Look with your eyes, not with your hands.


Such a minute fraction of this life do we live: so much is sleep, tooth-brushing, waiting for mail, for metamorphosis, for those sudden moments of incandescence: unexpected, but once one knows them, one can live life in the light of their past and the hope of their future.



A grad student muses on her life, film, friends, politics, reality televizzle, and music.

 
New meaning to creme filling

Okay, this is totally true because I heard it from a reliable source. We have this finals tradition at Middlebury called midnight breakfast - basically we get an extra meal drawing from the scrambled-egg-product, chicken finger (while we're on this, who came up with that term? It's not like chicken have fingers and more importantly, It's not like we eat any other type of fingers from any other animal / vegetable, so it doesn't even conjure up tasty thoughts. Actually even thinking about eating fingers is weird because they are such a human thing), and chocolate cookie food groups, but its an institution with its own culture, norms, and rituals - or it's just a scene of hilarity and cracked out students. So last night was the annual donut eating contest sponsored by the wacks on the ultimate frisbee team. The rules are simple, whoever eats the most donuts in a specified amount of time wins. There are two winners: one male and the other female. The winners get their names written down in a leatherbound book and immortality throughout the ages. I should add that these donuts are not good, they are the dry, cakey, yellow donuts produced by hostess that seem to have a shelf-life quite near immortality.

Last night brought the usual field of competitors - so I hear - including a fair number of drunks who psyched themselves up to hero status and claimed, like the many who came before them and failed, could actually eat more than 17. One especially drunk and determined rogue met his match and when he turned green, they passed him the puke bucket and he was summarily disqualified. Of course one of his dedicated fans, or equally-drunk and stupd hallmate, yells: "If you drink your puke, you aren't disqualified." No sooner do the haunting words leave his mouth, the kid downs the chunky contents and reaches for number 12. EEEEEEEEEEw.. Let's just say that had I been involved in this celebration of gastrointestinal strength, I would have walked away right then and there. This kid obviously wants his name in the book more than I do. I am still sickened that someone would actually do that. All I have to say to that is.... whoooooooAAAA MIDDLEBURRRRRRRRRRY.


I don't know quite how to put this because it's weird and I am a little ashamed. But check out this website. Read back over my entries from last May when Jack and I spent an inordinate amount of time in the Bi Hall computer lab and this creepy Chinese kid was always there. It was symbiotic stalking. We got a kick out of his creepiness and he seemed to like the attention. Like I said, it's weird, but the site expresses that better than I can.

My room smells like heater.
posted by lmjasinski at 11:21 PM