Marijuana on Campus- As one becomes accustomed to the College lifestyle there are certain things that one can't help but come across. Marijuana is no exception. As I have been on campus I have experienced people smoking weed in dorms, outside, and even off campus apartments. I have seen marijuana usage back home but never to such an extent or seen such a prevalent backing for it either. There is even a club on campus for it. Generally I feel a larger acceptance to it on campus than back home. I have dabbled in the forbidden fruit a couple times in my life. The smell is rank and is very distinct to the plant. The effects, although enjoyable, leave the user dumb founded and rather susceptible to manipulation.
Skateboarding on campus- Before coming to UCF I visited several Universities to find that each seems to have a different mode of transportation. UF for instance is known for its use of scooters as means of traveling around. UCF on the other hand focuses mainly on using skateboards to travel. I am currently not a user. I prefer to walk all around campus. However, I have spent much of my time dodging these bullets on wheels. I have also seen several falls that do at a bit of enjoyment to a day. They almost seem to believe that because they move a bit faster than a walker they are supreme. It's just the feeling I get when I walk around.
College Eating Habits- Before coming to UCF I would have a steady supply of food at home. Thanks to my parents I never had to worry about going more than 5 yards to get a good meal. Now, I have started to eat almost nothing. I have a food plan but barely seem to use it at campus. It seems that campus eating habits change as you come on campus. Whether it be eating more or eating less it definitely doesn't seem the same as it did back home. Ramen has become a staple food of my diet and water is my main drink of choice.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Training with Scott Yarborough
It was a sunny day on the soccer pitch in my hometown of Melbourne, Florida. I was playing midfield which happened to be my favorite position at the time. As I turned to my right the ball comes to a stop by my feet. Contemplating what to do next, I realize the other team coming at me with their full speed. I quickly turn and head for the goal. I can hear the crowd shouting loud roars of mixed excitement and frustration. As I approach the goal I can feel the intensity of everyone around me as they waited for the outcome of my run. My mind raced with the lessons I had learned from my coach; the basics of course. I looked up, saw my target, and shot. As the ball made contact with the back of the net I felt a sensation of excitement and then, unfortunately, dread. I had just scored on my own teams goal. I was quickly benched and spent the rest of the day going over the game in my head.
Although this seems like any eight year olds nightmare, I was use to it. The teams I played on in my early years of soccer were always known as the losers of the division. The score was always skewed in the direction of our opponent to where the slaughter rule, a score of nine to zero, became my teams only saving grace. Even though my team was not very good, I was still one of the worst players on it. I always played the position of left bench and occasionally played right bench should the opportunity present itself. The game results of these years spoke volumes of my self-confidence and pride.
My parents were always adamant about me playing sports. I don't know if it was my weight problem or the fact that I wasn't very good at anything that didn't involve a classroom or a controller but I had no objection. I loved soccer. I was just no good at it. Finally, I confessed my wish to be able to make the Junior Varsity team my freshman year of High School. My parents were ecstatic. The next day they were on the phone with my new trainer; Scott Yarborough. Little did I know that Scott's training style and approach to social situations would change my life on and off the soccer pitch forever.
The first day I met Scott was one of fear and admiration. As I walked onto the field, that I would soon know as our own, I began to analyze him. He was in his upper twenties with a height of around five foot eight. He wore a pair of soccer shorts and a raggedy shirt that probably had to do with drinking or women; something I came to know him by. His hair was dark brown and stubby and his eyes appeared almost bloodshot (I wasn't aware at the time but Scott spent much of his later hours partying around the town).
We soon began with some simple drills. My nervousness ever so visible, I was able to make a mess of the drills with ease. However, Scott didn't seem to care at all. The whole time I tried to not mess up he just watched and would ask the occasional question. The questions, although in the middle of a session, were all about my family, friends, and what I enjoyed to do on my free time. It was almost as if he was more interested in my life than how bad I was screwing up a simple drill. I soon realized that this would not be anything that I expected.
Scott's training style involved first beginning with the basics and then moving progressively to harder and harder drills. My first few days of training were all about the simple things such as passing, dribbles, and shots. The sessions would usually last around an hour and a half. The first hour would be straight drills and special games designed to target these specifics. However, the last half hour would consist of an easy game where we would spend time talking about life. Scott taught me things in that half hour that I would of never of learned on my own. I learned how to ask girls out, how to deal with overbearing parental supervision, how to drive stick shift, where to take girls for a first date, and even how to get a kiss. Scott was literally my very own personal Will Smith from the movie "Hitch". To a perfectionist high strung nerd like myself, this man was a genius.
As high school tryouts came ever so close, Scott picked up the training sessions to three or four times a week for two and a half hours each. It was during this time that I saw a change in Scott. Scott no longer seemed care free during our training. It was almost as if he had done a complete one eighty in his style. It became all about pushing me to the brink of my abilities. If I felt like I was on my last breathe, Scott wanted one more. Our talks were no longer about learning about social skills but about what to do in any situation that may arise on the field. I don't think I've ever pushed myself so hard as I did those few weeks and it was no exaggeration that I had no life but soccer. I didn't care about school. I didn't care about my free time. All that I cared about was making that team; and I did.
I was able to take one of the freshman spots for the high school junior varsity team. I would go on to make the varsity team the following year and played all the way through high school. I owe all of this to Scott. He single handedly gave me the skills to make it on the team. However, he also gave me the ability to feel like I could be more than some nerd. Ever since that first day when he talked to me I think he knew all along what he was doing. Scott had been giving me the confidence I never thought I would have. I was proud of what I could do on the field and I was proud of what I could now accomplish off of it. I owe it all to Scott Yarborough and the several years he was there for me. Scott was not only my trainer, but my friend.
Although this seems like any eight year olds nightmare, I was use to it. The teams I played on in my early years of soccer were always known as the losers of the division. The score was always skewed in the direction of our opponent to where the slaughter rule, a score of nine to zero, became my teams only saving grace. Even though my team was not very good, I was still one of the worst players on it. I always played the position of left bench and occasionally played right bench should the opportunity present itself. The game results of these years spoke volumes of my self-confidence and pride.
My parents were always adamant about me playing sports. I don't know if it was my weight problem or the fact that I wasn't very good at anything that didn't involve a classroom or a controller but I had no objection. I loved soccer. I was just no good at it. Finally, I confessed my wish to be able to make the Junior Varsity team my freshman year of High School. My parents were ecstatic. The next day they were on the phone with my new trainer; Scott Yarborough. Little did I know that Scott's training style and approach to social situations would change my life on and off the soccer pitch forever.
The first day I met Scott was one of fear and admiration. As I walked onto the field, that I would soon know as our own, I began to analyze him. He was in his upper twenties with a height of around five foot eight. He wore a pair of soccer shorts and a raggedy shirt that probably had to do with drinking or women; something I came to know him by. His hair was dark brown and stubby and his eyes appeared almost bloodshot (I wasn't aware at the time but Scott spent much of his later hours partying around the town).
We soon began with some simple drills. My nervousness ever so visible, I was able to make a mess of the drills with ease. However, Scott didn't seem to care at all. The whole time I tried to not mess up he just watched and would ask the occasional question. The questions, although in the middle of a session, were all about my family, friends, and what I enjoyed to do on my free time. It was almost as if he was more interested in my life than how bad I was screwing up a simple drill. I soon realized that this would not be anything that I expected.
Scott's training style involved first beginning with the basics and then moving progressively to harder and harder drills. My first few days of training were all about the simple things such as passing, dribbles, and shots. The sessions would usually last around an hour and a half. The first hour would be straight drills and special games designed to target these specifics. However, the last half hour would consist of an easy game where we would spend time talking about life. Scott taught me things in that half hour that I would of never of learned on my own. I learned how to ask girls out, how to deal with overbearing parental supervision, how to drive stick shift, where to take girls for a first date, and even how to get a kiss. Scott was literally my very own personal Will Smith from the movie "Hitch". To a perfectionist high strung nerd like myself, this man was a genius.
As high school tryouts came ever so close, Scott picked up the training sessions to three or four times a week for two and a half hours each. It was during this time that I saw a change in Scott. Scott no longer seemed care free during our training. It was almost as if he had done a complete one eighty in his style. It became all about pushing me to the brink of my abilities. If I felt like I was on my last breathe, Scott wanted one more. Our talks were no longer about learning about social skills but about what to do in any situation that may arise on the field. I don't think I've ever pushed myself so hard as I did those few weeks and it was no exaggeration that I had no life but soccer. I didn't care about school. I didn't care about my free time. All that I cared about was making that team; and I did.
I was able to take one of the freshman spots for the high school junior varsity team. I would go on to make the varsity team the following year and played all the way through high school. I owe all of this to Scott. He single handedly gave me the skills to make it on the team. However, he also gave me the ability to feel like I could be more than some nerd. Ever since that first day when he talked to me I think he knew all along what he was doing. Scott had been giving me the confidence I never thought I would have. I was proud of what I could do on the field and I was proud of what I could now accomplish off of it. I owe it all to Scott Yarborough and the several years he was there for me. Scott was not only my trainer, but my friend.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Memoir Rough Draft
It was a sunny day on the soccer pitch in my hometown of Melbourne, Florida. I was playing midfield which happened to be my favorite position at the time. As I turned to my right the ball comes to a stop by my feet. Contemplating what to do next, I realize the other team coming at me with their full speed. I quickly turn and head for the goal. I can hear the crowd shouting loud roars of mixed excitement and frustration. As I approach the goal I can feel the intensity of everyone around me as they waited for the next few events to unfold. My mind raced with the lessons I had learned from my coach. The basics of course. I looked up, saw my target, and shot. As the ball made contact with the back of the net I felt a sensation of excitement and then, unfortunately, dread. I had just scored on my own teams goal. I was quickly benched and spent the rest of the day going over the game in my head.
Although this seems like any eight year olds nightmare, I was use to it. The teams I played on in my early years of soccer were always known as the losers of the division. The score was always skewed in the direction of our opponent to where the slaughter rule, a score of nine to zero was an automatic win, became my teams only saving grace. I always played the position of left bench and occasionally played right bench should the opportunity present itself. The results of my teams games during these years speaks volumes of my self-confidence and pride at the time.
My parents were always adamant about me playing sports. I don't know if it was my weight problem or the fact that I wasn't very good at anything that didn't involve a classroom or a controller but I had no objection. I loved soccer. I was just no good at it. Finally, I confessed my wish to be able to make the Junior Varsity team my Freshman year of High School. My parents were ecstatic. The next day they were on the phone with my new Trainer; Scott Yarborough.
The first day I met Scott was one of fear and admiration. As I walked onto the field, that I would soon know as our own, I began to analyze him. He was in his upper twenties with a height of around five foot eight. He wore a pair of soccer shorts and a raggedy shirt that probably had to do with drinking or women; something I came to know him by. His hair was dark brown and stubby and his eyes appeared almost bloodshot (I wasn't aware at the time but Scott spent much of his later hours partying around the town).
We soon began with some simple drills. My nervousness ever so visible, I was able to make a mess of the drills with ease. However, Scott didn't seem to care at all. The whole time I tried to not mess up he just watched and would ask me the occasional question. The questions, although in the middle of a session, were all about my family, friends, what I liked to do, and other things I enjoyed to do on my free time. It was almost as if he was more interested in my life than how bad I was screwing up a simple drill. I soon realized that this would not be anything that I expected.
Scott's training style involved first beginning with the basics and then moving progressively to harder and harder drills. My first few days of training were all about the simple things such as passing, dribbles, and shots. The sessions would usually last around an hour and a half. The first hour would be straight drills and special games designed to target these specifics. However, the last half hour would consist of a easy game where we would spend time talking about life. Scott taught me things in that half hour that I would of never of learned On my own. I learned how to ask girls out, how to deal with overbearing parental supervision, how to drive stick shift, where to take girls for a first date and preceding dates, and even how to get a kiss on the first date. To a perfectionist high strung nerd like myself, this man was a genius. I still believe that to this day.
As High school tryouts came ever so close, Scott picked up the training sessions to three or four times a week for two and a half hours each. However, even though It was almost time to tryout, we still spent time out of the session to just talk. I don't think I've ever pushed myself so hard as I did those few weeks and it was no exaggeration that I had no life but soccer. I didn't care about school. I didn't care about my free time. All that I cared about was making that team; and I did.
I was able to take one of the Freshman spots for the high school Junior Varsity team. I would go on to make the Varsity team the following year and played all the way through High school. I owe all of this to Scott. He single handedly gave me the skills to make it where I did. However, he didn't just give me the ability to make it on the field. He gave me the ability to feel like I could be more than some nerd. Scott was literally my very own personal Will Smith from the movie "Hitch". Now that I think back I feel like he had that planned all along. Ever since that first day when he talked to me I think he knew all along what he was doing. Scott had been giving me the confidence I never thought I would have. I was proud of what I could do on the field and I was proud of what I could now accomplish off of it. I owe it all to Scott Yarborough and the several years he was there for me. Scott was not only my trainer, but my friend.
Although this seems like any eight year olds nightmare, I was use to it. The teams I played on in my early years of soccer were always known as the losers of the division. The score was always skewed in the direction of our opponent to where the slaughter rule, a score of nine to zero was an automatic win, became my teams only saving grace. I always played the position of left bench and occasionally played right bench should the opportunity present itself. The results of my teams games during these years speaks volumes of my self-confidence and pride at the time.
My parents were always adamant about me playing sports. I don't know if it was my weight problem or the fact that I wasn't very good at anything that didn't involve a classroom or a controller but I had no objection. I loved soccer. I was just no good at it. Finally, I confessed my wish to be able to make the Junior Varsity team my Freshman year of High School. My parents were ecstatic. The next day they were on the phone with my new Trainer; Scott Yarborough.
The first day I met Scott was one of fear and admiration. As I walked onto the field, that I would soon know as our own, I began to analyze him. He was in his upper twenties with a height of around five foot eight. He wore a pair of soccer shorts and a raggedy shirt that probably had to do with drinking or women; something I came to know him by. His hair was dark brown and stubby and his eyes appeared almost bloodshot (I wasn't aware at the time but Scott spent much of his later hours partying around the town).
We soon began with some simple drills. My nervousness ever so visible, I was able to make a mess of the drills with ease. However, Scott didn't seem to care at all. The whole time I tried to not mess up he just watched and would ask me the occasional question. The questions, although in the middle of a session, were all about my family, friends, what I liked to do, and other things I enjoyed to do on my free time. It was almost as if he was more interested in my life than how bad I was screwing up a simple drill. I soon realized that this would not be anything that I expected.
Scott's training style involved first beginning with the basics and then moving progressively to harder and harder drills. My first few days of training were all about the simple things such as passing, dribbles, and shots. The sessions would usually last around an hour and a half. The first hour would be straight drills and special games designed to target these specifics. However, the last half hour would consist of a easy game where we would spend time talking about life. Scott taught me things in that half hour that I would of never of learned On my own. I learned how to ask girls out, how to deal with overbearing parental supervision, how to drive stick shift, where to take girls for a first date and preceding dates, and even how to get a kiss on the first date. To a perfectionist high strung nerd like myself, this man was a genius. I still believe that to this day.
As High school tryouts came ever so close, Scott picked up the training sessions to three or four times a week for two and a half hours each. However, even though It was almost time to tryout, we still spent time out of the session to just talk. I don't think I've ever pushed myself so hard as I did those few weeks and it was no exaggeration that I had no life but soccer. I didn't care about school. I didn't care about my free time. All that I cared about was making that team; and I did.
I was able to take one of the Freshman spots for the high school Junior Varsity team. I would go on to make the Varsity team the following year and played all the way through High school. I owe all of this to Scott. He single handedly gave me the skills to make it where I did. However, he didn't just give me the ability to make it on the field. He gave me the ability to feel like I could be more than some nerd. Scott was literally my very own personal Will Smith from the movie "Hitch". Now that I think back I feel like he had that planned all along. Ever since that first day when he talked to me I think he knew all along what he was doing. Scott had been giving me the confidence I never thought I would have. I was proud of what I could do on the field and I was proud of what I could now accomplish off of it. I owe it all to Scott Yarborough and the several years he was there for me. Scott was not only my trainer, but my friend.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Memoir Memo
To: Mrs. Moody
From: Kyle Stultz
The purpose of the memoir review was to allow the writer to home their introduction and decide where to go from this point using the thoughts of a peer. My peer was no exception. She pointed out that I needed to go a bit deeper to tell the reader where I am going. I plan on doing that in the next paragraph after the two I wrote for the introduction.
My reviewer also gave me some insight into how my introduction appeared to the reader. She said that my introduction was engaging and funny. This was the exact effect I was hoping for. I wanted the reader to understand that, although the event was funny, this was how I felt every day. I felt as though everyone was laughing at me.
My reviewer also gained the correct ideas about my character at the time as well. I wanted the reader to understand that I had no confidence at all when it came to soccer. However, I think I need to add a little bit more to show that I also had no confidence off the field either. I believe I will do this in the next paragraph. I am not sure where my reviewer found out I had perseverance in this whole event but I was determined to stick with sports even if I wasn't good at them. My Dad always told me that if you start something, you finish it. I think I will put this into my memoir around the introduction as well.
I was hoping to keep my memoir riddled with detailed information that would keep the reader's imagination flowing through the story as I saw it. Based on the comments from my reviewer, I believe I have at least partially accomplished my goal. I will try to continue this pattern throughout the memoir and maybe add a little more detail in the introduction around where I prepared to kick the ball. I might give a little bit of insight into my physical capabilities at the time. This includes that I was severely chubby and could barely run the span of a football field without keeling over.
My reviewer also provided some insight that I found very informational. She thought that the team’s skill was not as important to the story as my own at the time. I agree with her largely mostly due to the fact that this is a memoir about my life. The only thing I did not agree with my reviewer about was the redundancy of "the". I don't really believe that the can be redundant. I will continue to refer to the notes from my reviewer as well as what I have written in this memo to keep me on track to a satisfactory essay.
Memoir Introduction setup
I will begin with the background of a detailed game before training where I scored a goal... On my own team. I plan on going on to the summary of the almost guaranteed loss each time my team played. This should speak columes about my confidence and pride to the audience. I hope this will also set the stage for the audience to understand how much of a change the training brought to my life on and off the pitch as well as goin into a good description of Scott; the trainer who instigated this change. I hope this will help the audience to understand that this memory will be one of the most important in my life.
Memoir Introduction: Soccer Training
It was a sunny day on the soccer pitch in my hometown of Melbourne, Florida. I was playing midfield which happened to be my favorite position at the time. As I turned to my right the ball comes to a stop by my feet. Contemplating what to do next, I realize the other team coming at me with their full speed. I quickly turn and head for the goal. I can hear the crowd shouting loud roars of mixed excitement and frustration. As I approach the goal I can feel the intensity of everyone around me as they waited for the next few events to unfold. My mind raced with the lessons I had learned from my coach. The basics of course. I looked up, saw my target, and shot. As the ball made contact with the back of the net I felt a sensation of excitement and then, unfortunately, dread. I had just scored on my own teams goal. I was quickly benched and spent the rest of the day going over the game in my head.
Although this seems like any eight year olds nightmare, I was use to it. The teams I played on in my early years of soccer were always known as the losers of the division. The score was always skewed in the direction of our opponent to where the slaughter rule, a score of nine to zero was an automatic win, became my teams only saving grace. I always played the position of left bench and occasionally played right bench should the opportunity present itself. The results of my teams games during these years speaks volumes of my self-confidence and pride at the time.
Although this seems like any eight year olds nightmare, I was use to it. The teams I played on in my early years of soccer were always known as the losers of the division. The score was always skewed in the direction of our opponent to where the slaughter rule, a score of nine to zero was an automatic win, became my teams only saving grace. I always played the position of left bench and occasionally played right bench should the opportunity present itself. The results of my teams games during these years speaks volumes of my self-confidence and pride at the time.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Brainstorming
Brother Fights the Bully- When I was young in Elementary school my brother and I would always walk home from the bus stop together. One day the neighborhood bully, Johnny started giving me a hard time. This verbal abuse continued untill I got home and into my four wheeler. Johnny soon decided that this four wheeler should be his and tried to take it. My brother, one year older than Johnny, comes flying down our driveway. Catching Johnny offguard, the only thing that he could do was run. This childhood scuffle has always shown me the undying love that me and my brother share. No matter how gay that may sound. He is my brother and I would do anything for him and him the same for me.
Soccer Training- I was never very good at sports and soccer was no exception. I spent most of my early yeards on a bench on a losing team. This can speak volumes about my pride and childhhood disposition on things. I didn't believe in myself at all. Until I met Scott. Scott was my soccer trainer from the beginning of seventh grade to the end of my High School Sophmore year. I give him the credit for helping me become the person I am today on and off the pitch. He helped me believe in myself. He made me feel like anything was possible. That things could go your way if you work for them. Scott is the reason that I was able to make the Freshman Soccer team and be a starter on the the Varsity team the year after. Scott made me a better person.
Saving the Hawk- Ever since I was little I've had a respect for all life. I was always scolded for picking up the spiders and roaches in my house and taking them outside rather than the alternative of reaching for the raid. However the time I was able to save a hawk is forever imprinted in my mind. I was on my way to a lifegaurd meeting when a hawk flew into a semi truck's side. He careened into my lane and I proceedded to swerve out of the way. Without thinking I ran up to the animal who was in a panic in the middle of the road. I picked up the bird and proceeded to hold it in my arms. I was able to call my mother who came and drove me to the wildlife center I had worked at the year before. That bird and I exchanged glances for nearly 45 minutes in the car. He just looked at me with a look I still cannot describe to this day. I called a couple days later to find that the bird was suffering from dehydration and slight loss of vision in one eye. It was released a few days later. This experience gave me a newfound respect for everthing living around us. I guess you could call me soft hearted for the animal population.
Soccer Training- I was never very good at sports and soccer was no exception. I spent most of my early yeards on a bench on a losing team. This can speak volumes about my pride and childhhood disposition on things. I didn't believe in myself at all. Until I met Scott. Scott was my soccer trainer from the beginning of seventh grade to the end of my High School Sophmore year. I give him the credit for helping me become the person I am today on and off the pitch. He helped me believe in myself. He made me feel like anything was possible. That things could go your way if you work for them. Scott is the reason that I was able to make the Freshman Soccer team and be a starter on the the Varsity team the year after. Scott made me a better person.
Saving the Hawk- Ever since I was little I've had a respect for all life. I was always scolded for picking up the spiders and roaches in my house and taking them outside rather than the alternative of reaching for the raid. However the time I was able to save a hawk is forever imprinted in my mind. I was on my way to a lifegaurd meeting when a hawk flew into a semi truck's side. He careened into my lane and I proceedded to swerve out of the way. Without thinking I ran up to the animal who was in a panic in the middle of the road. I picked up the bird and proceeded to hold it in my arms. I was able to call my mother who came and drove me to the wildlife center I had worked at the year before. That bird and I exchanged glances for nearly 45 minutes in the car. He just looked at me with a look I still cannot describe to this day. I called a couple days later to find that the bird was suffering from dehydration and slight loss of vision in one eye. It was released a few days later. This experience gave me a newfound respect for everthing living around us. I guess you could call me soft hearted for the animal population.
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