The first two are the room, the third is the front porch and the third is my dog damien
Friday, October 12, 2007
Pics of the House
The first two are the room, the third is the front porch and the third is my dog damien
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Jimminy Christmas
I started writing this paper on Thursday night. By “started”, I mean I sat down in front of a blank screen and thought about what I was going to write. It is now Sunday night and I’m to this point so far. Since Thursday night I have done four loads of laundry, watched two movies, and been to three bars and a house party. I have also rearranged my living room, watched about thirteen games of football, and even invented a new sport.
I did all these things while the cursor blinked on a blank page on my computer screen. I could have skipped any one of those activities and easily written five hundred words. I mean it was a free write. I could have written about any topic in the world. Now it’s eight o’clock on Sunday night. I have a four page argumentative writing paper and a Portuguese project due in the morning and I’m hurrying to finish a five hundred-word open topic blog that I started on Thursday. I wish I could blame my drinking problem or my friends but I can’t. I’m a protagonist.
This is a problem I know a lot of other college students can relate to. Recently, my roommate, a Cape Fear Sea Dragon, told me he was going to go work on his Biology paper for a while. Twenty minutes later he knocked on my door asking if I wanted to play catch. “What about your paper, isn’t it due tomorrow?” I asked pretending to care about how he did in school. He told me it was but that he was just taking a break. As we were heading out the front door I glanced at his computer and saw exactly what I expected. His computer screen had his name, the date and a title on it. That’s it. I assume he finished the paper at some point but who knows. I’m sure he didn’t worry too much about it and, even through I have three assignments due in the near future, I’m not going to either.
That’s the thing with college students though. For three years now I have been conditioned to function on no sleep, strung out on coffee and adderall. I have seen the sun rise many times while finishing a paper or studying for a final. My parents ask me how this affects my sleep schedule. Schedule? No college student has a sleep schedule. You sleep when you can. You sleep when you don’t have a blog due at midnight, a project due a ten and another paper at eleven. When there’s no good drink specials.
So if you see me on campus tomorrow my eyes will be puffy. I’ll be exhausted. I will look horrible. I’ll be pissed off because I crammed four days worth of work into seven hours. You would think I would have learned by now. As a senior in college, a year away from a job with consequences far greater than a bad grade, I should have some grasp on time management. I don’t. I would spend this last year of school trying to get better but I know I would just wait until the last minute.
I did all these things while the cursor blinked on a blank page on my computer screen. I could have skipped any one of those activities and easily written five hundred words. I mean it was a free write. I could have written about any topic in the world. Now it’s eight o’clock on Sunday night. I have a four page argumentative writing paper and a Portuguese project due in the morning and I’m hurrying to finish a five hundred-word open topic blog that I started on Thursday. I wish I could blame my drinking problem or my friends but I can’t. I’m a protagonist.
This is a problem I know a lot of other college students can relate to. Recently, my roommate, a Cape Fear Sea Dragon, told me he was going to go work on his Biology paper for a while. Twenty minutes later he knocked on my door asking if I wanted to play catch. “What about your paper, isn’t it due tomorrow?” I asked pretending to care about how he did in school. He told me it was but that he was just taking a break. As we were heading out the front door I glanced at his computer and saw exactly what I expected. His computer screen had his name, the date and a title on it. That’s it. I assume he finished the paper at some point but who knows. I’m sure he didn’t worry too much about it and, even through I have three assignments due in the near future, I’m not going to either.
That’s the thing with college students though. For three years now I have been conditioned to function on no sleep, strung out on coffee and adderall. I have seen the sun rise many times while finishing a paper or studying for a final. My parents ask me how this affects my sleep schedule. Schedule? No college student has a sleep schedule. You sleep when you can. You sleep when you don’t have a blog due at midnight, a project due a ten and another paper at eleven. When there’s no good drink specials.
So if you see me on campus tomorrow my eyes will be puffy. I’ll be exhausted. I will look horrible. I’ll be pissed off because I crammed four days worth of work into seven hours. You would think I would have learned by now. As a senior in college, a year away from a job with consequences far greater than a bad grade, I should have some grasp on time management. I don’t. I would spend this last year of school trying to get better but I know I would just wait until the last minute.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Great Aunt Nuh nuh
I love my family. My whole family. Everyone from my two sisters to my mom’s great aunt from my grandfather’s brothers first marriage. At least I think that’s the connection, but to be honest I could care less how she’s related. My cousins are some of my best friends and I can go to my aunts and uncles for anything. We are all so close, that’s why I was so excited when my dad told me we were visiting some relatives I had never met that had a house in Nevada and California. Not only did I get to meet some new family members but I would also get to see the west coast. I was so excited that I couldn’t wait to go.
I’m not much for clichés but I learned the meaning of “there’s one in every family” during this trip. My Great Aunt Nuh nuh was the most infuriating person I have ever met. From the moment we met I could tell we wouldn’t get along. After a horrible trip that included an unexpected overnight layover in Detroit, Nuh nuh insisted that we insist demand the airline to compensate us at that very moment. After spending a good portion of the previous two days, the last thing we wanted to do was stand in an airport line and argue fair compensation with an airline agent. My Great Uncle Bud, who I could tell instantly I would get along with, just stood silently and rolled his eyes.
Eventually, after basically dragging her out of the airport, we got Nuh nuh to calm down. When we got to their house in Reno, my parents and sisters were shown to their beds and I was led to the living room couch. I have no discrepancies with couches (in fact I’ve slept in much worse places) but there was a problem I could see approaching fast. My Nuh nuh and Uncle Bud were entering their twilight years and I was entering puberty. I had a hunch that our sleep schedules might not match up exactly. At 5:45 in the morning my theory was confirmed. After a solid two and a half hours of sleep I woke up to coffee being brewed, eggs being scrambled and an argument I couldn’t quite gauge the topic of through my early morning haze.
When Nuh nuh saw my head peek from out of the sheets, she informed me that I had left the TV on all night. Then she reminded me that she had asked nicely that I turn it off the previous night before she went to bed. That is true, she did ask me politely to turn the TV off. In fact, she asked me nicely about twelve times. Whether I forgot or whether I did it subconsciously out of spite, I don’t know, but the fact of the matter is I was wrong for leaving the TV on. And Nuh nuh was up to the task of reminding me numerous times everyday for the rest of the vacation.
After three days in Reno, and three days of waking up at 5:45, we packed the van and hit the road for the sunny shores of Carmel, California. The van, completely full with luggage and people, was gassed up and ready to go when Nuh nuh was suddenly struck with a horrible vision, one we could only assume had to do with the famine and death. “THE GARBAGE” she shouted as we pulled out of the driveway. “Don’t worry,” Uncle Bud said calmly, apparently used to these sudden eruptions of terror, “I took it out this morning.” Nuh nuh, with the same freakishly alert expression, replied “no the garbage was only half full, we should bring it to Caramel with us.”
Needless to say shock filled the van. Nuh nuh, suddenly an avid environmentalist, pleaded for us to turn around and hull the half filled bag of garbage inside the van for the three hour trip. Now, I’m all for being environmentally friendly, and when I’m a guest at someone else’s house I will do pretty much whatever they ask of me. However, sitting next to a bag of garbage in a scorching van is where I draw the line. We let Nuh nuh vent about the affect humans have on the environment for about 30 minutes in silence, never having the intention of going back to get the garbage. When she finished her enviro-rant, my mom changed the topic before any of us could point out that Nuh nuh didn’t care about the environment at all and just didn’t want the four cent garbage bag not to be filled to capacity, which is what everyone was thinking.
I wish I could say that was the worst thing that happened on that trip, but sadly for my family it wasn’t. About an hour and a half later two bags, which turned out to be not so securely strapped to the roof, flew off and bounced off the pavement and under cars like some horrible pin ball game. When Uncle Bud pulled over to the shoulder, Nuh nuh suggested that my dad didn’t need to go get the luggage, stating that carrying the 20-pound bag would be bad for his back, because we could drive the van in reverse down the median. My mom, the most docile and loving person I have ever met in my life, screamed “DO NOT BACK THIS CAR UP! DO NOT BACK THIS CAR UP! MY CHILDREN ARE IN HERE!” My dad apparently as startled as I was, threw the side door open and sprinted down the median. All this while Nuh nuh grumbled about how the car accident he was in twenty six years earlier had injured his back. “He’ll live,” Uncle Bud said flatly, still seemingly unaffected by any of this.
We made it to Caramel without my Dad’s back going out, miraculously, and my family spent the next few days avoiding Nuh nuh at all costs. I put up with a few more comments about leaving the television on and sleeping until the ungodly hour of 11 am. The day of our flight out Nuh nuh suggested we trade our tickets in and stay a few more days. I suggested that we take the earliest flight possible.
I still love my family. Believe it or not there’s a soft spot in my heart for Great Aunt Nuh nuh. I wish her nothing but happiness. Not just any kind of happiness, but the happiness you can only feel after a garbage bag is completely full. I wish her all the happiness in the world, as long as she stays on the West Coast and we never cross paths again.
I’m not much for clichés but I learned the meaning of “there’s one in every family” during this trip. My Great Aunt Nuh nuh was the most infuriating person I have ever met. From the moment we met I could tell we wouldn’t get along. After a horrible trip that included an unexpected overnight layover in Detroit, Nuh nuh insisted that we insist demand the airline to compensate us at that very moment. After spending a good portion of the previous two days, the last thing we wanted to do was stand in an airport line and argue fair compensation with an airline agent. My Great Uncle Bud, who I could tell instantly I would get along with, just stood silently and rolled his eyes.
Eventually, after basically dragging her out of the airport, we got Nuh nuh to calm down. When we got to their house in Reno, my parents and sisters were shown to their beds and I was led to the living room couch. I have no discrepancies with couches (in fact I’ve slept in much worse places) but there was a problem I could see approaching fast. My Nuh nuh and Uncle Bud were entering their twilight years and I was entering puberty. I had a hunch that our sleep schedules might not match up exactly. At 5:45 in the morning my theory was confirmed. After a solid two and a half hours of sleep I woke up to coffee being brewed, eggs being scrambled and an argument I couldn’t quite gauge the topic of through my early morning haze.
When Nuh nuh saw my head peek from out of the sheets, she informed me that I had left the TV on all night. Then she reminded me that she had asked nicely that I turn it off the previous night before she went to bed. That is true, she did ask me politely to turn the TV off. In fact, she asked me nicely about twelve times. Whether I forgot or whether I did it subconsciously out of spite, I don’t know, but the fact of the matter is I was wrong for leaving the TV on. And Nuh nuh was up to the task of reminding me numerous times everyday for the rest of the vacation.
After three days in Reno, and three days of waking up at 5:45, we packed the van and hit the road for the sunny shores of Carmel, California. The van, completely full with luggage and people, was gassed up and ready to go when Nuh nuh was suddenly struck with a horrible vision, one we could only assume had to do with the famine and death. “THE GARBAGE” she shouted as we pulled out of the driveway. “Don’t worry,” Uncle Bud said calmly, apparently used to these sudden eruptions of terror, “I took it out this morning.” Nuh nuh, with the same freakishly alert expression, replied “no the garbage was only half full, we should bring it to Caramel with us.”
Needless to say shock filled the van. Nuh nuh, suddenly an avid environmentalist, pleaded for us to turn around and hull the half filled bag of garbage inside the van for the three hour trip. Now, I’m all for being environmentally friendly, and when I’m a guest at someone else’s house I will do pretty much whatever they ask of me. However, sitting next to a bag of garbage in a scorching van is where I draw the line. We let Nuh nuh vent about the affect humans have on the environment for about 30 minutes in silence, never having the intention of going back to get the garbage. When she finished her enviro-rant, my mom changed the topic before any of us could point out that Nuh nuh didn’t care about the environment at all and just didn’t want the four cent garbage bag not to be filled to capacity, which is what everyone was thinking.
I wish I could say that was the worst thing that happened on that trip, but sadly for my family it wasn’t. About an hour and a half later two bags, which turned out to be not so securely strapped to the roof, flew off and bounced off the pavement and under cars like some horrible pin ball game. When Uncle Bud pulled over to the shoulder, Nuh nuh suggested that my dad didn’t need to go get the luggage, stating that carrying the 20-pound bag would be bad for his back, because we could drive the van in reverse down the median. My mom, the most docile and loving person I have ever met in my life, screamed “DO NOT BACK THIS CAR UP! DO NOT BACK THIS CAR UP! MY CHILDREN ARE IN HERE!” My dad apparently as startled as I was, threw the side door open and sprinted down the median. All this while Nuh nuh grumbled about how the car accident he was in twenty six years earlier had injured his back. “He’ll live,” Uncle Bud said flatly, still seemingly unaffected by any of this.
We made it to Caramel without my Dad’s back going out, miraculously, and my family spent the next few days avoiding Nuh nuh at all costs. I put up with a few more comments about leaving the television on and sleeping until the ungodly hour of 11 am. The day of our flight out Nuh nuh suggested we trade our tickets in and stay a few more days. I suggested that we take the earliest flight possible.
I still love my family. Believe it or not there’s a soft spot in my heart for Great Aunt Nuh nuh. I wish her nothing but happiness. Not just any kind of happiness, but the happiness you can only feel after a garbage bag is completely full. I wish her all the happiness in the world, as long as she stays on the West Coast and we never cross paths again.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Isn't It Called SPORTScenter
When people ask me what my favorite TV shows are I instinctively say Sportscenter among others. I love it, can watch it for hours. At least I used to be able to. I realized recently that I hardly ever watch a whole episode of Sportscenter anymore, choosing to jump back and forth between channels waiting for sport highlights that peek my interest. For a second I thought I was less interested in sports, but that can’t be. I’ve never shown an interest in more sports than I do right now, so it has to be something else. The other day I sat down and watched a whole episode of Sportscenter rather than just watch the ticker go through all the scores one time. While I was watching I realized what had turned me off. When I was younger a solid 75% of the program was highlights of the previous nights game with a little bit of analysis and previews of upcoming games. Somewhere along the line the people in charge decided to make it a panelist show where every sports writer on staff gets 5 minutes to bitch about their least favorite aspect of the athletic community. We get it Skip Bayless, you hate everything and everyone. Please retire.
How do they keep all of their analysts busy? That’s easy. They just over sensationalize stories to make them seem far worse than they actually are. After the audience interest is peeked, nine or ten analysts ramble on until they are sick of their own voice or I change the channel. Who are we kidding it’s always when I change the channel, they never get tired of their own voice. It only get’s worse when there is an actual story worth reporting on. Recently the first four segments of the show were dedicated to the Michael Vick story, including a segment about his legal options on bargaining and a look inside of a federal penitentiary. Maybe I’m confused but that sounds like programming more suited for Court TV, not ESPN. Thanks for the story and thanks for the viewpoints of those close to the situation, it was the other 28 points of view I could have done without, especially that of John Clayton, ESPN’s head football analyst…who has never played a down of football in his life.
If this is the route in which they wish to go, fine, but please call it a talk show and not a sports recap show. They still have the highlights but these 15 second clips hardly ever “recapture” the events of the game. A home run, a double play, the final strike out. Really? After nine innings and twelve runs that’s all you have to show? And that’s only if it’s Yankees vs. Red Sox. I know my beloved Orioles have fallen on tough times but we still deserve more than a box score. You call yourselves Sportscenter, I can get box scores from the news paper.
It’s not just baseball either. All sports get the shaft on highlights. If you think I’m lying watch a football game, America’s passion, and then watch the highlight for that game. The condensed version doesn’t come close to telling the story of what really happened, even if Scott Van Pelt does make some hilarious pop culture references.
But it’s not the sports anchors I’m upset with, I think they are all qualified for the most part. It is the analyst that I just can’t stand. You have plenty of shows where you can state your opinion, Sportscenter is not the appropriate forum. Go on Rome is Burning or the Sports Reporters, I don’t care, just give me my O’s highlights back.
How do they keep all of their analysts busy? That’s easy. They just over sensationalize stories to make them seem far worse than they actually are. After the audience interest is peeked, nine or ten analysts ramble on until they are sick of their own voice or I change the channel. Who are we kidding it’s always when I change the channel, they never get tired of their own voice. It only get’s worse when there is an actual story worth reporting on. Recently the first four segments of the show were dedicated to the Michael Vick story, including a segment about his legal options on bargaining and a look inside of a federal penitentiary. Maybe I’m confused but that sounds like programming more suited for Court TV, not ESPN. Thanks for the story and thanks for the viewpoints of those close to the situation, it was the other 28 points of view I could have done without, especially that of John Clayton, ESPN’s head football analyst…who has never played a down of football in his life.
If this is the route in which they wish to go, fine, but please call it a talk show and not a sports recap show. They still have the highlights but these 15 second clips hardly ever “recapture” the events of the game. A home run, a double play, the final strike out. Really? After nine innings and twelve runs that’s all you have to show? And that’s only if it’s Yankees vs. Red Sox. I know my beloved Orioles have fallen on tough times but we still deserve more than a box score. You call yourselves Sportscenter, I can get box scores from the news paper.
It’s not just baseball either. All sports get the shaft on highlights. If you think I’m lying watch a football game, America’s passion, and then watch the highlight for that game. The condensed version doesn’t come close to telling the story of what really happened, even if Scott Van Pelt does make some hilarious pop culture references.
But it’s not the sports anchors I’m upset with, I think they are all qualified for the most part. It is the analyst that I just can’t stand. You have plenty of shows where you can state your opinion, Sportscenter is not the appropriate forum. Go on Rome is Burning or the Sports Reporters, I don’t care, just give me my O’s highlights back.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
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