Econ Scream

Picture the scene:
Hundreds of freshmen, on the walk overlooking Lower Quad. Dressed in pajamas, brains filled with nonsense about marginal utility and substitution effect, we anxiously count downt the seconds until midnight. "FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO..." At one, we all start screaming. The yelling is prolonged over a whole minute, but it turns soon to laughter...
From four doors in Ware and Riepe, out pour a dozen freshman- naked. Proudly pale-assed, they rush to the center of Lower Quad and into formation. From- where?- they pull out flares that they light with a flourish. They shift into three different formations, goose-stepping and high-waving. At the ringleader's signal, they scream themselves: "FUCK ECON!" Then, as if summoned, they break off into groups and rush back into their halls, hoping the anonymity of darkness will be enough to obliterate the telltale signs of tatoos on shoulders and birthmarks on inner thighs.
It was a good stress reliever.
Ahh, midterms.

First day of college!

I think I like it here! Everyone in my hall is really nice. Weirdly enough, in my section, I'm the only person who's not a Jewish boy. Originally, the RA was going to make the girls' bathroom for the guys, because she was the only girl, but no more. Bwahahaha! Needless to say, I'm very popular because of this. We went to a party tonight- frats are beer-drenched and packed with people, but still fun. I REALLY like my hall-mates!
C'est tout!

Exciting morning...

So I woke up from a complicated dream about Simon Bolivar and OPEC (no more Gabriel Garcia Marquez before bed) to hear my mom talking to somebody, and then lots of loud stomping around. I stumbled out of bed, because I thought it was our dog, going psycho (again), and I heard talk of baseball bats. Half-asleep, I naturally thought my brother was trying to beat my dog (I know, wtf?), so I got up to stop it, but I was wrong...
And they did a remarkably bad job of it, too. They came in through the dining room window my brother left open for the cat, and went upstairs, to my parents' room, bypassing a surfeit of booty, including my mom's laptop, and young, nubile teenage girl (haha, other kind of booty). The cops say that they've been chasing the same guy the last few hours; he bailed out of a car in Tukwila, and was probably looking to steal ours. To that, I say: I wish I had left my keys in the entryway, instead of my bag in my room, then. Damn, foiled again in another attempt to get rid of the Volvo! Anyway, our neighbors saw him, a black guy in in orange sweatshirt anad grey shorts. Hmmph, we didn't even get classy burglars with British accents and careful plans and black catsuits and such. I must say, it kinda made my morning to hear the policeman say, "Was the place ransacked?" and we admit shamefacedly that it's always like that.


Ah, Johnny Depp. Is there anything you can't do? I mean, Phillip Seymour Hoffman is all very well and good, but I really could give a damn about Truman Capote. Captain Jack Sparrow, though...even better the second time around. Especially at the end. Of course, Orlando Blooom is always, but he can't hold a candle to rum-soaked, dreadlocked flouncing. And PS. Keira Knightley is hot. If I were a guy or gay...but I'm not, so no more getting lost in thoughts of sloe eyes and ungodly cheekbones. I will confine my thoughts to one thing: I wish my hair were that color.
And the World Cup: ITALY!!!!! Mmm, Gattuso. I spent approximately an hour this afternoon trying to download his Dolce ad, with him (and Pirlo and Totti and so on) in their underwear. Well, Dolce's underwear, I guess, but they wear it well. I was practically in tears at my failure, because Toni and Totti are beautiful, but give me the bearded Tuscan any day.
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    Ooooo, You Touch my Tralala...dumb song

(no subject)

Picture the scene
For some reason, they thought it would be a good idea for one person to have all the tickets. We get separated. Our train leaves in three minutes. We are running hell-for-leather through Gare du Lyon when we see Lindsey! Run, she yells. We take off, rolly suitcases banging. Our train is in the distance. As we race up the stairs, we see the doors close with an air of finality. We finally get there, but the doors do not open! We bang on them and tug the handle, but nothing.
What do you think happens?

Hello, one and all

To whom it may concern: (EVeryone, hopefully)
I am leaving! For the first time in my life, I am setting foot off of this continent. I am going to Europe! Paris, Cinque Terre, Florence, Venice, Zagreb, Split, and Rome! (The ones you haven't heard of are in Croatia.) This trip has been long dreamed about by myself and two of my closest friends, and it's finally here! Of course, when we were planning this sophomore year in that Italian restaurant on Capital Hill (the map of Europe on the table inspried us), the original plan was to spend three months, unchaperoned, and visit all of our respective families in Norwey (Kelsey), Czechoslovakia (Linds), and Croatia (me). Needless to say, this did not exactly occur as we had planned. (If it had, our mothers would not be accompanying us.)I'm verra excited, even though I haven't finished packing (still), and I have an alarming amount of crap to fit into an increasingly-diminishing space. This will end in tears.
Anyway, the point of this is to say that I will probably be incommunicado for some time, as my mother has broken the crushing news that I can't use my cell phone in Europe. Bwahaha, I think I'll bring it anyway to use on the layover in Toronto. Still US! Wait...
I will write, and, God willing, my Croatian cousins have heard of myspace, but here's good bye for a while...
PS: Hans! Read! Jeff! You, too! I am an excellent and avid connaisseur of books, so you can and must trust my recommendation!
PostPS: I'll miss you. Even though it's been a while anyway.

Read me!

Never Let Me go by Kazuo Ishiguro. SO good at describing unspoken dynamics between friends. To demonstrate: "What I remember is that there was this discreet agreement among us not to quiz each other too much about our claims. If, say, Hannah rolled her eyes when you were discussing another girl and murmured: 'Virgin'-meaning 'Of course we're not, but she is, so what can you expect?'- then it definitely wasn't on to ask her: 'Who did you do it with? When? Where?' No, you just nodded knowingly. It was like there was some parallel universe we all vanished off to where we had all this sex." (97)This is a little misrepresentative of the book as a whole, but made me laugh, because, honestly, can anyone remember being fourteen years old and not doing this? Yeah, didn't think so. The rest of the book made me cry though, so be prepared.
And since you have author and title, read it NOW! (Hans, because Hil's gone, and Gloria never reads what I want her to read.) I went to all the trouble of typing up a passage, so you'd better be INTRIGUED. If you don't read it, I will not love you anymore.*
*Just kidding, I will still love you as a friend, just not an intellectual equal.**

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Whoa. I'm 18 and a high school graduate.
Graduation was beyond fun. Well, not the actual graduation, that was pretty boring, but afterwards. The alumni committee should have planned all Prep events. How much better would Urban Plunge have been if it involved go-karts? Not to mention sumo wrestling, moon bounce races, a hypnotist, a cruise, and dancing literally until the sun came up. Though I caught Austin looking at me funny, as I was gettin' low, as suggested by Lil Jon and the Eastside Boyz (Er, that's with a z, right? God, I know nothing of rap.)Heh. I hugged Austin, in a moment of sentimentality. It was kinda like when Nixon visited China. And I hugged John. long. It was kinda like when Michael died of happiness. Good times.
And now, some photos for your viewing pleasure: (after prom, mock trial party, baccalaureate)

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Prom pictures!

All I could upload, as photobucket was being quite the stupid bitch. Gra, I'd like you to pay special attention to one of these...

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

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(no subject)

*Innocuous conversation, and then...
Mom: Michael, who do you know in Michigan?
Me: Um. No one.
Dad: Then why are there all these phone calls to Michigan?
Me: Um. No reason.
Mom: Really, who do you know in Michigan?
Me: Shut up and go away!
I love how, even in the middle of Gestapo-style interrogation, my mmom still manages to work in the implication that I have no friends.
I cracked.
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    Eve 6