Overheard in the Lib

As you know, followers, I spend a lot of my time in the library.  I've come to realize I actually enjoy the Thomason lib.  I must admit, the white noise of keyboard tapping and the exchange of classmates comforts me during the wee hours of the night I often spend here. 

A glimpse of a conversation I recently overheard:

Boy 1: "Do you know a way to search for every damn period in this paper and make it bigger"
Boy 2: "Make it bigger?  Why would you want to make a period bigger?"
Boy 1: "Size 16...perfect"
Boy 2:"What's your deal?
Boy 1: "Trying to make this damn paper longer"

Laughing so hard I might pee in my dress.

tweeting

blogfans, if you like what you read on our blog, i have good news: amanda and i both recently joined twitter. follow us to find out what we have to say in 140 characters or less. here are a few samples:

@amsutker
- using my psychology and special education textbooks to press flowers for my new art project. knew those things would come in handy somehow
- rachel carson is coming to pc for a cep. really? so in awe. i had a question about her on the ap us history exam in 11th grade. CRAZY!

@ashtonyount
- feeling pressured to make my first tweet funny. also, picked that st. mary's upset. my dad's gonna be so proud.
- me: i promise to never be a wife who makes her husband quit watching a sporting event. dad: u will be known as the greatest wife of all time

if you aren't on twitter yet, join in the fun today!

My post octogenarian-aged boyfriend

As some of you may know I have a 93 year old friend named Harold who lives at the Presbyterian Home, one of the many nursing homes in bustling Clinton, SC.  Last year I visited Harold about once a week through Student Volunteer Services, a program PC offers.  Although I signed up to once again visit Harold last semester, no one ever contacted me about details, so I forgot.  I have seen Harold a handful of times since coming back to school when my sorority makes visits, but not nearly as often as before.

Tuesday at 1:26 pm I received a call from a Clinton number on my cell phone.  The possibilities of who could be on the other line began to overwhelm me...there are, after all, so many famous people in Clinton who might solicit conversation with me.  I picked up the phone and heard a weary, old voice: "Amanda, I don't know if you remember me, but this is Harold."

After not seeing Harold regularly, he decided to hit me up!  Don't know exactly how he got my phone number (and to be honest, am quite disturbed by it), but enjoyed a good minute or two conversation with Harold before my German class.

I told Harold I had class at 1:30 and would call him back.  My phone died Wednesday so Thursday I decided to call Harold after lunch.  A brief description of our exchange:

Me (speaking very slow and loud): "Hi Harold!  This is Amanda."
Harold: "Well hey there Amanda!"
Me: "How are you doing?"
Harold: "Well the good news is I'm breathing.  Just got to start facing the reality that I'm old"
Me: "Sorry Harold"
Harold: "The real question is how are you!"
Me: "I'm doing good"
Harold: "How was your summer?" (keep in mind we had this conversation today, in March)
Me: "It was good Harold!  I spent the summer in Myrtle Beach."
Harold: "Well I sure haven't seen you in a while.  Every time I see those ZTA girls I look for you but never see you."
Me: "Maybe I can come visit you tomorrow?"
Harold: "You?  Visit me?  Tomorrow's Friday.  So Friday, the 18th..."
Me: "Yeah Harold!  Like maybe 2.30?"
Harold: "Tuesday?  Well let's see here...Tuesday's the 23"
Me: "What about tomorrow?"
Harold: "Tomorrow's Friday, Friday the 18th...what time?"
Me: "2:30"
Harold: "Tuesday?"
Me: "Tomorrow"
Harold: "Tomorrow's Friday, Friday the 18th...what time?"
Me: "3 pm?"
Harold: "Sounds great.  Just one more thing: you might want to bring a baseball bat."
Me: "A baseball bat?"
Harold: "A baseball bat or an umbrella"
Me: "Why?"
Harold: "Because I'm going to be so overwhelmed with affection that you might have to fight me away."
Me: "WHAT?"
Harold: "Yup, I mean it's going to be appropriate for public...nothing more than a kiss on the cheek"
Me: "Ok Harold.  See you tomorrow."

Fast forward to today.  All day, especially during lunch at GDH, I tried to sucker my friends into joining me on my venture to the Presbyterian Home, to no avail.  After a brief nap and no responses to my plea, I set forth on my way to the Presbyterian Home alone.  Thankfully Harold didn't kiss me on the cheek, but he did tell me we should get dinner together sometime.

Lord, you are so funny.  :)

grammatically speaking

as you know, blogfans, i am an english major. that also means i am a bit of a grammar nazi. okay, i admit, i'm more than a little bit concerned with grammar. i re-read emails four and five times to ensure correct punctuation and perfect word choice, i correct my friends and family (and sometimes strangers) if they use incorrect grammar, and i'd definitely place fourth in a pc grammar rules competition (right behind dr. brent, mrs. frey, and amanda).

because i pay so much attention to grammar, you can probably guess that grammar errors are one of my biggest pet peeves. as far as i'm concerned, there are absolutely no excuses for grammatical errors in any type of publication - novel, textbook, newspaper, magazine, website, or blog. of course, no one is perfect, so not even the best of copy editors can catch every error. however, i do try very hard to keep my blog posts error free.

i love blogs, and i read about ten of them regularly. however, one of these blogs irritates me because i can't tolerate someone who complains about grammar errors on a regular basis and yet has glaring errors of his or her own in almost every blogpost.

i realize that i may be sticking my foot in my mouth with this post, but it's all i could think of to write about, and amanda has been kicking my butt lately as far as posting goes. therefore, i apologize for any past, present, or future grammatical errors created by me.

roomie quote

ashton revealed yet another part of herself today as we were watching tv: "i have to admit, i do appreciate middle school boy humor"

Saturday mornings

When I was younger my family lived in a split-level house right off of I-77 in Columbia.  I count those preschool days as one of my most treasured memories.  These were the days when everything seemed new, and more questions entered my head than could possibly be answered by my parents, Reading Rainbow, or the infinite book collection that resided in my bedroom, from which my parents pulled nightly, reading until their voices became raspy or I drifted to sleep.

Saturday mornings were special, because they meant that my mom wouldn't be making the trek to drop my little brother and me off to preschool, or her to work at the hospital.  My brother and I would sleep until the light of the sunshine peeked through our blinds, waking us gently.  Then, I would yell "Mommy, Daddy, Mommy, Daddy, Mommmmy, Dadddddddy," gradually adjusting the loudness and intensity of my voice until my sweet parents would come to my rescue, sweep me out of my bed topped with a disney princess comforter, and carry me to their room.  For a few tender moments, all four members of my family would cuddle together on my parent's full-sized bed, until the squeeze forced one of us into such an uncomfortable position that we faced falling.

After this, we would venture downstairs and prepare to enjoy the special breakfast of Saturdays.  Some mornings it was pancakes, hobo eggs, or cheese toast.  We feasted on waffles for a while, until my mom grew angry with the waffle maker and the mess it made as the extra batter spilled onto the counters.  The kitchen in this house was substantially bigger than it should have been.  As my parents prepared breakfast, I explored the its vastness, opening and closing cabinets, finding out which were used for storage and which were empty.

We ate breakfast at a leisurely pace; my parents took time to read the paper and my brother and I took time to stop, gaze around the space, and take in the world that was still forming in our minds.  My favorite part of Saturday mornings came next, as my family would migrate the big room adjacent to the kitchen.  In this room were hardwood floors, a big, fancy rug, eventually a set of living room furniture, and the old piano my mom grew up learning how to play on.  My grandparents bought the piano for only $100.  Restored from the early 20th century, the piano wasn't the most exquisite you could imagine.  The keys were brown, a few pedals broken, and its body had experienced some wear and tear.  A piano tuner once spent hours lying on the floor, trying to adjust the tune of the old instrument, in the process finding a fork amidst the piano strings.

My brother, dad, and I would congregate around the piano with my mom front and center.  She sat on the old piano bench, preparing to tickle the ivories.  Sometimes my brother or I were lucky enough to sit beside her on the bench, marveled by the beauty of the way her fingers danced before our eyes.

She wet through the tattered, brown sheets of music on the music stand.  She warmed up to songs I can't remember, but her encore is one I will never forget.  As a 20 year old, hearing this song makes me smile, calms me, and leaves me craving for home.

Every Saturday morning as a family, my  dad, brother and I gathered around an old piano my mom played, dancing to music in our pajamas.  Like the way I am unworthy to know the greatness of God, we were unworthy to feel the magic of this music.  I currently recite the lyrics of this special song to myself, reflecting on the joy that this song gave me then and now.  I imagine my mom's fingers slowly mastering the chords, missing a few notes, and all of us singing along to a weird song that inevitably shaped my childhood.

A few moments ago, I found myself singing along: "Jeremiah was a bullfrog, was a good friend of mine, I never understood a single word he said, but I helped him a-drink his wine.  Singin'... Joy to the world, all the boys and girls, joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me..."

I don't actually know what these words mean, but I could sing this song now the same way I could 15 years ago.  The beauty and simplicity of the music overcomes me the same way it did as a five year-old.

English Major Stereotypes

As we were finishing our ridiculously long homework assignment for Dr. Brent's Linguistics class, my good friend Kate Colwill and I made a list of stereotypical English majors in our class.  For your amusement and entertainment, my friends:
Parker- WHAT?  You're an English major?  Are you sure?
Allen- Typical English major, enriched by English major extracurriculars such as chess, drinking coffee, and having intellectual discussions with anyone who will lend an ear.
TJ- over-analytical English major; thus gets very confused by sentence structure of the American English vernacular.
Ahkeem-stuck in 90s English major.  love the combination of an acid-dyed denim jacket with a beanie, by the way.
Dr. Brent- My ideal day would be going to an Old English convention, watching every episode of Schoolhouse Rock, and diagramming sentences (I've never truly experienced pleasure until I discovered diagramming) English major.
Elizabeth- I love Xena and anime cartoons English major
Random girl with blonde hair and glasses who always answers questions correctly- you're not even an English major!  Why are you in linguistics?
Link- crazy English major
Robert- who would have thought you'd be an English major?
Tripp- Relatively cool English major.  Works in the writing center; tries, but the secret's between you and me.  examples: he always talks about Mrs. Frey, matches his clothes and plans his outfits two weeks in advance, brings his mac to class (but really checks facebook), reads CS Lewis in his spare time, and skips class often.

Kate and I like to think we're the normal English majors.  Best major ever.  Peace from the library at 2.52 am.

thrift store wonders

so after staying at a house decorated by empty windows hanging on the wall this past weekend, i was inspired to get a few for myself.  went to the thrift store with my good friend emily payne (payne, pane...get it??), and instead of finding a few panes...i found a beautiful, big, wooden frame to set off my new collage project.  pictures of the craft proj to follow soon.  

window panes are so out.  big giant brass frames are so in.  watch out martha stewart!

state of the campus address

as a campus resident I would just like to briefly comment on the state of the campus:
1) to the forces involved with the temperature, wind speed, and rain calendar of our campus, i must question your choice in the past few days' recent weather.  seriously?  yesterday I was burning up in a long-sleeve t-shirt.  today i put on sandals with a pair of jeans and felt the early pangs of hypothermia.  get your act together.
2) to my fellow students, where are you at 2 am on a tuesday night in the library?  words can not describe how disappointed i was to leave an empty james thomason lib after a psychology cram session.

peace!

collision on the bypass

This weekend I went to a missions conference at Mitchell Road Presbyterian Church in Greenville.  The theme of the conference was catch and release.  We explored the story of Jonah and the whale and marveled at the reality of the gospel...how God catches us, grabs our attention, call us to Himself, then releases us to be channels and messengers for His glory.

If you are an avid blog reader, you may remember that time in November or December when I accidentally drove into a creek.  As you may guess my driving skills are subpar...which is totally fine!  I love being the passenger.  But on Friday I needed to drive...so my friend Eowyn and I buckled our seatbelts and prepared for a journey that ended up more eventful than we could have even imagined.

Eowyn and I left from PC Friday around 4 or so.  Seeing as the interstate to Greenville is closed until August for construction, we took the bypass through Laurens/Grey Court/other small towns with names that sound like combinations of tired words and breed old-fashioned (or just old) southern families.

We made it through the relatively dense traffic of a Friday afternoon in Laurens.  As we proceeded on the two-lane, double-yellow road, the car driving behind me suddenly seems as if it's passing me.  Problem is, there is another car approaching it head-on.  I am only kind of freaking out...until I hear a boom that sounds like a gunshot.  By now I'm thinking how sketchy the situation is, and as I look to my left I notice both cars tumbling into the ditch.  Whoa.  Did that really just happen?

I turn around a few yards ahead, park on the side of the road, and Eowyn and I climb down to the grass between the fork in the road where both cars lie.  Noticeable dents mar both cars, tires are flown across the grass, and a bumper lies broken off of a car too.

Both drivers are confused, angry, and thankful for their lives.  No one was hurt at all...a miracle because this scene literally could have been in a movie.  Eowyn and I wait about a half hour longer and I give a report to the policeman, who records my name and some other info.  We continue the trip to Greenville with the most exciting part of our journey behind us, though we did encounter a few wrong turns along the way.

for our male readers

i would like to take a moment to give a shout-out to all the guys who read our blog. i can't speak for amanda, but i, for one, am certainly thankful for male blogfans. because of boy readers, i am able to post about college basketball and trust that someone will not only read it, but also understand it. check out this article about rushing the court.

oh, and if you're a girl who enjoys the article, you get major brownie points in my book.