The Settlers of Catan

“I’m rolling in the resources!” cried Eric excitedly. “I almost forgot how much I love this game… almost.”
“You’re always like this when you’re winning.” I sullenly replied. Eric already had six points to my two and we hadn’t even started counting the sevens yet. “Just wait, once the the twelves start rolling I’ll have a monopoly on the rock and you’ll be in a world of hurt.”
“Ha! Good luck with that! Twelves? Seriously.”
Eric was always like this. If he was losing he was a pill but if he was winning, oh man was he excited, continuously making cutting comments to every other player. He could definitely dish it out but he couldn’t take it.
We continued playing and my mind wandered. Why was I with Eric? He was only fun when it was just the two of us and it hadn’t been just the two of us for a long time. His new best friend Cindy was a permanent fixture on weekends and holidays. I thought back to my last birthday:
“Hey Jack, d’you mind if Cindy comes to dinner with us. Her sister’s working again and she’s gonna be all alone tonight. I just feel sorry for her, ya know?”
Of course I minded. Cindy was a beautiful blonde, with sparkling blue eyes and a waist about the size of my left thigh. But I couldn’t let him know how much it bothered me. He would say that I should just relax. He was in love with me and had no romantic feelings for her whatsoever. I didn’t believe him, I saw the way he looked at her but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of breaking up with him. Who did she think she was, always hanging out with my boyfriend? Didn’t she have any other friends? I mustered up a cheerful voice and replied, “Well, the reservation is just for two and we haven’t been able to have a night alone together for quite awhile.”
“I actually thought we could maybe go to Applebee’s, Cindy doesn’t really like fish especially raw fish.”
It was my birthday for God sake, but that didn’t change the fact that the world revolved around the goddess Cindy. I had been looking forward to trying the new sushi place for weeks and Eric had been telling me that we’d have a night to ourselves for what seemed like months. I was fed up. I didn’t know if I wanted to go anymore. Even when we were alone the conversation would continually return to the woman I loved to hate. When I didn’t respond Eric enthusiastically continued. “Guess what Cindy told me today? A giraffe’s tongue is so long it can lick it’s own ear! Isn’t that hilarious? I mean, can you imagine a giraffe licking it’s own ear? The mental picture gets me every time.” Eric was in hysterics. Eric was always in hysterics.
“Seriously Eric, it’s not that funny.” I bitterly replied. “Ya know, I’m actually not feeling that well. I don’t think I want to go to dinner after all. Maybe we can just stay in tonight.”
“Are you sure? Alright, I’ll call Cindy and have her bring over Raising Helen, she says it’s one of the best chick flicks she’s ever seen and that we have to see it! She’s gonna be bummed we’re not going to Applebee’s though. She was really craving a mandarin salad.”
I was too pissed to remind him that we had gone to see Raising Helen together and we had both agreed that it was awful.


“It’s your turn Jack, you’ve got a lot of catching up to do! I’m up to seven points now! And Cindy’s got six.”
“Yeah Jack, you’re like checked out tonight! I suck and I’m even beating you! Beginner’s luck I guess!” Cindy obnoxiously laughed and Eric laughed along with her for far too long.
Did she just call me Jack?! I hated being called Jack. Eric had picked it up years before just to bug me and I had never really gotten use to it. To hear it coming out of her little cherry lips was almost perverse. I had been mechanically going through the motions, special builds and all. I had built two roads but nothing to get me points and my roads were headed straight for Eric’s fifth settlement. I was obviously going to lose, even to Cindy. Eric and Cindy were now going through a series of memories that the rest of the players and I hadn’t been a part of. I’d heard about the time Eric tripped on a curb about a million times before. “Eric, you’re face was so hilarious! I wish you could’ve seen his face Jack. You would’ve laughed for days!”
There it was again, the name that she knew I hated and only Eric used. Twice in one sitting was too much to handle. I slowly stood up, purse in hand, and walked out into the pouring rain. My Geo Tracker was parked next to Cindy’s apple red 2005 BMW. As I slowly pulled the key along the driver’s side of her beemer I had a queer sense of satisfaction. She could have him. I didn’t even think he was that attractive and he certainly wasn’t a comic genius. I comforted myself by listing all of Eric’s faults and concluded that I would be settling if I stayed with him. I really hated settling which explains why I didn’t enjoy that stupid game that Eric was so obsessed with. I hated them both. Their piercing laughter was still ringing in my ears. I could see through the window that Eric and Cindy were stunned. They had finally stopped laughing.

Why I am Harry Potter

I am Harry Potter.

No-one told me that I would be going to graduate school at Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but I do, and now I am Harry Potter. “Why is that?” you ask. Well, friend, sit down a spell and let me educate you.

First, we in the entering class are called “first-years,” and supposedly that is supposed to make us feel like we are welcome. It’s not uncommon to hear a professor shout, “Hey, first year… yeah!” We first-years don’t mind much, I mean, we are first years, and I guess that has some kind of meaning when you are a second-year, or dare I say it without genuflecting (ok, ok, I’ll genuflect), third-years.

Second, I spend half my time studying people who are insane, and I doubt any other graduate student studies the kind of insane people I study, thus providing more evidence that I am Harry Potter. I mean, listen to this sentence that was in my reading: “The spirit of this earth is the fire in which Pontanus digests his feculent matter, the blood of infants in which the gold and silver bathe themselves, the unclean Green Lyon.” Do you see now why I am Harry Potter? Who else but little Harry would be reading crap like that?! And you don’t even know yet who wrote that, and I haven’t told you because I know it is going to cause you to flip your lid, man. You’re gonna go nuts right when I tell you, I know it, man. Seriously. Watch out, man, because you aren’t ready for this. Ok, ok, get ready…it was Sir Isaac Newton.

Ha, I knew you weren’t ready for that. Isaac “I invented Calculus” Newton. He wrote that, and it wasn’t just some joke he put up on his blog for all his friends to read. He was serious, and now I am Harry Potter, destined to save the world from the evil Lord Voldewhatever. It sucks, but I’m ready. I’ve been practicing real hard and it’s not making me a better wizard, but these things take time. Stop rushing me. I don’t see you blasting little kids’ out of their drawers or turning old ladies into weasels or bears or things like weasels and bears like cats or beavers. I mean, come on man. That doesn’t happen until, like, late third year at least.

I can hear you scoffing, and it’s true, I don’t have the lighting scar, but so what the bleep? I’ve got a mole right on my forehead, and if that’s just a coincidence then you will have to convince me so, my friend, because I just don’t see how it’s possible. I am Harry Potter.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love The Da Vinci Code

What can I say that has not already been said? All I can do is reiterate what the venerable Nelson DeMille said so truthfully: “This is pure genius.”

America’s most powerful and beautiful literary gem succeeds where other attempts have failed: Not only has symbology become sexy again (finally!), but literature as we know it has been revolutionized. Move aside Homer, Shakespeare, Austen, Conrad, and Steele – your works seem paltry and contrived in comparison with Brown’s literary effortlessness. There is a new genius in town and his name is Dan Brown.

With the indelible and potent words, “Robert Langdon awoke slowly,” the wild ride that is The Da Vinci Code begins. With every sentence the plot builds, and my mind is stretched. Brown is a master of the English language, expertly using the common vernacular to create artistic wonder, leading to poetic transcendence. As Brown’s intriguing protagonist wonders “Where the hell am I?” the reader is forced to ask the question: What the hell is this writer doing with literary conventions? The answer: he’s throwing them out the window! That’s right, Brown’s genius lies not only in his ability to depict the nuances of character presented in the figures of Robert and the rest of the stunningly brilliant and conflicted cast (Silas the Albino moved me to tears), but also in his ability to throw grammatical and literary caution to the wind. An almost inhuman dependence upon italics, a preternatural understanding of the modern attention span, and an unbridled affection for unabashedly mixing fact with fiction – all these things contribute to Brown’s masterpiece and the world is changed irrevocably.

Let me be the first to say, on behalf of humanity, that I am forever grateful Brown condescended to lay aside his budding musical career in order to pursue his true calling. Although children everywhere will undoubtedly miss his post-modern musical lullabies, I for one am thankful that after his hit “Happy Frogs” from his album “Synthanimals,” Brown deigned to make his foray into the annals of literary history (or herstory as the case may be).

Knowing full well that I will be unable to do Brown’s talent justice, let me just say that when I finished The Da Vinci Code I ended up in much the same position as Langdon on the last page – on my knees. Only in my case, the Sacred Feminine takes second place to the sacred genius of the world’s most renowned author since John and Stasi Eldredge.

10 things I miss about Nat (in no particular order)

1) Her rendition of Joy to the World/ Jesus, Lover of my Soul
2) Her unfailing tardiness (especially when the activity involves the whole family)
3) Her gigantic "hazel" eyes
4) The laugh that you think is sincere until it lasts just long enough to make you feel uncomfortable and realize she's actually making fun of you. (Often followed by "Now that's what I call comedy!")
5) Her eclectic style and messy hair
6) Her tasteful usage of explitives in every story she writes
7) Her usual morning "Dragon Breath" and bad attitude
8) Her huge purse half filled with garbage (e.g. candy wrappers, old receipts, church bulletins, etc.)
9) Watching her confuse every crusade boy that musters up the courage to approach her with a single sentence.
10) "I want to see that!!!"

Friscalathon XXXIIVVIIX

In homage to the dainty deities of Spring, I propose a literary and comedic commemoration on this second day of the fifth month in this six-and-two-thousandth year. Here be the terms: each able participant shall forthwith inscribe on the walls of this blog the funniest words ever heard by them in the laboratory or the classroom.

Thus, my inaugural sacrifice:

"Nice Pour," spoken to me while pouring 2000 mL of water without the use of a funnel.

Un Petit Dejeuner

"Patty´s signing bitch," John informed me over the phone, and then went on to explain that Patty and he had a complex signaling system that they often used to express vulgarities across the room. The checker woman at the grocery store was indeed being a bitch, as John could plainly see as he observed the scene from the cereal aisle, where he was debating between original Captain Crunch or the peanut butter kind. He asked me which I would choose and I told him that Captain Crunch is disgusting and that he should get Oh´s instead. He laughed loudly back into the phone and for about five seconds longer than the joke warranted. I felt annoyed. He was always laughing at everything. And always laughing for way too long. He´s the kind of guy that laughs uneasily at bad jokes and makes the joke teller wish they had never said the joke at all. No one can fake laugh for as long as John does, so everyone else in the room eventually stops laughing and just looks on with fake smiles at the joke teller and John, feeling embarassed and uncomfortable for the pair of them. John´s a good guy, but come on, someone really ought to tell him about that laughing thing.

A Grimey Thong

In case you missed the news story to end all news stories, here is an excerpt in all its glory from our very own Daily Barometer.

"Nearby [the Genocide Awareness Project display in the OSU Quad] display protestor Ben Grimes stood in public wearing only a blue thong. Taped to his back was a note reading 'Shock value works for me too!' Grimes repeated the message on his back out loud. 'Their claim is to start dialogue - in truth it's just shock value," he said.
A part-time nude model (emphasis mine), Grimes said he'd readily dance around naked to prove his point if it weren't for Oregon public indecency laws. To add to his display, Grimes also carried and played a flute as he walked. 'I'm not cold actually,' he said. 'I'm quite comfortable.'"

The Genocide Awareness Project posts very large, distasteful images of supposedly aborted fetuses juxtaposed with images of ethnic cleansing and murder. This is done to convince individuals that abortion is wrong and to reduce the number of abortions. However, this pundit expects that Grimes' display of his semi-nude person was far more effective at preventing all manner of pregnancy - wanted or unwanted.

Some Reverends wear collars; others wear thongs. To each his own.

Ph"D" is for Death

Curriculum vitae
fills twenty
and six single spaced

pages. My blue ribbons
adorn a
plaid sweater vest-

but mercy flows not
from my vorpal
blue-blood heart.

J.P.

Am I an esteemed colleague, a friend, or both?

My First (pseudo) Sonnet

Gone and dead are the times of romance,
the chalky candy is quickly discarded.
Hallmark greetings fail to create the trance
of love - but this is disregarded.
Flowers withering on the window pane
next to half-bitten chocolates with
stale cherry filling. It feels lame
to buy into this commercial myth.
Cheap cliches inexplicably wrapped
up with love and committment.
All my thoughts and feelings are sapped
of sincerity - I'm not content
with half-truth banalities, sappy dinners,
and waiting for love to inevitably simmer.

To J.P. on the occasion of an affront prior to a forthcoming midterm

My Esteemed Colleagues and Friends:

Ahem. . .

"Woefully Ignorant"
You call me
And people like me

[Now] These feelings lain bare
Eleemosynary praise
Soothes not my soul

My shelf of treasures
Aspires not
To bear your volumes

Have mercy J.P.
Upon the cretinous mind
Who sits before you.


The End

I Am Tantalus

The slow burning paper of a failing cigarette illuminated his tired face. The sweet smoke slipped out of his open mouth and danced along his face, stinging his pensive eyes. The cold fog had already swept over the city and a soft, sad
rain began to speckle the cement.
Save for his pulled up collar, Nolan seemed unaffected by the dropping temperature. As he sat on the curb he mentally revisited the events that had just transpired. He knew something big had happened, but he didn't know exactly what. He knew decisions had been made, but he felt little relief from his inner conflict. The image of Kat crying was almost enough to crack the tough facade he'd worked so hard, for so long to maintain. He felt his eyes gloss with tears and quickly took pains to repress them. Not a single tear fell. He continued in his fruitless conjectures.
He couldn't help feeling like an ill-fated new mother. A mother so excited about her new baby, full of love and concern for the little thing lying in herarms. Feelings welling up in her, from where she knows not, that she would do anything for the little one, anything to protect and care for it. Instinctually she kisses and hugs the babe. Her passion, so ardent and novel, causes her to smother the child. Death by misguided affection. Nolan felt like her.
Sparks flew from his cigarette as he flicked it into the wet lawn. He raised himself and walked away into the fog.

Dear Barry (aka wedding coordinator, counselor, and friend):

Wearing a black shirt,
Dashing,assertive,and strong:
My soul was soothed.