AZ

Things I love about winter break in Tempe:

1. Wearing shorts, sandals and a T-shirt all day (that is, what's left of the day by the time I finally change out of my new Christmas pajamas).

2. Perfect tennis weather every afternoon.

3. The Arizona sunset:

And much more... but I mainly just wanted to post this picture. My tiny cell phone camera made me proud with this semi-decent quality snapshot.

Christmas Makeover

Christmas 2009 will hold a unique place in my memory for several reasons. Aside from it being my first Christmas home since my mission and the only Christmas I've spent as the oldest kid home, this year's Christmas will be remembered as the year I got nothing I necessarily wanted but everything I needed.

I didn't get a hippopotamus for Christmas. I also didn't get the official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle I've been dreaming about. I didn't even get my two front teeth. I only got one.

That's right, I got a new front tooth. I finally had a permanent crown made for the tooth I smashed in a bike crash in fifth grade. But that was only part of my Christmas makeover. I also had years of imperfect eyesight transformed into 21st century high-def vision after a trip to the optometrist that ended with me ordering glasses. To top it all off, I was given a bunch of new underwear and a package of soap. I'm not sure if there was some subliminal messaging there... but regardless, I appreciate my enhanced cleanliness since Christmas.

Although I may not have been given anything super exciting like a nice television, a new car, or a small island in the pacific, I was given exactly what I needed to be given. In other words, I never could have afforded a crown or a nice pair of glasses or a new set of under garments on my own. Well, maybe the underwear wouldn't be out of my price range if I saved my pennies... but I digress...

So now, after my Christmas makeover, I can wear clean underwear, see clearly, and bite things better than ever before. Each of these things is a great Christmas miracle in its own respect. But the greatest Christmas miracle of all is the fact that my mom was always by my side to foot the bill as I acquired major dental, optical, and wardrobe-related expenses.

Maybe this time next year I'll take her with me to a car dealership. Until then, I'll just have to be content with her annual addition to my Hotwheels collection.

The End of the Beginning

“I want everyone to take out a sheet of paper and respond to the following question:

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“How do you feel about writing?”

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-Shayne Clarke, MCom 320, day 1

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At the beginning of the semester, I didn’t know quite how to answer such a vague question. I didn’t know what my professor was looking for or how I could respond in order to earn full points. After all, I needed an A in the class if I wanted to apply to the accounting program.

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I believe I have learned a valuable lesson since then. Writing is like a falcon. When caged in by grading rubrics and point values, all it really does is sit there and look pretty. When the irksome leash of GPA requirements holds back writing from its natural habitat of creativity, awesome potential sits dormant.

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But if the falcon flies off into the sunset and never comes back, what do I turn in to my teacher? I still need enough points to get my A.

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So I guess this is one of those, “there’s a fine line between…” scenarios. Can I really fly free in my writing? Or do I have to stay true to rigid form? Can I write my next formal business report in rhyming couplets with metaphoric subtleties? Or do I have to use OABC, HATS, CARBS, and simple words? If I’m assigned to write about writing, can I write about falcons instead?

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Conclusion: Yes.

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It’s my writing. I can do whatever I want. If I want to compose the most perfected business report, employing every tip and trick in Baker’s book, that’s what I’ll do. If I simply want to whittle with words or tell you that baby falcons are named eyasses, that’s what I’ll do. However, I will never name my babies anything ending in those five letters.

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Coming into MCom 320, I was excited to be done with writing. But now that my GE requirement is finally complete, my writing is far from it. This entry represents the end of my blogging assignment, but this semester has really been just the beginning. I learned to love writing for writing’s sake. I realized how fulfilling it is to dig up just the right word and nestle it in just the right place. Is it being graded? I’m glad I don’t have to care any more, but it wouldn’t make much difference. I’ll keep on writing.

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So four months late, I feel I can finally complete my day-one MCom assignment. I love writing. I love writing because it’s mine. I love writing because it can get right down to business when an evaluation report is suddenly due during finals week. And I love writing because it can soar free on a crisp December evening, long after the testing center doors have closed on a hectic semester. Diving, tumbling, in hot pursuit, or effortlessly floating into the sunset on the current of imagination.

Professor Powell

I woke up this morning as an unemployed member of society. That was nothing out of the ordinary - I haven't had a real job in nearly three years. The crazy thing is, I'm about to go to bed officially hired for not one, but two jobs. Despite much searching, numerous applications, and several interviews at various places since getting home from my mission nearly 9 months ago, I never managed to land a job. With zero income and a rapidly depleting savings account, I've been living on cold cereal and PB&J's, and avoiding nearly everything that costs anything.

Now that I have two jobs, I'll still be living on cold cereal and PB&J's and avoiding nearly everything that costs anything. But at least my bank account wont run out as fast. That will be nice.

The first job I got has a pretty random story to it. Actually the random story is more about how I didn't get hired a month ago when I applied, even though I was told in my interview that they would hire me the next day. But I don't feel like writing that random story at the moment. If you're dying to know what happened, ask me sometime.

The second job I got is awesome. Since I'm apparently not in the mood to write out long explanations right now, I decided to spare myself (and all you loyal readers) a thousand words by including the following picture:

(click the image for larger detailed view)

I guess you can call me Professor Powell now. Let me know if you want to add my class!

The Brother's Mite

I love hanging out with my little brothers!

Besides making him dictate my previous blog entry, I took Joe with me to the grocery store. As he climbed into the mini van he had a quarter, two dimes, and two nickles held tightly in his right fist. He had saved up to buy a candy bar. I drove to the store and parked, and we both got out to make our quick purchases. A volunteer was ringing a bell as we walked past the Salvation Army donation can and into Frys.

"Oh, that's the can where you can give money for people who don't have any for Christmas, right Sam?"

"Yup, that's what it's for," I muttered in reply, half ignoring him. I was in a rush to get home for the BYU Utah game and hurried toward the aisle with chocolate chips. We needed them to make muddy buddies. I grabbed a bag and checked out.

On the way back to the van, Joe fell behind. I was probably just walking too quickly for him, so I turned around to wait. I saw Joe standing next to the red donation can, wiping his sweaty right hand on his shorts while he waited to cross the street. Only then did I realize he had been gripping his coins the entire time but had not bought a candy bar. As he caught up, I reached out my arm and he gave me a low-5 with his now empty hand.

That was the #1 highlight of my day (which is saying something, because we also made muddy buddies and BYU beat Utah).

juglezbimbomazzbimbooblesgimgobles

I just said all of this. OH yeah, I have a question. Are you going to repeat every single thing and put it on your blog? ... yes ... haha. giigle. chuckle. hehehe. :) haha. hahahahhaha hehehehe you're kidding. ha . :( hehe. huhuhuhehehehhihihehhehe. SAM! SAMMMMuh! hahaha. hahahhahaha. he. hickup. :-/? hehe. *cough cough*.

Well, are you going to dictate anything Joe? Or just make weird laughing noises?

BLa bla bla bla bla bla.

Blah has an 'h' in it, Sam.

No it doesn't. Not the way joe said it.

Look, the screen's off of it. Stop! WHY????

no reason.

ok.

fine, I quit. Go write your own blog.

THE END!

Of Age

It seems like the cool thing to do these days is to get married. Why not, right? A guy and a girl get twitterpated, and before you know it he’s buying the rock and they’re tying the knot.

Over the summer my roommate Rich and I took a couple girls in our ward on a double date. I’m not exactly sure what my date is up to all these months later, but his was sealed to him in the temple today.

When Nikki came home with my current roommate Mitch after they got engaged last Saturday, she was radiating exactly 60 gazillion watts of pure joy. It must be such an exciting and wonderful time.

The most recent close friend of mine to pop the question is my MTC companion and former roommate Mark. He got engaged last night to an awesome girl.

I never believed I would reach this period of my life. People my age aren’t supposed to be getting married. I never thought my friends and roommates would be the ones on the wedding announcements pinned behind our LDSSingles.com freezer magnet*.

I remember the good old days when girls had cooties, and only the most athletic of tom boys were respected on the soccer field at recess. Somehow something changed sometime between then and my college days. But even serious relationships freshmen year weren’t really serious.

Apparently that has changed now, too.

Now before you get any ideas, I’m not hinting at anything. I have no plans to jump on the bandwagon of love and get engaged any time soon. Since I’ve been home from my mission, I’ve actually been pretty scared by the idea. Because of this I’ve probably even scared myself away from potential relationships.

But due to the recent events noted above, I’m finally being forced to make the following conclusion:

People my age really do get married, and in all the time I've know them, they have never been happier.

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*Before you go look me up... no, I don’t have a profile. We also have LDSSingles.com stickey notes and a pencil. It was an advertisement in a baggie on our door knob one day, and it's one of our only magnets.

Cimex Lectularius

There are monsters under my bed.

They've been hanging out down there for over a month now, and apparently have no interest in leaving. Until now I guess I've coped. Before tonight I haven't lost too much sleep worrying about them. But tonight is different. My roommate is gone for the weekend and I have no one to check for them. And no one to tuck me in.

Oh man...they'll know I'm alone. And what's worse? My bedroom light just burned out when I walked in and flipped the switch.

Alone in the dark, with monsters under my bed.

I hear they can sense fear.

Luckily the widescreen on my HP laptop is pretty bright, and I have the internet to distract me from my worries and keep me awake. I know they are just waiting until I fall asleep and render myself completely defenseless. That's when they'll strike.

So I figured while I lie here awake, I might as well do a little research on my foe, learn their weaknesses, and prepare for battle. Bad idea. I once heard that the more you really get to know something, the less you are scared by it. Well that may or may not be true about mimes and circus clowns, but it's definitely false about the creepers lurking below me this very moment. After learning a little more about what I'm up against, now I definitely wont be able to sleep.

They reach their host by crawling, or sometimes by climbing the walls to the ceiling and dropping down on the unsuspecting victim. They are attracted by the warmth of humans, especially in the middle of a cold dark night like tonight. They feast on blood. The harvest is done by piercing the skin of their host with two hollow tubes protruding from their slimy mouths - one to withdraw the blood while the other so thoughtfully replaces the lost fluid with poisonous saliva. After a five-minute feeding period, they sneak back to their secret places of hiding.

And these buggers are virtually unstoppable! They've got no achilles heel: my wooden stakes and silver bullets wont do the trick, and I bet Kryptonite only makes them stronger.

The monsters are under my bed as I type, just waiting for the right moment to attack.

Look them up yourself; maybe you can help me figure out how to defeat the pests.

Until then, I think I'll go sleep on the couch.

Exam 2 continued

It was after these thoughts that I began to feel sorry for whoever felt the need to steal the exam. I realized what a bold act of desperation it must be, especially among a student body of Christians with a strict code of honor. Who would do such a thing? I felt insulted on behalf of BYU that someone could so shamelessly taint the school's integrity.

Well the exam went fine. It only took three hours. But the entire time I still felt ashamed that someone had not only come up with such a cheating scandal but also resorted to theft in order to pull it off. I tried to think of some way to get it off my mind. Only as I opened the smaller pouch of my backpack to put away my calculator did I see my stashed Halloween candy and remember Shayne's suggestion from last week: "Go out this weekend and buy somebody a coke."

The principle is simple: buy a little something for someone you've never met - a complete stranger. Pay for someone's dinner, buy someone a drink, or do anything as a random gift to a random person. There should be no incentive, except maybe to make people happy and make the world a better place, and save the whales and stop global warming. It's these types of selfless acts that BYU students should be known for. It's the exact thing I needed to do to get the lingering dissapointment off my mind. I never thought the day would come when I'd be excited to give away my own candy. I pulled out all I had left: four fun-size packets of M&M's (1 peanut, 2 regular, and 1 mini).

We all know how great it feels to be handed free things, but I think I'd forgotten that it can feel even better to be the one giving. I never knew I'd learn so many great life lessons from such a dreaded accounting class. I'm sure the four students behind me were surprised when M&M packets landed on their bubble sheets as I walked down the row. I hope it made their day a little better, but I didn't stop or look back to see their reactions. I didn't feel the need.

I was filled with satisfaction as I turned in my test. I studied long and hard for it, put in an honest effort, and felt great about my result. After giving candy to those deserving strangers, I felt even better and realized that the vast majority of BYU students would "buy a coke" for anyone on campus before dreaming of selfishly staining the school's integrity.

So that was Accounting Exam #2.

Exam 2

I shall now bore you all to sleep with another blog about accounting.

The deadline just passed to take our second midterm. Here are the highlights from exam #2:

Desperate theives and cheating scandals, grown women brought to tears, and three varieties of M&M's.

On Monday morning the exam period began in the infamous BYU testing center. 11:00 AM, and still no one had taken on the beast. Perhaps some students believed the 75-minute in-class optional review would provide the necessary finishing touches on their thorough preparations for the exam. More likely, most students then filing into 151 TNRB came in hopes of using this class period as the necessary jump start to their unbegun cramming. With hopeless amounts of material to cover, Professor Hobson flew through example problems: "You should all understand this by now," and "We'll quickly skip through this one - that principle should be easy enough for you."

I imagined a proud elementary-school graduate rapid firing the ABC's; his toddler sibling gasped for breath before H, hopelessly trying to keep up.

By the time the wall clock read 12:15, anxiety hung thick in the room. Thoroughly prepared students sulked away with shaken confidence. Those hoping to jump-start their cramming began to realize that it was everlastingly too late. Many in that emptying BYU classroom would no-doubt clinging to their final lingering hope - a miracle. But would their faith be sufficient? One person didn't think so.

In the commotion of snapping binders, zipping backpacks, and students filling the aisles, the culprit struck. Whether the theft was premeditated or an unrepressed act of desperation I do not know. But the deed was done - the first step in a genius plan of cheatery. The distrought victim inquired for her missing backpack at the lost-and-found, but in vain. Her wallet was inside. It may have crossed her mind to cancel her credit card, but no one would have guessed it was the BYU ID the crook was really after.

On Monday night it was time for the testing center to close. The ominous hall was vacant, and all tests were accounted for ... except one. An accounting 210 exam was outstanding. The girl it was checked out to was probably still searching for her lost backpack.

It was Tuesday afternoon when I learned of all this. I had been studying on the ground floor of the testing center and was about to take the exam. My confidence was checked more than once as I witnessed teary-eyed students burst through the exit in frustration. One girl sobbed audibly. I swollowed and went over my notes one more time before running into Kylie on my way to start the test.

"There's some scandalous stuff going on with that accounting test." She whispered. "The professor canceled the version of the exam that was stolen and re-keyed a new one. Someone must have used a stolen ID and they have no way of tracking who it was."

The news added an unexpected twist to the unfolding drama of exam 2. "Who done it?" I wondered. My mind was suddenly relieved of accounting rules and time value of money calculations as I played detective in my mind. Maybe they were caught on a security tape. Or maybe we can bring in a k-9 unit to sniff out the stinking cheater.

...to be continued.

An experience is worth a thousand pictures

As I wove down the narrow trails in the flickering shade of autumn aspens, I regretted not bringing my camera. I didn't even think to grab it. With unending hours spent in neutral-colored classrooms and behind wooden library desks, I had so quickly grown accustomed to a monotonous life void such awe-inspiring vistas as were now flooding my senses. I ignored the path, which veered to the left without me, and slowed to a stop near the edge of a grove.

When I parked my bike against a knotty white tree trunk, a rusty bearing groaned aloud. It was an unexpected cough momentarily distracting from the majestic symphony of the mountain. This fleeting interruption was soon forgotten, however, as the next movement of nature's masterpiece began - the rustling of crimson and amber leaves to the accompaniment of crisp mountain air rushing its descent to the valley below. My gaze followed the swift course of the wind but quickly froze, attempting to absorb the beauty extending to the horizon in every direction.

My little grove opened up to the view of magnificent pine-filled valleys accented with yet more splashes of unique fall colors. Timpanogas was a distant gray backdrop to my breathtaking scene, yet its crown of snow-covered peaks glowed forth in the sunlight, evoking the awe and respect deserved by such a monarch of mountains. I stood silent and motionless while the symphony played on. A dimension of purity and truth unable to be composed or construed by man flowed softly into my soul.

Eventually returning to my bike, I embarked again down the meandering trail. I narrowly missed a bulky root and swerved to a stop, giving flight to an even blend of dirt and leaves; a startled doe pranced beyond my view in a secluded meadow. I smiled - a mixed reaction to my personal clumsiness and lingering awe. My camera could never have captured this experience.

A not so happy ending.

It's because I forgot to eat my banana.

There's no other explanation.

I can't remember the last time something has gnawed at my mind so relentlessly. Why did I lose? How? I was so close I could practically feel myself pulling on the 100% cotton, size M. I had three match points - three chances to seal the victory and go down in the history books as champion! ...champion of a lower division intramurals tennis tournament in Provo, Fall semester '09.

wow. blogging really can be therapeutic. I think when the writing gears started churning in my mind, whatever was gnawing at my cerebellum took a cog to the face. Here I was, about to rant about how frustrated I have been all night and will be for the rest of eternity. But when I began to describe the tournament I just lost, I think I finally realized how much it doesn't matter. Suddenly I'm not so upset. I mean, there are like seven division champions every semester of every year, right? I'll get 'em next time, right?

Man, who I am kidding. I'm still way frustrated. I hate losing. And I really wanted that shirt. If the kid beat me outright, I'd take the loss a little easier. But to lose the championship in a tiebreak after beating the same guy 8-0 just an hour earlier? To line up an easy passing shot while up match point only to dump it into the net?

Maybe I will be frustrated for the rest of eternity. And yes, the gnaw monster just came back with a vengeance.

So this is where the banana comes in. I needed an excuse - some sort of scapegoat for my demoralizing loss. I could of course blame my backhand as I so often do, but it was suprisingly above average on the night. My serve may be suspect at times, but I actually came up with some big ones when it mattered most. Something just was not right with me during that second set, and after stewing over this for hours I still couldn't pinpoint the problem. That is, until I found the uneaten banana in my backpack.

Confident I'd win my first match, I had packed a beautiful yellow banana to eat before my second. As everybody knows, bananas are the most nutritious fruit, they're packed with energy, and they won't make you cramp up. It was my secret weapon, my sure-fire energy boost to pull me victorious through round two. I would have been a shoo-in for the championship, except I forgot to eat my banana.

So I ate it tonight with a bowl of Captain Crunch while watching Ratatouille on the Disney Channel. At least those rats got to have a happy ending.

10-10 Tribute

10 is a pretty sweet number. God designed us to have 10 toes at our base, we consequently designed our number system to have 10 as its base, and now countless things in everyday life revolve around the divine number 10.

For bowlers, knocking down all 10 pins is represented by the Roman numeral X on the scorecard. For pirates, this same symbol for 10 marks the spot of hidden treasure. For computers, the number 10 is coded 1010, as if to doubly emphasize its significance.

Perhaps to doubly emphasize my treasured mother's significance, God sent her to this earth on October 10th.

Like the I-10 that spans from coast to coast, Mom's awesome potential has taken her so far in life and can only end in a beachy paradise. Like a *neon advertisement in a down-town cafe window, Mom's noble example of hard work, dilligence, patience, and kindness glows on faithfully, despite being so easily taken for granted and ignored. Although olympic athletes may never score a flawless performance, I can say without hesitation that my mom deserves a perfect 10.

Mom, I wish you a clean kitchen, obedient children and a pumpkin pie on this 10 10. I hope all is Grrreat like Frosted Flakes® as you begin this prime year of your life - 47. Thanks for all you do and keep on keepin' on!

Happy Birthday!

*it's a stretch to keep with the theme, but neon's atomic number is 10...

Eating broccoli

Sometimes I think I'm too much of a perfectionist. I cross all my t's and my i's all have dots; if I miss one it bugs me. Sometimes I think I waste so much time focusing on little details. If my sentences run on or my logic feels weak I just can't bring myself to move on without fixing it.

Is that a bad thing?

I have always been one of those few stragglers who finish their tests 15 minutes after the rest of the class. I have to make sure I have all the answers just right. Even in elementary school Ben Miller would give me a hard time for taking too long on my homework. Until it was done, I couldn't join in on the afternoon's street ball or roller-hockey game. Any normal boy would scribble down his answers and be out the door. I would scribble down my answers, double and triple check them, and then be out the door.

Am I not a normal boy?

Well, I do enjoy studying accounting. And studying accounting is like eating broccoli or getting teeth pulled. Normal boys don't enjoy those things. But I guess there's nothing wrong with them. If some people like getting their teeth pulled, who am I to judge them? I like accounting.

I know what you're thinking: "I'd prefer having my molars removed."

I understand. Both are painful, but for most people an hour at the dentist with pliers in your mouth is still more enjoyable than 3 1/2 hours at the testing center with an accounting exam on your desk. Not for me. I was shocked when I first checked the time during my Acc 210 test. Somehow two hours had already slipped by, and I was just getting to the good part! It was like a fascinating story* I couldn't put down.

Call me a weirdo, a nerd - hit me with all you've got. Tease me about liking accounting and not being able to sleep until all my numbers balance, because it's true. Is it bad that I spend so much time contemplating every detail that may affect my answer? I don't think so. So what if I triple check all my work? I guess I'm not a normal boy. Maybe I am too much of a perfectionist. But I got an A on my test. I should celebrate by eating broccoli.




*It was a dark and stormy statement of cash flows, and something was not right. The scene was set by financial statements and the story was propelled forward by elusive journal entries. Can detective Powell catch the culprit keeping the credits and debits out of balance? Yes! Suspect #14 was nabbed, convicted, and locked up in cell D. Will #15 soon join him? Sam the sleuth is on the job...

So much time, so little to do

Wait. Strike that. Reverse it. Until today I've always attempted to invest a fair amount of time to my blog writing. I wanted all my posts to be somewhat witty, somewhat interesting, and somewhat well written. I am somewhat giving up on that goal today. There is just too much to do that--gasp--takes priority over blogging. Trust me, I would immensely prefer writing a good blog entry over writing a good paper for my history class, but I don't get to make those kind of decisions. Homework is my slave driver and I do as I'm told. So I appologise to all my avid readers, because I know I'm just so popular. Speaking of which, I'd just like to give a shout out to you. Yes, you. Thanks for reading my blog. That whole "I'm so popular" comment was supposed to be sarcastic, but thanks to you my pointless ramblings aren't published for naught. What a tragedy it would be to put so much time and effort into writing, only for the fruits of my labors to rot away as a miniscule string of binary code tucked into the deepest darkest corner of cyberspace. Man, I feel bad for all the "Terms and Conditions" authors now. No one ever reads their work, and they got college degrees to write that stuff! Maybe we should all think about that next time before skipping to I Accept.

Anyways, it's interesting to see where I end up after starting with no purpose, theme, subject, goal, or other form of direction to my writing. I'm really not that sympathetic for authors of legal jargon - their own life decisions landed them that job. But I really am grateful for those who read my blog. You make me feel like I'm somewhat loved...or like my writing is a somewhat better time waster than twittling your thumbs... or like I'm being somewhat stalked. In any case, you get three gold stars. And keep track of those, they're valuable. 500 gold stars get you a really sweet prize like a sticky hand. Or if you're really ambitious you can save up 1,000 platinum stars (worth 10 gold stars each) and get a giant stuffed platypus. Now, I better stop writing before this stream of conscience stuff spirals too far out of control.

The End

p.s. 10 platinum stars go out to Kylie, Stephanie, and Cassidy for being the greatest fans ever at my tennis match. In the words of Eeyore the Donkey, "thanks for noticing me."

There is such thing as a free shirt

There are many wonderful things that make life worth living. You all know the standard list: raindrops on roses, wiskers on kittens, etc. Well I've recently added to that list. Free t-shirts. And there's no better place to collect them than right here at BYU. So this week my quest for free shirts began in two ways.


1. Intramural sports. Although the high school glory days of varsity sports are long gone, there are tons of opportunities to play competitively on campus. I've joined a soccer team and a tennis tournament. Yeah, it's great fun to get out and play the sports I loved so much in high school; to have good, wholesome, sportsmanlike competition; and to burn off all the free donuts and ice cream I downed at the last ward social. But let's not kid ourselves - those aren't the reasons you play intramurals. The ultimate goal? Win the most coveted free T shirt on campus: Intramural Champion 2009.

Unfortunately, getting the intramural champion shirt has one tricky catch. You have to win. So I've found another way to reach my goal of T shirt acquisition.

2. Participate in school-sponsored causes. My econ 110 professor claims that nothing is really free. The saying goes, "there's no such thing as a free lunch." While in theory that may be true, in reality I was recently fed a delicious lunch of cookies and juice and didn't pay a cent. Another thing I didn't pay for is the shirt I'm wearing - I Bleed True Blue. So what if I had to invest an hour of my Thursday and donate a pint of myself to the blood bank? Those things don't come out of my bank account.

Now, I know what you're thinking - how can an afternoon possibly get any sweeter than a free lunch that comes with a free shirt, right? Well how about two free shirts! It's like getting two toys with your happy meal, just when you thought it couldn't get any happier. And for the second, all I had to do was fumble around campus blind for a while. Some people may think it's a bad idea to wear tunnel-vision goggles for two hours while already on the verge of fainting from blood loss. Well it's those same people who will never truly appreciate what it must be like for someone with tunnel vision to donate blood. Thanks to Disability Awareness Week and the blood drive going on simultaneously, I was able to experience just that. . . and get two free shirts.

Flushing Meadows

I'm addicted. But at least I'm past the denial stage. Though born as a mere curiosity, my obsession now thrives because I feed it daily. "Just a few more minutes!" and "one last game!" are the most common among numerous justifications to remain planted in front of the TV. Eventually the responsible student inside me builds up enough courage to raise his hand, eager to make a statement. Somewhat annoyed, I oblige, and the mental struggle begins.

I don't know what it is about watching tennis that gives me such a high. I'm usually against TV. Honest. But when ESPN2 has 10 hours daily coverage of a grand slam tournament, it's a sin to not watch. The curiosity begins weeks before the draws are announced. Warm-up tournaments that take place not only give me a sneek peek at who's hot and who's not, but also get me stoked to watch the live drama on the courts in Flushing Meadows, New York. By the time day 1 arrives, I'm already hooked on tennis. I can't stop watching.

My conscience commences its lecture on responsibility and time management, utilizing sound logic and sensible encouragement to guilt-trip me into being more productive. Inevitably, the day's reading assignments creep into the debate and my addiction begins to succumb to reason. I call up item 1 on my mental to-do list and reluctantly reach for the remote. However, like a drowsy infant being carried to its crib, my obsession is suddenly aware of the threat and leaps into action. A swift backhand to the rear of reason and responsibility sends my conscience sprawling out of the picture. I've got to get my fix.


p.s. I'm not much of a "status update" or "twitter" kind of guy, but this is important:
I'm grabbing my favorite blue bowl, filling it with Honey Nut Toasted Oats, and claiming the right side of the couch. Don't bug me for the next couple hours - The Gonzalez vs. Nadal match just started.

So long sweet summer

School started yesterday - my first real semester since Fall of '06. Sure, I've been taking classes the past four months, and before yesterday I would have naively classified those summer studies as serious schooling. Then yesterday struck like a bucket of cold water to the face. My mind is still reeling from the onslaught of syllabi. Five seperate documents fully equipped with intense course requirements, fast-paced schedules, rigorous grading scales, and papers due more often than I call my mom. At least my professors are honest: "You'll need to sell your soul to Satan himself if you want to earn an A in my course." Okay, so they probably didn't quite word it that way, but that's all I got down in my notes. I think the weeks when I have four exams and 3 papers due at once are when I'll long most for the good old days of my 6-credit-hour summer.

Here goes...

I am kind of curious about this blogging thing - not sure yet if I'll like it. I have always enjoyed creative writing, but never thought I'd be joining the ranks of all you dilligent authors. In fact I'll admit that before yesterday I was numbered among the prideful disbelievers, not willing to unite with the faithful bloggers who so selflessly share their thoughts with the world. Yet deep down, I have always secretly enjoyed reading up on others' small feats and adventures, current relationship status, and latest philosophical trains of thought. How selfish it has been to read your trivial tales of humorous goings-on while keeping my own so secretly filed away. So what finally converted me, you might ask? Well I won't go so far as to say I'm converted. I'm no born again blogger and I still have my doubts. But I'm giving it a shot. Honestly the only thing that got me started is my MCom 320 class. A weekly post is part of my grade. Although starting out I am somewhat skeptical, the wise counsel of Sam-I-Am comes to mind: "You may not like it, so you say. Try it. Try it and you may. Try it and you may, I say."

Shayne Clarke (with a 'y'), this blog is dedicated to you - the man who made me try it. So here goes...