Well, I have only one vaguely interesting thing to say: I am writing this on a mac.  I'ms sure you noticed, dear blog, that my cool points have increased exponentially.  Also, typing on such an aesthetically pleasing machine has automatically made my writing better.  Obviously.

Besides the news about my newly attained cool points, I have nothing to tell.  On a whim I dyed my hair brownish while staying with Grandma and Grandpa in Ohio.  I gained 4 pounds over thanksgiving, which is disgusting.  I bought myself a thesaurus and the complete Hitchhiker's Guide book - the one that's all five books in one.  I watched movies this evening.  My life is fantastically boring right now.  I should probably be glad about this, but I'm not.  I might go take a bath. Though I've nearly taken all the baths I can justify. (Whoever among my imaginary readers gets that nerdy reference wins a prize! I mean it!)

Honestly, there was no reason for me to write this at all.  I just wanted something to do that did not involve homework.

Welcome, my brethren, to the Natural State

A couple of weeks ago, my family piled into the car and drove about three hours to a little town called Mountain View.

One of the joys of living in an apartment is that we can do this stuff, drive off on the weekends whenever we feel like it.  But anyways, we drove to Mountain View for what we thought would be a small local festival with  maybe a couple of hundred people in attendance.
We were rather surprised to find that around 50,000 people pay a visit to this event every year.
Apparently, the Bean Fest and Outhouse Races are a bigger deal than we'd thought.
Yes, you read that right.  The Mountain View Bean Fest and Outhouse Races.  It. Was. Awesome.

This gentleman kindly posed for a picture, bless him.

This guy had no choice.

The races were, without doubt the high point of the event.  Two outhouses ran at a time, with two pushers and a driver.  It actually looked pretty hard. There were multiple divisions, too.  Altogether a magnificent afternoon.  My face hurt I smiled so much. It was absolutely worth the drive.

Happy Unawareness Day!

Almost missed this momentous holiday last year. 

Please allow me the honor of wishing you and yours a very happy Unawareness Day.

God bless the idlers, every one.

Happy Thunderbolt Kid Day!

This may have been, like, a one-time thing, but in 2006 the mayor of Des Moines, Iowa declared this day "Bill Bryson,The Thunderbolt Kid, Day".  All those commas are actually in the title.  For some reason it seems excessive to me, but I can't think how you could do it otherwise.  I don't care if it was supposedly only Thunderbolt Kid Day in 2006 - I celebrate regardless.

This day we celebrate the genius of Bill Bryson.  Mr. Bryson, your books alone have extended the life spans of readerly people by ten years at least if laughing is as good for us as Prevention magazine says it is. Your efforts to save rural England and put an end to littering are equally commendable.  Thank you for everything, especially Katz. 

Boasting is fun

Yes!
I am freakishly proud of myself right now!
Why, you ask?
Because, my dear Watson, I just re-strung my ukulele all by myself.  Without anyone else's assistance.  On me own.  No help.
Well, several videos on Youtube helped, but that doesn't count for some reason.  It's not like they actually took the ukulele out of my hands and did one string right as an example.  So there.
I had honestly expected that the evening would end in tears and that a second trip to Alan's (the most wonderful music shop on earth. Or at least in La Mesa, California) would be made tomorrow to beg the nice shop men for help.  I bought the strings at Alan's - Aquila, baby - and stroked the very nice ukuleles they sell while my sister bought a piece of sheet music - ten pages long! - for "Rhapsody in Blue".  It was lovely.
Unfortunately, I have no idea what to do with the ends of the strings. They are, at present, sticking out everywhere (and they poke me in the arm when I play) - but I coiled them up as neatly as possible and will figure out what to do someday.  I hope.  Things always seem to sort themselves out with time.  Or they don't. Life goes on.

postscript

Technically this isn't whining.

It's really rather appalling to realize how many girls actually go to college looking to get their Mrs. degree.  (Did you see the funny joke there?  Because it was hilarious, I tell you!) I mean, astonishing.  All I can think is, "jeez, that's an expensive way to meet a husband."  But you know what?  Until about eight hours ago, I never stopped to think that when I worried about the possibility of missing out on the "college experience" by living at home instead of going away to school, I was basically saying "I think it might be worth six thousand dollars a year to be forced to make friends with people who, in ordinary circumstances, I might never associate with."  Twelve thousand dollars is an awful lot to pay for friends.

Lately, I've really come to see how very, very pleasant and freeing it would be to be able to finish college debt-free, or at least owing amounts in the thousands instead of the ten, twenty and thirty thousands.  If I have student loans to pay back, I can't expect to be able to just drop everything and drive off to Montana on a whim.  And I really do want to drive off to Montana one day soon.  I also really want to move to England and   wear wellies when I go foraging in the countryside.  How will I ever do these things if I can't take risks?  If I'm tied down by that monthly payment?  I know things can't just be dropped, but isn't the disentangling and setting things down less complicated if money isn't as big an issue?  Did that even make one crumb of sense?
Whether it did or not, it really makes sense to me at the moment.

And college is what you make of it, isn't it?

I use too many commas and over-think everything, but at least... at least... (need something positive here) at least I knew like three years ago that Oxford shoes were going to come in.  I even bought ridiculously expensive men's dress shoes, trying to get that sort of Oxford-wingtip-brogue-sixties  look.  That gives me great personal satisfaction. (And gives the world a little glimpse into the reason why the people at Hillsdale didn't seem as eager as they might have to number me among their student body. I never applied, but I think I could have guessed the outcome if I had.  Good thing I don't care.)