Lose the Cynicism and Grow Up

           Thus far in my blogging career, I have acted as an adolescent. Actually, some would argue that I have blogged like an immature pre-teen. You know, that super awkward age where you think everything you say will make people laugh, you always want to act rather absurdly, and you question and debate everything? Anyway, I want this post to serve as something along the lines of my "Blogger Life puberty." I want to grow up, mature, become a man, and lose the childish absurdity and cynicism. I have grown tired of my incessant skepticism of what others say. I have grown tired of attempting to infuse ridiculous humor into every English assignment even though nearly all prohibit such a goal. Finally, I have grown tired of acting immaturely and outrageously in the classroom. I will attend the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill in the fall of 2013 as a born and bred Tar Heel. I have never found as much excitement in anything as I have in this. I will major in Computer Science and Engineering at UNC with a minor in Finance. The rigorous path I chose to put in my path will force me to hunker down and study frequently, so the University does not regret their offer of admission and toss me out as soon as I get there. However, although I have become accustomed to acting like an idiot in the majority of my classes, I am ready and willing to make this necessary change to a dedicated and enthusiastic student. I will do whatever it takes to dominate my classes at UNC and build a strong foundation of knowledge during my first year. College will give me a fresh start, a new identity. The opportunity to build a new reputation sits directly in front of me, and I simply must take it head on. Undoubtedly I will face challenges on this quest to form a better Adam Shoemaker, but I must conquer them so my peers view me as a leader in the class and try to emulate my work ethic. I do not want them to regard me as "dead weight" or  an unnecessary part of a research team, but rather I want them to regard me as the leader and the hardest worker. I will achieve this image by casting away my sarcastic, skeptical, lazy, and nonchalant attitude and develop one of intensity, enthusiasm, and open-mindedness. Currently, my opinion in group projects stands as follows, "the only way is my way." Bradley knows that better than anyone, but I want to change that aspect about myself and become an open-minded person that considers all opinions and suggestions. Perhaps, I will even become a liberal. All in all however, I want to abandon my immature attitude in the classroom, and crave that my peers look to me as an academic leader.

Come on, Girl

Dear Damsel in Distress, 

           I have never found myself in your situation, ironically however, I do have several tidbits of advice to give you if you so desire. Although before that, permit me to share a few things about myself. First, I wear the pants. Period. My man better do what I tell him, WHEN I tell him or he ain't worth keeping around. Second, I graduated from Oxford. You know, THE Oxford. Enough said. Finally third, my motto: A strong woman does not need a man. Therefore, I actually found myself rather disgusted when I read your letter, "My boyfriend wants to break up but I do not...?" You serious? All women are good women. All women deserve the right man and if yours wants to break up, then CLEARLY it will not work out in the long run. Why do you even want to hang around a guy that does not want you anymore? I mean, for God's sake girl, get back to the gym, work your abs and booty, and go meet another guy! Whenever I hear someone say, "you can only find one Mr. Right!" I want to throw up. Infinite "Mr. Rights" walk around all day everyday! I probably met six Mr. Rights at the grocery store yesterday! Damsel, this guy does not want you anymore. Deal with it yet, preserve your dignity and end it first. Make Mr. Wrong get on his knees and beg for YOU back once he realizes what a mistake he made, rather than the other way around. I know you feel like a loser now, but I promise you can do better than this chump! If he does not want to kick it with a girl like you, then he most likely is into guys. Guaranteed. Therefore, I think you should go home tonight and tell that guy to beat it for being such an ignorant jerk in the time you two dated and make him come crawling back if you two ever find yourselves ready to try it again. Basically what I have tried to orate derives from the All-American Rejects and the greatest song in history. 

Move along, move along like I know ya do

And even when your hope is gone
Move along, move along just to make it through
Move along.

Define: Extraordinary

Who knows what makes someone extraordinary? In today's society, we throw around the word so carelessly that it has essentially lost meaning - "Today's chicken tortilla soup tasted extraordinary!" Really? You deem the almost daily and redundant chicken tortilla soup worthy of a word that means 'exceedingly exceptional?' Perhaps I should have eaten a bowl, but to revert back to my original point, does anyone nowadays really know how to denote something as extraordinary? Because I do. I learned the true meaning of extraordinary through my favorite character, General Allan Quatermaine, in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. The 2003 film depicts a crumbling world that direly needs a group of gentlemen to save it from an immensely powerful magician that desires to rule the globe. I have chosen this flick as my favorite of all time, not for solely the content of the movie, but for the context in which I saw the movie as well. "If you can't do it with one bullet, don't do it at all" declares Quatermaine after a young hothead unsuccessfully discharges an entire cartridge at a single enemy. The elderly sharpshooter, and leader of the gang, at first glance has no extra-normal powers or abilities. Yet, as the movie progresses, he becomes my favorite character and I begin to designate him as the most extraordinary person in the film. Whilst he does not have vampire characteristics, or immortality like others in the film, the man possesses the most hardest to attain virtues on the planet: patience, sympathy, courage, and sacrifice. The mere fact that he still fights with those at the peak of their physique impresses me, but the way he does it astounds me all the more. In the film, Quatermaine teaches viewers the value of patience through his way of nearly allowing opportunities to pass before seizing them at just the right moment. Furthermore, he teaches his audience the importance of showing sympathy even to foes when they find their lives in his hands. Finally, the sniper demonstrates true courage and sacrifice when he walks into the onslaught of enemies and dies for his friends and country so that they may lead better lives. I have a great fascination with the General and often times find myself trying to mimic his calm, cool, and collected personality in times of pressure or danger. Secondly, I place this film at the top of my favorite movies list because of the context in which I first saw it. I remember it being a late friday night the week after my 12th birthday. My father and I sat in our den waiting for my mom to go to bed, he had told me earlier that he had a surprise for me that she would not have approved of. Once she checked out for the night, my dad made me promise that I would not tell my mother of the rated R movie we would soon watch. I can still feel the excitement that this minor rebellion stirred inside of me. I felt special because my father had placed a certain amount of trust in me and clearly believed that my maturity level had reached a point to where I could handle the movie. This said a lot, because as a little kid, I notoriously had frequent nightmares, therefore I remember with pride when he deemed me worthy to watch the violent motion picture. I believe that The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen contains great actors and plot line, but the appeal goes so far beyond just that ergo, I must place it atop my list.

Women Love a Hairy Back

Oh how I long to be seen as a man, 

and be protected from an excruciating and intense summer tan.

I could jog down the street with sweat glistening from each strand, 

and see women turned on, all over the land.

They would tell me they love it, I swear that's true,

while they pull me on top and run their fingers through.

No man would guard me in a game of Shirts and Skins, 

even though ladies would say that my body's a ten.

Ahh, but unfortunately it is an area that I forever will lack,

and I must go on living while knowing, that women love a big hairy back. 

First of all, I think that I should let my readers know that I fully understand that 99% of women do NOT like hairy backs. That being said, I take great pride in my entry this week and believe that the mere use of the word "Hairy" in the title automatically arouses discomfort in the reader (Title). I do not dance around the topic until the end or attempt to hide it in metaphor. I want readers to know from the onset that I yearn for a hairy back. Through such a forthright tone, I believe I demand a high level of unease and even nausea in the reader, just with the title. Now, although hair consists of dead proteins, I know many high schoolers who will throw out an entire school lunch if they find even one small hair (Myself included). Therefore, hair has rapidly become a touchy and almost dirty subject in our society today. Secondly, I believe my sexual reference works in an essential way in the post to force sexual, as well as hygienic discomfort upon the reader. The diction in the statements "pull me" and "run their fingers" work to imply that the woman would pull me in by the back hair which just seems to absurd for the average human (6). Finally, I believe my apparent self-contempt serves as the most effective aspect of my piece. I desired that the reader not blow me off as a sarcastic speaker, therefore I defaced myself as not being a "man" (1). The embarrassed diction in "I forever will lack" derives pathos for myself and yields sympathy from those whom must shave their back. My obvious loathing for my hairless body allows the reader to question my sanity, which makes the piece all the more uncomfortable, because who would ever crave a hirsute back?

Turtlenecks and Camouflage Cargos

Dear Lil Buddy,

          Don't touch them. Six months from now on the night before school, August 20, 2006, you will find a pack of Camel Light Cigarettes. Don't touch them. I did. Please don't. I was young, foolish, insecure, and wearing my solid red turtleneck with camo cargo shorts. I really do not know why I did. I guess I wanted people to think of me as the coolest kid around, but that never really came to fruition. Anyway, I found the pack lying in the street near my house and pulled out a cigarette. You'll have a box of matches in your front right pocket by the way, thus I lit the cigarette and inhaled, smoke immediately filled my lungs. While the breath sent me retching in the gutter, I discovered a certain freedom in the thing, and before I knew it I had smoked the whole pack!! Now you may not be aware, but smoking a whole pack of cigarettes in an hour for anyone is difficult, but for an 11 year old? Forget about it. Although, I spent the next week sick in bed in my camo pajamas, I could not shake the feeling from my mind. I had the tick, I felt the addiction. Now Buddy, I'm not proud of what I did, or what you may soon do, (unless you heed my advice!!) but let me assure you that I assumed the role of the best deviant in town to get my fix. I stole, killed, swapped, pegged, begged, tricked, swindled, conned, hoodwinked, and bamboozled. And I could do it with the best of 'em. However, soon my turtlenecks and camo shorts sported burn marks and searching for my next quick fix consumed my free time. August 20, 2012. The night before my senior year. As I got ready for bed, bumming a cig and brushing my teeth, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Shaggy hair, a gaunt face, sallow skin, and teeth that nearly looked black, I did not like the person whom stared back at me. That moment I decided to quit. Needless to say I succeeded, yet the path proved long and difficult, and every morning I awake craving a cigarette. Buddy I'm telling you, don't touch them! I truly regret the day I ignited that first cigarette. I think most of the school already envies us for our daily outfit of a turtleneck and camouflage cargo shorts, (I had countless turtlenecks and three pairs of the shorts so I could still wear them when my mother washed them) so we do not need to start smoking! Man, if you want to keep wearing that outfit, the ladies do not dig it but I didn't realize that until later, go for it. But the smoking? I'm begging you to never touch that first pack. Otherwise, you will endure the same path to delinquency and rehabilitation I had to. It's a dark, lonely road.

                                                               Sincerely,
                                                                        The Most Interesting Man in the World

P.S. When you have that crush on Megan Stricker towards the end of 5th grade... Don't. Or else, Brad might not date her because she will fall for you and your daily turtleneck and camouflage shorts.

Thump. Thump.

My body degrades, slowly. I can feel something inside my chest pounding. My heart beat faster in my infancy, however, now it toils laboriously as though each beat requires tremendous effort. Thump. Thump. It seems to count each tick, tallying them on my anterior coronary artery. Every so often I will count out 50, maybe 100 just to marvel at how quickly the time passes. I know that mine has a specific number, all of our heart’s do. Yet, the bible commands us to “not be anxious about tomorrow” so I try to convince myself not to despair (Matthew 6:34). Therefore, I force myself not to focus on the inevitable countdown occurring within my chest.

Time never stops. Likewise, humans cannot manipulate or alter time, for it keeps on keeping on with utter disregard for the misery or ecstasy it causes. Time has a countdown for every event, moment, and happening. The second-hand will eventually approach every occurrence and will not halt, or pause, one second prior to the onset but rather continue it’s accumulation of beats with blissful ignorance. The second hand, unlike that of the minute or hour, controls time. Yes, I do see the second hand as a literal needle that powers a clock, but I view it as something much more significant than merely that. It acts as the ultimate countdown tool. Each moment marks the end and start of a new countdown to a new event, we use seconds as the mechanism to measure these moments.

Yet how can we not question the legitimacy of the second hand? Honestly, the instances it counts down to appear extraordinarily trivial when in comparison to the absolute end of our existence. Thump. Thump. Once again, I can feel my heart violently throbbing in my chest. It marks the countdown to the end. Our demise. Our heart, ladies and gentlemen, serves as the unequivocal second-hand.

Where Am I?

I open the door with such force that it knocks out the ignorant woman, yapping on her cell phone and chomping on three sticks of gum, who walks behind me. Now inside, I find myself at the back of the line. As usual, the first target falls easily. The second, as simply as the first. After the third I felt a sense of discomfort as he fell with a little too much ease. Did they set me up? How could they know I would come? Well, I suppose the fact that I venture in 3-5 times per week could count as a hint but nevertheless, they had me perturbed. As I bided my time behind the fourth, I planned my assault. The options appeared endless, yet I decided on demanding many things and if they could not deliver, I would hit them where it hurts. 

"What will it be sir?" - Male #1.

"The works." - Me.

"Excuse me?" - Male #1.

I just stood there and stared directly into his small, dilated, shiny, despairing pupils. Quickly, I glanced down at my wallet, jerked my head at it, and then returned my gaze at the man. He understands. Pulling out the goods from under a shelf he begins to prepare them. Nervously, the man continues glancing in the direction of my wallet as though it has it's own life force. 

"You know we don't accept those." - Male #1.

"You'll shut your mouth if you know what's good for you, you pumpkin pie hair-cutted freak!" - Me.

"Sir..." - Male #1.

"Quiet! Just make it and bag it." - Me. 

The whole place now stares at me. They all want to know how I hold so much power in the establishment. I can tell that I frighten some, and disgust others. Yet they do not concern me, for I have come for one thing, and one thing only. The man passes it on to his next colleague who rubs me completely wrong from the start: 

 

"What else would you like sir?" - Female #1. 

"JUST MAKE IT D****T!! Make it, wrap it, and bag it. Now." - Me.

Her hands moved as fast a black belt performing a Judo chop while she completed my request. After what felt like hours, she finished. I could feel eyes boring holes in my back, others seeking a similar objective. However, I let it worry me not. They could wait. At long last, I grabbed the bag and tried to make a dash for the door but heard a petite voice say:

"That will be $6.65" - Female #2. 

And then my conscience tried to take over. 

(Comment: Where am I? How does the story resolve?)