Maggie's Awesome Column In the Newspaper

Maggie Sotos from Gustavus wrote an awesome column in our school newspaper, and I just have to share it... it made me giggle.

"Captain’s Log, Star Date Tuesday, Nov. 25; 2:00 p.m.:
As my last class concludes, I begin the great migration from St. Peter, Minnesota, to Elmhurst, Illinois, a lonely outpost of the greater Chicago land Star System. The occasion: the Festival of Giving Thanks. The distance: seven hours by automobile (although if a parental unit is driving, local speed limits will be observed and increase the travel time). The route: primarily I-90/94. My journey today will be long and perilous; I pack a Sprite and Nerds on a Rope for sustenance.

Captain’s Log, 2:45 p.m.:
I pass Loon Lake in Waseca and once more am bitterly disappointed by the lack of loons. In all four years of traveling this road, I have never once seen a loon on Loon Lake. I briefly consider filing a complaint with the city, stating grievances of “False Advertising” and “Getting Maggie’s Hopes Up.”

Captain’s Log, 3:30 p.m.:
As I near Rochester, MN, I officially count my twentieth pro-life billboard. I am shocked to learn, from an enlarged photograph of an exuberant, laughing baby, that humans possess fingerprints seventeen days after conception. Thank God my informed decision-making is based on disturbingly magnified pictures of something with no control over its bowel movements.

Captain’s Log, 4:45 p.m.:
This is the fifth deer I have seen strapped to the back of a truck in the last ten minutes. I must be nearing Wisconsin.

Captain’s Log, 5:00 p.m.:
Indeed, my vehicle crosses the state line. I report my location to the Mother Ship. She is thrilled I am doing well, but tells me I must be driving too fast if I am already out of Minnesota, and I need to slow down, Margaret, do I want to be in an accident?

I pick up dinner in Lacrosse. Although the sandwiches at Panera are my first choice, I will be on the road whilst eating. Therefore, it is McDonald’s easy-to-handle-while-driving burgers that receive my business. I know its workers receive terrible and unequal wages, that its animals are poked in the eyes with sticks and called mean names, or something equally inhumane. I feel slightly guilty for patronizing the industry, so I wash it all down with an ice-cold Coca-Cola. After all, if I am going to be socially unjust, why half-ass it?

Captain’s Log, 7:00 p.m.:
The boredom of highway driving begins to set in. The radio is out (meaning it has picked up nothing but country and Christian rock for the last hour). I have already used up my Ira Glass’ This American Life and Radio Lab reserves. I now turn to the galaxy’s most reliable Road Trip companion: Harry Potter on tape. A few minutes of this anthology will have the most apathetic driver gripped with emotion, yelling into an empty vehicle, “No, Harry, DON’T go into the third floor corridor!” “No, Umbridge, DON’T punish Harry with the Cruciatus Curse!” or “No, J.K. Rowling, DON’T write such a vague and abstract Epilogue!” My spirit is rekindled, and the expedition home continues.

Captain’s Log, 7:30 p.m.:

I enter Illinois and pay my first toll. I will pay three more in the next hour and a half. I report in again to the Mother Ship and brief her on my coordinates. The Matriarch reminds me I must be speeding like a bat out of hell if I’m already in Illinois and to slow down, for Christ’s sake.

Captain’s Log, 8:00 p.m.:
Harry Potter on tape concludes, and with no other forms of entertainment in the car, I am forced to sit and hear myself think. I find myself going mad from the silence, and desperately dig about in the backseat for something to listen to. I find N*SYNC’s first CD from fifth grade. After a few tracks, I turn it off and return to the silence.

Captain’s Log, 9:00 p.m.:
My vehicle arrives at the Mother Ship. It is littered with McDonald’s, Harry Potter tapes, pre-moistened towlettes, and it reeks of my body odor. As I walk in the door, seven hours after I began my tri-state voyage, I am barraged by hugs and chidings of how I got home so soon, how fast I must have been going, I am probably a reckless lead foot on the road and a hazard to my own health, I’m going to give my parents heart attacks, do I want to put my mother in an early grave after all she’s done for this family, get inside, they’ve missed me.""

The Eternal Battle Between Man and Woman

Okay, maybe that title is a little dramatic...


There is a struggle, though.

This is a struggle that is based on two assumptions: One, that men should always be able to fix everything; Two, that women will always yearn for independence from men.

It's true that men want to be the problem-solver, the bread-winner, and the handy-man around the house. There are probably a million psychoanalytic interpretations of this, but I will stick with my own conclusion. I think that a man tends to measure his worth by what he can do for his family and friends. Nothing wrong with that... until the independent woman walks into his life.

The independent woman wants to buy her own power tools, make her own money, and fix her own plumbing. If a man says "Do you want help with that?" she becomes defensive because she perceives that he implies she's weak and can't do it herself, when actually, he probably just wants to fulfill his own perceived role as a problem-solver.

So what do we do with that? I mean, really?

There has to be a balance of understanding within the relationship in order for this to work correctly.

I was at home on Saturday and I made soup for everyone for lunch. Turkey Noodle Soup. I had decided to make biscuits and let my younger siblings make shapes with the cookie cutters. Well, it turns out I probably should have used a little less flour, because they ended up being a little dense. I put a couple in the soup to liven them up a little. I made the mistake of calling them "dumplings" in front of my father. I vocalized the fact that I didn't make them correctly, so they sucked. This is where my dad starts in on it:

"Did you use enough milk?"
"Well, actually, I didn't intend on making dumplings. It's just flour and water. I was making biscuits but I threw a couple in the soup."
"Did the dough have a sticky consistency to it?"
"No. I didn't plan on making dumplings, so it was pretty dense."
"There's probably not enough water in the soup to make dumplings."

Okay, so I got a little tired of trying to argue my point that I really didn't mean to make dumplings. I meant to make biscuits. I put the biscuits in the soup because they were gross by themselves. My father tends to do this a lot. That is, ask a load of questions that would make anyone feel like an idiot if they weren't careful.

I was careful. I know my dad too well to think that he thought I was just dumb. He just wanted to be the one to evaluate the situation and solve the "problem."

So the way I see it, there has to be an understanding of the two assumptions I started with. Women have to realize that men will say and do things that sound demeaning, but in all reality, they really want to help. Men have to know that women can and will believe that men are trying to rule over them, and they will lash out when men try to help them.

That's the best I've got.

A New Tune

Oh Edie Carey, you know the hearts of women.



If I Start To Cry

I got so much to ask you
It's never the time
Why would I spoil a perfect evening?
We've gotten this far on being polite
Besides, I know you're proud of me

When I was made
Did they leave out a part?
Did you know this and choose to guard the secret?
You said everybody's born with a beautiful heart
Well, what was wrong with hers and
Why did you leave it?

If I start to cry, I may not stop
Love runs dry, I run off

Can you help me with this heart inside my chest?
It ain't perfect, but you should see me use it
But it only works when I make a mess
When it looks like I'm about to lose it

If I start to cry, I may not stop
Love runs dry, I run off

Yeah I'm just like my mother
Yeah I'm just like my mother
And if you don't love her,
What does that mean about me?

If I start to cry, I may not stop
I wanna know why I run off
I wanna know why I'm like this
I wanna know why


Myspace that S.O.B.

Love it...

To be Concluded

I don't want to tell you my fears
but I've claimed my own tears
from a broken heart that knows
"Honesty, is the best policy"
for a perfect, harmless world of flawless people

And I cried as those words were thrown
around the room like paper airplanes
tumbling, crashing, falling to the ground
Tell me what you see
Tell me what you see, my dear

What's Wrong With Hybrid/Electric Vehicles?

So I've been thinking lately... upon graduation and successfully gaining employment, I plan on buying a new car. I would really, really, really love to have an electric car. I just think it's a neat idea. Anyway... here is my question: Why are they designed to be such an eye-sore? I mean, really. Honda, your hydrogen car looks disgusting. Toyota, I expected more from you, but your Prius is almost as good looking as a long-haired cat that's just come in from the rain.

My theory tends to be that these manufacturers don't really want to sell these cars... they just want the gubberment to say "Good job. Here's some money."

Make me a good looking (and by good, I mean normal-looking), energy efficient vehicle that I can call my own.

Please complete by 6/01/2011.

Sincerely,

Your unhappy prospective customer.

To be continued...

I wandered into that room tonight
to find you resting in the soft light
hoping not to wake your sleeping soul
I laid down there at your side
just to gaze across the threads
to the gentleness in your face

And I smiled as those eyes that lay still
rose from their slumber to find me there
for a moment my soul felt bare, unprotected
tell me what you see, my dear

The Great Struggle

Friday afternoon, I skipped out of Calc 3 to head home a measly hour earlier. I wanted to go home to see a couple of friends, and then head back to school on Saturday.

Maybe I was being punished for skipping, I don't know, but on Friday night my car stalled while I was headed down Main Street of good old Rdubbs.

Well, for once I was glad that I was speeding (45/30) so that I could at least coast to a good place where I could pull over. I pulled into the local movie rental parking lot, and attempted to start the SOB.

No good... and then that great smell of something burning.

So I called home and let my mom know what happened and that I was going to leave it there and head to a friend's house. She told my dad about it when he got home from work at 10:30.

Two hours later, I am watching Sex & the City with friends, and my dad calls to tell me that he got the car home with smoke billowing out from under the hood and through the exhaust.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

So after watching S&C, I headed home to sleep, fearing the nightmares of my car on fire and not being insured for a car fire.

Saturday morning I get up and grab an apple and walk outside to see the damage.

There's good old dad--what a grease monkey.

It's seven-thirty in the morning, and he's checking compression for each cylinder... whatever that means, I don't know. "It's a bad fuel-injector, I think," he says.

Well, I guess he was right. So we go junk-yard hopping, hoping, just hoping, that we will find my car in a junk yard.

No such luck. Apparently, the 3.5L engine that Mitsubishi decided to put in my car was not in ANY other model sold in the U.S. Well, looks like we'll have to go to a parts store and see what they can do for us. Keep in mind, I wanted to head back to school today so that I could get some studying in for a couple of tests on Monday.

"We can have it in by next Wednesday," says the grubby-looking man behind the counter, who is, perhaps, much too young for my dad to completely trust when it comes to cars.

"Can you check to see if any of your other stores in the cities have one?" dad says, irritably.

"I did," says the counter guy. Maybe he knows what he's doing after all, I think.

So we mope out of the store, our hope, demolished. Until....

"Dad, let's check a dealership," I propose. So we think of the few-and-far-between Mitsubishi Dealerships in MN. Hmmmmm... Bloomington.

Damn. Their parts department is closed on Saturdays.

So then we call home to have someone look up dealerships.

Brooklyn Center.... what the hell.. let's go.

YAYAYAYAYAYAY!! Parts department open--check. Fuel-injectors in-stock--check!!!!

The guy says, "We go through a lot of these."

Oh great.

"That's $240... how many do you want?"

How many do I WANT!?!?!?! What the hell is wrong with you!? I just want one!!! How many do I want... Jesus.... $240... how many do I want??!

"Just one," says dad as he pulls out the Visa.

Thanks dad.

"We are probably even for that bumper, huh?" He asks, referring to his mishap with my car over the winter.

"Yeah, probably," I say. Four tires, three oil changes, 6 spark plugs, two oil filters, and a fuel-injector later, I guess I can call that even to a $450 piece of plastic.

So we take a quiet ride home... satisfied with our journey of great labor and frustration... but still wondering whether all of this work will fix the problem.

We're home, dad has to work in an hour, but calls in to say he will be late.

Thanks, dad.

So we take out the old injector, put the new one in. We change the spark plugs, change the oil, which was dirtied with gasoline, change the oil filter, and put 'er all back together.

Uh-oh. "Where do these go?" I think to my self while holding two bolts.

"Whew," It's just for the plastic cover that goes over the manifold.

So here's the moment of truth. Let's start 'er up.

*chugga, chugga, chugga, vrooooooooooooooom!!*

So then we watch as blue smoke comes out of every crevice you could possibly think of, and feel slightly nauseous as asphyxiating gases fill the air. The engine rpms slowing down... slight hesitation... it's going to stall, again... but dad knows what to do.

So he stands there under the hood for a couple of minutes, holding the throttle to rev the engine, trying to get it to blow all that shit out.

Then he lets it be.

"It needs to run for at least two hours," he says.

Then he goes and gets his, whatever it's called, code-reading device, and clears all of the codes on the car.

"It's going to need to re-adjust.. all the O2 sensors, the whole works," he gets up and walks over to put things away.

Two hours later, after dad has gone to work, I sit in my car and it's running fine.
No smoke, no weird noises, just perfect.

I've used a quarter of a tank of gas on just 58 miles, but it's okay... filling up at the station is easy... easier than walking back to St. Peter.

This morning, I woke up, took a shower, ate breakfast, and headed back to school. I am very thankful for my dad. I joke sometimes that he could open up his own garage. The funny thing is, he really could do just that.




P.S. Anyone want to buy a car?

Through Keyholes

There is a saying that goes like this:

“People who look through keyholes are apt to get the idea that most things are keyhole-shaped.”
- Anonymous

With all of his choice words and bold romantics, my heart fell softly into his hands. What a great love I had known and returned. Until that night, I had such adoration for the compassion he portrayed so consistently. And now my heart just aches... you know... when you feel so much pain that you get a stomach ache? It is in my heart, where his love once laid my troubles to rest and dissolved my senses, he left me feeling like I could withstand any pain. And so pain arrives now, teaching me how to shed tears and bend my knees to the floor, wondering whether it was all counterfeit. I replay those statements in my mind and I am not sure that I listened to them in their entirety; the tone, the context, or the timing. I feel slightly naive for being so enthralled and engrossed in his attention that I forgot to be sensible. For I knew all that he had done, and yet I pursued his love endlessly, hoping that perhaps I had been to quick to judge his character based on the thoughts of those who knew him. And so I now look at his past through a new keyhole, one that has been molded over time with a mixture of betrayal and brokenness. And I see that his past is his present, too. His character has evolved into one that hides his true color, and layers itself with numerous facets to reflect a pleasant light for all to see.

BARNA!

Jason, this post is dedicated to you.

Congratulations on your acceptance to the Troy Police Department.

Good luck in the Academy!

Don't forget to shine your shoes.
Iron your shirts, slacks, and uniform.
Always, always, always remember to call if you have problems with any of the above.

p.s. I want to go on a ride-a-long when you're sworn in. :)

Thoughts...

What makes a person "the one?"

I mean, you hear all the time, "You'll know, when he/she is the one."

Is it good looks and a good personality?
That can't be right.... I know a lot of good-looking guys who are also pretty rad... in fact, there are probably millions of dashing young men out there who are also very intriguing.

Is it a common life-goal?
Hmmm... I'm pretty sure more than one person wants to be truly happy, travel the world, and eat tapioca pudding in a hammock.

Maybe it's something bigger than that....
Like matching souls....

...or maybe it's something simpler?
Like favorite movies and music.

Who knows.... oh wait, I guess married people do.... or at least they're damn good at pretending to know.

Dear dawn
meet me in the morning
but don't come too soon
for I fear I will not be as charming

My dearest dawn
you are the oldest, the wisest
and most sensible being I know
the first enchantment I willingly suffer each day
and my final thought as eyes close

Dear dawn
meet me in the morning
near the old familiar horizon
to share a cup of coffee with your rays

Money = Madness

So today I was doing a little personal accounting, and found out that I need to make an extra 702 dollars in order to pay for next semester's balance. Booooooooooo...

I apply for at least two jobs every day--I'm still holding back on the food-business, though... been there, done that.

I am also trying really really really really extremely hard to make straight A's this semester and the next in order to bring my GPA up. I'm at a 3.158 right now, so if I get above a 3.5, I can qualify for an additional $1,000 in financial aid next year. If I achieve a 4.0, I could probably get even more, but I doubt I could ever become a hermit and study as much as that would entail.... probably equivalent to the amount of time I spend watching hockey every year. *shudders*

So if I get a job this school year, it's going to be tough:

1) I have six classes
2) I have work - study
3) I would need to take time off for every holiday, as I am not allowed to be on campus
4) I would need to work 2nd or 3rd shifts

I try not to let the situation stress me out... but I can't just sit back and watch things go in the wrong direction, either. I'm a fixer, by nature.

The Man Hunt

So I currently don't have a roommate. The roommate I did have decided not to come back to Gustavus this year, so I have a small dungeon to myself! It is very quiet in here sometimes when I don't have music playing or friends lounging around... but that is nice, it seems.

So during a quiet period today, I heard my neighbors talking loudly about the other half of the population: Men. I am not quite sure why I do this, but I have a tendency to listen intently when women attempt to evaluate men. I giggled to myself numerous times as they grossly over-simplified or under-estimated various parts of dating. I am not a dating expert by any means, but when you hear someone say something ridiculous, you can't help but shake your head.

These girls had just finished talking about how they wish they had boyfriends... and then it went on to how they hoped they would find one on campus. And I could not help but think, "Here we go..." and naturally every quality they hoped for came spewing out of their mouths like a sneeze--and I mean the snotty, disgusting sneeze that makes people step back and cover their faces.

So it begins. It is fall, every girl wants a cuddle buddy,... or something like that. Whatever happened to being best friends and acting less serious, more natural... maybe he lives ten miles away, maybe he doesn't like the Gilmore Girls or The Hills,... maybe he even hates them... but you will still like him, right? Why is everyone obsessed about finding Mr. Right and laying down a bunch of guidelines that end up looking extremely narrow and probably only encompassing .00000000000194% of the world population. Good luck, girls.

Life is What Happens

The grand plan:

teach for the sake of students and not a paycheck
travel to places of which no one has heard
share a MN Wild game with a cold one and a good guy
have a picnic on a swimming dock
plant a garden
read books that no one else will read
try to keep a straight face while telling a joke
work less, play more
memorize a movie line-for-line
learn Italian for the sake of ordering food in an authentic Italian restaurant
have 0 or 2 children
write a book about how dumb love can be
paint something recognizable
look at the world from the ground up
do foolish things with enthusiasm
build something by hand
get a blister from something other than sunburn
wash my winter jacket every spring
eat more Cheerios.. they make you cheery..


"Remember, today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday."
- Dale Carnegie