Freshman year is a curious phenomenon where all the norCal kids move down to UCLA, and all the soCal kids move up to Berkeley, so every other person is twiddling their thumbs for Thanksgiving while I itch to get back to UCLA, totally thankless that home is only an hour away. My family isn’t the closest. We interact with each other, but it’s been the status quo that I would go to my room when I get home, and my parents would watch channel 18 Asian dramas, which now have random Chinese speaking white men thrown in. This week was no exception.

College is probably the healthiest thing that ever happened to me. I am hardly ever at my computer anymore (although it may change when homework picks up), and I’ve been hitting the gym which I actually now have for the first time. I’ve played tennis and nearly died during dragonboat tryouts attempting to keep up with beefcakes that hopelessly outclass me, and all of that on top of climbing up and down hills daily.

Of course, the freshman fifteen might still catch up to me. I am pretty sure that I am supposed to look forward to homecooked food, but I guess not when you are going to UCLA. The campus food is truly as good as they say, and I haven’t even tried the food in Westwood yet!

First there was orientation. I was scared that because it was such a late (but incredibly not the last) session, I wouldn’t be able to get all the classes I wanted. But as we learn time and again, some mistakes were meant to be. I hope the friends I made out of a random encounter under a starry sky will stay with me for the next four years. Nor does it hurt that I got every class I wanted.

Right after a wonderful orientation, we went on a vacation in the Caribbean. I would take Los Angeles over Miami any day, but the cruise will be unforgettable. I made awesome new friends, but unfortunately even on the endless seas the sun has to set. Perhaps someday our paths will align again, but until then we still lie under the same night skies.

Today, however, the waiting ends. It is my last day at home before I move into my new home away from home at UCLA, and I cannot wait. I will always be thankful for the friends, family, and mentors that have brought be down this path, and all the mistakes that led up to this point.

Let it begin!

*apparently this is my 150th post

In addition to thinking that the easiest way to add phone numbers is by making a Facebook event, people now no longer know how to use the Internet for its greatest potential: knowledge.

I do not know if we skipped a generation or two, but does nobody know how to use a search engine anymore?

If a link on a teacher’s page is broken, people start freaking out. It’s like when a leaf falls into the path of an ant in Bug’s Life. “Around the leaf? I-I-I don’t think we can do that. Mr. Soil.” They automatically revert to social networks to try to find the answer, and while asking for help is perfectly acceptable, everyone ought to take the initiative to solve problems on their own first.

If we are going to let Google replace the brains most of us never had, we could at least use it from time to time.

So to help me out, please answer the following the questions:

1. What is your religious standpoint?
2. Have you had a constant romantic interest since, say, middle school?
3. How about since high school?

Yes, I know my hypothesis is probably incorrect, but I just want to see if there’s any correlation. And besides, it’s good practice in statistics.

Personal Statement Prompt One:

Describe the world you come from — for example, your family, community or school — and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.

Your typical fuzzy, vague, too-much-freedom prompt. If you followed the logic of the sentence, you would start analyzing your world and start digging up sad stories about how your bird sponteanously died in a pool of blood after you left it outside for air, how you had to suffer the hardships of being middle class, or how your mom keeps force-feeding you papaya. All of that you have to focus into a coherent goal, and good luck with that.

So really what the prompt is asking for Inception. You have to start with the seed first, and from there make up your world. That’s what you should do of course. Except write it backwards, because you always have to follow the prompt.

It goes without saying that Oregon has beautiful countrysides. Picture perfect forests; golden fields of grain, and of course the gorgeous Columbia river. No taxes, either. I can’t decide whether to live there or in Canada.

But enough about the praises, no self-respecting post should ever be entirely about the good stuff.

Self-service pumps still remain in Oregon. I suppose it’s not that bad in that it creates jobs, but at these anachronistic pit stops there comes an anachronistic lack of credit card slots (1), so don’t expect to be able to stay in your car. However, proof that parts of Oregon still live in a box resides in the sticker (2), Seriously? Gulf coast? BP? Spill? And by the way, your play on “cogito ergo sum” should probably be by DescARCO (3).

Also, will Portland please spend some effort naming your streets? 122nd street? I’m sure the numbers go higher.

By the way, listen to your GPS most of the time, even if you think you know better. You’ll learn your lesson after you’ve dealt with one way streets and nonexistant freeway exits.

Dad: I want to get off on 122nd.

GPS: Get off on 144 (made-up street)

Ten seconds later…

Me: Uh, I think we just passed 122nd.

GPS: Travel 3 miles (in heavy traffic at 5 mph) until next exit.

The PT cruiser has some serious obstacles to overcome before it can be called a car. First of all, window controls go on the side. Not in the middle. Clocks are digital, so you don’t mistake them for another dial on the dashboard. Don’t even get me started on the outside.

For those reading restaurant reviews, Burgerville is overrated. It is not and can never be the In-n-Out of Oregon. Even McDonald’s trumps it. I mean, how could you charge more for your Walla Walla grilled onion burger when you can get them free at In-n-Out? But I suppose it’s only fair that we get In-n-Out, since Arby’s is everywhere in Oregon. Please release some back into the wild. The Arby’s population in California is in danger of becoming extinct.

I promise you I will tell you all about my trip later, but for tonight, I’ll just stick with the mail that welcomed me home:

How is it that a school gets the right to force us to go to a studio for our yearbook photos? There must be some serious corruption there to send us to a place that sucks $20 just for the sitting.

That was bad enough, and I wasn’t going to order something that I could take and retouch myself, but the studio decided that it would take the liberty to send us some proofs. And then demand that we return them, because somehow the pictures of us was their property (someone explain to me how that works), and also lack the courtesy to include a prepaid envelope. They did leave a cheery reminder to remember the postage!

Unless they are just trying to brag about their new Glamorphone, which is insensitive because I don’t even have a phone, this is stupid on a number of levels.

First of all, welcome to the 21st century. Phones today have Bluetooth. Don’t tell me I have to suffer my mom’s constant lectures about how all this radiation crap is going to kill me for nothing. Is it that hard to transfer your contacts? My goodness, here you are preaching about Apple, and for all its proprietary holier-than-thou philosophy, Apple at least can back of its claim that all of its products work together, use an address book or something to sync.

I mean, even if you had to input every number from your old phone by hand, it’s the same effort as copying all of them off the computer. So while you think you’re being lazy, you’re actually just being stupid. The genuinely lazy people (like myself) find efficient shortcuts.

–

This post could use some touching up, but I’ve finally gotten a post out after 2 months. Moufflets is back for the moment.

But now that we’re in high school, we have to sign every last thing. Even those stupid syllabuses all the teachers make up just for the hell of it. And then expect us to refer back to it for some final project we’ll forget about by … finals.

But to sign things, we have to make up a signature in the first place. Unfortunately, my name is rather boring. I have no fancy “y”s or “g”s or capital “L”s to end with a flourish. Half of the letters look exactly the same once you combine the inherently messy nature of signatures with my degenerative handwriting. When I see other people’s flowery sig’s with two-inch long streamers, I burn with jealously. I mean, I don’t even have any “t”s or “f”s to dash, nor an “i” or “j” to dot. Some how, my name only is cursed with the most boring combination of vowels and consonants. I mean seriously, each letter in my first name is worth exactly 1 pt each in Scrabble. Even “Bob” has a net worth higher than mine. And it has fewer letters too!

Granted, my name trumps yours any day, but it would be nice if it looked the part. I suppose I shouldn’t complain though. \I mean take a look at Ariel here. We sign our lives away everyday, but at least it’s not that painful.

By the way, knowing how to forge your parent’s signature is Good Bad Student 101. I mean, it’s okay if your parents are okay with w/e you’re signing, right? I have no idea how some people make it through 12 years of school without learning how.