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It is no longer funny when some sitcom character is trying to learn French or something, and they attempt to say something in said language, but the other person standing around is like, "Ha, ha! Billy, you just said you have a duck in your underpants!" There isn't one show I've ever seen where this doesn't happen at least seven times. Also, it is no longer cleverly ironic when a character in a horror movie is haunted by some type of ghost, and then later somebody says to them, "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." Wait! But they really did see a ghost! What a brilliant use of that phrase!

Another thing I'm sick of is people who complain too much. I mean, what the hell's wrong with these people? Man, do they ever get on my nerves.


Itís been colder than all-heck lately, and though I initially felt that the snow was a charming wintry diversion to the mid-autumn weather of weeks past, my feelings on the matter quickly changed about three minutes later. As it turns out, having to ride a bike over an icy sidewalk during a blistering cold snowstorm at 8am in the morning is almost . . . I donít know. Itís almost as though it were slightly unpleasant. In fact, Iíd even go as far to say that itís a hellish circus of unending torment.

Also of note is the fact that, these days, everybodyís always walking around with a cell-phone, having an important conversation with some guy two blocks away. While I have no immediate objections to this fad, I feel it would be in my best interest to not actively participate myself due to the fact that these things can play retarded little games. Inevitably, the cell-phone would turn into a $200 Tetris that I played during lectures, instead of taking class notes and paying attention. I already fell for that once with the whole "graphing calculator" thing. After buying one, my math grades immediately changed for the worse. Damn you, TI-82. Damn you.

Hey, you know the tops to cups at fast-food restaurants? Hereís my question: If youíre going to bother putting in little bubbles to designate which soft drink is in a given container, why not go all the way and include more than just the "cola" and "other" options? For years Iíve been selecting drinks such as "Dr. Pepper," "Vernors" and "Hot Vernors," and have been so far deprived of an opportunity to indent my specific choice in the top. Itís gotten so bad that Iíve been buying Coke just to be able to push in my bubble. God, is it worth it, though. What I wouldnít give for a little bubble on the top of a pop container to push in right about now . . .

Alright, Iíll admit it. Sometimes I push in bubbles that do not directly correspond to my beverage. But all the drink dispensers are self-serve these days, so whatís the point of even having the bubbles? Itís not like youíre going to forget what youíre drinking. "Hey, am I drinking Ďcolaí or Ďotherí? Damnit, if only I pushed in my bubble when I still had the time instead of carelessly sipping away. Now Iím going to be up all night trying to remember." I mean, come on. Thatís only happened to me twice.


Though it may not seem like it to outsiders, the Breslin Arena's workforce is actually brimming with complicated, Machiavellian politics. Recently, I've been moving up the slippery ladder, making calculated ties with the lead ushers and head lead ushers, constantly planning my next move. And it's paid off--where I was a measly upper-tier usher eight days ago, I was put in the lower-tier position on Thursday, for a concert with "Carman," a Christian Rock musician who can only be classified as bizarre. And on Friday, for the Ani DiFranco concert, I was a coveted ticket-taker, helping the retirement-age salary-paid folk tear tickets. With ticket taking, you get to leave early and dally around when nobody's coming--it's a smooth deal.

But there remain many factors I must consider when making my way up into the usher elite. For example, what part do the Greencoats--security types who look twice as important but do half as much--play in the system? Which of the higher-ups controls position assignments, promotions and raises? And who are the mysterious people known only as "The Browncoats," who, on rare occasions, can be seen hurriedly pacing by on some important errand?

Now, while one might speculate that position assignment is fairly random, and promotion is a sheer seniority matter, I remain guarded, always ready to play the right card in this ever-present game of skill and chance--for one false step could be fatal.


Man alive! You know, for a country that canít decide what millennia itís in, itís no surprise that it canít decide on a President. All Iím saying is this: If Bush is finally elected, anything bad that happens over the next four years is all Floridaís fault. Now, I have no beef with Florida. I like their weather and I enjoy their peoples. Though come to think of it, I once went to their "Universal Studios," and came away vastly disappointed. For every single ride they have, theyíve figured out how to tie in fire, and when you get close enough to it, youíre actually in pain. Take "Jaws," for example. Iím riding around on their boat-on-a-track, and the animated model of jaws is swimming around, providing ample enjoyment. But then thereís some explosion, and a fire is blazing up ahead as the boat continues on. "Oh, hey, thereís Jaws! Man, this ride is sweet! Wait a minute, is that more fire up ahead? Oh, bloody hell, no! Stop the ride, I get the point! For the love of God! It burns!"

Yeah, "Universal Studios" was pretty sweet. But back to this yearís election. Now, I voted for Al Gore, or, as I like to call him, "Al Gore," but he probably wonít get elected due to Floridaís Tom-Foolery with their ballots, as Iím sure everybody knows by now. So now thereís all this recounting and court mumbo-jumbo, and everyoneís all, "Oh, I couldnít see what hole I was supposed to punch," and, "Oh, letís go revote," and all the networks are like, "Oh, Goreís going to win Florida, unless Bush does, which he probably will. This just in: Floridaís back up for grabs." And then Bush is all, "Well, now thatís some fuzzy math," and Goreís all hiding Bush away in some sort of lock-box, and nobody knows whatís going on, and all the newspapers are reporting the wrong things, and some dead guy even got elected to the Senate. Dang, I picked a fine year to turn 18.


After reviewing my most recent update, I have decided that eKarjala is gradually making less and less sense. With that said, fruit-basket letters inside a graham cracker machine.

Jigga-what? Anyway, I have decided that we could have done a better job, as a country, of making the states into more interesting shapes. You've got Michigan, of course, which is shaped like a mitten, but they didn't even do that on purpose--the Great Lakes did that for them. Louisiana is the only exception, but even that shape, which is sort of like a boot, is pretty lame. Besides, didn't Italy already steal that idea? So then, where's the state shaped like a cat? What was stopping them from making Nebraska a perfect circle? How come West Virginia doesn't resemble a man standing on his head? I am so freakin' sick of these random jagged edges. We can look at the stars and see some hunter carrying fish while eating a taco, but we canít cut the US into a few cool objects? Come on, people. What are we, Canada?