When you can see this...
...and turn it into THIS!!!
(Note: No, I didn't just make that today; I've had it for a while. Had I the time to actually make something like that, I would use it to write a real post instead of just filler. Hi-larious filler, but filler nonetheless.)
Friday, April 25, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
A Slightly-Dramatized Conversation In the Dining Common
My Brain: "Let's see, that's one part chocolate milk and two parts nonfat milk. This is going to be a delicious desert!"
Girl: "Excuse me."
Me: "Yes."
Girl: "Can I ask you a quick question?"
My Brain: "Ah, she's probably going to ask about my curious milk-drinking habits."
Girl: "Do you know where I can buy some marijuana around here?"
My Brain: "..."
Me: "..."
Girl: "Do you have any on you?"
Me: "...N, no."
Girl: "Oh, okay." *Walks away.*
Me: "..."
My Brain: "You idiot! You should have asked for her ID!"
Me: "It's not a hall policy to ask where pot can be bought."
My Brain: "Well, you should have at least played along until you got her information!"
Me: "Why?"
My Brain: "So you can set up a sting operation with whoever her RA is!"
Me: "What if she doesn't smoke it in the hall?"
My Brain: "Don't be dense!"
Guy at the Pasta Station: "....."
Me: "......Okay, one part chocolate, two parts nonfat."
Girl: "Excuse me."
Me: "Yes."
Girl: "Can I ask you a quick question?"
My Brain: "Ah, she's probably going to ask about my curious milk-drinking habits."
Girl: "Do you know where I can buy some marijuana around here?"
My Brain: "..."
Me: "..."
Girl: "Do you have any on you?"
Me: "...N, no."
Girl: "Oh, okay." *Walks away.*
Me: "..."
My Brain: "You idiot! You should have asked for her ID!"
Me: "It's not a hall policy to ask where pot can be bought."
My Brain: "Well, you should have at least played along until you got her information!"
Me: "Why?"
My Brain: "So you can set up a sting operation with whoever her RA is!"
Me: "What if she doesn't smoke it in the hall?"
My Brain: "Don't be dense!"
Guy at the Pasta Station: "....."
Me: "......Okay, one part chocolate, two parts nonfat."
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Big Girls Don't Fry...
Hey! Remember me? I'm still alive, and it looks like my death schedule may be easing up. So, more than likely, by the time you're reading this, I'll still be sleeping (regardless of what time/day it is).
To make up for it, I'm going to give you a fun topic:
Fried foods!
Now, as I mentioned a while back, I get Late Night about once a week. I'm still figuring out what the prime meal - that is, best food with fewest regrets - is.
I'll tell you one thing that's not the prime meal: chicken strips and fries. And I'll extrapolate a bit further and just say it's the chicken strips. I've had chicken strips and fries about twice this semester, and both times I felt a simultaneous desire to throw up and do jumping jacks. Seriously, I can't eat them any more without feeling really sick.
And this is no small task. I'll be honest: this time last year, I'd literally eat chicken strips and fries (with ranch dip) every single day (or at the least, every other day) for lunch. So, this is a pretty sizable turnaround.
So, at this point, I may be past my fried phase (with the ironic exception of fries, though I do eat fewer of them than before).
However!
That does not mean that I don't get a kick out of seeing the world of all things fried. Yes, should you ever go to a county - perhaps even a state - fair, you'll be able to see, amongst the mullets and empty cans of Bud Light, plenty of booths touting vats of gallons and gallons of bubbling oil. And Lord knows, people are willing to try, er, fry anything.
Perchance, have you heard of any of the following?
Fried Snickers
Fried Mars Bar
Fried Ice Cream
Fried Twinkies
Fried Coca-Cola
But why stop there? There's an entire world of edibles just waiting to be covered in batter and boiled in liquid fat!
Take, for example, Frank Sodolak of Snook, Texas. Sir Sodolak is a man's man. He knows the score, and he's not afraid to go the distance to achieve greatness. For him, why settle with just pan-frying your bacon? That will never do! Instead, Sir Sodolak does what any good American does and takes it to the next level...with cream gravy!
(I'm not sure which part I enjoyed more: the fact that the menu has a cigarette ad, the woman who says it needs more salt, or the fact that a troop of boy scouts could fashion tents out of the shirts of any of the people in that video.)
So, that's chicken fried bacon. Now, while we've all cut two years off our life just by watching that video, at least we can rest assured that it doesn't get any worse than that.
.......Right?
Guys?
Oh...
Oh, no!
Oh, GOD!
DEAR GOD, NO!!!
To make up for it, I'm going to give you a fun topic:
Fried foods!
Now, as I mentioned a while back, I get Late Night about once a week. I'm still figuring out what the prime meal - that is, best food with fewest regrets - is.
I'll tell you one thing that's not the prime meal: chicken strips and fries. And I'll extrapolate a bit further and just say it's the chicken strips. I've had chicken strips and fries about twice this semester, and both times I felt a simultaneous desire to throw up and do jumping jacks. Seriously, I can't eat them any more without feeling really sick.
And this is no small task. I'll be honest: this time last year, I'd literally eat chicken strips and fries (with ranch dip) every single day (or at the least, every other day) for lunch. So, this is a pretty sizable turnaround.
So, at this point, I may be past my fried phase (with the ironic exception of fries, though I do eat fewer of them than before).
However!
That does not mean that I don't get a kick out of seeing the world of all things fried. Yes, should you ever go to a county - perhaps even a state - fair, you'll be able to see, amongst the mullets and empty cans of Bud Light, plenty of booths touting vats of gallons and gallons of bubbling oil. And Lord knows, people are willing to try, er, fry anything.
Perchance, have you heard of any of the following?
Fried Snickers
Fried Mars Bar
Fried Ice Cream
Fried Twinkies
Fried Coca-Cola
But why stop there? There's an entire world of edibles just waiting to be covered in batter and boiled in liquid fat!
Take, for example, Frank Sodolak of Snook, Texas. Sir Sodolak is a man's man. He knows the score, and he's not afraid to go the distance to achieve greatness. For him, why settle with just pan-frying your bacon? That will never do! Instead, Sir Sodolak does what any good American does and takes it to the next level...with cream gravy!
(I'm not sure which part I enjoyed more: the fact that the menu has a cigarette ad, the woman who says it needs more salt, or the fact that a troop of boy scouts could fashion tents out of the shirts of any of the people in that video.)
So, that's chicken fried bacon. Now, while we've all cut two years off our life just by watching that video, at least we can rest assured that it doesn't get any worse than that.
.......Right?
Guys?
Oh...
Oh, no!
Oh, GOD!
DEAR GOD, NO!!!
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Dear School...
Can I PLEASE go to bed before 4am one of these days?
PLEASE?!
Getting more than 4 hours a sleep once in two weeks would be nice.
PLEASE?!
Getting more than 4 hours a sleep once in two weeks would be nice.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
One Instance of When I Wish Colleges Didn't Have College Students
I have two midterms on Monday, one that I don't really care about; the other that I really need to do well on. I need to be studying this weekend. At the same time, though, I felt it was unfair to you that the top post on here is depressing, so I thought I'd write a quick something to push down all the negative happenings.
Now, here's a pro-tip: if you ever go to Berkeley, or visit Berkeley, or hell, so much as read about Berkeley, never go to Late Night. Okay, I'll be more fair: never go to Late Night on a weekend night. I'm not saying this because about 90% of the food they have is bad for you (though that will be brought up again probably some time later this week).
No, you shouldn't go to Late Night on a weekend night because you will be transported to the inner regions of Hell!
Consider this typical example. As I said, I am studying, but I took a nap and woke up - wet spot next to my mouth on the pillow - a little past 1am. (Actually, I had a very interesting dream, in that it was actually pretty mundane; none of my usual crazy antics. The most unusual part of the dream is that I think there was a chick who liked me in it.) I decide to get something to eat. So, like anyone in my shoes would, I walked over to Crossroads for some Late Night. Keep in mind, this is 1am on a Saturday night in a college town. Up and down the sidewalks, there were people coming from parties, trying to walk straight. Females dressed up like 80s hoochies. Guys sneaking into the halls through emergency exits (which I ran to catch, but they slammed the door in my face; it would have been near-impossible for me to find them).
But truth be told, these failures of the world are relatively scattered on the street. In Late Night, though, they're gathered together like a herd of inebriated cattle.
It's always amazing to see how many people eat at Late Night. You'd think that shortly before 2am, when it closes, there'd be few people, but no! When I left at around 1:55 (more on that in a minute), there were probably 60-some-odd people in the line for the register alone. So there's a boatload of people, and the vast majority are drunk off their asses.
Now, a quick aside. People always tell me, "Oh, you need to learn to drink; it will make you more socially acceptable." Bull. First of all, I am perfectly comfortable with my normal social acceptability. Second, the people I see just rub me the wrong way. When I see a tipsy girl - not even drunk, just tipsy - I am actually revolted. And the guys are even worse, because they get louder and more annoying than before.
So, there I am, waiting for my food. And I'm waiting a long time. Half an hour, in fact. I guess when someone orders a garden burger, they have to go out and cultivate, harvest, and process the vegetables before serving it to me. On the other side, all the people who ordered chicken strips and three double cheeseburgers got their orders in no time flat. So, for half an hour, I was just watching these...people. Some guy shouting "San Diego!" every 20 seconds. Another guy demonstrating his lack of dexterity by dropping every piece of food he tried holding (hmm...). A chick being held up by (I assume) her boyfriend, and trying to make out with him, except only making out with open air. A drunk guy on crutches - use your imagination. The list goes on and on.
I almost pity them. Almost. Then I realize that, for the most part, they brought it upon themselves. As such, I give them no quarter. When they try to cut past people in line, I'm always the one who they can't get past. I know I piss off a lot of drunkards when I do that, but I don't give a damn. They should try cutting me when they have some dignity.
So, after I got my food, I left quickly (well, after I threw out my bun and about 2/3 of my fries [which was actually a liberating experience]). I was happy to leave, and I didn't envy the dining hall workers who had to deal with that mess of people every single week (and, in some cases, every day).
"Every time I come to Late Night, I am reminded why I should never come to Late Night."
~Andrew Schnorr
Now, here's a pro-tip: if you ever go to Berkeley, or visit Berkeley, or hell, so much as read about Berkeley, never go to Late Night. Okay, I'll be more fair: never go to Late Night on a weekend night. I'm not saying this because about 90% of the food they have is bad for you (though that will be brought up again probably some time later this week).
No, you shouldn't go to Late Night on a weekend night because you will be transported to the inner regions of Hell!
Consider this typical example. As I said, I am studying, but I took a nap and woke up - wet spot next to my mouth on the pillow - a little past 1am. (Actually, I had a very interesting dream, in that it was actually pretty mundane; none of my usual crazy antics. The most unusual part of the dream is that I think there was a chick who liked me in it.) I decide to get something to eat. So, like anyone in my shoes would, I walked over to Crossroads for some Late Night. Keep in mind, this is 1am on a Saturday night in a college town. Up and down the sidewalks, there were people coming from parties, trying to walk straight. Females dressed up like 80s hoochies. Guys sneaking into the halls through emergency exits (which I ran to catch, but they slammed the door in my face; it would have been near-impossible for me to find them).
But truth be told, these failures of the world are relatively scattered on the street. In Late Night, though, they're gathered together like a herd of inebriated cattle.
It's always amazing to see how many people eat at Late Night. You'd think that shortly before 2am, when it closes, there'd be few people, but no! When I left at around 1:55 (more on that in a minute), there were probably 60-some-odd people in the line for the register alone. So there's a boatload of people, and the vast majority are drunk off their asses.
Now, a quick aside. People always tell me, "Oh, you need to learn to drink; it will make you more socially acceptable." Bull. First of all, I am perfectly comfortable with my normal social acceptability. Second, the people I see just rub me the wrong way. When I see a tipsy girl - not even drunk, just tipsy - I am actually revolted. And the guys are even worse, because they get louder and more annoying than before.
So, there I am, waiting for my food. And I'm waiting a long time. Half an hour, in fact. I guess when someone orders a garden burger, they have to go out and cultivate, harvest, and process the vegetables before serving it to me. On the other side, all the people who ordered chicken strips and three double cheeseburgers got their orders in no time flat. So, for half an hour, I was just watching these...people. Some guy shouting "San Diego!" every 20 seconds. Another guy demonstrating his lack of dexterity by dropping every piece of food he tried holding (hmm...). A chick being held up by (I assume) her boyfriend, and trying to make out with him, except only making out with open air. A drunk guy on crutches - use your imagination. The list goes on and on.
I almost pity them. Almost. Then I realize that, for the most part, they brought it upon themselves. As such, I give them no quarter. When they try to cut past people in line, I'm always the one who they can't get past. I know I piss off a lot of drunkards when I do that, but I don't give a damn. They should try cutting me when they have some dignity.
So, after I got my food, I left quickly (well, after I threw out my bun and about 2/3 of my fries [which was actually a liberating experience]). I was happy to leave, and I didn't envy the dining hall workers who had to deal with that mess of people every single week (and, in some cases, every day).
"Every time I come to Late Night, I am reminded why I should never come to Late Night."
~Andrew Schnorr
Thursday, April 10, 2008
So, I Got My Answer From Lucasfilm...
I got a phone call around 5:20 or so in the afternoon. I was walking back home from picking up some dinner, but I knew it was them (from the number) so I answered then and there.
....
What's that, you ask? What did they say?
I think a video can best summarize it.
...........
...Sooooo, yeah. No dice.
There are two points of consolation, though. First of all, I was not rejected because I was unfit, or even because I was not the best candidate. I was rejected because the marketing team decided they did not have the right amount/kind of work to hire an intern. So there was nothing that could be done. The second is that they passed my information onto LucasArts (the video game division) in the off (off) chance that they decide they could use a marketing intern. Still, even with these consolations, this seems like the job search equivalent of your girlfriend breaking up with you and saying, "Oh, it's not you, it's me."
Okay, let me be fair. The good folks at Lucasfilm went out of their way to try to open a position in the marketing team. I am eternally grateful for that, make no mistake. The fact that they couldn't find a place for me is not their fault; it's just business. And business is my business, so I need to live with it.
...Still, it makes me wish I had taken more pictures...
....
What's that, you ask? What did they say?
I think a video can best summarize it.
...........
...Sooooo, yeah. No dice.
There are two points of consolation, though. First of all, I was not rejected because I was unfit, or even because I was not the best candidate. I was rejected because the marketing team decided they did not have the right amount/kind of work to hire an intern. So there was nothing that could be done. The second is that they passed my information onto LucasArts (the video game division) in the off (off) chance that they decide they could use a marketing intern. Still, even with these consolations, this seems like the job search equivalent of your girlfriend breaking up with you and saying, "Oh, it's not you, it's me."
Okay, let me be fair. The good folks at Lucasfilm went out of their way to try to open a position in the marketing team. I am eternally grateful for that, make no mistake. The fact that they couldn't find a place for me is not their fault; it's just business. And business is my business, so I need to live with it.
...Still, it makes me wish I had taken more pictures...
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