I love this website.

Found this linked on a friend's blog. You will love.

I learned another trick!

Go to The New York Times homepage. Click on a story. Once you've opened that story, click on any word in that story that isn't a link.

It's like I found gold.

I just invented something. Well, I stumbled across it. And you are going to LOVE it.

Are you sitting at a PC? Hit ctrl-alt-arrow down.

What happened?! Did it work for you?!

I think this is the coolest thing I have ever discovered in my entire life. Now spread the love.

Or, play tricks on your coworkers with it.

I love the bus.

To add to the ever-loving saga of my bus travails.

I'm running a little late to the bus this morning, so I decide to sprint the entire 6 blocks to the bus stop. Normally, I don't get too winded from running. Last night I went on a 45 minute run and was completely fine the entire time. But when I run for the bus, it's a different story. I do a sort of panic run, not unlike this. It makes me sweat profusely and I can barely breathe and/or hold down vom by the time I'm able to stop.

So I get to the bus stop just in time to see the bus lazily slip away from my grasp. Great. Then I decide to chase it down Hennepin, then Lake. I think it sees me, so it stops in the middle of the street (not at a light or stop sign). I run up to it, but at this point my sides are about to split in two, my legs have all but fallen off, and vom is slowly starting to creep up my throat. So I slow down to a quick trot, removing my wallet from my purse. I trot halfway up the side of the bus when all of the sudden, the bus pulls away. It pulls away from me! It wasn't picking up or dropping anyone else off! It left me, my arms outstretched in bewilderment, standing at the curb.

Then, of COURSE, the next express bus didn't come until a half an hour later, so I had to take the 1 hour 10 minute non-express bus. Frick.

I'm bored. And boring.

And I don't do anything interesting. Ever.

Nugget and I recently talked about this. You go through college in this blinding haze of activity and people can't believe the amount of things you can actually squeeze into your day. You barely sleep and you never mind. You do homework when you have an occasional five minutes to spare (that you really don't have to spare) but really you don't do it because you don't have time and your average individual of average intelligence should figure out by now how to cruise through college with good grades without doing homework.

Then you graduate. You take on a couple crazy adventures in crazy places that you've never been. You do some jobs at places that seem like god's gift to young journalists at the time but you really just do some stuff for them for a little while then they get some new cheap youngster to fill the spot. You meet some people that amaze you at the time (but you're going to forget them later). You get out of your comfort zone, you grow up a little, you become comfortable with being alone, you feel independent even though you're mostly just scared and lonely the whole time, it's a happy sobfest, etc.

Then you get a job. Like a real job. And it's pretty cool. But the 40-hour work week brings about an interesting quandary: What the hell do you do the entire rest of the time? The first couple months are awesome. You're settling into your apartment, you're enjoying having nights and weekends off, you're watching movies, you're reconnecting with friends, you're cooking new meals. Then you figure out how to cook pretty much everything you want to. You're friends are back in your life, but still in their own weekly grooves. And your nights and weekends drag on.

You realize, your life boils down to this: You need a fricking hobby.

I should put these here.

http://thegraduates.blogs.nytimes.com/

April 11, 2007, 6:16 pm

Not Following the Money

By Anna Weggel

I love my friends and family, but I’ve seriously considered sending this memo to every one of them:

Dear loved ones,
Thank you for the relentless concern you have shown over the past year for my well-being and my future prospects. You needn’t worry about me, as I am spending all of my free time and much of my non-free time applying for jobs. If you continue to pummel me with questions about my plan come graduation, you will now officially be greeted with a terse “I don’t know yet” and sent on your way.
XOXO,
Anna

It used to be, when I woke up, I would sleepily walk over to the computer to check my latest e-mails, or gaze upon the morning headlines while I waited for my eyes to adjust. I still go straight to my computer in the morning, but now it’s to load one of the Web sites I visit 10 times a day: JournalismJobs.com, MediaBistro.com, Monster.com and all the rest.

I’ve become addicted to the job hunt.

I want not just any job – I want one that’s going to make me feel like a worthwhile citizen, contributing to the betterment of society. I want a job that’s worth something. I want a job that’s going to pay me dirt and make me not mind.

It’s not so much the thrill of the hunt or the rush of applying that drives me, but the terrifying thought of how long I’ll have to flounder around until something falls in my lap. All around me, my friends are snapping up jobs like hotcakes.

Two of my best friends will be jetting off to New York and San Diego the moment they graduate to fulfill their journalistic dreams and are currently searching for apartments. My parents can barely speak to me for one minute without slipping in a “how’s the job hunt going?” — knowing full well I will tell them the moment I hear anything.

But all I have to do is just get that job — that first job. Then I can relax for a moment and revel in my new position before the reality of my measly, entry-level salary sinks in. I feel as if my whole life has been leading up to that moment I receive my first job, move, then realize I can afford nothing and am totally broke. It’s going to be awesome.

I’ve already come to terms with the fact that I’m making more money now as the editor of my college newspaper than I would at any of the jobs I’ve been applying for. But I’m all right with barely being able to live off my first salary. And here’s why:

1. I am perfectly fine living in sweltering heat. (Air conditioning is for the weak.) When my older sister left for college, she taught me a trick that’s just as great as any old air conditioner. All you have to do is take a freezing cold shower, not dry off, then go straight to bed sopping wet. You’ll be cold all night. Problem solved.

2. I haven’t yet developed taste buds. (Fancy food is for fancy people.) My favorite foods, largely due to their price (not their taste, substance or health value) include macaroni and cheese, SpaghettiOs, day-old bread, off-brand string cheese, canned soup and bananas. Lots of bananas.

3. I don’t have a car. I’ve never had one. And the bus is my friend. Living in Minneapolis, I’m lucky enough to be able to bike and bus most places I want to go, weather permitting. Ideally, wherever my career takes me (assuming I have a career), it will be in a big city so I can put off purchasing a vehicle as long as possible. I’m thinking my first car might make a nice 40th birthday present — you know, so I can cart the kids around and whatnot.

4. I wait to buy new things until the very life is sucked out of the old. This applies to clothes, shoes, soap, milk, winter coats, toilet paper and any type of edible grocery item. My two favorite pairs of shoes are so worn out, they might as well be socks. I’ve been using the exact same bottle of Neutrogena Oil-Free Acne Wash since I came to college. I’m still using the same box of instant mashed potatoes that I started sophomore year with, and I’m almost positive it’s still fresh enough.

For some, the equation is simple: graduate, get a job, move, do the job. I could easily do that if I didn’t care what job I got. But I do care. And if that means starting in a small position at a tiny newspaper and receiving something that can barely be called a salary, so be it. If it means sweating in a studio apartment, existing off simple carbs and relying on public transportation, I’ll do it.

When I said earlier that my measly salary was going to be awesome, I wasn’t kidding, because I love what it stands for: a beginning. I’ll make ends meet. I’ll live for the work. And in the end, it will be worth it.

April 16, 2007, 6:12 pm

Too Quick to Judge

By Anna Weggel

My roommate Nick recently had the unfortunate experience of graduating a semester before the rest of his roommates.

Oh, how we judged him.

Before graduating, he secured a position as an assistant speech coach at his old high school, a job that paid an annual stipend of $1,300, to be distributed to him at the end of the speech season. In order to save money on the commute to his hometown, he temporarily moved in with his parents. Yet he continued to pay the rent for his room in our house.

And thank God.

As the person slated to pay the landlord and collect the rent from the rest of my roommates, I would panic at the end of each month that Nick was gone. When there’s money involved in a friendship, it can get a little awkward, but my concern went beyond that. I wanted to know what he was doing, how he was feeling and what jobs he was applying for.

It looked to us as if Nick might be aimless, and unaware that he didn’t have a real job. (Moving back home with parents is often viewed as a classic sign of failure in a recent graduate.) We didn’t understand why he couldn’t just get his act together.

But we were wrong, and it turned out we didn’t know as much as we thought we did about postgraduate life.

Mainly, we underestimated the importance of that little speech gig Nick had.

In high school, Nick had auditioned for the speech team on a fluke when a friend needed him to fill in last-minute as his audition partner. That accidental audition turned into one of the most momentous events of his life, as he went on to become a full-fledged member of the speech team. Today, he calls being on that team an amazing experience that exposed him to some of the best people he’s met in his life.

At the team’s end-of-the-year banquet, one of Nick’s coaches gave him the most valuable piece of advice he’s ever received: “Figure out what you want to do in life and do that. And to hell with what everyone else says.” This advice rang true for Nick when he changed his major in college from chemical engineering to communication studies, knowing that the latter suited him better and would lead him to what he truly wanted to do.

After graduating, Nick was able to fulfill one of his dreams by giving back to the team that had meant everything to him when he was growing up. Making sacrifices and being stretched thin financially didn’t matter to him.

So here we are. It’s April. I’m applying for what feels like a job a day, and nothing is biting. One of my roommates is doing the same. Another won’t even graduate for a while.

And then there’s Nick. While working on his part-time speech job, he landed a temp-to-hire position at a logistics company where he’d like to stay for a few years. This cozy full-time job allows him to pay the bills. Because of his financial security, he is able to devote evenings and weekends to the speech team and to the kids he cares so much about. He’s stable and satisfied.

It’s crazy to believe that the perfect job is going to fall into your lap the moment you graduate, and that doing what you love will necessarily be what supports you financially.

The best we can do is to identify that thing we’re passionate about, that gets us out of bed every day. Nick, I’m sorry we judged you. But I learned something from you, and I’ll be keeping your story in the back of my mind as I try to find the thing that makes me as proud, uplifted and fulfilled as you are.

April 24, 2007, 6:03 pm

What I'll Miss About College

By Anna Weggel

I can’t believe I’m almost done with college. I don’t know how to feel about it, and it’s truly overwhelming.

When I was growing up, my mom would tell me I was “made for college.” I had no idea what she meant. I would say, “But Mom, I love high school,” and she would reply, “I know. But just wait.”

I chose the University of Minnesota because it is far enough from home to provide delicious independence from my family, but close enough that an hour-and-a-half drive will shoot me straight into my parents’ house to stock up on Mom-hugs, Dad-advice and bags full of groceries.

My university is vibrant, humongous and diverse. Its leaders are working to make it a top-ranked research institution, and its location in the Twin Cities offers endless opportunities to experience artistic culture. Most important to me, there is a daily student newspaper that is independent of the university. The only downside is that to wade through a bureaucracy this thick, you really need to be self-motivated. Over the years, that has made me grow up.

These are the things I’ll miss most about college.

• My professors. On the first day of class this semester, one of my professors gave us his cell phone number “in case we ever need to get bailed out of jail.” He was serious. Some of my favorite professors have been adjunct faculty, who wake up in time to teach 8 a.m. class twice a week and then spend the rest of their days reporting for their respective newspapers. The university pays them so little that it might as well be called volunteering, but they don’t do it for the money.

• My house. My bedroom has purple walls, and our three house futons are so worn from hosting friends that there is a permanent sleeping-person form molded into them. Although the floors are so dirty I have to wear sandals in the kitchen, my roommates have become a strong, supportive family. I’m afraid to see what it will be like to live without people who cheer when I walk in the door at the end of a rough day.

• My student newspaper. The Minnesota Daily has taught me more about journalism, people, ethics, doing well, messing up, being a boss, having a boss, meeting deadlines, having too much to do, completing projects, managing stress and living life than I’ve learned in all of the jobs and classes I’ve had combined.

• Never having free time. Yep, I said that correctly. What is having a job like when you don’t have endless amounts of homework on top of it? Working 40 hours a week, then going home at the end of the day to just hang out sounds foreign to me. I guess you could say I haven’t learned how to appreciate downtime.

• Walking. At an urban campus like mine, we walk everywhere. I’m hardly in one building for more than an hour before I have to leave to walk elsewhere. What if I get a job where I sit at a desk all day? Plenty of people have such jobs, and I’m sure I’ll have one someday too. If I do, I suppose I’ll take my lunch outdoors in silent protest. Ha.

I hadn’t started to lament the ending of my college experience until a former neighbor sent me an e-mail message that included job advice and ideas. At the end of her note, she wrote, “Make sure you have fun your last few months of college. And it’s O.K. if you cry when you leave.”

That one line made me realize I grew up in college. I am a completely different person than the acne-ridden, wisdom-tooth-less 18-year-old who stumbled into Pioneer Hall four years ago, nervous about meeting her roommates. I’m certainly not saying that after four years I know it all. In fact, I would guess that I know little to nothing about anything.

A few weeks ago, I was exchanging e-mail messages with my dad about some of the more critical comments on my first column on this site. “People thought my idealism and hopefulness were naïveté,” I wrote. “Do you think that?” Dad, in his wisdom, said, “I think all 22-year-olds are naïve. You’ve experienced a lot, but still not in the real-world sense; you were still protected some by the university umbrella. There’s nothing wrong with being naïve, though, it’s part of the maturation process. It’s cool.”

That was Dad’s gentle way of saying that yes, I am naïve — really naïve. But at least I realize that now, and can embrace it. I think it would be nice to hold onto my idealism, no matter how naïve it makes me, for at least a little while.

Can't tell jokes.

My friend has this joke on his blog:

Where do Moon people go when they get married?

On their honeyearth!

My attempt at telling my coworkers this joke:

Me: "Where do Moon people go on their honeymoon?"

[Coworkers stare blankly]

Me: "Frick I messed it up!! Nevermind. It's ruined."

why it took me two hours to get to work yesterday.

My bus commute to work usually takes 40 minutes. Yesterday, it took two hours. Here's why.

All the buses that go on a certain street changed times yesterday (with no notice) due to construction. This meant that my bus left 2 minutes early yesterday. As I was strolling up to the bus stop thinking about how I was "a whole 2 minutes early", the bus left without me. I watched the bus slowly slip away from my grasp and thought about how that was the last express bus of the day. Because of that, I had to take the non-express bus, which I call the "death train" because of the scary jerks that ride it and the hour+ it takes to get to downtown St. Paul.

To add to the misery of the death train making stops to let people off and on about every half-block along the way, every couple of stops this particular driver would turn the bus off and read the newspaper, probably because he was ahead of schedule. Finally, he stopped at a university, turned the bus off and sat there for TWENTY MINUTES, then headed back toward my house! I asked him when he goes to downtown St. Paul and he said that bus doesn't go to downtown St. Paul. So I had to get off, cross the street, wait 10 minutes for the same bus with a different letter after the number, then THAT bus driver proceeded to stop and read the paper at every couple of stops.

THEN we heard all these sirens and it turned out that the bus in front of us was stopped with two police cars and an ambulance surrounding it because Allah knows why, so all of those passengers had to get on our bus which took an additional 10 minutes. I finally rolled into work at 10:30 am after two hours SHAKING with frustration, and a few dropped tears out of sheer fury.

crawling day.

I'm having trouble concentrating today. I feel like I'm just floundering along wondering why Amazon Kindles are so expensive and watching videos of Jimmy Kimmel's love affair with Ben Affleck. And I just really have to blame it on one thing.

Mashed potatoes on top of pizza. Mashed potato pizza. Potatoes. On pizza. Pizza Potatoes. In my mouth. Can't. stop. thinking about it.

Pretty much, I figure that I have 7 or 8 hours left until I eat some. But until then, I will tell you that "we smother our pizza crust in buttery-garlic baby red mashed potatoes and top it with broccoli, fresh-diced tomatoes, cheddar cheese and a sprinkle of smoked apple hickory bacon - served with a side of sour cream".

Sometimes people are all like "ew. potatoes on a pizza? that's sick" and I'm all like "SHUT UP YOU STUPID JERK!" Then I shove a piece of broccoli up their nose, regret it immediately because I love broccoli, then go eat some pizza and think about things.

Ever heard of this?

Mensa is this elite organization that you can only be a part of if you're in the top 2 percent of IQ's in the population. It was founded in 1946 to act as a society where "bright people" can exchange ideas, encourage research, and promote opportunities for members.

I decided to take the practice test to see if I were Mensa-abled. Let's just say, I'm not.

Fricking stupid Mensa and your stupid special club!!