Things that really grind my gears....

          It's been a long time coming but I believe I have enough ammunition now to be allowed to whine about things that just aren't right. This is not opinion, but fact. I'm not so arrogant as to think my opinion is gold-encrusted and worthy of the moniker "fact", but rather, these things I'm about to kick and scream about are so one-sided I challenge you to find a valid counter argument. If you can, I'll shut this blog down and move every 6 months, forever wallowing in the fact that my distorted view of what is right and wrong in no way aligned with the people I called peers. Readers that do in fact subscribe to the notion that my written words are The Written Word..... you're sick, get out. I don't want to be your prophet.

          I almost called this one "Starbucks" for the simple reason that I get pissed off on about 90% of my visits there. Keep in mind I live in a college town, I study at the same library every day, and they %^&*ing put one AT THE FRONT FUCKING DOOR. (Sorry, I lose the ability to censor myself when I get like, really mad.) It goes without saying I visit Starbucks a lot. It got so bad, one week they gave me a t-shirt that said "Starbucks Stud" and they said I'd get 20% off every time I bought something while wearing it. 

(That didn't happen. Nobody actually cares.)

But seriously, did Mr. Starbucks knock up an administrator to get exclusive rights to my bank account? Double-yew tee eff, mate.

         Whatever, I've come to accept I'm a slave to the machine; that's not what I'm mad at. It's really more the people. No, it's the behavior of the people. (For all you hair-split-haters out there, I'm gonna go ahead and split this hair: there's a difference. And the simple difference is I don't want to punch a vanilla latte through the cashier's head when they don't behave this way.) 

          By now you're dying to know what behavior so pisses me off. Let me ask you this: when you pay at a cash, how is your change handed back to you? Is it coins then bills? Bills then coins? Receiptbillscoins? Receipt to the left hand, bills to the right, coins volleyball-spiked into your breast pocket? Simmer on this while I recount my tale.

          For the first week I spent in Gainesville, I encountered only a couple iterations. I was amazed that I was consistently handed back my change in only one of two ways. And both maddening. The first begins with them placing the coins ON the horizontal bill(s), forming an origami-esque money-ship with little metal sailors and sailing that bitch all the way into your hand totally oblivious to how many fine metal men get lost during the voyage. Seriously, every time this happens, time slows down. The cashier and I make eye contact. I see the innocent furrow of their brow. I notice the quiver of their lip as if to say, "oh my God, I don't know if I'll make it." And the little money boat makes its way through the air. Their hand shakes, quivers, sailors getting tossed to and fro. Sometimes, if they're really dumb, they haven't formed the Origami Money Ship, but left it flat, to resemble a Cash Raft, even more precarious for our seaman. Halfway through the journey they quietly realize, "Damn! Should have opted for the the Origami Money Ship. Whatever, can't do anything about it now. Gotta MacGyver this shit," at which point they squeeze their hand, folding the bills into a "V", reverse-engineering a Currency Canoe! Fuck, even I start to sweat. I don't know if all my sailors are going to make it. 75% of the distance covered, only a quarter journey to go! At this point I realize the risk is too great. By the time they reach 90%, I usually decide to go Hitch on their asses and cover the remaining 10%. I reach out and before any of my sailors go overboard, I extend my hand, fingers stretched to dock the ship/canoe/raft. In desperate times, I whip my other hand around as an insurance policy and form a little bowl where our enlightened cashier can just dump this shipwreck and get it over with. 

Gimme a minute. I'm sweating a little. I'm also marveling at the fact "gimme" and "gonna" don't have little red squigglies under them. Fuck everything.

          

          If that wasn't harrowing enough and you don't need to change your underwear, read on. The second one is similar but worse, believe it or not. In this version the cashier keeps the coins in one hand and the bills in the other. Unsure, I extend my hand first at which point their coin-hand starts to move. I'm thinking, "ok, this is good." The coin hand comes at me, fingers down, pinched together like The Claw from Toy Story, grasping my coinage like a bunch of wrecked, computer-animated Pixar cars. As it approaches, I start to open my hand, palm up, to receive the goods. But before said coinage touches down, out of butt-fucking nowhere, BOOM LIKE BABYLON comes their other hand with the bills. Right before the coins land, the other hand slips the bills into my palm and almost instantaneously the coins hit right after. Yep, you guessed it, I've got a goddamn Cash Raft on my hands. Not only that, but none of the distance has been covered, remember? I extended MY hand. We still have to journey home! The cashier has this relieved look like, "whew, at least I don't have to deal with this shit anymore," and now sits back to see what I was about to do. But I'm no bitch. I know my only hope is the Origami Money Ship. I suitably clench, forming said ship. My experience prevails and I can usually get my sailors to shore safely.

          So what's the lesson from this harrowing tale? Simple: LEARN HOW TO GIVE GODDAMN CHANGE BACK YOU MORONS. It's so simple it hurts my medulla. You have two hands, and you have two types of change, bills and coins. No coincidence. Grasp bills with one hand, coins with the other. It's not string theory. Reach coin-hand out first, depositing payload in upturned palm of customer. Reach with other hand and hold bills just high enough above customer's hand so customer can grasp bill(s) with fingerTIPS. Release payload. Retract in satisfaction knowing today, you're not an idiot.

Simple.

Clean.

Worthy of an Apple product launch.

And on to the next one.

-Mtl Gator

(Oh, disclaimer: this whole post only applies if your change is in fact bills AND coins. If it isn't, ever, you're a freak and your concern at this moment shouldn't be this blog but why you're so goddamn neurotic.)

(Sorry, second disclaimer: I may have given the impression with the words "enough ammunition" that other things piss me off. Do not fear, they do. I just want to keep this short and sweet. Not sure the masses can handle more idiocy. We'll talk more later.)

Is Jordan Staal the most underrated player in the NHL?

The title of this is surely going to scare some readers away, but I'm too proud to make it catchy and I like to think I'm rewarding a hockey non-fan who decides to keep reading with something that's slightly interesting. I'm not a sell-out. As for the hockey fans who only read this because there's hockeyesque in the title, I'm flattered you're even toying with the idea I might be able to contribute something meaningful to the grand pool of hockey knowledge on the interweb (of which most is less interesting and far less useful than a pool of liquid shit).

Sidney Crosby.
Yes, Sidney Crosby.
He of World Junior gold, NHL captaincy, Stanley Cup fame, Olympic gold, and what no one wants to talk about: he of "If I play at least 70 games, I'll score 100 points. Seriously, look at my stats."
He of two concussions in a week, he of ten months on injured reserve, and last but not least, he of seemingly perfect health on Monday November 21st, 2011.

Let me tell you one thing, the hype is real. Sid the Kid might just be the best player of all time. Not if he retired today, but simply if he keeps any semblance of the numbers he's put up since he came to the league. He shoots as well as anybody, literally. Fantastic vision. He might be the best player anyone's ever seen along the boards. Soft hands. Leadership (yah yah, shoot me, he's a leader). Faceoffs, shootouts, penalty minutes, shots; name it, he owns it.
Again, the hype is real. And not only is it real, it's merited. Not one of the reports, newspapers, magazines, or any of the millions of online posts could overstate how important it was that Sidney Crosby get back to playing as soon as possible. So then why is his return to the game NOT the most important part of him returning to the game? It's simple.
Concussions.

Is it any wonder Crosby had four points in his first game in ten months? If it is, stop it. Is it any wonder that before five minutes were played, you could see him streaking up center-ice, taking a deft pass in full stride, cutting to the right circle holding off an opponent, and mercilessly roofing it for a how-she-doin' top cheeser? If it is, stop it. And I'll tell you why it's no wonder. The Pittsburgh Penguins have the best medical staff in the NHL. Or if they don't, they're the first organization to show that the NHL is the most forward thinking league in pro sports.

It wasn't long ago all head trauma in a sporting context was ubiquitously called "getting your bell rung," or "seeing stars", both of which implied that, given enough time and some water, the bell would stop ringing, and the stars would stop shining. Progress was made, but players were still being unceremoniously chucked back into games when they shouldn't have been. And the worst part? Most of them wanted to keep playing. Whether it was an oppressive machoism-dominated culture, the need for a paycheck, or just a burning desire not to stop, something pushed athletes in way too soon. The best review of this issue, also maybe being the single piece of literature that signifies a shift in how athletics view concussions, was written by Malcolm Gladwell (Blink, Tipping Point, Outliers) for the New Yorker. It's long but well worth the read:

http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2009/10/19/091019fa_fact_gladwell

This is why the Pittsburgh Penguins are different. Sure it was partially motivated by Sid (maybe) being the greatest hockey player of all time, but it doesn't matter. They still needed to be absolutely safe. And not safe in the "oh let's wait a couple more weeks" kind of way, but safe to the point of almost overdoing. For the first time in the history of sport, there was no compeititive pressure, macho pressure, management pressure, or even coaching pressure (well, maybe there was, but if so, it didn't work!). Sid was cleared for full contact at practice a MONTH before he started playing again. Sid fielded questions whenever they were volleyed at him. Sid sought out contact at practice to MAKE SURE he was okay. Sid returned home on road trips to be more closely monitored by doctors. Caution isn't even the word....

Granted, the Penguins didn't need to rush him back; they sat in first place for most of this season. But the posterboy of the NHL only came back when he was READY. And is there any doubt anymore that he was, in fact, ready? Four points monday night against the Islanders, three points friday night against the Sens. On a team where no one really plays more than 20 minutes, Sid's averaging about 17. All this to say that if you yanked someone out from under the darkest, deepest rock and FORCED them to love the NHL, they would have absolutely no idea Crosby suffered from head trauma for ten months.

So why are the Penguins the greatest team in the NHL today? Is it because they dominated the league without Crosby, Malkin, or Staal the first couple of weeks? Mmmm, maybe. Is it because they draft, develop, and trade so perfectly they're always Stanley cup contenders despite their best two players being in and out of the game for the last 18 months? Mmmmmm, closer. Or is it because for the first time an organization had the resources to properly treat a player with post-concussion syndrome and have him immediately produce to prove it?
Bingo
(keep in mind, "resources" here means a perfect storm of events converging to yield this particular result: 
1. Crosby being the injured one, and not, say, Zach Bogosian (no offense).
2. The miles-deep talent of the Penguins allowing them to succeed without Crosby and thus reduce his pressure to return. 
3. Some level-headed team doctors educating themselves on head trauma. 
4. The deaths of Derek Boogaard, Rick Rypien and Wade Belak this year alerting fans that getting punched in the head may have deeper, unseen consequences (whether in fact this is true or not).
5. Timing: concussions have been put under the microscope in hockey and football since the Gladwell's article (above). Only now do we understand the dangers head trauma present.)


To keep it short: the Pittsburgh Penguins may be the first step towards a cure for the disease that is concussions in sport.

So why the title? Why Jordan Staal? Maybe I'd like to shed light on someone who deserves to be shed on... (ok, the flow of that sentence is a lot nicer than what the words actually mean) During a season so focused on Sidney Crosby it would cause some fans to ask "what's an Evgeni?", there's no hope in hell a third line center would get even a whiff of attention. Except, Jordan Staal isn't really a third line center. On a team the likes of the Penguins, this third liner is fifth in scoring, and second in ice time among forwards. What's more, in a league with sixty centers who play on higher lines than his (30 teams x (1 top line center + 1 2nd line center) = 60 centers in the top two lines), he is 18th among scoring in centers. Granted, much of this season has been played on higher lines with Crosby's injury, but now, this is their third center! When a player like Malkin gets overshadowed for the first twenty games by someone on injured reserve, what hope is there for Staal? Well, no one on the Penguins really gives a shit, and neither does he. He's a consummate professional, and he'll be the deciding factor if the Penguins bring home the cup this year. Don't believe me? Add to this list the fact he's among the top 3 in ice time among centers (right around 20 minutes), and that among those centers who actually contribute, he's second in shooting percentage (23.5). So I ask agian, no wait, I'm telling you this time.
Jordan Staal is the most underrated player in the NHL.

rant on rant on rant

I've done it again, I've waited millions of seconds since my last post, and it's costing me dearly. I'm gonna cut to the chase on this one:
1. back home
2. the ineptitude that is Starbucks
3. the Tebow phenomenon.

1. Two weekends ago I snuck home for a buddy's engagement party. Without addressing the partying, and the wine chugging, and the blowjobs (the shot, it's the shot, relax people), let me first say it was weird. Good, but weird (yes it's possible to be both). I live in Gainesville. I FEEL like I live in Gainesville. From the start, the apartment has felt like home (nod to mom and dad), so going back home to Montreal and being in THAT home is a sensation I've never experienced. I was somewhere that most definitely was my home, but wasn't my current residence, a residence which as stated, was very homey. Anyway, I got over it all. It's not difficult when reverting back to the shisha-brew combo within two hours of landing. And then bed at 7am. And then wake up at 10. And then breakfast. And then lunch withe the future groom. Some more beer. And then dinner with the future groom and wine and desert and wine and the bar and shots and beers and shots, all with the future groom.... and then when the perfect shisha-brew nightcap was within reach, passing out on my kitchen floor with three compatriots. Before ranting onto the next rant, let me just say this. In a delirium, one of my Kitchen Floor Compatriots got up, went to relieve himself, and proceeded to crawl into bed with my parents. That's it, that's the summary of my weekend. When someone you grew up with crawls into bed with your parents, and they barely bat an eyelash, you know your work is complete.

Side note: I flipped on the TV when I sat down to do this and Twilight was on. I'm amazed at the quality of writing and at some point later tonight, I'll ponder how I didn't think the acting was even better. I can't get enough of hte stuttering, droopy eyelids, and throaty whispers of "Bella, you need to stay away from me," and, "but Edward, I just need..." *eyelid flutter* "... answers."

2. Ok... I go into Starbucks maybe 10 times a week. It's not even fair, they put one IN the library. Not the "library" they have in Chapters, but like, the school library. A place that probably sees five to ten thousand unique students walk through its front door every day. It's not even fair.
OMG, Bella is the first one to notice there's something weird about Edward. SOMEONE GET THIS GIRL A SCHOLARSHIP TO DETECTIVE SCHOOL.
Ok, back to the important stuff. Suffice to say I'm in Starbucks a lot and I get to observe them A LOT. I've noticed a few problems....
First, I get it, Starbucks is for hipsters. Granted, non-hipsters go there (nod to the West Island), but that fricken place was designed by someone from The Plateau (nod to my Montrealers). But even so, that doesn't give them the right to change the names of the sizes of drinks; Tall, Grande, Venti.
Now this guy http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20071217051431AAwi31y
has the best technical answer. And I'd like to echo what he's saying in a more irate way.
The sophistication.... I DON'T NEED IT. I only overpay for coffee cause there's nothing else around. (Omg, Edward just told Bella she's his own personal brand of Heroin. Somebody get me a fucking valium). And to borrow a term from Bill Simmons, the seemingly limited intellectual capital of those working the cash is taxed to the maximum when I ask for a medium coffee (I refuse to speak Italian).
Here's a sample conversation when I order a medium, including my, and their thoughts:
Me: Hi, I'd like a medium coffee, please.
Cashier: Uhhhhh *quizzical look* wuh... medium... Medium (dammit, 1... 2... 3... no that's not it.... A....B....shit, that's not it either.... small, medium, large, yes, YES. Ok so small is the smallest, so that's like our smallest too, cause they're both the smallest. So small is like.... TALL. YES. ok. no. he didn't want a small, wait. Tall? shit. Ok he said medium, so that's next. after small that is. Shit, I can't even THINK with proper punctuation. Ok so medium is next, so that's ourrrrr.....COME ON..... grande.yes.grande is medium..... Wait, grande means large. I know fucking Italian. So what's medium. Well Grande seems bigger than Tall. K, so he probably ordered a tall).
Great! Medium coffee, that'll be $2.25
Me: thanks *smile* (what, the, hell.....)
Invariably, I get served a small coffee.

omg omg omg omg, Bella just "met the parents" for the first time. They just cooked and used their kitchen for the first time JUST FOR HER. And they have a tree growing out of the floor. THIS IS THE BEST MOVIE EVER.

Second, the limited intellectual capital of the managers, or whoever invented the strategy for dealing with rush times. It obviously gets busy quite often, so they need a strategy operated by a well-oiled machine to deal with it, day in, day out. Right?

omgomgomg.
Bella: *looking up at his CD collection numbering in the tens? maybe twenties* oh my God, you have, like, so much music. LOLOLOLOLOLOL. Cue the .mp3 player and 2010. Thank you

Anyway, well-oiled machine. Right. So, typically they have anywhere from 2 to 8 people working at once. That's one problem. When it gets REALLY busy, they try to be cute and "streamline" the operation. You know, do something clever to make it go faster. So there's one person at the cash, great. One person making hot drinks (remember this, at a coffee shop, O-N-E person making hot drinks), one person putting whipped cream on cold drinks, and one cake-getter/surface wiper. Now, the best part. They have someone walk through the line that's constantly snaking out the front door asking people what they want. Once they get this "advanced order" they walkie-talkie that shit back to someone standing between the cashier and the hot-drink-maker who writes the order on the cup. On the surface, seems legit. NOT.
The person maybe radios in 5 drinks for every 1 the hot drink maker can make.
EDWARD'S ABOUT TO KISS BELLA.
.......

Anyway, this leads to the inevitable pile-up of unmade drinks at the hot-drink maker station, and the scrum of people crowding around that little fake window drink-outlet aperture; as if to say "this is like a fast food window but we're not fastfood, we serve ventis, bitch."
This never works since I think they take the worst candidate from every round of hiring and stick them on as the hot-drink maker. Anyway, fiasco every time I want my Tall Soy Skinny Caramel Macchiato with extra whip cream. Ok I don't order that shit (much), but I have to hear them call out every drink title every time they finish making one (like it's some sort of achievement proclamation to the world) along with miss-pronouncing all the foreign names that pass through.

HA! Edward is meeting Papa Bella. WHATCHU KNOW ABOUT TAKIN IT TO THE NEXT LEVEL.

Finally, last problem. But this is something I'm working on and I think I've made progress. If I pay, and my change comes in the form of coins AND bills, please don't make a little origami boat with the dollar bill and put the coins in it like little sailors. Coins go in the and first, then hand the bills to me. I don't want surfing nickels riding the George Board in my palm. I give you money, you give me coins, then bills. No monkey business.

3. The Tebow thing. I don't have the energy for this. Saving it for tomorrow.

-The Mtl Gator

P.S. I wish I could stay here and play-by-play the rest of Twilight. They just played Vampire Baseball, Edward saved a home run. Some bad vampies showed up. Bella's running away and is hurting her father to protect him from the bad vampies. You couldn't even make this shit up.

oh, another one?

If someone were to write a biography about me right this minute and began working backwards from the present day only to get board after two weeks worth of material, the book would be titled "Farid Medleg: Social Glutton." Not for any excess in partying, texting or phone calls, but simply because every second thing I do seems to be tied to some social network. Some would say, "duh, asshole, half the world is on Facebook or Twitter pretty much the entire day."

But that's not it (granted, I don't so much "sign on" to Facebook as I leave it open so that my 15-minute wall-check is that much easier).... I just feel like in an age dominated by a select few social networks, I seem bombarded with new ones every day. I guess I'm not helping my case; I've watched The Social Network four times in two months, I'm reading a book about Facebook (with one about Google waiting on the shelf), I have a Facebook account, a Twitter account, a Google+ account, and most recently a Geekli.st account. The worst part? I feel like each has their purpose, and yet the only one I use with any real consistency is Facebook.
So what gives?
What's the purpose of a social network if you have four of them?

Well, upon not-so-close inspection, I've come to quickly realize it's because they're all awesome. Well, the ones that get popular anyway. And not awesome in the a-lightsaber-can-cut-through-anything kind of way, but awesome in that genuinely chest thumping, somewhat awe inspiring kind of way. Now before anyone eye-rolls so much they can see their brain, I ask you this: how often does something come around that so profoundly aligns so many millions of people at the same time. Aside form social networks, I challenge you to find more than 5 things created in the last century that can get a billion people to do the same thing within 24 hours. I'm having difficulties.

And the best part, I think save a few Silicon Valley denizens, none of us know exactly what social networks are capable of. Sure they can do so much now; message, comment, post pictures/videos/websites, program, play games, sign onto Xbox, even online shop. But I can't help but think that's just the beginning. When PCs hit the market, did you expect to be able to play interactive games with people all around the world? When you got your first email account way back when, did you think that a company called Google would create Gmail where you could send files bigger than your entire hard drive at the time? When you got your first cell phone, did you think one day you'd be able to surf the internet simply by touching the glass surface of a telephone? When you first learned about the internet, did you think one day you'd be able to do groceries, shop for clothes, and find a husband or wife using it? To this question and the ones before, I say "no". I don't even think Mark Zuckerberg totally conceived of what Facebook is doing today when he launched it seven years ago.

So to all the new social networks I say "Welcome. If you're not useful now it's only a matter of time before someone makes you useful."

-Montreal Gator

A little bit of "look at me now"

It's amazing what monotony does to the mind. One second you're skipping off to start your routine for the day (and by "routine" I mean those quirky schedule-like things you did for the first time last week) and the next second it's week 6 of the semester, you're downing a steady diet of Ramen Noodles, and you're the proud wearer of a playoff beard that would be worthy of Eric Cole himself. The beard part refers exclusively to male readers, of course, but you get the point. I won't say I've suffered such a moment, but the last 5 weeks have FLOWN by, and I haven't done much else but truck to the library, then truck it to class, then shuffle back home.
Then all of a sudden, events started to happen. Not Minority Report stuff like "THE UNIVERSITY IS CONVERTING EVERYTHING TO TOUCH SCREENS" or anything epic like that, just a bunch of random and not so random things proximal enough to make one stop and say "hmmm, cool."

Saturday I was blessed with my first dance workshop of the year (note: there isn't enough of that in Gainesville). Needless to say I'm still in pain, but that's the beauty of it right?

Monday night I was blessed with the enigma that is Tiesto (see facebook for relevant media).

On three separate occasions three days in a row I have by chance arrived at my bus stop at the EXACT moment the bus arrived.

Publix, the grocery store I frequent (and the establishment that will be furnishing me with potentially thousands of dollars in savings coupons (if I haven't been the target of fraud)) sells THREE types of Alexander Keith's AND Moosehead.
BLAAMO, bitches.

Columbian food arrived with a magical fairy from Miami as well as the biggest avocado you've ever seen (from which I concocted some devastatingly delicious guacamole).

I obtained 10th row tickets to Gators v. Alabama this weekend (the most epic match of the season so far seeing as Alabama is ranked third in the country and victory here would put us back into the conversation for National League Champions).

And my best friend of over 21 years got engaged this past weekend and officially knighted me as best mate for the big day. I don't think I could be more honored and I can't wait for all the activities that go along with weddings and engagement parties and all that flowery stuff.

So what does all this mean? It means that school is not associated with fun. Sure things at school and things related to school are tons of fun, but no matter how much you enjoy it, no matter how passionate you are, there's nothing that can bring your head back above water like something distinctly NON-SCHOOL.
Sure I'm a tad behind in my work, sure I manage to sometimes get chocolate on the lower back part of my shirt incidentally making it look like a poo stain (wait, that has nothing to do with what I'm trying to say.... backspace, I need backspace..... BACKSPACE)....... sure I'm not as comfortable with the proximity of my deadlines, but who the hell cares; if dancing, music, and sports put me under a bit of pressure, bring it on. In fact, bring it on twice. Bring it on so many times that if I had the choice to rewind and do it again, I would do it again.

And if all that fails, get one of your friends to propose and enjoy the subsequent celebrations. I love contingency plans.


I won't lie, I'm in class, so posting pictures and making this post look handsome is impossible as I can barely chew gum and do quantum physics at the same time.
Until next time, faithful readers
I bid ya'll adieu,

-Mtl Gator

PS. I apologize if I offended any women with healthy beards or readers with poo stains on the lower back parts of their shirt.

lest we forget

As is so often the case with momentous occasions, distance from them diminishes not their importance, but their impact on our emotions. It is as if the farther one is away from such an event, the denser the film between it and their eyes. Physical and temporal distance seem to drape an ever thicker veil over the mind's comprehension. Like a television flattening out the world for all to watch, separation flattens these events onto another plane of existence. 

For the majority of the world, such were the events of 9/11/01. Terrific, yet far away. Important, yet not real. Relevant, yet incomprehensible. A hundred million dualities were created that day; the working memories seared into minds not able to grasp their magnitude. Apocalypse.

Despite the seeming incomprehensibility, the import of the situation had its day. There is not a soul who doesn't remember the moment they heard the news. I know where I was, what class I was in, what row and what seat. 

High school.

Grade nine math.

Second row.

Middle seat. 

The principal entered, and with a tone that much more deliberate, that much more sombre, he broke the news. To a handful of fourteen-year-olds, it was a tragic action movie, playing back as slowly as the principal spoke it. Had he left right then and there, we as a class might have turned back to the board half expecting to get on with polynomials. But that split second pause, that moment where he seemed to make eye contact with everyone at once, gave his words the gravitas to make us waver. The silent concussion of comprehension emanating from the teacher hit us with terrible force. I remember, as a group, looking outside half expecting to see an airplane headed straight for our insignificant building. I remember expecting dozens of phone calls calling children home to safety. I remember thinking, maybe school will be cancelled. I remember wondering if this was some twisted version of war. There was an action movie happening just next door, but the actors were real, and there were no second takes.

Within six hours, there wasn't a soul who didn't watch the twin towers crumble to the ground like a house of cards. There wasn't a person alive who didn't watch endless replays of billowing dust, explosions, and seemingly toy-like planes flying into miniature TV buildings. There also wasn't a soul left who wasn't confronted with blood and tears and an estimated death toll that just didn't seem to slow down.

What is one to do at a time like this? Too late to do anything really, and too soon to want to do anything. There was really only one option: keep one eye on the TV screen, and one eye on the rest of your life. Watch the victims and the families of victims grasp the moment while also watching the timer on the oven. Do nothing but stare at the carnage, and do your homework. 

Ask yourself how while also asking why.

With a sickening lack of emotion, life moved inexorably on. No matter how hard one dug their heels in, they got dragged through the mud. With a certainty devoid of affect, days went by. One was left to wonder what the point was. What's your roll if you have no roll, no import, no impact? If people die, and life doesn't care, then who cares?

The answer is simple. We care.

Whether one minute removed from the crushing weight of a building collapse, or a thousand miles removed from Ground Zero, the single duty of every human being is to care. And to care one must remember. That is it.

3,051 children lost a parent.

2,977 lives were taken.

1,609 lost a husband or wife.

623 police and firemen did not go home. 

It is our responsibility to remember them, and remember that one day can change the world. Whether it be for vigilance, for respect, or sense of duty, remember. Whether it be for a family member or members of a family you no nothing about, remember. A decade after a tragedy, we must revitalize the somewhat distant memory of an event that still seems like a dark fairy tale. Color it in again like an old tattoo. To not remember is to erase, and that would be the greatest fallacy of all. 

We must remember lest we forget.

a few things....

Remember when I said I wouldn't wait too long between posts..... well I totally lied. At the time of that magnanimous statement, I forgot one critical variable: school work. The main difference between moving into an apartment and school work? When you're done school work, you have NO desire to sit in front of a computer screen and start typing away. Even when I do my work early, even when I start it days ahead, it only seems to get done JUST on time. I even have to study just to be able to study, what's up with THAT.
Anyway, I'm not here to make excuses, but rather, to finally throw something onto this blog to make myself feel better. No pictures, short and sweet, in and out. What to put in the shortest post ever? The highlights of course. What have been the highlights since my last post the day before school?
1. I have friends (celebrate)
2. People here love socks and sandals (so do I btw, but people here REALLY love it)
3. oh yah... THE BOYZ CAME!!!!!

So, here's how it happened. That fateful Tuesday morning I left the apartment and I decided to take the umbrella with me; I was all adult like and checked the weather that morning. I was prepared. On my way home, 23 seconds before stepping off the bus, it started to pour. People in the bus started nervously glancing around like it was time to pick partners for umbrella sharing. Naturally, I puffed my chest out; I was prepared. About 7.5 seconds before stepping off the bus, it REALLY started to rain. Like, not just heavy rain, but I-need-a-rubberized-jumpsuit-to-get-home-dry rain. I got a little nervous. I mean, I was wearing my new shoes. So who steps out of the bus next to me? Captain Unprepared hugging his school bag cause his laptop had no chance of getting home unless he used himself as a human shield. Yah, I helped him; we shared the umbrella (which really means, his bag stayed dry while the both of us bathed and walked). AND I walked him home which was an adventure I'd rather not talk about at the moment. Suffice to say I reached the apartment a little uplifted, a little soaked, and a little panicky (the shoes!).

I proceeded with my post class ritual of snack (Kraft Dinner), entertainment (Modern Family), and procrastination (more Modern Family). Just as I was entering my stage 2 procrastination ("organizing" and printing notes), I was presented with a violent knock at the door. I could honestly say I was confused..... no one comes to see me. With my mind still whirling, I opened the door to an assault of

AAA BBOONNNJJJOOUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!

*#&^$#@^&$%!^!#(*&^@%)!!)&*^%!!!

bahahhaha these clowns flew from Montreal and surprised me at the door! ARE YOU KIDDING ME. Let's just say I didn't get any work done and thank goodness it was labor day weekend. Whether it was shisha under blacklight, talking about catching grouper at a local bar, or line dancing at a western club, we did it all Gainesville style. A few comments regarding wisdom I gained during this time:
1. I need to acquire cowboy boots and a cowboy hat
2. My Montreal peoples have to move to Gainesville
3. The number one quality of an eligible bachelor in Gainesville is the ability to catch and kill a fish with your bare hands
4. When you ride around campus in a convertible Camaro blasting Sean Paul, people stare
5. Crosswalks matter, and the police care that they matter... and they don't care who's driving, even if you're Christopher Roberston

Obviously my knowledge has expanded beyond these points, but these are definitely the most important ones. I need to cut this post short mostly because I said I wanted to keep it that way, but also cause this Mac keeps notifying me I need to shut down firefox to enable and update. Ahhhh, how she always looks out for me.
Until next time (with a longer post and pictures), I bid you farewell.

-Montreal Gator

Ps. Took my baby out for the first time today, bought her a Neoprene sleeve and everything. She's growing up so fast.....