Recruiting trips can make you appreciate being alive

Whew. I'm glad to be here. In one piece. When one goes on recruiting trips, one apparently is assigned a "host" (who is a member of the team...). As we set out to do many various activities, including going downtown (technically it's "uptown"), my host didn't possess a car. Because of this, I got to ride with a rich daddy's big boy. Yes. He was from the "East" side, in a fancy brand new car, that goes from 0-60 in a few seconds. AND he was still obsessed about his old high school: Skyline. Because of this, he was one of the people I loathe the most. Those idiot drivers that swerve in and out everywhere, going 60 MPH in a 35 MPH zone. On my trip back from the Rocky Point Haunted House to the dorms, my hands were clutched so tight that they hurt, but I couldn't unclench them until I was on firm ground. I'm still phased out from the crazy driving (no stopping, unless it's a red light, at least 80 MPH on the crowded freeway, swift out of control turns, looking at radio more than the road, more often than not taking up two lanes, etc.) and I hope I recover. For now, I vow to walk wherever we're going, except for the first trip in the morning, and I hope to catch a ride with someone else besides this lunatic named Drew.

I've finally got caughten up!

Yes, I finally got one, but my feelings about getting one are mixed. I've never liked them in the first place, except for the essential moments where I had to let my parents know where I was, but I had no way of contacting them. I hate the harsh ring, saying that someone is demanding to talk to you at that very minute, and if you don't answer the phone, you'll get reproached. I dislike the thought of going out of your way to buy one of these, then refusing to use it to talk to people, you'd rather write to them. I have never understood that. Talking gets the conversation done oh, about 100 x quicker, and more efficiently. My friends text each other "oh, nothing" or "ha ha ha." The worst that I have ever seen was one girl text messaging one letter of the alphabet every 10 seconds to her friend. How...boring. Yes, I'm staying away from the text messaging addiction many people have, and I'm actually going to talk on my cell phone.

St. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band

Well...After my forced workout at eight o'clock at night, I drove by a friend's house to pick up my parka and hat. They made me take something else to watch for the first time. A movie called "St. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band". The entire movie is made from the Beatles's songs, and only the narrator (Mr. Kite) actually talks. Most of the songs are sung by the Bee Gees and Peter Frampton. That movie was...far out there. Of course, the songs were too. How could you make a movie out of the St. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album, and keep it normal? Anyhow...very...interesting...Watch it only if you have absolutely nothing else to do. My favorite part was "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" performed by Steve Martin. The most disturbing part was the song "Come Together" sung by Aerosmith...who has such terrifying looks and...such a huge scary mouth...

Borned about 50 years too late

Thank you to my wonderful friends, Jos and Doyle. You have infested me with a disease. I can't decide if it's for the better or for the worst...bad?...worse?...But I am permanentally infested, and I can't get enough! I am going to pay a visit to people who have plenty of this substance they can give me for free. Some people I have to beg, since I've used a lot of theirs, and they are hesitant to give me more, as they've never seen a teenager of this generation with such an appetite for something so..."outdated".
Yes, I'm now crazy about the Beatles. Now it's pretty much all I listen to. It's pretty much all I look up. Want some useless facts? Here you go: Ringo Starr has appeared in a Japanese advertisement for apple juice; 'ringo' is Japanese for 'apple'. Ringo was also the first Beatle to be a guest star(r?) voice for The Simpsons, the other two eventually followed suit....I'm looking at a lot more, but I'm afraid I'm going to bore my audience.
What else can I say? I've gotta go and look up some lyrics now. Please excuse me.

I LOVE rain!

I already had a cold, and I'm afraid today's expeditions won't help me recover. I was in search of some ducks to shoot (with a camera, of course) on the Jordan River. I was quite far away on the path when the rain decided it's going to pour buckets and sheets. Luckily, I had my camera bag with me, so my camera is safe. Myself, however, was another story. I've never had my face dripping with rain. My clothes are currently soaked, and my hair is wetter than when I take a shower. It was the most fun I've ever had! Running with a huge camera bag in one hand and a tripod in the other made running difficult. I made it into the car, and realized that I finished my roll of film, so I decided to pay a visit to a store to get it developed. The rain calmed, then when I got out of the car to go into the store, it began in a full downpour once more. I ran in, turned in the film, and I decided it would be wise to run to my car, even though I was thoroughly soaked. As I ran, I ran into the middle of a ginormous puddle, at least 10 feet every direction, and 5 inches deep. The water splashed everywhere! It was very fun. I think my most exciting and fun moments in life have been in rainstorm. I just love rain! :)

My Ultimate Opposite

I look at her in the eyes. She is my total opposite. I'm green, she's purple. She asks me if I'm a swimmer. She can probably tell by the miserable state my hair is in. I reply casually, "Yeah." She comments on how she has never gotten wrong in guessing if someone is a swimmer or not. She laments the day she'll be mistaken. I tell her a key factor to help her realize if someone is truly a swimmer or not: Look at the hair on the neck, if it's short and there's a lot of it, they're probably swimmers because that hair gets broken off by the swim cap. I watch her in the mirror. She looks at my disheveled destroyed disgusting hair in horror. She's brave to ask ANOTHER question: "Did you like, try to highlight your hair, or something?" Duh. If I'm a swimmer, I'm probably in chlorine a lot. Hmm...maybe I'm in the sun too. I explain to her that the sun loves to highlight my hair when I'm not looking. She says, "Yeah, at the roots, your hair is like, a totally different color, I just thought that some coloring experiment went wrong."
Those two pieces of conversation were the deepest parts of the entire conversation I had with her. Everything else was small talk. In fact, the entire conversation was small talk. I must have seemed hostile, as I HATE small talk, and I just don't want to talk to you if you are cutting my hair. Just cut it. I'll pay you and leave. Just don't talk to me, please!
So, you probably have alluded the fact that I cut my hair. Yes I did. No, it wasn't dramatic, you can't tell. I'm just trying to grow it out, but it never makes it past the point I was at, so I am hoping a trim will get it going again.
I forgot why I HATE getting my hair cut. The small talk. The fake smiles. The grimaces at my hair. The price. Looking at myself in the mirror. (When I look in the mirror, occasionally I want a friend, so I give a knowingly grin at my friend in the mirror, only to realize the hair person is watching me. Ugh.) Et cetera.
Anyhow, just thought I would tell you. Have a good day, as I must go do some coaching now. Ta ta toodles.

Utter...Embarrassment.

Oh, my goodness. I didn't know I'd spend my evening looking at honest Abe's face...or trying to put together three identical puzzles, but all of the pieces are slightly different by a bilimeter or two.
Yes. I did something awful. But I have hope. I ran to the hungry paper shredder to shred up my information, when I felt my left hand being tugged toward the angry mouth. Yes. It ate up three five dollar bills, and my only hope is to save every five-eighths and the serial number. That way I can messily tape it together, and get some money back If I trade it with the bank.
How embarassing. Why does that have to happen? I was tempted to paste them together, and hang it on the wall to remind me how ugly and pointless money is. Really, what is it worth? Nothing. Just...service for service. It's like trading...only you use some ugly green paper to ensure the other person happiness.
I'm tempted to take a picture of this chaos, but I'm too lazy to take a picture, connect the camera to the computer, find the picture, save the picture, browse the picture, upload the picture, then place it somewhere perfect. Eh. You can imagine what a shredded five-dollar bill looks like.

In Mourning

Brittanica thought he was a ballroom dancer. Someone that I used to love watching on TV is now dead. Sure, he had crazy hair, and strange outfits, but he had a sweet Australian accent. He didn't die in a very normal way. He was killed by a stingray, whose barb punctured his heart and killed him. So, who is this guy? Steve Irwin. The Crocodile Guy. "Crikey" is what comes to mind.
I'm sure you can find the story of his death anywhere, but if you can't, here it is. Yes, the person who helped me love watching animals and animal documentaries is never going to entertain me again.
The world seems a little bit more empty, as one of the most enthusiastic and exciting people met his match--a stingray.
I guess that's what happens when you decide to choose a hazardous occupation, such as, oh, only playing around with some of the most dangerous animals in the world. Eventually, they show just how dangerous they are.
Of course as you read stories about him, they will start with all the positive things about him and his life, then they will start on the negative, point out all the bad things he has done, the risks and failures. I think the media always tries to leave a bad taste in your mouth.
My favorite memory of him? One year for valentine's day, I used The Crocodile Guy valentine cards. They had radical inscriptions, such as, you guessed it: "Crikey!"
His legend will live on in our hearts, and on tv.