Tomás Lautaro Monzón.

Crescendo- "Don't Care Anymore"

2012-02-06T05:16:00.000-05:00

NEW VIDEO straight form the editing bay!

Tomás at Large and Poor People Productions teaming up, along with recording help from Werdsmith (Elisha Smith) (facebook.com/werdsmith), twitter @realwerds, youtube: ismitches), to make Crescendo's debut music video of his first single, "Don't Care Anymore".

Thanks to Youtube user ilovethisbeat1 for the beat!

WATCH AND LIKE TOMAS AT LARGE ON FACEBOOK! (facebook.com/tomasatlargevideo) see more videos on youtube (youtube.com/user/tomasatlarge)

Mr. Anchorman/My Father

2012-01-02T18:34:00.002-05:00

Might be the inspiration for a short film. Wrote this myself for class. Enjoy!

I think of my father very often.

When I decided, at some point during my senior year of high school at No. 35 in Tomsk, during one of those moments when you find yourself concentrating on anything but the task at hand, that I wanted to become a damn bookstore owner, there was a pretty unassailable belief that it was going to be a pretty lonely, pretty lacking-of-a-need-to-talk-to-people job. Pretty pretty pretty.

Well, what isn’t pretty at all - it’s actually quite ugly - is that all of that ended up being true.

People always assume, “that’s not going to be me.” It’s a pretty notion.

Well guess what: take that pretty notion and stick it pretty deep down the toilet, so far in that taking it back out would require a team of highly skilled, hazmat-suit-wearing plumbers (if those even exist). Because pretty soon in life, you’ll realize that that notion is the ugliest lie you could tell yourself.

I’m a bookstore owner here in Vladivostok, a city with a good amount of fanfare. Come 2012, we’re hosting the 24th summit of some economic association that in reality, the locals could care less about. On Wikipedia, there’s a pretty lengthy list of famous people that this city played host to, from Igor to Swati to Svoy to plain Vladimir.

Then there’s me, running an antique bookstore on the corner of streets so abandoned and unkempt, it’s a wonder no cars fall straight through the ground.

I love my job. I have a passion for the written word; for organizing, cataloguing, advertising, discussing it. I often spend hours in the inventory room, reading anything from Tolstoy to his contemporaries.

So where do you think you’d find me on a foggy Thursday afternoon, way before I finally opened the bookstore? The shooting range, of course; a few blocks down from the bookstore nowadays, if you can believe that.

I’m talking like you know me. Saying “pretty” this and “pretty” that, “of course” this and “of course” that. What a fool I am indeed. I’m repeating the same error that landed me in this god forsaken room. Being too open.

My father was in the army. I’m guessing he fought in some war during some important time frame against some important enemy, but I could care less about what he fought in. The greatest enemy he ever had to face was me, just a few months prior to that Thursday when I told him off.

Maybe it was machismo, maybe he was out of his mind; I don’t give. The point is he left my mother to fend for herself. She was a loving, simple woman that - god bless her soul - actually couldn’t fend for herself. She was scared of most everything. From something as stereotypical as spiders to something as unbelievable as making fish soup. Her parents coddled her, too much. The only fingers she lifted, she used to write the homework assignments she did every blue moon. Everything else was taken care of, even falsifying the school transcripts so her aunts and cousins wouldn’t think lowly of her.

So when my father got ahold of her - or rather, prompted her to fall in love with him during a drunken stupor at a bar - he couldn’t put up with her incompetence, and he couldn’t live with himself for having been drunk at the most inopportune moment.

I have no sympathy for him. But not because he left my good for nothing mother. But because he left me. I can’t blame him for not being able to put up with a woman who hadn’t worked a day in her life, but I sure can blame him for making like the wind when he found out she was pregnant. That army boy respect and reverence for all things moral and worth standing for flew out the window when those news came.

Again!

Again I treat you like you know me.

Whatever, yeah, I’ve got daddy issues. So when a handsome man in a blue blazer, a lean, tall body, jet black hair pulled back tight, shades darker than black, khaki pants, a Rolex and an anchorman position on the local news station … well, I was swept off my feet.

I didn’t know whether I wanted Mr. Anchorman to be my father, my boyfriend, my husband or my son.

But of course, he swept me off my feet, and I told him all I’ve told you and more in less than 2 weeks of knowing him. If he had any doubt as to what kind of person I was, he didn't have to wait too long to figure it out, that’s for sure.

If only that would’ve been reciprocal. Those 2 weeks that we spent painting the town red were beautiful, but mostly because between all my babbling, I didn’t let Mr. Anchorman get a single word in. I just saw his beautiful pearly white and shining blue eyes be the audience for my less than alluring stories of daddy issues, missed calls, failed dreams and bad diarrhea.

But the day I stopped talking was the day I realized I was up the creek without a paddle. And the canoe was sinking.

Mr. Anchorman didn’t know the first thing about his career - news, media literacy, investigative reporting, etc. I could’ve made a better television reporter than him, and I’d never laid eyes on a video camera. The day Mr. Anchorman was told he would have to do investigative reporting - one of those “budget-crunch-is-forcing-us-to-move-everyone-around moments” at big corporations - Mr. Anchorman quit.

“What do you mean you quit?!”, screamed I, loud enough for the sound of the words to reach the center of the Earth.

Freeze it there. Let’s have an homage to Mr. Anchorman. Suppose the shot is framed at just my face screaming. That’s a, extreme closeup, right? It’s definitely extreme anger. Now back up just one push of the button. Look here, it’s me and Mr. Anchorman, with a blurry background. His incompetent face versus mine.

One more step. Medium shot, no? Wedding dress versus the nicest suit money or a pretty face can buy.

Further out. Look at all those people looking on so attentively, the preacher in the background wearing an annoyed face.

We don’t need to zoom out anymore; no, sir.

Now I find comfort in the words of Tolstoy, here in this decrepit set of four walls that might as well cave in and take me with them anyday. At least you don’t have to work at a damn bookstore for that to happen.

I think of my father very often.

Xmas Shout-Outs!

2011-12-25T13:42:00.000-05:00

Just a little something for all the people I know and whom I've made memories with.

Happy Holidays!

An Icon (James Rolfe)

2011-11-22T00:05:00.005-05:00

I find it very unique of human beings to be able to assign so much spiritual value to something that, were it to be freed of the circumstance, would be as unimportant as the next thing. Take James Rolfe, for example, a budding indie filmmaker and one of my favorite Internet and film producers. His film works are incredible pieces of indie filmmaking, as impressive as the ones that maybe get more airtime in film festivals or other big events. But while I applaud his work, that's not the reason why I've continued to track him and his progress ever since about 8th grade.

One day at a friend's house, we were looking at Youtube videos of retro video games when we came across something called the "Angry Nintendo Nerd" and his review of Spiderman for the Atari 2600. That "Angry Nintendo Nerd" was none other than James Rolfe. From the moment we saw that, through now, I have found reason after reason to come back to his website for nearly any video Rolfe makes, however trivial or "stupid".

Some of those reasons are easier to guess than others. Being in 8th grade at the time, and hearing the Nerd spewing curse word after curse word was enough novelty to keep my eyes glued to the screen. But as I began to watch more of his videos, and even play some of the games that he talked about myself, I began to come to terms with some of the other qualities of his work that drew me to them and to him - a nostalgia factor, a 'bygone years' factor, a 'memories' factor.

Every time the Nerd does a review, he makes a comedy skit out of it and generally spews unnecessary amounts of less than honorable language; still, between all that, he makes earnest comments on what these games mean to him. This guy's a collector - his basement is a 1980s teenager's dream game room, with shelf after shelf filled to the brim with cartridges and original game boxes, all in pristine condition - and so a sense of warmth and affection towards the games he sometimes ridicules and sometimes appreciates gets through to the viewer, me.

And I've connected with that on a very personal level. Rolfe conveys these feelings through these hilarious comedy sketches about vintage video games, while other filmmakers convey through perhaps more conventional fiction tales. Either way, I know exactly what he's talking about, because I feel it too. For example, in addition to the sketches, Rolfe loves to review old cartoons and movies from his childhood, always managing to, foe example place a comment about how he'd wake up earlier than usual before school to watch the latest episode of whatever cartoon he's talking about. The earnest tone inherent to these retellings makes me think of my own childhood stories, of my own middle school memories or time spent playing with my toys or time spent lounging around in the morning before the bus came to take me to school.

And just because the guy makes a fool of himself for the game reviews doesn't mean he's not a cognizant soul. He produced film called "Rocky Jumped a Park Bench" that, even though it's really little more than a location tour of the different locations used to shoot the Rocky films, it ends up being both a tribute to the Rocky series as well as some of its underlying motifs like hard work, passion, love, the American dream ... the editing and shots and certainly script all make these things stand out, giving a new dimension to location tours.

So every time Rolfe releases a video - even if it's just a video of him and his filmmaker friends standing outside the house from Family Matters, say - I make time to see it and enjoy it, because in a way, Rolfe's nostalgic yet at the same time front-facing spirit (as an indie filmmaker) connects with my own mindset and philosophy, and seeing the fruit of such an attitude on my computer screen is in and of itself the most rewarding experience possible.

Private in Public

2011-11-22T00:05:00.003-05:00

There are very many different types of personalities you can adopt when you're in middle school. You can concentrate full-time on your studies, concentrate full-time on your video games or playing cards ... while I wouldn't call myself a full-on nerd, I was the kind of middle schooler who talked a lot, had a lot of friends, knew a lot of names and faces, but was also substantially closed. In a way, I was private in public.

I did indeed have lots of friends. In fact, my Facebook friend count was well into the 400s before I even started high school. But somehow, I still managed to be quite closed when it came to socializing outside of school, when it came to doing things like hanging out after school on the benches right outside, or walking to the train station with a friend, or joining a sport or club. I was very concentrated on my studies, but it wasn't really the academia that was keeping me from being as properly social as I now feel I should've been.

What was at fault was - though I'm only making guesses now - a combination of a desire to achieve independence, a belief that doing stuff like the aforementioned was pointless, and perhaps also a dose of anxiety.

Back then - and now I realize this - I couldn't help rejecting the stereotype that I was a part of. In 6th grade I was appalled by the 5th graders, in 7th grade I was appalled by the 6th graders, and in 8th grade I was appalled by the 7th graders. When I say appalled, I mean turned off by the idea of being just a kid. Mind you, I enjoyed my childhood habits - playing video games, watching cartoons; standard fare - but the idea of being part of that stereotype was much less alluring than being say, of high school age or just being 18, 20, or older. So, whenever I would make a choice to walk on my own two feet with no one beside me to the bus stop, or the train station; whenever I would make a choice to go home right after school and play video games for hours instead of chilling outside with friends as they waited to get picked up; whenever I made such choices, I was making progress on my goal of independence. Doing the opposite would exacerbate the stereotype.

What a fool I was.

I thought hanging out was pointless. I thought of the term - "hanging out" - and just dwelled on how stupid doing that would be. I pretended that going home and doing stuff by myself was a way of showing I was better for doing it.

In retrospect, the rationale was quite pointless itself.

For example, one time I had the thought that hanging out with friends afterschool would be detrimental to my studies because it meant less time for homework.

Like playing video games and watching TV at home until six o' clock was any better.

But now I realize that what really was at fault was my own fear of trying something new. Of following my heart and not my brain at the moment where I had to. I was, quite honestly, nervous about the entire enterprise ... just hanging out, talking to people. Somehow, somehow I was nervous about it, about all of it.

What's worse, I feel that having made such choices, day after day after day, constitutes one of my greatest regrets. I can think of many examples where I had the opportunity to chill afterschool with some friends and I passed it up. I can think of only some times where I actually agreed.

I can only hope that I make better, much better choices now and in the future.

Say the RIght Thing!

2011-11-22T00:05:00.001-05:00

As a part of being in charge of making fun activities for the freshman Journalism/TV Production class at my school, today I moderated a pretend debate on the issue of homework and whether there should be homework every night, a topic they and I could relate to easily. After 10 or so minutes of prep time, they let their ideas free and voiced them against each others'.

While the activity ended up being one of those classic, way too loud classroom arguments between two groups of kids trying to one up the other, what happened afterwards gave me some, quite frankly, frustrating food for thought.

Right after I finished up with the freshmen, it was lunchtime. I sat down next to a girl I like and her friends, and I swear; I couldn't come up with anything interesting to say! I said a few obnoxious comments about the sodium content in my Ramen noodle soup, accompanied by an outburst of pretend joy when a friend of mine passed by me and gave me his sandwich, which he didn't plan on eating.

But that's about it.

It's incredible to think, in retrospect, how I could have thought myself capable of leading a classroom session whose focus is eloquence and substantiation in public speaking when I couldn't even come up with something remotely fascinating to say to a person right in front of me at lunchtime.

In fact, a few days ago, I did a full-on lecture about Internet journalism for more than half an hour to the freshmen, and managed to keep most of them remotely interested for the duration of the damn thing - and yet, I can't manage to come up with something cool in front of one person?

But what's even more elusive is just what it is that keeps me from having the Gift of Gab at the most inopportune time possible. I mean, I guess it's cause I'm nervous (not shy, certainly) or worried about what my impression will be, but could I possibly be that nervous so as to lose my otherwise natural ability to dole out remotely interesting things to say?

What a mess.

Something Intangible | Young Humanitarians in Africa

2011-11-22T00:04:00.001-05:00

When thinking about the perfect summer, a lot of teenagers might think that a sunny day at the beach or a night out with friends would be their cup of tea. And yet, a unique group of youngsters made part of their summer into the adventure of a lifetime, more than two thousand miles from home, in a foreign country; learning, helping, and understanding a culture so fundamentally intriguing. I had the pleasure of meeting and speaking with one of the adventurers, Kira Levin, a junior at Miami Palmetto Senior High, who described the summer 2011 trip into the Tanzanian landscape as a lifetime experience.

From the get-go, there were several questions I had in mind – where’d you go, how’d you get there, what did you do, and most importantly, what did you find? But I made the conscious choice to start from the very beginning: what inspired you to go on this African adventure? It turned out that a genuine fascination with world history was the cause; more specifically, a fundamental misgiving about the idea of imperialism upon the African continent. How can people just take other peoples’ lands?

Thousands of miles later, you found yourself in the middle of a Tanzanian village, having gone through so much to get this far, in the company of like-minded American teens who wanted more than just a safari tour through one of the most troubled regions of the world – they wanted to help. The idea of giving back to the community was not foreign to you – you’d already had experience mentoring little kids in the ways of tennis, here in sunny Pinecrest, Florida – but the surroundings made you feel out of your comfort zone. Through bus rides that lasted hours on end, through hikes that went on way too long, and through living conditions befit solely for the rampant globe trotter, somehow this spirit of benevolence towards a society well removed from your own persevered.

You told me about your experience teaching African youth, at Himo Primary School, about an hour away from the compound you and your fellow Global Leadership Adventures mates were staying at. It began as a frustrating venture: the kids didn’t understand you too well, and they essentially copied whatever you guys were saying. But as you and your mates learned more Swahili and were able to communicate better, naturally your students began to respect you more.

Another part of the trip was meeting your host family: a kind bunch, with a grandmother, a 22 year old named Carles, and a few other children. Here came a vital lesson – perhaps completely unintelligible by Western notions – in humility. This family – and by extension, much of Tanzania’s people – lack many basic things we take for granted. Food, a shower, a bathroom. And yet, their capacity for kindness and amicability is unsurpassed. Having yawned once, you were immediately offered to sleep in one of the family home rooms; having fallen by your own misstep, you were immediately offered aid as if someone else had to have made sure you weren’t hurt. Happiness, it seems, transcends even basic living accommodations, perhaps even to the point of folly – Carles has malaria four times a year, so pilgrimages to the hospital are mundane excursions for him and other Tanzanians.

Back home, well before your departure date, concern regarding your welfare on the trip was widespread: from your parents, to your friends, to your teachers. Many lampooned your expressed desire to go on this trip, others thought it fundamentally risky. It took a lot on your part, but also some on theirs, for them to be at peace with this very unique field trip.

And upon being put on a hike by the Masai tribesmen – rural folk well away from the townsite you and your friends were staying at – some of their concerns possibly rang true. These African tribesmen are used to walking through the desert at high temperatures for hours on end – but your “kind”, the white people, were reaching a dangerous point of exhaustion that Saturday afternoon as you kept walking through the sandy dunes and cliffs iconic of this part of Tanzania.

Surely, the way of life in a place like Tanzania is too removed from our Western way to even bear comparison. While some similar rituals exist – such as your experience strolling through the town market and being pleaded, almost, for your money in exchange for some salesman’s jewelry – the whole of it is color black to our white. Take the Chagga women, for example, and their experiences with female genital mutilation. You ask yourself, how can they talk about this so nonchalantly, almost cynically or sarcastically, when the subject matter is so genuinely appalling, disgusting? Why does it happen?

Yet other confusions are more cultural, more aesthetic in nature. You said people are happy there. I asked, is it simply because they don’t know there’s something better out there? Well, education is key to that, you said. Carles, for example, goes to school and is getting an education. He is aware of the problems that plague Tanzania, and that they are circumstantial in nature, not impossible to change. He agrees that education is almost solely the way to societal progress, particularly in Tanzania. If people knew that something better is out there, they would become cognizant of the relative condition of their lives.

So is ignorance what keeps these people happy? Perhaps it is. But you told me that there’s something beyond that. There’s another factor that may be what keeps these people in such good spirit. It’s something intrinsic, something intangible. When you had a Swahili lesson with Mama Simba, a local Tanzanian leader, she brought you all together when she said “we are all one family” and “you are all my children”. When you hung out with your host family, you were treated as another one of their children. It is such demonstrations of unrestrained love and companionship that both characterize these peoples and set them so fundamentally apart from our own Western notions of individualism and self-sufficiency, which, while economically sound, have visible social shortcomings. There’s something beyond the "ignorance" clause – something from the heart, something from the culture …if only we really knew what it was.

And as the last word, you told me, Kira, that this experience showed you what you want to do with your life. You named joining the Peace Corps and continuing to travel as some of your future aspirations. Less remotely, you plan to travel to India this coming summer. I can’t help but give my own positive evaluation of this. While you may not yet stand alongside the great humanitarians of our time, you’re definitely headed in the right direction. The realizations and experiences you’ve had as a result of this trip – before, during and after – are bound to serve you well in many ways beyond choosing a suitable career.

Yet the questions posed here remain unanswered. How can these people be so blind? Are they blind? Are they simply so strong-willed as to smile in the face of plight? Your experience, both for yourself and I, is but the beginning of a long road of understanding the world, of understanding its people. It’s sure to be a road worth traveling.

Tomas Monzon

June – October 2011

Memes | Studying a Funner Culture

2011-11-22T00:03:00.003-05:00

I want to be a journalist. I want to be an investigative reporter, be it on television or in print or on the radio; the kind that cracks the big stories but also knows about trends and history. And yet, becoming a cultured person - at least when this involves knowing about history,about past societies and landmark events and everything in between - is a task much easier said than done.

I mean, think about it. To become one of those philosopher types that could tell you the history of any country or society off the top of his head is a daunting task, and it's also one that has the potential for being positively boring to work towards. That's why I've decided to become friendly with a different culture, one connected to the shared human experience only by mechanical and technological bridges.

I'm talking memes. Memes, or internet phenomenons, have given me a way of familiarizing myself with a culture no great philosopher has yet tackled. Fawning over everything from over 9,000 to Joseph Ducreux to Y U No to the classic Trollface/Coolface/Problem? has put me on the right track towards finally becoming an expert on something cultural, something greater than myself, something that I can have back-of-my-hand knowledge of, something that can put me on equal bragging rights as those of professors, veteran journalists and timeless reporters.

And it's easy to see why. These memes constitute a culture that is genuinely hilarious and good-spirited ... well, for the most part. It can also be crass, sarcastic, cynical and downright unpleasant. But it's a very unique kind of culture that bears no contemporary. What kind of culture have you seen where a picture of a dinosaur looking like The Thinker is common knowledge? Where a comical picture of a Renaissance-era artist produces instant LOLs when accompanied by wordier versions of 21st century sayings?

It's a very unique culture, one that I'm glad to be on the way to becoming professionally familiar with. My research in the field of Internet cultural phenomena shall continue.

Young Seniority

2011-11-22T00:03:00.001-05:00

As a senior in high school, you're bound to feel some sort of superiority over the lower grade students. Whether that seniority remains genuine or turns snobbish is your call.

For me, the seniority remains quite genuine, and quite easy to comprehend, too. You see, the term "seniority" (excluding legislative or categorical uses) is quite a silly term. In this situation, it means having experienced something before the person before you, who has yet to experience that which you've already experienced.

Seniority, thus, is incredibly easy to achieve since it's relative to your experiences. Suppose there's a new ride at the local fair. The group of four riders in front of another group of four riders will build their seniority quick, in 10 minutes or less, over the second group.

The first group is the natural fit for a mentor to the second - with respect to the ride, of course.

And so, when I apply such thinking to my grade level in comparison to those of my younger classmates and friends, I find myself brimming with the seniority I once never had. Just the other day, I was talking with a couple of freshmen about some of the issues they were having in school, from academic ones in their courses to social ones in their lives and relationships.

Some of their concerns were legit, but others were pure rookie mistakes: freaking out about ONE subpar test grade, worrying about ONE failed relationship ... I could've dismissed everything they were saying as insignificant concerns that won't really matter in the long run ... but I played along. I played along and did my best to sympathize with their concerns and offer the most serious advice I could.

I wish I could be more explicit as to what they were saying, but I had this realization a while ago so I can't remember too many details. The point is that I stopped short of vitiating their worries because I didn't want them to experience things too hastily. There's beauty in making rookie mistakes. If I were to reveal to them the secrets I was never told as a freshman growing up, their experience would be less than half what mine was.

And I can't injure them so.

Like the Back of Your Hand

2011-11-22T00:01:00.001-05:00

As my senior year community service/creative project, I drafted an incomplete curriculum for first-year high school journalism students. My plan was to lead a series of short seminar-like sessions, during the regularly scheduled television production courses at my school, that would introduce these freshmen to the core concepts of journalism, with an emphasis on their connection to television production and cinematography.

While the plans themselves were never fully completed (much like a teacher that finalizes only half the curriculum and develops the rest based on how the first half of the school year goes), I was still granted the opportunity - both by the administration at my school and by my television production instructor - to carry on with the project.

So far, it's been going absolutely great. The group of students in the class is a good one, a lot of them know each other from middle school, and they're a very open and accepting group when it comes to learning the material. Having been a student of the broadcasting program for three years already, it pleases me to see a completely new set of kids being so interested in learning about what goes on behind and in front of the cameras.

It's also got me thinking. Today, when I was doing a brief lecture on the do's and dont's of a film shoot, I realized how I've internalized so many concepts of video production. I did the entire lecture with nothing but one-word headers describing each topic I wanted to talk about - the actual examples and descriptions came from me, on the spot, with barely any premeditation or accompanying handout.

My broadcasting teacher - rather, the one before the teacher currently leading the program - used to do the same thing. He would write chicken scratch on a 3 x 5 index card and that was his outline. The rest came from his own knowledge, his own experiences.

When I arrived at the topic of music in movies during today's lecture, I thought of an example off the top of my head - as I was explaining the concept, mind you - that directly applied to what I was talking about. I used it, and it worked! It made the kids better understand what I was trying to say. And that moment was perhaps the highlight of my day.

I'm not lauding myself for being such an A/V geek. In fact, this is not a self-congratulatory speech at all. What it is is an homage to the program, to the art of television and film, to my program instructor - both the former and the current - and to all that in between. To come to the sweet realization that I've come to know all these concepts like the back of my hand, to be able to instill my knowledge through the spoken word into kids that are completely new to the whole enterprise, is intrinsically rewarding.

It's reminded me why I drafted the curriculum in the first place. And since the year's only barely begun, the project's only got one direction to go. Up.

On the Other Side of Time

2011-11-22T00:00:00.001-05:00

Whenever you tackle centuries-old literature in an English classroom setting, there's a certain apathy towards dealing with the convoluted colloquialisms and talk of those times that the texts evoke in almost every student. The way of speaking that must have been considered completely normal some two, three hundred years ago is completely alien to the 21st century learner reading the 137th reprint of that same "timeless" tale. So while we can agree comfortably on the idea that old speak is difficult to understand and harder to enjoy, can we as easily bear the possibility of our own speak being completely alien two to three hundred years from now?

It's a big "what-if" kinda question, but if you can get past the associated futility of such a question, the concern is one worth contemplating. How do we take such comfort in writing the way we do when we're not being considerate of the future? Much the same way that AP English students wish for these older authors to write stuff in simple sentences and with simple lingo, AP English students two to three hundred years from now - if the AP designation still exists, of course - might be yearning for the same clemency from us.

Of course, there's no way to predict how language will evolve over centuries. We consider the way present-time editorial and opinion column writers write as professional yet accessible technique, but who's to say that the inhabitants of colonial-age New England didn't find The Scarlet Letter to be an easy read? The only thing that would fix any future problem with our current writing style would be the conception of a universal ruler of simplicity: an imaginary set of guidelines that would judge a text's simplicity and true timelessness based on verb and noun use, syntax, diction, etc.

Certainly, someone has to have thought of something similar before. But should such a concern remain monopolized by the most involved of literary fanatics, or should it diffuse into the general population?

That is the question.

Summer 2011 | Update No. 5 | The Journalism Year

2011-08-21T15:11:00.001-04:00

The cover to the Final Draft of The Journalism Year. Only time will tell if the project will indeed achieve 1st Edition status. For now, it stands as a memento to both the idea itself, the work undergone, and the spirit it's fomented.

Summer 2011, like so many summers before it, has indeed come to an end. The special thing about this summer, of course, is that it prefaces one of the most exciting and also worrisome school years yet: senior year of high school.

Long before now, I thought of senior year as last stand of sorts, as the last chance to get it all right, from academia to attitude to experiences had. And indeed, I still think of it this way. This is my time to close this chapter of my life with the best ending possible.

That responsibility, even if only applicable towards myself is a daunting one.

Some parts of senior year - applying for college, the classes I'm now going to take, the activities that are planned for the senior class - I predicted. For a long time. What I didn't predict was what my approach to all of them would be. What kind of person would I be, with what outlook and opinions and values and beliefs, when senior year came around? This, I could only ponder indefinitely. But now the time has come. And luckily, one endeavor - which was conceived long before thoughts of senior year came around - is exclusively symbolic of my approach to this act de resistance moment.

The Journalism Year.

As you know, this endeavor began asw a purely academic pursuit. Finding shortcomings in the journalistic offerings of my TV Production magnet, I began drafting an auxiliary curriculum that would focus on these underrepresented aspects of TV Production - writing, understanding news and trends, interview skills and more - and be delivered to the incoming freshmen for this 2011-2012 school year.

It was born out of a growing understanding of journalism as well as a genuine desire to improve the program and maximize the opportunities it could offer to its students. It aimed to supplement, not supplant, Mr. Diaz's incredible designs and curriculum, which, believe it or not, have been my driving force all these years of high school for much more than just projects in the class.

But changes occurred. Mr. Diaz left the television program at South Miami for the one at Coral Reef, for understandable reasons. Someone else came in as his replacement.

When I found out that this was happening, I was dumbfounded. Not because of the project's now doubtful feature, but because such an amazing influence had left my immediate vicinity - the TV studio. The very place where he'd taught me and the rest of us so much.

It was not easy news to take.

Following that realization were my thoughts about the project. Where was it headed now? Was it worth completing it according to plan?

Those questions weren't answered in the nick of time. But one very important realization supplanted those doubts.

The project had grown, and its spirit remained as intact as ever. Whenever I fantasized about how the project would run throughout the year, I saw myself as someone who had internalized an enhanced set of values. As junior year was going on, and then as summer vacation came and went, I began thinking about all the less-than-perfect approaches I had towards so many different things, namely my priorities and my attitude. It was a classic growing up moment. I realized the fallacies in my daily schedule, in my work ethic, in some of my decisions. Those realizations connected with the Journalism Year because, to succeed as a teachable curriculum, the Journalism Year needed a strong lead. As its designer, that strong lead needed to be me.

As a result, I changed. All those realizations piled up into what is now The Journalism Year Pact, a collection of self-analysis and psyching sessions that reflect the philosophy and thoughts I'm taking with me as I enter senior year.

Prioritize social activity. Work well - better than ever - but on time. Know what's good for me and what's not. Think ahead, maintain foresight in as many things as I can. All typical, maybe even common sense realizations - but for a teenager growing up, they might as well be Holy Grails in their own right.

Thus, the project is now me. The actual curriculum part of it stands incomplete due to logistical considerations and the fact that the program will be restructured fundamentally, but the spirit of the program - the thoughts it provoked, the emotions it caused - remains intact, in me.

Summer 2011 was also a teaching experience. Finally, after so many years, I'd achieved what I'd sought for so long - an adventurer spirit, one that could wake up in the morning, think of a destination, and go there. Many days, as I traveled around the city whether on bike, bus or through my own two legs, I felt like I could go wherever I wanted at any time. Granted, that had its limits. But it was there. And I felt it. And it felt nice.

I take such values and lessons into The Journalism Year - both its academic and spiritual components - and, by extension, into our senior year of high school.

May our last year be our best ... in so many ways. Here's to senior year! Class of 2012!

Summer 2011 | Update No. 4 | Morality? Check!

2011-06-30T21:14:00.001-04:00

The inspiration for this post. Also in film format.

I read a passage from the book, Freakonomics: A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything, by economist Steven Levitt and journalist Stephen Dubner (kinda like a Steve Jobs/Stephen Wozniak deal), where the authors describe the tale of a guy who sold bagels to multiple offices around his city. He would make, let's say, thirty bagels, put 'em in a basket, drop them off at the place in the morning, and come in after lunch to pick up the money. His friends told him it was a terrible idea, that those cheap businessmen types would steal money from him because it was so easy (just take another bagel).

But in fact, they didn't. The bagelman kept accurate records of his bagel sales, and found that theft - minimal in the first place - was highest in larger offices than smaller ones. Why? Well, the authors attributed it to the power of morality in a society that's blamed of being devoid of it. The reason why theft occurred mostly in larger office buildings was because, since there were multiple floors and presumably, multiple, unrelated staffs, it'd be less probable that someone would know you stole a bagel, and it'd be less probable that you knew that he or she stole a bagel. Thus, one's reputation wasn't at stake, at least not as much as it was in a more close-knit, petite staff building.

Mmm ... those look good. And surprisingly, people don't steal them even when they can!

So I got to thinking. I ride my bicycle around town quite often, but because I'm usually crunched for time, I generally lock up my bike to the metal bike parking apparatus (or whatever the right name is) and take an array of trains and/or buses to get to my destination. But I always try to be careful about what station to leave it at, or whether to leave it behind at all! If I'm in a bad neighborhood about to take the train, I take the bike on the train with me, but if I'm in a good neighborhood, I'm more confident. But get this - the nearest station from where I live, located in the Coral Gables area of Miami, FL - a good neighborhood, indeed - sees the most defaced bicycles of any station I've gotten off at. I see bicycle chasses without wheels, derailleurs, lights, seatposts, chain stays ... it's like a bicycle massacre! But at other stations in presumably worse towns, I've yet to see a bike whose condition deviates from mint.

The local University Station. See the bike rack metal apparatus things? That's what I'm talking about.

I don't have an answer to why this is exactly, but I can say that I'm surprised that not all the bicycles are either stripped for parts or taken as a whole. It is so easy to steal a bicycle. Incredibly easy. Suppose you have one of those bicycle locks that disengages with a key. Suppose you left yours at home. Well, you've got to get your bike out. So what do you do? Take a out a hammer and pound that thing 'til it breaks! Is anyone gonna say anything? What if they accuse you of attempting to steal a bicycle?

That guy on the right really needs a set of wheels!

Oh wait! They won't! They'll either assume it's yours, or more likely, they'll assume you're stealing it but out of ... I don't know, timidness?, they won't bother you about it. I am so sure of this I'd even try it myself if I was oferred money for it. And I'm pretty sure you'd agree. Yet the moral impetus to do the right thing - presumably being lost in society by antisocial naysayers - keeps normal people from comitting a crime that is almost foolproof. Or arrestproof for that matter.

Intersection of US-1 and the Snapper Creek Expressway in South Miami/Kendall, FL.

Glad to know society's still in working order.

Summer 2011 | Update 3 | The Bicycle

2011-06-21T16:39:00.000-04:00


Some shots from the adventures this Summer 2011 so far.

Several articles ago, I wrote about how I used to think that taking pictures of events or times with friends or places you go was a girly thing. During middle and elementary school, it was always the girls posing for pictures or wanting to take pictures of each other or of themselves or of anything, never the boys, and if it was the boys, they kept their photo shoots to a single group shot wearing sterotypical smiles instead of wasting the whole roll of 24 exposures. But little did we, little did I know, that the girls were actually doing something pretty smart - documenting their lives! Who knew anyone would be interested in what was going on right now, however mundane? Bloggers certainly are, and now I'm one of them.

As you can tell, I've actually been taking pictures this summer, and I'm glad I have. A couple of nights ago began a revamped infatuation with my bicycle. I was at a friend's house eating crap, and it was getting late. I was gonna take the bus back home, but instead of doing the usual, I got on my bike (which I'd brought with me) and ended up cycling the way back home. I was even able to stop and get some pizza along the way. That night - late night, actually; I didn't get back until about 9:30p - marked the first self-sufficient trip I'd gone on so far. I rode all the way to my destination, and then I rode all the way back. A beautiful feeling of independence, liberty, peace. Sweat, too.

I also came to realize that night riders seem to share a subtle bond. Even though I kept my ears busy with the sounds of my MP3s - which I probably shouldn't be listening to if I'm biking through the streets late at night - I managed to make friends with another guy on his bike, a young bespectacled fellow seemingly riding home from work, without saying a word and exchanging nothing but a passing glance when we crossed an intersection together. Yet we both participated in a feel-good friendship for a good twenty-five minutes thereafter as we both careened down Bird Road on a thinner-than-rails sidewalk, both recognizing the other's struggle against a car-abundant society with sublime understanding.

Despite my ability to log lots of base miles on bike, my physical ability is otherwise quite lacking. I'm taking PE online at the moment - loving it? - and even the measly ten push ups exercise in the first module proved a challenge.

Work on the Journalism Year continues. At the moment I'm trying to reorganize my academic plans for the forthcoming year in order to make more time for the class. Also hoping to get some academic recognition for my efforts as well.

Saw Green Lantern a couple of days ago with friends! Great film. Also, will start an internship at Miami Today, a community publication, this Friday. Will post again then.

Anybody wanna hang out meanwhile?

Summer 2011 | Update No. 2

2011-06-14T16:41:00.001-04:00

My 100th post! How exciting. Here's to summertime fun!

Summertime limbo, when excessive, can have disastrous results. When moderated, it can actually help out a lot. So far, it's helped out a lot.

http://www.worksmartplayharder.com/mtb-series-2011.html

I remember last summer, by around the fifth, sixth day (today, if I'm not mistaken; i started June 9th, last Thursday), I was bored and it was becoming a problem. I couldn't live with myself at home. For one, I didn't have Internet for about three weeks, which - "knock on wood", as my friend Jackie taught me - is really a lifesaver. Not necessarily because I live off Facebook and Youtube but because ... OK, maybe. Also, I had to take care of my sister at home, so I couldn't bike out of my apartment, either.

But back to the Internet thing. Even if you're not an avid Facebooker, the Internet lets you look stuff up and get ideas for projects, things you want to do, places you want to visit ... and that's exactly what it's done over the past few days.

I've gotten very much into biking. I ride my road bike, my dad's mountain bike or my mom's mountain bike all around town. So, if I love it so much, I figured, why not compete? Not to win, but just for the thrill. So I looked up some races and, sure enough, there's a BMX track down the street from my house (well, about an hour down the street from my house) as well as a mountain biking trail in both a state and local park a few miles from here. I plan on participating in La Roootaaa #5, a mountain biking challenge at Oleta State Park in North Miami Beach, Florida. I also found out about a communal biking event in Downtown Miami, called Critical Mass, and happening later this month (http://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.meetup.com/criticalmass-40/events/17591141/&sa=X&ei=CsX3Tc7cA-f10gGg-oiiCw&ved=0CB8Q4wYwAA&usg=AFQjCNHp3fL8n7WxPc5D81xTiLbOBtrmAw). Perhaps also one this Saturday (Jun. 18) in the Grove (http://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.meetup.com/criticalmass-40/events/20475331/&sa=X&ei=CsX3Tc7cA-f10gGg-oiiCw&ved=0CB0Q4wYwAA&usg=AFQjCNFaQS-4kg1qoVXKkE114TFJcDi02w).

The cover for The Journalism Year, a handbook that'll contain all course material and misc. writings.

Of course, I'm still trying to keep myself academically tuned. I'm taking required physical education courses on Florida Virtual School, I've acknowledged the due dates for the summer assignments for my senior year classes, and I'm thinking, every other brain fart, about the ultimate project for this upcoming year - the journalism course. I'll be drafting lesson plans and such throughout the summer.

Back to it!

Summer 2011 | Update 1

2011-06-14T16:06:00.003-04:00

This post marks my hopefully successful attempt at keeping a little log of my adventures and thoughts as they occur throughout Summer 2011. I'll try to be brief yet descriptive, although the briefer i am the more likely I am to keep this up. Enjoy!

So summer 2011 is here! The last four days of school started this past Monday, and for me it was one of the most frantic weeks in the school year, believe it or not! I was wrapping up editing on A Serpent's Tale, my documentary work this year about my school's Band, Color Guard and Orchestra; their performances, exploits and everything else in between (see the website at www.aserpentstale.webs.com; the film is still being sold so it won't be uploaded on for a while but you can see interviews, bonus features, etc.)

The cover for A Serpent's Tale, the 2011 Tomás at Large documentary.

By Thursday, however, I was free. Out and about with my two best friends, Mirald and Dr. Lopez, we delighted in some Chinese buffet before parting ways afterschool. Oh, and I also almost lost my bike to the public transportation system as I unwittingly left it on the front bike carrier while I calmly got off the train. Had it not been for Mr. Lopez's incredibly amazing running speed - and a lucky red light - one of my favorite posessions would've been long gone.

Friday ensued with ... damn it, I can't remember.

See, that's what really sours my soup. If you attempt to do as many things as possible every single day, and succeed, then you end up saying, "Hell, I'm so tired; I'll just record what I did today tomorrow." If only one would realize that this innocent postponing becomes a snowball that leaves you without a memory of a day's exploits sooner than you think.

Saturday I went to take the ACT at Coral Gables Senior High in Coral Gables, Miami, FL (in case you're not local). I rode my 1997 Schwinn Searcher Express over there; made it in less than 30 mins. from about six miles away. After the test, I rode to a friend's house, then another friend's house, then I got a flat. Ended up getting picked up by my parents, but it's all right.

U.S. Route 1, the host of many of my bicycle adventures.

Sunday I finished editing a video of a friend of mine's party, set to Don Omar's "Danza Kuduro" and replete with quick shots and a flashy slideshow while my parents went shopping for a new bicycle tube; not for my bicycle, but for my dad's mountain bike.

Monday, a given degree of disaster struck. The hard drive on which the finished video still is had a transistor blown on the circuit board. I looked up remedies online and ended up riding about 30 miles around town on the mountain bike looking for some much needed tools. To no avail however. I also went to pick up my sister from the local park's summer tennis camp.

Fast forward to today, Tuesday, and I'm stuck trying to find either a new circuit board or a tape deck to capture the party video again. I also had my welcome call today for one out of two physical education courses I'm taking on Florida Virtual School.

So far, it's been a fun summer. Much lies ahead, however, and I haven't even listed my thoughts yet! But to keep these short, I'll mention those as well as any new summertime developments in other posts.

A Personal Apology | A Serpent's Tale, Debriefing I

2011-06-02T19:26:00.000-04:00

The following is a personal apology following the premiere of the documentary I've been working on throughout the 2010-2011 school year, entitled A Serpent's Tale. The film tracked the lives and times of the South Miami Senior High Cobra Band, from its beginnings in summertime Band Camp, to the rigors of competition throughout marching band season, to their trip to Atlanta and more. It also featured the Band's Color Guard and their separate winter season, and also exhibited the Magnet Orchestra's performances. A difficult, lengthy project whose very difficulty I underestimated, its premiere was much less than what I'd hoped for, and thus the following is a compilation of brief thoughts about the film, about the ride it was making it; above all however, it's an apology to those I've disappointed.

Band, Color Guard and Orchestra:

as you may or may not have noticed, the video shown today was not complete, nor wholly adequate, nor what I wanted to show. Titles were incorrect, some exiting seniors were not featured in the film as they should've been, editing was shaky and inefficient at several times throughout the film, etc. A laundry list of don'ts. The point is, it was not, for some more than others, the end of year band video you guys wanted to see. It needed improvement. Lots of it.

I don't like to give excuses (believe it or not) so I'll just say that work, time and balancing the two caught up with me this year and as a result, the video was not done on time; I started the editing process too late. That's why some sections were drawn out, some montages not in sync with the beats of the music, some interviews not in the film.

And this frustrates me for several reasons. For one, as someone looking to enter the fast-paced world of journalism, film and broadcasting, it's a technical/professional failure that not only demonstrates that I need to get my act together, but also shows others that I might not be ready or even capable of handling due dates, large projects, etc.

Furthermore, it's an emotional/ethical failure as well. I realized, afterwards, that the two hours spent in the chorus room, in the company of your life-long music pals, in the company of the freshmen that looked up to you; this is what you're leaving with; this is the reminder of, at least, this year in the Music magnet. How can something like that be presented unfinished? How can such an important piece of media be rushed, left incomplete?

I apologize for having been inefficient, the last several weeks, in delivering this project properly. From an empirical standpoint; you guys, the customer, are disappointed. From a more personal standpoint, you seniors, you Band people, you guys, are disappointed. I'm sorry I messed up.

Now, for the DVD release, the video will of course be retouched, shortened in some portions, added to in others. All interviews will play a larger role in the film, more events will be included, others either shortened or removed completely. In any case, the DVD disc will contain not only the film, but the interviews in their entirety, all performances, all music, photos and outtakes. Well, if disc space allows of course. It's a lot of stuff.

Again, I apologize for having failed you in this defining moment. But do not let my lack of attention today underscore my experience working on this project. You guys let me in to your close-knit family, for no reason other than "oh, he's filming", and I appreciate that immensely. I am eternally grateful to you all for your friendship, for the opportunity to embark on such an adventure as this year was.

Hope you enjoy the reworked version,

Tomás Monzón

Pubin's Ally

2011-02-05T17:16:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time - a very short amount of time, for thse things happen rather quickly - there was a protein named Pubin. Pubin Pits, actually, was his name. Pubin Pits was born in the hot and bothered mind of a high school student that took the suggestion of making a protein that would retract your pubic hair upon being sexually aroused, and decided to present it as his protein for a college-level biology project. How it got to Bendover, I've no clue. I mean, how else does a lonely protein make its way from the depths of a high school student's brain to the innards of a pelvic area cell? Go figure, but if you look at the historical context, you can get some clues.

Year One was the year that Jack Black and that other dude who's a lameo in all the Hollywood movies traveled throughout the early pre-Columbian cultures of the Middle East. Yeah, so Year One was fairly inconsequential. Year Two, however, was when Pubin somehow became the child of Will Cummings, a Eukaryotic ribosome business man who spent his time freelancing around the different endoplasmic reticuli. Cummings used to be very attached to his homeland of Anitabath, the most populous rough ER this side of the cytoplasm (which I might add, was dubbed by the local Golgiquois as "The Great Jell-O" back in the great Mitosis of Bored Oh, duke of Munster), and despite giving him a comfortable base to work from, his protein-synthesizing days became unhappy when he finally realized - by an epiphany, or something or other - that he was bound. That's right, bound. Chained down like a dog on a leash, except the leash is tied to a tree, next to a pole, on a street, atop the highway, next to an airport, up in the air! He couldn't take it anymore, and of course, he wanted to find a mate. A true mate. For years, he'd been dating multiple women, from the intelligent likes of Eye Spie to the roughhousing manners of Pleigh Me ... but even Will himself knew that these were ephemeral affairs, tpyical mRNA strands that wouldn't last more than half a millisecond. He was looking for something real, something special, something incredible, something that would give him purpose in life for a well-deserved split second. So, he did. He escaped Anitabath by some form of rebellion that his story's writer probably doesn't know about either, and lo and behold, he was free! Soon, he was the head honcho of the local cytoplasm beat,

Over the Years, Checkpoint No. 1

2011-02-05T17:14:00.000-05:00

It's a wondrous feeling, that tickles you a little bit, when your own, personal calendar actually reminds you of something you'd long forgotten about, as opposed to it simply being a planning too. Just about a week ago, my phone sang a matter-of-fact alert tone as it reminded of something I'd left in a state of oblivion - "Over the Years Checkpoint, No. 1", November 10. Upon reading the monochromatic text, the time and memories that have passed, ever since the day I'd typed that into the phone's calendar, suddenly came rushing back.

I would suppose that it all started about a year ago, maybe a little before November 10. It was at a friend's party, which she was hosting at her lakeside home, complete with a big-screen television playing MTV music videos and an air hockey machine shouting out the score, where the rationale behind the checkpoint was born. Her dad owned an arcade machine he'd powered on for the occasion - "Time Pilot". As I sat down to give it a go, as I gazed upon the almost blinding vibrancy of colors jutting out of the machine's monitor, I thought about something so obvious, yet, at the time, so amazing. Each arcade machine ever made - easily a six or seven hundred dollar piece - can only play one game. That's not without its merits - each apparatus is a wonderfully constructed piece of artwork, with a custom marquee and cabinet design for each game. But I had a more lucrative idea - putting together my knowledge about arcade emulation on PC (which is possible and growing as more and more games become supported) with the "unigame" nature of arcade machines, I conjured up the idea of making a multi-game - nay, multi-system arcade machine.

From this episode of discovery, was born Daphne VGS (Video Game System). I'd decided that my arcade machine would not only play arcade games, but also all the console games ever created. Well, at least the ones that I would get. It would play NES games, Super Nintendo games, Playstation games, Genesis games. As far as apperance, it would be a regular computer encased in a vintage-style custom computer case (complete with a wood finish and a metal plate proclaiming, in Galaga-style font, "Daphne VGS") instead of a full-on arcade cabinet, as there's not exactly too much space in my room; as far as control, it would use a Sony PS2 controller, whose design would fit the multiple control schemes the system would have for each console; and as far as extras, it would not only play games but would also browse the internet, play music and videos ... I was excited.

Then I realized, wow - that's a lot of games. I even had the possibility of downloading entire game libraries at once! So, to make the adventure worthwhile, I decided to simply go game-by-game (or small library by small library), putting each library of games for a given console on a DVD or set of DVDs. Eahc DVD or DVD set would go in a binder full of CD sheets, separated by dividers indicating which game console each CD sheet held the games for. This would become the "Over the Years" collection which, over the years, would grow and eventually include all, if not most, games possible to emulate on a PC.

I gave myself a date - November 10, 2010, one that seemed so, so, so far away. I'd be a junior by then, taking AP Language and Composition, AP American History, AP Biology, Pre-Calc .. I'd have attended UM's summer journalism workshop; I'd have spent the entirety o f summer 2010. There's no way this date will come anytime soon, I told myself. Heck, by then, I'll probably have this collection complete!

But the date came, and passed. As I stopped and read the notification on my phone; smiling, happy, nostalgic ... I thought to myself - what things have changed since that day I put the event on my phone's calendar. Besides the obvious passage of time, what other things are different now; what things are new?

So many things. It's no wonder that teenagers change tremendously - at least they feel this way - from school year to school year. The guy building Daphne VGS now isn't the same guy building Daphne VGS a year ago. I look back upon my sophomore year of high school, and grow as happily nostalgic as I do slightly ticked when I think about all the things I said and did, scrutinizing each as an act of immaturity. That's it! Immaturity - it's what I feel dropping every school year. I look back upon the things I said and did and realize how much of an idiot I was with respect to certain things said and done. Perhaps that's the healthiest form of change - self-assessable. It's certianly pleasurable, though at the same time scary, to regard the things you thought were the right things to do as being immutably not the right things to do, and - for fear of being ambiguous - that could go for anything. From the daily routine one chose afterschool throughout an entire school year, to the way one handled a given situation. It's crazy.

A few days after the Checkpoint, I found some excellent videos on Sparknotes which narrate the plot, through narrations and very professionally done custom artwork, of several top books including The Scarlet Letter, 1984, The Great Gatsby ... as I saw the books from 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th grade come alive on my widescreen LCD, I felt the memories from those years coming back. The past I left behind came alive in the images I saw of the characters from the books I used to read - the most emotionally affecting encounter I've ever had with anything on my computer monitor.

I'm filming Band now. I know so much more about documentary film-making, from the basic six questions of "who? what? when? where? why? how?" to not knowing what to do when you see someone exempt from practice, with their head buried in their hands, sitting diagonal from the marching field on the basketball court, Indian-style on the warm granite floor, and you're not sure whether to film the person or not. In Band i've discovered

Fondness of Memory

2011-02-05T17:12:00.000-05:00

Just coming back from Winter Break, my first day in school for the 2011 year was as run-of-the-mill as it could be. Mind you, that doesn't mean it wasn't enjoyable - it was a fun day where we did lots of new stuff in each class. However, as I was riding on the bus, looking out through the tinted window to the student parking lot in the back of the school, I had an epiphany that I kept developing in the spare thinking time I had throughout the rest of the day.

I began by thinking about how I'd spent my Winter Break. I hung out with a record number of friends, I went on several crazy bike riding adventures (so crazy that I now have to go pick up my bike from my friend's house the soonest I get a chance), I played my favorite video games, I made progress on several video projects, I read, I did my homework (although writer's block ended up forcing me to work on it on Sunday night, before school), I spent Christmas and New Year's Eve with my awesome family, and I also ... grew fond of a certain kind of freedom. As you can well imagine, the first thought I had as I walked out of school the Friday afternoon when Winter Break began, was, "Now the fun starts." That fun didn't necessarily encompass schoolwork, but it did encompass intellectual projects of my own, in addition to the usual plans for debauchery that accompany anyone's mind at the beginning of any form of recess, from work or school.

And that's exactly what I'm getting at. We spend, give or take, 8 hours in school; listening to lectures, working, talking ... yet, intellectual pursuits, at least for me, don't end there. This is especially true for people like me who are taking Advanced Placement courses that involve long hours of studying and reviewing (usually in the form of reading) because of the massive amount of material the curriculum dictates. Now, each class at my school lasts two hours, and we have three classes a day. In those two hours, somehow, an entire chapter of material can be covered, a class discussion on the issue of gay marriage can be led, a lecture on factoring polynomials can be given. What would two hours of math be like at home? Obviously, you can't discuss, and you can't listen to a lecture by a teacher in the flesh, but you can read and do practice exercises, and to some extent (if not completely), teach yourself the material! This is especially true of my American History class, where the meat of the class is found in reading assignments encompassing 30-page narrative chapters about American history.

My point is, all school is is a set of three 2-hour batches, with an extremely short 30-minute lunch break sandwiched somewhere in there. Somehow, however, school forms the core of many teenagers, whether educationally or emotionally speaking. This is the place where we get an education and form relationships (business or otherwise) with memorable human beings we call "friends". It's not like it's absolutely, 100% necessary - as illustrated by even rigorous courses like the ones I'm taking, self-teaching and individual scholarship is wholly possible, and it's likely not reserved solely for the intellect-seekers. So, why is it that we go to school? Is it because of the friends? Because of the frenzy?

Certainly, this is the subject of much debate amongst my friends, at least, one of which recently posted a Facebook status update complaining how she found little to no reason to go to school after Winter Break. She's a senior, so her lethargy is comprehensible. Yet she's also an Advanced Placement student. So what is it about school that can be emulated at the home, and why do we need to travel elsewhere to do it?

What may be a plea for independent scholarship actually has its roots in emotional and spiritual phenomena. Over Winter Break, I discovered a sense of freedom and excitement that accompanies only the riskiest of debauchery - only this time, there was some scholarship and studying involved. For example - I've taken up the project of formulating a journalism course for the incoming freshmen next year, and so I spent lots of my time during Winter Break thinking about how it would work out, watching journalism movies and reading journalism texts. I'd usually do this in the morning, interrupt my studies with a bike ride to my friend's house or even the local grocery store (usually when my mom needed me to do the grocery shopping) and finish off the night with a little bit of reading or chatting with family members. It sounds so peaceful, so lax, right? Yet, in these two weeks, I've never felt a greater love for the pursuit of knowledge, thereby demonstrating how the institutionaliztion found in school isn't necessarily the most effective way of spurring interest for intellect in students.

I'll continue this analysis tomorrow or past. Good night, all!

Not Enough Time? Yeah, Right.

2011-01-31T23:25:00.001-05:00

Coming off of my previous blurb about "The Fundamental Paradox of Secondary Education", I've realized that there's enough time in the world for all we want to do. Yet, it's worrying about all the different things we should, could, and have to do that minimizes the time available to do them.

Everytime the bell strikes 2:20 at my school, it's dismissal time. Quickly, relentlessly, thoughts of the homework I have to do, and the time I'll need to complete it, come rushing in. I always think I have too little time. Yet that's not quite the case. As I likely mentioned - implicitly or definitely - in my previous post, the school day provides a rigorously structured work schedule that says, "OK, for 2 hours you work full on on this; for 2 hours after that, full on on this, etc." But the second that bell rings at 2:20, that stratification is long gone and dearly missed by bedtime.

Reason I worry about not having time isn't because I won't have time. If I could match the same work ethic I have at school at home; why, I could finish the homework for 2 days ahead in one night. But what keeps me, and a lot of us, from doing that? For some of us, it might be too many extracurriculars; for others, obtrusive work hours; for yet others, stipulations that don't let you get home until 8 o' clock at night. Yet we can all adapt to our individual situations. The soccer player who stays at school practicing until five o' clock will find a way to budget his time if he truly desires, as will the person whose parents can't get him home until 8 o' clock; as will the struggling adolescent working to make ends meet.

Yet what I - and hopefully at least some of "we" - can't adapt to, is the workings of our ever-active minds. I'm always reevaluating what I've done, what I'm doing, and what I have to do; finding justifications for everything that's on my little planner/calendar thing. Homework is easily justifiable, but what about hour-long talks with friends on the phone? What about 30 mins. of hanging out with friends afterschool? Are they all justifiable?

Well, by some reasons yes, and surely by others not - my math teacher would probably tell me to hurry home and study logarithms or something. But, once I get home, I start thinking about all I maybe should do, all I obviously haven't done. The thoughts overtake me so much that I lose valuable time on my work - time that wouldn't be lost if I had a forced, worry-free schedule like school imposes. Independent work; I can do, and as successful as it usually ends up being for me, it doesn't escape my qualms about how I spend my time.

Yet that's the biggest paradox. The main deterrent to my productivity isn't an overabundance of things I take on, neither is it an injurious dearth of time to do those things in. It's worrying about either of them. That's what never fails. Not too little time, not too many tasks. Only too much thought.

Oscillatory Perfection / "The Fundamental Paradox of Secondary Education"

2011-01-26T21:46:00.004-05:00

I've been thinking too much lately about school and the way it works. And because I've been paying lots of attention to my Pre-Calculus class - my toughest subject area this year - I thought of a way to organize my thoughts into a concise graph, as shown below.

Consider that you're in high school, that x=0 is on the left side of the graph, and that the graph extends indefinitely to the right (so, X to positive infinity). You're represented by the polynomial function running down the middle of the graph. Look at the lines y =B and y= A and how they define a rectangular region running along the dead center of the graph. Then, notice how the function - which is you - is only sometimes within that rectangular region. Finally, look at how that rectangular region is called the "zone of oscillatory perfection".

This came as a product of midterm exams, cramming, and a resulting need to reevaluate a lot of the things I do and don't do in my academic/work life. More importantly, it finalized itself after a conversation I had with my mathematics teacher one day after school.

Notice how the region above y=B is named "Curriculum", while the region below y=A is named "Extracurriculars". At the start of high school, you of course begin well above y=B, focusing on your classes and homework. Not necessarily because you're a nerd or anything like that, but simply because you haven't yet been exposed or been allowed to take an interest in the multitude of things that go on after school, or the different clubs, societies, and/or sports you can participate in.

A little ways into high school, thus, you start joining different activities and engagements and naturally, your concentration begins to shift towards them. So, whenever you join a new club, sport, or project; naturally, as expected, and as one should, you start thinking about those things and because most of us can't truly multitask, some brain power responsible for processing "Curriculum" is reallocated to "Extracurriculars".

But see, "Extracurriculars" can mean anything. Etymologically speaking, "extra-" refers to anything that is beyond what is needed , more than normal or expected from something or someone; of course, we know we're talking about all that which isn't the "Curriculum".

So, consider this: if we can define "Curriculum" as the 6 - 10 classes on your schedule (Periods 1-6 or 10), can we do the same for "Extracurriculars"? Why of course not! If "Extracurriculars" includes all that is "beyond" the curriculum, then the list of acceptable values - the "domain", as my teacher would say - for "Extracurriculars" is truly infinite. Soccer practice, orchestra rehearsals, badminton games, theater performances, having to do chores at home, hanging out with friends and family, going on a trip or adventure.

Schools expect their students to participate in extracurricular activities. Well, they must if things like Club Rush Week (where each club in the school sometimes forcibly recruits members at lunchtime), college admission advisers that advise joining a sport or activity ranging from half-hour community service clubs meeting every other Wednesday to extended (2:20 to 8 PM, anyone?) Color Guard rehearsals thr/ee days out of each week for 2 months, exist! Then you factor chores and miscellaneous responsibilities at home! Then you factor the byproduct of such a frenetic schedule, which is undeniably necessary time for mental decompression, usually in the form of "chilling" (either at home by watching TV, or outside in the real world by taking up a job or hanging out with your friends on the weekends)!

Thus enters what I will now call "The Fundamental Paradox of Secondary Education": if the average high school student cannot process both curriculum and extracurriculars simultaneously, yet is encouraged - nay, essentially forced - to carry out the latter in addition to the supposed mandatory nature of the former, the only way for the student to carry out such a requirement "correctly" is to define an optimal area of oscillation between each parallel, recommending students to do their best to remain in there.

Maybe if I told my math teacher about this, she'd tell me I'm wasting my time thinking about stuff like this; time I could be using to study for the test on Friday. Then I'd tell her, "but Mrs., isn't such mental decompression necessary?" Then she'd say, "get back to work" and that'd be the end of the story. See, it's made out to be simple. "Just do the stuff you have to do; get it done, that's it!", my mother says. But that's exactly what the most difficult part of it all is. What do we have to do? How can we evaluate what is ultimately mandatory when we're forced to balance between something mandatory by law - curriculum - as well as that which is considerably extra?

My math teacher, upset about students that don't study for her class, says it's because kids today have too many distractions and can't concentrate. Then I told her, "well, what about extracurricular activities? Those take a lot of time, too!" to which she replied that that wasn't the case, that when she taught the same class ten years ago, her kids not only studied more, but they did more or the same amount of extracurricular activities. How can you isolate distractions from extracurriculars? Aren't the terms synonymous with each other in the end? What is mandatory? That's

"The Fundamental Paradox of Secondary Education."

What's It Done To You?

2011-01-21T10:05:00.001-05:00

As I study for my TV Production midterm fifteen minutes before I'm supposed to take it, I'm gonna write out the essay portion on my blog to see what kind of grade I'm likely to get.

Computers are not what they used to be some 50 years ago. Before the advent of the Internet, e-mail, and Facebook, computers were thought of more so as assistants in business operations, like heavy math and number crunching. While long-distance communication is synonymous with big business now, back then that task was delegated to phones and wire services. The UNIVAC for example, the first commercially available computer, was designed for the American Census bureau's ponderous task of managing the exploding US population of the 1950s (the baby boom).

The advent of the Internet changed that, as did the introduction of IBM's personal computer in 1981. Computers now became communicators, in the truest sense of the world - you could whisk off an e-mail to a friend or colleague halfway around the world! You could watch live streaming video of an oil leak being repaired (BP, anyone?)! And sure enough, the fad caught on after the founding of the World Wide Web in Geneva in 1993: 536,564,837 users, and that's only the English market (top usage group, right above Chinese and Spanish). And for what? Well, social networking is definitely one: Facebook is the number one most used website on the net. Downloading of music files, research for a job, instant messaging, sports scores; all these are also common uses.

And how has that changed human culture? Let's go from small to big. Because the Internet is only accessible through a computer, or computer-like device, statistics about computer usage go hand-in-hand with statistics about Internet usage - those ages 8 to 18 spend about seven and half hours with computer-like devices, consuming eleven and a half hours worth of media (e.g. music) due to multitasking. So it's safe to say that we spend a lot of our time "plugged in" (NYTimes.com). And that's been met with criticism over the years - an article from The Economist cites an author who says "hypermedia" (the act of clicking, skipping, skimming) is beginning to impair long-term memory consolidation. Because the Internet is composed of a plethora of links with small bits of content, short-term memory is most at work on the net.

I'd definitely agree with the idea that we spend a lot of time on the computer, and I can sympathize with the memory effects. Why is it that school research projects are done the Net? Because for many, the thought of leaving your desk chair - your comfortable throne overseeing the great WWW - to go to the library or to conduct real research for a topic you probably don't care much for - "Civil War correspondents", anyone? - is daunting. That's not necessarily bad, though - information on the Net is expanse, and expanding. The attractiveness of publishing a newspaper online, for example, as opposed to doing so in print, is the reason why getting news online is viable and stimulating. You can't play videos, slideshows, and audio on a piece of paper, but you can on a computer monitor (and speakers). Thus, there's justification for the Internet researcher.

So, we spend a lot of time at the computer, and the computer essentially equals, at the Internet. It may keep us plugged in, it may offer a comfortable shroud from talking to people, from social activity, from family time - and yet, it's one of the fastest growing, most varied (and yet not wholly reliable) sources of information. A double-edged sword of a communicator, in the truest sense of each term. That's the Internet for you.

What do ya think? Wish me luck!

Memory of Procrastinating

2011-01-19T02:08:00.001-05:00

So it's 2 AM in the morning, and I'm working on an AP Biology review packet that spans about 30 pages and is due tomorrow by about 12:30 pm. Assigned 2 weeks ago, I've been given plentiful amounts of time in class to work on it, yet when I started working on it earlier this afternoon, I was by Chapter 3 of 18. In addition to this, I also need to finish correcting a set of math exams; this is due first thing, 7:00 AM today (so in a few).

I'm trying to satiate my nerves by expressing my thoughts on paper - well, on screen I should say - but the thought that keeps resurfacing as I constantly reassess the amount of work I still have left is how we think of past episodes of procrastination. Nearly all my AP Biology friends are probably doing the same thing now, so it's not like procrastination is only for the lazy. Why does it happen? When we reminisce upon episodes of past procrastination success stories (as I hope tonight will be), how do we feel towards them? I feel instantly thankful that I'm not in that situation; in fact, a fright of being in the situation suddenly comes over me, as if being in the situation would be an inhumane condition to be in.

So if emotions after the fact are so strong - what keeps me, what keeps us, coming back?

Beginning of Time

2010-12-24T16:27:00.001-05:00

Like any normal teenager reminiscing on his childhood would, I like to see the progress of my early years from the perspective of the different video game consoles I've owned.

I know (or can ignorantly hope) that I owned very old video game consoles when I was very young, such as a SEGA Genesis. However, I also remember playing Duck Hunt and Super Mario Bros. in my house, which must mean that I either had an NES or a SEGA port of the same games. Whatever the case, my most recent video-game system history began one fateful day of which the specific environmental conditions I'll never forget. I don't think it was for Christmas; it might've been, but in any case, one day my dad and I drove over to Best Buy, some 30 minutes from home, on a rainy, windy day, to purchase my first-ever 32-bit video game system, the Playstation One. Note how I specified Playstation One - this was the second revision; smaller, curvaceous, and otherwise more attractive than the older boxy model. By this time, the Playstation One was beginning to be phased out as the PS2 was starting to become the most popular system, and the only alternative for gamers who had already built up enormous PS1 game collections. Thanks to that, Best Buy was offering the new PS1 model for only $50! A steal, indeed, and my dad and I took note of the price and headed out to the department store amidst a torrential downpour.

I was so happy once I got it! I sat in the passenger seat, looking at all the different pictures on the back of the box, of all the different games that were available for the aging system. I remember gawking at what I thought were unbelievably realistic graphics which, although they were for the time; had I been 10 years older, an inherent skepticism would've informed me that they really weren't - it was only the boyish wonder that fooled me into awe.

Whatever the case, those awesome graphics had to wait, because when I got home and waited for my dad to hook up the brand new machine, he lent me a face of frustration as he explained to me how the television set was missing RCA video plugins. All these things, so commonplace and obvious to me now, were like unintelligible hieroglyphics to me back then, my dad being the intelligent savior, deciphering it all. Indeed, he knew what would save the day - an RF to RCA converter! Easily attainable at the local Radioshack - this time only a few minutes away from home - half the reason it was easily attainable was because of the popularity of the no-video-plugins conundrum that likely affected many TV/game system owners at the time. Five dollars later, the system was plugged in, the demo disc inserted, the controller connected, and I was playing my first PS1 video game, which was a demo version of the game Medievil. I bored fairly slowly of the demo disc's content - which I blame solely on all the TV commercials it had on it, of amazing PS1 video games and accessories - and that boredom was cured by my first ever actual PS1 game, Driver.

Being the first game I owned, and being a good game at that; the opening screen, initial training level, and even the jazzy music compose some of my fondest video game memories to date. Only thing that was a bummer was what happened after I turned off the system for the night - I came back, and was truly disappointed to learn that I had to repeat all my progress from the day before because I didn't have a memory card!

To be continued. Happy Holidays everyone!

The Evolution In Me

2010-12-15T20:08:00.001-05:00

The following is the foreword to a biology project discussing the Axolotl, a critically endangered amphibian native to Lake Xochimilco in Mexico. Enjoy!

I don’t need to travel farther than my desk to witness one of the key characteristics of populations of living species. Actually, I needn’t even need stand up or fidget. All I need to do is look at the reflection on the glossy wood finish of the wooden table, and I can read into more detail than any 7^th edition of a college biology textbook could ever provide. When Darwin coined natural selection, evolution; he coined not only a new, yet unearthed characteristic of living things, but also a scientific term by which to refer to an inherent quality of human beings, particularly those in the earlier years of their lives, where change is so dramatically swift and quick. It’s futile to think that a 14-year old is the same tomorrow than today. Thus, if it’s futile to think the opposite, it’s unnerving to think about the truth.

As I sit down to write this report at a time I’d rather not specify, I look at myself in the reflection of the glossy desk and think about how much I’ve evolved. Not only in physical attributes, but more so in thought. What I considered an immutable way of life two years ago has changed, and it’s always useful to think that change is for the better, especially when you constantly adopt new ways that in turn constantly reveal yet another inefficiency. Too nice, too mean, too unfeeling, too pragmatic, too complicated, too self-defeating … the self-critique is as inherent as the change, and so in addition to the written, unwavering, stalwart nature of alleles, recombination, and DNA, us human beings – and likely all sentient beings – must deal with another comparably inextricable, abstract, and wholly intangible vector of change – the constant reassessment of ourselves and the world around us by our omnipotent, versatile, and often overwhelming masses of jelly and muscle in our skulls. Our brains, of course.

Ignorance is Determination

2010-10-22T17:42:00.001-04:00

At the football game, with the band once more. Being the homecoming game, the entire student body is dressed in school spirit clothes galore, and visiting Marching Band alumni come back to the football stands to talk with their old professors, as well as play in the stands with their old friends once more. The Director herself picks up a snare drum - having always been an expert percussionist - and jams out with current and former students alike.

Then comes halftime, and it's obvious that none of these fine football spectators know just what goes into making the band. They don't know about the long hours we spend outside practicing, they don't know about the frustration, endurance tests, and hard work we undergo. Sure, some of them can imagine so, but some can also not. At the competition football field, everyone quieted down as soon as each competing band entered the field. Here, the rattle only grows louder when music stops blasting over the PA. The band is dressed in their professional uniforms for the occassion, the drum major features a delightful black dress, the Color Guard is looking their best. This is our time to show everyone what we've been working so hard towards, another chance to demonstrate our latest marching skills to the public.

Yet, we know for a fact that this crowd could care less about the band. Of course they appreciate that the school has a marching band to lead them in football game halftime shows - but they're not at the football game to watch a band. They're not here to watch halftime (which in my opinion, is a waste of a break between quarters). So, what is the function of our performance?

To practice. The crowd that will be watching us is at competitions, at concerts, at college football games. And when a sabre tosser fails to catch her sword; instantly I hear an "Oh!" from the crowd. She knows very well what she's doing, though, and she quickly picks up the sword with a grace that made it look like the toss was part of the performance. In that instant, I saw the role of disinterested peoples' ignorance in determination. This isn't an attack on football game spectators - but the reality is, as I mentioned before, the audience doesn't know what goes into learning that toss. They haven't the slightest about how the marching is organized, about the theme behind the three Movements ... and yet, it is that very same ineptitude, dare I say, of common people, that keeps the marching band so committed. The simple fact that every brass player, every percussionist, every Color Guard member is out there breaking their backs, doing their best to ensure the best performance yet, knowing full well the crowd knows little to nothing about the virtue, about the hard work that goes into marching - is the most unwavering demonstration of their passion for the sport, of their commitment to their team and their profession.

We exit the football field, our school having won 48 - 8, and our halftime show having been the best performance yet. "Piano Man" plays over the loudspeaker (which in retrospect was a very poor choice of a victory song) as we dawdle towards the buses on our way back home.

Psychology, The Universal Tool

2010-10-18T22:23:00.001-04:00

The following is a little spiel about psychology. The above picture represents a very true phenomenon.

As you can expect, when I was in Psychology II last year, our teacher often preached about how wide-spread psychology was, throughout the world, in absolutely everything we do. Of course; how could it not be. After all, it's the study of behavior, and behavior is a part of every living being, human or animal.

And even though she repeated this self-evident truth so often, I don't think any of us - pre-programmed to hurdle over the idea whenever it was told to us again - ever really sat down and thought about what she really meant. Because if you do sit down to think about it, it's truly wondrous how widespread psychology is, in the sense that even the coldest, most matter-of-fact person - in fact, this is most of them - knows a fair share about the considerably warm study of psychology. Think about it this way - when an artist is contracted to develop a new poster or design for Pepsi-Cola, he doesn't just put something together that looks nice and displays well at a high resolution. He has to think about his work, not only in terms of artistic technicalities and other expected considerations, but also whether people will be stimulated by the design, whether people will be able to remember it, whether people's minds will quickly react to it and say, "Hey, it's a new design for Pepsi-Cola!" The artists does it second-nature, but as he's moving around a touchpad mouse on his digital artist-oriented MacBook, he's constantly processing the various psychological factors playing into whether his design will succeed or not - and ultimately how fat his paycheck will be. That is, the cold matter-of-fact person making the ultimate psychology-based decision isn't the artist - it's his entrepreneur of a boss.

Another example would be television network bosses and head honchos. Sure, they deal with insurmountable tonnes of paperwork on a daily basis and they likely resolve legal and copyright issues every other day - but they also communicate with the editors and scriptwriters of the network, and they ultimately impart the final word on whether a show will pass pre-production or not. And on what does the head honcho base his considerate response? On psychology, of course! An experienced NBC editor-in-chief or general manager has seen his network progress through the decades, and he knows very well what kind of niches Americans enjoy; just what kind of comedy and hilarity Americans, young and old, enjoy viewing on their television sets on weekday nights, after a 9-hour workday.

If we're talking television psychology, though, I'd like to finally take the chance to mention Disney Channel. Perhaps someone will make fun of me, but no matter what show was playing on the channel at the time, be it Hannah Montana, The Suite Life of Zack and Cody, or Unfortunately, Sadie; there was just something about that channel that immediately grabbed mine and my friend's attention. I could go into detail about the times this has happened and such, but I'd probably not be able to describe my point too well. I guess you only get it if it's happened to you before, so I'll just ask: has anyone ever felt immediately entranced by Disney Channel?

I could go on with more examples, but time's running out as I've got to return to Biology homework. My point is, psychology is everywhere as even the coldest of business decisions rely on an innate knowledge of what will stimulate the human mind. Some food for thought for you intellectuals and such.

Spectator

2010-10-17T19:51:00.001-04:00

Found this on the net; probably from several classes ago.

I'm sitting here in the backseat of the family car, writing a blog post on an underpowered yet undeniably reliable Pentium II laptop. The monitor is dimmer than dusk, the eraserhead is uncomfortable like my sister's computer chair ... it's a work of art. Besides it being enough of a novelty to be able to blog whilst on the road - that road being a very long one on the way back from an extended children's birthday party - what I'm thinking about is also something quite newfound. I wrote a post, some time ago, about the importance of documentation throughout our lives, in the form of in-your-face candids that girls can output so quickly, easily, effortlessly. Well, building on that ideal, I went ahead and wrote a preliminary draft about my blog. Now standing at 80-some posts - counting this one - it's without a doubt a window into my former self. That "former self" being one that's so drastically different from the one now with only two or three years in the middle.

It's different in a plethora of ways. Now that I have this ancient laptop in front of me and surprisingly, it's holding a charge I’ll mention one small difference by talking about this upcoming week.

It's Homecoming Week at South Miami High – our homecoming football match against our athletic rival happening this Thursday - and despite the fact that I have a Biology test on Thursday, a news report to finish for TV, and a cavalcade of other things that never seem to stop rolling in ... I couldn't be more excited.

Just this year, I realized the social, psychological prowess of high school football games. Not being a sportsman, or rather, one who likes football, I'd been putting off going to a football game since my freshman year, ignoring the stereotype painted by cheesy 80s era high school movies of worthwhile football games that served as seasonal get-togethers for the best of friends. Well, luckily, thanks to my filming the Band, I've been attending almost every football game this year so far (well at least the home games). And in ways that can only be provoked by the most thrilling of outings, I genuinely get excited at the prospect of being a spectator at a football game. I mean; sure, half the reason why is because I get to do what I love by filming the Band's halftime and stand-side performances, thus exercising my nascent camera skills ... but I've discovered something else in football games that may just be that social prowess so eagerly advertised by every other attendant since freshman year. When our team wins - not an event bound to happen often, unfortunately - there's a sense of pride and victory that, even though you might not like football, you involuntarily share with both the varsity football team breaking sweat and tears out on the field, but also with the cheerleaders on the stands, with the security guards at the gate, with the Band on the field at halftime, and most importantly, with your dear friends that have taken time out of their schedules to attend this community event. It's something I've never experienced. Never before have I shared such a sensation with so many people.

That sensation being one of sports-related pride. When I'm on the halftime field, looking towards the home side stands, gawking at the amazing turnout, I feel unmatched felicity in being able to say, "Go Cobras". Here’s to the Homecoming Game!

Practice Writing a Personal Narrative, OK?

2010-10-09T00:24:00.002-04:00

You'll see why.

In my AP Language and Composition class, we were analyzing and annotating Gary Soto's personal narrative about his guilt-ridden experience with a stolen pie; I believe it was an excerpt from A Summer Life, an autobiographical text. As our little project for the weekend, we are to draft our own personal narrative. Of course this is going to take some heavy mental activity and physical stress to figure out just what personal narrative I want to produce - yet the biggest challenge in that is to wrangle my mind earlier than 9 PM on Sunday. So here's the story of ... well, let's see where this goes.

Well, when I was in first ... no, that's a medical experience. Oh, I know! When I used to be ... eww, no that's nasty. Uhm ... well I could tell you about the first time that I ever ... nah, that brings back memories too sweet to put on paper. Gosh darn! I think I'm doing a good job of making sure to work on this earlier than after dinner on Sunday! What I haven't done a good job of ... in the past, of course ... is documenting those things I find memorable.

You know how girls take pictures all the time? Give them their own camera, and they're likely to come back with a roll of, if nothing else, canted in-your-face pictures of themselves with their friends at school, at the mall, at a party. And this trait isn't one that they had to be particularly mature to establish. It might as well have started in kindergarten had our parents entrusted us with hundred-dollar cameras in our hands. Actually, no, scratch that! It probably did start in kindergarten because back then, $10 dollar 35mm disposables were in! So, yes! Our generation got to start taking pictures deliberately at a very young age, and in my inexorable wisdom, I didn't really partake in, or find attractive, the art of taking pictures of just about everyone and everything around me until I was maybe in 8th grade. Not only that, I only started taking pictures of memorable moments - last days of school, outings to the mall, bike rides in the neighborhood - towards the latter part of that 8th grade year.

My, so far, wordy and overly restated point is that documentation is important. I should've been smart enough to realize that taking pictures of all those fun things that happened in my life that I'd like to have a browsable record of now - that party in 6th grade that landed the teacher some flak from the administrators, the first time I went to the mall with friends, the day I Met Your Mother - was going to end up being the most useful thing I would've done! How awesome would it be if now, to select the most inopportune, crazy, but ultimately impacting anecdote to write about in my draft, I could turn on the computer or open a scrapbook or enormous plastic tupperware container, look at a corresponding picture, and sit back and relish the overwhelming amount of memories and feelings of, amongst other things, certain nostalgia, as they come into and overtake my mind in an ethereal moment that can only be experienced by a person that kept his history in war torn scrapbooks because he knew it would help him impress his AP English teacher this coming Tuesday, a day before the practice SAT.

Bottom line: document your life.

The Beauty of a Summer Tale

2010-09-11T09:38:00.002-04:00

A little patch of grass of much fame.

For my AP Language and Composition class, I was assigned to read and analyze John Tobias' 1967 poem, "Reflections On A Gift Of Watermelon Pickle from a Friend Called Felicity". Longest title ever, I know, but the length isn't suggestive of the poem's concise, lyrical language.

It relates the story - to my understanding so far - of a summer "which may never have been at all; But which has become more real Than the one that was---". It talks about a time "when unicorns were still possible", of watermelons that provided "a summer of limitless bites, Of hungers quickly felt And quickly forgotten With the next careless gorging." It tells us how, "in a jar put up by Felicity,' which I assume to be happiness, 'The summer which maybe never was Has been captured and preserved And when we unscrew the lid And slice off a piece And let it linger on our tongue; Unicorns become possible again."

In what may have been one of the sweetest poems I've read in a long time, I've found a certain quality of summertime that I never really thought about before. Sometimes, in a world run by people in suits catching the train to the next meeting, by parents that work long hours during the week to be able to enjoy some peace and quiet with their children on the weekends, by teachers that assign homework over the weekends and expect you to continue studying as if you haven't already been doing so during the week ... it's a little hard to find true beauty in something.

And no, I'm not talking about girls - for once. I'm certain there's all kinds of beauty to be had with them - whether it's fake or real.

But I'm talking about the beauty of the summertime. Sure, it's "beautiful" because it's a well-deserved break from long months of school work, but I think there's beauty to be found beneath this. When summer 2010 was coming to an end - little over a month ago, as I was doing my AP summer assignments - I stood up and paced around my house for a few minutes, when I stopped and looked outside. It was, truly, "a bright summer's day" outside, with the birds chirping, the sun full out, children playing in the pool, ducks showering in the lake, wind under the shade ... and I looked at one particular spot in the lake. A little cot of grass that seemed like it was missing only a group of best friends reminiscing or "eating crap", as many rudely call time with friends, to complete the photograph.

I looked at that spot, and at that point - perhaps the worst point in time possible - I had an epiphany about the true meaning of summer. For long, I've wondered about what the true meaning, purpose of summer is. Back in ye olden days, it was so the kids could go home to their parents' farm and harvest the crops, but that certainly isn't the case now. Is it for kids to find a job or get ahead on their AP classes coming the following year? No - not at all.

Instead, it's for us to enjoy an inexplicably pleasant feeling that comes from sitting in a place like that little cot of grass. You know all those shots in movies of friends sitting on a wide open field, with arms around each other, singing "Kumbaya"? Well, that's what summer's for. It's kind of like an acting role, in a sense. But not nearly as superficial. When I saw that little patch of grass by the lake, a feeling of nostalgia and regret swept over - nostalgia from all the amazing times I'd spent with my friends during the summer, and regret that I couldn't have spent more time with them. I regretted that I couldn't experience that sweet ethereal feeling once more ... mostly because I had to get back to my AP stuff.

Nonetheless, I had an amazing summer! I got to go to UM for a three-week journalism workshop, as you all know; I often went to McDonald's with my friends, I went to the beach with them once, I filmed Band Camp the three weeks before school started ... truly the best summer yet. But perhaps the regret comes from having not sat in that little patch of grass.

I get even more nostalgic and regretful when I think of summers before this last one. So to Summer 2010, and all those beforehand - you're all sorely missed.

Week/end of Morality - Part 2

2010-09-05T12:29:00.002-04:00

... continued from "Week/end of Morality - Part 1".

... or so I thought. I mean, of course I do the regular things like eat my lunch/breakfast and sit and talk with my friends about the latest news or happenings and such - as anyone would - but the girls thing is quite the problem. Now, of course, it's always a problem when you don't have a girl, so to speak, but I'm talking about something a little different. Naturally, lunch and breakfast time are the best times to socialize and further your interest (wink) but when you start looking forward to these social hours to look for prospective soul mates, you start going down the ladder (and you don't want to go down, you want to go up) of Swiss psychologist Lawrence Kohlberg's "stages of moral development."

Lawrence Kohlberg. Photograph from LIFE.

Just yesterday - Friday, the first Friday/weekend of my junior year - I was texting said prospective soul mates on my computer, using Google Voice (which I might say is an excellent SMS device when your cell phone doesn't work). And, as I did, I started to think about my selfishness in doing so. I mean, who am I benefiting when I send flirty text messages to girls, trying to eke out the next "awwww" or "maybe we could meet up and talk about that sometime"? No one but myself, really, at least until said flirting turns into a mutually beneficial situation where both the guy and the girl benefit from talking to each other. Of course, simple flirting and trying to sweep a girl off her feet are sometimes the first steps to a relationship, so you might be thinking that my concluding that it's selfish is kind of stupid. Well, I agree - it is. But when you become overly concentrated on said initial flirting and sweeping, that's where the selfishness becomes evident and detrimental to your personality.

The person you're talking to might end up liking you, might end up never talking to you again. But when you're sending SMS flirts, the only thing you're exercising is your social and conversational skills. You're not making anyone happy, you're not helping anyone. I realized this after I discussed the night's flirts with a nonchalant friends of mine whom could, at least during our conversation yesterday, care less about flirting and trying to talk or get with a girl. What did she care about at the time? Well besides the weekend's imminent homework time, she spent the greater half of our conversation talking from a higher level of moral thinking, labeled in Kohlberg's stages as the post-conventional rung on the ladder of thinking. She talked about how she wanted to do something for her friend's upcoming birthday, how her and one of her friends had hung out that day and studied together and gotten ICEEs at the local 7 Eleven. As I heard her talk about such simple, ultimately beautiful desires and events - as I heard her talk about the beauty of spending time with a good friend, a time that both people involved benefit equally from each others' company ... I realized how absolutely selfish I was being in getting worked up over texting these girls whom probably could themselves care less about what my intentions were.

A bit of strong comic work, I know, but it's hilariously true!

Now, I don't mean that in a "giving up" tone. Trust me, I really am not that concerned with whether anything good comes out of these flirtish endeavors (though it'd be nice if it did) - what I am frustrated about is in either preserving or fostering my own selflessness. For as long as I can remember, there's been numbered occassions where I've thought about doing something nice for somebody else - leaving them a card in their locker, making them brownies. All that good stuff that makes people feel happy inside. That's what I'm feeling blue about. When you get to the level my friend was talking from yesterday - Kohlberg's post-conventional level of morality - that's when you achieve true selflessness.

Yeah, maybe we should spoil our countryside a little.

So to aid my bothered conscience, I've decided to start doing something for my friends. But I won't tell you what.

'Til next time, friends. Good night, everyone.

Years Pass and How Do I Feel?

2010-09-01T06:04:00.005-04:00

A bit of poetry from me, which I don't write at all, really. I write the following, not in an act of spite or vengeance, but simply to express my feelings. May my feelings be right, and may they be defended by whomever decides my fate. Oh, and tell me what you think of my poetry skills!

For two years

since I knew you to be friendly, I tried

and thought I succeeded

in breaching your human barrier.

But at times I felt

like I'd been pushed back to square one.

I can't blame you for who you are

But I can't let this pass either

It's difficult to decide

in an age of words unspoken and of words that hurt

when to consider your feelings the truth

and when to discard them, for they are not true.

I tried for a long, long time

to try to equal those whose affection you sought.

But through the passage of time, newfound

understanding has led me to think differently.

It would be a crime to say

that we've not spent good times;

times where we connected in a way

that only the best of pals do.

But those times are the exception,

not the norm. Instead,

feeling like it didn't matter,

dealing with you not caring,

dealing with your indifference,

dealing with your bipolar soul, it seems, is what I usually find myself doing.

And as of recently,

dealing with the truth.

There is sympathy and unconditional positive regard in you;

that is what I seek.

Why don't you value my intentions

instead of pleasing someone else?

I give it to you in layman's terms -

it strikes my last nerve

when I see you acting out of character

to please someone whom you oftentimes considered unworthy.

I cannot be adamant about hate,

for my condition forbids me,

but I can be adamant about that which makes sense.

And what makes sense to me today

is that you've got me on a leash.

That you relish a challenge,

that you don't care for your allies,

and instead aim to please the enemy.

These are someone else's words,

and they can only do me one of two things -

make me acknowledge the truth of things

or hurt, hurt, hurt our labored friendship.

I hope,

for the better of myself, my conscience,

and you,

that these words are wise, and correct.

I'm not religious

but I'm sure that He only rewards

those who do the right thing.

I pray and look to God when I hope that this is the right thing.

Good morning, America.

Good morning, world.

Good morning, friends and family.

Hold my hands and lead me to salvation, please.

Week/end of Morality - Part 1

2010-08-28T21:54:00.005-04:00

Hey guys! Golly, gee, I feel that I should tell you how my junior year's started off! So I will!

This past week has been quite the week. All new teachers, with the exception of my TV Production teacher (a class that I now have in the morning instead of in the afternoon, which I'm still undecided over whether it's better or not); all new people, since I share my new classes with new classmates this year; and classes that are Advanced Placement level!

This last characteristic of my junior year classes; I should stress, seeing as it's caused some important "life" changes. Mainly, a rigid schedule that I developed (and took a good amount of time to do so) well before school started.

It basically says, "wake up at 6:00 AM, go to school until 2:20, come back home by around 3:00, eat and nap until 5:00, do homework and everything you gotta do, including eating and chores, from 5:00 to 10:30, and be asleep by 11:00 PM."

But the most interestingly constructed portion of it is that big span of time from 6:30 AM to 2:20 PM! Let me tell ya about it.

OK, so I wake up at 6:00 AM and between bells and whistles, by about 6:30 - 6:45 I'm at school. Now, of course, besides eating the free, school-provided breakfast, you're pretty much free to do absolutely anything you want during the time between my arrival at school and 7:20 AM.

You could do homework, you could talk to friends, you could make out on the staircase, you could talk with your teachers, you can go to the library, you could buy a drink, you could make a baby ... well, OK, maybe that's going too far.

Hey, don't give me that face! Don't tell me you didn't think about these things when YOU were in high school!

But my point is, the majority of the eight or so hours that I'm at school has been fitted with a tight, merciless schedule - 7:20 to 9:20 AM, first period; 9:20 to 11:20, third period; and so on. But that small, teensy-weensy hour or so that takes place before school commences at 7:20, has been left completely unattended!

Taking 3 AP classes, and having to balance that with being the videographer for the school band, a secretary on the district student government association, and being part of a community service club, it would be the death of me if even this small hour were not assigned some particular purpose.

So, I went ahead and decided to assign specific tasks that must be carried out during this period, as well as the midday lunch period - an even smaller, half-hour period that's also been left terribly negated, and a period in which some of the craziest things can happen. I can't just go out and experience these breaks without a clear mission! So I began to think - what things do I not accomplish during the rest of my day that I could possibly do during these misguided time slots? Let's see ... well, the rest of the eight hours in school, I can't really do much about since it's all reserved for five different classes. The time between dismissal and starting my homework ... well, I'm not touching that! I gotta nap! And then, the time between 5:00 and 10:30 PM, that set aside for homework ... well, it's homework time!

Then I had an epiphany, and realized that those small half-hour to hour periods before and during school were to serve as the great social hours of the week! Thus, I made it clear one summer afternoon when I was pacing around my house, talking to meself, working out this fine daily itinerary - in the morning, and during lunch, I need to completely let myself go and partake in as much social activity and interaction as possible.

That means: flirt with girls, talk with friends, attempt to get girls, talk with friends, be frustrated over girls, talk to friends, meet with teachers, look at the sky, walk the halls, help/mock the freshmen, tie my shoe ... oh yeah, and I have to eat too, cause if I don't ... well, I might die, Doctor. I mean, it's either doing all this during the morning and lunch ... or like, working at Smoothie King, so ...

to be continued in Part 2 ...

Annual Reflection: Becoming a Junior

2010-08-16T21:44:00.000-04:00

Sometimes you'll be doing something you don't want to do and you end up finding something inspirational whilst doing it. Then you feel inspired and you have to write, even if it's been such a long time. And it's tradition.

Hey, everybody! Man, I haven't blogged in ages! I think the blog is collecting virtual dust! Look, there goes a virtual dust bunny!

But anyway, I've got lots - LOTS to tell ya.

Over the summer, I was granted the opportunity - well, following an application process - to be part of the James Ansin/Peace Sullivan High School Workshop for Journalism and New Media, a completely free program held every summer at the local University of Miami in which twenty or so high school students are brought in to live in the campus' freshman dorms for three weeks, during which they're given access to the University's School of Communication and produce a newspaper of their own, with a central theme binding the publication's twenty or so stories (at least one per student), replete with student photographs and design input. In recent years, audio and video work has also become a part of the workshop's curriculum, extending its length by about a week (it used to be only less than two weeks) and allowing students to partake in the new dynamic of journalism - web video. Based on their written stories, and the people they've interviewed along the way, the students make short documentary style web videos about eligible stories.

Not only all this, they're also taught by former journalists and current UM professors, video editors, as well speakers regarding the topic(s) they write their stories about (our topic this year was the Jan. 12 Haiti earthquake). And to top it off, field trips to the local newspaper and TV station are included.

Did I also mention free food? Well that too.

I feel privileged - truly privileged - to have attended this workshop. It was life-changing, a quality of the workshop they'd advised us about from day one.

Sure, it meant three weeks away from home - only somewhat though, since I live biking distance from the University - but it was worth it. I made unforgettable friends - from cocoa butter loving Mupi, to seasoned video producer and editor Stoltz, as well as award-winning Haley and concert-loving Melissa.

My interest in journalism only grew larger - interviewing people from my local neighbor to a geology professor in Mexico, dealing with the frustration from multiple rewrites to my story, learning about ethics, understanding the importance of story, and what makes a good one ... it was a beautiful, truly beautiful experience.

To see our work, visit http://workshop.com.miami.edu/2010/.

And of course, one of the highlights was dorm life. We were spread out across two floors - boys and girls - but the fact that we were freely able to walk out into the hallways and down into the second floor at eleven o' clock at night made it very thrilling.

It was like a little town - downstairs was Haley's Internet Café (she was the only one with a laptop), next door was Danny's Space Pudding Restaurant (some weird chocolate/peanut mix, I think, that she always shared with everyone); across the hall was Mupi's Arcade (he'd brought a 60-inch television and an XBOX 360, complete with a Logitech sound system).

It was a world I'd like to live in - truly a taste of college life - and fortunately, despite all these distractions, I stayed focused and concentrated on writing the best story yet.

Yes, that's me. Did I ever give that blanket back?

Luckily, so was everyone else, which only added to the experience - I was surrounded by people who shared my love of journalism, my love of talking to people, my love of writing, my love of making the best end product possible. That's something you don't always get in school, but here, dedication was alive and well.

And so now, being only a week away from the first day of junior year, rushing just a healthy bit to finish my summer assignments on time, I take my five-minute break, sip on a nice, refreshing, ice-cold can of Coke, and I think about coming back to school. After the workshop, I feel like there's so much more I can come to school with now. Of course, I can bring new ideas to my TV Production/Journalism class - as you can well imagine, I learned a plethora of skills and concepts I knew little to nothing about beforehand - but there's a social component too.

Experiencing dorm life was as beneficial from the workshop as was the "work" part of it. I got to talk to awesome people, but more importantly, people of just one or two years older that went to high schools in the next county (only four from the group went to a local high school).

That small age difference, as numerically insignificant as it is, showed quite the leap in personality, in maturity, and in knowledge in these older peers of mine. Upon talking to them, I realized that they were already driving, working, having more "committed" relationships ... regular stuff you expect seniors and juniors to do and sophomores and freshmen to wish they could do, right?

Sure. But it's just so unbelievably amazing - to me personally - how, at age 16, you could be eating dinner every night at the dinner table with your parents, riding bike to school, and having to come back home before 10; and only two years later, at age 18, you could be driving a car to school three-fourths of the year, and to work during the summer; paying for your cell phone bill, picking up friends from their houses or from their two-day parties and riding to the beach at your considerable leisure.

Isn't it just amazing how fast we grow up? I for one will be sticking to the humble bicycle transportation option for now, but regardless - I wouldn't be surprised if I see a report in the Herald tomorrow regarding how fast this generation (whatever its name is) is growing! It's crazy! Absolutely mindblowing.

My friend and I, for example, have been soul searching for a while, and so I often reflect on what it means to be in a relationship.

Two years ago, it meant kissing and making out, if you got lucky. Today it means ... well, whatever it's supposed to mean. And two years from now, it'll probably mean something completely different again. Him and I are "talking" to prospective soul mates at the moment - "talking" being another dynamic of relationships that only entered existence for us less than a year ago - and it's really only now that we're enjoying newfound interest in the process that is getting to know someone, complimenting them occasionally (for fear of coming on too strong), being yourself, maybe going to go see a movie together, talking about important life stuff together.

Our spiritual needs have changed, him and I - but who's to say they won't be completely different two years from now? Maybe the "talking" aspect of it all won't be a source of frustration in the future (it surely is now). Who's to say relationships, and our attitudes towards them, won't be completely different again next year?

Everything else is!

Regardless of any and all generational change - summer's ending, and the chance to keep growing during the school year soon returns. Summer is sometimes like a checkpoint, where you can reflect on who you've been, and who you'll be.

Whatever happens, though - here's to an excellent junior year of high school!

Coining The Social Requirement

2010-07-13T10:28:00.000-04:00

Hello, world!

One night earlier this school year, I had to miss out on the homecoming football game at Tropical Park - right behind my house - only because I hadn't done my homework. I wa frustrated, no doubt, but by the time I finally finished, it was only an hour into the game! So I made the horrible, horrible choice of riding to Publix to pick up some groceries (which my mother told me to do) and on the way pass by the park, to see all of my friends cheering from the stands, all the while wearing that sad, puppy-dog, eye-sparkling face the lead actors wear in all those dramatic romance movies. After reaching an indescribable low point of depression (well not really; when I left the park someone gave me a red banana that tasted like an orange, so I rode bike home just fine), I began thinking about what I later coined, the "social requirement".

Why wasn't I able to go to the football game? Because I didn't realize the importance of social opportunities, of something as socially and psychologically beneficial as the opportunity to hang out with friends (and meet new people) at the homecoming football game. I did not equate the priority of an outing to the priority of homework - so I reserved an unlimited amount of time for my work that had no respect or consideration towards the football game. So I decided to come up with a concept to help me divide my time properly, and I called it the social requirement.

Essentially, the social requirement involves applying the same time-management skills you use to divvy up long projects, to divvying up time between your work and the social outings you can attend. So next time you're debating whether to stay home on Friday and work on that history report due Monday, or instead go to the movies to see Toy Story 3 with your best friends, go see Toy Story 3! Sure, you might have to accelerate your work on the report a little bit, but the social requirement is just that! It's believing that a drool-inducing 100-page report about the influence and importance of the color red in modern culture is just as important and professionally and socially and psychologically and optimistically beneficial as going to McDonald's with a group of five friends from the neighborhood to reap the benefits of half-price cheeseburgers on a Sunday.

Cisco, Desk’s Livelihood on Day Ten

2010-07-13T10:15:00.001-04:00

What makes a desk?

This is unfortunately not my desk.

For me, personally, my wobbly, fake-wood, fake-metal, scratched up, mayonnaised-on desk is my livelihood!

In essence, the little corner where this and a second glass desk sit, represent my little office. “I work here,” I say, as I sit down in my trusty reclinign chair and start either working on a term paper or hooking up some Silent Hill 2 or just browsing the Internet for videos of peoples’ game rooms.

But my desk isn’t without its inconveniences. I mean, yeah, it’s a little banged up and it has to support an overly heavy Dell 17″ CRT, but there’s one thing – just one thing that really brings my chicken nuggets out to the feeding yard: IT WOBBLES. Do you understand how absolutely inconsiderate and in-respectful and in-friendly (yes, I know that’s not how you spell those words) it is for my desk to have the nerve and take the liberty – the AUDACITY – to wobble vigorously left and right when I’m viciously erasing something from my homework? Like, what happened to enterprise and customer satisfaction – what happened to love and peace?! It’s all gone! ALL of it! All because one little 20 dollar desk supporting a ridicuslosuly heavy monitor from the 1990s decides to wobble left and right when the action becomes too much to handle.

Like, are you serious? I build computers on this desk, I sign contracts at this desk! You can’t do this to me, Daphne!

But anyway, despite its misconduct towards my person, I will be rewarding the desk this summer with a phone along the lines of the Cisco IP Phone 7970.

Actually, no, I’m gonna get this phone and put it on the glass desk instead. Daphne doesn’t deserve such luxury.
Though on second thought, that’s a lie too. This Cisco IP Phone is the absolute most awesome thing I’ve ever used in my history of using telephones. It’s AMAZING! It comes decked out in exciting gray and black, with a touchscreen display (touchscreen on a phone! WOW!), customizable settings for speaker and earpiece volume – everything! And the best thing is, I haven’t even penetrated the repository of things that this phone can do. It has voicemail, internet services, a boatload of buttons. It’s powered by two ethernet cables, which is enough of a landmark in my opinion.

But perhaps the best thing is that it’s allowed me to do so much. I sit next to this phone everyday, as I attend what is one of the best experiences yet – the Miami Montage 2010 Workshop. I’ve been given the chance to practice my journalism skills, which I haven’t been able to practice before. I’ve been given the chance to combine research with interviews, to bring together technology with the ages-old art of writing. I’ve been given the chance of a lifetime, and it’s absolutely great. Now I’m off to touch this phone some more.

So why am I lying about getting this phone? Because there’s no way I’d be able to afford this beauty I have sitting right next to me. I’ll buy something similar. I want to be just like that guy in “The Insider”, who has an awesome phone too, even though it’s undeniably 90s. He has an undeniably non-wobbly desk too – what a lucky guy!

Checkerboard and Pizza Dice

2010-06-29T12:57:00.000-04:00

Well, hello everybody! It's Tomás at Large, summer edition, because over here in my neck of the woods, summer vacation started a considerable two or three weeks ago and we're all soaking up the sun (or the A/C) as we enjoy our brief respite from the daily stress of school. I've personally been spending lots of my time editing the documentary I began earlier this year, heretofore titled, "The Sophomore Slump". I've restarted the editing process more than three times, and with editing comes a lot of frustration (especially considering I had to run out and buy a new fan/heatsink for my machine) that eventually leads up to those amazing, happiness-inducing bursts of creativity where you find yourself editing for hours when you thought you'd only spent a few minutes.

Editing, like many art forms, is one of those things in life that requires full devotion and concentration. When you're editing something, be it a feature length film or a 30 second TV spot, you need to completely envelop yourself in both the creative process, and the world of the production you're splicing and cutting. In other words, you need to be a part of the film or video as much as the actors are. So if you're editing a horror movie, you're going to become entrenched in the fear of the innocent Valley Forge girl as she unwittingly creeps into the house, only to be attacked by the mask-wearing, knife-wielding hockey player bad guy. If you're editing a documentary, you're going to become a part of the bad situation it addresses, or the cause it's advocating. And here I am, editing a documentary that's essentially about myself.

It's about teenagers, about school life, about what teenagers think about, what they say, what they do in class, what "drama" they get themselves in, what they think about their teachers, their relationships, high school. To top it off, all the main interviewees are some of my best friends (yes; I suppose the documentary is biased in this respect, but I'll explain more about this in a later blog post). So I can't help but think and rethink and think again about what they're saying.

When Jeannie says, "middle school, you're walking around and your drama is like, 'oh my god, she hates me'; in high school, it's like 'oh my god, she fucked him", I can't help but think about all the rumors one kid supposedly spread about his girlfriend.

When Chris says, "high school's high school; [for some] it's a prison, [for others] it's the next step before college", I can't help but think about the numerous amounts of times I've heard some of my friends say they hated coming to school.

When Yero ARMANDO Lopez says, "it's ... your prime, like you just want to, like, turn Super-Saiyan right quick; just wanna, ugh ... get bitches!" I can't help but think about ... about ...

see, that's where I'm stumped. The reason why there's a whole section in the documentary devoted to the interviewees and related B-roll talking about relationships and teenage romance, is because it's undoubtedly a big part of teenage life, right? As an editor, as a screenwriter, one knows the things a movie has to have for it to be complete. If I were writing a James Bond film, it'd be dumb not to include some attractive femme fatales to serve as the Bond girls.

Well, when I was thinking about what I had to show about teenagers to make the concept clear, I knew, without a doubt, that relationships would be one of the many things I had to show. In fact, that was probably the first thing I thought about.

From film screenwriter, I transform to audience member and as I watch the same edit for the 573rd time, I'm trying to grasp the thoughts teenagers have about this relationship business. And there's still one thing I really don't understand, and considering it's frustrated my existence for a while - long before this documentary even began - I figure it's worthy of an open Blogger question.

More than two years ago, I met one of my old best friends - let's call him Checkerboard. At about the same time, I met another friend of mine - let's call him Pizza Dice. I was, of course, much younger and terribly more naive back then, and these guys had understanding of things way beyond what my innocent mind could grasp at the time.

One of them was a well-rooted attitude towards girls and relationships. At the time, I was in a relationship, but when I asked the girl out, I did it more out of the novelty of having a girlfriend, rather than really needing someone. Now, don't take me wrong - my relationship with her turned out to be one of the most spiritually uplifting and utterly wonderful friendships I'll ever remember - but the truth is that at the time, I saw it as something cool because the grown-ups did it, not because I needed a partner.

Checkerboard and Pizza Dice were different - they were leap-years ahead of me in this respect; they'd grown enough to be able to want someone that way. Regardless, they often talked about girls in ways that - at the time - I found less than honorable. "Dude, she's so hot"; "dude, I bet that guy's made out with her like crazy" ; "dude, OMG, look at her ass" . Being as naive as I was, I dismissed these comments as derogatory and disrespectful, and instantly shot down my friends when they said them. But in reality, they were doing nothing wrong. Sure, the comments were most likely guided by hormonal instabilities, but they weren't without their moral equivalent. In other words, Checkerboard and Pizza Dice said these things in truth, but they still knew to respect girls and talk to them nicely and all that. What they had was an extra bit of braveness and maturity that allowed them to be playful this way, and be able to express their true opinions about girl's physical attributes without shame. I couldn't handle this amount of maturity at the time, and so my defense mechanisms said to ignore it and call it wrong.

But the truth is, I'm falling into that trap now (well it's not really a trap, but I guess it's a nice way to put it). I go around looking at my friends on Facebook (on the NEWS FEED only; I'm no stalker) and I realize, when I look at some of my female friends (which I oddly have a ginormous amount of) how I find myself saying those same comments in my head when I see their profile pictures. Or, how when I go to parties or the mall or any form of social gathering that isn't a dick-fest, how I see myself looking at hot girls in the hallways and saying the same things.

Now is when my "maturity" has allowed shameless admittance of such things to be possible, but now is too late! When I talk to my friends about how hot this girl is, or how lucky that other dude is to be *&#^$'in that chick, the conversations are short and do not allow for my newfound maturity to have its support base. In other words, those shameless comments Checkerboard and Pizza Dice used to say are now replaced by honest emotional cries of necessity for a special someone.

And trust me, I have that too - I also want a girlfriend, not just for a #*$& buddy, but really because I want someone to share special moments with, someone to talk to about my newest computer hacking project - but that earlier stage of physiological need, which was hidden and prohibited from coming out way back when, has now been set loose without that support base that Checkerboard and Pizza Dice could've provided back then! I have no brothers in arms to join with when I'm strolling around the mall looking at hot chicks, or when I'm at a JAMA party sitting down sipping on a Sunkist whilst checking out the new arrivals! In Freudian fashion, I'm regressing to a previous stage of hormonal development that never developed properly!

Or am I thinking too much? Will attending one of those crazy beach parties help? I want y'all to help me understand this, to understand myself. Maybe Checkerboard and Pizza Dice will help out. Thanks, guys. I think some time playing Metal Gear Solid is well overdue by now. 'Til next time, folks.

Thoughts During Summer - Pt. 1

2010-06-15T03:06:00.001-04:00

2:52 AM, my room.

It's in moments of great inactivity, it seems, that one has their brightest, and deadliest, ideas. Last summer, my boredom was enough to catalyze what would've otherwise been a disastrous break-up between me and two of the best friends I've had to date.

This summer, my excitement is enough to keep me awake during moments of inactivity. Excitement about what? Well, about everything I could do that needs doing.

A documentary titled "the Sophomore Slump", that needs to be finished (I'll be resuming work this weekend when I get a new heatsink/fan for my heat-inducing CPU), a Russian exchange student I could be spending time with, a Chili's or McDonald's tea party I could be hosting, PSP and PS2 games I could be playing (halted at the moment by a 2GB Memory Stick on the PSP - I need at least a 16GB to be able to store a proper amount of games and music - as well as by a PS2 that unfortunately broke down after nearly nine to ten years of faithful service), a bike I could be riding, a video game system I could be working on (titled Daphne VGS (Video Game System); details coming up soon), two or three AP summer assignments I could be working on, a premiere party I could be organizing for the documentary - in essence, summer adventures I could be having.

Summer is a very dangerous time, thus, for teenagers. Because it's essentially a time you have to make yourself. School provides an itinerary that too many teenagers aren't able to develop during the summer - sure it involves sitting in class for 2 or more hours (less if you're lucky) but it incontrovertibly provides a sense of direction that can be very difficult to forge during summer. If you don't have a good set of activities to embark upon, you might be bored in your house to the point of mental rotting. On the other hand, too many activities and you might be doubly frustrated when you realize you can't be doing them all. Hell, when you have too many activities, the smallest period of inactivity makes you anxious because you know you should be getting ahead on that stuff you plan to do.

It's 3:00 AM, now, and what am I doing? None of the things described above! Why? Well, because ... I don't know why. I do know, however, that excitement and anticipation for all those activities I listed is only building up more and more as my body naturally calls for sleep, for some ZZZs. I'm gonna go try to satisfy its needs.

Her Spirit

2010-05-29T22:55:00.002-04:00

I'm writing this in appreciation of what one human being can do for another. May this inspire people my age.

I have a very quirky friend that goes by the name of Amy. She's a small girl for her age - a sophomore in high school - with wonderful green eyes, a spontaneous demeanor, and long hair with conspicuously blonde highlights. She likes to jump around and say random things, like "Hello!" and "Weeeee!" and "I'm gonna stick it up YOUR ass!" in a manner worhty of putting in a Disney commercial; how cute it is. You talk to her and it's like talking to kid in elementary school - but she's smart, let me tell ya. In fact, her personality might as well be as complex as cracking the code to a bank's money safe. She's an odd apple - but a wonderfully eclectic and frisky (not sexually, boys) one at that.

There's only one thing - she's only become this way as of recent. How was she before? The same way - only difference was that that darling energy and hyperactivity was hidden and sealed away beyond some invisible door. In fact, even though I knew she was like this in reality, it was only a few days ago that I noticed this sudden change for the best, this sudden explosion of what I figured to be repressed energy. It was at my school's drama show. She'd been at band rehearsals, I think, until about five in the afternoon, and the show was at seven. Why not stay for it, right? After all, the Drama magnet at our school always produces amazing performances. It was definitely worth the five dollar admission, I must say. She likely thought the same thing, prompting her to stay an additional four or five hours ('til about ten thirty) after her band rehearsals.

Anyway, that's not the point. Oh, tangents.

I was filming an interview after school, and so by the time me and the interviewee were done with our session, it was time for the drama show. We'd made plans to attend it for the same aforementioned reasons, and so after I met up with my other friends attending the show, I saw Amy. Immediately, i was surprised by a new wave of "spunkiness" that'd swept over her. She didn't just say hi, she sprang into action - literally - when me and my friends (also in Band with her) encountered her. This behavior continued through the night - during the show, whose audience got progressively boisterous as the performances got better and the clock kept ticking, my Band friends and I would applaud and cheer unnecessarily loud after each performance, which prompted Amy to continuously turn around and jokingly scream out English delicacies at us (we were sitting behind her). After the show, when it was ten thirty at night and we were all tired from an overly long day at school, she was the only one still jumping around and essentially doing cartwheels on the entrance steps.

Was she like this before? Why sure she was ... but there was a noticeable bit of extra spontaneity that'd become evident only as of recent. You know when you see someone, and it only takes a few minutes of conversation to realize that they've changed? That they've become noticeably happier, lighter in their step, higher in their jump, faster in their sprint? When they've transformed from a happy, fulfilled member of society, to a happy, fulfilled, energetic, optimistic, independent leader from society? Why did Amy suddenly turn this way? How'd she exponentially energize herself?

I think the answer is that she's found someone to trust, someone that makes her happy and provides her with unconditional positive regard. Her family and relatives of course provide her with this - but in adolescence, it's even better when someone like a boyfriend provides you this.

Yes - Amy has a new boyfriend, and his effect on her life couldn't have been more evident than during the night of the Drama show. I tip off my hat to you, Mr. Gold - you've done a wonderful little girl, a great humanitarian service. Good job. I'm happy for both of you guys. May love and happiness be with you forever.

Why This Life - Avoiding Columbine

2010-05-21T11:00:00.001-04:00

The school shooting at Columbine High School happened little over a decade ago, and the momentous nature of the massacre has earned it a spot on the list of mankind's greatest disasters. Lives were lost, but the lives that weren't lost, were changed. Never before Columine had anyone heard of something like a school shooting. A TIME Magazine article on the subject mentioned that before Columbine, students would often forget to leave their gun racks at home following a weekend of targeting practice or hunting with Dad. What would happen if you "forgot" to leave your gun rack at home today? You'd be considered a situation, you'd be expelled from school, you'd be checked out by a doctor.

I'm not going to narrate the events at Columbine - it's a story repeated too often. I'm instead going to discuss something worse - the possibility that Columbine could've been avoided. An old 60 Minutes presentation on the Tragedy of Columbine decided to focus, not on why Columbine happened, when, what, how. But instead, on that which didn't happen. That which could've been vital factors in preventing the massacre from happening. According to the presentation, the first police team to enter the school once 911 calls had rung and the news of the shooting had been dispatched to police did so after two hours after the shooting began. Two hours! There was been local police surrounding the school within five minutes of the first shot fired (and the first life lost), but it would only be two hours later that police deemed entering the school to be "safe". After a massive amount of policemen, SWAT team members, police vehicles, and vans had assembled outside and in the vicinity of the school, all waiting around for orders from the local police authority while innocent kids were being shot inside the school by the two adolescent perpetrators. How could this have happened? An interviewee on the show who had knowledge of the police commands and operational orders given during the massacre spoke with the host of the presentation, but when asked why the SWAT team, why the police, why anyone didn't go in as soon as possible, as soon as shots were fired - she conspicuously denied and essentially pleaded the fifth to, everything. It's terrible! How could this have happened? Why were lives lost that could've been saved?

I can do nothing but mourn the lives lost. I cannot criticize the actions of the Columbine police department beyond the concepts of common sense. It's unfair to think that policemen are all daring heroes ready to lose their lives by diving headfirst into a massacre. They didn't know how many shooters were inside. It could've been two teenagers, it could've been a terrorist army. Could they have known? Did they know? Nobody knows. We cannot criticize that which we have little to no knowledge of. That's a principle of life. We're only left with questions. Not about why the police didn't go in. Not about why the response was so slow. But instead why the criminals responsible for the massacre did what they did. Believe it or not, the Columbine shooters were both friendly, socially competent, good-looking teenage boys, with happy parents at home, lots of friends at school. Their personalities weren't the warning signs - there were more conspicuous ones available, that no one cared to look at. The boys had created a website where they listed the schematics for the pipe bombs they would use, a hit list of the people they would kill, a schedule outlining in what order they would carry out their deed. People knew about these boys' activities and desires too - they'd told some of their friends what they planned to do, but everyone dismissed it as being a joke, or simply as being a lie. If today you hear someone telling you, "hey, look at this list of the people I'm gonna kill." What would you do? Would you tell someone? Would you stay quiet out of fear? It depends. What you would do is think that there's something bad going on. The concept of a school shooting was not one that existed at the time Columbine happened - it had never happened before! People did not think that someone with such a good personality and such a high degree of social competence would be seriously planning a school shootout; that they would kill their own classmates. Now, when we see these warning signs, we have that thought, that possibility, in our mental repository.

Thinking that the same mindset was present back in 1999, is called having hindsight bias - that past events were more predictable than they really were at the time. It's unfair ... what we can solidly take away from Columbine is a lesson on the complexity of the human mind. Could there be something wrong in my sociable best friend? Could they be plotting a school shootout? I can only hope not. Let's remain optimistic - it's the best thing we can do.

The Third Wave

2010-05-21T05:37:00.001-04:00

The following discusses The Third Wave, an experiment undertaken by Contemporary History teacher Ron Jones of Cubberley High School in Palo Alto, California in the year 1967, to show his students the appeal of fascism.

The following comments are based on a 1981 made-for-TV special about The Third Wave, although it bounces back between the actual facts and the content of the special.

For any teacher, the inability to answer a question from one of your students must fell like a parent not knowing how to help a child. I can't speak for a teacher, seeing as I'm not one myself, but I can only assume how it must make them feel. Ron Jones was teaching his students about Nazi Germany and how people would go a long with their killing of Jews and other innocent people, when one of his students asked him why people would participate in something so horrible. Puzzled, Jones doesn't know how to answer the question - so he decides to show it, by creating a classroom government known as "The Third Wave", whose objective is to eliminate democracy. He designed a logo, an insignia, and a motto - "Strength through discipline, strength through community, strength through action, strength through pride.", complete with an accompanying pledge-like hand motion.

Jones began to gradually exact additional layers of discipline on the students, too. He had them stand up to answer a question in class, for example. Before long, The Third Wave became a school-wide group, with flyers being distributed, membership cards going around, and even a physical altercation between Wave members and a local student who questioned its beliefs. What had essentially been created was a Nazi party all of its own.

It sounds comical, and probably pretty unbelievable that a single teacher could form a "Nazi-like government" in school. But it's true, and despite the relative lack of documentation of The Third Wave experiment, it's supported at least in theory by the concepts of social psychology.

To not believe in the possibility of The Third Wave is to underestimate the power of social competence and the need for belonging that are essential to the human being - the former defined by Erik Erikson, the latter by Abraham Maslow. Human beings are social creatures - they crave for interaction with others; introverts and unsociable fellows are the exception, not the norm. Even though we often find ourselves frustrated by our social lives (okay, that goes mostly for adolescents, I'll give you that), we cannot live without it (kinda like women). And so, in a world of social conflicts, finding a unit, a purpose, something to believe in, is quite the influence. In the made-for-TV dramatization, the benefits of The Third Wave are best shown in Robert - a shy, often picked on youth that, when given a coveted membership role in the group, essentially turns himself around and becomes a leader - confident, sociable, determined, hard-working, walking with a purpose. The Third Wave gives him something to believe in, but it also gives him a sense of identity that contributes to feeling of achievement and power (thanks to the high membership position) but also one of possibly harmful attachment to The Third Wave; essentially, Robert's life depends on The Third Wave for guidance and identity.

The Third Wave causes problems throughout the school. Kids are beat up by members of the Wave advocating their beliefs; no one is able to think for themselves anymore, and cannot see the harm they are causing due to the fact that they are blinded by unchanging belief and faith in the mission of the Wave. Two students, whom were previously in a relationship, are broken up when the guy in the relationship decides to continue participating in the Wave. Later on, a violent altercation happens between the two, as the girl tells him that the Wave is hurting everyone while he, unfazed and otherwise angered by her comments, grabs her violently and causes her to fall on the ground. This causes an epiphany in him which convinces him the Wave really is as harmful as she says - if it's causing him to act this way, there's definitely something wrong. They talk to their teacher, Ron Jones about the situation, and he decides he really should stop the Wave movement. But he does it "in his own way".

Calling for a Wave meeting between all of the Wave members - the number of which by now has skyrocketed and is exponentially greater than what it originally was - the teacher tells the Wave members that their national leader will be speaking to them on the big screen in the Auditorium. A few minutes later, no leader shows up on the screen. One student calls out - "there is no leader, is there?" The teacher replies sharply - "yes! That's your leader!" as he points to a 35mm projection of Adolf Hitler during one of his speeches. Everyone in the room is instantly demoralized as they realize what they've become - the teacher even says that they all would've made good Nazis.

This is what it comes down to. The power of obedience, when accompanied by the benefit of fitting in and being part of a group in which you're unconditionally accepted, respected, and held in high esteem, is indeed very great. For this same reason, students go into drugs, alcohol consumption, and smoking when their friends do the same - "come on man, come smoke with us, man." Same goes for crime - "what, are you scared we'll get caught or something?" Same goes for elementary school treachery - "just take it, the teacher won't notice." As well as for high school apathy, "you're never gonna learn this stuff anyway; come on, let's go." It's scary to think that we are our own greatest enemies - but I guess that's the virtue of being human.

It's all about learning to fear yourself.

Groupthinking, Obedience - oh, and Phil Zimbardo!

2010-05-20T23:11:00.001-04:00

Last blog post I narrated the story of a brave WWII Nazi soldier who put his own morals and appreciation for the life of innocent human beings caught in the midst of political conflict well in front of his own life. In a single, swift act of defiance against his commanding officer, Schultz not only inspired humankind, but he also single-handedly defeated concepts of social psychology that seem to rule over the majority of humankind with an iron fist.

Gestalt psychologist Solomon Asch published a series of studies in the 1950s which are now collectively known as the Asch Paradigm. Essentially, Asch's experiments consisted of putting a group of five or six people together, in which only one was a test subject. The group would be asked questions involving comparing the length of a given line to the length of three other lines, and deciding which one was closest to the original. The first few questions, the group answers conspicuously correctly, and the test subject of course agrees with the answers himself. However, when the group offers a visibly incorrect answer, the test subject, despite knowing the rest of the peoples' answer is incorrect, decides to answer the same way, simply because the rest of the people wholly agree that it's the right answer, even when it's visibly not. Suppose I asked you this - "what color is the sky?", or maybe "what color is this pencil?" "what instrument am I holding?" "what color is the lamp?" and suppose that by the fifth or sixth question, a group of fifteen answers incorrectly, with each of the members issuing the same incorrect answer on purpose, even when the correct answer is obvious Would you be the lone wolf to say the correct answer, or would you simply go with the general consensus of the group and issue the same answer as everyone else. This, my friends, is conformity, and Asch's experiment - simple and thus easy to propose and explain - dealt with this on a smaller scale. The test subject knew what the right answer was - it was obvious! What made him issue the incorrect answer was that everyone else was issuing that answer. Essentially, he conformed to the actions of others, because he did not want to be the one to stand out. Not only that, but with a group of five or six people issuing the same answer, the collective logic of that group completely dwarfs our own logic. In essence, we become part of the common brain serving the entire group. Majority rules, but a common question is; how can this occur in a real-life situation? In perhaps one of the most frightening ways possible, actually.

On January 28, 1986, the space shuttle Challenger was due for its tenth mission. 47 seconds after blastoff, the Challenger exploded into the fiery mess you see in the picture above. The seven-member crew died almost immediately as the crew compartment had been disconnected from the orbiter by the combustion of the external fuel tank and had crashed into the surface of the Atlantic Ocean. What, or who was at fault here? The NASA members in charge of the project, whom had disregarded notices from engineers who had mentioned a critical flaw in the construction of the ship. One member said it was all right, and the approval quickly spread as it gained second motions from everyone in the group managing the flight. More specifically, "... a conflict between engineering data and management judgments, and a NASA management structure that permitted internal flight safety problems to bypass key Shuttle managers." No one was thinking for themselves at that point - they had adopted a new mindset that listened to the group, not to the members. The same forces at work in Asch's innocent conformity testing were responsible for the death of seven astronauts, and a nationwide disaster.

Schultz didn't conform. He could've easily cracked under the pressure of the stares of his brothers in arms as they motioned for him to get back into formation. Schultz continued past that, and also past the concept of obedience.

In 1963, American psychologist Stanley Milgram conducted what would become one of the most controversial and equally classic studies of psychology, as did Asch's conformity experiments. Milgram wanted to see how people would react when an authority figure told them to do things that went against their personal conscience. He got an actor, various test subjects, and an ominous machine that was supposedly designed to deliver electrostatic shocks, gradually increasing by volts, to a person wearing the respective electrodes on the receiving end. The test subjects saw the actor - whom they were told was a "student"- being outfitted with those electrodes, after which they were escorted to another room with the ominous machine in the corner. They were told that they were teachers that would ask the student questions, and for every wrong answer or lack of an answer, they were to deliver increasingly strong electrostatic shocks - up to 450 volts! What they didn't know was that the shocks weren't really being delivered; the screams of pain were fake (hence the actor). Milgram thought that only sadists would go up to 450 volts, but it turned out that a whopping approx. two-thirds of the test subjects did as they told and continued all the way to 450 volts!

Milgram's controversial experiment proved that (for the most part) people, when faced with an authority figure, will do whatever the figure orders them to do, even if it goes against their own morals. The two-thirds of people who went all the way up to 450 volts weren't sadists! They were honest, moral people that were sweating and undergoing extreme frustration as they were told to continue with the experiment despite the dangerous nature of the shocks. This experiment proved that obedience is a human condition, that regardless of what they're being asked to do, authority figures can make people do things they otherwise wouldn't! And we see this happening in situations ranging from innocent to grim. In kindergarten, first grade, second grade, we're presented to a staple of an authority figure - a teacher! We don't have to listen to them - they're not our parents, are they? Nope, they're something worse - an authority figure. The human race is ultimately submissive, thus - students do what the teacher tells them to do without questioning it (until maybe high school). It's a natural phenomenon. My sister is currently in first grade, and I'm sure that when in school, she sometimes will want to come home and color, or watch Arthur on TV, or play dress up games on the computer. Why doesn't she get up, go out the door, and call for Mom? Well, besides the fact that she probably wouldn't have the courage to do that regardless; the other reason why is because Mrs. Martin is there. She's the teacher, and if she doesn't let you do something, you don't do it. Is she not doing it because she needs to stay in school and get an education? Because she wants to stay at school with her friends? No! It's because the teacher will be angry and punish her.

That's a terrible example, isn't it? Well it's late (12:30 AM actually) ... can you blame me? But despite the surrounding factors, I think it represents best the influence of an authority figure. Hell, when I was in first grade, I was undeniably fearful of my teacher - not to the point where I would scream at the sight of her; instead in the sense that I would never think to do something she told me was wrong. Lawrence Kohlberg calls this the pre-conventional moral reasoning level, one that is ruled by the concepts of punishment and reward.

I'd like to end on a note about Philip Zimbardo. Another American social psychologist, he conducted another controversial experiment in the 1970s, known as the Stanford Prison Experiment. In the basement of Stanford University, Zimbardo constructed a prison using miscellaneous materials scattered around the basement. He then selected college students that wanted to participate in what was described as a two-week summer experiment, which fit perfectly with many of the students' schedules. Zimbardo, through this experiment, wanted to see the power of roleplay - could the human mind be volatile enough to fool itself into thinking it's someone else? Some of the students would pretend to be prisoners, whilst others would be guards. The first day of the experiment, the students selected as prisoners were arrested from their homes, blindfolded, and taken to the makeshift prison, where the pretend guards would demean them by putting hair nets on them, strip searching them, make them wear a plain white outfit with no pants - essentially, they emulated a prison environment.

How did it go? Way too well. the guards became convinced that they had a power over the prisoners, that they they were wardens themselves. The prisoners had forgotten that this was a two-week college experiment, and had become convinced that they were true prisoners. Zimbardo himself, upon learning that the prisoners were supposedly planning an escape, began to think like a prison superintendent, weighing option against option on what would be the best way to avoid the situation. There's more details that I'm missing here, but Zimbardo's experiment only further strengthens the idea that the mind is as powerful as we tihnk it to be. We can become completely absorbed in someone else, we can be fooled into thinking we are something completely different than we really are. I find that amazing, that our mind is such a grandiose weapon, really, when put to use this way. Zimbardo's experiment is one whose outcome is difficult to replicate in a real-life situation; in other words, I can't think of a real-life example. But just the fact that it happened in Zimbardo's study is amazing enough.

The mind is as fragile as it is strong. It's equally susceptible to obedience, groupthink, Zimbardo's roleplay as it is to creating a person such as Joseph Schultz, and his post-conventional level of moral reasoning. If there's one thing I've learned through my psychology course, it's that the mind is the greatest tool us human beings have.

It's no wonder that scientists, doctors, chemists, psychologists say that the mind is a work of art. There's no doubt about it - it's the best painting in the world.

One Soldier's Mind

2010-05-20T13:45:00.001-04:00

The concepts of social psychology have a lot to demonstrate about the human mind, and for this reason, this and the next blog post will be discussing some of the greatest examples of the influence of social psychology on human behavior and responses. However. we begin today with a negation of those very principles - with the story of a German soldier who gave his life for what he believed in.

The comments here are based on a film dramatization of Schultz' story.

World War II, early 1940s. The Nazi war machine is at war with the United States, England, Russia and other nations. On the other side of the world, the second Axis power, the Japanese, are at odds with American gunships and fighters sweeping the Pacific Ocean. A time of political turmoil, but more importantly, of unacceptable amounts of lives lost that didn't deserve to be lost. Nazi soldiers, in addition to risking their lives in urban and rural warfare against enemy troops, were often charged with the task of executing defenseless civilians and other innocent people caught in the middle of world-wide political conflict.
Joseph Schultz was a good, upstanding Nazi soldier fighting on the Eastern Front. On the 20th of July, 1941, he's caught relaxing with his fellow soldiers when the commanding general of the unit summons them to participate in what at first appears to be a routine mission. However, when they see fourteen defenseless captives pressed against a haystack, blindfolded, they know what they're doing isn't routine. They line up a good ten to fifteen meters away from the captives, and as seven of the soldiers take aim at them, a rifle is dropped on the ground. Joseph Schultz had lied down his rifle and combat helmet, ignoring a military order from his commander as he walked to the other side of the equation taking his place next to the captives on the haystack. The captive closest to him grips his hand, and a few minutes later, amidst confusion from Schultz' brothers in arms, the commanding officer orders the soldiers to shoot. The fourteen civilian captives are dead, in addition to the single Nazi soldier who put his morals, values, and opinions well above the call of duty.

What do we see here besides a human being too humane to take orders of assassination? We see the concepts of social psychology being completely opposed by the mindset of one human being with courage large enough, and values great enough to put his own life on the line for.

Schultz' story is inspiring for two reasons. For one, it is the story of a caring human being who could not bear the guilt that would come from killing innocent civilians in cold blood. This was different from killing armed infantry and taking out armed tanks - those were people well equipped to deal with the war they were risking their lives in. But these civilians were bystanders in a worldwide sea witnessing the greatest storm the world had to offer - World War II. They had no fault, they had no reason to die. Their death would yield a controversy in political talks, perhaps the facilitation of the conquest of the next opposing nation. Schultz may or may not have thought about this when he put his life on the line, and most likely, he wasn't thinking about it. Schultz, as is evident in the film, was an upstanding soldier that attacked fortified positions with ease, that was part of an elite group of soldiers worthy of an official photographed group portrait. He had no reason to doubt the morality of the political party, of the military superiors he served for. He did have reason to doubt the morality of killing a defenseless human being. That's what stopped Schultz from going along with what he was being told to do, from going along with what his close-knit military brothers were doing.

That's the second reason why Schultz' story is amazing. He stepped over the social psychology concepts of groupthink, of obedience, in a single act of defiance against his military superior. What are these concepts? How did Schultz oppose them? Stay tuned for the next blog post.

For My Friends

2010-05-07T17:40:00.001-04:00

Gift bag holding treasures inside! A good reminder of a beautiful afternoon.

There's no other way I can possibly express my utter amazement at what my friends did for me today other than by telling you the story.

A while ago, I was hot on the tail of a very beautiful - both inside and out - girl that I'd had my eye on for quite a while. It was a windy day outside and I'd been called to film a DFYIT demonstration (DFYIT is an anti-drug use organization at my school). I got my camera from my trusty blue Transit bag and began to film the activity, continuing throughout the entirety of lunch. I then met up with the girl of my obsession at the time, and had completely forgotten about my blue bag that I'd left in the middle of the cafeteria courtyard. By the time lunch was over and I returned looking for my bag, my bag was there, luckily - with my teacher's lavaliere microphones and my personal camera intact.

But what wasn't there? A PSP-1000, that one of my friends had very nicely lent me, as well as a pair of headphones from the school studio. My day had turned to the worst day I'd had in a while. Not only were two of my favorite possessions stolen, my efforts with the girl I was attracted to also weren't flying very high in the sky. It was a very low point, and looking for some emotional relief, I told my closest friends about my misfortune.

About a week later, I sit in TV Production class before the teacher and the rest of my classmates, as one of my best friends takes a seat on the other side of the classroom, where the teacher usually sits. This is a natural phenomenon; often the director for our newscast, which we produce on a daily basis, takes a seat there in preparation for the imminent pre-production meeting that takes place directly after our teacher takes attendance. The odd thing was that this best friend of mine isn't director for our newscast - she's the Entertainment host, often also an actress in our Word Jeannie skits. There was something going on, especially when my teacher began weakling around the class with a smile on his face, talking about good people, friendship, dedication - all that nice stuff.

I muttered to my nearest classmates - "what's going on?" And before I knew it, I'd heard the words "new PSP" as I saw a blue gift bag being brought towards my desk. Immediately I knew what was going on - and I couldn't have felt happier. My friend had rallied the monetary support of all the students in our TV Production class, and students outside our class, too - taking small donations from everyone - and used it to purchase a new PSP-2001 (a step up from the previous model I had), complete with an official Sony PSP charger and a beautiful card saying how someone that often made everyone else's day better should be helped out on what he considered one of his worst days in a long time.

Not only am I glad to have a new PSP in my bag (which I'm now taking care not to leave lying around, trust me), but I'm also glad to have a new wave of fulfillment and happiness swept over me. When I realized what was going on, I struggled to come to terms with the outburst of insight that'd come over me - that I was fortunate, lucky, blessed to have the friends I have. I've always thought this regardless, though - I'm surrounded by loving, caring people on a daily basis, and today's gift was only more proof.

It was a friendly gesture - but as big as gestures get. To my friends and everyone who helped out; to my one friend that came up with the idea - you're wonderful people, and I cannot express my gratitude in only words.

With hope, I can express it by continuing to be your loving friend. I'm indebted to you all.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

2010-05-06T06:08:00.005-04:00

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is a 1975 film interpretation of the book of the same name written by Ken Kesey. The film's success and popularity has been evidenced by its taking of the five major Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Director (Miloš Forman), Best Actor (Jack Nicholson), Best Actress (Louise Fletcher), and Writing Adapted Screenplay. The US Library of Congress also deemed the film as "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant", and has selected it for preservation in the National Film Registry. So what does the author of the original story have to say about it?

Author Ken Kesey was so bitter about the way the filmmakers were "butchering" his story that he vowed never to watch the completed film. Years later, he claimed to be lying in bed flipping through TV channels when he settled onto a late-night movie that looked sort of interesting, only to realize after a few minutes that it was this film. He then changed channels.

Well, what a response! In any case, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is an excellent work of film that succeeds in providing a dramatized portrayal of an American mental institution in which no healing is going on. In other words, one in which the patients suffering from errors in the mind are kept well under control and well from being dangerous to others or to themselves, but they're also kept far too institutionalized and devoid of thoughts of ever returning to the real world. Nurse Ratched is one of the main characters in the film, "one of the finest nurses in the country" whom rules over the patients with an iron fist, developing a mind-numbing daily schedule and partaking in group therapy sessions with some of the patients; sessions seem to exist with the sole objective of bringing each of the patient's individual problems to the attention of the group and only maximizing their humiliation and embarrassment at being where they are and at why they are there. In essence, the patients fear Nurse Ratched, and no one ever considers questioning her leadership, or rebelling.

That is, until R.P McMurphy comes along. His charges of statutory rape and other criminal acts land him in prison, but his continued defiance of authority lands him in the mental hospital, for fear that he might have developed some sort of condition (it's all a ploy by McMurphy to steer himself clear of hard labor on the work farm, though). It's clear throughout the entirety of the film that nothing is wrong with McMurphy, and when he arrives and sees the lack of individuality in the patients, he carries out a string of activities, often not part of Ratched's plans, in an attempt to heal the patients by letting them partake in more "extracurricular" activities - he takes them fishing by stealing the hospital's bus, he plays basketball in the courtyard outside, he demands (but does not succeed) to get everyone to vote for watching the World Series on TV, interrupting Nurse Ratched's schedule; he puts together a drinking party overnight, which ends miserably and leads to the bittersweet ending of the movie, etc. These "extracurricular" activities are presented so lightheartedly and charismatically in the film that it's easy to feel the happiness the patients feel at taking on new adventures and stepping away from the institutionalized reality of their lives.

Upon seeing how Nurse Ratched treats her patients, it makes you wonder if this is how it is in other mental institutions. For the effect of film, everything is always dramatized and taken a sane bit over the top, but the questions is, is there some truth to this treatment of the patients? Is Nurse Ratched's tyrannous control really what goes on in other mental institutions? It brings up a question referring to the responsibility of a mental institution. Is it a restraining facility, where potentially dangerous people - dangerous as a byproduct of errors in the mind - are to be kept under control and out of harm's way; or is it a rehabilitation center where these people are first satiated, but later given a chance to come back out into the real world and try life all over again? The first option is the easiest way out, but if that's the case, who decides whether your sick mind stays in a white, four-walled coop of an outer-city building, or whether it stays outside in the real world? Who determines this? Your doctor, the head of the mental institution? I mean, of course, if you have a mental condition, you can't be asked to make a life choice for yourself, but the question is; are the life choices doctors and head psychologists making for their patients, the right ones?

McMurphy, through unorthodox ways, essentially assumes the latter responsibility that the institution, and that Nurse Ratched, never bother to take on. He risks possible arrest to get these guys out into the real world, especially after he learns that many of them are only voluntarily attending the institution and are not forced to be there. He's ashamed by the men's lack of fervor for their own lives, and this amazement prompts him to do something about it, but not without being shot down by Nurse Ratched and the instittuion as a whole. His intentions are unclear at first - are his outings with the men simply byproducts of his rebellious, anarchist personality, or do they stem from a subconscious altruism towards people refusing to improve themselves? Towards the end of the film, it's clear that the latter is the truth; that the violent and criminal McMurphy has developed a soft spot for these men.

It can be said, thus, that Nurse Ratched is afraid of taking the responsibility that McMurphy unknowingly, fearlessly takes. That, or she may just have a controlling personality. Her demeanor in the film suggest the latter to be the truth.

As a work of art, as well as a story and as virtually anything else One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is a masterpiece combining a serious topic and dramatized situations, as well as symbolism (e.g. when Nurse Ratched walks into the institution in the opening scenes, there just happens to be a red light above her) and outputting a a stellar film worth of Academy Awards and much praise. It raises questions about the power of the mind, about mental institutions, about the fragility of the human condition that few other films, I'm sure, have done with equal charisma, gripping scenes, and ultimate excellence.

It's a "must see", and a "please think".

Love and OCD

2010-05-02T23:58:00.000-04:00

Just remembered I'm supposed to write about madness for Psychology II. Well, new blog post!

I'm going to attempt to relate a documentary film I saw in fourth period Psychology about schizophrenia, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and alchoolism to the things I learned this weekend. Will it work? Probably not.

This past weekend was a great weekend where I learned a lot about myself, mostly through a little girl trouble that's developed over the past two weeks and very, very fortunately and thankfully reached a mutually enjoyable resolution. In essence, it's all blown over now and our relationship feels like one that didn't see the frustration and awkwardness of these days past. With help from my friends - which I asked an unrealistic number of for help on this situation - I not only reached a good ending to the situation but I also learned a little about myself in terms of me with girls. I learned that I need to 1. develop better conversational skills and not make stupid jokes and talk about stupid crap as often (unless it's with my good friends, whom would be more likely to see this "development of better conversational skills" as "what's wrong with Tom?"). And 2, be a little less respectful in a sense. Now now, don't get me wrong - I'm not one to cheat on a girl or lie or anything like that. But I am disrespectful and utterly lame in other ways - such as the fact that I asked so many of my friends for help on a situation that at one point felt like the talk of the town when it shouldn't have been. (What was the situation? Deciding whether to ask the girl in question whether she liked me or not. "Just do it!" is what all my friends kept telling me). Also the fact that I really should stop actively looking for a relationship if I "know" that the best ones come to you without looking for them. Lastly, how sweet it is when your boyfriend calls you nightly to say "sweet dreams" - just like my best friend did with his girl last night when we were hanging out together, and just like I never damn did with my girlfriend when I was with her.

Essentially, I had a pubescent weekend in the world of a teenager. It was a pensive weekend, but one with an ultimately rewarding outcome. Now why the hell am I telling you all this?

Because the past two weeks fretting over whether I was doing the right set of things to get this girl's romantic attention, the past tow weeks fretting over what her answer would be; they brought ephemeral but nonetheless serious, heavy, anxious exercise to my thoughts. I was nervous and anxious and on constant thought the whole time. I was anxious; just anxious, yeah, that's what I was. Now, of course, teenage thoughts have a habit of being violent and difficult to deal with, but then gone the next day - this means that there's a higher, more permanent degree of damage that the frail (it seems this way at times) human mind can do. The man in the Psychology documentary that exhibits OCD and feels the need to constantly wash his hands, not being able to touch something as mundane as a dog's fur; his mind is even more troubled than mine was these past two weeks! How terrible the idea that the mind can make man attack himself; irrationally, even. This OCD man in the film washed his hands so much that his fingerprints were washed off! What slip of the mind produces an inner phobia, an irrational fear keeping a normal human being from partaking

That's why I wrote about my relatively unimportant, hopefully innocent, though undeniably indecisive thoughts about a girl, the context of a free write about a man with OCD. To compare the severity of thoughts that the same human mind can produce.

Amazing, ain't it?

Thoughts on Journalism

2010-05-02T13:29:00.000-04:00

I’ve found my interest in journalism through a world very, very close to me – my own. The latest AP.org post reads – “Car bomb scares Times Square”; below it, “Oil spill grows”; next, “GOP expands political playing field”. These are the hard-hitting, globe-spanning newsworthy pieces that earn a spot on the home page – they talk about political and military activity that rules the world with an iron fist and decides everything from the fate of a nation to the price on milk at the local grocery store. Journalism is documentation, because it’s the term “newsworthy” that decides who and what it’s informing.

I’ve taken it and essentially ported the influence and hard-hitting nature of global news to my teenage life, where a heartfelt conversation with a friend about our plans for summer vacation earns an honorary tribute on my personal blog, where my Chemistry class’ biofuel project earns a ten-minute documentary, where the slump of my sophomore year earns a full-fledged film. I’ve learned – and hopefully I’m correct - that journalism is essentially a personal diary for the whole wide world. And I’m ready to start writing for that world – just figured I’d practice writing for myself first.

1977's Sybil

2010-04-27T22:18:00.000-04:00

1977's "Sybil" is a psychological film that investigates the real-life case of Shirley Ardell Mason, an American psychiatric patient of much fame upon having been diagnosed with multiple personality disorder. Mason's case was originally documented in the book Sybil by Flora Rheta Schreiber, though analysis by more contemporary psychologists have labeled the case largely fraudulent.

Well, what an introduction, right? A fraudulent case? Does that mean that this catalyst behind a surge of diagnoses of multiple personality disorder was a fake, and that the dramatization in the film is nothing more than the creative work of an comedic actress turned into a drama queen? Well, we're not here to question that. Instead, we're looking at something else - a rare manifestation of human suffering that is utterly creative, freakishly interesting, and unequivocally attractive to those fascinated with the human mind - and whom isn't?

Is it safe, or right, to believe that the human mind is so creative as to split up different facets of ourselves into wholly different persons with wholly different attitudes, tastes, and names, yet have them all reside in the same body? If we believe in the "truth" of Sybil - and trust me, the excellent acting in the film doesn't make this a difficult task at all - then can 16 different personalities truly be agents preserving different qualities of the same person? One their creativity, the other their art, the third their extreme emotions, another their musical dedication - each of our pillars of self being rested on different people's backs. Is it possible?

It's like a guilty pleasure to think about it, really. I can't visualize this being a psychological problem as particularly distressing as schizophrenia or post-traumatic stress; I can see it, however, as a creative mental activity. That's really how I see it - I can imagine my shy self portraying itself in say, Thomas; whilst my excited, outgoing self is shown in say, Danny; my intelligent (well, yes I like to think I'm smart!) and concentrated, studious self being portrayed in Andres; etc. It's true that Sybil's condition stems from an abused childhood in turn stemming from a mother dealing with paranoid schizophrenia, but some part of me cannot fathom multiple personality disorder being byproducts of mental turmoil or of physical abuse. Maybe it's because it's 10:15 PM and I need to go edit a video, but I've been thinking about this for a while and when I sat down to write this earlier this afternoon, I felt comfortable writing about multiple personalities as a creative mental exercise rather than a psychological problem calling for psychiatry and counseling. Dr. Wilbur in the film, who portrays Shirley's real-world psychologist; even she says Sybil's multiple personalities were a creative alternative to insanity.

The human mind is capable of some crazy things - it even avoids insanity, it seems!

SMSH Interact at the Rotary Art Festival (2010)

2010-04-04T12:03:00.000-04:00

Click on the image to see the video.

This year, my school's Interact Club helped out at the Rotary Art Festival by handing out fliers and conducting surveys. I took the liberty of filming a few shots here and there - even an interview - and decided to put it together into a nice little presentation. Enjoy!

The Bullshit Video - Gripes About Dating

2010-03-31T19:47:00.000-04:00

Something a little special today - an homage to a special someone (it's not a romantic interest - TRUST me) but more importantly, heartfelt gripes about dating. Enjoy!

For a Friend

2010-03-23T19:48:00.002-04:00

How often do you get up in the morning and think to yourself, "why am I so hungry? I mean, I ate a ginormous dinner last night, and if I would've eaten more, I would've blown up! Is something wrong with me?"

Fear not, young grasshopper. Instead, take this chance to enjoy some mighty fine mayo bagels.

Anyway.

It's a daily struggle sometimes. Abraham Maslow proposed a pyramid of needs that accompanies humanistic psychology wherever it is preached. His pyramid outlined the most basic of human needs at the base - safety, a couch to think on, a roof to live under, a plate of food to eat - and then progressed to discuss larger, greater needs, such as those of love and belongingness. The top of his pyramid is dubbed the self-actualization point of the pyramid, at which point the person working up the slope has all his or her needs met and is ready to be the best they can be.

Yeah, it's no wonder they call Maslow's terminology ambiguous.

But it's those two sets of needs that I described - shelter/food, and belongingness/love - that are the hardest to achieve, sometimes. Luckily, we've been able to have the luxury of not worrying about shelter and food. There's a house where we come home to everyday, where the roof doesn't leak, where entertainment is abundant, where the beds are warm, where the couches are comfy, where the windows are open, where the lighting is right, where the food is good. We love our lives in this respect.

But then there's belongingness and love. You know, there's always those people that walk around with their boyfriend or girlfriend or bestie, or soul mate, or whatever and I'm like, where's mine?

But you don't really react that way. Because you're an independent, confident soul that finds comfort in the lines of books, in the pixels of television, in the discussions of English class, in the community of your service (yes, the community of your service; it makes sense, trust me).

But it's undeniable that you probably feel a little lacking, a little disappointed.

Or am I wrong? How do you feel about those kind of things, Jackie? I feel this way about them, and I like to think I know you well enough to think this and be correct. You always tell me about these things but then I see you walking around school doing your work and talking to a short little puppy and texting on a little red phone, and ... I see such a sure fire personality.

You're a mystery all of your own, and so is everyone else. And I can't assume I know your thoughts - because when you assume, you make an "ass" out of "u" and "me".

But you know why you're that way? Well, unless you're hiding some magical potion that's responsible for it, the reason why I see the confidence in your stride and the determination in your eyes is because you know that you have people by your side that love you just as much - more I'd say - than those companions walking down the hallway.

You come home to a loving family that enjoys being with you and caring for you as much as you enjoy being with them ... well, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep down inside, you enjoy being with them, right?

Yeah, family's always trouble. But they're trouble that you and I would like to keep.

You come to school to people with open arms - don't tell me it's not true. There's people willing to stare right into your eyes when they talk to you, willing to put up with your crap whenever you're being cuckoo.

Your belongingness and love needs are met, I think - I hope - and that's why I think you're the way you are ... I think. Right? I think so.

It sounds like I don't know what I'm talking about! What is this?

But it's only been to thank you for considering me as that person. What person? Hopefully the one that helps you meet your Maslow belongingness needs.

Nothing like a Pretty Girl

2010-03-15T17:43:00.000-04:00

In this post, I'm referring once again to the party which “blew” a few days ago. I refer back, not to the party (which as I said, undeniably “blew”), but instead to the experiences it allowed me to have (well, one of the many, I’m sure).

Remember how I was doing my notes about personality last night? Well, today it was followed up in class by a discussion on the topic. We discussed Freud's psychosexual stages of personality development, but we focused on defense mechanisms. Blaming others, finding justifications for wrongdoings or for rejections from others, denial; all that, and my teacher reminded us at the end of her lecture that defense mechanisms are normal human behavior; that it's normal to exhibit them, that it's normal to be in denial, to blame someone else for your mistakes or for your misfortune.

But then I remembered how, for all my life, I've regarded exhibition of defense mechanisms as signs of a weak or inferior personality. As signs of a person that didn't know how to come to terms with reality, as signs of a person that couldn't accept something. Yet my teacher refuted this thought, as it swam through my mind, by saying that defense mechanisms help us humans do just that - they help us cope with misfortune, with unacceptable events, with the way they make us feel. It's odd; I thought I was right about not exhibiting defense mechanisms being a virtue, but I guess not.

On the contrary - the one thing I like to think I have well implanted in my mind is the ability to recognize how I'm acting at a given point. I like to think that I'm always in full knowledge of how I'm acting - if I'm being cocky, if I'm being too optimistic, if I'm being mean, if I'm giving attitude, if I'm too excited. That doesn't mean I condone any given way that I'm acting - I'm just saying that I am aware of how I'm acting. If I'm being mean or cocky, I'm not condoning the attitude, but I'm aware that I'm exhibiting it.

I like to think that. I can't be sure of it - only those around me can be the judges of that, but moreover, I'm inclined not to say that I directly think that because if my friends were to see that and think otherwise, they'd never let me live it down.

Now, is that right? Why am I afraid of what my friends will think? It all comes back to my main conflict that you're probably sick and tired of hearing about - what should I care about, and what should I dismiss as insignificant? Who should I listen to, and who should I tune out? If you think that I'm having this conflict (and I'm just thinking out loud here, I'm not attempting to make myself sound like the victim of anything, I'm only attempting to simultaneously explain and understand myself) maybe because I'm afraid of criticism of myself, or of my actions, or of my accomplishments; that’s not the case. I wouldn't at all mind sitting down in front of someone that'll spend entire hours telling me all that which is wrong with me; I honestly don't - I just want to be sure that that person will be someone that is telling me the truth, and that will, after lecturing me about my flaws, be my friend and help me along the path to fix them.

I don't want to depart on such a helpless note, so I will end today's post by mentioning a feeling of natural happiness and satisfaction that I had the pleasure of experiencing - and here's where I refer back to the party that “blew” a few days ago.

When the party was already winding down - well, wait; it was winding down the whole time, basically - I sat next to one of my good girlfriends (and by that, I mean one of my good friends that are girls, of which I have many) and her best friend, a very attractive high school freshman of 14. I wanted to get closer to her, but without being overt, I wouldn't be able to. So I did something seemingly innocent that I was certain wouldn't come under criticism from anyone around. I laid down on both of them, pretending to be tired and pretending I wanted to take a nap.

I'm telling you, physical contact is so excusable amongst adolescents these days.

Not that I meant to do anything inappropriate - and yes, I really didn't - but, I don't know; I still think teenagers are a little too free these days. Which is fine – (insert smiley face here).

I laid down on both of them while they kept talking to the people in the table across the courtyard. I looked up, and I saw this pretty girl I was chasing, sure enough, but I could only make out her dark, flowing hair set in front of a starry background. So I decided to poke her and start to tell her a story. She looked down at me, and before I commenced my stupid, fictitious story about my 1980s college life (yeah, OK Tomás; totally), I stopped to look at her perfect smile and at her pale white skin.

There's nothing like laying down on the lap of a pretty girl like that. Even if you're just kidding. I followed up my story-telling act by doing what you'd think - "Tomás, let's go!” yelled my dad from down the parking lot of the house where the party was being held at.

So I stood up, waved goodbye to everyone, and fist pumped my way out to the driveway.

Ah, crap I have chemistry homework. I should really do my homework before sitting down to blog, shouldn’t I?

Why'd I Kiss a Girl?

2010-03-15T00:25:00.000-04:00

Earlier tonight (or yesterday, I should say, as it is 12:05 AM) I was working on book notes for my Psychology class. I was reading about Freud's psychoanalytic approach towards personality, and how he believed that our personalities are fueled by sexual energy that we take and convert into energy for doing worthwhile activities and completing productive tasks. But it got me wondering, especially when the book began to speak about Freud's psycho sexual, personality development stages. The last stage was dubbed the genital stage, where puberty causes one to develop sexual feelings or attractions towards others.

Then, as it always does, my mind began wandering through the endless meadows of thoughts unthunk (yes, I know unthunk isn't really a word). The day before, I'd attended a party that promised to be one of those classic "rite of passage" high school parties where one picks up chicks, is introduced to the smell and taste of alcohol; all that. While the party did not accomplish any of this (I felt bad for the security guard that had to stand outside, in the cold, while standing the laughter of mostly sober kids) and undeniably "blew", there was a given degree of JAMA large enough to allow the JAMA to be seen and appreciated.

Do you know what JAMA is? Well, basically, it's a term made by my friends to refer all the hookups at parties, all the flirtations that go on at said parties, all the relationships adolescents have, all the "sex" they have (which in reality, mostly only refers to kissing, making out, and no actual intercourse), and all that.

And yes, I know it's supposed to be a Cuban slang term for food.

But anyway; there was some noticeable flirtation going on, even some cheating (gasp!); some touchy touchy here, some nip and tucking there (nip and tucking?).

And so I began thinking about all that that went on at the party, all the while keeping Freud's words in the back of my head. What fuels our sexual attractions towards others, really?

Because to me, when I was only two or three years younger, the idea of kissing wasn't something that came to me because of sexual necessity, but instead simply because it was a part of human culture. When I kissed my now ex-girlfriend (I hate that term, but I don't want people to think I'm in denial or something) for the first time (which on that note, was my first kiss), I liked it, and I repeated it a few more times after that, but the sexual pleasure or attraction or energy that was supposed to fuel my wanting to kiss her didn't come until after the fact, when I realized how sexually pleasing kissing was.

After that came the French kissing, and the touchy touchy and the nip and tucking, but that's a story for an 18+ blog (and no, it did not all happen on the same day).

The only reason I wanted to kiss her was because I liked her a lot and because I'd learned through classic, infantile observation of the world around me that kissing was the way people showed affection to each other. Oh, and because all my other friends that had boyfriends or girlfriends did it too.

Maybe she felt the same way. I should ask her.

I like to think that I've matured way too much since then, and that I can now contemplate my former (or ongoing) naiveté with a higher degree of understanding, intelligence, and objectivity. But all I can see is that, either my ex-girlfriend made my sex flower blossom, or I'm forgetting how I felt before the kiss. In any case, I've got to finish my notes.

"Que jama".

Upcoming Doc Teaser #2

2010-03-07T16:49:00.003-05:00

Click here to watch the teaser.

Hi! I've put together a new 40 second teaser for my upcoming documentary about the lives of my closest friends (which unfortunately still doesn't have a title!) Enjoy!

Love for File Copying

2010-03-07T03:07:00.000-05:00

There's utter joy in waiting for Windows to finish copying files to a second hard disk; such indescribable sexiness and appeal in looking at that progress bar move slowly on.

Yes, I'm sitting here in the glow of a five-dollar lamp waiting for my editing computer to finish copying my 60+ gigabytes of video footage and projects to another hard drive; so that I can fix the bad sectors on the drive they’re on.

If that was too technical for you, then be glad that you're living a life of blissful ignorance in respect to us tech geeks. Some of us are offended when people don't know something we consider to be obvious - I myself am amazed when people don't understand disk defragmentation (I mean, come on!) - but a life that doesn't know about computer technology to its fullest is a better one. Why?

Because when you know too much about computers, you tend to tinker with and possibly break your own computer in the process. It's the tech guy's burden.

But I find my affinity to computers, and to video, and to blogging, and to all that good stuff - to be the substance of life, in a sense. In other words, these are trades and hobbies and jobs that keep a mind occupied, that save it from the heartbreaking task that is thinking about all that which is not physically existent, straightforward, and ultimately black and white – about emotions, about choices, about personality, about oneself.

Having something to believe in that isn't the love of a woman, or the friendship of a colleague; having something to believe in that is defined by your terms, having something to believe in that is tangible and not abstract - is beautiful, because unlike people and emotions, they never go away until you don't want them anymore. Whenever I see artists striving to perfect every last detail on their latest masterpiece, whenever I see musicians fingering their saxophone solo on the bus, whenever I see math lovers crunching numbers and pretending to rip off their hairs as they struggle to find the missing coefficient - whenever I see that, I see souls that with direction, I see people that do not doubt the validity of their friendships, that do not dwell on the significance of how the person they like talked to them this morning at school, of how they should’ve reacted when the random girl in the hallway gave them flowers, of whether their friends’ negative, but unbelievably true comments about their work ethic were truly out of love and care; of whether their 5th period class really did like their latest paintings.

I see people blinded by honest, working obsession to their trade. I see strong-willed people guided by the wise hand of their passion; I see people unmoved by the turmoil of thought that keeps the Thinker thinking.

I see what I want to be; sometimes.

The Prince of Tides

2010-03-04T16:45:00.003-05:00

The following are my thoughts; both about and related to, the 1993 Barbara Streisand film (of much acclaim) titled "The Prince of Tides". It relates very little of the film's content and storyline, and is this not to be considered an official movie review.

I just recently finished watching “The Prince of Tides” in my Psychology II course. As the next in the series of movies we’ll be watching related to our area of study, it was a great follow up to “Nell”, which I talked about last time.

"The Prince of Tides", doesn’t take a strong, independent character that is made into a victim of the evils of modern-day society (as did “Nell”), but instead places a faltering personality embodied by middle-aged man, Tom Wingo (played by Nick Nolte) as its central plot. The movie is based on the book of the same name written by Pat Conroy in 1986. Tom Wingo grew up in the Southern part of the United States during the earlier decades of the 20th century. He was accompanied through childhood by two siblings - Savannah, whom has been traumatized interminably, it seems, by a case of sexual assault that Tom also endured; and Luke, the heroic gun slinging brother that serves as the hero of both the movie, and of his siblings. An impulsive character, his personality is blamed by Tom as the cause of his death at a young age, one which visibly affects Tom as he loses the hero that protected him and Savannah from the violent antics of their parents.

Tom's parents, on that note, were a rough couple that often fought. This took a toll on Tom. His father was very much like him - a violent, black-and-white person both in terms of physical actions and of thoughts - but as the movie progresses, Tom is depicted as the wiser man for being able to explore, accept, and express his feelings. In other words, Tom's father is the angry, violent character that Tom wishes to be the antithesis of. In several parts of the movie, flashbacks delivering scenes of daily life in the Wingo family are shown, and they serve to illustrate the nature of his family. In one scene, they're all gathered around the table eating lunch, when Tom's father begins to pound the table when he doesn't like his food. He screams at his wife, telling her that he works all day and all he wants when he comes home is a good American meal. It's a typical scenario - a high-octane, "abusive" husband - but the other half of it isn't typical at all. You'd think that the man's wife would be a frail soul that would be made this way for the purpose of accentuating the violent nature of her husband, but this is not the case. She does not scream or hit or pound the dinner table when she's angry, but instead expresses her feelings of resentment through words and sneaky treacheries. And so, when her husband demands a better meal, she enters the kitchen and fools him into thinking that a pile of dog food sandwiched in between layers of salad and fruit is actually the good American meal he demanded.

He’s fooled into eating dog food.

It's this sly, underhanded nature of hers that makes her a worthy competitor to the impulsiveness of her husband, but also adds to the caustic nature of Tom's family.

And so, growing up, modeling the hard-headedness of his father, he keeps all of this bottled up, never speaking about the caustic nature of his youth. H never speaks about how his father would beat his mother, he never talks about how his mother would flirt with the rich man that lived in the city (whom she ended up marrying) - not even to his own wife and children it seems. It's never fully established how much of Tom's life and secrets his wife Sally (played by Blythe Danner) knows about, but considering that she criticizes him for being such a closed person that loves to avoid serious conversation by always changing the subject matter and laughing everything off with a wry joke, it can be assumed that she doesn't know much.

Pat Conroy's original 1986 novel.

Tom’s closed nature, however, is challenged when his sister Savannah - now living in New York - attempts to commit suicide yet again, and her psychiatrist Susan Lowenstein (played by Barbara Streisand) calls on Tom's help to understand Savannah’s personality and mindset by getting to know facts about her family, her and Tom's relationship, etc. Lowenstein (whom in a somewhat cliché way ends up being a love interest for Tom, though it can be understood) is the agent behind Tom's learning.

What is he learning? To express himself. To not keep things bottled up, to understand that the wiser thing to do is to let it all out to a trustworthy person. To be serious about things. Tom's personality at the beginning of the movie is one that is very cynical and witty but also cannot bring itself to deal with life's problems. Towards the end, however, Tom is like a child that's matured into adulthood; that adulthood being one that maturely deals with life’s struggles and is not afraid to appreciate the past, no matter how horrible it may have been.

And that’s something I agree with so much; I smile at the notion of thinking that one of the film’s life lessons is this. I have friends whom have had past experiences, people, or other things in their lives that they’d rather not talk about. I have been blessed to be able to enjoy the beautiful life I’ve lived, yet this does not blind me to the possible misfortunes of others. At the same time however, the more trivial you make past experiences, the harder you’re making it for yourself to deal with them. If you can come to a point where you can discuss them comfortably with friends and family, and consider them things in your life that just happened because they happened, you are doing yourself a favor. Don’t hide these traumas and past misfortunes like a secret is hidden from the public. It’s the mark of a strong person to be able to do this, and the mark of weak one to fail to do so.

Am I strong or weak, then? Well, I don’t have the answer to that. For now, let’s go back to the film.

The greatest example of change in Tom is found in the scene in the movie where Lowenstein asks about a word that Savannah continuously repeats. I don't recall the word at the moment - thus, this can't be considered a proper movie review - but it's one that relates to the sexual assault and home invasion that Tom, Savannah, Luke, and their mother had the misfortune of having to experience on a rainy night.

This is how it happened - Tom, Savannah, and their mother are home dancing to some properly Southern style music, when three men enter the house and proceed to rape each of them, but soon enough, Luke enters the scene with his rifle and kills two of the men, while his mother knifes the third one as he’s distracted by the gunfire. Blood is left splattered all over the walls.

Nick Nolte, now just a tad older.

The scene is chilling and traumatizing (no extremely graphical content is shown, though - thank God) which is good, because it allows the viewer to feel the effect of the experience on Tom, justifying his breaking of character short afterwards, when he sheds tears like never before and rests his head on the psychiatrist's lap.

There are many other aspects, subplots, and themes to this movie that would need a project to explore. I've decided to write instead about that which left is mark most heavily upon me after watching the film. At an age where the struggle of life gradually becomes harder than just worrying about getting straight A's in school, seeing a movie in which the weaknesses of someone's personality are addressed and beautifully resolved, is helpful. It's a captivating film that is also excellent in terms of photography and production.

It's one of those films that provoke both the mind and the heart, one that shows faults in the human condition and reminds us that alleviating them is possible. It's beautiful - because it's about us. It's about us humans; it's about our strengths and our weaknesses.

It's about self.

What's Everyone's Weakness?

2010-03-03T16:16:00.003-05:00

Why is it that I'm most inspired to write whenever I'm a little blue?

This isn't always true, but it's never false either. Is it a human condition, or is it a characteristic of self? For long, I've prided myself on being genuinely happy and joyous the majority of the time, and so perhaps it’s this optimistic outlook of mine that contrasts with the few times I can't keep up with it, and results in distress. That's one of my weaknesses. But perhaps even weaker is the cause of it.

Friends are seen publicly, but things between friends are private. For that reason, I strive not to blame my few blue moods on my friends, or something that's occurred with or amongst my friends. I'd be the worst kind of frustrated person possible - the kind that does not appreciate love, tenderness, the company of friends. But what is one to do when the cause is inevitably that?

I hold it a constant that I was conceivably bullied often in elementary school, but I try to not say it much for fear of placing myself in the position of a victim. It's not like I was ever in a fight; I was simply subject to what I now hope were the insecurities of the bullies that acted against me. After all, aren't we told that he (or she) who does wrong against others is only doing so because of his or her insecurities? But then, when our own friends - people we trust to be infallible supporting agents of our integrity and composure - conspicuously cause us distress, what are we to do? If we dismiss their verbal attacks as byproducts of their insecurities, are we correctly addressing shortcomings in our friends, or are we rebelling childishly against people that are simply trying to help us? Are we ignoring words of bullies - words we shouldn't heed anyway - or are we being bullies to our own friends by rejecting their unbelievably invaluable help?

In other words - how do we know who's right? When a friend criticizes one of your weaknesses, should you disregard it or understand that you're a lesser person that should heed their words of wisdom? Who's the one with the weakness? Who is the wise sensei, and who is the unintelligent pupil? Are both of us - we and our friends - all souls looking to come full circle in their lives, finding strength in criticizing other’s weaknesses and in the process ignoring our own, only to be treated the same way by yet another soul in the same state? Are some of us strong, and others weak? Are we all just kids disrespectful of both others’ and our weaknesses? Or are we all terribly in need of counseling? Are we all just being mean to each other? Are we misbehaving? Can't we all just get along?!

Next time your own friends are causing you frustration - forget about it, and instead of dwelling on who's right and who's not (like I'm doing) be the noble knight and give them a hug. And if they don't want it - if your eccentric female friend kicks you upon your attempt, for example -
certainly don't give them your money when they start reminding you about all the money you owe them.

Just hold on. And eat a mayo bagel!

Trying to Review a TI-83+

2010-03-02T20:13:00.003-05:00

This video is outtakes from the first episode in a series of technology and product reviews, that'll be published on my Tom's PC Forge page, the same page for my computer repair business. Enjoy!

formspring.me

2010-02-24T19:36:00.001-05:00

Hiya! Pop your question! http://formspring.me/Kyalami321

Free Writing about Nell

2010-02-04T22:56:00.003-05:00

Hello, world! I've got lots to tell ya about that I haven't been able to jot down my narrative of - mainly the "completion" of my autobiography and the JAMA that's been going on regarding the documentary - but tonight I'm killing two birds with one stone by telling you my concisely convoluted thoughts on a film I recently saw and enjoyed very much, in Psychology class just last week. I might add, Psychology is divided into two semester courses, and I am now beginning Psychology 2.

And if Psychology 2 is a days-long movie, and this film is the intro, then boy is this going to be worth the popcorn.

“Nell” is a 1994 drama film starring Jodie Foster, Natasha Richardson, and Liam Neeson. The subject of the film is a young girl whose mother has recently died. Her mother was paralyzed on one side of her face, which caused her speech to become distorted, and as she was the one to bring up Nell, Nell took after her mother's broken English and made it her own language. Dr. Lovell is a bothered soul looking for respite and reconstruction from the big city and from his recent divorce (respectively) in a small suburban town on the outskirts of which Nell lives in isolation from the rest of the world - in a wooden cabin in the middle of the woods, with a beautiful lake that Nell swims in at night. Dr. Lovell, a family doctor, eventually discovers Nell's situation and is ultimately fascinated by it, and by her.

I'm not going to tell the tale of the movie ... instead, only those parts and tidbits necessary to explain my reflections. The movie is truly beautiful, and reading a concise summary on a blog won't allow you to appreciate it.

Dr. Lovell is a man not in the prime of his life. Yes, he's middle-aged, but I mean in the sense that he's not very emotionally apt when we first meet him in the movie. He's come to this small suburban town, complete with a local sheriff, to seek refuge and hopefully placid self-reconciliation ... which in a sense occurs through Nell. You see, when he appears in the film, Dr. Lovell has recently had a divorce ... so when he finds Nell and begins to understand her, he sees how she lives far way from everyone, with no real connection to anyone but the faint memories of her deceased twin sister - and doesn't mind. Putting her speech and learning problems aside, Dr. Lovell finds in Nell what he wants to be, in a sense - an independent, free-spirited soul with no need for anyone else.

That's not what he ends up being though, because as his appreciation for Nell grows, he develops an affinity to her. Not a romantic one, of course - that instead occurs with the co-worker he soon gets on the project: Dr. Paula Olsen. She is a psychologist whom at first wants to take Nell into a laboratory for testing ... but gradually begins to understand her, through Dr. Lovell in a sense. They both develop a parental endearment to her ... camping out on a “big-business-provided” boat that Paula is given for three months, to carry out observations of Nell.

And what I find in Nell is, besides an interesting, well-constructed character whose feelings and emotions surface well above her impairments ... is a soul very much in touch with the world. Throughout the movie, her appreciation for the most beautiful things in human nature - "dancing in the wind", swimming in the lake, love, friendship - she's very much unlike everyone else.

In other words, ignoring her obvious physical differences to everyone else in the movie due to her condition, she's very unlike everyone else in that she doesn't understand the concept of a routine, she doesn't understand the concept of a nine to five job, of big buildings - of bad people. She lives in a fantasy world of sorts ...

and frankly sometimes I think living in that kind of fantasy world wouldn’t hurt one bit.

JAMA for a Doc Film

2010-01-22T00:45:00.001-05:00

Quick update, because I feel I need to write this down somewhere.

I began working on a documentary that was originally just a little video between my close friends, but that has now - in pre-production at least - exploded into a much larger idea. I want to make a documentary using random pieces of footage that I take whenever I take my camera to school (which is often) that exemplifies student life, but also common student troubles, preoccupations, etc. I want to capture what kids think about different things; funny stuff, trips, falls, and bad words are welcome. In essence, I want to capture within the container that is a documentary film, the state of life for me and my friends right now. I want to capture and preserve that, because it's unique, and it's definitely documentary-worthy, at least in my opinion; certainly for a first documentary, when one of the biggest tips is finding a topic that you like, that you think is worth it, that you're passionate about, that you're comfortable with. All that, this topic meets.

It'll be completely unscripted and completion will depend on the kinds of footage I get. In other words, the idea is not to make the footage happen; I can't direct the film, in a sense - it has to happen by itself, you know? So, I would compose it from whatever footage I get and complete it by whatever date is necessary.

The working title so far is "JAMA".

Thanks, and hope you like the idea!

It's a serious problem! Oh, and webshow.

2010-01-15T19:56:00.000-05:00

Very productive day this afternoon! Check it out!

This is a serious complaint regarding, quite seriously, two seriously serious problems that need your serious attention.

This instead is some miscellaneous footage from a shoot for an upcoming webshow my friends and I are making.

Reflections of Self

2010-01-12T13:38:00.000-05:00

Two months ago, as I've mentioned in some previous posts, I was assigned an autobiography that I very intelligently left 'til the last minute. So, last night I stayed up 'til late and completely ignored my human need for sleep to finish the autobiography. And while the passion I felt cramming so heavily in a single night was unmatched - the fact that I had to abridge my autobiography to be able to finish it tells me something.

For one, it tells me that the thoughts that did make it on the autobiography must've been troubling enough to have been cohesively occupying my mind in such a hurried way of working.

It also tells me that I shouldn't procrastinate!

But more importantly, it tells me that there's a lot of story to tell.

And I've noticed that the reason why that is isn't because I've been through a lot, it isn't because I repeat myself; none of that. Instead it's because of what happened in 8th grade ... when I became, almost as if by the full turn of a mirror on a swivel, a doubly more conscious and appreciative person in terms of memories. In terms of valuing friendships and outings and in terms of wanting to slow time down.

Thus, the first eleven pages of the autobiography, where I talk about my early childhood in Argentina, serves as the only unabridged portion of my autobiography, mainly because I had actually taken the time to write that portion instead of leaving it for the day before, as I did with the rest of the autobiography.

In other words, this first chapter represents the way I would've liked to finish my autobio ... stopping to analyze the meaning of almost every little memory, attempting to find trends, trying to figure out what was going through my mind as a toddler, as a first grader, as an innocent child not knowing that there was more of the world beyond the boundaries of my house, the ranch in the countryside, Downtown, and my grandma's house.

My analytical, nostalgic self - as I am now - was the agent behind the lengthening of my autobiography, as well as the reason why I had to abridge it to finish it. If I weren't this way, I could've easily written the autobiography in a single afternoon even - as I did in 7th grade, when I was assigned the same assignment.

To me, as a child, the world was much smaller than I now recognize it is ... and I also had less worries.

Now, I've become increasingly worried with preserving the past and understanding the present - all while looking forward towards the future. Whether that's a good thing or not ... I still have to figure out.

As far as my autobiography goes ... the abridged version I wrote as a way to get a grade to save my current A average serves more as a reminder of my procrastination during sophomore year, as well as an arbitrary selection of memories that constituted my train of thought on that cram night, than a real autobiography.

The guilt I feel in not having written about too many things is ... troubling.

I want my autobiography to be a complete authority of my life ... at least, as complete as it can be at the age of fifteen.

And so, I will be finishing my autobiography, calling it the 2nd Edition of the same. As a favor to my friends, my family, me ... and my memories - the starring characters of my autobio.

The Fresh Prince o dah 305

2009-12-30T13:38:00.000-05:00

My friend, Prince 305, and I we were tired after a long day of having sex (not really) and eating pizza (yes really). So, we decided to make a video commemorating our efforts, not only at that, but also at trying to break the ice with our friend Liannys. Check it out!

Rough Draft of Upcoming Frankenstein Flick

2009-12-29T09:11:00.002-05:00

Hey guys! I'm working on a small reenactment of the first part of the Frankenstein story, along with my good friend Mandingo (not his real name, of course) and this is what I found when looking through the project files; it's a small, 30 sec. rough draft of the basic style of the film which, as you'll see, was inspired by the storytelling and cutscenes in the Max Payne series of video games. Hope ya like it!

P.S It's still missing an additional layer of captions that will appear over the pictures, showing the narration as it goes on (like a comic book).

It's Not Like I Was Getting Laid!

2009-12-24T16:17:00.001-05:00

Well, a few days ago, I was working on a friend of mine's PC; fixing it up a little. I got really into it, and before I knew it, I had stayed up all night! Here's a video lowdown.

Shot with a Flip Video Ultra.

My life began in 1982, but I wasn't born until '94.

2009-12-12T18:55:00.003-05:00

My totally, completely, unrealistically real life story, from before I was born.

My life began in 1982, when I graduated from Faulkner College in Wisconsin. It was a great experience - I met a lot of people, learned a lot about journalism and telecommunications (my majors) and overall, it was a good 5, 6 years of my life that I would never forget. But I did! Apparently, I can remember that college was a great experience, but since my life began in '82, when I graduated, I can't actually remember what made it so great. What a shame, 'cause it looks like something I'd want to remember.

I stayed in Wisconsin for about a year or so after graduating, simultaneously taking a break from college and at the same time, looking for promising opportunities in journalism. It was summer at the time, but the weather was rarely spring-like - windy, but not too windy, cold but not cold - fresh!

In the early months of '84, though, I received a letter from the Miami Herald saying they were looking for talented journalists to participate in their New Voices program. Why they sent me a letter, I don't know. Why would the Herald randomly send me - anyone - a letter, especially someone out of Miami? At first, I thought it was a scam, but I took my chances and, keeping vacation and family as a Plan B, I traveled back to Miami (where my family lived, and, apparently I'd lived my entire pre-college life in Miami, but as aforementioned, I have no recollections of it due to my life starting in the '82).

Indeed, it was real! I stepped into their office in Miami Downtown, and immediately, they somehow recognized my name! Something was up, but all their offers were legit, and by '86, I was a featured columnist, writing for their Entertainment section. I did that until '89, when someone came up to my desk on a Friday. I think I was actually slacking off that day, playing Pong on an Atari I'd found in the basement (yes, this means that I had a power tap, a controller, and most noteworthy, a TV - all in addition to my typewriter - at my desk).

The someone who came up to my desk was actually Rick (the editor-in-chief at the time; the former in which we would call Johnny Boy) who told me that he wanted me to do international reports for the year. It was July, I think, when he told me - good thing, 'cause I had to find a report to do for the coming year! I decided to do it on the psychology of happiness (now called positive psychology, after Seligman's presidential campaign for the APA) that I'd been reading about in a bunch of psychology books that this girlfriend of mine gave me. I told Rick about it a few months later, and he loved it! I would go around to lots of different countries and formalize a world wide investigation on how people would respond to the idea of a psychology, not about crazy people, and not in the image of Freud - a classic one to this day - but instead about happiness!

But I asked Rick something - we're a local newspaper, and we're going to do an international investigation? And I'm doing it? I've only been here for a few years! Rick replied that someone, somewhere must favor me a lot.

Well, that must've been it - from '89 to '90, I traveled worldwide and I was met with positive reception regarding my investigation. In the summer of '81, my report was published and I couldn't have been happier reading it in the Miami Herald - a whole section devoted to it had been made. I was full of glee, but I kept my humility intact. By December of '91, I told Rick that it'd been a great ride, but that I wanted to travel a little bit. Rick said on that day - December 17, 1991- "Hey, I'm leaving too. Take me with ya."

Apparently, Rick was also resigning as editor-in-chief, confident with the idea that he'd done lots for the newspaper, and that he'd left his mark on its history.

Well, indeed, we traveled to New Zealand together, as well as Australia, for a few months. In Australia though, walking through the woods one day, nervous poachers accidentally shot Rick. It was tough to deal with death right before you, but I got over it, and eventually I moved back to Miami, where I visited my family for two months. After that, I decided that, like Rick had done for the Herald, I too had to leave my mark on this Earth somehow. Isn't that the point of life?

I traveled to Cincinatti - no joke, because I liked the spelling - and upon arriving and living there for about half-a-year, I saw that it was missing an honest publication that related to the people. So, I decided to team up with a few journalist friends I'd met there, and together, we started the Cincinatti Tribune, which runs to this day. The people loved it, but when it became obvious that it was going to be quite the renowned publication - by the end of '92 was when we all realized the gold mine we'd struck - I told my compadres that I would leave the rest of the newspaper's time to them. They somehow understood - once again, this didn't make sense. They accepted my choice without asking why or without doubting my motives. How did this all make sense?

Well, it did - shortly thereafter. I stayed for another month in Cincinatti, before I headed off on an adventure through Europe. At the airport, as I was loading my briefcases on that little scanner machine that's still way too annoying, a beautiful, light-haired, fair-skinned, green-eyed girl of about 28 comes up to me and says - "Hey, can I come along?"

Looking into her eyes from across the other side of that constantly beeping machine - it was another moment that made no sense. What, besides yes, could I have responded to such a question! It was an odd, nonsensical event that yielded the human being that would become the love of my life.

She and I toured Europe together. She was looking for journalistic inspiration, and I was seeking blissful retreat from life.

She also told me, walking through the streets of Paris one day, that the letter from the Herald from after college, and my promotion to its international reports in 1990, had all been instigated by her.

"So you pulled all the strings? Why? I didn't even know who you were!"

"Someone's gotta help you!"

"Well, I'm sure I could've managed by yourself."

"Of course you would've! But see, I've learned that things change from one life to the next, and I personally know that in your next life, you're going to understand the value of working hard by yourself and not depending on others."

"Next life? And how do you know that?"

"Well, I helped you in this life, so in the next one, you'll know to trust your own help! Think of it as a 'I'll teach you what's wrong, so you do the opposite' lesson."

"Right, but how do you know this? What are you talking about?"

I never did understand what she was talking about, but I have learned that value that she talked about.

In late 1993, she asked me if we could consider ourselves a couple.

"Well, of course, I consider that already!", I said.

"Well, see, because I've decided I need to stay here, but I know you wanted to head back to Argentina.", she replied.

"I can stay here, baby; Argentina can wait. It's not going anywhere."

But in May of '94, I had to leave - to be born, apparently. I saw her waving goodbye at the airport - as if knowing my departure would come regardless of what I wanted to do - and I saw the confidence in her eyes that told me that whatever I had to leave for, it would be an adventure worth embarking upon.

And to this day, her words have remained true. Life's been many things, but most importantly - it's been an adventure.

I was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina, on the 30th of May, in 1994.

The end.

(from Miss America) Things I like and don't like

2009-12-03T19:48:00.001-05:00

From my friend. Just thought it'd be helpful.

Things I Like and Don't Like

By: Miss America

Ok I don’t like:

·         Baggy pants
·         Giant shirts
·         AXE
·         Wet people
·         Wet people (yes I know I said that twice)
·         People who have earrings
·         Fade haircuts
·         Flippy hair
·         Tube socks
·         USB Drives
·         Guys with excessive jewelry

Ok things I do like:

·         Normal fitting shirts
·         Normal pants at the waist
·         Ralph Lauren perfume or Lacoste perfume
·         Wow I’m really bored doing this umm…
·         Let’s see…
·         Thinking…
·         Thinking…
·         People who smell good

Ok that’s all I can think of. That’s it.

See you guys again soon!

Friends, New and Old, Collide (Thinking about the Future)

2009-11-28T11:40:00.010-05:00

I recently made a new friend whom, despite our brief time talking to one another (and ever briefer actually seeing one another), I've already picked out to be a very adventurous and outgoing person. I love people like that, because they really take things like "Live your life to the fullest" to heart! All that "life's too short, so enjoy it while you can" business is the heart of their lives.

As is likely a popular prospect amongst teenagers, the age where you can start driving comes soon, and the day you get your car; sometimes even sooner. For my new friend, this is the case - from now on, let's call her Miss America - she's going to be able to start driving by the first months of 2010. I mentioned to her how momentous an occasion this is , not just for her, but for anyone in the same boat. I've always seen driving as being the first expression of adulthood, and one of the catalysts behind being deported from childhood! Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't see driving as an adolescent activity, despite the fact that most people start driving individually before they're 20. In my opinion, adolescence is a confusing holding stage for those leaving their childhood yet struggling into adulthood.

So anyway, I told her all this, and I was met with a belittling response - "So?" I've been met with the response too many times to be offended or anything, and my opinion is strong enough to withstand it. Miss America and I were talking about how she would drive her friends places, and how she wouldn't have to bother her parents to go out to the mall anymore. And frankly, this event of later surpassed independence (later surpassed because you can't consider yourself independent if you're still living with your parents) is tremendous, and when I see all my friends going through it; it's something I'm going to have a hard time coping with! My friends see it as a cool commodity that they'll be able to go to the mall by themselves soon, I see it as an entire new dimension that opens up one more door into adulthood. Just the fact that this following scenario between one of my friends and I:

"Yo, can you drop me off at the station a few blocks from school? 'Cause the buses aren't running today. Thanks!"

, is bound to happen someday soon - is just unfathomable.

You could most definitely say I'm having, and I'm going to keep having, a hard time growing up.

A few days afterward, I talked with another friend of mine - let's call him Mr. Mirald - about our plans for college; yet another event too momentous for one Tomás to take. And well, yeah, we're going to college! But we're not going to go straight after college. Instead, we're going to take one year off, and travel. Be it a roadtrip to West Palm Beach, or a concert tour to New Zealand (not that we have a band or anything) we're going somewhere. We all agreed that going to college right after high school is just not right - you gotta take a breather before plunging into the pool that is the rest of your life, right? - and so, those are our plans. We also fantasized about the bachelor pad we're gonna have. Get one together up in Boston, so that the both of us - as well as the third member of our trio, The Fresh Prince (and no, not the actual one starring Will Smith; let's call my friend Prince 305 instead); the three of us then, would have a place to um ... drink tea with our chocolate bar purchasing dates?

The future's coming way too soon.

Hopefully, Miss America, you'll help me make the most of it.

As for you guys, Mr. Mirald and Prince 305 - damn right we're getting that bachelor pad! damn right we're taking that year off!

And even if we're in Boston, we're still gonna go pick up my sister at 3 PM every afternoon when she gets out of school! We'll make it work!

Tom's Recap

2009-11-18T18:21:00.003-05:00

There's so much I should tell you guys, that I'm intimidated by the very idea of writing a blog post that aims to recollect everything that hasn't been said. But here goes (no way this is going to cover everything).

Let's start where I left off. The last post I wrote that was about what I've been doing ("Optimism in a Nutshell" was simply an excerpt from my Positive Psychology report, which has been one of my great academic endeavors this year) was a podcast about how the summer of freshman year, before sophomore year, had come to a close. I distinctly remember that I made that podcast on the Sunday before the first day of school, a few minutes after I had finished my summer assignment that'd been assigned *cough* two months before then (it came out very well, though - no joke!).

Well, sophomore year has been ... interesting. Initially, I didn't know what to think of it. But it didn't take long to see that this was the turning point year. Ever since freshman year summer was about halfway through, and I began to reflect on freshman year, I saw that it had gone so well, and that I'd passed it with such high-flying colors (in terms of grades and in general), that as a result, I remembered very little and I paid attention to very little. Quite honestly, I enjoyed and let it flow by like a long gust of wind. It was a great year, but it was a passive year that came and went. Kinda like the ice cream man.

Sophomore year, by contrast, has been one where I've constantly stopped to think about the state of things. About my friends, about what I've been studying in class, about the massive amount of projects/clubs I'm embarking upon/participating in (respectively). It sounds like that'd be a bad thing, but it's not. Sometimes, it can cause you to over-analyze things, but for the most part, it helps, because by stopping to think about the little things, you're actually doing a much better job of making and preserving memories.

For me though, sophomore year didn't start the first week of school. Realistically, it did, but my mind didn't take notice until the weekend of that first week of school. It did that on Saturday morning, in fact: when I parted ways with my significant other since middle school. We were best friends, but for reasons not fit to mention here, we went our separate ways, and now, we mutually agree that it was for the best. It seems cliché - for a teenager, how earth-shattering and momentous the effect of breaking up with a two-year girlfriend, right? - but she was my best friend, the one who was there always. Amongst the bliss comfort of freshman year, she was there, and in a sense, I think she was part of the pillow I rested on during freshman year. That's why that morning meant what it did. It was like removing the training wheels from your kid's bike. "You can do it now. Just keep pedaling."

Indeed, that's what I did. That very Saturday night, one of my good friends that I'd met the former freshman year was having her quinces - for those of you not in the know here, it's customary for a girl turning fifteen to have a lavish party and dance, much like it is for an American girl to do the same when she turns sixteen - and that night was the night of nights. It was the defining moment for the start of sophomore year, for reasons I'm still trying to find and understand. One of them however, was because I began to develop an affinity towards another friend that I'd been talking to lots over the summer and that I'd also met the former freshman year. Not only that, she'd also been one of the ones there for me when Tomás at Large Online became an official project.

She - or rather, the concept of me with her - isn't going well, but that's a whole 'nother story for a whole 'nother day (or blog post, for that matter). But by the fact that I'm mentioning it in a separate paragraph - you can judge (correctly, I might add) that she means a lot to me, but that meaning is being forced right now. "Think of it like a business investment - if it's not profitable, don't invest in it". That's the crude theory of how one should react in such a situation, but with love and with human beings in general, it's unfairly hard to follow.

In terms of academics this year - over the summer, I'd been told that I wouldn't be able to take the elective I wanted to (TV yes, but no AP European History). At first, I was helplessly furious (largely cause I'd already hassled my parents to buy the summer reading book for that class) but the class I got instead - Psychology 1 and 2 (they're semester courses) - couldn't have been a better replacement. That class has opened my eyes to the world, it's increased my appreciation of the human mind and what people think and how they behave. Let that be my personal homage to Ms. Pino's 4th period, 3rd floor Psychology course.

Tomás at Large Online, as you know was, very unfortunately canceled a few months ago. But on the flip side, Offbeat News with Tomás Monzón, on the SMSH newscast, has been going great! I truly enjoy making the segment, and it's extremely fulfilling to be able to continue the exact same thing I did in middle school, here in high school.

Right now, in TV, we've been assigned to make a music video, just like last year. Only last year, our amateurism swam miles across my group's video. Nonetheless, shooting it was a great experience - a learning one at that - and moreover, it reminds me of when I used to carry - on a daily basis, I might add - a miniature messenger bag filled with cables to school, in addition to my bookbag. Another memory to put on the unfinished scrapbook that is "The Memories of Freshman Year at SMSH".

For the music video, I'll personally be shooting a music video of Toto's hit, Hold the Line, in a one-man style (i.e. I'll be playing all the instruments). I'm so excited about it! I have a bunch of ideas, and best of all, the main lyric is awesome!

♫ "Hold the line! Love isn't always on time!" ♫

There's lots more I can tell ya, and I will. Spurred by an upcoming autobiography project for Psychology, but more importantly, by my devotion to this blog, I'll tell ya what I've been up to this year, little by little.

See you guys again soon.

P.S. The last picture is me with a few good friends, from when we went together to celebrate the little guy's birthday. Fun day.

HEY!

2009-11-09T11:00:00.002-05:00

Well, hello! Haven't written in a while, and unfortunately, today I don't have much time to write. School has been going all right lately - not the best, but that's mainly due to the fact that I procrastinate, which I'm destined to change from now on. Grades are fine, but a work ethic; I personally hold as more important than grades, in the long run, and so, that's an aspect of myself that needs improvement.

I've been working a lot on Offbeat News with Tomás Monzón, a brand new segment on the South Miami Senior High broadcast this year (yes, I'm still working in TV class, and enjoying every bit of it). The newscast itself has undergone a lot of changes this year, mainly due to the fact that we're creating a much deeper online profile for ourselves. For one thing, our website - http://www.smcobratv.com/ - now hosts tons of videos, ranging from things such as our special Halloween broadcast, to Cobra Cam videos, and more!

Cobra Cam? What is that? Definitely something that I'll write about in the next post - and of course, I'll also be writing about what I've been up to. There's lots of history to trace - although that's what happens when you don't write in a blog for such a long time.

I'll see you guys again soon - now I've got a Linear Systems Test to tend to. Check back soon!

P.S.: Don't go to Camelot - it is a silly place. (Monty Python and the Holy Grail)

Optimism in a Nutshell

2009-10-08T16:42:00.003-04:00

Is the glass half full, or half empty? In what is perhaps the simplest and clearest way to establish the difference between an optimistic and a pessimistic attitude, we find the basis for a possible way to live our lives. Without a doubt, in the world of today, we see a lot of conflict – ranging from overseas warfare to domicile crime – and with that, an overabundance of negativity about the future that is terribly unwelcome. More often than not, we see people giving up on their plans and hopes for the future, blaming it on realism and the supposedly cold, hard truth that is that they cannot achieve their goals. Some will say that they are correct and that chasing after their dreams by completely ignoring the truth, will hurt them in the long run. Others will say that anything in life is possible, and that saying, "No, I can't" is rubbish. Which answer do you think belongs to someone carrying out the ideals of positive psychology? The answer is neither. Positive psychology seeks not to blind people with a message of inexistent hope, but instead wishes to address the caustic nature of things like dwelling on the negative, thinking that our futures are set in stone, and more. Positive psychology is not over-optimism, and neither is it an excuse for the blissful ignoring of the reality of the world today – it is, instead, a way of life that can benefit us all.

End of Summer Vacation - Looking Back at Freshman Year

2009-08-23T15:04:00.000-04:00

Hey, everyone! Summer vacation is officially over for myself, and my friends today - school is starting tomorrow! But the day is young, so I decided to make a little podcast commemorating two things - my recent trip to Pigeon Key, one of the islands along the Florida Keys; as well as talk a little about what freshman year was like last year.

Enjoy, everyone! And to my friends - have a great summer!

Blog Update No. ? - August 21, 2009

2009-08-21T09:04:00.000-04:00

Hello, everyone! Just a quick update to let youa ll know I'm still alive (IF ANYONE GIVES A ****). LMAO.

Just kidding! But anyway, as of late, I've been busy with summer assignments for the upcoming school year, starting in just 3 days! yay! But on Sunday, I will be posting an article reflecting on the experiences during, and the significance of, freshman year, to keep in tradition with last year, where I wrote an article reflecting on Summer 2008 on the very day before school started.

So make sure to check back Sunday, towards nighttime, for the article. Hope you guys have enjoyed the blog this summer, but watch out! There's lots more stuff to come this year. One idea I have in particular is vlogging (for you non informed Internet users, this is blogging through video; putting in film what one would otherwise say in words). First, however, I'm gonna need a camera, a good microphone, and some music. But, luckily, with school coming this year, I can always solicit the help of the broadcasting group.

Check back Sunday night, everyone! See ya soon!

Saturday Podcast: Tomás at Large Online

2009-08-08T12:55:00.003-04:00

Hello, everyone! Back form a small hiatus, today I have a Saturday Podcast for you guys! Today I'm talking about Tomás at Large online, a internet late show that is currently under production by myself, and of course, my production team.

Enjoy! The next Saturday Podcast will be on August 22, 2009, so check back then!