It's hard to figure out what judgments to make and when to voice your opinions. I've learned that, and I'll continue to learn that for as long as I live.
Facebook is a horrible website sometimes. That little status bar always taunts me to write something depressing or bust out an opinion that everyone will disagree with. If I don't write anything at all, I just stare at my page and wait for notifications that won't come. If I write something, I would refrain from bad statuses and stick with boring statuses that people just overlook. I'm not mushy gushy in love with someone and write about them on my Facebook like some teenagers are either. Facebook is aggravating, because it's another way to be social with your peers and become popular. Facebook is confusing and creates unnecessary drama that teenagers double into extreme drama online and in real life. Facebook is upsetting in many ways because people think it's a great place to just let rip fights because they're too chicken to confront someone in person. People abuse the power of Facebook by writing discriminative, defensive, offensive, and stupid comments.
And I write stupid and offensive comments too. I'm not excluding myself from those people, because everyone at some point has done it, but I want to try harder to avoid writing comments like that. So long as they are uplifting, cheerful comments, my Facebook will be fine. I should really just pull away from Facebook in general. It's nothing amazing.
My computer life has steeply declined into nothing-land except for those days when I want to vedge with Angry Birds or let out troubling emotions within me through blog. I mostly just use the computer for homework. I haven't been revising my novel either, because my chapters are online and I can't just stare at a computer screen for hours while I write in a notebook. I would print out the chapters, but it's a lot of ink and a lot of paper, and those two things, unfortunately, are expensive.
I wish there were C-days at school. I want at least another four periods for more potential credits and more classes! Desperately I want to learn more and more each day. I want to make my life successful. I want to become a surgeon. But to get there, I have to take years of schooling and training. I have to be the mature one who moves on ahead of my friends to pursue a life I'll be happy with.
I feel sympathy for Kaylynn. I'm sorry, but I do. I feel sorry for Kaeli as well. Their plans for the future aren't clear. They aren't sure. They're predicting it'll be good if they go simple or if they just wing it. I don't sense any preparation in them at all, and I worry.
Sometimes I feel like some old cronie who's lived through the ages and watched lifetimes begin and end. I feel like I'm psychologically and emotionally way ahead of others my age. But other times I feel like a hypocrite or undereducated, because I'm only human. As much as I vy to stay logical and likeable, I always have my downfalls.
Let this be a lesson to you: Think before you say something. I hurt my best friend's feelings because I wasn't being my usual sensitive self to his religion. I accidentally said something, and I regretted it almost immediately, and all because I didn't expand on all the possibilities before I said it.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 18, 2011
Artmalfabrico
I met a new friend today.
I named him Artmalfabrico (Art - Mal- Fab - Reek - Oh). Fabrico for short. You see, he is a rock I found as I walked home from the bus stop. I walk along this long stretch of "road" I call the "canal road". It's basically a one-way gravel road that travels along side the canal next to the mountain's side. On the other side of the road, there is a steep hill that slopes down into the suburbs of Pleasant Grove. Because the road is gravel, there are many rocks.
It's odd. how I picked Artmalfabrico out of the millions of rocks under my feet, I don't know. All I do know, is that when I find a rock, I like to kick it along with me as I walk so my mind is distracted and the walk wouldn't seem so long. (A twenty minute walk can be very intimidating in the cold sometimes.) This rock was different from the other rocks I've kicked around.
First of all, he was round with a clean flat bottom to him; like one of his circular corners were cut off in battle with a boulder. As I kicked him, his landings would be affected by the battle scar and he would bounce around spasmodically, completely unpredictable. He reminded me of my sporadic, hyper self. Secondly, Artmalfabrico was, in my childish history, the rock that traveled the farthest. The canal road is about 2.2 miles from Pepe's street to my home. So it is pretty long! Anyway, he traveled about a mile and a half with me, if I can measure it out correctly mentally. That's a plus.
The last thing about this rock, was that he grew on me. With every kick, his little pebble friends would go flying with the dust, but he would launch the furthest. Clear into outer space, it would seem to him. He was like Superman launching himself from a dead stop into the atmosphere to stop Lex Luther! The little guy was my baby growing up!
When I found him, destiny took over. I began by spotting a rock and kicking it. I soon learned of his background, his life stories, his goals, and memorized his appearance. He was blue, with a big white spot on one side of him. He called it his "good side". Soon we began to kick for the fun of it, and not for just mindless distractions.
Rocks are hard, you see. They have no nerves. It was not painful for him to be kicked around by a human as big and strong as I. He actually enjoyed it, you must understand. He had a stomach that would seem to float while he was launched into the air like a cannonball, and then he would plop to the ground, all the while screaming "Brava!" in his English accent.
All relationships never last forever. It was a tragic story, the day Artmalfabrico ran away from me. He must have been sick of my continuous kicks and my put down talk, but nevertheless, he broke my heart. One kick, and he rebounded his way right off the side of the canal road and down the hill towards the overgrown weeds that lie below.
I stood and watched him roll away, feeling empty as I looked back at the hundred feet I had to walk before I was close to home. I had planned on picking him up and taking him home when I got to the slope that lead back to my home...but it all went awry.
I walked the rest of the way normally, suddenly quite aware of the biting cold and my boring feet tripping over pebbles who hated me.
The next day, I met a new rock friend, but the emotional tie was no longer present between me and the rockfolk. I gave up kicking him when this new friend had jumped to safety down the hill, following in Fabrico's rollprints.
I will never love a rock again!
I named him Artmalfabrico (Art - Mal- Fab - Reek - Oh). Fabrico for short. You see, he is a rock I found as I walked home from the bus stop. I walk along this long stretch of "road" I call the "canal road". It's basically a one-way gravel road that travels along side the canal next to the mountain's side. On the other side of the road, there is a steep hill that slopes down into the suburbs of Pleasant Grove. Because the road is gravel, there are many rocks.
It's odd. how I picked Artmalfabrico out of the millions of rocks under my feet, I don't know. All I do know, is that when I find a rock, I like to kick it along with me as I walk so my mind is distracted and the walk wouldn't seem so long. (A twenty minute walk can be very intimidating in the cold sometimes.) This rock was different from the other rocks I've kicked around.
First of all, he was round with a clean flat bottom to him; like one of his circular corners were cut off in battle with a boulder. As I kicked him, his landings would be affected by the battle scar and he would bounce around spasmodically, completely unpredictable. He reminded me of my sporadic, hyper self. Secondly, Artmalfabrico was, in my childish history, the rock that traveled the farthest. The canal road is about 2.2 miles from Pepe's street to my home. So it is pretty long! Anyway, he traveled about a mile and a half with me, if I can measure it out correctly mentally. That's a plus.
The last thing about this rock, was that he grew on me. With every kick, his little pebble friends would go flying with the dust, but he would launch the furthest. Clear into outer space, it would seem to him. He was like Superman launching himself from a dead stop into the atmosphere to stop Lex Luther! The little guy was my baby growing up!
When I found him, destiny took over. I began by spotting a rock and kicking it. I soon learned of his background, his life stories, his goals, and memorized his appearance. He was blue, with a big white spot on one side of him. He called it his "good side". Soon we began to kick for the fun of it, and not for just mindless distractions.
Rocks are hard, you see. They have no nerves. It was not painful for him to be kicked around by a human as big and strong as I. He actually enjoyed it, you must understand. He had a stomach that would seem to float while he was launched into the air like a cannonball, and then he would plop to the ground, all the while screaming "Brava!" in his English accent.
All relationships never last forever. It was a tragic story, the day Artmalfabrico ran away from me. He must have been sick of my continuous kicks and my put down talk, but nevertheless, he broke my heart. One kick, and he rebounded his way right off the side of the canal road and down the hill towards the overgrown weeds that lie below.
I stood and watched him roll away, feeling empty as I looked back at the hundred feet I had to walk before I was close to home. I had planned on picking him up and taking him home when I got to the slope that lead back to my home...but it all went awry.
I walked the rest of the way normally, suddenly quite aware of the biting cold and my boring feet tripping over pebbles who hated me.
The next day, I met a new rock friend, but the emotional tie was no longer present between me and the rockfolk. I gave up kicking him when this new friend had jumped to safety down the hill, following in Fabrico's rollprints.
I will never love a rock again!
Nov 16, 2011
Day Nine: Zeitgeist
Zeitgeist: Zeit being the German word for time, and geist being the German word for ghost. The Ghost of Time. When I first read this, I thought to myself, "Hey. What the heck does she mean by that? Time Ghost? It makes no sense! What are we supposed to write about it?" I was about to retype my thoughts nicely in this post. I began typing out the first sentence above, and then I stopped. I suddenly knew what I was going to write about. Emily words it as "the spirit of the times", but I word it as The Ghost of Time because it fits better with how I want to blog about this subject. Stay with me, folks, I know that sentence was a little difficult to comprehend and I probably didn't make it easy on you.
Yes well... I don't necessarily get the picture, but I figured it appropriately went with the topic. (Name wise.) I also figured I need to put more pictures in my posts, otherwise it will all be boring. Very, very boring. Maybe that's why no one reads my blog!
The Ghost of Times kind of sounds like something you would say when you get very serious and lean in to your significant other and monotonously whisper, "The past is catching up to me...I cannot be with you any longer." And then your spouse creates a dramatic, heartbroken exit, only to return in the second film once again.
But it seems zeitgeist is just a word used to define things that happen in a nation. Kind of like how the renaissance was a "zeitgeist" for England after the Roman inhabitant of their early 1000's. It was a past age. Get it? Ha. Ha. I'm brilliant.
But really, Emily...Zeitgeist? I'm going to ask the people of facebook what I should write about it, knowing I'll publish what I have here now, ask the question, get stupid feedback, and then never come to update this post again.
Ta ta!
Yes well... I don't necessarily get the picture, but I figured it appropriately went with the topic. (Name wise.) I also figured I need to put more pictures in my posts, otherwise it will all be boring. Very, very boring. Maybe that's why no one reads my blog!
The Ghost of Times kind of sounds like something you would say when you get very serious and lean in to your significant other and monotonously whisper, "The past is catching up to me...I cannot be with you any longer." And then your spouse creates a dramatic, heartbroken exit, only to return in the second film once again.
But it seems zeitgeist is just a word used to define things that happen in a nation. Kind of like how the renaissance was a "zeitgeist" for England after the Roman inhabitant of their early 1000's. It was a past age. Get it? Ha. Ha. I'm brilliant.
But really, Emily...Zeitgeist? I'm going to ask the people of facebook what I should write about it, knowing I'll publish what I have here now, ask the question, get stupid feedback, and then never come to update this post again.
Ta ta!
Nov 10, 2011
Chaz and the Drunkard
So I drew a comic the other day. Look at it.
The End.
You guys love it. I know you do. I know I do.
Once upon a time, I used to draw hilarious comics about Mr. Chruma dying a hundred million deaths. It's freaking awesome. I'll look into putting a comic up for you guys. :D
The End.
You guys love it. I know you do. I know I do.
Once upon a time, I used to draw hilarious comics about Mr. Chruma dying a hundred million deaths. It's freaking awesome. I'll look into putting a comic up for you guys. :D
Nov 8, 2011
The Comfort of a Notebook
This week has been full of not-so-happy days. I can't explain the exact reasons as to why that is, but I feel like retyping a journal entry I made today in my simple green notebook. It's meant to be my tenth grade journal. I'll refer you back to Catching Up and High School, where my first Journal entries were introduced on the blog. My plan for this Journal is just to contain my contemplative thoughts and problems that I might not be able to bring up with other people. If they turn out good enough, I might just post them up blog-style, like today.
The problem with these entries is that I only write them when I have something genuine to say. It's my way of thinking deeply. Sometimes it may not make sense because it's only for me to understand. Sometimes it may not seem accurate about me because I'm just discovering it about me or unearthing it from long ago.
Sometimes my thoughts trouble me. I'm afraid to say this, but sometimes my thinking leads me down a path I can't stop myself from following. I almost always think about the future when I try not to. The past and its mistakes haunt my every waking hour. There's always that moment when I realize how scary my thinking is, and how I wish to stop it even though it's too late.
When I think it up, it stays with me forever.
November 8th, 2011
I knew that sooner or later I would be back to this journal. Happiness never lasts forever. I knew I wouldn't be obliviously happy like I was a few weeks ago.
Who am I?
Do I disagree on things without a reasoning behind it? Religion is hard to prove or back up, but I'd rather not think about religion or God or reincarnation right now.
Who am I?
Am I just like everyone else? I try to set myself apart from other teenagers. I don't want to be another doll on the conveyor belt. Sometimes I try so hard, but sometimes it just blows up in my face.
I want school work to drown me. I don't want time to think, because if I let that free time consume me, I'll finally discover that my thoughts are jumbled and that it's the only thing blocking me from realizing what my true fear is.
What if I can't live up to what I want to be? What if I give up trying to be unique? I'm afraid I'll lose my hold on what I want and become lost in the masses that pull me down. I'm paranoid that this ocean of doubt will cloud my judgment and that I'll give in to peer pressure without a second chance. Sometimes it seems that being a child is the only real happiness in this world, because obliviousness and ignorance was the only thing that I knew.
I know that the people I hang out with don't appeal to most. I know that I don't have any standards or morals, but I'm sure that I'm still strong enough to accept the criticism I get for it.
It's just so hard when I can't please people. I can't please my cousin all the time or Pepe or Almond or Mom or Dad or my superiors or my brothers... Would it be easier to wear a mask and agree with everybody on everything? Should I stop trying to please everyone? Should I stop forming opinions that piss people off?
Or should I be myself and get even further into this whole ordeal?
Or maybe I could incorporate a little bit of both and draw my line. I am not going to die if I take some time alone and find myself before I try to find the people inside my friends.
The problem with these entries is that I only write them when I have something genuine to say. It's my way of thinking deeply. Sometimes it may not make sense because it's only for me to understand. Sometimes it may not seem accurate about me because I'm just discovering it about me or unearthing it from long ago.
Sometimes my thoughts trouble me. I'm afraid to say this, but sometimes my thinking leads me down a path I can't stop myself from following. I almost always think about the future when I try not to. The past and its mistakes haunt my every waking hour. There's always that moment when I realize how scary my thinking is, and how I wish to stop it even though it's too late.
When I think it up, it stays with me forever.
November 8th, 2011
I knew that sooner or later I would be back to this journal. Happiness never lasts forever. I knew I wouldn't be obliviously happy like I was a few weeks ago.
Who am I?
Do I disagree on things without a reasoning behind it? Religion is hard to prove or back up, but I'd rather not think about religion or God or reincarnation right now.
Who am I?
Am I just like everyone else? I try to set myself apart from other teenagers. I don't want to be another doll on the conveyor belt. Sometimes I try so hard, but sometimes it just blows up in my face.
I want school work to drown me. I don't want time to think, because if I let that free time consume me, I'll finally discover that my thoughts are jumbled and that it's the only thing blocking me from realizing what my true fear is.
What if I can't live up to what I want to be? What if I give up trying to be unique? I'm afraid I'll lose my hold on what I want and become lost in the masses that pull me down. I'm paranoid that this ocean of doubt will cloud my judgment and that I'll give in to peer pressure without a second chance. Sometimes it seems that being a child is the only real happiness in this world, because obliviousness and ignorance was the only thing that I knew.
I know that the people I hang out with don't appeal to most. I know that I don't have any standards or morals, but I'm sure that I'm still strong enough to accept the criticism I get for it.
It's just so hard when I can't please people. I can't please my cousin all the time or Pepe or Almond or Mom or Dad or my superiors or my brothers... Would it be easier to wear a mask and agree with everybody on everything? Should I stop trying to please everyone? Should I stop forming opinions that piss people off?
Or should I be myself and get even further into this whole ordeal?
Or maybe I could incorporate a little bit of both and draw my line. I am not going to die if I take some time alone and find myself before I try to find the people inside my friends.
Nov 7, 2011
Day Eight: Twilight
It could be the time of the day, Twilight, but I think I'll just gush about how girly and amazing Stephanie Meyer's books are. Sarcasm is so hard to show through text. So in case you didn't get it the first time, that was sarcasm. Twilight was alright. Everyone loved it at first. Like, loved it. Even I did when I first read the books. I probably read Twilight and Breaking Dawn ten times each because I loved them so much.
"What is this, you're twentieth time reading it?" My dad would say.
"Tenth, father," I would correct sophisticatedly.
He would chuckle at me like I was a pathetic soul. "Don't you read anything better? Or anything different at all?"
"I read The Host!"
"Also by that horrible author." My dad sighed.
"What? You said you've read Lord of the Rings twenty three times!"
"That's different. It's a good book."
"So is this!"
He inspired me to pick up a new book, and that was when the wave of obsession hit and Twilight suddenly got old in my mind. I discovered better books, with better writing and better characters, and came to hate Twilight as all the masses were. Twilight was still a little inside joke between my cousin and I, because we read it together and associated the characters with our own characters and loved Edward.
Until the movies came out.
Look at this creeper face!
She and I went to see the movie for the first time in theaters, and throughout the movie we were laughing our asses off. First of all, Robert Pattinson is very unattractive. Some might even call him ugly, but the poor guy doesn't deserve that much, considering he was so good in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Secondly, the animation, the running, the effects; it was all horrific. Thirdly, Carlisle was too hot for his own good. I personally didn't like how they did the vampire bites...yuck.
Twilight therefore sucked forever because of the movie's betrayal. Kristen Stewart is pretty, but she's too....ew. I don't know. I guess it's just the character Bella that I hate so much. Going over Stephanie's writing after reading Anne Rice or Stephen King, I realized how her vocabulary must have been obtained directly from a thesaurus and illfitted with her writer's voice.
Then last night I was reading The Vampire Lestat, and I caught something that brought down a revelation in me. Stephanie Meyer used a hell of a lot of Anne Rice's concepts in Twilight and in her vampires. Of course, Meyer had to make it uniquely her own. So she made the vamps in her story horrendous and lame.
First of all, in Interview with the Vampire, Louis recalls how he didn't want to take away a human's life, and how he lived off of rats in the sewer whilst Lestat went off on his own time with Claudia and feasted upon human blood. Louis was a philosophical man and it made sense that he was so hesitant to drink from a human, but Stephanie comes in and just gives us a whole clan of "Vegetarian" vampires who only feed on animals because Edward and his messed up family don't like to drink humans. Where's the awesomeness in that? Why does it remind me of Louis?
Anne Rice describes how fire burns vampires and if they don't have their ashes spread, they'll return in a more gruesomer state. Meyer has her vampires burn. Whoo hoo.
"I straightened my hair until it was impeccably straight." - Stephanie Meyer. Honestly? I see her trying too hard to be literate and have a strong vocabulary.
"Rather this was a thousand times more luscious, tasting of the thick human heart that pumped it, the very essence of that hot, almost smoky scent." - Anne Rice.
You see the difference?
I'm just trying to make a point. As an up and coming author, I'm beginning to get a sense of style and voices and patterns in Author's writing. The more books I read, the more my taste begins to grow and the more my own writing begins to improve. If I had continued to read Stephanie Meyer over and over, I'd probably be as bad as her.
I remember hearing this from someone, though I cannot name the face to give them credit. I think it might be my mom, or Almond...Maybe a teacher? "Don't worry about big words. As long as you tell the story, that's what matters. Talk as you normally talk and use words you know well. Do not use a thesaurus."
Pretty wise, huh? In your face Stephanie Meyer! I actually learn words in school and then use those words after I've practiced with them. Not look up "Perfect" on the thesaurus and choose the most foreign looking one there. "Oooh, impeccable. That sounds like a great word! I'll use it!"
Unless it's all the editor's doing, you're at fault Ms. Meyer. Just saying.
"What is this, you're twentieth time reading it?" My dad would say.
"Tenth, father," I would correct sophisticatedly.
He would chuckle at me like I was a pathetic soul. "Don't you read anything better? Or anything different at all?"
"I read The Host!"
"Also by that horrible author." My dad sighed.
"What? You said you've read Lord of the Rings twenty three times!"
"That's different. It's a good book."
"So is this!"
He inspired me to pick up a new book, and that was when the wave of obsession hit and Twilight suddenly got old in my mind. I discovered better books, with better writing and better characters, and came to hate Twilight as all the masses were. Twilight was still a little inside joke between my cousin and I, because we read it together and associated the characters with our own characters and loved Edward.
Until the movies came out.
Look at this creeper face!
She and I went to see the movie for the first time in theaters, and throughout the movie we were laughing our asses off. First of all, Robert Pattinson is very unattractive. Some might even call him ugly, but the poor guy doesn't deserve that much, considering he was so good in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Secondly, the animation, the running, the effects; it was all horrific. Thirdly, Carlisle was too hot for his own good. I personally didn't like how they did the vampire bites...yuck.
Twilight therefore sucked forever because of the movie's betrayal. Kristen Stewart is pretty, but she's too....ew. I don't know. I guess it's just the character Bella that I hate so much. Going over Stephanie's writing after reading Anne Rice or Stephen King, I realized how her vocabulary must have been obtained directly from a thesaurus and illfitted with her writer's voice.
Then last night I was reading The Vampire Lestat, and I caught something that brought down a revelation in me. Stephanie Meyer used a hell of a lot of Anne Rice's concepts in Twilight and in her vampires. Of course, Meyer had to make it uniquely her own. So she made the vamps in her story horrendous and lame.
First of all, in Interview with the Vampire, Louis recalls how he didn't want to take away a human's life, and how he lived off of rats in the sewer whilst Lestat went off on his own time with Claudia and feasted upon human blood. Louis was a philosophical man and it made sense that he was so hesitant to drink from a human, but Stephanie comes in and just gives us a whole clan of "Vegetarian" vampires who only feed on animals because Edward and his messed up family don't like to drink humans. Where's the awesomeness in that? Why does it remind me of Louis?
Anne Rice describes how fire burns vampires and if they don't have their ashes spread, they'll return in a more gruesomer state. Meyer has her vampires burn. Whoo hoo.
"I straightened my hair until it was impeccably straight." - Stephanie Meyer. Honestly? I see her trying too hard to be literate and have a strong vocabulary.
"Rather this was a thousand times more luscious, tasting of the thick human heart that pumped it, the very essence of that hot, almost smoky scent." - Anne Rice.
You see the difference?
I'm just trying to make a point. As an up and coming author, I'm beginning to get a sense of style and voices and patterns in Author's writing. The more books I read, the more my taste begins to grow and the more my own writing begins to improve. If I had continued to read Stephanie Meyer over and over, I'd probably be as bad as her.
I remember hearing this from someone, though I cannot name the face to give them credit. I think it might be my mom, or Almond...Maybe a teacher? "Don't worry about big words. As long as you tell the story, that's what matters. Talk as you normally talk and use words you know well. Do not use a thesaurus."
Pretty wise, huh? In your face Stephanie Meyer! I actually learn words in school and then use those words after I've practiced with them. Not look up "Perfect" on the thesaurus and choose the most foreign looking one there. "Oooh, impeccable. That sounds like a great word! I'll use it!"
Unless it's all the editor's doing, you're at fault Ms. Meyer. Just saying.
Nov 4, 2011
Day Seven (Techically): Sports
I've stalled for so long with this topic, obviously, since the time span between day Six and day Seven was not a 24 hour time period. I think it's mostly because sports don't entertain me (or matter to me). I curse Emily for putting sports on her list. Of course, she must have figured guys would want to do this blog challenge as well; if we assume they have blogs and would most certainly talk about sports. Or maybe there are girls who are just crazy in love with sports and have a whole blog dedicated to just hardcore football. The world might never know. O.o
I suppose I could begin with a dreadfully boring introduction about which sports I like, but I feel as though I should challenge my reader into discerning the exact sports that fascinate me more than others by reading between the lines. I'll probably make you read a big long post, and at the very end, you'll find a clean list of the sports I like. That doesn't mean you should skip down to the bottom! Maybe it isn't down there o.O. You might never know.
Men are always obsessing over Football, Basketball, or Baseball. What I don't understand is the real fascination within these sports. You have men with dramatically huge muscles running around in tights and huge shoulder pads with a ball under their arm. They go from point A to point B for a few points. I've been thinking on the phrase "points" or "score". It is an intangible thing that people work to receive, and yet there is absolutely no reward because you cannot hold the points in your hand and say, "Hey, check it out! I have a point!" If we all did that, people might often mistake the phrase, "You sure have a point," for holding a tangible felt number.
The only reward I can really think of is a trophy if they win the world cup or whatever it is in football. Maybe scholarships if they are in college.
That's another thing I don't quite understand. (I probably don't understand all of these aspects to sports because my logic just isn't one with society's.) If a person builds up their hopes and dreams, works their body to perfection, is so close to getting an athletic scholarship that has nothing to do with academics in anyway, and suddenly gets in a car crash, what are they supposed to do? WHY do people award scholarships like that anyway? If you play professional sports and get paid for it, it means you're an entertainer. You might as well have been a gladiator in the Roman Empire. My point is, if you're an entertainer, I think it'd be funnier if you were a comedian, singer, or a Karaoke drunkard.
That's just my opinion. Don't get me wrong! I wholeheartedly and a half agree with exercise. Tis good for you. How on earth did exercise get turned into a game though? I mean, running is good enough for me.
This world will forever confuse me in every way possible. I will NEVER discern the secret to life, and so I'll probably have to live with the fact that I can't know everything, and if I did, I would be miserable.
The End.
((P.S. My favorite sports are Basketball, Tennis, and Volleyball. Yay.))
I suppose I could begin with a dreadfully boring introduction about which sports I like, but I feel as though I should challenge my reader into discerning the exact sports that fascinate me more than others by reading between the lines. I'll probably make you read a big long post, and at the very end, you'll find a clean list of the sports I like. That doesn't mean you should skip down to the bottom! Maybe it isn't down there o.O. You might never know.
Men are always obsessing over Football, Basketball, or Baseball. What I don't understand is the real fascination within these sports. You have men with dramatically huge muscles running around in tights and huge shoulder pads with a ball under their arm. They go from point A to point B for a few points. I've been thinking on the phrase "points" or "score". It is an intangible thing that people work to receive, and yet there is absolutely no reward because you cannot hold the points in your hand and say, "Hey, check it out! I have a point!" If we all did that, people might often mistake the phrase, "You sure have a point," for holding a tangible felt number.
The only reward I can really think of is a trophy if they win the world cup or whatever it is in football. Maybe scholarships if they are in college.
That's another thing I don't quite understand. (I probably don't understand all of these aspects to sports because my logic just isn't one with society's.) If a person builds up their hopes and dreams, works their body to perfection, is so close to getting an athletic scholarship that has nothing to do with academics in anyway, and suddenly gets in a car crash, what are they supposed to do? WHY do people award scholarships like that anyway? If you play professional sports and get paid for it, it means you're an entertainer. You might as well have been a gladiator in the Roman Empire. My point is, if you're an entertainer, I think it'd be funnier if you were a comedian, singer, or a Karaoke drunkard.
That's just my opinion. Don't get me wrong! I wholeheartedly and a half agree with exercise. Tis good for you. How on earth did exercise get turned into a game though? I mean, running is good enough for me.
This world will forever confuse me in every way possible. I will NEVER discern the secret to life, and so I'll probably have to live with the fact that I can't know everything, and if I did, I would be miserable.
The End.
((P.S. My favorite sports are Basketball, Tennis, and Volleyball. Yay.))
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)