I do not know how most people survive weeks on vacation. Then again most people do not travel like us. See there is a modern way of transportation that has impacted the human society these past few generations. This is what you called air travel.
Unfortunately, this has not impacted nor convinced my father to use this modern form of convenient technology. No, because apparently the countless grueling hours of cussing to hysteria is far more appealing to my father than sitting in an airline seat. Oh those Wierzbicki children are so lucky. Twelve hours in just the first two days, roasting in the un-airconditioned back seat of a Buick minivan (Other known as a deteriorating boat transportation device).
Yes, the Buick Terraza. What a great designed car, made by one fine engineer. So great, that the minivan only lasted two years in production. Just check out the great review consumer reports gave it!
http://consumerguideauto.howstuffworks.com/2005-to-2007-buick-terraza.htm
But wait there are more pleasant surprises from this boat. After one climbs over the over sized middle seats (which fail to condense space when folded) to reach the back seats, gentle musky air will surround the back seats as the middle seats when folded back up crush their legs. Air conditioning continues to circulate only in the front until it decides to stop even trying. If that is not enough fun for the family, the Buick Terraza will also set its sliding doors on child lock when least expected and continue to read empty on your fuel gage, even when you just filled up the tank. And GM expects to be bailed out from the government because everyone was smart enough not to buy their vehicles. Shame on you GM. What they really need is a slap in the face.
As for transportation with the Alpha male. Everything is accounted for financially. So if the family has to deal with sitting in the car for long painful hours until their few hours walking on land collides into a strange man from Pittsburgh talking to them in the Burger King aisle, so be it. Driving gives him the control to choose where to go, although many of those choices have been lost along the way. Fear not, because the remaining bodies engulfed in the heat of the back seat can be blamed for this mishap.
And just when this "vacation" is done, I still have to deal with a twelve hour car ride home with the greatest combination of minivan and father figure. Please, if anyone is out there, For God's sake send me a one-way trip back to Chicago so I can start my summer vacation.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Beside You In Time
25 October 2006- A poem I created for my freshman English class. Mrs. Reid wondered if I was interested in moving up to Honor English afterwords. I still cannot comprehend why.
The drums are my haven.
That’s what she said.
Hickory strikes each head,
Rumbling until the beat is dead.
Splinters pierce through my fingers
Winter Fresh wedged among each molar.
I snuffle a stench seeping out on the side
The scent tastes like syrup
Rubbing my nostrils.
Charlie Contreras in Spring Rock Park
Made a comical attempt to catch the baseball.
Not really, compared to the time he tripped on first base.
The sun shone brightly.
Deciduous trees continuously sculpt sunlight like a kaleidoscope.
Perfect for blacktop courts.
Where ally-oops and reverses prosper.
I’m lively at midnight.
When it’s time to party, we will party hard
Never should be recited without violent head banging.
The sharp arrows of love and odium
Stabbed us in the back.
We were sharp like table knives.
But summer bent us in half.
For he would be granted for every wish.
But Joe Dubs, overall,
Will rise above the rabbit hole,
And view the rational environment.
Train him to be a leader.
To fight for what is right.
Through conspiring corrupt immorality,
Until the fight is forgotten.
C’est la vie.
The clouds would say.
Over the deep vibrations of the wood,
Over the shriek from explosive steel,
Over and over again.
The drums are my haven.
That’s what she said.
Hickory strikes each head,
Rumbling until the beat is dead.
Splinters pierce through my fingers
Winter Fresh wedged among each molar.
I snuffle a stench seeping out on the side
The scent tastes like syrup
Rubbing my nostrils.
Charlie Contreras in Spring Rock Park
Made a comical attempt to catch the baseball.
Not really, compared to the time he tripped on first base.
The sun shone brightly.
Deciduous trees continuously sculpt sunlight like a kaleidoscope.
Perfect for blacktop courts.
Where ally-oops and reverses prosper.
I’m lively at midnight.
When it’s time to party, we will party hard
Never should be recited without violent head banging.
The sharp arrows of love and odium
Stabbed us in the back.
We were sharp like table knives.
But summer bent us in half.
For he would be granted for every wish.
But Joe Dubs, overall,
Will rise above the rabbit hole,
And view the rational environment.
Train him to be a leader.
To fight for what is right.
Through conspiring corrupt immorality,
Until the fight is forgotten.
C’est la vie.
The clouds would say.
Over the deep vibrations of the wood,
Over the shriek from explosive steel,
Over and over again.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
A Warm Place
Its been a long adventure for me, but I finally found my place in a group. Obtaining a close best friend was never a hard task. I had never really been accustomed or even satisfied with a group of friends-they never showed much devotion towards me like one friend could. This hesitation towards groups stayed with me for ages. The jock group, the skaters, the outcasts, the video game elites- my existence in the group always felt askew. Each group I migrated to I thought I had found my niche. But something would always step in the way.
There would always be one person that despised my timid behavior. I also would make the greatest mistake of dating someone within my group, only to tarnish the relationships around it and have everyone turn against me. My obsessive infatuation towards women would blind me, risking my friendships, for someone I did not necessarily care about. I just thought I did. Whatever the cause, the effect would always be the same. With my self esteem bleary, I would have to start from square one and scrounge for yet another group I could join.
The previous group I had been introduced to (because I cannot independently find an appropriate group for myself) had to be one of the most dysfunctional arrangements of adolescents I have encountered in my eighteen year existence-I've should have known since they all went to Highlands. It consisted of a controlling psychopathic atheist, her manipulative boyfriend, an oblivious schmuck whose hair was as repulsive as him, and her devoted followers.
Soon, before I even knew the true injustices of the group, certain members were revolting against the government. Puzzled, I did not know what side was comparable to my tastes. Being brainwashed by aristocracy, I was vexed that anyone would not be loyal to the group.
One thing made me look the other way, however. My best friend joined that revolution, being someone who always hated the aristocrat. It was then when I decided to ponder the reasons why I did not feel the same way. Bit by bit, I compared the groups together and noticed something missing. This aristocracy had no feeling towards me, it never encouraged me to join, it never made me feel welcome. It was just an arrangement of peasants pleasing the one who she thought meant most. I was repulsed by it and I knew then to join the revolution.
There are times when I wish I could take back that year of my life. I cannot explain the extremity of being tricked and lied to. But fate is still fate. I chose the mistake to join that aristocracy. But even after the pain, the funny matter of fact is, it was worth it.
If i had not been through all those odd times, the pain, the uncomfortable events, then I would have not found my current group. If it was not for all the awkward events I was forced in by the aristocrat, I would not be able to laugh about it now with my friends and I wouldn't be close to the new group I'm in right now. My best friend from grade school, who brought me into this mess, also gave me the courage to step out of the cage. Because of him, I broke free from aristocracy, and I can rest now in a warm place.
There would always be one person that despised my timid behavior. I also would make the greatest mistake of dating someone within my group, only to tarnish the relationships around it and have everyone turn against me. My obsessive infatuation towards women would blind me, risking my friendships, for someone I did not necessarily care about. I just thought I did. Whatever the cause, the effect would always be the same. With my self esteem bleary, I would have to start from square one and scrounge for yet another group I could join.
The previous group I had been introduced to (because I cannot independently find an appropriate group for myself) had to be one of the most dysfunctional arrangements of adolescents I have encountered in my eighteen year existence-I've should have known since they all went to Highlands. It consisted of a controlling psychopathic atheist, her manipulative boyfriend, an oblivious schmuck whose hair was as repulsive as him, and her devoted followers.
Soon, before I even knew the true injustices of the group, certain members were revolting against the government. Puzzled, I did not know what side was comparable to my tastes. Being brainwashed by aristocracy, I was vexed that anyone would not be loyal to the group.
One thing made me look the other way, however. My best friend joined that revolution, being someone who always hated the aristocrat. It was then when I decided to ponder the reasons why I did not feel the same way. Bit by bit, I compared the groups together and noticed something missing. This aristocracy had no feeling towards me, it never encouraged me to join, it never made me feel welcome. It was just an arrangement of peasants pleasing the one who she thought meant most. I was repulsed by it and I knew then to join the revolution.
There are times when I wish I could take back that year of my life. I cannot explain the extremity of being tricked and lied to. But fate is still fate. I chose the mistake to join that aristocracy. But even after the pain, the funny matter of fact is, it was worth it.
If i had not been through all those odd times, the pain, the uncomfortable events, then I would have not found my current group. If it was not for all the awkward events I was forced in by the aristocrat, I would not be able to laugh about it now with my friends and I wouldn't be close to the new group I'm in right now. My best friend from grade school, who brought me into this mess, also gave me the courage to step out of the cage. Because of him, I broke free from aristocracy, and I can rest now in a warm place.
My World Is Getting Smaller and Smaller
Eighteen years flew past so abruptly. Just when I felt I had recognition of my existence, the oldest child was already receiving his diploma. The wonders of crawling across the carpet floor, mixed with new bitter responsibility. Each one grew up, successfully escaping torment of the elders, but I was still crawling up to my ranks. I am an eighteen year old child.
Taking responsibility is not an easy task for the youngest child. Everything was handed to me like I was Cesar on his throne. I did not dare hesitate to ingest every grape that was hand-fed to me. Grape by grape, I let work and socializing be handed down to me. I chewed every fresh grape until all that lay were empty vines. The treatment vanished and I did not comprehend why.
Junior High definitely brought me to harsh reality. I could not rely on my siblings to socialize because they were gone. I could not expect people to like me right away. I had no real entourage to prove my significance. I did not feel I needed to meet new people because I was not accustomed to it. Nor did I know I would have to in order to survive those three years. Girls were definitely and odd experience for me at that age. I had been nervous around them in grade school; experiencing weird attachments towards certain girls gave me anxieties. I was never really confident with the way I appeared, and I also did not have enough insight on how to independently approach a person of interest. My quiet behavior sent some conspicuous gestures to others. I would not doubt people thought I was a creep. However, I was just incapable of thinking for myself. Incapable of being my own person. They may have seen a creepy kid unable to respond, but I was not there. I was still crawling across the floor, not knowing there were stairs ahead of me.
By the time I moved up to high school, it felt like everyone from my graduating class was a step ahead of me. They were skipping up the stairs; I was still searching for them. I nearly had a social life, and I again was dependent on the few ones I still had to introduce me to new friends. I finally found an opportunity to get a girlfriend freshman year and make the freshman basketball team. I had finally found the stairwell. But with each step up I dealt with an increase in responsibility and consequences. I found a way to get a girl, but I didn't know anything about a relationship. My selfish past made me only care about the treatment I once received. I did not care about anyone else then, and change was too much work for a king. Even when I made the basketball team, what I had been training for all my eighth grade summer, my desire for the sport diminished when I had to deal with bitter responsibilities of grueling practice. These years past by and my body grew older, but it meant nothing to me because I was still stuck on the same stair.
The thought of college fascinates me. But have I grown up enough yet? I sense myself growing more independent each day. I found more directions-more stairs-for my life. These are the first few years where I actually enjoy the frustration of school, the problem solving, and the balancing of responsibilities. I feel more optimistic than ever, and more passionate about my everyday vicinity. I am eighteen years old, and I learned how to walk.
Taking responsibility is not an easy task for the youngest child. Everything was handed to me like I was Cesar on his throne. I did not dare hesitate to ingest every grape that was hand-fed to me. Grape by grape, I let work and socializing be handed down to me. I chewed every fresh grape until all that lay were empty vines. The treatment vanished and I did not comprehend why.
Junior High definitely brought me to harsh reality. I could not rely on my siblings to socialize because they were gone. I could not expect people to like me right away. I had no real entourage to prove my significance. I did not feel I needed to meet new people because I was not accustomed to it. Nor did I know I would have to in order to survive those three years. Girls were definitely and odd experience for me at that age. I had been nervous around them in grade school; experiencing weird attachments towards certain girls gave me anxieties. I was never really confident with the way I appeared, and I also did not have enough insight on how to independently approach a person of interest. My quiet behavior sent some conspicuous gestures to others. I would not doubt people thought I was a creep. However, I was just incapable of thinking for myself. Incapable of being my own person. They may have seen a creepy kid unable to respond, but I was not there. I was still crawling across the floor, not knowing there were stairs ahead of me.
By the time I moved up to high school, it felt like everyone from my graduating class was a step ahead of me. They were skipping up the stairs; I was still searching for them. I nearly had a social life, and I again was dependent on the few ones I still had to introduce me to new friends. I finally found an opportunity to get a girlfriend freshman year and make the freshman basketball team. I had finally found the stairwell. But with each step up I dealt with an increase in responsibility and consequences. I found a way to get a girl, but I didn't know anything about a relationship. My selfish past made me only care about the treatment I once received. I did not care about anyone else then, and change was too much work for a king. Even when I made the basketball team, what I had been training for all my eighth grade summer, my desire for the sport diminished when I had to deal with bitter responsibilities of grueling practice. These years past by and my body grew older, but it meant nothing to me because I was still stuck on the same stair.
The thought of college fascinates me. But have I grown up enough yet? I sense myself growing more independent each day. I found more directions-more stairs-for my life. These are the first few years where I actually enjoy the frustration of school, the problem solving, and the balancing of responsibilities. I feel more optimistic than ever, and more passionate about my everyday vicinity. I am eighteen years old, and I learned how to walk.
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