Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Would You Like Some Cheese With That Fuel?

All over the place, people are throwing around the phrase "foreign-oil independent." The republicans use it as an excuse to open the ANWR for exploratory pre-drilling expeditions. E.g., "drilling in the ANWR will help the U.S. become foreign-oil independent."
This is, of course, a boldfaced lie.
Many magazines tout that if "readers would pledge to use one gallon less per week" or gasoline, they would be doing a small part to help the United States become foreign-oil independent.

All these people fail to realize one thing. There's an inherent flaw to their stupid little phrase. It has one too many words. It shouldn't be foreign oil. It's just oil that is the problem.

We need to become oil independent.

Trust me, I work at an Exxon, I see how much of it people use in a day.

Small irony my paycheck comes (rather vicariously) from gasoline and oil taxes? I can live with it. Y'all are the ones using all the gas.

Sunday, May 08, 2005

Epilogue: 132 E King St. no. 2

They really are gone.

I was walking around the other day, after graduation, after Caitlin left, after all my friends went to their houses and started to finish packing. Just walking around, listening to The Postal Service.

The clouds were folding in, but this proved to be a feint --- they folded right back out not two minutes later.
A pity, I wanted rain. I wanted the rain to come and beat hard upon the purple flowers, flowing like a waterfall over the concrete barrier between sidewalk and lawn.

I'm packing up my room. This room that I've called "home" for the past year. I'm going to miss it. Sure, it's small, has an eaved roof, and I didn't have a desk. But it was still very cool to sit here and watch King Street flow by.

Never will I be able to walk to Pizza House, where you can get a large Pizza-Hut-esque cheese pizza for $5.25.
Oh well.

These people, the ones who've just become "productive members of society," in the "real world," these people are the ones who made band camp hilarious for me as a freshman. They were the closest to me in age --- and maturity --- and I will miss them.
It's hard to imagine that they're "all grown up," if only because that means I'm not far behind.

This house, while falling apart at the seams, is still unique, as only a house can be. It isn't a cookie-cutter apartment room in Stone Ridge, it isn't a townhouse in a long row of townhouses in Bard. It is a house, and there's nothing else like it.
Even though the back stairs are rather precarious, and the dishes never seem to be quite clean, the stairwell's ceiling is falling, and the front doorknob falls off constantly, it was my home for this year, and I will miss it.

I suppose it's quite a wake-up call to come to the realization that your friends are not coming back. That they won't be here next year during band camp, or weekends. I'm not saying I don't have any friends here, because I do. But the one's who just graduated are ones-of-a-kind.

So goodbye, 132. And see-you-soon, Shippensburg. I'm off for a summer full of job-hunting, minimum wages, online classes, and hopefully a little fun mixed in as well.

Back to Lake Wallenpaupack, if all goes well, I'll be able to swim in it more than a couple times this summer.

Why do the years seem shorter as time progresses? In high school, it was the opposite...

Why then do I worry more as each year slowly fades into more boxes and less oppotunities to live-it-up.

Goodnight, room.
Goodnight, house.
Goodnight, Bob, John, Kelly, Bob, Lisa, Kevin, Greg, Adrienne, Megan, Carmen, Lainey, Matt, Rachael, Ben, and everyone else who wore dark blue robes, and smiles from ear to ear as you were handed your diploma-folders.


Goodnight.