(no subject)
Lance who? Is that the guy that landed on the moon? This was me three weeks ago. My friends and I carried out this conversation until we were all sick of his name--Armstrong. The sad part about the whole predicament was that I ended my incessant with an insightful thought for speculation; did we even land on the moon? We've all seen the documentaries, and it is plain to see that our beloved American flag was flowing in the wind, the moon wind. The sun's light radiated down and glorified the whole scene. It is amazing what stage lighting can do these days. I apologize to the history-buffs of the world; I think I'm going to side with MTV on this one. It was all a hoax.
Anyway, back to Lance and back to my point. I'm sure you've noticed those tiny yellow wristbands that a million-plus people are sporting these days, and I'm sure you know of their importance. Aside from wasting our country's valuable watch space, the bracelets are raising money for cancer. Up until yesterday, I thought it was for prostate cancer. I was wrong. In actuality, Lance, and I will be referring to him on first name basis, was diagnosed with testicular cancer. Thankfully, he continued to ride into the hearts of every American, and went on to become my number one bicycling hero. We love him for that.
I was walking down the hallway the other day and I realized just how much people adore Lance. I know the doubts involving random samples, but my conclusions are valid. I know this because my school is dangerously over crowded and the only way to get even a gasp of fresh air is to try and cram your head above the hundreds of herding farm animals that are, hopefully, unintentionally shoving you into lockers, doors, etc. I sometimes carry an oxygen mask in my backpack, just incase. Anyway, when you have so many new targets to ridicule, aimlessly strolling past you all day, you tend to try and focus on the minor details. It makes my job as a cynic slightly easier. However, every second of the day and every dark corner I tried to hide in, I could not escape that ever-stylish little yellow wristband.
The hardest part for me to handle was when my friend came back from a two week vacation in California. No, it was not the fact that she was basking in the sunny glow of the West coast, while I was at home stuck in crummy Maryland. It was she who caused me to get good old Lance and Neil Armstrong confused; she told me that she was wearing the wristband for the guy that landed on the moon. I guess moon rocks didn’t do so well for his prostate. Still, this goes to show that whatever you are famous for, whether it be winning the Tour de France six times or pretending to land on the moon, you can still slap our face on a Wheaties box and make a cool mil.
This is my sole inspiration to avoid fame. I can't even stand taking school pictures, let alone a cereal box with my enlarged face on it. I personally do not want to be famous for the money, the glory, or evens imply because people will wear my name on their wrist all day and think they are cool for doing so. Instead, I want to help people in a way that doesn't leave their wallets feeling drained. So until the day comes when I can find this perfect job, I will be doing what I always do; watching for new fads, and then constantly ridiculing those who follow them.
Anyway, back to Lance and back to my point. I'm sure you've noticed those tiny yellow wristbands that a million-plus people are sporting these days, and I'm sure you know of their importance. Aside from wasting our country's valuable watch space, the bracelets are raising money for cancer. Up until yesterday, I thought it was for prostate cancer. I was wrong. In actuality, Lance, and I will be referring to him on first name basis, was diagnosed with testicular cancer. Thankfully, he continued to ride into the hearts of every American, and went on to become my number one bicycling hero. We love him for that.
I was walking down the hallway the other day and I realized just how much people adore Lance. I know the doubts involving random samples, but my conclusions are valid. I know this because my school is dangerously over crowded and the only way to get even a gasp of fresh air is to try and cram your head above the hundreds of herding farm animals that are, hopefully, unintentionally shoving you into lockers, doors, etc. I sometimes carry an oxygen mask in my backpack, just incase. Anyway, when you have so many new targets to ridicule, aimlessly strolling past you all day, you tend to try and focus on the minor details. It makes my job as a cynic slightly easier. However, every second of the day and every dark corner I tried to hide in, I could not escape that ever-stylish little yellow wristband.
The hardest part for me to handle was when my friend came back from a two week vacation in California. No, it was not the fact that she was basking in the sunny glow of the West coast, while I was at home stuck in crummy Maryland. It was she who caused me to get good old Lance and Neil Armstrong confused; she told me that she was wearing the wristband for the guy that landed on the moon. I guess moon rocks didn’t do so well for his prostate. Still, this goes to show that whatever you are famous for, whether it be winning the Tour de France six times or pretending to land on the moon, you can still slap our face on a Wheaties box and make a cool mil.
This is my sole inspiration to avoid fame. I can't even stand taking school pictures, let alone a cereal box with my enlarged face on it. I personally do not want to be famous for the money, the glory, or evens imply because people will wear my name on their wrist all day and think they are cool for doing so. Instead, I want to help people in a way that doesn't leave their wallets feeling drained. So until the day comes when I can find this perfect job, I will be doing what I always do; watching for new fads, and then constantly ridiculing those who follow them.