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.