WAG - What do you mean the Berg BURNED DOWN?

More to come later…

'but_what_about_two_for_one_appetizers_during_Happy_Hour'

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WAG - There is a light ahead in the tunnel…

Of course it's the headlights of an on coming train, but I choose to appreciate the shine of the illumination if not the oncoming locomotion.

Hi. This is Caleb and I'm back… sort of.

Official pre-opening training has come to a close this semester. It was finally all wrapped up this afternoon.

I know lots of "teachable moments" lie ahead, and more teaching modules are in my future, but for now we have a chance to take a deep breath before entering into the next storm.

Though we’d better breathe quickly.

Band camp starts tomorrow, which is the main train I have to look forward to. The dorms open tomorrow too and I am scheduled to work 9 hours during peak moving times. There’s also required participation in over a half dozen opening activities and learning marching routines and preparation for classes.

When you add it all up and crunch the numbers, I find I only have so much time to get all the important stuff done.

Let’s put it another way: sleep, though greatly desired, will not be very high up on my priority list until September.

Not that I’m complaining. I’ve been having lots of fun. I never slowed down during summer vacation; why should a perpetual increase in speed bother me?

The major highlight of my day, and probably the week, was working on a "Meet the Staff" board. In my experience they are often well meaning, but boring boards to read. It's good to get the names and faces down, and they usually include some interesting nuggets of information, but rarely have I stopped to thoroughly read everything.

I wanted to change that.

The theme for the Cramer (the Journalism and Mass Communications residence hall) this year is discovering journalism. Throughout the boards and decorations we’re trying to have a running idea of investigative journalism. Pieces included chalk outlines to TOP SECRET folders, masks made out of (news)paper mache (from the Wall Street Journal – always a high class paper to use for such projects), and other mystery flavored items.

Many of these ideas were brainstormed over the summer through emails and other lines of communication. I proposed the idea of having a “Usual Suspects” Staff bulletin board. In it, photos would be taken mug shot style – where people would hold booking numbers and everything.

When I got back to Mizzou this week, I was assigned the board I’d dreamt up. We had a photo session where I brought out a collection of props I’d collected from around my room (I didn’t buy anything specifically for this project; I just snatched it from my shelves) and the Cramer staff members REALLY got into forming characters.

Here is the finished board (minus some framing details) but otherwise complete in content. I hope you enjoy half as much as we did.

Note: Blogger currently allow the posting of pictures, so please accept a typed summary of what appears.

PA Katie Baumgartner
[Katie is calmly staring at the camera with shop goggles covering her eyes and an orange Hawaiian lei around her neck]

Katie was picked up in front of 009 Cramer for dishing out her own version of vigilante justice concerning illegal parking.

Wielding a chainsaw (NOT PICTURED), she worked her way through 3 illegally parked cars, two trucks, and one mini-van before officers reported to the scene. She then proceeded to finish off the MUPD cruiser that had arrived due to the fact they stopped in a handicapped parking spot.

Katie was only stopped when the chainsaw ran out of gas, but vowed to return to her duty of “keeping the streets clear” as soon as she could stop by a Conoco station.

CA Caleb Smith
[I am staring intently with crazed eyes at a skull whose bottom jaw is hanging in such a way it appears to be screaming]

Caleb was spotted sitting in front of 27 Cramer clutching what appeared to be a human skull to his chest.

Officers neither know where/who the skull came from, how it got into his possession, or if the two were somehow related.

The only thing agreed upon was the fact Smith displayed an unnatural fascination with the skull; which he constantly referred to as “Hamlet” even though officers agreed it would be better deemed “Yorick.”

CA Jason Nonnemaker
[Jason is wearing a pink cap backwards, but is framed in a way that it looks like an off-center bandana. He has an hard, stern look on his face that reminds me of Dr. Romano (the angry guy) from ER]

Jason was stopped outside 109 Cramer. He is a self-described “Bad-Mother-You-Know-What,” who is often seen striking menacing poses on poorly lit street corners.

Despite his constant use of street jive – word – he has yet to be arrested for something more serious than loitering.

He would also like it to be known he spent the past year at a Washington D.C. internship, word.

PA Ann Stratton
[Ann is smiling at the camera while chewing on her sunglasses. Her booking numbers are held off to the side and appears to have asked the question, "What's wrong officer?"]

Though the arresting officers know they stopped Ann outside Cramer 127, when it came time to book her, none of them could recall any crime that Ms. Stratton may or may not have committed.

Though no charges were pressed, the officers were adamant that her picture should be taken before she left. Attempts to get her phone number were denied.

PA Millie Munshi
[Millie is wearing a grab-bag of items including a pink hat that is cocked to the side, the Hawaiian lei, and clutches an orange squirt gun and spider beanie babie. Since her hands are full, someone holds the booking card for her. Millieis also sticks her tongue out at the camera]

What can be said about Millie “the Menace” Munshi?

A gangsta who now resides at Cramer 209 previously grew up on the mean streets of Skokie, IL. It cannot be denied she has the potential to raise an empire so large it could threaten to create a three-way West Coast – East Coast – Midwest rivalry.

Officers strongly hope this horrible nightmare will never come to pass.

PA Christa Meland
[Christa holds two squirt guns out to the side Charlie's Angels style. She has a "Don't Mess with me look" cultivated by her sunglasses and stern frown. Her hands are also busy so her booking hard is held out in front of her as well].

Last spotted outside Cramer 227, she is currently Number 2 on the F.B.I.’s Most Wanted List. John Walsh has hosted several TV specials dedicated to eliciting her capture. Also, it is rumored she tops a certain Superhero’s “Ones that got away list,” but due to copyright laws, we cannot mention this caped crusader man who often dresses in black.

She has only been photographed once, but after no one took her guns away she subsequently used them to escape.

Meland is currently listed as “At large, but better left alone.


PA Dan Burke
[A dark shadowy figure clutches a mallet close to his head and stares at the camera with cold, firm eyes. He looks like he's recently been through a street brawl due to a what appears to be a bruised eye]

Dan “The Hammer Man” was last spotted heading toward Cramer 303. Though more often equipped with his “Scepter of Justice,” he is well known for walking the hallways and whispering to himself, “Com’on. Somebody start something.”

He busted his way through a holding cell shortly after this photo was taken – he hammers well – and is currently considered armed (two, with both a left and a right) and hammered.

CA Emily Angle
[Emily clutches a bag with a large dollar sign on the front and has a small green parrot perched on her shoulder. She also has sunglasses, but are pulled down to the edge of her nose so that she's staring over the lenses]

Emily Angle, of Cramer 327, was arrested for public disturbance after interrupting a screening of “Finding Nemo” and demanding that “Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl” be put on.

Emily, a long time Johnny Depp fan, as evidenced by her “parrot” and “booty,” has been arrest three times for similar events since the Cineplex 14 and a half stopped showing the movie on August 12.

She was last heard screaming, “It’s more than a ride; I tell you. So much more!”



That’s that.

This is the only piece of creative writing I’ve done all week. If you have time to checkout the board in person, I encourage you to because the photos are so funny (and my paltry descriptions don't do them justice).

In closing, here are some final thanks.

Thanks to PA Emily, who did a final edit to save me from some of my more “interesting” lines.

I’d also like to thank all the Cops and Courts reporters I sat next to in J-306 who helped me pick up the lingo and style.

And last, thanks to MU for looking over my obvious defects and letting me work with a group of people who’d let me poke fun of them like this.

It helps me keep a smile on my face even as the train is fast approaching.

What more could one ask for?

I say bring on the train.

Toot! Toot!

'ALL_ABOARD'

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WAG - Update on Lack of Updates

I apologize for not posting much.

I also apologize, in advance, for the fact that won’t be changing much.

I have to get up early to have time to post (because any time spent staying up late is focusing on poster boards or other floor decorations) and I’ll admit it’s not a top priority.

I keep recording interesting comments, quotes, and other wacky scenes, but I’m afraid it might be more for my personal entertainment than for anything that will ever see the light of day.

The posting pace of this site should return to normal in a few weeks. The one thing about opening is that it's only the first act. It doesn't go on forever.

But what about future acts, you may ask.

Um...

I'm going to plug my ears and pretend you never said ANYTHING that could threaten my carefully crafted ignorance derived bliss.

LA LA LA LA LA LA LA

Seriously, without 10 hours of training a day, I should be able to scrape together a bit more time to work on this site.

Until then, my priorities lie elsewhere: IN GETTING THE HOT WATER TURNED ON IN THE FREAKIN' DORM!

The residents are a close second though; but both are different stories to be told at a later time.

'check_back_in_October'

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WAG - Training: Day 1

or Boy is My Brain Full

Ug... Heh, heh, heh.

Did you ever feel tired, a bit rundown, and overloaded, but still felt like laughing at the day you'd had?

Well, as displayed by the opening line, you should be able to tell that I had.

When the Student Staff training schedule says noon to 6, 7 to 10, they mean it.

It's been a bit bumpy listening to large blocks of information; most of which will be explained in proper detail later (or so we are often told). Though that is rough, I'm catching up with old friends (a number of acquaintances got hired late in the day for staff vacancies) as well as making new friends.

To concerned friends or family members, my room is fine and mostly everything is working okay. I love my single room. The bathroom with a shower is a major plus; and once the hot water is turned on, it will be even better (laugh, but I know people who have water, but no internet. If I had to choose, I know I would stay in the current situation). Also, I don't know how one screws up hooking up a phone, but I am still having trouble; which will come back to haunt me sooner than later if I'm not careful.

In the meantime, I hope to find time to catalogue some of the better scenes, as well as finish all my summer wrap-up posts, but let me just finish tonight with this.

Today, the most talked about/discussed/mocked training module was "Controled Burn" where a police officer burned synthetic marijuana so the student staff could learn what it smelled like.

Needless to say this whole premise prompted lots of jokes as well as revelations from staff members that would sometimes interject frightingly detailed information. The room we were in was very crowded and I was in a group that was situated around a corner, so we were free to make jokes, mug, and record the seemingly more outrageous comments.

Here are some selected quotes:

On people who are stoned: "They utter the phrase 'Huh?' a lot."

After a distracting question: "Where were we...? Oh yeah...bongs."

And last, after it was explained that in the previous year they used authentic marijuana (in an even more tightly enclosed space) rather than synthetic: "Last time we did it the other way around: we burned it, THEN we talked about it. We're not doing THAT again."

Brought to you by the fine folks down at MUPD.

They're not real cops, but don't point that out to them; it might hurt their self-esteems.

Goodnight.

'Insert_Cheech_and_Chong_joke_here'

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WAG - Last Sullivan Post

So much to write, but little of it will be recorded tonight.

In about 12 hours, I should be halfway to Columbia for another couple of semesters at the University of Missouri - Columbia.

Currently, I'm feeling the combined effects of excitement and depression that comes with major scenery changes.

I won't go into pros and cons; things I wanted to get done or accomplishments achieved; and other summer minutiae.

I still have some packing to do. For example, the computer I'm typing away at, but it's typically the last to go since it provides the important access to music, the internet, and Solitaire. I also have some clothes in the drier, but otherwise everything is mostly piled in my room.

Tomorrow will be the first time we have to take a trailer to get to college. It was a tight squeeze last year, but since I picked up some extra possessions (like a medium sized bookcase. A real one. Not some quasi-shelf thrown together out of cinder blocks and boards [although it would be easier to transport]) and extra appliances (since I am no longer splitting them with a roommate).

I would write more, but it'd mostly be maudlin stuff about shifting gears and changing locals. This type of mini funk often accompanies the ending of a chapter. After all, the ride home from a big trip is often less exciting than the beginning legs.

It's normal, natural, and often replaced with other emotions once the next chapter begins.

I'm just waiting on that pesky transition period as the page flips over.

And the dryer.

Both will come, both will come.

Have a good weekend everyone.

'just_a_little_bit_longer'

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WAG - Time is Not on My Side

I am running full speed up to Saturday.

I haven't put in any more 11 and a half hour days since Monday; though today I was only 10 minutes short.

Included in such day I got to:

Watch two red cars wreck 30 meters ahead of me (one taking out a fence). After pulling over to see if they were all okay, I knew things were going to be okay when the two in the car emerged from the vehicle spouting obscenities. When they were clear-headed enough to request that the cops NOT be called, I knew I was no longer needed there.

Cross a railroad tracks while the lights were flashing and guard rails down. I wasn't racing any train. They were down for a long time (I saw them go down, took a left to pickup another trap not on the opposite side of the railroad tracks, followed the tracks both ways, and never saw a moving train anywhere along the line). An ambulance showed up, also with flashing lights, and the neighborhood kids jogged up to the tracks and waved it through. I reasoned if they weren't joshing around with a bunch of EMTs, I was safe to pass on through. After all, they were smiling as they were directing people through the railroad barriers. They could be trusted... At least I didn't spot any symptoms of "Children of the Corn" among them.

Stand on the break while negotiating the Washington County Fair parking lot, also know as, the east and west sides of Missouri Highway 185.

Go straight to work from church, which meant no shower until after 9:00 p.m. (I started shortly before 8:00 a.m.), though I did give myself a thorough scrubbing with a series of moist towletts.

All this and my job description now requires me to run with scissors (from the tree line and back).

I wish I had a camera and the expertise to accurately record all the strange reactions to the nutty, scissor wielding conservation boy.

I have 117 traps to go AND a date at the Muny tomorrow.

Can both be fit in? We'll see.

Either way, don't expect any new posts until Friday, if not latter.

I haven't mentioned that I love my life lately.

I do, even though it may be the end of me.

Of course, it's as Hank Williams Senior sang: I'll never make it out of this life alive.

There's something to keep in mind.

'So_why_kill_yourself_trying'

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WAG - To have been posted Sunday, August 3, 2003 in the late afternoon

Tomorrow, Tomorrow

And so, the Week of the Marathon begins with the final calm before the storm.

I’m having flashbacks to high school when I ran long distance in track. The two events I consistently did were the 1600 meters (one-mile) and 3200 meters (two-mile) runs. Anything less than 800 meters is called a dash; and what I did was definitely not a dash.

There was always a set order of races (except for Rolla, but I’m trying to limit the number of flashbacks and inside jokes here). The two-mile would be run in the middle, and an hour later the mile-run would be the second to last event (before the 4 X 4 relay – fortunately I knew people who always ran this event, so I knew there’d still be a small crowd watching me run).

I have long admitted that I did track to hang out with friends. I had little natural talent in racing, other than the tenacity to finish the hellishly long race. Joking around with friends was the high point of all practices; even the ones where I felt reduced to a quivering blob of barely conscious jelly.

When faced with competition, where the main goal wasn’t cracking the best joke or cutting through the highest number of sprinklers, I had less fun. I did my best to cheer for my friends and teammates (even if you didn’t along with a person, one could always yell, “Go Sullivan!” and sincerely mean it [you could probably yell, “I hope you die a gruesome, horrifying death involving poisonous snakes, crocodiles, and razor edged bumper cars!” and it’d probably be drowned out in the crowd too, but that wouldn’t build team spirit {and you’d be very winded by the time you get to the end of it too}]).

However, when my race time(s) approached I’d get more nervous and/or hope for rain (which only occasionally came to my aid). I knew by the end of a race, I’d be pumped up again thanks to the feel-good endorphins produced by attempting to half-run your self to death. I also had the confidence my friends would support me and tell me “Good race” regardless of how I performed. Also, my standards were so low my coach never expected killer finishes from me, so I was never chewed out for my (lack of) results.

As I review the time left for me between now and my starting time tomorrow, I feel the old anxiousness as well as a new feeling of eagerness.

Maybe it’s the fact I won’t have to worry about a churning stomach or a pre-race diet consisting of nothing but Ramen noodles, but part of me is looking forward to this.

After “training” all season for this final “race,” I want to get out there and showcase my best form.

I’ve done 4 other “practice” loops finding the best route, order, and approach to the pickup. I’ve had “test runs” where I worked to get 500 traps picked up in 5 days (with a three day rest in between the first 300 and final 200), but I know what happens in practice is meaningless compared to what appears on the final stopwatch.

Part of me wants to start early, but I’m bending the rules enough as it is starting Monday. Technically I’m not supposed to start picking up traps until after August 4, but my boss is letting it slide.

The alternative of working 13 hours a day, or over Saturday, or condemning somebody else to try to decipher my handwriting isn’t appealing to him.

No, this is my run.

I know this will drive me crazy, I realize my sleeping habits are going to go nuts, and when I’m going to find time to pack for this Saturday it currently beyond me.

Still it ought to be one interesting attempt with a record-setting pace. Last year I averaged 70 traps a 9-hour day.

Currently I can get that much done in roughly 6 hours.

I think I’m both bragging on myself and trying to psych myself up for tomorrow.

Funny thing, once you leave school behind, it’s a much rarer thing to be cheered on by a large, supportive crowd (and for the few who still get to enjoy that, the venue sometimes changes to a court room and that puts a damper on things [insert_your_own_joke_about_a_fallen_from_grace_sports_star_here_]).

Regardless of the presence of teeming fans or not…

Screw it. I’ll stick with the truth here.

Though there will be no teeming fans, I am looking forward to the task I’ve set before myself. I may not be in the contest for a trophy, medal, or, heck, even a lousy plaque, but I still have heart and a love of the game.

My time may be running out, and the odds still may be bleak, but let me end with a final word to my opponents: the gypsy moths of Franklin and Washington counties.

The Week of the Marathon may have started with only a cool breeze, but I promise you the hurricane like winds of our Day of Reckoning start bellowing TOMORROW!

I’ll see you THEN!!!!!!!

Yes, I worked that metaphor to death. So sue me.

It’s not easy striking fear into the tiny hearts of little bugs.

But it’s all in a day’s work; tomorrow, tomorrow.

'Sing_it_Annie'

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WAG - To have been posted Saturday, August 2, 2003 in the early evening

The Contents of the Moth Man’s Truck

I read a lot (hang on, I’m going somewhere with this and it will get back to the implied subject of the title).

One of the best titles, in my opinion, of a short story is, “The Contents of the Dead Man’s Pockets.” I firs read the tale in some high school English textbook about a man who gets inadvertently trapped on a ledge. He crawled out the window to his upperstory apartment chasing a piece of paper where he has recorded customer observations, ciphered in his own private code, for several months. The window closes and locks behind him, and as he gazes out at the streets below, he contemplates his mortality.

He reasons the most ironic thing will be the strange suppositions people will come up with when all that is found on his person is a very worn piece of paper covered in gibberish.

Occasionally, when I’ve riffled through my pockets and found a strange combination of items (Kleenex, a single poker chip, half a box of Chiclets, and a Lego), my mind drifts back over the title of that memorable tale.

What explanation may be floated to rationalize such a strange conglomeration of items, that in actually, came together by chance?

Here’s the point. While traversing various highways, back roads, and camping sites, I come across a lot of trash. I know I have neither the time or charge to pickup all the trash (excepting a few weeks in June), but a combination of my anal retentive behavior and a desire to do just a little bit of good, I’ve often tossed an item or two in the back of my work truck.

When one pulls to the side of the road over 90 times a day, they will pickup quite a number of items, as well as occasionally encounter some stranger items.

This past Friday, I cleaned out the back of my truck in preparation for my marathon week. I won’t feel like taking much time to clean out my truck, and the sound of my ever expanding items add quite a bit to the rumbling sound when I’m taking particularly bumpy roads (and there’s nothing the sound of you pulling to a stop, and still having CLUNKS and BUMPS several seconds after you’ve ceased moving).

So, I emptied the trash, knickknacks, and other assorted items cluttering the back my truck. I didn’t stumble across a matching washer and drier, like I did last year, but I thought a recount of the various items I’ve lugged around might make for interesting reading.

Additionally, should I do this job again and acquire a similar collection, this should stifle any crazy hypothesizing should I, and my cache, come to an unfortunate end.

Note: This list has been edited down, because I didn’t feel like enumerating all the bottle, boxes, and cans; some items have flown and/or bounced out of the truck during my tenure; and some items were deemed “unidentifiable” when I was chucking them into a dumpster.

Enjoy.

The Contents:

Countless, plastic bottles, cups, and aluminum cans (with varying amounts of various beverages [mostly rain water] still sloshing inside them).

One plastic container that formerly held a $10.97 Wal-Mart watch (watch removed).

One deflated “PogoBall” – one of those bouncy balls surrounded by a plastic ring largely popular in the 80’s.

One rusted bike wheel (one would assume the front, but it was impossible to tell for sure).

A couple cigarette carton boxes (was found with part of inventory, smoked and discarded, but for sanitary reasons, and the fact they’re hard to pick up when wet, I choose to leave them behind).

One busted plastic rake with only 7 prongs.

One formerly green folding camp chair, now the combined color of green and river mud.

One corroded uni-ball pen.

One broken money belt (with neither an end or money to the belt).

Two hunks of flint rock (for later camping use).

Various shoes (retrieved from gravel bars, parking lots, and one from a tree. The style ranged from tennis shoes (with the subcategory of with and without soles), water/shower shoes, and one black, Hot Topic shoe with a 4-inch heel with a star cut through the center.

One lone leather work glove.

One rear blinker, complete with trailing lighting that sounded like a maraca whenever it was picked up.

One green “City of Sullivan” recycling container (borrowed from the Smith house to “drop off” a load a trimmed branches. For the record, I added the wood to a pile I personally created, so I figured it wasn’t that bad).

Sticks, leaves, and other plant parts.

One shredded street sign, torn into 2 pieces probably by a brush hog, that formerly read “Hoeman Street” (which is hilarious to lysdexic people).

Two gypsy moth traps, also rendered useless by brush hog and/or man: Washington Trap #35 and #107.

Various metal spikes (or merely spiked metal; it was difficult to determine).

One blue “Hightop Paving” business card torn into 4 pieces and found at the side of a recently paved road. Coincidence? I wish I knew.

One Missouri Trailer License that read “PCA 076.” If this is yours, it is still at the MDC Sullivan Area dumpster, buried beneath future and aforementioned items.

One severely rusted grill, formerly filled with rotting fish and a note for the finder of previously mentioned desiccated bounty. Even with coals and catch removed from grill (with the help of previously listed rake), the previous cargo’s smell remained prompting me to deposit the grill into the dumpster as quickly as speed limits allowed.

One slighted rusted, algae ringed shopping cart. Why someone stole the shopping cart, transported it to a gravel bar (where it’s wheels had little traction), and then abandoned it is beyond me. All I know for sure is that the “tinging” sound of a shopping cart bouncing around the back of your truck adds a triangle-like sound to the symphony created by the traversing of a back country dirt road.

End of List

Warning: transporting such items make reflect badly on your character. When the neighbor’s kid drives up with a shopping cart in the back of his pickup, and the city assessor drops by, one fears there will be a corresponding drop in property values.

However, one can know that they’re doing a good dead and working to make the world a better place; one piece at a time.

Besides, come tax day you’ll thank the neighbor’s kid for doing his part to reduce the amount due.

'youre_welcome'

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WAG - To Have been posted Friday, August 1, 2003, after work

Signs you’ve reached the end of a long week.

Today was Friday, and all of these events really happened.

Though knowing one would have told you the other.

Here are my symptoms:

After spending two hours waiting for your truck tune-up to be finished, you politely lie to the mechanic, who cautions you, “Not to get in a hurry,” that you have, “No reason to.”

Any strange knocking noises will be chalked up to loosely stored items in the back of the truck following the rationale, “The mechanic just checked this out; what could have gone wrong in only a few hours?”

It takes special concentration not to equate up-tempo songs with increased velocity Ironically, this doesn’t work the other way around, because my tendency to sub-divide maintains a speedy beat to tap along to).

The time spent picking cockle burrs off your shirt, pants, and self, will rise exponentially according to the tenacity of the seed pods, the humidity, and the number of people who stare at you like you’re a nimrod as they pass by.

At the edge of a radio station’s broadcasting range, you roll back and forth trying to phase out the static and are more concerned with a clear signal than a safe parking position.

You momentarily forget that the rule is “Look both ways, THEN cross street,” rather than “Look both ways WHILE crossing the street;” a point which a honking van driver helps reinforce.

You let an oil tanker, driven by an apparently suicidal maniac, pass you, rationalizing it by thinking if he’s going to wipe out, crash, and incinerate a 3-block radius around him, you’d rather see the wall of flame coming toward you rather than catch a final, brief glimpse of it in the “Objects closer than they appear” mirror.

One wonders if all the time spent listening to country radio is really starting to “get” to you as you yell, “Giddy up” or “Woo Hoo!” while pulling away, making tight turns, and cresting steep hills.

As a downpour slowly turns the clay/gravel road to liquid, you realize you’re reenacting one of those 4X4 all wheel drive commercials excepting the fact there’s a load of trash in the bouncing around the back of your truck. Also the commercials feature a “professional driver” on a “closed course” and you’re some punk kid bumping up County road 308, but otherwise it’s identical.

While thunder rumbles in the distance, you realize your practice of racing from your dry truck cab to tall trees, though it may be in your job description, may not be the wisest thing to do in your current situation.

You drive the speed limit more to bother people who are speeding rather than as a safety precaution.

When preparing to drink a bottle of strawberry flavored carbonated water, which has been mercilessly jostled around in your cooler, rather than slowly opening and closing the cap repeatedly, and patiently lowering the pressure, you twist the cap and immediately stick it out the window as it sprays foam at 70 MPH. Wait, I do that everyday. Anyway…

You come to the crest of a hill, see a large, wet turkey squatting in the road and you find yourself calling out, “Ten pointer!” according to the Unofficial Bird Bowling Scoring Guidelines.

One realizes your, “What I Did on My Summer Vacation” is going to be unlike anyone else you know.

And last, when Highway Patrol Officers are conducting a roadblock in the middle of the state park, and let you pass on through because you’re driving a state vehicle, you pull away singing, “I didn’t have to do the roadblock! I didn’t have to do the roadblock. La, la, la, la, LA..., la!”

How’s that for a “mature” guy who just turned 21?

I don’t need any comments on that last part. I’m self-diagnosed and I know the remedy.

'If_only_I_can_keep_that_Jason_Mraz_signal_from_breaking_up'

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WAG - Remind me not to make three and a half hours overtime a regular practice

Ug...

This is a quick post to clear some things up.

First, I was not lazy this weekend; our internet access was simply screwed up (see my sister's site just to the left there. See it? She'll vouch for me). I wrote a lot, but after getting everything together this evening, dont' feel like posting them now (with extra notes saying when they were supposed to go).

I don't plan on working so hard tomorrow (I got 132 traps today. If I keep up this rate, I'll be done with a spare day; which considering how I'm feeling now, is NOT my goal).

Second, there is no second. This is how tired I am. Trying to catch up on email, newsite postings, and other crap took up too much time (and I didn't even attempt to catch up with my favortie webcomics [also to the left. Can you...yeah you got the idea).

Tomorrow I'll try to post as soon as possible, and not wait until later in the evening. Yes I realize it's only a little bit past 10:00 p.m. now. Yes the fact I'm ready to crash any moment irks me off.

I guess I can look forward to college derived insomnia next week.

For now, I need to get to sleep.

Check back tomorrow evening. It should be worth your while (whatever that means).

'Sleeping_good_Being_awake_bad'

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