Life of A Salesman

I have to apologize to a lot of people about why I've flown off the handle a few times today, I know I'm usually a firebrand as it is but today has hit a certain number of sensitivities that exist in very small doses.

8 years ago today I was 12 years old, sitting in my middle school Language Arts class, I can still remember what I was wearing all the way down to my shoes. I can remember walking down the hallway and hearing snippets of what was going on. It's funny how as a kid you take the words "plane crash" with a grain of salt as if it's something you're supposed to expect.

And then we got told the whole mess.

Let's not pretend for one second I was afraid for what was going to happen to me in the future-- I was scared for my dad.

My father is a traveling salesman-- not like in the Bible selling way, but he was the main distributor for parts to computer systems in a Corporate setting. I know it has to do with circuit boards and chips, and the occasional military technology that even at 20 I can't understand.

On September 10, 2001, I got screamed at by a certain traveling salesman for doing something I should have--I probably left my bike under his car, or lost my temper and kicked a wall, or it could have even been the constant skateboarding in my room dinging up the walls; I was a typical 12 year old boy.

On September 10th at 9PM when my dad came to talk to me after cooling down I told him I hope he died-- because I was a 12 year old boy and you never grasp the meaning of your words, just that they sound powerful.

On September 11th at 5:30AM my father woke me up for me to wish him off to the airport. I stoically huffed at him and didn't speak, my own sign of solidarity that I was going to talk to him-- he said "I love you, EJ" and he left.

On September 11th at 9:53AM we were switching classes, I was going from Math to Geography, and I remember in the hallway hearing Mr. Healy (Geography) say to Mr. Turgeon (Language Arts) about a plane crash. I felt like I knew something everyone didn't, and stupidly felt smug knowing something they were going to tell us--and I was just as stupidly wrong.

At 11:30 I was in the downstairs boy's bathroom, just outside the lunchroom, throwing up the majority of my dinosaur oatmeal while my friends were all just silent in the lunchroom, because no one knew what to say or do to the kids who didn't know if their parents were alright.

I was one of those kids who didn't know yet.

It's an unsettling feeling trying to remember all the details from my dad's boarding pass, after all I'd been there when he picked up his initial ticket. We lived right down the street from an airport after all.

That was what we did. On weekends my dad would take me to the airport and pay the five dollars to park in the carport and we'd run up and down the moving walkways and watch the planes take off from the observation bay. Then we'd get McDonald's and he'd narrate the moving walkway for me as I continued to run up and down it doing whatever stupid thing came to mind.

I know that my dad's original plan was not to depart from home this time though, he was going to depart from Logan International Airport in Boston and continue his business in Miami Florida and be home by that Friday so we could go out for pizza at Papa Gino's.

Logan International Airport is now more commonly known as the airport that American Airlines Flight 11 flew out of before hitting the North tower that killed 1,392 people in total.

Imagine being 12 years old and only knowing that a plane from Logan Airport had crashed and killed everyone on board-- they gave no other specifics at that time, just where it flew out of and where it crashed.

I think I fought back tears all day, waiting for the best and worst when I got home.

When I got home on the bus, my best friend, Elijah (who now goes more by Ace), walked me home and said if I needed I could come over his house afterward. I'm pretty sure I just nodded and then proceeded to throw up in my mouth.

I still remember the atmosphere of my house when I walked in-- the TV on and muted and replaying the crash over and over again. The sunny weather almost seemed to contrast it all and it made me feel disconcerted and sick. If you've never experienced that feeling like you've been under water and tried to listen to speaking, you won't understand the overwhelming sense of pressure in my house.

It was about 2:23 when I got home that day, my mom was still a stay at home mom at that time, but even then she would usually be showered and ready by 10AM. When she came downstairs she still wasn't quite finished, like she had just stopped in the middle of it all and forgotten.

The only thing I remember her saying was that she hadn't heard from him, but that it wasn't his flight and that she had been calling the school all day, first my middle school and then my sister's elementary school only to be met with a busy signal. However she hadn't heard from him and to what she knew they were still in the process of grounding all the planes.

On September 11th, 9:58PM our house phone rang, I was sitting in my bedroom reading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets with the door just ajar. My mom was downstairs watching TV, if I had to guess she was watching Friends. I remember hiding in the stairwell listening to her talk and finally having that comforting reality that my dad was safe-- he had been grounded in Graceland hours earlier and his cell phone couldn't get service in Tennessee.

On September 14th, 6:42PM my father arrived home in his rental car with a less than shaven face and he tossed me a Louisville Slugger and he said "Kentucky says hello, Sport". He'd promised me that he'd come home with a souvenir from Florida, and he was at least true to his word.

I found out years later that he stopped at the official Louisville store because the radio had been warning of highway robbers and looters and he wanted to be prepared and have a suitable gift for his 12 year old son.

The rest is a blur, I remember lots of crying and and remember lots of joking around to try and lessen the mood-- and I know for a fact that night my father checked on my bedroom no less than 15 times, for reasons that are beyond my understanding even still.

8 years later my father and I share an awkward truce, a lot has happened and I'm not 12 any more. I might not like him, but I always love him and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't cried at least once today.

My mom said he'll always see me as I was at 12, and I think I'm not exactly opposed to that image.

Welcome Home, Outcasts!

Oh hai!

It's been a while since I've just blogged for the sake of a jovial mood and updating people and I'm feeling jovial and in an update mood-- so this is what this is, an honest to goodness bloggy-blog.

I've been back at uni for a little over week now and I have to say it's a good change of pace while returning to an ever familiar routine of mine. It's scary to think that I'm in my third year, a Junior for anyone who's counting on their fingers right now.

I can still remember what I got accepted to U of H, it was sometime in December 2006, it makes me honestly feel so much older than the little boy who danced around to MC Lars on his kitchen table when he got an early acceptance letter.

Classes have been the usual, I'm really interested in what I'm taking this year-- so far my schedule stands as:

Monday

World Cinema— 1:30-5:00

Programming Foundations— 7:20-10:00

Tuesday

Industrialization in Asia— 3:30-4:45

Adult Journey: Search for Meaning—5:00-7:20

Wednesday

Orientalism in Cinema—1:30-5:00

Thursday

Industrialization in Asia— 3:30-4:45

So far with the way the school year has been scheduled I haven't had my Monday courses yet-- and it just so happens those were the two I was looking forward to most. the World Cinema class is taught by one of my favorite film professors, Isabelle Freda who is just, well she's a character and reminds me of much more approachable version of my high school photography teacher. I'm indifferent towards my Programming course for right now, but I am excited to spend some time working in MS-VB 2008, even if I only understand on the most basic level what that means.

My other courses so far are just, well kind of perfect so far, even if a little intense. my film courses are always my favorites, especially now that I'm well established in the school-- I kind of know the teachers and the topics well by now that I find myself really feeling like I know what I'm doing. My Industrialization in Asia course scares the shit out of me, but I know I'm going to learn a whole lot of stuff and I mean a looooooot. My Adult Journey course is basically like applied Psychology 101, it's a highly autobiographical "All University" course (this basically means I'm required to take this class, or one of a similar discipline to get electives credit, so I might as well enjoy it). It's a lot of theories, but then we discuss the general awesomeness of what those theories mean to us-- I also really like the professor because she's letting us call her Roz-- I'm a bit of a Disney/Pixar fanboy and it makes me chuckle.

However the most exciting thing yet is not the courses, it's my living situation.

Most people who know me know that I've spent the past two years living in a school dorm on campus that is like a more lame version of Hogwarts. Dorms mean lots of things I hate about school including: one bathroom, meal plans, no personal space and the general hazards of that many guys living in one small space.

This year I'm living in an on campus apartment just across the lawn from where I used to live, but you'd think it was a completely other world.


That's not my exact apartment, but I have one of the front facing ones like that-- my door is a bright green though as all the Quads are color coordinated to make them easier to find (Res Life says it's for their own usage for maps, but I personally think it's to help the drunk people get home to some degree of accuracy).

I still don't have my own room, I'm living with my friend Kal this year, but it's still a better trade off. Even if I know there are some thing he and I clash over-- everything is at a steady truce right now.

My apartment is fairly good sized considering it's my first apartment-- 2 floors, 2 full baths (one upstairs, one downstairs), 3 bedrooms (there's 5 of us total, 2 doubles and 1 single), a full kitchen, and a living room/dining room area. It's not huge but everything is fairly comfortable, it's a good size for a small home-- let alone an apartment.

Living with Kal is a bit of a challenge because he's been living alone for a long time now-- I believe he's had a single since he was a Sophomore and now during his Senior year he has to learn to share space-- sort of. He's basically claimed most of the free space in the room-- which is fine, I don't take up a lot of space, but we are in very much an Oscar and Felix situation.

I'm not exactly a neat freak about being clean, at home I'm probably the messiest person ever-- but over the past 2 years I've learned how to share space and that even a little mess makes a room seem 40 times smaller.

the three other guys are okay I guess, never really see them. Our closest neighbor is named Shane, I don't know much about him other than he's a Senior and not a douche-- sounds like a friend in my book.

The other two guys, well-- let's just say that we might have some problems when I get my eskrima sticks. I'm not sure their names, I think my rooming paper said Makai and Kevin, for the sake of not calling them obscure names that make no sense we'll stick with this. I have never seen Kevin-- if he walked into our house I'd assume he was probably lost or drunk. Makai from here on out will be disaffectionaly called douchemate. I could complain about him for hours with all the stupid shit he's done-- but you're going to hear enough about my flatmonster over the next few months so I might as well save the good stuff for later.

Let's just say I'm glad to have some time to myself right now. I'm doing the pensive writer thing and looking out over the pond watching the geese, still enjoying the last few days where it feels moderately like a New England summer. It's the kind of scene that prefaces a movie where you learn a lesson-- the scenery makes me feel more profound than I am.

It's kind of a good feeling.

so now I've set my mobile up for blogging via SMS--I can now officially be annoying on loads of levels and many places at whatever time I feel!

The Wide World Exotic

that was a phrase my Cinema professor used this week, "the Wide World Exotic"-- he has a penchant for using language in a way that I can never grasp on my own.

Did I mention that my professor was gay?

I think his flair for words is definitely related, at least in his case.

We were discussing what the American abroad means in movies, because it's a very common theme in a class that functions largely outside the realm of American movies, or at least movies that involve largely American motifs.

Sitting there in that class, awkwardly shifting in my chair made me realize how uncomfortable I am in myself as an American. This attitude is nothing new, but I sadly have no Patriotism to this country. I'm not sure if I've ever known what it means to be an American-- because I'm not sure there is really such a thing. In most countries, there's not as much ethnic diversity as in the US-- whereas the US is a wonderful mix of mutts. We don't really have a place to belong and the label of American more satisfies location rather than mindset-- and for some reason whenever I say this I offend lots of people.

Sorry, I guess it's one American thing I might actually subscribe to.

Stranger in a strange land, that's what we're supposed to take away from the "Yankee" traveling around in places that are generally not his home, hence the "wide world exotic" as Professor Lang phrased it.

I was then sat in class thinking about myself in that role, the American abroad trying to discover this strange lore and these queer traditions of an age old culture. It was only then that I realized I couldn't, I couldn't envision myself as this courageous adventure.

I've always wondered if Professor Lang feels this same way, having grown up in South Africa to British born parents trying to hash out a place in America. He's seen a world that I've only seen in story books, and I wonder if maybe once upon a time he sat in a desk like mine, at an age not too far from mine, wondering if maybe he didn't fit where he was any more.

Maybe some day I'll get up the courage to ask him what home means to him, but for now I'm nearly alone with this internal battle for self.

This is not my home.
I am a stranger in my homeland, I can feel the gaps growing every day from the person I'm growing up to be as compared to where I grew up.
My "home" stands in another day-- nearly 10,000 miles away from me.
My obsession is almost Napoleonic, like the way he longed for Egypt-- I long for a place where I fit.

I'm not sure if this thought terrifies me or excites me-- but I'm sure if you provided me with a scimitar I might vote for the "excites me" angle.

For Lack of a Better Title, We'll Call This "Un-"

Life's funny how it works out-- that's really the long and short about it. I could go on for hours, but really everything I'd ever need to say is summarized right there in that 7 word sentence (it's not 6, the grammar nerds will tell you why that is)

There are lots of things I'd like to say, and lots of things I'd like to say to her, but she's heard them before and by now there's no new ways I can tell her what's on my mind.

I suppose all I can say is this:

6 months ago I made a decision, a big decision-- it's the decision from which every other decision since has stemmed from. 6 months ago today my life changed for the better, hell it was kind of the start of my life-- the adult concept of it, not just the sentient being kind.

6 months later she still doesn't have a ring, we don't have an announcement in any paper, we don't have the same openness that other couples do, but through it all, she's still my fiancee-- and as I've told her a million times now, that will always be enough for me.

How Can I Be Anything But Second Best to You?

Warning, this blogpost may contain nostalgia, profundity, and references to obscure pop culture references-- you have been warned.

So I just recently finished Paper Towns, comparisons aside for now, John Green is now not only one of my favorite YouTubers, but he now tops the list of favorite authors.

I recommend you go buy it if you have the means to. I bought the one with sad Margo-- it's less disconcerting I think.

I suppose you can consider this my sort-of book report, but at the same time I plan to tell you nothing about the book. It's like two girls, one cup-- you get to see my reaction but never understand what I saw in it.

Sorry, I know someone probably just ewwww-ed at that.

I can't say the book was anything exceptional, not to offend it, but what I mean is that it's a book very much about real life and real people for once-- no boy wizards, sparkly vampires, or unfortunate orphans can be found amongst these pages.

and unlike most books I've read in the past 5 years, it really made me think.

High school is a weird place, anyone who has been can tell you that it was the worst time of their life, or for some-- they very few I have in my life they live with this self aggrandized glory of who they were in high school.

In the end, it was just a place where we learned, and met people: good and bad, and somewhere along the line we became young adults and left it in a very unfamiliar state than when we entered. I have very few fond memories of high school, and even fewer friends leftover after the great schism that was college...but through it all it did shape who I am and what I wanted to be.

I suppose this is where the the belated learning comes in, how a book about high school can teach me more about high school than ever being in high school ever did.

I once heard a quote that went something like: the race is long, and in the end it's only with yourself...

I suppose nothing I'm going to say from here on out is fact, just something that from my own experience has been proven to be true: results may vary, if there are even any results at all worth sharing.

I'll never accept when people say life is short now that I think about it, how can life be short, it's the longest thing you'll ever do? No rather I've found that we instead spend most of our time not living our lives preoccupied with some intangible worry about something that will probably never befall us anyway.

Don't be afraid to live your life, and I mean really live it-- do not become a spectator, because in the end of it all you want your story to be one worth telling. Strive to become a legend, even if it's only in your mind, because in the end all that matters is what you thought of you.

They did hit on a point in Paper Towns, leaving is the hardest thing you'll ever do, until you do it and then you realize that unlike ripping off a bandage you are without the same feeling of regret and remorse, but rather waiting until you can do it again.

I've left home many times now, and find that Heraclitus wasn't exactly right and neither was Thomas Wolfe-- whether it's a river or a home, you'll find that sometimes if you're lucky, you'll find that going home to a place you once knew is the only way to preserve the person you once were.

College has given me a lot of perspective, much more than I ever had bumming around Manchester, New Hampshire with my best friends-- not that college is what changed me, but rather just seeing the world from a different place has altered my concept of reality.

I've learned that you have to learn to walk out your front door, even if it scares you, because to me there is nothing scarier than finding someone who was so afraid of being afraid that they lived their lives in pathetic familiarity. Do not fear the unknown, because by doing so you are merely prolonging the inevitable. To presume we live in a world of familiarity is to truly be a man on an island.

Do what you love, even if you're bad at it, even if it kills you-- because in the end that's what life is going to do. No matter who you are or what you do, we are all going to die--no one is exempt from our impending mortality, in the end we all have the same destination. The journey is what defines who you are, because you'll find that in the very end of it, our stories are all connected in the same boring place, hell who knows-- that place might even wind up being a paper town so you might as well make your mark on the map while you're still holding on the pushpins.

That's How You'll Know My Love is Still Strong

Warning, this is a sentimental blogpost so if you want to skip some of the mushy, I'd understand.

Normally these entries are open ended and directed to almost anyone, but this time not so much-- there's one person I have on my mind right now.

I know when she reads this she'll have that face on, the one that's hard to say with words, it's somewhere between laughing and crying because I know exactly how she is.

The title comes from a Plain White T's song and happens to be the exact same title I used on a Livejournal/Multiply entry right when we were just starting out-- a time that feels like a million years ago if you really think about how much we have been through during all this time.

Lately however we had fallen into some type of weird rut, nothing out of the ordinary for any couple who has been together long enough, but it's still a weird feeling. We weren't doing badly, we were doing the same old, same old that we were used to-- and that was really what became the problem.

I remember when we were just starting, everything was so new and waking up every day was exciting because there was so much we were still learning about each other, and every time I told her that I loved her it was like a spark going off-- anyone who has fallen in love heavily for the first time knows exactly those crazy lovey-dovey feelings and how much of an Oxytocin overload the whole thing is.

We've been together now nearing a year and half, and she has been my best friend for even longer, so some of the initial love feelings have faded, I wasn't surprised by this-- but it started to get to an extreme level of unsurprised behavior. She might not have noticed it, I guess because I didn't until recently.

I got too comfortable with her, and I don't mean in that understanding sense, but as in I started pushing aside things, and stopped doing things altogether. I used to be a romantic guy, and I'm not saying that stopped it just became something completely different. We used to celebrate every Tuesday, it happens to be the day we got together-- it was a Tuesday and I had a class to go to, and I'll never know what we learned that day. I'm not saying that we should do that now, it's a little crazy to celebrate every week now, but the idea is still there.

Even just this month I found myself pushing aside special days, and not for any reason that I can think of that is logical. Each month we celebrate the 4th and the 29th-- just because we do have that sentimental streak. I however started putting less and less stock in those days because I started to get busy with my own things. Once again, none of this seems like a huge deal-- but the small things that come from it are what change it.

I stopped doing so much because somewhere along the way my comfort level with her turned into general expectation. What did it matter if I wasn't spontaneously saying I love you like I used too, she still knows right? Maybe I wasn't making as big a deal of a anniversaries, she must still know how important those days are, right? If I don't compliment something, she has to still understand that I care, right?

It's true that all these are a yes, but it doesn't mean that I shouldn't remind her every day how important she is to me. Of all the things that can get tiresome, telling her all these lovey-dovey romantic things are not on of them. I could tell her that I loved her every 10 minutes and it would never lack value each time. But the fact is that I should remember to tell her these things because just assuming she knows things is different than taking the time to make sure she knows these things.

Last night was our turning point again, whatever it was, and I'm not sure helped really bring those feelings back like how it used to be when we were getting together, just with more familiarity. I was listening to our songs again, and we have a lot. I was remembering all those times pre-coupledom where I was doing idiotic things around her, just because I was falling that hard. Out of my least suave moments we'll both cite the time she gave me her phone number and I got so excited that I closed our chat window long before I learned the joys of auto-log-- needless to say I spent the next hour pressing ctrl+z after she went to bed in hopes that by some weird chance of fate it would work.

It didn't.

12 hours later she comes to me with a thinly veiled sadness asking why I didn't text her awake, and I had to put my tail between my legs and admit my stupidity. She made fun of me, but not in that mean way-- in that teasing way that was a little too friendly for siblings, but that's what we were hiding behind-- the brother-sister relationship that's ironic.

It's the moments like that I can't forget, no matter how redundant they get-- I don't want to lose the awkwardness of 18 year old Pax who was in love with his best friend to 20 year old Pax whose fiancee is his best friend.

So in the most long winded way I can say to people is this-- if you have someone you love, make sure to tell them that, really it will make all the difference in the world. And to the gorgeous who might just have tears welling in her eyes by now-- did you know I love you so so so soooooooooo much? because if you didn't, just know that I do-- so so sooooooooo much and more than words can say.

Life is What Happens To You While You're Busy Making Other Plans

I've been thinking a lot lately, and we all know what this means when I start thinking-- it's either going to be insane, or actually be profound and we'll all be shocked that I've said it.

It's odd how seeing a Disney/Pixar film can still have this effect on me even at my newly acquired 20 years of age.

Life is a funny thing, partially because it's the only thing we really all have in common, we will live our lives and then we'll become part of the history we all struggle to remember as soon as it passes us.

I don't intend to spoil the movie I saw today, but I'd like to reiterate to message in my own words, and in my own interpretations, just because I can-- and that's the wonderful power of free speech.

When we're young, we all have preconceived notions about what we want to be when we grow up, the types of lives we want to live, even if in the smallest fraction of full picture. The question has been asked to almost any child of speaking age-- "what do you want to be when you grow up?". The answers are as honest as you can get, nothing is tainted by the outside world yet.

When I was only 18, and a new (not to mention terrified) college freshman, I worked as an inner city tutor in a school where, for the first time in a long time, I was the minority. I found myself asking these same questions to these kids "what do you want to be when you grow up?" as if these children who could barely tie their shoes really knew. It was only then why I realized that adults even ask that question at all, call it a moment of maturity creeping into my life. We don't necessarily ask to find out the answers, which sounds like ignorance, but it's not but rather is something much more profound.

We ask these questions because it's the reaction that makes it all worth it, seeing the pure unadulterated look of joy from a child who thinks they know what they want. They have grand dreams of who and what the want to be-- even if the answer is completely generic through the ages. Some kids want to be firefighters, ballerinas, even just something as simple as parents-- I had never met a child who wanted to be an accountant or work at the mall for minimum wage.

I'm not sure how along the way we've let these dreams die-- or at least for some of us, I myself am very lucky. To digress for a moment, I am proud to say that I am growing up to be just what I always was-- I get to spend the whole rest of my life telling stories about my imaginary friends, but you might just call me a writer.

No matter who we become, we can all recall back to a time when we were still becoming ourselves, dressing up and playing pretend-- even if it meant defying logic sometimes, deep down it mirrored a real desire. To still a coin termed from Up I suppose we all have our own "My Adventure Books", even if they are metaphorical.

In this life we fight so hard to complete these adventures, no matter how big or small they may be, even if we never accomplish them it's part of keeping that dream alive. It's ironic how as children we're told to "shoot for the stars" and then as soon as we get old enough we're told "not to get our hopes up", and so as time goes on we slowly place these dreams into more productive avenues even if it means sacrificing happiness along the way in some cases.

What I've realized though is that it's not about accomplishing your dreams, or even achieving all your goals, but instead it's about not forgetting the type of ambition you once had and using it to fuel your future passions. It's not about the type of journey you take, it's about the people you meet along the way. You might never explore the deep jungles of South America, you will probably never land on the moon, and you will certainly not live forever-- but that doesn't mean you can't live every day like it is just that exciting. It's not about the things you've never done, or the things you could have done only if variables X,Y, and Z worked impossibly in your favor-- rather it's about finding that path in life that brings you the same childlike joy you once felt and never looking back with bitterness about what could have been.

Now all I'm wondering is:

has all this introspective thinking earned me my "Self-Realization" Wilderness Explorer badge.

Won't You Let Me Go Down in My Dreams

I can't sleep, and for once I don't care.

I'm not sure how to ever eloquently say this, I guess there will never be the words that make the most sense and say what I need to-- but that's not going to stop me from trying.

I can never say enough how important my mother is to me, and I never will get enough of that. As I get older my appreciation for her seems to grow infinitely more, which for those of you who know the relationship I have with my mom, it seems impossible to find more respect for that amazing woman.

I am very much a momma's boy-- I'm not ashamed of that because if anything my mother taught me it was that I am much more independent than I have ever given myself credit for.

I rarely want to call myself a man, it feels weird, but for this realization alone I'll throw aside my cringing.

I am a better man because of my mother, she raised me to be everything I am today-- without her Pax as he stands today would not exist.

My 20th birthday is on Sunday and everyone is making it wrongly about me, it's not about me-- that day was never about me.

My birth was unconventional at best, and I wonder now how my mother coped as well as she did, 27 and a mother for the first time dealing with things that most parents should never have to deal with-- ironically probably lying sleepless in much the same manner, just 20 years in the past.

I was born almost exactly 2 months premature, which means that I live now with a whole host of problems that make every day a struggle, but my mom never gave up to give me a better life-- never gave up wanting me to seem like every normal kid.

Now I don't know about you, but I think she did a pretty damn good job at putting the puzzle pieces together again and she does it all thanklessly.

The only thing she ever complains about now is that the only thing to watch on TV was the Tiananmen Square massacres and how no matter how many channels she cycled through she was stuck with the same thing. It seems ominous to watch tanks rumble towards the Forbidden City while waiting for your son to be born, it sounds like a good metaphor-- but doesn't seem to favor me much.


Everyone is so busy celebrating me, no one takes time to slow down and think about my mom who was expecting her first son to be born in August. I never quite made it, I guess being a Leo never suited me.

On Sunday the tradition will repeat, my mom will wake me up with presents and usher me down to the table, hovering like the momma bear she is as she waits for the reactions to my gifts. This day won't be about her, most people will forget her role in it at all.

She won't know that while I'm blowing out my candles, and failing to do so-- I'll be thinking of all those things I failed miserably at, and yet she still supported. All those swimming lessons where I was just too ADD to learn, all the baseball games where I got hit by the ball more than actually hitting it back, and even the driver's education class I begged to be in-- 4 years later she is still driving me around due to what she would call my "not so epic win", she can't bring herself to ever call me an epic fail.

She won't know that while she's watching me unwrap my gifts I'll be too busy thinking about how while we didn't always have everything, she somehow managed to make us feel like we were lacking nothing.

While she's watching my dad hopeless hack up my birthday cake, she doesn't know that I'm thinking of every time she played the "good mom card" and suffered through all my food experiments while I was learning to cook-- including the undercooked pizza, the solid cake (I'm still not sure how it was that solid), or the grease fire I started in our toaster which she just brushed off with ease only a mom can muster.

There's a joke she used to tell me when life would be unfair that went something like "you can be three things in this life: rich, handsome, and intelligent-- and God made you handsome and intelligent, it's a shame"-- even though I know she's lying, she never took into account the fourth thing I am...

Lucky.

So while everyone else is wishing me a Happy Birthday for effortlessly surviving another year, I'll be thinking yet again of another way to thank her-- and maybe, just maybe the next 365 days will help me come to a better conclusion.

Something Vaguely Inspired By Light Blue Circles

Usually I start my blog posts with a hint of witticism and sardonics but today's post is not for that-- this time I really have something to say.

Recently I've discussed ideologies a lot, mainly religion and all things related to that. Most people who have talked to me for more than ten minutes know a little bit about my religious upbringing, since it doesn't take someone too long to be caught up on the lack thereof an organized belief structure.

The question has been coming up a lot lately, the one that has always haunted me in conversations, I almost feel like I suffer an ignorance for never choosing a firm belief.

I've realized now it doesn't matter.

I'm in no way saying that beliefs don't matter, they do, and very much so. In the history of human life on the planet beliefs seem to be the most constant thing. People live and die for these beliefs, they build their lives on them, fight wars for them and defend their stand on this Earth for the sake of what they believe-- so yes, belief is important.

I don't believe you even necessarily have to believe anything, I wouldn't ask that, I don't care if what you believe is completely insane-- but what I just hope is that people learn to question what they believe.

Question does not always mean to doubt, and I don't ask you to ever doubt what you believe, rather question what you believe to reinforce your conviction. Beliefs shouldn't be black and white, you should be willing to accept the changes in the world around you-- but don't let your convictions be dulled by misunderstanding, make sure what you believe is truly what you wish to believe and that should be what matters.

It seems like lately the discussions have been so pointed, the blame always has to be cast upon people for some reason. The staunchly religious are castigated for all the people who are deemed as crazy who have faith, and perfectly good people are punished for not believing in God by those who do.

Once upon a time science was something that we used to castigate with religion, labeling those people as heretics, and now we're seeing quite the opposite-- science is being used to discredit religion. If you can see this irony, I really appreciate your thought process, and if you don't-- damn, I'm alone.

I had this discussion with my fiancee the other day, and it was only when I looked it over that I actually felt like I'd finally unearthed that part of me-- so I'll share an amended version of what I had said to her.

"Religious" is a weird description for me because people aren't a religion, they just have one and you shouldn't be labeled by something like that. It's superficial to say someone is religious because there's so much more to content of character. I think atheists are just as crazy as anyone with a theism because it's just as stupid as labeling someone by race or ethnicity, just believe in what you believe and let that be enough. By classifying someone as their religion you're just not getting to which know them-- it shouldn't be what defines the type of reactions or personality traits you have. it's just one of those things about you that is part of you. I don't like those debates either solely because everything is a little crazy--plus, I like to tell people that sometimes crazy works. Did you know that the common bumblebee can't aerodynamically fly? it defies all the logic of physics, they've used science time and time again and found no logical explanation. In this case, the bumblebee doesn't know it can't fly so it just keeps going. I feel like faith in anything is like the bumblebee, you just have to believe it works and don't let people tell you otherwise. People are so quick to blanket these terms and I just think it doesn't matter if you have a religion or not. I will respect if you do because you see the things in life that I can't yet, because lord knows science has been wrong before and will continue to be wrong. We basically know nothing, the whole world is one giant discovery in the making so in the meantime all you should be is yourself, whatever that is. It doesn't matter what the people before you have done, or what people like you do and will do-- just be a good person, be a humanist and let nothing else matter.

My name is Edward James Paxton, I think that sometimes there are things that neither science or religion can explain-- I believe the bumblebee has the right idea, I'm an Agnostic Humanist-- what are you?

I Might Not Party Like Asher Roth, But I Still Love College (BEDA #20)

Today is the day where Pax does nothing for BEDA besides share some of his screenplay...so let's go.

**I can share none of the context or much of the backstory because it's still a WIP, but try and enjoy if you can**



METT (V.O.)
In a weird way it’s like starting over again. Like Kindergarten. None of us know each other, but we’re expected to make friends without the help of mommy or daddy for the first time...just all over again, and with more alcohol and swearing.

Mett props his feet up slightly on the empty chair in front of him and continues to scan the room. He soon makes eye contact with Isabella who sees him. In a panic he quickly looks down.

Isabella walks over to their row and motions to the empty seat still beside Mett.

ISABELLA
So we meet again, gayer version of Matt.

Mett chuckles and sits up slightly.

METT
It’s...

ISABELLA
Mett, I know, I remember.

Mett smiles and nods.

-------------------------------
METT (V.O.)
I don’t remember much of Dean Chambers speech. Partially because he talked a lot of bullshit, and partially because all I could focus on was the girl next to me who smelled like strawberries.

Mett looks over at her again quickly, once again looking away when she catches his eye.

METT (V.O.) (CONT’D)
And she probably thinks I’m some creepy stalker by now.

When he looks over again he notices she has looked away from him in much the same manner.

He smiles a happy, crooked smile and props his chin on his hand.

METT (V.O.) (CONT’D)
Or maybe not.

--------------------------------------------------

METT (V.O.)
I’m tempted to call him Louis, but I don’t think he’ll get the reference.
--------------------------------------------------
METT (CONT’D)
My iPod just decided to call it quits.

Paul frowns understandingly.

METT (V.O.) (CONT’D)
It’s sad how the teen population views technological tragedy to just as crushing as something that well, actually matters.
---------------------------------------------------

METT (CONT’D)
I’m Mett

Isabella takes his hand slowly.

ISABELLA
Matt?

Mett laughs nervously

METT
No, Mett-- M-E-T-T... Mett.

Isabella eyes his name tag for a moment and then nods in understanding.

ISABELLA
So then like Matt, only gayer.

Mett stares blankly at the girl, realizing she doesn’t look like she’s kidding.

METT
Yeah...it’s a little something like that.

**did anyone notice the catchphrase to Paxomania thrown in there? if you did... I hartz you, very few people know this is where that came from, even before it was written.**

------------------------------------------------------

The sound of the door can be heard as Mett is standing in his now noticeably empty room. The sound of his parents’ dialogue can be heard fading down the hall.

METT (V.O.)
I can still remember now what it felt like the day they left, I don’t ever even think I told them, but I cried.

Mett wipes his eyes and sniffs

METT (CONT’D)
But only a little...

**based on actual Paxist behavior**
-------------------------------------------------------

KRISTEN
TTYL.

She waves happily and walks away as Mett waves back stupidly.

METT (V.O.)
I’m not exactly sure what I’ve gotten myself into.

Mett stands from his chair, removing his iPod from his pocket and placing the earbuds in his ears. He grabs his plates and slowly follows the path that Kristen had taken to leave.

[”Why Can’t We Be Friends”-WAR plays softly on his iPod]

He looks back at Isabella who is now talking animatedly to a guy who is standing at the end of her table. Shaking his head he turns the volume up.

METT (V.O.) (CONT’D)
Damnit. How the hell do I even have this song?
---------------------------------------------------------

The rest should be done this weekend, so look out for it in a few weeks after that

**I can't share it until it has been graded, but I promise when it has you guys can see it**

Insert Romeo and Juliet Pun (BEDA #19)

Happy 4-20...I don't give a fuck hahaha

Today is my DGAF day, so if I punt a fetus in the middle of this, don't get offended, I need a nap-- or possibly a clone (I can has Pax.2?)

I guess until I get a .2 I have to do this...

muddafecker...

So in lieu of having a witty song title, I have actually brought my never favorite cover to share.

And before you ask, I think Taylor Swift is an unattractive hack-- but the lyrics were pretty good, so I'm not complaining, I just think country= incest...and not even the good kind =P

Blaaaaaaa...what else?

It rained today, I have done some iLife work, and cast my Mett Grey.

Perfect...right?

I'm still trying to cast the perfect Isabella, but it's coming slowly.

Spring Fling is this week (see related: my friends are douches)...we get to see N.E.R.D... not as fun as normal Nerds, but just as cool.

Riddle for guys:

what's got 4 letters and 6 figures:

a nerd...

Not really a riddle I just lawled because someone told me that and why I should be proud of being a nerd...

I am not only proud, I am Nerdfighter proud.

Blaaaaaaa... Nerdfighters... today being 4-20... we can has EBO? si o no?

also I'm still reading Paper Towns (and getting food all in it, I have sad Margo and she's sad because she's covered in bit of egg and mayo)

And now I'm done...

*punts baby*

Looking for BEDAs #17 and #18 (the first fail of the BEDA experience)

My fiancee is psychic--

we had been joking a few nights ago about how I would be busy for BEDA #17 and therefore was going to be titled "This is May, Pax is busy (BEDA #17)-- well let's just say in hindsight--

Pax was busy on BEDA 17 and therefore did not post his BEDA because he was...distracted.

If you follow me on Plurk, you know I was in an off mood-- and off mood being that my mind had checked out for the night.

If you don't believe me-- then you should believe the couple who can be quoted as respectively saying:

"I'm sure larer we'll lawls at how wrng this is...but reight now I can't even see the keys ket aklone understand what I'm typing... sorry love...this makes no sense at all... " (the wonders of when Pax is tired)

"but hopefulyy we'll both get the sleep we need..." (where May makes up words that are so close, yet so far)

I didn't forget to BEDA so much is that I was far too mentally intoxicated to post, that's the sign of true love-- you make each other drunk without even trying (I'm sure this is borne from some cheesy pickup line, which is why to me it came off ang cheesy)

I also don't really have much to post today, because today was merely me recovering from a night like last night...

I swear I wasn't drunk-- I'm just that retarded when my mind is on a million things that it shouldn't be.

I believe someone regretfully said horny, and I lawled--for anyone who knows why I lawled... then congratulations, you know how Pax is and how Pax isn't, you win a prize.

and now time for food...

Fritos, TaB, and Mountain Dew= My Dream Date (BEDA #16)

I almost forgot to BEDA today, so this is already starting off as a fail-- I don't even have a catchy song... no...wait, I'll come up with one now

There... tada... catchy song title...

*I know that 90% of the nerds probably just jizzed themselves, sorry...after all, WWJCD?*

So you know the drill-- name the song, or the artist, or if you're a nerd, feel free to just jizz yourself because you're not fooling anyone anyways.

Today was one of those really nerdy days, which is nothing new-- everyday in the life of Pax is a nerdy day. Today however was the nerdiest of them all, at least in a long time because I can't say today was my nerdiest day... just the one with the most nerd frequency.

Outside was the highlight of Greek Week, their semi-Greek games was today meaning that anyone who was anyone was outside watching the festivities-- I was holed up in my room listening to the music and reading, because that's about how involved I wanted to be [/socially_awkward:true]

So while anyone who was anyone was outside dancing to Poker Face, I was in the shitty dining hall...hooray for substandard food and the smell of bleach everywhere.

Okay, so the food isn't really that bad, but when you're born and bred of 18 solid years of your mum's cooking, 4 semesters with college food is bound to change your taste buds a little bit. I have eaten things that I didn't even know existed (delicious Seafood Newburg for the win) and I have eaten things that I'm sure could have eaten me back once upon a time (I think it was a burrito, but one can never be too sure...)

Today since it was basically dead I settled for a home favorite: hard boiled egg sandwich with mayo (like an egg salad sandwich basically, minus anything that makes it seasoned or salad like).

It was only when I looked around that I realized the dining hall was full with other people who were basically stereotypically in the same circle as me. Let's face it, I hate to label nerds, but we all know (especially nerds, geeks, and dorks) when we see one of our own kind.

There was maybe 10 of us (in an establishment that seats several hundred) and everybody I looked at had some of the more iconic geek traits.

We all know what these means:
glasses.
video game consoles.
books.
braces.
strange food choices.
graphic/themed t-shirts that amplify the nerdiness.

Even I was an offender today with my weird egg on wheat sandwich (I thought it was tasty, but was poorly crafted and looked stepped on), I had on my glasses, my hearing aids were on blast, I was toggling between my phone and my PSP, and I was mopping food particles of my copy of Paper Towns, while wearing an officially licensed Harry Potter Chudley Cannons shirt.

And it was in that moment that I just smiled and kept reading.

I love being a nerd/geek/dork, and I love being around them because they are unintrusive to personal space.

Unless we are counting glompage...and then yes... gnorks love to glomp because we just can't hug, we must politely body rape you with the equivalent of an "XD" face on.

also being a gnork allows me to enjoy this stuff... which I will share with you now.







Nerdiness for the win

Disclaimer though: these churches are not really places, no worries-- your children will not be raped at church (with at least 70% certainty)...

and that ladies and gents is why I'm going to hell =P