But I did [have to get up early]. In fact, Dad got me up at 0830. We battened down the house and left at 1000.
-Mom and Dad drove today. It was an uneventful drive. We went nonstop through Indianapolis and I sat in the back and designed a floor plan for a house I want to build. I have all three floors mostly done, but it needs refining.
-I had plenty of time to work on them. It took many hours of just sitting in the car twiddling thumbs, hours and hours, to get to and through Chicago. Then we passed through some suburbs. After a few, we were finally in Cary, and we eventually found Ellen & Chuck's house, which if I forgot to tell you is where we're staying.
-When I got out of the car Mom asked me if I remembered the place. I went here last when I was four. No, of course I don't remember it, dweeb. Aunt Ellen opened the door and there was an awkward moment where everyone hugged each other. Then we all came inside. Mom immediately took me upstairs to see if I remembered a certain room with an airplane motif that I supposedly slept in last time I was here. I didn't. It was twelve years ago, dweeb! It was a small room, but that's still where I get to sleep tonight, in a micro-sized bed, with Micah snoring nearby.
-Aunt Ellen and Uncle Chuck ordered pizza, so ate and got really full. Then I lounged reading the Calvin and Hobbes Lazy Sunday Book, which it turns out they have. We socialized a little... in a way... and then more and then it was time for bed.
Friday, July 15, 2005
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Dramatis Personae
Hi, Everybody!
I've actually been back since last Saturday, but I felt I deserved a little bit of hiatus and sleeping in. But now I'm back in "full force", as they say! Now: what I think I'm going to do over the next week and a half is write down each journal entry I did in my big fat journal (you may remember me showing it to youy once or twice if you're someone I showed it to). But before I do I'm going to keep you from getting confused, by giving you a cast list of everyone I'm going to mention.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Mom, Dad, Micah, and me: you already know us.
Grandma and Grandpa: live in Oxford. They're the ones in charge of the trip every year.
Uncle Dan, Aunt Tracy: Dan is my mom's brother. They're both real funny folks.
Uncle Dave: Also my mom's brother. His wife Rachael didn't come this year.
Erin, Sierra, Hayden: Dave's kids. Erin is 17 (well, not anymore--turned 18 on the 12th), Sierra is 4, and Hayden is 2, and autistic. Leah stayed home too. She's 15, I think.
Great Uncle Joe: Grandpa's brother. Lives in Denver. Quieter than Grandpa.
Great Aunt Irene: Grandma's sister. Lives near DC. She writes stuff, like plays for kids. Also a quiet person.
Great Aunt Ellen and Uncle Chuck: live in Chicago and in Arizona. They're both pilots. They didn't come along this year, just let us sleep in their house.
Bill Kolansky: Lean, wiry, black hair, fun guy. Runs the Crowduck Lake Camp. Used to have a float plane, but it sank and they say it's no good anymore.
Nick Kolansky: Bill's dad. Like Bill, but with gray hair. I think he came from the Ukraine, once, long ago, but I can't hear any accent. He was the one who bought the camp originally. I don't know whether he still owns it or if he ceded it to Bill.
Crowduck Lake: Crowduck Lake
(sorry, it wouldn't let me put the full-size map there)
+++++++++++++++++++
That's about it. I'll edit out some of the parts that would be dense and fill space, and I'll also keep tabs on what's happening currently, alongside this play-by-play. First entry comes out tomorrow.
I've actually been back since last Saturday, but I felt I deserved a little bit of hiatus and sleeping in. But now I'm back in "full force", as they say! Now: what I think I'm going to do over the next week and a half is write down each journal entry I did in my big fat journal (you may remember me showing it to youy once or twice if you're someone I showed it to). But before I do I'm going to keep you from getting confused, by giving you a cast list of everyone I'm going to mention.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Mom, Dad, Micah, and me: you already know us.
Grandma and Grandpa: live in Oxford. They're the ones in charge of the trip every year.
Uncle Dan, Aunt Tracy: Dan is my mom's brother. They're both real funny folks.
Uncle Dave: Also my mom's brother. His wife Rachael didn't come this year.
Erin, Sierra, Hayden: Dave's kids. Erin is 17 (well, not anymore--turned 18 on the 12th), Sierra is 4, and Hayden is 2, and autistic. Leah stayed home too. She's 15, I think.
Great Uncle Joe: Grandpa's brother. Lives in Denver. Quieter than Grandpa.
Great Aunt Irene: Grandma's sister. Lives near DC. She writes stuff, like plays for kids. Also a quiet person.
Great Aunt Ellen and Uncle Chuck: live in Chicago and in Arizona. They're both pilots. They didn't come along this year, just let us sleep in their house.
Bill Kolansky: Lean, wiry, black hair, fun guy. Runs the Crowduck Lake Camp. Used to have a float plane, but it sank and they say it's no good anymore.
Nick Kolansky: Bill's dad. Like Bill, but with gray hair. I think he came from the Ukraine, once, long ago, but I can't hear any accent. He was the one who bought the camp originally. I don't know whether he still owns it or if he ceded it to Bill.
Crowduck Lake: Crowduck Lake
(sorry, it wouldn't let me put the full-size map there)
+++++++++++++++++++
That's about it. I'll edit out some of the parts that would be dense and fill space, and I'll also keep tabs on what's happening currently, alongside this play-by-play. First entry comes out tomorrow.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
"What is Crowduck?"
Well I thought for sure I had written something about Crowduck here at some point. But I suppose I haven't. So, BJ, here's your answer. This runs pretty long, so make sure you don't have any immediate plans.
-Crowduck Lake is situated in Whiteshell Provincial Park in Manitoba, just outside the Ontario border. Every year, most of our family packs up an enormous load of clothes and supplies and fishing stuff--the biggest portion of it is carried in Grandma and Grandpa's huge van and pretty much fills it--and we drive up. Driving there is a big part of the experience. It's a monumentally long trek to Canada. We start out going through Indiana. Right about when we're going through Indianapolis and can't stop because we'd end up in rush-hour traffic, someone has to pee. In fact, someone has to pee for a lot of the way. Last year it was usually me, because I drank a lot of root beer. But this year I have an advantage I didn't have before: I'm driving, so if I have to pee, I can just pull over and not have to wait for Dad, because Dad always waits about two hours. "We're almost to the motel," he'll say, even though the motel is in Wisconsin and we're in Chicago.
-But then we get to the motel. (This year I think it's going to be at Great Uncle Chuck and Great Aunt Ellen's house.) You have to stay for the night because only a seriously insane person would try to drive those twenty hours in one day. Usually at this point nobody's staying in the same motel. After sleeping you get up at some improbably early hour--say, eight--and start driving again. The second day is when you really start getting somewhere. You emerge from Wisconsin into Minnesota and the landscape gets hearty and wholesome and deeply green. Then you angle past Lake Superior and up to Fort Frances, where the United States dumps into Canada.
-Fort Frances is something else. First we drive down small local roads and usually stop at a "duty-free" shop for some reason and maybe buy some souvenirs or some beer. Then we push on, around unlikely corners, guided by the instinct of a driver who has done this a lot of times before. I think I'll let Mom or Dad drive through Fort Frances. The road system is like hair collected from a bath drain, especially when you get up really close to the border. The road that takes you to Canada runs directly through the heart of, no fooling, a paper mill. You don't actually drive inside any buildings, but almost. The smell of ground-up paper pulp hits you like a big disgusting fist about halfway through town and doesn't leave. Everywhere huge pipes shoot up out of the ground to your sides. In some places, railroads intimately share the road with the cars, running practically right up the middle. A few hundred yards before the border, just after you're done waiting for a little three-car train to cross the road in front of you, the road splits wildly and you have to make the decision whether to go right, left, middle, leftern-right, or Seulement Les Camions. The good thing is, you have plenty of time to make the decision because all the traffic is moving so slow. You wait in a glacial line for about half an hour and then finally get up to a glass booth. A friendly lady asks you a lot of really probing questions, like where are you going and why and are you bringing any weird stuff with you. Then you cross a broad, flat river on a bridge that's half devoted to big pipes filled with stuff you can only imagine.
-But finally you manage to get through. Then you pick up the stuff you ordered earlier at the duty-free shop (don't ask me just how it works) and convert your money and drive off into Ontario. All at once everything's different. The paper pulp smell dissipates and now there are big fields with farm equipment or something in them and the gas prices are in Canadian Dollars per Liter and you have to get used to using the Kilometers part of your speedometer. But it's quiet from there on. We always go to a place called the Whispering Pines Motel in Kenora, but this year they seem to be closed or something, so we're disappointedly staying at a Super 8. We all stay in the same motel this time. We have fun and drink some beer (the adults do, anyhow) and then go to sleep.
-In the morning we all get up early and go shopping at the Safeway in Kenora. There's a ridiculous amount of shopping we have to do, because it's supplies for about 15 people for a week. Usually we get too much. Lots of potatoes. It takes probably two hours to get all the shopping done. The stuff gets packed in lots and lots of big coolers and we all move off with a lot of anticipation, because Crowduck is only a couple of hours away. Those last couple of hours feel really different. I don't know how to describe it, but the landscape looks distinctly Canadian. It probably has to do with all the lakes. There sure are a lot of them. Then as you enter Whiteshell they give way to very quiet-seeming forests with almost no cars on the narrow roads there. In my memory it always seems to be overcast, but it's probably because it's still fairly early in the morning. After you drive for a while, all of a sudden there's a right turn and you see the Big Whiteshell Lodge and the highway empties directly into the Big Whiteshell Lake. Usually the car I'm in is the second-to-last one there and Grandma and Grandpa have already started unloading the van. I help them. We unload all the groceries we've just bought and all our clothes and all our fishing stuff and beer onto a large boat stationed at a dock right next to the end of the highway. Everyone does their part to get all our stuff in the boat. Then all the people squeeze on too, and a guy from the Crowduck Lake Camp crew stands behind a tall windscreen and starts up the boat. It goes skipping gaily across the water. The reason we have to get onto this boat is that there are no roads to Crowduck from anywhere else in Canada and we have to cross the Big Whiteshell Lake to get there. Spray kicks up from underneath and gets everyone a little wet, but no one cares. The ride across Whiteshell takes about ten or fifteen minutes. We can see the point where we're going to stop from a long way off. When we get close enough to it the boat slows down and we get out and start unloading all the stuff again, because we're still not at Crowduck. This time we unload all the stuff onto big red pickup trucks marked "Limo" with wooden seats installed in the back. All the stuff goes right at our feet. Usually we ride two or three Limos. Once all the stuff is on, some crew members start up the Limos and we judder onto the most ridiculous truck path ever.
-It's two miles long and winds like a fallen strand of spaghetti. Trees poke their branches into the Limo and say hi. From time to time there's a curve that just doesn't look possible. But the crew has been doing this kind of thing awhile and they know how it works. About a half mile from the end we get the first view of the lake, with the sun shining across it. I always love that moment.
-Finally we slowly bounce into Crowduck Lake Camp. This is going to be our home for the next week. There are eight brown cabins; our family usually takes up two or three. The cabins are small and have sand on the floor, but they feel positively roomy because they have high ceilings and huge door-windows that let the outside in. The lake is right there, just beyond a sandy road and a few trees. I can stand at a cabin and throw a rock in the lake. But usually I just walk down to it.
-I'll never get tired of that first look out across the whole lake. It's huge. It's flawlessly blue and you can see forever, all the way to the other side of the lake. The air blowing off it is clean. It holds a lot of mystery for someone standing on the docks, because there's a lot you can't see from there. Crowduck isn't round. It's more like a Rorschach inkblot. There's a big island and bays and coves hiding a lot of the farther parts from view. The banks are coated with infinite deep-green trees. I really love the lake.
-We all unload the Limos and put our stuff in the cabins and start making dinner. Fish can't be taken in on the first day, so this is usually some kind of soup we froze ahead of time. After dinner on the first night people usually go to bed, because most of them have been driving a lot and are really fed up with staying awake.
-The next morning people get up at all different times. I usually get up really late and have some breakfast Mom or Dad makes, which is probably eggs and bacon and maybe pancakes. Then, at pretty much random times throughout the day, people leave to go fishing. Because we're on a fishing trip. This year I'm going to be the one driving the boat, which is a change from years past. I don't even know just how to drive one yet. I'll be taking my Great Uncle Joe out on the lake a lot, I hear. I hope we catch something. I don't know a lot about fishing. I've always had people to drive the boat out to the lake with me and pilot it along good spots, but I don't know what I'll do on my own. Presumably someone will teach me before I take Uncle Joe off. Maybe we'll catch a few fish. Maybe even some that aren't walleye. It's always exciting to catch one, but only briefly if it's a walleye, because you can't keep walleye on Crowduck. Pike and bass are what you're looking for. No matter how boring it gets, though, it's still fun. In fact, it's the best thing in the world.
-When we get back I usually find out that my Uncle Dan and Aunt Tracy have caught the most fish, and we can all eat dinner safely thanks to them. Then I fool around doing nothing in particular for a while and the dinner gets cooked. Dinner is of course excellent. My favorite is blackened Cajun fish. It's very attention-getting. Spicy and fragile and loud. And after dinner everyone plays poker. Last year I went up a total of fifteen cents for the week. Sometimes we play poker to well after midnight--I think until three once--in a variety of different games and never knowing who's going to come out ahead. Poker is one of the essential aspects of Crowduck. Even though it's a fishing trip, poker is a huge part of it and pretty much mandatory if you know how to play. (If you don't you'll probably get taught.)
-Sometimes at night we all try to see the Northern Lights. I haven't seen one of those brilliant eruptions of color yet, but last year we went out to a small granite peninsula and watched the sky for a long time staring at a shimmering, shifting curtain of transparent silver that was pretty good even if it wasn't the really big, bright kind. I lay down on my back and saw the first shooting star I've ever seen, and then saw three more. Crowduck is a place unlike any other.
-The next morning we start it again. Each day there's something new. Maybe I catch a lot of fish. Or maybe someone catches a really big one. My aunt Rachael caught a twelve-pound, thirty-six inch pike last year. It was the size of a large baby. She wore her arms out holding it. Maybe it'll be special because I went to Ritchie Lake that day. Ritchie is Crowduck's neighbor, .4 kilometers away. To get there you hoist your boat up onto a landing and walk over a portage of thick, rich, black mud and then unlock a canoe that's there. It may be work, but Ritchie has the best pike fishing ever. Dan and Tracy regularly pull up more than twenty a day. The whole point is that Crowduck is great, and it never gets old. I'll never get bored of the place. Every year I wish I could stay another week, or if at all possible the whole summer. Next year I want to work there. So this year I'm going to talk with Bill Kolansky, the proprietor, a friendly, wiry guy with black hair and a yellow floatplane, and see what that would be like and if I'm cut out for it. I sincerely hope I am and I can. Because that would be the perfect summer. Oh man, but would that ever be great.
-I know every day is one day closer to leaving, but I don't think about it. Thinking that way gets you depressed. Instead I live for the moment and fish and fish and enjoy it as much as anyone can enjoy anything. A week is a good chunk of time, and we all get an opportunity to let loose and play poker and (for the adults) have a lot of beer. That's probably why it always kind of takes me by surprise when it's time to leave. We always get up ridiculously early that morning, like at about four or five. It's always still dark. We load up our clothes and fishing stuff and what's left of the groceries (some of it we leave, and Bill keeps it) into the Limos and jounce off through the pre-dawn and wish we weren't doing that right now. Then we unload the Limos and load the big boat and it whips us off across Whiteshell through seriously cold Canadian morning air. The cars are still there at the end of the highway when we get back to it and we do that one last unload-and-load and say goodbye. It's really pretty heartbreaking. I hate that part where we drive off into the just-beginning day and I know I won't be back for another year. I wish I were always at Crowduck.
-Crowduck Lake is situated in Whiteshell Provincial Park in Manitoba, just outside the Ontario border. Every year, most of our family packs up an enormous load of clothes and supplies and fishing stuff--the biggest portion of it is carried in Grandma and Grandpa's huge van and pretty much fills it--and we drive up. Driving there is a big part of the experience. It's a monumentally long trek to Canada. We start out going through Indiana. Right about when we're going through Indianapolis and can't stop because we'd end up in rush-hour traffic, someone has to pee. In fact, someone has to pee for a lot of the way. Last year it was usually me, because I drank a lot of root beer. But this year I have an advantage I didn't have before: I'm driving, so if I have to pee, I can just pull over and not have to wait for Dad, because Dad always waits about two hours. "We're almost to the motel," he'll say, even though the motel is in Wisconsin and we're in Chicago.
-But then we get to the motel. (This year I think it's going to be at Great Uncle Chuck and Great Aunt Ellen's house.) You have to stay for the night because only a seriously insane person would try to drive those twenty hours in one day. Usually at this point nobody's staying in the same motel. After sleeping you get up at some improbably early hour--say, eight--and start driving again. The second day is when you really start getting somewhere. You emerge from Wisconsin into Minnesota and the landscape gets hearty and wholesome and deeply green. Then you angle past Lake Superior and up to Fort Frances, where the United States dumps into Canada.
-Fort Frances is something else. First we drive down small local roads and usually stop at a "duty-free" shop for some reason and maybe buy some souvenirs or some beer. Then we push on, around unlikely corners, guided by the instinct of a driver who has done this a lot of times before. I think I'll let Mom or Dad drive through Fort Frances. The road system is like hair collected from a bath drain, especially when you get up really close to the border. The road that takes you to Canada runs directly through the heart of, no fooling, a paper mill. You don't actually drive inside any buildings, but almost. The smell of ground-up paper pulp hits you like a big disgusting fist about halfway through town and doesn't leave. Everywhere huge pipes shoot up out of the ground to your sides. In some places, railroads intimately share the road with the cars, running practically right up the middle. A few hundred yards before the border, just after you're done waiting for a little three-car train to cross the road in front of you, the road splits wildly and you have to make the decision whether to go right, left, middle, leftern-right, or Seulement Les Camions. The good thing is, you have plenty of time to make the decision because all the traffic is moving so slow. You wait in a glacial line for about half an hour and then finally get up to a glass booth. A friendly lady asks you a lot of really probing questions, like where are you going and why and are you bringing any weird stuff with you. Then you cross a broad, flat river on a bridge that's half devoted to big pipes filled with stuff you can only imagine.
-But finally you manage to get through. Then you pick up the stuff you ordered earlier at the duty-free shop (don't ask me just how it works) and convert your money and drive off into Ontario. All at once everything's different. The paper pulp smell dissipates and now there are big fields with farm equipment or something in them and the gas prices are in Canadian Dollars per Liter and you have to get used to using the Kilometers part of your speedometer. But it's quiet from there on. We always go to a place called the Whispering Pines Motel in Kenora, but this year they seem to be closed or something, so we're disappointedly staying at a Super 8. We all stay in the same motel this time. We have fun and drink some beer (the adults do, anyhow) and then go to sleep.
-In the morning we all get up early and go shopping at the Safeway in Kenora. There's a ridiculous amount of shopping we have to do, because it's supplies for about 15 people for a week. Usually we get too much. Lots of potatoes. It takes probably two hours to get all the shopping done. The stuff gets packed in lots and lots of big coolers and we all move off with a lot of anticipation, because Crowduck is only a couple of hours away. Those last couple of hours feel really different. I don't know how to describe it, but the landscape looks distinctly Canadian. It probably has to do with all the lakes. There sure are a lot of them. Then as you enter Whiteshell they give way to very quiet-seeming forests with almost no cars on the narrow roads there. In my memory it always seems to be overcast, but it's probably because it's still fairly early in the morning. After you drive for a while, all of a sudden there's a right turn and you see the Big Whiteshell Lodge and the highway empties directly into the Big Whiteshell Lake. Usually the car I'm in is the second-to-last one there and Grandma and Grandpa have already started unloading the van. I help them. We unload all the groceries we've just bought and all our clothes and all our fishing stuff and beer onto a large boat stationed at a dock right next to the end of the highway. Everyone does their part to get all our stuff in the boat. Then all the people squeeze on too, and a guy from the Crowduck Lake Camp crew stands behind a tall windscreen and starts up the boat. It goes skipping gaily across the water. The reason we have to get onto this boat is that there are no roads to Crowduck from anywhere else in Canada and we have to cross the Big Whiteshell Lake to get there. Spray kicks up from underneath and gets everyone a little wet, but no one cares. The ride across Whiteshell takes about ten or fifteen minutes. We can see the point where we're going to stop from a long way off. When we get close enough to it the boat slows down and we get out and start unloading all the stuff again, because we're still not at Crowduck. This time we unload all the stuff onto big red pickup trucks marked "Limo" with wooden seats installed in the back. All the stuff goes right at our feet. Usually we ride two or three Limos. Once all the stuff is on, some crew members start up the Limos and we judder onto the most ridiculous truck path ever.
-It's two miles long and winds like a fallen strand of spaghetti. Trees poke their branches into the Limo and say hi. From time to time there's a curve that just doesn't look possible. But the crew has been doing this kind of thing awhile and they know how it works. About a half mile from the end we get the first view of the lake, with the sun shining across it. I always love that moment.
-Finally we slowly bounce into Crowduck Lake Camp. This is going to be our home for the next week. There are eight brown cabins; our family usually takes up two or three. The cabins are small and have sand on the floor, but they feel positively roomy because they have high ceilings and huge door-windows that let the outside in. The lake is right there, just beyond a sandy road and a few trees. I can stand at a cabin and throw a rock in the lake. But usually I just walk down to it.
-I'll never get tired of that first look out across the whole lake. It's huge. It's flawlessly blue and you can see forever, all the way to the other side of the lake. The air blowing off it is clean. It holds a lot of mystery for someone standing on the docks, because there's a lot you can't see from there. Crowduck isn't round. It's more like a Rorschach inkblot. There's a big island and bays and coves hiding a lot of the farther parts from view. The banks are coated with infinite deep-green trees. I really love the lake.
-We all unload the Limos and put our stuff in the cabins and start making dinner. Fish can't be taken in on the first day, so this is usually some kind of soup we froze ahead of time. After dinner on the first night people usually go to bed, because most of them have been driving a lot and are really fed up with staying awake.
-The next morning people get up at all different times. I usually get up really late and have some breakfast Mom or Dad makes, which is probably eggs and bacon and maybe pancakes. Then, at pretty much random times throughout the day, people leave to go fishing. Because we're on a fishing trip. This year I'm going to be the one driving the boat, which is a change from years past. I don't even know just how to drive one yet. I'll be taking my Great Uncle Joe out on the lake a lot, I hear. I hope we catch something. I don't know a lot about fishing. I've always had people to drive the boat out to the lake with me and pilot it along good spots, but I don't know what I'll do on my own. Presumably someone will teach me before I take Uncle Joe off. Maybe we'll catch a few fish. Maybe even some that aren't walleye. It's always exciting to catch one, but only briefly if it's a walleye, because you can't keep walleye on Crowduck. Pike and bass are what you're looking for. No matter how boring it gets, though, it's still fun. In fact, it's the best thing in the world.
-When we get back I usually find out that my Uncle Dan and Aunt Tracy have caught the most fish, and we can all eat dinner safely thanks to them. Then I fool around doing nothing in particular for a while and the dinner gets cooked. Dinner is of course excellent. My favorite is blackened Cajun fish. It's very attention-getting. Spicy and fragile and loud. And after dinner everyone plays poker. Last year I went up a total of fifteen cents for the week. Sometimes we play poker to well after midnight--I think until three once--in a variety of different games and never knowing who's going to come out ahead. Poker is one of the essential aspects of Crowduck. Even though it's a fishing trip, poker is a huge part of it and pretty much mandatory if you know how to play. (If you don't you'll probably get taught.)
-Sometimes at night we all try to see the Northern Lights. I haven't seen one of those brilliant eruptions of color yet, but last year we went out to a small granite peninsula and watched the sky for a long time staring at a shimmering, shifting curtain of transparent silver that was pretty good even if it wasn't the really big, bright kind. I lay down on my back and saw the first shooting star I've ever seen, and then saw three more. Crowduck is a place unlike any other.
-The next morning we start it again. Each day there's something new. Maybe I catch a lot of fish. Or maybe someone catches a really big one. My aunt Rachael caught a twelve-pound, thirty-six inch pike last year. It was the size of a large baby. She wore her arms out holding it. Maybe it'll be special because I went to Ritchie Lake that day. Ritchie is Crowduck's neighbor, .4 kilometers away. To get there you hoist your boat up onto a landing and walk over a portage of thick, rich, black mud and then unlock a canoe that's there. It may be work, but Ritchie has the best pike fishing ever. Dan and Tracy regularly pull up more than twenty a day. The whole point is that Crowduck is great, and it never gets old. I'll never get bored of the place. Every year I wish I could stay another week, or if at all possible the whole summer. Next year I want to work there. So this year I'm going to talk with Bill Kolansky, the proprietor, a friendly, wiry guy with black hair and a yellow floatplane, and see what that would be like and if I'm cut out for it. I sincerely hope I am and I can. Because that would be the perfect summer. Oh man, but would that ever be great.
-I know every day is one day closer to leaving, but I don't think about it. Thinking that way gets you depressed. Instead I live for the moment and fish and fish and enjoy it as much as anyone can enjoy anything. A week is a good chunk of time, and we all get an opportunity to let loose and play poker and (for the adults) have a lot of beer. That's probably why it always kind of takes me by surprise when it's time to leave. We always get up ridiculously early that morning, like at about four or five. It's always still dark. We load up our clothes and fishing stuff and what's left of the groceries (some of it we leave, and Bill keeps it) into the Limos and jounce off through the pre-dawn and wish we weren't doing that right now. Then we unload the Limos and load the big boat and it whips us off across Whiteshell through seriously cold Canadian morning air. The cars are still there at the end of the highway when we get back to it and we do that one last unload-and-load and say goodbye. It's really pretty heartbreaking. I hate that part where we drive off into the just-beginning day and I know I won't be back for another year. I wish I were always at Crowduck.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Lot to Cover
Nobody commented on my last post except Mom (twice). If nobody comments, I just leave it up for a long time. Feedback keeps you getting new material. After all, I'm writing all this; you have to write something in return.
-Ever since the exodus things have been a little quieter around here. Lately a big story has been school letting out. First there was exam week. Not for Matt. He's so super genius, he doesn't have to go to school. Well I didn't work enough this year, so I was only immune to three exams. Three! I just assumed I was exempt from accounting, but at the last moment Mrs. Lawyer came over with a 91.2% B for 4th quarter and said that I needed two A's since it's two semester classes (what kind of idiot system is that?) and told me there was nothing I could do about it, so TS. The other ones I have no excuses, I was just lazy. Mom's always telling me I need to get over my "inertia". I know. But I didn't this year, or at least not enough. Mom, please don't comment on that, because I've heard the same thing over and over again. (I know you still will, because that's just you.)
-So there's never anything like the end of the year to make me feel like an idiot. Which I deserve. But then school let out, and everything was right with the world again. I've been staying up really late--'til about 0500 or so--and not sleeping as late as I want because it's so hot and because everyone keeps waking me up. Yesterday Micah did it. He had gotten a bunch of fireworks the previous day and he was blowing them up so early in the morning at 1130. I finally got fed up at 1200. Fortunately, he got in trouble for blowing up a really big one right outside our neighbor's window (she wasn't home, though). Then I had to clean up my room, which consisted mainly of throwing out garbage and putting laundry in the basket--I overflowed it mightily--and we went to BJ's graduation party. We were supposed to be going to Grandma and Grandpa's, but Dad was doing something or other with computers and needed a few extra hours, so we went. Mom insisted I get him a gift, so I gave him some Calvin and Hobbes books I had. I wasn't using them, because I have another book that consolidates both of those into one, and the Sunday strips are in color even. By the way, I hear Bill Watterson is going to be at OSU for some reason in a couple two or three weeks. I'm going to find out more information and see if I can negotiate going. We had fun at BJ's party playing cornhole and Boggle. It was weird hearing his parents call him Brian. I ate lots of Cheez-Its.
-Then we went to Grandma and Grandpa's house in Oxford. There was a wreck on one of the highways leading up to it and we had to take a detour and Dad got completely lost. He ended up taking us in a huge circle all the way back to Colerain, which meant we had to take fifteen minutes and come back to where we'd just been and have Mom take the right turn to get there successfully. We all rubbed it in Dad's face. But then he got to eat some good pork chops and mashed potatoes at Grandma and Grandpa's house. We all got to, I mean. It was reheated is all. Then we stuck around... played Scrabble (I won)... and we decided to sleep over. I forgot my journal when we were going up, so for only the third time since 20OCT2003 I didn't write an entry last night. The other two times (in order) I left it at school and I was really really tired.
-Today I got up at 1200 and had some waffles Grandpa made me and we waited around because a guy from Watson's furniture was coming over and they had to be there. What it is is, they bought some new chairs for their porch, but a couple of them were wobbly, so they wanted better ones and the Watson's people were giving them a hard time about it. Turns out the guy who came over was really strong and just bent the legs back into place. Grandpa said it went better than he could've imagined. Then we went off to see Star Wars III. Grandpa hadn't seen it yet, but Micah and I had. I still liked it. I guess I see what my cousin Erin was saying about a lot of the dialog being ridiculous. Like, "Not if anything to say about it I have!"
-Crowduck is in just a couple weeks! Mom and Dad are telling me I need to get some driving hours in, so I imagine I'll drive a lot of the way there. I think it'll be fun...in a way--- the way that sitting in a car driving for five hours at a time is fun. That is, fun, but only until the novelty wears off. I'm also expected to take on a more "adult" level of responsibility at Crowduck itself, i.e. drive a boat and start memorizing where the good fishing spots are on the vast expanse of lake. I don't know a lot about fishing. As yet, my knowledge consists of Put the line in the water and have whoever's driving troll awhile and then move on to another spot. I was going to read up on fishing, but my library books expired and I couldn't renew them because somehow my fines had shot up above $10. I checked and it turned out I owed about twenty cents on pretty much every book I ever checked out and four dollars on a video that was two days late. I can't rent any library books until I pay that off, but I think Mom's going to for me, since she's the one who drives me downtown. When I get my driver's license she won't have to worry about that anymore. Didn't this paragraph start out being about Crowduck? We're leaving on the 28th. I'll be in radio silence for about a week and a half while I drive all over with various people in my family.
-For one other news item, I've put up my font Cyril for critique on a website. It can be found nowhere in particular. I'm going to redraw the italic. Don't worry if you don't understand 90% of the stuff they and I are talking about. After Matt was done looking at it he told me, "My head hurts." Then he told me he was listening to some song that I thought sounded really stupid to remedy it. I think it was about clowns. You guys discuss it amongst yourselves. He's on vacation in Virginia right now, so that will be a pleasant little surprise for him when he gets back.
-What's your favorite Beatles song? I still like Eleanor Rigby. I also found the dumbest one ever in terms of lyrics. It's What's the New Mary Jane, not Come Together as you may have believed.
-Ever since the exodus things have been a little quieter around here. Lately a big story has been school letting out. First there was exam week. Not for Matt. He's so super genius, he doesn't have to go to school. Well I didn't work enough this year, so I was only immune to three exams. Three! I just assumed I was exempt from accounting, but at the last moment Mrs. Lawyer came over with a 91.2% B for 4th quarter and said that I needed two A's since it's two semester classes (what kind of idiot system is that?) and told me there was nothing I could do about it, so TS. The other ones I have no excuses, I was just lazy. Mom's always telling me I need to get over my "inertia". I know. But I didn't this year, or at least not enough. Mom, please don't comment on that, because I've heard the same thing over and over again. (I know you still will, because that's just you.)
-So there's never anything like the end of the year to make me feel like an idiot. Which I deserve. But then school let out, and everything was right with the world again. I've been staying up really late--'til about 0500 or so--and not sleeping as late as I want because it's so hot and because everyone keeps waking me up. Yesterday Micah did it. He had gotten a bunch of fireworks the previous day and he was blowing them up so early in the morning at 1130. I finally got fed up at 1200. Fortunately, he got in trouble for blowing up a really big one right outside our neighbor's window (she wasn't home, though). Then I had to clean up my room, which consisted mainly of throwing out garbage and putting laundry in the basket--I overflowed it mightily--and we went to BJ's graduation party. We were supposed to be going to Grandma and Grandpa's, but Dad was doing something or other with computers and needed a few extra hours, so we went. Mom insisted I get him a gift, so I gave him some Calvin and Hobbes books I had. I wasn't using them, because I have another book that consolidates both of those into one, and the Sunday strips are in color even. By the way, I hear Bill Watterson is going to be at OSU for some reason in a couple two or three weeks. I'm going to find out more information and see if I can negotiate going. We had fun at BJ's party playing cornhole and Boggle. It was weird hearing his parents call him Brian. I ate lots of Cheez-Its.
-Then we went to Grandma and Grandpa's house in Oxford. There was a wreck on one of the highways leading up to it and we had to take a detour and Dad got completely lost. He ended up taking us in a huge circle all the way back to Colerain, which meant we had to take fifteen minutes and come back to where we'd just been and have Mom take the right turn to get there successfully. We all rubbed it in Dad's face. But then he got to eat some good pork chops and mashed potatoes at Grandma and Grandpa's house. We all got to, I mean. It was reheated is all. Then we stuck around... played Scrabble (I won)... and we decided to sleep over. I forgot my journal when we were going up, so for only the third time since 20OCT2003 I didn't write an entry last night. The other two times (in order) I left it at school and I was really really tired.
-Today I got up at 1200 and had some waffles Grandpa made me and we waited around because a guy from Watson's furniture was coming over and they had to be there. What it is is, they bought some new chairs for their porch, but a couple of them were wobbly, so they wanted better ones and the Watson's people were giving them a hard time about it. Turns out the guy who came over was really strong and just bent the legs back into place. Grandpa said it went better than he could've imagined. Then we went off to see Star Wars III. Grandpa hadn't seen it yet, but Micah and I had. I still liked it. I guess I see what my cousin Erin was saying about a lot of the dialog being ridiculous. Like, "Not if anything to say about it I have!"
-Crowduck is in just a couple weeks! Mom and Dad are telling me I need to get some driving hours in, so I imagine I'll drive a lot of the way there. I think it'll be fun...in a way--- the way that sitting in a car driving for five hours at a time is fun. That is, fun, but only until the novelty wears off. I'm also expected to take on a more "adult" level of responsibility at Crowduck itself, i.e. drive a boat and start memorizing where the good fishing spots are on the vast expanse of lake. I don't know a lot about fishing. As yet, my knowledge consists of Put the line in the water and have whoever's driving troll awhile and then move on to another spot. I was going to read up on fishing, but my library books expired and I couldn't renew them because somehow my fines had shot up above $10. I checked and it turned out I owed about twenty cents on pretty much every book I ever checked out and four dollars on a video that was two days late. I can't rent any library books until I pay that off, but I think Mom's going to for me, since she's the one who drives me downtown. When I get my driver's license she won't have to worry about that anymore. Didn't this paragraph start out being about Crowduck? We're leaving on the 28th. I'll be in radio silence for about a week and a half while I drive all over with various people in my family.
-For one other news item, I've put up my font Cyril for critique on a website. It can be found nowhere in particular. I'm going to redraw the italic. Don't worry if you don't understand 90% of the stuff they and I are talking about. After Matt was done looking at it he told me, "My head hurts." Then he told me he was listening to some song that I thought sounded really stupid to remedy it. I think it was about clowns. You guys discuss it amongst yourselves. He's on vacation in Virginia right now, so that will be a pleasant little surprise for him when he gets back.
-What's your favorite Beatles song? I still like Eleanor Rigby. I also found the dumbest one ever in terms of lyrics. It's What's the New Mary Jane, not Come Together as you may have believed.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Exodus
Eleven cats is, as anyone can agree, far too high a number. So two or three weeks ago Mom went about placing a classified ad in the Enquirer to give them away. I can highly vouch for the effectiveness of Enquirer classifieds. Within the first day, we had given all but two of the nine kittens away. Various people came and went and took them. Meanwhile, Mom's own adult cat was sick.
-We still don't know what the cat ("Fiona") had, but she'd had it since the previous night and it was obviously terminal. We knew she was sick then when she came staggering into the living room, looking seriously drunk, and fell over. Dad put the cat in his lap and consulted with Grady Veterinarian hospital about euthanasia. As it breathed laboredly, he discovered that Grady was charging an absurd ninety dollars to put a cat down. So Dad decided to let nature take its course and let it die in his lap. He also decided then not to tell Mom about it, because there was nothing she could do anyway and if she knew she would take the cat to Grady and, prior to euthanizing it, rack up an even bigger bill finding out what was wrong with it and that it was incurable.
-But she didn't. She got up and staggered into the kitchen a couple times, and then eventually ended up in my room. I discerned her intentions and picked her up, but it was too late and she passed water the whole time I was carrying her to the front door. We left her outside that night.
-The next day a person came and picked up one more kitten. The last one we saved for ourselves. We didn't hear anything of Fiona until Micah and his friend Matt discovered her lying on the garage floor bleeding from the mouth. At the same exact time, Mom pulled up in the driveway and they ran yelling to her about the cat. I couldn't do anything to stop it, because I was in the bathroom. I felt helpless. Before I could even get out, Mom, Matt, and Micah left, and moments later Dad pulled in two. It all happened so fast. "You missed it," I told him, and said what had happened.
-He called up Grady and tried to dissuade Mom, who was there by now, from euthanizing it for ninety dollars. He couldn't stop her, though, and Mom got her put down.
-So now we were down to one kitten and my cat, Helen, which were the ones we were keeping. Dad buried Fiona in the back yard. The kitten, whom Micah calls "Oreo" but I'm thinking up another name for her some time, is very small and wiry and nervous. But she's funny and really bouncy. It's a hoot playing with her.
-A few days passed and everyone kept noting that they hadn't seen Helen for a long time. Indeed, since the day Fiona died, she hadn't been seen at all. I figured she was out doing hunting somewhere and would come back in a few days. But she didn't. She never came back. I really liked Helen, too. She was probably my favorite cat I've had. I'll miss her. It seems unfair that two cats should disappear from the house in the same day. I can't help but wonder what happened.
-So, ultimately, now we're down to one cat--the bouncy one.
-In other news, I took a tiring creekwalk last Sunday to the railroad. That creekwalk was fun, but I suspect you've all gotten tired of reading descriptions of creekwalks, so I'll condense it. Micah and his friend Josh Hardwick (who's immensely stupid ["When's noon?"] and can't say his r's right) came along; we went through Caldwell Park and stopped at the nature preserve; we got to the railroad. At the railroad we waited a minute in indecision whether to go to another, further railroad, because we thought the one we were on didn't get trains, and while we were trying to figure out how to get there a train came on the one we were already at, so we stayed. I waved to the conductor and he waved back, and I watched the whole loud train pass. I really like trains. I want to ride one someday soon. We waited another while to see if another train would come. We were about to leave and one did. This one was carrying cars, but I couldn't see them too well because I wasn't on the side of the train that the boxcar doors are. I could just see their dim outlines through the boxcar vents.
-And then we walked home, which was tiring again.
-Lately I've taken to listening to Beatles songs. I can listen to all of them that I want, because I found a website that has about every one they ever sang up for listening, and it has lyrics too. My favorites are Eleanor Rigby, Penny Lane, I'm Only Sleeping, and Come Together. If you want to listen to Come Together I suggest doing it here instead, because this site has a nifty animation that I liked that goes with it. I've been inspired by this music to draw a couple things. I drew a picture of Old Flattop, for instance. Also a line in Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds (which I know can be shortened to "LSD") talks about "a bridge by the fountain / where rocking horse people eat marchmallow pies". And I thought, "Rocking horse people. Now that sounds really interesting." An image search, though, only yielded one picture, and that one I didn't think was just quite satisfactory (though I guess it's still pretty good--and bizarre, but that's there before the picture's even drawn), so I made my own of that. It is also really weird.
-Tonight we have the big concert and I hope Mom and Dad are home in time to see it. I forgot to tell them about it, so I had to call Dad up. Mom I couldn't reach because she had already left work. (She works, currently, at DRC, which grades essay questions on standardized tests.) So I hope for her sake she's on her way home. She'd hate to miss it. I have to be there at 1945, so that gives her a good two hours. For the concert I had to bike up to Radio Shack and specially buy some new minicassettes, because I was all out. Micah will be in the audience with the minicorder. Until then,
-Judas Priest may certainly have been a rock band. But I wasn't thinking about that at the time. What I was thinking of is how people used to say "Judas Priest!" when they got mad. It's one of those phrases I think we should bring back, along with "More power to you" and "I haven't seen you in a month of Sundays!" I said it more or less randomly, because that's how I wanted to end that post.
-We still don't know what the cat ("Fiona") had, but she'd had it since the previous night and it was obviously terminal. We knew she was sick then when she came staggering into the living room, looking seriously drunk, and fell over. Dad put the cat in his lap and consulted with Grady Veterinarian hospital about euthanasia. As it breathed laboredly, he discovered that Grady was charging an absurd ninety dollars to put a cat down. So Dad decided to let nature take its course and let it die in his lap. He also decided then not to tell Mom about it, because there was nothing she could do anyway and if she knew she would take the cat to Grady and, prior to euthanizing it, rack up an even bigger bill finding out what was wrong with it and that it was incurable.
-But she didn't. She got up and staggered into the kitchen a couple times, and then eventually ended up in my room. I discerned her intentions and picked her up, but it was too late and she passed water the whole time I was carrying her to the front door. We left her outside that night.
-The next day a person came and picked up one more kitten. The last one we saved for ourselves. We didn't hear anything of Fiona until Micah and his friend Matt discovered her lying on the garage floor bleeding from the mouth. At the same exact time, Mom pulled up in the driveway and they ran yelling to her about the cat. I couldn't do anything to stop it, because I was in the bathroom. I felt helpless. Before I could even get out, Mom, Matt, and Micah left, and moments later Dad pulled in two. It all happened so fast. "You missed it," I told him, and said what had happened.
-He called up Grady and tried to dissuade Mom, who was there by now, from euthanizing it for ninety dollars. He couldn't stop her, though, and Mom got her put down.
-So now we were down to one kitten and my cat, Helen, which were the ones we were keeping. Dad buried Fiona in the back yard. The kitten, whom Micah calls "Oreo" but I'm thinking up another name for her some time, is very small and wiry and nervous. But she's funny and really bouncy. It's a hoot playing with her.
-A few days passed and everyone kept noting that they hadn't seen Helen for a long time. Indeed, since the day Fiona died, she hadn't been seen at all. I figured she was out doing hunting somewhere and would come back in a few days. But she didn't. She never came back. I really liked Helen, too. She was probably my favorite cat I've had. I'll miss her. It seems unfair that two cats should disappear from the house in the same day. I can't help but wonder what happened.
-So, ultimately, now we're down to one cat--the bouncy one.
-In other news, I took a tiring creekwalk last Sunday to the railroad. That creekwalk was fun, but I suspect you've all gotten tired of reading descriptions of creekwalks, so I'll condense it. Micah and his friend Josh Hardwick (who's immensely stupid ["When's noon?"] and can't say his r's right) came along; we went through Caldwell Park and stopped at the nature preserve; we got to the railroad. At the railroad we waited a minute in indecision whether to go to another, further railroad, because we thought the one we were on didn't get trains, and while we were trying to figure out how to get there a train came on the one we were already at, so we stayed. I waved to the conductor and he waved back, and I watched the whole loud train pass. I really like trains. I want to ride one someday soon. We waited another while to see if another train would come. We were about to leave and one did. This one was carrying cars, but I couldn't see them too well because I wasn't on the side of the train that the boxcar doors are. I could just see their dim outlines through the boxcar vents.
-And then we walked home, which was tiring again.
-Lately I've taken to listening to Beatles songs. I can listen to all of them that I want, because I found a website that has about every one they ever sang up for listening, and it has lyrics too. My favorites are Eleanor Rigby, Penny Lane, I'm Only Sleeping, and Come Together. If you want to listen to Come Together I suggest doing it here instead, because this site has a nifty animation that I liked that goes with it. I've been inspired by this music to draw a couple things. I drew a picture of Old Flattop, for instance. Also a line in Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds (which I know can be shortened to "LSD") talks about "a bridge by the fountain / where rocking horse people eat marchmallow pies". And I thought, "Rocking horse people. Now that sounds really interesting." An image search, though, only yielded one picture, and that one I didn't think was just quite satisfactory (though I guess it's still pretty good--and bizarre, but that's there before the picture's even drawn), so I made my own of that. It is also really weird.
-Tonight we have the big concert and I hope Mom and Dad are home in time to see it. I forgot to tell them about it, so I had to call Dad up. Mom I couldn't reach because she had already left work. (She works, currently, at DRC, which grades essay questions on standardized tests.) So I hope for her sake she's on her way home. She'd hate to miss it. I have to be there at 1945, so that gives her a good two hours. For the concert I had to bike up to Radio Shack and specially buy some new minicassettes, because I was all out. Micah will be in the audience with the minicorder. Until then,
-Judas Priest may certainly have been a rock band. But I wasn't thinking about that at the time. What I was thinking of is how people used to say "Judas Priest!" when they got mad. It's one of those phrases I think we should bring back, along with "More power to you" and "I haven't seen you in a month of Sundays!" I said it more or less randomly, because that's how I wanted to end that post.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
Hitchhike somewhere else.
Yesterday Mom and I went and saw The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Myself, I had already read a very lucid review on it that pretty well condemned it, so I didn't have high hopes. But I resolved to go in with a pessimistic attitude and watch it anyhow. Everyone else figured they'd like it, and it seemed like they got just what they expected. Expectations are powerful in this kind of situation.
-We were expecting the theater to be jam-packed, but when we got in there there were maybe four people scattered through the higher seats. This did not bode well. We scattered our own selves and, after fifteen minutes of previews (really), the movie got to starting.
-It started with a bunch of singing dolphins. That is not a good thing. In fact, I can't think of a much worse way to start it. Singing dolphins? Opera-style?! And from there things proceeded to get only marginally better. Okay, I'll give th movie makers one thing: the special effects were terrific. I enjoyed all the special effects. But, like the astute reviewer noted at Planet Magrathea (though don't hope to get in for quite a while, because the bandwidth limit has been continuously exceeded for the last few days), the movie had one serious flaw: it wasn't funny. The whole point of the books was that they were hilarious. The movie took out all the good jokes, or, as the reviewer (one MJ Simpson) pointed out, in a lot of places actually rewrote them to be less funny. That's why the movie was crap. Simpson (just go read the review) says, "This is one of the least funny comedy movies ever."
-I generally make up my own material, but since Simpson made so many valid points I would've failed to make, I figured I wouldn't try to do it better, because I'd just fail. So I quoted him for most of my own review.
-The bottom line is: don't go see the movie. If you must, wait until you can rent it.
-Other than seeing the movie, the last few days weren't very eventful. I went to Graeter's a few times. If anyone wants to go to Graeter's with me at any time, you've generally got a yes. In fact, I just realized that would make a terrific place for me to meet friends whenever the occasion to do so arises. I love Graeter's.
-Tonight I'm going to turn on my shortwave radio and listen to a broadcast in Esperanto, one emanating from Havana, Cuba. That'll be fun.
-I have a buttload of homework from those two little days I was absent. All that homework'll probably take me all tomorrow to do. So I'm not looking forward too much to tomorrow.
-I made a new buddy icon. IM me and look at it. The joke is that my initials are NDB and that also stands for "Non-Directional Beacon". And "National Discount Brokers", but that's stupid. "Nondirectional" describes me nicely, I think.
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- Judas Priest!
-We were expecting the theater to be jam-packed, but when we got in there there were maybe four people scattered through the higher seats. This did not bode well. We scattered our own selves and, after fifteen minutes of previews (really), the movie got to starting.
-It started with a bunch of singing dolphins. That is not a good thing. In fact, I can't think of a much worse way to start it. Singing dolphins? Opera-style?! And from there things proceeded to get only marginally better. Okay, I'll give th movie makers one thing: the special effects were terrific. I enjoyed all the special effects. But, like the astute reviewer noted at Planet Magrathea (though don't hope to get in for quite a while, because the bandwidth limit has been continuously exceeded for the last few days), the movie had one serious flaw: it wasn't funny. The whole point of the books was that they were hilarious. The movie took out all the good jokes, or, as the reviewer (one MJ Simpson) pointed out, in a lot of places actually rewrote them to be less funny. That's why the movie was crap. Simpson (just go read the review) says, "This is one of the least funny comedy movies ever."
-I generally make up my own material, but since Simpson made so many valid points I would've failed to make, I figured I wouldn't try to do it better, because I'd just fail. So I quoted him for most of my own review.
-The bottom line is: don't go see the movie. If you must, wait until you can rent it.
-Other than seeing the movie, the last few days weren't very eventful. I went to Graeter's a few times. If anyone wants to go to Graeter's with me at any time, you've generally got a yes. In fact, I just realized that would make a terrific place for me to meet friends whenever the occasion to do so arises. I love Graeter's.
-Tonight I'm going to turn on my shortwave radio and listen to a broadcast in Esperanto, one emanating from Havana, Cuba. That'll be fun.
-I have a buttload of homework from those two little days I was absent. All that homework'll probably take me all tomorrow to do. So I'm not looking forward too much to tomorrow.
-I made a new buddy icon. IM me and look at it. The joke is that my initials are NDB and that also stands for "Non-Directional Beacon". And "National Discount Brokers", but that's stupid. "Nondirectional" describes me nicely, I think.
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- Judas Priest!
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Sick day
Today I stayed home from school. I had had a really sucky day at school yesterday because I was sick the whole time and especially achy, and I didn't want to go through with that again. As of writing, you poor saps are waiting anxiously for the let-out bell, which will ring in one minute and thirty-five seconds. By the time I'm done, you'll probably be home.
-Matt wanted to know (over IM) yesterday whether there was any "sick-day bloggage" expected. I guess so. I also sent him a picture of the italic from my font, which is called Cyril. The italic is turning out real nice, and I'm up to l so far. Once I'm done with this font I'm going to send it off to Linotype (typeface company) and see if they like it enough to sell it for me. I personally think it looks awesome, but that's obvious.
-In my last post I forgot to tell about the creekwalk Micah and I took past the power pylon at Seymour Preserve. It was pretty awesome, except toward the end. We took the same route described in the last creekwalking post to that pylon and then kept on going. After trekking through an expansive field of four-foot-high, brittle weeds, we ended up across the street from a brilliant creek that happened to be at the edge of Caldwell Nature Preserve. When we got to the creek we found the going would be nice and easy, since there was a trail running right next to the creek for its entire length. In Caldwell we had probably the most fun we've ever had on a creekwalk.
-Eventually that creek flowed into the Mill Creek, which, according to my map, would take us directly under a cool railroad. However, we didn't follow the Mill Creek exactly, because Micah wanted to veer upward and into what he thought was a shortcut. It wasn't. What it was was a dank, dreary, depressing place called "American Crushed Steel" (we think--that's what it said on the side of a machine there). American Crushed Steel was a vast muddy plain strewn with enormous piles of metallic trash sorted into separate piles. Each pile had a different kind of garbage in it. Parts of old wheels go here. Inexplicable metal circles there. Dead coffee cans in that pile, springs in this one. Micah and I trudged through the thick, inescapable mud, dodging frequent puddles of water and sometimes not dodging them, walking across fallen doors and beside defunct bulldozers, and came disbelievingly to a fence with a railroad on the other side, just like we'd planned all along! Here we stopped next to a caboose on American Crushed Steel's side of the fence that hasn't run for at least thirty years and pulled Pop-Tarts and Sprite out of the backpack we'd been alternatingly carrying. We must've looked for all the world like juvenile hobos.
-We resolved to wait here until a train passed by and then turn back and go home. That plan didn't work. We sat for probably an hour and nothing passed by. We heard trains tantalizingly close but out of view on other tracks somewhere and had to just sit there. Eventually we got fed up and turned around. We were much more tired by then. It was less fun to walk back through Caldwell and not fun at all to walk back through the field of four-foot weeds, but we knew we had to. Just before night, we arrived home. That was March 14th, by the way.
-In more recent epochs I've had subs from Subway and inquired about employment but found they're looking for those over 18, and I've gone driving on short excursions with Mom and with Dad. On one of them I got to eat at Applebee's. They're really expensive. And we've also had lots and lots of kittens roaming the house. We have nine of them: six from one cat, three from the other. Adding the two mothers, we have eleven cats in the house. Soon we have to start giving them away.
-It's a rainy, junky day outside. I picked a good day to be sick. I think I'll probably be at school tomorrow. Isn't it cool that it snowed on Sunday? I think that's awesome.
-My mom wants me to start up a t-shirt business and so do I. I'll do it soon, I think. Also I'm going to work on the snake cage I started building two years ago and haven't given a passing notice ever since. I think I'll do that this weekend. I did get some nails from Hader the other day when I biked up to Complete Petmart with Micah to get some crickets for his snake. What I'm doing recently is finishing up all the things I started doing long ago and should've finished then too but got distracted, possibly by the school year starting so suddenly.
-Which brings me to that the school year is about over, isn't it? There's only about a month and a half left! Soon I can go to Crowduck and West Virginia and all sorts of stuff! Also I'll have to start thinking about the future. (What a drag, no?) Mom thinks I ought to be an editor, not a proofreader. I didn't know the distinction exactly. As it turns out the distinction is about $20,000 more a year(than a proofreader's $30,000). And a "Senior Editor" makes about $80,000. So I'm definitely considering this kind of thing.
-My CD is about over, so I guess I'll let your eyes go and maybe I'll do something else.
-Matt wanted to know (over IM) yesterday whether there was any "sick-day bloggage" expected. I guess so. I also sent him a picture of the italic from my font, which is called Cyril. The italic is turning out real nice, and I'm up to l so far. Once I'm done with this font I'm going to send it off to Linotype (typeface company) and see if they like it enough to sell it for me. I personally think it looks awesome, but that's obvious.
-In my last post I forgot to tell about the creekwalk Micah and I took past the power pylon at Seymour Preserve. It was pretty awesome, except toward the end. We took the same route described in the last creekwalking post to that pylon and then kept on going. After trekking through an expansive field of four-foot-high, brittle weeds, we ended up across the street from a brilliant creek that happened to be at the edge of Caldwell Nature Preserve. When we got to the creek we found the going would be nice and easy, since there was a trail running right next to the creek for its entire length. In Caldwell we had probably the most fun we've ever had on a creekwalk.
-Eventually that creek flowed into the Mill Creek, which, according to my map, would take us directly under a cool railroad. However, we didn't follow the Mill Creek exactly, because Micah wanted to veer upward and into what he thought was a shortcut. It wasn't. What it was was a dank, dreary, depressing place called "American Crushed Steel" (we think--that's what it said on the side of a machine there). American Crushed Steel was a vast muddy plain strewn with enormous piles of metallic trash sorted into separate piles. Each pile had a different kind of garbage in it. Parts of old wheels go here. Inexplicable metal circles there. Dead coffee cans in that pile, springs in this one. Micah and I trudged through the thick, inescapable mud, dodging frequent puddles of water and sometimes not dodging them, walking across fallen doors and beside defunct bulldozers, and came disbelievingly to a fence with a railroad on the other side, just like we'd planned all along! Here we stopped next to a caboose on American Crushed Steel's side of the fence that hasn't run for at least thirty years and pulled Pop-Tarts and Sprite out of the backpack we'd been alternatingly carrying. We must've looked for all the world like juvenile hobos.
-We resolved to wait here until a train passed by and then turn back and go home. That plan didn't work. We sat for probably an hour and nothing passed by. We heard trains tantalizingly close but out of view on other tracks somewhere and had to just sit there. Eventually we got fed up and turned around. We were much more tired by then. It was less fun to walk back through Caldwell and not fun at all to walk back through the field of four-foot weeds, but we knew we had to. Just before night, we arrived home. That was March 14th, by the way.
-In more recent epochs I've had subs from Subway and inquired about employment but found they're looking for those over 18, and I've gone driving on short excursions with Mom and with Dad. On one of them I got to eat at Applebee's. They're really expensive. And we've also had lots and lots of kittens roaming the house. We have nine of them: six from one cat, three from the other. Adding the two mothers, we have eleven cats in the house. Soon we have to start giving them away.
-It's a rainy, junky day outside. I picked a good day to be sick. I think I'll probably be at school tomorrow. Isn't it cool that it snowed on Sunday? I think that's awesome.
-My mom wants me to start up a t-shirt business and so do I. I'll do it soon, I think. Also I'm going to work on the snake cage I started building two years ago and haven't given a passing notice ever since. I think I'll do that this weekend. I did get some nails from Hader the other day when I biked up to Complete Petmart with Micah to get some crickets for his snake. What I'm doing recently is finishing up all the things I started doing long ago and should've finished then too but got distracted, possibly by the school year starting so suddenly.
-Which brings me to that the school year is about over, isn't it? There's only about a month and a half left! Soon I can go to Crowduck and West Virginia and all sorts of stuff! Also I'll have to start thinking about the future. (What a drag, no?) Mom thinks I ought to be an editor, not a proofreader. I didn't know the distinction exactly. As it turns out the distinction is about $20,000 more a year(than a proofreader's $30,000). And a "Senior Editor" makes about $80,000. So I'm definitely considering this kind of thing.
-My CD is about over, so I guess I'll let your eyes go and maybe I'll do something else.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Has it really?
People kept telling me to update my blog, but up until a couple weeks ago, I kept thinking I had updated just last week or so. Matt made sure I knew otherwise sometime in early April when he told me I really hadn't posted since February 28th. From then I knew I probably should we=-- (sorry, cat jumped on the keyboard) write something, but I just neglected to. Well, it's been a month and a half, but I'm finally updating.
-A lot has happened in that time. No, that's a lie. But some has happened. The most prominent event is pretty recent: I got my own computer in my room. Dad worked a long time and spent a lot of money to get this thing up. I didn't really want it all that badly, but I guess it is pretty good that I've got it, because now I can start computerizing my fonts without being hassled to get off the computer.
-In other news, I had a birthday. It happened on March 24th. In fact, now I need to go change that profile that's at the side of the page. Don't bother looking, I probably already changed it. My birthday was pretty good: the day before, I got ribs and cake and $50 at my Grandma and Grandpa's house, and on the actual day I got to go on Spring Break. I loved Spring Break,but it was too short. I did plenty of stuff, though.
-Today in History Class Mr. McGlade was talking about how college tuition rates have risen exponentially since the '20s, more than can be explained by just inflation. We talked for about five whole minutes about how some people decide it's not even really worth it to go to college for $80,000 if you've got to pay student loans 'til you're 51 and how it costs even $40,000 a year to go to college in many places. My parents can't afford $40,000. That's why I'm getting scholarships, I suppose, but even 20 or 1ok is a lot for them. We're poor even right now. We're always poor, it seems. Then, just as the discussion was wrapping up, McGlade threw in a quick aside about how funny it was that you could just go across the border into Canada and attend internationally acclaimed colleges for, like, $6,000 a year. I'm going to college in Canada.
-I also think I know my top career choice: I want to be a proofreader. That would be awesome. Not only do I get to sit and read for a living, I also get to point out other people's mistakes! I think I'd be an excellent proofreader. Proofreading isn't hard in, say, school (Doc Lev's papers are especially entertaining), but I even proofread cursorily when I'm reading anything else. For example, I found a misprint in one of the Harry Potter books: it said "Dumblefore". Isn't that spectacular? I'm finding things that even accomplished proofreaders missed. Um. Anyhow, I think that would be fun. I wonder what it pays, though.
-Today after school I was sucking on a bouillon cube. That probably disgusts you. But here's the thing: I laughed at a Strong Bad E-mail and I accidentally swallowed it whole. That was awful. My throat was burning for maybe ten minutes. Things are going okay now, though. Maybe tonight I'll work on my font Cyril awhile, and I'll research proofreading. I'm kinda hungry. I want some steak or something. Maybe ribs. Are you looking forward to the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy movie? because I am.
-A lot has happened in that time. No, that's a lie. But some has happened. The most prominent event is pretty recent: I got my own computer in my room. Dad worked a long time and spent a lot of money to get this thing up. I didn't really want it all that badly, but I guess it is pretty good that I've got it, because now I can start computerizing my fonts without being hassled to get off the computer.
-In other news, I had a birthday. It happened on March 24th. In fact, now I need to go change that profile that's at the side of the page. Don't bother looking, I probably already changed it. My birthday was pretty good: the day before, I got ribs and cake and $50 at my Grandma and Grandpa's house, and on the actual day I got to go on Spring Break. I loved Spring Break,but it was too short. I did plenty of stuff, though.
-Today in History Class Mr. McGlade was talking about how college tuition rates have risen exponentially since the '20s, more than can be explained by just inflation. We talked for about five whole minutes about how some people decide it's not even really worth it to go to college for $80,000 if you've got to pay student loans 'til you're 51 and how it costs even $40,000 a year to go to college in many places. My parents can't afford $40,000. That's why I'm getting scholarships, I suppose, but even 20 or 1ok is a lot for them. We're poor even right now. We're always poor, it seems. Then, just as the discussion was wrapping up, McGlade threw in a quick aside about how funny it was that you could just go across the border into Canada and attend internationally acclaimed colleges for, like, $6,000 a year. I'm going to college in Canada.
-I also think I know my top career choice: I want to be a proofreader. That would be awesome. Not only do I get to sit and read for a living, I also get to point out other people's mistakes! I think I'd be an excellent proofreader. Proofreading isn't hard in, say, school (Doc Lev's papers are especially entertaining), but I even proofread cursorily when I'm reading anything else. For example, I found a misprint in one of the Harry Potter books: it said "Dumblefore". Isn't that spectacular? I'm finding things that even accomplished proofreaders missed. Um. Anyhow, I think that would be fun. I wonder what it pays, though.
-Today after school I was sucking on a bouillon cube. That probably disgusts you. But here's the thing: I laughed at a Strong Bad E-mail and I accidentally swallowed it whole. That was awful. My throat was burning for maybe ten minutes. Things are going okay now, though. Maybe tonight I'll work on my font Cyril awhile, and I'll research proofreading. I'm kinda hungry. I want some steak or something. Maybe ribs. Are you looking forward to the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy movie? because I am.
Monday, February 28, 2005
What is it?
Everyone's been on me to get posting again. ("Everyone" means Matt and my mom.) I wasn't aware that people were still checking even. I kept saying I'd update, but I never did remember to when it counted. Now that I've decided to get current, though, there are a lot of stories I need to cover.
-The most recent development is that our laptop has been fixed. Dad made it work again after a several-month hiatus, and it only took him about a day, so I'm mystified as to why he didn't do it sooner. Now we have a laptop again and, somehow--I still don't fully understand this--I got all my data back from before it crashed and burned. I plan to start designing my typefaces within the week.
-Other developments include our cat getting pregnant and winter getting on with what it does. In fact, winter has been spectacular this year, but it's getting close to its end. I wish it'd hang around a little longer. And actually I tink it's supposed to snow an inch or two tomorrow night. Maybe even a snow day?
-But here's the idea I've been harboring for a long time and I've wantde to write about except I kept forgetting:
-What is it about people that compels them to comment to me as I ride my bike past them? At least once a day I ride past some moron. As they disappear behind me, I always get one of two comments:
:"Can I get a ride?"
:"Yo, gimme that bike, foo!"
The person always thinks it's the height of hilarity to say this. They probably feel like they're very original, and saying that to me is their greatest accomplishment of the day. I doubt any of those idiots are reading this, but if they are: get some new material! Make me laugh! Or better yet, just keep your dumb mouth shut!
-There's another thing about me and my bike that's infecting even the smart people at my school. I ride my bike to school every single morning, and everyone in the area at that time is sure to see me because I'm very conspicuous biking in the middle of the actual street, but still when people see me they feel the need to notify me, "I saw you biking to school the other day." Matt has told me this and Rosie has told me this, along with half the rest of the school population. I'm not sure why. I'd appreciate feedback on this dilemma.
-I have read your comments and I have, in standard practice, promptly forgotten them. I remember BJ actually came on and said something to me--BJ is the captain of the academic team at my school, in case you don't know that, which is doubtful because everyone who reads this is in academic team pretty much--and Oh yeah! it was about that petition to keep Warder Park from being converted to a regular park. He wanted to know how that was going. Well, BJ, it's not going so great, because Dr. Tracy doesn't want to let me post my petitions on the school bulletin boards. He says that if I posted those, which support a political agenda, he'd have to let every nut with a political agenda post stuff on the boards. He doesn't want to have someone post a KKK thing there. He neglects to notice that he has never said a word about the Gay-Straight Alliance posters conspicuously plastered all over the school in vibrant pink. Quite a political agenda there, but he hasn't had those torn down yet. I'm going to have a talk with him about that.
-Other comments have gone into the void of my subconscious, but just ask me at school and I'll tell you about what you want to know.
-In closing I really hate TV. In my house that's all anyone seems to do. If there's no other way to spend time, like doing something productive, that they can think of they just switch on the TV. 95 percent of the time there's nothing good on. But they still watch it anyhow, like zombies. I can't stand it a lot of the time, though occasionally there are good shows (viz. The Simpsons, AFV, Stargate). It gets in the way of thinking. This goes doubly for video games. My brother plays video games continually. It's like he's dead in his chair. I don't understand why people go for artificial life. I prefer to actually live.
-The most recent development is that our laptop has been fixed. Dad made it work again after a several-month hiatus, and it only took him about a day, so I'm mystified as to why he didn't do it sooner. Now we have a laptop again and, somehow--I still don't fully understand this--I got all my data back from before it crashed and burned. I plan to start designing my typefaces within the week.
-Other developments include our cat getting pregnant and winter getting on with what it does. In fact, winter has been spectacular this year, but it's getting close to its end. I wish it'd hang around a little longer. And actually I tink it's supposed to snow an inch or two tomorrow night. Maybe even a snow day?
-But here's the idea I've been harboring for a long time and I've wantde to write about except I kept forgetting:
-What is it about people that compels them to comment to me as I ride my bike past them? At least once a day I ride past some moron. As they disappear behind me, I always get one of two comments:
:"Can I get a ride?"
:"Yo, gimme that bike, foo!"
The person always thinks it's the height of hilarity to say this. They probably feel like they're very original, and saying that to me is their greatest accomplishment of the day. I doubt any of those idiots are reading this, but if they are: get some new material! Make me laugh! Or better yet, just keep your dumb mouth shut!
-There's another thing about me and my bike that's infecting even the smart people at my school. I ride my bike to school every single morning, and everyone in the area at that time is sure to see me because I'm very conspicuous biking in the middle of the actual street, but still when people see me they feel the need to notify me, "I saw you biking to school the other day." Matt has told me this and Rosie has told me this, along with half the rest of the school population. I'm not sure why. I'd appreciate feedback on this dilemma.
-I have read your comments and I have, in standard practice, promptly forgotten them. I remember BJ actually came on and said something to me--BJ is the captain of the academic team at my school, in case you don't know that, which is doubtful because everyone who reads this is in academic team pretty much--and Oh yeah! it was about that petition to keep Warder Park from being converted to a regular park. He wanted to know how that was going. Well, BJ, it's not going so great, because Dr. Tracy doesn't want to let me post my petitions on the school bulletin boards. He says that if I posted those, which support a political agenda, he'd have to let every nut with a political agenda post stuff on the boards. He doesn't want to have someone post a KKK thing there. He neglects to notice that he has never said a word about the Gay-Straight Alliance posters conspicuously plastered all over the school in vibrant pink. Quite a political agenda there, but he hasn't had those torn down yet. I'm going to have a talk with him about that.
-Other comments have gone into the void of my subconscious, but just ask me at school and I'll tell you about what you want to know.
-In closing I really hate TV. In my house that's all anyone seems to do. If there's no other way to spend time, like doing something productive, that they can think of they just switch on the TV. 95 percent of the time there's nothing good on. But they still watch it anyhow, like zombies. I can't stand it a lot of the time, though occasionally there are good shows (viz. The Simpsons, AFV, Stargate). It gets in the way of thinking. This goes doubly for video games. My brother plays video games continually. It's like he's dead in his chair. I don't understand why people go for artificial life. I prefer to actually live.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Sittin' here at my desk
I'm in accounting class right now, but even when I don't pay attention, I normally get great grades anyhow.
-The big story so far today (it's only 0842) is that it was perhaps three degrees outside today, and I, as I do, insisted on biking to school. I'd lost my gloves recently, but luckily my dad had some soon after I lost them. If I hadn't worn gloves, I would not have hands with which to type this. Even through the gloves, it seemed like someone was spraying a steady stream of liquid nitrogen at me. I noticed a prnguin on the sidewalk across the street. And he looked cold, too.
-That's why this may have been the first time ever I was glad to be in band.
-I had a heck of a creekwalk last Saturday. Here's how it went:
-Micah and I and (cringe) his friend Brian walked off down our street at about 1330. We were wearing backpacks and thick coats and we were in the spirit for adventure. At the end of North Hill Lane, we strode off a large hill into Congress Run, which was only the conduit to what we were going to do today. Slogging through plenty wet mud, we came to a pipe out of which the creek flows and climbed up a pile of rocks and stuff nearby. We came out behind a roofing company. Then we crossed over North Bend Road and found the beginning of our second creek. It was about eight inches wide. That would change.
-After a dog briefly chased Micah, we were on our way. The creek ran unassumingly to the right of Stephanie Hummer Memorial Park, which we could see vaguely through some trees. Then we were plunged into a huge forest, fairly abruptly. The creek ran a little faster, and Brian noticed a deer on the other side of it. I took ap icture. THis was the best creekwalk I'd been on so far. It was so peaceful and it was so awesome. The forest was one of the better ones I've been in. But the going wasn't simple.
-Creekwalking isn't a sport for the meek. It involves climbing over logs, scrambling up steep inclines, and not losing your footing in thick mud. We had plenty of thick mud, because of the recent rains. We trudged through it to all kinds of places we hadn't seen yet. There was a dam. There was also a big ruined bridge. And finally, after such a long trek, we came to Waterfall Canyon: a huge gorge that rises about thirty feet above your head and has rapid waterfalls running all through it. After a minute we realized we wouldn't be able to walk inside the canyon and we had to climb up its walls to walk on the bank. I had to do something like in one of those cheesy movie scenes and tell Micah and Brian, "Take my hand!" to pull them up.
-We walked along the top of Waterfall Canyon a little ways and came to where the creek triples: The Confluence. Here our creek and two other creeks join up down a steep hill coated with two feet of mud and form an enormous swell that's probably twenty feet deep. It looked like something at the bottom of Niagara Falls, but without the falls. I would not want to fall in there. With some difficulty, we crossed all three smaller creeks (to avoid having to cross the big one) and climbed up the steep hill (it was two steps forward, one step back in that mud, let me tell you). We found ourselves across a fence from a horse stable. Wll, we came out the stabulary's driveway and were near an auto parts store of some sort, and also a place called "Seymour Preserve (Cincinnati Park Board)". The dominating feature of this preserve was a towering power pylon, shooting several hundred feet above us. I discovered then that the path marked on my map that I couldn't figure out what it was, was a power line. But Micah and brian wanted to go home, so we did.
-By now, the bell has rung out and I've gone home once and it's the next day--I did this in two days. I think this is plenty of update for this week.
-The big story so far today (it's only 0842) is that it was perhaps three degrees outside today, and I, as I do, insisted on biking to school. I'd lost my gloves recently, but luckily my dad had some soon after I lost them. If I hadn't worn gloves, I would not have hands with which to type this. Even through the gloves, it seemed like someone was spraying a steady stream of liquid nitrogen at me. I noticed a prnguin on the sidewalk across the street. And he looked cold, too.
-That's why this may have been the first time ever I was glad to be in band.
-I had a heck of a creekwalk last Saturday. Here's how it went:
-Micah and I and (cringe) his friend Brian walked off down our street at about 1330. We were wearing backpacks and thick coats and we were in the spirit for adventure. At the end of North Hill Lane, we strode off a large hill into Congress Run, which was only the conduit to what we were going to do today. Slogging through plenty wet mud, we came to a pipe out of which the creek flows and climbed up a pile of rocks and stuff nearby. We came out behind a roofing company. Then we crossed over North Bend Road and found the beginning of our second creek. It was about eight inches wide. That would change.
-After a dog briefly chased Micah, we were on our way. The creek ran unassumingly to the right of Stephanie Hummer Memorial Park, which we could see vaguely through some trees. Then we were plunged into a huge forest, fairly abruptly. The creek ran a little faster, and Brian noticed a deer on the other side of it. I took ap icture. THis was the best creekwalk I'd been on so far. It was so peaceful and it was so awesome. The forest was one of the better ones I've been in. But the going wasn't simple.
-Creekwalking isn't a sport for the meek. It involves climbing over logs, scrambling up steep inclines, and not losing your footing in thick mud. We had plenty of thick mud, because of the recent rains. We trudged through it to all kinds of places we hadn't seen yet. There was a dam. There was also a big ruined bridge. And finally, after such a long trek, we came to Waterfall Canyon: a huge gorge that rises about thirty feet above your head and has rapid waterfalls running all through it. After a minute we realized we wouldn't be able to walk inside the canyon and we had to climb up its walls to walk on the bank. I had to do something like in one of those cheesy movie scenes and tell Micah and Brian, "Take my hand!" to pull them up.
-We walked along the top of Waterfall Canyon a little ways and came to where the creek triples: The Confluence. Here our creek and two other creeks join up down a steep hill coated with two feet of mud and form an enormous swell that's probably twenty feet deep. It looked like something at the bottom of Niagara Falls, but without the falls. I would not want to fall in there. With some difficulty, we crossed all three smaller creeks (to avoid having to cross the big one) and climbed up the steep hill (it was two steps forward, one step back in that mud, let me tell you). We found ourselves across a fence from a horse stable. Wll, we came out the stabulary's driveway and were near an auto parts store of some sort, and also a place called "Seymour Preserve (Cincinnati Park Board)". The dominating feature of this preserve was a towering power pylon, shooting several hundred feet above us. I discovered then that the path marked on my map that I couldn't figure out what it was, was a power line. But Micah and brian wanted to go home, so we did.
-By now, the bell has rung out and I've gone home once and it's the next day--I did this in two days. I think this is plenty of update for this week.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
All Sorts Of Stuff!
Well, that title is a little overambitious. But some things did happen since last post. It's just they weren't very memorable.
-One thing that happened was that the entire haul of snow melted. All of it. Every last flake. That's because, after a short burst of manly temperatures somewhere below 20 degrees, we were hit with this wussy stuff that's been at least 50 degrees FOR THE LOW for over a week. During all this, though, we got rainfall after rainfall. It rained every day for over a week. Thus, the Ohio river is violently flooding over, though it was worse a few days ago. Winton Lake also flooded, fairly spectacularly. The entire lower footpath/bank is completely submerged under several feet of water. When I went to take pictures of it today, Dad got his drysuit out of the trunk and went swimming where normally you would walk. He got quite an audience doing this, I might add. But we didn't see the lake at its greatest. A woman there said she was there also last Saturday, and the water was all the way up to THE PAVILION. This is about twenty feet above normal water level, past two very high walls and submerging practically all the parking anywhere. I don't even know if the park was accessible--the main entrance might've been underwater. This has been an impressive amount of water.
-But now it's time for some snow. Unfortunately, this isn't due to happen until approximately Wednesday. But at least we're going to get a nice frigid reprieve from this sissy 60-degree stuff starting on Friday. The highs for Thursday are forecast at 61. The highs for Friday are forecast at 20. Now that's something.
-I said "All sorts of stuff", but I've as yet covered only one sort of stuff--the rain. I guess I could talk to you about midterms. Midterms are not fun, but their absence can be very fun indeed. In my school, if you get an A first and second quarter in a class, and it's a semester class (or two-semester class; don't ask me what the distinction is betweent that and a yearlong class), you're officially immune to the midterm exam. I got out of three classes: accounting (I got to wake up at 1100 on Tuesday(, and English and Woodshop (I don't have to go to school at all tomorrow). I'm so glad I'm smart.
-Another, sadder event is that our laptop died. This is compounded by the fact that my font, which I've spent at least 50 full hours working on, was on it. however, my dad has a friend who has a friend who's working (very slowly) on recovering our data. I wish he'd hurry up. I want my data! Now!
-New years' was fun, but not really fun. Now I just have to remember to put "2005" on everything. I'm doing surprisingly well. I sucked at doing "2004" last year.
Well, here's to colder weather.
Chuck
-One thing that happened was that the entire haul of snow melted. All of it. Every last flake. That's because, after a short burst of manly temperatures somewhere below 20 degrees, we were hit with this wussy stuff that's been at least 50 degrees FOR THE LOW for over a week. During all this, though, we got rainfall after rainfall. It rained every day for over a week. Thus, the Ohio river is violently flooding over, though it was worse a few days ago. Winton Lake also flooded, fairly spectacularly. The entire lower footpath/bank is completely submerged under several feet of water. When I went to take pictures of it today, Dad got his drysuit out of the trunk and went swimming where normally you would walk. He got quite an audience doing this, I might add. But we didn't see the lake at its greatest. A woman there said she was there also last Saturday, and the water was all the way up to THE PAVILION. This is about twenty feet above normal water level, past two very high walls and submerging practically all the parking anywhere. I don't even know if the park was accessible--the main entrance might've been underwater. This has been an impressive amount of water.
-But now it's time for some snow. Unfortunately, this isn't due to happen until approximately Wednesday. But at least we're going to get a nice frigid reprieve from this sissy 60-degree stuff starting on Friday. The highs for Thursday are forecast at 61. The highs for Friday are forecast at 20. Now that's something.
-I said "All sorts of stuff", but I've as yet covered only one sort of stuff--the rain. I guess I could talk to you about midterms. Midterms are not fun, but their absence can be very fun indeed. In my school, if you get an A first and second quarter in a class, and it's a semester class (or two-semester class; don't ask me what the distinction is betweent that and a yearlong class), you're officially immune to the midterm exam. I got out of three classes: accounting (I got to wake up at 1100 on Tuesday(, and English and Woodshop (I don't have to go to school at all tomorrow). I'm so glad I'm smart.
-Another, sadder event is that our laptop died. This is compounded by the fact that my font, which I've spent at least 50 full hours working on, was on it. however, my dad has a friend who has a friend who's working (very slowly) on recovering our data. I wish he'd hurry up. I want my data! Now!
-New years' was fun, but not really fun. Now I just have to remember to put "2005" on everything. I'm doing surprisingly well. I sucked at doing "2004" last year.
Well, here's to colder weather.
Chuck
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Snow, and also Christmas
I knew there was some sort of snowstorm going to happen, but I didn't know what kind until I checked out the forecasts. And the forecasts predicted: 6-10"+. I was overjoyed. I could hardly sleep.
-I woke up at about 0930 the next day and it had already snowed about two inches, with more steadily tumbling down. I went back to sleep, wke up later, and there was more like six inches. It just kept getting better. Except for the cars. The cars didn't have such a great time with the snowstorm. In fact, our street didn't get plowed until the next day. Both of our cars have been stuck in this snow. But I don't drive a car, so it doesn't affect me! Except when there are groceries involved that can't be gotten.
-I didn't do much with the snow on the day it arrived because it was too deep to sled in aand not wet enough for packing. Come to think of it, those conditions haven't changed yet. But another condition did change by the next day: my brother was more willing to go for a creekwalk. I think I;m going to put creekwalking as my primary hobby whenever something asks for hobbies. Creekwalking is my favorite thing to do, I've discovered, because it's so invigorating, and because you can see so much stuff, and because sometimes, if you haven't been this way before, there's an element of intrigue in that you never know where you'll end up. The nine inches of snow we finally ended up with just compounded the fun. I might be the only person I know of who would frequently like nothing better than to go and slog over a mile in nine inches of snow.
-I had never been behind the houses across the street from us until a few days ago, but now they're my preferred entrance to Warder Park. It turns out I can walk right behind the neighborhood and end up where I want to be. My brother Micah and I took the leftern of the two forks on the day after the snowstorm. It was no piece of cake. Even wearing my thick coat, heavy boots, and snow pants, I got a little cold (possibly owing to the times I sat down in the snow to take a break). But it was all worth it, because, creekwalking, you get a sense of seclusion that you don't see often these days, especially in the city. I could look 360 degrees around me and not see a single thing that had a footprint on it except for my own and Micah's. I'm trying to describe this here, but really there's no way to describe it other than actually taking the person you're describing it to on a creekwalk. I'm kind of floundering in my footsteps, like I was when I trudged upstream through the snowpack, but in this I can't really get anywhere, whereas with creekwalking I could.
-I made it home, and it was so great. In addition, I got $30 from a lady whose driveway I shoveled on the way back.
-For Christmas, I went to my grandparents' house. My whole family did. We all got tons of presents. I, personally, got a wooden puzzle from Hungary, a backwards clock, a shortwave radio, and more. All of it is awesome. We had some real great family time together too, but unfortunately a lot of the family had to leave a little while in to go back home. I slept over last night, which brings me to today, because we actually opened our presents on Christmas Eve. I took another creekwalk today, at the country club, but today's was significantly different because there are well nigh two feet of snow here in Oxford, and because I took my grandmother (she's rugged) with me. Also, I lacked my snow pants, so I had to dry off for a while afterwards. Right now, I'm missing some good pool in the basement, so I'll sign off and let you get back to what you were doing.
-I woke up at about 0930 the next day and it had already snowed about two inches, with more steadily tumbling down. I went back to sleep, wke up later, and there was more like six inches. It just kept getting better. Except for the cars. The cars didn't have such a great time with the snowstorm. In fact, our street didn't get plowed until the next day. Both of our cars have been stuck in this snow. But I don't drive a car, so it doesn't affect me! Except when there are groceries involved that can't be gotten.
-I didn't do much with the snow on the day it arrived because it was too deep to sled in aand not wet enough for packing. Come to think of it, those conditions haven't changed yet. But another condition did change by the next day: my brother was more willing to go for a creekwalk. I think I;m going to put creekwalking as my primary hobby whenever something asks for hobbies. Creekwalking is my favorite thing to do, I've discovered, because it's so invigorating, and because you can see so much stuff, and because sometimes, if you haven't been this way before, there's an element of intrigue in that you never know where you'll end up. The nine inches of snow we finally ended up with just compounded the fun. I might be the only person I know of who would frequently like nothing better than to go and slog over a mile in nine inches of snow.
-I had never been behind the houses across the street from us until a few days ago, but now they're my preferred entrance to Warder Park. It turns out I can walk right behind the neighborhood and end up where I want to be. My brother Micah and I took the leftern of the two forks on the day after the snowstorm. It was no piece of cake. Even wearing my thick coat, heavy boots, and snow pants, I got a little cold (possibly owing to the times I sat down in the snow to take a break). But it was all worth it, because, creekwalking, you get a sense of seclusion that you don't see often these days, especially in the city. I could look 360 degrees around me and not see a single thing that had a footprint on it except for my own and Micah's. I'm trying to describe this here, but really there's no way to describe it other than actually taking the person you're describing it to on a creekwalk. I'm kind of floundering in my footsteps, like I was when I trudged upstream through the snowpack, but in this I can't really get anywhere, whereas with creekwalking I could.
-I made it home, and it was so great. In addition, I got $30 from a lady whose driveway I shoveled on the way back.
-For Christmas, I went to my grandparents' house. My whole family did. We all got tons of presents. I, personally, got a wooden puzzle from Hungary, a backwards clock, a shortwave radio, and more. All of it is awesome. We had some real great family time together too, but unfortunately a lot of the family had to leave a little while in to go back home. I slept over last night, which brings me to today, because we actually opened our presents on Christmas Eve. I took another creekwalk today, at the country club, but today's was significantly different because there are well nigh two feet of snow here in Oxford, and because I took my grandmother (she's rugged) with me. Also, I lacked my snow pants, so I had to dry off for a while afterwards. Right now, I'm missing some good pool in the basement, so I'll sign off and let you get back to what you were doing.
Saturday, December 11, 2004
Yeah, okay, I'll start again.
I suppose I just decided to leave my 'blog alone. This upset a lot of people. I needed a month's vacation, I suppose. Well, now I'm back. I think I'll keep with it. Probably.
-I've been to all sorts of places. Like, West Virginia, and West Fork Dam. The thing is, if I tried to write down everything I've done since last time I posted, I'd have at least five pages, and I don't have the patience to write all that down. So I think I'll just talk about the trip to West Fork. In fact, I'm going to copy it down straight out of my journal. Let me go get it.
"I toook off after oiling my bike with motor oil (that didn't really work). While riding there I considered turning back after my front derailleur broke into pieces, but I decided I could get away with it. The bike was a little bit louder, but it got me through the confusing jumble of streets that took me to the service lane for the dam. The service lane was kind of poorly paved and had broad lawns surrounding it that looked as though they'd been imported from a factory. A sign by a gate warned me that only service vehicles were allowed past it, but I wasn't about to let that stop me.
-The tower stuck up from the water's edge at the bottom of a steep, grass-covered slope that came down for a hundred feet below the street I was on. It was made of concrete and there was a bridge leading across the gap to it. It was so awesome. You could see so much of the lake. There was an island standing alone in the middle of it. There was a huge forest on the other side. So help me, it reminded me of Crowduck. It was breathtaking to look out over the lake from the top of a hundred-foot slope.
-But it still wasn't quite as cool as the other side. On the other side, the land sloped down just as steeply and fell into a creek instead of a lake. This was the west fork of the Mill Creek. What made it so special was that on the bank of the creek was a huge steep wall of rock. Maybe fifty feet high. Too bad it was fenced in.
-I went to the end of the road I was on and found a fence. I followed it to the left, away from the lake, and found that on the other side was an even bigger wall of rock walling in a creek at the bottom of a hundred-foot sheer drop. It was stilling. I was amazed that there was anything that cool in Cincinnati. I knew Micah would want to see it."
That wasn't my best writing ever, but it was okay, and you get the idea.
I'll keep you posted.
-I've been to all sorts of places. Like, West Virginia, and West Fork Dam. The thing is, if I tried to write down everything I've done since last time I posted, I'd have at least five pages, and I don't have the patience to write all that down. So I think I'll just talk about the trip to West Fork. In fact, I'm going to copy it down straight out of my journal. Let me go get it.
"I toook off after oiling my bike with motor oil (that didn't really work). While riding there I considered turning back after my front derailleur broke into pieces, but I decided I could get away with it. The bike was a little bit louder, but it got me through the confusing jumble of streets that took me to the service lane for the dam. The service lane was kind of poorly paved and had broad lawns surrounding it that looked as though they'd been imported from a factory. A sign by a gate warned me that only service vehicles were allowed past it, but I wasn't about to let that stop me.
-The tower stuck up from the water's edge at the bottom of a steep, grass-covered slope that came down for a hundred feet below the street I was on. It was made of concrete and there was a bridge leading across the gap to it. It was so awesome. You could see so much of the lake. There was an island standing alone in the middle of it. There was a huge forest on the other side. So help me, it reminded me of Crowduck. It was breathtaking to look out over the lake from the top of a hundred-foot slope.
-But it still wasn't quite as cool as the other side. On the other side, the land sloped down just as steeply and fell into a creek instead of a lake. This was the west fork of the Mill Creek. What made it so special was that on the bank of the creek was a huge steep wall of rock. Maybe fifty feet high. Too bad it was fenced in.
-I went to the end of the road I was on and found a fence. I followed it to the left, away from the lake, and found that on the other side was an even bigger wall of rock walling in a creek at the bottom of a hundred-foot sheer drop. It was stilling. I was amazed that there was anything that cool in Cincinnati. I knew Micah would want to see it."
That wasn't my best writing ever, but it was okay, and you get the idea.
I'll keep you posted.
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Crimonitly
I've been realizing for the last few days that I needed to do another post, not having done one for about a week and a half. So here it is. I don't know exactly why I waited so long, but I do know that I've always liked to procrastinate, so that might have something to do with it.
-The main thing that happened over the last week and a half is that the band went to State. This in and of itself is remarkable, because we've never done this before. The Finneytown Marching Band has never gone to state. Okay. So we went to state this year, a two-hour drive. Here's where it gets interesting.
-It was a knd of cold evening, but not too cold, and the stadium lights were shining bright on the band that was on before us. They did some swing music. While we waited for them to finish, we were getting adrenaline rushes like nothing before. We'd been training for this for over four months, and this was the culmination of our entire marching band season. The other band marched off the field, and we marched on.
-If we thought we had a lot of adrenaline before, it was nothing compared to what we got as we marched out of preset. Preset is the most intimidating part of a show, in my opinion. I don't know why, but there's something about it that starts your heart pumping like Hoover Dam. All the rest of the show, I can handle. And, in fact, I did. I did it pretty well, too. I always screw up just minimally during the opener and then correct it all during the last three songs. That's what happened there. It was tense the whole time, though. Imagine the feeling you get when you're riding your bike across a street and a big van comes out from behind a truck, braking with a screech and a honk about five inches from you. Then imagine that feeling for eight straight minutes. That's the show, boiled down to its raw elements.
-I was certainly glad to march off the field and change into my civilian clothes. From the buses where we did that, I went to the stadium and met Dad, who gave me $five to buy a shirt about the competition; then I watched a few more bands from on the bleachers (which were several stories high) while sitting with Kimber and Matt and Krystal. Kimber likes horses; Matt likes computers and stuff; Krystal is deranged. I gave them my personal play-by-play on how the bands out were doing. Then, when it was time for the awards ceremony, we realized we were on the exact opposite side of the field from where we were supposed to be, and while we were on our way to the other bleachers they called out the scores. We got a I.
-A I is the highest rating possible. It was nearly unfathomable that Finneytown could come out of nowhere and then get a I, but we still did it. As we found later, we were one of only five class "B" bands out of 22 to get a I. The buses were hard pressed to stay together all the way home.
-Besides that, not much happened. Really not very much whatsoever. I'm going to go now. ,Bye'
-The main thing that happened over the last week and a half is that the band went to State. This in and of itself is remarkable, because we've never done this before. The Finneytown Marching Band has never gone to state. Okay. So we went to state this year, a two-hour drive. Here's where it gets interesting.
-It was a knd of cold evening, but not too cold, and the stadium lights were shining bright on the band that was on before us. They did some swing music. While we waited for them to finish, we were getting adrenaline rushes like nothing before. We'd been training for this for over four months, and this was the culmination of our entire marching band season. The other band marched off the field, and we marched on.
-If we thought we had a lot of adrenaline before, it was nothing compared to what we got as we marched out of preset. Preset is the most intimidating part of a show, in my opinion. I don't know why, but there's something about it that starts your heart pumping like Hoover Dam. All the rest of the show, I can handle. And, in fact, I did. I did it pretty well, too. I always screw up just minimally during the opener and then correct it all during the last three songs. That's what happened there. It was tense the whole time, though. Imagine the feeling you get when you're riding your bike across a street and a big van comes out from behind a truck, braking with a screech and a honk about five inches from you. Then imagine that feeling for eight straight minutes. That's the show, boiled down to its raw elements.
-I was certainly glad to march off the field and change into my civilian clothes. From the buses where we did that, I went to the stadium and met Dad, who gave me $five to buy a shirt about the competition; then I watched a few more bands from on the bleachers (which were several stories high) while sitting with Kimber and Matt and Krystal. Kimber likes horses; Matt likes computers and stuff; Krystal is deranged. I gave them my personal play-by-play on how the bands out were doing. Then, when it was time for the awards ceremony, we realized we were on the exact opposite side of the field from where we were supposed to be, and while we were on our way to the other bleachers they called out the scores. We got a I.
-A I is the highest rating possible. It was nearly unfathomable that Finneytown could come out of nowhere and then get a I, but we still did it. As we found later, we were one of only five class "B" bands out of 22 to get a I. The buses were hard pressed to stay together all the way home.
-Besides that, not much happened. Really not very much whatsoever. I'm going to go now. ,Bye'
Friday, October 29, 2004
Here, you can have this one
Last week has been a fairly typical school week. I did all the regular school stuff--went to school, was tired, ... you know the drill.
-My letter to the Springfield Board of Recreation has gotten an incredible response--two out of my total of six readers! It makes me wish I'd done a little more back-checking before I wrote it. Once I was done writing it, I went back to the site with all the plans and checked out the master plans, which I hadn't seen before because they were taking too long to load. When I saw it, I realized that the plans they have aren't as bad as I made them out to be. I'd still rather prefer them not to do any renovations, because, really, Warder is just fine as it is. It seems pretty moronic to me to renovate an entire park just so you can make a little money. It's particularly moronic, though, when you remember the cost they've projected for the project. Nine million dollars. They're going to spend nine million dollars to make... a few thousand, maybe?
-I went to the school newspaper meeting on Thursday, and before I knew it Matt had commissioned me to do an article on Warder Park. So I guess I will. I think I'll also circulate a petition to keep the Board from progressing with their plans. I just think we should leave well enough alone. That's my campaign slogan for this issue.
-In other news, band has gotten steadily more time-consuming. I don't like it at all. And also, uh,...I don't really have anything else. I guess I'll end this post on that rather lame note. Sorry.
-Oh yeah! I was going to tell Matt in this post: I know you've left more comments, but I only read them when I couldn't respond to them. I'll respond to your question of earlier: the other animation I was talking about to you on the bus was "Sehventain Years" (Or "Year-es"...search for both of them), which is based on a prank call that Group X made. There are two different versions of it, made by two different people, and they're both about equally good. That's the one I was talking about on the bus.
-My letter to the Springfield Board of Recreation has gotten an incredible response--two out of my total of six readers! It makes me wish I'd done a little more back-checking before I wrote it. Once I was done writing it, I went back to the site with all the plans and checked out the master plans, which I hadn't seen before because they were taking too long to load. When I saw it, I realized that the plans they have aren't as bad as I made them out to be. I'd still rather prefer them not to do any renovations, because, really, Warder is just fine as it is. It seems pretty moronic to me to renovate an entire park just so you can make a little money. It's particularly moronic, though, when you remember the cost they've projected for the project. Nine million dollars. They're going to spend nine million dollars to make... a few thousand, maybe?
-I went to the school newspaper meeting on Thursday, and before I knew it Matt had commissioned me to do an article on Warder Park. So I guess I will. I think I'll also circulate a petition to keep the Board from progressing with their plans. I just think we should leave well enough alone. That's my campaign slogan for this issue.
-In other news, band has gotten steadily more time-consuming. I don't like it at all. And also, uh,...I don't really have anything else. I guess I'll end this post on that rather lame note. Sorry.
-Oh yeah! I was going to tell Matt in this post: I know you've left more comments, but I only read them when I couldn't respond to them. I'll respond to your question of earlier: the other animation I was talking about to you on the bus was "Sehventain Years" (Or "Year-es"...search for both of them), which is based on a prank call that Group X made. There are two different versions of it, made by two different people, and they're both about equally good. That's the one I was talking about on the bus.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Letter I wrote to the Springfield Township Board of Recreation
My name is [withheld]. I live on Finney Trail. I visit Warder Park all the time, and when I idly searched for references to it on the Internet, your plan was the first thing I found.
-First I looked at the maps on the front pages. I love maps. In fact, I plan to someday get a detailed map of Finneytown, as soon as I can find one. After I saw the maps I moved on to the next page. It horrified me.
-You plan to completely raze Warder Park and rebuild it totally different. I couldn't believe it. Warder Park is untamed, and it takes all of its greatness as a park from this wildness. Unlike, say, Winton Woods or Hummer Park, it hasn't been built over to accommodate everyone and his brother coming in. That means that there are no docks on Burke's Pond, there are no basketball courts just off the main trail, and there is no amphitheatre in the middle of the grounds. It's one of the last places in Cincinnati that's like this. While all the other parks have been "fully modernized", Warder stays mysterious and wild.
-So I ask you: do we really need another tennis court, or another swimming pool? Aren't there enough already? What we need is a park that retains an air of the unknown. I have no idea what's in a lot of the entire park, and I can't tell you how much I enjoy the process of finding out new things. Just today I bushwhacked back and found a brand new creek that I had never even suspected existed. There are very few things that give me as much of a thrill as discovering completely new places and seeing things I've never seen.
-But if the new plan you have here to change the face of Warder is instituted, there will be nothing surprising. Everything will be mapped out in an exact way, and every time you go in you'll see the same exact trails, the same exact skateboard ramp. Nothing will have changed. Nothing.
-Do the taxpayers need to pay nine million dollars to have a park that maybe a hundred people will know about, that will be interchangeable with the almost adjacent Hummer Park, and that won't be even a tenth of the size or excitement of Winton Woods? What else could we be spending these nine million dollars on? My school, Finneytown High, has recently had its budget slashed violently. All of the Finneytown School District has, in fact. There are kids who could be learning more, cops who could be patrolling more, roads that could be paved better, and countless dozens of other things that are so much more important to everyone than another new park. I don't understand why we need to pave over a sanctuary for everyone in the town, at a huge cost, to provide something we already have. I say we nix the Warder Park plans and leave well enough alone.
-Thanks for reading,
[withheld]
-First I looked at the maps on the front pages. I love maps. In fact, I plan to someday get a detailed map of Finneytown, as soon as I can find one. After I saw the maps I moved on to the next page. It horrified me.
-You plan to completely raze Warder Park and rebuild it totally different. I couldn't believe it. Warder Park is untamed, and it takes all of its greatness as a park from this wildness. Unlike, say, Winton Woods or Hummer Park, it hasn't been built over to accommodate everyone and his brother coming in. That means that there are no docks on Burke's Pond, there are no basketball courts just off the main trail, and there is no amphitheatre in the middle of the grounds. It's one of the last places in Cincinnati that's like this. While all the other parks have been "fully modernized", Warder stays mysterious and wild.
-So I ask you: do we really need another tennis court, or another swimming pool? Aren't there enough already? What we need is a park that retains an air of the unknown. I have no idea what's in a lot of the entire park, and I can't tell you how much I enjoy the process of finding out new things. Just today I bushwhacked back and found a brand new creek that I had never even suspected existed. There are very few things that give me as much of a thrill as discovering completely new places and seeing things I've never seen.
-But if the new plan you have here to change the face of Warder is instituted, there will be nothing surprising. Everything will be mapped out in an exact way, and every time you go in you'll see the same exact trails, the same exact skateboard ramp. Nothing will have changed. Nothing.
-Do the taxpayers need to pay nine million dollars to have a park that maybe a hundred people will know about, that will be interchangeable with the almost adjacent Hummer Park, and that won't be even a tenth of the size or excitement of Winton Woods? What else could we be spending these nine million dollars on? My school, Finneytown High, has recently had its budget slashed violently. All of the Finneytown School District has, in fact. There are kids who could be learning more, cops who could be patrolling more, roads that could be paved better, and countless dozens of other things that are so much more important to everyone than another new park. I don't understand why we need to pave over a sanctuary for everyone in the town, at a huge cost, to provide something we already have. I say we nix the Warder Park plans and leave well enough alone.
-Thanks for reading,
[withheld]
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Once a week?
I think I'm leaning towards posting once a week here. I'd do it more often, but band is such a huge load of work, and I'm kind of forgetful too, and plus I don't really want to. Maybe in the summer, if I don't get the Crowduck job. Which reminds me: I need to get working on that letter to Bill.
-Not a whole lot, as I've said before, has happened. Once you actually get into the school year, you're kind of in a rut. The only thing that spices the action up is the occasional weekend or day off or season change. It's completely fall now, by the way, and my back way behind the school is in top form. Someday I'm going to go into that forest and see what kind of good creekwalking is there to be had. I'll check more thoroughly at Topozone first, though.
-Well, my 'blog doesn't show up on Google. I just thought I'd mention that. I suppose Google only updates its site count every so often, and I haven't snuck in yet. You'd think I would have, what with being around for at least a couple months.
-I've found several good movies. One of them is under "that" in a previous post, and you've all probably seen it. The second one is probably even funnier to people who have played Mario Brothers, or Twins, or whatever, than it is to me. It's located at. Enjoy. And there are more of them at Group X's website, but the one "Bang Bang Bang" is just dumb. Of course, you're now going to look at it all the more attentively because I condemned it, but you'll agree with me. Oh, and it has sexual content. Viewer discretion is advised. The other cartoons are good, though. I especially like "Dat Cereal Bawx". It's my goal to someday do a transcript of "Mario Twins".
-No, I'm not an Internet cartoon connoisseur. These are pretty much the only cartoons I watch, over and over again. Shut up. Got game.
-I think I'll leave you there for now. I might post a transcript today, though. In fact, I'm pretty sure I will.
-Not a whole lot, as I've said before, has happened. Once you actually get into the school year, you're kind of in a rut. The only thing that spices the action up is the occasional weekend or day off or season change. It's completely fall now, by the way, and my back way behind the school is in top form. Someday I'm going to go into that forest and see what kind of good creekwalking is there to be had. I'll check more thoroughly at Topozone first, though.
-Well, my 'blog doesn't show up on Google. I just thought I'd mention that. I suppose Google only updates its site count every so often, and I haven't snuck in yet. You'd think I would have, what with being around for at least a couple months.
-I've found several good movies. One of them is under "that" in a previous post, and you've all probably seen it. The second one is probably even funnier to people who have played Mario Brothers, or Twins, or whatever, than it is to me. It's located at. Enjoy. And there are more of them at Group X's website, but the one "Bang Bang Bang" is just dumb. Of course, you're now going to look at it all the more attentively because I condemned it, but you'll agree with me. Oh, and it has sexual content. Viewer discretion is advised. The other cartoons are good, though. I especially like "Dat Cereal Bawx". It's my goal to someday do a transcript of "Mario Twins".
-No, I'm not an Internet cartoon connoisseur. These are pretty much the only cartoons I watch, over and over again. Shut up. Got game.
-I think I'll leave you there for now. I might post a transcript today, though. In fact, I'm pretty sure I will.
Marios Transcript
-Hey Splade!
-Shiggity shiggity shwa...
-Guess what idioht?
-What you did today?
-Uhhh..
-Wraung!
-Hey!
-I got a new super eighty-H system.
-You did nahht.
-Swear to God, I got it at Chunky's for two dollareys.
-Oh yeah, lemme see it. ...Wau. Th, that's gouh--
-Yeah, you like that, idihit!
-I do--
-I got it, you don't. Shut up. Got game. Hey guess what?
-What?--
-It has new game.
-What gam--
-I want to play it! It's called Mairio Twins. They look the same!
-Wauu!
-Gouhd gauu... they look so dhe same like dhe same person. I would say to them, "You want ice cream cone?" both of them say yehs. How in thi hehll!?--
-That's --they're twins, bohth of them--
-Hey, let's play it, reahdy?
-All right.
-Do it!
-Khhk gghhg There't goes.
(Group X does three weird songs, which I think are supposed to be the music to the Mario Twins game. They're all very heavy on guys going "Doodoodoodoo duuuu, dooo, doodoot...". All throughout these songs, a Mario is going through the game and defeating all the stuff Marios defeat... mushroom guys, plants, turtles, gravity wells.... And the second song is a "potty break" song. Just after Mario jumps over Bowser in the third song and finds that guy Toad, the dialog starts back up very suddenly.)
-Hey Splade, Splade! Uh oh, you found the princess! Reahhnk: she's in another haus, go away.
-What in the hhehll she's doing? Hey- crapp on this: let's go play Super Mairios Punchoff.
-All right, let's quit this game.
-Dooht
-Shiggity shiggity shwa...
-Guess what idioht?
-What you did today?
-Uhhh..
-Wraung!
-Hey!
-I got a new super eighty-H system.
-You did nahht.
-Swear to God, I got it at Chunky's for two dollareys.
-Oh yeah, lemme see it. ...Wau. Th, that's gouh--
-Yeah, you like that, idihit!
-I do--
-I got it, you don't. Shut up. Got game. Hey guess what?
-What?--
-It has new game.
-What gam--
-I want to play it! It's called Mairio Twins. They look the same!
-Wauu!
-Gouhd gauu... they look so dhe same like dhe same person. I would say to them, "You want ice cream cone?" both of them say yehs. How in thi hehll!?--
-That's --they're twins, bohth of them--
-Hey, let's play it, reahdy?
-All right.
-Do it!
-Khhk gghhg There't goes.
(Group X does three weird songs, which I think are supposed to be the music to the Mario Twins game. They're all very heavy on guys going "Doodoodoodoo duuuu, dooo, doodoot...". All throughout these songs, a Mario is going through the game and defeating all the stuff Marios defeat... mushroom guys, plants, turtles, gravity wells.... And the second song is a "potty break" song. Just after Mario jumps over Bowser in the third song and finds that guy Toad, the dialog starts back up very suddenly.)
-Hey Splade, Splade! Uh oh, you found the princess! Reahhnk: she's in another haus, go away.
-What in the hhehll she's doing? Hey- crapp on this: let's go play Super Mairios Punchoff.
-All right, let's quit this game.
-Dooht
Friday, October 8, 2004
Nova Esperanta Nokto
Mi rigardas ke mi ne blogumis marde post mi komencis ĉi tion blogon. Mi faris unu mardan blogumon. Kaj mardoj estas Esperantaj Noktoj? Nu mi bezonis fari alian. MalgraŠhodiaŠesti dimanĉo, ĉi tiu nokto estas Esperanta Nokto.
-Mi frue vekiĝis ĉi tiun matenon, samkiel ĉiutage. Mi malamas vekiĝi frue. Mi vekiĝas je 0620! Sufica plendado, kvankam. En Muzikistaro, ni marŝis multe, samkiel ĉiutage. En Financo, ni faris financadon komputile. En Matematiko, en Historio, en la Hispana... Nenio, vere. Ne eĉ lunĉo estis ekscita. La resto de la tago estis malekscita. Nu. Mi vere ne havis ekscitan tagon, ĝis la matĉo.
-La matĉo estis inter Finneytown kaj Mariemont. Äśi ankaĹ estis la hejmvena matĉo. AntaĹ kelkaj tagoj, oni kreis multajn negraj ĉemizojn, kiuj havis bildon de nia reprezentaaaĵouulo....okej, "mascot" (mi bezonas trovi pli kompletan vortaron ie) ...--la SovaÄťkato, vestata en Usonfutbalaj ropoj (stranga, mi scias), kaj la leÄťindaĵon "Mansignu adiaĹon al la Militistoj" (Warriors, la teamo de Mariemont). Äśi estis granda afero.
-Ni poentis tre frue--dum la unuaj 30 sekondoj. Estis, ludu la batalkanton, ni tuĹťpoentas, reludu la batalkanton. PreskaĹ Äťena.
-La matĉo interbalancis dum la tuta tempo. Ni poentus, kaj ili poentus reciproke, kaj tiam denove. Ekscita, vere. Mi priskribus ĉi tiun matĉon kun pli da entuziasmo, sed mi estas laca. Tamen, estis ekscita.
Je duontempo ni liniis en kurbon kaj ludis la temkanto de Forrest Gump, kinaĵo pri ia stultulo. Mi sentis ke ĝi estis bona komento je la hejmvenaj kandidatoj.
-Post duontempo, aĵoj subiris. Ni poentis malpli. Eventuale ili poentis nur kvar minutoj antaŠla fino. Neniel ni povis fari poenton. Kaj ni ne faris ĝin. Ni fuŝis ĝin. Diable. Sekvafoje.
-Mi frue vekiĝis ĉi tiun matenon, samkiel ĉiutage. Mi malamas vekiĝi frue. Mi vekiĝas je 0620! Sufica plendado, kvankam. En Muzikistaro, ni marŝis multe, samkiel ĉiutage. En Financo, ni faris financadon komputile. En Matematiko, en Historio, en la Hispana... Nenio, vere. Ne eĉ lunĉo estis ekscita. La resto de la tago estis malekscita. Nu. Mi vere ne havis ekscitan tagon, ĝis la matĉo.
-La matĉo estis inter Finneytown kaj Mariemont. Äśi ankaĹ estis la hejmvena matĉo. AntaĹ kelkaj tagoj, oni kreis multajn negraj ĉemizojn, kiuj havis bildon de nia reprezentaaaĵouulo....okej, "mascot" (mi bezonas trovi pli kompletan vortaron ie) ...--la SovaÄťkato, vestata en Usonfutbalaj ropoj (stranga, mi scias), kaj la leÄťindaĵon "Mansignu adiaĹon al la Militistoj" (Warriors, la teamo de Mariemont). Äśi estis granda afero.
-Ni poentis tre frue--dum la unuaj 30 sekondoj. Estis, ludu la batalkanton, ni tuĹťpoentas, reludu la batalkanton. PreskaĹ Äťena.
-La matĉo interbalancis dum la tuta tempo. Ni poentus, kaj ili poentus reciproke, kaj tiam denove. Ekscita, vere. Mi priskribus ĉi tiun matĉon kun pli da entuziasmo, sed mi estas laca. Tamen, estis ekscita.
Je duontempo ni liniis en kurbon kaj ludis la temkanto de Forrest Gump, kinaĵo pri ia stultulo. Mi sentis ke ĝi estis bona komento je la hejmvenaj kandidatoj.
-Post duontempo, aĵoj subiris. Ni poentis malpli. Eventuale ili poentis nur kvar minutoj antaŠla fino. Neniel ni povis fari poenton. Kaj ni ne faris ĝin. Ni fuŝis ĝin. Diable. Sekvafoje.
Saturday, October 2, 2004
You thought there were no more but guess what there's another one!
Dag. I've been away too long. If pretty much all of the readership of this 'blog didn't consist of people I see every day at school, some people might actually have been worrying about me up until today.
-Well, here's what's happened recently: band. Band has happened. And it has continued to happen. By tomorrow I will have been at a band function eight times in the last two weeks. Doesn't that seem like a bit much to you? We have practices for two and a half hours on Mondays and Thursdays and we have a game every Friday (except last Friday, but it was rescheduled to the even less convenient Saturday). In addition, there was a contest last Saturday and there will be one the Saturday that is technically today. Games take about four hours; contests, eight. (Really.) Band is eating my life, week by week.
-It wasn't all bad. Last Saturday we had our contest at the Hamilton High School Band-O-Rama (that's really what it's called) and we didn't think we did so well. As it turned out, we got second place in the entire contest. Of course, there were only about six bands at the contest, but we still got second. And we also qualified for State competition. This is a big thing, because our school has never done that before. Never. We're the first chapter of the band to make it this far. State is on November 5th or 9th at either Dayton or Columbus, I think.
-I definitely want to work at Crowduck this summer. I'm writing a letter to proprietor Bill Kolansky sometime either today or tomorrow. I've got to get away from band and Finneytown. Just for the summer next summer.
-You'd think that, what with not having written a post for about a week, I'd have more to write about. Well, the fact is I don't. I just have this one last thing before I go do something else:
-My 6th bell is woodshop. My 7th bell is chemistry. Those two rooms are almost the farthest two rooms from each other in the entire school. I used to have to walk all the way down the long path, into the school, out of the school, down some stairs, and back into a different wing of the school. But the other day I found a far superior alternate route. I just go out the door near the woodshop and walk around the entire school. This path has the added advantage that it overlooks a deep green forest on the side of the grounds. The green is turning to yellow and red and orange recently as fall sets on--it's kind of like fireworks. What I know is that it's so massively better than the other path that even after the semester ends and I start taking health class (which I've heard sucks tremendously), which is very much closer to chemistry, I'm still going to go out of my way to walk the long way. I can't wait to see it in winter.
-Well, here's what's happened recently: band. Band has happened. And it has continued to happen. By tomorrow I will have been at a band function eight times in the last two weeks. Doesn't that seem like a bit much to you? We have practices for two and a half hours on Mondays and Thursdays and we have a game every Friday (except last Friday, but it was rescheduled to the even less convenient Saturday). In addition, there was a contest last Saturday and there will be one the Saturday that is technically today. Games take about four hours; contests, eight. (Really.) Band is eating my life, week by week.
-It wasn't all bad. Last Saturday we had our contest at the Hamilton High School Band-O-Rama (that's really what it's called) and we didn't think we did so well. As it turned out, we got second place in the entire contest. Of course, there were only about six bands at the contest, but we still got second. And we also qualified for State competition. This is a big thing, because our school has never done that before. Never. We're the first chapter of the band to make it this far. State is on November 5th or 9th at either Dayton or Columbus, I think.
-I definitely want to work at Crowduck this summer. I'm writing a letter to proprietor Bill Kolansky sometime either today or tomorrow. I've got to get away from band and Finneytown. Just for the summer next summer.
-You'd think that, what with not having written a post for about a week, I'd have more to write about. Well, the fact is I don't. I just have this one last thing before I go do something else:
-My 6th bell is woodshop. My 7th bell is chemistry. Those two rooms are almost the farthest two rooms from each other in the entire school. I used to have to walk all the way down the long path, into the school, out of the school, down some stairs, and back into a different wing of the school. But the other day I found a far superior alternate route. I just go out the door near the woodshop and walk around the entire school. This path has the added advantage that it overlooks a deep green forest on the side of the grounds. The green is turning to yellow and red and orange recently as fall sets on--it's kind of like fireworks. What I know is that it's so massively better than the other path that even after the semester ends and I start taking health class (which I've heard sucks tremendously), which is very much closer to chemistry, I'm still going to go out of my way to walk the long way. I can't wait to see it in winter.
Thursday, September 23, 2004
A Comprehensive Review of "The Catcher in the Rye"
There are two typical reviews of The Catcher in the Rye that you see. One is
- i had to read the catcher in the rye for my english class and it sucked so bad.
The other is
- I love The Catcher in the Rye so much. I can see why it became a classic. J.D. Salinger really captured the essence of a teenage boy. I read the book once in high school and have just now gotten around to reading it again as an English professor, and I think everyone in the world should read it too. It's the best book I've read in a long time.
...But typically about three times that length. We don't really have to mention the obvious irony of a 50-year-old English professor claiming to know exactly how the essence of a teenage boy is, so I'll just jump right in now with my review, which is intended to be a compromise-- between the viewpoint of the first reviewer and the competency of the second.
--I'm not a discriminating reader. I generally like pretty much any book I read. We read The Jungle last year in history class and everyone says it was the most awful book they've ever read, but I kind of liked it. However, I did not like The Catcher in the Rye at all. I think the main reason is that absolutely nothing happens. In this book, we start out with the focus on a guy, Holden Caulfield, sitting there telling us why he doesn't feel like telling us the story he's about to tell us. He goes and talks to one of his professors, an old man who picks his nose, and then goes back to his dorm room. Then his neighbor comes in the room and clips his toenails. A little while later Holden decides to leave the school he's at altogether. This isn't exactly shocking, because he was recently kicked out for flunking all of his classes except English. I'm surprised he passed even that. The writing style of this book is the turdiest I've ever read. I've read funny, I've read dry, I've read florid, and I've read boring. But never before had I read a book as told by a moron. This Holden Caulfield seems to know around one hundred words and repeat them over and over again. At least three times in a page he will say "goddam". He writes as he thinks, too, and the problem with that is that he doesn't think about anything interesting. After he takes his old, ratty suitcase out of the dorm room and checks it at the subway station, very little else happens, and here's how it does.
-He goes out to a hotel near where he is in New York and, on his way up to his room, he meets the elevator guy, who also happens to be a pimp. The elevator guy sends his least exciting girl up to Holden's room. She takes off most of her clothes, and they talk for a while about where she used to go to school. Then she puts her clothes back on. A little while later the elevator guy comes back with the prostitute and steals five dollars from Holden. So after that, he goes down to the hotel's night club and dances with a blonde girl, who, by Holden's own condemnation, is very boring. All throughout this time Holden keeps making points about how phony everyone is and how he hates phonies. He then leaves and has a date with a phony girl the next day.
-He also buys his sister a record, and goes to the museum too. A while after that he talks to a former friend in a boring bar with a pianist who's phony. He drinks a lot and then soaks his head in the sink. He comes out and drunkenly calls up a girl he knows, offering to help her trim her Christmas tree. After she hangs up on him, he walks through Central Park and drops and breaks the record he bought for his sister. He sits in front of the pond and realizes his wet hair is frozen in the winter air and starts thinking about how depressed he'd be if he died of pneumonia. He decides to go to his sister's house.
-She's ten years old and the only thing she does is hide her head in a pillow and say "Daddy's going to kill you" (for getting flunked out). He sticks around for several hours, smoking some cigarettes, and then scrams when his parents get home. Soon enough he finds it's daylight and leaves a note with his sister's school's secretary to the effect that she should meet him at the museum. She does and gives him back a hat he gave her, and then they say goodbye. Then, abruptly, the book ends. Were you looking for a plot? Guess what: There isn't one! It's just some stupid kid who swears a lot complaining about how crappy his life is and how phony everyone he knows is. This book might be tolerable if J.D. Salinger had given Holden a less idiotic writing style and made him actually do something, but as it is it's just a piece of garbage. I have no idea why it's treated as a classic. I suspect that it's because it's a cheap book to buy and thus English teachers value it because they can buy a lot of them for only a few dollars. One thing's for sure, though: if you're looking to read something interesting, thought-provoking, good, or even competently written, look somewhere else.
- i had to read the catcher in the rye for my english class and it sucked so bad.
The other is
- I love The Catcher in the Rye so much. I can see why it became a classic. J.D. Salinger really captured the essence of a teenage boy. I read the book once in high school and have just now gotten around to reading it again as an English professor, and I think everyone in the world should read it too. It's the best book I've read in a long time.
...But typically about three times that length. We don't really have to mention the obvious irony of a 50-year-old English professor claiming to know exactly how the essence of a teenage boy is, so I'll just jump right in now with my review, which is intended to be a compromise-- between the viewpoint of the first reviewer and the competency of the second.
--I'm not a discriminating reader. I generally like pretty much any book I read. We read The Jungle last year in history class and everyone says it was the most awful book they've ever read, but I kind of liked it. However, I did not like The Catcher in the Rye at all. I think the main reason is that absolutely nothing happens. In this book, we start out with the focus on a guy, Holden Caulfield, sitting there telling us why he doesn't feel like telling us the story he's about to tell us. He goes and talks to one of his professors, an old man who picks his nose, and then goes back to his dorm room. Then his neighbor comes in the room and clips his toenails. A little while later Holden decides to leave the school he's at altogether. This isn't exactly shocking, because he was recently kicked out for flunking all of his classes except English. I'm surprised he passed even that. The writing style of this book is the turdiest I've ever read. I've read funny, I've read dry, I've read florid, and I've read boring. But never before had I read a book as told by a moron. This Holden Caulfield seems to know around one hundred words and repeat them over and over again. At least three times in a page he will say "goddam". He writes as he thinks, too, and the problem with that is that he doesn't think about anything interesting. After he takes his old, ratty suitcase out of the dorm room and checks it at the subway station, very little else happens, and here's how it does.
-He goes out to a hotel near where he is in New York and, on his way up to his room, he meets the elevator guy, who also happens to be a pimp. The elevator guy sends his least exciting girl up to Holden's room. She takes off most of her clothes, and they talk for a while about where she used to go to school. Then she puts her clothes back on. A little while later the elevator guy comes back with the prostitute and steals five dollars from Holden. So after that, he goes down to the hotel's night club and dances with a blonde girl, who, by Holden's own condemnation, is very boring. All throughout this time Holden keeps making points about how phony everyone is and how he hates phonies. He then leaves and has a date with a phony girl the next day.
-He also buys his sister a record, and goes to the museum too. A while after that he talks to a former friend in a boring bar with a pianist who's phony. He drinks a lot and then soaks his head in the sink. He comes out and drunkenly calls up a girl he knows, offering to help her trim her Christmas tree. After she hangs up on him, he walks through Central Park and drops and breaks the record he bought for his sister. He sits in front of the pond and realizes his wet hair is frozen in the winter air and starts thinking about how depressed he'd be if he died of pneumonia. He decides to go to his sister's house.
-She's ten years old and the only thing she does is hide her head in a pillow and say "Daddy's going to kill you" (for getting flunked out). He sticks around for several hours, smoking some cigarettes, and then scrams when his parents get home. Soon enough he finds it's daylight and leaves a note with his sister's school's secretary to the effect that she should meet him at the museum. She does and gives him back a hat he gave her, and then they say goodbye. Then, abruptly, the book ends. Were you looking for a plot? Guess what: There isn't one! It's just some stupid kid who swears a lot complaining about how crappy his life is and how phony everyone he knows is. This book might be tolerable if J.D. Salinger had given Holden a less idiotic writing style and made him actually do something, but as it is it's just a piece of garbage. I have no idea why it's treated as a classic. I suspect that it's because it's a cheap book to buy and thus English teachers value it because they can buy a lot of them for only a few dollars. One thing's for sure, though: if you're looking to read something interesting, thought-provoking, good, or even competently written, look somewhere else.
Saturday, September 18, 2004
About time for a new post.
Isn't it, though? It's been almost a week since I wrote anything. And this 'blog is archived weekly. So this week's archive will have two posts in it.
-Yesterday we went to the first home football game. We were out of our form. I didn't play any of the stand songs too well--though that might have something to do with that I didn't have any of my music--and the show could've been better. Probably a lot of our poor performance was due to the fact that Mr. Canter was off practicing for his brother-in-law's wedding or something and couldn't be at the game, leaving us with only the assistant director Mr. Kennedy. And also due to that it was dark outside. I didn't get back to the house until around 2230.
-I thought this up a few days ago when the school was having calzones for lunch: I think it would be funny to, every time you're saying "calzone", say "calzona". Just keep mentioning calzonas until someone goes nuts and yells, "It's calZONE! CALZONE! CALZONE!!" I thought that would be pretty funny. Doesn't have to be "calzone" though--you could do it with some other ward.
-I'm seriously considering getting a summer job at Crowduck. Our family has a summer tradition of, every year, going up to this awesome fishing camp near the Manitoba-Ontario border. It's in the Big Whiteshell Provincial Park, on Crowduck Lake, and it's the place I look forward to most each year. Really, all I'm doing in school each year is waiting until it lets out and we all get to go to Crowduck. It's the greatest place on the face of the planet. The air is clean, the water is clear, the fishing is great, and there's nobody else around for about a hundred miles. The way you get there is you follow a certain highway until it stops abruptly at the shore of Big Whiteshell Lake, and then you call up someone on the crew. They come over on a ten- or twelve-foot boat over Whiteshell to pick you up. You load all your fishing gear for the week on the boat and they ride you two miles over the lake to a dock that you would never see unless you knew exactly where it is. Then the guy who was driving the boat helps you unload all your stuff off the boat and onto a red pickup truck marked "Limousine". From there you're driven another two miles on a bumpy, winding trail through a thick Canadian forest. Just when it seems like the trail will never end, you catch your first glimpse of Crowduck over the trees and decide that even if the ride takes the rest of the day, it'll be worth it. But it doesn't take the rest of the day, and soon enough you find the trail coming out of the forest into the camp, which is a collection of about twelve buildings, eight of which are places for campers to stay. There's a dock at the bottom of a small hill and you can see for miles and miles over the lake's surface. On the other shore there's nothing but trees: no houses, no factories, no towns. The only way in and out is how I told you; or, if you're the owner, Bill, you can take your restored 1944* yellow float plane to a neighboring lake or the nearest store in Sioux Narrows. It's the kind of solitude you get only one place in the world.
-So that's why I'd like to work there. But before I try and get a job there, I want to find out what working at Crowduck would entail. I've heard that the crew usually goes to sleep around 2300 and gets up at about 0500. I also notice that the camp seems to be a pretty high-maintenance kind of place, so I wouldn't get too much rest in between then. Then there's the several skills I'd need to learn first--I don't know just how to drive a boat, how to gut a fish, how to operate the generator, or how to drive a truck. I can learn most of those things, but the important thing is that I don't know them yet. I'll have to get working now if I want to get working later.
-Driving a truck reminds me: Supposedly I can get my temps on the 24th. My dad used to be a Drivers' Ed. instructor, so learning shouldn't be too hard. I just have to listen to all the stuff he tells me to do and then do it and then take a test. Maybe. It's probably a lot more complicated than that.
-
-Okay, now I've caught you up on the last few days. Who knows when I'll be back?, but it probably won't be too far up the road from now.
*I think it's a '44--but it might be a '45.
-Yesterday we went to the first home football game. We were out of our form. I didn't play any of the stand songs too well--though that might have something to do with that I didn't have any of my music--and the show could've been better. Probably a lot of our poor performance was due to the fact that Mr. Canter was off practicing for his brother-in-law's wedding or something and couldn't be at the game, leaving us with only the assistant director Mr. Kennedy. And also due to that it was dark outside. I didn't get back to the house until around 2230.
-I thought this up a few days ago when the school was having calzones for lunch: I think it would be funny to, every time you're saying "calzone", say "calzona". Just keep mentioning calzonas until someone goes nuts and yells, "It's calZONE! CALZONE! CALZONE!!" I thought that would be pretty funny. Doesn't have to be "calzone" though--you could do it with some other ward.
-I'm seriously considering getting a summer job at Crowduck. Our family has a summer tradition of, every year, going up to this awesome fishing camp near the Manitoba-Ontario border. It's in the Big Whiteshell Provincial Park, on Crowduck Lake, and it's the place I look forward to most each year. Really, all I'm doing in school each year is waiting until it lets out and we all get to go to Crowduck. It's the greatest place on the face of the planet. The air is clean, the water is clear, the fishing is great, and there's nobody else around for about a hundred miles. The way you get there is you follow a certain highway until it stops abruptly at the shore of Big Whiteshell Lake, and then you call up someone on the crew. They come over on a ten- or twelve-foot boat over Whiteshell to pick you up. You load all your fishing gear for the week on the boat and they ride you two miles over the lake to a dock that you would never see unless you knew exactly where it is. Then the guy who was driving the boat helps you unload all your stuff off the boat and onto a red pickup truck marked "Limousine". From there you're driven another two miles on a bumpy, winding trail through a thick Canadian forest. Just when it seems like the trail will never end, you catch your first glimpse of Crowduck over the trees and decide that even if the ride takes the rest of the day, it'll be worth it. But it doesn't take the rest of the day, and soon enough you find the trail coming out of the forest into the camp, which is a collection of about twelve buildings, eight of which are places for campers to stay. There's a dock at the bottom of a small hill and you can see for miles and miles over the lake's surface. On the other shore there's nothing but trees: no houses, no factories, no towns. The only way in and out is how I told you; or, if you're the owner, Bill, you can take your restored 1944* yellow float plane to a neighboring lake or the nearest store in Sioux Narrows. It's the kind of solitude you get only one place in the world.
-So that's why I'd like to work there. But before I try and get a job there, I want to find out what working at Crowduck would entail. I've heard that the crew usually goes to sleep around 2300 and gets up at about 0500. I also notice that the camp seems to be a pretty high-maintenance kind of place, so I wouldn't get too much rest in between then. Then there's the several skills I'd need to learn first--I don't know just how to drive a boat, how to gut a fish, how to operate the generator, or how to drive a truck. I can learn most of those things, but the important thing is that I don't know them yet. I'll have to get working now if I want to get working later.
-Driving a truck reminds me: Supposedly I can get my temps on the 24th. My dad used to be a Drivers' Ed. instructor, so learning shouldn't be too hard. I just have to listen to all the stuff he tells me to do and then do it and then take a test. Maybe. It's probably a lot more complicated than that.
-
-Okay, now I've caught you up on the last few days. Who knows when I'll be back?, but it probably won't be too far up the road from now.
*I think it's a '44--but it might be a '45.
Sunday, September 12, 2004
The competition
I got up at around 1030 and found that family friend Karl was here and about to cook us all breakfast. Karl is one of Dad's buddies. They met in the Army, I think, but they haven't been together in that context for decades. Anyhow, Karl made us breakfast. I had a lot of bacon. I love bacon. (Rosie, if you're reading this, just keep your mouth shut.) Then I sat around for a while; then it was time for the band competition.
-I biked up to the school at 1328ish and we had a short practice for about twenty-five minutes, just fixing small details before we headed off to the 13th annual Talawanda Marching Band Competition. Then we piled into the buses. It was very crowded. Sardines get more maneuvering room in their can. And we had to sit like that for around forty-five minutes--I know how long it is, because my grandparents live in Oxford, where Talawanda is. And for some reason--they said it was to "keep the focus"--we weren't allowed to talk. So I tried to sleep. But I never could do it. Too uncomfortable, I guess. Keep in mind that at this time we were in our monkey suits for band--not the thick red winter jackets, but the pants are more than enough to make you sweat as much as those fat men who hang around in saunas. They're about two feet longer than normal pants because they come up to your armpits, about, and they're made of something like felt. All I know is that it's not comfortable--very itchy and hot. And what's more, they're a particularly dark shade of black, so as to facilitate heatstroke. I hate uniforms.
-We arrived in the Talawanda High School parking lot and scrammed out of the buses real quick-like. Then we stood around sweltering on an area of grass where we weren't allowed to play our instruments unless we wanted to get disqualified. You're not allowed to play your instrument pretty much anywhere at a marching band competition except the Designated Practice Area, because if you do play you get disqualified. A surprising number of things can get you disqualified. For example, if, when you're backfield and waiting for the lady on the loudspeaker to tell you you can Take the Field for Adjudicated Performance, you for whatever reason step over the line and onto the field, you're disqualified. Just like that! Luckily, nobody was stupid enough to do that before we got our clicks to march out to the front hash and change the block we were in into our form.
-It was still very hot. It was like being inside a really fat guy's armpit after an exhausting workout. Nonetheless, drum major Chad Rogers gave us our "dups" and we all brought up whatever instrument we happened to have to start playing our first note.
-DAAAA da da da Dat Dat Dat Dat DAAHHH, ...dadada daaa Daaa DAaa DAAAA-Daat! If you don't read music, that's the first couple of measures in our program for this year. I, just like everyone else, march a very inconcise route around the field, taking a tour of all there is to offer: the front hash, a few numbers, the back hash, and a lot of grass. I have to constantly stay between either Tom and Mike or Mike and Matt, while moving very fast, playing a trumpet, standing exactly straight, and not being allowed to turn my head. About half the time I'm walking blindly backwards. While you march at a competition, there is a judge who walks around out on the field, getting up close and personal while talking into a minicorder. Mr. Canter has instructed us to, if a judge stands in front of us while we're marching, run over him. Apparently this has happened before, somewhere. I did well on the opener once I got into a "groove", and I just kept right on through all the other three pieces. It was still monumentally tiring, though. Once you've marched your first five minutes and your hair has so much sweat in it that it feels like a drowned rat, you think, "Say, let's get out of here," but of course you can't, because aside from the fact that that's just not done and you would make the entire band lose the entire competition, it would probably get you disqualified.
-We finished the show without dying, and immediately I walked a long, circuitous route to the buses to change out of my sweat suit. Good thing for dry cleaning. Then my dad, who had previously shown up a little while earlier, took us to my grandparents' house for Chinese food, which had been ordered from Phan Shin, a local restaurant. I ate every bite of my Szechuan Spicy Chicken and an egg roll and a fortune cookie ("Life is a bold and daring adventure for you") and drank a can of root beer and took another with me to the awards ceremony, which theoretically started at 2000 but in actuality started at around 2115. They announced all the class-C bands first, which didn't take long because they're so small nobody cares about them. For the record, something called Green Marching Band won it. Then they announced the class-B bands, our class. There were a total of two bands competing in class B today, so it wasn't as much of an accomplishment as it could've been when we won the class-B championship over I think Batavia Heights. The judges went on to announce class-A and class-AA bands, and then told us all who had qualified for State competition: two AA bands. Figures, huh? Nothing else mattered after the loudspeaker lady said that, so we stopped listening and a little later I went down to meet Dad to go home.
-I biked up to the school at 1328ish and we had a short practice for about twenty-five minutes, just fixing small details before we headed off to the 13th annual Talawanda Marching Band Competition. Then we piled into the buses. It was very crowded. Sardines get more maneuvering room in their can. And we had to sit like that for around forty-five minutes--I know how long it is, because my grandparents live in Oxford, where Talawanda is. And for some reason--they said it was to "keep the focus"--we weren't allowed to talk. So I tried to sleep. But I never could do it. Too uncomfortable, I guess. Keep in mind that at this time we were in our monkey suits for band--not the thick red winter jackets, but the pants are more than enough to make you sweat as much as those fat men who hang around in saunas. They're about two feet longer than normal pants because they come up to your armpits, about, and they're made of something like felt. All I know is that it's not comfortable--very itchy and hot. And what's more, they're a particularly dark shade of black, so as to facilitate heatstroke. I hate uniforms.
-We arrived in the Talawanda High School parking lot and scrammed out of the buses real quick-like. Then we stood around sweltering on an area of grass where we weren't allowed to play our instruments unless we wanted to get disqualified. You're not allowed to play your instrument pretty much anywhere at a marching band competition except the Designated Practice Area, because if you do play you get disqualified. A surprising number of things can get you disqualified. For example, if, when you're backfield and waiting for the lady on the loudspeaker to tell you you can Take the Field for Adjudicated Performance, you for whatever reason step over the line and onto the field, you're disqualified. Just like that! Luckily, nobody was stupid enough to do that before we got our clicks to march out to the front hash and change the block we were in into our form.
-It was still very hot. It was like being inside a really fat guy's armpit after an exhausting workout. Nonetheless, drum major Chad Rogers gave us our "dups" and we all brought up whatever instrument we happened to have to start playing our first note.
-DAAAA da da da Dat Dat Dat Dat DAAHHH, ...dadada daaa Daaa DAaa DAAAA-Daat! If you don't read music, that's the first couple of measures in our program for this year. I, just like everyone else, march a very inconcise route around the field, taking a tour of all there is to offer: the front hash, a few numbers, the back hash, and a lot of grass. I have to constantly stay between either Tom and Mike or Mike and Matt, while moving very fast, playing a trumpet, standing exactly straight, and not being allowed to turn my head. About half the time I'm walking blindly backwards. While you march at a competition, there is a judge who walks around out on the field, getting up close and personal while talking into a minicorder. Mr. Canter has instructed us to, if a judge stands in front of us while we're marching, run over him. Apparently this has happened before, somewhere. I did well on the opener once I got into a "groove", and I just kept right on through all the other three pieces. It was still monumentally tiring, though. Once you've marched your first five minutes and your hair has so much sweat in it that it feels like a drowned rat, you think, "Say, let's get out of here," but of course you can't, because aside from the fact that that's just not done and you would make the entire band lose the entire competition, it would probably get you disqualified.
-We finished the show without dying, and immediately I walked a long, circuitous route to the buses to change out of my sweat suit. Good thing for dry cleaning. Then my dad, who had previously shown up a little while earlier, took us to my grandparents' house for Chinese food, which had been ordered from Phan Shin, a local restaurant. I ate every bite of my Szechuan Spicy Chicken and an egg roll and a fortune cookie ("Life is a bold and daring adventure for you") and drank a can of root beer and took another with me to the awards ceremony, which theoretically started at 2000 but in actuality started at around 2115. They announced all the class-C bands first, which didn't take long because they're so small nobody cares about them. For the record, something called Green Marching Band won it. Then they announced the class-B bands, our class. There were a total of two bands competing in class B today, so it wasn't as much of an accomplishment as it could've been when we won the class-B championship over I think Batavia Heights. The judges went on to announce class-A and class-AA bands, and then told us all who had qualified for State competition: two AA bands. Figures, huh? Nothing else mattered after the loudspeaker lady said that, so we stopped listening and a little later I went down to meet Dad to go home.
Friday, September 10, 2004
The Show
Today we did our first march of the show.
-Our show is the music of Chuck Mangione. You can find a copy of it to listen to at here, under, suitably, "Mangione Magic". There are four songs: Mangione Opener, Feels So Good, Echano, and El Gato Triste ("The Sad Cat").
-We were at an away game today, at Reading. Don't ask me where that is. I just know that I got there. The bus driver can worry about how to get there. Carrying our instruments, we marched away from our buses into, approaching it from the back, the Reading stadium, a hulking, unimaginative concrete structure with a view of the field and a nearby street. There was one scoreboard at the near end of the field. We were on the left side of the stadium, with the Readingites at the right side. Finneytown scored first, amazingly. Everyone cheered at our touchdown. I'll bet they would've cheered harder if they'd known those were the only seven points we'd get.
-We played some stand songs for the first two quarters, and then filed out onto the track to get on the field. In marching band, you don't just walk onto the field. You line up at the back and march onto it. We did that, and then drum major Chad Rogers gave us our dups, to begin playing and marching around.
-Marching isn't nearly as easy as it looks, and it probably looks pretty hard. There are about nineteen things you have to be considering simultaneously at any given moment, some of which are: keeping the right tempo, not missing any notes, whether you're in step, whether you're in phase, what the form is looking like, where you're about to go, what size steps to take, your roll step, and whether that noise behind you is a train or just a really loud tuba. As it turned out, it was a train, rolling along on a track that's apparently somewhere very close to the field. The train blocked out about the last half of El Gato Triste, but I don't think it had anything to do with me messing up right up near the end. I just forgot what was happening, forgot where I was supposed to be going. But all in all I did fairly well; perhaps not as well as I'll have to do in the contest tomorrow, but fairly well. Final football game score: Us, 7; Them, 30.
-Yep, we get to go to a contest in Oxford tomorrow, rather than sit on our butts like we ought to be allowed to do after the first show. I have to be up by 1340. This will be a challenge. I'm tired. Good night.
-Our show is the music of Chuck Mangione. You can find a copy of it to listen to at here, under, suitably, "Mangione Magic". There are four songs: Mangione Opener, Feels So Good, Echano, and El Gato Triste ("The Sad Cat").
-We were at an away game today, at Reading. Don't ask me where that is. I just know that I got there. The bus driver can worry about how to get there. Carrying our instruments, we marched away from our buses into, approaching it from the back, the Reading stadium, a hulking, unimaginative concrete structure with a view of the field and a nearby street. There was one scoreboard at the near end of the field. We were on the left side of the stadium, with the Readingites at the right side. Finneytown scored first, amazingly. Everyone cheered at our touchdown. I'll bet they would've cheered harder if they'd known those were the only seven points we'd get.
-We played some stand songs for the first two quarters, and then filed out onto the track to get on the field. In marching band, you don't just walk onto the field. You line up at the back and march onto it. We did that, and then drum major Chad Rogers gave us our dups, to begin playing and marching around.
-Marching isn't nearly as easy as it looks, and it probably looks pretty hard. There are about nineteen things you have to be considering simultaneously at any given moment, some of which are: keeping the right tempo, not missing any notes, whether you're in step, whether you're in phase, what the form is looking like, where you're about to go, what size steps to take, your roll step, and whether that noise behind you is a train or just a really loud tuba. As it turned out, it was a train, rolling along on a track that's apparently somewhere very close to the field. The train blocked out about the last half of El Gato Triste, but I don't think it had anything to do with me messing up right up near the end. I just forgot what was happening, forgot where I was supposed to be going. But all in all I did fairly well; perhaps not as well as I'll have to do in the contest tomorrow, but fairly well. Final football game score: Us, 7; Them, 30.
-Yep, we get to go to a contest in Oxford tomorrow, rather than sit on our butts like we ought to be allowed to do after the first show. I have to be up by 1340. This will be a challenge. I'm tired. Good night.
Wednesday, September 8, 2004
Real fast here, again
I'm in homeroom again, checkin' up on my 'blog. I'm mainly here to post the answers to that puzzle I posited to you all last week or whenever. Here are the answers I have:
CH: Archaic, monarch, chemistry... there are many many of them.
PH: Shepherd.
SH: Dishonor. I knew another but I've forgotten it for the moment.
TH: Thyme. No proper nouns, so I can't accept "Thomas".
-Okay, there you have them. Bye now.
CH: Archaic, monarch, chemistry... there are many many of them.
PH: Shepherd.
SH: Dishonor. I knew another but I've forgotten it for the moment.
TH: Thyme. No proper nouns, so I can't accept "Thomas".
-Okay, there you have them. Bye now.
Sunday, September 5, 2004
Fireworks
Times New Roman now. I'm experimenting.
I did absolutely nothing until about 1940. I knew I ought to be doing something, but I couldn't think of anything in particular. So I just sat around. And lay around. And that kind of stuff.
-But what happened at 1940 was, Mom and Micah and I went off downtown to go see the WEBN Labor Day Fireworks. It's a huge annual event. It's covered by a local news channel, staged on the Ohio River (the fireworks are shot off a barge), and costs probably a million dollars. Or more. And it's awesome.
We parked in a crummy kind of parking space, and waited for things to start at 2105. ('Cause today's 9/05, get it? 9:05 on 9/05?) They hyped things for a few minutes, a deejay made a speech about the Rozzi Family of pyrotechnic engineers, and mentioned the soldiers in Iraq, and then they started things up.
-They shot off a huge beginning round. It brightened the sky. A few seconds later, the sound from it reached us. There's a huge time delay. They fired off more fireworks. Bigger and bigger, in every color of the rainbow. Red, White, Blue, Purple, Orange, Green. There were little paisley type ones, and ones that were like cannons firing off the ground. It's like being inside a 21-gun salute. WEBN played music to go with it, and the sound came at us two seconds late, and the fireworks kept on coming. Bigger and brighter, and brighter! The sky was filled with two giant white marigolds! And then any other kind of flower! Passiflora! Chrysanthemums! Then a waterfall!
-The song changed, and the fireworks changed with it, turning to fit the music perfectly. Two cymbal crashes would coincide with two giant purple fireworks exploding the night, and then American-Flag color ones, and then things got better and better and bigger! The grand finale was like something out of an intergalactic spacefight. They shot about fifty charges into the air at once, and the sky turned blue. They sent up their whole arsenal. The sound, delayed, knocked us over, and, from 0.4 miles away, activated car alarms. The reporter covering things in a helicopter was hurled into the ionosphere. The music reached a fever pitch. The earth shook. Cars exploded. Buildings toppled. The sky caught fire. Then, with a final thrill from the song on the radio, everything went black.
-The WEBN Labor Day Fireworks 2004-
I did absolutely nothing until about 1940. I knew I ought to be doing something, but I couldn't think of anything in particular. So I just sat around. And lay around. And that kind of stuff.
-But what happened at 1940 was, Mom and Micah and I went off downtown to go see the WEBN Labor Day Fireworks. It's a huge annual event. It's covered by a local news channel, staged on the Ohio River (the fireworks are shot off a barge), and costs probably a million dollars. Or more. And it's awesome.
We parked in a crummy kind of parking space, and waited for things to start at 2105. ('Cause today's 9/05, get it? 9:05 on 9/05?) They hyped things for a few minutes, a deejay made a speech about the Rozzi Family of pyrotechnic engineers, and mentioned the soldiers in Iraq, and then they started things up.
-They shot off a huge beginning round. It brightened the sky. A few seconds later, the sound from it reached us. There's a huge time delay. They fired off more fireworks. Bigger and bigger, in every color of the rainbow. Red, White, Blue, Purple, Orange, Green. There were little paisley type ones, and ones that were like cannons firing off the ground. It's like being inside a 21-gun salute. WEBN played music to go with it, and the sound came at us two seconds late, and the fireworks kept on coming. Bigger and brighter, and brighter! The sky was filled with two giant white marigolds! And then any other kind of flower! Passiflora! Chrysanthemums! Then a waterfall!
-The song changed, and the fireworks changed with it, turning to fit the music perfectly. Two cymbal crashes would coincide with two giant purple fireworks exploding the night, and then American-Flag color ones, and then things got better and better and bigger! The grand finale was like something out of an intergalactic spacefight. They shot about fifty charges into the air at once, and the sky turned blue. They sent up their whole arsenal. The sound, delayed, knocked us over, and, from 0.4 miles away, activated car alarms. The reporter covering things in a helicopter was hurled into the ionosphere. The music reached a fever pitch. The earth shook. Cars exploded. Buildings toppled. The sky caught fire. Then, with a final thrill from the song on the radio, everything went black.
-The WEBN Labor Day Fireworks 2004-
Incredible!
Oh hey. I took out the first half of this post because it was basically just a bunch of personal information about me and I'm trying to step up my internet privacy. It was just my schedule for 10th grade. The second half of the post isn't really worth much either, but I decided not to mess up by post count. Whatever.
Thursday, September 2, 2004
Finally, back online
...However temporarily. I'm sorry for not posting in the last... week or so, but our Internet connection has been down the whole freaking time. Our house seems to have something against the Internet. We've had three Zoomtown people out to look at it, but as soon as the last one left, it reverted into its crappy state.
-I have a freakin' lot to cover. I think I already covered the hike, so I'll start with my first day of school, which was Monday. I woke up at freaking 0620. Then, with nobody to see me off because it was so early, I rode off into the dark on my 21-speed, to the Finneytown High School.
-Band was my first class. It was just as bad as it usually is in the practices after school on Mondays Wednesdays Thursdays. So I went to my first bell with a sort of "fleeing" mentality, even though my first bell was one I had been looking forward to with a bit of foreboding: art class. I knew as soon as I got in the room that this wasn't the right class at all for me. Everyone in the room was a year younger than me at least, it seemed; it was only a remediation class for 10th-graders. I paid very little attention to anything that bell. It has now been changed to accounting.
-Second bell was math. It's taught by a very boring guy named Mr. Rahn. We got an obscenely thick textbook and told us our homework to get it covered, and let us off to our next class.
-Third bell was history, where we talked about Indians with a not boring guy named Mr. McGlade. We've talked about Indians the last four days in history now. Well, it's still kind of interesting. Incidentally, in the Cherokee language (I didn't actually learn this in class--I have a Cherokee book in my room for some reason) there are some verbs that you have to put a syllable into to indicate whether the verb's object is alive, flexible, long, or liquid, and you can sometimes switch them around to say funny things, which might loosely correspond to "pour me some turkey!" or "slice me some gravy!"
-Fourth bell--Spanish class. My teacher Mrs. O'Connor just got over the cancer and is now back to normal, teaching Spanish like any other day. She's a fun person. Yep.
-Fifth bell is, retardedly, split into two halves, in between which is lunch. I spend it with my friend Aaron Bell, who I think I've mentioned before. It's very fun, but not for the class--we've been assigned Catcher in the Rye, which is, so far, about the crappiest book I've ever read. It's fun because Aaron's there and we can make up idiotic inside jokes pretty much at liberty. To make things better, my old old friend Lamont Giles sits right next to me too, and he makes up all sorts of funny crap. Like, the other day he made up three comic strips: Boxy Brown, which is about a cardboard box with an afro, Action Hank, who comes with Action Night Vision Goggles and Action Bills, and committed suicide in the first strip with his Action Letter Opener when Boxy Brown asked him what he needed the goggles for, and Muscly Arm Paperboy, who thwarted a weird old man who wanted to have popsicles with him in his cellar by riding off on his bike.
-Sixth Bell was woodshop, where I got to do nothing, and seventh bell was chemistry, where we heard about what exactly chemistry is. So there. That was my first day.
-After school I had another freaking band practice. And I also just got back from one. And furthermore I have a lot of homework to do. I've got to go away now.
-I have a freakin' lot to cover. I think I already covered the hike, so I'll start with my first day of school, which was Monday. I woke up at freaking 0620. Then, with nobody to see me off because it was so early, I rode off into the dark on my 21-speed, to the Finneytown High School.
-Band was my first class. It was just as bad as it usually is in the practices after school on Mondays Wednesdays Thursdays. So I went to my first bell with a sort of "fleeing" mentality, even though my first bell was one I had been looking forward to with a bit of foreboding: art class. I knew as soon as I got in the room that this wasn't the right class at all for me. Everyone in the room was a year younger than me at least, it seemed; it was only a remediation class for 10th-graders. I paid very little attention to anything that bell. It has now been changed to accounting.
-Second bell was math. It's taught by a very boring guy named Mr. Rahn. We got an obscenely thick textbook and told us our homework to get it covered, and let us off to our next class.
-Third bell was history, where we talked about Indians with a not boring guy named Mr. McGlade. We've talked about Indians the last four days in history now. Well, it's still kind of interesting. Incidentally, in the Cherokee language (I didn't actually learn this in class--I have a Cherokee book in my room for some reason) there are some verbs that you have to put a syllable into to indicate whether the verb's object is alive, flexible, long, or liquid, and you can sometimes switch them around to say funny things, which might loosely correspond to "pour me some turkey!" or "slice me some gravy!"
-Fourth bell--Spanish class. My teacher Mrs. O'Connor just got over the cancer and is now back to normal, teaching Spanish like any other day. She's a fun person. Yep.
-Fifth bell is, retardedly, split into two halves, in between which is lunch. I spend it with my friend Aaron Bell, who I think I've mentioned before. It's very fun, but not for the class--we've been assigned Catcher in the Rye, which is, so far, about the crappiest book I've ever read. It's fun because Aaron's there and we can make up idiotic inside jokes pretty much at liberty. To make things better, my old old friend Lamont Giles sits right next to me too, and he makes up all sorts of funny crap. Like, the other day he made up three comic strips: Boxy Brown, which is about a cardboard box with an afro, Action Hank, who comes with Action Night Vision Goggles and Action Bills, and committed suicide in the first strip with his Action Letter Opener when Boxy Brown asked him what he needed the goggles for, and Muscly Arm Paperboy, who thwarted a weird old man who wanted to have popsicles with him in his cellar by riding off on his bike.
-Sixth Bell was woodshop, where I got to do nothing, and seventh bell was chemistry, where we heard about what exactly chemistry is. So there. That was my first day.
-After school I had another freaking band practice. And I also just got back from one. And furthermore I have a lot of homework to do. I've got to go away now.
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