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| Most seniors have a driver's license. I do not. This is, in many ways,
a blessing. Many of you probably know by now that I got into a car
accident not too long ago on the way to a CBC concert with my mother
and brother. Long story short, some woman plowed into my rear right
side passenger door as I made a left turn at an intersection where the
traffic light displayed a green left arrow. The police officer at the
scene decided not to listen to me, and instead filed in his report that
I observed a solid yellow light, disregarding the conflicting
statements between the other driver and the only witness. The court
date to contest the fine for failure to yeild (not a typo; both the
ticket and report actually spelt "yield" like that) the right of way is
next Tuesday. As a permit driver, I will most likely lose. Nonetheless,
I intend to wear a suit and go down well-dressed.
More importantly, the paranoia has been so overwhelming for the past
two months to the point where, in the past week, I have had two
frighteningly vivid dreams about causing car accidents. My mother no
longer trusts me to drive her around, and personal doubts regarding my
eyesight have been exacerbated thousandfold. None of my friends seem to
have any problem with driving, unsafe as many of them are. There are
those who, with the music blaring and the passengers screaming, could,
and do, fly down the freeway breaking 90 mph, whip around sharp corners
fast enough to flip the vehicle, or rush out of intersections with
hardly a cursory glance. Providence smiles and leads these drivers home
unscathed.
Providence slaps me across the face.
I am a safe driver. This is a bold statement coming from a teenage
permit driver who has yet to fulfill his six months practice, but to
the naysayers among my peers, I submit the corollary statement, "fuck
you." I never ran more than ten miles above the speed limit, cut people
off, or flipped anyone the bird. I always made use of turn signals,
kept both eyes on the road, and tried my damnedest to be wary of my
surroundings. Hell, neither of my parents would even let me listen to
music; only their incessant yelling and the cold, impersonal voice of a
GPS navigator because I never knew where to go, which remains one of
the greatest sources of frustration.
Mistakes were made, of course. Once, at night, I turned at a four way
intersection and failed to see a car coming at me. The sound of
screeching tires is still difficult to forget. Another time, during the
day, I shot onto a road without seeing the "yield" sign. Luckily, these
events occured without notable incident. Despite having learned from
experience the importance of vigilance, I am furious that others
continue to drive so much more recklessly and get away with it.
After thorough deliberation, I have decided to purchase one of these:
When other people shop for land-based vehicles with safety in mind, they turn to sports utility vehicles.
I turn to the military.
Behold, the modern tank. With gas mileage at approximately three
gallons per mile, an M1 Abrams can already compete with most SUVs
anyway, so I might as well go to extremes. Soccer moms and aspiring
pimps can keep their silly Cadillac Escalades and Lincoln Navigators.
Some connoisseurs opt for the Hummer, but why go through the trouble of
mounting crew-served machineguns on the roof when the M1 Abrams comes
with a 120mm M256 smoothbore cannon standard?
Consider the advantages of driving a tank versus a car. The main cannon
swivels three hundred and sixty degrees to eliminate any opposition on
the road, thereby preventing car accidents one hundred percent of the
time; without cars, there can be no car accidents. Even if the
driver were to encounter a vehicle of considerable threat, i.e. another
tank, the driver is surrounded on all sides by steel encased depleted
uranium armor, eliminating risk of broken glass or metal shards from
other vehicles should an accident occur.
Besides, if you were to drive a tank, no one would be able to say "I never saw him coming, officer."
I cannot believe that no one else has thought of this before. Not to my
knowledge, anyway, otherwise I would be seeing more tanks on the road.
Have a nice day.
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| Tomorrow is the first day of school. Tonight I enjoy my last hours
reflecting on my summer, because I have not done so in previous years.
Why do it now? Because my summer was much better than yours. I had the
pleasure of living in Germany for nearly three weeks as part of a
foreign exchange in which I did not have to host anyone in America, and
also the pleasure of attending CBC as is my annual custom. First order
of business, Deutschland 2005. Pictures courtesy of Kelly and myself.
If these girls look too young for me, that is because they are. Long story.
The following pictures took place at a house party hosted by my host
Philip. His basement includes a fully equipped bar. This was my home
for three weeks. Use your imagination.
Lisa and me
Neilst (Nilst?)
This man is a real German.
My gracious German host, Philip, who so graciously let me stay at his home.
Franz, heavily intoxicated. I need not elaborate.
Later in the trip, our group attended Abi-ball, which is the German
equivalent of a senior prom, except with a lowered legal drinking and
smoking age.
Sven, whose birthday/house party I attended earlier that week. Great guy.
Franz and me in the lobby
Franz running his hand up my thigh
Steph and me
Kelly and me
Having a great time
Man whose name I forgot on the left, Benjamin on the right
Tim, a cheerful fellow from Sven's party
Elyse and me
Olga and Claudia
Towards the end, I went with my host family on a hunting trip. We stayed in a picturesque little village.
See that belt? It is adorned with, not shotgun shells, but small
bottles of Underberg, a potent liquor to be consumed "after a good
meal" (translated from the bottle). Legitimate hunting gear.
The inscription at the bottom of the plate reads, "Mensch--wir haben ja
unsere Gewehre vergessen!" which means, "Damnit--we have forgotten our
rifles." The picture shows two German hunters with backpacks full of
beer.
Like I said, picturesque.
This image was not modified in any way, I took this picture in a local
convenience store. Axe seriously markets this stuff in Germany,
although I cannot attest to whether it actually works.
Photo taken on a walk
Different angle
The last few days in Germany were certainly not as exciting, but nonetheless I squeezed in a few more photos.
In case you were wondering, this is a barbershop. I would like to work here.
During the party the night before the last day of school, this guy was
wasted on only five beers. My host remarked that when I got home, I
could declare myself more German than this guy was, because my alcohol
tolerance was higher. Damn straight.
And the grand finale...
Photo courtesy of Kelly at Checkpoint Charlie in Berlin
Next, Chinese Band Camp 2005. These pictures are in no particular
order, and are courtesy of Brittany and Michelle. Brittany's pictures
go first.
One night, an army of hideous moths attacked our cabin and terrorized
us for several hours. This piece of shit was almost as large as my
hand. Richard caught and encapsulated it. I am in his debt.
Xiangqi (Chinese Chess) is the best game ever.
I fail to remember exactly why I made this face.
Christina and me; I was wearing a do-rag. Stop making fun of me. I will explain this momentarily.
This is, in fact, an improvised do-rag constructed from a T-shirt. Our
camp took place inside of a Buddhist monastery on top of a mountain in
Deer Park, New York. It gets hot up there, but that is not the worst
part. The humidity exceeds 100%. Comedian Lewis Black said it best,
"You know the humidity is over a hundred when you step outside and say,
'You know, I should have put deodorant on my balls.'"
Shelby, with his whacked-out instrument whose name I forget
Andrew (Cripple), who would probably prefer not to have any information about him revealed
Brian, a fellow fan of Family Guy and sharp guy overall
Eric, our fearless leader, Michelle, Ahmin, Christina, and Chris (Schizo)
My good friends Jackie and Michelle, hopped up on their trademark beverage
Awww...
Now, Michelle's pictures.
Michelle, and the best picture of Leon that I could find. Leon is my
German-speaking friend of comparable strength (or lack thereof), and a
veteran CBC member.
Brittany, Jackie, Michelle, Ahmin, Christina, Catherine
Emily on the left, Angie on the right, and me in the center. Two of the sweetest girls I know.
Group shot
Another group shot
This concludes my reflections on summer vacation. Pictures are worth a
thousand words, and quite honestly I am tired of talking so much. My
appreciation goes out to everyone who made me feel as wonderful as
I do now. I love every damn one of you.
If you wanted another purely humorous entry...suck it up.
Have a nice day.
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| I took three SAT II: Subject Tests this morning: Literature, History,
and Math, in that order. It was not until I read MercuryWolf88's Xanga
(whose material I highly recommend) while keeping up on my
subscriptions that it dawned on me. Nobody talks about the SAT IIs. In
fact, I had not known they actually existed as anything other than
superstition and old wives' tales until the SAT II: Writing was
absorbed by the SAT I: Reasoning Test, begetting the newly revamped
abomination that was to be administrated from
March 2005 onwards. I did fairly well on the new SAT I, so I will not
waste your time lamenting its nature as so many others have done before
me. Read http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=MercuryWolf88
What I will do is describe the SAT IIs.
Once upon a time, there were three organizations: Collegeboard,
Educational Testing Services (ETS), and Scantron. In their eternal
quest for profit, they banded together as one and declared to the
nation, "We, the Unholy Trinity of American Education, know everything.
As such, it is our divine right to impose our system of objective
scoring on every facet of learning, and to shit all over your
intelligence." Soon thereafter, the collective body of Collegeboard,
ETS, and Scantron squatted over the entire East Coast, and what came
out was the SAT I: Reasoning Test.
This greatly angered the great Eastern schools of the Ivy League, the
Ancient Eight whose faces the Unholy Trinity had shat upon. In their
pompous arrogance as the Mecca for every self-respecting American pupil of Asian
pedigree, they arose and declared to the Unholy Trinity, "We, the Ivy
League, are the greatest schools ever. As such, we demand tests of
higher selectivity, so that we may decrease our acceptance rates
annually." Soon thereafter, the collective body of Collegeboard, ETS,
and Scantron
squatted over the entire East Coast, and what came out were the SAT II:
Subject Tests.
Too tired. More to come.
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| Ladies and gentlemen, you have a Parsippany Hills High School sophomore
named Paul to thank for bringing you this entry. His last name will
remain anonymous to deter stalkers, but the first name will be revealed
such that he receives the due credit from the people who know him
personally. I, on the other hand, am now inclined to stuff him in a
large burlap sack with a proportionately large panda for reminding me
of my obligation to compose petty rhetoric on a whim:
Granted, the man knows karate (seriously) well enough to defend himself
against muggers and rapists. In a fair fight, I would never win, so
what incentive does that give me to ever fight fair? Matched against a
panda, who knows how Paul will fare? The next day I can cut open the
sack to find Paul's dismembered carcass being gnawed upon with a
filling meal of Chinese dumplings.
Ling-Ling appears satisfied with his meal, but what are dumplings
without soy sauce? Eating dumplings without soy sauce is much like
being in a public restroom without pissing on the toilet seat:
downright un-American.
Praise America for giving me the opportunity to feed people to pandas,
and still have the luxury of soy sauce. Damn, I love this country. In
fact, I love it so much that one day, I shall control its criminal
underground and operate the federal government from behind the scenes
with my massive army of elite pandas! The president, the military, the
mafia, the tobacco industry...nothing shall stand in my way!
Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld: "Mr. President, the pandas have
breached the White House perimeter! What are we going to do?!"
President George W. Bush: "What?! How the hell did they get past the Secret Service? Colin, do we stand a chance against them?"
Secretary Colin Powell: "No, I'm afraid we're fucked, Mr. President."
Bonasera: "Don Corleone, there has been an attack on your estate!"
Don Corleone: "I understand. You found paradise in America, had a good
trade, made a good living. The police protected you; and there were
courts of law. And you didn't need a friend of me. But uh, now you come
to me and you say -- "Don Corleone give me justice." -- But you don't
ask with respect. You don't offer friendship. You don't even think to
call me Godfather. Instead, you come into my house on the day my
daughter is to be married, and you uh...wait, what?"
Bonasera: "Godfather, I beg of you, look outside your window! Pandas are eating your daughter alive!"
Don Corleone: "What the fuck?"
Tobacco Company Executive 1: "Fellow businessmen, I gather you
here today to discuss a nationwide problem of growing concern."
Tobacco Company Executive 2: "The health risks associated with smoking tobacco?"
Tobacco Company Executive 1: "Hahaha, that's funny as hell, Jim. You
should write it down or something. Anyway, the problem is that pandas
of mysterious origin keep eating our consumers."
Tobacco Company Executive 3: "I propose we bribe the pandas to leave
our primary demographic groups alone. Everybody has a price."
Tobacco Company Executive 2: "Pandas eat people and bamboo. Why would they want money?"
Tobacco Company Executive 1: "..."
Tobacco Company Executive 2: "..."
Tobacco Company Executive 3: "...Shit."
Behold! Ling-Ling cleans his teeth, having washed down a bowl of
healthy dumplings with human blood. Many notorious supervillains
throughout history were remembered in particular for their
idiosyncrasies. Lex Luthor, archenemy of Superman, was remembered for
being bald.
Lex Luthor: "Hey guys, I just applied another coat of wax to my head!"
The Joker, archenemy of Batman, was known for his skin condition.
The Joker: "NO GODDAMNIT I DO NOT HAVE THE SAME SKIN DISEASE AS MICHAEL JACKSON!!!"
For my love of Chinese dumplings, I shall be known as...
More to come.
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