About a week ago, a problem arose for me. That problem was baseball practice. Or rather, what occurred during baseball practice. And that, namely, was taking a line drive to the face.
There were only about six players at the practice, and only three outfielders, so one was catching the throws coming in, and the other two were fielding. But the coach kept it to a quick tempo, so I would have time to sprint up and field the ball, throw it in, turn around, sprint back to where I started from, turn around, and the coach would hit the next one to me.
All this rapidity was tiring, which generally is not a problem except that I lose my focus a little bit when I am getting exhausted. This generally just means that eventually I might misplay a ball. Which is what happened, but with severer consequences this time. The coach hit a line shot deep behind me and to my right. I sprinted back for it, looking that I would probably have to jump to make the play. But I was a little faster than I had anticipated, and did not adjust like I usually would have, still jumping when I could have just lifted my glove higher. As it was, it went just under my glove, and because I was looking directly back for the ball, it hit me square, just above my mouth.
I went down for a second, mainly concerned because I remembered one player's account of how he had gotten hit in the face by a throw and had broken his nose, and not noticed anything except his face being numb, and had kept practicing until his nose started shooting blood.
My face was pretty numb as well, and one of the players ran over to me, concerned.
"Are you alright Tomas?" he asked.
"I'm good."
"He's good!" he said to the coach, as the coach walked over.
"You need to go wash the blood off," he said.
I looked down at my shirt and there was a good amount of blood on it.
I went into the dugout, where there was a sink, and washed my mouth out. I had gotten hit to the left on my upper lip, and had gotten cut there by the laces, which is what had been bleeding the most. What was also bleeding though was inside my mouth, where the entire upper and lower parts of the left side of the inside of my mouth were torn up by my teeth. I was lucky that it had not hit me right in the teeth or nose, but this did not feel great either.
And this ended up being the problem. The cut on the outside caused swelling, but after two days the swelling was almost entirely gone, and all that was left was a mark from the laces of the ball. In my mouth however, just as the swelling went down, the inside of my mouth started to hurt. And by hurt, I mean that any movement of my mouth, my tongue, etc., caused excruciating pain, to the point of doubling over every time I smiled.
Naturally, that made eating or drinking a challenge. But I was able to find a solution.
Tea tree oil is something that is quite expensive, but is very good at healing cuts and sores. I figured that I may as well try it in my mouth and see if it helped. So I applied some to the sores, and in about thirty seconds, I could barely feel anything, and I could talk, laugh, drink, etc., without any discomfort.
So what I ended up doing was putting tea tree oil in my mouth before I ate. I did this for about five days, until my mouth finally got better.
And then my coach did a little "Knockout" style competition at practice, whoever missed a ball was out.
"As long as I don't actually have to get knocked out during it," I said.
"Yes, you don't have to get knocked out to win it Tomas," the coach said.
"I wish I had known that earlier."
And of course, I ended up almost winning the infield knockout drill.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Friday, October 19, 2012
Week 7 Profile
He stands, an authoritative figure, and looks down into the dugout at the player. The player was a new one, who all of the others proclaimed a "Crazy kid," who they all liked however.
"One question Coach," the player asked, "Did he go?"
A rhetorical question such as this required careful thinking, the coach knew. He stood staring at the player for a minute. Then, he moves his arms in a 'safe' motion.
"No he did not."
The coach came up from Pennsylvania, where he had played college baseball as a pitcher. One thing that he always seemed conscious of, to the people around him, was that he was young. He was starting a new college baseball program, which is a difficult task for anyone, let alone that he was 23.
It is hard to be an authoritative figure when some of the players on your team are older than you, but he accomplished it, by always being mindful of his role as a figurehead for the players. He rarely unbent too much, though would talk about his music preferences and such. Otherwise, he volunteered no personal information except when asked about it. The players viewed him as a bit of a mystery, and a very good coach. It was difficult for them not to be a little bit in awe of him, as a group. His heavy brow, and highly confident air put himself apart from anyone else.
But he cared a lot about his players. One time, a player at a practice ran back on a line drive, leapt in the air for it, and it went just under their glove and hit them in the face. He was right there to diagnose it, and lead them to the bathroom to wash the blood off of their face and out of their mouth. From his experience, he could tell that it probably would not need stitches, though it was still bleeding heavily.
He also showed faith in his players. Unlike many coaches, he was almost reluctant to take a struggling pitcher out of the game. He just always said "Come on babe." Sometimes it hurt his team, as he would let the pitcher walk the bases loaded with a one run lead with two innings left before making a change. But sometimes, this would work out for him, as once, after a player walked two batters in a row and gave up two hits, he left them in, and they pitched another two innings without giving up a hit, run or a walk.
He was not just a manager, he tried to make the players as good as possible. When he saw an unorthodox or improper stance, for throwing or for hitting, he helped them out. He would open up their stance, work on them snapping their wrist better in throwing. He would work individually with each player, and tell them what they needed to work on to be a better player, to play more, to help the team more. He was always there to help his players with anything he needed, if they could get past his foreboding appearance.
And he found, in just two semesters, the pieces to put together a good baseball team. Good enough to beat the reigning champions of the division, and to make the playoffs. Which for a first year team, was pretty impressive. And a good part of it was purely because of his coaching.
"One question Coach," the player asked, "Did he go?"
A rhetorical question such as this required careful thinking, the coach knew. He stood staring at the player for a minute. Then, he moves his arms in a 'safe' motion.
"No he did not."
The coach came up from Pennsylvania, where he had played college baseball as a pitcher. One thing that he always seemed conscious of, to the people around him, was that he was young. He was starting a new college baseball program, which is a difficult task for anyone, let alone that he was 23.
It is hard to be an authoritative figure when some of the players on your team are older than you, but he accomplished it, by always being mindful of his role as a figurehead for the players. He rarely unbent too much, though would talk about his music preferences and such. Otherwise, he volunteered no personal information except when asked about it. The players viewed him as a bit of a mystery, and a very good coach. It was difficult for them not to be a little bit in awe of him, as a group. His heavy brow, and highly confident air put himself apart from anyone else.
But he cared a lot about his players. One time, a player at a practice ran back on a line drive, leapt in the air for it, and it went just under their glove and hit them in the face. He was right there to diagnose it, and lead them to the bathroom to wash the blood off of their face and out of their mouth. From his experience, he could tell that it probably would not need stitches, though it was still bleeding heavily.
He also showed faith in his players. Unlike many coaches, he was almost reluctant to take a struggling pitcher out of the game. He just always said "Come on babe." Sometimes it hurt his team, as he would let the pitcher walk the bases loaded with a one run lead with two innings left before making a change. But sometimes, this would work out for him, as once, after a player walked two batters in a row and gave up two hits, he left them in, and they pitched another two innings without giving up a hit, run or a walk.
He was not just a manager, he tried to make the players as good as possible. When he saw an unorthodox or improper stance, for throwing or for hitting, he helped them out. He would open up their stance, work on them snapping their wrist better in throwing. He would work individually with each player, and tell them what they needed to work on to be a better player, to play more, to help the team more. He was always there to help his players with anything he needed, if they could get past his foreboding appearance.
And he found, in just two semesters, the pieces to put together a good baseball team. Good enough to beat the reigning champions of the division, and to make the playoffs. Which for a first year team, was pretty impressive. And a good part of it was purely because of his coaching.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Week 6 Autobiographical Slice
What I always thinks helps with life is not to take anything to seriously. Only get annoyed at the things that are seriously a problem, otherwise, take things lightly.
To take things lightly, it helps to have a sense of humor, and that is never something that I have lacked. For many years, I have always made jokes, often a play on words, such as one that my mother relates:
"Do kiwis come from North Kiwia or South Kiwia?"
When I was eight, I started turning my sense of humor into comics that I would write for myself. The main character was a dog named Shoegerhith. This even fit with my humor of words, as the name was a combination between the comics Shoe, Garfield, and Heathcliff. I originally experimented with Suegerhith, but I decided Shoegerhith fit him better.
Comics are especially useful for things that if they happened would be funny. Such as:
"Uncle Joe, why are we eating off the analog wall clocks?"
"No wonder it was so hard to see what time it was today!"
Sometimes I can just use humor in the comics, or I can just say them to people as I think of them. Often, things will strike my humor that other people might not notice or think of, such as commercials:
"We were Maine's first credit union," the advertisement said.
"Yes," I added, "We were Maine's first credit union, but before us Maine did have some credit confederates."
Sometimes humor on words can come unintentionally, like a baseball practice this year. It was pretty cold out, and all the players were wearing long sleeves except for me, as I can withstand cold well.
"Tomas," one of the players asked, "Why aren't you wearing long sleeves?"
"I don't need them."
"Aren't you cold?"
"No."
"How are you not cold? It's freezing out!"
"I never get cold."
"Why are you never cold Tomas?"
"Because I'm always hot."
At that the whole team cracked up.
"Can't argue with that logic," one player said.
But without a sense of humor, something falling over for example, could be much more of a big deal than it is if you are laid back enough to see the humor in the situation, and calmly remedy it, as I have attempted to do all my life.
To take things lightly, it helps to have a sense of humor, and that is never something that I have lacked. For many years, I have always made jokes, often a play on words, such as one that my mother relates:
"Do kiwis come from North Kiwia or South Kiwia?"
When I was eight, I started turning my sense of humor into comics that I would write for myself. The main character was a dog named Shoegerhith. This even fit with my humor of words, as the name was a combination between the comics Shoe, Garfield, and Heathcliff. I originally experimented with Suegerhith, but I decided Shoegerhith fit him better.
Comics are especially useful for things that if they happened would be funny. Such as:
"Uncle Joe, why are we eating off the analog wall clocks?"
"No wonder it was so hard to see what time it was today!"
Sometimes I can just use humor in the comics, or I can just say them to people as I think of them. Often, things will strike my humor that other people might not notice or think of, such as commercials:
"We were Maine's first credit union," the advertisement said.
"Yes," I added, "We were Maine's first credit union, but before us Maine did have some credit confederates."
Sometimes humor on words can come unintentionally, like a baseball practice this year. It was pretty cold out, and all the players were wearing long sleeves except for me, as I can withstand cold well.
"Tomas," one of the players asked, "Why aren't you wearing long sleeves?"
"I don't need them."
"Aren't you cold?"
"No."
"How are you not cold? It's freezing out!"
"I never get cold."
"Why are you never cold Tomas?"
"Because I'm always hot."
At that the whole team cracked up.
"Can't argue with that logic," one player said.
But without a sense of humor, something falling over for example, could be much more of a big deal than it is if you are laid back enough to see the humor in the situation, and calmly remedy it, as I have attempted to do all my life.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Week 5 Adult Memoir, Audience
"Don't lose these," the coach said. "We can't let anyone find our signs. Make sure to memorize them, then tear it up, eat it, I don't care, don't let anyone else get them."
I walked back into the dugout to get my bag. Mine was the only one still there, everyone else had gotten theirs. As I picked it up, I noticed a piece of paper on the bench. I picked it up, checked to make sure that it was not mine. It was not.
"Yes," I replied, "This was in the dugout."
"Have you read the signs Joe?" he asked.
"Oh, I think I left it in the dugout-" he started.
"SHH!" a bunch of players said.
"That's what I thought he said," the coach replied.
***
I walked back into the dugout to get my bag. Mine was the only one still there, everyone else had gotten theirs. As I picked it up, I noticed a piece of paper on the bench. I picked it up, checked to make sure that it was not mine. It was not.
***
I thought of asking if anyone was missing theirs so as to not get anyone in trouble, but several players had left already, and the others were signing papers with one of the coaches, so I could not ask if anyone had left theirs very well with the coaches there.
***
I went up to the other coach.
"Have you signed the papers yet?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied, "This was in the dugout."
"Oh, you saved someone's ass!" he exclaimed. "We'll find out who left it next practice." It was said in a nice tone, even though the words might not sound that way. I knew that they would handle it well.
***
I ended up getting to the next practice late. But at one point the coach was going over bunt defenses.
"Have you read the signs Joe?" he asked.
"Oh, I think I left it in the dugout-" he started.
"SHH!" a bunch of players said.
"You left it where?" the coach asked.
"He left it in his room," another player corrected.
"That's what I thought he said," the coach replied.
Week 4 Voice childhood memoir
I have always had difficulty with heat. Whenever it is hot, I always prefer to stay inside. When I get sick, I often get high fevers. About eight or nine times I have had fevers of 105. When I went to New Jersey to play baseball for a tournament I had difficulty withstanding the heat and humidity.
On the other hand, I have no problem with cold. Whenever I wash my hands, I always use cold water. I have not worn anything long sleeved except for baseball in two years. Last winter, I never wore a coat or a long sleeved shirt at all, which concerned my mother.
So it is no surprise that I like colder classrooms over warmer ones. Unfortunately, EMCC does not really let the students pick.
Over three semesters, I took three math classes with one teacher. Algebra in my first semester, Calculus in my third, and Calculus II in my fourth. The classroom however, was not always to my liking, even if the teacher was. The classroom always was kept very hot. In the really steamy days, the teacher would turn on a fan, which helped a bit. But the fluorescent lights would bother me also, combined with the heat.
One time, I went in to take a test, confident and remembering everything. He talked for a few minutes, and I could feel the heat begin to get to me. As he finally was handing out the tests my head was hurting a lot. I always have headaches, there is not a day I don't have one to some degree, but this was one of the really bad ones, induced by the heat and fluorescent lights. By the time I got my test, and I looked at it, everything that I had so carefully remembered was forgotten. I had pretty much instantaneously lost all my short term memory. I could not remember anything very well. I was only able to remember how to do one of the problems, and many times I vision would fade, and I would be about to lose consciousness, and it would come back. I worked through the test as well as I could anyhow, because he would not like to have me see it, then he would have to make another one for me to do later.
I finally exited the class, once outside, able to think a little clearly, fully expecting the worst, as it was easier to do that. I thought that it was possible that I might get something like a thirty on the test. His tests were extremely hard because he would add things to it that we had never seen before, and expect us to figure it out. I was generally happy with an eighty, and made it up by getting a hundred on all of the homework. But fortunately for me, everyone else had difficulty with the test as well, and many got worse scores than I did. So the teacher took the square roots of everyone's grades, mine was a 54, and ended up with a 73, which I was okay with.
I ended up on the course with my first A- ever, but I was okay with that. It was Calculus after all.
But I found the other extreme when I was taking an Ethics class. It was a new classroom, still smelling new inside. And after a couple of classes I realized that they kept the room at a pretty cold temperature. I noticed this because another person in the class asked me a question "Aren't you cold?"
Considering that everyone else were wearing their coats and sweaters in the classroom, I was very happy. It felt perfect to me. Especially considering how the last semester I had dealt with the Calculus room.
On the other hand, I have no problem with cold. Whenever I wash my hands, I always use cold water. I have not worn anything long sleeved except for baseball in two years. Last winter, I never wore a coat or a long sleeved shirt at all, which concerned my mother.
So it is no surprise that I like colder classrooms over warmer ones. Unfortunately, EMCC does not really let the students pick.
Over three semesters, I took three math classes with one teacher. Algebra in my first semester, Calculus in my third, and Calculus II in my fourth. The classroom however, was not always to my liking, even if the teacher was. The classroom always was kept very hot. In the really steamy days, the teacher would turn on a fan, which helped a bit. But the fluorescent lights would bother me also, combined with the heat.
One time, I went in to take a test, confident and remembering everything. He talked for a few minutes, and I could feel the heat begin to get to me. As he finally was handing out the tests my head was hurting a lot. I always have headaches, there is not a day I don't have one to some degree, but this was one of the really bad ones, induced by the heat and fluorescent lights. By the time I got my test, and I looked at it, everything that I had so carefully remembered was forgotten. I had pretty much instantaneously lost all my short term memory. I could not remember anything very well. I was only able to remember how to do one of the problems, and many times I vision would fade, and I would be about to lose consciousness, and it would come back. I worked through the test as well as I could anyhow, because he would not like to have me see it, then he would have to make another one for me to do later.
I finally exited the class, once outside, able to think a little clearly, fully expecting the worst, as it was easier to do that. I thought that it was possible that I might get something like a thirty on the test. His tests were extremely hard because he would add things to it that we had never seen before, and expect us to figure it out. I was generally happy with an eighty, and made it up by getting a hundred on all of the homework. But fortunately for me, everyone else had difficulty with the test as well, and many got worse scores than I did. So the teacher took the square roots of everyone's grades, mine was a 54, and ended up with a 73, which I was okay with.
I ended up on the course with my first A- ever, but I was okay with that. It was Calculus after all.
But I found the other extreme when I was taking an Ethics class. It was a new classroom, still smelling new inside. And after a couple of classes I realized that they kept the room at a pretty cold temperature. I noticed this because another person in the class asked me a question "Aren't you cold?"
Considering that everyone else were wearing their coats and sweaters in the classroom, I was very happy. It felt perfect to me. Especially considering how the last semester I had dealt with the Calculus room.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Week 3 Travel Tone
I walked down through the campus. There was a large tent in the middle of the grass, but it did not look like anywhere the baseball team would be at.
Our team was going to have a table somewhere on the campus during "harvest day", (Such a misnomer, nothing gets harvested), and all of the players were supposed to get there at some time, and stand at the table. But of course, I had neglected to ask the coach where we were going to have the table, so I was left wandering the campus looking for it.
I went into Katahdin Hall, as he had said that everyone would have to go right by us to get food. But no one was there either. I decided that I could go up to the library, and check my email to see if the coach had remembered that he had not told anyone where the table was going to be, and realized that that would make it rather difficult for anyone to find it.
I went up the stairs, getting some Purell from the wall dispenser as I passed by. I went into the computer area in the library, and it looked like a couple of weeks after the semester had ended. There were only four people there, and one of them was wearing a blue hat with a yellow brim, precisely like mine. I went over and took the computer next to my teammate.
"Oh, hey," he said. He was apparently typing a paper for a class.
"Hey Doug," I responded.
I figured that I would give it a minute before asking him if he knew where the table would be. But he turned to me instead.
"Do you know where that table is?"
"No, I don't," I replied. "I've been looking for it."
"I have too, and I haven't seen anything. People will probably be there at noon though."
"They said that they would be here at ten."
Doug picked up his cell phone. "I'll text him."
He texted the coach, and continued typing his paper, while I proceeded to look busy by opening and closing various things such as my email, Blackboard, and Myemcc.
"The coach says it's in the gym, they're still getting set up."
"I should have thought of that," I said.
"I'll probably be down there at noon," he said.
"Okay, see you there."
I walked around the campus to the gym, and I went inside. Inside, there were large inflatable things, but no yellow and blue hats that I could see. I turned, and in the information window just inside the door was my coach, talking with the coach of the basketball team. He called me over eventually to show the basketball coach our new EMCC baseball shirts, and then I waited, while a bunch of people were walking about. There were a few too many people for me, and the coach did not seem like he was needing help with a table, and would have said something if they had had one, I was pretty sure. And they were still setting up stuff, so I decided that I would come back at noon, when I knew that Doug at least would be there.
I travelled across the campus back to the library, and met Doug coming out.
"Are you heading over there now?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"There's no one there yet. I saw the coach, but there isn't a single other person there."
"Do they have a table set up yet?" Doug asked.
"No, they don't seem to have anything set up yet."
"It's only 11:30," Doug said, "Yeah, I think I'll wait 'til noon."
"I probably will as well," I said. "See you."
I went into the library, still a little overwhelmed by too many people, and I went to the corner and read part of Stephen King's "On Writing" book, as I had nothing else to do. I turned on a computer to check the time. It was noon. I went back to the gym, and now there were a ton of people trying to get in. The line for the information window with my coach in it extended out the doors of the gym and outside.
I slipped past it, and saw that my coach was busy giving out harvest day shirts to people. I figured that we must have a table somewhere, but I was having difficulty thinking because they were playing very loud music, intolerably loud.
"Hi Tomas!"
"Oh, hi."
It was one of the softball players. Our baseball team had ridden down on the bus with the softball team for our first games a couple of weeks ago.
"Are you looking for something?" she asked.
"I'm looking for the baseball team. I have no idea where they are."
"I don't either," she said.
It was almost impossible to hear anyone, and I had an awful headache. I always have a headache to some degree, but the loud music and heat was killing me.
I decided that I should just ask my coach where our table was, but the line of people extending back into the parking lot discouraged me from it. I finally just hurried outside, and escaped from all of it.
I was on the point of just giving up and just waiting in the library until my mother returned when the assistant coach drove up and honked his horn at me.
"Where is the table we're having for the harvest day?" he asked from his truck.
"It's supposed to be in the gym," I said, "But I can't find it anywhere."
He drove on, and I followed, walking. I figured that if I followed the coach, that I couldn't be missing my duty of being at a table. Once inside, he turned to me.
"Have you seen anyone else here?"
"The coach was in the window, and I know someone else was coming at noon."
But the coach was no longer at the window, so the assistant coach just wandered about, looking for a table. The speakers for the music were right on the floor, under the basketball hoop. And standing remotely near them, it was the loudest sound I have ever heard in my life. It was not even music, just a crushing cacophony of sound ripping through my head. I could only stand it if I were at the other end of the gym. Nicki Minaj, Owl City, Taio Cruz, Sean Paul, and Michael Jackson- at that volume- all sounded exactly the same.
I made sure not to be too close to the coach though, or to let him out of my sight. Putting a tail on a coach is what I am really good at. Tolerating ridiculously loud club music- not so much.
"I thought we were supposed to have a table," I said to the coach at one point.
"I thought we were too, I don't know," the assistant coach responded.
Eventually, after we had wandered for several minutes, the head coach returned to the window, and the assistant coach met him there. After they talked for a minute, the head coach motioned me to come over, and gave me a harvest day shirt.
"You never got one of these, why not?" he asked.
Considering that for a while through all of this I had been near the point of collapse, my head that had heard too much ear crushing Nicki Minaj, could not come up with any sort of response.
I went back away from the window with the assistant coach.
"So there's no table?" I asked.
"No, no table. And there's no requirement to stay," he said.
So I walked out with the shirt. Which, with everything else going on, was the last thing on my mind- but close to my permanent loss of hearing.
Our team was going to have a table somewhere on the campus during "harvest day", (Such a misnomer, nothing gets harvested), and all of the players were supposed to get there at some time, and stand at the table. But of course, I had neglected to ask the coach where we were going to have the table, so I was left wandering the campus looking for it.
I went into Katahdin Hall, as he had said that everyone would have to go right by us to get food. But no one was there either. I decided that I could go up to the library, and check my email to see if the coach had remembered that he had not told anyone where the table was going to be, and realized that that would make it rather difficult for anyone to find it.
I went up the stairs, getting some Purell from the wall dispenser as I passed by. I went into the computer area in the library, and it looked like a couple of weeks after the semester had ended. There were only four people there, and one of them was wearing a blue hat with a yellow brim, precisely like mine. I went over and took the computer next to my teammate.
"Oh, hey," he said. He was apparently typing a paper for a class.
"Hey Doug," I responded.
I figured that I would give it a minute before asking him if he knew where the table would be. But he turned to me instead.
"Do you know where that table is?"
"No, I don't," I replied. "I've been looking for it."
"I have too, and I haven't seen anything. People will probably be there at noon though."
"They said that they would be here at ten."
Doug picked up his cell phone. "I'll text him."
He texted the coach, and continued typing his paper, while I proceeded to look busy by opening and closing various things such as my email, Blackboard, and Myemcc.
"The coach says it's in the gym, they're still getting set up."
"I should have thought of that," I said.
"I'll probably be down there at noon," he said.
"Okay, see you there."
I walked around the campus to the gym, and I went inside. Inside, there were large inflatable things, but no yellow and blue hats that I could see. I turned, and in the information window just inside the door was my coach, talking with the coach of the basketball team. He called me over eventually to show the basketball coach our new EMCC baseball shirts, and then I waited, while a bunch of people were walking about. There were a few too many people for me, and the coach did not seem like he was needing help with a table, and would have said something if they had had one, I was pretty sure. And they were still setting up stuff, so I decided that I would come back at noon, when I knew that Doug at least would be there.
I travelled across the campus back to the library, and met Doug coming out.
"Are you heading over there now?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"There's no one there yet. I saw the coach, but there isn't a single other person there."
"Do they have a table set up yet?" Doug asked.
"No, they don't seem to have anything set up yet."
"It's only 11:30," Doug said, "Yeah, I think I'll wait 'til noon."
"I probably will as well," I said. "See you."
I went into the library, still a little overwhelmed by too many people, and I went to the corner and read part of Stephen King's "On Writing" book, as I had nothing else to do. I turned on a computer to check the time. It was noon. I went back to the gym, and now there were a ton of people trying to get in. The line for the information window with my coach in it extended out the doors of the gym and outside.
I slipped past it, and saw that my coach was busy giving out harvest day shirts to people. I figured that we must have a table somewhere, but I was having difficulty thinking because they were playing very loud music, intolerably loud.
"Hi Tomas!"
"Oh, hi."
It was one of the softball players. Our baseball team had ridden down on the bus with the softball team for our first games a couple of weeks ago.
"Are you looking for something?" she asked.
"I'm looking for the baseball team. I have no idea where they are."
"I don't either," she said.
It was almost impossible to hear anyone, and I had an awful headache. I always have a headache to some degree, but the loud music and heat was killing me.
I decided that I should just ask my coach where our table was, but the line of people extending back into the parking lot discouraged me from it. I finally just hurried outside, and escaped from all of it.
I was on the point of just giving up and just waiting in the library until my mother returned when the assistant coach drove up and honked his horn at me.
"Where is the table we're having for the harvest day?" he asked from his truck.
"It's supposed to be in the gym," I said, "But I can't find it anywhere."
He drove on, and I followed, walking. I figured that if I followed the coach, that I couldn't be missing my duty of being at a table. Once inside, he turned to me.
"Have you seen anyone else here?"
"The coach was in the window, and I know someone else was coming at noon."
But the coach was no longer at the window, so the assistant coach just wandered about, looking for a table. The speakers for the music were right on the floor, under the basketball hoop. And standing remotely near them, it was the loudest sound I have ever heard in my life. It was not even music, just a crushing cacophony of sound ripping through my head. I could only stand it if I were at the other end of the gym. Nicki Minaj, Owl City, Taio Cruz, Sean Paul, and Michael Jackson- at that volume- all sounded exactly the same.
I made sure not to be too close to the coach though, or to let him out of my sight. Putting a tail on a coach is what I am really good at. Tolerating ridiculously loud club music- not so much.
"I thought we were supposed to have a table," I said to the coach at one point.
"I thought we were too, I don't know," the assistant coach responded.
Eventually, after we had wandered for several minutes, the head coach returned to the window, and the assistant coach met him there. After they talked for a minute, the head coach motioned me to come over, and gave me a harvest day shirt.
"You never got one of these, why not?" he asked.
Considering that for a while through all of this I had been near the point of collapse, my head that had heard too much ear crushing Nicki Minaj, could not come up with any sort of response.
I went back away from the window with the assistant coach.
"So there's no table?" I asked.
"No, no table. And there's no requirement to stay," he said.
So I walked out with the shirt. Which, with everything else going on, was the last thing on my mind- but close to my permanent loss of hearing.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Week 2 Coherence
My grandmother walked over to me.
"I would invite you in to see them, but they are not dressed yet."
She led my mother in to see my grandmother's friends, Nita and Suzie. The first I had heard of them together was when they went on a road trip across the U.S. in an RV a couple of years ago.
They entered the rented room, where Suzie was getting things ready, and Nita was still in her nightgown eating a sticky bun.
"Oh, hi!" she said, "Come in, I'm just eating one of Jean's cookies."
They talked for a moment.
"I think I should get out of bed soon," Nita said, "I wonder what I should wear?"
"Clothes," Suzie replied.
"Yes, that sounds good," Nita replied.
"Better than that saran wrap you wore yesterday. People stared."
Events such as this pointed out to me how much they remind me of Rinehart's Tish, Lizzie, and Aggie, three middle aged women who have adventures together.
Nita walked over and entered our car.
"Hi!" she said, "I've seen you a lot in the pictures."
Felicia commented about how it has not been picnic weather.
"Yes," Nita replied, "But I prefer eating inside anyhow. Away from all the ants. And uncles. Oh, I'm going to love you, you haven't heard all of my old jokes."
We reached the restaurant, and got out of the car.
"Suzie and Jean aren't here yet," my mother said, "They should be here soon-"
We turned around, and Nita was already off into the restaurant. We hurried in after her.
"Table for seven," my mother said.
"Six," I corrected.
"That will be just a minute," the cashier said.
We stood off to the side so that people could get by us, and Nita found an empty seat to sit down in next to us, with her back to someone else. We stood waiting, and then my grandmother entered.
"You should come in a little farther," Felicia said to her.
She moved in closer to us, smushing me between her, my mother, and a vending machine. We stood like that, with me on one foot, until they got a table.
Nita sat at the end because she was claustrophobic. My grandmother sat across from me, and Suzie sat across from Nita.
Suzie was interesting. She had long grey hair, and was definitely the youngest of the three, looking to be in her sixties. She reminded me a lot of Aggie from Rinehart's books. Aggie was always having things happen to her, like losing her false teeth, or falling over.
Suzie, on their rv trip, refused to sit down. She wanted to stand up. As a result, when they had to stop suddenly, she was hurled into the table, snapping a leg off of it. She was okay, though her back was sore from it. Upon hearing this story from my mother, I had said, "Well, at least she didn't break a leg- oh wait, she did."
Suzie ordered pancakes and eggs, and was disappointed that I wasn't going to help her eat them, as if I didn't help her, she was afraid she would eat them all herself. Which she did.
My grandmother stretched out her feet the whole time, so I kept my feet under my seat, which was almost where hers were. She reminds me a good bit of Tish from Rinehart's book. Tish is more of the leader of the group who decides to do things, some of which she probably shouldn't do, but once she determines to do something, she won't give up. She had not driven during the drive across the country because she was too slow. Tish was a very fast driver. My grandmother is a very slow driver, but a safe driver. But apparently not the safest talker. In I believe New Mexico, at a restaurant, Suzie took the piece of paper that covers up the straw, and stuck it up her nose. My grandmother was so surprised that she swore by accident. Swearing by accident was always something Aggie did, but I would have to say that Tish shares more characteristics with my grandmother.
But they had lots of fun with the straws then, which led to this day in the restaurant:
"Where are the straws?" Suzie asked, and they all fell to laughing.
Nita went out to take a cigarette.
"I'm down to one a day," she said. "I've quit tons of times. I'm an expert quitter."
"You must also be an expert starter," I said.
"We don't talk about that part," she replied.
Nita needed to brush her teeth, so we went back to their apartment, and she brushed her teeth, also showing us a stuffed bear who had accidentally come with them.
"It jumped in the bag. No jewelry is safe from it. It steals it all."
Suzie's ipad was not connecting to the internet, and despite not having never used an ipad before, I assisted her in figuring out what was wrong with it. Suzie was very good with computers, which would be another difference from Aggie, as Aggie lived in the early twentieth century.
Suzie was very happy she was on the internet again. We left to my grandmother's apartment, and on getting out, Nita borrowed my arm, to walk to the building.
Nita is about 84, and lively for her age having just recently had surgery. She seems to be the one who compares the most to Rinehart's character Lizzie, in that she is a little more normal, but she shares features of the other characters as well. It was the first time I had ever leant my arm to someone, and it was a little different.
"Make a muscle," she said. "Come on legs."
She was panting a bit, so I asked her if she wanted to rest for a minute.
"Oh no, I'm fine. I'll make it. I'll just pant a lot, like this."
She started gasping really heavily on purpose.
"Come on legs."
We reached my grandmother's apartment, and Nita sat down in a chair. Suzie showed us her iphone's radar application, that showed that the rain had just passed over us.
Nita requested a sculpted bear that she had made out of wood that she had apparently given to my grandmother at some point. I retrieved it for her, and she looked at it.
"What is it supposed to be?" Suzie asked.
"It's a medicine bear," Suzie replied. "It helps you when you don't feel good."
"Does it help mentally ill people like me?" Suzie asked.
"Maybe not for a case so severe as yours."
Suzie went on to tell us about how her husband had been accumulating cats. He had found one that was not doing too well, then found another one. He had named them all and could not go away too long or he would be afraid the cats would get hungry.
"My husband doesn't have any cats," Nita said, "We just have each other," hugging herself.
"Oh, isn't that nice," Suzie said.
"But he isn't that good in bed," Nita added, "Oops! I didn't say that!"
We were sitting on the couch, Nita was at a chair at the table, and Suzie was in a chair next to the couch. Nita was still gasping pretty badly, and my grandmother offered her something to drink.
"No, I'll be fine. I just need to rest."
"You could rest on the couch, you could lay down on it."
"No thanks," Nita replied, "All those legs would be bumpy. I could just lay down here on the table with my medicine bear."
We said good bye, and they went off to do some shopping, then to go whale watching the next day. And I was left with material for my english assignment, and memories of a very interesting trifecta.
"I would invite you in to see them, but they are not dressed yet."
She led my mother in to see my grandmother's friends, Nita and Suzie. The first I had heard of them together was when they went on a road trip across the U.S. in an RV a couple of years ago.
They entered the rented room, where Suzie was getting things ready, and Nita was still in her nightgown eating a sticky bun.
"Oh, hi!" she said, "Come in, I'm just eating one of Jean's cookies."
They talked for a moment.
"I think I should get out of bed soon," Nita said, "I wonder what I should wear?"
"Clothes," Suzie replied.
"Yes, that sounds good," Nita replied.
"Better than that saran wrap you wore yesterday. People stared."
Events such as this pointed out to me how much they remind me of Rinehart's Tish, Lizzie, and Aggie, three middle aged women who have adventures together.
Nita walked over and entered our car.
"Hi!" she said, "I've seen you a lot in the pictures."
Felicia commented about how it has not been picnic weather.
"Yes," Nita replied, "But I prefer eating inside anyhow. Away from all the ants. And uncles. Oh, I'm going to love you, you haven't heard all of my old jokes."
We reached the restaurant, and got out of the car.
"Suzie and Jean aren't here yet," my mother said, "They should be here soon-"
We turned around, and Nita was already off into the restaurant. We hurried in after her.
"Table for seven," my mother said.
"Six," I corrected.
"That will be just a minute," the cashier said.
We stood off to the side so that people could get by us, and Nita found an empty seat to sit down in next to us, with her back to someone else. We stood waiting, and then my grandmother entered.
"You should come in a little farther," Felicia said to her.
She moved in closer to us, smushing me between her, my mother, and a vending machine. We stood like that, with me on one foot, until they got a table.
Nita sat at the end because she was claustrophobic. My grandmother sat across from me, and Suzie sat across from Nita.
Suzie was interesting. She had long grey hair, and was definitely the youngest of the three, looking to be in her sixties. She reminded me a lot of Aggie from Rinehart's books. Aggie was always having things happen to her, like losing her false teeth, or falling over.
Suzie, on their rv trip, refused to sit down. She wanted to stand up. As a result, when they had to stop suddenly, she was hurled into the table, snapping a leg off of it. She was okay, though her back was sore from it. Upon hearing this story from my mother, I had said, "Well, at least she didn't break a leg- oh wait, she did."
Suzie ordered pancakes and eggs, and was disappointed that I wasn't going to help her eat them, as if I didn't help her, she was afraid she would eat them all herself. Which she did.
My grandmother stretched out her feet the whole time, so I kept my feet under my seat, which was almost where hers were. She reminds me a good bit of Tish from Rinehart's book. Tish is more of the leader of the group who decides to do things, some of which she probably shouldn't do, but once she determines to do something, she won't give up. She had not driven during the drive across the country because she was too slow. Tish was a very fast driver. My grandmother is a very slow driver, but a safe driver. But apparently not the safest talker. In I believe New Mexico, at a restaurant, Suzie took the piece of paper that covers up the straw, and stuck it up her nose. My grandmother was so surprised that she swore by accident. Swearing by accident was always something Aggie did, but I would have to say that Tish shares more characteristics with my grandmother.
But they had lots of fun with the straws then, which led to this day in the restaurant:
"Where are the straws?" Suzie asked, and they all fell to laughing.
Nita went out to take a cigarette.
"I'm down to one a day," she said. "I've quit tons of times. I'm an expert quitter."
"You must also be an expert starter," I said.
"We don't talk about that part," she replied.
Nita needed to brush her teeth, so we went back to their apartment, and she brushed her teeth, also showing us a stuffed bear who had accidentally come with them.
"It jumped in the bag. No jewelry is safe from it. It steals it all."
Suzie's ipad was not connecting to the internet, and despite not having never used an ipad before, I assisted her in figuring out what was wrong with it. Suzie was very good with computers, which would be another difference from Aggie, as Aggie lived in the early twentieth century.
Suzie was very happy she was on the internet again. We left to my grandmother's apartment, and on getting out, Nita borrowed my arm, to walk to the building.
Nita is about 84, and lively for her age having just recently had surgery. She seems to be the one who compares the most to Rinehart's character Lizzie, in that she is a little more normal, but she shares features of the other characters as well. It was the first time I had ever leant my arm to someone, and it was a little different.
"Make a muscle," she said. "Come on legs."
She was panting a bit, so I asked her if she wanted to rest for a minute.
"Oh no, I'm fine. I'll make it. I'll just pant a lot, like this."
She started gasping really heavily on purpose.
"Come on legs."
We reached my grandmother's apartment, and Nita sat down in a chair. Suzie showed us her iphone's radar application, that showed that the rain had just passed over us.
Nita requested a sculpted bear that she had made out of wood that she had apparently given to my grandmother at some point. I retrieved it for her, and she looked at it.
"What is it supposed to be?" Suzie asked.
"It's a medicine bear," Suzie replied. "It helps you when you don't feel good."
"Does it help mentally ill people like me?" Suzie asked.
"Maybe not for a case so severe as yours."
Suzie went on to tell us about how her husband had been accumulating cats. He had found one that was not doing too well, then found another one. He had named them all and could not go away too long or he would be afraid the cats would get hungry.
"My husband doesn't have any cats," Nita said, "We just have each other," hugging herself.
"Oh, isn't that nice," Suzie said.
"But he isn't that good in bed," Nita added, "Oops! I didn't say that!"
We were sitting on the couch, Nita was at a chair at the table, and Suzie was in a chair next to the couch. Nita was still gasping pretty badly, and my grandmother offered her something to drink.
"No, I'll be fine. I just need to rest."
"You could rest on the couch, you could lay down on it."
"No thanks," Nita replied, "All those legs would be bumpy. I could just lay down here on the table with my medicine bear."
We said good bye, and they went off to do some shopping, then to go whale watching the next day. And I was left with material for my english assignment, and memories of a very interesting trifecta.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Week 1 Nature Descriptive Attempt
Around our house is a swath of trees. I have looked out upon those trees for all of my life, and walked out amongst them and the many items in the woods often, as I always will.
As I enter the woods, the chicken coop is there. The chickens are always entertaining to watch. There are many jewel weed plants around the pen, and sometimes I will get some jewel weed seeds for them, which they enjoy greatly.
Once into the woods, there is a path through the trees, and up to the compost pile. That is where my mother puts everything compostable, and that is also where she gets soil for her garden. I don't go there too often. Nothing interesting except for dozens of flies buzzing about.
Crossing through the woods, there is a pit in the ground, usually full of mud. Occasionally, in the really wet time of the year, there will be some water in it, but often, it is a hole filled with mud, that understandably is rather interesting to step into.
Following the path the other way along, I pass through ferns and pine needles on the soil, to a large rock. It has a flat top, and has always been rather nice to sit on. Right next to it is a fallen down pine tree, which acts as a cave with the branches shielding it. The top, where the branches were doubled back over each other, was solid enough to prevent most rain through. As time passed, the branches rather thinned out, leaving it more as a rain director than a blocker.
Up towards the back of our property is a tree. In falling down, it had landed on another log which was already on the ground. The result of that was that the log extended out into the air, a good ways off the ground at one end. At the other end were the roots, still half stuck in the ground with the rest of the roots sticking high up into the air. My sister and I would try walking across the log, attempting to balance all the way down it without falling off.
A well worn path leads twisting between trees, over many roots exposed to the surface, and down to a stream. The stream is very small, especially compared to what most people would consider as one. It is part of the Penobscot river and at its beginnings in first emerging from the ground, having traveled a long ways underground, it filled a large pool. Then it overflowed, and headed down through our woods, widening slightly as it went, starting off at only about six inches wide. It went back underground occasionally, then back up, then widened into a veritable stream of several yards across. Except in the melt season, the stream is very thin, or gone altogether, but some places in the wet season can be probably a foot deep and several yards across. It leads to the stone wall that marks the boundary of our property, and carries underneath it into our neighbor's yard.
Right in front of the rock wall, is a large tree. A small branch or tree, about six inches wide, is resting upon one of its branches several feet off the ground. That branch extends across the water, reaching the bank on the other side. My sister and I would often walk across this thick beam. She would always say that each year as we got older, it would break, but it is still holding firm even now.
As are the rest of the woods.
As I enter the woods, the chicken coop is there. The chickens are always entertaining to watch. There are many jewel weed plants around the pen, and sometimes I will get some jewel weed seeds for them, which they enjoy greatly.
Once into the woods, there is a path through the trees, and up to the compost pile. That is where my mother puts everything compostable, and that is also where she gets soil for her garden. I don't go there too often. Nothing interesting except for dozens of flies buzzing about.
Crossing through the woods, there is a pit in the ground, usually full of mud. Occasionally, in the really wet time of the year, there will be some water in it, but often, it is a hole filled with mud, that understandably is rather interesting to step into.
Following the path the other way along, I pass through ferns and pine needles on the soil, to a large rock. It has a flat top, and has always been rather nice to sit on. Right next to it is a fallen down pine tree, which acts as a cave with the branches shielding it. The top, where the branches were doubled back over each other, was solid enough to prevent most rain through. As time passed, the branches rather thinned out, leaving it more as a rain director than a blocker.
Up towards the back of our property is a tree. In falling down, it had landed on another log which was already on the ground. The result of that was that the log extended out into the air, a good ways off the ground at one end. At the other end were the roots, still half stuck in the ground with the rest of the roots sticking high up into the air. My sister and I would try walking across the log, attempting to balance all the way down it without falling off.
A well worn path leads twisting between trees, over many roots exposed to the surface, and down to a stream. The stream is very small, especially compared to what most people would consider as one. It is part of the Penobscot river and at its beginnings in first emerging from the ground, having traveled a long ways underground, it filled a large pool. Then it overflowed, and headed down through our woods, widening slightly as it went, starting off at only about six inches wide. It went back underground occasionally, then back up, then widened into a veritable stream of several yards across. Except in the melt season, the stream is very thin, or gone altogether, but some places in the wet season can be probably a foot deep and several yards across. It leads to the stone wall that marks the boundary of our property, and carries underneath it into our neighbor's yard.
Right in front of the rock wall, is a large tree. A small branch or tree, about six inches wide, is resting upon one of its branches several feet off the ground. That branch extends across the water, reaching the bank on the other side. My sister and I would often walk across this thick beam. She would always say that each year as we got older, it would break, but it is still holding firm even now.
As are the rest of the woods.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
This is your intro to me, even if you think I already know you... (Elongated)
Being homeschooled is of assistance in many respects. I would not have learned near as much going through the public school system as I did learning myself. Being homeschooled allowed me to proceed at my own pace. If I already knew something, I could just skip it, or speed through it, and focus on the things that I needed work on. Also, instead of a classroom of thirty people, there was just myself and my sister. Which made for much more individual learning, and quicker through things. At a school, they probably would not have let me do preschool, kindergarten, and first grade all in one year. That gave me a head start.
I also took part in a math contest called MMSETS (Maine Mathematical Science and Engineering Talent Search), and I won my grade a few times, getting to work on fascinating math problems a lot, as well as getting to assist teaching at a junior engineering class, and meeting very interesting people along the way.
Sports were my major occupation besides homework, and as a result of having better coaches, I ended up playing baseball the most. In basketball, I did very well in the post, scoring the most points of anyone on either of the three teams for our town. But the coach of the all star team started his son who could not do anything, and did not like me, so he barely played me at all. The baseball coaches I had played everyone fairly, and actually tried to help the players improve their abilities.
I made three all star teams through little league, finishing fourth in the state once. Then, in Junior League, we reached the state championship game. In Senior League, we finished it off finally by winning the state tournament and heading to the regional tournament.
I also continued playing baseball into college. It is wonderful to have good coaches. These ones are the first coaches I have ever had that actually consider fielding important. That is why I started the majority of the season in the outfield. Most coaches at the little league level are managers, not coaches. These coaches on the college team actually try to teach and improve the players on the team. It is most definitely my favorite team that I have played on in any sport, considering that I started when I was eight.
I was 14 by the time I reached tenth grade, and I decided that I didn't really need to keep doing much more of this, so I started applying for college when I was fourteen. I was accepted and started classes just after I turned fifteen. I have enjoyed college greatly, starting off slow, with six credits in my first semester, then ten, then thirteen, then seventeen. For a while I had not really decided what I wanted to do, so I just took general courses and courses that I am interested in.
One field that always interested me was math. I have taken a math class every semester, and was taking Calculus II when I was sixteen. This will be my first semester without a math class, as Calculus III was cancelled.
I discovered a GIS class at one point. Geographic Information Systems fascinates me, with its manipulation of maps and data. The teacher was highly enthusiastic, and made the subject more interesting just because of how excited he was about it. He had wanted to teach GIS at EMCC for a while, but the software had been too expensive. He got a grant finally, and I was in at the first semester, and was in all of his classes, working on mapping Frenchman Bay for the MDI Biological Lab and the Frenchman Bay Conservancy in many respects, including mapping eelgrass change. Our class's poster on Frenchman Bay Eelgrass won a statewide GIS poster competition, beating out several other posters from other colleges.
English is the other thing which I have always liked. Reading is something that I have been devout about forever. I did not have as much experience with writing, but I enjoyed that as well. After a little difficulty with the accuplacer's english part, the writeplacer, I got into English 101 because of doing well on the essay part of the SATs.
I have taken an english class every semester since then, and this is the first semester I will take two english classes. The one thing I think that the semester lacks is time to read, so, I figured that if I took a class where reading books was required, then that would take care of it for me. So I am taking online True Crime this semester.
In terms of what I would like to do next, I want to pursue something in English and GIS. Online GIS programs are available at the University of Maine at Machias, so my idea would be to take those there, and at the same time to be getting a degree in English someplace else. Where that someplace else would be, I am not sure, but English and GIS are two things that I love to do, so what better to try to pursue than those?
Sports were my major occupation besides homework, and as a result of having better coaches, I ended up playing baseball the most. In basketball, I did very well in the post, scoring the most points of anyone on either of the three teams for our town. But the coach of the all star team started his son who could not do anything, and did not like me, so he barely played me at all. The baseball coaches I had played everyone fairly, and actually tried to help the players improve their abilities.
I made three all star teams through little league, finishing fourth in the state once. Then, in Junior League, we reached the state championship game. In Senior League, we finished it off finally by winning the state tournament and heading to the regional tournament.
I also continued playing baseball into college. It is wonderful to have good coaches. These ones are the first coaches I have ever had that actually consider fielding important. That is why I started the majority of the season in the outfield. Most coaches at the little league level are managers, not coaches. These coaches on the college team actually try to teach and improve the players on the team. It is most definitely my favorite team that I have played on in any sport, considering that I started when I was eight.
I was 14 by the time I reached tenth grade, and I decided that I didn't really need to keep doing much more of this, so I started applying for college when I was fourteen. I was accepted and started classes just after I turned fifteen. I have enjoyed college greatly, starting off slow, with six credits in my first semester, then ten, then thirteen, then seventeen. For a while I had not really decided what I wanted to do, so I just took general courses and courses that I am interested in.
One field that always interested me was math. I have taken a math class every semester, and was taking Calculus II when I was sixteen. This will be my first semester without a math class, as Calculus III was cancelled.
I discovered a GIS class at one point. Geographic Information Systems fascinates me, with its manipulation of maps and data. The teacher was highly enthusiastic, and made the subject more interesting just because of how excited he was about it. He had wanted to teach GIS at EMCC for a while, but the software had been too expensive. He got a grant finally, and I was in at the first semester, and was in all of his classes, working on mapping Frenchman Bay for the MDI Biological Lab and the Frenchman Bay Conservancy in many respects, including mapping eelgrass change. Our class's poster on Frenchman Bay Eelgrass won a statewide GIS poster competition, beating out several other posters from other colleges.
English is the other thing which I have always liked. Reading is something that I have been devout about forever. I did not have as much experience with writing, but I enjoyed that as well. After a little difficulty with the accuplacer's english part, the writeplacer, I got into English 101 because of doing well on the essay part of the SATs.
I have taken an english class every semester since then, and this is the first semester I will take two english classes. The one thing I think that the semester lacks is time to read, so, I figured that if I took a class where reading books was required, then that would take care of it for me. So I am taking online True Crime this semester.
In terms of what I would like to do next, I want to pursue something in English and GIS. Online GIS programs are available at the University of Maine at Machias, so my idea would be to take those there, and at the same time to be getting a degree in English someplace else. Where that someplace else would be, I am not sure, but English and GIS are two things that I love to do, so what better to try to pursue than those?
Saturday, August 25, 2012
This is your intro to me, even if you think I already know you...
Being homeschooled is of assistance in many respects. I would not have learned near as much going through the public school system as I did learning myself. At a school, they probably would not have let me do preschool, kindergarten, and first grade all in one year. That gave me a head start.
Sports were my major occupation besides homework, and as a result of having better coaches, I ended up playing baseball the most.
I made three all star teams through little league, finishing fourth in the state once. Then, in Junior League, we reached the state championship game. In Senior League, we finished it off finally by winning the state tournament and heading to the regional tournament.
I also continued playing baseball into college. It is wonderful to have good coaches. These ones are the first coaches I have ever had that actually consider fielding important. That is why I started the majority of the season in the outfield. Most coaches at the little league level are managers, not coaches. These coaches on the college team actually try to teach and improve the players on the team. It is most definitely my favorite team that I have played on in any sport, considering that I started when I was eight.
I was 14 by the time I reached tenth grade, and I decided that I didn't really need to keep doing much more of this, so I started applying for college when I was fourteen. I was accepted and started classes just after I turned fifteen. I have enjoyed college greatly, starting off slow, with six credits in my first semester, then ten, then thirteen, then seventeen. For a while I had not really decided what I wanted to do, so I just took general courses and courses that I am interested in.
One field that always interested me was math. I have taken a math class every semester, and was taking Calculus II when I was sixteen. This will be my first semester without a math class, as Calculus III was cancelled.
I discovered a GIS class at one point. Geographic Information Systems fascinates me, with its manipulation of maps and data. The teacher was highly enthusiastic, and made the subject more interesting just because of how excited he was about it.
English is the other thing which I have always liked. Reading is something that I have been devout about forever. I did not have as much experience with writing, but I enjoyed that as well. After a little difficulty with the accuplacer's english part, the writeplacer, I got into English 101 because of doing well on the essay part of the SATs.
I have taken an english class every semester since then, and this is the first semester I will take two english classes. The one thing I think that the semester lacks is time to read, so, I figured that if I took a class where reading books was required, then that would take care of it for me. So I am taking online True Crime this semester.
In terms of what I would like to do next, I want to pursue something in English and GIS. Online GIS programs are available at the University of Maine at Machias, so my idea would be to take those there, and at the same time to be getting a degree in English someplace else. Where that someplace else would be, I am not sure, but English and GIS are two things that I love to do, so what better to try to pursue than those?
Sports were my major occupation besides homework, and as a result of having better coaches, I ended up playing baseball the most.
I made three all star teams through little league, finishing fourth in the state once. Then, in Junior League, we reached the state championship game. In Senior League, we finished it off finally by winning the state tournament and heading to the regional tournament.
I also continued playing baseball into college. It is wonderful to have good coaches. These ones are the first coaches I have ever had that actually consider fielding important. That is why I started the majority of the season in the outfield. Most coaches at the little league level are managers, not coaches. These coaches on the college team actually try to teach and improve the players on the team. It is most definitely my favorite team that I have played on in any sport, considering that I started when I was eight.
I was 14 by the time I reached tenth grade, and I decided that I didn't really need to keep doing much more of this, so I started applying for college when I was fourteen. I was accepted and started classes just after I turned fifteen. I have enjoyed college greatly, starting off slow, with six credits in my first semester, then ten, then thirteen, then seventeen. For a while I had not really decided what I wanted to do, so I just took general courses and courses that I am interested in.
One field that always interested me was math. I have taken a math class every semester, and was taking Calculus II when I was sixteen. This will be my first semester without a math class, as Calculus III was cancelled.
I discovered a GIS class at one point. Geographic Information Systems fascinates me, with its manipulation of maps and data. The teacher was highly enthusiastic, and made the subject more interesting just because of how excited he was about it.
English is the other thing which I have always liked. Reading is something that I have been devout about forever. I did not have as much experience with writing, but I enjoyed that as well. After a little difficulty with the accuplacer's english part, the writeplacer, I got into English 101 because of doing well on the essay part of the SATs.
I have taken an english class every semester since then, and this is the first semester I will take two english classes. The one thing I think that the semester lacks is time to read, so, I figured that if I took a class where reading books was required, then that would take care of it for me. So I am taking online True Crime this semester.
In terms of what I would like to do next, I want to pursue something in English and GIS. Online GIS programs are available at the University of Maine at Machias, so my idea would be to take those there, and at the same time to be getting a degree in English someplace else. Where that someplace else would be, I am not sure, but English and GIS are two things that I love to do, so what better to try to pursue than those?
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Week 14 Theme 2
He was okay with not starting the first game for a couple of reasons. Starting is preferred by all baseball players, in the field and at the plate, but there are four second bests to starting. One is to be a pure pitcher. If you are a pure pitcher, then it generally means you can't play other positions very well, and you can not hit very well.
There was one player on the team that was a pure pitcher. He could not play outfield, was the best pitcher on the team, could play third base pretty well and could hit okay but not with enough power to warrant playing third much. But he was always secure in the knowledge that pitching the first game was always his.
Pinch hitting is the second way. A pinch hitter generally cannot field very well, but can hit with power or with really excellent contact. A few players were pinch hitters. But they didn't have the ability to hit that really made them get used except as a way to just get them into the game.
The tenth fielder is the third way. The tenth fielder often is either someone who can field but can't hit, or can hit but can't field. The coach will prefer one over the other, and start one. But if they are around even, then the one not starting should see some action. Or, if he is the tenth man with the pure pitcher in, as one player was last year, then that means he starts all games the pure pitcher doesn't start pitching.
Pinch running is the last one. As a pinch runner, he has to be fast and smart. He has to be able to take good leads as well, and listen to the basecoach. Pinch runners are generally used in situations when they are greatly needed, to steal a base, or go first to third, or break up a double play. Just to keep the game going longer.
And all four of these are better ways to be sitting on the bench than not. And being two of these, he was content with not starting.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Week 14 Theme I
The coach announced the starting outfielders. To keep the good hitters in, he was starting the first baseman and catcher in left and right field. The other outfielders felt a collective feeling of disappointment that they were not starting.
"This will be interesting," the catcher said, "I've never played outfield."
"This will be interesting," the catcher said, "I've never played outfield."
***
The ball was hit into left field. "Come on, get it!" an oufielder said from the dugout. "Get that!" the coach said.
Being quite slow, the first baseman took the ball on the bounce, and utilized his queer slightly sidearm throw into the infield, holding them to two runs.
***
The ball was lined into right. The catcher in right field moved in, then staggered back as it sailed way over his head. The runners ran around the ball. An outfielder in the dugout dropped a baseball into the corner in annoyance. He knew that it could have been him out there. There is nothing more annoying then watching someone else messing up your position.
***
The coach finally resigned himself to losing this game, and entirely changed outfields, putting three subs in. And the subs made more good plays in the outfield than the starters had.
Week 15 Theme
Here
in 162sville we try to avoid the Civil War, slaves, rape, incest,
racism, suicide, and all the rest.
You
want your books to have rounded corners, leave them near a poodle
puppy.
With
more attention span than a goldfish
It's
totally whack... tossing the minis into a blender... calculated
disorganization... tossing chronology to the winds... I find it...
charming.
*I
have dog conversations all the time
Particularly
droll
the
cleats-rigamarole
Amusing
to see you tapdance
*My
dogs are considerably more articulate.
Though
I'd be willing to learn (hint....)
So
dehydrated and esurient
Holy
hannah! That is very weird! Very very!
*My
dogs say things like:
So
droll, so impervious to possible teacher's negativity.
Glad
that my wit was nearly as funny as an old fat guy sneezing....
'Droll'
is the key word--very nice line in deadpan humor.
*
“Give me a treat, you asshole!”
The
monumental and glorious silliness
I'm
going to comment here on the whole triptych.
Just
a second non-comment comment to boot blogger into saying '2 comments'
instead of '0 comments'
*
“I'm not going out in that snow, no way!”
Victorian
writers were besotted with punctuation,
Wellllllll,
that's a bit of a stretch
What's
English without the occasional safe house, courier cut out, secret
cell, disinformation, and counter-espionage op?
*
“Leave me the fuck alone!”
Once
had a robot replace me as a heat-treater in a factory job
Do
you know what a 'macguffin' is?
Do
its job without interference from ancillary material.
Isearch
handwritten on spiral notebook paper nightmare
*
“That's mine!”
Who
do you think the bosses
came whining to when Big Robey went on a snooze cruise?
Between
the proctor's fussiness and the reality that only you seemed aware
of.
Stories
don't necessarily come from dramatic, near death experiences.
*(They
always punctuate with exclamation points.)
Your
attitude and cinnamon gum
The
players hijinx (silly old word, sorry)
I
hope you don't think that's rude.
*
“Good time for a walk!”
"Tomorrow
I will give you a story titled 'The Ashtray.'"
In
a course like this is set free on the playground of letters. Go climb
on the monkey bars!
Find
someplace that is not McDonaldized
*
“WHO'S THAT ON OUR ROAD!!!!”
Shhh,
don't tell anyone I said this
That's
okey-doke.
Not
to keep beating this dead horse...
*
“My dog, that smells doog, boss!”
I
remember Mysterious Talky Guy Part I!
Writing
from the stretch, so to speak, instead of with a full windup?
I
worked a whole summer at summer camp without swearing once!
*
“Mmmmm, horse shit, yum yum!”
Reconstruction
of your hogitude is very convincingly porcine.
Hand
the candidate a glove, and say "Think fast."
A finely articulated skeleton
English
teachers! They can't count!'
I
don't get paid to talk about dogs, but I do get paid to talk about
writing, which I love.
Week 13 Theme
All books are different.
Books can range from just about palm sized to huge ones. Many authors will stick to the formula to get their books read. That is just about maybe 8 or 9 inches tall for a hardcover. Paperback books are usually smaller, with smaller font. The font is usually about ten to twelve, unless it is a large print book.
Large print books are very annoying to me. It is impossible to adjust my eyes to them. That is why I never read them. But there are people with declining eyesight who prefer them.
I have read tiny books, of maybe 8 font or so. I can adjust my eyes to that better. I read one book once that had red font. I actually got used to it, and took a little bit to readjust to black.
But the one thing I think that authors should change for their books, is to have round corners.
Books can range from just about palm sized to huge ones. Many authors will stick to the formula to get their books read. That is just about maybe 8 or 9 inches tall for a hardcover. Paperback books are usually smaller, with smaller font. The font is usually about ten to twelve, unless it is a large print book.
Large print books are very annoying to me. It is impossible to adjust my eyes to them. That is why I never read them. But there are people with declining eyesight who prefer them.
I have read tiny books, of maybe 8 font or so. I can adjust my eyes to that better. I read one book once that had red font. I actually got used to it, and took a little bit to readjust to black.
But the one thing I think that authors should change for their books, is to have round corners.
Week 13 Prompt III
63. To see a world in a grain of sand. and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour. -William Blake
Most people think of dirt as either something to walk on, something to plant in, or something disgusting.
I think of it as something to slide on.
Baseball requires dirt. This is proven by the fact that even baseballs with entirely grass infields still have dirt at the bases. Different types of dirt can really affect the game. Hard packed dirt can make ground balls skip really hard. Even good dirt can have imperfections, once I was moving over to backhand a flat ground ball that had not bounced once, and it ricocheted off a rock and hit me in the face.
For sliding, dirt is huge. Dirt that is too rocky can injure the slider, even if they slide correctly to avoid scrapes. I have encountered dirt that is really bad sliding dirt. I tried a pop-up slide into second once and the dirt was so sticky, though not wet at all, that I ended up coming up couple feet short of the base.
It's hard to dive back into a base with sticky dirt as well.
More higher level fields have entirely grass infields except for the bases, eliminating the dirt aspect for the fielders. If the grass were perfectly flat, then it would probably assist the fielders in terms of fielding the ball, though the ball would bounce higher, and be faster, increasing the double play rate greatly.
I generally hold a disliking towards dirt, but baseball dirt is different. I see a world in baseball dirt.
Most people think of dirt as either something to walk on, something to plant in, or something disgusting.
I think of it as something to slide on.
Baseball requires dirt. This is proven by the fact that even baseballs with entirely grass infields still have dirt at the bases. Different types of dirt can really affect the game. Hard packed dirt can make ground balls skip really hard. Even good dirt can have imperfections, once I was moving over to backhand a flat ground ball that had not bounced once, and it ricocheted off a rock and hit me in the face.
For sliding, dirt is huge. Dirt that is too rocky can injure the slider, even if they slide correctly to avoid scrapes. I have encountered dirt that is really bad sliding dirt. I tried a pop-up slide into second once and the dirt was so sticky, though not wet at all, that I ended up coming up couple feet short of the base.
It's hard to dive back into a base with sticky dirt as well.
More higher level fields have entirely grass infields except for the bases, eliminating the dirt aspect for the fielders. If the grass were perfectly flat, then it would probably assist the fielders in terms of fielding the ball, though the ball would bounce higher, and be faster, increasing the double play rate greatly.
I generally hold a disliking towards dirt, but baseball dirt is different. I see a world in baseball dirt.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Week 13 Prompt II
62. For want of a nail the shoe was lost. For want of a shoe the horse was lost. For want of a horse the rider was lost. For want of a rider the battle was lost. For want of a battle the kingdom was lost. And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
A player on my college baseball team sat on the dugout floor pulling the spikes off his cleats.
"Putting them on?" another player asked.
"Taking them off," he corrected, "I'm missing two, they overbalance me."
Cleats are important. Otherwise baseball players wouldn't use them. I have experienced not wearing cleats, and have felt like the outfield was a slip and slide.
There also is a huge difference between metal and plastic cleats. Plastic cleats are okay on dirt, but on the grass, they don't dig in at all. Metal cleats dig in, to help you make sharp cuts.
Other sports use them, such as golf, or soccer, or ice climbing. And a good pair of shoes are important for basketball, or tennis, or life.
People who don't wear good shoes can get sore feet, back, knees, or other things.
There are people who have tons of shoes, as a fashion statement or whatever. Shoes can affect a lot of people. And a horse's shoe can save a kingdom.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)