Done

What’s up world? I’m sitting here in my room with my final preparation for the dramatic conclusion of this semester. Of course I knew this semester would be tough, but that doesn’t begin to describe the realm of bullshit I feel like I’ve been through in the past three months. A trip to Africa is being dangled in front of me, causing me to drool over cutting to the chase and just getting out of here. But of course it isn’t possible to just fast forward through all the crap to get to the prize.

Instead I’ve dealt with suicides, training, a fucking national headline, and of course failure after failure in the hardest class I’ll ever take in my life. I hate failing. Not just once, but over and over again when you’re trying and trying to just get through it. And of course right when my second chances have dried up, and I have literally one moment left to pass this fucking class, I have to deal with a publicity stunt that few people in the world have to deal with.

I would’ve never expected to be taking study breaks to read about my story in the national news to make sure I don’t get fired. I've been an RA for three goddamn months and I end up having to be tested to the point of breaking in front of America.

So in addition to learning a lot of calculus this week, I’ve also learned a lot about our society and myself. A police officer, a father, and a great person was fired because he lost composure for 15 seconds. After an hour and half of being tested, all it took was the last 15 seconds and a tiny shove for him to lose his job and reputation.

That’s not right. Then the way the media works, America see’s the good guy as the pig and the scum bag who I caught drinking and bottling his own piss is portrayed as the hero. But I lose my job if I tell the public the real story, because the Constitution protects that filthy fucking scrotum who was breaking the law. I’ve realized that that’s the way it works, and there’s nothing I can do. I’ve done everything I could and it couldn’t kick that little shit out and it couldn’t save that great person’s job.

Instead of letting it tear me up inside, I’m using the experience to better myself. First off, after what I’ve done and seen, I will never lose my composure again. Losing professionalism and calmness causes you to go from super-hero to dirt bag, every single time. If you’re the good guy, then you will always lose unless you keep your 100% cool.

Second off, I’m going to make sure I accomplish everything I want to in life. That devil down the hall from me may not get kicked out of the university, he may make a few thousand off of interviews or endorsements, and he may have won. But I know for a fact he is far below almost every other human being on the planet in all aspects. I know he won’t accomplish much in his life other than getting a cop fired. He’s peaked, he’s done. I’m not.

He will never do anything great in his life. He will never fly a plane, save a man’s life, make anyone proud, or know the feeling of true accomplishment. His life from this point on wont’ be much to blog about. But mine will. I have the potential to accomplish just about anything, and I’ve proved it. Just because I’m positive Peter fucking Dimples won’t achieve anything, my heart is now set on achieving everything.

That starts now, with this calculus class. I am going to walk into this final in thirty minutes, and pass the class. Then I’m going to clean my room, and go to Africa for two weeks. My life will keep going up while his keeps going down. And that will be enough to keep my composure for the rest of my life. Until next time…

Beverly Hills Safari!

What's up world? I just got done studying for an hour or so after getting back from ROTC. I'm getting used to the frequent studying. At first it depressed me a little bit. But now I'm caught up in it all and the whole situation makes a great story, especially if I succeed.

So I just watched a Youtube video about the symbolism behind a deck of cards. It wasn't that interesting. It was something about King Jesus and whatever and I'm like yeah but you could say that about anything. The interesting part was that there's 52 weeks in a year, 52 cards, 4 seasons, 4 suits; it's a calendar basically. So then I was like, I love decks of cards! I always travel with one! Then I realized I had already blogged about cards back in September. Yeah, so now I have nothing to blog about. I wonder if eventually I'll hit a point where I have literally blogged about every thought that has ever crossed my mind and I completely run out of material. I doubt that will happen. But for the time being I have nothing to write about. I know, I'll tell you a story. I love telling stories but my family and girlfriend hear so many they've stopped listening to them. So, what story should I tell? What memory from my exciting life should I immortalize on the internet? Hmmm I'm having trouble deciding, I'll look at my Facebook photos to dig up some material. Oh my God! Yes I got one! I will tell the story of my Beverly Hills Safari! Sit down and strap in because this is a good one.

So the time was Summer 2010. I spent that summer partying and manly at Bardstown road. But when I wasn't working as a lifeguard, or partying at BTR, I was traveling. Among several journeys that summer, was a two week trip to Southern California. This was my first time going to SoCal and seeing my good friend Alex face to face. So July 28th rolled around fairly quickly and I flew off to LA.

Ok pause. A big part of my enjoyment in traveling is NOT tourism. In fact I believe tourism and travel are completely different. Being a tourist to me is the worst way to spend any trip. Riding around in an open-roofed big red double-decker bus while being barked at by tour guides is miserable. Not only is it boring, not only are you getting laughed at by everyone, but you're just looking at all the fun. It's like going to a really nice restaurant but just sitting in the waiting room watching everyone else eat dinner, and someone's telling you all the history of the restaurant and other shit you don't care about. Why fly all the way over to LA, to sit on a tour bus and look at everyone have fun in Santa Monica? No fuck that! I wanna roam around my destination as I please and be free to play in the sand as much as I want!

But worst of all, when you're a tourist you are hated and ridiculed by the locals no matter where you are. When I travel, I want to experience the lifestyle of my destination. Whether that's the highlands of Honduras, South Beach, Beverly Hills, or Europe; every city has a certain mood and a lifestyle to accompany it. Being a tourist is just looking at it. Being a traveler is experiencing that lifestyle.

So when I travel, I act like I live there even if it's only a matter of days. I dress like I belong there, act like I know where I'm going and what I'm doing, and I don't do touristy shit. But unfortunately, my mother and father look like the biggest damn tourists in the city. My dad takes pictures of everything, my mom just looks lost all the time, and then I'm wearing aviator sunglasses with a polo and $100 watch 15 feet behind them. But whatever. Long story short, I want to experience the lifestyle, not the tourism; so I act like I live there. Resume.

Alex and I stayed away from much of the tourist stuff and focused on just broing it out in Los Angeles. The city is a giant playground, it'd be hard for us to ever be bored. I fit in wherever we went (we never looked like fucking tourists that's for sure), and by the time I was halfway through my trip I felt like I'd grown up in LA. I had the smug attitude, I was sending entrees back at restaurants because it wasn't exactly how I ordered it, I was making fun of Latinos, it was great!

So we had a free day on Wednesday and Alex's friend Daniel was telling us how it's a fun time to go to Beverly Hills and chill and check out girls and cars for the day. I thought it sounded like an absolutely fantastic idea, and so did Alex. The only problem is we'd have to work out the logistics. Ok, so if we go to Beverly Hills we HAVE to make a stop in Hollywood for a cigar, and parking plus traffic in Hollywood AND Beverly Hills would be a nightmare, so...fuck. Then Alex's mother came to the rescue with an idea!

She told us there's a pretty bus company that for just $20 you get a ticket for a bus that goes from Hollywood to Beverly Hills to West Hollywood and back to Hollywood all day and night, and parking is included. We could park in Hollywood, chill there for a while, hop on the bus to Beverly Hills, chill there for a while, then hop on and see West Hollywood real quick before going back home. Awesome! Perfect solution!

So Wednesday rolled around and Alex and I dressed like we were going shopping in Beverly Hills, got and the car and made the drive to Hollywood. When we got there we acquired our ticket and ran into a bit of a surprise. The buses that were taking us around LA were those big humiliating double-decker open-roofed buses. We had just spent $40 for a TOUR of Los Angeles! With our heads down we got on the bus, which was filled with Asians, families, old people with those white visors, and single men in their 40's. Oh well. When we get off on Rodeo Drive, we'll just dip into a store immediately and come back out so it looks like we're not tourists.

Sooner or later we did just that, and went to a cute little Panini Cafe on Rodeo Drive for lunch. There were agents talking on their phones, really really really rich housewives, the whole lot. This was THE place to eat lunch. While eating, I whipped out my iPhone a curious question that'd been on my mind for some time: the location of the Playboy Mansion. It was about five miles. I told Alex it was a little under two and convinced him to make the walk!

So there we were. Two high schoolers, wearing polo shirts, walking through the streets of Beverly Hills passing one celebrity house after the other to get to the Playboy Mansion....for five miles. After a bit of complaining from Alex ("Decker, there is no way this is under two miles."), we finally came up on a tiny alleyway called Charing Cross Road. You would have never noticed the Playboy Mansion was just a short walk down that road unless you knew where you were going. Take a left there, take a stroll down the hill and boom, you're at the Playboy Mansion.

Then we had to walk back. Was it worth it? Fuck yeah. Do you know how many people have been to the Playboy Mansion? Like no one. So that's my story. I hope you liked it. Until next time...

The Dells

What's up readers? Happy Wednesday. The work week's almost halfway complete, "hump day" as they call it. After studying calculus for three straight days I'm finding that I'm making steady progress.

I truly have 'waged war' on calculus. Much like my determination on getting that scholarship last year, I'm dead set on passing this class. I'd rather die trying than give up and fail. So through frustration and bore and headaches alike, I push through and get back up after being knocked down, and I'm going to keep at it until I get a 90 on that damn test. This is when I always surprise myself. Once I hit that threshold of excessive frustration, I feel like I turn into the fucking Hulk, with pure steroids running through my veins. I use that 95th percentile brain to get what I want. And in this case it's pretty much entirely the drive to learn the difficult material to pass.

But behind the front lines of this war I have this fighting force of manipulation. In addition to being able to learn the material as a result of this determination, I've also thoroughly thought through my set of moves in order to make it as difficult as possible for my professor to enter a grade in lower than a C. It's a mix of charm and choice wording to make this guy feel both sympathy and respect for me. When you have a man's sympathy and respect, you gain a lot of breathing room.

So to follow through with this modus operandi, I've been attending between two and three office hours each day, meeting with both my professor and TA. Before my office hours, I study for a few hours at home, so I sound smart during the office hours and show off more of my progress. And guess what, it's working.

The whole learning part is obviously causing improvement, but the whole charm/manipulation deal is working better than I could have expected. Due to my exam scores, I don't have much of a prayer at passing this class. 99% of people with my exam history would drop, and try again next year. Well I say fuck that. I'm an underdog. Not only am I an underdog; I'm a hardworking, Air Force underdog who's parent's don't pay for shit, and who doesn't take handouts. And I'm willing to learn calculus in two weeks to pass.

Well my story has spread a little bit throughout the university calculus community. "There's a kid who failed TWO OUT OF HIS THREE EXAMS and is now going to three office hours a day to get an A on the final because he can't fail the class." Now I just started finding out about this recently, when TA's and professor's from OTHER CLASSES started coming to help me between 10 and 1. Today for example, three different professors and TA's ate their lunch with me while I studied with my actual professor. And half of them know my name! People who've heard about me through rumors and gossip want to believe in me.

As touching as that is, it follows the Hollywood fail-safe formula. A likable underdog, plus a daunting task for him to complete, equals a gain in support from the community. It happens every time. I've come to realize that I'm one of the few students who can't seem to pass this class but won't drop. So game fucking on. I'll put on a show come Thursday night. And after a total of over 20 hours in just two weeks, if I don't pass, my professor has failed me and he should feel like a dick.

Because if I don't pass this class, I'm gonna feel like the biggest tool on Earth for 15 days while I roam around Morocco. And I HATE feeling like a tool! The scholarship that bought me the trip in the first place will be in jeopardy, and unless I change it ONE WEEK before I leave then I'm fucked. And for 15 days I'm gonna be walking around the Medina with my head down because calculus won the war.

But regardless, Karen and I booked our trip to South Beach. Our spring break will make Panama and Daytona and Frat Fuckthissucksdale look like Wisconsin. And of course we got Miami Heat tickets, we have to do it right. And since I can't think about my Morocco trip without a guilty conscience due to my Calculus grade, I've resorted to getting excited about Miami. Let me tell ya, I am STOKED. I'm on trip advisor reading reviews with an ear to ear smile, beginning to micro-plan our trip to ensure it's absolutely perfect.

But then, for some odd reason I became sad last night thinking about it. I remembered my late great Aunt Claire. Aunt Claire was a nun, she didn't get out much. Her world revolved around her love for her family. No money, no ski trips or motorcycles, her life revolved around pure love. My family visited her once a year until she died, every labor day weekend. As a 10 year old, it was consistently the most boring three days of my life. The last time we visited her humble convent, we all had a bitter feeling that it'd be our last visit. As Aunt Claire's health deteriorated, her love never diminished.

She became slightly delusional about her health, thinking she was still able to do all the things she could do her whole life. Her boldness lead her to tell us about wanting us to take her waterskiing, or to amusement parks, or ball games. The more her health declined the more irrationally she wanted to take us somewhere she couldn't go.

On our last labor day visit, we saw her in her assisted living room. With oxygen tubes and IV's taped all over her, she showed us a trip she had planned to the Wisconsin Dells. She had ordered videos and pamphlets and pricing options for hotel rooms. She talked about that trip to Wisconsin Dells for hours. We tried to tell her that a field day at the Dells is completely out of the question for a woman of her age and condition. She took it pretty hard.

But what makes me the saddest, is when I realize that her excitement and anticipation for taking her great nephew to a waterpark, could only be matched by my excitement for going to South Beach. It sucks, it really sucks, but she died with that excitement and anticipation still built up. She was a woman who gave nothing but love her whole life, and when she wanted to give anything else it was too late. I hope to God by the time she died she realized the latter wasn't important.

Until next time...

Enough is Enough

What's up readers? I come with a fun fact for you today: I am tired of studying. I've studied all day. I wanted to study for another half hour or so but my brain just farted out on me and I think I'm done for today. This how my day's go every day until finals. I'm not gonna fucking fail a class. Mainly because I won't be able to enjoy my trip abroad knowing a class defeated me. No fuck that. So I'm studying all day.

So it's Spring Break planning season. Karen and I have known we're making the pilgrimage to Miami for about 8 months now, but we've crossed the line from planning phase to booking phase. And let me tell you, I  have a great itinerary set up for us. Hotel on Collins, Miami Heat game, Tom's NFL, Coconut Grove; yes I've got it all in there. I'm determined to have a bomb-ass spring break to make up for last years. I'm not saying last years spring break wasn't a good time, but it didn't even come close to doing living up to the high expectations I've formed for spring break trips.

One thing that bugs me about human tendencies, is that nothing is ever enough. Unless you're so unfortunate you're dying, satisfaction is a feeling that doesn't really exist. Whether it's money, girls, or practically anything at all really; you will find that you will NEVER get enough of it. Last year, I wanted a scholarship. With a scholarship I'd be getting several hundred dollars a month on top of several thousand dollars a year. 'I'd get the scholarship and be happy', I thought. But no. I got the scholarship, I'm making more money than 90% of students my age, and I still want more.

My mom writes books. For the past ten years, all I've heard her talk about is publishing a book. "If I could just publish ONE book, I don't even care if I get rich or not I just want to be published", she said. Now she's published on the market with four books, selling hundreds if not thousands each month. And now all I hear her say is how she wants more and more buyers. Eventually she'll want to be famous.

I remember a few years ago, in high school, wanting to travel all over the place. I'd book a few trips to LA, try to get out to Miami once or twice, but as predicted, I was never satisfied. I traveled more than every single person in my high school, but I wanted to see more of the world. I wanted more trips away from home. I did the math last night, and assuming nothing changes, I'll have visited Miami at least once a year since junior year of high school. That's four years, and four trips to Miami. Now I'm going to Morocco and Spain in between my Miami trips and it's STILL not enough. I still want to travel more.

There just isn't any satisfaction in anything. You can get close to satisfaction but then the variables change and you require more and more to become satisfied. Whether it's popularity, money, globetrotting, or power, we compete more and more for a goal that keeps getting harder and harder to reach. And that is awesome.

This driving force that pushes us for some bar we'll never get to makes us incredible individuals. It's one of the biggest motivators in all of us. Would I be in the Air Force if I didn't have this driving passion to visit everywhere on Earth twice? Would I be in college pushing myself to get smarter than everyone else if I didn't want an infinite amount of money? Fuck no! No one would be doing anything if we weren't able to motivate ourselves with bribes of personal triumph. We wouldn't have presidents, or airline pilots, or leaders or thinkers solving the world's problems. We'd just have faggot 1 and faggot 2 at home smoking pot. (Sorry, I just really hate potheads).

But unfortunately this 'driving force' that pushes us to do great things, also pushes some people in the opposite direction. Many people find that they can never party enough, or shoplift enough, or get high enough. People get the same triumph off of doing bad things as I do for good things. I mean hell if I want to travel and get money and power I could just as easily get into organized crime; and that never-ending chase for satisfaction will push me to steal and deal a great deal of harm.

So I guess what it comes down to, is finding out what satisfies you...and picking a side. Until next time...

How Decker Loyd Ruined Norton Commons

Good afternoon everyone. Second day in a row blogging. There's now nothing standing between me and Thanksgiving break, so the break starts now.

I really love staying on campus until the last possible moment before a break. I just sit back and relax while everyone scrambles to get home as quickly as possible. Watching everyone rush makes it even more calming from my perspective.

I haven't been on a cruise in over a year now, which is fine, I'm not complaining about it. The cruise lifestyle is so immensely chill, it serves as an antidepressant to just think about a cruise and recollect fond memories. I spent a proud amount of time this morning watching freshman go through the process of packing up and leaving the dorm while I sip tea from behind the front desk, having a mild conversation with the fellow RA's. With some Vacation music lightly playing from the speakers, and my feet propped up on the table in front of me, I can't help but relate the moment to that of a cruise. Then I left for K-Lair to waste a meal plan on a bag of chips and cup of orange juice (because I have enough swypes for shit like that) and realized that some days are just so peaceful that I'd need to be on a cruise ship to match it.

Cruises are the highest caliber of relaxation in the whole wide world. You can argue with me, but being on a ship with pretty girls and sunshine and food and drinks is simply the maximum R&R one can achieve. But take away the palm trees, the ocean, and the service, and you're still left with consistent pleasure. There are pleasures that don't require a cruise ship to retain  These are the pleasures of sleeping in a little bit, putting on a Vacation playlist while sipping your favorite beverage, and watching the world go by with some friends from a comfortable place to sit.

So, like most days before an academic break, today is one of those days. I've done calculus and physics for a few hours already and now I'm going to spend the rest of my afternoon enjoying tea, Halo, and the company of bros. And even though I won't be on a cruise ship, I'll still have a similar mindset.

I feel like that's what people on welfare say when they can't afford vacations. I mean they'd be right if they did. Anyway, after blogging yesterday about PR and how manipulation can really accelerate your efforts, I decided I might as well try my hand at manipulating my Calculus overlords into helping me get a passing grade as much as possible. Obviously if I do terribly in the class I won't pass regardless of PR or manipulation, BUT the more I can make my professor feel like I'm deserving of it the more "assistance" I will get. So...yeah... game on.

I promised you yesterday I believe that I'd tell you the story of Norton Commons. I guess I'll keep my promise and tell the story of how Decker Loyd ruined Norton Commons. So first I have to set the stage...

This story takes place last summer while I was working for the YMCA at an on-site waterpark. I was one of the more senior shift supervisors and had earned a modest amount of power in my service. So in addition to the waterpark, the Y had managed a small neighborhood pool several miles away at a community called "Norton Commons".

Norton Commons was a very peculiar place. It was a neighborhood of hundreds of cute little apartment-houses with a cute little main street with cute little businesses like bakeries and cafe's. This place was borderline creepy. It's the type of place you think of in a quasi-utopian village or some shit; where like when a visitor comes to town all the residents just stand on their front porch with an eerie smile waving lightly at passersby. It was the type of neighborhood in which you wouldn't be entirely surprised if it was run all by crab people and they were planning on expanding their cute properties until their adorable society took over the entire world. So at this complex, was a pool. Which of course was an adorable little pool with this cute white gazebo where the residents can relax and cool off without leaving their creepy little slice of Eden.

So our staff of lifeguards at the Y had to run the Norton Commons pool as well as the waterpark. Guards typically hated working the waterpark, and loved working Norton Commons. The waterpark was simply hell, 7 hour shifts dragged by painfully like nails on a chalkboard. Norton Commons on the other hand, was bliss because you really didn't have to do shit. Very few people even came to the pool, there was no one monitoring you so you could typically do whatever you wanted, and you got a 40 minute break every 20 minutes.

I had worked at the YMCA about three years before I ever did a shift at Norton Commons. Then finally, one beautiful Saturday afternoon I worked my first Norton Commons shift. 12-7pm, best 7 hours I've ever been paid for. I was making about $8.75/hour at that point in my lifeguarding career, so before tax I made over 60 bucks for what was about to happen. And guess who I was working with, Karen and Mitch. One of my top bros AND MY GIRLFRIEND. Talk about a recipe for disaster.

So since I'd never worked Norton Commons before, despite outranking both Karen and Mitch, I asked them to talk me through the shift so I know what to do and don't fuck anything up. And those assholes told me with confidence, "You can do whatever you want."

After a bit of discussion I realized that Norton Commons was sort of a hidden gem~a secret lifeguard Valhalla among the YMCA staff. Only drunk old people and kids came to this pool, and our bosses were a 15 minute drive away. Being reassured that anything goes at this pool because "fuck Kym" I hopped on board the fuck-it train and choo-choo'ed my ass all the way to fuck-it'ville.

So we did our job for a few hours, and eventually decided to close the pool for 'thunder'. Yeah. We heard 'thunder'. The shift pretty much went downhill from there. My motorcycle ended up in the gazebo, Mitch and Kyle ended up picking up this girl who lived down the street and we all ordered pizza. After several hours it became apparent that we weren't going to be able to hear 'thunder' any longer and we opened the pool back up. So while working, we invited over a few other girls who lived in the neighborhood and sooner or later we had three lifeguards and like 4 girls and we spent the rest of the shift playing Apple to Apples.

So I guess, somehow, the chief developer (of Norton Commons) saw us? I don't know how, the guy is sneaky as hell; but with a stroke of luck he was able to piece together that we had pulled into the fuck-it'ville station hours ago. And I guess he told my boss? I don't know the details but apparently he was pissed.

A day or so later the guards working the shift were pulled aside and had a chat with Kym. She wasn't looking for any reasons to why we had such a lapse in judgement but apparently "because fuck Kym" wasn't going to be a valid excuse. We didn't get fired, in fact we weren't even written up for it. But the Norton Commons developer had a hard-on for getting us in as much trouble as possible, and since Kym wouldn't adhere the developer banned us. He fucking BANNED us. I WAS BANISHED FROM NORTON COMMONS.

Not only was I not allowed to work there anymore, I wasn't allowed to go there anymore! I was no longer welcome at Norton Commons! What the fuck! I was like Scar from Lion King; being exiled from the pride lands for committing such a heinous act of delinquency!

But of course the developer wasn't satisfied with simply banning us from his fucked up Dr. Seuss town, he then threatened the Y stating that if the Norton Commons lifeguards don't start doing their job, they would go elsewhere to staff their pool. But here's where it gets tricky; the Y aquatics was having terrible financial trouble at the time, and couldn't afford a voidance in their contract with Norton Commons. So the Y executive staff begged and pleaded and promised that the lifeguards would shape up.

Norton Commons went from a complete vacation from the waterpark, to a boring and overly formal venue laced with paranoia of who's watching you waiting for you to make a mistake. This happened within days from our seven-hour party shift. For the first time in years guards were complaining about working Norton Commons. Kym and the exec staff as well as the executives of Norton Commons were making frequent rounds to the pool to ensure no one screwing around again.

After that summer our contract with Norton Commons expired and they no longer relied on our Y for staffing their pool. I swear I had nothing to do with that, but for our final two and a half months with Norton Commons, I completely ruined the fun. And in addition to that I'd like to think the legacy of my acts live on in the treatment and training of future Norton Commons Lifeguards. I don't think Norton Commons will ever be as chill as it was before I worked my first and last shift there.

Was it worth it? Hell yes. I'll be telling this story for years. And now that I've written it down I've immortalized it so I could be reading this when I'm 40 and have a great laugh about it. Anyway, thanks for reading today. I'm planning on hopping off and playing some Halo. Until next time...

PR Sets the Standard

What's up world. It's the Monday before Thanksgiving, it's chill week. I'm trying to enjoy it as much as I can, but since I'm currently losing the war against CalcII, it's a little more difficult.

Speaking of war, it was Roman Empire weekend on History Channel and let me tell you, what..a..weekend. From Romulus and Remus to Julius Caesar to Caligula, Rome went hard. Plenty of history buffs absolutely adore the Roman Empire, in fact it seems the general consensus is that Rome was the greatest civilization in all of Mankind. That's weird to think about for a number of reasons, the first being that it started before the rise of Jesus Christ, and ended after. Interesting. Also, the society revolved around promiscuity, violence, money, and the combination of them all. What other successful society obsesses with sex, violence, and money?

It was actually the Roman's continual expression of sex and violence that caused them to be so successful. Violence is how they got their money, sex is how their leaders were established. If you slept with too many guys' wives, you were assassinated. America on the other hand has PETA, and feminist groups, and Mormons, and they call shame on the fact that we watch CSI: Miami every week. In fact organizations that so forcefully oppose sex and violence are one of the most apparent differences between Rome and America.

This is what I find fascinating about Rome, how the leaders climbed the ladder to power. Just like in America, Romans (who had a chance at it) craved power. For the upper class, it was part of life to desperately want to have as much power as possible. So regardless of your situation, if more power was graspable, you tried to take it. If you were in the military, you're gonna want to climb the military ladder. If you were a politician, go for the senate. If you were a thinker, you were a part of the university. But no matter where you were, you fought for the top of the food chain.

This doesn't happen as much in America. The concept of fighting someone for their hierarchical position only exists for a few of us. Obviously the 10% of American's without a job, the millions on welfare, and probably everyone except the tiny percentage of people who are like me, simply don't try. They don't see anything above them, and therefore don't strive to achieve anything greater. But back to Rome...

So for such a huge society, Rome was really filled with interesting leaders. And if you do some poking around the internet, you find how about 80-90% of them climbed to power: Public Relations. PR was everything to the Roman leader. Win or lose, if you looked damn good doing it and had a charming tone to your voice, people grew to like you and you rose to power. Charisma is well over half the battle.

So what is PR? Well, it's pretty much a euphemism for manipulating every single person around you. The most famous leaders in human history are masters of manipulation. I mean 'lie to your face, sleep with your wife, kill a man, and smile it off like it didn't happen' type of manipulation. It's all just a matter of great PR.

Julius Caesar once was captured by vicious pirates. They held a ransom at 250 bronze coins. Caesar laughed at them and said "Are you kidding? You know you could easily get 500..." Of course the pirates then demanded 500 bronze coins and the Army was charged double to get Caesar back. Caesar then told the pirates "But realize, if you end up getting your coin and releasing me, then I will use every resource of the Empire to find you and kill you."

The pirates were like 'whatever'; they got their money and let Caesar go. Apparently it took Caesar and the Roman Navy a few days to find the pirates, and Caesar fucking crucified them all (literally). But crucifixion is a terrible long and drawn-out, excruciating death. So Caesar slit their throat before torturing and humiliating the pirates to end their misery early.

Or at least that's what he says. Hell, the Roman public couldn't even be sure that he even found the pirates again to kill them. And if he did, there was no way to know whether Caesar tortured them or not. But they believed him; and his image became more merciless, caring, intimidating, and gentle at the same time. There is no way that story could be told without Caesar looking like someone who should not be messed with, but someone who isn't just a ruthless killer. That story couldn't be taken negatively.

Which seems a bit coincidental to me! I'm not saying Caesar made the whole thing up, but he's lying his ass off at some point in that story. That's an example of absolutely flawless PR. It's not about what you do, it's about what everyone thinks you did. Not that every leader in the Roman Empire was a liar, but PR is how they sustained their positions as leader.

The importance of PR still holds true today. After you get your 4.0 GPA's, scholarships, internships, etc. most of your success comes down to PR. Does your smile grab attention? Does your humor appeal to your likability? Can you put yourself in any situation and deter awkwardness? And most importantly, will people remember you for things other than your statistics?

While learning about Julius Caesar charming the Roman Empire, I realize that PR is what I do all day. Just like Julius Caesar, I can bullshit a pretty damn good story. Even if they story is true, I can put some emphasis on a few key words and make the story even more captivating. Then I tell it like it's not a big deal, so people think it's just another day in the life of Decker, and throw in something about apologizing for telling a long story to show humility and I would bet money that person would not soon forget about Decker Loyd. Then if you can smile and laugh a bit you're radiating some great PR.

Thinking back to the working at that God-forsaken waterpark over the summer, the community of lifeguards and shifts fits perfectly into this theory. Who was the director's right hand man? Spencer. What supervisors were more liked among the lifeguards? Matt, Kevin, and myself. Who spent every waking moment kissing Kym's ass? Spencer. Who tried to make work fun and laughable for the peons? Matt, Kevin, and myself. It's not by chance.

So after a day or so of thinking out how I'm going to write a good blog post about it, I'm now in love with the concept of PR. Like Julius Caesar, I want mine to be perfect.

Oh I have to tell you the tale of Norton Commons. It's a good story, and I had forgotten about it for months until today in class. But I'll save that for later. This blog post is complete. Have a good Thanksgiving break, until next time...

8-hour Moment

What's up world? I was in the mood to blog just now and I realize it's been a little while since my last post so I thought it'd be nice to crank out a quicky.

So for those of you who aren't counting, there's only 35 days until my big trip. I'm starting to get more and more excited. Typically when I have a trip, I get overly excited like six months prior, and the excitement doesn't much fade up to the day I leave. But this trip has been different. Not only is it the biggest and by far the best trip I will have ever taken in my life, I haven't been nearly as excited as I get for something like a spring break cruise. But all of the sudden I'm getting cranked over the idea of flying to Dade in just 35 short days.

My iTunes is on shuffle and is giving me all the songs I listened to in LA a few years ago. There's been like three in a row so far. But that's off topic.

I decided to make a travel blog for this trip. I made one in Honduras and it was interesting as fuck. I should have written one in Germany but I was only 11 and that's a bit young to be blogging. So yeah this blog will be completely written on the spot, and we'll see where it goes. I want to just be able to chill in some restaurant in Rabat or Grenada or be sitting on the bus just writing my surroundings. Just put on some music and put the pen to my paper and output everything that I see. Traveling kinda gives you more insight about life in general, writing it down allows you to capture it.

Have you ever heard someone say, "I never want this moment to end"? Like a first kiss or that moment you do something good or experience something awesome? I was thinking about that phrase the other night; it's really a cliche. Whenever someone says they 'never want this moment to end', they usually are talking about a moment of only a few seconds. In some cases it's kind of an infinitesimally small amount of time, like the exact moment you get awarded wings. So like if you took the limit of the moment as delta (t) approaches zero for all you math majors out there. What if you stretched that moment out to like hours? What if you stretched it for like 8 hours? Would you just bask in it?

That's how I feel about long flights. When I'm on a plane, whether I'm flying it or not, traveling to destinations thousands of miles away; that's when I think to myself 'I never want this moment to end.' That moment of pure relaxation while sipping a cocktail gazing out the window listening to Owl City as your jetliner climbs out of Miami is perfection to me. Fortunately for me and my weird tendencies, that moment doesn't only last a few seconds, but rather 8 or 9 hours at times. It's like a whole day of just relaxing and straight chillin'. There is absolutely nothing to do but just sit and chill, and if you have a pen and paper you can write.

So that's how it'll be for me all the way to Spain, and all the way back. While people stress and get jetlagged and force a few hours of sleep, I will be chillin'.

In other news, Thanksgiving Break is coming up. And after Thanksgiving week is one week of normal academics, then we have one week of dead week, and then we have finals week, and then we're done. And Finals Week is the best week of them all. I will only have TWO finals this year, one on Monday, and the other on Tuesday I believe. Then the rest of the week is all about me. College is so nice like that.

Ok well this blog post served it's purpose of getting some excitement out of my system for the time being. Now I'm gonna go play Halo for a few hours. I'm into Halo now. I remember absolutely HATING Halo back in my younger days when it came out. Well now I'm into it. And Halo 4 just came out, and I don't know shit about Halo, so my good friend Conor is letting me borrow Halo's 1-3 and the two prequels to play through so Halo 4 will make sense. Conor's a great guy.

I also bought a year's subscription of Xbox Live last night. I promised myself I'd buy it if I studied and did well enough on my 2nd and 3rd calculus exam. So I passed the test and bought it. And keep this between you and me, but I used my plus account to buy it (i.e. parent's money) so SHHHHHHH.

Luckily my parents only read my blog when I forward it to them, but if they by chance read this one on a whim, now I'll know about it.

"YOU SPENT YOUR PLUS ACCOUNT MONEY ON VIDEOGAMES!?!?"

"Aww you really do read my blog!"

A Hardwired Human Mindset

What's up blogosphere? I'm enjoying my Thursday evening to a great extent now that my Air Force affiliations are complete and my week is winding to a close. I'm about to indulge in some relaxing kava as I tell the world what I've been thinking about recently. But first, I need to feed my fish.

Pretty much as far back as society goes, there's been a great deal of literal sacrifice. As far back as records of the human race indicate, there has been some sort of system where one person is just beat to a pulp for the greater good of the community.

It seems cultish and awfully taboo to a modern western society like us. In the most brutal forms, sacrifice has meant ending ones life to appease the gods. From the moment apes have walked upright to the present day, somewhere on Earth a society exists where they kill each other to feel comfortable. From the Mayans dissecting live women in front of entire capitals for the pleasure of the Rain God Chaac, to medieval criminals being decapitated, to Japanese kamikazes, to mass suicides of contemporary cults; sacrificing your own individuals seems like a pretty popular trend among humans. And needless to say, western culture thinks it's weird as hell.

The first question that comes to mind is "why?". It makes absolutely no sense to waste off your own people, regardless of the reason. In addition, the act is purely heinous! It seems like it should be a monstrous crime to point someone in of a society and tell them their most important contribution is a brutal and gory death in front of everyone.

But western civilization always seems to think they way is the best; we always carry on with life acting like we never do anything wrong or barbaric. This is my favorite part of the blog post; now I get to play devil's advocate. Western culture performs just as many sacrifices, if not many more, and our sacrifices are much worse.

To begin with, "barbarians" I'll call them (indigenous/Japanese people and cultists who still perform legitimate sacrifices) may be a little more animalistic. They kill you, and it's over. The gods are happy. Then they're done. In the West however, we pick a victim and brutally beat the snot out of them on an emotional level. The pain involved is all on the inside, affecting the hardest place to reach in a persons body: the mind. Victims are tortured for YEARS until they have no choice but to leave the society. And in most cases, our reasons are no better than the Mayans'.

I'll throw out the most prevalent example: high school. High school classes perform disgusting sacrifices every semester. They pick a kid, and that kid is doomed from jump street. Whether he's socially awkward, incompetent, ugly, or whatever, he will be sacrificed for the sake of the other students to feeling popular. Sometimes they end in suicides; sometimes they end in school transfers. I've seen it happen first hand and that poor child has no real options but to accept that he's been chosen and he will be miserable. Administrators call it 'bullying' and do all they can to prevent it; but it's a sacrifice, and it's just as barbaric as the Mayans.

I'm getting all the obvious examples out of the way first. What do all of these "humanitarian, non-barbaric, reformed" Western countries all do when a different country's been pissing us off? We strap a gun to an 18 year old and tell him we'll pay for his college. But in reality, if he doesn't get killed in combat, he's left to face a ridiculous 50% chance of homelessness, PTSD, and drug addiction. How is that any more moral than a blue-painted Mayan witch doctor ripping the organs out of a peasant?

Luckily however, I have found myself waist-deep in Air Force ROTC. Believe me, the idea of sacrifice still exists, but it's no longer pointless. It's all for training purposes; it's to make us better people. In my flight, we have a flight commander. This person is in charge of the flight of 12 or so cadets, and it's essentially their show. But there's a double standard that destines the flight commander to fail. If the flight does something good, the flight commander gets no praise, the praise is divided among the 12 cadets. However, if the flight does something bad, all of the blame goes to the flight commander. When the latter scenario is the case, the flight commander gets yelled at...hard.

Let's say one cadet is a minute late to a PT session. The flight commander will get sternly, in-your-face yelled at for a solid two minutes. I've been on the receiving end of it. It sucks, you feel like dropping the program, it affects your night; you are being sacrificed. Because of the way this sacrificial system works, it pretty quickly trains each cadet to not make any mistakes. After a year of it, you have 12 near-perfect individuals. But in order for it to work, just like the Japanese Kamikaze's, sacrifices have to be made. And in this case the sacrifice is getting emotionally destroyed by a senior.

There are certain little odd concepts that I've noticed pop up in the human race from start to finish. If you sit down and think for a while after reading some history books, you'll come up with several. The concept of human sacrifice is certainly one of them. There is something hard-wired into the human mindset that declares across the board that sacrifice is necessary, which I find fascinating.

It's not just that these cultures find sacrifice necessary, it's that they think it works! Every culture that partakes in these sacrifices honestly believes that it improves their culture to a large enough extent that they don't see the brutality in it. Mayans truly believed that these public murders appeased the gods. Monarchs really believed that decapitating clearly innocent people in the town square would deter people from committing crime. Worse of all, high school students honestly don't see the harm in continually harassing the shit out of a kid to his suicide, as long as it makes them look and feel 'popular'.

Then there's me, relaxing in my little culture of ROTC, completely slandering everyone else for performing 'sacrifice' when I even admitted that ROTC is only effective due to it's method of 'sacrificing' the flight commander. But seriously, we only break each other down and yell at each other because it makes us better. I don't see any brutality in it.

Well that about wraps up this blog post. It's just an interesting observation I've made about humanity in general. The theme of my beliefs are all starting to trend towards scientific observations that prove God's existence. I don't go to church because they tell my science doesn't exist, and they clearly need to open their eyes because I think they're wrong. And I don't hang around atheists much because they tell my God doesn't exist, and they clearly need to open their eyes because I think they're wrong. Keeping an open mind and asking questions is all we can do without sounding like a complete jackass to someone. No matter what you blindly believe, there's someone who thinks your an idiot for it.

So I put my ideals on the internet so everyone can think I'm a jackass.

Here. Take this.

What's up world? It's Monday again, but today is a special Monday. Since tomorrow is election day, there is no class. Since there is no class tomorrow, tonight is like a Friday! Yeah! So we have a nice little evening set up to properly celebrate. First off, a nice solid hour or two of relaxing blogging. That shit never fails to set me straight. Then, around 7:15 or so I leave to pick up Karen and go to the UK Basketball game! And of course UK basketball games go pretty damn hard. So then after the game is over, it's just the start to the night! I come back to South C, drop Karen off, pick up Tom and Slokes and it's BRO NIGHT. Haggin allows 24/7 visitation for BROS ONLY so we're gonna have a nice time. And it won't be cramped or anything since I have room to chill in my dorm room that sleeps three comfortable. We have plenty to look forward to on this calm Monday night.

Brb, I'm gonna trim my nails, they're bothering me. Ok that's much better. Thanks for your patience.

Karen and I got a fish today. It's name is Spongebob. He lives in a Pineapple under the sea and is blue and pretty and swims around all day without a care in the world. It's the perfect little addition to my huge dorm. I'm worried that my bros are gonna try to get him drunk tonight by pouring vodka into it's tank. This is the type of shit you have to worry about in college...

I just hit some serious writers block. Goddamnit. I can't think of anything to write about, which is a problem when I'm trying to blog. Got it.

I have a random interest in pharmacology. I think the study of drugs and what they all do to screw you up is terribly interesting. I'm not the only one either, a lot of people share this interest but most people keep it to themselves because for some reason in this society it's incriminating to know how narcotics work. But boy for some reason I just can't get enough information about it. Admittedly, I'm fairly confident I could cook up a batch of working meth just because I spend so much free time just researching all this information about drugs.

But the more I research, the more I begin to discover for myself that drugs are bad! But not for reasons you might assume. Of course getting addicted to any drug begins to age and toxify your body until you die, and of course every drug comes with a handful of ways to easily enter respiratory depression (i.e. DEATH). But it's not the safety and health concerns that make me believe drugs are the essence of the devil.

I've gained a huge insight on drugs from my years of research which is stemmed from boredom. And I've spent a lot of time thinking about it. The truth of the matter is that you could plan and ration drug use to an incredible extent and your chances of harming yourself will be quite low. You could take a drug like heroin, figure out a proper dose, administer the drug safely and do it just once, and you will not do much harm to your body. In fact, from what I've read online, it seems like many lawyers, doctors, teachers, PILOTS, etc. partake in this subtle drug use. Of course many of them get caught and lose their job; many get addicted and their life spins out of control, and there's always the occasional overdose. But there are people online with college degrees and six figure salaries who admit to relaxing to a line of cocaine now and then. Think about it. Heroin is almost identical in makeup to prescription pain medicine. Cocaine was legal 80 years ago. Methamphetamine is prescribed to CHILDREN with attention deficit problems. Drug use is a lot safer than CSI: Miami makes it out to be, it's just very few people can handle it without fucking up their lives.

I'm fairly certain that if I were to spend just ONE NIGHT doing heroin or crack or whatever I was given, I'd have the ability and cognitive discipline to still go about my life without messing anything up. In fact I could probably do it a couple times a year and not mess anything up. Drugs don't pose a safety concern, and the problem with addiction is literally all in the mind. However, there is one looming reason that has me convinced drugs are chemicals put in this universe for the sole purpose of spreading evil.

The way drugs work is very simple. Each drug (the popular ones at least) is a different chemical that uses a different method to do the same thing to your brain. In your brain, there are these receptors everywhere. These receptors fire off and receive different chemicals in response to different stimuli. There's ones for fear, love, excitement, etc. It's essentially how your emotions work. Well there's a certain chemical and receptor for happiness. It's called "dopamine". Whenever you're happy or something good happens (money, getting laid, your team wins, etc) this dopamine is fired around your brain spreading the message that you are happy. So the chemicals in crack and cocaine and whatever simply get into your brain, and tell it to go crazy on the dopamine. A lot of dopamine means a lot of happiness and this is the part where the user gets high.

But what part about that is evil? Well the human brain simply isn't accustomed to handling these chemicals. After drug has left brain, the brain just stops firing off dopamine completely. In fact, the brain doesn't fire off anymore dopamine for like three days! Some drugs take away dopamine for weeks! Since there's no dopamine in your brain, that means you don't have an ounce of happiness.

On any average moment, when your brain is at it's baseline you still have a constant flow of dopamine keeping you sane. After a night on drugs, there is zero happiness being released. None. Which means you're not going to have a SINGLE happy thought for days. This type of misery is only comparable to the loss of a loved one, going bankrupt, etc. It drains your happiness entirely. This is what makes drugs so damn addicting, since the only thing to get your happiness back is a chemical. But even if you fought the irresistible urge to use again, and you never touched a drug again in your life, in my opinion your life is still ruined.

The human brain is actually capable of dealing with such a huge surge of dopamine. There are actually a few times in a persons life that a similar amount of dopamine is released without the aide of any chemicals. The brain shoots off loads of happiness during those crucial points in a person's life that are never forgotten. Those days become memories that people describe as "their happiest moment in life" or whatever. It's when you're high on life. These are times like the birth of your first child, the first day a pilot takes to the sky, or days that you truly accomplish something. Once you've earned it, your brain can naturally release enough dopamine to make your hair stand on end. And when that happens, whatever you just did will become the happiest moment of your life.

This is the reason I believe drugs are evil. When a person has grown old and is preparing to die, their satisfaction in life will remain in their most cherished memories. Their most cherished memories will be of their happiest moments, which is just whenever their brain has released the most dopamine. If they've ever done a hard drug in their life, the happiest moments they look back on will be of them shooting up in their mom's basement, taking ecstasy in a warehouse, or god-forbid speedballing in an alley downtown. Their happiest memories won't be of anything of value, just empty shells of the times they'd taken a chemical to make themselves happy.

When I die, which is hopefully not soon, I want my happiest moments to be of me on top of the world. I want to look back on accomplishment after accomplishment and my memories to be filled with laughter and smiles that weren't created by a chemical. If there is a God, he put smiles and laughter in this world to make and spread happiness, and he used dopamine as the pipeline. If you follow the plan he's made for us then there is no need for meth and heroin and crack.

Think about it. If you were the devil, wanting to spread evilness and homelessness and hunger and theft and sadness and everything bad, what do you think the easiest way of doing that would be?

"Here. Take this; this will make you happy."

Life part 2

Good evening everyone. I know what you may be thinking, this is the second blog post of the day. Shocking, I know. Turns out the last post was a two-parter. So I've been spending the past two hours reading a bunch of shit from what I'm now calling the "good ole' days".

If you haven't read my last  post (titled 'before the count') please do. In it I talk about the joys and happiness involved in the Summer of 2008. For me the Summer of 2008 competed with the Summer of 2010 for the best time of my life. Of course it feels quite nostalgic reading it, insanely nostalgic. These text documents capture the exact feelings of every aspect of my life at the moment it was created. It's amazing to be able to practically relive some of the best moments of my life. Hopefully this blog continues to capture the essence of my happy and optimistic life. 2008 was four years ago. This blog has only been up for 2 years, and for the first year or so I didn't write anything but bullshit. So if reading this for the fifth or sixth time in 2016 brings up the same great memories I'm just now putting on paper, the time I put in to this blog has been well spent.

So in a saved conversation between myself and Alex Krauss I talk about going to the volleyball tournament with 5,700 athletic girls under one roof. Here's an excerpt from the piece:
"i had to wake up at 6:30am local time to get to the tourny on time...trust me...it was worth it...100%...so it's 7:00 in the morning...i have a starbucks frapicino in my hand...walking around"
This was what my life was like at that point! Waking up at 6:30am and getting Starbucks to talk to girls!? There's no mention of GPA or PFA score or fucking anything stressful at all! I was just doing whatever the fuck I wanted for whatever reasons I could come up with! If the reasons I woke up at 6am sounded ANYTHING like having fun all day with family and friends I'd have a great day every day!

That was what life was about when I was 15. It wasn't about waking up early to chase girls, it was the fun beneath it all. It was a videogame with your bro and a story to accompany it that brought a smile to my face. The alcohol and the popularity didn't faze me, and thus didn't affect my actions. I was naive and looking back it was bliss.

So then we move forwards quite a bit in our scripture readings. 2008 wrapped up nicely, 2009 started splendidly but I ended up hitting a speed bump and my life changed and whatever...blah blah blah. Then we hit 2010 and an obsession with status warps me like Photoshop. Let's all be honest, I wasn't helping the poor in Honduras to help the poor in Honduras (facta non verba). This is also around the time Decker learned how to drink. It all adds up to arrogance. It was pretty clear I was arrogant as hell by then, self admittedly.

 The Earth only rotated when Decker Loyd was clubbing in Hollywood, drinking Patron at a successful party, or telling a ridiculous but true story (something about getting a bridge named after me?) I wouldn't my lifestyle shallow; I didn't lose any friends, I never wound up in any trouble, it really wasn't a problem. But it definitely took more than a cup of Starbuck's at seven in the morning to bring a smile to my face. The feeling that came with being one of the few 16 year old's to have such a lifestyle blew my head up ten fold.

But it eventually deflated back down and here I am in 2012, sober as fuck. Scholarships, wings, money, toys, power, and real estate (fucking triple room) are all things I've acquired in my year here at college and yet I haven't held more humility since the Summer of 2008. It's the past four years have been a loop, and after learning countless lessons and being humbled by both awful and amazing experiences I'm now back at the start. And it's just now that I'm realizing that the values I believed in four years ago are what I should've been following all along.

Four years have past and once again something as simple as a game of Madden with a bro and a story will leave me convinced I had a great Friday night. Sure, now I have stress and exams and a lot to get done but I can get over that. This is what I'll read in 2016 and I'll get all nostalgic and write in my blog or journal or whatever futuristic thing I write in and the whole loop will continue. It may not be 2016; it may be 2025 or 2030. It could be any time. I'll get wiser and realize everything I never realized before.

And eventually I'll be 65 or 70 years old, and I'll have a lot to think about. And in my downtime, I will at some point read every single post, text document, and letter I've ever written and my entire life will make sense. I will recall every single fond memory (forget the shitty ones) and remember every airport I've flown into and have crossed off everything on my bucketlist. And then my life will be complete, and it'll be about over.


Unless I get hit by a drunk driver. Until next time...

Before life was about the count

What's up world? Time for a new post. I haven't much time because I have to go to my ROTC commitments here shortly but I felt like blogging so here we are.

I was just reading through some old documents I have saved on my computer. Starting in the Summer of 2008, I've saved many many documents that can take me back to what my life was like back then. These docs range from saved conversations with Alex Krauss, high school homework assignments, little essays and narratives I wrote for myself and saved, lists, and letters to myself. This blog essentially replaced the whole save a ton of documents for future enjoyment industry. So basically this blog, despite not being published on the web, extends all the way out to Summer of 2008. And that's what I was reading.

I was reading a nice little document about the analysis of girls from the perspective of a 15 year old boy. It was a quite interesting read, and my 15 year old self can get a pretty spot-on, deep analysis of social dynamics. I was impressed. But DAMN did it take me back to those days.

Summer of 2008 were great times for Decker Loyd. They were carefree and joyous. Nights would be spent on AIM and Facebook chatting with Alex Krauss and hitting up prospectable females. Flight Sim was also a major part of my work day, logging thousands of hours int he midnight hours.

The daylight hours were spent similarly, going to volleyball games, cookouts, pool parties, and the like. No alcohol, sex, money, or status were yet introduced to the equation. It was essentially the culmination of my child-hood; it was before the debauchery of the real world grabbed the reins of my life and changed everything.

It was a time when I could fly to a great city like San Francisco and resist the temptation of blowing up Facebook with the excitement of my travels. It was when a fun Saturday night consisted of chatting with your best friends for hours rather than stressing over if you're important enough to sleep in a bed at a party. It was the last time in my life I could go to the movies with a girl and blush when I put my arm around her.

Life wasn't about the count. Life wasn't about the most expensive, the busiest, or the best. Life wasn't about the money, the grades, or the rank. Life wasn't about the wings, the left seat vs right seat, or the Bravo clearance. Life wasn't about any of that yet. Life was about the pictures, the laughs, the home videos, and the memories.

Then I turned 16 and everything changes and it's about being seen and being heard. And I still wasn't in the real world. Then I turned 18 and everything changes again and I don't give a fuck about being seen or heard. Now it's about the money and the success.

Life change pretty rapidly. If my humble and laughable 15 year old self knew what he was about to dive head-first into I doubt he'd do anything differently. I couldn't be happier with how I ended my childhood in that one summer before I was rudely welcomed into the real world by [removed]. But now I'm here, and I'm ready for it. I'm just lucky to have the memories from before everything changed.

I like change. Until next time...

Money and Intelligence

What's up world? Coffee in cup, ass in seat, iTunes on play; all is in place so now it's time to blog. So yeah it's a nice chill Monday today. I had midterm feedback sessions for ROTC so I got to wear wings to class which is always a prideful moment. I still can't get over that I wear wings, and I'm a pilot. I vividly remember the transformation I went through my junior year of high school, from normal human being to pilot.

Oh. Shit. I just found a new Avicii song and I immediately love it. I have no choice but to throw this on Facebook. I'm starting to honestly think that God sent Avicii to Earth simply to over-excite me. Anyway, back to what I was talking about.

There's two types of Aviators. There's the aviators who dream of flying, and there are the aviators who fly. Aviation is in your soul; you're born with it. If you have the Aviator gene then you'll be holding your head straight up for the rest of your life. Not all who are born to fly can do it; whether it's for medical, financial, family, or whatever reasons. I know people with the bird-gene who dream of aviation photography, meteorology, airport management. They dream of flying outside the plane, and they'll be happy with that.

But then there's the real aviators. We are the stereotypical huge-beige-sunglass-wielding badasses who hop into an aluminum dragon and leave the  planet. Not all of us are humble, but our passions are. We need to fly. A job in airport management simply won't cut it; we are either in the air our whole lives or we can't help but  feel our life was a waste. I'm starting to realize this the further along I get into this quest to fly.

So for the first 16 years of my life, I was the former of the two aviator archetypes. My passion in flying was in a dream, not a reality. I knew more about an airplane than any kid who just thought jets were cool, but regardless of how much I looked at pictures of airplanes and played flight simulator my pair of wings were still rooted in a dream.

Then I started formal flight training and within 7.7 hours I had soloed an airplane. This proves I can fly all by myself and by definition I'm a pilot. So all of the sudden, within a couple of months, I've transformed from a dreamer into a real aviator which is by far the biggest transition I've ever made in my life and certainly the hardest for me to realize.

I remember when my big accomplishment actually "sank in". After landing, and getting endorsement,s and driving home, and going out to eat, and blah blah blah I woke up the next morning like any other high school student and went to school. I couldn't drive a car yet (yes, I am one of those freaks who was trusted with a plane before a car) so I took the school bus just like all the other 16 year old's across the country. And while on the bus gazing out the window, I saw a little propeller plane gently fly across my view on it's way to LOU. I watched it for as long as I could until it faded from view and was swarmed with goosebumps as the feeling of becoming an aviator had seemingly "sunk in".

You see, every single time an airplane crosses my view I stare it down in admiration until I can't see it anymore. And for the first time on the bus that day I was staring down a plane as a pilot. I don't have to dream of being in the left seat freely flying around anymore, now I can just do it.

But every now and then at fairly random intervals, the whole feeling of being a pilot "sinks in" again. Sometimes I'll just be watching T.V. or doing homework and my thoughts will wander and I'll briefly forget that my dreams of being a pilot are becoming more and more real. Then my consciousness takes me right back to the left seat of N2866W. "Oh yeah, I'm a pilot..." My intuition is that I'll continue feeling like that until I've spent more time as a real aviator than just a dreamer. Which will be when I'm 32 and have crossed items off my bucketlist I didn't even know were on it.

But enough about flying. I wanted to talk about exclusivity. Socially, it's such a strange idiosyncrasy. I've spent more time thinking about exclusivity over the past three or four years than any other similar observations I've made. But first, I have to pee. Be right back. Back. I had a great pee, thanks for asking.

So in order to talk about exclusivity, I must talk about where it came from. I'm gonna take you way back to two years ago. In fact, almost exactly two years ago. It's early October and it's senior year and Decker Loyd is all the sudden in this can't-stop-partying-fever-mode. Weekends are spent out and weekdays are spent by talking about parties from the weekend. To set the mood, it's a classic high school setting. If you don't know what I'm talking about watch Superbad, that describes the tone pretty damn well. So everyone's trying to get laid, everyone's trying to get drunk, and whoever gets invited to the most parties wins. Yes, it was quite a bit different from college.

So we need to introduce a new character to this equation: Dani Jenkins. I sort of maybe introduced her to alcohol and sort of maybe convinced her to throw a party. It was really a perfect situation for me: her mom loved me, she lived on a farm and was excited to get into the partying business, and she had no clue what she was doing which meant that I was comandante of the operation. I controlled the guest list, the alcohol list, the music, everything from the time and date to the color of the fucking cups was under my control. Dani Jenkins was simply the face of this new collective and I was the brains of it, and we were both fine with that.

Fridays would come and we'd get mountains of alcohol for the masses, and bottles of the finest tequila for the new VIP's. For being a senior in high school, this was clearly the closest I was going to get to highbrow organized crime, or even being considered "VI" at any party. So naturally I didn't take my new position lightly. Just like the movies portray, I began manipulating everyone around me to maintain my position at the top of the game.

As the year went on Dani was still always the face of it, but she grew more and more desperate to control every aspect of her parties; which of course was my responsibility in the beginning. Her desires would clash with mine and shit would often hit the fan. Which of course was when my manipulation, which had become quite polished out of practice, took into affect and typically everyone felt they got their way.

So the year went on and the parties continued (all of which was closed from my parents, they had no clue until I told them about it in college). Then in March, "Club Jenks" came into existence. "Club Jenks" was an order of 6 people who drank together. Friends get together and drink all the time in high school, but Club Jenks served a bigger purpose than R&R with your buddies. The purpose of Club Jenks seemed to be to shut the peons out. We had our open parties for half a year before we decided, "nope, no one except us six are allowed to party with us." That is exclusivity, and with it comes weird shit.

Imagine if Olive Garden, a nice and inviting restaurant, all of the sudden decided "Nope, only celebrities that we deem worthy can eat at Olive Garden." Guess what would happen? 1) Everyone would want to eat at Olive Garden and 2) Olive Garden would get arrogant as hell. Everyone all of the sudden is kissing ass to Olive Garden which makes Olive Garden cockier which makes them shut people more publicly and it's a vicious cycle that takes a long time to end.

If you haven't made the connection yet, Dani Jenkins is Olive Garden. I don't think Dani really had the capacity to figure out what was going on with the dynamic of the situation and what it lead to; but I did and it was fucking interesting. It's very simply: not letting people into your club makes you feel like a boss. Your confidence causes people to want to get in but you don't let them. From there it snowballs and I'm not going to spell it out again. Frats attempt this but do it wrong because they let anyone in and they charge you money and they're douchebags.

You could potentially skew any situation by making it exclusive. RA's at Haggin do it everyday, we hang out in the "RA Cave" (i.e. behind the desk) and have fun and hoot and holler and make everyone else wanna hang out back there but if anyone that's not one of us 16 steps back there we immediately kick them out. The result is that we're dominant and everyone knows it and that makes us happy.

There's a lot of power in exclusivity. A lot of manipulation comes with something that is both public and exclusive. But in addition there also comes a lot of head-warping. I remember blogging about why I no longer care about status in college. I think the answer lies in the fact that I no longer party with six and only six people for the sole purpose of telling everyone else they can't be me.

But honestly, Club Jenks may have completely skewed my personality. It potentially single-handedly made me a proud asshole all of senior year. But looking back at it all, it's the reason I've been dating Karen for 1.5 years, it's the reason I had so much fun at 17 years old, and it's the reason I am not at all fazed by parties at 19 years old in college. And for that I thank Dani.

But not everyone made it out of Club Jenks a better person. The infamous face of it all, Dani herself seemed to be changed for the worse. Not being able to face the reality that getting drunk with six people and no one else only makes you popular in high school, she's now in college and relatively unable to make the transition to popularity in the real world: money and intelligence. This is in essence the final reason to why I no longer care about partying and status.

So that concludes my really really long blog post for today. I hope you enjoyed the long read. This post really had a bit of everything in it, story telling, flying, status, philosophy I MEAN psychology, and a moral to it all.  Wherever you are in time or location reading this, think about what makes you popular and do it. In high school, it's drinking. In college, it's money and intelligence. Figure it out, and do it.

Holy shit this post is only 1,904 words. This is close to the record for longest post but IT'S NOT THE LONGEST POST. So I need to fluff it a little bit to squeeze out some extra words until I hit 2,000. So that's what I'm doing now. I didn't write for two straight hours to NOT get to 2,000 words. I've had a lot of caffeine by the way. Caffeine is always nice. On a whim I ordered more Kava tea online because it's cheap. That should come in the mail soon. Kava tea isn't as good as coffee or Black Oolang Thai tea but fuck it why not right? 2,030 words. Ok now I can stop. Have a good day everybody! Until next time...

Fuck. 8:02.

What's up world? So yesterday before my calculus exam I picked up a couple Starbucks Mocha yahoo's that come in the neat little glass bottles. I drank one and I through the other one in the fridge. So now I'm about to drink the other one.

They're pressure sealed with a metal top, so upon opening the bottle air rushes in and "pops" the button up quite audibly. That is the most satisfying hiss and pop I've yet to encounter. These little sweet coffee shots popped up quite a bit through my youth; in fact back in the day they were my favorite drink. I didn't have a car back then, but a pedal bike ride to the local Walgreens only took ten minutes. In the days of middle schooler downtime, ten minutes was time that couldn't be wasted in any better way. So I'd be in and out of the shop with a "frappuccino" in hand. Then would come the hiss and pop I've come to love.

These are such handsome little drinks! Next time I'm at the airport waiting for a flight (so... winter break), I'm buying one, and I'm drinking it. I shall here that beautiful hiss and pop from the calming environment of an airport terminal.

So in other news, I'm not doing to hot in CalcII. Which is some bullshit. It will definitely be a struggle to pull off a passing C. But I won't know if I pass or not until winter break. And what else is going down during winter break? Oh that's right! I'm flying out to Africa! Well take my word for it, if I end up keeping my head above water in all my classes, then I am going to throw the fuck down on that trip. I know I've kind of gotten away from my distinguished partying habits in the past couple months, but starting at 10,000ft out of Miami it will be time to get some cirrhosis. So just be weary of that because that's happening.

What else is going on... Let's see... oh last Thursday I got to go check out Air Force 2 at the ramp of KLEX. Got to meet the pilot, talked to him for 20 or so minutes. I got plenty of pictures from the ramp of the sexy modified 757. I also found out how to become a pilot for the VIP transport wing. And it may be a distant goal, but now I wanna be pilot of Air Force 1.

Of course it may be difficult, and I'll have to be one of the best C-17 cargo pilots in the Air Force, but those are shoes I feel like I could fill. Imagine what it must be like for your job to be that. My about section on Facebook would be ballin and a half....
Works at Air Force 1 as a Chief Pilot.
Job Description: BEST PILOT IN THE WORLD.
But unfortunately I have some time to wait before then. I can't jump ahead like that.

So I was scrolling through my twitter feed the other day and stumbled across a tweet from someone I used to be on the swim team with. Casey, who's two years younger than me (so a senior in HS now, used to drive her to school and bitch about it in this very blog) was tweeting about not wanting to go to swim practice. And I realized, I haven't gone swimming in a while. But it's weird because I still remember the whole process of going to swim practice.

It started with getting home from school and desperately not wanting to go to swim practice. So the evening rolls by, maybe a nap could be had, but sooner or later it's 7:30 and time to go. So now it's freezing, because I'm wearing a swim suit; and it's cold outside, because some asshole decided that high school swimming is a winter sport. So off I go to the pool, still desperately not wanting to get wet. I crank the heat on the drive, but no matter how uncomfortably hot I could get that car, water was still the last thing I wanted anywhere near me.

Now I'm sitting in a 90 degree car, fogging windows up and shit, and it's 30 degrees outside and I'm wearing flip flops, bathing suit, and a towel. After a few songs go by on the radio I decide it's time to stop being a bitch and go to practice. Out of the car I go, and of course the wind is blowing at twenty knots which makes it twenty times more miserable.

Ok I've gotten all the way from my house to the deck, and I still do not want anything to do with that swimming pool. It's 7:52 and in a mere eight minutes I'm going to have to face the fact that I'm gonna have to get in. I'm still cold. I still do not want to get wet. It was always a good idea to distract myself by talking to my friends on the team about parties or whatever I was into back then (partying). But just when I'd start to forget about the gravity of the situation I was in, the coach would tap me on the back with a kind but stern "Decker, stop flirting with girls and get in the pool."

I'd be like "Bullshit practice hasn't started yet." I'd point to the clock with a smug look on my face before returning to my conversation and FUCK. 8:02. I was soon starting to face the reality of having to get wet. With goggles in hand, I'd walk with my head down from the bleachers to the pool thinking of any other possible way to stall. "My waterbottle! I forgot to get my waterbottle!" I'd say. So I'd walk back to my spot on the bleachers, and pick up my waterbottle and head back to the pool.

Fuck. That only took 30 seconds. It is now 8:03 and at this point my coach is yelling "GET IN THE POOL."  Ok! Shit... Stretch, do a few stretches. Alright I'm good. Then I'd just stare at the water for another couple seconds recollecting how terribly bad I wanted to stay dry. Oh well, I've already been cold as hell for the past half hour, I might as well end my dry-streak now. And I'd jump in.

Then the next hour and a half would suck; swimming back and fourth in cold water non stop. Kill me. Maybe if I held my breath long enough I'd pass out and not have to swim anymore. So I'd get about 30 seconds in and think 'fuck it', breathe, go back down, and the cycle would start over. Sooner or later it'd be 9:30, we'd all get out, dry off, and practice was over.

And it was a joyous moment! We'd be warm and dry for the next 22 and a half hours! But for that whole time, I'd smell like chlorine. Not like a little bit like 'oh he went to the pool last night', I'm talking about 'holy shit that kid smells like bleach'. All fucking day. It would radiate off my body and disinfect the room. If a couple of swimmers used the bathroom at the same time, the bathroom stopped smelling like shit, and started smelling like chlorine. I literally didn't have to shower if I didn't want to.

So that was what swimming in high school was like. I instantly knew what Casey was feeling when I read her post. She was dry and warm and did not want to get wet and cold. Which is something I no longer have to deal with in college. But as a result of swimming through high school, I can now swim faster than just about anyone who didn't swim in college. Which is really fucking helpful when competing to be a pilot.

So that's about all I have to say about this blog post. 63 days 10 hours and 6 minutes until my flight for Madrid leaves. Yeah, we're getting close. Until next time.

Enjoy a beverage, seat, and read

What's up everybody. Happy Wednesday, we've passed the halfway point of the week and now were on the downhill segment. In celebration, I will write. Hopefully if you're reading this somewhere, you're enjoying a nice beverage and enjoying a nice seat. Reading this blog takes a lot of stress away it seems. So if you're on the other end of the tiny single-parameter dimension connecting our two LCD screens, take a smile and enjoy the read.

I frequently forget how fast time goes by in college. Two weeks of RA training seem like a long weekend, K-Week feels like checking into a hotel, and the first half of a semester feels like the first six-week divide of a term from my high school years. It feels like it's been maybe two or three weeks since I was at home playing videogames thinking about how much it will suck going back to school. 

Then sometimes it slows down. For example over Labor Day weekend when I had a great time in fucking Idaho; it was only for two days and three nights but it felt like a week of exploring. It's strange how the human mind can use perception take you away from reality when you really need it. If college semesters dragged by as slow as high school, I really think it'd be a lot more difficult for me. That light at the end of the tunnel would be much dimmer. On the flip side if little vacations here and there flew past me in the blink of an eye, I would have  much harder time recovering.

Back in August I would see assignments on the syllabus due in October and think, "That's two months out, I got a long way until midterm." Now I'm turning those assignments in and looking at my final schedule in December thinking the same thing. Which means it when December rolls along time'll feel similarly accelerated.

In other news, I want to learn Portuguese. As a joke my family agreed that since we're going to Spain, Morocco and Portugal; we'd all learn a corresponding language (French, Arabic, Spanish, and I'm Portuguese). Well like all others, I'm taking this joke too far. I'm planning on actually learning Portuguese.

Why you ask? Well first off, I'm going to Portugal over Christmas and it'd help to learn the language. But more importantly, I'm a smart person. I'm capable of doing some crazy shit things with my mind and it'd be a waste of potential energy if I didn't operate at full capacity. For the same reason I play with physics for fun, I will learn Portuguese for the simple reason of "because I can".

You may be thinking, "this guy does a lot of things just because he can." And you are exactly right! Buy a motorcycle, watch the sunrise from a plane, become an RA, etc. the list goes on, the reasoning behind it is because I can. An opportunity was created, and I took advantage of it. In the case of learning Portuguese, the opportunity is free language software mixed with a strong mental capacity. Being an opportunist, I'm doing it. And it's not like I don't get my money back. Every opportunity I take advantage of, I get something out of it. In this case I'll know Portuguese, which is plenty. By saying "yes" instead of asking "why" you have experiences you never had a chance at prior.

Anyway that's my preaching for today. Between class while relaxing in the Office Tower lobby I was reading my blog posts from last year. I read a blog post from last year that I wrote in October. It is by far the best post I've ever made. It's called "I want a space ship" and it's just magical. Everything about that post is pretty damn good, and every time I read it I feel pretty deeply inclined to get a space ship. 

Oh well, I'll have to settle with a Boeing. Until next time...

I'm taking a nap

What's up blogosphere? It's Tuesday today, and in fact it's not just an ordinary Tuesday, it's program day! Yes C-4 RA Decker is hosting Salsa Dancing with Donovan. So here in about 3 hours or so a bunch (5 or 6) girls will be coming over to dance with all the Haggin studs. And I know it's a bit early to call it but I think EVERYONE's getting laid afterwards.

It's a nice day outside. It's historically pretty nice for at least three weeks of October. But the first week was a flop; it was shitty. Now it's finally a little bit nice but still cold. I'm really not a fan of cold weather. If I can't wear shorts and flip flops comfortably, it's too cold. And I'd rather it be too hot than too cold. But either way that's not important.

So there's really not much else going on to blog about. I have a calc exam coming up, and if I don't get a B on it I'm pretty much fucked. Which means it's a good thing I've been studying up on it. Between class, Air Force, and being an RA I'm pretty busy. That has it's ups and downs.

Alright I'm taking a nap. This post didn't really have much steam.

chill-sesh-maximum

Good afternoon readers. I only have like 45 minutes or so until class so I was like hey, why not blog?

So it's starting to get cold outside, and it kinda sucks. This is why I want to live in Miami, or Honolulu, or LA, or Dubai. All those cities are warm.

I like Mondays, most people hate Mondays but that's not the right attitude. See on Monday, I get out at 10am after PT and class and can take a nice relaxing nap if there's no homework to be done. Then it's chill-sesh-maximum until 3:00 for the best class in the fucking world. Which class is that you ask? RA class.

Ohhhhhhhh yes RA class is amazing. First off, it's all RA's, which means it's exclusive, and exclusivity always means fun (I should write about exclusivity someday, it's basically the whole "you can't come in, cuz you're not good enough" type of fun. It has a lot of applications.) Anyway it's RA's only, so basically only my friends who I work with are allowed. So if I stopped there and didn't give any other reasons for it being awesome, it'd already be the best class ever.

But no, it goes on. It's a three-credit-hour class. And it's a very very very easy class. Which means it's an easy A. Like perhaps the easiest of all A's. I mean you don't even have to pay attention, you just sit and chill with your Haggin bros and look at funny pictures on your phone and not give a fuck and it's a blast and at the end of it all IT COUNTS FOR A 3-HOUR A. It's amazing.

I think of it less as a class and more as a commute. Think like Decker for a moment, what's something you have to sit through for an hour and half twice a week, but during the 3 hours you can just sit and chill with your friends munching on snacks the whole time? That's so similar to an hour and a half flight twice a week! Except I'm not going anywhere... it's just the down time that's essential.

Like if I told you that twice a week you were FORCED to sit down and chill for a little while, and your friends were FORCED to do it with you; you'd be like ok that'd be a nice little vacation from life twice a week. Just grab some juice from Mezzo for you to enjoy, get new app on the phone to play around with, get a sheet of notebook paper so you can communicate with your bros via passing notes; I mean shit this is the college version of recess! This is one of those instances where even if I weren't forced to do it, I'd fucking do it anyway cuz it's chill! But I am forced to AND I STILL GET THAT 3-HOUR A!!

So I hope my happy Monday friend is working as the cashier at Mezzo today as per usual. I enjoy my juice much more when she delivers it with a side of her enthusiasm. But that's about all I have time for as far as this blog post. I need to go chill in Whitehall for a while with my bros...

....and get graded on it. I love my life. But real talk the reason my life is so good is because I'm such a good fucking opportunist/optimist. That is the reason my life is better than most. So don't bitch at me because you're jealous. Maybe that was mean, I'm done. Until next time.

A bunch of small thoughts scattered into one post

What's up world. It's Thursday afternoon which means it's time to blog and holy shit I just made the best brew of coffee ever. Ok, hear me out. I got this Hawaiian Macadamia Cocoa Coffee which is a little more of hot chocolate than it is coffee. It's good, but not where I want it to be. So I have that, and some strong beans from Starbucks. Genius over here mixed the two together and boom. It's amazing. So here I am, in my room, drinking that. It's quite chill.

FYI I really don't have any preset direction for this blog post. So we'll see where we end up.

I'm going home this weekend. I have a dentist appointment. So it'll be nice drinking a few beers with father and maybe tossing around a football for a bit. I can't tell you why but I'm rather looking forward to it.

So for those of you who lost count already we are only 76 days away from Africa. I'm starting to get more and more stoked for that. I've decided to try to learn Portuguese for the fuck of it. I was talking to my lab partner and he's doing the same thing. "You know what I kinda wanna do? Just like learn a new language. You down?" With Rosetta Stone it's fairly quick, easy, and painless to learn a new language so hopefully I can get hooked up with a free copy so I can Portuguese it the fuck down in Lisbon for Christmas.

I need to start getting like a list or something of stuff I wanna get done when I'm overseas for two and a half weeks. For one, I wanna spend some time in a coffee shop. See, in high school I wrote a personal essay on coffee shops in American compared to Europe. You can read the paper, I still have it. But basically to sum it up coffee shops are chill-zones in Europe, more for unwinding. In America they're productivity-zones, and are used for getting stuff done. I prefer the European style.

I remember in high school I would take time out of my schedule to just go grab a cup of coffee and relax in the Starbucks lobby. I was alone; no one else did this but me at the time. I wouldn't do homework or anything really. I'd just listen to music and play on my phone and gaze out the window. Surprisingly, now in college not much as changed. I take time to just go to the Office Tower lobby and sit in the comfortable couches and watch time fall off the clock.

You could call it de-stressing, relaxing, procrastinating, etc. but I tend to think of it as a vacation. A lot of times the whole point of a vacation is to do nothing. Wherever you are, (and assuming you're done partying and adventuring) a lot of time is typically spent doing nothing. Whether stretched out on the beach in (oh I don't know) Kokomo sipping something fruity and alcoholic, or kicked back in a coffee shop sipping a warm cappuccino; the mindset is similar.

Switching gears here, my city of the week this week is San Francisco. I really don't know how long I'll keep up with this "Decker's City of the Week" bullshit, because there's only like three or four cities I actually like in America, so most of the cities of the week will likely be in other countries.

I re-downloaded Google Earth last night with Karen. Google Earth is a magical application. On Google Earth, you can take a virtual trip to wherever you want! That's awesome! Karen and I visited the Socal Area and I gave her a virtual tour. We saw Santa Monica, Malibu, Hollywood, Beverly Hills, and all over the Thousand Oaks area.

Google Earth is awesome in two ways...

1) If you've been somewhere, and you loved it, you can always revisit it on Google Earth. It will always be there on Google Earth! You can take a virtual drive down the street view and look at the Panomario pictures of the same stuff on your Facebook photos. You can point stuff out and be like "I remember that!" or "That looks a lot bigger in real life." Good times.

2) If you're about to go somewhere, and you want to check it out a little bit on Google Earth before you get there in real life. For example I'll be in Madrid in 77 days, it'd be a rad idea to look up my hotel and all on Google Earth. It'll give me some ideas on stuff to do when I get there, and it will bide the time while I wait and get my excited for it.

So yeah Google Earth is cool, and has been since it's conception like 10 years ago. In other news, I made a new door dec yesterday. It's up on my door now. It is definitely the coolest most badass door dec that UK ResLife has ever fucking seen. Other RA's are jealous. Residents don't know what to think I mean they're completely dumbfounded by the nature of this door dec.

So once the damn printing center gets it's shit together and buys more lamination I can have it made into a real poster that I can keep forever. I can imagine it being posted in my bedroom along with the poster with Doug's chill quote (that I still have to make). Making posters is so much fun, especially when you can make them look as amazing as me; no douche.

Anyway that's about all I have to blog about today. I really wish I could write more but today I'm experiencing some writers block. However when I typically read my own blog posts for the first time, I'm sitting in the lobby of the office tower (or somewhere else chilling) and it's several months past the day I wrote this. And I usually am just happy reading my thoughts from several months prior, even if there's no theme or general direction or whatever. In fact one day, probably about 76 days or so, I bet I'll re-read almost all of these on my way over to Eurafricope, because that's typically what I do for special occasions like that. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading. Until next time...