Friday, May 31, 2002
How do you feel when you see a photo of yourself, look at yourself then, look at yourself now, and realize you're wearing the same clothes? I think it makes the picture feel all the more real. The pictures on the side of my blooger feel more real to me right now. Even if you're not this generation's Sherlock Holmes, you've already figured out I'm wearing the same clothes right now as in those snapshots. So, now you look at the photos, and you can accurately picture what I look like at this moment. Do I feel more real?
Thursday, May 30, 2002
Wednesday, May 29, 2002
Today gave birth to another compilation disc. Put a smidgeon of Pedro the Lion, insert a little Incubus, combine with a hint of Cake, liquefy with some Led Zeppelin, gather a teaspoon of Ghetto Boys, next add a Nickelback (well, it’s the “Spiderman” song, so it’s just the main guy from Nickelback that looks like he could be the much older brother from Hanson), rinse the Radiohead with a Roy Jones, Jr. rag, and bake with a Biz Markie. Allow music to compile for about 20 minutes. Remove from burner and serve in a cd player. Enjoy for about 80 minutes.
And so came “Effin Tunes 4: Pluto is a Bastard Child.” I know, I know: what kind of title is that? Well, back in 2001, my first year of cd burning, my compilation discs were all titled "The Kilbot Factory," followed by the number in the series, and a subtitle that consisted of a saying I heard or said around the time I created the disc. The Kilbot Factory name originated on a Simpsons episode (what else?) where Kent Brockman tried to scare the news viewers…
“Coming up on Eye on Springfield: Millions of Americans are being trained to fight and kill! The government calls it “The Army,” but a more alarmist name would be… The Kilbot Factory!”
Sadly on the dawn of 2002, I lost many of my Kilbot Factories. They’re somewhere across the world traveling in a Delta airplane. Feeling this tragedy signaled a time for change, I abandoned the Kilbot Factory name--- but not before I made a “Kilbot Factory: The Resurrection” series finale--- and started on a new title for 2002.
Some people who avoid cussing use replacement words, a popular one being “frickin.” Well, my friend John further replaced “frickin” with “eff.” You could hear someone in the Tate jazz band get aggravated and say, “Eff this!” A year later I successfully incorporated the slang into East 3 vocabulary. With the “eff” word running rampant, I decided to label the next installment of compilation discs as “Effin Tunes.”
“Pluto is a Bastard Child” comes from my eccentric Astronomy professor this summer. We’ve been analyzing this guy from his random ramblings and grunts about his personal life. An unlikely but intriguing hypothesis surrounds his dissatisfaction with his daughter and his efforts to link any subject with some sort of “bastard.” Perhaps this guy feels ashamed that his daughter slept around and now has a child out of wedlock.
“My daughter is bringing her son with her this weekend, and I’m not looking forward to it,” were his exact words.
Naturally, while observing that Pluto is somewhat of an outsider when compared to the other planets, my professor explained, “Pluto is a bastard child.”
And so came “Effin Tunes 4: Pluto is a Bastard Child.” I will enjoy.
And so came “Effin Tunes 4: Pluto is a Bastard Child.” I know, I know: what kind of title is that? Well, back in 2001, my first year of cd burning, my compilation discs were all titled "The Kilbot Factory," followed by the number in the series, and a subtitle that consisted of a saying I heard or said around the time I created the disc. The Kilbot Factory name originated on a Simpsons episode (what else?) where Kent Brockman tried to scare the news viewers…
“Coming up on Eye on Springfield: Millions of Americans are being trained to fight and kill! The government calls it “The Army,” but a more alarmist name would be… The Kilbot Factory!”
Sadly on the dawn of 2002, I lost many of my Kilbot Factories. They’re somewhere across the world traveling in a Delta airplane. Feeling this tragedy signaled a time for change, I abandoned the Kilbot Factory name--- but not before I made a “Kilbot Factory: The Resurrection” series finale--- and started on a new title for 2002.
Some people who avoid cussing use replacement words, a popular one being “frickin.” Well, my friend John further replaced “frickin” with “eff.” You could hear someone in the Tate jazz band get aggravated and say, “Eff this!” A year later I successfully incorporated the slang into East 3 vocabulary. With the “eff” word running rampant, I decided to label the next installment of compilation discs as “Effin Tunes.”
“Pluto is a Bastard Child” comes from my eccentric Astronomy professor this summer. We’ve been analyzing this guy from his random ramblings and grunts about his personal life. An unlikely but intriguing hypothesis surrounds his dissatisfaction with his daughter and his efforts to link any subject with some sort of “bastard.” Perhaps this guy feels ashamed that his daughter slept around and now has a child out of wedlock.
“My daughter is bringing her son with her this weekend, and I’m not looking forward to it,” were his exact words.
Naturally, while observing that Pluto is somewhat of an outsider when compared to the other planets, my professor explained, “Pluto is a bastard child.”
And so came “Effin Tunes 4: Pluto is a Bastard Child.” I will enjoy.
I get impatient at times when things go slowly, but if a slow and steady progression improves the chances for success, I'll take the lengthy approach. I may fiddle anxiously with my thumbs... or giddily run in place... or seriously contemplate pulling the old stretch-and-put-your-arm-around-her gag... but I'll endure the serious thought processes to avoid a hasty decision. In the end, hopefully the correct, best decision will be made and will carry serious implications. I face a challenge that turns my stomach, that races my heart rate, that tears my eyes (well, if I were the crying type), that warms my soul.
I love it.
I love it.
Monday, May 27, 2002
My return from the weekend was scheduled to begin initiation by giving me the privledge of writing a dull paper for a duller class. My heart and mind chose music instead. Because of a growing urge, I opened the closet, wiped the dust from the case fabric, and assembled my trumpet for playing. With the aid of Silent Brass, I have the liberty to play my trumpet at normal volume without fear of drawing the attention of my neighbors. So I played. And played. And played. My lips ballooned from the pressure of the mouthpiece and my significant sabbatical from trumpet exercises. Nevertheless, I endured through scales, old stanzas, and blues improvisations and satisified my thirst to play again. My veins should continue to be filled with the desire to express myself musically, and my trumpet will receive its deserved attention.
Sometimes words can only express so much. I could write about my Memorial Day home with my family, my good friends, and the girl I adore. Today though, I expressed my feelings musically, not verbally.
Sometimes words can only express so much. I could write about my Memorial Day home with my family, my good friends, and the girl I adore. Today though, I expressed my feelings musically, not verbally.
Startling moment from Sunday: Somehow, the power going out woke me up around 7:30, which was a blessing in disguise because I had the opportunity to reset my alarm clock to wake me an hour later. Apparently my hand must have bumped the volume knob on the face of my alarm. At 8:30 am, pop music blasted through the tiny speakers at an unexpectedly massive volume, pounding my heart and making my body spasm out of bed completely disoriented.
Alarming moment from Sunday: The reiteration that the current state of our death penalty must be reevaluated. My biggest concern involves the appelate process. A man's appeal of his death sentence can only be upheld on a technical error during his trial. What this means: even if new evidence comes forth and proves his innocence, the convicted man cannot be saved from his death sentence through appeal. A few years ago, this scenario played itself in real life, as a Florida man convicted of murder and sentenced to be executed had DNA testing done that confirmed his innocence. As a matter of fact, the testing led to the discovery of the real murderer. Nevertheless, the judge informed the man that no technicalities denied him of a fair trial, and his appeal was denied. The cleared man was put to death a year later.
Annoying moment from Sunday: I relaxed on the couch after church and soon relieved myself with a soothing nap. In the middle of my sleep. JR, my jack russell terrier, decided I had enough sleep and took matters into his own hands. I can't remember what I was dreaming about, but it was nice until that dog tongue moistened my face.
Heartwarming moment from Sunday: This evening I drove to Hillcrest to listen to Haley sing. While sitting in a row with her mom and Roger, I turned in her direction. Her eyes were gazing straight at me, her patented mile-wide grin on proud display for me. Minutes later, Haley carried herself onto the stage and warmed the crowd with the gorgeous, "Better than I." With that mature voice that sounds as though it came from the soundtrack to a Disney movie, Haley made my heart race. My eyes were frozen onto her glowing presence. I've stared at Haley with the same eyes I had when we were together. While I've seen those looks reciprocated by Haley, I acknowledged that perhaps my emotional, self-serving, disillusioned pupils could make me see what I want to see; that perhaps my feelings for her had clouded my perception and made me see things from her that weren't actually there.
Well, my eyes apparently receive a passing grade. Haley and I followed Andrew to Village Inn last night after his play. Tonight Andrew and I chatted about my perception:
Andrewthephantom: you two make a cute couple
Adpearl: Yeah, she's being more affectionate toward me again... could you tell?
Andrewthephantom: yeah
Andrewthephantom: i could see that
Adpearl: I've seen how she's looked at me
Andrewthephantom: yeah
Andrewthephantom: lovey dovey
Adpearl: So you saw it too?
Andrewthephantom: oh helly yeah man
Andrewthephantom: she kept staring at you adn shit
Adpearl: That makes me feel real good to hear this from you, just to hear it from an outsider that i'm not crazy
Andrewthephantom: no you are not man
Andrewthephantom: she digs you
Andrewthephantom: you are so fucking lucky
Andrewthephantom: i hate you ahole
Adpearl: Yeah sure
Andrewthephantom: lol
Adpearl: this doesn't mean we;ll get back together though
Andrewthephantom: yeah
Andrewthephantom: i know man
Of course, this could make the decision later this summer all the tougher, but why worry about that now? I can look at this today as having the honor of holding a wonderful bond with someone as special as Haley. Tomorrow I can hold it with me, even as I drive away and return to Gainesville.
Alarming moment from Sunday: The reiteration that the current state of our death penalty must be reevaluated. My biggest concern involves the appelate process. A man's appeal of his death sentence can only be upheld on a technical error during his trial. What this means: even if new evidence comes forth and proves his innocence, the convicted man cannot be saved from his death sentence through appeal. A few years ago, this scenario played itself in real life, as a Florida man convicted of murder and sentenced to be executed had DNA testing done that confirmed his innocence. As a matter of fact, the testing led to the discovery of the real murderer. Nevertheless, the judge informed the man that no technicalities denied him of a fair trial, and his appeal was denied. The cleared man was put to death a year later.
Annoying moment from Sunday: I relaxed on the couch after church and soon relieved myself with a soothing nap. In the middle of my sleep. JR, my jack russell terrier, decided I had enough sleep and took matters into his own hands. I can't remember what I was dreaming about, but it was nice until that dog tongue moistened my face.
Heartwarming moment from Sunday: This evening I drove to Hillcrest to listen to Haley sing. While sitting in a row with her mom and Roger, I turned in her direction. Her eyes were gazing straight at me, her patented mile-wide grin on proud display for me. Minutes later, Haley carried herself onto the stage and warmed the crowd with the gorgeous, "Better than I." With that mature voice that sounds as though it came from the soundtrack to a Disney movie, Haley made my heart race. My eyes were frozen onto her glowing presence. I've stared at Haley with the same eyes I had when we were together. While I've seen those looks reciprocated by Haley, I acknowledged that perhaps my emotional, self-serving, disillusioned pupils could make me see what I want to see; that perhaps my feelings for her had clouded my perception and made me see things from her that weren't actually there.
Well, my eyes apparently receive a passing grade. Haley and I followed Andrew to Village Inn last night after his play. Tonight Andrew and I chatted about my perception:
Andrewthephantom: you two make a cute couple
Adpearl: Yeah, she's being more affectionate toward me again... could you tell?
Andrewthephantom: yeah
Andrewthephantom: i could see that
Adpearl: I've seen how she's looked at me
Andrewthephantom: yeah
Andrewthephantom: lovey dovey
Adpearl: So you saw it too?
Andrewthephantom: oh helly yeah man
Andrewthephantom: she kept staring at you adn shit
Adpearl: That makes me feel real good to hear this from you, just to hear it from an outsider that i'm not crazy
Andrewthephantom: no you are not man
Andrewthephantom: she digs you
Andrewthephantom: you are so fucking lucky
Andrewthephantom: i hate you ahole
Adpearl: Yeah sure
Andrewthephantom: lol
Adpearl: this doesn't mean we;ll get back together though
Andrewthephantom: yeah
Andrewthephantom: i know man
Of course, this could make the decision later this summer all the tougher, but why worry about that now? I can look at this today as having the honor of holding a wonderful bond with someone as special as Haley. Tomorrow I can hold it with me, even as I drive away and return to Gainesville.
Sunday, May 26, 2002
She doesn't know how hard it is for me to see her look at me the way she does, to feel the things I feel, and to restrain myself from kissing her rosy cheeks, from rubbing the back of her neck, from brushing her hair aside and behind her adorably miniature ears, from sliding my hand down her warm face, from bringing her closer to my body.
It can work between us, that I unquestionably believe. I don't fear that it won't be perfect. I don't fear that it won't be the best situation. I don't fear that it won't be easy to maintain. I don't fear that it won't be everything I expect it could be.
I fear that it won't be.
It can work between us, that I unquestionably believe. I don't fear that it won't be perfect. I don't fear that it won't be the best situation. I don't fear that it won't be easy to maintain. I don't fear that it won't be everything I expect it could be.
I fear that it won't be.
Saturday, May 25, 2002
So, what has happened on Friday?
Woke up at 5 am, shower, juice for breakfast, study for 9:30 exam, gather things for home, go to morning class, get 80-95% of questions correct on exam, return to apartment, put things in car, haul out of Courtyards to I-75, stop for gas in po-dunk area, have a sample of world's best orange, haul on I-10, call mom, surprise them that I'm an hour away from home and will be attending my cousin's graduation, get to graduation 15 minutes late, see uncle for the first time in 5 years, cheer for Adam and Joey as they graduate, bump into Andrew, discuss his play, attempt to find the graduates outside Civic Center, track them down, celebrate at Outback Steakhouse, feast on cheese fries, crawfish, and prime rib, say goodbye to my Japan-bound cousins and aunt, drive my uncle to his hotel, bid farewell, drive to Adam's family farm, eat more (burger, cookies, cake), play with adorable Cameron, play ping-pong with a dented ball, watch my sister get thrown into the pool, leave Adam's, drive dad back to his car, come home, get massively attacked by licks from my dog, find an invitation to do another law mission (in Cuba), turn on the basketball game, watch with dad, watch with mom, watch with mom and dad, go internet surfing, discover roommate Furio heads to Japan today (bona fortuna Furio!), check e-mail, get e-mail from South Africa friend invited to the same Cuba trip, reply for more information, ponder why a doctor thanks me tonight for participating in an event over a year ago, call Haley, talk to Haley's mom, back to the game, call from Haley, accept her suggestion to watch a movie, convince her to come over here so I don't have to drive tonight, hang up phone, come upstairs, put packed belongings in bedroom, revisit computer, type in my blog...
Friday so far! Did I forget anything?
Woke up at 5 am, shower, juice for breakfast, study for 9:30 exam, gather things for home, go to morning class, get 80-95% of questions correct on exam, return to apartment, put things in car, haul out of Courtyards to I-75, stop for gas in po-dunk area, have a sample of world's best orange, haul on I-10, call mom, surprise them that I'm an hour away from home and will be attending my cousin's graduation, get to graduation 15 minutes late, see uncle for the first time in 5 years, cheer for Adam and Joey as they graduate, bump into Andrew, discuss his play, attempt to find the graduates outside Civic Center, track them down, celebrate at Outback Steakhouse, feast on cheese fries, crawfish, and prime rib, say goodbye to my Japan-bound cousins and aunt, drive my uncle to his hotel, bid farewell, drive to Adam's family farm, eat more (burger, cookies, cake), play with adorable Cameron, play ping-pong with a dented ball, watch my sister get thrown into the pool, leave Adam's, drive dad back to his car, come home, get massively attacked by licks from my dog, find an invitation to do another law mission (in Cuba), turn on the basketball game, watch with dad, watch with mom, watch with mom and dad, go internet surfing, discover roommate Furio heads to Japan today (bona fortuna Furio!), check e-mail, get e-mail from South Africa friend invited to the same Cuba trip, reply for more information, ponder why a doctor thanks me tonight for participating in an event over a year ago, call Haley, talk to Haley's mom, back to the game, call from Haley, accept her suggestion to watch a movie, convince her to come over here so I don't have to drive tonight, hang up phone, come upstairs, put packed belongings in bedroom, revisit computer, type in my blog...
Friday so far! Did I forget anything?
Thursday, May 23, 2002
Dr. Lane expects me to come to class tomorrow morning with a completed paper and a knowledge of the material on our exam. Some impulse continues to interfere with my desire to write the paper. Which more important: Dr. Lane's or my desires?
Well, Dr. Lane distributes the grades. But fulfilling my desires makes me happier. But Dr. Lane gives the grades. But I'd rather do 1,600 things than write this paper. But Dr. Lane determines my grade. But I would like to visit Alehouse later, get prepared for tomorrow's exam, and lie asleep in my bed at a reasonable hour. But Dr. Lane decides on my grade, and I'll have enough time to accomplish the preceding if I start the paper right now.
Ok, ok, ok, has the jury reached a verdict?
We have, your honor: Guilty--- I mean, write the paper.
Well, Dr. Lane distributes the grades. But fulfilling my desires makes me happier. But Dr. Lane gives the grades. But I'd rather do 1,600 things than write this paper. But Dr. Lane determines my grade. But I would like to visit Alehouse later, get prepared for tomorrow's exam, and lie asleep in my bed at a reasonable hour. But Dr. Lane decides on my grade, and I'll have enough time to accomplish the preceding if I start the paper right now.
Ok, ok, ok, has the jury reached a verdict?
We have, your honor: Guilty--- I mean, write the paper.
Wednesday, May 22, 2002
I am Forrest Gump, running through the wind, gazing at the passing landscape. I started running. For no particular reason, I ran. Much time had passed since the last time I had done this exercise/recreation/sport, but I just decided to pick up my legs, make them move fast, and allow them to take me wherever they wanted. A stoplight prevented my desired turn, so I kept going straight and would see where the never-ending road would take me. Street signs indicated a path toward downtown. Out of curiosity, could I make it all the way downtown? I finally saw main street... I did it! Since I had gone that far, I figured I might as well run through the other end of downtown. After I completed another checkpoint, I just kept running. Followers ensued. Soon, I was on the cover of Time magazine. Flocks of supporters wanted to join the man who had the unexplainable desire to persevere through the fatigue and numbness of infinite running. I wiped my muddy face on a T-shirt, influencing a business man to sell this image and make millions. One man used my quotes in bumper stickers. Finally, after months, I paused in the middle of the road, wiped the sweat from my scraggly beard onto my tattered sweatshirt, and decided I was satisfied with my run. Time had come to go home.
I am Forrest Gump. Well, I qualify until the point of crossing downtown.
I am Forrest Gump. Well, I qualify until the point of crossing downtown.
Oh wait, this was a good one too...
AJ: Hi, Grandma. Grandma?
Olivia: Who is it? You woke me.
AJ: It's me, Anthony, Jr.
Olivia: Oh, I didn't know I had a grandson.
AJ: I miss you.
Olivia: Yeah, you should. You never come see me.
AJ: I've been busy.
Olivia: Everybody's busy, and don't lie to me! I know your father forbids you coming down here
AJ: He doesn't, honest. He just doesn't want us to talk about you in the house.
Olivia: Ugh, you can go shit in his hat.
AJ: He's mad at me right now.
Olivia: Aw, I shouldn't use that kind of talk. Don't let me ever catch you talking that way. Now what did you do bad?
AJ: My dad doesn't like my attitude. So Uncle Pussy said that I should come down here and talk to you because you're old and have wisdom and stuff.
Olivia: His mother's another one. Well, what did you do?
AJ: Well, I took mom's car out of the garage, and it got wrecked.
Olivia: You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Was it bad?
AJ: Uncle Pussy already fixed it.
Olivia: Did you wear your safety belt?
AJ: Yeah.
Olivia: Because there was an article in the paper the other day about a bunch of teenagers from out near the Delaware Water Gap. They overcrowded their car, it hit a tree, and it incinerated, and they got trapped. People could hear them screaming. They couldn't get out. The safety belts did it, buckled them in.
AJ: See, that's what I mean. What's the purpose?
Olivia: Of what?
AJ: Being, here on our planet. Earth. Those kids are dead meat. What's the use? What's the purpose?
Olivia: Why does everything have to have a purpose? The world is a jungle. If you want my advice, Anthony, don't expect happiness. You won't get it, people let you down, and I'm not naming any names, but in the end, you die in your own arms.
AJ: You mean, alone?
Olivia: It's all a big nothing. What makes you think you're so special?
Don't you wish you had a loving grandmother to give you such uplifting advice?
AJ: Hi, Grandma. Grandma?
Olivia: Who is it? You woke me.
AJ: It's me, Anthony, Jr.
Olivia: Oh, I didn't know I had a grandson.
AJ: I miss you.
Olivia: Yeah, you should. You never come see me.
AJ: I've been busy.
Olivia: Everybody's busy, and don't lie to me! I know your father forbids you coming down here
AJ: He doesn't, honest. He just doesn't want us to talk about you in the house.
Olivia: Ugh, you can go shit in his hat.
AJ: He's mad at me right now.
Olivia: Aw, I shouldn't use that kind of talk. Don't let me ever catch you talking that way. Now what did you do bad?
AJ: My dad doesn't like my attitude. So Uncle Pussy said that I should come down here and talk to you because you're old and have wisdom and stuff.
Olivia: His mother's another one. Well, what did you do?
AJ: Well, I took mom's car out of the garage, and it got wrecked.
Olivia: You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Was it bad?
AJ: Uncle Pussy already fixed it.
Olivia: Did you wear your safety belt?
AJ: Yeah.
Olivia: Because there was an article in the paper the other day about a bunch of teenagers from out near the Delaware Water Gap. They overcrowded their car, it hit a tree, and it incinerated, and they got trapped. People could hear them screaming. They couldn't get out. The safety belts did it, buckled them in.
AJ: See, that's what I mean. What's the purpose?
Olivia: Of what?
AJ: Being, here on our planet. Earth. Those kids are dead meat. What's the use? What's the purpose?
Olivia: Why does everything have to have a purpose? The world is a jungle. If you want my advice, Anthony, don't expect happiness. You won't get it, people let you down, and I'm not naming any names, but in the end, you die in your own arms.
AJ: You mean, alone?
Olivia: It's all a big nothing. What makes you think you're so special?
Don't you wish you had a loving grandmother to give you such uplifting advice?
Tuesday, May 21, 2002
A scene from my favorite Sopranos episode: "D-Girl"
Pussy: You lookin for a purpose in life? Doing what's right is your purpose.
AJ: That's not what Nitch says.
Pussy: Who?
Matt: Nietzsche. Let me tell you something: Nietzsche wound up talking to his horse. And I know what you're gonna tell me: Sartre, right? Well, Sartre was a fucking fraud. He copped it all from Husserl and Heidegger... You should start at the beginning. Take a look at Kierkegaard.
AJ: Whatever.
Matt: Hey, Kierkegaard said, "Every duty is essentially a duty to God."
AJ: "Nigga be a leader, not a follower."
Matt: What?
AJ: Master P said that.
Matt: Wait, you still listen to rap?
AJ: Why?
Matt: It's just all about marketing now.
Pussy: You lookin for a purpose in life? Doing what's right is your purpose.
AJ: That's not what Nitch says.
Pussy: Who?
Matt: Nietzsche. Let me tell you something: Nietzsche wound up talking to his horse. And I know what you're gonna tell me: Sartre, right? Well, Sartre was a fucking fraud. He copped it all from Husserl and Heidegger... You should start at the beginning. Take a look at Kierkegaard.
AJ: Whatever.
Matt: Hey, Kierkegaard said, "Every duty is essentially a duty to God."
AJ: "Nigga be a leader, not a follower."
Matt: What?
AJ: Master P said that.
Matt: Wait, you still listen to rap?
AJ: Why?
Matt: It's just all about marketing now.
Yes, I ballroom danced back in the day.
In the summer of 2000, Crystal invited me to her dancing studio for a night sampling various world dances. Though a little reluctant to enter a dance floor and learn ballroom etiquette in front of dancers and friends, I agreed to give it a chance. To my pleasant surprise I had a great time. I was constantly being shuffled from woman to woman to girl to girl receiving brief samples of some of the world's most popular dances. They wooed me well, considering I agreed to return for a few complimentary lessons. Andrew came as well, he being sucked in the same way I was. To his dismay, his instructor was the "experienced" 45-year-old lady ("It's like dancing with my mom!" he later complained.), while I received Lori, the cute twenty-year-old. Lori made things fun, and I enjoyed fine-tuning some of these dances. Thanks to her, I had a great time learning the waltz, tango, rhumba, swing, cha-cha, and--- as a bonus--- I learned a little lambada. I finally discovered those latin hips of mine that had been hibernating, and now when I hit the dance floor they come out to play!
While I'm a little rusty on the technical aspects of most of these dances, I definitely look forward to removing some of the kinks this summer. I'll be hitting the dance floor again in a little over a month, so watch out...
In the summer of 2000, Crystal invited me to her dancing studio for a night sampling various world dances. Though a little reluctant to enter a dance floor and learn ballroom etiquette in front of dancers and friends, I agreed to give it a chance. To my pleasant surprise I had a great time. I was constantly being shuffled from woman to woman to girl to girl receiving brief samples of some of the world's most popular dances. They wooed me well, considering I agreed to return for a few complimentary lessons. Andrew came as well, he being sucked in the same way I was. To his dismay, his instructor was the "experienced" 45-year-old lady ("It's like dancing with my mom!" he later complained.), while I received Lori, the cute twenty-year-old. Lori made things fun, and I enjoyed fine-tuning some of these dances. Thanks to her, I had a great time learning the waltz, tango, rhumba, swing, cha-cha, and--- as a bonus--- I learned a little lambada. I finally discovered those latin hips of mine that had been hibernating, and now when I hit the dance floor they come out to play!
While I'm a little rusty on the technical aspects of most of these dances, I definitely look forward to removing some of the kinks this summer. I'll be hitting the dance floor again in a little over a month, so watch out...
Sunday, May 19, 2002
Arturo Gatti vs. Mickey Ward. Real men in a real fight. A bout boxing purists and outside audiences could enjoy!
Boxing is a beautiful art when done right. These two men may subject themselves to too much punishment by abandoning defensive strategy, but their offenses are wonderfully aggressive, and not in a careless, overly macho manner. Rather, Gatti and Ward display pride, guts, and determination as they artisticly unleash barrages of punches toward each other. By the end of the fight, both men had maximized their physical capabilities, and the roaring crowd rewarded the warriors with a deafening ovation.
Most of mainstream American either disregards or abhors boxing. I understand those views, but I don't follow them. Good boxing--- and this excludes C-class fighters and overly violent brawlers--- involves strategy, heart, and months of unseen hard work. It's another form of art, and you know how I feel about art: it gives man a unique craft he can focus on and master in his own way, something he can always hold close.
Arturo Gatti and Mickey Ward will always carry pride with them, especially because of their bout tonight.
Boxing is a beautiful art when done right. These two men may subject themselves to too much punishment by abandoning defensive strategy, but their offenses are wonderfully aggressive, and not in a careless, overly macho manner. Rather, Gatti and Ward display pride, guts, and determination as they artisticly unleash barrages of punches toward each other. By the end of the fight, both men had maximized their physical capabilities, and the roaring crowd rewarded the warriors with a deafening ovation.
Most of mainstream American either disregards or abhors boxing. I understand those views, but I don't follow them. Good boxing--- and this excludes C-class fighters and overly violent brawlers--- involves strategy, heart, and months of unseen hard work. It's another form of art, and you know how I feel about art: it gives man a unique craft he can focus on and master in his own way, something he can always hold close.
Arturo Gatti and Mickey Ward will always carry pride with them, especially because of their bout tonight.
Saturday, May 18, 2002
The first week of summer school has come and gone, and with five more cycles my summer studies in Gainesville will conclude. What have I learned from one week of pretending to be a student for hours at a time on campus, living in a muilt-room apartment, and experiencing much solitude without having roommates or many nearby friends?
1) Having my own kitchen is everything I thought it would be... and more.
Cooking has been passed along my family tree in all aspects. My grandma makes the most delicious pasteles, a delicacy completely untapped in America. My other grandmother--- she died when I was six--- passed the secrets of true Italian cuisine to my dad and later to my mom. My mom... madone! She'll make a dish that'll have me breathing heavy and moaning when all the flavors and textures spread to my mouth and nose. And though he rarely exhibits his talents, my dad can be a master chef as well.
My mom taught me the culinary arts little by little before I left for college. Only now am I able to freely cook whatever dish I want whenever I want. In the dorm, all my ingredients, meats, utensils, etc. had to be packed in my handy plastic portable cabinet that I carried down the hall and to the lounge. I had to rely on none of my 50 floormates using the stove or oven when I arrived. Crap, I forgot the butter! Gotta rush back to my room and let my food burn while I find it and run back to the kitchen. Even if I had all my ingredients, my shoebox of a fridge prevented me from stockpiling and potential meals. Everytime I wanted to cook a bonafide feast, I'd have to prepare a day in advance, get to Publix, buy only what I needed, and have all my food disappear the next day.
Now when I go to Publix, I've graduated from the little side basket to a full-sized grocery cart. I can refrigerate and freeze things. All my parts for the meal lay at my disposal. For some reason, a meal tastes so much better if you've made it yourself (with the exception of a home-cooked Big Red). This morning I made my first attempt at an omlette. Ham, muenster cheese, and a dab of hot sauce went into the solidifying egg mixture, and though honestly I expected failure, my omlette looked perfect. After sitting down and taking the first bite, I got so excited by the taste that I almost called home right then and there to announce my achievement! Then I realized it's just an omlette, so I sat and ate it instead. My wife has to be able to cook or at least willing to learn, and at the same time, she has to let me borrow the kitchen too.
2) I picked the right major, and without it I would have no chance at doing well this summer.
Intro to Corrections is the only reason I can awaken so easily to begin another 9-3 school day. In high school boring classes didn't hinder my learning experience because I had yet to find true excitement in education. Being smacked in the face by college chemistry was the first time I almost surrendered my efforts to do well in a class. Criminology had shown me my true academic interests, and chemistry fell on the opposite side of the spectrum. Two years later, criminolgy courses remain poised with psychology above all other subjects. Without a stimulating class this summer, I have the feeling I might skip some days and only study enough to pull off a C. I don't want a C, but it would be easier to fall into that hole if I was surrounded by three boring classes. Thankfully, Corrections gives me a break from forced studying and injects enough energy into me to be a decent student in my other, less desirable classes.
3) You can't always be friends with someone just because you were close in another timeframe.
This one I expected. If you start dating someone without establishing friendship first, there's no turning back. Without that foundation, the relationship cannot tread backwards. After we stopped dating last fall, I knew we wouldn't stay friends like so many break-ups shallowly suggest. She looks good--- really good--- and I'm glad she's doing well, but I have nothing to give her besides a smile and a hello. I'd like to think I could be friends with anyone, but I knew even when we had to see each other every day this semester, no friendship would develop. No regrets come from here. She's a nice person, but we moved our separate ways long time ago, and I'd rather keep it that way.
4) I enjoy hearing voices, even if it's my own.
Granted, I prefer to deafen my ears when my soft, thin voice is played on tape or video, but I now realize we all need audible words from the mouth of another person. Try to live an entire day in aboslute seclusion, depriving yourself of any company or the voices that accompany them. Avoid the television, radio, and cd player, which still provide people's voices. Now, keep yourself silent, living only with the sounds of lifeless products such as bristeling air spewing from an air conditioner or keyboard keys being tapped.
I would never try it. One day after class, I stayed in my apartment for the rest of the night without exchanging words with anyone. I noticed myself singing and uttering asides to myself much more frequently. We as indiviuals seek human connection and will resort to hearing our own voices when necessary. Tom Hanks in Cast Away conversed to himself through Wilson for this very reason. I have yet to talk to anyone today, but I will soon. Even though I'm shy, I really do enjoy socializing and talking with others. My mom and dad, Brandon, Haley, the Walmart cashier: this is a brief list of the people I plan on talking to today. People are cool; I'm glad they're around.
5) An open window does wonders.
Openning my bedroom window pushed just enough fresh air on my skin to relieve the growing heat that had no desire to allow me to sleep. Spreading the blinds in my kitchen spread a glow throughout the eating area and almost makes me feel as though I'm eating just outside some beautiful landscape. Of course, that thought quickly evaporates when I look from the window at the cars resting in an unspectacular parking lot. In Alaska some people wear these little hats with a light source to avoid depression in the dark winters. Open air and extra lumination make things more cheery and peaceful. Come on... open a window already!
6) No lesson here. Just time to get away from the computer screen and enjoy the day.
1) Having my own kitchen is everything I thought it would be... and more.
Cooking has been passed along my family tree in all aspects. My grandma makes the most delicious pasteles, a delicacy completely untapped in America. My other grandmother--- she died when I was six--- passed the secrets of true Italian cuisine to my dad and later to my mom. My mom... madone! She'll make a dish that'll have me breathing heavy and moaning when all the flavors and textures spread to my mouth and nose. And though he rarely exhibits his talents, my dad can be a master chef as well.
My mom taught me the culinary arts little by little before I left for college. Only now am I able to freely cook whatever dish I want whenever I want. In the dorm, all my ingredients, meats, utensils, etc. had to be packed in my handy plastic portable cabinet that I carried down the hall and to the lounge. I had to rely on none of my 50 floormates using the stove or oven when I arrived. Crap, I forgot the butter! Gotta rush back to my room and let my food burn while I find it and run back to the kitchen. Even if I had all my ingredients, my shoebox of a fridge prevented me from stockpiling and potential meals. Everytime I wanted to cook a bonafide feast, I'd have to prepare a day in advance, get to Publix, buy only what I needed, and have all my food disappear the next day.
Now when I go to Publix, I've graduated from the little side basket to a full-sized grocery cart. I can refrigerate and freeze things. All my parts for the meal lay at my disposal. For some reason, a meal tastes so much better if you've made it yourself (with the exception of a home-cooked Big Red). This morning I made my first attempt at an omlette. Ham, muenster cheese, and a dab of hot sauce went into the solidifying egg mixture, and though honestly I expected failure, my omlette looked perfect. After sitting down and taking the first bite, I got so excited by the taste that I almost called home right then and there to announce my achievement! Then I realized it's just an omlette, so I sat and ate it instead. My wife has to be able to cook or at least willing to learn, and at the same time, she has to let me borrow the kitchen too.
2) I picked the right major, and without it I would have no chance at doing well this summer.
Intro to Corrections is the only reason I can awaken so easily to begin another 9-3 school day. In high school boring classes didn't hinder my learning experience because I had yet to find true excitement in education. Being smacked in the face by college chemistry was the first time I almost surrendered my efforts to do well in a class. Criminology had shown me my true academic interests, and chemistry fell on the opposite side of the spectrum. Two years later, criminolgy courses remain poised with psychology above all other subjects. Without a stimulating class this summer, I have the feeling I might skip some days and only study enough to pull off a C. I don't want a C, but it would be easier to fall into that hole if I was surrounded by three boring classes. Thankfully, Corrections gives me a break from forced studying and injects enough energy into me to be a decent student in my other, less desirable classes.
3) You can't always be friends with someone just because you were close in another timeframe.
This one I expected. If you start dating someone without establishing friendship first, there's no turning back. Without that foundation, the relationship cannot tread backwards. After we stopped dating last fall, I knew we wouldn't stay friends like so many break-ups shallowly suggest. She looks good--- really good--- and I'm glad she's doing well, but I have nothing to give her besides a smile and a hello. I'd like to think I could be friends with anyone, but I knew even when we had to see each other every day this semester, no friendship would develop. No regrets come from here. She's a nice person, but we moved our separate ways long time ago, and I'd rather keep it that way.
4) I enjoy hearing voices, even if it's my own.
Granted, I prefer to deafen my ears when my soft, thin voice is played on tape or video, but I now realize we all need audible words from the mouth of another person. Try to live an entire day in aboslute seclusion, depriving yourself of any company or the voices that accompany them. Avoid the television, radio, and cd player, which still provide people's voices. Now, keep yourself silent, living only with the sounds of lifeless products such as bristeling air spewing from an air conditioner or keyboard keys being tapped.
I would never try it. One day after class, I stayed in my apartment for the rest of the night without exchanging words with anyone. I noticed myself singing and uttering asides to myself much more frequently. We as indiviuals seek human connection and will resort to hearing our own voices when necessary. Tom Hanks in Cast Away conversed to himself through Wilson for this very reason. I have yet to talk to anyone today, but I will soon. Even though I'm shy, I really do enjoy socializing and talking with others. My mom and dad, Brandon, Haley, the Walmart cashier: this is a brief list of the people I plan on talking to today. People are cool; I'm glad they're around.
5) An open window does wonders.
Openning my bedroom window pushed just enough fresh air on my skin to relieve the growing heat that had no desire to allow me to sleep. Spreading the blinds in my kitchen spread a glow throughout the eating area and almost makes me feel as though I'm eating just outside some beautiful landscape. Of course, that thought quickly evaporates when I look from the window at the cars resting in an unspectacular parking lot. In Alaska some people wear these little hats with a light source to avoid depression in the dark winters. Open air and extra lumination make things more cheery and peaceful. Come on... open a window already!
6) No lesson here. Just time to get away from the computer screen and enjoy the day.
Friday, May 17, 2002
I trekked up the stairs knowing I would sit in my eerily soothing computer chair, place my fingers on the keyboard, and write about a specifc something. The Problem: I've forgotten what I was going to say.
So, what should I do? Retracing my steps, I was taping pictures--- pictures of friends, of family, of my life--- on the family room wall to rid my self of continually walking by a characterless white slab of wall. My living room had no life. After decorating as much as I could until the last strip of scotch tape plucked off the dispenser, the living room is no longer dead. Muted boxing unfolded on the tube while Effin Tunes 3 permeated from my speakers. Ok, so I still have no clue what theme clicked in my head. I was sticking photos to the wall for a while, so I must have thought of this vanished idea in the middle of that fun.
I could actually venture downstairs again and scope the room. Professor Misilmeri from freshmen year taught me that memory is more accessible if you attempt to retrieve it in the same environment where it was learned. Hold on...
(Anthony bolts downstairs faster than The Flash.)
(The tumbleweed continues to mozy around Anthony's head.)
(A frustrated Anthony rushes up toward his room.)
(Crash! Boom! Pow!)
My subject would not reveal himself even after I returned to the scene. I shouldn't have run upstairs to get back to the computer so quickly because my momentum led me to use excessive force when pulling the light cord of my fan. The glass screen jiggled from its fastened position, bopped my head, rolled toward the corner, and shattered across my carpet. Now I have a bump on my head, a floor full of glass, and a tilted, dangling light bulb from the fan.
I bet whatever I wanted to write about was stupid anyway. It's ok, brilliant idea... I don't need you! Just go ahead and keep hiding wherever you want!
Are you there?
So, what should I do? Retracing my steps, I was taping pictures--- pictures of friends, of family, of my life--- on the family room wall to rid my self of continually walking by a characterless white slab of wall. My living room had no life. After decorating as much as I could until the last strip of scotch tape plucked off the dispenser, the living room is no longer dead. Muted boxing unfolded on the tube while Effin Tunes 3 permeated from my speakers. Ok, so I still have no clue what theme clicked in my head. I was sticking photos to the wall for a while, so I must have thought of this vanished idea in the middle of that fun.
I could actually venture downstairs again and scope the room. Professor Misilmeri from freshmen year taught me that memory is more accessible if you attempt to retrieve it in the same environment where it was learned. Hold on...
(Anthony bolts downstairs faster than The Flash.)
(The tumbleweed continues to mozy around Anthony's head.)
(A frustrated Anthony rushes up toward his room.)
(Crash! Boom! Pow!)
My subject would not reveal himself even after I returned to the scene. I shouldn't have run upstairs to get back to the computer so quickly because my momentum led me to use excessive force when pulling the light cord of my fan. The glass screen jiggled from its fastened position, bopped my head, rolled toward the corner, and shattered across my carpet. Now I have a bump on my head, a floor full of glass, and a tilted, dangling light bulb from the fan.
I bet whatever I wanted to write about was stupid anyway. It's ok, brilliant idea... I don't need you! Just go ahead and keep hiding wherever you want!
Are you there?
Thursday, May 16, 2002
Number of hours of sleep I got last night: 8
Number of hours of sleep I got the previous two nights combined: 5
Number of $20 parking tickets I’ve received since my return: 2
Number of solutions I developed to prevent another ticket: 2
Number of them that I will ultimately use: 0
Number of hours I’ve been in a classroom this week: 12
Number of hours I have left this week: 8
Number of abrupt changes of thought by my Comparative Politics professor during today’s lecture: 32
Number of days we are already behind in that class: 1
Number of days I’m given to read an entire book on Corrections: 3
Number of days I have left: 1
Number of pages I’ve read: 207
Number of pages remaining: 80
Number of praises I gave today for having my own kitchen: 5
Number of items in my refrigerator: 11
Number of items I could fit in my former dorm fridge: 3.5
Number of “Number of” lists I’ve done: 1
Number of “Number of” lists I’ll probably ever do again: 0
Number of hours of sleep I got the previous two nights combined: 5
Number of $20 parking tickets I’ve received since my return: 2
Number of solutions I developed to prevent another ticket: 2
Number of them that I will ultimately use: 0
Number of hours I’ve been in a classroom this week: 12
Number of hours I have left this week: 8
Number of abrupt changes of thought by my Comparative Politics professor during today’s lecture: 32
Number of days we are already behind in that class: 1
Number of days I’m given to read an entire book on Corrections: 3
Number of days I have left: 1
Number of pages I’ve read: 207
Number of pages remaining: 80
Number of praises I gave today for having my own kitchen: 5
Number of items in my refrigerator: 11
Number of items I could fit in my former dorm fridge: 3.5
Number of “Number of” lists I’ve done: 1
Number of “Number of” lists I’ll probably ever do again: 0
Tuesday, May 14, 2002
Wesley approached me after Corrections class today. He's one of the first criminology students I've actually had words with that advanced beyond a greeting (though I sense more and more that I'll bond with a few more this year as we share more classes and experiences together). After a few small words, he surprised me with his casual question:
So, are you graduating now or in the fall?
I have 1.5 or 2 years remaining at UF, and Wesley definitely did not expect such a response. No one confuses me as a 22-year-old because I'm a 19-year-old youngster who looks like he's just entered adulthood. In my criminology courses, I'm the minority among a group of twenty-somethings, living twenty-something lives, some even married and settled in a little house like Wesley. It hit me why he assumed I was one of the majority: I started the intense portion of my major far earlier than the norm. I've now had three 4000-level criminology courses with Wesley, so he gathered that I was finalizing toward my degree. In actuality I'm only now becoming an experienced student in this program.
Why did I push myself into these studies faster than recommended? I love criminology. The classes stimulate me. The case studies get me high. I bathe in details of a criminal's path of destruction, not because I'm a blood-lusting psycho, but rather to uncover anything that could symbolize the cause for an unfortunate descention into crime. I want to deeply search the criminal's mind, find the true sources of his plight, and develop any practices that could prevent such a life from torturing another beautiful being. Crime is tragic and attacks the heart of society. Can I help a lost individual improve his life and, in turn, improve my society?
I'm studying to discover the possibilities.
So, are you graduating now or in the fall?
I have 1.5 or 2 years remaining at UF, and Wesley definitely did not expect such a response. No one confuses me as a 22-year-old because I'm a 19-year-old youngster who looks like he's just entered adulthood. In my criminology courses, I'm the minority among a group of twenty-somethings, living twenty-something lives, some even married and settled in a little house like Wesley. It hit me why he assumed I was one of the majority: I started the intense portion of my major far earlier than the norm. I've now had three 4000-level criminology courses with Wesley, so he gathered that I was finalizing toward my degree. In actuality I'm only now becoming an experienced student in this program.
Why did I push myself into these studies faster than recommended? I love criminology. The classes stimulate me. The case studies get me high. I bathe in details of a criminal's path of destruction, not because I'm a blood-lusting psycho, but rather to uncover anything that could symbolize the cause for an unfortunate descention into crime. I want to deeply search the criminal's mind, find the true sources of his plight, and develop any practices that could prevent such a life from torturing another beautiful being. Crime is tragic and attacks the heart of society. Can I help a lost individual improve his life and, in turn, improve my society?
I'm studying to discover the possibilities.
The sad reality came tonight that I won't be able to dedicate myself to writing as much as I have for the past few weeks. The impending avalanche of classwork and reading assignements will soon rush down the mountain with steady, continous force. Only one day of classes have past, yet when I attend day two I will already be trailing my syllibi. After all, how could I do my reading assignments if I couldn't get all my books today? My daily routine will now include preparing papers on foreign policy, role-playing as the characters in our system of corrections, sleeping through the stars, and reading/reviewing/studying for lectures/papers/exams.
I forgot that summer school had classes and work.
I forgot that summer school had classes and work.
Monday, May 13, 2002
An army of love bugs and an insanely hot apartment awaited my return to Gainesville last night. I'm alone in a four-bedroom apartment with no ethernet connection (it took me forever to find an accessible dial-up server). Though Gainesville entertains and benefits me more than my hometown, I miss a few things Pensacola has that Gainesville lacks:
The beach... A queen-sized waterbed... Toss-the-ball games with a Jack Russell Terrier... Mom-cooked meals... Haley...
The loneliness I anticipated to haunt my life in this apartment may not have time to develop, as I'll be loaded with schoolwork for the next six weeks. Five hours of classroom lectures will spread from 9:30 am until 3:30 pm (Woo! One hour break!) every weekday. With class meetings everyday comes reading assignments due every day. No nights will be able to have focus on merely one subject because backtracking one day in summer terms compares to a about week for a regular semester. My classes seem to have reasonable enough criteria for a 4.0 term, but Intro to Corrections and Comparative Politics require lots of dedication, Comp Politics requiring more than I had expected.
I noticed that entering the over-the-hill era of my life as an undergraduate allows me to recognize people from previous encounters. Sure enough, the summer did not keep all the criminology hotties from their UF studies. If anyone can tell me a major with more beauty girl-for-girl than criminology, please let me know. Some of these girls I've had the nerve to talk to on pervious occasions; others I'm still intimidated and shy. As for my non-criminology classes, they have familiar faces, but the faces belong to people I used to see more often than I did last semester: Stanley, Sarah, and Annika. Yep, that could be interesting. Yep. Interesting. Could be.
Potential exists for these six weeks to be fun with rarely a dull moment (well, some of the studying could fall under "dull," particularly the elementary-school version of astronomy I have), and I have many tasks to perform before I can phase into school mode. Belongings should be unpacked. Groceries should be bought. Apartment should be organized and "decorated." Books should be found and purchased. Alehouse should be visited. Financial issues should be evaluated. Class reading should be started.
You know what I'll do first?
Take a nap.
The beach... A queen-sized waterbed... Toss-the-ball games with a Jack Russell Terrier... Mom-cooked meals... Haley...
The loneliness I anticipated to haunt my life in this apartment may not have time to develop, as I'll be loaded with schoolwork for the next six weeks. Five hours of classroom lectures will spread from 9:30 am until 3:30 pm (Woo! One hour break!) every weekday. With class meetings everyday comes reading assignments due every day. No nights will be able to have focus on merely one subject because backtracking one day in summer terms compares to a about week for a regular semester. My classes seem to have reasonable enough criteria for a 4.0 term, but Intro to Corrections and Comparative Politics require lots of dedication, Comp Politics requiring more than I had expected.
I noticed that entering the over-the-hill era of my life as an undergraduate allows me to recognize people from previous encounters. Sure enough, the summer did not keep all the criminology hotties from their UF studies. If anyone can tell me a major with more beauty girl-for-girl than criminology, please let me know. Some of these girls I've had the nerve to talk to on pervious occasions; others I'm still intimidated and shy. As for my non-criminology classes, they have familiar faces, but the faces belong to people I used to see more often than I did last semester: Stanley, Sarah, and Annika. Yep, that could be interesting. Yep. Interesting. Could be.
Potential exists for these six weeks to be fun with rarely a dull moment (well, some of the studying could fall under "dull," particularly the elementary-school version of astronomy I have), and I have many tasks to perform before I can phase into school mode. Belongings should be unpacked. Groceries should be bought. Apartment should be organized and "decorated." Books should be found and purchased. Alehouse should be visited. Financial issues should be evaluated. Class reading should be started.
You know what I'll do first?
Take a nap.
Saturday, May 11, 2002
Maybe next year my dad and I won't get in trouble.
Camille and the rest of the Tate drama students performed for Family Night tonight. Various skits were performed, mainly two-actor comedies. The first half of what turned into a four-hour marathon had enough vanilla performances to make my head sink into my hands. The second act, featuring more experienced drama students, proved more entertaining, but my dad and I did not expect to be most delighted by an offstage performer. During a skit about slam dancing, one of the actors for the following scene peeped his head from the side curtain, stared at the actors, stared at us, stared at the actors, and removed his head from stage. My dad and I must have been the only one to see this, and for some odd reason we both couldn't stop laughing! Tears eased out my dad's eyes and I covered my face as we mightly attempted to control our laughter during the performance. For the next five minutes, I would gradually resist chuckling until my dad would screw up and laugh again, causing me to crack my silence, which pushed my dad's laughing even louder. I felt possessed by some sick and twisted humor bug!
My dad and I are repeat offenders. At this same event last year, Camille warned us about a girl who would sing rather oddly. Camille insisited, "Please do not laugh when this girl sings. You'll know when it comes." In one of the first scenes in Act 2, a girl released her voice to the crowd, and my ears were presented with a symphony of what sounded like flat yodelling from a miserable woman with a severe wedgie. The laughter exploded from my dad's mouth--- though he immediately suppressed it into his mumbled chuckles--- and the chuckle bug spread to me. I felt a little ashamed and embarrassed, but that girl's singing--- I mean, it still makes me laugh to this day, so imagine the potency of our laughs that day!
To overcome tonight's unconscious urges to laugh, I thought of Haley and our day today. Her adorable giggles, cutesy endeavors, girlish scent, and stunning glow returned that warmth in my heart only Haley has ever been able to give me. I'm so fascinated by her and want to search deeper to learn everything that makes Haley the wonderfully gentle and kind person she is. Suddenly a guy popping his head from side stage didn't seem as funny (at least until my dad would succumb to the laughter again).
Tomorrow is the final night before my return to Gainesville. I will enjoy the night with three friends I've grown closer to than pretty much any person not directly branched to my family tree: Haley, Andrew, and Crystal. Haley and I will start the night together before Andrew and Crystal arrive, and no matter what the future holds, tomorrow should be a shining sunset to my week and a half in Pensacola.
Camille and the rest of the Tate drama students performed for Family Night tonight. Various skits were performed, mainly two-actor comedies. The first half of what turned into a four-hour marathon had enough vanilla performances to make my head sink into my hands. The second act, featuring more experienced drama students, proved more entertaining, but my dad and I did not expect to be most delighted by an offstage performer. During a skit about slam dancing, one of the actors for the following scene peeped his head from the side curtain, stared at the actors, stared at us, stared at the actors, and removed his head from stage. My dad and I must have been the only one to see this, and for some odd reason we both couldn't stop laughing! Tears eased out my dad's eyes and I covered my face as we mightly attempted to control our laughter during the performance. For the next five minutes, I would gradually resist chuckling until my dad would screw up and laugh again, causing me to crack my silence, which pushed my dad's laughing even louder. I felt possessed by some sick and twisted humor bug!
My dad and I are repeat offenders. At this same event last year, Camille warned us about a girl who would sing rather oddly. Camille insisited, "Please do not laugh when this girl sings. You'll know when it comes." In one of the first scenes in Act 2, a girl released her voice to the crowd, and my ears were presented with a symphony of what sounded like flat yodelling from a miserable woman with a severe wedgie. The laughter exploded from my dad's mouth--- though he immediately suppressed it into his mumbled chuckles--- and the chuckle bug spread to me. I felt a little ashamed and embarrassed, but that girl's singing--- I mean, it still makes me laugh to this day, so imagine the potency of our laughs that day!
To overcome tonight's unconscious urges to laugh, I thought of Haley and our day today. Her adorable giggles, cutesy endeavors, girlish scent, and stunning glow returned that warmth in my heart only Haley has ever been able to give me. I'm so fascinated by her and want to search deeper to learn everything that makes Haley the wonderfully gentle and kind person she is. Suddenly a guy popping his head from side stage didn't seem as funny (at least until my dad would succumb to the laughter again).
Tomorrow is the final night before my return to Gainesville. I will enjoy the night with three friends I've grown closer to than pretty much any person not directly branched to my family tree: Haley, Andrew, and Crystal. Haley and I will start the night together before Andrew and Crystal arrive, and no matter what the future holds, tomorrow should be a shining sunset to my week and a half in Pensacola.
Friday, May 10, 2002
During a conversation with Heather tonight, I officially annoited January and February of 2002 as the happiest I've ever been in my life. My bonds and adventures in South Africa and my shared emotional pact with Haley put more bliss into my existence than I've ever experienced. At the same time, I know I will be even happier one day.
The next time I endure so much joy, I will share my bounty with my friends. I promise. The best times of my life still await me.
One more thing: that circulating thought in my head at the beach this afternoon still rotates away.
The next time I endure so much joy, I will share my bounty with my friends. I promise. The best times of my life still await me.
One more thing: that circulating thought in my head at the beach this afternoon still rotates away.
Thursday, May 09, 2002
Beautiful day, beautiful water, beautiful sand, beautiful girl.
Haley is finally in the same city as I am, albeit for another brief moment until I leave for school on Sunday. Even though her frail skin cannot tolerate the scorching sun, she decided to go to the beach with me this afternoon. At the hour mark her face and arms had already reddened significantly. She escaped to get lunch while I continuted to absorb the sun. I took a walk, and the same thought circulated in my head.
Beautiful day, beautiful water, beautiful sand, beautiful girl.
Haley is finally in the same city as I am, albeit for another brief moment until I leave for school on Sunday. Even though her frail skin cannot tolerate the scorching sun, she decided to go to the beach with me this afternoon. At the hour mark her face and arms had already reddened significantly. She escaped to get lunch while I continuted to absorb the sun. I took a walk, and the same thought circulated in my head.
Beautiful day, beautiful water, beautiful sand, beautiful girl.
Wednesday, May 08, 2002
I don't really know what people think of me.
For a while now I haven't felt like a saint. I've seen myself as cold to some of my good friends, as selfish in some of my actions, as a jerk in some situations. When I think alone I have the idea that I used to be a much nicer person than I am today. Is this so? Does my label as a thoughtful, polite person still stand, or have I grown so used to hearing people associate me with those traits that I believe them without merit?
Egomaniac--- I feel as though I'm bragging when I say people think of me as thoughtful and polite, but it's true... to an extent. Even when I perceive my actions to be cold, selfish, or rude, people figure out some way to counter my reflexive accusation. Case in point: tonight I felt over-sarcastic toward Tara, but I'd smile during my bites. Tara openly said to John, "Does Anthony have one mean bone in his body?" I criticized my lack of politeness at the same time an outsider complimented what she perceived as kindness (The manner of the statement was clearly directed to me with a smile.). Is the cliche true: am I my own worst critic? Am I oblivious to how people really perceive me?
Maybe I overcriticize myself. Maybe I cannot criticize myself enough. When those two points battle in my head, they both present strong arguments.
For a while now I haven't felt like a saint. I've seen myself as cold to some of my good friends, as selfish in some of my actions, as a jerk in some situations. When I think alone I have the idea that I used to be a much nicer person than I am today. Is this so? Does my label as a thoughtful, polite person still stand, or have I grown so used to hearing people associate me with those traits that I believe them without merit?
Egomaniac--- I feel as though I'm bragging when I say people think of me as thoughtful and polite, but it's true... to an extent. Even when I perceive my actions to be cold, selfish, or rude, people figure out some way to counter my reflexive accusation. Case in point: tonight I felt over-sarcastic toward Tara, but I'd smile during my bites. Tara openly said to John, "Does Anthony have one mean bone in his body?" I criticized my lack of politeness at the same time an outsider complimented what she perceived as kindness (The manner of the statement was clearly directed to me with a smile.). Is the cliche true: am I my own worst critic? Am I oblivious to how people really perceive me?
Maybe I overcriticize myself. Maybe I cannot criticize myself enough. When those two points battle in my head, they both present strong arguments.
Monday, May 06, 2002
I just took a quiz to solve the ultimate question: which "Saved by the Bell" cast member are you most like?
According to the questionnaire, I am most like Kelly Kapowski, that babe of a cheerleader. Uh, I don't really understand how, but I'll accept that I'm a total babe! Ok, so that's a stretch too, so how am I like Kelly? I figure some of the questions revealed my innocence--- some more pessimistic people would call it a knack for being naive--- and the sugary-sweet quest for love and happiness I (and apparently Kelly) find myself living. Kelly and I will continue the search for more joy, peace, and love on this Earth. Oh wait, I just remembered that Kelly is a character on a Saturday morning television show that ended almost ten years ago. Who wants to join me?
Kelly from Saved by the Bell was actually my co-first TV crush. I can remember the third grade, riding my bike to Matthew Warfield's house and watching his tape of the next episode I had to see. Sure, I still was in my eww-yuck-girls-are-gross faze, but somehow Kelly beat my predispositions and made me go "Hubba Hubba!" The early 1990s made "Hubba Hubba" the cool slang to say when seeing a fine piece of the opposite sex, so it didn't sound so stupid to say it back in third grade. Of course, Kelly was in high school and unattainable to an eight-year-old squirt, but my other TV crush was more my age. Cheesy shows must manufacture cute little girls to overcome the cheese oozing out the script because we go from "Saved by the Bell" to "Full House." Yes, Stephanie Tanner, despite her annoying "How rude!" trademark, caught my eye back in the day too. Now for the million dollar question: Most of us know that Kelly Kapowski turned into Tiffani-Amber Theissen, a beauty of an actress, but whatever happened to Stephanie Tanner?
The world has a right to know, just like the world must also discover what became of Judy Winslow (the middle child who disappeared without explanation) of "Family Matters."
According to the questionnaire, I am most like Kelly Kapowski, that babe of a cheerleader. Uh, I don't really understand how, but I'll accept that I'm a total babe! Ok, so that's a stretch too, so how am I like Kelly? I figure some of the questions revealed my innocence--- some more pessimistic people would call it a knack for being naive--- and the sugary-sweet quest for love and happiness I (and apparently Kelly) find myself living. Kelly and I will continue the search for more joy, peace, and love on this Earth. Oh wait, I just remembered that Kelly is a character on a Saturday morning television show that ended almost ten years ago. Who wants to join me?
Kelly from Saved by the Bell was actually my co-first TV crush. I can remember the third grade, riding my bike to Matthew Warfield's house and watching his tape of the next episode I had to see. Sure, I still was in my eww-yuck-girls-are-gross faze, but somehow Kelly beat my predispositions and made me go "Hubba Hubba!" The early 1990s made "Hubba Hubba" the cool slang to say when seeing a fine piece of the opposite sex, so it didn't sound so stupid to say it back in third grade. Of course, Kelly was in high school and unattainable to an eight-year-old squirt, but my other TV crush was more my age. Cheesy shows must manufacture cute little girls to overcome the cheese oozing out the script because we go from "Saved by the Bell" to "Full House." Yes, Stephanie Tanner, despite her annoying "How rude!" trademark, caught my eye back in the day too. Now for the million dollar question: Most of us know that Kelly Kapowski turned into Tiffani-Amber Theissen, a beauty of an actress, but whatever happened to Stephanie Tanner?
The world has a right to know, just like the world must also discover what became of Judy Winslow (the middle child who disappeared without explanation) of "Family Matters."
Sunday, May 05, 2002
Mmm... crawfish!
Living in the South and by the water has given me quite an appetite for seafood. Fish filets taste so good, but I crave shellfish even more. Cajun food and spices are among my favorites too. Could I combine these delicious flavors in one entree? Well, crawfish seems applicable in all areas, so it should come as no shock that I lust for the sweet taste of crawfish! I think the newspaper whispered my name all morning until I finally opened it and discovered that the Cajun Creole Fiesta had reserved a seat with my name on it this evening. My dad and I ventured downtown for our crawfish around 5 or so, and it did not disappoint. We shunned the boxes of full-bodied crawdads--- I don't know, but something about cracking open the crawfish's body, getting those iodine stains on my skin, carrying a salt water stench on my fingers, and receiving only a small clump of meat in return doesn't really appeal to me. Instead, we headed to the prepared dinners. Imagine a platter loaded with about two handfulls of fried crawfish tails; a mini pie crusted holding rice, red peppers, crayfish, and various cajun spices; a more-than-generous pile of crawfish etoufee with a light coat of tangy tabasco; and a cute slice of fresh french bread. All the spices filled my nose, mouth, and stomach with tingling, dazzling pleasure. I didn't even have to worry about an allergic reaction since I only ate one type of shellfish (One of the cruelest things to happen to me is my recent allergic reactions to various combinations of shellfish. I started puking every pasta dish loaded with seafood about three years ago until I discovered the culprit. And no, not even the potential of a night with the toilet bowl will hold me from my shellfish!). New Orleans may be a dingy, dirty city, but thanks to New Orleans I have good jazz and succulent cajun food, particularly crawfish!
Living in the South and by the water has given me quite an appetite for seafood. Fish filets taste so good, but I crave shellfish even more. Cajun food and spices are among my favorites too. Could I combine these delicious flavors in one entree? Well, crawfish seems applicable in all areas, so it should come as no shock that I lust for the sweet taste of crawfish! I think the newspaper whispered my name all morning until I finally opened it and discovered that the Cajun Creole Fiesta had reserved a seat with my name on it this evening. My dad and I ventured downtown for our crawfish around 5 or so, and it did not disappoint. We shunned the boxes of full-bodied crawdads--- I don't know, but something about cracking open the crawfish's body, getting those iodine stains on my skin, carrying a salt water stench on my fingers, and receiving only a small clump of meat in return doesn't really appeal to me. Instead, we headed to the prepared dinners. Imagine a platter loaded with about two handfulls of fried crawfish tails; a mini pie crusted holding rice, red peppers, crayfish, and various cajun spices; a more-than-generous pile of crawfish etoufee with a light coat of tangy tabasco; and a cute slice of fresh french bread. All the spices filled my nose, mouth, and stomach with tingling, dazzling pleasure. I didn't even have to worry about an allergic reaction since I only ate one type of shellfish (One of the cruelest things to happen to me is my recent allergic reactions to various combinations of shellfish. I started puking every pasta dish loaded with seafood about three years ago until I discovered the culprit. And no, not even the potential of a night with the toilet bowl will hold me from my shellfish!). New Orleans may be a dingy, dirty city, but thanks to New Orleans I have good jazz and succulent cajun food, particularly crawfish!
Saturday, May 04, 2002
Tobey Maguire gives us all hope.
Spiderman develops beautifully, and each actor provides an outstanding performance, although William Dafoe's Green Goblin falls far short of Jack Nicholson's Joker. The plotline follows a logical, sensible structure. Because of this secure structure, the movie maintains buildup, suspense, and intrigue, tough qualities to attain in a summer super-hero blockbuster. Tobey really impressed me, and I envy him for not only producing a commendable hero, but also for getting to kiss the lovely Kirsten Dunst. All things aside, she looked killer in the movie! I even heard that Tobey actually dated Kirsten for a while. It gives us all hope.
Spiderman develops beautifully, and each actor provides an outstanding performance, although William Dafoe's Green Goblin falls far short of Jack Nicholson's Joker. The plotline follows a logical, sensible structure. Because of this secure structure, the movie maintains buildup, suspense, and intrigue, tough qualities to attain in a summer super-hero blockbuster. Tobey really impressed me, and I envy him for not only producing a commendable hero, but also for getting to kiss the lovely Kirsten Dunst. All things aside, she looked killer in the movie! I even heard that Tobey actually dated Kirsten for a while. It gives us all hope.
Friday, May 03, 2002
People move in independent directions. Friends get separated in the shuffle. Ob La Di, Ob La Da, Life Goes On...
Crystal and I normally talk with seventeen hours of distance, but my move home places me five hours closer to TCU. We became really close only around the time of our high school graduation, and by the end of that summer, two people that had barely found their great friendship journeyed in opposite directions for college. Through lengthy phone conversations, holiday visits home, and one big Thanksgiving date, our friendship has been solidified. This semester, though, the talks occurred less frequently, and summer plans obstruct some chances to be with any of our close friends. As friends live and grow apart, we must put forth an extra effort to communicate and remain with our friends from afar. If visits with high school friends already takes planning and determination, I can imagine how tough it will be to juggle true friends from high school and college as I relocate to graduate school in two years.
As an example of the struggles to maintain contact with geographically challenged friends, the conversation Crystal and I had tonight revealed how hard it may be for us to see each other from now on. As she returns to Pensacola next Saturday, I am packing for my return to Gainesville that Sunday. When I return, she will be living about 40 minutes away because her house finally sold and her family must rent. When her parents find their new home, it could very well be in Pensacola, but potential also exists for a move to Texas. I know if my parents didn't live in Pensacola anymore, I'd be much less motivated to make the drives back to my hometown. Basically, we accepted that good friends will just have to exert more will in order to keep contact.
By the way, all of this was communicated through instant messenger. After getting a little nostalgic, Crystal tried to connect so we could talk through our computers. As always happens, I can hear her, but I cannot return the favor. I had not heard her voice in over a month, and she still couldn't hear mine. To be fair, I gave her a call. We talked on the phone, voices in live actual time. What came from these discussions that we might remain apart? I might receive a visit while in summer school. We promised to see a certain favorite movie of mine (and I guess I made it one of Crystal's favorites too). We spoke live on the phone. Our frowns turned into smiles.
That's what friends are for.
Crystal and I normally talk with seventeen hours of distance, but my move home places me five hours closer to TCU. We became really close only around the time of our high school graduation, and by the end of that summer, two people that had barely found their great friendship journeyed in opposite directions for college. Through lengthy phone conversations, holiday visits home, and one big Thanksgiving date, our friendship has been solidified. This semester, though, the talks occurred less frequently, and summer plans obstruct some chances to be with any of our close friends. As friends live and grow apart, we must put forth an extra effort to communicate and remain with our friends from afar. If visits with high school friends already takes planning and determination, I can imagine how tough it will be to juggle true friends from high school and college as I relocate to graduate school in two years.
As an example of the struggles to maintain contact with geographically challenged friends, the conversation Crystal and I had tonight revealed how hard it may be for us to see each other from now on. As she returns to Pensacola next Saturday, I am packing for my return to Gainesville that Sunday. When I return, she will be living about 40 minutes away because her house finally sold and her family must rent. When her parents find their new home, it could very well be in Pensacola, but potential also exists for a move to Texas. I know if my parents didn't live in Pensacola anymore, I'd be much less motivated to make the drives back to my hometown. Basically, we accepted that good friends will just have to exert more will in order to keep contact.
By the way, all of this was communicated through instant messenger. After getting a little nostalgic, Crystal tried to connect so we could talk through our computers. As always happens, I can hear her, but I cannot return the favor. I had not heard her voice in over a month, and she still couldn't hear mine. To be fair, I gave her a call. We talked on the phone, voices in live actual time. What came from these discussions that we might remain apart? I might receive a visit while in summer school. We promised to see a certain favorite movie of mine (and I guess I made it one of Crystal's favorites too). We spoke live on the phone. Our frowns turned into smiles.
That's what friends are for.
Thursday, May 02, 2002
The scene resembles some Wednesday nights of old: listening to Lenny, talking with a friend, acknowledging that I'm not going to bed anytime soon, spreading my relaxed legs on my waterbed. Wait, that last one: "waterbed", you say? That would be the waterbed I made my nighttime home during my high school years, the bed that still splashes in Pensacola in my old room. I'm lying in my bed, in my old room, in the house that will forever be my home, in the city I enjoy coming home to more than holding permanent residence.
Five hours before a family room greeting from my nauseous sister and her wrist-splint-toting boyfriend, I was saying goodbye to East Hall, to my friends, to my roommate of two years (Two years? That accounts for one tenth of my life!), to a twenty-four hour life on the University of Florida campus. While I have long been ready to experience Gainsville daily life off campus grounds, many memories stay with me from East Three.
Firsts:
First thought: "Dang, this room is small!"
First thing I did after my parents left me alone in my new room: hooked up the cd player and played Lenny Kravitz's "It's Your Life"
First person I met on the floor: Joseph
First person I met on the floor that I talked to days and months later: Alexis from Broward (how did she get on East Three?)
First impression of Chris: "This guy looks nothing like I pictured him."
First impression of Ben (who has ultimately become my best friend in Gainseville): "I'm either going to be good friends with this guy, or I'm going to hate his guts!"
First nickname of Aaron "I've been given more nicknames than anyone in the world" Oden: "Punkface" (Some protest that "Psssht" was the first. They would be wrong.)
First moment Chris and I really clicked: We discover our mutual love affair with The Simpsons.
First East Three floor meeting: I found out someone had sex on an air conidtioner, someone had sex with all three National Merit Hispanic Scholars from his high school, someone could do some gross trick with his elbow, someone went to elementary school with me for a year.
First Simpsons answering machine: The Monorail Monologue ("We monorail conductors are a crazy breed...")
First hilarious drunk: Travis, found butt naked on the bathroom tile
First catch phrase from John, Gooch, Elliot, and Sean: "Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba!"
First guy to develop a hate-group: Rob
First East Three pokey sticks night: Uh, I think Drew, Jim, Mike, and maybe Furio were in the room. "Being John Malkovich" in the VCR. Drew wants food and mentions pokey sticks.
First Mudfest game: Dominate in mud polo
First Mudfest results: Finish with the bronze
First photo on East Three: Carson and Amy hugging in emo glasses
First guy confirmed to be getting some action in the dorms: The single guy, who always had his girlfriend coming out of his room in the morning
First hall kickball game: Ben's team destroys mine
First mp3 I recorded on the floor: "Chem 6a"
First East Three floor whore's "Pimp of the Week": Me
First guy to be so drunk he walks into someone's room and pees in the trashcan: Adam
First guy to be so drunk he walks into the hall and pees on the wall: Eric
First guy to be so drunk he runs around in an Albert the Alligator suit: Asdo
First guy to be so drunk he's found passed out on the bathroom tile with his bare butt in the air: Oh, I already did that one
First time I walked on the floor and didn't see Big Dan in only his boxer briefs: Probably the first day of year two
First damaged floor property: A hall ceiling light, courtesy of Eric's hall putting challenge
First thought about all this: Wow, I hold an infinite amount of memorable experiences from East Three!
Five hours before a family room greeting from my nauseous sister and her wrist-splint-toting boyfriend, I was saying goodbye to East Hall, to my friends, to my roommate of two years (Two years? That accounts for one tenth of my life!), to a twenty-four hour life on the University of Florida campus. While I have long been ready to experience Gainsville daily life off campus grounds, many memories stay with me from East Three.
Firsts:
First thought: "Dang, this room is small!"
First thing I did after my parents left me alone in my new room: hooked up the cd player and played Lenny Kravitz's "It's Your Life"
First person I met on the floor: Joseph
First person I met on the floor that I talked to days and months later: Alexis from Broward (how did she get on East Three?)
First impression of Chris: "This guy looks nothing like I pictured him."
First impression of Ben (who has ultimately become my best friend in Gainseville): "I'm either going to be good friends with this guy, or I'm going to hate his guts!"
First nickname of Aaron "I've been given more nicknames than anyone in the world" Oden: "Punkface" (Some protest that "Psssht" was the first. They would be wrong.)
First moment Chris and I really clicked: We discover our mutual love affair with The Simpsons.
First East Three floor meeting: I found out someone had sex on an air conidtioner, someone had sex with all three National Merit Hispanic Scholars from his high school, someone could do some gross trick with his elbow, someone went to elementary school with me for a year.
First Simpsons answering machine: The Monorail Monologue ("We monorail conductors are a crazy breed...")
First hilarious drunk: Travis, found butt naked on the bathroom tile
First catch phrase from John, Gooch, Elliot, and Sean: "Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba! Ba!"
First guy to develop a hate-group: Rob
First East Three pokey sticks night: Uh, I think Drew, Jim, Mike, and maybe Furio were in the room. "Being John Malkovich" in the VCR. Drew wants food and mentions pokey sticks.
First Mudfest game: Dominate in mud polo
First Mudfest results: Finish with the bronze
First photo on East Three: Carson and Amy hugging in emo glasses
First guy confirmed to be getting some action in the dorms: The single guy, who always had his girlfriend coming out of his room in the morning
First hall kickball game: Ben's team destroys mine
First mp3 I recorded on the floor: "Chem 6a"
First East Three floor whore's "Pimp of the Week": Me
First guy to be so drunk he walks into someone's room and pees in the trashcan: Adam
First guy to be so drunk he walks into the hall and pees on the wall: Eric
First guy to be so drunk he runs around in an Albert the Alligator suit: Asdo
First guy to be so drunk he's found passed out on the bathroom tile with his bare butt in the air: Oh, I already did that one
First time I walked on the floor and didn't see Big Dan in only his boxer briefs: Probably the first day of year two
First damaged floor property: A hall ceiling light, courtesy of Eric's hall putting challenge
First thought about all this: Wow, I hold an infinite amount of memorable experiences from East Three!
Wednesday, May 01, 2002
The following is an actual e-mail my roommate's buddy just sent from my room to his Marketing professor. I doubt this professor will ever forget a letter of this quality (Note: for privacy reasons, the social security number and name of the individual have been changed).
Bonjourno!
I am an Italian American student, number 227-86-6789
My name is Mikey; and I need to jump my grade up about 1.5 % to recieve a C!!!
I promise that I meant to get grater than or equal to a C, but in the making I think that I did below average plus.
If I had known the Doc from "Back to the Future", I would steal his time machine (remember I'd do ANYTHING to raise my grade) speed up to 88mph, go back to the future?? I mean back in time and study at least 1.5% harder. But that's not possible, so here's plan C (get it, instead of plan B :-)
Plan C: You "HELP" my grade by subtracting D - 1 = C
P.S. Please don't fail me for making a VERY ATYPICAL PRESENTATION IN REQUESTING AN UNDERSTANDING FROM A FELLOW BRIGHT MIND.
(As you would say)GO GATORS!
Michael H. Russo
Bonjourno!
I am an Italian American student, number 227-86-6789
My name is Mikey; and I need to jump my grade up about 1.5 % to recieve a C!!!
I promise that I meant to get grater than or equal to a C, but in the making I think that I did below average plus.
If I had known the Doc from "Back to the Future", I would steal his time machine (remember I'd do ANYTHING to raise my grade) speed up to 88mph, go back to the future?? I mean back in time and study at least 1.5% harder. But that's not possible, so here's plan C (get it, instead of plan B :-)
Plan C: You "HELP" my grade by subtracting D - 1 = C
P.S. Please don't fail me for making a VERY ATYPICAL PRESENTATION IN REQUESTING AN UNDERSTANDING FROM A FELLOW BRIGHT MIND.
(As you would say)GO GATORS!
Michael H. Russo
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