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...
Thursday, October 25, 2012
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...
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...
Monday, October 22, 2012
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...
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...
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
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...
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, October 8, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
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...
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...
Monday, October 1, 2012
Enjoy Your Juice
What's up readers? I literally could not go all day without blogging. October first; new month, new opportunities. Had a physics test today, I really hope I got 100% on it just so I can cross that off my bucketlist. I'm sure you'll hear about it if I do. Be right back, my hands feel weird I'm going to wash them.
Back. So I bought a think of orange juice at Intermezzo today before class. I decided to get it on a whim just because I wanted to enjoy some juice while sitting through a likely boring RA lecture. So a dollar and nine cents came out of my flex account in order to fund the sudden idea.
So let me tell you a little bit about the girl who works the cashier at Intermezzo on Mondays at around 2:30pm, she is one of those people who's "Happy Thermostat" is set to a trillion. Now I'm a pretty happy being, but this girl's ridiculous. Every Monday it's straight to the point; "Hello! Are you having a good day!? I know it's Monday but I'm still having a good day! I try to be happy and people think I'm crazy but I'M NOT! I swear! I'm sorry I cut you off, are you having a good day!?"
And since I really like happy people and being happy and general, I feed off her positive energy; "Yeah I'm having a great day! I'm almost done with classes so my Monday is almost over! Then I have the whole evening to myself, so yeah I'd say I'm having a great day too!"
And she fucking freaks. I take it she doesn't get many enthusiastic and happy responses to her delightful outbursts of spirit, because once she realizes she's dealing with a fellow optimist she turns it up like ten fold. Now almost screaming, she rebounds, "ME TOO! I mean I'm working but work means money and money means fun!"
At this point I kinda wanted to see how far I could push her; "With that logic Monday's are all fun then right?" I thought this poor girl was gonna blow a blood vessel. Like a puppy being overly-stimulated by it's owner, by then she can really just shake her head real fast and hand me my food.
So yeah that's the Monday cashier at Mezzo. So I walk back up the open lobby stairs to grab some juice and go to the counter for purchase; as per usual the cashier (Claire I believe her name is) have our typical Monday/Funday conversation. Except this time she said a phrase as I walked away that made me really appreciate this girls infectious attitude towards life.
I mean my back was almost completely turned, and I had completed my departure phrase "Have a good one!", and she STILL felt the necessity in adding a quick and hearty "ENJOY YOUR JUICE!!" before I had rounded the corner.
Real talk, most cashiers in the world would not give a single fuck about whether or not I enjoy the juice I paid one dollar and 9 cents for. The buck didn't even come from my wallet, the university paid for it (a humble thumbs up for being an awesome RA); but regardless, this happy youngster had the complete immaculate security to add on those three words while I was still within earshot.
It made me legitimately smile, one of those smiles that you could neither fake nor conceal. And because she spent the second and a half, wasting precious adenosine triphosphate molecules from the millions of cells it must've required her to say those three words; I took a second and a half of my own time, and a similar amount of energy to properly thank her. "Thanks! I will!", I said.
And the reason I felt a thank you was necessary was due to the fact that (knowing me) I will honestly enjoy my orange juice about three times more after her blessing. I am the type of person who is a hub of emotions. Stuff goes in, I process it, and it's outputted. If someone wants to talk, I'll talk. I'll do anything I can to raise the morale of someone and it's likely because I'm a good-hearted, happy human being. Whether I use humor, kindness, or charm, to keep positive emotions lingering about the atmosphere, I'll do it. (The bare reasoning behind most of my idiosyncrasies stems from this. Think about it... palm trees, smiling in pictures, opportunism, this blog).
So when I interact with another person of similar ideals in this field, the system blows up in kindness, charm and happiness. She says something happy and then I say something happy and then she says something happy and it snowballs. And the result of a 30 second conversation is two people who are literally euphoric over fucking orange juice.
I appreciated that simple phrase, "Enjoy your juice!", so much I decided not to even drink it in class. While in the lecture I decided to fully milk the situation by waiting until I get back to the dorm to savor it. So here I am writing this blog in my room about to open up a dollar's worth of orange juice and I STILL have a smile on my face and am all giddy and shit over it.
My point of this 12 paragraph essay about OJ is really that you never know the effects of something as simple as "enjoy your juice" and a happy attitude. I'm sure that girl is still standing at that counter in Mezzo happy as all hell. I highly doubt she expects me to be in my dorm three hours later blogging about her attitude. And it's quite likely that when she asked me to "enjoy my juice" she wasn't doing it for recognition. Yet here I am, enjoying my juice.
So in other news, for being an RA I've had to do room inspections. Which means I've gone into every single room on my floor. Obviously I've already been in all of them, but this time the residents have been living there for a few months. After experiencing what most of my residents live in, it's honestly harder to think of Haggin Hall as a castle.
With the exception of 2-3 rooms, every single room is awful. I'm talking trash piled 4 feet in the air in the corner, the smells range from B.O. to sour mold, and one room had bottles of pee in it. Let me put it this way; I've actually been to a slum in a third world country. The rooms at Haggin Hall are smaller, more crowded, dirtier, and probably contain a higher suicide rate. At least some slums can say they have running water.
Then there's my room; a triple wide, bay windows looking out over downtown, furniture, and no roommate. My room is the Ritz compared to every other room in C-4. So with that being said, I'm treating it as such. Yes every day when I swipe my ID into the building and walk to my room, in my mind I'm walking through the floral wallpapered and carpeted hallways to my suite. I open the door to the sight of my large quarters followed by the graceful smell of my air freshener. Perhaps the only thing that's missing is a swimming pool. But regardless as long as I keep it clean, this room is pretty damn nice.
It all falls under the perks of hard work. Work leads to money and benefits... always. Today's the first of the month, which means I get a lot of money. I should go to an ATM and withdrawal it all, then duffle it back to my room and fill it 5 feet deep with bills.
Then I'll have a swimming pool too. Until next time...
Back. So I bought a think of orange juice at Intermezzo today before class. I decided to get it on a whim just because I wanted to enjoy some juice while sitting through a likely boring RA lecture. So a dollar and nine cents came out of my flex account in order to fund the sudden idea.
So let me tell you a little bit about the girl who works the cashier at Intermezzo on Mondays at around 2:30pm, she is one of those people who's "Happy Thermostat" is set to a trillion. Now I'm a pretty happy being, but this girl's ridiculous. Every Monday it's straight to the point; "Hello! Are you having a good day!? I know it's Monday but I'm still having a good day! I try to be happy and people think I'm crazy but I'M NOT! I swear! I'm sorry I cut you off, are you having a good day!?"
And since I really like happy people and being happy and general, I feed off her positive energy; "Yeah I'm having a great day! I'm almost done with classes so my Monday is almost over! Then I have the whole evening to myself, so yeah I'd say I'm having a great day too!"
And she fucking freaks. I take it she doesn't get many enthusiastic and happy responses to her delightful outbursts of spirit, because once she realizes she's dealing with a fellow optimist she turns it up like ten fold. Now almost screaming, she rebounds, "ME TOO! I mean I'm working but work means money and money means fun!"
At this point I kinda wanted to see how far I could push her; "With that logic Monday's are all fun then right?" I thought this poor girl was gonna blow a blood vessel. Like a puppy being overly-stimulated by it's owner, by then she can really just shake her head real fast and hand me my food.
So yeah that's the Monday cashier at Mezzo. So I walk back up the open lobby stairs to grab some juice and go to the counter for purchase; as per usual the cashier (Claire I believe her name is) have our typical Monday/Funday conversation. Except this time she said a phrase as I walked away that made me really appreciate this girls infectious attitude towards life.
I mean my back was almost completely turned, and I had completed my departure phrase "Have a good one!", and she STILL felt the necessity in adding a quick and hearty "ENJOY YOUR JUICE!!" before I had rounded the corner.
Real talk, most cashiers in the world would not give a single fuck about whether or not I enjoy the juice I paid one dollar and 9 cents for. The buck didn't even come from my wallet, the university paid for it (a humble thumbs up for being an awesome RA); but regardless, this happy youngster had the complete immaculate security to add on those three words while I was still within earshot.
It made me legitimately smile, one of those smiles that you could neither fake nor conceal. And because she spent the second and a half, wasting precious adenosine triphosphate molecules from the millions of cells it must've required her to say those three words; I took a second and a half of my own time, and a similar amount of energy to properly thank her. "Thanks! I will!", I said.
And the reason I felt a thank you was necessary was due to the fact that (knowing me) I will honestly enjoy my orange juice about three times more after her blessing. I am the type of person who is a hub of emotions. Stuff goes in, I process it, and it's outputted. If someone wants to talk, I'll talk. I'll do anything I can to raise the morale of someone and it's likely because I'm a good-hearted, happy human being. Whether I use humor, kindness, or charm, to keep positive emotions lingering about the atmosphere, I'll do it. (The bare reasoning behind most of my idiosyncrasies stems from this. Think about it... palm trees, smiling in pictures, opportunism, this blog).
So when I interact with another person of similar ideals in this field, the system blows up in kindness, charm and happiness. She says something happy and then I say something happy and then she says something happy and it snowballs. And the result of a 30 second conversation is two people who are literally euphoric over fucking orange juice.
I appreciated that simple phrase, "Enjoy your juice!", so much I decided not to even drink it in class. While in the lecture I decided to fully milk the situation by waiting until I get back to the dorm to savor it. So here I am writing this blog in my room about to open up a dollar's worth of orange juice and I STILL have a smile on my face and am all giddy and shit over it.
My point of this 12 paragraph essay about OJ is really that you never know the effects of something as simple as "enjoy your juice" and a happy attitude. I'm sure that girl is still standing at that counter in Mezzo happy as all hell. I highly doubt she expects me to be in my dorm three hours later blogging about her attitude. And it's quite likely that when she asked me to "enjoy my juice" she wasn't doing it for recognition. Yet here I am, enjoying my juice.
So in other news, for being an RA I've had to do room inspections. Which means I've gone into every single room on my floor. Obviously I've already been in all of them, but this time the residents have been living there for a few months. After experiencing what most of my residents live in, it's honestly harder to think of Haggin Hall as a castle.
With the exception of 2-3 rooms, every single room is awful. I'm talking trash piled 4 feet in the air in the corner, the smells range from B.O. to sour mold, and one room had bottles of pee in it. Let me put it this way; I've actually been to a slum in a third world country. The rooms at Haggin Hall are smaller, more crowded, dirtier, and probably contain a higher suicide rate. At least some slums can say they have running water.
Then there's my room; a triple wide, bay windows looking out over downtown, furniture, and no roommate. My room is the Ritz compared to every other room in C-4. So with that being said, I'm treating it as such. Yes every day when I swipe my ID into the building and walk to my room, in my mind I'm walking through the floral wallpapered and carpeted hallways to my suite. I open the door to the sight of my large quarters followed by the graceful smell of my air freshener. Perhaps the only thing that's missing is a swimming pool. But regardless as long as I keep it clean, this room is pretty damn nice.
It all falls under the perks of hard work. Work leads to money and benefits... always. Today's the first of the month, which means I get a lot of money. I should go to an ATM and withdrawal it all, then duffle it back to my room and fill it 5 feet deep with bills.
Then I'll have a swimming pool too. Until next time...
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