The Marlboro Psychiatric Hospital, One crazy epic day.

The Marlboro Psychiatric Hospital

And so today, after much agonizing anticipation, Dan and I finally made it to the Marlboro Psychiatric Hospital. This is going to be a long blog. I can tell you that now, because all the things that happened today were pretty much amazing. 

Madly, I rushed about the house gathering my things, constantly rechecking my mental list of supplies we would need for the "fishing trip" as my mother believed Dan and I were going on. My mother grew restless and shouted for me to hurry up. Jibbles watched me with mild interest as I scampered around throwing things into the big duffle bag. "HURRY UP LAA!" my mom shouted again from downstairs.

I hugged Jibbles goodbye, loaded up the car, and took off for Khomenko's at pull-over speed. I met him on his porch. All decked out in black, he looked pretty sexy. A few words were exchanged before we sped off. 

We reached our destination, and as my mom drove off, she waved us goodbye and told us to stay out of trouble. If only she knew. Making our way back to the end of the drainage pond near the outskirts of the hospital grounds, we passed big houses, and extremely landscaped properties. It was a strange, but welcoming, sight to see so close to such a harrowing place. I put down the duffle and suited up. After stashing it in the woods, I donned my camo jacket, and put my wallet, cell, fashlight, and video camera in the pockets. I slung on my camera bag, and took out the map to get our bearings. 

Khomenko and I worked our way through semi-dense forrest, before coming to a hole in the fence by the first cottage. We checked the surrounding area for any activity, and dashed across the open ground to where the entrance lay. The building itself was a Tudor Styled, 1930s-esque red brick building, exactly like one you'd see in Shutter Island. Back in it's hayday im sure it was an impressive sight. Time and nature, however, have managed to partially rob it of it's beauty, and susequently add to its eerieness.

Walking in was especially creepy. It was the first building we entered, and I had no idea what to 

expect. Actually, I had a little idea of some ghostly paitent still remaining within the confines of the condemned structure, dragging me down to the basement and and eating me alive. But thats beside the point. We inspected rooms with peeling paint, moss and mold growing everywhere. Every room we entered was eerier than the last, and I expected to see something ghastly in each of them.

We left the building, and after checking the map, altered our course through another patch of woods, where we came across some abandoned work sheds. They were long and narrower than most of the other buildings, and very short compared to the cottages. We entered the center shed to find farm equipment and mayonaise within the rusting remains of the tattered compound. An eerie feeling started to develop in the back of my head. I made sure Khomenko was close as we left and continued on.

We caught a glimpse of one of the really large cottages for the first time. After searching for a way in, we left and continued down a cracking, weed choked path on the border of the main courtyard. As we aproached the final large building, I noticed a New Jersey Emblem on it, as well as a pair of large mahogany doors. We had found the fabled main building. 

After much strain attempting to get the old bolted doors open, we abandoned the effort temporarily to inspect a nearby building which we discovered to be the gymnaisum. As I climbed through the broken door window, I caught my first glance of the gym itself, the first thing I noticed was the ceiling. Beautifully constructed with dark wood, it was the only thing that seemed to have maintained its color and manage to remain intact. It looked untouched. The walls inside were covered with grafiti, and amidst the crumbling floorboards, lay an impressive collection of trash and building refuse. Much of which would play a key role in helping us get into the heavily reinforced main building. A large metal fire extinguisher, and an old sign pole in particular.

Jason and Andy were making they're way towards us, and we walked back to the shed to meet up with them. With our party sufficiently more intimidating and secure, we headed back to the gym. Having a securer party was a good thing, and I felt much better as we descended the steps to the gym's basement. I have my doubts we would have even gone down there without them. Again grafiti covered much of the walls, and a dog skeleton lay at the base of the stairs. We searched around pretty thoroughly before leaving out a side door.

We returned to the main building. To its back lay a huge field hundreds of acres perhaps, now grown over with brush and small trees, and to the front faced the silghtly-less-huge courtyard. We made quite an effort trying to get in. Doors were kicked, and windows were probed, but to no avail. Frustrated and dejected I wondered if we would ever see its inside. Right then a thought occured to me. Andy was talking about a battering ram possessed by a friend of his, and I imediately pictured the fire extinguisher. I placed my camera bag down, and took off for the nearby gym. Entering alone was extremely scary, but I made it out alright, holding a street sign pole in one hand, and the extinguisher over my shoulder. After more frustration from failed attempts to use these new tools, I got ontop of Andy's shoulders and got onto a minature roof/ledge. Jason passed the extinguisher up and I used it like a battering ram to bust through a glass and wood window frame. Jason helped Andy up, and we went in.

Inside I found chilling the reminders of many previously viewed horror movies. Andy and I were the only ones in, and without adequate height, Jason and Khomenko were stranded outside until we could find a entry point for them. The room we came into was dark and extremely eerie. A sense of panic momentarily raced through my mind as Andy yelled out at truely grotesque discovery. He found a stairwell, and at it's base was the fur covered, decaying remains of a dead racoon. I winced as we passed, and as we entered the tiny room to descend to the first floor, a disgusting scent filled my nose, and I imediately held my breath. 

Through a hole in a door, Jason squeezed the extinguisher through, and Andy boldly carried it to the room which bore the window we tried busting through outside before. I seriously doubted the probability of success Andy's plan could yield, so I didnt even bother to video tape it. He picked up the extinguisher, yelled repeatedly to those outside to clear the area, and with a mighty heave, launched it with all his might directly at the board. Light exploded into the room as the board gave way, and flew with insane force and speed into the bright daylight. It was C R A Z Y. Jason recanted to us what he had witness on the outside, and described the event to us in detail. The board had suddenly, and with very high speed, exploded off the window still, with a torpedo like extinguisher directy behind it. They were in.

We rummaged through the bowels of the rotting structure. Grafiti was everywhere, more so however, were images that instilled great feelings of fear within us. We ascended back past the raccoon to the better illuminated second floor, and entered a corridor filled with hopefully empty rooms, we witnessed first hand a place which was once filled with tortured minds, and those who were deemed tpo insane to be littering society with their unsightly habits. A good number of the paitents at the hospital suffered from mild to extreme cases of schizophrenia. A disease which robs the mind of its ability to rationalize, and differentiate reality from imagination, as well as causing voices and hallucinations to ravage the diseased's mind. Knowing that they once occupied these rooms and corridors made me wonder if they're souls remained, trapped in the prison that withheld their unpleasant presence, from an ever pleasant society. Luckily, we encountered none, but I have few doubts that the thought of running into one ever left any of our minds as we made our way through the dark expanse.

One such room characterized these thoughts perfectly.

Leaving the darkness and climbing out into the light, I felt much relief. As awesome of an experience as it was, I still think about what might go on late at night, the whispers, the strange sounds of voices, the shadows moving quietly about, the screams of agony, the laughter of the insane, all deep within the darkness where no man dares to thread, and when no one is watching, at the old Marlboro Psychiatric Hospital.

-Chris

FIRE!, Boris, and Click Beetles.

FIRE!

I was typing out the Boris story down there when I got a call from Obi. Obi is the most community involved member of our group, with affiliations to the Manalapan Police Explorers, and local Volunteer Firefighters. Armed with a police scanner, pager, and various other public safety radio apparatus, Obi keeps himself informed and ready to respond when danger knocks on our doors. So don't be surprised when you find your self in the arms of Matthew Daniel O'Brien if your house is burning down, and a handsome man in a fire fighter's uniform rushes in to save you from the perilous flames and certain death.

But back to what really happened.

Over the phone, Obi informed me that there had been reports of smoke and fire at the Battleground Country Club. I placed the sleeping Jibbles gently aside and proceeded to speedily button on a shirt, grab my camera bag, and head to the scene on foot. I squinted hard, but could not make out any fire engines, police cars, or flashing lights. I called Obi, who told me that the dispatcher was now directing units to 23 Bloomfield Road, on the other side of my devlopment. I rushed back and continued on bike to the scene.

I got there just as the EMS ambulance pulled up, and I asked the driver if anyone had been hurt. She told me she didn't know, so I biked closer for a better look. I couldn't see any fire or smoke, but there were 4 squad cars and a Ford Expedition with Fire department markings. I snapped a few pictures, and stuck around, knowing a police officer would see me and question me.

My assumption was correct, and as the officers had finished looking around and came back to their cars, one of them said "Hey!" and came over to me. She asked why I was here, and I politely responded, explaining that I heard there was a fire on the scanner and came over for a look. We talked for a few moments and I asked what caused the fire. Turns out a few mischievous hoodlums had ignited a magazine which had caught a small patch of brush on fire. On my way back, another officer in an unmarked squad car stopped me and asked me if i had seen anyone around. I showed him the pictures I took and he told me anyone who had started the fire was probably at home and snickering by now. He told me to take it easy, and drove off.

Boris

The story of my lawnmower, Boris, is both a long and adventure filled tale. My father purchased Boris in June of 2008. Since then Boris has hacked out trails, hauled broken bicycles, rammed garage doors, popped wheelies, carried my boat, and transported my friends and I as far as his 1 gallon tank can muster. Right from the start, I fell in love with this little red machine. You see, I have a sort of obsession-addiction with anything that has the ability to propel itself, and offer some form of steering/stopping. Cars, airplanes, ATVs, motor scooters, Boris, etc. And so from the day I stepped off the bus to a shiny new Yard Machines Garden Tractor, I was ecstatic.

                  

Cutting the lawn with Boris has become second nature to me. Turning, disengaging the blades, backing up, and turning back onto the uncut grass all happens in one fluid motion. I feel like a boss cruising down West Parsonage, at 8 miles an hour and 13.5 horse power at my disposal. And who wouldn't? Short of a car its the best way to get around on 4 wheels. ATVs be damned. 

But perhaps the most interesting story about Boris is how he got his name. The scene was the summer of 2008, the night of Manalapan Day to be specific. I was with Greg Andrew and Patrick. The sun had long since been down, and the grass was cool and just beginning to dew. Looking towards the heavans, our eyes met a dark June sky, as we eagerly anticipated the coming fireworks. A loose crowd of people assembled across the fields and on the hill where I stood, laughing and carrying on. We laid down and the soft green earth embraced us with welcome and relaxation. 

I remember waiting for what seemed like an hour before the first volley shot skyward with a hiss, and brilliant steaks of colorful light exploded before our eyes, ripping through the darkness of the no longer still night sky, and bombarding our ears with a series of shrill cracks. Trails of sparks flew high into the sky before bursting into cascades of colorful arcs. Fingers pointed and lips touched as we gazed up in wonder at the awe inspiring display. 

Suddenly, and without warning, a sheer wall of rain cut through the explosions and rockets red glare, which promptly began dousing the crowd that was now a chaotic mob, running around and scrambling for cover. I found myself in the center of a torrential downpour, amidst screaming teenagers and fat drops of rain. I ran to the nearest tent, which was full and could offer no more shelter. I found similar situations as I ran from tent to tent, all were full. I spotted a larger canopy atop a hill across the lighted football field, and made a sprint for it. 

Huddled next to strangers underneath the pony rides tent, I suddenly realized I had lost my companions. Although I didn't realize it at first, much time had passed since the rain had began, and after calling all three of my comrades repeatedly, I discovered from Greg that they had since evacuated. And I was stranded. Alone. Standing in hay and piles of pony excrement, I felt separated and abandoned. I looked around the tent in search of familiar faces. Many of my classmates had been caught in a similar predicament and were under the tent as well, but none could offer me assistance.

Finally, I came across Zach Matmon and William Khashkes. They were about to make a dash for the main road, where Will's father was somewhere in the traffic, crowded with annoyed and angry parents picking up their soaking, and equally annoyed and angry children. I wrapped my phone in caution tape to prevent water damage from the rain and took off with them. After scrambling through the cars we found Will's father. I got in and was greeted by Boris, Will's Russian speaking dad. 

I was very thankful to Boris. I mean, he had saved me from certain death, kinda like fireman Obi up there. Realistically though he had helped me avoid walking the 2 dark rainy miles back home, and for that I was extremely grateful. I asked Will how to say thank you in Russian, and said "spasiba, Boris" in my best Russian accent, as I stepped out of the car. 

Later on, as I thought of a name for my new Lawnmower, the only name befitting a machine so reliable and dependable that I could think of was, you guessed it, Boris.

So much so has Boris become rooted in Battleground (our development) lore, that the action of using Boris for fun instead of work has gained it's own title, Boris Adventures. 

Click Beetles (I'll be brief. It's late[early])

There was one in my room. They make a horrible clicking and pop around like Mario in supermario 64 when you accidentally go into the lava. I hate them passionately. The end.

My condolences to any now or former Gypsies, as today is the 82nd anniversary of when being a nomadic, law unabiding, non taxpaying Gypsy became illegal in Hungary.

Goodnight

-Chris

Sleepless Nights Workless Days and New Macbook! (not really)

Sleepless Nights

Jibbles and I decided to stay up and play poker. He now owns all my socks and one of my guitars. My god, I'm becoming a cat person.

Workless Days

In accordance with my father and I's agreement, after my day of fishing and other forms of what he precieves as reckless abandon, I was to put a smile on my face and head to the family restaurant, and work myself to a peanut distributing menu's to the neighborhoods of Jackson. 

Shout out to Woodlane Rd and Vermont Ave, who's houses now all have a Mein King Sushi Wok menu, courtesy of Master Chief Menu Distributor Christopher Chong. Feel free to look up those streets on google maps to get a taste of what I do. Notice the length. And number of houses. So many... houses. 

What made me get out of bed that morning however, was the prospect of maybe being able to drive delivery with my old man. Yes, driving in an air conditioned, comfortable seating equipped, Ipod playing, Nissan Versa. My, how glorious the thought seemed. 

So I crawled out of the sheets, said bye bye to Jibster, and drove my mom and I to the restaurant. Getting there is always a little awkward. In my ever resourceful, cunning, asian persuasiveness, I ususally manage to evade work at the family business. My dad is extremely adamant on having me go, however. I used to argue that it's pointless, and that I should just get a local job, that would actually help to our financial situation by bringing in money from the outside, instead of sucking money away from our own business. Yet my father still insists (loudly usually) that I put on my walking shoes, and sweat it out in the Jackson heat. But like I said, getting there is awkward. My evasiveness keeps my visits to the restaurant very far between, and seeing the workers after so long I feel a little shame for my laziness. But that passes and soon I'm joking with them and a member of the gang (this is me, acknowledging the cornyness of the last part of that sentence). 

Now about the day being workless. I spent the first 2 hours after I got in out distributing menus. After that Vic and I went back to the restaurant and I waited to be told what to do. I assumed that my dad would come out sooner or later and have me go on delivery runs, and let me drive, which is realitvely enjoyable. Instead, I sat on the chair out side.

For five hours.

I sat on a chair outside the restaurant, as my mind rotted with boredom. For five hours. Before I left my dad came outside to talk. I told him about fishing, and Dan and I's sucess at the golfcourse lake. He told me he wants to get a beagle to keep Jibbles company. It was nice. WE dont usually talk that much so conversation with him is always a plus. Before that though he offered to pay me 55. Yeah, thats right, I could have gottened paid for sitting on a chair, counting cars and wasting away. But instead I told him 1o would be good, and that felt good. Doing the right thing I guess.

New Macbook! (not really)

I got back my macbook from the apple store yesterday, and it looks like BRAND NEW! They replaced all the outside casing, as well as the keyboard and trackpad. There was a problem with the mainboard, and that got replaced too. But I was really surprised that they would even replace all the cosmetic stuff too. And all for free! Oh the joys of Mac.

  

Another shout out to Tyler Ahlf and Logan Perez, with whom i am currently oovooing with.

Too lazy to look up what random holiday it is today.

-Chris

Failure and Sea Robins

Failure and Sea Robins

Today was, well, a failure of a day.

I have the worlds most annoying alarm clock. If you've ever watched Lost, its pretty much the alarm that goes off before the numbers are about to end. Loud and blaring. Kinda like Scottish people. Well I've never really listened to a Scotsman talk. (adding 'hear a scotsman speak in person' to my to do list)

Ok, so side note, my mom is trying to explain to my cat that the cat outside is his reflection and its freakin hilarious. "is a youere sirrrrrrly ho ho ho ho" He recently got neutered. Yeah. Side note over.

So back to todays mess of a day. Lost numbers alarm goes off at 5:50 AM and I try in vain to hold back the day with the snooze button. Doesnt work. So I force myself out off bed at 6:08, shower, get the gear together, and before I can eat, Khomenko's already in the driveway.

Sorry If you hate my fishing stories btw, I promise, I'm planning something so interesting, it'll actually be interesting. I'm planning on breaking into the since abandoned, Marlboro Psychiatric Hospital. That'll probably be a Vlog though, as I plan on getting every step of the way on video.

So we pack the rod in his dad's land rover and drive to the marina. Everything's looking great, and even the rain is holding off. As we step out off the rover, one of the Miss Belmar deckhands shouts to us "They boys are back!" and it was all quite splendid and going according to plan. 20 minutes passed by as Dan and I sat and talked on the Miss B. We planned our trip so that the mixture of inclement weather and the fact that it was a weekday would keep the crowds away. And it worked. However, it worked so well, in fact, that we were the only two on the boat. A tall, bald deckhand politely informed us that the Miss B would not be leaving for the quarter day blue fish trip, and suggested we go with the Ocean Explorer, a fluke/seabass boat, instead.

So we did. And it was crap. As we pulled out of the inlet, I saw that the surf hitting Avon was really high, and later learned that fluke don't hit when a large groundswell comes through. Like right then.

So we spent the rest of the day staring at the water, hoping for a seabass that would surpass the legal minimum length. We got one between the two of us, along with a whole assortment of trash fish, 3 skates for me, 2 sea robins which were promptly thrown back, and 3 seabass that were too small to keep. Dan caught the keeper and a good number of throwbacks too.

And then it rained.

But I did get this cool picture


Oh those luscious thighs.

Thats all for tonight. Come later to read what other exciting and interesting things are documented here. Well maybe not. No more fishing stories for the rest of the week (unless they're really interesting), I promise.

Happy Bastille Day! Viva la France!

-Chris

P.S. my sincerest apologies for the subsequent lack of zombie survival information

Gorilla Attacks/Deer Encounters, Lost Kittens, Camp, and Spazzy Macbooks

Gorilla Attacks

Here we see Danny Tal in his photographic prime, complete with camera flash and graphic tshirt. Over the years Danny has become the subject of our ridicule and practical jokes. Don't get me wrong, we love him all the same, but sometimes that love goes away. Especially when he tries to make jokes. And as the evil teenagers we are, we at times go out of our way in order to preform cruel practical jokes on him. I will now recount to you one such joke.

It was Monday night when Pat pulled me aside and explained the plan which we were about to carry out. All the guys were over at my house, and he had devised a brilliant scheme to scare the wits out of Danny. We briefed everyone about the plan, and I announced to the guys that my father would be returning early and that everyone had to leave. After a convincing show-me-the-text-message scene between Greg and I, the act was sold, and the guys left for Pat's house. I ran to the basement and grabbed (ironically enough) Danny's Halloween gorilla suit and mask. Once they had moved out of sight I sprinted to Dan Gregorio's car, which was waiting up the street, and we sped off in the direction of the golf course.

After dropping me off and meeting me on the golf course, Dan Gregorio met back with me and I put on the gorilla suit. We walked over the course to the dark side with the large lake, and took our places in the woods by the maintenance building. I texted Pat, informing him that we were in position, and he led the group across the development on a journey to the maintenance building. You might ask why a group of 16 year old's would even want to go to a dark maintenance building on a dark golf course by the woods in the middle of the night. The answer's pretty simple. To scare themselves silly. Its the same reason why people watch horror movies, for that rush of adrenaline and the tingly feeling you get when that monster magically appears behind the terrified girl hiding in the closet.Now that we seem justified and considerably less strange I'll take a short break to go into detail about the second part of the first title:

Deer encounters

Shortly after Dan Gregorio and I set up in the pitch blackness of the wood's edge, we began to hear leaves crumpling, followed by this terrifying noise that seemed to be only a few feet away from us. It was a succession of a sort of guttural snorts that sounded like a dinosaur from the Jurassic park movies. Personally, I was terrified even though I immediately recognized it as a deer call, a sound I had heard from watching various hunting TV shows, but in the murky pool of darkness that enclosed us my mind went rampant with thoughts of rouge and rabid deer hell bent on the destruction and consumption of disobedient little children. I kept whispering "It's just a deer, dont worry!" to Dan, trying to calm him down in case he was freaking out as badly was I was. The deer then left us and continued on it's path to scare other mischievous teenagers wandering around the woods in the middle of the night.

Back to the Gorilla Suit Plan

Shortly after the deer left us, we began to hear the voices of the group approaching. The moon was mostly dark, and I could barely make out the figures of the people coming towards us. As they neared our hiding spot I struggled to locate the silhouette that belonged to Danny. They walked by and continued in the direction of the maintenance building. I got up and began to approach them from behind, while making the most grotesque and horrifying noise my body could produce. It was like straight out of a horror movie. I singled Danny out, and moved towards him, making the noise louder, and stretching out my arms. He let out a series of desperate whimpers, and clutched Pat for dear life before taking off on a gallant sprint faster than I had ever seen. Now, I've chased Danny before, and its pretty easy to catch him, but he was BOOKING, and I could barely keep up as I chased him out onto the fairway. A few minutes later we were all breathless and laughing at hilarity of the whole thing, Danny included. I have to admit, it was the best Danny Prank to this date.

Lost Kittens

Tuesday morning I woke up and began getting my things together to leave for camp. I showered and went outside to check the mail for my shades. When I got back into the house I continued rummaging around gathering the things I would need for the week. I was in the living room when I realized I had not seen Jibbles in the past ten minutes. He likes to hide and nap in out of sight places so I went and checked his usual hang out spots, but there was no Jibbles. I checked all the rooms. I started calling his name louder. No meowing. No lazy orange white fuzz ball dozing in a corner. I kept my cool. This had happened before, and I always found him under the couch, or in the laundry basket, or under the Christmas tree. But he wasn't in those places either. I started calling out even louder. "Jibbles? Jibbles where are you?" Still, there was no response. I searched faster, I was screaming. Vic would be at my house in 15 minutes, and eventually we would have to leave for camp, and I would be gone for a week. By the time Vic and Gabi got to my house I was frantic. All I could think of was my poor kitten being run down in the street, or dying all alone from the intense 100 degree heat forecast for that day. Vic got here, and we got into his car and drove around the development as I called Jibble's name out the window. We didn't find him. We split up and searched the development. Still, there was no Jibbles. I was in a state of panic. An hour had passed from the time we were supposed to leave. I didn't want Vic and Gabi to miss registration, so I forced myself to face the facts, and put my bags in Vic's car. I placed Jibble's box house on the front porch next to a big bowl of food and ice water. I left the back door open and sprinkled bits of dry food on the patio and left a small pile just inside the house near the door. I got into the car and we left. Later on I broke down and bawled silently behind aviator shades in the back seat.

When you spend you much time with a pet, and you take care of it and sleep next to it, and feed it and cuddle it, you grow really attached to it. I love my little kitten. A slide show of memories played to the somber music echoing in the car. And I began to accept the fact that I might not ever bury my face in his laundry smelling fur and watch him snooze on my laptop keyboard.

Later that day my dad sent me the picture up there with a caption simply reading "Found" I sighed with relief and proceeded to hug the closest person in the room.

Reunited

Camp

There comes a time in one's life when one must pick up the flag, wave on your teammates, and charge forward into the mist of CAMP!

I don't even know how to write this one. There's just so much to write about, so many stories, and too many words I would need to describe accurately what camp is like.

The best part is the people. You have your school friends, your neighborhood friends, and your church friends, but then, then you have your camp friends. I guess it must be the huge gaps of time between the times we see each our camp friends that make them so different from our other types of friends. Being apart from them, and having them out of your everyday life makes seeing them again 10 times better.

Then there's the crazy games like Amazon Women, which is a terrifying experience we wait for every camp. The guys from all the teams form a disorderly pile and lock arms and legs and hang on for dear life as the girls swarm on the pile and begin ripping guys off the cluster and dragging them off. Each guy is worth an amount of points and the team with the most guys from other teams wins. You also get points for the amount of guys remaining in the cluster after the game is over. There are injuries, there is crying, and you see a horrifying side of women you'll never see anywhere else. Nipple twisting, pinching and just down right violence. Watching your friends get dragged off, clawing at the ground, as gangs of girls laugh and smile evil smiles is something that never leaves your mind.

Staying up late and talking in the dorms, hilarious conversations only the people there would understand, and just hanging out in the snack bar all add to the experience. I really feel like I can't do camp justice here. There's just so much to cover, and I'm getting reallll tired right now.

Lastly though, there's the Relay Race (of death). It's a grueling competition where the whole team comes together and competes in a series of events ranging from eating a raw potato, to shooting water balloons at the rec staff, to climbing a 7 foot brick wall.

This year I was on team Slate (a more creative name for grey). In our absence of care, we accidentally became a black power-fist-saluting, staying silent while other teams cheered for points at role call, pretty much communistic team. It was great. We were completely different. And like last year I bore the flag the whole week. Also great.

What more is there to say? Camp is awesome. Go, or send your kid's one day. You wont regret it.

The timezone my account on blogspot is off, and I'm not sure what time this post will say it was posted at, but its 3:57AM right now and I am BEAT. I would write more and go into detail, but I just cant. There's so much more about camp my tired head can't put into words right now.

One last quick thing

Spazzy Macbooks

My Macbook being stupid right now. Throughout the time it took to write this post it has froze and went into screen seizure 3 times. Then when I try to turn it on it makes this obnoxious beeping. I am greatly saddened by this. Goodnight.

-Chris

Scenic Bike Rides and Golf Course Ponds

Oooooooooooh man. Excellent day today (July 3rd. It's past 12 and technically July the 4th but it still feels like the third to me) folks. This morning the sun cooked me out of my tiny one man tent and into Danny Tal's back yard. We camped out and had marshmellows and smores and loads more delicious fattening American Traditions. Btw Happy 234th Birthday America. I got up, went home and kept Jibbles company for awhile, then left the house at 1:30 to bike 7 miles to Monroe.

Thats where the fun began. I never realized how rural our part of New Jersey is. I mean, I had driven down the roads I took today before, but biking down a road and driving are infinitely different. Its like walking and running. In the car you fly by everything, and you miss all the little details. But today on my Schiwnn I did the 14 mile trip at a very easy pace and soaked up everything there was to see. An especially awkward Mr. Hoffman would have probably said something like "Way to suck the marrow out of life, Chris!" Followed imediately by creepy grin/stare. 

Now usually on long bike trips I take main roads and the cars flying by me kinda suck me into rushing and pedaling like crazy and exherting a tremendous amount of effort. But today the road was tiny and narrow, and the entire way there only 3 cars passed me. It was very flat and smooth too, and there were no hills to battle. It passed through a lot of farmland, and to my left and right for the majority of the way I was surrounded by green fields and rolling hills. One farm seemed to go on for miles, ending finally amid soft green hills and a bleak distant treeline. It was really spectacular. And not even 5 minutes away from my house. This green narrow road snaking through farms and forrest was like an escape from Manalapan. Seriously, I passed ranches with names like The Rising Sun Ranch and Green Fields Farm. I felt like I was in Georgia or Nebraska or some other place open. Going down that road with my avaitors on, wind in my face, Ipod singing in my ear, and sun shining down was one of the best trips out of this town I've taken in awhile. You should do it sometime. 15 Miles only takes half an hour on a bike. Great workout too.

Now, for the reason I took this Journey. If you read the first post on this blog you know I love craigslist. No money hassles or waiting for shipping like ebay. And all of your search results are local, and very cheap. 

After catching those Blues with Dan on the Miss Belmar, I decided to start saving up to build my own rod and reel setup to use on party boats. After some research I found a guy selling some reels that were perfect for use on a boat like the Miss B. And at only 7 miles away I decided to bike since my folks werent home. So I took the trip and met John Hagan, a very nice old man who fit the job description of a person you might see with a Santa beard sitting on a chair in the mall around December. He was very nice and showed me all his antique fishing reels, some that went back to the 30's. In all he had maybe something like 200 reels in his house. Pretty cool. After some conversation and delicious Ice tea I bought a Penn 209 from him, and he even gave me a free rod. I said goodbye and went home. 

Around 3 I met with Khomenko, and after Jason's grandma kicked us out for being present, we decided to go fishing on the golf course. We both spent the first 15 minutes casting and hoping. No fish. Dan was saying something about going to a different pond when a nice 1 pounder hit his lure a 2 feet from the waterline. They always hit when you feel like they'll never come. We took that fish back to my house and put him in the freezer for dinner later. We caught 5 fish in total, including a nice sized 2 pounder. When we finally got back with our catch it was 9:20 and pretty dark out. I went to work filleting, becoming a stinking mess in the process. And after all the fillets were off the fish we sliced them down to size and fried them in a beer batter. D E L I C I OU S. Never had bass cooked so awesome before. Usually they taste pretty bad, but we nailed the recipe this time, and Dan, Pat, Nick, and myself ate like kings. It was a awesome fish fry to end and equally awesome day.

Here's our catch in the sink.

Asian Stereotypes and Movie Reviews

Alright folks, just saying, before you read this. This one gets a little wordy. Now would be a good time for those weak of mind to get out a dictionary. Just kidding. Sorry for the lack of pictures

Hey! It's been sometime since I've written one of these. That pretty much attests to the uneventfulness of my life these past few days. Admit-ably I've been pretty low key when it comes to doing interesting things lately, but that changes(has changed) today. And that change has been brought about by a sudden spark of adventure that has stripped away the complacency of everyday life. That previous sentence was literary dark chocolate, just saying.

So fresh in my mind as I type out these sentences tonight, is the event that causes the first part of the title of this particular blog. Asian stereotypes. Specifically, bad driving. Albeit I consider myself a pretty A-Class driver. You know, I rock the whole one hand, turn-with-the-palm bit. And usually, I'm pretty consistent with my impeccable driving skills. Although, like all things in this life, those very skills suffer brief, temporary, lapses of ability which endanger the lives of those around me, not to mention my own. It hurts my psyche substantially to admit this, but as it would with anyone else, it happens.

Tonight I will report to you, my dear reader(s), as accurately as I can, the events that occurred this night of July 1 2010, at approximately 10:15PM Eastern Standard Time directly outside the Freehold Raceway Mall's AMC Lowes Theater.

After adjusting the driver's seat, aligning the remaining precautionary accident-likeliness-reduction reflective devices (a fancy way for saying rear-view mirrors) and turning on the Ipod, I put the S-Class in drive and lurched it forward. We stopped in a parking lot adjacent to the theater to enter Dan's address into the GPS.

After doing so we doubled back the way we had came, passing the theater entrance where we had only just been picked up. Then, a devilish thought occurred within the enigmatic workings that some call a mind. As we rolled pass the entrance, I brought down my driver-side window, I saw Julie Dantoni, who Daniel and I had been conversing with only a few moments ago, and as we passed by I yelled at the top of my voice "JULIE DANTONI!" Feeling pretty slick, I kicked up the speed a few miles per hour to quicken the escape necessitated by my daring little plan. We passed an SUV to our left and as the other lane of the road came into view, I eyed a small group of pedestrians immediately ahead of the car, a few yards off to the left . Slowing down a bit, but not stopping I waited to in order to judge whether or not to slam the breaks and interrupt the pleasant ride of my passengers, or to continue on and narrowly slip by, leaving them frightened, but unharmed. I was Relieved when I saw the group stop, and decided right then, to act upon the latter option, and pass them by.

But then, in an act of sheer defiance to my automotive prowess, the eldest male of the group continued onward, toward the path of my oncoming automobile, as if trying to state his dominance of the asphalt which we all know rightfully belongs to us drivers of automobiles. Alarmed, I moved slightly to the right to avoid careening into his defiant body. And as I passed by this man, my window still down from the previous episode concerning the name screaming and such, he let out a very audible "Really?" to cap off his bold performance. He stood in the middle of the street watching as I continued on my path, leaving him to gawk at the rear of our vehicle.

Feelings of embarrassment and concern began ripping through my body. "What if he was staring to take down our license plate, so he could report me?" As per my very own delightful father's demands I am currently restricted from operating motor(completely just blanked on how to spell motor and googled it) vehicles. Having a police officer knock on his door and inform him as to my mother and I's clandestine driving endeavors, would ultimately lead to my physical demise. And that, is something I must constantly work towards detering from my life's path.

So for the rest of the drive to Dan's house and later to mine, I was overcome with paranoia, that my deeds would be uncovered, and the ugly truth of my own defiance to my fathers law exposed in bright light before him. My mind wandered to thoughts of shipment overseas to carry out the remainder of my life back in my mother country of Malaysia, a threat of punishment frequently employed by my dear, delightful father. Originally stated by him in terms closer to "YOU MESS UP AGAINA, I SHIP YOU BACK TO MALAYSIA, NO MORE ANYTING FO YOU!"

Well, as it turns out no officers of the law had been near my doorstep, and to my current knowledge, no reports had been made. Although I impatiently wait to see what surprises tomorrow may hold. But for now, I relax, and enjoy the continual state of my life, and revel in the accomplishments of my narrow escape from lawsuit and other penalties, which I have managed to evade, once again.

And with that I turn the eloquence switch off to review a movie for you. Tonight me and Dan snuck into Get Him to the Greek. Did you know snuck isn't and actual word. Yeah it's being underlined by spell check. So here goes nothing as I try my hand at movie reviewing. This is new ground for me so if I'm biased or cross or communistic please don't heckle me.

The movie, was very good. I expected a Superbad-Hangover-esque film, filled to the brim with humor cheesier than the fries at the pool. But what I got was a movie that made me laugh, and make me feel a bit warm and fuzzy. The style of humor was pretty dirty, but in a some what respectable way. Brilliant lines like "You can't out run me! I'm black!" peppered the faster paced scenes of the movie.

When the booze and narcotics started coming on screen I prepared myself for a sloppy and grotesque, slapstick style, vomit-on-the nearest-person gauntlet the likes of which one doesn't know whether to laugh at or be disgusted with. Although that statement remains true regarding a great deal of the movie, the rest weaves an almost touching tale of Aldous Snow's fall from greatness, his redemption, and a grand display human error. All of which paralleled by the struggles of the "Affable nitwit" Aaron Green, who guides the fallen rock star back to glory.

Sergio, played by P. Diddy, is Aaron's boss and possibly my favorite character. His knowledge-of-the-business insight (trys to) aides Aaron's effort to keep Aldous and his crazy rockstar tendancies in order. He makes some of the most memorable lines in the movie, and his character greatly serves to show how out classed Aaron is by such titans of the industry as himself and Aldous. Although Aaron eventually moves on to produce for Aldous, putting himself on par with Sergio.

This movie was very good. 7.93 on the ten scale. A lot of good material to laugh yourself silly at, and enough semblance of a story line to keep the active minded interested. Do not under any circumstances watch this with your parents. (it's rated R, but still don't go with an adult who's job it is to steer you away from the habits emulated in the movie. if you want to watch it, go on a week night and sneak in.) If you do decide to watch it with your parents, get ready for a whole lot of awkwardness.

And that's it. Hope you enjoyed my scribblings, and decide to come back and see what else is going on with me and my adventurous doings.

-Chris

Music I'm listening to right now:
Blue Jean's and White T shirts - The Gaslight Anthem