One Sweet Pyramid

Maybe you've been there. You start with a foundation of Sugar in the Raw, then add some Domino super structure, and climax with a crest of Sweet'n Low, only to see your sugar packet pyramid crash to the floor like ancient Egyptian ruins.

I know every time I've tried to build a pyramid out of sugar packets, it has ended like 'Pirates of the Caribbean 2,' leaving me tired, bored, and wondering what a sugar-covered Keira Knightley tastes like.

Then I saw it done. When Justine completed her tiered temple, our table clapped, and then the adjacent table, and then the table adjacent to them. Soon, everyone in the diner was either gazing in awe at her architecture, or continuing to quietly eat their breakfast, having not noticed the feat at all.

Once the meal arrived, we equipped our forks, knives, napkins and went to town on what turned out to be a delicious rebuttal to our previous night of drinking. My egg sandwich on a bagel with jalapeno jack cheese (mmmmm) was worth the wait, but this made it that much sweeter. And when Justine did eventually knock it down, I realized that a sugar-covered Keira Knightley probably tastes like a Sour-Patch Kid.

Haiku Monday: Screw-Phew

A fallen screw is

Hard to find, like a needle

In a haystack. There! What luck.

But actually, it took me thirty minutes of searching the same six square feet to find the screw that fell from my glasses. Like when you forget your homework and give the teacher your spiel, but she doesn't believe a word of it, finding a tiny sucker like that screw brings the kind of relief you get when you discover the assignment in another folder. A boo-yah moment.

*Screw city by Pasukaru76

Morning Routine

Three weeks into school and I'd say I've got it down. Wake up at eight when my roommate does. Groggily wish him good luck. Back to sleep. Wake up forty-five minutes later when my alarm goes off. Snooze it. Snooze it. Snooze it. Out of bed at nine.

Shower shoes on. Grab keys, soap, and shampoo. On the way to the bathroom, lock the door. Double check (we have a burgeoning collection of homies; losing them would be heart-breaking). In the bathroom: keys next to sink, hang towel, soap and shampoo on the shower-side counter, turn the knob 315 degrees counter-clockwise, use the toilet while the water gets hot. Enter shower. Black out for twenty minutes. Emerge, clean.

Dry off. In the room: undies, socks, pants, shoes, belt, shirt. I've got Time to kill. I don my dynamic-titanium super suit, custom designed by a freshman wizkid in the engineering school. Hop out the window, activate thrusters and take off. Coast.

Scanning the campus below, I see students rushing to class, some walking, others power walking, still more trotting, and the rest in full sprint. No Time in sight. I land by an old oak where a family of chipmunks scurries, collecting acorns for the coming cold. No Time at all. I notice an impatient classroom of students, packed up to go and anxiously waiting for their professor to finish her last thought. Where did Time go? I take off again, this time thrusting from rooftop to rooftop, noticing the effortless lifestyles of the pigeons eating yesterday's cornbread from a dumpster, pecking their lives away, when I see him.

I quickly change course, increasing my altitude dramatically. I calculate a strategic trajectory and adjust my body into a dive. The wind bites my face as I approach terminal velocity. I point my toes and prepare to land. I roll, springboarding my body into a flying kick. I land Time square in the 12 on his forehead. Taking advantage of the element of surprise, I follow up with an uppercut. But Time slows down. I can't reach him in time. He catches my fist with his seconds hand and in seconds (I know because I kept an eye on that hand) I find my body shattering through a brick wall. As I recover, Time flies.

I get to my feet, punch my thruster, but all I get is smoke and empty whirring sounds. I check my watch. Late for class. I race back to my room. Grab my books, throw them in my knapsack, zip up and hotfoot it to Barnum hall. Only five minutes late. What a routine.

P.S. Isn't it refreshing to read something that isn't a haiku?

P.P.S. The moral? Time flies when you're having fun.

*Pics from D'Arcy Norman and zappowbang

Haiku Monday: Ultimate Motivators

During wars they fail,

But sometimes bloggers just need

An ultimatum.

*Ultimatum from hashc0de

Haiku Monday: CMD-Z can't undo tardiness

This? A late Haiku.

Tuesday's post looks like Monday's.

Magic? Illusion.

*Cmd-z from mhpd

The week in pictures

I won't be able to write anything today, so instead I offer you a gold mine of diversion. MSNBC has a continuing feature called The Week in Pictures, where they summarize the week in a series of photographs.

Check out a couple weeks worth, and I'm sure you'll bookmark this page. A lot of the pics evoke strong emotional responses, others are truly stunning. Best of all, they do offer a fairly comprehensive look at the week's news, which, if you're short on time, is quite a bit faster than reading a newspaper. Enjoy. (Warning: some of the photos feature graphic images. The site has done a pretty good job of flagging them, but I recommend approaching with caution anyway.)

Ten things that got left behind

Home a day early from Cape Cod, I reflect on the things we left behind.

10. A television remote with a missing battery cover that only works when the batteries are spun while changing channels.

9. A baby dragonfly, stuck between two window panes, avoiding the sentinel spider guarding the only passage to freedom.

8. A plastic shovel, half-buried in sand, forgotten by an overweight child who accidentally ditched it after catching wind of plans to get ice cream after the beach.

7. A rare edition buffalo nickel, worth over fifty dollars, left in a bedside drawer where it was meant to be kept safe until the owner travelled home, and where it was kept safe long after that time passed.

6. A locked bicycle chain, attached to a public bike rack, with the only person knowing its combination long gone.

5. An empty bag of kettle cooked potato chips, apparently bobbing on the surface of a manmade lake, but actually caught on a log which is itself bobbing.

4. Fried clams, dropped underneath a picnic table, soon to be carried away by a band of ambitious ants.

3. A brochure for a $2.00 t-shirt outlet, thrown away out a car window on Route 6.

2. Half a jelly donut, resting on a display counter, stale and crusting from years exposed to the salty air of a bayside coffee shop.

1. The memories of a five year old boy, faded and replaced by action movies and special effects, to be restored fifteen years later on a family trip to the same locale.

Inspired, in part, by the This American Life episode, Plan B.

*Pictures by tipiro and moty66

High tide's a "beach"

Sometimes you're at the beach, promoting your blog, when the ocean crashes your party and erases all your hard work.

'Twas all gone five minutes after that last picture was taken. Apparently, nature brakes for no one.

Five things to look at

I'm exhausted. Here are five things to check out (in no particular order).

5. Running the numbers (for anyone who has ever lived in the United States)

Edit: Suggested by KPG (who by now you're getting to know pretty well)

4. Build an atom (for the chemistry nerds)

3. Sidewalk chalk guy (for the alternatively artistic)

2. Sculptures in motion (for the modern futurists)

1. Transparent screens (for the awe-inspired)

(Good night)

We're under arrest

This happened a couple weeks back but is still worth dramatizing. Details are fictional; the story is pure truth.

Statesville, North Carolina.

The pier was quiet. A group of high schoolers stroll along the boardwalk, one balancing on the railing alongside the rest. A couple sits on a wooden bench, enjoying the sunset and wondering whether the ships on the horizon are coming home or heading out to sea. A teenage boy in a yellow collared shirt leans over the counter of a frozen banana stand, bored from having sold only five bananas in as many hours. A young man in a track jacket stands at the end of the pier, a drawstring backpack hanging off his shoulder. He apprehensively watches two men approaching. The two men walk slowly. One of the men is wearing a blue suede jacket with matching shoes, the other an oversized cotton t-shirt and baggy washed out jeans. The men stop near the banana stand where one makes a phone call. Hanging up with a satisfied look, they continue along the wooden planks.

The track jacket meets the suede and cotton half way along the length of the pier. The suede pulls out a roll of twenty dollars bills. The track jacket strips off the rubber band holding them bound and counts the money. All there. He pulls open the drawstring of his pack and pulls out a brown paper bag. He hands it to the cotton. The cotton looks inside and hands the bag to his companion.

In an instant, the suede reaches inside his jacket, and the track jacket too reaches for his pocket, just when the cotton pulls a pistol out of his jeans waistband. The track jacket freezes, hand still inside his pocket. The cotton motions with his gun for the track jacket to show his hands. The track jacket complies. The suede pulls out a gold badge, indicating he's a detective for the Statesville Police Department. The track jacket smiles and again reaches for his pocket. The cotton, moving quickly, grabs the track jacket's forearm and wraps it around his back, resting his gun at the junction of his spine and skull. The suede thrusts a hand into the track jacket's pocket and pulls out a star-shaped badge. Confusion replaces the attentive looks on suede and cotton's faces. Words are exchanged. The track jacket explains that he's from the sheriff's office. The cotton releases his grip.

Undercover cops arresting each other; tax-payer's dollars well spent. This happened.

*Pier by alan2onion, money roll by zzzack