RyanHarne.com

Tonight I was granted the honor of having a total stranger call me “hoss.” Clearly, this is the pinnacle of American social achievement, and I wear this title with the utmost pride.

However, even an ego massage such as that doesn’t liberate me from the daunting task of finals. My stomach has already begun its turning and twisting. It’s simply awful to have such a stress-responding body. Yet, I’ve discovered a secret that my body equally responds to in relieving stress: working out. Some would consider my frequenting of the gym to be obsessive, but it is simply a manner in which I expel all of my daily stresses. Plus it pays in the long run to be healthy and fit. Truly.

Anyways.

Festivities will begin soon. Gifts will be given. Hugs will be shared, for better or for worse. Bottles will be broken. People will be brought together. Delicacies will conquer campus kitchens, primarily those abundant in sugar. Cards will be passed on.

That’s right: finals are just around the corner.

It’s a day late, people, but I say it with just as much sincerity…

Happy Thanksgiving! I am grateful for each one of you, regardless of whether I communicate with you, know your name, or even am aware you read this material.

This is Ye Olde Maryland blog, from my typical holiday headquarters for family fun and excitement. Comedy aside, it is nice to be here and see familiar faces; plus the food, oh yes, the food.

Sadly, I’ve come to realize I am susceptible to something. Yes, it’s become apparent that my soul is in jeopardy over (you’ll laugh, but I don’t mind) these rich, chocolate, marshmallow brownies that my grandmother makes. When they are around, I become a slave to their demands that they be granted access to my throat and esophagus. It’s a shame really, yes; however, I am man enough to admit my mortal flaws.

But not man enough to fix that problem. No, I believe that problem may be around for quite a while.

Since it is Black Friday, clearly I had to participate in the unruly mobs that threatened American life and limb this morning. The Gap was open at 5 am this morning – ridiculous. I did find a scarf and sweater there worth swapping cash for. Same at Banana Republic (if you purposely ignore the regular prices there, it’s easy to fool yourself into thinking you’re about to buy something at retail), but ‘twas a scarf and pants I discovered thereabouts.

Night is approaching, so is Virginia Tech. After two days of hearing the same stories tediously retold, it’ll be pleasant to return to Tech for some monotonous lecturing and endless homework. Oh wait…

I’m nearing the first anniversary of the birth of my love for literature. Little traces were noticeable even before that advent, but they were slim and negligible on the whole.

In a brief 50 hours, I completed Eats, Shoots & Leaves, a brilliant argument for the reconciliation of punctuation in our society. As I noticed in a theater on Sunday, as quoted from the screen, “Make no mistake gentleman, we are in the business of winning” [line from Friday Night Lights]. Clearly, ‘gentleman’ is incorrectly written as plural (corrected as ‘gentlemen’); that was flagrant. However, there is another mistake less noticed by the public eye. Even my schooling has taught me that when addressing something, the item of address should be set off entirely by commas. Thus, redeemed, the statement is as follows: Make no mistake, gentlemen, we are in the business of winning. This is correct, is it not, my friends? And truly, after “gentlemen” you could use also a colon if you wished to make further effect as to the succeeding comment. Nevertheless, punctuation is vital to our societal well being. My belief, at least.

Now I cruise through Chaucer’s brilliant The Canterbury Tales. My memories of JF College English quickly return: the vivacious readings of Hamlet; the reenactments of Beowulf’s conquest and slaughter; fateful feedings of Roger the fish (or aquatic demon, more as he seemed). Those were the good years, contrary to Sinatra’s recollection of such. Sorry, my Rat Pack king.

It is a good day for a visit to JF, no less.

Currently, I am at someone’s house. I know where I am physically, but am not acquainted with this particular residence. So you may ask, “why?”

I am helping high school students study for a calculus test because I am a “calculus genius.” While I won’t deny that particular characteristic of myself, I would like to shun any negative connotations of such a declaration.

Being a calculus genius is hott. What I intend to say is, everyone wants to be a calculus genius. End of story.

Let me tell you a tale of great honor; violent war; and deep, chivalrous love. There has never been more cause to pay attention, so put down your mortal distractions and lend an ear. This is the story of how Ryan tamed the Netgear beast.

Thousands and thousands of seconds ago, there was a land in the Forest that was under a horrible spell. Cursed by geographical misfortune, the townsfolk were all constrained to getting their high-speed internet connection from one source each terribly far from their home. The walk was a great struggle; nearly three thousand centimeters separated the farthest hard-working peasant from an endless supply of websites and downloads.

In an effort to ease this discomfort, the king of the land hired a helping hand, that was well heard of, to magically distribute the internet to each peasant. Initially, the towns people rejoiced at this asset to the community; all of the people reveled in their freedom to access global storehouses of information. There was great cause for celebration.

However, the power of controlling such access soon warped the goodness of this “helping hand.” It wasn’t long until he began adding restrictions onto the peasants as to what websites they could access and the duration of their accessibility. A burden was forming over the peasants’ shoulders, a great burden; the peasants complained to their king that now they were more miserable than before this helping hand ever arrived.

Meanwhile, this helping hand had turned into a great beast so people were afraid to approach his door. Why the change, you ask? …Because. And people started calling him “the Netgear beast.” Just deal with these amendments, please.

In response to the turmoil, the king made a decree that anyone who could slay the Netgear beast would receive eternal honor and… golden… supreme… chocolates. Honor and Golden Supreme Chocolates! This decree was posted all throughout the kingdom, I mean land… I mean town.

Early one morning, a brave and honest lad named Ryan – for all of our notable heroes of times past were equally named thus - noticed one of the decrees had been posted just nearby his thatched-roof cottage. After reading it - because everyone in the kingdom had participated in an intensive Hooked On Phonics program after a study showed increasing illiteracy in small town-kingdom-lands – he set off to the king’s castle to announce his decision to slay this Netgear beast.

The king welcomed him and was delighted to hear of his decision. Ryan left the king’s court and headed straight for the house of the Netgear beast.

Meanwhile, since the helping hand had turned into a beast, his house had also been re-named a “lair” that was “dangerous,” “swamp-like” and “uninviting.” These should be noted with regard.

So blah, blah, Ryan went to the Netgear beast’s lair and there he slay him with powerful, swift and amazing slaying moves.

He returned to the king’s castle where he received Honor and Golden Supreme Chocolates. And the peasants all loved Ryan forevermore, because I had mentioned something about love at the beginning of the tale.

The End.

::shudder::

Do whatever you can to keep me away from Creative Writing classes. Please.