Less than 24 hours until spring break starts!!!! Oh, I am so counting the hours. (Except that I dislike doing an unnecessary math. So I'm not really counting). I still have to finish writing a ten page paper, go to RUF, study for an exam, and write another lab report so I don't have to do it over spring break. Not to mention finishing over a hundred pages in a fiction book that I want to give back to someone before break and packing. As usual, it's the lab report that has me the most freaked out. I know they're not always as bad as my mind makes them out to be, and that it's "making a mountain out of a molehill." Only maybe change "molehill" to "extremely large badger hill" and that might be more accurate. Better yet, make that "bear cave." Oh look, we're back at mountain. Other random things that happened this week:
~I filled out a student survey, and one of the questions asked "how many books have you read for personal enjoyment this schoolyear?" The choices were something like 0-5, 6-10, 11-15, 15-20, 20+. "20+" is the highest choice they're gonna give me? Come on! That is not an adequate measurement of my reading interests.
~Today in science (yes, another lovely evolution lecture), the professor (this is my favorite professor of the four that teach this class) briefly mentioned that many evolutionists are divided into the gradualist and punctuated equilibrium camps. He said that the gradualists like to explain punctuated equilibrium as "evolution by jerks." It took me a minute, but I got it! LOL, that's awesome.
~At Bible study last night we shared prayer requests, and I realized again how thankful I am for my roommate. I have never been "sexiled" as one girl put it, and I don't think I would take it very well either. Sometimes college kids amaze me. (Did you know that like 78% have more than 5 drinks a day over spring break? I can't remember the exact statistic, but it's something like that. Crazy.)
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
Kindergarten Fan Girls. Oh boy.
As I've hopefully mentioned before, this semester our Sunday school theme is Little Pilgrim's Progress (it has a readers' theater setup like Narnia last semester). This past Sunday, one of our activities was splitting the kids into groups and having them dictate a letter of encouragement to someone who helps out at the church. After giving some suggestions, the four little girls in my group decided to write their letter/poster to the guy who plays Christian in our reader's theater. (On a side note, he played Edmund last semester, and try as I will that is how I will always think of him). The letter was your basic "Thank you for helping with the plays. You are a good friend" etc. I then turned it over to the girls to sign their name and decorate.
This is when it gets a little crazy. The again, anytime you have four little giggling kindergarten girls coloring on the same piece of paper, things are kind of bound to get crazy. They wrote "love" before their names, and obviously thought they were being scandalous. One even started to write "kiss", but she got as far as the "K" before I raised by eyebrows and the girl next to her turned it into a heart. Things continued in this vein for a minute or so: they drew hearts figures "kissing" (remember: this are kindergarten stick figures, so it's not as horrible as it sounds). I was mostly amused, I mean *really* the guy who plays Christian is a really cool dad, and for all their attempt to be bold it just looked like a cute little kid's thank you note. I had just told them to finish up, and started counting to five, when one of the girls wrote "you are hot." Okay, that was beyond enough. I grabbed the paper, wishing I had interfered about ten seconds sooner. They, of course, moved from giggling to rolling around laughing. Oh dear.
But while they had snacks I went ahead and finished writing the "Dear Chad' and the top, and went and gave it to him. I have to admit I was slightly embarrassed; after all, I was the "teacher." He, of course, thought it was really sweet. Then again, I left before he could read all of it. I marched back into the classroom and leaned conspiratorially over the girls' desks. "Hey," I said. "I just gave him the card." Complete and utter shock filled their eyes. Even though I had told them we were really giving people these cards, I don't think they believed me (grin of smug satisfaction). The looks on their faces were priceless. But it gets even better: a minute later Chad comes into the room and says "Hey, thanks for the card." He said it to the class in general (it's not like he knows them by name, and there were 25 kids there), but all four girls turn bright red and start giggling again (this time it was a bit nervous, though). LOL. I was torn between laughter at the whole situation and the shade of red I was pretty sure my face was turning as well. Hopefully they learned a lesson.
(I can just see them in ten years, drooling over Orlando Bloom. Then again, at their precocious rate, maybe that will be next month. What is the world coming to?)
This is when it gets a little crazy. The again, anytime you have four little giggling kindergarten girls coloring on the same piece of paper, things are kind of bound to get crazy. They wrote "love" before their names, and obviously thought they were being scandalous. One even started to write "kiss", but she got as far as the "K" before I raised by eyebrows and the girl next to her turned it into a heart. Things continued in this vein for a minute or so: they drew hearts figures "kissing" (remember: this are kindergarten stick figures, so it's not as horrible as it sounds). I was mostly amused, I mean *really* the guy who plays Christian is a really cool dad, and for all their attempt to be bold it just looked like a cute little kid's thank you note. I had just told them to finish up, and started counting to five, when one of the girls wrote "you are hot." Okay, that was beyond enough. I grabbed the paper, wishing I had interfered about ten seconds sooner. They, of course, moved from giggling to rolling around laughing. Oh dear.
But while they had snacks I went ahead and finished writing the "Dear Chad' and the top, and went and gave it to him. I have to admit I was slightly embarrassed; after all, I was the "teacher." He, of course, thought it was really sweet. Then again, I left before he could read all of it. I marched back into the classroom and leaned conspiratorially over the girls' desks. "Hey," I said. "I just gave him the card." Complete and utter shock filled their eyes. Even though I had told them we were really giving people these cards, I don't think they believed me (grin of smug satisfaction). The looks on their faces were priceless. But it gets even better: a minute later Chad comes into the room and says "Hey, thanks for the card." He said it to the class in general (it's not like he knows them by name, and there were 25 kids there), but all four girls turn bright red and start giggling again (this time it was a bit nervous, though). LOL. I was torn between laughter at the whole situation and the shade of red I was pretty sure my face was turning as well. Hopefully they learned a lesson.
(I can just see them in ten years, drooling over Orlando Bloom. Then again, at their precocious rate, maybe that will be next month. What is the world coming to?)
Friday, March 17, 2006
Double Trouble
Well, for those of you who don't know, I've decided that going to one of the best journalism schools in the country isn't enough writing for me, oh no! I have to go off and add a second major in English (with an emphasis in creative writing) too. :P I never did learn when to quit. How did this come about, you might ask. Well, maybe you didn't ask, but I'm going to tell you anyway.
I think it started when I realized I would scream if I heard the word "democracy" one more time in my J1100 class. That, and the insistence that "there is no liberal media bias." All I do in that class is crossword puzzles. Journalism may be practical, but it bores me. So I started looking (and drooling) over the classes I could take if I got an English degree instead. What else lets you take Old English as your foreign language requirement? Not to mention classes in oral tradition and, of course, creative writing.
So, after long discussions with my parents, and the realization that journalism really would be helpful in the "real" world (while English seems more useful for surviving flaming dragons), my mom came up with the brilliant idea of a double major. I know I'd thought of that before, but never very seriously. So, now I'm in the process of filling out forms and finding out I have not one advisor now, but three (Journalism, Honors College, A&S). Oh, the joys of double majors.
If I'm honest though, the real reason I'm double majoring can be summed up in three words: St. Andrews, Scotland. Heehee, study abroad with English rocks.
I think it started when I realized I would scream if I heard the word "democracy" one more time in my J1100 class. That, and the insistence that "there is no liberal media bias." All I do in that class is crossword puzzles. Journalism may be practical, but it bores me. So I started looking (and drooling) over the classes I could take if I got an English degree instead. What else lets you take Old English as your foreign language requirement? Not to mention classes in oral tradition and, of course, creative writing.
So, after long discussions with my parents, and the realization that journalism really would be helpful in the "real" world (while English seems more useful for surviving flaming dragons), my mom came up with the brilliant idea of a double major. I know I'd thought of that before, but never very seriously. So, now I'm in the process of filling out forms and finding out I have not one advisor now, but three (Journalism, Honors College, A&S). Oh, the joys of double majors.
If I'm honest though, the real reason I'm double majoring can be summed up in three words: St. Andrews, Scotland. Heehee, study abroad with English rocks.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
A Typical Weekend: Poker, Asia, Tornados, and Wigs
Well, I've had a crazy kind of weekend. Friday I hung out with friends at Mark's place, watching people play Katamari Damacy, reading the prologue of The Hollow Kingdom to my friend Libby while people were playing katamari, and playing poker for money. (No, I am not getting sucked into the gambling underworld. We each put in $2 at the beginning, that's all).
Yesterday I went to an "International Fashion Show" at Jesse auditorium. It was three hours (three hours!) and it turned into more of a dance recital than fashion show. It was fairly fun, but I was really surprised: it was all Asian countries. What, can't European countries have fashion heritage too? Or South American or African for that matter? I hardly consider Japan, Taiwan, China, Korea, and India "worldwide." As one of my friends pointed out, it's probably because those countries are the ones with clubs here at Mizzou. Still! My favorite part was the one little toddler who was supposed to be part of a modeling "family" who ran crying off stage, was led back by his mom, who then left; of course, he started promptly crying again.
Today, as usual, I prepared to help out with my kindergarten sunday school class. But our reader's theater leader came running up, and asked me if I could play a part because they really really needed someone. Of course I was willing to oblige. ;) So, at the last second I was transformed into the evil "Self," minion of the Dark Prince. I got to throw flaming (okay, foam) darts at Christian, and wear a horrendous back wig. Oh, not to mention having a bunch of lines AND getting stabbed and running out of the room dying. What better part is there? I'm afraid I'm going to get typecast as the evil villain soon.
This afternoon I was awoken from my nap by my roommate tapping me, as the tornado sirens were going off. They herded all of us into our laundry room/basement. It was quite a tight squeeze. Actually, they had to put people in the first and second floor bathrooms, too. We were kept down there for quite a while. I almost finished my book and didn't have anything to read, either (horrors!). Such fun.
Yesterday I went to an "International Fashion Show" at Jesse auditorium. It was three hours (three hours!) and it turned into more of a dance recital than fashion show. It was fairly fun, but I was really surprised: it was all Asian countries. What, can't European countries have fashion heritage too? Or South American or African for that matter? I hardly consider Japan, Taiwan, China, Korea, and India "worldwide." As one of my friends pointed out, it's probably because those countries are the ones with clubs here at Mizzou. Still! My favorite part was the one little toddler who was supposed to be part of a modeling "family" who ran crying off stage, was led back by his mom, who then left; of course, he started promptly crying again.
Today, as usual, I prepared to help out with my kindergarten sunday school class. But our reader's theater leader came running up, and asked me if I could play a part because they really really needed someone. Of course I was willing to oblige. ;) So, at the last second I was transformed into the evil "Self," minion of the Dark Prince. I got to throw flaming (okay, foam) darts at Christian, and wear a horrendous back wig. Oh, not to mention having a bunch of lines AND getting stabbed and running out of the room dying. What better part is there? I'm afraid I'm going to get typecast as the evil villain soon.
This afternoon I was awoken from my nap by my roommate tapping me, as the tornado sirens were going off. They herded all of us into our laundry room/basement. It was quite a tight squeeze. Actually, they had to put people in the first and second floor bathrooms, too. We were kept down there for quite a while. I almost finished my book and didn't have anything to read, either (horrors!). Such fun.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
A Conspiracy Unmasked
This past weekend I went home, and being the rebellious person that I am, I planned on skipping my Monday classes so that I could stay with my family a little bit longer. Sunday night I started a new book at eleven o'clock, and I finished it slightly before two in the morning. My mom and I had planned on shopping the next morning, and I was (mostly) awake by nine-ish. So far so good. We left the house, me chattering despite my sore throat and hoarse voice.
All of a sudden my mom pulls into this parking lot and says "We're here." I look around me, not sure exactly where "here" is. All I can see are a lot of cars and the back of a brick building. I remember passing a church just a second ago, and I wonder if I'm meeting someone about my scotland trip, or something else or what? "Mom" I groan. "I can't talk to people. I'm sick and a wreck and I'm wearing that long lumpy polar fleece that you hate." I try to emphasize the sick part by sniffing loudly (well, I'm sure I at least thought of it). She smiled an enigmatic smile, which really should have warned me (but didn't) and I complainingly followed her into the building through a side door. We went up some stairs, and past a lawyer's office, some orthodontists' offices (Been there. Done that. So not going back.), and my mom stopped in front of a door labeled "Quest Diagnostics."
I'm pretty sure my eyes narrowed, and if I was some animal (or even as smart as some animals) I would have bolted for cover then and there. But, being I highly educated human, I merely noted "This isn't the mall." My mom reminded me that I needed to get tested for celiac's as she breezed into the clinic. "I thought you'd do better if you didn't have time to think about it," she commented, as if I needed reminding that the last time I had blood work done I fainted. (Hey, there were extenuating circumstances. I had been reading a book were a girl got sent back to the Middle Ages and almost instantly passed out from a plague. Think lovely thoughts.) I settled moodily into the chair feeling very betrayed.
"Calm down," my mom says. "Remember, last time you said you didn't want to know ahead of time." I said WHAT? Frankly, I have no memory of this admission, and I cannot believe that I would have betrayed myself so. Still, I have no memory of a lot of things that happen to me, so this is not all that unusual. Maybe next time I should have her get it in writing (ink is fine; it doesn't have to be blood. . .oh wait, blood. . .aaahhhh). I really really really hate having blood drawn. As I waited in the (where else) waiting room, I discovered that not only was my mom in on this plan, but my dad and Julia too! If it turns out Kaelen knew about it too I may have to consider moving to Australia.
Well, back we went to The Room, and I glared at my mom and made dire warnings, and she mentioned that I was turning green, and could we please not go down the me-fainting route again. Well, I didn't faint, but I insisted that it was only because the lady was good, and that's not something you can count on. In any cause, I got a Dr. Pepper out of it, and the promise that my mom would actually listen to two of my new favorite songs (she has the bad habit of flipping off all our music in the car). Actually, I suppose her plot was a good idea, but who wouldn't feel a bit miffed when their family places them in a situation of torture instead of shopping?
All of a sudden my mom pulls into this parking lot and says "We're here." I look around me, not sure exactly where "here" is. All I can see are a lot of cars and the back of a brick building. I remember passing a church just a second ago, and I wonder if I'm meeting someone about my scotland trip, or something else or what? "Mom" I groan. "I can't talk to people. I'm sick and a wreck and I'm wearing that long lumpy polar fleece that you hate." I try to emphasize the sick part by sniffing loudly (well, I'm sure I at least thought of it). She smiled an enigmatic smile, which really should have warned me (but didn't) and I complainingly followed her into the building through a side door. We went up some stairs, and past a lawyer's office, some orthodontists' offices (Been there. Done that. So not going back.), and my mom stopped in front of a door labeled "Quest Diagnostics."
I'm pretty sure my eyes narrowed, and if I was some animal (or even as smart as some animals) I would have bolted for cover then and there. But, being I highly educated human, I merely noted "This isn't the mall." My mom reminded me that I needed to get tested for celiac's as she breezed into the clinic. "I thought you'd do better if you didn't have time to think about it," she commented, as if I needed reminding that the last time I had blood work done I fainted. (Hey, there were extenuating circumstances. I had been reading a book were a girl got sent back to the Middle Ages and almost instantly passed out from a plague. Think lovely thoughts.) I settled moodily into the chair feeling very betrayed.
"Calm down," my mom says. "Remember, last time you said you didn't want to know ahead of time." I said WHAT? Frankly, I have no memory of this admission, and I cannot believe that I would have betrayed myself so. Still, I have no memory of a lot of things that happen to me, so this is not all that unusual. Maybe next time I should have her get it in writing (ink is fine; it doesn't have to be blood. . .oh wait, blood. . .aaahhhh). I really really really hate having blood drawn. As I waited in the (where else) waiting room, I discovered that not only was my mom in on this plan, but my dad and Julia too! If it turns out Kaelen knew about it too I may have to consider moving to Australia.
Well, back we went to The Room, and I glared at my mom and made dire warnings, and she mentioned that I was turning green, and could we please not go down the me-fainting route again. Well, I didn't faint, but I insisted that it was only because the lady was good, and that's not something you can count on. In any cause, I got a Dr. Pepper out of it, and the promise that my mom would actually listen to two of my new favorite songs (she has the bad habit of flipping off all our music in the car). Actually, I suppose her plot was a good idea, but who wouldn't feel a bit miffed when their family places them in a situation of torture instead of shopping?
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Vizzini Lives
Do you remember Vizzini from The Princess Bride? You know, the neurotic Sicilian with a penchant for shouting "inconceivable!" ("You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."). Well, yesterday I was sitting in my Career Explorations of Journalism class (only one more day of it left total! yay!), and the lecture was about other options in communications. The first speaker started out pretty bland, but he got excited quickly, and every other sentence ended up very loud and with lots of emphasis. It was during one of the first of these impassioned sentences that I realized he sounded EXACTLY like Vizzini. I'm not kidding. His "normal" speech sounded, well, fairly normal, but as soon as he got excited *poof* out came Vizzini. I was starting to want to giggle; once you noticed it it was so obvious. I whispered it to my friend, and she started snickering. Really, I was trying so hard not to laugh, and I think my face was probably red. . . it's a good thing it was a lecture and not a small class. I wish you all could have heard this guy. Or maybe not: then we'd have a whole row of people cracking up, and that might warrant some more attention.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
.jpg)