(no subject)
So... USC just lost to UGA. Ouch. It was ugly. Yeah... but...
I talked to Margaret for most of the 4th quarter. She was at the game, bored; I was in front of the TV (Tim's computer), bored, so it all worked out.
Yeah... in other news, RPI won their season opener vs. Endicott... w00t. D-III football is where it at yo. Let's see... a bug's going around, and I got hit with it, but am getting over it - the worst was last night, but it seemed to be pretty short lived. (either that or I have a perfect immune system) Now, Dan has it, and it hit him pretty hard. He's got a fever (which I think I avoided) and he's being waaaaay too overreactive about it, and everyone's paying infinite amounts of attention to it, which is just making it worse.
My idea of a good way to get over something: a) figure out what it is, b) rest a lot, c) have one person take care of you, d) stay active, and e) to as little as possible to actually treat it. By "e," I mean... don't treat a cold+fever with medicine, cold packs, heat blankets, cold showers, humidifiers, and millions of people pitying you because when you wake up the next day, all those things will still be there, and they'll make you think you're still sick.
I say... go to sleep, drink lots of water, and be left alone by the crowds. One person works very well. (I figure there's a reason why we humans work in twos... hmmmmmm... except Mormons.... but Dan's not Mormon.)
So, anyway... aside from that, life's been pretty uneventful. I really need to get a little more on the ball for Signals, I'm about a class behind concept-wise, and it moves really fast, so ... I'll get that taken care of tomorrow. Finally, I also got zonked by practice last Wednesday, and have weights on Monday, so (aside from getting over the cold) I need to get over being sore. I could actually walk normally today, so by Monday I'll be fine.
Lessee... I come home in less than 27 days, and I am very excited by this. (oh, by the way, I'm just typing until Margaret gets home, at which point I'ma gonna go spend lots of hours on teh phon3 with her.)
Currently, the numbers stand at 27-74-103-265-290-2117.
I guess, since apparently I have a moment to spare until Margaret gets back, I guess I'll write a story involving the fried chicken mouse. Yeah... fried chicken mice infest Margaret's dreams just so you know... yeah right. No, but really... inside joke.
I don't know how to make LiveJournal cuts, so there's going to now be a few-minute break while I find out.
...insert entr'acte music here...
Okay, got it. That didn't take so long.
Once upon a time, there was a girl named Margaret, and she was listening to the Vertical Horizon song "Everything You Want," when she all of a sudden realized that she'd forgotten to brush her hair that day. Dazed and confused at her apparent forgetfulness, she runs back home, dropping whateverthehell she was doing, and dashes to the mirror where she sees a very small pimple on her forehead.
"Oh no," she exclaims. "A pimple! What am I to do?" Her first inctincts being to pick it off, she raises her arm, when she hears a tinny, high-pitched voice say:
"No! Don't pick the pimple! We beg you! Don't do it!"
"What? Who said that?" Margaret asked, astounded that anyone other than the little angel on her right shoulder would want her to not pick the pimple (and that thing can't talk anyhow - she bound and gagged it a couple years ago.)
"Well, our spec of dust landed in your unbrushed hair, and we decided to move south for the winter."
Dozens of broadway musicals flash through Margaret's head, "Seussical!" She stops, looks around to see if anyone is watching her, perhaps thinking she's lost her mind. "Are you... the whos?"
"Well, no, we're the 'what's,' but same difference. We liked jelly instead of butter, so we got completely kicked off that spec, and we found our own on the next clover down."
"Oh," Margaret responds blankly, "so... you never knew a really big elephant or anything like that?"
"Nope."
"Darn," she remarked. "Do you plan to just live on my pimple forever?"
"Yep."
Margaret, perplexed, considers if she wants a society of littlepeople living on her forehead. Surprisingly, it takes a few seconds to come to the conclusion: "I guess that wouldn't be too-- waitaminnit! You know that pimple's gonna go away in a couple of days, right?"
"It will?"
"Um... yeah, unless my complexion has gotten a whole bunch worse that it used to be, which I don't think it has." She thinks for a while, but decides to say that "you guys can stay there for a while though, and I'll look for a new home."
"Okay."
So, Margaret walks out of her bathroom, goes down the stairs, and continues with her day.
The rest of the day, Margaret tries to think of some other places for the Whats to live, but unfortunately, none of those places seem to be either as safe, acceptable, or beautiful as Margaret's face. (sic) Margaret decides that she'd better take a trip to the mouse's house, because he, having been the solution to her past two quandries would just have to have the answer to this one.
She walks up to his made-of-sugary-substance house, and, knowing that knocking would destroy the newly replaced door, says in a nice, calm voice: "Mr. Mouse? Are you there?"
Deeply, the mouse responds, "Back for more fried chicken, eh?"
"No, I have a pimple."
The mouse, in disgust, turns around. "I am NOT a dermatologist."
"No, no!" Margaret shouts, "Little people are living on it!!"
"And what, they're named who's and they can talk and blah blah blah, yeah I've heard it all before. You know what? I know of this great place with padded rooms you can live at! It's great... they feed you good food and give you lots of personal... counselling."
Margaret, dejected and a little offended (because her sanity is certainly not in question outside of this incident), looks up and says to her new inhabitants, "make yourselves heard; ring doorbells and do whatever your not-what-but-who's did in the play! Go yelp or something!"
*crickets chirp* [Ed: and Margaret's not making the sound]
"Well, I promise they're there."
"Come with me," the mouse says as he motions into his house. Margaret follows, and sitting on the sofa is a really ugly guy whose face was so distorted, demformed, it was hardly a face. The mouse sits down, and Margaret looks around.
"Come. Sit. There's a chair." The mouse points across the room, next to the fireplace.
"Thanks..." Margaret says, trailing off near the end. She decides to just sit and listen to whatever it was that the two were talking about before she interrupted.
They converse for a couple minutes, and suddenly the ugly man just breaks into song. Margaret, having some clue of what's going on (especially since broadway musicals had so far played at least a small point in her day until now) exclaims; "are you...?"
"Am I what?" says the mouse.
"Not you! Him!"
"Me?" asks the man innocently.
"You're the phantom! From..."
"No, no, that was my father... he died a while ago."
Margaret is slightly stunned, because... well... she wasn't quite sure how the phantom had a son, since a) he said he couldn't and b) Christine wouldn't stay with him.
But then again... considering that this guy was so ugly too, he couldn't've had him with Christine, no way. She couldn't help it any longer [Ed: you just called, Margaret,] and exclaims "How did he... he couldn't..."
"Oh, it's a long story..." he starts. "You didn't actually expect such a smart guy to just... give up on having kids did you?" The phantomson gives Margaret a squinty look and Margaret senses that she maybe should just leave well enough alone.
"Okay, then! This is getting a little weird for me." Margaret begins to get up, then remembers the Whats on her face. "Hold on a sec! You've got a bad complexion!"
"Excuse me?"
"No, it's just that..." Margaret proceeds to tell the guy about the little beings on her face that seem to really like pimples, and she explains that since he's got perpetual pimples, he'd be a perfect home for them.
"Well, I guess they'd keep me company when no one else will... okay."
So Margaret rubs her face against his; the whats go "wheeeeee!!" (thereby proving their existance to the mouse), and they all live happily ever after.
Except that the phantomson guy falls in love with Margaret... but... we'll explore that in
PART IV! (to be continued!!)
THE END
Goodnight, all!
I love you, Margaret.
-Matt
I talked to Margaret for most of the 4th quarter. She was at the game, bored; I was in front of the TV (Tim's computer), bored, so it all worked out.
Yeah... in other news, RPI won their season opener vs. Endicott... w00t. D-III football is where it at yo. Let's see... a bug's going around, and I got hit with it, but am getting over it - the worst was last night, but it seemed to be pretty short lived. (either that or I have a perfect immune system) Now, Dan has it, and it hit him pretty hard. He's got a fever (which I think I avoided) and he's being waaaaay too overreactive about it, and everyone's paying infinite amounts of attention to it, which is just making it worse.
My idea of a good way to get over something: a) figure out what it is, b) rest a lot, c) have one person take care of you, d) stay active, and e) to as little as possible to actually treat it. By "e," I mean... don't treat a cold+fever with medicine, cold packs, heat blankets, cold showers, humidifiers, and millions of people pitying you because when you wake up the next day, all those things will still be there, and they'll make you think you're still sick.
I say... go to sleep, drink lots of water, and be left alone by the crowds. One person works very well. (I figure there's a reason why we humans work in twos... hmmmmmm... except Mormons.... but Dan's not Mormon.)
So, anyway... aside from that, life's been pretty uneventful. I really need to get a little more on the ball for Signals, I'm about a class behind concept-wise, and it moves really fast, so ... I'll get that taken care of tomorrow. Finally, I also got zonked by practice last Wednesday, and have weights on Monday, so (aside from getting over the cold) I need to get over being sore. I could actually walk normally today, so by Monday I'll be fine.
Lessee... I come home in less than 27 days, and I am very excited by this. (oh, by the way, I'm just typing until Margaret gets home, at which point I'ma gonna go spend lots of hours on teh phon3 with her.)
Currently, the numbers stand at 27-74-103-265-290-2117.
I guess, since apparently I have a moment to spare until Margaret gets back, I guess I'll write a story involving the fried chicken mouse. Yeah... fried chicken mice infest Margaret's dreams just so you know... yeah right. No, but really... inside joke.
I don't know how to make LiveJournal cuts, so there's going to now be a few-minute break while I find out.
...insert entr'acte music here...
Okay, got it. That didn't take so long.
Once upon a time, there was a girl named Margaret, and she was listening to the Vertical Horizon song "Everything You Want," when she all of a sudden realized that she'd forgotten to brush her hair that day. Dazed and confused at her apparent forgetfulness, she runs back home, dropping whateverthehell she was doing, and dashes to the mirror where she sees a very small pimple on her forehead.
"Oh no," she exclaims. "A pimple! What am I to do?" Her first inctincts being to pick it off, she raises her arm, when she hears a tinny, high-pitched voice say:
"No! Don't pick the pimple! We beg you! Don't do it!"
"What? Who said that?" Margaret asked, astounded that anyone other than the little angel on her right shoulder would want her to not pick the pimple (and that thing can't talk anyhow - she bound and gagged it a couple years ago.)
"Well, our spec of dust landed in your unbrushed hair, and we decided to move south for the winter."
Dozens of broadway musicals flash through Margaret's head, "Seussical!" She stops, looks around to see if anyone is watching her, perhaps thinking she's lost her mind. "Are you... the whos?"
"Well, no, we're the 'what's,' but same difference. We liked jelly instead of butter, so we got completely kicked off that spec, and we found our own on the next clover down."
"Oh," Margaret responds blankly, "so... you never knew a really big elephant or anything like that?"
"Nope."
"Darn," she remarked. "Do you plan to just live on my pimple forever?"
"Yep."
Margaret, perplexed, considers if she wants a society of littlepeople living on her forehead. Surprisingly, it takes a few seconds to come to the conclusion: "I guess that wouldn't be too-- waitaminnit! You know that pimple's gonna go away in a couple of days, right?"
"It will?"
"Um... yeah, unless my complexion has gotten a whole bunch worse that it used to be, which I don't think it has." She thinks for a while, but decides to say that "you guys can stay there for a while though, and I'll look for a new home."
"Okay."
So, Margaret walks out of her bathroom, goes down the stairs, and continues with her day.
The rest of the day, Margaret tries to think of some other places for the Whats to live, but unfortunately, none of those places seem to be either as safe, acceptable, or beautiful as Margaret's face. (sic) Margaret decides that she'd better take a trip to the mouse's house, because he, having been the solution to her past two quandries would just have to have the answer to this one.
She walks up to his made-of-sugary-substance house, and, knowing that knocking would destroy the newly replaced door, says in a nice, calm voice: "Mr. Mouse? Are you there?"
Deeply, the mouse responds, "Back for more fried chicken, eh?"
"No, I have a pimple."
The mouse, in disgust, turns around. "I am NOT a dermatologist."
"No, no!" Margaret shouts, "Little people are living on it!!"
"And what, they're named who's and they can talk and blah blah blah, yeah I've heard it all before. You know what? I know of this great place with padded rooms you can live at! It's great... they feed you good food and give you lots of personal... counselling."
Margaret, dejected and a little offended (because her sanity is certainly not in question outside of this incident), looks up and says to her new inhabitants, "make yourselves heard; ring doorbells and do whatever your not-what-but-who's did in the play! Go yelp or something!"
*crickets chirp* [Ed: and Margaret's not making the sound]
"Well, I promise they're there."
"Come with me," the mouse says as he motions into his house. Margaret follows, and sitting on the sofa is a really ugly guy whose face was so distorted, demformed, it was hardly a face. The mouse sits down, and Margaret looks around.
"Come. Sit. There's a chair." The mouse points across the room, next to the fireplace.
"Thanks..." Margaret says, trailing off near the end. She decides to just sit and listen to whatever it was that the two were talking about before she interrupted.
They converse for a couple minutes, and suddenly the ugly man just breaks into song. Margaret, having some clue of what's going on (especially since broadway musicals had so far played at least a small point in her day until now) exclaims; "are you...?"
"Am I what?" says the mouse.
"Not you! Him!"
"Me?" asks the man innocently.
"You're the phantom! From..."
"No, no, that was my father... he died a while ago."
Margaret is slightly stunned, because... well... she wasn't quite sure how the phantom had a son, since a) he said he couldn't and b) Christine wouldn't stay with him.
But then again... considering that this guy was so ugly too, he couldn't've had him with Christine, no way. She couldn't help it any longer [Ed: you just called, Margaret,] and exclaims "How did he... he couldn't..."
"Oh, it's a long story..." he starts. "You didn't actually expect such a smart guy to just... give up on having kids did you?" The phantomson gives Margaret a squinty look and Margaret senses that she maybe should just leave well enough alone.
"Okay, then! This is getting a little weird for me." Margaret begins to get up, then remembers the Whats on her face. "Hold on a sec! You've got a bad complexion!"
"Excuse me?"
"No, it's just that..." Margaret proceeds to tell the guy about the little beings on her face that seem to really like pimples, and she explains that since he's got perpetual pimples, he'd be a perfect home for them.
"Well, I guess they'd keep me company when no one else will... okay."
So Margaret rubs her face against his; the whats go "wheeeeee!!" (thereby proving their existance to the mouse), and they all live happily ever after.
Except that the phantomson guy falls in love with Margaret... but... we'll explore that in
PART IV! (to be continued!!)
THE END
Goodnight, all!
I love you, Margaret.
-Matt