Tuesday, September 30, 2008

weekly quote...

Look at a day when you are supremely satisfied at the end. It's not a day when you lounge around doing nothing; it's when you've had everything to do, and you've done it. - Margaret Thatcher

More insight into me...

The History of Justin Chung
My name is Justin Chung. I was born in Monterey, California. My family moved to Hazel Park, Michigan at age 4. At age seven my mother moved to Hawaii to be in a care home and in the care of the family. Before kindergarten I met a family that had a tremendous impact on my life. Josh, Chris, Nick, Heather, Andrew, Greg, and Ellen moved in across the street to 118 W. Jarvis, a house that would play a huge part in my life, a house that I would live in eventually. One time I came to the backdoor while Ellen and Greg were in a heated argument. Ellen has told me that I saved her from being hit that day, she always thought I was her little guardian angel. Greg became abusive to Ellen overtime and in the summer before fifth grade Ellen and the kids moved to Cheboygan, Michigan. They continue to play a part in my life, I definitely consider them my own family. In fact, I’m hosting Thanksgiving for all of us this year. I don’t know if there are many people who have the education history in Hazel Park quite like I do. I began pre-school at Calvary Baptist Church in 1987 and graduated Hazel Park High School in 2001. I am a product of 15 years of Hazel Park education.
I had four amazing teachers at Webster Elementary School that I really connected with. Ms. Hurnevich was a very generous educator. She had a drawer full of prizes, a candy drawer, and a paperbook library. Ms. Hurnevich became quite fond of me often asking me how her favorite student ever is doing. She had me memorize the Gettysburg Address as a side project and rewarded me with butterfingers every paragraph I could recite. Everyday she had speed tests in spelling, math, and reading, if you were first one done in your row you were allowed to get up and pick from the prize, candy, or paperbooks. She had me change rows weekly. I became a big fan of butterfingers and North Carolina University. She would often visit her family in North Carolina and bring back t-shirts, shorts, socks, and other apparel. I would later apply to North Carolina University and get accepted.
In second grade I would become a pupil of Ms. Kline. She was much more of a strict disciplinarian. She wasn’t warm and fuzzy like the other three teachers I would have after her or the one I had before her but nonetheless I would learn an ample amount. I would come to remember Ms. Kline not for what she taught us during school hours, but rather for what she did after school. Two days a week she taught several of us to play the piano. She was an excellent instructor. She knew when we didn’t practice and she commended us when we performed well. During the piano recital my hands were shaking. It didn’t help that while I was practicing a cock roach crawled out of my keyboard. Ms. Kline might’ve sparked my lifelong appreciation for music. I could never thank her enough for all the piano lessons she gave us.
In fourth grade I would learn in the classroom of Mrs. Germain. She began focusing on a small group of us. She had us do extra reading, writing, math, and since she taught fifth grade as well, she had our special group skip fourth grade homework in lieu of fifth grade assignments. In fourth grade I won the school spelling bee. I became the most popular boy in school that day. It was the first time in history a fourth grader won it, but that’s not the reason I will remember it. I will remember it because I beat Pazong Yang, Josh Horvath, and the vaulted Maria Shram (the much talked about school prodigy who skipped fifth grade). In districts I would lose on the word amplifier. I spelled it “amplifire”, I never heard it before, but it became my favorite word and I used it constantly in my vernacular. In the District Spelling Bee I wouldn’t be so fortunate. I placed sixth among the sixteen finalists, nothing spectacular but then again I was the only fourth grade pupil in attendance. Another great memory when I competed against other students in the district was on the chess team. We were the biggest elementary school so we had two teams. The longest game of the day was between my opponent and I. I was the third seed on our team and if I won the game we would win the district tournament. In the final game, I did indeed capture the king, and Webster I won the tournament, Webster II earned second place (Josh Horvath was the captain of Webster II, James Hormez was the captain of our team).
I started playing basketball with Chris in fourth grade as well. I wasn’t very good, I scored one basket all season. Although I wasn’t any good, I knew my baseball days were soon over because I had a new passion. I did have one very fond memory of baseball however. The summer I threw a no hitter. The last pitch was legendary, one out to go and their best hitter was at the plate. He looked like he should be in the midgets, not pee-wee. It was a full count, three balls two strikes, if I threw a ball it was a walk if I threw a strike it was over. I had three pitches; a curve, sinker, or fast ball. Really, they were all just variations of my fast ball. The 5’6, 130 pound man child, who was also their pitcher, who already hit me in the side with one of his pitches, crushed the ball right back at me. I stuck out my worn out blue and black Don Mattingly mitt more in self defense than anything. I twisted my body so my face faced second base and hoped the baseball would hit a useless part of my body. The ball hit right into my palm harder than anything I’ve ever felt. It hit my mitt so hard my wrist strap broke off. With a tear of pain and joy running down my cheek, I managed to grab the ball out of my glove with my right hand and raise it in the air I just threw my first and only no hitter. I played another two summers, but I never got a feeling from baseball quite like I did that day. I retired from baseball for three reasons.
1)My vision was getting worse and by the time I saw the ball it was well on it’s way to hitting me.
2) I didn’t have a washer/dryer so I always had grass stains on my pants and dirt on my shirt, team picture day was just embarrassing (I thought about skipping picture days often)
3) It wasn’t as fun without Chris on my team and competing against Josh once or twice a season. There’s only so many tennis balls you can throw against a wall until you get bored.
In fifth grade I requested Mrs. Germain to be my teacher again. She would be my science teacher yet again in seventh grade and my student council advisor in eighth grade. She didn’t teach me that long in fifth grade before she took her pregnancy leave. Mrs. Caleb (Scholz) would step in as our sub, then long term sub, then interim teacher. She was young, energetic, and warm. I couldn’t think of a more perfect complement to our much missed Mrs. Germain. In fifth grade I became much better in basketball. My dad would give me a quarter for every free throw I could make, and an extra two dollars for every time I went 10 for 10. Curtis and Matt were still much better than me, but I was getting better by the week. In Webster’s annual spelling bee I earned runner-up to Joe Young, who was a grade above me and a great friend of mine. His father bought me a Dyno VFR because we couldn‘t afford a bike. He also bought me a pair of Nike‘s, previously I never owned shoes that were worth over $20. The bike was stolen right in front of my eyes at Wanda park, luckily my shoes weren’t. At the district spelling bee I would be I would turn the tables, Joe finished 8th and just like at Webster I finished runner up in districts.
In sixth grade I requested Mrs. Elfawal to be my instructor. She was the most popular teacher at Webster Elementary and I would soon learn why. She had an engaging personality, a magnetic aura, and beautiful physical features. I had a new kindergarten crush. I now rivaled Curtis Betts for the best basketball player on the team. I made the all star game. I became the 1994 Mr. Basketball, previous winners include John Hormez, James Hormez, and Aaron Hildreth. I won the school spelling bee again. For the District Spelling Bee, I had to leave my basketball game against Hoover elementary school at half time and run to Beecher Junior High. I arrived there with five minutes to spare. I don’t think I caught my breath until the sixth round, I never really calmed my nerves. Again, I did rather well at the District Spelling Bee, becoming the runner up two years in a row. Richard Irvan, the winner, told me after the competition that his team Clark Elementary runs a box and one against me. He is the one in the box and one, and his sole mission in the game is to defend me. I was so proud to wear my Webster Wildcat Basketball t-shirt while having them put the spelling bee medal around my neck. I still own that shirt to this day, it is my all time favorite shirt, I sleep in it. Richard and I became good friends and it marked the first time I met someone who was more intelligent. Even though he was more intelligent, neither one of us could spell cemetery, even after three chances each at that darn word. C-E-M-E-T-E-R-Y. I don’t recall what word I lost on, but I’ll always know how to spell cemetery. C-E-M-E-T-E-R-Y.
Sixth grade was the year you could take finally take band class. I wanted to play saxophone, but that instrument was much too expensive. My dad and I somehow found a flea market on 8 mile that had an instrument dealer. He rode his bike and I ran to this very large building on eight mile. It was only a couple miles away, but from a socioeconomic standpoint, it was quite different. I had the choice between a cornet (smaller trumpet) and a silver trumpet. The cornet was $180 and the silver trumpet was $195. My dad implored me to choose the silver one, but I was sold on the novelty of the cornet. As usual he was right, but because of his admirable parenting skills he let me have the choice anyway. I learned from Mrs. Gerbheardt, the band director, the silver trumpet was probably worth $200-$300 more. I never let my dad know, but I suspect he already did. We also had a computer class one day a week. My dad created a typing tutor game, so I had an inherent advantage over my classmates. By sixth grade I could type over 60 w.p.m. by tenth grade I averaged over 90 w.p.m. In high school, I qualified for the state competition, held at the Renaissance Center, in keyboarding and extrapraneous speech. Sixth grade also marked the first time I could climb to the top of the rope without my legs, reach the top of the peg board, and have my own intramural basketball team. The championship game was at 7pm between Chung’s Chunkettes and Betts’s Ballers. The Ballers went 6-0 and we went 5-1, our only loss coming to them. We ended up losing the championship game in overtime, I hated losing more than anything.
Mrs. Elfawal had some sort of honor’s bucks system. You could earn bucks for good grades, behavior, attendance, flash card wins, etc. If you saved up enough you could win a field trip to her house for dinner and then a Detroit Pistons game. She lived in Auburn Hills and it was one of the nicest houses I’ve been in up to that point in my life. I never attended a pro sporting event either. But the most entertaining part of the trip was sledding on the hills in her backyard.
I didn’t lose contact with Ms. Caleb (Scholz) either. She started a science club that met one day a week after school. We built many unique things, but all I remember is making a volcano erupt. There’s nothing cooler to a little kid than making something come alive. Thank you Ms. Caleb (Scholz) for letting me make my lava blue.
Near the end of the school year Mr. Boldt, Webb’s Junior High School’s cross country coach, stopped by our class to recruit. Since my father wasn’t going to let me play football, I immediately signed up.
There was a lot of memories at Webster Elementary School. I’ll never forget all the awards assemblies, the choir concerts, the piano recital, the spelling bee’s, the basketball games, the recess’s, dodge ball with Mrs. Germain, learning to play the piano, learning the trumpet, making paper machete fish, the book fairs, the battle of the book competitions, the boy scouts, Valentine’s Days, Halloween, safety guard, birthday parties, and the teachers. My last award I would receive from Webster Elementary school would be the 1996-1997 Student of the Year. I had made my mark at that school and I would always cherish the memories.
Not only was I moving to a new school, we would be moving to a new house. My dad and I moved across the street to live with Greg and his two roommates. My father bought a bunk bed and we slept on the front porch. Summer and fall wasn’t bad, but in winter I would wake up shivering. There was also fleas infesting the front porch which took awhile to get rid of. Sadly enough, this was actually an upgrade from our old house. In second grade a Social Services agency had me live with the Horvath’s for two weeks while my dad cleaned the house. Every night was like a sleepover and Josh, Chris, Nick, and I made the most out of it. I remember on snow days I would try to sleep in and they would build a tunnel all the way from their house to mine just to wake me up. We would play outside all day and when we would come in Ellen would have hot cocoa ready for us while our snowsuits were drying in the dryer just so we could make them really warm and do it all over again. One Christmas video, right after they opened their presents and Josh whined that Chris must’ve been the better kid because he had all the better presents, they are filmed begging to call me. I never really got much for Christmas. But one Christmas, I opened the door and there was a box on the front porch. I couldn’t believe it, there was an actual box with things in it. It had flash cards, an abacus, and a pack of 20 little race cars. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in my life. I was too smart to believe in Santa Clause, but it was hard for me to envision my dad going to the store and buying these things and then hiding than from me until Christmas. I also knew no one else would actually buy a kid flash cards for a present. Who does that? My two other favorite presents I received for Christmas was a baseball glove from Ferndale Foursquare, it was a Wilson glove with a big pocket, Greg oiled it up really nice for me and broke it in perfect, and a big truck from Adam Delarosa’s grandmother.
Seventh grade began a couple weeks early running “The Hill” of Webb Junior High School. Lorraine Kline, Danielle Cayer, and Shara Kostinko also joined the team. Between those three, I must have close to a thousand letters. Jack Greenshields, I, and all the girls spent countless hours at Lorraine’s pool, licking kool-aid popsicles, getting a treat at Dairy Park, and riding our bikes around the neighborhood. I struggled to be a top five runner in seventh grade. Mr. Boldt was a great coach, he was very motivating and sincere. It didn’t hurt he brought kool-aid ice cubes to practices either. My best time was a 13:27 2 mile. Basketball came much easier, I made the A team handily. In track, Mr. Boldt had me run multiple events and the high jump as well. Richard and I competed pretty hard against each other in the high jump. I adjusted pretty well to junior high. I was in the highest band class. I had quite a few medals from cross country and track. I performed in the Memorial Day Parade. I had made a lot of new friends. Lastly, I developed a healthy hatred for Beecher Junior High School, after all it was the first time I had a rival.
In August 1996 my dad took Chris and I to Hawaii to visit my mom. I never traveled anywhere with my dad so I was really excited. It was also the second time I was going to see my mom. I don’t think two young boys ever had such a fun field trip. My dad let us roam Waikiki by ourselves, we hung out at the beach all day, and spent hours gawking the merchandise at the International Market Place.
Eighth grade, was more or less much of the same. My cross country time was in the twelve minute range, I was consistently the second or third best runner. Our team won the Belleview Classic, the Centerline Race, and placed at The Stoney Creek Run. Again, I made the A team in basketball, and in track I ran an awful lot under Mr. Boldt. Richard and I performed a trumpet duet at districts. I became president of the student council, joined Creative Academics under Ms. Grant, and competed in the Math Club. At the final awards assembly I won “Student of the Year” for the class of 1997, the previous winner was Joe Hilla.
In ninth grade, I finally had my own room. Well, technically it was the basement, but it was mine, all mine. One roommate would move in and another would move out, Greg went to prison a couple times on assorted felony charges, and finally the basement became empty. Ninth grade was already off to a wonderful start. I joined the marching band and cross country team. Mr. McCoy was the band director and Bob Fulcher was the cross country coach. I saw way too much of both of them before high school even started. I loved everything about high school. I was voted to the B.O.D. (Hazel Park high Schools student government) by my eighth grade class, started on the basketball team, I ran track. I was became the class secretary, joined the bible club, the debate team, drama club, and performed as a “Jet” in the school’s musical Westside Story. Sometimes I would leave my house at 5am and not return until nine or ten. I never really focused too hard on my studies, but so far I had straight A’s. Mrs. Ryan, Victoria’s mom, always said I was going to be the Valedictorian, I really didn’t think it was possible. My dad constantly told me it was okay to get a B, and don’t sweat the grade as much as the learning process.
Freshmen year flew by, I couldn’t believe how much I enjoyed high school. By the end of the year, I felt like much more than a spec on the radar. I was again voted into the B.O.D. which is worth another credit in the high school curriculum. I realized I could graduate high school early if I took a couple community college classes. After advice from my dad I didn‘t want to rush, so I immersed myself more into all that high school had to offer. I earned my 2nd cross country varsity letter, my first track letter, started for the junior varsity basketball team, performed in the Peter Pan musical, became president of the Bible Club, secretary of the sophomore class, debate team, drama club, switched from trumpet to baritone in the marching band, joined the highest band class, joined the all OAA honors band, marched in the Memorial Day Parade for the fourth time, and was invited from some group that wore blue to be in Detroit’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. I still don’t know why I was invited, but I had a blast representing Hazel Park nonetheless. The year flew by and before you know it, it was time for another summer spent with the Horvaths in Cheboygan. It would also be the last time I would spend a summer up there.
Junior year was a year of confidence. It soon became my favorite year of my life so far. I became a co-section leader with Joe Hilla in the marching band, in the regular band I beat him out for first chair. I was chosen by Tim Fulcher to represent Hazel Park in the annual H.O.B.Y. conference. I was accepted into the N.H.S. Again, I was voted into the B.O.D. again I was secretary of the class. Donny Green graduated so I decided not to join the drama club or the musical this year. Donny Green was a junior year when I was a freshmen I met him while doing “West Side Story” and he soon took me under his wing. He wasn’t in the cool group of his class, but he was very cool in his own way. Him and Brandon were best friends. They sang in the highest choir class and were in all the plays and musicals. I had a blast hanging with the cast of West Side Story. We would often just break into random free styles, we rehearsed the fight scenes ridiculously, and we constantly bumped “Notorious Thugs” by Bone Thugs and Biggie before the show. It was great performing the matinees for all the elementary schools. I remember going to see the musical in elementary school and thinking how cool it would be to actually be in the play. Years later, I was singing “The Sharks are gonna have their way toniiiiighhhht!” I decided at the end of my sophomore year that I was going to retire from cross country and track. I told my good friend Danny Brown about the decision at the Sports Banquet that spring. Little did I know he was going to tell Coach Fulcher. Bob Fulcher was not pleased, he thought I was making a huge mistake and openly questioned my character. I told him I needed a job so I could have some money and that I was better at other sports, and I would contribute more to the high school if I pursued them. He wished me the best but for the most part we agreed to disagree. Though, by the same token (one of his favorite lines) I knew where he was coming.
2003 was the first year Hazel Park became eligible to compete in soccer. In 2002, Hazel Park created their soccer program and had to have a customary one year probation before they were added to the schedule. I didn’t play soccer since seventh grade, but I was real happy to learn we now had an official soccer program. In gym class, Mr. Stagg would have us compete in multiple sports. I particular liked football, always and have always will. My team won the intramural championship and he began courting me along with the AD Tom Pratt to be the jv quarterback. I loved the idea of it. At the time I was a freshmen and I was very committed to the cross country team, also my dad wasn’t too fond of me playing football. I know we didn’t have any insurance so if I broke my collarbone or anything like that, I would be in a world of hurt. My only regret in high school is not pursuing the position Mr. Stagg and Mr. Pratt were encouraging to do. Mr. Stagg played linemen for the University of Michigan, his picture is on the hall of fame in the gym. He is certainly someone I admired.
I decided to try out for the soccer team. The two a days and the practices came quite easy, after all I did come from a sport where all you do was run. I was always much more coordinated than I was fast, but soccer took another level of coordination altogether. Not only did I make the varsity team, I was voted the captain. It wasn’t my best sport, but one of my best memories come from it. We were playing Southern Lathrup at home in the rain. The lights were shining bright and the rain was coming down hard. We had a 3-2 lead with about five minutes ago, they kept pressing us, kept pressuring us, we couldn’t seem to keep the ball off our side of the field. Our goalie Francie Atcho just booted the ball back on their side. Their defender came down with the 50/50 ball and switched fields on us. Francie was caught way out of position when their midfielder struck the ball from the forty on our open net. I immediately came from the other side of the field and ran down to the ten where I dove backwards and flipped my head to knock the ball off its path. The soccer ball went over the center post by about a foot and we secured our first win of the season. There’s nothing quite like slide tackling in a heavy downpour, competing in mud puddles, and celebrating in the rain.
I made the varsity basketball team amidst quite a coaching controversy. Mr. Kirkland, the varsity coach for ages, retired after my sophomore year leaving Ms. Fuhr, my freshmen coach, and Mr. Barnett, my jv coach, vying for position. Mr. Barnett ultimately won out but not without quite a controversy. Mr. Barnett chose class over talent, attitude over skills, and favored our junior class heavily over the senior class. We were in over our heads. Brandon and Dan were our only players over 6’4, I think Brandon quit and Dan became inelgible. At some point in the season I was doing the jump ball, and I could barely grab the rim. I believed those losses hurt our team, but we still didn’t have the athletes nor the talent to support the system John Barnett wanted in place. At one point in practice I asked the coach, “Won’t they know what play we’re running?” He responded, “I’m okay with them knowing the play, it doesn’t matter, they’re going to have to stop us.” Without a superior athlete in high school basketball it’s pretty easy for a team to stop you, clog the middle, run zone, cheat to the ball side. Every good team in our conference ran a motion offense, we ran set plays. Freshmen year we went 18-2, sophomore year 14-6, and this year we won two games. I was a big fan of our coach, but in hindsight we weren’t going to be very successful with his schemes.
I finally landed a job my junior year, I started in September and it closed in October. It didn’t reopen again until March. It was the perfect job for me, it was Dairy Queen. March came along and I joined back at DQ. I decided I wasn’t going to do a spring sport this year and finally just take it easy and maybe even have more of a social life. After three years you receive a Varsity letter for the Marching Band, you also get an academic letter if you’re gpa is high enough, by the end of my junior year I had eight varsity letters. Junior year classes weren’t that easy either, AP History was kicking my butt. Somehow Mrs. Cruz, my math teacher, god bless her, found out I was free in the fall. She insisted I join the tennis team. She even took me to the Tennis and Golf Co. and helped me find a tennis racket within my budget. I came to really enjoy tennis, I started at #2 seed and by mid season I had to play the best player in every high school around.
Junior year ended up being my busiest year of all. On top of everything else, I learned two new sports, got a job, took the ACT’s, and found sometime for a girlfriend. I was ready for the summer. And again, I finished another school year with straight A’s marking 11 straight years of straight A’s.
In the summer I got a full time job at Kids Kamp at the Hazel Park Recreation Center. Carla created the program and was the current boss. It was quite an impressive program. We had an average of 65 kids a day to watch over. We had about 7-10 people on staff at all times. We went on one field trip a week (the zoo, waterpark, Henry Ford Museum, the movies) and Webb’s indoor pool twice a week. Everyday there was movie time, craft time, outdoor time, recreation room time, and lunch time (my favorite because the kids actually sat down for more than 10 minutes). Most Fridays there was some sort of hot lunch. I couldn’t believe how organized, energetic, and fun Carla was. From 8am-4pm I would be at Kids Kamp at the Hazel Park Recreation Center and 5-midnight I would work at Dairy Queen. I was like the ant storing up food in summer so he could eat in the winter.
I was finally a senior. I was going to be a member of the heralded class of 2001. By senior year I was starting to burn out a little. It was my fourth band camp. I was sick of waking up at 5am to go to a 6:30am band practice. Not too mention, Mr. McCoy took a job offer from troy Athens, and left our program in the dust. Luckily, he left me a wonderful solo for the song “When you believe” in the marching band show. How often does a baritone get to start a song and play by himself for a good 16 bars, never. I never got to thank you for that Mr. McCoy. Mrs. Gibbons, the new band director, wanted me to try out to be drum major, I just couldn‘t pass up that solo. Soccer was fun, we were getting better every practice I took a kid named Kyle Stuef under my wing. I recruited eight of the soccer players to the tennis team and it seemed to really revive the program. B.O.D. earned me yet another credit. I took physics, calculus, AP English my senior year. Those classes alone could run someone into the ground. I still had my one pass/fail I could use and still be eligible to be the valedictorian, I used it on calculus. I definitely made use of that pass/fail too. Knowing all I had to do was pass, I’m sure Tim Fulcher wasn’t too happy with the effort I exuded on my TI calculator. I was still president of the bible club, became vice president of NHS, joined the Business Students of America, qualified in two events for states, first chair and section leader for the baritones, captain of the soccer team again, captain of the tennis team and first seed singles, although by my own admission I started playing around with my shot and wasn’t quite nearly as effective as I was my junior year, started on the varsity basketball team, became manager at DQ, and still had a girlfriend.
I narrowed down my choices to four schools Oakland University, Saginaw Valley State University, Michigan State University, and University of Michigan. Saginaw Valley offered me a full scholarship because I was a valedictorian. I earned a full scholarship at University of Michigan as well. I had to go to Ann Arbor and take a 3 hour long test. They computed your test score, your ACT score, your gpa, and extracurricular activities and gave out 25 full ride scholarships to minorities. I earned one of them. I would have also earned a full ride to Oakland University through various scholarships and grants. Michigan State University gave out 10 full scholarships to minorities based on ACT score, gpa, extracurricular activities, and phone interview. The 10 scholarships had to be dispersed evenly between in state and out of state students. I received a call from Michigan State University and learned that I placed twelfth among the top twenty applicants. I was two out of the running, but they said I had a very good chance a couple prospects would choose another school. Two weeks later, I did in fact reach the top ten, however, five scholarships had to be given to out of state students and therefore I would not receive the All America Scholarship. My dad and I came to the conclusion that Michigan State University was the right school for me and sent in my acceptance letter. The only place I didn’t have a full ride I decided to attend, looking back I don’t really see the logic in that, but it’s one of the best decisions I ever made.
At class day I really cleaned up. I won Lion’s Club “Student of the Year”, Optimist’s Club “Student of the Year”, and several other notable scholarships. With all these scholarships, along with the MSU scholarships and grants, I had ample enough funding to go to college. The Hazel Park High School scholarship committee requires you show them how much funding you are going to receive for college, that’s why I presume I didn’t win the largest scholarship HP gives out which is the Harmony House Scholarship. The HH scholarship is $4,000 a year for four years that goes to four students. I remember Julie Facine, Richard Irvan, and Anne Wittla winning that one, I can’t remember the fourth, but they all really deserved it. I couldn’t believe the generosity of our alumni, donors, and companies associated with Hazel Park High School. I asked my friends from other schools like Lamphere and Ferndale if they had all that “prize money” available. They couldn’t believe the list of scholarships Hazel Park gave out. I don’t think there’s a better tribute to Hazel Park’s education system then Class Day. I don’t think the students realize how fortunate one can be by going to Hazel Park High School. My freshmen class was a touch over 450 people and my graduation class was 220. It’s quite a shame to have a 50% drop out rate, with so many teachers caring about each and every student. I did live up to the prophecy of being a Valedictorian, but that’s not the award I’m most proud of. The Erickson Cup goes to the most outstanding student of each senior class. At the end of class day Mrs. Cruz gave an amazing testament and presented me with the Erickson Cup, I couldn’t believe it.
The next day, I took school off and went to all my old teachers and thanked them for everything they did for me. As soon as I entered Webster Elementary school people started clapping for me. They told me that the Class Day ceremony was broadcasted to all the schools in the district. They wanted their students to see the alumni from their elementary school becoming successful. Every time someone from Webster Elementary School won an award they clapped enthusiastically. Ms. Caleb (now Mrs. Scholz) said her students were giddy with Webster pride every time I collected a scholarship. She told them that at one time she was my teacher and one of her students asked her if she could teach him to be just like me. To this day I don’t think I’ve received such a compliment, and I don’t I ever will. Thank you Hazel Park School System! You’ve done more for me than I could have ever imagined.
Proud student of Hazel Park 1987-2001,
Justin Chung

Monday, September 29, 2008

Greenspan isn't God.

I find it a little bit ironic that after Greenspan retired as the fed chairman that the markets, the regulations, and the economy have gone into a tizzy. Bernanke had no idea the shoes he was about to fill. The juggling Greenspan did to keep the economy up, the regs that weren't enforced, the jurisdiction and the overview the fed didn't care about. Greenspan lowered rates to ridiculously low levels to pump the economy up after the tech bubble burst, and that immediately created mass consumerism in the real estate market. Bad loans are made in good times, no if, way, and, or how should ARMS have been issued to the average home owner, the "screw you" loans are for investors and investors only. No documentation needed for a mortgage, you have to be kidding me. Repackage that as CMO's and CDO's, make it a three tier investment platform, insure the highest, when all were going to fail anyway, the fed had the only real power to oversee all this, to put the regs in place, and to make sure the system would work. No one else had the jurisdiction. Now the "financial god" Greenspan has stepped down and we are all in a world of pain. I don't know who is more corrupt Greenspan or the Bush administration. Don't get me wrong I'm Republican at heart. Small government, less taxes, more capitalistic society. That all works when markets are efficient, not when the regs aren't put in place, not when you can backdate stock options, not when you can repackage shit as perfume, not when one side has the knowledge and the other simply doesn't. Asymmetric information, this is the reason there are lemon laws in the used car industry. No such laws are in place in the market. Another Monday of absolute ridiculousness.

Bush's cabinet losing clout

I think this is the first time in Bush's administration that they didn't get what they want. Proof he is unpopular as ever and losing power by the buckets...
http://news.aol.com/article/house-fails-to-pass-huge-bailout-deal/188230?icid=100214839x1210206365x1200634092

Monday, September 22, 2008

some good ideas.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/21/opinion/21friedman.html?em

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

coffee is for closers.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TROhlThs9qY

Again, not from me, from someone else but i thought this was hilarious.

If you're too much of an impressionableidiot to watch "Sideways," then don't.
I was listening to NPR the other day because the only decent talk radio station in the ENTIRE STATE OF UTAH changed formats to sports talk. Who the hell are all these people who listen to sports talk anyway? None of it matters you morons. Nobody cares what Jim Rome thinks about some football player's salary. Choke already. So anyway, I was listening to "All Things Considered" when they were doing a piece on the wine tasting movie "Sideways:"
In the movie, Giamatti's character is a wine aficionado who drinks Pinot Noir in favor of Merlot, a wine that he despises. Now every idiot who has seen the movie has suddenly become a wine expert, and Pinot sales have shot through the roof. NPR interviewed a guy who said, and I quote:
I used to drink merlot, and after I saw the movie, they say "don't drink merlot," so [now] I'm drinking pinot noir... Click here to listen (226k mp3):
You shallow idiots, get your own opinion. If you can't even go see a movie without changing your mind about what kind of wine you like, then tell you what: stay home. You'll be doing all of us a favor. Going on a wine tasting tour does not make you an expert on wine tasting. Just because you see a movie about wine doesn't mean you should stop ordering merlot with your $6 plate of pasta at Olive Garden you tools. If you liked merlot before the movie, why shouldn't you like it after?
And who the hell drinks merlot anyway? Seriously, what kind of moron would put that shit into their system? I don't need a movie to make up my mind about whether or not to drink merlot, the commercial they had a few years back was enough. It had a bunch of snobby cunts in a log cabin wearing turtle neck sweaters, as they ripped open a box of merlot and started rubbing it on themselves before they sacrificed three virgins to Kali. Man, I know that sounds like a bullshit commercial, but now that I think about it, if they really had a commercial like that, I'd drink merlot out of principle.
Then near the end of the NPR interview, they had a clip of Rex Pickett, the author of the book "Sideways," talking to fans about his book. Except instead of talking about the book, these shallow losers kept asking him about the movie. Of all the bad questions to ask him, the one question that kept coming up was "what's your favorite wine?" Oh wow, real original assholes. You ask the guy who writes a book about wine tasting what his favorite wine is? Here's an idea: READ THE BOOK.
Then, as if they expect him to say something surprising, they stand around like drooling idiots in anticipation of his answer, which is, get this: PINOT NOIR. Hey, how about that you dipshits? The guy who wrote a novel about a guy whose favorite wine is pinot noir also happens to like pinot noir! Nice question you stupid cocks. Man I hate wine tasters.

The Oakland Raider's.

Watching the oakland raider's getting blown out by denver right now. and i realize they have an amazing fan base. much better than the lions.

bruce springsteen's growing up.

just heard this song for the first time, really like it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=as3UlEsvwXo&feature=related

Monday, September 8, 2008

Inundated with wikipedia.

I literally watched 20 hours of football the last three days, but never the one with a huge attention span I usually read or surf the internet at the same time. I have this new hobby of wikipedia'ing every player i don't know about, during the commercials i'll start wiki'ing the famous actors, athletes, commentators, it gets crazy, needless to say i probably know more about everything than entire your social group.

The CFP, there is a god and he hates me.

So now I'm taking the CFP in April, it's a 4 part test, and i'm taking a class at gvsu with about 20 people in it, all from merrill lynch, and i feel by far the stupidest. the prof just goes through the material so damn quick, and i'm basically inept when it comes to accounting. back at state i always skipped the accounting classes and rarely ever put up a 3.00 on any test or class that had to do with uncle i'm the biggest thief in the world sammy. so every monday from 4-8pm i will be in hell. and on oct. 27th i will be taking a final followed by many many shots of tequila. maybe even before i haven't decided.

entourage.

I think i have officially outgrown Entourage. the season premiere was rather boring, i can't take the bad acting anymore, all the characters are one dimensional even ari gold. so no more entourage for me.

Lions suck. Kevin Smith is no Adrian Peterson. Go State.

lions suck, i dont' know how, but we are terrible again, our defense is no good, and offense is even worse, i thought kevin smith would be good, but our o-line couldn't push a screen door, my hope is for state to win 8 games, i think we can. great game against cal even though we lost. i hope we punch notre dame in the mouth. notre dame looks awful.

back to school.

I haven't been "back to school" for three years, but I decided to enroll in 16 credits for my CFP. This is normally a two years course but of course I'm taking an accelerated schedule so I can sit for the class in July. Today at 4pm is my first class. A few things different at GVSU then at state
1) I won't be drunk
2) no chance of hot girls
3) attendance is mandatory.

no fun, but that's part of the real responsibilities. or as the new theme in my friend group "growing up". now i wonder does someone just hit a stage where they're like yep it's time to grow up and than instantly change or is it a process they damn well know they're going through. or is it when you hit a certain milestone like say 30, and you look back at the last couple years and say to yourself, i'm proud of myself i really grew up during that time period. Why for most does growing up have to be so boring? I guess the only part I have about growing up is that each of my friends, only a couple in particular have direct correlation with growing up and narrowing you social circle, one friend-we say he's in his own little world now because he rarely calls anyone and he never answers his phone, and the other has just changed his lifestyle completely which is okay, but growing up doesn't necessarily mean you have to grow apart. Understandable that people do grow apart, I've lost many many frienships from changing, I don't mind that it's part of the maturation process, but one has to be consciousous of who they are and what they are becoming. It's a two way street my friend. Reciprocity is the most important part to any relationship. actually probably 2nd to trust. Don't even get me started on my friends relationships and trust.

College Football. Tailgate. Fall.

There's nothing quite like the beginning of fall. The hot summer days fading fast into cool nights, crisp air, tailgates, orange and purple skies, outlined by the newly found colors of autumn. The weekends become consumed with college football, the largest stadiums in all of America decorated in each school's colors, the spirit and enthusiasm of a youthful stage in one's life, sometimes 4 years, for others a couple more. Reminiscent of all the classes you skipped, slept in, forgot about, the happy hours you throroughly enjoyed, the frat house, the tailgates, the weekends you'll never remember with the friends you'll never forget. The maturation process you undertook while learning who you were, quite possibly the most impressionable stage of life leading up to your adulthood. Something so western, so american, nothing quite like a college football game. Back in the day it was gladiators battling to the death, now just as barbaric we see super-specimen of the human race trying to get the ball past the goal line all while getting hit as hard as possible from the opposing team. For many though, it isn't even about the game. It is about gettting together with your friends, sharing the camaderie, telling old stories, making new ones, hanging out with generations before you, as well as after you, all enjoying a couple brews and celebrating where you are in the game of life. Fall signifies all that, the ending of another quarter, my favorite quarter. I do not live in Michigan for the winters, where everything dies, and I become thoroughly depressed. For me it's fall, the crisp air, the cool nights, and one of my favorite hobbies, tailgating.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

thought this post was funny from somebody else.

I used to think that Red Bull was the most destructive invention of the past 50 years. I was wrong. Red Bull has been usurped by the portable alcohol breathalyzer. The same device that cops have been using for 10 years to conduct field sobriety tests is now offered by the Sharper Image for $99. It is the size and shape of a small cell phone with a clear round tube sticking up from the top, almost like an antenna. One blows into the tube, and a few seconds later a Blood Alcohol Content (BAC) reading is given. Though not as accurate as a blood test, they are accurate to within .01, which is good enough for my purposes.
I was living in Boca Raton, Florida, when I bought one to take out with me on a Saturday night. This is the story:
9:00pm: Arrive at the restaurant. I am the first one of the group there, even though our reservations are for 9pm. The restaurant is crowded full of the abysmal type of people that infest South Florida. Already depressed, I order a vodka and club soda.
9:08: No one else has arrived. I order another vodka and club. I consider checking my BAC, but doubt that it would show anything thus far.
9:10: Two 30+ year-old Jewish women on my left keep eyeing me. Both have fake breasts. One has exceptionally large fake breasts. They are beckoning me from her shirt. She is not highly attractive. I begin drinking faster.
9:15: No one else has arrived. I order my third vodka and club. While I wait for it, I try out my portable breathalyzer. I blow a .02. This is the greatest invention ever made. I am giddy. I show the breathalyzer to the fake-breasted Jewish women next to me. We begin a conversation.
9:16: They both have thick Long Island accents. I summon the bartender over and change my order to a tall double vodka on the rocks, splash of club.
9:23: Four people at the bar have tried my breathalyzer, both of the fake-breasted women included. Everyone wants to know their BAC. I am the center of attention. I am happy.
9:25: The first member of my group arrives. I show him the breathalyzer. He is enthralled. He buys a round. The fake-breasted women loudly inform us they would like drinks. My friend buys them drinks. I order a double vodka on the rocks. No splash.
9:29: I blow again, a .04. I've been drinking for half an hour, and am on my forth drink. My wheels of intellect begin grinding through the vodka haze that is already forming...four drinks...a .04...that must mean that each drink only adds .01 to my BAC. I begin to think that I can drink a lot. I tell one of the fake-breasted women that she is very interesting.
9:38: Six of the eight are here. I lie to the hostesses, and they seat our incomplete party. Everyone is talking about my breathalyzer. I am the focus of adulation. I forgive everyone for sucking so bad. I think this night may go OK after all.
9:40: I blow again, a .05. This confuses me. I haven't ordered another drink since I blew a .04. I have a vague memory from a long distant D.A.R.E. class about the rate of alcohol absorption being constant, regardless of speed of drinking. This memory quickly fades when two hot girls at the table next to me inquire about my portable breathalyzer.
9:42: Hot girl #2 is into me. She begins telling me a story about how she got pulled over once for DUI, and had to blow into something like this, and the cop let her off. She tells me that she always wanted to be a cop, but couldn't pass the entrance exam to the police academy, even though she took it twice. I tell her that she must be really smart. She stops paying attention to me. Hot girl #2 is apparently smart enough to detect thinly veiled sarcasm.
10:04: The novelty of the portable breathalyzer has passed. The table has moved on. I am no longer the center of attention. I am not happy with my table.
10:06: The people at my table begin talking about energy healing. Everyone is mesmerized by a girl who took a class in it. I tell them that energy healing is a worthless and solipsistic pseudo-science. They think energy healing is a real science because the instructor of the girl's class went to Harvard. One guy calls it a "legitimate, certifiable science," while making air quotes with his fingers. I tell them that they are all (while imitating his air quotes) "legitimate, certifiable idiots" because they believe in horse-shit like energy healing. Two girls call me close-minded. I tell them that they are so open-minded that their brains leaked out. They all glare at me with disapproval. I hate everyone at my table.
10:08: I have completely tuned out their inane conversation. I am slamming down straight vodka as fast as the low-rent wanna-be Ethan Hawke waiter can bring it. I blow every three minutes, watching my BAC slowly creep up.
10:10: .07
10:17: .08. I am no longer legally eligible to drive in the state of Florida. I announce this fact to no one in particular.
10:26: .09
10:27: I decide that I am going to see how drunk I can get and still be functional. I know that .35 BAC kills most people. I think that .20 is a good goal.
10:28: I get up, saying nothing to the seven sophists at my table, and go back to the bar. I don't leave money for my drinks.
10:29: The fake-breasted women are still at the bar. They want drinks. Upset that I'm only at .09 after a good hour and a half of aggressive drinking, I decide to do a round of shots. I let the women pick the shots, with the explicit instruction that it cannot be whiskey, cannot smell like whiskey, cannot even resemble whiskey.
10:30: The shots arrive. Tequila. Judging by the bill, very good tequila. It is smooth. We order another round.
11:14: I blow a .15. I have passed a milestone. Only .05 away from my goal. My pride swells. I show everyone my .15. The bar crowd is impressed. I am their idol. Someone buys me a shot.
11:28: I feel queasy. I realize that I didn't even stick around the table for dinner. Not wanting to either go back to my table or eat at the bar, I walk across the street to a sushi restaurant.
11:29: There is a lingerie party at the sushi restaurant. Half of the people are in some form of pajamas or other bedtime clothing. Everyone here sucks as bad as the last place, except they are in their underwear.
11:30: I am confused. I only want sushi. I stand at the door, mesmerized by the shifting masses of near nakedness. A mildly attractive girl who apparently works at the restaurant wants me to put on lingerie. I tell her I don't have any. I just want some sushi. She says I should at least take off my pants. I ask her if this will get me sushi. She says it will. I take off my pants.
11:30: I pause while unzipping my pants, wondering what type of underwear, if any, I have on. I consider not taking my pants off. I realize that getting food quickly is more crucial than my dignity.
11:31: I take off my pants. I have on pink and white striped Gap boxers. They are too tight. I make sure my package is tucked in. People watch me do this.
11:32: I order sushi by pointing at the pictures and grunting.
11:33: I show a guy at the sushi bar my breathalyzer. He is impressed. He shows it to everyone. People begin congregating around me. I am a star again.
11:41: I blow a .17. I tell everyone my goal. Someone orders me a shot.
11:42: I do the shot. Something that has a familiar taste, makes me feel warm inside. I ask what it is. "Cognac and Alize." There is a God, and he hates me.
11:47: My sushi arrives. I slosh soy sauce over it and shovel it into my mouth as quickly as my hands will get it there.
11:49: My sushi is finished. No one is paying attention to my table manners, as everyone is crowded around the breathalyzer, waiting their turn to find out their BAC.
12:18: I blow a .20. I AM A GOD. The sushi bar erupts. Men are applauding me. Girls are pining for me. Everyone wants to talk to me. I forgive them their flaws, as they are all paying attention to me.
12:31: My deity status is lost. Someone blows a .22. This is a challenge to my manhood. I order a depth charge with a Bacardi 151 shot. And a beer back. The crowd is in awe.
12:33: I finish the depth charge, and the beer. I talk shit to my challenger, "Who runs this bar now, BITCH??" The crowd erupts. Momentum has swung back in my direction. I am Maximus. I am winning the crowd. I will rule the sushi bar.
12:36: I take a better look at my challenger. He is a tall, broad-shouldered, heavily muscular man. His natural facial expression is not one of happiness. He quietly watches me, then orders a shot, throws it back without noticeable effect, and smiles at me. I consider that talking shit to him was a bad idea. At this point I also realize that my stomach is very upset with me. I ignore it. I still have a public that needs to adore me.
12:54: I blow a .22. Only mild cheers this time. Everyone is waiting for the challenger to blow.
12:56: He blows a .24. He smiles condescendingly at me. I order two more shots.
12:59: I do the first shot. It doesn't go down well. I decide to take a short break from drinking. The crowd is not impressed.
1:10: Reality sets in. I am going to vomit. A LOT. I try to discreetly make it outside.
1:11: I knock a girl over as I sprint through the door.
1:11: I trip over a bush, stumble into it, and begin throwing up. Out of my mouth. And nose. It is not pleasant.
1:14: I can't figure out why my legs hurt so much. I look down at them in between heaves. I have no pants on. Thorns and branches are embedded in my shins.
1:18: The vomiting is over. I am now trying to stop the bleeding. A bright light hits my eyes. I am not happy. I tell the owner to "get that fucking light out of my face." The owner of the light identifies himself as an officer of the law. I apologize to the officer, and ask him what the problem is. A long pause ensues. The light is still in my eyes. "Son, where are your pants?" Remembering past encounters with the law, and realizing there is no one around to bail me out of the county lock-up, I summon every bit of adrenaline in my body to sober myself up. I apologize again, and explain to the officer that my pants are in the restaurant that is less than 50 feet away, and that I came outside to share my sushi with the bush. He doesn't laugh. Another long pause. "You're not driving tonight are you?", "Oh, NO, NO, NO...no sir, I don't even have a valid driver's license."
1:20: He tells me to go back inside, put on my pants, and call a cab.
1:21: I go back into the sushi restaurant. A few people stare at me in a peculiar manner. I look down, and then tuck my partially exposed sack back into my boxers. I don't know what to do about my bleeding legs. I look around for my pants.
1:24: I can't find my pants. My breathalyzer is in clear sight. I blow. A .23. Someone informs me that my challenger just blew a .26. They add that he hasn't thrown up yet. I tell them to "kiss my fucking ass." My last clear memory.
8:15am: I wake up. I don't know where I am. It is very hot. I am sweating horribly. It smells like rotting flesh.
8:16: I am in my car. With the windows up. The sun is beating down directly on me. It is at least 125 degrees in my car. I open the door and try to get out, but instead I fall onto the pavement. The scabs that cover my legs tear and reopen as I move. My penis falls out of my pink Gap boxers and lands, along with the rest of me, in a dirty puddle on the asphalt.
8:19: The fetid standing water finally propels me into full consciousness. I can't find my pants. Or cell phone. Or wallet. But I do have my breathalyzer. I blow. A .09. I am still not eligible to drive in the state of Florida.
8:22: I drive home anyway.
Let me be clear about this night: it was in my top 5 drunkest nights ever. I was completely shit-housed. I threw up multiple times, some of them through my nose. JESUS CHRIST, I WOKE UP blowing a .09. That's fucking ridiculous. That thing is awful. All you do is drink in order to increase your BAC. That device is the devil dressed in a transistor.
My advice to you: avoid it at all costs.