undergroundadric

When I consider the things that unite the peoples of these United States- important, big ticket ideas like owning a capitalist economy, a love of bone-crushing sports, and the right to have fries with that- I find they all fall short of the true unifier that makes us Americans:

Our mutual hatred of our middle school years.

Who in their right mind remembers adolescence and the hell that was middle school fondly- nay, HAPPILY? Nothing about 6th-8th grade was truly pleasant or empowering. Middle school was the unshackled physical prison that housed our daily internal prison of puberty and I don’t care what part of this nation you hail from- you know it to be true. Todd Solondz’s brilliant film, “Welcome To The Dollhouse.” exemplifies the middle school experience: untamed awkwardness, uncomfortable relationships and unbridled bullying.

The main “quad” area of my middle school had a big concrete island almost smack dab in the center of it. The island (probably the only appropriate name for it, given its size and impractical use) had a few burly bushes and I seem to remember a rather sad bottlebrush tree, with a concrete ledge wrapping around it for students to perch on. Every day at lunch, like clockwork, the Lev-baiting began. Lev (perhaps short for something, I can’t remember) was a Ukranian boy who had recently arrived in the United States and, consequently, was the owner of a rather thick accent and bizarre habits. As boys are wont to do, Lev became the express recipient of personally tailored bullying. Lev would hide amongst the concrete island bushes and shout and scream at the taunting to stop but it usually only egged the boys on. As the awkward, shy and altogether weak pubescent boy I was, I stood by and did nothing. The horrible irony of middle school is that no matter how principled or altruistic you are, those characteristics mark you as the next best target for the cruel and diabolical mind of the middle school boy. I’d get so upset, watching this lunch time ritual take place, but refused to get involved for fear of reaping the benefits of a personal attack. I saw my fair share of bullying, name calling and self esteem demoralization (and at the hands of “friends” no less) but nothing to the extent experienced by Lev.

The murder of 14 year old Lawrence King last week sparked an internal discussion and made me re-assess my own bullying experiences. A classmate of Lawrence’s shot him in the back of the head with a hand gun during class. The two were seen fighting a day or two before because the classmate disagreed with Lawrence’s assertion of his sexuality. I don’t know what, in particular, about this incident has caused me to contemplate bullying on a more personal level but I find it infuriating that these sorts of things can not only happen but fail to act as a wake up call to the American people. How can we stop this from happening again? Fundamentally it feels like we just can’t. Bullying is apart of adolescence and apart of the netherworld of middle school, an intrinsic player in the development of men and women across the nation. I have so many questions though. What was going through Lawrence’s head before being shot? Was he having a good day? Was he looking forward to after school? What did he hope to do with his life? Who did he have a crush on? When did he decide to come out? How did he have the balls to stand up to these bullies, enough balls to get him killed? It’s so frustrating to me that bullying has crossed over into the realm of potential “hate crimes.” This doesn’t apply just to Lawrence but to everyone. Why do we just accept this sort of thing as normal, as necessary? Obviously no one expects some taunting to turn into an issue of life or death but if that’s what it’s become, how can we stop it? Is it even possible?

 In high school, Lev was expelled for essentially stalking several girls and keeping notebooks with people’s addresses and lists of “bad guys.” I remember wondering at the time if the bullying he experienced in middle school had anything to do with it. Was he like that before? Did he keep a list of “bad guys” in the Ukraine? Or was he a product of the ceaseless taunting of his supposed peers? Did I passively help him become something he never wanted to be? I probably won’t ever know the answer to those questions.

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1. The age you will be on your next birthday: 24

2. A place you’d like to travel: Australia

3. Your favorite place: the outdoors

4. Your favorite object: coffee

5. Your favorite food: fruit

6. Your favorite animal: river otter

7. Your favorite color: the primaries

8. The town in which you were born: San Francisco

9.The town in which you live: Concord

10. The name of a past pet: Rosie

11. A favorite celebrity: Tina Fey

12.your name/nickname/screen name: Adric

13. A favorite song: Fiona Apple - Paper Bag

14. Your middle name: Aiden (which apparently equals hot men?)

15. Your last name: Alvaro (also hot?)

16. A bad habit of yours: procrastination

17. Your first job: paper boy

18. How you feel about your life: excited

19. One word to describe you: charming?

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I’m a pretty big coffee consumer these days. I wouldn’t call myself an addict because I don’t necessarily NEED it to function but it definitely doesn’t hurt. Ever since the thoughtful acquisition of a slender thermos, I’ve taken to carrying coffee around with me wherever I end up. It’s been a frugal incentive to make coffee in the morning instead of buying it every day and I get a silly grin on my face every time I pour myself a cup. Look Ma, I’m all growed up!

That being said, I have the thermos for coffee but I’m left without a proper cup or mug to drink from. One can imagine the problem that poses. Thankfully my work has a small army of coffee mugs in the kitchen area, all perfect for my work time caffeine consumption. Unfortunately, every time I attempt to find a clean mug I’m stuck with this ugly little thing:

Words fail me. I can’t tell what is more un-sexy about this mug. Is it the stringy pipecleaner hair or the barrel dress that barely covers the cartoon’s nether regions? Could it be the tube socks (or are those stockings?) that look vaguely like used condoms? Perhaps it’s the three leafed clover hands or the three dots for a face expression… This is the most un-sexy mug I have ever seen and yet the mug boldly states in cartoonish letters: SEXY. It would be a funny gag gift if the mug wasn’t so obviously trying to be serious. I’ll play nice though and admit that beauty (and in turn “sexy”) is in the eye of the beholder. Just because I don’t want to ravage this Olive Oyl knock-off doesn’t mean she’s completely un-sexy to someone else. If that does it for you then let me know and I’ll send you this abomination in the mail and you can drink your fill of whatever you like out of her mug-ness forever and ever. I might have to make an alteration or two first…:

Much better.

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• Not riding my bike for 3+ weeks results in severe pain and discomfort when I suddenly have to ride ~12 miles a day. Ouch.
• My nipples could be a dual set of thermometers (although they’re only really useful for telling cold weather).
• I’m apparently intimidating, which is highly amusing to me.
• Four cups of coffee in the span of four or five hours is not a good idea.
• According to my sociology teacher, everything I know is wrong.
• Walking on broken glass makes your insides feel like they’re being grated through a cheese grater.
• Watching people scramble to try and add a class they have no chance of adding is really, really satisfying.

I really should post more often…

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Fact: The word “puberty” means to be covered in fine hair — and is derived from the Latin word “pubescere,” meaning to grow hairy or mossy.

I don’t know a single person who actually enjoyed puberty. What’s to enjoy? For both men and women, it’s an uncomfortable time of growth physically and an unbearably awkward time of growth emotionally. I think back to middle school and the dirty “locker room” of our gym, crammed with pubescent boys all trying to change without anyone else noticing. *Shudder*

The worst thing about puberty was how taboo it felt to discuss ANYTHING related to it. There could be no discussion of growth spurts, facial/body hair, menstruation, raging hormones or body odor without a sincere feeling of doom looming over your head. One memory from 7th grade art class remains etched into me to this day. We were told to gather around a table to look at some famous art samples our ridiculous art teacher had arranged and the girl next to me blurted with disgust, “ew, what is that smell? is that you?” I stared back sheepishly and she moved to the other side of the table. Deodorant is my best friend these days…

Figuring out how to “own” one’s puberty is based in experimentation. That sounds sexual (and I guess it can be) but for the most part you don’t really learn anything unless you play around and see what works. My pubescent mustache remained glued to my face until I realized I could shave it off in 10th grade. How gross is that? Shaving for the first time is like playing a “see how much this can hurt” game but as with anything, time heals the wounds and educates the mind. Acceptance of body hair, hormones, shaving, and deodorant made me a happier person and it was only then that I could recognize that ugly taboo of puberty for what it was: the ultimate transmogrification. All of those stupid caterpillar to butterfly metaphors finally make some sense!

Back to the factoid at the top of this post…

My nearly 20 year old brother is in the waning stages of his transmogrification into some silly butterfly but doesn’t seem to understand how to get to the finish line. It’s humorous while also being slightly disturbing and I’ve taken it upon myself to change that and help him complete the marathon (of puberty, what a bizarre metaphor… what’s with these bizarre metaphors?). Last week I spent thirty minutes showing him how to effectively trim one’s beard so one doesn’t look like a mountain yeti right after disemboweling livestock. He now sports a cleanly trimmed goatee and I feel like his own personal Queer Eye (which I guess I am, now that I think about it…). In very “She’s All That” fashion, I’ve created a checklist of steps he needs to complete in the coming months:

• Shower more than once a week. Ideally every day but I’ll accept 4 showers per week.
• Shave at least once a week, for maintenance and encouragement of healthy growth.
• Start wearing clothes with these characteristics:
  • proper fit (i.e. NOT BAGGY)
  • nothing with the word “sweat” in it unless you are exercising or sleeping
  • somewhat matching or purposefully mismatched
  • color, color, color
• Wake up at a reasonable hour of the day (and not 5pm Pacific Time)

It’s a hard job but someone’s got to do it. By this time next year my brother will be a fully functioning adult… or at least appear to be and really, that’s all that matters. I mean, just look at me!

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Adventure hung in the air, motivating Casey, his cousin Calen and myself to trek into San Francisco’s northwest corner, the Presidio. Founded by the first Spanish settlers to the Bay Area in the 1700’s, the Presidio is preserved by the city/state and is a living part of San Francisco’s history. Originally a military garrison/base it’s now part residential, part forest, part beach and part wildlife preserve. All of that = fun times.

Our first stop was Baker Beach on the ocean side of the SF peninsula. A clothing optional shoreline, the beach has an amazing view of the Golden Gate.

The hike took us up this winding, sandy stairway that seemed to head straight into the sky (but thankfully stopped just short of it). The view from the cliffs overlooking the beach were stunning.

The cliffs themselves are lined with now defunct (and crumbling) gun batteries that were used at one time to protect the city & bay from attacks. Climbing through the ruins was eerie and exciting.

Once we reached the bridge toll plaza we were inundated with tourists, bicycles and loud traffic. The bridge itself is pretty amazing and I can understand why it’s one of the most visited sites in the country. It definitely makes you proud to be an American (hence the cheesy flag photo).

We stumbled on the National Cemetery in the heart of the Presidio after leaving the bridge toll plaza. With the sun on course to set in about an hour, the light gave the cemetery an interesting appearance. Seeing the graves really reminded me of the history that encompasses the Presidio and how integral it is to the history of the city.

The main post is where the actual base operated from and today it looks like a creepy throwback to a colonial period long gone. We stopped in the visitor’s center to figure out how to get out of the Presidio (yay, being lost) and the hall had this beautiful stained glass window with depictions of the Presidio’s former glory.

Since we running out of sunlight, we decided to take the “Ecology Trail” back to civilization and conveniently up to a spot known as Inspiration Point. The sunset was pretty amazing, even with the trees blocking the bulk of it. The hike along the trail was serene and upon reaching the point we saw a beautiful and healthy looking coyote meander through the brush.

Casey and Calen were inspired by Inspiration Point and the Inspiration Kiosk. Can you tell?

After everything was said and done, we’d hiked about 8 miles through the Presidio (the yellow line highlights our hike) and came out near Arguello. Tired but pleased we ended the day with a yummy Eritrean dinner. All in all, i’d say it was a great start to 2008.

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In the bizarre photo-play that is my life, these are the recurring characters that maintain a fairly sane presence:

KATHERINE

She kind of makes the world go ’round. Friends since sophmore year of high school, she’s never-ever going to get rid of me and we’re both resigned to that fact.

ANDREA

Uh, she’s sort of my saving grace. I could list all of these good qualities but it would all sound kind of trite so just take my word for it- she’s awesome.

BRETT

We don’t have any pictures of the two of us together. Maybe we’re the same person? Brett is kind of my conscience. I should get him a devil/angel costume…

JARED

Jared is kind of the straight, white version of me. He’s overall a good human being and i’ll never get tired of having a person like him in my life. Hiroku Drift Tour 2008 maybe?

BETSY

I don’t see nearly enough of her but pretty much every time I do see her these days something bizarrely memorable happens. I’m kind of in love with her and her panda.

BEN & HEATHER

Both Ben & Heather bring me countless amounts of joy. Ben’s a good friend from high school and my annual traveling companion and Heather’s…well, she’s Heather!

MURDOCK

One of the great friends I made while in Ohio, Murdock’s one of the smartest people I know and the best excuse for me to visit the East Coast more often.

JACKIE & HUBBELL

Jackie & Hubbell are great friends, period. Every time the three of us get together we have some great adventures. I miss them both times infinity.

LORAH

This super old picture proves that I need to visit Chicago this year. Lorah kind of defies a definition and I’ve always loved that about her. Well that and she’s gorgeous and i’m shallow.

CHARLIE

Charlie cracks me up. He’s super genuine, a goofball and an awesome guy to hang out with. Fav. mutual catch phrase? Pee on me.

STEVEN

Steven helped me put all of this together. He’s also going to be a millionaire by the time he’s 30. He kind of rocks.

CASEY

I <3 Casey.

Please use this handy reference guide with forthcoming posts. Or don’t? Whatever, leave me alone…

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originally written May 28th, 2007

It’s always comforting to stumble across shamefully embarrassing articles of your pubescent past and today i uncovered the holy grail: a type-written letter to a girl i liked.

Here for you in all of it’s hormonally awkward entirety is that letter:

“O, from what power hast thou this powerful might,
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things il,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantise of skill,
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state:
If thy unworthiness rais’d love in me,
More worthy I to be belov’d of thee.”

William Shakespeare, Sonnet CL

Hi. How are you? To keep this letter short and concise, i’ll get right to the point. I’ve had something of a crush on you since the begining of the year. You and I have a few classes together. I was just wondering if you wanted to have lunch or something sometime. I’m not some person who does this just to be mean. I’m also not some weird freak who stalks you every day. Just someone who thinks your great. Just to let you know, the loves’ in the sonnet were somewhat overstated. I don’t mean to scare you or anything. So, if you do want to get together sometime to have lunch or whatever, I’ll be in the cafeteria on Thursday at around 7:30AM. We can talk then. I’ll meet you there. Thanks so much.

(as corny as this may seem or sound)
Your secret admirer

Honestly…it doesn’t get any more embarrassing then that. If i can recall, i slipped her the note in english or drama right around my birthday that year. She wrote me a note saying that she appreciated it but wasn’t interested and for the rest of the year we didn’t talk at all. Ahhh…awkward, closeted homosexuality…you surprise us every time…

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originally written December 6th, 2007, an homage to Craig from Puntabulous.com

You know what blows? Biking six miles uphill in the rain.

After about five minutes my ass was wet, the entire left leg of my jeans was dripping water and i’d narrowly dodged being run over about a dozen times. I still had 35 more minutes of this crap. Tear.

The best part of the ride? Stopping at a light and stepping in a deep, deep puddle without realizing it. Fucking great.

I finally made it home- dripping, dirty, chafed and uncomfortable. My backpack is speckled with mud. I need proper rain gear…

And then i thought, “what an opportunity to show how narcissistic and damp i truly am!” Huzzah!

Bleh, wet clothing!

Brilliant idea two: Take it off!

Yeah uh…

As you can see, my ass was soaked. I’m not exactly sure how it got that wet…

Also, i noticed today that i had two glaringly large holes in my shoes which only added to the hilarity of my biking home. The holes are white because they’re moldy. Now i need new shoes. BLAH.

Phew, no longer damp but still narcissistic. God bless senior fashion show t-shirts!

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originally written July 5th, 2007

While discreetly belting out Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got To Do With It?” as i pushed myself to pedal faster up Concord Ave. a funny thing happened to me. Out of nowhere, a beat up looking black car drove past and a fat cow of a woman with bleached blonde hair and bad teeth squeezed her piggy face out of the window screaming “FUCKING NIGGER!” at the top of her lungs. I continued to peddle and looked around me. I didn’t see any black people. I looked back at the car that was still within sight and the woman’s fat head was twisted around in the window staring back at me. Did she mean me? I guess i WAS wearing a black t-shirt…

How does one react to that word when one knows they are not nor will ever be African American? I know the word has a broader connotation for some and can be used as a general term for anyone who’s not white but…really? Like, i don’t even warrant a more skin-specifc racial slur? How lazy do you have to be? Whether or not she meant it or was just trying to harass me i don’t know but it did make me think for the rest of my ride home, especially since we’ve been discussing the unhappy marriage of race and class in America for the past week in my english class. This woman was pretty typical of lower class white trash in this area- sun bleached skin, beat up car, stretched and stained wife beater with a disappointingly ample bosom begging to be controlled, badly bleached hair and a messed up grill (by grill i mean teeth). I had to wonder if the reason she screamed at me was because she was dissatisfied with her lot in life, her economic status or lack there of. Was she taking her inability to own a designer purse or personal swimming pool out on me? Around then i remembered the little kid in the back seat, helplessly looking at me as they drove past. The paralyzing heat of the day seemed to make his life worse because from the looks of it his window wouldn’t roll down properly. Would he remember his mother screaming obscenities out of the car window when he grew to be my age? How would that effect his life, his coming to terms with the world? Does this sort of thing happen often with her?

I kept on riding, thoughts blind to anything else and limbs pumping like motorized gears to get me up that last hill towards home. I had to laugh at the peculiar event and remind myself that as much as i wanted to make the moment more important then it was by over analyzing it, it really did no good. In no way was i what she thought and in many respects she could be much more then what i thought of her. Who knows. I appreciated the soft breeze as i dipped down the last road before my home and started mouthing the words to Tears For Fears’ “Everybody Wants To Rule The World.” As my bike came to a stop i decided that had i had the chance to reply i would’ve yelled “AND DON’T FORGET IT!”

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