Raton-ment of Sins (Transgressed and otherwise)

Hello,
Hey there everyone and it's good to see you to, this week has been progressing for me quite nicely and I hope that same is the case for you, and if it wasn't, quit trying to bring me down. Your always doing that.
Introductions being what they are, and I hope you don't mind the slight insult, it's good to be at a computer blogging. Sometimes, as I have alluded to in other posts, things only seem right when you have html to bow and blow (specifically blow) to your every whim. I create fact and recoil fiction. I claim and I stutter aplenty both with equal weight. I write sins not tragedies. That is something that just doesn't happen in your everyday world. Nay, this blog is a lot like Boca Raton, you can hear claims that Amerigo Vaspuci invented the phonograph and it smells vaguely like death.
But enough pontification (note: there will be nothing but pontification from this point out) let us dive into the real matter and hue of this post. That beast is named, standardized testing. A necessary evil? Yes. The equivalent of a hepatitis infected crude brained substitute math teacher breathing on you? Perhaps. Either way it's not to pleasant and when one runs into it, preparation have to have been made. Therefore, in the pursuit of heeding my own advice I have poured a little into investing in the LSAT and we'll see how it goes. Hopefully, in subsequent blogs I can share the victory story of my conquering, but more likely I'll be begging for anyone out there on the wire to give me a job. Either way I'll be losing some dignity (implied there is EVERY lawyer joke you've ever heard).
Truthfully though, and beware readers truth can be an ugly thing in a blog dedicated to its opposite, the thing that really terrifies me, as vanilla as this sounds, is that it quantifies me. There, I said it. This test relegates me to number. With that comes several implications. First off, it validates Johnny Rivers (......and given you a number) which is loathsome, but mainly it concretely ties me to a relative value distinguishable from my peers. For instance, I may know (incredibly enough) someone who may out perform me on this test. Ipso facto, it reveals, with a certain degree of certainty, my ranking in the world. Which runs contrary to my life position thus far of rankings based on unintelligible scales of which I define the determinants and have perennially ranked number uno (it's a system based mainly on your store of jelly beans). As you can see, its a quite frightening proposition to switch systems now.
That is not to say though, that I'm absolutely going to law school. Right now, it sounded wise to take the test and so I'm doing it. In no small part because I have interests in doing it, but also because ( and I also have trouble admitting this as well) I really am not that interested at the moment in seein the Dilbert version of myself, no matter what the future paycheck may hold.
Well, now that I feel like I've exposed myself (figuratively, if I did literally you'd KNOW IT) I'd like to close with my actual thoughts on standardized testing.
Premise 1- There is almost no other way to gauge students on equal footing.
Response 1- Okay.
Premise 2- I hate it.
Response 2- I hate it and I wish I had more jellybeans.

Thanks for listening.
Cheers all,
A.J.S.

Hypodermic Hippo Hippie Hopeful

Yo,

It's with a renewed vigor that I come at y'all this time. Better buckle up, this motherfucker's about to get wild.
Actually I always want to start every blog off with that and never do, so now that it's done I guess I can move onto to other topics that don't involve calling the Andrones mother'a a fuck, but beware it is about to get wild.
So how have you been? I've been okay, although my typing skills seem to be somewhat deterioting. It's interesting, so much (actually very little) goes into this blog but it's something that you, the reader, might never be aware of. You know, the haphazard keystrokes, the indefinable love, the stopping to read Tom Tomorrow's new comic, all of this is the process in which you are, hopelessly and forever, in the dark about, is what makes this what it is.
However, I guess there is something that I could do about it. I suppose I could share what goes into a blog, but that, taking note from countless droning sitcoms, smacks of both Sabrina the Teenage Witch and bad ratings, and despite having both of those going on at this time I'm putting it into my personal manifesto to not reveal the Fountain of Blog Secrets. Sorry Squad de Leon.
That being said though, I suppose it brings me to the topic of today, city living. While admittedly Athens is no Gotham there is something to be mentioned regarding living in a place that neither has a front or backyard; or anything that might in any fashion resemble step by step (for you out there counting that's two TGIF references in this update so far, see if you can catch the previous one and I think I'll try and drop one more in). Chiefly, that something is difference. It's not huge, sometimes its barely noticeable, but just like the illuminated Miller Lite sign, glowing neon above your booth, it adds and detracts to your experience's without really leaving a lasting impression on the scene.
That is not to indicate at all, that there aren't some glaring impressionable differences. Most notably is the necessity of clothing. A certain disclaimer I feel is in order here. I have never, to my face, been labeled as anything close to an exhibitionist (although most times I fancy myself one, but it really just means I like pre-season football) but living in the the context of everyone else's "workaday," world means some things up front. First, pajamas are exposed. Whilst I've never been called an exhibitionist something that I have been called with a certain amount of regularity is a man whom doesn't exactly plan out his bedroom attire. What makes that important is that, and I'm sure I am not the only one out there, when there is a need to go out doors, to take the trash out for example, one must now be aware of the fact that you are in the middle of everyone else's day. What worked in the spaces and shadows of your bedroom, no longer cuts the mustard at 12 noon on a busy street. Sorry tickle me elmo but you're going to have to stay upstairs.

There are, of course, several other distinct drawbacks, but most of them have other positive sides. Yes there is the sounds of the outside world, but although I freely admit it would drive some people crazy (just so you know as I type this I just heard a man passing my window talking on the phone about how he has to take a piss) but for me, it makes me feel vital and connected. But then again, I do have notoriously low self esteem, but at least I have a tickle me elmo. In your face Christmas of 2001.

I suppose that's about all for now sports fan, but keeps your eyes and ears tuned. Stay Keen Jelly Bean.


A.J.S.