September 11

Today is September 11. It hasn’t weighed as heavily on my mind as much as in years past, and I feel all the better for that. I just found a file on my computer that I wrote on September 9, 2002, as a memory of September 11. This probably would be the my most accurate recollection of that day.

We didn’t have math class that day; we were watching CNN in the library. I was big into the Beatles back then (as I am now) and I had meant to say that it was the 39th anniversary of the recording of their first single, “Love Me Do,” but it didn’t feel right. Instead I was standing against a bookshelf, next to some of my friends, and behind my other classmates, thinking that we were all going to die.

In Miss Bryant’s English class we watched George W. Bush land in Louisiana. My friend Sean and I, who liked to draw, had already started crafting political cartoons. I drew one with a child talking at a dinner table saying something along the lines of, “Today at school we watched this movie where these planes hit some skyscrapers and they fell down.” The father said, “That was no movie, son, that was the TV news.” Sean’s had two people looking at the Pentagon with a wall missing. One of them was saying, “What will they call it now?”

During this time my sister and I had been spending time at her friend Kelli’s house after school, apparently due to conflicting schedules with our parents and such. I don’t think we did much that day. The TV was on CNN, and now all they were doing was talking. The anchors were talking to the political correspondents about what this all could mean. They didn’t stop talking for several weeks, probably. When my mom came to pick us up, I asked if she had heard the news. She said yes. Now I don’t think there was anyone who hadn’t.

That evening the Sun-Sentinel distributed an extra section with a large photograph on the front. I wanted to save it, but I think my dad did — he also had the moon landing and when Dale Earnhardt died.

Here’s a timeline of the events of September 11, 2001. And here’s a video I had never seen before: a rare recording of the first plane hitting the World Trade Center.

Scarlet letters

Over the past few weeks I read “The Scarlet Letter,” a “masterpiece” of American literature, for English class.

Spoiler warning: Plot and/or ending details follow.

In uber-religious 1600s Boston, a lady commits adultery with priest. No one finds out about him, but she is punished by having to wear the letter “A” (for “adulterer,” we assume) for the rest of her life. Her long lost husband comes back for revenge on the guy. The love child speaks as eloquently as the rest of them.

That’s pretty much the whole book, except it takes the author 200 pages (plus an extensive introduction, which always appears with the novel but is so boring that we didn’t have to read it) to say it.

For English class, the teacher had us make our own scarlet letters. They didn’t have to be scarlet, of course. We were supposed to make the letter standing for some undesirable quality about yourself, and preferably to have the design of the letter to manifest that quality (if possible). We had to wear them around school all day (and have our teachers acknowledge that we wore them) for extra credit (I don’t think there was anyone who didn’t try for the extra credit, but a friend of mine made and wore a letter even though he’s not in the class.)

Because most of the letters were self-referential, some people got off easy; for example, Gilbert made an “I” for incomplete — and it wasn’t cut out all the way. Chad made a “Q” for “quitter” and didn’t finish coloring it. Megan made an extremely tiny “M,” which I think was for “minimalist.” Justin did “…” for “No words can describe me.” But my favorite was Andrew’s; he did an “L” for “lazy” and cut it out of looseleaf paper without coloring it or anything.

So I should have been more careful in picking my letter. I picked “C” for “cynical.” (But I had to explain to the honors English class what “cynical” meant.) It was cut from a shoe box and was colored in yellow, pink, orange, and green — highlighter colors. I did it the day before it was due, but I think it did show some effort. I cut the “C” with some exactness, and it ended up looking like those letters that teachers cut with templates from construction paper and staple onto boards.

Today I did some hanging out with my sister, Kevin, and Lisa at the mall. It was the same mall we went to almost two years ago where I tried one of those scale things that tells you what your ideal weight should be. I think I still have that printout, but time has probably rendered it illegible. I think it said I was significantly overweight. According to the scale, I’m now 50 lbs. overweight. But it’s in front of a health food store, I think, and so it’s probably just a gimmick for you to go in and buy whatever you can to fix the problem.

In the middle of the mall, we ate at this little crepe place called CrepeMaker (Flash, sound warning). I had a pesto chicken crepe, which was very good. The chef was very friendly and I put some of my change in the tip jar. Also, I got a 1964D silver quarter in change. They’re very hard to come by since their silver content is now worth far more than $0.25. I have several in my collection (all 1964, which must be the most common date or something), but I’ve never gotten one in change before.

Want to know something? Head to justcurio.us, where you can ask an anonymous question after answering an existing one. Just so you know, many of the questions are strange or pointless, but there are some that you might actually want to answer.

Reform

I’ve been thinking, as I am apt to do, and I think our language is illogical. Some major reforms are in order, but there’s no one to carry them out. Unlike some languages (such as French, Spanish, Esperanto, and more), the English language has no governing body.

Well, I’ll get to that later. But for now, here’s what I think we as English speakers should do.

1. Avoid Roman numerals. We are not Romans. We already have our own numerals. This is important because if you’re studying European history as I am, you have to know all the many kings — European history is all about kings and queens marrying and killing each other. Why not just say, for example, “Henry 8th” or “Henry 8″ instead of “Henry VIII”?
2. Similarly, and more importantly, avoid Latin phrases. Basically all of the Latin phrases with which people pepper their writing have perfectly fine English equivalents. For example: e.g. (never written out) means “for example.” See how I’ve used it? “Etc.” is a notorious example of a Latin abbreviation that no one can spell (“ect.”). How about, instead of “et cetera,” we say “and so forth,” or “asf.”? Let’s write “t.i.” instead of “i.e.” or “f.e.” instead of “e.g.”
3. If we must borrow foreign words instead of coming up with our own, we should at least change the spelling. I know, spelling in English is haphazard, but we can at least make it something that — in our own language — is logical. “Hors d’oeuvres” is the archetypal example. (I had to guess at the spelling when I was looking it up just now.) “Orderves” is how I think of it anyway, so why not just write it that way? It’s not like other languages don’t do the same thing with our words. Another one I can’t stand is “tsunami,” a useless opportunity for a silent “t” — I don’t pronounce it, and I’ve never heard anyone say it either. For this word, which fits awkwardly into English speech and writing, I’d recommend coming up with a new word altogether.
4. It wouldn’t hurt to avoid saying “he or she” or “his or hers” or “him or her.” It’s painfully awkward and makes me cringe. I suggest “it,” “its,” and “it,” respectively. For example: “If a student wants to talk to me, it can.” That also makes me cringe, but at least it is a logical time-saver. It would take getting used to, but I think it could be done. We already refer to babies this way.

All of these ideas came to me from studying Esperanto. Here are Esperanto’s solutions for the aforementioned problems:

1. Hindu-Arabic numerals are always used.
2. Latin words and phrases are not used. Common phrases, like the ones we use Latin for in English, may be abbreviated.
3. Because Esperanto is phonetic, the spelling of a word usually has to change when it is borrowed from another language; however, making new words from existing words is encouraged.
4. Some people simply say “he” and “his”; some invent new pronouns to mean “he or she,” “his or hers”; others use “it” and “its”; I, however, use tiu (“that person”) and ties (“that person’s”).

But I digress.

Further along the line, a major English spelling reform would be necessary. But we’d need someone to carry it out: perhaps a body, assembled in London, of delegates from each of the major English-speaking countries. We could call it the Academy of the English Language or something, and it could hammer out an official English dictionary, resolve grammar disputes, asf.

Here are the Medical Histories of the Presidents of the United States. A few seem to have been pretty healthy, but others have a slew of conditions to their name.

Nothing but bad news

Well, I’ve got nothing but bad things to talk about today. But they’re of no significance to you unless you’re concerned about these topics:

First, since I did the first four chapters for European History class over the summer, I haven’t had a lot of homework. Now this sounds like a good thing, and it is, but next week I’m going to have to start doing the work again, and that should cut 60 to 90 minutes from my free time every day until May… well, that’s if I budget my time well. And hopefully I will. I know I’m treating this lightly, but when the big wave of work hits, I’m going to be physically and mentally exhausted. On a related note, we took our first big test in the class today, and I’m not sure how well I did.

Second, the other day my friend Alex called me. Again, this doesn’t sound bad, but you might not know him. When he calls he either

1. is asking for homework help,
2. wants to know when the next band practice will be, or
3. just wants me to hear how good he’s gotten at the bass.

This was a type C call, and I didn’t think much of it though I was glad to talk to him. Later he called and it was the same thing, except he was playing the guitar. Alex is infamous in my circle of friends for being a bad bassist and an absolutely terrible guitarist. In fact, I’ve only seen his guitar once — it was about four years ago — because he usually plays the bass.

So anyway, he asks me to request a song for him to play. He played the celebrated intro to that rock and roll standard, “Johnny B. Goode,” note perfect, with all the appreciation and application of techniques, etc. I couldn’t speak. Alex was now a better guitarist than me! I made sure he wasn’t playing a recording — he always used to pull my leg like that — by telling him to play it from the middle, telling him to play some stuff he used to play, and stuff like that. But it was true. He could do more than me.

Of course, I knew what I had to do. I had to match his abilities, at least for this song of his that impressed me so. So I pledged that the next time I see him, I’ll be able to play it just as well as he can. I guess it’s a good thing, in a way — the only reason I’m not as good as he is is that I have no motivation. Now, with some friendly rivalry as motivation, maybe I’ll be less lazy and practice a little more. And by doing so, I’ll be able to actually talk with other guitarists instead of shy away from them.

But still… Alex, better than me! The mind boggles at the very thought.

Third, and most devastating to me, was that some more events have occurred surrounding Nacole, the girl I was trying to go out with. Last time I said that she was in love with someone else, and that’s pretty bad (for me). Well, according to her LiveJournal, he asked her out and she said yes. That killed me.

Think of this, girls: some guy asks you out, and you kind of postpone the date until the guy you like asks you out. That’s what she did to me. Sure, you’d probably do the same thing, but we’re kind of friends, so it’s not like I was just some total stranger. When you think about it just a little, it’s pretty mean. Even though I realize we’re not perfect for each other, that’s not nice. It’s something you shouldn’t do. (Cue one of you readers saying “who says love has to be nice.”)

Today my nosy friend Yamilee asked how things were going, and I told her everything, and she did the whole pity thing. She also asked if I had any other prospects or something bizarre like that. I don’t, and I don’t foresee meeting any new people soon. So that’s the last I’m ever going to say about Nacole.

Fourth, I have a semi-amusing — but still unfortunate — anecdote from today. The lunch special in the school cafeteria was something they’ve never had before: pasta and chicken in a creamy sauce, with the usual sides of cornbread and broccoli. I decided to go for that; it looked really good. It’s like what I’d eat at home! (Well, minus the broccoli, but I still eat the stuff.) I grabbed some low-fat milk (health-conscious me), paid, and was on my way out quickly. As I came to sit at a table outside, I ranted and raved about how good the food looked. Finally I tasted it. I had never eaten such a delicious school lunch! I opened the milk carton and took a drink. The milk was spoiled.

Okay, this post isn’t all doom and gloom (or is it gloom and doom?). I’ve got a cool link: Beautycheck, a bilingual (English and German) site detailing the results of a study about beauty and what sorts of male and female faces are considered beautiful. There are some interesting images and findings.

500th post

Yes, it’s true. This is my five hundredth post on The World of Stuff.

I really don’t have much to say, except that I never dreamed I’d be posting this long. When I started this site on April 6, 2003, it was basically so that I could tell people I had a single home page instead of giving The Dvorak Keyboard and You and flipacoin.net as my web sites. Those two parts of the site predate TWoS itself (Make Your Own Spam Bait does too, but I wonder why I haven’t deleted it already). They are the reason I give the copyright date of TWoS as beginning in 2002 — I consider them parts of a single work (though I don’t know if that would stand in a court of law).

When I started the site, I was in the eighth grade at my happy little school. That summer, I was preparing to enter high school — it distressed me terribly — and that’s when the blogging started. Could it be that I started blogging as an outlet for my angst? No, I didn’t know angst back then. More likely it was summer boredom. In any case, TWoS has served as a record of my high school days. Slightly more than halfway through and I have 500 posts. I wonder if I can break 1,000 posts by the end of high school? (Probably not, as my daily free time has only decreased and will very soon be cut shorter.)

Originally I only posted about updates to the site. This eventually gave way to blog-type posting, which somewhere along the line evolved into full-fledged blogging. So while I may have started blogging later, I was posting from the very beginning. And that clears up that matter.

Where do I intend to take this site in the future? I’ve been studying The Sneeze and its owner, Steve, quite a bit. The site is younger than TWoS, and yet wildly popular by comparison. How does he do it? I’ve decided to break the site down to the cogs to see what makes it tick:

• Well, for starters, he’s funny. Which is not to say that I’m not funny.
• I think the professional web design job and assistance from artist friends might help.
• As Todd has told us, he tries to make it seem that he’s popular. See the next bullet.
• The next bullet. The Sneeze is “half zine” and “half blog.” In other words, it’s a blog that has regular “features” (such as Steve, Don’t Eat It! and Jokes from the Booster Seat) and ongoing storylines based on his wacky observations (like The Cheap-Ass Cereal Hall of Fame and PopCornspiracy). I’ve done similar things, though.
• He usually has the comments turned off, and that apparently adds a sense of distance from the reader, thus making him seem all the more inaccessible.
• There’s a store. I’ve always thought of having a WoS store, but would you buy World of Stuff stuff?
• Giveaways! He has contests and gives away stuff.
• There’s The Sneeze Mailbag, where he answers reader’s questions. I do Ask Jordon.
• He just interviewed one of the guys from that show MythBusters! I don’t know how, but he did it.

In conclusion, I think I’m going to have a stab at interviews. Maybe not guys from TV — how would I ever get in touch with them? — but moderately to lightly popular people from the Internet. It could be a monthly feature or something. And maybe I could have some contests. I’ve got some ideas runnin’ around in the ol’ brain…

But overall, I can’t see the site changing substantially in the future, so relax. The day I hire someone to redesign the site is the day you can officially stop reading and declare me insane. Also, thanks for your continued readership and support.

Now, for old times’ sake, you may wish to read the first post ever at TWoS. It’s not terribly interesting, but here it is.

Stupid thoughts

Okay, so we all have been here long enough to know that there was this girl I was trying to woo. “Was” is the operative word here. After some thought about what we have in common (nothing), and when I’d possibly be able to see her (never), I can only conclude that this can never and will never be. I’m socially inept and I cannot break into her close circle of friends, let alone try to romance her. But the main thing that set this off is that she’s in love with someone else, according to her LiveJournal.

And that date we were supposed to go on? The one that got rescheduled and so forth? I’m sure she had no idea that it was a date. I’m positive beyond any doubt. She didn’t expect that of me because that’s not what she wants to hear. She doesn’t want to go out with me. Who would? To her it would have been a friendly outing like with all her other friends.

To straighten things out for all of you, we never went out and we were never a couple. Really.

Like I said, we have nothing in common. Music is considered the common ground by which people relate to each other. I told her what I was listening to, and she said “that’s not music.” I told her what I hated, and she said that’s what she liked. So there you go.

I don’t want to be an idiot. So I will no longer actively communicate with her in any way. I’m not going to initiate any conversation, but she can talk to me if she wants.

But as for you, don’t talk to me about it. And don’t tell her, because I think she doesn’t know.

And you know what? If I were to ask her if she liked me, I know EXACTLY what she’d say. “I like you as a friend.” And that means she doesn’t like me. So this shouldn’t be a problem for anybody (except me, but what do I matter?).

So goodbye to you. Boom, you’re off my buddy list. And your number is off my wall. What was I thinking to put it there?

When people are in love, they’re perfect each other, but since I don’t fit a mold — since I don’t devote my life to a store, a sport, or a genre of music — no one can possibly be perfect for me. Oh wait, there is this other girl, who’s given me butterflies every time I’ve seen her since I met her two years ago but she’s out of my league, as I say too much. Dumb jocks are her type. Besides, I used to think we’d go nicely together, but now I can’t picture it.

But that’s another rant for another week.

The ring

Ah, I’ve begun my junior year of high school, and you (might) know what that means: it’s class ring time. (I didn’t either.) The other day the class of 2007 gathered in the auditorium to hear this guy from Herff-Jones, which makes class rings. He impressed us by saying that they also made the Daytona 500 and Indy 500 winner’s rings, the Heisman Trophy, and the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Anyway, he went over the seemingly infinite designs and options for rings. These ensure that your class ring is unique (and expensive). Then we got the catalogue/booklet/brochure things, complete with order forms and price lists. Let me tell you, these things are not cheap. Except the cheap ones. But they don’t look very cool.

Just about every part of the ring is customizable. With several ring designs and sizes (of course), you choose metals, finishes, gems (real or fake), inscriptions, and more (I guess). It’s practically too much to think about in a week. If I do order a ring, I’ll have till Thursday to decide how I want it. That’s the last day they’re taking orders. If I decide to get one, I hope I decide on the design by then.

A class ring is a symbol of how much you love your school. And I don’t really like my school that much, but I will after I graduate, so maybe I should spend all that money now. Sure, I don’t wear rings or anything, but it will still be a nice keepsake, unless I lose it after the warranty expires. I’ll have to ask my friends and see what they’re doing.

If I’m listening to music while I’m on the computer, do not — I repeat, do not — just come up and touch my shoulders from behind. It really freaks me out. It’s just like if you were to go up and tap someone listening to their… Walkman tape player… while they weren’t looking. Actually, it’s exactly the same thing, and it’s highly inconsiderate. Both my dad and my mom did it yesterday, and then they didn’t understand why I freaked out and got really mad at them.

I just noticed that this is the ninth post in a row that has a two-word title. The last eight are Fresh Prints, Hearing Things, Go Figure, Hurricane Miscellany, Clearing Up, One Decade, Getting Better, and Getting Worse. And there are more to come!

There’s no doubt that gas prices are on the rise (as usual). You’re paying more at the pump than ever, I’m sure. But how much would you save if the gas taxes were repealed? Here’s a chart of gas taxes for U.S. states. The situation here in Florida is very confusing — I couldn’t make sense of it — but apparently we’re paying at least $0.45 per gallon in taxes.

Getting worse

Let’s review: I ask a girl out to a football game (last Friday), which is then cancelled. She invites me to her house (tomorrow) instead. She then invites me to a nice hotel instead. This is where we left off. This is the cliffhanger. And this, my friends, is where I end up falling off into a flattening doom, à la Wile E. Coyote.

No matter how we spend our first date, it won’t be this weekend either, because she’s grounded. It’s unfortunate, but I don’t blame her. I blame myself. I know there’s no one to blame here, but I feel better blaming someone, and why not the one person who won’t get mad at me for blaming him? On second thought, this must be the work of what they used to call Providence: that which gives — or, in my case, that which holds back just to watch me run and try to grab it.

I’m kind of hesitant to call it a first date. It is, but however it turns out, it will probably be so lame, as dates go. You’d think I should take her out to a movie or something, but she’s not really allowed to go to the movies. Other than that, I have no ideas, so whatever we do (unless she suggests something) I’ll have to think it up fast.

I’m pretty much hesitant about everything. I feel awkward about the whole thing. She’s nice, but I’m not sure about how it will go. That is, I’m not sure if she’s “me.” Will things snap together? Are they doomed to fail? Will I care either way? I do think it’s worth a stab. I don’t know why, but I feel an urge to go into it. It could be due to sociocultural influences or perhaps those pesky biochemical ones (thank you, psychology class).

Another question is: Will I be good enough for her? She was in a serious and (I’d assume) very long relationship when I met her. What do I have that he doesn’t? How can I make up for what I lack? Will she care? But those are thoughts for another time.

She could fill a gap that needs to be filled. Everyone could use another soul to confide in, as most of us haven’t any. I think she could give more of a purpose to my life, as a best friend for which to live. Sometimes I feel like a piece of me is missing and that it can be found in some girl somewhere. Of course I’ll have to go in and get it back, so as to be truly a man, but that can wait for another time. It seems sometimes that I’m going crazy. I need some sort of peace of mind that can keep me anchored to the ground.

In the meantime, I’ve even been hesitant to talk about it with other people, mainly because it’s embarrassing. I mean, one person whose name I won’t mention — actually, I will, Yamilee — keeps asking me about it. It started when she asked her perennial question (“Do you have a girlfriend?”) which all overtly nosy girls must ask me. When I said “Well, kind of…” she rejoiced for me like I was a 30-year-old who had just learned to tie his shoes. Just today, as we were about to get out of school, she asked had we made it official, and I suggested wouldn’t that be kind of hard if we hadn’t been on a date yet, and then proceeded to say I would throw something at her if she kept making a huge deal where other people could hear.

It’s occurred to me that I haven’t mentioned her by name in this post, and that’s just fine for all of you, especially you from school who will pester me about this the next time you see me (you know who you are).

In the present state of things, we have not made it “official.” We are only vaguely aware of one another, being in that fragile state between the asking out and the first date. Prolonging this period only heightens the tensions that I’ve expressed above. So maybe — just maybe — it wasn’t meant to be. But time will tell.