>>pk@columbia

Winter Break - stuff

Have nothing to do at night, have nobody to hang out with, have a bad habit of going to sleep at odd hours, and have a crappy computer that doesn't play music or video and refuses to run games - you have yourself a classic recipe for senseless boredom. How did I cope with the uneventful passage of time? I made my AIM profile a scratch pad and doodled with some words. Here is a collection.

the cold winter nights when you go out and you breathe you can see the white puff coming out of your mouth and you can pretend that you're smoking - it reminds you, because of the dim lights and empty streets, that you're in suburban new jersey where there's not much to do except maybe catch a movie, eat at a diner, rent a video, or waste more money somehow and feel empty at the end of the night because what you did was a mere repetition of what you have been doing for the past two weeks - but that's the essence of youth - the time wasted, the money not saved, and the fleeting moments you enjoy with people who're growing farther apart from you all the time - that is what a college winter break is all about.

it was the best of times, and it was the worst of times; but overall, 2001 was great, wasn't it? ended high school wonderfully with so much fun, got my dream girl, played the most fun basketball of my life (HBA), had the most fun in doing work in school (tricher), began my college career, lost my dream girl, became a new yorker, and realized that another year filled with ups and downs, memories and moments, awaits - hello, 2002.

Dead - dead like the look of stark naked trees in my backyard, dead like the sound of my room with a computer that can't play music, dead like the hidden park that used to bustle with friendly play in the spring, dead like the four weeks of no school, where at least the time moves fast and you remember only the fun -- christmas has come and gone and the anticipation of winter has turned into dread; maybe it's cynical to think this way or maybe it's just serious boredom, but certainly, the joy of being free has run its course and I'm willing to be obligated once again.

There's nothing like the feeling of being informed in the morning - to wake up and know how the world is and what exactly is going on. Like the good old mornings of high school, I woke up early this morning to listen to Imus on the radio and in a short 20 minutes, I was up to date and caught up on all the happenings around the world. Tim Russert's phone interview, Charles McCormick giving the headlines of the day, and Imus trying to convince listeners that Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow had a decent song going, only to acknowledge later on that the song sounded much better on his iPod and not in the studio - all this was a snapshot of American politics and culture handed on a silver platter.

talk about being spoiled - i mean, the school is just a few houses down and down the street, all you have to do is cross one big road - but no; oppa is home so let's exploit his time at home and make him put on socks, his jacket, his gloves, hat, and scarf, start up the car while sitting and hoping the heat comes on soon and make him drive the entire half mile or so, so that a 10 minute walk becomes a nice, cozy 1 minute ride back home -- unbelievable!

That moment when you come back home after a night of "chilling," either at someone's house or somewhere outside, determines whether or not you've actually had a good night. If you come back and jump right into your chair in front of the computer and engage in a pleasant on-line conversation before going to sleep or you're just too physically worn out and the bed beckons you early, then you've had quite a nice night. But being back home, not tired, but with nobody to talk to and time being ever so slow - that can be quite torturous and enough to make you forget any happy moments you've had that night.

So somehow, you manage to wake up at 3 pm, which is pretty pathetic considering it gets dark in about two hours - but you then take solace in how late you were up last night, staring at the buddy list, wondering why no one else was on except you; you waste away your time reading pointless away messages and IM profiles and then tell yourself how you should've been asleep long ago. So, when you do wake up to a new day, about half a day too late, you tell yourself - oh well, i'll change my ways tomorrow, and end up doing the same stupid things and sleeping at the same forlorn hour that night again.

Every now and then, there comes a football game that's worth all the attention and excitement. I remember in 1995, No. 1 Florida St. vs. No. 2 Notre Dame in a November classic; my favorite player was FSU quarterback Charlie Ward and FSU was my favorite team. I sat, glued to my chair, and witnessed 48 minutes of intense football, rarely blinking, hoping that my Seminoles would overcome the Fighting Irish; but on that day, Charlie Ward's last pass to the endzone came up short and Notre Dame pulled off an upset. But man, that was quite an experience - sitting in the couch, yet not the least bit relaxed but rather excited and highly into the action.

Having some free time on my hands and not wanting to be excluded from my friends, I've taken up playing Super Smash Brothers Mele on the GameCube system whenever I've had the chance. I'm still only a beginner, but the only character I use is Dr. Mario. I like the way he keeps throwing those pills that bounce and then hit the other people. I also like how he spins with both his fists clenched in a cross-like manner. Though I lack the skills of my other friends, it has been a satisfying experience playing to not finish last. While the game hasn't provided me the ultimate thrill, it's done its job in distracting me from the real world.

I don't know why I waited so long to do this. It's a green folder and it has a tab that says History on it. At first it was just a collection of notes and letters that I'd put there, hoping that the volume would grow and make me feel more popular. Then when things became more serious, the folder became symbolic in a way. It was to be avoided because putting anything in there would signfy an end - no looking back, no more feelings, nothing. So I don't know why it took me so long to put the letters, the notes, the cards in the green folder, but I finally had the courage and determination to do so. So long, farewell.

When I was a freshman in high school, I used to wake up in the mornings, look in the mirror and actually smile at myself. Man - that sounds really corny now, but for some reason, I was so energetic every morning and wanted to accomplish so much. I had all sorts of ambitions and each day was so exciting. Nowadays, I just lull around and barely do what's required of me while being proud that I fulfill my minimum obligations. I think the complacency is what undermines self-progress; I have many areas to improve on in my life and maybe it's time to bring back some of that old smile-at-yourself tactic.

dull like an old knife that makes a rare filet mignon look like synthetic rubber

.ode to boston. the pretty, petite brick buildings that line up along the street with retail intentions, the parking meter that would eat the quarters but refuse to add minutes, the narrow one-way streets that prompt quick turn changes, one bench in a crowded gym, the PDND sign that invalidates rooming at a frat house, the lights at a club that expose the dandruff on black shirts, the effort required for sober karaoke, the impossible parking spot with tow fear in an awfully clean chinatown, the combination of dim sum and people-seeing, and the two people who made everything all worthwhile -- a pleasant impression, lasting memories.

i remember last year's xmas - gift exchanging in front of each other, the card with the snowflake and a very sweet message, and a present that had all the care in the world in it....i still keep it on my bed... so why is it that in one year, all that has to change? we were just friends then but the caring was still there.... i wish you had written me a card.

It was the longest winter break ever for me and I know such idle hours will never come my way again. I'm still a little boy in the art of written expression, but maybe keeping these things documented will allow me to come back later on and laugh at myself.