Bigger is Better

I realized an important phenomenon this weekend that I think applies to every college-aged male. I like to call it the "Bigger is always better" phenomenon. No we're not talking about that. Instead, every time one of use gets an idea that on its own would be pretty rational and normal, we're required to blow it way out of proportion to the point that we could never pull it off. You know what I'm talking about. Somebody mentions something like making some popcorn in the microwave, then his buddy dares him to put it in there for 10 minutes, and then it just grows exponentially from there, with the last guy suggesting that you first douse the bag with gasoline and throw it on the grill. That's just what happens with these things.

I've got a couple of really good examples of this from my experiences. One of my friends told us that he really wanted a blackboard to do his homework on. Upon being informed that you can buy panit that makes a blackboard surface, one would assume that a person would take a piece of plywood and make a blackboard out of it. Not so with us. It started small, like wanting to paint a closet. Then we decided that he should just paint his whole apartment. I have to admit that in my nerdliness, that idea sounds pretty awesome. My wildlife science-major roommate commented that if he had his walls as blackboard, they would probably be covered with animals (or critters as he refers to them). I think this is an idea that should be explored further.

Sometimes these expanding ideas actually come to fruition. After several years of attending Kiwanis pancake breakfasts, I decided that a couple pancakes no longer did it for me. Thus, when I came down to visit one time last year, my afforementioned current roommate and I had a waffle eating competition. Things got out of hand quickly, and I ended up downing 13 full sized eggos compared to his 17. Unfortunately, I only managed to keep 11 of them. Since I never learn my lesson from anything, we're doing it again this year. The Awful Waffle '07 is tentatively scheduled for March 3rd, so keep your calendars open. I think it would help me if we had a crowd there this time.

My parents were visiting this weekend, and as we were tailgating my dad tried to lower the window of this truck so we could listen to the radio. The window immediately fell off the tracks and down in to the depths of the door. I thought it was much more humorous than he did. We ended up having to go to Wal-Mart to buy some plastic sheeting and waterproof tape to cover up the window space. Ghettofying my dad's truck has to rank right on up there as one of the most unusually satisfying experiences in my life. Anyhow, the point of this story is that we had to buy a roll of plastic sheeting that was 25 X 100 feet, and we only used a very small part of it. So, like any logical person, I decided we could use the rest to make a slip 'n slide. Stay tuned for when this one actually takes place.

Grey's Anatomy = The Superdrug

I think I've mentioned before that I think that TV is a lot like a drug. Now I finally have proof. The other night, I was attempting to study with a friend in the Honors College basement, which just happens to have a TV in it. Before my friend arrived, I was sitting at a table, attempting to read my physics book (which, in itself, is quite a fruitless endeavour), when a girl magically appears on the couch in front of the TV. I think as I grow older my ability to observe important things, like people being in a room, is slowly escaping me. Anyhow, she says to me, "Is the TV going to bother you studying?" Of course I said no, despite the fact that it probably would, just because I'm a nice guy and I like to avoid conflict like that. Unfortunately, conflict still managed to rear its ugly head. She followed up on her previous statement with a tart, "Good, because I'm not turning off my Grey's for anybody!"

Two things greatly disturb me about this. Number one, of course, is the fact that this girl needed to watch a TV show so badly that she was willing to risk her being a decent human being. This is akin to a crackhead killing the dealer if he doesn't have the money to pay for his stuff. There should seriously be treament options for TV addicts like this. We could start with a patch, then move on to some gum, maybe even drugs you can inject to cure yourself. There could be a lot of money in this...

The second thing that bothers me is that this show has reached the point where it can be referred to as a slang term. Apparently it's too difficult to say "Grey's Anatomy" in it's entirety, so the girl referred to it not only as a singular term, but also as if she owned it! Another classic symptom of addiction, if you ask me. Cocaine has a lot of slang terms associated with it too, you know.

We need to figure out a way to supplant this massive epidemic known as network television. TV has had its time in the sun, which means it's time for a new medium. What if there was a way to use this wonderful internet to amuse one's self for hours? But wait, there is! Youtube.com is the answer to everything. Watching somebody suckerpunch one of their buddies is infinitely more entertaining than a stupid love triangle/quadrangle/whatever the hell goes on in that show. Even better, Youtube is totally legit now in America's eyes, after its big merger with Google. No company is truly American until it merges with another corporation and folks start getting canned. Cut the wheat, I say. Or is it the chaff? Oh well: when in Rome...

Back At It

I realize that all two of you that read this blog have probably been saying to yourself, "Wow, now that Andy's at college I bet all kinds of crazy stuff is happening to him. I really wish I could read about it!" Well, fear not my friends, because I think it's about time I started making that dream come true.

It's pretty hard to remember all of the crazy things that have happened to me since I've arrived here, but basically I've: endured a week of hellish band camp, started classes with a bang, then subsequently realized I suck at physics more than I thought, met a lot of interesting new people, figured out that people are still pretty immature, sucked it up some more at physics, and almost died in some fireworks. That about sums it up so far. I really think that the last item deserves a little further explanation, though.

At this past Saturday's football extravaganza vs. Florida, somebody decided it would be cool to have fireworks going off while the team came out of the tunnel. That's all well and good for most of the 87,000+ people in the stadium, because everybody loves fireworks, right? Well, it totally sucked for me, because I just happen to be in the marching band, and I just happen to have a pregame spot right on top of where they decided to put the fireworks. Somebody came up to me while I was playing and said, "Oh, these are cold fireworks, don't worry about a thing." So, obviously, I pretty much started freaking out.

Now, I've had some interesting experiences with fireworks before, namely drunken friends shooting roman candles at me and each other, as well as said friends throwing packages of 500 bottle rockets into a campfire. However, the difference is that in those instances I was able to move out of the way. When you're doing pregame, you're pretty much out of luck.

I really thought that these contraptions of death a foot in front of me were just going to shoot off some mortar-shells, and that it would be over very quickly. Unfortunately, it turns out that they were the kind of fireworks that spray sparks continually. The sparks weren't exactly "cold", in fact I would describe them as quite warm. I'm pretty sure that I remember my trombone slide glowing while I was playing. The slide, by the way, was quite charred and had to be sent off for repair, if that tells you anything about the situation.

One of my fellow trombone players, who was standing a foot behind me, said he couldn't even see me inside the burning cauldron of doom. I had visions of my life passing before my eyes; all the important stuff I've done like eating 13 waffles in one sitting. I was ready to give it all up for the band. I always sort of thought that I might die on a football field in a band uniform, but I had been reasonably sure it would come at the hands of a majorette with one of those terrifying fire-batons. There was one thing I refused to do, however. That is, of course, miss notes. I played every damn note of War Eagle, twice through, while I was on fire. Because I'm definitely not about to get replaced by an alternate...