<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201</id><updated>2011-12-30T16:28:44.693-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Between The Ridges</title><subtitle type='html'>The closest concept to a snapshot of every moment of my life.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>69</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-8016845329657116159</id><published>2010-01-19T00:15:00.003-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-19T00:15:59.946-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gosh</title><content type='html'>I didn't realize how my posts on this blog had way more substance than most of my blogs on Tumblr. That's sad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-8016845329657116159?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/8016845329657116159/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=8016845329657116159' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8016845329657116159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8016845329657116159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2010/01/gosh.html' title='Gosh'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-8368318375979865498</id><published>2009-05-07T20:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T20:59:28.552-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Speed Workout #1</title><content type='html'>1600m: 00:07:21&lt;br /&gt;average 400m: 00:01:50&lt;br /&gt;average 800m: 00:04:00&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thinking about trying to run 13.1 miles in 1:45:00 has officially become intimidating. I just wanted to document this to see how far I will be from this in 2.5 months for the half marathon. Man, I'm excited.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-8368318375979865498?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/8368318375979865498/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=8368318375979865498' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8368318375979865498'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8368318375979865498'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2009/05/speed-workout-1.html' title='Speed Workout #1'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-1796791032605277565</id><published>2009-03-30T17:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T09:49:57.202-07:00</updated><title type='text'>WOW, really?</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I really wonder why I stay friends with certain people. Why do I tolerate such incompetence and ridiculoid? Some people are just meant to be kept at a distance because they bring too much unnecessary drama. Step the fuck off, that's all I gotta say.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-1796791032605277565?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/1796791032605277565/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=1796791032605277565' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/1796791032605277565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/1796791032605277565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2009/03/wow-really.html' title='WOW, really?'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-4776327031509864283</id><published>2009-03-13T00:43:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T00:43:41.278-07:00</updated><title type='text'>YMMSAYDEKI</title><content type='html'>Yup.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-4776327031509864283?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/4776327031509864283/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=4776327031509864283' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4776327031509864283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4776327031509864283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2009/03/ymmsaydeki.html' title='YMMSAYDEKI'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-4176949127697545361</id><published>2009-03-11T17:30:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-11T17:31:43.193-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't know</title><content type='html'>You probably won't read this, but I can't deny the possibility. Maybe you just say it without knowing. Maybe you do know. But I see it. And I can't help but wish.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-4176949127697545361?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/4176949127697545361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=4176949127697545361' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4176949127697545361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4176949127697545361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-dont-know.html' title='I don&apos;t know'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-5101366268138667333</id><published>2009-03-02T18:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-02T18:18:03.269-08:00</updated><title type='text'>MAMMOTH 2009</title><content type='html'>There are moments when one can look back at his or her life and utter the disgustingly popular acronym FML. But the important ones are those when one can be reminded how lucky he or she is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-5101366268138667333?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/5101366268138667333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=5101366268138667333' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5101366268138667333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5101366268138667333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2009/03/mammoth-2009.html' title='MAMMOTH 2009'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-4221051830752779231</id><published>2009-02-24T21:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-25T12:43:10.960-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Crappy Days</title><content type='html'>It all started on a wonderful Sunday morning and I couldn't contain my excitement to finally snowboard after a 3-week hiatus. It was Larsen, Eli, Kathy, and I and we were ready to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, I should give a back story to my car. Back in November, my car started to act up. Sometimes, I wouldn't be able to start up my car, but for some odd reason if I waited long enough it would start up again. I brought it to Firestone to get it checked out, and they said it was the starter and they needed to replace it. Lo and behold, I go to Petco one day and I get stuck in the parking lot because my car didn't want to start. I had a friend pick me up and eventually I went back to my car and it started. I brought it back to Firestone for some fixing, and they didn't find anything wrong. 3 days later, I am where this story takes place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;First stop: The Chevron Gas Station. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Knowing that sometimes my car won't start if I try to start it too many times in a small time period, I decided to stop for gas in Union City so that it would limit my stops in Tahoe. I pulled up to a pump, turned off my car, and realized that a sign was posted that I needed to pay inside. I go inside, and my card doesn't work for some reason and the worker tells me to move my car to another pump. Scared that starting the car and turning it off again would endanger my chances of going to Tahoe, I still gave it a chance. For some reason, my card wouldn't work here again. I decided to just ditch it and get gas in Tahoe. I tried to start my car and it initially sounded like it wasn't going to start, but it did and I was happy. We were on our way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Season Pass&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Randomly, as we were around the halfway point to Tahoe, I decide to double check with Larsen to see if he had his season pass. I said it in a joking way because I figured he wouldn't forget it, but he yells at the top of his lungs, "OH SHIT!" Still, I thought he was lying and pulling out his acting skills. But I was wrong and he really did forget it. What sucks about season passes is that if they are lost or stolen, they don't replace them. For that reason, we figured that he couldn't ask for a temporary pass or something of that sort. But luckily, Kathy brought two free passes and she offered one to Larsen; we were safe to proceed to Tahoe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Alive on Arrival&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I park and we all start to get ready for the slopes. I look into the trunk and realize that I forgot my snow pants. Double You. Tee. Eff. I had no faith that Sierra would rent out pants, but I decided to give it a shot and ask the parking folks if they do. They said they do and all my problems were solved. And we asked them about Larsen's season pass situation, and they said he could go to the ticket booth and claim temporary passes! Our problems were solved and it looked like this day wasn't going to be too bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Search for Snow Pants and Glove&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left the crew to get my pants as they got ready. They gave me pants and I went to go try them out in the restroom, which was a way's away. I get there and realize that they were way over sized. I go back and they tell me that's the only size they have. Fuck. So I went in search of something to help me hold them up and luckily I came across a shoelace. I start to get all geared up and realize I lost one of my gloves. I went and searched everywhere, all to no avail. The guy who said he could lend me some lost and found gloves, but he lied and realized he didn't have any. Therefore, I had to go back to the car and grab some extra gloves. Thank goodness I had them. Finally, I had everything to get us started for the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Snowboard Brakes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We took the first lift up and as we went down, we could not get any speed at all. I tried to go off a ramp, but I was going so slow that I couldn't get enough speed to clear it. We found out that it was raining a lot that morning, meaning the snow was super slushy, meaning we could not get any speed that would make snowboarding enjoyable. At that point, I wanted to snowboard on ice instead of this crap. I was starting to regret this trip up, but I figured it could possibly get better. Eli and I went to another side of the mountain that was at a higher elevation. Part of those runs were better, but for the most part they still sucked. Eventually as the day passed, the air got colder and it froze over some of the slush, finally bringing some enjoyment to the slopes. Life just got better, momentarily at least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Up, up, and...down&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The slush made some of the flat parts that I would encounter on the runs almost impossible to get by without unstrapping. For that reason, I decided to just ditch the runs all together and stay the rest of the day in the terrain park. The last time I went, I was killing it at the jumps so I had a lot of confidence. But for some reason, I fucked up every time. I had 3 horrible jumps, one where I landed straight on my back, one where I landed on neck, and another where my board dug into the snow and tossed me around. It was a crappy day in the terrain park and I just wanted to leave at that point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Back home, 76&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the time we decided to leave, it was still snowing and we were worried that we would have to put on some chains. Luckily, the snow wasn't piling on the street and it melted almost immediately, voiding the need to put on chains. However, I realized I needed to put some gas. I was freakin' out because I was scared my car wouldn't start after I put some gas. What do you know, it didn't want to start. After about 10 forceful tries and some weird noises from my engine, I got my car to start. Coming out of the 76 station, I actually stalled right after I got my car started. FUCK! Okay, but fortunately I was able to get it started again. Oh crap, my engine light is now on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Back on the Road&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Traffic. Do you know what that means in a stick car? Higher probability of stalling. I was so scared to stall because I thought it would be our doom. Combined with the coffee, the pressure and stress was getting to my head. But luckily, I didn't stall and we were finally at the bottom of the mountain. Onto the freeway, we were. What the hell, my car starts jerking as I accelerate and it scares the shit out of us. The others felt I needed to pull over and get it looked at. Unfortunately, the Midas was closed and the Toyota dealership didn't have any mechanics. Toyota sent us to another place, but before I could get back onto the freeway, my car completely stalls on its own. Yup, we were screwed. My car no longer wanted to start. We were in Placerville, which is 140 miles away. Great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Look, CHP off to the res...cue...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The CHP arrives and said that we were blocking part of the lane. I would say we were barely blocking anything, but he was angry at us that we didn't fortunately stall in a convenient way off to the side. Oh, okay sorry my wheels locked right when it stalled, asshole. Then he tells us to move it (and this is uphill) without helping us. He starts yelling at us, especially at Kathy for some reason. He is a fuckin' jerk. Once we were able to move it successfully, he peaces out without saying anything. Thanks for the all the help, Officer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The REAL Rescue&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We called AAA to get us a tow truck to bring us back to Union City. I told them that I had 3 other passengers and I asked if the truck could take all of us. They said that most trucks only carry 2-3 other passengers. This meant that some of us would be left behind and that would be fucked up. We started freakin' out because we didn't know who to call to pick us up. We decided to wait until the the tow truck came to make a decision. Luckily, he came with a quad cab and he was able to fit all of us! This guy was much nicer and I was just relieved after that fuckin' asshole of a CHP.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Scary Movie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know those scary movies where some nice old guy comes to help you, and he turns out to be some serial killer? And he takes you to the woods to chop you up? Yeah, that's who this tow truck driver seemed like. He had the look and everything. But the sketchy part was when he exited at some random exit to "get gas". He went into these woods with no stop lights, signs, or lights and at the moment I really felt like I was going to die. It felt like we were 5 miles off of the freeway, and it didn't make sense at all to me. But I guess he had to go to some "special" gas station that gave commercial diesel gas for his truck. Weird. For the rest of the trip, he seemed like a nice guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;780&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turns out my AAA card only covers 5 miles of towing. That meant I would have to pay for 130 miles of towing. How much was the rate, you ask? 6 dollars per mile, equating to 780 dollars for towing! Ridiculous! The policy with AAA is that the card member must be with the tow truck in order to use the free miles. I knew my mom had 100 miles free with her membership, but she wasn't with me. Luckily, this dude was cool with it and I was able to get 100 miles free. 264 dollars was a far better number in my head than 780.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Fuck Firestone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By 9pm, my car was back in Union City. The next morning, I decided I didn't want to go to work from all the of the Sunday trauma. Now, I had to get my car towed to the Nissan dealership. I wanted to use my mom's card again but then I would have go through this huge authorization process again, so I decided to give it a try the way I did it the night before. I used my own card number and when the tow truck driver came, I asked him if I could use my mom's card since it was 10 miles away and I only had 5 miles free, but he said that AAA wouldn't allow it. Why does everyone have to follow the law so precisely. It's about principles, people! He told me it was 12 dollars a mile so I was stuck having to pay 60 bucks just to get it to Nissan. But he spent 15 minutes trying to convince me to bring it to the shop that he came from because they would be cheaper and Nissan would overcharge. But I told him I had a huge feeling that this was a Nissan-specific problem and I also had two recalls on the car I needed to get fixed anyway. Finally, he gave up and brought me to the Nissan dealership. Another 60 bucks...bringing my towing total to 324. Bah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Serviced&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I talked to the service consultant at the dealership, he told me that possibly the recalls were a reason why my car was stalling and not starting. If that was the case, I wouldn't have to pay for the diagnostic or the repairs! I was praying to my Atheist god that this was the case. By the end of the day, the guy called me back and said I was in luck! I didn't have to pay a single dime! He would have it done by the next day. I told him I got out of work at 5pm so I asked him if I could pick it up after. He said they closed at 6pm so that would be fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Out of Business?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, the guy leaves a message on my work phone telling me I had to pick up my car earlier than expected. He said if I couldn't pick it up, I'd have to call back and figure it out. I called back and I asked if I could come pick it up at 530pm instead, and the girl told me that I had to be there before 5pm or else I wouldn't be able to get my car today. And she told me there "might" be someone there the next day at 10am for me to pick it up. MIGHT?! She proceeded to tell me that the reason why I had to pick it up early was because they had gone out of business. WHAT THE FUCK?! Are you forreals?! I was frantically looking for my coworker because he was my ride to work. It was getting to 430pm and I couldn't find him anywhere. Luckily, I ran into someone who knew where he was and it turned out that I had to interrupt a meeting he was it, but I felt there was a sense of urgency with my situation, haha. When I got to the dealership, I was talking to the girl who gave me my papers, and she said no one knew about this and they barely found out that day. Man, that's fucked up. I was lucky that they were able to finish the maintenance on my car, but another guy who brought his Titan into the shop had to get his car towed out of the dealership because they weren't able to finish on his car. That's even more fucked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of this Tuesday, I finally had my car back and it sounds much better! What a tumultuous beginning of the week, though. I'm just hoping I don't have deja vu down in Mammoth this weekend...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The worst is over (I hope), so now it's time to go balls out for the rest of the week!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-4221051830752779231?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/4221051830752779231/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=4221051830752779231' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4221051830752779231'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4221051830752779231'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2009/02/my-crappy-days.html' title='My Crappy Days'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-8219222252353969819</id><published>2009-02-17T11:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-17T11:37:40.734-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Struggle</title><content type='html'>Are we constantly struggling? Or do we reinvent struggles in order to have a reason to fight?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As someone who had been ridiculously surrounded by progressive thought, I saw a different perspective on race relations, education, oppressed communities, and the list goes on. Growing up, I never had interest in politics, but now I am glad to actually see myself care. And while I still believe that these struggles exist, being outside of that bubble I trapped myself in as an undergrad has given me another perspective.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it is easy to translate a global issue into each related aspect of everyday life. Through both the subtleties and blatancies of human interaction, that struggle is there. But I couldn't help but feel intrigued when I heard about Ann Coulter's book "Guilty: Liberal Victims and their Assault on America". I think it is a step to even consider the opinion of a conservative political commentator, and a controversial one at that. But I believe many of us can benefit from hearing the contrary opinion, including myself. When I start reading again, perhaps I'll begin with this book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, this isn't a blog of personal conclusions (well, my blogs never really are), but more of the start of my exploration on this concept of struggle. I think I am in dire need of a mentally stimulating coffee-shop conversation.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-8219222252353969819?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/8219222252353969819/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=8219222252353969819' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8219222252353969819'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8219222252353969819'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2009/02/struggle.html' title='Struggle'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-4990311441713922768</id><published>2009-02-13T11:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T11:36:31.460-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Reminder to Live</title><content type='html'>You say life. I say life. See the difference?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-4990311441713922768?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/4990311441713922768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=4990311441713922768' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4990311441713922768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4990311441713922768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2009/02/reminder-to-live.html' title='Reminder to Live'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-7093453724285674765</id><published>2009-02-11T15:31:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T15:31:38.588-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Wallflower</title><content type='html'>No one expects much out of the wallflower. Reserved, socially awkward, and afraid of confrontation, he stands outside of the wall of conformity in observation of all before him. But as he gazes, his imagination flies above the clouds, inspired by detail and a fighter from within.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-7093453724285674765?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/7093453724285674765/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=7093453724285674765' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/7093453724285674765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/7093453724285674765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2009/02/wallflower.html' title='Wallflower'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-7574350050884118034</id><published>2009-02-11T11:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T11:15:25.552-08:00</updated><title type='text'>____________</title><content type='html'>_______ is just another word for elitist. Don't ask for open-mindedness when you go ahead and become the narrow-minded people you preach against. How unfortunate that you can be so blind to become the devil you have supposedly been fighting against all along. Don't think you are better than anyone else because you're just another one of them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-7574350050884118034?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/7574350050884118034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=7574350050884118034' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/7574350050884118034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/7574350050884118034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2009/02/blog-post.html' title='____________'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-8058693220872853030</id><published>2009-01-25T14:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-25T14:38:05.451-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dis-</title><content type='html'>There is one part of me that I’ve always noticed, and that is how easily disappointed I can become. In myself. In people. In life. There is this one quote that I always hear but I never believe: “Low expectations, high hopes.” What does that mean? To me, that is nothing but a mere disguise of the truth. Why lower expectations just to make sure you remain happy after the fact? Happiness equals satisfaction equals stationary equals nowhere in life. I have high expectations for a reason. If I fail to meet them, I give it another go. If I succeed, I change my expectations. It’s an endless cycle I call ambition. But the hard part is dealing with disappointment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I give the impression that I can't handle the truth, which in a sense is true. No one wants to hear what they don't want to believe is true. But I need to hear the truth, though I don't always welcome it.  Well, most of the time I do. But even if hearing the truth can be painful, I'd rather not hear from someone other than the person who should have told me in the first place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lie to me. Interesting show. But another tactic is getting to know the person. I don't think this just applies to me, but it seems that those close to me are more transparent now that I know them. Funny how I never call people out when they throw me a bold-faced lie. I guess it's receiving the truth in another way. Then comes the silent disappointment. And I move on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-8058693220872853030?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/8058693220872853030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=8058693220872853030' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8058693220872853030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8058693220872853030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2009/01/dis.html' title='Dis-'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-7386374670589810949</id><published>2009-01-10T18:38:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T02:24:14.191-08:00</updated><title type='text'>1000 Journals Project</title><content type='html'>After going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, I had a dire urge to go to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. And that's where I saw the 1000 Journals Project. This artist, who refers to himself as 'Someguy', who is incredibly fascinated with graffiti art, diaries, and such that he wanted to start this project. What he did was he made 1000 empty journals and distributed them all over the world in bars, on park benches, to friends, for people to write and contribute their own art into those journals. He made a website to keep track of these journals and once they were completed they were sent back to him. Some of the journals were displayed at MOMA and some of the things I read or saw were just mindblowing. These are words and works of art contributed by "normal" people and it was beyond beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1000journals.com/"&gt;http://1000journals.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GsU0n8MPwl0/SWlfF7BWV9I/AAAAAAAABZo/rs5T0gsNba0/s1600-h/n3305368_41323307_2625.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GsU0n8MPwl0/SWlfF7BWV9I/AAAAAAAABZo/rs5T0gsNba0/s320/n3305368_41323307_2625.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289863792670693330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GsU0n8MPwl0/SWlfLQZlyvI/AAAAAAAABZw/X3kfTj6D0u4/s1600-h/n3305368_41324418_7662.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GsU0n8MPwl0/SWlfLQZlyvI/AAAAAAAABZw/X3kfTj6D0u4/s320/n3305368_41324418_7662.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289863884308859634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've decided. I am going to start this with my friends and family. I hope this isn't considering plagarism of the concept, haha. I want to see what inspiring montage of art and words can be conjured up from the people I hold dear to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-7386374670589810949?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/7386374670589810949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=7386374670589810949' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/7386374670589810949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/7386374670589810949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2009/01/1000-journals-project.html' title='1000 Journals Project'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GsU0n8MPwl0/SWlfF7BWV9I/AAAAAAAABZo/rs5T0gsNba0/s72-c/n3305368_41323307_2625.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-3458970841456190164</id><published>2008-12-03T20:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-03T20:49:15.501-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Confidence</title><content type='html'>I think I have a confidence problem. I have a hard time talking to older people. This supports my theory of why I am awkward with my work coworkers, with my parents, with KP alumni, aunts and uncles, and pretty much anyone of significance who is older than me. But when it comes to interacting with younger folks, I am just in my comfort zone and I feel like myself. What the hell is wrong with me. As if age ever meant anything.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-3458970841456190164?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/3458970841456190164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=3458970841456190164' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3458970841456190164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3458970841456190164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/12/confidence.html' title='Confidence'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-2295116042598172604</id><published>2008-12-02T20:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T20:18:15.578-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Broken In</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;Consistency is tiring. Freshness and novelty seem to be the tricksters. At first, it seems like it could not be easier. And then time creeps in and starts chipping away day after day until it seems neverending. That’s where I’m getting. That turn around the corner where freshness says, “Adios amigo!”&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;I wrote a note on my &lt;a href="http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/10/to-my-surprise-im-actually-happy.html"&gt;Blogspot&lt;/a&gt; about how living in the Bay was easier than I expected. Perhaps I spoke too soon. It is now getting increasingly difficult to wake up in the morning, to have the motivation to cook everyday, to bear through 9-hour work days, and clean all the time. It only reminds me of and reaffirms my belief that change in people is almost never realized.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;I see it in myself. There are things that I know I do not like. Ways I interact or react. Way I think and rationalize. Bad habits that prevail. But no matter how much I hate that about myself, I have this belief that I can suppress but not change. Everything I hate about myself, everything I’ve tried changing for the past 8 years is still there underneath my skin. But consistency is tiring. I’m finding it harder to keep the strength to be consistent. The freshness, the novelty is gone. But the end is still a long time coming. Let me hope, at least.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-2295116042598172604?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/2295116042598172604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=2295116042598172604' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/2295116042598172604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/2295116042598172604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/12/im-broken-in.html' title='I&apos;m Broken In'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-2351682660817153268</id><published>2008-12-02T12:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T12:02:52.697-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tumblr.com</title><content type='html'>In case you ever wonder, I am on &lt;a href="http://brentopher.tumblr.com"&gt;brentopher.tumblr.com&lt;/a&gt; as well, as of last night. I think I'll be doing most of my heavy blogging here, but I like Tumblr because it let's me blog the smaller details of day-to-day life with ease (through phone, email, AIM) and it blogs individual stuff like quotes, videos, audio, and conversations. I see it as a complementary blog to this, so I'll still be here =D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-2351682660817153268?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/2351682660817153268/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=2351682660817153268' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/2351682660817153268'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/2351682660817153268'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/12/tumblrcom.html' title='Tumblr.com'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-5103594149868228624</id><published>2008-12-01T22:49:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-01T23:25:48.447-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Seriously</title><content type='html'>There is one thing in particular that I learned in my 5 months out of college: People take themselves too seriously, myself included. You know how people exaggerate their stories to make them sound better? They add a few hours to how long they did something, they say more people were there than in reality, they make you believe they are closer to their destination than they really are. I feel the same applies to the image that we put forth of ourselves as well. We want to believe that we are more than what we really are. We exaggerate our problems and our daily responsibilities to make it look like we struggle more than we do. We lengthen our resumes to make us look more life-experienced than we really are. We twist our stories so that it seems like we have more substance to talk about than is actually there. We make ourselves seem more important than is perceived. But then that's a bold statement of pessimism. Maybe this does not apply to everyone. Maybe everything is relative because who is to judge what is an exaggeration. But I want to start doing this: telling and showing how it is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-5103594149868228624?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/5103594149868228624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=5103594149868228624' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5103594149868228624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5103594149868228624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/12/seriously.html' title='Seriously'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-7838480542958516556</id><published>2008-11-19T19:31:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-23T22:34:25.859-08:00</updated><title type='text'>KP Families</title><content type='html'>DISCLAIMER: I know this might be controversial and I am dreading the aftermath, but I feel that I need to put this out. Please understand that I only have good intentions and I am not out to offend or attack anyone. Also, this is by no means a way to overstep the current authority but a mere expression of my feelings in regards to the title issue. I hope to only to inspire dialogue and move this community forward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-----------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many of my adings in KP have indirectly and directly taken flack for their participation in this competitive and exclusive concept called families. But if anyone should take flack for that in my family, that is me and that is why I am writing this. And while I am no longer in position of influence (i.e. board), I feel it is in my power to offer my perspective being the “co-founder” of one of the largest families in KP today and discuss where I want to see my family to go from here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, where do I stand? I will forever stand against exclusivity. Period. One of my biggest strifes with KP is the idea of cool versus uncool, extroverted versus introverted, in versus out. For example, why does it matter which ading you get in the KP STAR program? How dare someone not reach out to their ading on the grounds that they don’t seem cool enough or they don’t seem to be the perfect match. No one should have the authority to judge who should be in or out of KP.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you might say, well you created a family which is inherently exclusive. Let me give you some background then. When I came into KP, there was one undeniably visible family and I hated it because it made me feel uncool. Funny, the person who has one of the biggest families used to hate families when he came in. Anyway, when I got my first adings. It was me, Carlo, Gian Carlo, Elgene, and Aubrey. We didn’t have a name but Carlo and I made it an effort to make sure we hung out with them and made them feel comfortable in KP. Next thing you know, we all get a new group of adings and it felt like a lot: 11. And being on board it was hard to hang out with all of them, so we regularly had family hangouts so that I could keep in touch with them as well as a way for the new kuyas and ates to maintain their bonds. Next thing I know, there are 38. What originally was a method of convenient outreaching to all the new people became what is now being considered an exclusive group of people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess you can say it was not my intention to construct exclusivity but rather community. But what’s ironic is that this concept of families does exactly both: exclusivity and community. And as aforementioned, I will not stand for exclusivity. Therefore, I do not support the continued sense of families as they have been conditioned to be today. While I believe that families help build community, there is a multitude of ways of doing so and it will only require creativity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I have argued above, others will reiterate the same argument that families have fostered many more relationships outside of the single kuya-ading or ate-ading pair. But we can argue that there are many people who never even got the chance to form a single relationship for their feeling of being an outsider. I’ll admit that I outreached more extensively to my adings because they had the title. But if we continue to have this mentality that members of KP need a title for kuyas and ates to outreach to them, then our outreach to these adings are more selfish than anything as it addresses who we choose to befriend rather than the bigger picture of fostering a community that is welcoming and inclusive to all individuals, regardless of background or identity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, I do believe that it is natural that adings will call whoever they want kuya and ate, as vice versa. Moreover, I feel it is natural for people to honor lineage (the concept of grandkuya, grandate, and grandading and so forth). For that reason, I see that it would be impossible to purge the concept of families. What we can control, however, is the visibility of families, the coordination of exclusive family events, family gift giving, family pictures at events, among other things. And this is what I have proposed to my own family, as this was the pertinent issue at the dinner table of the last family outing. We all have come to the agreement that we do not favor exclusivity and that we must be wary of how our actions affect others in the community.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t believe disbanding of families is the solution, at least not right now. What I do believe in is education and understanding. We must remember where everything started, and that is with purpose. We must constantly question whether we are fulfilling the purpose of the programs and communities we are serving and adjust accordingly when we run off course. And this starts with those who have been here, the kuyas and ates. Constructive dialogue will only move us forward. I have done what I believe is the best direction for my family, and I hope other kuyas and ates can follow their beliefs and do what they see is aligned with the purpose of KP STAR and KP as a whole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lastly, I urge people to stop pointing fingers at people but rather at issues. It hurts me to see that a select few people in my family are suffering the persecution of an issue that was not in their full control. On top of that, I do not believe anyone else in other families should suffer the same persecution. There is no one person who is solely responsible for the family issue; rather it is the reinforcement of ideals over the last 5 years on behalf of a multitude of people. I acknowledge that this is, and will always be, a personal issue but I hope that we can look at where the issues can be addressed and move forward together.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-7838480542958516556?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/7838480542958516556/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=7838480542958516556' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/7838480542958516556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/7838480542958516556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/11/kp-families.html' title='KP Families'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-5043479627963727548</id><published>2008-11-19T13:46:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T13:46:34.287-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Aftermath</title><content type='html'>I hate my expectations. Towering like a skyscraper but apocalyptic in undersized disasters. Maybe that’s why I’ve learned to detach myself, making it easier to deal with disappointment. Maybe that’s why I’ve learned to depend on myself, feeling like only I can get the job done with my expectations. But sometimes I can’t do either. And then I explode.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-5043479627963727548?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/5043479627963727548/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=5043479627963727548' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5043479627963727548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5043479627963727548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/11/aftermath.html' title='Aftermath'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-3656012178635560734</id><published>2008-11-18T17:21:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T17:21:48.661-08:00</updated><title type='text'>HAPPY BIRTHDAY ADING MIKO</title><content type='html'>She asked me to do it =D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-3656012178635560734?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/3656012178635560734/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=3656012178635560734' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3656012178635560734'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3656012178635560734'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/11/happy-birthday-ading-miko.html' title='HAPPY BIRTHDAY ADING MIKO'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-7310003625885370791</id><published>2008-11-18T14:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T09:27:05.862-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Wishlist</title><content type='html'>I just wanted to start this off already since there are so many things I want even though I don't need it:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Baller list:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blackberry Storm&lt;br /&gt;Northstar and Sierra season pass&lt;br /&gt;Snowboard jacket and pants&lt;br /&gt;TV surround sound system&lt;br /&gt;Car sound system&lt;br /&gt;Replace car fender&lt;br /&gt;Replace car bumper&lt;br /&gt;Car paint job&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Grounded list:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dress socks&lt;br /&gt;Dress shirts&lt;br /&gt;Sweater vests&lt;br /&gt;Ties&lt;br /&gt;Scarves&lt;br /&gt;Winter headgear&lt;br /&gt;Mittens&lt;br /&gt;Wine Rack&lt;br /&gt;Coffee table&lt;br /&gt;Spice rack&lt;br /&gt;Bed sheets and duvet (queen-sized)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll keep updating this as things start coming to my head.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-7310003625885370791?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/7310003625885370791/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=7310003625885370791' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/7310003625885370791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/7310003625885370791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/11/my-wishlist.html' title='My Wishlist'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-152814204988699769</id><published>2008-11-17T12:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-17T16:01:21.104-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's my blog and I'll be irrational if I want to</title><content type='html'>I haven’t been this angry in a while. And part of me knows why I am mad. Another part says I’m being irrational. But I don’t care, I want to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don’t affirm or agree with me just to make me happy.&lt;br /&gt;Don’t think that alcohol is reason to disrespect me.&lt;br /&gt;Don’t act like you care. Your lack of initiative is contradictory.&lt;br /&gt;Don’t give me shit for thinking for myself and not doing what everyone else wants me to do.&lt;br /&gt;Don’t expect me to be the same just because you’re stuck in the past.&lt;br /&gt;Don’t try to talk shit behind my back until you realize I’m actually not there. And don’t make it worse by not owning up to it.&lt;br /&gt;Don’t assume I am naïve to see who you really are. Your gestures are as subtle as an atomic bomb.&lt;br /&gt;Don’t believe that one or two favors will compensate for being, for lack of a better word, an asshole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the way, this is not about just one person, which is the reason I’m glad I’m back in the bay, kind of.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-152814204988699769?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/152814204988699769/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=152814204988699769' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/152814204988699769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/152814204988699769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/11/its-my-blog-and-ill-be-irrational-if-i.html' title='It&apos;s my blog and I&apos;ll be irrational if I want to'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-8902142530916080984</id><published>2008-11-13T10:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T12:01:52.370-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I’ll Be Alright Without You</title><content type='html'>How fitting that this song, which started to play as I started to blog, so uncannily relates to what I want to write about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, it all started with a simple pop up box at work. Oh, the ways technology seems to be dominating our lives. One of my dearest friends began with what seemed more like an avalanche of reminiscence in retrospect than a simple hello. Or perhaps an avalanche of tears? The mess that I call my brain triggered the release of unspeakable memories that I hardly held in such regard until now. It was beautiful. To me. It was as if I was in a storm of dramatic proportions and I failed to see the consequential beauty that ensued from the aftermath that grounded us and challenged us to live anew, until now. Yup, that’s it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With the aforementioned coupled with photo albums and an unexpected phone conversation, I could not help but feel twistedly confused. One side of me was proud. Proud to see the new direction, the enthusiasm, and unmatched understanding that the new leaders possess. Change has come and it’s not stopping here. But change holds the implication that there was something wrong, inevitably forcing my other side to feel, to be brutal, that I failed. Failure. Memories, as if catalogued, streamlined in reverse to when it started as I recounted every moment that attributed to that concept I refuse to accept in myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s that understanding that one has, but circumstances cannot help but have one feel otherwise. But regardless of how I feel, it’s not about me and it never was. And for that reason, I am more proud than anything that the future is bright. And it validates me, and I hope them as well, that I can still be there for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No other words can sum this up better than ‘I miss it’. That first person knows it best. I await my first return in 2 months.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-8902142530916080984?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/8902142530916080984/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=8902142530916080984' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8902142530916080984'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8902142530916080984'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/11/ill-be-alright-without-you.html' title='I’ll Be Alright Without You'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-1805866604440174045</id><published>2008-11-11T09:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T09:48:13.997-08:00</updated><title type='text'>MAGKASAMA!</title><content type='html'>I am both excited and terrified for it. And if you are intuitive, you would know why ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-1805866604440174045?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/1805866604440174045/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=1805866604440174045' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/1805866604440174045'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/1805866604440174045'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/11/magkasama.html' title='MAGKASAMA!'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-8574356643145481774</id><published>2008-11-09T13:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T13:40:21.471-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Approved =D</title><content type='html'>It feels like it has been forever, but finally I got approved by BofA for a home loan. We had to put 20% down because of the current state of the market to get approved, but with a low interest rate, low principal, and all the loan fees paid for by my company, I'm hoping this is going to be an amazing investment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that's all. I'm excited =D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-8574356643145481774?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/8574356643145481774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=8574356643145481774' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8574356643145481774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8574356643145481774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/11/approved-d.html' title='Approved =D'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-5688798966984490712</id><published>2008-11-09T03:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T15:25:33.419-08:00</updated><title type='text'>No Better Than This</title><content type='html'>As I rest here immersed in what remotely resembles clouds in a hotel room, I cannot help but notice that while my head is propped up by a squeaky faux-leather headboard my mind is in a timeless space of lonely and momentary bliss. Nothing but the pure echoes of guitar strings and keyboard tapping vibrantly grace my damned deaf ears. "Don't go." But I can't. And for a moment. I'm gone. "You are mine." And words could not be more untrue, realizing my self-understood romantic loneliness. "I'll be okay." Words could not be more true, knowing that up to this complacent, though forgettable, moment that I have driven both with a premedidated aimlessness and directive purpose of which "I'm so proud." While I compose this haphazard blog entry, I've come to terms that I strive for perfection but thrive off of imperfection. Like the song.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-5688798966984490712?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/5688798966984490712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=5688798966984490712' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5688798966984490712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5688798966984490712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/11/no-better-than-this.html' title='No Better Than This'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-9158713470861735262</id><published>2008-11-06T21:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-06T21:11:17.379-08:00</updated><title type='text'>More than fire, Plasma</title><content type='html'>I've been itching to completely run my mouth about my disappointment in California to pass a ban on gay marriage. But honestly, it isn't worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I've come to realize is that it's going to happen no matter what conservatives attempt to do. The reason being that the youth understands that equality should always trump religious or personal values. The people who don't understand are those who are incapable of accepting homosexuals as equal beings and who feel justified in saying that a religious doctrine has the authority to treat people differently. And just being honest, these people are slowly going to leave this world as the youth become the new leaders of this nation. The difference between Prop 22 in 2000 and Prop 8 in 2008 show that trend. In 8 years, the people in favor of a ban on gay marriage decreased from 61% to 52%. Not only that, but it shows that the 63% of the youth (18-30) disagree with this ban.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As much as I can want to be angry, I know I can be optimistic in knowing that equality will prevail. I don't just believe it, I know it. So let the conservatives celebrate this battle, but we will be the victors of this war.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-9158713470861735262?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/9158713470861735262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=9158713470861735262' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/9158713470861735262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/9158713470861735262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/11/more-than-fire-plasma.html' title='More than fire, Plasma'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-2540860413919786199</id><published>2008-11-06T13:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-06T14:17:38.286-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Simplicity</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;That's So You&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;by the Rocket Summer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its a beautiful day,&lt;br /&gt;Now I'll be ok,&lt;br /&gt;Now that you're not away.&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday was a terrible day,&lt;br /&gt;but now that you're here I'm ok.&lt;br /&gt;Cause you don't know how much I,&lt;br /&gt;I need you please dont go&lt;br /&gt;You're so wonderful.&lt;br /&gt;This I swear, this I know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You, oh, you.&lt;br /&gt;Every single thing you do.&lt;br /&gt;I'm so proud of you.&lt;br /&gt;What you do.&lt;br /&gt;When you do the things you do.&lt;br /&gt;They're so you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So thanks, for your help.&lt;br /&gt;You shine so bright.&lt;br /&gt;You are the star that's in my sky.&lt;br /&gt;And I am yours and you are mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whoa, you, whoa you.&lt;br /&gt;Every single thing you do.&lt;br /&gt;I'm so proud of you.&lt;br /&gt;What you do.&lt;br /&gt;When you do the things you do.&lt;br /&gt;They're so You.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm so proud of you.&lt;br /&gt;That's so you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t know what about this song that just gets to me. But it does. Maybe its simplicity, staying above the water of convoluted and flowery lyrics. Maybe the emotion in his words that break free from the prison of rational thought. Maybe the chords that close my eyes and...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Edit: I think I'm a hopeless romantic who refuses to accept it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-2540860413919786199?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/2540860413919786199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=2540860413919786199' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/2540860413919786199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/2540860413919786199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/11/thats-so-you-by-rocket-summer-its.html' title='Simplicity'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-2863980639146733581</id><published>2008-11-05T12:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-05T12:57:51.615-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Prop 8</title><content type='html'>This isn't any new writing of mine or a commentary on the recent election results. This was posted as a rebuttal to a friend's post which got deleted, so I wanted to post it here to keep it:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Issue: Teaching Children about Marriage&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The definition of “equal opportunity” suggests that it does not favor any specific group. You say that gay marriage should not be taught as the same as a traditional marriage, especially to those who don’t believe that. Well, how about the years of oppressed homosexual students that had to live with the teachings that their lifestyle is inferior or not acceptable? They have had to live through this for CENTURIES. It is hypocritical to say that homosexuals must be taught that traditional marriage is the only way but heterosexuals cannot be taught that gay marriage is acceptable. This attitude is pure elitism.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Secondly, Prop 8 does not state AT ALL that it will teach gay marriage in schools, so this is a non-issue in talking about equal rights for all people. If people want to ensure that their children are taught what their parents want them to learn, this is a separate issue that should be dealt with the school system or on another initiative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Issue: Marriage versus Domestic Partnerships&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fact of the matter is that civil unions and domestic partnerships do NOT offer the same federal and state benefits across the nation. Again, Prop 8 would perpetuate inequality, considering homosexuals inferior to obtaining the same benefits. With civil unions and domestic partnerships determined at the state level, they would never reach the same benefits that marriage receives since marriage is honored the same way everywhere no matter where you get married. The differences are briefly outlined here: http://lesbianlife.about.com/cs/wedding/a/unionvmarriage.htm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Issue: Equality&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Equality does not imply “do whatever you want” but it is defined as the same treatment for each individual. It implies that everyone has the same opportunities. From all of the examples (bestiality, incest, murder), NO ONE is allowed to perform those acts. But under Prop 8, a certain group will be allowed to marry and another group will not. That is the exact definition of inequality. This attitude is exactly what has fueled racism and personal beliefs should never supersede equality, and these personal beliefs include religion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Issue: Separation of Church and State&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fact that the religion has institutionalized marriage and making it a national standard has allowed the state to take ownership of the word and allowed it to define it for itself. There are state and federal benefits that come with marriage, making it a government property. For that reason, while religion can have free reign over how it wants to define marriage, the government should have the power to define marriages which are recognized by the state for itself. And the law should always be based on equality and equal opportunity, stomping on laws that perpetuate discrimination and oppression.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Issue: Happy Families and Divorce&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The idea that a heterosexual family is the key to a happy family is a broad generalization. Studies show that children who grow up with a heterosexual family and homosexual family experience no changes in their development. The fact of the matter is that the prosperity of a family is determined by the child development skills of the parents. There are thousands of families in which a heterosexual people who have poorly raised a family due to their unpreparedness, weak parenting skills, among other characteristics. Heterosexuality is not the root of strong families, but competent parent(s) is/are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While studies show divorce tends to affect children dramatically, divorce is a high statistic across the board and has little to do with sexuality but more to do with the institution of marriage and why it is failing. But the fact that divorce rates are high is not a strong enough justification for why no one should get married and it is even worse to that this is a reason to prevent a specific group from marrying. This would be along the same lines of saying, hypothetically, that Filipino-Americans should not marry because their divorce rates are higher and they don’t take marriage as seriously. Now that would be preposterous. Everyone should have the equal opportunity at an attempt to make marriage work no matter who they are.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-2863980639146733581?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/2863980639146733581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=2863980639146733581' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/2863980639146733581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/2863980639146733581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/11/prop-8.html' title='Prop 8'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-3138759077390878212</id><published>2008-10-28T12:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T12:21:30.494-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Too many long posts</title><content type='html'>I'll just do a short one today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I respect and tolerate religion, I still don't understand how a concept considered divine in nature pushes for inequality, perpetuates ignorance, and breeds corruption.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-3138759077390878212?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/3138759077390878212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=3138759077390878212' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3138759077390878212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3138759077390878212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/10/too-many-long-posts.html' title='Too many long posts'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-4266801790156433909</id><published>2008-10-23T09:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-23T09:17:19.133-07:00</updated><title type='text'>To my surprise, I'm actually happy</title><content type='html'>Before coming up to the Bay, I was scared. Not necessarily of the transition away from what I knew but the transition into the abominable life of rigid structure and meaningless routine. I live for the spontaneous, and the opposite only cracks from the drought of feeling alive. Safe to say, my college life was unorganized, random, and at times irresponsible. The sunrise and I were best friends (alarm clock hated that). Class? Unheard of. Drank on occasion (okay, that’s a lie). Carl’s Jr. and L&amp;amp;L were my executive chefs. Definitely did things my parents would kill me over, which I am not proud of to this day. Essentially, I did what made me happy. And everything else, I did enough to get me by on my standards. And after all of that, I can say college was the best 5 years of my life thus far.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, that brings me here. In the Bay. My life day-to-day is the same. Aaron and I struggle to figure out what to do on the weekends. Loneliness prevails time and time again. Safe to say, work will never be like KP board, which is a bad thing for those who weren’t sure, haha. I will never come to terms with the near-Alaskan temperatures. Leisure time is a scarcity. Different, shall I say? But I’m happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wake up at 5am, which makes both sunrise and alarm clock happy. No class, thank goodness, but my cubicle is great. Drink on occasion (and that’s the truth). Who’s my executive chef now? Check out brentoboxes.blogspot.com. I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T, do you know what that means? I am a homeowner, what the hell. Mission: Get all my friends to the Bay, will be accomplished in 2 years, I promise! (Regardless, I still see them via webcam, AIM, and after drives through where the deer and antelope play) Heroes and Fringe keep me sane. Actually, Aaron and Larsen help the most in that department, but we’re on a mission to find new people via craigslist and match.com, lol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, life will never be like how it was in college. It can’t be. But comparing what I love and hate about this life, the former still dominates. Though I always think about what life can be, I appreciate it for what it is in the moment and for the privilege of the life I hold in my hands. Things could be worse. But they aren’t. And for that, I couldn’t be happier.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-4266801790156433909?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/4266801790156433909/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=4266801790156433909' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4266801790156433909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4266801790156433909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/10/to-my-surprise-im-actually-happy.html' title='To my surprise, I&apos;m actually happy'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-985330333994780031</id><published>2008-10-21T12:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T12:08:14.596-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hand on top of other waving my thumbs...</title><content type='html'>There is something intriguing about awkwardness. In some ways, I consider it synonymous to unique. Many times, awkwardness comes from defying social convention (i.e. facing anything but forward in an elevator). But what I find most intriguing is how people respond to awkward situations or persons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes life is so intrinsically guided by social convention that we are on some sort of auto-pilot. Our experiences and what is universally considered to be “normal” push us to instinctively act in a certain way. Some trivial examples can be when you meet people and you cordially greet one another and engage light conversation. We know how to greet people because we do it all the time in almost the same way time and time again. And we do this as if without thought. Like robots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I like about awkwardness is that it puts us on our toes. It makes us think, in general. Why was it awkward? What should I have said? Why didn’t I say nor do this? As if, at least to me, to make me actually care about some of the most mundane activities of life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have this newfound appreciation for awkwardness. While some people might feel embarrassed, I just look back and smile. There’s nothing to be ashamed of if I’m just being myself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-985330333994780031?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/985330333994780031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=985330333994780031' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/985330333994780031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/985330333994780031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/10/hand-on-top-of-other-waving-my-thumbs.html' title='Hand on top of other waving my thumbs...'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-6638874134297893084</id><published>2008-10-20T15:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T15:26:23.480-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Finally, someone says it</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Ignorant Republican Woman&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I can’t trust Obama. I have read about him, and he’s not…he’s an Arab.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;McCain&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“No ma’am, he is not. Mr. Obama is a decent, family man, citizen, that I just happen to have disagreements with on fundamental issues.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Statement by Colin Powell on NBC:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm also troubled by, not what Senator McCain says, but what members of the party say, and it is permitted to be said. Such things as 'Well you know that Mr. Obama is a Muslim.' Well the correct answer is 'He is not a Muslim, he's a Christian, he's always been a Christian.' But the really right answer is 'What if he is? Is there something wrong with being a Muslim in this country?' The answer is 'No. That's not America.' Is there something wrong with some 7-year old Muslim-American kid believing that he or she can be president? Yet I have heard senior members of my own party drop the suggestion he's a Muslim and he might be associated with terrorists. This is not the way we should be doing it in America.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I feel strongly about this particular point because of a picture I saw in a magazine. It was a photo-essay about troops who were serving in Iraq and Afghanistan. And one picture at the tail end of this photo essay was of a mother in Arlington Cemetery and she had her head on the headstone of her son's grave. And as the picture focused in you can see the writing on the headstone. And it gave his awards, Purple Heart, Bronze Star, showed that he died in Iraq, gave his date of birth, date of death. He was 20 years old. And then at the very top of the headstone, it didn't have a Christian cross, it didn't have a Star of David. It had a crescent and a star of the Islamic faith. And his name was Karim Rashad Sultan Khan. And he was an American, he was born in New Jersey, he was 14 at the time of 9/11 and he waited until he can go serve his country and he gave his life."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I honestly do not know much about Colin Powell, but just from that statement I have begun to respect this man as a decent Republican that may have differences in opinion with Democrats but embraces the fundamental principles of this nation. Perhaps I’ll look more into what he has done and what he stands for, haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I found it alarming that McCain followed up that woman’s statement with words that, while clarified Obama’s character, implied being Arab or Muslim would be grounds for being an indecent citizen of this nation. The right answer would be exactly what Colin Powell said: Why would it matter if he was an Arab or Muslim?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While race discussion has been downplayed throughout the election, I feel that people need to understand the detriment inflicted upon the Muslim community that has continued to prevail since 9/11 and even more so with charges against Obama on his connections to Muslims and terrorism. It is horrible that a community which has nothing to do with the Democratic nominee for the Presidency has been used as a means to bring him down based on his name and his supposed ties to terrorists. Politics will never waver from its deeply embedded corruption.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-6638874134297893084?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/6638874134297893084/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=6638874134297893084' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/6638874134297893084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/6638874134297893084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/10/finally-someone-says-it.html' title='Finally, someone says it'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-4130429270804097797</id><published>2008-10-15T09:47:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T09:47:37.630-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Decision '08</title><content type='html'>I don’t think I have ever talked about the presidential race in my blog. I guess I’ll do that today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This 2008 race has been spectacular to follow-up from all the ups and downs, surprising developments, media commentary, and such. But I must say it has rendered many doubts in me about the political system and the candidates themselves. Growing up, I have always leaned liberal and progressive and for that reason I am a registered Democrat. It aligns with most of my beliefs and values. However, coming to this point in the election, I am not confidently backing Barack Obama for president. What I mean by that is that I am going to vote for him, there is no doubt about it, but I still fear how he will fare as the President of the United States of America. His policies, though both ambitious and promising, seem financial taxing on the already rundown economy. This goes for both candidates when I say this, it is obvious that politicians just spit out what will initially ease the people’s fears until they get into office. Once they get into the oval office, that is when they will start being practical and speak the real deal. What I want to hear are their priorities and what sacrifices they have to make in order to execute their top priorities. I want to know which people they truly stand for and not just those from whom they want to collect votes. For Obama, I truly believe that he stands for what I want in the President: equality and equal opportunity, middle- and working-class, minorities, youth and education. But his policies worry me. For example, with his health care proposal he expects to make up for the excess costs of granting universal health care by transforming the hospital paper system into an electronic one, which sounds absurd to me. Not only do I think that he won’t be able to cover the excess costs, it also does not address the problem of skyrocketing premiums. Albeit, McCain’s proposal is far worse, I just hope that Obama can refine his proposal. I remember someone saying this in an email, but I hope it is not true, “It’s like we’re voting for the lesser evil.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I do think is stupid about the campaign is this guilty by association. There is no true substance to this argument. It is as if McCain has nothing to back up his own character and policies that the only way he thinks he can win is if he lashes at Obama’s past associations and somehow prove that he is a terrorist. And to hear what people have the nerve to shout out at his rallies is absolutely frightening. They are instances like these that make me scared to actually meet an extreme conservative or even think of living in Middle America.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I still stand by the belief that Hillary Clinton would have been the better Democratic nominee, but I definitely won’t go as far to say that McCain should win. I just hope that Obama can put truth to his words and execute his policies by continually standing by his principles and beliefs. Well, let’s get him elected first and then we can put our faith in him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reminder: Deadline to register is October 20. Please don’t get lazy or forget. Your vote might be more important than you know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-4130429270804097797?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/4130429270804097797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=4130429270804097797' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4130429270804097797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4130429270804097797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/10/decision-08.html' title='Decision &apos;08'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-3533672467015657845</id><published>2008-10-10T23:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T23:45:42.880-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Inbox</title><content type='html'>If you remember my post about my Gmail inbox a while back, you would know that my incoming mail just hasn't been the same since I graduated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As of 10 minutes ago, I think I just received the best email I've ever read. And now I can't stop shaking. Thank you, ading. I love you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-3533672467015657845?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/3533672467015657845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=3533672467015657845' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3533672467015657845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3533672467015657845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/10/my-inbox.html' title='My Inbox'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-3363528869950717783</id><published>2008-10-10T13:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T13:52:42.712-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In any order, please</title><content type='html'>I’ve been wanting to blog about this for a while:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One night, the night before my 1st day of work, I went into Aaron’s room and eventually we got into this conversation about what will makes us happy, specifically relationship and career-wise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have come to the belief that I need change. I thrive off of a dynamic world that never ceases to progress and evolve. Stability leads to complacency, a place defined by comfort, static being, and unchallenging feats. That leads me to think that maybe there is no room for static concepts, such as work and marriage. You know, it always seems to be the common ideal that we all get married and work in a stable job that we can retire from in 30-some years. No one likes getting a divorce 3 times over or getting laid off or being single ‘til you are 65 or not having children. They all carry that negative connotation that makes us cringe at the thought of those things actually happening to us. But what if those things weren’t bad? What if we were happy that those actually happened?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was telling Aaron, “What if I married someone different every 5 years?” And then I was just telling Marleina, “I think it would be awesome if I could just be an engineering manager, graphic designer, lawyer, and teacher as a careers all throughout my life.” I genuinely want to be all 5 of those sometime in my life, but the way this world is structured it doesn’t help to make it realistically possible to accomplish that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I think is awkward of this society is that it is unbelievably dynamic though it has static of stable ideals. And I understand why that is so. There is more structure, commitment, organization, and generally it benefits everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the worse part about it is it imprisons those who want to be liberated and truly make what they want in life happen. The way of life is infancy, education for what seems like eternity, career, relationships that lead to marriage, families, retirement into ultimate complacency, and death. With exception of infancy and death, what if we wanted to rearrange it or even completely do away with it in a way that wasn’t detrimental to our well-being?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m beginning to think I can.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-3363528869950717783?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/3363528869950717783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=3363528869950717783' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3363528869950717783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3363528869950717783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/10/in-any-order-please.html' title='In any order, please'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-6415079257598954013</id><published>2008-10-10T10:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T10:20:32.927-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nostalgia</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, Aaron asked me, "Do you think nostalgia is bad?" I paused for a moment and said, "No, as long as you don't dwell on it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a simple question, yet it struck a loud chord in me. I started to think, "We'll, if you are never nostalgic, is that bad?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then a little after, I had a conversation with Michael about how he intensely missed everything after he went to a Kaba GBM and then said, "I can't imagine how you must be feeling."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't deny that I do miss the people, but I don't catch myself thinking about that very often or having the urge to go back on the weekends. What does that mean, if anything at all?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On occasion, there will be Eli on GChat talking about his woes with the non-college life, recounting the spontaneous days and nights of Sean Taylor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder, why I am not more reminiscent of a period which I have deemed the best years of my life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have come to value emotions more than I have in the past. I’ve been conditioned to override emotion for the sake of what might considered to be the right way to act or react. I have built myself up to critically figure out what I should do and forgetting what I want to do. And most of the times, it comes subconsciously. It is those moments like the ones above that stop me in my tracks and I think, what do I really want and what do I really care about?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-6415079257598954013?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/6415079257598954013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=6415079257598954013' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/6415079257598954013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/6415079257598954013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/10/nostalgia.html' title='Nostalgia'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-5115354133651432086</id><published>2008-10-05T18:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T18:21:01.063-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Singing (actually, Karoake)</title><content type='html'>There is something about karaoke that strikes me as simply amazing. I said I like karaoke better because the connotation of it implies over-the-top, theatrical, and letting go. I feel so alive when I karaoke. Especially when I'm in my car. I love the drive in the morning to work because I can just belt out at the top of my lungs for a good 30 minutes of Journey or Maroon 5 or whatever it may be that day. Best way to get the day started.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-5115354133651432086?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/5115354133651432086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=5115354133651432086' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5115354133651432086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5115354133651432086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/10/singing-actually-karoake.html' title='Singing (actually, Karoake)'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-4612997586230851141</id><published>2008-10-04T16:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-04T16:39:43.936-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Contemplative Shower</title><content type='html'>It has been two weeks and we still don't have internet tomorrow. Crossing fingers, I hope there are no complications tomorrow and we finally get internet. We'll see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, because I still don't have internet at home, I have to creatively find ways to entertain myself. I was on my desktop computer and I came across my AIM logs from years ago. What first caught my eye was the fact that there are all these people who logged onto their screennames on my computer and their conversations are logged. These conversations are from 2-3 years ago, but how evil it would still be to tap into their privacy and read up on these conversations, especially between specific people, muahahaha. But I don't think I will out of sheer respect for them. But I guess into the rare circumstance, I have blackmail material (haha I'm just kidding).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What probably hit me the most were conversations with people, I guess you can say, who I've lost contact with over the years. Two in particular. It tore me apart. I feel like I lost some of the most real and intriguing friends I've ever met. You know, I will always meet new people and new friends all over the place. There are those friends who you can meet anywhere. And there are those who you know you will never find someone like them. They are the latter. All I want to tell them is I miss them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-4612997586230851141?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/4612997586230851141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=4612997586230851141' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4612997586230851141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4612997586230851141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/10/contemplative-shower.html' title='Contemplative Shower'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-7434529927743636800</id><published>2008-10-02T15:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T21:14:41.941-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cubed</title><content type='html'>The engineering life, ah. Interesting how a great adjective to describe my engineering job right now is also a mathematical term.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone pressed my button today (actually, more like stepped on it). But it was more of a build up of multiple people stating something similar, so maybe it wasn't right to chew them out for it. But then here you see me, blogging to rant to myself without ever really addressing people about how I feel. I always hate that sometimes I cower away from confrontation in these instances. Oh well, I guess that is something I need to work on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, someone pretty much discredited my work with Northrop Grumman because I'm working submarine missile launching (and if this person is reading, I hope you don't take this as an attack on you; it is more of a way to address my philosophy). Okay, I'll take that to some degree. I did say before I graduated that I did not want to work for defense because I thought it would conflict with my values. So maybe you can call me a hypocrite or sell-out. I mean, I guess I did not have the confidence in my resume that I could get a job anywhere I wanted. I applied where I could with motivation from a friend who works for Northrop Grumman and I got the job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what’s the big deal? I’ve been in community and progressive work all of college, right? Much of that community almost despises the military. And if you ask any of them, it’s because they don’t believe in violence as methods for conflict resolution and peace. That’s a legit argument. But does that mean the military should not exist? Should we never develop weapons of destruction because we should only function on non-violent confrontation?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is how I see it. The military is necessary for the superpower nation that we are in the world because truthfully most of the world is hostile to the United States. And it’s crazy that we put billions of dollars in the weapons research and technology but I see it as the only way to remain seen as a formidable country. I work in defense and that works primarily on displaying the fact that we have the technology to worthily protect this country as opposed to actually dropping bombs and firing missiles, if that makes sense. I believe defense serves more of the function to scare our enemies as opposed to pushing the offense. Take, for example, robbery. A burglar is less likely to rob the house with a “Brinks Home Security” post than the house next door without any hint of a home security system. And then 20 years later, the burglar sees the same sign with 20-year aging all over the sign, he just might have the technology to bypass the obsolete system because the homeowner was too lazy to upgrade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So have my values changed? No, I’m still the same guy who supports non-violent confrontational efforts. But companies such as NG are essential to the well-being of this country that we care so much about. The truth is that working for NG has opened my mind about the military and has allowed me to respect the people, even more, who serve our country in the forces. True, NG develops the weapons but it’s the government who drops the bombs. And segueing into the election, I say if you are reading my note and you care enough about these issues, you better be registered for November 4 (the deadline is October 20) and take your stand. That’s another note which will come later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-7434529927743636800?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/7434529927743636800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=7434529927743636800' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/7434529927743636800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/7434529927743636800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/10/cubed.html' title='Cubed'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-8766888365728672425</id><published>2008-09-28T19:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-28T19:49:55.332-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Longing to Blog</title><content type='html'>I've been wanting to blog everyday this past week but the lack of internet makes that difficult, especially at the wee hours of the night when my urges explode (and I'm still talking about blogging).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, it has been a full week here in the Bay Area and I must say I am adjusting well so far. I guess it makes things easier when you have someone you know to make that transition, but I'm prepping myself to getting to know new people and exploring the world. My 1st day of work is tomorrow and I am excited/frightened. Excited because it is the start of my independent and frightened because I'm scared that for some reason I am going to fuck up this opportunity and lose my job. I have dreams of that happening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This blog feels so rushed because I can't be here long and I need to get to Target before it closes. But I will be back. Hopefully on Wednesday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-8766888365728672425?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/8766888365728672425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=8766888365728672425' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8766888365728672425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8766888365728672425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/09/longing-to-blog.html' title='Longing to Blog'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-3867006428841254135</id><published>2008-09-18T01:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T01:29:54.083-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The New Facebook</title><content type='html'>These petitions and groups about the new facebook amuse me. It reminds me about how everyone went crazy about the news-feed and mini-feed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, stop inviting me to these damn groups. I like the new facebook. I enjoy change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like every new thing it takes time to get used to. I've been using the new facebook since they started letting us use it and forgot that it was there was an old facebook. I just don't get all these complaints because most of them just seem like they are mad over stupid things like "justification" and "empty space" and "location changes".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is why I LIKE the new facebook:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--Many things are more accessible. For example, I like the bar on the bottom with the applications, photos, groups, etc. I don't have to go to my home page just to get to those links. Also, I like all the little links placed everywhere like the "change profile picture" on the profile picture. It saves the trouble from having to go through multiple links to execute something. In general, everything is easier to get to and easier to find.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--I love tabs. I loved it when I saw them on Mozilla Firefox and I love it on facebook, and they're everywhere. Everything is categorized so that I can go exactly to where I want to go on a friend's page. I always hated having to wait for everyone's applications to load, or scrolling all the way down just to write on someone's wall. It feels cleaner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--I like that you can make friends lists. I actually don't know if this wasn't here before, but I barely discovered it during the new facebook. But I like that I can check the status and updates of specific friends and if I want to consistently invite a group of people to an event, I don't have to make a formal facebook group. I can just use the friends lists.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--I'm happy finally allowed me to edit who can view my notes. Notes can be privatized for certain people and that way not all my notes are public on facebook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--Like MySpace, I can choose who shows up on my friends short list. This way I don't have to individually type in each friend's name to get to their page. Instead, they are all grouped on my wall/info tab of my profile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--I don't know if this was on the old facebook either, but I like that I can that if want to see more or less news topics from a certain friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--I can finally comment directly on a friend's status instead of writing on their wall. It's cool because now you know what that comment was related to when looking back, and you can start conversations about a status among multiple people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--I think the new wall/mini-feed is interesting. I like that it's tabbed by all posts, post by me, and posts my others. But I remember before, I liked how I could look at only certain types of posts on the mini-feed. But it seems trivial now, haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--This was definitely here before, but I LOVE the mobile application. I wish I discovered it earlier. I ended up deleting a lot of my camera phone pictures because I didn't have space, but I could have uploaded them onto facebook, bah!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--The new facebook is even more Flash-enhanced. The thing I liked about facebook compared to MySpace was that it worked on Flash and it didn't have to reload all new pages every time you clicked on a new link. It is even more Flash, such as the new photos and video pages, all the tabs, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hahaha, I just felt like putting this out there. The new facebook is awesome. All I have to say to the haters is, be open-minded. If you still refuse, I'm interested on hearing what you have to say about the new facebook.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-3867006428841254135?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/3867006428841254135/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=3867006428841254135' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3867006428841254135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3867006428841254135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/09/new-facebook.html' title='The New Facebook'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-120940392415914676</id><published>2008-09-10T22:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-10T22:01:01.536-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Full-Fledged Independence</title><content type='html'>Boy, does independence feel liberating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Couple weeks before I leave for Union City and it's time to cut all financial ties. Closing the joint checking account to open my own. My own car insurance plan and gas card. Leaving the Verizon family plan for a single line plan. Paying for my own rent. And of course, making my own income. And it feels great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look on how I was raised, and though I think I've come out fine (I hope), I don't know if I would raise my own kid the same way. I guess you can say I lived a privileged life. I got a brand new car when I was 16. Never had to work a single day. In fact, I was told by my parents not to work and to focus on school both in high school and in college. That was until I realized I needed to get an internship to boost up my resume. Everything was paid for: rent, gas, phone, food, clothes, luxuries. But it's not like I went on ridiculous shopping sprees or frivolously spent money wherever I went. When it comes down to it though, money was never a problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I dont' know if that's the mentality I want my kids to have. But I do want my kids to understand what sacrifice means, what privilege means, the concept of financial responsibility, and hardworking character. Maybe my parents were lucky; they didn't necessarily have a problem child on their hands because I took the initiative to understand the above for myself despite not enduring a struggling lifestyle. But then again, maybe they taught me those values in other ways of which I cannot think at the top of my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Parenting is such a complex, I must say, art. It is always a question how much control do we have over a child's development from their infancy to adulthood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, back to the original topic. I'm excited to be financially independent. I think I should acquaint myself with all this finance language, especially in dealing with my future like 401k's and all that good stuff. I'm going to make myself a rich man. Through what career, you might not have asked. Well, that's still up in the air. I'll save that for another post.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-120940392415914676?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/120940392415914676/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=120940392415914676' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/120940392415914676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/120940392415914676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/09/full-fledged-independence.html' title='Full-Fledged Independence'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-3897418616468248037</id><published>2008-09-10T02:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-10T03:00:58.846-07:00</updated><title type='text'>TV SEASON is BACK!</title><content type='html'>I'm uber excited for the upcoming TV season because I finally feel like I will be able to keep up with them. On my list so far: Heroes, House, and Fringe. I'll probably slip in the Office, Grey's Anatomy, Project Runway, and Jon and Kate plus 8 here and there, haha.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-3897418616468248037?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/3897418616468248037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=3897418616468248037' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3897418616468248037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3897418616468248037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/09/tv-season-is-back.html' title='TV SEASON is BACK!'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-478845472798664682</id><published>2008-09-09T13:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-09T15:52:13.677-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Namesake</title><content type='html'>There has not been a movie which I've seen that has painted it so well. Though it intricately revolves itself around a culture which I cannot call my own, the movie nonetheless details how inseparable we are by the mere fact that our families have immigrated to this country. While the experiences are unique to our own, we cannot hide from the sacrifice, the cold, and the pain we share.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have heard this story times beyond countless, drowned and numbed by iteration, but this movie surpasses them all. It felt real and that's what sets it apart; I was not watching but immersed in someone's life. Through its subtleties, I was emotionally captured. The tiniest detail, a snapshot of a family snapshot, brought me to tears. It was not through dramatic arguments or blatant references to culture or identity. I could feel their internal struggles from their facial expressions alone and snapshots of their household. It was as if they were etched into the hollow walls. The storytelling, the filmmaking, simply incredible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember my junior English teacher expressing her distaste for television and movies because they took away from the imagination of literature. But honestly no offense to her, movies possess the same power in a different medium. How can one not appreciate its beauty.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-478845472798664682?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/478845472798664682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=478845472798664682' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/478845472798664682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/478845472798664682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/09/namesake.html' title='The Namesake'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-8818452276936963824</id><published>2008-09-08T01:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T11:50:52.890-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Numb and Uninspired</title><content type='html'>All week, I've been wanting to write in my blog but nothing seems worthy to write about. Last month, I was writing at least once every 2 days but now the last time I wrote was one week ago. I am uninspired and craving inspiration. That says something to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have one thing that I want to say. I'm numb and I don't know why. I want to feel a certain way but it doesn't show, leading me to believe that possibly I am only lying to myself. Do I want to feel a certain way only because that's how I "should" feel, not because I actually do feel that way?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-8818452276936963824?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/8818452276936963824/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=8818452276936963824' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8818452276936963824'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8818452276936963824'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/09/numb-and-uninspired.html' title='Numb and Uninspired'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-2050158918349710484</id><published>2008-09-01T12:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-01T12:26:02.799-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Officially,</title><content type='html'>my last day in this dwelling often referred to Sean Taylor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many memories, I must say, come from this place. It's ups and downs, the absolutely amazing and the daringly dramatic, it's hard to say goodbye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I guess it's back to LA. The place I used to associate with home. But home is where the heart is. And that is everywhere. So I guess that makes me a nomad. Off to the rest of the adventures of my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-2050158918349710484?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/2050158918349710484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=2050158918349710484' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/2050158918349710484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/2050158918349710484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/09/officially.html' title='Officially,'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-9088101909300935360</id><published>2008-08-22T18:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-22T18:50:42.903-07:00</updated><title type='text'>AHHH HEROES</title><content type='html'>This damn show is fuckin' addicting as hell. I thought I couldn't sit through more than 3 hours because usually that's how long my attention span is for movies. But geez, I just can't get enough. Looks like I am actually going to be able to finish it this weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sure, it has its flaws and potholes throughout the storyline. But it's damn entertaining and thought-provoking. My perfect combination.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-9088101909300935360?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/9088101909300935360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=9088101909300935360' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/9088101909300935360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/9088101909300935360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/08/ahhh-heroes.html' title='AHHH HEROES'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-4526248990362926461</id><published>2008-08-21T17:52:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T17:53:14.001-07:00</updated><title type='text'>16 Stories</title><content type='html'>I don't normally do these things, but I liked my answers so I'm posting them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Directions:&lt;br /&gt;Once you’ve been tagged, you have to write a note with 16 random things, facts, habits or goals about you. At the end choose 10 people to be tagged, listing their names and why you chose them. Don’t forget to leave them a comment (”you’re it”) and to read your blog. You can’t tag the person who tagged you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16 Things, Facts, Habits, Goals&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I've had a moderate case of pectus excavatum since I was born (this explains half of my screenname). When I was little, my theory was that my dad threw a football at my chest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I wanted to play little league baseball when I was young, but my dad never put me into it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I ran into the corner of a wall running away from my sister. I cracked my head and had my first stitches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I was playing fort with blankets and one of the drawers came out and the corner fell on my head. I cracked my head and had my first staple.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. When I was 4, my dad was taking me to Toys "R" Us. He started the car, but forgot something inside. I put the car into reverse and demolished our neighbors' wall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. My sister and I were biking. I went down a hill really fast. Because it was super fun, I told my sister to go down really fast too (forgot she was on training wheels). One side gave in, she fell over and broke her arm at age 4.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. I threw Nickelodeon Gak into my sister's hair thinking it would come out. It didn't. I shoved her into the closet so my parents wouldn't see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. In 3rd grade, I was the times table champion 6 months in a row, the jump rope champion, and 3rd place in the handball tourney. I was so proud of myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Starting out high school, I was 4'8". Hence, the screenname: LiLsHorTyPiNoY85.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. During the 6.6 Northridge earthquake in 1994, I was sleeping at my cousin's place in Cerritos. Supposedly, a large lamp fell on my face and I still didn't wake up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. After meeting at a friend's place for a school project, I got to drive my HS crush home. And I was so intently listening to her that I got badly rear-ended after driving too slowly after I took a right turn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. At one point in my life, I thought I was the second coming of Jesus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. I pissed in my pants right before I boarded Riddler's Revenge at Magic Mountain. I was in 8th grade. I went to Tidal Wave to clean myself off to find it was closed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. When I was 12, I ripped up a twenty-dollar bill my dad gave me at a family party because of his drunken and alcoholic ways. My, have things changed since.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. Our rabbit was getting too big for the cage we built for it. My dad decided to let go be free in the "wild" near our house. We found its bloody dead body later that week. What were we thinking...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. One time at a track meet, one of my friends said to me, "Wow, your dad is here at every track meet. You're lucky." That's when I realized how lucky I was to have him as my father.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-4526248990362926461?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/4526248990362926461/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=4526248990362926461' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4526248990362926461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4526248990362926461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/08/16-stories.html' title='16 Stories'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-732819803002955541</id><published>2008-08-20T02:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-20T12:58:25.329-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Staring out the window</title><content type='html'>Rarely does a film hit me. Rarely does religious or spiritual thought affect me.  And even more rarely do I give a chance to a movie with a 23% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. And putting all those rarities together, I would never think a 23% RT rating movie with religious philosophical thought would affect me. But it did last night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was cooking dinner with Diwata while James and Aaron were watching Evan Almighty in the living room. I was in and out of the room checking up on the cooking when I came across this interesting quote from God (played by Morgan Freeman):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;dl&gt;&lt;dd&gt;&lt;b&gt;Joan&lt;/b&gt;: But my husband says God told him to do it. What do you do with that?&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;dd&gt;&lt;b&gt;God&lt;/b&gt;: Sounds like an opportunity. Let me ask you something. If someone prays for patience, do you think God gives them patience? Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient? If they pray for courage, does God give them courage, or does he give them opportunities to be courageous? If someone prayed for their family to be closer, you think God zaps them with warm, fuzzy feelings? Or does he give them opportunities to love each other? Well, I got to run. A lot of people to serve. Enjoy.&lt;/dd&gt;&lt;/dl&gt;If you know me, I am nothing close to a Christian. Therefore, I don't believe God gives us opportunities. Regardless of the religious references, I can't help but say that this probably better articulates what I believe about opportunity than the way I touched upon it in my 2nd P-Grad speech (probably because I was super stressed coordinating it and I barely wrote my speech that afternoon).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't believe that each of us possesses a particular array of characteristics (i.e. patience, courage). Rather, we have the opportunities to become those characteristics in our own right and we are defined by which opportunities we choose to take advantage of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll take a good friend of mine as an example: Idelle. All year as we planned activity after activity, Buquid and I would always hear Idelle give the excuse that she's not creative. In our opinion, we think she is damn creative and we would always remind her of that. And in the end, she would give some amazing ideas. And that is because she took the opportunity to be creative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reiterating much of what I said at P-Grad, I have defined myself beyond what I could have imagined through the opportunities I shot myself into. I didn't have to come out to KP. I didn't have to go out when Carlo called me to. Neither did I have to write for PCC. Or become peer counselor/vice chair-internal/chair. Neither did I need to go to Sunnyvale for find a stable job. But I did. I chose to take the opportunity to be patient. to be a leader. to be creative. to be adventurous. to inspire others. to challenge myself.  to try something new. All of us have the same opportunities, but I chose these ones and that's what defines me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-732819803002955541?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/732819803002955541/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=732819803002955541' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/732819803002955541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/732819803002955541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/08/staring-out-window.html' title='Staring out the window'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-3264778566928736462</id><published>2008-08-19T14:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T15:01:17.434-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Drinking Age: 18 or 21?</title><content type='html'>I was reading an article on how the presidents of many universities are signing petitions to spark dialogue and possibly even amend the legal drinking age.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I obviously don't know what arguments were made in favor of making the drinking age 21 back in the day, but I am willing to bet that much of it was based on supposed discrepancies in maturity levels between 18 and 21. But I believe that many people become irresponsible with drinking because of the novelty. With more exposure/experience with drinking people better understand the consequences and make better judgments when it comes to drinking. Maybe it is their maturity, but I believe it is a certain maturity that attaches itself exclusively to drinking as opposed to a personal maturity that comes with the different experiences one goes through from 18 to 21.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What many of the university presidents are saying is that may college students under the age of 21 are inclined to binge drink before they go out because they obviously cannot purchase alcohol once they are out. And to me, that makes sense. For most people, more than half of your college career you cannot legally drink while you see all your older friends drinking whenever and almost wherever they damn well please. I'm sure there is that feeling of exclusion that motivates younger people to binge particularly because sometimes those opportunities do not come very often. Alcohol is integrated and almost solidified into the college culture that you can't help but feel left out if you aren't 21.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then again, there is that argument that by lowering the drinking age to 18 will only widen the spectrum of binge drinkers. Definitely a large group of drinkers fall in the 18-20 age range, and all of these people are illegal. By lowering the drinking age, it might only encourage more high school students to drink. And with almost all high school students living at home, it encourages them to drink elsewhere and only increasing the number of drunk drivers on the streets. Like I was talking about earlier, novelty plays a huge factor into the culture of drinking and I feel that with drinking being so new in the high school demographics, it might only worsen the drinking problem by getting it started at earlier ages.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I personally don't know where I stand on the issue. But I was pretty stubborn on keeping it 21. Now, I just don't know, haha.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-3264778566928736462?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/3264778566928736462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=3264778566928736462' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3264778566928736462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3264778566928736462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/08/drinking-age-18-or-21.html' title='Drinking Age: 18 or 21?'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-6517126226525328350</id><published>2008-08-19T14:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T14:24:17.610-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wow, unexpected</title><content type='html'>I completely bawled in my car on the way back from by drug test. And to my surprise, it wasn't about leaving. It was about something else. Or someone actually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It shouldn't matter who a friend's friends are. But it does. To me. In this case.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not that I hate them or think that this friend shouldn't be friends with them. Perhaps I am not very fond of them, and many times I find myself disagreeing with them time and time again. But that leads me to feel a certain discomfort that I absolutely despise. So big deal, right? I don't feel comfortable around them. Why does it affect my personal relationship with this friend? Probably because it is that this person is caught in the middle, almost forcing this person to choose. Maybe because I don't always feel the interaction is genuine anymore. Or more that it doesn't feel natural. What can I say? Oh well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I can't say that. I care so much for this person. Who knows? I had the choice and I made it. I didn't have to, but I did. And maybe if I didn't, this wouldn't have been a problem. Because I probably wouldn't have cared as much as I do now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And hoping that this summer I would have the time to hang out with this friend. And now in my last week here in SD, I haven't seen this friend even once.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-6517126226525328350?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/6517126226525328350/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=6517126226525328350' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/6517126226525328350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/6517126226525328350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/08/wow-unexpected.html' title='Wow, unexpected'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-6195269702594971489</id><published>2008-08-19T10:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T10:11:38.802-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nightball</title><content type='html'>Last night was super fun. It was just hitting the ball and running aimlessly covering our heads in the outfield. But it was spontaneous. No one could see but I was smiling in the darkness.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-6195269702594971489?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/6195269702594971489/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=6195269702594971489' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/6195269702594971489'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/6195269702594971489'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/08/nightball.html' title='Nightball'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-5315444847101941178</id><published>2008-08-18T15:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T15:26:44.321-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Crying a River</title><content type='html'>LOL, no I'm just kidding I'm not. But geez, what a surge of emotion I must say. I come back from Vegas, which served a reminder of how much I'm going to miss these fuckin' people here in SD, and realize that I only have a week left to get out of Sean Taylor since I have Cabo all of next week and everyone wants to purposely make me emo on AIM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I am packing away, I gradually recall everything I've loved about SD and all the memories that have made this some of the best years of my life. That tingly feeling keeps vibrating throughout my body and I can't contain it. Well, I have to finish packing. I'll come back to this later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-5315444847101941178?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/5315444847101941178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=5315444847101941178' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5315444847101941178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5315444847101941178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/08/crying-river.html' title='Crying a River'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-2704701674843959170</id><published>2008-08-13T02:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-13T11:06:16.966-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Guess</title><content type='html'>What song it is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;In places no one would find &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;All your feelings so deep inside (deep inside) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It was then that I realized &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;That forever was in your eyes &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The moment I saw you cry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lyrics have no significance to me, at least in this moment, but I've been on an emo song rampage as of late and it's the song I'm listening to that song right now. Ultra-cheesy and perfectly karaoke. I love it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had an epiphany today: I want to make an original song. Well, of course given that I am one of the least musically talented people out there, I'm going to need some help. I think what I genuinely want to do is write the lyrics and I'll have Larsen, Aaron, and Dee take care of the arrangement, haha.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-2704701674843959170?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/2704701674843959170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=2704701674843959170' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/2704701674843959170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/2704701674843959170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/08/guess.html' title='Guess'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-5659962257501384526</id><published>2008-08-08T02:07:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T02:44:54.087-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nothing but a paper bag</title><content type='html'>See, it's the insomniac's loneliness kicking in. 2nd blog in less than an hour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a random thought and finally remembered that the paper bag from transition retreat was in the trunk of my car. I just barely read them and I almost cried. Damn you, board0708.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I want to say is that letting go is harder than I thought and more than I let show. On the outside, I preach values of trust, change, progress and new leadership because I know that is what's right. But on the inside, I'm burning my fingertips to stop myself from reaching out more than I should. And after reading that paper bag of letters and having that STARCORE meeting at my house, it sure does not help it much. Just shut me out already so it makes it easier for me. Just kidding, I didn't mean that, lol.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-5659962257501384526?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/5659962257501384526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=5659962257501384526' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5659962257501384526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5659962257501384526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/08/nothing-but-paper-bag.html' title='Nothing but a paper bag'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-5077882609237254416</id><published>2008-08-08T01:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-08T02:22:00.641-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Death of AIM (for me)</title><content type='html'>No, I'm not going to abandon AIM. But really, AIM has never been the same to me since probably my 3rd year. Conversations just haven't been the same. For one, when I'm online I tend to be easily distracted with cleaning, TV, browsing Facebook or YouTube, or other daily activities that my AIM conversations always seem broken. For another, most people are doing the same thing. Most of the time they are at work or in class and when most people have the time to go on AIM they are out doing something else more efficient with their time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss those days when I could stay up 'til 7am in the morning talking to insomniacs like myself. Nowadays, I'm lucky to find someone to talk to past 2am. There is something comforting about knowing that there is someone up late enough for you to talk to. And along with that, there are no distraction but you and that other person and the conversations are some you can never get at any other time of the day. I've met some of my greatest friends at these wee hours of the night =D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At a time when the curtains are closed and the lights are off, the insomniacs, in their unconventional lifestyle, feel only loneliness, a feeling that only forces them into contemplation. Perhaps that is why I enjoy these hours of the night. In a world when life is overly social and fast-paced, it is these hours that seem the longest, breathing life in a way that intricately absorbs its every still and dynamic beauty. Free of all distractions but the distraction to be free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, I'm lying stomach down with my pillow smudged into my face, my kiddie alarm clock staring right into my eyes, and listening to some of the best emo songs of life. And to be quite frank, I couldn't be more satisfied.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-5077882609237254416?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/5077882609237254416/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=5077882609237254416' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5077882609237254416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5077882609237254416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/08/death-of-aim-for-me.html' title='The Death of AIM (for me)'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-3250772856749480769</id><published>2008-08-05T14:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-05T14:05:33.923-07:00</updated><title type='text'>STARCORE</title><content type='html'>All this thinking about the retreat makes me miss coordinating and planning these types of things *sigh* Oh well, it's the way of life and I gotta get over it already.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and Summer Bridge Leadership component is tonight too. I wanted to go to that =/&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-3250772856749480769?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/3250772856749480769/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=3250772856749480769' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3250772856749480769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3250772856749480769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/08/starcore.html' title='STARCORE'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-5861321293444321469</id><published>2008-08-05T00:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-05T00:14:09.976-07:00</updated><title type='text'>OH MY GULAY</title><content type='html'>Skydiving was the most ridiculous thing I have ever done in my life. An edited video to come =D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-5861321293444321469?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/5861321293444321469/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=5861321293444321469' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5861321293444321469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/5861321293444321469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/08/oh-my-gulay.html' title='OH MY GULAY'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-6951031754671697943</id><published>2008-08-03T11:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-03T14:28:32.648-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Frosted</title><content type='html'>Flakers, my biggest pet peeve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One's ability to honor a committed statement shows character. Trust, reliability, and commitment. 3 characteristics I value in a friendship or relationship and flaking reflects one's ability to demonstrate that character.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never outwardly show how mad I am, because I guess I never want to make a scene over something that might seem trivial at the time. But just know that if you ever flake on me, no amount of bullshit justification will change my perception of you. I am not one to hold grudges, but flakers (or at least consistent ones) will always have an asterisk next to their face in my head.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-6951031754671697943?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/6951031754671697943/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=6951031754671697943' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/6951031754671697943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/6951031754671697943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/08/frosted.html' title='Frosted'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-614634924674854374</id><published>2008-07-29T03:32:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T23:51:06.880-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Still</title><content type='html'>I watched Donnie Darko. Oh, and before that I watched the last half of the Matrix Reloaded. Though initially I didn't put them together, how coincidental it was that they were pretty darn related.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find these "destiny" or "alternate universe" movies intriguing. But while I feel that some of them are well-executed and entertaining, not many of them truly reflect my own beliefs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I find interesting is that we indulge in this concept of choice. But what does choice truly mean? To me, choice is defined by a person's character as opposed to the present circumstances. However, does this definition only support the idea of destiny? For example, in the Matrix Reloaded, the Architect gives Neo the choice between, simply put, what he wants and what is right, already knowing that he will choose the former. And though that was overly generalized, I believe it highlights the point that with a certain character, one will consistently make choices which are aligned with that character. And one might argue that one's character is always changing, but it evolves in a direction that is guided by one's present character. Put this way, we are nothing more than a uniquely programmed software designed differently for each person. But this is not to be confused with predetermination because that says the circumstances have already been decided. Whereas what I am possibly saying is that we can never foresee the future circumstances but our character has already decided how we will make our choices. So are we merely pawns to this nonhuman force called circumstance? Does my definition of choice contradict itself? Does choice really exist?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-614634924674854374?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/614634924674854374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=614634924674854374' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/614634924674854374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/614634924674854374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/07/still.html' title='Still'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-1101097783953594688</id><published>2008-07-24T02:26:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-24T02:31:03.549-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oddly,</title><content type='html'>coming home has always been comfortable. Well, at least for short periods of time. Amidst all the changes that have happened to my house, I still like to walk back in my head and remember how things used to look like and how those things were tied to particular memories, especially from my childhood. Like the old French doors that my dalmatian used to scratch at. Or the corner of the wall that I rammed my skull into. Or my sports wallpaper that I slowly peeled off every night before I went to bed. In a couple months, coming home is not going to be as easy as it has been. I can see myself sorely missing home when that time comes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-1101097783953594688?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/1101097783953594688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=1101097783953594688' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/1101097783953594688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/1101097783953594688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/07/oddly.html' title='Oddly,'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-806105292583503949</id><published>2008-07-22T02:32:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-22T02:33:31.848-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Even in my most drunken state...</title><content type='html'>Order is the root of all evil. Chaos is what keeps the world moving.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-806105292583503949?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/806105292583503949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=806105292583503949' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/806105292583503949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/806105292583503949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/07/even-in-my-most-drunken-state.html' title='Even in my most drunken state...'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-394068706195762502</id><published>2008-07-13T15:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-13T15:34:02.897-07:00</updated><title type='text'>They'll never understand</title><content type='html'>I think I'm finally tired. I realized last night that I just need to be forward with it. If my parents can't be mature about it then I might as well be the bigger person because there is no point pretending anymore. There isn't a point pretending that I am happy with them. Quite frankly, they don't care about anything that doesn't bring in the money. They wonder why I can't confide in them, why I can't trust them with my life and who I am. Because they don't bother to find out what I am beneath the awards, the prestigious school and major, and my job. How much money are you going to make? HOW MUCH MONEY ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE? Is that all that FUCKIN' matters! Do they understand that I have grown so much as a person or a leader here in San Diego? Do they care what amazing friends I have found? Do they know that I stay here because I find more support and understanding in my friends that I have ever found in my parents? It doesn't matter what I do; it only matters what they think is best in their head. They don't think one bit that I am capable of thinking for myself and doing what I know is best for me. They step all over me with their opinions because they think they know best, and that's all it has been. I AM A GROWN ADULT THAT IS ABLE TO THINK AND ACT FOR MYSELF, please let me be who I want to be. My heart hurts too much knowing that I have held this in for 5 years now and I have faked a smile every trip back home. And now that I am leaving to be on my own, I need to tell you this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-394068706195762502?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/394068706195762502/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=394068706195762502' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/394068706195762502'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/394068706195762502'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/07/theyll-never-understand.html' title='They&apos;ll never understand'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-530288298893394484</id><published>2008-07-08T01:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T01:03:31.886-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I guess it's really happening</title><content type='html'>This past week or so has been quite eventful. And I still can't believe it's happening. I didn't think it was going to happen this quickly or happen at all, but it's what I wanted and I'm taking it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess for those who don't know, I'll give you the back story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of spring quarter, I was freaking out because I wasn't applying to jobs yet and I wanted to make sure I could find one sometime in the summer. I applied everywhere. After finals week, I had scheduled 3 interviews: Lancaster, Sunnyvale, and San Diego (in that order). Lancaster was hella farther than I thought it was from my house. I went out there and thought, damn this place is in the fuckin' boonies. I feel bad because I didn't perform as well I should have in the interview, but I think part of that was because I didn't want the job. And then I get to Sunnyvale, a free flight with a rental car waiting for me at San Jose Airport. I was able to explore the town and I even met up with ading Matt, Adam, and Maria during some down time. I loved my interviewers, I felt like they enjoyed having me, and I already loved the area. And then there was San Diego. It honestly didn't impress me very much at first because I got there at the bottom of Sorrento Valley Blvd to one of those small buildings and it didn't even look like an engineering company. But boy did they surprise me. They were amazing people, and very enlightening too about the engineering field and the different dynamics of a small firm. The first interview went well and they took me back for second interview. But that second interview made me feel less confident about it. At the end of all of those interviews, I really didn't expect to get any of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few days after I had my second interview with the San Diego firm, I followed up with an email thanking them for a wonderful experience. Next thing I know, they wanted to bring me in for a meeting to discuss an offer. I was like, WTFFFF are you serious?! Is this happening? Am I really getting a job?! So I scheduled a meeting with them and they pretty much set up a third interview to make sure I was right for the job. The main guy, Joe, said he was going to give me $30/hr with as much overtime and vacation time as I wanted, but there were no benefits. But calculating it all, that equated to a $63k salary with a potential of $70k if I worked a lot of overtime. I told them that I was still waiting on another job offer and I asked them if I could have some time before I made ad decision. I get home and next thing I know, I have a job offer from Northrop Grumman in Sunnyvale waiting in my inbox! I start freakin' out because I didn't expect to get the job and I was just going to take the SD one. I think only Larsen knows how crazy I was, but I couldn't believe it this was happening. They were paying just as much, except their benefits package was AMAZING! Health insurance, tuition reimbursement, relocation expenses, pension plans, paid vacation and holidays, and MORE! But looking back at the SD job, he said I could be getting 1-2 raises a year depending on my work and because of that I could be making way more money at the SD job. On top of that, I liked the type of work they were doing at the SD job along with the amazing people. On paper, it seemed like the easy choice was Sunnyvale, but it was difficult for me to choose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did a lot of thinking over the weekend, and how timely it was for me to be going to San Jose the weekend after I get the two job offers. Not only was my trip fuckin' awesome (especially my trip to the city), but the moments when I was able to just think to myself and contemplate, I knew that this move is what I've been wanting and what will be best for myself and my career. On Wednesday, I was pretty much 50/50. But by Saturday night, I was pretty much 90% leaning toward Sunnyvale.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now it's Monday, and I just sent in my letter of acceptance to work for Nothrop Grumman and my email of rejection to the SD job. I'm going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;----&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past week I have been thinking about the future so much. I do think about the future a lot but usually in a more abstract way, but this time I'm thinking about where I am going to live, applying to graduate school, what I am going to get involved in, and exploring unchartered territory. I am excited but nervous. Scared but ready. This is going to be one of the most frightening things I have done in my life thus far, but I look back at my life and see how similar this situation is to my move to San Diego. I look back at the move to San Diego and see how that was probably one of the best decisions I have ever made. And it wasn't because by chance I met some of the most amazing people ever, but it was because I made it happen. Even though I was so comfortable in Rowland Heights and I didn't want to leave, I can't imagine how life would have been without San Diego in the picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are many people that would rather just stay where they grew up or stay where they went to college or pretty much stay where they are comfortable. And that's easy because it feels good to be where you know the area and where you know the people. But for me, I want to see again what I saw with the freshness of San Diego: a new life and a new perspective. I know when I left Rowland Heights, I couldn't help but miss it. But I took San Diego and I embraced it for all its worth and to be honest at this point I couldn't be happier with what I've seen of myself here. Leaving San Diego is going to mean leaving some of the best people I've known to date, but I know there are those friends that I will be able to pick up with them where I left off and I know who those people are. And those friends will always be with me. But when I go to Sunnyvale, I just want to embrace it the same way I did with San Diego. It's definitely not going to be as easy with universities making it easier to meet people, but I am up for the challenge. To sum it all up, I am going to miss some people to death when I leave San Diego (or SoCal in general because I've lived here all my life) but I know Sunnyvale will bring new things if I commit to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In general, thank you to everyone for making San Diego what it is to me. I know that's uber impersonal so a more personal one to come, but it's the truth of how I feel. I requested to start at the end of September, so that gives me a little less than 3 months to live it up here, fulfill my summer of adventure, reconnect and strengthen long-lasting relationships, and relax because from here on out I'm working for the rest of my life. Here's to new possibilities and new opportunities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you want to join me on my summer of adventure, here's a list of what I have planned to do:&lt;br /&gt;--Bowling Sundays (and Tuesday if we miss Sunday)&lt;br /&gt;--Jet skiing at Mission Bay&lt;br /&gt;--Camping at Catalina Island&lt;br /&gt;--Camping in Chula Vista (hahaha)&lt;br /&gt;--Whitewater rafting up North&lt;br /&gt;--Skydiving in July or August&lt;br /&gt;--Vegas for the August babies&lt;br /&gt;--Cabo late-August&lt;br /&gt;--SF for Dee's birthday?!&lt;br /&gt;--Disneyland/Magic Mountain&lt;br /&gt;--More karaoke (Min Sok Chon??)&lt;br /&gt;--Life Walks every night (walk a mile and talk about life)&lt;br /&gt;--Restaurants/Food: Claim Jumper, Karl Strauss, Rei do Gado, Lucille's BBQ, Foo Foo Tae (ramen place in LA), Shabu Shabu, and Dim Sum&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-530288298893394484?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/530288298893394484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=530288298893394484' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/530288298893394484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/530288298893394484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-guess-its-really-happening.html' title='I guess it&apos;s really happening'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-3296702990431628901</id><published>2008-07-01T02:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-01T02:55:40.097-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Harsh Realities</title><content type='html'>Some people honestly don't understand the harsh realities that are inevitable in life. Or if anything, some people do not expect them to come. And what can you say to them? Nothing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-3296702990431628901?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/3296702990431628901/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=3296702990431628901' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3296702990431628901'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/3296702990431628901'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/07/harsh-realities.html' title='Harsh Realities'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-8155475756111897994</id><published>2008-06-30T20:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-30T20:17:44.400-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Sad Inbox</title><content type='html'>Haha, it's funny that I used to complain about how I would get 50+ emails throughout the day. And now that I only get a few a day now that it's summer and I am no longer KP chair, I get sad looking at my empty inbox...=/&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-8155475756111897994?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/8155475756111897994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=8155475756111897994' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8155475756111897994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8155475756111897994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/06/my-sad-inbox.html' title='My Sad Inbox'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-8317693879741176083</id><published>2008-06-25T15:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-26T01:22:35.661-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Two months and some later</title><content type='html'>After the storm finally settled, I have returned to this blog that I started two months ago and my have things changed since my last post. Since the last post was quite vague, I'll let everyone know that I wanted to apply for the SPACES Full-time Advisor position. However, after two months of contemplation, I realized that this is not what I really want. Revisiting many of my personal philosophies, I know what I want to do from here on out. Well for one, I want to have the best summer ever before I drown myself in full-fledged independence. For another, I want change. And not because I don't like my life right now, but because I want to continue growing within myself and the places I explore in the future. I have invested so much in the college/SAAC/KP communities that I finally feel like it is something new. The next few years have so much potential and it's up to me on how much of that I realize for myself. If you have a glass in your hand, cheers to new opportunities and possibilities.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-8317693879741176083?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/8317693879741176083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=8317693879741176083' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8317693879741176083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/8317693879741176083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/06/two-months-and-some-later.html' title='Two months and some later'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6675655987199571201.post-4176005623125203742</id><published>2008-04-16T07:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-16T07:57:24.207-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Underdog</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: verdana;"&gt;Although I love a challenge, I know the odds are heavily against me. What sucks is that the biases are so deeply rooted in the current leadership right now and the two people who I know are going to apply have unfair advantages over me. They have laid down the foundation to this up-and-coming organization and have clearly defined it with their own vision and personalities. If one of them does not get it, it would really be seen as a catastrophe. I want it so bad and I have yet to tell people (it reminds me of when I ran for chair last year).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or do I really want it that bad?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I look at it, when am I really going to get away from this space? I've been super glued to this space and I can't get myself to leave. I had originally told myself that I will finish my internship in the summer and if I do not find anything engineering work here in SD, I'm going to move back home to LA. But now here I am wanting to apply so bad to this position. Maybe it's the chase that I'm after. Maybe it's the chance to really say what I've been urging myself to say since fall quarter. Maybe it's because I know I'll miss this place and I don't want to leave...ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I know comfort will lead to my own demise. I need to challenge myself and explore another chapter of my life. I've been talking about how I want to move to new place and meet new people and broaden my horizons of life. I'm stuck here with the same conflict I was walking back and forth with in my head last year when I wanted to run for chair. And I'll admit, I wouldn't take back the experience because this has been an amazing year. I feel more accomplished than I thought I would be. But is it time to take the alternate route?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I'll find out soon enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6675655987199571201-4176005623125203742?l=brentopher.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/feeds/4176005623125203742/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6675655987199571201&amp;postID=4176005623125203742' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4176005623125203742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6675655987199571201/posts/default/4176005623125203742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brentopher.blogspot.com/2008/04/underdog.html' title='The Underdog'/><author><name>Brentopher</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04711382772086991043</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='30' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vNqvUG3JBbk/Tcmfafcg4MI/AAAAAAAADPw/6SG7dtE3Q-w/s220/163622_10100112044763224_3305368_53100679_5122730_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
