Shortly after I got my strip name the others in my class got theirs. This is the story of one such strip name.
I cannot remember his actual name but this is how he got the only name I remember him by.
We started fencing practice in the athletic club office. One day, the fencer came in asking a somewhat odd line of questions.
"Hey," he said, "does anyone use eBay?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Okay. I won an auction the other day and I didn't mean to. I got outbid and I didn't want to pay more than I had wanted to for something, so I started bidding to jack up the price so that the other guy would have to pay more. But, it turns out I ended up winning. So I didn't pay and they suspended my account. I was wondering how long it would be suspended."
"Well, what did they say when they suspended it?"
"They said they would suspend it indefinitely. How long do you think it would be before I can use it again?"
"Well, indefinitely."
"So, like after a day or so?"
"No, they said indefinitely."
"Oh, so like two days?"
"No, they said indefinitely. That means until they decide to reinstate it."
"Like a week or two, then?"
"..." At this point Carlos pointedly says, "Your name is eBay now."
And thus, eBay stuck. I wonder if he can use his account now.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Names 2
Fencers are a very odd sub-culture. One of the best things about it was the strip names.
I was told of the long standing tradition by Robby, whose name was Red (or Robot at one point). Santos, our club president in 2003 once ascribed a completely new name to a fencer, because the club already had too many people named Matt.
Carlos was my beginner's class instructor. During the second week, he gave me my strip name: the Discus Thrower.
We start practice with stretches. During one stretch I apparently assumed the position of an olde timey discus thrower.
I liked it. However, the following practice, Carlos changed my name. He said, "The Discus Thrower is too long. You are now The Olympian."
Booyah. Yup. That's a sobriquet I should use more often.
I was told of the long standing tradition by Robby, whose name was Red (or Robot at one point). Santos, our club president in 2003 once ascribed a completely new name to a fencer, because the club already had too many people named Matt.
Carlos was my beginner's class instructor. During the second week, he gave me my strip name: the Discus Thrower.
We start practice with stretches. During one stretch I apparently assumed the position of an olde timey discus thrower.
I liked it. However, the following practice, Carlos changed my name. He said, "The Discus Thrower is too long. You are now The Olympian."
Booyah. Yup. That's a sobriquet I should use more often.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Names
Of my four names, I got to pick one.
I did chose my pseudonym, though. It was 1998, and shortly after I saw Saving Private Ryan in the fancy theater in Delaware, and I was playing WWF Warzone with my friends. We created wrestlers so we could fight each other without having to fight each other.
My wrestler was a fearsome sight: a clown. He was a bit of a badass clown, but still the most fear-inspiring monster on earth.
His first name was easy: Willem. His stage name? "Clown Fixer." The last name? Ah, there was the rub. I went with Nomandy, like the town, but no. Nomandy. I really liked the ring to it. It was also easy to get to Nomad from there. I was on to something.
Thus the first part of my pseudonym was in place.
Santo's easier. Santo was my brother's nickname, since everyone liked him and he was a saint.
I still sign my compositions with Nomandy Santo.
My strip name was awesome. Maybe I should start going by that more often.
I did chose my pseudonym, though. It was 1998, and shortly after I saw Saving Private Ryan in the fancy theater in Delaware, and I was playing WWF Warzone with my friends. We created wrestlers so we could fight each other without having to fight each other.
My wrestler was a fearsome sight: a clown. He was a bit of a badass clown, but still the most fear-inspiring monster on earth.
His first name was easy: Willem. His stage name? "Clown Fixer." The last name? Ah, there was the rub. I went with Nomandy, like the town, but no. Nomandy. I really liked the ring to it. It was also easy to get to Nomad from there. I was on to something.
Thus the first part of my pseudonym was in place.
Santo's easier. Santo was my brother's nickname, since everyone liked him and he was a saint.
I still sign my compositions with Nomandy Santo.
My strip name was awesome. Maybe I should start going by that more often.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Doom 2
It was, of all things, a First Person Shooter that started me on a path of programming. This would be bolstered, of all things. by a Real Time Strategy game, some time later.
Around 1998, there was a computer and software show that stopped at our local mall. We had gone by chance to the mall and found the vendors there. They were lined up in front of the stores. Applications, programs, graphics, designs, etc, amongst other things, were available for sale on floppy diskette or compact disc.
I remember buying three things in particular: a disk with DOOM stuff and two CDs of DOOM II stuff.
One of the CDs had an editing program for DOOM II, with which many mods on the disc were made. The mods varied greatly in quality, but brought a lot of options for playing Doom II again and again.
Using the editor, I decided to make my own changes. I wanted no reload speeds and for all weapons to be fully automatic. This took a little tinkering and I found out that to do so, I just needed to skip frames in the animations. Easy enough. Of course, I found out that if you skip the wrong frames in the animations, you hard lock your computer. A lot.
I recall that one thing I was proud of was that I got the rocket launcher to shoot out the enemy type Lost Souls who burst into evil fire for massive amounts of damage.
Thus the first steps were taken.
Around 1998, there was a computer and software show that stopped at our local mall. We had gone by chance to the mall and found the vendors there. They were lined up in front of the stores. Applications, programs, graphics, designs, etc, amongst other things, were available for sale on floppy diskette or compact disc.
I remember buying three things in particular: a disk with DOOM stuff and two CDs of DOOM II stuff.
One of the CDs had an editing program for DOOM II, with which many mods on the disc were made. The mods varied greatly in quality, but brought a lot of options for playing Doom II again and again.
Using the editor, I decided to make my own changes. I wanted no reload speeds and for all weapons to be fully automatic. This took a little tinkering and I found out that to do so, I just needed to skip frames in the animations. Easy enough. Of course, I found out that if you skip the wrong frames in the animations, you hard lock your computer. A lot.
I recall that one thing I was proud of was that I got the rocket launcher to shoot out the enemy type Lost Souls who burst into evil fire for massive amounts of damage.
Thus the first steps were taken.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
The Nightmare of Sleep
Falling asleep during hurricanes has its perks. Thus far, I've not fallen asleep driving, unlike Brandon, and haven't fallen asleep while eating at a dinner table, with his eyes open, like Lehman did one time.
However, in December of 2002, I did something pretty stupid.
I was studying for my Cal I final. The exam started at 1p. I stayed up cramming, trying to get derivatives straight and all of its related properties. I set my alarm for 12:30p. I lived on campus so I was only about 10 minutes from the classroom.
At some point I fell asleep in the morning at my desk. I woke up at 2:30p. The alarm had been sounding for 2 hours continuously, but it had no effect. I'm not sure what actually woke me up. My roommate wasn't around and no one was by my door.
When I realized the time, I grabbed a pen and started jogging to the classroom. I arrived, sweaty and out-of-breath and pleaded for a chance to take it. My professor seemed to consider it. He finally then handed me an exam. I did decently enough, at least.
Next time, more alarm clocks.
However, in December of 2002, I did something pretty stupid.
I was studying for my Cal I final. The exam started at 1p. I stayed up cramming, trying to get derivatives straight and all of its related properties. I set my alarm for 12:30p. I lived on campus so I was only about 10 minutes from the classroom.
At some point I fell asleep in the morning at my desk. I woke up at 2:30p. The alarm had been sounding for 2 hours continuously, but it had no effect. I'm not sure what actually woke me up. My roommate wasn't around and no one was by my door.
When I realized the time, I grabbed a pen and started jogging to the classroom. I arrived, sweaty and out-of-breath and pleaded for a chance to take it. My professor seemed to consider it. He finally then handed me an exam. I did decently enough, at least.
Next time, more alarm clocks.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
The Joy of Sleep
While I've mentioned insomnia before, I occasionally have the opposite condition. This is handy for some reasons and not so handy on others.
This brief memory is a handy occasion.
September 2008, the Dread Hurricane Ike struck. It made Texas its mare for awhile. We originally didn't plan to evacuate when the storm was downgraded in its predictions to hit as a category 2. We ended up evacuating in the end, up to Houston, to stay with my brother. My sister-in-law's family did the same thing. So, we were sitting cozy, 3 cats, 1 dog, 8 people in a Houston townhouse.
My brother and I theorized as we watched TV and movies and drank gin. I hadn't slept the night before the evac, as I had been eying the storm details up until the last possible minute.
We were anxious. We didn't really know how bad it was going to be and how our house would look afterward, let alone the affected areas of the state.
Then, the storm hit. First the power went. We were staying in the upstairs guest room that faced the other buildings. A branch came through the window with furious anger and broke it. This and the horrible howl of the wind made everyone rush to the room to observe nature in its fury.
Or so I'm told. I was asleep through all of this. I awoke, uncomfortable, to find that the storm that was billed as one of the worst in human history didn't overly affect my immediate surroundings. We took a drive to see what there was left to see in the city of Houston.
It was bad. We heard radio reports of how awful the storm was and how much damage was estimated.
Apparently, I was one of the few to sleep the night the storm hit. For that, I'm thankful.
This brief memory is a handy occasion.
September 2008, the Dread Hurricane Ike struck. It made Texas its mare for awhile. We originally didn't plan to evacuate when the storm was downgraded in its predictions to hit as a category 2. We ended up evacuating in the end, up to Houston, to stay with my brother. My sister-in-law's family did the same thing. So, we were sitting cozy, 3 cats, 1 dog, 8 people in a Houston townhouse.
My brother and I theorized as we watched TV and movies and drank gin. I hadn't slept the night before the evac, as I had been eying the storm details up until the last possible minute.
We were anxious. We didn't really know how bad it was going to be and how our house would look afterward, let alone the affected areas of the state.
Then, the storm hit. First the power went. We were staying in the upstairs guest room that faced the other buildings. A branch came through the window with furious anger and broke it. This and the horrible howl of the wind made everyone rush to the room to observe nature in its fury.
Or so I'm told. I was asleep through all of this. I awoke, uncomfortable, to find that the storm that was billed as one of the worst in human history didn't overly affect my immediate surroundings. We took a drive to see what there was left to see in the city of Houston.
It was bad. We heard radio reports of how awful the storm was and how much damage was estimated.
Apparently, I was one of the few to sleep the night the storm hit. For that, I'm thankful.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Movie Bet
2002, Sentell and I were enjoying my lunch one day in high school. We were talking about movies, which was appropriate in preparation for our 5th period class: Analysis of Visual Media (read: Film History).
Lunch discussion has topics ranging from things like me saying, "Hey, give me back my food," to things like Sentell, "The Bible is pro-Satan," with requisite faulty reasoning, to things like bad movies. We were talking about Mortal Kombat: The Movie. That led invariably to discussion of Mortal Kombat: The Unnecessary Sequel.
What it boiled down to was that he thought Christopher Lambert was in both movies as Raiden. I knew this was not the case. He was sure of his side, I sure of mine. So, we made a bet. I think the bet was for all the loose change we managed to scrounge up: $0.79.
We walked purposefully into 5th period and asked the teacher, "Was Christopher Lambert in both Mortal Kombat movies?" He thought about it and answered in the negative. Sentell handed over the change and said, "Huh. I thought he was."
That pretty much set the tone for other stupid bets to make: all for silly things and all for trivial amounts of money.
Lunch discussion has topics ranging from things like me saying, "Hey, give me back my food," to things like Sentell, "The Bible is pro-Satan," with requisite faulty reasoning, to things like bad movies. We were talking about Mortal Kombat: The Movie. That led invariably to discussion of Mortal Kombat: The Unnecessary Sequel.
What it boiled down to was that he thought Christopher Lambert was in both movies as Raiden. I knew this was not the case. He was sure of his side, I sure of mine. So, we made a bet. I think the bet was for all the loose change we managed to scrounge up: $0.79.
We walked purposefully into 5th period and asked the teacher, "Was Christopher Lambert in both Mortal Kombat movies?" He thought about it and answered in the negative. Sentell handed over the change and said, "Huh. I thought he was."
That pretty much set the tone for other stupid bets to make: all for silly things and all for trivial amounts of money.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The Lehman APC
I didn't start driving until I was 18. I don't typically like driving; when someone else could do it then it's for the best. At times, I'm not the safest driver. Other times, I intentionally make mistakes to make my passengers think I'm not a safe driver.
Anyway, in high school, in order to do stuff, we needed a driver to get to places. In my sphere, we had two drivers: Hai, twin brother of my then best friend, and Lehman, an overall good egg. Hai drove the Twinmobile. Lehman, however, manned the APC.
Lehman was not the safest driver, either. I've personally been involved in 3 motor vehicle incidents with him at the wheel.
Lehman, when he could drive, would always seem willing to do so. This was handy when we needed a lift to the pool hall or to the movies. Lehman would get us places and we'd have a good time doing things friends do.
Lehman would drive us in an old Chevy Astro van. This van was a formidable opponent. It was a bit run down, but we were interested in a vehicle that'd get us to the place in two or fewer pieces. That's not to say that the Chevy Astro van was a deathtrap. When there was vehicular damage, its occupants would emerge unscathed. The same could not be said of the van. But it held together. Thus it earned the moniker of the Armored Personnel Carrier.
It was a mighty fine APC. It survived its many missions with limited casualities. It earned the Silver Star of Santo and the Distinguished Vehicle Wrench. It was eventually decomissioned and while efforts were made to preserve it as a museum, these plans were not realized. Its memory, like that of the USS Enterprise (WWII), is better honored without reducing the great vessel into an empty shell.
The APC lives on, as part of all of us... and part of that trailer it embedded itself into that one night.
Anyway, in high school, in order to do stuff, we needed a driver to get to places. In my sphere, we had two drivers: Hai, twin brother of my then best friend, and Lehman, an overall good egg. Hai drove the Twinmobile. Lehman, however, manned the APC.
Lehman was not the safest driver, either. I've personally been involved in 3 motor vehicle incidents with him at the wheel.
Lehman, when he could drive, would always seem willing to do so. This was handy when we needed a lift to the pool hall or to the movies. Lehman would get us places and we'd have a good time doing things friends do.
Lehman would drive us in an old Chevy Astro van. This van was a formidable opponent. It was a bit run down, but we were interested in a vehicle that'd get us to the place in two or fewer pieces. That's not to say that the Chevy Astro van was a deathtrap. When there was vehicular damage, its occupants would emerge unscathed. The same could not be said of the van. But it held together. Thus it earned the moniker of the Armored Personnel Carrier.
It was a mighty fine APC. It survived its many missions with limited casualities. It earned the Silver Star of Santo and the Distinguished Vehicle Wrench. It was eventually decomissioned and while efforts were made to preserve it as a museum, these plans were not realized. Its memory, like that of the USS Enterprise (WWII), is better honored without reducing the great vessel into an empty shell.
The APC lives on, as part of all of us... and part of that trailer it embedded itself into that one night.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
A Place to Sit
To beat a dead horse: eating is a social experience. This was a conundrum when I didn't know anyone my first day of school in Texas.
2000. Lunch time came around and I shuffled into the cafeteria. Since I started after the beginning of school, I missed my chance to carve out my niche. Sure, I was the new guy, but I was at least an upperclassman.
I was trying to find a vacant spot when some band people I vaguely recognized called me over and asked me if I needed a place to sit. Well, I did. For that trimester, I always had a table from that point on.
It was a pretty good arrangement too. I always brought a lunch, so I was able to hold the table and secure chairs for the overcrowded eatery. In turn, I didn't eat alone.
Simpler times.
2000. Lunch time came around and I shuffled into the cafeteria. Since I started after the beginning of school, I missed my chance to carve out my niche. Sure, I was the new guy, but I was at least an upperclassman.
I was trying to find a vacant spot when some band people I vaguely recognized called me over and asked me if I needed a place to sit. Well, I did. For that trimester, I always had a table from that point on.
It was a pretty good arrangement too. I always brought a lunch, so I was able to hold the table and secure chairs for the overcrowded eatery. In turn, I didn't eat alone.
Simpler times.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Ceiling
There are a great many differences between Texas and Pennsylvania. Today, I'll focus on just one aspect.
2000.
Texas is far away from Pennsylvania, geographically and architecturally. This is to be expected, but then again, it's a different matter when you're used to one and then here's the other.
I was walking through the Baybrook Mall. Malls are generally the same, pretty much everywhere, I'd imagine. The remarkable thing to me was the size of it. Not the building, per se, but it was the ceilings that got me. The ceiling was as tall as the large two story mall's back at Pennsylvania.
It made sense. Hot air rises. Texas is 13.7 times hotter than human life can be sustained (in August). It's simple math, really.
The grandeur of tall ceilings when I first moved here gradually was replaced by familarness and even expectation.
I decided then and there that I would like to rekindle that grandeur in my summer palace, should I ever build one. Its walls would blot out the sun for surrounding towns for my one story palace.
2000.
Texas is far away from Pennsylvania, geographically and architecturally. This is to be expected, but then again, it's a different matter when you're used to one and then here's the other.
I was walking through the Baybrook Mall. Malls are generally the same, pretty much everywhere, I'd imagine. The remarkable thing to me was the size of it. Not the building, per se, but it was the ceilings that got me. The ceiling was as tall as the large two story mall's back at Pennsylvania.
It made sense. Hot air rises. Texas is 13.7 times hotter than human life can be sustained (in August). It's simple math, really.
The grandeur of tall ceilings when I first moved here gradually was replaced by familarness and even expectation.
I decided then and there that I would like to rekindle that grandeur in my summer palace, should I ever build one. Its walls would blot out the sun for surrounding towns for my one story palace.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Cowboy Bebop
Cowboy Bebop was an awesome show. It lasted only one season because that's where the story ended. The story followed Spike Speigel, his bounty hunter partner Jet Black, a hired hand Faye Valentine, and a kid named Ed, oh and a superdog named Ein. Spike left a crime syndicate by faking his death. He had hoped to leave with his love, Julia, his former crime syndicate associate's girlfriend.
Dense, neh? Every session was named after some song or musical concept. I started watching it in 2001. Cartoon Network would show Cowboy Bebop part of its Adult Swim lineup.
Anime is not usually my thing, but this show resonated to me. In the first movie my friends and I made we even had a scene that was in there solely as a homage to the show.
Looking back, I'm glad to have only gone as far as I have into anime. And I'm glad I didn't get that far into it. Spike and Julia, my cats, agree.
Dense, neh? Every session was named after some song or musical concept. I started watching it in 2001. Cartoon Network would show Cowboy Bebop part of its Adult Swim lineup.
Anime is not usually my thing, but this show resonated to me. In the first movie my friends and I made we even had a scene that was in there solely as a homage to the show.
Looking back, I'm glad to have only gone as far as I have into anime. And I'm glad I didn't get that far into it. Spike and Julia, my cats, agree.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
A Cat Always Lands Precisely Where He Means To
In the olden days, in our house in Folcroft, we had a very formal living room. The living room had fanciful furniture and our entertainment center. We had the sofa facing the entertainment center with the love seat 90 degrees to next to it. Across from the sofa was a single chair with a footrest.
One day, a year during which I was still in grade school, we were watching TV together. Our cat Skinny was with us as well. He wanted to jump onto the footstool and have a seat to join the family. So, he went through the normal motions. He tensed up, shook his tail in preparation, and then made the leap. The leap took him soaring into the air and right past the footstool. We saw him and we laughed.
Cats have a very large sense of ego. Cats were once worshiped as gods, after all. Suffice it to say, cats don't like to be laughed at. Skinny looked up at us. He then began to stretch out, as if to say, "I meant to do that, dammit." He then walked up the stairs to leave us mere mortals below him.
One day, a year during which I was still in grade school, we were watching TV together. Our cat Skinny was with us as well. He wanted to jump onto the footstool and have a seat to join the family. So, he went through the normal motions. He tensed up, shook his tail in preparation, and then made the leap. The leap took him soaring into the air and right past the footstool. We saw him and we laughed.
Cats have a very large sense of ego. Cats were once worshiped as gods, after all. Suffice it to say, cats don't like to be laughed at. Skinny looked up at us. He then began to stretch out, as if to say, "I meant to do that, dammit." He then walked up the stairs to leave us mere mortals below him.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
The Water's Gonna Rise
Sentell and I had known each other for awhile before we actually became friends. He and I were pretty much that guy over there to each other for awhile for junior year. Actually, he was that guy who was bleeding from his face after his car accident to me, during junior year.
2001.
Sentell and I were both in Music Theory in our senior year. Music Theory at this level consisted of a lot of things we already knew since we'd been in band so long and some things that were kinda neat. It also gave us a chance to hang out with our band friends for a class period a day under the guise of learning. The assistant band director taught the class and it was a lot more laid back than a standard band practice. He used a lot of candid life examples to stress points in this setting.
That being said, we also had more time to chat. One day, during a horrible rain storm, with flooding as we are prone to, we were comparing stories. Jakubis went into a long example of how his car got flooded in the last great flood. He drew diagrams and all.
Sentell turned to me afterward and said, "As I was floating down 517 this morning, I thought to myself ..." I cannot remember what he said after, but he had started saying it when I realized what he said to start his story.
2001.
Sentell and I were both in Music Theory in our senior year. Music Theory at this level consisted of a lot of things we already knew since we'd been in band so long and some things that were kinda neat. It also gave us a chance to hang out with our band friends for a class period a day under the guise of learning. The assistant band director taught the class and it was a lot more laid back than a standard band practice. He used a lot of candid life examples to stress points in this setting.
That being said, we also had more time to chat. One day, during a horrible rain storm, with flooding as we are prone to, we were comparing stories. Jakubis went into a long example of how his car got flooded in the last great flood. He drew diagrams and all.
Sentell turned to me afterward and said, "As I was floating down 517 this morning, I thought to myself ..." I cannot remember what he said after, but he had started saying it when I realized what he said to start his story.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Factors Part 2
I've said before that my Algebra II class was just a less difficult, slower paced version of my Algebra class, with a less excellent teacher.
Third trimester, 2001.
When we got to factoring, I barely suppressed a chuckle at having to go over this yet again. When the work came, I easily blew passed it, leaving everyone far behind. This was good since this lead to me having free time during class as the rest of the lot struggled. After a little while, the brighter ones picked up on how to do it easily. I was happy for them, really. This meant that I had people to play cards with. The correlation between mathematical ability and being in band held up, as my new found card buddies were mostly band members as well.
I was in the middle of proving my utter dominance in 13, when I was approached by a classmate, asking me for help on how to factor. Helping someone is a mixed bag, for me. One, I like that people ask me for help because that means they need my help. Two, it means that I need to stop what I'm doing and help them.
I looked over the girl in question. She had dyed blond hair, was very fit, and attractive. She knew it, too. I made up my mind of how to respond when I looked at her paper, mentally solved the problem she had been working on, compared the answer to her work, and found it to be a better use of my time to return to my card game.
They say that first impression is what sticks with people. They're wrong. I didn't give the girl another thought and when I finally did, it wasn't that impression I went back to. Sure, I used it to write her off, and she the same for me, I'm sure. But things change.
Things change. I never taught her how to factor. She later claimed that she still didn't quite get how to factor because I never taught her. I doubt that's true, but still....
Looking back on it, I still wouldn't have helped her, to have it to do over again. That way she would still be that girl in my dumb Algebra class that I didn't talk to. She would still give me another shot to make get to know her. She would still be the one that gave me a ride home now and again. She would still ask me if I shaved my hands. She'd still make me feel horrible about relationships for a long time to come that way.
If I did help her, I can't help but feel that all that would have happened but only worse. I was angry then, got angrier because of her (not just her specifically, but a very important factor). If I started on the niceties earlier on, perhaps I would have been more loath to engage in similar behavior later on. Either way, factoring helped lead to my life now.
7x^2+2x-5 is (7x-5)(x+1).
Third trimester, 2001.
When we got to factoring, I barely suppressed a chuckle at having to go over this yet again. When the work came, I easily blew passed it, leaving everyone far behind. This was good since this lead to me having free time during class as the rest of the lot struggled. After a little while, the brighter ones picked up on how to do it easily. I was happy for them, really. This meant that I had people to play cards with. The correlation between mathematical ability and being in band held up, as my new found card buddies were mostly band members as well.
I was in the middle of proving my utter dominance in 13, when I was approached by a classmate, asking me for help on how to factor. Helping someone is a mixed bag, for me. One, I like that people ask me for help because that means they need my help. Two, it means that I need to stop what I'm doing and help them.
I looked over the girl in question. She had dyed blond hair, was very fit, and attractive. She knew it, too. I made up my mind of how to respond when I looked at her paper, mentally solved the problem she had been working on, compared the answer to her work, and found it to be a better use of my time to return to my card game.
They say that first impression is what sticks with people. They're wrong. I didn't give the girl another thought and when I finally did, it wasn't that impression I went back to. Sure, I used it to write her off, and she the same for me, I'm sure. But things change.
Things change. I never taught her how to factor. She later claimed that she still didn't quite get how to factor because I never taught her. I doubt that's true, but still....
Looking back on it, I still wouldn't have helped her, to have it to do over again. That way she would still be that girl in my dumb Algebra class that I didn't talk to. She would still give me another shot to make get to know her. She would still be the one that gave me a ride home now and again. She would still ask me if I shaved my hands. She'd still make me feel horrible about relationships for a long time to come that way.
If I did help her, I can't help but feel that all that would have happened but only worse. I was angry then, got angrier because of her (not just her specifically, but a very important factor). If I started on the niceties earlier on, perhaps I would have been more loath to engage in similar behavior later on. Either way, factoring helped lead to my life now.
7x^2+2x-5 is (7x-5)(x+1).
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Factors
I'm good at math. I'm the resident matheologist in the group as long the math remains math instead of becoming squiggles.
In 9th grade I was in Algebra I. This Algebra I class was for the advanced freshmen who were also in the advanced chemistry class. We would go from the Algebra I class taught by Mr. Celadonio, a very excellent teacher who had many, many years of experience, and Father Ferrence, another teacher who was an excellent teacher with many, many years of experience. They were possibly the oldest teachers on campus, but they were possibly the best as well.
This Algebra I class was difficult but also extremely engaging. We had a lot of demands on us, and to even pass the course, we had to factor 10 problems in 2 minutes, just 12 seconds a problem. So, when I see 3x^2-7x+2, I quickly see (3x-1)(x-2). This proved to be quite helpful in other facets of math and led to a fateful encounter later on.
In 9th grade I was in Algebra I. This Algebra I class was for the advanced freshmen who were also in the advanced chemistry class. We would go from the Algebra I class taught by Mr. Celadonio, a very excellent teacher who had many, many years of experience, and Father Ferrence, another teacher who was an excellent teacher with many, many years of experience. They were possibly the oldest teachers on campus, but they were possibly the best as well.
This Algebra I class was difficult but also extremely engaging. We had a lot of demands on us, and to even pass the course, we had to factor 10 problems in 2 minutes, just 12 seconds a problem. So, when I see 3x^2-7x+2, I quickly see (3x-1)(x-2). This proved to be quite helpful in other facets of math and led to a fateful encounter later on.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
The Spirit of Houston Cougar Marching Band: Gala
2004.
Gala night for the band was supposed to be a big to-do. Our band director had huge plans for gala night. He also had big plans for the money gala night would bring in. He was like that, but very, very good at what he did.
The marching band as a whole only had one thing to do, just one song if memory serves. This meant we would have to sit through the entire thing until we did that one damn thing. Such is the life of a marching band member: hurry up and wait.
We had a very long practice for that one thing. We had to sit and wait and sit and wait and then do something, then wait. It was frustrating.
We had a break and Robby, Channing, and Candi went to eat. We went to the McDonald's by campus, chatting and having a good time, a very nice change of pace. After we were stuffed, I uncharacteristically said, "Let's not go back."
I was the guy who was always on-time. Not just on-time, but band on-time. You see, if you're on-time, you're late. If you're early, you're on time. I just didn't feel I had anything left in me and I wanted to quit. And I finally let myself voice it.
Candi called me on it. "What? You're the guy who's always ..." blah blah blah. Yeah, I was that guy. I quickly retracted my statement and got up, ready to head back for more punishment at the Moores School of Music for the remainder of the gala rehearsal.
We got back to the rehearsal and an elite cadre of the band, some of the Haves, got up to perform in an instrumental performance that really helped the lot of us not mutiny. They put on a heavily choreographed and impeccably performed rendition of Santa Esmeralda's "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood." I know it wasn't written by them, but the performance more closely matched that version.
I found one of the performers afterward and thanked him. It was one of the finest demonstrations of musicianship I had ever and thus seen.
Gala night for the band was supposed to be a big to-do. Our band director had huge plans for gala night. He also had big plans for the money gala night would bring in. He was like that, but very, very good at what he did.
The marching band as a whole only had one thing to do, just one song if memory serves. This meant we would have to sit through the entire thing until we did that one damn thing. Such is the life of a marching band member: hurry up and wait.
We had a very long practice for that one thing. We had to sit and wait and sit and wait and then do something, then wait. It was frustrating.
We had a break and Robby, Channing, and Candi went to eat. We went to the McDonald's by campus, chatting and having a good time, a very nice change of pace. After we were stuffed, I uncharacteristically said, "Let's not go back."
I was the guy who was always on-time. Not just on-time, but band on-time. You see, if you're on-time, you're late. If you're early, you're on time. I just didn't feel I had anything left in me and I wanted to quit. And I finally let myself voice it.
Candi called me on it. "What? You're the guy who's always ..." blah blah blah. Yeah, I was that guy. I quickly retracted my statement and got up, ready to head back for more punishment at the Moores School of Music for the remainder of the gala rehearsal.
We got back to the rehearsal and an elite cadre of the band, some of the Haves, got up to perform in an instrumental performance that really helped the lot of us not mutiny. They put on a heavily choreographed and impeccably performed rendition of Santa Esmeralda's "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood." I know it wasn't written by them, but the performance more closely matched that version.
I found one of the performers afterward and thanked him. It was one of the finest demonstrations of musicianship I had ever and thus seen.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
RISK
I am a fan of RISK. Not risk management, not taking risk, but the boardgame.
RISK is a great game that requires immense skill in strategy, diplomacy, and dice rolling. Any good RISK player is good at rolling sixes. (Likewise, bad D&D players are good at rolling 1's.)
2004, not a bad year. So one night, it was around February, I played a very great game of RISK.
I was playing with Robby and Brandon and some other guy. Robby and I had to wake up early to go march in the Rodeo Parade the following morning, but we decided to hang out into late morning. We broke out the RISK board and started playing.
As is par for the course, I had set up my headquarters in Southern Europe and quickly consolidated the surrounding area. A few turns in, I entered into a non-aggression pact with Brandon, to expire in about 20 turns. Around the 12th turn, he attacked me. I was far from shocked; not that I was expecting the non-aggression pact to last, either. Attacking me was the right move. I was growing too powerful and I would soon smother Robby's forces and inevitably turn on Brandon.
He started his preemptive strike after he turned in a RISK set. He had a large force assembled and began attacking. He blew through an unimportant pigeon (a country with only one solider on it) and started onto the next, more important territory. I had about 4 forces stationed there, as it was on the border of my European stronghold. The first three bouts, we both lost one unit apiece. Then, the universe righted itself and Brandon's luck turned. The next 37 turns, my sole defender prevailed. I rolled a lot of 6's, and Brandon a lot of 1's.
When that last man finally fell, Brandon had lost too many forces to really continue the battle. I was sure to have a memorial plaque in that one guy's honor, so that his family can pay to come visit in my palace.
The following turn, I turned in my own risk set and defeated Brandon. I received his remaining RISK cards when he was conquered, and then immediately turned them in to receive additional reinforcements necessary to crush Robby.
So, all in all, I won the game and felt good about that. Robby and I also didn't sleep before the parade. So, I marched 2 and 1/4 miles without sleep. That I didn't feel so good about.
The important part, though, was winning the RISK game.
RISK is a great game that requires immense skill in strategy, diplomacy, and dice rolling. Any good RISK player is good at rolling sixes. (Likewise, bad D&D players are good at rolling 1's.)
2004, not a bad year. So one night, it was around February, I played a very great game of RISK.
I was playing with Robby and Brandon and some other guy. Robby and I had to wake up early to go march in the Rodeo Parade the following morning, but we decided to hang out into late morning. We broke out the RISK board and started playing.
As is par for the course, I had set up my headquarters in Southern Europe and quickly consolidated the surrounding area. A few turns in, I entered into a non-aggression pact with Brandon, to expire in about 20 turns. Around the 12th turn, he attacked me. I was far from shocked; not that I was expecting the non-aggression pact to last, either. Attacking me was the right move. I was growing too powerful and I would soon smother Robby's forces and inevitably turn on Brandon.
He started his preemptive strike after he turned in a RISK set. He had a large force assembled and began attacking. He blew through an unimportant pigeon (a country with only one solider on it) and started onto the next, more important territory. I had about 4 forces stationed there, as it was on the border of my European stronghold. The first three bouts, we both lost one unit apiece. Then, the universe righted itself and Brandon's luck turned. The next 37 turns, my sole defender prevailed. I rolled a lot of 6's, and Brandon a lot of 1's.
When that last man finally fell, Brandon had lost too many forces to really continue the battle. I was sure to have a memorial plaque in that one guy's honor, so that his family can pay to come visit in my palace.
The following turn, I turned in my own risk set and defeated Brandon. I received his remaining RISK cards when he was conquered, and then immediately turned them in to receive additional reinforcements necessary to crush Robby.
So, all in all, I won the game and felt good about that. Robby and I also didn't sleep before the parade. So, I marched 2 and 1/4 miles without sleep. That I didn't feel so good about.
The important part, though, was winning the RISK game.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Mustachio
I can't really grow a mustache. Try and try as I might, it's not so much on the happening side. Alas. My beard, though, grows in quickly, wildly, and sometimes multi-colored.
In high school, the dress code forced us to be clean shaven. We were permitted a well-groomed mustache, however. Seeing as I had to start shaving when I was 13, and cannot grow a mustache, this was a bit annoying.
2001.
I didn't show up to school always clean shaven, but not with a bunch of facial hair. Kinda like a light coating. The girl I had liked at the time was Cameron, the en-reddened gymnast, the one I got a stick thrown at me for.
I looked less like a bum when I shaved, so I suppose it was because of that Cameron liked it when I shaved. So, one day, I made a point of shaving in the morning and telling Cameron. She liked it. I hadn't bothered shaving the few whiskers that grew above my lip, so she quickly pointed them out.
Defensively, I asked, "Do you know how hard it is to shave there?"
"As a matter-of-fact yes, I do."
"... what?"
She then explained to me that when she was little, she would watch her father shave. One day her dad gave her shaving cream and a razor without a blade and she "shaved." I thought it was a cute story.
I still hardly ever shave my mustache. It's still a pain and I still hardly grow any hair there. C'est la vie.
In high school, the dress code forced us to be clean shaven. We were permitted a well-groomed mustache, however. Seeing as I had to start shaving when I was 13, and cannot grow a mustache, this was a bit annoying.
2001.
I didn't show up to school always clean shaven, but not with a bunch of facial hair. Kinda like a light coating. The girl I had liked at the time was Cameron, the en-reddened gymnast, the one I got a stick thrown at me for.
I looked less like a bum when I shaved, so I suppose it was because of that Cameron liked it when I shaved. So, one day, I made a point of shaving in the morning and telling Cameron. She liked it. I hadn't bothered shaving the few whiskers that grew above my lip, so she quickly pointed them out.
Defensively, I asked, "Do you know how hard it is to shave there?"
"As a matter-of-fact yes, I do."
"... what?"
She then explained to me that when she was little, she would watch her father shave. One day her dad gave her shaving cream and a razor without a blade and she "shaved." I thought it was a cute story.
I still hardly ever shave my mustache. It's still a pain and I still hardly grow any hair there. C'est la vie.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Chicken Cheesesteak Shot
I am not a gambling man. In a poker game, I can usually clean up, given a fair deck and long enough to read people. When it comes to the ponies, craps, or all that jazz, what's the point?
I learned this lesson early on.
In the 90s, I liked ordering food from the local pizza joints. We had two really good places just a few blocks from the house: Folcroft Pizza and Italian Style. A favored after school activity was playing basketball. For awhile we had a basktball poll behind the house. Then my neighbor did.
In 7th grade Bob was over. We went outside to play some basketball. I'm less sure of the buildup to this, but I'm sure we at least played Horse. Then, after making a few difficult distance shots, he set up to attempt a shot from two houses over. Well, after some bravado from both sides, he said that he bet me a chicken cheesesteak from Italian Style that he could make it.
What were the odds, neh?
We ordered food. Bob really enjoyed that free cheesesteak. Afterward we dubbed the spot of the shot the dreaded chicken cheesesteak shot. Bob had the best shooting average from that spot, by a longshot.
I learned this lesson early on.
In the 90s, I liked ordering food from the local pizza joints. We had two really good places just a few blocks from the house: Folcroft Pizza and Italian Style. A favored after school activity was playing basketball. For awhile we had a basktball poll behind the house. Then my neighbor did.
In 7th grade Bob was over. We went outside to play some basketball. I'm less sure of the buildup to this, but I'm sure we at least played Horse. Then, after making a few difficult distance shots, he set up to attempt a shot from two houses over. Well, after some bravado from both sides, he said that he bet me a chicken cheesesteak from Italian Style that he could make it.
What were the odds, neh?
We ordered food. Bob really enjoyed that free cheesesteak. Afterward we dubbed the spot of the shot the dreaded chicken cheesesteak shot. Bob had the best shooting average from that spot, by a longshot.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Getting into the Kitchen
I am a connoisseur of food. I have a wealth of information of culinary arts and at least a little bit of the science behind it. Whatever information I lack, I make up in bluster.
I cannot cook. When food is being made, however, I offer my services freely as a critic, or better still: as a criticizer.
1994.
I was enrolled in a summer program, a cooking one for children. I and 4 others went to a building and which had a kitchen. Every week for 5 or so weeks, we'd go and learned simple tips to take with us for the rest of our lives. Then we would make the recipe of the day and get to take home some samples.
I don't recall any of the tips, really, aside from using hot water to wash dishes. Oh, that and I can bake a really mean Mac'n Cheese when there's a cooking instructor going step by step through the recipe and 4 other kids to help.
I cannot cook. When food is being made, however, I offer my services freely as a critic, or better still: as a criticizer.
1994.
I was enrolled in a summer program, a cooking one for children. I and 4 others went to a building and which had a kitchen. Every week for 5 or so weeks, we'd go and learned simple tips to take with us for the rest of our lives. Then we would make the recipe of the day and get to take home some samples.
I don't recall any of the tips, really, aside from using hot water to wash dishes. Oh, that and I can bake a really mean Mac'n Cheese when there's a cooking instructor going step by step through the recipe and 4 other kids to help.
Friday, April 10, 2009
The Sweetest Milkshake
Back in the day, I had a habit of catching midnight showings of movies. This was mostly to accommodate my friends' schedules and to get to watch movies in more peace than at the prime showings with plenty of teenagers. This also went well for big releases, since we'd catch the first showing.
After the movie, we would go to a diner, often the nearby Denny's, and eat. Depending on how much money I had, I'd have breakfast and a milkshake, or just a milkshake, or just water. In 2006, Denny's briefly had a promotion where employees would wear a sticker saying, "If I don't offer an appetizer, it's free." There were other stickers offering specific appetizers, or their ghastly fruit drink things, or a milkshake.
So one night, after seeing whichever movie, I was at Denny's with J. and Sentell. I had planned to order a milkshake. J. and Sentell ordered their food and then I didn't order anything. The server started to walk away when I said, "You didn't offer us a milkshake, so it's free, right?" The server was wearing the milkshake sticker and seemed to have forgotten about that. He quickly took it off afterward and then tried to say that milkshakes are for dessert. I didn't buy it.
When J.'s and Sentell's food came, there was my chocolate milkshake. It was probably spit in, but it was delicious.
After the movie, we would go to a diner, often the nearby Denny's, and eat. Depending on how much money I had, I'd have breakfast and a milkshake, or just a milkshake, or just water. In 2006, Denny's briefly had a promotion where employees would wear a sticker saying, "If I don't offer an appetizer, it's free." There were other stickers offering specific appetizers, or their ghastly fruit drink things, or a milkshake.
So one night, after seeing whichever movie, I was at Denny's with J. and Sentell. I had planned to order a milkshake. J. and Sentell ordered their food and then I didn't order anything. The server started to walk away when I said, "You didn't offer us a milkshake, so it's free, right?" The server was wearing the milkshake sticker and seemed to have forgotten about that. He quickly took it off afterward and then tried to say that milkshakes are for dessert. I didn't buy it.
When J.'s and Sentell's food came, there was my chocolate milkshake. It was probably spit in, but it was delicious.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Fun with Hall Passes
Being a part of Monsignor Bonner's Jazz Band was almost always a hoot. There were only a few of us but we were all kinda odd ducks so we generally always got along and had some good laughs.
2000, a year shy of the famous Odyssey.
One day, we were waiting for our director to show up to begin rehearsal. Rather than take initiative and practice ourselves, we tried to find something fun to do.
Joseph Gribbons was a tall guy with red hair that played keyboards, guitar, and bass, as needed for the band. He was smart and knew a whole lot about music. So, Bochanski and I were talking and waiting while Gribbons was rifling through our director's desk. He walked up to us and handed Bochanski a hall pass he filled out.
Matthew Bochanski was to report to J(ustice) U(nder) G(od) immediately, as per the orders of Mr. Urethra.
Ah, good times. Though ... we never did use those passes to actually get out of class.
2000, a year shy of the famous Odyssey.
One day, we were waiting for our director to show up to begin rehearsal. Rather than take initiative and practice ourselves, we tried to find something fun to do.
Joseph Gribbons was a tall guy with red hair that played keyboards, guitar, and bass, as needed for the band. He was smart and knew a whole lot about music. So, Bochanski and I were talking and waiting while Gribbons was rifling through our director's desk. He walked up to us and handed Bochanski a hall pass he filled out.
Matthew Bochanski was to report to J(ustice) U(nder) G(od) immediately, as per the orders of Mr. Urethra.
Ah, good times. Though ... we never did use those passes to actually get out of class.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Easter Egg
I wasn't a fan of hard boiled eggs for a long time. It just wasn't my thing.
In 1995, I was in 5th grade and we had to bring in some decorated eggs. Not being inclined to decorate eggs, I sought help from my family. My brother helped me come up with some better ideas and my mom help me paint.
I can only remember two of my designs. One was a rocketship. The other was a result of a mishap. The back of an egg got cracked. So we glued a toothpick into it. We then painted on a really shocked face on the front and then a bunch of blood around the toothpick.
I don't recall if I won, but a lot of my classmates really liked that one.
Thank you, Easter Bunny.
In 1995, I was in 5th grade and we had to bring in some decorated eggs. Not being inclined to decorate eggs, I sought help from my family. My brother helped me come up with some better ideas and my mom help me paint.
I can only remember two of my designs. One was a rocketship. The other was a result of a mishap. The back of an egg got cracked. So we glued a toothpick into it. We then painted on a really shocked face on the front and then a bunch of blood around the toothpick.
I don't recall if I won, but a lot of my classmates really liked that one.
Thank you, Easter Bunny.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Random Dog
I am not a dog person. I believe dogs to be evil and that their loyalty is suspect. That's how they get you, you know. First it's the puppy dog eyes to melt your heart and lower guard. Then, it's the old betray-them-because-I'm-a-dog routine. My wife doesn't believe me for a second and thinks that I'm just making it up.
One day, back in the dark years of somewhere between 2003-2005, there was a terrible rainstorm. The rainstorm wasn't the worst I'd seen, but it wasn't too pleasant. My brother had a friend over. They had been hanging out outside. They saw the weather turn and quickly hurried in. My brother had left something outside, so he ventured back out. He returned quickly, fairly wet.
Around this time, my brother's friend pointed out, "Hey Mo, there's a dog in the house." The dog was a retriever, the golden sort. He casually strolled through the living room and into the bedrooms before turning back. Our cats were not enthused at the intruder. Then, the dog returned outside and wandered out.
That was pretty weird.
One day, back in the dark years of somewhere between 2003-2005, there was a terrible rainstorm. The rainstorm wasn't the worst I'd seen, but it wasn't too pleasant. My brother had a friend over. They had been hanging out outside. They saw the weather turn and quickly hurried in. My brother had left something outside, so he ventured back out. He returned quickly, fairly wet.
Around this time, my brother's friend pointed out, "Hey Mo, there's a dog in the house." The dog was a retriever, the golden sort. He casually strolled through the living room and into the bedrooms before turning back. Our cats were not enthused at the intruder. Then, the dog returned outside and wandered out.
That was pretty weird.
Monday, April 06, 2009
Pomp and Circumstance
By Edward Elgar.
Ah, the standard graduation song. Starting in 1998, I had begun playing it for every high school graduation I had to go to. Since I was in band, that meant every one. And since Monsignor Bonner was the boys' school and I was in their Jazz Band and Archbishop Prendergast was the girls' school and I was in their orchestra, I had double duty for the schools.
Pomp and Circumstance is not a bad song, considering. It's a nice march and it sounds like what it's called. It sounds less nice when you have to play it again and again and again and again, year after year after year.
This memory comes at the bitter irony. The one thing I looked forward to was forcing someone to play it ad nauseum. So, one fateful night of 2002 in May, it was time for me to finally graduate. I was happy to do so, hoping to never see some people again and unfortunately not seeing some of them again too. As the time drew near the excitement was building.
And that's when the rain started. Downpour. Bad. Torrential, even. There wasn't really any lightning, but it was enough to get us worried about a cancellation. After about half an hour the rain had died, taking with it a large chunk of the audience, and the band.
We did not take a lap around the stadium, we just started the ceremony, without the ceremonial march. We didn't have our first speaker and instead our only speaker was ... Christina Cody was her name? I don't recall. What I do recall was the horrendous speech she gave. It involved an opening that got no response that she had banked on. It then involved saying that September 11th really helped the school become stronger. She said other things, but we had stopped listening to her.
So ... yeah. Not much to change about this one, other than building a weather control device first.
Ah, the standard graduation song. Starting in 1998, I had begun playing it for every high school graduation I had to go to. Since I was in band, that meant every one. And since Monsignor Bonner was the boys' school and I was in their Jazz Band and Archbishop Prendergast was the girls' school and I was in their orchestra, I had double duty for the schools.
Pomp and Circumstance is not a bad song, considering. It's a nice march and it sounds like what it's called. It sounds less nice when you have to play it again and again and again and again, year after year after year.
This memory comes at the bitter irony. The one thing I looked forward to was forcing someone to play it ad nauseum. So, one fateful night of 2002 in May, it was time for me to finally graduate. I was happy to do so, hoping to never see some people again and unfortunately not seeing some of them again too. As the time drew near the excitement was building.
And that's when the rain started. Downpour. Bad. Torrential, even. There wasn't really any lightning, but it was enough to get us worried about a cancellation. After about half an hour the rain had died, taking with it a large chunk of the audience, and the band.
We did not take a lap around the stadium, we just started the ceremony, without the ceremonial march. We didn't have our first speaker and instead our only speaker was ... Christina Cody was her name? I don't recall. What I do recall was the horrendous speech she gave. It involved an opening that got no response that she had banked on. It then involved saying that September 11th really helped the school become stronger. She said other things, but we had stopped listening to her.
So ... yeah. Not much to change about this one, other than building a weather control device first.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
The Matrix (Revisited)
Say what you will about the trilogy as a whole; it deserves it and so much worse. The first Matrix was a good and important film until the foul taint of the conclusion ruined it all.
2000. By this point I had seen the movie quite a few times and I was dying to see where the story went. That alone is enough to make me want to change it if I had it all to do over again. Though, I was specifically more inclined to kill to see it anyway, rather than die myself.
Anyway, this particular memory comes from me trying to explain the Matrix to a friend of mine from high school, and his family.
Matthew Bochanski, a gifted musician, was an overall good kid, if a bit naive. I went over to his house one day to play some music and otherwise hang out. Over some food, I mentioned the movie and tried to wax poetic on some of the philosophical points brought up in the film. His mother was confused, so I did my best to reconstruct the film and explain what was what. Specifically, she, and Bochanski's younger siblings couldn't keep track of what was the Matrix and what wasn't. I tried bringing up things I had read like color schemes or the more obvious plugs and gaunt appearances and they still didn't catch on so well.
Looking back, maybe they had it right, considering the end result.
2000. By this point I had seen the movie quite a few times and I was dying to see where the story went. That alone is enough to make me want to change it if I had it all to do over again. Though, I was specifically more inclined to kill to see it anyway, rather than die myself.
Anyway, this particular memory comes from me trying to explain the Matrix to a friend of mine from high school, and his family.
Matthew Bochanski, a gifted musician, was an overall good kid, if a bit naive. I went over to his house one day to play some music and otherwise hang out. Over some food, I mentioned the movie and tried to wax poetic on some of the philosophical points brought up in the film. His mother was confused, so I did my best to reconstruct the film and explain what was what. Specifically, she, and Bochanski's younger siblings couldn't keep track of what was the Matrix and what wasn't. I tried bringing up things I had read like color schemes or the more obvious plugs and gaunt appearances and they still didn't catch on so well.
Looking back, maybe they had it right, considering the end result.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
The Spirit of Houston Cougar Marching Band: Sara Who Loves Life
Band's a repository of memories. This was probably the most random.
2003.
We were eating lunch before a game in the band hall. We didn't always have enough places for us to sit and eat at a table per se, but we'd find places to hunker down and eat. I had done just that with Robby and a few others by the lockers.
A clarinetist walked by and asked us if we had ever played the Locker Game before. We responded no and that we didn't know what it is.
She explained that it was a game where you take turns doing random things as you run past the lockers to make the other person laugh. She demonstrated by running and jumping like a ballerina. She was laughing all the while.
Robby, straight-faced and monotone, responded, "Wow, you must really love life."
She was a music major who was almost always bubbly and energetic and ... loving life. I've long since forgotten her last name, but we remember her as Sara Who Loves Life.
2003.
We were eating lunch before a game in the band hall. We didn't always have enough places for us to sit and eat at a table per se, but we'd find places to hunker down and eat. I had done just that with Robby and a few others by the lockers.
A clarinetist walked by and asked us if we had ever played the Locker Game before. We responded no and that we didn't know what it is.
She explained that it was a game where you take turns doing random things as you run past the lockers to make the other person laugh. She demonstrated by running and jumping like a ballerina. She was laughing all the while.
Robby, straight-faced and monotone, responded, "Wow, you must really love life."
She was a music major who was almost always bubbly and energetic and ... loving life. I've long since forgotten her last name, but we remember her as Sara Who Loves Life.
Friday, April 03, 2009
Lunch Money
Lunch Money, the card game. The game, Wikipedia tells me, came out in 1996. I had never heard of it until 2000.
I like card games, provided I'm good at them and they're fun. Lunch Money is one of those. It has randomness, sure, but it's still entertaining. You have attack cards, weapon cards, defensive maneuvers, and the ultimate trump card: the humiliation card. This trump card not only trumped the card it was played on, but allowed a free attack on top of it.
Sentell is the only person who holds a deck and thus he was that introduced me into. With Lunch Money in the rotation in addition to 13 and Egyptian Rat Fink, we had a healthy selection of time wasting card games.
I like card games, provided I'm good at them and they're fun. Lunch Money is one of those. It has randomness, sure, but it's still entertaining. You have attack cards, weapon cards, defensive maneuvers, and the ultimate trump card: the humiliation card. This trump card not only trumped the card it was played on, but allowed a free attack on top of it.
Sentell is the only person who holds a deck and thus he was that introduced me into. With Lunch Money in the rotation in addition to 13 and Egyptian Rat Fink, we had a healthy selection of time wasting card games.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Hispanic Dancing
There are many things I'm not an expert on, but I might try to pass myself off as one anyway. Dancing is one of these things. Sure, I'm not exactly graceful, but I can claim to know a thing or two ... even if I can't do it myself.
The reason why I can say this about dancing, though, is because I had someone break down Hispanic dancing for me.
2003 was a pretty good year, at times. I was in the beginner's class for fencing at UH. Our instructor was a heavyset man, from Guatamala, named Carlos. Carlos was a physics grad student who was pretty fit, but was stocky. Either way, he was an excellent instructor as he was thorough in teaching the basics.
One of my favorite parts about fencing, aside from the rogues' gallery I met, was the sense of community. Sure, practices lasted 3 hours, which was longer than most marching band practices, but afterwards, we'd eat together. I may have mentioned that I've always found eating to be a social event. Carlos would go with the beginners, often to Wendy's. After such a long practice, we would be hungry and tired, but still wired from all the work, so we'd talk for a long time, even after we'd finished eating. Sometimes, we'd go down to play some pool and continue to hangout. It was fun.
Carlos had the gift of gab. He's a gifted storyteller and had good comedic timing. So, when he'd tell us a joke, he'd take his time getting to the end, but the journey was always enjoyable. However, when he would tell a story, we weren't always sure if it was the truth or not.
One day, he told us about the secret of Hispanic Dancing. Being Hispanic, I was interested. He gave us a demonstrations as he spoke. He said that behind all the moves in all the styles the men's parts involved a lot of moving, but if we really noticed, none of that moving took place at the man's midsection. This was to make sure the man's belly fat didn't giggle. He continued dancing and sure enough, the arms, shoulders, legs, feet, and behind all shook but not the midsection. He then showed us what would happen if it did. Lo and behold, he was right.
I hadn't really danced prior to that but when I finally did start, this sagacious memory was always close to mind.
The reason why I can say this about dancing, though, is because I had someone break down Hispanic dancing for me.
2003 was a pretty good year, at times. I was in the beginner's class for fencing at UH. Our instructor was a heavyset man, from Guatamala, named Carlos. Carlos was a physics grad student who was pretty fit, but was stocky. Either way, he was an excellent instructor as he was thorough in teaching the basics.
One of my favorite parts about fencing, aside from the rogues' gallery I met, was the sense of community. Sure, practices lasted 3 hours, which was longer than most marching band practices, but afterwards, we'd eat together. I may have mentioned that I've always found eating to be a social event. Carlos would go with the beginners, often to Wendy's. After such a long practice, we would be hungry and tired, but still wired from all the work, so we'd talk for a long time, even after we'd finished eating. Sometimes, we'd go down to play some pool and continue to hangout. It was fun.
Carlos had the gift of gab. He's a gifted storyteller and had good comedic timing. So, when he'd tell us a joke, he'd take his time getting to the end, but the journey was always enjoyable. However, when he would tell a story, we weren't always sure if it was the truth or not.
One day, he told us about the secret of Hispanic Dancing. Being Hispanic, I was interested. He gave us a demonstrations as he spoke. He said that behind all the moves in all the styles the men's parts involved a lot of moving, but if we really noticed, none of that moving took place at the man's midsection. This was to make sure the man's belly fat didn't giggle. He continued dancing and sure enough, the arms, shoulders, legs, feet, and behind all shook but not the midsection. He then showed us what would happen if it did. Lo and behold, he was right.
I hadn't really danced prior to that but when I finally did start, this sagacious memory was always close to mind.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Memoirs
Where will I be in 2048? I was first asked that question in the spring of 1998 and I still don't have a convincing answer. Our final for 7th grade writing with Mrs. Crane was to write just that: our memoirs.
Seeing that far into the future as a 12 year old was a daunting task, in all honesty. Seeing that far is a little easier now, but in all honesty, still daunting. In my youth, I wrote that in my late 20s I was a fighter pilot that fought in a war akin to what the Cold War would've been if it wasn't Cold. I wrote that I was shot down a few times, but escaped with my life, unlike my comrades. We eventually won, and I retired to be a novelist. I lived peacefully and retained my sense of humor.
That assignment was probably the best thing I had written to that point. I do not have a copy to this day, but I wish I did. Things didn't go to that plan, but I never really intended to follow through with that plan. But it was the first time I had truly visualized it, that far into the future. To see what potential I had and what I could do with it. The world was getting more and more real. I was about to be an 8th grader, which was practically being in high school. Then I'd be off to Penn State and then ... and then?
Well, I got over wanting to fly planes around 9th grade and I know I'll probably never write professionally. I never got to Penn State. Eh.
I will probably retain my sense of humor by the time I get to 2048. At least I hope I do.
Seeing that far into the future as a 12 year old was a daunting task, in all honesty. Seeing that far is a little easier now, but in all honesty, still daunting. In my youth, I wrote that in my late 20s I was a fighter pilot that fought in a war akin to what the Cold War would've been if it wasn't Cold. I wrote that I was shot down a few times, but escaped with my life, unlike my comrades. We eventually won, and I retired to be a novelist. I lived peacefully and retained my sense of humor.
That assignment was probably the best thing I had written to that point. I do not have a copy to this day, but I wish I did. Things didn't go to that plan, but I never really intended to follow through with that plan. But it was the first time I had truly visualized it, that far into the future. To see what potential I had and what I could do with it. The world was getting more and more real. I was about to be an 8th grader, which was practically being in high school. Then I'd be off to Penn State and then ... and then?
Well, I got over wanting to fly planes around 9th grade and I know I'll probably never write professionally. I never got to Penn State. Eh.
I will probably retain my sense of humor by the time I get to 2048. At least I hope I do.
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