Sleepy Time

Napping is both my best friend and my worst enemy. After school, I run upstairs, dive onto the couch, and watch some TV. This is usually the wrong decision.

Slowly, I begin succumbing to the forces of sleepiness. And before I know it, I catch myself as I am about to drift away. This process repeats a few times until eventually I lose the battle.

From a short-term standpoint, napping is great. I get a burst of energy and I no longer feel groggy. Long-run though, it's bad. Napping catches me up on too much sleep; I stay up extremely late as a result. It's seemingly impossible for me to fall asleep at a regular time after taking a nap, because my body is thrown off.

So, if you're willing to handle the repercussions of napping in order to achieve the short term benefits, go right ahead.

Social Media Down the Road

Sometimes, I look through my pictures on Facebook and surprise myself, as I see pictures of me from years ago and think, "was that really me?"  Bear in mind these pictures are from 2006 at the earliest, which truly isn't that large of a time period. But still, it's amazing to see how I've changed over this small period of time.

I remember my mother showing me pictures from when she was a child, which was a much greater expanse of time. The photos were black and white, faded, and clearly tattered. And now I sit here today, thinking about how this will never be an issue for our generation. If Facebook, YouTube, and other social media websites stick around, we will be able to see our images in 2040 that we took in 2010. Looking at the long run of things, these websites are remarkable. The pictures will be in color; the pictures will have adequate quality (although we'll have to see what pictures look like in 2040 to really judge this); and they will even have age-old comments that your friends posted on them.

Imagine showing your own child a video that you took 50 years ago. They can see what it was like to be a teenager in this era and also see how similar they are to their parent. Social media is like a massive digital photo album.

So, even though you might notice differences in your appearance over a span of just five years, this will pale in comparison to seeing yourself after half a century. Hopefully I will remember this blog someday and read it while I'm laying in a nursing home, poking people on Facebook.

The Eth(no)graphy

Some people might think that the ethnography which we are writing is pointless, hence the title of the entry. However, I am looking forward to mapping it out and testing my creative abilities.

Telling a story (especially a true story) can be difficult to successfully pull off. It's important to not leave out important details, but also to not add too many ideas that never even happened. For me, it will be interesting to try and balance these two forces. It's my goal to approach this essay similarly to how I wrote the trend essay; I will slowly chip away at it day by day, and continue to tell myself that if I start now, all I have to do is write around two pages a day.

Overall, I want to adequately represent my group and describe them in ways others never imagined. Hopefully I can pull it off.

No One is Safe (PSA)

It's that time of year again; Halloween is nearing and spooky commercials are everywhere. However, this is the least of my concerns. I can simply change the channel when a frightening commercial comes on.

But it's a whole new game when it comes to social media. The dreaded "screamer" videos are beginning to make their annual presence. Now, I'm a seasoned veteran when it comes to these videos. I have a keen sense and can detect if a video seems fishy. For instance, if the camera slowly zooms in on a stationary object, it is a massive red flag that one may soon be scared to death from a "screamer."

This can almost never be prevented, however, if one uses the application known as Vine. Since videos play automatically when you scroll over them, it is impossible to escape. The videos are only six seconds long, which means that whatever scary tactic might be in the Vine video will be used imminently. It's best to prepare for the worst and expect an extremely loud screaming noise. I'm ashamed to admit that I have been caught off guard on Vine already this week, so take this blog post as a PSA--I'm here to protect the greater good of others.

Personally, I'm going to avoid Vine until Halloween is over. I recommend others to do the same. If you don't take heed of my advice, you will be scared.

Don't be that person.

Heresy!

An age-old formula has been changed forever. 

This past summer, I had a sudden urge to consume some rather unhealthy sweets. I drove out to the nearest gas station, went to the candy aisle, and scanned up and down. After five minutes of soul-searching, I finally found what looked appealing to me: Skittles. 

But I was taken aback. 

Why was I taken aback? Well, you will soon be as well once you read what I'm about to write. The wrapper read: "NEW FLAVOR! Green Apple". They... they got rid of lemon? One of the original flavors? I whimpered to myself.

What made this worse is the wrapper still said it contained all of the "original" flavors. No. This is no longer original. This is heresy in the candy industry. How could they change such a harmonious selection of flavors? No longer can I take a handful of random Skittles and expect it to taste magical. Instead, I taste the green apple monstrosity--the ugly duckling. 

Luckily, I still have a few mini-packs of the truly original flavors in the pantry at my house, leftover from past Halloweens. Now, they might be slightly old, but that is a minor consolation compared to the disgrace that is green apple.

I'm an old school kid, fair and square. I'm open to change quite often, but this is a step too far. Skittles, do the world a favor and bring back the lemon flavor. Restore the original five to their supreme prowess. Until then, I will continue to chip away at my small Skittle packs, which are beginning to dwindle. I will save one of these packs, as it may someday be an ancient Skittles artifact--the last pack with the original five. 

Skittles, do what's right. Banish green apple from the fabric of existence. The world is waiting. Trust me, we are waiting.

Hour 2

The life of a cat. It must be so easy. No stress, no bills to pay, no deadlines to meet, nothing. Better yet, cats get to sleep the whole day away. And they don't feel guilty about it. They continue on with their day, head held high, only to find a new couch to fall asleep on once more.

But I've noticed something about cats: they're nocturnal. While I'm busy dreaming about villainous reanimated cars kidnapping my sister and me, my cats are prancing about the house and making sure to be as loud as possible. Often times, they'll make such a commotion that I think someone else is in the house. Imagine waking up at one in the morning to hear footsteps racing to your door. Every time this happens, I know it's the cats. But, when I go to check the hallway, I always feel the need to grab a weapon for the off chance that it is a serial killer. Because you know, serial killers are by far the biggest thing to be afraid of in this world at 1:00 AM. I digress.

I look into the hallway, only to see one of my distressed cats--its eyes glowing at me. And then, it disappears back into the darkness of the house. The nocturnal cat lives on, I think to myself.

I go back to my room and turn the lights off.

Boy, it's going to suck when it really is a serial killer some day.

Hour 1

The car bustled down the endless highway with two innocent passengers: my sister and me. Our father watched from outside, his body overcome with fear. The animated vehicle continued forward, pressing on, without a driver. A sinister grin stretched across the front of the vehicle, and it had one intention: to drive as far away as possible. I looked back to see my father. He had fallen to his knees, tears streaming down his dumbstruck face.

As the hellish journey continued, my sister and I quickly realized the danger we were in. However, there was no escape--the doors were locked; the windows were sealed. We became content with our ultimate fate, and we started to brace for the worst. And then suddenly, an inkling came over me.

I moved to the front seat of the vehicle. The grim animation swerved to the right and then to the left, in an attempt to unbalance me. But I was determined. I jumped into the driver's seat, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed my foot down with as much power as possible. The car tried to resist, but it could not overcome the force. Smoke shot out, and rubber burned in the air. The vehicle slowed, trying with all its might to propel us forward--until finally, the tires stopped turning.

I relaxed my arms around the wheel and let out a sigh of relief.

I gradually opened my eyes. Above me, I gazed into a dark surface with glowing stars floating throughout it.

Where am I?

I looked to my right. The clock read: 12:01 AM.

I rolled over and snatched my pillow. Drowsiness consumed me, and I drifted back into the dreamscape once more.

Changing Viewpoint

Over the break, I went on a tour to St. Thomas. While I was there, I quickly realized how high quality the campus was. The interiors of the buildings were modern and sleek, and it was fairly obvious why the college had such a large tuition: it nearly pampers its students.

I wanted to go to St. Thomas, but the tuition was always in the back of my mind. How much debt would I be in once I graduate?

Luckily, my decision was made much, much easier. Yesterday, I learned that I was accepted into the University of Minnesota's College of Science and Engineering. I could now pay less for tuition and also receive a more prestigious education. Albeit I would be in a larger campus, I would be willing to sacrifice some of my college experience for a higher education.

Although I'm not completely set on going to the University of Minnesota, it has given me a new perspective on St. Thomas. I believe, overall, that I will be better off by going to the U.

Acceptance

Last Friday, as I pulled into my driveway after school, I thought I would be a good son and bring the garbage bin up from the curb. While walking down my driveway, I looked over to the mailbox. And then I realized: My response from St. Thomas might finally be here! 

I briskly walked over and opened the mailbox. Sure enough, a purple package was found inside. I went back inside (forgetting to bring the garbage bin), grabbed a pair of scissors, and opened the package. Inside, a neatly folded purple shirt rested and there was a letter on top of it. I opened the letter and read that I had been accepted to the University of St. Thomas.

This moment really took the pressure off for the rest of the year. I now know that if my other college applications fall through, I will at least be going to college for sure.

And now, I wait. Hopefully these college acceptance letters will be a common theme over the course of the next few months.

The Pain

If you've never attended a metal concert, you haven't lived. Well, I wouldn't go that far. You're probably actually better off by not going to one (from a health standpoint).

Well, on Friday night I went to a hectic metal concert with a few of my friends. Of course, due to our ambition, we made sure to be at the very front of the crowd, right on the barrier that holds everyone back.

Once the show started, we were feeling pretty comfortable. We enjoyed the opening bands, but at the same time, we knew of the epic storm that was about to come: the headlining band. For the whole show, we prepared our bodies to be put to the test for a two hour long battle once the headliner began to play.

Finally. The band we had been waiting for. The headliner: Between the Buried and Me (it's an interesting name, I know). The show started off calm as an acoustic intro was underway, but three minutes later, we found ourselves battling to maintain our position at the front lines.

Once the mosh pit behind us opened up, everyone in the front got even more squeezed forward, and I found myself with little-to-no elbow room. Now, imagine being in this position for another two hours. That was me. Along with many other people.

You might be asking, "why would you go to the front of a show if you're just going to be squished the entire time?" Well, I asked myself that a few times as well. But I can assure you, it was well worth it. We got to be up close and personal with the band, and we had the best view in the house.

Besides the fact that I'm still sore two days later, I'm glad I went. The show was phenomenal and I learned that I need to get a bit more muscle if I want to compete at these shows better.

Or maybe I should just start going to pop concerts. Maybe then I'd fit in.

Throwing UFOs Into Metal-Chained Structures

Today, I went disc golfing for the first time. Accompanying me on this trip were two disc golfing veterans--John and Ben, guitarists in my band. I knew I was in for a butt-whooping, but I still tried to go into the round with a positive mindset.

Surprisingly enough, my drive on the first hole wasn't that bad. It curved to the left slightly, but all in all, it went pretty far and set me up with a good angle. I didn't convert my putt of course, but at least I knew I could somewhat compete with the guys.

After a few troubling holes, I finally managed to get a birdie, thus beating my adversaries (for the time being). But it was a short-lived feeling of success. On the next hole, I completely butchered my drive and tossed the frisbee into the trees. Momentum. Killer.

As the sun began to set, we arrived at the final twelfth hole (which surprised me, because I thought there were eighteen holes, similar to golf). John was ahead of me by two strokes and Ben was ahead of me by one stroke. I still had a chance, to my amazement.

I had an excellent drive. Right down the fairway and at a perfect angle. John, however, pushed his drive to the left and found himself in the deep woods. Finally, I had an opening.

But then, Ben capitalized on his drive. He out-drove me and had an even better angle. John, on the other hand, continued to struggle, finding it increasingly difficult to escape the confines of the woods. Eventually, he did get out of the jungle, but at a very costly price--he gave up valuable strokes. Ben had a putt to win the round, thus coming back from a one stroke deficit.

However, Ben missed his putt. That meant I had a chance to make my putt to have an all-around tie. I just barely missed it. I was fairly heart broken.

John had a little bit of clean up left to do--he had to make a ten foot putt to claim victory over Ben and I. But he unexpectedly missed it. Ben took advantage, made his putt, and won the round.

Although I didn't win, I was surprised I was somewhat competent at disc golf. Albeit I didn't know any of the disc golf jargon they used in conversation with each other, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Soon, I will be buying my own beginner's set of discs and will someday be showing them who's boss.

Time to Blog

I was in Germany over the summer with my two friends, and it was a life-changing experience. However, over the course of the trip, we were torn. We had no clue what to get for souvenirs. We didn't want to carry a ton of novelty items, but we also didn't want to return home empty-handed.

And then suddenly, a light bulb went off in our minds. It was time to get classy.

What's the main souvenir we ended up getting, you ask? Watches. Beautiful, shiny, silver watches. I went into the watch store, spoke the best German I could, tried on a few watches, and then bought one. I felt pretty successful; I didn't break my German disguise once (which isn't to say I understood everything the sales associate was saying to me).

I wear this watch every day of my life now. It's a bit scratched up after being used so much, but I think it adds character to the watch. It has proven to be the best souvenir I could have gotten--it will last for many, many years, and I will always be able to remember how good of a "time" I had in Germany (pun intended).

Keep the Balls Rollin'

Last year, my friend Dustin Wahlquist asked me for help. He wanted me to help him coordinate the first ever walk for testicular cancer. I didn't take him very seriously, so I obliged and said "why not."

I'm not sure if I knew what I was getting myself into.

To my amazement, we actually started to coordinate many things. We had a designer working on a logo, we had silent auctions at local restaurants to raise money, and we picked out a venue for the day of the walk. But, to orchestrate such an ambitious walk as high school students, there were many bumps in the road. Our biggest bump in the road was the upfront costs required to get the walk off of the ground and moving. Dustin managed to find the funds, while I worked on the tech-side of things, such as setting up a webpage to sign up for the walk and also handling social media pages.

After a few dates being pushed back and plenty of rescheduling, we finally have a finalized date for the walk: October 26th. We're extremely proud of the work we have put into this idea that started half a year ago, and we hope people will come enjoy the first walk ever for testicular cancer.

I learned a great deal about helping out the community by setting this up with Dustin. It was a humbling experience.

I'll share more information about this walk in a future blog post.

Keep the balls rollin'!

Showdown

Dogs and cats. A battle that has lasted for all of time. Which one is truly better?

Today, I am here with that answer.

To get it out of the way, I believe dogs are the victor. This statement is backed by sound evidence.

I, along with many others, watch the "soldier returning from home" videos and tear up almost every time. Why? Because a dog that has been heartbroken for "x" amount of years finally is able to see its owner after he/she returns from deployment. Do you see cats having this same reaction? Dogs in these videos seem to almost cry when they get to their owners, and it shows their authentic connection with the owner. Once again, a cat most likely would feel none of this. I wouldn't be surprised if a cat didn't even notice the presence of its owner being back.

As a result of these touching videos where dogs reunite with their owners, I sometimes let out some manly tears. But that greatly exemplifies the fact that dogs are better in every way than cats--I am able to feel emotionally attached to these owners and their dogs. 

I'm sure my list could go on and on about why dogs are better than cats, but this example proves my point to the greatest extent. Hopefully my mother never reads this (or my two cats), but just know that as I write this, my cocker spaniel puppy is sleeping across the room from me, twitching his legs as he runs around somewhere in his dreamland. 

On the other hand, my two cats are giving him a death glare.

What gives?

Get Your Sleep, Kids

I love this song, I thought to myself. I began to hum the melody, but for some reason, something didn't feel right. Why was I enjoying a country radio song? Why was I humming its melody (after all, I never hum to anything)?

And then I realized: it was my alarm. Once again, I slept through my alarm because I was entranced in whatever song was playing, and I didn't even realize that it was playing for the sole purpose to wake me up. This happens nearly every morning, sadly. However, this morning was different than usual. I looked over to the clock and noticed that it was 7:27 AM. My mom came into my room and said, "What happened? I thought I woke you up an hour ago! There's no way you're going to make it to school on time."

Challenge accepted.

My mother gave me a note for when I got to school, but I was hoping I wouldn't have to use it. I had never been late to school in my life, and it wasn't going to happen on this day.

I will admit--I didn't shower. I put on some deodorant, sprayed some cologne, threw on a random sweatshirt, grabbed my lunch and backpack, and went out the door to my car. I looked at the time and felt defeated as I read "7:33 AM." But, I still tried to make it on time. It normally takes me around nine or ten minutes to get there, so maybe it was possible.

I backed out of the driveway, slightly sped over the speed limit, and came to my first stoplight--which miraculously turned green. I drove down West River Road, being mindful of how much over the speed limit I was going (because I normally don't speed at all), and came up to the next turn. Once again, there were almost no cars delaying me from turning. As the school came into view, the clock turned to 7:38 AM. It just might be possible, I thought.

Into the parking lot I went, only to realize that nearly all of the close parking lots were filled. I took the best available spot and flew my car into it. I opened the door, grabbed my backpack, and started to desperately jog to the school (at this point, I wondered how stupid I appeared to others, as they were casually walking to their class).

The pre-bell music was playing, so I knew I stood a chance. I sprinted up the stairs, turned the corner, and found my class room waiting for me at the end of the hall. I slid into the room with twenty seconds to spare.

I felt fairly successful to make it on time. Until I looked down and witnessed, in defeat, that my sweatshirt was inside-out.

It's just going to be one of those days.

(Slightly) Insane

Feet tapping, fingers twitching, constant motion--might sound like someone in an asylum, right? But no, this is a description of me on a daily basis. Ever since I became a drummer, my life has been consumed by rhythms and it is seemingly impossible to get rid of them (not that I'm complaining). People always nag me to stop "tapping," but they don't seem to understand how much of an addiction it is to me. The luxury of being a drummer is that I can practice whenever I like; I don't ever need a drum set to practice rhythms.

I have become more aware of my addiction over the years though. I used to tap nonstop with pencils in middle school, and I understand why that may have annoyed some people. So, I use proper discretion when I decide to tap now. Also, my annoying tapping has gotten more controlled and quiet over the years, so it isn't as big of a nuisance anymore. I have become a master at stealth tapping.

When you see me in English from now on tapping away, just know that I am trying to curb my addiction. It's a long and difficult process, but I'm getting better. Maybe I need an intervention. We'll just have to wait and see.

"That's Devil Music!"

I have an assortment of "pet peeves," just like mostly everyone. But of all my pet peeves, the largest of them all is when people call heavy music (also known as "metal") devil music.

I believe this statement is the epitome of ignorance, to be honest. I've always been into rock music, but over the last five or six years, my love for metal music has grown greatly. Nearly all of my drumming idols are metal musicians. This is mainly because this genre of music requires such a technical quality of drumming that most genres don't necessarily require.

In my mind, metal requires a great deal of musicianship to be able to play correctly. I know many people are turned off by the "screamo" vocals (in fact, screamo was actually a punk movement in the nineties and it really has nothing to do with metal music). Most people can't get past this stage. They don't attempt to understand why the vocalist is screaming. To me, I believe the screaming adds emphasis to the lyrics. Once my palette got used to harsh vocals, I began to understand the raw emotion they project. Also, the lyrics, especially in progressive metal, are mainly incredibly thought provoking and unique. Of course it might be hard to hear the vocalist enunciate every word, but that's why the internet exists: to be able to look up lyrics and follow along.

Now, I will admit. There are sub-genres in the metal scene that do have satanic themes. But it's such a small portion of the "metal pie." And yes, believe it or not, that kind of music does turn me off as a listener. Keep in mind that just because someone listens to metal does not mean they like every single archetype of the genre. It's a bit aggravating, however, when others over-generalize metal to be a demonic genre. The vast majority of the time, it isn't whatsoever.

Lastly, I find it ironic when people who listen to mainstream rap or other similar genres make these stark statements towards metal music. The lyrics in those genres appear to be extremely explicit in most cases, yet hardly anyone calls those listeners devil worshipers. Not to mention, it is a much more publicized genre, meaning it is influencing a much larger audience in a negative way. But yes, I must be careful making these accusations, because I am biased towards that style of music, since I am predominantly a metal listener. I am also aware that there is a powerful underground rap/hip-hop scene that does in fact go against the sometimes immature mainstream rap culture, and I appreciate that. The ignorance just seems to be a bit absurd at times, going both ways.

Once again, it is greatly important to get past one's preconceptions. Ignorance and preconceptions come hand in hand, and once one is able to come to grips with that fact, everyone's life is made much easier.

So hey, if you're feeling risky, turn off what you're listening to and give a genre a try that you have always had a negative preconception of. You might be surprised.

And I will be leaving on this note--lyrics from one of my favorite progressive metal bands.
"Life is ruthless and shot full of pain,
Lifts you up, leaves you out in the rain, and it hurts just to know that you're not coming back again.
I will miss you my friend.
Memories like a slug to the brain, paint the walls with a love that will stain the darkest of nights.

Left to journey alone, but I can find my way back home."

A Change in Perspective

After school today, I went out to a restaurant in Brooklyn Center named Slims. I went with my good friend Dustin, and we had a great time. I ordered chicken tenders, while Dustin went out on a limb and ordered a gyro. Once we finished up, Dustin told me he had to get back to class at 5:00 PM, since he's a PSEO student. I looked at my watch and saw we were about thirty minutes early, so I asked if he could show me around his college (North Hennepin Community College).

We drove over to the college in about fifteen minutes, parked the car, and walked to the campus. Once I was on the campus, I was completely surprised. I thought, because it was a community college, that it would be a run-down, low quality school. This preconception came from past experience, as I always had heard that community colleges had less-than-stellar reputations.

As we walked into one of the buildings, I was surprised again to witness what seemed to be a regular college atmosphere. After being at the University of Minnesota a few weeks ago, the two colleges really didn't seem much different: most of the college students appeared to be antisocial; people minded their own business; and there was an underlying feeling of "I really don't want to be here" from most of the students. Also, the interior of the college was neatly maintained and taken care of.

These observations, along with many other observations that went against my preconceptions of community colleges, were greatly enlightening. To be honest, I thought students that were a part of PSEO were taking the easy way out, but maybe that is no longer the case in my mind.

Just like the ethnographies we will be writing for class, it is important to take note of one's preconceptions and observe how they change over time.

I, for one, will never view community colleges the same after today.