109,901. The House That Yost Built. The Corner of Stadium and Main. Michigan Stadium.
The Big House.
The largest football stadium in the country just so happens to be a block down the street from where I've lived the past three years. And this is something I am well aware of. Fridays in the fall are a nightmare because by dinnertime my street is a parking lot of people in town for the game, and when giving directions to visiting family members I can say "go straight until you see the giant football stadium come out of nowhere and take a right."
But to truly appreciate the history and significance of the venue, one must trespass into it, right?
Number 16 on my countdown of college memories: breaking into The Big House.
I forget the details of how we got started, but it was a mission forged by me, Julie, and Ginger the night before Julie's 20th birthday (and the night before the night before my 20th birthday). Based on similar adventures Julie and I went on, I'm sure the conversation went something like this:
Zach: What are we doing tonight?
Julie: I dunno. Wanna break into the Big House?
Zach: No.
Julie: Yes.
Zach: Fine.
It's something of a right of passage, I think; at least that's what I tell my younger friends now. I've heard stories of people having to climb walls or being locked out, but for the three of us, it was actually really easy. Julie and Ging lived, at the time, just as close as I did and we were at their house. We walked over, surveyed the building, and found a potential way in through a revolving gate door. The problem was, the door only went in one direction: out. So that wouldn't work. Then one of us - I want to say it was Julie - found a padlock that hadn't been locked. We walked right in, no problem.
We didn't really have a clear plan for what to do once we actually got inside, but decided the proper thing was to go take pictures of ourselves on the block "M" at the 50-yard line. You know, so we had proof. We ran down the steps (which is surprisingly exhausting) and jumped down onto the field. Ginger stayed in the seats, because she was scared of getting into trouble or something (which is odd because I've caught Ging in a few situations a little worse than this...but more on that later).
However, me being the technological genius that I am, I couldn't figure out how to get the flash to work on my camera with the timer, and so all the pictures we took were dark and you can barely see anything. We would have taken more, but we heard a gate slam shut and thought someone had somehow seen us entering the stadium and was coming to chase us out. Or worse, discipline us.
So we bolted back up the stairs (which is unsurprisingly even MORE exhausting), hid in an archway while we waited to make sure the coast was clear, then sprinted out through the one-way revolving gate door. Just then, a car was driving by. We hid in some bushes and watched the lights get closer and the vehicle pass. It was a cop. To this day, I don't know why they were driving by. I'm sure it was just a coincidence, but the .00008 percent of me that is rebellious likes to think it was because we set off some kind of alarm in the stadium and the police were coming for us.
The adventure was not the success it could have been. But totally worth it nonetheless. I'll always be able to say "I broke into the Big House."
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Saturday, March 23, 2013
17: "The Love You Take"
"You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow. This opportunity comes once in a lifetime."
I feel like I'll take a lot of crap in the next couple days for starting a post by quoting Eminem, but the line is relevant. I had a shot to do what I really wanted to do. And I blew it.
One of many great lessons I've learned from my mother though is that "no" doesn't always mean "no" when it comes to achieving your goals. By using that lesson, I can proudly present my number 17 college memory: my second chance to get into the screenwriting sub-concentration.
One little-known fact about UM is that it boasts one of the country's top undergraduate screenwriting programs. It's one of the only programs in the country (if not the only) where in the intro class you write not an act, but an entire feature script. The head of the program, Jim Burnstein, is a UM grad whose credits include D3: The Mighty Ducks, Renaissance Man, and the recently-released Love and Honor.
Getting into the program is not easy. You have to take the intro screenwriting class, write a great script, and get accepted based on that script into the second class in the sequence. I wrote my first script, didn't get in, and thought at first that my hopes would be crushed. The sub-con would be great for my resume, would show up on my transcript, and would allow me the extra education to further honing my skills. And I was sure I wanted to write movies, because the joy of giving life to new characters and creating new worlds is one of the most exhilarating experiences there is, in my opinion.
So, I started emailing various people within the department about my options. I suggested I re-take the first class not-for-credit, as an auditor, just to have another chance to write a good script. I was told that wasn't an option. But I kept sending emails, making my case and trying to find any loophole that would work in my favor. I was told I could re-submit a new draft to my first teacher, but I wasn't particularly fond of that idea. I kept trying, but with no luck. Until someone put me in touch with Jim Burnstein himself, who offered me the opportunity to write a new screenplay over the summer, submit it to him by August 1st, and let him decide if i get into the second class (and therefore, the sub-con). He later sent me this message:
"I have done this a few times before. Sometimes a student writes a new screenplay that earns its place in 410. Other times, the screenplays have fallen far short. I want to be clear. I am giving you a fair shot, not a guarantee, okay? The ball is in your court."
I decided that, with the ball in my court as he said, I needed to put my best foot forward. I needed to write the script I promised myself I would not attempt until the time was right. Pushed by my mother - again - I decided to attempt to write a screenplay based on my grandfather's death.
I knew going into this project that it would require me to tap into emotions I had long tried to suppress. I knew there would be some bad days ahead of me. When I write, I totally immerse myself in the world of the characters, and I was afraid of that. Mostly, though, I was afraid I didn't have the chops to do the story any justice.
I began working off an outline I had started my freshman year, as well as a treatment and a description of the main characters. The basis for the story was an essay I wrote in my freshman writing class about living with my grandfather in the year before he died.
I wrote most of the screenplay over a 3-week period in July, right before Professor Burnstein's deadline. As my family will tell you, it was a very bad three weeks for me. I was in a bad mood every single day, and was basically impossible to be around. The stress was too much, not to handle the content of the story. In addition, I had some personal issues I was dealing with, and the new Batman had just come out and basically crushed my screenwriting enthusiasm (how could I ever do that?). But I finished, revised, and submitted a draft to Burnstein. I waited nearly two weeks before he emailed me to tell me he wanted to call me the next day to talk.
Immediately, I flipped out. I couldn't possibly bear being rejected over the phone. Why would he do that to me? Why not just let me know right away? What was there to talk about?
I was working on another screenplay for a side project at the time, and had returned to the Barnes and Noble where I wrote all summer. Around 2 pm I think, I got the call. He wanted to know when I was graduating, to make sure I had time to take the class in the second semester with him. Here's what I remember of the rest of the conversation:
"Zach, your script has a lot of heart. It needs a lot of work and it's by no means a great script as-is, but it's got a lot of heart and potential. I have some specific ways I think it can be improved and I want to personally teach them to you in the winter semester."
I probably thanked him 10 times before hanging up. The next thing I remember quite vividly. I tweeted about it, closed my computer, went into the Barnes and Noble bathroom, and cried in a stall for over 30 minutes. It was the most unreal emotion ever. Months of bottled up emotion, stress, and uncertainty literally pouring out me.
Ultimately, I ended up being moved into the fall class with another professor, V. Prasad (who I had before and loved) and re-wrote the script. The new draft, "The Love You Take" was a great improvement on the first. Still not a great script, but definitely something to keep working on moving forward. I will graduate with the screenwriting sub-concentration in May, a great achievement and fulfillment of a personal goal. And, perhaps most importantly, I was able to form a new, tangible bond with my grandfather in a way few people get to experience.
I also must thank - in addition to Mr. Burnstein, Prasad, and my parents - my friends Bethany and Jennifer, who both gave me some great feedback on the first draft that helped me out big time.
And, here's a picture I posted on Facebook upon completing the second draft at 4 a.m. in the library:
I feel like I'll take a lot of crap in the next couple days for starting a post by quoting Eminem, but the line is relevant. I had a shot to do what I really wanted to do. And I blew it.
One of many great lessons I've learned from my mother though is that "no" doesn't always mean "no" when it comes to achieving your goals. By using that lesson, I can proudly present my number 17 college memory: my second chance to get into the screenwriting sub-concentration.
One little-known fact about UM is that it boasts one of the country's top undergraduate screenwriting programs. It's one of the only programs in the country (if not the only) where in the intro class you write not an act, but an entire feature script. The head of the program, Jim Burnstein, is a UM grad whose credits include D3: The Mighty Ducks, Renaissance Man, and the recently-released Love and Honor.
Getting into the program is not easy. You have to take the intro screenwriting class, write a great script, and get accepted based on that script into the second class in the sequence. I wrote my first script, didn't get in, and thought at first that my hopes would be crushed. The sub-con would be great for my resume, would show up on my transcript, and would allow me the extra education to further honing my skills. And I was sure I wanted to write movies, because the joy of giving life to new characters and creating new worlds is one of the most exhilarating experiences there is, in my opinion.
So, I started emailing various people within the department about my options. I suggested I re-take the first class not-for-credit, as an auditor, just to have another chance to write a good script. I was told that wasn't an option. But I kept sending emails, making my case and trying to find any loophole that would work in my favor. I was told I could re-submit a new draft to my first teacher, but I wasn't particularly fond of that idea. I kept trying, but with no luck. Until someone put me in touch with Jim Burnstein himself, who offered me the opportunity to write a new screenplay over the summer, submit it to him by August 1st, and let him decide if i get into the second class (and therefore, the sub-con). He later sent me this message:
"I have done this a few times before. Sometimes a student writes a new screenplay that earns its place in 410. Other times, the screenplays have fallen far short. I want to be clear. I am giving you a fair shot, not a guarantee, okay? The ball is in your court."
I decided that, with the ball in my court as he said, I needed to put my best foot forward. I needed to write the script I promised myself I would not attempt until the time was right. Pushed by my mother - again - I decided to attempt to write a screenplay based on my grandfather's death.
I knew going into this project that it would require me to tap into emotions I had long tried to suppress. I knew there would be some bad days ahead of me. When I write, I totally immerse myself in the world of the characters, and I was afraid of that. Mostly, though, I was afraid I didn't have the chops to do the story any justice.
I began working off an outline I had started my freshman year, as well as a treatment and a description of the main characters. The basis for the story was an essay I wrote in my freshman writing class about living with my grandfather in the year before he died.
I wrote most of the screenplay over a 3-week period in July, right before Professor Burnstein's deadline. As my family will tell you, it was a very bad three weeks for me. I was in a bad mood every single day, and was basically impossible to be around. The stress was too much, not to handle the content of the story. In addition, I had some personal issues I was dealing with, and the new Batman had just come out and basically crushed my screenwriting enthusiasm (how could I ever do that?). But I finished, revised, and submitted a draft to Burnstein. I waited nearly two weeks before he emailed me to tell me he wanted to call me the next day to talk.
Immediately, I flipped out. I couldn't possibly bear being rejected over the phone. Why would he do that to me? Why not just let me know right away? What was there to talk about?
I was working on another screenplay for a side project at the time, and had returned to the Barnes and Noble where I wrote all summer. Around 2 pm I think, I got the call. He wanted to know when I was graduating, to make sure I had time to take the class in the second semester with him. Here's what I remember of the rest of the conversation:
"Zach, your script has a lot of heart. It needs a lot of work and it's by no means a great script as-is, but it's got a lot of heart and potential. I have some specific ways I think it can be improved and I want to personally teach them to you in the winter semester."
I probably thanked him 10 times before hanging up. The next thing I remember quite vividly. I tweeted about it, closed my computer, went into the Barnes and Noble bathroom, and cried in a stall for over 30 minutes. It was the most unreal emotion ever. Months of bottled up emotion, stress, and uncertainty literally pouring out me.
Ultimately, I ended up being moved into the fall class with another professor, V. Prasad (who I had before and loved) and re-wrote the script. The new draft, "The Love You Take" was a great improvement on the first. Still not a great script, but definitely something to keep working on moving forward. I will graduate with the screenwriting sub-concentration in May, a great achievement and fulfillment of a personal goal. And, perhaps most importantly, I was able to form a new, tangible bond with my grandfather in a way few people get to experience.
I also must thank - in addition to Mr. Burnstein, Prasad, and my parents - my friends Bethany and Jennifer, who both gave me some great feedback on the first draft that helped me out big time.
And, here's a picture I posted on Facebook upon completing the second draft at 4 a.m. in the library:
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
18: "A Walk In My Shoes"
Beginning my sophomore year, when I finally started making friends and having a social life, it became apparent to me that I needed to find some way to merge the life I had known with my new relationships. My home and my family are such a big part of who I am, and I don't think anyone can truly know who I am as a person until they've been there and seen it first hand.
I've been lucky enough to be able to take friends to my hometown several times, and collectively those trips comprise my 19th-best college memory.
The first trip was a great experience at the time. I took two of my roommates, Luke and Casey, and our friends Mava and Monica for a night at my grandma's house. It was hilarious when we showed up and multiple members of my family remarked that "I thought Zach was making it up when he said he had friends now."
We went to my family's restaurant and got the VIP treatment. They actually had to push two tables together to contain all of our food. We ordered a couple of pizzas to share, plus appetizers, an entree per person, and desserts. We spent the night at my grandma's house, where I lived for a few years. That night, I actually cried a little when I was going to sleep, because I was so sad that my grandpa couldn't be there to meet my new friends. He would have loved it, too. The next day, we went over to Juube's house and had lunch downtown St. Joe. It was a really nice time all around. They met all my aunts and uncles and little cousins, which was fun.
The next fall I think was when I took Emily and Julie. Julie stayed for a whole weekend, but Emily could only stay a night. We did the same routine, but reversed as we watched the Michigan-MSU football game at Juube's house. It was then that my grandpa made fun of Emily for letting me sleep at her apartment once a week and asked her if she was pregnant. (At the time, I was going around sleeping in my friends' homes as part of a social experiment and he was inquiring about that, but Emily was really confused and embarrassed and didn't know how to respond.
The next group of people to visit were Bethany, Loui and Ginger. That was maybe the nicest, calmest weekend of them all because we went to a movie (The Descendants - very good by the way) and spent a long time just chatting with Juube and grandpa. My favorite part was telling my grandparents the story of how Loui and I became friend (which I'll elaborate on later in this countdown).
The fourth trip home was with Luke, Monica, and Jennifer for her first trip. That one was nice because instead of eating alone at the family restaurant we were joined by my aunt and two cousins. And THEN, my grandpa AGAIN asked one of my friends (this time Jen) if she was sleeping with me; he actually said, "are you sleeping with Zach, too?" The poor girl's face turned red and it was even more embarrassing than what he said to Emily. But also very funny.
All in all, these trips meant a lot to me because I could show off my home, my little cousins, and my family, and give my friends a better understanding of my childhood and how proud I am of my past and where I come from.
Monday, March 11, 2013
19: "The Thousand Dollar Finger"
I was an athlete in high school. Maybe not a great one, but sports was a big part of my life. Going to college was a major obstacle for me continuing to play and compete, as it is for the vast majority of students (basically, all but the select few good enough to play for the University).
My freshman year, I played intramural softball with the Health Science Scholars Program that I was a part of at the time. It was a lot of fun, but I couldn't adjust to slow-pitch and sucked majorly. Sophomore year, I started playing soccer with my new friends, which was weird for me because I hadn't played soccer since I was very young and I was awful back then.
Being the group "big guy" I naturally played goalie, but it took me a few games to get a feel for it. I ended up playing for three years, and it was a ton of fun every time, but the first year was definitely the best. We had our best team that year, and it was also the year of my 19th most memorable college moment: dislocating my finger.
It was October 3, 2010. A Sunday. I had gone home to visit family for the weekend, but left early on Sunday because I knew we had a soccer game that night. As I recall, we were winning the game and I had been playing a great game and held the other team scoreless into the second half. Someone on the other team took a shot, it rolled toward the net, and I dove on it. I made the stop, but as I was lying on the ground I noticed that half of my right pinky finger had fallen off and there was a bone sticking out.
"Can I get a time-out?" I asked the referee nearby.
"No," she said.
I was pissed.
"My finger is broken. I need time!" I yelled back.
I finally, amid the laughter of my teammates, threw the ball out of bounds. The officiating crew was of no help, so I decided to go to the ER. But I couldn't drive. So I asked my friend Katie to drive me in my car to the hospital.
At the hospital, I waited for awhile with my finger on ice, making phone calls to my mom and my roommates. After about 45 minutes, a doctor came in, gave the finger a tug, and it was all better. He wrapped it up and gave me a splint to hold it in place, told me to take it easy and slapped me with a $1000 bill that took more than two years to settle (there was an issue with the hospital not sending it to insurance, and then insurance not covering part of it - it was very messy).
The best part was the aftermath of that. I got home to the following picture and a plate of cookies:
My freshman year, I played intramural softball with the Health Science Scholars Program that I was a part of at the time. It was a lot of fun, but I couldn't adjust to slow-pitch and sucked majorly. Sophomore year, I started playing soccer with my new friends, which was weird for me because I hadn't played soccer since I was very young and I was awful back then.
Being the group "big guy" I naturally played goalie, but it took me a few games to get a feel for it. I ended up playing for three years, and it was a ton of fun every time, but the first year was definitely the best. We had our best team that year, and it was also the year of my 19th most memorable college moment: dislocating my finger.
It was October 3, 2010. A Sunday. I had gone home to visit family for the weekend, but left early on Sunday because I knew we had a soccer game that night. As I recall, we were winning the game and I had been playing a great game and held the other team scoreless into the second half. Someone on the other team took a shot, it rolled toward the net, and I dove on it. I made the stop, but as I was lying on the ground I noticed that half of my right pinky finger had fallen off and there was a bone sticking out.
"Can I get a time-out?" I asked the referee nearby.
"No," she said.
I was pissed.
"My finger is broken. I need time!" I yelled back.
I finally, amid the laughter of my teammates, threw the ball out of bounds. The officiating crew was of no help, so I decided to go to the ER. But I couldn't drive. So I asked my friend Katie to drive me in my car to the hospital.
At the hospital, I waited for awhile with my finger on ice, making phone calls to my mom and my roommates. After about 45 minutes, a doctor came in, gave the finger a tug, and it was all better. He wrapped it up and gave me a splint to hold it in place, told me to take it easy and slapped me with a $1000 bill that took more than two years to settle (there was an issue with the hospital not sending it to insurance, and then insurance not covering part of it - it was very messy).
The best part was the aftermath of that. I got home to the following picture and a plate of cookies:
The next game, I played defense, until I got fed up with the play of my replacement and put myself back in the goal late in the game. I played the rest of the season as goalie, wrapping my finger well, and we came agonizingly close to the championship. We lost in sudden-death overtime in the semi-finals (after losing the lead late in regulation via an own goal by out team captain...) and as time expired in the overtime the other team scored the winner just past my diving effort. And I went out and bought myself gloves for the next season.
More pics:
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