Friday, September 24, 2004
They're trying to kill me. They're. Actually. Trying. to kill me.
I'm not talking about the art school, although I very well could be (class 1:30 to 4:30 on North campus, 5-6:30 on Central, 7:30-9 back on North... this is when you often need half an hour to get from one campus to another... what were they thinking??). No. I am not talking about the University bus system, although they've changed the schedule so that there aren't enough buses at rush hours now, making them hellish to ride. No, I am not talking about the apparently knife-fixated classes I've been taking this semester. I mean, one class, sure. But to have Exacto-centric projects going in both drawing and CFC? And then to have to deal with the razors and scalpels in bio... well. My poor fingertips, they are sliced to bits.
Regardless. This is not what I am talking about.
I am talking about the Red Sox.
They won last night. It was a nail-biter, ESPN televised it even though they hadn't had it in their schedule the last time I had checked. So I ended up watching it. All 12, stomach-turning innings of it. Foulke had come in as the closer and allowed the Orioles to tie up the game, causing me to put up an away message along the lines of 'GOD DAMN YOU FOULKE GOD DAMN YOU DAMMIT'. I left it up for a while.
Then there was the parade of pitchers, the switching of everyone else, the apparent desire to use every single person on the Red Sox bench. I gnawed on my (already Exacto-knife-shredded) fingers, I threw things, I wailed around with my Patriots pillow, I generally made a scene and caused my hallmates to come looking for me in concern. Embree, who usually fills my heart with a horrible, clammy, Derek-Lowe-like fear, did his job. Huzzah. Too bad Foulke hadn't.
In the end Cabrera hit a walkoff homerun to win us the game, I whooped very loudly and blatantly violated Quiet Hours (I forget the actual weektime hours, but it most definitely starts long before that game ended), and I put the Patriots pillow back down. A little sheepishly. Nate came wandering in, shirtless and rubbing his eyes, to peer blearily at the TV and gingerly give me a victory pat on the back. I think he mostly wanted to see if I was done yelling for the night.
I would have written a more detailed account of the game, but that was last night and a million relative hours ago, so no such luck. I suggest popping over to read East Coast Agony, because it is possibly the best thing I have read in recent times. He starts off the entry talking about Mark Bellhorn (whom I rather like, for unfathomable reasons), but then goes into a transcript of last night's game. Like I said, one of the funniest things I've read. I actually laughed out loud. And then felt like an enormous dork for laughing out loud to myself while sitting at the computer.
Anyways, the Red Sox lost tonight, I watched the end of the game on that horrible GameDay gamecast thing on the computer, which makes you feel like some kind of junkie. Must... get.... Red Sox... fix... need... play... by play.... perfectly... willing... to stare... at these.... pathetic... graphics. Yeah. Sox lost. I imagine it would have been worse if I had actually been watching it, instead of staring at a poorly designed website, screaming at it 'Update! Update! C'mon, I know the play must've happened by now! What the hell, people!'. This is getting bad.
But hey, no need to feel blue! We've got a game coming up tomorrow night, and that'll be nationally televised so I can spend a merry Friday night sitting in and watching it! Pedro's pitching! It's in Fenway! Should be great!
We're playing the Yankees.
Oh, the giant pink rabbit was back today. It was standing outside the Michigan Theater before our weekly guest artist lecture. This time it had attendents, people wearing bunny ears on their heads and elbow-high white gloves. One was holding up a sign that said 'Vote Bunny for Change!' on one side and 'Bunny Against Bush' on the other. One had a basketful of baby carrots, which were being passed out to the various people streaming into the theater. One had another basket full of little paper notes, some of which said 'Art Students for Bunny' or 'Vote Bunny!'. I got one with a clipart image of the American flag on it next to a poorly photocopied image of a rabbit. It said 'I promise to lower the price of iMac G-5 PowerBooks and carrots.' I don't really know what to say.
At the end of the lecture, when the guest artist was taking questions from the crowd, he paused at one point to peer uncertainly into the back of the room. "Um. I think there's a giant rabbit back there. Stand up back there!" The rabbit stood up, waved, and sat back down. The lecturer was visibly relieved. "Oh wow. I thought I was hallucinating for a second there."
Although it is pretty clearly somehow associated with the art school, the rabbit's presence has still not been adequetely explained.
Oh, and there's a dead cockroach on the floor of my hall's bathroom. Don't click that link if images of deceased vermin worry you. There's a sign from 'pest control' on the stall door, telling us to not go in there because of the dead cockroach. I have no idea why they didn't just sweep it away or something. Of course, this does raise the delightful thought that there are apparently COCKROACHES IN MY FRELLING DORM. Lovely. Just lovely.
Must sleep. And the Sox must win tomorrow. Because, if they lose, I won't get much sleep tomorrow night. And that would be especially bad, because I'm going to the Michigan/Iowa game on Saturday if it kills me. It being Yom Kippur, it might actually do so. I'm not sure if it's possible to go to a football game when you're fasting without passing out at some point, but we'll see how it goes.