Today I did three things.
1. Pay for Chinese food in quarters -
So, I woke up around 11 this morning and went back and forth in my mind for about an hour about whether I wanted to drive to a dining hall or order in. My lazy side took over and I decided to order from the only place that delivers orders under 10 bucks; the local Chinese place (Too lazy to drive. I know. Pathetic.). Over the years, I've ordered so much from this place that the lady who takes the orders over the phone knows me by my voice and the delivery guy and I share a special bond that could only exist between an overworked delivery man in his forties and a low tipping college student. Knowing our relationship isn't exactly "peachy," I decided before he came that I'd tip him more than average (because I'm such a nice guy). Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang, and sure enough, there he stood with my General Tso's lunch special and spring roll in hand (I like to play it safe.) He even smiled and asked me how my summer was. We made small talk until I reached for my wallet to pay him. At this point I was envisioning in my head the smile on his face as I'd pull out a ten and tell him to "keep the change" (all cool, like they do in the movies). What I didn't expect was to pull out my wallet and only see 3 dollars. I mentally kicked myself for not checking if I had enough cash before I called and suffered a minor panic attack until I remembered where I could find more cash. My laundry fund. (Lucky for me, getting quarters for laundry was #1 on my back to school to-do list). So, I scampered back into my room and grabbed a fistful of quarters. Ten seconds later, I ran out victorious, pockets jingling, and dumped 5 dollars worth of quarters into his unwilling hands. Needless to say, he didn't even want my tip. He just mumbled, "It's ok," and walked back up the steps to his car. :(
Now I can see why people stereotype college kids as bad restaurant patrons. It sucks that I added to that stereotype. My deepest apologies to all my college friends. I did not represent you well today.
The next time I order from there (if I have the balls to) I fully expect my special friend to either 1. spit in my food (which he is so entitled to do) or 2. put me on the "do not deliver to" blacklist. Maybe God is telling me to stop eating unhealthy food.
2. Yoga. Not even kidding.
Two hours passed. After letting my stomach and shamed conscience digest what had just happened, I convinced myself to do something healthy. (A little background knowledge. I, along with what seems like every other male at NCFC, have faithfully been doing the famed p90x workouts). With renewed energy, I excitedly grabbed the workout manual to see what gut busting, manly workout was on the schedule for today. Imagining sweat rolling down my glistening biceps as I'd grimace at the mirror, I did a double take when I saw what could only be a typo; "Day 4 - Yoga X."
"Yoga X? Get that crap out of my face. I'm no girl. What will the roommates think?"
In the past, when I'd thought of yoga, this is the lady that popped into my head. Manly indeed.
I don't know what did it, but I decided to swallow my pride and get on with the workout (along with my good sport roommate, Jeremy). Resigned to my fate, I reluctantly popped in the DVD and immediately cringed at the sound of the soothing, quasi-oriental music that wafted from my television speakers. This was going to be a long hour and a half.
Well, suffice it to say, I was wrong. About everything. Yoga is HARD. Holy crap, I don't think I've ever sweat that much in my life. No joke. Mad respect for Wai Lani and all her fellow Yogis. The things they can do with their bodies is crazy. And a little disturbing. I never knew I was so inflexible. I was struggling halfway into the second move and was dying by the end. If you ever want to hear me squeal like a little girl, watch me do yoga.
3. Wrote this blog entry.
Full day. Got a lot done. Proud of myself.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Haircuts
I hate getting haircuts.
Its not that the actual process of having clippers buzz around your head for 20 minutes is so unbearable. I think it has more to do with my inability to properly convey to the barber the way I think my hair should look. I feel like every time I walk into a barbershop, everyone starts speaking in some code language just to spite me. All this talk of "fades" and "tapers" and "layering" goes straight over my head. My two most descriptive words when describing my desired cut are "short" and "long."
"Cut it short in the back and sides. Not too short though. A little longer on top."
Then I usually mutter something about scissors and pray the barber knows what he's doing. Needless to say, I've had some pretty awful haircuts in my life; everything from a modified high and tight to almost a buzz cut. I'm thinking one day, I'll walk in there and just yell, "Shave it off!" (Funny story. When I went to get a cut on Monday, an Indian guy with a baseball cap walked in and showed the barber the spot on his head where his drunk friends decided one night while he was passed out that he had a little too much hair. He had a beautiful head of hair, except the 2x2 inch box right above his forehead that had been shaven off. I think he ended up shaving his entire head.)
Not cutting it isn't an option either. Some guys look good shaggy. Others (namely me) start to look like a grizzly bear. When my hair grows, it grows in one direction only: straight out. After about 3 weeks, it starts to resemble the offspring of a porcupine and a chia pet.
Maybe I should look into hats.
Its not that the actual process of having clippers buzz around your head for 20 minutes is so unbearable. I think it has more to do with my inability to properly convey to the barber the way I think my hair should look. I feel like every time I walk into a barbershop, everyone starts speaking in some code language just to spite me. All this talk of "fades" and "tapers" and "layering" goes straight over my head. My two most descriptive words when describing my desired cut are "short" and "long."
"Cut it short in the back and sides. Not too short though. A little longer on top."
Then I usually mutter something about scissors and pray the barber knows what he's doing. Needless to say, I've had some pretty awful haircuts in my life; everything from a modified high and tight to almost a buzz cut. I'm thinking one day, I'll walk in there and just yell, "Shave it off!" (Funny story. When I went to get a cut on Monday, an Indian guy with a baseball cap walked in and showed the barber the spot on his head where his drunk friends decided one night while he was passed out that he had a little too much hair. He had a beautiful head of hair, except the 2x2 inch box right above his forehead that had been shaven off. I think he ended up shaving his entire head.)
Not cutting it isn't an option either. Some guys look good shaggy. Others (namely me) start to look like a grizzly bear. When my hair grows, it grows in one direction only: straight out. After about 3 weeks, it starts to resemble the offspring of a porcupine and a chia pet.
Maybe I should look into hats.
New blog/thoughts
Welcome to my new blog. Lets get started.
People keep asking me what it feels like to be in my last semester of school. I usually respond with, "It feels good," or, "I'm excited," and quickly try to change the subject. I guess this is because I don't really know how I feel. I'm a fourth year econ major with no interest in being an economist. How would you feel? Like you wasted your time and parents' money? Same. Sure, I know I'll probably find work after school ends, in an entry level position that most people would be content with, but I have bigger dreams; dreams that some would call unrealistic.
About a year ago, I got this crazy idea that I should be doing something related to music for a living. Sure, I had given up hopes of being an international drumming sensation a while before, but I convinced myself to keep my options open and look into what other opportunities were available. I remembered a short conversation I had with my percussion instructor from high school where he said something along the lines of, "99 percent of the people involved in the music industry never step on a stage." Being a laid back/not in the spotlight kind of guy, I guess I took it to heart and started to look into opportunities to learn about music production. My first step was to take a class offered at UVa called "Intro to Music and Computers" which was basically a crash course in music production. I figured, if I liked the class enough, it could be a sign. Well, needless to say, the teacher sucked, there was little hands on time (in a very hands on subject), and the class just wasn't as great as I had hoped it would be.
Despite all that, I fell in love.
Something about the subject drew me in to the point where I found myself arriving to class early and even looking forward to the (sometimes terrible) lectures. There were times when I caught myself reading the text book in my spare time (who does that?). Needless to say, I was convinced that I had found my calling. Now it was just up to me to 1) find the next step and 2) convince the parents that it was the right step. I googled "recording studios in the washington dc area" and found one hit in particular that looked especially promising; a studio in Rockville that offered classes in recording techniques and music production. This was it. I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I was gonna graduate from UVa as soon as possible with whatever degree they would give me, and enroll in this school to pursue my true calling. The problem that was my future was solved.
Not so fast.
A conversation with my parents quickly brought me back from my cloud 9 to the soggy ground that is reality.
"Who's gonna pay for it?"
"Do you know how much these people make?"
"It looks like you're graduating from a 4 year university to enroll in a technical school."
"How are you going to provide for a family, not to mention yourself?"
(this last one was a killer)
I don't want it to sound like my parents are cold-hearted dream killers who wish nothing more than to see their son crushed by the weight of his own delusions of grandeur, but they do have a more "practical" outlook on life (to put it subtly). In my rush to find a suitable profession for myself, I realized that I had overlooked everyone else in my life. My family is very important to me and I know someday I'll have to provide for my own. I reluctantly looked at a list of average entry level salaries for people who graduated from this program and was pretty bummed to see that I could make more doing almost anything else. I'm not talking pennies more either. These salaries were looooooww...In that light, an econ degree from UVa (or any school for that matter) doesn't look so bad. Not to mention, if I decide to enroll, I'll be paying for the school myself. 20k for 9 months. That's on top of the student loans I need to pay back once I graduate.
What am I trying to say? I'm saying I'm scared. And frustrated. Why couldn't my "calling" have been something like medicine or law? At least you're guaranteed some level of comfort after the 8 or so years of hell you go through. With this music school, I could very well be wasting my time and not see a dime of return for the tons of money I could spend. Do I really even know what I'm getting myself into?
Anyway, I'm not asking for advice or pity. This is by every definition of the word, a rant. I feel better already.
I promise not all my posts will be this emo or long. Just needed to get this off my chest.
love all you guys
People keep asking me what it feels like to be in my last semester of school. I usually respond with, "It feels good," or, "I'm excited," and quickly try to change the subject. I guess this is because I don't really know how I feel. I'm a fourth year econ major with no interest in being an economist. How would you feel? Like you wasted your time and parents' money? Same. Sure, I know I'll probably find work after school ends, in an entry level position that most people would be content with, but I have bigger dreams; dreams that some would call unrealistic.
About a year ago, I got this crazy idea that I should be doing something related to music for a living. Sure, I had given up hopes of being an international drumming sensation a while before, but I convinced myself to keep my options open and look into what other opportunities were available. I remembered a short conversation I had with my percussion instructor from high school where he said something along the lines of, "99 percent of the people involved in the music industry never step on a stage." Being a laid back/not in the spotlight kind of guy, I guess I took it to heart and started to look into opportunities to learn about music production. My first step was to take a class offered at UVa called "Intro to Music and Computers" which was basically a crash course in music production. I figured, if I liked the class enough, it could be a sign. Well, needless to say, the teacher sucked, there was little hands on time (in a very hands on subject), and the class just wasn't as great as I had hoped it would be.
Despite all that, I fell in love.
Something about the subject drew me in to the point where I found myself arriving to class early and even looking forward to the (sometimes terrible) lectures. There were times when I caught myself reading the text book in my spare time (who does that?). Needless to say, I was convinced that I had found my calling. Now it was just up to me to 1) find the next step and 2) convince the parents that it was the right step. I googled "recording studios in the washington dc area" and found one hit in particular that looked especially promising; a studio in Rockville that offered classes in recording techniques and music production. This was it. I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I was gonna graduate from UVa as soon as possible with whatever degree they would give me, and enroll in this school to pursue my true calling. The problem that was my future was solved.
Not so fast.
A conversation with my parents quickly brought me back from my cloud 9 to the soggy ground that is reality.
"Who's gonna pay for it?"
"Do you know how much these people make?"
"It looks like you're graduating from a 4 year university to enroll in a technical school."
"How are you going to provide for a family, not to mention yourself?"
(this last one was a killer)
I don't want it to sound like my parents are cold-hearted dream killers who wish nothing more than to see their son crushed by the weight of his own delusions of grandeur, but they do have a more "practical" outlook on life (to put it subtly). In my rush to find a suitable profession for myself, I realized that I had overlooked everyone else in my life. My family is very important to me and I know someday I'll have to provide for my own. I reluctantly looked at a list of average entry level salaries for people who graduated from this program and was pretty bummed to see that I could make more doing almost anything else. I'm not talking pennies more either. These salaries were looooooww...In that light, an econ degree from UVa (or any school for that matter) doesn't look so bad. Not to mention, if I decide to enroll, I'll be paying for the school myself. 20k for 9 months. That's on top of the student loans I need to pay back once I graduate.
What am I trying to say? I'm saying I'm scared. And frustrated. Why couldn't my "calling" have been something like medicine or law? At least you're guaranteed some level of comfort after the 8 or so years of hell you go through. With this music school, I could very well be wasting my time and not see a dime of return for the tons of money I could spend. Do I really even know what I'm getting myself into?
Anyway, I'm not asking for advice or pity. This is by every definition of the word, a rant. I feel better already.
I promise not all my posts will be this emo or long. Just needed to get this off my chest.
love all you guys
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