I was told that I like to use parentheses (parentheses are these lines that look like crescent moons that you put on the outside of sentences when you have a thought about a particular word or sentence that was just previously written) on my blog. (Personally, I disagree with that thought). With that little information in mind, I will do my best to limit my uncontrollable urge to parenthesize (yes, i know it's not a word). Anyway, on to the blog.
Lindy and I are currently on vacation in California (you know, the Golden State.) We made it safely, but one flight was anything but comfortable. From Charlotte, NC to Los Angeles, CA, we were not assigned seats next to each other for some reason. I didn't really mind because we have managed to switch seats with people in the past. Unfortunately, our luck ran out on this flight because BOTH our seats were center seats. Honestly, who would switch you seats if they're going to end up in the middle of two strangers? (maybe people with uncontrollable urges to parenthesize everything they type).
It ended up being the most uncomfortable flight. I honestly envied the guy to my right because he was passed out the entire flight. Well, he did wake up for a couple seconds when the flight attendant hit his head with the cart. The woman to my left busted out her 10-year-old-20-pound laptop and clicked away. All I heard for a good hour was "tap tap tap tap tap tap..." As she was tapping along, she would cross her left foot over her right leg and rest it on my thigh. Today, I noticed that my left thigh was starting to itch. She may have given me athletes foot on my thigh. Crazy. I did my best to pass the time. I would doze off on occasion, but not for long. I kept track of the time that has passed by watching Lindy on the aisle across from me. She had a pattern that was easy to pick up.
Approximately ever 30 minutes, she would change what she was eating. So for 30 minutes, she would just be reading her book. 30 minutes after that, she'll open up her bag of Cheetoes and eat that for a bit. (I can always tell when she has moved on to the Cheetoes because you can hear her crunching.) And then 30 minutes after that, she'll move on to Twizzlers and then cycle back to reading. Every time I would wake up from my power nap and see that she has moved on to another snack, I knew about how much time has passed. That was my form of entertainment for 5 hours. Watching Lindy eat.
That's all I have for now. I'll write more about our ACTUAL trip when we're done. Right now, I'm purty tired.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Never-Ending Cycle Ending-Never
Here's a little story about a man and his Iphone:
Nott E. Nuff bought an Iphone as soon as it came out. He thought he was the shizznit because he had the latest fad. However, his glory didn't last long. The next "big thing" was the Iphone 3G. Of course Nott E. Nuff had to get that too. Unfortunately, he couldn't simply replace his old Iphone for the 3G. He had to give up his old phone and pay even more to upgrade. "It's better than the one I have, so I'll pay" he said. Unfortunately for him, the 3GS came soon afterwards. Even though he was irritated by the fact he had to pay, yet again, to upgrade, he did so anyway. "Now I'm set for life!" he exclaimed.
...barely a year later, the Ipad showed up.
Can you relate to Nott E. Nuff's story? I know I can.
I graduated high school expecting to work right away. After seeing the mediocre jobs available for high school grads, I decided college was my only option. It took a little longer to graduate than I expected, but hey, I did it (with some help of course). It was definitely one of the most rewarding things that I've ever done. Walking out of class after taking my last exam, etched a grin on my face that remained there for hours. I didn't walk on my graduation. Didn't want to and didn't care. I just wanted that diploma. As soon as the diploma was in my hands, I thought, let the employers start knockin'.
Now I've been on many different trips in my life. I've been on vacations to exotic places (and some not). But I think about those trips on occasion and I remember there's a souvenir that almost all vacation destinations carry. I'm talking about the shirts that say something like: "My friend went on vacation to (Name you place) and all I got was this stupid shirt." This is what I feel about a bachelor's degree: "I paid $50,000.00 to qualify for a good job and all I got was this stupid piece of paper that says I graduated."
Employers today are looking for higher education. Everyone seems to have a college degree nowadays. So what do you do? Pay another 15k-30k for a masters? What if that's not enough? I guess you upgrade. By the time you're done with all your educational "upgrading," you can owe well into the 6-figures.
Right now, I'm at a crossroads. Do I stick with my "Iphone" or do I upgrade? I just know if I invest more time and money into higher education, "Ipad" will probably show up.
Nott E. Nuff bought an Iphone as soon as it came out. He thought he was the shizznit because he had the latest fad. However, his glory didn't last long. The next "big thing" was the Iphone 3G. Of course Nott E. Nuff had to get that too. Unfortunately, he couldn't simply replace his old Iphone for the 3G. He had to give up his old phone and pay even more to upgrade. "It's better than the one I have, so I'll pay" he said. Unfortunately for him, the 3GS came soon afterwards. Even though he was irritated by the fact he had to pay, yet again, to upgrade, he did so anyway. "Now I'm set for life!" he exclaimed.
...barely a year later, the Ipad showed up.
Can you relate to Nott E. Nuff's story? I know I can.
I graduated high school expecting to work right away. After seeing the mediocre jobs available for high school grads, I decided college was my only option. It took a little longer to graduate than I expected, but hey, I did it (with some help of course). It was definitely one of the most rewarding things that I've ever done. Walking out of class after taking my last exam, etched a grin on my face that remained there for hours. I didn't walk on my graduation. Didn't want to and didn't care. I just wanted that diploma. As soon as the diploma was in my hands, I thought, let the employers start knockin'.
Now I've been on many different trips in my life. I've been on vacations to exotic places (and some not). But I think about those trips on occasion and I remember there's a souvenir that almost all vacation destinations carry. I'm talking about the shirts that say something like: "My friend went on vacation to (Name you place) and all I got was this stupid shirt." This is what I feel about a bachelor's degree: "I paid $50,000.00 to qualify for a good job and all I got was this stupid piece of paper that says I graduated."
Employers today are looking for higher education. Everyone seems to have a college degree nowadays. So what do you do? Pay another 15k-30k for a masters? What if that's not enough? I guess you upgrade. By the time you're done with all your educational "upgrading," you can owe well into the 6-figures.
Right now, I'm at a crossroads. Do I stick with my "Iphone" or do I upgrade? I just know if I invest more time and money into higher education, "Ipad" will probably show up.
Monday, April 5, 2010
100 views / Honeymoon
In celebration of my 100th blog view, I would like to dedicate this blog to my 4 readers. Thank you for visiting my blog multiple times per day, allowing me to achieve more views than I thought I would ever get. It's surely an accomplishment that is in par with receiving my college diploma. (And now, off to my second blog in 2 nights. WHAT???)
Paris, France was everything that Lindy and I hoped it could be. The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre (and that glass pyramid thing), Notre Dame, and the body odor was all there. It was magical. Our three day trip was like a fairy tale.
Lindy and I took a train from Stuttgart, Germany to Paris. You buy the tickets, and it's completely up to you to find your train. Nobody checks to see if you're in the right one or not. That is, of course, until you're about 10 minutes away from your destination. I kind of wonder what they would do if we had just hopped on the train without purchasing a ticket. I would imagine something like this.
Our hotel was nothing short of spectacular. After checking in, the receptionist told us to take the elevator up to our room. Problem was, we didn't see an elevator. Lindy and I looked at each other confused. She pointed at a door in the corner of the lobby (the lobby, by the way, was about the size of a walk-in closet). I look at her like she's crazy and I say "I think that's a closet." I guess the receptionist could sense we were confused and told us that the closet was, in fact, the elevator. We make our way to the elevator and noticed there were no "up" or "down" buttons. "Open the door" the receptionist tells us. Wouldn't you know it, the door opened like a conventional door. When we saw the inside, it was shocking. It was like walking into a coffin. There was no way we both could have fit in there, even with our small luggage. But we did! I pushed our floor number, and the elevator began to move...and so did the walls. Apparently, the elevator was more like a lift. We pressed close to each other so we didn't accidentally get scraped by the walls.
We came to a stop, and nothing happens. The door doesn't open, so we just stare at the door for about a minute until I start feeling claustrophobic and decided to push the door open. We forgot it was manual. When we went back downstairs to go out and explore the streets of Paris, we saw a family of 4 disappear into the closet/elevator. They were never heard from again.
Our room was even better. The bed came up to my knees (and I'm really short so you can only imagine). The pillows were sewn on to the bed because I guess people steal pillows there on a regular basis. The t.v. was about the size of a hand-held t.v. and the remote was screwed onto our headboard (I guess people steal these too). It was really interesting trying to turn the channel because you're looking at the opposite wall while trying to find different channels. Lucky for us, there were only 2 channels.
The room was so small, that when you walk into the bathroom, the bathroom door hits the bed. The door opened just wide enough for us to walk in to do our business. You can literally take a dump, brush your teeth, take a shower, do your hair, make the bed, and watch t.v. all at the same time. If the hotel was going for convenience, well, you can't get anymore convenient than that.
After reading all that, you would think we had a miserable time. Actually, it was one of the best times I've ever had. Lindy and I laughed about it then, and we still laugh about it to this day. While Paris is known for fashion and riches, we had no job, no money and no clue. We lived off baguettes and water. Our main and only mode of transportation was our feet. But we saw all the attractions that lure tourists. I would do it all over again without changing a thing.
Paris, France was everything that Lindy and I hoped it could be. The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre (and that glass pyramid thing), Notre Dame, and the body odor was all there. It was magical. Our three day trip was like a fairy tale.
Lindy and I took a train from Stuttgart, Germany to Paris. You buy the tickets, and it's completely up to you to find your train. Nobody checks to see if you're in the right one or not. That is, of course, until you're about 10 minutes away from your destination. I kind of wonder what they would do if we had just hopped on the train without purchasing a ticket. I would imagine something like this.
Our hotel was nothing short of spectacular. After checking in, the receptionist told us to take the elevator up to our room. Problem was, we didn't see an elevator. Lindy and I looked at each other confused. She pointed at a door in the corner of the lobby (the lobby, by the way, was about the size of a walk-in closet). I look at her like she's crazy and I say "I think that's a closet." I guess the receptionist could sense we were confused and told us that the closet was, in fact, the elevator. We make our way to the elevator and noticed there were no "up" or "down" buttons. "Open the door" the receptionist tells us. Wouldn't you know it, the door opened like a conventional door. When we saw the inside, it was shocking. It was like walking into a coffin. There was no way we both could have fit in there, even with our small luggage. But we did! I pushed our floor number, and the elevator began to move...and so did the walls. Apparently, the elevator was more like a lift. We pressed close to each other so we didn't accidentally get scraped by the walls.
We came to a stop, and nothing happens. The door doesn't open, so we just stare at the door for about a minute until I start feeling claustrophobic and decided to push the door open. We forgot it was manual. When we went back downstairs to go out and explore the streets of Paris, we saw a family of 4 disappear into the closet/elevator. They were never heard from again.
Our room was even better. The bed came up to my knees (and I'm really short so you can only imagine). The pillows were sewn on to the bed because I guess people steal pillows there on a regular basis. The t.v. was about the size of a hand-held t.v. and the remote was screwed onto our headboard (I guess people steal these too). It was really interesting trying to turn the channel because you're looking at the opposite wall while trying to find different channels. Lucky for us, there were only 2 channels.
The room was so small, that when you walk into the bathroom, the bathroom door hits the bed. The door opened just wide enough for us to walk in to do our business. You can literally take a dump, brush your teeth, take a shower, do your hair, make the bed, and watch t.v. all at the same time. If the hotel was going for convenience, well, you can't get anymore convenient than that.
After reading all that, you would think we had a miserable time. Actually, it was one of the best times I've ever had. Lindy and I laughed about it then, and we still laugh about it to this day. While Paris is known for fashion and riches, we had no job, no money and no clue. We lived off baguettes and water. Our main and only mode of transportation was our feet. But we saw all the attractions that lure tourists. I would do it all over again without changing a thing.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
A bad week...
Here's a story about an old friend of mine named Glenn. He was soft-spoken, friendly, and liked by pretty much everyone. He was a graduating senior when I was just a sophomore in high school. I would always sit behind him during pre-calculus and we would take turns copying each other's homework. (I'm sure I've painted a good picture of myself during my high school years). On Friday, January 26, 2001, Glenn saw me jogging home after soccer practice and offered to give me a ride. I asked him what his plans were after graduating and he told me that he had plans to enlist in the Army. It was a 10 minute drive, but that's all I remember talking about.
Two days later, my mom was giving me a haircut and asked me if I heard about some kid that committed suicided. She thought he went to my school. The kid's mom found him dead in his bedroom. I told her I didn't hear anything about it, and that was that.
I was chatting with a friend of mine online later that day, and apparently, word got around about this guy from our high school hanging himself. I remember that conversation like it was yesterday.
I asked her, "do you know his name?"
She says, "Glenn, I think. Glenn Brazzel? I don't know how to pronounce his last name."
"wait...not Glenn Gr***** is it? because I know him..."
"yeah, that's him. I'm sorry."
"no, that can't be right. he wouldn't do that. no, you better be wrong. he better be in class monday copying my homework."
"i'm sorry...i'm pretty sure it's him but i could be wrong."
My heart sunk, I started to sweat, and teared up all at once. I hopped in the shower so I could clear my mind, but all I could do was cry. I wasn't sobbing, because I was still confused. I still didn't believe what I was told.
I hopped out of the shower and got dressed. Then I just lay in my room with the lights off for about an hour. I hear the door open and my mom comes in my room. She sees my face and asks me if I had been crying. "No, I took a shower and the gel from my hair got into my eyes." (yes, that is word for word). As she walks out of my room, I ask her if the guy's name was Glenn. "Yeah, that's him!" And I reply, "That's what I heard..." Then I sobbed.
The next day at school, nobody wanted to do anything. My marine biology professor, in particular, couldn't even hold it together. I remember her saying through free-flowing tears that, as his teacher, she should have sensed that there was something wrong and that maybe she could have helped him or gotten him help. She felt somewhat responsible for what happened. We didn't do anything in class that day. I think most of us in class had been crying all night. As a matter of fact, most of the school had been crying.
Everyone someway or another felt responsible for his death. Why didn't we know? Why didn't we see the signs? I don't know to this day. I found out that he died the morning after he had given me a ride home. Even at that moment, I had no clue there was anything unusual. It's been almost 10 years since that happened, and I still can't believe I didn't see any signs. He looked fine. He looked happy. He had plans for the future...
I know that this hasn't been the most uplifting blog. But this was an event that I think about more frequently than I should. I know that his death was no one's fault, but sometimes one can't help but feel a bit responsible.
For those of you that wonder what my definition of a bad day is...this was a bad day. Actually, it was a bad week.
Two days later, my mom was giving me a haircut and asked me if I heard about some kid that committed suicided. She thought he went to my school. The kid's mom found him dead in his bedroom. I told her I didn't hear anything about it, and that was that.
I was chatting with a friend of mine online later that day, and apparently, word got around about this guy from our high school hanging himself. I remember that conversation like it was yesterday.
I asked her, "do you know his name?"
She says, "Glenn, I think. Glenn Brazzel? I don't know how to pronounce his last name."
"wait...not Glenn Gr***** is it? because I know him..."
"yeah, that's him. I'm sorry."
"no, that can't be right. he wouldn't do that. no, you better be wrong. he better be in class monday copying my homework."
"i'm sorry...i'm pretty sure it's him but i could be wrong."
My heart sunk, I started to sweat, and teared up all at once. I hopped in the shower so I could clear my mind, but all I could do was cry. I wasn't sobbing, because I was still confused. I still didn't believe what I was told.
I hopped out of the shower and got dressed. Then I just lay in my room with the lights off for about an hour. I hear the door open and my mom comes in my room. She sees my face and asks me if I had been crying. "No, I took a shower and the gel from my hair got into my eyes." (yes, that is word for word). As she walks out of my room, I ask her if the guy's name was Glenn. "Yeah, that's him!" And I reply, "That's what I heard..." Then I sobbed.
The next day at school, nobody wanted to do anything. My marine biology professor, in particular, couldn't even hold it together. I remember her saying through free-flowing tears that, as his teacher, she should have sensed that there was something wrong and that maybe she could have helped him or gotten him help. She felt somewhat responsible for what happened. We didn't do anything in class that day. I think most of us in class had been crying all night. As a matter of fact, most of the school had been crying.
Everyone someway or another felt responsible for his death. Why didn't we know? Why didn't we see the signs? I don't know to this day. I found out that he died the morning after he had given me a ride home. Even at that moment, I had no clue there was anything unusual. It's been almost 10 years since that happened, and I still can't believe I didn't see any signs. He looked fine. He looked happy. He had plans for the future...
I know that this hasn't been the most uplifting blog. But this was an event that I think about more frequently than I should. I know that his death was no one's fault, but sometimes one can't help but feel a bit responsible.
For those of you that wonder what my definition of a bad day is...this was a bad day. Actually, it was a bad week.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)