Welcome to the website of writer & cavaleira Frisbee Jackson...

Blindfolded
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Yesterday, quite an extraordinary thing happened.

In honor of my recent birthday, a group of my good friends came to “kidnap” me. Blinded-folded, I was then escorted to the car, where we drove around for a good few minutes. Then the car came to a halt and I was led out– blindfold still on. Not being able to see at first was quite daunting. I was in a world of darkness, walking slowly and cautiously not to run into anything. My hands groped out before me to make sure nothing was in my way.

The fantastic thing is, after a while my brain began to pick up where my eyes could no longer see. When I was led outside of the car, I could see a wonderful snow covered hill. The colors were somewhat dull still, but it was a snow covered hill all the same. As we walked closer I could see the stairs that led to a splendid estate. A Thrushcross Grange (I have just read Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte) in its own right. As we walked in, I could smell the popurri and see the grandeur of the home. Rich, burgundy rug covered the deep mahogany of the hard wood floors. Candles were lit, and I could hear glasses clinky and people merrily mingling. An air of excitement filled the grand room. It was decorated for Christmas and all types of silver, gold, deep reds and greens popped out at me.

The blind fold was removed. “OPEN YOUR EYES NOW!” my friends shouted in unison.

I didn’t want to open my eyes. In fact, I hesitated a bit. But then my eye lids slowly parted, and there I was in the middle of a pet store.

Birthday
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Birthdays are weird. they’re overrated and underrated at the same time. because you go into it with your souped up modesty– “oh no, please this card/gift was unnecessary.” and when people break out in song “oh no, please stop singing. it’s not a big deal.” at the same time, it makes you feel really good inside. they are all recognizing and celebrating your day. it’s kind of neat, and something that puts you in a league with martin luther king jr. and “the presidents.” and if your friends forget, it makes you kind of sad. you kind of come to expect outbursts of “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” or hastily-made “cards” (computer paper shoddily folded in half written with pens and highlighters for that splash of color).

At the same time, why is this day really any difference. And after the age of 13, the buildup and fun really isn’t there anymore. (With the exceptions of 16, 18 and 21, of course). but honestly 17? who really cares… “oh you can see an R rated movie.” but i saw Titanic when i was 11. not a big deal at all. after 13, only birthdays that come with writs of passage really matter.

in fact, i feel like birthdays can even be worse than normal days. just like in 16 candles, there is so much expectation and so much room for failure unlike any other day. any other day, an average joe schmo pessimist like me, imagines that day will have its fair share of shittiness. however, on your birthday, it almost has to be good. it’s the day you were introduced into this world, after all. the bar is set so high, it’s easy to limbo underneath it.

basically what i’m trying to say is today felt kind of special. but at the same time. not special at all. a completely ordinary day. but extraordinary at the same time. someone baked me brownies, another made me cookie bars, and another sent me flowers. so unnecessary. but so nice. :) but now, there isn’t really anything. it’s over. it all happens so quickly. and now i just feel kind of crappy. but i felt kind of crappy before. i don’t know…

All Good Things
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“All good things must come to an end.” This aphorism seems to hold true to the tests of time. As much as we wish otherwise. We want those specific golden moments (minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades…) to remain for eternity, sometimes holding on to them like security blankets, until they are well past their prime. We wish for these golden moments would stay golden forever, even when we know it cannot happen.

However, there is no exclusionary clause contained in this aphorism saying we cannot mine new gold from the ever-rich earth. Excuse this extended metaphor, but there is more gold to be found, gold that is just as good as the last, if not more valuable. Just because some has been extracted does not mean the ground is not brimming with more! We must learn to stop hording those golden memories of the past and allow ourselves to cherish them, while continuing seeking new gold. Forge new relationships. Begin new adventures. Start new chapters. Coasting on past memories is not enough. All good things must end, but once one does– begin another!

While I have trouble practicing what I preach, I have a feeling that life would be more worthwhile this way.

Anti-Drug Ad
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Apologizes, my nonexistent readers for the hiatus. In fact, I write only to say that this dry spell will probably continue on for a while until I really get time to sit down.

But I have thought of a new anti-drug ad, based on those that are themed with the “How are you going to explain to your *insert loved one(s) here* that you couldn’t *insert crucial activity here* because you were getting high.

It begins with a shot of the Eugene Hecht Physics book third edition and an open blank notebook. A mechanical pencil, slightly askew, is near the spiral of the notebook. Then it widens to a shot of a little Asian girl with a plastic object in her hands, intently facing the television. Loud clicking noises are frequent and it becomes apparent that she is jamming to “Through the Fire and Flames.” Then it cuts to:

*female voice over* “How are you going to explain to your physics teacher that you failed the test because you were playing Guitar Hero III?”

Then it fades…

into the story of my life.

Intelligence
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Intellect cannot accurately be measured quantitatively.