Thread: Book of Gregor
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Old 10-28-2008, 05:23 PM   #10
GregorArturo
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Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Southern Maine
Posts: 560
Default Part II

Part II - "Down on South"

After high school, I moved to Orlando, Florida to go to a technical school called Full Sail Real World Education. I went there for computer animation, as for the past five years I had become involved a fair amount in graphic design and 3D graphics. I lived in an apartment with another Mainer, who was going to another program at the same school. Our mothers worked together at the hospital.

This period was a very interesting time in my life. As my life back in Scarborough was very active socially, along with being a full time party animal, I was all of sudden in a stagnant social situation. The majority of the students at my school for more or less were 'geeks'. I really try to refrain from using terms that have negative terms even though the phrase has been more accepted as the numbers have been growing across the board: The Rise of the Video Gamers.

I was once a video gamer. I loved games, always had. I was much more of a fan of strategy and thinking games. However, as high school came to an end, a drifted a fair amount from the entertainment platform and realized how much time was wasted in such a thing. Everyone, I mean EVERYONE, at my school went to class each day, then went home and played video games. Specifically, World of Warcraft. Many of us are probably quite familiar how this game "eats peoples souls." I refused to give in. I made a few friends, but the relationships never went past going to the movies or grabbing food together. It involved more me talking, while they shot things and yelled threw a microphone at some person in Singapore.

This didn't work out so well for me. So what happened? I spent a bunch of time in isolation, reverting back to my introverted persona and consistent self-reflection of thought. Philosophical concepts began manifesting in my head, without the influence of any drugs or books. The thoughts were coming from a deep hidden voice inside me. And luckily, I began to transcribe this intangible notions on to paper for the first time too:

Gregor's First Piece of Written Philosophy - February 2005
Your priest told you there is a god. Your teacher told you that protons, neutrons, and electrons form everything. That an almanac told you over a billion people live directly beneath you on the other side of the planet. That your tv tells you that your country fights for freedom. That your friend says they'll always be there for you. The funny thing about life is, no matter what people tell you, no matter what you read, you never really know the truth. That it could all just be a lie? Sadly enough, the only thing that you know speaks truth, is yourself. Only your own experiences encompass your true reality. Otherwise, the existance of the world outside your own completely relies on faith, and faith alone. As far as im concerned, Jay Leno's chin is a snap on.

This 'era' in my life when I began to realize it was not an artist or a physicist that I was truly destined for, no, I was to be a philosopher. I realized this was the most integral thing to this 'existence' of mine.

Several months before I moved to Florida, I began to get severe stomach pains, where I almost felt like collapsing on the spot, and would have to lay down until the went away. They coincided almost always after eating a meal.
I visited a doctor who ran some tests thinking it may be an ulcer. Everything gave back negative, and I was told for verbatim again (as I felt it was incorrect diagnosis), "Lay off the drugs and alcohol, Greg." Right before moving to Florida, I saw another doctor as my symptoms were growing worse. I had been losing weight as I had been eating less. The doctor told me the exact same thing, but prescribed me a medication to help repair the stomach wall. I knew it was not the case, something was telling me it was different. The next few months I developed all the symptoms of anorexia, and ate mainly things like yogurt and apple sauce. It was some of the only things that could go down smooth for me. Things continued to grow worse for me, having more of these "acid attacks" as I called them, sometimes completely crippling me.

In February, my mother flew me home so I could see a specialist. They stuck a camera down my throat, and discovered a had Gastroparysis, or paralysis of the stomach, a very serious and uncommon disorder. A third of the muscle in my stomach was dead, and it was spreading. The paralysis had started to also spread up my esophagus allowing stomach acid to easily come up into my throat and mouth. I had begun to notice right before this waking up with sore throats in the morning.

The doctors realized all they need to do was double my dosage of my current prescription. My earlier lower dosage was only slowing down the spread of the paralysis.

I returned home, but my insurance company denied the new medication dosage, and I wasn't able to get any medicine at all. In less than a week of not taking any of my medication, I collapsed into serious pain, and had to withdraw from school. The medication was too expensive without the insurance companies, and they just kept putting us on. I developed strep throat right at this same time, and retreated on my on with no one to take care of me in my apartment in Florida. I was in hell.

After several days of this 'hell', the insurance company finally approved me for the new dosage, and almost immediately I began feeling better. Within a month, my symptoms were a thing of the past. However, I soon found out form the dentist I had twelve cavities, and each one was caused by stomach acid. The experience had created a large sense of distrust in the way society functions, especially the medical field.

Since I had taken two months off from school, I began working with a friend doing event rental work, setting up big party tents along with other associated event functions. And for some reason, the work began to grow on me. Maybe it was the travel, and the exercise that enticed me. I really never figured that one out, but I liked it. Overall, it was a completely new experience for me.

The day I was suppose to go back to school, I was laying in my bed staring at the ceiling that morning. It then occurred to me: What the hell am I doing with my life? It made no sense. Working in an office making graphics for some Hollywood feature just did not seem justifiable for a person of my means. I needed to experience the world! Later that day I went to school and withdrew.

I soon moved out of the apartment and into a house with a couple friends, the ones I had been working with. The main reason for this move was my dog. Here is the story in which I previously wrote about my dog, my Max, and how for some mysterious reason my best friend came into my life:

The Story of Max - March 2005

So many of you who have met me, have probably been jumped on at least once by the infamous Maximus Decimus, more commonly known as Max. Well, besides Max being the **** of ****s (pun intended), most people have always wondered how did I end up with a 65 pound dog at the age of 19.
It all started one somewhat warm (as this is Orlando folks) February night, when I was drinking at my friend Junior's apartment who lived downstairs from me with several friends. A few of my friends who lived in another apartment a ways down showed up with their two pitbulls and this mutt trailing behind. All of us were like "Whose dog is that?"
Well, my friend Dave explained, that the guy in the complex who has the beagle, had found seen him laying on this knoll next to a SunTrust bank I believe, off of 436 south of the 408. Well, on their way back home they passed the bank again and the dog hadn't moved at all.
The couple, who owned the beagle, pulled over and discovered he had no tags so they brought the dog with them in there car as he seemed pretty friendly. They brought him back to their apartment, and he was a little hard to keep in the apartment with their beagle so they just let him outside to play with my friends pitts, which he was getting perfectly along with. Dave, then said, he was calling the dog pound for him.
Soon enough, everyone seemed to of grown fond of the dog as he was very playful and friendly, not to mention a cutie.
And to make the hook line and sinker, the moment that changed moments, this girl Jenna, who I must say was quite the hottie, and who I happened to have this little crush on, even though she was taken, was like, "Oh Greg, you should keep him. I know you've been wanting a dog for a while."
At first, I was like no way, it's not happening, but then I started the play around with the idea in my head then I was like, "Hey, let's see if I can take him off the guy's hand, so he doesn't have problems with his Beagle." We soon also realized he was neutered and Florida law is neutered dogs automatically get an ID chip put in them.
I went off and talked to the guy with the beagle. He said it was fine, and he hadn't called the dog pound yet.
He was mine! At the moment at least. So, we all came up with the name Gary for him, since some how I had snagged that nickname recently for some unknown reason, and we all thought it would be funny.
Well, that night "Gary" slept on my bed with me but I soon realized he was a dirt machine. So, the next day I gave him a bath and made him all nice and pretty.
Several days later, I brought him to the vet and got the chip scanned. He had a chip, as I thought, bummer They called in the ID to this chip company service thingy majig. It turned out they hadn't filled in the information for the chip, so the only information on the ID profile was where the dog was neutered, so the company was going to have to do some searching.
I went home with the dog and after a couple hours I got a phone call from the company, and said they had found a valid work number, and got a hold of a coworker who said they would be back at a certain time. They gave me the number to call them.
So, the moment of truth, even though there didn't seem like much hope. I was at least thinking it was a fun few days with this random dog. After a little bit, I called the number, just hoping something wasn't right.
I asked for the person, and they went and got him.
"Umm... Hello, I have your dog."
"My dog. I don't have a dog."
"A orange/brown colored kind of dog. A big one. His ID chip says he's yours."
"No way. He disappeared three months ago!"
And then the man filled me in on the rest of the story.
Gary's name was Max, and was actually his fiancee's dog and had runaway around Christmas and was only five months old at the time. They honestly thought he was dead. He told me he was going to get a hold of her, and then have her call me.
After about twenty minutes, she called me, and was absolutely shocked, and then baffled on the phone what to do. She mentioned how she was pregnant and didn't know how she was going to take care of a dog now as if she was talking to herself. So, I jumped in without thinking, "You know he is a really great dog, and I like him a lot, if you want me to take him off your hands, I"ll gladly keep him." And she most certainly agreed.
And with that, I came to befriend one of the greatest pals I have ever had.

I really wanted to share this story, as my dog had found me, and not vice versa. I had never ever planned on getting a dog. I cannot express how much I love to come home to him.

The new house though wasn't working so well with my new roommates, and things fell through really quick. I had the house to just me and Max. My friend Andy, who I had mentioned earlier, wanted to really get out of Maine, so he moved down to Orlando to come live with us. I flew home to Maine, and drove down with him in his Chevy Blazer. When we were driving through Georgia, my boss calls me up just as Katrina was making landfall in New Orleans: "Greg, the trucks are loaded to go, we're leaving right now. You're in charge of Florida. Tell your friend he's hired."

That week, me and Andy each clocked in 98 hours doing hurricane work for FEMA and Florida Power and Light in Miami. It was by far the most chaotic week in my life to this date. I remember the first night in Miami, where we were so behind schedule, and it was three in the morning, both of us severely fatigued. I was panicking because I did not know how we were going to get everything done, and people were relying on us. It was one of the worst panic attacks I have ever had, mainly stemming out of the amount of responsibility on a 19 year old (well twenty next week). Andy then said to me, "Greg, there's nothing you can do. We've done our best, but if we want to be of anymore help, we need to get some sleep, and just pick up where we left in the morning." I smiled, and that was that.

For the next six months, Andy and I worked for my boss who owned the company which had two locations in upstate New York, and one in Orlando. I was basically a crew chief taking out crews of sometimes up to fifteen people (hired temporary labor, who we use to call 'crackheads' for obvious reasons). It was a very frustrating but enlightening experience for me. We did weddings, celebrity parties, and even had the contract with all the events at NASA which included the launches. I had a relationship with a girl for the most part could be considered your typical materialistic Florida blond that really wasn't going anywhere.

In February, Bush cut NASA's budget significantly, which directly canceled all the events scheduled for NASA that month. Being that was the majority of our work that month, we had less than ten hours of work. My boss basically had to let us go. Andy and I both got jobs at a Mexican restaurant, with him as a cook, and me as a server, just like we had done back in Maine.

From the large amount of money I acquired from doing all the hurricane work this Fall, I bought a 2002 Acura RSX Type S. A car that is way too fast and maneuverable for someone my age, but alas a necessity in Floridian society. This car ended up testing my materialistic tendencies, and was a catalyst for this realization of the implications of materialism. However, I began to grow obsessed with racing, and I was good, too good. I began to gain a flawless record, handling the car at 120 plus on Florida's five lane highways, weaving in and out while usually racing Latinos. My friends were scared ****less by the way I drove, but soon grew to respect me for my skills. In response to this, I no longer race or even drive, as I wish to never ever relapse into this addictive and dangerous behavior. As I myself along with my friends say, "I am lucky to still be alive."

It was in this period that I got sucked into the Florida drug scene rather heavily. We had a couple move in with us who we had become well acquainted with, and in due time they were 'dealing' out of our house, mainly cocaine and ecstasy. The first month I developed my first 'true' addiction. Andy and I were no so fond of their chosen profession as it involved our residence. So when we came home from work, they would just feed us lines of coke to keep us content. In about a month, Andy refused to do anymore and was getting very frustrated with the situation. In a couple weeks, I joined the band wagon, cut the habit, and in a short matter of time, they were out of the house as it was the only foreseeable answer.

In this period, I also discovered ecstasy. I had tried it a year earlier with some friends, had a good time, but for the most part, I really didn't 'roll'. I had no real interest in doing it again. My Florida friends really pushed for me to give it another chance, and come 'rave' with them.

My whole life I had loved to dance. I was the only guy at high school parties you could catch moving to the music, and I was usually labeled as 'gay' for that reason. So one day we decided to have a 'blow up party'. And with that, it was history. The mix of trance and house music with this new mind blowing psychedelic threw me into world like no other, for the most part, for the better. I began having these blow up parties every other week, and became obsessed with glowsticks (Oh, the glowsticks).

Around March of 2006, I had a rather serious encounter with Florida's infamous police. I had spent a day in jail, and was being charged with a second degree felony for fleeing and eluding, along with five other criminal misdemeanors. I was looking at 10-15 years in jail. This in itself is a long story, but I was not running from the cops. You can say I am a better driver than the cops and managed to lose them while racing. When they caught up to me is when I first realized their presence and I pulled over thinking I was getting a speeding ticket. Boy, was I wrong. The legal dispute lasted nine months, but luckily the prosecutor believed my position and we never had to even go to court. He knew the two youthful cops were 'power tripping,' and let me go with a $1000 fine for the felony (which was reduced to a misdemeanor), and dropped the other charges.

When the lease ran up on the house, Andy and I decided to move back to Maine, and leave this 'disease of a state'. The pending case of mine was a big influence upon this decision too. However, back in Maine I grew a yearning for the rave scene, and decided to start practicing my glow strings. Glow strings are taking glowsticks and attaching them to shoe strings and spinning them around. It's more traditionally known as poi, or glow poi. That summer in Maine I practiced and practiced this new art, turning it into an obsession. I went to a few raves that summer, and 'showed off' my new skills. Subliminally, I wanted to go back to Florida. I needed this lifestyle of the rave scene back in my daily life. I had managed to get a DUI (OUI, operating under the influence, in Maine as we call them, due to the excessive problem with drunken snowmobile riders in our state) while driving home from a party one night, basically because I was showing off with my car yet again.

Andy and I decided to move back to Florida and found another house, moving into it December of 2006 along with our friend Joe, who was one of my ex's good friends in Florida. I went to a community college for the Spring semester (as I still had Florida residency) along with Andy and I working at the same restaurant again. And alas, I got pulled ever more into the rave scene.

There was a night in January that stood out like no other. I was rolling at a club, the largest in Central Florida, high as a kite. Paul Oakenfold, a famous DJ from Britain, was spinning live and there were over a 1,000 people in the crowd. My friend was a paid performer there as a fire dancer. I was backstage after he came off from a performance and suggested I should go out and do some glow sticks, insisting I was good enough. Up to this point, I had only performed in front of no more than a small group at a rave party and have had stage fright my entire life. I argued with him for a moment as he continued to insist. He pushed me on stage, and there I was standing in front of everyone, completely unwilling. Everyone's eyes were set on me. I didn't know what to do. I walked to the center of the stage with my glow strings by my side as the panic built up in me. Ten seconds goes by, and everyone is still staring at me. And then a voice appears in my head, "God damnit Greg, just dance!" Fifteen minutes past, and the my friend shouts from the side of the stage, "Hey Greg, ya gotta come off. You've been on too long." For one of the first times in my life, I fell in love with the moment.

From that point on, I practiced and practiced and practiced. I began performing regularly at the club, along elsewhere throughout the state and couldn't get enough of it. This alternative dance was my new found love, as it now had other implications for my ego: I could show people I was 'something' and someone special.

However, in this period of my life, I also made some serious irresponsible decisions. It led to me going to Miami on a whim to attend the Ultra Music Festival, a rave of 70,000 people in downtown Miami. The three days in Miami was a very enlightening but horrific experience at the same time. The last night, I thought I was 'ODing' as a result of a panic attack induced by my so called friends leaving me to fend on my own in Miami. My cell phone was dead, and I was left with only $28. To cut things short, along with some of the emotional trauma involved, I would never want to relive such an experience again. I managed to get hold of another friend in Miami that next morning, and got back to Orlando okay. I felt I learned a serious lesson while down there. I felt this was the low point in my life, and everything thereafter seemed to get better. And it all started with a dream.

Last edited by GregorArturo; 10-28-2008 at 07:20 PM.
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