to save our lives. In the end, we exchanged it for a different golf cart and took off.

We lined right up on the course, behind one of the markers.

"If they're running into that, they've got bigger issues than hitting you guys," said one of the coaches. I took it to mean that the runners were off course.

They ran right at us, and then around us, and after Rob grabbed his initial photos, we sped off. We followed Zeb, and the photographer from Army. They seemed to know their ways to the mile markers. All I knew was that I should duck when Owen drove through the trees.

The experience was amazing, and I liken it to chasing game in Africa. Not that I have ever done that, but I imagine this is of a similar appeal. Another, more reasonable, comparison may be made to the movie twister. One minute you're driving through the back woods linining the course, next you've swung a hard right and hit a pack of runners.

It was very cool, and something I look forward to doing again.


----

Since my last few postings, I've seen Antigone (amazing both visually and for it's deeper message), hit up some parties with Christian and Matt, and taken some more LSAT tests.

I'm stalling on the LSAT. I'm stuck at 161. I have one week to go up five points. I hope I can do it.

---

This weekend is Yale. I'll be hitting the road in a few hours, and we'll actually be staying with Peter (and Alex, although Alex is away this weekend). I'm excited to see Peter, and Una. It should be good times.

When I get back, however, I need to do work. Most importantly, write my game story. Next I need to read for marketing. Then I need to work on my papers for Comm 420 and 450.

So sweet, yet so bitter...

Flash Mobbing

There will be a flash mobbing evet later today --

http://people.cornell.edu/pages/mpn8/flash.html

Are we monsters?

Last night, another sports editor and I broke a story about a student death, and now I feel sick. We were all ravenous to break the news, but in doing so, did we cross limits? I think so.

It was so surreal to see the body bag being wheeled out on the street. A student -- it could have been someone I lived with -- died. At the same time, we heard a rumor about it being a student on the wrestling team. I knew who to call, and sure enough I did, and we recieved a vague and brief statement. It was something I shouldn't have done.

It didn't seem to corroborate anything. It wasn't pertinent to the story. Someone had died -- we confirmed that -- they were a student -- we confirmed that. That's it. From a news standpoint, we have a who, when, where, and how. Why will come in time. A definitive who is not necessary.

But apparently it is to some. After a heated debate, sports left. We left the newsroom. Without us, we would have woken up tomorrow to a university alert. We broke the story, and now the news department has very possibly broken our trust. Our section has a great relationship with C.U. athletes. Well, atleast we did...

Tomorrow may bring a different story.