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Ken Calc '96 | |||
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Ken lounged in his formidable study, taking yet another long pull of Vermouth. It was a brief reprieve from the clacking of the keyboard and the swirling cloud of thought he currently faced. The glow of the nearly 50 pound monitor alit Ken's stubbled face, showcasing his brilliantly orange lockes, as well as his haggard, tired gaze.
You see, Ken was on the verge of a breakthrough the likes of which this world has never seen. Ken was about to uncover The Forbidden Half Floor.
Why was Ken so fatigued? Well, he had a rather arduous day completing a rigorous interview process. Months of preparation went into this moment, and the payoff was well worth it. Ken was offered a professorship at his alma mater, Schragvale University. Did I say months of preparation? Scratch that, Ken had been preparing for nearly 10 years. He pursued a doctorate in a field he had zero interest in, knowing that Schragvale was constantly in need of Associate Professors of Ultra-Passive Conflict Resolution with an additional Master's degree in Palette Knife Painting.
So why go through all this trouble? Why have children solely for the purpose of appearing to look like a family man and increase his odds? Well, if Ken was going to explore the mega secret Forbidden Half Floor he needed unquestioned and unrelinquished access to the campus. Ken gazed at his fireplace, lit abright by the various theses and dissertations he trudged through for a decade. Never again would he study. Never again would he write a single sentence on Ultra-Passive Conflict Resolution. And never again would he crap out another Starry Night ripoff.
Click below for Ken's Mystery Tour #1
WARNING: I recommend a 1024x768 monitor AND a 56Kbps internet connection for Ken's Mystery Tour. If your browser doesn't support it send me an email and I can burn you a CD instead for a small fee
Ken awoke to another tequila sunrise. "Shit" he uttered, grasping for his bedside spectacles. Passive Conflict Resolution 102 was most assuredly at the bottom of his list of preferred morning activities. Why in the world was it decided this should be an 8:00 am class (let alone a class at all)? It didn't help that Ken was a rough and tough country boy, and his style of conflict resolution usually involved a swirly. No wonder they can't find a teacher for this class that sticks around longer than a year, Ken mused. No matter, he'd get this required credit out of the way and forget all about it, just like that interim astronomy course.
Looking at the time, Ken quickly threw on a sweatshirt and jumped into his bell bottom jeans. He tripped into his Birkenstocks, slung a tattered maroon backpack over his shoulder, and began to exit his dorm room. Before leaving, he gave himself a once-over in the mirror. A strong, robust hunk, undamaged by the sun, with a shock of flowing orange hair and matching beard. Just the way God intended. Ken gave himself a wink and made his way to class.
Once more looking at the time, Ken was eager for this session of PCR102 to conclude. Unfortunately, the small class size prohibited Ken from sleeping through it, and even worse, he had to occasionally contribute to the conversation. Yuck. "When somebody is greatly upset, one solid strategy is to hide in the other room until you hear them leave..." , the professor droned on and on. Ken could barely hold on, the professor's monotone drawl lulling him to an "unconscious but open eyed" state. "...how would you respond to a situation like that, Ken?" The question blasted Ken into consciousness like a bucket of iced water. He had no idea what was going on, but desperately needed those participation points. Thinking fast, Ken pretended to write down some notes, hoping to look too wrapped in thought to have heard the question. The professor tried locking eyes but Ken artfully avoided her gaze. It was like watching a pair of ballet dancers masterfully perform their routines without ever obstructing one another. "Excellent response Ken, avoiding eye contact and being generally non-responsive is a safe and appropriate reaction. I know you're only here because you have to be but... you're pretty good at this PCR stuff."
"Heh, in your dreams, lady. I'm here for two things: football and titties"
"Where would you be if that one little inconsequential moment took a different route? What if you pulled a different name out of a hat for your assigned partner in 4th grade? The difference between a wildly successful business magnate and a derelict street dweller can all come down to the minutiae." -Ken
He parked his weathered, peeling sedan a block away. He couldn't let the others know. Rolling up the windows, Ken exited his vehicle, ambling down the uneven brick street. The sky was tinged with dark gray, clouds overtaking the real estate that a sweltering blue day had reigned over hours before. He could smell the ozone as it heavily descended upon the earth, knowing that soon enough the nimbostratus would let forth a deluge on this arid August day. A few more steps and his premonition came true: an errant sprinkle grazed his cheek. Soon enough, it was joined by a torrent of others, quickly creating puddles in the valleys of old brick beneath his feet.
In the downpour she was standing, and although the teeming rain obscured most things, her radiant and true smile could never be mistaken. She was the embodiment of hope. She was the exhilaration that could cause a man to get willfully soaked from head to toe in the middle of the street and not give a damn about it. To the contrary, the rain was warm, relaxing, an extension of her beauty. They locked fingers and ran to nowhere in particular, giggling like school children as Ken gazed into her perfect auburn eyes. If God is not dead, let me never forget this moment, Ken prayed.
With class finally at an end, Ken stuffed the doodlings he called notes into his backpack and headed out. He descended the spiraling, wooden staircase towards the building's exit. At the bottom of the stairs however, Ken spotted a Pilot G2 Gel Roller Ball Extra Fine Pen. Not one to pass up such an opportunity, he briefly paused his exodus, bending over to pick it up. That's when he felt it. Ken had braced his hand on the wall at the base of the stairs, and as palm met varnished oak, a sanguine yet ashen vision took place before him. The expanse of every emotion, from the peaks of ecstasy all the way down to the cellars of despair were simultaneously experienced, undulating to a focal point where his hand made contact. He felt a force attempting to strip the very essence of our brawny hero. Like an Icee Pop (preferrably blue raz) that's been sucked of all flavor and left with only a colorless stick of ice. Ken resisted, tried to free his hand of the tyranny while also still trying to grab the Pilot G2 Gel Roller Pen, but the force was great. Screw the pen, Ken thought, and with one last cajoled effort, ripped his hand from the staircase. If Ken was a blue raz Icee Pop, he'd be light blue in complexion.
Still reeling with adrenaline, Ken had yet to grasp the austerity of what just occurred. Looking upwards from the floor, he observed a half-sized door where he had nonchalantly placed his hand moments ago. He'd passed by it enough times during his undergraduate career, never giving it a second glance. Not eager to go for round two, he backed away from the hobbit door, but not before he heard it. Whispers of the past, swirling around him, crescendoing into a cacaphony of madness. Former students who met a fate worse than he, perhaps? Ken eyeballed the Pilot G2 once more. Something about it didn't seem right. It was too situated, too perfect. With much to process, Ken continued the journey back to his dorm, picking up his gait, as if he were trying to outrun his destiny. Little did Ken know the fork in the road of life he just experienced.
It isn't until we've lost everything, that we're free to do anything.
Riddle | Answer |
---|---|
I once heard of a bookkeeper who, while working on the accounts of the Frobozz Magic Balloon Company, noted that the word 'balloon' has two double letters in a row! Stretching his limited imagination to the limit, this bookkeeper wondered if there were any words with THREE double letters in a row. He couldn't think of one -- but I'll bet that YOU can!" | Bookkeeper |
You measure my life in hours and I serve you by expiring. I'm quick when I'm thin and slow when I'm fat. The wind is my enemy. | Candle |
What is seen in the middle of March and April that can't be seen at the beginning or end of either month? | The letter R |
MYSTERY: Where did my Command and Conquer CD go?!
To say Ken was a walking shell, a husk, would be an exaggeration. He still felt the thrill of passing the perfect spiral, was still quenched by an ice cold Mountain Dew. Yet, it wasn't as genuine as he remembered. As if he was hearing a retelling of his exploits, a well-versed story that he didn't experience firsthand. Perhaps he was getting older, and the thrill of life was finally starting to wane. But in his heart, Ken knew this was no inevitability of aging. The Half Door constantly played on his mind, dully at times, the forefront at others, most notably during restless nights.
Ken passed by the door uncountable times during his undergrad career. Courageously, he borrowed a pair of Custodian Brandon's heaviest gloves, and donning them, turned the handle. Locked of course, Ken wasn't surprised in the least. To keep students out, or to keep something in? Many evening prowls were spent searching for a key or an alternate entrance, but results weren't fruitful. Ken knew that such a strange episode just couldn't be verbalized to his peers or mentors, and fearing a trip to the loony bin, he abstained from admitting his experiences to others.
Readers, let your imaginations fill in the blanks between Ken The Student and Ken The Professor. For now, Ken would be returning to solve his life's biggest mystery.
Attribute | Fact |
---|---|
Height | 5'10 3/4" |
Hair Color | Auburn |
Top Bowling Score | 210 |
Favorite Sport to Play | Football |
Favorite Sport to Watch | Baseball |
Favorite Food | The Buffet at China Inn II |
Favorite Drink | You should know that one by now, DOY! |
Favorite Band | DREAM THEATER, BABY! |
Bench Press | 225 Lbs. |
Favorite Quote | "WHERE'S THE LYSOL, DAMMIT. IT SMELLS LIKE SHIT IN HERE!" - Coach Stucky |
Secret Fact | Click here to for a secret Ken Fact. Hint: Your sound makes my head spin. |
Challenge my bowling score --- IF YOU DARE
August 2nd, 1997
I dreamed I woke up in the morning and went outside to let the chickens out of the coop. Inside the coop though, under piles of dirt, were gigantic snakes. Trying to save my chickens, I grabbed a nearby rake and tried hooking a snake to pull it out. As I pulled, its true size was made apparent. It was bright red and the size of one of those boa constrictors I saw at the zoo as a kid. There were even more monstrous snakes in the coop, I ran back inside to find a weapon. That's when I woke up.
September 8th, 1997
I was in a mall and the end of the world was impending. At the onset, people kept their sanity, acted civilly, and hadn't yet accepted what was going to happen. The mall was populated with various people from my past. As the days passed, the reality of the end of the world set in, and people began acting out their urges, such as looting stores, robbing, violent acts, and indulging in their carnal desires with one another. People had to travel in groups to avoid being attacked and robbed by the other groups. On the last day, I was sitting in a restaurant watching everybody else doing whatever they felt like. Suddenly, life 'restarts' and I'm an infant again.
September 23rd, 1997
I'm back in a house I used to live at years ago. This time, I discover a secret door, leading to an area that's nearly the size of the original house itself (secret door dreams are common for me). I notice stairs to an attic, which I climb. The attic is almost a livable space, with carpeting, lights, and areas to sit. It's just too small to fully stand. There's piles of old computer parts and interesting gizmos.
Garlic Aioli French Fries with Fancy Sauce
Ingredients:
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 large clove garlic, finely minced
1 tsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
A bit of salt
Black pepper
Some Ketchup
Potatoes
Cooking oil (any type is fine)
Step 1: French Fries
1. Cut potatoes into thin strips. Soak them in the cooking oil before transferring them to your skillet.
2. While fries are cooking, prepare the aioli by combining all ingredients in a small bowl. If it's a little too thick, you can add a small splash of milk to thin. Cover and let sit until needed. If making ahead, cover and refrigerate.
3. Have ready your grated Grano Padano or Parmesan cheese and chopped parsley, along with a large bowl.
4. Once your fries are cooked and while they are still really hot, place fries in your large bowl. Drizzle with some garlic aioli and toss to coat the fries.
Sprinkle some grated cheese and chopped parsley on top and toss again. Sprinkle with a bit of salt (remember, the cheese is saltand lots of freshly ground pepper.
5. Transfer to a plate. If you like, drizzle a bit more garlic aioli on top and/or a bit more grated cheese.
Step 2: Fancy Sauce
This one's easy! Ken's Patented Fancy Sauce recipe is: 3 parts ketchup, 1 part mayo, and 2 squeezes of lemon. Mix it all up and boom, you've got fancy sauce. It's VERY IMPORTANT that you follow those steps IN THAT ORDER. Something to do with the acidity of the lime. If you mess up, it's okay, just start from scratch. GET IT?
P.S: I'm hoping to make my recipes at home even more authentic by growing my own vegetables. We'll see what this year's harvest looks like in a few months!
Professor Ken strolled onto campus wearing his usual teaching attire: Driver's cap, bowtie, beige dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a sport coat draped in the crook of his arm. It's the style that said "I'm ready to get my hands dirty", and indeed Ken was no stranger to hard work. After all, he attained his professorship out of sheer will, supporting his family in the interim with odd jobs in construction, fast food, and even a stint as a late night AM radio sports host. He hobbled together a curriculum that was essentially self-sustaining, requiring only minimal effort on his end. Ken needn't waste his time on these trivialities, his mind needed to be clear and dedicated to the real work at hand.
Cruising down the familiar worn path, Ken contemplated his situation. Hopefully employee orientation would provide him everything necessary: an all access pass to the campus and the authority to linger in strange places. Otherwise, he'd need to get creative. Best not to focus on these uncertainties now, they'd be answered soon enough. His footsteps continued to meet cement, the swishing of bell bottoms replaced with the silence of a well-fitted pair of slacks.
If you know anything about Ken, you know that he's a Rodent Guy. That's right, you can usually find me at the pet store once a week browsing the hamsters, gerbils, even the occasional hedgehog and ferret. I have a couple of hamsters right now, Lethorius and Pamela Anderson. I've built an extensive tube system to keep them busy, and they're huge fans of yogurt drops. They're also connoisseurs of the arts, just check out this charcoal drawing of me!
Hey folks, thanks for visiting my own little corner of the internet. Take a seat by the fire, get cozy, and have yourself a cold can of Mountain Dew while I spin a tale.
I've always been a fan of gadgetry and tech stuff. In fact, I was one of the first people in town to make a website, only beaten by Ron Baker at Ron's TV Repair down on 3rd and Broadway. If you're reading this Ron, you're welcome for the free advertising, and my website looks way better ;)
When I was in college, I worked at RadioShack, both to earn some cash and to get a discount on parts for my HAM radio obsession. We'd get a small commission on sales, so I quickly learned the art of the upsell. You need some RCA cables? Well we have these flimsy ol' pieces of crap, or we have these gold-plated, superior color-attenuation cables! Anywho... most days were fairly predictable. A lot of VCR sales, phones, requests to fix the occasional SNES (we were one of the handful of authorized Nintendo repair centers / RadioShack combos in the nation!), and other assorted miscellany.
If you know anything about Schragvale U, you know the town surrounding the college (Blue Field) is full of weirdos. We were like an oasis of normalcy inside a desert of rural oddity. City employees would occasionally stop in to buy various adapters for rather archaic systems. Based on their purchase history and tidbits of conversation, I was able to piece together the following:
The town was part of a pilot program by the government in the late 1970s that attempted to create a unified network, with a central server that controlled most city systems, hosted electronic mail, logged the keystrokes from all city computers, and more. The program was ultimately a failure on a national level as the infrastructure needs weren't feasible at the time, but apparently Blue Field kept the system functional on a local level. Somewhere under the town is a system of tunnels housing a gigantic 'supercomputer' of the '70s. Sure would like to get my hands on it, maybe snoop around some emails from the mayor!
Based on my research, the entrance to the tunnels may lie around the 10th street bridge. These renditions should give you a rough idea of what to look for. The immense overgrowth under the bridge, regardless of the city's maintenance and upkeep of surrounding land give me suspicion. I haven't been able to venture too far into the weeds due to being watched by various figures on the bridge itself.
I knew nothing about this town before moving here for college. A majority of the residents are lifers, they were born and raised here with no plans to the contrary. Some of them have never left the state. The population is around 17,000 if you believe the billboard entering town. There's a particular, unspoken mood between residents that I'm not privvy to, being an outsider. Everywhere I go, I'm stared at. I mostly attribute this to my stylish clothing and long hair, but part of me has more paranoid notions. Some factoids about Blue Field:
People ask me "Ken, how did you manage to bench 225?" They often assume it's due to being genetically gifted, but let me tell you, I had to put in the sweat and tears in the iron dungeon. I didn't start this strong, to the contrary. When I first started lifting weights in 8th grade, I could barely manage the bar (45 lbs.) but through substantial trial and error, I've developed a routine that YOU can follow along with and get just as buff as me: