The Tan Titan

Summer is the hottest season of the year.

Elephants are large, gray, land mammals.

Grumpy people are everywhere.

Fried zucchini is the best.

Each of these four statements have something in common:

They are all indisputable.

And...

I wrote them.


Lovely.


Today we are going to talk about:

Goodbye Summer....

and...

Txters.


Goodbye Summer is a statement I would like to make about the state of the world as it is now:

Goodbye, Summer,

We'll really miss you

It was fun while you lasted

But too soon you were through

Why must we languish

Through the long days of cold

When we could be

Hanging out with you?

Why must we study

Day after day

When you are so close

And yet so far away

Tell me, dear Summer

Whence have you gone?

And when will you return?

Oh, when will you return?

Please, oh Summer: 

Return...

Sniff.

Excuse me. I have to go blow my nose. I have this sudden cold, you see. 

(Pbruffffffffffffffffffffffffffff)

I have returned. Pardon the interruption.

"Oh, dear Summer (weep), whence (sniff) have you gone? Oh when, (sniff) oh, when will youuuuuuu return?"

Beautiful. Simply beautiful. Stunning. Majestic. Amazing. Confoundedly dashing. I should have been a songwriter. My words move me to tears.

Dear reader, I sense that lately you have been depressed. You may ask me, "Why?" And "How did you know?" And "What did you say? Depressed? Not I! I only cry six times a day. I'm not like those other people who sob all the time!" And "Please excuse me, I have to go blow my nose for forty minutes or more! I can't stand how kind you are!"

To that, I say: "Pffff."

I know that you have been depressed because I have been depressed.

Why have I been depressed, you may ask?

It has nothing to do with tongue depressors, dear readers.

But it does have something to do with Fried Zucchini.

Where is it?

Why are there no boxes on the sundial?

Dear reader, are you afraid of repercussions?

Do you fear that a professor will expel you if he or she sees you putting objects on the sundial?

Perhaps maybe a janitor has threatened you with a broom?

Perhaps his name is Toby and he looks scary?

If any of the above questions can be answered in the affirmative (except for the first two) I suggest that you see a psychologist. Or call one of those 1-800 numbers for help.

However, we have strayed off the path of interest. Namely, my favorite thing. I cannot even write its name down now. It hurts my heart.

Here is a simple math equation (English majors, plug your ears. Or cover your eyes. That's it. Okay, don't look!):

Scared people who do not want to make the Anonymous Titan happy = no Fried Zucchini + no Fried Zucchini + days + more days + happy Toby, who does not have to clean the sundial + more days + a few hours + six minutes + forty-seven seconds + eighty-seven nanoseconds = Very Sad Anonymous Titan

Such horrors! Such impossibilities! Such tragedy! Such misery! Such impatience!

I am starving, dear readers. What if I told you I exist only on two fruit snacks and one cup of water a day? What then? Would that move you? Will anything move? Perhaps you are even wondering if I exist?

What a stupid idea!

Of course I exist! I'm the one writing this blog! I'm the one who sits down every day and thinks of a topic! I'm the one who has to think so hard! I'm the one who's -

Excuse me. I have to go take a break.

Three hours later...

I see that perhaps I have been too harsh with you, dear readers. So I will just forget we ever had this conversation, and I will concentrate on a more pressing subject.  Oh darn, the dumb computer is refusing to let me type right again. Let me see if I can find the original font...

Yes! It loves me!

Onward! Txters!

You may be appalled that I am using the non-word "Txters" to describe people who are really known as "Texters". Forgive me, but I am unsure whether either of these are true words. Therefore, I am going to stick with "Txters" over "Texters". This is not because "Txters" has less letters (although this is applicable) or because I like using "quotes" and writing explanations about things that you, dear readers, care nothing for, but because I like "Txters" better.  

Things About Txters at CSUF That Are Odd:

1. They txt while walking and then they walk into you. Or other things. Like other people, or bushes, or stairs (into them, not onto), or trees, or sometimes light poles. Or they walk into your buddy. Or their next class's professor. Or a policeman. (Then he takes their phone away and lectures them about safety. Okay, just kidding, this doesn't actually happen. Besides, the policemen are hard to find on campus. Txters have a better chance of walking into a tree.)

2. They txt whilst in class. Then they do not know what "whilst" means because they were not paying attention when your Chaucer/Shakespeare professor informed them. Then they are sad. Like you, dear reader, when you don't bring me fried zucchini. Oh, wait, was that a taboo topic? Excuse my mistake.

3. They txt while they are in the car. Double no-no. Bad bad bad. Yuck yuck yuck. Boo on you. 

4. Mainly, I don't like it when they txt and walk into you.

5. I'll repeat #1.

6. See #1.

7. Have you read number one?

8. Yep. 

9. Oh, wait. Did I forget to mention FRIED ZUCCHINI????????????????

10. REPEAT REPEAT REPEAT REPEAT REPEAT BORING

Yesterday I was walking around school at night and I saw someone in the distance...with a broom...with a lot of funny dark hair on his head...with a grumpy expression...with a lot of leaves on the ground next to him...

 

Was that you?

Never mind, it was Toby. And he was sweeping again.

"Toby," I said, "why are you sweeping again?"

No, I didn't really ask him. But I wanted to.

Instead, Toby said, "What are you doing here? There's nothing on the sundial."

I sorta felt a little sad and my grammar fell to pieces again. "Wha?"

Toby stopped sweeping his little pile of dead leaves and leaned on his broom. "Sorry. I guess I'm out of sorts."

"How come?" I asked. I sat down on the bench. Hypnos (whom I had brought, as you can see) wandered around my legs and over to Toby, who bent down to scratch his head. He (not the cat, Toby) looked preoccupied.

"It's been a long day," Toby said. "Two sick people in the bathrooms and a whole lot of new trash. Well, I guess that's what you get when school starts up again. You doing okay?" He straightened up and began sweeping.

"I'm good," I said, which was true, and watched Hypnos attempt to sharpen his nails on the side of the stone bench. "It's nice to be back at school." 

Toby scooped up the leaves into his dustpan and dumped it in a trashcan. "Yeah, I bet. Any good classes?"

I thought for a second. "Portuguese. And English 307. We're going to write a short story this semester."

"Portuguese?" Toby was staring at me. "Really? I didn't even know they had Portuguese here. Is there anyone else in your class?"

I wasn't sure to feel flattered or offended, so I decided to feel flattered. "Yeah, but only like ten people or so. It's hard, you know."

"I didn't even know anyone even spoke Portuguese anymore," Toby said, unwrapping Hypnos from his leg. I got up and took the cat from him. Hypnos wriggled and nipped me, so I put him down rather abruptly.

"They do in Portugal," I said, nursing my hand and frowning at Hypnos, who put his head on his paws and pretended not to see me. "But you don't really need to use it. There's people everywhere that speak English now."

Toby dumped more leaves into the trashcan. "I think English should be the international language. I mean, so many people speak it."

"Hmm," I said noncommittally. I couldn't remember what the most common language was, but I had a feeling that it was Mandarin Chinese, something that I never wanted to learn. Too many non-English symbols, and way too many of them.

Toby swept for a while more, and we talked about languages and classes, and he threw another new word at me and demanded that I tell him what it meant. I didn't know. So now I am putting it here so that you, too, can struggle with it.

Contumacious

I'll give you the definition tomorrow. Or maybe you can look it up using a dictionary! 

Tips of the Day:

Tip #83: Go to school. Eat your breakfast. Wear a coat. Bring your backpack. Do your homework. Set your alarm. Walk up the stairs. Comb your hair. Wear a grin. Go to bed. Walk the dog. Listen to your parents. Go to office hours. Make a friend. Watch a movie. Eat that popcorn. Wave at people. Wave at people. Wave at people. Wave at people. Wave at people.  Oh, sorry. My fingers got stuck in the "Wave at people" position.

Tip #84: SUNDIAL LEAVE FRIED ZUCCHINI AT THE. FRIED AT THE SUNDIAL ZUCCHINI LEAVE. LEAVE FRIED AT SUNDIAL THE ZUCCHINI. THE ZUCCHINI SUNDIAL FRIED THE AT. AT THE ZUCCHINI LEAVE FRIED SUNDIAL. THE SUNDIAL FRIED LEAVE AT ZUCCHINI.

Tip #85:  Leve-me amanhã, abobrinha frita ou ser triste como eu.

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Italian to Portuguese translation

The Targeted Titan

Agent II grumbled to himself as he sat at the little table in the coffee shop and read the newspaper. He wasn't really reading it - he was sulking and drawing circles with the condensation his iced coffee had left on the table, making little dark brown circles on the light wood. He was having a bad day.

A few tables over sat a tall man with very bright yellow-blond hair, sipping genteelly from a black mug. He was fiddling with a spoon and reading a paperback. Agent II squinted at the title. The Grapes of Wrath. 

The blond man banged his spoon against the table in a final drumbeat, and got to his feet in one fluid motion, and Agent II looked back down at his folded newspaper so that he wouldn't catch the stranger's eye. There was the sound of footsteps, and Agent II heard the blond man leave.

Then there was a sudden noise as the chair on the opposite side of his table was dragged out, and someone sat down in it. Agent II put down his newspaper and raised his eyes slowly, menacingly. He felt a slow surge of annoyance beginning to build in his gut.

The blond haired man smiled genially back at him, still holding his book and his mug. His teeth glittered shark-like in the lights of the coffee shop. Agent II forgot the rude greeting he had been about to utter and stared stupidly back at him. 

"Good afternoon," the blond man said. "I'm Jack Gent." 

"Uh," Agent II said (his heart had abruptly stopped - Gent? The Jack Gent?), and faked a sickly sort of smile. "How do you do?"

"I'm doing just fine," Gent said. "But I take it you're not."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Agent II said slowly. He had the notion that Gent  knew something about the target, but his brain was not about to provide him with a suitable escape plan, as it seemed to be stuck in park. His hand closed pathetically around his plastic coffee cup as though it was a weapon. It squeaked.

"Why don't we go talk somewhere a little more private?" Gent said, eying the dying coffee cup with frank amusement. "I'll meet you outside." 

He got up and went out, leaving Agent II staring weakly after him. Should he have refused? What should he do? How much did Gent know? 

And then, an even more horrifying thought: Was Gent his replacement? Had Montague hired him? Who on earth would be fool enough - or brave enough - to hire Jack Gent?

When he emerged out into the sweltering air, Gent was leaning against a wall with his hands in his pockets. Neither mug nor book were in sight. 

Agent II went over to Gent, feeling rather out of his depth.

"Where do you want to go... talk?"

"Here is fine, for now," Gent said. He crossed one ankle over the other and took one hand out of his pocket to draw letters in midair, like a child trying to spell. "A-G-E-N-T-"

"Shhh," hissed Agent II, glancing around wildly. "Quiet; there's people around."

"Oh, so it is you, isn't it?" Gent smiled, and put his hand back into his pocket. "I thought you were Montague's first employee. II, right?"

Agent II tried to think of a lie and failed completely. "Uh..."

"No wonder Montague fired you," Gent said, smiling more broadly. He cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. "So... how about you tell me what you figured out about the... you know... the target?" He had lowered his voice to a stage whisper. 

Agent II felt affronted and somehow like he was being mocked. His face seemed to be burning. Why was it so hot out here? "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Hackneyed phrase, that one is," Gent said, still grinning. "Try again, why don't you?"

"If I knew anything, I wouldn't tell you anyways," Agent II snapped, and turned on his heel to walk away.

Gent grabbed his upper arm and yanked him back easily. Agent II staggered back around and fell against the wall ungracefully.  Little stars burst in pretty colors around his head.

"Just try me," Gent said softly. He did not look so happy now. "I've been looking for the target for a while now. Thought I could use some help. Now you're going to help me, or you are going to be even unhappier. Besides-" here he looked thoughtful again "-if you are really helpful, I'll make it worth your time. Capiche?"

"Uh," said Agent II, who was feeling a bit woozy from the heat, and the manhandling, and from the fact that Jack Gent was threatening him, "all right. Fine. I'll help you. Can we go back inside?"

Gent straightened up and went a few paces closer to Agent II. "I have somewhere to be right now, so no." He smiled again, pleasantly. "I'll send you a message tonight. Follow the instructions to the letter. Got it?"

Agent II nodded, weakly. "But... how will you send me a message? You don't have my cell phone number."

"Yes, I do," Gent said, fishing a slim black box out of his pocket and waving it briefly in front of Agent II's face. "Now shoo."

Agent II hurried back into the coffee shop, glancing over his shoulder like a scared rabbit, and Gent went down the street to his brick-red Cadillac and drove away.

The Temperamental Titan

I have now discovered the true name of the (incorrectly referenced) Fencing Club.

They refer to themselves as "The Medieval Swordsmanship Club" and claim to have rid the school of "Zombies".

I know this because there are fliers tacked onto bulletin boards all around the school stating this, with a very lifelike picture of a Zombie (I believe. I need to take a closer look before I can state this without error.)

I was very impressed because:

1. They have rid the school of the invading Zombie Menace.
2. They have used the word "Medieval" in their club name.
3. They have wielded swords.
4. Clubs are cool!
And...
5. So are Vanquished Zombies.

Soo....

Today was my second day back at school.

Interesting things happened today, but not too interesting. Instead of telling you a story, I will write you a list of things that I had forgotten about CSUF.

1. People (read: new Students) get lost continuously around campus.
2. The library gets rather crowded. All the time, unless it's around lunchtime. And Fridays.
3. People dress funny. No, really! I saw one person sporting an orange/blue Mohawk! And a gigantic maroon/black/gray backpack! And she was female!
4. College people are sort of young. I guess I've forgotten that we're all mostly in our late teens and early twenties. Perhaps I've been hanging around older people too much? (Except I can't think of any...)
5. It was hot. Because of summer. It would be nice if I could carry my air-conditioned apartment around with me. And if it wasn't too heavy. Or too big. Actually, I think I need one of those fans that throw water in your face. Ahhhhhhh...
6. I got a headache in class. Cue sympathetic sounds.
7. Someone walked past me wearing a folder on their face. But I think they were actually shielding their eyes from the sunlight.
8. There are lots of trees. I'm not complaining. Just an observation.
9. It is hard to get from place to place when everyone else is trying to do the same. Boo.
10. Elevators are scary. More on that in a bit.
11. We need a giant elephant in the Quad. Frizzy dying (removed?) plant sculptures just don't cut it, buddy.
12. There is a police station behind the Gym. Everyone behave. I mean it. Oh, look! A police officer! It's really nice how everyone shapes up and calms down and walks fast when one of those nice uniformed people shows up.
13. Solar panels have been installed on the top of one of the parking lots. No comment. 
14. Professors are just as nervous/excited as students on the first day. So I be nice to them.
15. Freshmen people look scared. They'll relax by the end of the week.
16. Printers in the library can be dumb. One of them tried to stall on me today. So I kicked it. Then it worked. Then the librarians threw me out.
17. I need to carry lined paper. I forgot it at home. Pity me.
18. Learning is fun! Yes!
19. Classes are conducive to sleeping. But I didn't. I jabbed my knee with a pencil to stay awake.
 And...
20. School makes me tired. Yawnnn.

Dear readers (I haven't used that in a while, have you noticed?), there are some things about CSUF that I dearly love.

Scenery is one of them.

Scenic Areas in CSUF (If You are Thinking About Vacationing There - No, Really):

1. The big planters with bigger trees in front of Humanties.
2. The lawn in front of the Gym. I like the greeeeen grass.
3. The Gym pool. Sparkly...
4. The walkway next to the TSU that is lined with (flowery) vines and little trees.
5. The courtyard behind the TSU where you had orientation. Well, it's where I had orientation. And it's a good place to eat your TSU food if you don't want to go down to the Garden Cafe or eat in the TSU.
6. The large tree on the smaller lawn near the Gym. Very striking, that tree.
7. The nice sitting area in the very front of the center Mihaylo building. I like the umbrellas.
8. The circular table behind the library that's surrounded by pine trees. And sometimes squirrels. And sometimes hawks. And sometimes flies, so you may want to check it out before you sit there for lunch.
9. The little eating area next to the Nursing center, which is also behind the library and to the left. You will recognize it because people wearing scrubs and nursing outfits usually sit over there. Inside that building behind it, by the way, there is a plethora of delectable vending machines. Yum.
10. The walkway (somewhere behind McCarthy) that hosts a long line of planets and plants. I find it quite fascinating.


Why Elevators are Scary (And Why These are Good Reasons):

1. The Doors. I recall one incident in which a girl, in an attempt to enter the elevator as the doors were closing, stuck her arm in the rapidly narrowing gap. The doors kept closing. And closing. And closing. She had to yank her arm out just before they shut. Everyone in the elevator was sort of freaked out.
2. The Floor. Have you ever noticed how rickety elevator floors are? They sound (when you step on them) as though they are made of stiff paper. The roof sounds the same way, which I know because once I heard someone walking (they were wearing high heels) overhead as we were going down.
3. The Walls. Equally thin. Also, some of them have teeny tiny holes in them. Some of them are metal, which make you feel like you are in a tin box. This is equally disturbing.
4. The People. Either cram together, or stay way apart if there are only a few. This cramming can be found in any buildings from Humanities to McCarthy. The lucky Gym employees have an elevator all to themselves.
5. The Lights. Sometimes flicker on and off. Verrrry nerve-wracking. When this happens to me, I concentrate on breathing. And pretending that everything is going to be fine, even though sometimes I wonder if I'm going to die in this stupid, confining, Terrifying, SCARY, EVIL, METAL box.
6. The Gap in the Floor Between the Outside Floor and the Elevator Floor When the Doors Open. I'm always afraid that I'm going to drop something important, such as my phone, into this crack. It looks as though it has no ending. Sometimes, on particularly harrowing days, I leap over the crack, just in case it opens and swallows me whole. When I do so, people generally give me lots of room when I get into the elevator.
7. The Atmosphere. As in stifled, miserable people, rustling noises, heavy breathing, and stinky shoes.
8. The Creepy Music. Doo dee da dee, doo dee da deeeeeeee, doink ditsy doo daa....
9. The One Other Person in the Elevator With You, Who Keeps Glancing Oddly at You and Fingering Their Protractor.
10. The Lack of Fresh Air. I can't breathe...

Once upon a time, there was a little teeny elevator. He lived in the Great McCarthy Building, and his name was Squeaky.

Squeaky trundled up and down in his little compartment, peacefully shuttling people back and forth to their classes, and helping little old ladies to their offices. He gave injured people a quiet, not-too-bumpy ride, and he was very careful about opening and shutting his doors.

One day, he was transporting a particularly mean student to class during last Summer Session. This Student was crabby, and he pressed every single button on the wall. During this time, he stuck pencils in Squeaky's walls and stomped his dirty, gummy shoes on the floor. He smashed half a bologna sandwich, face down, on Squeaky's banister, and smeared mayonnaise all over the doors. After he finished vandalizing Squeaky's ceiling by standing on the banister and drawing a detailed picture of a orange giraffe with brown spots, he pressed the Open Doors button and went away.

Squeaky stared after him in horrified and disgusted astonishment. Then he shut his doors and refused to open again, for fear the the Student might return. Furthermore, he stank.

The janitors, after being called to the scene, fixed Squeaky in no time. Squeaky was very thankful that the janitors had showed up, but he was also experiencing a new, strange feeling. It grew and grew and grew until he realized, with a shock, that it was rage. And a longing for revenge.

Squeaky waited patiently for three more weeks (and two days and six hours and seventeen minutes and thirty-nine seconds) for the Evil Elevator Defamer to return.

Squeaky waited patiently for the rest of the Students to file out, which they did. The Evil Elevator Defamer was loitering in the back, scratching something into the wall with a pen and smiling to himself.

Squeaky waited patiently for the Evil Elevator Defamer to start walking towards the doors.

Then Squeaky shut them in his face.

Squeaky was pleased to hear the sound of the Evil Elevator Defamer's cry of dismay. He trundled up a little bit, stopping between two floors. Then he did something no other elevator in CSUF had ever done before.

He went sideways.

Luckily for the Evil Elevator Defamer, something miraculous occurred and Squeaky did not fall all the way to the bottom of McCarthy. Instead, he continued to go sideways through the building, zooming at an ever-increasing speed. People walking to their classes on the fifth and sixth floors noticed a strange screeching, whirring, bumping sound coming from inside the walls that day.

Eventually some wires and pipes and other building parts wrapped around Squeaky and held him still, trapping both him and his passenger.

It took nineteen hours for the Evil Elevator Defamer to be located and rescued, even though there was a clear indication to where Squeaky had gone because of the giant hole in the side of the elevator shaft. There were sixty more people hired just to find the elevator, and a new department was created on the spot. They named it the "College of Buildings and Others" and wrote a department constitution, in which they swore to protect the buildings and Students overall, and to also protect them from each other.

Squeaky was returned to his original position and his wires were fixed so that he could never go sideways again, and the Evil Elevator Defamer was taken out of the elevator and given some water and sent home (after an hour or two of counseling). Unfortunately for him, Squeaky's lights had gone out during the wild ride and did not turn back on for quite some time. This cost more money, as did the repair to the inside of McCarthy (and Squeaky's walls and floor and top and doors).

Now you know why our fees have gone up this year, dear reader.

Also, I suggest you avoid the elevators in the McCarthy building.

Tips of the Day:

Tip #80: Buy a good pair of binoculars so you can spy on your neighbors, in case they are talking to someone who is following you.

Tip #81: Summertime is over, so suck it up and get to work.

Tip #82: Be nice to people.

Au revior, dear reader.

Also, Adios and Farewell.

Have a pleasant night!

FRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNIIIIIIIIII

The Thinking Titan

Sports.

Argh.

Why on earth did I decide to write about this???

Sports.

ARGH.

Give me a moment.


A billion years or so ago, when I was still in school at CSUF, I was eating lunch on a bench near the Engineering Building. I'm not sure it was the Engineering Building because I never go there (English majors rule!) but I thought it was. So I was sitting there, eating lunch (can you guess what? Crunch crunch crunch) and I saw the most interesting sight ever.

Several people, with long, thin, shiny objects, were poking at each other with them and walking/lunging across the grass nearby. I watched for a moment with my mouth open. What were they doing? And why were they holding rapiers?

Eventually I concluded that they belonged to a sort of fencing club, although I didn't even know that one existed at our school. Hmm, I thought. How interesting. Also, how odd.

So...my advice to you today is: Join the Fencing Club! Because that is what those people belonged to, I believe. You'll have to look the club up on the Fullerton website - I don't know exactly how to get hold of them or even if they are continuing it this year. But they have a Facebook page you can check out (from last year) if you are curious.

Enough about Sports. If you are interested in being in any of them, go look it up and save me the trouble. Ha!


Today's SECOND Topic of the Day:

Back to School.


Don't you all just cringe at the sound of those three words? Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack tooooooo Schooooooooooollllll.... It sounds quite evil.
  
For those of you who don't know (or who are trying to forget), school starts up again on Monday.

Hopefully, you've registered for classes.

Well, have you???


Freshmen have already had orientation, so they will be lugging around those big fabric bags on campus for a few weeks. Sophomores consider themselves to be really cool - "I'm a second-year. Oooh..." Juniors are all aglow with their triumph - 2 years of college gone! Only 2 left! And seniors are contemplating the end of school and that horrible word: Job. As in a Real Job. Eek.

I am here to tell you all that everything will be okay.

Well, sort of.

Freshmen - don't worry. The first day of school is just another one of those days when you are doing something for the first time, but so is everyone in your classes. It's going to be very easy for you to make friends, especially since everyone is starting at a new school with no friends just like you. And if you already have a friend you do not have to worry. Make another one too!

Sophomores- Yes, you are very cool because you have successfully finished one year of college without dropping out. Some of you may even have gotten mostly A's. This is impressive. But don't let it go to your head. This year is going to be challenging too. You'll have to adjust to harder classes - not so many G.E.'s - and make friends with those professors that you'd like to recommend you.

Juniors- Yes, you are amazing. This is quite true. You consider yourselves to be just as cool as seniors - possibly more, yes - but you also have a strenuous year ahead of you. Get those syllabuses, talk to those nice professors, buy your books, and get cracking. It's work time!!

Seniors- I don't need to commend you because I'm sure all your buddies/parents/friendly professors/aunts and uncles/grandparents/little sisters have already lavished praise upon you. Yes, it is your last year. Yes, it is a bit daunting. Yes, soon you will be leaving CSUF forever (unless you want to take a graduate program here) - but never fear. You can do it. That's how you made it to college in the first place. Hard work, and perseverance, and all those other good things.


Ways to Tell if You are Acting Like an Immature College Student:

1. You carry one of those ginormous fabric bags around. Ha ha. Although this is not bad, it does show that you're a freshman. Backpacks are easier to carry, by the way.
2. You are periodically late to your first class because, as you say, there was no parking and you had to drive around in circles for hours. Hint: get to school early (around 7) to get a prime parking place.
3. You forget that you have a class and miss it completely. This is not just a freshman thing.
4. When you go to that class the next day, you ask the professor if you missed anything important. Hint: Professors always think that every single day of their class is important, and they will react with righteous indignation. Don't ask this. Instead, get the notes from someone else. If they let you. Then pay them back by giving them notes the next time they miss class.
5. You take a semester off. Wow. This is not a great way to graduate in four years.
6. You eat in class. Unless the professor tells you explicitly that this is okay, don't do it. It's noisy, disruptive, and smelly. VERY smelly.
7. You complain about your schedule when you have two classes per day. This is a nice schedule. Treasure it. Really.
8. Instead of writing down notes, you pass them to your friends. Baaaaaad. Very baaaaaad. Furthermore, you are not learning anything. Wipe that stunned look off your face. If you don't pay attention in class = you fail the midterm. Then you have to scramble to pass the class by getting an A on the final. This is not fun.
9. You cultivate a crush on a particularly attractive professor - and then one day when they leave the classroom, you tell everyone. How stupid can you get? No offense to those of you who've done this. Sort of.
10. You chew gum constantly in class. You don't read your textbook. You forget to do your homework. You don't go to office hours if you need help. You do papers the night before they are due. Your face bears a permanently confused expression. You party till the morning light. You join a sorority or fraternity. Oops. Ignore that last one, although this is a sign that you're stretching yourself too far. Join a scholarly club instead. One that encourages studying when it meets.


Now that I've finished being insulting, I will now tell a story.


Once upon a time, there was a very attractive guy named Smart College Student. He got up every morning at five and drove to CSUF in record time (of course, he followed the speed limits) and parked in the Gym Parking Lot around six. Then he went to the gym and exercised until seven on various weight machines and ellipticals. He was very buff.

After the gym, he went to the TSU and checked his homework, making sure it was perfect. At seven forty-five, he packed up his belongings and went to the library. There he relaxed for a few hours.

At exactly nine forty-five, he slung his backpack over his CSUF sweatshirted shoulder, and marched off to class in one of the various CSUF buildings.

During class, he took precise notes, raised his hand to ask questions, raised his hand to answer questions, and listened to the professor intently. He refrained from eating, chewing gum, and discussing things with the Students around him unless he was told to do so. He was very organized. Every class had its notebook or binder, and he had twenty pencils and twenty pens in his backpack. If someone asked to use a pen, he told them to keep it.

After morning classes, he went to the Garden Cafe and ate lunch with his buddies. Then he went back to the library before his next class, to make sure that his professor hadn't canceled. Then he left for class exactly fifteen minutes before it started.

He got A's on all his papers, and all his midterms, and all his other tests, and all his pop quizzes, and all his finals. He was the Best Student in the Whole World. No one could compare to him and his excellence.

After he finished college, he applied to several places for work. In the meantime, he learned how to speak French, Spanish, German, and Portuguese.

No one hired him.

So he went to grad school and became a professor.

The End.


The moral of this story is: Work hard, really hard, and you will excel.

The moral of this story is: If you don't want to become a professor, don't excel.

Whoops! Never mind.

Let's try that again.


Smart College Student applied to several places, and each of them really really wanted him, so he chose the best one ever, and he worked there for the rest of his life. He was very happy.

The End.

Moral: Work hard and be happy.

Tips of the Day:

Tip #76: Pick out a new backpack for school. This is fun, and it will make you happy and less nervous, if that is what you are.

Tip #77: Leave some fried zucchini (preferably in a box, not just sitting there) on the sundial. Make my day!

Tip #78: Enjoy these last two days of summer. Go somewhere! The beach! The pool! Your backyard! A mall! The school! Don't go to the school! Go dancing! Go ice-skating! Go ice-cream eating! Go swimming in a hot tub! Take a shower! So that you're not smelly on Monday!

Tip #79: Avoid looking for me at school. You will not find me. If you dally around the sundial, I will not show up. I will also not be there on Monday night. So there!

See you soon!

Adieu! 

The Targeted Titan

Anonymus mērķis locus:

Sanctus Franciscus.

The Trashy Titan

I hope you are not offended by the title of this blog post.

I am not referring to myself, but actually to my topic.


Today I will inform you about:

Disgusting Things at CSUF:

1. I am not going to be talking about Disgusting Behavior, such as Spitting (ew) - no, only Disgusting Things.
2. Gum on the Ground
3. Squished Blue Carpets
4. Trash on the Ground
5. I don't know...there has to be something else...
6. More Trash on the Ground...
7. Bird Poop. But this cannot be blamed on Students...
8. Dirty Bathrooms, especially the Library Ones.
9. 


That's it. That is all I can think of. Can you think of any? If so, please email me, and I will (possibly) write about them later.

Anyways, GUM.

Gross
Undelightful
Most horrible stuff ever

Gum is gross:

1. When it is on the ground.
2. When it is fresh on the ground.
3. When it is old on the ground.
4. When it is on the light pole.
5. When it is on the stair.
6. When it is on the banister,
7. And when it is in the air.

It is gross:

1. In a fountain,
2. On a tree,
3. On a desktop,
4. Underneath.

It is gross:

1. In your classroom,
2. In your eye,
3. It is gross when I walk by.

Let me hastily amend that last line.

It is not gross when I walk by. No, the gum is gross when it is in your eye and I walk by. Okay?

Now, onward.

Gum is also undelightful (which, although not a word, is an aptly chosen description):
 
1. Because it is quite boring,
2. Like a moldy rat snoring,
3. Or some apple coring,
4. The sound of rain pouring,
5. Perhaps a gnat soaring,
6. And maybe old flooring.

Gum is undelightful because:

1. I do not eat it,
2. You do not eat it,
3. She does not eat it,
4. He does not eat it,
5. And no one with any sense eats it.
6. Gnats don't eat it,
7. Bats don't eat it,
8. Bears don't munch it,
9. Owls don't beak it,
10. And floors cannot at all.

So. I hope you have all understood the nature of GUM and its many, irrevocable flaws.

Now I will turn to the object of Blue Squished Carpet.


Those of you who have walked the halls of CSUF may now remember what exactly is on the floor of these halls. It is not pretty.

Squashed into the mashed threads of the Blue Squished Carpets are many, many, many round dark blue or black circles. Some of them are dark gray, others a dull dark red.

And now, dear reader, you understand why GUM is not cool. Because it is everywhere!!!

I will now list the places Gum can be found at CSUF:

1. Squashed into the Blue Squished Carpet.
2. On walls.
3. On desks.
4. On chairs.
5. On tables.
6. In crevices of buildings.
7. On the sidewalk.
8. On trees.
9. On people's shoes,
10. And on seats.

Now tell me, does that sound pleasant? I do not think so. I sometimes wish CSUF was in Singapore.

The other slight problem is litter...but since we have janitors (like Toby) and such, this trash is usually picked up pretty quickly.

Some Notably Clean Places at CSUF are:

1. The Gym. 
2. The new section of the Library!
3. And the old section too! But the new section is prettier!
4. Most bathrooms.
5. Mihaylo! Which is beautiful and shiny, as I mentioned in one of my earlier posts.
6. The new computer labs.
7. Um.

Today's post does not seem to be flowing smoothly. Perhaps I will go away and try to write some more tomorrow.

Tips of the Day:

Tip #73:  Sometimes, even for English Majors, it is hard to write. In those cases, it is best to take a break and write later. It's not good to force creativity.

Tip #74: Purple-striped things are happy! I bought some more purple-striped socks. Now I am happy. Follow this advice!

Tip #75: EAT FOOD.

Adios, dear reader! Also, Adieu!

The Targeted Titan

Jack Gent stood on the roof of the skyscraper (Fancy Underwear and Scarves Co.), looking across the dimming horizon with the air of a superhero, his lips curved into a ghostly, sardonic smile. It was almost night. The air was ferocious in its snapping, brisk movements, and cold.

He was wearing a long gray overcoat that reached past the knees of his black jeans, and tugged down on his head was a black beret. His eyes and hair were dark again, and his skin was back to the same shade of light brown, and his face was all angles and sharp edges. He leaned nonchalantly against the grimy steel railing, ignoring the harsh wind streaming around him and holding his beret down with one loose hand. The other was beneath the railing and feeling along underneath it. He had already counted the number of steps from the rooftop trapdoor, and found the two bars of the railing that signified the location by two identical tiny crowns scratched into their fronts. There was a click and a tinny clatter as a small piece of metal fell from under the railing to the cement rooftop, and Gent caught a square of folded paper as it fell too.

Letting go of the railing and turning around, he unfolded the paper and read it, his long fingers holding it gently but firmly, so that the wind wouldn't snatch it away. His beret moved slightly on his head, but remained for the most part in place. The five penciled words on the paper flashed for a moment as lights from the surrounding skyscrapers caught the lead and tinted it bright silver from their usual dull gray. Jack Gent's fingers were trembling slightly from the cold.

Anonymus mērķis locus:

Sanctus Barbarus.

The Targeted Titan

The sunlight slid down over the roofs and glinted off the long windows of the shops that lined each side of the narrow street. Cars were parked along the sidewalk, and people bustled in and out of the stores, wearing bright beach clothes and holding bulging shopping bags.

Past the shops was a long, thick line of houses, each one unique, each one supplemented with an outdoor porch and wicker or plastic chairs. One of the houses was glimmering oddly in the sunlight, its sleek sides reminiscent of a whale or perhaps a weird sort of boat. 

Beyond the houses was a thin beach, separated into sections by private piers. Some of the wooden structures had little hand-painted gates; others had old sand toys, buckets and shovels and little rakes, scattered across them. Children were playing in the sand between the piers, and some had ventured out into the waves, splashing and screaming madly as they frolicked. Parents were cajoling toddlers to put on hats, picking up squalling babies, and keeping a (mostly) sharp eye on the little ones in the water.

Past the beach stretched the bay. There were dainty sailboats bobbing in the waves, speedboats shooting past with sprays of seawater, and a few lumbering fishing boats. Pink and blue kayaks darted in and out of the boats, their passengers heaving mightily at their paddles. A ferry made its slow way towards the public pier, heading laboriously towards the houses and the shops. Behind it, its twin headed back to the opposite side of the bay, towards a Ferris Wheel that gleamed enticingly in the sun. There was no one in the seats except for a blond-haired boy around ten, who was attempting to stand up and wave at onlookers. The attendant shouted up at him to sit down, and the boy's mother whirled around and shouted at the attendant to leave her son alone. A minor argument broke out.

The ferry, which had come from the Ferris Wheel side, trundled onward towards its destination, its passengers oblivious to the commotion several hundred yards away on the shore. There were three cars on board and ten people. All of them were sitting, either in their cars, or on the little benches built into the ferry, and all of them were wearing sunglasses, an assortment of hats, and loose clothing. The only girl on board had a sundress and was carrying a tiny blue purse (with matching blue straw hat), and she was leaning precariously over the side, clinging with one arm to her boyfriend, who seemed mildly comatose.

"Mike! C'mon, look! There's like a fish in the water!"

Her boyfriend lazily disentangled himself from her vine-like arm. "Cool." He did not seem inclined to lean over and look, instead preoccupied with staring at the neon-yellow Ferrari in front of him on the ferry.

Its owner was a dark-haired man with a black baseball cap, black sunglasses, and a black T-shirt, the sleeves cut off to reveal bulky, tanned muscles. He was fiddling with the radio, turning the music up high and then down low again, and he kept changing frequencies.

Probably one of those loony rich guys, Mike thought, and turned his attention (sort of) back to his girlfriend, who was now kneeling on the bench, hanging out over the water, and babbling maniacally about a crab. 

"Really, it's so cool! Mike what is wrong with you? You're like a stick! Hey, when we get there, let's find a Chinese place to eat at, okay? I looove Chinese food! I know you're allergic to noodles but we don't have to get them! You can have rice! Or maybe veggies! I loooooove veggies! Hey look a worm! Oh. That was seaweed. Hey look we're here! Let's go!"

Mike heaved himself up off the bench and set off down the ferry, handing the attendant the money as he stepped off. His girlfriend was now wrapping her arms around his waist and chattering nonstop about noodles. He patted her arm absentmindedly, still thinking about the Ferrari and how someday he planned to get one, and stepped off the boat onto dry land.

The guy in the Ferrari drove past them down the street and disappeared from sight, and Mike promptly forgot all about him.

A half hour later, Mike was sitting in a little Chinese place and staring blankly out the window. His girlfriend was slurping down her noodles as though she had been fasting for a month, or maybe more, and talking through every mouthful. Mike ate another bite of fried rice, trying to tune out the sound of her voice.

Just when he looked back down at his plate and nodded in response to something his girlfriend had said (what was she talking about now? Oh. Fish. Cool.) he saw something bright yellow out of the corner of his eye. He looked up.

The guy with the Ferrari was back, and now he had the top down. There was a brown briefcase in the seat next to him, and all the seats were red, like blood. Mike stared curiously. Why would anyone paint their car bright yellow if they had crimson seats? The colors clashed horribly.

As he thought this, the guy in the Ferrari glanced towards the window, into it, and at Mike, who blinked in surprise. The guy's lips curved into a dark, eerie smile. Mike looked hastily back at his girlfriend, who was so startled that he had actually looked at her that she stopped talking. The Ferrari drove through the light and away.

It turned at the next corner, went down another street, which was empty, and stopped. The guy got out and looked up and down. Then he went around to the passenger side and took out his briefcase, locked the car, walked up the steps to a blue house, and went inside, locking the door behind him.

A quarter of an hour later, the garage opened, and a little beige Scion sped out. An older man in a white uniform was driving. He had floppy brown hair, a round flabby face, and much lighter skin, and his eyes appeared to have changed color from black to light blue.

He drove past the Ferrari and down the street, turned a corner, and vanished into the sunlight.

Jack Gent had returned.