Last night, we had the opportunity to learn what we've actually been saying in Chinese. Surprisingly, most of it wasn't bad at all. My grandma translated several of the phrases as "shucks," and one as "hopeless" (or in other words, "insolent fool, a disgrace to the family"). The best part was when my brother asked about another particular phrase that led to a giant gasp from our grandma. She was nearly mortified and asked where he had heard that. After the blame had been placed on our father, she explained that we're all family so it's okay. Apparently it means "small penis." She justified this by saying that my brother is a young boy. Our father is a big man, so there was a different phrase to use. I think we have plenty of material to use against David now.

When I looked at my work schedule last night, I noted that I had an 8:30-4:30 shift. It's a little earlier than the normal early shift, so I woke up groggy and cold, breakfasted, put on a suit, and went to work. When I arrived, there was only one stock guy in the back and the whole store seemed eerily vacant. I did the usual morning activities, such as dusting and getting things in order. Around 8:45, I noticed the escalators still weren't turned on, something that is extremely unusual 15 minutes before opening. There were very few people in the department and the mall doors still had bars on them. It didn't look like any registers were actually open yet. The other opener showed up the same time as our manager, who explained that it was a mistake on the schedule and that we weren't supposed to show up until an hour later. In other words, he made us clock out and do nothing. We couldn't even help in the back, since non-sell hours are counted differently. It was an interesting morning.

Tomorrow is our annual family Christmas dinner for my dad's side of the family. We will finally get to ask our grandma what all these Chinese swear words we use actually mean.

We saw this sign at the fish market in Ensenada. I had to do a double take, then pointed it out to everyone around me.

Best of all, my mother took the photo.

I asked the cruise people if they would allow me to play a piano anywhere on the boat. They explained that the musicians are still rehearsing and that they wouldn't let people do that for another six or so cruises. Strange.

We noticed yesterday that there was a talent show in the afternoon. We later realized that it was for the little kids. After watching about half the show, a guy came out with a guitar and played a rather awful rendition of a Bob Dylan song. He said he was seventeen.

This sparked my interest, so Jordan and I went down and asked if I could join the talent show. They said that if they had time, they would let me play. Because this was for the youngsters, I had to lie and say that I was seventeen.

I was glad to have the opportunity to play the piano and sing (I did an old Tom Waits song). Since little kids don't take failure that well, everyone got a gold medal, including me. I was awarded for lying about my age.

At the same time, there was a speed climbing competition at the rock wall. My brother, a seventeen year old, lied that he was an adult in order to compete and get third place. We wore our falsely earned prizes with pride.

Last night, I came very close to doing karaoke but they ran out of time. We discovered that the concept is almost a complete form of entertainment. You have music and comedy; all you need is a plot. My idea was to preface the event by explaining that a king is holding a singing contest to determine his daughter's husband. Oh, the drama.

According to cruise documents, the official language of San Diego is English. Also, the currency is US dollars. I came so close to using denari, it's a good thing they informed us of this strange American tradition.

Last night, the heat was turned to cold and I had the equivalent of two thin sheets. Not a good start of a vacation, but it is getting better. I mean, I did bring my trumpet...

We'll be leaving on a cruise in a few hours. Things are rather hectic. So obviously, Scott (my cousin) and I stayed in bed for hours longer than everyone else. Oh, I should probably go pack.

When we were driving home from Davis, the people in my car decided to stop at McDonald's in King City for dinner. Not being an extremely big fan of the place, I browsed the menu for a bit. I noticed that the 6 piece chicken McNugget was listed as the same price for the 10 piece, $2.59 or something like that. When it was my turn to order, I asked about this.

"How much is the 10 piece chicken McNugget?" I asked. With a little deliberation as to how to check the price of an item (McDonald's employees are not known for their intelligence, among other things), he gave me the answer of $2.79. At this, I pointed out that it was advertised as $2.59 on the board, so I requested to have that price.

Finally noticing their board, he alerted the manager, who then had to inform them how to change the sign. She explained that they just raised the prices. Regardless, they were advertising that price, so I felt it was my right to only pay that amount.

After the commotion had subsided, the cashier confirmed that I would like the 10 piece. "Only if I can have it for $2.59," I replied. He asked the manager, who refused. She said that it wasn't something they could do. Annoyed, I got the 6 piece and came down with the usual McDonald's nausea.

Taking a step back from everything, I realize the argument was over twenty cents. But it had gone beyond the point of money. I was arguing on the behalf of good business practicing and for the sake of arguing.

The next day, I took the opportunity to call Corporate McDonald's customer service. Keeping up with McDonald's standards, the lady I talked to was sufficiently inept, as she argued that they don't even offer a 6 piece. I informed her that the particular establishment carried 4, 6, 10, and 20 piece chicken McNuggets, leaving her to actually look it up and agree with me. I told her the story and voiced my opinion about their business practices, letting her apologize to me profusely. She also informed me that that particular responsibility and decision is left to the owner/operator of the particular establishment. I allowed her to forward on my information to the store owner.

The following day, I received a phone call from the owner of the King City McDonald's. She tried to clarify the story with me. After talking to her employees and getting a modified version, I corrected her on all the wrong parts, including the items they were selling. Apparently it's not a requirement for anyone working at McDonald's to know their selection or prices. I informed her that there were the 4 and 6 pieces on the same row, second to the bottom, and the 10 and 20 pieces on the bottom row. It was very specific and hard to screw up.

Once she understood the situation as best as I described, I let her know that I felt the manager dealt with the situation poorly and that the McDonald's corporation would be lucky to ever receive my business again. She then tried to figure out which manager was the one working. It was fun trying to describe her.

"She was sort of short with dark hair. It was shorter than shoulder length and straight. I would consider her overweight, but I don't know if I could say that she weighed more than your average McDonald's employee." Silence.

After plenty of apologies, the owner told me she would send some coupons.

Two days later, I received a letter from McDonald's. Although it was your standard lick-to-seal envelope, it was sealed with a McDonald's happy face sticker. Inside, I found two coupon books with five individual McDonald's dollars each.

Because I refused to pay an extra twenty cents, I came out with ten dollars. It pays to complain.

While perusing the bargain racks at Borders, I noticed an interesting fellow. He was borderline teenage delinquent, wearing headphones and a vest or something like that. He caught my eye when he was peeking at a book with a title like "Best Sex Ever." He noticed me and started giggling. It could have been chuckling or even chortling. Ashamedly, he closed the book and walked away, but not before I shouted, "Caught you!"

While browsing the pictures on my mom's computer yesterday, we found some hilarious pictures of my brother. He managed to somehow get his head stuck in the window. I bring you great pictures of embarrassment.

The creators of Archie comics have apparently decided to update their look, effectively freaking out oodles of avid Rook players.

You can imagine how traumatic this might be for long time fans.

I mean, when it comes time to go to the bathroom, just think of the shock one might experience. I can't perform under pressure.

All good things must come to an end.

I have a long list of restaurants at which I like to eat, one of which is not Olive Garden. My dislike for this restaurant stems from many years of making fun of it. Thus, when certain things happen, it amuses me. Quite a bit, actually. You know, just saying.

December 14th, 2006

I figured Brandon needed a change.

While driving home, we spotted a man riding a Harley Davidson wearing a leather jacket. This seems like a pretty standard outfit for a man riding such a vehicle, but his lower half was the notable part. He was wearing light blue shorts and Uggs. Because of this, we followed him to his destination, trying to get a good picture (we failed). It turns out he was going climbing at Rocknasium.

Over the past week, I've been performing my new favorite prank on Brandon. When my parents came to visit me over Thanksgiving, they brought me a customizable license plate frame. A seemingly random idea, filled with potential. Jayna and I started putting letters together until the phrase "I LOVE CRIBBAGE" was declared a winner. The fun was only beginning.

December 5th, 2006
I installed the frame in the middle of the afternoon. Brandon's car is old, so the threads on the screws were starting to wear. I sure hope he loves cribbage.


December 6th, 2006
Brandon notices the frame for the first time. He was at the grocery store and had to do a double take to make sure it was his car. He calls Kara, assuming she put me up to it, but she had no idea.

December 7th, 2006
I decided to have a little fun with Brandon's mind. By slightly altering the lettering, it would cast doubt on his passion for cribbage.


December 9th, 2006
As Brandon was taking a friend home, the friend made a comment about his cabbage license plate frame. Brandon replied, "No, I'm pretty sure it says 'cribbage.'"

December 10th, 2006
While we were leaving the grocery store, Brandon finally notices that it actually says 'cabbage.' He says, "I always thought it said 'cribbage.' 'Cribbage' is kind of funny because it's true. Cabbage is kind of lame. I'm going to have to take it down."

Later that day, I threw him a new one.


December 13th, 2006
Brandon finally noticed the new change and figured out that his frame is customizable. It looks like he'll be leaving the thing on for a while, so I still have some time to make him drive around town with rather embarrassing things on his license plate frame.

I've discovered I'm much better at hosting study sessions than actually studying. I spent my entire afternoon (since 1) preparing for this study session and didn't finish cleaning up until now (9). I baked 5 pizzas from scratch, made focaccia and had balsamic vinegar and olive oil for dipping, and baked cookies. Everything was delicious. I didn't get a whole lot of studying done though.

In retrospect, it's not like I would have studied much anyway, so I suppose it was all worth it.

I did not allow myself time to properly study for my Latin final. Actually, I didn't allow myself any time to study for the final. Instead, I finished last and opted to spend half an hour talking kindly and respectfully to my professor. Hopefully he'll remember that when grading.

I've discovered that drunk people can confuse a bag full of bread flour with a garbage can. This has happened twice now. The worst part this time was a beer-soaked napkin on the top of the bag.

Having gotten a minimal amount of sleep the past two nights, I was completely exhausted last evening. I was watching the movie Young Frankenstein when I got a call around 10pm. I paused the movie and went to my room to talk. The next thing I remember is waking up on my bed at 4:30am. I was still completely dressed. I think I was still wearing shoes.

Later this morning, Brandon commented that I looked like I had a hangover.

I don't do any mind-altering drugs. Instead, I just don't sleep.

I caught Brandon lying on the futon like this. I thought it was worth posting.

When building our apartments, they decided to affix the power meters and boxes to the side of the building, right next to the walkway. It's not overly intrusive, so nobody really makes a big deal out of it. Yet every time I walk by, I have a giant urge to pull this lever:

It amuses me how they didn't really think about installing a giant on/off lever in the walkway of an apartment complex filled almost entirely with college students. I don't really know what it does, but I like to imagine that simply by pulling that lever, all the power in the building gets turned off.

Yesterday, I came to the realization that I don't think I could ever date a girl who abbreviates three letter words and uses numbers in place of similar sounding syllables (check out that alliteration). Looking at my track record, it's apparent I can only date extremely white, skinny, conservative girls, so I guess this can be added to the list. Oh dear. I suppose this means that I have a "type." This sort of freaks me out.

For the past three or four years, I've been trying to learn George Winston's Carol of the Bells in time for Christmas. I start learning it when Christmas carols are acceptable public music and have never gotten all the way through. This year, since we have a piano in the apartment and I have so much work from which I must procrastinate, I think I have a good shot at it. If I can learn the whole song and play it without screwing it up too terribly, I'll record it and post it here.

When I look back at the past few years of my life, I remember always being tired. When people ask how I'm doing, I usually respond with some reference to me being sleepy. This always seemed strange to me since I get more sleep than most people I know, somewhere around 9 hours of sleep a night. Now I have the strange and completely irrational fear that I've had mono my whole life.

In a rather mundane discussion of Shakespeare's Henry IV Part I, our professor made most of us question his reliability because of his adamant defense of Falstaff. In the text, according to the entire class, Falstaff lies. To this, our professor blew up and asked how we define a lie. One student merely said, "an untruth." In his defense, our professor asked the question, "If I say, 'I went to the moon yesterday,' is that a lie?"

My logic is that he was knowingly giving false information, thereby making it a lie. His argument (well, he was so sure of it, he wouldn't say it was an argument) was that it was something so absurd it was obvious he didn't actually do it and therefore it was not a lie.

There was no way we could have convinced him that his side was questionable, so we moved on. Someone then asked a question he wasn't sure of, to which he replied, "Well, I never took that philosophy course," implying that he wasn't well versed in that material. Yet for some reason, he was absolutely sure about philosophy of a lie and what constitutes one.

Maybe leprechauns have super abilities to detect lies or something.

Over lunch today, I heard part of an interesting conversation. This is what I heard:

"She got her degree in Classical Literature. What are you going to do with a degree in Classical Literature?"

Immediately, I locked focus on him and proceeded to give him the Stare of Death. It was then explained that I'm a Classics major, blah blah blah. Upon hearing this, he then changed his tone and started discussing the interesting things he's learned from this girl. It makes me sad when people belittle my major.

In my usual fit of baking bread, I decided to put an egg wash on top of the loaves before they went in the oven. My usual method is using a silicone spatula and laboriously dipping it into the egg wash then spreading it on top of the bread. I tried two different methods today, both of which failed miserably. The first was to pour the wash very slowly and carefully, which turned out not to be slow or careful enough. The second was to use my fingers instead of a spatula. Again, I was neither slow nor careful.

I threw the loaves in the oven and took them out about half an hour later. When taking them out of the pans, I noticed a very strange smell. The bottom of my loaves have overcooked scrambled eggs on them. It is rather disgusting.

On our way to Yountville last weekend, Jayna pointed out some very peculiar cows we passed. This was the one good picture we took :

I found these cows to be rather amusing. It seems they are the cow version of Oreo cookies. Or remember those flip book things back in elementary school, where they had different body segments and you could flip them and make the people wear different clothes, specifically guys wear female clothing and vice versa? Maybe they did that with cows.

Making up explanations for these cows was quite a fun game in my mind. Then my dad goes ahead and gives a logical reason. Way to bring common sense into the picture, Dad. Way to go.