May 28, 2007
May 24, 2007
May 22, 2007
"The rules are: once you have been tagged, you have to write a blog with six weird, unique or unusual facts or habits about yourself.... at the end, you need to choose six people to be tagged and list their names and why you chose them.... don't forget to send them each a comment that says, "you have been tagged....go read my latest blog...."
Ok... Argh. I cant turn Italics off. There. Sorry... Haha. Six unique facts about me/unusual facts hm? Ok, lets see...
1. I am capable of moving my adam's apple up and down as well as wiggling my ears and making the size of my nostrils increase by nearly two fold. All independently of course
2. I have Visited the most southern part of the USA twice. Its in Hawaii btw...
3. I am capable of playing the Baritone, Clarinet, Bass Clarinet, Piano, Diatonic Accordian, Tenor Banjo, Mandolin, Ukulele, Baritone Ukulele, Tenor Saxophone, Guitar, Electric Bass, Electric Guitar, Chromatic Harmonic and Diatonic Harmonica
4. I have met John Madden and Eric Estrada. John Madden has giant fuzzy catepillar eyebrows and I dont remember a thing about Estrada. Other than he probably, as many of you others out there, worships Chuck Norris :D
5. I got into UC Berkeley with only a 1780 on the SAT's and a 3.6 GPA
6. I hate brussel Sprouts and bittermelon. That's it. Everything else is tolerable in the land of vegetables. As long as it's been cooked, fried and smothered in Garlic.
Ok... six people to tag. I dont know who really writes about themselves that much, but there's always a chance.
Very cool blog. I recommend it to everyone who enjoys the gripes of a high schooler
2. coded waltz
I choose this one for its remarkability and cool posts
Hands down, Puntabulous is my most favorite blog in the world.
4. The Ceiling Man
The ceiling man since its Preetham.
Most awesome school mascot ever if you dont tell me twice. The blog about the president of a school and day to day issues.
May 21, 2007
I still have the ring that she loved so much. I cant bear to keep it. It reminds me too much of her.
May 19, 2007
But after all that, the bands got together to celebrate and throw people in the air and stuff. I stood there alone, still clutching to the trophy and folder. No one to hustle around me and cheer. No one to shake me and yell out loud profanities of semi-victory. No one at all. It sucked bad. The only company I had was Encinal High School. Watching them and Phelps go over scores made me realize. These guys, as small as they may be, too things very seriously. That's what Alameda needs. Discipline. But the liberal says, no taking a switch to the child. It will induce mental angst and cause them to be murderers in future life. Posh on it.
May 17, 2007
May 16, 2007
For heaven's sake. I've passed through puberty. I've stopped growing. I've got hair growing in places now. Yet these little fetid things keep reappearing time after time. Espically after I manage to get rid of them all. It's probably linked to my lack of drinking water. But that's highly suspect *I just started drinking a winebottle of water a day*. But once I pop one, another two grow in its place. It's like fighting the medusa. Maybe I ought to defeat it like Jason did. With itself. Hmm... Fighting fire with fire, water with water, pimple with pimple... I like the sound of it. But It seems difficult.
You know them. You really do. You dont think you do. But they're everywhere and the take a while to notice at first. It starts off casually. You're walking to class. It couldnt be any nicer that day. Sun in the sky, low humidity, absence of Mongolian invaders, and an abundance of shorts and skirts. Oh no! You're about to miss your class at the very end of the hallway of this building. You manage to rustle through the throng on the first floor. But on the second floor, there's your lab. You can make the time limit. But wait. There's a group of chatty girls or ghetto looking people in your way. Is there a way to make it by them? No! When they walk, its as if they choose to hold hands or morph into each other's cellular biology. You cant push past and if you're a lucky one who's willing to make a scene when pushing through, you're jeered by a string of stupid incomprehensible comments like: Like oh my gosh, how rude. Could that guy be any more fat? Could he understand newtonian physics and like just shove off and not touch us... It goes on and on until you duck into the safety of your class. But egad! They've followed you into class and file in slower than a molasses race against the arthritic special physical education class for snails. It destroys the flow of work and you want to punch in their heads. It drives you up the wall. But you collapse in defeat under the load of work your TA gives you.
Why I hate the ignorant. I just do. I've never met one I liked and I hope it stays that way. I read alot and on the internet, I came across a website of "christians say the darndest thigns" and they do. Some considered the King James more accurate than the book of Hebrews. Another refused to accept the theory of gravity simply because Birds and Planes defy the law and if it did exist, how come you cant throw a rock at a mountain and it would orbit around the mountain. When I read that gravity one. I really did want to strangle the idiot who did say all that. Simple as fact. Gravity is dependent on a very weak force existing between all masses as well as the distance between them. If I recall, the formula for gravitational pull was force of gravity multiplied by the mass of the first mutiplied by the mass of the second. Divided by the distance between the two masses. Now, maybe that rock and mountain thing would work, but he forgets to take into account the linear gravitation forces pulling down on the rock. As well as the mass of the earth. When you do an experiment, dont think you have a perfect envirnoment. If you went out into nature, and tried to do the rock thing, you have to calculate the pull between trees and the rock, the mountain and the rock, and of course the earth and the rock. The reason birds and planes "defy" gravity is because they use other physics principals such as the third law. You cannot touch something without being touched. Birds and planes push air out of the way, and the air pushes back on them giving them lift. Now, gravitational force is one of the smallest forces I can remember that naturally exists. Sheesh. Its that simple.
Another incident was when I was on the bus the other day. I had worn a business suit and my mombasa (which is a panamanian type hat). I was about to get off the bus when two black kids yelled: Yeehaw! Go git them cowboy! I just went through normal protocol and just cooly ignored them. How I would have loved to punish them for ignorance and explaining that it was a panama and now a cowboy hat and how they were idiots for assuming that any hat that looks like a cowboy hat, or any hat with a brim was either a "gangster" hat or cowboy hat. I hate idiots.
"Ignorant people associate. The Intelligent know."
Oh yes, I really do hate them. They are the bane of knowledge. Never in the history as far as I know, has there been a group so idiotic and retrogressive in learning. I'm sure when my dad was in high school back in the 70s, most everyone would give an effort and study. But in my day and age, it spreads like tar over a pillow factory. The media has promoted the idea that if you dont study, become a rapper, wear ridiculous clothing, spend more more money on a car than family that you'll one day be rich and living in a big mansion, having a lot of parties with girls wearing nothing but floss thongs and there will be a big line of girls waiting to be porked by you. But the truth is, that since you stopped your education to be popular, you have put yourself out of a potential job apart from blue collar work. Oh how your ancestors roll in the grave. A modest black family, hopes and dreams, fighting for the cause. Moving into white neighborhoods. Fighting protest and hatred with all their will and power. And now look at you. You look like fools. You wear panties on your head, pants down to the ankles and tshirts intended for people who are the size of pregnant women trying to steal watermelons by hiding them under her clothes. How you have fallen from all the work your ancestors had built up. To give you a better life and what's to show? You want to be from the ghetto. You want to have the reputation of killing. Not for the reputation of being a famous businessman or entrepreneur. You just gotta be that rapper in the Hummer with more gold on you than a bank has. How I hate your arrogance and ignorance. A while back, a rather ugly looking woman was on a bicycle. She stopped to let a car pass. But a black student who was all ghettoed up in a massive hoodie and parachute pants. But he was yelling to one of this "holmes" across the street and ran into her bicycle since he was walking and turned a blind eye to her back tire. She said: Watch it. He responded: Shut yo ass up you motherfucking butt ass ugly bitch. I wanted to punch the kid in the teeth. But I knew I wouldnt be able to fight. Unlike the ghettos, I wasnt trained at birth to ride a lowrider or handle a uzi with one hand sideways. I hate it. They're everywhere. To quote an old man who threw a tantrum on the bus: I cant stand these god damn little ghetto idiot brats!
Seriously, I dont think eggs shouldn't come out of the shell black and smelling like a foot soaked in gojo. As far as I can remember, every time I ate one, I've always thrown it up.
Ugly girls that have the words: Cutie on their shirt
Seriously. Can you get any more Oxymoronic?
I wont mention the first name of a certain Attny. General. But I read that now he was planning to pass a law that made it illegal and viable for persecution for anyone who might possibly be pirating. Ok, why dont we just arrest everyone in the US who has thought of a song while in the shower. Or singing a song while in the shower. Surely they're infringing on copyright laws? For heaven's sake, you're trying to pass an illogical law. The US is on its way back into the 20s when we questioned the bible and found our heads on the line. Stifle man's thought why dont you? Ban people from ever coming up with songs to prevent any sort of piracy. Ban the intelligent thought to prevent it from being stolen later. Stifle the creative mind to preserve order. No! Order is found when people are most happy. There's a fine line between order and discipline and happiness. You could have ultra discipline and tons of order, but no happiness and man will seek to topple order to be happy. But If you have too much of these freedoms and liberties at hand, you lose all order and everything turns to uncivility and there are problems arising in the world. So they work to fix it. Make as much as happy as possible, without disturibing the balance of order.
People who said they move to Canada if Bush won
I'm looking around. All of you who said it are still. I hate you hypocrites.
I respect your thought set and mind and what your motivation and goals are, but I for one hate communism. Its a flawed system that ended up leading to a dictatorship/totalitarian system. I'm sure you really think that Little Johnny Turnblad is content with going to a factory every day to make a tractor. And when it comes time to get paid, yay! Get paid in potatoes! No. man cannot survive and live with the knowledge of what is to come in the future. In our case, the next potato dinner. You could work as hard as hell or as little as possible and still, you'd make your potato. But where's the satisfaction in that? Your furniture looks like everyone elses and you dress blandly. So Uber liberals, I'm sure your intentions were good and some things I like. Totally save the trees by memorial stadium. But when it comes time to eat the catepillars that grow between your toes, I put my foot down to squash it. I couldnt stand to live in a world without incentive.
Also, shame on your piggy backing off of the CalBand performance at CalDay to promote the elimination of cars and the downfall of capitalism. You turn USA into a big pussy, pinko nation incapable of defending itself.
People who dont support our Boys in Iraq
You hate war dont you? They hate you too for hating them. If you think about it. You're no different from them. Your predecessors were the hippies and independent thought. How do you think they felt if they were men alone fighting for their cause against the man? If they didnt have the large support of many others, they probably wouldnt have done such a job. Its just like our boys fighting. How do you think they feel when their entire country has turned on them? They're fighting for a cause. Just as the hippies did. This is nothing compared to WWII when a nation unified to support its soldiers to fight in the war and to bring a newfound hope and glory to the nation. Now, you alienate them and expect the same support behind you to tear them down. You fight for your cause, they fight for theirs.
People who are private on myspace
I cant stand them. Myspace: A place for friends. *Ah! Shun other people who want to be your friends and get the exact same friends as you already know. That defeats the entire point of myspace in the first place. Its like going to a bar full of friends and potential girlfriend/boyfriends, and sitting in the corner with your friends watching the football game with a small bowl of peanuts and leaving the new people to mingle amongst themselves and leave for a full blown orgy. Ok, well maybe not that drastic but you get the point.
The whole point of a blog was to open up yourself and release your open journal or weblog into the world for people to read and well... read. If you limit the things they can and cannot read, there is no point to writing a blog. You might as well just keep an electronic journal word document on your computer. So stop wasting my time with private blog entries!
May 15, 2007
Yes, I do wash my hands after going
The fact that the thumb is on the side doesnt differentiate it from a finger. They still do the same thing dont they? But what is the physical difference between them other than position?
May 14, 2007
One year, Cal Band owned USC band with hecka tubas and the world's largest sousaphone. But I digress. The real purpose was to lead up to the awesome joke. But yeah. I really wonder what stirs this competition between schools? The desire to be best? How absurd. I guess that's how it is when my school is so vain. Oh, we must get test scores up, oh we must have every single senior taking an AP class, Oh we must get top scores on Star tests. Oh we gotta fix the pee-pees cause they scare visitors. Everything is true. I remember attending three graduations in my four years there. One of them was under the administration of a wonderful woman. Ms. Sheratt. She knew how to do things. Hardly ever did she mention scores or anything so silly. She only mentioned how she was proud of the graduating class. Under Janvier's Administration, I recall at the last graduation, all he mentioned was the high acceptance rate into UC Berkeley and all the really super duper high scores on AP tests and the SATs and STARs.
To quote a mangled Vonnegut: Why dont you take a flying fuck at the AP TESTS?!!!?!?
Anyways. I'll probably nod off during my graduation. With the entire brain trust standing there in yellow and white ceremonial robes. *scoff* What hideous colors. Even if they are the school colors... You can see right through the white robes and only the ladies wear them. The yellow robes are just an eyesore. Whatever happened to wearing only black robes like in colleges and other normal schools?
Before somebody blond attacks me for my inaccuracies about my school, I'd like to thank Mom and Pop, Miss Jami and my Uncle Ross for all they've done for me to get into UC Berkeley.
And now, the topper.
A Cal student and a Stanford student are both using the men's room.
When they finish their business, the Cal student heads for the door, while the
Stanford student heads for the sink. The Stanford students calls to the Cal student, "At
Stanford, they teach us to wash our hands after using the bathroom"
The Cal student replies nonchalantly, "At Cal, they teach us not to pee on our hands."
What's the difference between the fingers and the thumb?
"But," says the religionist, "you cannot explain everything; you cannot understand everything; and that which you cannot explain, that which you do not comprehend, is my God."
We are explaining more every day. We are understanding more every day; consequently your God is growing smaller every day.
Our ignorance is God; what we know is science.
-Robert Green Ingersoll (The Gods 1872)
May 13, 2007
I had arrived at my aunt's house for Mother's Day. I had given my mom a kick ass wooden lantern I stained and built the lid that day too. But Anywhoo... I had gotten up to the first landing of her Apartment, I took off my shoes and picked up the right one. Lo and behold, an ancient piece of gum that looks like it had been smash there was stuck. Right in the middle of the shoe. I'm very anal about these sort of things. I looked down and I just wanted to rip the little mother fu***** out. But it's disgusting. My asian side kicks in and says "NO! No touchie! Nasty, Dirty, Been in someone poor's mouth!" So to this very moment, the gum is still there and it's driving me bananas. I must figure out someway to pull it off. So the nice hexagon and triangle pattern on the bottom of my shoe has been ruined by someone's giant blob of gum. By someone who was too lazy to give a damn about someone else. Oh yes, I used to be one of them. Until the day I got a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of my chuck taylors the size of a miniature pumpkin. For that one, I took a rock from the neighbor's yard and just started hacking at the damn thing. But for this. I have no clue how to remove it. With all of modern man's advancements, i'd think at least we'd be able to remove gum from shoes. We put man on the moon, developed nuclear weapons, fought diseases, covered both poles, created artifical hearts. But we're still stuck with that damn little shitty piece of gum under our shoes. Oh how cruel life is.
The second event that really ticked my tocker was when I pulled out my Hurley shirt. You know, the two parentheses like this: )( The label on the inside of the shirt is impritnted on the shirt itself and already its coming off. Only after 5 wears and the stuff is coming off. Well, that's not the worst of it. But I pull out my shirt and I hold it in my hands and *horrendous music* A stain. But the worst of it is I dont know from what. That's the problem with wearing white clothing. You get these stupid fat person stains and these are kinda obvious. Right on my belly button. It looks like a damn map of Hawaii. Agrah. My one month old shirt. Ruined already!
So I gripe. And now, I shall go in search for a way to remove gum from shoes.
Also, the rise of ghetto idiots at my school has got me worried. More ghetto douche bags = less participants in music program. This year was a pretty good sizable orchestra. For once, three different saxophones as well as more than just Jose on Trombone. Of course, they're like wild animals too. Acting as student music director, I conduct when the director isint around, but no one can listen, and no one can play. Sometimes, I honestly believe everyone just remembers how to play the piece once. What they dont realize is that no every conductor has the exact same style. Just comparing Bernstein's and Ormandy's interpretation of Shostakovich's 5th symphony is simply in my words: amazing. Bernstein, a more fluid and flowey piece. Ormandy, slightly rigid, but slow, as a sort of emphasis on every note. To draw out meaning from everything.
I digress. Ghetto Idiots. That's all I ever post about. All my entire blog has ever been about is me blowing off steam in my frustration of idiots everywhere. I've got nothing worthwhile to say. Or do I? I dont know anymore. Its really getting confusing on what a blog should be. Some of the blogs I regularly check are just nothing more than showing cool things, rather than a personal post blog like Newnorth or Puntabulous. I really should read more than just that.
May 10, 2007
I understand how you girls can do all this stuff and do multiple things at the same time, but its disgusting when you do what you were doing on the bus. Almost as annoying as the woman who would jerk her head about to mimic dancing, or concept of following rhythm. But what you did, talk on the phone and clip your nails, you take rudeness to a whole new level. Yeah, we get that you enjoy talking on your phone, but when you talk and clip your nails, its gross. I feel deep sorrow for the person who is on the line who has to listen to your fat assed voice and listen for the click click click of you leaving your DNA all over a brand new bus.
Advice to you, save that for home where it belongs.
May 06, 2007
I didn’t expect her to come to me. There were plenty tables inside the café that day. How she even found me, I would never know. She pulled the worn wooden chair from under the table and placed her bag on it. She walked back to the counter to place her order. She left before I could get a good glimpse of her. Was it not customary to ask if the seat was taken first? How strange I thought. I folded up the newspaper neatly and placed it in the recycle bin and sat back down in my seat. My laptop was closed on the table, its bulky auxiliary batter sitting below it. Hesitating, I opened it and switched it on. Maybe she would go away if I looked busy at the computer. I pulled up a word document, and a spread sheet with several figures on it and set to work. Or at least make it look like work. She sat back down, with a large bowl sized cup of coffee. I peered over the top of the screen to get a good look of her without looking like a staring pervert. She was quite pretty. She had curly brown hair and these eyes that you could get lost in. They were like cat’s eyes marbles. I remember them quite well since I had a large bag of them as a child. I quickly shuffled back to work behind my wall. From the sides, I saw her hands working to un-kink a pair of headphones and an mp3 player from her purse. It seemed in the next ten minutes, she emptied the entire contents of her purse onto the table. A book, a small compact, a package of tissues, several hairclips and a wallet was set in the space on the small round table between the edge and my laptop front. I was tempted to fold down the screen to ask her if she needed to pull out the vanity as well. But I shook my head and buried myself in work again. She dropped the compact on the ground and I giggled. She turned around and looked at me. My cover was blown.
“Oh? Um… Nothing.”
“Yeah, sure. Nothing at all hm? That’s as likely as you doing any work behind that computer of yours.” When she said that, I choked a little on my spit. I laughed rather clumsily and tried to look busy. But she stood and walked over to my side and looked down at the screen. “Ha. Work you say. Its just a web page you know.” I looked back at the screen in horror. She was right. I had left a firefox page up showing nothing but college football scores.
“Well, it looks like you blew my cover.” I said.
“That may be so, but could you…” Her hand indicated at the compact still on the floor.
“Oh. How careless of me.” I bent over to grab the small thing. “You women and your makeup.”
“You men and your football.”
“You got me there.”
“My name’s Susan.”
“Ah, that’s a pretty name. I’m Greg. Greg Keely.”
“Keely eh? That’s a funny name.”
“Yeah, then what’s yours hm?”
“Um… well, I don’t tell most strangers.”
“I told you mine. And you know I’m Greg. Greg Keely.”
“Well ok Mr. Greg Greg Keely. My last name is McKim-Vadillo.”
“And you say my last name is funny.”
“Mine’s just long. Yours sounds funny.”
“Fine. I’ll bite.” She sat down in her chair. “I got the last name from my father, and he got it from his grandfather. But that’s about it. Before that, we were the Dundermans.”
“Dundermans?” She laughed. Her curls bounced as she did. “I’m glad you name is Keely.”
“Nope, it’s Greg.”
“Oh yes. So what do you do then?”
What could I say? I was unemployed just a week ago and now I’m working as a part time autoshop teacher as well as a Swedish teacher at
“It cant be that hard. Watch me. I am a cashier at Durant-Paulson Books. I love the work. I’m surrounded by books there and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Ok, you make it seem so easy. I’ll try then.” I cleared my throat and tried to look as professional as I could. “I teach Swedish at Balboa.” Those words came out rather rushed and to me, they sounded like I had inhaled a tank of helium.
“Swedish eh? That’s… that’s… well um…”
“Stupid isn’t it?”
“No, no, no. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Well I think it is. Most of the kids don’t really pick it up at all. I end up with most of the bad kids and the few genuine kids who would want to learn such a language.”
“I’m sure I would have taken it.”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I know you’re the cute teacher teaching it.”
“Oh stop. I’m not that handsome. My last two girlfriends left me for that reason. I guess I’m not used to being called… handsome.”
“Those two wouldn’t know their ass from their elbow.”
Our conversation dragged for a few more hours and the streetlights outside in the squares were bright. We talked about everything from Faulkner to Hemingway. I showed her my frayed copy of The Sound and the Fury my mother had given me when I graduated from High School. The cloth cover was worn out and you couldn’t make out the name without getting close to the cover. It was 8:55 pm by now and I forgot I had to arrive at school early to help out with the entrance exams tomorrow. We stepped out into the open
May 05, 2007
You go up to him, you arent nervous. He spots you and cant help but smile. He moves his curly hair out of his face and glasses and offers you a seat. You move first by asking "watcha readin'?" He chuckles and can only say one word. "Faulkner".
Just the name Faulkner brings a mystique about him. He sets the book down and pulls out another book. The Grapes of Wrath. He certainly likes his classics you think. He apologizes for himself and explains he's a high school english teacher. He doesn't conform to the reading schedules schools provide for him and encourages everyone in his classes to read as much as possible.
You cant help it. You're pretty much glued to the wooden bench next to him. He sees you squirm a little and apologizes again. This time and offers you a pillow. You take it and blush. The thin wiry girl behind the stained counter calls you out. "Order up!" she cries. You flush with a little embarrassment and grab your coffee and sit back down next to your new stranger. Your eyes shoot daggers at the coffee lady. Her multiple piercings flash you with reflections from the old ceiling lamps.
He chuckles and puts the books away. You and him talk for hours on end about everything. The little nit picky details of F. Scott Fitzgerald's writing, or the beauty and simplicity of Hemingway. He notices its late now. You've lost complete track of time. Outside in Washington square, the lights are on and the cathedral is illuminated a brilliant white. He offers you his arm and to take you to your apartment. You tell him, you're an outsider. Not a San Franciscan.
What made him jump in shock, you'll never know. But he stays anyways. Waiting for the bus under the kiosk, the cold night air whips both of you. The bus is here. The electric arms clatter against the wires. You sit in back staring through the back portal and he's still there. The jolt of the starting bus rocks everything and everyone on board. A bag of fruit spills over. An old chinese woman stoops to pick them up. You help her. You look back up through the portal. He's gone. But you dont realize it, his Faulkner is in your hands.