| Comeback: |
[Feb. 13th, 2007|09:27 pm] |
I will be making a comeback. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
I've missed you guys.
Sincerely,
mlr |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 11th, 2005|10:01 pm] |
1. Reply with your name and I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you. |
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| You had me at Heart of Darkness |
[Mar. 1st, 2005|07:34 pm] |
You wanna be humbled? Go upstairs to your mom's study, to the file cabinet, and pull out some of the essays (if they even deserve to be called that) that you wrote in 8th grade taking a creative writing class for home schoolers.
Laughing out loud when you are alone is such a natural and wonderful thing. It's not one of those fake laughs that you use occasionally not wanting to offend anyone or, on the other extreme, trying to impress someone with. These "solitary laughs" don't occur often, but when they do it really makes you appreciate the Creator for instilling a healthy sense of humor in his creation...at least most of his Creation. Basically here's what happens during laughter:
"Fifteen facial muscles contract and stimulation of the zygomatic major muscle (the main lifting mechanism of your upper lip) occurs. Meanwhile, the respiratory system is upset by the epiglottis half-closing the larynx, so that air intake occurs irregularly, making you gasp. In extreme circumstances, the tear ducts are activated, so that while the mouth is opening and closing and the struggle for oxygen intake continues, the face becomes moist and often red (or purple). The noises that usually accompany this bizarre behavior range from sedate giggles to boisterous guffaws.... humans have a "detector" that responds to laughter by triggering other neural circuits in the brain, which, in turn, generates more laughter. This explains why laughter is contagious....One of the key features of natural laughter is its placement in speech, linguists say. Laughter almost always occurs during pauses at the end of phrases. Experts say this suggests that an orderly process (probably neurologically based) governs the placement of laughter in speech and gives speech priority access to the single vocalization channel. This strong relationship between laughter and speech is much like punctuation in written communication -- that's why it's called the punctuation effect."
The article I read goes on in greater detail about the Limbic System's involvement in a seemingly involunatry process and so on and so forth. So complex and yet so natural. Don't take the omniscience of God for granted, it only makes you feel like a fool when you read stuff like that. Anyways, I digress. I was reading these essays I wrote during my last and most painful year of home schooling. Interesting enough, Stephanie George was in that writing class. i dont see how I made an A seeing as I pretty much stared at her for the hour and a half long class. She stared right back....I miss that glass eye...These essays of mine that I read and laughed aloud to were not all that bad as far as originality for an 8th grader. It's just that I switched verb tense about every three lines and some of my vocabulary is just so ornate, coming off very fake. Hmmm, like alot of other student's work that I read. It's weird how 4 years ago I would have never noticed what I now consider the most glaring mistakes. I complain alot about the workload that AP English so graciously provides me. I shouldn't though. Truth is, I've learned more in Mrs. D's class than I have in any other class this year. She's real good about shying away from just mere regurgitation. That's my two cents.
Holy crap, I just watched a couple scenes from The Sandlot. Memories.
My Bible class is the most motley group of people from my grade. Aaaa, we don't have a black person, but still we've got just about every demographic present in 1st period. We've got the Jew (they come first in Bible). we've got the hilbilly. we've got the homosexual. we've got the ditsy cheerleader. we've got the drama queen. we've got the "hott" girl who is good at everything who should be the "mean girl" but is quite the opposite. we've got the girl who sits in front of me who never really talks but has some good stuff to say. we've got the other girl who sits in front of me who always talks and has nothing good to say. we've got the two mormons. we've got the Karl. we've got the pre-pubescent kid who craves attention. then we have two or three other worthless people. Kidding. Oh, and a Canadian. I both love and hate my Bible class. It really depends on what kind of mood I'm in, i guess, Which is usually a bad one at 8 am. Today Bible was alright, esp. towards the end of our class presentations when Ms. Phipps taught us a Sunday School lesson. i don't remember what it was about, soothed into a slumber by the hypnotic lyrics of "the rains came down and the floods came up" and the seductive gaze of an older woman. that's the second Ms/Mrs/Mr.? Phipps I've fallen in love with. Never again. Never again.
You know what wasnt great about Bible today? When the idiotic Mormons (not necessarily because they're Mormon as much as because they are just incredibly stupid...Ok, it's probably both) got up and presented a selection of the poems that they had written. I could be sarcastic and say something like, "they were masterpieces" or "I cried", but i wont. I'll say what I really feel about them. they were awful. I would have rather sliced my stomach open with a barracuda hangnail than listen to that sickness. The worst part is half of our class laughs at their poems (which are meant to be humorous) provoking them to write more. I swear to you, my little brother could have written something better, and he was a miscarriage. No, No, for real. My brother (let's call him Levi) could have accidentally carved out a haiku on my mother's uterus and it would be better than the Morman waste I am forced to sit through on occasion. Fortunately, they went before Ms. Phipps, who settled me down by stroking my hair and pouring jellybeans in the palm of my hand.
This post is neither sad or depressing. I'm not necessarily happy, but I dont really feel like wasting a precious 15 or so minutes of my life whining about things that are so trivial to the outcome of my life...and even more so in comparison to my eternal life. Think about it. Yeah, today might not have been all that great. It might have not started out the right way or shaped into something good after 1st period or 3rd or 6th, it might even suck right now. But guess what? What is this one day or week or month or year(s) compared to the future that we have ahead of us and way ahead of us if you catch my drift. We are all blessed beyond belief. Every time I hate my life, I just knock on the door of the next house over and talk to my friend Annie and she always reminds me, "The sun will come out tomorrow/bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow/there'll be sun...." You know what, even if the sun doesnt come out tomorrow, what does that matter? Hakuna Matata.
"take me to happyland!"
"ooo, we're going!"
Heaven you dumb butts. |
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| "Sometimes I guess there just aren't enough rocks." |
[Feb. 27th, 2005|09:23 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | And the nominees are.... | ] |
Do you ever dream, Forrest, about who you're gonna be?
Who I'm gonna be?
Yeah.
Aren't, aren't I going to be me?
I watched Forrest Gump for probably the 6th time all the way through last night, thanks to DVR. It never gets old. You know, it's sort of like watching the Tigers play (except in a good way): i just know they are gonna find some way to blow a lead and embarrass themselves (sometimes on national TV) but that doesnt keep me from tuning in whenever I can. There's something eerily compelling about watching the inevitable. Though, I usually dont cry when the Tigers lose, last time was all the way back in the Earl Bannon years...oh, never mind, I do cry without fail every time Forrest is standing at Jenny's grave talking about their son Forrest Jr. and his new school and his picture. A tear just dropped on my "X" key. Oh well, when do I ever use that key anyway? Exactly. Forrest Gump is my favorite Tom Hanks movie. Though, Philadelphia and Saving Private Ryan are a close second and third. Hmfff, Joe Versus the Volcano was good too. Ok, how typical is this. I'm trying to right something serious and I just end up cracking jokes that are not funny or necessary. Im such a douche bag. So typical, Matthew. So typical. I guess that's pretty much the only way I keep myself from being obviously depressed sometimes: a cynical, pestering sense of humor. Typical jew right? I really do have good things to say I think. I really think the whole sarcasm thing hurts me with people. I'm not going to say that I'll get rid of it entirely like Thomas Carlyle affirms he did:
"Sarcasm is the language of the devil, for which reason I have long since as good as renounced it"
However, I'm gonna try to decrease the level of sarcasm in my writing and speaking, in my life. Instead, I'll opt for cornier, less overtly depressing humor to cancel out my severely, biting wit. Here goes: Hey, did anybody hear about that new patch I'm taking, "Sarcasto-derm". Goes on twice a day or whenever cravings persist...You know what? I'm good.
Forrest Gump is just so.....true, so universally true. so many rich quotes that get better and better when you just lie in bed tossing them into your soft first-base glove. I really like the quote I titled this post. It's from the scene where Jenny goes back to her abusive home years after she moved away. Think about it
So many times I come across people who think that truly great films are those that only a select few understand, appreciate, even know about. I really hope I dont become one of those people. even though sometimes that case wouldnt seem so unbelievable if reworked to make it seem less narcissistic. Sure, Gump has become a universal icon. So was a carpenter from Galilee (I'm speaking about Jesus, in case anyone missed it....Buy me some food that they seem to enjoy...) that doesnt make his message any less meaningful. DON'T get me wrong. I'm NOT equating the doctrines of a fictional Alabamian with an IQ of 75 to the Savior of mankind. I'm just saying that obscurity is not always important. I'm gonna end with another quote from Gump that I've been tossing around in my head for the past day. Please, share your opinions, though I did use the word "i" or "me" often this post, I'm not entirely selfish...except with NEW! Skittles Smoothie flavors. They are good. Chief Crappy Goatee (Coach Sisson) agrees. I probably just ruined this with my off color-isms, but I'll type it anyways.
"I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floatin' around accidental-like on a breeze. But I, I think maybe it's both, maybe both happening at the same time."
Congrats, Hilary Swank. Phenomenal performance. No question.
Jamie Foxx. Stellar. Honestly though, I think Mr. Charles death was a contributor. Seriously. Agree/ disagree? |
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| Don't smirk at me in that purple singlet |
[Feb. 23rd, 2005|04:35 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  sore | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Why is my sister watching Direct Effect? | ] |
Quarterfinals: Charlie Oddo shook my hand, fracturing two metacarpals of mine. He let go of my hand with hesitation. I know he had been cutting some serious weight, but surely he wasn't going to eat me? The whistle blew and all of a sudden I was up in the air spinning around in some sort of whirlwind. I knew it would be chilly in Chattanooga, that's why i was surprised when i found myself in the midst of a tornado. Colors blurred. I think I saw an Asian man float by which meant that I was definitely not in Chattanooga anymore. Oddo was spinning me on his finger. I heard a voice yell out, "easy down. don't hurt 'em." I hit land, thankful to be alive, and flopped around like a fish out of water before Charlie decided he would break my neck.... You know, for kicks. Oddo was from Father Ryan, a catholic school. How ironic is it that I can say that "Father Ryan raped me"? I lasted almost a period. After the match, as I attempted to reattach my ass when Oddo handed it over to me, I thanked Coach Sisson for the time he gave me to visualize my match during practice. It went about how I saw it in my head, terrifyingly.
I lost my next match. It wasn't close. I just wasn't good enough. Coach Sisson handed me my sweatshirt and shorts and I walked off into the bowels of the civic center where the State tournament was taking place. I went under a staircase where I had seen other guys sit and cry year after year. There was a door by the stairs that led to the outside of the building. I had to get some fresh air. I needed to see that the world was bigger than what it felt like right then, like evryone was watching me, pointing and laughing. As I walked out, cool air slicing my naked legs, I looked up at the gray sky emitting a sort of surreal glow. I heard a noise behind me and I saw another wrsetler throw open a glass door to my right. He still wore his singlet under a pair of sweatpants. He threw his hear gear against a flight of concrete steps in front of us, stumbled along parallel to the steps for about 10 feet before he collapsed on the lowest flight, head in hands. He was weeping as I was. I walked over and picked his headgear up, it was all I could do I thought. I looked into his eyes and our tears exchanged words. All that tears ever say when they talk is "I'm sorry....I know" over and over. Might seem stupid. Might seem boring. Might get old. It's not. It never will be. He scooted over, the signal for me to sit down. We didnt say anything to each other for about 5 minutes. We just sat there, filling our hands with tears and snot. Even in great emotional trauma, my psychiatric notion automatically kicked into gear and I studied the guy as he sat there, pulling his hair at intervals and contorting his mouth in ways only sour milk were meant for. I was hoping we'd go on to have a great conversation, since our inhibitions had obviously come tumbling down we could just vent our frustrations, our pain. We kept it brief though.
"Why do i care so much?" he asked. " just setting myself up for pain. If you aren't good, you shouldn't care this much."
"Knowing it will come doesn't make it any less harsh when it does come, either" I responded
"What's that?"
"the pain."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
And that was it. We got up at the same time. He exited stage left and I stage right. But this was no play. You couldn't script what just had gone on. I don't know the guy's name. I don't know what school he was from. I'd say he was a 152 or 160 in size. All I know is that that was one of the best conversations I've ever had with anyone. I don't know what his favorite takedown is or what he does in his free time. I don't know why he took up wrestling or if he has any siblings. But for that 10 minutes, it wasnt weird that we didnt know each other. I've never cried together with a random stranger before in my life. I don't know, I sorta liked it, no judgments passed, no questions asked. Just one similarity brought us together and that's all we needed: I was hurting and so was he. so next time you think you just need a good, cleansing cry, roll down your window and ask a homeless man to hop in the car with you....No don't do that.
I had regained my composure by the time I got back up to the section the team was sitting in. Everybody had gone to lunch though. Only Coach Sisson remained. we walked to the campus student center together, never saying a word. We walked in and I told him I had to use the restroom. I didnt though. I walked out of the cafeteria and wandered around the campus for a while before I went back,got my bag,and left again. I sat down somewhere inside the student center, away from where everybody was eating happily, shooting the breeze, and planning the fun that they would have once they could get the wrestling stuff out of the way.
Still pondering if I shouldn't just run away with the 50 or 60 bucks that I had and try to make it to Santa Cruz where the sun would no doubt be shining during the pre-game show of summer, baking my pale London legs and arms, I flipped open my cell phone. I just needed to take my mind off everything. Why didn't I have any freakin games? I scrolled through the 7 or 8 names I have (No, that is not an exaggeration. Yes, it makes me sad) and stopped at the name "Dad". I lost it. I dont know what happened, but I just broke down and cried as I stared at his name. It was like he was looking at me with the all-seeing eye of Sauron and was shaking his head at me, ashamed. My Dad isn't just so hard on me. He doesn't demand perfection and he doesn't get upset if I come home with a dress code ticket for an untucked shirt tail or come home at 12 even though my Tennessee driving curfew is 11. He does expect that I behave well enough and that I don't embarrass him or God or the way I was brought up. he knows that I've become relatively mature and that I have a good sense of right and wrong. Still, since I was little playing t-ball or coloring in my Negro League coloring book, I have felt like I must earn his respect. I think I have to be the best in order to make him proud. He knows this. he knows that I have been hard on myself because of this, that's probably why he figures he doesnt have to discipline me so much: because I feel bad enough if he appears disappointed. That said, I couldnt stand the thought of him sitting at his desk, reading my results, and shaking his head. It all sounds ridiculous now, but it was very real a few days ago.
I decided to call my Mom, but when she picked up I was too choked up to talk. She of course assumed that I had hurt myself or was being kidnapped or molested. After I didn't pick up for the 4th time in a row, I later found out, she frantically called my coach. I just needed to be alone. I sat on a bluff right outside the student center center,overlooking the civic center, and watched people walk back to the arena for the 2nd session of the day. I saw some of my teammates walk by. I didnt move. I saw my closest friends on the team (Jordan, Kyle Taylor, and Brad) walk by. I didnt move. I just wanted to lay there and be forgotten. No, I wanted a chariot of fire to come down from heaven and take me away. I wanted the tears to stop and yet I wanted them to keep flowing until my lacrimal glands burst like an overworked furnace.
I was so sick of being Mediocre Matthew or All Right Raich. I didnt care if I was decent at a bunch of things. What has that ever done for anybody? I would never be good enough, never be the first one chosen by teachers, by coaches, by girls, by the 4th graders for kickball. I didnt think I'd ever stop crying.... But I did. I got over it. i realized that if i kept measuring myself up to other people I would always fall short, every time and in every situation. And in that sense, ok, i wasnt good enough. But where's the fun in being the best all the time? It probabaly gets old after awhile. Plus, being the underdog is so much better. How many superheros are named "the Favorite". None. How many superheros are named "Underdog"? Millions. Ok...one. But he's pretty sweet.......It's all about the journey.
I'm going to wrestle next year. I wont win the most matches or have the most medals or score the most takedowns. People will not give me all that much recognition when i do have my own small successes. In fact, I'll probably be ridiculed for the most part. The only person who will know how hard I am truly working is myself. I will go out onto the mat and toe the line every time i am called upon, maybe not with grace or confidence, but I will go out. I will always work for a victory, knowing full well that at times I will need reversals to change the course of the match, Knowing full well that I will be taken down. I will be on my back, But i will not get pinned--- Not twice in a row. And when I need a standup, I will quit stalling and explode with all I have left to turn and face my opponent, my constant enemy and partner, myself. When it's all said and done Im going to get my hand raised. Not by Billy Joel or one of his 6 brothers, but by my true Head Coach, the best wrestler that ever lived. The Man that, having the choice, took the down position and put sin upon himself, then did the most beautiful Granby you've ever seen and put sin straight on his back...for the reversal...for the backpoints...for the pin....for forever. |
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| Y'all gonna' need some crayons? |
[Feb. 14th, 2005|09:55 pm] |
Remember kids meals?
I do. I remember going to a restaurant, receiving my menu/ coloring activity sheet, and doing my best to rearrange the letters of words like "burger", "fries", and "milk". "Milk" was hard, dude. Oh, and at Perkins they had the best fun sheet ever, the one where you had to find all the different stuff like a mailbox, a baseball glove, and people making babies....No seriously, I have looked at those things since the days when I used to actually fill them out.... OK, i was preparing for SAT with one the other day. Anyways, in the little "Where's Waldo? type of thing" they have all these creepy, subliminal, sometimes homo-erotic things going on. No joke. Other than the couple having familiar relations on a trampoline, I saw a mailman fixing this single yuppie's faucet in his very trendy apartment where the yuppie felt very obliged to watch the mailman use his wrench. And another thing, there was a psychic with a crystal ball in the middle of a children's playground.
Ok, so we've all heard of Bible codes correct? All I'm saying is what if there is some kind of "Sally the Syrup's Fun Activity Sheet" code type thing going on at Perkin's? What if its some kind of evil liberal conspiracy that has developed at Bush's breeding grounds, Perkins Restaurants (where it just so happens that the hash browns are VERY white and chocolate milk is frowned upon). This is a serious subject and its something that, as of five minutes ago, I've decided I care deeply about. Remember when the Baptist's started that boycott of Disney because Michael Eisner donated some money to Planned Parenthood or something? All I know is that when that whole revolution started I lost my Mickey Mouse velcro wallet. My Wallet and my money. My Mom told me that my money was inside "Satan's billfold" and that it would have to be burned immediately. Plus, our Disney Channel subscription was cancelled which meant no more Care Bears, Darkwing Duck, Ducktails, or thirty minute sessions with the Mickey Mouse Club and my sweet dear Christina Aguilera---I've often thought of you. I hope you are well. I'll never forget how you used to work it inside my 27" and made me wish I was a big boy. Ok, so back to Perkins. Like Disney, I'm saying that we have to boycott immediately. I think its worth the Mammoth Muffins and the tray of four delicious syrups at every table...and ketchup. But if that doesnt catch on, I've already contacted Jason Bourne and I'm hoping the CIA takes up this case since they dont seem to have much going on right now.
The weather was beautiful today. I feel terrible feeling terrible on beautiful days like today. That's why I rambled on about my Project Perkins and tried to make myself feel better by using one of my best friends of late, sarcasm. I'm still feeling pretty glum so I'm going to write a poem that will make this chum feel a little less bummed and with some plum, pudding that is, maybe numb some of the humdrum. That was all so very....fancy that.
"Sarcasm"
You are a sly fellow,
Keep up the good work.
Never cease to ruin what is mellow,
And prove once again---that I am a jerk.
My sister came in the living room today and said, "I have something to give you. I think you're really going to like it." My interest piqued, I waited anxiously for what was most likely a note from a friend of her's telling me how wonderful I am ( I get these often). The note would end with a name that I would be thrilled to see and a phone number...."It wasn't cotton candy like that guy said."....Nope, instead it was one of the crappiest looking valentines that i've seen. She made it in Spanish and from the looks of it she must have worked the whole 50 minutes on this baby. It read: "El tiempo es bueno y eres tambien." Which of course translates ot the well known phrase: "the weather is good and so are you." I didnt tell her it was stupid and rip it up. 2 years ago I ripped up a girl's valentine at the State Wrestling Tournament and she didnt talk to me for 8 months... No, this was my only valentine this year. I think I'll slip it in my "treasure box" underneath the Rugrats one that i got from Stephanie George when I was 10. Her's read: "Let's Chat". She must have been in love with me. I mean, That picture of Tommy Pickles looked exactly like it came from those boxes of 32 you get at Walgreen's. It was that good of a drawing. She was a good artist. I saw her at the ECS game a couple weeks ago and we had a pretty long conversation....No, we didnt. I'm terrified of her like I am with most girls. Stephanie George, the first girl who's eyes I've ever been lost in and the first girl I ever wanted to share my Big Mac with....I was eating plenty of those back when I knew her. I |
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| Vay'hee Bensoah HaAron |
[Feb. 12th, 2005|05:44 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Guster---Happier | ] |
It means "When the Ark would Travel". It is said before we march the Torah throughout the congregation for those who wish to kiss the Torah with their Bible, Tallit (prayer shawl), or hand. Not as a form of idolatry but as an expression of our love for the Creator of the Torah. During the ceremonial marching the young children of the congregation are invited to follow behind one of the elders (Mr. Becraft or Dr. Raich) and Rabbi Shansky as a symbol of bringing up the next generation in service and love of the Lord. It's all very moving and, sense almost everything we do pertaining to Torah is symbolic, it is especially meaningful. It might seem corny to some of you. Some of you might even pick up one of our weekly pamphlets with the Order of Service and choose to laugh at the transliteration of the Hebrew words. So in case you were wondering what you were making fun of Jordan when you said "I'll Vay'hee Bensoah your HaAron!" There it is.....It was funny though. No, just unfortunate
I really love my congregation. In the midst of cc and wrestling I rarely get to go. That's ok though. I have lively services at East Braineird to look forward to during wrestling season. <----sarcasm. I sat in the back and just watched everybody worship today. I think I got more out of watching everyone else singing, dancing, jumping, shouting, and praying (at my congregation, for the most part, any gerund goes). It is beautiful seeing people get excited over soemthing that actually matters. It makes me so frustrated sometimes in chapel at school where everything seems so repressed and formal. Now, I know that in the actual churches and even more so in the youth group praise and worship seems more lively, but during chapel the songs sung have this almost( Ok, i hate when people use vocab words that they just got finished practicing in Unit 7 or Unit 9 or whatever but I'll make exception tonight) perfunctory tone to them. Sometimes while Mr. Chester is singing the words "Great is the Lord" in the song of the same title, I swear i hear "Let's Get This Done" to the same melody. And I know its not just Harding. I guess its more when people in general have the wrong attitude towards praise and worship. I'm often one of them. I don't have a problem with people who sit quietly and sing during praise and worship. Sometimes just sitting and focusing on the words is more effective then anything else. Hey, if that's what floats your boat, then more power to ya' ( 2 cliches, 1 sentence).
I'm really starting to think about psychiatry for a profession. I know its far away, but I'm just so interested when I sit back and watch people function from an objective view. It's one way that I see God's glory. Plus, having OCD myself, I'm so sympathetic to people who have their own "struggles within themselves". Like after I saw The Aviator with my family and we were walking out of the theater, my Mom says, "Wow, he was really crazy." I got pretty upset. He wasn't crazy to me, because I know that is what could have happened to me if it had progresed any further. There's this one scene where Hughes is in the bathroom during a party or something and he pulls out his own soap from his suit jacket and scrubs his hand so hard that he cuts himself with his fingernail,then when he is done washing, realizing that no paper towels are left to open the door he waits by the door until someone enters. That was all so real to me. Yet, some people were laughing, as if to say "What a psycho." People can be so insensitive. You just dont know what its like to be seriously "at war with yourself" until you have experienced. This is not just being depressed. This is being destructive to your body. It is one of the most helpless and hopeless feelings in the world. This year I did my research paper on Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. And while in the novel the mentally ill are really meant to represent the non-conformists of a brutal, combine-like, society, Kesey (who worked in a mental hospital)does a great job of including some of the stereotypes that people place on the "insane". It's a good read, a real thinker. If you are one who thinks that society is a crippler of individuality (hopefully thats most everybody), you will enjoy reading what Kesey has to say...even if you don't always agree. I can't totally agree with him. Especially not after service today.
I've often complained about B'rit not being "Jewish" enough. Probably because I feel like I have to make up for going to a school where the Bibles students have look like black and white cookies. Just Hang with me here. What I mean is, looking at the Bible from the outside it appears that half has been used greatly and the other half has not been touched. I exaggerate way too much. I'm sorry. I'm keeping that though. I used to not have anything against gentiles except when they tried to act Jewish. Everyone has heard of "wiggers". Well these are "Jentiles"...I'm an idiot..how about "Genbrews"...no sounds like a generic brand of beer....how about "koalas"....there's no symbolism there...i just like to say "koalas". I've changed my mind of late though. While it is unfortunate that there are not more Jews coming to service (esp. unbelievers), it is very encouraging to see all these diverse people coming together with 2 main similarities: they love God and they love Israel. Sometimes services look more like UN General Assembly meetings (whuch elect the 10 non-permanent members of the Security Council...who's domain is the Hague in the Netherlands. Thanks, Foster. that info has been so critical to my survival. I owe you my life, soldier) than anything else. People in every color and flavor come to B'rit. And that's tasty.
Today while I watched people from the back, I thanked God that he has many colors of paint in his pottery room. The only other Potter I know resides in Bedford Falls and is a real jerk. I'd like to break that Pot...ter. Stuff like that is what kills me with the ladies.
During our announcements Rabbi Gary acknowledged James and Lauree Mosely's 33rd anniversary. As the service progressed I observed how the couple interacted. Just when I think I'm pretty good at figuring people out, I get stumped over couples like this. Only after service did i see their faces, but I'd already seen all I needed to. I had already learned my lesson for the day. Halfway through the service, Mr. James had pulled his wife's head to his shoulder and kissed her forehead. It was obvious that 33 years had gone by quickly, had gone gone by wonderfully. As they continued to enjoy each other's company, I realized that what is exactly what a marraige should be. These people werent rich or extraordinarily important in the world's eyes. But to each other---indispensable. I always frowned upon the phrase "one in spirit". It always just seemed kind of hokey. I dont think that anymore. Living a life in service and love is overlooked in today's culture...Some say it's just inconvenient and boring. Cynics would argue that people aren't quite worth living for. They're wrong though. There are 6 billion people on this earth. A few are rich. A few are famous. Most are unhappy. James and Lauree might be at home right now watching TV, being bombarded with direct and indirect messages that they are not good enough....6 billion people...and at least for a little while, James and Lauree could care less. 1 out 6 billion is enough for them.
I want what they have badly. At least someday.
SNL tonight: Jason Bateman from Arrested Development. It's gonna be grrrrreat. |
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| XXXIX |
[Feb. 6th, 2005|11:16 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | disappointed | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Perishers---Sway | ] |
How bout dem' Eagles?
Mistake free game? Heck no.
Did they give it everything they had? You bet your bippy.
Our defense crumbled in the second half. We got caught on our heels a few drives and they slammed it down our throats. Still, our defense is amazing and played a good game across the board. I love those guys, especally Brian Dawkins, Dhani Jones, and Ike Reese....and Trotter...Lito Sheppard...and the Freak....Dude, I like all of them. We aren't losing too many guys to free agency either so I'm thinking next year will be successful too. Of course, in Philly, for next year to be successful there is going to have to be some Lombardi hardware coming back to the city of Brotherly Love (you have no idea how ironic that is...and yet not...hmmm...I don't know. I'm gonna write about Philadelphia sometime. It's a wondeful place, a small scale melting pot like that of NYC. I love the people there. Some would say they are the most obnoxious, rude people in the country. And while this is usually true, Philadelphians are some of the most endearing people I've ever met. They will chew you up and spit you out if you fail them or turn your back, but before the masticating there is this great embracing that takes place where they accept you essentially because you have a passion to be "part of the gang." Some of my dearest friends have made fun of me becasue I often talk about Philadelphia as if I lived there. The truth is: I haven't. I wish I did. I just have this great admiration for the blue-collar, "no B.S", people there. The people you'll find tailgating at Phillies games even though they know the organization is about as run-down as the sewer systems in West Philly projects. Or the people who call into local sports radio shows just to say, "Yo, I tink dis' whole lockout bull sh*t is a load of crap. Get off your lazy as*es and play some GD hockey." It accomplishes absolutely nothing but it just shows how passionate those people are about sports, and more largely, passionate about winning at something to get them some well-earned gratification for the rough lives that some of them live working to give their kids a way out of the slums. Now, I know that that isn't the case often, but that is the kind of people that at least I think of. If you are comfortable with Southern hospitality, don't go there. For example, you ask for iced tea up there at Geno's or Pat's (world renown philly cheesesteak shops)don't expect to hear, "Yes ma'am, be right back with that." Instead you'll hear something to the extent of, "Da' h*ll do I look like to you? an f'n housewife? Why dont chu get ya lazy as* up out da booth and brew some yaself? I'll have mine with a touch of kiss my a*s. Now do you want one wit o' witout?" Now, i did exaggerate of course. It's not that bad. Despite, the cynical attitude that the city's consensus seems to have there is this great feeling of community there. Sometimes, its more obvious than others. Like when a team rises out of the ashes of years of downright awfulness and occassional mediocrity and slams on the door of the elusive title of world champion through hardwork, persistence, and....brawn..... I'm going there in June. It should be hot and noisy and the Italian Market will smell like a smorgishbord of fresh fish, cheese, and soft pretzels. It might not smell good to you, but I wouldnt have it any other way. Come with me. I'll buy you an italian ice and a hoagie from this place on 23rd.)
Tina Fey is from Philly. In the words of guest host of SNL this week (which was overall a solid B+ week for the show as far as the sketches go) Paris Hilton, "That's hott." No, but for real, I have a crush on both the Weekend Update girls (Fey and Amy Poehler). They've almost made me get over my thing for Jimmy. Kidding. I'm not gay. I'm not....my Bible teacher would hate me. In fact, I wish I knew a girl like Amy Poehler or Tina Fey. They would never have me and Id probably have to end up stalking them after they rejected me for the 5th time just so I could be in their presence. I know this dude who went through that, he seems unscathed.....Keane was great live. It's refreshing to see groups like them who at least don't seem to be suffering from the usual symptoms of young fame. We shall see. I will buy their next album....and give it to Jordan.
Back to the game: How bout Terrell Owens? I was impressed. He was risking alot by playing. Then again, it was the Super Bowl. But, Freddie Mitchell has got to go. He does nothing for me. Oh, and the play calling and clock management on the last couple sets of downs was terrible, but I'm not one who will question Andy Reid. The man's a genius...genius.
I would still vote McNabb for President. He is our franchise. Well, him and Andy Reid, the new Ben Franklin. I will send them valentines. |
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| Don't believe what you read in books...besides the Bible |
[Jan. 27th, 2005|08:27 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | The Comas---Tiger in a Tower | ] |
I really wish someone would have told me that you can't use affectionate nicknames from A Doll's House nowadays.
I went up to a girl today and merely asked "What do we do in Chemistry today, my little squirrel?" I got punched in the mouth AND got "Jacobed"...sent to the guidance office.
I still have "my little skylark". Better luck tomorrow.
So I've been thinking about it and I think that Kurtz's Intended is probably wrong. That Witch. She tricked me and I'm going to trick her.
If you are fortunate enough to be in US Gov't with Drunkard then you have the oppurtunity to watch Errol Barnett and Derrick Shore flirt with each other at least once a week on that fine example of journalism that we know as Channel One. I will bet 15 Fritos (thanks Mikey) that those guys go backstage after the show and feed each other Twizzlers strip by strip while they play Guess Who in the Channel One hot tub. They are gay. I know it. You know it. Not that there is anything wrong with that, as long as they aren't lusting after each other. in which case they would cross the line between being homosexuals to being homosexual offenders. Jordan will explain it to you sometime; he forges all my opinions. Side note: Was it me or did F the Teacher put the word "forge" in his power point alot today. If it was me it's prolly because I can't see the screen as my desk is situated in Bolivar.
So my point about Channel One is this. Today they had a story on the 60 year anniversary of the liberation of the Nazi death camp known as Auschwitz. Eli Whitney's Nose, since I have been at Harding Academy, and since I boldly, inappropriately, and disrespectfully declared to everyone that I am in fact from the seed of Abraham anytime the word "Holocaust" appears in any type of discussion, textbook, or news broadcast the entire class feels it is their duty to turn and look at me to see what my reaction is. It's almost like they are waiting for me to throw a fit or burst into tears. It's alot like when there is a wreck and people feel they have no other choice but to stop and look at the devastation, hoping beyond hope that they will see an arm or a leg even while knowing that if they did they would be appalled. One of the most common examples of humanity's obsession with the macabre (vocab word. I'm catching up to him.)I am proud to be Jewish, but that doesn't mean that I'm pissed at anybody or any book that mentions the Holocaust. Education is the best defense. You wanna learn about the Holocaust, fine. If you enjoy learning about the Holocaust there might be a problem with you. but hey, who am i to judge? My last name is Raich. I understand that my last name closely resembles the word Reich as in Hitler's Third Reich. Irony? Fine, whatever floats your boat. If you are keen enough to see it too that does not mean that I am going to laugh if you make the association. I will probably look at you and nod while I am thinking:
"Wow, that was incredibly clever and witty of you (yes, i am sarcastic even when i talk in my head). I would have never thought to drop the 'a' and insert an 'e'. Thank you... Thank you for making me believe that you are a buffoon and a jackass."
Lay off Aryans (just kidding...i didnt mean that at all...seriously....just kidding...um (looks at hand)...dude...I was kidding...i didnt mean that at all (looks at hand again) bro and/or sis)
I hate cauliflower ear. It hurts, looks disgusting, and apparently you can't dip it in Ranch. I'm going to go get my rag, soak it in epsom salt, and hold it there to try and reduce the swelling. Otherwise, if it hasnt gone down, Coach Mark threatened me that he will "lance it" tomorrow. "Lance" my ear. Yeah, I'm gonna go soak it. Now. |
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| Philly not phonies |
[Jan. 25th, 2005|08:21 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Keane---Somewhere Only We Know | ] |
I have not posted in a while. It's probably your fault or because of the terrible snowstorms in the Northeast. Thousands are snowed in and without power.<-----Debbie Downer *WAAAA WAAAAA
My Philadelphia Eagles are going to the Super Bowl for the first time in 24 years. I can still remember a moment with my father about 6 years ago when the Eagles were still terrible and I was still home schooled and afraid of girls (I'm working on the other one). Anyways, I was sitting watching NFL Primetime with my dad. He was eating tortilla chips and rotel and I....I wasn't eating (It's a long story and very painful and Dr. Wanot said its probably not a good idea to talk about it with just anybody). Ok, I'm gonna get this story out. My Dad said, "Son, before you graduate the Eagles will go to the Super Bowl." I just laughed at him and stared at Chris Berman's stomach and told myself that I would never let myself get that fat. And then I drank some water with a twist of lemon and some Nutrasweet (0 calories). And then I crapped the bed.
Strangely depressing. Awww, what the hey, let's keep it.
My Philadelphia Eagles are going to the Super Bowl for the first time in 24 years. Jacob Wallace said the Patriots will beat them a week from Sunday. I say Jacob Wallace is (and I don't want to offend anybody here so I'll keep it clean.... He does deserve our respect) full of bologna. Do I want to see them win? (Don't you just love when people display their rhetorical skills on their LJs). Sure, I wanna see them win (look I used a rhetorical question, answered the RQ, and used colloquial dialect in the last 2 sentences. Bow and worship. I am amazing......just kidding...seriously I'm just kidding...I didn't mean anything by it...I'm sorry...Im just just kidding). But, you know, the Eagles aren't gonna lose any of their marquee players in the next few years, including the best QB in the NFL...it's not Koy Detmer either. So if they fall short in the Super Bowl, oh well. It could be worse. As long as I get another wardrobe malfunction, I'm good to go. I apologize for that last remark. It was definitely off color and most likely inappropriate. I could just delete it right now and be done with it but NAH! I'd rather see someone comment on it and tell me I'm inferior to them. Go ahead, punk, make my day.
My Dad goes to Stan Dickey's house every Sunday during football season. He is the other Praise and Worship Leader at my congregation and a great man AND an Ethiopian Jew (yes, that means he is in fact black *collective Church of Christ gasp). I used to go when I was younger, but I haven't gone since I started going to Harding. Coincidence? I think not. The Dickey's are one of the coolest families I know. Mrs. katie Dickey makes great hot wings and sings beautifully. Wendy Dickey might just be the most intellectual young adult I know (yeah, I wrote that and i mean it.) Dana Dickey plays the piano with some serious soul (alliteration...ah thank you). She might be the best I've heard. OH, no Matt/Matthew/Raich/Jewboy.../Louis, how could you say that. What about Mary Margaret!!! This girl can play anything...without accompaniment. I don't know that much about the art that is Piano but I do know that she can hear someone sing a song that she has never heard and immediately begin playing the exact notes. Her fingers come to life on her keyboard and I am inspired (I could go about using personification and affected adjectives and metaphors but I think that that is a bunch of malarkey, cheesy, completely unneccesary, and it almost hurts my stomach to see such things...that wasn't parallel. Then again, I'm no wordsmither) And Uncle Stan (a die hard Indianapolis Colts fan) lights up my life (ahhhh! cliche. I'm truly sorry.)
As my Dad came home Sunday night and I sat by the computer, I reached to shake his hand and congratulate him on never giving up on his team. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to his bosom. Tears streamed down his face. His Eagles t-shirt was stained with some kind of refried bean conglomeration, no doubt Mrs. Katie's work. Tasty. Despite the cotton, it really was. As his scratchy Jew-beard scraped my cheek, he whispered in my ear, "We did it, son. We did it. Promise me, through the 3 and 13's and 14 and 2's, that you will never forsake the black and green." It was all so dramatic.... and it all never happened. I did give him a big hug though and I knew that that is what he would have said if he wasn't having indigestion from the soul food feast he partakes of every week at the Dickey's.
I want to write about some things that I feel strongly about, like how much it upsets me when people your own age treat you as inferiors,aren't genuine about anything, and carefully weave their own breed of condescension into all of your awkward conversations. Also, I want to write about how upset it makes me when people stay in abusive relationships for no good reason... no good reason. This abuse is, in my own observations, not so much physical (though prolonging an unhappy relationship can have adverse effects on one's health). AND, often, the abuse is self-inflicted and is prolonged because the sufferer is "too nice" or "too scared" or simply thinks that one is already in the best possible relationship available, and with loneliness certainly not an option, is content to remain secretly "unhappy" even while brooding inside. It is very frustrating to see these situations. Despite the effort that one puts into concealing his or her hurt, the people who really care about them can always see past the act. I guess alot of my interest in that topic has to do with the play A Doll's House which we are reading and watching in English, (minus the "frisky" parts...for shame, Torvald) even though in the play the reasons for staying in the relationship are entirely different: part fear, part naive wishing, and part unawareness. Anyway, I gotta go study...or watch the end of the Illinois/Wisconsin game. It's a doozy.
Keane is on SNL this week, but so is Paris Hilton...take the good with the bad. |
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| with DELILAH.......... |
[Dec. 19th, 2004|04:42 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | cold | ] |
That lady scares me. The lady who is the "dee-jay" for WRVR during their perpetual droning of all the X-mas music you love and alot that you don't, namely Mariah Carey's rendition of "Baby, Please Come Home" which totally ruins the great version that Death Cab does because you can't get her awful yelling out of your head when you listen to it. Oh, and the one about "Mommy Kissing Santa Claus". Ok, maybe this is just me bein' a Jew, but does anyone see anything wrong with that? I mean, please. Who wants some action from Santa? Sure, he's a nice guy, but he's fatter (since all that girls care about is looks and "Mommy" is most likely a girl) than the girl at Trojan Wars the other day who, in her fatness, yelled out "TIIIIIIME" to the ref because she couldn't bend her knees and hit him with a towel to alert him that the period had ended. Lemme tell you, if she had tried, she wouldn't have gotten up. She would have punctured the crappy Millington mat, broke through the gym floor, broke through the concrete under that, broke through the top soil under that, slid past earthworms, moles, dead slaves killed by the Racist Millingtononians during the 19th, 20th, and (who are we kidding here) 21st centuries. Then she would disrupt the rock plates that hold the earth's foundation together resulting in mass floods, volcanoes, and cheeseburgers (hhhwwwwhhhhhaaaaa?). Then, she would fall for millions of miles until she fell through the atmosphere of Middle-Earth, spiralled down at an incredible speed toward the Shire, zoned in on a hobbit-hole, fell through the hobbit-hole, and killed one of Samwise's hobbit babies. How do you like dem' apples Rosie Cotton (she becomes Sam's wife in the books and appears strangely attractive in the movie....for a hobbit....have i ever mentioned that I am a very lonely, sick little boy?)?
OK, back to Delilah (who I might add, I am not attracted to whatsoever).......Does anyone know her last name? like seriously. I wanna know. I mean, "HOT DOG", how do we know that she's not some alien from Uranus beaming her voice from lightyears away, scaring children. And me. I was talking to Jordan about her the other day and he added just how condescending she is to everyone who has some sad, boo-hoo story. "SHE DOES!!!!" I love hearing these people call in. The people who call in whining and moping about their "drug addict mom" or their bleak childhoods, like everybody doesn't have a druggie for a mom and a childhood where they worked in a factory on Christmas day (it's called free-enterprise and when Jews are in charge of Mattel, you can expect to work on Christmas....that doesn't mean mouth off....hey, you get the High Holy Days off....but it counts as an absence if you go to a puritan-esque Church of Christ school, so you might wanna opt out of going to shul for "God's Day" so you can be lectured on the importance of baptism.....I'm Gonna Go To.......)
I get side-tracked easily. Delilah..... Ok, so I'm listening to this one lady talk about how grateful she is for her church who has been helping her out financially because her husband has muscular-dystrophy and she has been busy with her 7 children. You can't make that up, seriously. So she's telling this beautiful story about what the holidays are all about...love, gratefulness, unselfishness. Everything Donald Trump isn't. And then, out of the blue, Delilah (who I'm gonna call Witch lady) says, "Ok, that's all the time we have for this hour. Sounds like you have your hands full. Let's be grateful for the people who are there to bail us out of our mistakes. Here's a song for you." Or something like that. Point is: Delilah is scary and we really don't need her creepy voice on the airways in order to have a happy holidays. All i need is to hear Nat King Cole sing "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire/...." and everything is swell, except for the fact that I'm driving alone, my passenger seat is empty but for my headgear and a cell-phone.
"It's A Wonderful Life" really does never get old. I usually hate watching black and white movies, but I throw a fit everytime I have to see George Bailey in color. I throw a fit, a rampage. Did anybody know that Donna Reed wasn't the first choice for "Mary"? Actually, when RKO bought the rights to the short story "the Christmas Gift" (from which the movie was adapted) which Phillip Van Doren Stern sent out to his friends with his Christmas Cards, they had Cary Grant in mind for the part that we know and love as "George Bailey". Cary freakin' Grant. That's some serious bahumbug. Can you imagine anybody but Jimmy Stewart as "Bailey". I can't and thats why i wrote that. You know what else is real good to watch during the holidays, besides reindeer mating on the Discovery channel, the original "The Christmas Carol".
I just watched the "Full House" Christmas espisode where the Tanners are stuck at the airport and that idiot middle child, Stephanie (who I hate), is cryin' about not havin' presents for Christmas.....Hey, why didn't they have an episode where Stephnaie gets shot in a Bank robbery. i would have watched that one and laughed. Sure the "how rude!" line was cute the first 2 times, but after that, I think the American people would agree, I wanted to tape her hand to a hot stove and hit her with a pot. That's right, a pot..... Uncle Joey sucks as Santa. Uncle Joey sucked in general. He AND Stephanie should have gotten whacked while making a bank deposit. Brilliant.
I promise my next post about the holidays will be less sadistic and Scrooge-like. |
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| Just when I thought........... |
[Dec. 12th, 2004|02:58 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | exhausted | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Thrills-Our Wasted Lives | ] |
...Just when I thought i hated wrestling, hated the sport, hated most of the team, hated coach Sisson's meaningless gibberrish, hated it all, I went to Hopkinsville, KY.
I've been on several wrestling trips before. I remember the ones in 9th grade when Justin Guinn would incessanatly say, "Raich. You're fat, you're gay, you're ugly, you're stupid. Shut up....Oh, you suck." Ha, that was a hoot, especially after State when Guinn, Will Rich, and Jordan (who I thought was my one friend on the team) purposefully ditched me in the Opry Mills mall. I walked around for the last two hours alone, utterly, completely alone. Oh, and can't forget the times when i was a frosh when Guinn (who is black and a mean head...which have nothing to do with each other) would tell me to "Do the rat!", in order to make fun of the way I looked. I'm not going to go as far as to say I was the Jacob of the team, because that leaves a whole in my heart. Thing is, even when I got made fun of and was crying in the bathroom of the Chattanooga Civic Center(I wish I were kidding too), I still had fun. I don't know how but I did.
Ok, so back to Hopkinsville. This was quite possibly one of the funnest wrestling trips of my life and it had nothing to do with wrsetling at all. And that's why it rocked. Ok, on this trip the following happened: we got the freshest jackets ever (which double as sleeping bags....not as good as my Simba one though), we did numerous impressions of Mr. Pritchard "be qy pleath", David Walker and his "tippity-toppity, oooey-gooey, buttercake", Coach Sisson..."quit tryin' to work the wing throw" and "look how high he is", and said Phillip Jackson's "You Homo" about a gazillion times....."all right you guys got about 43 gazillion quintillion pushups because of you...Jordan". Hey, it was funny. What else? We practiced in the last remaining furnace from Hitler's regime. It was hot. I witnessed Brandon "Pizza" Davis inhale a bag of Cooler Ranch Doritos ( a full sized bag). The funny thing was, he didn't even realize he was eating, he's so fat. If being fat was equivalent to being hott, "Pizza" would be Jude Law...I mean (think of girl, think of girl) Kate Beckinsale.ummmm, haha, Brad, threw blueberry poptarts at Coach Nutt. Nutt cracked <---that's why I'm wittiest...Jordan. The vein throbbed in the front of his head and even spoke, "Brad, you ain't big enough.... I mean... you got a free move!" Brad told the story about Coach Sisson getting stuck in a waterslide and screaming, "i didn't used to be fat". Read that sentence again and try not to laugh. I shot a kid. He had it comin'. OH, Oh AND we (jordan, brad, and I) ganked some SWEET "Hoptown Wrestling" sweatshirts with the help of our trusted crackhead Hopkinsville wrestler that i like to call "De'andre the Druggy". There is no way he wasn't high. I also found out that Coach Mark has one of the most perverted senses of humor ever, which is so funny.
Our wrestling is hilarious, and we are pretty good too....More to come |
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| New Mexico, shlew kexico |
[Nov. 18th, 2004|06:40 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | worried | ] |
I came home a couple of weeks ago. Took a shower. Ate dinner. I noticed I hadn't seen my Mom for the past hour and a half. I went into her room and saw that she was on the phone, so I quickly closed the door before she suffered, or more I suffered, from a case of "The Random Mood Swing". My mom came out of her room 20 minutes later, crying. I sat her down and asked her what was wrong.
My first cousin, Melissa, had decided to get married to her boyfriend. She is 19, a year older than my big sister. My first thought was that she had gotten pregnant and that her Dad, my uncle, (a youth minister at Munford's First Baptist Church), had forced her to get married. She had run away and said she was planning to move to New Mexico to be with her...gulp...husband who would be training at a military base there.
She got married last Wednesday. A brief service at City Hall (which in Munford is a former Texaco station with a Mississippi state flag stuck over the big sign that held the gas prices). I wasn't invited. Nobody was. Her parents convinced her to wait a few months to move. She doesn't want to stay; she leaves in mid-December.
The last time I saw her was this past Christmas. My mom, her brother, and her sister get all our family's together every year. It has to be to celebrate Christmas, seeing as they have completely rid themselves of everything Jewish. It's ok though. My family loves Christmas too. It's just sad that my cosuins have no clue about anything Jewish from Aliyas to Zionists. We pretty much see each other 2 or 3 times per year. I'm always amazed at how my aunt and uncle went from regular orthodox Jews as teenagers to devout Southern Baptists who wouldn't let my cousins watch PG movies until a few years ago.
She's a real nice girl, pretty too. My Grandma (who is still very much a Jew) says she looks alot like Julia Roberts. This is one of the few things we agree on. And she isnt like most Munford teenagers either. She is fairly smart and seemed to have alot of common sense. Though she did fail her driver's permit test 5 times. I wish I were kidding too. Last Christmas , we laughed alot looking at old pictures and sipping hot apple cider. she told me about being a senior and about all the boys that liked her. The guy she married wasn't her boyfriend back then. That's the last time i saw her.
I don't know if I'll ever see her again after she and her family come over for Thanksgiving next week. I just don't know. How did she grow up so fast? How did I grow up so fast? Wasn't it just yesterday that we were designing bicycle highways out of chalk up and down Barnstable Cove? Wasn't it just yesterday that we had picnics in my back yard and drank Mondos and jumped through sprinklers? We were buds back in the day.
It was always Melissa and I who would get into trouble out of the rest of my Mom and her Mom's kids: Rachel, Leah, Jennifer, and Elizabeth. We were partners in crime, tricksters to the end. One time we locked her sister, Elizabeth, and my little sister, Leah, in a closet for half an hour. When my Mom caught us she gave us 10 spankings each, except my mom hated giving spankings and barely tapped us so we laughed the whole time. One time Melissa and I decided to lay down in the trunk of her Dad's van so that we could go with him to work. He found us when we were a mile away from the pyramid. My mom didn't give me any sweets for a week. I liked candy; I was a fatty. Why is my 19 year old cousin getting married and moving away? She just graduated. So what if she says she has "found the one". Go to college. Start a career. Just wait for Pete's sake.Wait. I won't be able to take not seeing you at Christmas and on the 4th of July. Why are you throwing your life away? Doesn't your family matter?
I will see her next week, maybe for the last time. I'm going to tell her that i think what she is doing is dumb. She will either get mad or laugh it off like she usually does. And then I will say that I love her and will miss her. That's all I can do. She's a great girl. A real catch. Any guy that marries her is lucky.
I have stopped praying that she will change her mind. Instead, now I pray that she will be completely sure and unwavering in her decison; that she will do what God wants her to do. I want my cousin back. I want her to stay close to home so that one day I can bring my family to her house for Christmas and we can talk about how good grape Mondos were and how awesome Sega Genesis was. |
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| Notes or not, you're still a perverted schmuck |
[Nov. 17th, 2004|06:27 pm] |
Ms. Raich,
Matthew received an (N) in conduct because I frequently have to ask him to stop talking in class to others. I have since moved his seat away from the other students he was talking to in an effort to stop this problem. Matthew is a great student and I hope things will be better now. Let me know of anything else I can do to help. Thank you, Nick Foster
I did not make that up. It is an actual reply to my mother upon her sending an e-mail to Nick (Foster) questioning why for the first time in 3 years I had an (N) in conduct.
Last night my Mom noticed on K12 that I had an (N) in conduct. I was first skeptical, and then when she told me it was in my gov't class I was furious. And then ecstatic that I had finally become such a threat to Nick that he was reduced to giving me an (N) in conduct...without warning me or even hardly correcting me for my apparent misbehavior. (I'm going to stop using the name Nick for Coach Foster because I know alot of Nicks and don't want to confuse anybody. The point of my writing Nick in the place of Foster, Coach Foster, or Mr. Foster was to emphasize the point that I have absolutely no genuine respect for him. My position as a student in his class period demands that I show respect for him for 50 minutes every day.)
The e-mail he sent my mother is just another example of his blatant two-facedness (if that's a word) which he displays every day. If you don't believe me, just observe him when he talks to another teacher (other than a "GIIIIBBBIIIG PLAYYYFFFOOOBALLL" tecaher) as opposed to his behavior in class. I've noticed how he tries to act very professional around older teachers, and he might even pull it off if his voice didn't crack every 10 seconds or if the teacher he was talking to didn't have to look into a 11 year old boy's face. If he apologizes for being a sicko douche bag then I will consider apologizing for the above remarks, but because of the fact that he is stubborn to the death and "is always right" that is not likely.
All of the disgust I felt toward him for giving me an (N) was replaced by the sheer hilarity of this e-mails content.
"I frequently have to ask him to stop talking in class to others." This first comment is just absolutely hilarious in the context of how my class works. If he wasn't such a freeeeakin coward and was honest, he would have written, "I have asked him once in a while to stop talking to the girls I enjoy flirting with in class." For that is the truth. Folks, i don't know whether its because he likes the input that certain (very attractive) girls give him or because he just likes to touch himself alot, but for some reason he moved the hottest girls in our clas to the first 2 seats by his desk. O wait, that was sarcastic. I do know the answer. He can't find a girlfriend his own age so he pleasures himself by flirting with younger students, who only flirt with him because they are girls and they think he will slip them a better grade. And they are probably right.
"I have since moved his seat away from the other students he was talking to in an effort to stop this problem." This is both sad and hilarious. It is true, he did move my seat to the very back seat on the last row of his room (the one furthest away from his desk and the seats of his flirters), not to keep me from disrupting the class, but to prevent any interference in his game. The only time I have talked in class is when I took incentive from him when he begins talking to Joy in an effort to woo her.
"Matthew is a great student." This is also a mistake. It should say, "matthew is much smarter than me." It is the truth after all. I mean the guy says he was going to go to law school and become a brilliant lawyer, but instead he decided to make a fraction of the salary he would receive as a lawyer and become a teacher at Harding. OK, first how would you even get into law school. No self-respecting university would ever allow a bumbling idiot like yourself admittance. Plus there are these things called the LSATS. I don't think you would pass that judging from the fact that.....oH, YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT GOV"T.... Even if you did become a lawyer. Who would ever hire you for defense. Noone. that would be suicide.
"let me know of anything else I can do to help."This is a typo as well. It should read, "I am very horny. Will you help?"
Today he let us use our notes on our test in an attempt to make himself look like the good guy. I wasn't fooled. It was ridiculouly immature what you did by making us study for hours last night, warning the test would be hard, and then not telling us we could use our notes until 15 minutes into the exam. Apparently, anybody can become a teacher at Harding.
I don't know why Michael is mad at me, but it sucks not talking to him. I can be a real jerk alot. I don't think before i say stuff. It might not be a big deal to me, but it might be for him. I need to respect him by not treating him like something he definitely is not. whatever the case, I'm not laughing now, and I'm disgusted by the immature things i say sometimes. |
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| The Mean Team........straight thuggin' |
[Oct. 21st, 2004|09:42 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | determined | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Grande Ole Flag | ] |
My brothers and I are mad. So watch out....FREAKS! That's right. We are mad. We get no respect from our classmates or from our competitors. Nobody ever gives us a chance because we are the Harding Cross Country team. At least they never DID give us a chance. We aren't putting up with it anymore. Today i saw some wicked hadcore chowder goin' on.
I saw Cody Fowler punch a kid in the face....twice, then stab him with a protractor (in the lung), and then shoot him five times in the chest while saying "I told you not to go there, sucka" over and over. The kid's in a coma at Methodist East. Room 213 if you'd like to visit.
I saw Nick Michael burning hundreds of Harbrace handbooks in the courtyard. Mrs. Holway smelled the smoke from her classroom and ran outside to see what was going on. Nick hit her in the face with a brick, a muy grande one. He then stepped over her body and threw a 7th grader, who she was protecting, into the fire as added fodder.
You hear what Michael Gossett did? He was waiting in the bathroom to pee at a stall when somebody skipped him in line. Michael took a dump on his face. The guy has thrid degree burns all over his body now from the intense acid. Michael was nice enough to slam the dude's head against the paper towel dispenser. Mangled by his injuries, the boy wasn't able to be identified until 3 hours later when he woke up from his brief amnesia and proved he was in fact Coach Foster.
Meanwhile, Drew Alexander bored a hole through the skull of a young girl when she ran out of bubblegum.
The worst case today was Andrew Gandee who was happily twittling his thumbs in math class when a football player began to make fun of him. Andrew sawed off his left arm with the edge of his notebook. Then jumped on a desk and ate his prize in front of the whole class. But he was thirsty. So he drank three bottles of whiteboard cleaner out of the dead carcass of a ferret.
What is the cause of this violence? Apparently, the CC team has been gearing up for region. The cries of their coaches for them to toughen up have not fallen on deaf ears. The will show no mercy. Please, do not go to school in the morning. Alert anyone you can....I heard this rumor that tonight at the v-ball game while Wallace was singing a tune that he had tediously written, a kernel of popcorn hit him in the back of the neck. According to reports, Jacob transformed into a giant karate wombat and swallowed a young boy whole. He ran out into the night after the police were called. He is thought to be armed with Watergate Salad and dangerous.
O.K. so most of that didn't happen. But already I have seen a noticeable change in the attitudes of our varsity squad. We are pulling together and getting angry. With the added motivation and inspiration of Chris Bates today, I have personally begun to see changes in my ferociousness. Nobody on any team scares me anymore. Not ECS not SBA not CBHS not MUS. I have an utter contempt for all of them.
LOuis Ghawgi----Your name is stupid and I think you suck.
Peter Zanca----I eat pieces of crap like you for breakfast.
Taylor Weglicki----You run like a girl. A fat one.
Ken Haltom----Looks like someone forgot to take their growth hormones. Maybe if you wun weally weally fast at wegion your mamma can buy you some Ovaltine and a new twuck to play with the wittle girl, Sally, down the stweet.
This list will continue to grow over the next couple posts. |
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| 1.261% |
[Oct. 17th, 2004|06:06 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  relieved | ] |
| [ | music |
| | water dripping | ] |
"Empty your cup and exit through those double doors."
And with those words I failed the first test of my life. It definitely wasn't the one I expected to fail. Actually, I don't ever expect to fail a test. People who fail tests are complete idiots. I just don't see how people fail whole classes. I mean even if you take bad notes, don't study, even sleep through the whole period, how could you possibly be that stupid to fail for the whole year. Common sense says that you pull yourself together and at least attempt to improve your grade. It boggles my mind how much people (at a school where their parents pay thousands of dollars a year for them to learn in their classes, go to college, and hopefully be successful in their respective careers) settle with failing grades. It's a travesty, and it makes me feel insecure knowing that I am sitting in the same room and being given the same material as some people with an I.Q. equal to their age...their age 4 years ago.
I was shocked. How could I fail a freakin' hydration test!? I'm a cross country runner for Pete's sake. And a fairly distinguished one at that. I'm always hydrated, right? How else would I get through workouts that would make "GIIIBIIIG PLAYFOOOBALLL" guys question their PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR AN EXISTENCE(copyright Kevin Lipe on the Searcy trip while writing The Summer Autobiography of Jacob E. Wallace.) I drink water at school. I drink water at home. I drink water at every meal. And yet, I failed a hydration test by one thousandth of a percentage.
I hadn't gone out of my way to drink a lot of water the night before the test, but still, I woke up the morning of it and peed a long drought of normal yellowish pure Jew urine. It wasn't real real yellow either. It was normal. I drank a glass of water before I left for Houston High and thought I was good to go.
As I stepped to the john at the school, I realized there was no way I could squeeze out a few drops without being accused of doing something especially questionable (since I was surrounded by boys). The guy in charge said it was no big deal and to come back when "my buddy" was ready......and you think I'm kidding. So I spent about 15 straight minutes at the water fountain until i felt like the girl who turned into a blueberry on "Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory". I wanted to make sure I did this thing right. My competitive mindset kicked into gear and I made up my mind that NOBODY would have clearer pee than I. But I still couldn't go. I knew that when I did, it would be as clear as looking into lemon gatorade.....lemon PROPEL gatorade HAHAHAHA...cuz it looks like water....stop. Coach Sisson told me to go outside and play in a puddle of water, once again proving that although being bald makes your head look bigger, it doesn't necessarily mean your brain is bigger. After I played on a jungle gym for about a minute, I felt as if I could squeeze out just enough. I did. It was the same color as that morning. Hurray,not exactly white, but I'd pass easy.
Fail. I have to go back in 2 weeks and do it all over again.
I was seriously pissed. I didn't care that there would be a retest. I knew that I had consumed about 2 gallons of water in the past 30 minutes and that I was plenty hydrated. I cried the whole way home..... I didn't. I was mad though. Sooooooo I did a little research on the old computadora after I drank 3 more "pity glasses" of water. It turns out that it didn't matter how much water I had consumed in that 30 minutes before the test. That water wouldn't drain into my ureters and be ready for expulsion for a few hours. As soon as I read those words I came to peace. Then I realized that that "peace" was streaming down my leg.
Hoover dam broke. In the next 6 hours, I would pee approximately 11 times. Each time it was white as snow, clear as day, pure as the Alps, crystal as crystal, chunky as peanut butter. You catchin' my FLOW. hahahaha.... stop. I peed til' it hurt and then flushed some more.
If you think this post was risque and inappropriate, don't worry. It's not like girls read this thing anyway....since they don't even know what pee is to go along. I learned a few things from that experience. (1) I need to drink more water, especially if I expect to run well in the weeks to come. (2) I can't let down on anything that I do just because I think "I've got it covered". I should strive to do better. Content but not satisfied. And that goes for studying or osmoregulating. |
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| Shivering |
[Oct. 11th, 2004|08:02 pm] |
Ned got mad again today. Ned is my friend.... for my part at least. Ned is my left knee. We get along sometimes. He is a pretty nice knee for the most part, but sometimes he can be a real jerk. Ned is a whiny baby (even though he's a knee). Ned likes to justify things every time he gets mad and turns his back (even though he's a knee) on me.
Ned said today, "Matt, we didn't run but 15 miles this summer. I have every right to be mad at you. You are killing me. Would you stop being such a stupid dictator all the time. What's your problem, dude? You expect our relationship to be the same after you ignore me for 4 months and then want to be best buds again. You are so needy. Well, you can forget about it. My heart(even though I'm a knee)just isn't in it anymore ."
Ned threw such a fit today that I couldn't get through our hill workout because I had to settle him down and get his bottle. I told him that we couldn't just quit; we had to find a way to compromise. He wouldn't have any of it. I told Ned to shut the ---- up, swallow his pride, and help me get through one last repeat or else I would cut him off so help me God.... So I ran one last repeat, Ned throwing a tantrum like Nicholas James the whole way.
It was Ned and his gang of brutes that became upset with me today. Sometimes, I'm able to appease them and we live plaicidly. Other days they become stubborn, annoying prudes.
"Quit the mental toughness crap," Gary the Groin tells me, "You aren't proving anything."
"Would you give it a rest, big nose," Arnie the Ankle complains, "I'm as sore as your butthole looks."
"How bouts' you quit being a frickin' blockhead, you frickin' nancy boy," Harry the Hip blurts out....he's from the Bronx and has a fettish with Jack Nicholson.
Point is I had a bad day in practice. I just couldn't keep the pain from completely ruining my form. And when my form went, so did my ability to breathe properly. Oh, and it rained. So there I was, wallowing in my own self-pity, shaking convulsively from the cold that wouldn't have been so bad had I been able to run. I was mad. Mad at myself mostly. Mad that it took me so long to realize that I can't live without cross country, without my teammtes. Mad at the fact that I missed out on improving much this year. I was even mad at the other guys for being able to run. I was mad that everybody else might view me as some kind of slacker (Jacob would think I was a coward, of course). I felt like I was letting everyone down.
I ran our last repeat. I shouldn't have, and yet I needed to. Not because I would benefit from the running, but that I would make a point to Ned, Gary, Arnie, and Harry that I am not a quitter. Never have been and I won't start now. I made a point to those guys (even though they are anatomy) that they can complain all they want, heck, they could even quit on me, but Matthew the Mind is stronger than all of them put together.<----Wow. I apologize for the queerity
There is a fine line between being cautious about an injury and pushing through it. I was risking injuring my body even more but I was more in danger of damaging my spirit. Donnie didn't have to ask me whether I was in pain or not; he saw the look on my face. He made me sit out from a couple of the sets he had the guys do, but when it came to the last one, I told him I wanted to run. He saw the look on my face again. He knew he couldn't keep me from running. After I finished and quit grasping Ned in pain, he came up and talked to me. He told me he was proud of me and didn't have any doubts that I would be able to overcome everything and run great in county, region, and state. He said I didn't have to prove anything to him because he knew I was already one of the most unselfish and toughest guys he had coached. Even if he didn't mean any of that, he will never know how much that meant to me. Nick talked to me too and encouraged me. He didn't have to, but the fact that he went out of his way to say a few nice things and was genuine in what he had to say made me feel a lot better. I realized on my way home that too often this year I have tried to sound brave about rejoining the CC team. I've been making it almost seem like the team needs me more than I need them. Saying brave things like, "every time I run, I do it for them." and "i came back so that these guys can achieve what they deserve." Both of those statements are completely accurate, but more importantly than having a better team, I need to be around those guys for myself. I came back because I wouldn't be the same if I wasn't there hurting and gutting it out with them. I wanted to hug Nick and tell him how much I admire him. There will come a time for that. Like after State when we both leave it all on the course and eagerly await an amazing senior year.
I will recover. Ned will not keep me down. His confederacy will come to an end. There will come a reckoning for the dissenters.
Where is your help now?
Call to your mother, Call to your father
Can they save you, sweet Colin?
Can they quicken your pace?
None can help.
None will save you from the dirt off my spikes.
None will keep you from the sight of my rump
You will notice my arse and mourn.
I will pass you with the Nile's fury
As the Egyptian army, you will be overtaken
Sleep Soundly dear Colin, breathe deep
Your time will come |
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| Umbrella's return |
[Oct. 10th, 2004|11:20 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  lethargic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Laqueesha gets "man" advice from Fabrique | ] |
My head is about to exploded (and not because I have been studying like crazy for PSAT'S). i just witnessed maybe the strangest behavior I have ever seen out of my father. You know.....mid life crisis is a funny thing. Some dudes buy Harleys, some get "wicked awesome" haircuts, some guys even go all out and get the full Joooooohn Kerrrry treatment--- 356 syringes packed with wrinkle-busting Botox injections and enough teeth whiteners to make retinas burn.....oh, and experimenting with other men:
Leno: "I saw John Kerry give you a little pat on the behind before you came out tonight"
John Edwards: [ Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<wink,>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.] My head is about to exploded (and not because I have been studying like crazy for PSAT'S). i just witnessed maybe the strangest behavior I have ever seen out of my father. You know.....mid life crisis is a funny thing. Some dudes buy Harleys, some get "wicked awesome" haircuts, some guys even go all out and get the full Joooooohn Kerrrry treatment--- 356 syringes packed with wrinkle-busting Botox injections and enough teeth whiteners to make retinas burn.....oh, and experimenting with other men:
Leno: "I saw John Kerry give you a little pat on the behind before you came out tonight"
John Edwards: <Wink, eyebrow shrug, very queer smile> "Every day"
Anyways, during a man's latter years, one will try to do all the things he wished he had done in their youth. I knew this would come for my Dad (though later than expected). Tonight this event was witnessed by myself. I walked into my living room and there my Dad was....watching the smash hit UPN show "Girlfriends". My jaw dropped when he told me he had been watching the show for 4 weeks now. It almost feel off my face when I walked into our kitchen and I heard him laughing hysterically from something that Shadika had said. Nothing against the show, it's just that my Dad is not exactly the audience the show is attempting to attract---doughy, white-bearded 50 year old Jewish males.
That's not the only weird occurrence of this past week either. On our trip to Searcy (or as I like to call it: "little Vegas" <------that's a joke. there is nothing in Searcy that is worth seeing, not even the Wal-Mart where the Searcian women with mustaches gather to collect their weekly allowance of pork. Oh yea....there is Harding University. I rest my case.) I was wrestling Jordan when we tumbled off the bed (where future Searcians and some Harding alum are conceived) when I hit the side of the table stand and busted my backbone. It hurt terribly, mostly because I knew it would jeopardize my race. I iced it several times and took about 18 Advils in the course of 12 hours (a no-no according to the directions on the bottle). I was OK though. The Advil didn't make me weird out or anything. I was too busy watching gerbils joust on the moon and Cremesavers talk about the debate to even notice if it was affecting me. Fortunately it was just a bruise and I was able to put it behind me during the race, which was disappointing for myself and the other top runners to say the least. Except for Michael, who totally punched puppy, the rest of us really sucked. I thought i was running Ok. The first mile was good and I seemed to have a good tempo (especially when I passed Squanto with a half mile left), but as I was about to cross the finish line i looked up at the clock with big yellow letters only to see that instead of it reading 16:50, it read CR:AP.....We will yet arise though. Region is coming, and when it does, no SBA eagle will be safe. There shall be a great cry in all of Shelby farms such as has never been before and the first runner (and the other 6) of ECS shall mourn. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 5th, 2004|02:02 pm] |
Why are you cold?
I fear you may have forgotten.
Forgotten the color, the glow.
Can you not see?
Aye, none are present to call out Trap
but you would not turn
You are dying.
Not today, not now, but
It will pass o'er you
It will shake and hurt to the bone
Stubbornness some say
Happiness others
I say Fear
Fear of lemonade and boats and of walks
Why don't you turn?
You chase but will receive no reward
You suffer and endure for not
You wait for him without knowledge
Is your pain clear to no other?
They don't see your pain, your suffering
They see the smile and the good eye
and think it pleasant
They say no power will sever them
They say no love is stronger but secretly
You wish for the love which they speak of
You cry to the moon and stars after you take off the mask
You want more from him.
Foolhardy they say he is, but
strong and loving
He is neither.
He eyes his cards and thinks it amusing
He is sly, debonair
Charm he embodies.
Smooth talk is always on his lips
You lay your heart on a platter
Watch him prepare it,
Thinking he will accept it and be nourished
He is experienced with the knife
and has a gentle touch
He seasons with gall instead of love
He does not intend to partake
Only garnish and then throw away with the remnant
He lingers with it though,
Selfishly keeping it as a trophy
He denies it of happiness, of color
Denies you of color.
There are others who would do likewise.
They would join the game to win the prize
It is beautiful
though it lay in the dark now,
The glow still remains
They would take it for themselves
The prize to the honor
The tangible to the spirit
I watch in silent horror
My mouth remains agape with disgust.
No words.
No words will do.
I remain an observer for the time
I am a passerby watching the crash.
It has not come yet but
I wait on the other side of a window
knowing the time is coming soon
The crash will happen and then what will they say
You pursue not him....
His soothing words are not that warmth
His embrace shields not the freeze
Don't be cold
The sunrise will come |
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| Rend your heart and not your garments |
[Sep. 26th, 2004|07:22 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | hungry | ] |
Yom Kippur. In a word---Atonement. I could get into the detaills of what Yom kippur means to Jews, but all that really matters is that one word. People at school often ask me about Jewish holidays. I think, mostly, it amuses them more then they actually care about what I'm saying (seeing as Judaism and its customs and holidays was the catalyst of Christianity). Anyways, the most frequent questions include the following:
"Is it fun?"
"Do you get presents?" (Note: most of the time these questions come from Whitney Dees and are accompanied by more than one *honk* *snort* *giggle*)
I guess, sometimes these questions are relevant as in the case of Purim when we make hamanstachen and ring graggers whenever Haman's name is mentioned in the telling of the story or in Hanukkah (if you call it the "jewish Christmas" around me I have no sympathy for your soul) in which we make latkes and play dradels....for jewish virgins. Kidding. However, in the context of Yom Kippur, the answer to both of these before mentioned questions is "absolutely not". Yom Kippur is not fun. When God commanded the Israelites to celebrate it he did not have "fun" in mind; he had the opposite. From my experience, the purpose of Yom Kippur is to be so disgusted and embarrassed by the sin in your life that you have no choice but to completely fall into sorrow and agony....at least that's how it should be. This is why the fast is so important. From sundown to sundown. No food, no water. YK is thought to be the holiest day of the Jewish calendar and not to be taken lightly. For this reason, I have missed 2 out of town CC meets in the last 3 years of running. No excuses. As if YK isn't meaningful enough for Jews, Messianic Jews have the pieces together. YK is also a day to remember the "Passion" that Jesus went through in atoning for our sins....I think I have a hard life, Jesus had it harder. I think I know suffering, Jesus knew it better. Yes, in a sense, YK is a day to hate your life and at the same time a day to love the Father for giving it to us. I know it seems like a contradiction, but doesn't the entire concept of Messianic Judaism seem the same way. Point of YK is, bathically----Pritchard, we don't need the blood of bulls and goats; the sacrifice, nay, the atonement has been made........I hate my life today. I hate the way I treat people. I hate the way I treat God. And God is looking down from heaven saying to that statement: "Good. Now change."
I want to be in Acapella.
As I mentioned earlier, not only am I fasting and being reminded of my sin but also I am being forced to miss one of only a handful of CC trips because I have Jew DNA. My Mom says, "It's a privilege." My Dad says, "It's the right thing to do." I know they are right, but that doesnt make it easier. I miss the CC team. I miss everything about it. I quit CC this summer. I stopped my summer miles the last week of May. I had totally put out of my mind the option of running. I hated it. Why should I be forced to do it? Nick M. called me this summer to ask if I'd just simply give it a try, come to a morning workout. So of course, I blew him off.Coach Rubio called and asked me to reconsider. I think he almost expected me to show up for camp; I blew him off. One of my heroes, Clark Collins (do you really have to put Collins?), told me I was making a mistake. I turned my back on maybe the only group of people who actually care about me...School started. Clark was right. It was just too hard to leave school at 2:30. So I joined the team having run 15 miles during the summer. J.D. Perry had quintupled my mileage. Why'd I do it? Not because I loved CC. I did it b/c I knew everytime I saw one of the guys in the hallway it would break my heart to see the disappointment in their eyes; I had betrayed them. I did it becasue I love the guys and everytime I run I do it for them.
For example, for the first time in my CC career, I actually like Nick. I've always respected him, but I've never really liked him. Sometimes, I wanted to beat Nick more than I wanted to beat SBA or even set a P.R. He was my rival, my nemesis, and I was out to get him....I don't feel that way anymore. My respect has grown to like and my like to love. I want to marry Nick....err, I want to be like Nick. When I was a jerk to him, he was a friend. When I was upset with him, he was patient. My attitude now is, I want Nick to beat me every race. He deserves it; He's earned it. I welcome anyone on the team to beat me, because that's not why we run. We run too many miles, go through too much crap to be upset with the guy on the team who is faster. We work together. When one of us runs well, we all benefit. If I'm getting beat and still running great that means our team is getting better and that is the whole reason I decided to run. I had a grudge against Nick Michael, for no reason. In my eyes, we were like Lindsay Lohan and Hilary Duff. I am proud of Nick M. He could have been bitter that i quit, but he wasnt. He welcomed me back....I am proud of myself too, reading back it looks like I've finally grown up some.
Oh...and I think I have a crush on a black girl. I don't say that to be funny or derogatory. It's just that I don't think I would feel that way a couple of months ago. Yep, I have a crush on her. She is beautiful plus she scoops like an angel, and unlike most Harding girls, she actually likes to talk to me. I don't why people get all caught up in race.
My mouth dry, My stomach empty, My body weary, My heart downcast |
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