I want to be a fireman!

In childhood, we all want to be famous, or something along those lines. A famous chef, a famous doctor, a famous musician, a famous athlete. The possibilities are endless. In the very start of a book I am reading called Saturday by Ian Mcewan. The book starts off with a day in the life of a neurosurgeon, who goes from surgery to surgery like he's a fat kid in a candy store. We soon meet his son, Theo (what a coincidence) who is in a minor London indie blues band. It shows the almost awkward father and son bond they have acquired due to the difference in their careers.

They get only about two minutes of conversation out of a airplane that recently flew by their house in flames. They have no bonds whatsoever. I thought about it in my life. Not how my father is a musician and I will never amount to anything in the world of music, but in the way that we will all soon be going off to high school, and most friendships will be broken, due to the fact that people are going to all different schools.

For some reason, the fickle condition of the human mind, will in most situations stop people from making or keeping friends who do not go to the same school, or are in the same line of work. I know that you don't always have much bonding time when you are not in the same place 7 - 9 hours a day. I simply don't think that statistic stops people from keeping friends who they have known for years.

Strong bonds shouldn't break.

Yay, shopping!

I recently finished a wonderful book, by the wonderful name of White Teeth. This book was so entertaining, that when I finished it, I thought that no book could possibly be better then this one. My life was in some dark times. For alas, no book could compare to the witty wonders of White Teeth. Just as I was contemplating suicide (kidding, kidding), a large blue object appeared in my sight. It was my bookshelf.

Like a superhero, my bookshelf popped out of no where and saved the day. For this bookshelf had books I had yet to read. Then came the problem. Which one should I read first? There was The Long Firm and Saturday, Experience and Dreamland, all at my fingers and waiting to be opened.

I have not opened any yet.

Do you know that feeling you get, when someone hands you a present, and you are just stuck thinking, "oh, goodie!" But then all of the sudden you open it and you get some socks, or a Bingo strategy guide. I have the same scenario. I don't want to open any because I'm scared of what might come. If I build up my hopes, just to have them crash down like a airless balloon.

But I will have to eventually.

Funny accents make funny books

We all know the British accent. That hilarious touch that makes the Brits so novel. In a world of English, they are the ones that make us laugh. The comedians. Not the really good ones that are gut wrenching funny, but the ones that are so bad that we don't feel sorry for them, we just laugh at their efforts. Of course, all of this is relevant to both the fact that I am English, and that the book I'm reading which is called White Teeth, has British people with accents in it.

 White teeth mixes humor, with the utter fact that in life, we can't resist the many deadly sins, (for their are more then seven) and morphine is totally bad ass. I'll touch on that in a moment. Basically for me, this book is no walk in the park. The language is complicated, the plot is tough to follow, but every single time I hear Archie say the words "init" or "'pose so" I just laugh a little inside. Do English people actually deny common sense, and completely ignore certain letters, or are they just a little dull? One things for sure, they're really good at football. Don't quite know where that came from.

The English Colloquies, or at least I think that's the word for a certain area's speech habits (Vocab test tomorrow), are freaking hilarious. Someone once said that you need to laugh at your self a little, but laughing at other people is just great. Laugh at the English.

But don't mention Morphine, it's a touchy subject.

I wasn't interested for a while

For my revision blog post, Eamon (my partner), told me to basically expand on my thoughts on a blog post from December 2010, and to relate it to other things. Here is my best attempt at a blog revision:

I read a book a while ago, and it was about a young adult named Chris McCandless or something, I really can't remember, but this book was called Into the Wild. In it, this young adult went out into the woods of Alaska, and eventually died to the annoyance of myself, who was really rooting he would live, even after reading the blurb.

The main thing I pointed out in my post was that Chris went where he did, mainly because he was not interested in his current life. It bored him to such an extent, they he left his cushy Ivy League college, and his wealthy family, to live of the earth. It really got me thinking about how I really wasn't interested in anything myself. Not like Chris, where I would leave my family to try and find myself, but in they way where I suddenly became utterly depressed over the idea that I was in no way interested in anything.

A sinking feeling is a feeling you would always like to avoid. It just makes you go down and down and down. Fortunately enough for me, I sprung back up from that dark place with a new found enthusiasm. The idea that has since it's invention, become the slogan of hundreds of people. The idea of "so what?". So what if I am killing my brain cells from playing video games? So what if I am destroying my legs from crouching behind the plate for hours a week (that's what catchers do)? So what if I forget almost everything I am supposed to do?

It all doesn't matter anymore;

Cause I'm not interested.

(Link to original post) http://thinkwiththeo.blogspot.com/2010/12/im-not-interested.html

blah blah blah minus Ke$ha

I just finished reading a book called the diving bell and the butterfly, which is a stunningly brilliant book by a french author who's name I would rather no attempt to repeat. The author has a syndrome called locked in syndrome, which means he is completely paralyzed, except in his case he can blink his left eye. That is how the entire book was written, with someone siting next to him going through the alphabet over and over again to write out the book. It is an amazing triumph of the human spirit.

Because the author has locked in syndrome, he an not speak. When his family comes to visit him, all he can do is sit there and blink his eye over and over again, while they speak to him. Today in social studies, we learned that garment workers can not speak to each other, or else their pay is docked. Just imagine that. Days where you couldn't talk for hours, and in the case of the diving bell and the butterfly, not speak at all. The author did not utter a word for two years until he died, two days after the book was published.

I love to talk. If it were not for small breaks in class when I could chit chat with my class mates, then I would go stark raving mad. I don't see how anyone could keep themselves alive through years of not talking. I know it sounds drastic, but I would probably end up killing myself, and as I did I would attempt to mutter a few words. Talking makes my world go round. Sharing stories, cracking jokes, it's all so simple, but as we see it could easily be lost at any moment if I ever had a massive stroke. Or, if I was on my own, I would die.

Still no talking.

Steak Diane, Steak Tartar, and a whole lot of Rambling

A book about food. Two of my favorite things wrapped up into one semi - edible package. Yet this book is not a cookbook or a large 140 page recipe. No, this book is called Toast, and it is a memory of Nigel Slater's childhood, expressed through the food of his childhood. A story of his mother's death, his father's death, and his early life in cooking, summed up through Treacle Tart, Jammie Dodgers and Pickled Walnuts. Foods that proved the 70s was all show when it came down to it.

I eat a lot. When I am bored I eat. When I watch T.V. I eat. When I am getting over the death of my grandfather, a little bite to eat helps. Food has become one of the main things that our society is based on. Meat eaters, vegetarians, people who only eat Italian Food, people who hate Italian food. It used to just be food to fuel you until you needed more fuel. I guess someone finally figured out food can be delicious, and not just adequate.

I titled this post Steak Diane, Steak Tartar and a whole lot of Rambling because I will be doing just that;
Rambling. Rambling about food mainly. I absolutely love food. You know, I am writing an essay about the immigrants and food. There is surprisingly a lot you probably didn't know about immigrants and their food. Neighborhoods were divided into culture, and then a sort of food preference circle. A little cult of Pirogi Enthusiasts.

Back to the book, wouldn't it be awesome to have a childhood where you ate almost the best foods? That's what Nigel Slater did. He would have the best meals waiting for him when he got home. He wasn't spoiled or anything, he just had a good taste in food. Oh yeah,

Leave a comment below stating your favorite food/dish.

Who's the bull goose looney? I AM!!!

Ah the 60s. The time of free love, Death of Kennedy, and Woodstock. Mainly Woodstock. But of course, what would the 60s be without the irresistible charm of Ken Kessy's one flew over the cuckoo's nest. The book fondly portrays the 60s ideas of everyone being called "mack", The bull goose loony of the mental ward, and who could forget, more free love.

Why were people so odd back then? I'll tell you. In every class or workspace, their is an attention seeker. Someone who will go to crazy limits, just so they can be acknowledged. They will throw their hands in they air and yell, "look at me, I'm the prime minister of Ireland" while they have a bucket on their head. You know those people, the ones who want to be cool and fit in, but just end up looking really odd.

In the century that is the 1900s, the 60s was that person. The 00s had the new century, the 10s had world war 1, the 20s had the great depression, the 30s had Hitler, 40s Casablanca, 50s rock and roll, 70s had disco, 80s had the collapse of the communists, 90s had the Internet. The 60s had a horrible war that we lost, a bunch of hippies, and the assassination of our most handsome president. What a loser.

Look 60s, we know your big plan. It wont work. Just admit you are not the best and we'll like you more.

Oh wait, you can't admit it.

You died when they burned the freak bus.