Tuesday, December 7, 2004

Death and taxes are the only two certainties of life, says the tired old maxim, but what about finals week? It’s an inevitability I simultaneously recall with horror and twisted longing. I know there are more than a few readers laboring in the Ivory Tower who, especially around this time of year, would place academics somewhere very close to getting hit by a train or, worse, incontinence.

I don’t remember my last final. It was most likely a research paper, and I probably biked to class with minutes to spare, pedaling as quickly as my legs and bleary eyes permitted. Even though the specifics elude me, I do remember some recurring themes of my finals weeks. By no means am I offering these in any prescriptive capacity. I just want to share today.

Hit B5 for Nutrition

One of the downsides of waking up at 1:30 AM is most eateries, despite demand for early morning food, stubbornly close three or four hours too early. You should have a fridge or a stock of non-perishables, assuming you’re well prepared, which arguably isn’t the case if you’re rolling out of bed at midnight.

Don’t worry, though. You’re fine as long as you have a stack of quarters. You know the vending machine right around the corner, the one you never even bothered to acknowledge until now? That’s your salvation right there, your menu and your waiter, your food and your drink, your bill and your tip.

You could get a three-course meal for a song, or you could a la carte it and only get the Fritos. They say your IQ drops a point for every hour of exhaustion, so try to avoid doing stupid things like mixing Chuckles with milk.

The Nap Trap

Tell me if this internal dialogue sounds familiar.

—————–

“Well, I’ve done a solid hour of work. I’m already on page two!”

“Great, you deserve a medal.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, a real gold medal. And a nap. You want one of those, don’t you?”

“Of course I do! Now that you mention it, I’d be more productive AFTER the nap.”

“Exactly. You’d finish your paper in, like, half an hour.”

“No, 15 minutes! I’m going to set my alarm clock for 90 minutes. A full sleep cycle, you know. Learned that in Health 101.”

“How very fascinating. Now shut up and go to bed.”

—————–

“Ohhhhh, what time is it?” you wonder as soon as your alarm rings.

“Does it matter? How about you sleep until, say, 45 minutes before class starts?”

“But–“

“You need the rest. Besides, you’ll finish your paper in five minutes. Tops.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

*THUNK* *SNNNRRRK*

Get the Hell Away from AOL IM

The yellow running man is hands down the Siren of our times. Does the following Away Message really mean what it says?

OMFG I’M GOING TO FAIL MY FINAL. HELP! DON’T BUG ME, LOLOLOL.

This is actually a cry for help, an invitation for the other 589 people on your Buddy List to message you with condolences. Click on the goddamn “X,” click it!

Take this as you will. Good luck, gentle reader, and study the everloving shit outta those notes.

Monday, December 6, 2004

You need to know, gentle reader, that I consider you a sentient adult and a worthy conversationalist. Having said this, I will leave you with a delightful game today instead of discussion. You probably feel like a child now, a 4-year-old easily placated by shiny objects and crinkly sounds. Here’s a little secret: I’m still intoxicated by shiny objects, you undoubtedly as well, and it’s a fascination only worsened by the disposable income we wield.

Crayons also taste great. I’m kidding. I haven’t had any today.

Insaniquarium combines the best elements of pet care, animal husbandry, economics, killing, and greed into one sparkly package. In all my childhood years of maintaining a freshwater aquarium, I never knew that fish butts were, in fact, repositories for pirate gold. They just don’t teach you the top-shelf stuff in biology.

Remember to collect as many coins as possible. What’s that? You want another tip? If your fish start frowning and soon float upside down, they aren’t sleeping. Get the deluxe version, if time and bandwidth permit. It comes with a catchy island tune that ironically makes me feel Rastafarian, mon.

Friday, December 3, 2004

Your part of town might be different, gentle reader, but a sizable majority in my neck of the woods sports a nasty cough and sniffles these days. When you work in a company of a dozen, half of whom are under the weather, it doesn’t take too many guesses to predict who’s next on the list. Heck, I just came back from the bank and multiple patrons and employees were snorting snot as if it were a contest, a trial of will and phlegm in which everyone loses.

For some odd reason, until today I thought I received a flu shot this year. Did this delusion prevent me from catching any colds? Have I perfected a kind of psychosomatic treatment? I’m standing on the verge of sickness right now, so I’ve got to give myself another imaginary flu shot. All I have to do is believe, right? Come here and give me a hug. Actually, don’t.