-
2 years ago
Airports…
Suck. Flat out. Seldom have my airport experiences been appreciably easy. Rather, I have days like this. I guess we can start from when I woke up.
The morning started out slow, as I was up late last night seeing the suck that is Robin Hood. I awoke fairly groggy, but, luckily, I was soon wide-awake after attempting to bite the rocks (“raisins”) in Fiber One cereal. Better than Raisin Bran my ass. Dicks. I then prepared for my run, which I thought would be in the rain based on the weather outside. I was slightly worried about taking my iPod, but I didn’t hesitate wearing Aaron’s Bose headphones out in the rain. Just as I was marveling at my luck at avoiding the rain for my run, I rolled my ankle in wet sand. Damn sand. After my shower, I went to Einstein bagels with my roommates so that we could all attempt to satiate our deeply rooted Jewish fetish. It partially worked, as I still crave bagels. Damn ancestors. In hindsight, these annoyances seem fairly minor. On a normal day they wouldn’t be even worth blogging about. However, they do serve as a useful preface to my airport story so that I may be a more sympathetic character.
Upon arrival at “The Parking Spot,” I knew it was going to be bad. Never before have I had to drive to the farthest possible spot from the entrance, but it happened. I know, amazing. The bus ride to the airport was quite lovely; I got to hear all about the Associates degree a woman was about to earn in order to secure a manager position at Wal-Mart. Her tattoo-laden husband was ecstatic. I think he viewed it as his personal welfare; he clearly thought she would earn enough income to support the both of them. After arriving in the terminal with merely an hour left until the flight I hoped to take, I laid eyes upon the several Air Tran lines. There were merely four lines with ten people each, but, seeing as their employees display no semblance of competence, I was fairly worried. I chose the line that looked shortest and stepped in. Immediately, a slew of curses rolled out of an irate old man’s mouth. Clearly, he was too old to figure out how to work a self-serve kiosk. He eventually abandoned the idea to cut me in line. As I was standing, I noticed that the rate at which my line was advancing was much slower than other lines. I quickly realized that, because there was no organized way of dealing with four separate lines in an efficient manner (hint: follow the trend and make one line), only those who were bold were helped. Basically, once you made it to the front of your perspective line, the goal was to creep up so close behind the person being help that, barring physical force, no one could manage to get by. The person at the front of my line was timid. And weak. I took the opportunity to check for delays on my phone for all of the flights home from Atlanta and saw they were each delayed two hours. At least I wouldn’t miss the flight.
Eventually, I made it to the counter. I told the woman I wanted to fly standby to Raleigh-Durham on the next possible fl. The man who cut me in line snickered. I looked over at him and he looked proud. “Good luck. I just bought the last ticket.” What a penis. Honestly, even if he hadn’t used a self-satisfied tone, he still would have been a major asshole. I mean, if I wasn’t such a nice guy and allowed him to cut me, I would have had that ticket. And I sure as hell wouldn’t laugh in his face. Sure enough, I looked at the ticket I was handed and I was assigned to seat “?” and boarding group “99.” I hoped “?” was an aisle seat. The woman told that I should hurry to the gate because the flight would be leaving soon. Puzzled, I asked if the flight was delayed. The woman smiled, shook her head, and told me in a tone that implicated I was a stupid child, “No. It’s on time.” I rushed through security and even rode the tram, that airtight tube that retains all of the bacteria and bullshit that that other riders expel, something I normally avoid. As I arrived at my gate, my heart sank. Somehow, a kid with a phone managed to find out that a flight was delayed, a feat that, in my experience, is seldom accomplished by those whose job it is to know these things
I passed the time on the phone with my girlfriend. Today was a busy day at Jackson-Hartfield airport and it made me physically sick. Crowds of people make me anxious, not because of some irrational fear of crowds, but because it reminds me of the state of the American public. Possibly the most disgusting creature I saw had a UNC emblem tattooed on his calf. Gross. I’m sure if I performed lipo-suction on the entire population of that airport, I would be able to feed Africa for the next five years. That’s one way to end famine.
As 8 O’clock approached, I wandered over to my gate. As confirmed passengers funneled through the gates, I became really anxious. There were so many cattle packing into that damn tube that I knew I wasn’t going to fit. Sure enough, I wasn’t given one of the two stand-by seats. How did that even happen? I must have been first on the list because the Urethra that cut me laughed at how moments before he had bought the last ticket. That really pissed me off. I was relegated to the 10:10 flight. Since then, I have been writing this, which, for the most part, has managed to distract me from the sideshow that is Jackson-Hartfield airport. Seriously, if I was P.T. Barnum, I would have made a shit load of dimes.
As I wrap this up, I am listening to an advertisement by the airport that claims it is attempting to go green in order to become the greatest airport in the world. I don’t think they are focusing on the issues.
Please comment if there are any spelling/grammar errors.
-
Notes: 1 / 2 years ago
Reasons Why I Don’t Miss High School:
Well, my previous post wasn’t exactly finished, but I thought of a better idea. Coming back to Chapel Hill has reminded me how shitty I sometimes really felt here. This occasional down time can really be attributed to my high school experience. It felt so unfulfilling and most (**MOST** as there are a select few who’s company I still enjoy) people were so easily cast aside in my mind without second thought. Anyways:
1. Teachers who complain constantly of their salaries, yet seem hardly motivated to do their job, no less better themselves so that they may find a more lucrative one.
2. Meritless people garnering pointless praise from mindless drones who are so deprived of oxygen (likely a result of suffocating in a sea of their own asinine mind-secretions) that their privileged childhood will yield no appreciable results.
3. Reaffirmations of ignorant thoughts by ignorant people. It seems that all of East Chapel Hill agrees on everything. Have an original thought.
4. Playing for a Rugby team, yet always feeling like an individual left out who never really bonded with teammates or most coaches. As a result, despite a high level of success, I don’t look back on rugby memories as fond ones.
5. People who take themselves all too seriously. Seriously.
6. A school administration that was all too worried about keeping up its liberal agenda to enforce its own rules. Is it too much to ask that the two gay guys always seen dry humping each other to stop reenacting Brokeback mountain? I’m not bashing homosexuals, I just don’t want to see heavy PDA, whether it is hetero or homosexual.
7. A faulty popularity system that wavers more than the stock market, yet is just as baffling.
That’s enough angst for one day. I’ve become disgusted with myself.
-
2 years ago
Quit bein’ a bitch!
-
Notes: 1 / 2 years ago
Things I Won’t Miss About College This Summer:
1. Using a toilet seat cover every time you are clinching your anus in order to stop a fiery geyser from prematurely spouting.
2. Wearing flip flops in order to prevent transmission of one of several types of foot fungus that exist because the kid next door decided to shower for the first time in 11 days.
3. Dominatrix chemistry teachers that arouse themselves by taking points off of exams for striking out words with multiple lines instead of just one.
4. English teachers who attempt to limit your vocabulary.
5. Cafeteria workers who call you honey at breakfast, give you the cold shoulder at lunch, and short you on nuggets at dinner just because their day didn’t go as well as it might.
6. Uppity “Residence-life coordinators” that appropriately assign equal punishment to all alcohol violations despite varying degrees of severity. I think they must be bitter because their job involves nothing of substance which, seeing as all of them are getting fired, they can’t even do that well.
7. Repeatedly outdoing Cameron on math tests. Oh wait, I don’t think this is in the proper list.
8. Unfulfilled maintenance requests for new window shades. At least everyone walks by my window routinely, glancing in and banging on the windows at 3 in the morning. At least naked pictures of me haven’t cropped up yet.
More to come… I’m too tired to think at the moment.
-
2 years ago
New Phone and Google Voice
So tomorrow I am going to get a new android powered phone (The HTC Droid Incredible - Lamest name ever) and I am pretty pumped. One of the big things with android powered phones, or any phone really, is Google Voice. I just recently got an account and saw a feature where I can post a link for you to leave me a voicemail. At first I thought, “That is effing retarded - I would leave so many dirty voicemails on any link I found like that.” Upon further consideration, however, I realized there are two reasons why this won’t affect me: 1) No one reads my blog so I won’t have to deal with random dicks leaving me voicemails and 2) It will all be transcribed to text. THat way I don’t have to deal with verbal abuse… I just read it and laugh. Anyways, just wanted to write that blurb so that I actually posted something on here.
Oh, and congratulations to Warren and Aaron for avoiding the Alcohol write-up that I got pinned for because Aaron immediately invited the RA’s in. Nice.
-
2 years ago
Such an official looking document. It sounds full of itself. It’s like a person that tries to act smart, but in doing so affirms their stupidity. This is such a simple mistake. I wonder what my English professor would say to this (probably nothing because he sucks).
-
2 years ago
My Lack of Sleep…
is disturbing. I feel like this dude.
-
Notes: 222 / 2 years ago from theroadgoeseveron (originally from charlotteday)
HARDCORE PARKOR!
-
2 years ago
The Futility of the Class “Writing About Literature”
So, I am a freshman at Emory University in Georgia and, just like all liberal arts universities, there are several classes I must take in order to “adhere to the ideals of liberal arts education.” While a broad general knowledge is essential for a working professional, it is not hard to get carried away. For example, writing about literature is a required course that I am currently in.
If you have never taken a class like this, let me fill you in. The goal of the class is to “improve [the student’s] ability in reading literary texts and written expression.” When reading this from the syllabus, it seems like a completely reasonable and almost necessary class. After all, there are many classic authors people should read/understand and almost every profession involves writing in some capacity. However, this is very misleading.
Let’s examine the first goal of the class: improving ability in reading literary texts. While many would be thinking the about Shakespeare or Dickinson, I am stuck reading second-rate literature that would never be worth mentioning outside of professional literary circles. Exploring these works does not improve my insight on life, does not improve my appreciation for literature, and does not improve my general knowledge. Most of the works (I repeat this again to emphasize my point) would only come up in professional literary circles. Does that not then defeat the purpose of a liberal arts education by, instead of improving general knowledge, giving occupational or professional skills?
The second part of the syllabus, improving “written expression,” at least seems necessary, does it not? Well, it’s not. It’s actually a load of shit. Writing about literature is, just like reading the second-rate literature we explore, a very specialized endeavor. Professional writing in mathematics, science, and every other profession I can possibly think of is very different then writing about a story someone made up. Taking a poem and turning into three pages of bullshit that is solely opinion and anyone can refute is very different than taking three years of research and turning into a publication that changes the face of science. I have had the pleasure of working in a laboratory and reading/editing several publications. The head researcher was always pleased with my writing abilities. My lit teacher? He bloodies my beautiful writing with a red pen because I chose to interpret a string of words differently than he.
I fear my diatribe may be boring you, but I just had to get it off of my chest. My girlfriend specifically won’t appreciate the cursing. So to any of you who just read this, please avoid such a class at all costs unless you intend to major in literature. And if you have a degree in literature or are currently pursuing a degree in literature, understand that I am not bashing literature. I am just baffled as to why a professed liberal arts institution forces students to take an incredibly specialized course. And my teacher is a douche-bag.
I wish I understood this reference, but unfortunately my liberal arts education has failed me.
-
Notes: 2 / 2 years ago from secondhandfruitSecond Hand Fruit: It's golden. I promise.
Penned by the ever so talented Kira Ohmart:
Several months ago, I had a conversation with a friend of mine. We often don’t see eye to eye on things, so our relationship is somewhat strained. But during the conversation I was struck by inspiration and ran off to write this:
“Today, I was conversing with someone. Well, really the person was talking at me, and I was listening vaguely. There was one thing she said that really stuck out, though. She said to me, “Silence bothers me.”
I remained silent.
I was totally stunned. Silence? Bothersome? Silence is so rare, how it could actually bother anyone is shocking. There is so much noise in the world, silence is a refuge that is often unable to be found. Silence is a reward. Silence is wondrous. Silence…is not bothersome.”
Following
