Sunday, February 6, 2011

Bloggaday 318 – SPF PWND: Santos Manuel Student Union: An Observation pt 5

Bloggaday 318 – SPF PWND: Santos Manuel Student Union: An Observation pt 5

By David “Quasi-Random Tones” Dysart


So I turned in my paper on ze due date.* Unfortunately, we were supposed to turn our “observation notes” in as well. I’m sitting in class, looking at the stack of papers when I started thinking, “Wow, those are some thick papers. That seems kin- Oh sheeznit. I was supposed to add my notes to that!”

The agony in my inner monologue was so great that even my teacher noticed and asked what was wrong. Well, yada yada yada, I’m turning my notes in on Monday.

Whew, anyways, Have you met Jackie?

Need to play catch-up? No problem! Here are the links to all of the Santos Manuel Bloggadays.

Bloggaday 290 – SPF PWND: Santos Manuel Student Union: An Observation pt 1 December 1

Bloggaday 297 – SPF PWND: Santos Manuel Student Union: An Observation pt 2 December 8

Bloggaday 304 – SPF PWND: Santos Manuel Student Union: An Observation pt 3 December 15

Bloggaday 311 – SPF PWND: Santos Manuel Student Union: An Observation pt 4 December 22

Bloggaday 318 – SPF PWND: Santos Manuel Student Union: An Observation pt 5 December 29

Bloggaday 325 – SPF PWND: Santos Manuel Student Union: An Observation pt 6 January 5

By now, the surges of busyness ride the room. One minute a section will be busy, and the next minute, dead. The cycle continues as old students leave and new students enter, freshly recruited from classes relieved by teachers, not bells. While there are still several groups of students loitering about the building, the great seat at the center of the room is opening new vacancies every minute. Amongst the filling emptiness that is engulfing the unusual couch, a woman fulfills her true slothful nature as the last remaining Student of the Roundseat. Utterly removed from the room, “Jackie” sits in her own world. She’s planted there, iconic of the irony of the “ironic punk rocker.” Being this wound into irony, not even her own world interests her. She’s clad head-to-toe with her mask of choice. Restrictive black denim stretches across her legs, finding relief in the artificial slashes running horizontal from seam to seam. Blinding pink leggings scream from behind the pristine jeans and lead the eye up to the fluorescent white shirt that covers mocha skin drowned in milk and sugar. To finish her ensemble, a skimpy denim vest sits on her shoulders, squawking like a parrot to signal her alternative statement in rehearsed and proofread words. Devoid of headphones blasting the Ramones or some minimalistic grunge, the quasi-random tones of dozens of students making chat so small offer her the perfect melody for her mental stillness.

With her head resting on a hand pressed against her hip, she works a finger over the cover of a book. Yellows, browns, and other colors of the neutral color rainbow spiral together to form a blob resembling her outlook of the world. She peels the cover of the book to pages performing like Dalmatians for her attention. Page by page, she stares at the blurring text. Once the book fails to inspire even boredom, she snaps the cover to seal the knowledge begging to escape. She worms the book into an oversized shoulder bag and takes up a slim USPS box. Offering little practical use in transporting goods, the tool of “The Man” isn’t even large enough for her collection of vintage Sex Pistols records. The brown cardboard sits on her lap as she scrapes at the official and totally conforming label for delivery. The box’s shape and size could feel familiar in her hands. With a page or two of Cosmopolitan, it could easily accommodate a textbook, but only one that looked as blah and earthy as the one she had merely minutes ago.

Now that thin strips of information have been chiseled from the barcode, she discards the box to the empty seat to her right. With a start, she retrieves a cell phone from a snug denim pocket. An eye-roll later, she streams through screens with practiced thumbs. A sigh later, she holsters her lifeline to the real world and pulls free from the couch. Grabbing up her box and bag, she makes a sad dash for an exit. With a spin of the package, she throws it in the trash and continues out of the building.

Listening to

In the Garden of Eden… Sorry, I pronunciate

Twitter Tag

Today’s Bloggaday is the one I CRUSHED. I destroyed this observation, but only on Bloggaday

Going faster than a “Reply All” email, websites like mine will surely go your way The twits are tweeting and rss feeding I pray your mouse batteries die, and you take a tumblr Now here’s a little blog, I’ve got to tell I’m not calling you a bot, just don’t botter me

I wanna view like Youtube Shut up and let me show

What’s pickier than pickier? The Piccaday Light me up that web cam and strap a smile on my face Let the pictures hit the floor I’m gonna pack my pixels and I’m gonna go your way

New to the Bloggaday? These are the essential posts to see

158 – Boxer V Brief – Short, concise joke machine and a DYNAMIC ENTRANCE! to my favorite Bloggadays of the Second Trigaday

159 – A Phthalates-filled Sbarro Breadstick – This was just a funny Bloggaday despite the essence being something no one will get unless the look up what a phthalate is

174 – FNtCCA,aToTbDD– While I think it’s clear I rarely EDIT the Bloggaday, this train-of-thought post shows how much I have to FILTER it…

183 – SotW 13 – This one had it all. Pretty much every bit that’s been a major player in the SotW made its way into this one, so it’s a good one to try.

134 – SotW 5 – This particular Song of the Week featured the characters a bit truer to their original concept. After a while, I started liking Tom too much and changed him a bit which caused changes to Chuck.

227 – PWND: TSHBRotCCPS pt16 was some solid fiction content. Plus, that was probably some of the finest Final Thought I’ve ever thought up.

* Whoops, my proofreading accent came out a little bit there

Close the screen, the awesome’s getting out

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