an assortment of things and thoughts that don't belong anywhere

ON PENS:


I have a fondness for pens. Calling it a "pen fetish" would be weird and unfortunately somewhat accurate, so a fondness it is. I like to think that my devotion to pens is actually a genetic trait that my brother and I have inherited from my father. My family's pedigree would look something like this:

Hooray for applying 10th grade biology to real-life scenarios! Hooray for Dr. Saunders!

Actually, I'm not sure if that pedigree is technically correct.  Hoo . . . but I digress. . .
You know how humans judge each other based on how they dress or how they speak or the music they like or the things they read or the depth of their vocabulary or the way they treat animals or the shape of their sideburns?
I judge people based on what kind of writing utensil they use.
I know, I know! It's absurd to scrutinize somebody based on this! And I understand that judging other people is harmful and not okay. I can accept all of this. And yet. . .
If someone is using a number 2 pencil with a blunt tip, I very much respect that person. Because I would go utterly insaaaaane if I had to use such a dull writing instrument to write with. Absolutely insaaaane! The extra 'a's are to demonstrate the extensive frustration and delirium that accompanies writing with an unsharpened tip! These people are craaaaaazy!
And those who use terrible-quality, garden-variety pens that have a company name printed on the side along with a phone number and address? Awful. Just awful. These people must not think highly of themselves. Please, lame-pen-people, go invest in a better writing implement. Or I will squint scornfully and shake my head slowly whenever I catch you writing with such rubbish.
And then there are those incredible people that use versions of the Pilot G-2 pen, which is my personal weapon of choice. These people are the people most likely to understand my strange pen affinity. Huzzah!
I could go on, but I won't, because explaining how I judge people can very easily become offensive. Obviously, my system is flawed, and there will always be exceptions. But this is how I see things, and this is the kind of drivel that belongs on my blog. If you have a problem with this, we can duke it out at the bus stop tomorrow morning. There will be enough sunlight to fight because daylight saving time! Yeaaaaah




ON DOOR LOCKS (A REAL-LIFE CONVERSATION):
"Hey, Chris?"
"Yeah?"
"How did the lock on my door break?"
*laughter* "Oh... that..."
". . ."
"Well, after we broke the bathroom door's lock, we moved on to yours."
"We?"
"Me n Dad!"
"Oh my God. You and Dad did this?!"
*more laughter* "Yeah! See, I was on the inside and I held down on the lock and Dad jammed the handle from the other side and it just broke! And then we were like, 'Let's try again.' and we did it with your door, too. I think Andrew's door is the only one that locks, now. I broke mine a while ago, but that was by myself."
"Good to know."
"Yeah."



ON THE RADIO:
Earlier today, I was riding with my mother in the car. We were listening to the radio when the following advertisement came on:

EXPERIENCE LED ZEPPELIN, LIVE AND IN CONCERT! HEAR THEIR GREATEST SONGS PERFORMED LIVE!
BY LISTENING TO 102.9, YOU COULD WIN TICKETS TO SEE . . .

LED ZEPAGAIN: THE JASON BONHAM LED ZEPPELIN EXPERIENCE! STAY TUNED TO 102.9 MGK TO FIND OUT HOW YOU CAN WIN TICKETS!

Good trolling, 102.9. A+++++++++++++



ON STICKY KEYS:

One day, back in 2007, I accidentally happened upon STICKY KEYS while screwing around in my Computer Science class.
For the rest of the week, I continually took advantage of this technological phenomenon. Whenever I got bored in class- SHIFTSHIFTSHIFTSHIFTSHIFT STICKY KEYS!
And whenever my friends were trying to work on the projects assigned by our teacher, I would snake my hand over to their keyboard and SHIFTSHIFTSHIFTSHIFTSHIFT STICKY KEYS! And then they would groan. Not again, Kaitlyn! Enough with the StickyKeys! StickyKeys doesn't even do anything!

But then there came a day when my Comp. Sci teacher told us to turn off our monitors so we could pay attention to what she was explaining.
That doesn't stop me. My monitor may be off, but I can still SHIFTSHIFTSHIFTSHIFTSHIFT STICKY KEYS!
And then I discovered that by pressing other buttons while my monitor was off, I could make cool computer noises that were distracting and fun! And the teacher could never figure out whose computer was making the sounds (I was quite the sneaky snake back in 7th grade). So, as quietly as I could, I
AWF]TPOQW]
4TOQ340TIA[
EWGTIQ349-TV8UQENGA[RDSOGFYAS[OQEVWYQOETA;OEVS4Y;AEROUWO5VRWP AERADSKLSDHAFLSKDF
ALFHASLDKFHASKLDHFASULDHFSKJDACVLSKDGHSIODUVHOSlVAG'GVAEGLAEGL

KEYBOARD MASH!
The computer made crazy beeping noises. By this point, other kids had caught on. Soon, we were all
LSFJALDSHFAILSTRHAESILDUFH ASTVIUQW
[ET9Q]W-459W
] NTV9AW
4=86TVQ
3=EACT8W0EVTF3'TUCGVSG;AKASG
G

And nobody could stop us!
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBOOPBEEPBOOPBEEPBOOPSTICKYKEYS! yelled the computers.

And then our teacher had finished saying whatever it was that she was saying. We were free to turn our monitors back on, which we did. I reluctantly succumbed to my school work and opened up Microsoft PowerPoint to begin the latest project assigned. I went to type in my name:




. . . That's odd. Nothing was showing up. My keyboard was malfunctioning. I tried again:




Nothing! Oh no oh no oh no oh no! StickyKeys, what have you done?!
I went to the teacher for help. She tried her best to fix the keyboard, but nothing worked. The rest of the class thought it was hilarious. They all tried to get their keyboards to stop working, too.
"Enough!" hissed the teacher. She sighed and went to go get the computer experts of Murray Avenue.
But the computer expert couldn't figure out what the problem was, either.
"What did you do, kid?" he asked me.
"rmbrmrmmm stickykeys" I mumbled.
The class was over before the problem was fixed. I was herded out the door with the rest of the 7th grade computer experts.

The next day, my computer was working perfectly. I didn't SHIFTSHIFTSHIFTSHIFTSHIFT STICKYKEYS! that day.