|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
| Edit 7/29: I started writing this over a month ago and forgot to finish, so time is probably wrong. At some point I'll update on summer and summer vacations, more so I don't forget what I did than because I feel like writing, because frankly whenever I'm inspired to I'm nowhere near a computer or pencil and paper.
I sprained my right ankle a few weeks ago at Steve's house, jumping on a trampoline within the first 15 minutes of our exciting weekend trip-- though I told my parents it was from falling down the stairs to avoid them banning me from trampoline-jumping forever-- and despite his dad's, Dr. Michos', helpful healing it ended up being pretty bad. It didn't prevent me from doing all the cool stuff-- swimming in the river, jetskiing, tubing behind the ski, etc. -- but by about the second day it had swollen to a frighteningly large size and was bruised on both sides of my ankle. I couldn't walk, so Steve had to piggyback me most places, and if not, I crawled on my knees, developing more black and blue spots up and down my legs, or dragged myself pitifully up and down the stairs. Hopping was the alternative, which I pursued as if it wasn't a big deal but secretly felt the sore pain in my left ankle as I had sprained that one only a few months ago. Oh well.
The point of that whining paragraph was to provide the reason for why I've been on crutches with an ankle brace for the past two weeks or so. It's frustrating having to rely on people, to not be able to do simple shit like go to the mall, and to take ages to hobble up and down steps. At dinner one night I leaned my crutches on the side of the table and my grandpa, coming back from bringing me a bowl of rice, tripped on it and fell backwards.. his hands hit the side table, then the wall, and only because my uncle has a fast reaction, running over to grab him, did he not fall all the way down. I burst into tears. Not only was it scary as hell watching your grandpa fall, knowing you caused it, I just hate being such a hassle. It's nice to be taken care of up to a point, but past that it kinda sucks and you find yourself wishing aloud "all i want to do is fucking WALK."
The major upside of being on crutches is appreciating how much everyone cares. My dad, who is by nature such a fast walker my sister used loll at his side like a rag doll as he dragged her around, would make efforts that were visibly painful on his part to take small steps and wait for me whenever we walked over to my grandma's house. My mom waited for me to shower every night before coming in loaded with Chinese medicine which she determinedly massaged over my feet, examining progress every twenty minutes before proclaiming "SEE it's WORKING". My grandma stalked me around the house, saying stuff like "I'm just sharpening a pencil!" when she's really checking to see if I managed to changed my clothes alright.. I don't think I've ever seen my grandma sharpen a pencil in her life. Even Jess, though reluctantly, brought me up lunch one time so I didn't have to go downstairs to eat.
Friends like Chris would text me just to say "Jenny... be CAREFUL" because they know how clumsy I am, and many others had to deal with giving me rides when my parents wouldn't let me drive anywhere but work. Not only family and friends, but strangers were making time just to help me open the door, ask me what happened, and sharing a story of a time either they, or someone they knew, had also been on crutches and how awful it was. At the post office, people in front of me kept offering to let me go first, or to take the window that was most convenient. Along the way, I get lots of sympathetic but friendly smiles.
Some say here in the fast-paced metropolitan D.C. area, where we live in northern virginia, people are so busy with their own lives they don't take the time to stop and help. Well I guess they do if you're a cripple.
--
The other day I was talking to my sister about how we, people in general, seem so quick to blame others when we realize something has gone wrong. We try, in vain, to be the bigger person and consider everything that might have happened, or accidents that might have occurred, but there's always that looming feeling in the back of your head that someone else has wronged you. It's not weighted equally as an option, it's what you hope didn't happen but it seems like no other explanation makes sense. Maybe it's not everyone, but I brought it up because my boss was freaking out because a client insisted that he had left a package at our office and we couldn't find it. My boss began ranting about how he must've thought he did, or been mistaken, or more likely, was lying-- in the end, we discovered it hidden under the low shelf in front of our front door. Turns out he had shot it so forcefully underneath that it went past the walkway and slid fitfully under the shelf of mailboxes.
In psychology, we call the tendency to overestimate personality as a causal factor over situational influences in explaining behavior the "fundamental attribution error". I think this happens a lot with people like thieves-- my sister told me that in Honduras, a few scary-looking fellows mugged one of her friends and demanded the digital camera; the girl promptly began crying because she was more upset about the loss of memories in pictures than the loss of the camera, and so they took out the memory card and let her keep that to upload, then made off with the camera. In another instance, a gang raided a house where a group of JMU students were staying and took most of the valuables except for their passports so they could safely go home-- even though passports are worth a lot of money in other countries where everyone wants to get to the US.
-->Aladdin said it best: "gotta steal to eat, gotta eat to live, tell you all about it when I got the time!"
I'm uncertain as to how to end this entry. I really just wanted to comment on the good in people, especially in strangers because you, or at least I, notice it the least and at the same time the most because it's unexpected and always a pleasant surprise.
| | |
| This summer I want to get some sort of low-paying job where I can just have daily interactions with strangers and make enough moolah to cover small costs like new clothes and meaningful meals and big costs like concerts and a new snowboard and future vacations to ski resorts. In high school I told myself I was going to keep working at SCORE because I loved it and maybe I'd look for an internship to really soak into a full-time summer job when I was in college but it seems like they mostly look for third-years anyway. This time around I just want to take road trips and do something other than tutoring (as much as I like it)-- road trips to colleges while my friends are still in school, to the beach, to amusement parks and new UVA friends that live in different parts of Virginia.
I've really taken to driving long distances, especially with people in my car. There's something exciting about looking out for the po po and trying to catch up to and pass every car in sight on those one or two lane roads through the trees or fields. After the Wisp trip, I was fortunate enough to go to Whitetail two more times, and would have went a third to Wintergreen if our trip didn't fall through because of busy schedules and conflicting events.
The day I went with Jungha, Sherwin, and Nona, we ate IHOP early in the morning, drove to Whitetail, and skiied/snowboarded for basically eight consecutive hours-- with one bathroom break-- just the way I like it. We went to McDonald's for dinner to save money from eating at the over-priced resort restaurants. The drive home everyone fell asleep in the car, but I didn't mind. There was something special about being alone and with people at the same time, knowing that because I was taking up the task of transporting the four of us back, everyone else was allowed to rest after a long day.
This past weekend, David, Steve, Nona, and I went to Busch Gardens the day after they opened and hit every worthwhile coaster in one of the most beautiful days of the year with the fewest people ever-- we barely had to wait in lines and Steve and I rode the new coaster Griffon ten times in a row. We hopped off and ran out the exit and back into the entrance, laughing like kids at the faces we made on the coaster whenever we knew the camera was going to go off, requesting that our picture show up on screen even though we never bought one. We even all looked like 12-year-olds. I literally skipped into the park, through the line to buy tickets, to and back from the bathroom, and down the paths of "Europe", nearly running into some small child on more than one occasion. We splurged a little, buying trinkets like those henna bracelets and big ice cream cones that turned out to be exceptionally good-- or maybe the taste stemmed from the fact that the guy that served us was one of the nicest and most friendly workers I'd ever met. I love that. We took dumb pictures on my self-timer camera and embarassed ourselves through silly comments and poses, staying in the park past closing time trying to make the most of this timeless place that I've loved since I was a kid. We all got season passes so.. definitely heading back there soon.
I got lucky and have the same Migrant Aid kid I tutored last semester-- Reina. She's this really pretty and sassy sixth-grader who always jokes around and imitates me, with a slight southern accent and such attitude but it's what makes her so funny. I came back in January to their house to see the stuffed dog I bought her for Christmas was one of three that had the honor of being on her bed, and later she asked me my last name so she could name it "Jenny Cheng." When we study together, she usually wants to play the teacher and quizzes me on her own homework, or walks into the room swaying her hips with a mocking voice "Hi.. I'm Jenny. Do you have any homework today? Sorry I'm late I just came from taking a test because I'm in COLLEGE!" I'm always indignant: "I definitely don't sound like that ok." We call each other rude and mean and make faces at each other. For the last 15 minutes of tutoring yesterday we watched part of Madagascar 2 and she whined and asked me to stay the night as I got ready to leave, and when I said I couldn't, she said, "Fine! I always knew you hated me Jenny!" in a dramatic voice, hiding a smile on her face.
Steve asked me the other day if I ever considered being some type of journalist, and I confessed my dreams of becoming a writer when I was a kid. Back then, my creativity was much more than what it is now, and I wrote full 10-page stories of 10-pt Times in New Roman font; some were finished, others were about a page long before I decided I didn't know where to go with it afterwards. I have a number of "ideal jobs" that I don't foresee happening-- like performing on broadway, like becoming a renowned columnist for a popular newspaper or magazine, like being some kind of food or film critic. Then again, I can always sing for people who care, write and submit entries for contests, or judge food and movies on my own.
The last two weeks, everyone from high school who had spring break seemed to visit UVA-- it was perfect timing because I had midterm exams in all of my classes except one (which we have weekly quizzes and homework in anyway). After a lot of debate, I decided that I would regret not seeing friends more than receiving poor grades and am now glad I allotted my time the way I did-- it was so worth it to get to hang out with everyone again, even if a few classes did tank-- I guess I used up my drops! It was really sad seeing everyone leave, knowing I either wouldn't see them for a few months, or until the next time they were even in NOVA because everyone seems to have some spectacular plan for the summer.
Several people have told me that they were glad they didn't go to UVA, or Tech, or some other place that they were deliberating and eventually decided against. Isn't that how it's supposed to be? You become accustomed to and grow to love your school-- if you're happy, why would you have regrets about where you are? Going somewhere else would mean never having met people that have changed your life in a matter of months, never having attended classes that have taught you beyond anything you might've learned, and never having had experiences you'll never forget.
Now that decisions are coming out I hope everyone remembers that name and prestige aren't everything, and ultimately it doesn't matter where you got in, but where you decide to go. There will be smart people and not-so-smart everywhere-- hard-working at all schools, and everyone's talented in different areas. People should be proud of themselves and fuck everyone else that judges them poorly for where they got in or end up. It's the next four years of your life, not theirs.
| | |
| Sometimes I know that I feel like posting but can't seem to write, or feel like writing but can't think of a good topic. I think I worry too much about trying to make a worthwhile entry that they become spaced out to about every two months and I wish I had just gotten some thoughts down at the time that I had them. I haven't touched my written diary in what feels like ages and even forgot it in that drawer in the desk at school that I never use with the exception of for placing my toothbrush and paste and for putting my clothes on.
It was a huge relief to finish my last exam on Tuesday morning, but unfortunate that the day was rainy and that I only had a few hours to say bye to everyone before driving home. I wanted one more day to relax with friends without the stress of final exams to do something new and adventurous-- or just watch movies and "jizz in my pants" on our laptops. Somehow, no matter how stupid or mindless the things we do are, I never feel like I'm really wasting time. I usually feel a little ridiculous taking pictures, but taking our "Christmas family photo album" was actually really, really fun. Then, of course, we spent the next hour picking the ones to post on facebook and commenting on them ourselves and looking through how "red-eye fix" made Steve look like a robot and laughing. Nona left on Sunday, earlier than the rest of us, and we're all comfortable enough with each other that any number of us hanging out is fun but it's never the same when we're missing a person. I don't know what I'm going to do when she leaves us next year :( My few female friends are so precious to me, and Nona's the best!
After coming home, I had to go pick up my snowboard from getting waxed/ re-done, where I felt bad because when the guy asked me if it looked better, I simply replied "it's fine", regretting my lack of enthusiasm almost immediately afterwards. The guy's probably thinking: what an unappreciative girl she doesn't know the trouble we've gone through because her snowboard looked like shit before--all scratched, frayed, and unshiny. I attempted to be more conversational later when he asked where I was going and for how long. That night, I washed and dried my clothes and the next day woke up at 2pm to start packing before driving to Matt's house, where Alan picked us up--waited through an hour of Tyson's traffic to pick up beer and cords for speakers from a friend's house and then to Wisp in Maryland.
I love snowboarding/ski trips. After two years with the same group, it seems we've established a tradition and already we talked about going somewhere different next year, somewhere with double blacks so we can have even more fun and bruises. Our townhouse was right on one of the best slopes and though there was noticeably far less snow than last year-- when we went at the end of January-- it was still really nice. Matt and I got this shitty sofa-bed basement in the basement but I didn't care too much because it was so great being there. The second day poured and we were all drenched and freezing--I was especially dumb because I originally took off my long-sleeve shirt and just wore a tanktop and jacket, after thinking it was "hot outside" which was probably from my excitement of going down a black so early in the morning, but after it began hailing I put my shirt back on but by then everything was just wet and pointless. I love the challenge each year of improving and now I can successfully do tighter S's on the blacks, with the advice of Bleda to just "go fast and don't care if you fall". Alex and Bleda also fashioned this super-long "epic race" consisting of something like five slopes and six chairlift rides which was amazing, though I got lost a few times; it was just fun rushing down the slopes and through the lines for us few participants. Luckily there were barely any people all three days we boarded/skiied-- on the rainy day, we were maybe one of two groups on the mountain.
Most of my injuries or soreness are a result of chairlift incidents. Getting hit in the head by the bar was quite unfortunate and supremely embarassing, but in my defense, the chairlift guy didn't stop the lift in time for me to get out of the way. My footplant being on the wrong side of the snowboard combined with just the instability of chairlifts in general caused far more falls than from going down the slopes. Wipeouts are actually ok, minus the hurt, to be able to tell the heroic story later of the number of flips that happened after the crash and how many feet or yards you slid down the mountain because you were going so fast on such a steep slope when you fell. I already want to go back and board some more.
Fuck my inability to take alcohol ever since Halloween. That night was great then horrible, albeit a good experience to learn my tolerance better-- but I didn't think it'd affect me for this long. Shit. It was funny watching drunk friends get naked and run down and up a black diamond in the snow at 3am from losses in beer pong though.
I don't have that many bruises this year-- just a few on both knees and probably one underneath my hair-- but it's kind of hard to tell because my legs are so messed up anyway. I think I have the most scarred body of anyone I know because of my eczema. I've given up trying to pass it off as chicken pox ever since I tried to make that excuse in second grade and my peers all ran away under the impression that I was highly contagious. Nona and Steve make fun of me and David for it, but it really is a shitty condition.
Coming home finally from Wisp was ok. Of course I love seeing my family and eating with them, but Jess was already in Huntsville by the time I got back from the trip, so I decided to spend the night with my parents but sadly that ends at about 9:30pm or so, and for the weeks before this I slept no earlier than about 3-4am, summing up to about 8 in the morning on some nights that really had nothing to do with finals or studying. It was lonely going to bed by myself for once, without Matt beside me or without my real roommate and two unofficial roommates near. Sleeping in my own room was comforting and at the same time foreign. Things will be better when Jess comes home tomorrow night.
I got my hair cut today. I hadn't for awhile because Steve, David, and Jungha all requested that I grow it out long but it seemed to be getting messy and my bangs were in my eyes all the time; however, it turns out two inches is a lot! It'll grow out by the end of the month before I go back to school, hopefully. I am really insecure about my hair for some reason. I'm also really insecure when I wear anything other than comfortable clothing--including skirts and jeans. I feel the best in shorts and long-sleeve shirts.
My parents have been trying all sorts of new things in adjustment to "empty-nester syndrome". My parents started taking ballroom dancing lessons on Saturday mornings, and entered into a new project of painting the house-- the family room and kitchen are already different shades of green with new retiling along the walls in the latter room. My dad started looking into his numerous job offers, choosing as he pleases, and my mom even took up kickboxing for one session with my cousin before declaring that it was too difficult and that she was seeing stars. The way my dad puts it, "This is the adventurous new daddy, that wants to try new things." Tonight he called me downstairs where he laid four brand new cartons of Edy's ice cream, with all new flavors, and two spoons for us to try each one and judge its taste value. Last time Jess and I came home there were six new cartons. Before, we used to buy two at a time, and always one of his favorites--strawberry or butter pecan. Apparently, he doesn't like those as much anymore.
I don't really mind the change, but I'm glad some things are still the same. Meeting with old friends was wonderfully relaxing and satisfying--I had missed them so much, and look forward to seeing more. My mom bought taquitos to welcome me home, which I just ate three of after more ice cream. We're still celebrating on Christmas Day at our house, with Jess and I still sitting at the "kiddy table." I still wear the same choker necklace, same green anklet, same thumb ring.
Coming home feels like what it should-- that I'm where I should be, with my family, meeting with my friends, and being online at night again to catch up with people far away, since I almost never got online at college--but it's something special to think about how going back to UVA in January will also be a form of coming home to a second, more informal "family", that I've missed a lot. Some changes are great.
| | |
| This Thanksgiving we ate at my aunt and uncle's house, and what was amazing was that almost everyone was there with the exception of my grandma, who was at a retreat at her Buddhist temple. There was something missing without her there, but equally noticeable was the difference in having my cousin Curtis there. He lives far out in Maryland and it is rare for him to find the time to make it down to nova for a visit- only really special occasions. He and his wife, Laura, hadn't realized that I was in college, Jessi was graduating this year, and Cheryl, Curtis' sister, already had a new baby. They were both stunned to see how much they had missed out on.
As usual, our dinner consisted of mainly hot pot and some ham my mom made on the side, everyone crowded around two pots to cook raw meat with my grandpa's special barbecue sauce. It's amazing how well the whole family clicks together--screaming in laughter and telling stories from our childhood. It seems like they always bring up the time when my sister dropped me on my head when I was three months old on my cousin Cheryl's watch, who was 10 at the time. Apparently, I got a concussion and turned blue. My parents were on vacation in Asia and everyone always reminisces about how scary it was, how they could have lost me, and how either the fall on my head made me smart or I must have been a complete genius before.
For the first time, though, we heard Curtis' side, who explained how he freaked out, called 911 screaming "Hurry! You have to come now-my cousin is dying! Jenny is DYING" and rode in the ambulance with my grandma and me to the emergency room. I don't remember any of it. He also insists on having been the one to have dropped me "and then I revived her!!" Cheryl, however, was adamant that the true version of events was that she let my sister hold me in the middle of the bed, but Jess leaned backward and threw me over her head because I was too heavy.
Curtis: Well, maybe I didn't drop her that time, but I really remember doing it so it must have been another time!
Chris: Hey, Aunt Emily [my mom] dropped her too that one time, after they came back!
Curtis: Shit, we've all taken our turns dropping Jenny!!
My dad was half-laughing, half-wide-eyed throughout the whole thing, repeating "I never really knew how serious it was" to which Curtis responded, "How the hell do you leave your three-month-old kid with grandma and a bunch of kids like us, anyway?!"
Had I been older, I suspect this would have qualified as maybe a near-death experience or some brutal injury that I would have felt heroic coming out of-- but I can barely even remember our house in Manassas which we lived in til I was five. I remember our neighbor Melissa's house more clearly than my own.
This might be attributed to the fact that I loved trudging over there. She had the cutest dog named Tigger and such a welcoming family--plus she was Jessi's best friend, though two years older than her and thus five years older than me. Still, I considered her my best friend too. This little fact gives insight to what an incredibly sweet and nice person she was/is, to have been willing to play with peers that much younger than she-- a 4-yr-old, 7-yr-old, and a 9-yr-old running around together. She just graduated from UVA this past year from the 5-year education program at the Curry school--she'll be an amazing teacher, for sure. She's so incredible with little kids. I would know.
One time my mom and I got in a huge fight and since I was the biggest backtalker, I really didn't know when to stop until my mom freaking locked me out of the house. For little mishaps, she usually locked us in the bathroom because the bedroom just doesn't cut it--there are too many things with which a child like me could amuse herself but in a place as lonesome and boring with just a toilet and a sink, you really do start to think about what you did wrong so you can brainstorm sweet things to say to get the fuck out.
Anyway, my mom locked me out of the house pretty late at night one time and before she closed the door I shouted "Fine! I'll just walk to Melissa's house!" who lived right across the street and got about halfway there before she reopened the door and angrily forced me back inside.
--
Two finals left, and I really can't wait until the ski/snowboard trip with everyone. Matt, Patrick, and I are cooking spaghetti for the night we're responsible for dinner.. again, like beach week. I'm so excited! - and hopefully nobody will get hurt from being intoxicated while flying down a snowy mountain.
--
It's a great change of pace to take classes I'm actually interested in, and really learning.
Fuck the Air Force Academy. If I want to fly, I'll find a way to fly. You do what you love, and fuck the rest.
-Dwayne, little miss sunshine | | |
| It took me almost no time at all to adjust to college.
The
first morning was a little strange, waking up someplace unfamiliar and
realizing that this would be my "home" until the end of the year--but
otherwise everything is familiar. People are familiar, the campus is
familiar--even classes. I feel like I barely work at all, except for
doing my homework for Spanish and writing a paper here or there, still
cramming nights before a test and not worrying about much
(academically). I didn't work too hard in high school and I do even
less here-- but I suppose that's how it is your first year. It should
be more challenging later, but for now it really doesn't feel like
school; I plan for classes around everything else.
Concerning
the massive amounts of tj kids here-- I felt guilty for not branching
out much within the first week, but I would feel guilty ignoring any of
them too, and I figured we'd all make new friends in due time. True
enough, there are a few who've stayed close and many others who are
easy to talk with but I don't spend the vast majority of my time with.
In high school, I used to hang out with many different groups of
people-- by choice, as my sister pointed out-- though I sometimes
wished I could have the discipline to just stick with one. Here, I feel
like I have a little family-- Nona and I with two guys from downstairs,
David and Steve. I guess I figured out that I can work both ways, but
I'm really happy and content with the way things are-- our little
"family" unit, and having a few close friends around.
After
fall break, we had ethnic food nights-- one day Nona and I provided
Chinese food from home, another was Steve's Greek spaghetti or lasagna,
and David brought lots of snacks haha. Other days we do takeout or grab
something late at the Corner and thus we are all wasting our +13 meal
plans away. We mostly live in their room, since it's on the first floor
and it's brighter and neater--playing blockles, guitar, or watching
videos until six in the morning--on weeknights. It's an unhealthy
habit, and I don't think I've ever spent so much time in my life with
the same few people, nor gotten so close in such a short period of
time. I especially enjoy our communal stockpile of food. Most days Nona
ends up falling asleep on one of their beds and they come up and sleep
on hers in our room upstairs. It's nice just sitting under blankets and
talking til late about everything from our futures to favorite
classical novels.
The rush from the first few weeks of meeting
people and busy-ness has somewhat died down, but I don't feel like I
have tons of extra time, as a lot of college people seemed to claim.
There's always a distraction, and honestly it's more like I don't have
enough hours in the day to do what I want. Playing football and
basketball for fun is the best--especially in the rain at night on the
basketball courts. I have a scar to show from it, though it's pretty
bad since I reopened it around six times over the few weeks after the
first wound. Dan cleaned it up for me at least three of the six,
because it usually got messed up during football practice--he's really
good to me and I enjoy our dinners, grocery/Wal-Mart trips, and movies
and videogames at his house.
Matt came up on Tuesday from
Tech, skipping all his classes except for one for our two-year
anniversary. He was waiting for me with flowers in my favorite outfit
of his in my room when I got back from my two o'clock class. I don't
have much to say other than how surprised and happy I was.
There's
been a lot of talk lately about transferring in and out of UVA. I think
I was raised with a different mindset than most "typical Asians"
because my father insisted on having no say whatsoever in what school I
chose. My mom had an opinion, but respected my choice to go to UVA over
others because to them, it was most important for me to be comfortable
and happy. Talking to others, their parents would want them to
hands-down choose the best school academically--that is, the one with
the most prestige. I'm really glad my parents didn't force me into
anything.
I also grew up only taking pictures solely at special
events--birthdays, weddings, holidays, etc, but here it seems like
people take pictures for daily life in the dorm or just around--they
could document their lives with the number of pictures on their
computers or in facebook. I've never been used to that, and can't
understand how they remember to whip out their cameras when just
hanging out with friends. To me it's a hassle to carry around, though I
did make an effort to take more pictures this summer. My sister just
got me a new digital camera and I hope to put it to good use, but
unfortunately its future looks bleak and limited.
--
I'm
so easy to understand and get. Meeting new people, you wonder what
they're really like and how they think or how they'll react to
situations, but I seem to be particularly predictable. It's easy to
discover how to make me laugh, I always choose straightforward over
subtle, and however I feel at the moment is written all over my face
and obvious through my voice. I thrive on serious, personal
conversations thoroughly, even if it means putting yourself out there.
I have this thing where I don't want people to ever feel like
they don't have anyone to talk to. Nobody should ever have to feel that
way.
I've decided to get more involved with my sister's club,
Students Helping Honduras. She persuaded me into attending one of their
info session meetings, and watching the videos of the people and
children there wrenches your heart. I originally didn't want in because
I felt like this was her thing-- I didn't want to interfere or make it
out to seem like I was stealing this from her, but she's too good of a
person to want anything other than more volunteers to help the friends
she made there. They need all the help they can get.
We, who have so much, must do more to help those in need. And most of all, we must live simply, so that others may simply live. -Ed Begley, Jr. | | |
|
