If you could
have any historical figure as a guest in your home, who would it be and
why? What would you want to discuss? And why do colleges have a need to
ask this?
Many great men and women have come before my time. To select one person
from amongst them all seems an impossible task. Which person has truly had
the most influence in my life? As I was pondering this question, I began
to look around me. Yes, there is one man who has left a tremendous mark on
my life and, indeed, the entire world. That man is one, Leo Baekeland, the
inventor of synthetic plastic.
Baekeland began his quest for a synthetic replacement for shellac in 1904.
He diligently worked to achieve his goal and did so in 1907. Since then,
the composition of the world has never been the same. From the keyboard
upon which I type to the bag of pistachios sitting on my desk, plastic
touches it all. I hope that my life can have an impact on the world like
Baekeland's did, whether it be through my words or my discoveries.
They say, "Plastics make it possible." Without Baekeland, there
would be no plastics. Truly, "Leo Baekeland makes it possible."
That is why I would have this influential man as a guest in my home. As
for what we discuss? Perhaps we would resort to the ever cryptic
discussion of who, if we could have any historical figure as a guest in
our homes, would it be and why?
A lot of times,
people wish they were younger. They dream of their youth, sigh, and say,
"Those were the days. I was so carefree and happy!" Those people
have terrible memories. When I was little, I did a lot of fun stuff, sure,
but I didn't feel carefree and happy at the time. I had my own
childhood problems.
All of your life, you will have problems. There's always going to be something
that makes your life sad or miserable. When I was 4, one of my biggest
problems was losing at board games and then being forced to continue
playing. How dare my family try to make me continue playing a game that I
was losing! When I was 6, I cried when my dad would force me to order my
own food at restaurants. It was order or don't eat, and so I didn't eat.
When I was 10, I had to put up with this mean girl in my gymnastics class
who was always trying to get me in trouble.
As you grow older, you conquer old battles and begin new ones. Every time
you begin a new battle, it's because you've finished an old one. We always
have the choice to either wallow in the misery of our new struggle, or
rejoice in the completion of our old one. But it seems in our new battles,
we're always so convinced that our old ones were easier and we wish for
them back...but at least we're not fighting the old ones anymore, right?
And at least we don't have to deal with the more strenuous problems of the
future. I guess my point is that we should always be grateful for the
struggles we don't have.
Every time I get tired of having to put up with the drudgery of school and
family, I remind myself that at least I don't have to put up with the
difficulty of supporting a family or paying the bills. I will have to
remember to be grateful, when I have a family and bills, that I no longer
have to write this stupid report on the culture of Spain. :P
Today I decided
that the concept of fruit smoothies totally rocks. You take all this
unrelated yummy stuff and mix it all together and the result is even
yummier than the original food products.
All food should function like that. For instance, I like hamburgers,
spaghetti, and taco salad. I should be able to mix it all together and it
should still taste good -- better even. But it doesn't. This makes
fruit smoothies an entirely unique entity. A scrumptious concoction of
wonder that can never be exactly duplicated. And that's why I decided that
the concept of fruit smoothies totally rocks.
He's got us all
totally baffled. The Beltway sniper is a genius. The police trail him as
he wants to be trailed, reminiscent of the movie "Seven." He
leaves vague but terrifying clues. A tarot card that spelled death. Notes
such as, "Dear policemen: I am God" and "Your children are
not safe anywhere at anytime."
Today I looked at the newspaper and muttered, "The sniper killed
another?" We could overhear the news on the television and my mom
commented, "I would be so scared if I lived in the D.C. area."
And why not? The sniper's victims were normal people. He doesn't
discriminate against Christians or Jews or blacks or whites or children or
adults. They were just regular people, going about their regular lives,
when they met the grim reaper through an irregular murder.
The policemen have not been able to sense any pattern to his brilliant
madness. A professor of criminology's only amazing deduction is: "We
can predict that he's unpredictable." The policemen warned the people
of D.C., "We have not been able to assure that anyone, any age, any
gender, any race we've not been able to assure anyone their safety."
Everyone in the D.C. area is in the game. For this, the sniper is causing
people to have an ever-present sense of their mortality.
Mortality? You mean? I could die at anytime? While doing my errands? While
going to school? While carrying out my normal workday routine? Yes.
You might die tomorrow after getting your latté from Starbucks or
your shirt from the cleaners. You are not safe anywhere at anytime. And
neither am I. Life is short. Why does it take death to make us realize it?
I'm
nearsighted. My entire visible physical world is completely out of whack.
I recall various embarrassing volleyball incidents in which I went for the
ball and...swish. Nothing but air. Twice in a row. The darn thing even
knocked off my glasses. I blamed it on my lack of true depth perception.
Yes, that's my world. A little out of focus without visionary corrective
devices.
Today, in between classes, I lay stretched out on the grassy null in front
of the H building. I was in a half-asleep daze and I opened my eyes and
there was the beautiful green grass. For about 3 feet, I could distinguish
each blade of grass sharply. But then... it all sort of faded to green. I
looked past the lawn and the people, trees, and rest of the world was
visible but all so hazy.
That's when I realized: No, my vision isn't out of focus. My eyes
focus on what is directly in front of me, and all the rest, those things
so far ahead, I can see -- but only in part. This is exactly the
perspective I want to have on life. My sights set on what is here and now,
with the future in sight but not in stone. I am a firm believer in the
fact that if I diligently work on what's now, then what's later will fall
into place.
Are you ready
for this? I am about to reveal my deepest darkest secret. Here it is. I
have seen almost every single one of the movies and TV shows that Mary
Kate & Ashley Olsen have starred in. Further, I have actually looked
forward to their marathons on Fox Family. It's truly a phenomenon. I
don't even like their movies. The plots are so shallow and
unrealistic. How is there always exactly 2 perfect guys for them both in
ever movie?
But even though I can't stand their acting and their ridiculous
dramas and watching them makes me cringe in silent protest, I watch them anyway.
This is a lot like potato salad. I hate potato salad. Really, I despise
the stuff. Eating it literally makes me cringe. Nevertheless, whenever I
see potato salad at a potluck, I always always put some on my
plate. I always forget how terrible it is until I go to eat it and then I
sit there practically gagging. What do I think? That the inherent
molecular make up of potato salad has changed since last time? Is there a
strange shift in the cosmos that makes me temporarily forget that I hate
potato salad?
And further, what do Mary Kate & Ashley Olsen have to do with potato
salad?
Alas, there are just some questions for which not even Miss Cleo would
have the answers.
well these
days, I wish I was six again.
- john mayer "83"
I was cutting up broccoli for dinner. Mm. Broccoli. John Mayer blared
overhead and I sang as I chopped. I heard, "Well, these days, I wish
I was six again" and I reminisced about my childhood. I had a lot of
fun as a kid. My brother and I were always concocting something new to do.
We would run around in the sprinklers, set up lemonade stands, draw on the
walls in red ink, and dig for dinosaur bones. Good times.
But I don't want to be six.
I realized, I like where I'm at. I like being seventeen. But further, I
liked being six and I'm glad I'm going to be thirty someday. What a great
equilibrium. I can't recall a time when I was so pleased to just be where
I am and so excited that I'm not going to be here forever.
In my Psych
class, tests revealed that white people were more apt to associate
"good" with white and "bad" with black. Now I definitely
do not consider myself prejudice. But I thought for a moment and wondered
how I would response to a similar test. I looked at the faces of guys on
campus. Those that were black I did have no hard time envisioning
"criminal" and such. On the flipside, I don't associate that
same image at all with the white guys.
Thinking further on this matter, I realized that a group of black dudes
hang out in front of the cafeteria and whenever I walk through their mass
I feel nervous... as if they're hostile or enormously perverted. Their
catcalls, stares, and whistles bother me immensely. Would I be bothered if
those same lusty glances came from a white, preppy guy? For some reason
(irrational, I know), lusty glances just don't seem so lusty when white
guys give them.
Why do I think like this? How can I change?
Sometimes
reality is a harsh wind blowing directly in our faces, drying out our
lips, and messing up our hair. It hurts. It's painful. Most of all,
it's just sad. Last night I was watching the 11 o'clock news. The
well-groomed anchor lady informed me that two boys had been convicted of
second degree murder and were now eligible to receive a 20-year to life
sentencing. They are two boys... ages 12 and 13 at the time of the
murder. They literally knocked the brains out of their father's head with
an aluminum baseball bat. I am astounded and very distressed at the notion
of two children viciously killing their own dad.
Immediately after the news, the Tonight Show with Jay Leno was aired.
Woohoo. That guy says some pretty funny stuff. He enjoys picking on famous
world leaders and current events. He poked fun at several of the world and
national issues I'd heard about just before on the news, including the
Floridian trial of the two boys. At first, his crude jokes on the
devastating story met my ears with this mixed emotion. How could one be
so insensitive to this? But he went on for a while... and soon the
reality of story didn't hit me so hard. The jokes didn't seem so cruel. I
laughed at some... all the while realizing exactly what had just happened.
Reality wasn't fun. But a guy like Jay Leno can twist things, throw a
couple punches, and soon, reality doesn't bother me anymore. How nice that
modern media can make us feel so good inside. What an excellent service to
society.