Flies and Flying iPods

What goes buzz, slap, bang-clang-clang-lol? Up Friday, nobody could answer that question. However, I solved the puzzle for the universe. Or at least, the people sitting in the back of chapel.

To catch up some of my audience, I'm at a Christian college. In our college, we have about an hour-long session dedicated to worship and Bible a lesson. I've found myself in the back of the room this semester. I get to have a lot of awesome people sitting around me, and the guests on campus sit directly in the row behind me. So when they come to chapel, I can turn around and help them feel welcome with handshakes, fist-bumps, and the like.

Another thing about chapel is that, in the warmer months, the building gets full of flies. In the winter, the flies mostly die out. As the days grow cold, they begin to fly so slow you could catch one in your hand, bacterial grossness aside. Eventually they wear themselves out flying and suddenly fall to the ground dead. However, somehow, flies will come back with spring. I have no idea how they do it, but they do. They should all die, but apparently there's some evil genius on campus ordering flies every March. Because it's right around that time when the flies start dive-bombing people in chapel again, serving as tiny distractions.

Also, it wasn't just any day. It was Friday. Fresh Friday. I had just bought a cool bow tie, so I knew I had to partake.

I wear a bow tie now. Bow ties are cool.

End explanations, cue story.

I was innocently sitting in my seat, giving no reason to be attacked by flies. In the row in front of me were several cool people, including a noble friend named Dan. My row had a lot of familiar friends such as TC, Jonny, Elly, Christina, Ally. Everyone else was pretty much hidden by those friends; if I wanted to see them I would have to do that deal where you bend way backwards and look really awkward. Today, I couldn't afford to do that. Not with an entire row of visiting high school students behind me.

But this Friday, one fly fancied to flaunt his fat flesh in my face. However much flesh can be found on a fly. Whatever milligram amount that is, though, this fly had double it. He was massive, and I kid you not. This fly probably ate wasps for breakfast. Apparently, his wasp diet began to effect his aggressiveness as well. The first thing this fly does is try to climb inside my ear. What's my response to this? "Sure, come in, little guy. make yourself at home. I'll help you unload the U-Haul when it comes. And then you can even borrow my grill for the moving-in party next week." No! I don't want any trash-on-wings making home in my ear, so I shooed it away. Apparently, it was quite humorous, because all the high school visitors began chuckling. Perhaps they hadn't ever seen anyone jerk their head away from a fly before.

Either way, I'm sure they thoroughly enjoyed it when the fly later came back around and started buzzing next to my mouth. Of course, I really didn't want it in front of my face, so I tried to scare it off by show of aggression. After the fly saw my gnashing teeth, he decided it was a wonderful idea to explore this cave full of white pointy objects. Fortunately, he never went in, but he managed to make me create a spitting sound as I blew him away.

Pretty sure these things are intent on destroying the human race.

What truly stood out in this clash between man and fly was the buzz, slap, bang-clang-clang-lol. The buzz came when the fly again flew by me and perched on my wrist. Specifically, my right wrist connected to my right hand holding an iPod I was reading from. When I saw this monster fly sitting there so peacefully, I thought "This is it. Let's end this menace. For all that value a time of no flies. For Narnia!" I raised my left hand, sneaked it over to my wrist, and attempted to smack the fly. That's where the slap came in.

Unfortunately, the fly escaped, which he shouldn't have. I'm pretty sure all flies have teleporters they use to get away from hands. But my wrist's getting slapped caused my hand to jerk as well, launching the iPod up into the air. It flew over the seat in front of me and fell on the floor. Hence the bang-clang-clang noise. The lol was shortly afterward when everyone in the immediate vicinity started chuckling again. To be fair, they couldn't see the whole thing. All they saw was an iPod flying up and landing with a crash.

To this day, my iPod still works. Thank you, silicon casing. The fly is still roaming the chapel building most likely, or he died of old age. Two days is quite a long time to live when all you eat is waste. I'm sure there are still people out there wondering exactly what happened.

Hey look, a blog article explaining exactly what happened!

The Art of Smashing Things

My senior year of high school was pretty awesome. Mostly because it was the first time I could do crazy stuff and my parents would never know about it. For example, hiding in the school's kitchen refrigerator and jumping out, scaring whoever opened it. Or another great example would be just before Christmas break, when all the guys in the class made a candle out of scratch, carried it around, and sung Ave Maria. Probably the single most crazy thing I ended up doing was Seamusizing.

Now you're confused. You don't even know what that is, less even know how to pronounce it. Don't worry; I'll explain.

First off, it's pronounced SHAY-muss-eye-zing. Second, I'll explain why it has such a name. My high school nickname was Seamus, also spelled Shamus. It's the Irish form of James. My class held an affinity for all things Scottish and Irish. As the first and only one who practiced Seamusizing, it was named after me.
And now, I shall explain to you the ancient practice of Seamusizing. It began a few years ago, during Physics class. Usually, Physics was my nap hour. It was right after lunch, and the room was dark, and the teacher was uninteresting. So under normal circumstances I would hibernate until class ended. Today, though, I was awake. I think it was a lab day. One would think that "lab day" means that a cool experiment happens where volcanoes erupt or chemicals change colors. Or "lab day" could be the day that we bring a bunch of Labradors into class with us. Unfortunately, neither of these are true. Lab day usually meant that I and the five other boys in class sat in a circle trying to figure out physics problems demonstrated on a VHS tape...and if you want to know what a VHS tape is, just hop by your local museum. They're sure to have one there nowadays.

Don't these guys help you understand that P=(V^2)/R=(I^2)(R)?

On this particular lab day, we were interrupted by an unexpected visitor. The junior high teacher, Mrs. Acker, needed the help of a particularly strong and courageous young man of unparalleled nerve and bravery. Naturally, all of us students stood. Our instructor laid aside his class time snack of diet soda and crackers and asked her what the problem was. Mrs. Acker explained that a spider was on the loose in her classroom and needed to be disposed of. All six students followed her back into the classroom.
Naturally, one would think that a request to squish a spider would be simple. Find the little bug and step on it while it remains lethargic. However, this spider was some unnatural spawn of the ancient world. It was faster than the Energizer Bunny on 5-Hour Energy. And this spider was huge, too. It probably had eaten a few Chihuahuas for breakfast, and then the Energizer Bunny for dessert. Just to prove he could run faster.
As Mrs. Acker cowered in fear at the hissing beast, we six men drew our weapons. Matt had a sword, Trevor readied his bow, Ted wielded an axe, Jake displayed an impressive six-gauge shotgun, and Zach grew bone claws out of his hands. I was weaponless...until I noticed a lectern sitting in the middle of the room. I grabbed hold of this and prepared to smash the spider.
Ultimately, the spider did escape our fury. It was no fault of mine, I assure you. I was new to using a lectern as a weapon, so I smashed wildly. I smashed a few toes, but completely missed the spider as it scurried into a dark corner, waiting for another day to reveal its wrath. Though the spider was still alive, a new art of defense had been formed. It was realized that one could grab a lectern by its top and smash things against the floor with the base. This art was known as Seamusizing. The art of smashing things.

The standard lectern. More deadly than it seems.

As the days went on, Seamusizing developed and grew. More things were smashed. Milk cartons, homework, pieces of trash, freshman lunches...anything we could get our hands on I eventually Seamusized, usually out of creating fun for everyone. Word of Seamusizing began to spread through the students. Its popularity grew to such an extent, it became a rule that only seniors (and Zach) could decide what got Seamusized.
Then there was the day when Seamusizing grew to its peak. Many of us students were gathered in a classroom, having fun and enjoying the fact that school was almost over. A call of celebration went up. Jake, the only other senior (aside from me) present, decided to begin a game of Seamusizing. Styrofoam cups were set up around the room, and the students would madly cheer as I grabbed the lectern and smashed my way through a speed run. A few times, it was requested I Seamusize a fourth-grade visitor. No, I never fully smashed him, but it was fun to see him run. I'm sure Trevor's little brother wasn't traumatized by it. They'll let him back out of the hospital someday.
What climaxed the day, though, was when Jake grabbed hold of several packs of mustard and Thousand Island dressing. He explained his idea, we all agreed, and marched outside to the elementary playground. a little, strategically-placed pile of mustard packets was built under the seesaw. Video cameras began rolling as I grabbed hold of the opposite end and smashed yellow condiments all over the place. Super Seamusizing was born. A grand festival revolved around it, and late into the night the students cheered I smashed all sorts of condiments with the seesaw. The earth had heard no greater cheer since the gladiators last crushed the skulls of tigers.

Yes, that is indeed me in the video, sporting a military-style haircut which makes me look bald.
Since that time, though, Seamusizing dwindled. School ended, meaning that lecterns were scarce. I left for college, meaning that my high school was now without Seamus and also without Seamusizing. To boot, my university's lightest lecterns are on legs, not on flat-bottomed boards. But some day, Seamusizing will return. One day, a flat-bottomed lectern will cross my path, and I will exercise my authority to destroy! SEAMUS SMASH!

A career with this fellow lies in my future...you are not alone, Hulk.