Man, there’s been a WHOLE lot happening in my life lately. I dare you, ask me what I did yesterday. Wait, I should slow down or I’ll forget something. To start off, I’ll give you what I owe you from last time.

Not last week, but the weekend before, I went home and had a great time. I did four loads of laundry, had my folks buy me some groceries, got to see Grams and Gramps Quackenbush, made a totally righteous apple crisp, picked pears from our pear tree in the backyard, managed to see my sister and “Classic” (my brother-in-law), and picked up some supplies for my imminent backing trip, all in less than 48 hours. I was runnin’ around faster than Speedy Gonzalez. He speaks better Spanish than I do, though.

And while we’re talking about Spanish, I should let you know that I just had an interview for Fulbright. The application process seems to be chugging right along. I’ll keep you posted as events warrant.

And while we’re on “warrants,” warrant you going to ask me about yesterday?

I thought you’d never ask.

My roommate Scotty Trigger informed me that WWE raw was at the Target Center on Monday night. Being the avid fan that I am of oily, sweaty men and women pretending to hurt each other, I felt it was my duty as an American – nay, my duty as a human being – to partake in the festivities.

Neither Scotty nor I had ever been to a professional wrestling event before. Naturally we figured that if we were going to go, we needed to go “balls out” and really kick things off right. We bought some body paint, found ourselves a favorite wrestler, and got right down to preparing to enjoy the wrestling spectacle about to unfold in front of our own four eyes. (you know, two each)

There was high-flyin’-two-footed kick-to-the-face action. There were four-man-teams battlin’ four-man-teams in a eight man mega match-up. There were two-women-in-bikinis-fightin’-a-420-pound-Indian-guy brawls. There were off-the-ropes Rey-Mysterio body slams to the right, and pile drivers and German suplexes to the left. There were screamin’ fans, numberin’ in the millions, broadcast live over LIVE television. There were neon-sign-wavin’ teeny-boppers, screamin’ and hollerin’ for their favorite wrestlers.

Raw is WAR

Raw is WAR

And Scotty and I were witness to it all. In the final match of the performance, wrestler HHH (pronounced “Triple H”) took out the conveniently placed A-frame ladder from underneath the ring and proceeded to set it up in the center of the ring. Apparently he must have decided that his vertical jump alone was not high enough to amass the force required to inflict the proper amount of hurt on his opponent, because he proceeded to climb the ladder, backflip off of it, and land squarely on his already defeated opponent. If only politics could be settled this gracefully.

Tonight, we taught Newton a thing or two about F=ma!

Tonight, we taught Newton a thing or two about F=ma!

 After Raw had thorough laid the smackdown on our expectations, Scotty and I took a deep breath and tried to recoup the rest of our evening by catching up on homework. I’ll be doing an exception amount of that this week as I’ll be missing classes on Thursday and Friday due to my backpacking class’ trip to the North shore of Lake Superior. We’ll be leavin’ tonight, gettin’ back on Sunday.


Hey, congrats, you stuck with it, and now you’ve made it to the bottom line. And that’s the bottom line, because Seefox said so.