Note to self: November 26 Things starts tomorrow. Time to start snapping.
October 2003 Archives
You can now browse pictures I've uploaded. Knock yourself out.
"The Scriptures teach us the best way of living, the noblest way of suffering, and the most comfortable way of dying."
John Flavel
More coming soon, I promise. However, in an effort to be more forthright in acknowledging embarassing photographic evidence before it dessiminates via other mediums, I would like to immediately post what is quite possibly the goofiest expression I've ever had in front of a camera. This was taken at the precise moment that I realized a pool underneath Alamere Falls was very cold (albeit, quite refreshing).
You know you're a Computer Science major at UCD when you're elated to discover that the Taco Bell right across the street from Kemper Hall (formerly known as EUII, aka "The Dungeon") has tacos for only 59 cents after 7pm. That means for less than 3 dollars you can get a somewhat nutritious meal (ha! Who am I kidding?), and they get it to you in less than 2 minutes. So you can get back even more quickly to...banging your head against a monitor, wondering why there's a problem with a tristate buffer even though you don't have a tristate buffer and don't even know what a tristate buffer is. Erm, yay.
I kid you not. I was listening to The X-Files Score via StreamingSoundtracks.com when the phone rang.
I picked up the receiver, and there was silence on the other end. I said "Hello" and waited. Then, I heard what sounded like a woman talking to her child out in the back (what were they doing there?), so I hung up and went out to take a look. No one.
Man, I need to get out more often.
O what peace we often forfeit, O what needless pain we bear, All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer.
Oft-reminded of a similar thought by Hannah.
As some of you may know, over the past few years I have had to respond to certain allegations about past and present naïveté. While I have attempted to keep this sort of thing off of TheThousand.net, I decided that you should hear the truth from me first, rather than through second and third parties that may otherwise distort the facts.
First, I would like to say that this whole situation has been blown ridiculously out of proportion. In particular, I am disappointed that certain comments I made in the past, occasionally in confidence, have since been misconstrued or deliberately taken out of context. Having said that, here are the plain facts.
For crying out loud people, I do NOT, repeat, do NOT breakdance. In fact, contrary to what certain parties may think, I am a very lousy dancer, period. Anyone who's known me for more than a week knows that I'm uncoordinated, especially when music is playing. Anyone who's actually seen me "dance" (I use the term loosely so as not to insult professionals) or, even worse, danced with me before (to whom I apologize profusely), can attest to the fact that I have the coordination of a drunken baboon.
Furthermore, just because I am short, brown, and have worn spandex before (hey, I was a 400m sprinter and all the sprinters did it), does not mean I am the short, brown, spandex-wearing guy who breakdances with the Aggie Pack.
Yes, I acknowledge, I did take breakdancing lessons. Two of them. I left because
- I did not have the upper body stength required at the time,
- I did not want to compromise my budding track career (ha!)
- I did not want to shell out the $50+ course fee, and
- frankly, I was not very good. In fact, I was horrible.
I did not "dance," per se, at a high school youth group event. I did "magnetic fingers" at a youth group event, and I may have even thrown in an arm wave, but that does not make me a "b-boy" much in the same way that the ability to throw a spiral does not make me Peyton Manning (ask anyone who's tried to catch a football I've thrown).
Yes, I know (or at least knew at one time), how to six-step, but I didn't get into any variations, and I certainly wasn't very fast or, erm, cool-looking. Also, while I did associate with a local break dancing crew during their practices, I didn't actually get "in the circle." Do you really think I'm gonna expose myself to humiliation by attempting a six-step after some guy has done a bunch of windmills and headspins? Definitely not.
Finally, regardless of whatever incriminating (and embarassing) photographs from a 1999 Key Club event you may find through Google, I will continue to vehemently deny any ability to breakdance whatsoever.
Man, does Joss Stone have a voice.
Oh yeah, for the record, I started Quincy Carter (not because of the uniform colors), and got trounced this week. Turns out it didn't matter who I started at quarterback because the other team started Marc Bulger.
I can imagine fans of the Supah Flys, my fantasy football team, shaking their heads sadly as they grimace at the team's dismal 2-3 record.
They gather around water coolers when the boss isn't looking, wondering at the cluelessness of Supah Flys' management (which would be me) as it continues to believe in that old geezer Rich Gannon, especially with up-and-coming Patrick Ramsey waiting in the wings.
The thing about fantasy football is that almost everyone I know who is remotely interested and knowledgeable about the subject is already in my league—playing against me, and hence being poor sources for lineup advice.
So the question of the week: Should I start Rich Gannon or Patrick Ramsey? Or how about Quincy Carter, currently sitting on waivers? Leave your sagely advice in the comments.
For those of you who make these decisions based on uniform colors *shudder*, Gannon wears silver and black, Ramsey wears gold and burgundy, and Carter wears silver and royal blue.
As my brother duly pointed out, this is a grave and most grievous situation, as Californians no longer have the snooty authority to make fun of Minnesotans for electing Jesse Ventura.
