How's it going universe? I decided to up the ante on my target audience. The world is no longer enough. From now on, any being in the universe is invited to read my broadcast.
So I'm not sure if I've told you yet, but I'm going to Rio de Jafuckingneiro in May. I don't know how I should feel about that. Oh, wait, yeah I do. I should feel amazing about that.
Here's how this is gonna play out. Currently, Rio is just too far away to get stoked for. I know I have a tendency of getting crazy stoked like several months before I should. The current record is a 172 day countdown to my 2011 Spring Break Cruise. That was an intense 172 days let me tell ya. Hold on a second...
Ok so I just plugged Rio into a countdown app and get this shit...155 days. Meaning even if I got stoked for Rio right now, it'd still be a shorter countdown than SB11. I like that. Maybe I should just start the countdown now and get the stokedness rolling early. We'll see. Rio will be the most insane summer(winter) nightlife I have yet to experience. To put this in perspective, my favorite city in the WHOLE DAMN WORLD has one of the worlds best beaches and nightlife and it is still second only to Rio to Janeiro. So this will be an interesting trip.
And then after Rio, Karen and I have some other trips planned. Cambodia? Seoul? THE ATLANTA AIRPORT? A 14 HOUR DATE WITH AN A380!!!??? So yeah it'll be an eventful summer. Even if half of the shit that's about to go down gets completely canceled, it will still be by far the best summer I have ever lived. And I've lived some amazing summers, so the thought of topping everything once again just blows my mind.
So I was thinking last night. This isn't out of the ordinary. I think a lot. I think constantly about something and I think that's why I'm able to pull off about 4 vacations a year and make thousands in the stock market. I'm getting off track.
So I was thinking last night. I was reminiscing in the times in high school, before this blog existed, when I would track my thoughts by writing in other forms. One of the most popular would be letters addressed to my future self. Of course I had other travel journals and transcripts of conversations and sometimes just notepad documents of stories I'd record but some of the most memorable documents in my library of self-recorded history were my Letters to Self.
Here's how it worked. I would pick a date that I knew would be a good day (such as before Spring Break), and write a letter which I would avoid reading until then. So on a random day I felt like writing, I would write. Perhaps the most peculiar aspect of the letters, is that I wrote them as I would a school assignment: perfect grammar, thesis statements, proper use of transitions, etc. I put a lot of effort to make each letter a well-constructed reflection so that even as I read it for the 10th time when I've graduated college I still am able to reclaim the feelings of joy which overcame me every few months.
The first was I believe prior to my junior year Spring Break, in which I had a bad time at a school dance and threw my frustration into literature addressed to me. Almost every letter was intended to be read just before a vacation. It would link the lengthy gap between frustrated present-me and Cloud-9 future-me. I could get out any frustrations I had, but then I could regain hope that in just a few months I'll be on a plane anticipating a great week.
The system worked pretty well to keep my happiness and excitement at high levels while masking the boredom of waiting. Writing each letter was fun, it gave me something to look forward to. It kept my spirits high knowing that the next time I read my work I would be flying off to the Caribbean Sea. I would crank the space heater in my room and light beach-scented candles and listen to my vacation music and spend several hours crafting a string of words that would make my future self happier than he already was. The writing of the letter was a vacation in itself.
Once I finished the letter, I would format a blank page in front of the essay reading "Dear Decker," followed by the date I planned on opening it. The blank page would keep me from accidentally reading some of the letter too soon. I'd then save the word document, drop it in a folder, and go about my day. Then there would always be several months of waiting. As the months flew by, I would gradually forget every word I wrote in the letter and anticipation to reread what I had written began to accumulate.
Then, whenever I had decided to read it, I would read it. Almost always it was on an airplane. I'd usually wait until we were near cruising altitude and I had a cran-apple cocktail in my hand. Then I'd casually unfold my letter, and rip off the blank cover page. I could never help but smile as I read about how great it must feel to be on vacation and cruising on a 737 enroute to Miami.
But as I said, the letters to self were replaced. I haven't written one since Spring Break 2011. I guess in a way, each of my 242 posts on this blog are a letter to myself. And I'll read each post several times before I die and remember how it felt to be a high schooler, in college, in pilot training, and hopefully an airline pilot. Still, I miss the letters to self. They had a sense mystery to them, as if I were time travel into the future to deliver a letter to myself. Inversely, reading the letters felt as if I my past self were talking right to me. It was like a conversation linking the two parallel Deckers, as if I sat down with myself over a glass of scotch and just chatted about going on a cruise.
I think I'll continue the letters to self. I think I'll write one addressed to me headed to LA or Rio. I'll follow the same guidelines as I did in high school, put effort into it, and have an enjoyable read on my 767 flight to the beach.
Until next time...
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Fiction is Synonymous With 'Bullshit'
Howdy ho beautiful world! I had an unnecessary amount of logic homework to crunch through real quick, taking away from my blog time. But...ya know... priorities and shit. It's finally December. Last year around this time I was getting pretty stoked over going to Morocco and Span and Portugal but unfortunately all my big trips coming up this time around aren't for another six months.
I can only assume that much has happened in the past several weeks since I've blogged last. One of the bigger occurrences as of late is my involvement in a ResLife showdown. It's a story for another day, probably in a year or so when I can make it sound a lot funnier. It's quite similar to the Norton Commons fiasco; my employers seem to have trouble keeping a leash on me. Oh well, it all makes for great stories at little to no sacrifice.
I absolutely love stories by the way. I imagine that you could easily gather that by reading a few blog posts of mine, but there's nothing like a great story being told by someone. Whether it's written in pen and ink in the hotel lobby located in the cute town of God-knows-where, Earth or told compassionately over a glass of Dewar's, I always enjoy hearing and telling a good story.
Mainly telling. Unless it's a gripping tale told by an enthusiastic chronicler that has me in disbelief and wanting more, listening to some story about something that's not even remotely cool can often turn into a yawn-fest. Instead, I almost always prefer to be the storyteller and have the tonal power and charisma to drop jaws with tale after tale of science and adventure.
However anyone can just sit down and spout off some fiction bullshit they made up to impress and captivate everyone in the room. That's cheating. No. The story must be true, and that's why I'm always prepared and fully willing to follow the path which yields me the best story. That's why I'm stoked about going to third world countries and always ready to throw down in some fairly dangerous places.
By the time I'm like 30 years old, I'm going to have a massive repertoire of stories that I can just toss out onto the table at any moment. I'll have like fifteen stories from every continent. It's gonna be awesome.
Ok I'm running out of time. Sorry, I've been like half paying attention to this, have paying attention to trading. I'm getting a little bit more engaged with the stock market. It's starting to make me a pretty damn good chunk of change. I like money too much to not figure out ways to get rich. And here I am about to go to class after checking my stock earnings of about two grand over the past three weeks. Money money money money. Money!
And I kind of promised Karen that I'd take her to Los Angeles over Spring Break (or perhaps Summer) if I can pull a few thou from my ass. So that's looking likely at this point. It really blows my mind that I get stressed and have days where I feel awful and stripped of confidence once I consider how great my life looks on paper. I am doing fine. But that doesn't stop me from losing all grips of hope occasionally.
Maybe on those days I should just count my money and tell stories.
I can only assume that much has happened in the past several weeks since I've blogged last. One of the bigger occurrences as of late is my involvement in a ResLife showdown. It's a story for another day, probably in a year or so when I can make it sound a lot funnier. It's quite similar to the Norton Commons fiasco; my employers seem to have trouble keeping a leash on me. Oh well, it all makes for great stories at little to no sacrifice.
I absolutely love stories by the way. I imagine that you could easily gather that by reading a few blog posts of mine, but there's nothing like a great story being told by someone. Whether it's written in pen and ink in the hotel lobby located in the cute town of God-knows-where, Earth or told compassionately over a glass of Dewar's, I always enjoy hearing and telling a good story.
Mainly telling. Unless it's a gripping tale told by an enthusiastic chronicler that has me in disbelief and wanting more, listening to some story about something that's not even remotely cool can often turn into a yawn-fest. Instead, I almost always prefer to be the storyteller and have the tonal power and charisma to drop jaws with tale after tale of science and adventure.
However anyone can just sit down and spout off some fiction bullshit they made up to impress and captivate everyone in the room. That's cheating. No. The story must be true, and that's why I'm always prepared and fully willing to follow the path which yields me the best story. That's why I'm stoked about going to third world countries and always ready to throw down in some fairly dangerous places.
By the time I'm like 30 years old, I'm going to have a massive repertoire of stories that I can just toss out onto the table at any moment. I'll have like fifteen stories from every continent. It's gonna be awesome.
Ok I'm running out of time. Sorry, I've been like half paying attention to this, have paying attention to trading. I'm getting a little bit more engaged with the stock market. It's starting to make me a pretty damn good chunk of change. I like money too much to not figure out ways to get rich. And here I am about to go to class after checking my stock earnings of about two grand over the past three weeks. Money money money money. Money!
And I kind of promised Karen that I'd take her to Los Angeles over Spring Break (or perhaps Summer) if I can pull a few thou from my ass. So that's looking likely at this point. It really blows my mind that I get stressed and have days where I feel awful and stripped of confidence once I consider how great my life looks on paper. I am doing fine. But that doesn't stop me from losing all grips of hope occasionally.
Maybe on those days I should just count my money and tell stories.
Monday, November 11, 2013
The Bubble
What's up everyone? Unfortunately I only have 40 minutes to blog today; I'm hoping to take advantage of it so hopefully it's enough.
So Karen and my parents and I have really started to send our Rio trip into orbit. That's just fucking awesome. This trip is going to be magical. Traveling is fun.
In other news, Karen and I have decided against going to Ecuador to volunteer and instead we decided it'd be better to go to Cambodia. Yup. Cambodia. That would mean I'll have stepped foot on 5 continents by age 21. So we're getting pretty stoked for that. Cambodia mixed with Rio would no doubt make this summer the absolute best summer that has ever been experienced by anyone. Ever.
Let that sink in.
Since we've decided on Cambodia, I took it upon myself, like I always do, to read as much information as I can on the country. I've quickly come to the conclusion that Cambodia is the saddest country on earth. Aside from the genocide, the civil wars, the poverty, and the lack of healthcare, this country just has nothing to it's name.
So Karen and I are going over there to help. We're gonna chill with orphans and help them learn English and read and get an education during the day, and go out at night. That's going to be our life for a few weeks. I haven't really been philanthropic since I went to Honduras, so I'm glad to be doing it again. I was talking with Karen about it while pregaming the Thor sequel, and forgot the deep emotions poverty tends to stir.
I realized this in Honduras; I observed first-hand this really humbling and peaceful truth about the world and the influence one can make. When in Honduras, we visited several houses, orphanages, slums, etc. just to chat with them and give them some presents from America. It was great playing soccer, telling stories, playing Pato-Pato-Gonzo with the little squirts and simply giving them our time. But it wasn't until the third or fourth day of this that I noticed something in the eyes of each underprivileged child.
Not a single kid knew exactly where we came from. They know the word America, but not much about it other than that it's pretty much where most of the white people come from. They don't have a clue how successful we are or how much money we have; they have nothing to compare us to. All they know is that we came a long way to see him or her, and to take time to play soccer or teach them how to play duck duck goose.
I just started to notice that they didn't see us as movie stars or wealthy Americans, all they knew was that we were good. Good and bad was the only distinction they seemed to be able to make and because we were helping them, they saw nothing but good. And even though we left after just one short week and partied on the way out, these children with very little to survive saw us as good people. That was the mark we left. Despite the war and crime and poverty, we brought something good to them and their country.
And that's why I have no problem going to help out in Cambodia. It's because I know that after x amount of weeks, we will have done something good no matter how minuscule it may be.
Of course there's another reason I have no problem going to help out in Cambodia, and that resides in the adventure. America really doesn't have much adventure. It is literally impossible to die here. Even if a dog dies at a premature age everyone is shocked and pissed off which doesn't make sense once you see less fortunate parts of the world.
The way I see it, there's a bubble over the western world. In this bubble, it's pretty easy to survive. In the bubble you are always less than an hour from medical treatment, and never more than a few minutes from food. It's fucking ridiculous how easy it is inside this metaphorical bubble. It's like the safehouse in a videogame, even if you got shot in the chest you have like a 99% chance of living. But it goes completely unnoticed.
True adventure doesn't come about until you leave that bubble. No matter what you do in the bubble, it's fake. Mountain climbing, scuba diving, anything American's think of as "adventurous" really is like the safest thing in the world compared to everything outside the bubble. That's why I love taking as many steps as possible from the edge. Honduras and Morocco are my only chances thus far, but they are also the best stories I have in my arsenal.
Once you're out, it's as if the sky dims a little bit. Reality almost instantly sets in as you see most of the world as it truly is. And shortly thereafter you realize that now that you've ventured outside of the bubble, and you could die at any second. Every car ride you take, you risk being killed by a drunk driver's hit and run. Every time you trip you can't help but remember that a compound fracture is often fatal in third world countries. Risk and excitement is all around you, and it is absolutely exhilarating. It takes a little while to get used to daily life outside the bubble. But every step you take further and further from home is one more amplification of the thrill.
The further from home, the more adventure. And there's nothing I love more than an adventure. Until next time...
So Karen and my parents and I have really started to send our Rio trip into orbit. That's just fucking awesome. This trip is going to be magical. Traveling is fun.
In other news, Karen and I have decided against going to Ecuador to volunteer and instead we decided it'd be better to go to Cambodia. Yup. Cambodia. That would mean I'll have stepped foot on 5 continents by age 21. So we're getting pretty stoked for that. Cambodia mixed with Rio would no doubt make this summer the absolute best summer that has ever been experienced by anyone. Ever.
Let that sink in.
Since we've decided on Cambodia, I took it upon myself, like I always do, to read as much information as I can on the country. I've quickly come to the conclusion that Cambodia is the saddest country on earth. Aside from the genocide, the civil wars, the poverty, and the lack of healthcare, this country just has nothing to it's name.
So Karen and I are going over there to help. We're gonna chill with orphans and help them learn English and read and get an education during the day, and go out at night. That's going to be our life for a few weeks. I haven't really been philanthropic since I went to Honduras, so I'm glad to be doing it again. I was talking with Karen about it while pregaming the Thor sequel, and forgot the deep emotions poverty tends to stir.
I realized this in Honduras; I observed first-hand this really humbling and peaceful truth about the world and the influence one can make. When in Honduras, we visited several houses, orphanages, slums, etc. just to chat with them and give them some presents from America. It was great playing soccer, telling stories, playing Pato-Pato-Gonzo with the little squirts and simply giving them our time. But it wasn't until the third or fourth day of this that I noticed something in the eyes of each underprivileged child.
Not a single kid knew exactly where we came from. They know the word America, but not much about it other than that it's pretty much where most of the white people come from. They don't have a clue how successful we are or how much money we have; they have nothing to compare us to. All they know is that we came a long way to see him or her, and to take time to play soccer or teach them how to play duck duck goose.
I just started to notice that they didn't see us as movie stars or wealthy Americans, all they knew was that we were good. Good and bad was the only distinction they seemed to be able to make and because we were helping them, they saw nothing but good. And even though we left after just one short week and partied on the way out, these children with very little to survive saw us as good people. That was the mark we left. Despite the war and crime and poverty, we brought something good to them and their country.
And that's why I have no problem going to help out in Cambodia. It's because I know that after x amount of weeks, we will have done something good no matter how minuscule it may be.
Of course there's another reason I have no problem going to help out in Cambodia, and that resides in the adventure. America really doesn't have much adventure. It is literally impossible to die here. Even if a dog dies at a premature age everyone is shocked and pissed off which doesn't make sense once you see less fortunate parts of the world.
The way I see it, there's a bubble over the western world. In this bubble, it's pretty easy to survive. In the bubble you are always less than an hour from medical treatment, and never more than a few minutes from food. It's fucking ridiculous how easy it is inside this metaphorical bubble. It's like the safehouse in a videogame, even if you got shot in the chest you have like a 99% chance of living. But it goes completely unnoticed.
True adventure doesn't come about until you leave that bubble. No matter what you do in the bubble, it's fake. Mountain climbing, scuba diving, anything American's think of as "adventurous" really is like the safest thing in the world compared to everything outside the bubble. That's why I love taking as many steps as possible from the edge. Honduras and Morocco are my only chances thus far, but they are also the best stories I have in my arsenal.
Once you're out, it's as if the sky dims a little bit. Reality almost instantly sets in as you see most of the world as it truly is. And shortly thereafter you realize that now that you've ventured outside of the bubble, and you could die at any second. Every car ride you take, you risk being killed by a drunk driver's hit and run. Every time you trip you can't help but remember that a compound fracture is often fatal in third world countries. Risk and excitement is all around you, and it is absolutely exhilarating. It takes a little while to get used to daily life outside the bubble. But every step you take further and further from home is one more amplification of the thrill.
The further from home, the more adventure. And there's nothing I love more than an adventure. Until next time...
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Who the Hell Renamed FAJS?
What's up world. I'm very sorry for not blogging in like a month. I've been busy and for the first time in years I haven't have the drive to put out any posts. But a lot of shit is going on currently, Karen and I are quitting the RA gig and moving in together in a month or so, I'm rocking the POC shit with Air Force, and college is still hard. I've been simming pretty hard in the past month or two. I mean I spent like 90 bucks on that PMDG 777 I am going to get the most out of it.
Currently, Karen and I are a few hours enroute from J-burg to Atlanta, the new longest nonstop flight in existence since Singapore 18 was canceled. I decided to attempt a blog post since I spent a majority of the day studying.
This blog post is difficult, I can't think of anything good to write about. Instead of trying and potentially failing at writing something inspirational, I'd rather just write about planes.
Someone recently changed the ICAO code for Johannesburg's Int'l airport. And nobody fucking told me so I ended up spending more time than I wanted blankly staring at the computer screen wondering why my route for FAJS won't load. You think I'd get some sort of memo from SOMEONE in the industry, or hell, even the virtual industry that the most major African gateway was undergoing some nomenclature changes.
Anyway, I learned some interesting facts about the routing in and out of OR Tambo International. I did not formerly know that J-burg sits at like 5,500ft above sea level. When you're that high up and that far away from like every single high-density airport in the world, long hauls are selected quite a bit more strategically. Perhaps the most prevalent example is that Atlanta and Miami are like the only Class Bravo airports in the United States that are within range of Tambo.
But it's not the range that makes it impossible, it's that they have 7800nm to fly with a typical headwind component 40kts (which you fight for every second of those 17 hours). But even then, in most extended range long-haulers you could make that plus a few hundred extra miles at full fuel capacity. It's that 5,500ft elevation that gets ya, because even with a 14 thousand foot runway your v-speeds are going to be supersonic; and with the reduced thrust your engines are going to be putting out in the lighter air it's going to be a hell of a long roll.
Mix all factors together, and the result is one flight a day from South Africa to North America, and it's the longest in the world. So there's your little "Did You Know?" factoid on longhaul airline operations for the day.
Changing gears here, for Air Force I gave a big briefing for an upcoming Airpower Exercise. That was stressful but rewarding. I'm getting pretty good at timing. I had to finish my presentation at exactly 1635, and I was able to pull it off to the second. That's precision engagement, a good skill for a pilot to have.
Anyway I think I've written enough for now. I'll try to blog later and get back into it. Have a good weekend everyone! Until next time...
This blog post is difficult, I can't think of anything good to write about. Instead of trying and potentially failing at writing something inspirational, I'd rather just write about planes.
Someone recently changed the ICAO code for Johannesburg's Int'l airport. And nobody fucking told me so I ended up spending more time than I wanted blankly staring at the computer screen wondering why my route for FAJS won't load. You think I'd get some sort of memo from SOMEONE in the industry, or hell, even the virtual industry that the most major African gateway was undergoing some nomenclature changes.
Anyway, I learned some interesting facts about the routing in and out of OR Tambo International. I did not formerly know that J-burg sits at like 5,500ft above sea level. When you're that high up and that far away from like every single high-density airport in the world, long hauls are selected quite a bit more strategically. Perhaps the most prevalent example is that Atlanta and Miami are like the only Class Bravo airports in the United States that are within range of Tambo.
But it's not the range that makes it impossible, it's that they have 7800nm to fly with a typical headwind component 40kts (which you fight for every second of those 17 hours). But even then, in most extended range long-haulers you could make that plus a few hundred extra miles at full fuel capacity. It's that 5,500ft elevation that gets ya, because even with a 14 thousand foot runway your v-speeds are going to be supersonic; and with the reduced thrust your engines are going to be putting out in the lighter air it's going to be a hell of a long roll.
Mix all factors together, and the result is one flight a day from South Africa to North America, and it's the longest in the world. So there's your little "Did You Know?" factoid on longhaul airline operations for the day.
Changing gears here, for Air Force I gave a big briefing for an upcoming Airpower Exercise. That was stressful but rewarding. I'm getting pretty good at timing. I had to finish my presentation at exactly 1635, and I was able to pull it off to the second. That's precision engagement, a good skill for a pilot to have.
Anyway I think I've written enough for now. I'll try to blog later and get back into it. Have a good weekend everyone! Until next time...
Monday, October 7, 2013
The Story of Significant Wealth
Good afternoon readers! Correction, good evening; it's after 1700. Silly me. Well it's Monday. I had my three hour circuits lab. That fucking sucked, as per usual. Karen would usually meet me after class and we'll enjoy the night together but she's going home for Nick's birthday at Red Robbin. Fun shit. Karen and I have gotten into the habit of butt-fucking the rules set by ResLife. Typically two or three weekdays each week she'll stay in the tower overnight. She breaks a big rule by not taking an overnight and I break a big rule by letting my guest stay past midnight. The amount of shit we give about this job is declining by the minute. I've already gotten my boss in a lot of trouble by ratting his immature ass out to his bosses bosses boss. She wasn't happy with him upon hearing the news. Long story short my boss is in a tidbit of trouble. Oops. Did I do that?
Yes. I did. I fully intended on exactly everything happening the way it did. Typical Decker.
So I've had a lot of built up energy about money lately, I decided I need to get it all out an lay it down on this blog post because Karen's clearly tired of hearing me talk about it. Once that happens it's time to blog. But yeah I'm all focused on money now. I believe it's a mix of reminiscing in my high school days, playing Grand Theft Auto: V, and my increasing involvement in the stock market. Whatever caused it, it's lead to me analyzing and obsessing over money.
I always have something to obsess over. I always seem to find something to research, analyze, plan and strategize to the point I learn how to maximize my gain for minimum effort for the long term. In high school it was partying, I planned and analyzed until I had something to my name. More recently I've spent a bit of this semester planning on how I can fuck over my asshole boss and attempt to fix the ruined system I'm apart of. Whatever has my attention at the time; it's what I go to bed thinking about, it's what I think about walking to class, and typically I think about it long enough to figure something out.
When I was in my sophomore year of high school, one of the seemingly random ideas that I obsessed over was the idea of being rich. I had $100,000 cars picked out, $0.5 million yachts picked out, and my first class priority frequent flier program selected (Lamborghini Murcielago, Meridian 541 Sedan, and any legacy carrier would do actually). I developed the idea that I would have to figure out a way to get rich in my life. It felt as if dying with less than a few million dollars of assets wouldn't leave me satisfied with my life. I didn't know how, but I knew I would likely climb the ladder of wealth and status and somehow secure a great deal of money.
The way I see it there's three things that make people influential on the world. If you possess one or all of these, then you're name will likely be remembered long after you're dead, and your life will have had an effect, either good or bad, on society.
One is fame. Famous people have popularity; they have a persona of which a very large amount of people are aware. I've never really cared for fame, nor have I chased it. With the spotlight, comes the curse that all of your mistakes are broadcasted and known by all. Nothing but the thoughts in your head are considered private matters once fame is attained. But with fame, comes influence and remembrance in the world. Long after you die, people will still know your name.
Another is power. True power is held by people such as the President, Chief's of Staff, etc. It's the most direct form of influencing the world around you, as countries and business follow your every order. People live and die, fortunes are made and taken, businesses succeed or fail all as a result of your input. Power has never really been something I've wanted to pursue, despite how easy it would be with my future in the Air Force. It's simply never turned me on as it does a lot of fellow thinkers. Your name may end up on plaques in museums and monuments may be erected in your honor; people with power die fully aware of how different the world would be if they never existed.
The final, of course, is wealth. It is what I have chosen to pursue to ensure my life has meaning. Money alone doesn't necessarily immediately deem your life significant however. Thousands of lottery winners instantly become wealthy, and those individuals never seem to die feeling like they've accomplished much. Money can buy you as many prostitutes and drugs and cars as you desire; but what draws me to more to admiring wealth is the story of how one acquires it.
With the exception of winning the lottery, the only way to become significantly wealthy is by living a significant life. Almost all rich people are directly responsible to a lot of things which got them to their current status. Notorious mobsters and drug traffickers play a big and influential role in the crime world. Corporate CEO's pushed a major company in the right direction. Anyone with money can tell a very fascinating story about how they earned their money. If I could climb up and build a fortune to expand upon, I would not only have a lot of money but I would have a story; thus I would know my life had influence on the world.
I spent a lot of my high school years dreaming of becoming rich, but clueless as to how. Fast forward to late senior year, the day is actually mentioned in this blog (titled "Swimming in the Money", cute huh?) . One day I decided to start researching the stock market, and by researching I mean balls to the wall reading. I'd casually illicitly download books online on investing and I'd read them. I'd browse through websites like Investopedia.com and absorb as much information as possible. It had suddenly occurred to my that I could make money on the stock market, and if I started gaining knowledge and experience in high school then by the time I had any real money to play around with I'd be able to make some motherfucking money. It wouldn't be instant. It wouldn't make me any money at 18 years old, but by 30? By the time I'm at an age where money actually matters for something then I actually might be able to procure quite a bit of it.
So it started small. $100 in stocks here, $80 in stocks over there. Like I said the purpose of it was for experience and knowledge, not immediate returns. However, in fact, it did give me a little money. My investments made me just enough money and confidence to start making some real moves right when I hit age 20. With more reading and more analyzing, I had the courage to throw $500 dollars into the stock market. In six months that initial investment turned into $1,000. And fast forward all the way to now, and I've gotten to the point of being confident enough to invest $1,000 at a time. Meaning that a minute 10-20% increase would yield me hundreds of dollars.
So here I am, just two and a half years after deciding to learn to exploit the stock market for money, and I'm back on the obsession of turning rich. Just like back in high school, I go to sleep and walk to class thinking about how I can make as much money as possible before I die.
People say that money's not important, that it doesn't mean everything and you can't buy happiness. But I've noticed that there are two types of people who say this. People who have money say it because they don't still have to worry about getting it. People who don't have money say it because they're in denial about their intense jealousy towards those who have it. And then there's me. I openly admit and clearly understand that I have the means and will necessary to acquire copious amounts of money, so why not do it?
Why not make a few risks and put a fraction of your life on the line if the payout is increasing amounts of money? Why not go to bed every night and wake up every morning thinking of how to get to the top? If you're smart enough to read and analyze the world, you're smart enough to take advantage of it.
If you choose to take the riskier path, spend time thinking rather than mindlessly watching T.V. or playing on your phone, and really put 100% of your wit towards increasing your personal value; you really have a chance at getting rich. Everyone knows one or two people who are just really fucking wealthy. If you sit down and ask them how the hell they got their money, it usually involves a little risk and a lot of thought.
But no one seems to notice that pattern and try to capitalize on it but me! Everyone just 'works' for those stupid fucking psychology and communication degrees which earn them, what, a $30,000/year salary for the next 40 years? And if you mention to them the one institution in which the sole purpose is to grow and develop wealth in the world, the stock market, everyone looks at you like you're the stupid asshole.
So here I am in college, reading my Wall Street Journal and analyzing quarterly income statements, and I'm already starting to make money. I really don't see my obsession and desire for wealth to go away anytime soon. I don't see my involvement in the stock market to go away either, at least until I start losing money from it.
People say money isn't everything, but I simply disagree. Once you have you're basic needs of food, shelter, and love; money is the only thing that puts you ahead of the person sitting next to you. If you don't have either fame, power, or money; then you're life didn't really count for much in the grand scheme of things. After my girlfriend and flying, money is what I live for. And I'll probably never stop chasing it.
One day I want to live in a big house in a big city in a country that's not America. I want to have a 50ft yacht and a $100,000 car. I want to be completely appreciative of my decision to get rich that I made in high school. One day I want to be that person who is very wealthy but not many people know why. And when they ask, I can refer them to this blog post.
Yes. I did. I fully intended on exactly everything happening the way it did. Typical Decker.
So I've had a lot of built up energy about money lately, I decided I need to get it all out an lay it down on this blog post because Karen's clearly tired of hearing me talk about it. Once that happens it's time to blog. But yeah I'm all focused on money now. I believe it's a mix of reminiscing in my high school days, playing Grand Theft Auto: V, and my increasing involvement in the stock market. Whatever caused it, it's lead to me analyzing and obsessing over money.
I always have something to obsess over. I always seem to find something to research, analyze, plan and strategize to the point I learn how to maximize my gain for minimum effort for the long term. In high school it was partying, I planned and analyzed until I had something to my name. More recently I've spent a bit of this semester planning on how I can fuck over my asshole boss and attempt to fix the ruined system I'm apart of. Whatever has my attention at the time; it's what I go to bed thinking about, it's what I think about walking to class, and typically I think about it long enough to figure something out.
When I was in my sophomore year of high school, one of the seemingly random ideas that I obsessed over was the idea of being rich. I had $100,000 cars picked out, $0.5 million yachts picked out, and my first class priority frequent flier program selected (Lamborghini Murcielago, Meridian 541 Sedan, and any legacy carrier would do actually). I developed the idea that I would have to figure out a way to get rich in my life. It felt as if dying with less than a few million dollars of assets wouldn't leave me satisfied with my life. I didn't know how, but I knew I would likely climb the ladder of wealth and status and somehow secure a great deal of money.
The way I see it there's three things that make people influential on the world. If you possess one or all of these, then you're name will likely be remembered long after you're dead, and your life will have had an effect, either good or bad, on society.
One is fame. Famous people have popularity; they have a persona of which a very large amount of people are aware. I've never really cared for fame, nor have I chased it. With the spotlight, comes the curse that all of your mistakes are broadcasted and known by all. Nothing but the thoughts in your head are considered private matters once fame is attained. But with fame, comes influence and remembrance in the world. Long after you die, people will still know your name.
Another is power. True power is held by people such as the President, Chief's of Staff, etc. It's the most direct form of influencing the world around you, as countries and business follow your every order. People live and die, fortunes are made and taken, businesses succeed or fail all as a result of your input. Power has never really been something I've wanted to pursue, despite how easy it would be with my future in the Air Force. It's simply never turned me on as it does a lot of fellow thinkers. Your name may end up on plaques in museums and monuments may be erected in your honor; people with power die fully aware of how different the world would be if they never existed.
The final, of course, is wealth. It is what I have chosen to pursue to ensure my life has meaning. Money alone doesn't necessarily immediately deem your life significant however. Thousands of lottery winners instantly become wealthy, and those individuals never seem to die feeling like they've accomplished much. Money can buy you as many prostitutes and drugs and cars as you desire; but what draws me to more to admiring wealth is the story of how one acquires it.
With the exception of winning the lottery, the only way to become significantly wealthy is by living a significant life. Almost all rich people are directly responsible to a lot of things which got them to their current status. Notorious mobsters and drug traffickers play a big and influential role in the crime world. Corporate CEO's pushed a major company in the right direction. Anyone with money can tell a very fascinating story about how they earned their money. If I could climb up and build a fortune to expand upon, I would not only have a lot of money but I would have a story; thus I would know my life had influence on the world.
I spent a lot of my high school years dreaming of becoming rich, but clueless as to how. Fast forward to late senior year, the day is actually mentioned in this blog (titled "Swimming in the Money", cute huh?) . One day I decided to start researching the stock market, and by researching I mean balls to the wall reading. I'd casually illicitly download books online on investing and I'd read them. I'd browse through websites like Investopedia.com and absorb as much information as possible. It had suddenly occurred to my that I could make money on the stock market, and if I started gaining knowledge and experience in high school then by the time I had any real money to play around with I'd be able to make some motherfucking money. It wouldn't be instant. It wouldn't make me any money at 18 years old, but by 30? By the time I'm at an age where money actually matters for something then I actually might be able to procure quite a bit of it.
So it started small. $100 in stocks here, $80 in stocks over there. Like I said the purpose of it was for experience and knowledge, not immediate returns. However, in fact, it did give me a little money. My investments made me just enough money and confidence to start making some real moves right when I hit age 20. With more reading and more analyzing, I had the courage to throw $500 dollars into the stock market. In six months that initial investment turned into $1,000. And fast forward all the way to now, and I've gotten to the point of being confident enough to invest $1,000 at a time. Meaning that a minute 10-20% increase would yield me hundreds of dollars.
So here I am, just two and a half years after deciding to learn to exploit the stock market for money, and I'm back on the obsession of turning rich. Just like back in high school, I go to sleep and walk to class thinking about how I can make as much money as possible before I die.
People say that money's not important, that it doesn't mean everything and you can't buy happiness. But I've noticed that there are two types of people who say this. People who have money say it because they don't still have to worry about getting it. People who don't have money say it because they're in denial about their intense jealousy towards those who have it. And then there's me. I openly admit and clearly understand that I have the means and will necessary to acquire copious amounts of money, so why not do it?
Why not make a few risks and put a fraction of your life on the line if the payout is increasing amounts of money? Why not go to bed every night and wake up every morning thinking of how to get to the top? If you're smart enough to read and analyze the world, you're smart enough to take advantage of it.
If you choose to take the riskier path, spend time thinking rather than mindlessly watching T.V. or playing on your phone, and really put 100% of your wit towards increasing your personal value; you really have a chance at getting rich. Everyone knows one or two people who are just really fucking wealthy. If you sit down and ask them how the hell they got their money, it usually involves a little risk and a lot of thought.
But no one seems to notice that pattern and try to capitalize on it but me! Everyone just 'works' for those stupid fucking psychology and communication degrees which earn them, what, a $30,000/year salary for the next 40 years? And if you mention to them the one institution in which the sole purpose is to grow and develop wealth in the world, the stock market, everyone looks at you like you're the stupid asshole.
So here I am in college, reading my Wall Street Journal and analyzing quarterly income statements, and I'm already starting to make money. I really don't see my obsession and desire for wealth to go away anytime soon. I don't see my involvement in the stock market to go away either, at least until I start losing money from it.
People say money isn't everything, but I simply disagree. Once you have you're basic needs of food, shelter, and love; money is the only thing that puts you ahead of the person sitting next to you. If you don't have either fame, power, or money; then you're life didn't really count for much in the grand scheme of things. After my girlfriend and flying, money is what I live for. And I'll probably never stop chasing it.
One day I want to live in a big house in a big city in a country that's not America. I want to have a 50ft yacht and a $100,000 car. I want to be completely appreciative of my decision to get rich that I made in high school. One day I want to be that person who is very wealthy but not many people know why. And when they ask, I can refer them to this blog post.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
"I must go back!"
I got GTA V a few weeks ago. It's a ton of fun. The game takes place in Los Angeles, which of course is like one of my favorite cities in the world. I really enjoy driving the virtual streets of Hollywood while shooting out my window. It's really put me on another craze for LA.
The city of Los Angeles and I have an interesting history. At 17 years old I was lucky enough to get to visit my good friend Alex Krauss in the City of Angels. We saw the sights, hit the beach, and taught each other how to live. Then a year later, just two weeks before I left for college, I took to the land of status and stars again and visited Alex for another week of fucking around in the ultimate playground.
Then I started college and I kind of forgot about Los Angeles for a while. With scholarships to be earned and grades to be made I didn't have time to really worry about it. Once I started to figure it out and had secured some assets, Karen and I blew a couple grand on a spring break trip to Miami. Then I ended up getting re-obsessed with Miami and couldn't help but blow another grand down there over the summer. But with all this focusing on Miami I still left my love for Los Angeles far back in my mind.
And now I'm playing Grand Theft Auto and listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers and all of the sudden the flame is back. From the Santa Monica Mountains, through the spotlight-illuminated Hollywood and Beverly Hills, down past LAX and all along Venice Beach, I miss it. I miss the fun times I had with Alex; I miss the dry sunny evenings and foggy mornings. So just like I experienced with Miami around this time last year, I feel this strong "I must go back!" feeling.
But just like in the case of Miami, returning to Los Angeles alone wouldn't be enough. In order to get satisfaction out of it, I feel the need to bring Karen and show her every single thing I've experienced in the L.A. Basin. It would be such a fantastic trip! We would be sipping scotch and cosmos at FL380 as we enjoy the downtime seven miles above the Arizona desert. We'd listen to L.A. Story as our plane past the mountains and intersected SEAVU. The desert would turn to an infinite sea of houses and roads. With our noses pressed firmly against the window we'd try our best to find the Hollywood sign, but all we'd be able locate would be the L.A. skyline as we started our final approach towards 24L.
After landing we'd have to grab a delicious meal at In N Out and watch plane after plane land at the western gateway of America. It would be a great week. We'd be able to see everything, and fit in as the popular crowd in the sprawling mass of Southern California. And only then will I be the least bit satisfied.
However we have some time between then and now, unfortunately. This summer is going to be very exciting to say the least. We're planning on attempting three trips. LA, Ecuador, and of course Rio. If all trips are affordable (which right now they are) then we likely will get to do all of them. This would put the Summer of 2014 at the top of the charts for best summer Decker Loyd has ever lived. Currently the title goes to the Summer of 2010, which included a Honduras trip, houseboat adventure, and L.A. Really the only way to top '10 would be by traveling a ton and never being home and pretty much just living large with Karen.
In other news stocks are still making me money, grades are good, Air Force is good, and I really have no complaints. Oh and I'm trying to fuck shit up in ResLife as much as possible. So far it's going pretty well. So yeah that's all for now. I'll try to blog more this month but I'm writing a memoir of my senior year and needless to say it's pretty damn captivating, so this blog may have a lack of posts in the near future. Until next time...
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
A Good Day in My Book
Goooooooooooooood morning world. That's a nice JFTC greeting for ya. I've been having a lot of field training flashbacks. A month is a long time. It's weird. A lot of nights I go to bed missing it. I'm glad I got through it.
So put on some Owl City, this post is all about flying. Monday night, while Karen was over, I decided it'd be nice to flip through my flight sim logbook. I don't think I've ever blogged about my sim logbook. It's a document about as important to me as this blog. I understand it's not something everyone has or cherishes, it's quite strange to the average person to find out that I keep a huge part of my life in a fake logbook.
It all started when I was in 7th grade. It was right around the time of my first real flights and real hours, so for my birthday my Aunt Lisa gave me a nice hardback journal as a way for me to write down my flying experiences. It's honestly not best gift for a little 13 year old guy, but after letting it collect dust for a few months I found a use for it as a way to keep track and log the silly flights I did on flight simulator. At first I remember it being more of a courtesy to my family ("look Aunt Lisa I'm using your gift!"), but somehow the habit of ending every single simulator flight with a logbook entry stuck. After each flight I'd write down the departure and arrival airport, times, dates, aircraft, all pertinent information; then I'd scribble down a few generic comments about the flight. I then formed the tradition that to the right side of each entry I'd right "SIM" in capital letters. The hope was that when I grew too old for flight sim, I'd be able to write down my real life airline pilot adventures in the same book; while signing "REAL" instead.
What I love most about this story, is that even seven years later my flight sim adventure journal is still just as alive as the dream of it becoming real. But one thing I didn't realize as I spent summer days and nights logging two or three flights at a time, is that the two lines of comments I wrote perfectly captured my life at the time. The flights before a big vacation would have comments about my excitement for the upcoming trip. A simflight from Miami to Los Angeles might have a blip like, "Going to LAX in just 84 hours, I just HAD to pull a 767 simflight there." Flights during snowdays and three day weekends included comments about my appreciation for flying the virtual skies rather than sitting in school. On the contrary, it's easy to tell flights I did on a day after a high school girlfriend dumped me. Most comments have just enough written for me to remember a good story about the flight. For example I'm reminded of flights where I'd get to cruising alt and immediately minimize FS to chat online with Alex K. about girls. Going through the logbook I remember friends I made through virtual airlines, things happening in my life like getting my wisdom teeth removed, or just that I had a really good landing that flight.
My enthusiasm for learning new things about my profession and perfecting the art of the airways is completely immersed throughout the pages and pages I filled. The comments I'd write grew more and more technical and complex as I gained experience. Starting out the comments clearly projected my simplistic understanding of everything. Then over time it evolved to the point I'm at now, where comments often include details such as "I forgot about the the AC bus tie delay which switching from external power to the APU generator, leading to my NAV data being erased right before taxi. How embarrasing!" It's heartwarming to look back at young middle-school-Decker flying a transatlantic flight, using nothing but direct GPS navigation, with as much passion as I still have today.
Of course, the most motivating aspect is that the dream is still alive. The thought that one day that gray notebook will be in my flight bag as I walk up three flights of stairs to a C-5 flight deck is what gets me out of bed in the morning. I can't wait for the day that my sim logbook is filled to the brim with adventures that capture my stories throughout life. I'm sure someday that gray notebook will be put up in clear view on a shelf in my house, right next to my prop and plaque of my license. It will be one of the relics I treasure, just like the wings on my chest. And someday when I'm old and retired I can open the book and read a few two-line comments and be taken back to the time I took a flight simulator checklist as seriously as I did in N2866W. My hope is that the logbook, just like the dream of flight, stays alive forever. Fortunately, I think it's looking promising.
But back to Monday night with Karen....
So I'm casually flipping through the logbook, reminiscing and enjoying my naive comments from seven years ago, and Karen notices a flight I logged that was 23 hours long. I ended up happily telling the story of the time Connor O'Leary and I flew the Kangaroo Route.
The Kangaroo Route is a historical route that links the United Kingdom with Australia, the significance being the extreme distance between London and Sydney.Well, one fine winter weekend when I was in 8th grade Connor O'Leary and I landed on the thought of doing the route on flight sim....online...without time acceleration. This would mean that one of us would have to be sitting at the computer (cockpit) communicating with online ATC for the entire 23 hours. If we'd start at 7pm on Friday, we'd be going until 6pm Saturday. That's a long ass flight.
We had shifts made up, granting the legal amount of rest per crew member. We had in flight food and entertainment stocked up in the room we were in. We had a detailed preflight, flight plan, fuel plan, checklist, etc. We had everything completely prepared for this flight, and then Friday came along and we really did do the flight. Unfortunately however, we had to call it short for a few reasons and we had to time accel the last few hours.
Now telling this to a normal girlfriend would result in her saying something like "that sounds awful, why do I date you?" But I keep forgetting that Karen is not most girlfriends. Instead of the expected response, Karen's eyes lit up like Time's Square as she begged me "Can we do that together!? That'd be such a fun date!" After a few moments of me questioning her unexpected enthusiasm, I obliged. So that's what Karen and I are doing this weekend.... The Kangaroo Route....on flight simulator...without time accel...for 23 hours.
But after I thought about if for a little bit I realized where her excitement came from. There's a feeling of security I get with being stuck on a plane with my best friends. It's a sense of euphoria caused by the act of going somewhere fused with the time you're forced to relax and enjoy yourself with the people around you. The longer the flight the better. I'd take a four month flight to Mars if it were possible. Granted that one of the longest flights in history is from London to Sydney, I can't help but feel that it doesn't get any better than that.
Taking off with zero weight to spare, a slow climbout, and eventually leveling off at cruising altitude where I can sit back in my chair with a smile knowing that there's another 22 and a half hours left is a feeling I crave, simulated or not. Then there's almost a day of being cut off from the world, something no one in society finds relaxing anymore. The first five minutes of each hour would be spent going through checklists to ensure the security of the flight, and the following 55 would be blissful downtime enjoying the qualities of having nothing to do. It's a therapeutic Lost at Sea mindset I have to go through to relieve some anxiety; add the miracle of flight, stretch it out over a day and call it a great weekend.
But just like my logbook, the true gravity of flying the virtual Kangaroo Route is primarily due to the dream that it one day might be real. Whether it be in the cargo hold of a C-17, in first class on a 747, or at my computer, Karen and I will always be making an effort to spend as much time in the air as practical. While today we navigate the dense simulated airways above virtual Heathrow, one day Captain Loyd will be walking around a Boeing parked at the international terminal of LAX. One day Karen and I will be non-revving on an adventure into the unknown. And even sooner, one day Karen and I will be clinking our plastic Delta cups together as we blast off into the comfort of the sky.
And that will be a good day in my book.
So put on some Owl City, this post is all about flying. Monday night, while Karen was over, I decided it'd be nice to flip through my flight sim logbook. I don't think I've ever blogged about my sim logbook. It's a document about as important to me as this blog. I understand it's not something everyone has or cherishes, it's quite strange to the average person to find out that I keep a huge part of my life in a fake logbook.
It all started when I was in 7th grade. It was right around the time of my first real flights and real hours, so for my birthday my Aunt Lisa gave me a nice hardback journal as a way for me to write down my flying experiences. It's honestly not best gift for a little 13 year old guy, but after letting it collect dust for a few months I found a use for it as a way to keep track and log the silly flights I did on flight simulator. At first I remember it being more of a courtesy to my family ("look Aunt Lisa I'm using your gift!"), but somehow the habit of ending every single simulator flight with a logbook entry stuck. After each flight I'd write down the departure and arrival airport, times, dates, aircraft, all pertinent information; then I'd scribble down a few generic comments about the flight. I then formed the tradition that to the right side of each entry I'd right "SIM" in capital letters. The hope was that when I grew too old for flight sim, I'd be able to write down my real life airline pilot adventures in the same book; while signing "REAL" instead.
What I love most about this story, is that even seven years later my flight sim adventure journal is still just as alive as the dream of it becoming real. But one thing I didn't realize as I spent summer days and nights logging two or three flights at a time, is that the two lines of comments I wrote perfectly captured my life at the time. The flights before a big vacation would have comments about my excitement for the upcoming trip. A simflight from Miami to Los Angeles might have a blip like, "Going to LAX in just 84 hours, I just HAD to pull a 767 simflight there." Flights during snowdays and three day weekends included comments about my appreciation for flying the virtual skies rather than sitting in school. On the contrary, it's easy to tell flights I did on a day after a high school girlfriend dumped me. Most comments have just enough written for me to remember a good story about the flight. For example I'm reminded of flights where I'd get to cruising alt and immediately minimize FS to chat online with Alex K. about girls. Going through the logbook I remember friends I made through virtual airlines, things happening in my life like getting my wisdom teeth removed, or just that I had a really good landing that flight.
My enthusiasm for learning new things about my profession and perfecting the art of the airways is completely immersed throughout the pages and pages I filled. The comments I'd write grew more and more technical and complex as I gained experience. Starting out the comments clearly projected my simplistic understanding of everything. Then over time it evolved to the point I'm at now, where comments often include details such as "I forgot about the the AC bus tie delay which switching from external power to the APU generator, leading to my NAV data being erased right before taxi. How embarrasing!" It's heartwarming to look back at young middle-school-Decker flying a transatlantic flight, using nothing but direct GPS navigation, with as much passion as I still have today.
Of course, the most motivating aspect is that the dream is still alive. The thought that one day that gray notebook will be in my flight bag as I walk up three flights of stairs to a C-5 flight deck is what gets me out of bed in the morning. I can't wait for the day that my sim logbook is filled to the brim with adventures that capture my stories throughout life. I'm sure someday that gray notebook will be put up in clear view on a shelf in my house, right next to my prop and plaque of my license. It will be one of the relics I treasure, just like the wings on my chest. And someday when I'm old and retired I can open the book and read a few two-line comments and be taken back to the time I took a flight simulator checklist as seriously as I did in N2866W. My hope is that the logbook, just like the dream of flight, stays alive forever. Fortunately, I think it's looking promising.
But back to Monday night with Karen....
So I'm casually flipping through the logbook, reminiscing and enjoying my naive comments from seven years ago, and Karen notices a flight I logged that was 23 hours long. I ended up happily telling the story of the time Connor O'Leary and I flew the Kangaroo Route.
The Kangaroo Route is a historical route that links the United Kingdom with Australia, the significance being the extreme distance between London and Sydney.Well, one fine winter weekend when I was in 8th grade Connor O'Leary and I landed on the thought of doing the route on flight sim....online...without time acceleration. This would mean that one of us would have to be sitting at the computer (cockpit) communicating with online ATC for the entire 23 hours. If we'd start at 7pm on Friday, we'd be going until 6pm Saturday. That's a long ass flight.
We had shifts made up, granting the legal amount of rest per crew member. We had in flight food and entertainment stocked up in the room we were in. We had a detailed preflight, flight plan, fuel plan, checklist, etc. We had everything completely prepared for this flight, and then Friday came along and we really did do the flight. Unfortunately however, we had to call it short for a few reasons and we had to time accel the last few hours.
Now telling this to a normal girlfriend would result in her saying something like "that sounds awful, why do I date you?" But I keep forgetting that Karen is not most girlfriends. Instead of the expected response, Karen's eyes lit up like Time's Square as she begged me "Can we do that together!? That'd be such a fun date!" After a few moments of me questioning her unexpected enthusiasm, I obliged. So that's what Karen and I are doing this weekend.... The Kangaroo Route....on flight simulator...without time accel...for 23 hours.
But after I thought about if for a little bit I realized where her excitement came from. There's a feeling of security I get with being stuck on a plane with my best friends. It's a sense of euphoria caused by the act of going somewhere fused with the time you're forced to relax and enjoy yourself with the people around you. The longer the flight the better. I'd take a four month flight to Mars if it were possible. Granted that one of the longest flights in history is from London to Sydney, I can't help but feel that it doesn't get any better than that.
Taking off with zero weight to spare, a slow climbout, and eventually leveling off at cruising altitude where I can sit back in my chair with a smile knowing that there's another 22 and a half hours left is a feeling I crave, simulated or not. Then there's almost a day of being cut off from the world, something no one in society finds relaxing anymore. The first five minutes of each hour would be spent going through checklists to ensure the security of the flight, and the following 55 would be blissful downtime enjoying the qualities of having nothing to do. It's a therapeutic Lost at Sea mindset I have to go through to relieve some anxiety; add the miracle of flight, stretch it out over a day and call it a great weekend.
But just like my logbook, the true gravity of flying the virtual Kangaroo Route is primarily due to the dream that it one day might be real. Whether it be in the cargo hold of a C-17, in first class on a 747, or at my computer, Karen and I will always be making an effort to spend as much time in the air as practical. While today we navigate the dense simulated airways above virtual Heathrow, one day Captain Loyd will be walking around a Boeing parked at the international terminal of LAX. One day Karen and I will be non-revving on an adventure into the unknown. And even sooner, one day Karen and I will be clinking our plastic Delta cups together as we blast off into the comfort of the sky.
And that will be a good day in my book.
Friday, September 6, 2013
The Seat to My Right
What's up world? Happy Friday. I'm going to take another shot at blogging since I kinda didn't do so well last post. Once I get out of the habit it's hard to get back in.
So the PMDG 777 came out a few days ago. What is the PMDG 777 you ask? It's like the most realistic airliner simulator available to the public to date, and it's like a hundred fucking dollars. Needless to say, I want it so bad; but I don't really want to pay for it. So we'll see how that plays out but I have a feeling that I'll be flying that bad boy by Christmas.
Part of the reason I want it so much, is due in part to how I spent my summer this year. Of course I had field training, and then took a three week road trip to Charleston, Miami, and Pittsburgh with Karen. But after all that it was still early July and I decided to put my efforts to flight simulator like I do summer after summer. I had a copy of the PMDG 747 (the second most realistic airliner simulator) and generally knew how to fly it.
However, this summer was a bit different because I had Karen; and after three weeks of vacationing with her she developed the idea that she could be my copilot in 7-4 to accompany me on all those 15 hour longhauls. I know right? Best girlfriend ever. So we spent many kratom filled nights working out standard operating procedures and checklists to maximize efficiency in the 747 virtual cockpit. With in a few nights we had 10 page checklists, preflight and route and fuel plan docs, ground navigation and taxi procedures; I mean we had each and every base covered. Despite my copilot being my girlfriend, it was literally the most realistic and educational way I could possibly play flight sim. And it was by far the most fun.
I'd taxi the giant as she read the airport diagram telling me how many taxiways before my turnoff on November-7. Each necessary button would be pressed at the exact time it was needed all the way up until takeoff. Cute little Karen was able to takeoff the queen of the skies at 100lbs under MTOW. I was quite proud. This shit was by the book and it was awesome. Then came the climbout and sooner or later the virtual seatbelt signs came off as we step-climbed to thinner air.
With auto-pilot on and the fuel system programmed, Karen and I would the flick on the T.V. for some Wormhole Wednesday or Airport 24/7 Miami (YEAH I KNOW THAT AWESOME SHOW STILL ISN'T CANCELED). Then after about 8 to 14 time-accelerated hours, we settle back into the cockpit for descent and arrival procedures. Karen the copilot is with me every step of the way as she gives me altitude reminders and checklist call-outs. If the weather's good enough she'll even take the yoke on approach, set up autoland, and get the plane down as I assume position of pilot #2. When the plane's stopped on the runway and we receive our taxi-in clearance, the captain steers while the copilot navigates just like in every cockpit in the world up to the point when we reach the gate. Then it's fuel control: off, beacon lights:off, ground power: connected, gate time: recorded, flight: complete, and that's what we do on a Saturday night instead of going to a party.
But there's a reason for that! Part of the reason playing Microsoft's Flight Simulator is so much fun on a date, I think is because of how much fun Karen and I consistently have when traveling in real life. On the occasion that Karen and I are seated next to each other on a flight to God-knows-where, life simply couldn't be better. Whether we're making drinks from the bar we sneaked through security in our carry-on, making friends, or teaching Karen about the approach procedures into Atlanta; hours fly by and there's no place in the world I'd rather be.
For example, I hope when Karen and I fly to SLC this winter we can get a pretty good flight and enjoy the day as much as possible. We're trying to work it out with my parents to get on a longer-layover (better) flight while my parents fly as nonstop as possible. That way we can bar-hop in the mile-long McNamara terminal or perhaps spend a few hours on the international side of Hartsfield-Jackson. I think I'd be lying if I said I wasn't more excited about flying with my fun little copilot than skiing one of the best mountains in the world.
I feel like I blog about this a lot. Until I was 19, nothing in the world made me happier than being in the window seat of a plane. I now realize that the only thing that really could top it is Karen in the seat to my right. Now a flight to LAX is pointless in my eyes if Karen isn't next to me day-drinking, sharing my ipod, and asking "what plane is that?" An extra requirement was added to my favorite thing in the world.
Unfortunately Karen and I aren't rich enough to buy a plane ticket to cross the pond every time we feel like it. Sooner or later, made possible in part by non-rev and space-a adventures, we will be able to. But in the mean time the closest I can come to replicating the exciting sensation of traveling with my best friend is with flight simulator. Even if it's not 100% real, I still have the most important reagent which is Karen in the seat to my right.
For someone who's logged 2,500 hours since he started sailing the virtual skies in 7th grade, this past summer was just too much fun. So to tell me that PMDG came out with a 777 is to tell me that there's a new checklist to customize, a new fuel system to learn, new longhaul routes to master, and more relaxing nights blissfully spent with my copilot.
K I gotta go to class. Until next time.
So the PMDG 777 came out a few days ago. What is the PMDG 777 you ask? It's like the most realistic airliner simulator available to the public to date, and it's like a hundred fucking dollars. Needless to say, I want it so bad; but I don't really want to pay for it. So we'll see how that plays out but I have a feeling that I'll be flying that bad boy by Christmas.
Part of the reason I want it so much, is due in part to how I spent my summer this year. Of course I had field training, and then took a three week road trip to Charleston, Miami, and Pittsburgh with Karen. But after all that it was still early July and I decided to put my efforts to flight simulator like I do summer after summer. I had a copy of the PMDG 747 (the second most realistic airliner simulator) and generally knew how to fly it.
However, this summer was a bit different because I had Karen; and after three weeks of vacationing with her she developed the idea that she could be my copilot in 7-4 to accompany me on all those 15 hour longhauls. I know right? Best girlfriend ever. So we spent many kratom filled nights working out standard operating procedures and checklists to maximize efficiency in the 747 virtual cockpit. With in a few nights we had 10 page checklists, preflight and route and fuel plan docs, ground navigation and taxi procedures; I mean we had each and every base covered. Despite my copilot being my girlfriend, it was literally the most realistic and educational way I could possibly play flight sim. And it was by far the most fun.
I'd taxi the giant as she read the airport diagram telling me how many taxiways before my turnoff on November-7. Each necessary button would be pressed at the exact time it was needed all the way up until takeoff. Cute little Karen was able to takeoff the queen of the skies at 100lbs under MTOW. I was quite proud. This shit was by the book and it was awesome. Then came the climbout and sooner or later the virtual seatbelt signs came off as we step-climbed to thinner air.
With auto-pilot on and the fuel system programmed, Karen and I would the flick on the T.V. for some Wormhole Wednesday or Airport 24/7 Miami (YEAH I KNOW THAT AWESOME SHOW STILL ISN'T CANCELED). Then after about 8 to 14 time-accelerated hours, we settle back into the cockpit for descent and arrival procedures. Karen the copilot is with me every step of the way as she gives me altitude reminders and checklist call-outs. If the weather's good enough she'll even take the yoke on approach, set up autoland, and get the plane down as I assume position of pilot #2. When the plane's stopped on the runway and we receive our taxi-in clearance, the captain steers while the copilot navigates just like in every cockpit in the world up to the point when we reach the gate. Then it's fuel control: off, beacon lights:off, ground power: connected, gate time: recorded, flight: complete, and that's what we do on a Saturday night instead of going to a party.
But there's a reason for that! Part of the reason playing Microsoft's Flight Simulator is so much fun on a date, I think is because of how much fun Karen and I consistently have when traveling in real life. On the occasion that Karen and I are seated next to each other on a flight to God-knows-where, life simply couldn't be better. Whether we're making drinks from the bar we sneaked through security in our carry-on, making friends, or teaching Karen about the approach procedures into Atlanta; hours fly by and there's no place in the world I'd rather be.
For example, I hope when Karen and I fly to SLC this winter we can get a pretty good flight and enjoy the day as much as possible. We're trying to work it out with my parents to get on a longer-layover (better) flight while my parents fly as nonstop as possible. That way we can bar-hop in the mile-long McNamara terminal or perhaps spend a few hours on the international side of Hartsfield-Jackson. I think I'd be lying if I said I wasn't more excited about flying with my fun little copilot than skiing one of the best mountains in the world.
I feel like I blog about this a lot. Until I was 19, nothing in the world made me happier than being in the window seat of a plane. I now realize that the only thing that really could top it is Karen in the seat to my right. Now a flight to LAX is pointless in my eyes if Karen isn't next to me day-drinking, sharing my ipod, and asking "what plane is that?" An extra requirement was added to my favorite thing in the world.
Unfortunately Karen and I aren't rich enough to buy a plane ticket to cross the pond every time we feel like it. Sooner or later, made possible in part by non-rev and space-a adventures, we will be able to. But in the mean time the closest I can come to replicating the exciting sensation of traveling with my best friend is with flight simulator. Even if it's not 100% real, I still have the most important reagent which is Karen in the seat to my right.
For someone who's logged 2,500 hours since he started sailing the virtual skies in 7th grade, this past summer was just too much fun. So to tell me that PMDG came out with a 777 is to tell me that there's a new checklist to customize, a new fuel system to learn, new longhaul routes to master, and more relaxing nights blissfully spent with my copilot.
K I gotta go to class. Until next time.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
I'll have to try again tomorrow
What's up world? Been a long time since I've last blogged. Lot's has changed. Went to field training, went to Miami again, enjoyed my summer to the best of my ability. And now I'm back at UK in Kirwan Tower as an RA again.
I'm just kicking back to some house music at the moment. I logged into my blog and found that I have over 220 posts and somehow 3,800 page views. As in like my blog has been read almost 4,000 times. That's a lot. I feel like that number is less than accurate.
I honestly can't deal with this internet. I don't understand how the dorms cost this much fucking money and they can't even get internet squared away. I can't even check out new music on YouTube without incessant loading and frustration.
Sorry this blogpost is moving so slow. I kind of forgot how to do it. I'm reading stuff I wrote last August to refresh my mind. Okay I just read like four or five old posts. I used to be really good at smacking down a few thousand words about my life that give me goosebumps every time I revisit them.
Unfortunately my thoughts are extremely scattered. I think I need some coffee to keep myself focused enough on one post. I'm gonna leave this posts as a failure and just accept that I'll have to try again tomorrow. Until then...
I'm just kicking back to some house music at the moment. I logged into my blog and found that I have over 220 posts and somehow 3,800 page views. As in like my blog has been read almost 4,000 times. That's a lot. I feel like that number is less than accurate.
I honestly can't deal with this internet. I don't understand how the dorms cost this much fucking money and they can't even get internet squared away. I can't even check out new music on YouTube without incessant loading and frustration.
Sorry this blogpost is moving so slow. I kind of forgot how to do it. I'm reading stuff I wrote last August to refresh my mind. Okay I just read like four or five old posts. I used to be really good at smacking down a few thousand words about my life that give me goosebumps every time I revisit them.
Unfortunately my thoughts are extremely scattered. I think I need some coffee to keep myself focused enough on one post. I'm gonna leave this posts as a failure and just accept that I'll have to try again tomorrow. Until then...
Monday, April 22, 2013
Quick Stop: 18 to party, 21 to drink.
What's up world? Is everyone having a good Monday? I sure hope so. I've been studying a decent portion of the day, calculus and physics and circuits, and decided to crank out a cool blog post before riding off to my Air Force meeting.
I forgot how much I love finals week. Last semester it was a little rough since I had such a hard time with Calculus II, but now that I've been fairly able to stay on top of all my classes for the past three months my finals week should be nice. All that needs to be done is some studying here and there to ensure you're prepared, and then you take the test which takes like two hours, and then you're done! You just get to chill for the rest of finals week! How clutch is that? No work, no class, no PT, no nothing! You just take the exams and spend the rest of the time chilling. I love it.
I wanted to tell you today about the Common's Quick Stop. It's a shitty little whole in the wall underneath the stairwell that leads to South Campus. It's a simple little grocery store that doesn't have anything but the absolute bare essentials, and then it overprices the hell out of the few necessities it does have. Last year, living at Kirwan Tower, I shopped at the Quick Stop quite a bit. I'd spend up my flex and although the prices were enough to cringe over, the convenience and fact that my flex is useless unless I spend it made it worth shopping there.
But goddamn was it shitty. It had this 60-something-year-old pothead working the counter, the counter itself looked like it was about to fall apart if you nudged it too hard, everything was usually almost expired or on the verge of being stale; it was kind of like a 100 square foot Walmart without there being "always low prices, always". The Common's Quick Stop was a get in, get out type of place with a similar depressing atmosphere to a gas station.
But I guess UK dining pushed a little bit more money towards the Quick Stop in the past few months because it has improved to a remarkable extent. The initial changes came in the layout of the store, making the best use possible of the space to provide more room for a wider variety of goodies. Next came a sound system, like, an actually decent area-system. They started having sales and daily specials and a whole big plethora of marketing ploys which, when comparing to last years Quick Stop, seemed like a bit of overkill. Their latest addition is a smoothie maker. A FUCKING SMOOTHIE MAKER. It's a nice one too; it has shaved ice and multiple compartments and it lights up and talks and shit. Quick Stop really went all out.
As I watched Quick Stop evolve into this vibrant venue blasting rap music and pouring drinks, I noticed something precarious. If you look closely at the sales Quick Stop makes, it initially seems harmless. However the weekend sales are deals like half off on orange juice, Hawaiian punch, Coke, condoms, and (get this) Ibuprofen. Are you noticing a trend with the weekend sales? Perhaps that everything on sale is a product directly related to drinking?
Let's just put ourselves in the shoes of a freshman living on South Campus on a Friday night. Let's say we're going to do some drinking tonight. What are we going to need for a successful night of drinking? First we'll need mixers, orange juice, fruit punch, and coke would be perfect! Then, let's see, we'll need some condoms in case we get lucky; and when Sunday morning rolls around Ibuprofen will be a lifesaver.
We'll shit, when it's laid out like that it almost seems like Quick Stop is marketing off college freshman drinking in the dorms. But let's continue out hypothetical story.
So as we're in Quick Stop stocking up on mixers and condoms for our K-Tower party, we can't help but notice the big-ass smoothie machine. Boy, a smoothie sounds nice right now. A big colorful sign above the counter proudly displays the 15-or-so types of smoothies offered. Included is"Toro Loco" (redbull frosty), Strawberry Paradise (virgin daiquiri), Margaritaville (virgin margarita), among several others.
I have honestly seen Miami nightclubs with smaller drink menus than the Quick Stop. Honestly if you go through the list of smoothies Quick Stop sells flavor by flavor, each can be made into a popular and tasty cocktail with the simple addition of alcohol.
So rebellious freshman, ready to bang the rules and drink on campus, have it made at Quick Stop. They get discounts on mixers, a fucking cocktail bar, they're bumping rap music, and it's open until 11pm. They sell everything you need to party except the actual alcohol. And I think that's funny as shit.
My question is, when are they planning on stopping? If they continue improving and fostering dumbass college freshman they're gonna turn into a speakeasy! I can imagine in a few years walking to Quick Stop on a Friday night and seeing a red velvet rope herding a mass of sorostitutes dressed in their tightest skirt and guys rocking polo's with the collars popped who are all desperate to get into Club Quick Stop. The pounding house music can be heard from the Johnson Center, the line is a block long, the 60 year old pothead has turned into a bouncer, and that shitty little counter has turned into a full bar.
"What're you guys doing tonight?"
"Oh we're gonna try to get into Club Quick Stop, we're tryna party."
"Better leave early, that place fills up."
"Word."
Ok well that's a stretch, but they are getting a little ridiculous with their catering to drinking. With the campus-wide alcohol ban, it's a distant but present possibility for Quick Stop to start selling Mike's Hard. That's the world I would someday like to live in.
K I'm out. Air Force meeting. Until next time...
I forgot how much I love finals week. Last semester it was a little rough since I had such a hard time with Calculus II, but now that I've been fairly able to stay on top of all my classes for the past three months my finals week should be nice. All that needs to be done is some studying here and there to ensure you're prepared, and then you take the test which takes like two hours, and then you're done! You just get to chill for the rest of finals week! How clutch is that? No work, no class, no PT, no nothing! You just take the exams and spend the rest of the time chilling. I love it.
I wanted to tell you today about the Common's Quick Stop. It's a shitty little whole in the wall underneath the stairwell that leads to South Campus. It's a simple little grocery store that doesn't have anything but the absolute bare essentials, and then it overprices the hell out of the few necessities it does have. Last year, living at Kirwan Tower, I shopped at the Quick Stop quite a bit. I'd spend up my flex and although the prices were enough to cringe over, the convenience and fact that my flex is useless unless I spend it made it worth shopping there.
But goddamn was it shitty. It had this 60-something-year-old pothead working the counter, the counter itself looked like it was about to fall apart if you nudged it too hard, everything was usually almost expired or on the verge of being stale; it was kind of like a 100 square foot Walmart without there being "always low prices, always". The Common's Quick Stop was a get in, get out type of place with a similar depressing atmosphere to a gas station.
But I guess UK dining pushed a little bit more money towards the Quick Stop in the past few months because it has improved to a remarkable extent. The initial changes came in the layout of the store, making the best use possible of the space to provide more room for a wider variety of goodies. Next came a sound system, like, an actually decent area-system. They started having sales and daily specials and a whole big plethora of marketing ploys which, when comparing to last years Quick Stop, seemed like a bit of overkill. Their latest addition is a smoothie maker. A FUCKING SMOOTHIE MAKER. It's a nice one too; it has shaved ice and multiple compartments and it lights up and talks and shit. Quick Stop really went all out.
As I watched Quick Stop evolve into this vibrant venue blasting rap music and pouring drinks, I noticed something precarious. If you look closely at the sales Quick Stop makes, it initially seems harmless. However the weekend sales are deals like half off on orange juice, Hawaiian punch, Coke, condoms, and (get this) Ibuprofen. Are you noticing a trend with the weekend sales? Perhaps that everything on sale is a product directly related to drinking?
Let's just put ourselves in the shoes of a freshman living on South Campus on a Friday night. Let's say we're going to do some drinking tonight. What are we going to need for a successful night of drinking? First we'll need mixers, orange juice, fruit punch, and coke would be perfect! Then, let's see, we'll need some condoms in case we get lucky; and when Sunday morning rolls around Ibuprofen will be a lifesaver.
We'll shit, when it's laid out like that it almost seems like Quick Stop is marketing off college freshman drinking in the dorms. But let's continue out hypothetical story.
So as we're in Quick Stop stocking up on mixers and condoms for our K-Tower party, we can't help but notice the big-ass smoothie machine. Boy, a smoothie sounds nice right now. A big colorful sign above the counter proudly displays the 15-or-so types of smoothies offered. Included is"Toro Loco" (redbull frosty), Strawberry Paradise (virgin daiquiri), Margaritaville (virgin margarita), among several others.
I have honestly seen Miami nightclubs with smaller drink menus than the Quick Stop. Honestly if you go through the list of smoothies Quick Stop sells flavor by flavor, each can be made into a popular and tasty cocktail with the simple addition of alcohol.
So rebellious freshman, ready to bang the rules and drink on campus, have it made at Quick Stop. They get discounts on mixers, a fucking cocktail bar, they're bumping rap music, and it's open until 11pm. They sell everything you need to party except the actual alcohol. And I think that's funny as shit.
My question is, when are they planning on stopping? If they continue improving and fostering dumbass college freshman they're gonna turn into a speakeasy! I can imagine in a few years walking to Quick Stop on a Friday night and seeing a red velvet rope herding a mass of sorostitutes dressed in their tightest skirt and guys rocking polo's with the collars popped who are all desperate to get into Club Quick Stop. The pounding house music can be heard from the Johnson Center, the line is a block long, the 60 year old pothead has turned into a bouncer, and that shitty little counter has turned into a full bar.
"What're you guys doing tonight?"
"Oh we're gonna try to get into Club Quick Stop, we're tryna party."
"Better leave early, that place fills up."
"Word."
Ok well that's a stretch, but they are getting a little ridiculous with their catering to drinking. With the campus-wide alcohol ban, it's a distant but present possibility for Quick Stop to start selling Mike's Hard. That's the world I would someday like to live in.
K I'm out. Air Force meeting. Until next time...
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Decker-OUT
What's up world? I don't have much time to blog this afternoon but I thought I might as well. I had a calculus exam this morning. I don't think I did too hot. This means I'll have to really bang the final to pull off a B. Hopefully it won't be a problem.
Remember the show How I Met Your Mother? It's a good show. Well over the short course of my life so far I've always kind of realized something interesting about the show. It's my favorite show of course, offering the perfect balance of dramatic romance, off-the-wall comedy, and thought-provoking ideas. The show often brings about little theories of life. Some are true, some aren't. It makes me realize things about my life that parallel to the show, and in many ways blessed.
But one theme of the series I've noticed seems to downplay the rest. It seems to be the ultimate irony of the show, and perhaps a thought intentionally embedded into the show by the writers. Let me explain...
The show has five main characters along with several others that come and go. I've noticed that each character, especially in the beginning, is an archetype. Barney is the epitome of the womanizer, Marshall and Lily are the epitome of the lasting relationship, and Ted is the epitome of the desperate bachelor. Like all fans of the show, I spent much of my high school comparing myself to one character. "Ted is so much like me! We both do crazy things and are just trying to find a girlfriend!"
Then some things happened and my ego evolved and I stopped seeing similarities between Ted and I. I soon grew into Barney. No girl was worth my time, and it's because I was AWESOME! Just like Barney! Decker-OUT. The things I did, the stories I told, really my entire personality was dictated off of Decker Loyd being awesome, in a way living up to my suit and scotch wielding role model.
Things all changed once more when my "no girl is worth is" mentality was immediately discontinued by a girl who finally was worth it. As time went on, I realized I'm not actually like Ted or Barney or any other character on HIMYM. They're just characters on a show for entertainment value. But after a couple of years my life began to parallel the show again, this time assuming the role of Marshall. My attempts at being awesome like Barney faded into realizing that my awesomeness has doubled with the addition of a companion to go on adventures with. Secret handshakes, stories of Miami and Morocco, and Saturday nights spent staying in are all shared with a girl; and that's what now makes me happy instead of going to Bardstown Road to pick up girls and make every effort to be awesome in the eyes of strangers.
But that then makes me realize something about HIMYM. The characters are such archetypes for a reason. They're the several sides of a person in their youth as the find out what they want from life. It seems almost everyone goes through a womanizer phase, a desperate bachelor phase, and hopefully at least a few years of happiness shared with a partner in crime. If you took all the main characters from the show, all of their goofy traits that distinguish them so well on television, and combined them into one individual, you'd have a genuine person going through life.
Albeit, this is just my theory behind the show and how it parallels real life. It's all just more information that goes into the massive equation that describes "life". I'm getting close to figuring it all out, and once I do I'll be sure to make a blog post about it. But until then all I have is a bunch of little isolated pieces that keep me preoccupied. Until next time...
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Bro-stown Road
What's up world? It's a beautiful day outside but I'm stuck inside doing a little bit of homework. I decided to take a little break to blog. Today's topic: Bardstown Road.
Bardstown Road (abbreviated to B-town or BTR) is an interesting destination. Located in the "Highlands" of Louisville, it had a peculiar involvement in my teenage years. It all started at Doug's house one night, early in the summer, shortly after I had returned from my Honduras 'mission' trip.
That summer, Doug's house was quite the bro-hub. It was the summer between junior and senior year, perhaps one of the best summers of my life for various reasons. Everyone started driving late sophomore year, but it wasn't really until the late junior year into that summer when everyone had a car and a license and the American teenager truly became free. With a car came the need of a destination, and in the beginning that destination was Doug's house. Some guys and I would head over to the Harville residence. We'd play Super Smash Brothers and laugh and joke about girls and dream cars and parents whose curfew rules began to be a bother.
A few nights a week we'd make the drive over to Doug's house and enjoy the company of several bros; Cameron and Troy were the most notable. I remember those nights fondly, but it was really the last time playing videogames in the basement with a group of friends would really suffice as a fun night. One night, Cameron threw a curve ball into the mix by mentioning Bardstown Road. Cameron and Troy had been a few times, and was looking for more company.
The way it was described made so much sense to my tender 17 year old persona. When going out at night, the 21 and ups go to bars and clubs. The 18 and ups were typically in college and masterminds of the party industry and had a house party to be at every night. Lastly the cool high school seniors, who weren't quite in college but still mature enough to want to do something at night, had Bardstown Road.
It was the high school party district of Louisville. With Atherton right around the corner, tons of mansions housing high school seniors whose rich parents were never home, and a lively environment to meet the opposite sex, BTR was the place to be on a summer night. Cameron talked it up quite a bit to Doug and I, saying it's single guy heaven. It's where the single guys dress up to meet the single girls who are dressed up to meet the single guys. And if you're looking for a solid high school house party to attend, the invitations come by the plentiful.
So I decided to try it out. On July 4th I believe it was, I drove down to BTR to meet Troy and Cameron and in the process made countless new friends. I was inducted into the culture of summer vacation on Bardstown Road. As promised, the party invitations came almost nightly and the girls came ready to mingle. I ended up making good friends with a guy named Nathan. He and I soon were partners in crime. We'd carpool to Eastern Parkway, wingman for each other all night, and when one of us received a party invite, we both did.
The routine became an every-night thing. I'd get off work at the waterpark at about 8:30, I'd drive home and change and throw on cologne and get ready for the night. By 9:00 to 9:15 I was driving to Nathan's house to pick him up. The whole drive would be spent blasting music from my sound system, cruising BTR from Hurstbourne to Eastern. Once parked and arrived, the night would be spent flirting with girls, stopping by parties, and listening to music one of the thirty patios scattered about.
By August, Nathan and I were such regulars that our names were quite known across the BTR wilderness. It was great. A guy like me on Bardstown with a sound system in his car felt like the high school equivalent of a high roller popping bottles on South Beach with his Ferarri parked out front. It accumulated many stories for me to tell. Every night when I'd get back by my 12:30am curfew, I popped online to chat with Alex about my adventures for the night. Conversations often began with "YOU WILL NEVER FUCKING BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED AT BTR TONIGHT". Some of those chat conversations are saved on my computer for my future enjoyment. BTR was a good time to be had by a 17 year old cocky son of a bitch going into his senior year of high school.
But sooner or later, the charm wore off. As the season ended and the weather changed along with my responsibilities, I grew out of Bardstown Road. It was heaven on Earth (or at least in Louisville) for a senior in high school, but once I saw what the rest of the world had to offer, BTR couldn't keep hold of my attention. After several months of spending every opportunity at BTR, I simply stopped going. In the past three years I may have gone two or three times.
Just the other day Geoff, a fellow RA, and I were talking about us having to hang out over the summer at some point. We both somehow landed on spending a night indulging in the Bardstown Road. So I guess we'll see how that goes in a few weeks. Anyway, enjoy your Tuesday. Until next time...
Bardstown Road (abbreviated to B-town or BTR) is an interesting destination. Located in the "Highlands" of Louisville, it had a peculiar involvement in my teenage years. It all started at Doug's house one night, early in the summer, shortly after I had returned from my Honduras 'mission' trip.
That summer, Doug's house was quite the bro-hub. It was the summer between junior and senior year, perhaps one of the best summers of my life for various reasons. Everyone started driving late sophomore year, but it wasn't really until the late junior year into that summer when everyone had a car and a license and the American teenager truly became free. With a car came the need of a destination, and in the beginning that destination was Doug's house. Some guys and I would head over to the Harville residence. We'd play Super Smash Brothers and laugh and joke about girls and dream cars and parents whose curfew rules began to be a bother.
A few nights a week we'd make the drive over to Doug's house and enjoy the company of several bros; Cameron and Troy were the most notable. I remember those nights fondly, but it was really the last time playing videogames in the basement with a group of friends would really suffice as a fun night. One night, Cameron threw a curve ball into the mix by mentioning Bardstown Road. Cameron and Troy had been a few times, and was looking for more company.
The way it was described made so much sense to my tender 17 year old persona. When going out at night, the 21 and ups go to bars and clubs. The 18 and ups were typically in college and masterminds of the party industry and had a house party to be at every night. Lastly the cool high school seniors, who weren't quite in college but still mature enough to want to do something at night, had Bardstown Road.
It was the high school party district of Louisville. With Atherton right around the corner, tons of mansions housing high school seniors whose rich parents were never home, and a lively environment to meet the opposite sex, BTR was the place to be on a summer night. Cameron talked it up quite a bit to Doug and I, saying it's single guy heaven. It's where the single guys dress up to meet the single girls who are dressed up to meet the single guys. And if you're looking for a solid high school house party to attend, the invitations come by the plentiful.
So I decided to try it out. On July 4th I believe it was, I drove down to BTR to meet Troy and Cameron and in the process made countless new friends. I was inducted into the culture of summer vacation on Bardstown Road. As promised, the party invitations came almost nightly and the girls came ready to mingle. I ended up making good friends with a guy named Nathan. He and I soon were partners in crime. We'd carpool to Eastern Parkway, wingman for each other all night, and when one of us received a party invite, we both did.
The routine became an every-night thing. I'd get off work at the waterpark at about 8:30, I'd drive home and change and throw on cologne and get ready for the night. By 9:00 to 9:15 I was driving to Nathan's house to pick him up. The whole drive would be spent blasting music from my sound system, cruising BTR from Hurstbourne to Eastern. Once parked and arrived, the night would be spent flirting with girls, stopping by parties, and listening to music one of the thirty patios scattered about.
By August, Nathan and I were such regulars that our names were quite known across the BTR wilderness. It was great. A guy like me on Bardstown with a sound system in his car felt like the high school equivalent of a high roller popping bottles on South Beach with his Ferarri parked out front. It accumulated many stories for me to tell. Every night when I'd get back by my 12:30am curfew, I popped online to chat with Alex about my adventures for the night. Conversations often began with "YOU WILL NEVER FUCKING BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED AT BTR TONIGHT". Some of those chat conversations are saved on my computer for my future enjoyment. BTR was a good time to be had by a 17 year old cocky son of a bitch going into his senior year of high school.
But sooner or later, the charm wore off. As the season ended and the weather changed along with my responsibilities, I grew out of Bardstown Road. It was heaven on Earth (or at least in Louisville) for a senior in high school, but once I saw what the rest of the world had to offer, BTR couldn't keep hold of my attention. After several months of spending every opportunity at BTR, I simply stopped going. In the past three years I may have gone two or three times.
Just the other day Geoff, a fellow RA, and I were talking about us having to hang out over the summer at some point. We both somehow landed on spending a night indulging in the Bardstown Road. So I guess we'll see how that goes in a few weeks. Anyway, enjoy your Tuesday. Until next time...
Monday, April 15, 2013
Enjoy Your Juice THE SEQUEL
What's up world? I'm sitting here at the front desk of Haggin, at work of course. I just put the finishing touches on my 7 page research paper for anthropology. Anthropology is stupid by the way, in case you were wondering what my thoughts were on that. But I'm enrolled in the course, so I gotta fucking do the work no matter how stupid and made up it really is.
I'm really hungry. I'm gonna run up to my room and grab a sandwich and apple juice for me to enjoy down here whilst I write. Be right back. I'm back, with a sandwich and apple juice.
It's an interesting story about this apple juice. Do you remember a few months back when I blogged about eating breakfast at the Wildcat Lodge? Well it's linked up there if you don't. Anyway, that was written almost three months ago. I've eaten breakfast there at least twice a week since then. It's become so habitual for me, that I'm start to forget to realize how awesome it is every morning. I just walk in, nod at the basketball team, get my breakfast, watch some Sportscenter, grab five or six bottles of apple juice, and ride the Ninja back to Haggin.
So this neatly leads into the story about the apple juice. All over campus, they sell these little 10 ounce bottles of apple or orange juice. I'm a huge fan; it's the perfect amount of juice for a little snack in the afternoon. The only problem, however, is that they charge a whole fucking two dollars a pop! That's like a quarter per sip! Apple juice at this university literally goes for 26$/gallon. Is apple juice really eight times more valuable than gasoline? I can't be the only person who thinks the price of juice is a bit steep.
Fortunately though I have found a loophole. I have found a way out of the vice-grip this university has on the enthusiastic juice-drinkers' balls. I feel as if I have escaped the oppression the university has created with its unruly price gouging. Let me explain...
At the Wildcat Lodge restaurant, is an unlimited supply of apple juice, orange juice, and milk. As long as you're able to gain access to the secret world of the Wildcat Lodge, you're granted permission to withdraw from the endless beverage surplus. So naturally, at the end of my breakfast, the rebel churning inside me would act out and take an apple juice for later consumption in the privacy of my castle dorm room.
But you see, the badass-outlaw life is an addicting one. Sooner or later, stealing just one 10-oz apple juice from the basketball players wasn't enough to sustain the high I got off acting out to the university. In order to feel the same numbing sensational rush of adrenaline and excitement as previous Wednesday and Monday mornings, I needed more and more! One apple juice lead to two, two lead to three apple juices and a milk. This escalation continued until I got to the low point I'm at now.
Breakfast at Wildcat Lodge isn't about the food anymore. It isn't about the sweet catering ladies who come running to nurture your every need and want. It isn't even about the NBA players or media vans that are sometimes parked outside, wondering who you are to be awesome enough to eat with the UK basketball team. All of those treats just whet my appetite for the true obsession and addiction that consumes me during breakfast: apple juice.
Before I even put my backpack on the back of my seat and hanging up my jacket, I've already been to the apple juice cooler. Before any food has hit my plate, there are at least 20 ounces of sweet apple nectar resting on the bottom of my bag. After one round of food, I'm off to the juice cooler for my second heist in ten minutes. While Jill, the waitress, is off looking somewhere else distracted, I fit as many bottles of my medicine into my fists. One or two in each hand is typically all I can handle at one time.
Finally with nearly half a gallon of apple juice in my bag, dampening my notebooks with fresh, cool condensation; I am nearly satisfied. I eat my Greek pineapple cocktail yogurt while I plan out how I will acquire even more apple juice. On my way out, I make one last juice run, taking as much as I can without raising suspicion.
Just then, as I reach my arm deep into the ice digging through orange juice after orange juice trying to find at least one more apple juice to calm my craving, I hear Jill call out my name in a hushed tone. Shit. I've been caught. My reign of apple juice theft ends here. It's all over. What's my life come to? What does my future hold? Rehab? The dangerous streets and increasing involvement in a deadly apple juice trade? I put my head down and withdraw my hand from the juice cooler, before turning around to face my captor.
Jill's disappointed face calmly utters a phrase I wasn't expecting or prepared for. "Do you want one of the big things of apple juice to take home with you? I'm only supposed to give it to players but you're welcome to some if you want." I smile and nod, accepting two 25-oz bottles of juice. "Holy shit" I think,"Jill's in on it." Walking out of the lodge, I look into my bag weighed down with eight pounds of apple juice in shame. I ride back to my castle and pack as much of the apple juice into my fridge as I'm able.
Before packing up for my Monday morning classes I think to myself, "That'll last me 'til Wednesday....
...I hope."
Until next time.
I'm really hungry. I'm gonna run up to my room and grab a sandwich and apple juice for me to enjoy down here whilst I write. Be right back. I'm back, with a sandwich and apple juice.
It's an interesting story about this apple juice. Do you remember a few months back when I blogged about eating breakfast at the Wildcat Lodge? Well it's linked up there if you don't. Anyway, that was written almost three months ago. I've eaten breakfast there at least twice a week since then. It's become so habitual for me, that I'm start to forget to realize how awesome it is every morning. I just walk in, nod at the basketball team, get my breakfast, watch some Sportscenter, grab five or six bottles of apple juice, and ride the Ninja back to Haggin.So this neatly leads into the story about the apple juice. All over campus, they sell these little 10 ounce bottles of apple or orange juice. I'm a huge fan; it's the perfect amount of juice for a little snack in the afternoon. The only problem, however, is that they charge a whole fucking two dollars a pop! That's like a quarter per sip! Apple juice at this university literally goes for 26$/gallon. Is apple juice really eight times more valuable than gasoline? I can't be the only person who thinks the price of juice is a bit steep.
Fortunately though I have found a loophole. I have found a way out of the vice-grip this university has on the enthusiastic juice-drinkers' balls. I feel as if I have escaped the oppression the university has created with its unruly price gouging. Let me explain...
At the Wildcat Lodge restaurant, is an unlimited supply of apple juice, orange juice, and milk. As long as you're able to gain access to the secret world of the Wildcat Lodge, you're granted permission to withdraw from the endless beverage surplus. So naturally, at the end of my breakfast, the rebel churning inside me would act out and take an apple juice for later consumption in the privacy of my castle dorm room.
But you see, the badass-outlaw life is an addicting one. Sooner or later, stealing just one 10-oz apple juice from the basketball players wasn't enough to sustain the high I got off acting out to the university. In order to feel the same numbing sensational rush of adrenaline and excitement as previous Wednesday and Monday mornings, I needed more and more! One apple juice lead to two, two lead to three apple juices and a milk. This escalation continued until I got to the low point I'm at now.
Breakfast at Wildcat Lodge isn't about the food anymore. It isn't about the sweet catering ladies who come running to nurture your every need and want. It isn't even about the NBA players or media vans that are sometimes parked outside, wondering who you are to be awesome enough to eat with the UK basketball team. All of those treats just whet my appetite for the true obsession and addiction that consumes me during breakfast: apple juice.
Before I even put my backpack on the back of my seat and hanging up my jacket, I've already been to the apple juice cooler. Before any food has hit my plate, there are at least 20 ounces of sweet apple nectar resting on the bottom of my bag. After one round of food, I'm off to the juice cooler for my second heist in ten minutes. While Jill, the waitress, is off looking somewhere else distracted, I fit as many bottles of my medicine into my fists. One or two in each hand is typically all I can handle at one time.
Finally with nearly half a gallon of apple juice in my bag, dampening my notebooks with fresh, cool condensation; I am nearly satisfied. I eat my Greek pineapple cocktail yogurt while I plan out how I will acquire even more apple juice. On my way out, I make one last juice run, taking as much as I can without raising suspicion.
Just then, as I reach my arm deep into the ice digging through orange juice after orange juice trying to find at least one more apple juice to calm my craving, I hear Jill call out my name in a hushed tone. Shit. I've been caught. My reign of apple juice theft ends here. It's all over. What's my life come to? What does my future hold? Rehab? The dangerous streets and increasing involvement in a deadly apple juice trade? I put my head down and withdraw my hand from the juice cooler, before turning around to face my captor.
Jill's disappointed face calmly utters a phrase I wasn't expecting or prepared for. "Do you want one of the big things of apple juice to take home with you? I'm only supposed to give it to players but you're welcome to some if you want." I smile and nod, accepting two 25-oz bottles of juice. "Holy shit" I think,"Jill's in on it." Walking out of the lodge, I look into my bag weighed down with eight pounds of apple juice in shame. I ride back to my castle and pack as much of the apple juice into my fridge as I'm able.
Before packing up for my Monday morning classes I think to myself, "That'll last me 'til Wednesday....
...I hope."
Until next time.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Pocket kit
What's up world? It's been a little while since I've last blogged. I apologize for that. Anyway it's finally Spring, it took it's damn time but now it's like 75 and sunny out all week which is fantastic. This morning I checked the weather and happily saw that it was mid-70's at 10 in the morning for my walk to class. Like all other mornings, as I left my room I squeezed my left pocket to ensure every piece critical to my existence was on me.
Obviously I always keep my phone and wallet on me, but there's always a few random items that end up getting to tag along with me. My phone always falls into my right pocket, wallet in my back pocket, and in my front left is my little essentials kit. The contents of my left pocket change and evolve little by little over the years, but I've come to think it's a bit of a part of me.
The first and probably most important is a tube of chapstick. Chapstick is like my pitfall. I'm like aquaman; a superhero, but only where there's water. I just don't function without chapstick. It's a fact of life. Next is my student ID, I can't buy stuff without my ID. Finally, a pen. Whether I need to sign some autographs, jot down a few notes, or have a utensil to briefly lend out; the pen comes in handy throughout the day.
In the past, I've had all sorts of weird little trinkets in my pocket, which I would never leave home without. When I had luscious long locks of beautiful hair, a comb was a necessity. Once upon a time, a compass never left my side. My imaginative thirteen year old persona with dreams of flight fogging his mind couldn't help but know which way was north at every moment of the day. The list goes on, but unfortunately I really can't remember much of the random accessories I've considered a necessity over the years.
It's become a habit for me, wherever I am or whatever situation I find myself in, to form an 'essentials kit' of sorts. I then memorize the contents, and never leave home without them. My system works pretty well; I rarely forget anything important. But there's a fun and nostalgic aspect to it I've come to discover.
The trinkets I keep in my pocket at a given time become a token for my memories. I've blogged about it before. Every single day of my college life, I will check to ensure that I have my student ID on me as I leave the dorm. The second I get out of college, that will never happen again. But I'll save all my student ID's I end up acquiring and one day decades from now find them in a box of all my old belongings. The ID's will be a touching reminder of the good times I had in college, and quietly point out how far I've come since college.
On all the week long vacations I've taken, I've had a modified pocket kit. On my past cruises, a phone and wallet is never necessary. Instead I'd remember my sail-and-sign card and a deck of cards. In Miami, a pen wasn't always needed, but sunglasses were. Whether cloudy, nighttime, inside, outside, etc. I would never venture out into Miami without sunglasses.
The modified responsibilities involved with travel makes it so much more enjoyable. Instead of keeping track of a student ID and a pen to take notes with, all you need is your sunglasses to get by. But perhaps my favorite, is the room key. Feeling a room key in my left pocket as I walk down the hall towards the elevator of any hotel, I can't help but destress. No matter where you travel, you typically end up with a room key. A room key is the most consistent tangible proof that I'm away from home having a good time. It's almost always a shiny little card that is so light I barely feel it in my pocket; but when I do reach in and feel its' blissful smoothness, it can't be denied that I'm on the road where I belong.
So moving on, I'm ready for summer. I feel like I'm always ready for summer, even during the summer. I rode a lot last weekend. I took my bike over to Louisville, then rode around Louisville, then rode back to Lexington on Sunday. I'm getting pretty good at riding that thing. Anyway I think I'm running out of things to blog about for today. I hope you enjoyed it. Text me if you didn't. Until next time...
Obviously I always keep my phone and wallet on me, but there's always a few random items that end up getting to tag along with me. My phone always falls into my right pocket, wallet in my back pocket, and in my front left is my little essentials kit. The contents of my left pocket change and evolve little by little over the years, but I've come to think it's a bit of a part of me.
The first and probably most important is a tube of chapstick. Chapstick is like my pitfall. I'm like aquaman; a superhero, but only where there's water. I just don't function without chapstick. It's a fact of life. Next is my student ID, I can't buy stuff without my ID. Finally, a pen. Whether I need to sign some autographs, jot down a few notes, or have a utensil to briefly lend out; the pen comes in handy throughout the day.
In the past, I've had all sorts of weird little trinkets in my pocket, which I would never leave home without. When I had luscious long locks of beautiful hair, a comb was a necessity. Once upon a time, a compass never left my side. My imaginative thirteen year old persona with dreams of flight fogging his mind couldn't help but know which way was north at every moment of the day. The list goes on, but unfortunately I really can't remember much of the random accessories I've considered a necessity over the years.
It's become a habit for me, wherever I am or whatever situation I find myself in, to form an 'essentials kit' of sorts. I then memorize the contents, and never leave home without them. My system works pretty well; I rarely forget anything important. But there's a fun and nostalgic aspect to it I've come to discover.
The trinkets I keep in my pocket at a given time become a token for my memories. I've blogged about it before. Every single day of my college life, I will check to ensure that I have my student ID on me as I leave the dorm. The second I get out of college, that will never happen again. But I'll save all my student ID's I end up acquiring and one day decades from now find them in a box of all my old belongings. The ID's will be a touching reminder of the good times I had in college, and quietly point out how far I've come since college.
On all the week long vacations I've taken, I've had a modified pocket kit. On my past cruises, a phone and wallet is never necessary. Instead I'd remember my sail-and-sign card and a deck of cards. In Miami, a pen wasn't always needed, but sunglasses were. Whether cloudy, nighttime, inside, outside, etc. I would never venture out into Miami without sunglasses.
The modified responsibilities involved with travel makes it so much more enjoyable. Instead of keeping track of a student ID and a pen to take notes with, all you need is your sunglasses to get by. But perhaps my favorite, is the room key. Feeling a room key in my left pocket as I walk down the hall towards the elevator of any hotel, I can't help but destress. No matter where you travel, you typically end up with a room key. A room key is the most consistent tangible proof that I'm away from home having a good time. It's almost always a shiny little card that is so light I barely feel it in my pocket; but when I do reach in and feel its' blissful smoothness, it can't be denied that I'm on the road where I belong.
So moving on, I'm ready for summer. I feel like I'm always ready for summer, even during the summer. I rode a lot last weekend. I took my bike over to Louisville, then rode around Louisville, then rode back to Lexington on Sunday. I'm getting pretty good at riding that thing. Anyway I think I'm running out of things to blog about for today. I hope you enjoyed it. Text me if you didn't. Until next time...
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Short Post
What's up world? It's finally starting to get nice out again. Took you long enough Spring. This weekend is a good weekend to just sit back and chill. All homework and exams are out of the way for now; there's not much to really worry about.
I went for a motorcycle ride yesterday. It was definitely nice to be back on the track. I feel like I've gotten a lot better. Cornering for example is now a much smoother and faster process. I'm getting pretty adept at getting 100% out of that bike. Hopefully the weather stays nice so I can continue riding.
This blog post is probably gonna be short. Sorry. I don't really have much drive to post in times like this. Happy Easter everyone. Until next time.
I went for a motorcycle ride yesterday. It was definitely nice to be back on the track. I feel like I've gotten a lot better. Cornering for example is now a much smoother and faster process. I'm getting pretty adept at getting 100% out of that bike. Hopefully the weather stays nice so I can continue riding.
This blog post is probably gonna be short. Sorry. I don't really have much drive to post in times like this. Happy Easter everyone. Until next time.
Monday, March 25, 2013
We Love You
Good morning everybody. I'm writing you live from the Fine Arts Library. I wasn't expecting to be blogging this morning, and thus didn't bring my laptop. But then I took my Physics midterm and it wasn't as bad as I was expecting so now I'm in a nice mood to write. So enjoy.
I had DLX this weekend. That's the wasted weekend I have directly after Spring Break every year that makes my life hell for two days over in Fort Knox. I still had fun, saw some military comedians perform at the local nightclub. And by the way, for those wondering, after seeing nightclubs in Spain, Morocco, Miami, and Hollywood; The Landing Zone nightclub in Fort Knox really doesn't do much for me. It seems that I'm quite spoiled for my age.
It takes significantly more to impress me than it does many of my peers. Take Alex H. for example, he and I could go do something together (whether it be a nightclub, flight, something touristy, sporting event, whatever) it probably wouldn't take too much to enthuse him. It sounds really snobby, but getting me excited takes a lot more than Daytona, Club Forte, Brunette's, or bonfires.
I started realizing this early on after wondering the streets of alpine Germany alone at age 11, repeat visits to Los Angeles in High School, or getting my pilots license before my driver's license. As I've matured, it's always taken more and more to floor me. There was a time when Amelia Island, Florida had me thinking I was high brow and living life as good it gets. Fast forward less than four years, and now I'm thinking West LA and Beverly Hills is just another one of those "oh yeah I've been there before, it's nice I guess" places.
Abroad, my thesis holds true to an even greater extent. Along with my classy personality is an adventure-chasing individual who enjoys the danger and exotic qualities of the world. For example, as much as I wish to see all of the world, Europe really doesn't appeal to me anymore. The coolest things that happened in Spain and Portugal three months ago couldn't even touch my experiences in Honduras or Morocco. If someone offered me a cheap trip to France for a week, it would have to be pretty damn cheap. It just takes more and more to wow me.
What startles me about this fact, is that I'm only 20 years old! I've lived less than a quarter of my life, only been traveling for half of that, and still I only truly look forward to the biggest and craziest experiences. What's going to happen when I'm 45 years old and have seen every continent inside and out? Will I be done? Will I pack it up, buy a boat, and just chill for the next 30 years? Or will I find even better experiences to top my old memories? It's an interesting thought that I could be chasing the highs of the world my whole life, and despite spending the past 19 years doing things most of the world couldn't imagine, I could be spending the next 20 years pushing the limit further and further with how I spend my money and time. The unknown of what's to come in my life gives me goosebumps. I can't even fathom what awaits me in my life.
But without a doubt the best aspect of a fast paced and exciting life, that which I look forward to the most, is that even if I die tomorrow, I will die satisfied. And that although satisfaction is nearly impossible for me to attain, if I spend my whole life chasing it I'll eventually get there.
So I hope that gives you/me something to look forward to. Changing gears here, since I still have a little bit of time to blog, I've run across an interesting thought. I was watching the 2012 Ultra video, which just highlights the super huge house music party in Miami for two weeks every year, the one I'll eventually go to. Anyway during one of the performances by popular DJ and producer "Hardwell" (The guy that made the masterpiece "Spaceman", which is a song that for the past year has been blasted down Ocean Drive by every bar and club on the neon-lit strip) I saw a sign in the crowd that read, "MIAMI LOVES YOU." Which I believe to be a really interesting notion.
The man who created a song which nearly everyone on South Beach loves, is being told that the city of Miami loves him. I think that's pretty cool! You can love a city, a person, a team, etc. as much as you want. But if that city or person or whatever doesn't love you back, what's the point? In fact when you think about it it seems that those who love something but aren't loved back are the most annoying people we deal with.
Think about a pretty girl. There's plenty of guys that love her, but odds are she loves very few of them. If you imagine for a moment the stereotypical love-struck, socially awkward, desperate guy who 'loves' this girl to death and is very public about it, he's usually not very popular. In fact he's typically the person who, bless him, has no friends and in the minds of most is very replaceable.
Think again about the city of Las Vegas, or anywhere touristy and racy. Now imagine the thousands of tourists who flock to Las Vegas every year with their "I <3 LV" shirts tightly wrapped around their pot-belly. They don't spend money at the bar, they don't make Las Vegas better for anyone, they're just a waste of space in the bar at 11:00pm while the locals and partiers who belong on the strip are begging them to leave. Or those who push strollers down Panama City Beach in March. The equivalent would be for Tom and I to go to Disney World, get absolutely hammered, and trying to pick up 14 year old girls while families are just trying to have a good time.
You can love a city all you want; but if you aren't loved back, if you're not truly welcomed into the confines with any chance at belonging and fitting in, then you're nothing more than the obnoxious freshman desperately chasing after the cheerleader.
That's why I get so thrilled upon finally reaching a point in which I fit in while traveling. It's the point at which the you're under an oak tree outside the Medina of Rabat smiling with the locals as you hide from the rain. It's speaking Spanish and laughing with your waiter in Salamanca, and not feeling like you're only being allowed into the restaurant due to America's spending habits. If I love a city but the city doesn't love me back, I probably won't enjoy myself or return. Why is it I literally go to my Miami nightclubs than frat parties these days? It all continues to explain my seemingly excessive fascination with Miami and traveling the rest of the world.
But my blogging time for today is up. Before I go, I want to offer a disclaimer: if you're gonna be the annoyance in cities, but you stay on the double-decker tour bus, you're fine. Just don't go to places you fucking don't belong. Thank you.
Until next time...
I had DLX this weekend. That's the wasted weekend I have directly after Spring Break every year that makes my life hell for two days over in Fort Knox. I still had fun, saw some military comedians perform at the local nightclub. And by the way, for those wondering, after seeing nightclubs in Spain, Morocco, Miami, and Hollywood; The Landing Zone nightclub in Fort Knox really doesn't do much for me. It seems that I'm quite spoiled for my age.
It takes significantly more to impress me than it does many of my peers. Take Alex H. for example, he and I could go do something together (whether it be a nightclub, flight, something touristy, sporting event, whatever) it probably wouldn't take too much to enthuse him. It sounds really snobby, but getting me excited takes a lot more than Daytona, Club Forte, Brunette's, or bonfires.
I started realizing this early on after wondering the streets of alpine Germany alone at age 11, repeat visits to Los Angeles in High School, or getting my pilots license before my driver's license. As I've matured, it's always taken more and more to floor me. There was a time when Amelia Island, Florida had me thinking I was high brow and living life as good it gets. Fast forward less than four years, and now I'm thinking West LA and Beverly Hills is just another one of those "oh yeah I've been there before, it's nice I guess" places.
Abroad, my thesis holds true to an even greater extent. Along with my classy personality is an adventure-chasing individual who enjoys the danger and exotic qualities of the world. For example, as much as I wish to see all of the world, Europe really doesn't appeal to me anymore. The coolest things that happened in Spain and Portugal three months ago couldn't even touch my experiences in Honduras or Morocco. If someone offered me a cheap trip to France for a week, it would have to be pretty damn cheap. It just takes more and more to wow me.
What startles me about this fact, is that I'm only 20 years old! I've lived less than a quarter of my life, only been traveling for half of that, and still I only truly look forward to the biggest and craziest experiences. What's going to happen when I'm 45 years old and have seen every continent inside and out? Will I be done? Will I pack it up, buy a boat, and just chill for the next 30 years? Or will I find even better experiences to top my old memories? It's an interesting thought that I could be chasing the highs of the world my whole life, and despite spending the past 19 years doing things most of the world couldn't imagine, I could be spending the next 20 years pushing the limit further and further with how I spend my money and time. The unknown of what's to come in my life gives me goosebumps. I can't even fathom what awaits me in my life.
But without a doubt the best aspect of a fast paced and exciting life, that which I look forward to the most, is that even if I die tomorrow, I will die satisfied. And that although satisfaction is nearly impossible for me to attain, if I spend my whole life chasing it I'll eventually get there.
So I hope that gives you/me something to look forward to. Changing gears here, since I still have a little bit of time to blog, I've run across an interesting thought. I was watching the 2012 Ultra video, which just highlights the super huge house music party in Miami for two weeks every year, the one I'll eventually go to. Anyway during one of the performances by popular DJ and producer "Hardwell" (The guy that made the masterpiece "Spaceman", which is a song that for the past year has been blasted down Ocean Drive by every bar and club on the neon-lit strip) I saw a sign in the crowd that read, "MIAMI LOVES YOU." Which I believe to be a really interesting notion.
The man who created a song which nearly everyone on South Beach loves, is being told that the city of Miami loves him. I think that's pretty cool! You can love a city, a person, a team, etc. as much as you want. But if that city or person or whatever doesn't love you back, what's the point? In fact when you think about it it seems that those who love something but aren't loved back are the most annoying people we deal with.
Think about a pretty girl. There's plenty of guys that love her, but odds are she loves very few of them. If you imagine for a moment the stereotypical love-struck, socially awkward, desperate guy who 'loves' this girl to death and is very public about it, he's usually not very popular. In fact he's typically the person who, bless him, has no friends and in the minds of most is very replaceable.
Think again about the city of Las Vegas, or anywhere touristy and racy. Now imagine the thousands of tourists who flock to Las Vegas every year with their "I <3 LV" shirts tightly wrapped around their pot-belly. They don't spend money at the bar, they don't make Las Vegas better for anyone, they're just a waste of space in the bar at 11:00pm while the locals and partiers who belong on the strip are begging them to leave. Or those who push strollers down Panama City Beach in March. The equivalent would be for Tom and I to go to Disney World, get absolutely hammered, and trying to pick up 14 year old girls while families are just trying to have a good time.
You can love a city all you want; but if you aren't loved back, if you're not truly welcomed into the confines with any chance at belonging and fitting in, then you're nothing more than the obnoxious freshman desperately chasing after the cheerleader.
That's why I get so thrilled upon finally reaching a point in which I fit in while traveling. It's the point at which the you're under an oak tree outside the Medina of Rabat smiling with the locals as you hide from the rain. It's speaking Spanish and laughing with your waiter in Salamanca, and not feeling like you're only being allowed into the restaurant due to America's spending habits. If I love a city but the city doesn't love me back, I probably won't enjoy myself or return. Why is it I literally go to my Miami nightclubs than frat parties these days? It all continues to explain my seemingly excessive fascination with Miami and traveling the rest of the world.
But my blogging time for today is up. Before I go, I want to offer a disclaimer: if you're gonna be the annoyance in cities, but you stay on the double-decker tour bus, you're fine. Just don't go to places you fucking don't belong. Thank you.
Until next time...
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Miami part 2 (or 3. I guess it's part 3)
What's up all? I'm ready for part two (or three depending on how you look at it) of my Miami series. I have an Air Force meeting in 45 minutes so this can't take long, but I'll continue on with the tale for now. So... where were we? Ahh yes...
Once a venue has been selected, the party begins. In a never-ending game of see and be seen, it's clear why the restaurants on Ocean Drive have seating right out on the side walk. Everyone has to know that you're in THAT restaurant. Everyone has to know that you're rocking some aviator sunglasses and that you're dining with a hot young girl. How else would people know all that if you were hidden in some gated rooftop restaurant?
The Ferrari's line up at the valet; someone famous steps out into the bar, getting pictures with fans as his posse sits down at a table a few over. Karen and I notice him. We don't have the slightest clue who the hell he is but whoever he is, this bar's good enough for him. So we just clink our (VIRGIN) mojito glasses together and continue on enjoying the music and ambiance. Once we were worn out with one restaurant or bar, we'd just click our heels together and be on our way over to the next one. More often then not, we wouldn't head back to the hotel until 2:00 or 3:00am.
Every night could be summed up like that. It took a little while, but eventually the thought sank in of Miami loving our presence and inviting us back for more every night when the sun went down. The whole experience I'd been waiting for since high school became a reality very early for me. Living the Miami Dream has been high up on my bucketlist; above the Prado, Atlas Mountains, or the Santa Monica Pier.
The way everyone talks about Miami as this place for only the top caliber people made Miami seem like pulling off Spring Break there would be pretty difficult. The way I've read about the club lines, exclusive promoters, and essentially having to be someone awesome just to have a decent time at night. It almost discouraged me. I've read blogs and articles that specifically say Miami is not a feasible Spring Break destination just because you have to have be a certain type of person to fit in. Long story short: Miami doesn't want you, go away.
But we went anyway! And instead of being turned away at the door like I was half expecting, we were invited to clubs on their busiest nights by promoters! We ended up becoming the classy young and beautiful people who complain about the trashy tourists who don't belong. As a result, Miami is still my favorite place on Earth. In fact, I like it more now that I know what it's capable of.
So Karen and I are counting our pennies and finding out the next soonest date we can return. It's looking like this Summer. I WILL BE BACK.
Until next time...
Once a venue has been selected, the party begins. In a never-ending game of see and be seen, it's clear why the restaurants on Ocean Drive have seating right out on the side walk. Everyone has to know that you're in THAT restaurant. Everyone has to know that you're rocking some aviator sunglasses and that you're dining with a hot young girl. How else would people know all that if you were hidden in some gated rooftop restaurant?
The Ferrari's line up at the valet; someone famous steps out into the bar, getting pictures with fans as his posse sits down at a table a few over. Karen and I notice him. We don't have the slightest clue who the hell he is but whoever he is, this bar's good enough for him. So we just clink our (VIRGIN) mojito glasses together and continue on enjoying the music and ambiance. Once we were worn out with one restaurant or bar, we'd just click our heels together and be on our way over to the next one. More often then not, we wouldn't head back to the hotel until 2:00 or 3:00am.
Every night could be summed up like that. It took a little while, but eventually the thought sank in of Miami loving our presence and inviting us back for more every night when the sun went down. The whole experience I'd been waiting for since high school became a reality very early for me. Living the Miami Dream has been high up on my bucketlist; above the Prado, Atlas Mountains, or the Santa Monica Pier.
The way everyone talks about Miami as this place for only the top caliber people made Miami seem like pulling off Spring Break there would be pretty difficult. The way I've read about the club lines, exclusive promoters, and essentially having to be someone awesome just to have a decent time at night. It almost discouraged me. I've read blogs and articles that specifically say Miami is not a feasible Spring Break destination just because you have to have be a certain type of person to fit in. Long story short: Miami doesn't want you, go away.
But we went anyway! And instead of being turned away at the door like I was half expecting, we were invited to clubs on their busiest nights by promoters! We ended up becoming the classy young and beautiful people who complain about the trashy tourists who don't belong. As a result, Miami is still my favorite place on Earth. In fact, I like it more now that I know what it's capable of.
So Karen and I are counting our pennies and finding out the next soonest date we can return. It's looking like this Summer. I WILL BE BACK.
Until next time...
Monday, March 18, 2013
Classy, Young, and Beautiful
What's up world. I feel like blogging.
Today was not a fantastic day. I always get shitty depressed whenever I have to return to daily life after living like a king for a week or two. I wish I would've done more live-action blog posts in Miami. Now I feel like I've missed my opportunity. I still wrote on that first night, which was good.
Miami is interesting. For about the past five years I've had some strange obsession with the city of Miami. The Travel Channel and CSI: Miami did a great day of glamorizing the city to an almost excessive point. All through my high school years I dreamt of blowing fat stacks on South Beach with a beautiful girl on my arm and partying like the classy mother fucker I am. In high school, the whole obsession with Miami was being there with the classy young and beautiful people, and sharing their playground with them. Even though I didn't do anything but share a glass of wine with my mom in the hotel room or chill on the beach watching planes with my dad; even though I was in by 9pm at the latest; I was in Miami bitch!: The land of the classy, young, and beautiful.
From then on the lure of Miami kind of faded since I've already been there and seen it all, but I was still not quite ready to join in on the culture. I knew my place, and I was far from ready for Miami Beach nightclubs. When Karen and I booked a Spring Break trip to Miami, we weren't expecting to really be a part of the action. We were planning on a low-key, relaxing get-away where we could avoid the trashy crowds of Panama but still enjoy the beach among the beauty of Miami.
Then we showed up, waited until 10pm or so, dressed up to kill in our finest and most expensive clothes, threw a cigar lighter in my pocket, and left for the neon lights of Ocean Drive. Upon rounding the corner past 15th street, making our entrance onto the most expensive street in the world, it quickly became clear that we weren't going to be spending our Spring Break watching the young and beautiful; we were the young and beautiful.
I've always said that Ocean Drive, Miami Beach is my favorite single location on Earth. In fact I said that like two years ago on this blog. Well, I was right! Every night as the sun set over the Miami skyline, Karen and I would be walking arm-in-arm down the board walk ready for a night of being the clutchest couple in the league. Then on that iconic turn towards the rows of palm trees, and house music being blasted from every bar and club down the street; I couldn't help but smile and put my shades down.
The routine became something I looked forward to every night. Ferrari after Lamborghini after Maserati would drive by as all the people who knew they belonged on South Beach would try not to look; reacting the same as when a thin young blonde would strut by in her tight skirt and high heels. Finding a place to eat and drink is half the fun of going out on South Beach. It's a combination of seeing who's playing the best music (house of course, this is Miami), waiting for a sexy young latina to convince us her bar is worthy of us, and being in the know enough to remember which places are way overpriced or not cool enough.
Once a venue has been selected, the party begins. In a never-ending game of see and be seen, it's clear why the restaurants on Ocean Drive have seating right out on the side walk.
But I will continue this later. Karen's here, see ya.
Today was not a fantastic day. I always get shitty depressed whenever I have to return to daily life after living like a king for a week or two. I wish I would've done more live-action blog posts in Miami. Now I feel like I've missed my opportunity. I still wrote on that first night, which was good.
Miami is interesting. For about the past five years I've had some strange obsession with the city of Miami. The Travel Channel and CSI: Miami did a great day of glamorizing the city to an almost excessive point. All through my high school years I dreamt of blowing fat stacks on South Beach with a beautiful girl on my arm and partying like the classy mother fucker I am. In high school, the whole obsession with Miami was being there with the classy young and beautiful people, and sharing their playground with them. Even though I didn't do anything but share a glass of wine with my mom in the hotel room or chill on the beach watching planes with my dad; even though I was in by 9pm at the latest; I was in Miami bitch!: The land of the classy, young, and beautiful.
From then on the lure of Miami kind of faded since I've already been there and seen it all, but I was still not quite ready to join in on the culture. I knew my place, and I was far from ready for Miami Beach nightclubs. When Karen and I booked a Spring Break trip to Miami, we weren't expecting to really be a part of the action. We were planning on a low-key, relaxing get-away where we could avoid the trashy crowds of Panama but still enjoy the beach among the beauty of Miami.
 |
| For those curious, right at the moment this picture was being taken, I was getting stung by a bee. |
I've always said that Ocean Drive, Miami Beach is my favorite single location on Earth. In fact I said that like two years ago on this blog. Well, I was right! Every night as the sun set over the Miami skyline, Karen and I would be walking arm-in-arm down the board walk ready for a night of being the clutchest couple in the league. Then on that iconic turn towards the rows of palm trees, and house music being blasted from every bar and club down the street; I couldn't help but smile and put my shades down.
The routine became something I looked forward to every night. Ferrari after Lamborghini after Maserati would drive by as all the people who knew they belonged on South Beach would try not to look; reacting the same as when a thin young blonde would strut by in her tight skirt and high heels. Finding a place to eat and drink is half the fun of going out on South Beach. It's a combination of seeing who's playing the best music (house of course, this is Miami), waiting for a sexy young latina to convince us her bar is worthy of us, and being in the know enough to remember which places are way overpriced or not cool enough.
Once a venue has been selected, the party begins. In a never-ending game of see and be seen, it's clear why the restaurants on Ocean Drive have seating right out on the side walk.
But I will continue this later. Karen's here, see ya.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
I'M IN MIAMI BITCH!
Good evening everyone! Happy Spring Break! I'm blogging from South Beach right now; I'm taking a break from the excitement and relaxing to some tea, music, and Cleveland Show.
I've said it before but I'll say it again, South Beach is my favorite single location on Earth. I am so glad Spring Break this year revolved around classy lounges on Ocean Drive instead of blackout-style binge drinking at La Vela all week on Panama City Beach. I've also said prior that I love being in the group of people who simply belong. Acting like you've been there before, holding your liquor, dressing well, and holding yourself to a higher standard is all part of belonging on South Beach.
We had a club promoter come up to us on the beach with passes to get in one of those ridiculous NFA nightclubs Miami Beach is known for. If that doesn't mean my ass belongs on South Beach I don't know what else could possibly be an indication. Then walking down Ocean Drive through the restaurants that extend out to the curb, we get the 22 year old hottie from Brazil trying to shove their drink menu down our throats.
It's all very nice. I absolutely love it. Miami is certainly my Kokomo. Karen asked me on the flight (one of my favorite routes by the way, ATL-MIA) if I think South Beach will always be my favorite. I think at least since I spent so much of my youth adoring this place, I'll always have a personal spot in my heart reserved for it.
Karen and I are taking a walk in a bit. We're taking a stroll through the boardwalk down to South Pointe Park. It should be nice. We're really having a good time, and we're doing in the classy way. I've always liked being mature and high brow. I'm delighted that even after a two hour flight of overt illicit day drinking, the 62 year old man with a Ph.D was still telling us how we're such a huge notch above most our age by the end of the flight.
Even in on vacation in Miami, I'm still piecing together fun little experiences and lessons in life; all of which make me a more interesting individual. Along with the excitement, I guess that's why I didn't hesitate blowing a cool thousand bucks of hard earned cash to come down to South Beach.
Well Family Guy is on, and I'm just chillaxin. Maybe I'll post later this week while still in Miami. Considering my fondness for travel blogs, I likely will more than once. Until next time.
B T FREAKING DUBS: I'M IN MIAMI BITCH!!!!!
I've said it before but I'll say it again, South Beach is my favorite single location on Earth. I am so glad Spring Break this year revolved around classy lounges on Ocean Drive instead of blackout-style binge drinking at La Vela all week on Panama City Beach. I've also said prior that I love being in the group of people who simply belong. Acting like you've been there before, holding your liquor, dressing well, and holding yourself to a higher standard is all part of belonging on South Beach.
We had a club promoter come up to us on the beach with passes to get in one of those ridiculous NFA nightclubs Miami Beach is known for. If that doesn't mean my ass belongs on South Beach I don't know what else could possibly be an indication. Then walking down Ocean Drive through the restaurants that extend out to the curb, we get the 22 year old hottie from Brazil trying to shove their drink menu down our throats.
 |
| Beach bum, call me Ocean Drive slim. Drop the top, look up and make the sky grin. |
It's all very nice. I absolutely love it. Miami is certainly my Kokomo. Karen asked me on the flight (one of my favorite routes by the way, ATL-MIA) if I think South Beach will always be my favorite. I think at least since I spent so much of my youth adoring this place, I'll always have a personal spot in my heart reserved for it.
Karen and I are taking a walk in a bit. We're taking a stroll through the boardwalk down to South Pointe Park. It should be nice. We're really having a good time, and we're doing in the classy way. I've always liked being mature and high brow. I'm delighted that even after a two hour flight of overt illicit day drinking, the 62 year old man with a Ph.D was still telling us how we're such a huge notch above most our age by the end of the flight.
Even in on vacation in Miami, I'm still piecing together fun little experiences and lessons in life; all of which make me a more interesting individual. Along with the excitement, I guess that's why I didn't hesitate blowing a cool thousand bucks of hard earned cash to come down to South Beach.
Well Family Guy is on, and I'm just chillaxin. Maybe I'll post later this week while still in Miami. Considering my fondness for travel blogs, I likely will more than once. Until next time.
B T FREAKING DUBS: I'M IN MIAMI BITCH!!!!!
Friday, March 8, 2013
Down to Kokomo
One exam, one lab, and two flights are all that's left before I'm in Miami! Yeah! It's pretty much Spring Break! My favorite single week of the year that I've been waiting for for 51 weeks since the moment I got back from Daytona!
Spring Break is like a team effort in college. The professors (except for the bitchy ones) all know it's in their best interest to plan fun and easy lectures the Friday before Spring Break. The students who don't skip class bring their best attitude and smile to accompany their vacation music and cup of coffee.
With the exception of my bitch Calculus professor, who schedules a fucking exam on the Friday before the big S.B, I don't have much to crush my excellent mood. I've been looking forward to tweeting through my physics lecture, blogging through my break, killing this exam like Dahmer, getting in a good work out, then having the best Circuits Friday EVER.
You remember Circuits Friday right? Well Circuits Friday today will be exceptionally fun. In fact I'm renaming it. Today is Circuits Friday Before Spring Break. Happy CFBSB. Today Mr. Samsung has us building some Op Amps! Yeah! And it's gonna take two hours! Don't know what the hell an Op Amp is? Well neither do I and I'm an Electrical Engineer who's been studying Op Amp's for two weeks now. Anyway, the last two hours before Spring Break for me will be spent building this super tiny integrated circuit that somehow is supposed to match voltages without matching current? Or vice versa? I should probably figure that out. Anyway I'm gonna be sipping my tea, listening to some Spring Break music, playing with some $600 circuit board, zapping shit for two hours. Sound like a party? It does to me.
All day I'll be tweeting Kokomo lyrics. That's what kind of day it is today. I was just now listening to Kokomo on my way over to the POT lounge, the lyrics are actually fairly deep. I've always considered the song to be the anthem of Spring Break. Back in High School, they'd play it over the P.A. system instead of the usual bell tone to announce that school has let out for Spring Break. So for seven and a half hours we'd be rotting and dying in class, anticipating the big SB. Then the last period would roll along and the true anxiety would set in and it was awful. But after you've served your full day of school, at 2:20 on the dot, instead of the usually bell tone, you'd hear "Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take ya..."
After four years of that, it turned the song into a signal that Spring Break is near. Plus the song is pretty much all about Spring Break Caribbean getaways. But the song goes even further than that in my opinion. The whole song describes a perfect vacation, in the middle of some seaside paradise where the drinks come in abundance and the worries are nonexistent. The stresses of normal life are drowned out by the noise of the waves crashing against the shore. The entire song creates this extreme desire to book a plane ticket and fly on the next flight out to a nonexistent metaphorical island.
But that's the catch. The Kokomo they sing about doesn't actually exist. There's a Kokomo in Hawaii, Mississippi, Indiana, and a place in Jamaica that's nicknamed Kokomo; but no actual Kokomo. Which makes it kind of depressing. This perfect, beautiful utopian island where time doesn't move is just a legend. Like Bigfoot and Atlantis, they're just imagination; you can never actually truly experience Kokomo.
Then, the penultimate line in the song changes everything. "Everybody knows a little place like Kokomo." Meaning Kokomo is in the eye of the beholder. Kokomo can be anywhere. It's not necessarily one island, city, resort, etc. Kokomo is the one place in the world that you love so much, time stops and stresses fade like the horizon over the deep blue sea. Everyone has they're favorite island in the Caribbean, vacation party city, unique country side, national park, or resort. Some people love the Don Cesar in Tampa. Some love the freshness of the wilderness of Yellowstone. Some love the hustle and bustle of New York City. And some enjoy the status and sexy Latin beauty of Miami.
And the final phrase in the song makes it the Anthem of Spring Break for me. "Now if you wanna go and get away from it all, go down to Kokomo." It's Friday, everything is packed, assignments are turned in, and boarding passes are printed. It's time to stop daydreaming, and actually fly down to Kokomo. The stress, anticipation, anxiety, bore of day to day life is in conclusion. Now go enjoy yourself.
I had my pizza party last night. It was pretty fucking stupid. I think like 8 people showed up. I had ordered four 20" pizzas. 20 inches is huge by the way. If you do the math, that means each slice was 10" long, and the crust was over 6" in width. But we still demolished the pizza and had nice idle chit-chat about Spring Break.
I'm excited to fly through Atlanta. Atlanta to Miami is one of my favorite flights, both on the sim and in real life. It's certainly a treat to get to partake in the action. Karen and I will be clinking our spiked plastic cups together and dancing to the house music on our iPods for the exciting two hour flight along the intracoastal waterway.
During the flight, I'm pulling some classic Decker shit. Let me explain before I go take this calculus exam. It will be cold in Louisville for our departure. So I'll be wearing the typical Decker winter gear, jacket and jeans. Then on the flight to Atlanta, a layer will come off and be stored in the carry-on. That way for Atlanta I'll be looking ready for Spring, but not quite there yet: jeans, Sperries, and a tropical T-shirt. Then halfway through the flight I'll shed another layer, completing my transformation. I'll go from topsiders to beer-flops, t-shirt to Miami v-neck, and jeans to shorts. Sunglasses will probably be worn inside. By the time the 752 makes it's landing on one of the 6 gorgeous runways at MIA, I will look like I'm ready for Spring Break on South Beach.
And I will be. Happy Spring Break everyone. Enjoy your week and act like you've been there before. Until next time everyone.
Spring Break is like a team effort in college. The professors (except for the bitchy ones) all know it's in their best interest to plan fun and easy lectures the Friday before Spring Break. The students who don't skip class bring their best attitude and smile to accompany their vacation music and cup of coffee.
With the exception of my bitch Calculus professor, who schedules a fucking exam on the Friday before the big S.B, I don't have much to crush my excellent mood. I've been looking forward to tweeting through my physics lecture, blogging through my break, killing this exam like Dahmer, getting in a good work out, then having the best Circuits Friday EVER.
You remember Circuits Friday right? Well Circuits Friday today will be exceptionally fun. In fact I'm renaming it. Today is Circuits Friday Before Spring Break. Happy CFBSB. Today Mr. Samsung has us building some Op Amps! Yeah! And it's gonna take two hours! Don't know what the hell an Op Amp is? Well neither do I and I'm an Electrical Engineer who's been studying Op Amp's for two weeks now. Anyway, the last two hours before Spring Break for me will be spent building this super tiny integrated circuit that somehow is supposed to match voltages without matching current? Or vice versa? I should probably figure that out. Anyway I'm gonna be sipping my tea, listening to some Spring Break music, playing with some $600 circuit board, zapping shit for two hours. Sound like a party? It does to me.
All day I'll be tweeting Kokomo lyrics. That's what kind of day it is today. I was just now listening to Kokomo on my way over to the POT lounge, the lyrics are actually fairly deep. I've always considered the song to be the anthem of Spring Break. Back in High School, they'd play it over the P.A. system instead of the usual bell tone to announce that school has let out for Spring Break. So for seven and a half hours we'd be rotting and dying in class, anticipating the big SB. Then the last period would roll along and the true anxiety would set in and it was awful. But after you've served your full day of school, at 2:20 on the dot, instead of the usually bell tone, you'd hear "Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take ya..."
After four years of that, it turned the song into a signal that Spring Break is near. Plus the song is pretty much all about Spring Break Caribbean getaways. But the song goes even further than that in my opinion. The whole song describes a perfect vacation, in the middle of some seaside paradise where the drinks come in abundance and the worries are nonexistent. The stresses of normal life are drowned out by the noise of the waves crashing against the shore. The entire song creates this extreme desire to book a plane ticket and fly on the next flight out to a nonexistent metaphorical island.
But that's the catch. The Kokomo they sing about doesn't actually exist. There's a Kokomo in Hawaii, Mississippi, Indiana, and a place in Jamaica that's nicknamed Kokomo; but no actual Kokomo. Which makes it kind of depressing. This perfect, beautiful utopian island where time doesn't move is just a legend. Like Bigfoot and Atlantis, they're just imagination; you can never actually truly experience Kokomo.
Then, the penultimate line in the song changes everything. "Everybody knows a little place like Kokomo." Meaning Kokomo is in the eye of the beholder. Kokomo can be anywhere. It's not necessarily one island, city, resort, etc. Kokomo is the one place in the world that you love so much, time stops and stresses fade like the horizon over the deep blue sea. Everyone has they're favorite island in the Caribbean, vacation party city, unique country side, national park, or resort. Some people love the Don Cesar in Tampa. Some love the freshness of the wilderness of Yellowstone. Some love the hustle and bustle of New York City. And some enjoy the status and sexy Latin beauty of Miami.
And the final phrase in the song makes it the Anthem of Spring Break for me. "Now if you wanna go and get away from it all, go down to Kokomo." It's Friday, everything is packed, assignments are turned in, and boarding passes are printed. It's time to stop daydreaming, and actually fly down to Kokomo. The stress, anticipation, anxiety, bore of day to day life is in conclusion. Now go enjoy yourself.
I had my pizza party last night. It was pretty fucking stupid. I think like 8 people showed up. I had ordered four 20" pizzas. 20 inches is huge by the way. If you do the math, that means each slice was 10" long, and the crust was over 6" in width. But we still demolished the pizza and had nice idle chit-chat about Spring Break.
I'm excited to fly through Atlanta. Atlanta to Miami is one of my favorite flights, both on the sim and in real life. It's certainly a treat to get to partake in the action. Karen and I will be clinking our spiked plastic cups together and dancing to the house music on our iPods for the exciting two hour flight along the intracoastal waterway.
During the flight, I'm pulling some classic Decker shit. Let me explain before I go take this calculus exam. It will be cold in Louisville for our departure. So I'll be wearing the typical Decker winter gear, jacket and jeans. Then on the flight to Atlanta, a layer will come off and be stored in the carry-on. That way for Atlanta I'll be looking ready for Spring, but not quite there yet: jeans, Sperries, and a tropical T-shirt. Then halfway through the flight I'll shed another layer, completing my transformation. I'll go from topsiders to beer-flops, t-shirt to Miami v-neck, and jeans to shorts. Sunglasses will probably be worn inside. By the time the 752 makes it's landing on one of the 6 gorgeous runways at MIA, I will look like I'm ready for Spring Break on South Beach.
And I will be. Happy Spring Break everyone. Enjoy your week and act like you've been there before. Until next time everyone.
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