A Long Journey

Hello, loyal readers.

It's been a long time since we last corresponded. We've been playing hard to get.

Please consider the following story. On Jan 3rd, the roommates and I made an examination of an obviously ill Andy. Andrew diagnosed hemorrhoids. I diagnosed a hernia. Jon suggested that Andy was suffering from a tumor of the liver. Andy himself, consulting our medical manuals, correctly found that it was, in fact, a combination of all three. Andrew and I were devastated. Jon made a joke connecting hemorrhoids and Andy's mom.

The next day, the four of us hopped on Jon's Harley. Jon drove, decked in leather. Andrew clung to Jon's back. I rode in the sidecar, carrying Andy, who was lying on his back in my arms, moaning from the painful pressure I was placing on his hemorrhoids. Jon knew of a great hospital in Pennsylvania, and it seemed like a wonderful opportunity for a road trip. Brash, excited, filled with wonder, and in searing pain, respectively, we headed down Highway 52 on our way to Scranton.

Incredibly, our plans soon went awry. Fifteen miles from Northfield, Andy contracted a nasty case of diphtheria. I moved my face as far from him as I could to avoid contagion, which was difficult, since he was cradled in my arms. Then, just as we were motoring through Rochester, Jon's hog began to sputter violently.

"Awwh, Christ, the gradient converter driveshaft manual output valve is on the flux again!" shouted Jon.

"ahhh, yes, the gradient converter driveshaft manual output valve" noted Andrew knowingly.

"UGGGHH CHRIST THIS HERNIA" added a belligerent Andy loudly.

"Stop shouting, Andy. We're right here."

Jon carried us and his motorcycle all the way to Tilson's auto shop over by the Kmart. I had recommended it. Andy was complaining annoyingly about his medical problems, so I suggested the Mayo Clinic, a local greatest medical complex in the country. We hitched a ride over to the clinic and dropped off Andy, who was treated in Sports Medicine, the ER, the cancer center, and the respiratory illnesses center simultaneously.

While in Rochester, we visited my house, where we played Boggle for hours. The next day, Tilson's called, and then the doctors called. The motorcycle was ready, and Andy had recovered from his illnesses. Unfortunately, the treatment had required the amputation and replacement of his liver, lungs, and groin. The doctors informed us that Andy had passed the necessary 10% metallic components threshold, and was now officially a cyborg.

We picked up Andy, who informed us that he had taken the cyborg name DevatronX1350, and anyone to call him "Andy" would receive nasty treatment courtesy of his new "Megaliver Fire Breath". This was a real downer, and we decided to cut our trip short and head home rather than continue on to Scranton. We all had class on Monday anyways. Since then, we've been too absorbed in fervent studying and avoiding a moody Devatron to post to this blog.

We hope you'll accept our apology.

In these Troubled Times...

Never mistake pleonasm for pith.
Never mistake an aphorist for an apothecary offering anodyne.

"How to increase your productivity in N easy steps" OR "Too Cliché? I'm Sorry Andy"

So, it's reading days, and instead of studying or writing a paper or working on my mondo problem set, I've decided (after mucking around with my student webpage for about twenty minutes) to write yet another long-overdue room blog post. I feel this post consists mainly of internet potpourri - stuff I've been wasting my time on, which I felt was worth spreading virally, especially among peers avoiding academics even half so successfully as I am.

First order of business: watch this video. When I applied to live in the language house, I swore to propagate the language and culture of Germany, and the below fulfills more than my quota for this term.



Second, get a twitter account. It's like facebook, but better, because nobody invites you to join their facebook-causes, or challenges your movie knowledge, or tries to gift you a hatching egg - there's just statuses.

Third, start reading dinosaur comics. If you're put off at first, push forward - they kind of grow on you, and the consistency is a real comfort in this uncertain economic climate.

Fourth, check Google Trends (bi-)hourly. At its best, it's like having your finger on the pulse of the (english-speaking-internet-accessible) world; at its other best, it's like national, anonymous gossip.

Fifth, when the existing internet seems to dip below its useless-crap equilibrium, do your civic duty and proliferate. Write a student webpage - this is the greatest time-suck I am yet aware of.

Last, start f*ing commenting. And I don't mean "this was a really great post, you guys"-sorts of cop-out commenting. A blog is meant to be an exchange.

PS: http://jhdg.ytmnd.com/

Poll

Please take part in the Vier Teufel in der Schlafhöhle interactive poll, in the right sidebar. Your answer will help us with institutional measurement and improvement. Thank you.

Der Prospy der Hölle

Hello Loyal Readers. Parish 103 would like to issue the following statement:

Parish 103 is honored and flattered at the burgeoning readership of "Vier Teufel in der Schlafhöhle". Parish 103 would like to apologize for the absense of writing over the last two weeks. Please understand that with the harrowing events of October 30th and 31st, the aggregate writership of the weblog has been incapacitated by shock and horror. Thank you.

It is worth noting that our readership has truly burgeoned, as reported by scientific estimates of the "Vier Teufel in der Schlafhöhle" Scientific Polling and Quantified Measurement Acquisitional Method Appropriation Team (VTidSSPQMAMAT) . Reports from said group show readership growth from approximately three people to at least four, including an overseas contingent. Thank you all.

The harrowing events of October 30th and 31st are related to the appearance of Cody, the prospy from Hell, in our gracious household. We magnanimously agreed to host said prospy. According to the email we got, "He is SUPER interested in languages and would really lake to stay in Parish house where he could experience that environment". We politely declined to note that "lake" is not a verb but rather a noun.

Said prospy arrived on Thursday, the day before Halloween. Cody spoke German the whole time, even if you spoke English to him. This was okay, but slightly obnoxious. Cody bragged that he had gotten a bajillion points on his IB exams. Cody was voted "best German speaker" in his grade at his Orange County school. Cody corrected any perceived mistakes in German anyone made. These things could have been written off as trying to be helpful. The worst was yet to come.

When I was in Germany, I had an adorable host brother named Paul who was eight years old. I rarely saw him because of a nasty divorce situation. On the last day I was there, Paul made signs in adorable little kid handwriting and bad grammar that said in German, "stop", "halt", "I don't want you to go. Don't go. You may not go", etc. It was the most heartwarming thing anyone had ever done for me, especially considering I hardly knew him.

I kept those signs and they're on our door now. A few days after Cody left, I noticed something peculiar. Someone had taken a red pen, crossed out the misspelled words on Paul's signs, and corrected their grammar and spelling. Unbelievable. The audacity of it. Somehow, Cody, Prospy from hell, had thought that these signs clearly written by a eight year old on our door were there for him to critique and correct. Now my keepsake of the memory of Paul, cutest eight year old ever, is defiled. I think its fair to say that Cody, who was obnoxious, had raised himself to status of "shitty human being". Congratulations, Cody. May you never come to Carleton. We'll do our part to make sure of that.

-Kevin

pointing the finger

Under pressure from my more loquacious blog-mates, I've "decided" to make my contribution.

My roommates are a suspicious bunch. Just the other week Andy accused us of planting women's clothing in his recently washed laundry. After about forty minutes of deliberation and many attacks on the characters of our mothers, I realized that an email had gone around about laundry stolen from the laundry room - the clothes almost certainly belonged to our RA.

Lessons learned:

1. Since abandoning his laptop, Andy has become significantly more insulated.
2. Before accusation consider situation - the evidence may point to you.
3. Our RA owns a blue striped tank-top.
   

Science writing and Bill Titus have worn away at my means of expression.

Next time on Mountain Man:
BREAKING NEWS: K. P. might buy a cell phone (!)
The fate of Hubert
-plus-
Class of 2010: the GoldenEye rennaissance.

"God, it's so gratifying"
-J. F.

-Andrew

But how will I cope?

After a long silence I finally have the courage to write again. The leafy Hubert, my only confidant in this stink-hole of vice, has suffered greatly from his association with them; its greener parts are now bespeckled with a sickly brown. Soon they'll take it away.