2004-12-14 - 9:57 a.m.

Current Band O' the Moment: American Music Club

If you listen very carefully, you can hear the sound of 40,000 little ScanTron bubbles being filled in meticulously all over campus. But I'm not one of those sweaty palms anymore. No, my palms are calloused, torn a little from bartending, and yet softer in some places from a little Palmolive.

This is the sound of settling.

I'm watching my friends who are still in school struggle with the overwhelming tsunami of finals and final papers, etc... And I feel for them. Until of course they finish finals and are rewarded wtih a nice 3 week vacation. Then I don't feel for them quite so much.

The Christmas shopping is complete. All without hassle, fuss, or bodily injury. This year the gifts seemed to choose themselves. I was simply a vehicle, swerving through middle-aged women in mizzou sweatshirts and JcPenny jeans, dragging ToysRUs bags and infants behind them. They wear this combination panicked/frustrated/determined look on their face that says, "Step in my path, and I will destroy you."

To be fair, you really don't see any dudes lugging the kids along in the quest for Christmas presents.

So I shuffle along the sides of the mall walkway, my shoulders almost pressed up against the display windows that I pass. I'm smart enough to stay out of the way of the speed shoppers, quite content with my leisurely pace. Occasionaly I'm the victim of a stroller hit and run, the rubber tires leaping up over my foot or grinding into the back of my ankle.

But who cares. It's Christmas.

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