Prom Prom Prom

So prom is tonight, I’m at that stage that I want to get there already and stop planning and thinking about it. I always love going to dances like this, because I truly think that they are fun. The heretics who say “Prom is stupid,” or “boring,” or “a waste” are the people who make it that way, and pique me. If you go into a place or event, thinking that you are going to have a bad time and that it would be soporific, then you are going to make it that way. But, if you go in thinking that you are going to have fun and dance, then you are going to do exactly that. Not to sound narcissistic, but my predilection is pictures—not because I like my picture taken, but because I like everyone getting together, looking everything but homogenous, and taking a picture that will serve as a memento for years to come. I love taking pictures before the event, during the event and after. I don’t mean to say that I miss the fun of the party but consecutively taking pictures all night, but on a rainy and boring day, I like to take such pictures out and remember these events. Pictures are the windows into the past, and if you do not take any, then how are you supposed to remember what actually happened? I am excited for tonight but I hope I recoup from being extremely tired. We will be taking pictures at my house, around my pool, and all over my backyard. Hopefully, everything goes as planned, no ones hair frizzes and no one over heats with this eighty-five degree weather. See you all tonight at our mecca-like prom!

The Best Period

So study hall is the vertex of my day. We have the best and most diverse group of people here. Period three, right after two of my hardest classes which are Spanish and algebra II, I get to finish my homework and socialize at the same time. Study hall may seem like a waste of a period, but it honestly breaks up your day so well. In the beginning of the year, when I had History in Hollywood, my day would seem so long. Since study hall, my life has become so much less stressful because I have less homework, my hard classes are split up, and we get visited by literally everyone. We are the six “original” studyhaller-ers, and we get an average of 3 visitors a day. A good mixture of seniors and juniors; the herculean Mike Gehm, the equitable Sara Pena, the obsequious Shelby Demaio and Sam Sonkin, the august Jill Laga and me. Between the six of us, there are frequent fights and discrepancies, but its all in good fun. We kid around, get our work done, and have brunches on Friday’s; it honestly cant get any better. And to top things all of, my best friend Lauren Schramm comes to visit us from time to time. All in all, study hall is one of my favorite “classes” and its one of the most entertaining of the day.

This is My Homage to Getting Sidetracked

Ok so I have nothing else to talk about. I’m being severely distracted right now, sorry. Between Facebook, BBM, Text messages and trying to plan everything perfectly for tomorrow (prom), I honestly cannot think of another topic to blog about right now. I’m usually not the distracted type, but as the year goes on, and the weather gets nicer, my motivation has been dwindling, and has become a prognosis. It hasn’t just been in English, by all means, its been everything, whether academic or personal. So I decided to write a bunkum blog.

Well since I didn’t finish this yesterday, I have resurrected my focus and I suppose I could talk about prom, or going to the beach afterwards, or an eclectic number of other things that you guys would love to hear about, but why would I interrupt my harassment of blogging? I love blogging, I think it is a great way to get things off your shoulders, or to whine about things without ticking anyone off, but when you are forced to do so, it can be quit a production. Hopefully my next blog is more entertaining, but I doubt it, so don’t become a critic… thanks

What a Pain it is to Devour Blackberries.

Its something we all do every two years. Getting a new phone just initiates major fear within me because no matter what I pick, whether I like it or not, I am stuck with it. Last Tuesday I simply just got fete up with my jejune, broken and dilapidated Voyager. I was bereft of a cool and “now” phone and got sick of the feeling ostracized for carrying it around. Now I don’t want to sound bratty, but after I had that useless phone, I wanted the top of the line and the best phone in the market to make up for my suffering. A phone is supposed to reflect the character and personality of its owner, and that piece of crap Voyager (excuse my French) in no way represented me. So down I went to the Verizon store, and picked out the coolest and most advanced and panache phone, the Devour –the cousin to the Droid. It was amazing, it had everything, it was so advanced, it had so many applications and paraphernalia…but it was a brick. After a week of lugging the thing around and trying to figure it out, I became blasé with it. I couldn’t deal with it anymore, I had bought a mini computer and I didn’t need everything it had to offer. So, I took myself back to the same Verizon store, looked around a bit, and fell in love with the Blackberry Tour. It is small, sleek and as advanced as it needs to be. Granted its not lilluputian but its not a brick as the Devour was. It clearly represents me and is a perfect phone for me. I mean, you may be saying that it was a lot of effort, but if I’m going to be stuck with a phone for two year, I better like it!

Grow a Backbone Man.

As stated above (or below, I really don’t know what order I am going to post these), my favorite main character was Emilia, but as in all of Shakespeare’s plays, many minor characters hold substantial roles as well. The debilitated Rodrigo was my favorite background character because he was dead long before Iago stabbed him (or at least that’s what I remember from the play…). Even though Rodrigo was physically living, I think that as soon as Iago started “advising” him on how to “win Desdemona’s heart,” Rodrigo stopped living emotionally and mentally. Iago fed on Rodrigo’s ingenuous personality and had him entwined around his finger and could make him do a back flip with the snap of his fingers, and I truly felt bad for him but also feel that he got what he deserved in the end. The man sold all his land, gave up all his money, and emigrated just because Iago recommended it. Not gonna lie, I know tons and tons of people who are either manipulating Iagos or lugubrious Rodrigo’s, and this kind of “friendship” goes on all throughout our school, and its simply pathetic. Not to digress from Othello, but this situation is not completely rare at all. Because I have had so many experiences with this kind of situation, I feel like Rodrigo became my favorite character because I pitied him, and hated him at the same time. I have two opinions about him; firstly, I understand that his heart clouded his better judgment, but come on, no one is that pathetic and gullible to obliterate their lives just to chase after one person, and next that he does not have a backbone. I acknowledge the fact that everything that I have to say about him is negative, but I liked him so much because I was always interested in what he had to say and what he was going to do next, even if it put me in an enervated state of mind. Poor, hackneyed Rodrigo was physically, mentally, emotionally and financially drained.

But Logic Could Never Convince the Heart.

Out of the entire play / movie / book (whatever), my favorite love affair is one between Emilia and Iago. Even though there are many to chose from, Iago’s and Emilia’s relationship goes from vague and subtle to heated and un-expectantly risqué. In the beginning I really didn’t know if Emilia was going to be a substantial character, or if she was simply going to wallow in the background. Also, her marriage with Iago seemed as though neither one of them trusted the other, and I wanted to know more about their history. My first reaction of Emilia was one of suspicion because she didn’t have a big role, and I didn’t think she could do that much damage. But, after some analyzation and after she stole Desdemona’s handkerchief, I began to feel pity for her because she was willing to do anything to win the favor of her husband. I sympathize for Emilia because even though all she wanted was to have an intimate relationship with her husband, but the splenetic Iago still insisted that she is a whore and she slept around. I mean, I guess I can see where Iago is coming from because she is extremely flirty—although he didn’t hear her conversation with Desdemona where she told her that she would cheat if she had to—I can see why he wouldn’t trust her. Finally, I am glad that she finally grew the cajones to call Iago out on his malevolent scheme and confront him in front of everyone but there is a point I would like to make; Iago killed his wife because she had a pernicious affect on his plan, so he proved my point in saying that he cared more about his career than his wife. All in all I feel bad about Emilia’s death and don’t think that she deserved to die that way, but she ultimately found closure within herself and was finally let go from Iago’s ostensible grip on her.

What is there to even do in Connecticut?...

*Please Read "Oh Connecticut, what a random state…" first.*

Well my cousins John, George, Jessica and I woke up early Tuesday morning, met up at George and Jessica’s house and began our journey to sketchy Newark for our train. All five of us, including George and Jessica’s dad, of course had to arrive an hour early, so we meandered around and took in our unfortunate surroundings.

An hour and a half later, there we were hugging and greeting our other halves in Stamford Station. After our long and much needed greetings, we began to walk over to the restaurant of one of my friend’s dads. Layla’s Arabic Cuisine was excellent. We ate falafel, gyro, chicken shawerma sandwiches and oh so much hummus. On top of the great and tasty food, my friends got me into this new drink called MASH. MASH is a mixture between fruit juices and seltzer. For someone who doesn’t even look at soda, this was my utopia.

After lunch, our group of eleven decided to walk over to the Stamford Mall and “shop” a little. Of course us six guys had something else in mind; in this mall of nine floors we decided to play tag. Can I just tell you that it was one of the funniest and hardest things I have ever done. But all things have to come to an end, and because we were “disturbing the piece,” some mall cops accosted us and gave us a stern talking to. By that time the girls were satiated with shopping and it was time to leave anyway. Whatever.

Returning to my friend John Paul’s house we played some xbox, “some” being an understatement. Decided we where we wanted to go eat (after 2 hours of bickering) and began squeezing into John Paul’s mom’s mini van to eat at a Hibachi restaurant. I love Chinese/Japanese food but I hate coming out of the restaurant smelling like the food I just consumed, kept my scruples hidden because they would have caused another uproar. Between our cook David tossing the egg into his hat and the flaming onion volcano, we lost track of time. When we left the restaurant it was twelve o’clock and their mom’s castigated us and demanded that we return home.

The girls slept at John Paul’s house and the guys “slept” at David’s house. The word “slept” is in quotations because our sleeping consisted of chatroulette-ing (which you all know how that ends up), messing with whoever fell asleep first, consuming as much junk food as possible and of course, xbox.

After a huge breakfast at John Paul’s house, we returned to the mall and actually shopped. Our train was at six, so we had until then to do everything we could. When we got bored of the mall, and hungry as well, we decided to go eat at Buffalo Wild Wings. My three supercilious friends had to prove their “strength,” and blow up their male ego even more; and did the Blaz’in Challenge. These wings were disgusting, they shouldn’t even be considered comestibles; that’s how spicy they were. All but one failed, and my cousin John was victorious. He got the shirt and his picture forever put up in the Connecticut Buffalo Wild Wings, and the ability to make fun of my other two friends every time they opened their mouths.

On the train ride home I looked back on my trip to Connecticut and thanked God for my friends and for my vivacious experience. That’s what life is about, filling our lives up with as many good experiences as we can. For life is not meant to be spent grieving and in misery, but to be smiling and laughing. I waved goodbye to Connecticut, to my friends, and to my MASH.

“Just living is not enough. One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.”

Oh Connecticut, what a random state…

Upon my return from Vermont, Monday night, I was surprised to find out that my Connecticut friends were planning for my three cousins and I to traverse down to Stamford to visit them. This trip included us taking the train down on Tuesday morning, sleeping over, and returning Wednesday night, also by train. Now of course I was all for the idea; god forbid me staying home for anytime longer than necessary in my own home, when break is in session, but my parents did not have the same zest as I did. My mother’s default answer is always no, to anything (and I’m not exaggerating), but after some persuasion and a call from my friends mom, she appraised the situation and was finally lulled into agreeing. All that was left was for my father to also agree, and that takes much more work to do than my mother. There is no buttering up my dad and there is most certainly no flattering that man; not to say my father isn’t a brilliant man, but he likes to be told the exact plan in an extremely laconic way. Any future deriving from that plan would cause my father to deprecate the idea and use his signature excuse of “I don’t see it Christopher.” So trying to avoid that situation, I went over and over every detail with my Connecticut friends until it was permanently burned into my memory.

Sitting down for dinner Tuesday night, I was on my best behavior. Trying not to be so overtly nice, I came down early, helped set the table, and poured him a glass of wine. Being able to read my father like a book, I saw to my demise that he was quite aloof, but that certainly was not going to stop me. I asked him about his day, ate my dinner quickly and slowly asked my father in the most colloquial way possible. Very much like my mother, he immediately terminated the conversation and ceded the decision to my mother. Not so fast, in my household that is worse than a no. It means that my father wasn’t convinced but was not in the mood to argue. Trying to be as suave as possible, I spelled out the syllabus for the two days, not leaving out any minute detail, and had him talk with my friend’s dad. After some consideration (and a back and forth with my mom), he finally agreed as well. I was finally going to see my Connecticut friends after months and months of trying to make this work…and failing.

Why Am I, Oh Why Am I The One Who Plans?

When I was younger, I always thought that if I were just one step ahead of everything and everyone, that nothing bad would ever happen. And to be honest, my system worked out for a while, but as I grew older, it became overly meticulous to try to plan everything and know everything beforehand. Even now, in my third year of high school, my friends still deride my need to know everything and my need to be prepared for what is going to happen next. I keep all my homework and important days on my ical, take weekly snapshots of my ical and upload them onto the server, and make sure to take perfect care of my laptop so as to not have to get it re-imaged. I wish I could be one of those people that just came home after school and did their homework when they pleased, or not at all, but I cannot abrogate my ways. This is how I’ve been programmed. Sometimes, when I get home at 7 from debate or track or whatever, I’m sometimes in a capricious mood and leave things off until the next day, but that attitude lasts an ephemeral time, sorry. I just don’t know how you can be so unorganized, I truly sympathize with people who use the “I forgot!” excuse because that’s never me. You might think this blog is lame, but I needed to show you how absolutely anal I am with these things, this isn’t a ruse, this is me. But then again, I like it. I like being organized and knowing exactly what I have to do and when. I don’t like surprises so my way of life works out great. You don’t like it, don’t hector me; just go back to forgetting your homework and eating chips in front of your TV while I slave away at my desk and actually get things accomplished.

“Organize your life around your drams- and watch them come true.”

Those Dreaded Winter Track Meets.

Running. Doing Homework. Drinking oh so much water. Warming up. Cooling Down. Going to the Bathroom. Listening to music. And so many other disheveled activities going on at the same time. Waiting for a race is the most stressful activity you will ever endure. Amongst all the hustle and bustle you can only worry about number 1. You push. You shove. You have no empathy for anyone else. You get to your destination. And you do anything you have to, to get there. There are no ands ifs or buts. You’re all there is, and you’re the only thing you can manage to worry about. Even though all this is going on, you forget about it all, you listen to nothing, you hear nothing, and you hear no one. You block everything out and focus. During your race you’re at peace, and you don’t have anything on your mind but beating the person in front of you. You have to catch him, you must. It’s the only thing you can do correctly right now. That is your destination. At the crux of your race, you reach him and you know that in only a short amount of time, you will be wearing that glinting gold medal across your chest, flaunting your victory. Only a few more steps to go. Even though your gasping for air, your whole lower body wants to fall off, and your head is spinning with a thousand questions, but you know you’re done, redress. You can now take a soothing cool down lap and drain your legs against the cool wall. Lie back, lift your legs, and let the wall support you. Look into the ethereal light hanging above you and know that everything will be ok. Feel the medal pressing into your skin, and know you did it. Close your eyes and replay the race, you notice you don’t remember it and you open your eyes and come back to the light. Usually they tell you not to look into the light, but this light is soothing, this light is warming, this light is home, succumb to it.

"Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up. It knows it must outrun the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning in Africa, a lion wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the slowest gazelle, or it will starve. It doesn't matter whether you're a lion or gazelle - when the sun comes up, you'd better be running."