And she's right.
Why is Kim even famous? She has neither any skill nor talent. Becoming famous for a sex tape... One of the lamest ways to become a celebrity. I'd be simply embarrassed. And out comes the entire family. Hey let's make a reality show together so that people can keep up with our daily lives!!
Seriously now? I'm sure nobody really gives a damn. And nobody even should. There's nothing to look up to them for.
Kanye I can understand. He raps for a living. Released albums that were actually decent. Don't know about this 'Yeezus' though. Should we go for it and judge an album by its cover?
I folded the newspaper in half and threw it aside the couch. Another sunny day full of sunshine. I changed into a tank with shorts, headed outside and went to the park. In the park was a large lawn where most locals and tourists can relax and enjoy the summer sun. I chose a random spot and lay down on my back. Shades on, I closed my eyes and took in the vitamin D hitting various parts of my skin. Tanning.
As soon as I shut my eyes sleep enveloped me, as if my mind was telling me to. Sprawling on the lawn never felt so comfortable until now, for some odd reason. I went into deep sleep as the birds hidden snugly in the bushes and trees melodiously chirped in harmony.
I didn't mean to sleep in the middle of the lawn, but I woke up about two hours later, wiping off the drool I made on my face. A nice little nap. I looked around and saw people having picnics, tossing a frisbee around, and reading books. Nothing changed, nothing happened. The same girl in a bikini who was adjacent to me was still engrossed in her book and the couple at a distance were still cuddling with each other. The only thing that changed was the position of the sun.
A little while's later someone came over towards my direction and plopped down next to me. He was wearing aviator sunglasses, a shrunken tee that was way too small for his size, and some baggy shorts. Perhaps a high school freshman.
"Hi," he began. "I'm a volunteer for a summer camp and I'm wondering if you have the time to answer a few questions. It's for the counselor's reference and your answers will remain anonymous."
Before I thought it over for a while my mouth opened and I said sure.
He flipped open his notebook and reviewed the questions. A sheen of sweat layered across his forehead and beads of them running along the back of his neck. Seemed like he also forgot to apply his deodorant. All the while he would wipe himself off with the sleeve of his tee. Right then it reminded me of the line from Rush Hour,
"Wipe yourself off, man," I'd throw him a towel. "You're [sweating]."
But seeing that I didn't even have a towel with me, and seeing that it was only for my own satisfaction, I said something else.
"Say, you look like you just came out of a sauna."
He looked up in my direction, blank. Then awkwardly smiled, his eyes visible through his sunglasses.
"I'm just doing my job," he said. "Though I gotta agree with you this weather is a hot one."
"Got a handkerchief?"
"Nah."
"Feel like you need one?"
"I got my shirt. No worries."
"Been running around or something?"
"Nope. Just walked many miles around the park asking people. Never thought walking alone would make me sweat so much."
I looked at his white shirt more closely. A huge dark spot in the center. "Yeah you'd sweat all right," I said. "Get any good results?"
He pressed against the bridge of his shades. "A few. Most declined, said they'd prefer not to."
"Who do they think they are? Bartleby?"
"Hunh?"
"Nah, forget it." There was a brief lull. He seemed to forget that he needed to ask me some questions. "But I get you," I continued. "I've been in your position before, asking people in the middle of street for their attention, handing them flyers. And rejection is something we gotta face. It's an inevitable thing that happens. From Lebron James's blocks to attempting to ask the hottest girl in school to prom, rejection is everywhere. Nothing is perfect in the world."
He froze, seeming to take in my lame words of wisdom. "At least you have my attention."
"That, is true."
There was another pause. "Can I ask now?"
"My apologies for speaking too much. Took too much of your time."
"It's not a problem."
And thus he began.
"What's your favorite genre of music?"
"I like everything. But if had to say what genre I listen to most it has to be hip-hop/rap."
He stared at me for a couple of seconds, nodded, and jotted it down on his notebook.
He cleared his throat and resumed. "Have you attended a summer camp before, and if so, what were the activities you partook in?"
"Sports, arts and crafts, playing games."
The wind flipped the page on his notebook but he turned it back and used his left hand as the paperweight.
"What were some of the values you had when attending summer camp?"
"Making friends and having a good time and staying healthy."
"That's all," he said, shutting the notebook. "Just curious, what grade are you in?"
"2nd year college student. Yourself?"
"I'm on my way to high school."
Knew it. "Got a best subject?"
"Math."
"Top in your class?"
"Can't say I am."
"Just remember, man, it's not up to the teacher to teach you everything. You know those students who say, 'this teacher didn't teach me anything at all!' or 'All I learned from this class was...' yada yada?"
He nodded.
"Well it's their fault. They are misunderstanding the entire concept of education. You gotta teach stuff yourself too. Buy textbooks on your own, research things on the internet. Teachers can't go over entire subjects all in a matter of, what, nine months? Don't rely absolutely everything on your teacher. Give them a break. Make the effort to study things on your own for once. It's a useful thing to do when you go to college. In addition to the teacher teaching you the subject, you yourself should also be the teacher teaching things. It'll truly reinforce your knowledge. Get my drift?"
He thought about it for a while, sinking in what I said word after word. Then responded, "But having a good teacher really helps you define whether or not you like that subject. A good teacher is crucial."
I smiled and nodded. "Based on my understanding, teachers are there to introduce you to that subject material. But trust me no matter what school you go to they will try to spice up things and make the subject interesting. Since you are in high school the teachers aren't going to teach the most advanced concepts or the most difficult theories and ideas or whatever. I mean, that's what college is for. Quantum physics my ass. It's up to you to teach those additional things yourself. Don't get me wrong, teachers are there to help you and you should definitely consult them first, but I'm just saying that it also helps to study on your own."
He nodded. "So in other words, I should become a nerd."
"You're not a nerd unless you say you are."
"What if other people say I am?"
"You play a sport or something?"
"Soccer."
"Problem solved," I said. "Nerds are people who only and I mean only invest their time studying. If you're a versatile type of guy who not only is smart but is also athletic and is social, you aren't a nerd, and nobody would assume that you are one either."
"You seem like a smart guy."
"Nah, just a college student lolling in the park," I laughed.
Anyways, thanks for your time, and he put his notebook back in his knapsack, and, before he took off, noticed my opened book and asked me what I was reading.
"Stendhal."
Nodding, seeming disinterested, he took off.
I folded the newspaper in half and threw it aside the couch. Another sunny day full of sunshine. I changed into a tank with shorts, headed outside and went to the park. In the park was a large lawn where most locals and tourists can relax and enjoy the summer sun. I chose a random spot and lay down on my back. Shades on, I closed my eyes and took in the vitamin D hitting various parts of my skin. Tanning.
As soon as I shut my eyes sleep enveloped me, as if my mind was telling me to. Sprawling on the lawn never felt so comfortable until now, for some odd reason. I went into deep sleep as the birds hidden snugly in the bushes and trees melodiously chirped in harmony.
I didn't mean to sleep in the middle of the lawn, but I woke up about two hours later, wiping off the drool I made on my face. A nice little nap. I looked around and saw people having picnics, tossing a frisbee around, and reading books. Nothing changed, nothing happened. The same girl in a bikini who was adjacent to me was still engrossed in her book and the couple at a distance were still cuddling with each other. The only thing that changed was the position of the sun.
A little while's later someone came over towards my direction and plopped down next to me. He was wearing aviator sunglasses, a shrunken tee that was way too small for his size, and some baggy shorts. Perhaps a high school freshman.
"Hi," he began. "I'm a volunteer for a summer camp and I'm wondering if you have the time to answer a few questions. It's for the counselor's reference and your answers will remain anonymous."
Before I thought it over for a while my mouth opened and I said sure.
He flipped open his notebook and reviewed the questions. A sheen of sweat layered across his forehead and beads of them running along the back of his neck. Seemed like he also forgot to apply his deodorant. All the while he would wipe himself off with the sleeve of his tee. Right then it reminded me of the line from Rush Hour,
"Wipe yourself off, man," I'd throw him a towel. "You're [sweating]."
But seeing that I didn't even have a towel with me, and seeing that it was only for my own satisfaction, I said something else.
"Say, you look like you just came out of a sauna."
He looked up in my direction, blank. Then awkwardly smiled, his eyes visible through his sunglasses.
"I'm just doing my job," he said. "Though I gotta agree with you this weather is a hot one."
"Got a handkerchief?"
"Nah."
"Feel like you need one?"
"I got my shirt. No worries."
"Been running around or something?"
"Nope. Just walked many miles around the park asking people. Never thought walking alone would make me sweat so much."
I looked at his white shirt more closely. A huge dark spot in the center. "Yeah you'd sweat all right," I said. "Get any good results?"
He pressed against the bridge of his shades. "A few. Most declined, said they'd prefer not to."
"Who do they think they are? Bartleby?"
"Hunh?"
"Nah, forget it." There was a brief lull. He seemed to forget that he needed to ask me some questions. "But I get you," I continued. "I've been in your position before, asking people in the middle of street for their attention, handing them flyers. And rejection is something we gotta face. It's an inevitable thing that happens. From Lebron James's blocks to attempting to ask the hottest girl in school to prom, rejection is everywhere. Nothing is perfect in the world."
He froze, seeming to take in my lame words of wisdom. "At least you have my attention."
"That, is true."
There was another pause. "Can I ask now?"
"My apologies for speaking too much. Took too much of your time."
"It's not a problem."
And thus he began.
"What's your favorite genre of music?"
"I like everything. But if had to say what genre I listen to most it has to be hip-hop/rap."
He stared at me for a couple of seconds, nodded, and jotted it down on his notebook.
He cleared his throat and resumed. "Have you attended a summer camp before, and if so, what were the activities you partook in?"
"Sports, arts and crafts, playing games."
The wind flipped the page on his notebook but he turned it back and used his left hand as the paperweight.
"What were some of the values you had when attending summer camp?"
"Making friends and having a good time and staying healthy."
"That's all," he said, shutting the notebook. "Just curious, what grade are you in?"
"2nd year college student. Yourself?"
"I'm on my way to high school."
Knew it. "Got a best subject?"
"Math."
"Top in your class?"
"Can't say I am."
"Just remember, man, it's not up to the teacher to teach you everything. You know those students who say, 'this teacher didn't teach me anything at all!' or 'All I learned from this class was...' yada yada?"
He nodded.
"Well it's their fault. They are misunderstanding the entire concept of education. You gotta teach stuff yourself too. Buy textbooks on your own, research things on the internet. Teachers can't go over entire subjects all in a matter of, what, nine months? Don't rely absolutely everything on your teacher. Give them a break. Make the effort to study things on your own for once. It's a useful thing to do when you go to college. In addition to the teacher teaching you the subject, you yourself should also be the teacher teaching things. It'll truly reinforce your knowledge. Get my drift?"
He thought about it for a while, sinking in what I said word after word. Then responded, "But having a good teacher really helps you define whether or not you like that subject. A good teacher is crucial."
I smiled and nodded. "Based on my understanding, teachers are there to introduce you to that subject material. But trust me no matter what school you go to they will try to spice up things and make the subject interesting. Since you are in high school the teachers aren't going to teach the most advanced concepts or the most difficult theories and ideas or whatever. I mean, that's what college is for. Quantum physics my ass. It's up to you to teach those additional things yourself. Don't get me wrong, teachers are there to help you and you should definitely consult them first, but I'm just saying that it also helps to study on your own."
He nodded. "So in other words, I should become a nerd."
"You're not a nerd unless you say you are."
"What if other people say I am?"
"You play a sport or something?"
"Soccer."
"Problem solved," I said. "Nerds are people who only and I mean only invest their time studying. If you're a versatile type of guy who not only is smart but is also athletic and is social, you aren't a nerd, and nobody would assume that you are one either."
"You seem like a smart guy."
"Nah, just a college student lolling in the park," I laughed.
Anyways, thanks for your time, and he put his notebook back in his knapsack, and, before he took off, noticed my opened book and asked me what I was reading.
"Stendhal."
Nodding, seeming disinterested, he took off.
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