and then a little bit later:
then WAAY Later:
Showing posts with label kenneth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kenneth. Show all posts
Sunday, September 21, 2008
wtf session
meet the author of metallic-stains.blogspot.com
and then a little bit later:
then WAAY Later:
and then a little bit later:
then WAAY Later:
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
An overview for the night
Okay. its uh. the morning of September 03, 2008, 01:38AM, and i'll be doing 4 posts today, uh tonight. uh morning. whatever. anyway, all these posts are gonna be wordy, and it'd be great if you really read all of it. so if you're tired or anything i don't recommend you read this now.
just a picture here to keep you interested [PSA building smack in the center. (:]
i've been told to blog about my flying experience, just to say first, don't expect too much from it, lest you be disappointed by my post.
just read kenneth's Hysteria's call part one and two, and its come to my mind to write a spinoff narrative, to tie in nicely with his. a fun contrast. in my own style.
i've got one old narrative i found lying around, which i'll be posting up for your perusal. i never finished it. maybe you can convince me to. haha.
and then there's this overview post i'm writing right now. hm. i think i'll post this last so you guys are aware that there's more than one new post written below. haha. okay then. time to get started.
just a picture here to keep you interested [PSA building smack in the center. (:]
i've been told to blog about my flying experience, just to say first, don't expect too much from it, lest you be disappointed by my post.
just read kenneth's Hysteria's call part one and two, and its come to my mind to write a spinoff narrative, to tie in nicely with his. a fun contrast. in my own style.
i've got one old narrative i found lying around, which i'll be posting up for your perusal. i never finished it. maybe you can convince me to. haha.
and then there's this overview post i'm writing right now. hm. i think i'll post this last so you guys are aware that there's more than one new post written below. haha. okay then. time to get started.
Taxi, Part 1
Just read kenneth's Hysteria's call and felt i needed to write something. i'm not happy with it at all. i hate following work and this is a horrible piece of writing. so don't judge me based off it. i don't know how many of you will find it readable or interesting, but i think what you really really want to read is at the 02:00PM mark. thats where it ties up. so yeah. i kind of forgot about the kids later on and ran out of things to say. about at the 09:50AM point i'm bored and just want to get to the 02:00PM mark haha. meh. well here you go.
[divider here]
Images of peacefulness and bliss were shaken from Hassan’s mind, as the incessant vibrating of his cell phone alarm shook him awake. The urge to hurl it out the window quickly passed as he thought about the countless hours he had spent working overtime to get it in the first place.
Work!
He looked at the time. 6:30AM. Perfect. The kids would be up anytime soon, the wife had already left for work at the docks down south, and there was no breakfast on the table.
He cursed quietly as he pulled on his one presentable pair of clothes, and prepared two peanut butter sandwiches, literally with all 4 of his limbs.
6:50AM.
He did some last checks, food on the table; check. Kid’s bus passes, check. Lunch boxes prepared, check. Taxi keys in pocket, check. Everything was good. And so he left the children, locking the door to his single bedroom apartment; if you count the living room as a bedroom.
7:00AM.
He pulled the ignition and eased the cab out of the tight space. Parallel parking in New York City was never pleasant. A train shot past overhead, upon the rail system that practically created a roof over the entire avenue.
He pulled out of the lot just in time to have his bumper nicked by a beat up Trans Am.
‘Sigh. Life is never great for an immigrant,’ he mumbled to himself. He pulled away quickly, leaving the two heavy-set African American men no choice but to let him go.
8:00AM.
Now away from the tight confines of the Brooklyn transport system, he found himself looking up at the dark clouds amassing up above.
“Looks like it’s going to rain hard today huh?” he said, trying to make conversation with his first fare.
He was obviously disinterested.
“Won’t do much good for traffic either,” Hassan said, quietly now.
Not much could happen to change the state of traffic over the Brooklyn Bridge. It was a constant cacophony of car horns and angry interns. He checked his watch. 8:15AM. He needed to be at the pizza parlor by nine. He sighed as he leaned out his window.
“C’mon! Let’s get this traffic moving huh?! What’s the freaking hold-up?!”
9:15AM.
“Ah Saddam or Husain or whatever… It’s 9.15, next time you don’t want your job call in advance so I can get Sanchez or whatever here to do it, Okay? We have a schedule you know?”
“Its Hassan, I’ve told you that before. And it’s just 15 minutes, c’mon. Alright what have you got for me?”
“3 Pies; Big building in the center of Broadway and Seventh.”
“Just say Times Square”
“BROADWAY AND SEVENTH.”
“Yeah, whatever. So it’s the police post in the center of Times Square right?”
“It’s BROADWAY AND SEVENTH! Now GO!”
He took the pies and left. He worked full time as a cab driver, but he delivered Pizzas for an ‘Uncle Italiano’s Pizza Parlor’ for extra cash on the side. At the same time he was a telemarketer, making calls while driving. But that was only on weekends.
The skies unleashed their torrent of rain just as Hassan entered his cab. He was in Lower Manhattan near Seward Park. He turned a sharp right to face North East, in the direction of Uptown Manhattan and stopped to pick up a fare.
“ABC, Times Square, and make it fast”
Hassan smiled; He was a big believer of something he called Signs. Anyone who took a ride in his taxi would know. He believed that everything happened for a reason. He believed that his man going to Times Square proved that the pizzas were going to be good.
“Yessir. Have you heard of signs sir?”
09:45AM.
“3 Pies. That’ll be fifty big ones.”
The cop mumbled something and coughed up fifty dollars flat.
“No tip?” Hassan asked. The door shut.
“What kind of weirdo eats pizzas in the morning anyway?” He spoke, more to himself than anybody else.
Alone in his cab now, he started practicing his English.
“Moist carpets and frayed curtains fringed the interior of the small café.”
It wasn’t as if it wasn’t great already: he had near flawless vocabulary, great grammar.
“Moist carpets and frayed curtains fringed the interior of the small café.”
Probably the only problem was his accent. He had a strong Middle Eastern accent.
“Moist carpets and frayed curtains fringed the interior of the small café.” He repeated.
The rain had grown stronger. He started to worry abit for his wife. The south piers were prone to flooding.
His train of thoughts stopped with the cab, to pick up another fare.
“Hi good morning sir. Whe-“
“Wall Street.”
“Yessir. How do you think your day will turn out?”
“Horrible. Can you just drive?”
“Maybe it’s a sign sir?”
01:30PM.
5 Fares and 4 Pizzas later, Hassan pulled over on a road within central park. He had been frantically trying to call his wife. The radio had confirmed reports of flooding in the south piers, and his wife had not answered her phone.
Before he could begin to really worry about it though, an old lady hiding under an umbrella had started knocking on his window, at the same time clutching tightly on to a large clear plastic bag full of what appeared to be dried leaves.
He massaged his temples quickly and looked at her smiling. Always look good for your customers.
“Hi good afternoon ma’am. Can I help you with that?”
The old lady hefted the large bag of leaves onto the cab. It was quite obvious she went to great lengths to keep them dry. Duct tape sealed all but one cut opened. It was clear her objective was to get the leaves in a nice dry place.
Hassan was obviously curious, but he didn’t pry.
“Where are you going ma’am?”
She didn’t say anything much, instead she took out a postcard and poked repeatedly on the ‘wall street’ sign with her stubby finger.
“Yesma’am. Can I tell you about some other kinds of signs ma’am?”
02:00PM.
He left the lady behind, but the stench of dried leaves stayed.
‘Now that is gonna be hell to clean,’ He thought to himself.
Driving slowly now, he gave up trying to call his wife. Radio news had reported cuts in communication in the area. No one really knew what was happening but the rain was really screwing things up everywhere. He was about to head back to pick up more pizzas when he spotted another fare.
The man looked important, in a business suit with red tie, and looked slightly pale as he got in.
“There’s a Starbuck’s next to this pizza store in Lower Manhattan.”
“I know the place. Going out in this violent storm, sir?” Hassan smiled to himself. The signs were good.
The man didn’t reply.
"I hear that the south pier has flooded from all this rain and people are trapped. Communications have been cut off and people are stranded. I sure hope my wife brought her cell phone with her, been trying for ages to call her."
The man kept really quiet as he fiddled with his coat and adjusted his cuffs.
“Maybe it’s not such a good idea to be out with the weather like that. Maybe it’s a sign you know.”
The man was obviously not interested, but Hassan went on anyway; business as usual.
“Like how sometimes things just keep getting in your way, maybe you’re just not meant to do something right?”
Hassan turned a sharp turn and the engine fizzled to a dead silence.
Ah shit, not now!
“I’m very sorry sir; I can fix this right now.”
The man ignored him, shoved a 50 dollar note in his face and left the cab.
“Sir, wait! Remember the signs!”
It wasn’t far anyway. It was about two blocks down. The man rallied his umbrella and walked in the direction of the café, away from view.
Hassan looked at the meter.
$8.40.
Then back at the $50 note in his hand.
Shrugging to himself, “Ah maybe is not so bad sign after all.”
He pulled out an umbrella and climbed out of the cab to diagnose the problem.
[-END-]
So there you have it. enjoy. haha. again, no intention to continue it, but i'm interested to see one from the Leaf lady's P-O-V. i was thinking maybe the plot could be not about any of these people but about the storm. but that all depends on Hysteria's Call part 3. so yeah. we'll wait and see.
[divider here]
Images of peacefulness and bliss were shaken from Hassan’s mind, as the incessant vibrating of his cell phone alarm shook him awake. The urge to hurl it out the window quickly passed as he thought about the countless hours he had spent working overtime to get it in the first place.
Work!
He looked at the time. 6:30AM. Perfect. The kids would be up anytime soon, the wife had already left for work at the docks down south, and there was no breakfast on the table.
He cursed quietly as he pulled on his one presentable pair of clothes, and prepared two peanut butter sandwiches, literally with all 4 of his limbs.
6:50AM.
He did some last checks, food on the table; check. Kid’s bus passes, check. Lunch boxes prepared, check. Taxi keys in pocket, check. Everything was good. And so he left the children, locking the door to his single bedroom apartment; if you count the living room as a bedroom.
7:00AM.
He pulled the ignition and eased the cab out of the tight space. Parallel parking in New York City was never pleasant. A train shot past overhead, upon the rail system that practically created a roof over the entire avenue.
He pulled out of the lot just in time to have his bumper nicked by a beat up Trans Am.
‘Sigh. Life is never great for an immigrant,’ he mumbled to himself. He pulled away quickly, leaving the two heavy-set African American men no choice but to let him go.
8:00AM.
Now away from the tight confines of the Brooklyn transport system, he found himself looking up at the dark clouds amassing up above.
“Looks like it’s going to rain hard today huh?” he said, trying to make conversation with his first fare.
He was obviously disinterested.
“Won’t do much good for traffic either,” Hassan said, quietly now.
Not much could happen to change the state of traffic over the Brooklyn Bridge. It was a constant cacophony of car horns and angry interns. He checked his watch. 8:15AM. He needed to be at the pizza parlor by nine. He sighed as he leaned out his window.
“C’mon! Let’s get this traffic moving huh?! What’s the freaking hold-up?!”
9:15AM.
“Ah Saddam or Husain or whatever… It’s 9.15, next time you don’t want your job call in advance so I can get Sanchez or whatever here to do it, Okay? We have a schedule you know?”
“Its Hassan, I’ve told you that before. And it’s just 15 minutes, c’mon. Alright what have you got for me?”
“3 Pies; Big building in the center of Broadway and Seventh.”
“Just say Times Square”
“BROADWAY AND SEVENTH.”
“Yeah, whatever. So it’s the police post in the center of Times Square right?”
“It’s BROADWAY AND SEVENTH! Now GO!”
He took the pies and left. He worked full time as a cab driver, but he delivered Pizzas for an ‘Uncle Italiano’s Pizza Parlor’ for extra cash on the side. At the same time he was a telemarketer, making calls while driving. But that was only on weekends.
The skies unleashed their torrent of rain just as Hassan entered his cab. He was in Lower Manhattan near Seward Park. He turned a sharp right to face North East, in the direction of Uptown Manhattan and stopped to pick up a fare.
“ABC, Times Square, and make it fast”
Hassan smiled; He was a big believer of something he called Signs. Anyone who took a ride in his taxi would know. He believed that everything happened for a reason. He believed that his man going to Times Square proved that the pizzas were going to be good.
“Yessir. Have you heard of signs sir?”
09:45AM.
“3 Pies. That’ll be fifty big ones.”
The cop mumbled something and coughed up fifty dollars flat.
“No tip?” Hassan asked. The door shut.
“What kind of weirdo eats pizzas in the morning anyway?” He spoke, more to himself than anybody else.
Alone in his cab now, he started practicing his English.
“Moist carpets and frayed curtains fringed the interior of the small café.”
It wasn’t as if it wasn’t great already: he had near flawless vocabulary, great grammar.
“Moist carpets and frayed curtains fringed the interior of the small café.”
Probably the only problem was his accent. He had a strong Middle Eastern accent.
“Moist carpets and frayed curtains fringed the interior of the small café.” He repeated.
The rain had grown stronger. He started to worry abit for his wife. The south piers were prone to flooding.
His train of thoughts stopped with the cab, to pick up another fare.
“Hi good morning sir. Whe-“
“Wall Street.”
“Yessir. How do you think your day will turn out?”
“Horrible. Can you just drive?”
“Maybe it’s a sign sir?”
01:30PM.
5 Fares and 4 Pizzas later, Hassan pulled over on a road within central park. He had been frantically trying to call his wife. The radio had confirmed reports of flooding in the south piers, and his wife had not answered her phone.
Before he could begin to really worry about it though, an old lady hiding under an umbrella had started knocking on his window, at the same time clutching tightly on to a large clear plastic bag full of what appeared to be dried leaves.
He massaged his temples quickly and looked at her smiling. Always look good for your customers.
“Hi good afternoon ma’am. Can I help you with that?”
The old lady hefted the large bag of leaves onto the cab. It was quite obvious she went to great lengths to keep them dry. Duct tape sealed all but one cut opened. It was clear her objective was to get the leaves in a nice dry place.
Hassan was obviously curious, but he didn’t pry.
“Where are you going ma’am?”
She didn’t say anything much, instead she took out a postcard and poked repeatedly on the ‘wall street’ sign with her stubby finger.
“Yesma’am. Can I tell you about some other kinds of signs ma’am?”
02:00PM.
He left the lady behind, but the stench of dried leaves stayed.
‘Now that is gonna be hell to clean,’ He thought to himself.
Driving slowly now, he gave up trying to call his wife. Radio news had reported cuts in communication in the area. No one really knew what was happening but the rain was really screwing things up everywhere. He was about to head back to pick up more pizzas when he spotted another fare.
The man looked important, in a business suit with red tie, and looked slightly pale as he got in.
“There’s a Starbuck’s next to this pizza store in Lower Manhattan.”
“I know the place. Going out in this violent storm, sir?” Hassan smiled to himself. The signs were good.
The man didn’t reply.
"I hear that the south pier has flooded from all this rain and people are trapped. Communications have been cut off and people are stranded. I sure hope my wife brought her cell phone with her, been trying for ages to call her."
The man kept really quiet as he fiddled with his coat and adjusted his cuffs.
“Maybe it’s not such a good idea to be out with the weather like that. Maybe it’s a sign you know.”
The man was obviously not interested, but Hassan went on anyway; business as usual.
“Like how sometimes things just keep getting in your way, maybe you’re just not meant to do something right?”
Hassan turned a sharp turn and the engine fizzled to a dead silence.
Ah shit, not now!
“I’m very sorry sir; I can fix this right now.”
The man ignored him, shoved a 50 dollar note in his face and left the cab.
“Sir, wait! Remember the signs!”
It wasn’t far anyway. It was about two blocks down. The man rallied his umbrella and walked in the direction of the café, away from view.
Hassan looked at the meter.
$8.40.
Then back at the $50 note in his hand.
Shrugging to himself, “Ah maybe is not so bad sign after all.”
He pulled out an umbrella and climbed out of the cab to diagnose the problem.
[-END-]
So there you have it. enjoy. haha. again, no intention to continue it, but i'm interested to see one from the Leaf lady's P-O-V. i was thinking maybe the plot could be not about any of these people but about the storm. but that all depends on Hysteria's Call part 3. so yeah. we'll wait and see.
Longest, Part 1
okay, i found my stash of writings and narratives while cleaning up for the party, and found something i wrote that i'd like to show off. its only the first bit and i never continued it. maybe you can convince me to.
here goes:
[divider here]
Sam walked along the street, his leather jacket zipped up against the cold. His long face was drawn and pale. His big eyes were as black as the jeans he wore. He walked in a fast striding motion.
The street ran from Heidelberg Road down to the Yarra river, which lay at the end of the street, snaking its yellow way to the bay. Plane trees' last leaves clung to the branches. The crisp tan leaves that had fallen lay in the deep gutter waiting for the rains.
A heavy wind blew down the street., its howling sonata a bidding warning to Sam; Whispering, persuading him to return.
A cat awakens, gray, dishevelled: startled by Sam's footsteps. It looked upon him disapprovingly for a moment, sizing him up. Quickly losing interest, it returned to its deep slumber.
At last. Sam sighed heavily as he looked upon the house. Was he doing the right thing? Sighing again, he stepped forward and put his finger to the bell.
There was no turning back now.
He depressed the switch.
The door opened just a crack, letting in a thin beam of light: a stark contrast against the dark corridor beyond. A small head poked through the gap. Her eyes were red and her make-up had run.
"How're you holding up?" Sam asked.
"Not too good." She shifted, opening the door.
"Come in, its cold out."
And Sam crossed the threshold.
"Can i get you anything to drink?" She asked softly, turning to head to the kitchen.
"I'm fine. Does Shawn know yet?" Sam pressed.
"No. I can't tell him."
"Why not?" Sam asked, at the same time observing the discarded bottles of hard liquor and wine strewn across the kitchen floor.
"I... I can't. We both know what'll happen."
A moment of silence. She looked longingly at another bottle of gin.
"You shouldn't be drinking so much."
The words were lost to the wind as she opened the bottle and took a large swig. She looked fragile and helpless to Sam then, as she cringed from the burn of the alcohol. Even so, she was still beautiful. She always had been. From the time they played together in the neighborhood playground, to their time spent in higher education together. A dull ache returned to Sam. The more he thought of it, the more he hated himself for not being able to "man up" and admit that he was in love.
A sharp gag brought sam back to the situation at hand. She was clearly not a drinker, it was obvious how drastic the situation was.
"C'mon. lets get you somewhere else. Away from all this alcohol." Sam said. Pulling her up and to the door.
"No. No... Sam," She pulled her arm free.
"Just leave me, I'll be fine."
Sam wasn't convinced. "No. Come on. Just a while."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be, just... Just come on. You'll thank me later." He forced a smile, a futile attempt to lighten the mood, as he pulled her out the door.
[-END-]
There you have it. I couldn't help but do some minor editing while transcribing it. grammer, etc. there was alot of brands mentioned in the original which i took away. some minor sentence removals and additions, made it alot easier to continue if i wanted to.
just going to say on a side note, if you were looking for some form of closure anywhere from tonight's posts, you won't get any. haha. i have no intention of finishing anything tonight. as in. i'll be starting stories but you won't get the end. and stuff. eeyurgh. haha.
oh shit i need a title. lets see... lol. "man enough" came up for awhile. nono. lets see. there seems to be alot of regretting in the story. but regret is a horribly cliched name. remorse is too. sigh. hmm. longest. how's that. it kinda describes how i expect this story to turn out. i don't expect much though. its turning really cliche, like one of those channel 8 dramas. not looking forward to continuing it. but meh. we'll see.
here goes:
[divider here]
Sam walked along the street, his leather jacket zipped up against the cold. His long face was drawn and pale. His big eyes were as black as the jeans he wore. He walked in a fast striding motion.
The street ran from Heidelberg Road down to the Yarra river, which lay at the end of the street, snaking its yellow way to the bay. Plane trees' last leaves clung to the branches. The crisp tan leaves that had fallen lay in the deep gutter waiting for the rains.
A heavy wind blew down the street., its howling sonata a bidding warning to Sam; Whispering, persuading him to return.
A cat awakens, gray, dishevelled: startled by Sam's footsteps. It looked upon him disapprovingly for a moment, sizing him up. Quickly losing interest, it returned to its deep slumber.
At last. Sam sighed heavily as he looked upon the house. Was he doing the right thing? Sighing again, he stepped forward and put his finger to the bell.
There was no turning back now.
He depressed the switch.
The door opened just a crack, letting in a thin beam of light: a stark contrast against the dark corridor beyond. A small head poked through the gap. Her eyes were red and her make-up had run.
"How're you holding up?" Sam asked.
"Not too good." She shifted, opening the door.
"Come in, its cold out."
And Sam crossed the threshold.
"Can i get you anything to drink?" She asked softly, turning to head to the kitchen.
"I'm fine. Does Shawn know yet?" Sam pressed.
"No. I can't tell him."
"Why not?" Sam asked, at the same time observing the discarded bottles of hard liquor and wine strewn across the kitchen floor.
"I... I can't. We both know what'll happen."
A moment of silence. She looked longingly at another bottle of gin.
"You shouldn't be drinking so much."
The words were lost to the wind as she opened the bottle and took a large swig. She looked fragile and helpless to Sam then, as she cringed from the burn of the alcohol. Even so, she was still beautiful. She always had been. From the time they played together in the neighborhood playground, to their time spent in higher education together. A dull ache returned to Sam. The more he thought of it, the more he hated himself for not being able to "man up" and admit that he was in love.
A sharp gag brought sam back to the situation at hand. She was clearly not a drinker, it was obvious how drastic the situation was.
"C'mon. lets get you somewhere else. Away from all this alcohol." Sam said. Pulling her up and to the door.
"No. No... Sam," She pulled her arm free.
"Just leave me, I'll be fine."
Sam wasn't convinced. "No. Come on. Just a while."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be, just... Just come on. You'll thank me later." He forced a smile, a futile attempt to lighten the mood, as he pulled her out the door.
[-END-]
There you have it. I couldn't help but do some minor editing while transcribing it. grammer, etc. there was alot of brands mentioned in the original which i took away. some minor sentence removals and additions, made it alot easier to continue if i wanted to.
just going to say on a side note, if you were looking for some form of closure anywhere from tonight's posts, you won't get any. haha. i have no intention of finishing anything tonight. as in. i'll be starting stories but you won't get the end. and stuff. eeyurgh. haha.
oh shit i need a title. lets see... lol. "man enough" came up for awhile. nono. lets see. there seems to be alot of regretting in the story. but regret is a horribly cliched name. remorse is too. sigh. hmm. longest. how's that. it kinda describes how i expect this story to turn out. i don't expect much though. its turning really cliche, like one of those channel 8 dramas. not looking forward to continuing it. but meh. we'll see.
Monday, May 12, 2008
What is wrong?
Something to chew on. Consider the following.
Take for example, somebody who likes eating at subway. Lets call him A. So.
A walks up a flight of stairs. He's with his classmates. From downstairs he hears somebody say loudly: "I feel like eating subway". Naturally, a connection is made. A feels associated with subway fanatic #2, whom I'm going to call B. A then feels an urge to make the connection known. A wants B to know that he, too, is a fan of subway. So A shouts back: "I feel like eating subway too!"
Something interesting has happened.
But lets stop for a minute here.
Obviously, at this point, it is established that A is no NORMAL human being. Let's see the scenario again, but I'm going to change A into a 'normal' human being.
A walks up a flight of stairs. He's with his classmates. From downstairs he hears somebody say loudly: "I feel like eating subway". Naturally, a connection is made. A feels associated with subway fanatic #2, whom I'm going to call B. A then feels an urge to make the connection known. A wants B to know that he, too, is a fan of subway. Then A looks at his classmates, who are completely oblivious to the burning desire in his heart. A looks down the stairs to try to catch a glimpse of B. A reasons that B has already left the area, and he carries on with his day.
Nothing interesting has happened.
Now it is normal.
Everyone has a desire to stand out. EVERYONE. But most people also have a desire to fit in, so as to not be ridiculed for being different. But why? Why should people be afraid to be themselves? Which social norm states that you cannot talk to someone you don't know? Is smiling at strangers considered a social faux pas?
What is wrong with people?
Kenneth. I'm looking at you. I expect a 1000 word essay on this. And for my readers, go visit http://metallic-stains.blogspot.com/ Its Kenneth's blog. He does argumentative essays. Its wordy, so be prepared.
Also, tag boards. I AM NOT PUTTING UP A TAGBOARD. I DO NOT WANT TO PUT UP A TAG BOARD. STOP PUSHING ME TO PUT UP A TAGBOARD. PUTTING UP A TAGBOARD MAKES PEOPLE IGNORE THE COMMENTS. IF YOU WANT TO TALK, USE THE COMMENTS. COME ON.
There. I got that out. I'm not scolding anyone. I just don’t like being pushed.
Take for example, somebody who likes eating at subway. Lets call him A. So.
A walks up a flight of stairs. He's with his classmates. From downstairs he hears somebody say loudly: "I feel like eating subway". Naturally, a connection is made. A feels associated with subway fanatic #2, whom I'm going to call B. A then feels an urge to make the connection known. A wants B to know that he, too, is a fan of subway. So A shouts back: "I feel like eating subway too!"
Something interesting has happened.
But lets stop for a minute here.
Obviously, at this point, it is established that A is no NORMAL human being. Let's see the scenario again, but I'm going to change A into a 'normal' human being.
A walks up a flight of stairs. He's with his classmates. From downstairs he hears somebody say loudly: "I feel like eating subway". Naturally, a connection is made. A feels associated with subway fanatic #2, whom I'm going to call B. A then feels an urge to make the connection known. A wants B to know that he, too, is a fan of subway. Then A looks at his classmates, who are completely oblivious to the burning desire in his heart. A looks down the stairs to try to catch a glimpse of B. A reasons that B has already left the area, and he carries on with his day.
Nothing interesting has happened.
Now it is normal.
Everyone has a desire to stand out. EVERYONE. But most people also have a desire to fit in, so as to not be ridiculed for being different. But why? Why should people be afraid to be themselves? Which social norm states that you cannot talk to someone you don't know? Is smiling at strangers considered a social faux pas?
What is wrong with people?
Kenneth. I'm looking at you. I expect a 1000 word essay on this. And for my readers, go visit http://metallic-stains.blogspot.com/ Its Kenneth's blog. He does argumentative essays. Its wordy, so be prepared.
Also, tag boards. I AM NOT PUTTING UP A TAGBOARD. I DO NOT WANT TO PUT UP A TAG BOARD. STOP PUSHING ME TO PUT UP A TAGBOARD. PUTTING UP A TAGBOARD MAKES PEOPLE IGNORE THE COMMENTS. IF YOU WANT TO TALK, USE THE COMMENTS. COME ON.
There. I got that out. I'm not scolding anyone. I just don’t like being pushed.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
it said meow.
The lotus elise is gone.
but i found a cat.
I tried to talk to it, but it ignored me. i know you're thinking: but cats dont talk. yeah i know. i mean, it didnt even bother to look at me when i talked to it. it was wary of me at first, but then it labelled me harmless, then COMPLETELY ignored me. except for the occasional glare.
I saw it when kenneth made me let kenneth into the estate. (i think if i used "him" you'd think it was the cat.) KENNETH wanted to SURPRISE someone. but SOMEONE didn't let him UP INTO her BLOCK.
HA. KENNETH.
anyway. they ended up on the phone. for 45 MINUTES. then he left. while on the phone. at the same time, we bumped into men shing, WHO WAS ALSO ON THE PHONE. so i flipped open my phone and pretended to talk to someone.
ANYWAY. Apparantly, the cat is responsible for scaring KENNETH's significant other, so KENNETH went, and SCARED the cat. so the cat got scared, and SLIPPED INTO MY SHIRT. but then it jumped out because it realised i wasn't a curtain. or something. then it glared at me. ingrate.
ANYWAY AGAIN. i went for my job training just now. but i have a cold, so im not going to type anymore. maybe tomorrow, after my QSM training. (Quality Service Management)
kthxbai.
but i found a cat.
I tried to talk to it, but it ignored me. i know you're thinking: but cats dont talk. yeah i know. i mean, it didnt even bother to look at me when i talked to it. it was wary of me at first, but then it labelled me harmless, then COMPLETELY ignored me. except for the occasional glare.I saw it when kenneth made me let kenneth into the estate. (i think if i used "him" you'd think it was the cat.) KENNETH wanted to SURPRISE someone. but SOMEONE didn't let him UP INTO her BLOCK.
HA. KENNETH.
anyway. they ended up on the phone. for 45 MINUTES. then he left. while on the phone. at the same time, we bumped into men shing, WHO WAS ALSO ON THE PHONE. so i flipped open my phone and pretended to talk to someone.
ANYWAY. Apparantly, the cat is responsible for scaring KENNETH's significant other, so KENNETH went, and SCARED the cat. so the cat got scared, and SLIPPED INTO MY SHIRT. but then it jumped out because it realised i wasn't a curtain. or something. then it glared at me. ingrate.
ANYWAY AGAIN. i went for my job training just now. but i have a cold, so im not going to type anymore. maybe tomorrow, after my QSM training. (Quality Service Management)
kthxbai.
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