MadinaMan's Assignments

Theme #6

2005-10-13T12:34:00.000-04:00

We march. The roar of a thousand fans echoes in our helmets, reminding us how our team, our family is larger than the 45 man roster. Shouts come from the crowd, ex-players praising out team, our size, our speed, our fortunate opportunity to play this game. Coaches are yelling out inspirations, game plans and words of wisdom. All I hear is 45 men breathing. Heavy breaths.

We march. The cleats click in unison on the pavement. The fall air is crisp and clean, it has enough chill to take away the sweat that usually covers my head. The wind twirls, mostly due to the way our field is positioned, halfing the north and west arms of a compass. The trees bend towards the center, as if respecting the battle that will soon take place.

We run. My heart quickens as my cleats hit the soft grass of the field. The sea of maroon and gray excites us, and we draw from the crowds chants. Parents flatter the sideline, coaches meet in the center of a field. The dead spot where we kick field goals is covered in a giant lynx head. The other team is warming up. I can see their breath. Like little chimneys in a crowded neighborhood, it slowly rises to the sky, becomming part of the stars.

We stop. My mind goes blank. The air thickens and tightens with the start of the national anthem. Patriotism and pride in country have fled the field. Only gameplans and prayers for good fortune can be felt. A slow and steady calm sweeps over the place, whispering to each that soon their appetite for battle will be quenched. Helmet straps click on, mouth pieces are chewed in anticipation. I hold hands with two other people as we walk to the coin toss. No emotion from us or the other team. Just respect. I can feel the eyes of the fans on the back of my head, hoping I call the toss correctly. A kick, a catch, and the game is underway.

We smile.

Theme #5

2005-10-05T10:02:00.000-04:00

Its a long drive from the little whole in the wall town of lincoln to the state capitol. But since the state track meet is in Augusta and not Lincoln, the trip is a necessity. Cole's alarm reminds him of this at about 3 am. A snooze button, a quick check of his gear and a quick bowl of cocoa puffs is enough to get his mood into a more personable way. The 1993 pos pickup gives him a hard time, a wonderful start to the morning.
"Fuckin start!"
He turns the key and nothing much happens. Just an engine trying to start. Then silence. The radio still works, but it won't help him drive to the school.
"Common you droken down piece of crap!"
He can't help but think of how his parents keep harping him to buy a new vehicle, and he always responds with a sincere "But she's always been here for me, since day one. You can't turn a friend out like that." Ironic how his friend is now his demise.
"I'll do it. I'll pop the f-in hood and grab a hammer. I'll beat you into starting."
As if summoning all its effort, the little beatup truck starts.
A sigh of relief finds its way out of Cole. Pulling out of the driveway, his nerves start to get to him. He knows its his third state meet, he knows he's ranked number one in both his events, but he is still nervous.
He pulls into the high school and sees the bus loaded with athletes and equipment. He glances to see if his spot at the back is empty and is quickly relieved when it is.
"Morning Coach."
"Morning Hammer, feelin good today? Its going to be a good meet today."
He's called Cole Hammer ever since he lifted 350lbs in the bench press. It also represents how he throws, with force.
"It'll be better when I'm in the circle. Eveything is always better in the circle."
The drive to Augusta is long, and full of people blaring music from Ipods and playing card games. The girls upfront gossip about whoever and whatever they have done in the past few days. Nobody ever thinks about the meet, its too frustrating. Its an uncertainty that they can't overcome until they're there, so they just don't deal with it. Cole, on the otherhand, is all business. He's going over his technique in his head, he's getting emotional, he's getting determined.
By the time they get to augusta, everyone is quite, focused on the tasks at hand. Even the bus driver seems different, as if vicariously feeding off of our emotion. The coach has added a few tidbits of wisdom, a few words of encouragement from his repitiore of coaching knowledge, but now falls silent.
Cole is the last off the bus, but the first to grab the gear that has traveld miles underneath them.
"Where's the shot and the disc?"
"It should be under there. We loaded everything on this morning."
Cole starts to tear everything apart. He's thrown the exact same disc for three years now, same with the shot, but neither are here.
"WTF. Where the hell are they."
He starts drilling everyone with questions. Asking everyone specifically if they put them on the bus.
"No."
"I didn't"
"I thought Pat did"
"Hell if I know"
He's pissed. Livid might even be a better term. He walks towards the parking lot, screaming profanity that most R movies wouldn't even touch. God himself covers his ears, and prays for everyones well being.
"Tyler!" He yells towards someone comming from another bus. Tyler throws the same style disc that Cole does, maybe he can borrow his for his throws as well.
"Cole! Ready to throw,bub?"
"Yeah, cept I forgot my disc at school. Anyway I could borrow yours?"
"I guess, I'll have to ask coach, he might not like us letting other teams use our stuff."
After the blessing from the coach, Cole and tyler head off to warmup and throw some practice lobs.
The discus is the first event, and the only one COle cares about. He's been ranked number 1 in the Class C ranks for two years, and needs to defend his title.
"Cole's up, Trey's on deck, Tyler is in the hole" The ref announces.
Cole lets fly a throw that lands just shy of 140'. Claps come from the audience on the other side of the fence and he gets the congrats from his competitors. Trey and Tyler each have tosses of similar length, but all short of Cole's. After they dance around for three rounds, each taking the lead at some point, they are ready for the finals. Only the three, Cole tyler and Trey, are even close to each other.
"Good luck guys."
"Same"
"Yeah, thanks."
Cole gets to throw last for being the best mark so far.
Tyler lets one fly at 142' 7", a personal best for him.
We all clap and congratulate him. Another throwing getting a new PR is always great.
"here it gose"
Trey steps into the circle and blasts one to 151' 3/4".
"Wow" Cole gasps.
"Holy Shit" flies from Tylers mouth.
They tell Trey his distance and he yells in excitement.
Cole is up and tries to focus. He starts his spin a lets a ripper go.
"150' 11"" The rough reads aloud.
A PR for Cole. A trifecta for the three leaders.
"nice toss"
"Good chuck"
Cole gathers in all the praise, still a foot shy of Trey though.
Round two of the finals goes through, still the same distances for our best, still a few inches behind Trey.
Cole is up, his last throw of the day. The last throw of the meet and of his high school career.
"Good luck. break 155." Trey says to him as he walks by.
Cole nods. Aknowledgin his friend's, his opponent's encouregment.
He winds up, getting his body in the position for the most torque. He waits for the wind to die down and unleashes in his circular assult of the disc. The throw leaves his finger tips at a huge force. An ear shattering ping is all Cole hears. He looks out and sees the discus land at a huge distance.
"Foul" The ref says.
Cole looks at him.
"What, it landed in bounds. I didn't touch the circle. Its fair." Cole pleads.
"It hit the fould post."
Cole looks at the foul post. Its easily three feet inside the out of bounds marker. Its in the fair play area.
"What do you mean. The foul pole is inside the fair play area. How can it be a foul?"
"It just is, if a disc hits anything, its a foul, thats the rules."
"My disc hit a fould pole and still went 160' easily. Most things that hit a metal pole don't gain speed or pick up momentum. How is it going to make my disc go farther?"
The ref shakes his head, "Rules are rules. Sorry kid."
Cole's coach starts to plead with the head judge. He said he needs to follow the rules and that its a fault.
They measure the throw, "162' 9", and Cole feels at least some senblence of pride from the ordeal.
They line everyone up for the awards ceremony, Cole in second, Trey in first. They each get a handshake and a congrats from the Head Judge. Afterwards they ask if the winning athlete wants to go to New Englands to compete against New Englands best.
"Can I let someone else go in my place?" Trey says.
"I suppose, as long as they threw in the meet."
"Cole?!" Trey yells as Cole is walking away.
"Yeah, whats up?"
"How would you like to go to Mass. next weekend?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the judge said the best throwers will be there, your the best here, you should go." Trey says.
Cole is dumbfounded.
"You won, dude. Fair and square."
"You beat me every meet this season, and if things were normal with the foul poles today, you'd have a state record. No sense in sending the second best thrower, why dont' you go?"
Cole is still in shock. He thanks Trey a hundred times in a matter of seconds. The head ref makes the changes and gives Cole the packet on the New England meet and how to get there. Trey's parents come up and congratulate them on their sons decision. Cole tells his coaches and friends and teamates and calls his parents. He walks over to Foxcroft team area and finds Trey.
"I'll throw it far for you."
He smiles, "I'll see you there, remember, I won the shot."
Cole laughs and slpas him high five. "Cya there then."

Note: Ands thats how I was was state champ one years, and went to New Englands two years. I still thank Trey everytime I see him on letting me go. And It reminds me that I might have been the best athlete competing, but Trey was the best person competing.

Theme #4

2005-10-03T21:17:00.000-04:00

A jar head. Thats about the only way to describe my grandfather. Raised through the depression and nutured by the marines, he's a man thats difficult to deal with. A good firm handshake goes a long way of winning his approval and talking in ill ways about his family will certainly earn you a piece of his mind.
"When you come home at night boys," he used to tell us when we were tinkering in his garage,"when you have families and jobs and responsibilites when your older, remember that family is the only thing that means two shits." Then he'd smile with a huge pinch of redman in and go on with his matters.

He'd sing old songs, the kind that people would dance and fall in love with. Then he'd break into old war stories and reminise aobut the men he'd seen die, and the men who saved his. The flag held a little more meaning for him, since he was a vet. His tears fell on the 4th of July and on lost friends, never on birthdays or anniversaries.

"Your grandfather is so tough, you couldn't castrate him with a chainsaw," is something my uncle loved to say. He had no thumbnails from repeated misses with a hammer, his knees were bad from working in the mill for all those years, and his eyes were tired. But his smile still beamed, telling everyone that this old beater was still something with some ponies under the hood.

Probably the best thing that sums up this man is this. At my grandmothers side when she was dying.
He breaks out into song, the song they danced to at their wedding. He looks over at my brother and I and he tells us that msuhy stuff is for weddings and funerals. In this case, its both.

Theme #3

2005-09-23T09:56:00.000-04:00

The dark room is illuminated only by the gentle glow of the TV screen. 4 warriors of the web, gamers if you must, are getting ready to kick some international ass. With controllers in hand, and Xbox live up and running, Halo 2 is the only thing on our minds. Pats in the leather reciliner, I'm sprawled out on the coach, and Parker and Randy are lying on the floor, ready to play.
"Who's gettin snipes?" Parker says
"Randy should,"I say, "he's the best shot. I'm headin for the shotty and the rocks."
"Fuck, I wanted rocks."Pat explains.
"Fine have the rocks, I'll take the sword."
"We're red, we're red. Hit up the turrent and lay a cover fire, I'll head for snipes and bring Patty Daddy the rocks." Randy hits a dizzying array of buttons on the controller and is off into the Coagulation level.
"On the right, on the right!" I yell.
"Shit, there's two of them. Parker, their commin from underneath. 'Nade them."
Parker starts throwing grenades left and right.
"ChosenOne was Killed by YourMamasPanties"
"Yes, got the little pig sticker." Parker jubliates.
The light gets turned on for a moment. Ali, Randy's girldfriend, comes in and is looking for her cosmopolitan.
"The glare! Turn off the fuckin light. The glare is crazy." I scream.
As if reacting, not thinking, Ali turns off the light and sits down. She is just as captivated as we are. I get an evil glance for swearing at her, but she understands my excitement.
" Randy, where are the rocks"
"Their comming, I just, oh fuck. I died." Randy complains.
"Alien weapon commin in hot. Head to the left and flush him out!" I command.
"Damn, banshee from up above, hit it with the rocks!"
I hit a deadly combo of buttons, jump up and comandier the vehicle.
"I got the banshee, fuckers are gunna die!" I cheer.
After about twenty minutes, three bottles of coke and a couple of awkwards jumps of triumph, we win the game. 50 kills for 23. We won the battle, but the war is far from over.

Theme #2 Part 3

2005-09-23T09:44:00.000-04:00

The alarm blares at 4 am. At 4:01 am the alarm clock is in a million pieces on the opposite side of my room, having met my door at the same speed Rodger Clemens throws fastballs. I have managed to get tangled up in a sheet, and after a struggle of epic proportions, I manage to kicks its ass and sprain my ankle at the same time. I turn on the T.V just in time to hear the update on Hurricane Rita. I think to myself why have all the really devastating hurricanes been named after women? I walk down the stairs to get dressed. I'm way to lazy to bring the close to the room, so I just bring myself to the clothes. After punting a cat across the cellar, cleaning up the lamp that the punted cat broke, and cleaning up the blood that the person that was cleaning up the lamp that the punted cat broke had bled everywhere, I head back upstiars with the worst fashion nightmare on my body. I get to my car and have a revalation. I have never been to Canada, I probably will never go to Canada unless I go on my own. I turn the key and jet off towards route 9, straight to Canada. I see a flock of sea gulls in the middle of the road and swerve to hit them. Playing tag with sea gulls is always fun, especially with a few tons of steel under your ass. Ironically, someone driving my car, that lives at my address and fitting my description happened to get really hammered the night before and decided to drive to Bangor and take a dump in Hannibal Hamlins hand downtown. This was brought to my attention by the wonderful officier who had pulled me over to inform me of this. I guess having the new 8" chefs night in the front seat was something of an alarm as well, because I was soon being handcuffed, and felt the urge to yell, "Rodney King! Rodney King!". "Maybe they need a cook in cellblock C?" the trooper says as I get hauled off in the cruiser.

Theme #2 Part 2

2005-09-23T09:37:00.000-04:00

I wake up before the crack of dawn is even an option. 4 am is flashing on my alarm clock, which gets the snooze button beaten in. I fall out of bed, not realizing quite whats going on. The drayer ate one of my shirts, but after a quick check of the washing machine, I realized my lazy ass just forgot to put it in. I throw on a somewhat white t-shirt and my black chef pants and the wet candystripper shirt and climb the mountain of a stair case to the kitchen. The cats are hungry, so they get my mom's white trash caserole from the night before. Since I really don't like cats, its a great start to my day to give them something as delicious and as wholesome as mac and cheese and tuna fish. The KIA starts, but it starts hard. I get to irving, fumble around for my credit card and fill up on liquid gold, or at least thats what the cost leads me to believe. I grab a cup of coffee, and start the trek to Bangor. I yearn to light up a smoke, but I've been over those little cancer sticks for 3 months now and I'm not going to give in now. I make it to my dad's office and sit down in his leather recliner of an office chair. I tap a few keys and catch up on the english assignments that I have been blowing off.

Theme #2 Part 1

2005-09-23T09:35:00.000-04:00

I woke up at 4 am. I hit the snooze button once, got up and turned the alarm clock off. After heading downstairs to get the laundry, which I than changed into, I climb into my car, head to Irving and fill up on gas and coffee. The hour drive to Bangor from Lincoln brings me to about 6:30 am and I stop at another Irving for coffee. I head to my dads office and start the assignments.

Theme #1

2005-09-23T09:22:00.000-04:00

I walk through the door of the auction hall. The estate auction of the late Ms. Gillmor is going on today, and I happen to be one of the items for bid. I open up the little program telling whats for sale a little blurb as to the importance it was to her life. My entry reads like this...
"Cole Averill. A great personal chef, and an even better friend. He makes me laugh more than he makes my breakfast just the way I want it. His sense of humor and commadning knowledge of a kitchen make him an asset to anyone."

I kind of blush. She was a nice lady, but I do feel a little ashamed of being sold to someone. Even if its only my services, it still erks me. The auctioneer begins and starts rattling off numbers and pointing to bidders left and right. A raise of the hand and your one step closer to a piece of the old firecracker. Books and chairs and furniture sets are sold off with little competition for bidders. Then its my turn.

"And now we have the remaining portion of the contract for the personal chef Robert Cole Averill. He has been Ms. Gillmor's personal chef for 3 years and there are 4 more years left on the contract." He reads just over the edge of his glasses from a little sheet.
"Bidding will start at 400 dollars"
One gentleman in the back raises his hand.
"Do I here 450? 450. Comon ladies and gents. Ms. Gillmor says that this gentle 300 pounder graduated from high school locally, from Lincoln in fact, and played sports all through high school. A personal chef and a coach for the little ones, thats two for one!" He says
A lady in the back raises her hand.
"500" A tall gentleman near the front yells
"Do I hear 600, 600 for the multi-pupose chef?"
"He loves to read, loves to write, and played the clarinet in high school. He drives a nice little car, so transportation isn't a problem. He attends class in the morning, but is free for the family on weekends and nights. He has no significant other, no obligations other than to his craft, and the lucky family who wins this culinary renissance man." He pleads
"1000 dollars!" A man on a telephone yells.
At this point I'm rather excited. People are fighting over me, and they have never tasted my cooking before.
"1000 dollars going once, a thousand dollars going twice, sold to the man on the phone!" He screams
A golf clap gentle makes way to people getting ready for the next item.
"Well, I better sharpen my knives." I say under my breath.

Prompt # 15

2005-05-04T08:30:00.000-04:00

I met the most amazing person last week. She wasn't someone who I had just met, to the contraty, she had been with my dad for about ten years now. Living in Lincoln, having all my friends in Lincoln, and going to school in Lincoln left me little time to head to Bangor to be with my dad and my stepmother, Linda. So, she was always dads wife, or my step mother, but never really Linda. Well, last weekend, I asked dad if he needed anything done around the house, he said no, but Linda needed help at the daycare with some various odds and ends that needed to be tied up before she could get rolling agin Monday. I gladly agreed, and sped off towards Lincoln Street in Bangor. As I was fixing broken sheetrock and repairing cupboards and such, I began to chat with linda. Little things, like where she went to school, her maiden name, where she had lived, little things that I had never asked her before. She responded and told me stories of living on base in Germany and her two doctorates in Early Childhood Psych and Teaching. She talked about her kids, her grandkids, her dreams in life and such. I just stood in amazement, my dad had married a resnisance woman. She could do it all, and all was done with her. She had been everywhere, seen everything, and done anything. I really got to know my dads wife, linda. We're closer now, much closer than before. It meant a lot to her by me getting to know her better. It meant more to my dad to see me get closer to the woman he loves.

Freestyle #15

2005-05-04T07:57:00.000-04:00

He wakes up, still a little tired, still a little drunk, rolls over to cast a quick glance at the clock. Sure enough, its 7:00 AM and no matter how many times I close my eyes and open them, its still 7:00 in the morning. You'd think, by the way I get out of bed, that I'd just got done triple bypass surgery, but I assure you, my heart is still ticking. Sorting through the piles of clean, almost clean and dirty laundry, I assemble a wardrobe that'll pass as presentable; a pair of socks that don't match, jeans that are dirty, but with everyone wearing jeans that are made to look dirty, I'm going to fit right in, a ruffled button up shirt with red and white stripes, a white, or used to be white, tee shirt, and my favorite Corona sandals.

I sit down at the desk where my computer is buried under generations of research paper drafts, piecing one with the next until I find something that I like. A quick wiggle of the mouse, a quick flick of the speaker power buttons and a quick click of the icons soon brings up my weather for the day, the interent and my AIM buddy list. Unfortunately for me, none of my friends can talk, with various people sleeping, drinking, studying, and even some random philosophical stuff thrown in. The weather looks unstable, much like the pile of dip spitters next to the three reams of paper on my desk. Remember why I came to my computer is a trying experience right now. I rifle through all the papers and all the junk on the desk and my checkbook catches my eye. Shit! Rent is due. I scrounge around for a pen, lose the checkbook and then find it again and scribble down the amount and a date on the check. Envelope, two addresses and a stamp later, the letter is ready for the mail.

I walk out back to the rear porch, grab the pack of Lucky Strikes from my pocket and the lighter from the other and torch the end of the little stick. The tobacco fillsmy mouth along with the billows of smoke and tar. Still tasting the toothpaste and the smoke, I make my way towards my truck with more agility than most 80 year old NFL stars posess. As I open the door, I smash the Lucky Lady off the car next to me. I look at the stain on the car, think for the briefest of moments about how bad I feel, then get in the truck and drive off.

The combination of the raod and the truck takes me to Leadbetters on Stillwater Avenue. I grab a large coffee, black, and a thing of pop tarts, strawberry melon blast I think, and a lighter. I always buy a lighter, thats probably why I have close to 40 at home right now. My rational is that a new pack of cigarettes needs a new lighter. You don't put used gas into your car, do you? The cashier is rather upset that I don't have the cash to buy six bcuks worht of merchandise in cash, so i take a little extra pride in paying with plastic.

The trip to Lincoln is long, boring, and my absolute favorite thing to do. Its peaceful, a ride with me and the radio and a good pack of cigs. Its liberating, seeing the world pass by, almost like I was trying to escape the city. Its intoxicating, the flood or aromas and sights, changing each time I drive by. I always travel route 2 home. Its not the same old car, car, car, car that you see on the interstate. Its homes, its families, its little mom amd pop stores and deals on used cars. Its a trip that I make 6 times a week, and about 4 tanks of gas as well, and It never gets old, never stays the same.

I get toour driveway, more like a parking lot, but whatever, and take a quick gaze around. No vehicles.

"Hmmm..." I mutter to myself.

I get out of the truck, side step the dog springting at me. Its more of a fast hobble, where his leg is broken, and is rather humorous to watch. I grab the cell phone and call the house. No answer.

"Damn, its tuesday. They went to the flippin Sysco food show didn't they." I exclaim, floowed by a slew of curses.

"They did, and you forgot and drove all this way for nothing." I respond to myself, more for amusement then anything.

max, the dog is sitting down next to me, my hand rubbing behind his left ear. The drool and the slobber and his whitening face give way to a little smile.

"You want some ice-cream Max?"

Not understanding a word I said, but still knowing I was talking at him, he gets all excited.

"All right bub, get in the truck and remember," I shout at him, "you can't drive with that bum leg."

Through another's eyes

2005-04-19T23:03:00.000-04:00

Note: This is going to be through my roomates eyes, and in his words. I'm putting myself in his shoes and his mind.

The alarm goes off again. 7:30 AM was four snooze buttons ago, its closing in on quarter past eight now. Class is at eight, but a few minutes late never hurts. I crawl out of bed, rumble through the piles of clothes; searching for something that resembles being clean. I put on my pants, a pair fo socks that almost match, and pull my shirt on as I stumble to the kitchen. The fridge opens a little rough, but the orange juice tastes better from the carton than from the glass. What my roomate doesn't know won't kill him.

I walk to the window, the one that over looks the gravel driveway and my truck. God its a sexy truck I think aloud as I use the remote starter to get her roaring. Its not cold, not hot, but feeling the power of starting the truck without being in it just rubs me the right way. Her maroon and tan two tone color shining thanks to a favorful morning sun and a wonderful carwash.

I open the door, jump in, and put the key into the ignition. I step on the brake, I always step on the break, and it kills the engine. Damn, I always fuckin do that. I have to friggin remember to turn the damn thing before I hit the damn break. Partially with embarassment, and partially with the V8 rumbling under the hood, I fly out of the driveway in reverse and cut off the oncomming traffic. I slam it all the way into low, then back the shit column back to drive and take off down the road.

I adjust the new CD player Cole gave me and installed. His POS truck couldn't handle the thing, so he gave it to me. Ironically, it matches the interior of my truck better than his, so I don't complain. Adjusting the stereo is a little difficult, he got drunk one night and broke the remote for it, but I adjust it to the Mountain of Pure Rock and quickly veer out of the way of a stopped car.

"That bastard doesn't know how to frippin drive." I mutter to myself under my breath, if only to convince myself an accident would be his fault.

I pull off to the nearest gas station, a little mobile and get my usually strawberry pop tarts and coffee. Its more like cream and sugar with coffee for color, but whatever. I get back into my truck, get crumbs all over the interior, and curse profusly as I peel out of my cockeyed parking job and head towards school.

"Life it seems to fade away, drifting farther everday.... Gettin lost within myself, nothing matters no one else...." Singing along with Metallica is always cool. I roll down my window so everyone can hear me sing.

I round the turn to EMCC, the entrace closest to the hospital, cut off a mile long string of traffic and out run the blarring horns. 25 seems a little slow for the road, 45 is much better.

"I'm a rolling thunder, power train..... I'm commin on like a hurricane..." AC/DC sing along time.

I pull into something that resembles a parking spot, compose myself and clean up any crumbs and coffee stains and stumble out of my truck. The fall to the ground jostles the coffee, makes me curse some more, and then I walk to class. I plop into my chair, near the entrance and my instructor asks why I'm late again.

"That trffic by the hospital is horrible this time of day," I respond while hiding the coffee cup on the floor behind my chair.

He mutters, "Ahh.... I know, those ambulances must be backed up," Half smirking, half with a look of disapointment.

I nod, borrow some paper from the guy next to me and a pen from the guy in front and take notes, doodle, take some more notes, then make a list of parts for the truck. I have to make a new list every class, mostly because I forget where my notes go and I need to start all over again. The class last forever, or as long as an hour can. I only wish that I had hit that snooze one more time.

Comparison Essay

2005-04-18T07:59:00.000-04:00

The whistle blows, the referee motions to the opposing keeper, then motions to me. I throw up my right arm and give it a quick toss to and fro. He sets the ball down in the middle of the field and tells the blue pennies, my team, that we can start off with the ball. The Bucksport High soccer coach walks backwards, comming my way for a little conversation. While still facing the frield of battle, he asks me what I did for sports in high school and if I had ever played soccer. I give him a brief but descriptive account of my athletic career and he gives me a rather vague course in soccer rules and regulations and how to kick a round ball. Then, when seeing my blank face, he does something that people have been doing for years, with little to no success, he compared football to soccer. "Do you know how to cover someone in the secondary?" He asks. I say yeah and he says they are the similar in that they both require superior lateral movement, quick computative thinking, and a tenacity to stop the guy with the ball.

I ask him what lateral movemnt is used for in this dan game. he tells me about traps and steels and taking the ball and I assimilate everything I can and get in the football mentality. I begin to watch the players down the field, watching them change directions like a flag in a hurricane. He points out little things thier doing, darting about like fruit flies on trash and I see what he's talking about. Football, we used out movement to beat the other guy to the hole, or point of attack. Flat out speed can't be beat often, but by cutting someone off, we can slow them down enough to change all the angles. Soccer, it seems, has much the same principles. I quickly see my nimble teamates regain control of a loose ball and score. I begin to think about my old football days when I'm snapped back to the game with another soccer 101 lesson. "You gotta be quick on your toes, and I don't mean fast, ai mean when you kick a ball, you gotta know where its goin and who its goin to. You gotta know the field."

I soon find out that I am the quarterback of the soccer team, the general, the undisputed leader. I've got to yell out positions of opposing players, even postitions I don't know about. I learn little bits of lingo and little bits of information from my new coach and the referee. I get a concensus that in soccer, as is football, you need to see where everyone is going, not where they are. you need to be a step ahead, almost reading the future. In football, the running back runs towards a line of big boys, no space to get through, but on another level, he see's both guys pushing thier rivals into different zip codes. A split second before he gets to the wall, a hole opens up, a hole big enough for a semi to drive through. Soccer is much the same. watch the flow of the players. See where they are going, how they react, most of the time before they actually do. See the whole field, not just the guy with the ball, the the girl on the left wide open, or the guy crusing up the right side, just behind coverage, but close enough to use his pin-point accuracy to score the winner. "Knowing where they are is one thing, but having the balls to do something is different." Is my next serious lesson.

Intensity is something coaches preach. But there is also tenacity, the gritty, spit in your face, bleeding from the broken nose, guts that gets people through a gootball game, and from latter experiences I've learned, a soccer game as well. Football, you have two types of results from hits. Your either injured, or your hurt. Injured, you done till your healed, hurt, you can toughen up and play again. Soccer doesn't all time for people to assess this, if your hit, kicked, smacked, or thrown down to the ground, the play doesn't stop, you crawl off the field and get a sub. You need to have that edge to play, to either hit the quarterback or to take a line drive to the stomach. Fancy footwork and lateral movement will only take you so far, but the animal instinct, the aggression, and passion, can make a mountain out of any man.

The whistle blows for the last time. The game has ended, with a 3-5 loss. The loss isn't on my mind, neither are the 5 goals I let up. No. I'm still pondering how a sport that I loathe, soccer, and a sprt that i hold in the highest regaurd, football, can have so much in common. I get some pats on the back, some you had some good saves and a few, I can't believe you let that easy onr by. I tell Kit, my roomate, that I'll play soccer with him anytime, because If I can't play the greatest game on earth, why not play the closest thing to it.

hmmmm?

2005-04-17T22:59:00.000-04:00

Ever have a lingering memory of somone in the back of your mind? Almost like the lingering aroma of smoke from the campfire. It's hard to get rid of, and when you think its gone, it sneaks up and teases your senses and toys with your mind. I have this longering memory of someone. She wasn't the smartest, funniest, most beautiful woman I had ever met, but something about her seperated her from everyone else. She was the only person who could make me second guess everything I would ever say, the only person who I never had a cross thought about, the only person who made me go "hmmm?". She had a laugh that could tame a terrorist. The type of laugh that men dream about, and women lament about. Her voice filled the room with an ambience of jovial delight. Her eyes were particularly captivating. They had a depth and dimension that was totally alien to me. They were lively and deep, the same look of crystal clear water, where the bottom seems so close, but is too far to even dream of venturing. They had a shine, a glitter, a light that radiated beams of life and joy. She had me at everyword, at every glance, at every movement of her self. If only she were more than a lingering memory. If only she were more than someone I once remebered.

Playing the Devils Advocate

2005-04-17T21:08:00.000-04:00

My english teacher said, "MS calls the pattern Bliss, but that default wallpaper on all the computers around campus is Pure Evil!

Pure Evil! Pure Evil? I see it as something different, something that is supposed to be glanced at, something we're supposed to use our imagination with. Pure Evil is child molesters and murders, MS Bliss is a blank canvas, ready for the imagination to paint a world of its own.

I see kids, on a field trip. There are tables set up down by the river, cheese and fruit litter the platters, juice and milk are brimming the little cups. The teachers dress is blowing slightly in the wind, her hair moving in unison to the flowing fabric. A group is boys has bats and balls out and are starting a pick up game of baseball. The girls are picking some wildflowers and making a small bouqet for their teacher. A gathering by the river is watching the fish swim against the current.

I see a group of men and woman doing a revolutionary war re-enactment. Two lines of men dressed in replica garments, cannons filled with blanks and sparklers for show, families in the distance, watching history in real life. The muskets bang, and as rehersed, men fall and die, if only for a few minutes. Cannons blast off, splitting the sky and thundering as if the ancient Greek Gods were out playing in the heavens.

I see a herd of wild horses grazing atop the hill, some wander down to the river, quenching a thirst that has held them for many miles. Some small colts and phillies are scuttling about, playing and running as only a wild animal can. The mares who are fat with their next kin are eating for two, and the older colts are standing, face to the wind, looking for the next place to gallop off too.

I see so much more with my eyes closed, then I do with my mind closed. I suppose the beauty is in the eye of the beholder. MS might see this as a place to drift off in after you've surfed the internet. A place to get lost and assimilate all the places you've been, all the people you've chatted with, all the checkbooks you've balanced, and all the sports you could ever handle. How could evil embody something that isn't finished, how could evil be somewhere when the mind is what guides its final picture?

Freestyle # 14

2005-04-17T20:14:00.000-04:00

"Cole, you wanna come watch the soccer game in Brewer? My dad isn't commin, so you might need to be keeper." My roomate yells from the bathroom, probably in the middle of taking a shit.

"I suppose, let me change and get ready." The whole time I'm hoping they have enough people to get by without me. Never played soccer in my life, didn't know what a keeper was, and couldn't tell you one rule other than hands were bad. I'd played football for 15 years of my life, feet were bad, hands were good. This could be interesting.

We jump in the maroon Chevy Silverado and back onto the main road. Soon, we cross the bridge to Brewer, take a few lefts with a handful of rights and end up at some sports complex the overlooks the Penobscott River. A few cars are peppered throughout the parking lot, a lot of them beat up and rather experienced compared to the others which, as I soon found out, perfectly described our team. We had veterans of fifty or sixty years with a small helping of youth. Tenacity was something that everyone had.

I walked into the arena and soon found out that it was an ice rink and a soccer field in one. The nets along the side reminded me of the prison in the Sawshank Redemption. Another game was ending, both teams laeden with kids still in high school. I sit down and take count of the players we've amassed, barely enough to fill a volkswagen. I unbutton my shirt to reveal my sleeveless lifting shirt. I'm by far the largest person there, by about a buck forty and I'm wearing penny loafers.

The Bucksport High coach comes up to me, "So you're goin to be the keeper today, any good at soccer?"

I grimace briefly, suck it up and let the truth free myselft, "Never in my life, I refused to play in gym in school. I don't even know what the hell the keeper is."

"The keepah is the goalie, you can use your hands if your team doesn't touch it first and you gotta stop the ball from gettin in that net." He sounds just like any coach, kind of letting me know I can do it, without setting high expectations.

The whistle blows, the game going on ends and we're motioned to take the field. I run out, do a few laps and stretch. Everyone else is passin the ball around, I'm praying that I don't pass out. An overweight smoker isn't exactly in the condition of run around a damn field with kids half his size. My band of generations starts using me for target practice and I start remembering UMO hockey games when they wave the sieves in front of the oposing goalie. I block more than i let by, but not a lot more.

Another blarring whistle rattles through the steel rafters in the arena. I get ready for the worse and check to make sure that I'm not having a nightmare. We get to start with the ball, but quickly, the abundance of youth on the other side gets control and scores on me easily. The Bucksport coach comes down and play defense, telling me tricks of the trade and how to kick a round ball. I take in as much as I can and scan the field of battle for the enemies. I block a few easy shots on goal and let a couple rippers by.

The first half ends, and I drink more water than most golf courses can take. I get advice and compliments from everyone, but see that they are really a little frustrated by my performance. The team decides that I could use an extra defender. I think to myself, I could use a fuckin different position, I'm way too slow to chase balls around, way to fat to move sideways to stop balls and way too outta breath to catch my goddamned breath. Oddly enought I could use a cig right now.

We start the second half to the whistle's blow again. I play much better, much more determined, much more experienced in a way. I take the bad play personally, as I'm the only one to blame, and start diving and jumping for the rolling geometry lesson. Then it happens, the one thing in every sport where your tested to the core, man on man. The goalie against a small, very skilled, and highly motivated attacker. I begin to think of everything in sports that could help me. I remeber my linebacker coach tellin us to watch the hips, the hips don't lie. I remeber the my secondary coach tellin the secondary to attack the body, get them off balance, make them beat you. I remember the bucksport coach telling me to stay low and attack the ball when its furthest from them.

I stare at his hips, they're favoring the left side, a tell tale sign that he wants to juke me until my ankles break. I lurch out from the net, watching the ball with one eye, him with the other. I start to pick up speed, aiming for his right side, trying to get him to commit. I stagger step to the left and convince him to try and dodge me. I use an old football move, the fishhook we used to call it. I planted my left foot in the middle of his path, pivot so my back is to him, throwing his balance off, and then boot the ball down the field. I did it, I was victorious. I had beaten the one on one and embarassed an guy twice as good, yet half my size.

I look back to the net, a stride seperated me from the goal line. I look up at my new teamates, all yelling at the save, yelling praise at me, genuine praise. I backpedal to the goal line, put the praise and comendations aside and focus on the game. We loose, a close 3-5 game. That really doesn't bother me though. Something else is waiting on my mind, still up close and personal.

"Hey, that was one helluva stop there, where the hell did you learn to spin like that?" It was from the oposing keeper, my alter ego on the younger team.

"I was a lineman in football, we learn to block more than one person at a time. I was supposed to screen him like a did, then shoot for his teamates knee and take them both out. I just swung for the ball instead." hoping he understood the description. Soccer and football are like having greek man and chinese person carrying on a conversation together, not much in common for words.

"I'll have to remember that, it might come in handy some game." He starts walking towards the exit.

"Keep your eyes on his hips, hips don't lie. You can read someone's direction like a book if you just watch his hips." I yell to him, he waves without looking back, aknowledgin my response.

My roomate and I get in the truck and briefly talk about the game. He raps on me a bit about my poor play, I make fun of him because he refuses to pee standing up. He tries to teach me more about the game, but I look at him and say, "Unless you have a fuckin cigarette or a beer, shut up and drive home."

Prompt Reaction # 14

2005-04-15T08:32:00.000-04:00

The moon was hanging high in the sky, spreading its beams of hopes and dreams across the land. The stars weren't as sharp as they usually are, maybe it was the moon's fault, maybe not. Clouds littered the horizon like sea gulls at a fish market. Dew, just starting to form on the baldes of grass and the petals of wildflowers, shown the moon light as if diamonds had been alid all over the town. Clouds, dark unsettling clouds, were rolling in from the horizon. Their appearance could almost be mistaken for demonic, the devil comming out for an evening play. A taxi pulls up from the road to town, his passenger dark and shadowed. A stranger has come to town. He opens the door, lumbers to the drive side window and throws the driver a bill. He walks off, towards the clouds, and darkness befalls the town. His overcoat is dark, maybe leather, maybe not. The moonlight doesn't show in it though, as if it were a shadow itself. The clouds roll in faster, almost meeting him in the center of town. His hat covers his face, only a piecing stare can be felt through the darkness that confides his face. The clouds cover the moon, suddenly making the diamonds of dew fall lifeless, causing the basking beams of moonlight to shine no more. He looks up, arms greeting the clouds, greeting the darkness. he seems ordained to bless the world in this darkness, casting a long and dark shadow on this little town. The clouds become thicker and thicker, almost gaining gravity and substance. The air thickens, to the point where it seems that it can hold nothing more. Suddenly, the darkness is interupted, the moon has carved through the shadows of clouds. A single solitary beam eeks its way through the storm of darkness and fear. Its light is battling the darkness, almost struggling to be seen. The shining ray of splendor hit the devilish travel on his covered face. His eyes soom to lose their piercing stare for a moment, then he lowered his arms. his head hnug low as he turned back and walked out of town, as if he had failed many times before. The clouds, too, retreated to the horizon, making way for the stars and diamonds and the moon to shine bright again. The storm of a different sort had passed this small town. A battle that has been brooding from the dawn of mankind has once again been battled amoungst mortals. This one ended with a shining glow. However, not every storm can be thwarted with such ease.

Freestyle # 13

2005-04-14T22:49:00.000-04:00

He sits at a little over three and a half feet, but his hero's stand at six foot two with ease. His jersey is too large for his small frame, but the wheel chair kind of hides it. Stickers speckle the frame like bumperstickers at a Phish concert. His dad pushes him through the ticket line and into the area filled with vendors. The kid points left and right, asking his dad to zip him to and from every vendor there. The boy buys little bobble heads and mini footballs and plush toys for his favorite team. Dad, gazing around himself, can't wait to show the youngster where their seats are. The child loads the memorablia into the napsack that hangs from the handles of his chair. He can hear the crowd above him, feet pounding the grandstands, voices filling the air creating an electrifying atmosphere. He pushes him to the ramp that leads to their destination.

The boy reads the program, firing off little tidbits about the rivalry and teams quirks and history. He explains to his dad that so and so is going to score on a pass play and so and so is going to have three sacks tonight. His dad doesn't care about the score, the game, or even the excitement in the air, he just cares about his son. The make their way to the opening where they are heading and the little boy goes speechless. His eyes widen and mouth drops, his body still with awe. His dad weaves through the field of crazed fans and makes his way towards the endzone. The boy just stares, taking in everything, and forgetting nothing. The dad pushes his way to the front and the boy asks where the seats are. His father just gestures to the front row and the kid erupts in excitement. The dad sits down next to his boy and they ready for the start of the game. The lights dim, and the music starts.

The players make there way to the field, the air overflowing with yelling and screaming. The child points out his favorite play, the running back for the home team. The dad smiles and asks the boy questions about the teams, which the boy gladly rattles off the answers to. The game starts and the two teams battle for three quarters. The kid watches as his player gets the ball on a sweep to the left. He breaks one takcle, two tackles, and wiggles free of a third. His legs carry him as if almost drawn to the endzone. 30 yards, 40 yards, 50 yards. The boy excites as he sees the lone runner in the field of battle heading for them. He dives into the endzone, sets the ball down and stands on it with one foot as if he conqured the football world. He picks up the ball and looks around. Fans are waving for it, leaning over the edge almost on the field. The boy, barely able to reach the railing is flailing arms to and fro. The player spots the kid and walks over to him. With near superhuman strength, the man leaps to the rail and hands the boy the ball. He smiles and the dad says his first words of the night.

"Your my sons favorite player in the game. And tonight, you became my favorite player in the game too." The tears almost running down his face.

The running back smiles, and for a brief moment, he isn't the famous over payed athlete, he is a human being who gave something to that little boy that meant more to him than anything ever will. Then, as quickly as it began, the player hops back down and heads back to the sideline. The ends with the home team victorious, and the boiy beaming ear to ear. You'd swear he'd won the Superbowl, and by the look of the father, you'd swear he was the proudest man on earth.

They get into the van, the wheelchair in back, the kid and the football in the front. They manage their way through traffic and the little boy turns to his father.

"Dad, I just wanted you to know, He might be my favorite player in the whole wide world, but your my only dad I can ever have, and I love you more than this ball."

The dad keeps driving for a few more seconds. He turns to his son briefly, cracks a smile on his face that could light up the darkest cave and starts to cry agian. The boy watches his dad and then falls alseep.

I don't know who will feel this day more; The boy, The player or The Father, but either way, there are three better people in this world.

freestyle # 12

2005-04-14T11:42:00.000-04:00

I wake up a little past 9:30 today and stumble to the kitchen for my oatmeal and whey protein mixture. The taste is glorified cardboard, but thats the sacrifice to get the results from lifting I need. I paw around in the cabinet and then awkwardly fumble through the jungle of a fridge with lettuce and spinach and broccoli overwhelming the place.

I mutter while looking for a pack of cigs, "Shit, no oatmeal."

I grab a pack of matches and head out the front door in shorts and a t-shirt with my corona sandals still on my feet. I jump in the truck, and gaze at the end of the cig as the match sorches the smooth paper. A deep breath, and a moment of stillness occurs until I exhale. I turn the key and start up the battered chariot. I back out and cut off some on comming traffic and speed off towards Shaws.

I pull into the parking lot and park in the first reasonable spot I find. The cigarette is probably still at the intersection smoldering on the road, but its flavor is embedded in my mouth. I manage to light one up again and admire the cock-eyed parking job. Its between the yellow lines, but just barely. I walk to the entrance and make note of what I need. Oatmeal, Salmon, chicken, olive oil, and maybe some fruit. The pneumatic doors open as if expecting me and I feel almost privledged that I don't have to open them.

I grab a basket and dump out the leftovers of everyone elses shopping spree. I bee line towards the meat display and ask the woman for some help. I look down at the Salmon and ask her If I can smell it.

"Why do you want to smell it?" Evidently she thought I had no idea about fresh fish.

"If it smells like fish, its not fresh, and I want fresh fish." Explaining while also feeling a little taken aback. Why the hell should she question a customer.

"Ok, you said the Atlantic Salmon Steaks?"

"Yeah, that'll do."

It smells a little fishy, but enough to ensure that if I cook it today, it'll still be good. I ask for four pounds and she gladly wraps it up in butcher paper and throws on the label with its price and weight. I throw it into the basket and walk down the line to where the chicken is couped. I grab about 15 lbs of boneless chicken breasts. About this time, a young lady, barely in her 20's grabs the hand of her toddler.

"What are you doing," In a very condecending manner.

"I wanted to try the apples," By his voice, I could tell he knew he was in for the worse.

"This isn't our house, you just can't go around eating everything you can find. Now mommy has to pay for it. Jesus sometimes I wonder how I deal with you." I think it was kinda weird how she was almost pleading with him. As if the stress of work and the kid had made her life miserable.

I walk towards the vegetables and grab 4 heads of Iceberg lettuce and two bags of spinach. The produce isn't very respectable today, but then again, I am buying stuff that isn't exactly in season. As I paw around the foliage in my basket, I head towards the aisle with the oatmeal and hot cereals. I have to buy the most natural, and most bland flavor possible, as anything that is processed is bad. I buy in bulk, and the container is as plain as the flavor. Down the row, s person doing stock must have had a little accidnet, because there are frosted flakes littering the floor like cigarette butts on my front lawn. I walk towards him, only because its on my way to the checkout and here him grumble between the noise of the broom crunching the cereal.

"I can't believe I have to clean this up, I don't even like frippin frosted flakes."

I think to myself of how to cook the salmon and head for the shortest line. I get to the front of the line after a elderly lady with 400 coupons and a man with three bad credit cards. The cashier, visably pissed, asks me if I found everything ok and how I was doing. Not with any meaning, but only for the sake of her job description.

"I found everything I needed." Then think for a second and ask her, "Have you ever had one of those days where you just didn't want to get out of bed?"

She looks at me for a second, her eyes almost asking me if had seen what the past two customers put her through, the calmly says, "More often than naught."

Out conversation stops and she starts scanning everything. The Salmon doesn't quite scan well, so she calls for her manager to give her the number for atlantic salmon. I thank God I didn't buy condoms, or she might have just called for the price on those as well. We get everything scanned and bagged and she ask for my shaws card.

"I don't have one, and to be honest, I'm too lazy to fill out the damn form."

She smirks, and offers to use her card for my groceries. I kinldy thank her, with more meaning than her greeting and head towards the exit. i get through my favorite pneumatic doors and immediatly light up for round three on the cigs. I make my way back through the truck, weaving and dodging traffic and parked cars with an uncertain ease.

I crash into the kitchen, my roomate just falling outta bed and into the bathroom for a shower and a shave. I boil some water, make some oatmeal and scoop in the whey protien. My breakfast of champions goes down about as well as it tastes and i start the 2 gallons of water for the day. And if the morning is any indication of the rest of the day, I wish that it was two gallons of Vodka.

Prompt # 13

2005-04-13T08:52:00.000-04:00

Nature red in tooth and claw. Its the way of the wild. The ongoing and never ending battle for dominance and even for life itself. The lion kills the gazelle to nourish her young, to show she is the king of the jungle. There is a lion in all of us. A side that would go to great ends to ensure our place in this world. Companies destroy documents and manipulate the books to ensure their dominance. Politicians are bribed and persuaded to coax bills into laws for the sake of one groups needs. Mercanaries are payed to kill or destroy antyhing that their employer disagrees with. Religous groups battle religous groups in the name of the same god. All of this competion is no different than the animals that we call savages. Our coaches instill this instinct into our young, our communities instill the need for winning and superiority into our sports teams and orgainzations, and our society views those on the top as those who are the greatest people in our country. I myself was once of that discipline. I was on top of the state in the throwing world. People would compete for number two when I was at a meet. Then in college I realized that everyone here did it because they were good, not because they loved it. And thats when I realized the emphasis on succeeding. Now I understand the Survival of the Fittest and the Law of Nature. Now I see how to change.

freestyle #11

2005-04-13T08:26:00.000-04:00

I went to see my dad one thursday to interview hom for my I-Search paper. Since he did start a very successful small business and it has lasted for about 17 years. It was a nice day out, maybe 42 degrees according to the mercury and the wind was sublte. I got to the shop, in my red and white button up shirt with my black jeans on, its the company uniform so I thought I would dress for the occasion. I walked into the office and my dad was answering phone calls and checking the price of galvanized conduit online. He got up and hugged me and I sat down until we were ready to head out. We got in the truck and head for I-395. We just got on the on ramp when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette.
I ask him, "Is that you fake cig dad?" the one he has fooled us with many a time.
He kinda smirks, pulls out his lighter and gives a playful shake of his head.
"How long have you been smoking again, bub?" I more or less blurt out.
"Oh, bout three months or so." He explains.
I sit back in the bucket seats of his Silverado and think for a moment. Now would be a great time to tell him that I'm a smoker as well. I toss around a few ideas of how to start things off and than realized that blatancy was the only way to go with my dad.
"Dad... You can't tell mom a word of this, ok?"
"I wouldn't tell your mother a god damned thing," I think I struck a nerve from his divorce.
"Well, you see, I'm a smoker too." It was easier than I thought. Kinda relieving in a way.
He clamly said, "I know."
"How?" I quickly said half gasping, half in awe.
"When I dropped off your w-2s in you truck I saw the pack and lighter and put two and two together."
"Oh... ok... are you mad?" I'm 21 years old and still scared to death of my parents.
"Nah, not at all, your mom would be livid though." He said with a chuckle.
I nodded and we moved on to better topics such as my interview. The rest of the day went well and I got all the information and more for my I-Search paper. I am relieved, maybe even to an extent liberated by telling him. A year is a long time to not have your parents knowing you smoke. I suppose it would be even harder if It had to be two years. The biggest hurdle is going to be my mother, but I'll jump it when it gets here.

Process Essay

2005-04-13T07:52:00.000-04:00

I get up about 4:45 in the morning ever weekday. I stumble to the kitchen, get the gallon jug of water from the fridge, and grab the assortment of suplements I need to take. There are 4 NRG Super 8's, 3 Power Blend 55's, 3 Celltech capsules and a bowl of oatmeal with a scoop of refined whey protien. I'm not dying, I'm not even sick, I'm just keeping my body in the perfect metabolic and nutrient balanced state to get the most out of lifting. Its not easy, and its more than just pills and lifting, its a lifestyle, and this is how the "how to" to stay in the best metabollic state to lift with the most potential.

Everyone is different, as everyone knows already. Thus, everyone lifts at a different time. I lift from 5:30 in the morning until 7 monday through Friday at the YMCA in Bangor. I feel its the best way to start your day, you get the pump, the feel good of working out, its just great. You need to find a place that works for you, a place where you feel comfortable and a place you can go to the same time everyday. The routine that you get into really cements your ability to get peak results. I choose the YMCA because its inexpensive, its relatively small, they have great equipment for all levels of ability, and most people there are willing to give you a spot if you need one. Some peopl like large gyms with all the mirrors and chiseld physiques with people confusing them with complicated terms such as "My EAS metabolic rate is slowing, I think I should increase my isopropalic acid to try and counter that." That stuff isn't for me all the time.

Cnce you get into the mood to lift, and get a place to lift, people should look into supplements to help them along. The supplements you take depend on your personal goals. I'm very serious about lifting, so I stack up the supplements and take no chances in that sense. Others go with just a good Multi-Vitamin. Essentially, you want a vitamin to get your body the porper nutrients regardless of what you eat, and maybe some extra protein to help the muscles grow. Additional things can be added, such as creatine to lift harder and more, or NRG Power 8 to boost metabolism and energy while adding essential amino acids, to glucosamine which helps save people's joints. Do some research, consult a physician, and try to come up with the best combo for you. If you just want to stay in shape, you don't need to take 20 pills a day, but if you want mega results without hurting your body, by all means, pile up the pills and follow your diet.

Your diet matters as much to your results as the lifting and supplements do. You can do anything from eating healhy foods and leave it at that, or take it to the extreme. I eaat six small meals a day. The first is Oatmeal with a scoop of why protein, the next is at 8, which is a after workout protein shake followed by a cup of rice and 4oz of chicken 3 hours later. I follow that up three to four hours later with 4oz of fish or chicken, and then 4 hours after that I have 3 cups of salad greens, olive oil and 4oz of chicken or fish. I end the day with a why protein shake that keeps me full through the night and makes me eat less during the day. All this calculates to the correct level of calories, carbs, fats, proteins and such for the perfect metabolic lifting state. By keeping what you eat in check, and controlling portions, you can further get into a routine for lifting.

Lifting is exercise, to get ready to lift well and at your highest potential is a way of life. You need to change your life if you going to lift daily for good muscle growth and for great health. I'm 325 lbs and have a body fat percenage of 21%. Thats not bad, but its not great. My goal is to get strong, lean and evetually fit and trim slowly. I don't want to loose muscle with my fat, and I don't want to sacrifice my hardwork for naught. I chose to live this way and I chose to make the sacrifices to food and to my schedule to attain these results. I started high school with a bench press of 115 lbs and a squat of a little over 200lbs. My current maxes are; bench press is 365 lbs, Squat is a little over 455lbs. Results come slow, but with the help of a good routine, a good supplement schedule and a great diet for lifting, you can accomplish a lot in time.

Freestyle # 10

2005-04-12T22:34:00.000-04:00

My fearless yet tattered truck hit 200k miles today. I've put close to 1/3 of those miles and more than her fair share of memories. She was my first truck. I got her when I recieved my liscense. She was a shiny red with an aluminun truck cap that made the sun glare like none other. The two wheel drive and short bed made the gas mileage affordable for a kid and the standard tranny and lack of anti-lock breaks made aggressive driving easy. No accidents have ever blemsihed her or my record. The paint, much like the rest of the truck, is starting to fade in places. The interior is tattered, shattered, and cluttered. She's a home away from home and an office when work carries me away. She guzzles oil faster than Bill Gates can make money, but she gets me from point A to point B with ease, and an uncertain reliability. The alignment is a bit off, causing her to shake above 40 mph. The brakes work, even if they do squeak and creak like an old farmhouse. She took me to my graduation, to my dad's wedding, to my practices and to my parties. She's taken me to the hospital and the crocery store, the flower shop and to Wal-Mart. Would I trade her for a new truck, in a heartbeat. Will I ever forget her loayl and unwavering devotion to my cause, you can bet a quart of oil that I won't.

Freestyle # 9

2005-04-10T12:45:00.000-04:00

I tried to quit smoking two days ago. Cold turkey is great for sandwhiches but not for quitting. I was an absolute ass to everyone. I was mean, cold, sinical, bipolar, and everything else all at once. I was mean to my manager at work, but managed to get out the fact that I was quitting smoking and he was a little better about it. After the first day, It got worse. I was totally oblivious to eveyone else and what they wanted. I went through the motions, unable to concentrate on anything. The cashier on duty finally bought me a pack of smokes, and gave me some matches. She said I wasn't mentally prepared to quit smoking, and I agreed. I went back and slowly inhaled its goodness. I instantly felt a calm come over me. I inhaled that cig in seconds flat and immediately lite up again for totally replenish my nicotine levels. The second one was just like dessert. It hit the spot and left me feeling great. Euphoria was mine again, and so was my slow suicide.

Freestyle # 8

2005-04-10T12:29:00.000-04:00

I walk into the store and grab a diet coke from the second cooler from the left at the very back of the store. On my way to the end of the line, I see a display of snickers bars with extra nuts. I decide against an extra 400 calories in my diet and wait my turn. I'm the 4th one in line and they just happen to be training a new cashier. She's maybe 5'4" and is absolutely lost as to what to do. I smile, a little ironic smile since I know that I'll be here a while. I'm the third one in line now and realize that I don't have any smokes for the trip to lincoln. Nows as good a time as any to grab some, and a lighter, and since its thrusday an Uncle Henry's is always a must. The green cover is sitting right up at the front of the line. The girl at the counter now is spending her paycheck on scratch tickets, using the winnings to buy more, and so on and so forth. By the end she has wasted 400 dollars on tickets. I don't see the sense in it, but then again I'm not a gambler. Second in line now, I start to graze over the cigarette selection and see a box of Kamel Reds, sounds good to me. She cards the guy in front of me for some brews. He's easily in his mid 30's but she cards everything that walks in here. He fumbles around in his wallet and throws his liscense down on the counter. She does the math and looks a little embarassed. She rips three bags as she tries to secure the 6 pack of bud light. I get up to the counter, Put down the coke and the Uncle Henry's and tell her I need a pack of Kamel Reds and throw down the liscense. She looks for a second, then grabs them. I hand her a 20 and she gives me my change. I think of how smoothly that goes, then realize she gave me a pack of Marb Reds. I go in and ream her out for a few moments and then grab the pack myself. She's a little taken aback and then yells out Theif. I just get in my truck and drive off, lighting up two, cause two is always better than none.

Prompt # 12

2005-04-10T12:11:00.000-04:00

The key is in the lock, but I can't turn it. Today hasn't been a very good day. I managed to break both my arms skiing, and the casts are all over my arms. Before that, I managed to sprain my ankle while trying to get onto the ski lift. Luckily my ski boot got caught so i never hit the ground, I just got dragged up 400 yards of ski slopes with toddlers pointing and laughing as I tried to light a cigarette upside down. Did I mention that my credit card was denied and cut up while I was renting skies and buying my lift pass. Engouh about the ski trip, the frostbite on my fingers is making typing difficult, and I don't want to rant and rave for six grafs without merit. I got a ride home frm the hospitol from a cab driver who had to reach down my pants to get my wallet. Not exactly something I am going to admit in public, but another straw on this camels back. A ride worth 2 dollars cost me twenty, his hands aren't going down below again. I walk to the front door and manage to get the spare key I left inside the mailbox. I throw the key in the lock, but I can't turn it. Its frozen. Its frozen pretty good too, because now I can't get the key out of the lock. I yell a few unkind words at God and mutter some stuff about a female dog and a kid with no father. Joe, the guy upstairs, decides to open his window, showering me with ten pounds of snow. He comes down and throws the door open, pretty much breaking my nose. One trip to the hospitol is enough, two is insance. I get inside and decide a beer is in order, but seen realize that i cant bring the can to my lips. My ass is ithcing and my I can't change the T.V channel. Thank I am about to pass out.

Prompt # 11

2005-04-10T12:00:00.000-04:00

Seeing your brother for the first time after almost 10 years of being apart. Watching you nephew sleep in the maternity ward of a hospitol. Watching my Dad marry the woman of his dreams, and my mother marry the man who gave her his heart. Finding out that your brother is a state champion, and following in his two older brothers footsteps. The best things in life are free, and the best things in life just keep on comming. You never know when something free is comming along, whether its a gift certificate for McDonalds so you can take advantage of the dollar menu or a thank you from a stranger for helping them change a tire. And I think that people often overlook the free things, we tend to base appreciation on the value of something in a monetary sense, not an emotional sense. You really thank your grandparents when they buy you a new keyboard for christmas that you end up using twice, but never thank you for the parents for putting food on the table and clothes on your backs. Most things for free are taken for granted, and most things that are free are the greatest things that we can offer people.

prompt # 10

2005-04-10T11:47:00.000-04:00

Uncle Henry's Ad...
Spinning Wheel, very sturdy hardwood with bobbin flyer and 3 bobbins 225$

We walk through the old house shortly after her funeral. My grandfather had passed away not more than two years ago, and my dad said that she wasn't going to be far behind. The big oak door that leads to the entry way is coated with layers of memories and the knocks of visitors. The will had given most stuff to her children, my dad and her two sisters, but some things in the attic weren't mentioned. We sorted through the family photos and the countless trinkets from travels to Engalnd and Scotland. Sitting underneath an old linen was her spinning wheel. Dad said she had never used it in years, but she used to spend her sunday afternoons spinning wool after church. Neither of her children learned to master the craft, and no one really could see themselves needing the thing. I wondered why they could throw away something my grandmother loved, but kids are often heard above adults. I guess the best thing to do is give it to someone who will use it, which I think would mean more to my grandmother and anything else we could do with it.

Prompt #9

2005-04-10T11:35:00.000-04:00

The only thing in my life that I have ever thrown away of any importance are memories. My memories start when I was six and my parents were divorced. Six years of someone's life just up and gone isn't easy to deal with when you think about it. I've thrown away memories about when my parents where in love, not at each others throats over child support and days of custody. I've thrown away memories of when my older borther lived with us, before he moved away. I've thrown away memories of friends and family that I have met in my prior life. The life before my memory starts. I think everyone throws away memories, and I only wish tat I could understand why. Is it that we just don't cherish them when we are younger? Is it that we just are doomed as a society to let everything slip away? Is it... I've thrown away money on scratch tickets and smokes. I've thrown away phone numbers and appointment cards. I've even thrown away a pet mouse by accident. If only I had been more enviromentally determined when I was younger, I might have been able to hold on to the past.

Freestyle #7

2005-03-14T07:56:00.000-05:00

I'd like to vent my point of view on a subject that I love and respect dearly. Football. More importantly, their salaries. I know that for them, its a full time job, but why do they need to be paid 100 milklion dollars over seven years with 36.5 million garunteed? I know this is an extreme example, but these guys are playing a game that almost every high school kid dreamed about. The NFL is the best of the best. The best players, the best coaches, and even the best fans. I recently heard that the NFL's PBP, Performance Based Program, was giving out additional money to players who out perform their contracts. If a player out performs his contract, exceeds the normal improvement usually showed by rookies or players in general, they will get an amount based upon how much they surpassed that mark. Now, I thought the whole idea of playing better than your expectations is an integral part of the NFL, not something that should be rewarded right away. In the old days, players had to perform well for several years before they got more money, today, they make one sack in a game and they are signing new contracts left and right. My dad doesn't hire an electrician if he wired one house better than anyone out there. He looks at everything the guy does and evaluates the work over a long period of time. In days where players are playing for ten to twelve seasons, one season isn't very long at all, especially when considering the money they are dealing with. I think that players hsould try to get back to their high school football games, where playing the game was fun, it was a sense of pride, not a sense of income.

Classification Intro 2

2005-03-13T14:18:00.000-05:00

How would you feel if you had someone who lived in your house that would chew anything it could get its mouth on, would shit and piss on everything you ever owned, would get hair from one end of the house to ther other, would drink from a toilet bowl and slobber all over the seat. I'll make an assumption that you wouldn't have them there at all. Now what if I told you that this same person loved to see you come through the door, loved to have you scratch their head on your way in, loved to have you spend anytime with them, and I will garuntee that everyone would gladly welcome anyone into their house who embodies those qualities. Now, imagine this person isn't a person, its a dog. A four legged family member that everyone loves, a family memeber that is always happy, always loyal, always truthful. Just as families come in varying sizes, dogs do as well. Big dogs, small dogs, skinny dogs, fat dogs, even Dr. Suess's dogs have a place in some family somewhere. I love big dogs, my grandfather likes little dogs. Either way you look at it, dogs are just as diverse as we are.

Classification Intro 1

2005-03-13T14:03:00.000-05:00

Lets travel to a time where things were more wild, yet just as dangerous, as they are today. Stone and fire were engines that sculpted our lives and burned our path in history. And beside us, thriving with us during our prosperity; buried with us in our wars, our four legged friends have stood fast with us. Dogs, or mans best friend as many lovingly call them, were and still are a pivitol part in our lives. These canine pets come in every shape and color, every attitude and demeanor. Big dogs, small dogs, white dogs, black dogs, they come in as many varieties as we as a society come in. I, myself, have a big Golden Retriever that I love to death. Much like me, or vice versa, the jury is still out on that one, Max can listen for hours and not say a word, or he'll talk your ear off, about anything. And, from all the dogs we've had, I've noticed that every dog comes in three basic packages: Big, strong, dogs with the IQ of a lug nut, Medium, athletic dogs that will play forever and ever, and small lap dogs that gobble up attention, and dish it out like cafeteria workers.

Freestyle #6

2005-02-28T08:27:00.000-05:00

I have this dog, well, he's more than a dog, he's my best friend when ever I need the most qualified friend for anything. He's 12 years old, but a young 12. His golden hair is starting to whiten from his age, his snout more so than the rest of his aged body. his eyes are cloudy, the cateracts is taking something from him that he really enjoyed more than most. His hearing, much like his eyesight, is failing steadily. His joints hurt when the weather is bad, or when he's been quite spirited the day before. He doesn't wimper or whine about the pain, but his eyes tell more than he realizes. He listens more than most could ever stomach, and tells people more than they realize. I sit their and start to think about something, something I haven't told a soul, and we just walks up sits in front of me and just looks at me. He doesn't want anything other than an occasion scratch behind the ear, but he gives so much in return. I can sit and talk with him for hours, and he would just sit there, listening and talking back, glances and expressions telling his thoughts and opinions. Usually, when I['m done talking, he's done answering, I take him out to McDonalds for a dollar menu treat. With his large frame, its closer to 4 or 5 dollars, but I don't care about the cost. He kind of drools when he's done, and glances me an evil eye when I light up a smoke for the drive back. I tell him I'll quit shortly, he rolls his eyes and looks back out the window. I start ot pleas with him that I will, but he knows me better than that. We get back to the house and I cringe whne I think he can't jump down 11 inches to the ground below. I help him down and send him on his way. When he passes on, I hope the next dog I get is at least half the dog that Max is. And at least hafl the friend.

prompt reaction #6

2005-02-28T08:16:00.000-05:00

The shaky breaks on my '93 POS sort of halted me in my skid marks. I had the directions to the new house scribbled on a McDonald's napkin from my glove box. I double check the directions and looked for the huge silo. Check. Then I gazed across the street in disbelief. Ironically the house matched my truck. It was run down, something that time forgot since the 70's. A huge radio tower was half standing, half praying for the wind to finish it off. A chicken coop surrounded in barbed wire made me wonder what kind of chickens these nut jobs raised. I took the key my mom gave me and unlocked the front door. Stepping into the closet of a mud room, I could taste the smoke that had nestled into the walls and drapes for the past 45 years. The kitchen was small, the hallway even smaller, and the bedrooms the smallest. Then it hit me, there were only 2 bedrooms for four people. One bathroom for a house with two teenagers and two adults who shower hourly. The house was an ugly orange and made you wonder if the nicotine filled air was masking its true color. The back fields where our horse were to graze and run free was ridden with plastic and old tractor parts that seem to a part of the land itself. I walked back out the front door and decided against locking it. Anyone who would break into this place was pretty desperate, and more needy than my parents could ever be. I looked baack over my shoulder and wondered how such wealthy people could buy this old, and I use this term rather loosley, Farmhouse. Whne I return with everything I own, I still don't think I will be able to ever imagine this place in a way it deserves.

Cause Essay Reaction

2005-02-28T08:07:00.000-05:00

This was different then anything I have ever written. I don't usually like to list out three things then talk about them in this way, but I found an exception, where the topic motivated me enough to try hard to make this work. My thoughts about this were strong, and I will never regret the decision I made to transfer from UMO to EMCC. After I got going, I relaized that this creation was going to be easier than I had first conjured. Perhaps if I approach every essay thats similar to this, more of a guide than a subjective piece, I will be able to achieve the success with this that I enjoyed with the cause essay. Probably the most important thing that I gathered from writing this paper was that sometimes you have to break your mold to write a paper, but never adbandon you voice. And I don't think I left it out to dry here.

Freestyel #8

2005-02-18T08:40:00.000-05:00

I knew this kid, more of an adult now but he was a kid when I knew him some time ago, who liked to take things for granted. He used to take things as they were given, but never gave things when they were needed. Friends were a comodity that was as disposable as Kleenex. He was a rather smart kid, acceling at math and science, and taking his athletics to a higher level. He believed he never had to study, and he was right. Classes were at the pace where he could learn everything just listening, and then ace the tests faster than anyone else in the class. He loathed homework, so he did the minimum to apease the teachers. He easily made the top 5 in high school and led the Math team to victories over the Math and Science Magnet School in Limestone. His dedication to sports and more so the weight room soon gave him a reputation around the school as the resident strong man. He lifted like a fiend, trying to get better and better at his ways of war. Then one day he realized that he had taken everything for granted, and when he needed a real friend, he couldn't find anyone high or low. People saw him more as someone they knew rather than a friend. He thought and thought and spent countless hours wondering why this was so. He than decided changes needed to be made. He spent more time listening than bragging. He spent more time studying than slacking off. He spent more time with technique, rather than raw power. He changed his path. The appraoch paid off in a few months. People started comming to him with any problem. Teachers no longer saw him as an ass, more of a person. His athletic career exploded when he mastered the fundamentals to compliment the power. Tha kid is gone now and I stand in his place. I wouldn't say I'm a different person, just a more delicate person. Having experienced life before and after a change for the good, I have to say that taking things for granted is a mistake that hurts more than one could ever think.

Prompt #5

2005-02-18T08:12:00.000-05:00

It was an epic battle. A battle for the ages that would settle disputes that have been on the table for almost an entire generation. Old meets New. Innovation meets Tradition. The field of battle has been set; Gillete Stadium. The armies have been chosen; Patriots vs. Broncos. The Generals have their battle plan ready for action, only a coin flip sperates those who strikes first, and those who must defend their honor. Its time for the Madden Football game of a lifetime. My friend, Jon, and I both take claim as one of the greatest Madden players of all time. Using our prowess for the game and our instincts for victory, we both set out for the title "Worlds Greatest Madden Player Ever." Kind of a big title for only have two players, but they couldn't be any better. Two players who new the game like they new their own family, only loved it more. The game set out as a battle of field position. My traditional running attack was being forcefully denied by a stingy Broncos defensive line that ate my running backs up left and right. Jon's innovative passing attack was falling short of its target after I had two key picks early on. At the end of the first half, it was a modest 7-6, with my squad trailing by one. We took a lunch break at McDonalds and refigured our game plans. I decided to try and carve apart his rather shaky secondary with short, accurate passes, and much to my avail, It was working rather well. Jon certainly shook up his team by changing his special teams drastically and started pounding away with a power rushing attack. We had taken a page from each others book, and enjoyed much better success. Tom Brady, his arm like the rifle of a sniper, true and accurate, was hitting recievers in stride with pinpoint accuracy. I was confusing an often unflappable player, leaving him wondering how I could avoid two sacks and still bomb one for 80 yards. His running attack was potent, but fell short when it mattered most. With two minutes remaining, The score was a close, but relieving, 34-27, with the Defending Super Bowl Champs ahead of their rivals. Two minutes is an eternity when you have a professional player on the other end of the joystick, but my defense had risen to the occasion many times before. He set out with a no huddle, 5 wide recievers set and audibled everything from the line. He had taken the reins and was marhcing down the field with speed and authority. Then, just as some sort of light fell on his pixilated head, Rodney "The Most Fined Man in NFL History" Harrison picked off a laser, and took it to the house. A 47 yard INT for a touchdown, the game easily won, and more importantly, a nice feather in my hat. I had won, I was victorious, I was the Best and I had bragging rights, until Madden 2006 comes out in August. Then its a whole new ball game, a whole new level of play, with more relentless hours spent to attain perfection. For know my title holds, but every sport has its fair share of greats, and those who are less than 500. But, this is a game where rosters change like your underwear and roles can soon reverse, more quickly than one could ever imagine.

Cause Essay

2005-02-16T08:23:00.000-05:00

I was in the top 10% of my class in high school. I was on the math team, the engineering team and a member of the Nation Honor Society in high school. Science and Sports governed my life and I was dead set on becomming an engineer, no if's, and's or but's about it. I sent in my college applications to various schools such as Notre Dame and RPI, and then had my fallback, University of Maine. I got three letter of acceptances and had to make a choice. Everyone had talked about how UMaine was great, with the most bang for my buck. I looked at the financial burden that I would endure for a while from the other two, and gave UMaine the OK. I even landed a spot on their track roster and a few scholarships from them to do track there. I was excited, I knew what I was going do for the rest of my life. Then, I found out what I had gotten into. Engineering wasn't my cup of tea, it wasn't even a beverage that I would ever consume. They didn't offer anything else that even remotely got my mouth watering to pursue, and athletes didn't do track because they loved it, they did it because they were good at it.

Classes were long, boring and tedious. Not that tedious is a bad thing, but in this case it didn't even carry a slight chance of having some enjoyable facet about it. Engineering is dryer than most deserts and the teachers for the most part do resemble most camels that live in them. The teachers were there for research, not cultivating our minds and ambitions. They were rather curt with people, didn't like questions, liked people who knew less than they did even more and they actually discouraged me from engineering to see if I'd stick it out. This wasn't right, I didn't think this was right. I wanted a place where I was stimulated and encouraged, even kicked in the ass to get going, to get motivated. This wasn't happening, at least it wasnt to me. But determination set me out to see what else UMO had to offer.

There are numerous majors, minors and concentrations at UMO. From being a Vet to an Astronomer, one can almost do it all there. Almost. I searched high and low for something at UMO that made me just scream with excitement, something that I knew would captivate my attention and stimulate my mind with curiosity and enjoyment. To much dismay, my search ended without a path to follow. I was going down stream without a paddle and the canoe was filling up with water, needless to say, their choice of cirriculums wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't so much that the school itself was bad, its just they didn't have that Holy Grail that I was looking for. Track made me look harder and harder, trying to find some way to tack on enough minors to make a major more "me-like". But, alas, even track began to make me falter in my attempts to stay in the institute.

I worked hard for four years in high school to become one of the best throwers in the state of Maine, and when UMO said that I could get scholarships If I signed a letter of intent, I was thrilled. Thorwing was a passion, a hobby, a sport that brought out the best in me, both in spirit and in effort. I was good to start with, but became elite with hard work that I enjoyed doing. I started track in September and lifted like a maniac and ran like a fool to get into A-1 shape in no time. I watch video of myself throwing with my coaches and learned every style I could to better myself, not for the team or to have my name in the record books, but because it was a passion, a way of life for me. I soon began to notice that the other throwers were more concerned about how their results measured against others, rather than against their own. Improvement was only aknowledged when it beat another, not when you bettered yourself. They saw trophies rather than satisfaction. I soon became rather discouraged that I was the only one enjoying it, while everyone else was almost in turmoil of how to be the Best. Rather than taint something that I loved, and in turn held with the highest regard, I decided to not pursue the track career and instead just do it at my leisure, throwing on my own, watching myself beat myself. If ind that most athletes are like my old teamates, ands its unfortunate for those who love it as I do.

A great school, in a great town, that somehoe disapointed me. The UMO was not my cup of tea, but It did teach me some lessons, and it made me find a true path in life. Between teamates not appreciating something special, to professors and classes not meeting the students needs or passions, to not having the avenues that I wanted to pursue, UMO was a great experience with some dashes of bad mojo thrown in. I can't say that I would ever want to go through it again, but I'm glad I did. It led me to culinary arts. It led me to look into the world and into myself to see what really mattered to me. It led me to my future.

Outro for Cause Essay

2005-02-15T22:45:00.000-05:00

Just as every child has to take that first step towards their parents, we have to take that leap into our lives. Sometimes you miss, and I hope that I have shown you ways to learn to pick yourself up and dust yourself off from your misses. Every child doesn't start off walking the minute they stand, some work for the fruits of their labors, just as some are lucky enough to find it right off the bat. You just need to know that your landing pad is out there, and that someday, someway, everyone can find their own way, even if it takes a little longer than normal.

Intro For Cause #1

2005-02-15T22:24:00.000-05:00

The blairing voice of the school secretary annouces that there are applications for Summer work at the local seasonal resteraunt in town. Being a soppmore with meager funds, I jump on the opportunity to earn some extra cash to pad my wallet. I had never cooked a thing in my life for anyone, never mind myself. I came to work a few weeks later only to discover that one of my friends was working there, only because his parents owned the place. He said that job was horrible, and that he wouldn't blame me if I wanted to quit. I started in, learning the fryers and the grill, flipping burgers and cooking fries and seafood left and right. I fell in love with it. I found the thing that made me just want to wake up every morning and get going to work. Its funny how things just fall into your lap that just make your day, week or even month. I'd like to tell you, from my own experiences, ways that you can make that fall happen a little more often.

freestyle #4

2005-02-13T13:13:00.000-05:00

I work for a local carwash from 2pm until 10 pm Monday through Friday. Its not a glorious job, but it pays the bills and fits around my schedule. This past Thursday, it was rather snowy. Ok, so it was extreme blizzard conditions with high winds and copious amounts of snow. I'm cleaning the carwash, because no person in their right mind would get a wash when there is a foot of snow on the roads. I've got all the grates that line the middle of the floor flipped up and I have a wheel barrow and shovel digging up sand from the past weeks cars. I got the strongest acid money can buy covering the walls, and I have just scrubbed the entire floor with simple green to remove any grease and such. I see this car pull right up to the cones the block off the wash. I stop, get out of the trench and start towards the truck. An middle-aged woman gets out of the vehicle and yells to me, "Is the Carwash open today." Now, I roll that around in my head a little bit, try to see where her rationality for this idea was comming from, and much to my utter dismay, I couldn't grasp one way that this was a reasonable thought. I say politely, "No Ma'am, The was is closed because of the weather. We'll be open Saturday though." She is really not a big fan of this, and asks why the weather made us close.
"Well, when you come out of the wash and hit the roads, your tires are going to throw all that snow and sand and salt back onto your car. When you get some, the only thing that'll be clean will be the roof of your car. So, we close the wash then once the roads start to clear, we open her up." I explained to her.
She kinda nodded in approval, and got back into her truck and drove off. And I'm thinking to myself, how could someone be that dumb. Then it hit me, our carwash attracts dumb people. Not all the time, but every so often get a person just like that woman who wants a was in a monsoon, or during a tornado or even some meteor attack from outter space. I just have to come to grips with the fact that I'm going to deal with some less then average people. I guess thats why I was taught patience as a child.

Prompt Reaction #4

2005-02-13T13:01:00.000-05:00

She used to sit in her rocker by the front window looking over the busy street. She just kept looking for anything; family, friends, the mail man. Her hands were wrinkled from years of cooking, and the onset of arthritis. She wore her pearl necklace that my grandfather gave her when they were married, she always wore that pearl neckalce. Its been about a year and a half since she passed away, and it isn't any easier to think about. When she passed, she didn't remember who my father was, thought I was someone who worked at the Nursing home and thought Parker was just someone visiting her. That was hard. The woman that baby sat for me while my parents were at work. The woman who would cry if you didn't have seconds because she thought you hated her cooking. The woman who would drop whatever she was doing to make her grandson's their favorite cookies in the world. The woman who would cut the crust off of our bologna sandwiches because she was afraid we might choke on it. Whenever i visit her grave, I drop a little potato off by her stone. She used to carry one in her purse, she said it would fight off the arthritis. I put pepper on everything now, because she said pepper makes for good blood. I can't even look at a box of Macaroni and cheese, she used to make the best mac and cheese. The first person I will always think of, is one that I have to think of. Nana was a great woman, who loved to be a great person. Our family will always think of her, and I hope that my kids can find someone like her to bless their lives forever.

Freestyle #3

2005-02-13T12:48:00.000-05:00

I had an arguement the other day over something that I hold rather dear to my heart. It wasn't about anyone in my family or a friend or even my truck. No, this hit a different nerve, a little nerve that everyone has in some way. The subject matter; Coke. Not just about whether it was better than Pepsi or even Mountain Dew, but whether Coke was better than Diet Coke. Trivial to some, but to me, something that I have often debated in my head many times over. My roomate, Kit, said Coke was much better than Diet Coke. I, being the argumentitive type, told him that Diet Coke was better in so many different ways. It has the same caffeine, but with less sugar, more taste, and it wasn't as think and syrupy as Coke has a tendacy to be. I even went as far to declare that Diet Coke was even more carbonated then regular Coke. Kit, KNowing how to push my buttons just right, said that Diet Coke was for fat, old people who couldn't handle a real soda. I told him that his words don't have much merit when he can't even stomach Moxie. So, the only thing we could do was call in a third party to resolve our differences. I decided that his girlfriend, Nikki, would moderate this rather well. Kit thought she would be biased towards his opinion, but I thought otherwise. Nikki gave Kit this little face that said she was sorry and proclaimed Diet Coke the superior beverage. Kit, still recovering from the jolt of his girlfriends answer, was gasping for air. I, on the other hand, was headin for another two liter of Diet Coke.

prompt reaction #3

2005-02-04T08:18:00.000-05:00

They really need to put up little warning signs wherever spiders have thier god forsaken webs, because I flew smack dab in the middle of one and I am just waiting for that damned 8 legged monster to come back and finish me off. Struggling is futile, I know after five minutes of squirming and wriggling around. At least this death trap is in that jewelry store right next to the food court. Some younger lady, bordering her 30's, is going crazy down at the counter by the monthly specials.
"What do you mean you don't have my ring." Her voice blasted back at the attendant
The attendant, handling the situation much better than the young lady responds, "Ma'am, we send all the rings and other jewelry away to be cleaned. We just don't have the room to house that sort of operation. We told you that we would call you when the restoration and cleaning was complete and when the ring was back at this location."
"My husband and I are renewing our vows TOMORROW and I need that ring." she pleads to the jewelry store employee, "Is there anyway you can quicken the process at all?"
Feeling some for of compassion, the attendant calls up the area specialist they use and asks if they can put a rush on the ring and to have it shipped here first thing in the morning.
"Thank you so much, I'll be here first thing tomorrow for my ring." The woman says joyously.

I take a quick look around for that little twit thats going to make a meal out of me and think about all the dumpsters and garbage cans that I'm going to be missing. Abruptly, I'm interrupted by this gentleman in his early 20's haggling with a sales associate.
"We'll talk if you drop a friggin zero off the end of that price." He said in a rather pleading manner.
"I'm sorry sir, that engagement ring rpice is non negotiable. Your not buying a car, your buying a memory sir." The man says with a rather slick air about him.
"What do you have that isn't in diamond, you know, that fake stuff?" He says desperatly
Just then the young mans cell phone rings in his coat pocket.
"Shhhhhh. Its my girlfriend-soon-to-be-fiance." The man whispers with a spray of saliva.
The mna nods and walks of to attend some other customer briefly.
"Honey........."
CRASH! My attention is ripped away by a huge crash in the food court.
"Watch where the fuck you are going you little shit!" An older man barks at a another. He's covered in a delightful combination of egg foo young and A pasta primeviera.
"What the hell do you mean, you old bastard, you backed into ME." He shouted back.
The whole time I'm wondering how wonderful the pasta and egg foo young would taste if it was about three weeks old. Then I remeber where I am, and know that it already is three weeks old. As if it were choreographed this way or not, I'll never know, but both men throw down their trays simultaneously and started to hit each other. Innocent by-standers are being covered in gravy and vegtables. Young children are crying for their parents. A security guard jumps up and starts to head for the two brawling idiots. The whole time, I'm wondering if its possible to eat some food, before I become food.

B-M-E person graf

2005-02-02T08:12:00.000-05:00

The regional newspaper called him Mr. Everything, and boy did he buy into that. Jon might be the cockiest person to ever, as he put it, grace this earth. As each game went on you could see his head inflating like a ballon and I wanted to be the person to pop it. He took all the credit, and made no atempt to correct the news papers glaring mistake giving the outcome of the game to his performance alone. Never mind the fact that our defense gave up no points. He didn't seem to care that our running game was so potent, that we were able to string out the defense with long passes. Never mind that our special teams were amazing, with our punting game and kick coverage being phenomenal. Nope. Not with this kid. He was the reason our victory was in the books, and he was Mr. Everything. One day at practice, Jon was going off about the numbers he was going to put up against a forgiving Orono defense. I spoke up and said, "Jon, who throws those passes to you? Who blocks for the quaterback so he has time to throw? Maybe you should realize that one day, your going to go down, and its going to be up to the rest of us to get to that endzone. And you know what?" He responded with a smug, "What?". I snapped back at him, with some serious jazz in my voice,"I think we'll be just as good a team without you." Jon dropped two passes in the endzone and only had one catch that friday night, but our team still won easily. Jon looked like a ghost, just pale and hollow inside. I got my quick second of glory and then I walked over to Jon and told him to cheer up, at least you're part of a family here who can forgive and forget.

Unique graf

2005-02-01T23:45:00.000-05:00

"Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what your gunna get." Tom Hanks couldn't have said it any better. And in a way, thats me. I'm a big man, about a biscuit shy of 325 and a modest 5'11", but I pack a lot onto that bulky frame. Being an ex-cellegiate athlete, I have the power and agility that most don't accomadate with size. Grace and balance have come from years of throwing shot-put and discus, and power and strength from pushing around other on the football field. And just like I'm a box of chocolates, I'm also a lot like a pineapple at the same time. I can be rough on the outside, between smokin' and drinkin' and playin' in the mud, yet I can be sophisticated and chivalrous too. I always open a door for someone, yet still ahve the grit to mutter something under my breath if they are a little less then pleased by my gesture. The tough buy image on the outside has to hide the moma's boy on the inside, especially when your talkin shit to another athlete. I get a lot of people asking me for advice, not because I'm a know all, but because I tend to listen a little better then most, and give the truth a little more often then one should. Probably the one way to sum myself up would be, I love to have fries with my fillet minion and ice cold beer, and I'll probalby open the truck door for my dinning companion, right before I peel off and try to find some nice fresh mud.

Things graf

2005-01-31T08:23:00.000-05:00

I don't know how many boats have hit the boulder out in the middle of Mattanawcook Lake, but the number gets bigger every sunny summer day. I'd say its about nine feet across and sits quietly about six inches below the surface of the dark and murky waters that reside in lake. But, to me, my brother and some of our good friends, its more. Its a place we could swim to and just sit or stand on its submerged surface and wave at boats as they drove by, the whole time you know they are wondering what on gods green earth are they standing on. The rock, its all we ever called it but it was a place that was all our own. A place where we could go and remove ourselves from parents and teachers and even some homework that hasn't even been dignified with a thought yet. We were an array of ages starting from five and ending at a whopping ten years old. The rock was perfection, even if it caused so many people a good deal of misfortune, it gave us some times that we'll never remember, but it gave us more that we'll never forget. Its one of those hidden treasures, in more than one way. Yeah, its lurking beneath the surface, out of view to the untrained eye, but it also is more than a waiting insurance claim. Its a palce to talk with good friends, and to roast the people who you couldn't even stand. I can see the new Criscraft that belongs to the nieghbor down the cove, and he's skipping across the surface like a loon gettin ready to take off, and sure enough, even the seasoned cove dweller smashes into our little own slice of heaven.

Freestyle #2

2005-01-30T18:28:00.000-05:00

I can hear Joe, the guy who lives up stairs, walking around his apartment. Whether he's making dinner, or just trying to get his place tiddied up, I'll probably never know, but its something I just noticed. I also just noticed that the 60 watt bulb in the kitchen's combination ceiling fan and light is tweaking out every 5 seconds or so, probably should replace that. The street light about three houses down from my home casts a eary, yet soothing glow as it reflects off from the entertainment center in the living room off to my right. Have you ever sat there and just noticed things orjust looked a little harder than normal, or sometimes just not looked for anything at all? I do that more now, not by choice or by lack of things to do, I just do it. I try to notice the little things that everyone overlooks, or just chooses not to acknowledge. I think it helps you appreciate things, and helps you better things. The glass might be half full or even half empty, but is it a glass of water, or is it a glass of vineger or even something edible at all. Thats the things that I am pondering more and more know. Not so much what life is and what the universe is, but whats in it. What brings meaning to our lives? Those little things that add up to a huge picture. I guess that if I know the little things, a little arithmatic would say I could add those up to a huge thing. But instead of rounding it off to the nearest number, I have those tenths in there, even those thousandths that make that number more special, more real. Just by noticing a few things here and there, just by remebering a little something here and there, or even just saying something here or there could end up making a big difference in the end. I just wonder sometimes if we, as a society, tend to appreciate things more when we understand them better. I guess that I'm just trying to understand life better, one little screw and reflection at a time.

Prompt Reaction #2

2005-01-30T18:14:00.000-05:00

John Madden. Phil Simms. Mike Ditka. All were good football players, better yet, they were great football players. But now, as everything must come to an end, these guys hung up their cleats and put away their pads and have left the playing field of the game which carved their names into history. But, they still are woven into its fabric today as both legends of the game and as announcers from various TV networks. These guys have my dream job, the one thing I would love to get paid to talk about. Football. Something about the game just makes me tick, makes me hot and angry when my team looses, and makes me cry out in joy when they come out on top. I love, that at its very root, its all about the basics. Blocking, tackling, running routes and throwing a ball are so basic, that even pee wees learn them, but even some pros can't master. Its a chess match of two coaches, two teams, and even two players. Your next moves dictates the whole field of play, not just your job. It boils down to a battle, a war, between you and the guy across from you, knowing the whole time that if you beat him, play in and play out, he is yours, you have his respect, and thats when he quits and he gives in for his efforts are now futile. Its the complexity and its simplicity all meshed into 60 minutes of pure adrenaline and emotion. Football is more than a game, its a way of life. Discipline, creativity, flexibility, strength, and even some failure, that make it such a huge part of my life. To be paid to announce would be my coup de grace in life. I wouldn't even need to be paid, just the satisfaction and enjoyment from breaking down a game and showing everyone how this happened, or even whats going to happen next would be enough compensation for me. I want someone to say, Cole Averill, he knows what he's talking about, he doesn't just call the game, he knows the little nuances players have and team tendancies, he makes the game clearer to me.

Inventory graf

2005-01-26T08:12:00.000-05:00

This guy can't grasp the idea of the mail organizer. From the looks of the desk, he doesn't even grasp the idea of a trash can. Since he doesn't know how to use either the trash can or the mail organizer, I wonder if he can find his way to work, because he can't even navigate the mouse around to do his work. Maybe he should use the knife to start hackin down the jungle of bottles and paperwork, just watch out for stray thumbtacks comming out of left field. While he's on this cleansing safari, he might actually get some use from the flashlight thats just collecting dust there. Aside from the paperwork and the mass of pulverized trees spewwed everywhere, this guy might think he's all that and a bag of frito lay baked potato chips with the number of telephones he's got kickin around. How much do you wanna bet this guy has a cell phone with one of those build in cameras? His technical prowess is eveident in other ways as well, if only because he has his computer dismembered and he has homemade CAT5 running all around the place, they probably even have a stranglehold on a couple of Coke bottles too. Maybe, when this slob gets back from class or work or where ever he is, he might step back, and look at the disaster that took over his desk and realize, hey... I can get 5 cents for a bottle or can and hey... don't they recycle paper as well?

Inventory-List

2005-01-25T22:30:00.000-05:00

Here's whats on my computer desk in my apartment. From left to right, front to back
- Mail Organizer
On Mail Organizer
-2 8-port hubs for DSL connection
-2 8 foot CAT5 cords for the DSL connection
- A small book named "English as a F*cking Language"
- A shaws reciept
-W-2's from DOC's and Gillmor Farms
-Tire Pressure gauge
-Thumb tacks that aren't mine
Back to the Desk
-Telephone with no phone in the charger
-Telephone/Answering machine with phone
-My wallet with money spewing out everywhere
-A Random Dollar bill
-5 Diet Coke cans
-20oz Diet Coke Bottle, half empty
-Fresca Bottle, half empty
-Note pad with telephone numbers scribbled down on it
-Spare key to my truck's ignition
-3 AA batteries, one is Rayovac, one is Energizer, the other is Duracell
-Gerber Pocket knife
-Envision Computer monitor
-New England Patriots Desktop calendar, with nothing written on it and curled up edges
-Left Speaker for the Logitech Speakers for the computer
-Volume Control Device for the speakers
-Microsoft Keyboard with wrist pad attached with duct tape
- Right logitech Speaker
-Receipt for the speakers from best-buy
-Another Fresca Bottle, empty
-2 more Coke bottles, empty
-Computer tower, with two plates take off the front of it, leaving the inards exposed.
On top of Tower
-100 Black CD-RW
- Red, Green, Blue and Orange Floppy disks
-Dr's Appointment card from Dr Carl Alessi's Family practice for 8:45 on Feb 7th
-Sports Illustrated Magazine Commemorationg the Red Sox World Series win and season
-Two TV remotes that go to broken TVs
-2 Reciepts for gas from Mobil
-Plate of Lasagna Hamburger Helper thats I'm eating after I finish this list
-Desk lamp with no bulb
Back to the desk, again
-Bottle caps for all the bottles of soda
-my Kensington Cordless Optical mouse(no mousepad)
-The other ends for the two CAT5 lines for DSL connection

Freestyle #1

2005-01-23T03:17:00.000-05:00

Have you ever had one of those days where you wish you could just pause it, have it last as long as you can. Everything seems to go in your favor that day. You favorite sports team pulls out an outstanding victory, you find out that you got an A on a paper that you were nervous about, or even something as simple as meeting someone new and exciting. The day where the world is yours and you were blessed to call it yours. Your heart and soul are both in unison, both over joyed at their fortune on this day. Its like a good song, a great song. It just seems to last forever, captivating you and embracing you with its prose of meaning and enjoyment. It might only last for a few minutes, but those minutes are sweet, powerful, even intoxicating. The song ends, but you're still rolling the lyrics around in you head and singing clips and pieces of versus and choruses. Then you wonder why every day couldn't be like that. Why can't everyday be absolutely, unimaginabley, completely perfect.
Then I realized something almost profround and intruging about "The Day". You need to have the bad to appreciate the good. You need to have the hard times to appreciate the happy ones. Eventually every song gets old and out played, thats why singers and song writers compose new ones. My grandfather used to say "The only reason you have snow in the winter, is to appreciate the sun in the summer." He's right. If everything was perfect, and eventaully everyone got bored of it, what could we do to make it better? What can people do to improve on perfection? Can you really make an omlet without breaking a few eggs? No. Plain and simple. Life throws you curves, sometimes you hit, most of the time you miss. Nobody is perfect, and I'm beginning to think more and more that I like it that way. It makes people work for their good times, and learn from their bad occasions. It makes life as fun and thrilling as it is. It shows us that even a rotten apple will feed the worms and the birds. Mistakes and hard times make us appreciate the things that mean the most to us in this world, and to me, thats as perfect as you can get.

Prompt #1

2005-01-21T10:41:00.000-05:00

I'm alone in a quiet room. The clock would just be hitting 12:30 AM if the power hadn't gone out. I'm sitting in the living room chair, still wondering what the end of the TV show I was watching is going to be. Its quiet, real quiet. Its the type of quiet where the silence is loud and overwhelms you. I know I'm alone, but I still hear things. I hear the radiator in the corner by the big bay window clicking, the steam hitting the water in the pipes and making a sound comparable to someone taking a nine iron to the side of a metal fence. I hear the easy creaking sound of the old wooden rocker that was originally my grandmother's and now sits in my apartment. The wind is almost howling outside, making the maple tree outside the front window rap against the side of the house. The moonlight hits the glass panel on the entertainment center and makes me jump a little bit. I start to hear myself over all of this; my breath, my thoughts, ideas, opinions. I start to ponder things that I haven't dwelled upon in some time. Whats my purpose in this world? Have I made a difference in the world? Do I have any regrets in life? All this starts rushing through my head, drowing out the radiator, the wind and the trees. Then, as quickly as it left, the power came back on. The television came back on to the next program, the computer clicked on and made is usual array of clicks and beeps as it booted up. Even the wind seemed to die down enough to be barely noticable. And yes, even the thoughts that I had just briefly had time to ponder had started to sink back into my mind, waiting for the world to stop again, waiting for me to just listen a little harder as I had before.

Worst teacher graf

2005-01-21T08:21:00.000-05:00

He asked me about something from the Revolutionary war and the significance of Joshua Chamberlain's significance. He just didn't ask me, he had an attitude about it. He said it as if I had no concievable clue as to what the answer was, and even if I did, I would forget some little detail that he would then use to nail me to the wall in front of everyone. I thought for a moment, looking straight into his eyes and proceded to tell him the exact dates of the significant battles and what the outcome was and every possible detail that I could remember. I even added little made up nuances such as that one of his officers was writing a letter to his mother when his letter was covered in the coffee after his best friend burned his hand on the cup. The class was in aw, and I was loving it. The look on his face, though, was absolutely priceless. He looked back at the desk and fiddled with the pile of papers on his desk. It was a look of utter desperation, the look that he picked the only guy in the class who actually knew the answer to the question and realized he was called out, challenged to tell me I was wrong. He picked the one person in the class that used some of his functioning brain cells to deliver the response. It was flawless, I was flawless. I could hear him mutter to himself, It was perfect, no holes in the answer, the detail was more abundant then flour in a baker's shop. The whole time, I sat there thinking, I've done it.... I've made the little twit squirm with resentment for asking me a question. We stared down for what seemed like an eternity, but only seconds for the rest of the class, and he finally glanced away. I had won. I had him second guessing whether or not to ask me anymore questions. I had put myself above him, in his own eyes. Thats the day my class changed for the better, I was on a level playing field, judged for my answers and responses rather than my gender and appearence. I had transcended into the realm of equality in the class. He was my wrost teacher who taught me my greatest lesson. Listen to everything everyone has to say, because some day, you might need to call upon that knowledge to satisfy somebody's questions.

Hands Assignment

2005-01-19T22:39:00.000-05:00

From friends to the air we breathe, people take many things for granted in life. One thing that everyone has and really nobody really appreciates are our hands. The most versatile implements we have in our arsenal of tools which we as humans thrive on for our existence. Our minds guide our thoughts and ideas, our feet guide our path through the world, but our hands do all the dirty work. Whether is changing the oil filters in our cars to shoveling food into our mouths, hands do it all. They are the seldom appreciated, yet undoubted, ruler of the world. Treaties have been signed thanks to the strong hands of politicians and babies have been delivered by these gentle tools. The hand, or hands if the case applies, should be more celebrated and even more heavily cared for. Do they wipe the crap from your ass occasionally, I certainly hope so. But they should be given more respect than just some means of making our underwear more comfortable to wear.