My Last Seminar

For my major, I have to take a class that is called Math Seminar. Actually I have to take it twice. In math seminar, we give three presentations a semester on a math article that we found in a math journal. In a few minutes, I get the opportunity to give my last presentation for the class. This excites me. Not only because the presentations take some work and are not quite fun. But also because it starts that countdown of lasts. Classes are winding down and work is winding down, and in just 6 weeks I will be graduating college. I'm a nostalgic person so moments like this are the ones I tend to enjoy and cherish.

~The Piebald Penguin

Blogging at 2 am after staying up the night before is fun.

So, Mountain Dew is like a kick in the face. But it really does keep you awake. It works.


Emma Anne, I have a revelation for you. You didn't marry Superman. And you're not Wonder Woman. You lied.

I am Superman.

Breaking Point

He could feel the tension building. Folding his hands into his lap, he desperately tried to resist the powerful urge to fidget. The minutes dragged on. He watched as people rose from their chairs and departed, two or three at a time. He bowed his head and concentrated on slowing his breathing. Hearth racing, hands shaking, mind reeling with thoughts of the inevitable consequences that would spiral out from the rapidly approaching confrontation. The young man sought solace in the core of his being. He let the chaotic cacophony of noise wash over him. But peace was an elusive creature this night. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Checking the time had become routine for him, but it was particularly dull and meaningless now. The display blinked on. The numbers didn't register in his mind, save for the awareness that the minutes were ticking by even slower than normal. That was understandable, considering the importance of the evening, but frustrating all the same. the man was having to force his hands together to control them. His stomach began roiling. The more strength he exerted to control his restless body, the more the tension built. His will hurtled towards the breaking point. He eyed the double doors, longing to burst through them into the freedom that lay beyond. He wanted to run. Flee from the impending conflict. Fly like a bird pushed before a brewing storm. But he was unable to rise, unable to fly away. He was firmly rooted to his chair by the knowledge that the approaching storm must certainly be weathered. As a ship turns into a raging hurricane, seeking the quiet calm of the eye, so he, too, was turning to face one of his worst fears. Failure. The word echoed off the confines of his mind. Failure. He knew it was true. Failure. He would face anything aside from this. Please Lord! He silently prayed, please take me from here.

Shoes appeared before his eyes. Instantly, his mouth went dry. His heart roared like an enraged lion imprisoned in an iron cage. His hands shook in his lap. His stomach tensed into a rock-hard knot. Moments before, he had wanted time to speed up. Now he only wished for more time. He raised his head and lifted his eyes. She really was there. The hourglass in his head emptied the last grain of sand and became still. Time was up. He summoned his voice from the far away corner to which it had fled. He began speaking, hoping that his voice would remain steady. The one-sided conversation was brief. The words spilled from his mouth. His brain shut down. He slowly rose from his chair. His tired legs carried his shattered mind from the building. A friend smiled and said hello. How could she even imagine what had just taken place a few feet away? The broken young man drifted to his faithful green steed. Keys fumbled in his hand. At last, the lock clicked up. He grasped the handle and stumbled into the vehicle. The young man, broken in spirit and only just grasping onto the will to live, curled into a ball and bled tears.

~The Piebald Penguin

A Treatise on Laziness

Many people have called me lazy. A procrastinator. Irresponsible. Sadly, these are all true. I don't do all of my homework. Nor do I study for tests. I waste time sitting around in my room doing absolutely nothing. However, these accusations are only mostly true. In reality, while I spend a lot of time doing very little, it goes against my nature to tell a friend that I'm "too busy" to help them out or to hang out with them or whatever. It's a fundamental part of my personality. I hate letting a friend down. Many people like to keep themselves as busy as possible. In fact, I know a few people who literally have no free time. Anytime they find out a class is canceled or an assignment doesn't have to be done, they immediately try to fill the void in their schedule with other productive activities. Naturally they look at someone like me and think that I'm different. I have a lot of free time. I treasure free time. It keeps me sane. And it allows me to be on call most of the day. When friends are in need, I am ready to drop what I'm doing and lend as much aid as I can. Perhaps that makes me irresponsible. I focus more on people and less on academics.

~The Piebald Penguin

Since it's still technically Tuesday...Wait...

Oh, it's really Wednesday...but it's still the same day, for me, as Tuesday was, right? I mean, I haven't gone to bed for "Tuesday", so here's another light and fluffy moment.

I ordered a new random question for my blogger profile. Naturally, none of you actually look at my profile (it's ok...I'll forgive you...one of these days). Thus, I am going to post the question on the blog itself because it's a good one.


Q: "You're on your way to the moon. What did you forget to pack?"
A: Your mom.


Have you ever emailed yourself a Word document? Maybe it's because I'm a college student, but I do this on a regular basis. I always make sure to come up with a ridiculous subject for the email. Then, I intentionally avoid checking my email right after I send the file. This way, there is the chance that, when I get around to checking my email again, I may have forgotten that I sent myself an email. So, I see the little "1" appear next to my inbox, and I get really excited because I received a new email. It's sad, really. I'm almost as bad when I get snail mail in my school mailbox...even if it's a bill...or an offer for a new credit card. Granted, I end up throwing the latter away relatively quickly, but still.

 Since it's almost 3 am, I am going to share a story to those of your faithful few who actually read more than the title of the post.

Ah yes. I was young, once

There once was a semester when I had an upper division mathematics class at 8 in the morning. If this statement doesn't make you cringe, then the next one certainly will. It was Abstract Algebra. Yeah.... By the way, math majors (and the professors too) don't function well that early in the morning. I'm just saying...it shouldn't have ever happened. But it did. At any rate, it was one especially rough morning in this class. Ordinarily, there would have been three students in the class, but this day we were missing one. I don't remember where he was. I think he either had a flat tire, or something (Soccer Girl, if you read my blog and remember, you should remind me, but I digress). Now, being that I'm me, I show professors my sarcastic side quite frequently. All through junior high and high school, this was the case (In fact, in 9th grade, a teacher pulled me out of her class to have a little "chat" about my attitude. Oh yeah. I was that kid.). Sadly, I continued my tradition of always having a smart, sarcastic remark ready at hand. My math professor doesn't handle sarcasm well at 8 in the morning. However, this particular morning, I was extremely tired, and not in the mood for sarcasm (Yes! It does happen...once in a blue moon). I asked my professor a question about something that he had just covered. It was an incredibly docile, ordinary question. His response: "Piebald, don't be such a smart *CENSORED* (onager)." Soccer Girl (the only other student in the class) and I almost died trying to hold our laughter in. We waited a whole 2 minutes before both laughing to ourselves, hoping that the professor wouldn't make the correlation.

Oh and this is what my hair is going to look like for graduation:

You know, in case you were wondering...

~The Piebald Penguin

A little local chuckle

"Please, Walk on PATH, NOT on grass"

Roses are Red, Violets are Blue...

If you were to meet the Piebald Penguin today, you would see a confident, cool, collected, suave, sleek, and sexy young man. In fact, he's so sleek and suave that a representative for Porsche called last week asking if they could use his name for their newest sports car line. When he walks into a room, the women turn and stare, all holding their breath to avoid missing even the slightest sound from him. Women faint when he turns his ocean blue eyes on them. That's the Piebald Penguin today. But tonight, I am going to tell you a story that is almost unbelievable. It's hard to believe, but this amazing man (who likes rescuing puppies, long walks on the beach at sunset, and romantic, candle-light dinners for two) was just a young boy, once. He had to grow up and learn the hard way. 

Once upon a time, there was an inexperienced boy on the cusp of manhood. This boy had previously been uninterested in pursuing girls...not because he didn't like them, they simply weren't mature enough for him. You see, the hero of our story was hailed by all as a mature, wise young man, well ahead of his peers. There came a day in our young hero's life when he found what he sought. A girl who, on the outside, appeared to be more mature than the rest. He liked the sparkle in her eyes, and a spark in her mind. The school that both of our characters attended hosted a homecoming banquet and dance during the fall semester. Our brave and bold protagonist worked up his courage and approached the girl. His approach was clever and cunning. Notes in calligraphy and baked goods. Alas for our poor hero, the girl saw fit to ruin his day. She rejected his proposal outright. She wanted to go with one of her female friends. Our hero was crushed but managed to fight on. And thus ends the story of the Piebald Penguin's first experience with asking girls out. He has learned a great deal since then.

 

 ~The Piebald Penguin

 

 

Roasting Rolled Roses

Obstinate octopuses officially occupy opulent offices of ornamental orchids. Others ostentatiously observe orange owls over oiled orcas. Wily wolverines wistfully watch wary women while waiting with white wolves who want wonderful wares from frank fish.

I've discovered that 3 in the morning is not the time to think about alliteration. It's painful.

~The Piebald Penguin