Name: Thomas Harris-Warrick

Age: 20

Place of Origin: Ithaca, NY.

Thomas has spent a considerable amount of time in France, England and several other countries. He plays a multitude of instruments, including piano, trumpet, guitar, and most recently, bagpipes. He also enjoys computer programming. He is a Peer Helper for the team. "Judge me by my size, do you?" -Yoda

Favorite book: Dragon Wing - Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman

Favorite movie: Star Wars, all of them, then the Indiana Jones movies, then Ronin

Favorite food: Usually lasagna, but chocolate is pretty good too.

Favorite musical group: It varies. Sometimes 12 Knights in a row, sometimes Dead Milkmen, sometimes Metropolitan Opera, sometimes Korn, whatever.

Favorite thing to do in your spare time: Read a good book.

What Thomas has to say:

The other day on the work site, I was inspired to write a beatnik poem, Called "I spilled Coke on my shirt." It goes (*snap*) a little (*snap*) like this (*snappety snap snap*):

I spilled coke on my shirt.
Hey man,
Why'd you have to go and do that?
Now I have
To wash it?

Hey man. (*snap*)
Hey man. (*snap*)

Hey man.

And then just today, while talking with Channing, I was inspired to write a new Nine Inch Nails song called "Starbucks, Inc." It goes a little like this:

(Weird, funky synthesizer sounds, with some peaceful piano thrown in, a couple of static-ey guitar riffs, and maybe a scream crescendoing then abruptly cutting off in the middle. Repeat as much as wanted through song)

Corrupted, coffee communists,
Whirling in their sin of lies,
They tried to give me mocha,
But it's me that I despise.

These tepid pools of coffee,
Whirling 'round inside of me,
Their horrid French Vanilla,
Filled me up with agony.

I cannot take no more,
Wretched Italian roast,
The need for cream nor sugar,
My colon is verbose.

(Chorus, many voices)
STARBUCKS!
STARBUCKS!
STARBUCKS INCORPORATED!
They fill you up,
Then tear you down,
With merchandising digs.
STARBUCKS!
STARBUCKS!
STARBUCKS INCORPORATED!
Drink it through,
This little straw,
For we are all their pigs.

I went and hurt my self today.
When they tried to spoil my latte.
Then the clerk he tried to say:
You should try our crème brulee.

Unlock their doors, come out at night,
As we march, in single file.
All I want is Hazelnut,
But even that they will defile!

Coffee is our modern Zen,
When Kona's not enough,
Cappuccino will come through,
Straight black is just the stuff.

(Chorus)

Java!
Americano!
Mochiatto!
Colombian!
They burn it all in masses.
There is something floating in my cup,
Their hideous coffee gasses.

How I loathe their foetid wares,
These aromas do disgust me.
When I go in their putrid place,
All my bile is set free.

How can I end their eldrich reign?
These Hellhounds from Seattle,
My blood has shed upon your floor,
I may have lost the battle . . .

(Chorus, repeat, then fade away into chilling solo piano which fades away itself).

These are the works inspired by the workplace. Thank Habitat for boosting my creativity.

Other things by this person
-Pinnacle Mountain Personal Statement
-Strawberry Fields Forever
-Sea Island Personal Statement
-South Cumberland Personal Statement
-Kayaking
-Florida Personal Statement
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