Slice of Life 31/31!!

Ode about the Mental Approach to Life

     People have different ways of thinking about things, and different ways of thinking about things they do.

     In the age that I am experiencing now, many are figuring out how they think about things, and what to do.

     For some, they think about things in a wise way, and keep to themselves.

     For others, they don't think about what they are doing a whole lot, and burst out with energy.

     Both can help any situation,

     And both can be happy and sad.

     

     To get out of a sad moment, there is one thing that always works: If something touches you.

    

     Not physically touches you, and not something that reminds you of something else,

     But something that reminds you of yourself.

     Something that you can relate to.

     These two different types of people can come in lots of forms,
     And think about things, and do things very differently.
     Some hate themselves for everything they do,
     And some love themselves for everything they do.

     Some hate others for things they do.
     Some love others for things they do.
     And some don't fit any of those categories.

     Some find light in everything, and bring light to others,
     And some do the opposite.

     Yet even those who do the opposite can find light in things, relate to things, be touched by things.

     There are those of us who ponder these topics, searching for things that can bring the light out of everything.
     We wonder if there is something that can help everyone.
     We wonder what helps each individual person.
     We wonder if it is possible to touch everyone.

     So, in my pondering, Everyone has a perfect way of approaching life.
     Yours is perfect.
     His is perfect.
     Hers is perfect.
     Because everyone can be touched.

     And I hope I have touched you.

     Happy end of SOLSC everyone!!!

Slice of Life 30/31

   I slowly massage my legs, trying to get them to stop aching from my adventure earlier today. Spring Break has just recently started and my mom and older sister just left to go on a trip to Italy partly for my mom's work, declaring it was strictly girls-only. My dad and I then struggled with deciding what to do, because we wanted to somehow top Italy. We realized that that is pretty much impossible, so we wanted to try some new things back home in Colorado. Then, last night after a Colorado Rapids game we left for Vail, trying to get back into skiing.
    I know, I know... you are thinking: What am doing, living in Colorado and not going skiing all of the time? I asked myself the same question, and I guess it is just because my family is really busy all of the time.
    However, I did not go skiing, but I went snowboarding for the first time, which (from what I remember when I skied when I was little) is a lot more fun than skiing. I had a personal lesson-thingy, which i usually don't enjoy but my instructor was nice and understanding. His name was Paul, and he was a childish, funny, and helpful when I was snowboarding with him- he is the kind of man I want to grow up to be (minus the childish thing). I thought I did pretty good at snowboarding for my first time, and I also had some pretty good wipe-outs.
    Bruises cover most of my body, but they are good bruises. You know they are good bruises when you get them doing either a good thing or a fun thing, and I just did a very fun thing.
    After the snowboarding, dad and I walked back to the little condo and had lunch. I now find myself sitting on the couch in our condo eating chips, watching a March Madness game and doing absolutely nothing else. The massaging helps, and I stop to lean back and savor the sweet simple moment.
   I now realize three things:
   I love my dad,
   I love snowboarding,
   and I love Spring Break.

Slice of Life 29/31

     I hear a great hum as I walk into the seating area, and the claustrophobia goes away. Inside the corridor where food is sold and where the bathrooms are it was shoulder-to-shoulder, everyone trying to get to their seats as fast as possible. We finally got to our section in the historic field, and made our way to the seats. Walking down the concrete stairs was an interesting sensation, because I furthered away from my family, but got closer to my heroes.
     I do and will always believe that Arsenal is the best soccer team in England, and are contending to be the best in Europe. Ever since I knew there was an English Premier League I knew there was the Arsenal, and I knew they were my favorite team. This winter my family and I left home in Colorado to fly out to one of the best cities in it world- London, and see our relatives. Before we see them, however, we get to have some fun and somehow my dad got us tickets to watch Arsenal play against an easy team- Cardiff City. Better yet, we managed to get tickets right next to the sideline, which made it harder to see the field, but made it a lot easier to see the players. That is because the Arsenal bench is fifteen feet away from our seats. I feel energized and excited as I get deeper into the stadium, going ahead of my family and skipping to the seats. Our seats are A-5 though A-9. A-5, A-5, I repeat the instructions in my head.
     Finally the seats emerge, and they are closer than I thought they would be to the bench. Before admiring the situation, I settle into the my seat of A-9 and put the game program down. The seats are still wet from the constant shower London suffers, but I don't care. I sit back and look ahead. Just in front of me are the Arsenal team, warming up for the game.
     I recognize each and every one. I am used to seeing professional players at games, but not these. These are celebrities. World wide known people, and I am sitting right next to them. This is going to be a fun night.
     My family eventually joins me, and we wait for the stadium to get louder and louder in the anticipation of world-class soccer.

Slice of Life 28/31

     I continue to work the small brush across the watercolor paper.
     Adding the final details like the fur on the bison.
     I am standing out of my chair, a position I take usually while painting.
     I have been taking many art classes at the Art Student's League.
They are kind of fun.
     Today is the last day of this camp- it is called "Creating Creatures."
     I have been doing good in the camp, developing lost of new art skills.
     If you didn't understand from the name, we draw/paint animals in different mediums.
     For my last painting I decided paint a bison, grazing in a hot field.
I am kind of proud of it.
     I have nearly finished the animal, yet I haven't done any of the background.
     I drag the small brush slowly and carefully along the hump of the bison.
     I observe the small painting, looking for anything to make better.
     I decide there isn't anything I can do, and step back further away to look at it.
It looks kind of good.
     The teacher floats around the room as usual, and soon comes over to me.
     He looks uncomfortably over my shoulder, taking in the small painting as I did.
     "He looks a little lonely, doesn't he?" The teacher says in a comical voice.
     "Yeah, I guess so. Should I add his pack?" The teacher nods and inches away.
It might look cool like that.
     I start by taking a bigger brush and create a sweeping hill with a beige color.
     After that is done, I take long creating tons of small bison along the horizon of the dry terrain.
     I start with dots, and as the group gets closer, add more details to each one.
     Now my tough-looking bison has lots of friends, all grazing in the hot climate.
They look okay.
     There is one last detail I am missing.
     I take the same large brush and dip it into the water.
     Then I add blue.
     Lift it.
     And
     touch
     it
     to
     the
     paper.
     Then drag
     It across, creating
     A pleasant and beautiful blue sky.
I like it.

Slice of Life 27/31

   I run back to the beach grinning, as my sister plays in the shallower ocean water. Our time in California has been fun, visiting friends and staying at a nice hotel, nothing has gone wrong. Not until now. I continue slowly making my way back to the refuge of the warm beach and sweet parents, trying to find the most efficient way to run in water up to your thighs. The waves are slow and small, an unusual thing for this beach.
    Suddenly, I hear my sister yell, half in excitement and half in being scared. She runs quickly back to our parents and leaves me in the cold water. Confused, I look to her, then spin around, only to see a large blob rising up. That blob was water. Lots of it. I increase my speed as I realize what is happening, think I might be able to get away from the huge, sudden wave. I don't see it, but I feel its presence behind me, my little mind tricking my senses into think that I am about to be swallowed by a monster.
     I hear the wave start to crash down just behind me and realize that it is too late to get to the beach. I take one last look at my petrified parents and get enveloped by the water.
My body spins.
Flailing in the white water.
I swing my arms around in an attempt to get back up.
The crashing noise stops.
The wave rolls on itself on the beach.
And my small nine-year-old body floats up to the top.
     I swing my head up violently and break the barrier of water up to the oxygen above. I try to gasp. I can't. I can't breath. Why can't I breath?!! I start to run back to my parents anyway. They start off to me.
     By the time I get to land, I can breath again, but before i was in so much shock that my body just didn't want to. My mom and dad hug a towel around me, continually asking if I am alright. I realize I am fine, and we slowly make our way back up to the hotel room.

Slice of Life 26/31

    This week I read the book called "Legacy" by James Michner.
    Unless you are a James Michner fan, you probably haven't heard of this book, which is something I like about this book (it isn't well-known). If you know anything about James Michner at all, you would know that he writes novels on history, and they are extremely long and perhaps dry. The thing about this book is, is that is it actually quite short (250 pages) and is very interesting if you like history. I like history, so I enjoyed this book very much.
     It is basically about the legacy of the Starr family, and how they have each impacted American history. It starts out with a man in the 1960's who was accused of being part of a scandal in Iran, and needs to speak his innocents in front of a type of Senate. Before he does this, he looks back to his extensive ancestry for some kind of guidance, and for ways to use the patriotic advantage in his court case. It then starts with the first of his ancestors to live in America (Jared Starr) and talks about every one of them in history. Surprisingly, this is a true story and each of the members of the Starr family had a big impact on history and have extraordinary stories to tell. Some of them can get a little boring, like the longest of the stories told was of a man named Simon Starr who was part of the convention to write the Constitution. He has a signature on it, and leading up to that it talks about all of the things decided when writing the famous document, which was kind of interesting to me.
      I am not sure this book is for everyone, though. It goes through some events in history that aren't interesting for the average person that doesn't like history, and I thought it was cool, but is you know me, you know I really like history. It is one of those books that takes a certain person to like it. Besides that, I think Michner is actually a very interesting, intelligent, and overall goo writer, so I think if you are up for it, everyone should read this book.  

Slice of Life 25/31

   A little while ago I bought a video game called Empire: Total War. I am not going to talk about the game very much, but more about what the game made me think about. It was an okay game, with nice controls and for the certain person (me) it is really fun because it simulates a battle in the developing stages of weaponry (1800's). What the game made me think about, however, was the cost and the importance of war over the years.

                                   I Don't

   Diplomats, politicians, and regular people don't want war, and say that they don't want to cause war, yet we always find ourselves in the thick of it. I think that has to mean that fighting isn't caused by people, but really just society. Everyone says another person started it, which is usually true, but then the other person says it was the first person's fault. All of this leads to it being a complete mystery as to who actually started the whole thing. Even Hitler has his reasons.

                                   Think
 
    The world has lost millions upon millions of lives due to wars, which makes you think, where would we be if war just didn't exist? I wonder if we traveled to all of the planets in the universe with a civilization like ours, if they would all be struggling with war too. I'm not sure we could even be as far as we are today without war. It has brought so many advancements for the human race, good or bad.

                                    It Is
   
      All of that being said, I still don't like it. I marvel over learning about it because it is so interesting to me, but I would hate it if it was going on in my time period. Everyone would. Unless you are some kind of maniac that wants to destroy humanity, you want yourself and everyone around you to be safe. I think about it every time I play Empire: Total War, but I don't let it damage my experience of it. Even though war can be good, I don't think it is

                                  Worth It

Slice of Life 24/31

Darkness
Falls
Across
My
Room.

The
Light
Bulb
Burns
Brightly
In
My
Sister's

While
Trying
To
Sleep

You
Decide
Which
Is
Better

Light
Or
Dark

Light
Or
Dark

My
Eyes
Adjust
To
The
Light
Which
Causes
Light
And
Dark

Could
There
Be
Light
And
Dark
Or
Just
Light
Or
Dark

Is
There
A
Difference?

Light
And
Dark

Or

Light
Or
Dark

You Decide.

Slice of Life 23/31

    I sit in the uncomfortable fold-up seat doodling in my notebook. Doing this, I try to zone out all of the people talking around me and practice different techniques of shading with a pen on the side of the page. I am not very good at blocking out words, so I start to try to place faces and backgrounds for the voices around me in the room. Everyone here (including me and my parents) are waiting here in a small hybrid theater owned by a dance company that makes you want to think the they are important and wealthy to see our various family members (my sister is in it) in a short performance. I know they want you to think they are a well known dance company because they obviously invested a lot of money into their advertising, with cool-looking posters and small ads in the newspaper.
    As I am playing the game with myself of giving everyone I can hear faces and personalities based off of their voices, I never sneak a loo at them until they have stopped talking with their families and are probably looking at a program (which was obviously payed for to look nice). I imagine an old man sitting close to me on my right talking about a wide arrange of cameras he owned to be deteriorating with longish white hair, and the guy he is talking to to be a young man that is only paying attention out of respect for the old man. When I finally look at them, I am surprised to see that they are nearly the same age, just with different voices.
    I continue to draw in my notebook, reflecting on past performances from this place and what my sister has done in them. It is modern dance, so I expect a lot of artistic movement which can be more entertaining than ballet, but it also means that the 'pieces' are longer. I brace myself for being bored during this, and hope my sister does good, as the lights begin to dim.      

Slice of Life 22/31

   I cringe in my head as Thibedaux get rammed from the side, but still stays on his feet. His real name is Jack, but in the first year that this team was made, there were two jacks, Jack Krestle, and Jack Thibedaux (his family is French) and we called them by their last names. Jack Krestle didn't make the team last year joining many that didn't do well at tryouts, while Thibedaux did, yet we still use the name Thibedaux or Tibey (as an easier way of saying it) when referring to him.
   Though a defender on the other team just attempted to trample him, he keeps composed and strong as he retains possession of the soccer ball. In the second half of our first game of the season, we have been dominating against our rivals from Boulder, pinning them in their own half of the field, yet we haven't scored yet. Another defender lunges in for he ball and knocks him off balance, nearly stealing the ball.
    I find my legs moving and my eyes scanning the defense for openings, something that eventually became habits so that I don't have to think about doing them. Thibedaux is near me on the field, him playing as a midfielder and me as a winger, and as I see that he might  lose the ball think about covering in a lower part of the field. I decide against it and make no movement to go back down the field. Still fighting for the ball, he out-muscles the defender and looks up for someone to pass the ball to. Then in a split second, I see an opening in the defense like I was searching for, a channel that a through ball can be played into. I make a subtle run into the space motioning for the ball to be played, we lock eyes and he knows where to pass it, a quickly pokes a ball through the defenders and sends me through on goal.
    I don't hesitate to take a touch, but look up as I run to meet the ball for someone to play the ball to. I see our tall forward, Slater, and play a lofting ball into his direction. Time slows down as it travels towards him the air, the goal keeper for Boulder getting ready to make a save. The ball comes down near his feet and despite having a defender on his back, manages to shoot a rocket of a shot towards the goal.    

Slice of Life 21/31

    The small, rambunctious puppy runs into the small room at that me and my family are sitting in. He is all black except for a spot of white on his chest and is Labrador mix. I think he is part Pointer, because he is too thin and lean to be a complete Lab, but also is cute and pudgy. He trots into the room with his tail wagging, obviously enjoying himself. He seems to be able to insert himself into any situation and be happy and comfortable. I wish I could be like him.
     My family and I have decided that we want to get a dog, and are looking for 'applicants' at the Dumb Friends League. The shelter is so conflicting, while showing the world how cute dogs, cats, and other animals can be, but also displaying all of the sad things they have been through. They have a program where you can meet your future dog in a small room like this one, and play with it, and ultimately decide whether or not you want it for a 'best friend.' The small dog in front of us is called Tivo, and he is the youngest of the dogs that we have seen. He awkwardly runs around the room greeting all of us by sniffing us looking into our eyes and perhaps jumping on us. He is so cute, but in my mind is contending with many others that I want as a dog. There is a Husky that I really want named saber.
      My mom fills out a sheet for him as we play with Tivo, throwing a provided toy for him to retrieve. The time flies by really fast, and I am not sure if that is good or bad. A volunteer from the Dumb Friends League step in with a small blue leash and puts it around Tivo's neck, attempting to contain the ball of life that he is. My sister and I say one last goodbye to the dog, and silently think about the time we just spent with the animal.
      He would bring a lot of light to the house, and he is seemingly really fun. My mom starts to recite some of his description to us, "He was sent to the Dumb Friends League after being found alone on the streets of Huston. Tivo is still only two months old."
      The statement makes us all say "Awwww..." in unison, something most people cannot prevent themselves from doing in the cases of dogs. Mom continues: "He is a wonderful dog, but might have issues with people leaving, as he was left alone as a small puppy. I discard the information and continue to think about the cuteness of the Tivo. I don't like the name very much, however, so I start to think of names. After some time of considering, I decide to think on it later.
      Little did we know that he would become our dog, and I would think of a perfect name for him, Tintin, after my favorite comic book series. Also, he would grow to be even more lean, and that he would be a perfect dog for our family (despite his attachment issues) for five straight years, all the way through to today.

Slice of Life 20/31

   I prepare myself as I flick the ball up into the air. On this nice sunny day I have decided that I will beat my juggling record. When I say "decided" I mean that I will take a soccer ball into my back yard and juggle until I beat the record, not knowing how long it will take or how tired I will be afterward. It is still the early morning (8:00) and the shadow of my house covers some of the yard, restoring the dew and crispness from the night. I will try to stay on the half of the lawn that is in the sun, which has dried out and will be less of a distraction of my juggling.
   The soccer ball seems to hang in the air level with my knees, a good height juggling. Gravity pulls it back down and meets my foot and bounces in the same area that it just was. This takes less than a second to happen, but when I think about everything that happens when I juggle it once, it seems like a lot longer.
   One two three four five six... I start to subconsciously count every time the ball makes the sound of hitting my foot. Though I learned to count at the same time as everybody (when I was a toddler), sometimes the automatic counter in my head glitches out. I find that when I am juggling and don't think about counting and I get to seventy, I either repeat sixty or go straight to eighty. I make a mental note to not do that this time.
   Twenty twenty-one twenty-two twenty-three... The ball continues to pop up right by my knees and come back down, only to pop back up again. When I juggle, I try to zone out and think about nothing, because when I think about something important I just stop juggling then and there and when I think about juggling I usually jinx myself.
   Seventy seventy-one seventy-two seventy-three... I continue to juggle and take in the nice day. My record is somewhere in the late 200's, and I need to improve on that. I actually start to space out, and watch the bight vibrant ball spin repeatedly in the air.
    I check my head counter: 158 159 160... I am getting close to 2000, and I get excited. Too excited. I start to think about the feeling of breaking my record and jinx myself. The ball bounces off my foot on a weird angle and flies away from me.
   One two three...

Slice of Life 19/31

Today I threw my model off the roof of the school building. If you are reading this and go to a different school than Logan, I was allowed to do this with the permission of teacher, and this was not an extraordinary teacher, this was a normal teacher by Logan standards. Anyway, a huge project that took me many months to complete, just dropped from the roof of the building, and snapped in half. The unwritten will for the model was that after Expo (the time when we present our projects), I would do something grand to finally dispose of it. I then thought of the idea to chuck it off of the roof in front of anybody that wanted to see it.

              So, at the start of the day, I started to take off all of the small parts that I wanted to keep. This was a model of the National Mall in Washington DC, and because of that I made many scaled tiny buildings like the White House, the Capitol, the Smithsonian Castle, etc. I took of all of these to keep for myself and perhaps give away to others, and prepared to go onto the roof to throw the annoying piece of work off into oblivion.

                 David, was one of my teachers last year, and now he is the head groundskeeper for the school. He is the only one that regularly gets onto the roof, so I arranged that we would meet just before lunchtime, and as I said, anyone that wanted to see could come and watch from the ground. My friend Charlie wanted to come so he and I brought my huge model with a base of foam core to the ‘meeting place’ with David. Waiting for longer than we expected, the anticipation increased and increased.

              Finally, I see David jogging in from working outside, knowing he is a bit late for this event. He then takes us to the door that I have never been in, which leads to a ladder that goes to the roof. Once we got there, David takes his large key ring with many different keys attached to it and unlocks the door. There is a hatch that prevent the sunlight from coming in at the top of the ladder. David climbs the seven rungs and open the hatch with a key as well.

              It swings open, and beautiful rays of light come down, highlighting the place where the Capitol building once stood. Charlie and I collectively heave the model up to David, and Charlie climbs up. David then motions for me to climb the seven rungs, and I do so, clutching the cold metal tightly so that I don’t fall. Getting to the higher rungs, I feel the effect of ascending into heaven as the bright light starts to blind me.

              I reach the top, and set my feet on new ground (being that I haven’t been to the roof yet in my time at Logan). The wind chills me as Charlie continue to carry the model closer to the planned edge where we are going to drop it. Once we reach the edge, the kids in my class are delighted to see us and know that the next minute or so will be very entertaining. Charlie and I walk along the edge until we find a place where the model won’t get caught in a tree, and set up to launch it into the air. Some time passes as we communicate and figure out the countdown until the launch (or drop, shall I say) and we decide the kids on the ground will count down from three.

              I flinch as I hear a chorus of children’s voices right away.

              “Three… Two… One!” When they get to ‘one,’ I swing the model backwards and forwards in unison with Charlie and in one big movement, we let it go.

Slice of Life 18/31

    Each week at my school we read a book, and this week I read a very nice book called Half Brother.
    I did not like it as much as other kids that have read it apparently have, but I still think it is a really sweet, cute, and well written book. The story focuses on a boy named Ben who lives in Canada, and just moved with his dad to Victoria for a his fathers job. When the book starts Ben wakes up on the floor of his room with a sleeping bag and he realizes that it is his birthday. However, knowing his dad, he doesn't think it will be celebrated (because his dad forgot). That same morning, the moving truck pulls up to their house and finds that the two living in the house are very excited to get their furniture and things.
    All of that is beside the point besides this one thing. His mother arrives that day too, but she is not alone. She has a different kind of birthday present. She walks up to the house carrying a baby. A baby chimpanzee. This chimpanzee is part of research Ben's dad is doing, and will turn out to become a type of brother to Ben. After thinking of names, they come up with Zan (a nickname for Tarzan), and their friendship (and the story) begins.
    This is a very good book and is a break from the other books being written recently. I enjoyed reading it and I am sure everyone that wants to read this will find it enjoyable as well.
    Next week I will read Legacy.    

Slice of Life 17/31

    Everyone is so competitive. At least my friends are. If you give them a Frisbee and a field, they suddenly become a professional Ultimate Frisbee team, and act like everyone's lives depend on the game we are playing. Don't make a catch; you get screamed at. Make a bad throw; you get screamed at. Make a good catch; you get screamed at (in a different way). Make a good throw; you get screamed at. And not only that, that sound like serious idiots when they scream, like they are letting out the maximum disciples their vocal chords will allow, but still try to sound manly. 

    I am not saying anything against them, and I am not naming any names, but for crying out loud it is a school sport! Granted, I am not at all familiar with school sports, but I wanted to do it to have fun, not to necessarily to show that I am apparently good at everything in life. It can just really get on my nerves. 

    However, I still do have fun playing with them, and to be fair, they are all really good players. 

    I know this is a different slice than normal, but I am not in a very good mood today.  

Slice of Life 16/31

   I trump down the stairs after waking up. It is still the weekend, but it doesn't feel like it. I walk around the corner, to find my mom in the kitchen taking things out of the not-lit-up refrigerator.
   "Good morning." I say to her, but I don't get an answer. She looks tremendously flustered, in her robe, with her wavy brown hair not combed. It could be the fact that our nanny quit and she needs to find another one. It could also be that someone crashed into our fence a couple days ago, backed out, and left. It could also be that our dog is sick and keeps throwing up everywhere. There is a lot of stuff going on at our house this past week.
    "What happened?" I ask her, trying to sound comforting.
    "The refrigerator broke. Almost all of our food is spoiled." She says with a sigh. "I think our life is falling apart." So that is why the light to the refrigerator is out. My mom seems so passive, yet concentrated, I think that is the tole of being a parent. When it hits the fan you are the one that cleans it up, but you still need to maintain your busy schedule.
    I let her walk by me, as she takes some of the salvaged food into the fridge downstairs. I soon see my dad doing the same. When mom comes back, I offer to help, but she brushes it away. It seems like whenever somebody is faced with a big challenge, they don't want help, like they think things are already so bad, that help from others wouldn't help at all.
    I walk away and start my usual Sunday routine. This schedule is: turn on European soccer on the TV.  I settle into the couch and watch one of the biggest rivalries in the BPL. It is very entertaining, but I can't help but feel guilty. I see my mom start to clean out another part of the fridge and walk out of the room. I flip the TV off, get up, and take a some gallons of milk from the fridge to the downstairs refrigerator.  
 
     

Slice of Life 15/31

    I frown as I shut the car door behind me. My dad just dropped me off here at soccer practice with a blue-tooth in his ear, talking way too loud into the small device. I walk towards the set of fields with my cleats scraping across the pavement, and feel the stadium looming behind me. Since I am on the Rapids Academy team or whatever you want to call it, we practice right next to the stadium where the real Rapids play their real games. The stadium seems so big, bigger than anyone could ever become, but stares at you all the way through when you play, daring you to be better, and maybe be good enough to be as big as it (metaphorically). 

    I see some kids out in front of me on my team, heading straight to our designated spot. My cleats stop scraping against the ground as I get to the grass, my footwear are now at home. Wherever there is grass, soccer gear thrives. I look back once again to my dad in the drivers seat of our SUV, who waves me on toward my teammates.

    The pods (as they are called) in the facility, each house six fields, and the field my team practices on is one of the furthest from where we are supposed to park, so we have to walk across all of the fields in the place we are supposed to walk, and start to warm up for practice. If you haven't noticed, this is a planned out system with places you are supposed to be and things you need to do at the right time. If you don't, then the next time you make it better. That is the mentality of the whole Rapids soccer thing. 

    I start to walk (in the correct places) across the fields, watching the different coaches set up their training exorcises. I finally make it to the place we are supposed to put our bags down and relax for a little while.

    Our coach isn't here yet, and I join in on a game of keep-away that the kids who have already arrived started. It is quite fun, especially because the kids that have arrived already are the nice kids on the team, which unfortunately is only about four players. I flick the ball around to different players, avoiding the "monkey in the middle." Soon our coach arrives and we start to get more serious. Practice will begin in few minutes so I start to juggle by myself, always trying to break my record.

    Our coach calls us in, this means practice has begun. I look back at the stadium, as if for guidance, and jog into my coach.       

Slice of Life 14/31

    I click out of the video call on Google+. My dad came into my room saying that we needed to go shopping together, ans I am conflicted about weather or not I want to go. I see my profile page on Google+, with all of the things I have posted. It is like seeing photographs of past events, they bring back memories. My eyes drift around the computer screen, I take a glance before closing the laptop and getting off of my bed. I got a quick glance of the time in the corner, and I suddenly get anxious. I just spent an hour and a half looking at my computer screen.
    Call me not-normal, but if you know me, I am not one to do things like this. The video call I just ended was the second one I have been participating in in my life. I should have started homework. I should have played soccer outside. I should have been with my family. I can tell, now everyone thinks of me as a nerd, but I don't care. Believe it or not, there is a teenager who enjoys doing productive things (no offense to anyone else who doesn't like isolation), and that teenager is yours truly.
     I keep getting mad at myself for not even starting homework. I set the laptop down on my floor and plug in it's charger. Maybe I should have continued my video call with friends. Maybe I should have just ignored my dad.
     I should have went outside to play, and do something productive (I'm not sure what is productive about that, but right now, it sounds like it is). I take steps across my room towards my door. I can already see my dad at the door, looking expectant and concerned of my abnormal behavior of staying in my room for a long period of time. I open the door and look back at the memories I could have made with my friends. Or the memories that I could have made without my friends. These have been my conflicting thoughts that I experience every day.
    I trump down the stairs, not knowing why I am upset, and a thought pops into my head. I could write a Slice of Life about this when i get back.

Slice of Life 13/31

             I open the side door of the house, afraid of what I might see. My mom told me to go look behind the car on the side yard, saying that it would surprise me. I have no idea what to think will be here, around corner of the car. It is a nice morning, the birds are chirping, the wind rustles the leaves on the branches that are returning from winter, and is just before me and my mom leave for school. I am ready to go straight in to French class and learn new parts of the language, but before that, I must see what is behind the car.

Walking across the driveway, I see the red car, the one thing keeping me from apparently being astonished. Is it a dead animal? Is it a late birthday surprise? Is it a homeless person on our street corner? Suddenly, I find myself walking faster, the anticipation is really powerful. Just a few more steps. This could be really good for me, really bad for me, or doesn't affect me at all.

I round the corner of the car and stop dead in my tracks. I feel my jaw drop a little bit, and my heart accelerates. I gulp as I study the sight in front of me. I see the street corner. I see what the fence on our property line was, and I see skid marks along the grass. I see bent and twisted metal and scattered bricks. Someone had crashed into our fence and stopped right before they got to house, backed out, and continued driving.

This is the scenario that doesn't affect me a huge amount, but somehow I feel attacked, and a feeling that I need to protect myself or my family. I feel angry. There aren't any skid marks on the street, which means they just flew into our metal-bared fence.

I back away, and take one last look at the damage before I run into the house to ask my mom about it. I hope the police will find them.     

Slice of Life 11/31

    The tree sways in the wind of the blizzard, I feel like I am too. My legs have a numb sensation, with no more layers that the two everyone always has on, while my torso is actually pretty warm. We are eating lunch at school, my friends and I. Others have taken up the idea of huddling in one collective blog to stay as warm as possible from the onslaught of the wind and the snow. I take a bit of the sandwich I made this morning, hoping the carbohydrates will warm my body up more.
     My friends and I have been talking about different subjects, nothing really worth any of our time. Every minute or so someone exclaims about how cold they are, and others will call those going inside wimps. If you didn't know, my school allows Advanced School students to sit outside the cafeteria on a type of patio. Of course, many of us want to honor the privilege by sitting outside... Every day.
      I take more bites of my sandwich, hoping to somehow increase the amount of time the second hand goes around the clock so we can start to move around and play Frisbee. I then am reminded how much it will sting to catch the Frisbee. Maybe I wont.
      I run out of sandwich to eat, so I put the plastic bag back into my lunchbox to protect it from the wind. I start to eat my chips. Before I know it we are called to go to recess. I guess I did will the clock to go faster. Walking to the field with my friends, I remember to glance back to the swaying tree.  

Slice of Life 10/31

I slogged around the corner into the kitchen, five minutes after I got out of bed. I have a habit of waking up early, and I glance over at the clock which shows me that it is 6:15 am. I must have gotten it from my parents, I thin as I swing open a cabinet and get my lunchbox out. They wake up at three o’ clock and work on their computers, taping away at the keys and making important business decisions along with it.

              I take my lunchbox the way I carry it at lunch, holding it by the strap with my arm relaxed at my hip. Already in the morning being boy-like, I throw the lunchbox across the kitchen and onto the counter where I will work on it. Of course, while doing it I knock over my mother’s glass containers of paprika and rosemary. Good thing the top were on, or I would have a mid-morning mess to clean up.

              After putting everything in an orderly fashion, I get bread and peanut butter out of the fridge and a knife out of one of the drawers. If you are a well-educated lunch-maker, you would know that I am making a peanut butter sandwich. Yes, I like it with only peanut butter. I just like plain things like that.

              I resist the urge of throwing all of the stuff in my hands across the kitchen again, and walk over to boringly put it down on the counter.

              I do what I have done nearly every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday this school year, and take out two pieces of potato bread. I face them in opposite ways and screw off the lid of the peanut butter jar. My family uses the JIF brand, like almost all others that enjoy peanut butter. I then take the knife and scoop a large amount onto the bread. Following my routine I spread the peanut butter across the bread in a neat pattern, it reminds me of planning a lawn-mower pattern.

              I finish that, and put one side of the bread on top of the other. Now, the best part. I cut my sandwich I halves, and I don’t know why I enjoy it so much.

              I proceed to make the rest of my lunch, by picking out a good apple, stuffing as many chips as I can into a bag, and grasping a fruit roll up. Once everything is packed up, I am fully awake, start to get ahead on my homework.   

                     

Slice of Life 9/31

              My eyes seem to glaze over as I watch the acting on the television. My family and I are watching the movie “Doubt” and so far, I really like it. This movie brought together so many good actors and actresses, so that they carry the movie all the way through. I realize how amazing film is, how life can be captured with a camera and become 1’s and 0’s on a computer, burned onto a disk, then re-created by thousands of blue, red, and green pixels.

              As I said the movie has really good people playing the roles, and the story is just as good. It is quite dark, however, and the more I watch it the more I wish I was watching a really happy movie like “Despicable Me.”

              That is the thing with a lot of good movies, they all aren't really for kids, unless it is a rare case like… well, I can’t think of any. Do you get my point? I think movies that are classified as ‘good’ shouldn't always have to be the heartbreaking ones or the ones that remind of the darkness in the world, but the ones that remind you of the light. I will still use “Despicable Me” as an example, so, it does have really cartoony characters and a plot, but it will make anybody’s day happier and remind how to laugh and help you get through hard times. Even the over-stylized world that Gru lives in seems somehow real, like it is inside everyone somewhere and somehow.

That is why I think people should re-assess what ‘good’ movies are.    

Slice of Life 8/31

The ball moves in a rhythm around the field, the Colorado Rapids are doing a really nice job on their season opener against the Portland Timbers. The Timbers are the favorites to win this game, but the only visible fans of theirs are packed up in a corner of the stadium, nothing compared to the sea of burgundy and white scarfs, jerseys, and t-shirts, which are the Rapids’ colors. Soccer has always been my favorite sport, I started when I was three and now play for one of the academy teams for the Colorado Rapids, and so, you could say that I am not a neutral fan in the game.

              Portland are the attack, their fast players streaking down the field, taking big touches and slowly moving down the field. Portland’s type of play is really fast in this game, and everything is moving smoothly. The game has been going for a while, and it seems as though the Rapids might not be able to hold out against their opposition. The same player has the ball. Everyone gets a wash of nervousness as we realize that this simple, non-advised play by this player, could lead to a goal for Portland. Further and further, the player is running, but to sooth our fears, Drew Moor, a star defender, comes and envelopes the movement, containing it and eventually pokes the ball out of bounds. I still isn’t our ball, but the crowd leans back as one and relaxes a bit.

              The same Portland player picks the ball up with his hands and throws it back in bounds in the direction of a teammate, only to get picked off by one of our players. The Rapids click back into their attacking play, moving the ball around.

              An opening in the defense of the Timbers is revealed, which is noticed by a player on the Rapids, he is a rookie from Jamaica who can accelerate to amazing speeds. He does just that, leaving the Portland players to scramble after him. The mood in the stadium suddenly changes, we all get excited and are preparing to jump out of our seats. The Jamaican is close to the goal right now, and could shoot if he was selfish. The defenders start to close in on him. What will he do? One of the defenders slides for the ball, and at that instant the Rapids play redirects it to a veteran player, who is wide open with a clear shot at goal.

                    I already know what will happen. He strikes it, putting perfect pace and spin on it. The goal-keeper has no chance. The ball flies into the top corner, and everyone erupts.  

Slice of Life 7/31

        Tintin, my dog, lays casually on the ground. He doesn't know that in a matter of minutes, he will experience a type of mental stimulation that makes use believe that he needs drugs. My dad's friend and his twenty-year-old son are coming visit us, but we consider them a type of family because they are really nice. I hear the car door slam, which causes Tintin's ears to perk up a bit, but not enough to have him get up from his lounge. It amuses me, because  I know what he will be like in some time, and I can't believe he can go from this to that.
        I hear their footsteps coming up to the door, my dad with them and greeting his old friend from college and his son. Tintin gets up. He can smell them. He is a really lean and skinny dog with shiny black hair and a little white spot on his chest. He stands in a heroic pose, the frame of a confident and alarmed dog. My dad starts to unlock the house, the first bark come out of Tintin's vocal chords. I hear the door knob turn and the door slowly sing open. Waiting just inside of the house is a creature who you would not really like to see when walking into the house, but my 'uncle' and his son see just that creature, which is Tintin.
        A huge eruption of familiar barks comes from our dog, who is soon going crazy, running and jumping in and around the house. Our visitors are startled by the dog, even after warning, because he is so persistent, but will then suddenly stop. After he gets his treat to calm him down, he will sit there, and out of the blue seem to forget about the new people and start his routine of barking and running around in circles. I keep thinking, it is amazing the mood swings he can have.
        Oh dogs. You have to love them.

Slice of Life 6/31

              I lean closer to the watercolor paper and paint another line onto it. I am almost done with this map, I’ve been working on it for almost the whole week at school. I have never painted maps, and haven’t tried to make them much at all, but in this past week, I seem to have found a new pass-time. The arrow I am painting rounds the corner between the Italian mainland and Cecily, cutting through the Mediterranean Sea all the way to Jerusalem. Either you already know because you are some kind of expert, or you don’t, but I am making a map of the Crusades. In short, the Crusades were holy wars in the 1000’s-1300 when different popes from Western Europe instructed their people to take back the holy land (Islam) from the Muslims and Jews. Thousands of people fought, and thousands of people died, and many other things happened. You are now caught up.

              Sorry to give you a lecture, but I just do that sometimes.

              Making the final arrow, I stroke the small watercolor brush across the rough paper and step back. I am truly satisfied by my work, as I am with other artistic things. I tried to make it look like a true medieval-look map, from the watercolor to the calligraphy, and I think it looks okay. I reach to the side of the paper to pick up, planning my rout to my art-folder thing, when I realize that there is no key on it. Just as I was about to sigh and smile, all while packing up the watercolor brushes and my small cup of water, I have to put it back and spend another ten minutes of perfectly good time on the key.

              Not only that, but I will need to strain the muscles in my hand, trying to not mess up on the writing. If I do mess it up, it will either look really bad or I will start over, which will absolutely suck. I get my ticket for the imaginary lottery, my chances getting slimmer and slimmer the more I work on this map.

              I sigh, but not like I was about to, more of a tired and irritated sigh to accompany me picking up the smallest brush and dipping it in the cup of water. I lean back closer to the paper and put my brush down onto the paper.           

Slice of Life 5/31

When you lean back and extend your arm out, time still moves in the right way. The last couple snow-balls you have completely missed, but you keep trying. There has been many snow-balls barely flying past you from opposing players, and you smile as none of them hit their mark.

              As you swing your arm around over your head, carrying the packed piece of the winter wonderland in your fist. You focus your eyes on the target, one of your best friends from school. When you are in the beast-mode you are in right now, you have to aim at your friends so your target doesn’t get too mad at you. Before you know it, momentum carries the snow-ball out of your hands and you move your fingers in the right way so it has back-spin, keeping in the air for just the right amount of time.

              Now time has really stopped. Thoughts go through your head as you realize how good of a shot this one was. Will it hurt them? Will they dodge it? The snow-ball seems to be flying as straight as a laser, with no arc in its flight path.

              Time starts to go faster now, faster and faster, until you hear a thunck sound and there is an explosion of snow around the target’s chest. They fall and lay there comically, while you bend down and pack together another snow-ball.  

               

              

Slice of Life 3/31

             Do you like cake? Some people don’t, and I don’t really understand their reasoning. To me, it seems impossible to be a human and also be able to not like cake. Anyway, my favorite flavor of cake is vanilla, (along with every other dessert) but at this moment in time I am eating a chocolate cake. An okay chocolate cake. I am not complaining or anything it’s just that (sniffle sniffle) it isn’t vanilla. I don’t understand people that simply don’t like vanilla (same with cake) because, it is just a plain and simple flavor that is amazing. But thing with chocolate is, sometimes chocolate is too much. I think chocolate is too rich by itself. My argument about this I a nutshell is, vanilla is better that chocolate is sweet and reliable, but chocolate isn't. It’s like the government.

              I hope I don’t get arrested for saying that, but then again, I’m in America, not Russia.

              The cake is actually my sister’s birthday cake, and before it was a sixth of what it used to be, it wrote her name in fancy letters, and the age she was turning. (I’m not allowed to put those two things on the internet). Besides the red frosting writing her name, it was nothing but chocolate cake with chocolate icing.

              I pick up the last forkful and move it slowly into my mouth. When I close my lips around it and pull the fork out, in my mouth there is nothing but cake and icing. Plain and simple.

              You know, it’s actually okay. 

Slice of Life 2/31

              

Are You?

              Sometimes I like to imagine what life was like in different history events. I really enjoy learning about history in general, and one of the things that I liked about it when I was young was that it gave me a platform to make believe. Am I riding on a white horse next to general Lee in the battle of Gettysburg as artillery balls an bullets alike fly past, each one not daring to hit either General Lee or I? Am I walking the streets of Paris during the French Revolution, alongside other young boys wanting to rebel against kings and queens with enough power to crush a city? Am I dumping barrels into the Harbor with John Adams and others in Boston?  

              A new topic has interested me lately, which is best described as the Crusades. Am I slaying innocent people because they don’t believe in the God I do? Am I establishing myself the king of a country because last night in my dream God told me to?

              Am I aiming a Gatling gun at a person in a gas mask I know nothing about because it was the orders given to me? Am I shaping the civilization that will be the most successful in history, while marble statues are being carved of my face?

              Am I shaping a genocide so horrible it will go down in history, while guns are being aimed at my face?

              Am I?

              Are you?

              I don’t know.     

              

Slice of Life 1/31

Blank pages are overrated. I sit here in my bed next to my lamplight and a clock that says it is too late at night to writing a Slice of Life, and a nice room that is so quiet it seems to be beckoning me to sleep. I hear planes rumble outside and remember when I was younger and I had just seen a ‘scary’ movie and how I thought that one of those planes was going to crash and it would be just like one of those movies. I also remember how they never did. That brings me to think how big the world is and how systematic it is. All of the planes, cars, people, plants, stars, computers, buildings, and whatever else you can think of run on a strict schedule, and somehow at the end of each day everything is on schedule so we can start the next day. I know I am leaving out the countless things that mess up, but if you think about it, the world is actually really big, really complicated, and really cool.

That probably sounds kind of cheesy, but you get my point. I have nothing to type about, just the random thoughts swirling around the room. I forgot to mention my dog, he is sleeping next to me in his torn up bed. He has a problem. He was found as a three-week old puppy alone on the streets of Huston, which directly translates into having attachment issues. Though, like any person I love him like a family member and that’s because he is. Every once in a while he moans in his bed, for not really any reason, I think it is just a way of his to show he is tired.

My eyelids shut from the heaviness they have undertaken so suddenly. I think I might go to sleep. I don’t know. I might type about something else though.  

Just a boy and his thoughts, a keyboard, and a clock that says it is way too late to be writing Slices of Lifes.