For me, 2003 will open in a much different manner than 2002. The last time we watched the ball at Times Square discend, I rushed outside with my new girlfriend so we could kiss passionately in private, away from our friends who would just blow on their party kazoos and yell out "Happy New Year!" (I would personally rather whisper that phrase to a girl I care about than flail around foolishly as though I am incredibly delighted at the technical inauguration of a new year.)

This year, I don't know what I will do when the clock reads midnight, but I know I'll be here, at home. For the last week a nasty cough and headache has engulfed my body, and I am in no mood to get dressed, gather in public, and celebrate the new year. I may go downstairs and watch the ageless Dick Clark and his New Year's Rockin Eve with my parents, or I may just crawl into bed right now and awake next year.

These past 365 days have accounted for the best calendar year of my life. I grew in too many dimensions to recall: more polished emotionally, better educated, stronger spiritually, more comfort in my appearance, happier in my relations, the list goes on. I enter this new year no longer a teenager, having been twenty for over five months now. Hopefully I am old seasoned enough to use the past year to further improve my life and the lives of others. "2003" seems very futuristic to me. It looks like a much bigger number than 2002. We really are living in a different time than the 1990s; the transition is over. Let's steer things in the right direction. What does that mean? Um, I don't know. Maybe that should be something to figure out in this next year.

Goodbye 2002. You were so good to me. Let's hope your neighbor is just as charitable.

Sometimes you talk to and confide in people close to you so frequently that you don't feel the necessity or desire to regurgitate those ideas onto the computer.

Every year on December 25...

My family gives me love and gifts, when all I need is the love.


I warm inside when a younger relative enjoys his gift (no matter how dangerous!).


My friends--- even those long out of sight--- show me they care.


I grow more humble and appreciate my life on this Earth.



"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

Go see it.

I used to awake at 9:29 am every morning to the sounds of cathedral bells.
I used to race across heavy traffic and have the wind of flying cars mess up my hair in an attempt to catch the Number 12.
I used to sit next to a cute Asian girl who was so quiet that I could not tell you a single thing about her (other than she has a killer body and dresses superbly).
I used to drive to campus in cool 7:00 pm weather and leave in 10:00 pm frigid temperatures.
I used to attend professional concerts, from jazz to choral to samba, and write honest reviews.
I used to get all the updates on college football imaginable from my friend who read Sports Illustrated during lecture.
I used to rush home after Monday classes to finish the crossword puzzle.
I used to finish research papers minutes before the due time (Isn't it sad when I cannot say "due date"?).
I used to attend football games equipped with a whistle and a t-shirt with the word "Coach" emblazoned across my chest.
I used to hear lectures on our prison system from a guy who sounded just like Mr. Mackey.
I used to anticipate the Sunday showing of the new Sopranos episode every weekend.
I used to gather my roommates to play cards the night before any exam or paper.
I used to wonder whether Leilani would smack my butt as we switched classrooms.
I used to ponder if I could become a truly great criminology student.

Another semester completed, another growing process, another time to say goodbye to temporary little aspects of everyday life, another opportunity to utilize my lessons into a successful future.

My good friend was dating this girl during our junior and senior years of high school. She and I were casual acquaintances, mainly by default because we had several mutual friends. During our senior year we talked more personally, and recognized we could develop a true friendship. Soon into our friendship, I saw the potential for a bond unique to just the two of us, a connection that would transcend a casual friendship. Instead of exploring this friendship, I stayed distant. I made no effort during the school year to confide in her, to befriend her, to grow close with her. We both had an inner sense of what such things could lead to, and I did not want any part of it. She was dating my friend, and I would never betray an established friendship over a girl.

They dated throughout senior year and into the prom. My friend would sometimes come over and talk to me about problems with his girlfriend. My advice put his feelings as top priority; that was my responsibility as a friend. Eventually, with graduation approaching and a pending separation, she broke up with him. My friend cried in his bed for much of the night, though I was blind to this fact at the time. Soon after, she came to me. I felt more comortable being her friend at this point. She no longer kissed my friend, her feelings for him had dwindled, but I knew he was hurting. I would suffer knowing I caused him further pain, which would have been the case if he saw someone he called a friend swoop in and now go for his own glory.

It would be three months before we would leave for college. We grew closer together, realizing we did indeed share some sort of bond, one I had never experienced before. We spent much of the summer together. As we'd go play tennis, watch a movie, swim in the pool, or just talk, my mere acquaintance grew into a best friend. I wanted more than a friend. Those summer months quickly evaporated, and at the twilight I felt myself more strongly yearning to be with her. I wondered what could have been, who she would be to me if I had been there for her instead of him the night they started dating, how different the last two years could have been, if those lips tasted as heavenly as she smelled.

But I restrained myself, and we left for college as close friends, that bond still maintained through occasional phone calls, e-mails, and visits home. Hers is a dear friendship I cherish, a true friendship that lasted longer than my romantic feelings that have long since dissipated. I take pride in how I handled that summer, partly because I left with one more great friendship, and also because I never betrayed my friend. Throughout the summer his feelings for her remained strong, and I knew as a friend I had a duty not to hurt him; our lengthy friendship was more important than a summer romance that could not have withstood time.

I stepped outside my door and immediately could see my breath. My Yankee snow cap protected my ears from the near-freezing temperatures. I stretched in the parking lot, getting ready for my run, when a familiar black truck blinded me with its lights. My roommate walked out from the truck, dinner in hand, and stood confused--- or maybe amused--- at me dressed in running gear. Understanding that I was about to go out on a run, he asked me one question.

"Are you sober?"

While I had no alcohol in my system, perhaps my judgment was not at its clearest, clouded by romantic images of bursting through the cold and instantly returning to a state of top-notch physical condition. I have run a mere two times this semester: a five-mile trek around the main streets of Gainesville and a three-mile race to fight sickle cell anemia. At the time of these runs, however, I had built myself into my peak physique, the most healthy and into shape I had been since I was a buff second grader. Over the last few weeks, during my battles with apathy/exhaustion/exams, I lost the desire and time to engage in sport. My lack of exercise, complemented by my unhealthy eating habits, gradually pushed me further and further from a healthy body. My pants are no tighter, and I can still sport an XS shirt in comfort, but I feel out of shape, loose, unhealthy.

I tried to run this evening and work myself back into self-approval, but my back stung. My legs ached. My lungs burned. My chest tightened. My throat dried. My nose dribbled. My stomach cramped. I thought I could mentally overcome the physical pain, but halfway into my run I understood that my body would not allow me to return to peak condition just because I wanted it one evening. I turned left onto Archer Road, and the cars seemed to be racing at a rocket's pace as I walked back home.

During my slow return home, I thought about how shallow I was in assuming that because I wanted to change, I could quickly and effortlessly attain my goal. Any true goal is out of reach when first noticed. No matter the good intentions, an accomplishment set out in the distance requires a stepping stone approach, a continuous effort to advance steadily toward an ultimate end. We cannot transform ourselves from one state to its radical superior, from adequate to great, from evil to godly, from destitute to rich, from ignorant to educated, without a steady determination.

Tonight I may have failed in one more quest, but I took the first step.

Here lies the dilemna and my unfortunate defeat: part of me wants to sit at my computer desk and write in my public journal. Furthermore, I particularly yearn to write something of substance, something profound, something that could arouse discussion or debate. Of course, there's always writer's bloc waiting around the corner. I've been suffering from writer's bloc for about a month now. The "dead" days that come with finals week gave my mind and body plenty of rest, but my mind seems to only have two modes right now: study and dormant. At this point, if I had anything I would hope to focus on between my periods of mental standby, it would be to study. Only two finals remain before I have two weeks free of scholastic life.

So there it is: a part of me would like to write quality work, but the part of me that controls that aspect...

Quik Ketchup Thyme (a summary of my last few days, in five or fewer phrases)

Friday: swing dancing... wallflower at first... girls teaching moves... confidence up... sweat, girls, fun

Saturday: up in afternoon... sad for uncle... Ben and Carly... Alehouse... better

Sunday: sick in stomach and face... Christmas concert... Ben, Carly, and girls... feels like setup... uncomfortable

Monday: better at crosswords... Alehouse All-you-can-eat wings... 30 and a Captain Jacko's... possible backup in Brooke

Tuesday: on task with school work... final class taught by favorite professor... abnormal urine volume... twenty-dollar Simpsons bet... wonderment about friends' relationship

Wednesday: thanks to professors... no more classes... exhausted but relieved... alone... solitude

Sorry that this part is blank, but I'm between philosophical thoughts at the moment.

Can a person be unmasked by his DVD collection? What to think of someone who owns some disgracefully atrocious movies? of someone with nothing above PG-13? of someone who buys every Hollywood blockbuster crap-a-thon imaginable? of someone whose collection of independent movies seems disingenuous, as though he bought them to impress people with his superior knowledge and passion for the quality flick?

I know my DVD collection is not one to be amazed by; there are some duds, not many Academy Award winners, and an overrepresented mafia theme. I don't know myself any better by looking at the titles of my movies, but maybe I should:

American Pie
American Pie 2
Any Given Sunday
A Bronx Tale
Carlito's Way
Casino
Cast Away
Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon
Detroit Rock City
Dude, Where's my Car?
Eight Millimeter
The Exorcist
Forrest Gump
Freddy Got Fingered
The Godfather
The Godfather, Part II
The Godfather, Part III
Goodfellas
Heat
Jaws the Revenge
Lethal Weapon 4
Life is Beautiful
Planet of the Apes
Platoon
Rebel Without a Cause
Shrek
The Simpsons: The Complete First Season
The Simpsons: The Complete Second Season
Snatch
The Sopranos: The Complete Second Season
The Sopranos: The Complete Third Season
South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Traffic

Snippets

I got done with all my reading assignments early tonight but drank a 24 oz chai tea, so I have plenty of excess energy. With that said, I was genuinely happy to get an e-mail from you, and since I have never written you an exclusive e-mail, I figure now is as good a time as ever... I am perfectly content with my relationship status. I vaguely recall telling you while in South Africa that after four years of knowing her and just two weeks of dating, I sensed that my relationship with Haley would blossom into love. And you know, it did. She is the first girl I ever said those three magic words to, because I wanted to have no doubt in my mind when I first said them. Haley and I genuinely loved each other. Never in my talk with you, though, did I say that I had a feeling she was my soul mate, the woman who would share the rest of my natural life. Deep down, I knew she was not that girl. I did not know why, especially since I knew I would fall in love with her, but I just knew... I am not the type to scope a club for chicks or ask for the phone number of a girl whose face I think is gorgeous but whose name is hazy to me. Rather, when my next love comes into my life--- it may not be my true love, as I know I still have some learning to do--- God will let me know, and the situation will work out the way it is intended to be. From this knowledge I hold peace and content in no longer being in a relationship... even in that brief message in your e-mail, I could feel that sincerity you always showed me in South Africa. I do wish that we had been able to talk more one-to-one in South Africa, as I was always interested in what you had to say... I hope these twilight months of your college career are incredible. I know it's cliche, but you deserve nothing but the best, and I hope you achieve this. Good luck creating that path into a new life, with relocation, career, and wife. Best wishes, Anthony

The best purchase I made--- purely based on bang for buck, not purchases of sentiment or significance--- came a few summers ago, when at the Pensacola Interstate Fair Outlet fair I exchanged a twenty and a ten dollar bill for a flatbed scanner. With one single USB port connection I could transform flimsy strips of photo paper into pixelated graphic displays on my computer and the internet. If not for the scanner, that photo of Mike sucking on my walking stick would be confined to my photo album, shackled from the rest of the internet world.

Today I received a surprise e-mail from a girl I met in South Africa, asking me to send her the picture of us during our final night of that indescribable trip. I'm able to grant such requests after a click on the scanner and a trip to outlook express... but this be no longer so. A retrieval of the scanner from my closet, an openning of the front latch, a crooked laser sliding dealy (whatever actually goes through the motion of scanning the picture), a broken piece of black plastic swimming around the base, a scanner which can no longer serve its purpose. How this happened? I do not know. What I do know is this: my best purchase sits lifeless, without a purpose, reaping no more rewards.

Dad takes his son to the book store and sips on coffee while the little boy grimmaces at the steaming cup in front of him. They reveal to each other answers from the book dad bought for his son, among them:

If you could find the personal diary of one person from history, with all the juicy details, whose would you want to find? (Son's brief answer: John F. Kennedy)
If God were to appear before you in any form, what form would you want Him to take? (A glowing light with outreached hands)
If you were reincarnated into a musical instrument, what instrument would best suit you? (Piano)
If you could, in retrospect, thank one teacher you had in school for what they taught you, who would it be, and what would you thank them for? (Mrs. Kellum of fourth grade, for condemning a walk through life without applying effort to talent)
If one part of your body was to become a religious relic, which part would you like it to be? (Big toe)
If you could gain the courage to do one thing, what would you do? (Walk up and talk to people I'm interested in)

Lots of stories pass through the question and answer session, until the dad, in response to one particular question, feels the urge for pizza. He takes his son to the local pizzeria, the one with the real Italian pizza, where you fold the large drooping triangle of mozzarella, dough, and gravy in half and take a bite out of the crispy crust before beginning to consume the actual pizza part. Dad doesn't fill the day with lengthy activites to consume the time he will spend with his little boy. Instead, he walks through everyday life with his son by his side, doing nothing glamourous to impress his son, doing the trivial things to talk with his son. Even the little boy can sense when that happens, and he skips along and grabs tightly to dad's leg, appreciating the motionless time they have together while the rest of the world keeps moving.

---Excerpt from a boy's trip home for Thanksgiving