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Themistocles
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Name: Michael
Country: United States
State: Texas
Birthday: 11/22/1983
Gender: Male
Interests: Clarinet, reading, computer, pool
More at www.thefacebook.com
Expertise: Electrical Engineering - robotics, specifically
Occupation: Student
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
8/25/2003
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| I have not posted in a while. Subscriptions "ftw" (that's online-gamer speak meaning "For the win," a phrase I have come to rather enjoy). I sit here, a lowly twenty-three year old male, listening to the Eels, a band I discovered in Europe. I have yet to write up my Europe trip to completion. I resigned my position at Applied Research Laboratories (ARL), a decision I have yet to relay to my family. This is compounded humorously through my mother's statement: "At least you haven't quit your current one while you look for a new job! What a horrible idea that would be." [heavily, heavily paraphrased]. Why did I resign? It wasn't a good fit. Everything at ARL was perfect - guys who are genuinely competent and highly motivated, interesting projects, amazing managers, time alone to myself. And, even given that, I didn't enjoy what I did. Red flag. Why not? Administrative issues made now more desirable than a month from now, et cetera. So what do I do now? I have extreme hubris - I genuinely believe I am _capable_ of anything. I do not, now, believe I can _do_ anything well (that requires interest, something which I did not previously and do not currently possess). I thought a good bit about this before I resigned. Options: Military - I'm currently the only male in my family not to have given some military service. It's a great way to learn discipline and a great thing to do when you can't think of anything else. However, there's a war ongoing. Decisions, decisions...
Education - I have always espoused the virtues of education. I have always claimed that if the pay were something worthwhile I would teach in a heartbeat. Fuck the pay. Maybe, if this is my true calling, I should follow. (I care too much about the opinions of engineers - "Those who can, do. Those who cannot, teach.")
Consulting - It's the people-portion of engineering. The sentiment of "not being able to hack it" follows even here. In fact, it follows everywhere that isn't research or standard industry positions. Research = not for me. Standard Industry Positions = lame as fuck, requiring only a GED.
Law School/Med School - I'm only genuinely interested in med school. Law school is an option, and I may take the LSAT just to take it, but I don't think poring over archaic texts is really any different than reading line after line of electrons (i.e. "research" in E.E.). In medical school I could make the big bucks, interact with real people and receive genuine respect for my profession. Time-intensive.
Business school - An interesting thought. My uncle is a CFO. His children hold similar positions. My father was a broker after 20 years in the military. He was bad-ass, family ties aside. Maybe this is that for which I was bred? Again, "he couldn't hack it in engineering so he went business." One begins to wonder if engineers (the true sort) are capable of hacking it in business. People are far more variable than databases.
Acting/creative career - Most definitely a thought though there is a reason this is last. I feel most intelligent when slightly inebriated. Maybe this means I'm meant to be the new Hemmingway. Hah. I don't know. It'd be fun to strut around on stage and fuck with people. Maybe the emotionless are most capable of displaying emotion. Anyway, I don't know what I want to do in life. This is a serious problem. We, as Americans, are overwhelmed by our success. What the fuck do we do with our free time? Our ancestors simply had to gather and hunt. We have to create. | | |
| One of the last books my father was reading is apparently Ideas and Opinions, a collection of essays by Albert Einstein.
The last sentence in the blurb on the back describing the book reads: "Einstein's stature as one of the most creative and progressive thinkers of the twentieth century is clearly demonstrated by his remarkable ability to penetrate directly to the heart of a subject, whether scientific or secular."
The juxtoposition [scientific versus secular, instead of the more common religious versus secular] at the end of the rather long sentence is most interesting.
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| I was pickpocketed on the metro in Rome. Lost my passport, Eurail pass, TX Driver's License, Rice ID and debit card (along with random receipts and touristy stuff likes maps). Everything was fixed 36 hours later due to my awesome brother. I didn't suffer due to the awesomeness of the Sandy Hostel and its staff and patronage, notably Phillipe, Nick, and Chris. | | |
| Ah, Europe. Where to begin?
I finally have free internet access and no desire to be outside just
now. I'll write a brief history of my travels so far in Europe.
First, a travelogue:
Lubbock to San Padre to Philipsburg to New York to London to Paris to
Amsterdam to Brussels to Antwerp to Brugge to Cologne to Prague to
Berlin to Brussels to Strasburg to Vienna to Castelfiorintino to Pisa
to Florence to Barcelona... (where I am now)... to Pamplona to Venice
to Rome to Naples to Athens to Santorini to Thessoloniki to... (given
the time)... Budapest to Salzburg to Prague to London to New York to
Dallas to Lubbock.
An appropriate quote:
There are places I remember all my life,
Though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain.
All these places have their moments
Of lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I loved them all.
The
quote is both beautiful and true. Admittedly, I haven't much
perspective at the moment - it's unusual to forget something that happened
a few days ago - but I've no doubt the validity will stand the test of
time.
Philipsburg
Philipsburg was time spent with my uncle. I met Jason Schiller
there, too, to begin our travels abroad. My uncle was
amazing. He took us to a different restaurant all but one night
and treated us at each one. He took us to a casino and taught us
craps and gave us 50 dollars to blow. And believe you me, I blew
it like no other. Never before have so fantastically quick and
successive losses been recorded in the history of gambling. That
was not to be the first money I inadvertently lost in my travels.
London
After Philipsburg, Jason and I headed to London via New York. We
settled in at the Globetrotter Inn and met the not-so-local
staff. Delwyn, who receives the award for the coolest name there,
was fairly typical: fed up with boring old New Zealand (*gasp*) she
headed to London for two years of work-study and was presently changing
our sheets and emptying our wastebaskets. The rest were all from
Australia and New Zealand with fairly similar back stories. Most
were quite attractive.
We started our travels by just buying a 24-hour metro pass (anathema in
Houston, godsend in Europe) and getting off at cool, famous-sounding
stops (Westminster for starters). Our strategy paid off; upon stepping
out of the station, we were greeted with the impressive sight of Big
Ben (which, to my surprise, is actually part of the British parliament
building. I always thought it was a free-standing structure). Right
down the street was Westminster Abbey. This density of world-renowned
structures, we were to find out, is far from unique to London.
Paris
Lamentably passing over the English Channel via ferry, Jason and I made
our way to the City of Love, Paris. What they don't tell you (but
something on which all tourists will agree) is that it would be more
aptly called the City of Dirt. But what more would you expect from a
people who's women don't shave their armpits?
Still mere Americans, not yet the world travelers we were destined to
become, Jason and I decided again to meander, hoping to see famous
stuff. And famous stuff we did indeed see. We were guided by a nifty
little tourist map Jason found, of course, but it was hard to miss
Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, the Seine River, et cetera.
Both bored and adventurous, Jason and I decided to walk along the river
'til we reached the Eiffel Tower, knowing that the Subway system for
which we had tickets would close at 12:30 (Parisians go to bed early
and don't come out on Sundays). We arrived at the Eiffel Tower around
12.20. Unable to find the metro, we started the four or five kilometer
hike back to our hostel, nearly one quarter of the city away.
Traveling is a phenomenal way to get in shape.
Amsterdam
In both London and Paris, we primarily exercised our forefingers,
testing out our cameras (well, I did anyway). We even took some
clandestinely-shot, "illegal" pictures of the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo
in the Louvre. Amsterdam, we felt, should be different. It
is not a city of great repute and that is why we went. A city
more of places than of things (brown cafes, the Red Light District vs
famous sculptures and buildings), Jason and I knew we were going to
take it easy.
Sleeping on a boat under the management of a kooky but lovable
Hollander, we met several people: Jeff, Josh, Jerome and,
briefly, another J-man (Jeremy?). I was overwhelmed by their
combined J-power. Eventually, Jason, Josh, Jerome and I went to
town to take in the sights. We visited a brown cafe (where I
indulged myself in "Space Cakes" and "Space Shakes"). I even
tried a joint of hashish (part marijuana and part tobacco). I was
completely unaffected. Apparently it requires more than one
attempt. Oh well.
After the cafe (the famous Bulldog, by the way. Don't worry,
I hadn't heard of it before either), we went to the Red Light
District. It is very disconcerting when you hear a knock directed
at you, turn towards the sound, and see a scantily-clad woman
unabashedly attempting to seduce you for profit. That she is more
or less framed in the window and that you can often see a cot or other
suitable place for "business transactions" serves only to heighten the
sense of being in some weird alternate universe in which humans are
little more respected than zoo animals.
Some places are a sink for all that happens there. "What happens
in Amsterdam stays in Amsterdam" and all that. With that thought,
I move onto the next stage in my journey.
Belgium and Köln, Deutchland
Fortuitously-timed, I was scheduled to meet Alex and his friends in
Brussels the day after Jason left for the states. I'm skipping a day in Amsterdam of
visiting the Anne Frank house and a few other things with four Irish
women (Kathy, Rosse...) but it was pretty nondescript anyway.
Unfortunately, I woke too late and missed my bus to meet Alex and his
ilk in Brussels. Instead, I spent an hour in Brussels and went on
to Antwerp where we had all booked a hostel.
Antwerp was beautiful. Filled with genuine parks in which you
felt completely removed from the city around you (much like being on
Rice University's campus) and beautiful architecture, the small city
sparkled with a personality all its own. I was amazed by the view
afforded visitors just upon entering the main train station. I
have a theory: all European train stations are actually converted
palaces and castles. The stunning facades certainly seem to
indicate such.
I arrived at the hostel, set aside in verdant fields and next to a
large pond in the south of town (just below the Ring), at a reasonable
hour. Alex and friends did not. But, because of the noble
nature of my personage, I waited for hours past closing time to let
them all in=]. They were adequately gracious. That night I
met David (the Roommate), David (the Mormon), Ken, Tiffany Yavuz and
Revaz, Attached to this posse, I saw a little bit of Antwerp the
next day before we traveled on to Brugge. It was their three-day
weekend trip so we moved quickly.
In Brugge we met a bedraggled group of American travelers in search of
beds. After a somewhat lengthy exchange during which one of the
guys asked about the quality of Charlie (a.k.a. cocaine) in Amsterdam,
they headed off in direction unknown to find a welcoming field on which
to pass the night. The rest of us traveled around the city for
some time more before heading back to our Hostel Europa. When we
awoke in the morning, I had to leave to catch my bus - Alex and all but
David the Roommate went on to a boat tour and saw various other sights
around the city.
David the Roommate went back with me to Cologne (Köln in German-speak,
phonetically Koeln) due to an unexpected visit from an old girlfriend
he did not like. He never actually found her once we arrived in
town. Oops. Fortunately, though, he was able to show me to
Alex's house and introduced me to Frau Rosemary Lorenza and her
children.
The next few days passed peacefully. My backpack had increased in
weight and my back was starting to legitimately bitch and moan. I
was also travel-weary and needed some time off my feet. Alex's
host family's house was perfect for that. I slept long and read
after I awoke while I waited for Alex to return from home. We
then wandered the streets a bit and hooked up with his friends (first
night Tiffany and David the Roommate, the second and third day and
night Ken played a roll). We watched soccer. We
cheered. It was good.
On that third day they were going under the Dom (which was the tallest
(not largest, Alex:)) structure in Europe until the Eiffel Tower was
built) - a rare treat. Unfortunately, I was unable to join as I
was leaving before the tour would be finished. Instead, I climbed
each of 180 or so meters of the Dom with my recently-lightened (but by
no means light) rucksack. A few of the other tourists asked if I
was on a special training regiment. I smiled.
Prague
After that much-needed rest, I traveled to Prague to give my wallet a
much-needed rest as well. I originally intended on going to
Berlin but, as I was to run up against later, too, Eurolines (the
company through whom I had my 30-day pass to tour Europe "without
restrictions") doesn't allow city-to-city travel within a nation except
within certain restraints. Without restrictions indeed.
Anyway, Prague was wonderful. And cheap. I met two
imminently forgetable female college students and one philosophizing
27-year-old washed-out male. I was even able to observe the side
story developing around Mexican Sergei and the Berkeley-educated Jew,
Sarah. Poor Ricardo, Sergio's friend, was relegated to the roll
of third wheel. This was a good place, indeed, to begin the
solitary portion of my journey.
While Sergei, Sarah and Ricardo visited Jewish museums and churches in
the countryside made of human bones (religion can be decidedly weird),
the imminently forgetable females and I made our rounds around
Prague. Equipped with a Prague card, we visited the local castle
and went through one of the worst museums I've ever had the
misfortunate to tour. We went across a famous bridge (I have now
run across several of those; who'd've thought that bridges would merit
distinction?) and climbed the entrance-guarding tower. We ate
plentifully.
On my last day, I ventured early to the train station. There, as
I am wont to do while traveling, I smiled at a stranger as she walked
by. Slightly unnerved that she met my gaze for longer than most,
I said, softly, "hello," not knowing if she spoke English. I was
to find out later that she then felt a dilemma as to how far away she
should stand. I was also to find out that she was an English
teacher at a local underprivileged elementary school. Eventually,
she came back up to me (after I'd picked up my book to pass some time)
and asked about my origin. We got to talking and eventually went
to a coffeeshop. When she realized we'd talked past the point at
which I was supposed to leave, she offered to allow me to stay at her
place for the night. I accepted and we hung out for another full
day. I even got to meet some of her students. It is the
closest I've ever gotten to another culture. And I have Eva
Justanov, Slovakian-born Czech teacher of English and French, to thank.
Berlin
The only unfortunate consequence of spending the unexpected time with
Eva (pronounced like the last two syllables in a variant of forever,
"foreva" and not with the long-e sound) was time missed out on
traveling. The bus I missed was going to Berlin. I had a
room in a hostel, BaxPax, reserved. I decided to go for a little
bit anyway.
I managed to spend the better part of a day in Berlin. I visited
the Brandenberg Tür (the gate of the Berlin Wall at which its end was
announced in 1989) in front of which was a large soccer ball almost as
tall as the gate itself on which the outlines of several continents
were visible. The Germans, they love their soccer. I was
also able to see two of six monuments to German engineering (a cleated
shoe and an aspirin tablet) before I attempted to leave for Munich.
Interstition
Unfortunately, I was not remembering the difficulty I had in getting to
Berlin the first time around: namely, that Eurolines does not travel
between cities within the same nation. "All right," I told
myself, "why don't I just go somewhere nearby and then straight to
Munich from there?" Logical. Plausible. Flawed.
I wanted to get to Munich because I already had reservations. I
had an extra day to get there so I decided to set off. First to
Brussels; I knew Brussels and it was, in my poorly-oriented mind, not
too far off the path from Berlin to Munich. Unfortunately,
Brussels doesn't go to Munich but once or twice a week.
Damn. Anywhere closer? Frankfurt? No.
Zurich? No. Strasburg? Yes. Perfect!
Strasburg, too, has infrequent buses to Munich.
Scrap Munich, hang out in Strasburg, go to Vienna. See now why
it's fun to fly by the seat of your pants? Strasburg turned out
to be a charming little town. Like most secdonary European cities
(and even a few of the main ones), the central part of town was all but
cordoned off to traffic as we Americans know it. Almost all
intercity traffic comprises pedestrians and pedalers. It made for
a most comfortable and relaxed feeling of community.
The most remarkable story I have of Strasburg begins shortly after my
arrival. Having befriended a graduate student who was seeing off
her friend, I asked for help in finding the Eurolines office. You see, where Eurolines drops you off in
Strasburg is actually an uninhabited, sketchy bus stop on the fringes
of the small town. In
a show of friendliness I have come almost to take for granted due to
its ubiquity, she actually rode with me on the train and walked to the
location of the station. I learned she was Turkish and studying
economics in Strasburg because she had gone to a French university in
Turkey. Her high-school friend, similarly, had been funneled by
the Turkish system to another university in the Netherlands.
After dropping me off, I decide to go back to the station in the hopes
of catching a late-night train to Munich (that still being my plan at
the time). On my way I find out that the trains are done running
(it was midnight when she agreed to help me) so I'd have to walk the
few kilometers back to where I would stay the night. Fortunately,
before my journey began, I ran into two Georgians (of the US, not
Asian, variety). The guy, Franz, was neither German (indeed, he
was black - about as far from Aryan as you can get) nor sober.
His "girlfriend," Rosemary O'Toole was not amused by his antics.
I found him charming. Besides, he studied physics before his
weeding, after which he became an economics major. The meeting
was fortuitous because they let me come back to their hotel (the
infamous Hotel Ibis I had seen all over) to shower and clean up a
bit. It had been four days.
Vienna
That little diversion cost me about a week. It was well-spent,
but so was I. Carrying around a 25 kg rucksack for seven days
will make strong shoulders and even stronger legs.
I arrived in Vienna on July 1st. Upon arrival, I found out that
the Vienna Boy's Choir, their Philharmonic Orchestra and indeed every
other musical entity of any repute ceased operation during the months
of July and August - their summer. Furthermore, I found out that
a world-famous conductor, Plácido Domingo, was
offering a free concert on June 30th. I felt anguish as no
self-styled gothic teenager had ever known. Since there wasn't much else that I wanted to do in Vienna, I decided to relax for a day or two.
Bad idea. In my relaxed, bemused state, I walked along one of the
city's main avenues. Along the 6 m wide sidewalks, I found street
urchins peddling their own product: fraud. Three cups, one rolled
aluminum-foil ball and a placemat. One practitioner and three
deceptively-positioned associates. Highly choreagraphed
interplay. Gullible tourist.
I fell into the last category. In my relaxed state, my calm
arrogance decided that I would beat these parasites at their own
game. I watched the sequence through which the charlatan's
friends-in-the-audience acted: noticing when they properly identified
the ball and received money. Noticing when they chose the
obviously-wrong cup. I divined a plan: I would interject my
guess when one of them would be guessing the appropriate cup. It
was fool-proof: to deny me the guess would have been to reveal the real
game, to allow me my guess without adequate preparation on his part
would afford me the victory I sought.
I failed.
Egregiously, as it turned out. After that I was somewhat
confused, so certain was I in my plan. I had in my hand the 300€
I had recently removed from my bank account. Somehow, through no
action of my own, those 300€ ended up in his hand. Damn.
You win some, you lose some. Don't ever try to beat a man at his
own game, especially when morals or other corrigible factors are not
involved. Especially when they outnumber you.
Tuscany
I thought Florence would be a good place to go next, so I booked a
hostel. Eurolines did not agree with my assessment. They
decided that Milan would be better. Worried that I might find
myself in the same situation as had occurred before, I nonetheless
booked a ride down to Milan in the hopes of finding a connection to
Florence. I was aided in the foreknowledge that Italy was one of
those exceptions to Eurolines no-cities-in-same-nation rule.
Like most of my other bus rides, this one carried through the
night. I used these times to sleep, or attempted to do so, and
save money. Two birds with one smelly, unhygienic stone. On
each of my forays into foreign nations, I always made sure to watch my
fellow travelers. The human condition intrigues me. Who are
these people? Why do they travel? What are their hopes,
their desires? Do they know the same world that I know?
More often than not, these questions go unanswered. I eventually
drifted off to sleep after the talkative German girls behind me had
said enough. The Korean couple in front of me were donning face
masks, themselves preparing for a night of fitful sleep.
I awoke the next morning in Milan, dumped unceremoniously in front of
the south Milan bus and train station. Quick to action, I bought
two one-way tickets on the subway so that I could check the price of
the train going to Florence (which I expected to be too expensive) and
then compare that to the time for my free trip via bus. Arriving
in the main train station, I find that the tickets aren't too
exorbitant (only 23€ or so) and that the facilities are beyond my
expectation. I find an international service station and purchase
an already-researched Eurail pass for 21 days effective on July
9th. Lines would be considerably shorter if people did a little
online research beforehand.
With everything working beautifully, I find myself in Florence before
the sun rises to its daily zenith. Still, I have not yet
completed the adventure of finding my hostel. Sometimes the
adventures are short; sometimes they are long. They are always
adventures.
Per the instructions on my confirmation information, I take a train
(the 13:05 train, Binario 2) to Siena. Along the route, past
Empoli, is Castelfiorintino, a small town screaming "rural
Tuscany". It is in this town that my hostel can be found.
I found the hostel at 14:30. It did not open until 16:00.
Time to read. After checking in, I made my way to Pisa. I
had come to rely on the exceptionally long days in Europe; the sun
often didn't set until nine or ten at night. I paid a machine
7.40€ for a reduced-fare ticket with the personal understanding that I
was discounted either because I was a student or because I was a
"youth" (all Europeans under 26 receive special financial
consideration). The roaming officer disagreed. Fortunately
I escaped without a fine. I even talked with a ticket agent in
Empoli (where I had to switch trains) in an attempt to properly update
my ticket and he just told me not to worry about it. Well, he
told an Italian who told me.
On the brief ride to Pisa, I talked with this kind Italian and her
friend. Her friend, 22, was my age and had been married three
years. She herself was courting a married man while dating
another guy. An interesting tangent: the married man, a Romanian,
would send her text messages in his native language. She spoke
Italian and broken English but no Romanian. Her 22-year-old
friend was Romanian and spoke perfect Italian. Thus, when Married
Man texted Kind Italian, Her Friend would translate the text and type a
dictated reply, translated back into Romanian. It is an amusing
sort of game you wouldn't ever see in the US. Their names were
Barbara and Adriana.
Though they were traveling to Invorno, Barbara decided she´d help me
find the proper busline in Pisa while Adriana smoked and got something
to eat. Another show of that ubiquitous kindness.
On the bus to the Campanile (better known as the Leaning Tower), I saw
that same Korean couple I first observed on the bus from Vienna to
Milan. Odd. We struck up a conversation. It turns out
they had also run into someone they'd met earlier in their travels and
all three were off to see the Tower. Young-He, the third guy, and
I hit it off pretty well. We got some good pictures with and of
the Leaning Tower. The other two, who´s very asian names I
forget, made for pleasant company. The male had even studied
communication (the real, double-e kind; not the MassCom bullshit of
large universities) with a focus in Signals (which is what I do).
We couldn't really discuss our work, unfortunately, because he spoke
very broken English.
The next morning I began to talk with a New Zealander staying in the
same hostel in Castelfiorintino. After a bit of discussion, I
learned that she worked for a year in London and was now traveling
Europe. I told her I stayed in the Globetrotter Inn - she
mentioned she had an old mate there: Delwyn. Extraordinary.
We parted, her destination being Siena, mine Florence. I made the
most of my day, seeing Ponte Vecchio (the only bridge in Florence to
survive World War II), Michelangelo's David, the
magnificent Duomo and the city itself. On my second and last day
in Florence I decided to see Palazzo Pitti after a brief look around
some skipped parts of Florence. Next to the palace were the
Boboli gardens, one of my more disappointing choices so far.
Fortunately, I could rush through without chagrin and catch my last bus
on time.
Barcelona
After wandering the streets for a while in the morning, I am now here
in the hostel with wonderful, free internet access. My plan at
the moment (subject to extreme change) is to go to Pamplona to run with
the bulls, see the rest of Italy, and enjoy Greece. I am really
looking forward to Rome (though it is notoriously dirty) and Santorini
with its amazing vistas. WIth time, I'll go to the baths in
Budapest, celebrate Mozart's 250th birthday in Salzburg, his
birthplace, and visit Madame Toussoud's in London before heading
home. Expect another update mid-August at the latest.
| | |
| I had no intention of writing this entry tonight. I had no intention of writing this entry ever.
To start things off, a random thought. As I thought about my life-after-college (one of the few life-after situations in which you can talk to the survivors) I realized I'd have to fix my lunches to bring to work. It is very likely that I'll have a granola bar, a sandwich and maybe some sort of fruit or vegetable that can last the hours before I'll eat it. Darn perishables.
It then struck me that this meal is almost exactly what I ate as a child going to school. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Anyway, back to the ominous import from the first line. The reason I kind of changed or altered my behaviour (yes, the British spelling) this past semester is because... <drum roll> .. a relative died This was guessed by many. Just who was this relative? My father.
February 15th, a day after Valentine's Day, my father died of a broken heart. He had an aneurysm in his ascending aorta. The surgery went beautifully (he came to the Houston Medical Center - some of the best doctors in the nation reside therein. He had a condition, to which I will get in a bit, the main student of which practices in the Houston Medical Center.) After my mother spent some time with him (along with my brother, myself and my uncle and his wife, though myself not nearly enough) there were some issues. Right before the issue happened, when he and my mother were alone, my mother thanked him for the best Valentine's Day she'd ever had (because the surgery went so incredibly well).
He then had internal bleeding. They got him to the emergency room and pumped enough blood through him to change his blood type. He did not survive.
The condition from which he (and perhaps myself, though my siblings definitely do not have the condition) is called Ehler's Danlos. It is genetic condition which manifests itself in extreme flexibility of the joints (double-jointedness), "transparent" veins (you can see them from the surface of the skin) and a history of bruising easily. I possess all of these symptoms, though not as severely as my sister. My father had the type four version of the condition - the most severe. Most do not survive past their twenties. Thankfully, my father did. He lived until he was 64 (hence the "When I am 64" song lyrics in my profile during mid-February).
Anyway, I thought it important to tell my friends this fact. I can't really explain why I couldn't say it earlier. A few of you know, but very few. I just want you all to know how incredibly important and appreciated were your efforts to throw me a graduation party and to just, in general, be my friend. Thank you. | | |
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