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I went out with Zoe, Amanda, Maria and about ten other friends and acquaintences tonight for dinner and bowling. Tons o' fun.


This writing process isn't as smooth as it was during the summer... it took damn near an hour for me to put this entry together.


Blues Traveler.


Most recently... a couple bowling alley beers.


Do I really want to send this note?

sorta 365:

(Sept. 6, 2000) Sadness and disappointment in newspaper land.

saturday, september 8th

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Quote Du Jour:
"The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails." - (William Arthur Ward)

After many months, I finally joined the 21st century... I burned a CD.

I've always been just slightly behind the technology curve. My first computer was a 486. Who knew the Pentium chip was just around the corner? My second computer had a whopping 8MB of RAM. Had I waited a few weeks, I would have been a member of the 16 or 32MB club. And my current computer was bought just before Napster and CD burning became a reason for people to own a computer. So even though I have a nice MP3 collection, I lack a CD-R drive and I've never been able to play my music away from the computer.

Lucky for me, the newspaper where I work just upgraded its computers. Among the new machines is a pair of Macintosh G4s with (you guessed it) CD burners. It took about a week for me to buy some blank CDs and get to burning... and now I see what all the fuss has been about and quite frankly, I'm tickled pink about it.

Now that my money (to buy blank CDs) is involved in the World of MP3s, I've notice one thing that bugs me... Wussies.

While writing this entry, I was skipping around the tracks on the above mentioned CD and noticed that something didn't sound right in Track Four -- "Brown Eyed Girl." I played a portion of it again and discovered why. Some shmuck was obviously offended by: "Sometimes I'm overcome thinking about making love in the green grass behind the stadium with you... My brown-eyed girl." I can only imagine that such lyrics must have either been too strong for someone's innocent mind or were prohibited by someone's parole officer. Regardless, to rememdy the problem, the goober dubbed in three words from earlier in the song and the magic just isn't there. Maybe its just me... but I doubt my boy Van was overcome thinking about "laughing and running" behind the stadium. I know I wouldn't be.

Speaking of the innocent minded... Now seems like a good time to introduce you to Lonnie, my roomate for the semester.

Don't get me wrong. I'm happy to have him. To be honest, I really fared better than originally expected in the roommate category. I managed to avoid axe murderers, gangsters, thugs, exhibitionists, drug users, drug dealers, pimps, thieves and other general misfits. For this, I thank God. However, just because Lonnie doesn't belong in jail doesn't mean that he's not an interesting cat.

Speaking of cats, he has snapshots of cats on his wall. Granted, this isn't a kitty cat of the month calendar we're talking about here... but I consider photos of house cats on the wall of a man's room to be a warning sign. I'm not sure what its warning me of... but it's gotta be something. Perhaps I'm "old school" and am not being liberal-minded enough, but men just don't do that.

Of course, it could be that Lonnie doesn't know this because he isn't a man yet. Okay, so I'm joking about that... sort of. Too look at him, you don't really see "college student" material -- he's more junior high. He stands about 5-5 and probably weighs 140 or so soaking wet. He transferred to Oakdale from a school close to his home (some four hours away from here). This is the first time in his life that's he really been away from home. He's wet behind the ears and it shows. You can pick up on his naivete within a few minutes of talking to him.

So far, we've gotten along swimmingly. Of course, that could be because I've spent little time in the room. The first few weeks of the semester have been a blast and have been keeping me busy. I wake up for class after he's already left and I haven't been returning until one or two in the morning -- long after Lonnie is asleep. In fact, I dropped by my room one Saturday night at 15 minutes after midnight. The boy was already fast asleep and in the fetal position. That's no way to experience college.

Last Friday night, I was slightly under the weather and exhausted from a week with less sleep than needed. Saturday morning, I slept until 11:30. He came as I was waking up and remarked something along the lines of, "are we lounging the day away?" in a way that was a little condecending and that just didn't set well with me. Come on... If I'd gone to bed at sunset the night before, I would have been up at the crack of dawn, too.

The one evening I did spend time with him, he didn't stop talking for two hours. I enjoyed hearing about his life. I think its good to get some background on someone you live with. However, my sole purpose for being there that night was to log on, read a few things on the computer and head back out. If he'd been silent, that would have taken thirty minutes... not a couple of hours. I hope I'm not being petty.

Overall, I feel like I need to find a big ol' vat of life and dip him in it.

I remember being a freshman and seeing how the upper classmen sort of looked at us differently. I didn't get it then. Living with a youngin' makes me see what I was blind to then. There isn't a big difference between the numbers 19 and 23, but a lot happens in those four years of living. In those four years, you should see lots and do plenty. If done right, those four years will help shape you and ready you for adulthood. Sure, it's about maturity, but it's also about gaining a little better understanding of the world around you. He lacks that. And that -- more than any cat picture or sleeping habit -- is what's making the adjustment to having a roomie interesting.

copyright © 2001, Thomas Fletcher. all rights reserved.