"It's a strange moment, the moment of creating characters who up to that moment have had no existence. What follows is fitful, uncertain, even hallucinatory, although sometimes it can be an unstoppable avalanche. The author's position is an odd one. In a sense he is not welcomed by the characters. The characters resist him, they are not easy to live with, they are impossible to define. You certainly can't dictate to them. To a certain extent you play a never-ending game with them, cat and mouse, blind man's bluff, hide-and-seek. But finally you find that you have people of flesh and blood on your hands, people with will and an individual sensibility of their own, made out of component parts you are unable to change, manipulate or distort." Pinter
http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,1868743-5,00.html
In The Bombs: "Here they go again/ The Yanks in their armored parade/ Chanting their ballads of joy/ As they gallop across the big world/ Praising America's God./ The gutters are clogged with the dead."
"Terrorism is a word that has become a plague on our vocabulary, the excuse and reason and moral permit for state-sponsored violence - our violence-which is now used on the innocent in the Middle East ever more outrageously and promiscuously. Terrorism, terrorism, terrorism. It has becomea fullstop, a punctuation mark, a phrase, a speech, a sermon, the be-all and end-all of everything that we must hate in order to ignore injustice and occupation and murder on a mass scale. Terror, terror, terror, terror. It is a sonata, a symphony, anorcehstra tuned to every television and radio station and news agency report, the soap-opera of the Devil, served up on prime-time or distilled in wearyingly dull and mendacious form by the right-wing "commentators" of the American east coast or the Jerusalem Post or the intellectuals of Europe. Strike against Terror. Victory over Terror. War on Terror. Everlasting War on Terror. Rarely in history have soldiers and journalists and presidents and kings aligned themselves in such thoughtless, unquestioning ranks. In August 1914, the soldiers though they would be home by Christmas. Today, we are fighting for ever. The war is eternal. The enemy is eternal, his face changing on our screens. Once he lived in Cairo and sported a moustache and naitonalised the Suez Canal. Then he lived in Tripoli and wore a ridiculous military uniform and helped the IRA and bombed American bars in Berlin. Then he wore a Muslim imam's gown and ate yoghurt in Tehran and planned Islamic revolution. Then he wore a white gown and lived in a cave in Afghanistan and then he wore another silly moustache and resided in a series of palaces around Baghdad. Terror, terror, terror. Finally, he wore a kuffiah headdress and outdated Soviet-style military fatigues, his name was Yassir Arafat, and he was the master of world terror and then a super-statesman and then, again, a master of terror, linked by his Israeli enemies to the terror-Meister of them all, the one who lived in the Afghan cave." Robert Fisk. The Great War on Civilization. 2005. pp. 378-379.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Camp Rising Sun - Yes!
Camp Rising Sun – Yes!
By Sean Ross (Counselor, Red Hook, 2008)
Listen: I was a Pennsylvanian. My family resided in the piedmont of the Laurel Mountains since the Civil War era, long after LaSalle considered the Three Rivers – Ohio, Monongahela, and Allegheny –the main artery leading to the west.
Greensburg is a sordid podunk resting beside the Laurel Mountains. Few people heard of this place and I can’t think of too many natives who moved away as they grew older. The dreams of dreamers in this area are neither imaginative nor lofty.
I’m riding with my sister to school, my first day as a sophomore and her first day as a senior. As the small car winds along the continuous rolling hills symbolic of Western Pennsylvania, diving and swooshing into and out of the winding roads, I’m reminded of the past two months. What will Peter, Anna, Kim, Bobby, and Matt think of me? How will my teachers react? My parents don’t understand me and they raised me!
As we park behind the school, my sister ruffles me, “You need to cut those things off.” She grabs one of my dreadlocks, a souvenir of Camp Rising Sun. “They smell something awful. Did you wash your hair?” “Of course,” I mumble and stagger out of the car.
I grab my bag and walk inside. My locks were a souvenir by a stolid Scottish counselor, Sailor, his real name Ramsay. He entertained us campers with his catchphrase, “I dinnae ken where ye come from, laddie, but always say ‘yes!’” The last two words, when said rapidly, sounded a lot like ‘sailors’ in the Scottish accent.
Nothing can provoke me to cut my hair. Many of my comrades at camp, experiencing their first time away from home and free of its influences, buzzed their hair into Mohawks. I almost joined the craze. Sailor, one day before Council, tossed around photos of himself at my age, with long, tight locks. Camp was stunned. This older guy who mentored me with anecdotes of himself – a current Ph.D. student in Glasgow studying biochemical energy fuels who played professional soccer with the Scottish national team– and encouraged camp to do focus on their aspirations and always do what is right – the funniest remark he ever made came from Mark Twain: “Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.”
I could express myself freely at camp! After I built up the courage from the back of my throat to nervously ask Sailor if he could do my hair like his, he beamed and said, “Of course, laddie!” He even bought the materials and spent a week’s worth of SST sessions, and a few Evening Programs, to turn my head into a forest of locks. Until my hair was complete, Sailor kept a beanie on my head to surprise me.
The last Saturday afternoon – “Everybody loves Saturday Night!” – before wisdom circles Sailor finished. I looked in the mirror, afraid of the results. “Everybody back home will never expect this!” I high-fived Sailor. “My gift to you, brother,” he said. “They will hold wisdom throughout your journey.”
My family would not figure me as one to finish the four day hike across the Catskills, its difficulty foreshadowed with the name Devil’s Path. Danny from Holland, Alan from NYC, Moritz from Germany, Enrique from New Mexico, Zach from Doylestown, Carlos from Peru, Jorje from Spain, Benjamin from Mississippi, and I formed the first hiking group. The first day, an easy four miles, put me in high spirits. We arrived at the lean-to early and spent the afternoon and evening talking.
Jorje and I discussed the current Tour De France. All my friends back home would have quickly and easily dismissed my interest in cycling. Jorje and I bet a box of candy against our predictions for the overall winner: I chose the Australian Cadel Evans and Jorge picked Sastre, a fellow Spaniard. With three weeks until the Tour’s completion, we had much time to debate and pull instant tomfoolery on each other. “Sastre is eyeing your box,” Jorje would walk in my tent, before tent check, and point at candy. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, pal. Evans, baby, Evans.”
The middle of the second day on the Path beleaguered my willpower. With hip rashes from the hiking pack and sores covering both feet (after climbing only Indian Head) how could I climb Twin Peaks and Sugarloaf by day’s end? Of their own free will, and without a word, Moritz and Danny carried my belongings while Zach carried my pack on his foreside. Carlos shared the load by stuffing my cooking utensils and food in his pack. I felt guilty and ashamed, but with my comrades’ eager cheerfulness I forced myself to the Sugarloaf lean-to. I couldn’t believe we only journeyed seven miles on the 10 hour hike this day. This hike should be considered bouldering and rock-climbing, that’s how steep these mountains are. No one wanted to anticipate the third day for fear of nightmares, so we settled in to the lean-to peacefully, cooked macaroni and cheese in the dark, grew closer together by the stove fire (the rain during the middle of the day spoiled all hopes of a campfire), and fell asleep. Dreams of Wendy’s, our treat on the last day for completing the monstrous hike, filled our sleep.
The third day, thankfully, was only two mountains. Everybody felt the mountain gripping our energy levels, but we joked around and laughed to motivate ourselves and each other. “Can you hear that?” someone asked. “Hear what?” another asked in return. “I hear something calling my name, telling me to hurry up. And I smell something fresh, too!” “I don’t smell anything,” I said. “Me neither,” Moritz sniffed. “It smells like French fries and a milkshake from Wendy’s,” Carlos continued. We all cursed him, though it did make us hike faster.
We considered Enrique the group’s Superman with the way he flew over and down the mountainsides. At the final lean-to, a majority suggested Enrique could cook for us since he did not appear fatigued. “That’s my Kryptonite, guys,” he weaseled his way out of the chore.
The last day we looked across the spectacular, sublime Catskill Mountains from the Hunter fire tower, then rode back to camp. On the way we stopped at the magical restaurant we all desired and talked for most of the hike. Cheeseburgers have never tasted so delicious. And friendship, nay, my brotherly friends, has taken me to a greater height in achievement. I can and will do everything I wrote on my Vision Board! Write a novel, travel the world, get a Ph.D. in computer engineering, and stay in contact with everyone at camp.
Back at Camp Rising Sun, the thirty campers, my other friends, swarmed us around the van. They wanted the inside scoop on the hiking trip. “It’s easy. Don’t lose any sleep over it,” Danny lied. I looked at him in dismay. He whispered with a sinister smile, “Hey, that’s what the counselors told us!” He had a point.
That night the campers, excited to have the returned hiking group, put on an Evening Program called Earth’s Birthday. Jin and Jack dressed in their cultural Chinese garments, Angel and the counselor Daniel wore ponchos and sombreros, a few wise guys from the U.S. wore business suits, Ryo dressed in his faux-samurai suit, Umur wore his Turkish fez and caftan, and the Europeans all wore their National Flag colors. The second years made cupcakes and Guy’s Israel rock music grooved lightly as a backdrop. We learned how to sing “Happy Birthday” in each of the representing languages, and then had a customary, if unofficial, dance party in E.D. Hall. Everyone melted into one whole individual bouncing in unison.
I walked into my home room, with Anna and Matt. How could I tell them about all this and the Wisdom Circles and Council, where my camp mates spoke honestly and earnestly amongst each other to individually reflect and to learn about our deepest thoughts? Matt would surely laugh at me as if I was a fool and change the subject, and Anna would roll her eyes to show a lack of interest. Back to the doldrums of Pennsylvania, I thought to myself and laughed.
My family and friends may not understand my summer. But I have my bedroom covered with pictures of my summer – which blends my past, present, and future. I will always remember camp and my new extended family spread across the globe.
Listen: I will always be a CRS’er! Yes!
(Sastra eventually won the Tour, and I unenthusiastically parted with my favorite Reese’s Peanut Butter cups as its new owner Jorje ate them mockingly, yet fairly, in my presence.)
By Sean Ross (Counselor, Red Hook, 2008)
Listen: I was a Pennsylvanian. My family resided in the piedmont of the Laurel Mountains since the Civil War era, long after LaSalle considered the Three Rivers – Ohio, Monongahela, and Allegheny –the main artery leading to the west.
Greensburg is a sordid podunk resting beside the Laurel Mountains. Few people heard of this place and I can’t think of too many natives who moved away as they grew older. The dreams of dreamers in this area are neither imaginative nor lofty.
I’m riding with my sister to school, my first day as a sophomore and her first day as a senior. As the small car winds along the continuous rolling hills symbolic of Western Pennsylvania, diving and swooshing into and out of the winding roads, I’m reminded of the past two months. What will Peter, Anna, Kim, Bobby, and Matt think of me? How will my teachers react? My parents don’t understand me and they raised me!
As we park behind the school, my sister ruffles me, “You need to cut those things off.” She grabs one of my dreadlocks, a souvenir of Camp Rising Sun. “They smell something awful. Did you wash your hair?” “Of course,” I mumble and stagger out of the car.
I grab my bag and walk inside. My locks were a souvenir by a stolid Scottish counselor, Sailor, his real name Ramsay. He entertained us campers with his catchphrase, “I dinnae ken where ye come from, laddie, but always say ‘yes!’” The last two words, when said rapidly, sounded a lot like ‘sailors’ in the Scottish accent.
Nothing can provoke me to cut my hair. Many of my comrades at camp, experiencing their first time away from home and free of its influences, buzzed their hair into Mohawks. I almost joined the craze. Sailor, one day before Council, tossed around photos of himself at my age, with long, tight locks. Camp was stunned. This older guy who mentored me with anecdotes of himself – a current Ph.D. student in Glasgow studying biochemical energy fuels who played professional soccer with the Scottish national team– and encouraged camp to do focus on their aspirations and always do what is right – the funniest remark he ever made came from Mark Twain: “Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.”
I could express myself freely at camp! After I built up the courage from the back of my throat to nervously ask Sailor if he could do my hair like his, he beamed and said, “Of course, laddie!” He even bought the materials and spent a week’s worth of SST sessions, and a few Evening Programs, to turn my head into a forest of locks. Until my hair was complete, Sailor kept a beanie on my head to surprise me.
The last Saturday afternoon – “Everybody loves Saturday Night!” – before wisdom circles Sailor finished. I looked in the mirror, afraid of the results. “Everybody back home will never expect this!” I high-fived Sailor. “My gift to you, brother,” he said. “They will hold wisdom throughout your journey.”
My family would not figure me as one to finish the four day hike across the Catskills, its difficulty foreshadowed with the name Devil’s Path. Danny from Holland, Alan from NYC, Moritz from Germany, Enrique from New Mexico, Zach from Doylestown, Carlos from Peru, Jorje from Spain, Benjamin from Mississippi, and I formed the first hiking group. The first day, an easy four miles, put me in high spirits. We arrived at the lean-to early and spent the afternoon and evening talking.
Jorje and I discussed the current Tour De France. All my friends back home would have quickly and easily dismissed my interest in cycling. Jorje and I bet a box of candy against our predictions for the overall winner: I chose the Australian Cadel Evans and Jorge picked Sastre, a fellow Spaniard. With three weeks until the Tour’s completion, we had much time to debate and pull instant tomfoolery on each other. “Sastre is eyeing your box,” Jorje would walk in my tent, before tent check, and point at candy. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, pal. Evans, baby, Evans.”
The middle of the second day on the Path beleaguered my willpower. With hip rashes from the hiking pack and sores covering both feet (after climbing only Indian Head) how could I climb Twin Peaks and Sugarloaf by day’s end? Of their own free will, and without a word, Moritz and Danny carried my belongings while Zach carried my pack on his foreside. Carlos shared the load by stuffing my cooking utensils and food in his pack. I felt guilty and ashamed, but with my comrades’ eager cheerfulness I forced myself to the Sugarloaf lean-to. I couldn’t believe we only journeyed seven miles on the 10 hour hike this day. This hike should be considered bouldering and rock-climbing, that’s how steep these mountains are. No one wanted to anticipate the third day for fear of nightmares, so we settled in to the lean-to peacefully, cooked macaroni and cheese in the dark, grew closer together by the stove fire (the rain during the middle of the day spoiled all hopes of a campfire), and fell asleep. Dreams of Wendy’s, our treat on the last day for completing the monstrous hike, filled our sleep.
The third day, thankfully, was only two mountains. Everybody felt the mountain gripping our energy levels, but we joked around and laughed to motivate ourselves and each other. “Can you hear that?” someone asked. “Hear what?” another asked in return. “I hear something calling my name, telling me to hurry up. And I smell something fresh, too!” “I don’t smell anything,” I said. “Me neither,” Moritz sniffed. “It smells like French fries and a milkshake from Wendy’s,” Carlos continued. We all cursed him, though it did make us hike faster.
We considered Enrique the group’s Superman with the way he flew over and down the mountainsides. At the final lean-to, a majority suggested Enrique could cook for us since he did not appear fatigued. “That’s my Kryptonite, guys,” he weaseled his way out of the chore.
The last day we looked across the spectacular, sublime Catskill Mountains from the Hunter fire tower, then rode back to camp. On the way we stopped at the magical restaurant we all desired and talked for most of the hike. Cheeseburgers have never tasted so delicious. And friendship, nay, my brotherly friends, has taken me to a greater height in achievement. I can and will do everything I wrote on my Vision Board! Write a novel, travel the world, get a Ph.D. in computer engineering, and stay in contact with everyone at camp.
Back at Camp Rising Sun, the thirty campers, my other friends, swarmed us around the van. They wanted the inside scoop on the hiking trip. “It’s easy. Don’t lose any sleep over it,” Danny lied. I looked at him in dismay. He whispered with a sinister smile, “Hey, that’s what the counselors told us!” He had a point.
That night the campers, excited to have the returned hiking group, put on an Evening Program called Earth’s Birthday. Jin and Jack dressed in their cultural Chinese garments, Angel and the counselor Daniel wore ponchos and sombreros, a few wise guys from the U.S. wore business suits, Ryo dressed in his faux-samurai suit, Umur wore his Turkish fez and caftan, and the Europeans all wore their National Flag colors. The second years made cupcakes and Guy’s Israel rock music grooved lightly as a backdrop. We learned how to sing “Happy Birthday” in each of the representing languages, and then had a customary, if unofficial, dance party in E.D. Hall. Everyone melted into one whole individual bouncing in unison.
I walked into my home room, with Anna and Matt. How could I tell them about all this and the Wisdom Circles and Council, where my camp mates spoke honestly and earnestly amongst each other to individually reflect and to learn about our deepest thoughts? Matt would surely laugh at me as if I was a fool and change the subject, and Anna would roll her eyes to show a lack of interest. Back to the doldrums of Pennsylvania, I thought to myself and laughed.
My family and friends may not understand my summer. But I have my bedroom covered with pictures of my summer – which blends my past, present, and future. I will always remember camp and my new extended family spread across the globe.
Listen: I will always be a CRS’er! Yes!
(Sastra eventually won the Tour, and I unenthusiastically parted with my favorite Reese’s Peanut Butter cups as its new owner Jorje ate them mockingly, yet fairly, in my presence.)
Monday, May 5, 2008
GTA IV Dating
haha, it's funny picking up "dates" because you're almost always in a different car every time while they're wondering why "so and so" is doing something conspicuous and must be in the (enter country name) mafia. they dont really question you, though. they do, but "you're hot." how? ill let you figure it out.
i kept picking up the same girl in the same clothes - weird how she'd comment on how nice I (Nico) looked everytime, even after noticing the same clothes. After a while I was thinking, "This is too much like me. I gotta go to the store for new clothes."
The dating aspect is cool, but its not very realistic. Nico almost acts like a ghost around the women. He doesn't really acknowledge them, until he wants to get lucky. And somehow the women are all over that. I think the women would have a better connection with a billboard sign - and if you drive erratically, which is easy to do because turning is so difficult, you're bound to hit something or someone. The women will get annoyed easily. I was like "there's no way Nico has a chance." I guess Liberty City really is "liberating." I like the new Hot Coffee thing, too.
After playing the game for so long I was addicted to the story but really annoyed with the missions. More story, less driving! it'll be fun once I get the bigger guns fighting the badder guys.
i kept picking up the same girl in the same clothes - weird how she'd comment on how nice I (Nico) looked everytime, even after noticing the same clothes. After a while I was thinking, "This is too much like me. I gotta go to the store for new clothes."
The dating aspect is cool, but its not very realistic. Nico almost acts like a ghost around the women. He doesn't really acknowledge them, until he wants to get lucky. And somehow the women are all over that. I think the women would have a better connection with a billboard sign - and if you drive erratically, which is easy to do because turning is so difficult, you're bound to hit something or someone. The women will get annoyed easily. I was like "there's no way Nico has a chance." I guess Liberty City really is "liberating." I like the new Hot Coffee thing, too.
After playing the game for so long I was addicted to the story but really annoyed with the missions. More story, less driving! it'll be fun once I get the bigger guns fighting the badder guys.
only 46 people; one battley harley davidson finished; must have been fast.
You guys don't know him, but Ryan Mele is a 22 year old from Pittsburgh (only a Cat 3 a year ago); he finished 12th.
I was hanging around watching the Armed Forces TTT when this Pro guy came up to me. "Woah!", I thought, "he should be warming up!." A Richmond Pro Cycling dude. Ryan Mele. He knew my brother and thought I was him. My brother always talked about him and his talent because he was a strong kid from Pittsburgh with pro talent. I did not know what he looked like; I did know he was young, but looking at him he looked like a seasoned pro with tree-trunk legs and a sprinter's upper body.
Mele only met my brother once last year at Crystal City Crit. I don't know how he remembered what my brother looked like from that long ago. Such a humble guy, too. I told him my brother always talked him up and was proud of him because he's representing Pittsburgh. He didn't say much other than gratitude.
We chatted about his pro life and the course (I assume he didn't ride it). I was jealous; why can't some people have the biology for that kinda talent? And then to ride with Saul; man, some people have life good. Meeting those guys is inspiring.
And as for going off the front: Scott T said he has an advantage with tailwinds; I was pulling on the road by the Pentagon with the strong tailwind. Bill told me to cool it down, yet I didn't think it was too much. Too: I figured you guys had a good draft; I assumed wrong.
It was a good course, but like Dana I kinda felt the course was boring. 8 loops on a ride isn't too exciting. So I made it a personal competition. My arms were hurting that last lap. And my legs are still sore. But it was fun. I think the temperature was around 70. How did I do Pleasant Valley last year in the high 90's? - no wonder I hurled a few times after that race. Praying for summer to stay away!
You guys don't know him, but Ryan Mele is a 22 year old from Pittsburgh (only a Cat 3 a year ago); he finished 12th.
I was hanging around watching the Armed Forces TTT when this Pro guy came up to me. "Woah!", I thought, "he should be warming up!." A Richmond Pro Cycling dude. Ryan Mele. He knew my brother and thought I was him. My brother always talked about him and his talent because he was a strong kid from Pittsburgh with pro talent. I did not know what he looked like; I did know he was young, but looking at him he looked like a seasoned pro with tree-trunk legs and a sprinter's upper body.
Mele only met my brother once last year at Crystal City Crit. I don't know how he remembered what my brother looked like from that long ago. Such a humble guy, too. I told him my brother always talked him up and was proud of him because he's representing Pittsburgh. He didn't say much other than gratitude.
We chatted about his pro life and the course (I assume he didn't ride it). I was jealous; why can't some people have the biology for that kinda talent? And then to ride with Saul; man, some people have life good. Meeting those guys is inspiring.
And as for going off the front: Scott T said he has an advantage with tailwinds; I was pulling on the road by the Pentagon with the strong tailwind. Bill told me to cool it down, yet I didn't think it was too much. Too: I figured you guys had a good draft; I assumed wrong.
It was a good course, but like Dana I kinda felt the course was boring. 8 loops on a ride isn't too exciting. So I made it a personal competition. My arms were hurting that last lap. And my legs are still sore. But it was fun. I think the temperature was around 70. How did I do Pleasant Valley last year in the high 90's? - no wonder I hurled a few times after that race. Praying for summer to stay away!
Friday, April 4, 2008
Head filled like a sponge
I've learned that work is a lot of patience. It's not like a video game where you aim, click a button, and see instant results....also, the longer the result the higher the rewards. I should have known this long ago, but when you work shit jobs you don't gain that much experience.
Sometimes I think Nicole draws me very close...personal need for acceptance or something..I'm not sure what it is because she doesn't come across as needy. She has this personality that would force anyone to want to be close to her...what's with "You don't call me" or "I want to go shopping with you!" and "You're probably hanging out with your other Dominican friends"..seriously, I don't understand it. Should I feel good about that? It makes me feel torn. love and friendship... Suggesting she would come to the Tyson's Corner, I havent thought hard about that one, but it definitely makes me feel good about life and her. I mean, to even suggest it was out of the blue..why would anyone care? Then after a few days or week I tend to lose the highinterest, only to have it re-ignited after a few more days. I don't have much time to think bout her anymore. I still do, but not like I used to. Busy, busy, busy.
She makes me feel so good. Kinda like what Katie said about me, "I'm addicted to you." Fuck that. Weren't addicted for much long. 8 and 5. That's about it.
For some reason I thought about Katie, from two years ago. I remember her telling me it wasn't anything personal, but even two years later I still take it personally. It's difficult to accept that when you think its yourself. I mean, I know I did a lot of stupid things and failed to do a lot of wonderful things...how can I hide that from her reasoning? There's no disconnect, even if I have a huge disconnect in emotions towards other people. Even Nicole, I love her but I can't physically show it. It's almost like an idea. No matter how I feel I could never - well, I did kiss Nicole once, but it takes a lot to get my confidence to that level. I can never bring myself to physically show a girl I like them...too inconfident, too unsure of myself, too scared of rejection... Even after Papa Razzi, where I treated Nicole to an awesome dinner...those were the days...I wanted so bad to just hold her hand. But at the moment we were just chillin'. Emotions...I'll never get a hang of 'em.
So Katie, I don't love her, but if she wanted to be with me I might give her a chance. Weird how all that works. She was so beautiful...why me?
I'm pretty happy in life, but still not confident with people in general. I'm more of a Nietzschean SuperMan...I live life far beyond what most would do..not making a value judgment, only that people don't exactly push themselves too hard.
I do what I have to do to get by, and usually does not include people. Not women, usually not guys...no one. Money is a big issue, too. Without money its tough to be like "hey, lets do this." Unless it involves a bike or two.
So there's this female, she gets on my nerves. I come home from work, usually late anymore as I ride at night or apply to jobs, and stupid, pessimistic comments abound. I used to be that way - Yeah, when I hated life. Everything is nit picked, commented with an attitude, and generally makes me want to fucking get the fuck out of the area. I'll see something on tv or do something stupid and I'll make a lighthearted comment that suggests: "life sure throws you a laugh on occasion." Sure, I usually don't agree with it, but if you make it fun you don't get worked up about it. "Oh Hillary! have my babies!" Or the fat woman in a bikini on that movie I didn't pay attention to: "HEY! HEY! HEY!" Robin and Noah took me seriously, at first. I thought it was hilarious. I actually had to convince them I wasn't serious. I think they think I like fat women or something. And no, Nicole, this isn't even remotely directed at you. They probably think I'm in a relationship with her, too. I am...as a friend. Wooo-weeee! Whaooaaaah! "HEY! HEY! HEY!" That's about the best comment you can make towards anything. Sets a comfortable mood.
But this female, jesus. I don't care if the movie has all white people or if the advertisement includes all races and genders talking as if friends....first off, what can I do about it? Boycott the movie? Society moves slowly with change, but it will eventually change. You be the change...what the fuck. Pessimism sucks.
TV sucks, too. What's the point? I want to live. Even with no money I fare off better than most. "We've got it better than the best." ~$800 in 4-5 months. Not bad at all. And I'm a beast in the cycling scene.
Sometimes I think Nicole draws me very close...personal need for acceptance or something..I'm not sure what it is because she doesn't come across as needy. She has this personality that would force anyone to want to be close to her...what's with "You don't call me" or "I want to go shopping with you!" and "You're probably hanging out with your other Dominican friends"..seriously, I don't understand it. Should I feel good about that? It makes me feel torn. love and friendship... Suggesting she would come to the Tyson's Corner, I havent thought hard about that one, but it definitely makes me feel good about life and her. I mean, to even suggest it was out of the blue..why would anyone care? Then after a few days or week I tend to lose the highinterest, only to have it re-ignited after a few more days. I don't have much time to think bout her anymore. I still do, but not like I used to. Busy, busy, busy.
She makes me feel so good. Kinda like what Katie said about me, "I'm addicted to you." Fuck that. Weren't addicted for much long. 8 and 5. That's about it.
For some reason I thought about Katie, from two years ago. I remember her telling me it wasn't anything personal, but even two years later I still take it personally. It's difficult to accept that when you think its yourself. I mean, I know I did a lot of stupid things and failed to do a lot of wonderful things...how can I hide that from her reasoning? There's no disconnect, even if I have a huge disconnect in emotions towards other people. Even Nicole, I love her but I can't physically show it. It's almost like an idea. No matter how I feel I could never - well, I did kiss Nicole once, but it takes a lot to get my confidence to that level. I can never bring myself to physically show a girl I like them...too inconfident, too unsure of myself, too scared of rejection... Even after Papa Razzi, where I treated Nicole to an awesome dinner...those were the days...I wanted so bad to just hold her hand. But at the moment we were just chillin'. Emotions...I'll never get a hang of 'em.
So Katie, I don't love her, but if she wanted to be with me I might give her a chance. Weird how all that works. She was so beautiful...why me?
I'm pretty happy in life, but still not confident with people in general. I'm more of a Nietzschean SuperMan...I live life far beyond what most would do..not making a value judgment, only that people don't exactly push themselves too hard.
I do what I have to do to get by, and usually does not include people. Not women, usually not guys...no one. Money is a big issue, too. Without money its tough to be like "hey, lets do this." Unless it involves a bike or two.
So there's this female, she gets on my nerves. I come home from work, usually late anymore as I ride at night or apply to jobs, and stupid, pessimistic comments abound. I used to be that way - Yeah, when I hated life. Everything is nit picked, commented with an attitude, and generally makes me want to fucking get the fuck out of the area. I'll see something on tv or do something stupid and I'll make a lighthearted comment that suggests: "life sure throws you a laugh on occasion." Sure, I usually don't agree with it, but if you make it fun you don't get worked up about it. "Oh Hillary! have my babies!" Or the fat woman in a bikini on that movie I didn't pay attention to: "HEY! HEY! HEY!" Robin and Noah took me seriously, at first. I thought it was hilarious. I actually had to convince them I wasn't serious. I think they think I like fat women or something. And no, Nicole, this isn't even remotely directed at you. They probably think I'm in a relationship with her, too. I am...as a friend. Wooo-weeee! Whaooaaaah! "HEY! HEY! HEY!" That's about the best comment you can make towards anything. Sets a comfortable mood.
But this female, jesus. I don't care if the movie has all white people or if the advertisement includes all races and genders talking as if friends....first off, what can I do about it? Boycott the movie? Society moves slowly with change, but it will eventually change. You be the change...what the fuck. Pessimism sucks.
TV sucks, too. What's the point? I want to live. Even with no money I fare off better than most. "We've got it better than the best." ~$800 in 4-5 months. Not bad at all. And I'm a beast in the cycling scene.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Possible? In DC, anything is.
http://media.www.theeagleonline.com/media/storage/paper666/news/2007/03/26/News/D.c-Literacy.Below.National.Average.Study.Says-2790826.shtml
170,000 people in the District live at the lowest literacy rate....about 150% higher than the national average. Even the national average is around 21-23%...how?
Read this about Teach for America in SE DC, Anacostia....excellent writer, by the way.
http://www.city-journal.org/html/13_1_how_i_joined.html
The kids have major behavioral problems, the parents blame the teacher and school system, and the administrators don't give the teachers any headway in discipline and control.
I may look into becoming a teacher....that'd be a good job. Stressful, but rewarding and fulfilling, at least to some degree - if I don't get sued!
Watch the Wire, Season Four. Good representation of teaching to the standardized test....happens everywhere where administrators are concerned about their paychecks rather than the children's education.
On a side note, http://nces.ed.gov/timss/ states Singapore and Korea are the brightest countries in science and math. Singapore has like 100% literacy rate last time I checked (few years ago)...
Best quote from a sophomore (not sure if college or HS, looks like college) for the reasoning behind the lack of education: "There is also a large immigrant population in the city who probably can't speak much English."
From my time teaching immigrants they were well-versed in education. It's possible many don't care, especially teenagers caught in the game of self-identity and fitting in, but I find that quote difficult to believe on a widespread scale.
Cycling for the win. Tyson's in less than a week - bring it Cat 3's...you're gonna hurt. Ephrata with the fam in four weeks....bring it, bring it!
Sean Ross
170,000 people in the District live at the lowest literacy rate....about 150% higher than the national average. Even the national average is around 21-23%...how?
Read this about Teach for America in SE DC, Anacostia....excellent writer, by the way.
http://www.city-journal.org/html/13_1_how_i_joined.html
The kids have major behavioral problems, the parents blame the teacher and school system, and the administrators don't give the teachers any headway in discipline and control.
I may look into becoming a teacher....that'd be a good job. Stressful, but rewarding and fulfilling, at least to some degree - if I don't get sued!
Watch the Wire, Season Four. Good representation of teaching to the standardized test....happens everywhere where administrators are concerned about their paychecks rather than the children's education.
On a side note, http://nces.ed.gov/timss/ states Singapore and Korea are the brightest countries in science and math. Singapore has like 100% literacy rate last time I checked (few years ago)...
Best quote from a sophomore (not sure if college or HS, looks like college) for the reasoning behind the lack of education: "There is also a large immigrant population in the city who probably can't speak much English."
From my time teaching immigrants they were well-versed in education. It's possible many don't care, especially teenagers caught in the game of self-identity and fitting in, but I find that quote difficult to believe on a widespread scale.
Cycling for the win. Tyson's in less than a week - bring it Cat 3's...you're gonna hurt. Ephrata with the fam in four weeks....bring it, bring it!
Sean Ross
Friday, March 21, 2008
More Cycling
Yesterday I headed out to Hains Point to ride the usual Thursday evening group ride. Work was exhausting me, CVS was pissing me off because they couldn't get my online photo order correct, so I decided to try a different CVS store to get my photos for Nicole's project (still have no idea what it is, but I had a good brainstorming session on the ride to work today - my 'cycle is my car!).
I arrive, the wind viciously greets me, and only two triathletes and one cyclist come by. Either this Route1 guy is off the front destroying the group, or there is no group because there's no one in sight. It's Mike Esmonde, Cat III bar winner for 2007, destroyer at Crystal City (both prime and finish - he racked up some sweet money and wheels)...such a small guy with fierce sprinting power.
He suggested a hill workout in north Arlington. We're off. He's an enjoyable fellow, quite amusing. My face was cold with snot constantly flowing my from nose so I had difficulties talking. He said he could hear me fine....I was using a lot of effort and I thought I still sounded mumbled. So we get to the Custis trail and he's like "this is my top speed." Slow! What's wrong Mike? You weigh less than me and have power, I know you can use it. I effectively dropped him up that short hill, where he found me amusing as a "junior rider." I'm not even sure what he meant: either I was all over the place or using too much energy or scaring the trail-runners...I wasn't sure what he meant. We ride all over, Military Rd, some other parts of the Italian Store ride, where he stays with me up all of them. I tried to drop him a few times since his "top" speed was slow, but he pulled out the engine room.
Mike E. has cornering and technical cycling down to perfection. He thinks I suck at cornering, which I do, but my back wheel sucks (wobbles) and my bike is probably too short in length, so I have doubts about certain technical cornering.
This weekend I'm going to be lazy and relax for most of the weekend. I hate staying inside, but I'll be forced to after this week. Tonight's cycling instruction is going to eat the little energy I have, though with the new heart rate monitors I'll be able to engage the participants more in their personalized training. Should be excited for the first little bit. Still, I'd rather not go. I hear my bed calling me....
This weekend is devoted to relaxing and working on a spiffy project for Nicole. It wasn't gonna be anything other than pictures of her and I, but after Monday I have other plans.
"Oh man, I can't believe I didn't finish that project."
"What project?"
"Well, I've been meaning to do it for a while now, but I'm lazy and procrastination got in the way."
"Ooooooooo!! Did you write me a poem?" Why do you do act all bubbly and try to get my emotions going for you? It used to work, but anymore I just want to have a good time with you. It hurts too much to catch that glimmer of hope. Frustration. If you like me just come out and tell me. But you're probably insecure about your appearance (utterly confusing!) and possibly like me with the fear of rejection, though you know I like you. if you let me down this time....but you won't.
"Oh, no. It was just a small little something. I was working on it before I left. Then I figured I'd finish it later and get it on the way to work. I mean, I was only going to Ben's to get my mail to do my taxes and then to Capitol Hill to get a back wheel from a teammate. You weren't in my plans tonight. But you called and here I am! In my cycling clothes looking like a twig, too!"
"Hehe."
"I'm waiting for it, too."
"Waiting for what?"
"Come on, you know you want to. Look at me."
"What?" She smiles.
"Laugh, let it out."
"Honestly, you look like a cyclist. For some reason I always thought you'd be in yellow even though you told me you wear blue. Now, if your uniform was yellow I'd laugh."
I'm torn. I miss this girl so much, haven't talked to her since then, and haven't felt this way about anyone ever. At the time I was putting on my gloves, hat, helmet, and mp3 player to go home. She was standing there.
"What are you waiting for?"
"For you to get ready."
But its cold out. You don't like the cold. This reminds me of Colonel Brooks when I swear, in the freezing cold, you stood on the corner in anticipation. Of a hug, of something. The pedestrian light changed to "walk" and I told you to have a good night and walked to the Metro. You looked disappointed as you started jogging home. I had no idea. We're friends. Then weeks later we had long discussions about how you didn't want to be with me.
So I called a few times since Monday and left messages. Her phone was turned off every time. Odd. It's never turned off.
"What if I was dying on the side of the road, Nicole?" And why do you say stupid stuff like that to me: "You don't care about me. What if I was lying somewhere dying?" Huh? Such insecurity infuriates me - I was sick of hearing her say she was fat, so I pulled out the charm, unconsciously, and made her cry in happiness - which makes me feel more for her.
My last girlfriend I wanted to be with her, and then after a bit I despised it and wanted time to myself. I'd go home for the weekends to make sure I had that time to myself. Then when I went back to college I had this immense desire to be with her.. After a bit she ended the relationship, even though that last weekend she should have been with me down in Memphis for 311 day. Either she didn't want to go or, if she was telling the truth, her mom wouldn't allow her.
Even last Fall Nicole'd randomly show up at my work and sometimes I felt like it was too much, but I was between a rock and a hard place because I cherished the moment because I knew it would soon end. And it did, and I couldn't bear it. God, just to hear her voice right now....
I arrive, the wind viciously greets me, and only two triathletes and one cyclist come by. Either this Route1 guy is off the front destroying the group, or there is no group because there's no one in sight. It's Mike Esmonde, Cat III bar winner for 2007, destroyer at Crystal City (both prime and finish - he racked up some sweet money and wheels)...such a small guy with fierce sprinting power.
He suggested a hill workout in north Arlington. We're off. He's an enjoyable fellow, quite amusing. My face was cold with snot constantly flowing my from nose so I had difficulties talking. He said he could hear me fine....I was using a lot of effort and I thought I still sounded mumbled. So we get to the Custis trail and he's like "this is my top speed." Slow! What's wrong Mike? You weigh less than me and have power, I know you can use it. I effectively dropped him up that short hill, where he found me amusing as a "junior rider." I'm not even sure what he meant: either I was all over the place or using too much energy or scaring the trail-runners...I wasn't sure what he meant. We ride all over, Military Rd, some other parts of the Italian Store ride, where he stays with me up all of them. I tried to drop him a few times since his "top" speed was slow, but he pulled out the engine room.
Mike E. has cornering and technical cycling down to perfection. He thinks I suck at cornering, which I do, but my back wheel sucks (wobbles) and my bike is probably too short in length, so I have doubts about certain technical cornering.
This weekend I'm going to be lazy and relax for most of the weekend. I hate staying inside, but I'll be forced to after this week. Tonight's cycling instruction is going to eat the little energy I have, though with the new heart rate monitors I'll be able to engage the participants more in their personalized training. Should be excited for the first little bit. Still, I'd rather not go. I hear my bed calling me....
This weekend is devoted to relaxing and working on a spiffy project for Nicole. It wasn't gonna be anything other than pictures of her and I, but after Monday I have other plans.
"Oh man, I can't believe I didn't finish that project."
"What project?"
"Well, I've been meaning to do it for a while now, but I'm lazy and procrastination got in the way."
"Ooooooooo!! Did you write me a poem?" Why do you do act all bubbly and try to get my emotions going for you? It used to work, but anymore I just want to have a good time with you. It hurts too much to catch that glimmer of hope. Frustration. If you like me just come out and tell me. But you're probably insecure about your appearance (utterly confusing!) and possibly like me with the fear of rejection, though you know I like you. if you let me down this time....but you won't.
"Oh, no. It was just a small little something. I was working on it before I left. Then I figured I'd finish it later and get it on the way to work. I mean, I was only going to Ben's to get my mail to do my taxes and then to Capitol Hill to get a back wheel from a teammate. You weren't in my plans tonight. But you called and here I am! In my cycling clothes looking like a twig, too!"
"Hehe."
"I'm waiting for it, too."
"Waiting for what?"
"Come on, you know you want to. Look at me."
"What?" She smiles.
"Laugh, let it out."
"Honestly, you look like a cyclist. For some reason I always thought you'd be in yellow even though you told me you wear blue. Now, if your uniform was yellow I'd laugh."
I'm torn. I miss this girl so much, haven't talked to her since then, and haven't felt this way about anyone ever. At the time I was putting on my gloves, hat, helmet, and mp3 player to go home. She was standing there.
"What are you waiting for?"
"For you to get ready."
But its cold out. You don't like the cold. This reminds me of Colonel Brooks when I swear, in the freezing cold, you stood on the corner in anticipation. Of a hug, of something. The pedestrian light changed to "walk" and I told you to have a good night and walked to the Metro. You looked disappointed as you started jogging home. I had no idea. We're friends. Then weeks later we had long discussions about how you didn't want to be with me.
So I called a few times since Monday and left messages. Her phone was turned off every time. Odd. It's never turned off.
"What if I was dying on the side of the road, Nicole?" And why do you say stupid stuff like that to me: "You don't care about me. What if I was lying somewhere dying?" Huh? Such insecurity infuriates me - I was sick of hearing her say she was fat, so I pulled out the charm, unconsciously, and made her cry in happiness - which makes me feel more for her.
My last girlfriend I wanted to be with her, and then after a bit I despised it and wanted time to myself. I'd go home for the weekends to make sure I had that time to myself. Then when I went back to college I had this immense desire to be with her.. After a bit she ended the relationship, even though that last weekend she should have been with me down in Memphis for 311 day. Either she didn't want to go or, if she was telling the truth, her mom wouldn't allow her.
Even last Fall Nicole'd randomly show up at my work and sometimes I felt like it was too much, but I was between a rock and a hard place because I cherished the moment because I knew it would soon end. And it did, and I couldn't bear it. God, just to hear her voice right now....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
