I am a Stoic

I always idealized my stoicism. I was the world’s greatest liar.

I wasn’t nearly as invincible as I made myself out to be. I could see a video of a national tragedy, without so much as a blink. I could see people die right in front of me, and then continue to eat a cheeseburger. My cousin was disgusted after we witnessed a murder, and threw his away. I looked towards him, back to the In-N-Out Double-Double Animal Style sitting in front of me. The decision was easy. I raised it to my mouth, but then the eyes all darted towards me. I wanted to say, “A guy was killed, not my appetite.” It would have simply led to more fat jokes, part of my morning regiment of eating everything in sight. Instead, I folded. I reluctantly dropped my burger in the trashcan and moved and sat depressed. I mourned my cheeseburger for days.

Then I got to high school. Turns out girls love dicks. So it was easy to disregard everyone’s feelings. I knew it was wrong. I knew I was hurting them, but I couldn’t have cared less. Caring was reserved for my dog. The one and only thing I could honestly say I loved.

Then I met my crew. We worked on names for a long time: T3CH (pronounced “Tech-3”), the Trio, the Cunning Stunts. Or just Matt, Andrew and Danny. Matt was a year younger than us. Absurdly athletic, and often referred to as “Thor,” he could have easily been mistaken for the Norse deity without a hammer or winged helmet. Danny, the attention whore and one of my best friends. There was never a dull moment with Danny around. Finally, me. I was the foreign kid. With a fake I.D. bummed off my cousin during my sophomore year. Yes, a sophomore in high school with a fake I.D. If there was a party in our town, it could be attributed to me. I was the reason the liquid courage flowed through the veins of those teenage boys with raging libidos and teenage girls with few inhibitions.

We were popular. I’m not saying that in the, “I was better than everyone else” kind of way. More of a, “Everyone knows us, for one reason or another.” Danny and Matt were notorious man-whores. I however, was still pretty awkward. Somehow, I still hooked up with girls more attractive than I was.

Up to this point, I cared about Danny and Matt. A lot. They were closer to me than family. In fact, I’d probably trade my family for them in a second. We were brothers in fun. Armed with costumes, slip and slides, copious amounts of liquor, we stormed the beaches of “Funmandy”. The Fun Nazi’s didn’t stand a chance against our beer bongs, Das Boot, the Tour de Franzia, the Grapevine, or just “Bear”. Redlands, California was the battleground. And we were definitely in charge.

Then it happened. I had an idea. “Let’s have a competition. Let’s see who can hook up with the most Honors student girls. You get a point for each Honors class they are in. We keep a running tally until graduation night. To make it interesting, let’s make teams. I’ll take Jeremy, he’s a slut. And it can be you two.”

I never realized how much I would regret the idea.

From there, we went on our ways. I made 6 quick points by using relationships I had already made. But then I hit a brick wall. Jeremy was going hard. He earned 10 points. So we had 16 points altogether. Danny and Matt started slow, with only 10 points in early May. They had been severely slowed down by Matt’s interest in a certain Christian good girl. But he still got points on the side. Danny was a complete whore. Racking them up left and right.

Then came the week of graduation. Only 4 days left. I didn’t even care about graduating. The competition became consuming. The first girls had somehow figured out about the game. I did what I always did with women and manipulated them to believe that they were in the wrong. I even got them to apologize for me. I grinned as soon as I turned around, every time, without fail. By this point, the scoreboard was 35- 32. Danny and Matt had taken the lead after Matt had gone an amazing 3 for 3 one night.

So I needed one girl with 4 classes. I thought. One immediately came to mind. A girl that had been best friends with Matt’s Jesus Girl. Nobody had ever broken her before. It would be an epic challenge. I had 4 days to seduce her.

So it started. I asked her out. Denied. I kept talking to her. Told her what she wanted to hear. A lot. Did I care about her? Absolutely not. I had no apparent attachment whatsoever. I was wrong though. I took her on a romantic picnic the night before graduation. Mission Accomplished. Chicks dig picnics. We win the competition on an epic, buzzer beater. And I went out with her the next night after graduation. I always noted that this stereotypical movie plot where the star falls in love with a girl he only talked to for a bet was a joke, and couldn’t possibly happen.

Fast forward. We dated for the next 6 months; I thought it was a seemingly insignificant amount of time. But it wasn’t. I, the one who hadn’t cried since he saw Tarzan when he was 7 and saw the Mommy Gorilla shot and killed, was in love. I thought about her constantly. I missed her while I was still with her. People always told me that someone waits their entire life to tell a significant other that they love them. But when you get there, I love you doesn’t come fucking close.

That’s how it felt. I’ve never been happier. I’d never been happy. I had just been. But now I was complete. Then I moved away for school. I thought I could escape with telling her we should have an “open relationship.” But sadly, no girl here ever came close to her. I think about her when I wake up. I dream of her when I sleep. I don’t masturbate here. At all. Because I don’t feel attracted to any girl but her anymore. I can’t even imagine being with someone else.

Why did this happen to me?

One night she calls and says she needs it to be over.

I say it’s fine, I understand. Tell her what I think she wants to hear. I had always put her before myself. And this time, I realized it had always been about her. I was a pawn in a chess game. She was the rest of the pieces. It wasn’t a couple. It was me, and Natalie, the “love of my life.” A term I use with extreme prejudice.

I had visited twice already. I lived 500 miles away. It wasn’t easy, but I made it twice in one month just to see her. So it wasn’t like I wasn’t trying. She didn’t think it would work, so she decided to end it before it got bad.

It didn’t get bad until a month later, when she called to inform me that she had a new boy. It wasn’t serious, so she wouldn’t tell me who it was. I, being the genius I am, asked a friend, who knew who it was. Problem solved.

But now I’m in a state of utter depression. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I occasionally tear up for no reason. This is me. I saw P.S. I Love You, and laughed. A lot. But this girl has brought me to my knees. My stomach is constantly upset. My body aches. I thought I was sick. But it only happens when I think of her. Six months is not a big deal. Why is this happening to me?

Then I realized. I’ve been lying to myself. I’m not a stoic. I’m not immune to emotion. I’ve been trying to avoid it, because I didn’t want to feel this. I’m a boy. Just a boy. I’m vulnerable. I am a liar.

Then I straighten my back. Puff my chest out. Smile. Take my hands out of my pockets. Put in my headphones. Walk down the street humming a tune. I put on my shell again. I liked it better back then.
I am a stoic. I am a stoic again.

Innocuous

Innocent in every possible way. Nothing that could even be considered intimidating. How many times has that one been said? Tall or, more accurately, loppy arms swing from front to back, helping the top-heavy oaf keep his balance. He sticks one hand in his pocket to keep his beltless pants from falling down, again. He appears lopsided, and he narrowly avoids tipping over with every step.

He doesn’t find himself attractive, and everyone giggles when he walks by, and people constantly talk about how everyone “loves” him. Some even go as far to say “They all have a fat boner for you.” This is eloquence. Eloquence only gets one so far, and that is always right before 3rd base for him. He gets “Let’s Just Be Friends”ed instantly. It’s like his calling card. It’s basically a home run in loser baseball.Most regard him as smart, but he’ll never be smart enough. Others regard him as cool, but he’ll never be cool enough. He always carries a smile, but no one could ever tell you why.

Mistakes. They’re made, and forgotten, but usually remembered. He’s made so many that he’s lost count. Most visibly, in his personal life. Some say he has jungle fever. Those people couldn’t be more wrong.

The recently founded White Girl Addiction Rehabilitation Center, founded for men like our protagonist, has been helping men “get over ‘em” for days, even weeks. Sadly, the women he chooses are exactly what he thought they were: nearly perfect, but mediocrity never attracts perfection. The flowing blond hair, biting wit, gorgeous girl will never be his. No idea why not.

Life constantly asks him why he does the things he does.

Start at Oakland International Airport. Get on the AirBART. Jump on the BART towards Richmond. Couple of stops left. Downtown Berkeley. Mind the gap. Take that first leap. The foot makes contact with the ground simultaneously with the knife penetrating the man on the train opposite the platform. Welcome to Berkeley.

Action: The Only How-To Guide You Will Ever Need

Ambition.

Nothing is ever accomplished without ambition.

Fear.

Nothing is ever accomplished by complaining.

Now, this may be as trite as it gets. Fear is fear, ambition is ambition, but that’s not my point.

The title is misleading, this is not a self-help guide. It is not a how-to. It is just what I’ve found out recently.

The only person holding you back is yourself. Guaranteed. No one else can hold you back. Not your parents, not your friends, not your enemies.

I was not the happiest kid in the world. I was not the most dismal child either. There is only one thing that has definitively changed my life, changed the basis of my character, and that was the moment I swore to take action on my every desire.

It sounds horrible, it sounds like I’m about to justify rape or something horrid. In reality, the nuances of the word desire are left up to you. I simply want to assure everyone, there is nothing more to life than what we make of it.

I’m desperately trying to avoid philosophical bullshit. This is intended to be grounded and as realistic as possible.

I recently posted a Benjamin Disraeli quote, “Action may not only lead to happiness, but there is no happiness without action.”

It’s probably the most accurate thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t really do much past this, but this feeling I have can’t truly be described. However, this is an article, and thus, I will try.

I am not invincible, I am insecure, I am weak. How do I become stronger? By acting stronger. By taking initiative, by doing something about it. Too many people simply read these self-help books. Reading is fantastic, but it isn’t magic. Everything requires an outside input into the subject. We must do it for ourselves.

There is a limit at which the knowledge is irrelevant, but the application could not be more important. We’re an information based society, and we must change that. Now.

I’ve never been so satisfied with myself in my life. I’ve never felt so strong.

I took the initiative, and put myself out there. I was shot down. Horribly. I went out on a limb, and came crashing to the ground. I wanted to kill myself for a split second. I’ve done this before, but never quite in the way I did there.

And I have to say. It felt good. It felt good to fail, and to survive. To be completely dejected, realize it’s ok, and move on. I deleted the number. Deleted the old messages.

Game Over. Press Start to Continue.

I think I’ll give it another go.

Secret

Excuses.

I can find an excuse for everything. I am the most elaborate liar you will ever meet. The extent to which I can bullshit is so unbelievable, most people do not initially believe it.

The Secret

Don’t give them a reason to doubt you.

I have a great time. I am not any different than any other kid my age. Except that I realized one thing, as long as you take care of your responsibilities, the rest of the time is yours to fill. These people will drink, smoke, and ignore their future. They have so much to do, and they are wasting it. I can do whatever I want,  but I make sure to take care of my work, my other obligations, my family, and my future before I have fun.

American society is definitively stuck in the now. I have no problem with the now, but working for the now with no regard for the later is a dangerous way to play the game. Intelligent people are wasting their talent. Idiots who avoid time wasting are flying to the top of society.

As a result, I hereby state that I’m only going to live in the present. The past is irrelevant, the future is a waste of time.

I’ll be attending a college next year, either UCLA, UCBerkeley, Harvard, Yale, Northwestern, or UPenn. Wherever I’m accepted. And I don’t fear not succeeding there, I fear being unimportant there. Unimportance and mediocrity are my greatest, however irrational, fears.
I recently asked out the one and only girl that I truly enjoy speaking with. She’s not the first girl I’ve been with, nor will she be the last. However, I’ve been contemplating my time investment in women that I don’t enjoy. Sadly, they’re far more numerous than the rare “diamond in the rough.” Realistically speaking, this relationship will not work out. She’s a year younger than I am, much more busy. It’s tough to find a moment with her. But overall, I could not be happier with my decisions. Not only did I take action on something I truly wanted, it ended up successful, for now.
I am an anglophile. It’s a disease here on the West Coast. You can hardly find a place without a Union Jack plastered on a wall. Britpop is an epidemic. I also have a unnatural attraction to personalities of the UK (Smith, Ricardo, Malthus, Churchill, Bentham, and most importantly, Disraeli).

Benjamin Disraeli, in my opinion, one of the greatest leaders of the modern era, once said

“Action may not always bring happiness; but there is no happiness without action.”

I hereby affirm that I will act on every impulse I truly believe will increase my happiness. This experiment begins today, and will last approximately 2 weeks. I’ll update occasionally.
I encourage everyone to begin “Project Disraeli” for themselves, and see what changes.

Family is a Relative Term

The Family

A mother, a father, two daughters, and a son. Oh, and a dog. Sadly, the only one I have any emotional attachment to is the dog. My mother wishes I was more like the Indian kids she teaches dance to, who take an interest in their heritage. My father wishes I was more like his dream child, who is a wealthy doctor and never messes up. My sisters don’t really acknowledge my existence. One is a powertripping teacher with self-esteem so low that anything at all can become an attack on her character.

“Sis, your car is dirty. You should wash it.”

“Fuck, just because I’m not rich and white, and can’t afford to get my car washed every week, doesn’t mean I’m not as good as you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me…”

“Who asked you?!” It always escalated to yelling, cursing, and fucking annoying arguments over the semantics of suggestions that imply that she is of a lower class than the rest of the family.

The other sister is the complete opposite. Way too much pride, just no life experience to back it up. She’s never held a job for more than a summer. Lives completely off my parent’s money, and parties like it is 1999, which may be because she never quite moved on. Technically, she is going to law school. In reality, she just doesn’t want to go to the real world yet. Too much responsibility and stuff.

Then there is me. The quiet one. All I do is go to school and eat. I don’t have any attachment to anyone. If we were asked to pack up and move, I wouldn’t hesitate. I despise my family’s flaws, as the all subsequently became what I consider my “pet peeves.” I can’t stand anything they do.

This is my home. I just don’t live here anymore. I turn off upon entering. Some people try to pull the, “You’re so privileged, you just don’t know it.” I know I’m privileged, and I love my lifestyle. I just hate growing up in a home in which no one actually likes anyone else. Sometimes I wish divorce was an option in our culture.

A Window

Every person has a moment in which they decide their future. A proverbial point of no return. For some, it isn’t a conscious decision at all. Rather, life decides its own path, and guides us into a world in which we have no actual effect on our future.

Penn Patel, the archetypal Indian student from all appearances. What goes on in the confines of his mind is completely ridiculous. Hence, his resultant life motto became “Ridiculous.” Everything in his life was ridiculous, and it appeared as though he was the only one who could see it.

“Penn, you’re going to sit here quietly and listen to these men play music. They’re holy. Just do it.” His mother, a small quaint woman, with a personality that everyone else seemed to love, but the reason for which he never quite understood, constantly badgered Penn to have faith, to be a good Indian boy, and to embrace his culture. As many teens will understand, all that did was make him detest everything associated with his culture, “his” religion, “his” heritage. In fact, it became a punishment for insubordination, as insubordination, was the only crime his parents could possibly punish him for. What else can you do if the only problem with your son is that he is not what you want him to be?

I never believed her when she said there was a god.

If you ask any child what they want to be when they grow up, chances are “The survey says: Doctor or Engineer” being the next words are about as likely as Louie Anderson becoming a doctor or an engineer.

For an Indo-American parent (note that Penn shall never escape the confines of the hyphen) astronauts are too crazy, pilots are paid too little, firefighters aren’t educated, and childhood dreams aren’t protected by any means. The indoctrination to follow the path your parents set for your starts so early that doctors earned the ire of Penn, for no other reason than the fact that the word was spoken more often than his name. His innate racial ability to count and calculate was finally put to good use.

Thus, Penn always dreamt of something more. He wanted his name to be remembered. In fact, the only recurring dream of his entire childhood was being a professional basketball player, with his dog, Tiger, his fantastically talented canine companion.

Air Bud fucks kids up.

So where does he go from here? Every Desi has heard the story. The kid who doesn’t want to do what his parents desire of him. They are all looking for some sort of salvation.

For Penn, it came in the package of his cousin’s driver’s license.

—————————————————————————————-

“Guriqbal Mandeep Singh, 24365 Highview Cold Canyon Terrace Road, Malibu, CA. May 26th, Nineteen eighty… eight?”

“No. Eighty-six, dipshit.” I barely knew Patrick; we had met a few times before back in ninth grade. We had been connected by the necessity of alcohol at a party, so they asked me to buy it. I had made the mistake of bragging about the idea after procuring it. I don’t know if it was a mistake or not.

“Whatever, I doubt they’ll card me. Being 16 with a full beard has its perks.”

“And its curses. Look at them legs. Is that a carpet?”

Why the hell am I in this position? I don’t like any of these people. In fact, I despise most of them for the shit they gave me growing up.

“Your mom seemed to like it.” That’s the pinnacle of my comeback ability at the age of 16, a “your mom” joke. Even Wilmer Valderamma is dying on the inside.

“Whatev’ slut.” Patrick squinted when he laughed. It was at that moment that I had the idea of a viral video starring an Asian eating a lemon. The pointlessness would have been legendary amongst the townspeople. It also reminded me that I hate these people. If only I didn’t crave their social acceptance, being part of the cool kids crew. Again, it pains me to see how trite all of this was.

We choose a random, sketchy liquor store. The guy at the counter cards me; I show him my cousin’s identification. He nods and then asks me what I want. I ask for the high school classic, Smirnoff Green Apple. He goes to the Smirnoff row, and randomly touches bottles.

“Apple please.”

“Which one?”

“Apple. Right there.” Pointing at a wall of bottles tightly packed together is extremely inefficient.

“Hmmm…”

“Forget it, Watermelon is fine.”

“Watermelon…”

“The red one.”

“Oh, okay.” He then proceeds to hand us strawberry flavored vodka. That was when I realized he was illiterate. We just pay and leave for our red bottle. I wonder what he would have done if I had just given him my real identification.

We went to the party. It wasn’t my first, but it was the first that I had not planned. I was very much the friend of the moment. They came, drank my booze, broke my chairs, and puked in my hallway, and then I hear nothing from them for months, until they need my identification. Using people. It must feel good.

Luckily, this party was not at my house, but the next victim of the desire for acceptance, who is also Indian, and name rhymes with mine. I couldn’t help but laugh at the hilarity of the situation. I hope he realized that they were using him just as they used me, but I was disappointed, he greeted me warmly, as though we were friends. He was just as naive as I had been.

“Penn, thanks for buying all of this.”

“No problem. Any time.” I lied straight to his face.

I was one of the first people there. Soon after me and Patrick, Ansley, a guy I had known since the first or second grade, Prince Charming of the school, showed up. There was no person in my life I hated more than Ansley. When we were in elementary school together, I was fat, and he decided to write a song about me.

“Bounce like jelly on my belly,

 There’s a big rumble, when I stumble,

 Can you tell me who I am?

 Penn!”

In spite of their overt innocence, those words cut deep. The song replayed in my head whenever I saw him. I just left the room. The worst part is that I still told people he was one of my best friends. He didn’t mind too much, I wasn’t the only one.

Someone invited a gang of bros to the party. Someone else invited the graduated football players. This spells bad news for anyone familiar in high school clique interactions. In fact, this may have been the worst ending to any party ever. The owner of the house was forced into his bathroom. A fight broke out. A couch ended up in a pool. A vase was shattered. A neighbor had a two-by-four broken over his head. The shit hit the fan, and then was lit on fire, and stained the carpet as well. It was the scariest ten minutes of my life up to that point.

A text saying, “Oh, btw, I sent sen a text saying penn can buy alcohol for your party. Thought you should know” is equally terrifying, especially when every Indian person in the Deadlands knows every other one, including mine and Sen’s parents.

________________________________________________________________________________________

College Admissions: Hell on earth?

In an everlasting attempt to differentiate myself from my peers, I’ve realized I’m no different than my peers.

Basically, college admissions has become fractured into 5 major groups.

1. The superstars- These are the kids that have near perfect SAT scores, high GPAs, and ridiculous extracurriculars. “I was a nationally ranked volleyball player. Perfect score on the SAT. I just finished my second book, and am in the process of curing cancer. I protested Mugabe’s regime last month on my annual trip to Africa. I was captured by government officials, and tortured. I want to go into medicine so I can tend to my wounds next time I incur the ire of a governing body. I think you should let me in.”

Sometimes, it feels like these people are lying. How are you supposed to compete with them? It seems they have been planning since the eigth grade, and you are just playing catch up.

2. The smart/lazy kids.

Contrary to popular belief, being the valedictorian or salutatorian does not necessarily mean they are the most intelligent. In fact, most people would be alarmed at just how ignorant and dull the top GPA students can be. Our valedictorian this year never received a 5 on an AP test. She only took a few, and received 3s and 4s. My class’s 4th ranked student believes in intelligent design. The 2nd ranked student has cheated her way through most of her classes. It is difficult to see these people receive commendation for hard work, despite the fact that they have not really learned anything. They are in school for the grade, not for the information.

After the top 5, you’ll find most of the future leaders. Our 6th ranked student was one of the most impressive people I’ve ever met. She had a work ethic like none I’ve ever seen. Her parents, recent Romanian immigrants, taught her well, and she was the editor-in-chief of the newspaper. Most people were amazed by just how organized and intelligent she was. Her writing style is extraordinarily unique. Overall, I expect great things. Then, there is the 84th ranked student.

I am in this same boat. I cannot acheive the same rank as someone with a 3.9+ GPA. I can ace any standardized test. I can almost ace the SATs. I nearly got a perfect score on the ACT (instead I received a 35). However, I dug my hole too deep. There is no way that I can bring my GPA back up to the expected level of the Top 25 colleges. I received a B in my foreign language.
Now I’m looking at college admissions. I didn’t think about college my freshman and sophomore years, and I regret that.
However, the public school guidance counselors had nothing either. I’ve had 5 different counselors in the last 3 years. I don’t know who they are. I couldn’t tell you the name of the person who is going to be writing my letter of recommendation in a few months. It would be like asking Obama to write a paper on Islam. Might as well ask a blind person to write about the rainbow while we’re at it.

3. The Slackers who get in everywhere (screw Affirmative Action)

I don’t believe that we should end affirmative action. I think it’s great. However, it doesn’t belong at the elite schools. Someone with a 1650 SAT shouldn’t get into UCLA or Berkeley just because they are African American. Nobody should get into UCLA with an 1850, or Cal with an 1890. Especially when people have higher GPAs, standardized test scores, and stronger extracurriculars. I’m fine with that kind of person getting into an average school, or state school. However, at prestigious schools, where qualified students are being rejected for unqualified ones, it hurts. It hurts to see somebody undeserving go somewhere you should have gotten in. One of my friends, half-black, recently received a full-ride scholarship, and a half-tuition scholarship to Columbia University. He is a junior, and has a 1910 SAT. He is mediocre at football. I don’t get it. Note that he is mediocre at football. He’s never been scouted. And our team is 3-11 since he’s been on varsity.

4. The people who get screwed

” I worked harder than [Insert Standard State School Here].”

Sometimes, people have fantastic grades, top of their class, and are rejected from everywhere. No one quite knows why, or what justified their rejection, nor the acceptance of other subpar students.

5. Finally, those who don’t apply.

Then you realize that most of the American, and the world, population, will not attend college. In my family, it is a foregone conclusion. However, should it be? I could be equally successful in a carefully planned career. Perhaps entrepreneurship is the key to success. School is no guarantee. Thousands are left jobless, and the nepotism at the top of society (Screw legacy) makes it extremely difficult to “break” in to the upper crust of society. How do dropouts get by? How do people who simply weren’t academics get by?

This is why I am going to research vocational-track based education systems, and also look at the correlation between colleges and success in the presidency.

High school teens volunteering for the future

In response to the social problems and natural disasters of recent years, there has been an increase membership in charitable organizations and volunteering across the country, and high school students are firmly involved in the advancement of this altruistic revolution.

The American Red Cross, the Goodwill, the Salvation Army and on-campus student service clubs such as Octagon Club, In Society, and Key Club are opportunities for students to get involved in their own community. Groups such as these are vital to the social programs of this country, and emphasize the magnanimity of teenage students and volunteers.

Nonprofit organizations (NPOs) are often the first major form of aid to millions of victims to the various political, natural, and economic disasters. In the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina, the American Red Cross was commended for its swift response. However, not all NPOs focus on emergency aid. The American Library Association focuses on maintaining and supporting library education throughout the world, and the Phoenix House is a series of rehabilitation centers that help those who have fallen victim to various types of drug addictions.

These societies attempt to better society, rather than reap profits. This may seem naïvely altruistic, yet, with the amount of support these groups get from the communities they serve, they can facilitate a small paid staff in order to maximize effectiveness.

The most prevailing NPO in Redlands is the Young Men’s Christian Association. Although it is technically a nonprofit organization, it does charge a nominal fee for the use of its facilities. The YMCAs all over the country pride themselves first on their employment opportunities for young adults, their low cost child care, and their volunteer sponsored sports programs. Hundreds of high school students have gone through the YMCA Basketball program, dozens through their roller hockey program. High school junior M. Jiffry was one of the players who went through the basketball program, he articulated his gratitude for YMCA basketball when he said, “Most RHS student has in someway been involved with the YMCA. It helped me grow as a teammate, a player, and a person.”

Students are both major beneficiaries and donors to non-profit organizations. Through service clubs, the average student can become involved in projects and charities that help the people both directly and indirectly. The Octagon Club takes part in the annual Relay for Life, in which the members, along with hundreds of other students and volunteers raise money for cancer patients. A member of the Octagon Club, junior J. Campos, remarked, “Octagon Club tries to give its members a better understanding of the importance of teenager involvement in the community. I know my efforts and participation in events such as the Relay for Life will benefit those in need of help and support, particularly those making the fight against cancer.”

Volunteering has become vital to being considered a “complete” student for college admissions. Due to this, even more students have become active in the community. Yet, not all students do it only for applications. Senior Eric Hagstrom, a member of In Society discussed his motives behind joining the club as, “It makes me feel good inside; I do it all for the little smiles on the faces of the children”

Specific organizations often focus on helping students be successful. For example, the Mustard Seed Tutorial Center is a non-profit organization fully staffed by volunteers, even some high school students. Junior J. Lee, spends her free time helping other students from kindergarten to 12^th grade learn what they need to succeed in the academic realm. Lee expresses the positive aspects of her tutoring when she stated, “It was a great experience knowing that I was helping somebody.”

With all the pressure on youth in this age, some find it difficult to cope, and sometimes crumble under the burden. Suicide is one of the principal killers among teenagers, along with alcohol related accidents and homicide, however, the gravity of taking your life is alarming to many Americans.

Due to this phenomenon, hundreds of organizations have formed just for teens like these. “To Write Love on Her Arms,” or TWLOHA, is a group that collects money and provides counseling to anyone who may feel that they wish to take their own life. The organization began as a fund to help a young, depressed woman who struggled with addiction and self-injury, afford rehabilitation. However, when popular bands such as Switchfoot and Anberlin began to support the organization, it quickly grew throughout the fifty states, all the way to Europe. High school student K. Martin noted, “That sounds like a great program, helping people who need it the most. But sometimes, it can be tough to get people into the programs in the first place.”

Due to their tax exempt status, nonprofit revenues go almost directly to those who need them, rather than being tied up with the Internal Revenue Service. High school junior J. Bueermann stated, “I’m glad the government gives benefits to non-profit organizations, because it encourages them to continue their charity work.” With tax exempt status, aid organizations are optimized for success and through the involvement of students like the ones at high schools, the American Society, as Martin put it, “is at a peak of generosity.”

How to download music online

Throughout my time on the Internet, I have had trouble finding good ways to find the music I want to hear. Specifically, not so common albums from not so common bands. In the last 5 years, I’ve got it down. I can find almost any album and get it in less than a day. My first choice is always to purchase it from a store, however living in a small town, it can sometimes be very difficult to find rare albums. In fact, the closest record store is a place called Headstone Records, which is the one and only place to get New Release Vinyls. Other than that, music stores are impossible to find.
So, here it is.

1. My personal favorite is a private music torrent tracker called Waffles. It is by far, and without question the best music tracker I’ve come across, after the unfortunate demise of OiNK.me.uk. Because of this, it is near impossible to get an invites. If you would like one, I currently have a few, and can possibly “hook you up.” However, let me warn you, it is not a leecher friendly place. Keeping a decent ratio is not as easy as just leaving your torrenting application open. In fact, I have had to upload 5 albums just to stay at a 1.00 ratio.
Waffles
Slyck’s BitTorrent Guide

2. The second choice is to scour public FTP servers. Search Warez sites like Wtalk, Needz.org, and the like to find nice ones. If your target album is a more well-known artist, you can probably find it on one of the FTP servers listed here.
Filesearch.ru Top 100 FTP servers

3. Another possible choice is to search on Warez forums. Often, they have “scene” releases of albums. Wtalk has a fantastic audio library. The downside is that most of these albums are hosted on Rapidshare.com, and without a premium account, this can be a hassle.

4. My final choice is to use your ISP’s newsgroups. This is by far the fastest, but unless you are willing to pay for bandwith, you cannot get more than a few gigs a month. Adelphia SoCal and Time Warner both offer 1 gigabyte per month. Slyck.com has a great tutorial for getting started with newsgroups. On Adelphia’s servers, most underground albums were in alt.bin.music, but its likely there were other places that I never found. Recently, Time Warner removed their newsgroup servers, and now require a monthly fee. I have BT, so I had to turn them down.
Slyck’s Newsgroup Guide

Well, that’s my final list. I have found every album I have ever honestly wanted from these places. Remember to support the artist if you like the CD. I’m personally a big opponent of DRM and business practices of the record companies. In my anti-authoritative rage, I have found that many bands have a website with a Paypal “Donate Now” button. This is a fantastic way to skip the middle-man and go straight to the artist.

Also, you may have noticed that I didn’t list Kazaa or Limewire. I have found that P2P networks are among the most dangerous places on the Internet. You can find some unusual things there, and it has the highest probability of downloading a dangerous file, and it is where many of the RIAA cases you hear about on the news begin. I’m not saying that if you use it, you will get a virus or be sued, but why take the risk in the first place? If you must use P2P, I recommend Overnet/Edonkey2000, as I appreciate the ed2k and overnet linking system, as well as the file download verification with my unusual personality as a computer hypochondriac who visits irreputable sites on many occasions (If you catch my drift). But heed my warning, avoid P2P networks if at all possible.

I’ll probably go into more depth with these in the future.

Finding your own path and how classic rock helped me find mine

Everyone at some point must decide what they are looking for. That unreachable, and oddly ambiguous, goal known as success or happiness.

As a student, and a hard-working one at that, I realize that academia is where my future is. However, is it in the realm of the Harvard, Yale, Princeton or a small liberal arts college in the middle of nowhere? My family history insists that I follow a career in either engineering or medicine. With absolutely no choice in the matter, and even less passion for those fields, I am completely lost.

Why do I try so hard to follow something that I care so little about? Why do I sacrifice my social life in the name of academics? Why do I act the way I do?

And then, as I dozed off to the endless perfection of the Disney Channel, I was gently woken by the sounds of an AT&T commercial. Obviously, AT&T had little effect on me, but it was the song that I noticed.

Day Dream by Wallace Collection

Despite the ridiculous nature of the video, the entrancing vocals and simple beat are intoxicating. As I laid in my own filth on an undersized futon, covered in an awkwardly colored throw, I realized that I was wasting my time. Sometimes, you just have to day dream. The weather outside was incredible, 75 degrees, sunny, and a slight breeze from the east. Why hadn’t I gone outside before to see the sky? Why was I ignoring this glorious opportunity sitting in front of me?

It was simple. I had never tried to see what options I had before me at any time. Instead, I looked at what people told me to do. People told me I should have been studying. I should have been napping in a park, or in my backyard. I should have been living. The nose to the grindstone life of the average honors student is no way to live. A day with no homework is the highlight of my year. Now, I have promised myself 15 minutes per day of daydreaming, hopefully amid flowers, and on a beautiful day.

Later, I realized that there was alot more information hidden in the words of the hippy era.

Next, I visited the tunes of Buffalo Springfield- For What It’s Worth.

Stop, children, everybody look what’s going down.

Buffalo Springfield apparently wrote this song about riots that were occurring near them at the time. Thus, they are stopping to hear the sounds of chaos. They continued on to apply it to the nation as a whole.

As a teenager, I’m completely oblivious to everything around me. I don’t pay attention to any of the shenanigans that surround my environment. My town has homeless people everywhere. I’ve never been able to empathize with their pain. I’ve never been able to empathize with those around me. I don’t feel I’ll ever be able to either.

Instead, I have an irrational habit of blaming it on them. Sometimes, children are simply not raised with love, and end up in horrible situations. It isn’t there fault. The credit crunch has ravaged the housing market. Foreclosures everywhere. All the while, I simply spend my time analyzing how limits are used in Calculus. It seems kind of asinine, and it is. This generation is ignorant of everything around him. There is a war that is basically forming a schism, leaving the Muslim and Western world on opposite sides of the field, each looking for a head to shoot. Still, I’ve never seen anything outside the West and my home country. I have no relation to the “enemy.” They are abstracted down to nothing more than a blank face on a terrorist’s body. How do I empathize with that?

How do I make everyone happy?

With the help of the quirky comedy of Juno (Clever, yet cliche` at the same time. Quite a feat in my opinion.) and the cinema classic, Forest Gump, I realized that everyone needs somebody to love.

Here, I realized that life can be abstracted down to a series of relationships between a person and everyone that person interacts with. Some of these relationships are over in an instant, and others last for a lifetime. However, the length and value of a relationship is defined by the work or effort you put into it. Thus, any relationship can be shifted from one sphere to another, instant to everlasting. The quality is completely decided by the members.

Before, I took relationships for granted. It’s not that I was completely socially ostracized, it was more that I didn’t actively attempt to maintain relationships, be they between random study group members or the girl who works at the restaurant I frequent. I had hundreds of acquaintances, but few that I would consider real “friends.”

Once I started working on my relationships, I instantly connected with a woman that I have been talking to for months, but never really took to the next level.

I have a new good friend, who I party with nearly every weekend. (He’s one of those unstoppable social butterflies, and honestly, I can’t keep up. I spent one day with him, and met 6 new people that I would now consider friends, without ever leaving his side…)

Basically, I started trying.

Finally, I realized that I need to relax.

Shit happens. You can’t turn back time, at least not yet. Take things in stride, and immediately continue. Reflecting negatively on obstacles is hardly a good use of time. Negativity only begets more negativity. I am not necessarily one of those people who champions the idea of a “positive attitude,” but nobody can deny the fact that negativity and stress provides no real advantage. Let things roll right off if possible. Nothing is ever really worth it.