"For all of the people who are using the tragedy of the children murdered at school to make a point about our culture or society I want you to do me a favor and shut your mouth. The only thing that comes to mind when people use this awful tragedy to make a statement about why things should be a certain way through their manipulative propaganda machine is that I would rather be swimming in a septic tank. How dare any of you say anything about anything other than expressing how your heart goes out to the families. End it at that. Don't talk about gun control, don't talk about how the parents should have known, in fact don't talk about anything. Just have a moment of silence for the poor children who never got to live their lives you manipulative media vampires."
This was a recent post that I made on my facebook. I have read it over and over again trying to see if there was any other way to word my comment without sounding like my opinion is more important than the truth of the situation: a young man, obviously crazy, walked onto the campus of a middle school and murdered a horrendous number of children, the beautiful angels of a parent's life.
I don't have any children. Whether or not I will or will not is beyond the scope of this post. I do have a total of 11 wonderful nieces of nephews. I can't even begin to imagine what my life would be like if I lost one of them to an act like this. No one, myself included, have an answer in what happened. However I do know this:
The world is full of unspeakable evils. Horrors around every corner lurk in the shadows. The most important thing we can do is NOT let that control us. Do not let that control our actions and behaviors. Only in love can we as people truly find peace and direction. That's all I can say on this matter.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Traveling Fast
Sometimes late at night I feel the thoughts of the day heavier than when they crossed my mind. Just as I think I'm getting a grip on everything, suddenly and without warning: torsion physics enters my head and I can't get it out. I got home at 1:30 and for the last hour it hasn't left me alone - it's been assaulting me to a point where I have to use facebook word check (which doesn't recognize facebook as a word even though it's made up of real parts of speech, unlike the google counterpart that is not (which it recognizes)) just to remember how to spell the word assault. Ugh, I can feel the gray hairs growing.
Such horrible quandaries. Such haunting hits of fleeting desires.
It was once told to me that the math apparently lines up to where you can use Torsion Physics to travel at 10^9 the speed of light. To give one an idea that is ridiculously fast. 10,000,000,000 times the speed of light. Light travels at 186,000 miles a second. That means that we would be able to travel 1,860,000,000,000,000 (whatever that number is) miles a second.
If my math is correct that means we would get to Alpha Centauri, which is 4.365 lightyears away in like a quarter of a second.
However, it is late, and I'm really sleepy, so my math might be wrong.
Such horrible quandaries. Such haunting hits of fleeting desires.
It was once told to me that the math apparently lines up to where you can use Torsion Physics to travel at 10^9 the speed of light. To give one an idea that is ridiculously fast. 10,000,000,000 times the speed of light. Light travels at 186,000 miles a second. That means that we would be able to travel 1,860,000,000,000,000 (whatever that number is) miles a second.
If my math is correct that means we would get to Alpha Centauri, which is 4.365 lightyears away in like a quarter of a second.
However, it is late, and I'm really sleepy, so my math might be wrong.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
On Time
Our whole lives we are told to plan for the future. This is the echo of people who are prepared. Our society cherishes such things. A wise man will have a plan for when the plan fails. With all the movements that a person can make throughout their lives it would seem that the scariest point is that within all of these moves the wrong one can spell disaster even for the most careful of planners. I have decided to share a closely guarded secret with my fellow humans. The future is a lie.
The implications (I understand) are huge but they are true. You will never arrive at the future because you are forever stuck in the present. This fact is the reason that procrastination is almost a sin. Most people are guilty of it regardless of how hard they try not to be. To utter the words "I'll do it tomorrow" is a guarantee that it will never get done.
How many people live their lives of the present feeling guilt of not doing something in the past? People are haunted by their past because their past is only a ghost. Only in the abstracts of memory do a person's life actions exist. These life actions are the affect of planning or not. If real ghosts do in fact exist memories are a lot like them. In my experiences you can dread them but they have not the power to hurt you.
You live in the moment. Today will become yesterday when you reach tomorrow but you will always be in the now. Cherish that fact. It is a special gift we often overlook. Reflect each day on happiness. Think only of the good that has happened and let the bad be a memory - a memory that has no power of you and can never harm you.
The implications (I understand) are huge but they are true. You will never arrive at the future because you are forever stuck in the present. This fact is the reason that procrastination is almost a sin. Most people are guilty of it regardless of how hard they try not to be. To utter the words "I'll do it tomorrow" is a guarantee that it will never get done.
How many people live their lives of the present feeling guilt of not doing something in the past? People are haunted by their past because their past is only a ghost. Only in the abstracts of memory do a person's life actions exist. These life actions are the affect of planning or not. If real ghosts do in fact exist memories are a lot like them. In my experiences you can dread them but they have not the power to hurt you.
You live in the moment. Today will become yesterday when you reach tomorrow but you will always be in the now. Cherish that fact. It is a special gift we often overlook. Reflect each day on happiness. Think only of the good that has happened and let the bad be a memory - a memory that has no power of you and can never harm you.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
On Poverty
A broken down rusting blue truck, three speed on the column, a symbolic piece of hand-me-down history. This blue truck is the essence of my childhood. It moved my family with the uttermost loyalty every time we were evicted from wherever we were living.
We live in a Country that has promised to stamp out poverty and it has utterly failed in this mission. It is not this county's fault. You see, the United States of America is a Capitalistic union, and in order for capitalism to exist you must have the suffering class.
I will not sugar coat the problem. We invent words to ice things over. These words are usually more than one syllable so that it is a softer impact. We make words like "upper," middle," and "lower" class. I will refrain from calling the lower class by the single syllable reference that they really are. It would be "un-classy" to bring such eventual tense profanity into this article. It is for the sake of realism we will call these unfortunate victims the suffering class.
Before we start talking about the Ethos of my ability to write these thoughts down let me educate the masses who read this on my background. I was born to a mother and father who believed in the American Dream. The Dream that said if you just work hard you will get the things you need to survive. My father did work hard. He commuted long hours for his family. He was purchasing a house, we had a swimming pool and a new car. Then came the dark years. My father lost his job because he wasn't important enough. He lost his house so we moved to another place, then another and then another until we were so destitute we were forced to move in with my grandparents. There were a couple of attempts out of that house that seemed to swallow souls, but alas my father and mother still live in it.
I am a first hand account of poverty. If it wasn't for my amazing grandparents I would have more than likely been placed into a foster care system, along with my other four brothers because my parents could not afford us.
Now I have to ask the question why do we as a society accept that poverty is an acceptable condition? What will it take to move away from the grip of poverty?
Poverty is acceptable because the people who are suffering it are not talked about. They are not shown on television. They are not cared about by society. The Middle class, which is quickly being assimilated into the masses of the suffering class are not exposed to it's existence. They watch television that shows them American Idol, Faux News, and misguided opinions of various other media outlets. Their entertainment bill is roughly two hundred and fifty dollars a month. To a member of the suffering class that would be over 15 percent of their income.
The laws hardly affect the middle class, do not apply to the upper class, and keep the lower class in their place. I was recently in court for a traffic violation. Apparently going over an imaginary wall is punishable by 480 dollars (Two weeks worth of my life, a second of a wealthy persons) and I was shocked sitting there as I listened to guilty plea after guilty plea.
The suffering class has given up. I am a firm believer in you are only poor if you choose to be poor. I think that wealth is not associated with money as some people do. I believe that taxes are not that big of a deal, the money belongs to the government and they can do whatever they want with it. The entire economy really is a joke anyways, perhaps one day I will prove this mathematically, but right now, please, just trust me.
IN tackling the question of what it will take to move away from poverty's grip it is the belief of this writer that the only thing that will make it front page news in when the middle class no longer exists. We already see this happening in California. Once the middle class is gone and only the suffering class and the upper class exist it will end. Unfortunately I see a lot of problems associated with that outcome.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
My Grandmother
There is a woman in my life who I could not imagine what life would be like without her.
Growing up she was always there. It seemed when something as trivial as a tooth falling out occurred she was right next to me. She was even present when my signature chipped tooth incident occurred and calmed me to sleep to help the pain go away.
I spent every summer at her house. I was in her watchful and loving care the day the Northridge Earthquake happened. Even as my twin brother Nick and I were jolted from our bed, terrified at the swinging chandelier above our heads crashed into the ceiling from side to side, she, ignoring how dangerous it was for her, rushed into the back bedroom where my grandfather now sleeps to make sure we were okay.
At points in my life she lived a hundred miles away and then at others just around the corner. Her phone number was the first number I ever memorized and to this day keep it treasured inside, locked away for safe keeping. I left a lawn un-mowed after collecting the money to do the work because I was so happy to hear I was going to visit her. I remember when we lived up the street from her the best part of the school day was getting stop in and say hello to this amazing person.
My parents raised five kids but I don't think they ever bought us a pair of shoes because every time my grandmother came to visit we went and had them purchased. It was never too much to ask for a bouncing ball out of a grocery store or a cap gun for my brother and I to play Sheriff with. I have this vague memory of a toe being ran over by a grocery cart full of food. I can't remember if it was Nick, my twin, or me (we seem to share memories) because all I remember is one of us trailing behind my grandma saying, "Ow...ow....ow....ow" with each step and her finally turning around going: "What is...Oh my god what happened?!" Beautiful.
The hours I spent watching the Mary Martin version of Peter Pan, Mary Poppins and the Wizard of Oz. When those tapes wouldn't do she would take us out to the movies, and complain about how expensive 3.50 cents was. Simply magical.
I remember one year my Grandmother dressed up as the Wicked Witch for Halloween, and without telling us, she came to visit. When my brother and I got out of school she hid behind a corner and waited for us. That wonderful woman chased me and my brother all the way home. I remember specifically that Halloween feeling like it was taking forever to go Trick or Treating.
There were even times I, even today, feel like I said such horrible things to her. I remember one time she was visiting us, again, a hundred miles from her own home, and I told her I wished she never came to visit. She didn't yell at me, or anything of the sort, she just got in her car and drove home. Children say brash things but some reason I dreamed that memory last night. I suppose that is the purpose that I am writing this post.
We have had maybe enough arguments between each other to count on one hand. And even in those when I went back to ask her to forgive me for being so rude it was as if nothing had ever happened.
My brother's and I came from such a ... I'll use the word rocky ... childhood. My Grandmother was this beacon of light that I would not realize how brightly she shined until I would be well into my mid 20s adulthood. I have had 29 absolutely blessed years with her in my life and I hope it continues for so many more.
She is single-handedly the glue which, even today, keeps such shifting sand together.
There are memories, and I remember every single one of them, that I can not write down for there is not enough time in the conclaves of the night, but there are countless videos that can be watched from an idle sitting down of the camera to sneakily record to a sloppy Joe commercial competition on a boat. My grandmother has recorded generations of us. Generations... I sit in a room surrounded by clocks and they tick away. Moving forward through time and each small noise of advancement breaks my heart because I know that all things move towards a conclusion and a finish line. My grandmother has recently often spoke about how she is nearing the end of her life. Then she smiles about it and pats you on the cheek when you ask her not to talk about it, and just chuckles, "Well it's true." There are no immediate signs that we are worried about, just the passing of time, and I pray with every ounce of my heart that it stays that way.
I hope, like I said before, for many many more years with my grandmother in my life. I am posting this right now and am going to email her the link to this page because I want her to know that she is the most important woman in my life, and while I could never love her as much as I know she loves me, I would die trying if it was possible.
I love you Grandma.
Growing up she was always there. It seemed when something as trivial as a tooth falling out occurred she was right next to me. She was even present when my signature chipped tooth incident occurred and calmed me to sleep to help the pain go away.
I spent every summer at her house. I was in her watchful and loving care the day the Northridge Earthquake happened. Even as my twin brother Nick and I were jolted from our bed, terrified at the swinging chandelier above our heads crashed into the ceiling from side to side, she, ignoring how dangerous it was for her, rushed into the back bedroom where my grandfather now sleeps to make sure we were okay.
At points in my life she lived a hundred miles away and then at others just around the corner. Her phone number was the first number I ever memorized and to this day keep it treasured inside, locked away for safe keeping. I left a lawn un-mowed after collecting the money to do the work because I was so happy to hear I was going to visit her. I remember when we lived up the street from her the best part of the school day was getting stop in and say hello to this amazing person.
My parents raised five kids but I don't think they ever bought us a pair of shoes because every time my grandmother came to visit we went and had them purchased. It was never too much to ask for a bouncing ball out of a grocery store or a cap gun for my brother and I to play Sheriff with. I have this vague memory of a toe being ran over by a grocery cart full of food. I can't remember if it was Nick, my twin, or me (we seem to share memories) because all I remember is one of us trailing behind my grandma saying, "Ow...ow....ow....ow" with each step and her finally turning around going: "What is...Oh my god what happened?!" Beautiful.
The hours I spent watching the Mary Martin version of Peter Pan, Mary Poppins and the Wizard of Oz. When those tapes wouldn't do she would take us out to the movies, and complain about how expensive 3.50 cents was. Simply magical.
I remember one year my Grandmother dressed up as the Wicked Witch for Halloween, and without telling us, she came to visit. When my brother and I got out of school she hid behind a corner and waited for us. That wonderful woman chased me and my brother all the way home. I remember specifically that Halloween feeling like it was taking forever to go Trick or Treating.
There were even times I, even today, feel like I said such horrible things to her. I remember one time she was visiting us, again, a hundred miles from her own home, and I told her I wished she never came to visit. She didn't yell at me, or anything of the sort, she just got in her car and drove home. Children say brash things but some reason I dreamed that memory last night. I suppose that is the purpose that I am writing this post.
We have had maybe enough arguments between each other to count on one hand. And even in those when I went back to ask her to forgive me for being so rude it was as if nothing had ever happened.
My brother's and I came from such a ... I'll use the word rocky ... childhood. My Grandmother was this beacon of light that I would not realize how brightly she shined until I would be well into my mid 20s adulthood. I have had 29 absolutely blessed years with her in my life and I hope it continues for so many more.
She is single-handedly the glue which, even today, keeps such shifting sand together.
There are memories, and I remember every single one of them, that I can not write down for there is not enough time in the conclaves of the night, but there are countless videos that can be watched from an idle sitting down of the camera to sneakily record to a sloppy Joe commercial competition on a boat. My grandmother has recorded generations of us. Generations... I sit in a room surrounded by clocks and they tick away. Moving forward through time and each small noise of advancement breaks my heart because I know that all things move towards a conclusion and a finish line. My grandmother has recently often spoke about how she is nearing the end of her life. Then she smiles about it and pats you on the cheek when you ask her not to talk about it, and just chuckles, "Well it's true." There are no immediate signs that we are worried about, just the passing of time, and I pray with every ounce of my heart that it stays that way.
I hope, like I said before, for many many more years with my grandmother in my life. I am posting this right now and am going to email her the link to this page because I want her to know that she is the most important woman in my life, and while I could never love her as much as I know she loves me, I would die trying if it was possible.
I love you Grandma.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
It's Official - the Occupy movement are Terrorists
It is amazing to me how disconnected people can be from reality. Our world seems to be collapsing on itself and people don't look at why or how. The reality is that we live in a world where many people must suffer and one person shall be in comfort. This article suggests that no hard working tax paying members of our society agree with the Occupy movement. I believe that is only hard working tax paying members of our society that agree with the Occupy movement. What this editor does not understand is that the people of this world are coming to the conclusion that the deck which is stacked so against them is not fair, and they do not want to play by unfair rules. People who live sheltered away from the world, using their dollars to control the flow of their lives believe that the economy that affects us all is a game that they have won. The reality is that in a game when a person wins you start over.
I find it entertaining because it is the wealthy who create poor people. Every time a wealthy corporation refuses to pay a wage that is capable to live off of they create a poor person. They act like some odd degree of separation makes it not their fault: but it always has been. Then after creating the poor person by their direct actions they feel it is not their responsibility to take care of them. THEY believe that because you are poor you don't deserve to live. THEY have always believed that, just ask the people on the Titanic, an entire grouping of people sentenced to death because they were poor.
I will stop with this thought and let you read a direct transcription of the article I am talking about. Leave your thoughts and tell me what you think. Many people will not agree with my point of view, but I wonder, and would like to know, who agrees with the editor?
What follows is a direct transcription of the May 3rd San Marino Tribune:
I find it entertaining because it is the wealthy who create poor people. Every time a wealthy corporation refuses to pay a wage that is capable to live off of they create a poor person. They act like some odd degree of separation makes it not their fault: but it always has been. Then after creating the poor person by their direct actions they feel it is not their responsibility to take care of them. THEY believe that because you are poor you don't deserve to live. THEY have always believed that, just ask the people on the Titanic, an entire grouping of people sentenced to death because they were poor.
I will stop with this thought and let you read a direct transcription of the article I am talking about. Leave your thoughts and tell me what you think. Many people will not agree with my point of view, but I wonder, and would like to know, who agrees with the editor?
What follows is a direct transcription of the May 3rd San Marino Tribune:
"Is it Time to End the
San Marino Police Department?
Why does little San Marino even have its own police
department? That question demanded an answer last Thursday evening when an army
of anarchists of the “Occupy” movement assaulted a private residence in the
middle of San Marino for the third time.
Obviously deferring to protesters who have apparently
declared open season on San Marino’s homes the officers from the San Marino homes.
The officers from the San Marino Police Department and four other neighboring
law enforcement agencies stood idly by as self-proclaimed “protesters” again
descended on the home of longtime resident, civic leader, you soccer coach,
Honorary Rotary Paul Harris Fellow and Tribune
Citizen of the Year Tim Sloan. The ‘Occupy’ mob trapped his wife and daughter
inside while they trespassed on the Sloan’s Woodstock Road property.
San Marino had only three or four officers on duty at the
time. When our police chief finally arrived (ninety minutes after the attack)
the SMPD had to rely on mutual aid from Pasadena, South Pasadena, Alhambra and
San Gabriel before declaring an unlawful assembly two hours after protesters
showed up! Were they lawful for the first two hours? How long is a mob allowed
to threaten innocent women and children in San Marino? During the time it took
the police to end the threat to the homeowner, you could toss an overnight bag
into your car, cruise up the 101 Freeway, check into a bed & breakfast in
Santa Barbara and sip a glass of wine on the patio before our police could
decide what charges to file.
This third infringement on the Sloan residence asks another
question: Is everybody fair game in San Marino just because they have a good
job?
Three times now, and this was the worst, three times!
And what of our police department? Are they still operating
under orders from the city council members “don’t do anything, don’t chase the
bad guys. Get them across city limits where they are someone else’s problem.”
Are they prohibited from protecting us by a council’s fear of a lawsuit? That’s
what the Tribune believes. Are they really told to circle the block two times
with sirens blaring just to make sure the bad guys get away so our SMPD won’t
catch anybody and maybe get sued?
Since when did a private residence become a public protest
area? Under the law it is not, but apparently if you live in San Marino, have a
job a pay taxes and are responsible citizen you are a target for any group with
a gripe. It’s high time for City Attorney Steve Dorsey to seek an injunction to
keep people off the Sloan’s and any other property these trouble makers attempt
to use as a platform for their ‘cause.’ That same group got permits to march
downtown Los Angeles on Tuesday to celebrate the world wide communist workers
“may day” observance.
What about our San Marino police chief John Schaefer? Is he
acting on orders from the city council to stand down or is this his attitude
towards police work?
Our men, women and children are now targets of any protester
group that can get to San Marino. What is needed in response is a clear message
from this police department and this city council to the anarchists: Enough is
enough.
If the San Marino Police Department won’t defend San Marino
and our residents, it’s time to ask Los Angeles County Sheriff Lee Baca to take
over. Sheriff Baca is a longtime San Marino resident. He raised his family
here. He lives here. The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department is not afraid
to defend innocent women and children inside their homes. The SMPD apparently is
afraid to do just that. Rest assured that the Beverly Hills Police Department
would never allow any group to target one of its families and force a mom and
daughter to hide in their own home while they stood and watched. Our sister
newspaper, the Beverly Hills Courier can attest to that.
If the SMPD can’t (or won’t) defend a family from
terrorists, it’s time to end the SMPD and bring in the Sheriff’s Department.
Tell Mayor Richard Sun and the San Marino City Council. “Defend us or do away
with our police department and get us some real law enforcement.”
Call or write our city council-members. Tell them how you
feel. Demand answers. If you don’t maybe they’ll occupy your house and terrify
your family.
And by the way, you don’t see occupy protesters in La Canada
Flintridge where the Sheriff rides heard.. That city has some rich people with
jobs too. If our city council cannot or will not fix this situations and make
San Marino’s homes off limits to invaders. The city council must be recalled
…now.
Three strikes and you’re out."
Monday, April 23, 2012
Los Angeles Times Festival of Books
The Los Angeles Times Festival of Books was held at the USC campus this last weekend. I was only able to attend one day which was Sunday. I have to say that seeing so many people in one concentrated area wanting to read was a refreshing experience.
I got to sit in on a Nerd culture panel which was moderated by Amber Benson, fanboy delirium aside, her statement: "I'm getting woozy from the head that I just ate" got many laughs and a red face after she realized what she had said.
I got to see and meet one of my favorite authors. Anne Rice was at the festival. I didn't realize that she had a panel going on herself otherwise I would have skipped out on the cooking demonstration that Chris Cosentino gave. Not that it wasn't good. It was actually very informative and his kid was the most adorable helper in the world. I just feel like I missed something not going to one of my favorite writer's panel's. I stood in line, truthfully more towards the front of it than the other 300 vampires in line. What we do for our writer's to sign are things, and sign my copy of the Vampire Chronicles she did! She wrote a note in it that said: "For Nathan, may your words inspire others as mine have inspired you. Anne Rice." So in the paradigm of my mind in order of importance that rates right next to orgasms. She even sighed, I made the vampire lady sigh!
I also feel like I got to take something away that special at the festival. As a guest speaker at the Target Children's Book stage was none other than the one and only legendary Kareem Abdul Jabbar. He wrote a book that was called "What Color is My World." I wish that I had the ability to pick it up. It was a child's book. It was a historical account, told in the words of children, the scientific advancements given to us by African American Inventors. Look up the History of the Potato Chip - it's worth it and a wonderful entrance into the concepts of class warfare.
Mr. Jabbar is an affluent speaker and after listening to him read me a part of his book (I can now say that K.A. Jabbar has read me a story) I feel like I was given something special by that experience. A fitting end to the day as Kareem is my favorite Laker, favorite basketball player for that matter, and my favorite modern philosopher.
The only other noteworthy thing to discuss was the mysterious package found in the parking garage the car was located in. I don't know what the package was - all I know is that it forced me to rearrange my professional life for the night.
Yes Ladies and Gentlemen, today was a wonderful and productive day.
--Nathan W. Woodward
I got to sit in on a Nerd culture panel which was moderated by Amber Benson, fanboy delirium aside, her statement: "I'm getting woozy from the head that I just ate" got many laughs and a red face after she realized what she had said.
I got to see and meet one of my favorite authors. Anne Rice was at the festival. I didn't realize that she had a panel going on herself otherwise I would have skipped out on the cooking demonstration that Chris Cosentino gave. Not that it wasn't good. It was actually very informative and his kid was the most adorable helper in the world. I just feel like I missed something not going to one of my favorite writer's panel's. I stood in line, truthfully more towards the front of it than the other 300 vampires in line. What we do for our writer's to sign are things, and sign my copy of the Vampire Chronicles she did! She wrote a note in it that said: "For Nathan, may your words inspire others as mine have inspired you. Anne Rice." So in the paradigm of my mind in order of importance that rates right next to orgasms. She even sighed, I made the vampire lady sigh!
I also feel like I got to take something away that special at the festival. As a guest speaker at the Target Children's Book stage was none other than the one and only legendary Kareem Abdul Jabbar. He wrote a book that was called "What Color is My World." I wish that I had the ability to pick it up. It was a child's book. It was a historical account, told in the words of children, the scientific advancements given to us by African American Inventors. Look up the History of the Potato Chip - it's worth it and a wonderful entrance into the concepts of class warfare.
Mr. Jabbar is an affluent speaker and after listening to him read me a part of his book (I can now say that K.A. Jabbar has read me a story) I feel like I was given something special by that experience. A fitting end to the day as Kareem is my favorite Laker, favorite basketball player for that matter, and my favorite modern philosopher.
The only other noteworthy thing to discuss was the mysterious package found in the parking garage the car was located in. I don't know what the package was - all I know is that it forced me to rearrange my professional life for the night.
Yes Ladies and Gentlemen, today was a wonderful and productive day.
--Nathan W. Woodward
Saturday, April 21, 2012
INTRODUCTIONS
Ladies and Gentlemen let us have an introduction.
My name is Nathan W. Woodward. The W stands for William.
The mission statement of this blog officially goes something like this: Using the experience and life lessons Nathan Woodward hopes to share his experiences to help and entertain those around him.
The life mission is a little different.
Aspiring to make movies, theater, books and various other things. It would take a long time to really go into detail.
Let me give you some wisdom right off the back. Our lives are a constant self-help book for which we ourselves are the writer. In some weird and abstract way all of our lives are connected. From here to there we are all the same and one. Let's try to write a book with a happy ending.
I was born in Ojai, California in the year 1983. I lived in Palmdale till the last half of my eighth grade year in which my family moved to Lake Elsinore. It was there that I really developed who I was. I also never plan to live there ever again.
I currently reside in the Los Angeles area. I am going to school right now (late bloomer, what can I say) with the hope of finishing my degree in my early thirties. I am enrolled at PCC (Pasadena City College) and am currently enjoying every minute of it.
I have a list of friends that is a hundred miles long and I am blessed to know that I care for and love each and everyone of them very much. They are a huge part of my happiness.
The many topics I would like to cover are varied and all of them strike a personal chord.
My struggle with weight loss and gain will be prominent.
My opinion of the world affairs will most definitely be in this blog as will some ideas to fix things.
As I finish projects I will post them here and there.
It is important for everyone to know that I am a comedian at heart and as funny as my jokes can be they are what I honestly feel at most times. Ask if you need clarification. Ladies and Gentlemen I bid you farewell and a good night.
--Nathan W. Woodward
My name is Nathan W. Woodward. The W stands for William.
The mission statement of this blog officially goes something like this: Using the experience and life lessons Nathan Woodward hopes to share his experiences to help and entertain those around him.
The life mission is a little different.
Aspiring to make movies, theater, books and various other things. It would take a long time to really go into detail.
Let me give you some wisdom right off the back. Our lives are a constant self-help book for which we ourselves are the writer. In some weird and abstract way all of our lives are connected. From here to there we are all the same and one. Let's try to write a book with a happy ending.
I was born in Ojai, California in the year 1983. I lived in Palmdale till the last half of my eighth grade year in which my family moved to Lake Elsinore. It was there that I really developed who I was. I also never plan to live there ever again.
I currently reside in the Los Angeles area. I am going to school right now (late bloomer, what can I say) with the hope of finishing my degree in my early thirties. I am enrolled at PCC (Pasadena City College) and am currently enjoying every minute of it.
I have a list of friends that is a hundred miles long and I am blessed to know that I care for and love each and everyone of them very much. They are a huge part of my happiness.
The many topics I would like to cover are varied and all of them strike a personal chord.
My struggle with weight loss and gain will be prominent.
My opinion of the world affairs will most definitely be in this blog as will some ideas to fix things.
As I finish projects I will post them here and there.
It is important for everyone to know that I am a comedian at heart and as funny as my jokes can be they are what I honestly feel at most times. Ask if you need clarification. Ladies and Gentlemen I bid you farewell and a good night.
--Nathan W. Woodward
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