The Second Best Friend

(So it seems that since everyone went abroad, everyone decided to get a blog. I'm cool with this, but I would just like to point out that I was here first. No, MFA will not turn into a post-card blog after years of faithful blogging about whatever the fuck I want... though maybe expect something on the subject soon. And now, back to the show.)



I have recently had a tremendous epiphany: I am the Second Best Friend.

No really, one day when I was in elementary school, my friend said that I was her best friend and asked me if I was hers. I well-meaningly said no, you're my second best friend, and I have been suffering the karmic retribution ever since.

In pretty much every friendship I've had since then, I was always unfailingly, undoubedtly, and exactly number two. I often enjoyed Best Friend status because number one lived far away or went to a different school or something, but the fact remains. Now I don't want to sound like I'm complaining- oh no, number two is a highly honorable position. In fact, the differences that seperate the Best Friend from the Second Best Friend are infintesimally subtle, the kind that only the Second Best Friend could ever possibly notice, but they're still there. Even today, I've noticed that for every close friend I have, there is always one other person with whom I assume they are closer. This never bothered me, it was simply the status quo.

Come to think of it, I'm not sure if I've ever really had a Best Friend. OK, obviously I've had many in the basic sense, and I've had different friend groups for different things. But I don't think I've ever found one person who managed to encompass all of my bizarre and disjointed interests in a particultarly exciting and intruiging way. In short, I don't think I've ever shared the really outstandingly baller kind of Bestfrendship I've witnessed in some of the pairs I've met recently.


So, I've decided I'm on a quest. I'm now currently accepting applications for a mutually exclusive Bestfriendship. Anyone interested can contact me via the "comments" link below.

The End of Productivity as We Know It

One day, you will find yourself cramming a microwaved dinner down in the six minutes you have left before you resurrect. This is probabaly your 20th resurrection* today, seeing as you've been playing for roughly eight hours straight. You see a server shut down coming up and panic, but then realize this is serendipitous because you also need to shower, and might not have otherwise. This also reminds you that you're excited because The Guild updates soon. Oh, and next time you get a chance, you also need to check out Baldur's Gate II and see if it's actually as good as it's hyped up to be. Finally, As you coincidentally glance down at your xkcd t-shirt, a small part of your brain wonders "What happenned to my life?"

*Speaking of which, Season 4 came out in Switzerland this week. Thank you, random interview with Six in the daily paper. Apparently, she's Canadian!

Stephen Hawking- Live In Concert!

So originally I was going to not blog for awhile, so that all of you readers could only dare to speculate as to what extreme ballerness I must be up to in Europe. This, however, was too good to wait.

Roughly 1-2 Weeks Ago- I recieve notification that Stephen Hawking will be coming to the University to speak for free in celebration of its 450th Birthday. I practically shit myself. I temporarily dream that this is a sign that I will actually intern at CERN and help make great prodigic strides in the field of physics afterall. Once this fantasy fades...Uh... actually I'll let you know once that happens.

Today, 4:30 PM- I arrive, t-2 hours before the lecture is set to begin. I take a place in line, just barely inside the building by about 10 feet.

Approximately 4:35 PM: The elderly woman behinds me asks if she can cut just a little so that she can "read the paper better."

Approximately 4:45 PM: I see the woman has joined with an elderly man several people ahead of me in line. I give her the glare of death.

Approximately 4:55 PM: What was once a line is now rapidly morphing into a crowded mob in the foyer. From this point forward, it's clearly every man for himself.

Approximately 5:00 PM: The crowd starts to move towards the auditorium, half an hour before the doors were meant to open. I stipulate that a group of dedicated physics students have actually put their skillls to the test, and pummeled down the doorway with a ramming device. I also wonder if anyone in the room has swine flu, and if terrorists have anything against Quantum Physics.

Approximately 5:10 PM: I am one of the last 200 or so people admitted (legally) to the small auditorium, and get a decent seat near the middle/back of the room.

Approximately 5:25 PM: My friend arrives late, and pursuades the woman to let her pass through the barricade now surrounding the building. She somehow manages to approach the auditorium, where guards are fending off physics fanatics who still insist on entering despite the presence of tazors.

Approximately 5:30 PM: The aforementioned friend somehow leaps over a barricade with another group of fanatics, and enters the auditorium.

Approximately 6:30 PM- Introductory speakers. Blahblahblah.

Approximately 6:35 PM: He speaks. I am glad that I too speak English, and don't need to settle for the translation (which was apparently mediocre due to his synthesizer being a little hard to hear). I cannot help but reflect on the old brains vs. physical prowess stereotype, especially with the most extreme case fathomable actually sitting on stage before me. I am also wowed by whatever genius (likely himself) developed the computer program he uses to communicate, which senses his desires by mere ocular motion. [in old-school, computer-synthesized voice]: I. will. be thin.king. like this. for at. least. the. next. thir.ty minutes.

Approximately 7:35 PM: The (rather funny) talk is over, and there is no QandA. I am secretly relieved, however, because I forgot what my exact qualm was with his defintion of entropy as related to the development of galaxies in his book. Had I missed the opportunity to discuss it with him purely because of my own lack of prepardness, I would have had to cry myself to sleep for the next month... at least.

Approximately 7:45 PM: I steal a poster. It looks like this:

Approximately 7:50 PM: I and my entourage exit the building. We witness Mr. Hawking Himself being wheeled towards his transport a mere few meters away. I would like to think that we had the class and reserve to photograph him from where we were, instead just of running up to his face like someone else actually did, but this was probably just the result of me not being the one with the camera.

Did I learn anything that I hadn't already read or heard in class? Not really, though I didn't know that he'd been to the South Pole (in his current condition) or that his "voice" was used in a Pink Floyd song. Also, if you tried to heat a frozen pizza using only CBR microwaves it would only heat it to just above zero Kelvin, and Feynmen used play the bongos at a strip club. My current qualm: His third son, Tim, was born 3 years after his ALS was so advanced that he could not feed himself or get out of bed. Foul play, or is he actually just that baller?