2002-04-11 - 12:44 p.m.

Ok, just a quick one. First off. I hate Macs. Not the apples or the raincoats, but the computers. Perhaps I haven't made my hatred of Macs clear. Unless you're constructing a yearbook under the heated lashes of the whips of Jostens Inc. than I see no practical purpose for a Mac (and yes, I'm taking creating a website for G. Crapikers into account).

Here's a tip: If you find yourself in a class of mine when lunchtime normally takes place (a window I keep open from 11 - 3) I don't suggest sitting next to me, or within 10 feet of me. Here's the deal. My stomach is a damned bastard and any chance it gets (usually a quiet "read this passage to yourself" time) it will make all sorts of noises that resemble cars backfiring, seagulls exploding in baking soda related injuries, and roman candles going off at the beach in late July. Now while I'M used to my stomach's shenanigans and can usually translate his gurglings (i.e. - "Where's the roast beef?", "That cereal was good, I want more.", and "You get Taco Bell again and I quit.") I understand and respect that others cannot make out his mad ravings. Yet, that doesn't stop them from looking at me in a manner to suggest "Dude, maybe you should go see a stomachologist." or as one of my astute classmates actually SAID ALOUD in the middle of class a few weeks ago: "Wow. You must be *really* hungry!" Sigh. Well, I guess that was better than if she said "Hmmmm, must be feedin' time."

What's that? You need yet ANOHER reason to hate Macs? No problem. How about the fact that the keyboards were made for gnomes by gnomes? Sort of like FGBG (hopefully my mother won't start buying clothes by THAT brand). I'll take a big honkin' PC keyboard that click-clanks the night away opposed to these miniscule David the Gnome keys that are like silent grammatical killers. I hate them. My fingers are too fat. That special dialing wand can't get here quick enough.

So I was in a conference with my English Professor this morning discussing my presentation for next Tuesday. When talk turned towards NewsRadio (which is part of my presentation, sad for educational standards, happy for me) he confessed: "I confess I'm not very familiar with the program, I think I may have seen it . . .is it still on television?" . . . . . . . . . . . And then I wept. And then Maggie cried. She's such a little trooper. And then I stabbed him in the neck with an eraser. And then he asked me not to do that. And then he said he'd see me in class on Tuesday and escorted me out of his office. I bet he's secretly a Veronica's Closet fan and was sent to Earth by Satan's Whore Kirstie "I have a big fat face and only Pier One will pay me now" Alley just to torment me. If God AND Satan aren't on my side, who is? Man, if Goatman has it in for me too I'm screwed (somewhat like when I wiped the crumbs off the counter on Easter).

Well, it's almost that magical time again. When the happy bus pulls out of the UNH station and brings me down gumdrop lane to the lollipop store at the Fox Run Mall. (Don't worry, not those insidious nicotine lollipops! They just outlawed those. Yahoo News told me so.)

Off to fight the Tuesdays on a Thursday (not much different than the mind bending practice of Sundaes on a Saturday).

It's been real,

Wonky

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