I will miss this class

Ok, here is the final blog entry for the semester. Wow, 10 words already, nice. Anyways, my blog really never formed a theme. I guess thats why its called "Data Roaming." Just a bunch of random information I vomit onto this webpage.

In all honesty, I will miss this class. I'll miss Newberger's religious tardiness, Cal's ranting, Phil's random diatribes, Noodle's...floral computer, Elisa's extremely LOUD and strangely dramatic stories, Chelsea's comparisons to the east and west coast, J.P.'s creepy people surveillance stories, Danny's random youtube videos, Victoria's...interesting anecdotes about her father, Travis dropping shit and dipping in class, Clancy's...tattoos?, and Christine's anger with the Flagler guidance system. Oh, and of course Lyndon's nap time. And also Brian's comical ideas. Like putting police snipers on every traffic light to prevent people from running red lights, screw the cameras.

Everyone was so unique, if I had a bad experience in the class, I would have had to try very very hard. But I didn't, and if anyone reads this, I'd like to thank you all.

And I must say, I even noticed a change in myself through the course of the semester. In the beginning, I was a hermit you might say. I didn't want to talk, and really didn't even want to share my work. But as the semester progressed, I became comfortable with everyone. I found that it wasn't such a horrible thing to speak out. I think that is partly due to the fact that we all meshed quite well. Again, the uniqueness thing.

Anyways, farewell, godspeed, see you all around.

My Boss

All right, so I work at the Sunset Grille in St. Augustine Beach. My boss is an Italian New Yorker who really likes to play the roll of the Italian New Yorker. I mean, right down to the mock-mobster persona, the heavy, exaggerated accent, and the slicked back hair. At 5 feet 5 inches tall, you'd think there is no reason to fear him. But strangely enough, everyone does. I'll say he does have a temper and is VERY loud. Most people that work at Sunset are Southern, so maybe they aren't used to it. Maybe they're even a little intimidated.

More on the topic, this is the kinda guy that addresses his employees by, "hey, cocksucker, come here." Or, "hey fucko, spritz the bathrooms." Or even, "yo uhhh....cum dumpster, go fuckin' bus some tables." In a loving way, of course. I merely laugh and give him a little punch on the shoulder.

Whenever I get into an argument with my boss, which is pretty often, both of us don't back down. We will literally get into each others faces and scream at each other. Everyone else in the restaurant looks on like a bunch of newborns. But not 5 minutes after, he'll come up to me with that big grin on his face and say, "Louie, you know I like you. You're a New Yorker! Thats why I hired you!" I'll say, "I know boss." Then, to save face, he'll usually say something like, "now go sweep the floors, peasant." My response usually goes as follows: "Ok, but I'm gonna get employee of the month, right?"

Employee of the month doesn't exist at the Sunset Grille. He then usually just turns around and calls me an asshole. Never back down to the big man, folks.

Italians are funny

Ok, some people might get mad at me for posting this in the light. But I think this video captures the passion and I guess....audibility? Of Italians quite nicely. Here's your brief: the video is of a mudslide in the southern Italian town of Maierato. Just listen:

http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/4PG2Ga/sorisomail.com/email/42722/ja-viram-desmoronar-uma-montanha.html

Now, I'm not fluent in Italian, proficient maybe. But here is what I could make out.

Incredibile! - Obviously, that means incredible.

Dramatico! - Another cognate, dramatic.

Fuori! Fuori! - That one means "out"

qua qua qua qua!!! - qua means "here"

A lot of it is southern Italian dialect that I cannot understand. But the narrator. Such gusto! This is why I love Italians. They have to SCREAM everything they say. And in dramatic situations like this one? They are right at home.

I am half Italian. Sono mezzo Italiano. I have relatives that live in the northern city of Piacenza, right between Milan and Genoa. I remember me and my family went to visit them one year. We were all having dinner and all of a sudden my relatives broke out in song. They all just started screaming it. I had no choice but to join in. With copious amounts of grappa flowing through my veins, I just started screaming unintelligible Italian. But it felt right.

I believe there is a good chance I may be going back to Italy for at least 6 months after I graduate. The plan is, I would work on their farm there and maybe get some material to write about. All the while, I'm going to scream Dramatico! and Incredibile!!

Radiation and dissent

Remember this guy? - http://socialism.wiki-site.com/index.php/Alexander_Litvinenko

Well, if you don't recognize him in that picture, you'll probably recognize him in this one:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_Litvinenko_poisoning

The guy was a former KGB agent who published two books chronicling how the Russian government staged apartment bombing and all sorts of other villainous plots to bring Vladimir Putin to power.

Guess what happened to him. Randomly, in November of 2006, he fell ill with radiation poisoning. Yeah, hence the loss of hair. But something like this cant really be random, the guy didn't just eat a bar of plutonium. No, someone deliberately poisoned him polonium-210. Who would do that? Someone working for the Russian government with orders to smother the dissenter. That was an easy one.

Lets take a look at the primary suspect, according to British intelligence.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrei_Lugovoy

Andrei Lugovoy. Russian politician, deputy to the State of Duma, and former KGB bodyguard. Pretty shady stuff. What happened when the British tried to get him extradited from Russia? The Russian government denied. Hmmm, I wonder why.

Its funny. We as the "people" don't know anything. Our governments hide so much from us. Why? Well for national security of course. But don't you all just want to know? What/who killed Kennedy? Did the Roswell incident ever happen? Yes, the Freedom of Information Act exists, but its just an opaque excuse for transparency. I can't wait until the Kennedy files are released. We are going to get a tailored page suited up just for the publics eye. The truth will be missing.

Until chaos knocks on our door, the truth will never be revealed.

Shoot for the stars

Ok people, I need to address something here. The expression "shoot for the stars". Why do people say it? Well, traditionally it means have great aspirations for yourself. Similar to the "sky is the limit" idea. Thats great and all, but lets look into a bit of the science involved.

Most of the stars that we can see with the naked eye are many lightyears away. Thus, it takes the light from those stars many, many Earth years to reach us. So, in actuality, the stars that we can see may have very well exploded already. You know, supernovas.

So, when people say, "shoot for the stars," they are may be telling you to shoot for something that doesn't exist. Thus, implying that you give yourself aspirations that are unachievable.

I think a new phrase needs to be coined here. Because the other one, "the sky is the limit," doesn't really make sense either. The sky is not the limit. Ask anyone who has ever traveled into space. The sky is just Earth's atmosphere. And in Carl Sagan's words, Earth is just a, "mote of dust suspended in a sun beam." Makes you feel pretty insignificant, eh?

No, I don't have any ideas yet as to what the new phrase should be. I'll think about it.

School v. employment

Here is a piece I wrote on working students at Flagler College. Again, thanks to my sources.

Flagler College Student, Neil Boyle, 21, often feels as if he is a walking zombie at school.

Boyle is part of a growing trend of undergraduate college students who work part-time jobs to help finance their education. Eight out of 10 students work while pursuing an undergraduate degree, according to the National Post Secondary Student Aid Study. Many of these students work hours that infringe upon time that they could be using to focus on success at school.

Boyle works late hours on Sunday night at Reebok in St. Augustine. Some shifts require him to stay on the clock until 12 a.m. He says the next day at school isn't usually productive.

"I'll wake up the next day and find it difficult to get out of bed," Boyle said. "When I finally do get going, my body isn't rested enough and I find that I have trouble focusing and getting things done."

That is just Boyle's routine on Sundays. In many instances, his boss has called him in to work additional hours that he had sanctioned off for school.

"Last semester during midterms, my boss had me working 35 hours a week," Boyle said. "I brought my books to work so I could study but my boss didn't let me. So I ended up doing poorly on my midterms with only two hours of sleep in two days"

Like Boyle, I work 25 or more hours a week, often late hours, during school. So it isn't difficult for me to understand the hardship of balancing school and work. In fact, all too often I find myself struggling to get my school work done while trying to please my employer by simply holding onto my shifts

So the question poses itself: Are college students working too much?

Will Givens, a Flagler College junior, works a job at a local pizza parlor in St. Augustine. He says that its necessary for him to work because he needs to be able to pay for the things that his parents can't cover for him.

"I feel obligated to work because in this economy, I don't want to put an extra burden on my parents," Givens said. "But I need to have money to take care of my food, social life, and of course cigarettes."

A catch-22 situation presents itself to working college students: Either work and sustain oneself as much as possible but let one's school performance suffer. Or, don't work, rely on the parent's ever money producing teet, and focus one's efforts on school. Either way, performance at school will be affected or there will be a money deficiency coupled with the fact that an extra burden may be placed on one's parents.

The next question arrises: What can be done to mend such an issue?

Luke Landes, writer for US News' Consumerism Commentary, believes that careful money management can help college students better balance their lives. In an article titled, "8 Ways to Save Money in College," he suggests that students should try to live off campus.

"Some colleges may not allow this, but while attending those that do, you may find that it costs less to rent an apartment near campus than it costs to pay for on-campus housing," Landes said. "If rent can be shared among a number of roommates, students or their parents can save more money."

Borrowing text books, asking for student discounts whenever possible, and limited credit card use are additional ways that students can use to save money. In terms of holding a job, Landes says, "There will be many decades for working, but only a few years of college."

I will opt to keep my job for now because it helps to keep me away from loans that I will inevitably have to pay off after college. However, some students, like Boyle are forced to take out loans on top of holding a job because it is the only way to financially survive.

"If I don't take out my $7,500 a year loans, not only won't I be able to help my parents pay for tuition, but I would most likely only be able to survive with the most basic needs," Boyle said. "I'm in college, I want more than the basic needs."

Lucky me, having parents that are willing to pay for my tuition with their own money. The least I can do is hold a job so that I can pay for my gas, food, beer and other extracurriculars myself. Will my performance at school be at risk? Yes. Should I probably work less? Yes. However, like many other college students in my position, I need my job.

The final answer to it all? Save money.

Issue piece

Here is the issues piece I wrote for my Opinion Writing class. Basically, its about apathy, and more specifically, voter apathy. Thanks to my sources for the input.

Why am I apathetic?

This is a question that many young people stricken with apathy never ask themselves because they, well, just don't care. I would know, because I don't care either.

So what is this phenomenon called apathy? I was talking to a few coworkers of mine the other day about the conflict in the Middle East. And I asked them, "What do you guys think about Iran going nuclear?" Their words were wavering and their reasoning, craterous, but I understood very clearly the Parthian shot they both employed at the tail of their response: who really cares?

I asked 21-year-old St. Augustine resident, Garett Rix, what he thought about current politics in the United States. The first thing he told me? That he doesn't trust politicians.

"You know, I don't really care much for politics right now," Rix said. "The people who run the show, the politicians, most of them I think are swindling and distrustful. They make it difficult to genuinely care."

This is a problem. If people think that the politicians governing their very lives are intolerable scumbags, shouldn't some dire action take place? Back in the day, people would throw tea in the harbor or write moving pieces about the angry and downtrodden soul of America. But now? Now, people simply just don't care.

Lets be real here. It isn't the politician's fault that the American youth is plagued with apathy. Politicians have always been rulers of the Washington billiards, sharking the political tables, hitting the cue where it matters and hustling voters in dollar amounts. Scapegoats used to reason with apathy and avoid the alligator pit of responsibility. What else could make people not care?

22-year-old Flagler College student Ross Schettine thinks that people just don't know enough to vote intelligently.

"I think people don't vote because they don't know what they are voting on," Schettine said. "How are you supposed to care about something when you don't know anything about it?"

Perhaps apathy is simply a manifestation of ignorance. A facade people wear to conceal their own lack of knowledge. I mean, who wants to go to a voting booth and play eeny meeny miny moe with the ballot cards anyways? It's hard enough hiding your ignorance from others, is it really necessary to reveal the fact to yourself that you can't recognize any of the names up for midterm elections?

Maybe young people aren't affected enough by current issues to care about who gets elected into office. What if, perhaps, the voting youth were given a little incentive to get going on the vote, to start caring some more. In an article for the New Statesman, Mark Thomas of Great Britain proposes a hilarious idea that centers on rewards to get the British youth to vote.

"Have fun with it. Introduce prizes and offer air miles for each election voted in. Make sure every election broadcast and debate has a swimwear competition," Thomas said. "Introduce tear-off coupons on the bottom of voting slips that offer discounts on popular brands."

I mean, shit. If I was offered a chance to see the Obama girl duke it out with some other brand slut in a mud slinging, bikini tearing wrestling match, I'd probably show up. Insert diatribe about the deterioration of American morality and conscious here. But really, as outlandish as it seems, those kinds of voting incentives would probably work, especially for the youth. For the wrong reasons maybe, but at least people would get out to the polls.

Maybe the American youth isn't growing up fast enough. Maybe we have to be thrust into the confines of responsibility to fully realize the importance of political policy. Perhaps then we might feel compelled to do some research, get out to the booths and vote in hopes of our country taking a direction that will benefit us most.

However, this is America. We like to draw from the money tit as long as we can to get "settled" in life. In the meantime, we can keep up with the news, or something like that, and prepare ourselves for the time and moment when all of this political drivel will "matter" to us. Then maybe, just maybe, we can punch some holes in some ballot cards.

Or, as Rix puts it, "I'll just let the other people do the voting."

Humor piece

Ahh, my humor piece. This work chronicles my attempt to woo my 3rd grade teacher...when I was in 3rd grade. Enjoy. Title - "The red head got away".

She asked me if I understood the problem. I told her no, I don't understand. My eyes locked on hers and my heart wavering, I continued to lie.

It was third grade and I was eight years old. We had just finished a lesson on simple multiplication. For the most part, I understood everything she taught us. Her name was Mrs. Thiel. A red headed bombshell beauty right out of college. The moment I saw her, I thought I was in love. For a prepubescent third grader, I'm not sure what that meant, but I knew I wanted to spend every moment I could with her. And so it began, my conquest to win over my third grade teacher and my first crush.

What does four times four mean to most people? Sixteen I hope. However, for me, it meant a whole lot more. It meant a date with the beautiful Mrs. Thiel. My ploy was simple, childish yes, but cunning if I do say so myself. We received the examination, all of the star pupils hammered away at the paper and the less advanced students, well they struggled valiantly. What was I doing? Writing down random numbers for every single problem of course, what else?

When we received the graded exams, I looked at my failing grade with wide eyes. Seeing the big F made me feel like a big kid. Mature enough for the letters, you know? After class, she seemingly hovered towards me, the sheer grace in her stride buckling my knees. I hung my head as I stood by the door holding my exam, I knew what she was going to say.

"Are you ok Gian Louis?" I thought she was singing to me. "Did you understand the test?"

Now thats not verbatim obviously, it was many years ago, so cut me a break. I told her that I didn't understand. Then she spoke the words that I wanted to hear.

"How about you stay after school today and we can work on this together?"

I looked up, a twinkle in my eye and told her ok. She finally gave me some special attention. I thought she was into me. That afternoon, I prepped up in the bathroom a bit, combed my mushroom with my fingers, maybe tightened up my velcro straps. A real professional. I sat down with her at the table and she tried so hard to get me to understand multiplication. I remember she used a pie diagram.

"Here we have a whole pie," she said. "What happens when I draw a line down the middle? How many pieces of the pie are there now?"

I looked at her, a disgruntled expression on my face. I didn't want to talk about mathematics. I wanted to get to know her. Court her a bit. Maybe get a good afternoon kiss.

"Ummm, (insert random number here)," I told her.

She looked at me, appalled. I can only imagine what kind of autism she thought I had going on at this point. How did this kid possibly come up with 33 as the answer to that question? I didn't get a kiss.

I guess she referred my difficulty to my parents. Some nights my father would go over my failed tests with me. He would try so hard to get me to understand. I feel bad now, he's a brilliant man and he probably thought he was rearing a half retarded kid. But I continued on with my ploy, pretending to not understand.

Then that dark day arrived. I walked into class and everyone was congratulating Mrs. Thiel. Some prick proposed to her and she accepted. Someone else was doing a better job than I. This is when I experienced my first fit of jealousy. And I do believe to this day that my jealous nature stemmed from this very event. Really though, I burned with jealousy. I was mad at her, and I let her know. No more after school special lessons. I was done with her.

The funniest part about all of this showed up about three weeks ago. I was having dinner with my parents and for some reason, Mrs. Thiel paid my mind a visit.

"Hey guys, do you remember when I utterly sucked at math in third grade?"

They responded yes to me. And I asked them if they knew why. They said no.

"Well, I had a crush on my teacher, Mrs. Thiel," I said. "I wanted to spend more time with her so I pretended I didn't understand anything."

Both of them had no idea. My mom muttered something about that being typical behavior of me and my Dad? I think he mentioned the word "Jesus". They had no idea. They thought I was mathematically disabled all this time. But for me, it was a crush. My first love, or so I thought. And my first heart break. So, apologies in advance to any women who happens to meet the grimace of my bitter heart. Blame Mrs. Thiel. Just kidding. Although she doesn't know it, she taught me a lot about "love" and a lot about myself. Oh yeah, Mrs. Thiel, if you ever read this, my number is 904 536 4189.

Personal Essay

Here is the personal essay I wrote for my Opinion Writing class. Its about bullfrogs. The title? "Become the Heron".

There it sat, its big, abysmal eyes taunting me and my curiosity. I lunged for it, but missed, falling into the murky water and soiling my new shorts. My mother wasn't going to be happy, and I had nothing to show for it. It got away. Evaporating into the morning fog, leaving not but a ripple in the water. And such was the beginning of my obsession.

“Bwuhm, bwuhm, bwuhm.” That is the sound that billowed through the humid air on every hot, New York, summer night. A sound so powerful and enticing that I would often find myself in a trance, lying atop my firm mattress; it haunted me. This mysterious sound. I so often wanted more than anything to cease, and more than often, to continue. I would even find myself dreaming of this rhythm. What could create such powerful acoustics? Many times I would find myself staring at the ceiling of my room, my bare body revealed over the sheets as the heat continually tortured me. I would imagine the pond that laid stagnant in the yard of my childhood home, singing this strong, bass tone to me. Was this even real? I would ask myself. But I always knew the answer to that.

I used to walk out in the early morning, just as the summer heat truly began to seep into the humid air. A mosquito latched onto my leg as I approached the pond. As I swatted it away, I spotted what was truly the mystery and marvel of my childhood. It was not a ghost, not a wraith, but merely something much more worldly. A bullfrog. Its muscular core was about the size of two clenched human fists. I remember vividly this creature’s huge, round eyes perched on the sides of its head like small cameras, watching me. The passion that I held for this creature was rooted in sheer fascination and determination. It had been my childhood dream, ever since I was five or six years old, to capture and hold this creature's energy in my hands.

Naturally, as time passed and I grew older, I became more comfortable with the grotesque smells of the pond and the relentless swarms of mosquitoes that patrolled its perimeter. I found myself submerging my own body. Step by step, I would enter into the warm, muddy water. My eyes fixed on one thing, the bullfrog. I remember foolishly swiping at it, like a bear cub learning to fish for salmon. Determined, but flawed. I would only find myself covered in a terrible stink and a think mud. However, I wanted to succeed.

I always used to watch the Blue Heron that frequently fished for the bullfrogs at our pond. A beautiful creature. It was always successful in its hunt, stalking the bullfrogs with slow, subtle movements. The key to its success laid in patience and unwavering focus. Once it was in the right position, it unleashed an explosive twitch of muscle that propelled its neck like an arrow from a bow. I studied the heron's ways.

I remember the day very clearly. I stood not three feet from a massive male bullfrog, a blue bandana rolled up and tied around my head and my arm arched and pointed like the neck of my teacher. I took a deep breath and thrust my hand at the bullfrogs waist. It took me a moment to realize, but when I did, I jumped with glee. I had become the Blue Heron. I had captured the bullfrog.

It was my determination and will not to give up on my goal that led me to success. I ran up the double hill that lead to my house, the grass sliding under my feet and sprinted into the house to show my mother. She wasn’t very thrilled about the floors.

Inspirational Piece

This was supposed to be an inspirational piece for my Opinion Writing class. However, some of you may find it to be quite sad. Definitely inspirational though. My friend Mohamed has a story to tell. I will help him tell it one day.

Mohamed Nosseir has a story tell. A story laced with love, hate, corruption, death, loneliness and hope. Hope that he, his wife, and his two children can achieve the American dream.

Nossier, 47, currently lives in St. Augustine Florida. He works as a dishwasher at the Sunset Grille in St. Augustine Beach. A man of large stature, he has the calloused hands and the sun-tempered skin of one who has dealt with the struggles of the working class. Working on a modest wage of 10 dollars an hour, he goes to the Sunset Grille six days a week, often seven, to raise money for a goal he has had since he first visited the United States. To become a U.S. citizen and live here with his family.

It is important to understand something here. Nossier is from Cairo Egypt. He once owned a fortune of hundreds of acres of land. Before he came to the United States, Nosseir lived as a rich man. BMW's, Mercedes, tailored suits, fine dining, and a house that resembled a palace were all common for Nosseir. However, he believed in one thing: that the United States would bring him and his family happiness and prosperity.

"I love the United States," Nosseir said. "I came for the American dream."

When he arrived in the United States in August of 2002, he would never leave the country again. He converted from Islam to Christianity at a church in Longwood, Florida and changed his name to Michael so that he could better assimilate into American culture. He grew close with the pastor at the church and a lawyer that attended the church. They told him they would help him achieve political asylum and promised him that he would be reunited with his family. Nosseir can't go back to Egypt. Once he gave up Islam, he immediately became an infidel.

"I will be hung if I go back," Nosseir said. "It is against the law in my country to give up the Muslim religion."

His family found out that he had gave up Islam and blocked all of his assets in Egypt. When he returned to sell his land, hoping no one had found out about his conversion, his brother, uncle and father were all waiting for him and told him that the land was no longer his. All of Nosseir's dreams fell through.

"I tried to get the visa for my wife, but my brother informed the embassy that my wife had an American born child on vacation," Nosseir said. "They denied my application and I went back to the states without them."

Nosseir's quest to become a citizen and bring his family here has no doubt faced him with great hardship. His work at the Sunset Grille involves him working tiresome hours in the dish pit. He is often treated as something less than human. He believes he is treated this way because he is foreign.

"If you are a foreign person, you will be treated unfairly unless you prove that you are better, harder working, a more excellent worker than anybody else in that place," Nosseir said.

Nosseir is a hard worker. I know because I work with Nosseir. He works constantly and never wavers in his tasks. However, it seems that his philosophy betrays him. One Saturday night in the middle of the summer two years ago, he was working none stop to wash large pots and pans for the busy cooks on the line. However, he became backed up when he received a few pots with thick burn residue on them form one of the prep cooks.

"I told him, 'please be careful, don't do the burning again because I have no time [to clean them]'."

"Shut the fuck up and keep working, nigger," the prep cook said.

"I'm not making fun of you, but I want you to understand that you are backing me up."

"Keep working and don't talk."

Then Nosseir says the prep cook took a hot pot he had just finished using and flung it across the kitchen at him. It struck him in the back of his arm and gave him a severe burn.

"Thats the treatment I get," Nosseir said.

Nosseir says that he credits Jesus Christ in dealing with the poor treatment he receives on a regular basis. If someone mistreats him, he simply shows kindness back.

"If someone says, 'fuck you,' you say thank you," Nosseir said. "That is my secret personal policy to gain respect in my work. Basically, it is my nature to be a hard worker and respect others.

Nosseir has no choice but to work at the Sunset Grille. Because of Immigration and work permit issues, he is stuck working where he is. He is forced to deal with the mistreatment of his fellow employees.

"I have no chance to go anywhere else," Nosseir said. "I'm bed in like a cockroach in a box."

Nosseir says he deals with the constant mistreatment by referring to his new found religion. He says when he is slapped on the cheek he turns the other one and if someone takes his jacket, he will give them his shirt.

When Nosseir signed a contract with the lawyer at his church, he failed to read the fine print. He says he is still paying off a $10,000 lawyer fee even after the lawyer abandoned his case. The pastor and the lawyer said he would be reunited with his family by Christmas of 2006.

"They lied to me," Nosseir said. "To force me to pay the fees, he threatened to send me back to my country where I would be killed."

Nosseir hasn't found the American dream. He gave up his fortune for this country so that he and he family could live happily. He refuses to marry an American woman to better his chances for political asylum because he says he loves his wife and wouldn't betray her. Though all this, Nosseir says his faith helps him to survive.

"Humans are over greedy and have no mercy," Nosseir said. "But everything Jesus Christ will resolve. I believe in him with faith."

Looking to the future, Nosseir has a goal. He says the restaurant business just helps him to survive for now. Nosseir's wife and kids currently live in the Ukraine, his wife's native country. He can't go there to see them because he says he is dark-skinned and will be faced with racism and that the income is very low. He hopes that eventually, he will be reunited with his family and can find success in America.

"I want to be with my kids," Nosseir said. "I want to become a US citizen and live in peace, own a house, be debt free, and become a successful persons with my own business."

Final Piece: Opinion Writing

Well, here is what I managed to muster up for my final piece of the semester. It is titled, "Opening the Door".

I have the clothes on my back and a six shooter in my right hand. A door is closed in front of me, unlocked. In my pocket, I have the key. Behind me is my family; some crying, some smiling. I look behind them and I can see my childhood: my old house, my old friends smoking a finely crafted blunt, the dogs I grew up with, the red 1991 Volvo 240 I crashed into a tree. In the shadows I see a man that looks like me. He is dressed in a tuxedo; a top had sits slanted, covering his brows. A fat Cuban dangles from his mouth with thick blue smoke sifting from its ember. He winks at me. I unlock the door and place my hand on the knob. As I turn the brass fixture, I hear shrilling, crying, laughing, screaming, snickering on the other side. The door is open. I see blackness, nothingness. I raise the six shooter and reluctantly take a step forward.

Ok, I don't really see any of this. I don't even really feel like this. I'm not even a big fan of guns. However, there is an imminent pressure pressing on me from all sides as the end of my college career nears. Here, maybe I can craft a cool analogy to help people better understand this feeling. In high school, you are like a gull; flying over the ocean, eating tasty fish and just, you know, enjoying life as a gull. Then, college comes around. So, you pursue the knowledge, the bigger, tastier fish. You divc into the ocean. The first couple of years of college, you are swimming around where the light still penetrates the surface. You dine on some better fish, but you can feel a bit of pressure. However, you dive a little further into your last years of college and the pressure becomes greater. The light starts to diminish. The pressure grows greater. When graduation comes around, it is pitch black. There are definitely fish to eat, but you can't locate them as easily.

Now, if you brought a flashlight and a diving suit tailored for gulls with you, you'd be cool (hint, hint…internships). But some people, they don't prepare that well. Like myself. I guess I just grew so excited exploring the ocean, eating some tasty aquatic life, and meeting attractive female gulls that I just, well, didn't prepare. It is ok, though. Because although I can't see very well, and the pressure is imminent, I have faith in my gull abilities.

Maybe that was a poor analogy, but I think you all understand. Its easier to succeed after college if you have prepared. But either way, you are going to feel moments of lonesomeness, darkness, and pressure-ness…if thats a word. Keeping to the parallel sentence format, did you see that? Louie learn.

Well lets see here. I've exhausted the analogy department. Let me talk about my new car. Well, actually, its not new at all. But it is new to me. Out in West St. Augustine sits a 1986 BMW 325 es. When I first saw it, it was in the woods and in shambles. It had holes in the body, a busted engine, and enough water damage to support aquatic life. Yes, I found several specimen of water insect skating on the foot of water sitting in the cab. However, for some reason, it was beautiful to me. So I spoke to my mechanic, the typical short and husky eastern European type, who held the title to the car. The first thing he said to me?

"This car very fast. I wanted to give to my daughter, but my wife said no."

He had me there. I told him to fix it up. The total cost? 5000 dollars. The car is supposed to be ready for Christmas. And I am freaking excited. Now, the point of me telling you this. Well, if all else goes to shit, I am going to drive the shit out of that beautiful piece of German engineering. In class, mind you. It will take me far and wide, all around the country, and I will see all sorts of weird and interesting things to write about. How will I pay for gas? I don't know.

So what else can I do after college to relieve the pressure. Lets see. I could join the military. Become a marine. Get a sweet tattoo on my back. Travel to the Middle East. Get a tan. My mother doesn't like that idea very much and my father says its a bad idea because I've never been one to follow orders. Ok. I don't like the thought of being obliterated by molten copper from a roadside IED anyways.

What else? Oh yeah. I have family that lives in Italy. Specifically, in the city of Piacenza. The city lies in northern Italy, in the foothills of the Apennines. Let me tell you, I've been there, and it is absolutely beautiful. Apparently Ernest Hemingway agrees with me. He once said the Trebbia River Valley is the most beautiful in the world. Val Trebbia cuts right past Piacenza.

While living with my relatives, I would work on a farm and hang out with my cousins. My cousins are freaking bear-people. One of them, his name Luigi, is massive. He literally looks like a bear. And he has a tattoo from the northern Italian special forces on his forearm. The guy is a qualified badass. My grandpa once said that he was the strongest man he has ever seen. My grandfather worked as a blacksmith. Luigi and his brother, Giorgio, work on the farm all day and take care of their mother. They also have a dog named Rambo and they say it in a funny Italian accent like Rum-boe. Roll the "r" of course. Anyways, there I could travel a bit, and again, get some cool things to write about. One goal I've always had for myself is to travel. You know, see the world. I'm sure you all have heard that one before.

Whatever I do, I know I will enjoy myself. I like to think I see the world in a different way. I appreciate beauty when I see it. Even though I may not be completely prepared for the "real" world, I will adjust. I understand that there will always times of darkness and times of great pressure, like the gull in the sea that can strangely hold its breath for four years.