All posts by JRich

Brady to the Raiders by Mr. Rich

It appears I must revise my earlier prediction given the new rumors that have surface during the run-up to Super Bowl LIV about New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady’s future.

I am now predicting he will land with the Las Vegas Raiders.

Since my last column, it has been reported on the local radio station 98.5 the Sports Hub that Brady’s wife Gisele Bundchen is not a fan of Los Angeles, throwing into doubt the rumors that he would end up there.

It has also been reported that the Raiders might offer him three years and $90 million to come play for coach Jon Gruden. Apparently, Gruden is a fan of Brady’s and not a fan of current Raiders quarterback Derek Carr.

The Raiders are reported to have a strong offensive line, a talented running back Josh Jacobs and a solid receiving core. Plus, an internationally known destination like Las Vegas could be a boon for Brady’s TB12 brand.

I’m certain that after publishing this a new crop of rumors will circulate regarding Brady. As a matter of fact, there were also rumors last week that he was looking at a school in Nashville with his oldest son. The  Hulu commercial he appeared in during the Super Bowl seemed to hint that he would stay in New England. There was a report by Ian Rappaport that the Patriots were willing to pay him $30 million a year to keep him.

But as of now, I believe he is destined for Sin City. Until next week, of course.

The Wonderer’s Curse by Eva Smith


She didn’t know how she had gotten there. One moment she was reading her old childhood books, and the next she was strapped down in chains to a post. She didn’t know what was going to happen. There were policemen screaming her name. “Lilia! Lilia! Get down now! “

There was a gunshot, and the man beside her went down. She was being held captive, but she didn’t know why.

She was in Alandeir, the place where she was born. Her parents were assassinated in this town. Her brother was assassinated in this town. Everyone was. Except her. 

Chapter 1

She had woken up this morning to her foster mom screaming. She sprung up from her bed to find her gone. It was as if she vanished out of thin air. She ran out of her small, red cottage, and jumped in her old fashioned jeep. She started driving around when she saw a deer running in the snow. It was running right at her. She swerved, trying to get away before she hit it. Instead of hitting the deer, she hit a tree. Hard. Then everything went black.

When she awoke, she had a terrible headache. It felt like daggers going into her skull. And she was starving. She was in a small cot, in the middle of an old bedroom. How did I get here? Were even am I? She sat up, and her ribs protested in agony, as she realized that she’d probably broken a few in the crash. She looked around, and she noticed the place looked familiar. Like it was from her past. Then she knew it was. It was her childhood home before everything had gone straight to hell. 

She got up from her cot and went right to her old bookshelf. Everything was in the same, organized rows as it was from 10 years ago. The books were organized from her favorite books to her least favorite. In the first row sat her favorite book. Twilight. Her mother had given this book to her when she was just 9. It was the last book that she ever got from her mother, or anyone else within 3 cities. 

Footsteps sounded from the hall, and she jumped. She ran back to her cot and crawled under the covers just as a man came in. 

Breathing heavily, she lifted her head to look at him. He was tall, maybe six foot three, looked to be a few years older than her, probably 23 or 24, and had neat, dark brown hair, and light green eyes. He was quite handsome. “You’re  awake,” he said with a cunning smile. “ now what shall I do with you?” he started walking to her cot, and her heart skipped a few beats. A few seconds later he was standing right over her. He reached down and touched her long, amber hair.      “ Such beauty for a girl,” she didn’t know how to respond. “What’s your name?” he asked while stroking her pale cheeks.

“Lilia Harrison.”

“How old are you Lilia Harrison?”

“I’m 19, sir.” 

“You don’t have to call me sir,” he said in a tauntingly sweet voice.  “You can call me Darian.” She nodded her head and looked down.

 “Get up. Now.” his voice changed dramatically as he pointed at the door. “You must complete all your tasks that I throw at you if you wish to live. There is a list waiting for you on the table. So get out of your nightwear, and make sure to wear a coat. It’s going to be a cold day,” he tossed her an old, worn out coat and left her room.

She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she released it. She took a few calming deep breaths before crawling out of her cot and stripping off her sweaty nightclothes. There was a pair of clothes waiting for her on her old rocking chair in the corner. It was a pair of grey sweatpants and a plain white shirt. She climbed into her new clean clothes and walked into the hallway. There was a small, beat up wooden round table with a sheet of paper lying on top. Lilia picked up the piece of paper and read. She gaped in surprise. On the list it said that she had to cut down a willow tree, break the branches off, and then chop the trunk. She didn’t even know where to begin. She went into a little room that looked to be a living room. On the small couch sat Darian reading a book. “What book is that?” She asked as Darian looked up

“ The Depths Below. “ he replied while putting it down on a glass shelf. “What do you want?” 

“Must I do this list? I’d much rather help around the house. I could clean and cook to take things off your shoulders.” Wow. His shoulders were so broad and muscled. No. I won’t feel for him. She felt heat rising to her cheeks as Darian got up and stood right in front of her.

“Is chopping wood a little too hard for you, princess? Because I would prefer to not have to use one of my daggers on you if it is.” Lilia tried to step away, but Darian grabbed her by the elbow. “You must complete all your tasks that I throw at you if you wish to live.” He repeated in Lilia’s ear, and she cringed at his closeness. “There are axes in the closet. Go get them and get chopping.“ Lilia left in resistance to get an axe. Gods they were heavy. The base was a hardwood, and the head was a gleaming curve and point. It seemed to be made of pure tungsten. She went to the front of the house and opened the door. Outside was covered in shining white snow, and was blindingly bright. Squinting, she stepped down and the snow crunched beneath her feet. Lilia sighed a heavy breath and it clouded in front of her. Damn, it’s cold, she thought. She had a full body shiver. Dragging the axe, she stocked into the woods. Lilia looked around for a willow tree but found nothing.  Darian tricked me. How could she be so ignorant? She had been out hours looking for the damned tree for absolutely nothing. She trudged back to her old house and slammed the door shut as she walked in. “Why the hell did you tell me there was a willow tree when you knew very well that there wasn’t? She barked at Darian. “ I’ve looked all over the gods-damned forest looking for that willow tree. Do you really think it was funny to make me go out in the freezing cold and walk around the woods to find nothing? “

“First of all princess, you don’t talk to me like that. Remember I’m the one who saved you from freezing to death in your car? So you should be thankful to me. Not be an ass. You better be grateful tomorrow, or you’re going to be in lots of pain for the rest of the month. Got it?”

“Fine,” she sneered back at him. “Is there anything else you need me to complete?” 

“ go clean the dishes, and wash the bathroom. Both jobs aren’t the cleanest, so don’t squeal and cry if you break a nail.” she blushed and then went into the kitchen. In the kitchen there was a small sink piled high with dishes, and an open cabinet with barely anything in it. There were the same floral curtains covering the small window peering out into a shriveled up garden. She loved that garden very much, before she ran as fast as she could to get away from the horror.


Darian didn’t know why he brought her back to his new house. He hadn’t known that this was, in fact, her childhood home. He’d found her stuck in a wrecked car 5 miles from here in the snow. She was almost a goner until he checked her pulse and it was still there. He quickly and carefully dragged her out of the car and lied her down in the back seat. He drove as fast as he could without going too much over the speed limit. Once he got back to his house he checked her to see if she had any major injuries and if he had to take the to the hospital. She had a few cracked ribs, and a huge gash down her hair line, so he cleaned it out and got a better look. The wound was already clotted so he knew that she was going to be fine. He debated whether or not to take off her clothes and clean her off.  No.  he thought to that idea. He carried her – a dead weight in his arms – to a child’s bedroom in the back of the house. He had decided the day he got the house not to disturb that room. It seemed… special almost. Like it was an important part of the home. He placed her down on the old cot and watched her, making sure she stayed alive. The next thing he knew is it was the next morning

“Crap,” he barked as he sprung up to check if she was still breathing. To his relief, she was, and her head already looked so much better.  He took a few breaths and then went into the kitchen to make himself breakfast.

Dark Chocolate by Kally Proctor

Dark Chocolate 




Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. As a nurse bustles around me, preparing treatments and checking blood pressure, I hear the beeping of hospital monitors and the hushed voices of doctors. I try not to focus on these things, but sometimes it’s hard. I take deep breaths of air, attempting to calm myself as a nurse slides a needle into my outstretched arm. When the nurse finishes up, I relax and readjust my position. 

I have the kind of disease that doctors say could go either way, like so many of the patients here with illnesses that go by so many different names. And yet, the journey seems so similar.  Oftentimes, in moments like these when I don’t feel like doing anything, I stare out the windows at the clouds drifting past, free to go wherever they choose. Someone had once painted a scene of blue skies, fluffy white clouds, and a not-so-bright sun on one of the walls, in an effort to make the room seem less “hospital-like”, but the colors are now faded, and the air smells stale. How I miss the real sky, filled with real clouds and the feeling of the real sun’s warmth on my skin. 

My eyes turn to an oddly shaped groove in the ceiling tiles resembling a bicycle helmet. That image reminds me of my last birthday, long before I had started showing signs that something was wrong. Back then, I was a carefree kid whose biggest “health issue” had been a sunburn I got riding my new bike all over the neighborhood — without sunscreen. How I loved to bike! I miss that feeling so much: the wind in my face; the exhilaration of faster and faster speeds; and most of all, the freedom to go wherever I want, or nowhere at all. 

Now, I’m fortunate if I get to go out of my room. Of course, I am lucky to be alive, but it doesn’t feel that way… 




Today, I aced my test, and Mom said we could make cupcakes to celebrate! Marie loves dark chocolate: the darker, the better. So, we first went to the market to get the very best, darkest chocolate we could find, then, we made cupcakes, frosted them, added sprinkles and — oh no! I had promised Marie that I would go visit her today. 

She’s my best friend, we used to be inseparable. She is the one with whom I was always making plans, such as coordinating our vacations to overlap; the one who studied with me for tests, like that last science test on moon phases; the one I would defend from bullies at school, especially that popular, bratty girl Virginia. Now, Marie is probably mad at me because I didn’t show up. She’s alone so much these days. Everyone has to go to school or work, and she’s stuck in the same old hospital bed for such long periods of time.

Part of me is wondering how I could’ve forgotten, and the other part tells me that I’m choosing to ignore things. Sometimes, I think I’m in denial about her condition, that if I don’t think about it, it won’t be true. I fantasize that she’ll walk into class any day now and sit down next to me. Guilt swirls in my stomach every time I think like this. When I do think of Marie, a lot of the time it’s in anger. I am angry about all the things we don’t get to do together anymore. I am also angry at my helplessness – that I can’t really do anything to fix things and make her better. I am not angry at Marie; I know it’s not her fault. Obviously, I am the lucky one. But I still am lonely. Tomorrow will be better. I promise I’ll go visit her. She’s gonna love the cupcakes!




I am being monitored much more than usual today, which probably means that I’m getting worse, not better like I’m supposed to be. You know what I hate most about my hospital stay? The silence. In those long, lonely stretches between check-ins, I generally sit silently, alternating between dozing off, mindlessly gazing at things around me, pondering things I used to do, or dreaming about things I want to do. Anything to distract myself from dwelling on my “situation”. 

Who would have thought thinking could be so painful? When I actively think, my mind naturally, inadvertently, uncontrollably turns to partial conversations I have overheard between the doctors and my parents, and ultimately to my worst fears: that I might be dying. Obviously, I have no clue whether I’ll make it — no one does. Of course, everyone tries hard to be optimistic around me. Sometimes, their positive attitudes help, and sometimes, none of it makes a difference. 

Before all of this, death felt like something that happened to other people, something that I heard about on the news. I don’t even know anyone that’s died. This isn’t supposed to be happening to me, I still have so many plans; Anna and I were going to sign up for that French exchange program. I was even thinking of auditioning for the lead in this year’s school musical. Now, I’m scared. I don’t know how much time I have left and I hate that I can’t do anything about it. But, at least I won’t have to be by myself today. Anna said she was coming over. In fact, she should’ve been here by now…




Sitting in the back of my mom’s car, I clutch a small plastic-wrapped plate of cupcakes on my way to the hospital. I hope she’s not mad at me because of yesterday, though my nervousness still shows in the way I’m twisting little pieces off of the corner of the cupcake wrappers. When we finally arrive, I open the front door and the hospital smell hits me. I used to hate the too clean, too artificial smell of hospitals, but I’ve grown used to it by now. 

As we walk past reception, I scan the lobby and the other people waiting here, so many also visiting. Before my semi-regular trips to visit Marie, I’d never really thought about all the sick people in the world, and all the peoples’ lives who are affected by them. I swallow and follow my mom as the elevator chimes its arrival to the 5th floor and we step out and walk in silence, by the nurses station and down the all too familiar path to room 514. 

She looks so weak and pale. Her small hand clutches at a remote control that helps her to sit up, call for a nurse, and even watch TV. Today, she feels too weak to walk. She seems to be made of glass: fragile and breakable. When I visit her on days like this, I’m afraid I could hurt her, so different from the rough kid who would bounce around as if life was her personal playground. I sit on the side of her bed and try to smile, but it doesn’t come naturally, as if we are frozen. We stare at each other for a moment, and then awkwardly turn away. 

At first, we don’t know what to say, which is surprising, because usually, it’s hard to keep us quiet. The memory of Madame Laurent scolding us for chit-chatting incessantly during last year French’s festival is all too vivid. We always had something we wanted to tell each other. But right now, we find ourselves at a loss for words. “I’m sorry,” I blurt out, the first one to break the uncomfortable silence. She tilts her head gingerly and runs her tongue over her dry lips.

“What for?” she asks, genuinely not mad at me.

“For not coming yesterday, I feel so bad-”

“No,” she cut me off, “it’s ok Anna.”

“No, it’s not ok.” I press “I should’ve been here for you.”

“Well, you’re here now.”She looks up at me kindly, forgivingly…this helpless girl, stuck in a hospital bed for weeks on end, chipping away at the tension between us. 

I smile down at her. “We have a lot of catching up to do…”




After Anna and her mother leave, I realize I feel exhausted, much more tired than usual. I dismiss my fatigue and tell myself that whatever it is, I should sleep. Sleep is probably the best thing I can do to pass the time. So many hours, days, and weeks on end — even though it’s basically impossible to get extended sleep in here with nurses constantly checking in. Recently though, sleep has been troubling for me, filled with never ending nightmares, such as the one last night where an endless line of nurses kept giving me shots. Still, after downing my nighttime meds, I collapse quickly into deep slumber.

The next morning, I feel much stronger and more energized. I have an appetite and I order a big breakfast, which I quickly scarf down. I feel like I may even be able to get up and walk around today. It’s pretty normal for my health to rise and fall a little, but this time it feels different. It feels like a big improvement. When the doctors came this morning to check-in with me, they seemed encouraged, telling me the treatments seem to finally be overtaking the disease again, and that I’m on my way back to recovery. It seems no one expected this change.  I can even go out into the central area now, where other patients my age are playing and talking together. I’m more hopeful than I’ve been in months. I allow myself to start to believe that I can recover. I’m actually going to make it!




Marie’s mother just called. Apparently, Marie has made a big rebound. She’s even up and walking around! Upon hearing the news, I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. A breath I must have been holding for months, since first hearing Marie had gotten sick. I have been so worried about her, and now, I finally feel like I might be able to relax a little. 

Despite the fact that it’s not me who’s sick, I still feel sick to my stomach every time I hear or think about Marie. Sometimes, I even feel guilty that I’m the one who’s fine and she’s the one who’s so sick. Marie’s mother told me that Marie is up and about and wondering where I am. I ask my Mom and she said that although it’s a bit late today, we can go visit her tomorrow after school. Gotta make more cupcakes. Unfortunately, we don’t have any of that fancy dark chocolate that Marie likes so much. Oh well, Marie has never met a cupcake that she didn’t like. I’ll have another chance to make her special dark chocolate cupcakes next time. I’m so excited! Things are finally looking up. This is the way things should be.




I wander into the patient courtyard — where patients both older and younger are milling around — and allow myself to feel happy. To be out here means that I am well enough to not be in there, not be stuck in 514 with its fake sky, fake clouds, and fake sun. Well enough to walk without constant supervision again. 

I forget how good it feels to be able to wander, to go anywhere you want with no goal or destination. Such a simple thing that we all take for granted feels like the very essence of freedom. 

I discover that a lot of the patients out here are in similar situations. I sit down on one of the benches, fatigued from the sudden rush of noise, sound, and color after having spent so much time pent up in my small room. I start to feel overwhelmed, but in a good way, like when you wake up from a bad dream and all the brightness of the day hits you suddenly, and you feel awake and happy: the dream is finally over. 

Not long after I sit down, a little girl sits down on the other side of the bench. The girl appears a few years younger. She looks down at her shoes, her shoulders hunched and her mouth a little pouty. 

“Hey,” I say to the girl, “what’s wrong?” She looks up at me and sniffles a little. 

“I’m just sad. I don’t wanna stay in the hospital anymore.” She looks out over the roof of the building towards the sky beyond.

“It’s ok,” I reply gently, “It gets better.” I pull out a piece of my favorite dark chocolate out of my pocket and hand it to her. She takes it and stuffs it into her mouth before making a face, proclaiming:

“Bleh, it’s too bitter,” sadness crosses her face again, “I miss chocolate. I wanna go back home.”

I stick a piece of chocolate into my own mouth “Look at me, yesterday I was stuck in my bed and today I’m outside walking around. Don’t worry, you’ll get better and then you’ll be able to go back home.” 

She wrinkles her nose at me. “Are you sure? I kinda hurt and the people here keep poking me with needles…” Her eyes flick down to a small bandaid on her arm before rising back up to my face. I thought I saw a little glimmer of hope cross her features.

“I’m sure.” I smile back, “It’ll all get better.”




I have been thinking a lot. About Marie that is. I’m so excited that she’s getting better. I had been feeling negative emotions: anger, loneliness, even some guilt, but I don’t have those thoughts anymore. Now, when I go to visit Marie, I feel happy. Happy to go to a hospital, a place where people are sick, or worse, dying. I watch her with other patients: she seems so strong and many of them seem to be looking up to her: they know her story, how she’s battled. Now, she inspires other patients by the way she interacts with them, exhibiting a combination of confidence and sensitivity.

Naturally, Marie’s mother is both excited and proud. She even pulled us aside as we were leaving, “She’s been so brave throughout this. When she comes home, I want to throw her a party where we can all celebrate.” We eagerly agree and everyone has been busy party-planning over the past few days. At dinner with my mom, we discuss the details of the party, from the guest list to the food to the decorations. Of course, we will have Marie’s famous dark chocolate cupcakes. 

A few minutes later, mom’s phone rings. It’s a call from Marie’s mother. “Wait a minute,” she says, picking up her phone and stepping into the other room. I sit up in my seat, suddenly excited, listening as she takes the call, soft murmurs drifting in through the cracked door. 

I’ve been so happy about Marie’s recovery, especially given all the mixed emotions I’ve been feeling. I miss Marie so much. I miss calling her and talking about our classes, friends, frenemies, activities, vacation plans, and the like – basically, everything. 

Sometimes, I am hit by fits of anger and all I can think of is how unfair it is that Marie is sick. But then comes the guilt. What’s wrong with me? Marie is the sick one here. She is the one stuck in a hospital, the one who needs me to support her. Still, I’ve been scared: scared of what might happen to Marie; of us drifting apart; of everything changing between  — of losing my best friend. But strong Marie is pulling through. She’s recovering. Soon enough, I’ll be chatting and playing and planning with Marie. Just like we used to before she got sick. Like she never left. 

Suddenly, my mom steps back into the room. I am jolted out of my thoughts, slightly disoriented. For a moment, I don’t notice the look on my mom’s face, but then I do. Her eyes are fixated on me, her pupils widened, sorrowful. The light glints off of them, scattering light. I think I see a sheen of tears. But… what could be wrong? Marie is getting better. We’re planning a big party. I’m making more cupcakes. I have the ingredients out and an egg in my hands. Mom stands in silence, her mouth turned down and the wrinkles on her face deepening. She shifts her weight uncomfortably, leaning against the door frame for support. “What’s… what’s wrong?” I finally manage to get out. My voice sounds distant, weak. She continues to stand there for an eternity, looking despairingly sad. 

For a moment my senses turn hyper-aware, as if they are taking in every detail, every stain on the kitchen’s tile floor, every crack in the off-white paint on the walls, every tiny, miniscule speck of dust in the air. Even the smooth, cool feeling of the egg I’m holding in my hand. The egg I’m going to use to make Marie’s cupcakes. They are memorizing, no, engraving this memory into my mind forever. This moment in time. 

My mother opens her mouth to speak, something in her face tells me we won’t be making any more cupcakes. When her lips finally manage to form the words, her voice is ragged. “Anna, Marie was rushed into emergency surgery last night. She didn’t make it.” 

I drop the egg onto the kitchen floor.

The End


Note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental. The author is an 8th grade student at Wayland Middle School and has never been to a hospital.

Brady to the Bolts by Mr. Rich

I know this is not what fans of the New England Patriots want to hear, but it’s time to face the future: Tom Brady is going to the Los Angeles Chargers.

All the evidence points west. First let’s look at the local angles: he and wife Gisele Bundchen have put their house in Brookline on the market, his guru Alex Guerrero put his house on the market, he asked the Patriots not to give him the franchise tag last year, and owner Robert Kraft granted him this wish. Brady’s relationship with coach Bill Belichick has been frosty in recent years, and Belichick has reportedly dreamed of winning a Super Bowl without Brady, further cementing his legacy as the greatest coach in NFL history.

Now let’s look at the Chargers angle: they are moving into a new stadium this coming season, one which they will be sharing with the Rams. They were required, as past of the deal with the Rams, to sell PSLs, or personal seat licenses, which only puts more pressure on them to make a big splash in free agency and sign a superstar who will attract ticket-buyers. Their former franchise quarterback, Philip Rivers, has moved to Florida and officially parted ways with the team. Brady is from California, and Bundchen, being a supermodel, is unlikely to oppose moving to the West Coast where so much of her industry is located.

It’s possible that Brady wanted to finish his career with either the Patriots or the San Francisco 49ers, the team he grew up rooting for, but Belichick has seemingly blocked both of these paths – the first through his behind-the-scenes opposition to Brady being re-signed, and the second through trading quarterback Jimmy Garroppolo to the 49ers in 2017.

Money – as usual – is an issue as well. The Patriots and Tom Brady have an expiring contract that spreads out “dead money” – money that will be owed to Brady next year regardless of where he goes – to the tune of $13 million. Kraft has previously stated that he does not want to pay the penalty for going over his salary cap, so signing Brady to a new contract at market value, which could be roughly $25 to $30 million a year, simply doesn’t add up for Kraft.

Brady has said he wants to play until age 45. He will be 43 at the beginning of next season, so it’s likely he will seek a three-year deal in the range of $75 to $90 million or more, and given what other, less accomplished quarterbacks have been paid in the NFL, he could get it. There are only a handful of teams with a need at quarterback and the “cap space,” or budget, to pay a once in a generation star like Brady. The Las Vegas Raiders and Miami Dolphins are two other potential options, but one argument against them is Brady’s reported reluctance to return to Gillette Stadium in an opponent’s uniform next season. Both the Raiders and Dolphins will be playing in Foxborough this fall.

One team who won’t be playing there? The Los Angeles Chargers.

Collected Poetry by Isabelle Rideout

i. A Being of Thought

I am, so I think.

I am, or so I think. 

I am, at least I think, so I think.


I am, therefore I think.

I think, therefore I am.

I think I am, therefore I am as I think.


My thoughts think I am.

I am through my thoughts.

My thoughts think they are, therefore I think I am.


I am in my thoughts. 

In my thoughts, I think I am. 

I am through my thoughts, the thoughts that I think. 


I think.

I am.

I think I am.

I think I am a being of thought.


ii. Dreams From a Butterfly’s Life

Perhaps all of life is a dream. 

Thought together at the seams. 

Perhaps everything isn’t real. 

Though if I think it is, what’s the big deal? 


Does it matter if I think thoughts,

or if thoughts think me? 

If reality is real,

or merely a dream?


For if I believe it is, it is. 

If I think it is, it is. 

And if I believe I am, I am

If I think I am, I am. 


Perhaps I think thoughts. 

Perhaps they think me. 

Perhaps I am thought by another being. 

But if all of life was a dream, 

I would think it all the same. 

So I think thoughts and they think me. 


iii. My Own Dreams

Swirling at the seams, 

falling at the edge of view, 

I can see my dreams, 

all the stories that I brew. 


The stars can bring the light, 

and the sun will shine, 

for living life is bright

from this view of mine. 


I’ll tell a tale of light,

that forgets to leave its mark.

I’ll miss a dream in the night,

left behind in the dark.


Through snow and rain and hail,

weather fair and not,

on oceans I will sail,

forgetting what I’ve sought. 


Every story told, 

every breath that I take, 

forms a dream so old, 

that I forget it when I wake. 


I look to the sky, 

and I look to the sea. 

I wonder and ask why, 

why I am me. 


The dreams beyond my sleep

may forget me when I wake, 

but tales I sow and reap 

are always mine to make. 


The stars, the sun, the moon, 

they populate the sky, 

but I know one day soon, 

they too shall die. 


And so every story ends, 

as it all begins. 

Time heals and mends, 

in the hearths of inns. 


Or so once I dreamed

in the sleep of my mind.

Where, at the seams, 

the universe, for once, seemed kind. 


iv. A Scene from the End of My Life

Chimes heard on the breeze

Oh, the story my brain weaves

Wind rustles through the leaves

The memories slip away with ease

Cold nips at all things

To dream many dreams with wings

Acorns fall from trees

To sail upon those infinite seas

Flowers bloom in color

Though time makes it duller

Logs are stacked neatly

To me, Death whispers sweetly

In the sky, the sun sinks

All thoughts my brain thinks


v. Pretty, Empty Things

A confession:  

I am full 

of pretty




It’s all a

hollow lie

that I tie up

in a pretty bow

and pretty paper.


It doesn’t




It just




How beautiful. 


How meaningless. 


How ironic that I write beautiful nothings about my beautiful nothings.


Just another one of those things

that sounds nice

but doesn’t mean


at all.

So Gong Dong Review by Nathan Oh

Hello everyone, and welcome back, today I’m going to be writing about the Korean restaurant chain So Gong Dong, the name actually comes from the name of a neighborhood in Seoul that is known for it’s tofu, the restaurant serves Korean food, I normally have the Spicy Soondubu Jega with ramen noodles and seafood, If you don’t like spicy stuff than you can also get it mild. They have mandu aka Korean dumplings, seafood pancakes, Korean BBQ. Like rice? If so they also have bibimbap which is assorted pickled vegetables, and egg, you know what let me let the NY Times explain: “The dish is a lovely contrivance in which a thin bed of rice supports discrete mounds of chopped, sliced or julienne vegetables, encircling steaming meat at the center.” Hungry? They also have stone bowl rice. As a healthier option to white rice. Thats all I have so, 

즐겨! (이것은 아마도 내가 좋아하는 레스토랑 중 하나 일 것입니다)

2020 Chevrolet Lineup by Alex Rose

2020 Chevrolet Lineup


2020 Chevrolet Model Lineup

  • Bolt EV
  • Camaro LS & LT
  • Malibu
  • Sonic
  • Spark
  • C8 corvette

First the Bolt EV that goes 0-60 in 6.5 The 2020 Chevy Bolt is an all-electric hatchback with a long driving range, spacious cabin, and affordable price tag. Capable of traveling up to 259 miles on a single charge and starting at less than $40,000, the Bolt attempts to make EVs more accessible to everyone.

Second  the Camaro LS & LT 

What is the Camaro LT, You might ask? 

It is a combination of a 2.0L turbocharged engine and combines it with a tailored suspension package derived from the other 1LE models to offer track-capable performance.

If you are confused at the difference then I will tell you.

You get a rear vision camera on both the LT and the LS. Both trim levels come standard with 10 airbags at the front, knees, sides, and roof rails to protect you and your passengers in an accident. The LS includes standard daytime running lights (DRL), while the LT steps up to LED DRLs.



Next the Chevy Malibu

With the standard engine, you will be able to go 481 miles on the highway or 403 miles with combined driving. Picking a model with the upgraded 2-liter engine lets you go 521.4 miles with highway driving or 410.8 miles with combined driving thanks to the larger fuel tank. 

And more technical facts 

The front-drive 2019 Malibu is powered by a base 1.5-liter turbo-four that produces 163 hp and 184 lb-ft of torque. Now backed by a CVT, the EPA’s fuel economy rating is 29/36 mpg city/highway (better than last year’s 27/36 mpg).

Furthermore the Chevy Sonic 

The Sonic has a 0-60 time of 8.5 seconds, which may seem slow, but  out did the competition. Bigger isn’t always better. Totally tech-savvy and available as a stylish Sedan or head-turning Hatchback, the 2020 Sonic offers remarkable fuel efficiency and plenty of punch from the standard ECOTEC 1.4L turbocharged engine. Along with nimble handling, you’ll find lots of space inside where it really counts. 

Another hatchback has entered the ring

The Spark struggled from 0-60 mph in 10.7 seconds and needed 7.6 seconds to go from 50 to 70 mph, which simulates passing at highway speeds. Other than that sad speed it is a basic hatchback


Last but certainly not leased the C8 Corvette

2020 C8 Chevy Corvette’s official 0-60 mph time: 2.9 seconds. 

With the Z51 package, the Corvette is said to hit 60 mph in 2.9 seconds. A base Corvette completes the same task in 3.0 seconds flat, according to Chevrolet. The 2020 Chevrolet Corvette C8 made its debut to the world July 18, 2019. It’s the first mid-engined Corvette in history, which means it’s a big deal for a variety of reasons. We’ve spilled a lot of ink about this new-generation Corvette, so check out our comprehensive coverage of this revolutionary new model. 



Ingredient Spotlight: Lemons by Nathan Oh

The lemon might be one of the most under-appreciated ingredients out there. A lemon is technically a fruit, along with the lime. I highly recommend it mixed with olive oil about 50-50 Lemon has a ph level of 2.2 and is 5 to 6 % citric acid, making it very sour, it is a great seasoning with fish, seafood, chicken, and almost anything else, especially salad. Most salty, and rich foods go especially well with it. Lemon makes almost every food better, you will find it in most of my recipes because otherwise the food might be a bit overwhelming. So juice away and enjoy! 


P.S. Make sure to wash you hands after touching the flesh of a lemon.