So now it's official. I am going to college; I am done with high school; my days with these friends are winding down, their numbers dwindling.

I returned home from ultimate yesterday to find my parents doing yardwork. I ran upstairs and gave myself one of those Really Good Showers where I scrub doubly hard with the loofa and use my Extra Awesome Scented Body Wash because I want to smell and feel good about myself. I got out of the shower and started getting dressed in a white dress shirt, one of my two favorite ties, and some blue slacks. I walked out of the bathroom to find my mom complaining that she couldn't find anything to wear, so she just kept hunting through her wardrobe1. eventually, my dad persuaded her to go out and buy something, but not before they could make me late--we were supposed to be at the school by 6:30.

I left the house at 6:30, but luckily, it only took ten minutes to get to school. I parked two blocks down from the school, since the lot had long since been filled by the audience, and made my way to the new gym. I had actually expected the school to check for inflatables and other fun things as they'd promised to do, so I'd placed a few turkey diaphragm calls in the folds of my cap, but they didn't check. I found my friends and doled out the few calls that I had before sitting down for the class picture.

Afterwards, I ran to my car to pick up a few more calls. When I got back, people had begun to line up by last name. I quickly handed out a few more and then got in line. We marched our way down towards the boys' locker room--the exit by which we would walk onto the field. We stood in that hallway for quite awhile, baking in the heat of 500 bodies in a small space, but then the doors opened, and we marched across the field to our seats. It had begun.

The next two-and-a-half hours felt shorter than any graduation ceremony I'd ever watched. Theunis' speech dragged a bit toward the end, and Demyan's was excellent, forgiving the incontinuity of the way he said it. Of course, No one could really hold it against him, seeing as how he had to do it completely from memory, given his ocular inability. Sedge grinned widely while the chorus sang "The Last Song." Burks and I began to give turkey calls for our friends as their names were announced.

Being rather near the front, I walked up to get my diploma holder while the sun was still setting. I strode up to Mr. Tesch and shook his hand as he handed me my diploma. With the call in my mouth, I said "Thank you!" in a very Donald Duck voice. He gave me a funny look, thinking it was just his ears. Casey's mom was next in line, being the veep of the school board, and she threw her arms wide for a hug. I said thank you to her, too, in my Donald Duck voice, and Tesch turned around and laughed at me. I shook one last hand and walked off the stage.

More names were called until finally, they were all done. All of us had received our diplomas. Dunn came to the mic and had us all move our tassels from the right side to the left side, and stood aside to let Tesch say his last words: "And for one last time, I am proud to tell the Class of 2005 that they are done... Class Dismissed!" Cheers resounded as caps were thrown into the air, and the stadium lights shut out as fireworks slammed into the air.

We all found each other right there. We hugged everyone we'd ever considered a friend. We screamed and whooped and hollered and cheered and congratulated each other. That was it. We were done.

My parents followed me around for the next half hour or so, taking pictures of my friends and I while we picked up diplomas and posed for what might have been our One Last Time. There are people I will never see again, but I will never forget them.

---

Endnote: I have a diploma now. My diploma. That sounds so weird to me; it feels so foreign. I wonder whether I was really ready for this, ready to be done. I wonder if any of us was. In the end, I can only conclude that we were all ready; we had worked for so long for it that we were prepared to move on. Really, the only thing we aren't prepared to do is to let go of the bonds we've made, and that will ultimately keep many of us together in some way, small or large. I look forward to seeing everyone again in five or ten or twenty years.

For now, though, we celebrate how far we've come. Congratulations, everyone.

¹i had actually helped my mom pick out clothes last weekend, but she didn't buy anything. now she was complaining that i hadn't helped. boy, do i love women.

Posted at 06:11 PM | opinions (0)

So here's a small secret about me: I absolutely love shopping for clothes. I adore the idea of wandering around in the mall, trying stuff on, and I'd do it all the time if it weren't so nerve wracking and frustrating.

Frustrating?! you ask? How can you love clothes-shopping and still think it's frustrating?! Here, you all will probably promptly diverge to one of two thoughts: 1) Clothes shopping isn't frustrating! Are you off your rocker?! 2) Shopping for clothes is the most uncomfortable wordly experience! Frustrating doesn't begin to describe it!

Yes. While, I love to run around the mall and try on every collared shirt in the place and slip on every pair of jeans, regardless of how big my ass looks in them or how ridiculously tight they are on my legs. I love staring at all the witty t-shirts and wishing that I looked kind of like that mannequin but more human. I love the overdressed salespeople in Express For Men and GAP. What I don't love is not buying anything.

See, I grew up in a family that wasn't particularly wealthy, especially in comparison to my hometown. Few families in the area make less than a six-digit yearly income, but my parents have only recently broken that benchmark. I mean, it's not bad, considering my family's history--considering they speak broken English. But growing up in that sort of coupon-clipping, clearance-item environment ingrained in me a sense of "That's not worth that much money. I can't buy that." Sure, it's a very financially sound state of mind, but frankly, it isn't very satisfying.

I can't stand going through the clearance rack at American Eagle in order to hunt down the single XS longsleeved, collared shirt in white with blue vertical stripes to try it on and love it. I might think, I look like a god in this, but one glance at the price tag will probably send me into a dilemma. Is a single shirt really worth $25? Probably not. So I put it back down.

This is why I prefer setting aside some money for clothes. I love to know that I can spend fifty bucks today on clothes, because when I come across that shirt that makes me look like a god, dammit, I'll buy it. The opportunity cost of three other shirts on clearance for $10 that look like crap is worth it. I'll give that up to feel great about the way I look in this shirt.

Window shopping doesn't give me the same kind of gratification because I didn't come planning to spend some good bit of money for a shirt. But if I decided I was going to shell out some money for clothes, I walk out of the store guilt-free. I admit, it's kind of weird, but it works.

I found myself two new polos from Aeropostale today. And they were entirely worth it: I look attractive in them. I look like a god.

Okay, okay. Maybe not. At least I know I'm lying to myself.

Posted at 07:01 PM | opinions (0) | TrackBack (1)

Growing up, my father was never really around much. I don't fault him too much for this; his employment as a chef precluded his leaving for home before it was well into the ten o'clock hour. Just as he'd had to work until well past my bedtime, he also had to work yearlong with holidays being scarce. I learned to understand the importance of my father's career early on and thought little of the fact that he couldn't be home.

A time came when I wanted to play baseball more than anything else in my life. My parents both had to work, and so, I was very simply denied the opportunity to play organized sports. My family is wary of being dependent on others, so the idea that I might just get rides from a friend was quickly rejected. This I held against my parents for awhile, quietly brooding while I sat alone at home watching Rocko's Modern Life when I should have been learning to catch fly balls. Seasons came and went and each time I would skip a sport: baseball, basketball, football, karate, soccer.

This is not to say, though, that I didn't get out. I loved riding my bike or going to the pool¹. On weekends, my dad would take me out fishing, but still, I never got my childhood fix of contact sports. This, I think, resulted in a fear of encroachment on my physical space. I was kind of aloof in elementary school and middle schools, and I didn't really play any sports that allowed others within my personal bubble until high school. I feared being too close to another person and did not enjoy physical contact--from high fives to hugs to pats on the back. I even felt weird hugging good friends who I'd known for ten years.

As I did all my growing up in high school, I quickly learned to overcome my then-untested ability to tolerate physical contact. As I moved from freshman to sophomore, I began giving high fives with regularity. I met John Strang, whose hugs were so comforting that they found a way into my heart. I understood that these things were good, not something to be feared. But, as with anything else I do, Ifound myself overcompensating for my lack of physical consolation in previous years.

I now regularly express my affection for friends through varying degrees of physical contact. I hug people for no reason, give an exceedingly high number of high fives, and playfully punch people in the arm. I guess I'm what you would call a bit of touchy-feely person.

Ironically, I lack the ability to express my affections for people I'm with. But I may speak of that at some other time.

Posted at 10:49 AM | opinions (0) | TrackBack (161)

welcome

Posted at 08:52 AM | opinions (0) | TrackBack (0)

Finding a Way Out
Spring break represents a week of escape for many people, but I had traditionally stayed home for it, wallowing in the pain of being in town whilst everyone I knew escaped to Destin, Sandestin, or Panama City. I also had to stay with my parents, which did little to salve the bitter envy that would wash over me for a week and a half--even if by some miracle we'd decided to go visit DC or N'awlins¹.

Just at the close of cross country season, Steele and I had decided that we were going to go somewhere this spring break. We were going to leave home without our parents and, by God, we were going to have fun on our own. And so the plans worked themselves out, with all the parents doubting our ability to actually figure out a trip on our own. And then it came.

Trip Precursor
Since everyone always goes over to Steele's on Monday nights to watch 24 anyway, we decided that we'd spend the night at his house the week before. At about midnight, the few girls we'd invited to hang out with us were shooed away by Steele's mother, and we made our way upstairs. The sleeping arrangements for the night had been decided pretty easily: I got a trundle bed since I was going to be the first to drive; Steele got his own bed; Nathan volunteered to take the couch; Casey was left with the other trundle.

However, a slight hitch in plans came up: Casey started to play Starcraft on the computer. Nathan and I, being the geeks that we are, decided to watch Casey play. I ended up going to bed around 2:30 in the morning. I can only guess at how late they were up.

Taking the Way Out
I arise, and it is morning. I turn off the alarm on my cell phone before it does its very annoying song-and-dance and hop over Casey back onto the other trundle bed. Before I know it, everyone is up and hunting for a shower, and I'm dazed and confused in my freshly-awakened state. I beat Nathan to the basement shower².

We pack the van and get rolling by 10:30. We stop to get gas and sunglasses for Nathan. We are on the open road by 11:00. It is, so far, a completely painless experience. We just started a little late is all.

The trip down is fairly uneventful; the only thing to bother anyone is a little bit of pollen and smoke, so we switch the air on recirculate. My shift is up near Macon, where we stop for lunch and a Burger King located at the worst interstate exit ever designed. The civil engineer who designed those intersections was probably hanged for his sorry-ass job. Steele took over after lunch, and we continued down into south Georgia.

The road gets steadily flatter and straighter as we get closer and closer to Florida; we can feel the state line beckoning to us as we come nearer and nearer, rolling down I-75 at just five miles per hour faster than the speed limit. As the road gets more boring to look at, we all grow more tired. Steele's job as Casey's navigator by now is simple, since we have 100 more miles of I-75 to go down; he has fallen asleep against the window. Nath is struggling to read more of Syrup, addicted to the carpal tunnel syndrome-inducing page turner. I am trying to stay awake by singing along to the music, and by now, I am the only one singing. I glance over at the dashboard clock and notice that the air is still on recirculate. Four hours after it was turned on, I stand up and switch the air off recirculate and everyone immediately brightens up as oxygen plunges into the CO2-rich atmosphere that we've been breathing. Asphyxiation crisis averted.

Welcome to Orlando
We pull into the Radisson Barcélo with Casey and Steele antagonizing Nathan about his driving while I come to his defense. He's trying to figure out where the hell the hotel is while we bicker about his skills or lack thereof. We park near the lobby and walk in to be greeted by a young, attractive, friendly college student named Tarin³. She informed us that we couldn't get the room unless we physically had the credit card with us. This is extremely unfortunate, as none of us has enough money on any kind of account to pay for the room. We look at one another, all at a loss of words. It appears that we may have to live out of the van.

The Gods Take Pity
After we're left looking lost for about thirty seconds, Taryn offers that she can fax a form over to Steele's dad to have him sign for the room with the card he reserved it with. I fumble for my phone, and Steele calls his father, hoping that the room will soon be ours. He agrees, and she sends the fax through. Meanwhile, the four of us converse among ourselves for twenty minutes, and at this point, Taryn checks the fax machine.

Nothing has come through.

Steele calls his dad again, who then remembers that he was going to get a fax. He faxes over the form and the back of his credit card. We freak out, since the hotel needs both sides, and for another ten minutes we try to get Steele's dad to send the other side.

Fortunately, Taryn is a friendly person and gets us a room anyway. It has a poolside view, she tells us, and she puts all of our names on the room without being asked. She tells us not to worry about the other side of the card; she has confidence that it'll come through. She gives us a practised speech on where the room is from the lobby, all the while puffing out her chest and gyrating her hips in a very, very eyecatching manner. We all watch her hips as they bump into the counter and back away only to bump into it again.

"You guys get all of that?" We stumble at the question, nodding and motioning toward the van. We go outside and park in front of our room, and we unpack.

The Room
We walk into the room and it is nice. It's pretty much your average hotel room, but we have a minibar under the television and a sizeable vanity area next to the bathroom. There is a wide nightstand between the two beds and a row of switches above it that control two of the lamps in the room and the pair of recessed incandescent bulbs above the head of each bed.

I throw my guitar and my bag onto the the far side of the bed furthest from the door, as I am wont to do whenever I stay in a hotel room. Nathan throws his bags down next to mine, leaving Casey and Steele with the other bed. The television is just in front of our bed, and I am oddly pleased about this, though I keep it to myself.

Casey snaps a picture of the room.

Dinner
We go to dinner a couple blocks down at a Friday's. The food is good, and we all talk about how happy we are to be away from home. "Thank God for vacation," we all mutter over our food. Everyone is attacking my basket because I bought the Jack Daniel's burger, and the Jack Daniel's sauce is amazing. Before I know it, I've wolfed down the burger, Nathan is stealing my fries, and Casey is dipping his fries into the sauce that had dripped from my burger.

Sleep
We return to the room, and everyone proceeds with reading or working out or whatever they have decided they could do to pass the time. In just an hour, everyone is ready for bed, and the lights go out for the night.

¹Visiting New Orleans, I think, will soon become a standard thing for me since my father's moved down there. The city itself is a beautiful place, so I don't really mind having to go down there every once in awhile to visit, though I can't exactly profess the same excited anticipation at seeing my dad.^

²In retrospect, this really doesn't matter at all. Steele's house has four showers--one for each of us, coincidentally.^

³It may have been Taryn. I can't picture her nametag, but I can damn well picture the rest of her.^

Posted at 07:15 PM | opinions (0) | TrackBack (6)

My day yesterday was amazing. I love being a senior.

Getting There

I walked into the school just fifteen minutes after I'd left the house. It had to be a record, especially considering I hadn't left until 7:45--the height of morning traffic on Windward Parkway. I grabbed a spot on the far row of cars.

Parking

People are not all too intelligent when it comes to choosing a parking space. Everyone has somehow convinced himself that the most important thing in parking is finding a spot in the nearest column to the entrance of the building. This is absolutely ridiculous, since the distance formula gives us √(a2 + b2), meaning that BOTH axes matter. So, while everyone rushes to make that column right in front of the door 30 cars deep, I just park four columns over in the third row. I assure you, it is a much shorter walk that way.

Breakfast, part deux

I'm taking antibiotic to prep my body for that root canal on Monday, so I have to eat breakfast at home. Biaxin is not too friendly on an empty stomach. This morning was no different, and I'd already had two PBJ sandwiches and a cup of soymilk, finished off with one hell of a big Biaxin. But upon entering Kelsh's room, I was told that we were going to breakfast.

Five of us piled into Grant's car and drove to Chik-Fil-A. And it was good.

Directed Study

Another beautiful thing about being one of the older students is that we can enroll in a class where we teach ourselves. In my case, I don't teach at all. I spent the entirety of the period reading webcomics and making phone calls on my cell. We're barely into the period when Justin turns around and goes, "Jeez! Where'd that period go?" Class is over.

Chemistry (or Lack Thereof)

Spokes is an incredibly lenient teacher. She gives work that isn't due until four weeks later and then proceeds to give us class time to do it. Now, juniors you might expect to do the work, but with a class where seniors are the majority, it's unrealistic to say "Work on those packets that aren't due until after spring break when you have a sub on Friday." Nope. Completely unrealistic.

We played Gin Rummy.

AP CompSci

We were moved out of our class because we were without a sub for computer science. Typically, a bunch of us herd into Mrs. Doll's classroom, which is small enough without ten seniors in the room, so she usually sends us to the library. Well, check into the library we did. And then we decided we would throw the frisbee around on the front lawn. Considering that the front lawn is overlooked by the office windows, this was not a very tact thing to do, but we don't care about things like that. I can definitely envision our principal walking out there and saying, "Hey! What are you guys doing? Oh, okay! Mind if I join in?"

Our janitors, however, think they have some kind of authority and ordered us off the front lawn because there was a class about two hundred feet away on the picnic tables. It's always better to do what someone tells you when you're disobeying school rules, though, so we shuffled down to the practice field to throw.

I'm not enrolled in AP Computer Science. No, I'm in AP Disc Throwing Techniques.

In Closing

After school, we all went to North Park to play some ultimate, and I played until 7. Enough happened there to qualify as an entry in itself. That is all.

Posted at 11:20 AM | opinions (0) | TrackBack (1)

I suppose it's kind of hard to understand how it's possible, considering all the slacking off I've done this semester, but I'm most definitely stretched thin on everything right now. I'm really wondering why I took all these AP classes that are twice as frustrating because I'm not learning anything. It's a vicious cycle that entails trying to do homework for one class while not paying attention to a teacher who is not really doling out any real knowledge, but that knowledge that isn't bestowed upon me will be called upon in the next few days for other work.

On the whole, it's very tiring. I'm struggling to keep my grades up in my classes simply because I'm disinterested, and senioritis isn't helping at all. I suppose I want to blame my teachers for all of this--some of them don't teach at all while others teach very poorly, wasting a lot of time before we even begin to go anywhere coherent and related. I write it off by telling myself I don't care, but I do, and though I've pretty much slacked my way through all of high school, it drives me nuts that I'm not learning a thing.

In addition to that, I'm filling my schedule with regular social events, which do something between relaxing me and making me feel more anxious about how little time I spend on schoolwork, as well as some other responsibilities, like working on the robot all of last weekend.

---

Speaking of the robot, we did very well at competition, and I think we had one of the best machines out on that field. However, by luck of the draw during seeding matches, we got paired with a lot of robots that were worse than our opponents, resulting in a very low ranking going into the seeding matches. Northview HS, 8th seed, had us as their first pick, which was kind of unfortunate considering that at least five of the top six seeded teams were considering us as a second pick. Being eighth seed, we went up against first seed for our first round and got owned like there's no tomorrow.

Nath and I wrote a very good auton program--more Nath than I. We were the only team at the competition to use the camera to successful pick up a vision tetra, not to mention the fact that we came very close to capping the center goal at competition. We did manage to do it twice during practice rounds, though, and that was a great accomplishment in itself¹.

But there was no award for that accomplishment, and I guess that's the way life works sometimes.

Despite this, it was a good season, and the last match was a relief in that I am done for this year, and I will never again suffer through so much stress about the robot--or so I think. CNN followed us around and a bit on us will air sometime, date to be announced.

---

I was so tired last night that I fell asleep watching Tested to Destruction on Discovery last night. It was only 21:30.

¹For those of you who don't understand what all this babble is about, you can go read about this year's game at FIRST. If you'd rather not, just go along knowing that Nath and I wrote a program where our robot hunted down a target on its own and then picked up the target and came very close to putting it on a goal--something that no one else in our regional of 49 teams managed to do. I believe only two teams successfully executed their entire program in the nation last weekend, and the objective of that program is something that human drivers could only do a handful of times in two minutes.

Posted at 09:08 AM | opinions (0)