Monday, April 30, 2007

Hats: People Aren't Wearing Enough Of Them

At 9 this morning we the seniors were uncerimoniously herded into the cafetorium for a tiresome presentation about how terrific Gradblast will be. I plan to go, pick up my diploma, eat some free food, stick myself to a velcro wall, then escape via grappling hook through the A-Commons skylight.

After the Gradblast coordinators had unsuccesfully attempted to shout out all their information over the ruckus we were causing, Megan "Current Occupant" Augustinak stepped up to the microphone and announced that because no one had signed up for the senior banquet, our senior poll results would be announced today. Sam won Always Late To Class--his gag gift was an unforgiveably girly little ring/wrist watch, but he partially made up for its lameness by pretending that by twisting it, he could use it to shatter a glass window via some sort of resonance-inducing mechanism. I, on the other hand, took home the big prize, Most Likely To Succeed, and the real hardware, a fistful of classy plastic medals, each one proclaiming me a "WINNER." Sam subsequently connected these together to form a sort of medal shash, or, as I like to think of it, a medal bandelier.

Eric "Cheshire Cat" Heise then got on the mic and explained that he's been unable to come to any sort of decision about graduation because he's an ineffectual pantywaist. He conducted a series of extremely informal polls, consisting of asking a question, making a ballpark estimate of the number of people who raised their hands, then assuming that everyone who didn't raise their hands was an ardent supporter of the opposing viewpoint, even if they were ignoring him completely.

Long story short, looks like I won't be speaking at gradiation this year. Too bad, too; I had a sweet opener all set up:

"As I look out on this sea of smiling faces, I am reminded of the conversation held between Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and Gandalf Greyhem, in the great mead-hall of Theodan, King of Rohan, during the celebration of the victory over the forces of Saruman at Helm's Deep. Gandalf wondered aloud if Frodo Baggins, the little Hobbit who carried all their hopes with him in his lonely quest for the crack of Doom, was still alive. Aragorn gripped the wizard's shoulder and asked him, "What does your heart tell you?" Gandalf saw the truth of it, and realized that Frodo, and their hopes for peace in Middle Earth, were very much alive.

You may all feel that perhaps your hopes and dreams, like those embodied by Frodo of the Nine Fingers, are in danger now, wandering alone over uncharted ground, but you must remember Aragorn's advice and ask yourself: "What does your heart tell you?" If you look deep enough within yourself, you will find that like Frodo, your dreams are not alone in their journey: they are accompanied by faithful friend and family, as Frodo was accompanied by the stalwart Samwise Gamgee, and they are guided by the watchful eye of God, just as Frodo was guided into the bowels of Mordor by the gangle creature Gollum."

Also, a closing line:

"In conclusion, may your dreams fly as high as your hats!"

Or, alternately:

"Warrior Football!
Crowd: YES
Warror Football!
Crowd: YES
One, More, TIME
Crowd: YES
(dramatic pause)
crowd: AAAAHHHH!!!"

In spite of this letdown, I've had an inexplicable bubble of happiness in my belly today. Perhaps I'm in love. Or I have a tapeworm.

P.S.: Synchornisity update: On Saturday evening, a stiff white cowboy hat was found. It's size seemed unusual enough to be remarked upon: 7 and 1/8.

On Sunday afternoon, I sat in the little theater and watched You Can't Take It With You. It was a fine play, and I was delighted to find that at one point, a hat size is mentioned. You guessed it: 7 and 1/8.

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Sunday, April 29, 2007

What's The Buzz

Tommorow I will have a better post up here, probably concerning grad speeches and such. I'll definitley have some new info to relay from the senior goddamned town-hall meeting tommorow. But for now, I think I'll just drop this little tidbit, found on this helpful website, which I was browsing through in search of some appropriately menacing Biblical text to read to all those sinners who'll be graduating in a few weeks:

Revelation 8

1. When the Lamb broke the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for about half an hour.

You know, about half an hour. Give or take a few minutes. The dude apparently didn't have a stopwatch, so he was just eyeballin' it, I guess.

Stay tuned for some more good Bible passages, not to mention a few dramatic LOTR quotes, and, if you're lucky, some sort of grand analogy about how we should strive to be like Fedaykin, not Sardaukar.

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a very, very dead kubas.

why does my immune system suck?

i woke up today...and my tonsils were so swollen that they were touching each other. that's pretty huge.

the nurse gave me a throat culture. and right away after that, the doctor checked it out and he kind of laughed and asked the nurse,

"have you ever seen them that large???"

so now i'm on a load of steroids/regular drugs. luckily, i don't have strep throat, but i have some kind of ugly virus which only goes away "over time," and not with medicine. oh well.

i doubt i'll be at school tomorrow, so you should all wish me "good luck" sleeping in.

mustache out!


Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Moving Into The Dormitory

So I've made my decision as to where I will be attending college. Next year you will find me in the University of Northwestern Minnesota, no, no I won't. Did you really think I was gonna give it up that easy?

I had some trouble making this decision, but it was nothing next to the trouble I've had with deciding how to do the INFORMING about the decision. For you see, Mr. Andrew Kubas made me promise that I'd tell him first, yet I also feel that I must honor my unspoken (I think) commitment to tell my dear sister first. At the same time, my strong egalitarian sentiments make me feel like a bloated autocrat for favoring some over others.

Sam Walker, being a sneaky bastard, made this point somewhat moot by spotting what I put down on my A.P. packet this morning, but, being the dramatic type, I think I'll still put my plan into action. Besides, I guess the prize for first to find out LEGITIMATELY is still up for grabs.

Now, in a method made possible by the wonders of cyberspace, I will now launch my all out media blitz. As close to simultaneously as possible, I plan to hit the publish button on this window, the send button on an email to Kubas, and the talk button on my phone to call Maya. I realize that there will be a couple of split-second discrepensies, but thanks to the vagaries of this newfangled technology, the chance to be the true victor in this race for information should be fairly even. I suppose Maya has a slight advantage, but I'll stall for a couple of seconds to give Kubas a chance to check his email and the circling sharks of the Internet a few brief moments (that's all they need) to come upon the blog post.

Well here we go; the email is written, the phone is dialed, and the blog is done blogged. I have only to execute my little procedure and the shit will start to fly. Three, two, one.....OH WAIT.

I suppose I should include some info here about, you know, where I'm going to college and stuff. Ugh I'm having second thoughts right now, but it's about time I made this post, and this decision. It all comes down to the next sentence, folks...

Really it came down to the mascots. Willie Wildcat could take Goldy Gopher (or should I say Goldy STRIPED GROUND SQUIRREL?) any day of the week.Yes folks, it's for real. I'm going to Northwestern. Kubas suggested I do another PSYCH-out post, but that would have just been mean.

P.S.: This didn't really have anything to do with mascots. I've never seen Willie in action, but I imagine Goldy will be tough to beat.
P.P.S.: My grad party is scheduled for June 10th. Any suggestions for possible vegan food options?
P.P.P.S.: Sam seemed skeptical today, but I still think this is awfully neat. It's basically what I wish our treasure hunts were more a certain extent. Be sure to check out the archives.

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Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Global Warm Troopers

Sam and I did our Into the Wild presentation in Lang the other day. All parties agreed--it was a resounding success.

Alright, so first of all Sam had done basically no preperation prior to one hour before we had to present. Luckily he has open fourth and was able to use that time in what I've gotta say was the most efficient possible way. I mean Einstein and Newton had their moments, sure, but I doubt they ever had an hour of productivity like Sam did yesterday.

I gave my big, insightful, ho-hum explination of the themes and meaning of the chapter and all that boring crap, then threw it over to Sam. He gave a couple of pedestrian observations, but then he dropped the bomb:

So at one point in our chapter, Chris McCandless' father, Walt, is quoted as describing Chris as resembling (man, could I have put one more weak verb into that sentence?) Jeremiah Johnson. Sam, Internet sage that he is, did a little digging and found that Jeremiah Johnson, the '70s movie character, was actually based on a real guy named Liver Eatin' Johnson, a disillusioned Civil War veteran if my memory serves me correctly. He wandered off to live in the woods with his Cherokee wife, and they were quite happy there until she was killed by some Crow warriors. Johnson declared a lifelong vendetta on the Crow and spent the rest of his days killing every Crow he met, then eating their livers.

And Sam told this whole story to the class. It was sweet.

I tried to redeem myself a little later, when Mrs. Niemi started talking about the real, dark, creepy, original versions of some fairy tales, by explaining a really horrifying version of Sleeping Beauty I read in Sandman (instead of just kissing Sleeping Beauty, the prince raped her. 9 months later she gave birth, and only when the baby, crawling up her body in search of milk, sucked the poisoned needle out of her finger did she wake up) but it paled in comparison to Liver Eatin' Johnson.

Liver Eatin' Johnson; File Photo

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Sunday, April 22, 2007

How The Grinch Stole Xmas

I'm kind of proud of myself right now and you should be too. Not proud of yourselves, of course; you're a rather shameful bunch all around. No, you fools, you should be proud of ME! Here's why:

So I was reasonably sure that Ali Jones' senior recital was today. Seeing as I'd already missed Joe Trucano's (sp?) and Heather Mastel-Lipson's, I felt kinda bad missing the last one. On the other hand, it was raining outside, and recitals tend to be kind of boring. I was at an impasse. Suddenly a solution presented itself, in the form of an awful idea. A perfectly, wonderfully, AWFUL idea!

I'd have my cake and eat it too. For you see, Ali Jones had neglected to give me an invitation/personally invite me to the the recital, AND I owed her an email regarding the lowell reunion party. SO, I could write the email in the late afternoon and include an innocent looking post-script, mentioning how "Joey and Heather had had recitals recently, will you be having one too? I'd like ever so much to come." Then she reads that when she gets back from the recital, feels guilty about it and apologizes...when I'M the one who skipped HER recital! Bwahahahhahahahhahahaha!

But my grandma called about dinner and mentioned something about the recital, and I reflected on the fact that I hadn't had any non-parental human contact all weekend. I don't have Sam Walker's strength, so I gave in to social (and I suppose a teensy bit of moral) pressure, gave up my elegant but evil plot and attended the recital. Aren't you all proud of me?

In reality, the recital was highly enjoyable. Honestly, I'm not that big of a fan of classical music. If I'm not playing it, or at least don't have the music in front of me, I have a hard time finding patterns or following themes, which I've usually gotta do if I'm not going to get bored. But today's performance was more fun, for a couple of reasons:

1. I'm not that familiar with string instruments, so I got to ponder a lot of interesting, though in retrospect shamefully nerdy, questions. For example: "How do they lay the strings out so you can play each one individually?" (answer: convex polygon formation), or "What would the graph of the bow's progress over the string over time look like? How about it's derivative? What does the area under the curve represent?" (answer: I have been doing far too much calculus lately. Also, judging by my math-based thoughts in the presence of beautiful music, I apparently lack a soul.)
2. It's fun to watch cellists perform. There's lots of motion and action, both in the bow and in the hand on the strings, much more interesting than just pushing down valves or keys. I imagine it's just as complex to play the violin, but in that case the action is a lot harder to see.

P.S.: I've haven't been to tennis pratice in two weeks. This is getting ridiculous.

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Saturday, April 21, 2007

Pain Don't Hurt

Road House is an unparalleled cinematic achievement. I'm sure I've raved about Road House on here before, but I just watched it again and I've gotta say: it keeps getting better.

12 second summary: Patrick Swayze is Dalton, the best bouncer in the business, and he's been hired to clean up the Double Duece, a notoriously nasty nightspot. But when he gets on the wrong side of local crime boss Brad Wesely, Dalton soon finds that the drunks at the club are the least of his worries.

I was enjoying it so much as I watched that I decided to do this post during the screening. As watching dudes' throats get torn out tends to wipe my memory banks pretty clean of anything other than the throat tearing action, I took a few notes. I noticed that my observations almost all rounded out nicely into groups of three. I took it as a sign.

A sign of what? I'll leave that question to the philosophers. Let's get rockin'.

How you can tell,from just the DVD case, that you're about to watch a really great film

1. The director's name is Rowdy.

2. The reviews on the case describe the movie as "a violent, tough-guy thriller" and "True entertainment. Corrupt. Sexy. Violent."

3. This picture is on said case.

Great lines I've never noticed before, despite my having watched this movie an almost shameful number of times (that number being about 7 or so, I'd wager)

1. The main goon, while tangling with the Swayz, says "I used to fuck guys like you in prison." Remind me to use that one next time I'm fighting a shirtless, five-foot-five killing the death...on a beach...while wearing all denim.

2. At the Double Deuce, a big creepy guy invites a listless drunk to kiss a woman's breasts for the low, low price of $20 (That's just $10 a can!). The drunk begins to grope the woman, and the big creep says "Well? What are you waiting for? Why don't you kiss 'em?" The drunk replies "Because I don't have $20." Then the creep punches him and all hell breaks loose.

3. Waitress to Dalton on his first night: "Don't worry about [Big hairy jerkoff whose name I forget]. He was born an asshole; he just got bigger."

Connections to other great films

1. Ace Ventura, Pet Detective: The bad guys have a fuckin MONSTER TRUCK, which they of course utilize to grand effect.

2. The Big Lebowski: Ben Gazzara, better known as Jackie Treehorn, plays a similarily slimy, if slightly more homicidal, villain in Brad Wesely, and Sam "The Stranger" Eliot shows up as Swayze's grizzled mentor.

3. Ghost, Dirty Dancing, Point Break, Red Dawn, The Fox and the Hound 2, and countless others: it stars the one, the only, Patick Swayze.

One final footnote: Tonight, for the first time, I noticed that Ernie, the bartender at the DD, was none other than the great Keith David in an early role.I recognized him from numerous small parts in big movies, and a recurring role on E.R., but a visit to the Internet Movie Database revealed a much more impressive credit which I'm suprised I've missed before now: Mr. David is the voice of the Arbiter from Halo 2.
Now that's what I call street cred.

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Friday, April 20, 2007

You May Fire When Ready, Gridley

I've been thinking about college lately, which is probably a good thing, considering I now have only six days until my self-imposed deadline of April 26th. In case you haven't heard, I've successfully whittled my options down to two, Northwestern and the U of M.

Here's my problem right now: every time I start weighing my options, I think that really, I should be going to Northwestern. It has everything I've always said (and thought) I wanted in a college: It's got prestige, it's got great academics (read: fuckin difficult academics), and it's far from home (relatively speaking, of course). It's gonna be scary, and it's gonna be a lot of work, and it's gonna be tough, but that's just the way it's gotta be; it will suck for a while, but I'll make it and it'll be worth it.

But, rather than being able to embrace this "Fuck it, I'm goin to NW, damn the torpedos and full speed ahead" idea, bite the bullet and mail the letter, I think "Hey, maybe college doesn't have to be so hard" and I fall back into thinking about the U of M.

Now I don't wanna disparage the U of M: I've got a lot of great friends there (and a few smart ones, too) who say it meets their academic needs, and my cousins love it. But you've gotta admit, the U really is just an easier option all around. I already know the campus, and the town to a certain extent; I've got lots of connections but I'd be confident in my ability to make new ones; the academic work would be quality, yet managable; and finally, rather than graduating with $10,000-$15,000 in debt, I'd basically be paid to go to college.

So what will my final decision be? Nobody knows. Rest assured, however, that now matter what I decide, I will constantly regret and bitch about it, always wistfully pondering how much better life would be if I'd only gone to Northwestern/the U instead....

P.S.:I just watched most of the excellent Sci-Fi Channel Dune miniseries, so I'm in a Dune sort of mood. Don't be suprised if I start saying things like "Ready the Atomics" or "Man, I'm about ready to sharpen my chrysknife, set a thumper, and ride a maker out of here" or "May your blade chip and shatter." I've gotta get it out of my system. Your support in this matter is appreciated.

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Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Something Wicker This Way Comes

Big ol' nerdfest the past couple of days.

First, on Tuesday, I traveled down to the moderately depressing St. Paul campus of the U of M for the Minnesota State Economics Challenge. I traveled with Garret Wedan, Tirth Patel, Chris Dens, and Christian Barnett, who, incidentally, will be leaving his teaching job next year to take a position as a broker with Edward Jones. He will be missed.

Here's how Econ Challenge works: There are three divisions, Adam Smith for A.P kids, David Ricardo for big school regular track, Some Token Broad for small school regular track. Everyone takes two 15 question MC tests on their own (micro, then macro), then the whole team takes one on international/current events. Scores are added (+10 for each correct, -5 for each incorrect), and the top two teams in each division move on to the "Quiz Bowl" portion to determine the winner.

I've gotta say, this went about as well as I could have hoped. My team did rather poorly (we didn't even qualify for the Quiz Bowl), so I don't have to devote any more time to fuckin econ challenge, but I snagged the individual high scorer award for the Adam Smith Division, and, courtesy of my combined one wrong/one blank on the micro/macro tests, I am now the "Minnesota Economics Student of the Year." In this honor I join such illustrious individuals as our own Jason Houle.

Then it was off to State KB, where we had fun bumming around Craguns, posted a 98, and took a satisfactory 13th out of about 25 teams.

Best question: "What crime is the following newspaper article referencing? 'I didn't want to draw attention to it,' said the businessman from the Deseret valley, "but I..."


Max (actually kind of yelling, now that I think about it): Dudes, Deseret is fuckin Utah, Utah is mormons, it's fucking polygamy!

Rest of the team: Umm....okay?


Reader: That's correct.

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Tuesday, April 17, 2007

So I Was Looking at the High School Calendar...

...and this was the description for Baccalaureate-

"Cap & Gowns required; but not mandatory"
  1. Required: Compulsory, insisted upon or imposed as a condition
  2. Mandatory: Needing to be done, followed, or complied with, usually because of being officially required.

I think someone needs to proofread next time.

P.S. Kubas- I found a tattoo for you if it isn't too late.


Sunday, April 15, 2007

a mustache mission.

today i realized something...i never played in the snow. honestly. not once during the winter. so i decided to change this...and enjoy the last snow of the year. hopefully the mustache faithful will enjoy this post.

i first had to find some snow.

i then also found some deer poo.

snow angel!

i then started the very difficult process...

of making a snowman.

last snowball of the year...

and then it was time for cleanup


This Is A Picture Of An Asshole

I missed out on the annual "Area Teams Bound For State Knowledge Bowl" interview, so I had to content myself with Sam Walker's ungrammatical quote and this excellent pic.Sam and Kara ought to win some sort of Contrived Pose of the Year award for this shot. While Kara just barely manages to conceal her utter disdain for being forced to pose for the Brainerd Daily Disgrace (a feat in itself), Sam seems genuinely interested in the particular geography factoid he's discovered on an assuredly random page of whatever book was lying on the table. Further proof that he must be interested in this tidbit: it was enough to tear him away from the thrill of Erasmus of Christiandom (now in hardcover!).

And unless I am sorely mistaken, Sam appears to be wearing a homemade "Everything Was Beautiful and Nothing Hurt" T-shirt. I hope he won the "more-affected-by-Kurt-Vonnegut-Jr.'s-death-than-thou" award and it made up for all the money he spent on puff paints.

Of course it's always possible that this shirt was not homemade. Perhaps Sam, having heard about KV's recent injuries, went online and purchased the shirt in anticipation of having it ready to wear when the old man finally bit the dust. I would completely not put it past him.

P.S.: I am very happy with this post's title.

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Saturday, April 14, 2007

The Bosom Of The Pacific Ocean

So I'm back, and my homework is lolling and prom is looming and tennis is lurking and another week of school, complete with fine arts banquet/Econ Challenge/State KB is lurching towards me. Yet here I am, blogging.

I'll give a brief summary for anyone who has an important meeting to get to or something: The plane rides were uneventful, Disneyland exceeded my expectations, the Getty was slightly ridiculous (and J. Paul Getty said "Yes, yes, I will build an art museum...ON TOP OF A MOUNTAIN!") but impressive, the Zoo was mildly depressing yet wildly entertaining, San Diego was pretty, and Los Angeles sucked.

Now, I realize that hatin' on L.A. is the cool thing to do. But I really did dislike the place. It felt fake, forced, phony, as if it weren't a real city at all, just some cardboard buildings lined up along the highway. The street vendors were paid actors. The palm trees were mass produced like pink flamingos. Even the mountains felt fake, like something the residents had had erected so they'd have something to look at while they sat in their hottubs.

I find my dislike of L.A. rather odd. I love the mountainous and generally rugged terrain of the American West, and I like the other big cities I've visited, but something about this particular combination of the two rubbed me the wrong way.

On the plus side, L.A. did afford me the chance to have a little Big Lebowski experience:

1.As we flew in over the city at night, I couldn't help but quote The Stranger: "See, they call Los Angeles the "City Of Angels"; but I didn't find it to be that, exactly."

2. In "Frontierland" at Disneyland, as we walked by an Olde Tyme Saloon, I was pleasantly suprised to hear "Tumblin' Tumbleweeds" playing from its outdoor loudspeakers.

3. On our way out of town I totally saw a big neon sign for an In N' Out Burger.
More California moaning and groaning to follow. Up next: why digital cameras are a bad thing.


'Tis my duty to the Mustache Nation

WWEEELLLL, looks like i'm the only mustache in the fact, i have been for a long time but i just didn't realize it.

So.....what to do....

well, first of all, i'd just like to say that the warrior tennis team is doing pretty well so far...uhh...yeah....

who am i kidding, folks. I'm the random that throws in off-the-wall posts every now and then to keep everyone on their toes. I'm not of the blogging caliber that would allow me to actually post something interesting on a regular basis. So, i must resort to old tactics.

Let's have a look at this new beer (i think it's new?) called "queer beer." As far as i know, it's being marketed in Europe. Now tell me, what the hell is the point of having a beer dedicated to a certain sexual orientation? does it taste funny? will i be a queer if i drink it? what if i like the stuff - does that mean i secretly love men? And finally, what if i'm just in the mood for a hetero beer? i don't know, people, this just seems a little too shady for me. I think they will be surprised at how little business they get. Perhaps they should use my new slogan - it comes in the bottle, but you can get it in the can. Anyone, anyone? (audience - that's disgusting, bundy!)

Tough crowd.

P.S. Houle - we beat sartell 4-3 last thursday, pretty sweet, eh? Sartell wasn't as good this year for some reason. And next week we have a grueling FOUR matches - monday, tuesday, thursday, friday. I will keep you posted on scores and such.

P.P.S. Houle, again - take a guess at who took over your number one spot this year.


Sunday, April 08, 2007

head west, young man.

well, as if i haven't been dead as of late...this blog is going to be even worse for the next week or so.

enjoy yourselves.

is it bad if i liked the movie "meet the robinsons?" i thought it was...classy.

mustache out!


Here Comes D-Kwon Cottontail

I've heard some bad, well, not really bad, just not overwhelmingly positive, things about Carleton. Now don't worry, I plan to visit before I pass judgement. I have a feeling my momma wants me to attend Carleton, based on the link to the Carleton Mustache Club she emailed me the other day.Honestly, I think an established Mustache Club might be something of a mixed blessing. Certainly it would be terrific to have a few fellow mustache enthusiasts to cavort about with, but it would also be fun to begin my own mustache-based organization. I suppose I could create my own mustache organization to compete with them for all the fundraisers and mustache-growing contests and such. Aw yes, the Confederation of Federated Mustaches would be the hip, young, vibrant whisker crowd on campus. We'd make those stodgy old farts at the Mustache Club look like the ass-backwards, sticks-in-the-mud, fuddy-duddys they are.

Problem is, I can't really grow that great of a mustache....yet. I'd probably end up beingthe guy on the right, sitting on the couch, always gettin' made fun of by the dudes with the suspenders and bow-ties and real mustaches.

Fun Easter Facts:

-St. Peter was actually a rabbit.

-Eggs are considered a symbol of life and rebirth, as is rising from the dead.

-Apparently I've been watching too much 30 Rock, because when I saw this heartwarming photo in the Star Tribune I didn't think "Awwwwww, cute kid wif a bunny wabbit!" Instead I thought "Oh man, this looks like a sketch where Tracy Morgan is the black Easter Bunny. I'll bet they could come up with some HILARIOUS ways in which black Easter Bunny is different from the regular Easter Bunny. "Like, like, maybe he carries a gun?

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Wednesday, April 04, 2007

This One Goes Out To Hard Luck Louie

I'm considering building myself some stilts, or buying some if the price is right. I'll probably build my own, though. I wonder what material would work best for stilt construction. Wood, despite being wicked heavy and kind of expensive, will probably end up proving its superiority as stilt-making material.
I suppose all I'll really need is two big ol' slabs of lumber and two little triangular pegs for footrests. Height will be the biggest factor: too tall and the stilts will be unweildy and dangerous, too short and they will be silly--what's the point of building yourself some stilts if they only lift you a foot off the ground? I figure my stilts should be about 10 feet tall with the footpegs about three feet up so I could step into them without having to climb a ladder or something.

Stilting seems like a good hobby; you get fresh air, exercise, a temproary boost in elevation. Plus, it opens up all sorts of career opportunities at car dealerships and such. Perhaps I could join some sort of stiltist enthusiast's club. We'd meet once a month to race each other and trade stories about our myriad stilt-based exploits.

Possible problem: I'm not real good at balancing.

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Tuesday, April 03, 2007


I've got something good for you, I promise; just stick with it through the first couple of items, it'll be worth it, I promise.

1. I just lost a fight with a plow hump and let the Lincoln down, but I fought the good fight. I'd have some beautiful photos of the snow, the Lincoln, and the Lincoln frolicking in the snow for you, if not for A) my lack of photographic talent and B) my inability to make my mom's damn robot camera take un-flashy photos.
Robots, robots, day I must destroy them all, or be destroyed in my attempt.

2. College update: I applied for U of M housing today. Right now I'm leaning towards Northwestern.

3. Alright, now onto the main attraction:

Quick, who does this remind you of?

click for an even larger, more disturbing image

10 points for identification, then a caption contest.

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Monday, April 02, 2007

V for Rejection; Part Deux: For Real This Time

Alright, no joking this time around, I promise.

Two envelopes on the kitchen table this afternoon, one large and purple with CONGRATULATIONS scrawled across it, the other reserved and concillitory with a small orange P in the upper lefthand corner. The bottom line: Come ths fall, I will not be attending Princeton University. Fuck those guys, am I right?

But seriously folks, as I've had to repeatedly assure my entire family, I'm not that broken up about it. I think I've been expecting this result, at least subconciously. I mean, that whole "results will be availible online on Thursday, March 29th" thing was real; I was just too nervous to follow the links. Now I am confronted with an uncomfortable decision, one which I hoped Princeton would preclude by admitting me: where the fuck am I going to go to college? For those of you keeping score at home, I have now been rejected by Princeton and accepted by the U of M, Carleton, Boston College, and Northwestern. Let's go down the line, shall we?

Boston College: I had honestly forgotten that I'd even applied at Boston before I got the acceptance letter. I applied in mid-January when I was being paranoid about not having applied to enough schools, and BC showed up on lists of good schools with good art history programs. Right now, I don't see myself going there; it's far away, and pricy, and while Northwestern is both of those things, it's also a much better school.

Carleton: This was another late application, but I'd say I'm much more likely to go here than BC. It's supposedly a very good school, and it's pretty close to home. A bit pricier than the U of M--Carleton won't quite meet 100% of my need. I'm going to visit later this month, which is good, considering I have until MAY GODDAMNED FIRST TO DECIDE.

Northwestern and the U of M: I'd say these are my top two contenders right now. I've spent quite a bit of quality time on both campuses. They're both reasonably close to home (although the U is much closer, obviously). Both are located by bitchin' cities and lots of water. Northwestern's advantages include higher prestige, a better art history program (as determined by these two thoroughly scientific studies [though I think those may be for graduate programs]), Barack Obama, and a sisterly endorsement about how awesome it is. The U has proximity, size (I kind of like the big school feel), football, terrific financial aid, a fine art history program, and, here's the tricky part, a bunch of friends.

Obviously college should involve making new friends. But is it neccesary to cut myself off entirely in order to force myself to make some new friends? Or could I handle maintaining current relationships and still finding motivation for starting new ones? I'm honestly not sure.


P.S.: This is some heartfelt stuff. Grad speech?
P.P.S.: I want one please.

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Sunday, April 01, 2007

V for Rejection: Part Deux

Well dudes, all good things must come to an end. For a while there, I thought I might've been attending Princeton University this fall, and that was a good thing. But now it has become abundantly clear that not only will I not be attending the big P, I probably won't even leave the state of Minnesota.

And you know what? As much fun as it is to give Tay shit, I think I'm feeling a little empathy for him here. I'm genuinely pissed off right now.

Here's how it went down: I've been doing my best to put Princeton out of my mind until the letter arrived, so naturally I wasn't exactly obsessive about re-reading all the emails they'd sent me regarding "your admissions decision." I'd assumed that the results would be made available online at the same time that letters were being sent out, and seeing as I am a fan of recieveing important news via snail mail rather than e-post (having already recieved one disappointment of the email variety from Questbridge), I had decided to just wait for the letter.

Turns out I was wrong. When I went into my gmail last night at about 1 a.m. to confirm my "results will be availble online sometime in the first week in April" hypothesis, I was confronted with this little tidbit:

Admission decisions for applicants to the Princeton Class of 2011 will be available online on Thursday, March 29, 2007 after 5 pm EDT. We also will mail decision letters by post to all applicants.

"Oh shit," I thought. "Looks like the time has come, motherfucker."

I clicked my links and put in my usernames and passwords and before I knew it I was staring at a decision. To quote an authority:

"i don't even have time to get mad before i am sucker-punched in the face by flat out rejection."

So the moral of the story is, I won't be wearing a black and orange sweater vest for the next two months, nor will I get a secret tiger tattoo on my scalp. I still haven't heard from Northwestern, and I haven't visited Carleton yet, but honestly I don't think I want to go to either of those places. The U of M is looking better and better. It's close, it's cheap, and it gives me a lot of options in terms of different fields of study. Plus, the football games are way more fun.

In conclusion, henceforth, therefore, and furthermore, Max Kuehn will be a Golden Gopher next year, and there's not a goddamned thing you can do about it.

P.S.: Check out this great ad from NDSU. They're apparently going for the "grimace at knifepoint" look. I'm real sorry I didn't apply there.P.P.S.: Blades of Glory sucked.

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