It’s been colder than all-heck lately, and though I initially felt that the snow was a charming wintry diversion to the mid-autumn weather of weeks past, my feelings on the matter quickly changed about three minutes later. As it turns out, having to ride a bike over an icy sidewalk during a blistering cold snowstorm at 8am in the morning is almost . . . I don’t know. It’s almost as though it were slightly unpleasant. In fact, I’d even go as far to say that it’s a hellish circus of unending torment.

Also of note is the fact that, these days, everybody’s always walking around with a cell-phone, having an important conversation with some guy two blocks away. While I have no immediate objections to this fad, I feel it would be in my best interest to not actively participate myself due to the fact that these things can play retarded little games. Inevitably, the cell-phone would turn into a $200 Tetris that I played during lectures, instead of taking class notes and paying attention. I already fell for that once with the whole “graphing calculator” thing. After buying one, my math grades immediately changed for the worse. Damn you, TI-82. Damn you.

Hey, you know the tops to cups at fast-food restaurants? Here’s my question: If you’re going to bother putting in little bubbles to designate which soft drink is in a given container, why not go all the way and include more than just the “cola” and “other” options? For years I’ve been selecting drinks such as “Dr. Pepper,” “Vernors” and “Hot Vernors,” and have been so far deprived of an opportunity to indent my specific choice in the top. It’s gotten so bad that I’ve been buying Coke just to be able to push in my bubble. God, is it worth it, though. What I wouldn’t give for a little bubble on the top of a pop container to push in right about now . . .

Alright, I’ll admit it. Sometimes I push in bubbles that do not directly correspond to my beverage. But all the drink dispensers are self-serve these days, so what’s the point of even having the bubbles? It’s not like you’re going to forget what you’re drinking. “Hey, am I drinking “cola” or “other’? Damnit, if only I pushed in my bubble when I still had the time instead of carelessly sipping away. Now I’m going to be up all night trying to remember.” I mean, come on. That’s only happened to me twice.

Though it may not seem like it to outsiders, the Breslin Arena’s workforce is actually brimming with complicated, Machiavellian politics. Recently, I’ve been moving up the slippery ladder, making calculated ties with the lead ushers and head lead ushers, constantly planning my next move. And it’s paid off–where I was a measly upper-tier usher eight days ago, I was put in the lower-tier position on Thursday, for a concert with “Carman,” a Christian Rock musician who can only be classified as bizarre. And on Friday, for the Ani DiFranco concert, I was a coveted ticket-taker, helping the retirement-age salary-paid folk tear tickets. With ticket taking, you get to leave early and dally around when nobody’s coming–it’s a smooth deal.

But there remain many factors I must consider when making my way up into the usher elite. For example, what part do the Greencoats–security types who look twice as important but do half as much–play in the system? Which of the higher-ups controls position assignments, promotions and raises? And who are the mysterious people known only as “The Browncoats,” who, on rare occasions, can be seen hurriedly pacing by on some important errand?

Now, while one might speculate that position assignment is fairly random, and promotion is a sheer seniority matter, I remain guarded, always ready to play the right card in this ever-present game of skill and chance–for one false step could be fatal.

Man alive! You know, for a country that can’t decide what millennia it’s in, it’s no surprise that it can’t decide on a President. All I’m saying is this: If Bush is finally elected, anything bad that happens over the next four years is all Florida’s fault. Now, I have no beef with Florida. I like their weather and I enjoy their peoples. Though come to think of it, I once went to their “Universal Studios,” and came away vastly disappointed. For every single ride they have, they’ve figured out how to tie in fire, and when you get close enough to it, you’re actually in pain. Take “Jaws,” for example. I’m riding around on their boat-on-a-track, and the animated model of jaws is swimming around, providing ample enjoyment. But then there’s some explosion, and a fire is blazing up ahead as the boat continues on. “Oh, hey, there’s Jaws! Man, this ride is sweet! Wait a minute, is that more fire up ahead? Oh, bloody hell, no! Stop the ride, I get the point! For the love of God! It burns!”

Yeah, “Universal Studios” was pretty sweet. But back to this year’s election. Now, I voted for Al Gore, or, as I like to call him, “Al Gore,” but he probably won’t get elected due to Florida’s Tom-Foolery with their ballots, as I’m sure everybody knows by now. So now there’s all this recounting and court mumbo-jumbo, and everyone’s all, “Oh, I couldn’t see what hole I was supposed to punch,” and, “Oh, let’s go revote,” and all the networks are like, “Oh, Gore’s going to win Florida, unless Bush does, which he probably will. This just in: Florida’s back up for grabs.” And then Bush is all, “Well, now that’s some fuzzy math,” and Gore’s all hiding Bush away in some sort of lock-box, and nobody knows what’s going on, and all the newspapers are reporting the wrong things, and some dead guy even got elected to the Senate. Dang, I picked a fine year to turn 18.

After reviewing my most recent update, I have decided that eKarjala is gradually making less and less sense. With that said, fruit-basket letters inside a graham cracker machine.

Jigga-what? Anyway, I have decided that we could have done a better job, as a country, of making the states into more interesting shapes. You’ve got Michigan, of course, which is shaped like a mitten, but they didn’t even do that on purpose–the Great Lakes did that for them. Louisiana is the only exception, but even that shape, which is sort of like a boot, is pretty lame. Besides, didn’t Italy already steal that idea? So then, where’s the state shaped like a cat? What was stopping them from making Nebraska a perfect circle? How come West Virginia doesn’t resemble a man standing on his head? I am so freakin’ sick of these random jagged edges. We can look at the stars and see some hunter carrying fish while eating a taco, but we can’t cut the US into a few cool objects? Come on, people. What are we, Canada?

Because I have an early class, I’ve developed a pattern of waking up for the class and then returning to sleep as soon as I get back from it. For some reason, this period of unconsciousness, which lasts from about 10am until noon, produces a wide variety of odd and/or hilarious dreams. The dream I had this morning falls under the “odd” category, as it was a movie called “Picasso.” Bill Murray starred in a surprisingly serious turn as a man named Picasso, who, for whatever reason (the dream was admittedly rather vague in some parts), was working to stop a series of brutal murders committed by an unidentified man known only as the “Ground Stalker.” But Picasso’s psychological past raises an interesting question: Could he himself be this “Ground Stalker”–the very man he’s trying to stop? While I don’t want to give away the thrilling ending incase you happen to have the exact same dream, let me just say that “Picasso” is a shoe-in for this year’s Annual Dream Awards. A lot of people didn’t think Bill Murray could play a character who was such a diversion from his many comedic roles, but he did a marvelous job.

The only problem I have with this sleeping pattern of mine is that the class in between resting is always a blur to me later on. I try to look over my notes, but they make no sense whatsoever. Like, there’d be a diagram of the human ear, and then an arrow would point from that to the word “incongruent,” which would, of course, be underline twice for no apparent reason. That would then be followed by a timeline of the history of the printing press, which would inevitably have no possible correlation to the class.