What's It Like?

What's up, morning? Oh it's a beautiful you! Oh it's a beautiful day! I've got a wonderful feeling, that tonight's going to be a good night! There you go, team. Black Eyed Peas-folk music mashup coming at you. I'm taking it on tour next weekend only. Get your tickets now.

I don't have anything to say. No, I know I've said that in the past and I've ended up with something to say, or at least with something being said afterward, but this time I really mean it. There's nothing to say. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Double-"n" triple-"z." Doesn't exist. Syntax error; does not compute. Not. A. Thing.

Anybody else go to bed at night thinking the next day is going to be just so productive, and then, contrary to your real expectations, it is?

Soup and Salad.

Uh oh. Spaghettio's. Speaking of which, I learned just the other day that Chef Boyardee was apparently a real person once. I'll leave the tertiary research to you. Look it up on everybody's favorite open encyclopedia that anybody can edit, because I have to go play Smash Bros. with my roommates.

Oh, by the way. Sis played her violin concerto up north a few nights ago to critical acclaim at the Capital. She did such a good job. She's getting so famous. Soon she'll be able to say hasn't dealt with anything so common as money in years.

May I Eat It, Too?

Another day, another dollar, team. The semester is clipping by at an impossible rate. Time has been roughly going at the rate of three actual minutes to every one perceived minute. That ratio is reversed when I'm in class or reading or working on homework. But so it goes.

If anyone wants, they can bring me a cake at the end of the semester. I'll likely be in my apartment. If that doesn't work for you, feel free to just drop it off anytime. I'm hyper-willing to accommodate cake-droppers all the day long.

I've got a good attitude about everything. Attitude is just a lot better with cake. Either birthday party-flavored or completely chocolate, if you please. Yes, I'll hold.

Operation: Sudden Reappearance.

Hey everybody. This is me, and this is my blog.

I haven't updated in quite some time. I decided the world wasn't ready for my cutting insight or the political intrigues in which I take part daily. Upper-crust society. What are you going to do. You're definitely not going to abbreviate that into "gonna." That would be giving in.

So how are you? How have you been? Yeah? That's great to hear. Mmhmm. You're kidding. Wow. Hey, listen, I've actually got to get going, but we should totally catch up sometime. No, no, let's not ruin it by planning it. Just let it happen. You're breaking up.

Crinkle crinkle click.

Raise Thy Voice.

This one's going out to my dear friend and roommate, the one with documented aviation proclivities and unproven (though unasserted) communist sympathies. The one with the good hairstyle that cursed his peers by making them wish they were more outdoorsy and their head shapes more inclined to scruff and a shaved head. The proto-typical sunshining woodsman of the dark. I found out he on fact reads my blog and receives all notifications as posts by email. What a peach, team, what a pair. Indeed, the title of "pear" is the highest honor that I, the "peach" can bestow upon his readership. Let the woodsman speak: does he accept my appointment, yea or nay?

In other news, I have not failed to convince myself not to marathon all three Lord of the Rings movies' extended editions all day long tomorrow, as background work while we go about the rest of the day. The odds are looking good, but a lot depends on whether I feel like it'd be fun. We'll see about that.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen.

Okey dokey. Nothing to say. Tried to get everyone's favorite pop-country crossover sensation to tweet me happy birthday, but my advances have so far been ignored. That's okay, I'm playing the long con here. Her resolve will fall. Why does she have resolve about this? Rude.

School. School. School, school, school. Yee-haw, diddly-fraw, ding-dong ding-dong bang.

Thank you for your time.

The Devil You Don't.

Homeladies and homegentlemen, homeboys and homegirls. Tomorrow dawns a new age. A new lease on life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, which for me is broken down again into categories of school, work, church, and leisure. I have dreams to achieve in six months, five years, and six years from now. Best dreams ever, this guy's got himself.

My chosen schooling is really doing a number on my Oxford comma-favoring instincts. I used to try to show that I could leave it out without losing my roots, and my leisure or otherwise unsupervised writing would be able to stick with classical tradition. The problem I'm seeing here now is that when I go to use an Oxford comma by default, I can't help but see the interruption it affords the flow of my communication. I'm very disappointed in myself, falling to the dark side of AP style.

Long Time, No Birthday.

I don't know about you (I don't know about you!), but I'm feeling twenty-six. I feel like I've finally hit the age where there are no more excuses, and I have to buck up and start playing video games without walkthroughs, or tweet without ironic hashtags. Not all it's cracked up to be, I'll tell you.

Here's wishing me years of life numbering infinity times ten: orders of magnitude beyond the impossible. What do you think about that, Buzz Lightyear?

And My Flight Is Delayed.

I'm so sorry, I just can't leave this blog unattended for even a moment, can I? The mischief into which it gets. You can bet there is a stern talking-to in its very near future. Cower, blog, and fear, for I am your blogger.

Sorry everyone, just had to show it a touch of tough love. I'm so grateful for tough love; I'm particularly grateful for being able to avoid it, when possible.

I'm just sitting at the launching point for the giant commercial metal flight machines of bla bla bla they're planes, team, just planes. I'm at the airport and there was no line, despite the forthcoming holiday season. I don't look forward to traveling by air, but I look forward to landing by ground (that's the preference, anyway). I really like driving cars cross-country for days, though. I'll just pretend the pilot's a race car driver who took us off a jump that will last hours and through which most passengers will be remarkably well-composed.

Anyway. I'm thankful for being able to ride inside metal in the sky. It'll make for good story times with the ancients once my time machine is completed.

I Dreamed a Dream in Days Gone By.

Last night I dreamt that everyone's favorite pop-country crossover sensation was eating lunch with me in high school when all of a sudden out I blurted, "EFPCCS, will you write a song about me?" and she obliged. Turns out all I had to do was ask. She is actually pretty cool, and we are good friends. I think I'm going to ask her to homecoming.

So I had a group presentation today after about a month of group research, writing, and revising, and we totally mauled it. I was going to say "nailed it," but autocorrect provided that very evocative alternative. Now, I say "nailed it" in the sense that we "finished it." After a project that intense, they can seem awfully similar. But I think we did do pretty well.

My new computer got here in the mail a few days ago—that's specifically the one whose motherboard wasn't fried by a cute little cat maliciously pouring water on the keyboard while I was out of the house all day—and I've been downloading all kinds of things I need over the last few nights and days. I guess I've been using fiendish amounts of bandwidth, because it has slowed down my roommates' service considerably. Sorry, guys. One day more.