I'm allergic to my hair.

*blows off huge layer of dust*

Hey there, I'm sitting and waiting for my yummy chicken to cook because I was an idiot and didn't let it thaw completely, so I had to turn the heat down and increase my wait. Now I'm blogging.

I haven't been here for a couple months, and chances are that after this post, I may disappear again for a while. Most of the trials of grad school are behind me now, but I still have classwork and a bit of hoop-jumping to perform for the ringleader (who apparently likes to set the hoops on fire once in a while). All in all, it looks like only a little over a month to go and I'm done, and two months before the lease on my apartment runs out. While wrapping things up, I realized that I'm unconsciously obsessing about the transition, and one of those things is admittedly quite strange in comparison to the big picture; I must plan my meals and budget the food left in my kitchen so that it's all gone by the end of December.

Seriously, I worry about my mental health sometimes.

Cheese isn't a right; it's a privilege.

i was walking home last night with a friend after our night class, and the route we take cuts through a parking lot located between a rental property and a bar. Partway through the lot, we're interrupted by this piercing scream--the epitome of bloody murder. I flinched and started looking around to see where it came from, but with the acoustics in that area, I couldn't tell exactly. I finally looked up and saw this couple (I suppose you could call them chubby, portly, big-boned, etc.) standing at the railing of the deck, smoking and looking down at us. Apparently it was purely for our benefit. Gee, thanks.

After finding that the source was not someone being repeatedly stabbed in the shadows beside the bar, I turned away and shook my head in disbelief. From above we hear her say, dripping with disdain, "Pussies."

This is a prime example of why I'm torn about college. I can't describe how happy I am that I finally returned to school or how well things have turned out for me since then, but every fall I feel this strange mixture of rage and disappointment at the ignorance displayed by the hordes of returning students. How do you tell a drunk, stupid sow you're more afraid of the prospect that she is a representative of what I think is wrong with the upcoming generations than the fact that she gave us a few seconds of fright from a slasher-film scream? Or should I say, how do you tell her that without stooping to her level?

So after getting home, I decided to take the night off with a movie and headed to the local Hy-Vee in order to pick up some junk food to enhance my viewing pleasure. The conversation at the checkout lifted my spirits.

There's a guy who has worked there for what seems like forever, but I don't see him all that often. When I do, I don't hesitate to head for his register. Here's why, and I should mention that he'd just finished commenting on the previous customer's two boxes of Froot Loops:

Him: "How're you doing, sir? Do you like Froot Loops?"
Me: "I do enjoy Froot Loops once in a while, yes."
Him: "Me too. I always steal some from my little cousin when he eats them."
Me: "Ah, so you're one of those kinda guys."
Him: "No, I don't steal Froot Loops from babies." (pause) "Well, yeah I do, but it's okay, because he's stupid. I say stuff like, 'Hey, good job! You finished all your Froot Loops!'"

At this point the people behind me in line and I are laughing.

Him: "So, you got any plans tonight?" (This may sound strange, but I've never heard him not ask someone this question.)
Me: "Nope. The plan is to not have plans tonight."
Him: "Oh. You're dressed all spiffy, so I thought maybe you'd just come from somewhere or were headed out for the night."

I was dressed in a Dickies shirt, cargo shorts, and grubby work boots.

Me: "Wow, you call this spiffy?"
Him: "What can I say? I'm easily impressed."

That exchange was typical of every single conversation I've had with that guy, and I'm always chuckling about it afterward. Seriously, if there were only two registers open and I had to choose between him and some gorgeous, swimsuit model-type, I'd probably go through his lane. But I'd be craning my neck to see into the next lane.

Trojan horse small.BOG

Just popping on here to help out with anyone that may be having problems with their iTunes and AVG installs. For those that use only one or neither, you can just let your eyes go unfocused and hum the 1812 Overture for a while.

So, I was scared shitless yesterday when I went to fire up iTunes and my antivirus program, AVG, began screaming at me (not literally) that there were trojan horses oozing out of that directory (again, not literally--although some viruses do cause slight to major oozage). I must have been on one of the first waves of fear-inspired WTF, because googling brought up really only one result; a site I'm unfamiliar with telling me that nothing is wrong here, dude. Needless to say, I was skeptical.

Now that time has passed and people's internets have most likely been hammered by frantic music and antivirus fans, there has been a partial explanation and temporary fix. I suspect Bill Gates has been consulted on damage control, because it seems like his modus operandi. To save time, even though I've been admittedly rather long-winded about this, this guy seems to have summed it up quite effectively and efficiently.

One thing I'll address that I have yet to see; what happens if you're using the free version of AVG, which usually defaults to daily scanning and won't allow skipping directories? This morning, I awoke to find all those pesky files now ignored by the "fix" mentioned above sitting in my virus vault. Well, I threw caution to the wind in the name of science and came up with some yawn-inspiring results. Here's what I did; delete the entries in your virus vault and restart iTunes--Window$ (XP in this case) will just spend a minute reconfiguring iTunes and then start it normally.

Disclaimer: if you follow my advice and it borks your computer, I accept no blame. But I will feel bad. That's the best I can do.

They're more scared of you then you are of them.

I know I logged in to say something way awesome, but vodka has erased whatever it was. Instead, I'll post this video for Adidas (believe it or not) that I found a couple years ago but just popped up in my memory. It's a bit creepy, but I still like it. I think it's the song that gets me.

Don't Open the Haunted Sour Cream

For the second time in a week, the mailman (or person, whatever) has put my mail in my neighbor's box. My dad delivers mail an hour's drive away in my hometown. I should have him get to the bottom of this, because I'm sure he knows who is messing this up.

Seriously though, I don't want to complain and possibly cause someone to be reprimanded, but I'm tired of thinking I have no mail only to have my neighbor knock on my door late in the afternoon and hand deliver it. Supposedly there are rigorous tests that need to be passed before one can be trusted as a USPS employee. I would think that reading and recognizing differences in addresses is one of those requirements with not a lot of wiggle room.

Ouch, that snark got a little sharp there at the end. I'm not even in a bad mood.

edit: This was a test of the email posting function I enabled a while ago, and I have to say that (aside from the convenience aspect of not having to log in) it is short of impressive. Maybe it's just something I have to play with.