Tsaot's Blog

Wednesday. The hold my bank placed on the student loan I deposited is lifted today. Four thousand dollars (that, theoretically, is already spent) is mine to spend. Glee surrounds me as I climb down off my bed and under it to access my computer. I turn on the screen. What greets me is delicious. The night before I had started some large video podcasts downloading, so the machine was left on all night. At midnight it began.

Tom lay on his belly and sighted down the rifle barrel. He found the position uncomfortable. He wiggled, trying to find a more comfortable position on the sandy blue pad. On either side of him were other young men on blue mats, some adjusting themselves to the new experience, others at home on the range. Shots began to ring out as he found a position that didn't bother him too much. Targets at the end of the range bled bright green as shots found their marks. Tom grabbed the lever on the bolt and swung it up and back. He grabbed a bullet from the box beside him and slid it into the barrel.

Anne sat on the bench facing the library. She couldn't help but feel what she was seeing was partly her fault. She also thought it was a hoot. The library in front of her was covered in a tent, looking for all the world as if it were a circus. Men in hazard suits came in and out of flaps positioned where the front door would be. Two months before, Anne and Pat had been going through books that had been donated to the library when Anne had found something unique. It was one of those cardboard gimmick books that doubled as a toy.

He raised his fist above his head violently, a sneer on his face. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her own. Each was ready to attack. They froze, eyeing each other, trying to gauge what the other would do. "One," he growled. "Two," she returned, narrowing her eyes. "Three!" They both shouted as they swung their fists down at each other. His hand flattened. Her index and middle fingers extended. Their hands stopped mid-air nearly touching each other. "The last cookie is mine!" she yelled.

Man my head hurts. I'm driving home from a long day of classes and I can tell I've started a sinus infection. Snot is pouring down my throat like it's the Mississippi. If someone were to ask me how I felt right now, I would answer "viciously unpleasant". I don't want any more snot reaching my stomach. This headache is bad enough, I don't need a stomach ache to add to it. I reach out and grab my McDonald's cup from this morning and spit down the straw. Man that's disgusting. Boy am I glad this cup is opaque.

I was inspired by @gkneeisme's recent blog post about Gadgettes to write about my own experience with podcasts, beginning with the first. Three years ago, in late December, I was bored. Looking to remedy this particular problem, I started to goof off with my laptop.

How can an idea so genius, be executed so badly. If you worked well, I'd fall in love madly. Teacher, meet student. Student, meet goals. Here is your homework, please fill in the holes. Instead, you place a mirrored glass wall between us, with poorly wired phones that turn "progress" to "penis". Your homepage is empty, except for a class list. Your calendar is barren. My first class I missed. Your task-list disorganized, listing items by name. I missed the due date have you no shame? The professors  control, What they can't understand. "Does this go in Course Info or Documents? I'll just

I have a special arrangement with garbage: If it doesn't show up, I won't ignore it. This arrangement is quite difficult to manage, but we stick it out. Every now and then it needs a little help, but it manages itself pretty well on its own. Throughout the week, it hides in the garage. It's the one place I don't visit that the trash accumulates with any noticeable speed. It grows at a steady rate, until it has filled four plastic cans. The local night life does its part to reduce the amount, but there is only so much a single opossum can eat.

It was during a demonstration of the fall-stopper that Thomas found his nest. Standing on a branch three meters in the air, he addressed his students on the ground. "Now when you are ready to come down," he yelled, "be sure to check your stopper to ensure it is secured to your body. The shoulder-straps need to be tight, as do the leg-straps and chest-strap." A small commotion began on the ground, with some of the student's pointing and yelling. A cacophony of shouts made it hard to hear what they were saying. "What was that? Behind me? Did Edward pin something obscene to my stopper again?" He craned his neck in an attempt to better view his back. "I don't see anything back there."

It must have been a Thursday. Those are always the longest and hottest days of the week. I was on my last summer camp out with my scouting troop: a week-long canoeing trip. Our day began with packing up the site and piling into the trucks where we rode to our launching point, unloaded the canoes, and set off. It was a time of play, song, teasing, and even a little personal reflection. After 6 or so hours of drifting and rowing, interrupted only for lunch, we reached our end point for the day where the trucks were waiting for us. Exhausted and baked, we piled in and drove over to a McDonald's for an early dinner. We each took turns ordering our meals until it was Lee's. I think out of all of us, he was the most tired. He had entered that state of mind where nothing he said or did registered with any filter that might fix what was leaving his brain. The subconscious had near full control. "I'll have a Big Mac," he ordered, "and a chocolate Coke". The employee's hand hovered over her register for a moment before a crease formed on her forehead.