Music. Wait, wha??

So you're probably bored with all the "whine whine whine" and "OMG WHERE AM I GOING IN LIFE??" Yeah, I am too. Soooo, instead, I'll give you a little musical tour of my "finds" on youtube. You know, because while I wait for SOMEONE to take this damn apartment off my hands, I've got no life. And that's where youtube swoops in and solves all my problems! While also ensuring that the only light I see is through my window.

Without further ado - and before you start thinking I'm some sad, saaaad excuse for a human being (which I am, but you don't need to know that) - here are a few of my favorite songs/artists from the Tube.

First off, my most recent find. Part of me just wishes they would do all of Imogen Heap's "Hide and Seek" because their harmony is SO GOOD.

Next, this girl has one of my favorite voices. Ever. And part of me is sad she's not signed somewhere. Actually, it's most of me, and I'm really just a blithering mess of "Someone pleeeaaaasse get this girl a contract!!"

Then - from what I understand - we have one of the first "internet bands". These guys started collaborating together online, and they're awesomesauce. I've got no idea where they are now, but they should be in my apartment. Singing for me.

Next, this girl is LOUD. And very good. She's got one of those incredible, soaring voices. Just watch the guy that's playing the guitar.

And concerning two of the people that Kat Badar referenced in the previous video (in the beginning), Cathy Nguyen and Andrew Garcia (who I knew of before American Idol. ME. I KNEW OF HIM BEFORE THAT) do a mean duet. They're all connected in some bizarre way (aka friendship. Psh, who does that?) and like to sing together. WHATEVS.

As for this guy, I have no idea who he is and I'll probably never know. Whoever was filming this, though, I'm going to find them and kiss them on the forehead. It's funny how such a simple folk song can sound so pure and haunting.

I like this one because it reminds me of the joys of everyday life. And that we're all our most beautiful when we're happy. (And that sometimes I get really corny).

Lastly (at least for now), here's a little Disney. If anyone out there can sing and play like this, you're giving me a private concert. Or you could just get AJ Rafael for me and save yourself. Also, I WANT THAT PIANO.

So basically, I should be a youtube talent scout. That's really what I'm telling you. And you should hire me and pay me MILLIONS of dollars because I'm SO GOOD AT THIS. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Time to move on...but to where?

So, it's more or less official: I'm moving back to Maryland. Sitting in my apartment in Los Angeles, waiting for the phone to ring about an interview or to receive an email inquiring about one thing or another...none of that ever came. Honestly, I wasn't sure about what to expect out here as I tried to find a job. I'm no genius, nor aerospace engineering superstar. I never expected to be batting-off the big companies as they scrambled to offer me high-paying positions. Then again, I wasn't expecting to hear absolutely nothing. It's a bit of a humbling experience, knowing you're not even worth a minute's consideration. But all that - all that searching for and (hopefully, eventually) finding a good, steady job in California - is now in the past. Our quiet failures, along with our outrageously loud successes, all amount to the great bundle called life experience. This venture to California was no different, and now it's time for me to learn from that experience and move on.

So what did I learn? I've got no idea. Perhaps that California's economy sucks, and everything in Los Angeles is way overpriced. Or maybe that it's next to impossible to be seen in a job market flooded with struggling, desperate, unemployed individuals. People who probably have a better understanding of what they want in life than I do, and therefore pursue it with greater vigor. As much as I had wanted a job in Los Angeles, I was never certain about which particular direction to take. And unfortunately, upon leaving Los Angeles, I'm just as confused.

Life lessons or not, I'm spending these days trying to figure out how to turn my move home from two steps back to three steps forward. Which is interesting if you don't know which way to walk. I've got a few general options though - the same options that seem to haunt every decision we make in life:

A.) To be comfortable. For me, this means coming home, finding a job locally, and waiting for something to inspire me. The comfort comes from having my family and friends around, along with (if this path is successful) a decent engineering job. I could work until that one thing finally came along and slapped me. It would all be a matter of waiting and recognizing that opportunity when it arrived.

B.) Be proactive and do something completely different. I've whittled this option down to one direction - joining the Air Force. It's a big decision, though, and will probably guarantee to be nothing like I'm expecting (which could be a good or bad thing). It also forgoes the many perks of the comfortable path - being around my family and my friends, the ability to choose exactly I want to do at any given time. My life would have structure, yes, although I may not play as big a role in shaping it.

Given the choice of the two, you'd think the answer might be obvious - to choose the life where you get to make the choices, decide where you want to go. Lately, though, it seems like those choices are a burden. I don't know where I want to go, and I don't know what I want to do. So maybe it's best if I take the guess work out of the picture. But where does that leave me in 4+ years? Am I happy with how I spent my time? Do I finally have a direction? And did I give up something truly good when I left the comfortable path?

I'll being weighing those two options for the next week or so (HOPEFULLY by which time I'll have finally gotten someone to rent my apartment and can move home), and I'd appreciate all the input I can get. There are some that tell me a change would be good, that the military life would be a great direction for me. And there are others who advocate more that I stay the comfortable path. Is there a right answer? I don't think so. I don't think it will come down to what is right, but rather what is best. And finding what is best will probably prove to be just as complicated as the road that lies beyond it.

A story with no endings

Lately, it seems like I've been preparing for the wrong things my entire life. Throughout school, I prepared to become an engineer - learning calculus and physics and technical writing. I prepared to start a family and settle down with 2.5 kids - learning about dating and marriage and children...and even retirement. I observed and I learned. I prepared, and I thought I understood. And then I stepped out of school...stepped out of the observing and preparing. And I learned that I knew nothing about reality. The problems I faced weren't 2-dimensional, with choices A, B, and C. They were excruciatingly complex, full of dynamic variables and unforeseen consequences.

And yet - were I to complain about this fact - I would no doubt be met by a chorus of I-told-you-so's. Because I was warned. "You'll get a nice jolt in the real world - it's nothing like college." "Be prepared for a brutal awakening." "The working world is a whole new place." But what did I do when I was warned? I prepared. Prepared for the wrong things. I prepared to be shocked by the paying of bills, the 9-5 schedule. The grind of unending traffic, no time for meals, God I wish I had gotten to bed earlier, So boss what about a raise? That's what I had heard about the real world, and that's what I prepared for. And now those things are the least of my worries.

But that's life then, isn't it? The biggest curveball it'll throw at you will be from a direction you're not expecting. To be successful, you've at least got to bunt and sprint for first. Is that a crowd-pleasing choice? No. Will the team love you for that single base? Maybe not. But you got there, and you'll have the chance to move on to second. You've made a move in a positive direction.

So what happens (bear with me again with the baseball analogy) when you're sitting on first, and you've got 2 choices for where to go - base 2* or base 2^. Base 2* is your safe bet - it'll take you around to third, and then to home. You'll be successful, and you won't have to think about where you're going. You're not exactly adventurous, but you've made a smart move and taken the safe route. The crowd loves you for it, because you're home. Base 2^, and on the other hand, is a little more out there - the path leading away from 2^ gets lost in a spontaneous fog that's sitting between infield and outfield. But you've always wanted to know what it felt like to run over base 2^ and jump into that fog cloud, full of possibilities, with nothing that's definite.

Ultimately, it's an even tougher choice because you'll most likely be on first again if you take the safe route, and you'll have that same opportunity. Sure, you're a little bit older, a little bit wiser...and you know what? Maybe the maturity that came with your age says to take the safe route again. It's comfortable. And you'll always come back home to the ones you love, and that love you.

That's where I find myself at the moment - at first base (minus the baseball cleats). I bunted my way into Los Angeles, hoping to find success in grad school. Unfortunately, the success was minor and short-lived, now leaving me with the choice of pursuing a career in some city I've fantasized about living in and doing it all on my own, or returning home to my family, my friends, and especially my beloved. Taking the safe route for a while.

The layers of complexity don't stop at the turf, though. Given the state of the economy, simply exploring the country and finding a job in my city of choice is an almost unreachable luxury. Yet the opportunity for a job - any job - goes up as I move closer to home, and closer to friends with connections. And perhaps the heaviest layer, the one so tangled in my heart-strings that it's hard to tell where one starts and another begins (cliché), is that of my beloved. Developing and sustaining a relationship across 2000 miles is incredibly difficult, especially when there's no "we'll be together here" marker in the timeline. I may follow my dream to explore, but in following it I make having a relationship exponentially harder. I may take the safe route to be with the one I love, but I alter and reshape my dreams to explore.

And yet, isn't that how love goes? You meet someone you love, someone you find irresistibly adorable when you watch them sleep, someone who's always on your mind, and you find a way to be together. Dreams get tweaked, plans get shifted, and you compromise. It may not be exactly what you wanted, but it's enough and you're with the love of your life (however short thus far). The compromise is worth it.

So at what point is that sort of compromise supposed to occur in life? Is it when you're madly in love? Is it when you've matured? At 22, I am mature in some areas, incredibly ignorant in others, and overall very confused. There's almost no way I want to give up the tremendous thing I've got going with my beloved, but I'm still markedly attached to my dream to discover and explore the world. Pile on the entire baseball analogy, and a vision of Atlas straining against the weight of the earth starts to form. Mind you, my problems lie a little less heavily on the shoulders, and my right hand isn't slipping into the Indian Ocean (ugh, AGAIN), but I still start to see the similarities.

Over and over, swimming in and out of the complexities, attempting to predict every eddy in the wind caused by the tiny butterfly of my choices, one questions floats to the surface - what should I do? The answer I've heard the most, and one that I'm sure to hear again, is the ol' "fountain of *blank*" response: Hey, don't worry so much, you're young! You've got plenty of time to fly twenty times around the world and get back for tea with the President. That's what your twenties are for!

Everyone who gives me that response, though, always seems to forget they spend half their time looking over their shoulder at a fading youth. Early twenties? God, I miss my college years! Thirties? Man, remember when we used to head the pub after work? Forties and fifties? Look at this picture of Timmy! Life was so good then. We may love our life in the present, but more often than not we still look to our past for some of the good-ol' days, sometimes with regret. And I DO NOT want to look back with regret at my early 20's because I spent that time in some miserable search for the right choice. I may just be impatient, but I want to live out those crazy, amazing, late-night-filled, happy-go-lucky years without the lurking despair that I didn't compromise soon enough or that maybe it wasn't the time to compromise.

In the staggering timeline of life, this problem could be a tiny blink in the complexities yet to come, or it could be a major turning-point. But to me, now - it's real, it's difficult, and it's painful. And goddammit, I didn't prepare for it.

Good weeks start with simple days

Alright, so given my current predicament, pretty much every day is a "simple" day. Regardless, this week started off on a high note because today (Monday) was a good, simple day. It was a good day because I managed to accomplish all the simple things on my schedule, with the addition of several surprises.

Being a jobless Los Angeles resident with a severely ravaged bank account means you basically have nothing to do. In Los Angeles, it's all about spending money. Bored during the morning? Go grab breakfast and a mimosa. Afternoon? Go buy something. Preferably lots of somethings. Bored in the evening? Pop over to that trendy bar and grab a few drinks with your exceedingly-expensive-yet-disappointingly-portioned dinner. At night? Take your Range Rover over to that club where everyone is dancing as if perpetually posing, trying to look good at any angle. So when you don't have the cash to do all of the above, an exciting day comes from getting things done and successfully keeping your hands from strangling your neck. This Monday was no exception.

My "to do" list slowly materialized in my groggy mind soon after rolling out of bed, and was fairly short. So short, in fact, that you couldn't really call it a "list" so much as a single chore: Go grocery shopping. But, lucky for me (and my sanity), this single activity required a few prerequisite steps. First off - clean the kitchen. If my mom stumbled upon post this she'd probably say something along the lines of "shouldn't it *always* be clean??", to which I would shrug half-heartedly and mumble something inaudible. And if she had actually seen the kitchen before step 1 took place, then I'd probably also be dodging her glares and shuffling off to some dark corner. Fortunately for me, no one else had to deal with the putrid disaster that was my kitchen, and so with a shirt covering my nose I set to work (...you don't even want to know). After thoroughly cleaning the rather threatening pile of crusty dishes sitting in my sink, I sterilized every visible surface with clorox and tried not to pass-out from the fumes. Two hours later, my eyes teared with the sight of a gleaming kitchen (and waning bleach vapors).

Step 2 - clean myself and go. This proved to be a bit of a challenge considering I 1.) ran out of shampoo, and 2.) had almost no clean laundry, and no laundry detergent. So, I made do with what I had available (nothing like re-wearing old underwear, I promise), and finally set off to the grocery store. An hour and a half later, I was stumbling into the building with 4 grossly overloaded cloth bags (eco-friendly!), and attempting to drag myself into an elevator before one or both of my arms detached. And there, sitting in front of the elevators, was Surprise #1 - a bedroom side-table. In the chaos of moving, residents of my beloved DuBarry are want to leave their unneeded possessions in front of the elevators rather than dragging them to a thrift store or throwing them out. Once they're there, it becomes finder's keepers for the other residents. My eyes lit up upon seeing this particular beauty (the top covered in some gunk, but nothing a little cleaner couldn't handle), because I was lacking in the side-table department. After a minute of weighting shifting and teeter-tottering, though, I realized that it would be impossible to carry groceries + side-table all up to the apartment at once. So, with the fear of some other resident discovering my perfectly visible buried treasure, I sprinted up five flights of stairs, threw my bags haphazardly through the door, and sprinted back down. Upon leaping down the last flight into the lobby, I realized I was still in luck. I had a side-table.

After hauling the table into the apartment and cleaning it off, I set out to put away my various groceries. The last item left was a box of new light-bulbs, which had been more of an afterthought at the store than anything else. On my first day in the apartment, I had discovered a light-switch by the front door that did absolutely nothing. And - totally unrelated - there was an overhead light in my little foyer-area that never turned on. Given the excitement of moving into my very own apartment, though, the light and switch drifted to some far-off place in the back of my mind...until about 6 months later. Now, standing on a stool, I unscrewed the glass lamp covering, replaced the bulb, and hopped down to flip the switch.

*click* Surprise #2.

It was as if someone has just turned on the sun in my apartment. Not only was the light-bulb brighter than any other light in my apartment, but it was probably using a quarter of the energy (one of those new-fangled swirly bulbs they done have now). I don't think I've ever been more excited about a light-bulb in my life. But the excitement wasn't over just yet - I had yet another new bulb, and the possibilities were endless (i.e. 5 other lights). In a burst of enthusiastic energy, I skipped into my bathroom and replaced the light over my sink. Hallelujah! For once, I could actually make out all of the features of the face staring back at me from the mirror. And I was finally relieved to find out that my nose was still in the same place (I kid...it had meandered behind my left ear).

Overall, the things that made my day a good one weren't too exciting compared to the staggering excitement-spectrum of life: a clean kitchen, more food, a new table, and light-bulbs. It was enough, though, to make me feel like I was productive and started the week right. And in the unemployed world, that's about as much as you can ask for.

The cure to cancer is OH LOOK A KITTEN

I would like to officially announce my membership into the prestigious ranks of the IIEPFN Society (Interested-In-Everything-Patience-For-Nothing Soc., established halfway in 1984 and then the other half in 1997). Needless to say, it's been a prodigiously difficult task to join this elite organization - considering the application alone is some 300 pages, including 297 devoted to real estate law essay questions - but I am truly excited to attend my one mandatory meeting before deciding that I'd instead like to take up knitting. In preparation for this momentous event, I've energetically Google-mapped directions to the meeting site and twice reconsidered whether I'd even like to drive that far.

As funny (or maybe not-so, depending on how humorous you really think I am, which could understandably be not-so-much) as the above situation may be, it sums up rather well my current mental state. Given that I now have an exigent amount of free time on my hands (if you're unemployed and not in school, you'll know what I mean), I've got every opportunity in the world to ponder which career path to choose or even what to do *with* my free time. And of course, as part of the IIEPFN Society, my mind races so fast through the possibilities that a counselor would have no problem diagnosing me with Career ADD. Here's an example from tonight, after watching President Obama's State of the Union (had I verbalized my thoughts and numerically organized them):

1. "Finally, Obama talked about repealing the DADT policy! It wasn't much though...and I'm doubtful that any action will follow. I feel like if I were to argue for the repeal, I wouldn't know enough, and honestly, the whole "feel compassion for the people" argument doesn't seem too effective. Maybe I should do some research."
2. "This wikipedia article is a good start, but if I'm going to look informed in the matter then it'd probably be best to read the actual policy and the arguments made for and against so far by people who aren't morons."
3. "Ugh, the policy is 4 pages...I doubt I could even make it through the first 2 without getting distracted. I wish I knew more legalese so this wouldn't be so difficult."
4. "I wonder how long it takes to study for and pass the bar exam in California....or even how much is costs. Holy crap that's expensive. What's with all these rules for taking it? You can't just study from a book and pay for the exam?"
5. "I don't think I could handle law school or 4 years of studying under a lawyer, not financially anyway. It'd be so crazy to just learn about law and take the exam, and then be officially knowledgeable about it. Maybe I should check some books out from the library."
6. "You know, I wonder if you could get the government to pay for law school if you joined the military. What's the good-ol' internet got to say about this...meh, looks like you have to serve a few years before they would consider sending you and paying for it. I feel like I'd want to just hop into it."
7. "Does the military pay for grad school? I could get a master's in some engineering, I guess. Heh, there's an Air Force Institute of Technology. Do I even know what I would want to study? Astronautical engineering? Nuclear, maybe? Bleh, I don't want this to be a repeat of my attempt at USC, half-heartedly studying for some degree that I'm not to sure about."
8. "GOD, I just want to figure out what to do with my life!! What if I did just join the military and try to become an officer? I wonder if they'd pay for my loans. Oooo, I could be a pilot. Wonder how long that training takes...probably a while. And what about my commitment? Ehh, I dunno about whether I'd still be happy with my decision 4 years down the road. I mean, at least I'd have a job that would probably be fulfilling. Not much in the ways of freedom, though...and I'm sure Nick would freak a little, per usual. "
9. "What if I went as a reservist, like I had planned before? I mean, I could still get a full-time job doing something else, and it'd give me some sort of direction. Jesus, the amount of time I spend debating the military. Yes, no, yes, no, yes yes yes, no no no. Would they even pay for my loans? From all I've heard about recruiters, they'd tell me they would and then 6 months down the road I'd be sitting with mounting debt and nada coming in."
10. "AHHHH WHY CAN'T I DECIDE ON ANYTHING."

Two hours later, I'm staring blankly at my computer screen with a slight twitch and having gotten nowhere in any of the little "projects" I had brainstormed. As odd as it sounds, my main fear in trying to decide on a career is that I'll be stuck in one field. Which, interestingly enough, essentially defines what a career is: utilizing your knowledge and skills in a particular area to complete work in that field. This wouldn't be so bad were I not interested in EVERYTHING and couldn't choose which field was worth pursuing. Not only that, unless I'm practically forced to do something, I've got no patience to settle down and learn about the field enough to make it a career. And what happens if I get bored with my career? Didn't I just waste so many years of my life doing something I didn't want to do?

So, there you've got my long-overdue complain-a-thon, which I'm sure you were dying to read. If anyone reading this (all 2 or 3 of you) has any suggestions or advice, please share. I'm a blithering mess of indecisiveness and would appreciate some feedback. Something constructive, preferably?

P.S. If you hadn't guessed from this post, I've decided to stop attending graduate school because I was studying for a degree I wasn't particularly sure about and that was sinking me into phenomenal debt. Currently, I'm still living in Los Angeles and in search of a job (having applied to 40+ aerospace positions in and out of the city and hearing nothing back. Woo recession!).

P.P.S My apologies for the color and formatting of the post - something is seriously afoul with the html coding and I don't feel like searching for the problem.

(Un)comfortably Close Project

In what I'm sure will be a riveting and true nail-biter of a year, I've decided to officially kick-off one of my New Year's resolutions (#12,614 to be exact) with a new website, called the "(Un)comfortably Close Project". My goal for the project is to snap and post a new picture of the things I find about my person everyday, but reaaaaallly zoomed in. So, go explore the website (click on the Archive for some of my old stuff - you have to click the picture to get to the gallery) and enjoy!

My final Finals Week (at least for now)

Students during Finals Week are a classic example of what happens to humans under extreme and stressful situations. Think Lord of the Flies, except replace all the child characters with 18 to 22-year-olds and set the scene in a library instead of a deserted island (side note: I LOATHED that book. Never has anything made me want to punch random small children in the face than that little number). Tribes form, someone starts hallucinating, and an accidental homicide or two occurs (either computer or human). People really do go bananas. B...A-N-A-N-A-S.

Of course, working the graveyard shift at the library ends up becoming the most entertaining job in the world. People slowly pull out their hair as they struggle to read another 7 chapters for their 8am final while shiftily glancing at the clock. Some give up reading and stare blankly at walls. Others make serious attempts at osmosis. Those on computers are typing so furiously they end up typing several paragraphs of gibberish whenever their brain finishes a thought, requiring a good deal of irritable backspacing. Computers in turn become mutinous, and decide that, no, they really didn't feel like saving that document. Was it important? All this and more quickly unravels before my eyes.

Finally, dawn peeks in through the windows, and it's time to print out that 50-something page paper. Ironically, this becomes the hardest part of the entire project. Most of these students have forgone sleep in the past 48 hours, and now they have to deal with a library printer, which involves pushing several buttons (and saying a little prayer, as I've seen in some cases).

During this particular shift, I watched as a guy - let's call him Bob - stood in front of the printer for a little over 20 minutes, obviously waiting for something to happen. The printer wasn't printing, so I began to think that maybe he was expecting it to dance. Unfortunately for Bob (and me, as that would've been rather exciting), the printer staunchly refused to give so much as a wiggle. At this point, I was starting to feel sorry for him, so I walked over and inquired if there was a problem. A few minutes of struggling silence later, Bob groggily turned toward me and mumbled something along the lines of "professor...angels...30 pages...staple". Four years living of in Undergradia had left me remarkably fluent in Sleepdeprivedese, and I was able to translate: "Well, kind sir, I'd really love to print and staple this 30-page paper I've got due to Professor Grueleski on the historical inaccuracies of Angels and Demons." After another 10 minutes of questioning and button-pushing on my part, Bob realized that maybe it would help if he hit print on his computer. I agreed, noting that USC had decidedly nixed the mind-reader Xerox due to budget cuts. Bob trudged back to his computer, stared blankly at it for a few moments before realizing that Microsoft ESP was not installed, and clicked print.

Overall, the panic, exhaustion, and general chaos of Finals Week is like a beautiful orchestra unfolding in the wee hours of the morning. The percussion section becomes the rapid, erratic sound of typing; the violins burst forth from the cries of computer failure. A trumpet sounds as ink cartridge #3 runs out of ink and the printer alert goes off. The twitching and sleepy swaying of students becomes the flurry of bow movements amongst the strings. And then, after 8 hours continuous music, the orchestra goes still as the last student trickles out of the library - her eyes glassy...

Anyway, if anyone is interested in tickets for Monday morning's performance, I'll be selling them for $35 a piece. First come, first serve!

The Graveyard Shift: Now with exciting new perks!

..which include a view of LA's 20-something visible stars when most of the city decides to finally shut-down.

There's something to be said for the graveyard shifts of university jobs. In my sophomore year at UMD, it was the tranquility of the Hagerstown residence hall lobby as I worked at the front desk in the wee hours of the morn (broken only by the occasion stumbling-about of a sloshed student). Now at USC, the tranquility continues given my new job as a Graveyard Student Navigation Assistant in Leavey Library (read: library research help).

After about 4 1/2 hours sitting behind the desk - with the occasional meandering about and re-shelving of books - I sidled outside for my much-needed and university-policy-required "lunch" break. Luckily, somone (who I'm sure remembered the joys of being a student him or herself) decided the best place for the 24/7 coffee shop would be right next-door to the library, and this is exactly where I found myself upon clocking out. And, after buying a large cuppa joe and a still-smoking microwave pizza, I wandered back outside into the chilly 56 F California night and looked for somewhere to sit down. Which is, of course, so very difficult at such a busy hour.

One of the wonderful things about any campus at 4:30am on a Monday morning is the complete lack of students. Most are asleep, with the few awake ones struggling to remain in said state as they huddled in library alcoves. Outside, though, the only sound you'll hear is the soft hiss of the lawn sprinklers, intermittent with the distant rumble of sparse traffic on the roads just beyond the university.

Upon discovering this, I decided to take full-advantage of it during my half hour not behind a desk. I parked myself on the edge of the long, modern eternity-pool-like fountain outside of the library, setting up my kip on the concrete surface next to me. The expanse of fountain water behind my back was still, save for the tiny ripples that glided away from the overflow at the edge. The light from a pole along the sidewalk several feet away flickered as moths fluttered about, attempting to rid themselves of the coalescing morning-dew. My hired narrator scratched his chin and shut his eyes as he struggled to conjure more descriptive imagery for later blog posts. Unaware of his chagrin, I remarked about how great writers could probably fill entire novels as they described this type of scene, and then deservedly caught his cold stare as I turned to him - my relaxed and meditative smile faltering slightly.

Ruffled narrators aside, I could imagine no other time or place to dine on microwavable pizza and "quality" Starbucks coffee. If every "lunch" break meant enjoying the reverence of a peaceful, predawn morning, I thought dreamily (ignoring my now irritable narrator, who mumbled something along the lines of "my union" and "butternut squash"), then I think I was going to enjoy working the graveyard shift at Leavey Library.

Some adventures don't require a move

In the week and a few days that I've been in LA, my mind has bounced through so many potential blog topics that I really had no idea where to begin. The combination of that and my lack of internet in the apartment (STILL) had led to me slacking with updates of my grad school life. I realized today, though, that before I began describing the tremendous change in lifestyle that being in grad school has created, I had to post about something that was infinitely more important and life-changing than a move across the country. Maybe then (I'm thinking) everyone who reads this blog will fully understand my journey on the planet.

I am gay. Not only that, but I have a beautiful, caring, and intelligent boyfriend who I foresee an incredible future with.

It's funny, because before I came out about a year ago, I would casually type those words ("I am gay") at the beginning of my blog posts and delete them in a hurry - as if in the seconds they remained on the screen, some act of God would cause them to post to the internet. And suddenly everyone would know my dark, terrifying secret. But time and time again, I would type them...as if hoping someone would discover said secret and help me through the process of coming out.

Some of you reading this already know, or may have guessed. Others may either be blinking in astonishment, or muttering something along the lines of "Ohh Sh*t." So let's start at the beginning.

I realized I was different from a very early age - probably around 5 or 6 years old. At that time, I had no idea what homosexuality was, and I honestly wasn't too concerned about being different. My greatest concern at that time was probably getting cooties. Because no boy wants to get girl cooties at that age.

I can't recall exactly when I found out what being "gay" was, but I didn't make the connection to myself until much later. This may have been because I had not fully developed as a human being, and my physical attraction to others didn't progress beyond the clothes they wore. But I was still different - if not externally, then deep within myself. And soon after discovering what being gay was, I learned that it was not a trait to want for oneself. Being gay meant being a "fag", and being a fag meant being frail, odd, and unwanted. In middle school and the beginning of high school, if someone didn't like you (and wanted you to know it), you could bet they'd call you a fag. "What, are you gay?" they'd say, or "You homo!" So I think at this point, the combination of not understanding my differences and the desire to not be gay succeeded in burying any homosexual notion I had, at least for a few years.

Not to say that I didn't try to be myself. I loved being active, I loved science, art, and music, and I loved reading - and I lived out as many of those passions as I could. So throughout the end of high school, I was perfectly happy with my life, and also perfectly happy to ignore anything within myself that contradicted that notion. I ended up dating several girls - all who were good-looking, but also had incredible and fun personalities.

Starting college at the University of Maryland was like being hit with a new world. People from every walk of life, every color and gender and sexual orientation, had converged into this thriving metropolis of higher education. And suddenly I couldn't ignore that homosexuality existed. Some people may have discouraged or loathed its existence, but others were open and accepting. The idea of such a transformation in social atmosphere was a little unnerving, but still exciting.

Even with the new atmosphere, though, I had not fully made the connection of homosexuality to myself. I continued to date smart, fun, and beautiful girls and enjoy college for what it was - a party and an education. Then, starting junior year, I decided to pledge the fraternity known as Kappa Kappa Psi.

Pledging is a varied experience for different fraternities (or even amongst different chapters of the same organization). The process of pledging Kappa Kappa Psi at UMD is, without giving away too much about the process, both intense and introspective. I was forced to delve into myself and discover my true intentions in terms of school, music, service, brotherhood, and life in general. And after a semester's worth of self-assessment, I finally stopped pushing aside the prospect of my own homosexuality. Sometime in the months after my pledge process ended, I was able to look at myself in a mirror and say "I am gay."

Saying those three words aloud came with the crashing realization that 1.) I had a huge, possibly life-changing secret, and 2.) I eventually had to come-out to those I cared about if I wanted to truly be close to them. Although this sounds impossibly dramatic and exaggerated, this is exactly how I felt. What would happen when I came out to my friends and family? Would they reject me? How would I handle rejection? In the semester after pledging, I became both severely depressed and narcissistic. I was afraid that I'd lose everything that I loved and held dear, and various scenarios of my life falling apart played in my mind. It was almost as if I had some sort of terminal illness...would my friends fade away, unable to get this close to death? Would I be forced to start some new life of constant medication in a sterile environment? My mind formulated something equivalent to Murphy's Law of Coming Out - everything that could go wrong would go wrong, and with such terrific magnitude.

Eventually, I came to the conclusion that this was just a part of life (however tremendous), and I would need to push on if I ever expected to keep living. That summer before my senior year, I took an internship with General Electric in Cincinnati, and I took boxing and kick-boxing classes to prepare myself for the worst - which for now has turned out unnecessary, but was still fun. Entering my senior year, I was both physically ripped and toughened, and knew I could handle whatever came at me. So the hard part no longer became the possible violent bashing, but coming out to my friends and family. Which, honestly, was more terrifying than being hit with a crowbar.

If I had really paid attention in the past few years, though, I would've noticed that the group of friends I had assembled were not only tolerant, but caring and understanding. Still, coming out to my friend Ashley in the beginning of my senior year proved to be horrifying - and erratic, as she'll tell you (and I think was only possible with a few beers in my system) - but not 10 minutes later after blurting out my deep, dark secret, it was one of the most uplifting experiences of my life. And mildly hysterical.

The following months included multiple (and considerably less horrifying) coming-outs to my close friends, my fraternity and sister sorority, and my other school peers. And every time I came out to another friend, I was fairly well received. My dark theories of universes collapsing were put to rest, and I felt closer to everyone around me. The most difficult part of the process, though, still remained on the horizon...coming out to my family.

Coming out to my sister proved to be relatively easy. On a car ride home one day, with just her and I in the car, she casually asked who I had been texting so avidly. This was sometime in the beginning of the summer, and my relationship with my Nick (my boyfriend) was just blossoming - although we still texted like maniacs. I responded with "It's Nick." She glanced over from the wheel and then proceeded to ask who Nick was, to which I (rather sheepishly) replied "My boyfriend." From there, the conversation calmly dipped into my being gay and my relationship with Nick. My heart raced for the first 10 minutes of the discussion, but soon returned to normal. It was quick, painless, and - from what I had gathered - had no significant aftermath.

A month and a half later, as my stay at Maryland came to a close, I became incredibly anxious - this was my planned time to come out to my parents. And with my relationship with Nick becoming more serious, I wanted my parents to meet him before I moved across the country. A few weekends before my scheduled departure, I drove a portion of my apartment belongings home, with my true intention being to take the big plunge. This ended in utter failure, though, and I ended up driving back to UMD completely upset with myself and violently shaking with fear.

Nevertheless, I was determined to come out to them before the summer ended. Armed with the support of my boyfriend (and a good deal of patience, which I am incredibly grateful for), I drove another load of my apartment belongings back home. That weekend passed fairly uneventfully until it came time for me to depart back to Maryland, as I was due to work in my lab for one more week. Right before I left, I sat down with my parents in the kitchen and - with great difficulty, and the feeling that my heart was in my throat - I told them.

I think the greatest difficulty parents have (if they're loving and accepting parents, as mine are) is realizing that there was such a tremendous part to their child's life that they were unaware of, and that the part may have been causing their child grief. I imagine no parent wishes their child ill-will, and the fact that they were unable to do something to assist that child while they suffered in turn causes them to suffer. I could not imagine how this feels, but I have this to say to my parents:

**In raising me, you provided me with such an incredibly warm and caring environment. You created a life for me where there were no standards, and where I wasn't expected to turn-out one way or another. You were always supportive, and always loving. And while it may have taken me a while to tell you about such an important part of my life, it was only because I loved you so much, and I would never want to hurt you. I was scared that my coming out would cause you grief, but I failed to realize that the grief of coming out would only come from knowing that I had suffered.

Now, though, I want you to know all about my life. I want you to know how much I love my boyfriend, and how (while the idea may still be unfamiliar and therefore make you feel uneasy) I like to imagine us together in 5 or 10 years, a happy couple with a house, a few kids, and a dog. And when I finally have kids, I want to provide them with the same love and same supportive environment that you provided me.**

At this point, after coming out to my parents and friends, I see no need to hide. I freely invite people to read this blog post and to know. But I also offer a warning:

Some of you may become comfortable with the idea that spreading word of someone's sexual orientation is your right. But it is not. I have only given two people explicit permission to talk to others about my homosexuality, and it is in hopes that talking with others will help them fully understand what it means to have a gay son. Because, as what always happens with the telephone game, details become distorted and the full story is never relayed. And then discussion begins behind backs, and eventually someone is hurt.

While I have become tough and rather insensitive to that sort of talk, know that if those that are hurt include my parents or my friends, then you are as low, ignorant, and disgraceful to me as the KKK or the Nazi Party. I have no tolerance for those who gossip or judge, and I have no problem putting you in your place.

Threats aside, I ask that people direct others to this blog post if they have questions. Or (well this is a novel idea) why not ask me? What better way to find out then to ask the source.

Overall, while I think the process of coming out was both trying and arduous (at least for me), I know that I can and will continue living as I have, but with more confidence. Was I living a lie before? No. I had not been hiding a part of my personality, nor had I been masking things by being falsely macho. Being gay is not a lifestyle choice, but is instead an inherent part of my being that I will live with just as those that are inherently heterosexual live with being straight.

If you know someone who you suspect as gay, then I urge you not to pry. Simply provide them with an environment where they can tell you anything and know you will not judge, but fully support them. As human beings, we all deserve the same level of respect, kindness, and trust.

So, uh....the end? I sort of rambled throughout that entire thing, and now I have nowhere to go. Let the bells of truth ring, eh? Gnight everyone!

Hello LA

After flying over 2,500 miles across the US (with a stop in Kansas City), I officially arrived in LA to start my new life as a graduate student at USC.  Here's what's happened since I've arrived.

August 15th (fly-in day)

- Picked up my luggage from the baggage claim in LAX and managed to roll 3 suitcases, a pillow, and a backpack out to the taxi line.

- Took a taxi to my new apartment.  Called my manager to let him know I was on my way.  Manager doesn't pick up, so I leave a message.

- Arrived at apartment building, payed $75 for the taxi, and proceeded to call my manager again so he could let me into the building.  Still no response.  And now I'm standing on a sidewalk in LA with a whole lot of luggage and more than a few valuable items.

- Finally another tenant walks out the door and lets me in.  Now I proceed to call everyone under the sun that could possible contact my manager and wait in the apartment lobby.

- An hour later, my manager calls and explains how he "mentioned" that he doesn't work on weekends sometime in our earlier conversation, and that my move-in date wasn't until the 17th.  BUT given that he's such a nice manager, he'll send the plumber to get my leasing papers completed and my key to me.  The plumber.

- Another hour later, the plumber arrives and I sign my lease.  The plumber takes me to my apartment. 

- Throw my bags down, take everything out and have it sprawled out all over the floor, inflate bed, and then leave to find food.

- Take a bus out to Hollywood, walk around and see the sites, get food, and come home and pass out on inflatable bed.

August 16th

- Wake up at 8:30am west coast time.  Drink some Arizona Iced Tea I bought last night.  Shower and then head out for bicycle and apartment shopping.

- Find out that all local bike stores are closed on Sundays. Twitch slightly.

- Take a bus to the closest Target store, which is 3 miles away in WeHo (West Hollywood).

- Buy new Schwinn bike!  

- Also purchase window curtains, two 4ft window curtain rods, a shower curtain, cleaning supplies, and a toilet paper stand-holder-thing.

- Proceed to bike 3 miles back from Target with a backpack full of stuff, several Target bags, and two curtain rods.

- Eat at Jack in a Box, 3 blocks from apartment.  SO GOOD.

- Go to Walgreens, also 3 blocks from apartment, and pick up more mundane things.

- Bike 5.5 miles to USC campus with laptop in order to check email for the first time since Friday. Find out that wireless on laptop is NOT WORKING.  Die a little inside.

- Bike back to apartment, sit down on inflatable bed, and pass out.

August 17th

- Wake up at 6:30am.  Shower, dress, and out the door by 7 to bike to USC campus for orientation.

- Find out that orientation is 3 hours LATER than what was originally thought.

- Stumble into USC library, find a computer, and GET ONLINE.  Parts of soul that died earlier are now restored.

Annnnd that's about it.  I'll try to have some pictures posted when I...uh...have internet.  And can post things.

Hope everyone's doing well back east!

Breakfast of Galfenol Champions

Also called Magnetostrictive Nom Noms.

This summer I've been working in a lab on campus doing research with magnetostrictive materials - mainly, one called galfenol. A magnetostrictive material is one that changes shape when subjected to a magnetic field, or which produces a different magnetic field when its shape is changed. The applications for this type of material are endless, and my job for this summer has been to characterize galfenol's (an iron gallium alloy) magnetostrictive properties in terms of sensing and actuation so a model can be developed.

Annnnyway, the annual MURI review (a conference where engineers and scientists give seminars on their work with galfenol and other magnetostriction projects) has been taking place yesterday and today, and it's allowed me to listen to some particularly exciting seminars. And I also get free food. The combination of both is called a WIN. See below.


I'm sure this sounds awfully exciting to all of you, but it's actually incredibly interesting. One aspect of particular interest at this conference has been the utilization of galfenol nanowires. To visualize, imagine the diameter of a human hair. Now imagine about 90,000 tiny, tiny wires packed within that diameter. And imagine that each of those wires produce a magnetic field in a certain direction. Now, say either acoustic waves or a slight breeze pass along those wires. What happens? Well, they're not terribly stiff, so they bend. And suddenly the magnetic field direction changes. And tiny sensors (actually called "giant magnetoresistive sensors") can pick up this change in field. Suddenly, you have the opportunity to sense small changes in air flow or acoustic flow.

Looking for an example of this that already exists? Well, look no further than your ear. Tiny hairs in your ear, called cilia, vibrate at some resonant frequency and send electrical signals to your brain, which is processed as sound.

Interesting stuff, magnetostriction.


Also, LA Countdown: 11 days.

Off to see the wizard...

The wonderful wizard of Los Angeles!....

As of tomorrow I will be leaving for LA in exactly 2 WEEKS. I am devastatingly excited about living somewhere other than Maryland, and LA holds so much promise in being very...un-Marylandish. A place where I might not see cows on a regular basis. At least, not intentionally.

Granted I'm going to miss (and am already missing) some of the incredible friends I've made in Maryland - along with my beautiful boyfriend - but it'll only be a matter of time before I see most of them again (hint: EVERYBODY BETTER BE AT THE THANKSGIVING HOME GAME THANK YOU). What I'm most excited about for this next part of my life, though, is the fact that I'm doing it all on my own. My own place, my own money, blah blah blah. I'll be forced to do everything myself, and I won't have anyone within about 100 miles to help me. That may not sound exciting, but by-golly I'm pumped out of my freakin' mind.

Until I leave, I've been creating a mental checklist of everything I'll need to do when I get there:

• Build a fire (HA...sike. No, but for serious)
• Grab a cab and lug my 2 suitcases - full of the only items I'll have to my name - to my apartment in the north part of Koreatown (Du Barry Apartments HOLLER).
• Check in, get my keys, complete move-in inspection schpeal.
• Breathe. I just moved in to my own apartment. I no longer live in Maryland. Holy crap.
• Go in search of a bike. Buy a bike. Figure how to get said bike onto tiny-ass elevator in apartments.
  
• Go in search of food.
• Put away clothes and inflate bed.
• Make half-ass attempt to assemble bed sheets and end-up passing out because it's been a long day and BABY I'M HOME.

Countdown to LA: 2 weeks, 1/2 days. Get ready, LA.

Musical Wash

A post about music? Why, how original! AAAHAHAHA shut it.

Anyway, I know you've heard me talk more than once about the type of music I find "good". Orgasmically good. Eyes-rolling-back-into-your-head-mouth-open-in-a-silent-scream-of-ecstasy good. Hooray imagery! Continuing though - you probably downloaded or listened to my recommendations and did the usual "oh, well this is nice." But of course, you might not have gotten that same gatspurt of power and emotion I felt whilst listening. So your day continued, unphased.

But I hope at some point, you find a song that does this for you. The kind of song that gives you immense pause in your life, and makes you want to do nothing more than blast the music until it fills every portion of your soul. Loud and powerful enough that everything else is forced from your mind and you're only left with note upon note, chord upon chord reveberating through your head and making your toes curl. Something I like to call a Musical Wash.

Most recently for me, a Musical Wash came in the form of "Dumbledore's Farewell" by Nicholas Hooper, which is off of the new Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince soundtrack. Really, all it is is a building and crescendo of stringed instruments playing whole and half notes into some almighty peak of sound. I mean, honestly, I could hear the bassists yawning in the background and muttering something along the lines of "Whole note....whole note...HALF NOTE!....whole note...whole note...wholzzzzzzzzzzz." So it's by no means a technically challenging piece of art that will stand against time as a great composition.

But when I blast that song in my headphones, loud enough that every stroke of the bow on those violins actually pulls a bit of my brain with it, then it cuts me down to nothing. And I love it. Because afterward - when I've listened to that song 3 billion times in a row - I come out feeling refreshed and oddly dettached. Enough that I can stand back and just look at life. Look at what I've been walking around in and breathing in and, generally, just passing through.

If you don't have a song that allows you to do this, I suggest you get one. Music affords us an escape that we would be stupid to pass up, but sometimes it takes a bit of searching to find the song or artist in which that escape is hidden. In any light, good luck and happy searching.

Another turn of the page.

It always seems to be that, whenever I come to some critical moment in my life (and I happen to be near a computer), I blog about it. Because my words of mouth suddenly become ill-equipped to bear the turmoil of emotions I'll oft experience at those times. There I'll be, seated in my bedroom, staring blankly at my walls. Walls that -if they could talk - might spill their lifetime of stories. But they cannot; and therefore, they make for terrible conversation. Which then leaves my computer.

As many (I use that term loosely, as I doubt my readership could sum to "many") of you already know, I walked those final steps of my undergraduate career at the University of Maryland just a few weeks ago. I was "honored" in two different ceremonies along with my other classmates, although the ceremonies themselves hardly amounted to anything for us as we were all still in shock. We had worked our asses off up until the last day, and then just hours later sat in the basketball stadium, listening to speakers herald our accomplishments and advise us of the future. They spoke to warn and inspire, hoping that if at least a small portion of us listened to their words, we could truly become successful. And their hopes were partly fulfilled, as I remember several almost-graduates around me poke their heads up and look forward, while others chatted with friends or napped (in such ceremonious attire, at least). But before we could blink our eyes, our undergraduate careers closed behind us to the thunderous applause of our parents, and we were ushered out the doors of that stadium - probably never to return again as an undergrad (there were a few, myself included, that still bit their nails waiting for those last grades to appear online).

At the finish of my last ceremony, I stumbled outside to find friends hugging loved ones, who smiled and gave them their congratulations. I found my own family squinting in the sun and with relieved looks on their faces - I'm sure my parents both let out a "thank God" at some point. Packs of people walked on to concessions with their schools. Some headed out to dinner with family and friends. Bodies piled into cars, and doors slammed shut. And with that slam they were suddenly gone.

My comrades of 2009, most of whom I had never known, were off unto the next part of their lives. They would most likely vanish from my sight for years to come, and probably from my memory. The most unfortunate part about it all, though, was that I would not truly recognize our departure from each other until weeks later, when once I again I stared at my walls. With half my apartment gone, and the last part to leave in a few days as I spend vacation time with family on the beach. I am powerless to stop it, and it had taken me too long to realize it was happening.

I would be lying if I said I was sad to see all of them go. I respected all those who I was fortunate enough to meet at Maryland, but that does not necessarily mean I liked all of them. But then that smaller portion of my class of thousands - the ones I had made friends with and hung-out with and laughed with - they are leaving just as quickly. My roommate of three years, my original dorm friends, my fraternity and sorority friends, my band friends, my aerospace friends. They are all off to new adventures, be it the working world, graduate school, or traveling and volunteering. And the hardest part is dealing with the uncertainty of whether I'll ever get to see them again, or at least say good-bye and good luck.

So I'll say it now, in hopes that this will someday reach them and they'll get my well-wishes.

Good-bye, dear friends. You've all managed to shape a part of my life, and I hope in some way I was able to do the same. You may be unsure of your future as of now, or you may be more certain than you've ever been. Either way, I know you'll be successful in some light. Know that our bad decisions are just as important as our good ones, as long as we learn from them. Mistakes mark the path of achievement, and we'll probably see our share of pot-holes ahead.

Technology is a mysterious thing, in that we live in a world where communication can occur on so many different levels and at so many different times. It's for this reason that I doubt many of us will lose touch, although the time when we do touch each other again - whether to shake hands or hug or kiss - is more uncertain. But know that if you ever stumble through my city or town, wherever I may be, I would love to see a friendly face again. You are as real to me now as you've ever been, and the chance to make you real again in the future would mean the world to me.

So good-bye, good friends. Thanks for the memories and emotions, the bruises and scars. Thanks for the blurry nights and the side-stitches.

Thanks for everything. And good luck.

You don't need a plane to fly

Something I'm always, ALWAYS on the lookout for is the perfect running song. Usually it's something with that great pump-up beat, something that can match my stride easily and make the run less about the foot-to-pavement "thud thud thud" and more about enjoying the world flying by me. But every once in a while, there's a song that comes around and has the ability to completely wipe out the pain and vibration and creaks. A song that turns the world flying around you into some sort of movie, where the plot is advancing and the rush of scenes around you is strange, yet interesting. For the time being, I've found a song that does just that for me.

The song is "The Moment I Said It" by Imogen Heap. It doesn't have the thumpa-thumpa base that usually defines workout mixes, but it does have something completely eliminates the thought of a workout from my mind. It's got motion. Lately, when I run with that song blasting in my ears, the ideas of running shoes and sweat completely melt away, and I'm left with a flash of lights, colors, and scenes. The wind jostling the trees as I pass becomes some intense performance by mother nature. Conversations between two people, unheard by me, turn into silent dramas unfolding as time seems to slow down. The flowing water of a fountain serves as powerful reminder that fluid motion can be smooth, continuous, and unwavering. Cars driving by symbolize that work and life carry on, even though I am temporarily apart from it all.

In my opinion, that's what real running music should do. Running is motion - powerful, exhilerating, and healthy. What's stopping us from feeling that way every time we step into our running shoes?

Take me with a grain of salt

I've decided that one of the most amazing feelings - for me - is rediscovering old music. The stuff that I've had tucked away in my itunes for several months, forgotten as I jam to some other playlist for a while. And then I hit the shuffle button just for kicks, and there it is. That whole feeling of "ooo...I had forgotten you."

If you were curious, the song I'm referring to is "After Tonight" by Justin Nozuka. He's got a solid voice, and the sprinkling of guitar in there (if you know my love of guitar) makes it good.

Anyway, on to the reason I'm here. I've coined this semester my "semester of networking". Given the incredibly vast number of ways to communicate these days, this seems like the perfect time to get out there and start the threads of communication. And so I've done just that, a lot of which is online. Networking online, though, is a bit dangerous...and not in the way of chatting up some axe murderer (don't be a tool, wrap you pick-axe). But more in the way that the only perception we have of people is through what we read. I'm extremely cautious in this regard, though, so I tend to reserve judgment on the people I'm talking to until I've had considerable conversation with them.

My concern is more how people perceive me. Honestly, on paper, I am an impressive person. And I say this not to be a braggart - it's just that to some, my choice of studies and the positions I've held while in college seem pretty exceptional. This is frustrating though, because these people have no handle on my personality. They say "wow" and whatnot, and form this image of Super Chris in their minds. But what happens when they continue getting to know me? Do I suddenly become a disappointment?

Take being an aerospace engineer. Say those two words and people automatically go OMG YOU MUST BE A GENIUS. Which is a mistake, because being aerospace engineer doesn't require a genius mind - it just takes a slightly unnatural affinity for calculus. In many ways, I'm pretty "blah" intellectually, but I do love calculus. Hence, aerospace engineering works. You will find more intelligent people in almost every other major, except their life's masterpieces just won't shoot flames out the end. And in this way, it's a pity that society doesn't recognize the intelligence in those areas. Almost as if, when it's not in-your-face f-ing amazing, it doesn't exist.

Ultimately, I think this entire thought-process stems from a fear I have of people overestimating my person and then becoming disappointed when they see the entire picture. I'm a bit of an over-achiever, but I'm also awkward, goofy, random, and a tad insane - and for the most part, I don't have much of a plan in life. So while my resume may say one thing, I feel like my personality relays another. And that's where the disappointment can happen.

Anyway, that's sorta where my thoughts end on the subject. I wasn't sure how to write about it without it sounding confusing or like I'm whining (which, in a way, I guess I am...and I'm sure someone will point that out). It's just something that's been bothering me as of late every time I encounter someone new and they go "an aerospace engineering? Well aren't you just a smartie." and I just want to violently shake them until they realize otherwise.

Let me Twitta dat *OOOO*

I have Twitter now! And might actually use it....

You can find me at the name "cpandreality". Clever, right? RIGHT?!

Wait, you crave life-updates too? People love me?? Hey now, I saw that face.

So, in the interest of keeping urv-rey-wuhn informed, here goes:
- School has started up again. I'm taking 6 classes, including 3 aerospace engineering courses, intro to French, university band, and...intermediate tumbling & balancing. Which, I've decided, is the most amazing course to ever exist in University of Maryland history.
- I got in to University of Southern California for grad school! As excited as I am, though, whether I go all depends on if money is offered. I'm guessing I won't hear back from my other schools in at least another month.

And that's it. I'm boring, life is swell, blah blah blah. Maybe I'll have a stroke of creative genius and post in a little while. Maybe.

Til then!

If I had to send you a Christmas card...

...it would say this:

"I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas despite my raging insecurities and social awkwardness"

There might even be a picture of a chipmunk on the front. Holding a trumpet.

Granted, if you got one from me at this point, it would only be two weeks late. Which isn't entirely out of character for me. Three cheers for God-awful procrastination!

"Hip hip-"
*crack of thunder*

Christmas card greeting brought to you by Dooce. Damn funny stuff, if I haven't said it...oh, five times before. Six maybe?

Good-bye

This evening, at a time I'm not quite sure of, or really care to know of, our yellow lab Nellie passed away. Because I'm terrible with words in person, I wrote an email to my family across the nation just to let them know. In retrospect though, it was more for me than for them. Writing has always been an outlet for me, and in this case, it was for my grief. This is a copy of that email.

"It is with a truly heavy heart that I
inform you all of the passing of our beloved yellow lab Nellie. She was
about four years old at the time of her death Tuesday evening, with three of
those years being spent with our family.
Almost a month ago, a veterinarian diagnosed Nellie with Lyme Disease, contracted from the smallest of creatures - a tick. Over the course of the last several days, we became
increasingly aware of the disease's effect by the back leg Nellie refused to
walk on due to severe joint pain, and the tremors which shook her body.
Upon seeing the veterinarian this evening, we learned that these signs
represented the final stages of the disease's run, and kidney failure was
extremely likely. Nellie passed this Tuesday evening, and was buried in
our backyard next to another great, lost friend - Casey.

Although we had her for only three short years, the time we spent with
her was enough to build the type of bond that only seems to exist between
incredibly close friends. Yet the fact that she was an energetic, blonde
dog rather than a human seems to make the pain all the worse.

Nellie never came home angry and irritated. She never refused to talk
to you because you'd been a complete jerk the night before. She never
snapped at you, or threw temper tantrums. She was always excited to see
you, even if you might not have wanted to see her.

Nellie was content with going after a tennis ball one or two million
times. With taking up most of the bed and leaving you enough room
to curl up in the fetal position. With sitting her 60-70 lb bulk
directly in your lap if you ever made the mistake of thinking the floor
would be more comfortable than the couch. With chattering her teeth
together in excitement when it was time to go outside. With leaning up
against you as she sat down if it just meant being close.

Nellie ran like a deer, wagged like a maniac, and licked like a...well, I'm
not quite sure. But you stood a good chance of getting licked. Or
jumped on.

She was the embodiment of all the energy of the sun trapped in a furry
creature with four legs and not enough time to release it all. She
was incredibly unique, at least to us, and was the perfect fit in our
family. And now, unfortunately, she is gone.

At this point, I'm still not sure that knowing of her passing in advance
would have been any consolation. As old age approaches in any creature -
whether dog or human - we become increasingly aware of the reality of
mortality. In that state, we can prepare ourselves for what's to come and
say good-bye, yet we also have more time to lament on memories and
the shoulda's and woulda's of life.

As was Nellie's case, there was no time to lament and become
depressed. And there was also no time to say
good-bye.

I left for College Park earlier today for a doctor's appointment, and gave
all the animals a quick rub farewell. "Don't destroy the house," I called
out just as I closed the door, knowing that Nellie had a veterinarian's
appointment later today, and thinking they would give her some
medicine to ease the tremors. Hours later, I called home and learned
that this was not the case.

So I hope you will join me in saying a final farewell to Nellie - the
one you might not have thought to give the last time you saw her big brown eyes
as you walked out our door.


Good-bye Nellie. Thank you for being the best friend I
always wanted and will always remember. I love you, and hope you forever
rest in peace.

-Chris"