…Same small boy, seen as a speck from the plane window. Sitting on the step of his house, looking weary and forlorn. He looks up, as there suddenly appears a 35-foot tall giant standing next to him, dressed in high-fashion roman robes, looking down over a very organized clipboard. Slowly shaking his head he picks up a dangling pen and puts another check in the “Lack of Joy” and “Little Faith” boxes. I stare up at him looking foolish and feeling like I was caught doing something wrong. This is my god.
As a performance oriented human being, I constantly rate and re-rate my performance on various levels. What I thought about how I did, how others might think about what I did, how “professional” my results are, how neatly I’ve finished an assignment, how neatly other might think about the assignment I finished, etc. etc. Since I constantly rate and re-rate and re-re-rate how “good” I do things, I pick up a very bad habit: I “rate” how good I am before God, and more specifically how much grace I deserve.
I came to this realization at a Bible Study at the beginning of October. A friend was praying about something or other when I had a great revelation: I have put God’s grace in an eyedropper.
God: the Infinite. God: Salvation. God: the Source. God: the Almighty.
God: Squeezed into an eye-dropper?
I come before God with a whole list of directions about how I am to “receive” from him. Somewhere in the back of my mind (or heart?) I have already worked out how much I have “sinned” or done poorly in my devotional faithfulness, or whatever, and how much forgiveness I will need. I have already worked out that I’ll need to ask forgiveness, receive some pardon (drip drip) and then feel at least 31.5% better than before I prayed. If not, I will not successfully be able to move on in forgiveness. For if I haven’t felt it, then it definitely has not been done, right? …right? ………………right?
But somewhere so close is a waterfall. It is a literal down pouring of a love, a Grace so drenching, so rushing, so overwhelming that a human mind cannot comprehend it. And God does not ask or even want us to understand it! All he wants is for us to walk into it. Walk under it, and be soaked through by it.
I came to the realization that I stood quite close to this waterfall. And all along I have been claiming that I know best…
“No, you don’t quite understand, God. I don’t deserve much more than a few drops from that dropper there. I’ve done rather poorly lately, and you don’t have much patience for people like me. So, if you don’t mind, a few drops will do… just to get me by until next time.” What a fool I have been! I have been, as C.S. Lewis wrote, one of the idiots playing with my mud pies since I can’t imagine what could be meant by a holiday at sea.
I came to the realization just now that I still stand quite close to the waterfall. And I think that God is asking me to step out from under the eyedropper, and step under that rushing, drenching waterfall.
And hear this, friend, it is not because we deserve it… no! It is because we are loved. Only because we are loved.
December 28, 2006
December 26, 2006
Join Me...
Sit down with me... across from me, and watch as I tuck my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on top of them. I'm not sitting here because I have nothing to do, and I'm not sitting here because I sprained my ankles. I'm sitting here because my soul is tired... weary and worn out. And all I want to do is sink. And lay down my head and fall into a deep, dousing sleep where I can escape - where I can be freed from all of the thoughts spinning through my mind - free from all the worries and expectations and problems with myself, and all the hurt that I feel.
I spent last spring and early summer looking up at the sky, watching the planes blip across the dark night sky... you would have seen me following the jet stream with a concerned longing to be on that plane... be there - be away from where I was - be... gone. I remember hiking on a trail last spring and I just kept looking up at the planes... there were so many, too, flying in every direction away from where I was. So many planes… all offering me a ride to another place.
I tend of run away in my mind. I run away from where I am, even through my imagination. I imagine I am gone, and so I am. I spent those cold spring months having to deal with so much inside me, and I thought I would explode. And all I wanted to do was to drop it all - screw it - and escape... escape to anywhere, even to a non-reality that deep down I know wouldn’t fix a thing.
I'm there again, unfortunately. I put on this great facade of smiles... happy jokes... lots of laughter. But if you were to take a microscope (souloscope?) and look inside, you would find me in this moment of frustration, ravaging questioning, and heavy weightiness of weariness. I am honestly weary of being so....................... Imperfect? What a way to say it... imperfect. I'm sick of feeling like there is so much that I'm not. So much that I could have done differently. So much improving to do. I'm sick of feeling like I do so little right.
I caught myself staring up at a plane tonight, imagining myself in seat 16B, looking out the tiny window onto the city of Bloomington, where a small, tired boy looked up at me. It was traveling Southeast, probably heading toward Miami. It was headed to somewhere that is not here. And it looked so good.
I look up and think about planes more than God. And for some reason a plane can offer me a tangible escape that, even though I'm told otherwise, God doesn't seem to be able to. I read the Word and I believe, I pray and God does answer. But why is it I sit here and so many "earthly" options seem better than Him? Is it because I can stub my toe on them? Why do I prefer what is tangible to what is intangibly profound and life changing? I seem to settle for second (or seventeenth) best and not be bothered by it. Maybe it is because it's safe and I don't need faith for it. I don't know. I just know it isn't working.
I long to find life. I yearn to know freedoms that I haven't even dreamt of. And I think I will, but I'm not convinced, yet. I feel driven away from what was killing me (sin), but strangely enough driven from what can save me. I feel driven to escape... to find something different than what is now. And I think it's good and bad. And now I think I have begun to ramble, so I will close.
Thanks for sitting with me.
I spent last spring and early summer looking up at the sky, watching the planes blip across the dark night sky... you would have seen me following the jet stream with a concerned longing to be on that plane... be there - be away from where I was - be... gone. I remember hiking on a trail last spring and I just kept looking up at the planes... there were so many, too, flying in every direction away from where I was. So many planes… all offering me a ride to another place.
I tend of run away in my mind. I run away from where I am, even through my imagination. I imagine I am gone, and so I am. I spent those cold spring months having to deal with so much inside me, and I thought I would explode. And all I wanted to do was to drop it all - screw it - and escape... escape to anywhere, even to a non-reality that deep down I know wouldn’t fix a thing.
I'm there again, unfortunately. I put on this great facade of smiles... happy jokes... lots of laughter. But if you were to take a microscope (souloscope?) and look inside, you would find me in this moment of frustration, ravaging questioning, and heavy weightiness of weariness. I am honestly weary of being so....................... Imperfect? What a way to say it... imperfect. I'm sick of feeling like there is so much that I'm not. So much that I could have done differently. So much improving to do. I'm sick of feeling like I do so little right.
I caught myself staring up at a plane tonight, imagining myself in seat 16B, looking out the tiny window onto the city of Bloomington, where a small, tired boy looked up at me. It was traveling Southeast, probably heading toward Miami. It was headed to somewhere that is not here. And it looked so good.
I look up and think about planes more than God. And for some reason a plane can offer me a tangible escape that, even though I'm told otherwise, God doesn't seem to be able to. I read the Word and I believe, I pray and God does answer. But why is it I sit here and so many "earthly" options seem better than Him? Is it because I can stub my toe on them? Why do I prefer what is tangible to what is intangibly profound and life changing? I seem to settle for second (or seventeenth) best and not be bothered by it. Maybe it is because it's safe and I don't need faith for it. I don't know. I just know it isn't working.
I long to find life. I yearn to know freedoms that I haven't even dreamt of. And I think I will, but I'm not convinced, yet. I feel driven away from what was killing me (sin), but strangely enough driven from what can save me. I feel driven to escape... to find something different than what is now. And I think it's good and bad. And now I think I have begun to ramble, so I will close.
Thanks for sitting with me.
December 04, 2006
It's that time of the year - the time when the cold, whipping wind chaps your lips and gives you that oh-so-crusty look. Personally I have at least 4 different tubes of Chapstick (xtra moisture) at various places. One in my room, one in the kitchen, one in my backpack, and a few in the car (there's something cool about putting frozen Chapstick on... Seriously, try it.) I was sitting in class today and thinking about Chapstick. I looked over to see a fellow student smothering his lips with Chapstick... I mean, this kid was serious about the moisture meter too, because he did like 12 layers. He was thorough. A few minutes later I noticed another student across from me. She pulled out her Chapstick and kept it in the lap-area while de-lidding it. Then (as if she were on a secret mission) she thrust her arms up from behind the desk and quickly applied several layers to her lips. Then she returned the tube to her lap, and right before she snapped the cap on, she pulled it out for two more layers! She was a sneaky one...
So how do you apply YOUR Chapstick? Laps or Shuttle Runs? (Laps means you keep the Chapstick on your lips as you go several times around your mouth while keeping tube-to-lip contact. Shuttle Runs means you go back and forth several times on the either the top or bottom lip and then switching.)
I definitely am a Shuttle Runner. What about you?
November 29, 2006
Whoa, I did WAY BETTER than I thought!
You paid attention during 40% of high school!
34-50% As much as I hate to admit it, this is probably the most common level. Turn off the tv and go to a library!
Do you deserve your high school diploma?
Create a Quiz
November 27, 2006
Monday, Monday.
Well, well, well, look who we have here... a crappy Monday staring me in the face. What are you doing here, Monday, and why have you come to plague me? What did I ever do to you?
The day started with a dream... a dream where I got up on time and got ready, then went to school and arrived there EARLY. (The reason I was early is because I rode my bike onto the high-speed MetroTransit Train which speed along through the air. ... and there was no traffic.) But still I arrived at school an hour a half early, and was so proud of myself for being so prepared.
Then I woke up. And had to get ready for real... and I didn't comb my hair, which always leaves me feeling scraggly and ill-prepared for the day.
OK, so now I have left my car, and am walking downtown towards the building that my class is in. For a split second I thought to myself, "I wonder if I zipped my zipper this morning?" but didn't check, as I assured myself that I wasn't that much of a twit and wouldn't forget something so vitally important. I would never do something that "uncool"... in fact, lately I've really been trying to keep my "cool" meter between a measly 2 - 3 (out of 10,000).
As soon as I was sitting in class chatting to girl next to me, I looked down and my pants were laughing at me. So I zipped them up while watching my cool factor slide from 2.9 to 2.1. Oooohh.
After class ended I went into the commuter lounge (big mistake number 1) to check my email. I sat at a mini table and hooked my laptop up to the internet. Pretty soon the lounge was bustling with commuters who filled in the empty spots, and the conversations began. Unfortunately I don't have the gift of ignoring other people's conversations, and I began to listen subconsciously.
Dropper Girl sat to my right. You may remember her from my Blog last spring. She is a commuter as well as a dropper, but didn't drop anything on me, luckily. Next to her sat Old Kid (my cousin mentioned him...) and next to him sat the Commuter Group Ring leader, named Chris. Chris is a older, quite rotund man who sounds like he is giving the Gettysburg address when he talks. Pretty soon I was picking up on Chris's conversation...
"....and I finally got my new mouse for my computer" says Chris, "I went to this highly technologically advanced store in Maple Grove and picked up this indestructable mouse." He then pulls out a small pinkish purple mouse from his bag and hands it to a fellow techie in the room. "It's even washable" he declares, "you can literally put soap and water on it." I rolled my eyes. What's he gonna do, take a bath with it? But he went on, "And it's quite squishy, too. In fact, you can use it for hours because of it's great shock absorption." I stopped typing and tried not to sputter. I'm picturing a computer mouse off-roading in the Swiss alps, its cord swinging behind it as it does an ollie off a peak. Chris finishes his monologue with, "And it really prevents carpal tunnel in the wrists."
By this time my cool meter has sunk to a sorrowful 1.4 (even though my IQ has gone up) and I had to get out of there! I grabbed my computer and bolted from the room to check my mail.
Monday, Monday... what do I do with you?
November 24, 2006
November 21, 2006
Awkward Pose #213
Me and Mindy always like to re-create the Sears-style picture poses whenever there is a camera around. This is one of the best we've ever done.
September 17, 2006
Versailles
I've decided to take it back a few years... back to the good old days of high school at Jefferson. There, in tenth grade, I attended Spanish I, taught by the distinguished (and often tardy) Mr. Versailles.
As someone who has never really spoken any other languages well, I wasn't looking forward to Spanish. I have no interest in learning foreign languages, and don't really care about too many foreign places or cultures. (Oops) I wanted this class to be easy, straightforward, and fun.
*One month into the class...*
Jason, a 150-pound Asian ghetto kid, is pounding on the type-A, I-did-my-homework-through-my-freshman-year-in-college, nerd kid who sits next to him. "Dude, das piomp!" shouts Jason as he hits the kid in the shoulder again. He has just received his newly finished homework from the poor nerd kid, who is cowering in his desk, nervously laughing and pretending that he isn't seeing his entire life (which includes his insect and stamp collections) flashing before his very eyes. Mr Versialles, who stands less than three feet away with his back toward us, continues on without a hitch. He has no idea that Jason is pounding (and has been pounding) the kid next to him for the entire class period (and the entire quarter).
If you didn't understand when Jason yelled, "Das piomp!" I'll explain it. What he was really saying was "That is pimp" - pimp meaning "cool" (for those of you over 30). Jason loved to say "That's pimp" but couldn't say it normally since his ghetto side was aching to get out. "Dasss piomp!" suited him much better.
So for the entire semester, Jason pounded nerd kid right in front of me. I couldn't say anything, lest I be next on his piomp list. I sat and tried to listen, while repeating phrases like "Yo estoy una amigo" and "Estoy laguna una bamboona". (OK I got that last one from Dr. Suess.) Every few days we would watch a video that was totally in Spanish. No one in the class (except like two smart kids) understood what was going on. So we would either sleep, or wish we were with Consuela, the 13-year-old girl in the capitol city of Mexico, eating a delicioso pastry with her grandmother.
"Dear Mr. Versailles,
I just wanted to write you a quick note to let you know how much I learned in Spanish I. It was SOOOOOO helpful when you got to class about 15 minutes late every day (and especially the time when the principle was waiting for you outside your room.) It was so considerate of you to make us watch movies that were totally in Spanish. It would have also aided us if you would have just stuffed us in a box and shipped us to Mexico with all of the exported illegal aliens so that we could have learned much more in a realistic setting.
Thanks for caring for each of us as real people, not just grades in your grade book. Nerd kid in front of me is probably so glad that he now has the opportunity to work through mountains of issues in counseling, since you took the time to notice him and his situation.
Hopefully I will see you again, Mr. V!
Awdeos,
Jeremy
Spanish I, 2001
June 15, 2006
The Top Reaons Why I am so Similar to a Kindergartener:
1. I often fall and hurt myself.
2. I recover quickly from my injuries.
3. I sometimes pick my nose when I think no one is looking.
4. I need a buddy to help me figure things out.
5. I like to color.
6. I can't keep my snack on the table.
7. I have to go to the bathroom 17 times per day.
8. When people call me a meanie, I run and tell an adult.
9. I pretend I don't need naps, but I really REALLY do.
10. When asked my age I say, "Twenty-one... and a half."
2. I recover quickly from my injuries.
3. I sometimes pick my nose when I think no one is looking.
4. I need a buddy to help me figure things out.
5. I like to color.
6. I can't keep my snack on the table.
7. I have to go to the bathroom 17 times per day.
8. When people call me a meanie, I run and tell an adult.
9. I pretend I don't need naps, but I really REALLY do.
10. When asked my age I say, "Twenty-one... and a half."
June 04, 2006
Renova.
I'd like to introduce you to the new MUST HAVE of the season! Everyone who is anyone will be using it, so you better get on the bandwagon so you don't get left behind with a swirly.
Black toilet paper has finally hit the streets... I just discovered it while browsing various Blogs. Check out Renova's website here and order a couple of rolls!
Black toilet paper has finally hit the streets... I just discovered it while browsing various Blogs. Check out Renova's website here and order a couple of rolls!
June 01, 2006
BUS.
I'm getting my bus license... actually referred to as a "passenger endorsement". In other words, I'm a school bus driver, not a school, school bus driver. Make sense? Good. Anyway, I thought I should keep a record of my experiences... because it has been quite an experience thus far.
I sat in the break room of the First Student Bus Company, waiting for my trainer. At a few minutes after 9, in walked a burly and extremely friendly older man nicknamed Denny. Walking up to me with a large smile, he extended his hand and said, "Courtney?" I reached out my hand, shook his, and clarified, "No, Jeremy." "Oh!" he said, "It's great to meet you!"
Do I look like a Courtney?
We did the pre-trip inspection before hopping into the bus for 4 quick spins around the parking lot. Then we headed out onto the main road. What a strange experience... to look back and see SO many feet of bus behind you! Turning was by far the weirdest, as it is only done after entering the intersection and driving for quite a while. It sort of seems that you are going to drive straight, but then at the last second you turn. Very weird. But fun. I enjoyed it a lot, and am looking forward to driving an entire bus load of 4 and 5 year olds places.
Let me mention that for a moment. We are actually taking the kids on three field trips a week. Including a Twin's Game, Old Log Theater, and Valleyfair! Keep in mind that some of these kids are even Pre-K! Arg. I'll update you on how that goes.
In conclusion, my first bus driving behind the wheel went well. I'm looking forward too my next few, and hopefully at the end of the week I'll be a champion driver.
There's more to come... beep beep.
May 29, 2006
Annoyance.
Things that annoy me, include, but are not limited to, physicals. What also annoys me (and unnerves me) is walking in to an office / urgent car facility where there is NO ONE else… I am the only patient. I want to ask Carrie, the annoying receptionist, “Why does no one come to this office? Are you out of vaccines? Are you out of MDs? Are you out of your minds?” But this is the place I must come… this is the day I must have my DOT (Department Of Transportation) drug test and physical.
I follow my nurse as we round a corner and stop at a small sink. Even though we aren’t that far from the front desk, she looks at me and practically shouts, “WE’RE GOING TO DO THE DRUG TEST FIRST.” Picking up a plastic cup, she continues, “I’M GONNA NEED YOU TO PEE IN THIS CUP” – and she points to a wobbly black line she has marked – “UP TO HERE. DO YOU FEEL LIKE YOU CAN GO RIGHT NOW?” I assure her that, yes, I can use the bathroom… and almost wanted to quickly mention, “Hey, Lisa or whatever your name is… we are inside, so let’s use our inside voice, OK? And thanks for letting the entire waiting room know that I am about to pee in this cup.” Taking the cup from her (after washing my hands, of course) she reminds me as I step into the bathroom “NOT TO WASH MY HANDS.”
So now here I sit… waiting in a backless gown for the doc to come in. I hate physicals, although this has been one of the easiest so far. Out in the hall (before I put on my backless fashion gown with super glitzy sequins and a satin fringe) I sat on a stool like as black thing was stuck into each ear. “Raise your hand when you hear a tone,” the nurse said. Straining to hear, wondering how loud the tone might be, an RN walked by and began rustling some papers by me. Did I miss it? Why were we doing the hearing test out in the hall? Apparently it was to make it more of a challenge. After this test I was led to the door outside Exam Room 5 and told to look up at the colored flags by the door. “Please read me the colors you see,” Laurie (or whatever her name was) shouted, hands on her hips. I looked up and cringed… was there some sort of trick? I hoped not. I spoke slowly, as if expecting myself to get a few wrong, “Red… Blue… Green and… Yellow.”
“Very good.”
So here I sit… waiting in a backless gown for the doc to come in. Suddenly the door opens and a short doctor enters, introducing himself as Dr. Barnuckle or something. It goes well, and I leave excited… this was the first physical where I didn’t have to bend, turn or cough.
May 18, 2006
Shaka!
Does the word "Shaka" mean anything to you, other than the middle of a cool chant? (boom shaka laka). Well, it means much more than that to me, and I would like to take this opportunity to tell you about Shaka... Mrs. Shaka.
"Pliss ga tu chopta fo in yo buke. ...section fo dote two. We weel look at deceemol pwoints een reation ta mooltiples of fo noomda sequences." Shaka walks to the chalk board, picks up a small piece of chalk and begins to etch white scratches all over it. When half the board is covered, she begins her very famous "Diss Means Diss" teaching method. Pointing to one equation (that she has written wrong then re-written twice) she says, "Diss" - then points to another set of numbers - "means diss." That is the start of the next 15 minutes... she continues to point to sets of those white chalky marking (they seriously look like Hebrew to me) and say, "Diss means diss." Periodically she asks, "Doss anyone hoff any questions?" Of course the whole class has questions, but no one says anything. We are all too far lost to catch up now.
So I go to the Student Success Center... which should be named the Student's Who Are Crappy at School... Center. I sit down at a small table surrounded by others like myself - students who are lacking in a certain areas of their education. Behind me a kind girl is teaching a middle-aged man how to open a word document on a computer. I try to ignore them. My tutor, a small Asian man who works part time at a coffee shop opens my book and says, "Let's start at the beginning." Then he points to an equation and says, "Try this one." I have absolutely no idea what the problem means, or even if the book is upside down or not. I tell him that I am lost, and he says, "Well if you can't do this one, you can't do any of these!!" Oh really? This guy's a genius. So I sit there and he tries to explain 8 chapters of math to me in 20 minutes. It works.... poorly. I leave him by saying, "I'll call YOU."
One day in class Shaka was in a good mood. She was laughing at some kids who were saying something funny. One of the girls made some slightly teasing remark to another guy. Shaka said to him, very loudly, "You should smack her in the face!" We all just stared at her. What does that even mean?
On the last day of class, I walked up to hand in my final. I looked at her and said very politely, "Thank you." She looked at me and said, "...OK..." and I walked out. Awkward.
Dear Shaka,
I would like to thank you for making my first semester at NCU so enjoyable. Thank you for understanding me when I came into your office for help. It really helped when you just stared at me for like 5 minutes before I left. I really used that help to improve my mathematics. And thanks for keeping on schedule... like the time there were THREE people waiting outside your office for you and you didn't care... or when you were 10 minutes late for the last class... or that one time when I asked you EVERY DAY for my grade and you kept mumbling something I couldn't understand. Thanks for always keep your homework organized, like the one time I had to re-do an assignment because you lost it. That was really nice. Oh, and thanks for speaking so clearly with nice word pronunciation so that we could all understand that when you said the word "Schot" you meant "Chart" or when you said the word "Propershonit" you meant "proportionate". It was so nice to have a teach who knew how to speak so clearly and eloquently! Thanks also for the fact that I learned absolutely nothing, and that I had to have a team of 3 other people to help me BARELY GET BY with all the assignments.
But thank you most of all, Shaka, for THE B I GOT IN THE CLASS!!! HAHAHAHA!!! I CAN'T FLIPPIN BELIEVE IT I GOT A B IN THE CLASS! AGHHHHHH!!!! YES!!!!
Sincerely,
Jeremy
"Pliss ga tu chopta fo in yo buke. ...section fo dote two. We weel look at deceemol pwoints een reation ta mooltiples of fo noomda sequences." Shaka walks to the chalk board, picks up a small piece of chalk and begins to etch white scratches all over it. When half the board is covered, she begins her very famous "Diss Means Diss" teaching method. Pointing to one equation (that she has written wrong then re-written twice) she says, "Diss" - then points to another set of numbers - "means diss." That is the start of the next 15 minutes... she continues to point to sets of those white chalky marking (they seriously look like Hebrew to me) and say, "Diss means diss." Periodically she asks, "Doss anyone hoff any questions?" Of course the whole class has questions, but no one says anything. We are all too far lost to catch up now.
So I go to the Student Success Center... which should be named the Student's Who Are Crappy at School... Center. I sit down at a small table surrounded by others like myself - students who are lacking in a certain areas of their education. Behind me a kind girl is teaching a middle-aged man how to open a word document on a computer. I try to ignore them. My tutor, a small Asian man who works part time at a coffee shop opens my book and says, "Let's start at the beginning." Then he points to an equation and says, "Try this one." I have absolutely no idea what the problem means, or even if the book is upside down or not. I tell him that I am lost, and he says, "Well if you can't do this one, you can't do any of these!!" Oh really? This guy's a genius. So I sit there and he tries to explain 8 chapters of math to me in 20 minutes. It works.... poorly. I leave him by saying, "I'll call YOU."
One day in class Shaka was in a good mood. She was laughing at some kids who were saying something funny. One of the girls made some slightly teasing remark to another guy. Shaka said to him, very loudly, "You should smack her in the face!" We all just stared at her. What does that even mean?
On the last day of class, I walked up to hand in my final. I looked at her and said very politely, "Thank you." She looked at me and said, "...OK..." and I walked out. Awkward.
Dear Shaka,
I would like to thank you for making my first semester at NCU so enjoyable. Thank you for understanding me when I came into your office for help. It really helped when you just stared at me for like 5 minutes before I left. I really used that help to improve my mathematics. And thanks for keeping on schedule... like the time there were THREE people waiting outside your office for you and you didn't care... or when you were 10 minutes late for the last class... or that one time when I asked you EVERY DAY for my grade and you kept mumbling something I couldn't understand. Thanks for always keep your homework organized, like the one time I had to re-do an assignment because you lost it. That was really nice. Oh, and thanks for speaking so clearly with nice word pronunciation so that we could all understand that when you said the word "Schot" you meant "Chart" or when you said the word "Propershonit" you meant "proportionate". It was so nice to have a teach who knew how to speak so clearly and eloquently! Thanks also for the fact that I learned absolutely nothing, and that I had to have a team of 3 other people to help me BARELY GET BY with all the assignments.
But thank you most of all, Shaka, for THE B I GOT IN THE CLASS!!! HAHAHAHA!!! I CAN'T FLIPPIN BELIEVE IT I GOT A B IN THE CLASS! AGHHHHHH!!!! YES!!!!
Sincerely,
Jeremy
April 30, 2006
April 28, 2006
Jargon at a Christian Bookstore
***This actually happened many many months ago... I just haven't thought about it for a long time.***
"So I'm at Northwestern Bookstore, buying some books for my trip (to CA). I hear (from across the store) this man talking loudly to the cashier about a singer whose music he really enjoyed.
"I don't know if you are into music, but this guys is the best singer! He is incredible! He has supernatural talent!" I chuckled to myself... why is it that people in Christian stores feel the need to use "spiritual" puns? Oh well. But it gets better.
I'm waiting in line to check out, and this guy two people in front of me picks up this CD that is sitting on the counter. "WHOA!" he shouts, "This CD is so cheap! It's sinfully cheap!" I almost burst out laughing and had to look down... he didn't even laugh - he was serious! Oh, but yet it gets better!
After that guy left the next lady walks up to my cousin Nikki and gives her the books (or whatever she was buying.) Nik told her the total and there were some odd cents. The lady digs in her purse, pulls out some loose change and says, "I've got the 81 cents! It's a divine appointment!" She was serious too! These people! AGH! I got into my car and burst out laughing... only to be followed by the new cashier who never handed me back my check card."
"So I'm at Northwestern Bookstore, buying some books for my trip (to CA). I hear (from across the store) this man talking loudly to the cashier about a singer whose music he really enjoyed.
"I don't know if you are into music, but this guys is the best singer! He is incredible! He has supernatural talent!" I chuckled to myself... why is it that people in Christian stores feel the need to use "spiritual" puns? Oh well. But it gets better.
I'm waiting in line to check out, and this guy two people in front of me picks up this CD that is sitting on the counter. "WHOA!" he shouts, "This CD is so cheap! It's sinfully cheap!" I almost burst out laughing and had to look down... he didn't even laugh - he was serious! Oh, but yet it gets better!
After that guy left the next lady walks up to my cousin Nikki and gives her the books (or whatever she was buying.) Nik told her the total and there were some odd cents. The lady digs in her purse, pulls out some loose change and says, "I've got the 81 cents! It's a divine appointment!" She was serious too! These people! AGH! I got into my car and burst out laughing... only to be followed by the new cashier who never handed me back my check card."
April 22, 2006
That Kid Part II
That Kid Returns
Thanks everyone – your deliciously entertaining comments and stories have entertained many! I have decided that now is the time to continue the That Kid Bios, and will definitely include your stories and Kids along the way.
I mentioned early on in my first post of That Kid that I would briefly talk about That Kid Groups of totally random kids, coming together to form one new breed of Kid. Here is a simple recipe for a That Kid group:
1 lanky girl
1 smelly kid
1 large round kid named Jeff
+ 1 Asian kid
= Random Group of That Kid
Another equation could be:
1 normal kid
3 smart kids
1 kid that passes his classes only because of the 3 smart kids
+ 1 kid who’s relative teaches at the school and gets free food in the Deli
= Slightly normal Group of That Kid
Let’s move on and look at some That Kid’s in YOUR life:
Chris said…
“One kid that seemed to show up in every class I was in from high school to play college was "Old Kid". "Old Kid" describes a kid exactly as that moniker implies—a kid that even though he swears to be your age or close to (plus he's in a 12th grade/freshman class) has got to be at least 8 years older than the median age. He may even be balding or carry a briefcase. This is a guy who you'd find golfing with your Uncle not learning basic chemistry with you. Do you think "That Kid" types grow up to be "That Guy" types? You know "that guy". That guy who's always showing up in lesser-known movies or TV shows? Or maybe just a guy that you keep seeing from across the room no matter where you go...you kinda know him from somewhere and maybe remember his name but not enough to strike up a conversation—yet there he is at the gas station, the mall, Target, etc.”
Nikki said…
“Oh my goodness, I can think of a couple "That Kids". The one that comes to mind is the blond kid with the long, scraggly hair. I'd just see him everywhere. I'd see him at Target. I'd see him at CUB. Then I realized he worked at both Target and CUB, so that explained that. Who was That Kid? I don't know. I'd see him at other places, and feel like maybe I should say hi or something, but then I'd realize I didn't need to because I didn't actually know him. He was just That Kid.”
Katie said…
“I have one: "Mumbler Kid". I have had (& am currently in) several classes where there is a mumbler. Someone who, no matter what comes out of their mouth, always sounds like, "Merhferttlehumblejublyhum." Yet the teacher always understands them! I mean, honestly. Everyone around is whispering to their neighbor, "What did they say?" & the teacher is already responding to what "Mumbler Kid" said! It boggles my mind. Maybe teachers have special mind powers. Oh! & I have another one: "Reading in Class Kid". I always see them. Sitting there in the back of class reading their favorite novel. Even in classes where attendance isn't taken & the only reason for actually coming to class would be to take notes. Crazy Kids.”
Jennifer said…
“How about that kid who's always with the other kid? There are certain kids I always see in pairs. It's like they have some kind of invisible bungee cord between them-- one starts to walk a little too far away and then bounces back to the other. Sometimes I see only one of the pair and start to wonder, and then start to worry where the other kid is, because the only excuse for that kid not to be with the other kid is, well, death. I wait about a second and it turns out the kid is just behind a post or something. Whew!”
Mindy said…
“You forgot Stretch Pants Kid. Even in the most non-homeschool of environments you can find one or two of these pudgy females, usually sporting pink or navy stretch pants and a shirt that's long... but not quite long enough. Somehow, glasses and uncombed hair always complete the picture, and possible a tattered, classic novel like "Jane Eyre". Before you make any comments, I'll have you know I left my homeschool pink stretch pants behind in fourth grade. Yes, I did!!!”
and…
“An international addition from India. There is one kid I swear I see all over Siliguri - I realize it's not the same one, because I see him in Kalimpong as well as Bagdogra (not that these names mean anything to you.) This Kid is Nepali, in his late teens or early twenties, has shoulder-length oily hair (ok, to be fair, I must admit it is sometimes washed) and often is brushing his teeth by the side of the road. Every time I pass, he gazes at me, with white toothpaste foam at the corners of his mouth. (Yes, this actually happens.)”
Linda said…
“Hey! I still wear stretch pants!”
Diane said…
“How about the kid with the "roots." Actually this person is not a kid because the roots aren't dark - they're actually gray. These kinds of kids show up mostly at church and sing in the choir. They become really annoying when they sit in front of you in the choir loft. From that slightly elevated position, you have to pretend you don't see that nasty half-inch of gray peaking through. The worst part of it is, is that you're hoping like crazy the person behind you doesn't notice your own faded roots. Oh well, it's still great to be one of the kids. Love, Mom”
Steve said…
“Hey, Bud, what about the "Stocking Cap" kid? You know the one who didn't feel like washing his hair in the morning and has to cover it up? Or maybe just wants to have that cool look in his band? Or maybe has a huge nose and needs to draw attention away from it? Or maybe is trying to keep the lice in one place? Or..... (Just in case you didn't quite get the point, I HATE stocking caps... unless it's 40 below outside!)”
Dropper Girl said…
“Ooooooooooooohhhh my goooooooosh I can’t believe I got totally talked about in this crazy web thing hey did you know that the like 40-page paper is due next next week…!!!!! Like seriously and I haven’t even started it I mean I already did it like 2 months ago but still it’s sooooo crazy having assignments due like all the like time and like like like like and I using your cool lingo enough ?? crazy whoa spaghetti in the caf today ohhhh wowww see you at the study thing at like 3.”
OK, even about those crazy comments! It’s time to move on to some new discoveries of that kid. The first one is Surfer Kid.
Surfer kid is tall, with brown hair. He pretty much only wears sweat pants and flip-flops. Sometimes he will replace his comfies and hemp necklace with a pair of worn jeans and a collared shirt. But this, again, is rare. Surfer kid’s voice always singsongs a question in every statement and would sound great singing with the Beach Boys. Conversations with him may include yet aren’t limited to comments like, “Do we have a quiz today?” Or “Do we totally have a quiz today?” He can even turn statements, which are impossible to turn into questions, in to questions. For instance, if the teacher were to say, “Surfer kid, please stop talking and listen,” he would reply with, “That’s what I’m planning on doing?” What? I don’t know, but he does it.
Large-Faced Genius Kid:
This kid sits in your class, always making an effort to keep his legs crossed, which he can barely do. He leans to one side, with a slight smirk on his face, making witty and sometimes aggravating comments that leave the professors saying, “Well, LFGK, if we were talking about the Aramaic spelling of the word “Ambiguous” and it’s effect on 3rd-Century Spain, then we could talk about that… but since we are talking about baking muffins, please refrain from making comments that don’t make sense.” LFGK always likes reading aloud when a volunteer is expected, and he reads every thing as if he is reading the Gettysburg Address. “Fore Score and Seven years ago, we started baking raspberry muffins…”
Clarifying Kid (AKA Katie Dugan) arrives on the scene, early, as usual. Clarifier always asks the most obvious questions. If, for instance, the class was meeting in groups of 4 (and everyone in the whole class was in a group of four, including Clarifier) he or she would ask, “Is it OK that I’m in a group of 4?” Or, as mentioned before, they will go up to the teacher after almost every class for clarity on a topic they somehow missed:
“So, I definitely need to use Times New Roman font for my paper, right? Because I thought you either said that, or Curlz Teeniebopper.
OK, got it. Now, I think you said you wanted the paper in 12-point font… and you didn’t want it in 40-point, did you?”
Or
“I’m confused Dr. Johnson, this assignment says to find a book, read that book, then write a 2-page paper on it. Can you explain that to me… I just don’t get it!” Dr. J replies, “Well, [stupid twit] find a book, read it, and then write the 2-page paper on it…” *pause
“OOOOOOOOHhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I get it.”
Our last Kid of the day is Teacher Kid. No one can tell if this kid is a teacher or a student. He knows everything the teachers know, and yet is everywhere the students are. He is a mix between young and old and people think he either 40 or 18. Some think he is a shape shifter and can grow an instant 40-year-old man’s mustache and then quickly turn into a kid wearing a Fubu shirt with ripped jeans.
Well, this is the end of That Kid series. My creativity wore out long ago, and I am going to rest easy knowing that out there, thousands of Kid’s roam the earth, sometimes alone, sometime in nomadic groups, scavenging throughout the US, only be spotted and tagged by you. Don’t let them get away!
Thanks everyone – your deliciously entertaining comments and stories have entertained many! I have decided that now is the time to continue the That Kid Bios, and will definitely include your stories and Kids along the way.
I mentioned early on in my first post of That Kid that I would briefly talk about That Kid Groups of totally random kids, coming together to form one new breed of Kid. Here is a simple recipe for a That Kid group:
1 lanky girl
1 smelly kid
1 large round kid named Jeff
+ 1 Asian kid
= Random Group of That Kid
Another equation could be:
1 normal kid
3 smart kids
1 kid that passes his classes only because of the 3 smart kids
+ 1 kid who’s relative teaches at the school and gets free food in the Deli
= Slightly normal Group of That Kid
Let’s move on and look at some That Kid’s in YOUR life:
Chris said…
“One kid that seemed to show up in every class I was in from high school to play college was "Old Kid". "Old Kid" describes a kid exactly as that moniker implies—a kid that even though he swears to be your age or close to (plus he's in a 12th grade/freshman class) has got to be at least 8 years older than the median age. He may even be balding or carry a briefcase. This is a guy who you'd find golfing with your Uncle not learning basic chemistry with you. Do you think "That Kid" types grow up to be "That Guy" types? You know "that guy". That guy who's always showing up in lesser-known movies or TV shows? Or maybe just a guy that you keep seeing from across the room no matter where you go...you kinda know him from somewhere and maybe remember his name but not enough to strike up a conversation—yet there he is at the gas station, the mall, Target, etc.”
Nikki said…
“Oh my goodness, I can think of a couple "That Kids". The one that comes to mind is the blond kid with the long, scraggly hair. I'd just see him everywhere. I'd see him at Target. I'd see him at CUB. Then I realized he worked at both Target and CUB, so that explained that. Who was That Kid? I don't know. I'd see him at other places, and feel like maybe I should say hi or something, but then I'd realize I didn't need to because I didn't actually know him. He was just That Kid.”
Katie said…
“I have one: "Mumbler Kid". I have had (& am currently in) several classes where there is a mumbler. Someone who, no matter what comes out of their mouth, always sounds like, "Merhferttlehumblejublyhum." Yet the teacher always understands them! I mean, honestly. Everyone around is whispering to their neighbor, "What did they say?" & the teacher is already responding to what "Mumbler Kid" said! It boggles my mind. Maybe teachers have special mind powers. Oh! & I have another one: "Reading in Class Kid". I always see them. Sitting there in the back of class reading their favorite novel. Even in classes where attendance isn't taken & the only reason for actually coming to class would be to take notes. Crazy Kids.”
Jennifer said…
“How about that kid who's always with the other kid? There are certain kids I always see in pairs. It's like they have some kind of invisible bungee cord between them-- one starts to walk a little too far away and then bounces back to the other. Sometimes I see only one of the pair and start to wonder, and then start to worry where the other kid is, because the only excuse for that kid not to be with the other kid is, well, death. I wait about a second and it turns out the kid is just behind a post or something. Whew!”
Mindy said…
“You forgot Stretch Pants Kid. Even in the most non-homeschool of environments you can find one or two of these pudgy females, usually sporting pink or navy stretch pants and a shirt that's long... but not quite long enough. Somehow, glasses and uncombed hair always complete the picture, and possible a tattered, classic novel like "Jane Eyre". Before you make any comments, I'll have you know I left my homeschool pink stretch pants behind in fourth grade. Yes, I did!!!”
and…
“An international addition from India. There is one kid I swear I see all over Siliguri - I realize it's not the same one, because I see him in Kalimpong as well as Bagdogra (not that these names mean anything to you.) This Kid is Nepali, in his late teens or early twenties, has shoulder-length oily hair (ok, to be fair, I must admit it is sometimes washed) and often is brushing his teeth by the side of the road. Every time I pass, he gazes at me, with white toothpaste foam at the corners of his mouth. (Yes, this actually happens.)”
Linda said…
“Hey! I still wear stretch pants!”
Diane said…
“How about the kid with the "roots." Actually this person is not a kid because the roots aren't dark - they're actually gray. These kinds of kids show up mostly at church and sing in the choir. They become really annoying when they sit in front of you in the choir loft. From that slightly elevated position, you have to pretend you don't see that nasty half-inch of gray peaking through. The worst part of it is, is that you're hoping like crazy the person behind you doesn't notice your own faded roots. Oh well, it's still great to be one of the kids. Love, Mom”
Steve said…
“Hey, Bud, what about the "Stocking Cap" kid? You know the one who didn't feel like washing his hair in the morning and has to cover it up? Or maybe just wants to have that cool look in his band? Or maybe has a huge nose and needs to draw attention away from it? Or maybe is trying to keep the lice in one place? Or..... (Just in case you didn't quite get the point, I HATE stocking caps... unless it's 40 below outside!)”
Dropper Girl said…
“Ooooooooooooohhhh my goooooooosh I can’t believe I got totally talked about in this crazy web thing hey did you know that the like 40-page paper is due next next week…!!!!! Like seriously and I haven’t even started it I mean I already did it like 2 months ago but still it’s sooooo crazy having assignments due like all the like time and like like like like and I using your cool lingo enough ?? crazy whoa spaghetti in the caf today ohhhh wowww see you at the study thing at like 3.”
OK, even about those crazy comments! It’s time to move on to some new discoveries of that kid. The first one is Surfer Kid.
Surfer kid is tall, with brown hair. He pretty much only wears sweat pants and flip-flops. Sometimes he will replace his comfies and hemp necklace with a pair of worn jeans and a collared shirt. But this, again, is rare. Surfer kid’s voice always singsongs a question in every statement and would sound great singing with the Beach Boys. Conversations with him may include yet aren’t limited to comments like, “Do we have a quiz today?” Or “Do we totally have a quiz today?” He can even turn statements, which are impossible to turn into questions, in to questions. For instance, if the teacher were to say, “Surfer kid, please stop talking and listen,” he would reply with, “That’s what I’m planning on doing?” What? I don’t know, but he does it.
Large-Faced Genius Kid:
This kid sits in your class, always making an effort to keep his legs crossed, which he can barely do. He leans to one side, with a slight smirk on his face, making witty and sometimes aggravating comments that leave the professors saying, “Well, LFGK, if we were talking about the Aramaic spelling of the word “Ambiguous” and it’s effect on 3rd-Century Spain, then we could talk about that… but since we are talking about baking muffins, please refrain from making comments that don’t make sense.” LFGK always likes reading aloud when a volunteer is expected, and he reads every thing as if he is reading the Gettysburg Address. “Fore Score and Seven years ago, we started baking raspberry muffins…”
Clarifying Kid (AKA Katie Dugan) arrives on the scene, early, as usual. Clarifier always asks the most obvious questions. If, for instance, the class was meeting in groups of 4 (and everyone in the whole class was in a group of four, including Clarifier) he or she would ask, “Is it OK that I’m in a group of 4?” Or, as mentioned before, they will go up to the teacher after almost every class for clarity on a topic they somehow missed:
“So, I definitely need to use Times New Roman font for my paper, right? Because I thought you either said that, or Curlz Teeniebopper.
OK, got it. Now, I think you said you wanted the paper in 12-point font… and you didn’t want it in 40-point, did you?”
Or
“I’m confused Dr. Johnson, this assignment says to find a book, read that book, then write a 2-page paper on it. Can you explain that to me… I just don’t get it!” Dr. J replies, “Well, [stupid twit] find a book, read it, and then write the 2-page paper on it…” *pause
“OOOOOOOOHhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I get it.”
Our last Kid of the day is Teacher Kid. No one can tell if this kid is a teacher or a student. He knows everything the teachers know, and yet is everywhere the students are. He is a mix between young and old and people think he either 40 or 18. Some think he is a shape shifter and can grow an instant 40-year-old man’s mustache and then quickly turn into a kid wearing a Fubu shirt with ripped jeans.
Well, this is the end of That Kid series. My creativity wore out long ago, and I am going to rest easy knowing that out there, thousands of Kid’s roam the earth, sometimes alone, sometime in nomadic groups, scavenging throughout the US, only be spotted and tagged by you. Don’t let them get away!
April 18, 2006
April 14, 2006
Eye See
Today I went to the Eye Doctor, Dr. Melissa. Before I went in for the actual contact exam, I was put through the classic eye tests... Including the infamous "You'll feel a slight puff of air in your eye" test. Do you know which one I'm talking about? I HATE that one! You put your forehead against this metal rod and your chin sits in this little chin dish. Then you stare directly at a little green dot. After explaining that a "slight puff" with be shot directly into my open eye, I start to quiver. My eyes know what's coming, so they want to blink. I try to keep them open so they get dry which makes me want to blink even more. Anyway, first a piece of the machine moves in really close to your eye with this machine-type whirring noise... then it back away (apparently it's measuring your vision somehow) then when you least expect it, a cold blast of air is shot into your eye... and your whole head violently explodes from it's resting space, making you look like a scared animal. I hate that air machine. And every year it nails me... not this time.
Poem to an Air Machine:
I've seen the way you look at me,
Whirring... shaking... Observing and measuring my possibibilities for Glaucoma.
Never looking away you gaze... Unwavering, unquestioning, unnerving.
Undeniable and necessary, yet cold and scary.
You get so close, oh so close, then back away.
I look eagerly into your one green eye and you...
Blow me off.
Why do you ignore my longings to view you?
Have you ever wondered why you reject me every year?
Each year is colder, stronger, more blowier.
I miss you.
Poem to an Air Machine:
I've seen the way you look at me,
Whirring... shaking... Observing and measuring my possibibilities for Glaucoma.
Never looking away you gaze... Unwavering, unquestioning, unnerving.
Undeniable and necessary, yet cold and scary.
You get so close, oh so close, then back away.
I look eagerly into your one green eye and you...
Blow me off.
Why do you ignore my longings to view you?
Have you ever wondered why you reject me every year?
Each year is colder, stronger, more blowier.
I miss you.
March 17, 2006
That Kid
Now that I'm back in school, continuing on my path toward the vague shadows and outlines of my future, I once again find myself in unabashed wonder (which sometimes borders on disbelief) when I look around my college and see so many of That Kid.
That Kid comes in many shapes, colors, and varieties. He can be a she, an adult, a midget, a giant, or a Hawaiian. There is really no credentials to being That Kid... in fact, I am probably That Kid to someone else, just as That Kid is That Kid to me. I have come to terms with this fact, and humbly accept this position. I hope you have come, or will come, to that acceptance as well.
But the topic of That Kid is too broad to immediately begin examining his (or her) existence with the mere comment that you and I are That Kid. Let's quickly look at That Kid in depth, realizing the extent of his influence and the broad scope of his effect.
That Kid could be a group. For example, The Kid could be the group of slightly nerdy girls who talk really loudly in the lunch line about new technologies. If you look closely, you may notice the "lead girl" whose voice cuts through the vast spaces around her to reach your ears. She may periodically look around to see it anyone notices her or her new phone.
The Kid Groups could also be the iPod Kids, or as I call them, the iKids. These iKids are almost impossible to ignore (even if you try) and consist of relationships of divided unity. This means they are from the same origin, yet each is alone with their music. You can find them walking around (it is not uncommon to see them at least 3 times within 15 minutes, this is because they continually walk around), normally with their head down, listening to their iTunes with their iEars, sometimes grooving to their iBeats. The iKids get on my many people's nerves because they are very anti-social. Ironically, a new iPod (a gift for a birthday or from a parent) can actually transform a very friendly and social person into an iKid with the simple action of stuffing two white ear buds deep into the iEar. They are no longer Sean or Sam or Sarah... now they are iKid.
Groups of The Kid normally consist of 3 - 7 humans, about the same age and physical stature (this is normally true, although there are times when shockingly different people form The Kid, but we will talk about those groups in a moment.) Groups of The Kid make up about 50% of The Kid's at many schools and in social environments (like State Fairs or amusement parks).
But let us move past the groups of The Kid, and onto the individualized Kid. I will only cover a couple well-known Kids, and I'm sure there are many more that I have not addressed. (If you would like, please post a comment about The Kid that is in or has been in your life.)
The Kid I will mention first is the kid nicknamed Tiny. This is usually a 200-300 pound student who has been nicknamed Tiny. Har Har Har. There is always The Kid named Tiny.
There is always a Kid, The Kid, named Dan. He's usually the kid in most of your classes, and always seems to be everywhere. He tries to be super original and unique, and sports his individuality by wearing a piece of duck tape that says "Dan" on it (like a nametag) and sitting in the front row in the closest possible seat to the teacher. Dan will raise his hand for almost every question, and after a while the teacher will ignore his hand completely, even if it is the only one in the air. Searching the room with great intensity, Dan's hand has become invisible. Also, Dan might wear the same shirt every day (just during first hour) in hopes of creating tradition. Maybe he thinks that everyone will pick up on the idea of wearing a bright, Day-Glo orange T-shirt that says "Mountain Dew" on it every single day. Sad to say, the majority never catches on. Dan consoles himself with yet even more duck tape nametags.
Let’s move on from Dan, to another fascinating spectacle of human existence. The Kid I’m talking about is The Drawing Kid. The Drawing Kid is fairly easy to spot, but you must search sometimes because he is a quick-mover and highly nomadic. He usually plunkers down somewhere for about 20 minutes, emptying his backpack of sketch pads, pens, a CD player, CD’s, his jacket and a torn math book. After a while of sketching on CD's and notebook covers though, he will suddenly gather all of this belongings, and rush off to another location… perhaps where there are new CD’s or a hip poetry reading that he can pretend to be interested in. Drawing Kid can also get on people’s nerves, mostly because of his tendency toward playing loud music. Sometimes interested in Electronic/Rave Music, he assumes that the whole school, the entire human civilization and his torn math book actually want to hear his music. So he wears his headphones (the wrap-around the back style) around his neck and then cranks his techno mumbo-jumbo so that all can hear it. Sometimes if you look at him during this music phase, you will catch a quick glimpse of "musical superiority face". He looks at you as if he knows that you secretly wish you were his CD’s, his headphones, or his torn math book.
Dropping Kid, sometimes referred to Dropping Girl, or Dropper, comes next. She seems to be everywhere and once, and sometimes you may assume that she is omnipresent. (Although this may seem to be true, it is not. She just is a lot of places that you are.)Dropping Girl sits in the front row, usually a couple of chairs away from Dan. Sometimes she is an adult, coming back to school, and craving recognition with and association to young college students. She is also a hand-raiser, and is also ignored. Anyway, Dropper tends to find herself picking her books up off the floor in front of her. Her books (which seem to be unusually slippery) seem to slip off of her desk and crash onto the floor a couple of times per class period. Each time Dropper drops, she looks at a couple people around her with a comical look on her face as if she is saying, “That has never happened before!! My books just fell off my desk! Did you see that!? I can’t even believe that!! That is the craziest thing that has ever happened to me – I’m sitting here in a CLASS and my books all slipped off my desk!!! Did you even see that!?! Whoa, that is so funny and crazy and super-risky and totally weird and oh my gosh that’s unbelievable and I’m back in college again!!!!! WHOOOAAA!!” Enough said about Dropping Girl.
Well, I need to take a break from this Blog, but if you would like, I will come back and finish it off with a part two.
So the question is…Which Kid are you?
***DON'T MISS IT! THE KID PART II WILL INCLUDE:***
CLUELESS KID (Will he ever realize that homework is due EVERY Monday?)
SKIN KID (Honey, those jeans are a 4, you are a 12, and I need a toilet to vomit in.)
CLARIFYING KID ("Mr. Jones, I just want to clarify that you wanted our papers in 12-point font right? Because I can't remember if you said 12 but meant 11.467 font or just plain old 12.... 12? OK, got it! ...And did you want our papers in Times New Roman font or Curlz? Times New Roman? OK, thanks a whole bunch!")
That Kid comes in many shapes, colors, and varieties. He can be a she, an adult, a midget, a giant, or a Hawaiian. There is really no credentials to being That Kid... in fact, I am probably That Kid to someone else, just as That Kid is That Kid to me. I have come to terms with this fact, and humbly accept this position. I hope you have come, or will come, to that acceptance as well.
But the topic of That Kid is too broad to immediately begin examining his (or her) existence with the mere comment that you and I are That Kid. Let's quickly look at That Kid in depth, realizing the extent of his influence and the broad scope of his effect.
That Kid could be a group. For example, The Kid could be the group of slightly nerdy girls who talk really loudly in the lunch line about new technologies. If you look closely, you may notice the "lead girl" whose voice cuts through the vast spaces around her to reach your ears. She may periodically look around to see it anyone notices her or her new phone.
The Kid Groups could also be the iPod Kids, or as I call them, the iKids. These iKids are almost impossible to ignore (even if you try) and consist of relationships of divided unity. This means they are from the same origin, yet each is alone with their music. You can find them walking around (it is not uncommon to see them at least 3 times within 15 minutes, this is because they continually walk around), normally with their head down, listening to their iTunes with their iEars, sometimes grooving to their iBeats. The iKids get on my many people's nerves because they are very anti-social. Ironically, a new iPod (a gift for a birthday or from a parent) can actually transform a very friendly and social person into an iKid with the simple action of stuffing two white ear buds deep into the iEar. They are no longer Sean or Sam or Sarah... now they are iKid.
Groups of The Kid normally consist of 3 - 7 humans, about the same age and physical stature (this is normally true, although there are times when shockingly different people form The Kid, but we will talk about those groups in a moment.) Groups of The Kid make up about 50% of The Kid's at many schools and in social environments (like State Fairs or amusement parks).
But let us move past the groups of The Kid, and onto the individualized Kid. I will only cover a couple well-known Kids, and I'm sure there are many more that I have not addressed. (If you would like, please post a comment about The Kid that is in or has been in your life.)
The Kid I will mention first is the kid nicknamed Tiny. This is usually a 200-300 pound student who has been nicknamed Tiny. Har Har Har. There is always The Kid named Tiny.
There is always a Kid, The Kid, named Dan. He's usually the kid in most of your classes, and always seems to be everywhere. He tries to be super original and unique, and sports his individuality by wearing a piece of duck tape that says "Dan" on it (like a nametag) and sitting in the front row in the closest possible seat to the teacher. Dan will raise his hand for almost every question, and after a while the teacher will ignore his hand completely, even if it is the only one in the air. Searching the room with great intensity, Dan's hand has become invisible. Also, Dan might wear the same shirt every day (just during first hour) in hopes of creating tradition. Maybe he thinks that everyone will pick up on the idea of wearing a bright, Day-Glo orange T-shirt that says "Mountain Dew" on it every single day. Sad to say, the majority never catches on. Dan consoles himself with yet even more duck tape nametags.
Let’s move on from Dan, to another fascinating spectacle of human existence. The Kid I’m talking about is The Drawing Kid. The Drawing Kid is fairly easy to spot, but you must search sometimes because he is a quick-mover and highly nomadic. He usually plunkers down somewhere for about 20 minutes, emptying his backpack of sketch pads, pens, a CD player, CD’s, his jacket and a torn math book. After a while of sketching on CD's and notebook covers though, he will suddenly gather all of this belongings, and rush off to another location… perhaps where there are new CD’s or a hip poetry reading that he can pretend to be interested in. Drawing Kid can also get on people’s nerves, mostly because of his tendency toward playing loud music. Sometimes interested in Electronic/Rave Music, he assumes that the whole school, the entire human civilization and his torn math book actually want to hear his music. So he wears his headphones (the wrap-around the back style) around his neck and then cranks his techno mumbo-jumbo so that all can hear it. Sometimes if you look at him during this music phase, you will catch a quick glimpse of "musical superiority face". He looks at you as if he knows that you secretly wish you were his CD’s, his headphones, or his torn math book.
Dropping Kid, sometimes referred to Dropping Girl, or Dropper, comes next. She seems to be everywhere and once, and sometimes you may assume that she is omnipresent. (Although this may seem to be true, it is not. She just is a lot of places that you are.)Dropping Girl sits in the front row, usually a couple of chairs away from Dan. Sometimes she is an adult, coming back to school, and craving recognition with and association to young college students. She is also a hand-raiser, and is also ignored. Anyway, Dropper tends to find herself picking her books up off the floor in front of her. Her books (which seem to be unusually slippery) seem to slip off of her desk and crash onto the floor a couple of times per class period. Each time Dropper drops, she looks at a couple people around her with a comical look on her face as if she is saying, “That has never happened before!! My books just fell off my desk! Did you see that!? I can’t even believe that!! That is the craziest thing that has ever happened to me – I’m sitting here in a CLASS and my books all slipped off my desk!!! Did you even see that!?! Whoa, that is so funny and crazy and super-risky and totally weird and oh my gosh that’s unbelievable and I’m back in college again!!!!! WHOOOAAA!!” Enough said about Dropping Girl.
Well, I need to take a break from this Blog, but if you would like, I will come back and finish it off with a part two.
So the question is…Which Kid are you?
***DON'T MISS IT! THE KID PART II WILL INCLUDE:***
CLUELESS KID (Will he ever realize that homework is due EVERY Monday?)
SKIN KID (Honey, those jeans are a 4, you are a 12, and I need a toilet to vomit in.)
CLARIFYING KID ("Mr. Jones, I just want to clarify that you wanted our papers in 12-point font right? Because I can't remember if you said 12 but meant 11.467 font or just plain old 12.... 12? OK, got it! ...And did you want our papers in Times New Roman font or Curlz? Times New Roman? OK, thanks a whole bunch!")
February 24, 2006
Land Before Time XXV: Lost in New York City
It's Movie Review Time! Today we'll be looking at the smash hit, "Land Before Time...." blah blah blah you know the name of it - it's too long to keep writing, so just look at the title.
Just when you thought the multicultural adventure were over, think again! Chica, the South-Central American Wombat and Joser, the Pacific Islander Rapter (his Sea-Parent is Nishi) find themselves trapped in New York City... with Mary Kate and Ashley Olson! Wow! Here's what happened: While on a city tour, the two best friends and sea parent decided to go to a broadway show! Once there, they met up with Mary Kate and Ashley, their two best friends from back home... but when Mary kate (Ashley's best friend!) saw the show was about eating disorders, she started crying, and walked out. Her totally tiny sister, Ashley (Mary Kates best friend! Totally!) decided that to make her feel better, they would go shopping and then let paperazzi take pictures of them standing really really close together and not eating. Wow!
To make the adventures even Ashlier and MaryKatielier, they find their new friends, Krem and Krey, two snakes who exercise their alternative lifestyle choices by attaching fake arms and legs and demanding to be treated with ressssssspect! Wow! How totally trendy and acceptable! Having arrived back from the dessert, where they "found themselves" the two are now adopting, and picketing the streets of New York for a state-accepted legal marriage. Anyway, after the first six hours where Krey is complaining about how his father is coming to town and he wants his father to think he is OK and accept him (like every plot of every movie that has come out in the past 6 years) Krem meets another snake, Jake, and they decide to make a movie that no one will see yet will win every award ever invented.
As the movie wraps up, we find the entire group led in song by MK and A, singing the ever-popular tunes, "Neutral G Love" and "Acceptable Me". He are the words:
"The changing sunset reminds me ever more clearly,
ever, ever,
Of how you may change,
but I will never stop loving you,
because the moon and sun and stars deny no one,
the right to see their shining light,
shining through the night,
shining oh so bright,
shining away my fright,
shining away the bites,
and the mites,
so I can wear my tights."
The End.
(1 out of 1,093 Stars; Bert and Ernie)
Just when you thought the multicultural adventure were over, think again! Chica, the South-Central American Wombat and Joser, the Pacific Islander Rapter (his Sea-Parent is Nishi) find themselves trapped in New York City... with Mary Kate and Ashley Olson! Wow! Here's what happened: While on a city tour, the two best friends and sea parent decided to go to a broadway show! Once there, they met up with Mary Kate and Ashley, their two best friends from back home... but when Mary kate (Ashley's best friend!) saw the show was about eating disorders, she started crying, and walked out. Her totally tiny sister, Ashley (Mary Kates best friend! Totally!) decided that to make her feel better, they would go shopping and then let paperazzi take pictures of them standing really really close together and not eating. Wow!
To make the adventures even Ashlier and MaryKatielier, they find their new friends, Krem and Krey, two snakes who exercise their alternative lifestyle choices by attaching fake arms and legs and demanding to be treated with ressssssspect! Wow! How totally trendy and acceptable! Having arrived back from the dessert, where they "found themselves" the two are now adopting, and picketing the streets of New York for a state-accepted legal marriage. Anyway, after the first six hours where Krey is complaining about how his father is coming to town and he wants his father to think he is OK and accept him (like every plot of every movie that has come out in the past 6 years) Krem meets another snake, Jake, and they decide to make a movie that no one will see yet will win every award ever invented.
As the movie wraps up, we find the entire group led in song by MK and A, singing the ever-popular tunes, "Neutral G Love" and "Acceptable Me". He are the words:
"The changing sunset reminds me ever more clearly,
ever, ever,
Of how you may change,
but I will never stop loving you,
because the moon and sun and stars deny no one,
the right to see their shining light,
shining through the night,
shining oh so bright,
shining away my fright,
shining away the bites,
and the mites,
so I can wear my tights."
The End.
(1 out of 1,093 Stars; Bert and Ernie)
January 27, 2006
A Big Rat and Me
People! I have the weirdest things happen to me... I think me and my Auntie Linda should write a book (she has GREAT stories, too) about all of the strange things that have happened to each of us.
**********************************************************************************
My story begins as I am walking around my block last night listening to worship music on my iPod and praying. It was so nice that I just had to be outside! (It was probably around 10 PM.) After walking around the block once, I decided to go down to the area behind my house and sit by the pond. I like solitude, and sitting in the cool, slightly winterish breeze sounded pleasant.
As I sat down on the large roots of a willow tree and looked out over the pond, I pulled my baggy stocking cap down farther on my head. I looked up at the stars, thinking about creation, thinking about how much I loved being outside.
The song I was listening to faded out... I sat with my eyes closed, expecting to hear the wind and rustling leaves fill in the empty sound left behind. Instead, and to my utter delight, I heard a very distinct crunching. I opened my eyes, staring straight ahead, listening oh-so intently to the very loud sound to my left that was getting louder each second.
The hat on my head was baggy and almost completely blocked my peripheral vision. As the crunching grew louder and I realized that someone or something alive was coming toward me, I froze. I tried to act carefree by staring straight ahead... but really I was too scared to look at what was coming toward me.
The crunching slowed and I turned my head slightly so I could see out of my peripheral and get a glimpse of what was coming at me. It was not a person, it was an animal. From what I could tell it was a cat... a large cat. Not wanting to quickly look over and startle it, I relaxed a little, thinking maybe it was a lonely cat that might want to curl up next to me and keep me warm.
Then it got closer. This was NOT a cat. This was a large, ugly possum. It's pointy white nose found my left arm and started sniffing me viciously. I tried to look at it, but it was so close to me that the only was I could have seen it would have been to completely turn my head and look at it. Which would have been deadly.
For those of you who don't know, possums are extremely dangerous. They are very lonely, angry animals who are vicious when they attack. They aren't very fast runners but they are quicker than lighting when they are close. Possums are eagerly angered, have razor sharp teeth, and eat meat. Here's the problem:
I am not easily angered, I have dull, stupid teeth, and I like salad.
If I would have seen it was a possum from farther away, I would have gotten out of there. But now that it was here, at my side, sniffing its delicious new dinner, I couldn't move. That thing would have been on me like Fixident on Grandma's dentures. So I sat there, frozen.
In a couple more seconds, it finally turned and ran. I looked at it as it waddled away and sighed. I slowly and quietly (I was as quiet as I could be on a tree root with dead leaves sticks other loud crunchy items that nature discards) ran for me life.
Whew! That was a close one!
**********************************************************************************
My story begins as I am walking around my block last night listening to worship music on my iPod and praying. It was so nice that I just had to be outside! (It was probably around 10 PM.) After walking around the block once, I decided to go down to the area behind my house and sit by the pond. I like solitude, and sitting in the cool, slightly winterish breeze sounded pleasant.
As I sat down on the large roots of a willow tree and looked out over the pond, I pulled my baggy stocking cap down farther on my head. I looked up at the stars, thinking about creation, thinking about how much I loved being outside.
The song I was listening to faded out... I sat with my eyes closed, expecting to hear the wind and rustling leaves fill in the empty sound left behind. Instead, and to my utter delight, I heard a very distinct crunching. I opened my eyes, staring straight ahead, listening oh-so intently to the very loud sound to my left that was getting louder each second.
The hat on my head was baggy and almost completely blocked my peripheral vision. As the crunching grew louder and I realized that someone or something alive was coming toward me, I froze. I tried to act carefree by staring straight ahead... but really I was too scared to look at what was coming toward me.
The crunching slowed and I turned my head slightly so I could see out of my peripheral and get a glimpse of what was coming at me. It was not a person, it was an animal. From what I could tell it was a cat... a large cat. Not wanting to quickly look over and startle it, I relaxed a little, thinking maybe it was a lonely cat that might want to curl up next to me and keep me warm.
Then it got closer. This was NOT a cat. This was a large, ugly possum. It's pointy white nose found my left arm and started sniffing me viciously. I tried to look at it, but it was so close to me that the only was I could have seen it would have been to completely turn my head and look at it. Which would have been deadly.
For those of you who don't know, possums are extremely dangerous. They are very lonely, angry animals who are vicious when they attack. They aren't very fast runners but they are quicker than lighting when they are close. Possums are eagerly angered, have razor sharp teeth, and eat meat. Here's the problem:
I am not easily angered, I have dull, stupid teeth, and I like salad.
If I would have seen it was a possum from farther away, I would have gotten out of there. But now that it was here, at my side, sniffing its delicious new dinner, I couldn't move. That thing would have been on me like Fixident on Grandma's dentures. So I sat there, frozen.
In a couple more seconds, it finally turned and ran. I looked at it as it waddled away and sighed. I slowly and quietly (I was as quiet as I could be on a tree root with dead leaves sticks other loud crunchy items that nature discards) ran for me life.
Whew! That was a close one!
January 22, 2006
Blithering
Have you ever found yourself with a million tasks to accomplish... hardly any time to work with... and then suddenly you are in front of your computer, typing mindless blog postings and trying to forget how behind you are, how long it will take you to catch up, and pondering the fact that even though you've been to college you still write run-on sentences? I have.
Right now I am eating an organic banana, something I've been doing more often. The sticker on this banana showed two little people and said "Fair Trade Barter". I wonder what the Dole people gave the tribe who harvested these organic bananas... I have a feeling it wasn't a machete or some imported cloth to make clothes... it was probably some bottles of Coke, a few cases of Little Debbie snack cakes ("Oh, dearest Little Debbie - how my heart beats for your Valentine Snack Cakes!") and a case of Verizon cell phones.
Speaking of cell phones and remote tribes, I actually heard a true story about an interesting development in the jungles of some country I can't pronounce. These guys working with Samaritans Purse went to this jungle tribe to deliver shoeboxes. This tribe was so remote, so underdeveloped that the people didn't wear much clothing (especially the women - no tops... what was funny is that the women demanded a picture the one of the "missionaries" and wouldn't take no for an answer. I'm sure he was only slightly self conscious at that time.) Anyway, they were talking to this chief when all of a sudden a cell phone rang... the chief pulled out a cell phone and says, "Hello?"
Isn't it slightly strange for a village chief to have a cell phone? What would he say? Here are my guesses:
riiiiing riiiiiing
"Yo, Poncho, what time are we raiding the Zubnak tribe? Was it 8 or 8:30? "
riiiiiiing
"Hello? ....no! ... they didn't! ... you're best milking goat?!? "
riiiiiiing riiiiiiiiiing rrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing
"Yeah.... hi... I'm calling from Botswana...... yeah... have our orders come in? The confirmation number? Sure: 839570099. ...yup, 38 tiny loin clothes... just curious, are those a 60/40 cotton lycra blend? Oooh, they're 80/20 cotton spandex? Cancel the order."
Wow... weird.
Moving on. This topic has nothing to do with anything, but it is still something I need to address. The issue? Brands. Instead of explaining what I mean, I'm just going to use examples.
1. Did you know what the brand "Daewoo" makes stereo systems... and cars? I'm pretty sure they make TVs and other electronic equiptment, too. That is weird to me.
2. Did you know that if you take the word "Sun" and add any word onto the end, you have a brandname? Try it. Sunbelt, Sungrain, Suntree, Sunbeam, Sunshine, Suntime, Sunkids, Sunsun, Suncave, Sunwrap, Sunsuit, Sunspray, Sunsound, Sunbolt, Sunread, Sunstick. See? Anything works! It's a miracle.
3. There is a 90% chance that the Sun-company that makes your granola bars also makes your dryer sheets.
4. Rainbow foods has it's own brand: Roundy's. In case you've never bought a Roundy's food item, there are some very destinct observations one can make regarding the cereal.
Box of Cereal: The is no front and back... just two fronts. Say goodbye to fun games and word mix-ups. Turn the box around to see... the cover.
Bags of cereal: The "tear here" thing is a load of crap. "Tear here" actually means, "TRY to tear here, and when you are pulling really hard the bag will explode all over your kitchen and your dog will run in the kitchen and eat all the cereal."
End of Blithering.
Right now I am eating an organic banana, something I've been doing more often. The sticker on this banana showed two little people and said "Fair Trade Barter". I wonder what the Dole people gave the tribe who harvested these organic bananas... I have a feeling it wasn't a machete or some imported cloth to make clothes... it was probably some bottles of Coke, a few cases of Little Debbie snack cakes ("Oh, dearest Little Debbie - how my heart beats for your Valentine Snack Cakes!") and a case of Verizon cell phones.
Speaking of cell phones and remote tribes, I actually heard a true story about an interesting development in the jungles of some country I can't pronounce. These guys working with Samaritans Purse went to this jungle tribe to deliver shoeboxes. This tribe was so remote, so underdeveloped that the people didn't wear much clothing (especially the women - no tops... what was funny is that the women demanded a picture the one of the "missionaries" and wouldn't take no for an answer. I'm sure he was only slightly self conscious at that time.) Anyway, they were talking to this chief when all of a sudden a cell phone rang... the chief pulled out a cell phone and says, "Hello?"
Isn't it slightly strange for a village chief to have a cell phone? What would he say? Here are my guesses:
riiiiing riiiiiing
"Yo, Poncho, what time are we raiding the Zubnak tribe? Was it 8 or 8:30? "
riiiiiiing
"Hello? ....no! ... they didn't! ... you're best milking goat?!? "
riiiiiiing riiiiiiiiiing rrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing
"Yeah.... hi... I'm calling from Botswana...... yeah... have our orders come in? The confirmation number? Sure: 839570099. ...yup, 38 tiny loin clothes... just curious, are those a 60/40 cotton lycra blend? Oooh, they're 80/20 cotton spandex? Cancel the order."
Wow... weird.
Moving on. This topic has nothing to do with anything, but it is still something I need to address. The issue? Brands. Instead of explaining what I mean, I'm just going to use examples.
1. Did you know what the brand "Daewoo" makes stereo systems... and cars? I'm pretty sure they make TVs and other electronic equiptment, too. That is weird to me.
2. Did you know that if you take the word "Sun" and add any word onto the end, you have a brandname? Try it. Sunbelt, Sungrain, Suntree, Sunbeam, Sunshine, Suntime, Sunkids, Sunsun, Suncave, Sunwrap, Sunsuit, Sunspray, Sunsound, Sunbolt, Sunread, Sunstick. See? Anything works! It's a miracle.
3. There is a 90% chance that the Sun-company that makes your granola bars also makes your dryer sheets.
4. Rainbow foods has it's own brand: Roundy's. In case you've never bought a Roundy's food item, there are some very destinct observations one can make regarding the cereal.
Box of Cereal: The is no front and back... just two fronts. Say goodbye to fun games and word mix-ups. Turn the box around to see... the cover.
Bags of cereal: The "tear here" thing is a load of crap. "Tear here" actually means, "TRY to tear here, and when you are pulling really hard the bag will explode all over your kitchen and your dog will run in the kitchen and eat all the cereal."
End of Blithering.
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