Thursday, February 26, 2004
Monday, February 23, 2004
Friday, February 20, 2004
Thursday, February 19, 2004
i have this sick picture of myself, which serves as motivation to work out. if i wasn't scared of someone walking into my room and seeing the picture with their own two eyes (or one eye, tragic accident with sharp pencil or factory-type workplace accident permitting) i'd blow it up into poster-sized proportions but for now, i'll just keep it hidden for my own viewing dis-pleasure.
back in the day, the day when i was young and still had baby-teeth, i played t-ball. we had a dark purple shirt with sponsors on the back and our team name on the front. i wore a pink visor to practices but had to take it off when i played. i had a nice summer glow and tanned arms. i have a button of me in my t-ball prime, posing with the bat over my left shoulder. i look so precious, and innocent, and non-athletic. i want to pick me up, and to hug the little girl that was me seventeen years ago.
i need money, and i need it now. how else am i supposed to support my pancheros addiction? at this point, i'm willing to fund this obsession using my credit card, but that puppy is getting mighty full (as well as my belly) and this probably won't be a viable option for much longer. my next thought is to go around campus collecting cans, seeing as how there must be a surplus of empty mountain dews in the business college now that Ernie has died. Let's see, to fund a quesidilla-a-day diet, that would require about 300 cans a week... hmm, quite possible...
we are having a t-shirt party Saturday night. all who read are invited. do not mistake for a grafitti party (in which you wear a white t-shirt and people draw either boobs or a penis on your shirt with markers) this is a TSHIRT party. meaning you buy a tshirt made by us and get a cup for free. 5 bucks. the tshirts come out great, i went to one of their parties (when i didn't live here) and got one that said:
IT DOESN'T COUNT... HE WAS A FRESHMAN
made with iron-ons, not hand drawn or anything. quality work. should be a good time. come over! 118 Beech.
that's all i have for now... talk to you beautiful people later. (after i gag myself with a spoon.)
back in the day, the day when i was young and still had baby-teeth, i played t-ball. we had a dark purple shirt with sponsors on the back and our team name on the front. i wore a pink visor to practices but had to take it off when i played. i had a nice summer glow and tanned arms. i have a button of me in my t-ball prime, posing with the bat over my left shoulder. i look so precious, and innocent, and non-athletic. i want to pick me up, and to hug the little girl that was me seventeen years ago.
i need money, and i need it now. how else am i supposed to support my pancheros addiction? at this point, i'm willing to fund this obsession using my credit card, but that puppy is getting mighty full (as well as my belly) and this probably won't be a viable option for much longer. my next thought is to go around campus collecting cans, seeing as how there must be a surplus of empty mountain dews in the business college now that Ernie has died. Let's see, to fund a quesidilla-a-day diet, that would require about 300 cans a week... hmm, quite possible...
we are having a t-shirt party Saturday night. all who read are invited. do not mistake for a grafitti party (in which you wear a white t-shirt and people draw either boobs or a penis on your shirt with markers) this is a TSHIRT party. meaning you buy a tshirt made by us and get a cup for free. 5 bucks. the tshirts come out great, i went to one of their parties (when i didn't live here) and got one that said:
IT DOESN'T COUNT... HE WAS A FRESHMAN
made with iron-ons, not hand drawn or anything. quality work. should be a good time. come over! 118 Beech.
that's all i have for now... talk to you beautiful people later. (after i gag myself with a spoon.)
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
after pulling an all-nighter studying for my physics exam (and a little help from rob for late night/early morning conversation) i have gotten the fateful email. checked the capa site. victorious. 97.5!!! i am hereby declaring myself THE SMARTEST MAN ALIIIIIIIIIIIVE! i have even gone so far as to create a spreadsheet
PH YS IC S
hw 30% 100 30
exam 1 20% 97.5 19.5
exam 2 20% 90 18
final 30% 75 22.5
TOTAL 90
showing my plan to achieve the unthinkable - a 4.0 in physics. i mean, i could get a 75 on the final and still 4-point that mofo!! ahh... to find meaning in life once again.
onward! my new years resolution(s) are still in the back of my mind as I try to attain them. Hope has turned up in an away message and I have a new-found inspiration. who-hoo! even though that kind of sounded like a fortune cookie.
i went to try on bridesmaid dresses for jack's wedding... SO FUN! i know they're going for the swing music type theme with the reception, but towards the end of the night, when everyone's plastered and not paying attention to the dancefloor, i'm going to request the song "lady in red" for all of us hot bridesmaids. but jack's wedding is an entire blog in itself, but one i will draft and re-write and proof-read and such. stay tuned!
my dad called me from mexico tonight, said the weathers' not that great but that he was standing outside without a shirt on so he couldn't complain that much. jerk! it was then that i realized i haven't been on a warm-weather vacation since senior year spring break!! craziness. my skin hasn't seen the light of day in forever either, and i'm not in any rush to get myself into a bathing suit right now, so i guess all is well.
it turns out i'm moving back to good old burcham woods in the fall... this little plan we've devised works out quite nicely for all parties involved, plus we'll have a pool! i'm excited and glad i didn't have to go back to the dorm or get into a long lease when i know i'll be leaving in december.
um what else. i've been having this craving to go to alaska. who's coming with me??
i plan on writing a more interesting blog sometime soon, perhaps titled "contemplations over tuscan chicken" or "please untuck your pant legs from your boots NOW" or something of the sorts.
p.s. just got my first lesson in Arabic from roxanne "offended by the drink 'camel-toes' " najor
PH YS IC S
hw 30% 100 30
exam 1 20% 97.5 19.5
exam 2 20% 90 18
final 30% 75 22.5
TOTAL 90
showing my plan to achieve the unthinkable - a 4.0 in physics. i mean, i could get a 75 on the final and still 4-point that mofo!! ahh... to find meaning in life once again.
onward! my new years resolution(s) are still in the back of my mind as I try to attain them. Hope has turned up in an away message and I have a new-found inspiration. who-hoo! even though that kind of sounded like a fortune cookie.
i went to try on bridesmaid dresses for jack's wedding... SO FUN! i know they're going for the swing music type theme with the reception, but towards the end of the night, when everyone's plastered and not paying attention to the dancefloor, i'm going to request the song "lady in red" for all of us hot bridesmaids. but jack's wedding is an entire blog in itself, but one i will draft and re-write and proof-read and such. stay tuned!
my dad called me from mexico tonight, said the weathers' not that great but that he was standing outside without a shirt on so he couldn't complain that much. jerk! it was then that i realized i haven't been on a warm-weather vacation since senior year spring break!! craziness. my skin hasn't seen the light of day in forever either, and i'm not in any rush to get myself into a bathing suit right now, so i guess all is well.
it turns out i'm moving back to good old burcham woods in the fall... this little plan we've devised works out quite nicely for all parties involved, plus we'll have a pool! i'm excited and glad i didn't have to go back to the dorm or get into a long lease when i know i'll be leaving in december.
um what else. i've been having this craving to go to alaska. who's coming with me??
i plan on writing a more interesting blog sometime soon, perhaps titled "contemplations over tuscan chicken" or "please untuck your pant legs from your boots NOW" or something of the sorts.
p.s. just got my first lesson in Arabic from roxanne "offended by the drink 'camel-toes' " najor
Sunday, February 15, 2004
Saturday, February 14, 2004
Friday, February 13, 2004
Thursday, February 12, 2004
In true McSweeney's fashion, my first open letters...
OPEN LETTERS February 12, 2004.
Open Letter to the Guy Who Rides the Bus with Me Every Morning, But Pretends Like He Doesn’t Recognize Me:
We often stand at the bus stop for more than 10 minutes, both looking in the same direction for the bus, employing elevator-etiquette. We both pretend we’re standing there alone and avoid eye contact. When I look in the other direction to see if the other bus is coming, I make sure to lean over emphatically so you know I’m not looking at you. ‘Cause that would cross the boundary of bus-stop etiquette. Usually you let me get on the bus first, and I assume it’s because you’re being a gentleman. That’s a good trait that you should try to keep. I bet you have a really nice mom or a lot of older sisters. I imagine them to be all close in age, with you being the outlier and the only boy in the household. I assure you this is the first and last time I have thought about your family. Sometimes when we catch the same bus back home, I want to wave and say “Hey! How were your classes?” but I never do (as you obviously know). Maybe I will next time though.
Sincerely,
Lindsay (that’s my name)
Open Letter to People Who Don’t Like Me:
If you see me, then don’t stop to talk to me. It makes you look stupid. I’ll step onto the soap-box I’m borrowing from my brother and tell you that if you don’t like someone, you probably don’t want to talk to them, so just don’t do it. Common sense is not always that common among stupid people, so I’ll forgive you. Don’t worry, you don’t even have to ask me to forgive you, I will do it automatically. I know, I’m very gracious, and yes, the rumors you heard about me being nominated for a Nobel Prize for Humanitarianism (word?) are true. But you don’t have to come to the ceremony, because you don’t like me, although I’m sure you’re beginning to ask yourself why. Embrace that uncertainty, I’m sure one day you will come to your senses.
Until then,
Shut up and keep walking,
Lindsay
Open Letter to My Physics Professor:
I imagine physics professors to be dry and have an old-fashioned English accent. Or maybe Welsh or something. Something British, that’s for sure. And like to talk about Newton and other science-type people that I know nothing about. But you are chubby, and have a red face, and I think you mentioned growing up in Detroit of something. I think you actually said "The D" and tried to be cool. I like you. Sure, your jokes are trite and the class if full of freshman and sophomores who are still too scared to embrace their higher educators in all of their quirkiness, but I chuckle at your jokes when I make it to class. Also, sorry for skipping all the time. Anyway, I think a good idea would be to spice up the physics lecture. Why don’t you take that kid who always sits in the front row (the only one who asks questions out of the two hundred some kids in the class… I know you know who I’m talking about!), take him and let’s calculate the velocity of his body being thrown out of class at the speed of light, when his body is at a 15 degree angle from the horizon, and his bicycle helmet creates friction with the air, which has a permitivity constant of, say, 2 times that of air in a vacuum. I bet you would get a rise out of the class then! You would be the talk of campus! I can see it now. Really, you should think about it. Get back to me about it, m’kay?
Gravitationally yours,
Lindsay (you may also know me as A293237xx)
Open Letter to My Sinuses:
You know, there is a point in every persons (or… organs? What are you anyway?) life when they have a breakdown and just let go. They stop going to work, stop returning calls, stop responding to the requests from their roommates to take out the smelly trash… you catch my drift? Therefore, based on the guidelines I have just outlined for you, I would have to conclude that you are going through a breakdown… a crisis of sorts. We have all been through one before, so don’t feel alone. But for God’s sake, pack up your shit and get the fuck out of my nasal cavity.
Here’s to hoping you a swift and painless death,
Lindsay Smith
OPEN LETTERS February 12, 2004.
Open Letter to the Guy Who Rides the Bus with Me Every Morning, But Pretends Like He Doesn’t Recognize Me:
We often stand at the bus stop for more than 10 minutes, both looking in the same direction for the bus, employing elevator-etiquette. We both pretend we’re standing there alone and avoid eye contact. When I look in the other direction to see if the other bus is coming, I make sure to lean over emphatically so you know I’m not looking at you. ‘Cause that would cross the boundary of bus-stop etiquette. Usually you let me get on the bus first, and I assume it’s because you’re being a gentleman. That’s a good trait that you should try to keep. I bet you have a really nice mom or a lot of older sisters. I imagine them to be all close in age, with you being the outlier and the only boy in the household. I assure you this is the first and last time I have thought about your family. Sometimes when we catch the same bus back home, I want to wave and say “Hey! How were your classes?” but I never do (as you obviously know). Maybe I will next time though.
Sincerely,
Lindsay (that’s my name)
Open Letter to People Who Don’t Like Me:
If you see me, then don’t stop to talk to me. It makes you look stupid. I’ll step onto the soap-box I’m borrowing from my brother and tell you that if you don’t like someone, you probably don’t want to talk to them, so just don’t do it. Common sense is not always that common among stupid people, so I’ll forgive you. Don’t worry, you don’t even have to ask me to forgive you, I will do it automatically. I know, I’m very gracious, and yes, the rumors you heard about me being nominated for a Nobel Prize for Humanitarianism (word?) are true. But you don’t have to come to the ceremony, because you don’t like me, although I’m sure you’re beginning to ask yourself why. Embrace that uncertainty, I’m sure one day you will come to your senses.
Until then,
Shut up and keep walking,
Lindsay
Open Letter to My Physics Professor:
I imagine physics professors to be dry and have an old-fashioned English accent. Or maybe Welsh or something. Something British, that’s for sure. And like to talk about Newton and other science-type people that I know nothing about. But you are chubby, and have a red face, and I think you mentioned growing up in Detroit of something. I think you actually said "The D" and tried to be cool. I like you. Sure, your jokes are trite and the class if full of freshman and sophomores who are still too scared to embrace their higher educators in all of their quirkiness, but I chuckle at your jokes when I make it to class. Also, sorry for skipping all the time. Anyway, I think a good idea would be to spice up the physics lecture. Why don’t you take that kid who always sits in the front row (the only one who asks questions out of the two hundred some kids in the class… I know you know who I’m talking about!), take him and let’s calculate the velocity of his body being thrown out of class at the speed of light, when his body is at a 15 degree angle from the horizon, and his bicycle helmet creates friction with the air, which has a permitivity constant of, say, 2 times that of air in a vacuum. I bet you would get a rise out of the class then! You would be the talk of campus! I can see it now. Really, you should think about it. Get back to me about it, m’kay?
Gravitationally yours,
Lindsay (you may also know me as A293237xx)
Open Letter to My Sinuses:
You know, there is a point in every persons (or… organs? What are you anyway?) life when they have a breakdown and just let go. They stop going to work, stop returning calls, stop responding to the requests from their roommates to take out the smelly trash… you catch my drift? Therefore, based on the guidelines I have just outlined for you, I would have to conclude that you are going through a breakdown… a crisis of sorts. We have all been through one before, so don’t feel alone. But for God’s sake, pack up your shit and get the fuck out of my nasal cavity.
Here’s to hoping you a swift and painless death,
Lindsay Smith
Sunday, February 8, 2004
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