Beginning of Time

Like any normal teenager reminiscing on his childhood would, I like to see the progress of my early years from the perspective of the different video game consoles I've owned.

I know (or can ignorantly hope) that I owned very old video game consoles when I was very young, such as a SEGA Genesis. However, I also remember playing Duck Hunt and Super Mario Bros. in my house, which must mean that I either had an NES or a SEGA port of the same games. Whatever the case, my most recent video-game system history began one fateful day of which the specific environmental conditions I'll never forget. I don't think it was for Christmas; it might've been, but in any case, one day my dad and I drove over to Best Buy, some 30 minutes from home, on a rainy, windy day, to purchase my first-ever 32-bit video game system, the Playstation One. Note how I specified Playstation One - this was the second revision; smaller, curvaceous, and otherwise more attractive than the older boxy model. By this time, the Playstation One was beginning to be phased out as the PS2 was starting to become the most popular system, and the only alternative for gamers who had already built up enormous PS1 game collections. Thanks to that, Best Buy was offering the new PS1 model for only $50! A steal, indeed, and my dad and I took note of the price and headed out to the department store amidst a torrential downpour.

I was so happy once I got it! I sat in the passenger seat, looking at all the different pictures on the back of the box, of all the different games that were available for the aging system. I remember gawking at what I thought were unbelievably realistic graphics which, although they were for the time; had I been 10 years older, an inherent skepticism would've informed me that they really weren't - it was only the boyish wonder that fooled me into awe.

Whatever the case, those awesome graphics had to wait, because when I got home and waited for my dad to hook up the brand new machine, he lent me a face of frustration as he explained to me how the television set was missing RCA video plugins. All these things, so commonplace and obvious to me now, were like unintelligible hieroglyphics to me back then, my dad being the intelligent savior, deciphering it all. Indeed, he knew what would save the day - an RF to RCA converter! Easily attainable at the local Radioshack - this time only a few minutes away from home - half the reason it was easily attainable was because of the popularity of the no-video-plugins conundrum that likely affected many TV/game system owners at the time. Five dollars later, the system was plugged in, the demo disc inserted, the controller connected, and I was playing my first PS1 video game, which was a demo version of the game Medievil. I bored fairly slowly of the demo disc's content - which I blame solely on all the TV commercials it had on it, of amazing PS1 video games and accessories - and that boredom was cured by my first ever actual PS1 game, Driver.

 Being the first game I owned, and being a good game at that; the opening screen, initial training level, and even the jazzy music compose some of my fondest video game memories to date. Only thing that was a bummer was what happened after I turned off the system for the night - I came back, and was truly disappointed to learn that I had to repeat all my progress from the day before because I didn't have a memory card!

To be continued. Happy Holidays everyone!

Beginning of Time

The Evolution In Me

The following is the foreword to a biology project discussing the Axolotl, a critically endangered amphibian native to Lake Xochimilco in Mexico. Enjoy!

I don’t need to travel farther than my desk to witness one of the key characteristics of populations of living species. Actually, I needn’t even need stand up or fidget. All I need to do is look at the reflection on the glossy wood finish of the wooden table, and I can read into more detail than any 7^th edition of a college biology textbook could ever provide. When Darwin coined natural selection, evolution; he coined not only a new, yet unearthed characteristic of living things, but also a scientific term by which to refer to an inherent quality of human beings, particularly those in the earlier years of their lives, where change is so dramatically swift and quick. It’s futile to think that a 14-year old is the same tomorrow than today. Thus, if it’s futile to think the opposite, it’s unnerving to think about the truth.

As I sit down to write this report at a time I’d rather not specify, I look at myself in the reflection of the glossy desk and think about how much I’ve evolved. Not only in physical attributes, but more so in thought. What I considered an immutable way of life two years ago has changed, and it’s always useful to think that change is for the better, especially when you constantly adopt new ways that in turn constantly reveal yet another inefficiency. Too nice, too mean, too unfeeling, too pragmatic, too complicated, too self-defeating … the self-critique is as inherent as the change, and so in addition to the written, unwavering, stalwart nature of alleles, recombination, and DNA, us human beings – and likely all sentient beings – must deal with another comparably inextricable, abstract, and wholly intangible vector of change – the constant reassessment of ourselves and the world around us by our omnipotent, versatile, and often overwhelming masses of jelly and muscle in our skulls. Our brains, of course.

The Evolution In Me

Offbeat #10 | Miami Shore

Coming back after a long hiatus, Offbeat News with Tomas Monzon is back with episode ten. In this episode, we feature an advertisement from a Cuban gynecologist, helpful tips from the world of psychology that show you when it's time to find a new job, and most importantly, important news from the important television hit, Jersey Shore. Enjoy!

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Offbeat #10 | Miami Shore

Offbeat #12 | Thinking of You (Valentine's Day Edition)

In this episode of Offbeat, we have the wonderful musical talents of Yanet Felipe and Laymit Savorit (excuse the misspelling in the video) delivering an excellent acoustic cover of Katy Perry's song, "Thinking of You". Happy Valentine's Day!

Tomás at Large | www.tomasatlarge.blogspot.com

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Follow Tomás at Large on Twitter + Instagram @Kyalami321

Offbeat #12 | Thinking of You (Valentine's Day Edition)

Ignorance is Determination



At the football game, with the band once more. Being the homecoming game, the entire student body is dressed in school spirit clothes galore, and visiting Marching Band alumni come back to the football stands to talk with their old professors, as well as play in the stands with their old friends once more. The Director herself picks up a snare drum - having always been an expert percussionist - and jams out with current and former students alike.

Then comes halftime, and it's obvious that none of these fine football spectators know just what goes into making the band. They don't know about the long hours we spend outside practicing, they don't know about the frustration, endurance tests, and hard work we undergo. Sure, some of them can imagine so, but some can also not. At the competition football field, everyone quieted down as soon as each competing band entered the field. Here, the rattle only grows louder when music stops blasting over the PA. The band is dressed in their professional uniforms for the occassion, the drum major features a delightful black dress, the Color Guard is looking their best. This is our time to show everyone what we've been working so hard towards, another chance to demonstrate our latest marching skills to the public.

Yet, we know for a fact that this crowd could care less about the band. Of course they appreciate that the school has a marching band to lead them in football game halftime shows - but they're not at the football game to watch a band. They're not here to watch halftime (which in my opinion, is a waste of a break between quarters). So, what is the function of our performance?

To practice. The crowd that will be watching us is at competitions, at concerts, at college football games. And when a sabre tosser fails to catch her sword; instantly I hear an "Oh!" from the crowd. She knows very well what she's doing, though, and she quickly picks up the sword with a grace that made it look like the toss was part of the performance. In that instant, I saw the role of disinterested peoples' ignorance in determination. This isn't an attack on football game spectators - but the reality is, as I mentioned before, the audience doesn't know what goes into learning that toss. They haven't the slightest about how the marching is organized, about the theme behind the three Movements ... and yet, it is that very same ineptitude, dare I say, of common people, that keeps the marching band so committed. The simple fact that every brass player, every percussionist, every Color Guard member is out there breaking their backs, doing their best to ensure the best performance yet, knowing full well the crowd knows little to nothing about the virtue, about the hard work that goes into marching - is the most unwavering demonstration of their passion for the sport, of their commitment to their team and their profession.

We exit the football field, our school having won 48 - 8, and our halftime show having been the best performance yet. "Piano Man" plays over the loudspeaker (which in retrospect was a very poor choice of a victory song) as we dawdle towards the buses on our way back home.

Ignorance is Determination

Psychology, The Universal Tool

The following is a little spiel about psychology. The above picture represents a very true phenomenon.

As you can expect, when I was in Psychology II last year, our teacher often preached about how wide-spread psychology was, throughout the world, in absolutely everything we do. Of course; how could it not be. After all, it's the study of behavior, and behavior is a part of every living being, human or animal.

And even though she repeated this self-evident truth so often, I don't think any of us - pre-programmed to hurdle over the idea whenever it was told to us again - ever really sat down and thought about what she really meant. Because if you do sit down to think about it, it's truly wondrous how widespread psychology is, in the sense that even the coldest, most matter-of-fact person - in fact, this is most of them - knows a fair share about the considerably warm study of psychology. Think about it this way - when an artist is contracted to develop a new poster or design for Pepsi-Cola, he doesn't just put something together that looks nice and displays well at a high resolution. He has to think about his work, not only in terms of artistic technicalities and other expected considerations, but also whether people will be stimulated by the design, whether people will be able to remember it, whether people's minds will quickly react to it and say, "Hey, it's a new design for Pepsi-Cola!" The artists does it second-nature, but as he's moving around a touchpad mouse on his digital artist-oriented MacBook, he's constantly processing the various psychological factors playing into whether his design will succeed or not - and ultimately how fat his paycheck will be. That is, the cold matter-of-fact person making the ultimate psychology-based decision isn't the artist - it's his entrepreneur of a boss.

Another example would be television network bosses and head honchos. Sure, they deal with insurmountable tonnes of paperwork on a daily basis and they likely resolve legal and copyright issues every other day - but they also communicate with the editors and scriptwriters of the network, and they ultimately impart the final word on whether a show will pass pre-production or not. And on what does the head honcho base his considerate response? On psychology, of course! An experienced NBC editor-in-chief or general manager has seen his network progress through the decades, and he knows very well what kind of niches Americans enjoy; just what kind of comedy and hilarity Americans, young and old, enjoy viewing on their television sets on weekday nights, after a 9-hour workday.

If we're talking television psychology, though, I'd like to finally take the chance to mention Disney Channel. Perhaps someone will make fun of me, but no matter what show was playing on the channel at the time, be it Hannah Montana, The Suite Life of Zack and Cody, or Unfortunately, Sadie; there was just something about that channel that immediately grabbed mine and my friend's attention. I could go into detail about the times this has happened and such, but I'd probably not be able to describe my point too well. I guess you only get it if it's happened to you before, so I'll just ask: has anyone ever felt immediately entranced by Disney Channel?

I could go on with more examples, but time's running out as I've got to return to Biology homework. My point is, psychology is everywhere as even the coldest of business decisions rely on an innate knowledge of what will stimulate the human mind. Some food for thought for you intellectuals and such.

Psychology, The Universal Tool

Spectator

Found this on the net; probably from several classes ago. 

I'm sitting here in the backseat of the family car, writing a blog post on an underpowered yet undeniably reliable Pentium II laptop. The monitor is dimmer than dusk, the eraserhead is uncomfortable like my sister's computer chair ... it's a work of art. Besides it being enough of a novelty to be able to blog whilst on the road - that road being a very long one on the way back from an extended children's birthday party - what I'm thinking about is also something quite newfound. I wrote a post, some time ago, about the importance of documentation throughout our lives, in the form of in-your-face candids that girls can output so quickly, easily, effortlessly. Well, building on that ideal, I went ahead and wrote a preliminary draft about my blog. Now standing at 80-some posts - counting this one - it's without a doubt a window into my former self. That "former self" being one that's so drastically different from the one now with only two or three years in the middle.

It's different in a plethora of ways.  Now that I have this ancient laptop in front of me and surprisingly, it's holding a charge I’ll mention one small difference by talking about this upcoming week.

It's Homecoming Week at South Miami High – our homecoming football match against our athletic rival happening this Thursday - and despite the fact that I have a Biology test on Thursday, a news report to finish for TV, and a cavalcade of other things that never seem to stop rolling in ... I couldn't be more excited.

Just this year, I realized the social, psychological prowess of high school football games. Not being a sportsman, or rather, one who likes football, I'd been putting off going to a football game since my freshman year, ignoring the stereotype painted by cheesy 80s era high school movies of worthwhile football games that served as seasonal get-togethers for the best of friends. Well, luckily, thanks to my filming the Band, I've been attending almost every football game this year so far (well at least the home games). And in ways that can only be provoked by the most thrilling of outings, I genuinely get excited at the prospect of being a spectator at a football game. I mean; sure, half the reason why is because I get to do what I love by filming the Band's halftime and stand-side performances, thus exercising my nascent camera skills ... but I've discovered something else in football games that may just be that social prowess so eagerly advertised by every other attendant since freshman year. When our team wins - not an event bound to happen often, unfortunately - there's a sense of pride and victory that, even though you might not like football, you involuntarily share with both the varsity football team breaking sweat and tears out on the field, but also with the cheerleaders on the stands, with the security guards at the gate, with the Band on the field at halftime, and most importantly, with your dear friends that have taken time out of their schedules to attend this community event. It's something I've never experienced. Never before have I shared such a sensation with so many people.

That sensation being one of sports-related pride. When I'm on the halftime field, looking towards the home side stands, gawking at the amazing turnout, I feel unmatched felicity in being able to say, "Go Cobras". Here’s to the Homecoming Game!

Spectator

Practice Writing a Personal Narrative, OK?

You'll see why. 

In my AP Language and Composition class, we were analyzing and annotating Gary Soto's personal narrative about his guilt-ridden experience with a stolen pie; I believe it was an excerpt from A Summer Life, an autobiographical text. As our little project for the weekend, we are to draft our own personal narrative. Of course this is going to take some heavy mental activity and physical stress to figure out just what personal narrative I want to produce - yet the biggest challenge in that is to wrangle my mind earlier than 9 PM on Sunday. So here's the story of ... well, let's see where this goes.

Well, when I was in first ... no, that's a medical experience. Oh, I know! When I used to be ... eww, no that's nasty. Uhm ... well I could tell you about the first time that I ever ... nah, that brings back memories too sweet to put on paper. Gosh darn! I think I'm doing a good job of making sure to work on this earlier than after dinner on Sunday! What I haven't done a good job of ... in the past, of course ... is documenting those things I find memorable.

You know how girls take pictures all the time? Give them their own camera, and they're likely to come back with a roll of, if nothing else, canted in-your-face pictures of themselves with their friends at school, at the mall, at a party. And this trait isn't one that they had to be particularly mature to establish. It might as well have started in kindergarten had our parents entrusted us with hundred-dollar cameras in our hands. Actually, no, scratch that! It probably did start in kindergarten because back then, $10 dollar 35mm disposables were in! So, yes! Our generation got to start taking pictures deliberately at a very young age, and in my inexorable wisdom, I didn't really partake in, or find attractive, the art of taking pictures of just about everyone and everything around me until I was maybe in 8th grade. Not only that, I only started taking pictures of memorable moments - last days of school, outings to the mall, bike rides in the neighborhood - towards the latter part of that 8th grade year.

My, so far, wordy and overly restated point is that documentation is important. I should've been smart enough to realize that taking pictures of all those fun things that happened in my life that I'd like to have a browsable record of now - that party in 6th grade that landed the teacher some flak from the administrators, the first time I went to the mall with friends, the day I Met Your Mother - was going to end up being the most useful thing I would've done! How awesome would it be if now, to select the most inopportune, crazy, but ultimately impacting anecdote to write about in my draft, I could turn on the computer or open a scrapbook or enormous plastic tupperware container, look at a corresponding picture, and sit back and relish the overwhelming amount of memories and feelings of, amongst other things, certain nostalgia, as they come into and overtake my mind in an ethereal moment that can only be experienced by a person that kept his history in war torn scrapbooks because he knew it would help him impress his AP English teacher this coming Tuesday, a day before the practice SAT.

Bottom line: document your life.

Practice Writing a Personal Narrative, OK?

The Beauty of a Summer Tale

A little patch of grass of much fame.

For my AP Language and Composition class, I was assigned to read and analyze John Tobias' 1967 poem, "Reflections On A Gift Of Watermelon Pickle from a Friend Called Felicity". Longest title ever, I know, but the length isn't suggestive of the poem's concise, lyrical language.

It relates the story - to my understanding so far - of a summer "which may never have been at all; But which has become more real Than the one that was---". It talks about a time "when unicorns were still possible", of watermelons that provided "a summer of limitless bites, Of hungers quickly felt And quickly forgotten With the next careless gorging." It tells us how, "in a jar put up by Felicity,' which I assume to be happiness, 'The summer which maybe never was Has been captured and preserved And when we unscrew the lid And slice off a piece And let it linger on our tongue; Unicorns become possible again."

In what may have been one of the sweetest poems I've read in a long time, I've found a certain quality of summertime that I never really thought about before. Sometimes, in a world run by people in suits catching the train to the next meeting, by parents that work long hours during the week to be able to enjoy some peace and quiet with their children on the weekends, by teachers that assign homework over the weekends and expect you to continue studying as if you haven't already been doing so during the week ... it's a little hard to find true beauty in something.

And no, I'm not talking about girls - for once. I'm certain there's all kinds of beauty to be had with them - whether it's fake or real.

But I'm talking about the beauty of the summertime. Sure, it's "beautiful" because it's a well-deserved break from long months of school work, but I think there's beauty to be found beneath this. When summer 2010 was coming to an end - little over a month ago, as I was doing my AP summer assignments - I stood up and paced around my house for a few minutes, when I stopped and looked outside. It was, truly, "a bright summer's day" outside, with the birds chirping, the sun full out, children playing in the pool, ducks showering in the lake, wind under the shade ... and I looked at one particular spot in the lake. A little cot of grass that seemed like it was missing only a group of best friends reminiscing or "eating crap", as many rudely call time with friends, to complete the photograph.

I looked at that spot, and at that point - perhaps the worst point in time possible - I had an epiphany about the true meaning of summer. For long, I've wondered about what the true meaning, purpose of summer is. Back in ye olden days, it was so the kids could go home to their parents' farm and harvest the crops, but that certainly isn't the case now. Is it for kids to find a job or get ahead on their AP classes coming the following year? No - not at all.

Instead, it's for us to enjoy an inexplicably pleasant feeling that comes from sitting in a place like that little cot of grass. You know all those shots in movies of friends sitting on a wide open field, with arms around each other, singing "Kumbaya"? Well, that's what summer's for. It's kind of like an acting role, in a sense. But not nearly as superficial. When I saw that little patch of grass by the lake, a feeling of nostalgia and regret swept over - nostalgia from all the amazing times I'd spent with my friends during the summer, and regret that I couldn't have spent more time with them.  I regretted that I couldn't experience that sweet ethereal feeling once more ... mostly because I had to get back to my AP stuff.

Nonetheless, I had an amazing summer! I got to go to UM for a three-week journalism workshop, as you all know; I often went to McDonald's with my friends, I went to the beach with them once, I filmed Band Camp the three weeks before school started ... truly the best summer yet. But perhaps the regret comes from having not sat in that little patch of grass. 

I get even more nostalgic and regretful when I think of summers before this last one. So to Summer 2010, and all those beforehand - you're all sorely missed. 

The Beauty of a Summer Tale

Week/end of Morality - Part 2

... continued from "Week/end of Morality - Part 1".

... or so I thought. I mean, of course I do the regular things like eat my lunch/breakfast and sit and talk with my friends about the latest news or happenings and such - as anyone would - but the girls thing is quite the problem. Now, of course, it's always a problem when you don't have a girl, so to speak, but I'm talking about something a little different. Naturally, lunch and breakfast time are the best times to socialize and further your interest (wink) but when you start looking forward to these social hours to look for prospective soul mates, you start going down the ladder (and you don't want to go down, you want to go up) of Swiss psychologist Lawrence Kohlberg's "stages of moral development."

Lawrence Kohlberg. Photograph from LIFE.

Just yesterday - Friday, the first Friday/weekend of my junior year - I was texting said prospective soul mates on my computer, using Google Voice (which I might say is an excellent SMS device when your cell phone doesn't work). And, as I did, I started to think about my selfishness in doing so. I mean, who am I benefiting when I send flirty text messages to girls, trying to eke out the next "awwww" or "maybe we could meet up and talk about that sometime"? No one but myself, really, at least until said flirting turns into a mutually beneficial situation where both the guy and the girl benefit from talking to each other. Of course, simple flirting and trying to sweep a girl off her feet are sometimes the first steps to a relationship, so you might be thinking that my concluding that it's selfish is kind of stupid. Well, I agree - it is. But when you become overly concentrated on said initial flirting and sweeping, that's where the selfishness becomes evident and detrimental to your personality.

The person you're talking to might end up liking you, might end up never talking to you again. But when you're sending SMS flirts, the only thing you're exercising is your social and conversational skills. You're not making anyone happy, you're not helping anyone. I realized this after I discussed the night's flirts with a nonchalant friends of mine whom could, at least during our conversation yesterday, care less about flirting and trying to talk or get with a girl. What did she care about at the time? Well besides the weekend's imminent homework time, she spent the greater half of our conversation talking from a higher level of moral thinking, labeled in Kohlberg's stages as the post-conventional  rung on the ladder of thinking. She talked about how she wanted to do something for her friend's upcoming birthday, how her and one of her friends had hung out that day and studied together and gotten ICEEs at the local 7 Eleven. As I heard her talk about such simple, ultimately beautiful desires and events - as I heard her talk about the beauty of spending time with a good friend, a time that both people involved benefit equally from each others' company ... I realized how absolutely selfish I was being in getting worked up over texting these girls whom probably could themselves care less about what my intentions were.

A bit of strong comic work, I know, but it's hilariously true!

Now, I don't mean that in a "giving up" tone. Trust me, I really am not that concerned with whether anything good comes out of these flirtish endeavors (though it'd be nice if it did) - what I am frustrated about is in either preserving or fostering my own selflessness. For as long as I can remember, there's been numbered occassions where I've thought about doing something nice for somebody else - leaving them a card in their locker, making them brownies. All that good stuff that makes people feel happy inside. That's what I'm feeling blue about. When you get to the level my friend was talking from yesterday - Kohlberg's post-conventional level of morality - that's when you achieve true selflessness.

Yeah, maybe we should spoil our countryside a little.

So to aid my bothered conscience, I've decided to start doing something for my friends. But I won't tell you what. 

'Til next time, friends. Good night, everyone.

Week/end of Morality - Part 2

Years Pass and How Do I Feel?

 A bit of poetry from me, which I don't write at all, really. I write the following, not in an act of spite or vengeance, but simply to express my feelings. May my feelings be right, and may they be defended by whomever decides my fate. Oh, and tell me what you think of my poetry skills!

For two years

since I knew you to be friendly, I tried

and thought I succeeded

in breaching your human barrier. 

But at times I felt

like I'd been pushed back to square one. 

I can't blame you for who you are

But I can't let this pass either

It's difficult to decide

in an age of words unspoken and of words that hurt

when to consider your feelings the truth

and when to discard them, for they are not true. 

I tried for a long, long time

to try to equal those whose affection you sought.

But through the passage of time, newfound

understanding has led me to think differently.

It would be a crime to say

that we've not spent good times;

times where we connected in a way

that only the best of pals do.

But those times are the exception, 

not the norm. Instead, 

feeling like it didn't matter, 

dealing with you not caring, 

dealing with your indifference,

dealing with your bipolar soul, it seems, is what I usually find myself doing.

And as of recently, 

dealing with the truth. 

There is sympathy and unconditional positive regard in you;

that is what I seek. 

Why don't you value my intentions

instead of pleasing someone else?

I give it to you in layman's terms -

it strikes my last nerve

when I see you acting out of character

to please someone whom you oftentimes considered unworthy. 

I cannot be adamant about hate, 

for my condition forbids me, 

but I can be adamant about that which makes sense. 

And what makes sense to me today

is that you've got me on a leash. 

That you relish a challenge, 

that you don't care for your allies, 

and instead aim to please the enemy. 

These are someone else's words, 

and they can only do me one of two things -

make me acknowledge the truth of things

or hurt, hurt, hurt our labored friendship. 

I hope, 

for the better of myself, my conscience, 

and you, 

that these words are wise, and correct. 

I'm not religious

but I'm sure that He only rewards 

those who do the right thing. 

I pray and look to God when I hope that this is the right thing.

Good morning, America. 

Good morning, world. 

Good morning, friends and family. 

Hold my hands and lead me to salvation, please.

Years Pass and How Do I Feel?

Week/end of Morality - Part 1

Hey guys! Golly, gee, I feel that I should tell you how my junior year's started off! So I will!

This past week has been quite the week. All new teachers, with the exception of my TV Production teacher (a class that I now have in the morning instead of in the afternoon, which I'm still undecided over whether it's better or not); all new people, since I share my new classes with new classmates this year; and classes that are Advanced Placement level!

This last characteristic of my junior year classes; I should stress, seeing as it's caused some important "life" changes. Mainly, a rigid schedule that I developed (and took a good amount of time to do so) well before school started.

It basically says, "wake up at 6:00 AM, go to school until 2:20, come back home by around 3:00, eat and nap until 5:00, do homework and everything you gotta do, including eating and chores, from 5:00 to 10:30, and be asleep by 11:00 PM."

But the most interestingly constructed portion of it is that big span of time from 6:30 AM to 2:20 PM! Let me tell ya about it.

OK, so I wake up at 6:00 AM and between bells and whistles, by about 6:30 - 6:45 I'm at school. Now, of course, besides eating the free, school-provided breakfast, you're pretty much free to do absolutely anything you want during the time between my arrival at school and 7:20 AM.

You could do homework, you could talk to friends, you could make out on the staircase, you could talk with your teachers, you can go to the library, you could buy a drink, you could make a baby ... well, OK, maybe that's going too far.

Hey, don't give me that face! Don't tell me you didn't think about these things when YOU were in high school!

But my point is, the majority of the eight or so hours that I'm at school has been fitted with a tight, merciless schedule - 7:20 to 9:20 AM, first period; 9:20 to 11:20, third period; and so on. But that small, teensy-weensy hour or so that takes place before school commences at 7:20, has been left completely unattended!

Taking 3 AP classes, and having to balance that with being the videographer for the school band, a secretary on the district student government association, and being part of a community service club, it would be the death of me if even this small hour were not assigned some particular purpose.

So, I went ahead and decided to assign specific tasks that must be carried out during this period, as well as the midday lunch period - an even smaller, half-hour period that's also been left terribly negated, and a period in which some of the craziest things can happen. I can't just go out and experience these breaks without a clear mission! So I began to think - what things do I not accomplish during the rest of my day that I could possibly do during these misguided time slots? Let's see ... well, the rest of the eight hours in school, I can't really do much about since it's all reserved for five different classes. The time between dismissal and starting my homework ... well, I'm not touching that! I gotta nap! And then, the time between 5:00 and 10:30 PM, that set aside for homework ... well, it's homework time!

Then I had an epiphany, and realized that those small half-hour to hour periods before and during school were to serve as the great social hours of the week! Thus, I made it clear one summer afternoon when I was pacing around my house, talking to meself, working out this fine daily itinerary - in the morning, and during lunch, I need to completely let myself go and partake in as much social activity and interaction as possible.

That means: flirt with girls, talk with friends, attempt to get girls, talk with friends, be frustrated over girls, talk to friends, meet with teachers, look at the sky, walk the halls, help/mock the freshmen, tie my shoe ... oh yeah, and I have to eat too, cause if I don't ... well, I might die, Doctor. I mean, it's either doing all this during the morning and lunch ... or like, working at Smoothie King, so ...

to be continued in Part 2 ...

Week/end of Morality - Part 1

Annual Reflection: Becoming a Junior

Sometimes you'll be doing something you don't want to do and you end up finding something inspirational whilst doing it. Then you feel inspired and you have to write, even if it's been such a long time. And it's tradition. 

   

Hey, everybody! Man, I haven't blogged in ages! I think the blog is collecting virtual dust! Look, there goes a virtual dust bunny!

But anyway, I've got lots - LOTS to tell ya.

Over the summer, I was granted the opportunity - well, following an application process - to be part of the James Ansin/Peace Sullivan High School Workshop for Journalism and New Media, a completely free program held every summer at the local University of Miami in which twenty or so high school students are brought in to live in the campus' freshman dorms for three weeks, during which they're given access to the University's School of Communication and produce a newspaper of their own, with a central theme binding the publication's twenty or so stories (at least one per student), replete with student photographs and design input. In recent years, audio and video work has also become a part of the workshop's curriculum, extending its length by about a week (it used to be only less than two weeks) and allowing students to partake in the new dynamic of journalism - web video. Based on their written stories, and the people they've interviewed along the way, the students make short documentary style web videos about eligible stories.

Not only all this, they're also taught by former journalists and current UM professors, video editors, as well speakers regarding the topic(s) they write their stories about (our topic this year was the Jan. 12 Haiti earthquake). And to top it off, field trips to the local newspaper and TV station are included. 

Did I also mention free food? Well that too. 

I feel privileged - truly privileged - to have attended this workshop. It was life-changing, a quality of the workshop they'd advised us about from day one. 

Sure, it meant three weeks away from home - only somewhat though, since I live biking distance from the University - but it was worth it. I made unforgettable friends - from cocoa butter loving Mupi, to seasoned video producer and editor Stoltz, as well as award-winning Haley and concert-loving Melissa. 

My interest in journalism only grew larger - interviewing people from my local neighbor to a geology professor in Mexico, dealing with the frustration from multiple rewrites to my story, learning about ethics, understanding the importance of story, and what makes a good one ... it was a beautiful, truly beautiful experience. 

To see our work, visit http://workshop.com.miami.edu/2010/.

And of course, one of the highlights was dorm life. We were spread out across two floors - boys and girls - but the fact that we were freely able to walk out into the hallways and down into the second floor at eleven o' clock at night made it very thrilling. 

It was like a little town - downstairs was Haley's Internet Café (she was the only one with a laptop), next door was Danny's Space Pudding Restaurant (some weird chocolate/peanut mix, I think, that she always shared with everyone); across the hall was Mupi's Arcade (he'd brought a 60-inch television and an XBOX 360, complete with a Logitech sound system). 

It was a world I'd like to live in - truly a taste of college life - and fortunately, despite all these distractions, I stayed focused and concentrated on writing the best story yet. 

Yes, that's me. Did I ever give that blanket back?

Luckily, so was everyone else, which only added to the experience - I was surrounded by people who shared my love of journalism, my love of talking to people, my love of writing, my love of making the best end product possible. That's something you don't always get in school, but here, dedication was alive and well. 

And so now, being only a week away from the first day of junior year, rushing just a healthy bit to finish my summer assignments on time, I take my five-minute break, sip on a nice, refreshing, ice-cold can of Coke, and I think about coming back to school. After the workshop, I feel like there's so much more I can come to school with now. Of course, I can bring new ideas to my TV Production/Journalism class - as you can well imagine, I learned a plethora of skills and concepts I knew little to nothing about beforehand - but there's a social component too. 

Experiencing dorm life was as beneficial from the workshop as was the "work" part of it. I got to talk to awesome people, but more importantly, people of just one or two years older that went to high schools in the next county (only four from the group went to a local high school). 

That small age difference, as numerically insignificant as it is, showed quite the leap in personality, in maturity, and in knowledge in these older peers of mine. Upon talking to them, I realized that they were already driving, working, having more "committed" relationships ... regular stuff you expect seniors and juniors to do and sophomores and freshmen to wish they could do, right? 

 

Sure. But it's just so unbelievably amazing - to me personally - how, at age 16, you could be eating dinner every night at the dinner table with your parents, riding bike to school, and having to come back home before 10; and only two years later, at age 18, you could be driving a car to school three-fourths of the year, and to work during the summer; paying for your cell phone bill, picking up friends from their houses or from their two-day parties and riding to the beach at your considerable leisure. 

Isn't it just amazing how fast we grow up? I for one will be sticking to the humble bicycle transportation option for now, but regardless - I wouldn't be surprised if I see a report in the Herald tomorrow regarding how fast this generation (whatever its name is) is growing! It's crazy! Absolutely mindblowing. 

My friend and I, for example, have been soul searching for a while, and so I often reflect on what it means to be in a relationship. 

Two years ago, it meant kissing and making out, if you got lucky. Today it means ... well, whatever it's supposed to mean. And two years from now, it'll probably mean something completely different again. Him and I are "talking" to prospective soul mates at the moment - "talking" being another dynamic of relationships that only entered existence for us less than a year ago - and it's really only now that we're enjoying newfound interest in the process that is getting to know someone, complimenting them occasionally (for fear of coming on too strong), being yourself, maybe going to go see a movie together, talking about important life stuff together. 

Our spiritual needs have changed, him and I - but who's to say they won't be completely different two years from now? Maybe the "talking" aspect of it all won't be a source of frustration in the future (it surely is now). Who's to say relationships, and our attitudes towards them, won't be completely different again next year?

Everything else is!

Regardless of any and all generational change - summer's ending, and the chance to keep growing during the school year soon returns. Summer is sometimes like a checkpoint, where you can reflect on who you've been, and who you'll be. 

Whatever happens, though - here's to an excellent junior year of high school!

Annual Reflection: Becoming a Junior

Coining The Social Requirement

Hello, world!

One night earlier this school year, I had to miss out on the homecoming football game at Tropical Park - right behind my house - only because I hadn't done my homework. I wa frustrated, no doubt, but by the time I finally finished, it was only an hour into the game! So I made the horrible, horrible choice of riding to Publix to pick up some groceries (which my mother told me to do) and on the way pass by the park, to see all of my friends cheering from the stands, all the while wearing that sad, puppy-dog, eye-sparkling face the lead actors wear in all those dramatic romance movies. After reaching an indescribable low point of depression (well not really; when I left the park someone gave me a red banana that tasted like an orange, so I rode bike home just fine), I began thinking about what I later coined, the "social requirement".

Why wasn't I able to go to the football game? Because I didn't realize the importance of social opportunities, of something as socially and psychologically beneficial as the opportunity to hang out with friends (and meet new people) at the homecoming football game. I did not equate the priority of an outing to the priority of homework - so I reserved an unlimited amount of time for my work that had no respect or consideration towards the football game. So I decided to come up with a concept to help me divide my time properly, and I called it the social requirement.

Essentially, the social requirement involves applying the same time-management skills you use to divvy up long projects, to divvying up time between your work and the social outings you can attend. So next time you're debating whether to stay home on Friday and work on that history report due Monday, or instead go to the movies to see Toy Story 3 with your best friends, go see Toy Story 3! Sure, you might have to accelerate your work on the report a little bit, but the social requirement is just that! It's believing that a drool-inducing 100-page report about the influence and importance of the color red in modern culture is just as important and professionally and socially and psychologically and optimistically beneficial as going to McDonald's with a group of five friends from the neighborhood to reap the benefits of half-price cheeseburgers on a Sunday.

Coining The Social Requirement

Cisco, Desk’s Livelihood on Day Ten

What makes a desk?

This is unfortunately not my desk.

For me, personally, my wobbly, fake-wood, fake-metal, scratched up, mayonnaised-on desk is my livelihood!

In essence, the little corner where this and a second glass desk sit, represent my little office. “I work here,” I say, as I sit down in my trusty reclinign chair and start either working on a term paper or hooking up some Silent Hill 2 or just browsing the Internet for videos of peoples’ game rooms.

But my desk isn’t without its inconveniences. I mean, yeah, it’s a little banged up and it has to support an overly heavy Dell 17″ CRT, but there’s one thing – just one thing that really brings my chicken nuggets out to the feeding yard: IT WOBBLES. Do you understand how absolutely inconsiderate and in-respectful and in-friendly (yes, I know that’s not how you spell those words) it is for my desk to have the nerve and take the liberty – the AUDACITY – to wobble vigorously left and right when I’m viciously erasing something from my homework? Like, what happened to enterprise and customer satisfaction – what happened to love and peace?! It’s all gone! ALL of it! All because one little 20 dollar desk supporting a ridicuslosuly heavy monitor from the 1990s decides to wobble left and right when the action becomes too much to handle.

Like, are you serious? I build computers on this desk, I sign contracts at this desk! You can’t do this to me, Daphne!

But anyway, despite its misconduct towards my person, I will be rewarding the desk this summer with a phone along the lines of the Cisco IP Phone 7970.

Actually, no, I’m gonna get this phone and put it on the glass desk instead. Daphne doesn’t deserve such luxury.
Though on second thought, that’s a lie too. This Cisco IP Phone is the absolute most awesome thing I’ve ever used in my history of using telephones. It’s AMAZING! It comes decked out in exciting gray and black, with a touchscreen display (touchscreen on a phone! WOW!), customizable settings for speaker and earpiece volume – everything! And the best thing is, I haven’t even penetrated the repository of things that this phone can do. It has voicemail, internet services, a boatload of buttons. It’s powered by two ethernet cables, which is enough of a landmark in my opinion.

But perhaps the best thing is that it’s allowed me to do so much. I sit next to this phone everyday, as I attend what is one of the best experiences yet – the Miami Montage 2010 Workshop. I’ve been given the chance to practice my journalism skills, which I haven’t been able to practice before. I’ve been given the chance to combine research with interviews, to bring together technology with the ages-old art of writing. I’ve been given the chance of a lifetime, and it’s absolutely great. Now I’m off to touch this phone some more.

So why am I lying about getting this phone? Because there’s no way I’d be able to afford this beauty I have sitting right next to me. I’ll buy something similar. I want to be just like that guy in “The Insider”, who has an awesome phone too, even though it’s undeniably 90s. He has an undeniably non-wobbly desk too – what a lucky guy!

Cisco, Desk’s Livelihood on Day Ten

Checkerboard and Pizza Dice

Well, hello everybody! It's Tomás at Large, summer edition, because over here in my neck of the woods, summer vacation started a considerable two or three weeks ago  and we're all soaking up the sun (or the A/C) as we enjoy our brief respite from the daily stress of school. I've personally been spending lots of my time editing the documentary I began earlier this year, heretofore titled, "The Sophomore Slump". I've restarted the editing process more than three times, and with editing comes a lot of frustration (especially considering I had to run out and buy a new fan/heatsink for my machine) that eventually leads up to those amazing, happiness-inducing bursts of creativity where you find yourself editing for hours when you thought you'd only spent a few minutes.

Editing, like many art forms, is one of those things in life that requires full devotion and concentration. When you're editing something, be it a feature length film or a 30 second TV spot, you need to completely envelop yourself in both the creative process, and the world of the production you're splicing and cutting. In other words, you need to be a part of the film or video as much as the actors are. So if you're editing a horror movie, you're going to become entrenched in the fear of the innocent Valley Forge girl as she unwittingly creeps into the house, only to be attacked by the mask-wearing, knife-wielding hockey player bad guy. If you're editing a documentary, you're going to become a part of the bad situation it addresses, or the cause it's advocating. And here I am, editing a documentary that's essentially about myself.

It's about teenagers, about school life, about what teenagers think about, what they say, what they do in class, what "drama" they get themselves in, what they think about their teachers, their relationships, high school. To top it off, all the main interviewees are some of my best friends (yes; I suppose the documentary is biased in this respect, but I'll explain more about this in a later blog post). So I can't help but think and rethink and think again about what they're saying.

When Jeannie says, "middle school, you're walking around and your drama is like, 'oh my god, she hates me'; in high school, it's like 'oh my god, she fucked him", I can't help but think about all the rumors one kid supposedly spread about his girlfriend.

When Chris says, "high school's high school; [for some] it's a prison, [for others] it's the next step before college", I can't help but think about the numerous amounts of times I've heard some of my friends say they hated coming to school.

When Yero ARMANDO Lopez says, "it's ... your prime, like you just want to, like, turn Super-Saiyan right quick; just wanna, ugh ... get bitches!" I can't help but think about ... about ...

see, that's where I'm stumped. The reason why there's a whole section in the documentary devoted to the interviewees and related B-roll talking about relationships and teenage romance, is because it's undoubtedly a big part of teenage life, right? As an editor, as a screenwriter, one knows the things a movie has to have for it to be complete. If I were writing a James Bond film, it'd be dumb not to include some attractive femme fatales to serve as the Bond girls.

Well, when I was thinking about what I had to show about teenagers to make the concept clear, I knew, without a doubt, that relationships would be one of the many things I had to show. In fact, that was probably the first thing I thought about.

From film screenwriter, I transform to audience member and as I watch the same edit for the 573rd time, I'm trying to grasp the thoughts teenagers have about this relationship business. And there's still one thing I really don't understand, and considering it's frustrated my existence for a while - long before this documentary even began - I figure it's worthy of an open Blogger question.

More than two years ago, I met one of my old best friends - let's call him Checkerboard. At about the same time, I met another friend of mine - let's call him Pizza Dice. I was, of course, much younger and terribly more naive back then, and these guys had understanding of things way beyond what my innocent mind could grasp at the time.

One of them was a well-rooted attitude towards girls and relationships. At the time, I was in a relationship, but when I asked the girl out, I did it more out of the novelty of having a girlfriend, rather than really needing someone. Now, don't take me wrong - my relationship with her turned out to be one of the most spiritually uplifting and utterly wonderful friendships I'll ever remember - but the truth is that at the time, I saw it as something cool because the grown-ups did it, not because I needed a partner.

Checkerboard and Pizza Dice were different - they were leap-years ahead of me in this respect; they'd grown enough to be able to want someone that way. Regardless, they often talked about girls in ways that - at the time - I found less than honorable. "Dude, she's so hot"; "dude, I bet that guy's made out with her like crazy" ; "dude, OMG, look at her ass" . Being as naive as I was, I dismissed these comments as derogatory and disrespectful, and instantly shot down my friends when they said them. But in reality, they were doing nothing wrong. Sure, the comments were most likely guided by hormonal instabilities, but they weren't without their moral equivalent. In other words, Checkerboard and Pizza Dice said these things in truth, but they still knew to respect girls and talk to them nicely and all that. What they had was an extra bit of braveness and maturity that allowed them to be playful this way, and be able to express their true opinions about girl's physical attributes without shame. I couldn't handle this amount of maturity at the time, and so my defense mechanisms said to ignore it and call it wrong.

But the truth is, I'm falling into that trap now (well it's not really a trap, but I guess it's a nice way to put it). I go around looking at my friends on Facebook (on the NEWS FEED only; I'm no stalker) and I realize, when I look at some of my female friends (which I oddly have a ginormous amount of) how I find myself saying those same comments in my head when I see their profile pictures. Or, how when I go to parties or the mall or any form of social gathering that isn't a dick-fest, how I see myself looking at hot girls in the hallways and saying the same things.

Now is when my "maturity" has allowed shameless admittance of such things to be possible, but now is too late! When I talk to my friends about how hot this girl is, or how lucky that other dude is to be *&#^$'in that chick, the conversations are short and do not allow for my newfound maturity to have its support base. In other words, those shameless comments Checkerboard and Pizza Dice used to say are now replaced by honest emotional cries of necessity for a special someone.

And trust me, I have that too - I also want a girlfriend, not just for a #*$& buddy, but really because I want someone to share special moments with, someone to talk to about my newest computer hacking project - but that earlier stage of physiological need, which was hidden and prohibited from coming out way back when, has now been set loose without that support base that Checkerboard and Pizza Dice could've provided back then! I have no brothers in arms to join with when I'm strolling around the mall looking at hot chicks, or when I'm at a JAMA party sitting down sipping on a Sunkist whilst checking out the new arrivals! In Freudian fashion, I'm regressing to a previous stage of hormonal development that never developed properly!

Or am I thinking too much? Will attending one of those crazy beach parties help? I want y'all to help me understand this, to understand myself. Maybe Checkerboard and Pizza Dice will help out. Thanks, guys. I think some time playing Metal Gear Solid is well overdue by now. 'Til next time, folks.

Checkerboard and Pizza Dice

Thoughts During Summer - Pt. 1

2:52 AM, my room. 

It's in moments of great inactivity, it seems, that one has their brightest, and deadliest, ideas. Last summer, my boredom was enough to catalyze what would've otherwise been a disastrous break-up between me and two of the best friends I've had to date.

This summer, my excitement is enough to keep me awake during moments of inactivity. Excitement about what? Well, about everything I could do that needs doing.

A documentary titled "the Sophomore Slump", that needs to be finished (I'll be resuming work this weekend when I get a new heatsink/fan for my heat-inducing CPU), a Russian exchange student I could be spending time with, a Chili's or McDonald's tea party I could be hosting, PSP and PS2 games I could be playing (halted at the moment by a 2GB Memory Stick on the PSP - I need at least a 16GB to be able to store a proper amount of games and music - as well as by a PS2 that unfortunately broke down after nearly nine to ten years of faithful service), a bike I could be riding, a video game system I could be working on (titled Daphne VGS (Video Game System); details coming up soon), two or three AP summer assignments I could be working on, a premiere party I could be organizing for the documentary - in essence, summer adventures I could be having.

Summer is a very dangerous time, thus, for teenagers. Because it's essentially a time you have to make yourself. School provides an itinerary that too many teenagers aren't able to develop during the summer - sure it involves sitting in class for 2 or more hours (less if you're lucky) but it incontrovertibly provides a sense of direction that can be very difficult to forge during summer. If you don't have a good set of activities to embark upon, you might be bored in your house to the point of mental rotting. On the other hand, too many activities and you might be doubly frustrated when you realize you can't be doing them all. Hell, when you have too many activities, the smallest period of inactivity makes you anxious because you know you should be getting ahead on that stuff you plan to do.

It's 3:00 AM, now, and what am I doing? None of the things described above! Why? Well, because ... I don't know why. I do know, however, that excitement and anticipation for all those activities I listed is only building up more and more as my body naturally calls for sleep, for some ZZZs. I'm gonna go try to satisfy its needs.

Thoughts During Summer - Pt. 1

Her Spirit

I'm writing this in appreciation of what one human being can do for another. May this inspire people my age. 

I have a very quirky friend that goes by the name of Amy. She's a small girl for her age - a sophomore in high school - with wonderful green eyes, a spontaneous demeanor, and long hair with conspicuously blonde highlights. She likes to jump around and say random things, like "Hello!" and "Weeeee!" and "I'm gonna stick it up YOUR ass!" in a manner worhty of putting in a Disney commercial; how cute it is. You talk to her and it's like talking to kid in elementary school - but she's smart, let me tell ya. In fact, her personality might as well be as complex as cracking the code to a bank's money safe. She's an odd apple - but a wonderfully eclectic and frisky (not sexually, boys) one at that. 

There's only one thing - she's only become this way as of recent. How was she before? The same way - only difference was that that darling energy and hyperactivity was hidden and sealed away beyond some invisible door. In fact, even though I knew she was like this in reality, it was only a few days ago that I noticed this sudden change for the best, this sudden explosion of what I figured to be repressed energy. It was at my school's drama show. She'd been at band rehearsals, I think, until about five in the afternoon, and the show was at seven. Why not stay for it, right? After all, the Drama magnet at our school always produces amazing performances. It was definitely worth the five dollar admission, I must say. She likely thought the same thing, prompting her to stay an additional four or five hours ('til about ten thirty) after her band rehearsals.

Anyway, that's not the point. Oh, tangents.

I was filming an interview after school, and so by the time me and the interviewee were done with our session, it was time for the drama show. We'd made plans to attend it for the same aforementioned reasons, and so after I met up with my other friends attending the show, I saw Amy. Immediately, i was surprised by a new wave of "spunkiness" that'd swept over her. She didn't just say hi, she sprang into action - literally - when me and my friends (also in Band with her) encountered her. This behavior continued through the night - during the show, whose audience got progressively boisterous as the performances got better and the clock kept ticking, my Band friends and I would applaud and cheer unnecessarily loud after each performance, which prompted Amy to continuously turn around and jokingly scream out English delicacies at us (we were sitting behind her). After the show, when it was ten thirty at night and we were all tired from an overly long day at school, she was the only one still jumping around and essentially doing cartwheels on the entrance steps.

Was she like this before? Why sure she was ... but there was a noticeable bit of extra spontaneity that'd become evident only as of recent. You know when you see someone, and it only takes a few minutes of conversation to realize that they've changed? That they've become noticeably happier, lighter in their step, higher in their jump, faster in their sprint? When they've transformed from a happy, fulfilled member of society, to a happy, fulfilled, energetic, optimistic, independent leader from society? Why did Amy suddenly turn this way? How'd she exponentially energize herself?

I think the answer is that she's found someone to trust, someone that makes her happy and provides her with unconditional positive regard. Her family and relatives of course provide her with this - but in adolescence, it's even better when someone like a boyfriend provides you this.

Yes - Amy has a new boyfriend, and his effect on her life couldn't have been more evident than during the night of the Drama show. I tip off my hat to you, Mr. Gold - you've done a wonderful little girl, a great humanitarian service. Good job. I'm happy for both of you guys. May love and happiness be with you forever.

Her Spirit

Why This Life - Avoiding Columbine

The school shooting at Columbine High School happened little over a decade ago, and the momentous nature of the massacre has earned it a spot on the list of mankind's greatest disasters. Lives were lost, but the lives that weren't lost, were changed. Never before Columine had anyone heard of something like a school shooting. A TIME Magazine article on the subject mentioned that before Columbine, students would often forget to leave their gun racks at home following a weekend of targeting practice or hunting with Dad. What would happen if you "forgot" to leave your gun rack at home today? You'd be considered a situation, you'd be expelled from school, you'd be checked out by a doctor.

I'm not going to narrate the events at Columbine - it's a story repeated too often. I'm instead going to discuss something worse - the possibility that Columbine could've been avoided. An old 60 Minutes presentation on the Tragedy of Columbine decided to focus, not on why Columbine happened, when, what, how. But instead, on that which didn't happen. That which could've been vital factors in preventing the massacre from happening. According to the presentation, the first police team to enter the school once 911 calls had rung and the news of the shooting had been dispatched to police did so after two hours after the shooting began. Two hours! There was been local police surrounding the school within five minutes of the first shot fired (and the first life lost), but it would only be two hours later that police deemed entering the school to be "safe". After a massive amount of policemen, SWAT team members, police vehicles, and vans had assembled outside and in the vicinity of the school, all waiting around for orders from the local police authority while innocent kids were being shot inside the school by the two adolescent perpetrators. How could this have happened? An interviewee on the show who had knowledge of the police commands and operational orders given during the massacre spoke with the host of the presentation, but when asked why the SWAT team, why the police, why anyone didn't go in as soon as possible, as soon as shots were fired - she conspicuously denied and essentially pleaded the fifth to, everything. It's terrible! How could this have happened? Why were lives lost that could've been saved?

I can do nothing but mourn the lives lost. I cannot criticize the actions of the Columbine police department beyond the concepts of common sense. It's unfair to think that policemen are all daring heroes ready to lose their lives by diving headfirst into a massacre. They didn't know how many shooters were inside. It could've been two teenagers, it could've been a terrorist army. Could they have known? Did they know? Nobody knows. We cannot criticize that which we have little to no knowledge of. That's a principle of life. We're only left with questions. Not about why the police didn't go in. Not about why the response was so slow. But instead why the criminals responsible for the massacre did what they did. Believe it or not, the Columbine shooters were both friendly, socially competent, good-looking teenage boys, with happy parents at home, lots of friends at school. Their personalities weren't the warning signs - there were more conspicuous ones available, that no one cared to look at. The boys had created a website where they listed the schematics for the pipe bombs they would use, a hit list of the people they would kill, a schedule outlining in what order they would carry out their deed. People knew about these boys' activities and desires too - they'd told some of their friends what they planned to do, but everyone dismissed it as being a joke, or simply as being a lie. If today you hear someone telling you, "hey, look at this list of the people I'm gonna kill." What would you do? Would you tell someone? Would you stay quiet out of fear? It depends. What you would do is think that there's something bad going on. The concept of a school shooting was not one that existed at the time Columbine happened - it had never happened before! People did not think that someone with such a good personality and such a high degree of social competence would be seriously planning a school shootout; that they would kill their own classmates. Now, when we see these warning signs, we have that thought, that possibility, in our mental repository.

Thinking that the same mindset was present back in 1999, is called having hindsight bias - that past events were more predictable than they really were at the time. It's unfair ... what we can solidly take away from Columbine is a lesson on the complexity of the human mind. Could there be something wrong in my sociable best friend? Could they be plotting a school shootout? I can only hope not. Let's remain optimistic - it's the best thing we can do.

Why This Life - Avoiding Columbine