Ah. There we go. Much better. Kinda.
See, I just adjusted my keyboard cord a little bit so that I can have it in my lap while I'm typing. Of course, now the keyboard is bouncing around like so many Mexican jumping beans. Also, I can't seem to keep my stockinged feet stable up against my door, especially with a chair that has wheels. As a result, I'm being slowly pushed away, until my legs can't extend any further, and my keyboard is still jumping around like it's an epileptic watching the last few scenes of 2001. This clearly isn't working.
Fine. Keyboard's back on the desk. Happy now?
Good Lord, how do I manage to accumulate this much change on my desk? Every freaking time. At least it's not on the floor oh wait no, I can see a good 32 cents on the floors from where I'm sitting. Make that 33. That could almost buy me a few minutes on a pay phone? I don't even know. But you know what it apparently could buy me at MUSC?
A cup of coffee. Ah, coffee, which was supposed to be the subject of tonight's post (for some unknown reason. It probably had to do with.... I don't know. I didn't really see anyone in particular today or last night. I'm really not sure where I got this idea, and this troubles me. Possibly with a capital T. An understood one, of course, because that T is obviously not capitalized initially, though apparently I've given up on quotation marks and switched to capital letters. At least I haven't been switching POVs (PsOV?) yet. But yes. Capital T.).
You know. Maybe this will be brought to you by Harold Hill. Wait. No. I think not. There aren't nearly enough images out there. And while I'm at it, I should probably try to shift that picture back up a few rows. There we go. Crisis averted. Unfortunately, I seem pretty incapable of typing properly tonight, because there are just typos flying left and right, and they're not even the funny kind, which in turn means that I have to correct them because, friends, the idle brain is the devil's playground.
Anyway. Be right back, because man, these contacts have decided to go crazy tonight, and I could probably also use some hydration of some sort.
Well, make that two sorts, because when I'm blogging, I like to drink Founders Porter (apparently). (Apparently it's dark, rich & sexy. There's a lady in a hat and everything, because if there's one thing that gets MY juices flowing, it's a reproduction of a portrait of a lady in black at a table with some things on it. Also, I drink Conundrum sometimes when I'm blogging, but I wouldn't say that I liked it. It was more of a challenge to myself and to my liver. Neither of us really won, but that's the way of the white wine for you.) And yes, of course, I'm also drinking some water out of a dapper little solo cup.
But do you know what I'm not drinking? Coffee.
Honestly, I tend to find that a bit odd. For years I've been talking about how, "Oh man, I'm going to get to this next step of life, and I'm going be mainlining coffee through a large bore IV, wide open," and obviously (to those that have seen me on a normal day or just remember that bit in elementary school where you learned context clues, which helped you so much until you got to watching Joss Whedon who will create a relationship just to destroy it. Except Agent Coulson (for several reasons).), I'm still not drinking that much. I might have one cup in a week, and that's a week where I remember that there's free coffee in the library on Wednesday afternoons AND am able and willing to partake in said free coffee. And now the heater/AC unit/whatever the deuce it is outside my window is rattling like it's got a baby. It doesn't have a baby. It's a heater/AC unit/whatever the deuce it is. They spring fully formed from, I dunno, the Maytag guy's head.
But yes. Coffee. I remember being in scouts and joking around about how, yes, I was going to stay involved during senior year as I prepared to take 5 AP courses and how that was going to require the aforementioned IVs of coffee. I'm... I'm not sure that I had even one. Well, part of that was likely due to my abysmal social skills/ambitions leading to a lack of going on dates and therefore a lack of going out for coffee. Even in college, though, I wasn't really drinking it often. I will take that back. Up until senior fall, I wasn't drinking it often. Then senior fall came, and I prefer not to think about those dark times.
Nah, I'm just joshing you. Summer AFTER college was the dark time, but that's a whole different bag of worms that we just don't need to discuss for a variety of reasons, mostly related to that bag of worms. Senior fall (Fall of '09 for those of you who want to feel old/make me feel old) was when I was first applying to MD/PhD programs. Me being the shining beacon of sanity and reason, I was also taking 5 classes (instead of the regular 4, two of which were 400 level chemistry courses, and 2 two of which were 300 level French courses, and one of which was a bit of a joke philosophy class for math and science majors that was my one pass/fail course at Davidson) and had decided that I would apply to around 15 MD/PhD programs, most of them on the upper end of good. This, plus my attempts at doing experiments in my research lab AND joining an a capella group AND holding a leadership position in a fraternity AND running an informal weekly quesadilla and movie night AND probably something else meant that I was pulling a fair few all nighters, which did generally necessitate coffee. Even then, though, it was probably 2-3 cups a week. Considering my mental state, this was probably a good decision.
But then that ended, and I was doing much better in terms of not needing coffee or such things. Part of that was probably due to not having an abundance of money that I wanted to spend while in France (at least, not on coffee- I had a water bottle, and a perfectly serviceable one at that), but I mean really? When have I needed coffee to be freaking bonkers? Most of my insane stuff comes about when I'm not medicated at all. Plenty of my classmates can attest to that.
I'm sure I could end this with some moral about how, gee golly willickers, I'm going to drink some coffee when I'm in internship, because boy is that going to suck! Ha ha! Look at Rob- he's so wackily glib about his future!
Yeah, screw that. We can do better.
... Okay, maybe we can't. But I have a dream of being able to do so, and maybe we can make that dream come true. Well, it's not so much a literal dream as an aspiration. Well, it's not even an aspiration so much as something I just made up to come up with some quick filler. I blame the somethings what did that thing earlier today. You know the ones. The whatsits.
Well, bloguverse. I just learned something.
I learned that apparently, you have to be 21 years old to look at pictures of alcohol on the Internet. So you can look at pictures of naked people doing all manner of things to one another. You can buy cigarettes. You can gamble and win the lottery (depending on your state, of course).
I mean. Seriously. OH JOHNNY WHERE DID WE GO WRONG? WAS IT THE BOOK ON FRENCH IMPRESSIONISTS? OH THAT'S WHAT IT WAS, BECAUSE YOU'RE CLEARLY TRYING TO BECOME SYPHILLITIC AND SURROUNDED BY PROSTITUTES AND MAYBE BALLERINAS, DEPENDING ON WHETHER OR NOT WE GOT THE ONE WITH DEGAS.
This is just. I don't even know. Apparently, I should be putting a 21+ marker on my blog, not for my language or general inappropriateness, but rather because I mention alcohol.
That's right, folks. Jeff Goldblum played Harold Hill. And as always, he looks drunk. But the Goldblum is not the issue here. I mean, I get that you shouldn't be able to buy alcohol from the internet if you're not 21 (for some reason). Yeah, it's the law, and while it's a stupid law, it still applies (not that it's really being obeyed, but whatever). But really? I can't go to a website of a brewery without signing in as being 21? Yeah, because they can totally check on whether or not I'm ACTUALLY 21 with their "Are you 21, or do you want to go to Google or some similar website?" I went to the Jack Daniel's (that's right, his name was Jack Daniel, not Jack Daniels. We Tennesseans take pride in our whiskey, especially when we missed a trivia question on it once by using the latter version of his name) distillery when I was but a wee lad with only the finest blonde moustache as a glint in my upper lip follicles' eyes. And no, Firefox. Moustache is an acceptable spelling. Mustache (your version of the correct spelling) looks boorish and unsophisticated, whilst mine... okay, it looks boorish and unsophisticated, but not for my lack of calling it by a classier name.
So, in conclusion, don't do drugs kids. But you should be able to look at them all you want, just like that kickass suit of armor in the Sharper Image store next to that Ruby Tuesday's from when you were a wee lad. I don't know that I ever bought a darned thing from that store, but that suit of armor is still amazing. And that store is still fun to browse in, assuming it's still around. If not, I have my memories of it. And the other shenanigans from that shopping center.
What, you expected a coherent ending? Go to sleep. That's what I'm going to do.
See, I just adjusted my keyboard cord a little bit so that I can have it in my lap while I'm typing. Of course, now the keyboard is bouncing around like so many Mexican jumping beans. Also, I can't seem to keep my stockinged feet stable up against my door, especially with a chair that has wheels. As a result, I'm being slowly pushed away, until my legs can't extend any further, and my keyboard is still jumping around like it's an epileptic watching the last few scenes of 2001. This clearly isn't working.
Fine. Keyboard's back on the desk. Happy now?
Good Lord, how do I manage to accumulate this much change on my desk? Every freaking time. At least it's not on the floor oh wait no, I can see a good 32 cents on the floors from where I'm sitting. Make that 33. That could almost buy me a few minutes on a pay phone? I don't even know. But you know what it apparently could buy me at MUSC?
A cup of coffee. Ah, coffee, which was supposed to be the subject of tonight's post (for some unknown reason. It probably had to do with.... I don't know. I didn't really see anyone in particular today or last night. I'm really not sure where I got this idea, and this troubles me. Possibly with a capital T. An understood one, of course, because that T is obviously not capitalized initially, though apparently I've given up on quotation marks and switched to capital letters. At least I haven't been switching POVs (PsOV?) yet. But yes. Capital T.).
 |
| Try to keep up. I know these are some swell segués, and SO'S YOUR OLD MAN. Trouble. |
 |
| And that's trouble. With a capital T, which is also T which stands for typos. And yes, I'm still not capitalizing the goddamned T's. Except when I mention the letter on its own, of course, as it is a noble letter with (I'm sure) a noble history. All Greek and Roman and whatnot. I mean, it's no cuneiform pictogram or hieroglyph, but it surely has a noble history. Surely, it is an honorable letter. |
Anyway. Be right back, because man, these contacts have decided to go crazy tonight, and I could probably also use some hydration of some sort.
Well, make that two sorts, because when I'm blogging, I like to drink Founders Porter (apparently). (Apparently it's dark, rich & sexy. There's a lady in a hat and everything, because if there's one thing that gets MY juices flowing, it's a reproduction of a portrait of a lady in black at a table with some things on it. Also, I drink Conundrum sometimes when I'm blogging, but I wouldn't say that I liked it. It was more of a challenge to myself and to my liver. Neither of us really won, but that's the way of the white wine for you.) And yes, of course, I'm also drinking some water out of a dapper little solo cup.
 |
| Truly, it is a visionary bit of red plastic. Mine's a bit wavier though. I guess mine's from the coast? |
But do you know what I'm not drinking? Coffee.
Honestly, I tend to find that a bit odd. For years I've been talking about how, "Oh man, I'm going to get to this next step of life, and I'm going be mainlining coffee through a large bore IV, wide open," and obviously (to those that have seen me on a normal day or just remember that bit in elementary school where you learned context clues, which helped you so much until you got to watching Joss Whedon who will create a relationship just to destroy it. Except Agent Coulson (for several reasons).), I'm still not drinking that much. I might have one cup in a week, and that's a week where I remember that there's free coffee in the library on Wednesday afternoons AND am able and willing to partake in said free coffee. And now the heater/AC unit/whatever the deuce it is outside my window is rattling like it's got a baby. It doesn't have a baby. It's a heater/AC unit/whatever the deuce it is. They spring fully formed from, I dunno, the Maytag guy's head.
 |
| Repairman... or Greek/Roman god? That's not a capital G, so Professor Hill's at a bit of a loss. |
But yes. Coffee. I remember being in scouts and joking around about how, yes, I was going to stay involved during senior year as I prepared to take 5 AP courses and how that was going to require the aforementioned IVs of coffee. I'm... I'm not sure that I had even one. Well, part of that was likely due to my abysmal social skills/ambitions leading to a lack of going on dates and therefore a lack of going out for coffee. Even in college, though, I wasn't really drinking it often. I will take that back. Up until senior fall, I wasn't drinking it often. Then senior fall came, and I prefer not to think about those dark times.
Nah, I'm just joshing you. Summer AFTER college was the dark time, but that's a whole different bag of worms that we just don't need to discuss for a variety of reasons, mostly related to that bag of worms. Senior fall (Fall of '09 for those of you who want to feel old/make me feel old) was when I was first applying to MD/PhD programs. Me being the shining beacon of sanity and reason, I was also taking 5 classes (instead of the regular 4, two of which were 400 level chemistry courses, and 2 two of which were 300 level French courses, and one of which was a bit of a joke philosophy class for math and science majors that was my one pass/fail course at Davidson) and had decided that I would apply to around 15 MD/PhD programs, most of them on the upper end of good. This, plus my attempts at doing experiments in my research lab AND joining an a capella group AND holding a leadership position in a fraternity AND running an informal weekly quesadilla and movie night AND probably something else meant that I was pulling a fair few all nighters, which did generally necessitate coffee. Even then, though, it was probably 2-3 cups a week. Considering my mental state, this was probably a good decision.
But then that ended, and I was doing much better in terms of not needing coffee or such things. Part of that was probably due to not having an abundance of money that I wanted to spend while in France (at least, not on coffee- I had a water bottle, and a perfectly serviceable one at that), but I mean really? When have I needed coffee to be freaking bonkers? Most of my insane stuff comes about when I'm not medicated at all. Plenty of my classmates can attest to that.
I'm sure I could end this with some moral about how, gee golly willickers, I'm going to drink some coffee when I'm in internship, because boy is that going to suck! Ha ha! Look at Rob- he's so wackily glib about his future!
Yeah, screw that. We can do better.
... Okay, maybe we can't. But I have a dream of being able to do so, and maybe we can make that dream come true. Well, it's not so much a literal dream as an aspiration. Well, it's not even an aspiration so much as something I just made up to come up with some quick filler. I blame the somethings what did that thing earlier today. You know the ones. The whatsits.
Well, bloguverse. I just learned something.
I learned that apparently, you have to be 21 years old to look at pictures of alcohol on the Internet. So you can look at pictures of naked people doing all manner of things to one another. You can buy cigarettes. You can gamble and win the lottery (depending on your state, of course).
 |
| Hope you brought your ID, Little Johnny. That's Cubism, with a capital C (see, I got it right this time) which rhymes with T which stands for Trouble, OHHHH you got trouble. |
This is just. I don't even know. Apparently, I should be putting a 21+ marker on my blog, not for my language or general inappropriateness, but rather because I mention alcohol.
 |
| I'm um, I'm saying that um, uh, first medicinal wine from a ah um teaspoon, then um beer um beer from a bottle. |
So, in conclusion, don't do drugs kids. But you should be able to look at them all you want, just like that kickass suit of armor in the Sharper Image store next to that Ruby Tuesday's from when you were a wee lad. I don't know that I ever bought a darned thing from that store, but that suit of armor is still amazing. And that store is still fun to browse in, assuming it's still around. If not, I have my memories of it. And the other shenanigans from that shopping center.
What, you expected a coherent ending? Go to sleep. That's what I'm going to do.
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