It's a bleak Sunday morning in Charlottesville, and I, Erik A. Silk, am a bit scared. Yeah. I'm not so much scared of not having a future, whether or not I should be.
I was doing some calculations. As it turns out, I have two soapboxes left to rant upon in this fine publication, so I'd better make the most of them.
A friend of mine picked Davidson to go all the way in his tournament bracket, and so far, he's doing pretty well.
On my most recent Spring Break, aboard a Carnival Cruise liner comprised of maybe 65 percent old people and 35 percent thirsty college students (fascinating social dynamic, I'll tell you about it later), I engaged in a lively debate with a young lady from North Carolina.
This time a year ago, I was somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, fresh out of Brazil's Carnaval and en route to South Africa, to date my favorite country that I have visited.
I recently had the good fortune to come across a new interweb service that is meant to cater primarily to college students, but also to dirty high schoolers and old-people!
So I was perusing my local newspaper and noted that the forecast called for snow. (This was of course far in the past, as this publication requires that we submit our columns several months before printing). I began to think, "Maybe I ought to write about how snow isn't the same now that school never gets canceled here," but that didn't work, for two reasons: 1.
Man, it's been a rough several days, and I'm not even doing the obligatory whining about finals. My car was wrecked (was it my fault?
It was a worst-case scenario. The Sudoku was far easier than anticipated for the mid-week, leaving me with a solid 40 minutes of remaining class time.
Second week of fifth grade, late 1996. New school, new teacher, nervous kid. Art/history assignment entailing creating your own personal sarcophagus.
