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jeremy

{november}
Would it be weird if we went to the hospital?
What do you say to a sick someone
Who you only know from one night at Chili’s restaurant. Two hours of chips, dip and a loud crowd.
I sat next to you--my friend Elissa’s friend’s cousin’s fiancé. As you made your little jokes. And tried to teach me how to make bird calls through cupped hands.

{january}
You go in first. No, you. Just go!
We caught news of your digestive misery.
You were not a stranger; not a friend; but somewhere, something in-between.
We presented you with the candy you requested, from the gift shop down the hall.
Then took seats in front of your bed and tried to think think of things to say.
I made my little jokes. I will never remember what I said. But I will remember you
lightly clapping, to express your amusement
too weak to laugh.

As the jokes and daylight ran thin, I let the bed curtain half-eclipse me, anxious to get home.
“There’s nothing for me here.” you informed us.
I watched you, watching me leave the room.

{april}
We caught news that you weren’t around anymore.
The Crohn’s wasn’t directly to blame. Your twenty-eight year life was ended, by your choice.
What was the last thing I said to you?
What do you say after all, to a someone you only knew
from chips dip and little jokes.
I don’t remember what I said. But it must have been right. Cause I do remember
You clapping

Green Thumb: A fleeting history of my scholastic dissapointments.

You know the saying, “you reap what you sow?” It doesn’t hold its promise—not in the world of academia.

Last fall I signed up for “Streaming Media in Web-Publishing” because it was a required 400-level Communication course, and the title sounded intriguing.

Had Future-Me come to foretell November-2009-Me about Professor-Unrealistic-Expectations, who put together the class as an “experiment” which went insufferably wrong, I would have sprinted to my laptop, logged into the pipeline and clicked “Drop Class.” Actually, I’d be tempted to drop, but instead I’d tell Future-Me with a sigh, “That’s O.K; I’ll go through it anyway.” I'm not one to wish bad things never happened to me. No matter how painful or inconvenient an experience is, there’s always something to learn from it.

The goal of the course was to build a fully-interactive Flash website from scratch. For someone with zero experience with Adobe Flash and almost no knowledge of how to operate a Mac, this was a massive feat. On the last day of class, the professor conceded that he would never again expect students to learn so much in so little time. Here’s what I reaped:

• A full semester (with perfect attendance) of infuriatingly hard work
• A meeting with the head of the Graphic Design department for advice
• $13.00 for camera tapes to record video footage used in my project
• 2 hours of work outside of class to catch up on my project
• The library rental of a Flash “How-To” CD-ROM (a vain attempt at demystifying the cryptic program)
• Several restrained temper-losses
• A good cry after an especially frustrating class

Here’s what I sowed: C+

I had never felt an urge to dispute a grade before, not in my entire 12-semester-long college career. After the dispute, my grade did not budge to what I had hoped would be a well-deserved B-.

Discouragement? Definitely. But I did not feel wholly defeated. I worked hard, vouched for myself, and there’s not much more a student can do short of threatening a teacher with a lawsuit.

A girl named Mary has sat next to me through two 400-level classes with another professor who is a reputably tough grader. Mary has aced every paper for both classes paying little or no attention. She spends each lecture on her Macbook, browsing Old Navy’s women’s section, writing Twilight fan fiction, or doing whatever else it is she does online whilst I passionately take notes, hanging on every word that leaves the teacher’s mouth.

At the start of our class a couple months ago, she turned to me and proudly said, “I don’t feel like paying attention today”, and proceeded to record the nearly three-hour-long lecture on her laptop while doing homework for another class. I have been so fascinated and inspired by the lectures that I’ve never even left to use the bathroom. Mary aced last year’s class. I got a B-. All of Mary’s papers have been A’s. I’ve never gotten above a B+.

I’ve come to realize that some people wield a scholarly green thumb; effortlessly reaping lovely rows of straight A’s, with the occasional B+ or B in the mix. Without breaking a sweat, they make their grade-gardens flourish with tulips and roses. I bend over backwards to plant one tulip and end up sprouting a dandelion.

I’ve never understood how this is possible, I only know that if I’m going to spend hours on my hands and knees, digging and scraping in the dirt, my grade-garden should speak for itself.

I knew there had to be a reason my car battery died...

"Faulty fuel sending module causes stalls after sharp right turns"

In a technical service bulletin read to me at the dealership, Ford says that some drivers of the Focus may encounter loss of power if:
a) the car has less than half a tank of fuel
b) the car has just finished a sharp sustained right turn, and/or
c) under sharp acceleration 

(eopinions.com)

 A-HA!

That explains why Tootsie suddenly died today while I made a sharp right turn, as well as a few months ago while doing the same thing. The website went on to say:

"To ensure your satisfaction", Ford is now paying for replacement of the Fuel Sending Module (Fuel Pump in lay-speak) for certain 2000 and 2001 models. Basically, your model is eligible for replacement if you are having the hesitation/stalling/loss of power noted above.

I don't anticipate too many sharp right turns in my driving future, but for safety (and free) reasons, maybe I should get it fixed. Hmmmm...

Successful B&E!

 This

 Plus This

 = Skilled break-in to my locked house


Thanks to a friend, you know who you are.  
:)