Joe Purdy – I Love The Rain The Most
Boy & Bear – Milk & Sticks
As I become more and more entrenched in the blue collar workaday world I'm learning more and more about how things, people, and money work. The more I learn, I can't help but feel that I'm more than a bit behind the 8 ball.
For starters, I'm really just getting my foot on the bottom rung of the work ladder. As far as I can tell, there seem to be 3 tiers of this ladder- helper, skilled laborer, boss. 100/day, 200-300/day, 500+/day respectively. I think I've always thought of money in terms of yearly salary. I guess because I assumed that I would one day have a steady paycheck with a corporate logo on it, I would think in this term of currency. This isn't exactly how it works in the under-the-table world. There have been weeks of recent where I've made more money than I ever have in my life. A flat 500 from my role as a helper on a remodeling job, 50 for a couple hours of ceiling restoration with my uncle, another 200 for an hours' work closing a pool on my own.
As I make this money, I can't help but marvel at how much money you have to make money. At 500/wk I'm on track for a 25,000/yr. If I can work my way up to 1,000/wk I'll be on track for a 50,000 year. I'd have to make 400/day. 5 days a week. 50 weeks a year. Just to make $100k.
While in school, I always had a number close to $60k floating around in the back of my head. I figured I'd start off around there, and work my way up to the 200s within a decade or so. I guess I never really realized how much all of that money really is.
$800/day is A LOT of money. Money is a real thing. Not just a number. And working for 100/day really puts that into perspective.
While all of these thoughts of money dance like visions of sugarplums in my dome I feel like I'm learning some very important lessons that I failed to learn in all of my schooling.
SAVE. Save as much as you can while you can. I've been ever so fortunate enough that I've always had enough savings that I've had a safety net. Because I've gambled most of these savings on my business venture, I've come dangerously close to scraping the bottom.
Ask for more. Perhaps I'd have a larger safety net sitting in the bank right now if I'd been less hesitant to ask for more. The people I've done Abstract Concrete work for make a few hundred a day. They should be able to afford to pay someone else comparably to do the things they can't. Prices are going to have to go up this Spring.
Live well within your means. I'm fortunate that I have relatively low overhead, but even still 1,000/month in insurance/gas/truck payments is a heck of a lot when I'm lucky to make 2,000/month.
Make yourself invaluable. Having come close to the ledge, I realize how fortunate I am to have work- no matter how irregular it may be. Knowing this, I'm all too happy to work for every cent I get. Also, good help is hard to find- and if you can create value for yourself, people don't mind paying top dollar to get you to help them.
So. Could I have learned all of this 6 years ago had I gone straight into the workforce from high school? Or did I need 4 years of undergrad and 2 years of grad to figure out where I'm going and what I need to end up where I want?
Monday, November 7, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Two Feet of Oak
Benjamin Francis Leftwich – Atlas Hands
We Were Promised Jetpacks – It's Thunder And It's Lightning
Far and away one of my favorite experiences has to be going to a bar by myself and listening to music. I'm not sure why I find this so cathartic. I think it's interaction deprivation coupled with sensory overload that makes me feel so good. There's just something about being alone in a crowded room that helps me clear my head and see things in a different light. My go-to soundtrack has been Bon Iver's Bon Iver, but I've also listened to Watch the Throne, and my Spotify playlist. I let my mood dictate the music and the setting.
Most people go out to the local watering hole to grab a bite, maybe watch the game, bump into a fellow barfly. I like all of this too, but there's something special about walking in with a set of headphones on and savoring a Jameson with whatever quiet you prefer. I feel like this somehow heightens the few interactions I do have. Relying on eye contact, hand signals and facial gestures to order another drink, signal a chair is open, close out a tab. Take of the conversation, and it all feels a little deeper. It's easy enough to tell a couple that the seat next to you is open, but to let them know with a smile and a nod makes the interaction a little more intimate.
I think another reason I enjoy this so much is that I've come to associate this activity with travel. Excitement and opportunities. It makes me think of the times I've spent sitting in an airport bar. Getting ready to take off for vacation, or a conference, or training. Kind of the calm before the storm. The last chance to steel myself before I take off on something new.
We Were Promised Jetpacks – It's Thunder And It's Lightning
Far and away one of my favorite experiences has to be going to a bar by myself and listening to music. I'm not sure why I find this so cathartic. I think it's interaction deprivation coupled with sensory overload that makes me feel so good. There's just something about being alone in a crowded room that helps me clear my head and see things in a different light. My go-to soundtrack has been Bon Iver's Bon Iver, but I've also listened to Watch the Throne, and my Spotify playlist. I let my mood dictate the music and the setting.
Most people go out to the local watering hole to grab a bite, maybe watch the game, bump into a fellow barfly. I like all of this too, but there's something special about walking in with a set of headphones on and savoring a Jameson with whatever quiet you prefer. I feel like this somehow heightens the few interactions I do have. Relying on eye contact, hand signals and facial gestures to order another drink, signal a chair is open, close out a tab. Take of the conversation, and it all feels a little deeper. It's easy enough to tell a couple that the seat next to you is open, but to let them know with a smile and a nod makes the interaction a little more intimate.
I think another reason I enjoy this so much is that I've come to associate this activity with travel. Excitement and opportunities. It makes me think of the times I've spent sitting in an airport bar. Getting ready to take off for vacation, or a conference, or training. Kind of the calm before the storm. The last chance to steel myself before I take off on something new.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Beginnings
Cosmic Love
We don't eat
have got to be the most stressful part of any relationship. I'm sure that some people would argue that endings are the most difficult. But endings are easy. Finite. They may be painful, surely,but they're short lived. There's also a sort of beauty in the chaos of endings. Something primal gets satisfied in the separation. The fight or flight. The lone wolf mentality. The build up of emotions, and the explosion that sets the two apart like the Big Bang.
Beginnings are tough though. I'm not sure why they still are tough for me, but they are. Throughout my long and arduous dating career, the beginnings have always been plagued by the same set of uncertainties that seem to draw out insecurities and anxieties. Never at any other time in a relationship is so much self worth based on a single text or phone call.
"okayy" with two 'y's'. Must mean she likes me.
No response for two hours. Must mean she's not interested.
Random texts saying hey. Must mean she's thinking about me.
Asking to know what I'm up to. Maybe she's too needy.
All of this agonized over for hours. Trying to connect faint dots, and draw on past experiences, to try and guess what the other is thinking about.
Then there's the obligatory lapse in communication. You don't hear from her for a few days, so you reach out. Finally, at what seems like the 11th hour, they return your call or text.
I lost my phone. I fell asleep. My battery died, and I left my charger at a friend's.
This seems to be a constant. No matter the girl. No matter the relationship. A gulf opens that threatens to swallow your feelings, pride, and future plans inside of it.
So what causes this? These same feelings threaten even the most minor of relationships. Sometimes I'll not even have a desire to continue a relationship, yet still that gulf opens up, and I find myself wondering how I can live without her.
This from someone who goes out of his way to be alone. To have time to myself. To keep people at a distance.
I think it's my need to understand people that drives this self doubt, this need to analyze. I need to know what to expect. Because uncertainty is the bane of my existence. The thing that keeps me up at night. The things that drives my fears. It's not sharks that I'm afraid of. It's the uncertainty of what's lurking below me, next to me. Show me an enemy I can fight, and I'll rise. But put that same danger behind a door, and I start to defeat myself.
The thing about a relationship is that it's not just one person. I of course know how I'll react in any situation. How I am alone. But you lose that when you enter a relationship.
There might be strength in numbers, but it takes time to get there. And while I know my strength alone, it seems to take a hit each time someone tries to join their strength with mine.
We don't eat
have got to be the most stressful part of any relationship. I'm sure that some people would argue that endings are the most difficult. But endings are easy. Finite. They may be painful, surely,but they're short lived. There's also a sort of beauty in the chaos of endings. Something primal gets satisfied in the separation. The fight or flight. The lone wolf mentality. The build up of emotions, and the explosion that sets the two apart like the Big Bang.
Beginnings are tough though. I'm not sure why they still are tough for me, but they are. Throughout my long and arduous dating career, the beginnings have always been plagued by the same set of uncertainties that seem to draw out insecurities and anxieties. Never at any other time in a relationship is so much self worth based on a single text or phone call.
"okayy" with two 'y's'. Must mean she likes me.
No response for two hours. Must mean she's not interested.
Random texts saying hey. Must mean she's thinking about me.
Asking to know what I'm up to. Maybe she's too needy.
All of this agonized over for hours. Trying to connect faint dots, and draw on past experiences, to try and guess what the other is thinking about.
Then there's the obligatory lapse in communication. You don't hear from her for a few days, so you reach out. Finally, at what seems like the 11th hour, they return your call or text.
I lost my phone. I fell asleep. My battery died, and I left my charger at a friend's.
This seems to be a constant. No matter the girl. No matter the relationship. A gulf opens that threatens to swallow your feelings, pride, and future plans inside of it.
So what causes this? These same feelings threaten even the most minor of relationships. Sometimes I'll not even have a desire to continue a relationship, yet still that gulf opens up, and I find myself wondering how I can live without her.
This from someone who goes out of his way to be alone. To have time to myself. To keep people at a distance.
I think it's my need to understand people that drives this self doubt, this need to analyze. I need to know what to expect. Because uncertainty is the bane of my existence. The thing that keeps me up at night. The things that drives my fears. It's not sharks that I'm afraid of. It's the uncertainty of what's lurking below me, next to me. Show me an enemy I can fight, and I'll rise. But put that same danger behind a door, and I start to defeat myself.
The thing about a relationship is that it's not just one person. I of course know how I'll react in any situation. How I am alone. But you lose that when you enter a relationship.
There might be strength in numbers, but it takes time to get there. And while I know my strength alone, it seems to take a hit each time someone tries to join their strength with mine.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Stop Time
Higher Love
Someone Like You
I know scent is the strongest sense tied to memory. Although I only went there a handful of times when I was very young, I still get taken back to my Grandparents house in Cambridge when someone just comes in from smoking a cigarette. The smell of cum trees takes me back to a spring day when I was riding my bike up Kimberwick (a street I would later be arrested on on the same bicycle). And the smell of a certain cologne reminds me of dead fish, because my brother used half a bottle of it to cover up the smell of his when it died.
In a whiff, a breath, these fragrant time capsules take me back to times and moments I haven't thought of in years or decades.
For me, I think a close second in terms of epoch recall is music. Music has played both an active and passive role in my life. Sometimes only as background music as life carries on, and other times as a tool to suppress or embellish certain feelings or emotions.
Sometimes hearing a certain song can have such a strong trigger that I'm immediately taken back to a time in my life. Reading Lord of the Rings, driving in my tinted, black Honda with chrome rims, breaking up with a girlfriend, grade school dances, rolling in the gym, sitting in the back of my Mom's minivan. Uncle Kracker, Tupac, Korn, Crazy Town, Cloudkicker, Seal...
While not as jarring as the trigger of scent, music is captured much more easily. My newest addiction has been building a truly beautiful playlist on Spotify. With cassettes and tapes, music was often lost too easily, or borrowed too freely. By keeping track of my music digitally I feel like I can capture tiny moments and keep them forever.
Not only do I enjoy finding these gems by scouring music websites, but linking this great music to new and powerful memories is also rewarding. I might not remember a certain Black Keys song, or a certain moment in the back of Ant's Jeep in 20 years, but if I keep collecting and adding, I just might be able to live a moment over again that I otherwise would have forgotten.
Someone Like You
I know scent is the strongest sense tied to memory. Although I only went there a handful of times when I was very young, I still get taken back to my Grandparents house in Cambridge when someone just comes in from smoking a cigarette. The smell of cum trees takes me back to a spring day when I was riding my bike up Kimberwick (a street I would later be arrested on on the same bicycle). And the smell of a certain cologne reminds me of dead fish, because my brother used half a bottle of it to cover up the smell of his when it died.
In a whiff, a breath, these fragrant time capsules take me back to times and moments I haven't thought of in years or decades.
For me, I think a close second in terms of epoch recall is music. Music has played both an active and passive role in my life. Sometimes only as background music as life carries on, and other times as a tool to suppress or embellish certain feelings or emotions.
Sometimes hearing a certain song can have such a strong trigger that I'm immediately taken back to a time in my life. Reading Lord of the Rings, driving in my tinted, black Honda with chrome rims, breaking up with a girlfriend, grade school dances, rolling in the gym, sitting in the back of my Mom's minivan. Uncle Kracker, Tupac, Korn, Crazy Town, Cloudkicker, Seal...
While not as jarring as the trigger of scent, music is captured much more easily. My newest addiction has been building a truly beautiful playlist on Spotify. With cassettes and tapes, music was often lost too easily, or borrowed too freely. By keeping track of my music digitally I feel like I can capture tiny moments and keep them forever.
Not only do I enjoy finding these gems by scouring music websites, but linking this great music to new and powerful memories is also rewarding. I might not remember a certain Black Keys song, or a certain moment in the back of Ant's Jeep in 20 years, but if I keep collecting and adding, I just might be able to live a moment over again that I otherwise would have forgotten.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
The times they are a changing
Moves
Wolf Like Me
David started his first week of classes at Neumann this week. For the first time in nearly twenty years, I won't be starting school again.
When I was very young school was a terrifying experience. It meant being ripped from my Mother's thigh and thrust into a new situation with strange people. I remember standing at the top of my driveway begging not to be sent to school. I couldn't wrap my head around why my parents were trying to punish me this way.
In grade school going back meant no more countless hours spent riding dirtbikes, building forts, playing street hockey, and swimming. Each year was a radical change from the next. New teachers, new classrooms, new subjects. Looking back on it, I think that grade school may have held the greatest shifts from year to year.
High school was scary at first. By the end of grade school I'd grown comfortable with my surroundings and the people I'd come to know. High school was a total departure from that. I remember thinking how much like men and women the seniors looked. The was also an air of responsibility that hung lightly over the whole high school experience. We weren't given much rope to hang ourselves with, just enough to trip ourselves up.
I was slightly more confident entering college. Most of my peers were worried about whether or not they'd chosen the right school. I was more concerned whether or not I could handle the work, and what the hell it was I was going to do with my life.
I'm not sure how I feel about this year's depart from the norm. In the past, each year held some anxiety but also a lot of hope. I usually went into the year remorseful for the free time lost, but excited for the opportunities it held. Opportunities to learn, be exposed to new information, and meet new friends. Each Fall was a welcome interruption to a blissful summer.
This year's fall feels like a ticking clock. There are only a few more earning months left until the cold of winter ends my work for the year.
As I talk with Dave about syllabus week, finding his classes, getting to know teachers, and finding the best deals on textbooks, I can't help but feel that I'd like to be a college student for at least a little while longer.
Wolf Like Me
David started his first week of classes at Neumann this week. For the first time in nearly twenty years, I won't be starting school again.
When I was very young school was a terrifying experience. It meant being ripped from my Mother's thigh and thrust into a new situation with strange people. I remember standing at the top of my driveway begging not to be sent to school. I couldn't wrap my head around why my parents were trying to punish me this way.
In grade school going back meant no more countless hours spent riding dirtbikes, building forts, playing street hockey, and swimming. Each year was a radical change from the next. New teachers, new classrooms, new subjects. Looking back on it, I think that grade school may have held the greatest shifts from year to year.
High school was scary at first. By the end of grade school I'd grown comfortable with my surroundings and the people I'd come to know. High school was a total departure from that. I remember thinking how much like men and women the seniors looked. The was also an air of responsibility that hung lightly over the whole high school experience. We weren't given much rope to hang ourselves with, just enough to trip ourselves up.
I was slightly more confident entering college. Most of my peers were worried about whether or not they'd chosen the right school. I was more concerned whether or not I could handle the work, and what the hell it was I was going to do with my life.
I'm not sure how I feel about this year's depart from the norm. In the past, each year held some anxiety but also a lot of hope. I usually went into the year remorseful for the free time lost, but excited for the opportunities it held. Opportunities to learn, be exposed to new information, and meet new friends. Each Fall was a welcome interruption to a blissful summer.
This year's fall feels like a ticking clock. There are only a few more earning months left until the cold of winter ends my work for the year.
As I talk with Dave about syllabus week, finding his classes, getting to know teachers, and finding the best deals on textbooks, I can't help but feel that I'd like to be a college student for at least a little while longer.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Fightin' words
My Body
Ghostwriter
"She doesn't wanna hear it." This big Stranger yells at Anthony as he walks past him to leave the bar.
Anthony nods his head slowly, weighing the pros and cons of addressing the Stranger. "You're probably right." The Stranger drools down his shirt in an attempt to put an exclamation point on the matter by spitting at Anthony.
I see the Stranger and his group of friends on the periphery as we walk out. Immediately, my senses heighten. I hear the fragmented rumblings that prelude a fight. "leave it alone." "yeah, that kid." "who's he with?"
Ant, Bubba and Steve are unaware. I'm glad for this. I don't want them to initiate. They've got food on their mind, so I push them into Media Pizza. I stand outside in front of the door. Head straight, eyes on swivel.
"Get out of the way." One of the stranger's friends is trying to move past me into the shop. He's taller than me, black. Built like a running back. Turns out he is one. Varsity.
I smile and stare at him. "Hey, come on man. Those guys don't want any trouble from you guys." My hands up at my chest. It looks like a calming gesture, but my stance is split. Lead leg forward, rear leg tense to throw my right hand. "They just wanna eat their pizza and go home. There's a cab right there. Why don't you guys take it?"
With that, the door swings open. Ant, followed by Bubba and Steve. They noticed I hadn't come in. The tinted windows of the shop couple with the darkness of the night mean that they can't see me.
The Stranger and his friends have been crowding up to the left. Watching to see what happens between Varsity and I. Anthony and the guys get funneled right into the center of this group.
Before Steve is out the door, I have my jacket off. It sits on the sidewalk in front of Media Pizza. I circle to Anthony's left, a last attempt to stop this before it goes farther. We're surrounded, Anthony and I. The stranger pushes Anthony back. Creates space. He throws a wild right, shifting his weight forward as he does.
Like a flash. He's going to hurt Anthony. It's all I can think. I step in. His punch has not yet completed it's arc. Over hand right.
And then. Everyone stops. No one moves. The Stranger is down. Asleep in the gutter on State street. flooding the sidewalk with blood from his nose and face. Unconscious, and whimpering like a dog does when it has a bad dream.
"Who did that?" "What happened to him?" "Is he ok?" "Somebody get him up."
I grab Anthony and try to pull him out.
From here on, it's just scuffles. No one really wants to fight anymore. At one point, Anthony gets backed into a corner. He's throwing punches from his back as 2 or 3 throw kicks at his legs. Varsity keeps trying to initiate, but I'm too focused on getting my guys out to fight him.
Finally, it's over. As I pull Anthony out, another crew comes out of nowhere and jumps right into the mess we were just in. Drunk and angry, people just want to fight someone. Say they were part of it.
I realize that Bubba still isn't with us. I run back across the street, frantic. As I cross, I see Bub walk out of the bar. In front of him, the Stranger rises. Finally awake from his slumber. Five, ten minutes. I wave to Bub, and he begins to cross the street. Almost in time with the stranger. Neither aware of the other.
They're both halfway across the street when the cops finally get there. "Which one of y'all broke my nose?!" The Stranger yells, his hands covering his face. I wink.
The cops are all over him. Biggest guy in the crowd, and he's covered in blood. "Put your hands on the hood!"
As I turn the corner to the waiting car, I look back. The stranger is bent at the waist. Hands on the car. Painting the hood red as the lights flash. Red and white.
Ghostwriter
"She doesn't wanna hear it." This big Stranger yells at Anthony as he walks past him to leave the bar.
Anthony nods his head slowly, weighing the pros and cons of addressing the Stranger. "You're probably right." The Stranger drools down his shirt in an attempt to put an exclamation point on the matter by spitting at Anthony.
I see the Stranger and his group of friends on the periphery as we walk out. Immediately, my senses heighten. I hear the fragmented rumblings that prelude a fight. "leave it alone." "yeah, that kid." "who's he with?"
Ant, Bubba and Steve are unaware. I'm glad for this. I don't want them to initiate. They've got food on their mind, so I push them into Media Pizza. I stand outside in front of the door. Head straight, eyes on swivel.
"Get out of the way." One of the stranger's friends is trying to move past me into the shop. He's taller than me, black. Built like a running back. Turns out he is one. Varsity.
I smile and stare at him. "Hey, come on man. Those guys don't want any trouble from you guys." My hands up at my chest. It looks like a calming gesture, but my stance is split. Lead leg forward, rear leg tense to throw my right hand. "They just wanna eat their pizza and go home. There's a cab right there. Why don't you guys take it?"
With that, the door swings open. Ant, followed by Bubba and Steve. They noticed I hadn't come in. The tinted windows of the shop couple with the darkness of the night mean that they can't see me.
The Stranger and his friends have been crowding up to the left. Watching to see what happens between Varsity and I. Anthony and the guys get funneled right into the center of this group.
Before Steve is out the door, I have my jacket off. It sits on the sidewalk in front of Media Pizza. I circle to Anthony's left, a last attempt to stop this before it goes farther. We're surrounded, Anthony and I. The stranger pushes Anthony back. Creates space. He throws a wild right, shifting his weight forward as he does.
Like a flash. He's going to hurt Anthony. It's all I can think. I step in. His punch has not yet completed it's arc. Over hand right.
And then. Everyone stops. No one moves. The Stranger is down. Asleep in the gutter on State street. flooding the sidewalk with blood from his nose and face. Unconscious, and whimpering like a dog does when it has a bad dream.
"Who did that?" "What happened to him?" "Is he ok?" "Somebody get him up."
I grab Anthony and try to pull him out.
From here on, it's just scuffles. No one really wants to fight anymore. At one point, Anthony gets backed into a corner. He's throwing punches from his back as 2 or 3 throw kicks at his legs. Varsity keeps trying to initiate, but I'm too focused on getting my guys out to fight him.
Finally, it's over. As I pull Anthony out, another crew comes out of nowhere and jumps right into the mess we were just in. Drunk and angry, people just want to fight someone. Say they were part of it.
I realize that Bubba still isn't with us. I run back across the street, frantic. As I cross, I see Bub walk out of the bar. In front of him, the Stranger rises. Finally awake from his slumber. Five, ten minutes. I wave to Bub, and he begins to cross the street. Almost in time with the stranger. Neither aware of the other.
They're both halfway across the street when the cops finally get there. "Which one of y'all broke my nose?!" The Stranger yells, his hands covering his face. I wink.
The cops are all over him. Biggest guy in the crowd, and he's covered in blood. "Put your hands on the hood!"
As I turn the corner to the waiting car, I look back. The stranger is bent at the waist. Hands on the car. Painting the hood red as the lights flash. Red and white.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Thanks for the memories
Swim Until You Can't See Land
Royal Blue
I spent some time looking at my old year books this past week. It's nice to brush the dust off every couple of years and reflect back on where you've come from. Apart from laughing at the massive shifts in weight, style, and facial features, the best part is always reading the comments people write on the first and last page. More than any famous autograph, the signatures held worth.
I remember being so concerned about who signed my book and what they wrote. How many signatures could I add to my collection? The signing of the yearbooks was almost ceremonial. As soon as they were passed out, everyone would rush to their picture and usually comment on how awful they looked. After our vanity was satiated, we'd look at our friends, the girl we had a crush on, enemies, teachers. And then the signing started. Each signature crafted expertly to reflect the appropriate amount of inside jokes, hope for the future, and melancholy at the end of an era.
As I read through the notes that people left, I noticed a theme. With little exception, people remembered me the same way. Grade school and high school. Although I changed drastically during this time, parts of me didn't. Book after book, note after note, people all said the same thing. 'You're crazy' and 'You're a really great guy'. Although I'd changed schools, friends, and uniforms, people all remembered me the same. It's not that I don't think about the impression that I leave on people, but I guess I've never really reflected on my legacy. How do people remember me? I didn't get a yearbook at Widener, and I wouldn't want one from Nova, but I wonder if I had, what people would have written. Would friends still extoll my character and smirk at my depart from the normal?
I suppose I could ask my friends to tell me what they think of me, but that just not quite as fun as writing it down next to your picture and signing it with your autograph. Maybe I'll see if Herff Jones will do a yearbook for my group.
Royal Blue
I spent some time looking at my old year books this past week. It's nice to brush the dust off every couple of years and reflect back on where you've come from. Apart from laughing at the massive shifts in weight, style, and facial features, the best part is always reading the comments people write on the first and last page. More than any famous autograph, the signatures held worth.
I remember being so concerned about who signed my book and what they wrote. How many signatures could I add to my collection? The signing of the yearbooks was almost ceremonial. As soon as they were passed out, everyone would rush to their picture and usually comment on how awful they looked. After our vanity was satiated, we'd look at our friends, the girl we had a crush on, enemies, teachers. And then the signing started. Each signature crafted expertly to reflect the appropriate amount of inside jokes, hope for the future, and melancholy at the end of an era.
As I read through the notes that people left, I noticed a theme. With little exception, people remembered me the same way. Grade school and high school. Although I changed drastically during this time, parts of me didn't. Book after book, note after note, people all said the same thing. 'You're crazy' and 'You're a really great guy'. Although I'd changed schools, friends, and uniforms, people all remembered me the same. It's not that I don't think about the impression that I leave on people, but I guess I've never really reflected on my legacy. How do people remember me? I didn't get a yearbook at Widener, and I wouldn't want one from Nova, but I wonder if I had, what people would have written. Would friends still extoll my character and smirk at my depart from the normal?
I suppose I could ask my friends to tell me what they think of me, but that just not quite as fun as writing it down next to your picture and signing it with your autograph. Maybe I'll see if Herff Jones will do a yearbook for my group.
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