Saturday, January 27, 2007

My Snood Kind of Life

Sometime over the summer, I posted about a ridiculous streak of Snood wins, somehwere in the order of 18 games (shit its hard to find old posts the way I name them...). Now, I've always known that I was the best damned Snood player (at least when it comes to "Evil" win percentage) that ever graced this blue (/green) Earth, and certainly 18 consecutive wins gives that credence, but today I can be sure. I currently have going (that's right, its not over yet) a win streak of 27 games, up from 22 games about a week ago. I've also won 51 of the last 52 games I've played. (snap snap).

That isn't a bending of statistics or anything, it's not a lucky fluke of recording keeping, its not in any way fake. I am just that fucking awesome. Anyone who watches me play, or sees ridiuclously impressive numbers like that will know exactly how good I am: Fucking Awesome. And they'll be right, I am that good.

This rant isn't just to rub in how much better I am at Snood than you are, or an excuse to say nice things about myself. It's an example, a foil if you will, for the rest of my life. Snood, as it turns out, in terms of my accomplishments versus people's perceptions of them, the only honest thing I have. Everyone seems to think I'm much better than I actualy am, be it my techer or coaches or parents or the Amherst admissions office. People seem to think things are going much better than they actualy are. Trust me, I'm not nearly as smooth or in control of real life as I am on a Snood board.

Monday, January 15, 2007

Got MiLK?

I switched to the new blogger version, and now I hate myself because I'm no longer fighting the man. The features aren't really worth it either, mostly because this old 7th Notion isn't organized enough to make use of post labels. Maybe it can do something for this hideous layout though...

But thats not really the point. The point is that I had a splendiferous day (by which I mean "just a day"), probably capped by my trashing my ipod. See, I was about to start running on a treadmill (it was cold out, and I'm a pussy, ok?) and was doing this super-intense arm-loosening-up things, and managed to swipe my earbud cord which sent the 'pod flying to the floor where is clattered, much like a pinball, between two very menacing and potentiely acid-covered treadmills. The force of the blow also wrenched the earbuds from my ears (yeah...ow) and sent them flying across the gym. So I had to spend all this time, very embarassed and with injured ears, searching for my earbuds which unfortunently match the color of the machines. Plus I ogt kinda owned by the guy running next to me...great.

It wasn't a total loss though, because while I was throwing together a shit english paper last minute, I managed to misspell basicly every word. Actualy, MS Word was being evil and lieing about misspellings, and not giving me suggesions which was very humiliating. But then, out of no where, I spell "uncorroborated" right, so Word got pretty much owned, straight up, bitch.

The actual highlight of the day came when I was (fruitlessly) searching for crappy (but playably crappy) online games to waste my time with. I stumbled upon some stupid space shooter hosted by Nabisco (who knew) in which you destroy their products (cookies, crackers, that sort of stuff) with a plasma cannon while they fly around Space Invader style. Even though I played for all of 30-odd seconds, I got enthused enough to exclaim "Die Cracker!!" I was, of course, refering to literal crackers, but it was still pretty funny, especialy considering the holiday...Luckily the only person there was OSK, and Klingons don't like the white man either.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Owned for Life

I'm lucky enough to go to a nice little New England prep school, and when I say 'lucky' I mean because, no matter how much we might bitch and moan, we don't have to do anything. I have almost half the class periods free, plus we have half days (done by 11:something) every Wednesday and Saturday. Ok, so we have school on Saturdays, so maybe we do have work...that's not important though because the only reason I brought it up was to say that the homeslices* and I were free this afternoon. I was persudaded (by the promise of free pizza from the local Best Pizza Place Ever) to go downtown with them (the homeslices) for lunch. Us guys proceeded to impress (or was it disgust) the one girl who was there with the amount of pizza we sucked down (we're pros when it comes to that, and luckily all athletes who burn enough calories to not be morbidly obese by now).

You have be wondering how a girl happened to be around the homeslices (especialy considering that one of them is Old School Klingon, who is obviously a loser). Its true that I have very few homeslices of the female persuasion, but this particular girl, as nice (and Canadian) as she is, is not a homeslice, she's actualy the girlfriend of a homeslice (Dr. K, not the Klingon). But no one minds her being there, because we're all friends (not the same as homeslice, mind you) and they're pretty un-couple-y. Just ask the Klingon, he knows a ton about couples because he's the ultimate third wheel, and apparently the target of derision today....hmm.

Anyways, we were gorging on pizza, and it came down to the last piece. Koopon and OSK...

Ok, stop. You know how I refuse to use people's real names or those ultra-dorky blog-abbreviations (i.e. refering to people solely by the first letter of their name, like "K and L and I went to the store on Tuesday"). I realize that using vague pronouns for everyone I ever mention won't work, so I've decided to use weird pseudonames (which conviniently coincide with blogger identities) instead. Just wanted to clear things up so you don't think I actualy call anyone "Dr. Koopon".

Back to the story, there was only one piece of 'za left, and Koops and Kahless** had decided they could eat no more. Where I'm from (bizarroland) we don't leave any pizza behind, so I knew I had to tackle this last slice despite the copious amount I had already eaten. I wasn't confident though, so I approached it cautiously, cutting off parts of it (not half, that didn't work out). We were left with the tip of the slice, probably 4 square inches (very little) but I could eat no more. Then an ingenius solution struck me: let's have it wrapped up. Keep in mind that this "slice" was an insignifigant amount of food, only a few bites and hardly worthy of note. So when I asked our waiter to wrap it up he asked me "are you serious?", to which I replied, amidst the giggles of my underclassman homeslices, yes. He brings back this tiny little thing in a plastic box that probably could've fit twenty of them while we all laughed and rejoiced at being young and as rebellious as prep school kids get. On the walk back, we got really close to this little guy, and I named him 'junior'. He has a little home in my car now, though that probably won't work out in the long run. Maybe I'll post baby-pictures.

*I know theres no picture of me here, but trust me; I'm very white

**Please tell me you got that...