Empathize with me for a moment or a long time...
Imagine what it would be like if everyone in the same room as you knew exactly when you were feeling remotely uncomfortable, embarrassed, or guilty. Every time more than four pairs of eyes or so are trained on you, the temperature in the room spikes oh so conveniently. Every spot on your body itches. The room is literally tinged slightly, slightly, slightly, slightly red. You're disoriented by suffocating embarrassment as well as woozy confusion. And to top it all, some smart-A shouts out way too confidently, "Look! He's turning red!"
Oh! The woes of being white! I have diagnosed blushing. Yes, there are prescription drugs and personal trainers for it, but it's still a pressing issue. When too many people look at me or I don't know what to say when talking to someone, I have been generously granted three options by God and genetics:
A. Blush as though I was a 400-pound man having just run three miles.
A fellow thin-skinned friend described it as "like your body getting all red and hot, excessive blushing." Not exactly poetic, but it's all too familiar.
And this, my friends, has earned me a one-way ticket to the Wondrous World of Nerds.
Thanks for reading. Help me.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Empathize with me for a moment or a long time...
Posted by That Blond Guy at 11:06 AM
Friday, January 29, 2010
Shredded Money and a Coca Cola Museum with Very Little Coca Cola but Excruciatingly Cute Commercials
Two little side notes:
1) No, I do not usually call Coke "Coca Cola"! I just didn't want to make it sound like a drug pun, (which I admit would still be pretty amusing.)
2) That title was far too long. My apologies.
Today the entire class visited The Federal Reserve, The Capitol, and......the World of Coke. (Don't ask--I have no idea either.) Also, have no fear concerning me ranting about all the wonderful things I learned. At the Federal Reserve, (which I must certainly mention serves the purpose of bank supervisor, money printer, and bank itself) a ton of important but meaningless facts about money and economics were shoved toward me. I was just amused by all of the exhibits and robots named after the dollar bills that they carried from one place to another. I didn't really listen, but don't tell our tour guide, because he's very passionate about the boring aspects of money. We did get a gift bag at our departure--a sack full of SHREDDED MONEY.
The Capitol did display the model of a two-headed cow and two-headed snake, but besides that we just admired a bunch of middle-aged, white state Senators doing nonsense. We watched them mingle and disregard the fact that they were in session and could be SAVING THE STATE instead of "How's your daughter, Bill? Has she married that boy Scott yet?" Oh, well. I'm being harsh. As corny as this may sound, it was cool to be at the place where our state was being run. We even looked into the governor's office. He wasn't there, so I was kind of disappointed that we didn't get to catch him reading a Playboy magazine or something.
The World of Coke, of course, was far more entertaining, even if we did only have twenty minutes because we were in a hurry. The tour was interesting while also historic--(did I just say that?) The happiness factory documentary was so cool! I love all of those little people! They were adorable and I admit it! I couldn't get over them!!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R1NnyE6DDnQ After the guided tour ended, I saw all of the exhibits and they were pretty good too. If this makes any sense to you, the 4D movie was painful and painfully corny, the exhibits were creative, and the tasting room was...tasty. Did you see that coming? Of course, I only liked the Coke products from The United States. Beverly was awful. If you're in town and forced to choose between the aquarium and the World of Coke, go to the aquarium. If you're choosing between The World of Coke and the Federal Reserve, you know what to do.
Look at me now. Okay, I'm not ranting about all I learned. I'm ranting about what a great time I had! I might as well be a third grade boy with a Star Wars backpack with a teddy bear sticking out raving to his parents about his day at the zoo.
Lastly, I just want to thank everyone for following this blog, and strongly suggest that you tell me the name of your blog if I haven't already seen it. Thanks for reading and keep posted!
Posted by That Blond Guy at 1:32 PM
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Private School Warning Sign #271
Half of the school's most notorious jocks are on math team.
Private School Warning Sign #103
You can never say to a popular kid, "You may be laughing now, but some day you'll be serving me fries." Instead, "You may be laughing now, but you won't be when I'm going to Harvard and you're stuck at Stanford."
Private School Warning Sign #319
The students voluntarily say grace before lunch in the cafeteria.
Private School Warning Sign #1098
Lunch discussion sometimes revolves around how many houses each person has.
Posted by That Blond Guy at 5:44 PM
Saturday, January 23, 2010
It usually doesn't take me this long to introduce myself. Only on occasion do I greet people with a shaking of hands and a "Hi, I'm Christopher. What's your name? Let me tell you my life story. Better yet, sit down for a minute and I'll read an excerpt from my newest blog."
For anyone who ever makes the bold decision to follow this blog, I just want you to know what's going on--what I'm raving about.
My academic life: Okay, I suppose I'll have to build up to this so you don't create the wrong image of me. So how do I begin? Well, first of all--
Okay, fine. I go to private school. The terms gay, prissy, cocky, know-it-all, immature, and rich do not fit me. GET USED TO IT!
I'm floating in some strange limbo between straight A student and "almost straight A" student. Summed up indifferently by my sixth grade teacher so many years ago, my grades are "fine." I hate that word.
Math hurts my head. Science is math with a cooler teacher and less posters advertising pi. Spanish es asi asi. English has somehow made all of my writing, verbal, and literary obsessions boring. PE is PE. Lunch is, more often that not, lunch. Homeroom is, (shiver), homeroom. And art...Art, my friends, is my escape.
Was that corny?
Sports life: I run in the autumn and spring and hate every minute of it. One of the highlights of my entire two years in track and cross country was driving back from the state cross country meet with only six people on the bus, when we got to stop at Chick-Fil-A.........Did I just say that? In the honest way that a remotely fit person can use a fat person's line like that, it was true. Running is necessary, but not a lot of fun.
I am also on a racist basketball team. Hey, I'm coming to terms with it. There are some really funny guys from my old school--but only two or three. Too bad.
Family Life: Great family. I can't resist teenager-ism enough to admit that. My parents are great. On the other hand, I'm a triplet: one guy and one girl and one me. That took a lot of courage to tell you (or you all? I can't tell), so I hope to avoid as many triplet jokes as possible. While there are one or two benefits to this curse, I mostly hate it. End of story. (Unless I plot to kill them anytime soon.)
Social life: Social life? Me? Ha!
Love life: My love life is the most pathetic concept on this planet. My crushes(not counting actresses, strangers, or blue women from Star Wars,) consist of mainly one girl.
This girl also happens to be my sister's friend. She goes to a different school. Neither of us can drive yet. We mainly one talk through e-mail. I've never been able to tell if she likes me or not...
And if this story--combined with the fact that a guy is telling you about his crush and labelling this section "My Love Life"--isn't pathetic enough for you, then try this: she knows I have a little crush on her because someone sent me a prank love compatiblity test--the cruelest invention on the fact of this planet. Once you enter in the names of your crushes, it sends it to the creator, (no, not The Creator), who in this case happened to be my crush.
Blogging life: I have two Blogger identities. One involves two blogs with a dozen real-life friends, just enough commenters, and constant feedback. The other involves what you see here. No comments yet and only two posts. On the other hand, thanks to my followers! Hip hip! Party at my place at 6:15!
My life: I am a nerd. And if you continue to read this blog, you'll discover that I embrace that fact more than any other aspect of my life.
Posted by That Blond Guy at 3:06 PM
Here, Christopher is encountered by an anonymous but extremely attractive girl of his age, who is desperate to discover more about him so they can marry in college, have two children--one named Shawn and the other Vivian, and then divorce after a surprising length of 32 years. (For the record, this anonymous and beautiful girl did not get pregnant before marriage. Good for us.)
What's your name?
I love that name! My name is...(here she says her name. It's a beautiful/strange name, but not the type you get in romance novels.)
"Oh. Hi." I'm blushing like a second grade Catholic school girl who has just been told that her blouse is pretty.
Hey, you know what would be cool? If we were the same age! So how old are you? I'm 27."
That's okay! You should ask me out! (At this point I realize that I imagined her saying this, and I try to recall what she actually said.)
So what do you look like?
I stare at her in befuddlement, wondering why she asked me about my appearance even though she could see me. Considering I'm talking and thinking at the same time, I do the usual and stumble over my words. God, I'm an idiot.
What do you look like?
Fine, then. My writer instincts kick in (more or less...mostly less). This is hypothetical anyway, so what the hell? "I am the real-world counterpart of the misunderstood troll in the fantasy novels, perfectly completed by the fact that I have a twin brother. We're the two inept, overgrown, brutish trolls who can get dates if they try really hard, but those dates just have to be other big trolls. We guard the princess, who most ironically happens to be our sister. She's not exactly beautiful, but she's petite and everyone adores her like a...princess standing next to two trolls.
"On a different note, the Asian woman at the glasses place says I have high cheek bones, 'so I can be a model'. That was the best news I've heard in a long time," (he says in a voice dripping with the dark sarcasm that only the disturbed kids possess). "Another option had just been added to my wealth of opportunities in life. Now one of them was to spend the rest of my life devoting my masculinity to the camera, alongside a bunch of Italian gays with bad lisps but good chests.
"So combine overgrown teenage troll, high cheek bones, and now add the this: Blond. Blue-eyed. Pale skin that blushes in a second. And you have me."
I look around. What do you know? She's gone. Why do I talk so much at all the WRONG TIMES?
I'm Christopher. I'm technically a teenager. I pride myself in fitting the definition of being a nerd, but when you subtract everything necessary and proper, you'll probably end up with the definition of a Christopher.
Cited from dictionary.com "Christopher: 1. me 2. another meaningless face smudged against a world where recognition is a luxury"
The blog that comes with this definition of me serves the purpose for me to write on it as a journal without fear of prying eyes of familiar friends who are all too willing to blackmail me. I've seen Read it and Weep only once, but I learned my lesson! This blog is for no real-world buddy to lay his eyes on and e-mail the link to everyone he's ever met and recorded in his contacts.
Therefore I won’t be afraid to live out the ultimate definition of ME. For example, I’m not afraid to admit to the online world that I’ve seen Read it and Weep.
So if you want to, follow this blog. Comment if you're feeling generous. Keep reading. If not, forget me entirely.
But for now: Bye!
Posted by That Blond Guy at 9:55 AM