I cannot even deal...

I just watch Dexter season 6 "Get Geller".

Words

Cannot

Describe

My

Life

Right

Now
.
.
.

...and I thought season four's ending was crazy.

PS: to those who watch Dexter, did anyone else think, "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware"?

The Synthesis Paper

I am about to be super negative on Jesuit high schools, be warned. I am not saying that their education is bad, it's not, or that I did not like Xavier, I did, I am just criticising the grade 12 Synthesis Paper.

When you enter grade 12, you are given a daunting task: write a twenty page research paper on your life. Great, it is not like university applications are due or all my other classes are loading on work or anything. To top it all off, it is a religious paper, so, guess what. Heavy religious themes.

Honestly, I do not know why I went to Catholic school all my life. I was born in a household with a Catholic grandma, a Jewish grandpa, and an Agnostic mum. I get that the Catholic schools in the desert were the best, but based on my religious upbringing (pretty much as secular as they come), I guess it just did not fit.

Anyways, throughout my entire high school and later years in grade school, I rebelled against any sort of religious notion. This paper was just the icing on the cake.

Now, looking back, I can honestly say that that paper was seriously a waste of my time. The entire point of the paper was to come to terms with the relationship you had with God or something. I know I tried every now and then, pulling interesting ideas, but the bulk of it was BS, but not just BS to get my work done, serious, "I have no idea how to answer these questions honestly without insulting anyone so I really need to BS this assignment"-BS. Talking to people about that paper, I have gotten a good many responses that just hated the paper and a few people even have said that they came out of the paper less religious. The mandatory, massive assignment of our last year in high school, that was portrayed as probably one of the best and biggest assignments we will ever have to do, was ...just..not..good.

Now, I get it, I should not have been so rebellious, maybe taking everything with a grain of sand. I am ok with religions now, not so angry towards them. I have even been going to the Jewish Hillel house. But, to be quite honest, that paper was not worth it.

I think my rant is over.

Will Smith reenacts the Coughlin Fire

...this is pretty much what happened at Coughlin, except with like 10+ people, then a whole dorm mad at us.

This video...

...is probably one of the best ads I have seen in a long time. It is beautiful and stands for something incredible. Please, legalize same-sex marriage.

Have you ever seen Kristen Schaal?

...why yes, yes I am procrastinating.

But, more importantly, have you ever seen Kristen Schaal? No? Well, here you go! She is hilarious! (And from Flight of the Conchords)

It is 00:01, and I am starting my homework...

Welcome to the world of David. This post here is my way to remedy the fact that I have five other posts in the works and loads of homework as well.

UPDATE: I just found the missing assignment sheet; I am less confused. Time to take a shower!

UPDATE UPDATE: I just remembered: everyone I have talked to in my history class has said that they already finished their paper because they have three other papers due this week. Each time, I respond, "...well, I have three papers this week, and that is why I have started none."

UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE: As I was getting undressed for my shower, I wondered if I did the right thing, taking a shower, as I started to shiver because it was probably about -14 degrees in the washroom. Sitting in my room now, relaxed and warm, I think I did. Now, if I should ever start on this darn assignment.

UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE: Hannah, having a paper due tomorrow, is also up late "trying" to do work. So, what is the natural thing to do? Message her! These are the results...

Minute Physics!

Random post of the day part 2!
I was on io9 and found a promotion for one of my favourite YouTube profiles: Minute Physics. This one had to do with the flow of time, which is below for your viewing pleasure.

Like I wrote on the top, random post. I like these videos, hope you do as well.

Overheard in New York

Sorry, I Meant "Shtupping."

Seven-year-old boy: Mom, are we schlepping?
Mother: "Schlepping" is when you walk all over the place for a long time, and today we're not doing that. So, no.

--71st St & Park Ave
via Overheard in New York, Nov 7, 2011

Random post of the day!
This is from the blog Overheard in New York, and it made my day. It really brings back memories of me trying to teach Alyssa all the Yiddish phrases I grew up with when I was still planning on going to Columbia University with her.

My blog's title may be incorrect...

I will tell you the truth, I am not a quote-on-quote Proud American. I am proud of "my country" and of the many things it has done and will do in the future, but I am not a patriot in any sense of the word. I was raised by my mom and grandparents; my grandpa was from Budapest, my grandma from Brussels. I was raised in a quasi-European household, hearing French almost more often than not, allowed to have drinks and sips of wine at dinnertime, had either very French/Belgian or Hungarian meals, etc. There are things that I found out other children were not accustomed to that I was (like knowing zeezee rather than peepee, or at least hearing zeezee more often). I even spoke with a sort-of Hungarian accent, speaking English is a backwards, foreign way (like how the French would say the ball red versus the red ball) when I was little.

For years now, I have been planning to leave the country, and getting to Vancouver, I have pretty much realised my goal. I have been looking into Canadian citizenship since I have arrived as a way to hop-scotch into Europe due to its commonwealth status, looking to drop my United States citizenship, thus this blog's title. Yet, recently, I was browsing wikipedia when I stumbled upon something. I learned of a law that went into effect in January of 2011 in Hungary. It says that any person with a close blood relative and fluency in Hungarian can apply to be a citizen, residence in Hungary itself is not necessary.

It even awards a dual-citizenship.

I am signed up (well, will be within a few days) for a Hungarian course for next term. Although it counts towards no credits and is a part of the continued studies programme, I am excited! I plan to solidify fluency by my fourth year, all the while continuing French (and maybe picking up some Italian or German or something).

If my plans succeed [prevail*], I will be a dual citizen with Hungary and the United States. Unfortunately (well...), I am going to keep my US citizenship even though, I do not know, I just do not like the vibe and feel of the US. I am loving the more European ways of Canada. At least I will keep citizenship with one of the strongest nations on the planet all the while being able to live and work in arguably the best region in the world Europe.

Guys, I am excited!

Zászló Magyarország

*A Very Potter Musical reference.

Missed Connections

(Those around Totem and Vanier will appreciate the reference.)

So, I am sitting in my room, alone, looking at my computer fighting off the urge to play with the two candles next to me (I figured I coated my desk with enough wax already).

Wow, this weekend was stressful. Part of me really does not want to write this, but I know that I really should because the couple posts sitting as drafts are nearly worthless to me as all the details are pretty much erased from my memory at this point.

I guess starting at the beginning would be my best bet, except the beginning was several months ago. For months, I was talking about my trip down to the desert for the first time since arriving in Vancouver for Master Koeppel's seminar (grand-master of Matsumura Seito). This past weekend was also the first year anniversary of my black belt and Austin, Joni, and Louie's black belt test. I was on pins and needles with excitement.

About a week and a half prior, my flight was set, ready to depart from Bellingham to Palm Springs promptly at 07:00am. I was prepared, making and reworking my list throughout the week (in hindsight, I maybe should have paid more attention in history class, but que sera, sera). At the same time, Hannah was going to be going down to Seattle and spend that Thursday night in Bellingham, so it was decided that I was to sleep at Hannah's aunt's house that night to get to the airport an hour early.

Leaving was not the problem.
Nor was the bus ride down, albeit there were some bumps on the way to the bus (a forgotten passport, intense running to and from the bus loop, massive rolling bags, etc.), but all in all, it was a sleep-filled ride with laughing sprinkled in intermittently. Actually, no, the bus ride down was a problem: rather than a nice 1,5-2 hour ride, it became a 4 hour ride.

And in our last leg of the bus ride, Hannah received a phone call. Her uncle's dog passed away.

I am an animal-lover, losing an animal is, without a doubt, losing a member of your family. To make matters worse, this is the super nice uncle who was diagnosed with cancer. So, we arrive to a grieving family; it was difficult.

Hannah and I went back to her aunt's house, got our things together, set alarms, and fell asleep nearly instantaneously.

06:30am and my phone starts ringing my alarm, an old-time telephone. You know when you have an alarm for a long enough period of time that it gets you awake instantly and your heart beating? That is this alarm. Apparently Hannah does not use that old-time telephone alarm; I rolled over to see her nuzzle her pillow and relax.

Morning preparations occur: brushing teeth, gathering bags, all the good stuff. We get into the car, blissfully aware of how "right on time we will be" to my 07:30am flight.

Her aunt drops us off at the airport (Hannah will be taking a bus to Seattle from Bellingham international). We walk up to the ticket desk to an empty reception. None of the flights had any staffers. Remember when I said my 07:30am flight... yeah, 07:30. We thought it was 07:30, not 07:00. We arrived perfectly on time, 70 minutes early to be precise, for a 07:30 flight. Too bad the plane to Palm Springs leaves a half hour earlier.

I start to freak out, sweaty palms, heavy breathing, the like. The security guards, barely sympathetically, tell me that I must wait until one of the staffers return, that I missed the final bag check by five minutes. I plead, beg, for them to call the gate or someone down to assist, or at least assess the situation. Apparently, as they are not Allegiant employees, they cannot do anything. So, I stand there, in front of an empty reception area (completely empty, not even representatives from other flights. I mean, heck, why should I be that lucky?)

One hour later, an Allegiant ticket staffer walks up, immediately pointedly saying, "Sir, I would ask you that if there was no one at the desk that you stand behind the line. It will not speed things up." Oh how much I would have loved to say that, "If you were here an hour ago things would have been sped up..." Of course, I own no such cajones.

Essentially, all the options ahead of me were to book the flight the next day to Palm Springs. Though, of course, that would be another $400, maybe more because it was booked the day before. There were no more options; I had already spent much too much on this trip to begin. Instead, I decided on the first bus from Bellingham to Vancouver.

Angrily, Hannah and I sit down and wait. And wait. I arrived at 06:20am, my bus was leaving at 11:50am, hers leaves at 10:00.

After Hannah left, and it was nearing 11:50, I headed outside to wait for the Quick Shuttle. Except, it was around four to six degrees. I was not going to wait in the rain and cold for that long, so I went outside about five minutes before the bus was to arrive. Twenty minutes and a foul-mood'd woman later, I was calling Quick Shuttle. "The bus to Vancouver, yes? That bus, they are about 25 minutes behind schedule." ...great.

I tell that woman, who was in flip flops and Hawai'ian-wear and very angry, the news and we both sit, simmering in our delightful days.

It finally arrived, to which we hopped on as fast as humanly possible–we were not going to cause that bus any more delays.

Anyways, crossing the border was simple, though there were many people possessing passports from outside the US and Canada which did slow things down a bit. Getting back off the bus, and I do not know why I do this, but I freak out when people are giving answers/talking to a person going up and down our line, but I freaked out and told him that I was going to downtown Vancouver, the thing the last person said. In actuality, and I realised this once back on the bus, that I needed to get out at 41 & Cambie.

When we arrived at 41, putting on my most humble of faces, I asked him if he would get me my luggage even though it was in a different compartment. I do not know why this seems like such a huge deal, but to me, especially at the time, I felt super guilty for asking him to open the other compartment. In the end, he took pity because he was our bus driver to the airport and recognized me, asking what happened as I boarded the bus in Bellingham.

On the bus towards 41st Ave, I was looking at the buses coming, and the 9 was coming either very soon or in twenty minutes. Well, it was butt-freezing cold, windy, potentially raining, and as found on Facebook, apparently hailing; I did not want to wait twenty minutes. Approaching the stop, the time before departure was creeping really close, but I got off the bus with two minutes to spare. Or so I thought. As I came close to the intersection, I saw the 9. I was exactly kiddy-corner to the bus stop. Merde. I almost ran right into oncoming traffic in an attempt to catch this bus, instead I just crossed when the cars were turning. Into where I was walking. It was nearly a disaster. Already, the bus was stopped and the stream of people were making their way to the crosswalk.

So, there I am, half-running into traffic with what I equate to being a house-on-wheels bag and a backpack, looking like a maniac as I run into people before the bus pulls away.

Luckily, the line was huge into the bus, but I found a seat. Probably one of the most relieving bus rides of my life.

I get back to totem, go through my contacts, beg the few people who are still on campus to eat with me, and go to the caf with César. Nearly ate his arm off because I was so hungry, also nearly fell into my yoghurt from exhaustion, but, whatever, I was home.

That was my Thursday and Friday. Oy Givaldt.

The rest of my weekend was super lazy (a bunch of movie/television watching, eating at the Naam, and sleeping). Oh, I did manage to score an awesome find from this adventure: Bathilda. She is this bench/trunk thing that was left at "The Fence" ['the chic new boutique', or, rather, the fence were people discard old items that others can take for free]. Carrying her was a bitch; she was moist, peeing (doing the underwater pee dance [inside joke for those there that night]), and quite rude. Now, she inhabits my "heaven", the super comfortable fort under my bed.

Sorry for the crappy quality, all of my shots tend to be at night. I guess she really is a lady of the night...

I pretty much think I covered everything.

So, now it is time for...
Shameless Advertising!: My god-mother has these earthquake predictions that I have made into a blog. It is QuakeCast. Check it out, it is really cool!