In Which Kevin and Perry Force My Hand

I don't know if I can do it, you guys. Maybe Morris has spoiled me too much, or maybe my childhood was too sheltered, or maybe I'm just not the right kind of person. But I don't know if I can be friends with these people.

They're so judgmental, and so unfriendly towards anyone who's even the least bit different.

For example, one guy in our group, Kevin (name has been changed), is a talker, and can be a little obnoxious about it. He doesn't try to be; in fact, I think it's obvious that he means well, and that that he's trying to be impressive and outgoing in order to make friends, but evidently the other people in the group don't see it that way. They mock him constantly. They spent the whole two and a half hour bus ride today baiting him with ridiculous questions, and then video recording his equally ridiculous answers so they could laugh at him later. As we got on the bus for the ride back, there was actually a small argument between two boys over who had to ride next to Kevin. And Kevin was sitting right there.

Later on, I was walking home from the bus stop with a group of kids from my dorm, and they were making fun of yet another guy in our group, Perry, who's from Texas, and is a perfectly nice, friendly person. But evidently he doesn't drink. Evidently he had a glass of wine with dinner tonight, but evidently that wasn't good enough. Evidently a mere glass of wine is grounds for eternal damnation. They were talking about making fun of Sam Houston, or bringing up the loss of the Alamo in front of Perry just to make him angry. (Yes, I will admit that the Sam Houston thing was kind of clever, but definitely not humorous in this context). Furthermore, I happen to know (and they knew as well) that it's Perry's birthday today, and that he's far from home and his friends and family. What kind of people trash talk someone on his birthday? In fact, what kind of people in a study abroad program trash talk other people in the same study abroad program? Aren't we supposed to be in the same boat here? Didn't we come to Salzburg to immerse ourselves in something new, instead of settling back into our middle school bad habits? Aren't we adults now? Aren't we strong and independent and beyond such pettiness?

Anyway, I don't think I exaggerated with the above stories, and I don't think I'll be exaggerating when I say that I'm literally on a precipice: I can either compromise all that I believe about people, and how they do and don't deserve to be treated, or I can spend the next few months being largely shunned by my entire study abroad group. I can either drink myself into a stupor every night at Shamrock's, or I can sit alone in my room with my laptop and Jane Austen.

I'm not a perfect person, and I'm sure I'm not handling this perfectly, but I'm choosing the latters.

I may be lonely sometimes, and I may be homesick sometimes, and I may at times wish that I had chosen a different program with different people, but this is where I am, and this is how I need to be.

Somewhere deep down in the stubbornest part of my being, I know that I can't be anyone else, and that I can't do things any differently.

And I'm not suffering, really I'm not; I have two really great friends here that I can do things with, and there are a few other members of my group whom I would like to get to know better. Salzburg is beautiful, Austria is divine, my German is improving, and classes start tomorrow.

Life is mostly good, as always, and I'm sorry that you have to see the bad parts, dear readers.

Stay gold. I'll be trying.

In Which I Bring Back A Souvenir

The funny thing about work is that you have to show up every day for it. And the funny thing about having to show up every day for something is that you can't possibly look (or feel, for that matter) your best every single day.

Last year, it was the Amidala Eyebrow Incident. This year, it's hives.

And they're all over. Legs, arms, feet, hands, stomach, back, shoulders, neck, face. Everywhere.

Last weekend was the big family boating weekend up on Lake Superior, and apparently I found something in the pure nature of the Northwoods that didn't agree with me.

I'm sorry for the pouty attitude, but I'm too itchy and too tired from 4-hourly doses of Benadryl to laugh at myself much right now.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in the final episodes of Gossip Girl, Season 4, and I just have to know if Chuck and Blair get together at the end. (How I wish I were joking)

Holly Does Math

I can be a morbid person sometimes. For instance, I just did some math (Please pick up your jaws, folks; the carpet is getting wet).

Average life expectancy of an American Female: 78 years.
My current age: 20
Years I (based on the average) have left to live: 58
Books I read per year (on average, based on my Read-a-Thon records): 84.5

Number of books I have yet to read before I die: 4,901

Surprisingly, this is somewhat comforting.

A Moral Dilemma and Something More Fun

Today has given me a lot to think about. I'm facing sort of a moral dilemma at work. I don't want to say much about it because this is private stuff, but I will say that it's nothing illegal.

It is bad enough, however, that I feel physically sick when I think about it.

And I wonder why in the world people feel entitled to treat other people like dirt.

And I think of that Dumbledore quote about it being harder to stand up to your friends than your enemies.

And I shake my head because I just hate the man sometimes for being so wise.

In other work-related news, the power went out today. And by "the power went out," I mean that as I was coming back from break, the lights flickered and went out. Then on again. Then off. Then on again. Then off. Then they stayed off. Luckily, we have a generator in our store that keeps enough lights on so one can see fairly well in most areas, keeps registers open so guests can still check out, and keeps the food cold and edible (although during outages guests aren't allowed to buy cold/frozen food).

Immediately after the power went out, I grinned. I grinned for an embarrassingly long time, actually. I love it when things like this happen at work. It makes my job so much more exciting.

I stopped grinning when I realized that I was about to start a cashier shift. That I wouldn't get to be in the middle of the action, dashing around the store with the sense of importance I treasure so much. I don't mind cashiering, but I hate that you don't get a walkie when you cashier, that you can't see or hear what's going on, that you're completely isolated and restricted to brushing bras and sunscreen and cat food across a laser with a repetitiveness that gradually becomes almost unbearable.

I like the people, though. I got a full six hours last night, so I was in top form today. Some people were kind of frustrated about the lack of light and the fact that they couldn't buy anything cold or frozen, but most people were willing to joke with me about the situation.

My favorite part about the outage? Walmart's power went out too, but instead of fighting through it and keeping things running like us, they shut down their store, locked the doors, and sat around in the parking lot for 2 hours.

(To their defense, I guess, they don't have a generator.)

(But why don't they have a generator???)

(Silly Walmart. Come to Target instead.)

A Literary Feud

“He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary.”
William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway)

“Does he really think big emotions come from big words?”
Ernest Hemingway (about William Faulkner)

Touché**, Mr. Hemingway.

**Solution found to my inability to put dashes/umlauts/etc/etc over words: I searched "touche" in Mac's dictionary, and then copied and pasted the proper, dashed (there has to be an official word for that thing) result.

In Which I Do the Unprecedented

I made the Dean's List. I finally, finally made that darn Dean's List. It took 4 semesters.
But I don't talk about that.
The point is that I have a big, pompous, maroon and gold certificate, and that I'm going to hang it up somewhere like I used to do with spelling awards when I was little.

In other news, last night I got to attend a production of "Little Shop of Horrors." As a member of the Press. I went by myself, even though they had reserved two tickets for me; I wanted it to just be me the first time. To drink it all in and all (and all). Well, I ended up wishing I had brought someone, because I was probably the only person under 65 at the show. This was okay most of the time, except when the old man behind me would stage whisper things. Like "watch out!" and "would you look at how low her top is?" (at least he didn't yell Macbeth, although I bet he was thinking about it. He really didn't like that Seymour was murdering people: "Unethical young folks! Who do they think they are?"
I brought a notebook along to jot things down in, and most of my notes ended up being about the audience. Here are some direct quotes: (please note: I don't understand/remember what some of these mean. I wrote them last night. Should I be worried?)

-"Back in the meat locker!"
-Evidently the Errol Flynn mustache is coming back
-They brought blankets (Okay. This one's about the 65+ers.)

I'm going to be hard pressed to keep this review focused on the play.

Things Get Better For Me

Sorry sorry sorry. I know I'm a slacker. But pray believe me when I tell you (with one trustworthy hand on your shoulder) that this week has been a tough week for me.

I've laughed.

I've cried.

I've done both synonymously.

I wish I were joking about the synonymously.

I had three tests this week: American Literature, Art History, and German.

The first two went well, the third I didn't take because

I gave blood on Thursday evening

And then had a slight mental breakdown

And wasn't able to study for said German exam.

I don't know if mental breakdown is what I should call what I had, and I certainly don't like writing 'mental breakdown' because it makes me sound like some sort of basket case. But what else do you call it when you're in the middle of a doubles badminton game, and suddenly you start getting really stressed out and you begin to swing back and forth between laughing and crying?

(I'm usually not a very competitive person. Sure, I like to win, but I think it's incredibly rude and tacky to act rude and tacky when it comes to competitions. So I try to behave in a more dignified manner.)

But let me tell you, I was slightly freaking out during this game of badminton. Within the space of about 3 minutes I moodswung back and forth between laughing and almost sobbing about 5 times. I also seriously considered running over and yelling at people that I hardly knew for doing things that were hardly offensive to me. Then my trusty partner and I walked back to our room and I sat on my bed and cried for a good half hour.

And I don't think it had anything to do with the badminton. I'm going to blame this one on the blood loss and lack of sleep and test stress.

Things have gotten better, though. Last night our friend Ben came up from the cities, and we all went to the on-campus Rooney concert together. I decided after the concert that the kind of music Rooney makes just isn't to my taste, but that it was fun nonetheless. Live concerts usually are.

After the concert, Ben, Maddie, and I settled down in our room with some snacks and Ben's old (and terrible) horror movies and watched and ate until we fell asleep.

This morning was the Prairie Cup, which is a Ground Quidditch tournament. UMM played the U of MN Twin Cities team. It was so cold on the bleachers, but so worth it to watch a cross country runner in gold spandex act as the snitch and run all over campus evading the two seekers. It was so worth it to watch the chasers and beaters and keepers get mud-splattered as they knocked each other around in Indy Lake (which isn't really a lake-more like a large hollow that they flood in the winter for broomball). It was so worth it to hear the announcers announce "prospies!" and then to turn around and cheer at the tour groups as they walked by. I'm certain that if I had been touring a college campus and had seen a game of Quidditch going on, I would have chosen that college on the spot.

P.S. We got 2 inches of snow last night (Friday, April 15th). On Monday, April 11th, it was 70 degrees out. Huh.

Sometimes People Die

Because The Cold has suddenly morphed into something much more sinister, and because said sinister sickness has a severe sucking effect on my ability to craft cleverly creative posts (although it apparently has no impact on my annoying alliteration), I'm just going to give you a conversation that I heard a few weeks ago in American Literature:

C: (slow, 9:15 a.m. voice) "So last night, I had just gotten done reading Grass (Carl Sandburg), and I found out my Grandma died."
T: (stupidly, because how do you react to such news?) "Really? Oh I'm sorry!"
C: "It's okay...sometimes people die."

Sometimes people die.

Sometimes people die of trifling colds that have them prostrate with fever one day and shaking with coughs the next. Sometimes people die of endlessly blogging instead of studying for American Lit tests they have tomorrow. Or German tests they have tomorrow as well. Sometimes people die of excitement for Spring Break, or of delight found in a certain Plathy book, or even of hyperbole. Sometimes people die from holding grudges too long (I think they explode), or from indecision regarding what to give up for Lent. Sometimes people die of curiosity about death (or do they really die from the irony of it all?). Sometimes people die when vengeful blog readers get fed up with absurdly awesome alliteration.

It happens.

A Book I'll Probably Write

I spun as soon as I saw him,
hissed to Maddie and to King:
"I'm not going to sit across the table from him and pretend that everything's normal.
I can't."
Stomped down the stairs
Sat down on the first floor
Abnormally, by myself.
King and Maddie followed
Seated themselves across from me,
good friends they are.
I calmed down shortly,
knowing, perhaps, that this wasn't my battle to fight.

I know this about myself: Sometimes I fight other people's battles just for a chance to fight at all.

But it felt personal to me.
I saw the disappointment on Tim's face, the bewilderment on King's.
These are my friends. They're being treated badly by someone.
Fight.

"He's moving out," King said, "he's packing gradually."
"Moving to the apartments to live with Derek and Luke."
Don't say anything, Holly (his face said).
We both knew it was coming.
We knew we wouldn't have him for much longer.

I can see myself writing a book about him in a couple of years.
A book about a boy that I was friends with freshman year, that I fought with sophomore year
A boy I'm not sure I ever really knew at all.

I don't know if I'm sad because I'm losing a friend
or because for once I've found someone I can't read.
And he'll be gone before I get to try again.

I'll see him around campus at first, I'm sure,
haunting the HFA like another musical ghost
thumping the piano in various practice rooms.
Then climbing the stairs with folder clasped tightly beneath arm
Bursting past me through the doors
And out into the night.

He'll transfer early, perhaps,
or graduate with the rest of us.
I'll watch his back as he walks away with his family
I'll wonder if I'll ever see him again
I'll know I probably won't.

Yes, someday I'll certainly write a book
About the boy I almost knew.

A Disparaging Day

I'm feeling a little beaten down by college right now.
Got my Honors essay back today with an A-, but also with comments labeling it as "smart, well observed, and unusually well-written," but also as "superficial, unconnected, and undeveloped."
Truthfully, I've been getting comments such as these on a lot of essays lately. My writing is great, my style is wonderful, but apparently there's not much behind it.
This is obviously extremely troubling for me-to have professors think that I can write pretty, but that I'm ultimately uninsightful and unable to make strong arguments.
I had a bit of a breakdown after Honors, needless to say.
Crying unabashedly, I walked through campus, down behind Spooner and Gay and the Science Building, until I finally realized that I had nowhere to go. In the end I would just have to turn around and head back to the library to make things right.

College can be a surprisingly lonely place sometimes; your friends can sympathize, but in the end they have their own studying to do. Your parents aren't there to tell you that everything is going to be okay, and that when you wake up in the morning your problems will have worked themselves out. In college, you have to work your own problems out before bed. You have to be independent, and you have to bounce back from things whether you want to or not. You always have to try harder next time. You have to write two papers and study for a test in one weekend, because you have no other choice. Because you did have a choice; you chose to pursue higher education. You're paying for your classes. You wanted to be here.

And so I'm trying very hard not to let the A- and disparaging comments get to me too much. I have miles to go before I sleep, and I don't intend to waste time dwelling, unless said dwelling will help me to write a better paper.

Goodnight, blog readers. May your struggles lead to triumphs, and may you find a secluded park bench on which to sit and think whenever you are in need of one.

Perceptions of Morris, an Email Story

Email No. 1:


Hey everybody!!!
I just want to write to everyone and say.....


I love you. I love morris. Here are my reasons for loving morris:

(btw taco i had you in mind when i wrote this)

i love that winter lasts 9 months out of the year here
i love the smell of manure in the morning.
i love how people never hold open the door when im right behind you
i love how the members of mpirg say they want to "help the earth" and "save
humanity" yet only one member shows up for the highway cleanup and not one
member participated in the food drive last semester
i love how you all think you are going to change the world
i love how you pretend to look at your phone as i walk by when you very
well know im walking toward you
i love how everyone here is so friendly towards me at face value only
i love the passive aggressive use of facebook
i love how you all think this school is better than harvard
i love the professors sunny attitudes and friendly dispositions :) while
they are telling me i am an idiot
i love how people insist on their love for morris then leave every weekend
for somewhere else
i love how no one boos anyone off stage at open mic even though our ears
are crying blood
i love that the city doesn't snow plow unless they feel like it even though
there is a foot of snow on the streets and even walking is difficult
i love that everyone judges
i love that all the science majors think each class is like some kind of
"competition" and refuse to help eachother out

i love that you make me feel like May 14th is so many years away
i love that i will never ever come back



PEACE



Email No. 2:


In response to an e-mail sent out to the listserv a bit ago, I would like to
share my personal feelings about Morris and the people here. There's enough
hate in this world, we don't need to feel miserable about ourselves.

Oh, Morris, how I love thee. Let me count the ways...

I love how tuition is so low that people like me actually get paid to study
here.
I love the small class sizes.
I love the theatre discipline, that's small enough to give me plenty of
opportunities to develop my skills without being constantly shot down my
competition.
I love the sense of pride this school has, so, even when we know we aren't
the best, we at least feel like we are.
I love how, out of all the places I've lived in my 20 years on this earth,
Morris is the only place that has ever made me feel at home.
I love when we always complain that it's too hot or too cold, but, in our
hearts, we wouldn't want it any other way.
I love that, even if we don't actually *do* all the things we say we want to
do to help the world, we at least have the brains and the balls to admit
that something's wrong and we need to do something about it.
I love when people you barely know can tell something's troubling you, and
will make sure you get a hug or an anonymous letter in your PO box.
I love how the campus is so small that you know a majority of the people you
cross paths with.
I love that you can go a day with three of your professors saying an offhand
remark that significantly boosts your self-esteem.
I love that when a friend says they love you, they really do love you.
I love how, even if it isn't expected that you'll make something of
yourself, you are still given the fuel to keep on dreaming.
I love how students are given the opportunity to be an active member of a
discipline that is not their own.
I love that you can be friends with your neighbor.
I love how Morris is big enough that you can always find something to do,
but small enough that you can live on one side of town and walk to campus on
the other.
I love how classmates and professors will constantly push you to step out of
your comfort zone and try something new.
I love that these new things you're pressured to try usually end up being
tons of fun.
I love how everyone I know here is now part of my extended "Morris family."
I love how, when something like a laptop gets stolen, the entire community
comes together to defend and protect the victim.
I love that you don't have to lock your bike up for fear of it being stolen.
I love how we're sophisticated, but not pretentious.
I love American Indian tuition waivers.
I love our one grocery store, even if its name is a double-entendre.
I love how I can come up with more good things about this town than bad.
I love that the LGBT community on this campus actually has strength.
I love that, as a gay person, I don't have to feel ashamed or embarrassed
while I'm here.
I love how I can still be great friends with my biggest competition.
I love you.

So turn those frowns upside-down, my fellow UMM-ers! I've only been here for
three semesters, but it has, and I'm being completely sincere when I say
this, the best year-and--half of my life. I'm sorry that some people have
had an awful experience during their stay here, but I just wanted to
reassure anyone questioning the quality of life in this gorgeous town that
there are people who love it here.

Thanks for reading.
Ian Bloomquist

How Not to Be an Adult

It's been a while, I know. In my defense, my 17 credits, 3 jobs, multiple extracurricular activities, and tendency to volunteer for additional fun-sounding things have suddenly caught up with me. I don't have a single day for about three weeks straight where I have nothing going on. It's ridiculous, but it's fun too; I'm meeting lots of new people, and really learning a lot about campus. It's quite nice to know the nuts and bolts of things going on around here.

You should know that I had a great plan for this post. While I was doing the reading for my honors class, I actually wrote some notes to be eventually pieced together into a cohesive entry. Now, though, of course, I have an entirely different frame of mind and don't feel like I can write about Plato's musings tonight.

Instead, I'll tell you about a disturbing incident that occurred at a faculty Division Meeting today. I was taking minutes, a job that I don't think I'm particularly good at, as I tend to get so interested in the conversation that I forget to type, and generally basking (as always) in the presence of so many scholars. I know, I know; professors are just people. But they are kind of fascinating, aren't they? They look so normal, and yet they have devoted their lives to research, and the pursuit of knowledge. It's sort of intimidating, actually.

Anyway, we had gone through all the things on the agenda, and were wrapping things up (following Robert's rules, of course), when a certain professor launched an attack on the division head (i.e. my boss, who is absolutely wonderful). He was going on about how she had formed a committee and not consulted certain people about who would be on the committee. This prof. was completely implying that my boss had deliberately chosen certain people to be on the committee so that her views would be represented, rather than choosing people who would do the best job. More professors chimed in, agreeing with the first prof.

My boss (I'm avoiding names here, as you have probably noticed) explained patiently that she had consulted the department heads, and they had given her a list of people, and that she was merely asking those listed people to join. She said that the committee was by no means finalized, and that she was trying to get representation from all the departments in order to have multiple perspectives.

A lot more was said that I truthfully did not understand (not knowing the back story as the rest of the profs. no doubt did), but I just felt so bad for my boss. I could tell she was genuinely shocked and appalled that people would be angry about her actions, and had ranted over them behind her back (as they had clearly done).

I may not know the full history, and I may not have spent a whole lot of time with my boss, but I have a good feel for people, and right now I feel like she did not intend nor attempt half the things she was being accused of.

I walked out of that meeting feeling rather sad; it's a shame that learned people such as that group of profs. would act like that, and treat a fellow colleague like that. It even makes me angry that they chose to launch their accusations in a public forum, instead of first raising their concerns to my boss privately.

It's funny how when you're a kid you think that adults are perfect, and that they never behave immaturely or irrationally. It's funny how as you get older you realize that they have as many faults as you do, and that it is true that some 15-year-olds are more mature than some 50-year-olds.

Compass Optional

It is hot out. Hot as blazes, hot as Hades, hot as anything. Just plain broasting.
I'm currently sitting on my bed in my room in my dorm, moving my head every so often to catch every single bit of air my friend the fan is blowing my way.
Freshman Orientation starts tomorrow, and although Saturday is OGL free day, I still have a lot of work to do. I need to finish painting my signs, map out a tour route for myself (complete with talking prompts in case I forget things), plan/learn the games I'm going to play, hang up the posters in my room (in order to make room for my roommate to move in), and practice for the three Extravaganza skits I'm in.
On top of all that, people are slowly trickling into Spooner, lugging boxes and (sometimes) clinging to parents. I don't work very quickly when I'm constantly jumping up to say high to someone.
It's okay, though. Come Wednesday, I'll have done all I can to 'orient' my group of freshman, and I'll be heading off to class.

Speaking of class, I don't think I've told you which ones I'm taking this semester. Here they are:
Beginning German I
Understanding Writing
Survey of American Literature
Honors (small group discussion/large group lecture)
Icelandic Sagas (Honors)

Platypus to Chimpanzee

You know, maybe dreaming about platypuses (I looked it up: it's platypuses, not platypii like I thought), and about chimpanzees who are really orangutans is an omen of some sort. I'm going to believe so, at least. Because about an hour after I had that dream, and a half hour after I posted about it, one of the worst mornings of my life began. And after that? One of the best afternoons of my life began.

You see, when I posted this morning, I hadn't yet looked in the mirror. When I did, I got a huge surprise. Bed head. Major major bed head in the worst form possible. Not sexy "oh my goodness I look a bit rumpled this fine morning" bed head, but "holy man there is no way I can successfully flatten this mess out before I have to leave for work" bed head.
Well, I did eventually succeed at taming a particularly cheeky lock that felt the need to sproing out despite numerous brushings, straightenings, curlings, and gelings. A pint of hair spray finally did the trick (note to self: try the hairspray first).

But that's just the superficial part of my morning. The emotional part was when I dashed out to the garage, already slightly late for work, to find that the Oldsmobile was gone. Oh. Okay. Well I'll just take the van, then.
Grab key from drawer in kitchen, jump over dog, fling open door to other garage.
Van's gone too.
Ready? Here comes the emotional part. My family had evidently forgotten that I worked at 10 a.m., and had gone off to play volleyball and go for a run respectively. That's right; vehicles are needed to go running now. It's the new thing.

(Sorry if I'm sounding bitter here. In all honesty, it was probably my fault; maybe I wasn't clear when I said what time I worked. I'm simply trying to convey this morning's state of mind.)

Pure panic. Dialing numbers, pacing back and forth between windows, muttering, wailing, crying...
I called work as soon as I realized my predicament, and when I spoke to the LOD she sounded kind of annoyed, which freaked me out even more. Was this going to be the straw to break the camel's back? I was getting fired. Shoot.

It all turned out okay in the end, don't worry. Mom got home fairly quickly, and I managed to be only five minutes or so late for work. Also, I apologized in person to the LOD and she was totally cool about it. Said that it happens to everyone, and that she's not worried about me and knows that it won't happen again.

That was the platypus part of my day.
Here comes the chimpanzee:

This afternoon was one of the best working days I've ever had. After the initial carless drama was over, I truly began to enjoy myself. A lot of help was needed cashiering, so I was constantly running up there to back up. I like cashiering, too. I like being face-to-face with guests in that way, and I like being able to stand still for a few minutes, and I like seeing all the strange things people buy. I also like that time flies when I'm cashiering.

Besides cashiering, the other duty that took up most of my work afternoon was covering Kyle's breaks back in electronics. I think we were both kind of surprised that I was the one covering; I have very limited experience in electronics, and don't know anything besides the basic "sure I can unlock that game case for you, sir."
Despite said lack of experience, I actually came to enjoy working back there. Electronics is its own little world in a way. If I really wanted to be metaphorical, I might say that the prow of the boat pushes against, but doesn't quite puncture, the bubble of the rest of the store. Waves break over cameras and high definition TVs, and dolphins leap across the surface at the flashing of lights from the Wii display. -end metaphor-

Anyway, what really made my afternoon over in electronics was this elderly man who came over wanting some help finding the correct ink cartridges for his printer. He flagged me down (I was over by the DVDs) by actually getting up out of his power chair and walking over: "Miss? Can I get some help over here?"
He handed me a splattered plastic baggie. Inside were the two cartridges he wanted replaced. Unfortunately, one of them was so covered in splotches of blue ink that I couldn't' read the number on it.
Well, I did the best I could, and managed, through some clumsy deduction, to find the correct package of ink for his printer. Kyle arrived at just the right moment (I think I might have actually let slip a "thank goodness") to confirm that I was right about the numbers.
And do you know what that old man did then? He stuck out his hand, shook mine (I saw Kyle grin from off to the side), and told me that he was one of the original Target employees; he had worked at the very first Target (in Roseville) back in the 1960's. He said that he had hired a lot of people in his time, and that I was one of the good ones.

That, my friends, is what turned my day from a flesh-eating platypus into a best friend chimpanzee/orangutan.

The Axe Has Fallen

I was doing a pull in school supplies today at work, and one of my coworkers (a guy named Matt) was saying something about not wanting to work, about it not being worth it. I asked him what he meant, and he said that he was being let go, and that he would only be working for a few more weeks.
And then he mentioned that Spencer, another Target coworker of mine, had already been let go. This completely shocked me. Spencer? Spencer John? He was in a bit of my Target story! He was nice! We had orientation together! He took one of my shifts for me when I couldn't work it! I mean, I didn't know him well at all, but I certainly feel the loss! He just...disappeared! I had no idea that he was even permanently gone!
Matt continued by saying (yeah, this guy's a talker) that Spencer had probably been let go because he was slow. Slow on the zone, maybe. Slow to respond to things. Funny, because I always thought that he was rather willing to help out. Very willing, in fact.
Now, don't get me wrong. I am not criticizing the management at Target in any way, or questioning their judgment. I'm merely sharing my observations, and my general shock at the loss of team members I had worked with and gotten to know.
I realize that all of this is probably even to my benefit. Fewer people on the payroll, better pay for me, I guess. But boy I hate to look at it that way. I would personally rather have the people.

Anyway, what struck me the most was the fact that I could be next. Now, I consider myself to be a good, contributing member of the Target team. I try to respond and help out as quickly as I can, I don't purposefully dawdle on breaks, I give great guest service (mainly because I simply love chatting with people), and I make good time on the zones (although sometimes I get a little O.C.D. and spend more time arranging things than is probably necessary).
It's easy to play myself up, and I don't want to sound too self-righteous, but I'll just say that the reason I put so much effort in at work is because I constantly remind myself that I'm getting paid. It's my job. I enjoy it, I take pride in doing well, but I'm also getting $8.00 an hour, and I need to make that $8.00 worth it. Not only to me, but to the person who is shelling it out in my paycheck every fortnight.
Gosh, I hope I don't get let go. Honestly, though, it wouldn't even make much sense for them to fire me. I only have a few weeks of work left before I go off to school, and after that I'll only be an asset; I won't be on the payroll except for Christmas and the other main, busy holidays. I'll give them the extra manpower they need without taking too much pay away from everyone else. That's the way I see it, at least.

Okay that was part one of The Axe Has Fallen.
Here's part two:

My good friend Ben (one of my best friends at Morris) will not be coming back to UMM next year. I'm mentioning this not because I know he'll probably read it (Hi Ben), but because this news is really bringing me down, and if I want my blog to reflect the impactful things in my life (which I do), then I can't leave things like this out.
So here we go.
The Top 9 Things I'm Going To Miss Most About Having Ben at UMM:
1. The whistling. You can hear Ben coming from a long way off because he's constantly whistling (or singing or humming).
2. His laugh. Again, you can hear it for quite a ways. Makes him easy to find.
3. Having mysterious messages/drawings appear on my whiteboard.
4. We were going to take/suffer through German I together!
5. He's always up for going on a walk somewhere, whether it be to Pamida, the Student Center, or the Humanities Building (where he waited with me for like 30 minutes just so I could get advised).
6. Somehow Ben always knows everything about everyone. He's not particularly nosy; people just feel comfortable telling him things. He's like a well of secrets (which comes in handy a lot, take my word for it).
7. Watching Survivor! I hate to admit it, but he definitely remembers more about past seasons than I do, although we both agree that Rupert is the best Survivor of all time.
8. Just generally having such a good friend around, one who's always willing to listen, who gives great advice, and who will tell it to you straight up when you need him to.
9. I only have one eyeball, and it's for you! (sorry-inside joke)

Okay this is making me sad. It's not like he's dying or anything.
Now is the time when I have to embrace my new mantra: everything happens for a reason, and a lot of the time it happens for the best. There's a reason for this, which will hopefully become clear very soon. In the meantime, I'll be saving all of my best trips, falls, spills, etc. until we hang out again.

It's Pessimism Day

Pessimism is not something that I appreciate in the slightest. I find it to be an annoying quality, and I usually do not like to be around people who possess it. Don't get me wrong; even as an optimist I recognize that life is not wonderful and lovely in every way all the time. I simply prefer to find the good in situations and suppress the bad as best I can until I absolutely have to face it.

Today, however, is Pessimism Day. Don't check your calendars; I just made this one up, folks. But I feel like I need this venting, whether because I just haven't felt like myself lately and need to throw out an anchor of some sort, or because my day has been largely disappointing. We'll see, I guess.

Pessimismisms:
1. I had to wake up at 7:00 this morning, which gave me about 4 and 1/2 hours of sleep.
2. I didn't speak up in British Literature once, possibly because of the aforementioned exhaustion.
3. I have to revise the paper that I'm entering in an essay contest by February 15th, which is really soon considering how busy my life is right now.
4. Two different Pine boys asked two different Pine girls out today. Call me petty, but I didn't want either of these couples to develop for various reasons, and I don't think that they'll last very long. They're just two more Jenga blocks on the Pine Tower of Drama.
5. I said something really stupid in my Crusades class this afternoon. I don't know what's wrong with me! I'm just having a lot of trouble asserting my opinions in that class, and when I do they're completely weak and desperate (we get points for participation). I'm not sure if I'm intimidated by how big the class is, or how vocal everyone is, but the situation is just getting ridiculous. I know that I'm intelligent enough to be an asset to that class. I just need the courage put forth something original, and the sanity to think of better answers faster.
6. I didn't have time for lunch today, hence my stomach growled through all of my classes.
7. I really need to apply for a job here, but I don't have the time. It's only 2 hours a day 5 days a week, but I honestly can't spare that. Between studying and classes and activities I'm pretty much booked all day.
8. I'm tired of this. I feel like a whiny child, and furthermore, my life is not all bad by any means. Furthermore furthermore, this list is depressing me.

If you're thinking that this was some sort of moral-induced post, and that I planned to change my mind at the end and to go back to optimism, you're wrong. This post has just put things in perspective for me.
Here's your moral anyway: If you sit back and look at any situation long enough, you can find plenty of bad. However, if you make the bad the focus of your life, you'll only make yourself miserable and miss out on all the good (I got an A on my Communications, Media, and Rhetoric paper).

Stay gold, Ponyboy.

More Titanic

Right now i feel like the ship officer at the end of the movie Titanic. This happens after the ship has sunk.
The officer stands at the prow of a lifeboat being paddled by two silent men. He shines the beam of a flashlight against the black Atlantic waves and shouts, "Is there anyone alive out there?" He yells it over and over until our ginger-haired protagonist finally gets her act together and blows the whistle to alert him of her presence.

Anyway, is there anyone alive out there?

There Will Be Blood

Blood drive, part 2 was today.
Not as horrific as last time, I must say.
Okay, so the finger poke still made me want to cry, but there was no fainting.
I was on the table, and the nurse had just gotten the needle (never realized before how huge that needle is) into my arm. She then realized that no blood was coming out. Uh oh.
She called over about three nurses, and they all hovered around as she poked around inside my vein with the needle, trying to get the blood flowing. No luck.
At this point I was flat on my back with my knees up. Things were starting to spin, and a random girl came over to tell me that I was really pale.
The nurse then decided to try my other arm. She pulled the needle out of my arm, bandaged it up, and jabbed a new needle into the other arm.
Luckily, the blood came fine in my right arm.
I was fine after that. A little bit of dizziness, but that was it.
Since I had had needles in both arms, they were both stiff. I did kind of a gorilla arm swing the rest of the day.
It was worth it, though. I'm sure I talked about this last time, but I can't count how many people I know who have had, or will need blood transfusions. A little discomfort for me is more than worth their lives.

Roast (medium-rare)

Okay, we're going to talk about this girl in my creative writing class (I don't really want to name her).

Our first assignment was to write either a biography or an autobiography. I was actually really proud of my autobiography. I worked hard on it, and thought it was a fairly good piece of writing. I guess Mr. Manske liked it too, because he gave me a 49 out of 50 on it. Then the other girl (let's call her Tara) got hers back. GASP. She got a 45 out of 50. An A minus.

Tara immediately turns around to look at my rubric. "A 98!" she exclaims, snatching my paper and reading through it. Then she goes into pout mode and begins complaining to everyone within a ten foot radius that she deserved higher.

My personal opinion: No she didn't. She is a good writer, but the paper she wrote was boring and snobbish. I hope you know what I mean. Some writers just show off with their writing, using big words and elaborate, over-descriptive phrases. It really bugs me.

Tara then decided to take her complaints to Mr. Manske, and stayed after class to talk to him about her grade. I swear, if he changes her grade I will never respect him again. Ever.

Another thing about Tara: she constantly shoves things she's written in my face, wanting me to read them and gush about how wonderful they are. It's gotten to the point where I don't care enough to voice a real opinion, and just say, "That's really good, Tara," and move on. Someone who needs constant reassurance that she's amazing is not someone I want to associate with.

And one more basting of the roast...
This guy who is also in my class is the guy Tara has a very obvious crush on. Now, this guy just started going out with a girl he obviously likes a lot. Does this stop Tara from flirting shamelessly? I don't think so.

So there it is. A perfect roast, ready to eat.
Do I feel good about writing this? Nope.
Do I feel really mean and two-faced? Yes.
Will I continue to work extra hard in creative writing in order to beat her on every assignment? Of course.