Okay, so this break's about to end and I'll have to turn in three big ass assignments that will make or break my grade in three classes, and thus the remainder of my academic career on campus. It's almost 2 in the morning and maybe I could be in bed already so that I could get up earlier to work on these assignments before church and getting Hilary at the airport.

Instead, I plan on taking a few moments -- and just a few -- to enlighten you all. Have a seat, and take heed, because on this Thanksgiving, I have relearned a bunch of things that I started hearing and learning circa pre-school. I'm thankful for learning what I have learned, and this is a week that is all about voicing that, so here goes. And I've only got three weeks until I am gone from MU, so lets start this off.

Things I've learned this semester, take 1

1. Never judge a book by its cover.

We know this means to not think that a black man will steal your car or that a sorority girl will try to get you off, but do we know how to not assume someone is biased?

I've made some great friends this semester, many of whom shared my open attitudes. A couple of them I wouldn't think would think the way I do, because I've been conditioned to think that people from that area of the country will think a certain way, or that people of certain religions will view things in a certain way, or that they will view me in a certain way because of my religion, or that people's political beliefs dictate how they view other things.

I've been able to talk openly with people about things that I wouldn't think I could talk about, whether it be career plans, relationship goals, dating someone who's not Christian or dating someone who's - gasp! - of the same sex.

My friends have been supportive as I have transformed to a new Pat, my siblings have been warm and even my parents have shown signs of patient acceptance.

All this goes back to two of my new close friends, one being the guy who dresses the part of the urban boi or even of the Southern gent but espouses liberal views and is smarter than 99.9 percent of anyone I've ever met. He's also quite the dancer, but that's another story.

The other was a roommie, who with her liberal views and radical feminism was able to listen openly to me babble on about God's plan and spirituality and was able to talk to me about how she, too, thinks things happen for a reason.

With all the biases I had, I didn't think I could find a Gillian or a Shaffer, but I've found both.

Never, never, never ever judge a book by its cover.

Next lessons include the women who have kept me balanced, awake, and alive. If you know me, you know them all and you know which ones do and don't have blogs.

I'm fighting my urge to go all "High Fidelity" and make Top 5 lists and do a cumulative in perspective list, because I don't want to make anyone sad, even myself.

But knowing me, I might have to give into those urges.

Turkey & Beer

For Thanksgiving, my aunt made sure to tell me everywhere in her house where I could find booze. I found it with ease.

Turkey & Beer, with Dad

My dad and I just partook in Krueger's Happy Hour. He had a rum and coke, and I had a Schlafley's Pale Ale. Then he and I each got a "blonder" Schlafley's, mine with lemon, his without.

It hasn't worn off yet, though, which is why this post is taking me longer than usual. I'm having to go back and correct typos, because, well, my friends, I'm kind of tipsy. And being tipsy on top of ditzy is not good.

Stuffing or dressing?

Is it stuffing, or is it dressing? I would think that it would be stuffing, being that you stuff it inside the turkey. And by "it," I don't mean how Jeff spends his lonely holiday nights. I mean the breaded crap that you stick in the bird. And again, I don't mean Jeff's wang.

So, my fair friends, is it stuffing or dressing? Is Jackie's mom a slut, or is she a ho?

If I weren't about to go take a nap, I would be all about telling you how 104.1 the Mall is no longer an 80s-90s station. Neigh, this station is now all Christmas all the time. Carols. Holiday tunes. That sorta shit. I shit you not. Son of a bitch.

I discovered this on Sunday, before Thanksgiving. The turkey was not even on the table. Shit, the turkey was not even dead. He was still alive, and when he turned on his FM radio, I bet you he was ticked as all hell that he didn't get to hear his Duran Duran or Human League. Poor fuck.

Oh, I just told you. And now I don't feel like taking a nap. Chingy is on the radio. He likes it when I do it right thurr. What a ho. A slut. Stuffing. Dressing.

Son of a bitch.

Now it is naptime.

I'm back in St. Louis for a few days, and my brother John just showed me the Paris Hilton sex video. I'll echo many others and say it was disappointing. It would have flat-out sucked if not for her phone going off and the guy saying "Fuck your phone!" My brother has decided he wants that ring tone.

John's thoughts on the video:
This was just really bad timing in terms of Halloween. If it come out just a little earlier, we could have had thousands and thousands of naked women with green body paint. But now, this next year, no one's going to remember anyway.

That may have been more entertaining than all the Steve Bartman costumes.

From: Reuben
To: Pat
Subject: graphics update, please.

Yo, PMG-man,

I need to know what's goin' on with a coupla graffixxxx you got.

I hope you're planning on making an appearance onstage at club graffixxxx today. Funkadelic editors are counting on it.

Please let me know. Thanks.

--Reuben.

-----

And while he did leave off an x in graffiXXXXX, this e-mail is still nothing short of hilarious.

You only wish you could take graphics

J378 (Information Graphics) is quite possibly one of the best classes I've ever taken. It's definitely TOP 5 material, and here's why:

*You've got a professional journalist who's very mannerly but also very stylish and "hip" because he's from L.A. teaching people only 10 or so years his junior. He tries so hard to be "serious" and not let on to us that he is human. Thus, he runs a tight ship and has high demands, but he's not too uptight or strict, and once you accept that he expects you to work your ass off, you almost think of him as patient and borderline "chill."

*You've got a worldly conscious Southern gent who dresses well to a T, knows international politics, works his ass off, subtly flirts, sings along to any song and dances like none other. He is very similar to the aforementioned professor, except he's a little more open to us about being human, and doesn't act like he has anything to hide. Thus, his status as "student" rather than "professional" puts him in the position to be my accomplice to try to push the professor's buttons. We try to get aforementioned professor to cop to having parents, liking music, etc., and we've started to get him to crack.

Reuben: And the fact that the AP ran a graphic on [metrosexuality] shows how dead the concept is.
Pat: Everyone's jumping on it, even my mother. She sent me an e-mail with an article about it and wrote, "Saw this and it made me think of you."
Reuben: Wishful thinking on her part, eh?

Something like that, I think. :)

Next time(s):
*Pat's detailed account of "Saturday with Shaffer: Graphics, CiCi's, Hunting down gay men at Wal-Mart and 80s Dancing."
*The play-by-play of Saturday's Shattered Mission.
*Soco Drag show with Gillian and Kickham.
*Drinking at Kickham's place with David and the "Three Quotes of the Night."

I could pull a Pat and post this all together, but I'm tired and I should go to bed. Besides, didn't yo mama ever tell ya that when you gots to drop a big one, you break it up into three parts?

Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

We have a new blog to add:

http://www.shortyspice.blogspot.com

This is the blog of Courtney M*get, a 306er covering higher education. Who'da thunk I could be friends with a girl named Courtney who:
*Has had blonde hair
*Covered higher education in 306
*Grew up Methodist
*Became involved in her youth group
*Dated a hockey player

Oh wait. I am friends with a girl like that. But now I am friends with two girls like that.

While I am at it, I will give shout-outs to the following newbies of the blog world.

Ugly Kid Joe
Tom-Tom Club
Justin' a Move

Those links have been on the page for quite some time, but now it's official. Hit these bitches up, and visit dem pages.

We good? Good, we good.

The Paper

I know that several folk have treated the J-school as a dating service or maybe even an escort service, but I think that we should just start treating the Missourian as a sitcom or a movie. The plotlines, drama, questions, debates, one-night-stands, hunks, babes, neurotics, pretentiousness, bogus one-liners... it's all there.

Here are some excerpts from the past few days:

Renee approaches Mike J*tt with page proofs.

Renee: Will you fix this for me?
Mike: What needs fixing?
Renee: We added a rule and now we need to move everything over for this c-deck.
Mike: What is this gay shit?
Renee: Do you want me to smack you upside your head?
Mike: It's good, baby. Hey, why is this here?
Renee: What?
Mike: Can we move this rule?
Renee: Just fix it.
Mike: Chill, baby, it's all good. I'm just asking.
Renee: I'm the gal who intimidated Grant into keeping your art hed. Tonight is not the night to mess with me.
Mike: Right, but is there any rule in design that says we can't move the line?
Renee: We're not going to.
Mike: Why?
Renee: Because I'm being a bitch tonight. Fix the damn deck!

Pat walks with Ray and Ray's wife.

Ray: You are going to have so much fun in London next semester.
Pat I know, I can't wait.
Ray: Man, you're going to have so much fun, it should be illegal.
Pat: Yeah, I know. Hey, nice chest hair.
Ray: (singing> You spin me right round, baby, right round, like a record baby, right right round round!
Pat: (still pointing at the chest hair) Who are you, Antonio Banderas?
Ray: Stop it, you. Hey, is Fred's wife gonna be there, too?

Shaffer is putting it on the glass at Club GraffiXXXXX and Dan P-funk is, too, when ReuStar approaches.

Reuben: Hey S-Grubb, what are you putting on the glass today?
Shaffer: Oh, you know, cigarette company payoffs and the like. You?
Reuben: Nothin' but glass, man, nothin' but glass.

At 1:30 a.m. in the newsroom, Pat is blasting the Club GraffiXXXXX internet radio station from the graffiXXXXX (graphics) desk, dancing his little heart out to the Go-Gos as Laura G*rresch laughs.

Laura: Are you going to dance like that in London?
Pat: You bet! In fact, I'm posting on my blog about that. Ray and I were dancing earlier and I'm posting about that. He and I dance together sometimes and he growls. We're an odd pair, the two of us. It's like 'Beauty and the Beast,' but more like 'Fruity and the Beast.'

Saturday is Shattered day...?

I'm thinking I'm here in CoMo until Saturday or Sunday getting things ready and polished for graffiXXXXX (graphics). If I'm in STL on Saturday, I'm going to party with the bros. and maybe rock around the Central West End. If I'm in CoMo, though, I will be at Sixth and Broadway, because I heard a rumo(u)r that Shaffer, Erin McG. and maybe others will all hit Shattered for 80s dance night. You know what I'm talkin' 'bout.

I'll be in STL by Sunday afternoon and there until Tuesday, when my brother and I come here for my Digmo shift and he gets to play in CoMo. Back in STL on Wednesday. Not stepping foot in Boone County till the next Sunday. Y'all got that?

Aight. Peace out and get your swerve on.

And don't kill nobody. We take care of that for you in CoMo.

Two girls, two guys, one drinking mission, tons of slurred sentences

Our cast of characters:
*The Notorious PMG
*David, Overlord of the Parrot Bay
*Miget, the non-midget of 306, Tri-Delta and kind Wal-Mart customers
*Kickham, the borderline midget of 306, Saaaaiiint Loooooh-us, and not so much of Chi Omega
*Betsy, the kind Tri-Delt sober driver
*Sarah, the kind Chi-O sober driver

MIA:
*Goodlovin'
*Sonderperson

Absent with excuse:
*Colleen

David, Miget, Kickham and I got fah-schnookah'd together last night, and let me tell you, getting drunk with 306ers is fun. Nevermind that I am more than a year older than them. It's still okay, because none of them are in sports, and none of them are in J369.

We began the evening around 10ish or so at Kickham's house, where we had pre-partied the previous Friday before going to Schneller's concert. When we got there, Miget was sober but Kickham was already three sheets to the wind. She had already had at least one Manhattan, not to mention what else, and would start stories only to stop them midway because she sounded like Ozzy Osbourne and no one could understand her.

"Hey, where are we going tonight? Gordman's?!"
"No, Kickham, Gordman's is a discount clothing store. We're going to Widman's."
"Muwhahahahahahahaaaaaaaaa! Gordman's!"

David could make out a bit of what she was saying, but he downed the rest of his Parrot Bay and a Manhattan, and he, too, was soon gone. I had a cranberry vodka and got a little faded and/or buzzed, but was not drunk. Nonetheless, it made watching "I Love the 80s! Strikes Back" that much more interesting. Adrien Zmed is funny looking, and it's even trippier when you mute the show and put on Elton John. Weird shit.

Miget then drove us to the Tri-Delt house to park her car and get one of her sober drivers to take us to Widman's. She was the sole voice of reason at this point: David, Kickham and I were, shall we say, "gone." It took me the least amount of booze to be "gone," but hell, I was gone.

We went into the Tri-Delt house and Kickham stood on the front porch to do the Tri-Delt cheer, or what she could remember of it from rush two years ago. David and I tip-toed inside, but Kickham was a bit more colorful. I think there may have been a "fuck," a "fuckin'" and one or two "bitches."

God bless the Tri-Delt sober drivers that night.

We only got more obliterated at Widman's, and Miget and I began jonesin' for some Gumby's. We stumbled to Gumby's, and when someone honked, Kickham approached the nearest parked car and flipped it off. When we got to Gumby's, David all but passed out, and Kickham and Miget were debating whose sober drivers they should call. Kickham called the Chi-O house.

"I need a fuckin' ride," Kickham said when the girl answered the phone. "Huh? I need a fuckin' ride! I'm out and-- hey, she hung up on me! I fuckin' hate freshman bitches! I wish I went to rush so I could have cut your bitch ass!"

She called back, though, this time a bit soffer.

"Hey, I need a fuckin' ride," she said. "It's Kickham. Yeah, I need a fuckin' ride. We're at Gumby's. Okay, thanks. Bye. She says it will take her half a second to be up here, but it will probably be more like five minutes, because she's probably giving five blowjobs to five different guys now. I fuckin' hate my house."

A girl that Kickham likes showed up, though, so all was good. And we got home. Thank the Lord.

I'd like to get home now, though. I've been at the Missourian since 1:45 p.m. and will probably not be getting out till 1:45 a.m. Son of a bitch.

Happy Birthday, Bo!



It's Bo's birthday today. He's 22.

And while we're speaking of things created in the 80s, I'll let you in on a conversation I had with David Kent about...

Great albums from the 80s that have gone forgotten and/or neglected

U2's "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" came on BXR 102.3 and I started singing along with it. David Kent, sitting rimside, said, "This is the one album from the '80s I still listen to. Disgusting, huh?"

To which I asked, "Disgusting that you still listen to it, or disgusting that it's the only one you still listen to?"

He thought for a moment, looked off, and then answered, "Well, both, I guess."

I then went on my gut instinct, which was to argue that there are several albums from the 1980s that have withstood the test of time and are still good, beginning to end, in 2003.

I've had trouble coming up with a bunch.



Obviously, there are tons of good songs that have withstood the test of time... But entire albums? INXS' "Kick" is classic, but even that has some tunes I want to skip when I listen to it. And R.E.M. is a talented band with a wonderful catalog, but I would just as soon make my own mix than go with a straight CD.

Any thoughts on this?

It's 11:31 and I'm still here.

Erica + Erin = The Book of Revelation

Erica's roommate, Erin, is a blonde Alpha Chi, who's also a magazine major wanting to do nothing more than go into design. And, she's a junior going to London next semester.

It's as though the planets have all aligned and the moon is full.

Erica has a twin. It's equal parts "cute" and "satanic."

Actually, it's no parts "satanic," but I thought told them I'd put that in, and they laughed in unison, ala the girls on "Sister Sister."

They're both designing for Vox tonight, and I've been checking in on them when I go to the vending machine in the lounge.

They turn around and say "hi" at the same time, and I can't help but think they're like the girls in "The Shining" who say, "Come play with us, Danny."

I mean, I'm glad for Erica, and the two of them are a hoot, but I'm just lookin' for the bloody mirrors.

If you're here, you're game...

I went to Jeff City on Saturday night to cover the press conference that resulted in this story.

We got the press release in the late afternoon toward evening, and well, a press conference to address whether a 6-year-old is a murder suspect will really get your attention. Katy was going down there, but they needed a photo and this was looking huge and I could just smell a big one here...

So I went with her. Our hearts were pumping, our hands shaking, our voices quivering. Holy shit. This was big. She needed a smoke, and I needed to call my dad. I needed legal advice as to what could happen to this kid.

Forty minutes later, after getting lost once, we were in Jeff City. Fifteen minutes after that, after running circles around the building and finally calling the bailiff to let us in, we were at the press conference.

“Statements made lead us to believe he is responsible for the death of his grandfather,” the sheriff said. He followed by saying, "This was not an accident."

I won't lie about how this initially made me feel -- this was the rush that movies like "All The President's men" promise -- but it also made me feel slimy in that it was our job to pry into this family's life. And I then felt disturbed that this even happened in the first place.

And it's not even that I'm feeling overly emotional about this. I just needed to get it out of my system.

But Katy's been doing a great job with this, and I'm sure that something will come from all of this. Not sure what, but only time will tell...

In other news...

*I have developed a bit of a ponch, a booch, or, if you will -- "love handles." I think it's all the CiCi's I've been eating, or the other all-you-can-eat buffets I've been eating...

*All-you-can-eat buffets are doing me in... Hilary and I downed a shitload at Golden Corral last week, and I didn't do much better for myself when I made a solo mission to the KFC buffet. The food was decent at best, and the hoosier quota was unbelievable. Of course, the hoosier quotient at any all-you-can-eat buffet is unbelievable, or as Hilary says, "the dregs of society."

*I've got senioritis bad, so bad.

*Keeping certain secrets is becoming harder and harder...

*As the semester goes on, it is evident that fewer and fewer things will be hard to leave behind...

*And yet the new things that come up won't be easy to forget, or to leave...

Oh well.

Enough of that sentimental talk.

Ed S., Private Dick

Hilary's dad is a private dick.

He just doesn't know it yet.

You see, I was bored once in class and I was doodling. You're telling yourself that this happens a lot. And Hilary was telling me to behave, something that also happens a lot.

But this time, the doodles were of a different nature. You see, these doodles were of Hilary's dad, who had been the object of desire for Hilary's former roommate Derek P. Inspired by a story about the comic stylings of one Lenar Clark, I decided to turn Ed into a comic book and cast him as a private dick, and Derek P. as a sex-obsessed pig-goat-mix midget.

And from there, it snowballed. He's not just any private dick. He's a private dick in 1977, having traveled back in time to alter history and change the future, which we ultimately know of as the past. In essence, thus would be "Quantum Leap" meets "The Tick" meets "Dick Tracy" meets "The X-Files" meets "Mama's Family" meets "Twin Peaks."

A whole lotta meetin'.

I'm already on #2 and plans have already been kicked around for the full-length feature. This could be live action, but I think something would be lost in the translation.

So far, the story has introduced a Mexican maid who helps Ed travel back in time in a phone booth ala "Bill and Ted." Righteous, eh?

Future issues will include Henry Lane, Judy Bolch and the Son of Sam. Maybe as the same person.

Schneller's band played last night. While it was sad to not have Jackie, Courtney or Erin there, it was still enjoyable. It's become a hallmark experience of 306 to go out and see John play, so for each semester, there's that memory. If nothing else, it shows what a revolving door the Missourian is: no one is permanent, everyone's in transition.

For those of you who missed it, I will give you the blow-by-blow (but not the blow-by-blow):

*Katie Kickham had people over before the show to drink and watch Barbara Walters interview Martha Stewart. "Look, Martha Stewart is crying! Barbara Walters is such a baaad-aaassss." And Katie was quite drunk.
*David downed three-quarters of a bottle of Parrot Bay.
*No one knew how to adequately describe how to get to MoJo's.
*Sonderperson and I were the only two representatives of "the old guard."
*Reuben showed up, wearing all black. He stood in the back, arms crossed, and he didn't sit down or move. Ever. (Except, of course, to leave.)
*Amos Bridges, Rick Kennedy, Mike Burden and Alonso Soto were all there. It was like a live action pin-up calendar and/or meat buffet, and I was surrounded by drooling drunk horny J-schoolers lookin' to get a piece.
*I was sober.
*No one else was.
*Courtney Miget has game equivalent to that of Kathryn Handley**. I kid you not. Her graphics desk theme song, were she a graphics reporter and artist, would or at least should be "Wrapped Around Your Finger," by The Police.
*Liz Brixey probably had a good laugh and roll of the eyes when she checked her messages today.
*Christine Stanley knows how to pick 'em.
*Merrill Dillman*** actually cusses, and uses sundry phrases such as "booty call."

**Kathryn Handley was a J-school queen/vixen, who had boys in the palm of her hand. She eventually settled down with Harry Potter and now they play Quidditch at Hogwarts.
***Merrill Dillman is a 306er on the education beat who, for the longest time, was meak and quiet. I had begun to think of her as a calm, low-key girl, the type who "loves Jesus, and her boyfriend, too." The Merrill of my imagination did not drink, cuss or talk of boys. I guess she's like Goodloe, before the whole Justin Martin incident. Oh, man. Justin Martin. Ewwwwwwwwww.

Onward moving...

When I last posted, you all were informed that Derek had lost his appendix and Keith had lost a year of youth. Furthermore, a bunch of Missourian folk were about to lose their brain cells at John Schneller's concert, and I was all jonesin' to tell all of you about the apartment I gained after I lost my house. Loss, loss, loss, gain, loss.

I'm thinking we can truck through all that shit, as I am at the Missourian on my graphics shift waiting for them mofo's to edit my graphics.



Puttin' the appendix to paper

I was at the Artisan on Thursday afternoon when I got a call from Derek.

Me: What's up, slut?
Derek: Not much, how are you?
Me: Good, good.
Derek: What you up to?
Me: Oh, just chillin' at the Artisan, what about you?
Derek: I'm chillin' at the hospital.
Me: What?!
Derek: Yeah, I had to have my appendix taken out.
Me: Your what?!
Derek: My appendix.
Me: Holy shit!
Derek: Yeah, do you think you could come pick me up?
Me: Well, shit, of course, no problem.

Hilary had been saying this week that she was worried Derek was dying. He had been sick and while I didn't know what she meant by "sick," I knew that Derek does not normally suffer from typical earthling weaknesses. It must have been rough and ill, yo.

Sure enough, he had to go under the knife for emergency surgery after Rebecca Gannon took him into the ER and they looked at him. At 3 a.m., he was gettin' cut up like cake at a birthday party, or at a Golden Corral. Either way, raw raw shit.

So I picked him up and he seemed to be doing allright, albeit weak and sore. He had been watching "Fresh Prince" in his hospital bed, but then had to turn it off, because he was laughing too hard and it was straining his stitches. Thus, he watched BET and we got to rock out to the new Ice Cube/WC video. And then we got him some drugs, and then we got him some food. Oh, and then Hilary offered him her soul because she felt bad that she hadn't been there with him. I think he'll be okay, but I'm glad to see that he has someone to milk for sympathy. :)

Catch-22, or, more appropriately, the Catcher Turns 22

Keith's birthday was Thursday, the same day as Derek's ailments were made known to Columbia, Mo., and the world beyond. Thus, Derek was not able to partake in Keith's birthday celebrations.

But that did not stop me, Crank, Crank's sister, Rachel Weiner or Amy Cook from gettin' down with Keith at El Maguey. After that, they got down to some quality funk at Music Cafe, but I was elsewhere.

And now a mob of chain-smoking sorority girls wants to kick my ass

Speaking of Music Cafe, have I got a story for you.

I was at the Missourian sports desk on Wednesday night when the G.A. reporter gets a call from someone saying that Third Eye Blind will be playing a show at Music Cafe that night at midnight. I couldn't go, because I was at work, nor would I want to go, per se, because Third Eye Blind has never been my cup 'o tea, even though Nat and I bonded over the band's lovely song, "London."

But my friend Becca has as long as I have known her had been a big thing for the band, so I thought I'd call her and let her know. After not having talked to her for two months, I made the cold call to her and roused her from her bed with the news.

"Are you sure?" she asked.
"All I know is that our enterprise reporter got a call from someone saying that Third Eye Blind will be playing a show at Music Cafe that night at midnight, because the band got stuck in Columbia for an extra night," I replied.

Five minutes later, the phone rings again, and it's Becca.

"Okay, are you positive on this?" she asked.
"All I know is that our enterprise reporter got a call from someone saying that Third Eye Blind will be playing a show at Music Cafe that night at midnight, because the band got stuck in Columbia for an extra night," I replied. "It's at Music Cafe, so you can call them."
"Well, I'm in the car," she answered, so I gave her the number.

Two minutes later, it's her.

"They're not answering," she said.
"Oh," I responded.
"Okay, now are you absolutely positive on this?" she asked.
"All I know is that our enterprise reporter got a call from someone saying that Third Eye Blind will be playing a show at Music Cafe that night at midnight, because the band got stuck in Columbia for an extra night," I replied.
"Okay," she responded. "Because my friends are coming out to see this."
"Fabulous," I said.

Five minutes later, the phone rings again, and you guessed it-- Becca.

"Okay, now are you absolutely positive on this?" she asked.
"All I know is that our enterprise reporter got a call from someone saying that Third Eye Blind will be playing a show at Music Cafe that night at midnight, because the band got stuck in Columbia for an extra night," I replied.
"Okay," she responded. "Because my friends are coming out to see this."
"Fabulous," I said.

Fifteen minutes later....

"I'm at Music Cafe, and they're not here," Becca said.
"Oh," I said. "Well, I'm still at work, but I'll come by when I get off, okay?"
"Okay," she said.

I went out there when I got off work and found her at a table with other sorority girls, smoking to pass the time. They were cold, and pissed. And the manager was picking up on this, and I think by this point, he knew all of them by name, poor bastard.

"So are you the guy with the scoop?" he asks me.

"All I know is that our enterprise reporter got a call from someone saying that Third Eye Blind will be playing a show at Music Cafe that night at midnight, because the band got stuck in Columbia for an extra night," I replied.

"Oh," he said. "Well, we got a call from the Maneater and from the Missourian. No one here called out."

So it was a prank. And a table of sorority girls wearing angora sweaters, Mizzou sweats, and Patagonia fleeces were armed with Marlboro Light 100's, mace, pink nails, ink pens and car keys. And they were ready to kill me.

Ricci Shryock showed up with Laura Girresch, the reporter who took the original call. They were bummed, but eh, what can you do? They thought they might as well stay and drink.

But not the table of girls who were glaring at me. They were out for death.

Oh well. They didn't get me.

Hoochies.

Schneller's band to provide music to get drunk to, again

Friday, Nov. 7
9. p.m. @ MoJo's

So if you haven't seen Schneller sing or any of the editors drinking or any of that shit...
A) Where have you been?
B) Have you not been to budget?
C) 316, anyone?
D) 305, anyone?
E) Do you know where Lee Hills Hall is?

Haven't you seen the following scene???



Word.

In other news...

*Keith turned 22 on Thursday.
*Lisa Rummler turned 21 on Wednesday.
*Derek's appendix turned away.

More on all this later...

Copy this!

The HeadsUp Listserv exists so that all Missouri J-school copy editors, past and present, can get their kicks sending obnoxious e-mails about the difference between "beside" and "besides," and other such things. These debates can inspire upwards of 20 e-mails, with passive-aggressive girls who graduated in the last five years arguing over the proper usage of the words "to" and "the."

This past week, several copy nerds have participated in some of the worst e-mail battles I have ever seen. I will introduce you to some of the e-mails toward the end of said e-mail chain. The first one I will share with you is from a J-school teacher explaining why she phrased something a certain way.

From: Mary L*wrence
To: Heads-Up List-Serv
Subject: Re: Headline Strategies

Even we schoolmarms have not lost sight of that.

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From: Scott V*rner
To: Heads-Up List-Serv
Subject: Re: Headline Strategies

You're not a schoolmarm, either. You're obviously a luminary of learning.

----
From: Mary L*wrence
To: Heads-Up List-Serv
Subject: Re: Headline Strategies

depends on the day.

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From: Mike J*tt
To: Heads-Up List-Serv
Subject: Re: Headline Strategies

Will the luminaries and schoolmarms please flirt somewhere else besides my email.

MJ

----

People will hopefully realize that this is the same Mike J*tt with whom I went to DeSmet, the same Mike Jett whom my parents are crazy about and the same Mike J(tt who convinced Quin Snyder to give him a job as a freshman. (He didn't take it in the end, but still is a stud).

Perhaps Mike J*tt's best stunt in high school was getting Bob K*ppel, baseball-and-basketball demi-god of DeSmet who was eventually drafted by the Mets, to sign a large glossy photo of himself from some game. We all ribbed J*tt for being a butt-kisser, but he corrected us.

"This is going to be worth something someday," J*tt told us. "If I had to put up with him for four years, I'm going to make some money off of it!"

And now, Mike again has earned my respect, by stopping some of the grossest, gushiest copy-ed e-mails I have ever had the misfortune to ignore and delete. Thanks, Mike, you big stud.

"Except Yeats, because he sucks."

As I told you all last time, I've been preparing a fatty-ass post about how Katy H*ght, Ashlee C**per and I are the best of all sardonic trios to have attended any of Bill Kerwin's classes. There may have been the luscious Alonso Soto, the vocally distinct Colleen P*uley or the I-ain't-even Jessica, but we were the ones who were the shiz-nit. Libby P*ge was in there, too, but she didn't say anything. As for Cap'n IPod and Aman-duh, well, they could eat it.

I took Irish Lit in Fall '02 to fulfill my Humanities requirement. That was the same semester when Hollys took 306 and Pats took 307, so I didn't really allow myself much time for said class. I'd come in and half-ass a quiz, and then try to comment on the class discussion based on what others said. This was not always easy, because we had some dumbasses in said class.

Like Aman-duh, the chick who prefaced every other comment with, "Well, I grew up on a farm, and that's not what we did."

Or Captain IPod, this rotund fellow who came into class listening to his IPod too loudly. He would raise his hands violently to argue a point that was not being contested in the first place. He was the type of kid who would piggyback on your comment by saying, "See, that's the type of thing James Joyce was writing about, you know?" He would say it as though had caught me being hippocritical. Billy K would just fire back a look, though, letting this guy know that we all knew that's what Joyce was writing about, because he wrote about it, you fat IPod abusing douche. And then the kid would shut up. He eventually stopped coming to class.

There was a different Amanda, too, and she was allright, except she had grown up in a watered-down Catholic church, and we all let her know it. She tried to pass off a weak-ass version of the Act of Contrition and we all told her that it was incorrect because it didn't inspire enough guilt or hellfire.

Ironically enough, this is when Coop and Katy began talking to me. We Catholics were laying it down for Amanda and her weak-ass prayer, and Katy said she appreciated the honesty. After that, we were calling everyone "douche bag" and openly disparaging characters and/or poems for "blowing chunks" and "sucking hardcore."

We continued to criticize douche bags and sluts and what-have-you even after the class was finished. Instead of meeting in Middlebush, we would meet at the Artisan or at their duplex. We'd watch "Donnie Darko" or "Felicity" and send dirty text messages and talk about how we'd all take turns with the lead singer of Better Than Ezra.

Some great Ashlee and/or Katy quotes included:
*"She would be cool if she didn't suck."
"Everyone was saying how great Columbia is in the summer, and I'm like, 'Are you kidding me?! It f***in' sucks!' I mean, all the douches are gone, so that's cool, but then so are all the cool people that make you want to do stuff and stay in Columbia. It sucks."
*"She can't even justify the air of mine that she's breathing."
*"You're not my child, I don't have to fix you. And even if you were my child, I'd probably just beat you into submission and send you to camp."

All this just because we all agreed that a certain Yeats poem was less than stellar ("It sucked ass!!") So, here's to the greatness that was, is and forever shall be Katy, Coop and Pat 4EVAH.

Next people to get blog love:
*Hillogic, the best landlord/super/flatmate ever
*Erica B.
*Ashley H.
*The notorious DYC
*D-Rock
*E McG
*Duran Duran
*Madonna and Britney
*S-Grubb
*Renee Renee
*Steve Ewing (whom I met at Lakota)
*Short Music for Short People (C. Miget)
*Kickham When He's Down (a.k.a. the Scrappy Blonde St. Loooo-us-in)
*The stain on Gorbachev's head
*Dead or Alive

That's all. Quit all that damn jeepin'.

"Twenty-eight days... six hours... forty-two minutes... twelve seconds. That... is when the world... will end."
-Frank, "Donnie Darko"

I think the world did just end, because I was trying to access the draft of a post I wrote yesterday, only to find that it was in Spanish gibberish, and thus was unreadable, unusable. Total bullshit.

It was a post about Halloween, Dow Jones, the graphics desk and all sorts of dirty deeds.

But instead I'll just have to give you little nuggets for each...

Halloween 2003 was the night when the funk of 40,000 years came to the surface, when boys dressed up like other boys dressed up like skeletons, girls dressed up like gay boy scouts, and ninjas scared the shit out of angels and butterflies. Oh, and yeah, Colleen dressed up like a jungle slut.

Austin Ray and I were both Donnie Darko, but Austin had a believable Frank, whereas mine was just Keith wearing bunny-ears. Hilary was a gay boy scout, Kate was Hurricane Isabel and Jeff was a man in authority trying to get booty, and for his costume, he was an army sergeant looking for sex.

It was a fun night and fun weekend, one that capped off a hectic month, one of essays, tests, internship worries, life questions, wrestling with old issues, realizing new ones, leaving shitty houses, signing new leases, deciding some other shit and eating a whole hell of a lot of Cici's pizza.

"It was long ago
Seems like yesterday
Saw you standing in the rain
Then I heard you say

I want to love but it comes out wrong
I want to live but I don't belong
I close my eyes and I see
Blood and roses

Love flowers in the springtime
October we were wed
In wintertime the roses died
The blood ran cold
And then she said

I want to love but it comes out wrong
I want to live but I don't belong
I close my eyes and I see
Blood and roses..."
-The Smithereens, "Blood and Roses"

When I was 18 and stupid and a senior in high school, I lamented the coming of "Augtember," that period at the end of August and beginning of September. I think that mainly was because that's when Becca and I had weird periods, not to mention that's when school started and what-have-you. I think this year, though, the month with the weirdness is definitely October.

And I'll tell you why.

This month was the same month as Gillian's party, and thus the same month as all the debauchery that entailed. Also, this is the same month we decided to break our lease, and now Mary and I live in an apartment just down the street. It's weird that there are people who will just actually fix your house problems -- they're called landlords who don't suck. Completely novel idea, and well, I fucking love it!

This month was also the month of the Dow Jones exam, which meant I had to write an exam about why I think of journalism as hot shit on a cold plate and all that jazz that went into the J-scholars essay. Oi vey.

And speaking of tests, I had my Irish History test and I think I did better than I expected. It was on Thursday, Oct. 30. This was the only day in October that I attended that class.

On top of that, there were several other big things that you would know about had I told you, and if I didn't tell you, then maybe you shouldn't know.

It's been a big month. Fun things included my god-sister's wedding and my nephew acting like a thug.

And now we are off to November.

Future posts will include the same old stuff that other future posts were to include, but I will have one about how Ashlee Cooper, Katy Hight and I are the coolest of all sardonic trios to set foot in Bill Kerwin's class. We rock the casbah, and y'all should know it. I've been meaning to post about this, but I have forgotten, but I will get to it, and you all will bow down.