My Internal Clock is Ringing

I grew up in a military family; did the standard move every two to three years. Growing up I didn't ever realize or care where we moved, we just did. I got to experience so much, more than anyone I know-- living in the Amazon, swimming across the highest lake in the world, deserts, mountains, oceans, you name it, I've been there. It was only when I moved from Bolivia to Chile for 10th grade that I was sad and even more depressed when I left Chile for Virginia in my senior year of high school. As much as it broke my heart knowing that I was suddenly not going to be able to graduate with my friends I was glad I got to move back to the States; it was (like every other time) a good experience.

But I remember thinking to myself "I'll never want to move again". I was jealous of all the people who grew up in the same state with the same people. I just wanted to settle and grow in one place.

But now I've been here in Virginia for about two years...and something just feels so...itchy. I feel like something needs to change. Granted, I live in Fredericksburg, not a mecca of fun and excitement, but still and enjoyable place to live. The summer has me wanting something. The ringing is so loud.

Perhaps I need to move. Fredericksburg is like maple syrup, sweet and slow. I want to live faster. I've never had a city life. I want to make art and see art. I want to go to galleries and shows and listen to jazz and orchestras. I want to go restauranting. I want more reasons to wear my best clothes. I want to see and be seen. And I don't think I could cure this with a trip to D.C. or Richmond, maybe I'm wrong; perhaps it would help satisfy it...at least for a short while.

There are also the people. I love the people here, but too many are the kind that would travel to India only to have McDonalds. I want to be with people who aren't satisfyied with a mediocre life; Let's have fun at a party one night and go build houses the next day, maybe we could go see some paintings and then fool around behind that statue; anything! Most of all, I'd like to be with people who are willing to do these things without reservations, I don't want to have to beg and plead. Instead I find myself being told that the things I want are out of my reach or that "they just don't do that" (in a very condesending way).

Well I can only hit Snooze for so long before I have to get up and go. I'm going to make things change, I'm going to do it for me.

Kat and Josh

Just some pictures of Kat and Josh. Ewww.

Link to my online portfolio~

http://ksmcdonough.carbonmade.com/

Road Tripping

Our road trip to Williamsburg. Me in shotgun of course.
Edited by me. Music by Kings of Leon.

Shotgun!!

Yes, it’s immature.

And while it falls into the same category as other immature habits that formed during my childhood years (i.e. being trained to eat pizza as fast as I could to ensure my share, guarding my plate from scavengers and licking the insides of oreos and closing them for an unexpected victim), it stands high above the others as one of the most problematic habits in my entire life.

I can’t stop calling Shotgun! when approaching a car.

First, let’s identify why “calling Shotgun!” and successfully getting Shotgun (the passenger seat in a car that will be transporting more than two individuals) is such a great thing. Let’s face it — no one likes to sit in the back seat of a car. And if you’re traveling to a lunch with five of your friends or going to New York or some concert and you’re packing a car to the brim — you don’t want the back seat, the hump in the back seat, and you definitely don’t want to be that lowly person who gets stuck having to contort their body to fit in the hatchback section of the car.

You want Shotgun!

The rules of engagement are varied depending on where you're from. But the rules I follow stem from my early high school years, and while a bit insane, can be summarized in this short (and legitimate) list:
-You may not call Shotgun! until you can see the car.
-If you call Shotgun! before seeing the car, you cannot call Shotgun! for three trips that occur following the instance in which you illegally called Shotgun!
-In the event you illegally call Shotgun! and others exclaim that you couldn’t have possibly seen the car from where you were standing, but you insist that you have really good eyesight but they don’t believe you — all parties must stop at the point where you said you could see the vehicle and a neutral third-party ophthalmologist must give you an eye-test, determine you ability to see and how far you can see, and then all parties can agree upon whether or not you can call Shotgun! in the next three trips.
-Assuming you do call Shotgun! and the other parties challenge your call, and the ophthalmologist comes in, and you get an eye test, and you indeed could have seen far enough to legally call Shotgun!, but obviously since the ophthalmologist appointment came after the contested call (which meant that at the time you called it you were disallowed shotgun due to the questioning of legality), then you will be provided with a freebie of Shotgun! in an event of your choosing.
-If someone trips you on the way to the car or “flat-foots” you (stepping on the back of your shoe while you’re walking) after you’ve already called and acquired shotgun — you get an extra shot gun for next time. If you do any of the previously aforementioned things to another passenger while you have already been awarded the shotgun, then you must give up your shotgun-status to the person you did the act to.
-Putting your dirty shoes up on the dashboard in the car, while enjoying the shotgun-status, is grounds for the driver to pull over, revoke your shotgun-status and give it to the person he/she likes better.

As you can see, such rules work wonderfully for people who have too much time on their hands and also don’t have professional relationships to foster — my current lifestyle, not being able to stop calling Shotgun! is not problem in my personal, professional and academic life.

Sure, it’s a bit childish, but it’s the kind of thing where potentially…other people might respect the fact that you called it and got it. I suspect there are thousands of adults out there, who every time they approach a car with more than two passengers think to themselves about calling shotgun but don’t — for fear of looking silly. For fear of ruining a relationship. But deep down, I think the compulsion lies dormant in “civilized businesspeople” and they’re dying to let it back out.
Or maybe that’s just how I justify feeling better about the looks I get from others or the snarls I get from hump-residing back-seat dwellers. Or maybe the reactions I get from people (mostly which include reactions like “you’re serious?” or “that is so immature”) are simply their way of lashing out against the guy who got shotgun, when they really wished it had been them.
Look. My record speaks for itself. In an average 100 car trips, including more than 2 passengers, I have achieved legendary status as a shotgunner with an approximate 74 success call-outs. That means that in almost 75% of all shotgun attempts, I have been successful.
Immature? Maybe. The coolest guy ever? Yeah.
So I can’t stop calling shotgun.
Big deal.

I Am The Master of Asking for a Water Glass and Sneaking Free Soda

“Just a glass for water, please.”

It is a phrase so simple in it’s simpleton-like simplicity that no cash register clerk ever reads into it. It is a phrase that I throw out so innocently, that my warm nature never causes anyone to question my intentions. It is a phrase that I utter with such convincing “I’m doing this all-water diet right now” attitude that the powers that be (i.e. restaurant managers) never see me coming, and never realize when I’m gone.
Yes, I’m the Master of asking for a water glass then sneaking free soda.

First and foremost, don’t skewer the Master for taking advantage of a flawed system. That would be like punishing a dog for eating food he found on the floor, or yelling at a child for falling asleep in Church just because the option was available to him. It’s like taking a man who was raised by apes into a city and then expecting him to act like a normal, civilized human being.

As the Master of asking for a water glass then sneaking soda, people often wonder if there was a progression. For example, did I once just ask for a water glass and drink water? And then one day, while drinking water out of the water glass, did I see an annoying kid who didn’t know any better take his water glass to the soda fountain in an attempt to just get water, and then see the orange soda receptacle sitting right next to the water spout and just decide to take orange soda instead? Or was it the day when the Master noticed that the water came out of the same spout as the Iced Tea spout and that no one would ever notice what was coming out as long as he kept his back to them?

Was the progression quick, did it involve a thought process, or did instinct just take control?
Either way, I no longer ask the questions of my origins. For what good will it do me? Does an arsonist ask himself what one single moment caused him to be an arsonist? No, he embraces his talent, no matter how evil.

As do I.

Evil or not, I have grown to challenge my Master-like skills to the point of ridiculousness. Now, you may find me at the front register of a Cici's Pizza or at our very own nest asking for five water glasses (for my friends), then stand unintimidated at the soda fountain filling up five separate glasses with five separate syrup/carbonated water combinations like Diet Coke, Coke, Minute Maid Orange, Iced Tea and Fruit Punch. As the Master, no one challenges me, no one bothers me, and no one asks me to regurgitate any liquids after I’ve already downed ‘em.

The Master remains unscathed by the management of society’s better-known food establishments.

Sure, sometimes when it’s late at night and it’s dark outside and most of the world is quiet and sleeping…I think about what I’ve done. I think about the evil I have thrust upon the medium-fast food restaurant establishments of society. I think, for a split second, of the fortunes I’m stealing from extremely wealthy medium-fast food restaurant owning families. But then I ask myself a question.

“If what I do is so wrong, why have they not yet caught me?”

And I feel a whole lot better.

Because if you’re good at something evil… And people never stop you… Doesn’t that make you the best at what you do? Doesn’t that make you superior? Doesn’t that make you…the Master?

Which I am.

Of asking for a water glass and then sneaking free soda.

What I want for Christmas (Part 1)

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Dear Mr. Santa Claus,

Would you be so kind as to bring me a Nintendo DS? I know, I'm in college, but there's nothing wrong with holding on to your youth. Don't judge me. My friend Magan Carrigan has Pokemon-Diamond/Pearl and it hurts not knowing what she talking about when she says things like " I'm about to curb stomp the Elite Four and Team Glacatic with my newly caught level 60(-billion) Dialga".

WTF is a Dialga?..Team who? I'm so lost.

Or maybe you could get me a bike. Heaven knows that I am all over campus and my feet can only travel so fast; it's not rare for me to be late for some of my classes. On top of that, all the cool kids have them. I'd really like to be cool for Christmas, Santa.

Good all year long,
Kevin McDonough

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