A New Begining

For quite sometime after starting this blog I dreamt up building a network of people who were interested in telling stories.

I had originally meet miss Emmyjo a few years ago at camp and build a relationship that I would call brotherly with her. Over the past 3 years I’ve enjoyed spending time with Emmy getting to know Emmy and talking life with Emmy. She’s not your average 20 year old.

WA couple months ago I reached out to Miss Emmyjo and inquired if she would be willing to join the Auggment blog on the side. Fully meaning she’d have her own blog. We customized themes, talked blog post ideas (briefly), and I set her loose.

I look forward to her bringing her passion and contagious attitude to the Auggnations. Enjoy her first blog below. Feel free to share her blog, comment back, and continue to support her.

EmmyJo’s blog

The Auggnation isn’t about me but about the community who I love and am thankful for their support.

I’m tired of the Posers, Fakers and Wannabe’s

So people really are people everywhere you go, even at Christian College. I get reminded of this often. I am even a jerk more often than I want to admit. I’m not always nice happy going Auggie.

In fact yesterday afternoon I was ready to just duct tape some people to walls or something. I really wasn’t enjoying anything at all. It all came down to attitudes that I see popping up. It’s an attitude that even I’ve regretfully expressed since being on campus myself.

This attitude is selfishness. Some examples I’ve seen have been; ‘my time is valuable and I’m not gonna make time for something I don’t believe in’,’I’m here to be a preacher and a church leader but it’s ok if I let explicatives fly cause I can clean it up later’, or ‘I’m more important than rules provided to everyone on campus so I’m not going to follow them at all.’ There are plenty more that I’m probably not noticing as much and maybe I’m doing a ton of them.

I’m not calling anyone out but this is a horrible attitude to have. Lets not forget this is being seen on a Christian College campus. We are to be leaders. Leaders are to be examples. Leaders are to lead without using words. If they need to they use words as last resort. Leaders are molded from talents God gave them. Leaders submit to authority and obey God and what he says in his word.

We all fail, I get that. And I’m not calling out sins and pointing fingers as I have my own struggles to deal with too. My goal here is to move beyond our failures and begin to find ways for God to mold us here on campus. I’ve been extremely convicted over this last year and feel even stronger about it this year.

Negativity is easy to get caught up in. I’ve caught myself a few times having conversations that went negative quickly. It sometimes was steered that way by me and sometimes not. It’s so easy to get caught up in the negativity we don’t try to adjust our thoughts to God.

We are dropping language we would not use in a pulpit on a regular basis then we need to work on that, because not every church will accept that kind of failure. If we are not following the rules that are express to us by our leaders now we should probably work on that as most church will not keep you around if you don’t. If we don’t surrender our time to God now then when we are being church leaders we are not going to use our time for His kingdom but ours.

Let’s work together. Let’s set a standard that says wow this campus is different. Let’s set a standard of authenticity that has outsiders saying what’s going on where they are? Those guys coming out of there are great.

It’s easy to say that but if we can’t get behind this idea then leave. I’m not trying to be a jerk. I’m being honest. If you can not get behind the idea that while here you are to be molded into a leader for God, then leave. You don’t belong here. Honestly if we can’t submit to God here now, How can we submit to God later?

We need to submit to God now, right now. Not tomorrow, not in an hour, not in 20 minutes. We submit to God, asking God for his guidance and put all our selfish ambitions in the trash. It’s not about us. Coming to Nebraska Christian isn’t about me. It’s not about you, you, you, and definitely not me or you.

Because I’m tired of hanging with posers. I’m tired of hanging with fakers. I’ve exhausted all I will exhaust on wannabe Church Leaders. I’m seeking those who submitting to God, His calling, His plan for us. Not those that are attempting to change God’s plan to better fit them.

Five Iron Frenzy’s lead singer coined a phrase, “I hope you hate it.” I really do hope you hate this post. This post hurts me personally, emotionally, and my struggles. But I don’t write to point fingers at anyone but rather ask for us to get over ourselves and get God.

Do you think I’m crazy, right on, or way off? Let me know Comment, email, facebook, twitter, snail mail, knock at my door. I’m pretty open to get a hold of.

Share if you would like.

When God Broke My Heart “The Rooms”

I wrote the following for an assignment last year. This was hard to write, I’ve still not been able to read it without crying. God breaks our hearts for him. It’s whether we decide to keep it broken or to let him fix it. enjoy

“In Lincoln, Nebraska, just a few blocks south of O street and 70th, on the east side of the road sits a large structure. Entering the gargantuan structure involved me driving around back and entering into two giant and well worn down doors. Within a few seconds, we were met by the caretakers.
The caretakers each assigned with individual tasks. There were caretakers that would register you, some that would wheel you around in wheelchairs, and a couple that would check your Identification armbands to ensure you were in the right spot. Each one wore green, red, blue, and white uniforms for the floor they worked on. Their faces all blurred together in my memory. The only feature that stands out to me is the caretakers’ reluctance to smile. They would laugh and joke, but smiling was not seen in this prison of suffering. The caretakers’ lack of smiling really set the mood for the holding area.
The holding place is is where we received our identification branding that weeded out those who would be staying and those who were just visiting. These branded items were worn on our wrists. These armbands were a white color and plastic feel overshadowed by the black burn on text. Often I entered crying as the caretakers would ignore my sobbing. This holding area reeked of hopelessness. This large area contained many benches evenly spaced and able to sit three people comfortably. In between each bench sat tables with magazines with no reason for how they were placed. To this day the area is a memory wished forgotten. The pain and suffering on everyone’s stressed face was as thick as a ten foot snow drift blocking your front door. Sooner or later the caretakers would call your name and escort you to your room, your prison cell of abandonment. We hated the holding area, as we hated our prison cells of dreams abandoned.
I could not be lucky enough to be on the first floor, those close to my age often resided here. The caretakers always took me to the 5th floor to be with those 50 – 60 years older than me. My 19-year-old mind contemplated, “I have to room with THEM.” This would often make me burst out in anger at my caretakers, “SHUT UP! I WANT A ROOMMATE WHO’S MY AGE.” Riding up this elevator required caretakers to swipe a special blue and pink key card. By this time I often sat in a glazed stupor of liquids pushed into my body. Caretakers yanked and pushed me in in my chariot of sleep.
The end of the elevation journey consistently was greeted with a sound *Ding*. The caretakers always told me it was very calming. After hearing it for what seemed to be 10,000 times, all I wanted to do is rip the bell out of the elevator. This sound to this day makes every hair on my arm stand up. The doors would open and we got wheeled out into the big long hallways with a plethora of rooms.
Each room, no matter which one you looked at, was the exact same. Each floor’s rooms were exact copies of the one next to it. This was problematic for the inmates on the 5th floor, good memory became optional for the inmates staying. I knew this is how the animals felt when getting loaded on the Ark. We were divided up two by two.
As you entered the room from the enormous long hallways you noticed a big heavy wooden door. I often wondered if it was meant to keep an army out, or me in. This door was one of the closest things to freedom available inside the giant structure of discarded will to live. With the door open, you could see people moving to and fro, some noisily, some quietly. Sometimes you’d be awakened by loud commotions of panic and despair. This usually was accompanied by loud beeping, wheels grinding on the tiled white floor, and then silence. The halls would fill with weeping, sobbing, and mournful tears of missed chances.
Once I saw see faces of joy and hope when a baby was born a few doors down from our captivity. The mother went into labor and delivered before they could have her in the delivery room. Most often you’d see the unmoving faces of the uncompassionate caretakers. How can you see all this and show absolutely no emotions is still a mystery to me.
You could tell their only goal everyday, to make it to the end of their shift. Conversation with each caretaker was based upon whether the person wanted to ask anything besides the standard three questions.
“How’s your pain today? Are you feeling nauseous at all? Have you gone to the bathroom today?” each caretaker asking the same thing, every time, with a monotone attitude.
The giant wood room door, for the detainees, was nearly immoveable when closed for the detainees. If the door was closed, and it took all my energy to open it. I became forced to decide if it would be worth opening it and most often I left it closed hoping our caretakers didn’t forget us.
As you walked past the big door a wall extended all the way to the other end of the room. The color of this wall, a light tan, often is referred to as a soothing color. After an extended time you realize that the color was not soothing at all. The walls beamed a color of despair and pain. This wall is considered a big waste of space, with only a few items that break up the monotony. Two whiteboards evenly spaced to make it seem symmetrical at first glance hung on this wall. With time, you’d notice that the spacing was off. This is due to how the nook of bathroom, sink, and closets were set in the room. All I wanted to do is rip the whiteboards off the wall in pure anger and frustration and fix both to proper equal distances.
The whiteboards are our only form of communication from caretakers besides their three questions. Caretakers would write their names on the board. This signified they were assigned to us for the next few hours. I would see, Michelle, Bryan, Joe, Riley, Mary, but no faces to associate with them. Often the name would stay the same for weeks. I found them to be preoccupied with interacting with each other instead of doing the duties they were entrusted with.
Hanging in between the two whiteboards, a small color television, providing the only form of entertainment in our room. I would hardly get a chance to use it as my roommates controlled the images on the screen. I could at least control the volume on my side, but tuning it out, impossible.
At the far edge of the whiteboard wall, extended a wall parallel with the hallway. This wall featured two thirds windows extending from the ceiling to right below our hips. These windows brought in sunshine or gloomy clouds. Clouds fit the moods of the torture we experienced. The view featured nothing spectacular. On Eastern side the building you would see the concrete jungle of a parking lot. On Northern side, the buildings across the street. This didn’t keep us from looking out of the window. The view contained images of freedom. I would find the blinds closed, my roommates only liked to see what they could experience.
Each of my ten roommates always occupied the window side. This angered me. I didn’t want to talk to my roommates because of this. I can remember one name of my roommates to this day. Anton, died slowly, painfully and lonely. Anton, 92 year old man, at one time stood a strong 6 foot 2 inches. In his state while staying with me, he when he could stand, was at most 5 foot 9. His face beamed a well earned life. He’d always look over at me during his morning inspection and would wink with a grin.
I forever will remember his last words to me, “Kid, you don’t let this place kill you.”
It took him nearly twenty minutes to push down the pain from the growths in his throat and lymph nodes to say those eight words. I wrote them down on anything I could.
If you stood directly under the television, looking out, you would notice two identical areas for the captives to claim. The areas are mirror images. Depending on what torture devices you had, you could see tubes, machines, and devices hooked up into the wall. Down the middle was an 80 percent privacy curtain, which you still could see shadows on the other side. We really didn’t need privacy. We’d really given up thinking we were even citizens. I often pondered if I had become the object of someone’s sick enjoyment.
Pushed up against the back wall was our beds. Each bed was exactly the same. On the sides, cages that elevated and declined to keep us in our beds as much as possible. These cages had controls for volume of the television and a button used to request a caretaker’s assistance. A bright red button with a red square cross on a white background seemed more useless than a screen door on a submarine. The caretakers would respond, when they felt like it, if they felt like it. The bed became another way for the caretakers to torture us. And the caretakers would come in while we were sleeping, adjust the bed to a different position, and leave without a reason and often without looking at us. Waking us up without excuses or apologies I imagined as a game for the caretakers. I imagined them sitting out at their counter pompous and arrogantly keeping track of how many times someone jumped as they started the processes. While the bed moved up and down, it would make loud, cranking, grinding, and squeaking noises, these noises disturb me to this day.
Directly next to my bed, sometimes on my right side, sometimes on my left side, was the restraining device. It made obnoxious beeping noises every 30 seconds, or when I became disconnected from the power too long. An awkward grinding, clunking and suction noise could be heard every five seconds. Every two hours it would *ding, ding, ding* so our caretakers would come check on us. I wanted to run from it, but if we did, they just connected us back to this device. A companion for many captives, we pushed, pulled or carried it with us. I named mine, Ivey. This definitely brightened my mood if I remembered why I was attached.
To my left are the closets for our personal property. This closet had an air tight seal to keep our personal effects safe from damage. I wondered what it would be like to hide in there, always knowing it wasn’t big enough for a human being. This made me question if I was still human.
On the back side of the closets a wall with a mirror could be found. Directly below the mirror a sink sitting at waist level. The mirror was used as an unintentional reminder of the agony we have been subjected to. All we cared about was that we were upright. We’d usually walk by this mirror never looking. We didn’t need the visual confirmation that we looked worse than we felt.
Directly to the right of the mirror and sink, a light wooden door. In this door a bathroom and shower resided. You could comfortably fit 10 people inside this area. The Shower smelled of old mothballs and Lysol cleaner. The darker tan walls often made me wonder if I created to be in this eternal suffering.
Turning around from the mirror was four feet of cabinets that occupied from the bathroom wall to the entry door. We were told blankets, pillows, and gowns needed from time to time would be in there. The only problem was that they were always locked, so on cold nights we were tortured waiting for warmth from promised blankets that would never be accessible from the non-responsive caretakers.
Laying in my bed, I found one part of this room where I found solace. I escaped my prison, my torture chamber, my cell of hope forever lost. I could look around this room and just see pain, sorrow, hatred, loss, anguish, and regrets.
BUT!
There was a constant item in every room that always sat directly to my left. It didn’t matter which of the five rooms I occupied in this prison of torture beyond my age. These rooms of empty feelings, lost hopes, discarded dreams, cares I once had, or promises never kept; contained a constant that is overlooked by those who never stay. There in the corner, a light blue fake leather chair sat parallel with the bed. This chair contained wood trim running up and down the vertical edges and along the crown of the chair. The chair’s arms made of wood, stained dark cherry, now worn with it’s heavy use. This chair could be converted to a very uncomfortable bed. The Chair would also be a recliner.
But one night, one cold night on the last day of March in 2000, this blue chair helped shape and change my life.
I had not gotten my normal tray of food in the evening. My caretakers had decided I get a risky new procedure. Instead I got to smell the hamburgers, french fries and the peaches. Going nearly six weeks without food, much like anyone, my sense of smell heightened. I could smell the type of pickles on the tray, they were Vlasic dill pickles. The caretakers with a truly heartless gesture, gave me two gallons of sulfur and water which would cleanse my stomach and everything attached. It didn’t matter the flavor they said, all you could smell and taste was the sulfur.
I was allowed a phone call that night. I can remember I talked with my dad. Our relationship wasn’t the strongest. That night’s conversation was not memorable. I am pretty sure we just talked about when they would come to visit me the next day. The memory of how I felt after the conversation I still remember today.
I made peace with this night of my life as it felt like my last night.
I sat there with my mind racing and began to get angry. The longer I sat, the more anger festered. I started talking to God and challenged Him to prove Himself. I told Him I despised His lack of appearances in my life. I counted out the ways of how I was being tortured.
I screamed out in anger, “I am in so much pain, so much suffering that I would think death would be better than to continue, God.”
I finally closed out my talk with God with one statement, out loud, for all the world to hear me,
“God, I’m done. I hate you. Prove to me You love me.”
After this rant of blasphemous anger and truth, I laid down. Definitely not calm, definitely unable to accept this agonizing life, my anger lulled me to sleep this night.
Without reason, at 11:50 pm I sat straight up in bed. My anger was gone, and I heard my name. James August Mueller, is the name my parents gave me, but not the name I am addressed by. I heard the name that the caretakers didn’t know, or refused to call me. When I was a young child my grandpa would call me Auggie. When I was older I found out he wanted me to go by Auggie. The name was unique, and seemed to match my personality. I’ve gone by Auggie ever since. Auggie was the name I heard that night.
I looked around the room nearly out of breath. I inhaled two deep breaths and tried to regain my composure. Overwhelmed with emotions, this could only be compared to the day of my wedding. I have never felt such love, joy, peace, drowning kindness. I was basking in it, soaking it in.
I was pulled back to reality, as again, “Auggie.” Looking around I saw no one, looked over at my roommate around the curtain. Asleep and lifeless, I thought maybe he passed on, but quickly realized with his chest rising and falling he was just sleeping. I realized right then and there that God was talking to me. I can to this date remember exactly what I heard God say, “Peace, with you now, I’ve always been right here.” I challenged God as I knew what he meant, I screamed internally, “WHERE! PROVE IT.” Within a split second, I could feel God in that chair.
Any onlooker would just see a chair. If there was a fire, this would be the last thing you’d think to get out of the room. The whiteboards took precedence over this chair.
I leaned over, placed my head and arms in the chair, instantly being overcome with a flood of a thousand emotions. I was at peace. I knew exactly where God was the entire time I was prisoner in each and every room. In each room the chair was always in the exact same spot, facing the exact same direction. Towards the bed.
At the Saint Elizabeths hospital, in long term patient care, on the 5th floor consisting of Geriatric and Infant wards, I sat. This was a place consisting of patients receiving treatments for ailments of cancer, heart problems, internal digestive issues, and any infant sickness. That one cold night, I found my Lord, Jesus Christ, in a blue chair with the wood trim, sitting next to me.
The next morning, when nurses entered my room to prepare me for life altering surgery, they found me asleep with my head on the chair. I was wheeled downstairs without a word from my nurses, never to be the same again. “

Dear Baseball Commish

Dear Baseball Commish:

Welcome to the complainers corner. You were just recently voted to become the commish and everyone is telling you what to do and how to do it. Many owners have expressed concerns about fixing things in baseball. This is a sport that will revenue 9 Billion dollars this year. That seems like it’s running fine. But that doesn’t mean there is areas of improvement.

I was listening to sports talk radio on the way home the other night and they asked what’s the one thing that baseball needs to do to stay competitive in the top 5 of American Sports.

That’s easy. Baseball needs to get over itself and make baseball appeal to the sports fans who don’t care about baseball. It’s something where end of baseball season there are lots of great ratings and attendance. Most of the playoffs are great. It’s the week after opening season till the last two weeks of baseball and the world series that’s needing to draw that fan base of casual fans.

THINGS NOT TO DO In 1998 soccer was trying to make some moves to make it more appealing to non soccer fans. They brought out cheerleaders and lets’ say that went over very poorly. Please don’t add cheerleaders.

Don’t do stupid gimmicky nights like bobblehead, pink glove, and 1 dollar hotdog nights. That will not draw casual fans.

Things that could be done SHORTEN THE SEASON. Average attendance for some teams was 40,000 thousand a game. That’s great but that means there were some games with more and some with less. And one primary reason is there are games from March/April through September nearly 3 to 4 times a week. Who cares. It’s not till the last two weeks of baseball that people care. If you take and play everyone one in your division a 3 game home and then a 3 game away and then play everyone in their league 1 home and 1 away game you’d have a solid schedule. And one where every game mattered.

Shorten the games. I can watch two soccer games in the time that one baseball game is done. Unless it goes to extra innings then I can watch a third. And yet they wonder why soccer is gaining in popularity. There’s a nuance to the game I get it but to the casual fan, the fan baseball needs to start attracting, this is stupid and slow.

Doing just a couple of things different would make the casual fan care.

Dear Baseball Commish
please listen

Signed ADHD Auggie.

What We Do Matters

This past week Robin Williams died. He suffered from Depression according to those close to him. But what did this matter. He didn’t save the world. He didn’t feed the hungry. He didn’t consistently announce charity work.

No he made us laugh. The laughter that didn’t stop with just one movie but many. He molded my childhood through movies like Mrs Doubtfire, Hook, Alladdin, and more. Truly he created and owned his characters with joy.

There’s a story about when I was being born. My dad is supposedly telling my mom to hurry up and have me so he can watch Mork and Mindy. I was told this often. I could be mad about it but I wasn’t. It gave me an attachment to Mork and Mindy. And for those of you who are wondering, yes my dad did get to watch Mork and Mindy that night.

It’s in this character that I enjoyed Robin the best. He was an alien who didn’t understand anything and was a spazz. Wore colorful outfits suspenders and more.

Robin’s death isn’t special. Hundreds of thousands of people die daily. What makes him being remembered special. It’s what Robin did. Robin took his talent of acting and impressed upon multiple generations the ideal of being more than we are.

Robin’s life is being celebrated because he made us laugh. He made us cry. He made us feel for the characters he was in many movies. Robin used talent to better many people’s life if only for a few moments. Robin is celebrated because what he did mattered.

That’s our goal in life to do work that matters. To be involved in things that matter. To show people who God is on a daily basis cause that matters. It’s not what you say. It’s what you do, and if you are not living a life that matters then please talk. Talk to anyone about a life that matters. I’ve been down before. I’ve attempted at taking my own life. I found God, and know a life that matters is what I now live for. Please understand there’s nothing biggger than mattering. There is nothing that matters unless you know and live for God.

Live for God because what we do matters.

They Took Me In Without Knowing Me

During my senior year I was presenting with an issue. The issue was I had less than 6 months left of school and my dad had accepted a position in Oklahoma 4 hours from where we presently lived. I was already traveling 35 miles one way to school and was told I either needed to find a place to stay or move to Oklahoma. Upon visiting Cushing, Oklahoma, I realized that I may not graduate in the spring with out taking a lot of real classes.

So we sent a letter to churches in Meade, Kansas, where I was attending school. It simply asked if anyone one had an extra room for me to stay I would be appreciative. So we waited and waited with no answer. I gave up hope and was just going to live in my car when we finally got contacted from the person I least expected.

The school janitor offered up his house for me to live. He had just had a son who was months old and his wife, but they were willing to share a room with me. I was grateful. I had maybe said 2 words to him the entire year I’d been attending school there but they still took me in. They showed me love by just being there. I must have driven then nuts.

Mike (was his name) believed in God. Mike professed God. Mike helped organize Fellowship of Christian Athletes. He took me to a church that was Pentecostal in a Mennonite town. There were evenings we sit around the table eat cornbread and talk about God. I am eternally grateful for those few months in his house because he took me in without knowing me.

Straight up we learned together. They had just had a son not few months before this and he’s taking in a 18 year old boy. We planned a senior vs faculty basketball game for Fellowship of Christian Athletes. They helped me celebrate my 19th birthday. They even stood in for my parents during senior night during Basketball season. I was truly loved by strangers who when I moved out I called family. It didn’t end there. My mom called Mike when I got really sick, with out hesitating he drove 9 hours to see me in the hospital. It meant a lot to me. I was so happy to see him. I know Mike altered my idea of family.

I have since then begun to “adopt” people into my extended family. I’ve got many I would call sisters and brothers. It’s kinda similar to the example that Jesus had with the 12. He wasn’t just a teacher but a family with them.

Do you have family that you know and love though they are not blood related? I’d love to hear about it, feel free to comment below, on facebook or Twitter @auggment

People You Will Meet at College

Doesn’t matter the college, doesn’t matter the time frame. Doesn’t matter where you go. You will meet people at college. There are quiet a few people you will meet that fit a certain label.

Some of the people you could meet:
The Flirt, this person flirts all the time could be a boy or a girl but it’s undeniable that they flirt.

The Stud, this person walks around like they are God’s gift to the world and we are blessed to even lay eyes on this person.

The Nerd, usually stays in room and hardly comes out. Only thing we know is they are usually quiet. Often they come off as socially awkward. Known to like Dr. Who, Sherlock, and way more.

The Person who your amazed they can dress themselves. This usually has to do with their parents coddling them to much. They don’t even know how to do laundry, pack their books in their bags. May occasionally be seen calling home to have a lullaby sung.

I lost my stuff person, this never seems to fail every year you meet more of more of them. They are constantly asking you if you’ve seen a certain item. They look all over only to have it in their room back or something.

I am super smart and stay in my room to do 19 hours of homework a week. This person different from the nerd as they usually are not socially awkward but rather choose not to spend their time in public.

I’m the tech guy, This person walks around arrogantly around telling people how to use technology.

The pretty girl, this girl usually takes long showers. This girl usually gets embarrassed for not having make up on. This girl usually takes hours to get ready for anything.

This list may not be complete. This list is just a few people you will meet along the way.

Social Media and your Privacy

Recently Facebook has begun to require that users download and install Facebook Messenger app if they want to continue to use messenger on the mobile platforms. This has caused an uproar for many reasons. One reason is having to have another app for one of the more popular features in the current mobile apps. The requirement on android devices to allow access immediately to photos, contacts, microphone, camera, and more for usage anytime even when you are not using the app. The same wording on iOS that requires access to each features with alarming wording.

Facebook has for many years pressed the limits of going to far. Up till this year Facebook mobile application required location data to be on in order to upload photos, videos, and sometimes status. This was “anonymous” capturing where you are when updating and taking pictures. It wasn’t till last year that people found out it captured your phone and carrier. This year the mobile platforms require an opt out.

Why do they want your contacts, they want your microphone, camera, location data. It’s simple money. Facebook is out to make a dollar. Last year they made 7 dollars per individual. Some projections are they are out to get 12 dollars per person. They do this to know everything they can. Every like you do with every brand and every person is tracked. They track it down to extremely specifics including age groups, interest groups, and sex. And they offer all this information up to paid advertisers.

That’s what social media has turned into. Facebook has shareholders now and need to make money. They have billions of users and now need to turn that into lots of money. That’s why Facebook has purchased instagram, foursquare, and many more to continue to stay ahead of trends. Twitter is also a publicly traded company and doing a lot of the same stuff.

It comes down to us. We have no control… but we are the users. It comes down what freedoms we are willing to give up to have access to the platform they allow us to use. We have a choice. We choose to give them all this information in order for us to post our food, thoughts, and what Disney princess that’s we are closest too.

So now you know what will you do? Use it the same, change the way you use it or stop using it?

share with anyone you want.

Things you to know or bring to College

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I have some quick tips on college, surviving and succeeding.

You need to bring in stuff to do you homework. As stupid as it sounds there are those who don’t have pens, paper, binders, notebooks, or even a laptop to do homework on. I often wonder on these people how they put their pants on, or if they have a sign on door that says remember your pants. It’s silly I know but being on our own often has us forgetting that we can actually do stuff like buy school supplies.

You need to bring to college is your clothes but not your closet. It’s important to wear clothes at college but it’s also important to know this is not a place you need you prom dress you will never wear at college. Bring the items that you need leave the extra stuff at home.

Bring the basic technology. Something that’s just assumed in today’s technology driven world is I can bring everything I want to college. That’s not entirely the case. Some students bring two gaming systems, a laptop, ipad or tablet, cellphone and a printer all that use IP addresses. A lot of colleges are only letting you have 3 registered devices for the entire network. One college a friend of mine is attending gets 2 IP addresses. As silly as this sounds you can put that IP address into as many devices as you want but can only use one of them at a time if it’s the same IP address. Talking with the technology director at a college of 200 students recently revealed why some colleges are doing this. This college of 200 students had over 800 connected devices in the evening. That’s 4 per student and staff. It’s often best to figure out your technology needs before showing up to school. Communicate with your roommate on what’s being brought and what can be shared.

Also on a side note, most colleges do not allow routers in any way shape or form. Leave them at home.

You need the ability to learn how to figure it out yourself. From knowing what books you need to learning what software is required for what class. You are in charge of you and as I will often say, “Well come to putting on our big boy pants.” I am not intending to be mean but letting you know it’s gonna get done unless you do it. For example the college I attend has all it’s books online as well as software required listed for everyone to be able to get. But if you are not willing to figure it out college will be hard.

You need to bring positive attitude and an ability to adjust to new things. Roommates push buttons, cooking isn’t like home, technology isn’t designed to stream 400 streams from netflix at once. You name it stuff gets on your nerves. Specially that one weirdo who won’t leave you alone. You need to understand that being negative a lot will cause people to not want to be around you as much. And if you are not willing to adjust then you will not be able to learn. Adjusting is hard and things change rapidly with college so be prepared to change with it.

You need to bring an attitude of friendship also. be a friend to anyone you can. It’s hard sometimes as we are not all the same but it’ll help in the long run. Being a friend to as many as you can will provide you with a great support system when you need it.

You need to bring a stress reliever. As dumb as it sounds you have to be able to relieve stress. It’s best to bring something that won’t annoy those around you. For some is a guitar in a practice room, for some it’s video games, and for some it’s reading. Find something that you can do to relieve stress. Find stuff that you like to do with people you like to do it with. I find disc golf always fun to do. I am completely horrible but I like to do it anyways.

With the above you are on your way to succeeding at college. This is not a complete list nor is it for everybody. What is something you recommend to add to the list. Comment below, on facebook or twitter. feel free to share.

Thank you Landon Donavan!

Landon has 135 plus goals in MLS alone… amazing

Landon Donavan has been playing Soccer professionally in MLS or overseas since around 2001. I respect Landon Donavan a lot. When he started playing in MLS he played for the very physical San Jose Earthquakes. He was cocky and arrogant. His sniper like lights out attitude made him an aggressive goalscorer. He began to earn the respect of the world as he always had another gear in speed. He also played with this huge passion that often had him in faces of opponents.

Landon in 2013 lost a lot of respect. He took a sabbatical from soccer for a few months. This after nearly 2 years straight of playing soccer with no offseason. This was hard for the USMNT soccer team fans to accept that someone with so much passion for the game could just walk away for a while. Landon’s return to soccer was never the same either. He did a lot of soul searching and that’s great. But He lost his passion to press. He Never really showed that in your face passion. He never showed his sniper goal scoring ability. He also never seemed to use that super fast gear. I know the older you get you lose a step. But in this case it seemed he was just running when he wanted.

Yesterday Landon announced at the end of this season that he is retiring. First thing I could think of was Thank you Landon. See Landon helped changed world perception of US forwards and Midfielders overseas. Up to early 2000′s people only knew of US as Goalie producing country. Landon also was a great ambassador for soccer in the USA. He was always willing to take about soccer to a lot of people who didn’t know soccer.

He’s also the most dominate and best soccer player ever to come out of USA to date. He’s got 135 plus goals in MLS missing a couple years over seas. He deserves our respect. He deserves a send off. He deserves to take time off. I wish Donavan well. I wish he continues to be a good ambassador of soccer. I hope Fox or NBC pick him up for commentary. Landon has been that face of US Soccer and he knows it’s time for moving on.

Landon. Thank you.

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