You're Not Going to Take Me to the Store?
My dad retired from the army after 28 consecutive years of service. Maxed out his rank at Master Warrant Officer (CW5). He has most definetly obtained "baller status" even though he manages to be an ass towards me most of the time. Told him to buy a Chrysler 300C (with the V8 package), he says he'll settle for Nissan Altima. No matter what he does, he needs to get rid of that 1991 Dodge Caravan. It's embarrassing that the people working for my dad have BMWs and Jaguars.
Current grades in high school: 97, 95, 100, SIXTY-FIVE. Calculus, oh the evil ways you twist my mind. Let's make something clear, I am brilliant (oh, he's so modest). I truly am, I pick up on things very easily, I decipher codes and puzzles, though I have the memory span of a goldfish, my mind is very sharp. But calculus. How can I describe it? Imagine you're building one of those 5,000 piece puzzles and you're completely finished, except for one last piece. And that remaining piece definetly won't fit in the last space. The piece is calculus; the puzzle, my brain. Forcing the piece won't help, it'll only distort the whole image, so no sense in fucking up the whole thing. I quit, I just fall asleep in class, drool all over my textbook, and hope that I don't get charged for water damage.
I had an epiphany the other day. Maybe my true calling in life isn't to shoot people, but rather to shoot pictures. I do have a god-given talent in rifle marksmanship, but I just hate guns, and I'm a big pacifist. Not that I won't put foot to ass in Iraq, but you know, I'm a nice guy. I think that maybe I'll pursue a job in journalism. Start out as a photographer, travel the world, work for National Geographic, Time, CNN, whatever; eventually become a news reporter then anchorman. I've wanted to be so many things: soldier, author, business owner, teacher, senator, social worker, photographer, journalist, but what the hell am I talking about? At the moment, I might not get out of high school!
F'ed in the A.
Trying to get more pictures from our trip at Auburn, look for more pictures of the competition in the next update. Here, just settle for a couple lame pictures until then.
Couple days back, maybe Saturday. Beautiful sky.
This is how I see calculus. Nothing is clear, nothing makes sense.
This was my face right before my dad beat me for bringing a D- home.
Mike McHugh after some PT training today. What a stud.
My rifle locker. Full of little "I love you" notes, a Hello Kitty porn scene, and my trusty Canon AE-1.
Some lame emo kid hanging out after school. What a loser, get a life.
My hair looks bad in that picture, bah.
"And when our city, vast and shitty, falls to the axis
They'll search the buildings, collect gold fillings, wallets and rings
But Ms. Black Eyeliner, you'd look finer, with each day in hiding.
Beneath the wormwood, oh, love me so good.
They won't hear us screw away the day. I'll make you say:
No, I won't let them take you!
Should they catch us, and dispatch us, to those separate work camps,
I'll dream about you. I will not doubt you, with the passing of time
Should they kill me, your love will fill, as warm as the bullets.
I'll know my purpose. This war was worth this. I won't let you down.
No, I won't let them take you.
Hell no, no."
~ Say Anything
Current grades in high school: 97, 95, 100, SIXTY-FIVE. Calculus, oh the evil ways you twist my mind. Let's make something clear, I am brilliant (oh, he's so modest). I truly am, I pick up on things very easily, I decipher codes and puzzles, though I have the memory span of a goldfish, my mind is very sharp. But calculus. How can I describe it? Imagine you're building one of those 5,000 piece puzzles and you're completely finished, except for one last piece. And that remaining piece definetly won't fit in the last space. The piece is calculus; the puzzle, my brain. Forcing the piece won't help, it'll only distort the whole image, so no sense in fucking up the whole thing. I quit, I just fall asleep in class, drool all over my textbook, and hope that I don't get charged for water damage.
I had an epiphany the other day. Maybe my true calling in life isn't to shoot people, but rather to shoot pictures. I do have a god-given talent in rifle marksmanship, but I just hate guns, and I'm a big pacifist. Not that I won't put foot to ass in Iraq, but you know, I'm a nice guy. I think that maybe I'll pursue a job in journalism. Start out as a photographer, travel the world, work for National Geographic, Time, CNN, whatever; eventually become a news reporter then anchorman. I've wanted to be so many things: soldier, author, business owner, teacher, senator, social worker, photographer, journalist, but what the hell am I talking about? At the moment, I might not get out of high school!
F'ed in the A.
Trying to get more pictures from our trip at Auburn, look for more pictures of the competition in the next update. Here, just settle for a couple lame pictures until then.
Couple days back, maybe Saturday. Beautiful sky.
This is how I see calculus. Nothing is clear, nothing makes sense.
This was my face right before my dad beat me for bringing a D- home.
Mike McHugh after some PT training today. What a stud.
My rifle locker. Full of little "I love you" notes, a Hello Kitty porn scene, and my trusty Canon AE-1.
Some lame emo kid hanging out after school. What a loser, get a life.
My hair looks bad in that picture, bah.
"And when our city, vast and shitty, falls to the axis
They'll search the buildings, collect gold fillings, wallets and rings
But Ms. Black Eyeliner, you'd look finer, with each day in hiding.
Beneath the wormwood, oh, love me so good.
They won't hear us screw away the day. I'll make you say:
No, I won't let them take you!
Should they catch us, and dispatch us, to those separate work camps,
I'll dream about you. I will not doubt you, with the passing of time
Should they kill me, your love will fill, as warm as the bullets.
I'll know my purpose. This war was worth this. I won't let you down.
No, I won't let them take you.
Hell no, no."
~ Say Anything