Beth O'K for the First Time

I know that I met Beth sometime when I was in third grade, but I don't have a great recollection of exactly when. I remember that I didn't particularly like her a whole lot, but I don't really remember exactly why. We were in Mrs. Clarke's class together, but pretty much only for homeroom. We didn't really do a lot in her homeroom - we did some dumb activities like coloring, and making planets out of play-dough, and maybe learned a little bit about history once, and learned was unsafe touches were and crap like that -but there wasn't much real learning.

[I remember when we made planets out of play-dough, Mrs. Clarke would separate the colors when we were done and I was absolutely AMAZED that she was able to separate the green from the blue in the Earth that someone had made. I asked her how she did it, and she just said, "Oh, I just use a knife," and showed me a little plastic butterknife from the cafeteria or staff room.]

One day, I can't remember when, we were learning about Indians and the fact that they called corn "Maize." My guess is that it was sometime in the fall because that's when elementary schools usually teach about Indians. I was working in a group with Dennis O'N - I remember being amazed at his so-blonde-it-was-white hair - and Beth O and maybe some other people and we were coloring ears of corn and a stalk that we would staple/glue/tape the ears to. I remember Dennis made some comment about me thinking I was perfect and "running around naked with Adam and Eve," or something to that effect (he may have said "in the Garden of Eden." I have no idea where he got the idea to say these things).

We kept on working and I guess we were talking. I think Beth told someone to do something, or complained about someone not doing anything, and in all my witty glory I said, "Oh yeah, because you've been such a big help. ... NOT! ... I mean, SNOT!" I remember thinking that that actually was an out-of-this-universe ice burn, and I guess she thought so too because she started crying and told Mrs. Clarke I was being mean to her. I had to apologize. That is the first thing that I remember saying to Beth in my entire life.

Beth and I would remain enemies until sometime in ninth grade, when we jumped on the trampooline near Olivia's driveway with Liz Fin and Bobby D and I said something very stupid, at which point she probably hated me more, but somehow I fixed that for a while.

That is, the second thing I remember saying to her in my entire life was not much better than the first.

Peace out.

A Note on the Piano

After coming back from Fourth Meal tonight, I stopped by the piano lounge and saw a scrap of notebook paper on the piano right near where you would normally put sheet music that had written on it, in blue pen, something to the effect of:

" [large capital letters] Please don't play piano when it interferes with others' studies.  [normal print].  Thank you for your cooperation, Simmons."

Assholes.

I don't know who it was to, but I wrote back the following on the other side of the paper:

"[large capital letters] DON'T STUDY NEAR THE LOUD NOISY THING IF YOU WANT QUIET TIME.  [normal print] duh.  iilii.  Use the silent study hall near the mail room.  (or move the piano there)  Thank you for your cooperation, Simmons piano players."

Seriously, there are a million places to study in Simmons.  The entire basement is nothing but one huge silent place to study, especially after quiet hours.  And I should note, I never play piano during quiet hours (during the week) because I know it would annoy people.  Furthermore, the lounge is called the Simmons Piano Lounge, not the Simmons Study Lounge with a Piano in It.  No, it's the piano lounge.  You go there to play piano.  To study, you go to a study lounge, or to the basement study rooms.

Anyway, I'll keep on playing.  If they would rather move my piano than move their textbooks, I'm more than happy to let them.

Peace out!

A Wikipedia Read that Almost Made Me Cry

From the article on Andy Kaufman, in the section about his death:

Kaufman died in Los Angeles on May 16, 1984^[26] of kidney failure, caused by metastasized large cell carcinoma, and was interred in the Beth David Cemetery in Elmont, New York (Long Island). He was 35 years old.

Kaufman was survived by his daughter, Maria Colonna, who was born in 1969 and put up for adoption shortly thereafter. Colonna learned in 1992 that she was the daughter of Andy Kaufman, when she traced her biological parentage.^[27]

Because he kept the true nature of his health a secret—almost until the day he died—fans have, over the years, doubted Kaufman's death, thinking that he staged it as the ultimate Andy Kaufman stunt. Rumors that Kaufman was still alive go as far back as May 17, 1984 (the day after he died), when a caller phoned the Howard Stern radio show on WNBC in New York to announce that Kaufman's death was a hoax. Friends and family said that Andy almost never smoked, did not drink regularly, and was also a vegetarian. At the time, lung cancer was considered rare for non-smokers to contract, and it is also rare in people under the age of 40. Kaufman himself even said that if he were to fake his death, he would return 20 years later. On May 16, 2004, his surviving friends threw a 'Welcome Home Andy' party for him, which he did not attend.

Peace out

Plato at the Hockey Rink

If you've read The Republic by Plato, you'd get this.  Otherwise, all you need to know follows.  Plato and his philosopher buddies, while discussing the ideal nation, talk about its legal and justice system, but then realize they need to define what justice is.  After talking for a while, Plato concludes that "Justice is minding one's own business."  That's almost a direct quote from the English translation of The Republic.

Anyhow, I went to the hockey rink on Thursday before my class at 2:30 because it was a nice day and I want to get better at hockey and actually make my heart beat sometimes.  When I showed up, there was a family there.  The dad was wearing a white jersey and I think knee pads, and had short black hair.  There was an older son, maybe ten or eleven, with slightly longer black hair and a black shirt.  Then there were two kids, one was wearing a blue collared and buttoned dress shirt with blonde hair, and the other one I forget.

At one point I tried to shoot it on the net, but did something absolutely idiotic and shot it safely over the ten-foot-or-more chickenwire fences that surround the back of the rink.  I screamed an obscenity - sheepishly remembering a little later that there were five-year-olds in the rink with me - and then started looking for a way to get the puck.  It went out what I'll call the lower right corner of the rink, which is as far away from the pavement as you can get, so you'd have to walk through a LOT of mud and dirt to get the puck if you took the normal route.  I tried to open a door on that side of the rink (with the benches on it) to get closer to the puck, but it was nearly impossible from the inside of the rink.

So, instead I did the next best thing, which was to jump up on one of the benches on that side, hop onto the boards, and then use that to jump over the slightly-lower chickenwire fence that surrounds the benches.  This would keep me close to the puck and reduce how dirty my wheels got, but it was uncomfortable and I'm sure it looked weird.  As I was doing it, I suppose the little kids in the rink were watching.  One of them must have been focusing particularly acutely because I heard the older brother say, "Justice, mind your own business!"

I thought it was pretty funny, the exact combination of the kid's name and what his brother decided to say.  It was like the ghost of Plato was showing his philosopher buddies how clever he could be by bugging a kid at a hockey rink.

Peace out!

The Website is Down

On Friday night I stayed at the Rutherford's house between practices for drumline.  We were practicing in Quakertown both Friday night and Saturday morning and it's a 58 minute drive from there to my house, so I figured I'd just stay there since we ended Friday at midnight and started Saturday at 9am.  I should mention that Rutherford is the director of our drumline and staying at his house is sort of a tradition in our drumline.  His mom always cooks breakfast for everyone, and by everyone, I mean typically 15 to 25 people staying over.  People literally sleep on top of each other.

Anyhow, at some point once we got settled in, I got bored of the movie we were watching (mostly because I couldn't hear it) and went to see what else was going on.  Over in the corner of one room that had two computers in it, one per corner, some guys were watching some sort of video and were laughing really really hard.  I think Kyle (quad tech) and Bryce (his brother, a snare drummer) were watching it with Brendan, the bass tech.  I came over to check it out, and I joined right in with the laughter.  I thought it was really, really funny.  All I knew was that it was supposed to be some IT guy at a company dealing with stupid people that call him with problems, and he came to a very funny desktop arrangement and had fun with the person from there.  If you want to see it, go to www.thewebsiteisdown.com and check out the video on the left.

Anyhow, I remember almost like peeing my pants laughing at the video with them, and they said to check out the whole thing (I came to it with a couple minutes left, out of ten) because it was way funnier that way.  So I did.  I checked it out when I got back home, I think once by myself, and once by my friends.  I don't know why, but it didn't seem nearly as funny when I watched it again.  Even when I watched it with a group of people - which supposedly makes things funnier - we weren't laughing nearly as hard as we were at the Rutherford's house.  I have no idea why this is, but it sort of made me sad, because I wished I could have enjoyed it as much as I had the first time.

Peace out.

Cutting the Floor

Last night we had to work on the drumline floor again.  We've done it for each of the past three weeks, and I know that I'm getting very impatient with it, and I suspect some other people probably are as well.  Some people just don't even come anymore.  We have to go to the Blue Band Building, which is northeast of campus and pretty far from me, and load the floor into Kyle's (our tenor tech) green conversation van and then drive it to the Wagner Building, which is the building used mostly for the R.O.T.C. programs.  There's a huge "bay" in the bottom that we call the armory or the arms bay.  It's really just a huge open space where we can unfold our floor.  There are two gas grills on one side, a lot of picnic tables, and there are stone slabs in one corner that have answers to unlisted questions.  Some examples of things written on them are "Art can't save your woman" and "No, but it always has happened and always will happen."  Apparently they were laid out in front of the Forum earlier in the year with questions posted nearby, and people answered in chalk.  I don't know what the point it.  There are also at least three pull-up bars, and a very very high ladder in one corner.  Everything is very gray, very industrial, very impersonal, and boring.  There are a lot of windows on oneside and it is almost always very cold in the bay.  Sometimes R.O.T.C. people practice their drills when we're painting.  They're usually nice.

I came late last night - supposed to be there at 8:30 and got there at about 10 - and we were only just as I was walking in ready to make measurements to cut the floor.  I knoew this would happen; the staff didn't give us great plans and they apparently spent a long time figuring out exactly what they wanted.  Kyle was sitting in the corner near a table with his computer.  Mikey brought out some straight-edges and switch blades so we could get cutting.  Cass cut the first line at the bottom of the flap and that went fine for the most part.

I should say, we're cutting out flaps of an old floor so that we can tape them to our new floor and pull them back in the end of the show to reveal a new design.  Or something like that.

Anyway, we had to go up the floor a little bit to cut the other end of the flap.  Isaac was down with the straight-edge and blade doing the cutting, and Cass was standing nearby giving a little instruction.  He said things like, "I gotta see that bicep man!  Flex it!"  He was telling him to cut really strongly to make sure he cut through the tarp all the way; it's sort of annoying to try and not get it through.  After Isaac had cut through about a eighteen inches, Steve W noticed that our real floor was underneath where Isaac was cutting, and he was probably cutting right through it.  We pulled apart where Isaac was cutting, and realized that yes, he had cut the floor.  Not just through one layer, but two or three.  We were all pretty upset, but realized we could just put black tape on it or on the back and it'd be okay.  We did just that, and I believe it will turn out okay.  Somehow, throughout the whole process though, the blame shifted to Cass because he told Isaac to put pressure on it, rather than on Isaac, who actually did the cutting, or everyone else, who didn't notice that the floor was underneath.  We sort of owe our show to Steve.  We seriously almost slit our floor in like four places.

Peace out.

Cognitive Biases

Recently I stumbled across Wikipedia's List of Cognitive Biases.  Some of them are really intensely interesting, and I definitely suggest you check some of them out.  Some of the ones that blew my mind in particular were these:

Illusion of asymmetric insight - People perceive their knowledge of their peers to surpass their peers' knowledge of them

Illusion of transparency - People overestimate others' ability to know them, and they also overestimate their ability to know others

Outcome bias - the tendency to judge a decision by its eventual outcome instead of based on the quality of the decision at the time it was made

I feel like if we all had an active awareness of our biases, we would all probably be much better people overall.  I'm going to make a conscious effort to keep these in mind from now on.  Hoping it'll help me understand people a little bit more and be more sympathetic.

Peace out.

Showers and Towels

When I was younger, I used to not take showers very often.  But I'm not talking like baby-young, I mean like, up until fifth grade.  I'm pretty sure it wasn't until the end of fourth or sometime in fifth grade that I actually started to shower more often than like once every Sunday.  Looking back, I guess that's sort of gross.  But at the same time, I don't remember my hair being greasy, and I didn't often get dirty, no one ever told me I smelled, and kids don't even start to really sweat until they hit puberty.  So it's not that bad, is it?  I used to think it was ridiculous to shower every day, and honestly I still do, and often I take a shower every other day if I'm not disgusting, although I doubt I could get by other people showering once a week now.

I also used to not understand that you can reuse towels.  Every time I used a towel, I would put it in the hamper to be washed.  At one point, my brother or my mom talked to me about it and told me that I should use it a few times before washing it.  Instead of actually doing that, I sort of just decided to not put the towels in the hamper ever.  So for a long time I washed towels every time, and then for a long time I never washed them at all.  I think I'm striking a sort of happy medium now, but I'm not really sure.

Peace out.

A Sad Dream

I had a dream last night that Barack Obama resigned the presidency.  I forget exactly why, but it had something to do with him already having made a mistake that was absolutely irreparable and would stop him from doing anything productive anymore.  I was really really upset, until I woke up, and realized it was a dream.

Whew.

Peace out.

Ishmael Beah

I was at a speech last night by Ishmael Beah.  He was forced to be a child soldier during the civil war/revolution in Sierra Leone (West Africa).  He mentioned that oral tradition was very there and that his foster mom was a professional storyteller, so during Q&A, after talking about how this war and violence affected his life for 45 minutes, I asked him to share one of the stories.

Imagine a husband and wife telling this to their son.

So, son, you're out hunting one day, and you've brought your gun.  You're in the forest and looking through the trees, and you find a monkey who's eating a banana, or scratching his sides, whatever monkeys do.  So you think he looks like a good catch and you raise your gun to shoot him but then, he puts his hand up as if to say stop and he says, "Whoa whoa, hold your horses."  And, since a monkey spoke to you, you listen.

He says, "If you shoot me, your father will die.  If you don't shoot me, your mother will die."

[at this point, you turn to your son and ask] "Son, what would you do?"

Ishmael said that his response was always, "I would go to the bathroom!" (and maybe he would run to the bathroom).

Then he just started talking about the story, and he said, "Then when I was young, I didn't really understand the story, I was too young to understand what it was about.  But after I got older and I saw all these things and I was thinking about everything, I realized that the point is that there is no correct answer.  Once you've lifted the gun - once you've chosen violence - it doesn't matter what you do, someone is going to pay for it.  It's not that it's going to be your mom or that it's going to be your dad, it's that the choice is already made."

(I had gone back to my seat at that point, but he was still looking right at me, and I said thanks from my seat and he said "You're welcome" while looking right at me still.  It was pretty cool.)

Peace out.

Losing My Hat

I took my actuary exam this Thursday that just passed at 9 in the morning.  It's a big deal, apparently, and the testing centers are made to be extremely secure.  You're not supposed to have anything in your pocket at all and you have to put everything you came with in a locker, and they scan a photo ID of you and take your fingerprint six times before they let you start taking your test.

Well anyway, one of their directions was that they don't have perfect control over the climate in their centers, so you should bring a coat in case it gets cold.  I brought a coat - and my hat - for exactly that reason, but sometime during the testing a woman came through and said, "Here, let me take that for you."

I wanted to say, "No, I want it in case it gets cold," but I wasn't cold, so I just figured I'd let her go.  They also yelled at me for using mechanical pencils (which she called a "pen") and said that I wasn't supposed to have anything.  She let me use them though 'cuz they were just pencils, and probably because I gave her a look of "That's ridiculous and your pencils suck" when she mentioned it.  Their pencils really did suck.

Anyway, on the way out of the testing center, I meant to get my coat and forgot.  I also realized that I didn't know where my hat was, so I called my mom to ask if it was on the island at home, and she said no.  So I went back inside and went to the receptionist.

"Hey, I was just at desk 21 taking a test.  Could you possibly go back and check to see if I left a blue knit hat there by any chance?"  So she went back to check, and while she did, I took my coat from the coat rack, which I had also forgot.  I reached my hand into my coat pockets as I often do, and in the left pocket was my hat.  Damnit!  Oh well.  I felt pretty foolish, but she already went to look, so I just let it go.  When she came back I kept my hands in my pockets and said, "Alright, well thanks for looking."  I think I sort of noticed her looking at my hands in my pockets as I turned, but I'm not really sure, and you definitely couldn't have seen my hat anyway.

Peace out.

Things Like Other Things

If you take a big Zildjian cymbal - like 18" or more - and hit it softly and then let it vibrate until you can't hear it when you're standing three feet away, and then you put your ear half an inch away from it, you can hear a deep roaring sound, like a bass guitar.

If you bite your lip and lick it at the same time quickly in a certain manner for a little bit, like for thirty seconds, it tastes like snow.

There's a window in the basement of my dorm that has brown-paint framing that smells like pavement after a hot rain if you have your nose really close to it.

Peace out.

A Tiny Documentary about Me

I think I mentioned this to a bunch of people at home. My friend Davis made this short documentary/profile of me and my music a couple weeks ago at school and posted it on his website, an alternative news source for Penn State students. It's seriously well done (and only two minutes long!).

Feel free to check it out at this link right here. Or maybe this one.

Or this one.

Peace out.

The Idea of You

I keep getting ideas for songs that I really like a lot, but I can't seem to finish them. I think I have like four or five on deck right now. It'd be really great to finish them, but I don't know if I will. I think the best way to describe it is that it's sort of like having a crush on them. I like the idea of them, but deep down, I don't actually like them. Like people say about relationships.

Though my relationships with my songs really aren't typically deep, I promise.

Peace out.

Most Bizarre I Have Ever Seen

On Friday night, we were staying at Francis Bunnell High School because Penn State Indoor was practicing there. Trumbull High School, where we were competing, was about twenty minutes away.

Anyhow, the night that we showed up, some other high school was rehearsing in the same school as us - we had the small gym and they had the regular basketball gym. We all had to shower in the boys' locker room, which was right near their gym. I went to get ready for bed at something like 11:30. I looked for sinks but I couldn't find any good ones, just a gazebo-type thing that had three tiny jets of water coming out of three places by motion-sensor activation, which sucked for brushing your teeth and washing your mouth. There were TONS of lockers to my right, way more than GV. To the back on the left were the showers.

There were maybe six showers. Together they occupied a hexagon, with each of the six triangles of the hexagon having a curtain to surround it, something along those lines. I never shower at drumline, but one of the PSU guys was showering (I believe it was Dennis, a tenor player). There were also a number of guys from the other high school showering. At one point one of them said something along the lines of "Oh, wait, I have to go get my shampoo!" and ran out of the shower, probably naked, though I wasn't really looking. I was getting changed at this point.

A half minute later or so, he came running back past me. I wasn't really looking, but out of the corner of my eye, for a split second, I saw that he was wearing an enormous red strap-on penis. I had no idea what the hell was going on. I think there was another kid running with him but I wasn't sure. He ran into the showers. I should say, this thing was probably like 18" long, and just fire-engine red everywhere. I wondered if he harassed the guy from PSU - I don't think he did. But other kids were screaming, asking what the hell was going on.

It really was one of the most bizarre things I have ever seen.

Peace out.

High on the Fever

Download it from http://jeff11.fileave.com/HighOnTheFever.html. kthx!

Peace out.

Lack of Memory Property

"For x, y > 0,

P [ X > x + y | X > x] = P [ X > y]

We can interpret this as follows.  Suppose that X represents the time, measured from now, in weeks until the next insurance claim is filed by a company, and suppose also that X has an exponential distribution with mean 1/t.  Suppose that 5 weeks have passed without an insurance claim, and we want to know the distribution of the time until the next insurance claim as measured from our new time origin, which is 5 weeks after the previous time origin.  According to the lack of memory property, the fact that there have been no claims in the past 5 weeks is irrelevant, and measuring time starting from our new time origin, the time until the next claim is exponential with the same mean 1/t.  In fact, no matter how many claims have occured in the past 5 weeks, as measured from now, the time until the next claim has an exponential distribution with mean 1/t; the distribution has "forgotten" what has happened prior to now and the "clock" measuring time until the next claim is restarted now."

Peace out.

Eating It

I ride my bike to and from classes to save time; I'm sure like everyone who reads this knows that.

Last Friday, after my Stat 415 class, I hopped on my bike in the bike "parking lot" that's right outside of Willard, on its east wall.  Typically I just stand beside my bike and walk it north a little bit until I'm on the main road until there are less people, but for some reason I decided to just hop on right away that day and hope for the best.

So I hop on, and start going toward the busy sidewalk.  There were a lot of people.  I remember there was a girl coming from my left, I think she was Asian, and some guys coming from the right.  I didn't want to thread right between them, so I tried to stop.  I put on the brakes, and I turned my wheel a sharp left, as if I might go behind the girl coming from my left somehow. 

I guess I turned my wheel too far, and I pedalled a tiny bit and then IMMEDIATELY just hit the deck.  And I totally ate concrete in front of everyone.  I'm sure there were hundreds of people in the area, but I don't know how many were watching.  I didn't know what to do, I felt really embarassed, so to try to dispel some of the awkwardness I used my loud Will Ferrel voice and said, "WOW THAT WAS RELLY EMBARASSING."  I got back up and just started walking, and realized the knee of my pants were all wet and sort of dirty.

The kid named Mark in the room next to me was walking by without my noticing, but then he said, "Good going," or something to that effect.  I told him I was going to walk with him because I'd feel less like a loser, and as we were walking he said, "So, uh... you might want to learn how to ride a bike a little better."  I agreed.  We got to the road at the north and I rode to my next class, where no one knew what happened.

Peace out.

KiSoek

There's a guy in my STAT 501 course named KiSoek.  He's really nice.  He sat next to me in lab one day and we just started talking, I'm not really sure about what, but it was probably something about the course.  We talked to each other every Friday when we'd sit near each other in lab, and then he started to sit in the front row of class (with me) so we'd talk then too.  He's super nice, you have to understand.  He's also very Asian, has a pretty thick accent, and somewhat frequently I have trouble understanding what he's saying.  Today I had trouble when he said "fifth" as in "fifth edition" of a textbook.

One day I asked him how he got to class and he said he'd ride his bike, unless it was too cold, in which case his wife would drive him.  Wife?!  I thought he was like 24 like any other grad student.  He then said he also had kids.  KIDS?!  Gosh, how far along are you man?  Then he laughed and said, "My age is uh, 38!"  I had absolutely no clue.  He definitely doesn't look it.  I dunno if he works out or just eats well but it doesn't show.

Anyway.  His kids are like seven and nine years old.

A day or two ago his backpack got stolen.  He was working in the library and got up for a minute, and when he came back it was gone.  He talked to the library staff, then the police, but they basically said it happens all the time and there's not much they could do.  They found his backpack in the bathroom, emptied out.  They took his stat book, which I've lent to him for the night, and his computer.   We were talking about it for a minute at the HUB today, and I thought it was very sad.  He said he didn't care so much about most things - he could buy a new computer - but he mentioned that he had the "entire history" (in his words) of his kids on there.  From day one up until age nine.  And now it's all gone, and he'll probably never see any of it again.

He didn't get very emotional when he said it, but I could tell he was pretty upset.  He breathed in and looked up and sort of sighed to himself.

Peace out.

Titty Bar Lock-out

The Saturday that just passed, the drumline had a performance in Mifflinburg.  We also taught a clinic there.  We practiced on Saturday until something a little bit after 11pm, and then we were free to do what we wanted.  All the instructors went out to drink like they usually do, so Sean was in charge of turning the lights on and off.

I was totally not ready to go to bed.  I talked to Kyle, who was laying on his sweet memory foam bed for the night, and then a few other people, and ended up driving Gina, Isaac (our new bass drummer) and Kyle to Sheetz.  Kyle really really wanted a milkshake, but my car was almost so cold it made him not want one.   I kept the car warm so he would still want it.  I got a pack of purple and pink nerds, but I left them in the gym that night and forgot to get them the next day.

Anyway, after we got out of Sheetz, we had no idea what to do because it was still too early to go to sleep.  One of the other guys suggested, "Let's look for a titty bar!" and so I thought, hell, why not?  What's the worst that could possibly happen?  So I drove a couple miles down the main road in town (Rt 45) looking for anything that might be a strip club.  We eagerly read every sign we came across, particularly neon ones.  We were let down in every circumstance.  We turned around in a creepy used car lot, parked in the Mifflinburg lot, and went to the door.

We had gone to Sheetz with another car of people, and we thought they would leave the door propped open for us.  However, we were wrong.  It was pretty cold that night, and also pitch black in the parking lot because they turn all the lights out there at that school after a certain time at night to save energy.  So I was dressed alright, in a light jacket.  Gina had a bunch of layers on.  Kyle and Isaac were both wearing gym shorts if I remember correctly, but had on jackets and sweatshirts.  When we found the door was locked we just thought, "God, you must be kidding me."

So the first thing we did of course was knock loudly.  However, the gym we were staying it was three sets of doors away, so there was no way they would ever hear us.  I considered honking my car forever until they came, but never brought it up.  Isaac tried to force up a window, but that didn't work.  Kyle and Isaac had both left their phones inside, so we couldn't get to any of the numbers they had gotten because no one memorizes numbers anymore.  So we were stuck with my phone and Gina's phone.  I called the few people I knew that were inside - Cass and Sean - but neither of them answered.  Then we decided to call Laura to get some other people's numbers, so Gina called her.  She kept hanging up to give us numbers, which made Kyle really frustrated.  She gave us the number for Kate and Steve W, but neither of them answered.

Well actually, she gave us the number for SOME Steve, but not the one in drumline.  Kyle called "Steve" from Gina's phone and the guy was just like, "Dude, what?  What are you talking about?  No, this is the wrong person, sorry."  Which was great.

So it had probably been like ten minutes at this point and we were still locked out and not sure what to do.  I told Gina to go back to the car because her teeth were chattering, but she didn't want to.

Eventually, I gave in and called Tollie.  I told her we were stuck outside and someone needed to let us in, and I figured she'd have a number of a bunch of people inside to try.

A few minutes later, Alix came to let us in.  The wallet and paper we'd been using to prop the door open was nowhere to be seen.  What the hell happened?  Oh well.  Alix asked us why we were out so late and I told her, because I knew it would make her angry.

Peace out.