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Jewson
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Name: Steven
Country: United States
State: California
Birthday: 12/4/1983
Gender: Male
Interests: Cars, FSAE, cars, anything funny, driving, cars, and occasionally women, but they're not as good as cars.
Expertise: Cars and procrastination, obviously. Why the shit am I makin this if not to procrastinate.
Occupation: Student
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  rexbo2006
MSN: rexbo2002@aol.com
Member Since:
3/30/2004
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| This goes way back... to some awesome times. This is a dude nobody but
me really knew so its gonne be new to you. I lived near this guy named
Charlie Harper, so because he only lived a street away I'd ride my bike
or walk over there or whatever. He was an awesome dude to hang out with
because he was a year older than me, a shitload taller, and had a house
and backyard that would make tarzan right at home. It was a jungle not
in a creepy esoteric way that writers and musicians embed themselves
in, but a jungle in that it was a whole bunch of breakable things that
were put together into a house for a 10-year old's amusement. I think
the house was on more than an acre, so even thought it was a big house,
the overall jungle density was hardly affected by the walls keeping the
greenery out. So pretty much it ruled to hang out there, because his
parents were never home, his dad was a big tool freak, and there was a
jungle outside with 4 dogs to join in, there were always crunch-berries
in the kitchen and a sega genesis with the TV. We had fun.
It was stereotypical hangin out with Charlie, honest. Put on your
"Honkey-Vision" caps and imagine what two white kids living on a farm
would do in the 50s. That was us. There, we build our first go-cart,
our first soapbox derby car, our first treehouse, set the burglar alarm
off and watched the cops come and turn it off and timed them, watched
the first porn (i learned the word "boner" from him, no joke), explored
all the local creeks and crap, went on crazy journeys through the
bushes, and sculpted myself into a good well rounded rosy-cheeked
wholesome white boy. Now bear with me, I'm gonne sound like your
father, but it was amazing how much fun we had when you don't give a
crap about things like getting dirty, buying clothes, hurting yourself,
stepping in 3 different blends of shit, and possibly contracting
cholera.
I have to talk about the tree fort, because it was FUCKIN cool. So
there was a big oak tree that had a zipline on it, only the plastic
yellow thing had broken long ago so we bought a new one and wanted to
fix it. At this point, Mr. Murphy stepped in with his inevitable laws
and deemed that all the ladder rungs that originally led to the zipline
had fallen out so there was no way to get to it. Mix in one part
inaccesable zipline, two parts 500-year old oak tree, two kids and a
dash of ingenuity and you'll get yourself one sloppy mess of a tree
house. Let me tell you, this thing rocked harder than autism. There
were essentially two platforms, one pallet formed the base from where
you could use the zipline that went to the pool, while the other 2
pallets formed the main part. We tried as best we could to get the main
platform level but it never really worked out so we covered it with
carpet and called it a day. Both platforms had roofs covering them made
out of these huge plexiglass panels that they had lying around for some
reason, so it wasnt ever dark inside, and we even slept in there for
some reason during a huge rainstorm and didnt really get that wet, but
I guess the whole lightning thing was the part that really drove us out
of the fort that night. I could go on about his house and the shit we
did, but maybe some other time.
I want to raise kids in a place with open space and build them a
treehouse. You also may now refer to me as "Uncle 50's White Man, Only
Without the Racial Injustice and Confused Post-War Surrealist
Mentality". Or just U50WMOWRICP. Heck, just call me Jewson.
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| Here's a good one for your enjoyment.
You'll probably notice that the main players in these stories are the
same few people: kirk, spencer, terry, greg rice, omar, oscar, connor,
val, chris, the usual crowd. That wasnt because I hung out with them
all the time, its because we're the only ones who bothered to screw
around. You'll never hear me tell a story about either one of the Danas
in our class, because they didnt do jack. Nobody remembers the goody
goody kid who sat in front, got good grades and cared about class. Its
a shame thats how society is, but i'm not here to give a lesson on
social responsibility or morality, so who cares? They'll probably end
up in a cubicle somewhere just like me, pretending they know what
they're doing, but in the end just succumbing to beaten path. Its
called the beaten path because everyone on it has been beaten into
submission by life. You can count me in!
Anyways, on this particular day we were in math class in 5th grade with
Mr. Hamilton. Maybe it was 7th grade who knows, thats not important.
Either way it was Mr. Hamilton up front, and spencer, kirk, me, connor,
peter hu, and geoff in back. Kinda like a mullet I guess, all business
up front and a party in the back. Wow, I think I'm going to cry. Let me
give you some back ground on Mr. Hamilton: he was a 6'4" 220lb black
guy in is mid 50s who had been thoroughly on the beaten path. Not
beaten in like the social unrest of the 60's, I mean beaten in that he
stood in front of a class of snotty white kids and mumbled about simple
algebra. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe his tactic of teaching was genius; he
mumbled only loud enough so the first 3 rows could hear him, so that
would segregate the kids into who cared up front, and who didnt, out
back. To me at least, I think he was just defeated. We did what we
could in back to get him mad, but we never got more than a mumble out
of him, so eventually we gave up and ignored him, and the favor was
returned. We usually referred to him as "the robot" because he was
square shaped almost like the frankenstein in the movies, but with half
the stitches and black. He also almost never moved from his standing
position with his back to us, and had really good handwriting. Not a
real imaginative name, but he fit the description.
On this particular day however, something we did sparked him off. I
can't remember what it was, but the consequences will forever be
embedded in my brain. He was doing his usual routine, rambling on about
something with Xs and Ys and we were thoroughly ensconsed in not giving
a shit. Kirk was looking for something more that day. He was being more
obnoxious than usual, in his usual way, and we didnt mind. Then out of
nowhere, the mumbling stopped, the robot turned around, and slammed his
bear-sized hands on the table and thundered "THAT'S IT, KIRK". He then
plowed, not walked or ran, PLOWED his way through children, desks and
backpacks to Kirk's desk and grabbed him by his jacket. He then lifted
kirk out of his seat and off the ground by his jacket and plowed his
way to the open door of the room, and literally threw kirk out. It was
a trajectory more fit for a duffel bag than a 5th grader, but it was
far more interesting this way. The robot stood in the door to make sure
that the landing went as expected, then turned around, closed the door
and calmly walked to the front of the class behind his desk. 30 pairs
of eyes and not a single sound followed his path. Calmly like nothing
happened, he picked up the math book and a piece of chalk, turned
around back to the board, and continued the lesson. Despite there being
a path of destruction similar to that of a tornado through a trailer
park down the center of the room to Kirk's desk, we listened until the
bell rang, for the first time that year.
Next day it was back to to old habits like nothing had happened. To be
honest, that was the only thing I remember from having him for math for
a whole year, sad huh? I think it was worth it.
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| sup kneegrows.... its been a while but another update, maybe I'll write more soon.
1) LA owns and my job owns.
2) I just spun a rod bearing in my SR, but luckily I now have a truck and a flatbed trailer to tow it with. Sweet.
3) Turbos own.
4) Its fun bein in LA... tired of all the stupid shit in San Diego and
all the people that pretty much don't give a shit about anyone else.
Fuck you too.
5) Boon's life is so pointless its almost unbelieveable.
6) Soup puts the "corpse" in Americorps
7) This list sucks.
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| aite... some update:
1) I got an internship at garrett turbocharging so I'll be living
in LA from January-June, takin names and kickin ass. My dream job... so
its time to get the hell outta here.
2) Here's what my break looks like: dec 15-17 working on car, dec 18th
goin to JGTC in Fontana then driving home to SF, dec 19 goin to
party, dec 20-23 goin snowboarding wif friends, dec 23-30 chillin at
home with family, jan 1st reception for sister as well as fatass party
for feen, jan 2nd drivin back souf to SD, jan. 3rd-7th moving my stuff
to LA, jan 8th-9th Settling into place in LA, jan 10th is first day at
work!
In the meantime i have to find an apartment in LA, i have to find
someone to sublet my room to here in SD, and i have to deal with a
bunch of school shit. In other words i got plenty to do.
3) UH OH!
aite more greg rice stories comin later
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| Alright, its time for another story about Greg Rice.
So we were in boy scouts together. Everyone who I hung out with was
pretty much in boy scouts as well, and we were all in the same troop.
Troop 222. Man we were lame. All of the other troops got to
go river rafting, or rock climbing, or backpacking or all these
different fun outdoorsy things and we only ever did this one camping
trip to the same place every year, MAYBE twice a year. It was pretty
weak. It was some place in big basin, where you could drive right up to
the campsite, so it wasnt even really camping. The site was next to
this big river which had a little 10 foot waterfall or so, so one of
the things we could do was swim, which was good because it was always
sweltering there. There was also this mountain next to it with all
these caves that were forbidden to us... so of course thats all we
wanted to do.
Every day while we were camping, the scout leader would take everyone
on a long hike, mostly to tire the kids out so we'd shut the hell up.
Really what it did was tire out the dads. After the hike in the
morning, we would all come back and it would be pronounced that the
scouts now had "free time" to explore, nap, whatever we wanted to do.
Now I realize this was really just time for all the dads to kick back
and drink beer in the afternoon and not have to watch their dumbass
kids. So this left us to our own devices for an entire afternoon,
which, when applied to 5th graders, means that all hell will break
loose. I'm not sure of the dads knew this, and even if they did, if
they really cared, because we were in the middle of a huge forest, what
the heck could we break? TREES? Most of the time we went swimming, or
we hiked off to explore the caves or we worked on getting some kind of
merit badge with one of the dads who didnt want to drink beer. That was
usually only like 1 or 2 kids though... the rest of us had important
things to do, like crawl around in pitch black caves under incredibly
stupid and dangerous circumstances.
So this one day, the forest climate had suddenly turned into that of
south vietnam in july, and everyone was dying. So we all decided to go
swimming, but greg had instead decided to piss everyone off. I
can't remember what he said or did, it was a long time ago, but it was
enough so that nobody wanted to swimming, so he got the whole river to
himself. He had also made the mistake of pissing off the guy with the
least common sense, in this case, Dylan Hosking. So greg had gone
swimming by himself and we were all sittin around on the bank which was
up about 10 feet from the water just yelling at him. Sometimes we'd
just like chuck sticks and stuff in the water upstream to piss him
off.... but dylan had something different in mind. He picked up
this pretty big flat rock, and we thought he was just gonne chuck it in
the water to splash us or something. No, he chucked it at greg who had
his back turned. Luckily it landed flat against greg's back, or else it
would have broken ribs and such. It just sounded like a huge SLAP on
his back,and left a huge red welt covering most of his round, pale
back. The rock smacked him with so much force, it knocked the wind out
of him briefly and knocked him off his feet so he was just floating
face up in the water. He didn't move for a while and started to float
downstream so we got a little worried and started running along the
bank after him. It was really one of those things you could see coming
a mile away, but what do you know... the fat bastard goes over the
fucking waterfall. We had all jumped off of there into the water below
a million times, but it was really weird seeing him go over it
semi-conscious. Of course none of us really wanted to get the
authorities involved, so we just let nature take its course and he came
back up half an hour later in a raging tantrum, but thats the price you
pay for being an asshole.
Getting knocked out with a huge rock and going over a waterfall. Sounds like an indiana jones movie.
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