Intel’s new slogan states that they are the “sponsor of tomorrow.” My immediate question is, how much is tomorrow charging for said sponsorship? After all, tomorrow is the future, and as the saying goes, the future belongs to no one. By inverse logic, the future belongs to everyone, making me part own of the future–an assertion further supported by the way my parents constantly harangued me about “my future” through high school, a phraseology that clearly demonstrates possession of the future on my part.
Thus: Intel, please contact me so we can discuss remunerations for your sponsorship. And please hurry, I’d like to make a deal for tomorrow today.
.
.
Yar me hardies, today be Ye ol’ Talk Like a Pirate day. So faar today, we ask that ye set aside yer political acrimony and celebrate with us a less complicate errra. An errra where vowels were long, women had bad breath, and wooden legs be all the rage. Ye may resume yar political bick’rin on the morrow. 
So, Diana and I just got back from our fist trip to Maryland. Aside from the flight back, it was a pretty good trip. We were able to visit about a dozen different apartments/townhouses for rent and we got to know the area fairly well. We’ll most likely end up living in a place call Olney, a small suburban town about 30 min outside of Washington DC. I would really have liked to live closer to campus, and I know I’m going to be hating my gas bill, but Olney has some of the best schools in the area and is a safe community–plus the townhouse we found was the best price we could get on a 3 bedroom place.
Still, I’m conflicted. I don’t want to be running away from diversity, nor do I want to prejudge those more densely populated areas, whose greatest drawback appears to be that they have high immigrant populations. What’s more, to the extent that I’m and environmentalist, I feel particularly bad that I won’t be able to use public transportation. That said, we truly are going into a vast unknown. I’m sure that there are any number of areas closer to the city that are great places to raise a family. The problem is, how does someone who lives on the other side of the country know where those places are? What’s more, there’s no way someone on a student stipend can afford to live in those places. I plead necessity, may the gods of the environment and social consciousness have mercy on my commuting, suburban-living soul.
A friend of mine (Scott) thinks that William Shatner is my doppelganger. And thought I would prefer someone associated with less camp as my evil twin, if you had the misfortune to observe me acting in high school, then you know that The Shat and I share more than our rugged good looks.
Well, today I found out that Bill and I share something else: a love of Priceline.com–and I’m going to join him in spreading the good word. Now, I’m pretty skeptical about anything, and advertising even more so. That’s the reason that I’ve never tried priceline.com before–it’s all just a sham to drive you to their site where they offer you the same prices as everywhere else. Well color me purple and call me Mabel, but priceline is for real! Yup, you heard it here first folks (ok, probably not first).
A regular car rental at Reagan National Airport is $65 a day. Now, anywhere else away from the airport a rental car goes for about $35 a day. I was so desperate not to fall victim to the “you got no where else to go” pricing strategy of the airport car rentals that I tried priceline. Shazam! I put in my bid for the “honest” rental price of $35 a day and got it!
Well, momma Olsen didn’t raise no fool, so I decided to try priceline for my hotel. Shazam again! I got a $160 room for $60 a night. I have to tell you, I’m sold. Whatever gerbils Priceline has running those wheels behind the computer screen are working. So… need to travel? One word: Priceline.
My evil twin and I highly recommend it.
You know, it’s a good thing that there’s a Senator Obama out there running for president. If he wasn’t, what on earth would I fill up my blog with. Well this next video clip is for all those out there that (erroneously) believe Obama gets a pass from the media… I mean, will your really trust those lefties over at SNL to satirically point out the truth for you? Of course not, they’re the poster children for the far left, neo communist, Castro supporting, Michael Moore film watching MSM! Don’t believe them!
Given the failure of the Bush Administration’s signature domestic policy achievement, the No Child Left Behind Act, it is perhaps not surprising that they would look to revise their approach to education. While some may find the administration’s new direction in education short sighted and self defeating, it’s clear that they are simply speaking truth to power… which in this case is themselves.
I’m taking a page from Mester and writing a travel log. I’m now in a bus driving across the great state of Michigan, towards East Lansing. I would marvel at the WiFi technology that allows me to add this entry while I cruise down the interstate, but I feel like waxing poetical instead (sans poetry, don’t worry).
I’ve had the chance to live outside of Utah on several occasions, but every time I go to places without mountains I am constantly aware of their absence. Looking across the now red and orange hued sky, something is clearly missing. The trees, in their hubris, presume to occlude the horizon. Don’t they know their place? How they live in a strata perpetually below the granite and limestone? Apparently not.
I don’t know if I’d describe my feeling as agrophobia. It’s not that I have any fear of the expansive horizon. It’s just that something I expect to be there isn’t. It’s like when you go to close the car door, but gravity has pushed it shut for you without you noticing. You reach behind you, perhaps eyes on your destination and a bag full of groceries in one hand, and you push where you thought there was a door only to find nothing, empty space, vacuum. You’re off balance momentarily, not physically, you probably didn’t swing that hard, but what you expected to be there wasn’t. That’s the moment that looking at my vacated horizon reminds me of… I’ll savor it. The common place will surely rush in to steal my discomfort, and I’ll kick my metaphorical door closed as I spend my days with eyes to the ground, eventually forgetting that there was ever anything taller than the trees to be seen when I cast my glance up.
So I get an email yesterday from Michigan State. Because it is so early in the application process (I didn’t hear back from my schools until March last year), I assumed that there was some part of my application that I had missed or that they didn’t receive. I open the email and look at the first lines: “Below is a letter we will be sending you through the mail…” My heart sinks. You have to understand that the stream of rejection letters last year left an indelible mark, so I assumed that anything being mailed to me would be bad. Boy, I thought to myself, it sure didn’t take them long to reject me. But, much like the morbid allure of road-kill, I was forced to keep reading:
“I am pleased to inform you that you have been admitted to the Ph.D. program at Michigan State University for the Fall semester 2008. The graduate admissions committee was very impressed by your academic achievements; and your interests match well with emphases in our program. We have several faculty members who would be delighted to work with you.”
Hu?! What? Really? They accepted me? Yes and yes. Though I can hardly believe, I have been accepted to an English Lit Ph.D. program. Well, I did the only thing one can do in such a situation: called up some friends and went out for Thai food.
We are the Spartans!
And by “ships” I mean my applications to PhD programs. I turned in the last one yesterday. I must say, it is a load off. I don’t know that my chances of getting into a program are any better this year than they were last year, but for good or ill, I don’t have to worry about it any more. Yes, if I don’t get accepted to any of my schools then I must still muddle through the 15 stages of grief (some of us grieve more than others), but all decisions are out of my hands at this point.
I called up UC Riverside to make sure they received my application materials. The graduate secretary looked up my file for me and informed me that my file was complete. She went on, however, to apologize for not emailing me that information sooner because UC Riverside had a record number of applicants this year, and it just took so long to file all of the applications… arg! If ever you happen to be talking to an applicant for anything, never say that. Just tell them that it’s between them and 3 others; you’ll save the applicant all kinds of dread.
The upside of having my applications complete is that I’ll have more time to write in my blog. But, since I’ll have my finders crossed for the next 3 months, pleaz forgeev anee tiepows. Thax.
I just found out today that Jared Bachelor, one of my greatest friends from high school died on Friday, December 14th of an apparent drug overdose. I don’t know what to say. I loved the man and though I knew he was having a very hard time, I always thought that he would turn things around. You know, like what happens in the afternoon movies where the person hits rock bottom and gets the right help. I will say this, Jared was at least manic depressive if not bipolar. His mood swings took him from the highest highs where he could do anything, to the lowest lows. I’m sure that his drug use was a product of that condition–I only wish he had gotten the right kind of help sooner. Though we have only had intermittent contact over the last ten years, Jared and I were close friends during that transitional period out of high school and on to life. For us that meant surviving our senior year and getting ready to go on an LDS mission. It’s odd thinking of Jared not with us anymore, being “somewhere else.” Because of the memories I have of Jared during that time in our lives–the jokes, the movies we quoted, the bad jobs we shared, and of course, playing D&D–I really do feel like a part of me is gone with him.
Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince
–Hamlet, 5, II