Here's my haul:

Georgetown hat
Two Towers PS2 game(x2)
Socom Navy SEALS
Prey, by Crichton (sp?)
007 calendar
3 bags of Jelly Belly
Foxtrot Treasury
Digital Camera w/ stuff
Shakespeare Complete Works
Othello (Branaugh!!!!!)
Goldmember (again...I'm keeping yours, Kate and Kris)
Civil War DVD by Ken Burns
Some US history book we were gonna get for Serkie before we saw that the foreword was by Dubya
more stuff that I can't remember

Cool, huh?

And then, on Christmas Eve, Ian's Mom handed him his first gift of the season. It felt heavy and was long and rectangular. He ripped off the wrapping paper and saw one name across the top of a black box: "Shakespeare." Giddy with anticipation, he opened the case and found the complete works of the bard himself, in twelve volumes, each with a placeholder, gold lined pages and that new book smell when you turn the pages. Ian, taken aback at this perfect and unexpected gift, walked over to his mother, who, with that single present, had brought the Christmas magic back into his heart, and hugged her, all the while thinking of how his Christmas really hadn't lost all of the wonder of childhood. The difference was that, instead of the magic coming from the myth of Santa or the happiness brought by toys, it came from the people he loved and who loved him: his mother, his family, and especially his friends, whose gifts are constant and eternal.

And isn't that a lovely (and true) story?

Hey, everyone, this actually is addressed to the blog instead of being a transposed journal for Friedman. I am addicted to writing journals now and so I have to put it somewhere, why not here? I hope the holiday season finds you all well, first of all. Mine is at its usual splendor. I'll post my christmas journal when I get home, because that really sums up what's important about the holiday for me.

I saw Lord of the Rings once more with my uncle kevin and I'm about to see it again with my Uncle Frank. There go nine hours of my life to that movie, but I have no regrets. It's great, go see it, I loved it. The story is cool. Gollum rocks, Legolas kicks more ass (though he trips in a wide shot), and Helm's Deep rivals the best war movies of all time. GO SEE IT NOW. If I'm seeing it for the third time, the least you could do is see it once.

I was thinking while I've been here in PA and NJ; I really want to get out of my childhood. Granted, I'm grown up more or less and college is right around the corner, but I'm referring to my actual childhood. For example, Im not anxious to leave school and my friends. In fact, I fear that now more than anything else. However, I am ready to leave my actual house. My house just represents my young life to me. I'm ready to get out and "become who I'm going to be for the rest of my life" or however that obviously misquoted line from Spiderman goes. Not to mention the fact that I hate my house's furnishings with a passion whenever I go to someone else's house. Our house has no really cool atmosphere, no art, just pictures of me just about everywhere, a smiling blonde kid sitting on various rock formations, strutting in professional studios, or posing on the front steps of that very house. It's just like a gigantic monument to my childhood and I feel like that's what I want to leave behind when I go to college. My childhood was great, don't get me wrong. It's just that I think I'm ready to move on. My best moments of my life right now are those spent outside of my house with my friends, who are people who like the person I am now (no matter how much trouble I seem to have believing that). That implies to me that I want to get out in the world and start on my life. I dunno, this all seems like a stupid coming-of-age Full House speech, I know, but I can't describe it otherwise. I feel bad about it when I think of leaving mom and all that, but here, with my family, I'm stuck somewhere between childhood and adulthood. I feel equally comfortable in the basement playing with the kids or upstairs talking with the adults. It's just all so muddled when I'm with family, and yet it lends a sort of clairty to how much I enjoy being something of my own person now. Can't wait to get home.

Welcome to the life of Ian, an existence speckled with moments of devastation followed by joyousness. What, pray tell, could have lifted my spirits from yesterday’s deferral depression? Well, today, in the mail, I found an envelope from Georgetown University. I want to go to Georgetown more than any other school and I had thought that my chances were great, but I had misjudged Harvard, so I was wary. I opened the envelope, read the fist sentence of the letter and smiled. I’ve been accepted Early Action. I’m going to Georgetown. I’m going to study math for four years. I’m going to be a teacher someday. My future is bright. I ran up the driveway, wearing the biggest grin ever provided by a piece of paper. On the phone, I told my mom and then held the receiver away from my ear as her happy shriek pierced the lines between Westchester and Alpharetta. She congratulated me frantically, as I remained mostly calm. I don’t know why I didn’t absolutely freak out about the letter. I guess it’s because my world didn’t visibly change upon receiving the good news. I can say that my spirits were lifted, which was quite a feat, as I had been floating all day. I’m going to Georgetown. It’s all been worth it. I am blown away with happiness, and yet a little sad due to the fact that my future IS now clear. Now clear, concrete reality is given to my impending departure from the home I’ve spent my life in, the town I’ve grown up in, and the friends I love more than anyone in the world. Oh, well. I can’t really say I’m that downcast about it now. That’s at the back of my mind, really. Excitement is the main emotion. That and relief that it’s all done with for now. How appropriate that I should be home alone when I received this news. It concerns with my life as an individual, apart from my mother. It’s about the beginning of my future as an adult. Thus, it’s fitting and well appreciated that I got some time to really enjoy it for myself, instead of primarily garnering Mom’s approval for’t.

How appropriate for Friday the 13th. Mom told me yesterday that Harvard was sending out decision e-mails on the 13th. Thus, I was supposed to page her (as she is out of town this weekend) and soon as I found out. Unfortunately, I waited all day because I couldn’t manage to access AOL from school computers. I was kind of worried that such a malfunction might be an omen to the admissions decision. People kept asking me all day if I’d gotten in and I hadn’t. I was starting to get anxious. I came home, got on the computer, opened my e-mail and there it was. I’ve been deferred. Specifically, Harvard is “unable to take a definite action on my candidacy at this time.” Nice gentle way to say no.

Now I know deferment means that I am put on hold until regular decision and I would have been fine with that. In fact, I was fine with that until my mom called from Philly International. I broke the news and she did say “I’m sorry” a few time; however, I could hear wheels turning and I said that it’s not that big of a deal and that I’d just wait. My dear sweet mother then proceeded to comfort me by saying, “Well, Harvard says that if you get deferred, there’s not that big of a chance that you’ll get in at all. I just hope this doesn’t mean that Georgetown might defer you too. Maybe your teachers gave you bad recommendations.” Thanks, mom. She said three things that made me feel like absolute whale dung. Isn’t that nice of her?

I got sort of depressed after that. I called Kate to talk to someone and she and Kris helped cheer me up. Kris shares my pain because she wanted to go to Lehigh but that didn’t work out so well. I feel somewhat better now. I don’t know. I want to go to Georgetown anyway. It’s just that it was a personal thing. I wanted to know if I was good enough for Harvard. Now it seems I may not be. I don’t know what was lacking in my application, but all I can do now is send more material (this semester’s grades, the fact that I’m STAR student, “Most Dependable,” and an Outstanding Senior, and maybe some other stuff). Right now I feel just a little down, which isn’t good because I need to work on school stuff all weekend. I hope I can break out of this funk. Then the massive confidence that is Ian fell like Goliath by the small stone of a deferment e-mail.

Everyone and I mean everyone needs to go to http://www.dagsylad.com/Flash and click on all of the xiao-xiao ones. Stick figure martial arts sequences that make the matrix, jet li, and eveyone else look kinda tame. Well, not really, the moves are cool and the fact that it's stick figures makes it funny as hell.

Today’s Lit class ruled. I don’t care what anyone says; acting out the last scene of Othello with everyone was lots of fun. I had so much fun acting out the reluctant “honorable” killing of Desdemona, the painful realization of Iago’s plot, and my death scene. I enjoy reading and acting Shakespeare’s words. It can be so much fun when someone reads a line in a really funny way or when something unexpected happens that makes us start laughing or even when Mr. Friedman’s camera doesn’t work and you’re stuck in a dramatic pose for a few seconds. Stabbing with fake knives is fun and brandishing a baseball bat while speaking of a special blade is also quite amusing. I suggest you all go out and try it.

It all started with the early trip to the airport. I woke up at 4 and we arrived at the airport some undistinguishable time later. That might seem like a jump in events, but that's seriously about all that I can consciously remember. I read some Othello on the plane and then conked out until we arrived in Philly. Once we had gotten the rental car, it was officially family time.

There's something about going to visit family that makes my whole life different. This is probably because my family dynamics are static. I have the same unchanging relationships with each of my relatives, and I anticipate them being the same forever. Therefore, my familial obligations remain constant, while the rest of my life in its entirety is changing dramatically. I feel like a kid with these people, sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse. My cousins are getting older with me; that's about the extent of visible change within this environment created in Pennsylvania and New Jersey.

Another part of turning on the family Ian is adapting to deal with my mother. My mom and I have a great relationship when we're at home. She and I understand each other and we coexist well. I don't require excess patience or discipline; she treats me like her son as well as a thinking individual. Once we head north, things change. Mom suddenly has to assert her parenthood. Every five minutes I am here, she orders me to help my family, while I'd most likely do it anyway. It's as if our free relationship is a thing for her to be ashamed of in front of my aunts and uncles who constantly have to reprimand their kids. It bugs me because I love mom and I hate to dislike her, which it almost forces me to do. There are other things that she does while here that bug me, but that's saved for later in the entry.

Back to the Thanksgiving play-by-play, we actually first went to visit my grandmother at her nursing home out in Amish country. I’ve mentioned her before in journals, speaking of her Alzheimer’s and my personal thoughts concerning the matter. Our visit was the standard, although this time I didn’t have any of my amusing uncles to look to for some levity. Thus I was left to the terrible experience of visiting the Alzheimer’s ward, seeing the physical deteriorations that follow mental collapse. There are few things I have seen that cause me more pain then every visit there. It’s not because of some sort of failure on the part of the staff; there’s just nothing that can be done for these people and that’s what’s so tragic. Life’s so precious, the ability to think and act and love. The people I see can’t do much of anything.

My grandmother slept through our visit once again and I was forced to have a one-sided conversation with her as mom brought her new clothes, something I’ve never understood. I guess mom’s trying to make life as normal as possible. I’ve said before that I feel no emotion anymore towards my grandmother. Not to be misunderstood, I love my grandmother, but she’s just a physical shell now. It’s hard to feel love. Call me heartless. I consider it crucial to maintaining my own sanity.

After what was a seemingly useless trek out to the institution, we took the lovely snow covered drive through Lancaster County. It’s nice to see a little bit of nature from time to time, and Lancaster is about as natural as it gets with its rolling hills and fertile plains. Definitely a cool place; if it weren’t for the connotations, it would be almost perfect.

We arrived at my uncle Kevin’s to find my two cousins home for the day and the adults out at work. We unpacked and then I set about to my assigned motions for this specific house. I am really not giving family enough credit. They are great people. I always am assured to laugh, but that’s just it. Same kinds of jokes, same kinds of conversations. On the other hand, all of my uncles have managed to become partial fathers for me over the years, each with his part to play and his different way of being a father. It’s interesting to say the least.

As I was at my Uncle Kevin’s, that is the first setting to spring to mind. My cousins, Brian and Sean, have interesting lives. My uncle is a sports nut and my cousins have played them all: baseball, basketball, and soccer mainly. Visiting his house is like visiting a health resort. My aunt feeds us healthy food and my uncle puts us through rigorous sports. Granted, I owe it to Uncle Kevin for showing me how to throw a baseball, shoot a basketball, and chuck a football. Granted, I’m not stellar at any of these sports, but I owe it to him for playing catch with me and congratulating me for hitting a hard line drive, although it flew right into his shin. My uncle pushes my cousins on the fields and courts, pushes them hard. I imagine it’s easy to feel less than par for my cousins. Ironically, my uncle is a light disciplinarian. My cousins fight constantly and I mean FIGHT. Just this week Sean, 10, bit Brian, 13, on the back after Brian pushed him hard into a fir tree. Brian’s like a raging bull when he’s angry and I’ve often had to hold him back or even pop in a shot of my own to restore order. The rage comes from the fact that Brian is unbelievably full of himself, likely the result of his father pushing him until he decided to start thinking that he’s God’s gift to every sport. This ego makes things tense when Sean makes Brian look stupid. Sean, on the other hand, is fast and instigating, a dangerous combination for his less-than-easygoing brother. Sean listens to my uncle’s advice in sports, but unlike Brian, doesn’t let it get to him. Sean couldn’t care less if he was the best player. He enjoys playing and usually does well due to that approach. Two obviously opposing personalities make for one hell of a brawl when the boys go at it. My uncle’s usual punishment consists of a firm lecture and some form of grounding (from phone, etc). I don’t know if I’ve ever seen any of these groundings enforced. I highly doubt it, as Brian still talks back all the time and the fighting never stops. My mom often says to me that Uncle Kevin should sent the boys down for a week and see if they misbehave quite so much. My mom is not and was never violent, but she doesn’t take crap. I learned that at a young age and, until I decided to make decisions based on my own reasoning, I made sure I didn’t provide any problems. However, I’m convinced that the guys will keep fighting until they go to college, or until they kill each other.

Enough darkness on Uncle Kevin’s family. It’s a beautiful environment most of the time. The boys still give me hugs when I come visit, as I’ve always been the oldest boy cousin and, thus, the object of affection and imitation. Luckily, the boys don’t fight over who sits with me anymore, because I was getting a little tall for the middle seat. My Aunt Hannah cooks great meals, especially a nice warm home-style breakfast that is absolute heavenly to the senses after having rolled out of a bottom bunk. As we stay at Uncle Kevin’s all the time, there are traditions. The first night of our stay, the floor cushion is moved into Brian’s room and the guys camp out on the floor next to my position in the bottom of Brian’s bunk. That first night is officially story night, wherein I tell the guys about the events of my life. Nothing like the ol’ journal gets to hear; the content is mainly crazy antics of my friends and I throughout the year. The way I tell my stories is quite unique. We play “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” in our own way, which consists of my asking a question related to my life, providing crazy answers to match the likely craziness of the actual answer and telling the story once they get it right. They are getting old, but they still love the stories, as well as the weird voices I use for their lifelines. It’s a fun tradition at times, but I’m usually so tired that I lose steam long before them and they start begging for more.

The McCarthy Thanksgiving had its own special traditions this year at Uncle Kevin’s. My uncle Bob and his family came over and the craziness ensued. There was the annual McCarthy family football game, with my uncles as the two QBs for the rivals Ian/Brian vs. Sean/Colin. Colin is my Uncle Bob’s son, about 2(?) years younger than Sean. Colin and Sean are my mom’s godsons, her “little gangsters.” They are quite the rough team, even against two bigger kids. The game sort of petered out, however, when the brotherly scuffle began and Sean was sent inside for his partaking of Brian’s back. Surprisingly enough, this sort of end to the game is just as much a tradition as the game itself.

Once we went inside this year, we retired to the new sun room and my uncles asked me about school and college. My mom suggested topics for me to share with my relatives and so it went. Dinner was served and we shared a lovely meal with typical Thanksgiving foods. Thanksgiving in my family is what it should be and I love the experience no matter how much I may bash it. After eating two helpings of everything, I sat and listened to my mom and her two brothers stroll down memory lane, waxing nostalgic about their youth, four brothers and one sister, in Darby, PA. My family has truly come from humble roots, as Darby is sort of a dangerous urbanesque neighborhood. Now all of my uncles live in fairly suburban areas, as do I. Sean and Colin, having been excused already, tugged at my shirt as I listened, wanting me to come downstairs to play. I polished off my dessert and left the table with them. I had my own memories to create, as it was time for another incredibly bizarre McCarthy tradition. Somehow, one Thanksgiving, my cousins decided that throwing soft nerf and plush balls at me would be a game-worthy pastime. This practice has evolved into the annual Beat-the-Stuffing-Out-of-Big-Cousin-Ian game. I am assailed with a hailstorm of almost-dangerous toys, somewhat dense pillows and a fury of small fists. Granted, I wouldn’t play if I thought I would be seriously hurt. It’s all about the two younger guys fighting the veritable Juggernaut that is their big cousin. Often I am brought to my knees and the little heathens jump on me, in a scene similar to the end of Jurassic Park, where the raptors climb all over the raging T-rex. I can easily walk around with both the boys clinging to me, so I usually amuse them with some form of flipping them onto a big cushion to remove them. It’s a really funny, though very odd, tradition. My only wish is that Colin would learn that certain areas should be off-limits for his well-placed kicks.

After a long night with the boys, we said our goodbyes and drove to the Jersey shore. My uncle has a house in Stone Harbor and we were meeting him there as he and his family were coming from Thanksgiving with my aunt’s family in Maryland. I always love going to Stone Harbor. I have always enjoyed the ride to the shore because of the way the scenery crept up on me. I would always be reading with my head down, having last seen some simple highway, when suddenly I’d look up and we’d be in a whole new world. The Jersey shore is one of the most beautiful places one can visit, being both visually and culturally fantastic. I used to visit my Uncle Frank there about once a year every year to go to the beach and just generally chill with my cousins. My cousin Erin is 6 months older than me and, being the first two McCarthy young’uns, we’ve always been close. Her brother Steve is in high school now, yet he too was our companion around the town once he was old enough. Stone Harbor is perfect for kids; you can walk to the beach, the movies, the stores and just about anywhere else. It’s paradise in my mind. I don’t really know what it is that sets it apart from the world I know. I think it’s a lack of trees. To clarify, there are many beautiful examples of Atlantic flora in the town, but there aren’t any enormous pines and such. Thus, each house is exquisitely set against a backdrop of clear blue sky, making it seem like the town is sitting simultaneously on top and at the end of the world.

All of these images and connotations greeted me as we crossed bridge after endless bridge, concrete and steel monstrosities that seemed to make the atmosphere even more naturally stunning in contrast. Quaint seaside shacks evolved into million-dollar homes as we move further towards the center of town. My uncle’s is one of the latter. I love that house. It’s grown and changed a great deal since my youth. The outdoor shower is no longer in use. My uncle put in a hot-tub, deck, spiral stairs to the roof, and took out our old jungle gym. I suppose it fits our ages more now, but it is still sad to see it all gone. It has been a few years since I last spent a blissful week with my uncle on the shore, still digging holes in the sand and meandering through town with my cousins. In fact, the only contact I’d had with the house had been in these post-Thanksgiving meetings. Thus, this time, upon arriving a tad earlier than planned outside of my uncle’s house, I left mom and strolled the few blocks to the beach. The air bit shrewdly; it was very cold. However, I felt the need to embrace the ocean that I hadn’t seen in far too long. A familiar salty smell greeted me as I walked over the wooden planks that connected the sand to the pavement. A few more steps and I was there. Ladies and gentlemen, be it winter or summer, the sight of the Atlantic ocean while standing in the sand of the Jersey shore is something that everyone in the world should see at least once. I was the only one out there, considering the low temperature, but climate was of minimal concern. I was too busy alternating between watching the waves roll into the shore and closing my eyes to partake of the smell and sounds that surrounded me. I resisted the urge to take off my shoes and walk down the beach, although, had I done so, I would have walked with the ocean on my right so as to detract from Wayne Dyer’s inane cover photo. I smiled at my moment of nostalgia, peace, relaxation and innate spirituality, then turned and headed back to the house. As I walked towards our rental car, I thought of the possibility of returning there sometime later in life. It would be a beautiful place to live, although perhaps it wouldn’t be a terribly good town in which to raise a family. It’s fun to visit as a child, but I don’t think schools are easy to come by. Perhaps, if I make a sufficient amount of money, I can do what my uncle does and use it as a summer home, although it was their original home as well. Who knows? I am certain, though, that Stone Harbor adds its magic to every person, thing, place and event within its borders and that sounds like a lovely environment in which to live.

After walking the grounds, standing on the roof, and reading on the deck, my uncle finally arrived. We greeted one another with joy. It is with my Uncle Frank and family that Mom and I have gone to Disney World with several times. They have had us for Christmas almost every year. I was with them when mom called to tell me that dad had died. This may imply a great deal of personal connection with this branch of the proverbial tree and this is true. I always seem to be closer to Erin and Steve than with the mere playful relation with the younger guys.

After a nice lunch, the kids and adults broke up to go shopping. We hit crafts stores and little shops full of random accessories. It’s about the experience, not the yield, when one shops in Stone Harbor. Getting a perfect item to fit your need is just a perk. I did, nonetheless, buy something for the ladies back home from James’s candy shop. Once we all met up again, after my uncle and aunt finished in a Christmas shop, the kids piled in our car, as is tradition, and we all drove inland to my uncle’s house in Voorhees, NJ. To be continued...

Wednesday night was my last evening of my fencing lessons. Thus, a major aspect of my journal would seem to be truncated; however, mock trial will be starting soon and besides, I will attempt to continue fencing through some sort of club. I really don’t want to drop this now that the class is over. That would be so like me. I really want to pursue it, which is peculiar, considering that, in the two matches I fought last night, I lost both times 5-1. Normally, being my determined and perfectionist self, I would try to stray from things I don’t do well initially, scoffing at those who claim to get joy from things they don’t excel at. I am a fool in that regard and a hypocrite. I, at one point, loved academic bowl, and frankly, I wasn’t the best all of the time. I worked hard nonetheless and soon excelled at it, which was fine by me, and Dan and I, with the freshmen, won State in our final year. It was hard earned, struggled for and that much more glorious. In fact, at that State tournament, we were so tired that we didn’t even care about winning. We’d worked hard all year and didn’t have to prove anything, but we built up momentum playing hard, beat all of our archrivals and won the championship. It was one of the most satisfying victories of my life, and I imagine Dan would agree. It was a day of perfect victory.

So therefore, fencing feels like it will be similar. I will work at it. I will practice and strive to improve. I want to step out onto the strip and forget the world and think only of catching my opponent off guard and attacking. I want victory, but I want knowledge to attain it with, to earn the victory. I really hope I can give actions to these words and truly follow through with this new path. It will be fun if anything.

So anyhow, tonight I went to see Bad Habits starring Dan and Sterling, who both gave incredible performances. Dan’s still is being typecast as an arrogant prick, but this time it’s more of a hyperbole. Thus, we see that Dan’s occasional ego is nothing compared to what it could be and frankly, I think he’s earned it anyway. It really isn't an ego. In fact, for some reason, people don't recognize how humble Dan is. Everone makes him out to be this smart, funny guy, who will let you know that he's smart and funny. That's not really true at all, in my mind. Dan is, as Friedman would say, a helluva guy.

Sterling’s performance was admirable. He was a brilliant eccentric guy and delivered his lines with proper preposterousness. I didn’t REALLY need to see him in a Speedo, but physical comedy in physical comedy and that is that. His lines were well delivered and his stage presence was great. Face it, he stole the first act.

I felt like a nostalgic Boys State blog, for the two of you that may or may not care enough to read it. here are my fond memories of those 7 long ass days in Statesboro, GA.

My favorite quotes

>>Stephen: "Oh, it's that song, gosh, what's it called?" (starts hopping up and down)

Drew: "I don't know! Let's all do the Remember Dance and figure it out!"

>>"I swear, if there was another week of this, I would abandon heterosexuality by Tuesday"

>>Ashley Leen (said after days of no contact with ANY guys): "Hey (enter name of Milton Boys Stater that isn't Stephen Clawson) Where's Stephen?"

>>"Harvey, stand up!"

>>"Boo that man"

>>"Take that, you GHP bastards" (Amen to that)

>>Topher (to me after his supreme court murder case): "By the way, I'm not out of my medication, don't worry"

>>"We're annexing your city hall!"

>>"Chad Hayes is a menace to society"

>>Anything said at devotionals

>>Stephen: "People have to vote for me. In my name, Stephen Vincent Clawson, each name has 7 letters. It's just pleasing to the eye!"

>>(After Topher, the psycho, comes bursting out of the county trial)
Erik(now sheriff of Washington county): "GET HIM!!!"
(Erik takes Topher down with 4 deputies and cuffs him)

>>"Ian, you're sweating like a bastard! We're gonna call you Schweaty Nuts"

>>"Ok guys, how many of you are still not shaving as a sign of Milton solidarity?"
"Not me. I shaved."
"Not me"
"Not me"
"Baby face" Stephen: "I am" (no hair on his face)

>>Every single one of the Milton guys speaking like a redneck. "I can't help it. You just start doing it"

>>Numerous Boys Staters from elsewhere (to the Girls Staters): "Hey baby, c'mon ov'r herr."

>>Patrick Morales (laying down a roll of quarters in protest to my city's 25 cent swearing tax): "There's my money, now f*ck you f*cking assholes and your f*cking swearing tax. You can all eat sh*t and go to hell." (swearing censored for effect. I'm not really that prudent)

>>Stephen: "You know how some things are solar powered?" (resumes eating)

*silence*

Someone: "Yeah?"

Stephen: "Well, I'm woman-powered"

>>Stephen: "I wish I had a vagina. I mean, not one of me, but one for me"

>>Stephen: "If I was a woman, I'd be a lesbian slut!"

>>And of course, Stephen's moment of absolute brilliance (once already blogged by Drew, as a few of these things were):

Dan: "That's not the kind of cake I wanted"
Me(?): "Beggars can't be choosers"
Stephen: "You know, you never hear the word "chooser" anywhere besides that phrase. I don't think it's a real word"

*a minute of silence passes*

Stephen: "You know what's an awesome part of Star Wars? When Darth Vader is fighting Obi-Wan and says 'Now I am the master.' That part's really cool."

*stunned and amused silence*

Stephen: "Ok, here's the situation. Luke Skywalker is at a Wendy's drive-thru and can't decide if he wants a regular fry or a Biggie fry. Meanwhile, Darth Vader comes up behind him, slices him in half and says 'Now I am the chooser!"


So yes, I know, guys, we remember those moments all the time. I just was thinking on it as I saw my city's picture in a drawer and had to get it out of my system once again. And besides, we got a chance to see the Best All-Around at his best, did we not? And by the way, as my own personal rant. Aaron Brown did not get elected for anything all week and only went to Boys' Nation because they wanted the country to believe that Georgian young males are good-looking, smart, and athletic. Those of you who went, I think that our company whilst there would prove that to be LYING HORRIBLY!

Friday night, I went to see My Big Fat Greek Wedding, which was, admittedly, a chick flick, but of course, I was there with 4 girls and Jamie, my only other representative of testosterone. It was cool when the main male character was named Ian. It was really cool when that character named Ian was a teacher. It was UNBELIEVABLY cool when that teacher named Ian mentioned giving his students a test on Hamlet. We all could not help but laugh at the joke this was for our row. We roably sounded insane. All in all, the movie was funny because of the incredibly traditional Greek family, yet it was a bit oriented towards the ladies. I sat through it and I don’t wish I hadn’t gone. I would’ve been fine either way.

I’ve realized that there are moments in life, for all of us, in which we’re served up with an oversized portion of reality. If this sounds a bit wordy, let me explain. It’s relatable to that saying, “You always think that the worst things happen to someone else until the moment you realize that you are ‘someone else’ to someone else.” This involves such “real” events such as rape, death, drugs, violence, massive tragedy, and even something as human as sex. We all live in these little bubble of comfort, content with living our lives out day to day, thinking we’re invincible to those things and happy as long as they stay in headlines and out of our lives. Then, without warning (because life rarely calls ahead of time), life takes a baseball bat of reality to the back of your head. Take me, for example. I thought I led a fairly easy life. Granted, my parents were divorced, but they had been since before I was old enough to remember, so that was no drastic situation. Then, just as everything was running along smoothly, my father had an aortic aneurysm and passed away. Of course I didn’t expect it. No one really would. In that moment, hearing my mom’s voice over the phone in the hotel room while I was on vacation, reality struck hard and I recoiled as if there was some palpable aspect of its ferocity. You don’t think about those things happening in or around your life. It’s easier to accept something as a part of life when the smallest part it plays is in an article or through the grapevine at school. When it hits you suddenly, it’s like a train suddenly barreling into you while you’re crossing the tracks. You saw the crossbars up. You felt safe. Life has no warning lights or alarms. There are no road signs. So there we are, broken at the hands of reality, our fragile bubbles popped, and life becomes real. It’s very humbling. It ties you to humanity as a whole. For physics types, it’s an inelastic collision. It hits and sticks and remains a part of you forever. It can even just be death, in the loss of a relative, but each of us has had one of those moments in which reality seems way too real.

Just to add some stuff that Friedman wouldn't care about and that I guess you frankly might not either, except that lists are always fun.

>I hate all of the dumber techies. Call me arrogant. Call me a prick. Some are just outright waste of vital resources and some of you know what I mean.

>Euro can be funny with skits, but only in moderation ("It's a piece of Westphalia!").

>Vasily sounded badass as Peter the Great screaming in Russian.

>Don't get pissed about Garrett's blog forever, guys. Just for a little while, hehe. Vent in my comments, but don't make things worse like me.

>I'm really slow at burning CDs for people. I'm really sorry.

>Rugrats is fun to watch, especially when you're lying down and the remote's on the other sofa.

>We can't keep this house clean to save our lives, but then again, what sort of situation could that be?

>I like techno. So do you. Don't deny it. Download "Terminal Velocity" from the Boondock Saints soundtrack. For those of you that have seen it, it's the song from the toilet scene. It rocks

Well, the week has been exciting already. Let’s catch up, shall we? We read our “Ol’ Place o’ Mine” stories in Mr. Friedman’s class. They’ve all been pretty cool. Everyone seemed to have really great memories of their special places. I guess it’s a bit hard to listen to all of those stories because they’re not your memories. Obviously they mean a lot to each person, and I respect that endlessly due to my own feelings for my green box, but I guess it’s just hard to completely experience those places, even in the hands of a writer like Dan. And Dan, you know I mean that truthfully, not because everybody says so, hehe.

Now, however, we’re in Othello!! Shakespeare again! Woohoo!!!! I am already enjoying being enveloped in the language again. I love this stuff so much, and it’s already a great story with a lot more humor and slightly more general issues of humanity. I like Iago’s character, even if he’s supposed to be a jerk. Othello is actually kind of striking me as the way Iago describes him, but perhaps that will fade. Either way, I’m excited!

Fencing was very cool in this our second to last week of the class. We learned some more techniques for situations like parries that aren’t followed by an attack. We also learned this thing called a fleche, which is basically running full speed at your opponent and scoring a point going by them. It makes me look like a rhino charging. It’s so much fun. I’m really enjoying the sport. Whenever we spar, it’s just incredible thinking quickly and shifting from defense to offense and scoring the touch. I think I’ve finally found the sport I love. I probably need to hone it, but I still enjoy it to an extent that no sport has provided in the past. Next week we’ll be using the electric equipment to actually spar and score points, so I’m inviting my friends to come if they want to see the talent I’m supposed to have now. I can’t wait!

Ok, something that has bugged me lately, or at least did at first, was Garrett Cox’s blog (reasonswhyyousuck.blogspot.com). He wrote a big entry called “Reasons Why You Suck” and addressed every person in our crowd and why we don’t live up to his expectations. It was really cold of him to do and kind of immature. He basically is saying, “You guys don’t make me happy. You should do this to make my life better.” Sterling cooled me down as I was quite upset by it at first. Unfortunately I sent a scathing e-mail before I thought it through and I basically sank to his level, which bothers me as failing to meet my own expectations of myself always does. It was just stupid of me and it’s not going to solve anything. It’s incredible what one can do when the blood boils, eh?

Disorder | Rating
Paranoid: Low
Schizoid: Low
Schizotypal: Low
Antisocial: Low
Borderline: Low
Histrionic: Moderate
Narcissistic: Low
Avoidant: Low
Dependent: Low
Obsessive-Compulsive: Low

URL of the test: http://www.4degreez.com/misc/personality_disorder_test.mv

So I'm not THAT crazy, but Histrionic means that I want attention and praise from my relationships with people. Now that made me suffer from low self esteem. What an assholish test.

Ok, in case you haven't noticed, my blog is fed mainly by my Friedman journals, so that's why you may get lambasted all at once by material when I feel like copying it over. That being said, away we go!

11/7- It’s amazing the memories you can cast aside as you create new ones. I suppose my lack of thinking upon my past indicates the sort of pleasure I get from the present. Considering the fact that I gained most of my current friends during high school, it is often difficult to journey back to my youth, as it is such a different stage of my life. Today, however, I was given the chance to pull up memories that had apparently been sitting in a box in the dusty attic of my mind. In Lit today, Mr. Friedman shared with us a story about his special place when his was a kid, the basement of his old house. It was really cool to hear our wise teacher relating anecdotes of childhood games and yet fitting, as Mr. Friedman seems to greet almost everything with a childlike interest, while maintaining his wisdom. He then passed out some candles to each of us, made us close our eyes and told us to think about our special place as a kid. After a few minutes of cycling through images of my playroom and my grandmother’s house, I suddenly realized that only one place could truly be considered the center of my life as a kid.

I live on a cul-de-sac called Mossy Place. Once a brand new street in a budding neighborhood called “Windward,” my street is now showing signs of aging, both in physical characteristics and the dead silence that haunts the circle around which sit houses filled with children that have all grown up. Once upon a time, there was laughter on my street. Once there were games. Once we were kids.

Now some streets have a clubhouse and some streets have a shady tree. Our street had a large, forest green, cube-shaped electrical box at the bottom of the cul-de-sac, and this was our place. Some may laugh at the implications of a bunch of kids playing around an electrical box, but they didn’t grow up on my street. The position of the electrical box is decidedly central. From it, you can see either the garage or the front door of every single house on the street. The importance of this lies in the fact that, when we were children, you needed only go outside and sit down on top of the green box after school and within a few minutes, someone would come out and join you. Through this process, we would eventually have our full crew. There were the Browns, my best friend Sam and his big brother Jon, both undoubtedly the athletic superiors of the street and the people you wanted on your team for any game that required…well, really for any game period. Then came the Pontrellis, Katie, Nic and Max, the first of which was my age and the last two being younger by a couple of years. Then there were the Bonds, Matt and Jake. This was our crowd, which could also occasionally include anyone that was sleeping over at one of our houses. Once our ceremonial gathering was complete, it was time for the games.

Oh, the games. We had a million of them. Some staple children’s activities and some that you could only find on Mossy Place. Either way, everything started on that electrical box. If we played Tag, the box was undeniably “base” and whoever was “it” usually ended up circling around the box like a vulture, waiting to pick off whichever person’s thirty-second limit was up first. If you were smart, you could use the green box as a tool in the game. Nothing aggravated the “it” person more then when another person ran top speed at the box while someone was on “base,” temporarily gaining the attention of the predator. As they gave chase, the one on base would suddenly bolt and the “it” person shifted their attention back again, and ended up losing both quarries. It could be an aggravating game if you were “it,” however, and the game always ended when someone became it and said they didn’t want to play anymore.

Contrasting the universally accepted rules of Tag were the games of our own creation. One of these was quite simple really. The nature of our hilly neighborhood made it a stunt biker’s dream. However, as we weren’t often in possession of a dirt bike, we made use of the other vehicles we had, namely skateboards, wagons, big-wheels, and the occasional Tonka dump truck that someone had squeezed their rear end into. As you may have noticed, most of these items have not passed the numerous safety tests that deem vehicles safe for use. However, as a child, how could you miss the chance to go street luging lying on a skateboard from the starting point at the top of the cul-de-sac to the inevitable ending, or rather crashing, point at the drain immediately in front of the green box? I mean, honestly, my mom specifically told me I would knock my teeth out, which she should have known was more incentive than deterrent. In fact, in most cases, whoever could come up with a new way to cheat death was the genius of that particular day. One of our greatest feats was propping some plywood over the ever-gaping drain, which was, by the way, the devourer of every type of ball you could imagine. This makeshift ramp was used only once. I can still remember seeing one of us (I believe it was probably Jake) hit that ramp, fly past the green box, and then rocket into the open air. You see, immediately behind the box, the landscape slopes dramatically down a hill between two houses. The ground seemed to curve away from Jake as he lost control of the skateboard midair and his temporary conquering of gravity came to a crashing conclusion on the grass below the hill. We all rushed to his side and he simply sat up, smiled, and said “You HAVE to try that.” We probably would have too, if his mom hadn’t come out and given us all a firm lecture. I couldn’t tell you who won the most races around that cul-de-sac. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the mass of jumbled bodies and broken toys sitting in front of the electrical box at the end of every race, and the permeating peals of ringing laughter.

The green box was more than our plaything, however. When the block parties rolled around, the electrical box was our kids’ table, another display of prudence on the part of our parents, but that was fine with us. It was our stage when we felt like imitating TV shows and movies. It was a perfect source of protection during a heated water gun or Nerf gun battle. It was a platform for our board games, that is, when the wind didn’t carry all of the play money away. It was headquarters for the spy games I would partake in with my friend Sam, which usually involved creeping through the backyards of the neighborhood with no apparent purpose other than being as quiet as possible and trying not to be seen. The box was our forum for discussing the latest video games, comic books, and eventually, how school was going for each of us. It was sort of a home away from home for each of us, linking all of the kids together. The green box made it so we were “the neighborhood kids,” a family of our own and it managed to permeate through our actual families, too. On some days, one parent might bring out lunch for all of us to sit around the box eating. If someone was seriously hurt, which happened often due to our experimental games, one person would take them to the green box, while someone else would run for the nearest adult that was home. Thus our electrical box was the symbol of how close our neighborhood was. It was our haven, our spot, our home, in a way.

As the years wore on, people started moving. Sam and Jon moved to Florida, leaving us short two good athletes and leaving me without my best friend. Two families suffered divorces, making our cul-de-sac almost cursed, as 4 out of the six families had been divorced at some point. As kids, we were growing up, with school expanding our boundaries with friends from class, while simultaneously barring us indoors with homework. The green box was visited more and more seldom, and more then once a week I would get a knock on the door from one of the younger kids asking if I could come out. Sometimes I could and did so happily, but more often I had to shake my head, mumble something about homework and give a half-smile as some sort of consolation for breaking the tradition.

Now I’m a senior. The close-knit community of our street has dissolved between kids and adults alike. Most of our new neighbors stick to themselves and we have followed suit. Sometimes I can catch a glimpse of a few of the kids playing basketball at the Horns’ or riding bikes down the Pontrellis’ hill. However, our green electrical box stands alone at the end of the street. The once vibrant natural green is now the faded color of lima beans and rust is eating at the very edges. Most importantly, it now lies on the property of neighbors that we older families don’t know. Therefore, the box that provided us with near-perfect childhoods is more or less unreachable. I don’t regret that I can’t go back. The friends I have now mean more to me than anything in the world and had I met them when I was younger, I’d rather spend lunch around the box with Kate, Meghan, Katie, Dan, Joe, Chase and Starla and I would have much rather gone speeding dangerously across the asphalt in a race against someone like Sterling than my neighbors. Heck, that’d probably be funny even now. However, if that had been the case, it would not be the same, because my friendships now are more about the people then wherever we happen to be hanging out. I guess that’s how friends work. When you’re young, you make friends with the people closest to you out of necessity and find fun where you can, even if that means a green electrical box. When you get older, horizons expand, doors open, and suddenly you’re not so bound to your position in the world. That’s probably the way it should be, I suppose, but sometimes I just want to come home from school, shuffle down to the green electrical box, sit down and wait for someone to join me.


11/9- Well, today was in infamous Princeton interview that “ruined” my weekend. For the record, and for mom’s sake, it was worthwhile, as now Princeton has beat out Harvard for the second place position amongst my college choices. Georgetown still reigns, however. The interview went really well and my interviewer made a good case for Princeton by what he said and just the kind of cool guy that he was. I suppose, therefore, I am glad that I went, but I still wish I had been smart enough to reschedule back when I could so that I could have gone to State with the drama kids.

Back to today, the coolest thing about the interview was that it was held at 191 Peachtree Tower, which, for those of you who don’t know the address, is that building you see off of 400 that towers in the sky and has the two Notre Dame bell tower looking things on top of it. My interview was on the 50th floor, which I believe makes it one of the highest buildings I’ve ever been in, not counting the CN Tower in Toronto, although that is amazing as well. I guess I felt a special connection with Ayn Rand’s vision of humanity staring from a window on the 50th floor at the long shadow the building was casting over the ground below. When you travel any distance, even from coast to coast, there is still that earthly nature about everything that makes you feel like you’re almost in the same place. Being in a skyscraper, however, drastically changes your viewpoint and suddenly you are confronted with what mankind has done. It is an amazing thing to think that God may have created living space on the ground for us, but here we’ve gone and created living space in the sky. It’s just amazing to me.

After my interview, I was once again confronted with my humanity, or perhaps more accurately, my physical sense of being. As Mom and I drove down North Point Parkway towards Joe’s Crab Shack, my car got a flat tire, and I, Ian Fahey, AP student in the top 5% of his class, got down and dirty in my nice interview clothes and changed that damn tire. Something about muscling that tire iron and pulling off bolts that a machine put on made me feeling superhuman. Stripping down to my white t-shirt underneath my polo, I used all the force I could muster to tighten the bolts back again after installing the new tire. Yeah, it pumped my physical ego, a welcome change from my own daily inflation of my mental ego (as evidenced by that whole AP student comment) and I drove on feeling a sense of power. I know, I know. “Way to go, Ian. You bested a machine.” It is a small victory, but it still gave me a certain sense of the power of mankind, you know. Maybe I need to stop thinking so deep.

I gave a lot of thought to my future today whilst I read over 140 pages of Wayne Dyer. I for some reason thought about being a father. Perhaps this is because I never want to leave my children or alienate them or desert them in any way. I love my Dad and I wish he was still here today, but the fact is, he left me. He wasn’t there for me and I didn’t even have contact with him for a good part of my life. I’m not saying I look at life now and wish it was all different. Life is beautiful now. I just want to be the father that I didn’t really have. I want to tuck my kids in and kiss them goodnight. I just want to be there. I don’t need to be the perfect father. All I ask of myself is that I am a father, that I am there when my kids need me. I want to have a family, to sit around the living room, playing games, celebrating holidays. All of that. I’m looking forward to it with a piece of my mind. The rest is trained on the present.

I had an interesting thought while reading Wayne Dyer’s painful book of self help (Sorry, I mean some things I agree with and it is a great collection of thought. I just wish Dyer would butt out of it, as ironic as that is). Anyway, I imagined a great image of an afterlife, one I could live with. I want to die and spend eternity in a wood-paneled study. In that study would be the great book of which John Donne spoke, the story of mankind. I specifically want to see a leather-bound edition of The Life of Ian Fahey. Being a book of the spiritual world, it would be of infinite capacity as long as my life had allowed, and in this book would be every single moment of my life. That’s all I want to have. I plan to lead a happy and fulfilling life and so far, it has not disappointed. Therefore, all I want to do in my afterlife is to read my book and relive my life. Perhaps the nature of this spiritual book would have the ability to carry across every emotion associated with the moments of my life. I’d probably also enjoy reading the books of my friends, specifically the passages of which I played even the smallest role, to see how greatly or minutely I affected the lives of others, if at all. I like the idea of the big book. I guess the passion for reading and my never-ending self-absorption would both be fulfilled by this idea. I think I am leaning so much to this idea because I could read endlessly about the stuff that has happened in senior year alone. I have enjoyed the time spent with my friends this year more than I could possibly manage to describe. Perhaps that’s why I’d prefer to leave it to the unknown. This isn’t saying I believe in an afterlife, but wouldn’t that be a cool one? Perhaps I shall go curl up in a comfy chair in my house somewhere and think about those things and try to capture a bit of that perfect idea.

Ok, so today in Friedman's class we had what I thought to be a rather fun discussion of the inherent nature of man. I mean, come on, what class is complete without one? It all began with Mr. Friedman saying that Hanley thinks that mankind is inherently good. Our class of cynics thought otherwise, of course. Actually, I'm kidding about the cynics thing; we're just not that naive. I have seen nothing to make me believe that humankind is inherently good. I don't know if that automatically means we are inherently evil, though. My personal problem with inherent good besides the fact that it is impossible is that I would much rather believe that I am choosing to do good in a situation in which I have the capacity to do evil, instead of it just being that I am innately good and I can't help it. Which shows better character? Being good doesn't just come with the human territory. It takes a developed mind and a strong will to recognize the oft-hidden merits of doing good when "evil" seems so rewarding, especially when there are fewer consequences. Admittedly, consequences do guide the force of good in people most of the time, but I believe that there are some moments wherein a person actively chooses to do good, perhaps even risking consequence due to doing so.

Are we inherently evil? Well, I think that the "evil" things we do are part of being human, yes. As a human, we are merely interested in that which keeps us alive and happy. Evolution, while knocking off those less fit, also allowed humans to develop emotional attachments, which extended the bubble around other people. Now we do those good things that make life better for us AND those we care about. I also agree with the idea that we refrain from evil because we don't evil to happen to us. I don't beat Bob over the head with a rusty crowbar because I wouldn't want Bob to beat me with a crowbar. So we desire that good things happen to us, not necessarily that we do good things. We do good when good is in our best interest or in the best interests of those around us. Now, perhaps there are those who feel a connection of all mankind. You give the remainder of a box of donuts to a guy on the street. You hold the door for a person carrying a stack of papers. You give Tiny Tim some Christmas presents. Whatever. The point is that some people can extend that good to others, even strangers. Why do we do that, if we don't know the person? I believe the answer lies in selfish desires again. We would want that person to open that door for us, give us those doughnuts and presents. We want good from others, so we give good. Think about those moments. You see the guy with the stack of papers,walking awkwardly towards the door. You think to yourself, "Poor guy, I should help him." Somewhere in your mind, your logic is "That looks tough. If I was him, it'd be great if someone opened that door for me. Wait, I think I'll do that for him then." There is no truly 100% selfless good deed, not even self sacrifice. That's not necessarily just because we want pleasure from everything we do, so we wouldn't do it if it didn't help us in some way. The reason is that we help someone and therefore, we do good. When we want good in the world, there is nothing more satisfying than creating a little, even if it's not directly for you. Good is good, just not inherent. Have a nice day.

And Good Lord, he's done it. A blog is born. God knows how many people will actually care enough to stop by this page,and frankly, so be it. This will be the place where the more public ideas that I have will be shared. Othe things will indeed be left to my mind and my Friedman journal. Who knows how long this will last?

Anyway, I suppose that the most prominent news in the life of Ian is that the college application process is o'er with. I'm done! I finished Princeton tonight and now I can hopefully put out the fire that my mom has lit under me. It's been the most grueling experience ever and I don't think I've ever had a situation in which I have simultaneously hated and loved my mother as I did during the last few months. "Just look at them andsigh and know they love you" Amen CSN.

By the by, I am warning all who think that Wayne Dyer's book is the easiest to choose for outside reading. I must tell you that, although merely annotating seems like the easiest assignment, the book is quite possibly one of the most annoying things I hav ever read. Hypocrisy abounds. Seriously, everyone, heed my word. It sucketh.