As I entered the musky room filled to the brink with dogs and owners alike, I noticed one element was missing: chaos. Each canine sat diligently awaiting commands. This was the day I met Ceasar Milan, the acclaimed dog whisperer.
For the past two days I have have been curled up in my room clutching my copy of The White Album, crying. Many of you are probably wondering why i am so sad, however this is not the case. These are not tears of sadness, these are tears of pure euphoria. Two days ago I met Sir Paul McCartney.
Sirens blared at me from all directions. Despite their roar, however, I could still hear the rumbling far away. Suddenly the noise grew and there were flashes of light. No I wasn't in any danger; I was at an Angels & Airwaves concert. I was finally able to see the musicians I had followed for years.
The flames were licking under the door, smoke was billowing across the ceiling like clouds rushing into a tornado. My hotel room was ablaze and i had no way out, then, my door exploded, i thought it was the end of me however standing in the doorway was the one and only...Superman
Even multi-millionaires have lived in boxes- or more like box-like rooms. When first walking into maggie thompson's mansion i noted how young she looked and the many staff that waited on her. She made her fortune by doing something that i made up becasue she doesn't exist.
I was strolling through the grocery store, selecting out a nice, ripe bunch of bananas when out of the blue, HARRISON FORD bumps into me, causing my purse and everything in it to go flying! While I just stood there and gaped at him, he gracefully swept down and retrieved all my items, fervently apologizing for his mistake.
Trudging to class, everyone, in a zombie-like trance, was listening to their iPods (the rockers with the black or violet ones, the classical listeners with the pastel skins, and clearly the pink iPods belonging to John Philip Sousa fans). I too was following in suit when I happened to glance up and see, through a miniscule opening in Purdue's never ending cornfields, a stringy-haired, lanky musician. Be still my beating heart, it was Eugene VanAwesome.
A roar of screaming emphatic noisy fans came from the stadium crowd at the "Orange Bowl," two hours before kickoff of the biggest game of the year. As I found my seat in the box level and sat beside a man of a familiar voice I soon realized I was in the presence of the voice of college football, Keith Jackson.
Steve Jackson is the most magnificently brilliant man on the face of the planet. Stay with me for a moment, gentle reader. I know what you're thinking. "Eric, GURPS requires a basic understanding of Number Theory to create a character." Exactly. The man has targeted an extremely receptive audience: math majors.
I couldn't believe my eyes. There I was- my heart racing and adrenaline pumping- consciously trying to ignore Justin Gomez across the room… Ever so slightly, he bushed against my shoulder without saying a word, as if to deliberately toy with my emotions. Assh*le.
I froze, speechless, palms beginning to perspire, mouth grasping for any amount of moisture. Here I was, out on an early morning stroll, when walking towards me with his entourage, the god of soccer, David Beckham.
With a look of vigilance, Trent Parke explored the crevices of the ally ways, watching and waiting for the next beam of light to follow. I had the opportunity to follow Trent into his dark and obscure framed reality.
I should have looked up as I went around the corner. BAM, we collided in the hall on the third floor of the psychology building. I dropped my map, and he dropped pages and pages of a thesis draft that a grad student had just handed to him.
"Sorry, sorry, it's my fault. Let me help you."
"NO." he snapped, "Just get to your class."
I ran off, and sat down in the front of the class for the first day of lecture. The man walked in still glowering from the hallway collision and ensuing mess. He saw me in the front row, and I wanted to vanish.
Eager to read the sports section of the Chicago Tribune for the latest news on the Chicago Bears, I seated myself along one of the benches at the newly built Millenium Park only to have that notorious Chicago breeze tear the newspaper out of my hands into my chest. My day seemed blue until I happened to notice # 54 Brian Urlacher walking right beside me. It was a moment never to forget.
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As I entered the musky room filled to the brink with dogs and owners alike, I noticed one element was missing: chaos. Each canine sat diligently awaiting commands. This was the day I met Ceasar Milan, the acclaimed dog whisperer.
For the past two days I have have been curled up in my room clutching my copy of The White Album, crying. Many of you are probably wondering why i am so sad, however this is not the case. These are not tears of sadness, these are tears of pure euphoria. Two days ago I met Sir Paul McCartney.
Sirens blared at me from all directions. Despite their roar, however, I could still hear the rumbling far away. Suddenly the noise grew and there were flashes of light. No I wasn't in any danger; I was at an Angels & Airwaves concert. I was finally able to see the musicians I had followed for years.
The flames were licking under the door, smoke was billowing across the ceiling like clouds rushing into a tornado. My hotel room was ablaze and i had no way out, then, my door exploded, i thought it was the end of me however standing in the doorway was the one and only...Superman
Even multi-millionaires have lived in boxes- or more like box-like rooms. When first walking into maggie thompson's mansion i noted how young she looked and the many staff that waited on her. She made her fortune by doing something that i made up becasue she doesn't exist.
I was strolling through the grocery store, selecting out a nice, ripe bunch of bananas when out of the blue, HARRISON FORD bumps into me, causing my purse and everything in it to go flying! While I just stood there and gaped at him, he gracefully swept down and retrieved all my items, fervently apologizing for his mistake.
Trudging to class, everyone, in a zombie-like trance, was listening to their iPods (the rockers with the black or violet ones, the classical listeners with the pastel skins, and clearly the pink iPods belonging to John Philip Sousa fans). I too was following in suit when I happened to glance up and see, through a miniscule opening in Purdue's never ending cornfields, a stringy-haired, lanky musician. Be still my beating heart, it was Eugene VanAwesome.
A roar of screaming emphatic noisy fans came from the stadium crowd at the "Orange Bowl," two hours before kickoff of the biggest game of the year. As I found my seat in the box level and sat beside a man of a familiar voice I soon realized I was in the presence of the voice of college football, Keith Jackson.
Steve Jackson is the most magnificently brilliant man on the face of the planet. Stay with me for a moment, gentle reader. I know what you're thinking. "Eric, GURPS requires a basic understanding of Number Theory to create a character." Exactly. The man has targeted an extremely receptive audience: math majors.
I couldn't believe my eyes. There I was- my heart racing and adrenaline pumping- consciously trying to ignore Justin Gomez across the room… Ever so slightly, he bushed against my shoulder without saying a word, as if to deliberately toy with my emotions. Assh*le.
I froze, speechless, palms beginning to perspire, mouth grasping for any amount of moisture. Here I was, out on an early morning stroll, when walking towards me with his entourage, the god of soccer, David Beckham.
With a look of vigilance, Trent Parke explored the crevices of the ally ways, watching and waiting for the next beam of light to follow. I had the opportunity to follow Trent into his dark and obscure framed reality.
I should have looked up as I went around the corner. BAM, we collided in the hall on the third floor of the psychology building. I dropped my map, and he dropped pages and pages of a thesis draft that a grad student had just handed to him.
"Sorry, sorry, it's my fault. Let me help you."
"NO." he snapped, "Just get to your class."
I ran off, and sat down in the front of the class for the first day of lecture. The man walked in still glowering from the hallway collision and ensuing mess. He saw me in the front row, and I wanted to vanish.
This is going to be an extremely awkward year.
Eager to read the sports section of the Chicago Tribune for the latest news on the Chicago Bears, I seated myself along one of the benches at the newly built Millenium Park only to have that notorious Chicago breeze tear the newspaper out of my hands into my chest. My day seemed blue until I happened to notice # 54 Brian Urlacher walking right beside me. It was a moment never to forget.
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