He gave himself nightmares.
He woke up and slid out.
His pillows on the floor.
Walked into the bathroom, punched the mirror.
Blood and broken glass.
His head hung low like plastic testicles on a truck axle.
The corners of a smile.
Television images flickering in his braincase. He hummed a familiar tune.
He checked his email.
He wrapped a paper towel around his knuckles, a vain attempt. It soon fell off.
He had woken later than usual. But he wasn't late. It was Saturday.
The house was empty.
Coffee.
He poured some raisin bran.
The computer on the table while he chewed nonchalantly. (He hated that word.)
The corners of a smile.
When he was done he took a shower and sang and hummed and marched and stomped and rinsed and washed.
Drying off but the blood was still coming from his hand.
Saturday.
He lay on the bed again, watching television.
He got irritated; he decided to write a letter.
His handwriting, neat. His style, perfect. His meaning, soon to be misconstrued.
It was addressed to no one and he didn't sign it. It read:
"I love, miss, and cherish you."
Then he scratched it out seventeen angry times and kind of angrily wrinkled the paper up a bit, and then with an escalating quantity of anger burnt the letter with a disposable lighter. He had done this a lot, and the lighter was empty after this time, so he angrily threw it away. The lighter was obviously upset, but was aware of its brevity.
The paper, however, was offended, and would have preferred a recycling process.
The ballpoint pen had no opinion on the matter.
The man, however, was very, very angry. That cannot be stressed enough.
He was always this way on Saturdays. Before he did anything fun he made himself hurt. Then there wasn't any time for fun so he just watched TV. Then that got boring so he would write stuff.
Like this.
He would write stuff like this.
May 23, 2010
May 2, 2010
Short Story: Routine
Cold.
He walked across the stage, to the microphone.
"I'd like to thank everyone for coming."
Later that night.
He unloaded the car, dragged in his bags. Sat on his bed. Jet lag. Head in hands. His fingers running through his hair. Or what was left of it.
He checked the answering machine: no messages. He glanced at his personal cell phone. No missed calls. No unread emails. No texts. He tossed it aside. His business phone was lit up like a Christmas tree and was vibrating itself off the nightstand.
The bed was still in the corner.
He brushed his teeth while reading scribbles on the mirror. More rhymes.
When he got up, he made a phone call. No answer.
He made breakfast. Well, raisin bran.
And he went off to work.
As soon as he got into the office, his staff bombarded him with questions. He answered all of them, nearly. Then he went to his own office and shut the door. He checked his email. Lots of email.
At lunch, he walked across the street with the guys to grab a burger. They all laughed and made small talk along the way. At the table, guys told stories about their kids, their vacation plans, their life. He sat silently, interjecting solely to provide laughs, often at his own expense.
When he got back to the office he ran around, helping people out. He was good at that. He was good at his job.
When he got home, he turned on the lights and everything was as he left it. There wasn't really much to leave, he noted.
Then he got on the computer.
At around midnight, he stumbled to bed.
He lay there amongst sheets and pillows, tossing and turning. He kicked his sheets off and screamed. He punched the wall, and then curled into a ball.
The next day, everyone at work had new questions for him, and he answered them all perfectly.
He walked across the stage, to the microphone.
"I'd like to thank everyone for coming."
Later that night.
He unloaded the car, dragged in his bags. Sat on his bed. Jet lag. Head in hands. His fingers running through his hair. Or what was left of it.
He checked the answering machine: no messages. He glanced at his personal cell phone. No missed calls. No unread emails. No texts. He tossed it aside. His business phone was lit up like a Christmas tree and was vibrating itself off the nightstand.
The bed was still in the corner.
He brushed his teeth while reading scribbles on the mirror. More rhymes.
When he got up, he made a phone call. No answer.
He made breakfast. Well, raisin bran.
And he went off to work.
As soon as he got into the office, his staff bombarded him with questions. He answered all of them, nearly. Then he went to his own office and shut the door. He checked his email. Lots of email.
At lunch, he walked across the street with the guys to grab a burger. They all laughed and made small talk along the way. At the table, guys told stories about their kids, their vacation plans, their life. He sat silently, interjecting solely to provide laughs, often at his own expense.
When he got back to the office he ran around, helping people out. He was good at that. He was good at his job.
When he got home, he turned on the lights and everything was as he left it. There wasn't really much to leave, he noted.
Then he got on the computer.
At around midnight, he stumbled to bed.
He lay there amongst sheets and pillows, tossing and turning. He kicked his sheets off and screamed. He punched the wall, and then curled into a ball.
The next day, everyone at work had new questions for him, and he answered them all perfectly.
April 29, 2010
State of the Person
I feel like I'm chained up.
Tight collar, back sweating, eyes red, head heavy.
You could cut the chain for me, but I wouldn't have anywhere to go.
Scorched earth.
That's what it feels like.
I guess it's school.
It's not school.
Where to next?
I want to start over.
I feel like everything I am, everything I'm built on, is holding me back. People aren't buildings. We don't need to be permanently attached to the ground; restrained by our foundations. Our foundations are thoughts, not things. Thoughts are easy to move. But, admittedly, difficult to change.
The journey is the reward.
When I don't know how to start a journey, I get depressed.
So I'll sit here, watching television; but, I am not learning anything new.
And that's fine, sometimes.
But lately I feel like I'm on the verge of something big. Bigger than me. And in order to do it I have to throw everything away. This computer. This car. This bicycle. This school.
Maybe that's too drastic.
I have time and money invested in these things. It would be foolish to throw them away. Sometimes we have to settle for "good enough" because if we didn't we wouldn't have the resources to have anything. So starting over is unrealistic.
I don't really know what I mean when I say "start over".
I guess I want my mind to not be shackled to the past. I want it to exist only in the present, because then I can be free. I can do things now, and not worry about the past.
But mistakes haunt me. And define my actions. That's their purpose, after all.
But why do I let things that happened six months ago, six years ago, block new, unrelated behavior in the present? Why am I scared to do things I haven't ever tried?
It's a fear I have to get over.
But in a lot of ways it's comfortable to stay where I am. Some people never grow up. It's easier. If I had stopped development when I was fifteen I'd fit in fine now. Hell, it would make watching Family Guy fun again.
The point I'm making is, I never want to feel like I've stopped learning. I never want to feel like I'm done. Because I never want to be done. I'd like to die right in the middle of doing something awesome. Because to be finished with life, with learning, with growing, with developing, and to wait it out till I die in a home is not what I want.
I think a reason people commit suicide is because they feel like they're done, and don't want to wait it out.
So I never want to be done. Because then I'd be dead.
Steve Jobs said something similar when someone asked when he was planning on retiring. I don't remember the exact quote, but it was like, "Working is my life." He'll never stop. He gets it.
I don't want to settle down. I don't want to become complacent. I want to keep reaching—ahem—for the stars.
But that means that I need to deal with making mistakes. Lots of them. Because mistakes are the best teacher.
So I'm conflicted here, in my current situation: I'm simultaneously struggling with the past, fighting to stay relevant in the present and making an increasing amount of regrettable decisions that affect the future. I guess that's just how it is.
I have to grow up, but do notice that the term "grow up" never suggests a stopping point. It's not like Modern Warfare 2 where you eventually hit a limit. In real life, you keep going up. If you care to.
A lot of people stop.
When you were a kid and you thought about being a grown-up, did you ever think you would stop?
You can answer that.
I'm going to steamroll ahead, and try to learn from the mistakes I'm making—and not feel too bad about making them. And try not to get held back by my possessions, which are sometimes attached to the earth, and difficult to move.
Because a few mistakes that keep me up at night are definitely better than giving up.
Tight collar, back sweating, eyes red, head heavy.
You could cut the chain for me, but I wouldn't have anywhere to go.
Scorched earth.
That's what it feels like.
I guess it's school.
It's not school.
Where to next?
I want to start over.
I feel like everything I am, everything I'm built on, is holding me back. People aren't buildings. We don't need to be permanently attached to the ground; restrained by our foundations. Our foundations are thoughts, not things. Thoughts are easy to move. But, admittedly, difficult to change.
The journey is the reward.
When I don't know how to start a journey, I get depressed.
So I'll sit here, watching television; but, I am not learning anything new.
And that's fine, sometimes.
But lately I feel like I'm on the verge of something big. Bigger than me. And in order to do it I have to throw everything away. This computer. This car. This bicycle. This school.
Maybe that's too drastic.
I have time and money invested in these things. It would be foolish to throw them away. Sometimes we have to settle for "good enough" because if we didn't we wouldn't have the resources to have anything. So starting over is unrealistic.
I don't really know what I mean when I say "start over".
I guess I want my mind to not be shackled to the past. I want it to exist only in the present, because then I can be free. I can do things now, and not worry about the past.
But mistakes haunt me. And define my actions. That's their purpose, after all.
But why do I let things that happened six months ago, six years ago, block new, unrelated behavior in the present? Why am I scared to do things I haven't ever tried?
It's a fear I have to get over.
But in a lot of ways it's comfortable to stay where I am. Some people never grow up. It's easier. If I had stopped development when I was fifteen I'd fit in fine now. Hell, it would make watching Family Guy fun again.
The point I'm making is, I never want to feel like I've stopped learning. I never want to feel like I'm done. Because I never want to be done. I'd like to die right in the middle of doing something awesome. Because to be finished with life, with learning, with growing, with developing, and to wait it out till I die in a home is not what I want.
I think a reason people commit suicide is because they feel like they're done, and don't want to wait it out.
So I never want to be done. Because then I'd be dead.
Steve Jobs said something similar when someone asked when he was planning on retiring. I don't remember the exact quote, but it was like, "Working is my life." He'll never stop. He gets it.
I don't want to settle down. I don't want to become complacent. I want to keep reaching—ahem—for the stars.
But that means that I need to deal with making mistakes. Lots of them. Because mistakes are the best teacher.
So I'm conflicted here, in my current situation: I'm simultaneously struggling with the past, fighting to stay relevant in the present and making an increasing amount of regrettable decisions that affect the future. I guess that's just how it is.
I have to grow up, but do notice that the term "grow up" never suggests a stopping point. It's not like Modern Warfare 2 where you eventually hit a limit. In real life, you keep going up. If you care to.
A lot of people stop.
When you were a kid and you thought about being a grown-up, did you ever think you would stop?
You can answer that.
I'm going to steamroll ahead, and try to learn from the mistakes I'm making—and not feel too bad about making them. And try not to get held back by my possessions, which are sometimes attached to the earth, and difficult to move.
Because a few mistakes that keep me up at night are definitely better than giving up.
January 22, 2010
December 12, 2009
Short Story: Why Not
He coughed, cleared his throat, and moved on.
The clerk at the counter looked smug. "You're limited to two boxes of Sudafed," he said, "We can't let you buy that many."
The man was tempted to begin making meth, solely because they had started regulation.
He had a bad view of the world.
He walked back to the car.
When he got home, he unloaded the groceries, two brown bags. The produce would have poked out the top like in old movies, but he didn't buy produce. He only had one mouth to feed.
The television in the living room was covered in dust, the remote hidden in a drawer. His nephews would storm the desk and capture the remote, only to be befuddled by its lack of batteries. He didn't buy batteries. He hated them.
The oven was spotless. He liked food. He was not unique in this sense.
He shut the door carefully behind him, doubly checking the locks. He was always worried he would fall asleep without locking the door. He crawled out of bed in the early night to check. It haunted him.
In morning, the coffee pot would beep and start its usual hissing and groaning. He always made four cups. Always.
The Raisin Bran box would get empty fairly often.
He would often shave before he went to sleep, to save time in the morning. Sleep was like a free time withdrawal unit. He'd always say, "It's quite okay, to get less before day."
Sometimes it would be 3 a.m. and the mirror would be fogged by his breath. He had a dry-erase marker on the bathroom counter and he would write on the mirror, carefully. It rarely made sense. It often rhymed.
He was handsome. His clothes were neatly hung in the closet; shirts always without wrinkles. His bed wasn't big enough for two people.
It was shoved in the corner. Around the feet were books, magazines, a box of tissues, legal pads, eraser debris. He sketched a lot. He liked making comics. He never showed them to anyone.
In a file cabinet on the wall were his writings. They were numerous. Some were terrible. Some were great. He never showed them to anyone.
His computer sat on a large, wooden desk. Its keyboard was well worn.
Some speakers on the floor. They were big. They played things that he liked. He was not unique in that regard.
He was smart. He had degrees. He made a lot of money. He lived alone.
He thought too much.
He wrote too much.
He prayed too much.
He believed in luck for a while.
He had a couple pictures in his desk, of smiling faces. Beautiful, smiling faces. They only existed in two dimensions. They only existed in two dimensions.
He would walk to work sometimes--it was only a few blocks. He would see happy people. He liked to watch their ignorance.
The checks got bigger every year. The writing on the mirror got longer, nastier, messier. It began to disturb.
He walked to the park one day. Looked around at the sky.
He sat down and wondered, "Why?"
He smiled.
The clerk at the counter looked smug. "You're limited to two boxes of Sudafed," he said, "We can't let you buy that many."
The man was tempted to begin making meth, solely because they had started regulation.
He had a bad view of the world.
He walked back to the car.
When he got home, he unloaded the groceries, two brown bags. The produce would have poked out the top like in old movies, but he didn't buy produce. He only had one mouth to feed.
The television in the living room was covered in dust, the remote hidden in a drawer. His nephews would storm the desk and capture the remote, only to be befuddled by its lack of batteries. He didn't buy batteries. He hated them.
The oven was spotless. He liked food. He was not unique in this sense.
He shut the door carefully behind him, doubly checking the locks. He was always worried he would fall asleep without locking the door. He crawled out of bed in the early night to check. It haunted him.
In morning, the coffee pot would beep and start its usual hissing and groaning. He always made four cups. Always.
The Raisin Bran box would get empty fairly often.
He would often shave before he went to sleep, to save time in the morning. Sleep was like a free time withdrawal unit. He'd always say, "It's quite okay, to get less before day."
Sometimes it would be 3 a.m. and the mirror would be fogged by his breath. He had a dry-erase marker on the bathroom counter and he would write on the mirror, carefully. It rarely made sense. It often rhymed.
He was handsome. His clothes were neatly hung in the closet; shirts always without wrinkles. His bed wasn't big enough for two people.
It was shoved in the corner. Around the feet were books, magazines, a box of tissues, legal pads, eraser debris. He sketched a lot. He liked making comics. He never showed them to anyone.
In a file cabinet on the wall were his writings. They were numerous. Some were terrible. Some were great. He never showed them to anyone.
His computer sat on a large, wooden desk. Its keyboard was well worn.
Some speakers on the floor. They were big. They played things that he liked. He was not unique in that regard.
He was smart. He had degrees. He made a lot of money. He lived alone.
He thought too much.
He wrote too much.
He prayed too much.
He believed in luck for a while.
He had a couple pictures in his desk, of smiling faces. Beautiful, smiling faces. They only existed in two dimensions. They only existed in two dimensions.
He would walk to work sometimes--it was only a few blocks. He would see happy people. He liked to watch their ignorance.
The checks got bigger every year. The writing on the mirror got longer, nastier, messier. It began to disturb.
He walked to the park one day. Looked around at the sky.
He sat down and wondered, "Why?"
He smiled.
December 6, 2009
Nearing the end
Christmas break is almost here, and I am only unsettled.
I don't want to go back home.
I like my microcosm; I like my little room full of junk and my bicycle outside latched to a steel ring; and, I like my neat routine and schedule, my to-do list taped to the back of my desk in red ink; I like my stack of textbooks on the floor; my folding of laundry while music plays in the background and I sing along, poorly.
I like breakfast with friends. Lunch with friends. Dinner with friends. Sitting in dorm rooms, awkwardly. The bad weather. The walks to class. The skateboarding late at night; the late at night bike rides. The tunnel to the rec. Basketball at the rec. Programming lectures and falling asleep. Chemistry lectures and falling asleep. Calculus lectures and waking up, if only to be alarmed, and falling asleep again.
My hand hurting from taking so many notes. My eyes red from days spent coding or writing lab reports on the computer. Six empty cans of soda around the room, a coffee pot that is on more than off.
I will miss these things.
Life is seemingly measured out in chunks of meaning; we work for a while, and then we are dunked into a bowl of nothing--we are wasted by this; we are pieces of filet mignon being submerged in mild salsa. We can exist at another level, but every few months, we are kicked out, told to go home--and I go back to a world I no longer feel I can be productive in.
Maybe it will be better, maybe what I've learned this semester will change how I see things back home. Back in Belton. Maybe my new skills will open new doors back home, or at least break some more windows. I don't know.
That's the main thing right now.
If I leave here, I don't know.
There is comfort in knowing, if we recognize we are inherently scared of the unknown. By leaving for Christmas, I am leaving my comfort zone here at the university; I am heading deep into a world that I no longer feel I can be productive in.
In any case, my goal is to make Christmas break as healthy as possible--it's imperative that it is actually a break. In this sense, I would like to not work.
But what do I do for a month?
That is a preposterously long time.
I'm not saying I don't want the break; I do. I'm just scared that I'm going to lose a month, and that's time I'm never going to get back.
Is it bad to be 19 and worried about losing a month of my life?
I know that in a month I can do a lot; I can learn a lot; I can make a difference.
Is it bad that I value my time?
I'm not really sure.
But I do know that Christmas break is at least an opportunity to relax--whether I use it to do so or not.
Hmm.
I don't want to go back home.
I like my microcosm; I like my little room full of junk and my bicycle outside latched to a steel ring; and, I like my neat routine and schedule, my to-do list taped to the back of my desk in red ink; I like my stack of textbooks on the floor; my folding of laundry while music plays in the background and I sing along, poorly.
I like breakfast with friends. Lunch with friends. Dinner with friends. Sitting in dorm rooms, awkwardly. The bad weather. The walks to class. The skateboarding late at night; the late at night bike rides. The tunnel to the rec. Basketball at the rec. Programming lectures and falling asleep. Chemistry lectures and falling asleep. Calculus lectures and waking up, if only to be alarmed, and falling asleep again.
My hand hurting from taking so many notes. My eyes red from days spent coding or writing lab reports on the computer. Six empty cans of soda around the room, a coffee pot that is on more than off.
I will miss these things.
Life is seemingly measured out in chunks of meaning; we work for a while, and then we are dunked into a bowl of nothing--we are wasted by this; we are pieces of filet mignon being submerged in mild salsa. We can exist at another level, but every few months, we are kicked out, told to go home--and I go back to a world I no longer feel I can be productive in.
Maybe it will be better, maybe what I've learned this semester will change how I see things back home. Back in Belton. Maybe my new skills will open new doors back home, or at least break some more windows. I don't know.
That's the main thing right now.
If I leave here, I don't know.
There is comfort in knowing, if we recognize we are inherently scared of the unknown. By leaving for Christmas, I am leaving my comfort zone here at the university; I am heading deep into a world that I no longer feel I can be productive in.
In any case, my goal is to make Christmas break as healthy as possible--it's imperative that it is actually a break. In this sense, I would like to not work.
But what do I do for a month?
That is a preposterously long time.
I'm not saying I don't want the break; I do. I'm just scared that I'm going to lose a month, and that's time I'm never going to get back.
Is it bad to be 19 and worried about losing a month of my life?
I know that in a month I can do a lot; I can learn a lot; I can make a difference.
Is it bad that I value my time?
I'm not really sure.
But I do know that Christmas break is at least an opportunity to relax--whether I use it to do so or not.
Hmm.
November 10, 2009
That speech I gave at graduation
I thought I'd post this, now that's it's been a while, and people still seem sort of interested in it. I honestly haven't thought about this speech too much since I gave it.
I wrote it one night when I couldn't sleep; I was standing up, hunched over my desk, scribbling on a yellow legal pad. I don't think I edited it at all from the original. I simply typed it up, and submitted it to Mrs. Cook for approval.
I don't really know if I truly agree with the speech or not. I wrote it emotionally. As such, it is what it is.
That being said--I think looking up to Kanye West is, in many ways, a very simple thing to do. Because oftentimes, you only have to look down.
That's not to discredit the point of the speech. West rarely misbehaves because of his job. He misbehaves because of some insecurity far deeper than his career. The point of my speech was that you can do what you love and get paid for it, not to idolize the fact that Kanye is sometimes a jackass.
Anyway.
----------------------------------------------
I remember 2007, and listening to Kanye West’s then-new album, Graduation.
Track one, “Good Morning”:
“Good morning, look at the valedictorian
Scared of the future while I hop in the DeLorean
Scared to face the world, complacent career student
Some people graduate, but we still stupid
Kanye West is an interesting fellow; he is a college dropout. Most rappers never even begin attending college—let alone go and make the conscious decision to stop going.
A conscious decision?
Very much so.
Kanye West dropped out of college to ensure success.
Success in the world of hiphop, where college’s involvement would be like dumping ketchup on an alarm clock, and then deeming the resultant Heinz-Timex monstrosity rather preferable to either component on its own.
Umm, no.
Which brings us back to that verse from “Good Morning”. Mr. West accuses the valedictorian of being a “complacent, career student” that is “scared to face the world.” From West’s viewpoint, the valedictorian guy is a joke. West is doing what he loves—making music. And not only that, he is making dump-truck loads of money while doing so. The antagonized valedictorian, while he may indeed get his own dump truck full of US currency, will probably never end up as happy as Kanye West—because Mr. I’m-Smart will have his nose too far inside a textbook to realize he doesn’t like anatomy. That he doesn’t like law. That he doesn’t like metaphysics.
To someone as pure as West, the career student is laughable. Why would anyone waste time doing something they don’t love? Why give up happiness for money when it’s possible to get happiness and money? I mean think about it—what’s easier: crafting yourself an enjoyable career for the remainder of your life, or working till you drop dead and there’s some more zeroes on the end of that five in your bank account? One of those is easy—anyone can slave away, double overtime, money in the bank, third mortgage, new BMW. But not many can say, “I love my job.” Just remember that money is the variable that could go either way, can happen regardless—but right now, choosing not to do what you love virtually guarantees you are not going to do what you love for the rest of your life. Forever.
Money can’t buy happiness, so plan your investments accordingly.
I admire Kanye West. Because he went against society, and won. Because he does what he enjoys and is still an incredible financial success. Guys, this is what we should aim for. Kanye West. We should shoot for the stars, literally. (Not at, that’s a felony.) We should do what we love and get paid for it. We should ignore advice that is completely contrary to our own life decisions; we should be selfish.
Others don’t admire Kanye West. Because he has an ego the size of this room, or bigger. Because he is completely and utterly selfish. Because he makes distasteful comments about presidents. But what’s wrong with that? That is what it takes to do what you love in life. To believe fully in yourself. To be proud of yourself, and by that measure, your thoughts.
The only alternative to selfishness is selflessness—and guess what? That means you don’t pick. Here, be a mechanic. Here, be a chef. Here, be a movie critic. Since when is getting told what to do an ideal of society? Isn’t this America? Let’s tell selflessness off. Let’s tell it to go away.
Let’s enjoy ourselves, our decisions. Let’s act in our own self interests. Let’s have a toast tonight, to us.
West does that. Money in the bank, remember? Getting the best of both worlds. Love your job. Love your life. Love your paycheck.
Selfishness is the key to this—this leaving high school.
The saying goes, “They’re ready to face the world.”
Guys, we’re on offense.
We’re not hanging back.
We’re a tactical strike, a precision movement.
We’re taking over.
And we’re not letting the world tell us anything about how we choose our lives.
***
Conveniently, track six on Graduation is titled, “Can’t Tell Me Nothing”.
This Kanye West guy, I think he’s onto something.
----------------------------------------------
© 2009 David Kline
I wrote it one night when I couldn't sleep; I was standing up, hunched over my desk, scribbling on a yellow legal pad. I don't think I edited it at all from the original. I simply typed it up, and submitted it to Mrs. Cook for approval.
I don't really know if I truly agree with the speech or not. I wrote it emotionally. As such, it is what it is.
That being said--I think looking up to Kanye West is, in many ways, a very simple thing to do. Because oftentimes, you only have to look down.
That's not to discredit the point of the speech. West rarely misbehaves because of his job. He misbehaves because of some insecurity far deeper than his career. The point of my speech was that you can do what you love and get paid for it, not to idolize the fact that Kanye is sometimes a jackass.
Anyway.
----------------------------------------------
I remember 2007, and listening to Kanye West’s then-new album, Graduation.
Track one, “Good Morning”:
“Good morning, look at the valedictorian
Scared of the future while I hop in the DeLorean
Scared to face the world, complacent career student
Some people graduate, but we still stupid
Kanye West is an interesting fellow; he is a college dropout. Most rappers never even begin attending college—let alone go and make the conscious decision to stop going.
A conscious decision?
Very much so.
Kanye West dropped out of college to ensure success.
Success in the world of hiphop, where college’s involvement would be like dumping ketchup on an alarm clock, and then deeming the resultant Heinz-Timex monstrosity rather preferable to either component on its own.
Umm, no.
Which brings us back to that verse from “Good Morning”. Mr. West accuses the valedictorian of being a “complacent, career student” that is “scared to face the world.” From West’s viewpoint, the valedictorian guy is a joke. West is doing what he loves—making music. And not only that, he is making dump-truck loads of money while doing so. The antagonized valedictorian, while he may indeed get his own dump truck full of US currency, will probably never end up as happy as Kanye West—because Mr. I’m-Smart will have his nose too far inside a textbook to realize he doesn’t like anatomy. That he doesn’t like law. That he doesn’t like metaphysics.
To someone as pure as West, the career student is laughable. Why would anyone waste time doing something they don’t love? Why give up happiness for money when it’s possible to get happiness and money? I mean think about it—what’s easier: crafting yourself an enjoyable career for the remainder of your life, or working till you drop dead and there’s some more zeroes on the end of that five in your bank account? One of those is easy—anyone can slave away, double overtime, money in the bank, third mortgage, new BMW. But not many can say, “I love my job.” Just remember that money is the variable that could go either way, can happen regardless—but right now, choosing not to do what you love virtually guarantees you are not going to do what you love for the rest of your life. Forever.
Money can’t buy happiness, so plan your investments accordingly.
I admire Kanye West. Because he went against society, and won. Because he does what he enjoys and is still an incredible financial success. Guys, this is what we should aim for. Kanye West. We should shoot for the stars, literally. (Not at, that’s a felony.) We should do what we love and get paid for it. We should ignore advice that is completely contrary to our own life decisions; we should be selfish.
Others don’t admire Kanye West. Because he has an ego the size of this room, or bigger. Because he is completely and utterly selfish. Because he makes distasteful comments about presidents. But what’s wrong with that? That is what it takes to do what you love in life. To believe fully in yourself. To be proud of yourself, and by that measure, your thoughts.
The only alternative to selfishness is selflessness—and guess what? That means you don’t pick. Here, be a mechanic. Here, be a chef. Here, be a movie critic. Since when is getting told what to do an ideal of society? Isn’t this America? Let’s tell selflessness off. Let’s tell it to go away.
Let’s enjoy ourselves, our decisions. Let’s act in our own self interests. Let’s have a toast tonight, to us.
West does that. Money in the bank, remember? Getting the best of both worlds. Love your job. Love your life. Love your paycheck.
Selfishness is the key to this—this leaving high school.
The saying goes, “They’re ready to face the world.”
Guys, we’re on offense.
We’re not hanging back.
We’re a tactical strike, a precision movement.
We’re taking over.
And we’re not letting the world tell us anything about how we choose our lives.
***
Conveniently, track six on Graduation is titled, “Can’t Tell Me Nothing”.
This Kanye West guy, I think he’s onto something.
----------------------------------------------
© 2009 David Kline
October 18, 2009
Halfway
I said this semester was going to kill me; if such turns out to be true, I am now halfway deceased.
It feels good.
My brain, at times, feels as if it's about to burst--I am being tested in ways I never thought possible--I am enjoying my life in ways I never thought possible--I am, in many ways, not happy.
College is essentially high school, but with an enlarged portion of self-importance. College is some kind of pipe dream, something that high school seniors look up to--are scared of. It's not any different, guys. It's a little bit more time-consuming, class-wise--but you aren't going to find yourself suddenly fulfilled.
I reek of hypocrisy.
I am cynical now--in that I know exactly what it would take, what I would need, to be 100% happy with my life. I am stupidly certain of this. ("stupidly certain" could possibly be the most accurate way to describe my life in two words, by the way, haha)
It's this idea I have, that God maybe makes us as perfect as possible, then subtracts one key component, to make our lives a little bit more interesting. For some, God subtracts intelligence. That must be fun. For others, he subtracts common sense. For others, he subtracts identity. And so on. And for some people, he gives them everything but the ability to get along with people.
I have a very small comfort zone when it comes to social relationships. My circle of friends could hardly be considered a circle; it is far from encompassing 360 degrees. It's more like a dozen or less points, scattered arbitrary distances from me, me being in the middle. Haha, I would put myself in the middle.
Point being, I feel like my greatest challenge in my life is going to be dealing with people. The people close to me, the people far from me, the people I care about, the people I don't care about. In many cases I will struggle because I have a hard time facing the people I care about. I don't know how to read people. I don't know when to take risks. I don't know when to just have blind faith. Which I'm beginning to realize is important.
I'm a mess of things; my principle motivation system is based roughly on the following.
Romans 8:28:
"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
And, to a lesser extent, Spiderman's uncle:
"With great power must come great responsibility."
An advertising slogan that Audi used at one point:
"Never follow."
And finally this general idea:
"Everything happens for a reason. Pay attention to circumstance." (Thanks, Dad)
So I would say that I live my life morally; I do what I think is right at the time. I feel that if you always do the right thing, things will sort themselves out. You will get what you need. I also believe in the importance of identity--in order to be a successful human being, you need not worry what other people think of you. You need to be confident about yourself; never fake. You should love being you. And you should never follow. And once you get that inner confidence, you should never abuse it. You should never use your inflated sense of importance to hurt other people. (I don't want to admit it, but I am guilty of this... I am sorry. I was younger. I was learning.)
Have you ever felt really bad because of one thing? Whenever I feel like that now, I try to think of everything in my life that has gone right. It goes back to that idea that God builds us, then takes away one vital part, so that we can learn. It's okay to know that we have one big problem, it drives us. It makes us go outside our comfort zone. It makes us learn.
I like to think of life as three L's: learn, laugh, love. Usually you laugh because of how much you suck at the other two. :)
I like to count my blessings sometimes. Because then I feel less mopey. Not to say that I am depressed; I am just perpetually aware of my flaws. My default state is to look at the glass as half-full, as it is more efficient: to single out what I hate about my life is much faster than to list everything I love about it. So in my desire to be efficient, I make myself feel terrible. Neat. Haha.
If you can't tell, college is very much about discovering yourself, and very little about classes. Class is there; it's not hard; it just takes time. What we learn at this point in our life is what we are missing, and what we need to do to get our life to the point where we aren't missing it any more.
I think, anyway.
I have to go study, and hope.
It feels good.
My brain, at times, feels as if it's about to burst--I am being tested in ways I never thought possible--I am enjoying my life in ways I never thought possible--I am, in many ways, not happy.
College is essentially high school, but with an enlarged portion of self-importance. College is some kind of pipe dream, something that high school seniors look up to--are scared of. It's not any different, guys. It's a little bit more time-consuming, class-wise--but you aren't going to find yourself suddenly fulfilled.
I reek of hypocrisy.
I am cynical now--in that I know exactly what it would take, what I would need, to be 100% happy with my life. I am stupidly certain of this. ("stupidly certain" could possibly be the most accurate way to describe my life in two words, by the way, haha)
It's this idea I have, that God maybe makes us as perfect as possible, then subtracts one key component, to make our lives a little bit more interesting. For some, God subtracts intelligence. That must be fun. For others, he subtracts common sense. For others, he subtracts identity. And so on. And for some people, he gives them everything but the ability to get along with people.
I have a very small comfort zone when it comes to social relationships. My circle of friends could hardly be considered a circle; it is far from encompassing 360 degrees. It's more like a dozen or less points, scattered arbitrary distances from me, me being in the middle. Haha, I would put myself in the middle.
Point being, I feel like my greatest challenge in my life is going to be dealing with people. The people close to me, the people far from me, the people I care about, the people I don't care about. In many cases I will struggle because I have a hard time facing the people I care about. I don't know how to read people. I don't know when to take risks. I don't know when to just have blind faith. Which I'm beginning to realize is important.
I'm a mess of things; my principle motivation system is based roughly on the following.
Romans 8:28:
"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
And, to a lesser extent, Spiderman's uncle:
"With great power must come great responsibility."
An advertising slogan that Audi used at one point:
"Never follow."
And finally this general idea:
"Everything happens for a reason. Pay attention to circumstance." (Thanks, Dad)
So I would say that I live my life morally; I do what I think is right at the time. I feel that if you always do the right thing, things will sort themselves out. You will get what you need. I also believe in the importance of identity--in order to be a successful human being, you need not worry what other people think of you. You need to be confident about yourself; never fake. You should love being you. And you should never follow. And once you get that inner confidence, you should never abuse it. You should never use your inflated sense of importance to hurt other people. (I don't want to admit it, but I am guilty of this... I am sorry. I was younger. I was learning.)
Have you ever felt really bad because of one thing? Whenever I feel like that now, I try to think of everything in my life that has gone right. It goes back to that idea that God builds us, then takes away one vital part, so that we can learn. It's okay to know that we have one big problem, it drives us. It makes us go outside our comfort zone. It makes us learn.
I like to think of life as three L's: learn, laugh, love. Usually you laugh because of how much you suck at the other two. :)
I like to count my blessings sometimes. Because then I feel less mopey. Not to say that I am depressed; I am just perpetually aware of my flaws. My default state is to look at the glass as half-full, as it is more efficient: to single out what I hate about my life is much faster than to list everything I love about it. So in my desire to be efficient, I make myself feel terrible. Neat. Haha.
If you can't tell, college is very much about discovering yourself, and very little about classes. Class is there; it's not hard; it just takes time. What we learn at this point in our life is what we are missing, and what we need to do to get our life to the point where we aren't missing it any more.
I think, anyway.
I have to go study, and hope.
September 13, 2009
Music in morning
I made a new song yesterday.
It's called "In morning".
You can listen to it here:
http://www.myspace.com/superjoyluck
I usually make music whenever I need to vent. I've been needing to vent a lot lately; after this, I feel much better. Writing also helps me get things off my chest, but writing can never be as raw as a real voice.
I made the beat in Garageband. I didn't compose any of the musical bits; Garageband simply allows one to arrange loops of prerecorded music in the desired fashion. I think I used 3 or 4 drum loops and then 3 or 4 vibraphone loops to make this beat. (The loops come with Garageband, like a little "loop library". You just move them around on screen and decide how it should line up.) I'm still learning a lot about what I can and can't get away with in terms of repetition, simplicity, length, etc. But if you listen to the songs I've made previously, there is a definite progression. I'm getting more comfortable.
I also did something weird, in that I tried to do a chorus, but ended up making four different choruses, that all kinda suck. I actually wrote the choruses out, in an attempt to be all master planner and stuff. Heh. My singing is still terrible, I'll admit, but is it at least more bearable?
As far as the rapping, I pretty much winged it. What I have done in the past is actually write out lyrics, pages of them. This nets one "clever" rhymes at the expense of saying things one otherwise would never say--for proof, check out my other songs, "Friends" and "10 Feet Away". The majority of content in those songs was only generated so it could be a "cool" rap. And it's not even that cool.
So for "In morning" I decided I wasn't going to write any lyrics. This is a blessing, and a curse. A blessing because it lifts that stupid curtain of "I'll say that 'cause it rhymes" and a curse because freestyling (i.e. to ad lib) a rap is rather difficult. I'm getting better, but it's still extremely challenging.
Some insight: I say Xbox in what I believe is the second verse. Why I said it? I was recording and I thought, "Oh crap, I'm out of things to say!" so I did a desperate search of the room, and saw the Xbox. So I started rapping about Xbox.
Then I repeat myself a few times, quite a few actually. That's another problem with freestyling: you can get kinda stuck on certain phrases, as if they're comfort zones or something. I said "too many instances" in both the first and second verses. That bugs me.
But, another problem with freestyling is if you like 70% of it, you don't really want to do any more. Because you could try and write it out, clean it up a little, and rerecord it, but then it will come across as forced. At least I always thought so. And then if you try a new freestyle, you end up losing a bunch of good material.
So what actually came out as the "finished" product is about 70% was good as I wanted it to be, because I freestyled. It's irritating, but acceptable--I'm just doing this to vent, after all.
Speaking of that, the three songs I've made so far where I actually rap--"Darkside" is an instrumental I made in 2004, and threw up on the Myspace for fun--"In morning" is the most truthful, but all three--"In morning" + "Friends" + "10 Feet Away"--all have a common theme--relationships, whether they be friendships or something more involved.
Its ultimately interesting because while the three songs seem so similar, they represent three different instances in which I put myself in the same problem--they are not three songs concerning one experience; they are three songs concerning a number of experiences.
So in doing these I keep revealing to myself that I put myself in the same situation every time, and act surprised when I get the same results. The path to change is change, not repetition of failed experiments.
And so, maybe after three songs and several years, I'm ready to be over my insecurities. I'm ready to try something new.
Only problem is, if everything is going well, I probably won't make any more songs.
Development of musical skill through suffering just seems so proper.
But hey, if misery can work, happiness can too.
David Kline
It's called "In morning".
You can listen to it here:
http://www.myspace.com/superjoyluck
I usually make music whenever I need to vent. I've been needing to vent a lot lately; after this, I feel much better. Writing also helps me get things off my chest, but writing can never be as raw as a real voice.
I made the beat in Garageband. I didn't compose any of the musical bits; Garageband simply allows one to arrange loops of prerecorded music in the desired fashion. I think I used 3 or 4 drum loops and then 3 or 4 vibraphone loops to make this beat. (The loops come with Garageband, like a little "loop library". You just move them around on screen and decide how it should line up.) I'm still learning a lot about what I can and can't get away with in terms of repetition, simplicity, length, etc. But if you listen to the songs I've made previously, there is a definite progression. I'm getting more comfortable.
I also did something weird, in that I tried to do a chorus, but ended up making four different choruses, that all kinda suck. I actually wrote the choruses out, in an attempt to be all master planner and stuff. Heh. My singing is still terrible, I'll admit, but is it at least more bearable?
As far as the rapping, I pretty much winged it. What I have done in the past is actually write out lyrics, pages of them. This nets one "clever" rhymes at the expense of saying things one otherwise would never say--for proof, check out my other songs, "Friends" and "10 Feet Away". The majority of content in those songs was only generated so it could be a "cool" rap. And it's not even that cool.
So for "In morning" I decided I wasn't going to write any lyrics. This is a blessing, and a curse. A blessing because it lifts that stupid curtain of "I'll say that 'cause it rhymes" and a curse because freestyling (i.e. to ad lib) a rap is rather difficult. I'm getting better, but it's still extremely challenging.
Some insight: I say Xbox in what I believe is the second verse. Why I said it? I was recording and I thought, "Oh crap, I'm out of things to say!" so I did a desperate search of the room, and saw the Xbox. So I started rapping about Xbox.
Then I repeat myself a few times, quite a few actually. That's another problem with freestyling: you can get kinda stuck on certain phrases, as if they're comfort zones or something. I said "too many instances" in both the first and second verses. That bugs me.
But, another problem with freestyling is if you like 70% of it, you don't really want to do any more. Because you could try and write it out, clean it up a little, and rerecord it, but then it will come across as forced. At least I always thought so. And then if you try a new freestyle, you end up losing a bunch of good material.
So what actually came out as the "finished" product is about 70% was good as I wanted it to be, because I freestyled. It's irritating, but acceptable--I'm just doing this to vent, after all.
Speaking of that, the three songs I've made so far where I actually rap--"Darkside" is an instrumental I made in 2004, and threw up on the Myspace for fun--"In morning" is the most truthful, but all three--"In morning" + "Friends" + "10 Feet Away"--all have a common theme--relationships, whether they be friendships or something more involved.
Its ultimately interesting because while the three songs seem so similar, they represent three different instances in which I put myself in the same problem--they are not three songs concerning one experience; they are three songs concerning a number of experiences.
So in doing these I keep revealing to myself that I put myself in the same situation every time, and act surprised when I get the same results. The path to change is change, not repetition of failed experiments.
And so, maybe after three songs and several years, I'm ready to be over my insecurities. I'm ready to try something new.
Only problem is, if everything is going well, I probably won't make any more songs.
Development of musical skill through suffering just seems so proper.
But hey, if misery can work, happiness can too.
David Kline
August 31, 2009
Day One
Hello.
This is me decompressing from my first day of college.
Read on, if you feel so inclined.
I tried to make it somewhat readable, but no promises. =]
- Frosted Mini Spooners
- Maxwell House Dark Roast Coffee
- General Chemistry for Engineers
- Engineering Math III (aka Calculus III)
That brings me to an aside: pressure. Not force over area, not physics, just, pressure. On me. Assumptions. There's a reason the first three letters of "assumption" spell "ass". Because in order to make an assumption you must first be an ass. I know this from making many assumptions, and seeing the responses they ignite. Ergo, allow me to act wise here. Please.
Anyway. A lot of people seem to think I'm smart--cool, nice, I appreciate it. But don't call me a genius, please. I know it's sort of complementary, but it's also sort of a misnomer. I don't just "get" stuff. I have to work for it. I do what I do in school because I disappear for a while. Because I give up basic social interaction, because I give up being able to talk and have a good time. To call me a genius is to say that I don't need to be a reclusive bastard, and that makes me mad. Because I do have to be one. I don't like it, but I do.
My goal this year is to balance some things out, so that I don't have to be a jerk. I'm tired of it, quite simply. Have I been doing a good job? You tell me. But I don't want to be cocky, I want to be approachable. Not an open book, that's a bad way to be, but a book that doesn't bite back like that one in Harry Potter.
I need to talk sometimes, and the internet seems weird, but feels good. I don't like to talk this much in person. It is a lot of time talking about oneself, which, in the company of others, is rude. Which I'm trying to get away from. Or maybe I'm wrong about that. Shrug.
- Sbisa Dining Hall
- State & Local Government
If you read carefully, you'd have seen I only went to three classes today. That's because I have two labs on Monday, but they were both not scheduled today, thankfully.
After class I went over to Ben House's dorm, read a chapter of the chemistry book, and helped him a little with his calculus homework. Then we went for a bike ride, and randomly met up with Matt Johnson. So he joined in, we rode around some more, then locked up the bikes to play pool at the Commons.
I played one game--and then realized--I'm exhausted.
It's been a long week, leading up to this.
I'm exhausted.
So I went back to the dorm, took a shower, and ate.
- Hormel Ready-to-Eat Salisbury Steak/Potatoes
- Easy Mac
- Cherry Pop Tarts
I am. Extremely. Tired.
You can probably tell, because this Note is pretty boring.
I'm sorry if you read it all.
To make up for it, I'll give you a quick laugh.
HOWDY!
I'M DAVID KLINE, AND I'M THE LOUDEST AND PROUDEST MEMBER OF THE FIGHTIN' TEXAS AGGIES' CLASS OF 2013!!!!
AAAAAA!!!!
Err... yeah.
This is me decompressing from my first day of college.
Read on, if you feel so inclined.
I tried to make it somewhat readable, but no promises. =]
Breakfast
- Frosted Mini Spooners
These are the off-brand version of the popular Kellog's Frosted Mini Wheat. I find them 80% as satisfying for 60% of the price. It's a fair trade off. Of note: I use 2% lactose-free milk, more on what happens if I don't later.
- Maxwell House Dark Roast Coffee
It's cheap, comes in a blue container, and my grandparents drink it. Obviously, this is the choice for the modern college student. Especially its blue characteristics. Of note: I use International Delight French Vanilla creamer, about a 70/30 coffee/creamer mixture. Black coffee is a facet of grandparent living that I am simply unwilling to transition to the college experience. I want to live cheap, but not that cheap.
Morning
- General Chemistry for Engineers
My professor wrote the textbook, and made 3 references to said fact within 15 minutes. Other than a little pride, which is healthy, he seems promising. Fingers crossed.
- Engineering Math III (aka Calculus III)
We started almost immediately with three-dimensional planes, things like find the distance between two points in 3D space as well as 3D vectors. I've run into some of this before, in AP Physics C, but a lot of the material was new. I was one of the few freshman in the class--I skipped a full year of Calculus because of the AP Calculus BC test--so it will be interesting to see how I do. I'll do my best.
That brings me to an aside: pressure. Not force over area, not physics, just, pressure. On me. Assumptions. There's a reason the first three letters of "assumption" spell "ass". Because in order to make an assumption you must first be an ass. I know this from making many assumptions, and seeing the responses they ignite. Ergo, allow me to act wise here. Please.
Anyway. A lot of people seem to think I'm smart--cool, nice, I appreciate it. But don't call me a genius, please. I know it's sort of complementary, but it's also sort of a misnomer. I don't just "get" stuff. I have to work for it. I do what I do in school because I disappear for a while. Because I give up basic social interaction, because I give up being able to talk and have a good time. To call me a genius is to say that I don't need to be a reclusive bastard, and that makes me mad. Because I do have to be one. I don't like it, but I do.
My goal this year is to balance some things out, so that I don't have to be a jerk. I'm tired of it, quite simply. Have I been doing a good job? You tell me. But I don't want to be cocky, I want to be approachable. Not an open book, that's a bad way to be, but a book that doesn't bite back like that one in Harry Potter.
I need to talk sometimes, and the internet seems weird, but feels good. I don't like to talk this much in person. It is a lot of time talking about oneself, which, in the company of others, is rude. Which I'm trying to get away from. Or maybe I'm wrong about that. Shrug.
Lunch
- Sbisa Dining Hall
I had some pizza, I think it was sausage-pepperoni. It was good. And a Diet Dr Pepper. Bad habits die hard. Let me give up some more critical stuff before I give up my caffeine, haha. Of note: I saw that Sbisa serves cereal during lunch. Of course I needed some of that. Got some Fruit Loops. Issue: no lactose free milk. I said whatever... now my stomach hurts. Or, it did. Then there were these really weird noises and the pain went away. And now my room smells. At least it was all audial/nasal feedback. Could be worse?
Afternoon
- State & Local Government
The professor was really funny! Rude! But funny! So that was fun. I'm glad to have at least one entertaining professor. As far as the class goes, it seems like it won't be too bad. Some reading, but at least there is no final. :)
If you read carefully, you'd have seen I only went to three classes today. That's because I have two labs on Monday, but they were both not scheduled today, thankfully.
After class I went over to Ben House's dorm, read a chapter of the chemistry book, and helped him a little with his calculus homework. Then we went for a bike ride, and randomly met up with Matt Johnson. So he joined in, we rode around some more, then locked up the bikes to play pool at the Commons.
I played one game--and then realized--I'm exhausted.
It's been a long week, leading up to this.
I'm exhausted.
So I went back to the dorm, took a shower, and ate.
Dinner
- Hormel Ready-to-Eat Salisbury Steak/Potatoes
This was actually pretty good. It's not frozen, it just comes in a tub. Slit the lid, nuke it for a minute and a half, good to go. I had the swedish meatballs one the other day for lunch, it was really good. I think these have Ramen beat.. but they do cost a lot more.
- Easy Mac
I haven't had this for probably five years. It's not really very good. Probably won't buy any more. I dunno why, but it's just not very satisfying.
- Cherry Pop Tarts
Dessert. Only the finest. And yes, Mom, I did have Pop Tarts for dinner. Deal with it!
Night
I am. Extremely. Tired.
You can probably tell, because this Note is pretty boring.
I'm sorry if you read it all.
To make up for it, I'll give you a quick laugh.
HOWDY!
I'M DAVID KLINE, AND I'M THE LOUDEST AND PROUDEST MEMBER OF THE FIGHTIN' TEXAS AGGIES' CLASS OF 2013!!!!
AAAAAA!!!!
Err... yeah.
August 4, 2009
I sit & rot
I'm sipping decaf. I've come full circle.
I started drinking coffee for the caffeine. Not because I wanted to start caffeine--because I already had, and a Mountain Dew in the morning as I was so accustomed began to seem uncivilized, despite its dew premise and such a fitting connotation. Got tired of the fizz.
That leaves tea, or coffee. Considering the country I live in, tea would be daft.
In the morning, I tip the Nestlé French Vanilla creamer bottle into a Harry Potter mug, dump in the ambiguously South American coffee, and relish in the United States' inability to accept certain, let's say, facets, of world culture. We take the Harry Potter, but not the tea. We take the Brazilian ethanol concept, but apply it to a country that has no such infrastructure. We take the "French" food, but not the politics. I once said "Renault" in the presence of others of similar age; drool production had to triple to account for seeping losses. French cars, it seems, were more tea than Harry Potter.
Caffeine and cars, David. Good work.
My only goal this summer was to watch every episode of British motoring program Top Gear. I can now say, I have seen all 112 episodes. They run an hour long each. Four and two-thirds days of my life are now locked in to that show--and to the British version of English. I figure I watch it fifty percent for the cars, twenty-five percent for the rants of Jeremy Clarkson (look him up, he's my hero), and the final twenty-five percent for British English. The way they speak is so different from United States' English. I find it fascinating.
If you want examples of British English, use Google. Look up "chuffed". (It sounds worse than it is.)
Continuing the theme of passivity, I finally played, and beat, the campaign mode in Epic Games' Gears of War 2. The video game was released November of '08. I'm a little "late" on that one, then. My brother must have had it finished in days, where I took months. I have spoken with others about this; they all say, "About time!" Well, let me talk a little bit about time.
Until now (as in this last week) I haven't had time to play that game. I literally haven't. During the autumn, winter, and spring I was working 14 hours a week, going to high school, and studying. People always ask why we have textbooks--it's just so I can read them, that's it. They're for me. Yeah. So I was busy.
I'm not trying to sound pompous, I assure you. I simply find time a strange concept. Six months wait for a video game is entirely reasonable for a person like me. I like to do things. Get my hands dirty, whether it be in the abstract or the practical. Calculus for breakfast and engine rebuild for dinner. (Usually skip lunch, time is of the essence.) To sit and rot (aha!) in front of a television screen clutching a white, Microsoft controller--that is characteristically un-me. I could be doing something seemingly more productive.
But in my mind, November 2008 was yesterday. It wasn't like I was sitting in a darkened room for eight months, going, "Can I play it yet? Can I play it yet?", but more like I was in a semi-lit room for eight months, room being faintly illuminated due to the fact I was on fire, screaming "Stop! Drop! Roll!", and bouncing off the walls. It went by with little regard to gaming. It's a messy metaphor, I know. But the simple fact of the matter is that those eight months went by like a second. I couldn't have possibly played Gears of War any sooner.
But did those months really go by in "like a second"?
Time is a silly animal.
I always laugh at people that say something went by really fast--e.g. high school. College. "Enjoy it," they say, "because it will go by faster than you think." I'm going to go out on a limb here, and say "NO" to that. Hear me out.
Everything always seems fast or easy after you've done it. Man climbs Everest. Takes months of planning and training; it is dangerous and expensive. Gets back to the office the next week--"So how was it? Was it hard?" someone invariably asks. "Oh, it was great! I'd do it again!" he replies.
Well, shit.
It wasn't easy when he was planning it. It wasn't easy when he almost died of *insert applicable hazard*. It wasn't easy, ever. It took a lot of hard work to climb Everest. It was a serious undertaking in every imaginable way--but something about human nature makes us incredibly, stupidly proud of our achievements--so the man leaves the office that night, having convinced the middle-aged secretary that, he too, could scale Everest. "It was easy," after all.
I consider this trait akin to sex, in that it can have untimely consequences, but is ultimately necessary for the survival of humankind as a whole. For everyone who dies of AIDS, some staggering statistic of children are born in yuppyville and grow up to inhabit law offices and hospitals. And similarly, for everyone who overestimates their exploring ability due to post-facto, secondhand bragging and dies hiking, seventeen new galaxies are discovered and named some alphanumeric string. It's just the way the world works.
But back to time and old people. And their stories. I want to say something, before I get to that "In Memoriam" age--nothing goes by fast. We think it does, but it doesn't. Time is a sweet, sweet mistress, that seduces us into thinking that four years of high school just "flew by". Hey buddy, it didn't. Remember sitting in English class watching Hamlet: The Movie for a week straight? Remember Spanish class? Remember Geometry? Tell me that flew by.
We just think it did. It's hereditary.
It's a natural defense mechanism--when our children complain about school, about growing up, about the world--we can tell them not to worry--because it'll "just fly by".
I won't admit that. I'm going to tell my kids life sucks, and Spanish class especially. But heck, the sooner they get it done, the sooner they can tell their kids that it'll fly by.
And then they're even.
I started drinking coffee for the caffeine. Not because I wanted to start caffeine--because I already had, and a Mountain Dew in the morning as I was so accustomed began to seem uncivilized, despite its dew premise and such a fitting connotation. Got tired of the fizz.
That leaves tea, or coffee. Considering the country I live in, tea would be daft.
In the morning, I tip the Nestlé French Vanilla creamer bottle into a Harry Potter mug, dump in the ambiguously South American coffee, and relish in the United States' inability to accept certain, let's say, facets, of world culture. We take the Harry Potter, but not the tea. We take the Brazilian ethanol concept, but apply it to a country that has no such infrastructure. We take the "French" food, but not the politics. I once said "Renault" in the presence of others of similar age; drool production had to triple to account for seeping losses. French cars, it seems, were more tea than Harry Potter.
Caffeine and cars, David. Good work.
My only goal this summer was to watch every episode of British motoring program Top Gear. I can now say, I have seen all 112 episodes. They run an hour long each. Four and two-thirds days of my life are now locked in to that show--and to the British version of English. I figure I watch it fifty percent for the cars, twenty-five percent for the rants of Jeremy Clarkson (look him up, he's my hero), and the final twenty-five percent for British English. The way they speak is so different from United States' English. I find it fascinating.
If you want examples of British English, use Google. Look up "chuffed". (It sounds worse than it is.)
Continuing the theme of passivity, I finally played, and beat, the campaign mode in Epic Games' Gears of War 2. The video game was released November of '08. I'm a little "late" on that one, then. My brother must have had it finished in days, where I took months. I have spoken with others about this; they all say, "About time!" Well, let me talk a little bit about time.
Until now (as in this last week) I haven't had time to play that game. I literally haven't. During the autumn, winter, and spring I was working 14 hours a week, going to high school, and studying. People always ask why we have textbooks--it's just so I can read them, that's it. They're for me. Yeah. So I was busy.
I'm not trying to sound pompous, I assure you. I simply find time a strange concept. Six months wait for a video game is entirely reasonable for a person like me. I like to do things. Get my hands dirty, whether it be in the abstract or the practical. Calculus for breakfast and engine rebuild for dinner. (Usually skip lunch, time is of the essence.) To sit and rot (aha!) in front of a television screen clutching a white, Microsoft controller--that is characteristically un-me. I could be doing something seemingly more productive.
But in my mind, November 2008 was yesterday. It wasn't like I was sitting in a darkened room for eight months, going, "Can I play it yet? Can I play it yet?", but more like I was in a semi-lit room for eight months, room being faintly illuminated due to the fact I was on fire, screaming "Stop! Drop! Roll!", and bouncing off the walls. It went by with little regard to gaming. It's a messy metaphor, I know. But the simple fact of the matter is that those eight months went by like a second. I couldn't have possibly played Gears of War any sooner.
But did those months really go by in "like a second"?
Time is a silly animal.
I always laugh at people that say something went by really fast--e.g. high school. College. "Enjoy it," they say, "because it will go by faster than you think." I'm going to go out on a limb here, and say "NO" to that. Hear me out.
Everything always seems fast or easy after you've done it. Man climbs Everest. Takes months of planning and training; it is dangerous and expensive. Gets back to the office the next week--"So how was it? Was it hard?" someone invariably asks. "Oh, it was great! I'd do it again!" he replies.
Well, shit.
It wasn't easy when he was planning it. It wasn't easy when he almost died of *insert applicable hazard*. It wasn't easy, ever. It took a lot of hard work to climb Everest. It was a serious undertaking in every imaginable way--but something about human nature makes us incredibly, stupidly proud of our achievements--so the man leaves the office that night, having convinced the middle-aged secretary that, he too, could scale Everest. "It was easy," after all.
I consider this trait akin to sex, in that it can have untimely consequences, but is ultimately necessary for the survival of humankind as a whole. For everyone who dies of AIDS, some staggering statistic of children are born in yuppyville and grow up to inhabit law offices and hospitals. And similarly, for everyone who overestimates their exploring ability due to post-facto, secondhand bragging and dies hiking, seventeen new galaxies are discovered and named some alphanumeric string. It's just the way the world works.
But back to time and old people. And their stories. I want to say something, before I get to that "In Memoriam" age--nothing goes by fast. We think it does, but it doesn't. Time is a sweet, sweet mistress, that seduces us into thinking that four years of high school just "flew by". Hey buddy, it didn't. Remember sitting in English class watching Hamlet: The Movie for a week straight? Remember Spanish class? Remember Geometry? Tell me that flew by.
We just think it did. It's hereditary.
It's a natural defense mechanism--when our children complain about school, about growing up, about the world--we can tell them not to worry--because it'll "just fly by".
I won't admit that. I'm going to tell my kids life sucks, and Spanish class especially. But heck, the sooner they get it done, the sooner they can tell their kids that it'll fly by.
And then they're even.
June 12, 2009
May 22, 2009
April 18, 2009
New Song
I made a new song, it's pretty amusing
www.myspace.com/superjoyluck
It's '10 Feet Away'
My attempt at hip-hop. Laugh at me; I don't care.
But it's out there. Have a listen.
www.myspace.com/superjoyluck
It's '10 Feet Away'
My attempt at hip-hop. Laugh at me; I don't care.
But it's out there. Have a listen.
April 13, 2009
March 24, 2009
The future
I can't wait until we start saying "twenty-ten" and "twenty-eleven". I cannot wait.
I'm tired of this "Two thousand and - " bullshit. I want "twenty". I want the future.
I remember like kindergarden, I was confused, they taught us numbers. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10. But if it was 1995, then 96, 97, so on, what would happen after 1999? I didn't know. I was confused. Instead of figuring this out, asking, I forgot about it, until 2000. And then I was like, filin' that one between N and P. Y'know, "Ohhhhhhhh."
Now it's like 9 years later and I'm about to graduate high school and shit and I cannot wait for when we start saying twenty-ten.
Because that will be the motherfucking future, ya dig?
I can't wait. I want it to be 2020, like the news show or eyesight test result. But the year dude. The year 2020. Z33s and JZS160s will be like $5 and stuff, and I'll have a real job and family.
And since I was born in 1990 I'll seem ancient to my grandkids in like 2060 or whatever. It'll be rad. "YOU WERE BORN IN THE 1900s?????!?!?" And I'll say, "Yes." And then they'll see my crusty 240SX in the garage and ask me what a turbo is. And I'll hop off my walker and do a big fat burn out with middle finger out the window in the middle of retirement village.
Gonna be epic.
Gotta go do some homework now.
I'm tired of this "Two thousand and - " bullshit. I want "twenty". I want the future.
I remember like kindergarden, I was confused, they taught us numbers. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10. But if it was 1995, then 96, 97, so on, what would happen after 1999? I didn't know. I was confused. Instead of figuring this out, asking, I forgot about it, until 2000. And then I was like, filin' that one between N and P. Y'know, "Ohhhhhhhh."
Now it's like 9 years later and I'm about to graduate high school and shit and I cannot wait for when we start saying twenty-ten.
Because that will be the motherfucking future, ya dig?
I can't wait. I want it to be 2020, like the news show or eyesight test result. But the year dude. The year 2020. Z33s and JZS160s will be like $5 and stuff, and I'll have a real job and family.
And since I was born in 1990 I'll seem ancient to my grandkids in like 2060 or whatever. It'll be rad. "YOU WERE BORN IN THE 1900s?????!?!?" And I'll say, "Yes." And then they'll see my crusty 240SX in the garage and ask me what a turbo is. And I'll hop off my walker and do a big fat burn out with middle finger out the window in the middle of retirement village.
Gonna be epic.
Gotta go do some homework now.
February 6, 2009
Filter > Add Noise
p.s. yes i took cell phone pics and then made them even grainier in photoshop. why?
because i can.
2009 is about, BECAUSE I CAN.
January 18, 2009
January 5, 2009
Making progress towards God-knows-what.
MB Wheels Battle in 17x9.5+15. Wrapped in Sumitomo HTR+ 235/40/17.
Riding on Stance GR+, S14/Z32 5 lug, and Z32 calipers/ebrake.
Car has come a long, long way.
Engine runs great. That pic of it is a bit old, as I've now switched back to the OEM clutch fan since it looks cooler.
Yes, I know.
What have I become.
April 14, 2008
Good for Business
It was cold out this morning.
Pretty nice. Except we had to scrape the ice off the Land Cruiser's windshield before we could leave for school. And I was frozen: all my jackets are currently at my mom's, leaving me, at my dad's, with nothing but a t-shirt. Living in two houses kinda sucks.
But overall, pretty nice.
I figured out some things today I think. Maybe not. Class started out bad enough; Ms. Fox took a good thirty minutes to get the Chapter 34-36 tests copied and handed out--test wasn't too bad, except the last few, which I presume she covered in class discussion--I probably missed them: I was in ISS for three days and she sent me no notes. But overall, it was like any other test in there: pretty nice.
Mrs. Fasolino moved me to the front in English today, that was the only reason for the switch--the whole spiel about the French exchange students needing space was a sham. She just wanted me up front for disciplinary reasons, OK, fine with me. But it's so obvious: she moved us back one--I was in back, thus I moved to the front--so any group of people who talk in class were essentially held together, just shifted. So I moved to the front.
I noticed something rather funny in Mrs. Bowen's class today: in a somewhat vigorous manner she wrote down the names of people who weren't doing any work--or at least that's what I presumed she was doing. My first-hand source proving something along those lines was Josh Leazenby, who said Mrs. Bowen was upset by the laziness of his class period and was thus taking the offensive. I suppose. Didn't bug me. I do my work. Then I play Tetris on my calculator, which is likely both the nerdiest and suckiest way to play Tetris. On my mobile phone, I can manage a good 500 or so lines before my hands cramp up and the screen gets too small; on the TI it's a struggle to break 50 lines, every damn time. Calculator buttons are just too unresponsive.
I suppose I'm the only one who would care about that kind of shit, whatever. I don't have much else to do in that waste of a class.
I think being in ISS for three days affected my Pre-Cal education, because I've been struggling a bit, more so than usual, to get things. I think I've got it figured, but we'll see tomorrow. I keep making mistakes on stupid algebra; I would've thought I had it solid now. Oh well.
AP Physics B makes me laugh sometimes. I was gone for four class days (ISS = 3, UIL band = 1) and I still managed to make a passing grade on the last test. That makes me think--what did we cover those four days I was gone? Most likely, not much at all. Hmm, that could be a commentary on the quality of our instructor... har har har. I guess we never actually do anything in there but tests. That being said, some of those kids in there talk way too damn much for their own good. So it's not just the instructor.
I probably sound like an elitist snob, but I assure you, I am.
After school, Collin came over and he and Alex and I went on a 13-mile or so bike ride around town. 121 to 190 access road to Wheat Rd to Sparta Rd to Lake Rd to 121 and then home. Fun stuff, I guess. My bike is a complete joke though. 10 year-old mountain bike with a frame size for someone 5'2" or something. Seat is all the way up and it's still a pain. Yeah, not working out. I need a new bike, only decision to make is whether or not to get a full-out road bike or a hybrid, so I can still hit the trails out at Stillhouse and elsewhere. Not really sure what to get.
I feel like taking my car apart again, and redoing it. I guess I get bored. I'm already planning out the next step, just gotta get a job and start saving I guess. Stupid cars. Well, stupid me. Other people don't find endless fascination in stripping their cars down and rebuilding them. They just, well, drive them. So yeah, stupid me.
I don't really get why I'm writing this, just seems like a way to wind things down after a day like today. I've been a little preoccupied lately, so cutting the clutter of the daily nonsense seems to give me some more space to think things out. Feel like I'm writing a damn diary entry, what a joke, hahah.
Yesterday was Mitchell's birthday, so dad, my stepmom, and I went out to visit him in College Station. We went out to lunch at a Japanese restaraunt and did the hibachi thing, where the thick-accented guy makes your food on a grill in front of you and tries to burn you to death with fireball-producing oil. I was the lame kid who ate with a fork, but oh well. I find it ironic I'm one-quarter Japanese and don't know how to use chop-sticks, but I've decided I have no aspirations to act outwardly Japanese. Being a Texan pretty much overrides anything else I think. I really enjoyed the meal, though. It was a lot of fun.
After eating, Mitchell showed us his senior design project in one of the engineering buildings at A&M, which I found interesting. I think it'd be fun to work on the kind of stuff that was floating around his computer engineering lab, but I still remain noncommittal. I honestly have no idea what I want to do.
I've been listening to MSTRKRFT lately, you should check them out on Youtube or their Myspace or something. They've got a pretty interesting sound going, like "almost-music". It's like Justice but even more on the edge. Justice are a better group musically speaking, but there's something appealing about the stripped-down, staticky, vocoder-infused junk flying out of the speakers when MSTRKRFT is spinning. Like the music sucks, but who cares. It sounds fucking rad.
I think I'll end it here.
Overall, it was a pretty nice day. And weekend, for that matter.
Pretty nice. Except we had to scrape the ice off the Land Cruiser's windshield before we could leave for school. And I was frozen: all my jackets are currently at my mom's, leaving me, at my dad's, with nothing but a t-shirt. Living in two houses kinda sucks.
But overall, pretty nice.
I figured out some things today I think. Maybe not. Class started out bad enough; Ms. Fox took a good thirty minutes to get the Chapter 34-36 tests copied and handed out--test wasn't too bad, except the last few, which I presume she covered in class discussion--I probably missed them: I was in ISS for three days and she sent me no notes. But overall, it was like any other test in there: pretty nice.
Mrs. Fasolino moved me to the front in English today, that was the only reason for the switch--the whole spiel about the French exchange students needing space was a sham. She just wanted me up front for disciplinary reasons, OK, fine with me. But it's so obvious: she moved us back one--I was in back, thus I moved to the front--so any group of people who talk in class were essentially held together, just shifted. So I moved to the front.
I noticed something rather funny in Mrs. Bowen's class today: in a somewhat vigorous manner she wrote down the names of people who weren't doing any work--or at least that's what I presumed she was doing. My first-hand source proving something along those lines was Josh Leazenby, who said Mrs. Bowen was upset by the laziness of his class period and was thus taking the offensive. I suppose. Didn't bug me. I do my work. Then I play Tetris on my calculator, which is likely both the nerdiest and suckiest way to play Tetris. On my mobile phone, I can manage a good 500 or so lines before my hands cramp up and the screen gets too small; on the TI it's a struggle to break 50 lines, every damn time. Calculator buttons are just too unresponsive.
I suppose I'm the only one who would care about that kind of shit, whatever. I don't have much else to do in that waste of a class.
I think being in ISS for three days affected my Pre-Cal education, because I've been struggling a bit, more so than usual, to get things. I think I've got it figured, but we'll see tomorrow. I keep making mistakes on stupid algebra; I would've thought I had it solid now. Oh well.
AP Physics B makes me laugh sometimes. I was gone for four class days (ISS = 3, UIL band = 1) and I still managed to make a passing grade on the last test. That makes me think--what did we cover those four days I was gone? Most likely, not much at all. Hmm, that could be a commentary on the quality of our instructor... har har har. I guess we never actually do anything in there but tests. That being said, some of those kids in there talk way too damn much for their own good. So it's not just the instructor.
I probably sound like an elitist snob, but I assure you, I am.
After school, Collin came over and he and Alex and I went on a 13-mile or so bike ride around town. 121 to 190 access road to Wheat Rd to Sparta Rd to Lake Rd to 121 and then home. Fun stuff, I guess. My bike is a complete joke though. 10 year-old mountain bike with a frame size for someone 5'2" or something. Seat is all the way up and it's still a pain. Yeah, not working out. I need a new bike, only decision to make is whether or not to get a full-out road bike or a hybrid, so I can still hit the trails out at Stillhouse and elsewhere. Not really sure what to get.
I feel like taking my car apart again, and redoing it. I guess I get bored. I'm already planning out the next step, just gotta get a job and start saving I guess. Stupid cars. Well, stupid me. Other people don't find endless fascination in stripping their cars down and rebuilding them. They just, well, drive them. So yeah, stupid me.
I don't really get why I'm writing this, just seems like a way to wind things down after a day like today. I've been a little preoccupied lately, so cutting the clutter of the daily nonsense seems to give me some more space to think things out. Feel like I'm writing a damn diary entry, what a joke, hahah.
Yesterday was Mitchell's birthday, so dad, my stepmom, and I went out to visit him in College Station. We went out to lunch at a Japanese restaraunt and did the hibachi thing, where the thick-accented guy makes your food on a grill in front of you and tries to burn you to death with fireball-producing oil. I was the lame kid who ate with a fork, but oh well. I find it ironic I'm one-quarter Japanese and don't know how to use chop-sticks, but I've decided I have no aspirations to act outwardly Japanese. Being a Texan pretty much overrides anything else I think. I really enjoyed the meal, though. It was a lot of fun.
After eating, Mitchell showed us his senior design project in one of the engineering buildings at A&M, which I found interesting. I think it'd be fun to work on the kind of stuff that was floating around his computer engineering lab, but I still remain noncommittal. I honestly have no idea what I want to do.
I've been listening to MSTRKRFT lately, you should check them out on Youtube or their Myspace or something. They've got a pretty interesting sound going, like "almost-music". It's like Justice but even more on the edge. Justice are a better group musically speaking, but there's something appealing about the stripped-down, staticky, vocoder-infused junk flying out of the speakers when MSTRKRFT is spinning. Like the music sucks, but who cares. It sounds fucking rad.
I think I'll end it here.
Overall, it was a pretty nice day. And weekend, for that matter.
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