Speaking

Shakespeare once said that brevity is the soul of wit. If this post were to be witty, it would be over by now. I'm not going to do that. Nope. Instead, you get a post about discussion etiquette.

Inspired by one of my friends, I have taken up the practice of never sending one-word texts. The funny thing about language is that it usually takes more than one word to convey an intelligible sentence, let alone a meaningful one. Our word choice betrays much of our personality. If you have spent any time around me, it will be evident that I'm well aware of this. To offer my own evaluation, the way I speak is a fairly straightforward one. I try to convey my message, but at the same time, tinge every sentence with a bit of flavor, a slice of irony. It doesn't matter if I'm addressing my parents, my teachers, or my live studio audience, my voice remains the same. I try to use the voice the Blarney Stone granted me to attempt conveying my thoughts in the most effective way possible. I've got a few rules I hold to when speaking, most of which I've already touched on in this piece. The rest of this post will be me expounding on them:

1) Don't be brief

We've already touched enough on this one.

2) Don't be long-winded

Almost as harmful as being brief, saying too much is another speaking pitfall I attempt to jump over at any opportunity. Nothing loses a crowd like drowning them in supplementary material.

3) Always censor your thoughts

One of the things that drives me crazy are those who have no filter separating their brain from their mouth. There's a reason that our brain isn't broadcast for the world to hear: it says a ton of stupid things.

4) Never censor the way you expound on them.

One thing I consider to be a strength of mine when I speak. Regardless of my audience, my diction remains rather constant. If you have to change to fit your audience, your voice isn't good enough.

5) Always speak with a hint of humor

The most sure fire way to engage a crowd is to make sure that they have something worth listening to. Whether I speak as an orator or as a disgruntled student, I want my audience to know that I want them to be entertained.

Following my own tip #2, I'm done.



Peace out, readers.

Being a Man

Nothing Interesting is on TV. There are a lot of stupid people on the internet, I don't want to be knocked out by the Summer Reading Assignment again, and my jaw is still to sore to do anything meaningful outside. I'm blogging.

Now, this post is derived from a discussion I've had with quite a few of my female friends (yes, this demographic does exist). It is the age-long discussion that has re-emerged in every generation: What does it mean to be a man?

Let's enter into this discussion the most fitting way possible.

Now that we've been properly introduced, let's do this the good old-fashioned way. Doubtless, there are many benefits to being a man. Of course, the Y chromosome is also a burden to bear. Ladies and gents, I give unto you a Pros and Cons chart!

Pros of Being a Man:

Never have to worry about hair
Allowed to watch stupid movies and not be judged as harsly
We can freely admit that bodily functions exist in front of each other
No make-up
Generally less dramatic lives
Interior design doesn't bug most men
We aren't expected to be as artsy
7 shades of color. That's it
Guy jerks, although usually pretty bad, are nowhere near as bad as female jerks
You get to like cool things like Avatar and Batman and not get shunned because of it
Get to be as mysterious ad the dark side of the moon
Most members of your sex don't talk
Getting to be a dad. How cool is that?

Con, Man (See what I did there?)

You end up hanging out with a lot of pyros
You are expected to like sports
Having to always take the initiative when dealing with relationships
Have to fight a bear like every night
The constant pressure to appear masculine
Most other members of your sex can't talk
Men's locker rooms
Get to work until we're 65
Hair must remain above the neckline
Often viewed as the brute workers, not fun
Wangst is often more frowned on

That's all for now. This post may very well warrant a part two.

Participation Points and Punks

In a nutshell, I hate both.

This is a post I've been meaning to write for quite a while, so I guess I'll elaborate a bit more.

Participation points are the great hoe of of the grade book. They can take the average student's grade and pump it up to a ridiculous level. Never mind grades acting as a measure of aptitude! You can color in a map? Take some points. You read the chapter last night? Have a few points. Points piled upon points, until only minimal skill is needed to pass the class.

Now, I'm not saying that participation points should be done away with entirely. No. A few participation points, when used sparingly and wisely, can give a bit of wiggle room for the stressed student. Participation points, however, should not be enough to raise a D to an A.

This is where the punks come in. If somebody sits in a pool of participation points long enough, they will eventually notice that something is up. As soon as they do, people start riding the system. Remember that kid I told you about a few posts ago? The one who was just going to "have fun" on the final? It was because he felt he had the security of a thousand fodder assignments at his back. Participation points are stupid. The end.


Peace out, readers.

The Pre-Surgical Post

In a few hours, I get to undergo the removal of my wisdom teeth. Wheeeee. I was considering a great number of things to talk about in this post. You could have read about the blues, about arterials and side streets, about participation points, or perhaps about forging signatures. Nope. Today, you get to read about the ever-so-exciting topic... Of fandom.

Ah yes, the raving sea of devotees that find a book or television show that is so magical, they have to tell everyone. Their greatest joy in life, aside from watching their show of choice, is rubbing it into the face of every other teenager on the planet. If my view isn't clear yet, I really hate fandoms. Let's take a look at a few:

Harry Potter:

The staple example. Harry Potter is a series of fine movies and even better books. JK Rowling is one of the finer authors out there. I fear that her subtle wit goes unnoticed by most of the crowd, in favor of the story of a boy wizard. Here's my problem with the fandom: everyone and their dog has jumped on it. It is one thing to look at the book carefully, as a piece of art, and admire it a such. It is another thing entirely to dress up in robes and point sticks at everything. You're 17 now. Stop it. Harry Potter has been drowned by so many fans, the chances of finding an intelligent, practical one are remote.

Avatar: TLA/LOK:

This is a fan base I tend to tolerate a bit more, on account that there are significantly less cheerleaders on this fandom because they were too busy reading the Harry Potter books to fit in. However, this is where the problem starts. Although a dedicated fanbase, they are, once again, a little too dedicated. Meaning that they don't shut up about it. Ever. Some of the spoony first years took this to crazy proportions. Some kid throws a spoon. "He's a spoonbender!" A guy fans himself while drinking water. "It's the Avatar!" No, kid. It's not the Avatar, he's not spoonbending, and you're giving the show a bad name. Shut up.

(Spoonbender is now part of my auto correct dictionary. How cool is that?)

Doctor Who:

Another one of my favorite shows. Another freaky fandom. True Whovians are great people, mind you, but the number of posers you get in the fandom, well, that's something else entirely. Doctor Who, due to both it's off-the-wall sci-fi nature and being produced on the other side of the pond, produces a great number of stupid hipster fans. I really don't like about 80% of the fandom at my school, because they make up this body of posers. And for what? Who are they trying to impress? Other stupid hipsters. Why can't they have their socially awkward make-out sessions without getting my show in the way?

The Hunger Games:

A fandom crazy enough to drive me away. Future Gladiators fighting to the death in a huge, man-made stadium? Cool. Debates over whether Peeta has nicer abs than Gale? Not cool. This inner bickering, alongside the Harry-Potteresque hype, drove me away in disgust.

Twilight:

This one, I'm not going to discuss the fans. Nope, I'm going after the haters this time around. So I'm defending the books? Sue me. I have never read Stephanie Meyer's book, I don't intend to. It doesn't sound like an appealing series. However, there are too many haters directing their energy at Twilight. I understand if you don't like it, but please at least refrain from telling Facebook three times a day about it. If your final literature project is to graffiti Twilight and call it art, you've probably gone too far.

Fans. I'll never understand them.

Peace out, readers.

Surprises, Part II

Remember my dear old friend I discussed in "Surprises"? Earlier this week, this flower girl of a woman dropped another stick of dynamite among the petals. Sitting around, preparing our final homework assignment, she turned to the boy on my right and said,

"Hey, boy on Eli's right. I totally had a crush on you last year."

My reaction when she dropped a bombshell like this on me earlier:
"What."

I daresay his was far more spectacular:
"What?!?!"

I enjoyed a solid laugh for the next ten minutes or so. Despite the name of this post, this one was not a surprise to me at all. In fact, it wasn't a surprise to most of the returning cast of last year's camp.

The funny thing about human relations is the more objective and outside your view is, the more obvious relationships are. Inversely, those at the heart of the connection are usually the ones who are completely unaware (I've already talked on this subject, you can find it a few posts ago). This was no exception. From the outside, it was obvious that the two home-schooled kids had a thing for each other, and every punch imparted onto this boy's shoulder was a punch of love.

I enjoy that now, a year later, we are able to discuss such things with impunity, and that our awkward web of love did not affect the deep friendship the three of us share. But that is a story of another post.

Peace out, readers.

The End, Part III

First off, a brief announcement: I'm backed up on posts. This, of course, means that I have several deep thoughts, they just need to be put out on display for the world to see. These are all going to be here soon. Some things you may look forward to reading:

Surprises, Part II
Results
Participation Points and Punks
Thoughts on Whatever I Just read in Crime and Punishment
Timing
One Little efy and How He Grew


Now, onto the post itself.

Goodbyes are bittersweet, often for the same reasons. On one hand, you enjoy the opportunity of leaving behind everything you didn't like. On the other, you are forced to leave behind everything you loved. Today, I left the one and only STARTALK for the third time. Each year has blessed me with a different flavor, a different set of challenges and pleasant surprises.

This year, of course, was no exception. I had my ups and downs, my great days and my wangsty day. Returning home will be no small feat. I find myself missing such things as homework, dorm rooms, and meals surrounded by efys. These are days of my life that I will not be able to return to, and I have cherished it as much as I could. Every year, I tell myself that I must recreate these moments. So I re-apply. It's not the same, of course, but then I remember why I love it so. This year, however, is different.

At this time next year, I will be graduated. Up until this point, I have been positive I could make it in again. Now, I'm not so sure. This could very well be my last goodbye. The final end, if you will.

The above thought is not one I usually like to think, but it occurs to me that this had already happened. Out of the 50 people I knew in STARTALK 2010, a grand total of 2 returned. My first year is gone. Things end. Life moves on.

This is one of the saddest endings of them all, but I will survive. It takes a while to readjust to the other 98% of the bell curve. Even so, with a clear goal in mind, I intend to begin anew, and let this very bittersweet end truly come to a close. I will cry manly tears tonight, I will remember my new aquatints with fondness, then I will move on.

That's a lie. I'm not going to move on. I will build on. I stand here with the utmost intent to see every member of my group of peers ten years from now.

It's midnight, my words turn to gibberish. Chinese camp 2012, it's been real.


Peace out, readers.

An Answer

Remember the question I asked yesterday? If no, go back and read that before coming back here. Read it? good. I have come up with an answer for my question. I think I will go the extra mile, and be the very best. This is not because I like work, nor is it due to wanting to be the very best. Heaven knows neither of those have been things I actively seek after. No, the reason I choose this is because I have seen the alternative.

I recall an experience from earlier this year, wherein a fellow student complained about they didn't enjoy their workload in a certain AP class, and asked when they would ever have to use the material in real life. This common complaint alone is enough to drive me over the edge. As a slight tangent, I will give my answer to this complaint as well. No, you will never use calculus in real life. you will probably never have to work with electrochemistry, nor list the rhetoric devices an author uses. A football player never has to lift weights during a game, run laps, or do push-ups. The reason behind both is the same. These classes are not going to translate directly into your job, but it's mental conditioning, mental conditioning that anybody complaining about chose to do themselves. Every time I hear this complaint, I resist the urge to go to the instigator's house and step on their plants.

But I digress. The remainder of this fool's speech explained how he, tired of the work, was just going to "have fun" on the unit final, and not prepare in the slightest for it. He blamed the course for not being well-adjusted toward his needs, and began to criticize its ineffectiveness. It was at this point my brain had to tell my hands, "No, hands. You can't strangle people and not be held legally culpable." Again, my argument against this. I have sat within the same room as this kid for at least 4 years of our educatory lives. The straw that broke the camel's back is the way he consistently played the blame game. He couldn't perform, but it wasn't HIS fault, no. It was the fault of the teacher for yelling at him to wake up in class, or of the kid next to him who wouldn't share his notes.

The problem with sponge learning is that it works fine for a while, the minute things get hard, sponges turn their back and give up. They sit there, silently asking for the pity of everyone around them, because the big bad system is so hard to fight. I chose to become the best because I have grown to hate the alternative.