Cutter's Log - Stardate 3102.92.40
Current Song - Peg (Steely Dan)
Cleaning out my memory of things left stuck to the bottom, this particular day was labeled "do not share to anyone, ever."
This was a big mistake that I made when I was a freshman in high school. I am normally an "open book" kind of person when it comes to this Blog, but here is something that I have been very reluctant to share because it caused so much controversy. In addition, many questions were posed about my actions that day, as well as many rumors that are absolutely false.
I'm sharing it now because I hope to clear whatever negative rumors were associated with my actions that day. Much time has passed, and I feel that everyone will now understand it well as opposed to sharing it right away and be subject to more scrutiny.
It started as a fun joke, and turned into a security matter involving two high schools.
***
I had friends at both Sterling and Rock Falls. When I wasn't working with Sterling athletics, I was sometimes attending basketball games at RF with my friends there. Thus, I sat in the RF student section at times, stood up with the Rowdies and "booed those refs" whenever Seth Wade shouted for us to do that.
I had attended games quite a bit come softball time that some of the parents were joking around with me by saying, "Cody, we got an extra room at our place if you want to stay."
Then the transfer rumors began.
"You should just transfer here," some of my friends began to say.
There was really no way I was going to transfer, because it would involve quite a bit of paperwork and higher registration fees. I knew that, too. Plus, my parents were dead set on not letting this happen.
One thing led to another, and a practical joke was planned.
I had pulled pranks on my classmates in the past, most of the time being that "unthinkable one that did it" when something bad happened. A lot of those things went unsolved because they just didn't think I - someone sweet, innocent and perfefct - would do this. It should be noted that none of my pranks involved intentions of crime and violence, and everything I did was in good taste.
Just because I liked my RF friends a lot didn't mean that they weren't subject to my pranks and gags. At the height of those transfer rumors, I decided to play on it.
One morning I rode my bike to RFHS, set my bike down on the front lawn and went inside through the SW door. I had my bookbag on my back and all. I just started walking until I found someone I knew. I made my way up to the science wing where a bunch of my friends were.
"Hi! Yeah, I'm here! It's a honor ..."
"I'm living with my grandma ..."
"It's good to be back in Rock Falls ..."
"I won't be able to see you at lunch, I'm meeting Mr. Gemeny. A little "welcome" talk I guess."
"Yes it's May, I know ..."
The shock was real.
But I had to play this real well and improvise some of the questions asked to me. That involved knowing about eight hours at RFHS compared to seven at SHS, and knowledge of who the teachers were and what they taught: "I have Mr. Kusnerick first hour ... and then finally I have Mr. McCord eighth hour." And then asking how "cool" the teachers were. This also including knowing the difference between Algebra 1A and 1B, which was not the case at SHS.
In order for the gag to work out successfully, I couldn't be spotted by the adults that knew who I was (there were only three). I had to carefully make my way down the second-floor hallway, reaching the English wing where some of my sophomore friends were at.
"Well, gotta run, I got Coach K first hour ..."
So I made my way down the stairs to the social studies wing and bumped into a few more of my friends near his classroom. Only this time, I had to find another "class" for first hour. I believe I said I have Coach Denny for first hour, and couldn't find the room.
With class time ticking nearer, I approached my exit. If I didn't make the exit at the right time, the prank would have gone terribly wrong. My backup plan was hiding in the restroom for an entire class period. I would have been "skipping school". But I went back to the front lawn, hopped on my bike, and sped across 12th Avenue into Sterling.
I guess the hot rumor that day was that Cody Cutter had finally transferred. However, I think they got a little concerned when they didn't see me in the halls the rest of the school day.
The joke had to come to an end at some point. The next day, the sophomore girls had a home game at Optimist Park. When I parked my bike at the speed limit sign (as was the norm), I was greeted by a bunch of surprised girls that loudly asked if I had really transfered to RFHS. That's when I told them that, no, it was all a big joke. But quickly I remarked that I wouldn't rule it out (wink, wink).
Over the next few days, I guess a huge security issue was addressed. Remember, this is a high school - only a couple of years after Columbine and just months after 9/11. None of which entered my mind during all of this.
SHS's school police officer pulled me out of my 6th hour smart-people math class. This came as a shock to the rest of the kids in my class, as well as the teacher, because I had always been known as a good kid.
We walked down to his office and sat down.
"I've been talking with Officer Doane ..."
And that's when it all came crashing down.
I had to explain the whole gag, and the fact that why I did it was because I love my friends very much. It was all in good fun. I don't remember much about this conversation, other than talking on the phone with Officer Doane at the same time. He told me something about, "well, if you want to visit, you sign in at the office and they'll give you a visitor's pass," or something like that.
Nevertheless, both school administrations knew of the matter, as well as my parents.
I was grounded for two weeks and couldn't go to any softball games.
All these years I had thought someone had tipped me off, but I knew that the whole "joke" was one that couldn't be well-maintained. I didn't factor in the rumors that went on the rest of that school day. I always thought that someone had made a big deal about it, and some teacher had overheard.
All I got for this was a warning.
However, I rarely ever played practical jokes and gags after that.
The only times I really go back into my "gag bag" is April Fools' Day. This is because, as me and my friends get older, we think of April 1st as just "April 1" and not AFD.
My best gags since then were my 2011 and 2012 AFD jokes.
2011 - During a time when I was struggling to make ends meet, I played a joke that I was shutting down Northern Illinois Sports Beat. This was believeable because everyone knew I was struggling to maintain the website for some time. I changed the homepage and everything. One of my writing contributors saw this and nearly had a heart attack.
2012 - On Facebook, I wrote that I had moved to Newark. Many friends believed that because I was on the verge of moving out of my parent's house at any time, and I had spent a lot of time in the Newark/Sandwich/Plano area covering some sports.
My 2013 AFD joke backfired. I told all of my friends that I was leaving Shell and was giving away cash, food and a new car. The "cash" was 11 cents, the "food" was a stick of gum, and the "new car" was a little Hot Wheels car. After I found out that people have actually been sued for these things, I pulled it. However, one of my friends bought into it. She saw me at work the following night and thought that my "last night" was the night before, and really thought I was giving away "my car." I told her about how I had planned to go to Walgreens to buy the car, to which she replied "Walgreens doesn't sell cars." That's when she got it.
I believe in order to make a practical joke feel genuine, you have to poke fun at yourself a little bit. However, there is a line that can't be crossed before too many people take you too seriously. The past three years involved me struggling with my website, looking to move away, and leaving my job.
It's all in good fun. I think I enjoy it a little more now that I know where that line is that can't be crossed.
I surely crossed it when I was a freshman.
I will close by issuing my apology to Mr. Wolfe, Mr. Gemeny, Mr. Akers, Officer Doane at RFHS, as well as Mr. Binder, Mr. Beswick, Officer Mohr at SHS, and others for my actions that day. I know it's long overdue.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Saturday, April 27, 2013
My Unit 5 Permanent Record: The Dark Side
Cutter's Log - Supplemental
All throughout my middle school and high school years, I've been called "very smart."
Truth is, I was simply an average-to-slightly-below-average student academically. My class rank is too embarassing to reveal, considering what people know of me outside my grades.
I am only referring to middle school and high school here. Grade school and college are different stories.
In classes that I loved to take, I hovered around a B+ to A. In classes that I hated to take, I hovered between D- to C. There was no gray area, and I can't remember ever getting a B- or C+ on anything. Truth is, I even failed two classes (one as a penalty due to that controversial Factory paper - mentioned in the previous Entry - and the other being an accelerated Algebra 2 class that proved to be too "accelerated" for me).
To say that I "survived" high school isn't true in the sense that I didn't struggle with lower-level classes (I didn't take any lower-level classes). I was in that rung between average placement and Advanced Placement. I could have reverted to average placement, but I chose to plow along with some challenges here and there.
I was a well-disciplined and well-involved kid early on, but struggled at times academically. This, I'm sure, caused about 80% of my teachers to toss and turn at night at this strange and confusing anomaly that was Cody Cutter.
There was also a "red alert" portion of me in my record that consisted of things such as Crisis instructions and Security proceedings. My friends do not know this until know, but I was on the verge of exploding at any time. Teachers and admins knew it. I was never the kid that had to sit down with the school resource police officer, but this did happen once and it caused a great deal of internal security concern.
Ask about 80% of my teachers, with my back turned, and they'll tell you that I was a royal pain in the ass to teach.
Normally, those students with such distinction are those who goof off in class and have no respect for the authority of the teacher. Those kids are considered irritating. I wasn't that irritating, smart-alec kid. I was just a sickening anomaly. I think my specific case caused scientific studies in the teacher's lounge.
The biggest reason is this: They never knew I had Asperger's.
He Doesn't Participate In Class
I participated when I wanted to. There were many times, about 95% of the time, where I did not feel like participating. I'd rather have someone else have that moment in the sun, and learn through trial and error. If it involved useless trivia, my hand was the first one up.
Whenever my hand was up in non-trivia or non-game situations, I was almost always picked. This, of course, came after a weird look on the teacher's face ... that "is this a mirage?" look. I think one time I raised my hand, was called upon, got the answer right, and remarked to one of my teachers, "see, I do participate in class!" I think I was in a bad mood that day.
If I wasn't interested in whatever was being taught, I had one eye on the teacher and another on something else. Sixth and seventh period was almost always revolving around lining up what I was going to do after school. I didn't cut off the teachers entirely, because I knew I needed that for whatever homework assignment was given.
The biggest reason why I stopped participating in class was because I always felt insulted by teachers who would randomly pick me. Sometimes I was too insulted that I simply said nothing and gave a blank stare. I felt insulted in front of my peers, thank you very much. Yay, you caught me off-guard, do you want a prize?
Don't get me wrong, there were classes that I loved participating in: World History, US History and Government. It got to the point where Walton, Wylde and Preston were saying "Anyone other than Cody?"
And, my God, NEVER, EVER ask me to read a passage from a book to the rest of the class. You are asking for punishment. I rarely ever raised my hand to read something, and when I did read something, I was always the first kid picked "out of random." I felt that insulted me. What did I do to deserve this? It's not like I was ever goofing off in class to anger the teacher or anything.
Truth is, I can read well silently. I can talk faster in my mind. But when I have to verbally read written words, they come out at a fourth-grade level. Don't get me wrong, I can read. Most of the time, it goes in one eye and out the other. You told me to read the book, you didn't tell me to understand the book. I had to re-read these books, and that kept eating into my time.
He Doesn't Work Well in Groups
I was shy. Still am. Therefore, I have trouble communicating and such to the point where I was acting like a freeloader to get a top grade.
Random group settings were bad because we just didn't click. When we chose our own groups, it felt a little better. Especially for the history classes. One exception is groupwork that involved something that I had a grasp on. In this case, I would almost always partner myself with one of the legendary poor-performing students in our class to help them understand.
I always had trouble finding partners. I felt like they didn't want me to be a part of their "special group" because I was a bit of an outsider. I had this feeling that I would let them down. I was always thinking negative.
This reached a boiling point with a certain science teacher in high school who was big on group work. Almost everything involved groupwork. I had the same teacher for my senior year, and it just got to the point where I just wanted to do this alone. I didn't want to question her motives for it out of respect, so I was a sitting duck.
The DARKEST Side
Because of my poor participation, poor grades, and poor interaction with others, and the unusualness of these, I believe that teachers considered me as someone potentially dangerous or suicidal. Remember, 9/11 happened when I was a freshman.
I had a counselor visit in 6th grade involving something love-related, and how disappointed I was.
"This is just between you and me."
Bullshit.
The darkest parts of my permanent record involve the Top 50 lists, the whole Sterling/Rock Falls thing, and thoughts about love and life. The social side of me was a sad and unusual one.
But perhaps the even darkest files of me are not even at SHS. Perhaps they reside at RFHS, where things such as applying for a student activity card, the bikeride to Geneseo, and that day I'd like to forget, are in it. I think simply because I was a Sterling kid interacting so much with RF kids, that they considered it all strange. And it was all far from that, and I hope one day that they'll see the truth behind it all.
Hated English, But it Got the Last Laugh
I hated, hated, hated English and literature going as far back as grade school.
Today, I have a college degree in mass communication: a form of journalism, which is a form of english studies.
How weird is that?
I still hate literature. Language arts wasn't all that bad. However, my english grades reflected my very poor performance when it came to literature.
You could count on a well-written paper from me, however.
My first long writing assigments started as including fluff to maintain a minimum. Then it turned into trying to surpass the minimum to a certain extent to feel as if I actually cared about the darn thing. Including these fluff sentences became a habit, to the point where I was writing elsewhere - short adventure stories, philosophical statements beyond my age, love letters, etc.
I'll credit writing articles for PSO as the thing that saved me in high school english. As much as I loved to be durable in writing about these high school sports events, that carried over to writing for class. My writing career eventually made it to the local newspaper sports section during my junior year, so all of the teachers knew that I could write something, and write it well.
As mentioned earlier, I failed the first half of my sophomore communications class because of that controversial Factory paper. I was to take the English portion of the class the next year (I was the only junior in that class, taking English 2 and 3 simultaneously). Likewise, I was struggling in the second half.
The final project, which accounted for a huge part of the class grade, was either one of two things: a speech or a routine performance. I was the only one in the entire two-block class that opted for the speech. Because it involved writing something, and about anything I wanted to write about. I just simply had to recite it on a podium.
I came into that final day needing to do well in this speech to make or break my academic career. It was the end of my sophomore year, and many things were on my mind. Girls. Friends. Sports. The dream job.
I think I did well in the speech about the Sterling-Rock Falls Rivalry and got a standing ovation.
And added in the ninja yell in an acting routine to boot.
All throughout my middle school and high school years, I've been called "very smart."
Truth is, I was simply an average-to-slightly-below-average student academically. My class rank is too embarassing to reveal, considering what people know of me outside my grades.
I am only referring to middle school and high school here. Grade school and college are different stories.
In classes that I loved to take, I hovered around a B+ to A. In classes that I hated to take, I hovered between D- to C. There was no gray area, and I can't remember ever getting a B- or C+ on anything. Truth is, I even failed two classes (one as a penalty due to that controversial Factory paper - mentioned in the previous Entry - and the other being an accelerated Algebra 2 class that proved to be too "accelerated" for me).
To say that I "survived" high school isn't true in the sense that I didn't struggle with lower-level classes (I didn't take any lower-level classes). I was in that rung between average placement and Advanced Placement. I could have reverted to average placement, but I chose to plow along with some challenges here and there.
I was a well-disciplined and well-involved kid early on, but struggled at times academically. This, I'm sure, caused about 80% of my teachers to toss and turn at night at this strange and confusing anomaly that was Cody Cutter.
There was also a "red alert" portion of me in my record that consisted of things such as Crisis instructions and Security proceedings. My friends do not know this until know, but I was on the verge of exploding at any time. Teachers and admins knew it. I was never the kid that had to sit down with the school resource police officer, but this did happen once and it caused a great deal of internal security concern.
Ask about 80% of my teachers, with my back turned, and they'll tell you that I was a royal pain in the ass to teach.
Normally, those students with such distinction are those who goof off in class and have no respect for the authority of the teacher. Those kids are considered irritating. I wasn't that irritating, smart-alec kid. I was just a sickening anomaly. I think my specific case caused scientific studies in the teacher's lounge.
The biggest reason is this: They never knew I had Asperger's.
He Doesn't Participate In Class
I participated when I wanted to. There were many times, about 95% of the time, where I did not feel like participating. I'd rather have someone else have that moment in the sun, and learn through trial and error. If it involved useless trivia, my hand was the first one up.
Whenever my hand was up in non-trivia or non-game situations, I was almost always picked. This, of course, came after a weird look on the teacher's face ... that "is this a mirage?" look. I think one time I raised my hand, was called upon, got the answer right, and remarked to one of my teachers, "see, I do participate in class!" I think I was in a bad mood that day.
If I wasn't interested in whatever was being taught, I had one eye on the teacher and another on something else. Sixth and seventh period was almost always revolving around lining up what I was going to do after school. I didn't cut off the teachers entirely, because I knew I needed that for whatever homework assignment was given.
The biggest reason why I stopped participating in class was because I always felt insulted by teachers who would randomly pick me. Sometimes I was too insulted that I simply said nothing and gave a blank stare. I felt insulted in front of my peers, thank you very much. Yay, you caught me off-guard, do you want a prize?
Don't get me wrong, there were classes that I loved participating in: World History, US History and Government. It got to the point where Walton, Wylde and Preston were saying "Anyone other than Cody?"
And, my God, NEVER, EVER ask me to read a passage from a book to the rest of the class. You are asking for punishment. I rarely ever raised my hand to read something, and when I did read something, I was always the first kid picked "out of random." I felt that insulted me. What did I do to deserve this? It's not like I was ever goofing off in class to anger the teacher or anything.
Truth is, I can read well silently. I can talk faster in my mind. But when I have to verbally read written words, they come out at a fourth-grade level. Don't get me wrong, I can read. Most of the time, it goes in one eye and out the other. You told me to read the book, you didn't tell me to understand the book. I had to re-read these books, and that kept eating into my time.
He Doesn't Work Well in Groups
I was shy. Still am. Therefore, I have trouble communicating and such to the point where I was acting like a freeloader to get a top grade.
Random group settings were bad because we just didn't click. When we chose our own groups, it felt a little better. Especially for the history classes. One exception is groupwork that involved something that I had a grasp on. In this case, I would almost always partner myself with one of the legendary poor-performing students in our class to help them understand.
I always had trouble finding partners. I felt like they didn't want me to be a part of their "special group" because I was a bit of an outsider. I had this feeling that I would let them down. I was always thinking negative.
This reached a boiling point with a certain science teacher in high school who was big on group work. Almost everything involved groupwork. I had the same teacher for my senior year, and it just got to the point where I just wanted to do this alone. I didn't want to question her motives for it out of respect, so I was a sitting duck.
The DARKEST Side
Because of my poor participation, poor grades, and poor interaction with others, and the unusualness of these, I believe that teachers considered me as someone potentially dangerous or suicidal. Remember, 9/11 happened when I was a freshman.
I had a counselor visit in 6th grade involving something love-related, and how disappointed I was.
"This is just between you and me."
Bullshit.
The darkest parts of my permanent record involve the Top 50 lists, the whole Sterling/Rock Falls thing, and thoughts about love and life. The social side of me was a sad and unusual one.
But perhaps the even darkest files of me are not even at SHS. Perhaps they reside at RFHS, where things such as applying for a student activity card, the bikeride to Geneseo, and that day I'd like to forget, are in it. I think simply because I was a Sterling kid interacting so much with RF kids, that they considered it all strange. And it was all far from that, and I hope one day that they'll see the truth behind it all.
Hated English, But it Got the Last Laugh
I hated, hated, hated English and literature going as far back as grade school.
Today, I have a college degree in mass communication: a form of journalism, which is a form of english studies.
How weird is that?
I still hate literature. Language arts wasn't all that bad. However, my english grades reflected my very poor performance when it came to literature.
You could count on a well-written paper from me, however.
My first long writing assigments started as including fluff to maintain a minimum. Then it turned into trying to surpass the minimum to a certain extent to feel as if I actually cared about the darn thing. Including these fluff sentences became a habit, to the point where I was writing elsewhere - short adventure stories, philosophical statements beyond my age, love letters, etc.
I'll credit writing articles for PSO as the thing that saved me in high school english. As much as I loved to be durable in writing about these high school sports events, that carried over to writing for class. My writing career eventually made it to the local newspaper sports section during my junior year, so all of the teachers knew that I could write something, and write it well.
As mentioned earlier, I failed the first half of my sophomore communications class because of that controversial Factory paper. I was to take the English portion of the class the next year (I was the only junior in that class, taking English 2 and 3 simultaneously). Likewise, I was struggling in the second half.
The final project, which accounted for a huge part of the class grade, was either one of two things: a speech or a routine performance. I was the only one in the entire two-block class that opted for the speech. Because it involved writing something, and about anything I wanted to write about. I just simply had to recite it on a podium.
I came into that final day needing to do well in this speech to make or break my academic career. It was the end of my sophomore year, and many things were on my mind. Girls. Friends. Sports. The dream job.
I think I did well in the speech about the Sterling-Rock Falls Rivalry and got a standing ovation.
And added in the ninja yell in an acting routine to boot.
e-Hoarding
Cutter's Log - Stardate 3102.72.40
Current Song - Shattered Dreams (Johnny Hates Jazz)
I have a confession to make.
I, Cody Cutter, am an e-hoarder.
Have A&E have an online show about me. On second thought, probably not.
While working on website material, I needed to find an old photo file that I made some years back. I had created this for the current website setup, but scrapped the design in favor of something else. Now I'm thinking of bringing it back.
Where was it? It took about 15 minutes before I finally found it - buried deep within some other folder branching from the main "C:" hard drive.
I have used up 66 GB of my 186 GB hard drive, roughly one-third. It feels like much more.
While on this adventure to find said file, I browsed through many photos and Word documents that has been stored on here over the years, or transferred from key fobs.
I even have Word files dating back to 2002 on this computer.
I do not save everything, such as drafts and minor notes. However, I have written many completed works over the years, be it game articles, columns, personal stories, research papers, driving directions to Green Bay, you name it.
Perhaps this is because I do tend to hoard in real life - but not chronically, as depicted on television shows.
***
I had a tough time keeping my bedroom clean in the 15 years I lived at my old house on 17th Avenue. Certain things just had to be thrown away, and my dad told me one day that if I know I'm not going to use this thing in the next month, pitch it.
Then came a period when money became real tight, and I decided to sort everything into boxes for rummage sale and resale use. These boxes are now sitting in my attic at home, waiting to go somewhere other than in my possession.
A lot of the problem regarding hoarding is the Autism in me which creates the vast memory storage. For anything abstract, I have something concrete somewhere. Somewhere in a box in my attic is an owner's manual for a 1987 Schwinn bicycle which belonged to my Uncle Scott. The bike is gone, but this booklet serves as a reminder of Scott, who died more than 15 years ago.
When I moved to my own place, I had a lot of throwing away to do. Apparently I didn't do enough. In my top left desk drawer are study materials from Psychology class at Sauk. I slept through the first semester, failed, and kept these for future use when I was going to take the class again. I did, via online, and wound up passing. But these notes are still in my "college" drawer. I don't know why I even have a "college" drawer anymore - I graduated from Sauk in 2010. But when the day comes to going back for a bachelor's, that drawer will serve its purpose.
Many things that have been kept over the years involve love and friendship - two very important parts of my life. Things such as graduation invitations from the softball girls, pictures of class scenes from 8th grade, 2nd grade get-well cards, etc. They serve as a reminder of the struggle that I had to undertake to become better at love and friendship.
***
One thing that I do have an extreme problem with is the collection of my journalism notes.
I have notes dating from my days at PSO. Just pieces of notebook paper with stats written on them, rosters from past teams, programs, special booklets, and things like that.
Never know when I'll need them for future reference, right? Do I need shot-by-shot notes from Boylan/St. Joseph boys basketball from 2006? Do I need a 2003 Galesburg girls basketball roster? Better yet, do I save these programs for the likelyhood that someone in there becomes famous one day?
***
Enter my computer.
Game articles and such are written on Word and stored on the computer after the stories are released. Same with pictures. They are sorted neatly into the "NISB" Folder and its sub-folders. Then every summer, these files get transferred to CD.
But what about my personal stuff? My "My Documents" folder isn't all that deep.
I still have a file titled "A Little About My Autism," which was written for a friend of mine for a college project. "History of Sports Journalism" consist of notes from an old book which mentions the earliest days of sports journalism. "JUCO" is a scrapped piece involving the lack of media coverage for junior colleges (waiting to be finished one day). "Destroyed Blog Entries" are those entries on here that were taken down by request of those mentioned. "Musical" is a planned, but never completed epic post for Turk's Message Board. "Lotto Training" is a guide to working the lottery machines at work. My 1998 Pontiac Grand Am owner's manual is also here. Something called "climax9". A love letter. Countless drafts of important Blog entries. And countless resumes/cover letters: journalism-related and non-journalism-related.
The pictures take up the most space, and this is where it's real embarassing.
I have a folder for the Illinois HS Glory Days website, with photos that are already posted on the website, and photos of buildings that could one day be on there. Vacation photos. Sterling/RF history photos.
There exists a folder in My Documents called "Yahoo Briefcase."
For whatever reason, I had difficulty carrying around floppy discs in school. Yahoo offered this briefcase feature for each user account for general storage space - no downloading onto discs or anything like that. One day, many years later, I got an email stating that Yahoo was closing Briefcase. So I went back and looked at what I left behind and downloaded these files onto my computer.
All of the file names are screwed up, but they include rough drafts of old PSO articles. One of which is a gamer from Rock Falls boys basketball's 2003 Senior Night against LaSalle-Peru. Also included was an article on the 2002 RF Volleyball banquet, which brought back memories of one of my most favorite teams of all-time. Leftover copies of notes to SHS "Script" staffers. An IHSA logo that I used as the basis for a postage stamp painting in art class. Homework assignments for English class. An old PATHWAYS (!!!) assignment. Drafts of my SVN columns "Move Ova, Kova" and "Nicknames Part II". A pair of unreleased columns about the softball girls, a made-up parody newspaper, a recruiting flyer sent to me by coach Zeman for a public-private paper I was writing.
But perhaps two real good pieces that still survive are titled "Sterling-Rock Falls Rivalry" and "The Manufacturing Side Of Sterling, Illinois." These were pieces from sophomore Communications class, and represent the high point and low point of that class. The rivalry paper was actually my final speech project.
The factory paper is controversial because my teacher gave me a zero with an accusation of plagarism. I did not plagarize that paper. I included dates and facts that I had already known BEFORE I wrote the paper, and my teacher has assumed that I learned of those dates through research conducted during the span of the assignment. Wahl Clipper was founded in 1919; I had known that for years before writing this paper. So basically, I got a zero for not adhering to the educational purpose of the assignment (writing a research paper of something that I already had tons of knowledge about beforehand).
I still have the hard copy, with all of the screaming and yelling of teacher's notes. This had to been a high-point of her career.
***
Lastly, I have email messages in my Inbox dating back to Spring 2001. E-mail messages from classmates saying "good luck in high school" back when email was a new concept to us.
I have had the same email address since then.
Since these are stored online, with endless space, I feel that I have no reason to delete them. It's just a waste of my time.
Current Song - Shattered Dreams (Johnny Hates Jazz)
I have a confession to make.
I, Cody Cutter, am an e-hoarder.
Have A&E have an online show about me. On second thought, probably not.
While working on website material, I needed to find an old photo file that I made some years back. I had created this for the current website setup, but scrapped the design in favor of something else. Now I'm thinking of bringing it back.
Where was it? It took about 15 minutes before I finally found it - buried deep within some other folder branching from the main "C:" hard drive.
I have used up 66 GB of my 186 GB hard drive, roughly one-third. It feels like much more.
While on this adventure to find said file, I browsed through many photos and Word documents that has been stored on here over the years, or transferred from key fobs.
I even have Word files dating back to 2002 on this computer.
I do not save everything, such as drafts and minor notes. However, I have written many completed works over the years, be it game articles, columns, personal stories, research papers, driving directions to Green Bay, you name it.
Perhaps this is because I do tend to hoard in real life - but not chronically, as depicted on television shows.
***
I had a tough time keeping my bedroom clean in the 15 years I lived at my old house on 17th Avenue. Certain things just had to be thrown away, and my dad told me one day that if I know I'm not going to use this thing in the next month, pitch it.
Then came a period when money became real tight, and I decided to sort everything into boxes for rummage sale and resale use. These boxes are now sitting in my attic at home, waiting to go somewhere other than in my possession.
A lot of the problem regarding hoarding is the Autism in me which creates the vast memory storage. For anything abstract, I have something concrete somewhere. Somewhere in a box in my attic is an owner's manual for a 1987 Schwinn bicycle which belonged to my Uncle Scott. The bike is gone, but this booklet serves as a reminder of Scott, who died more than 15 years ago.
When I moved to my own place, I had a lot of throwing away to do. Apparently I didn't do enough. In my top left desk drawer are study materials from Psychology class at Sauk. I slept through the first semester, failed, and kept these for future use when I was going to take the class again. I did, via online, and wound up passing. But these notes are still in my "college" drawer. I don't know why I even have a "college" drawer anymore - I graduated from Sauk in 2010. But when the day comes to going back for a bachelor's, that drawer will serve its purpose.
Many things that have been kept over the years involve love and friendship - two very important parts of my life. Things such as graduation invitations from the softball girls, pictures of class scenes from 8th grade, 2nd grade get-well cards, etc. They serve as a reminder of the struggle that I had to undertake to become better at love and friendship.
***
One thing that I do have an extreme problem with is the collection of my journalism notes.
I have notes dating from my days at PSO. Just pieces of notebook paper with stats written on them, rosters from past teams, programs, special booklets, and things like that.
Never know when I'll need them for future reference, right? Do I need shot-by-shot notes from Boylan/St. Joseph boys basketball from 2006? Do I need a 2003 Galesburg girls basketball roster? Better yet, do I save these programs for the likelyhood that someone in there becomes famous one day?
***
Enter my computer.
Game articles and such are written on Word and stored on the computer after the stories are released. Same with pictures. They are sorted neatly into the "NISB" Folder and its sub-folders. Then every summer, these files get transferred to CD.
But what about my personal stuff? My "My Documents" folder isn't all that deep.
I still have a file titled "A Little About My Autism," which was written for a friend of mine for a college project. "History of Sports Journalism" consist of notes from an old book which mentions the earliest days of sports journalism. "JUCO" is a scrapped piece involving the lack of media coverage for junior colleges (waiting to be finished one day). "Destroyed Blog Entries" are those entries on here that were taken down by request of those mentioned. "Musical" is a planned, but never completed epic post for Turk's Message Board. "Lotto Training" is a guide to working the lottery machines at work. My 1998 Pontiac Grand Am owner's manual is also here. Something called "climax9". A love letter. Countless drafts of important Blog entries. And countless resumes/cover letters: journalism-related and non-journalism-related.
The pictures take up the most space, and this is where it's real embarassing.
I have a folder for the Illinois HS Glory Days website, with photos that are already posted on the website, and photos of buildings that could one day be on there. Vacation photos. Sterling/RF history photos.
There exists a folder in My Documents called "Yahoo Briefcase."
For whatever reason, I had difficulty carrying around floppy discs in school. Yahoo offered this briefcase feature for each user account for general storage space - no downloading onto discs or anything like that. One day, many years later, I got an email stating that Yahoo was closing Briefcase. So I went back and looked at what I left behind and downloaded these files onto my computer.
All of the file names are screwed up, but they include rough drafts of old PSO articles. One of which is a gamer from Rock Falls boys basketball's 2003 Senior Night against LaSalle-Peru. Also included was an article on the 2002 RF Volleyball banquet, which brought back memories of one of my most favorite teams of all-time. Leftover copies of notes to SHS "Script" staffers. An IHSA logo that I used as the basis for a postage stamp painting in art class. Homework assignments for English class. An old PATHWAYS (!!!) assignment. Drafts of my SVN columns "Move Ova, Kova" and "Nicknames Part II". A pair of unreleased columns about the softball girls, a made-up parody newspaper, a recruiting flyer sent to me by coach Zeman for a public-private paper I was writing.
But perhaps two real good pieces that still survive are titled "Sterling-Rock Falls Rivalry" and "The Manufacturing Side Of Sterling, Illinois." These were pieces from sophomore Communications class, and represent the high point and low point of that class. The rivalry paper was actually my final speech project.
The factory paper is controversial because my teacher gave me a zero with an accusation of plagarism. I did not plagarize that paper. I included dates and facts that I had already known BEFORE I wrote the paper, and my teacher has assumed that I learned of those dates through research conducted during the span of the assignment. Wahl Clipper was founded in 1919; I had known that for years before writing this paper. So basically, I got a zero for not adhering to the educational purpose of the assignment (writing a research paper of something that I already had tons of knowledge about beforehand).
I still have the hard copy, with all of the screaming and yelling of teacher's notes. This had to been a high-point of her career.
***
Lastly, I have email messages in my Inbox dating back to Spring 2001. E-mail messages from classmates saying "good luck in high school" back when email was a new concept to us.
I have had the same email address since then.
Since these are stored online, with endless space, I feel that I have no reason to delete them. It's just a waste of my time.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Vacation Preview (Apr. 28-May 6)
Cutter's Log - Stardate 3102.62.40
Current Song - My Sweet Lord (George Harrison)
I've procrastinated quite a bit when it comes to the 2013 Self Vacation, and just now - after a late night at work, doing research and putting things together from 1:30 am to 4 am - I have an itineary in place.
This vacation is a smaller scale from the 2009, 2010 and 2011 vacations (Tucson, Cooperstown/Canton, and Lake Itasca respectively). I took no vacation in 2012. I'm only going about three hours or so from home.
It is a continuation of my 2011 vacation of the Mississippi River north of Clinton. It abruptly cut off after crossing the Wisconsin River on the descent when it got too dark for picture-taking. So I drove home in the dark from that point, missing all of Grant County. This year, I am coming back to see what I simply drove past.
The central attraction this time will be camping at the Jellystone Park in Bagley, Wisc. It is the park's opening weekend. It'll be my first time camping since I was in second grade, when we went to Rockwood in Morrison. Only this time, I don't plan on getting lost in the woods with a team of rangers out to try to rescue me --- another story for another time.
I have taken my 27th birthday (Sunday, April 28) off of work and have 8 days of vacation time until reporting for work at 5 p.m. on Monday, May 6 (I accidentally got the 27th off, but looks like it will be voided by a short night-shift). I recently surpassed the one-year mark on having been reinstated back to Shell, thus giving me one week of paid vacation.
***
The vacation officially begins at 1 a.m. on Sunday, April 28 - when I lock the doors of the Shell station. I plan on spending my 27th Birthday with my family.
Either Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday, I plan on spending time with my grandparents - who are returning home from the winter in Tucson. We'll visit, go over the house, and talk for quite a while I'm sure.
Also during those three days, I plan on working on the NISB website for the first time since mid-March: website cleaning, message board cleaning, beginning work on a new look, creating an updated logo and drafting the State of the Site Address (50 days from this writing).
Friday, Saturday and Sunday is when the real fun begins.
***
Friday will begin in Clinton once more (the start of my 2011 trip) with a fill-up at the Kwik Star. These fuels really helped me during the previous vacation and I was impressed on how long-lasting they were. I plan on arriving in Clinton by 6 a.m. or so and make my way back across to Illinois.
I'll be going back across via the Savanna-Sebula Bridge - which is to be replaced in the next few years. It's one of those older truss bridges with a steel bed consisting of square holes. It'll likely be my last time crossing this unique bridge.
By 7:45 or so, I'll be in St. Donatus, Iowa. I drove through it on the last trip, and wound up getting lost north of town (and nearly got into a car accident at a sharp curve). I wound up simply driving through this town that is a resemblence of Luxembourg. There is a restaurant there which is open that early, and I hope to take a bite into something foreign.
Afterward, I'll be back in Illinois, albeit briefly; crossing from Dubuque to East Dubuque and then up Route 35 into Wisconsin.
By 10:30, I'll be in Potosi and visiting the National Brewery Museum on the grounds of the old Potosi Brewery. I also plan on having lunch there.
Then comes the ascent to Bagley, through Cassville. Tentsite 37. Set up the tent I plan on getting for a birthday present and sleep in the great outdoors for the first time in a long time.
***
Saturday is really up in the air, as I'm sure I'll find something to do within the Jellystone site, or somewhere in either Bagley or Wyalusing. I just plan to wing it. And spend a second night in a tent.
***
Sunday after an early check-out, I plan on going back to the terminus of the past vacation - Wyalusing State Park. Wisconsin, like Minnesota, charges for access to its state parks. But I plan on seeing it anyway, however by actually visiting it. I have SEEN the park, but viewing it from a bluff at Pikes Peak in Iowa. This is also where the Wisconsin River dumps into the Mississippi.
Then comes the descent. There is a ferry in Cassville that goes across the Mississippi. I have never been on a ferry before, so this will be a first for me.
I'll be driving toward Balltown and once more gazing at one of the best views I've ever seen. Then, because I missed eating there on the last trip, I'll finally get that chance to eat at the Sunday buffet at Breitbach's.
Lastly, on a full stomach, I'll weave my way once more across the Julian Dubuque bridge and up and down the hills of Jo Daviess and Carroll County back home with my eyes partially shut.
No, wait, probably not a good idea to drive through that area at night like that :(
***
Somehow, sometime, I'll be back home by Monday. Then it's back to work at 5 p.m.
Here's hoping all goes to a 'T'.
Current Song - My Sweet Lord (George Harrison)
I've procrastinated quite a bit when it comes to the 2013 Self Vacation, and just now - after a late night at work, doing research and putting things together from 1:30 am to 4 am - I have an itineary in place.
This vacation is a smaller scale from the 2009, 2010 and 2011 vacations (Tucson, Cooperstown/Canton, and Lake Itasca respectively). I took no vacation in 2012. I'm only going about three hours or so from home.
It is a continuation of my 2011 vacation of the Mississippi River north of Clinton. It abruptly cut off after crossing the Wisconsin River on the descent when it got too dark for picture-taking. So I drove home in the dark from that point, missing all of Grant County. This year, I am coming back to see what I simply drove past.
The central attraction this time will be camping at the Jellystone Park in Bagley, Wisc. It is the park's opening weekend. It'll be my first time camping since I was in second grade, when we went to Rockwood in Morrison. Only this time, I don't plan on getting lost in the woods with a team of rangers out to try to rescue me --- another story for another time.
I have taken my 27th birthday (Sunday, April 28) off of work and have 8 days of vacation time until reporting for work at 5 p.m. on Monday, May 6 (I accidentally got the 27th off, but looks like it will be voided by a short night-shift). I recently surpassed the one-year mark on having been reinstated back to Shell, thus giving me one week of paid vacation.
***
The vacation officially begins at 1 a.m. on Sunday, April 28 - when I lock the doors of the Shell station. I plan on spending my 27th Birthday with my family.
Either Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday, I plan on spending time with my grandparents - who are returning home from the winter in Tucson. We'll visit, go over the house, and talk for quite a while I'm sure.
Also during those three days, I plan on working on the NISB website for the first time since mid-March: website cleaning, message board cleaning, beginning work on a new look, creating an updated logo and drafting the State of the Site Address (50 days from this writing).
Friday, Saturday and Sunday is when the real fun begins.
***
Friday will begin in Clinton once more (the start of my 2011 trip) with a fill-up at the Kwik Star. These fuels really helped me during the previous vacation and I was impressed on how long-lasting they were. I plan on arriving in Clinton by 6 a.m. or so and make my way back across to Illinois.
I'll be going back across via the Savanna-Sebula Bridge - which is to be replaced in the next few years. It's one of those older truss bridges with a steel bed consisting of square holes. It'll likely be my last time crossing this unique bridge.
By 7:45 or so, I'll be in St. Donatus, Iowa. I drove through it on the last trip, and wound up getting lost north of town (and nearly got into a car accident at a sharp curve). I wound up simply driving through this town that is a resemblence of Luxembourg. There is a restaurant there which is open that early, and I hope to take a bite into something foreign.
Afterward, I'll be back in Illinois, albeit briefly; crossing from Dubuque to East Dubuque and then up Route 35 into Wisconsin.
By 10:30, I'll be in Potosi and visiting the National Brewery Museum on the grounds of the old Potosi Brewery. I also plan on having lunch there.
Then comes the ascent to Bagley, through Cassville. Tentsite 37. Set up the tent I plan on getting for a birthday present and sleep in the great outdoors for the first time in a long time.
***
Saturday is really up in the air, as I'm sure I'll find something to do within the Jellystone site, or somewhere in either Bagley or Wyalusing. I just plan to wing it. And spend a second night in a tent.
***
Sunday after an early check-out, I plan on going back to the terminus of the past vacation - Wyalusing State Park. Wisconsin, like Minnesota, charges for access to its state parks. But I plan on seeing it anyway, however by actually visiting it. I have SEEN the park, but viewing it from a bluff at Pikes Peak in Iowa. This is also where the Wisconsin River dumps into the Mississippi.
Then comes the descent. There is a ferry in Cassville that goes across the Mississippi. I have never been on a ferry before, so this will be a first for me.
I'll be driving toward Balltown and once more gazing at one of the best views I've ever seen. Then, because I missed eating there on the last trip, I'll finally get that chance to eat at the Sunday buffet at Breitbach's.
Lastly, on a full stomach, I'll weave my way once more across the Julian Dubuque bridge and up and down the hills of Jo Daviess and Carroll County back home with my eyes partially shut.
No, wait, probably not a good idea to drive through that area at night like that :(
***
Somehow, sometime, I'll be back home by Monday. Then it's back to work at 5 p.m.
Here's hoping all goes to a 'T'.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
StaStuttering & SpuaSpuaSpeeches
Cutter's Log - Stardate 3102.12.40
Current Song - Roundup (Sam Spence)
I read briefly about King George VI of England. He was King of England during World War II, and apparently, like me, had huge difficulty in public speaking.
Looking up some of his recorded speeches on YouTube reminded me of me.
The bulk of my conversation problems involve stuttering and blockages. However, when I find myself talking to myself, there is very little stuttering taking place.
When I mean "conversation", there are certain degrees in which stuttering is most prevalent.
When I do my required greeting and salutation as a gas station worker, there is no stuttering whatsoever. When a customer asks me a question, it depends. If I know the answer, I don't stutter. If I don't know the answer, there is some stuttering. If I don't know the answer and the customer is breathing down my throat (say, when a credit card does not work at the pump), the stuttering occurs more often as I try to find a way to escape the situation.
In my six years as a gas station worker, the repetition of things has caused the stuttering to go away. I become more confident in my replies in situations when customers (the ones who think they're God) get angry.
Normal customers I won't stutter in front of. However, for some reason, I tend to stutter when those I have known from school (on both sides of the river) come to the counter. I think it is because seeing the person immediately sends my mindset back to school days, when stuttering in front of classmates was the norm.
I don't recall having this problem in grade school, but it became more noticable in middle school and high school. This probably coincides with the shyness I experienced during this time. When I became more withdrawn, it was almost like I had forgotten how to talk. In trying to reclaim that conversation niche, the stuttering was a struggle to put "cool" sentences together.
Class speeches were hell.
I took a speech class during my sophomore year. Our teacher, Mrs. Ward, videotaped all of our speeches and gave the tapes to us at the end of the year for future reference. I still have that VHS. My first speech was hell, it was about myself and moving from Rock Falls to Sterling. The class and Mrs. Ward all thought I was having a heartattack (I was a big boy, and the feeling was probably legit). My subsequent speeches all sucked, because they were on topics that I had no interest in.
However, the final speech for the class was left to something I was indeed interested in. This one was on the Sterling-Rock Falls high school sports rivalry and history. The locale of this speech helped a little bit; the classroom was used for all other speeches, but this one was held in the choir room with a larger audience. There were more kids in front of me, but there was also this plain wall behind them. My eyes, instead of being focused on farsightedness, were switched to nearsightedness to make the crowd become a blur.
While I had a problem with clapping my notecards on the podium, the speech went almost flawless. I think there was just one period of blockage. I can remember the standing ovation that the class gave me. I think they understood the struggle I was having.
Later on in the class period, I broke out of my shell once more. I was asked to play a minor extra role as a ninja. I let out a yell that, apparently, roared the crowd. I asked myself W.W.P.B.D. (What would Pat Bittorf do?) in this situation. I had that in me, but I rarely ever showed that side of me.
Talent Show Gaffe
My first stage appearances were grade school music concerts. But I was singing with a bunch of other people. (Who among my classmates at Lincoln remembers the line "The evening we parted, the morning we met" and how we were tempted to say "farted" instead of "parted?"). However, my first solo performances were the 7th grade talent show.
I had racked up a list of impersonations, and was persuaded to try out for Challand's talent show. I delivered a routine during tryouts and made it. Rehersal was to follow at the Auditorium.
At the Auditorum stage, the crowd looks darkened like you can't see them. This made stage fright seem a bit more tolerable than what I thought it was.
I delivered a routine that had some slight alterations because I was having a much better time than I had thought. Doing my "7-11 Indian Routine" I mentioned the word "tampons." The crowd, which included my classmates Parris, Sarah and Jenna, all gasped and Mr. Neff promptly kicked me out of the show right then and there. He even yelled at me to "GO HOME!"
I didn't really go home. I went back to Challand to pick up my things and I was slamming lockers open and shut in anger. My first temper tantrum in school since pre-school.
I never apologized to Mr. Neff for this. If he didn't yell at me on the stage in front of everyone, I would have apologized. But he embarassed me in front of everyone, and I really felt bad for Parris, Sarah and Jenna for having witnessed this.
I made phone calls to all of my friends afterward. I had never made that many phone calls to friends before, or ever have since. Needless to say, stuttering was absolutely rampant.
"Will You Go Out With Me?"
On a subject that I write about on here often, there has only been one occasion where I have ever popped this question - Carly in 7th grade.
Amber, Sarah, Jennie, etc. all knew about my stuttering and insecurity. That very likely repelled each other. However, there was something about Carly that differed from the rest: She seemed to be understanding of my inabilities. Probably because we sat next to each other in 6th grade. This was something I hadn't experienced, and appreciated at the same time.
So much to where, at the Valentine's Day dance, I had brought over a bunch of roses to her. This was a big thing. I had to hide the roses from everyone else because I thought the hoopla was going to be too much for me. I don't remember the song that played, but someone found out and told me it was time to get the roses. This all played out as if it was some sort of religious service.
I only said a few words, which may have been "Here, Carly, these are for you." and promptly exited the gym floor to catch myself back up.
After hearing that she appreciated the roses, and after hearing something about a shouting match between her and Sarah over who I loved more, the next step was the big question. Everyone in school was hounding me over when I was going to ask her. On my own time, and by myself. This was because with just me and the telephone, I wasn't going to be pressured by someone else (such as Jared in 1st grade with Johnna) to tie up my words and make me stutter.
I had prepared for this in a way that would turn off just about every girl ever. I made the call. It was brief. And I don't remember a pause other than before asking the question. "Carly?" I paused for about five seconds. "Will you go out with me?"
The rest is history. A disappointing one.
I never did find the courage to ask anyone else out in high school. In front of most girls, I'll stutter a little bit. In front of girls I liked, however, stuttering was rampant.
I stuttered A LOT in front in my softball friends from Rock Falls. Probably because they were going so fast for me that I struggled to keep up. Some girls it was easier, others were difficult. The girl I had the greatest difficulty controlling my stutter in front of was Emily, and everyone knows why.
When I worked for the newspaper, Emily had a big hit in the supersectional game against Byron and was something worthy of an interview. We had known each other for about 10 years, so you'd think this was easy. My stuttering was bad because this was a very unusual situation: we know each other but I was trying to keep this as professional an interview as possible. I dropped my clipboard during the interview and she was laughing hysterically. Before that, I was always interviewing Korby, Marilyn, Jessica and Whitni as well as Sheila.
As a Journalist
Communication is one of the biggest facets of the profession of journalism. That is my biggest setback.
I have always been more of an observational and ramificational journalist. Getting quotes have been a subsequent priority in my writings. Thus, I struggle with them.
When I first started, I was asking crappy questions. My first interviews were with Coach Scheidegger (R.I.P.) and Coach Kusnerick from Rock Falls. Then when working with the softball girls, quotes were a requirement for the newspaper. I struggled with them a lot.
As mentioned earlier, Korby was a frequent interview for me. When I started, I had typed up a list of questions and I would read them off. It got to the point where Korby was sick and tired of these same questions, and that's when the stutter started to come back. Eventually over time - notably during the winning streak - things got much easier and more relaxed with the exception of that one time with Emily.
On assignments that I hated doing (college commitments, athlete features and news stories), stuttering during interviews were more prevalent. My last story for the newspaper was the 50th Anniversary of Sterling Youth Baseball. I was ill-prepared and the story sucked.
Moving on to Northern Illinois Sports Beat, I met more and more athletes and coaches.
Any athlete and coach that I have ever interviewed can remember me stuttering at least 8 or 9 times during an interview. Easier stories to write meant less stuttering. Stories in which the theme of the game was difficult to pinpoint saw more stuttering.
I had a terrible time while covering a Dixon girls basketball game one year early on, and Coach Morrison nearly walked away from my interview because I was so bad at it. That led to a period of doubt where the simplist interviews were difficult.
I also tend to have difficulty with young coaches that are uber-excited (Brown, Winckler, Dykeman to name a few). When I stutter, that excitement often turns into confusion. Sometimes a side-thought occurs where I think I'm embarassing myself because I have caused the coach to change his mood just for this conversation, which I felt bad about.
At times when I'm interviewing someone of high standing (Goers, Sigel, Lano, Papoccia, and the like), I do tend to stutter when my questions backfire, or I don't get the answer that I'm looking for. The reason for this is because of potential embarassment in front of someone like them. They've been there and done that when it comes to media interviews, and the feeling of "Oh God, here's that Cutter kid" comes to mind.
When it comes to athletes, almost all of them are not a problem. Girls are more difficult because of their inability to show expression during interviews. I can't recall a single game story interview that has been more difficult than another.
Athlete QA's are a different story - and these are the ones where questions are scripted. When I feel the athlete is bored from doing this, the stuttering starts to show because I'm struggling to keep the interview flowing. Probably my most difficult QA was with a girl from Hinckley-Big Rock. I paused twice for 10 seconds during the interview. I still don't know why.
The biggest stuttering issue in my journalism career are State Final events.
Here I am in front of high school sports journalists across all of Illinois - colleagues and sportswriting idols. When press conference time comes around, I'm always struggling to get a question out. I hardly ever ask a question ... the "Clarence Thomas of the press room" I think is the nickname they give me behind my back. When I do ask a question during a press conference, I stutter a lot. The reason for that is because I'm displaying my talents in front of not only the press table, but also in front of my more professional journalism colleagues.
I swear, the press room supervisor always wonders why I don't ask questions all of the time.
This year saw a slight improvement of questions posed in the press room.
During this year's IHSA Volleyball Finals, Edwards County brought no press. Hardly any questions were asked when I covered their match against Dakota. So after they played Riverdale, the Matt, the IHSA media guy, suggested to those sitting down that we all each ask a question. That included me.
Afterward I joked with him by saying, "I must be sick or something. I asked two questions."
The other instance was during this year's 3-Point Showdown in boys basketball. This I thought was a unique side story of something that gets little press. So the press room is bare, and I had an easier time because I took notes of the questions asked previously.
That was my last high school sports story before my current hiatus.
I'll be back for the State baseball and softball finals. I hope all can be improved a little more over there.
Current Song - Roundup (Sam Spence)
I read briefly about King George VI of England. He was King of England during World War II, and apparently, like me, had huge difficulty in public speaking.
Looking up some of his recorded speeches on YouTube reminded me of me.
The bulk of my conversation problems involve stuttering and blockages. However, when I find myself talking to myself, there is very little stuttering taking place.
When I mean "conversation", there are certain degrees in which stuttering is most prevalent.
When I do my required greeting and salutation as a gas station worker, there is no stuttering whatsoever. When a customer asks me a question, it depends. If I know the answer, I don't stutter. If I don't know the answer, there is some stuttering. If I don't know the answer and the customer is breathing down my throat (say, when a credit card does not work at the pump), the stuttering occurs more often as I try to find a way to escape the situation.
In my six years as a gas station worker, the repetition of things has caused the stuttering to go away. I become more confident in my replies in situations when customers (the ones who think they're God) get angry.
Normal customers I won't stutter in front of. However, for some reason, I tend to stutter when those I have known from school (on both sides of the river) come to the counter. I think it is because seeing the person immediately sends my mindset back to school days, when stuttering in front of classmates was the norm.
I don't recall having this problem in grade school, but it became more noticable in middle school and high school. This probably coincides with the shyness I experienced during this time. When I became more withdrawn, it was almost like I had forgotten how to talk. In trying to reclaim that conversation niche, the stuttering was a struggle to put "cool" sentences together.
Class speeches were hell.
I took a speech class during my sophomore year. Our teacher, Mrs. Ward, videotaped all of our speeches and gave the tapes to us at the end of the year for future reference. I still have that VHS. My first speech was hell, it was about myself and moving from Rock Falls to Sterling. The class and Mrs. Ward all thought I was having a heartattack (I was a big boy, and the feeling was probably legit). My subsequent speeches all sucked, because they were on topics that I had no interest in.
However, the final speech for the class was left to something I was indeed interested in. This one was on the Sterling-Rock Falls high school sports rivalry and history. The locale of this speech helped a little bit; the classroom was used for all other speeches, but this one was held in the choir room with a larger audience. There were more kids in front of me, but there was also this plain wall behind them. My eyes, instead of being focused on farsightedness, were switched to nearsightedness to make the crowd become a blur.
While I had a problem with clapping my notecards on the podium, the speech went almost flawless. I think there was just one period of blockage. I can remember the standing ovation that the class gave me. I think they understood the struggle I was having.
Later on in the class period, I broke out of my shell once more. I was asked to play a minor extra role as a ninja. I let out a yell that, apparently, roared the crowd. I asked myself W.W.P.B.D. (What would Pat Bittorf do?) in this situation. I had that in me, but I rarely ever showed that side of me.
Talent Show Gaffe
My first stage appearances were grade school music concerts. But I was singing with a bunch of other people. (Who among my classmates at Lincoln remembers the line "The evening we parted, the morning we met" and how we were tempted to say "farted" instead of "parted?"). However, my first solo performances were the 7th grade talent show.
I had racked up a list of impersonations, and was persuaded to try out for Challand's talent show. I delivered a routine during tryouts and made it. Rehersal was to follow at the Auditorium.
At the Auditorum stage, the crowd looks darkened like you can't see them. This made stage fright seem a bit more tolerable than what I thought it was.
I delivered a routine that had some slight alterations because I was having a much better time than I had thought. Doing my "7-11 Indian Routine" I mentioned the word "tampons." The crowd, which included my classmates Parris, Sarah and Jenna, all gasped and Mr. Neff promptly kicked me out of the show right then and there. He even yelled at me to "GO HOME!"
I didn't really go home. I went back to Challand to pick up my things and I was slamming lockers open and shut in anger. My first temper tantrum in school since pre-school.
I never apologized to Mr. Neff for this. If he didn't yell at me on the stage in front of everyone, I would have apologized. But he embarassed me in front of everyone, and I really felt bad for Parris, Sarah and Jenna for having witnessed this.
I made phone calls to all of my friends afterward. I had never made that many phone calls to friends before, or ever have since. Needless to say, stuttering was absolutely rampant.
"Will You Go Out With Me?"
On a subject that I write about on here often, there has only been one occasion where I have ever popped this question - Carly in 7th grade.
Amber, Sarah, Jennie, etc. all knew about my stuttering and insecurity. That very likely repelled each other. However, there was something about Carly that differed from the rest: She seemed to be understanding of my inabilities. Probably because we sat next to each other in 6th grade. This was something I hadn't experienced, and appreciated at the same time.
So much to where, at the Valentine's Day dance, I had brought over a bunch of roses to her. This was a big thing. I had to hide the roses from everyone else because I thought the hoopla was going to be too much for me. I don't remember the song that played, but someone found out and told me it was time to get the roses. This all played out as if it was some sort of religious service.
I only said a few words, which may have been "Here, Carly, these are for you." and promptly exited the gym floor to catch myself back up.
After hearing that she appreciated the roses, and after hearing something about a shouting match between her and Sarah over who I loved more, the next step was the big question. Everyone in school was hounding me over when I was going to ask her. On my own time, and by myself. This was because with just me and the telephone, I wasn't going to be pressured by someone else (such as Jared in 1st grade with Johnna) to tie up my words and make me stutter.
I had prepared for this in a way that would turn off just about every girl ever. I made the call. It was brief. And I don't remember a pause other than before asking the question. "Carly?" I paused for about five seconds. "Will you go out with me?"
The rest is history. A disappointing one.
I never did find the courage to ask anyone else out in high school. In front of most girls, I'll stutter a little bit. In front of girls I liked, however, stuttering was rampant.
I stuttered A LOT in front in my softball friends from Rock Falls. Probably because they were going so fast for me that I struggled to keep up. Some girls it was easier, others were difficult. The girl I had the greatest difficulty controlling my stutter in front of was Emily, and everyone knows why.
When I worked for the newspaper, Emily had a big hit in the supersectional game against Byron and was something worthy of an interview. We had known each other for about 10 years, so you'd think this was easy. My stuttering was bad because this was a very unusual situation: we know each other but I was trying to keep this as professional an interview as possible. I dropped my clipboard during the interview and she was laughing hysterically. Before that, I was always interviewing Korby, Marilyn, Jessica and Whitni as well as Sheila.
As a Journalist
Communication is one of the biggest facets of the profession of journalism. That is my biggest setback.
I have always been more of an observational and ramificational journalist. Getting quotes have been a subsequent priority in my writings. Thus, I struggle with them.
When I first started, I was asking crappy questions. My first interviews were with Coach Scheidegger (R.I.P.) and Coach Kusnerick from Rock Falls. Then when working with the softball girls, quotes were a requirement for the newspaper. I struggled with them a lot.
As mentioned earlier, Korby was a frequent interview for me. When I started, I had typed up a list of questions and I would read them off. It got to the point where Korby was sick and tired of these same questions, and that's when the stutter started to come back. Eventually over time - notably during the winning streak - things got much easier and more relaxed with the exception of that one time with Emily.
On assignments that I hated doing (college commitments, athlete features and news stories), stuttering during interviews were more prevalent. My last story for the newspaper was the 50th Anniversary of Sterling Youth Baseball. I was ill-prepared and the story sucked.
Moving on to Northern Illinois Sports Beat, I met more and more athletes and coaches.
Any athlete and coach that I have ever interviewed can remember me stuttering at least 8 or 9 times during an interview. Easier stories to write meant less stuttering. Stories in which the theme of the game was difficult to pinpoint saw more stuttering.
I had a terrible time while covering a Dixon girls basketball game one year early on, and Coach Morrison nearly walked away from my interview because I was so bad at it. That led to a period of doubt where the simplist interviews were difficult.
I also tend to have difficulty with young coaches that are uber-excited (Brown, Winckler, Dykeman to name a few). When I stutter, that excitement often turns into confusion. Sometimes a side-thought occurs where I think I'm embarassing myself because I have caused the coach to change his mood just for this conversation, which I felt bad about.
At times when I'm interviewing someone of high standing (Goers, Sigel, Lano, Papoccia, and the like), I do tend to stutter when my questions backfire, or I don't get the answer that I'm looking for. The reason for this is because of potential embarassment in front of someone like them. They've been there and done that when it comes to media interviews, and the feeling of "Oh God, here's that Cutter kid" comes to mind.
When it comes to athletes, almost all of them are not a problem. Girls are more difficult because of their inability to show expression during interviews. I can't recall a single game story interview that has been more difficult than another.
Athlete QA's are a different story - and these are the ones where questions are scripted. When I feel the athlete is bored from doing this, the stuttering starts to show because I'm struggling to keep the interview flowing. Probably my most difficult QA was with a girl from Hinckley-Big Rock. I paused twice for 10 seconds during the interview. I still don't know why.
The biggest stuttering issue in my journalism career are State Final events.
Here I am in front of high school sports journalists across all of Illinois - colleagues and sportswriting idols. When press conference time comes around, I'm always struggling to get a question out. I hardly ever ask a question ... the "Clarence Thomas of the press room" I think is the nickname they give me behind my back. When I do ask a question during a press conference, I stutter a lot. The reason for that is because I'm displaying my talents in front of not only the press table, but also in front of my more professional journalism colleagues.
I swear, the press room supervisor always wonders why I don't ask questions all of the time.
This year saw a slight improvement of questions posed in the press room.
During this year's IHSA Volleyball Finals, Edwards County brought no press. Hardly any questions were asked when I covered their match against Dakota. So after they played Riverdale, the Matt, the IHSA media guy, suggested to those sitting down that we all each ask a question. That included me.
Afterward I joked with him by saying, "I must be sick or something. I asked two questions."
The other instance was during this year's 3-Point Showdown in boys basketball. This I thought was a unique side story of something that gets little press. So the press room is bare, and I had an easier time because I took notes of the questions asked previously.
That was my last high school sports story before my current hiatus.
I'll be back for the State baseball and softball finals. I hope all can be improved a little more over there.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Adding More Prose To My Poem Book
Cutter's Log - Stardate 3102.71.40
Current Song - Careless Whisper (Wham!)
I just finished making another addition to my poem book.
More will come.
I had one of those moments where somehow, through something, some of the girls I had loved in the past came back into the forefront of my mind. One thing led to another, and all of a sudden I'm thinking back to a moment which happened during my junior year in high school.
Because I live alone with very little interaction as of late (due to the car breaking down and being stuck within the walls of my house), there is very little that can get my off of what's on my mind.
I've written about this constantly. I feel like I'm beating a dead horse sharing this with all of you. I sometimes don't know when to shut up - which is extremely odd considering that I actually do not talk very much at all.
But I can't deny the existance of the things that do wind up coming into my mind. Keeping it to myself has become a problem as of late, especially when I share what's on my mind on the Facebook news feed.
Sometimes I feel that sharing what is on my mind annoys people. Especially those who I may be actually thinking about. I have realized this on my own without anyone telling me to shut up.
However, there was one more deep feeling I felt like sharing with everyone.
While thinking deeper about that moment during my junior year, some of the words fit together like a puzzle in the form of poetry.
At first, I could only think of the title: "If Only I Would Have Known"
To help complete my poem, sitting in my empty house wasn't going to help convey the message of the poem. In the past, I have gone on car rides to see different surroundings and therefore introduce myself to more influences to put the prose together. However, I couldn't do that with my car. A bike ride would have to do.
I know I'm on a diet, and just dipped past the 300-pound mark a couple of days ago, but I felt like treating myself to a rare sit-down restaurant dinner. I rode my bike to Candlelight in RF (name anyone else who rides their bike to Candlelight for dinner) to have a steak.
The setting reminded me of something you could go to for a date. I sat in a booth at one of the corners and ordered my typical NY Strip. Usually I like my steaks medium-well, but opted for well-done this time.
I wanted to buy a few extra minutes to get this setting soaked in. The chinks of glass and silverware, together with the sort-of-dark visual setting mixed with darkish-red wooden booths. While sitting down and looking at the menu, the setting merged with some of the feelings I had felt about that particular event I was thinking about. If only I would have made a date here, I thought.
While waiting for my steak, I made great use of my notepad on my phone. Thinking of words and lines, and such.
After I was done and left, I wound up taking a short rest at the bench next to the bridge in RF. While resting, I looked back at my typed poem on my phone and made some revisions. It was dark out and I'm in front of a busy stretch of road.
I got home and typed up the poem for Facebook.
Afterwhich, I began to think more about the fact that I should really start to shut up about these kinds of things. The best way to do that, I think, is to convey my feelings into poetry and write them in my poem book.
I wrote about my Poem Book on here in the past: http://northernilsportswriter.blogspot.com/2013/02/love-through-written-word.html
The event during my junior year was just one of many that had to do with a young autistic kid's struggles with love. I've had many more.
To truly understand these moments more, I think writing about them in poem form will help.
Of course, while I do that my mind will be on the same people I had loved in the past. And, yes, I've written constantly about how I've tried to get them off of my mind in the love sense.
However, I think there is only one way I can stop "falling in love" with them.
Once hooked with someone else (whenever that day may come), and are are officially "boyfriend/girlfriend" will these memories fade away and not be annoying as much.
So, here is my newest poem.
***
If only I would have known
How sad you were
My arm over your shoulder
That is for sure
If only I would have known
The scars from those past
I would do all to heal
So they shall never last
If only I would have known
The meaning of your joy
I would embrace it more
And no more a shy boy
If only I would have known
Your feelings that night
I would have made all well
Oh the feelings I had to fight
If only I would have known
And see a trace of love for me
I'd have cared for you more
Than what you could ever see
If only I would have known
You more than I know now
All things would be different
If I could go back somehow
If only I would have known
If only I would have known
But I failed to see
No one's fault but my own
Current Song - Careless Whisper (Wham!)
I just finished making another addition to my poem book.
More will come.
I had one of those moments where somehow, through something, some of the girls I had loved in the past came back into the forefront of my mind. One thing led to another, and all of a sudden I'm thinking back to a moment which happened during my junior year in high school.
Because I live alone with very little interaction as of late (due to the car breaking down and being stuck within the walls of my house), there is very little that can get my off of what's on my mind.
I've written about this constantly. I feel like I'm beating a dead horse sharing this with all of you. I sometimes don't know when to shut up - which is extremely odd considering that I actually do not talk very much at all.
But I can't deny the existance of the things that do wind up coming into my mind. Keeping it to myself has become a problem as of late, especially when I share what's on my mind on the Facebook news feed.
Sometimes I feel that sharing what is on my mind annoys people. Especially those who I may be actually thinking about. I have realized this on my own without anyone telling me to shut up.
However, there was one more deep feeling I felt like sharing with everyone.
While thinking deeper about that moment during my junior year, some of the words fit together like a puzzle in the form of poetry.
At first, I could only think of the title: "If Only I Would Have Known"
To help complete my poem, sitting in my empty house wasn't going to help convey the message of the poem. In the past, I have gone on car rides to see different surroundings and therefore introduce myself to more influences to put the prose together. However, I couldn't do that with my car. A bike ride would have to do.
I know I'm on a diet, and just dipped past the 300-pound mark a couple of days ago, but I felt like treating myself to a rare sit-down restaurant dinner. I rode my bike to Candlelight in RF (name anyone else who rides their bike to Candlelight for dinner) to have a steak.
The setting reminded me of something you could go to for a date. I sat in a booth at one of the corners and ordered my typical NY Strip. Usually I like my steaks medium-well, but opted for well-done this time.
I wanted to buy a few extra minutes to get this setting soaked in. The chinks of glass and silverware, together with the sort-of-dark visual setting mixed with darkish-red wooden booths. While sitting down and looking at the menu, the setting merged with some of the feelings I had felt about that particular event I was thinking about. If only I would have made a date here, I thought.
While waiting for my steak, I made great use of my notepad on my phone. Thinking of words and lines, and such.
After I was done and left, I wound up taking a short rest at the bench next to the bridge in RF. While resting, I looked back at my typed poem on my phone and made some revisions. It was dark out and I'm in front of a busy stretch of road.
I got home and typed up the poem for Facebook.
Afterwhich, I began to think more about the fact that I should really start to shut up about these kinds of things. The best way to do that, I think, is to convey my feelings into poetry and write them in my poem book.
I wrote about my Poem Book on here in the past: http://northernilsportswriter.blogspot.com/2013/02/love-through-written-word.html
The event during my junior year was just one of many that had to do with a young autistic kid's struggles with love. I've had many more.
To truly understand these moments more, I think writing about them in poem form will help.
Of course, while I do that my mind will be on the same people I had loved in the past. And, yes, I've written constantly about how I've tried to get them off of my mind in the love sense.
However, I think there is only one way I can stop "falling in love" with them.
Once hooked with someone else (whenever that day may come), and are are officially "boyfriend/girlfriend" will these memories fade away and not be annoying as much.
So, here is my newest poem.
***
If only I would have known
How sad you were
My arm over your shoulder
That is for sure
If only I would have known
The scars from those past
I would do all to heal
So they shall never last
If only I would have known
The meaning of your joy
I would embrace it more
And no more a shy boy
If only I would have known
Your feelings that night
I would have made all well
Oh the feelings I had to fight
If only I would have known
And see a trace of love for me
I'd have cared for you more
Than what you could ever see
If only I would have known
You more than I know now
All things would be different
If I could go back somehow
If only I would have known
If only I would have known
But I failed to see
No one's fault but my own
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Emerita
Cutter's Log - Stardate 3102.61.40
Current Song - Holding Back The Years (Simply Red)
Ever get that one word stuck in your head after hearing it somehow?
Today, that word was "Emeritus."
Commonly, "emeritus" is associated with college professors that have retired. Those that have retired are not automatically titled with the term, as these are referred to simply as "retired professors." The title of emeritus, which is honorific, has to be bestowed upon by someone or something of higher or equal rank. They can come and go within the college department as they please. On their own time.
Two noteable cases of an emeritus rank: Pope Benedict XVI, who resigned from the head of the Catholic Church more than a month ago, is now considered a "Pope Emeritus." Pat Summitt, who stepped down from the women's basketball head coaching position at Tennessee last year, is a "Head Coach Emeritus."
However, when referring to a female that has been bestowed the rank, the term "emerita" is often used.
"Emerita" was introduced to me after researching the word "emeritus." I had never heard the word used before in person.
In definition, the term (either masculine or feminine) is of Latin origin which means "having served one's time." And they do not serve any more in official capacity, but is forever remembered.
On my own, I happened to come up with the concept of a "Crush Emerita." I didn't think that phrase existed until I did a Google search of it. Turns out only a couple of internet pages had that very term. This Blog entry will be the third such search result.
"Crush Emeritus" had more search results because, as mentioned, the term "emerita" is not used often. In these cases, such crushes are of celebrities and other people that they have never met. They are still considered crushes, but are no longer looked at as closely. However, they still linger somewhere in their hearts.
Personally, I know of four girls that I consider a "Crush Emerita." I wrote a poem about them in February.
They no longer serve as a real crush to me (three are now married and one was a mutual understanding), but are important to me in many ways.
Hence, I dub thee "Crush Emerita."
I have no crush now. I have had many crushes in the past. But these four are worthy of the title.
Moving on now ...
Current Song - Holding Back The Years (Simply Red)
Ever get that one word stuck in your head after hearing it somehow?
Today, that word was "Emeritus."
Commonly, "emeritus" is associated with college professors that have retired. Those that have retired are not automatically titled with the term, as these are referred to simply as "retired professors." The title of emeritus, which is honorific, has to be bestowed upon by someone or something of higher or equal rank. They can come and go within the college department as they please. On their own time.
Two noteable cases of an emeritus rank: Pope Benedict XVI, who resigned from the head of the Catholic Church more than a month ago, is now considered a "Pope Emeritus." Pat Summitt, who stepped down from the women's basketball head coaching position at Tennessee last year, is a "Head Coach Emeritus."
However, when referring to a female that has been bestowed the rank, the term "emerita" is often used.
"Emerita" was introduced to me after researching the word "emeritus." I had never heard the word used before in person.
In definition, the term (either masculine or feminine) is of Latin origin which means "having served one's time." And they do not serve any more in official capacity, but is forever remembered.
On my own, I happened to come up with the concept of a "Crush Emerita." I didn't think that phrase existed until I did a Google search of it. Turns out only a couple of internet pages had that very term. This Blog entry will be the third such search result.
"Crush Emeritus" had more search results because, as mentioned, the term "emerita" is not used often. In these cases, such crushes are of celebrities and other people that they have never met. They are still considered crushes, but are no longer looked at as closely. However, they still linger somewhere in their hearts.
Personally, I know of four girls that I consider a "Crush Emerita." I wrote a poem about them in February.
They no longer serve as a real crush to me (three are now married and one was a mutual understanding), but are important to me in many ways.
Hence, I dub thee "Crush Emerita."
I have no crush now. I have had many crushes in the past. But these four are worthy of the title.
Moving on now ...
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Rut Update
Cutter's Log - Stardate 3102.31.40
Current Song - Right Now (Van Halen)
Pretty sure my car has a problem with the drive axle. It makes a grinding noise when I put it in drive and it won't move. When I put it in park it doesn't rest and feels like it's really in neutral.
I had a similar problem when driving to work in Dixon one day. So that's where I'm guessing drive axle. I also patched in a call to one of the parts stores in town, where one of them is around $75 after tax. I would like to get my cousin look at it. So my fingers are crossed right now.
I do want to get this car problem fixed, as opposed to getting a different car. I was comtemplating what to do about it before walking to work last night.
Of course, I always drive the 1/3 mile there, so when one of my co-workers wondered what was up, I told her.
She asked me what I was leaning toward. I said I didn't know, and that I didn't have enough energy to work a second job (as mentioned in the previous Blog entry) to help pay for another car.
Then came one of those "You don't have to answer this to me, or you can, but ..." questions.
"Do you eat a lot of junk food?"
I still do, despite having cut back on it since that health scare in November. As of this write, I am down from 343 to 308 and counting. She told me that was the whole problem - junk food. She then asked me when was the last time I had any blood work done. I didn't know what she meant, so she clarified by asking me when was the last time I had blood taken out by a doctor.
I can't even remember, telling her the last time I saw a doctor was 13 years ago when I had surgery on a cyst in my throat. Plus, I don't go to a doctor for financial reasons. I don't have any insurance, medical card, HMO or whatever they're called. Just the cash to my name.
That led to my cholesterol. My dad had it bad years ago. I've never had mine checked, but I can simply guess that it's maybe around 400, judging from what he ate then and what I ate not too long ago. My fault entirely. I don't know how to get one, or how much it costs. I don't feel like getting one until I know how much it costs.
In addition to more exercise, I learned about tomatoes. Apparently, the acid helps dissolve fat, plus learning that my fat is pushing on my organs and making them work overtime. I had a feeling, but never told to me like that.
Oatmeal in the morning. Granola bars. Tomato and turkey sandwich, that is, turkey fresh from a deli stand. More walking.
All up to me and in my hands.
I've also struggled to substitute pop with water; something I've told myself I was going to do for at least two years. The prices worried me. I've found pop in the 12-pack for as less as $2.50. If I can find a better deal on bottled water, that'd be great. Right now I have a 12-pack of County Market-brand regular cola and a 12-pack of Diet Dr. Pepper that I'd like to get rid of now.
All told, the decision to fix my car problem is based on needing TIME to regain strength and to increase endurance and stamina. After a while the car will fall apart completely. When that happens, I'll take a look at what's out there.
So it's a health decision, really.
My health is more important than anything right now.
Current Song - Right Now (Van Halen)
Pretty sure my car has a problem with the drive axle. It makes a grinding noise when I put it in drive and it won't move. When I put it in park it doesn't rest and feels like it's really in neutral.
I had a similar problem when driving to work in Dixon one day. So that's where I'm guessing drive axle. I also patched in a call to one of the parts stores in town, where one of them is around $75 after tax. I would like to get my cousin look at it. So my fingers are crossed right now.
I do want to get this car problem fixed, as opposed to getting a different car. I was comtemplating what to do about it before walking to work last night.
Of course, I always drive the 1/3 mile there, so when one of my co-workers wondered what was up, I told her.
She asked me what I was leaning toward. I said I didn't know, and that I didn't have enough energy to work a second job (as mentioned in the previous Blog entry) to help pay for another car.
Then came one of those "You don't have to answer this to me, or you can, but ..." questions.
"Do you eat a lot of junk food?"
I still do, despite having cut back on it since that health scare in November. As of this write, I am down from 343 to 308 and counting. She told me that was the whole problem - junk food. She then asked me when was the last time I had any blood work done. I didn't know what she meant, so she clarified by asking me when was the last time I had blood taken out by a doctor.
I can't even remember, telling her the last time I saw a doctor was 13 years ago when I had surgery on a cyst in my throat. Plus, I don't go to a doctor for financial reasons. I don't have any insurance, medical card, HMO or whatever they're called. Just the cash to my name.
That led to my cholesterol. My dad had it bad years ago. I've never had mine checked, but I can simply guess that it's maybe around 400, judging from what he ate then and what I ate not too long ago. My fault entirely. I don't know how to get one, or how much it costs. I don't feel like getting one until I know how much it costs.
In addition to more exercise, I learned about tomatoes. Apparently, the acid helps dissolve fat, plus learning that my fat is pushing on my organs and making them work overtime. I had a feeling, but never told to me like that.
Oatmeal in the morning. Granola bars. Tomato and turkey sandwich, that is, turkey fresh from a deli stand. More walking.
All up to me and in my hands.
I've also struggled to substitute pop with water; something I've told myself I was going to do for at least two years. The prices worried me. I've found pop in the 12-pack for as less as $2.50. If I can find a better deal on bottled water, that'd be great. Right now I have a 12-pack of County Market-brand regular cola and a 12-pack of Diet Dr. Pepper that I'd like to get rid of now.
All told, the decision to fix my car problem is based on needing TIME to regain strength and to increase endurance and stamina. After a while the car will fall apart completely. When that happens, I'll take a look at what's out there.
So it's a health decision, really.
My health is more important than anything right now.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Problems With Stamina & Endurance
Cutter's Log - Stardate 3102.21.40
Current Song - My City Was Gone (Pretenders)
My car broke down today. I'm at an impasse when it comes to it. Get this problem fixed, or buy a different car.
I went to make a turn and something fell out of place to where the car wouldn't drive. Something with the gears it seems like, driveaxle perhaps. Hopefully it's not the transmission. But this has me deathly worried right now. I just feel lost right now.
I have the down payment to pay for a different car somewhere. The next step after that is the payments. That'll need to go on top of what amounts to be nearly $800/month when it comes to the typical monthly bills and rent. My current job and the shifts I work can barely pay for all of that, and what's left goes toward groceries and fuel.
That literally means that in order to pay for a different car, I'll have to bring in more money somehow. I've felt okay throughout all of this, until now.
Problem is, I simply do not have the energy to physically work a second job. Sometimes I feel like I can barely make it through my current job, tiring out a lot.
This is a huge mountain to climb.
The last thing I want to do is to walk into work at the Shell station and be wiped out and fall on the floor (slow-motion, movie style) by 9 p.m. and four hours left in the shift. Or have a heartattack.
Somehow I'll need to find a way to acquire more energy. And then, perhaps, more money.
Current Song - My City Was Gone (Pretenders)
My car broke down today. I'm at an impasse when it comes to it. Get this problem fixed, or buy a different car.
I went to make a turn and something fell out of place to where the car wouldn't drive. Something with the gears it seems like, driveaxle perhaps. Hopefully it's not the transmission. But this has me deathly worried right now. I just feel lost right now.
I have the down payment to pay for a different car somewhere. The next step after that is the payments. That'll need to go on top of what amounts to be nearly $800/month when it comes to the typical monthly bills and rent. My current job and the shifts I work can barely pay for all of that, and what's left goes toward groceries and fuel.
That literally means that in order to pay for a different car, I'll have to bring in more money somehow. I've felt okay throughout all of this, until now.
Problem is, I simply do not have the energy to physically work a second job. Sometimes I feel like I can barely make it through my current job, tiring out a lot.
This is a huge mountain to climb.
The last thing I want to do is to walk into work at the Shell station and be wiped out and fall on the floor (slow-motion, movie style) by 9 p.m. and four hours left in the shift. Or have a heartattack.
Somehow I'll need to find a way to acquire more energy. And then, perhaps, more money.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
It's Now Or Never!
Cutter's Log - Stardate 3102.11.40
Current Song - Goldberg Theme
Six years ago, I thought I had it. Graduation smashed us all into little pieces, and I was lost for a little while. Then the moment came when I found myself saying, "Cody, she's still here. She's right over there." That didn't work out, and despte a couple of even longer-shot opportunities, that was it for me.
It's been three years since last feeling this feeling. And if you know me well, you know what I'm leading up to.
Yep.
And I actually think I have a chance this time.
"Not this again! I thought you were done! Defeated. Blown out of your misery. Retreated to the small house you'll spend the rest of your life in ... alone!
You're a has-been, Cody. All you do is look at your past, because you know damn well that you are destroying your future and letting it slip through your fingertips. You know it.
Your past. Gee, this "chance". I can narrow it down to a category of about 15, of which about five or six are still left. Am I right?"
You seem awfully interested. Why should I tell you? It's not your right to know. Yet.
"Well, if I can't get it out of your mouth - don't worry, we always seem to find out who it is somehow behind your back - perhaps this will help ...
Let me tell you a story ... about a kid named Daniel. You know, your brother. You want to know why Danny is the popular kid he is today? BECAUSE HE DIDN'T TURN HIS BACK ON THE PEOPLE THAT HELPED HIM! Unlike you, Cody!
For four years, your little brother was a beloved fixture at SHS, and still is. Basketball maanger. Baseball manager. He bleeds Blue and Gold, and he loves it. They made him feel welcome at SHS, not letting his conditions deter him."
You say one more word about my brother, I swear to God ...
"Oh, no. I don't do that. You see, he took that embracement and held on to it. You, Cody, were given that same treatment. Remember?"
Yes I was. At least I think it was.
"Don't give me that debate! All your classmates knew you acted "off", so they rmbraced you. Tried to help you. Remember the "pimp walk" and the "pimp glasses"? Nathan, D.J. and Corey were trying to help you. Remember eighth grade basketball? That led to all of those managing opportunities at SHS, didn't it?
Ask any of your teammates from the Class of 2002 and 2003. They loved you. They embraced you. You were what Danny would end up being like when he was a freshman - beloved. Think about it; if you would have kept on going the same way your brother did, maybe you would have a social life right now."
Now hold it right there! If, let's say, I went down your path, Danny would have had to live in my shadow, and wouldn't get the same treatment that he got today. Would have been redundant.
I am so proud of my brother! I would do anything for him, and that includes not regretting any decision that would have ruined my brother's future. Even if it is after-the-fact.
"You don't regret it? You don't regret it?!?!? Tell that to all of the people you turned your back on. You turned your back on people that went out of their way to make you happy at SHS: classmates, teachers, coaches, superfans.
And why did you turn your back on them, Cody? Why? They know, but you won't tell them and they just can't seem to understand because of that. So let me tell you.
You turned your back on them because of your overblown ego. You traded a promising future, for what you THOUGHT was a promising future. You listened to your heart. No not YOUR heart. Your so-called heart that was revolving around ..."
STOP!
I know where you're going with that. Did I trade my blue and gold. I did. Can't deny that. But let me tell you something. I've had a lot of people falsely assume that I'm playing with fire and "gonna get ill" - to which their asses will be kicked because that's some of the harshest things you can say about someone.
"You are a failure because you listened to your desires. How'd that turn out? Oh yeah. Daaaaa! Daaaaa! Da Da Da Da Da! Not once. Not twice. Not three times. More that that. You know it. They know it. THEY know it.
Looks like this is your final chance."
If you think you are going to stop me from knowing what it's like to be in love, not a chance! If anybody from my past things they are going to stop me; put me "in my place," they're dead wrong. Dead wrong. My feelings are what they are. It's now or never. I'll find out who my friends are. I'll find out who my enemies are. Either way, I'll have a better piece of mind.
I may have an army against me. And I ask for help myself. But I will not rest until I find true love! I don't give up. Never have. Never will. No matter now much resistance I am dealt with.
"Well, good luck. You'll need it!"
We'll see about that!
Current Song - Goldberg Theme
Six years ago, I thought I had it. Graduation smashed us all into little pieces, and I was lost for a little while. Then the moment came when I found myself saying, "Cody, she's still here. She's right over there." That didn't work out, and despte a couple of even longer-shot opportunities, that was it for me.
It's been three years since last feeling this feeling. And if you know me well, you know what I'm leading up to.
Yep.
And I actually think I have a chance this time.
"Not this again! I thought you were done! Defeated. Blown out of your misery. Retreated to the small house you'll spend the rest of your life in ... alone!
You're a has-been, Cody. All you do is look at your past, because you know damn well that you are destroying your future and letting it slip through your fingertips. You know it.
Your past. Gee, this "chance". I can narrow it down to a category of about 15, of which about five or six are still left. Am I right?"
You seem awfully interested. Why should I tell you? It's not your right to know. Yet.
"Well, if I can't get it out of your mouth - don't worry, we always seem to find out who it is somehow behind your back - perhaps this will help ...
Let me tell you a story ... about a kid named Daniel. You know, your brother. You want to know why Danny is the popular kid he is today? BECAUSE HE DIDN'T TURN HIS BACK ON THE PEOPLE THAT HELPED HIM! Unlike you, Cody!
For four years, your little brother was a beloved fixture at SHS, and still is. Basketball maanger. Baseball manager. He bleeds Blue and Gold, and he loves it. They made him feel welcome at SHS, not letting his conditions deter him."
You say one more word about my brother, I swear to God ...
"Oh, no. I don't do that. You see, he took that embracement and held on to it. You, Cody, were given that same treatment. Remember?"
Yes I was. At least I think it was.
"Don't give me that debate! All your classmates knew you acted "off", so they rmbraced you. Tried to help you. Remember the "pimp walk" and the "pimp glasses"? Nathan, D.J. and Corey were trying to help you. Remember eighth grade basketball? That led to all of those managing opportunities at SHS, didn't it?
Ask any of your teammates from the Class of 2002 and 2003. They loved you. They embraced you. You were what Danny would end up being like when he was a freshman - beloved. Think about it; if you would have kept on going the same way your brother did, maybe you would have a social life right now."
Now hold it right there! If, let's say, I went down your path, Danny would have had to live in my shadow, and wouldn't get the same treatment that he got today. Would have been redundant.
I am so proud of my brother! I would do anything for him, and that includes not regretting any decision that would have ruined my brother's future. Even if it is after-the-fact.
"You don't regret it? You don't regret it?!?!? Tell that to all of the people you turned your back on. You turned your back on people that went out of their way to make you happy at SHS: classmates, teachers, coaches, superfans.
And why did you turn your back on them, Cody? Why? They know, but you won't tell them and they just can't seem to understand because of that. So let me tell you.
You turned your back on them because of your overblown ego. You traded a promising future, for what you THOUGHT was a promising future. You listened to your heart. No not YOUR heart. Your so-called heart that was revolving around ..."
STOP!
I know where you're going with that. Did I trade my blue and gold. I did. Can't deny that. But let me tell you something. I've had a lot of people falsely assume that I'm playing with fire and "gonna get ill" - to which their asses will be kicked because that's some of the harshest things you can say about someone.
"You are a failure because you listened to your desires. How'd that turn out? Oh yeah. Daaaaa! Daaaaa! Da Da Da Da Da! Not once. Not twice. Not three times. More that that. You know it. They know it. THEY know it.
Looks like this is your final chance."
If you think you are going to stop me from knowing what it's like to be in love, not a chance! If anybody from my past things they are going to stop me; put me "in my place," they're dead wrong. Dead wrong. My feelings are what they are. It's now or never. I'll find out who my friends are. I'll find out who my enemies are. Either way, I'll have a better piece of mind.
I may have an army against me. And I ask for help myself. But I will not rest until I find true love! I don't give up. Never have. Never will. No matter now much resistance I am dealt with.
"Well, good luck. You'll need it!"
We'll see about that!
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