Why Most Grinnellians Are Atheist

I am only leaving this room once tonight--for the promise of soup and friends.
After those tests today, it's time for brownies, tea, and climbing vids on YouTube.
And maybe a little mocking of my dear friends who are out and about in a balmy 5 degrees.

Disgusting.

BURNED!

"Everyone needs their just-sitting-around-being-dumb time. That's like Ruth's whole life."
-Mikey Dyley

Born to be Wild

"Catholics just think they're the center of the world. That's why they burned Copernicus."

Thank god we've finally dug ourselves out of 10 inches of "thunder snow," and ended this rotten week. Despite everything looking so beautiful, I'm pretty sure everyone is just itching for it to be spring. Classes are over, papers are written, shirts are made, and Valentines are just around the corner. Even my professors have started ignoring my questions.
Prison is soon--we'll be teaching art history in a high-max women's prison that, unfortunately, is 45 minutes away from here.

Hooray Improv, Blue Moon, and Mardi Gras Harris.

love, ruthles

They're an interesting phenomenon, these sleepy conversations.

When lying in my bed on the "second floor" of our dear old 4231, it's as if my brain shuts off. Enter witness Ruth Campbell, who continues to try and extract out some sort of rational interaction with me at any and all hours of the day, to no avail.

Last night at the pleasant hour of 12:40 am, Ruth entered the room and began to clammer around, mumbling to herself (nothing unusual) and looking for her jacket, shoes, scarf, etc. I poke my head out from under my "tarp" aka comforter (after having checked-in early for the evening) and weakly call, "Ruuuth?" Semblances of words such as "airport," "Felicity's friend," "3 am," are all I can seem to recall hearing before I face-plant back into the pillow. Sweet dreams.

But I'm not the only one guilty of such behavior. Since I have 8am's while my dear ole roommate has the pleasure of 9 am's or later everyday, I'm usually the first one up (with the exception of T/Th, when Ruth has more oomph and willpower to climb down the ladder than I can ever seem to muster). As I'm getting dressed and packing up all of my stuff, the following traditionally takes place:

R: (propping herself up, hair mussed/standing on end) Mmm...fjafjmdsfj...
C: Uh, hi.
R: (Silence.)
C: (Confused...to reply or not to reply...)
R: (Pulls comforter over head, never to be heard from again.)

A "shaft of light" into our lives.

What's your take, RC?

You can thank me anytime now, Ruthles

Last night, I strapped my iPod arm band, put on my protective eyewear, rolled up my sleeves, and cleaned. For three hours.



Spick-and-span.

As I sit and look around, from my perch,

I feel a small coating of crumbs along the bottoms of my feet, and I start to feel a little quesy. In strolling through the Sixpack today, I actually became aware of the state of living conditions in which we are all currently immersed. It best can be captured in the fact that, as Ruth threw Kraft Singles around Nick and Scott's room, they would get lost among piles of clothes (both dirty and clean, ahem, [blochweh]. you just go by your username now), bubble wrap, guitar boxes, and actual feces. Like, someone squatted, and the evidence is just not to be found, right, Nick? Totes.

I like the art projects that blochweh made for me and Ruth. When I get around to uploading photos one of these days, I'll be sure to share. This is just whetting your appetite. Speaking of which my appetite has been like, ravenous--let's just say, that entire box of Cheez-Its was excellente, Mr. Brian-David Sollo.

Moodlighting and Caffeine-Free Tuesdays: braaaang it.