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Saturday, February 28, 2004

When I'm locked on, I'm on target.

I really surprised myself yesterday. After a hectic Thursday of physicals, I spent all night slaving over homework and got a good four hours of sleep. I woke up, felt sick as a dog, and was uncertain of whether I could even take Capt. Trzop's two-hour test. Well, I had cereal and tea for breakfast, and I think that energized me. I finished Capt. Trzop's test in well under time, and stayed awake through all my classes--even Dr. Gupta's. I got a shot in the arm when I saw that Prof. Skovholt only dinged me two points for my stupid mistake on the electrical engineering test.

Mad props to Mary and Kathy, who made "Student Employment Week" ultra-awesome. They had snacks and tokens of their appreciation for all the student aides all week, and Mary (or maybe Kathy) even baked chocolate cupcakes. There is no truer love than the love of food (as a certain horny Italian likes to say.)

Saturday, February 21, 2004

I'm still trying to figure out why people think Michael Moore is so funny. Perhaps they just enjoy his irreverence for everything and his "nothing's sacred" approach to filmmaking and writing. Even still, he's an excessively-cynical conspiracy-monger. For instance: there were gaps in Pres. Bush's National Guard records, and the testimony of an aging general of "I don't recall seeing him report for duty." Moore's conclusion: Bush is a deserter. Bush releases his guard pay records and dental records (not to mention Bush's fellow Alabama guardsmen who recently came out to back him up.) Moore's new conclusion: Bush falsified pay records AND accepted money for services not rendered while we was deserting. It looks like Michael Moore uses neither Occum's Razor nor a shaving razor.

The climax of Moore's career will come this fall (just before elections) when he releases "Fahrenheit 911: The Temperature at Which Freedom Burns." The movie alleges that Bush has not caught bin Laden "because he doesn't want to." bin Laden would allegedly expose the ties between the Bush family, the Saudi monarchy, and the bin Ladens. (Moore has yet to explain why this wouldn't make Bush want to kill bin Laden even more.) If America drinks Moore's Kool-aid, we'll be doomed to four years of Hanoi John Kerry. But it could also be so outlandish that it backfires, helping Bush at the polls and ruining Moore's career.

Thursday, February 19, 2004

It was a rough day today. I'm still having tension with the suitemates. I spilled curry chicken sauce all over my uniform (which I will need to have in perfect shape for Project SP2SP this weekend.) The pictures I took at the AIAA dinner meeting were fairly bad. That's not to say that my troubles are all that bad. Even the mighty eventually fall. For instance, yesterday I saw a Riddle Squirrel dead on the sidewalk by Richard Petty drive. It's quite shocking and sad to see a seemingly invincible squirrel lying on its side with a crimson trail culminating in a puddle underneath its head. Or take the example of Brian, who spent quite some time struggling in vain to get his truck to start. Life is never easy, and the lows are far worse than the highs.

Monday, February 16, 2004

I know I should be happy that I have a stalker, but I'm not. The lousy New Yorker keeps inviting himself into the suite and into my room. What's his motivation for stalking me? Because he's too lazy to attend class and wants to mooch off my work. I don't know who makes me angrier: my stalker, or the suitemates that I no longer trust who keep letting this sleazebag into our suite. Brian tells me I should confront this creep and declare that I don't want anything to do with him. But I don't know if this jerk will flip out on me, and I feel that my non-verbal clues (plus the downright mean-spirited sign I just put on the door) should give him the message.

Sunday, February 15, 2004

"Rednecks" aren't such bad people after all. They can be downright generous, especially when they need beer. Working the Daytona 500 wasn't as hard as I anticipated--I sold decent amounts of beer and got $21 in tips. I had heard a rumor that the F/A-22 was supposed to fly over the raceway. I made sure to stay through the energetic and enjoyable pre-race show and the national anthem just to see the flyby. It turns out that we got the B-2 and two F-15's, which from a distance gave the appearance that they might be the F/A-22. I only saw the president on the big TV screens, but I did see two black SUV's from the secret service. I stayed just long enough to see the cars speed by twice. Overall, I had a great time.

Saturday, February 14, 2004

Bean's parties always have this way of spontaneously spiraling out of control. We learned that Brian has no clue how to pump a keg. I learned that three times Bacardi equals good, and that jello shots taste like cough syrup. We went to Denny's afterwards. Bean challenged Justine to drink a bottle of ketchup for $20. The waitress intervened and offered Justine more money if she would drink a bottle of tabasco sauce. The entire restaurant was watching us and cheering her on. Needless to say, Justine chugged that bad boy down and earned my "hero of the week" honors.

Friday, February 13, 2004

I spent a lot of last night studying with Conrad for the structures test. I found out that Conrad once got busted by Gupta for my same "offense"--sharing a crib sheet with "hanky panky" on it. I don't feel so stupid anymore on that front. However, I only got two points back when reviewing the latest test with Gupta, a test I should have done well on if not for my utter lack of drive to study.

The structures test didn't seem so bad, but only Wednesday will tell. It's a hard subject and the answers are hard to come by. Eslami simplified the test, but not to the degree Radosta would. That was a LOOOOONG test.

Tuesday, February 10, 2004

Dueling Demogogues 

There are some startling similarities between Osama bin Laden and Pope John Paul II. For starters:

John Paul met with Saddam Hussein's media puppet, Tariq Aziz. Osama bin Laden is alleged to have met with Tariq as well. Both men have reluctantly supported Saddam because they hate the US more than they hate Iraq.

Osama bin Laden hates the United States. John Paul doesn't seem to be too fond of us either.

Osama bin Laden exploits people's faith to get his minions to do stupid things. Ditto for John Paul.

Osama bin Laden is in poor health, and his organization is being run by his underlings. He merely serves as a figure head and an inspirational figure. Ditto for John Paul, again.

I gave my presentation today and I realize how much I want to be a better public speaker. I want to be the man with the silver tongue, whose eloquent words and purposeful gestures will drive ordinary people to action. I want to be the great communicator like "The Gipper." But it's also important to write your own speeches rather than being a tool who speaks whatever's been put in his/her mouth. I feel like I can craft a good speech, but I'd rather learn how to deliver by myself instead of finding some other tool to do it for me.

I've got that awful post-test feeling inside. You've felt it before. It's the one where you feel so stupid for making an elementary error and flushing your grade down the toilet. In this case, I was using the wrong pressure ratios from the normal shock table, and I realized it as the test was coming to a close, but there was no time to fix all of my faulty calculations. I get this sense, like Brian has, that the test was designed so that there is only enough time to complete it if you do it perfect the first time and don't have to fix anything. I can only hope that Gupta will have some pity on me, but I shouldn't count on that when he's given me so many breaks in the past. Stupid, stupid, stupid me.

Saturday, February 07, 2004

What's so special about being a six-foot tall Italian? It seems like you can pimp effortlessly, perhaps even pimp in your sleep. And everybody is extra-friendly towards you. Today the lunch ladies are giving "The Italian" double servings of food, and everybody stops him to say "hi" or "ciao!" I don't write this out of anger; I write out of jealousy.

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