Around 6th grade I wanted to have my birthday party a the roller skating rink; it was a different time, when roller blades and Linkin Park were really cool. After me and my small group of friends skated in circles until the left side of our ankles were raw from turning, it was time for the ceremonial cake to be unveiled. As the sheet cake was eaten with our frozen sugar milk and soda, it was time for the passing of presents. Maybe there was a rumor going around or something, but it seems everyone thought I was going somewhere. I received quite a few travel sized board games.

I don’t know if travel sized technology has progressed in the past decade (at least from a board game’s standpoint), but I sincerely hope that it has improved significantly. The tiny board games were pretty neat at first, but lost their steam exponentially as I continued to open the packaging. When the board games were first released, they all folded in half with a miniature handle on top, like a mouse-sized purse. When opened, a coaster sized game board was there, complete with tiny dice. This was probably about 1/10th the size of the normal board, and it was pretty cool. The only gripe I had was the size of the tokens i.e. the battleship or iron in Monopoly. The tokens were just barely smaller than their average sized counterparts, making them tower over the tiny board and occupy Boardwalk, Mediterranean Avenue, GO, and Community Chest. At least the tokens were magnetic, so they didn’t move around too much.

Playing Life with the tiny board was the hardest of all, since each space is not nearly as recognizable as Monopoly’s spaces. The font was impossibly small to read, and was probably not written in any language whatsoever. Although, the Life board that I received was on a key chain, which was pretty darn rad.

As I cradled the group of small so-so boxes of amusement, I gave a halfhearted smile and an equally halfhearted “thanks”. Then, at my decree, it was time to skate the night away (or sk8, as we said at the time) because it was my party and I could skate if I wanted to…at least until the rink closed.
I can’t recall ever playing any of the games, which was probably a good thing. Since then, my only other encounter with miniature board games was with a small pool table that one of my brothers got from a party. I toyed with it for a few seconds, but when most of the balls fell out after the break, I didn’t think it would be good for a road trip. I really hope that was not the intention.

Photo from here

A few nights ago I slept on a futon. It was especially sad because it was just a few feet from my own bed which my sibling had lovingly decided to sleep on. Now I’m not saying that I dislike futons, but I would have rather slept on a couch. If you can’t decide between a couch and a bed: get both.

Sleeping on that futon is definitely an experience my back I will never forget.

Photo from here

I think my parents originally signed me up for karate lessons, PaSaRyu to be exact, in order to stop me from being such a little weakling. I went three times a week to a gym crawling with brown beetle like creatures that fell from the rafters on the other side of town to learn karate with 30 other kids. At first, it was awful, because these bugs were very frightening to me, especially because we weren’t allowed to wear shoes during training. Over time the bugs got less gross, but they still fell on my head like kamikazes.

The warm up exercises were what killed me the most, probably because it’s harder to fake doing push ups on your knuckles than actually doing them. After I learned the Dance of the White Belt (it probably has a more karate-esque name, but I thought it was a dance) it was time for me to advance to yellow belt and pick my spirit animal. I was handed a long list of animals to choose from, most of which were elegant and dangerous creatures of the night. I, also being a creature of the night, chose the spirit animal of panther. Like the panther, I am bad at karate (and mysterious).

My parents asked me if I wanted to keep going back to karate, I said yes for only one reason: sparring. I always considered myself, like a panther, to be excellent at the craft. Sparring is basically organized fighting. At PaSaRyu, you get a point if you hit the opponent in the head with your hands or feet, or if you hit them in the stomach. After bowing to my opponent, I had a very similar and consistent style of approach: the flying kick.

I never won, but I did beat a black belt who was only allowed to use his feet once, so I guess that was pretty cool. At the time, it was, in my mind, absolutely impossible to counter; the only way to win was to keep practicing with the flying kick in the ring of honor. My practice with the flying kick eventually paid off, and I was invited to a PaSaRyu competition. Well, really everyone was invited, but I didn’t know that at first.

After doing my Dance of the Yellow Belt to the judges, it came time for my moment of glory: single elimination sparring tournament. Since I would being going against yellow belts from other trainers, no one would know my style. There was no way I could be defeated. I thought this until I saw my first opponent.

“A girl?” I thought, “Why would they put me up against a girl?” That was the first thing I noticed about her. Then, I realized that she was unbeatable. The girl I was sparring was quite overweight, and to hide her weight, she tied her belt higher up than all of the other yellow belts. In fact, it was so high up, that she had no hit box on her stomach, since the hit box starts at the bottom with the belt and ends at the chest. There was no space between these two areas. But I had no choice; there was only one way I knew how to engage: flying kick.

The battle begun, and as I flew through the air towards her stomach I felt a bump on my head; the judge awarded her the first point. It turned out that this wall of a girl has arms that were longer than my legs. She also never moved from her starting position, she always kept her legs together, and she always had her arms by her side. I lost 0-3.

As I left for home with my participation trophy, I told my mom I didn’t want to do karate anymore. I had one more week of lessons left, where I earned my green belt and, like a panther, stopped doing karate forever.

To this day, whenever I see a blouse with a high-placed belt on it, I can’t help but think of being bonked on the head in shame.

Photos from here and here

Rainbows are very amazing things and, according to common human knowledge, are very rich in gold. However, a newly discovered phenomenon has been stealing the steam from the beauty that is refracted light: double rainbows. After seeing a double rainbow or even knowing about them makes normal non-double rainbows seem boring and common.

It’s been one week since you looked at me
Cocked your head to the side and said I’m angry
Five days since you laughed at me saying
Get that together come back and see me
Three days since the living room
I realized it’s all my fault but couldn’t tell you
Yesterday, you’d forgiven me
But it’ll still be two days till I say I’m sorry

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Hmmmmmmmmmmm
Hmmmmmmmm aqua man
Hmmmmmmm Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Hmmmmmmmmmm Hmmmm frying pan
…
It’s been one week since you looked at me!

Song from Barenaked Ladies, photo from here

HAGS, also known as “have a great summer,” is great and fast way to write “I don’t really know you very well” in someone’s yearbook; it’s also shorthand for “cop out.”

Signing yearbooks seemed to take an entire day when I graduated the 8th grade. I remember walking around to all of my classmates and passing my yearbook on like it was a small child I didn’t really care about. About 3/4′s of them signed, “HAGS <name>.” While I didn’t really think of it at the time, I’m pretty sure I never talked to most of the people who signed my yearbook. The entire cover page is filled with comments from friends, and has a very small amount of it filled with HAGS from acquaintances I didn’t know a single thing about.

A great way to count your friends is to count the number of people who wrote nice, legitimate things in your yearbook. A great way to count the number of people who don’t really care what happens to you is to count the HAGS in your yearbook.

Also, whoever came up with this horrible acronym was probably just calling someone a hag in the first place and was trying to cover it up with this clever literary device. Touché…

Photo from here

All in all, I’m sure it wouldn’t be bothersome whatsoever, but if you’re wrapping presents, I’m sure that you’ve already assumed that the tape you’re using is normal and you’ve adjusted for it accordingly. Then, opening the new tape, you realize the mistake you’ve made and it takes you about 3 seconds to change your mental process.

Plus, double sided tape is pretty darn cool.

Photos from here

Summer camp is a wonderful, wonderful place. Most people who went to one will have positive feedback of the one that he/she attended. Even if said person got extremely homesick his/her first year and faked a stomach ache just to try and coax a phone call out of the camp nurse to call his/her parents.

Each summer camp is different: some only happen during the day, some are only over-night, some are weekend long camps, some are week long camps, some are month long camps. But all summer camps, no matter the location, share a common theme: the outdoors. That is, unless, it’s a summer camp for those that are allergic to the sun, then I would assume very little of it would be outdoors. Playing soccer out in the field, archery, basketball, ultimate, and all that other good stuff is what summer camp is all about. It’s always wonderful when you get there: seeing all of your old camp friends again, catching up on all of their major events of the year, meeting the new counselors for the summer, and, of course, gossiping. Oh, the camp gossip, how wonderful and mysterious it can be.

For the duration of camp, it’s (usually) wonderful; a (time period) of complete bliss,  and then you realize that you’re somewhat running out of clothes and soap. Yes, at camp everyone is pretty gross, but no one really cares that much about it. It’s almost as if everyone’s grossness is appreciated as them having a good time, it’s almost a social norm. Unless it’s the one kid who smells a lot anyway, then it’s kind of looked down upon to be gross. Depending on your location and the cleanliness of the water, the local water hole can sometimes be exchanged for one shower credit. Of course, everyone showers (if available), but the water flow is never the same as his/her own shower, so showering can take twice as long or more just to get all of that shampoo out of your hair. Dental hygiene routines should not be changed when at camp, though, because not brushing your teeth is just plain nasty.

But, camp does get to a point where everyone acknowledges that it’s time to go and let go of that year. It’s certainly harder for some than most, but everyone goes through the stage of loss differently. Then everyone remember how awesome his/her bed at home is and how stellar taking a conventional shower is. After that thought, everyone is kind of excited about going back home again. Also, getting a home cooked meal again is great. Thanks to social networking, though, you never even have to say goodbye to your camp friends! How convenient!

To all those camp that have a blob: jealous.

Photos from here and here

Jorts, or jean shorts, have half of the style and comfort of jeans, but double the freedom. Your decision: is the freedom of jorts truly worth it?

Photo from here

There are few things better in life than lying down. On a similar note, there are quite a few ways to read a book while lying down, and every one of them manages to be uncomfortable to you in some way. This hasn’t ever stopped anyone from doing it, though.

First, there’s reading on your side. The is probably the most comfortable way to do it, but you can barely read the pages this way, since usually your pillow will get in the way. If you’re not using a pillow, congratulations! You can only read with one eye.

Then there’s reading on your front. This usually hurts, mainly on the lower back and elbows (if you choose to prop yourself up on your elbows). I guess you back just arch your back and look like a seal as you read your book, so if you’re not a gymnast use your elbows.

Lastly, there’s the flying book method. This involves holding the book over your face, so with one false move you can have a mouthful of novel. This is only to be attempted by the bravest of readers, who don’t see words on a page as a threat. At least, in the end, you have a very dark environment to sleep in, unless you put on one of those book lights. This is my go to method, but I always hold it really high up, so it’s like holding a weight above my head. I don’t think doing this has ever ended favorably.

While it’s never comfortable for me to read lying down, I do it anyway all of the time. It really wouldn’t be that much more effort to sit down and read, since then I ran just lay the book on my lap in a non-awkward fashion. It would be comfortable for me to do that as well…but I guess not nearly as great as lying down. You can’t really wear a blanket while sitting up…or can you? Sitting up isn’t really that uncomfortable if you have a headboard on your bed, so you can lay back and relax with a good book. But, hey, that’s cheating.

Photo from here, here, and here