Friday, April 20, 2007

Abe Vigoda's envelope


There were whispers. On my ear hung a clinging truth: That tonight would yield a visit from the Mid-town Magi, in an undisclosed form. We finished the obviously piano-sized drinks at the BBQ eatery, only to decide that more would not be less. We skated through the revolving door, greeted by the crisp autumn breeze. Downtown bound. We cage fought with our musings; using half-nelson's of diatribe, and suplex's of supposition.

In between gnashing at the rim of our Sapporo deuce-deuce's, we detected that we were being tailed. We ducked into an inlet of stairs and rails, tucked inside the crotch of a building. The ashen pavement, still thick with the sweat caused by sister sun's departure, gleamed like distant a headlamp in the alabaster glow of the streetlight. Covered in the sheets of sound emanating from the avenue, footfalls presented themselves. They clod and clamored at the sidewalk. In them you could hear history. Of red carpet, pauses for pictures and questions, the pull of the arm urging them to enter some black tie event.


Visibly shaken, we both started to feel cold. A thin veneer covered our eyes, gone misty like maternal movie pairings of menstruation and "Terms of Endearment." We started to shed tears. Enough to fill half of my favorite snowglobes. And then, there in front of us on 72nd in between Lex and 3rd, in a somber midnight procession, was Abe Vigoda. We had entered his envelope. Behind him a cloud of shapes followed. Apparitions of Inuit shaman carried a 12 foot totem pole, emblazoned with the faces of the fallen: Raul Julia, Ruth Buzzy, Siskel. Me and my company started to rise, and almost joined the slow dirge marching to some hideous unheard drum. I scrambled for the last real object I had; my Sapporo Deuce. I threw it into the air. Explosions of Asian celebratory dragons sparked through the space between us, illuminating the avenue like a second Venus.

In a glimpse, it had all ended. Abe Vigoda scooted across Lexington. Billows of steam surrounded his exit, as the 6 train blew towards 77th. We had never before, or again been in his dominion. But good luck does not surround the unprepared. We had Sapporo Deuce happy-sureheadedness on our side. However to the unaware, Vigoda's envelope can be quite treacherous.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

RoBot Prom


by Jenny Bandwith

Hey Eagles!

If we were given the ability to feel, how amazing would you be doing it right now?

Enchanted Ratios, this year’s RoBot Prom––the culmination of years of data downloads, specification alignment, and nervously awaiting those monthly systems check––was a delicious success. So tasty in fact, that if we could taste, we would all be savoring the sweet aftereffects of a time now irrelevant. But now, the matriculation towards a college upgrade looms and many of us can’t stop calculating for the future. In short, never has the math of tomorrow stung so enchantedly against the metal of our bodies, mind, and processors. That’s what RoBot Prom is all about.

Jonald Capacitor and Stiffinay Gridlock took home the crowns and the gowns known only to RoBot Prom royalty. Jonald, a chess champion and captain of the DeFrag team, accepted his honors with a steely resolve; an example to us all in danger of falling victim to the poison of personal achievement. And Stiff, as her friends call her, bowed as graciously as one could, I suppose. Especially when one maybe, possibly, most likely won the crown after skewing the wireless voting machines, letting a certain TI-3867 model lick her scuzzy port clean, and spewing lies into the ether-lattice. But, we all were happy for these two. Of course, there were some not so happy and who took home a peculiar burning sensation in their D: drives thanks to Kenwood Copperwire’s roaming charges, but all-in-all, the Royalty Presentation for Enchanted Ratios was amazingly well programmed.

Of course, there were the dissenters. Those who claim that this year’s RoBot Prom–– deemed the closest we as adolescent robots will ever get to dreaming––was very capable of being not-dreamed about. But then, when Franz Smartload placed seven Stalag-vage-chips into the oil bowl, and ‘bots (and their dates) washed down a sip, suddenly everyone had to Norton Anti Virus in their date’s USB. How Gross! But it still seemed to reboot those few whose attitude programs were glitched. Thank Intel!

The decoration of the main pavilion was minimal, but the streamers lined with bits of code profiling each senior and their current location was a nice touch. I lost my date for a few seconds and these really came in handy. But the visual accomplishment of the night belonged solely to HAMMERS, HAMMERS, HAMMERS, the after-prom most of everybody went to and most of everybody found worth downloading.

HAMMERS, HAMMERS, HAMMERS was the brain child of the Proxy Technical Alliance (PTA) that promised to throw us in a historical wormhole taking us back to the bonded molecule era were such tools like hammers, hammers, and hammers were used. It’s always a pleasure to learn about pre-futuristic cultures, but as an After-Prom theme it was efficiently humorful. Some days, although there aren’t many, I do wish we could laugh because on this glorious night, we would have laughed at hammers.

The program was efficiently arranged in Mircosoft Paint 8.0 and featured everyone’s favorite color, Cyan. The animated 3-D GIFFs led interested bot units toward something historically special, like a fountain, or a human raffle, and, lastly, a 20th century tool shed with connected revolving bathroom. Later on, the presentation on Centrifugal force (using the bathroom) and pre-futuristic Organ farming was also deemed an algorithmic success.

HAMMERS, HAMMERS, HAMMERS all started, though, with Sergeant Server’s JROTC color guard launching of our nation’s numbers. And yes, it may be verified that nothing starts a party like these guys don’t, but there is still something to be said about tradition. Do you power up, or down, differently everyday? Thought not.

And unfortunately HAMMERS, HAMMERS, HAMMERS ended when a hall detector caught three jock bots slapping a vacuum in the bathroom. They have been reprimanded with cleanup duties and are not allowed to browse online for three weeks. And then there were the theater kids, snorting WD40 across the street from the activities. Like someone wasn’t going to see you! We’re robots.

Sadly, a few stripped screws ruined it for the rest of us, but the time that was had was incredible, according to the school WiFi poll taken this morning. We each feel ready for the next step, armed with the know-how of tomorrow and oh so aware of the mistakes made in the past. Even if the hammer, and the hammer, and the hammer were great tools, we have many more tools at our disposal for shaping and roboting the future. And I, for one, cannot wait to utilize them.

Go Eagles!

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Chart Climbing, Other Things


These charts are now more climbable than ever this year, and now we have hit clearance season. You know what that means---all climable charts MUST GO! Sick of struggling through rehersals just to come back and not remember what you didn't cover last week. Well thats all good and done with because guess what? These charts feature much more climbability than any previous charts before. Charts that are climbable mean time that isn't wasted on working things out with people, can be dedicated to...that's right, climbing the f**kin charts. You'll find that you climb fast once you take that first step. Upgraded charts with a slim design and climb-like action will increase step uppingness to 7%, making your weekends alot more chilled out. More free time, more kicking it...up the charts! You ever seen K-2? That looked like it was pretty hard climbing up that thing. Not here mon ami. You ever seen somebody have a bitch of a time cutting into some water, with a knife? No?
That's because it's easy and simple and fun, not unlike climbing them there
charts.

FLASH TO SCREEN PLAY---

YOU: What's going on charts?
CHARTS: Nothing.
YOU: What are you doing later?
CH: Getting climbed all over.
YOU: Yesssss.

Your probably saying 'this is crazy! I can't climb them charts.' My response would be: have you even looked at the charts lately? Now with a foldable fulcrum that gently balances you out, while you tear ass up the charts, climbing these things has never been easier. You see that up there? Waaayy at the top? Huh? Thats the top of the charts. You know how close you'll get with more increasable climb-drive mechanisms? Pretty close my friend. Pretty close.

By the way.....
Org Vorbis, the norse tortoise lord of the north, orders all to report for
chordal contort morph. Torte will be scored more for Lords of swords,
snacking door fjords tore the 3rd course, but with plates and napkins
provided to the first 500, get there EARLY!!!

If you've found the missing bullet I fired into the air yesterday at my
cousin's quinceinetta, DO NOT RETURN. That was a gift, and you might want
to get that looked at.

Gift horse looked in mouth.

Also, blessings come in many forms. Like smells. You ever been blessed by a
smell? I want my next priest to be a waft in the air. What happened to my
previous priest? I can't say, but this next one coming up...gotta be a smell.