Tears and Cheers for Technology

I'm currently in the lab at Doucette on an Apple computer, that's right, Apple. Since the day we first recieved our old computer, a prehistoric squarish block of about 5 functions, I knew I was a PC person and I really liked playing around on that thing. Well, time has passed and now I have a Dell, which I love and had plans to marry the warm little hummer someday....until an affair with an Apple Computer crashed into my world. I met him through my major, Graphic Design, and the outlook for the Dell isn't so bright. In the end, I am going to move to Utah because I'm in love with both- I must marry both my Apple and Dell. Who knows...maybe they like the same foods to cut down on the grocery bill. They both enjoy electricity too. Who knows? It could happen.

It seems technology has been having a way with me lately, both emotionally and mentally. Crazy smart people, who created all this high-tech modern stuff? Good thing I don't know them for I'd be giving them hugs of appriciation and thanks at one moment, and then reaching for their neck to give a good pull and squeeze in a desperate plea for understanding through confusion in another.

I'll start with the heart-breaking tale first. Grab your tissues and a soft blanket with a teddy bear. Someone's going to have to dry your tears, might as well be an absorbant animal of love.

My cell phone died. I know my mother is reading this and will suddenly yell "What?!" but I have to tell her sometime. I hope and pray there is a warranty because it's my battery, and those usually run at a price that is higher than the phone itself.

How did it happen? It all started when I discovered I left my phone charger at home from when I stayed over break. in an attempt to get some kind of celluar activity with only one bar left on my power for the cell, I sought someone who also had a Verizon phone charger and got hooked up. Super! So I thought...

On my way back to the room after the charging I noticed the little bugger wouldn't turn on. After several tries of pushing the power button, my worst fars entered my mind- it's dead.

I frantically scurried to Manna for some kind of understanding of why my precious communication tool has left me for the virutal afterlife. She then preceeds to tell me a cell phone horror story of her own that I was now re-living. Sh used a phone charger of a different person and the batter was over-charged and required a new battery, which in effect, required a new phone.

I started to squeal with fear.

I then spoke with Kevin and he began to tell me about how Verizon stores fix phones for free and will help me out. Hearing the news, I wanted to jump n the car right then and there to head over to the nearest location where they could bring my little phone back to life.

i don't know what I'll do. If there is a warranty, I'll have to get a new battery. If not...I'll have to take it to a Verizon store or a Radio Shak to see what the deal is. I even checked the internet website for explanation of the freak accident and they suggested a new battery. I sheepishly asked Manna how much a battery was for a cell phone. She told me around $30.00.

I started to weap with fear.

Terrible! It's not my only means on communication, but it's a security blanket! i rarely get calls in class from people and usually use it for talking to John, but it's my baby! How could this happen? What have I done? Better question, what will my mother do to me? Help!

Currently there is a memorial on the television in our room for the phone. It is doing one of those "presidental viewings" like they do in the White House. On top of the TV, my cell phone rests in peace, without a ring or a beep or a jingle out of it, surrounded by dried, white roses that are Manna's from Ethan. On of of the cell phone lays two pedals, as if in a coffin and presented for burial. I wrote a short memoir on a post-it note and attached it to the front of the TV. On the dry erase board. I posted a message board for sympathies for my loss and prayers for manna's phone (which is broken on the oustide, but still functional).

Eek.

But on a happy note, I am actually typing on an Apple computer, something I somewhat feared for I love my little PC with all it's windows and such. We are in here working on a logo for a company called "Two Trees" and in the process, playing around with the fun features of the many Adobe products. It is pretty fun, even though I am in the dark in most areas of the project. Fortunatly, I have an Intro to Computer Software class next semester with the teacher I currently have, who also doubles as my advisor.

On either side of me in class, Maurice, an Apple illiterate user, and Adam, and Apple pro. This setup was great because in the end, I didn't feel too stupid or too smart. Nothing bugs more more than people in my class that own macs, love macs, and know then inside and out (which is ok) but in return act like cocky pains in the rear that make you want to sit on them to the point where they wiggle and gasp out with a breath of air "I love PC's!" Sure, macs are pretty fun, everything is twisted, but those same people who scared me when I first came into the major only anger me to some extent. I now know I have the power, not everyone is a Mac master, stop your act, be human.

Yet to my dismay, I hear that I will need to purchase a certain Zip Drive thingy (can't recall the name of it, it's on the tip of my tongue.) Thankfully, they aren't that much. That's the last thing I need- an expensive toy for class ontop of a cell phone repair and Christmas. Good heavens, my future profession is going to be a hobo.

Hopefully, things work out for the best in the end. If my mother is reading this, get on AIM so I can talk to yoo that way. Also, tell me there is a warranty so I can sleep with ease tonight.

I miss my cell phone.

Mommy.

For Richer or Poorer

Thanksgiving vacation began at 12:00 Tuesday as I finished up my final touches on the room and my belongings to haul home. A merry little ride home with John to the beloved residence on that old Coffee Hollow Road to where I could kick back and put my feel up for a little bit with the occasionally running around with John and friends.

Kick my feet up? Pah, more like grab the dust rag!

It turns out that the house was in some need of a dust and vacuum for the holidays and for it's cleaning recruit all signs pointing to me. I started in the living room and worked my way to the kitchen and then to the stairwell. By the time I was done doing the windows and pictures, dusting the shelves, changing the lightbulbs, and vacuuming the carpet and rugs, I was starting to ponder how the upper-class societies do it in their beast-like homes.

Honestly, I see why there are hired help. It took me quite a while to get done with the tasks that were pretty basic. I didn't even get to touch the bathroom! (But then again, who would want to?) If I owned some multi-million dollar estate with pool and beach house with all the accommodations of the rich and famous, the dust would recollect where I started by the time I got the end. My house isn't even that big or complex compared to other's. Cleaning would require a team at a big old honkin' joint. (I guess that team is called kids. No wonder parents got the idea to have them.) Yet who would really want to be on a cleaning team? A half hour into the mop and sponge production at least one member would disappear and start playing with something entertaining found under the couch that has been missing for a year or so.

When I finally reach the age to build a home and have enough financial stability, (even though I will still look like a 16 year old, but I'm not complaining. Due to my genetic make-up, I can bypass all of anti-wrinkle cream for awhile until the interstate or grays and sags begin. But then again, who really cares? I sure don't. I don't see why people make a big fuss over the lines and hairs when all is shows is that your laughed well and loved lots. But that is another blog.) (Since you've probably forgotten the first line of the paragraph, I'll write it again.)

When I finally reach the age to build a home and have enough financial stability, I don't plan on making a gargantuan home by any means. Bills to pay, people to feed, fun to have. Who needs an indoor swimming pool with a butler? Not me. And besides, some of the cutest and warmest houses I been in are the ones that are lived in, cozy, and welcoming. Estates don't have a place or rank on my list of top 5 places to visit. Maybe for a swim, but that's what neighbors are for. (And neighbors like Jared and Val are family, so in one visit you get to converse, have a laugh, and personally my favorite, see their dog Jack.)

Best homes are KISS. Keep it simple, stupid. Well, you can take off the stupid part because my bio teacher taught me that, I didn't make it up.

Oh, and by the way...

HAPPY TURKEY DAY!

Journal of an Insomniac

It’s currently 2:00 AM Monday morning and I am wide awake . Don’t ask me how or why, I am trying to figure that out as well as you are.

I look maybe a half hour nap today because I felt a little under the weather after my shower at around 3:30. So I crawled into bed and took a quick nap as my roommate, Manna, who is Queen of the nap, had already been in dreamland for about two hours. We were awoken by the boys to come eat dinner to slowly we dragged our carcasses out and got some grub.

I only ate some popcorn at 10:00, so my stomach isn’t busy digesting and keeping me from sleeping. I even read before I went to bed. I tossed. I turned. I tried blankets, I tried without. I tried daydreaming, counting backwards, thinking, and everything else under the moon. Only tonight the moon and I are spending some quality time together. What is going on here?

It has just dawned on me.

I blame Scrabble.

Scrabble? Yes, scrabble. Let me explain. Since Thanksgiving vacation begins on Tuesday I was advised to just stay up here the weekend since I will be home in two days. “I can do that” I told myself and so I made myself busy with plans of homework and such. Kevin and Mark, bowling team buddies, came back around 10:00 Friday night after their trip to Wal-Mart and showed off their purchases of Pumpkin Pie, stuffed animals from the claw game, and Scrabble.

Soon it was 4:00 the next morning and we were wrapping up the second game of the intellectual addiction. In result, it was 11:30AM when I peeled open my eyes again to another November Saturday.

Last night was round #2 of Scrabble-thon and an added player, Ethan, Manna’s boyfriend, joined us and, to say the least, whooped us. Maybe it’s the Ohio water or something. Anyhow, we got to bed a little earlier because I had church in the morning at 10:00. It was 2:00AM when I crawled into bed.

Now it’s 2:11AM Monday morning and I am still pretty wake. My roommate can’t sleep, Kevin can’t sleep, Mark can’t sleep, Mike can’t sleep (but that’s his own fault), and I can’t sleep. The dynamic bowling team of RamRod has turned into the dynamic group of scrabble addict students. Maybe if Manna and I collide with each other full speed we will both knock each other out cold so we can have enough strength for the rest of the day. As for right now, my only option is to finish my English paper and study for my Art History test. Gosh, I wish I could sleep now that I think of that.

But on a hopeful and friendly note…

GOODMORNING!

Yes I have a tattoo, and sure, you can see!

What can I say? All the airheads come with Spongebob tattoos. Why go to waste?

Mellow Yellow

Ever since I started getting highlights in my hair many people mistake me as a blond instead of a “strawberry” blond. It also depends which season you catch me in. If it’s summer, I’m yellow and blond but in winter time I turn a little bit of red spark on. Yet this blond misunderstanding doesn’t affect me because I didn’t grow up with the trait to make a cheerleader and I certainly don’t mistake myself as a victim of many crude jokes. It’s just my hair and I pull it up with a hair tie.

But I will never become the type of blonds many do know. I’m not fashionable and super trendy and my nose isn’t permanently stuck sticking straight up into the atmosphere. But I have intrigued; I’ve met three blonds that strike me with a new persona, like the artist of the Renaissance trying to re-define the meaning of and artist and its social standing.

These girls have the qualities of both the upper class, blond stereotype and the values of an American girl trying to solve world peace; like a weird hybrid. As they walk to class with their in-design hand bags (book bags are so yesterday) it seems as if they travel in a pack, a group, a posse. The would walk side by side as if walking down a hall in high school as the boys “Ooo”ed and “Aww”ed and them while the girls sneered their faces and exchanged dirty looks with the Valley girls. But there are no sneering by the ladies and no special fancies by the boys; I’ve met them in person and they are quite friendly!

I have classes with all three of them, some at different times, but I testify that although one may judge them as the cream of the crop in society, I see them as classmates and art associates. All three are art students in these classes and they never make a quick remark to anyone without having a reason. (It still isn’t a reason for quick remarks but they see things a bit differently.) They sometimes get into a verbal scuffle over the person in art history who speaks up to much or the teacher that gets picked, but usually he asks for it. Aside from their traces of Prom Court 2004, they strike me as pretty normal in day to day life, not a bunch of pigheaded, spoiled girls as the world would quickly label.

I guess you can never label individuals or be quick to judge. Sure, it sounds like a mother’s advice to her son or daughter but in the end, it’s true. Some of the simplest little values about life are sometimes the most helpful.

Heavenly Father, Help us remember that the jerk

who cut us off in traffic last night,

is a single mother who worked nine hours

that day and is rushing home to cook dinner,

help withhomework, do the laundry

& spend afew precious moments with her children.

Help us to remember that the pierced, tattooed,

disinterested young man who can't make change correctly,

is a worried 19-year-oldcollege student, balancing his

apprehension over final exams with his fear of not

getting his student loans for next

semester.

Remind us, Lord, that the scary looking bum,

begging for money in the same spot

every day (who really ought to get a job!) is a

slave to addictions that we can only

imagine in our worst nightmares.

Help us to remember that the old couple walking

annoyingly slow through the store

aisles & blocking our shopping progress, are

savoring this moment, knowing that,

based on the biopsy report she got back last week,

this will be the last year that they

go shopping together.

Heavenly Father, remind us each day that, of all

the gifts you give us, the greatest

gift is love. It is not enough to share that love

with thosewe hold dear. Open our hearts not to just those who

are close to us, but to all

humanity. Let us be slow to judge and quick to

forgive, show patience, empathy and love.

Woman-West Virgina-Winner!

The more advertisment you can get the better! Vote Sharon for Mayor!

Schedule- Stressful College Happening Excruciating Dance Until Legs Explode

It seems like decades since the last time I blogged on this old thing but thankfully with I typed in my name and password they remembered my on the spot and welcomed me home to the thoughts, tales, and tribulations that have been posted for all to see. It’s good to be home.

I tried with the Acronym. If you have any suggestions, post ‘em.

Now in a tribute to the name of my page, I thought I’d take you through a part of my days: A Day In The Life of Lindsay K. And I picked a goody just for you, perfect for a good blog. Read on and you’ll see.

Wednesday, November 17th started off with a sweat, bang, and several yells at cries at my computer. Of course, to anyone who is a freshman at Edinboro, they very well know why. The official day for the dynamic event of scheduling for Spring Semester started at 12:00 AM November 17th, 2004. It’s a time when all the freshman on campus are punching in their course reference numbers to save their seat in class like a mad rush of shoppers on Black Friday. Even before the clock strikes midnight the crowd on online students are trying to squeeze their way through by frantically re-typing their pin so they can be one of the first people to hop on the scheduling express, buy their class ticket, and sit comfortable in coach while the others are jumping onto the train as it pulls out from the station, many not fast enough to keep up with the pace or not strong or smart enough to hold on while the momentum is gained.

I was on the caboose, to say the least.

I had re-worked my schedule a bizzilon times before this morning. (I may not be the brightest math student, but my schedule was probably in the bizzilon range.) I had arranged the run-of-the-mill meeting with my very helpful advisor for the usual pin number you must have to get on the site along with the run down of classes I can take and such. In addition to the meeting, I went over to a friend’s room in Schaffer Hall to get some expert tips on scheduling, classes, midnight rush, and the other missed tib-bits my advisor unintentionally left out. I was on top of my game- I had different schedule plans, color-coded sheets and a roommate to help me remain sanity as I carefully and meticulously planned everything out. Pah, midnight will be a quick punch of numbers and off to bed for me.

My life never goes to plan or in a stereotyped fashion. I always get the wild card. Unfortunately, I had a Royal Flush this morning.

I decided to go to The Gathering last night, a worship service and get-together with college students that is really, well, awesome! It’s a blast and I really enjoy going. Sometimes I get lazy and get the idea that I can skip but I told my ride, Kristin, to just call me and tell me I am going; that way I have no excuse. But I knew before I left that I had to work on that schedule when I returned for I checked the places and slots available left in some of my classes and some looked bleak.

The Gathering was quite a blast and went longer than usual to about 10:45. I entered my room at Rose Hall and knew what I had to do: schedule. Soon the books and papers were flying as I yelled Patrice’s name in my room for advice. (Patrice is our RA who is a Speech Communication major who is ‘da bomb.) It seems the classes were filling up, I didn’t have to take one of my classes anymore because my advisor didn’t see a need for it, and nothing was fitting into place. My roomie, Manna, was anxious to get in and wanted the ordeal over with, I, on the other hand, wanted to freeze time. Then she said the dreadful words I will never forget, almost like out of a movie as everything goes silent and a camera focuses on her face: “I’m in.”

The madness, I tell you! I was punching numbers, clicking, rooting through papers; hoping something good was going to come out of all of this. Then it all started to go downhill and the scheduling train keeper shouted “All Full!” rather than “All Aboard!”. Classes were closed. My plans weren’t working. Other people all over campus were clicking into classes I could be taking but instead I was confused and dazed in the insanity of the night. Soon it was 1:00 and I was still in a state of emergency. Kevin, 3rd floor buddy from the bowling team, later came up and walked in as Manna and I frantically tried everything to fit. He proceeds to tell us he got all the classes he wanted with all the right teachers and he was finished in five minutes. Out of rage, confusion, and disbelief, I took of my slipper and began to beat him with it. Funny, yes, but how I needed help.

Finally I had things worked out to an ok state and got 3 of the main classes I needed but there were still loose screws that were drilled in too tight and I would have to learn to live with it. I went to bed feeling like I just completed Christmas shopping. I tried to find the perfect gift but the darn Robot 2000 was sold out and didn’t have a shipment in till after the holidays. I searched everywhere but each store clerk gave me a frown and an “I’m sorry, Miss.” One the bright side, I have two classes with Manna that will be fun and for the most part relaxed and fun: A P.E. class and College Writing.

I finally fell asleep and the digital clock display glowed 2:00AM. I knew tomorrow was going to drag but at least I got my schedule out of the way. I decided to check back later in the day tomorrow to see if anyone would have dropped classes due to a change of theirs that I would be able to gain from. Close your eyes, Lindsay; they’ve been open quite too long.

I woke up feeling like I had been asleep for a long time but really wasn’t. The alarm from my cell phone rang and woke me to remind me of Two Dimensional Design and the project due I had to turn in. Eventually, I crawled out of bed and hustled my fanny over to Hamilton Hall. I got out of class early and returned to the room in hopes of a nap but I don’t possess the gift- I just laid in bed and looked at stuff; even though I was cozy and tired. My roomie left for class and I worked on a few things.

I decided to check back into the SC.O.T.S website, where I schedule, to see if openings had occurred. And to my disbelief, they did.

I almost had a coronary. There were still classes open, some had opened that were once closed, hope exists! I clicked crazily and jabbed in those numbers to find that there were classes I could take that I wanted- a dream come true! I found the last Robot 2000 on a bad shelf; an angel from God’s heavenly realms had slipped a coach ticket for the train in my pocket. Even though it’s a 18 credit semester and the odds of me getting a job and keeping up with grades are in the air, the classes are kickin’ and I made it out alive.

Now, where’s my towel? I’m getting a hot and much-needed shower.

Summer of '02

They say a picture is worth a thousands words- this proves it. This photo was taken in Devner, Colorado at International Youth Convention with my youth group. It's one of my favorite pictures that instantly takes me somewhere and warms my heart; so i decided to post it for fun. Enjoy!

The Nose Knows

Noses are funny little things. Some people love their nose and put little diamond piercing on their nostril to adorn it while others want to haul the old sniffler into the operating room for immediate plastic surgery to remove the bump that will hopefully remove the childhood memories of being called a ski slope. You can smell with noses, pick, pull, blow, fix and even pierce them like crazy now and days. But my favorite is the scents they pick up, sometimes sweet and wonderful, others leading you to the nearest garbage can.

I noticed all of this while walking back to the hall after lunch at the dining hall, Van Houten. I happened to pass a lady with a scent that reminded me of several different people and memories but yet it was different and unique. She was one of the many people I happened to pass with a scent of sensory stimuli on them for I passed a guy with cologne I have never smelled before and others with familiar scents. The nose is a neat little body part.

The colognes that John has used in the past and present I can pick up like a bloodhound on a crime scene. Whether it was at Shop N’ Save or walking around the mall, I knew if Mambo or Curve came sweeping by me. I know of White Diamonds because my mother uses it more than I ever did, I can smell my Dad’s cologne when he puts it on. (I think he’s has the same bottle for decades.) The typical grandma smell of the rich perfume she would pour on or the fragrance Rich Rumbarger leaves on my shirt after a hug (I don’t know what it is about that stuff, but it’s strong and it sticks).

I know, I know, the nose does some bad things too. It picks up the smell of fear and trouble, then odor of a smoker walking by, the hospital smell after visiting someone lingers on your clothing, the classic funeral smell, and who could forget the 4th floor male wing. I guess it depends on who you are that determines what you smell and how you interpret it. The smell of hay to one person reminds them of home while the other person it painfully recalling a vacation they took out west and their allergies started acting up. I know there is a psychology term for this that we just covered but it has escaped me. Maybe I will get ambitious and look it up.

My love of the nose is for it’s purpose- smelling. Sure it “in the way when is kissing”, as my art teacher pointed out, but the whole idea of aromas everywhere that can be picked up, it’s a busy little sucker (no pun intended). I give a star to the nose today. What do you like about your nose?

Oh, by the way, that psychology term refers to Classical Conditioning studied by Pavlov and phobias in day-to-day life. My professor can’t be near tuna or he gets sick to the stomach because of an old fishing memory gone rotten. The phobias and results from that study also are used in advertisement. Wow, this blog is turning into an educational course. Can I get some credits for this?

Bow Down To Me

Manna and her boyfriend Ethan are preparing to leave Friday afternoon. Unfortunatly, Manna forgot to take the keys out of the suitcase that Ethan has strapped to his back. So in a desperate effort to retrive the keys and keep Ethan balanced and alive, I quickly grabbed the camera to take a photo for the dynamic spectacle.

A Show of Snow

I guess one would say that I have been dreading the word “snow” ever since I arrived on campus to unpack my things and begin my college education here at Edinboro. The only reason I fear the word is because of what it can do: leave me here stranded forever. Now I know that’s not possible and there is such a thing as spring, I just hate knowing that John is 100 miles away and so am I for long periods of time. Sucky weather.

Yet I can’t be so negative about all of this snow business. I really do like snow and don’t have this utter contempt for it. I am actually looking forward to playing in the fluffy white wonderland and creating some kickin’ snowman or igloo that, from the words of alumnus Mrs. Weaver, might stay in tact until May. Manna and I will have a blast. She may even teach me how to ski some weekend that we are stranded up here but due to the lack of hills around campus, I highly doubt it would be possible.

Already, though, I have seen the snow. Yes, Monday night there was landfall and accumulation. Even thought snow can bring it’s storms and worry, this stuff isn’t too bad because, heck, it’s not even sticking to the ground. Knock on wood, I predicted to be snowed in by now. Praise the Lord.

The weather is now just cold, not snowy, but cold. It occasionally gets windy and that makes situations worse when it’s 40 some degrees and the Erie wind is whipping across the University like the tornado from the Wizard of Oz that swept Dorothy’s house away. I’ve managed to stay on the ground so far. Maybe that’s what the “Freshman 15” is for: to keep students safely one the sidewalks when old man winter rolls around.

But on the bright side, lots of fun winter gear to collect! Hats, scarves, and mittens, here I come!

Bambi's Foe- The Bow

There's my champion hunter grinning for a picture after the old bow and arrow came through finally. A nice little 8-point for Johnny. Heart warming, isn't it, despite the fact Manna is grossed out by it, haha. I'm so proud of my bubba!

"L" Is For Lazy

I woke up at 10:00AM this morning. Life is good.

Sure, it may sound like I am some kind of teenage bum but its Friday and my only class is at 2:00 PM; so I take advantage of it. I enjoy getting a proper night’s rest because that way I wake up refreshed and knowing there isn’t some time schedule kicking me out of my cozy comfort zone of blankets and Snoopy. Besides, I can at least say I earned some of it. It isn’t like a pity story, but I caught my high school bus at 6:20 every morning, Monday through Friday, from the 7th grade to the 11th; an hour of bumps, smells, and obnoxious children screaming, snickering, and reeking of their pre-puberty perspiring stench. I remember waking up and dragging my weary body out of bed and onto an often unheated bus that was too old for it’s age and too small for it’s pick-up route. The only good that came out of it was the morning nap (that probably caused some hidden back problem I will experience 30 years down the road and wake up one morning and say ‘Darn, S-67) and the humor from our bus driver Alan.

This schedule in college really does kick rear end compared to high school. Instead of the rush of eight straight classes separated by 4 minutes, I now have breaks and time for test cramming and an easier day of learning. There isn’t a bell that rings and then a testy tardy, just a five-till bell that rings on my side of campus. I don’t get stared down if I walk by in a pair of flip flops and if I’m a little late for class, which I usually am not, it’s ok in some of my classes. Heck, even some professors don’t care if you don’t show up for class!

A guess all these feelings are signs of my joyous entry into college and the freedom’s it offers. There’s no one to holler, no one to harass, all those things of high school I don’t miss. The only things I do miss are the close friends and the foolishness that went on every day, a true treat in life. It’s amazing to think that we have just six weeks of school until the end of semester. I keep reminding myself it’s November and that I’m actually in college. Jeepers, time flies as they say. Or does it soar? Or flap? I’ll stop.

But I do enjoy a good Friday. It gives me time to blog, which, as many of you have noticed, I slacked on this week. Oops!

Toodles!