Porch View

I felt good today. I got a good amount of sleep. I know almost all the kids' names.

But the main reason I think I felt good is because the guy's bathroom was...broken for some reason today so whenever a kid had to go to the bathroom (which is all the time) they had to be escorted to the pool locker room which is right by the building I work in. And, I'll try to say this in the least creepiest way possible, walking with a kid to the bathroom and then waiting outside that bathroom is a really easy job. But strangely rewarding. You've provided supervision for this person that can not be trusted to walk to a bathroom in an adjacent building alone. The nice thing I guess is that it's barely a job at all but while you're doing it, it's the only thing you have to worry about.

Normally you have to watch dozens of kids who get into a pack mentality that builds into a frenzy of misdirected self-expression and hurt feelings. But when you escort a kid to the bathroom, that's just one kid you have to worry about. He's not trying to cause any trouble either. His bladder is weak; it takes all the control he can muster to get to a designated pee location on time. Basically, mediocre, uneventful supervision is the best kind of supervision.

It makes me wish I could wake up and be some sort of giant woolly mammoth creature. I would still go to my job and lead a normal life, but my occupation would just be to carry children insignificant distances on my back. I'd be well-liked. I'd be performing a wholesome public service. And I wouldn't have to do much else because I'm giant and I no longer possess opposable thumbs. It'd be a pretty sweet deal. I could carry kids to the playground. Or to the big field by the parking lot. I wouldn't have to worry about watching them or keeping them safe because I'd run too big a risk of crushing them or seeing a stray dog and chasing after it. And they could just pay me in bags of spinach and Rolds Gold pretzels. Yeah man, being a large mammoth creature would be awesome.

Oh! And it would also be cool if I had a third eye that could see twenty seconds into the future! No! Wait, I would have VCR vision. So when the kids get hurt I could replay it in my head. But only if they get hurt in a hilarious way. To re-watch a child's pain under any other circumstances would break my mammoth-creature code of ethics.

Also at night I would sneak in and break the toilets. And they'd be like, "We know it was you, giant mammoth creature" But they can't prove nothing on me!

I'm an untouchable king of the tundra!

Funnerson

I feel like I don't have fun anymore. Which, shouldn't be surprising to anyone who has had a job before. But I've never had a job. So it's a new feeling to me. It's especially odd because I work at a place where children are taken to have fun...more or less. It's not supposed to be an enriching environment. It's just a safe place where they have a lower chance of hurting themselves than if they were turned loose on the streets or left at home to drink all the chemicals under the kitchen sink. Here they can chuck foam balls at each other and...chuck foam balls at bowling pins. Chucking foam at stuff! It's great.

And I was in that program when I was a kid and it was a good time. But, it's not the same when you work there. You can't just insulate yourself or feel any sort of bonding or friendship. That's the fun part.

Instead, I feel like...well, first of all, I don't feel anymore like an adult. I just feel like this kid that's too old for the program and put in a place of responsibility for some reason. And, the only reason it works is because everyone in the building has agreed and accepted my place of responsibility. But, in reality, it's just bigger kids watching smaller kids. My co-workers aren't adults. What are we then?

Well, I feel like I've become this huge, human-shaped sponge. And I just kind of have to soak in all the stuff the kids don't want to deal with. Most of my job is being this outlet or repository for the injustices these tiny children perceive in the world (which is usually limited to the gymnasium in the community center). So like, if at any point the kids are having fun, none of that is transferred to me. But if a kid gets hit in the face with a ball, or someone calls someone a name, or those kids that fall down for no reason fall down. That is channeled directly to me with the expectation that I will fix it somehow. And the funny thing is that I don't actually have to do anything. That's the thing I can't quite get my head around. These kids come to me with ridiculous problems that don't really affect them in any meaningful way and they tell me about it and look up at me with expectant eyes and...instead of addressing the problem at all...I just say, "Okay. (fill in remaining response with complete nonsense)." Seriously, I can say anything. A kid will be like, "He is singing a song too loudly." And I can say, "I'll make him do a million push-ups or he'll be eaten by Bengal tigers!" And...the problem will stop.

It doesn't actually matter. But, if my response doesn't matter, why do they keep coming to me?!

Anyway, I guess I could start making it fun. But, for now, I have moments where I don't hear the screaming of children. Also, I get to play bumper pool during free time. Or times I get to sit down.

OH and lunch!

That's like...my fun. And I understand that I'm not there to have fun. It's not about me. But this blog is about me. So I can complain here at least. But yeah, that's my current understanding of my job. Honestly, it's still a good job and I know I haven't gotten used to it yet.

Also I did a track workout today. That was fun.

25 minute warm-up
4 minutes rest
1600 meters- 4:55
5 minutes rest
8x400 meters- 70 seconds each with a very easy 200 meter jog in between (probably around 70 seconds for the jog).
28 minute cool down.

All in all though, it feels good.

The Straightest of Poop

Poem to Explosions

I was running in the heat through thirteen miles of country paradise,
rolling hills and green meadows and fresh summer air.
With the sun beating down and the wind in my face
reminding me of every uncomfortable step.

I saw a pile of chocolate chip pancakes
stacked to the ceiling and oozing
with chocolately chipities melting in pools of
maples upon maples of syrups.

I fired up a 3.75 horsepower pressure-washer
to blast clean the grime and scum
from rock and wood
and make the backyard shimmer and shine.

And on top of the hill overlooking this tiny valley city
I shouted out, "Where are the giant fighting robots!?
Where are the explosions and implosions and destructions
and the whistling of shells falling like rain?"

Fields of flames and hot breakfasts on fire!
Burning sugar and molten sweetness,
splattering blasts of sputtering batter
because explosions are happening for no reason!

With wide-eyed wonder and bowels clenched tight

I watched waves of unnecessary explosions explosions explosions
and dire struggles for the fate of humanity
while hauling out rocks from the garden.

I'm bored, America!
You brought me the internet!
The least you owe me is things blowing up,
overloads and meltdowns of energy and information in a diabolical network,

or at least something interesting to read.

It's a Very Dangerous Thing

To do exactly what you want.

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"Life is far too glorious to ever give it up--especially for the cursed and the damned."
Anthony Hopkins- The Wolfman.

That quote means something different to me now than it did my freshman year when I put it on this blog. I used to think it was a great statement about never giving up, especially when times get hard. I think I sympathized with the idea of being downtrodden and a loser and reveling in my own triumphant mess.

Now I think it's more of a cautionary statement about the cursed and the damned. They are what they are because they never stop striving for glory. Because they can't stop striving for glory. That's the curse of living life as a pursuit of greatness. Life becomes a trap.

(For more on the curse of glory, please see just about any song made by Kanye West mentioning fame.)

But that whole selfless-heroism thing has never done anything for me either...
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 My little sister got her SAT scores back about a week or two ago. And she soundly crushed me. She beat me by 70 points in her combined Reading and Math score.

But I'm not down about that. Know why?

Cuz #1- I'm about to graduate college anyway so my SAT score has already been completely irrelevant for about three years. I'm just gonna start deliberating lying about it.

"Hey Andy, what'd you get on the SAT?"

"Oh man, the SAT's? All I remember is the night before I got locked in the back of grocery story with some Eastern European super models. We all woke up in bathtubs full of ice and when I finally got to the test I sneezed a duck all over the answer sheet and turned that in five minutes after it started...No I don't remember what I got on my SATs! I don't need to remember things like that anymore! I remember important things like the last time I made out with someone and which beers taste like Fruity Pebbles! This is the real world, homie. School's finished!"

But the other reason, the more important reason, is that my sister received her excellent test taking skills at the cost of valuable survival instincts. All that cognitive processing power was taken from her instinctual food and waste management knowledge.

I'll give you an example.

The other day my sister yells to my mom, "Mom! There's a ton of fruit flies in my room!"

And my mom goes, "How many? Count them!"

And she responds, "...six!"

So my mom goes down to my sister's room and finds a bag of rotting food on her bedroom floor. It's got week old fig newtons, bagels, fruit, granola bars, everything. It's like my sister made plans to go hiking at three in the morning, got all the food ready, was about to bend down and pick up her bag of supplies and then all the blood rushed out of her head, she passed out with her torso half on her bed and slept for thirteen hours like that. Then she woke up and completely forgot about her plans and went about her day.

But anyway, my mom tells her to throw the rotting bag of food away to get rid of the "tons" of fruit flies and goes upstairs. My mom comes down later and sees the bag of food in the downstairs hallway, about two feet from my sister's door. And my sister is in her room on facebook. Which means, something very specific must have happened. My sister picked up the bag of nasty, opened her bedroom door, took all of ONE steps out into the hallway and said, "DONE!", put down the bag and walked back into her room.

I love my sister. She's amazing to me. Here is a person that scored in the 99th percentile in the country on critical reading ability yet she looked at a sack of rotting food surrounded by swarming flies, a universal sign of death and decay if there ever was one, and said, "hmm...if I take this bag...and it move it three feet away from my current location...AND I can no longer see it...I should be okay."

So when I brush my teeth in our bathroom that is infested with fruit flies...I'm gonna remember that test scores aren't everything. Maybe I can't remember pre-calculus level math or answer multiple choice questions about passages from short stories,

but I know what to do with rotting food and my spawn will not die from the typhoid or TB!


Happy Birthday, Leetle Seester!

On Kids Not Being Funny

I took a job watching children under the impression that they would be...amusing.

Turns out, when you put a bunch of elementary school kids in a gymnasium they really just end up reminding you of feet.

Feet are kinda funny, but they're more unsettling and powerfully awkward.

Ways Kids Are Like Feet-

-they both smell.

-they both should be covered but hippies would prefer they wear nothing at all. We were up at the playground and I saw the mother of a kid not in our program take her boy over to a tree that was not three feet from the playground, yank down his pants, and help him water a tree for all to see. Of course, there really isn't anything technically wrong with it...but still...I-don'--need-ta-see-nunna-dat!

-Young kids have disproportionate bodies. Like, their limbs aren't long enough yet. So their arms and legs kind of remind me of toes. They're always wiggling and gesticulating in weird ways.

-They're constantly on the ground. There are some kids that love to fall down. For no reason at all, they're constantly falling and rolling around on the ground. They can't think of enough excuses to get dirt and whatever is on the floor on them. Kinda like dogs I guess...

-They're very utilitarian. One reason feet are kinda funky is that they're strictly functional. They're just muscle and bone and skin. That's basically what a kid's body is. It's a jumbled, unformed assemblage of limbs designed to move them to their next source of fat and sugar or cling to and climb on whatever is closest to them. That's it.

-Teeth...weird looking. I guess the closest approximation in feet would be messed-up toe nails. They've got baby teeth falling out of them, they've got new teeth coming in at weird angles, to look into a kid's mouth is like staring at my bruised, infected, neglected toe nails.

-Try arguing with a foot. Okay, done? Did you get anywhere in your discussion? No? I figured. Kids are no better. That's why you have to throw crazy logic at them. Mess with them. Make up rules. Take the rules away. Bring the rules back. Speak in tongues. If you want to win an argument with a foot, logic will do you no good. It's just gonna bounce right off your big toe.

-They both turn weird colors. My feet sometimes turn purple or red or all sorts of weird colors due to...poor circulation probably. Point is, if you ever want to see the same thing in a child, watch them try to have Mandatory Pool Fun Time on a cloudy 60 degree day. Haha, bunch a shivering, blue-lipped little hairless apes trying to escape to the land of make-believe beneath towels huddled together for warmth.

-Seriously, they both smell. And when you do catch a whiff, you don't want to know where it came from.

Yeah, so if you're curious what a whole bunch of little kids are like, don't base your assumption off movies or memory or optimistic ideals. Just take off your shoes and socks and stare at the weird phalange'd lumps below your ankles.

The thing about kids though is that eventually they do transform from feet into real people...it's kinda hard to imagine. And I think everyone still has some feet left in them. Watching kids has definitely shown me how much feet I have left...also I have really disgusting feet.

Went To Wal-Mart

Bought

A) Irish Springs Body Wash

B) Grey t-shirt: "This is What A Cool Grandpa Looks Like"

Watch Out Grandpas!

Growing Out

Something I hope I never understand is lying. Like, my biggest fear is that it is possible to build such an elaborate and complete lie that a person can just live inside of it indefinitely.

My perception of the world will crumble if there exists a lie-caterpillar. It's a hideous, bulbous, many-legged monstrosity that waddles along, just moments from collapsing in a nauseated heap. But if you try to talk to it, it's like, "Yeah! I'm doing great! I've got everything figured out and...and...and yeah! I'm gonna grow wings and fly. They'll be beautiful, elegant wings that sparkle in the sunshine as I dance in the wind. I'll be slim and regal and spend my days living and eating in the flowers of wondrous gardens!"

And all the while they're just surrounding themselves with this thick, mucous like substance that keeps spewing out of their mouths and completely blinding them from the realities of the outside world. They're slowly severing all bonds with truth as they construct this cocoon of delusion.

And when they're finally so completely sealed off you think, "Well, at least I won't have to put up with all that crap anymore--"

ONE WEEK LATER--BOOM! METAMORPHOSIS!!

You wake up one day and he's out on your front lawn, stretching his wings in the morning sun. "Yeah, looks like today was my lucky day! I'd love to hang around and chat but me and about a million of my new buddies are all going to Mexico for the winter. We gotta hit up the mating season! See ya, bro!"

Pictured: A HUGE JERK!

And he leaves you and your friends and you guys all go back to...building tunnels underground that you can huddle together in when the ground freezes over--staving off frostbite by the heat of your own farts.

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I've told, as best I can remember, one deliberate, outright lie in my life. Everyone does that partially obscure the truth thing or leaving out stuff thing but I can recall one social situation where I just completely lied.


It was in eighth grade. My friends were talking about the Weird Al movie, UHF. And they'd asked me if I'd seen it. And I was so determined to prove that I was a true fan of Weird Al that I lied and said that I had seen it.

AND THAT STILL EATS AT ME TODAY! I just can't believe I bothered to say something so stupid and blatantly false. It really does eat at you. But maybe that's just me. Maybe I'm a dung beetle, pushing his pile of crap along and trying to collect it as he finds it. I can't change who I am or what I've got. That'd be like pushing around a giant inflatable pile of poopy. Yeah, it looks impressive but is there any real satisfaction in carrying around a hollow impression of something?

But maybe lies don't eat at other people. Maybe there are lie-caterpillars.

I don't think there are...