Post-devouring three oatmeal chocolate chip cookies(with grated Hershey Kisses sprinkled on top), a glass of milk, a bowl of Life cereal, and a slice of cheese, I decided it was time to hit the gym.
Fortunately and unfortunately, I misplaced my key to the gym. Which leaves me here.
Yesterday I waited in line in the snow for a whole 45 minutes to hear Jesse Jackson speak at the U of I.
(Blurred picture below)
Let me reitterate: 45 minutes. In the snow. In line. Alone.
Why you ask?
Well, partially because Jesse Jackson is a well-known civil rights activist who was standing next to(near?) MLK Jr. when he was shot…I think. Partially because, once upon a time, he ran for president. Partially because he is a Baptist minister and I may or may not have been seriously hoping we would all clap and swing and sway and sing. But primarily because he has his own South Park. And all people who have their own South Park are worth standing in line for(for 45 minutes…in the snow…alone).
As I was waiting in line(for 45 minutes…in the snow…alone), three large, important-looking men were talking. Since they looked important(two of them had beards, the other was wearing a jacket with fur), I strained my ear through my too-tight parka to hear.
They were talking about MySpace.
“It’s being sold, you know?” bearded man #1 said to the others.
“The government should just integrate FaceBook and MySpace together. Making MyBook…or FaceSpace!” furry coat man retorted (I said they looked wise, not witty).
“…is it just me, or is that girl in the parka staring at us?” bearded man #2 whispered.
…and that is when I stopped listening and, apparently, staring and was sent back into a fit of nostalgia.
Do you remember when you would spend hours upon hours on your profile? Finding the perfect background(I remember I liked a boy in the 7th grade and his MySpace background was a scantily clad girl in a scantily clad bikini…hormones…!), adding songs, rearranging top friends(I was in a few people’s ‘Top 4’, n.b.d.)?!
I miss those days.
But actually, not really.
Curse you Tom!
Oh, and Jesse Jackson was good. I forget almost everything he said because I was focused on keeping a safe distant between me and the frat boys who unwillingly sat right behind me(if I leaned too far back, frat boy #4 would be straddling me; if I leaned too far forward, crack might kill frat boys #1, 2, 3, and 4) and simultaneously looking over the quirky Asian girl’s shoulder and reading her surprisingly juicy texts about ‘laundry day’ and ‘Super Walmart’ (code? I submit yes).
And yes, I did refrain from asking him if he enjoyed his South Park.
In other news, San Diego in T-Minus 2 weeks and a hair cut tomorrow.