A Clearly Biased Review of Gator Gameday

I went to my first Gator game this past Saturday. It was a vast, orange and blue mess along University Avenue. It was slightly cool with a crisp breeze. I was not used to this type of weather for a November game at night. You see, every autumn between 2002 and 2008, I was a regular attendee of Lane Stadium in Blacksburg, VA. A night game in November would have been oppressively cold. This was different. I couldn’t help but compare my experience in and around Ben Hill Griffin Stadium to the games at Virginia Tech. Naturally, I have a bias toward my alma mater, so this comparison is clearly not objective. I’ll tell you before I even start that I have a heavy lean towards VT. Either way, here’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

The scene before the game was great. If you had blue and orange on, you were welcome everywhere. The neighborhood behind University Avenue was saturated with people throwing footballs around, playing drinking games. If I had to compare, and dare I say it, the tailgate scene in Gainesville was better in some respects than VT’s. Everyone was friendly and welcoming. However, there was much less talk about football in the tailgates than in Blacksburg. The game, at least from what I heard, was less important than other topics. Granted, UF was playing Vanderbilt. While Vandy is a fine school, football isn’t quite its thing.

As I entered the stadium, I couldn’t help but notice the sheer amount of people who were in the stands. This was the Vanderbilt game, but every seat was full. Nearly 100,000 people stacked high on top of each other; if I was on Vandy’s football team, I couldn’t help but be intimidated by the size of the stadium and the masses of people rooting against you.

I bought a turkey leg. At Lane Stadium, the turkey legs are the best stadium food I’ve ever had. They are massive. They are delicious. Florida’s turkey leg was no match for Virginia Tech’s, but I knew that the battle for Best Turkey would be a battle that Florida could not possibly win. Maybe this isn’t the fairest point of comparison. Perhaps I should compare VT turkey legs with UF gator bites. Unfortunately, I did not find a concession stand with fried gator, so sorry UF: you lose the food wars.

I was surprised at how quiet 100,000 people were. I wasn’t sitting in the student section, which seemed somewhat rowdy, but I was certain there would be much more noise in the stadium overall. Vandy’s linemen never jumped pre-emptively and the team never had to call timeout because the crowd noise made hearing the snap count impossible. Some people yelled, but not until Vandy was almost finished with their snap count. Hokie fans would be yelling throughout the opponent’s huddle, all the way through to the snap. This is true for both games against Duke-level competition and Miami-type juggernauts.

Florida’s defense was dominant. Vandy always had to check down to running backs on passing plays, and running plays, if they went anywhere, went in the wrong direction. If UF wins a third national title under Urban Meyer, it will be on the strength of its defense.

An odd thing happened in the fourth quarter. Early in the fourth, people started leaving. Not an odd occurrence at most stadiums around the country, but as the quarter went on, I was surprised that so many people left. There were empty seats everywhere by the midpoint of the fourth quarter. I have never seen so many people get up and leave this early. Was the football game less important than the post-game tailgating? I was shocked.

The tailgating was great. The football game itself was entertaining. The stadium crowd, however, was disappointing overall. There were certainly pockets of die-hard Gators who were loud and stayed in the stadium for the entire game, but most seemed to treat the football game as an interruption to their tailgating. When comparing UF and VT, Florida is clearly the more dominant football team. Over the last five years, they have been the dominant team in all of college football. When it comes to the gameday atmosphere, however, my vote goes to the Hokies.

My First Golfs

“I’d like one golf, please!”

The clubhouse attendant gave me an odd look. He clearly did not understand what I had said. I was in South Carolina, after all. Maybe the attendant had never learned to read. Perhaps my strange Virginia accent overloaded his small, primitive South Carolina brain.

A moment of clarity, and he rang me up for a round of golf. I also rented some clubs. This would be the first round of golf I had ever played.

….

“If I decide I want to play more than one round, should I say ‘golfs’, or ‘golves?’”

The rest of my foursome looked at me quizzically.

“I just don’t want to sound like an idiot.”

It was a clear, fresh, morning. Dew splashed up on my ankles as I walked up to the first tee. The sun wasn’t high enough in the sky yet to break up the clouds. My buddy, Mike, was having a golf weekend for his bachelor party. Many friends and family made the trip, including myself. I was by far the least experienced golfer of the bunch, but I felt good about today’s round. This would be a great day.

Not having my own clubs, I took my brother Stephen’s driver out from his bag and lined up my shot. Make your club an extension of your body. Just hit it straight, I thought, and the game will come to you. A wise man said that to me once. Or maybe I heard it on TV. I’m not sure which.

I swung the club around with such force that I felt my arms separating from my body. My arms! Actually, those weren’t my arms, but rather the club that I had previously made an extension of my body. I nearly hit a small child.

And whither the ball? It was there, directly straight ahead of me, a whole ten feet into the distance. A small victory, but a victory indeed.

….

I hit a sharp ground ball towards the third base line. If this were baseball, I would have gotten a solid base hit, a double if I had placed it just right. Unfortunately, this is golf. There’s no tolerance for groundballs from the tee.

“Evan, we’re not putting yet.”

Har har har! This was only the 12th time I had heard that joke today, and it was just as funny as it was the first time. I never did figure out what was wrong with my swing. I tried different approaches, different clubs. Using a strategy I learned when dealing with my life’s other obstacles, I started drinking liberally from my flask. My swing only got marginally better.

I was still wondering about my swing up until a few days ago. I looked at a group picture taken of us from the weekend-long event. I noticed one difference between my grip of the club and everyone else’s. Look at how I’m holding the club, and look at everyone else, and if you look hard enough, you’ll be able to find the difference yourself. It doesn’t seem obvious at first, but you’ll see. I think I can make one adjustment to my swing and solve everything:

Just Checking In

Blogging has definitely taken a backseat to moving and grad school. I’m in Gainesville, Florida now. The college town of college towns. Gainesville is massive when compared to Blacksburg. Nothing replaces Blacksburg for me, but there is definitely more to do here than there.

I’ve started my first semester of the Ph.D. program at UF. After three to five (god, I hope it’s three) more years of school, I will hopefully be a doctor of Journalism and Communications. Either that, or a very successful Powerball winner. I’m hoping for the latter. I’ve been doing a lot of schoolwork. I’ve definitely started many drafts of posts, but whenever I try to stretch my creative muscles, I cramp up. It’s just like when I try to play sports. Hopefully there will be some time to finish all of them. I have a lot of ideas, I just can’t summon the will to give them life.

Not that I haven’t been absent from the Interwebs. I’ve been semi-active on Twitter. I’ve also been contributing to Relatively Reviewing, the greatest media reviews blog in the history of the Internet. You should definitely click on over and read my awesome reviews.

Just checking in. I’ll try to start doing this more regularly again. Shalom.

Better Late Than Never #1 – Andrew Bird’s Noble Beast

Better Late than Never is a new feature where I write what I think about albums and/or tracks. Considering I don’t update often, and when I do, I write about other important stuff (like hamburgers), I will likely be reviewing albums and songs many months after they come out. These reviews will likely come out well after you have purchased or illegally downloaded the album, listened to it multiple times, and formed an opinion about it, so these reviews will be of no utility to you. Why you’re reading them, I don’t know. It’s your time to waste.

Noble Beast is the follow-up to Andrew Bird’s last album Armchair Apocrypha, a very good album in its own right. Fortunately,  Noble Beast proves to be another great folk-influenced indie rock effort from Bird.

One of Bird’s hallmarks is finding rich melodies and harmonies within a simple basic chord progression. Violin, guitar, and whistling embellishments over a simple chord progression characterize Noble Beast, resulting in complex, catchy songs. Album opener “Oh No” best characterizes this in its first minute; violin swells over a two-chord, plucked acoustic guitar progression at first, then the violins give way to Bird’s whistling.

Many standout tracks appear. “Anonanimal” surprises with its unconventional structure and tongue-twisting lyrics. The lyrics should not be too much of a surprise for people who have followed Bird’s career. In most instances, it seems he focuses on how the words sound rather than what they mean. “Tenuousness” features a plucked, distorted electric violin and a tempo that soldiers on. “Souverian” carries forward simply and elegantly while Bird laments that “though thrushes sing/still my lover won’t return to me,” a rare moment of comprehensibility in Bird’s lyrics. The song then codas into a rich instrumental, sounding like something from The Soft Bulletin.

Only a couple tracks seem to “Effigy,” while a solid song by itself, slows the album down too much, especially after the energy of “Fitz and the Dizzyspells.” “Nomenclature” seems to lull for the majority of the song. Even the closing swell seems forced.

However, even Noble Beast’s worst is far and away better than many artists’ best work. While some people may be put off by some of Bird’s quirks (particularly the lyrics), those people would be missing out on a very good indie/folk record.

When Robots Attack

Ah, the wilderness. Camping and hiking in the woods is a favorite pasttime of mine. Not as good as, say, playing video games or sitting down, but still up there. On my list, it’s in between playing basketball and staring at the sun (my personal record is 18 seconds before my eyes start to burn).

While camping in your favorite national park is indeed fun, there are some things you have to look out for. Take proper care of any campfires you make. Watch out for bears. Bring bug spray. But most of all, take all necessary precautions in the event you encounter wild robots.

Robots in the wild differ greatly from their domesticated counterparts. While years of training have tempered domesticated robots’ hatred of humans, wild robots are just as hostile to people as they were hundreds, thousands of years ago. There have been multiple cases in the last year alone of wild robot attacks. Many are fatal.

Of course, municipalities and national parks have done their best to keep feral robots away from natural areas, but no place is completely secure. Given the current economic crisis, national parks can no longer emit electromagnetic pulses as often as they used to. However, there are a few easy steps you can take to keep yourself safe from a wild robot attack.

1) Be Alert. If you are like many people, you may become so engrossed in the natural ambiance of your surroundings–birds chirping, the wind rustling through the leaves–that you completely miss the metallic-sounding “DESTROY ALL HUMANS” in the distance. Enjoy nature, but be observant.

2) Avoid Confrontation. Under no circumstances should you try to attract a wild robot’s attention. Even the strongest man has no chance against a robot’s inhuman strength. If you hear or see a robot in the distance, proceed away from the robot as quickly and quietly as you can.

3) Arm Yourself. You should make sure you are properly armed whenever you visit a location that has a high wild robot population. While many weapons are only available to licensed robot hunters (contact your state’s wildlife and gaming commission for details), there is still a variety of laser pistols, explosives, and localized electronics scrambling devices available to the general consumer.

4) Do Not Climb A Tree To Escape A Robot. While it is common knowledge that robots can not climb trees (with the obvious exception of the now-domesticated Tree Climber Bot 5000), it is not the wisest choice in escaping certain death. Many wild robots are equipped with lasers, and can aim them with pinpoint accuracy. A few robots may even be powerful enough to simply knock the tree over, sending you tumbling as well! Unless you inflict significant damage to the wild robot’s solar power cells, it will wait indefinitely for you to tire and fall out of the tree.

5) Use Logic Traps. Try to propose a logical puzzle from which the robot will not recover. You may have to think quickly, which may be difficult to do in a crisis situation. For example, you could say to a robot, “You are programmed to destroy all humans. You are also attempting to beat me with the human arm you just tore from my body. Since you are using a human weapon, therefore you are partially human. Since you are programmed to destroy all humans, you must destroy yourself.” Use your quick, human wit to overcome a robot’s cold, hard logic.

I have only provided a few tips here which I’ve gained from my own experience. Of course, there are several more tips out there from other seasoned veterans. Please provide your own tips in the comments section. Every life lost to a wild robot attack is one life too many.

Next!

I have no idea what happened to the previous two years. In between stacks of journal articles, making sense of complex (and often convoluted) research, feelings of overwhelming dread and panic writing papers late into the night, and piecing together what would eventually become my thesis, it was easy to lose track of time. Along with the demands of teaching public speaking, I always had plenty to do. Looking at my ‘to do’ list was always a soul-crushing experience.

Not that there wasn’t any fun had along the way. Me and the other grad students in the communication department bonded because of the plain and simple fact that we all faced the same gargantuan tasks. Instead of the unhealthy competitiveness one hears about going on in other graduate programs, we all propped each other up. We were a team of extraordinary people, united to accomplish the common good (like the Justice League).

Now, it’s almost over. In two days I will defend my master’s thesis, and pending my committee’s approval, I’ll earn my master’s degree and move on to the next chapter of my life. It’s difficult to imagine myself finally leaving Blacksburg. I’ve lived here for six years; four years for undergrad, then a year-long intermission, then finally two years for grad school. I’ll certainly miss this town, and I hope to come visit often.

So about what’s next…you know that first part of this post about how stressful graduate school is? The anguish? The despair? The nights when you run on coffee and/or Red Bull to get that paper just right? Well, I must be a glutton for punishment. I’ve decided to pursue my Ph.D. in communication at the University of Florida. I’ll be moving there later this summer (speaking of which, anyone have a room to rent in Gainesville?).

So that’s where I’m headed next. It’s been fun, Blacksburg, but it’s time for me to move on.

The Voice of Reason

Recently, two of my dumbest colleagues (G.I. Joe and Lord Nerdington the Third) have debated the merits and drawbacks of crossword puzzles and sudoku.  Relatively Journalizing seems to think crosswords are superior, while NUFAH has given sudoku its endorsement.

Not that theirs is a ringing endorsement.  Both Josh and Alex put the “F. U” in “fun;” the “bad man” in “show us on the doll where the bad man touched you.”

It’s time for the most important voice in this debate to be heard: me.  However, it’s important for me to establish some ethical ground rules for myself, which hopefully Josh and Alex will abide by as well.  

I promise I will not resort to ad hominem attacks in my debate with these two assholes.  Nor will I resort to distorting facts and blowing things out of proportion.  I know we will have a productive, intelligent conversation.

…

Who plays games with paper and pencil anymore?  Two groups still do, ignoring all the advances in technology we’ve made.  The first group is D & D nerds.  They choose to use their ‘imagination’ with their own ‘brains, usually in the comforts of their mothers’ basement. This is a terribly inefficient use of cognitive resources, which you will see later. 

The second group?  Crossworders and Sudoku-jerks.  These people are the scum of the earth.  Paper and pencil?  Words and numbers?  Please.  We have made incredible advances in gaming technology.  We can virtually travel through realistic, beautifully rendered, three-dimensional worlds.  We can save the world, or choose to destroy it.  We can perform a  Chocolate-Thunder-Flying, Robinzine-Crying, Teeth-Shaking, Glass-Breaking, Rump-Roasting, Bun-Toasting, Wham-Bam, Glass-Breaker-I-Am-Jam, or push it back out for a wide-open three.

Before, the only limit to our imaginations was grim, harsh reality.  We couldn’t really do all the things we wish we could do.  But now, through the science (and perhaps, magic) of video games, we can make our imaginations come to life.  We no longer have to waste precious brain power for recreational purposes.  We can devote the cognitive resources we free up through video games to solving more pressing global issues.

Of course, fun isn’t free.  You must have a television, a gaming console or computer, and gaming software, which can add up to a lot of cash.  Quite frankly though, if you don’t have money, you don’t deserve to have fun.  Only poor people think crosswords and sudoku could possibly be fun.  It’s a proven fact that I’ve said a lack of money leads to smaller brain mass and lower cognitive abilities.  Also, I hate poor people, and you should too.

As a final point, do you play crosswords and sudoku?  No, you would sound stupid if you said that.  First, because you imply you like those “games.”  Second, because you don’t play crosswords and sudoku.  You solve crosswords and sudoku.  How can those even be called games if you can’t play them?

So do you want to believe Alex and Josh, go to their decrepit cardboard box homes under the bridge,  be stupid, and solve crossword and sudoku puzzles all day?  Or do you want to embrace the future, plop down some dough, and play the latest, greatest, games ever made: video games?  I think you know the answer.

(For any poor people who know how to read and somehow got access to a computer and aren’t quite smart enough to figure out the answer, the answer is video games.)

My Top 100 Songs (at the moment)

For no reason whatsoever, I decided to put a list of my 100 favorite songs on here.  There were several problems, however.

Every time I sat down to make the list, scrolling through my music library, I would inevitably come up with a list of about 4 or 500 songs.  In addition, new music would come out all the time, with potential adds to the list.

Finally, I had to sit down and say enough is enough.  What are the songs that I would listen to every time they were played?  Even then, this list isn’t perfect.  It’s tainted by the biases of the present: what am I into now?  Sometimes everything must rock, other times everything must be introspective, and so on and so forth.  Everything on this list is subject to change, probably as soon as five minutes after I post it.

This list is also personally biased toward indie/hipster rock.  That’s just most of what I like.  Regardless, feel free to leave comments: praise inclusions, act bewildered over exclusions, be boggled over inclusions, suggest your own.

Here we go.  Evan’s top 100 songs at this very moment:

Andrew Bird – Heretics
Animal Collective – Fireworks
Arcade Fire – Rebellion(Lies)
Beastie Boys – Sabotage
Bebel Gilberto – Samba e Amor
Beck – Lost Cause
Beck – Tropicalia
Belle and Sebastien – Piazza, New York Catcher
Black Sabbath – War Pigs
Blackalicious – Brain Washers
Bob Dylan – Simple Twist of Fate
Bob Marley – Buffalo Soldier
Brazilian Girls – Sweatshop
Brian Wilson – Heroes and Villains
Broadcast – Corporeal
Broken Social Scene – Lover’s Spit
Built to Spill – Untrustable, Pt. 2
Caetano Veloso – You Don’t Know Me
Cat Power – I Don’t Blame You
Constantines – On to You
David Bowie – Queen Bitch
Death Cab for Cutie – Company Calls
Decemberists – Of Angels and Angles
Dick Dale – Miserlou
Dinosaur, Jr. – Freak Scene
Dismemberment Plan – That’s When the Party Started
Dismemberment Plan – The Face of the Earth
Do Make Say Think – The Universe!
Ella Fitzgerald – Prelude to a Kiss
Elliot Smith – Ballad of Big Nothing
Flaming Lips – Do You Realize??
Foo Fighters – Times Like These
Fugazi – Give Me the Cure
Gal Costa – Vou Recomecar
Guided By Voices – Game of Pricks
Jamie Lidell – Another Day
Jeff Buckley – Hallelujah
Jimi Hendrix – All Along the Watchtower
Jimi Hendrix – Voodoo Child
Joanna Newsom – Emily
LCD Soundsystem – All My Friends
Joy Division – She’s Lost Control
M. Ward – Chinese Translation
M.I.A. – Paper Planes
Magnetic Fields – I Don’t Believe You
Marvin Gaye – Sexual Healing
Modest Mouse – Third Planet
Modest Mouse – Wild Packs of Family Dogs
My Bloody Valentine – Sometimes
Neil Young – Hey Hey, My My
Neko Case – The Needle Has Landed
Neutral Milk Hotel – In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
Nirvana – All Apologies
Os Mutantes – Baby
Otis Redding – (Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay
Pavement – Cut Your Hair
Pearl Jam – Elderly Woman Behind the Counter In A Small Town
Pearl Jam – Who You Are
Pearl Jam – Wishlist
Pink Floyd – Wish You Were Here
Pixies – Mr. Grieves
Portastatic – Song for a Clock
Portishead – The Rip
Prince – Darling Nikki
Q and not U – Book of Flags
Queens of the Stone Age – God is in the Radio
Radiohead – Idioteque
Radiohead – Karma Police
Radiohead – Morning Bell
Radiohead – Reckoner
R.E.M. – It’s the End of the World As We Know It
Sleater-Kinney – You’re No Rock and Roll Fun
Sonic Youth – Dirty Boots
Sonic Youth – Teenage Riot
Sonic Youth – Dripping Dream
Spoon – You Got Yr Cherry Bomb
Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks – 1% of One
Sublime – We’re Only Gonna Die For Our Own Arrogance
Sufjan Stevens – Casimir Pulaski Day
Superchunk – 1000 Pounds
Superchunk – Driveway to Driveway
Ted Leo and the Pharmacists – The Ballad of the Sin Eater
The Beatles – A Day in the Life
The Beatles – Helter Skelter
The Beatles – Revolution
The Clash – The Guns of Brixton
The Go! Team – Junior Kickstart
The New Pornographers – Execution Day
The Ramones – Blitzkrieg Bop
The Rolling Stones – Sympathy for the Devil
The Talking Heads – Once in a Lifetime
The Who – My Generation
Thin Lizzy – Jailbreak
TV on the Radio – Lover’s Day
TV on the Radio – Staring at the Sun
Vampire Weekend – Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa
Weezer – Surf Wax America
Wilco – I’m Always in Love
Wilco – Poor Places
Wilco – The Late Greats

Tell me what you think.

The Coldest Night in Blacksburg, Part 2, by my undead zombie self

Brains.  Braiiiiiiiiiins.  Brains brains brains.  Brains brains brains, brains brains brains.

BRAINS?! BRAINS!!!

Braaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiins.  B-R-A-I-N-S, BRAINS!  Brains brains brains brains, brains.  Brains?  Brains?  Brains.  Brains brains brains brains.

“Brains, brains brains brains brains?”

“Brains.”

Brains, brains, brains brains brains brains brains.

Brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains brains.

Brains.

The Coldest Night In Blacksburg

When I wake up in the morning, it is always a little chilly.  My room is colder than all the other rooms in the house, and I expect that.  Sunday morning, nursing a slight hangover, I woke up and saw my breath.

My breath?!  What the hell?  I put on my hoodie and crawled back into bed.  I was too lazy to check the thermostat, so I bundled up, got some extra blankets, and went back to sleep.  Not for long though.  I woke up again, colder than I was before.  What’s going on?

The roommates were away doing whatever.  I checked the thermostat.  It was as low as it could go, 50 degrees, but it felt even colder than that.  The heat, unfortunately, was turned on.  Whatevs, a circuit breaker must have tripped, I thought.  I checked the switch.  Nothing.  My household heat had gone away, leaving me to deal with the cold, cruel Blacksburg winter.

I immediately thought of my roommates.  They were gone.  No notes.  Nothing.  Had they done the unthinkable?  Had they abandoned me in the middle of winter, shutting off the heat in the house as a cruel, final prank?  I called one of them.  I had to know.

“Hey Evan, what’s up?”

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!  IT’S FUCKING FREEZING IN HERE! MAKE THE HEAT COME BACK!!!”

“What?”

“PICO IS CRYING BECAUSE IT’S TOO COLD!  MAKE THE HEAT TURN BACK ON!”

(Pico is my roommate’s cat.  She probably wasn’t concerned about the cold.   She also wasn’t crying, but was meowing constantly and annoyingly.  She was probably just hungry.)

“Calm down, just check the thermostat and if that doesn’t work, call the-”

I hung up the phone.  Of course, my roommate was panicking and couldn’t calm herself down to deal with this tragedy logically and effectively.  I would have to take matters into my own hands.

The first thing I would need to survive the cold, harsh Blacksburg winter in a house with no heat was a steady supply of food.  Freezing, I’m okay with; starving, however, is completely beneath me and I would have none of that nonsense.  I looked around.  I saw Pico sitting there, staring at me, and meowing.  I’ve briefly considered the cat as an emergency supply of nutrition before.  Now, it seemed like this hypothetical situation would turn into a reality.

But then I realized I had plenty of Ramen noodles and Chef Boyardee in the kitchen.  I could live off that for a while.  Pico, you’re safe for now.  Looking back, I could never cook you and eat you Pico.  You’re always the first one at the door when I come home, meowing your approval of my existence.  Me and my reliable, trustworthy, mentally-challenged feline friend would have to survive the winter together.

I sent Pico to look for firewood, but she insisted on getting strung out on catnip first.  Drugs have been an ongoing problem for Pico, and I really hope that by me making this public, she will finally get some help.  In the meantime, I would have to find firewood and kindling myself.  I found a bunch of wood outside, and some papers with words on them in a drawer in the kitchen.  I gathered the wood and kindling in a pile on the living room floor as I held a piece of paper in my hand, ready to light it with a match.  Before I could, I received a text from my roommate.

‘Call the realtor for emergency maintenance.  Number’s on the lease.’

The lease!  Of course!  I looked at the piece of paper in my hand, finding various clauses about rental terms as well as someone’s signature that looked uncannily like mine.  My signature!  This must be the lease!

I called for maintenance, and someone came promptly.  He asked what the deal was with the pile of sticks.

“Nothing.”

Unfortunately, after working at it for a while, he announced that he needed a part he would have to order.  He left me with three small space heaters and bade me farewell.  He would return the next day.  In the meantime, my roommates, Pico, and I would have to survive the long cold night ahead…

…

Will I survive the coldest night in Blacksburg with no heat?  You’ll have to wait until I write the next post to find out!  Or, uh, if my ghost or undead zombie self writes the next post.  Stay tuned!