Tuesday

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Soap Boxes and Remembering

You'd be genuinely surprised what you can find laying around the house if you look hard enough. Buried beneath all the clutter and useless ornaments we have lying all over the place are some real gems. We've all been there. You're looking for something, and shuffling through all odd knick knacks, when you come across something that catches your eye. Something that triggers an emotional response in your head so unmistakeable, you just have to stop and check it out. For me, it was the soap box in the back of my dads office cabinet. I hadn't seen that rotting cardboard box for years. Anyone else would have passed it off for trash, but the minute I saw that faded blue logo on the old water stained, ripped-up cardboard, I knew I had come across something big.

Ever since we moved into the house 6 years ago I had been trying to track down this old soap box. My family had kept it for as long as I could remember. Inside were hundreds upon hundreds of 3x5 pictures dating back to the 1940s up till about 2001. It was the night before Nick and I left for Costa Rica that I happened across the old soap box. I stopped packing my things and gingerly brought the box out onto the floor. The sides were caked in dust, and as I brought the box to the floor, the dust cloud that followed its descent sent my cat fleeing for the next room.

Inside I found relics of my parents teenager years, my brothers highschool graduation pictures, pictures of my grand father and his taxi, our old house in Matawan, my old dog Spikey, the proverbial baby pictures, and so much more. By the time I had finished going through them all, the floor was covered in pictures. Little 3x5 windows into the past.

I always tell the photography club members on the first meeting of the year " Your camera is a time machine. With it, you litterally have the ability to freeze time, to capture a moment, and superimpose it on a piece of film (nowadays a memory card). And one day many years from that time, you'll pick up that one picture and remember. The feelings you felt, the things you said, and the thoughts you thunk [i know thats not a word] will all come rushing back to you. You'll relive that moment. And you'll travel through time." It gets them thinking. And its true. Distant memories of Chinese New Year parties, and seeing the Grand Canyon 13 years ago came rushing back. All of a sudden I could feel the helicopter blades throbbing again. I remembered looking down and seeing the vast, breath taking gorges, being completely awestruck, and feeling so small. I remembered rolling a giant rock up to the edge of a cliff, and feeling the rush of happiness and childish glee as I watched it plumet thousands of feet into the river below. I remembered the checkered picnic table cloth, and my uncles wire framed glasses. I remembered the cactuses, and the blazing bright blue sky. I just stared at the picture for awhile and remembered.

Images of my childhood jumpstarted those distant memories that had long since laid dormant in the back of my head. I remembered the firemens parade in Matawan, and always losing the fireman costume pagent to these twins who had real fire suits. It was a big deal to me back then. Every year the local fire department would take the kids for rides on the fire trucks, let us honk the horns, and climb all over. And after that we would go to the community center, or maybe it was the fire house, and the kids would dress up in firemen suits from halloween stores or mother's sowing machines, and compete to get their picture taken with the big (i forget his name) fire prevention dalmation, who was really just a man in a suit. I never won, but that was irrelevant, since the fire trucks parked in my Dads commuter lot, and I got the private tour every year. Those twins would have been so jealous.

There were pictures of my Grandpa, who passed away in 2005. I never knew him well. But for a long time he stayed with us at our house in Mawatan. I remember seeing him out the big glass dining room window everyday, just standing by the fence where our backyard met the lake. Some days he would be doing these weird excersizes, other days he would feed the ducks. Mostly he'd just stand by the water and look out across the lake. When it got cold, he put wood in a furnace. I never understood why. He didn't even stand by it. I guess he just liked to burn wood.

I'm very thankful my brother got into photography. It not only got me interested in it, but it kept our excursions well documented. Nick always brought his camera when we went fishing. We never caught much back then. I remember for two whole summers, Nick and I went down to this pier in Lawrence harbor. We'd cut up bait, cast out and sit on the pier and talk, or I would try to catch the little rock crabs scurrying across the big boulders, and Nick would hit a golf ball on the sand. For two years we caught nothing, but still, every saturday, week after week, we were there. Our paitence finally paid off. I can't remember the date. I think it was some time in August. For some reason, that day, every single bluefish on the east coast it seemed, decided to school up next to our pier. For two years we went without seeing a single fish till that day. We filled a garbage bag full, and the next saturday, like nothing had happened, it was dead calm. We never did catch anything there again.

I didn't know it at the time, but spikey would pass away 4 days after I found the soap box, while I was in Costa Rica. I found out over facebook. It was late in the evening, and I walked out to the beach alone to watch the sun dip below the horizon. I thought of my old dog. I remember the day we got him. My cousin and I had been clamoring for a puppy for years, and this one day in December, when I was in the second grade, I opened the back door to see a tiny german shepard puppy. We named him Spike, and he was the best dog anyone could ask for. I remember a few weeks after we got him he followed me onto the bus. My mom came running after him and carried him home. He got into all sort of shennanigans. One day he jumped the fence, and we though he mauled some commuter in the lot. It turned out the commuter was a dog trainer, and he had Spike sitting on his haunches begging for a treat. There was the time Spike fought the groudhog. The two had been archrivals ever since we moved into the Broad Street house. I remember seeing a cloud of dust over by the shed as Spike and the groundhog went at it. I ran out to stop the fight but by then the groundhog had won. Spikey had a little cut on his ear, and the groundhog made it back under the shed. I always thought his pride had taken a hit after that.

One thing I really noticed was how different my parents looked. It wasn't just that they looked younger. They were happier. They dont smile as much now. In the old photographs I saw young Nancys and Sunnys, with beards and skirts. They looked as though they were enjoying themselves. I could see the warmth in their faces. The spark of youthfulness, of un-worried minds and big ambitions. What happened? They're colder now. And they fight every now and then. They dont talk much, save for business. I wish they'd open up the soap box and remember.

I spent the rest of the night leafing though stacks of 3x5s. My head was inundated with memories, that I relived with each new picture. It was remarkable. I'm glad I found that box. It's a time machine, really. You should try it sometime. I hope its not just me. I guess I really value the past. We speak highly of times gone by. Better times I guess you could say. There were no midterms or SAT results. No job searches or expenses to pay. Thank God the camera was invented. Until we invent a real one, it's the best time machine we've got.

Music I'm Listening to Right Now:

Favor - Rocco Deluca and The Burden

Assignments and My Writing / Vacation

Assigments and My Writing

I like english. I like using fancy words and sounding smart while I adjust my glasses. But it seems as though I've developed a complex to doing school work. When I used to write these blogs for myself, I'd flow. The words would fly off my finger tips, and I'd genuinely enjoy my own writing. More and more nowadays, when I put pen to the paper, or fingers to the keys to write an assignment, be it English, History, or Western Civ, I freeze up. I don't know what to write, and I second guess the ideas that come to mind until I forget them altogether. Maybe it's because I'm over scrutinizing my own work because I know it's going to be graded. Or maybe it just seems a little too futile to me - that "Why should I even do this, how's it ever going to practically benefit me?" attitude. Maybe it's just I'm making excuses because I don't want to admit I'm lazy. Although the latter probably rings the truest, there is still some truth to the other two. The the end result of them all, is what I feel is sub-standard writing. I didn't post anything the last two blogging weeks, but I did write a few posts. After reading them over and over again I felt they were missing a certain aspect of my old blogs that I just couldn't name. I'd write them, read them over, be dissatisfied, make changes, be dissatisfied, and repeat and repeat and repeat. I ended up just not posting. I'm not saying I don't want to write, I think it's, since my writing is now regulated, it's not genuine anymore. And however hard I try to make it genuine, when I re read it, I sound like a used car salesman in one of those flashy commercials, trying desperately to pass off junk with with gaudy ads, giant billboards and those annoying tall balloon people that bend and snap.

And I hate those commercials.

I think Mr. Jannetti summed it up pretty well today. I went back into his classroom after the last bell rang. I had come in earlier to get a progress report from him, but he was teaching so I decided to come back later so as not to interrupt him. After handing me my 66 average, he gave me the usual "youre too bright to be getting this, stop being lazy" speech I get so often, but then he stopped. Instead he said something that really hit me hard.

"You know what, Chong, it's not that you're lazy. You bust your ass doing other things, but you just don't care about school."

I thought about it. There's a lot of truth in between those quotation marks.

Vacation

First off, please forgive me for the sour tone. When I typed out the first post here I promised myself not to make this a place to complain and whine. I've had a rough day and I needed to get that out. So heres the story of my winter break vacation I wrote a few days ago for a change of mood. Enjoy

Wow. I really cannot believe it's only been 19 days since my brother and I left the sunny shores of Costa Rica. It feels like a months since I've been touched by a ray of sunlight that wasn't below 40 degrees. I miss it more that I could ever tell you. It really was paradise. Every morning I'd wake up to 80 degrees and clear skies, go outside and stretch my arms wide as the sun's warmth enveloped my whole body. It was bliss.

We spent five day's in Quepos, on the Central Pacific Coast. Quepos isn't too fancy, and it's far from what someone might call a resort, but nonetheless to me, it was tropical paradise. In the day's leading up to my departure from the sub freezing continential US, I dreamed day, night, and class, of blazing sun, white sand, and a care free mind. Well, it got. For five days straight the only thing I cared about was not picking the best thing on the menu for dinner. There wasn't a single Dad to harrass me, nor a Mother to nag. Bliss, I tell you.

We flew in on Christmas day, and after a smaller twin engine turbo prop dropped us off at a nearby airstrip, we settled into by the beach hotel, and caught a cab into town for Christmas Dinner.

The Food

Lets talk about the food. Thanks to my Cornell-educated, Corporate America-employed, amazing big brother, I ate like a king for five nights straight. Quepos being a coastal town, and myself being a seafood lover, I was heaven. I don't know where to start.

Every place we went, we sampled the Ceviche (pronounced [seh-vee-shay]) It was like a salsa made with fresh fish, shrimp, scallop, herbs and a bunch of other things, with a base of lemon juice, and who know's what thrown in. All I can say was it was pretty damn amazing.

We went to a different restaurant every night. Along the road between The National Park (Where we stayed) and Quepos, there are a number of American owned restaurants (with american prices) that cater to the tourists Staying in the area. My favorite was Agua Azul. I had this half sushi half cooked yellowfin tuna, in light soy sauce type concotion (served in a martini glass!), followed by Pan Seared Wahoo (a fish) on a bed of sausage rice for my entree, washed down with an ice cold Imperial (the local beer) and topped off with this chocolate brownie that rivaled any one of Max Brenner's chocolatier creations.

That was just one night. I could write about each dinner, but honestly, I'm already salivating, and the thought of what my mom managed to cook up compared to what I ate there is just too painful. And I'd probably wite more than I did in 30 Hours of Awesomeness.

Now, my brother is a smart man. And any one of his cubicle cohorts would have smiled when they saw the color coded, daily time schecule activity spreadsheet he put together on Excell. Each day we had booked a different activity, some days two, with some beach chill time thrown inbetween. Day one, we surfed.

Surfing

The ocean where we were was pretty flat for the most part, although the heavy foam long boards we rented were more than enough to catch the most miniscule of waves. Nick booked a lesson in the afternoon, and at around 11, our guide came to pick us up at the hotel. He spoke surprisingly good english. His name was george, and he was a senior in highschool. He told us about his mother who lived in California, and how he hoped to make enough money to visit her there one day. Which was weird because on the way home he mentioned that she worked in Agua Azul. He was a little sketchy to say the least, but his anti-tourist attitude was less apparent than with some of the other locals. You could tell by their at times poorly feigned smiles that they detested the tourists who came and raised the prices, and turned their economy into an almost entirely tourist based - back to surfing.

It felt so great to finally get back up on a board. They're weren't any killer 15 footers, or crowded line ups, or dead flatness. It was just nice relaxing surfing. For a while I laid down with my back on the big foam longboard, and just took in the sun while the Pacific rocked me slowly into a half sleep.

Fishing

The dawn of day 2 brought with it perhaps the most memorable, and the most anticipated activity we had planned. Our trip was centerd around this activity, and as the I hastily devoured my Opción #2 breakfast of sunny side eggs, black bean rice, and fried plantains (zomg so delicious), I listened closely for the crunching of gravel, that would come from the truck sent by Luna Tours Sport fishing to pick us up that morning. To tangle with the billfish.

We hooked up with 2 Sailfish, 1 Marlin, and a Mahi Mahi. I was up on the fly-bridge with Captain Mario when the first sail hit. I had been gloomily scanning the ocean, watching for any indication of a strike on the baits and teasers we were trolling behind us. An hour had passed without fish, my eyes were weary, and my morale wearier. My stony gaze was fixed on the far starboard bait, when from the corner of my eye, a tall bill shot from the water and dipped back down near the port side bait had once been. It took a moment for my action starved brain to register what had just happend. "FISH ON!!!" I yelled at the top of my lungs as I dove under the railing of the fly bridge and onto the deck. Captain Mario got on the radio and called in "Pescado! Pescado! Pescado!" to the other boats. I got in the fighting chair, and the deckhand, Gabriel, handed me the rod.

Oh. My. Goodness. Let me tell you, I have never put a more beautiful, hard fighting, awe inspiring fish in the boat that that Sail. He pulled like a train, and I watched on in terrified amazement as all 7 feet of him shot completely out of the water again and again, as he so vailiantly tried to spit the hook. It took me 20 minutes, and numerous reel screaming runs, to get him to the boat. Gabriel Grabbed him by the bill and put him in my lap for a picture. I'll never forget the color on that fish. It was more beautiful than any painting I'd ever seen. To be honest the only thing that could rival that color was the Costa Rican Sunset. We let him go, to fight another day

Nick lost the Marlin and another Sailfish before he put that Mahi Mahi up there to the boat. Oh man he tasted good for dinner.

The day wasn't limited to fishing however. During the 8 or so hours we spent trolling the deep waters, the Pacific was teaming with life everywhere you looked. I saw a flying fish for the very first time, not a half hour out the harbor, it was nuts. These little torpedo shaped fish, about as long as a pencil, and as think as a broom stick would erupt from the water and sail like gliders just above the surface. They were everywhere on the way out. We came across several large green turtles, as well as incredible numbers of dolphins and pilot whales. Whenever a pod of dolphins was sighted, Captain Mario would call them out, and I'd grab the camera and climb down to the bow. Like clock work, each pod would intercept the boat, and swim and play right up against the bow. Standing on the gunwhale, I swear, I could have reached out and touched them. It was amazing.

Ziplining and Jet Skiing

I won't spend to much time talking about ziplining. I'll admit it was pretty fun, and I did have a good time, but in the long run it just left me tired, sweaty, and dirty. We did get some cool pictures though.

Hand's down, the absolute most exhilarating thing we did in Costa Rica, was jet skiing. Since the same tour company that offered the zipplining tour also offered a jetskiing tour, we stayed at their office in Quepos for a half hour before getting picked up and dropped off at the harbor.

We met our guide at the docks, he explained the saftey rules and how to drive the skiis, and before long we were off. We didn't take any pictures unfortunately, since we were getting completely soaked and traveling at speeds in excess of 50 miles an hour, there was no time to line up a good shot. If you ask anyone who knows me they'll tell you I love driving. It's why I take flying lessons, its why I count the days, hours, minutes, and seconds till the day I get my license. Driving, whatever the vehicle, to me, is one of the ultimate freedoms. I think it's the ability to go wherever you want, and fast, that makes it so appealing to me. And this Yamaha jet skii was FAST.

The first time I really punched the throttle, I was squeezing those handle bars for dear life as the inertia sucked me back. I stood up to let my knees to absorb the bounce of each wave that catapulted the whole skii into the air. A few times I caught air for a whole second or two at 50 miles per hour. I relive it in my head every time I think about it. The jet skii would be screaming over the surface of the water. All of a sudden I'd watch as a big swell shot under neath me, and in slow motion I can can still feel the whole thing lifting up in my gut, the saltwater hits my face, and the noise from the motor goes quiet as the intake valve leaves the water for those few precious seconds. I feel weightless, as the skii and I soar through the air. Then the skii comes crashing down, and my whole body pushes downward and I feel like I'm falling, but the thrill is just so think I squeeze the throttle down for a few more seconds, savor every last bit of the raw, wild adrenaline.

ATVing

Although not nearly as wild as jet skiing, riding atv's through the country side was cool. We got paired with a group of parents with young children - slow riders. For me and Nick, this was a bad thing. After the jaw breaking speed of the Jet Skii's the day before we were hooked on the rush of adrenaline. Needless to say we hung back every now and then to let the group get some distance between us. Then we floored it and held on.

Eventually we got a little too comfortable going at speed, and we started weaving side to side, fish tailing. I'd let Nick catch up to me only to fish tail infront of him, and kick up a cloud of dust for him to pass through. I'll let this video to the rest of the typing.

We spent the last day just chilling on the white sand in the national park. The water was cool, and the sun blazing. It wasn't like Jersey sun. I cooked real good haha. Well I'm all written out now, so I'll leave you with one last picture, and we'll call it a night.

Music I'm listening to right now:

The Backseat - The Gaslight Anthem

An Update

For those of you who used to follow my writing here, rejoice! My misfortune has lead to your lucky day! I stopped writing in September, well, because it was getting old. I didn't really enjoy it as much as I did when I first started, and like I said in my last 'Apology to my Readers' it was becoming a fad. Chris Chong doesn't do fads.

But now he does! Because if he doesn't he fails an English Assignment. So be happy. I'll be posting regularly again, assuming my laziness continues to outweighed by my desire to succeed. Lets hope that balance stays in favor of the non-living-in-a-box life.

An Update

Mannnnnnnn it has been awhile since I've sat down and punched out one of these. Its been 3 months since my last post. Needless to say, my increasingly interesting and exciting life has only gotten more interesting and exciting in between now and then. Thats false. School's been a drag, with the exceptional high points. There have been some exciting weekends though, and I think I will regale you all with some stories of weekends past.

Bears

There comes a time in one's life when the ordinary no longer suffices. A time when, bold, brash, and reckless decisions become common place, and later in life we look back and say "what the hell was I thinking?". This is a time we call adolescence. It's a time of crazy nights, adventure, excitement, and singing at the top of your lungs to the blasting music assaulting your ear drums.

Lets talk about blasting music. Specifically, blasting music in cars. Theres no feeling in the world like when you crank those windows down, and that volume dial up. Am I over-romanticising something simple? Yes. Why? I guess its who I am.

It's like you're being drawn together as your belted words fuse with the stereo's, and the voices of your friends. Theres this feeling of aliveness, and energy that just rushes through you when you scream out those tired old lyrics. I love it. And thats exactly what we were doing that night, crusing down 527, Blink182 making the windows shake, and screaming at the top of our lungs "And my friends say I should act my age, what's my age again, whats my age again?"

We were ecstatic, and why? We just pulled it off. No one thought it could be done. A scandal others had only joked about, and said "Oh haha, yeah that'd be crazy if we ever did that.", we did. We stole smokey the bear.

It was late on a Saturday night, when I got the call from Jason. He wanted to come pick me up and do something adventurous. How could I refuse? Fifteen minutes passed before I saw the black jeep commander pull into Tyler Alhf's driveway. Reluctantly, I got up, and left the warmth of the bonfire. I said goodbye to my development friends, and jumped in. We drove back to my house to meet with Dean and Dan.

Thats where it started. Let me fast forward you to the action.

"WE'VE GOT IT, WE'VE GOT IT GO GO GO GOOOO!" Was the last transmission I got from Dean before the call went dead. "NOW!" I screamed to Danny in the driver's seat. We peeled out of the wawa parking lot and raced over to where we had left Dean and Jason. The street was dark, and besides a the occasional pair of headlights, the road was lit by a single nearby street light. We spun a hard right into the alley, and a few seconds later, hands were banging on the trunk of Dean's landrover, and I heard voices screaming "OPEN! NOW! NOW! OPEN THE TRUNK!"

The back gate flew open and a 6 foot tall smokey the bear was thrown in behind me. Jason and Dean jumped in, and we sped off. Adrenaline pumping, and hearts racing. Screams erupted in the cabin as we cheered our accomplishment. None of us could believe it. Amidst the roar of excitement I looked back, just to make sure, that it really was a 6 foot smokey the bear sitting back there next to Jason.

It was a crazy night. We took smokey to rumson, and brought him into the party we crashed. Although well recieved at first. A few of the rumson kids found us out of place, and decided that we werent fitting company. We left shortly after a Dean went berserk on this one kid who flipped his hat off his head. I though for sure there'd be a brawl, and the first thought in my mind was what nice peice of furniture I could use as to defend myself.

We staggered home, weary with crazy thoughts of the whole scheme. I slept well.

So thats my weekend story. I'll all written out tonight, so thats it for now.

I'll be back tomorrow with more.

-Chris.

Music I'm listening to Right Now:

Film Noir - The Gaslight Anthem

On my new vinyl record player!

30 Hours of Awesomeness

Foreward

This ones long. I'm sorry! Quite litterally from the start of Saturday, to the end, to Sunday morning, so much epicness took place that the quantity of writing in this post has greatly exceeded that of any previously written. You can stop and come back later. I wont mind.

Enjoy

Getting Up

A small puddle of drool had developed under my chin by the time the morning chill woke me up. I was fully clothed, on my stomach, and sprawled over the downstairs couch. My body was sore and I was tired, and desperately wanted to go back to sleep. I could hear my mom walking around in the kitchen, and Jibbles was busy parading back and forth on my back, nudging the back of my head to get me up. After a great deal of hesitation I slowly brought my watch to my face, and jumped up in terror when I saw the time. I had fallen asleep around 3AM staring at my computer screen, and now it was 7:40AM. I was supposed to call Dan 40 minutes ago. I hit the ground hard when I rolled over onto the floor, stumbled to my feet, and ran upstairs to get my phone and call Dan. Thankfully he was already awake, and since his parents were still sleeping, he'd be picking me up half an hour later. 

A bit more relaxed now, I threw some gear in my bag, and began rigging up my fishing rod. The sky was mostly grey, and when I opened the door to the porch, the air snapped back with a chilly breeze. I got a hoodie and my jacket, and put some ramen on the stove. Just as I slurped up the last strand of noodles, my phone rang. Dan was outside.

I grabbed a few more last minute things, and Dan and I put the gear in the car. It was good to see Dan for a fishing trip again. We hadn't been fishing in the longest time, and our last memories on the water were beginning to feel distant. I secretly wished the car would go faster.

The Jetty

After a quick stop at the Belmar Marina bait shop, Danny and I hopped out the benz (lolz), and started towards the inlet jetty. The picture you see here was taken aboard the Miss Belmar, as we were coming in from an off shore bluefish trip. Me and Danny set ourselves up a little bit to the right of the weather station tower. The picture here is a little inaccurate, however. It was taken in June, when the ocean was calm, and mostly flat. On September 18th, as me and Danny set up the chairs and baited the rods, 10 foot swells battered the jetty every few minutes. The especially large ones left us damp and unhappy. The lumbering walls of water lurched forward, crashing onto the rocks and sending spray up into the air. It was an impressive sight. Gulls flew by over head, and a steady East wind kept things far from calm. 

I missed being around the Ocean. I felt kind of sad looking across the deserted beaches. Th summer crowd had been replaced by a few joggers, and fishermen every so often. The Pavillion was boarded up on the Avon side, and the lifeguards had long since been off duty. The grey sky mirrored the vacant solemness of the waterfront below. I casted out the rods, and Dan and I sat back and talked. Thats one thing I like about fishing bait. You can just sit back, relax, have a hot drink and good conversation. That was another thing I missed. Talking with Dan and waiting for a bite. The conversation is always interesting. We went from girls, to herbs, to Russians, to school, and to plenty of subjects I cant remember. Then back to girls. Fishing conversation is perhaps one of the best things about the sport. Whether sitting out on The Jetty, on the bank of the golf course ponds, or in the boat, its always good, and I cherish every second of it.

The fish decided to cooperate that day, and pretty soon Dan had a little Sea Robin on the Jetty. Everyone and their sister has labeled the robin as a trash fish, and few people keep ugly bottom fish. We decided to anyway, and stuck it in this sort of natural livewell that had formed when the ocean spray filled up a big hole in the jetty. Sea Robin or not, it was better than some of the other days we've spent on the Jetty. We always read about fast paced, fish after fish action, with giant stripers, ravenous bluefish, and big albacore running up and down the beaches. I don't doubt it happens, but I've yet to see it.

We put the lines out again, and went back to conversation. Danny got another hit, and reeled back a keeper sized fluke! We were so happy to see a fluke, I started dancing around. This was a terrible decision on my part. As I pranced around Danny and his catch, brimming with the glee and excitement of a young school girl, my precious zippo lighter, one of my most prized posessions, flew from my pocket, and tumbled down the rocks toward the surging Atlantic. I let out a piercing shriek as I sprang forward to save my poor little lighter from the swirling deep. It tumbled into a crack, and I was standing over the opening before it had a chance to hit the bottom. 

I could barely see the lighter, which was about 1 3/4 feet down this tiny hole. I knelt down and squeezed my hand as far down the crack as it would go. I was still about 6 inches short. I didn't give up. I forced my arm another 5 inches. It was a painful ordeal, and in the process I cut/bruised up my arm pretty badly. The pain that shot through my arm was horrible. The worst part was that I could actually touch my lighter, and I accidently touched it further down the hole. I gathered my strength and forced my arm down even further. After 5 or 6 tries I was finally able to get my ring and middle finger aroun the lighter. And with my face against the rocks, and my arm completely engulfed by the rock, I pulled out my lighter, and held it up in triumph. It was a lot cooler than I made it sound. Trust me.

The Rouge Wave

Much time had past since the excitement of the previous paragraphs, and by now the action had settled down to a slow pace. I caught a throwback fluke, and besides a seagull stealing the neighboring fishermens bait, and us trying to scare it off with my sandal, all was quiet on the south jetty. All except for the pounding surf. Now, if you ask Danny, what was about to happen, it was completely my fault. I disagree. As he retrieved his bait, his sinker got stuck in the rocks at the base of the jetty, where the jagged rocks met the violent ocean. This was a problem. We were out of sinkers at the time, and the loss of another would mean he would have to put his rod down, or worse yet, beg the other fishermen for spares. 

Danny indicated that he was going to go down to the waters edge and try to get it. I wouldn't allow it. I had gone down the to the edge a few times before, and even on a calm day, the potential for danger is exceedingly high. Algae makes the rocks as slick as butter on hardwood flooring, and the steep angles of the big rocks make slipping and bashing youre skull open all too easy. 

Earlier in the car I had promised Mrs. K to keep Danny safe, and in keeping with that promise, I held him back, and started down the rocks myself instead. The first few rocks ae always easy, wet but not slimy. About 4 feet out, things started to get hairy. Every so often a bigger swell would come in, and send me scurrying back up the jetty. If one of these waves hit when I was down there, I could be swept out to sea, or get crushed against the rocks. I yelled to Danny over the sound of the surf, "IF YOU SEE A BIG ONE COMING, WARN ME AS SOON AS YOU CAN!!" Needless to say, he didn't. Maybe he did, thats what he claims anyway, but it certainly wasnt loud enough because when I reached the waters edge, I looked to my left, and watched in awe as a wall of water came up, and smothered me beneath it. I clung to the rock with all my strength. The receeding water ripped one of my sandals off, and as the wave swept back into the ocean, I was left cursing and spitting on the rocks. 

Thoroughly soaked, and cold, I scampered up and scolded Danny for not warning me. I ripped off my shirt and walked about a mile to the boutique by the Pavillion in Avon, and tried to get some dry clothes. They were boarded up. On the way back to the jetty, I decided to just take off my soaked jeans, and go around in my boxers. As I jogged back to the inlet, people stared. I don't blame them. I must have been a pretty bizzare sight. I hung my clothes up to dry on the weather station, and continued fishing as normal. Just without pants (and dignity) of course. In another hour or so our bait, as well as our morale, was dwindling, and we decided to pack the gear and head for Belmar on foot. Yes, I actually walked around like that. No pants, one sandal. Thashowido

Belmar 

We left the Shark River inlet, and went south on Ocean avenue. By now the sun had come out, and Danny wanted 16th avenue, so we had quite a far walk ahead of us. Back on the jetty we decided to throw the sea robin back into the drink, but we did keep the fluke. Which was now leaking out of my bag. I must have looked like a pack mule. My backpack was bulging with my wet clothes, a plethora of fishing gear, the net, and my jacket was hanging off it. The most awkward part however was buying shorts from this little beach store. I walked in, and bought an 8 dollar pair of shorts. So. Awkward.

When we reached 16th, I saw crowds of people and the beach was filled! The air had warmed up and there was a surfing competition going on. We crossed Ocean Ave and peeled the gear - and our shirts - off and got something to eat. Guys were walking around shirtless, and girls had bikinis on. It was a familiar sight. The bleak emptiness of the morning at Avon had been replaced by 80 degree weather, and the town had come back to life like it was summer again. The live reggae music was really good, and I found myself zoned out to the steady beat, watching the half dressed beachgoers cross back and forth Ocean Avenue. I was smiling.

One kind of obscure thing I really like about the beach is the little signs on Ocean Avenue that say pedestrians have the right of way, and cars (by law) have to yield to those on foot. I feel like a boss when traffic stops for me, what can I say?

I bought a shirt from Eastern Lines, and we packed up the gear and walked over to the beach. As we were walking infront of the crowd watching the competition, the MC in the announcer box, who was dishing out hilarious comments, and even more hilarious family guy herbert the pervert (complete with whistle voice) impressions, said in a dead serious voice. "Is that a trout net?" At me. I smiled and pumped my rod in the air, before feeling like a tool and finding a spot to sit down. It was one of the many highlights of the day. Dan had many laughs then, as well as later on. We settled down in the sand and watched the surfers tear up the waves. It was awe inspiring. Stuff I had only seen on youtube, they made look sooooo easy. The music had changed to a faster paced ska, and another familiar sight greeted me as I looked across the sand. with the exception of a few more shirts than usual, 16th Avenue looked just like it did in the summer. There wasn't a moment I didnt enjoy.

Spring Lake

The brief part of our first time in Spring Lake presents an instresting story of chance and indecision. As we anticipated what we thought would be the end to an already grand day, Danny wanted to walk further South, towards Spring Lake, where his friend Alex lived, and where I would be dropping him off when my mom picked us up. I didn't want to leave Belmar, the music, the people, or the surfing competition. My mom was [supposedly] on her way to 16th to pick us up, but because Danny suddenly developed an uncanny desire to travel by foot, he somehow convinced me to leave the bustling haven of Belmar, and trek with him to Spring Lake.

We brushed off the sand, and headed South once again on the board walk. I would totally have regretted doing this if not for what happened a little while later. A few minutes into our journey, as we entered Spring Lake, something awesome happened. I was half listening to Danny talk, and sub consciously analysing the joggers, people walking, and bikers, that passed us in the opposite direction, when all of a sudden a red flag when off in my head, and I realized I had just seen something important. I reviewed everything I had taken in the moment before, turned around and shouted "MR. PEREZ?" And to our surprise, the powerwalker turned around and sure enough it was none other than Juan Perez! Our retired Gum teacher. He remembered who we were, and we talked for a little while. He had lived in Belmar all his life, and now that he was retired, he walked almost everyday, and enjoyed an awesome life of leisure. Just as we were talking, behind us a lady tripped over a parking lot barrier and hit her face on the ground. It was a good thing we kept Mr. Perez there. He helped her up and made sure she was okay. We talked a little while more, and he asked us to tell his former co-workers he said hi, and after a handshake to each of us, he was on his way, and Dan and I were going crazy about how awesome it was to see Juan again.

The further South we went, the more I realized how stupid this was. I had left behind a metropolis in Belmar, and traded it for more deserted beaches, and a less exciting residential area. I cursed Dan for convincing me to undertake such a meaningless journey, and after much stubborness and hard convincing, I turned us around and we headed back for Belmar. I plopped down in the sand again and basked in the sun's glorious rays. The surfers were still going at it, and the MC was still cracking jokes. I wanted as much summer as I could cram in between then and the time my mom picked us up. 15 minutes later she pulled up and parked on the corner of 17th. We climbed in to the car and again headed South, this time to drop Danny off at spring lake.

I rolled down the windows, and turned up the volume. Some cl0uds had moved back in, and the sunshine and warmth was starting to dissipate. Even my mom, who I expected to complain a whole lot that we were detouring to Spring Lake, was calm for the most part. Though that didn't last. I relished it. I knew this would be, for better or worse, the real last taste of summer I'd get till June, and I tried my hardest to absorb every second as best I could. On the way back through Belmar my mom had to use the bathroom, and since the traffic was pretty much bumper to bumper, she hopped out and started walking to the Dunkin Donuts on 16th. I found a nearby parking spot, and as I waited for her in the car, a man passing out pink hats came by. I got one for myself and another for my mom. I can't describe how insanely hilarious she looked in it. Much less how we both probably looked with the matching hats. It was good Mom-Chris bonding time.

Home

I got home and started breaking down the gear. I put my ocean soaked clothes to wash and filleted the fluke. I made an amazing pan fry dish. It was delicious.

Logan, Ahlf, and Nick came over, and a little later Pat showed up. We went outside to throw the football when I got a text from Danny, asking if I wanted to come back for night fishing. I wanted to. Bad. It was already 7:30, and the last rays of the sun had dipped back over the horizon. It was impossible. My mom was at work, and either way there was no way she was driving me there or picking me up. I didn't see a way. But I really did want to go.

I called my cousin, and she said she would drive me. But how would I get home? After a long series of texts, phone calls, google map estimations, and train schedules, I worked out a water tight plan. First off, to any sneaky excursion, there has to be an insurance plan. I called my Dad, and told him that Tonya had offered to pick me up, and we'd go out to eat with some friends since it was her last night in Matawan before going back to College. He loves when I hang out with family, and agreed all to readily. 

Back To Spring Lake

It was around 8:45 when Tonya got to my house. Her and her friend Lamar waited in the driveway as I ran around packing the things I would need. She came in and talked with my mom for a little before I hopped in the Camry, and we sped off back towards the ocean. 

I got back to Spring Lake right at 9:30. When we arrived at the house, Dan took me over to meet Alexs' parents. I did my best to make small talk and carry on the conversation. They have an awesome house by the way. Its big and victorian, the inside is very very nice. I lingered at the outdoor table little while longer before joining Dan, Alex, his younger brother, and his cousin, in the garage, to rig up rods, and decide on a location to fish. We opted for the pipe, where it was rumored a 20lb fish had been caught earlier.

Night Fishing on the Beach

The darkness that now blanketed the east coast was held back behind the beach, by the brightness of the streetlights that lined Ocean Avenue. The moon was bright and it was a very clear night. You could see the surf crashing off the beach. We walked at a brisk pace. I couldn't wait to get on the sand. Surf fishing is generally new ground for me, and I didn't know what to expect. The heat of the day had given way to a cool breezy night. I wondered what was behind those walls of whitewater. Big striped bass, I hoped.

We reached the end of the boardwalk, and hiked over to where the pipe ran out into the ocean. When we got there however, we decided that going on the pipe with the surf this heavy would be too dangerous, so we stayed on the beach. First cast out Danny got a nice fluke. Which we put in my bag. I baited up my rod, and casted out far beyond the breakers, I set it down in a holder and took out the aluminum can stove I made earlier when I got bored. I tried to boil some water to make hot chocolate, oatmeal, hardboiled eggs, or ramen, but the cup was too thick and all I got was hot water. It was nice though. I felt really cool that my little invention worked. 

Night fishing was over before we knew it. Although we only spent a little over an hour fishing, and we only had a measly fluke to show for it, I was content. Being on the beach at night in itself was an experience. For awhile I forgot about fishing, the little flame from my stove provided a faint sense of warmth, and the sound of the waves crashing began to almost hypnotize me. The sounds, sights, and the smell of the ocean all combined to form a vivid space that was both intriguing and mysterious. Unfortunately, Alex's mom wanted us back in the house by 11, and we were already pushing that by the time the gear was packed and we were all back on the board walk. The walk back would prove to be pretty interesting. 

Here's why.

I'll let you decide what this is a picture of.

Let's just say it wouldn't be a scene in a disney movie.

Sleeping Over Alex's

We got back to Alex's house to find his father and Uncle still outside talking. We showed them our catch. Alex's Uncle, Andy, is about as professional as you can get when it comes to fishing. He's a big game guy, and his trips center around the big tuna, marlin, and other deep water fish you find 60-100 miles off the coast. And like any other fisherman, he had his fish stories. You probably hate fishing stories because of me, but there are few things I would rather hear and adult talk about more. Uncle Andy told of stories of giant Tunas, and epic 6 hour battles. He showed us pictures on his iphone too. Dan and I could only dream of catching fish so big.

Dan, Alex, and I settled down in one of the mini living rooms on the first floor. Dan hogged the couch of course, and I was stuck with the floor. I was out cold within 2 minutes.

The Train Home

I woke up to a bright Sunday morning. The floor left me sore again, and when I looked over, Danny was barely awake. I fought valiantly against the morning, a desperate battle which I eventually lost. It was almost 9:15, and if I slept any longer I would miss my 9:30 train to Matawan. I got up and threw my stuff in my bag.I said my goodbyes, and told Alex to thank his father for letting me stay. The air was starting to warm up, and the chilly breezes of yesterday morning were replaced by a stagnant lukewarm cool. I ran over to the garage to grab my fishing rod and the fluke. I walked down the drive way and turned around to admire the house one last time. And from there I crossed the street, and took off jogging towards the Spring Lake Rail Station. It was a long run. I passed through the old victorian sector, lined with big houses like Alex's. An old lady was walking through through the park when i reached the end of the street, which came to a hault at the edge of Spring Lake (the lake, not the town) She gave me directions, and I took off again. I crossed over Spring Lake, and a few hundred yards later, I was standing on the platform, out of breath, but in time. 

The train ride was amazing. I fell asleep between Bradley Beach and Longbranch. At Longbranch I transfered trains and sank back into a comfortable seat on the top deck. I sat across from this girl on her cell phone the whole ride. She had the most annoying voice I had ever heard, and she talked loudly and with poor conversational skills. She reassured her friend she had made sufficient progress in finding a new man, and stated that it was "GOOD THAT YOU CONNECTED WITH SOMEONE. I MEAN. THAT'S REALLY GOOD. I MEAN. JUST THAT YOU FOUND SOMEONE YOU COULD CONNECT WITH... THATS REALLY GOOD." This went on for quite some time before a brave lady in the back of the car stepped up and told her to "SHUT UP OR MOVE!" She sheepishly closed her phone, and gave up with little resistence. I don't know if the applause I heard was imagined or not.

Matawan, Church, and Home

I stepped off the train in Matawan, and found Tonya parked in a nearby lot. We ate at McDonalds, which was nice. When we were little her Dad used to take us there every Saturday morning. The place hadn't changed much. Breakfast was good, and from there she drove me to church. My mom was there, and that was my way home. 

I got back around 1, went inside, and slept. Epicness still radiating throughout my slumber.

-Chris

Music I'm Listening to Right Now:

School and September

To my readers,

Before you read this, I just want to say I'm sorry for neglecting this blog. Lately a lot of people have been starting blogs. Very few blogs were around when I started this one, and I guess it just started to feel really unoriginal. There are a lot of blogs out there now, and I hope the few readers that enjoyed my blog haven't moved on. I'll do my best to keep writing, and if for some reason I'm not on the ball with that, let me know! I can't tell you how amazing it is was when random people I had no idea read my blog came up to me and asked me why I had stopped writing. They missed my blog and wanted more! It's just an amazing feeling as a writer to know that people actually enjoy your ramblings, it felt like I had achieved something. So yeah, encouragement makes a HUGE difference. There are times when my writing morale gets very low. So if you read and enjoy my crap, by all means PLEASE let me know if you'd like to see more. You wouldn't believe the difference it makes

-Chris

School

 

This, my dear readers, is Manalapan High School. Where the grades are low, the freshmen are lower, and a surprisingly low amount of damns are distributed per capita, if any at all. (No one cares)

Manalapan High School is a magical place, where students discover who they really are, and grow into the social butterflies that they are destined to become. lol about that. These are some pics I took today for yearbook. 

On a more serious note, Manalapan isn't such a bad high school. A lot of people complain, but I kinda like it. The lunches aren't always (completely) revolting, and other than the obnoxious lack of air conditioning in some of the rooms, its bearable. Sneaking out of class and roaming around is fun too. 

However, there is a much more dark and sinister side. The academic side. Behind the many doors of the many hallways, you'll find classes that make you want to slowly gouge your eyes out, like my 2nd period Intermediate Algebra 2 class. If James Tancredi ever reads this, disrupt the class more. It makes the torture of Algebra and Mrs. Rose's robot voice that much less painful. 

Mrs. Rose is boring, but shes not mean like (dun dun dun) Mr. Sprague. I'm pretty much willing to bet my cat Jibbles that anyone who has spent more than 10 minutes in a room with him, has instantly developed an intense burning hatred for this man. He loudly informed one girl in our 11th period wood working class that she looked like a cow. She was chewing gum, and he went off on a fit of rage at her 'act of defiance'. 

I wanted to stand up and give him a limb tearing "Mr. Sprague, saying that was both disrespectful and unprofessional, if this is the example you wish to provide us with, then how can you expect us to treat you any different?" speech. Followed by a nonchalant, brisk walk out the door, accompanied by a loud applause. But of course I kept my mouth shut. He also says the word cockroach really weird. "You can't chew gum in here or else all the cock-a-roaches are gonna come." I transfered out.

Seeing all the your friends makes up for the brutality of academics, though. And it's a welcome change to actually see people before 1 o'clock in the afternoon. I guess that's what makes it all worthwhile to me, the people I call my friends. Because I probably wouldn't show up without them.

Still wish it was summer, despite all that.

I wrote all that ^ A few days ago. About some stuff that happened today...

Today the seniors took their class picture at the bleachers. Now, I'm lucky enough to be friends with Gwen Kirsten, who, since last year, has been able to get me out of more classes than I can remember to take pictures for the yearbook staff. That being said, the amount of typical boring school days greatly exceeds the amount of exciting, 'yay! lets miss class!' days. But when they come around, whether it be by Class Council, Yearbook, or International Day, they always make for a memorable time. Especially when you get to miss the majority of class for the day. 

I use my camera to get out of class a lot. A simple look of false boredom, mixed in with a little concern, aggravation, and the sight of a big DSLR camera and a respectful tone of voice, is usually more than enough to get out of pretty much any class. It helps to be asian too, we're a trustworthy race for the most part. Excluding Pearl Harbor and the whole Triad thing of course.

So today I spent 1st, 2nd, and 3rd, period riding in a golf cart with Gwen, Mrs. Albanese, and some other yearbook kids. Oh, and taking pictures of course. It was fun, especially flying past the classroom windows and laughing at the kids trapped in class. That was probably my favorite part =] I'm actually grinning right now. 

After school I went to the home opener for boys varsity soccer. We lost but it was fun. I finally got to use my megaphone for an extended period of time. I felt very cool.

September

September is a bittersweet time for me. My year is a constant countdown for the last bell of that last day, when we finally get turned loose for those 2 amazing months. But even as we mourn the passing of another summer, and even though we speak of the days ahead - the school days - with bitter tones, no matter how much some of us deny it, there will always be that sinking feeling way in the back of our heads that secretly longs to be back in those hallways. Walking with our friends, and see those familiar sights we haven't seen since June. I have to admit, I enjoy being back in school. There are times I'm more miserable than a beached whale and I can't stand to be conscious in that building, but 73% of the time I'm enjoying myself or something close to that.

But September 1st didn't mark the end of our summer adventures. In an episode of surprising awesomeness, Danny Tal, the indecisive - and at times a little awkward - boy we all know and love, decided it was time to break out of his shell and so something crazy. 

The first subtle signs of fall chillyness began to creep through my tshirt as I waited for Danny to bring the truck around that day. It was September 5th, and we had already been to school for 1 day. I ran inside to grab a hoodie. Danny pulled up in his truck shortly after. Danny is 16, and only has his permit. I've never know him to be much of a risk-taker, so seeing him driving alone and defying the law, was certainly a strange sight. We put a few fishing rods and some fire starting materials in the bed, and took off for Tyler Alhf's. Danny drove at a steady pace, you could hardly tell that he had only been driving since February. His motions were fluid, and he came out of his turns smoothly.

When we got to Tyler's we loaded a few stacks of firewood among some other things, and from there on Danny Matthew Tal shattered all existing perceptions I had of him. He brazenly steered us down Millhurst, and we drove to Wendy's to grab something to eat before going on to the bonfire lake. It was maybe 8:30 by the time we left Wendys. And by the time we got to the lake it was completely dark out. The air was crisp and cool. We hopped out and built a big roaring fire. The sound of crackling wood was a comfort to me. My mind drifted back to so many nights past, where I sat around the same fire pit, and gazed over the brilliance of the night sky, the solemn trees, and the stillness of the lake as the flames kept me warm and illuminated the surroundling landscape. It was all very nostalgic. We talked for awhile, but I left a little while in to go fishing. 

I tied on a top water popper, and began casting out along the lilly pads and standing reeds. After maybe 20 minutes of slipping on the slick bank, fumbling with backlashes, and cleaning my lure of weeds, I got a strike. A big one. The water surged violently, and my lure was engulfed by a nice sized bass. I brought it up on land, and we cleaned it and cooked it over the fire. It was TASTY. I know it sounds disgusting, but it was totally Bear Grylls-esque, and we felt like pretty manly men.

It was time to leave before we knew it. I felt good as I watched the white lines flash by one after another as we drove back. Danny skillfully guided us homeward, and after a brief scuffle at Quik Check, where we came a little too close to a police car then we probably should have, we were back at Dannys. And with that, we ended our summer, for real.

Thats it for now. Gotta do homework

- Chris

Music that I'm listening to right now:

Epic Bike Ride / Climbing Onto the Roof of MEMs

Epic Bike Rides

In the last post I mentioned how Logan enjoys biking across Manalapan. Well today, he, along with Greg, Josh, and myself, took biking rides to a whole new level. 

Usually, we bike for a purpose, with a destination in mind. And usually, we come up with pretty reasonable excuses, like a tasty place to eat, or something we need to get from Walmart  to drive us the distance, make us sweat, and risk our lives dodging speeding cars, rabid animals, and inclement weather. 

There was no such incentive this time. We left Greg and Logan's with no destination in mind. And as we flew past the street lights and mailboxes in the fading light of the dying August day, things were looking pretty good. We flew through Meadow Creek and crossed Woodward Road onto the narrow road I had taken in the post entitled "Scenic Bike Rides and Golf Course Ponds". The air was cool as the last bits of the Sun's rays began to dip beyond the backdrop of rolling farmland. We passed big cows and old farm houses. It was like being in another place, I swear. You'd never believe you were in Manalapan. 

We detoured into a little baseball field park. Now, it's imperative that you understand that this was Josh's last real night of summer. With soccer and other activities keeping him occupied until school starts, his days of freedom had effectively come to an end. So on his last day, Josh was craving adventure. This led to a series of sporadic spurts of action, and when logan decided to use the porta potty by the snack building, Josh scaled the nearby building, and jumped ontop of Logan's little man fortress. It was hilarious to watch. But we soon grew tired of the park, and left to continue on the narrow rural road. 

By the time we had reached the extent of where I had previously traveled, the Sun was completely gone, and we switched on our bike lights as we ventured on into unknown territory. The Western sky's glow slowly faded into a thin yellow/grey before disappearing completely and leaving us with a murky purple, star filled sky. 

The landscape had changed from rolling pastures into huge fields of corn. I felt like I was in the movie Signs, and feelings of eerieness began creeping into my head as we continued into increasingly more rural settings. I kept expecting to see some rednecks with shotguns standing in the street, or someone playing a banjo on their porch. Luckily the only person we encountered was a man checking his mail. 

We had traveled maybe 11 miles when we first saw lights in the distance. Someone screamed out "Civilization!" and we all cheered as we peddled towards the intersection. We were in a town called Concordia, and the lights we saw turned out to be a big Stop and Shop. We chained our bikes to the rack and bought some drinks and a few bananas and snacks before starting back. Thats when the real fun began.

The road had grown wider and slightly more trafficked the closer it came to the Stop and Shop plaza, and more cars began to pass us as we left to begin our journey home. As we cut through the pitch blackness of the once again rural road, one car full of unruly teenagers unloaded a few high volume f-bombs on us as they passed us by. A few of us retaliated, but we mostly thought nothing of the event. It was when they came around a second time, that we shut off our lights and quickened our pace. We were on edge and very scared as we frantically sped through the darkness. The first sighting of headlights behind us sent us flying into a stranger's driveway. We took shelter for a second or two until the motion activated flood lights flicked on and we scampered away and back onto the road. Thankfully, they didn't make a third pass at us. When we reached Iron Ore Road, we detoured left, towards our next destination, Manalapan English Town Middle School. Which brings us to the next title.

Climbing Onto the Roof of MEMs

I love roofs. Maybe you find it strange, or maybe you agree with me completely, theres something about being up above everything else, seeing beyond the trees, and looking down at the far away ground that I just find thrilling. Mountain Climbers probably feel the same about mountain climbing. But with no mountains in Manalapan, the next best thing we have would be our old middle school. 

When MEMs came into view I made a promise with myself. I wouldnt leave till I found a way up. A moving truck stood alone in the empty parking lot. It was quiet. Everything looked so serene, and pangs of nostalgia hit when I saw my old school. Little had changed since the days we used to walk its hallways. We canvased the entire building for a way up. And as we came around the last corner back to the front, I found it. 

A small blue drain pipe bolted to the side of the building provided an object to cling to as I shimmied up to the ledge beneath the second entrance's outdoor roof. You can see the pipe in middle of the picture before this one. It wasn't easy going, and I struggled to flop myself onto the little platform. I found a stable place to plant myself, and reached down to help Josh up. Greg and Logan elected to stay on the ground, which in reality was the much better decision, as the next few moves Josh and I would make would prove to be extremely life threatening, and pretty stupid on our part. 

From here on things began to look a little too treacherous. The blue roof above the ledge hung out precariously about a foot beyond the ledge we were on, and climbing up from there would require superhuman upper body strength, and some serious guts. Stumped and a little disappointed, we sat down and momentarily gave up our dream. The ledge was pretty cool, and almost satisfying to top off our adventurous night. Josh wasn't as complacent as I was. His enthusiasm drove me to action, and I found a way up to the next level. 

Between the building and roof structure above the ledge was a small gap. I grasped the top of the roof, and slowly pulled myself up onto the dangerously smooth blue metal roof. A nice 30 foot drop onto solid concrete awaited our slightest errors at the end of the extremely tapered roof. It was so slanted that standing, and walking up, was completely out of the question. I gripped the metal edge and snaked my way up a few inches at a time, my body pressed against the metal, until I reached the top. 

There was no ledge here, and I was shaking as I straddled the top of the entrance roof. I stood up, using the brick building for balance, and peered over the edge onto the roof of MEMs. It was barely do-able. However, A gripping fear held me back. If we were somehow able to fling ourselves the next 4 or so feet from the tip of the entrance roof, over the ledge, and onto the roof of the building itself, getting down back onto the ledgeless entrance roof would mean certain death. With no place to land on the way back down it would be all too easy to slip, and slide down the metal to be crushed on the concrete, now some 4o feet below us. 

I got down on my stomach and once again gripped the metal, ready to give up and shimmy down. I wanted out. I had had enough adventure. Greg and Logan wanted us to come down. I agreed with them. Right then, Josh made a very profound statement to as we both clung to the cold metal on our bellies. We were both shaking with fear when he  reminded me it was his last night of freedom. He wanted to make it memorable. Going on the roof was something he had to do. After a brief moment of indecisiveness, I agreed to follow him if he made the climb first. We yelled our decision to Greg and Logan, who left for fear of being caught with us, and I watched in horror as Josh threw his arms over the building's ledge, and pulled him self over and onto the roof. 

Still shaking, I stood up on the tip of the entrance roof and paused for a second as I weighed the risks one last time. "The hell with it." I thought. My feet left their footing as I dangled over the edge, before once again flopping over onto stable footing. I hugged the pebbles with my whole body as the fear drained out. It was replaced with an overwhelming sense of relief. I was alive.

We were brusied, still shaking, and without our shoes as we hugged each other, but we had done it. I felt like I had just slain a dragon. To be honest I had doubted that we would actually ever make it to the roof. But there we were. Damaged, but there. 

We explored the vast expanses of the several roofs ontop of MEMs. Each level of roof was connected by ladder. It was like being on the moon, grey and desolate. We could make out the air conditioning vents strewn across the dimly moonlit landscape. A brilliant display of stars hung over us, as we made our way to the far side by the parking lot. Our mobility was severely cut down by the gravel, which was quite painful to walk on. 

Although the roof itself was pretty awesome alone, it was the idea of being on the roof that was to most thrilling. We had found a place that no one else, but those who could do so legally, had explored. Of course, it goes with out saying that what we did was illegal. But perhaps thats why we did it. Theres a rush we all get from breaking the rules. And when you get away with doing so you can't help but come back for more. 

When we reached the far edge we sat down to rest. We tried to snap some pictures with my camera phone (Joshes was with Greg) but were extremely unsatisfied with the results. Being a photographer is both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, you have the ability to take awesome pictures, but when you're without your camera, you see alot of interesting pictures you could have taken, should you have brought your camera with you. And that feeling sucks. The inablity feeling. 

I called a few friends to see if they could get me my camera. After a few tries with other people, I called Shari Hewes to ask for Rachel Berman's number, Shari's currently at college in Missouri. She texted me and I called Rachel, who was amazing enough to drive out to my house, pick up my camera (which my mom had left on the porch as per my request), and bring it to MEMs, where her friend [who's name is also] Rachel, climbed onto a shed and handed to me as I reached down to grab it. She also managed to throw us our shoes, which was a HUGE relief. We could run around and explore much faster. 

Now armed with a camera, we set about documenting our adventure. We continued to Explore for about an hour before jumping onto the shed, and back down to earth. I felt accomplished. We had done the impossible. I still can't believe we actually got up there. But I'm glad we did. It was an experience I won't soon forget. 

Music That I'm Listening to Right Now: