My 9th grade history teacher P. Sanch. called my cell phone while I was at a garage that was transformed into a 50's diner like atmosphere. A bunch of old friends were around and when I called him back, he started telling me that I had won a sweepstakes. I won something really stupid as my first prize, and started getting angry that he had done this with his life. Then he told me that I had won a brand new car and a lifetime supply of lubricant. When the car rolled in moments later, it was a beatup, dirty, brown pick up truck with tubs a lubricant in the trunk thrown wildly about. Then he told me about a third prize and I hung up.
Next, a few people were in a nicer car and we driving along a circular route. We could see what was below us: a magical array of electric grids connected by giant Lego pieces. The stars were very bright above us. I could distinctly see orion, and cancer, and ursa minor (at least what I thought they looked like. I know orion was correct). And then as we went to the other half of the sky, I saw some constellations that confused me. One looked incredibly intricate, and upon further notice of the 50+ stars governing it, it looked like a circuit board. The stars were all beautiful.
Next, back at the garage, I was walking outside and noticed a car unable to continue forward, so they did a k-turn in minimal space that they had. Then I saw the same thing happen again. At this point I realized something profound. It had to do with how experiences and happiness are not related. Or something similar to that. Because I like to keep track of queries, I needed a place to document it so I wouldn't forget. I took out my iPhone and went to voice record. I couldn't exactly remember what I had said. That sucked. I kept trying. Then I woke up and tried to continue remembering the phrasing. I could not.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
A Beach, a Naked Race, a Sandwich, and Baked Beans
Cleaning out the room with Jonathan. He had lots of statues of things I had a pen that was in the shape of a fish. Our futon was out of the room and it looked very clean without the rug. I wasn't packing so my desk was a shitshow. Brandon came in at some point. Then we all went down to the beach. Two or three girls showed up and we ran around and there was a tree. Maybe oak. That's probably unimportant.
Next dream
Racing around a square seemingly hotel arrangement with logan and two others. Pads which increased your speed. One corner of hotel had a cafe and the other had an exercise area with stationary bikes. There was also and experimental exercise room which had a window, was 10x4 feet and had cabinets and a single stationary bike it. There may have been a door to a back room.
Pants fall down so I'm bare ass but I dont care because I must win. I learn it is very hard to pull up sweatpants and underwear while trying to go fast. Lots of people around.
The area slowly transforms to an airport type place. There are sandwiches that are very tasty. There's a make your own salad bar with a sign like the sign in dining hall. There's a make your own sandwich bar. I was holding that very good turkey lettuce and tomato on baguette and was wondering if I could make it as well. Then went further and found where my whole family was sitting. Many of them were going to this place accross the path to get what I assumed was pizza. This turned out to be wrong because the waiter came back to where we were sitting with a tray that had a burger with spiced fries for father, a hotdog covered in baked beans with side of fries which looked so good I wanted to find it on the menu (barbecue hot dog with brisket and baked beans with fries) I thought about getting it but I had just had a sandwich so I didn't. The waiter creepily gave whatever my 8 year old cousin ordered with a "here you go little girl" then he put his hand on his hip and looked up toward my right and said "and little girl would you like anything?" he was asking my eldest brother. He has a beard, short hair and is a guy. He said something like "no you little bitch" and then the waiter left.
Then we all left and now were by the ocean in cape cod, it seemed. The family was pretty far ahead and me an Justin were talking about how we both loved baked beans. Except he called them something else. Maybe barbecued beans?
Next dream
Racing around a square seemingly hotel arrangement with logan and two others. Pads which increased your speed. One corner of hotel had a cafe and the other had an exercise area with stationary bikes. There was also and experimental exercise room which had a window, was 10x4 feet and had cabinets and a single stationary bike it. There may have been a door to a back room.
Pants fall down so I'm bare ass but I dont care because I must win. I learn it is very hard to pull up sweatpants and underwear while trying to go fast. Lots of people around.
The area slowly transforms to an airport type place. There are sandwiches that are very tasty. There's a make your own salad bar with a sign like the sign in dining hall. There's a make your own sandwich bar. I was holding that very good turkey lettuce and tomato on baguette and was wondering if I could make it as well. Then went further and found where my whole family was sitting. Many of them were going to this place accross the path to get what I assumed was pizza. This turned out to be wrong because the waiter came back to where we were sitting with a tray that had a burger with spiced fries for father, a hotdog covered in baked beans with side of fries which looked so good I wanted to find it on the menu (barbecue hot dog with brisket and baked beans with fries) I thought about getting it but I had just had a sandwich so I didn't. The waiter creepily gave whatever my 8 year old cousin ordered with a "here you go little girl" then he put his hand on his hip and looked up toward my right and said "and little girl would you like anything?" he was asking my eldest brother. He has a beard, short hair and is a guy. He said something like "no you little bitch" and then the waiter left.
Then we all left and now were by the ocean in cape cod, it seemed. The family was pretty far ahead and me an Justin were talking about how we both loved baked beans. Except he called them something else. Maybe barbecued beans?
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Poop.
People like me because I am a part of that small percentage that makes jokes and laughs about poop.
First Lucid Dream
Realized i was dreaming from I think someone being like "yo dude!!! You are lucid dreaming cooool!" Then I decided to test it out and fly....I felt weird inside but I don't think I was flying. Flying without wings or such just simply makes nophysical sense and therefore I couldn't even pretend that it made sense. I probably was on the floor of my dreamworld with my arms stretched out, but the room turned light blue. Lasted like 2 dream seconds the. I was like this is stupid.
Then I went to a party and kept checking my watch to make sure
I wouldn't be late for class. Sat down to play poker. Lost in first hand because we both had something good, but his was slightly better. I was like "ohhh darn". Then went further through the scene (it was dark an park esque)
down lots of steps, couldn't see them at all with glasses , could see them without but they were dark. (had to squint) made it do a glass door. Just on other side was a hallway. Immediately on left was a door that Many people would go into but lock just after because they were doing something bad. Down hall was a big room with some friends of mine (Dom) playing poker. I never went to check if he was winning.
I went into door on left and saw a line of like 6girls in the hall the door opened to waiting to go left around the corner (occasianally looking around it to see if the guys were done.) it was apparently a bathroom full of only stalls. The guys sometimes used them but were mainly a a table in the big room that the hall opened up to in this bathroom. It was behind a row of shrubs but not so that it was outside. This was all inside. They were talking about whether i had brought the stuff. I had no idea so I asked. They said "the illegal stuff" and then because I was still really condused...i left and went back through the glass door and up some steps and by a pool and found a table. There was a loaf of french bread there. I ate some and then checked my watch to see if i was late for class. I saw a hand by the 12/11 area so I assumed it to be 1155. But that would mean I was late to my 1145 class so I checked again. This time it read 658 ish and I was like oh shit that must mean it is at night and I missed all my classes! Ahh then I decided that I should wake up and find out the real time. It was 1009, I had been asleep for a max of 20 min.
Then I went to a party and kept checking my watch to make sure
I wouldn't be late for class. Sat down to play poker. Lost in first hand because we both had something good, but his was slightly better. I was like "ohhh darn". Then went further through the scene (it was dark an park esque)
down lots of steps, couldn't see them at all with glasses , could see them without but they were dark. (had to squint) made it do a glass door. Just on other side was a hallway. Immediately on left was a door that Many people would go into but lock just after because they were doing something bad. Down hall was a big room with some friends of mine (Dom) playing poker. I never went to check if he was winning.
I went into door on left and saw a line of like 6girls in the hall the door opened to waiting to go left around the corner (occasianally looking around it to see if the guys were done.) it was apparently a bathroom full of only stalls. The guys sometimes used them but were mainly a a table in the big room that the hall opened up to in this bathroom. It was behind a row of shrubs but not so that it was outside. This was all inside. They were talking about whether i had brought the stuff. I had no idea so I asked. They said "the illegal stuff" and then because I was still really condused...i left and went back through the glass door and up some steps and by a pool and found a table. There was a loaf of french bread there. I ate some and then checked my watch to see if i was late for class. I saw a hand by the 12/11 area so I assumed it to be 1155. But that would mean I was late to my 1145 class so I checked again. This time it read 658 ish and I was like oh shit that must mean it is at night and I missed all my classes! Ahh then I decided that I should wake up and find out the real time. It was 1009, I had been asleep for a max of 20 min.
Terrorists, a Lego Flamethrower, and a Horde of Ghosts
Running through forests in Asian country trying to avoid terrorists. Something else I can't remember. Then this happened.
Terrorists were creating new government and were forging fake docs in different language that said that we were legally bound to them or something and someone we knew believed it and went to their side. The rest of us went into the back of this truck and hid. Didn't know what to do and andrew had the idea to build a laser. I saw a lego board in the truck and started building a flame thrower with wires, lights, a lighter that was taken apart so it could be started with heat from the lights and a battery (9v)
Eventually the people found us but I wasn't done with the flame thrower yetand we were stalling with the traitor. We were trying to convince him or her that it was a forgery and that a simple stamp was not enough to prove that it was true. (this may or may not have been in hong kong, I just went to sleep slightly and was told that by some people in the tall buildings bottom floor parking garage that part of the dream took place in) eventually we convinced him and then I turned on the power of the flamethrower (the flame wasn't connected yet) and the led turned on very brightly. I smiled and turned to my side to whoever it was and said " I love electronics" with 5 more minutes I knew I could make it work. Then it went back to that parking garage. Peaches was far away and had just come down from a higher floor and waved. I was with my dad and I was like wtf why did that just happen. Then I saw my mom and went over to her.
Next sleep same night
Then, large room with attached rooms that were spaceship looking. People are put in a sleep state and put here until they act unruly or it's time for them to get up because they are done being experimented on or something. Jonathan and I put ourselves here to beat the ghosts who were in charge so that we could bring everyone back to reality.
There is a 40 ft metal statue of a ring with two other rings inside that make it look like a sphere. Also, the food isn't very good.
The ghosts work in pairs. one holds the victim and the other shoots him or her from the other side. Once it was one of our turns to be set back, the other would take one of the tennis ball shaped ammo and a gun and would try to shoot the ghosts. (maybe it's a bad thing to bring ghosts back to reality...)
I was chosen first and brought to this lounge area. A guy who looked like white goodmans right hand man said to me after I acted hurt to cause a distraction as Jonathan took a tennis ball, "if you are seriously hurt we need send you back right now. Unless you took metrx." before Jonathan had chosen, I had been told to choose the ball that would be used on me. It was a number 9. Jonathan chose a number 72. I later realized that my jumpsuit had a number 9 on it. I wonder if that was a problem.
Terrorists were creating new government and were forging fake docs in different language that said that we were legally bound to them or something and someone we knew believed it and went to their side. The rest of us went into the back of this truck and hid. Didn't know what to do and andrew had the idea to build a laser. I saw a lego board in the truck and started building a flame thrower with wires, lights, a lighter that was taken apart so it could be started with heat from the lights and a battery (9v)
Eventually the people found us but I wasn't done with the flame thrower yetand we were stalling with the traitor. We were trying to convince him or her that it was a forgery and that a simple stamp was not enough to prove that it was true. (this may or may not have been in hong kong, I just went to sleep slightly and was told that by some people in the tall buildings bottom floor parking garage that part of the dream took place in) eventually we convinced him and then I turned on the power of the flamethrower (the flame wasn't connected yet) and the led turned on very brightly. I smiled and turned to my side to whoever it was and said " I love electronics" with 5 more minutes I knew I could make it work. Then it went back to that parking garage. Peaches was far away and had just come down from a higher floor and waved. I was with my dad and I was like wtf why did that just happen. Then I saw my mom and went over to her.
Next sleep same night
Then, large room with attached rooms that were spaceship looking. People are put in a sleep state and put here until they act unruly or it's time for them to get up because they are done being experimented on or something. Jonathan and I put ourselves here to beat the ghosts who were in charge so that we could bring everyone back to reality.
There is a 40 ft metal statue of a ring with two other rings inside that make it look like a sphere. Also, the food isn't very good.
The ghosts work in pairs. one holds the victim and the other shoots him or her from the other side. Once it was one of our turns to be set back, the other would take one of the tennis ball shaped ammo and a gun and would try to shoot the ghosts. (maybe it's a bad thing to bring ghosts back to reality...)
I was chosen first and brought to this lounge area. A guy who looked like white goodmans right hand man said to me after I acted hurt to cause a distraction as Jonathan took a tennis ball, "if you are seriously hurt we need send you back right now. Unless you took metrx." before Jonathan had chosen, I had been told to choose the ball that would be used on me. It was a number 9. Jonathan chose a number 72. I later realized that my jumpsuit had a number 9 on it. I wonder if that was a problem.
Reflection
I write this on the journey back from the USC-Notre Dame Coliseum Clash, where I learned what my school means when it says it stresses “family.” The epiphany unraveled as I sat with Notre Dame fans encompassing the area, yelling chants of the Irish even as the rain fell, and even as the team was down 16-13. I cared for the team, for those students I knew in the stands, and strangely for the people cheering with me before worrying about an almost certain sickness from the wet chill. The scene reminded me of a home game, with the student section jauntily proclaiming a coming victory.
At USC, opposing fans fist-bumped me, inappropriately touched me, and even accused me of sweating profusely even though it was forty-degrees, raining, and I lacked anything warmer than the pride of a green Notre Dame t-shirt. The fist-bump was completely unexpected, and the joy it brought me makes me want to return the favor to other rivals at home games. But the others, from my limited experience, are hard to imagine a Notre Dame alumnus or student of performing. First, they—or should I say “we”—seem to know how much physical contact is too much. Yes, we have fun exclaiming that the other team “sucks,” but grabbing someone and pushing them against the wall in a drunken stupor falls below us, especially the grabbing of someone. Next, I believe a Notre Dame graduate or student can tell the difference between sweat and rain.
Nonetheless, these intercollegiate fan-interactions supplied me with the necessary contrast to Notre Dame’s own spirit. The spirit of the stadium did not impress me as much as the physical size of the coliseum, the incredible hats of the band, or fact that someone in full Trojan warrior’s garb rode a pure white horse to cheer up the crowd. Theoretically, USC, with its recent victorious history, should have had more support than the lackluster Irish just as the Los Angeles Lakers draw greater crowds than the ailing Clippers, but I believe that despite the size of the crowd, the roars of The House that Rockne Built defeat those of the Trojans.
I sat with my Dad, high in the stands behind an end zone with hundreds of alumni and students. The chants of “Let’s go Irish!” and “We are N.D.” may have been louder than when sitting in the student section. The Notre Dame family stood against the cheers of the home crowd with our own attack. We fought like Spartans. I hurt my freezing hands high-fiving the elderly couples, upperclassmen, recent graduates, and the like all in the name of family. I felt initiated into a tribe of people who react with such warmth to the blue and gold, that it accepts any person willing to join, willing to scream in name of Notre Dame. Maybe soon, I will advance to the next level and hug a random kinsman after a thrilling victory, as my father did.
Football expands into the student psyche like a mole that suddenly appears on a body. Even though the body’s owner may not want it to be with him, it adds to part of his character. I describe myself. I never associated myself with football, and I still do not, but now I do associate myself with the cheers and thrills of the Irish jig and the mighty Leprechaun.
The same enthusiasm for the university does not translate as well for the classroom experience, though. The sheer size of chemistry, calculus, philosophy, and engineering lectures keeps me from properly paying attention and properly learning. I have developed a newfound appreciation for my high schools largest classes of fifteen, and I hope that Notre Dame can live up to my expectation of smaller classes as the curriculum becomes more specified.
The smaller classes have always kept me in attendance. I do not remember skipping any course for any inane reason in high school because the teacher always knew my name and always respected my ideas, work, and responses. But with a class of 150, I do not feel guilty for sleeping through my 8:30 am class, I do not care if Professor Lappin knows my name, I do not need even someone as distinguished as Professor Robert Audi to appreciate my work. I feel alone in my studies despite so many neighbors sitting next to me.
I have not used the resources available as I should have, and the reason seems to be that those same resources were always available without an appointment and without even traveling outside. I have not used the writing center, I have not gone into office hours, and I have not talked one-on-one with a professor. The closest I have come is emailing my calculus teacher’s assistant about a few difficult problems.
Thankfully, I know multiple people in my dorm who are willing to help with any of my subjects, so the absolute necessity of finding professors in person is avoided. Still, the presence of a mentor to help guide my coursework and my college experience—along with the perks of good recommendations—needs to be something I actively work for.
Upon arriving at Notre Dame, I expected a difficult transition in forming a new set of friends. I have always waited for people to talk to me, instead of speaking first, and I fearfully entered my dorm with a shy look, wondering if someone would mention something about the weather. They did not, but thanks to a commonality in introversion with my roommate, I made my first friend, and by some other means I have found people whom I believe will join me through life past college.
I hope that these friendships do last, and that I have people who know me and can direct me toward my passions. I hope that these people, who I ordered 2:00 am pizzas with, who I handed out candy on Halloween with, and who I half-nakedly ran and swam and was baptized with, will remain as I see them now: family.
At USC, opposing fans fist-bumped me, inappropriately touched me, and even accused me of sweating profusely even though it was forty-degrees, raining, and I lacked anything warmer than the pride of a green Notre Dame t-shirt. The fist-bump was completely unexpected, and the joy it brought me makes me want to return the favor to other rivals at home games. But the others, from my limited experience, are hard to imagine a Notre Dame alumnus or student of performing. First, they—or should I say “we”—seem to know how much physical contact is too much. Yes, we have fun exclaiming that the other team “sucks,” but grabbing someone and pushing them against the wall in a drunken stupor falls below us, especially the grabbing of someone. Next, I believe a Notre Dame graduate or student can tell the difference between sweat and rain.
Nonetheless, these intercollegiate fan-interactions supplied me with the necessary contrast to Notre Dame’s own spirit. The spirit of the stadium did not impress me as much as the physical size of the coliseum, the incredible hats of the band, or fact that someone in full Trojan warrior’s garb rode a pure white horse to cheer up the crowd. Theoretically, USC, with its recent victorious history, should have had more support than the lackluster Irish just as the Los Angeles Lakers draw greater crowds than the ailing Clippers, but I believe that despite the size of the crowd, the roars of The House that Rockne Built defeat those of the Trojans.
I sat with my Dad, high in the stands behind an end zone with hundreds of alumni and students. The chants of “Let’s go Irish!” and “We are N.D.” may have been louder than when sitting in the student section. The Notre Dame family stood against the cheers of the home crowd with our own attack. We fought like Spartans. I hurt my freezing hands high-fiving the elderly couples, upperclassmen, recent graduates, and the like all in the name of family. I felt initiated into a tribe of people who react with such warmth to the blue and gold, that it accepts any person willing to join, willing to scream in name of Notre Dame. Maybe soon, I will advance to the next level and hug a random kinsman after a thrilling victory, as my father did.
Football expands into the student psyche like a mole that suddenly appears on a body. Even though the body’s owner may not want it to be with him, it adds to part of his character. I describe myself. I never associated myself with football, and I still do not, but now I do associate myself with the cheers and thrills of the Irish jig and the mighty Leprechaun.
The same enthusiasm for the university does not translate as well for the classroom experience, though. The sheer size of chemistry, calculus, philosophy, and engineering lectures keeps me from properly paying attention and properly learning. I have developed a newfound appreciation for my high schools largest classes of fifteen, and I hope that Notre Dame can live up to my expectation of smaller classes as the curriculum becomes more specified.
The smaller classes have always kept me in attendance. I do not remember skipping any course for any inane reason in high school because the teacher always knew my name and always respected my ideas, work, and responses. But with a class of 150, I do not feel guilty for sleeping through my 8:30 am class, I do not care if Professor Lappin knows my name, I do not need even someone as distinguished as Professor Robert Audi to appreciate my work. I feel alone in my studies despite so many neighbors sitting next to me.
I have not used the resources available as I should have, and the reason seems to be that those same resources were always available without an appointment and without even traveling outside. I have not used the writing center, I have not gone into office hours, and I have not talked one-on-one with a professor. The closest I have come is emailing my calculus teacher’s assistant about a few difficult problems.
Thankfully, I know multiple people in my dorm who are willing to help with any of my subjects, so the absolute necessity of finding professors in person is avoided. Still, the presence of a mentor to help guide my coursework and my college experience—along with the perks of good recommendations—needs to be something I actively work for.
Upon arriving at Notre Dame, I expected a difficult transition in forming a new set of friends. I have always waited for people to talk to me, instead of speaking first, and I fearfully entered my dorm with a shy look, wondering if someone would mention something about the weather. They did not, but thanks to a commonality in introversion with my roommate, I made my first friend, and by some other means I have found people whom I believe will join me through life past college.
I hope that these friendships do last, and that I have people who know me and can direct me toward my passions. I hope that these people, who I ordered 2:00 am pizzas with, who I handed out candy on Halloween with, and who I half-nakedly ran and swam and was baptized with, will remain as I see them now: family.
Fury, Driving and русский
Getting Stephen to a school event. Maybe a ha meeting. Andrew driving minivan. I am in mid seat/front seat. Driving through nice part of town. See a bunch of houses, but I'm confused when they are called something that starts with c and reminds me of potatoes. The. breaks suck. Almost hit an old lady and her chipmunk like dog. (going down a slope). See a guard gate (white and 70s looking.) and some girl is walking across the crosswalk. Andrew sees the stop sign and stops toughly. The girl is nudged due to bad breaks. Then she stars at Andrew and bangs the windshield with both palms. Then we keep driving and we see the same girl throwing a football with another girl. The football is not cAugt by the second girl and and it rolls to our side of the street and we almost hit her too. Then we stopped and tried to figure out how to get Stephen where he was going because Andrew, now apparent, had no idea. It was 245 and he needed to be there by 3. He got angry and stuck two fingers (one hand) under my collar bones and I thought that it felt like a massage. So it became like one. Then allie Deanna and Gerry showed up. A and D had just won a Russian class quiz. By getting 2/10 correct answers. I said that was pitiful. Then I asked if they remembered any of the words. Gerry said хчели. Maybe. I had no idea what it meant. I tried to spell it with Russian letters. I thought the h sound was a c. I don't know if we ever made it to stephens thing.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
A Tale
At hogwarts with a boxer hit to his knees the sailors' filthy mouths shout at the fish. Leading blah blah blah small pool, swimming with the fish, blah blah blah im tired of writing. Then they got on a plane and went to london where they saw Stonehenge and became a part of history. then they serenaded the welch people who lived in the marshes of wherever the hell welsh people live.
The end.
The end.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Tired
Tired, tired, tired. Must stay awake until sleepy bye time. Must get good sleep schedule. Just came back from bowling. I like making names for people. Favorites are "Hammer of Time" and "Caesar the Salad" although "phoque" was a pretty good one too (it means seal in french but it sounds like a naughty word in english haha.
Think ahead so you never have to look behind. I wish I followed my advice. I tend to live too much in the moment not thinking about where I'll go next.
My brother says he is going into law. He wants to do the kind of stuff that ACLU does, but that doesnt make much money, so he says he will have a job that makes money and then help people on the side. I asked him "what if you forget to help people?" and he said "You can slap me and say 'what you doin' fool?'" then I said "are you serious?" and then he said "yes." I plan on slapping him in the future, hard.
I need to get super smash bros for n64. i wish I could find my copy, but I'm not even sure where to look. Too bad it is one of the still expensive n64 games. Ill probably get another game too. Maybe clayfighters (that may be the name...) or conker's bad fur day.
Think ahead so you never have to look behind. I wish I followed my advice. I tend to live too much in the moment not thinking about where I'll go next.
My brother says he is going into law. He wants to do the kind of stuff that ACLU does, but that doesnt make much money, so he says he will have a job that makes money and then help people on the side. I asked him "what if you forget to help people?" and he said "You can slap me and say 'what you doin' fool?'" then I said "are you serious?" and then he said "yes." I plan on slapping him in the future, hard.
I need to get super smash bros for n64. i wish I could find my copy, but I'm not even sure where to look. Too bad it is one of the still expensive n64 games. Ill probably get another game too. Maybe clayfighters (that may be the name...) or conker's bad fur day.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Inception
This movie, nay, it deserves the term "work," has successfully done what many attempt to do. The most blatant failure that comes to mind was that movie about the lakehouse that had the mailbox that teleported letters both to the past and from the future (wtf are with those physics?...no, choose one). But this has combined two of my favorite things into a great package: physics and thinking.
Both were evident throughout. The physics of dream worlds, what falling is, what time is, were all questioned. The thinking of what is, what can be, and what should be, also were illumined. Grand.
Both were evident throughout. The physics of dream worlds, what falling is, what time is, were all questioned. The thinking of what is, what can be, and what should be, also were illumined. Grand.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
I said something smart yesterday
I said something so smart that someone in the car thought it was an actual quote. Maybe it is a quote,in which case, damn.
"You are never lost until you admit you are lost. Until then, you are but finding your way." -Me
Yes, that is a word for word paraphrasing.
"You are never lost until you admit you are lost. Until then, you are but finding your way." -Me
Yes, that is a word for word paraphrasing.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Mean Bears, Total War, and Loafers
Wow, this has become a dream blog. I wonder if there is a single word to describe that: a drog. Yes, I declare this to now be a drog. No, I'm kidding. That's too constricting.
All of the following happened in one night of sleeping (the night before the orgo test dream). There are three parts and they must be interrelated somehow.
It all started in the jungles of Thailand where I was walking through a town that resembled a town of the old wild west: saloons, banks, sheriff's office, and all the others surrounding a rather wide dirt road. The difference came in the scenery. Instead of a desert colored dirt, the ground was covered in a dark, lush, muddy colored dirt. And instead of cacti and open land, there existed a plethora (I can't believe I actually used that word) of tropical jungle trees with dark brown trunks and deep green colored, 1x3 foot leaves that made the area seem very small and tightknit.
My place was the saloon. I was walking toward it and saw two dogs: one, a pug named Dempsey (Possibly named after the US World Cup soccer player (are we legally obligated to call it football in international events?)) and the other, a chihuahua/wiener dog mix of sorts named Lovetail (this name, I do not understand). I squatted outside my saloon and pet Dempsey and Lovetail for a good amount of time. We through toys and they fetched and came back and I pet them some more. It was a good time. Then I went into my saloon.
It looked log cabin sized and kind of resembled it, but with a more western influence. I went inside and saw the only room of the complex. It seemed about 10ft x 12 ft in dimension. There was a twin sized bed that I had from my boyhood years that was surround with wooden accents and a drawer that held another mattress below my sleeping mattress. There were many pillows and a couple of comforting stuffed animals (an elephant, a monkey, other...) on it. All the room of crowded with knickknack here and thingamajig there. Posters, trophies (not very many...haha), pictures, and my desk, also from my youth, which was compact and tall and made from the same wood as my bed.
For a reason unknown to me, I stood on my desk and reached up to the top shelf. There, I found a teddy bear about the size of a book. I said, "awww" and the bear made eye contact, waved, and said, "Hey there, fatso!" with an enormously happy tone of voice. It was like I had pressed a button programed to say a phrase to make the presser extremely happy. Like carebears saying, "I love you!" But this, for obvious reasons, did not make me happy. Instead of hugging the bear and saying, "I love you too!" back to it, I stuffed it away. I left my room and went outside into the wide street.
The street seemed smaller and all the other buildings of the Thailand Wild West were gone. My saloon was all that was left. I turned left and then took another left at the corner of my saloon. There, lying next to a weed, I found another of these bears. I picked it up and the bear said, "Hey there, fatso!" again. I stuffed it away. I then looked up and was now on the beach. My saloon had turned into a more traditional log cabin and there was sand all around, except for the line of cedar trees back toward the mainland. The beach was not straight; it went in and out to see in S shapes. It squiggled, I guess. And now there were multiple people, all clearly designated as this team or that team: good guys or bad guys.
The bad guys had come by ship and for a reason I tried and failed to figure out, had docked their vessels about a half mile away from my cabin. Next to my cabin, about 50 ft away, was a fire that was now just coals with the rocks circling around were it once blazed. Next to that fire, there were a few boxes, and a few guns here and there. Also, there was a picnic table with a red-checkered table cloth, and a huge slab of beef ribs on it. WTF?
The good guys all configured at my cabin and I split them into two groups: one to go west and attack the bad guys head on, and the other to go east to take postion on one of the juttings of beach that went into the sea so we could be protected by three sides with water and so we could give good long distance fire. I went with the east squad.
When we got to the jutting, I ordered the men to take fire on the bad guys. The bad guys had made it next to my cabin and the west squad was attacking them and trying to hold them back. After ten minutes or so, there were about ten bad guys left, and only one good guy. There was a sniper rifle next to me (I had simply been watching for the rest of the battle), so I picked it up and aimed downsight. As would happen in a video game, I picked it up and there was text at the bottom of my vision that read, "You are not high enough level to use this weapon." I tried shooting, but nothing happened. All I could do was look through the scope. I was able to see this single good guy take on all ten bad guys. He took out one, then two, then three, until there were only 3 left.
At this point, I ran down the beach with my eyes on the lone good guy and his battle. I made it to him and helped him take out the remaining two with some tag team wrestling moves I think I saw when the WWF still existed. They probably didnt die. The whole war had the determination and mood associated with a game of capture the flag, instead of all out kill-everybody warfare.
Next, I noticed that I was in the snack area of my high school's basketball gym. There was a varsity girls basketball practice going on, and I was standing in the door thinking, "I wonder if I could beat them." Then I looked to the other side of the court and saw a bunch of brand new basketball shoes poorly hidden under a blue mat.
As I started panning the scene to see what the girls were wearing instead, I heard Coach H (who is normally the varsity boys' coach) and Coach T complain, "Why are you wearing those shoes!? What is wrong with you!?" Two of the girls were wearing loafers of varying shades of brown. My friend, AK, said, "loafers are more comfortable." And then Coach T and H shut up. She must have that kind of power. I sat down in the school desk that was oddly positioned right next to that door into the court. I looked back toward the new shoes and I was able to tell whose shoes belonged to whom based on apparent size of them. Somehow I was 90% sure in my guesses.
Thus, I became a general.
All of the following happened in one night of sleeping (the night before the orgo test dream). There are three parts and they must be interrelated somehow.
It all started in the jungles of Thailand where I was walking through a town that resembled a town of the old wild west: saloons, banks, sheriff's office, and all the others surrounding a rather wide dirt road. The difference came in the scenery. Instead of a desert colored dirt, the ground was covered in a dark, lush, muddy colored dirt. And instead of cacti and open land, there existed a plethora (I can't believe I actually used that word) of tropical jungle trees with dark brown trunks and deep green colored, 1x3 foot leaves that made the area seem very small and tightknit.
My place was the saloon. I was walking toward it and saw two dogs: one, a pug named Dempsey (Possibly named after the US World Cup soccer player (are we legally obligated to call it football in international events?)) and the other, a chihuahua/wiener dog mix of sorts named Lovetail (this name, I do not understand). I squatted outside my saloon and pet Dempsey and Lovetail for a good amount of time. We through toys and they fetched and came back and I pet them some more. It was a good time. Then I went into my saloon.
It looked log cabin sized and kind of resembled it, but with a more western influence. I went inside and saw the only room of the complex. It seemed about 10ft x 12 ft in dimension. There was a twin sized bed that I had from my boyhood years that was surround with wooden accents and a drawer that held another mattress below my sleeping mattress. There were many pillows and a couple of comforting stuffed animals (an elephant, a monkey, other...) on it. All the room of crowded with knickknack here and thingamajig there. Posters, trophies (not very many...haha), pictures, and my desk, also from my youth, which was compact and tall and made from the same wood as my bed.
For a reason unknown to me, I stood on my desk and reached up to the top shelf. There, I found a teddy bear about the size of a book. I said, "awww" and the bear made eye contact, waved, and said, "Hey there, fatso!" with an enormously happy tone of voice. It was like I had pressed a button programed to say a phrase to make the presser extremely happy. Like carebears saying, "I love you!" But this, for obvious reasons, did not make me happy. Instead of hugging the bear and saying, "I love you too!" back to it, I stuffed it away. I left my room and went outside into the wide street.
The street seemed smaller and all the other buildings of the Thailand Wild West were gone. My saloon was all that was left. I turned left and then took another left at the corner of my saloon. There, lying next to a weed, I found another of these bears. I picked it up and the bear said, "Hey there, fatso!" again. I stuffed it away. I then looked up and was now on the beach. My saloon had turned into a more traditional log cabin and there was sand all around, except for the line of cedar trees back toward the mainland. The beach was not straight; it went in and out to see in S shapes. It squiggled, I guess. And now there were multiple people, all clearly designated as this team or that team: good guys or bad guys.
The bad guys had come by ship and for a reason I tried and failed to figure out, had docked their vessels about a half mile away from my cabin. Next to my cabin, about 50 ft away, was a fire that was now just coals with the rocks circling around were it once blazed. Next to that fire, there were a few boxes, and a few guns here and there. Also, there was a picnic table with a red-checkered table cloth, and a huge slab of beef ribs on it. WTF?
The good guys all configured at my cabin and I split them into two groups: one to go west and attack the bad guys head on, and the other to go east to take postion on one of the juttings of beach that went into the sea so we could be protected by three sides with water and so we could give good long distance fire. I went with the east squad.
When we got to the jutting, I ordered the men to take fire on the bad guys. The bad guys had made it next to my cabin and the west squad was attacking them and trying to hold them back. After ten minutes or so, there were about ten bad guys left, and only one good guy. There was a sniper rifle next to me (I had simply been watching for the rest of the battle), so I picked it up and aimed downsight. As would happen in a video game, I picked it up and there was text at the bottom of my vision that read, "You are not high enough level to use this weapon." I tried shooting, but nothing happened. All I could do was look through the scope. I was able to see this single good guy take on all ten bad guys. He took out one, then two, then three, until there were only 3 left.
At this point, I ran down the beach with my eyes on the lone good guy and his battle. I made it to him and helped him take out the remaining two with some tag team wrestling moves I think I saw when the WWF still existed. They probably didnt die. The whole war had the determination and mood associated with a game of capture the flag, instead of all out kill-everybody warfare.
Next, I noticed that I was in the snack area of my high school's basketball gym. There was a varsity girls basketball practice going on, and I was standing in the door thinking, "I wonder if I could beat them." Then I looked to the other side of the court and saw a bunch of brand new basketball shoes poorly hidden under a blue mat.
As I started panning the scene to see what the girls were wearing instead, I heard Coach H (who is normally the varsity boys' coach) and Coach T complain, "Why are you wearing those shoes!? What is wrong with you!?" Two of the girls were wearing loafers of varying shades of brown. My friend, AK, said, "loafers are more comfortable." And then Coach T and H shut up. She must have that kind of power. I sat down in the school desk that was oddly positioned right next to that door into the court. I looked back toward the new shoes and I was able to tell whose shoes belonged to whom based on apparent size of them. Somehow I was 90% sure in my guesses.
Thus, I became a general.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Organic Chemistry
Yet another crazy dream.
The skies were dark with misery, the leaves were falling with gloom, and I was going to English. Today was the day of the test. I sat in my desk and waited for the teacher to hand it to me. We were in a different room than usual, this one lacking windows and being small in general to fit a class of 17. Its the room we took our winter exam in.
I get the test and start working. It seems pretty straight forward...answering multiple choice questions, the occasional free response. Two H's here and an O there, all basic Englishy stuff. The test goes quickly with me being able to see only the occasional answer. I don't check my work, and instead, blaze through it with a speed and confidence that I never knew I was capable of.
The next week, we got our tests back. The skies were sill dark, the leaves were still falling, and I still didn't want to be there. It's like there was an ominous black halo surrounding my teacher's head in the fluorescent lights. It was chilling. He handed them out slowly and with purpose. I was in the back corner trying but failing to smile. I finally got my test after what seemed to be an hour of waiting. The grade on top in tight, red, fine-tip sharpie, was a lowercase "i", like it was trying to not scare me with a capital letter. If an F is the 0-60% range, then a G is a negative grade, an H is a double negative, and thus a positive, and an I is a triple negative. A freaking triple negative! That's like a triple insult! If an F insults you once, and the I insults you thrice, then that's four freakin insults! I lowered my jaw in shock and sat there feeling that I was falling down a never-ending hole.
I looked through the test and saw that it was nothing about english. Everything "what happens when the catalyst something or other", "show the decomposition of H2O or something or other", "blind your self and take the rest of the test or something or other." It was all organic chemistry. I have never taken this class. I had an honors chem class junior year...I remember that the teacher loves the smell of ammonia (or was it ammonium?...I dont know...whichever was NH4). I remember the gurn-dogg laughing it up as the entire class suffered from humiliation. Im kind of scared for if I have to take orgo in college; I may die from shame.
Thus, I learned organic chemistry.
The skies were dark with misery, the leaves were falling with gloom, and I was going to English. Today was the day of the test. I sat in my desk and waited for the teacher to hand it to me. We were in a different room than usual, this one lacking windows and being small in general to fit a class of 17. Its the room we took our winter exam in.
I get the test and start working. It seems pretty straight forward...answering multiple choice questions, the occasional free response. Two H's here and an O there, all basic Englishy stuff. The test goes quickly with me being able to see only the occasional answer. I don't check my work, and instead, blaze through it with a speed and confidence that I never knew I was capable of.
The next week, we got our tests back. The skies were sill dark, the leaves were still falling, and I still didn't want to be there. It's like there was an ominous black halo surrounding my teacher's head in the fluorescent lights. It was chilling. He handed them out slowly and with purpose. I was in the back corner trying but failing to smile. I finally got my test after what seemed to be an hour of waiting. The grade on top in tight, red, fine-tip sharpie, was a lowercase "i", like it was trying to not scare me with a capital letter. If an F is the 0-60% range, then a G is a negative grade, an H is a double negative, and thus a positive, and an I is a triple negative. A freaking triple negative! That's like a triple insult! If an F insults you once, and the I insults you thrice, then that's four freakin insults! I lowered my jaw in shock and sat there feeling that I was falling down a never-ending hole.
I looked through the test and saw that it was nothing about english. Everything "what happens when the catalyst something or other", "show the decomposition of H2O or something or other", "blind your self and take the rest of the test or something or other." It was all organic chemistry. I have never taken this class. I had an honors chem class junior year...I remember that the teacher loves the smell of ammonia (or was it ammonium?...I dont know...whichever was NH4). I remember the gurn-dogg laughing it up as the entire class suffered from humiliation. Im kind of scared for if I have to take orgo in college; I may die from shame.
Thus, I learned organic chemistry.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Parkour
I had yet another interesting dream. Here is the list of characters: mine father, mine father's friend whom I don't know, probably three of my friends (I suck at remembering names), and mineself. Also, there were some really bulky, strong looking guys who look like truckers, some plasticarmyman sized child, and some teacher (not ever my teacher) who drove a golf cart, and some henchmen of the authorities.
It starts with one friend, my dad's friend, and my dad sitting in what seemed to be a airport terminal that had been changed into a group eating room. We sat in leather backed chairs in a corner. Someone was telling a story, but that isnt the fun part (and I dont remember it). After, I left and sat in the middle of the room with my friends. After waiting awhile, we got up and started running. The authorities did not like this much, so they started chasing us. We used complex parkour to change floors, directions, etc. Eventually we made it to a room with a balcony (where we were standing) about 30 feet up from the floor, over looking a giant room 50x50x50 in which water moved through the bottom. There were two doors on the far wall, both being wooden doors that belong to a bedroom. They were separated by 4 feet of wall. Water rushed through them, knocking them gently around. It is here that I realized we were not in an airport terminal, but a cruise ship.
Then we must have teleported. We used our parkour to run down a mountain, a mountain with fences intermittently placed. It must have been a residential mountain. And after a minute of mountain running, I looked right and saw where my class stayed in eighth grade for our Crow Canyon trip. The houses were all correctly placed and the road was just as it has always been. I pointed it out to a friend and they couldnt recall if this was the place. We kept running down and saw houses placed as the Indians in the area would place their houses, directly into the cliffs. Yes, we were running straight down.
Upon reaching the bottom of the mountain, I noticed it looked like a posh neighborhood and I walked toward a streetlight on the vibrantly green grass (it was nighttime). I was spotted by an elderly teacher and a small boy, and I immediately hid under a car on the side of the road. The teacher's golf cart passed me but then I watched her grab my ankles. I got away and did the most probable thing of this story: I stole a car. Sadly, the car was either as slow as the golf cart or the golf cart as fast as the car. But luckily, I had a remote control car that I could use that was equally as fast. We drove to the end of the street and I turned left with a skid and the teacher followed. I set out the remote controlled car and learned how it handled. It was not easy. I did a quick 180 to get back to the original street. The RMC and golf cart followed. I turned right at the street but decidedly kept the remote controlled car going straight (the RMC would follow my car automatically, I learned later, but I had to override it to make it do otherwise) and the old lady was fooled! She kept after the RMC. Poor vision, poor judgement, or just poor old person? You decide.
I parked the car and hurriedly ran to where I came from. Now cops were everywhere and my gang was running around the place too. We had earpeices to communicate. I jumped a lot of fences, but my best jump came at the end when I jumped over a chainlink fence with an advertisement banner spread across it. It was a thirty foot fall that I lived through because a) I grabbed on to a 10 foot box with my left hand as I fell and I was able to keep running or b) I was in a dream. Nonetheless, it was pretty badass and it kept me from the cops that were chasing me. I know one of my friends (who had turned into to a scruffy prison escapee in normal person clothes) didnt, but the others I lost contact with so I'm not sure. Then I woke.
Thus, I evaded the popo.
It starts with one friend, my dad's friend, and my dad sitting in what seemed to be a airport terminal that had been changed into a group eating room. We sat in leather backed chairs in a corner. Someone was telling a story, but that isnt the fun part (and I dont remember it). After, I left and sat in the middle of the room with my friends. After waiting awhile, we got up and started running. The authorities did not like this much, so they started chasing us. We used complex parkour to change floors, directions, etc. Eventually we made it to a room with a balcony (where we were standing) about 30 feet up from the floor, over looking a giant room 50x50x50 in which water moved through the bottom. There were two doors on the far wall, both being wooden doors that belong to a bedroom. They were separated by 4 feet of wall. Water rushed through them, knocking them gently around. It is here that I realized we were not in an airport terminal, but a cruise ship.
Then we must have teleported. We used our parkour to run down a mountain, a mountain with fences intermittently placed. It must have been a residential mountain. And after a minute of mountain running, I looked right and saw where my class stayed in eighth grade for our Crow Canyon trip. The houses were all correctly placed and the road was just as it has always been. I pointed it out to a friend and they couldnt recall if this was the place. We kept running down and saw houses placed as the Indians in the area would place their houses, directly into the cliffs. Yes, we were running straight down.
Upon reaching the bottom of the mountain, I noticed it looked like a posh neighborhood and I walked toward a streetlight on the vibrantly green grass (it was nighttime). I was spotted by an elderly teacher and a small boy, and I immediately hid under a car on the side of the road. The teacher's golf cart passed me but then I watched her grab my ankles. I got away and did the most probable thing of this story: I stole a car. Sadly, the car was either as slow as the golf cart or the golf cart as fast as the car. But luckily, I had a remote control car that I could use that was equally as fast. We drove to the end of the street and I turned left with a skid and the teacher followed. I set out the remote controlled car and learned how it handled. It was not easy. I did a quick 180 to get back to the original street. The RMC and golf cart followed. I turned right at the street but decidedly kept the remote controlled car going straight (the RMC would follow my car automatically, I learned later, but I had to override it to make it do otherwise) and the old lady was fooled! She kept after the RMC. Poor vision, poor judgement, or just poor old person? You decide.
I parked the car and hurriedly ran to where I came from. Now cops were everywhere and my gang was running around the place too. We had earpeices to communicate. I jumped a lot of fences, but my best jump came at the end when I jumped over a chainlink fence with an advertisement banner spread across it. It was a thirty foot fall that I lived through because a) I grabbed on to a 10 foot box with my left hand as I fell and I was able to keep running or b) I was in a dream. Nonetheless, it was pretty badass and it kept me from the cops that were chasing me. I know one of my friends (who had turned into to a scruffy prison escapee in normal person clothes) didnt, but the others I lost contact with so I'm not sure. Then I woke.
Thus, I evaded the popo.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Tabernacle
I made my desktop background a giant banner with the word "Tabernacle" in rather large font spread among the entire width of the screen. Tabernacle is a funny sounding word. My favorite definition for it is: the human body as the temporary abode of the soul. (dictionary.com).
My tabernacle is bigger than your tabernacle. Owned.
Hope your day is swell!
My tabernacle is bigger than your tabernacle. Owned.
Hope your day is swell!
Sunday, April 11, 2010
A Golden Memory
My dog's name is Goldey, or maybe it's Goldy. It must be written down somewhere, we have had him since puphood (he's 12 and a Golden Retriever).
This dog is no ordinary dog; he is a war veteran with two purple hearts. The first battle took place when my mom was walking him through the neighborhood. Goldey was a fast dog (not so much anymore due to his arthritis, but nonetheless)and he had the endurance of a animal-with-a-lot-of-endurance. Yeah, I know. That's a lot of endurance. And due to this speed and endurance the two of them were out around a mile from the house when they jogged passed a nice brick casa with a comforting green lawn. Hardly the home of a red-eyed, foaming-mouthed, man-eating beast named Fluffles to live, and I'm pretty sure that no Fluffles did live there. But the next house, just as serene except for that blasted tree branch resting in the yard, did have this monster (although the beast was probably not red-eyed, foaming-mouthed, man-eating, or named Fluffles). They went past with out a care when suddenly the gate shattered open with a BAM and a German Shepherd charged directly at my mom and dog. Goldey jumped in the way to meet the neo-Nazi head on. They battled for a moment before the owner came out to help. I like to think Goldy won, so he did. Purple heart number 1.
The second battle was also on a mother-dog walk through the neighborhood. This time Goldy and a pit bull whom we shall call Mr. Snouts got a little too close and Mr. Snouts pounced and clamped his jaw around the golden boy wonder. But Goldy broke free and flew to the roof of the nearest house, hid behind the chimney, and came back in his golden cape to save my mother, the damsel in distress. Wouldn't that be something? In seriousness, my mom had to pry the jaw from Goldy's head. Goldy was bleeding and so were my mom's hands. Mr. Snouts' owner could not easily handle his dog. The most menacing flesh wound was but a centimeter or two from blinding Goldy.
So this is what I'm dealing with, a freakin' war hero and enduring casualty. Why would I ever pick a fight with this superpup? Well, because he started it.
6 or so years ago, I was sitting on a couch with Goldey by my side and I leaned over to give him a good pettin' when he looked at me, paused, and then jabbed me in the face with his paw. I obviously didn't cry or anything because I'm a man, and I solve things with violence. I jabbed him back, right in the snout. He hit me again. I exclaimed, "Goldey, thats not fair! I was just getting revenge." I hit him again. He hit me again, this time with some claw action. I hit him again. He hit me again. This went on for five minutes. I'd like to call it a brawl, but it was more accurately a cat fight. I think I won. I went to put on my WWF Heavyweight Championship Belt to prove it.
This dog is no ordinary dog; he is a war veteran with two purple hearts. The first battle took place when my mom was walking him through the neighborhood. Goldey was a fast dog (not so much anymore due to his arthritis, but nonetheless)and he had the endurance of a animal-with-a-lot-of-endurance. Yeah, I know. That's a lot of endurance. And due to this speed and endurance the two of them were out around a mile from the house when they jogged passed a nice brick casa with a comforting green lawn. Hardly the home of a red-eyed, foaming-mouthed, man-eating beast named Fluffles to live, and I'm pretty sure that no Fluffles did live there. But the next house, just as serene except for that blasted tree branch resting in the yard, did have this monster (although the beast was probably not red-eyed, foaming-mouthed, man-eating, or named Fluffles). They went past with out a care when suddenly the gate shattered open with a BAM and a German Shepherd charged directly at my mom and dog. Goldey jumped in the way to meet the neo-Nazi head on. They battled for a moment before the owner came out to help. I like to think Goldy won, so he did. Purple heart number 1.
The second battle was also on a mother-dog walk through the neighborhood. This time Goldy and a pit bull whom we shall call Mr. Snouts got a little too close and Mr. Snouts pounced and clamped his jaw around the golden boy wonder. But Goldy broke free and flew to the roof of the nearest house, hid behind the chimney, and came back in his golden cape to save my mother, the damsel in distress. Wouldn't that be something? In seriousness, my mom had to pry the jaw from Goldy's head. Goldy was bleeding and so were my mom's hands. Mr. Snouts' owner could not easily handle his dog. The most menacing flesh wound was but a centimeter or two from blinding Goldy.
So this is what I'm dealing with, a freakin' war hero and enduring casualty. Why would I ever pick a fight with this superpup? Well, because he started it.
6 or so years ago, I was sitting on a couch with Goldey by my side and I leaned over to give him a good pettin' when he looked at me, paused, and then jabbed me in the face with his paw. I obviously didn't cry or anything because I'm a man, and I solve things with violence. I jabbed him back, right in the snout. He hit me again. I exclaimed, "Goldey, thats not fair! I was just getting revenge." I hit him again. He hit me again, this time with some claw action. I hit him again. He hit me again. This went on for five minutes. I'd like to call it a brawl, but it was more accurately a cat fight. I think I won. I went to put on my WWF Heavyweight Championship Belt to prove it.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Philosophy
Man's necessities are simple (food, friends, fun), but when these necessities are forcibly merged (food with friends for fun), the simplicity is sacrificed for temporal means; life is complex because life is short.
Life is like a room. It's easy to notice all that crap eating up your floor, but appreciating a clean path is much more difficult.
Life is like a room. It's easy to notice all that crap eating up your floor, but appreciating a clean path is much more difficult.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Goats Should Go Away
Goats have nothing to do with this post.
Instead, I will write about something less controversial, but I will not get caught up in the actual topic. Therefore, when I say the topic is politics, I will not get into my political views. I want to talk about the stupidity of politics, so I shall. Joy.
It is funny to watch super conservatives shout out their views. I can see how it would also be funny to see a super democrat shout out their views, but I havent really noticed it.
So the House just passed the Senate bill and I noticed a facebook status of "Thank you democrats for just giving up the house and senate in next November's election.... The Republicans will take this country back and put it on the right path towards, Liberty, Democracy, Truth, Justice, and Conservatism." I wanted to add to the cleverness of the author by commenting "We should attack Iran to celebrate!" but I decided I would get into an argument that I just didnt want to be a part of. Because of the democrats, it seems that the world is going to end, but next year the Republicans will swoop in and send us back to conservatism.
I have a slight problem with conservatism. There are to too many stupid people for the world, our country even, to be good as it is, and thus, how could it ever be a good idea to keep it the same. We need to adjust to make it better, and, by definition, striving for the status quo does not do that.
I don't remember the same hoopla for when the republicans got power back in 2000/2004 from the democrats, but its possible that I was too young to care/remember. But now as the democrats pass a controversial bill and get the white house, the republicans are getting all pissy. [[[[[[SIDE POINT: In searching for the 2008 election status' I came across a friend's brilliant remark "TN: dood, why are all of the original power rangers extinct animals except for the white one?" Wow, I didn't think about this at all when he posted it, but seriously...why?END SIDEPOINT]]]]]] Oh, darn, it doesnt let me go back that far...I made it all the way to Jan. 2, 2009...2 months away. But anyway, it seem alot of my comrades had beliefs that the world was going to end or that they would move to canada or something. Overreactions to change. The sad thing is that I think some of them were truly scared by a democratic president.
Just found a status asking for the opinions of both sides...I liked it.
I think I've gotten off topic...oh well.
Bye.
Instead, I will write about something less controversial, but I will not get caught up in the actual topic. Therefore, when I say the topic is politics, I will not get into my political views. I want to talk about the stupidity of politics, so I shall. Joy.
It is funny to watch super conservatives shout out their views. I can see how it would also be funny to see a super democrat shout out their views, but I havent really noticed it.
So the House just passed the Senate bill and I noticed a facebook status of "Thank you democrats for just giving up the house and senate in next November's election.... The Republicans will take this country back and put it on the right path towards, Liberty, Democracy, Truth, Justice, and Conservatism." I wanted to add to the cleverness of the author by commenting "We should attack Iran to celebrate!" but I decided I would get into an argument that I just didnt want to be a part of. Because of the democrats, it seems that the world is going to end, but next year the Republicans will swoop in and send us back to conservatism.
I have a slight problem with conservatism. There are to too many stupid people for the world, our country even, to be good as it is, and thus, how could it ever be a good idea to keep it the same. We need to adjust to make it better, and, by definition, striving for the status quo does not do that.
I don't remember the same hoopla for when the republicans got power back in 2000/2004 from the democrats, but its possible that I was too young to care/remember. But now as the democrats pass a controversial bill and get the white house, the republicans are getting all pissy. [[[[[[SIDE POINT: In searching for the 2008 election status' I came across a friend's brilliant remark "TN: dood, why are all of the original power rangers extinct animals except for the white one?" Wow, I didn't think about this at all when he posted it, but seriously...why?END SIDEPOINT]]]]]] Oh, darn, it doesnt let me go back that far...I made it all the way to Jan. 2, 2009...2 months away. But anyway, it seem alot of my comrades had beliefs that the world was going to end or that they would move to canada or something. Overreactions to change. The sad thing is that I think some of them were truly scared by a democratic president.
Just found a status asking for the opinions of both sides...I liked it.
I think I've gotten off topic...oh well.
Bye.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
The Idea of Reading and Writing
I dislike English class. I always have. I dislike exaggerations. Therefore saying "always" has almost certain validity. I'll start with 5th grade because every year before that was learning the alphabet and learning cursive.
5th-disliked because teacher sang all opera like and it annoyed me. liked because I wrote a kicka#@ poem called "Ode To My Scabs" It went alittle something like this:
Scabs, oh Scabs, I kindly shout
You are my love with no doubt.
I love to squeeze you, find your juice
Pull you off and see red on the loose.
And that is all I remember. BUT ISNT IT WONDERFUL! Imagine 3 more stanzas of gradually increasing disgustitude. Yum. But that poem does not take away the pains I went through to make it to that class. My favorite period was the one in which we watched an episode of outrageous animal behavior, and I hate watching exploited animals.
6th-I dont remember an actual english class, but i remember a Reading Class in which we read The Giver. Also read Where the Red Fern Grows. They were both pretty good but I disliked the process of reading. Take note of this previous sentence, if you please.
7th-Fell asleep almost everyday. So dull. Don't remember any books that were entertaining.
8th-Teacher liked me, made it alittle more bearable, but the class was dull, as always. Didn't get much out of it except a pass to the honors english track.
9th-almost learned something, then the teacher left.
10th-Oh god....hate in a bottle unleashed into the world with the intent to destroy all bubbles. What kind of creature would want to destroy the worlds bubbles! A horrible one! Such a strong hate!
11th-teacher didn't force words out of my mouth, except when he did, it was when I had no idea wtf was going on in the reading. Also, he asked me what seemed to be going on in a painting he had on the wall and I said it seemed that the girl had run away and broken her ankle while trying to retrieve her favorite doll from her burning house something something. The real story was that she had fallen asleep in the hay field to find her house destroyed. I learned a few grammar rules, but still disliked having to go sit and be bored.
12th-still dont talk, still dont want to. Teacher has given up trying to make me. Like the teacher for that. Class is dull.
Back to that statement. I like the idea of reading, but not the process. Actually sitting down with a book is not what I want to do, but having the information download into my mind would be great.
I love learning; I strive for learning, but being taught can never compete with understanding, except in physics....they are about equal there.
I also like the idea of writing, but actually writing on topic for awhile...agh...im bored of this
5th-disliked because teacher sang all opera like and it annoyed me. liked because I wrote a kicka#@ poem called "Ode To My Scabs" It went alittle something like this:
Scabs, oh Scabs, I kindly shout
You are my love with no doubt.
I love to squeeze you, find your juice
Pull you off and see red on the loose.
And that is all I remember. BUT ISNT IT WONDERFUL! Imagine 3 more stanzas of gradually increasing disgustitude. Yum. But that poem does not take away the pains I went through to make it to that class. My favorite period was the one in which we watched an episode of outrageous animal behavior, and I hate watching exploited animals.
6th-I dont remember an actual english class, but i remember a Reading Class in which we read The Giver. Also read Where the Red Fern Grows. They were both pretty good but I disliked the process of reading. Take note of this previous sentence, if you please.
7th-Fell asleep almost everyday. So dull. Don't remember any books that were entertaining.
8th-Teacher liked me, made it alittle more bearable, but the class was dull, as always. Didn't get much out of it except a pass to the honors english track.
9th-almost learned something, then the teacher left.
10th-Oh god....hate in a bottle unleashed into the world with the intent to destroy all bubbles. What kind of creature would want to destroy the worlds bubbles! A horrible one! Such a strong hate!
11th-teacher didn't force words out of my mouth, except when he did, it was when I had no idea wtf was going on in the reading. Also, he asked me what seemed to be going on in a painting he had on the wall and I said it seemed that the girl had run away and broken her ankle while trying to retrieve her favorite doll from her burning house something something. The real story was that she had fallen asleep in the hay field to find her house destroyed. I learned a few grammar rules, but still disliked having to go sit and be bored.
12th-still dont talk, still dont want to. Teacher has given up trying to make me. Like the teacher for that. Class is dull.
Back to that statement. I like the idea of reading, but not the process. Actually sitting down with a book is not what I want to do, but having the information download into my mind would be great.
I love learning; I strive for learning, but being taught can never compete with understanding, except in physics....they are about equal there.
I also like the idea of writing, but actually writing on topic for awhile...agh...im bored of this
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Crash Test Ratings
I had a dream a few nights ago, and such an odd dream it hath been.
From time to time, I dream of falling off an overpass (such as the "high five") or losing control of my car and either falling 50 ft to my doom or crashing at high speed into inanimate objects, you know, the usual. I normally wake up on impact, but this time was different.
I was calmly driving on a high overpass thingy going from one northbound highway to a westbound one when the car spun out and I crashed into the barricade on the left. My car nose-dived to the ground some 50 feet away. I felt the same ahhh-my-lungs-are-coming-out-of-my-nose feeling that comes from the first drop of The Titan at Six Flags, but then I slowed everything down. I thought, hmm...my car has a 5-star crash test rating for the driver, I guess this will truly put this to the test. Thus, of course, my car moved from nose-dive position to one parallel to the ground. Then, all of a sudden, it decided to move so that the driver-side would smash into the ground.
I thought I was going to die, but those crash test ratings don't lie (rhyme!). The car landed on its side and instantly went to all four wheels on the ground. Zero damage to the car, or me. It made no sense, so I thought that because there was no external damage, there would be internal damage that would make the car unstartable. I pressed the "Start Car" button, and the engine sounded fine. I put it into reverse and the car moved in reverse. I was under the overpass in some dark city with towering apartment buildings on three sides and two supports of the overpass in front of me. There was only one way to go, slightly to the left.
As I changed gears to drive forward, as opposed to reverse, I noticed a grisly man with a musky beard and a thick eyebrows and a sweat-stained earthy colored shirt walking toward me while flicking me off.
I hate being flicked off, its just a symbol, but its a symbol of judgement. And dont get me started about judgement. AAFGHGgghh. Not fun stuff. This dude didnt know me! So I wanted nothing to do with him.
I inched forward to see if it had something to do with my landing, and sure enough, I had apparently landed on a homeless person's tent. He had died and there were a half circle of people of all economic statuses (maybe 8 people) all staring at me while simultaneously flicking me off also.
Thus, I killed a man.
From time to time, I dream of falling off an overpass (such as the "high five") or losing control of my car and either falling 50 ft to my doom or crashing at high speed into inanimate objects, you know, the usual. I normally wake up on impact, but this time was different.
I was calmly driving on a high overpass thingy going from one northbound highway to a westbound one when the car spun out and I crashed into the barricade on the left. My car nose-dived to the ground some 50 feet away. I felt the same ahhh-my-lungs-are-coming-out-of-my-nose feeling that comes from the first drop of The Titan at Six Flags, but then I slowed everything down. I thought, hmm...my car has a 5-star crash test rating for the driver, I guess this will truly put this to the test. Thus, of course, my car moved from nose-dive position to one parallel to the ground. Then, all of a sudden, it decided to move so that the driver-side would smash into the ground.
I thought I was going to die, but those crash test ratings don't lie (rhyme!). The car landed on its side and instantly went to all four wheels on the ground. Zero damage to the car, or me. It made no sense, so I thought that because there was no external damage, there would be internal damage that would make the car unstartable. I pressed the "Start Car" button, and the engine sounded fine. I put it into reverse and the car moved in reverse. I was under the overpass in some dark city with towering apartment buildings on three sides and two supports of the overpass in front of me. There was only one way to go, slightly to the left.
As I changed gears to drive forward, as opposed to reverse, I noticed a grisly man with a musky beard and a thick eyebrows and a sweat-stained earthy colored shirt walking toward me while flicking me off.
I hate being flicked off, its just a symbol, but its a symbol of judgement. And dont get me started about judgement. AAFGHGgghh. Not fun stuff. This dude didnt know me! So I wanted nothing to do with him.
I inched forward to see if it had something to do with my landing, and sure enough, I had apparently landed on a homeless person's tent. He had died and there were a half circle of people of all economic statuses (maybe 8 people) all staring at me while simultaneously flicking me off also.
Thus, I killed a man.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut
Just finished reading this incredibly funny novel. It's funny in that, hahahahah people are stupid and there is nothing anyone can do about it, kind of way. Highly suggest it.
I think I am onto something. Bokononism has all these terms associated with it, and the speaker is constantly talking about the dialect. He normally translates the dialect, but why do it for these terms? Bokonon seems relatively simple in his view toward the world (Now i know what to call my religion, in a way) and I dont think he would go through the trouble of making up exotic names for his foma (lies). Thus, I think each term can be translated into a simple phrase that makes contextual sense. I will now attempt.
Foma--harmless untruths--Foam, the harmless white stuff that hides what is beneath, thus lying to you
Karass--team of people that does God's Will without ever discovering what they are doing, the people you are somehow put with for given periods of time--Cross, brings people together
Vin-dit--sudden, very personal shove in the direction of Bokononism--Find it, self-explanatory
Pool-pah--wrath of God, shit storm--Pulp, all that shit one has to suffer even though all they want is the juice (of life)
These are the only ones which I can translate the dialect into something that kind of makes sense. Any help would be greatly appreciated. Here's the rest.
duprass-- a karass that consists of only two people. This is one of the few kinds of karass about which we can have any reliable knowledge. The two members of a duprass live lives that revolve around each other, and are therefore often married. "A true duprass can't be invaded, not even by children born of such a union." The novel cites the example of "Horlick Minton, the New American Ambassador to the Republic of San Lorenzo, and his wife, Claire." The two members of a duprass always die within a week of each other.
granfalloon-- a false karass; i.e., a group of people who imagine they have a connection that does not really exist. An example is "Hoosiers"; Hoosiers are people from Indiana, and Hoosiers have no true spiritual destiny in common, so really share little more than a name.
wampeter-- the central theme or purpose of a karass
wrang-wrang-- Someone who steers a Bokononist away from a line of speculation by reducing that line, with the example of the wrang-wrang's own life, to an absurdity.
saroon-- to acquiesce to a vin-dit
stuppa-- a fogbound child (i.e. an idiot)--possibly a Stupid
duffle-- the destiny of thousands of people placed on one stuppa
sin-wat-- a person who wants all of somebody's love for him/herself
kan-kan-- the instrument which brings one into his or her karass.
Busy, busy, busy - words Bokononists whisper upon witnessing an example of how interconnected everything is
boko-maru-- the supreme act of worship of the Bokononists, which is an intimate act consisting of prolonged physical contact between the naked soles of the feet of two persons.
Now I will destroy the whole world... -- What a Bokononist says before committing suicide.
sinookas-- the tendrils of one's life.
Zah-mah-ki-bo-- fate, inevitable destiny
I think I am onto something. Bokononism has all these terms associated with it, and the speaker is constantly talking about the dialect. He normally translates the dialect, but why do it for these terms? Bokonon seems relatively simple in his view toward the world (Now i know what to call my religion, in a way) and I dont think he would go through the trouble of making up exotic names for his foma (lies). Thus, I think each term can be translated into a simple phrase that makes contextual sense. I will now attempt.
Foma--harmless untruths--Foam, the harmless white stuff that hides what is beneath, thus lying to you
Karass--team of people that does God's Will without ever discovering what they are doing, the people you are somehow put with for given periods of time--Cross, brings people together
Vin-dit--sudden, very personal shove in the direction of Bokononism--Find it, self-explanatory
Pool-pah--wrath of God, shit storm--Pulp, all that shit one has to suffer even though all they want is the juice (of life)
These are the only ones which I can translate the dialect into something that kind of makes sense. Any help would be greatly appreciated. Here's the rest.
duprass-- a karass that consists of only two people. This is one of the few kinds of karass about which we can have any reliable knowledge. The two members of a duprass live lives that revolve around each other, and are therefore often married. "A true duprass can't be invaded, not even by children born of such a union." The novel cites the example of "Horlick Minton, the New American Ambassador to the Republic of San Lorenzo, and his wife, Claire." The two members of a duprass always die within a week of each other.
granfalloon-- a false karass; i.e., a group of people who imagine they have a connection that does not really exist. An example is "Hoosiers"; Hoosiers are people from Indiana, and Hoosiers have no true spiritual destiny in common, so really share little more than a name.
wampeter-- the central theme or purpose of a karass
wrang-wrang-- Someone who steers a Bokononist away from a line of speculation by reducing that line, with the example of the wrang-wrang's own life, to an absurdity.
saroon-- to acquiesce to a vin-dit
stuppa-- a fogbound child (i.e. an idiot)--possibly a Stupid
duffle-- the destiny of thousands of people placed on one stuppa
sin-wat-- a person who wants all of somebody's love for him/herself
kan-kan-- the instrument which brings one into his or her karass.
Busy, busy, busy - words Bokononists whisper upon witnessing an example of how interconnected everything is
boko-maru-- the supreme act of worship of the Bokononists, which is an intimate act consisting of prolonged physical contact between the naked soles of the feet of two persons.
Now I will destroy the whole world... -- What a Bokononist says before committing suicide.
sinookas-- the tendrils of one's life.
Zah-mah-ki-bo-- fate, inevitable destiny
Sunday, February 21, 2010
An Idea for the Future
Procrastination leads to some weird thoughts. My most pensive mood comes under stress, and especially on Sunday nights when I have the most work to do for Monday. Right now I am taking a break from my half finished Shakespeare Project (making a Newspaper relating to Much Ado About Nothing), and my unthoughtof Physics lab report. That's about 5 hours of work, give or take two.
I went downstairs to get ready for the night with some espresso (apricot hinted...mmmmm) and I decided to lie on the floor of the foyer where the ceiling is at its highest. I looked up and my mind drifted to a gothic cathedral, specifically the Reims Cathedral in, you guessed it, Reims, France. Those ceilings are so damn high, I thought, and it would be so great to have my own. I could lie down, much like I am doing now, and feel the cold stone under my back as I gaze at the amazing feat that a gothic cathedral is. It would be as big as Notre Dame, but it will be mine. No, that's selfish. I'll let people in, but I want this place to be about awe, not religion. I'll let them in on Mondays through Saturdays, but Sundays are for stress relief. I will close it then so that I can do what I have wanted to do without any judgement by others; I will finally be able to lie down in the center aisle without any awkward looks or any guards asking me politely to stand up. Nobody will care because I would be the only one there to care.
Yep, that was my thought process. I would love to go to a cathedral and simply fall down to the ground and watch the man-made sky rest above me. It would be like reading in the bathroom (by that, I imply that the bathroom is the most simple room in my house an thus the easiest to not get distracted in). Yeah, dreams are nice.
I went downstairs to get ready for the night with some espresso (apricot hinted...mmmmm) and I decided to lie on the floor of the foyer where the ceiling is at its highest. I looked up and my mind drifted to a gothic cathedral, specifically the Reims Cathedral in, you guessed it, Reims, France. Those ceilings are so damn high, I thought, and it would be so great to have my own. I could lie down, much like I am doing now, and feel the cold stone under my back as I gaze at the amazing feat that a gothic cathedral is. It would be as big as Notre Dame, but it will be mine. No, that's selfish. I'll let people in, but I want this place to be about awe, not religion. I'll let them in on Mondays through Saturdays, but Sundays are for stress relief. I will close it then so that I can do what I have wanted to do without any judgement by others; I will finally be able to lie down in the center aisle without any awkward looks or any guards asking me politely to stand up. Nobody will care because I would be the only one there to care.
Yep, that was my thought process. I would love to go to a cathedral and simply fall down to the ground and watch the man-made sky rest above me. It would be like reading in the bathroom (by that, I imply that the bathroom is the most simple room in my house an thus the easiest to not get distracted in). Yeah, dreams are nice.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Black Ice is Not So Nice
I went to Lgn's house this night at around 10pm without a sweatshirt because I thought, hey I'm going to be outside for maybe 30 seconds going from my house to my car and from my car to Lgn's house...why do I need something warm? I wore jeans and a thin, loose, grey shirt. It averaged about 35 degrees that night (40-30 deg. F)
We left his house and went to Richardson. In my case, it was for the turkish coffee; in theirs, and alternate reason. We left that locale at around 1230am and upon making our way back (I was driving) to Wlnt Hll, it was time to go. We would make it back to Lgn's house, and we would make it through the green lights. One particular light (Wlnt and Prstn) is particularly bastardly. One has be known to wait there for songs upon songs of time. So I accelerated at the perfect moment to make that green light. It was on black ice--ice that forms because air is trapped beneath it making it the seem the same color as whatever is beneath it. But this was no ordinary black ice, it was SUPERblack ice. The road was entirely black because the power was out on Wlnt Hll between prstn and edgmr. It was impossible to see, and thus it would have been impossible to know that there was ice there. Even with the lights on, it looks simply like a puddle.
So I accelerated on the perfect patch of ice--the only large one (about 40ft long covering only the center lane, the one I was in)--and the tail of my rear-wheel drive car flew to the right. I corrected the steering as quickly as possible by turning the wheel to the right. I was flying toward the median, and the next moment I was flying toward the curb where a great white house was the next hospital (EDIT: WOW, Freudian slip? This word is supposed to be "obstacle," not "hospital"). Imagine instead a great white Shark with its jaws wide open and close enough so that you can count each of its hundreds of teeth. That was the fear level raiding my veins. So, now with the car flinging itself toward the Shark, I turned the wheel sharp to the left, hoping to avoid, well, death. The wheels smashed against the curb, hard, and because I was pressing the break the entire experience--maybe not the best idea with ice involved--the car slowly glided toward a break in the median where I continued moving the car making it do a u-turn and ending with it in the right lane going the opposite way as original.
The four of us in the car felt as if "Joyce shat her polar bear self." We got out of the car (100am) wondering "What the f&*% just happened?!" The roads seemed absolutely clear after the snow that came in three days ago. The temperature had been around 45 for the past few days and the snow had mostly melted. How could there still be ice in the roads. Was it an oil spill? We went to check out the other side of the road and found a very large, very slippery portion of road that must have been the cause of the wild ride. The back right tire was flat and the rim was busted. Lgn thought the axle may have been twisted, also. The front right rim also had some problems, but thankfully, the body of the car seemed to be all good.
So there I was, out in the 35 degree weather with my thin grey shirt. Surely I wouldnt have needed any warm clothes for such a minimal amount of time that I would be outside. HA! It was freaking freezing--well, it was in 5 minutes. Lgn later said that he was ironically texting "good night" to a few of his friends right before the slide. HA! I accelerated at the perfect spot. I watched many cars go over it without accelerating and having no problems. Is it demented that I kind of wanted someone else to slip and go wild? HA! Oh yes, the day before, my car gave me a signal proclaiming, "Check VSC" with text and a red triangle with an exclamation point. I planned to get it checked on Monday (I guess that's today and I guess its technically going to happen) because dealerships are closed on Sundays (I checked the manual for advice but received none of use, just what it meant: Vehicle Stability Control). Maybe that would have helped, but maybe the car would not have had time to correct and thus it wouldn't have mattered. Also funny that I stated around central that the trek to lgns would be easy because there would be no turns. HA!Oh yes, and about 10 minutes after the incident, we saw the power truck getting ready to fix the blackout. Maybe the light would have helped in choosing when to accelerate (it came on in about an hour). The tow truck took a rather long time to get to us. Start at 115am. It took 15 minutes for them to find one. 130am. Then it took 30 minutes for them to tell us that the tow truck was about an hour away. 200am. Then about 45 minutes later we were told that the tow truck was in arlington and would be 30 minutes away. 245am. Then 20 minutes later we were contacted by the tow truck saying that he was close. 305am. Then 30 minutes later he showed up. 335am. Incident at 1am, picked up at 335am. 2h35minutes of sitting in a car. None of the later fun that was planned could take place because of all this humor. Fun stuff.
Now i get to carpool with someone to school, and then carpool with a different person to tennis. Then I have to get a ride from tennis. Having a car makes getting places so much easier. I hope I get her back soon. That would be nice.
It's nice to have the experience from slipping on ice, but I'm not completely sure if what I wrote down is correct in chronological order. I let my nerves take control during the fun. I didn't really think, I just reacted. I was told that I did a nice job given what I had to deal with. That makes me feel nice. It seems racing games rule the day because that is all the experience I have in correcting my car's direction. I was a master at Crusin' USA in those car-like arcade machines; I've won countless (approx 1 of every 5 plays) free races.
Hope your valentines was nice!
We left his house and went to Richardson. In my case, it was for the turkish coffee; in theirs, and alternate reason. We left that locale at around 1230am and upon making our way back (I was driving) to Wlnt Hll, it was time to go. We would make it back to Lgn's house, and we would make it through the green lights. One particular light (Wlnt and Prstn) is particularly bastardly. One has be known to wait there for songs upon songs of time. So I accelerated at the perfect moment to make that green light. It was on black ice--ice that forms because air is trapped beneath it making it the seem the same color as whatever is beneath it. But this was no ordinary black ice, it was SUPERblack ice. The road was entirely black because the power was out on Wlnt Hll between prstn and edgmr. It was impossible to see, and thus it would have been impossible to know that there was ice there. Even with the lights on, it looks simply like a puddle.
So I accelerated on the perfect patch of ice--the only large one (about 40ft long covering only the center lane, the one I was in)--and the tail of my rear-wheel drive car flew to the right. I corrected the steering as quickly as possible by turning the wheel to the right. I was flying toward the median, and the next moment I was flying toward the curb where a great white house was the next hospital (EDIT: WOW, Freudian slip? This word is supposed to be "obstacle," not "hospital"). Imagine instead a great white Shark with its jaws wide open and close enough so that you can count each of its hundreds of teeth. That was the fear level raiding my veins. So, now with the car flinging itself toward the Shark, I turned the wheel sharp to the left, hoping to avoid, well, death. The wheels smashed against the curb, hard, and because I was pressing the break the entire experience--maybe not the best idea with ice involved--the car slowly glided toward a break in the median where I continued moving the car making it do a u-turn and ending with it in the right lane going the opposite way as original.
The four of us in the car felt as if "Joyce shat her polar bear self." We got out of the car (100am) wondering "What the f&*% just happened?!" The roads seemed absolutely clear after the snow that came in three days ago. The temperature had been around 45 for the past few days and the snow had mostly melted. How could there still be ice in the roads. Was it an oil spill? We went to check out the other side of the road and found a very large, very slippery portion of road that must have been the cause of the wild ride. The back right tire was flat and the rim was busted. Lgn thought the axle may have been twisted, also. The front right rim also had some problems, but thankfully, the body of the car seemed to be all good.
So there I was, out in the 35 degree weather with my thin grey shirt. Surely I wouldnt have needed any warm clothes for such a minimal amount of time that I would be outside. HA! It was freaking freezing--well, it was in 5 minutes. Lgn later said that he was ironically texting "good night" to a few of his friends right before the slide. HA! I accelerated at the perfect spot. I watched many cars go over it without accelerating and having no problems. Is it demented that I kind of wanted someone else to slip and go wild? HA! Oh yes, the day before, my car gave me a signal proclaiming, "Check VSC" with text and a red triangle with an exclamation point. I planned to get it checked on Monday (I guess that's today and I guess its technically going to happen) because dealerships are closed on Sundays (I checked the manual for advice but received none of use, just what it meant: Vehicle Stability Control). Maybe that would have helped, but maybe the car would not have had time to correct and thus it wouldn't have mattered. Also funny that I stated around central that the trek to lgns would be easy because there would be no turns. HA!Oh yes, and about 10 minutes after the incident, we saw the power truck getting ready to fix the blackout. Maybe the light would have helped in choosing when to accelerate (it came on in about an hour). The tow truck took a rather long time to get to us. Start at 115am. It took 15 minutes for them to find one. 130am. Then it took 30 minutes for them to tell us that the tow truck was about an hour away. 200am. Then about 45 minutes later we were told that the tow truck was in arlington and would be 30 minutes away. 245am. Then 20 minutes later we were contacted by the tow truck saying that he was close. 305am. Then 30 minutes later he showed up. 335am. Incident at 1am, picked up at 335am. 2h35minutes of sitting in a car. None of the later fun that was planned could take place because of all this humor. Fun stuff.
Now i get to carpool with someone to school, and then carpool with a different person to tennis. Then I have to get a ride from tennis. Having a car makes getting places so much easier. I hope I get her back soon. That would be nice.
It's nice to have the experience from slipping on ice, but I'm not completely sure if what I wrote down is correct in chronological order. I let my nerves take control during the fun. I didn't really think, I just reacted. I was told that I did a nice job given what I had to deal with. That makes me feel nice. It seems racing games rule the day because that is all the experience I have in correcting my car's direction. I was a master at Crusin' USA in those car-like arcade machines; I've won countless (approx 1 of every 5 plays) free races.
Hope your valentines was nice!
Thursday, January 28, 2010
A Little Lesson in Happiness
I learned something a few days ago: happiness isn't that difficult. I've even made an equation (with THREE PARTS, count 'em! OhEmGee!) Stress = Worries = Unhappiness. Thus, worries = unhappiness, and unhappiness = stress. It has reciprocity! (I wonder if I used that word right, or if it is a word...). This INCReDiblE realization came from a fifth grader. Seniors are not the people too look up to, the fifth graders are the true ones (more like look DOWN to...buh dun DUH!...because they are so little... hardy har). One fifth grader seems like the happiest person ever. He walks alone much of the time, struggling to carry all of this little fifth grade books. His expression isn't one of anguish, as mine would be, but it is of an ethereal joy. Imagine a clothed cupid with a little less horniness. BAM! That's this kid. Happiness comes from one's self, not from the people around. Sure, being around people you like can add to it, but it starts and ends with one's own mind. Now, when I dislike the people around me, specifically when I dislike that single person who I am thinking of who tends to be around mine area, I can essentially block him out of my mind, and instead, I can think about what I would do if if found a leprechaun in the process of hiding his gold, but that's a whole different story...(I would try to take his hat, but he would use his super leprechaun powers to take it back. Then I would give him a two part option that he must follow, or else. (I wouldn't explain the "or else" because it would involve me simply leaving). He would have the option to A) give me some of his leprechaun gold with my initials branded exactly 17 times into each side of each piece, or B) give me an exact scale replica of his hat in a size that would fit me perfectly, but when worn by others (whom I would not want wearing it, only) it would cause massive hair growth around the ankles, the waist, the left wrist, and the right inner ear. Yes, that would teach them for putting on my hat...)
Monday, January 25, 2010
A Word, A Bird, and Rounding Third
I will start with "A Bird." The word "bird" seems to rhyme with "word" and thus it is in the title, but maybe it doesn't. About 30% of the time I say something rhymes, some being next to me argues in that mean, ruthless, pessimistic, cruel, conniving tone, "Uhm, I'm terribly sorry to inform you, pleasant ol' chap, but those two words do not seem to rhyme, in mine humble opinion." You know, that way English people speak to everyone...filthy, sailor-mouthed b%$&@#ds. All in good jest (If you happen to be English, please replace the word "English" with "Australian." If you are Australian, I'm sorry about the whole ozone thing, but at least you ride in kangaroo pouches to work everyday!). I'm apparently a fan of what that thing called the "English Speaking World" calls imperfect rhymes. IMPERFECT! Bologna Appendectomy! See what I did there...it's one of them imperfect rhymes. Oh, I'm so clever. I deserve my own sitcom. But then again...speaking/pronunciation is not my strongest trait. I'm more of a think of the right-thing-to-say later kind of guy.
Now for "Rounding Third." Once again, the word "Third" rhymes with "word," and thus it was as good as I could. But nicely enough, this time the rhyme works ever-so fine with the current state of mind. I just recently "rounded third," as they say. Yes, let your filthy sailor-mouthed mind wander as far as it wants you repulsive Englishman ("Australian"man)! Oh, I see. Now you are paying attention. (EDIT: I cannot actually see you). So last week marked the first time in my life to ever....be a second semester senior. What a rush! Check out that juicy gossip! Go tell your friends! Actually, please don't tell anyone. Yes, I am a senior, and this is my first time to be in the third quarter of that school year. Thus, it is true that I have rounded third and am now on my way to home base (which I am considering to be both fourth quarter and graduation).
Finally, it is time for the original purpose of this post: "A Word." I was on dictionary.com the other day, and I clicked the word of the day button. One word on the list was "Callipygian." Having no idea what this word could mean, I clicked it and found it to mean, "adjective. Definition: having well shaped buttocks." What a useful word, I thought. I should memorize this because I am so entirely sure that I will have need of it in the near future!. I memorized it. Later that day, upon going to Korea Town (I'm white. There were so many asians.), I found my chance. "Wow, what a callipygian woman!" I said to mine friend. He hath agreed, and then we bought asian energy drinks which have the same effect as alcohol (if I had ever known what alcohol does, or even IS, for that matter)...relaxing. I felt paranoid and for a little, but then I felt mellow, hardly energized. Maybe my whiteness made the drink have the opposite effect that an asian person would experience. Wow, I digress. Oh, I'm done.
Now for "Rounding Third." Once again, the word "Third" rhymes with "word," and thus it was as good as I could. But nicely enough, this time the rhyme works ever-so fine with the current state of mind. I just recently "rounded third," as they say. Yes, let your filthy sailor-mouthed mind wander as far as it wants you repulsive Englishman ("Australian"man)! Oh, I see. Now you are paying attention. (EDIT: I cannot actually see you). So last week marked the first time in my life to ever....be a second semester senior. What a rush! Check out that juicy gossip! Go tell your friends! Actually, please don't tell anyone. Yes, I am a senior, and this is my first time to be in the third quarter of that school year. Thus, it is true that I have rounded third and am now on my way to home base (which I am considering to be both fourth quarter and graduation).
Finally, it is time for the original purpose of this post: "A Word." I was on dictionary.com the other day, and I clicked the word of the day button. One word on the list was "Callipygian." Having no idea what this word could mean, I clicked it and found it to mean, "adjective. Definition: having well shaped buttocks." What a useful word, I thought. I should memorize this because I am so entirely sure that I will have need of it in the near future!. I memorized it. Later that day, upon going to Korea Town (I'm white. There were so many asians.), I found my chance. "Wow, what a callipygian woman!" I said to mine friend. He hath agreed, and then we bought asian energy drinks which have the same effect as alcohol (if I had ever known what alcohol does, or even IS, for that matter)...relaxing. I felt paranoid and for a little, but then I felt mellow, hardly energized. Maybe my whiteness made the drink have the opposite effect that an asian person would experience. Wow, I digress. Oh, I'm done.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Livin' on a Prairie
The word "prairie" looks wrong. I could check it, but that would go against the point of this post, which is living in the moment.
I dislike planning. Thus, I do not plan "get togethers" and instead push them off to another person (blr) even if the location is directly related to me. I'd rather it if there were a common knowledge base where everyone could subconsciously tell everyone else when they are free, and with a moment's notice, a person who wanted one of these "get togethers" could mentally text everyone else (or physically, I guess that would work also) to arrive within the hour. Voila, crisis of unconnected schedules and the faults of planning solved. Yeah, that would be nice.
I don't enjoy thinking about the future to the extent that I can make an equation for it: Realistic Future Planning/Thinking = Stress for Present. I try to avoid stress when I can. If I don't want to work on a paper or project, I don't. If I don't want to study for a Calculus test, I don't. If I can be relaxed for the present, the future is not so daunting. Even though I will eventually need to do that studying or do that paper, I know I still have more time in the morning, when I can consider myself "fresh" and "lively." If I worked on it at night, it would take 2 or 3 times as long as in the morning/through a school day. The pressure of the morning does come with extra stress, but I thrive under it. I work quickly and efficiently when I need to.
I realize I'm a hypocrite by saying that I try to avoid stress and then give an example in which I give myself even more stress, but I take on this extra stress at the expense of a little extra free time. Free time used for playing a wee bit o' xbox, or an episode of "Community," or an hour's extra sleep (actually this hour of sleep is unrealistic, when I put something off, I decrease my sleep time to get it done, so my sleep amounts are pretty set where they are) is all better than worrying about how good my paper is. Grades will come as you deserve them. Those who work hard and diligently deserve what they get (hopefully high). Those who screw around in class and refuse to do homework deserve what they get (hopefully low). I consider myself a person who pays attention in class (I've had some trouble staying awake in Calculus lately, it's too easy...jkjkjkjkjkjkjkjk), and a person who does all the work that is necessary. But extra work isn't something I'm known to give up my free time for. I do what is necessary to get the grades I want, and I thank whatever I'm made of for a brain good at quick memorization.
I'm just livin' on a prairie--similar to how Bon Jovi was Livin' on a Prayer, but with an Australian interpretation. I like it simple. I envy life without social websites (facebook, curse you!), without robots, without time constraints, but now, life without this is unimaginable. Life sure is simpler with technology, but then again, more dramatic (maybe). I don't want to think about people who stress me out, people who don't like me, or past relations with people (I'm implying past friendships, but one can choose an alternate if he or she doth wish it be so). I want to think about now, here. I want to see what is taking place in front of me. I want to not look to the past for my thoughts of who or what people or things are. I want to see them in the present for what they are doing, how they are acting, and how they are helping. I don't want to think about what that couple will be doing in 5 minutes, or how a truth from truth or dare will affect my reputation, or how news of my actions will spread (high school...where are secrets?). I want to be in the present, but thats unrealistic, so I'll start my homework.
I dislike planning. Thus, I do not plan "get togethers" and instead push them off to another person (blr) even if the location is directly related to me. I'd rather it if there were a common knowledge base where everyone could subconsciously tell everyone else when they are free, and with a moment's notice, a person who wanted one of these "get togethers" could mentally text everyone else (or physically, I guess that would work also) to arrive within the hour. Voila, crisis of unconnected schedules and the faults of planning solved. Yeah, that would be nice.
I don't enjoy thinking about the future to the extent that I can make an equation for it: Realistic Future Planning/Thinking = Stress for Present. I try to avoid stress when I can. If I don't want to work on a paper or project, I don't. If I don't want to study for a Calculus test, I don't. If I can be relaxed for the present, the future is not so daunting. Even though I will eventually need to do that studying or do that paper, I know I still have more time in the morning, when I can consider myself "fresh" and "lively." If I worked on it at night, it would take 2 or 3 times as long as in the morning/through a school day. The pressure of the morning does come with extra stress, but I thrive under it. I work quickly and efficiently when I need to.
I realize I'm a hypocrite by saying that I try to avoid stress and then give an example in which I give myself even more stress, but I take on this extra stress at the expense of a little extra free time. Free time used for playing a wee bit o' xbox, or an episode of "Community," or an hour's extra sleep (actually this hour of sleep is unrealistic, when I put something off, I decrease my sleep time to get it done, so my sleep amounts are pretty set where they are) is all better than worrying about how good my paper is. Grades will come as you deserve them. Those who work hard and diligently deserve what they get (hopefully high). Those who screw around in class and refuse to do homework deserve what they get (hopefully low). I consider myself a person who pays attention in class (I've had some trouble staying awake in Calculus lately, it's too easy...jkjkjkjkjkjkjkjk), and a person who does all the work that is necessary. But extra work isn't something I'm known to give up my free time for. I do what is necessary to get the grades I want, and I thank whatever I'm made of for a brain good at quick memorization.
I'm just livin' on a prairie--similar to how Bon Jovi was Livin' on a Prayer, but with an Australian interpretation. I like it simple. I envy life without social websites (facebook, curse you!), without robots, without time constraints, but now, life without this is unimaginable. Life sure is simpler with technology, but then again, more dramatic (maybe). I don't want to think about people who stress me out, people who don't like me, or past relations with people (I'm implying past friendships, but one can choose an alternate if he or she doth wish it be so). I want to think about now, here. I want to see what is taking place in front of me. I want to not look to the past for my thoughts of who or what people or things are. I want to see them in the present for what they are doing, how they are acting, and how they are helping. I don't want to think about what that couple will be doing in 5 minutes, or how a truth from truth or dare will affect my reputation, or how news of my actions will spread (high school...where are secrets?). I want to be in the present, but thats unrealistic, so I'll start my homework.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Blogging to myself
I like this whole zero followers business. It's nice to put what you have to say on the internet for anyone to see but not have any pressure from a fan base. If I ever do get a follower, I may be sad that I would no longer be chattin' it up to myself, as they say (who is they; well I don't know...; that's right you don't know). This is a sort of diary, but it would be pretty hard to lose (save button ftw!). I feel like if I had followers, I would not be as open (disliking basic humanity and all) for fear that people wouldn't like me. In that sense, I'm slightly scared of having a follower base.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
"I don't hate you, I just hate your species." --M.W.
I saw Avatar within this awake period, and though it was visually stunning (but throughout, I was disappointed that we had gone to a non-3d showing--my thoughts shifted in and out of "Wow, this would look so cool in 3d...damn.")I disliked how I was continually thrusted into the opinion that humans are stupid.
I have always agreed that humans are stupid--I told my mom on a weekly basis, "Mom, humans are stupid" and she would continuously disagree with my view of the world--and I do not want it to be true, but even arguments about great minds like Einstein or Newton or any of the Roosevelts can be brought down by the minds of many religious leaders, and many dictators. While I do admit that some people are well-intentioned and mean to use what they know to create an advanced and civilized society, many of their decrees decivilize that very same society.
Humans seem to need advancement, need to look for the next great technology to make their lives slightly easier, need to advance their socioeconomic status, need to boost their reputation. But why does any of that matter? Why should someone need to spend most of their days working toward a terminal goal. Humans have reached a point where everything is about advancement, but I ask, "Why can we not take a break and appreciate what we have and what we have had?"
Think of the Germans under the Nazi reign who did not support Hitler, but did not care to internally undermine the system. Instead, they continued living their lives, some profiting on the war, and not giving a notice to the moral challenge that the Nazi party brought up. Can one blame them for saving their lives under a rule that they did not at all agree with? No, they are a part of the problem. Similarly, I am a part of the human problem; I am also stupid, but in a more stupid sense.I'm also a hypocrite; I find most every invention, most every medicine, most every discovery, most every rise to power, fascinating. Sure, I'm smarter than some people in math, but what does that matter.
What does matter is the people in power and the people who crave power. More often than not, the people in power or craving power are those with strong wills who think they know better than the rest of people. Think Napoleon, think Hitler, think Lenin, think Burr.
I have not said near enough about the stupidity of man. But generally, I say for every advancement, it is one stupid step for man, one stupid and repetitive step for mankind. Thanks for the inspiration Mr. Armstrong! I'm scared for the future. Colonizing space is especially fearful. Men have the reputation to take what they want instead of accepting an alternative (colonizing New World), and they will take their time to get it, but it is almost a given that it will happen. America should be a land of the free, but instead it is the land of the people who take land away from you and "allow" you to relocate to a much nicer place in the B-E-A-utiful state of Oklahoma where you can get back at the white man by stealing his money in a casino. The earth is almost a lost cause, but the outlook is good--the world population will start to decline around 2100 (go women who are progressively seeking higher education and personal incomes which keep them from baby-making for a longer period of time!) at a nice (approx.) 7 billion! Humans are awesome! For every advancement, there is a stupid way to use it, and humans are that perfect curious creature to find it.
I saw Avatar within this awake period, and though it was visually stunning (but throughout, I was disappointed that we had gone to a non-3d showing--my thoughts shifted in and out of "Wow, this would look so cool in 3d...damn.")I disliked how I was continually thrusted into the opinion that humans are stupid.
I have always agreed that humans are stupid--I told my mom on a weekly basis, "Mom, humans are stupid" and she would continuously disagree with my view of the world--and I do not want it to be true, but even arguments about great minds like Einstein or Newton or any of the Roosevelts can be brought down by the minds of many religious leaders, and many dictators. While I do admit that some people are well-intentioned and mean to use what they know to create an advanced and civilized society, many of their decrees decivilize that very same society.
Humans seem to need advancement, need to look for the next great technology to make their lives slightly easier, need to advance their socioeconomic status, need to boost their reputation. But why does any of that matter? Why should someone need to spend most of their days working toward a terminal goal. Humans have reached a point where everything is about advancement, but I ask, "Why can we not take a break and appreciate what we have and what we have had?"
Think of the Germans under the Nazi reign who did not support Hitler, but did not care to internally undermine the system. Instead, they continued living their lives, some profiting on the war, and not giving a notice to the moral challenge that the Nazi party brought up. Can one blame them for saving their lives under a rule that they did not at all agree with? No, they are a part of the problem. Similarly, I am a part of the human problem; I am also stupid, but in a more stupid sense.I'm also a hypocrite; I find most every invention, most every medicine, most every discovery, most every rise to power, fascinating. Sure, I'm smarter than some people in math, but what does that matter.
What does matter is the people in power and the people who crave power. More often than not, the people in power or craving power are those with strong wills who think they know better than the rest of people. Think Napoleon, think Hitler, think Lenin, think Burr.
I have not said near enough about the stupidity of man. But generally, I say for every advancement, it is one stupid step for man, one stupid and repetitive step for mankind. Thanks for the inspiration Mr. Armstrong! I'm scared for the future. Colonizing space is especially fearful. Men have the reputation to take what they want instead of accepting an alternative (colonizing New World), and they will take their time to get it, but it is almost a given that it will happen. America should be a land of the free, but instead it is the land of the people who take land away from you and "allow" you to relocate to a much nicer place in the B-E-A-utiful state of Oklahoma where you can get back at the white man by stealing his money in a casino. The earth is almost a lost cause, but the outlook is good--the world population will start to decline around 2100 (go women who are progressively seeking higher education and personal incomes which keep them from baby-making for a longer period of time!) at a nice (approx.) 7 billion! Humans are awesome! For every advancement, there is a stupid way to use it, and humans are that perfect curious creature to find it.
Friday, January 15, 2010
A Wisdom Teeth Story
So this is what I wrote on July 16, 2009 directly after my wisdom teeth were taken out:
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Wisdom Teeth: Catch Up, Evolution!
I'm typing this with one hand--the other is busy holding an icepack to my swollen left cheek. Gauze crowds my mouth. Blood occasionally drips. And when I stare into the mirror, I seem happy; I unwillingly smile from ear to ear. I expected this.
I expected to feel uncomfortable from the time I found out my surgery was July 16--July 15. My mom called me then asking if I wanted the "laughing gas" or "pass out" treatment. Laughing gas won the duel, but i was anxious about both.
Now switching the icepack to my right cheek.
As I sat in my modern, black reclining chair with a view of that downtown Dallas building with the hole near the top that I've always wondered whether a plane could fly through, the surgical team put some cover over my nose. they told me to breate through my nose only and then they left. /i was alone.
im bored of typing so ill make therest checklist like.
coulnt breathe well
felt horrible
not the happy drugged up feeling ive heard about
got four shots in gum
one shot in roof of mouth which he said would "pinch alittle"--i cringed "alittle"
he started work on my back right tooth and said i would feel "some pressure"...there was alot of pressure--i chuckled
i think they said half way there after they got ou the first tooth, i chuckled
15 seconds after changing the side the pillow was on, they said only one left--i think that was a lie
i culd feel the final one, not completely, but enough to be uncomfortable
i think the gas started working here because i felt like my neck was in a bow shape and not straight like i previously knew, i felt horribly out of control of my body
started feeling like air was not getting to my lungs= started panicing on the inside but was scared to say anything because it was so close to being over
switching cheeks again
it hurts to attempt to speak--people understand me less than 40% of the time
I hate icepacks, always have (usually i refuse to use them at all)--they are such an inconvienience
Things Ive learned:
I hate being drugged
I hate surgical procedures that you have no idea what is happening (I kept trying to convince my brajin to tell me what was happining--coulnt feel anything nut pressure)
====================================================================================
end of script
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
edit (1/15/2010) I was told later that two of my teeth were impacted, and two were impacted in that they were attached to the bone of my jaw, and the other two were actually in/under my jaw bone. Maybe if I'd have known these facts beforehand, then I would have opted for being knocked out, but then again, being knocked out is not on my to do list. In fact, I do not keep track of a to do list. Maybe I should start one:
1) learn stuff from schooling
2) branch out
3) get more aquainted with the power of this here internet machine
4) taste raw conch
5) write a short story I am proud of
6) be nicer to people/ less argumentative
7) run at least 3 miles per week (my new years resolution)
8) be less secretive when dealing with people I am unfamiliar with (secretive probably wasn't the right word)
9) learn to play a stringed instrument
10)stop saying "There's an app for that," although there probably is...
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Wisdom Teeth: Catch Up, Evolution!
I'm typing this with one hand--the other is busy holding an icepack to my swollen left cheek. Gauze crowds my mouth. Blood occasionally drips. And when I stare into the mirror, I seem happy; I unwillingly smile from ear to ear. I expected this.
I expected to feel uncomfortable from the time I found out my surgery was July 16--July 15. My mom called me then asking if I wanted the "laughing gas" or "pass out" treatment. Laughing gas won the duel, but i was anxious about both.
Now switching the icepack to my right cheek.
As I sat in my modern, black reclining chair with a view of that downtown Dallas building with the hole near the top that I've always wondered whether a plane could fly through, the surgical team put some cover over my nose. they told me to breate through my nose only and then they left. /i was alone.
im bored of typing so ill make therest checklist like.
coulnt breathe well
felt horrible
not the happy drugged up feeling ive heard about
got four shots in gum
one shot in roof of mouth which he said would "pinch alittle"--i cringed "alittle"
he started work on my back right tooth and said i would feel "some pressure"...there was alot of pressure--i chuckled
i think they said half way there after they got ou the first tooth, i chuckled
15 seconds after changing the side the pillow was on, they said only one left--i think that was a lie
i culd feel the final one, not completely, but enough to be uncomfortable
i think the gas started working here because i felt like my neck was in a bow shape and not straight like i previously knew, i felt horribly out of control of my body
started feeling like air was not getting to my lungs= started panicing on the inside but was scared to say anything because it was so close to being over
switching cheeks again
it hurts to attempt to speak--people understand me less than 40% of the time
I hate icepacks, always have (usually i refuse to use them at all)--they are such an inconvienience
Things Ive learned:
I hate being drugged
I hate surgical procedures that you have no idea what is happening (I kept trying to convince my brajin to tell me what was happining--coulnt feel anything nut pressure)
====================================================================================
end of script
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
edit (1/15/2010) I was told later that two of my teeth were impacted, and two were impacted in that they were attached to the bone of my jaw, and the other two were actually in/under my jaw bone. Maybe if I'd have known these facts beforehand, then I would have opted for being knocked out, but then again, being knocked out is not on my to do list. In fact, I do not keep track of a to do list. Maybe I should start one:
1) learn stuff from schooling
2) branch out
3) get more aquainted with the power of this here internet machine
4) taste raw conch
5) write a short story I am proud of
6) be nicer to people/ less argumentative
7) run at least 3 miles per week (my new years resolution)
8) be less secretive when dealing with people I am unfamiliar with (secretive probably wasn't the right word)
9) learn to play a stringed instrument
10)stop saying "There's an app for that," although there probably is...
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