I woke up early one morning and walked into my parents' bedroom. My sister was asleep in the bed with my mom. I decided I would be nice and serve them breakfast in bed. When I asked my sister what she wanted to drink, she put on a goofy 4-year-old grin and said, "pee!"
About ninety seconds later, I returned with a Dixie cup of my fresh naturals. She stared intensely at the cup, until my mom sighed, grabbed the cup, and told me not to give my sister pee.
I'm pretty sure that was the last time I ever did that.
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
Obvious
For reasons I can no longer remember and probably wouldn't understand, in second grade we had "elections" for our favorite dinosaurs. It was a full democratic process; we even had private booths and ballots to circle our choices. Tyrannosaurus Rex and Brontosaurus were the obvious popular choices for the carnivore and herbivore elections, respectively. They won easily, but I voted for the Allosaurus and Stegosaurus.
In fifth grade, Miss Hunter had us spend extensive time on the Revolutionary War. We read books, watched videos, even performed skits. At the end of the year she had us write a report on anyone from the time. George Washington, Benedict Arnold, and Paul Revere were the obvious popular choices. But I decided to do my report on William Dawes, the other man who rode along warning that the British were, in fact, coming (Unfortunately, these were the pre-mainstream-internet days, and my encyclopedia had a whopping two lines on Dawes, so I ended up writing a last-minute report on John Paul Jones).
My friends and I did a history reenactment project in seventh grade. The three of us were gonna bring the class back to 1969, when man first landed on the moon. At our first class meeting, Garrett and J.D. argued over who would get to be Neil Armstrong. I didn't care. After all, I wanted to be Buzz Aldrin, the second man to walk on the moon. Neil Armstrong was a bit too obvious.
I remember being on a school trip sophomore year of high school, and some kid started talking about colleges. I was at the top of my class at the time, and the inevitable question swung my way whether I was going to apply to Harvard or Yale. Nah, I thought. All the smartest students apply there. I'd set my sights on Duke or Cornell or Brown (Naturally, I ended up applying early acceptance at the University of Florida).
This is what I'm trying to figure out: all these years, have I been going against the grain because I want to be unique and stand out, or do I really want to be the other guy?
Am I tuly unique or afraid of the top?
In fifth grade, Miss Hunter had us spend extensive time on the Revolutionary War. We read books, watched videos, even performed skits. At the end of the year she had us write a report on anyone from the time. George Washington, Benedict Arnold, and Paul Revere were the obvious popular choices. But I decided to do my report on William Dawes, the other man who rode along warning that the British were, in fact, coming (Unfortunately, these were the pre-mainstream-internet days, and my encyclopedia had a whopping two lines on Dawes, so I ended up writing a last-minute report on John Paul Jones).
My friends and I did a history reenactment project in seventh grade. The three of us were gonna bring the class back to 1969, when man first landed on the moon. At our first class meeting, Garrett and J.D. argued over who would get to be Neil Armstrong. I didn't care. After all, I wanted to be Buzz Aldrin, the second man to walk on the moon. Neil Armstrong was a bit too obvious.
I remember being on a school trip sophomore year of high school, and some kid started talking about colleges. I was at the top of my class at the time, and the inevitable question swung my way whether I was going to apply to Harvard or Yale. Nah, I thought. All the smartest students apply there. I'd set my sights on Duke or Cornell or Brown (Naturally, I ended up applying early acceptance at the University of Florida).
This is what I'm trying to figure out: all these years, have I been going against the grain because I want to be unique and stand out, or do I really want to be the other guy?
Am I tuly unique or afraid of the top?
Sunday, March 28, 2004
Alternate Lists
Within an hour on Friday, I had been placed on two alternate lists. If St. John's comes calling, I'll definitely listen. Actually, part of me wants to sit by the phone waiting for their call. But as for the girl, if she calls, fugghedaboutit!
Sunday, March 21, 2004
Spring Break, Part 2: New York
Though I had visited New York more than any other city outside of Florida, it was still foreign land to me. It's a city I claimed to know like the back of my hand, but in actuality this was desire and not fact. My olive skin, dark hair, and Sopranos-esque sense of humor stood out in northwest Florida. Blending with the crowd wasn't what I wanted; it's that I never really clicked with Southern tradition and always felt like a Yankee being raised in Dixieland. I preferred toast to biscuits, would rather pay someone to fix my car than work on it myself, and refused to allow the word "y'all" to enter my vernacular (I had no New Year's resolution this year but had made the decision to phase out the frequency of my "hey's" with "hi's" and "hello's".). And I thought my cousins' New York accents freakin rocked.
We were all in the car driving toward E. Broadway when my aunt started with the questions. What kind of program was I applying for? Masters or PhD? What did I want to do with it? Why St. John's University? What other schools were a possibility for me? She unintentionally reminded me that I had not come to New York purely for fun with family. I was on a business trip, interviewing for one of those six spots in St. John's clinical psychology program.
My interview was not for two days, however, and now was the time to embrace the greatest city in the world. It was a somewhat surreal moment when we picked up Andrew and proceeded toward an orgasmic Italian restaurant in lower Manhattan. Andrew is my best friend from Pensacola, an aspiring actor who uplifted his entire life to pursue his dream. And here he was in the car with my New York family, two distinct lives of mine united together.
The only thing better than having a best friend and family together is having them click and become one family right in front of you. Andrew fit right in with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. Over dinner we all laughed together, particularly when I shared one side's incriminating stories with the other (of course, they shared my dirt with each other too). My uncle gave Andrew his phone number "if you ever need anything." And if Andrew did not have a fiancee, I would have been worried when he and my cousin Maria connected over a love for Phantom of the Opera. Of course, that night while walking through Times Square, Andrew commented that "Maria is gorgeous and very cool," and later in the week Maria told me, "Your friend Andrew is very nice. Give him my number and tell him to call if he's ever in the area." Maybe I will have to keep my eye on them; there have already been enough jokes about Andrew figuring out a way to legally become a part of my family.
Two days later I was walking across the snow-dampened grounds of St. John's. I found the waiting room for all the applicants, but being an hour early I searched for a bathroom to check myself out. I barely recognized the person in front of me. His face was clean-shaven for the first time in over a year. His cheeks were beginning to regain the color in them lost from the dramatic climate change. He was wearing a suit and tie. He looked like a man on a mission: confident, poised, and ambitious.
I can think of a hundred reasons for why my interview went so splendidly. I didn't overthink my answers and was honest. I came in not expecting much and was not worried about screwing up. I stood out as the only male and southerner in my group. The faculty were easygoing and attentive. But most importantly, the campus, the students, and the weekend I had spent with family: they all made me feel like I had traveled 1,200 miles to find home.
We were all in the car driving toward E. Broadway when my aunt started with the questions. What kind of program was I applying for? Masters or PhD? What did I want to do with it? Why St. John's University? What other schools were a possibility for me? She unintentionally reminded me that I had not come to New York purely for fun with family. I was on a business trip, interviewing for one of those six spots in St. John's clinical psychology program.
My interview was not for two days, however, and now was the time to embrace the greatest city in the world. It was a somewhat surreal moment when we picked up Andrew and proceeded toward an orgasmic Italian restaurant in lower Manhattan. Andrew is my best friend from Pensacola, an aspiring actor who uplifted his entire life to pursue his dream. And here he was in the car with my New York family, two distinct lives of mine united together.
The only thing better than having a best friend and family together is having them click and become one family right in front of you. Andrew fit right in with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. Over dinner we all laughed together, particularly when I shared one side's incriminating stories with the other (of course, they shared my dirt with each other too). My uncle gave Andrew his phone number "if you ever need anything." And if Andrew did not have a fiancee, I would have been worried when he and my cousin Maria connected over a love for Phantom of the Opera. Of course, that night while walking through Times Square, Andrew commented that "Maria is gorgeous and very cool," and later in the week Maria told me, "Your friend Andrew is very nice. Give him my number and tell him to call if he's ever in the area." Maybe I will have to keep my eye on them; there have already been enough jokes about Andrew figuring out a way to legally become a part of my family.
Two days later I was walking across the snow-dampened grounds of St. John's. I found the waiting room for all the applicants, but being an hour early I searched for a bathroom to check myself out. I barely recognized the person in front of me. His face was clean-shaven for the first time in over a year. His cheeks were beginning to regain the color in them lost from the dramatic climate change. He was wearing a suit and tie. He looked like a man on a mission: confident, poised, and ambitious.
I can think of a hundred reasons for why my interview went so splendidly. I didn't overthink my answers and was honest. I came in not expecting much and was not worried about screwing up. I stood out as the only male and southerner in my group. The faculty were easygoing and attentive. But most importantly, the campus, the students, and the weekend I had spent with family: they all made me feel like I had traveled 1,200 miles to find home.
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
Spring Break, Part 1: Florida
It was like a soundtrack to my middle school days, the time when I was most musically out of it. Back then I didn't know the words to any Boyz II Men songs, and I didn't understand the big deal about that "Kirk" guy from a rock band blowing his head off. This was the brief period where I regularly enjoyed country music. Here's something I bet NONE of you knew about me: I've been to a Reba McEntire concert. It was 1994. And when she sang "Fancy" as her encore, I stood up and hollered in delight.
All the classics were on the disc. "Boot Scootin Boogie," "I Got Friends in Low Places," "Seminole Wind," "Don't Take the Girl." This was the soundtrack to my drive from the stresses of school to the freedom of vacation. Once "John Deere Greene" blasted through the car speakers, Spring Break 2004 was officially under way.
Dave dropped me off at my front door in Pensacola early in the night. I had just enough time to do my laundry and pack before waking up for my 8 am flight to New York. Between checking in my luggage and the walk to airport security, I vented to my dad about some of my worries over this upcoming trip to New York and Las Vegas. What if I freeze during my interview? What if the guys want to visit the Bunny Ranch and I get scared? What if the bright lights of Sin City leave me with empty pockets? What if someone steals my suitcase full of dress shirts?
It was in the middle of that dress-shirt concern that I paid attention and heard myself talking. I was being ridiculous, overly worrisome, too negative. I told my dad that I thought I needed to lighten up and quit worrying about all the bad that could happen and start focusing on the good. My dad agreed, vehemently.
I stepped aboard my compact jet with the other 4 passengers and slept the entire ride to Dallas (makes sense to stop by Texas when you're going from Florida to New York, right?). For five minutes in the Dallas airport, I thought about my upcoming interview with St. John's University. Eighty people invited for interviews, 12 spots, only 6 in my field. It didn't phase me. I wasn't going to fly thousands of miles and get dressed in a suit to stutter and not show those guys what I can really do.
I had one more plane ride. This time, I had the privilege of sitting next to an obese man... in a suit... dampened with his own sweat... and his fat overriding across my seat... as he wheezed in and out... while reading a Penthouse magazine. I leaned into the aisle-- I'm sure to his awareness-- and read up on my Vegas gambling book (Chapter 6: Craps). In a few hours I would be in a far away place known as New York City, but I would not be alone. My aunt, uncle, and cousins would be waiting for me at the airport, and we'd go to an incredible Italian restaurant in the city, and on the way we'd pick up my best friend from home, who happens to live in Manhattan now. I'd be with the ones I love, in the city I love, eating the food I love. I figured this was a well-deserving way to begin Spring Break, surrounding myself with the things I love.
All the classics were on the disc. "Boot Scootin Boogie," "I Got Friends in Low Places," "Seminole Wind," "Don't Take the Girl." This was the soundtrack to my drive from the stresses of school to the freedom of vacation. Once "John Deere Greene" blasted through the car speakers, Spring Break 2004 was officially under way.
Dave dropped me off at my front door in Pensacola early in the night. I had just enough time to do my laundry and pack before waking up for my 8 am flight to New York. Between checking in my luggage and the walk to airport security, I vented to my dad about some of my worries over this upcoming trip to New York and Las Vegas. What if I freeze during my interview? What if the guys want to visit the Bunny Ranch and I get scared? What if the bright lights of Sin City leave me with empty pockets? What if someone steals my suitcase full of dress shirts?
It was in the middle of that dress-shirt concern that I paid attention and heard myself talking. I was being ridiculous, overly worrisome, too negative. I told my dad that I thought I needed to lighten up and quit worrying about all the bad that could happen and start focusing on the good. My dad agreed, vehemently.
I stepped aboard my compact jet with the other 4 passengers and slept the entire ride to Dallas (makes sense to stop by Texas when you're going from Florida to New York, right?). For five minutes in the Dallas airport, I thought about my upcoming interview with St. John's University. Eighty people invited for interviews, 12 spots, only 6 in my field. It didn't phase me. I wasn't going to fly thousands of miles and get dressed in a suit to stutter and not show those guys what I can really do.
I had one more plane ride. This time, I had the privilege of sitting next to an obese man... in a suit... dampened with his own sweat... and his fat overriding across my seat... as he wheezed in and out... while reading a Penthouse magazine. I leaned into the aisle-- I'm sure to his awareness-- and read up on my Vegas gambling book (Chapter 6: Craps). In a few hours I would be in a far away place known as New York City, but I would not be alone. My aunt, uncle, and cousins would be waiting for me at the airport, and we'd go to an incredible Italian restaurant in the city, and on the way we'd pick up my best friend from home, who happens to live in Manhattan now. I'd be with the ones I love, in the city I love, eating the food I love. I figured this was a well-deserving way to begin Spring Break, surrounding myself with the things I love.
Monday, March 15, 2004
Thursday, March 04, 2004
A Test Over Break
We drove over to Alehouse, the twelve of us that actually showed up at our club meeting. Being that tomorrow begins spring break, we didn't expect any bigger of a turnout. We managed to squeeze into two tables, and my friend, the President of our club, promptly ordered two pitchers of Miller, 100 buffalo wings, and two plates of cheese fries.
I didn't want to eat heavily tonight, let alone down a couple of beers. In less than 24 hours I take the mercilessly boring trek to Pensacola, and by that time I must pack for an eight-day adventure, organize my stuff, and study for a Friday afternoon exam. But I stayed at Alehouse for almost two hours, cramming greasy chicken drummettes and frosty mugs of cheap beer into my stomach. When my gut was filled to capacity, I said goodnight to everyone, particularly to Chad and Jason. While I won't see the rest of the group for another few weeks, the next time I'll see Chad and Jason is when my shuttle takes me to the Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas, where Chad, Jason, and myself will $pend the entire Monday-through-Friday of spring break doing God knows what.
It's the "God knows what" that concerns me about this trip. In the weeks building up to Vegas, I've anticipated that I'll experience things completely alien to my somewhat-sheltered existence. There's been talk of everything from skydiving to hitting Studio 54, all on 3-hours-of-sleep-a-night rest for 5 days. I can handle the talk of it all, but tonight the talk seemed closer to becoming a reality. There's stuff my friends want to do that I'm slightly nervous about, and there are some things I just flat-out disapprove of. I got worried, worried that I'd spend more than planned, worried that I'd feel like an outsider for wanting to play spring break a little safer, worried that I'd sacrifice a part of my character to belong in the group, worried that I'd regret going on this trip to sin city.
I told myself on the drive home that I don't have to do anything I don't want. I'm the only one that must live with my decisions, and if I decide that some of these adventures are too wild for me, then I can choose not to do them. I don't have to do anything I don't want.
But if it's all that simple, why do I have a belly full of buffalo wings and Miller Lite?
I didn't want to eat heavily tonight, let alone down a couple of beers. In less than 24 hours I take the mercilessly boring trek to Pensacola, and by that time I must pack for an eight-day adventure, organize my stuff, and study for a Friday afternoon exam. But I stayed at Alehouse for almost two hours, cramming greasy chicken drummettes and frosty mugs of cheap beer into my stomach. When my gut was filled to capacity, I said goodnight to everyone, particularly to Chad and Jason. While I won't see the rest of the group for another few weeks, the next time I'll see Chad and Jason is when my shuttle takes me to the Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas, where Chad, Jason, and myself will $pend the entire Monday-through-Friday of spring break doing God knows what.
It's the "God knows what" that concerns me about this trip. In the weeks building up to Vegas, I've anticipated that I'll experience things completely alien to my somewhat-sheltered existence. There's been talk of everything from skydiving to hitting Studio 54, all on 3-hours-of-sleep-a-night rest for 5 days. I can handle the talk of it all, but tonight the talk seemed closer to becoming a reality. There's stuff my friends want to do that I'm slightly nervous about, and there are some things I just flat-out disapprove of. I got worried, worried that I'd spend more than planned, worried that I'd feel like an outsider for wanting to play spring break a little safer, worried that I'd sacrifice a part of my character to belong in the group, worried that I'd regret going on this trip to sin city.
I told myself on the drive home that I don't have to do anything I don't want. I'm the only one that must live with my decisions, and if I decide that some of these adventures are too wild for me, then I can choose not to do them. I don't have to do anything I don't want.
But if it's all that simple, why do I have a belly full of buffalo wings and Miller Lite?
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